#lets get drunk with fizzy

[rollinpinwheel]

He has acquired oil. The night is still young.

[gutsby]

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

[woso-dreamzzz]

Celebrate

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Magda overdoes it

There are lots of things you like about parties.

The music. The endless food. The amount of fizzy drinks you can have.

Most of all, you like that you get to stay up past bedtime.

You sit in a little booth was a cup of sprite and a straw and blow more bubbles in your drink.

A lot of the Not-Wolfsburg girls are celebrating at the bar or on the dancefloor, where Guro is really having fun and people are giving Niamh a wide berth. Coach Emma is also dancing and you think she might be drunk.

You think Morsa is drunk too because she's halfway between giggly and weepy and she's stumbling around with some of the others.

Momma sits next to you, nursing her own drink as she opens another packet of goldfish crackers for you to munch on. You're feeling a little sleepy, forcing down your yawn because you know if Momma notices then she'll make you go home and you really don't want to go home right now.

Especially when Niamh is trying to dance but making it very clear that she can't do it properly.

You clamp down on your yawn and go to take another long drink of your sprite.

"Er...Pernille..." Millie says as she approaches. She looks a little awkward, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. "Magda's..." She spares a look behind her. "Yeah, Magda..."

Momma sighs deeply. "She's pretty far gone, huh?"

"Yeah...She just got into the bathroom."

Momma stands up. "I'll look after her." She turns to you. "Stay here, okay? With Millie. She'll watch you."

You shrug. "Okay."

Millie slides into the booth next to you. "So," She says," What are you drinking?"

"Vodka."

"What?!"

You giggle, swinging your legs. "Don't be silly, Millie. I've got Sprite!"

She still looks a little sceptical and leans forward to sniff at your drink, pulling back when she's satisfied that it isn't actually alcohol.

You take a sip.

"Is Morsa being sick?" You ask.

"Er...no..."

You fix her with a look. "Don't lie," You say," Because Momma says when people drink too much, they throw up. Is that what Morsa's doing?"

"Yes."

You nod, finishing off your drink. "Can I get another sprite?"

Millie looks down at your empty glass and then back at the bar. "Stay here," She says," Don't wander off."

"Okay, Millie."

As soon as she's up by the bar, you slip out of the booth. You weave your way through the team, stumbling a little bit when someone bumps into you but you stay on your course to the toilets.

Morsa is hunched over one of them, throwing up her earlier meal as Momma rubs her back.

Morsa is crying as well, babbling about how much she loves Momma and the team and playing with her. She looks back to give Momma heart eyes but notices you by the doorway.

"I love you too, princesse," She cries," You're so small and I love you so much. You used to fit in my arms, do you remember? Come here, I can still hold you like that. I'll show you."

"Magda," Momma says in warning," Absolutely not. You're-"

Momma's interrupted by Morsa throwing up again and you wrinkle your nose in disgust.

"Go back out, please," Momma says to you," I'm looking after Morsa."

"I'm tired," You whine, stomping your foot," Can we go home?"

Momma looks at Morsa and nods. "Go back out to Millie please," She says," And tell her that we're going to go home."

"Okay!"

You're not actually tired but you do want to go home because you think if you stay here then Morsa will keep drinking and keep throwing up.

You find Millie easily, slipping into the booth again as she comes back with your sprite.

"Momma says we're leaving now," You tell her," Because Morsa is nearly done throwing up her dinner."

Millie winces. "Yeah, Magda might have overdone it today. Let me grab you a bowl for her."

Morsa hobbles out into the car, hunched over as you dutifully carry the bowl from Millie in your hands.

"In the front, Magda," Momma orders but Morsa refuses.

"Sit with our baby! She's gotten so big! Let me sit with our baby!"

"No, Magda," Momma says," In the front and if you don't throw up on the way home then you can give Princesse cuddles when we get home."

"Fine."

Morsa finally gets in the passenger seat.

(She doesn't get her cuddle at all because as soon as Momma turns on the car, she throws up everywhere).

[vivwritesfics]

Daddy Ricciardo

Just some Danny Ric marriage/parent headcannons. Fluffy AF

Have you ever met somebody so in love with their girlfriend that it consumes their entire being?

Well, if you're friends with Daniel Ricciardo, you certainly have

Daniel was utterly obsessed with Y/N when they were dating

He brought her along to every race and showed her off whenever he got the chance

Any Y/N fan pages were probably run by him

Daniel was obviously a man who couldn't wait to get married

Especially to Y/N

You know that bit from The Office when Jim shows off the ring he got the moment he and Pam start dating?

That would have been Danny if he got the chance on drive to survive

No, Daniel got the ring on their six month anniversary

He already knew she was the one

But six months felt like the perfect timing

He didn't propose right away

Things kept getting in the way

But then, there was the perfect storm

Y/N had just come to watch a race

She hadn't been to the last one and had hardly been on the phone to him

Danny thought something was wrong

When she came to the race, Daniel was overjoyed

But then, in the hotel room after the race, she'd gone all serious

"Danny, I've got something to tell you. But I need you to promise me one thing," she said, grabbing a hold of his hands

"Anything," he replied, utterly concerned

Y/N sucked in a deep breath, calming her nerves

"Don't freak out."

When she told him, Daniel didn't freak out

He took in the information silently

Why would he freak out?

This was going to be the best day of his life

Two little words, that was all Y/N had said to him

Two words with so much weight to them

When Y/N was done and looking ready to start crying, Daniel slipped from the bed and pulled the ring box out of his pocket

He got down onto one knee and opened it

"You've just made me the happiest man in the world. Want to make me slightly happier and marry me?"

Y/N found a dress, her dream dress

Three weeks before the wedding, that dress no longer fit

The joys of being pregnant

Sobbing, Y/N made her mother take her shopping for a new dress

Before the wedding, at the rehearsal, Daniel had said he wasn't going to get drunk

If his soon to be wife couldn't drink, then he wouldn't either

But Y/N had insisted

Her soon to be husband was cute when he was drunk

So, Daniel had a few

He had more as the reception went on

Max and Christian were there, drinking alongside him

By the end of the night, Y/N was sat at the table, hand on her bump, cheeks rosy as she laughed at Daniel

He had pulled Max in for a dance and the Dutchman couldn't say no

He literally couldn't say no, because drunk Daniel wasn't listening

The honeymoon was gorgeous, like a dream

They went to the Maldives, stayed in a luxury resort

Four months later, Y/N was going into labour

It was, quite frankly, terrifying

Fifteen hours later, Charlie Ricciardo was born

He was his fathers pride and joy

Where Daniel used to show off Y/N, he now showed off Charlie and Y/N

His camera roll was all pictures of Y/N and his son

As Charlie got older, they started taking him to the races

He had little headphones to wear as the cars went around the circuit

He'd wave (aka, Y/N would hold him on her hip and wave his hand for him when his daddy came into the pits)

Charlies first word was car

Daniel was driving at the time, during free practice

He was so pissed that he missed it

Daniel was the fun parent

He was the one who let Charlie stay up past his bed time and let him have chocolate and fizzy drinks

In moderation, of course

But then Charlie did something scary

"Mummy, I want a brother," he said

Y/N couldn't reply

She had to turn around and pour herself a glass of wine

So, he asked his father

Daniel was so happy to hear it

If Charlie wanted a sibling, he was going to get a sibling

So, Daniel brought it up with Y/N

"Danny, no," she said the moment he suggested it. "When I was pregnant with Charlie and you were travelling for work, I was struggling so much without you. I can't do that again"

Daniel tucked some hair behind her ear

"Don't worry, Angel. I can talk to Christian and get the last few months of your pregnancy off," he said. "Keep you and Charlie travelling with me until then"

That sounded amazing to Y/N

She loved her little family and it only seemed to be growing

She jumped onto her husband

"Get ready for the night of your life, honey badger"

[silhouetteonpaper]

Worth It

Summary: As you find yourself at yet another one of Tony’s parties, dread fills you at the idea of having to socialize. But what happens if you decide to cause some mischief and bend the rules a little? Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 1,928 Warnings: Underage drinking, gross men, getting drunk A/N: Sorry for the long pause in my usual uploads! I just got home from a trip and have lots of new stuff saved up ;)

Worth It

Another one of Tony’s world-famous parties waits for you just one floor up. Dreading each and every one of them, you pull yourself from lounging around to get ready for a night of torture. It’s not anything against Tony, you’re just not a fan of big crowds or small talk, especially when it’s with a bunch of snobby elites.

After dragging yourself to your closet, you eventually decide on an outfit. You pick something classy to match Tony’s elegant dress code, yet not too uncomfortable as you know it’ll be a long night. The echoing sound of music from upstairs already streams into your room, making you sigh as you finish getting ready.

Finally, it’s time to face the crowd. Riding the elevator up one floor, you feel your confidence grow underneath the outfit you picked for tonight. Most of the people Tony invites to these parties can’t get enough of the youngest addition to the Avengers, especially when they’re tipsy from whatever drink Tony’s concocting. You walk with stature onto the open floor, smiling as eyes turn to you.

In an attempt to dodge all the turned heads accompanied by uninvited conversation, you walk straight towards Natasha. She stands in the center of the room, greeting you with a grin while clutching her half-empty drink. “No time for small talk, huh?” she questions while leaning in for a hug. You smirk, shaking your head.

“Not with these people,” you respond, eyeing the large crowd that’s finally returned their attention to whatever captivated it before you walked in. You already feel claustrophobic in these circumstances, but choose to take a deep breath and face Natasha in hopes her warmth can calm any discomfort.

“You want a drink? Tony’s at the bar,” Natasha gestures to an inebriated Tony pouring shots. “He’s probably sober enough to make you a mock-tail…” she tilts her head in contemplation. Knowing you’re not of age to drink, Nat of course is on top of keeping you away from any adult beverage, especially at these chaotic parties. The last thing she wants is for the youngest Avenger to get into any trouble.

“I’ll go try my luck.” You joke, leaving the redhead’s side to approach the bar surrounded by strangers. Squeezing your way past the drunk herd, you lean against the counter facing a very not sober Tony.

“Ah, my favorite underage party goer. What can I get’ya?” He asks, downing yet another shot. You wince for him, his own lack of a reaction surprising you.

“Something Natasha wouldn’t approve of.” You respond, stealing a glance back at the unassuming Widow now chatting with Steve. What Natasha doesn’t know won’t hurt her, as long as you keep it on the down low. A little alcohol has ever affected you much, from the few times that the team has let you sip from their drinks or when you’ve snuck out to a friend’s party.

“I knew I liked you,” Tony voices as he pours up a cocktail. Fizzy soda fills the glass; red syrup flooding to the bottom through rising bubbles. The last touch is added, a shot of the same mysterious liquid Tony drank just a moment ago. “Here you go, cheers!” He exclaimed while pushing your glass across the counter.

You nod back in thanks, taking a sip. It’s not a mock-tail, that’s for sure. But on the outside, nothing about it screams ‘kid holding a cocktail’. Walking back over to Nat, Steve shoots you a smile.

“What’cha got there?” He eyes the drink. You quickly come up with a believable lie, not wanting Natasha to find out. It’s not that she cares if you break the law, it’s about protecting your innocence. You understand why she does it, having lost her own so young, but sometimes rebelling like this is healthy for a normal young adult.

“Shirley temple,” you tell him, taking a long sip to prove it’s in fact real. You easily keep a stone-face expression, unaffected by the drink's true nature. He nods, taking a swig of his own drink. The two adults resume their conversation, mentioning something about an extra special guest tonight.

“If I can get a word in with the director, I don’t think we’ll have any issue initiating Project Red and Gold.” Natasha tells Steve, leaving you to awkwardly stand there in silence. You have no clue what she’s referring to, but assume it’s higher level information you don’t need to be aware of.

Suddenly, an older man surrounded by a cohort of other rich snobs strides down the glass stairs, causing Nat to nearly jump. “He’s here! My mouth is dry, damn it-“ she grabs your drink, taking a long chug in preparation to talk with the powerful man. What takes her by surprise is the liquid that burns her throat as she swallows, causing her to shove the glass back in your hands with anger.

“Seriously, alcohol?” She looks back and forth between you and the director, hesitating in walking over to him. “We’ll talk about this later.” Leaving the scolding for another time, she finally jumps into action, pushing her way to the front of the crowd to talk with her target.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, not in an angry way, but rather letting you know he’s impressed. “She’ll forget about it,” you tell him, stirring your drink awkwardly before taking a sip. He gives you a knowing look, causing you to re-think your words. “No she won’t…”

A few hours and a few drinks later, you find yourself sprawled across the red velvet couch. The party seems to be dying down, a majority of the crowd having left and only close friends and team members still continuing to mingle.

You’re definitely past tipsy territory now, the handful of drinks you indulged in throughout the night are finally getting to you. Maybe it was a bad decision, but after getting busted for one drink, you chose to not look back and have a fun night in case Nat decided to actually kill you.

Now too unbalanced to sit up straight, you lean against the side of the couch as an unfamiliar man with gray hair sits next to you. At first you don’t pay any attention to him, too lost in your own drunken state to care. But eventually you notice him eyeing you up and down, his gaze scanning your entirety.

“What?” You question him out of concern, hoping you didn’t spill something on yourself without realizing. The man laughs, leaning in toward you.

“I’m just admiring the view,” he states with a suggestive smirk. You raise an eyebrow at him, looking to the large glass window behind him.

“You’re facing the wrong way for that.” You explain, unaware of his actual intentions. You find it funny he doesn’t even realize where the window is, but in reality you’re the one getting confused. He laughs again, his hand creeping up to find your leg.

“How about we go find a better place to see it, then?” He asks, settling in closer. You tilt your head, brows raising as you finally realize his offer. In your current state, no red flags were waving; the confidence the alcohol gave you causing you to nod and stand. What more could you lose? But as you stumble towards the hallway alongside the strange man, someone abruptly stands in your way.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Natasha intervenes, grabbing your wrist and pulling you from the older man’s arm. You look back and forth between the two, shrugging as you’re already certain she knows the answer. “Get the hell out of here.” She tells him through gritted teeth.

You laugh as he walks toward the elevators with haste, clearly terrified of your red-headed friend. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” Nat’s attention is now on you, quickly realizing just how many drinks you’ve had as you use her for balance. With an exasperated sigh, she guides you to a couch, putting you between Steve and Wanda. “I have to go walk the director to his car. Don’t let her do anything stupid.”

As she walks towards the straggling group of party-goers, you giggle. “Oh, she’s mad.” You voice while watching her head out with the director from earlier. Wanda and Steve exchange a knowing glance.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your last day alive.” Steve teases, seeing just how much you messed this one up. He’s always been okay with you doing normal teenage things, but a part of him definitely sees eye to eye with Nat on this situation.

“Was it worth it?” Wanda asks. She picks up a glass of water from the coffee table and hands it to you. Slowly sipping at the icy cold liquid, you nod.

“I should do this more often.” You reply, a smile creeping up your lips. Regardless of Nat’s demeanor, this party has been your favorite one yet. The abundance of confidence made it easier to socialize and weave within the crowd, something you usually don’t find enjoyable.

“Maybe… we should stick to mock-tails,” Natasha joins in, suddenly emerging from the elevator. “C’mon, it’s bedtime.” She holds out her hand, motioning for you to get up from the couch. You pout, placing the water down to cross your arms.

“I’m not a kid, let me have my fun!” You remark in hopes you can have a little more time out with your friends. The night was far from over, and just because you’re inebriated doesn’t mean it has to end so soon.

Natasha holds her gaze though, her eyes piercing into you with a ‘don’t test me’ look. You know at this rate she’ll work you extra hard in training tomorrow, no matter how hungover you are. So, after considering what’s in store, you stand in a huff and brush past her to your room.

After changing into comfier clothes, you hear a soft knock on your door. “Are you decent?” you hear Natasha’s voice from the hall.

You laugh and crash onto your bed, not bothered enough to crawl under the covers. “Yes, Nat.” She opens the door after your confirmation, holding a glass of water in one hand and some pain medicine in the other.

Placing both down on your nightstand, she then gazes at your current state with a sigh. “C’mon, get under the blankets. You’re going to get cold in the middle of the night,” Nat grabs at your comforter, forcing you to scoot backwards as she pulls the blankets over you.

“Okay, mom.” You roll your eyes and flop back down onto the pillows, eyelids already feeling heavy. She sits on your bed for a moment, smirking as she watches you struggle to stay awake. “What? Are you going to scold me more?” You ask.

She chuckles, patting your arm softly. “I’ll save that for tomorrow, right before we train. Drink plenty of water, you’re going to need it,” she tells you, standing and turning out the small lamp on your bedside table. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” You reply, watching her walk to the door but falling asleep too quickly to even see her leave. You’re too tired to even worry about what’s in store for tomorrow, or how much trouble you're actually in. 

All you care about is that you have someone who actually cares about you, who lets you make these mistakes. Even if it means you have to do extra training, you’re glad you have someone to count on. Someone who understands what it’s like to want to be a normal, troublemaking teenager.

[feyhunter78]

Hi!! I’ve been thinking about that one scene in 10 Things I Hate About You, when Patrick walks Kat to the swings when she’s drunk and he says “Leave it to you to use big words when you're shitfaced.” Except! Kat is Nerd Miguel who somehow ended up drunk at some frat party or something, and Patrick is reader who has to deal with his antics. I imagine him spewing random scientific words/facts that reader tries her best to understand. All while she’s just trying to sober him up a bit. This lil scenario has been running through my head, and who best to share with than you!

(The chokehold you’re Miguel, specifically nerd Miguel, has on me is insane! It’s a great distraction while at work! <3)

I love that scene so much!!!! I made this a bit different, but I think I still hit the mark for ya anon <3 (Also this is a normal house party bc guys that are not in a frat are not allowed to attend frat events just like with sororities!)

House Parties

Art cred: Treelover_5

Nerd!Miguel masterlist

You weave through Brett’s parents’ guest house on the edge of town, downing your drink as you search for Miguel. It was really nice of Brett to invite you and Miguel to his pre-winter break bash. You know Miguel doesn’t party much, and Brett has been trying to encourage him to come out of his shell, so this was the perfect opportunity.

The sound of chanting draws your attention, and you see Miguel surrounded by a few other friends of Brett’s. Brett seems to be explaining something to him, car keys in hand. You drove here, so you know the keys aren’t Miguel’s, which makes you feel a bit better.

“Chug, chug, chug.” They chant, and you watch as Brett and Miguel simultaneously shotgun their beers, the foam dripping down Miguel’s tan skin.

Smash. You think instantly, your brain supplying you with images of what Miguel might look like as he comes up from between your legs, his lips, and chin slick with your arousal.

Then Miguel throws the beer down and throws his arms up victoriously.

Brett finishes, then throws his beer down as well and hooks an arm around Miguel’s neck, bringing him down to his level. “My boy Miguel has done it again! Absolute beast of a man!”

The other guys cheer, and you see Miguel smile shyly.

He’s been gaining in popularity, not that he really cares, nor do you, but it makes you happy that he’s made some new friends. Even if those friends challenge him to shotgun races.

Miguel spots you before you can even breach the circle and latches onto you. “Y/N, I won, did you see?”

Brett gives you a look that means dude should probably get some air, and you nod in response.

“Yeah I did, hey Miguel, you wanna step outside with me?”

“Yes, always.” He says instantly, his lips far too close to your neck for you to feel normal about.

You guide him through the crowd and out the door, his arm slung over your shoulders. He’s so heavy, all those stupid hot muscles making him dead weight as he mumbles to himself incoherently.

“What was that sweet boy?” You ask, when you hear something that sounds like your name.

“Did you know that the hydrochloric acid in the human stomach is so strong it can dissolve metal? Thin metal, mind you, but still, metal.” Miguel says, his cheeks red, his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose, and a goofy smile on his face.

“Wow, that’s crazy.” You say, struggling under the weight of him as you try to lug him over to a nearby porch swing, the neatly trimmed grass around you littered with solo cups and soaked with various spilled drinks.

“And beer—beer is twice as fizzy as champagne. I know this for a fact, I had four or so beers? They taste bad, did you know that?”

“Yeah, house parties usually have pretty cheap beer.” You laugh, swaying a little when Miguel leans on you.

“And cheetahs, super inbred, ten thousand years ago, taboos were broken, and now they’re all…ya know, the way they are.” He continues on, letting out a surprise oof, when you slide him onto the white porch swing, the weathered green cushions not doing much to break his fall.

“Very cool, so now can you tell me what the hell you were drinking in the twenty minutes I left you alone? Besides beer? Because Miguel, you are so fucked up.” You ask, sitting next to him, your legs tucked beside you as you turn to face him, an affectionate smile on your face.

He drags a hand down his face, and his glasses fall into his lap. He pouts at them, a small aw leaving his lips.

You pick them up and hand them back to him, and he clumsily puts them back on.

“Brett suggested we do shots before the races, he passed his midterm, we were celebrating with him.”

Fucking Brett. You loved the guy, he was nice, nonthreatening, watched out for you when you were in the Sig Epp house, but he also was a menace, who wanted everyone to be as drunk as he was.

“Miguel, you’re a big guy, but you don’t have Brett’s tolerance.” You pat his chest consolingly.

Miguel looks at you, eyes a little hazy, his shirt unbuttoned far more than it normally would be, his hair ruffled. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leans his head back against the swing, staring up at the stars. “You know a cloud can weigh around a million pounds?”

“I did not know that.” You respond, trying to see if you can check his pupils without him noticing.

He notices and rolls his head to face you. “Everyone blames women when they don’t have sons, but it’s actually male genes that decide it.”

“I did know that one, actually.” You say, as you run your hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

He smiles, and you swear it’s brighter than any star in the sky. “You’re so smart, y/n.”

You’re taken aback for a second, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Thanks, that means a lot coming from you.”

“So smart and so, so pretty. I know I said it’s on me, but will you give me a girl y/n? I want a daughter with you, my brains, your everything else, she’d be unstoppable.” He says, his words slurring together. Then he falls forward with a yelp, hands, and elbows hitting the dirt.

You sit frozen in shock, staring down at Miguel, before you snap out of it and scramble to help him. “Shit, Miguel, are you okay?”

He holds up his right hand, it’s bleeding. “Just put some sugar on it, it’ll heal faster.”

“Full of fun facts, aren’t you?” It’s another trip back inside to find a sink and a band-aid, his words still bouncing around in your head.

I want a daughter with you.

Fuck, he’s going to kill you one day, and you’ll let him.

Not me doing a little callback to what Miguel thinks at the end of his encounter with drunk y/n hehe

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows

[zombiewhor3]

FORBIDDEN

fem reader x eddie munson

WARNINGS: smut. characters are 18+, sneaking around, forbidden dating, angst, fluff,

"fuck just like that eds" she hummed into his ear, she had her back pressed against the wall, his hands holding onto her legs as they wrapped around his back to give her some leverage.

he was thrusting into her so hard that her eyes had almost started to roll back into the inside of her skull, her nails dug into the sides of his shoulder blades only making his breaths grow raspy as she moaned aloud his name.

she wasn't supposed to be fucking her brother's best friend but she didn't have to tell him everything about her life.

Besides what would life be without the pleasure of sneaking around and screwing munson.

The knot in her stomach had came undone, she let her mouth stay open in an 'O' shape so that only a soft moan had slipped out of her.

he shushed her gently as he pulled himself out of her with a groan, he wanted to just go for another round right then and there.

but they had a small party in the basement just below them that was going to start soon and well Gareth was going to be home shortly.

if he didn't get arrested for using his fake ID to buy more beer for the rest of them.

Eddie had cleaned her up and clothed her before getting himself ready, she watched as he ruffled his hair in her bedroom mirror.

his fingers running through his fizzy bangs to make them look less out of place,

"do you really have to go" she whined and could see his smile through the reflection of the mirror, he could also see her pouting a little.

"I'll be back you know that sweetheart" he turned to face her and could see her sitting on her bed with her legs crossed.

"you'd better hide that before Gareth starts asking you questions again" she gestured to the hickey that was on his neck, it was a shade of red and purple, he turned to look in the mirror to pull down his shirt collar a little.

he turned back around to look at her,

"you're so lucky we don't have time for another round because i would so leave you covered"

"and leave me dead because how would i explain to my brother i 'burnt my neck with my straightener' seven times"

he smiled at her sarcastic remark,

"then you just have to get a lot better at makeup, or maybe say you met a vampire, your brothers a geek he'll surely believe it"

she smacked his shoulder playfully,

"now get out before my brother catches you"

-

"Gareth you said a small party! This is the whole fucking town not to mention our entire high school is here!" She yelled over the music and could see her brother roll his eyes.

"just enjoy it, go have some fun maybe talk to a few new people, make some friends!"

he pushed a beer in his hand before he had disappeared into the crowd.

She hadn't hated parties but she hadn't loved them either, small ones with less than the entire town didn't seem that bad.

the music was loud and half of the people in the room were already tipsy or just flat out drunk.

some couples had gotten a little to touchy to which it made her think of Eddie, besides where the hell was he anyways?

and with the question she could feel a pair of hands start to rub at her shoulders, the silver rings leaving a cool bite on her skin.

she turned to see him standing there shockingly without a beer or a cigarette in his mouth.

he went to kiss her but she put a finger in front of his face, "my brother could be watching" she spoke and could feel his hand on hers.

up the stair case and into her bedroom, without even a hesitation his lips were already pressed against her skin sucking and nipping so he could purposely leave marks on her.

she let out a soft moan as her hand cupped and grabbed at the bulge in his jeans with even just the simple friction of her hand he groaned out to her sending a warm sensation throughout her skin and a pumping one through her heart.

she could feel herself fluttering from the impatience and the boundary of clothing that was between the two of them, it made her tug at the collar of his shirt until he finally stripped it away from him and tossed it to the floor.

he pulled his lips away from her skin so he could look down at her, so he could flip her body over to where she was straddling him, her hands resting on his abdomen, she let out a small breath because she already knew what he wanted.

and yet she didn't mind because she had her hand on his crotch where now she had pulled his pants completely off of him,

she gave him the puppy dog eyes as she was pulling off the cotton of his boxers teasing him by taking her sweet time.

he grabbed at her hair using his fingers to swirl it around into a pony tail he was able to grab to bob her head down on his cock, but not before she licked a stripe up it to just give him a small taste of the pleasure like he had done to her.

"i so wish i had my camera i'd reminisce on this til the day i die" he remarked and could see the hint of light in her eyes only grow even brighter,

she gestured to the Polaroid camera that was sitting a top her night stand, without a hesitation he grabbed it just as she sank her mouth down onto him.

she saw the flash and could see as he shook the picture to let it process,

she could feel him hitting the back of her throat with his size and it made her gag a little but she choked it back along with the set of tears that prickled in her eyes because she enjoyed it.

she enjoyed having the feeling of his hand in her hair and the sound of his moans ringing through her ears, everyday she replayed them each and every time she could.

the next thing she knew she had swallowed his load, it poured down her throat and a shallow breath eddie was looking down at her, his hand letting go of her hair but he offered her one of the hair ties on his wrist to put it up,

to which she pulled it back and remained on her knees between his legs, she placed her hands onto her thighs before straddling over him, she sank herself down onto his cock and she could hear the click of the camera once again.

Eddie let out a soft groan at the feeling of her cunt sinking around him, the way her walls were already clenching as he held onto her waist so she kept her balance.

she was riding him so perfectly so nice that eddie couldn't resist the soft moans that kept slipping from his lips let alone the profanity he had let fall from his mouth as she started to bounce up and down a top of him.

"doing such a good job princess" he praised and gave her sides a slight squeeze as a way to praise her for the way she was riding him so good and well the fact his cock throbbed when he felt her moan with each and every thrust.

each and every touch they were feeding one another had only ended up leading to a ride of an orgasm that caused her to cry out.

and well the pictures he had taken of her that now he tucked into her nightstand just until after the party while he got her cleaned up.

-

y/n was out and Eddie was sitting in their living room Gareth rested on the couch next to him with a can of beer clasped in his hand,

he looked over at eddie who was reaching into his pocket as a cigarette dangled from the corner of his lips.

"gareth do you have a lighter?" he asked and watched as he slipped a hand into his pocket to pull out a lighter that was out of fluid.

tossing it he pulled a draw out from under the coffee table and searched through it to which it had figured y/n took the matches up to her room so she could light her stupid candles.

he stood up from the couch and with a hefty sigh he made his way up the stairs and into her empty bedroom, her bed was disheveled with her sheets a tangled mess and pillows tossed everywhere even along the floor.

he tossed a pillow back onto her bed before reaching into the drawer of her night stand where she had usually kept everything away from Gareth including the matches,

once he found the box he had almost shut the drawer but a glare of a polariod picture caught his eye.

multiple polaroid pictures rested in a stack to which he pulled them out, his eyes widening and his face turning into a digust and still yet a shock at what the hell he had just seen.

quickly he shut the drawer as the pictures were still in his hands,

y/n walked through the door with a bag of groceries her hand to which she tossed a bag of candy to Eddie who was sitting on the couch before she set the rest of the groceries out onto the kitchen counter.

Gareth's shoes had been a loud noise against the wooden stairs as he was running down them, nearly tripping at his rapid speed but he ignored it as he stepped a foot back into his living room to see where Eddie sat.

y/n had stepped in to see what all the commotion was about and to her surprise Gareth had a look on his face, one that suggested she had done something wrong or maybe he had found the hidden beer she had stole from him.

"hello to you too?" she remarked and looked down at his hands, he held two things.

a box of matches taken from her nightstand drawer and a set of pictures also taken from her night stand drawer, he could see both of their eyes widen a little as he tossed them down out onto the coffee table.

"you were in my room"

she muttered and watched as a sarcastic expression arose on his face and he raised an eyebrow at her as his arms folded,

"that's what you care about? you don't care that you slept with one of my friends?"

he sounded pissed, she could hear it in his voice and see it with the way his face looked

she had no words or expression except for the eyes that looked down at the floor beneath her as she could hear him start to talk like a parent would, or even just as a brother would.

"i told you my friends were off limits, we've had that ground rule for years. why would you go behind my back and do something like this y/n?" he was lecturing her about the rule, the same damn rule he couldn't follow himself, well it was never to this extent.

"you flirt with my friends all the time! every time i have someone over you flirt with them!" she muttered back and folded her arms with a huff,

"using cheesy pick up lines for fun isn't the same as sleeping with one of my friends, you've ruined everything y/n, what the hell were you expecting" she didn't blame him for being angry or being upset but just maybe he was going over the top with it.

"me and him have been seeing each other for the past 4 months, nothing has changed between me and you, or you and him. without those damn pictures you would've never noticed anything that was different"

without even another word from her or her brother she pulled her car keys from the pocket of her coat before slamming the front door behind her.

"4 months and you didn't think to tell me you were seeing my sister?" Eddie put out the leftover cigarette bud in his mouth, blowing some of the smoke out of his pursed lips as he tried to think of something to say back to him.

"i figured it'd be best to keep it on the down low" Eddie replied and could see the expression on Gareth's face change as he stood up from the couch, "i get how you think this is going to hurt you but its not"

-

she had been doing everything to avoid not just her boyfriend but her own brother as well, in fear of pissing her brother off and in fear of destroying the friendship the two of them still seemed to have left together.

she had let herself rot in her room, listening to music or sneaking out to buy beer just to bring it back and get herself drunk while lying back on her bed.

she had been at this for weeks now, only going to school and coming straight home to avoid any unwanted contact with anyone that heard about the situation, which pretty much meant every single person that was apart of the hellfire club had heard the news.

thankfully Gareth hadn't dug any deeper in her room to find the other pictures that were hiding in a shoe box under her bed because surely then he would've probably killed Eddie right then and there in their living room.

she could hear a knock at her door but it only made her turn up the music louder to try and drown out the sound of whoever was on the other side, but the knocking only got louder and louder until her door was swung open.

her brother stood with a plate of dinner in his hands and she turned away her head and diverted her attention back to the book she had in the grasp of her hands.

he turned down the music and set the plate down onto the night stand beside her, she shut the book and placed it in her lap as she looked up at him, "get out" she muttered and could see him fold his arms and lean against her dresser.

but he didn't budge he stayed right in the same spot, "Gareth get out of my room" she gestured for him to walk out of her open bedroom door but he looked down at his shoes and finally back up to her,

"you can't ignore me forever, besides the group wonders why you don't come down stairs anymore and well Eddie just doesn't show up or when he does he's quiet some days he doesn't say a word at all"

she couldn't blame him if what Gareth was saying was true, because she understood the awkwardness that he must've faced when he was in the same room as him.

"why would he?" she replied and folded her arms in her lap as she laid her legs out straight onto the bed,

"you two are," he paused as he tried to think of the right words to top of his sentence without sounding like an asshole or a softie.

"you two are the most important people in my life, to lose you both over something so stupid would never be able to reverse itself"

her body shifted a little and she watched as his eyes softened when he looked at her.

"nothing will happen, we'll always be the same old Eddie and y/n back to normal" she sighed a little and could see him shake his head.

"you two can't break up, if you stay together it'll bring back the balance we need"

he watched as she smiled a little before getting up out of her bed to hug her brother.

"thank you gare, and i promise no matter what happens we'll always be the same"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Compotation

Warnings: non/dubcon, coercion and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Part of Roo’s Pajama Party (October 7-8)

Prompt: Compotation - a drinking or tippling together. (List of prompts here) + this look

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. I hope you enjoy this one and have a lovely weekend.

The world is awash with ripples. You feel heavy and light at once. The slosh in your stomach weighs you down as your head feels hollow.  

You focus on measuring out the shot of tequila. You splash a little as you dump it into the bigger glass and add grapefruit juice and a bit of fizzy water. You swallow a belch and slam down the can, spilling even more onto the counter. You’re too angry, and tipsy, to care about any of it. 

Knock, knock, knock. Fuckkkkk. It’s probably the neighbour come to whine about your music. It��s not even that loud. And it’s good music. Well, she can go rot with your boyfriend. Maybe even soon to be ex. 

You take your drink with you to the door. Your fuzzy pants brush together warmly as coolness spreads over your exposed midriff. It’s too bad Bucky didn’t stay long enough to appreciate your new pajamas. No, you told him to go. No, good... 

Maybe it’s him. He is so forgetful you wouldn’t put it past him to forget his own damn keys. You open the door, ready to bluster at neighbour and boyfriend alike. Your mouth hangs open as your met with a third unexpected option. 

“Sam,” you blub out like a fish. “Oh, hey. He’s not here.” 

“Oh,” he tilts his head, “figures. He’s not answering my texts. What’s going on? Party?” 

He looks at your drink and you scoff. You take a deep gulp of the alcohol laced juice. You should slow down but you won’t. You don’t do this. No, you behave. You do everything Bucky tells you and he can’t do just one thing. One. Thing. 

“Sure is,” you slur. “Party of one. I’ll tell him you stopped by when he drags himself home.” 

Before you can close the door, he puts his hand against it, his strength easily blocking your own. You blink at him. 

“What did he do?” He hums. 

You roll your eyes, “what do you care? You’re his friend.” 

“Oh, ouch. Kitten, I thought we were friends.” 

“Mm, well, I guess,” you shrug. 

“So, what are friends for, huh? Why don’t you tell me all about that deadbeat?” He smirks and smoothly edges his way inside. You don’t stop him. You could use the company. 

You back up and blow a raspberry as you play back the argument that turned into Bucky yelling and you just a staring blankly. Then he left. No apology. No nothing. Somehow, you became the guilty party. 

“He forgot our anniversary,” you grumble. “You know, just what he does. He can tell me what battle happened on what day, but he can’t remember our first date.” 

“He forgot? Jesus, now how could he forget a girl like you?” 

“Whatever, I don’t wanna talk about it,” you pause and slurp again. “You want a drink? You know, he can’t get drunk. He sucks down those beers for what? Because he likes the taste of piss?” You sneer. 

Sam snickers. 

“What?” You bluster. 

“Nothing, I just... I’ve never seen you angry.” 

“Yeah, well, I've been too accepting,” you spit. “So you wanna drink? Tequila and grapefruit. Or I have some peach juice.” 

You lick the moisture from your lips and sway on your feet. 

“Uh, sure, might as well,” he accepts. 

“Uno momento,” you hold up a finger and drain your glass. You let out a long aaah as you finish then stagger into the kitchen. Are you leaning or are the walls? 

You take out another glass. “Hey, grapefruit or--” you lower your voice as he enters the kitchen, “peach.” 

“Mm, peach sounds sweet,” he says as he unzips his jacket. He hangs it on the back of one the tall chairs along the island. You hate them. You told Bucky they’re too high. 

“Coming right up,” you declare. 

You pour the drinks with a bit more care than before. Yet, your hands are just as clumsy. When at last you present him with a glass, it’s dripping. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Hey, his loss.” Sam says as he turns and waves you out ahead of him. “I mean, old man should be ecstatic to hang out with a girl like you. He don’t know what he’s got.” 

“No, he doesn’t,” you agree as you strut out into the front room. “You know, I didn’t even ask him to do anything. I set the date, I called the venue... he can’t even show up!” 

“Aw, baby,” Sam sits with you on the couch. He takes a small sip as you swig back a mouthful. “That’s not fair. You deserve better than that.” 

“I do,” you force yourself to put the cup down as you stomach stirs hotly. You wipe your sticky hands on your pajamas. He surprises you as his fingers wander over to touch the fuzzy fabric.  

“Soft,” he comments, “he’s really missing out.” 

“You like them? They’re new,” you look down at the crop top and pants. 

“Soft and cute. Like you, kitten,” he drawls and reaches to put his glass next to yours.  

Your head bobbles dizzily as you give a long blink. He continues to pet your pants, feeling the fluffiness. You can feel his touch beneath. It makes your skin hot. 

“You okay, baby?” He asks. 

You pout and shake your head. Your anger rolls into sadness, “no,” you sniffle as tears rise to the brims of your eyes, “no. Why doesn’t he care?” 

“Aw, honey,” he stretches his arm across your back and you fall against him, burying your face in his shoulder, “it’s okay. I got you.” 

“I tried so hard,” you snivel into his shirt as he rubs your back. His other hand cradles your head as he rocks and hushes you. “What am I gonna do? We signed a lease. We—we—I don’t think there’s any we--” 

His hand creeps down to your neck and he extends his thumb under your jaw. He nudges you up as he draws away. He slides his hand under your chin and you flick your lashes against your tears. Before your vision can clear, his lips are on yours. 

You push against his chest as you squeak in surprise. What is he doing? You tear your mouth away and gasp. 

“Sam!” You sputter. 

“Mm, he doesn’t deserve you, baby. Come on, let me show you what you need--” 

“What-- why--” you gulp. “No, I can’t.” 

“Kitten,” his hand falls down to your ass, “when’s the last time he even fucked you? I know you’re not all worked up just because a fight.” 

You blanch and push your lip out. How does he know? You shake your head. “No, that’s not...” 

“How long, baby?” He puts both hands on your hips and grips, kneading down to your thighs. 

“No--” 

“A month?” 

You look away as your eyes gloss over once more. 

“Longer?” 

You shiver and grab his hands. 

“Two... three...” 

You shake as you cling to him, “please, Sam--” 

“Six months? That’s it, right? Little longer?” 

“How--” you choke on your unintended confession. “No, Sam.” 

“I’m gonna treat you right, just relax,” he purrs. 

“I can’t. I love him,” you insist. 

“He doesn’t love you if he ain’t touching you,” he lurches your hips and easily puts you on your back. He shifts so that his knee is on the couch and drags the other up beside it. “Fuck, kitten, look at you,” he runs his hands up and down your thighs, “all dressed up for me, huh?” 

“Sammy, please--” 

“Mm, yes, keep calling me Sammy, baby,” his nails graze the fabric and he fingers curl around the elastic. 

You groan and press your hand to your forehead as your vision thrums. Your temples pound and your heart races in panic. You’re too drunk. 

He tugs and strips the pants past your ass. You whimper and throw your arm out. 

“Sammy... I... don’t feel good.” 

Your eyes roll back under your eyelids. You take deep breaths as you try to sober yourself. It only adds to the swirling sensation. Your legs raze with goosebumps as he frees your ankles from the elastic tails of the pajamas. You shiver and arch your back, exposed and weak. 

He growls as a rustle stirs the air and the fabric heaps noisily on the floor. He grabs your leg and bends it, leaning it against the back of the couch. He pulls your other over the edge as the couch jostles beneath him. You blink and see his blurry figure looming over you as he bends over your pelvis. 

You twitch and whine as he flutters his fingers along your folds. Your thighs tense. Your foot dangles just over the floor as your other sinks into the crack behind the cushion. Sam lowers himself as you retreat behind your eyelids. 

His breath fans over you as he hums and hovers over your pussy. He purrs and nuzzles the patch of hair. You moan and reach down blindly. He grabs your hand and shoves it back and slides his tongue between your lips. You gasp and spasm. 

He swipes his tongue again. You groan and your head falls to one side. You tilt your hips as he tends to you slowly, dragging up over your clit in long strokes before flicking back down. 

Shame speckles over you as you remember who he is. What he’s doing. This is Sam. This is Bucky’s best friend. Your friend. You're just friends. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you dig down into denial. This isn’t real. Your drunk. This is all just the twisted delusion of your alcohol-laden mind. It’s not Sam making you feel so delicious. It’s Bucky. It’s Bucky. It can’t be anyone else. 

He reaches up your stomach, tickling your bare skin, and slides his fingers beneath the bottom of your top. He fondles your chest as he laps at your hungrily. You moan and clasp onto his hand. It’s so good. So good it has to be Bucky. 

You roll your hips in time with his tongue. You reach down with your other hand to push his head down. You need the release. It’s been so long since you got more than the fleeting pleasure of your vibrator. The warmth, the eagerness, the need in his touch enthralls you. 

You murmur and mewl as your thighs tingle and your spine zing. You’re almost there. You feel the tension twisting tighter, tighter, tighter. You flex your feet as you tilt your hips frantically and cling to his head. 

Your orgasm spills over and you cry out, “oh, Bucky, Bucky....” 

He sucks on your clit as your climax crests and dissipates in a smattering of nerves. You huff and heave as you yawling turns to gibberish. His breath is damp as he pants against your leg before slowly raising himself. 

He grabs your jaw and sets your head straight. Sam’s voice cuts through your fantasy. Your eyes round as you stare up at his dire expression. He shoves down his jeans impatiently as he squeezes until your bones ache. 

He bends over, resting his hard dick against your cunt, and rocks against you. He smears his length along your wet folds, thrusting slowly, just enough to thrum but not enough to stoke anything more. You wriggle and whine. 

“Forget him, kitten,” he continues his deliberate thrusts, “you’ll be begging for me and only me soon enough.” 

[jjasen]

have you ever been in love?

summary: confessions at Midsummer’s with JJ

warnings: alcohol, cursing, angst aplenty 

a/n: for context, reader is Kiara’s childhood best friend and hangs out with the Pogues, and is also family friends of the Camerons ❀ 

word count: 2.9k

You and Kiara made your way across the neatly manicured lawn of the country club towards the Heywards, who were setting up the grill, arms linked as you tried not to stumble in your heels or trip over the hems of your dresses. Kie disentangled herself from your arm in order to approach Pope as she called out in an absolutely atrocious British accent, “Excuse me sir, but are we supposed to shuck these ourselves?” 

Pope spun around, ready to chew out another entitled kook, but relaxed when he saw it was the two of you. He nodded at you, then addressed Kie, “That accent was really bad,” he laughed. She made a face and scrunched her nose at him. 

“Looks good, Pope,” you smiled at him. “What are you making?” 

“Oysters,” he replied. You wrinkled your nose, and seeing your expression, he offered, “You know, oysters are supposed to be natural aphrodisiacs.”

“You’re not really selling it well, Pope,” said Kie, rolling her eyes and adjusting her purple flower crown. 

“Oh, shut up,” he said, “Anyways, I thought the two of you weren’t coming to this Midsummer’s shit.”

“Kie’s mom made her go, so she forced me come to ‘suffer in the oppressive horde of elitists’ with her,” you explained, turning your head as you heard somebody call out your name. Sarah waved at you from the porch and beckoned you to come over.

“Little miss Kook princess is summoning your presence,” Kiara grumbled. Pope snorted, glanced at you, and unsuccessfully tried to play it off as a cough. 

“Kie, you know I’m not getting in between whatever happened with...that,” you said patiently, rolling the shell pendant of your necklace between your fingers. She rolled her eyes but waved her hand at you and smiled gently, signaling you to see what Sarah wanted. You trekked back across the lawn and smiled as you approached the vivacious blonde.

“Babes, you made it!” Sarah cheered, looping her arms around your neck and pulling you in. You could smell her flowery jasmine perfume, and her wavy blonde hair tickled your nose.

“Yeah, I did! Sorry I missed your entrance, though, Kie and I were running late. You came with Topper, right?” You asked, glancing at her aforementioned boyfriend, who was sulkily nursing a crystal tumbler full of amber liquid and glowering at everyone who approached him.

She winced. “Sore subject. Let’s go get something to drink, yeah? I’ll tell you all about it.” You followed her to the bar on the edge of the dance floor, where Sarah ordered you both glasses of lemonade with sparkling water, sprigs of edible flowers and mint adorning the glasses. 

You smiled as you sipped your drink at one of the tall bar stools. “Tastes like childhood,” you said, having drunk countless glasses of the fizzy lemon beverage at Tannyhill with Sarah. The two of you continued to chat, watching  couples, including Ward and Rose, drift in their finery and flower crowns across the dance floor. 

“I swear to god, she’s going to poke Wheezie’s eye out with that thing,” Sarah laughed as you watched Rose squeeze the youngest Cameron sibling to her side as she talked to the Dr. Thornton. She suddenly frowned and glanced over at you, fiddling with her necklace and biting her lip. 

“Do you think you’ve ever been in love?” she asked, her face solemn, her honey-brown eyes widening. 

You thought of your friends, of the Pogues, all of you laughing together at the Chateau. You thought of JJ slinging his arm around you, belting out Taylor Swift lyrics with you, a beer can in his hand, of his casual, lopsided grin when he called your name. 

“I don’t know,” you said uncertainly. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I just- I just don’t think Topper gets me, y’know?” Sarah said, eyeing him and Kelce, who were downing shots and laughing on the porch. She traced a finger absentmindedly across the rim of her glass. “He’s just...so serious about everything. I don’t know, he’s getting really possessive all of a sudden, and I feel so- so suffocated, I guess.” 

You nodded and hummed in contemplation, understanding that she already felt smothered by her father’s expectations, but in the back of your mind you were still thinking about Sarah’s question. 

Had you ever been in love?

Was it love that you felt when JJ plucked a blushing pink beach rose off of the bushes that lined the boardwalk and tucked it in your hair, saying it reminded him of you? Was it love that time he taught you how to surf and applied aloe to your sunburnt back, and every muscle in your body tightened when his touch lingered a moment too long over you? Was it love when you answered his drunken 3:00 a.m. calls, and he slipped through your bedroom window just to hold you tight as he cried over his father? 

You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the thoughts of him from your mind, and turned to Sarah, who sprung up off of her stool all of a sudden. “Come on, let’s dance!” she exclaimed, grabbing your hand and dragging you onto the dance floor impatiently, her hand gripping yours tightly, and you tried not to stumble over the hem of your dress. 

“Sarah, you know I don’t dance,” you insisted, resisting her insistent tugs on your arm. 

“It’s not that hard! I’ll teach you, I promise. It won’t be the same as our Just Dance battles, I swear, I’ll go easy on you,” she wheedled. You rolled your eyes and relented, allowing her to take both of your hands and place your left hand on her shoulder, the other resting on her waist. She guided you through a basic waltz, despite the jazzy, fast-paced music that was floating through the night air, the string lights bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.

“Okay, I’m going to spin you now!” she exclaimed gleefully, twisting her arm and letting you go. Your eyes widened as you felt her hand slip from yours,  and you stumbled into Rafe instead of whirling back to Sarah. He was standing at a table alone, tumbler in hand, and he grabbed your waist with one arm, lifting his drink higher with his other hand so as not to spill it. 

“Hey, watch it!” He exclaimed gently. “You okay?” His forearm clenched around your waist to steady you as he looked down at you and set down his drink, a mixture of concern and amusement in his eyes. 

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, avoiding eye contact and tucking your hair behind your ear. You were unsure with where you stood with Rafe after his altercation with JJ and Pope at the annual summer movie night. “Sarah was trying to spin me, she was teaching me to dance, and I-” 

Rafe cut you off, waving his hand. “It’s all good,” he said absentmindedly, his eyes focused on something over your shoulder. If you had looked behind you, you would have seen JJ drawing near. “Here, show me what you got.” You glanced up at him as he caught your hand smoothly and twirled you, the skirt of your dress gently swirling out around your legs. 

“Okay, okay, pretty good!” He encouraged, looking you up and down. You laughed and let go of his hand, turning around to look around for Kie and biting your lip. 

Instead, you saw JJ approaching the dance floor, a tray of empty glasses perched with ease on one hand. He adjusted his bowtie with his other hand as he jogged down the porch steps towards you, looking dashing as ever in his server’s suit despite the purple bruise shadowing his jawline. You furrowed your brow, sure that you’d asked him yesterday if he was serving at Midsummer’s today, and that he had replied that he wasn’t.

JJ strode past you and lightly brushed your waist as he slipped behind you to hand a note to Sarah, and a shiver rushed down your spine at the brief contact. He glanced at you, at your dress, his gaze hardening as he saw Rafe standing behind you.

“JJ!” you greeted him, “I didn’t know you were serving tonight.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know you were here with him,” he said, jutting his chin at Rafe, “so I guess we’re even.” 

“What? No, I’m not-” you faltered, but he turned around to go back inside. 

“While you’re at it, get me a Mai Tai, huh, buddy?” Rafe called out. “Make it two!” Kelce jeered, making his way over to you. 

“Rafe, please stop,” you said coldly, sending him a scathing look as you tried to follow JJ up the steps, where Kiara’s mother grabbed your wrist.

“Mrs. Carerra!” you exclaimed, startled, straining to to see if JJ was okay.  Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Rafe, Kelce, Logan, and Noah follow him into the club. Your stomach sank with dread. Not again, you thought, please, don’t hurt him.

“Honey, just let him go,” she said, with sympathy in her eyes. “Boys like them, they’re not worth it.” 

You jerked back, unexpectedly stung at her words. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Carrera, but I really have to go,” you said, looking for JJ desperately through the club’s windows. “He’s worth it to me.”

Striding in purposefully, heels clicking on the floor, you ran through room after room of the country club in search of the blond pogue. “JJ?” you called out, hearing nothing but the distant music and chatter of the people outside in response. You made your way back outside, disheartened, hoping to find Pope and Kie to help you find JJ. 

You hurried across the wraparound porch, looking for a glimpse of Kiara’s lavender dress or a flash of brown curly hair as you rushed down the steps. 

“Look- look, man, I can walk myself, I got legs,” you heard. JJ. Wide-eyed with disbelief, you watched as a security guard roughly manhandled JJ across the porch. Heads turned to watch the confrontation. 

“Hey, Mr. Dunleavy, I see you got your drink there, I’m actually gonna down that,” JJ rambled, “Whew!” The security guard tightened his grip on him and jerked him down the steps. “Thanks, Daryl, really appreciate the discretion,” he said sarcastically, “I actually just need to find my date and I’ll be going...oh, there she is.”

JJ turned to Daryl, spreading his arms wide and giving him a mocking salute before snagging your hand. “JJ, what are you even doing?” you whispered, taken aback. He shushed you. “Pope, Kie, Rixon’s cove! Let’s roll!” he called over his shoulder, and you could hear Mr. Heyward and the Carreras admonishing their respective children as they ran to join the two of you, whooping with delight. 

Your heart began to pound as JJ took your hand and led you through the crowd with ease. You grinned despite yourself as the two of you broke into a run across the grass, hand in hand, veering around the club to where his motorbike was parked. Pope, Kiara, and John B were right behind you, panting and laughing, as JJ grabbed the extra helmet he kept for you and held it out. 

“We’ll meet you guys there, just give us a sec,” he announced, leaving no room for discussion. You wondered what had happened with Rafe, what had been said or done, that had gotten him so worked up. Once the others had loaded into the Twinkie and left, sending the two of you curious, questioning glances, you turned to JJ, helmet in your hands. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” you asked gently, stepping towards him and setting your helmet on the seat of his bike.

“Did you come here with Rafe?” JJ asked, his voice rough and scratchy, a strange tone of urgency in his question. The way he was looking at you made you feel feverish, a flush rising to your cheeks, and you were the first to break the intense eye contact. 

“Why do you care, JJ?” 

“Because- because I just do, okay?” 

“That’s not a reason,” you frowned. You fiddled with your necklace, the grooves of the seashell familiar and soothing to your touch. It was a tiny white clam shell that JJ had pressed into your palm once at the beach, a hole already bored into it. “For you,” he had said, grinning, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “a good-luck charm.” Later that day, you had strung it onto a dainty chain and clasped it around your neck, and hadn’t removed it since. 

JJ ran his hands through his hair roughly, pacing back and forth in front of his motorbike. “Fine. You really wanna know?” he snapped. He gesticulated wildly in the direction of the dance floor. “That was supposed to be me and you out there.” He huffed. “Listen, I like you, okay? I fucking- I fucking really like you, and I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I let myself think that I could ever deserve you. Shit, I’m falling in love, and I don’t know how to stop.” 

He rubbed his hands over his face and glanced at you, his gaze softening.

“We- we can pretend this never happened, I swear- shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ll get over you, I promise, just please- please don’t leave me,” he said desperately, his voice breaking and his blue eyes shining with unshed tears, begging you to respond with something, anything.

Something in your chest broke at the thought of JJ believing you could ever be capable of abandoning him. “JJ,” you whispered. You wanted, in that instance, to touch him more than ever, to pull him close to you. To hold him tight and never let him go.

“Listen, just tell me nothing is going to come out of this so that I can stop hoping, ok? I just- just please -” he rambled, before you reached for his face. You gazed into his clear cerulean eyes so intently you could have counted each of his eyelashes, and flickered your eyes down to his lips.

“JJ, stop,” you whispered. “I didn’t come here with Rafe. I would never do that to you.”

“What?” He blinked at you slowly, scanning your face in confusion, furrowing his brow. 

There was a blond eyelash on his cheekbone, and you brushed your finger over it, your cheeks burning, warm all over. You looked down. “I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.”

“What?” he said in disbelief. You gave him a gentle smile, and leaned in closer. You could feel the contours of his chest, feel his biceps flex as his arms hovered unsurely around your waist, the heat of his body incandescently burning through the thin silk of your dress.  

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, light as a feather. You continued to brush your lips down towards his jaw, stopping at the sultry curve of his mouth. You could feel the pounding of JJ’s heart, his pulse quickening at your touch and his breaths shallow. Pulling away, you looked into his blue eyes questioningly. Was that ok? Did you like that as much as I did? You tried to communicate through your gaze.

“Oh,” JJ mumbled. “Oh.” 

Leaning down, with that casual crooked grin of his, he brought his hand up to cup the bare skin of your neck, the other now firmly pressed into the small of your back, drawing you into the delicious heat of his body. Before you could blink, his lips were crashing down on yours and your hands were tangled into his hair and his hand was tracing your jaw, blissfully hot and feverish and oh, so this is love. This is what love feels like. 

Breathless, you moved to gasp for air as JJ continued to lean into you, wanting more, nestling into your neck and trailing hot sloppy kisses down your collarbones. “I thought,” he murmured between kisses, “that I’d never get to do this with you.” He pulled away to look at you, his expression soft, vulnerable, blue irises gleaming beneath half-closed eyelids, the crescent shape of his mouth curving gently. You felt giddily intoxicated with his proximity, as if the edges of your body had melted into him, and you pressed him closer to you. 

JJ cleared his throat and let out a low laugh. “We should, uh- we should probably head over to the cove,” he whispered, his breath heady and hot against your cheek. You nodded, reluctant to let him out of your embrace as he tenderly put on your helmet and clasped it beneath your chin. You straddled the bike behind JJ, and he glanced back at you, as if to check that you were really there, that this was real, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. You smiled at him widely and pecked his cheek in reassurance.

And then you were flying through the air, cheek pressed against JJ’s neck as the wind whipped through your hair, your arms wrapped around his waist. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen flex as he leaned forward, accelerating, and you thought, yes, yes, I have been in love. I am in love. 

[hauntingkiki]

HIII!!! can i request venture wedding hcs? how would their wedding be like with reader? How would they feel while getting ready?

IM CRYINGGG OMGG

SOMEONE PLEASE REQUEST A WEDDING ONESHOT SO I HAVE AN EXCUSE TO WRITE IT🙏🏻

Venture x Reader Wedding Headcanons

OverWatch

2nd POV

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

- let’s just start this off by saying; BABY IS STRESSING OUTTT!!

- they’re about to marry their best friend. YOU! the most BEAUTIFUL GIRL/PERSON IN THE WHOLE WORLD

- when they’re changing into their suit/with their groomsmen (a few guy colleagues and some of their guy family members) sloan is getting pep talks and words of encouragement from everyone in that room. not a single bad vibe is in the room!

- wedding theme!: whatever you want it to be. a classic, white wedding? you got it! gothic/vampire? hell yeah!

- ^ but! with your choice of theme; sloan also has some huge crystals (that match the theme ofc) that they’ve gotten from expeditions for table decoration!

- the location was kinda on sloan, they picked where they wanted to have the wedding BUT! they made sure YOU were okay with it before making it the finalized decision. if you didn’t like the location, don’t worry! they have like A MILLION MORE

- everyone in both of your families helped pay for the wedding (if needed), like your parents paid for your dress/suit and sloan’s parents paid for their suit

- when they were at the alter, they were sooo nervous, their hands playing with the rings on their fingers and the bracelets that were around their wrists to calm their nerves

- but when you walked down the isle with your father/father figure, all their nerves just melted away.

- you looked so GOOD in their eyes! their heart was racing, their eyes got watery, their face got hot (they cried) (you did too)

- your vows were pretty standard (if there’s spanish vows then yall did that too!)

- but when yall had your first kiss; you know this sucker dipped you into the kiss, twirling you like in those cheesy romance movies (LIKE IN TANGLED AT THE END)

- and now the reception.

- for the food a verity of sloan’s family meals and your family meals, most of them being hand made to avoid a lot of cost

- alcohol/champagne obviously. all the adults are either drunk asf or tipsy (if you have family who smokes/does drugs, it’s totally up to you if you want that in your environment!! i will not be saying anything about that because it’s very different for everyone)

- the younger kids who can’t drink get something fizzy! like apple cider or something!

- father daughter/mother son dance to whatever song you’d like:)

- sloan did a mother-child(son) dance to songbird by fleetwood mac OR mi cariñito by pepe aguilar

- first dance! sloan could not stop smiling like a fucking idiot, they were SO IN LOVEEE

- you both shed a few tears during the dance (and through the night)

- you two slow danced to (options because i can’t pick)

i only have i eyes for by the flamingos

unchained melody by elvis presley

here, there and everywhere by the beatles

bring it on home to me by sam cooke

amor eterno by rocío dúrcal

- everyone was BAWLING THEIR EYES OUT

- then the music played for the dance floor and it was some great songs! like;

september, earth wind and fire

i wanna dance with somebody, whitney houston

how sweet it is, james taylor

something stupid, frank n nancy sinatra

crazy in love, beyoncé

uptown girl, billy joel

rude, magic!

every little thing she does is magic, the police

and obviously some other songs!

- (FOR THE GIRLS/PEOPLE WEARING DRESSES) yall know the garter toss? where the groom goes under the brides dress to get it off all ‘sexy’ with the most embarrassing song on the planet while your family watched?

- yeah. yall did that.

- obviously with no littles present (14 and younger went somewhere else while this was happening)

- the song? pick your poison

get low, lil jon & the east side boyz

yeah!, usher

earned it, the weekend

let’s get it on, marvin gaye

grind with me, pretty ricky



- ^ COMPLETELY RANDOM, I WAS LOOKING FOR SONGS FOR THE GARTER TOSS AND THE PINK PANTHER THEME STARTED PLAYING…AND WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS BY QUEEN I CANT

- sloan definitely used their teeth to take it off, probably also got a little carried away too; kissing your legs and running their hands up and down before snapping back to reality when their mother literally SCREAMED at them for being under your dress for almost 5 minutes

- after the wedding, the two of you got to your hotel/air bnb and just relaxed, got out of your fancy outfits, took makeup off, showered (together LMAO) and just got comfy!

- you both just kind of talked about the night and what you wanted in the future and other things:)

- let’s just say you two didn’t get a lot of sleep afterwards😳

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

did i just write this all in one sitting? yes. yes i did.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE I LOVED IT!!

would you guys be interested if i made a wedding playlist for the (hypothetical) oneshot?😳

[pumpkinsy0]

Now I see a lot of Dallas with Tim or with Johnny content. But y’know what is would like to see? Dallas and Sodapop as a couple. I love tropes where one person isn’t use to genuine kindness and falls head over heels over the one person who is just that..

So General Headacanons for Dallas and Sodapop? (Whatever their ship name maybe because I refuse to call them Dallypop)

ive actually heard about this ship a bit but never read content for em, so this is a moment in history☝🏽☝🏽, ship name wise, off the tope of my head is like texas coke, cause soda in texas is called coke and yada yada yada, but booooo, and then there was fizzy state, but that sounds stupider, so listen i swear ill have a better one one of these days i swear

•as soon as i read this i thought “soda has no room to talk about pony and curly anymore”, if ur dating dally, ANY advice u have about dating should b thrown out the window and ur voice should fall on deaf ears

•theyve made out on someones car before, i wouldnt put that above them, especially if its someone who dally doesnt like

•dally makes comments about soda right in front of pony and pony hates it so much, he wants to rip his ears out hes not trynna hear that

•man even steve is like “??????” cause how did u guys get together what could yall possibly have in common enough to date each other for

•soda likes hearing about dallys nyc stories, some of em r fucked up, but others r pretty funny, like a coin toss when he asks him to tell him one

•dally cant rlly get THAT mad at soda, annoyed??? sure, but soda just has that face u cant get mad at, dallys not feelin 100% better, but he is rolling his eyes and letting whatever happened slide

•dally strikes me as a jealous/possessive partner he hates when soda gets hit on by anyone, he doesnt make it OBVIOUS that theyre together, but he does push them away

•yes, dally is staring while soda is working on a car, he would b staring harder if he saw soda at a rodeo

•getting drunk still isnt sodas scene, but dally does sneak soda over into bucks to party from time to time

•darry doesnt,,,even know how to go about this one, like at all, like yea, nothin BIG has changed but those two????rlly??????

•id like to think dally is more attentive to pony bc of soda and how important he is to him, kinda the same w soda and johnny

•it would take a while for dally to get used to how soda flirts bc how soda flirts is just not a way that dally is used to at all, but he doesnt let that show

[grandlinedreams]

i luv ur writing ssoooooo much!!!!!!!!!

can u maybe write abt law taking care of u when ur super drunk

tyyyyyyy

OH HELL YEAH thank-you so much!! I hope I can do this justice for you!!

[Heads up!: alcohol/drinking, confession of sorts, post-wano]

You know your limits when it comes to alcohol, and you passed that threshold at least two drinks ago. You'd started out slow, watching as some of your crewmates drank with more abandon ㅡ but you can't blame them when you're supposed to be celebrating.

But then Nami had come to join you, passing off the drink in her hand to you. It'd been something fizzy and tasting of fruit ㅡ and then somewhere down the road, you'd been roped into drinking harder stuff.

And now the world is spinning against the backdrop of voices, louder for the varying states of inebriation near the bonfire. And then, in the distance, you can still hear the clap of fireworks.

"There you are," someone intones, low voice familiar before they sigh. "Don't tell me you're drunk too."

"Not drunk," you protest, and Law's eyes narrow before you amend, "Okay. Maybe a little." You pause, surveying the empty tankard beside you. "Maybe a lot."

"Perfect," Law sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was bad enough most of the others were either drunk or getting close to it, but you too? "Come on, time for bed. We're leaving in the morning."

"Don't wanna," you whine, and a muscle in Law's jaw jumps before he moves towards you. Ignoring your yelp of surprise as he scoops you up, adjusting his grip on you as he turns. "I'll puke on you if you drop me."

"I'll drop you if you puke on me," Law retorts. "I thought you were better than this. Just how much did you have to drink?"

"Enough," you answer, studying the skin of his chest exposed by his shirt, the peek of bandages beneath reminding your own injuries. "Shouldn't we celebrate not dying?"

Law halts for a second before he resumes walking, and you listen to the quiet symphony of crickets and laughter. "We should," he answers quietly, "you're right."

You sigh, leaning your head against the front of Law's shoulder and close your eyes, the floaty feeling of inebriation still buzzing in your veins. There's the rattle of a shoji door, the snap of it closing after Law steps through.

"Stay put," he tells you as he lowers you onto the futon. "I'm going to grab water."

"No," you say, grabbing his hand and tugging when he turns. "Stay." You pull again and he complies despite the brief roll of his eyes, and he makes a noise of surprise when you latch onto him.

"What are youㅡ"

"Be quiet." You bury your face in his chest. "Lay with me." Law tenses for a long moment before he sighs and relaxes, arms wrapped losely around you. Tattooed fingers drag through your hair.

"Your head's gonna hurt if you don't drink water," Law murmurs. Your lips brush bare skin.

"Don't care."

"You will." Law frowns at the way you cling to him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Your eyes close, deciding to let the words fall freely with the remaining liquid courage in your veins. The worst he can do is reject you completely, put an end to the odd relationship limbo you've existed in for months. "Just glad you're here." Pause. "Law?"

"What?"

"I love you." You can feel him tense, the slow sink of your own heart. At least you can write this off as being drunk, pretend that you never said it in the morning.

But Law surprises you as he relaxes, hand in your hair cradling gently, pressing you to hin as tightly as he can without hurting you, curling into you the way you do to him. Lips brush the top of your head. And then, softly,

"I love you too."

[unabashegirl]

Meeting her || Part III

Author's note: hello everyone! As promised here is the final part of Meeting Her! I really hope you all enjoyed it! Let me know if you want me to continue with more prompts like "them getting married, moving in together, having kids, etc"

Golden boy

Meeting Her (1)

Meeting Her (2)

word count: 4.0K

The freezing air rushed into Y/N's apartment as she opened the front door, and she instinctively pulled the sides of her bathrobe closer to protect herself from the cold. Still groggy from sleep, she squinted to get a good look at Harry standing at her doorstep.

His rain-drenched figure, with curls flattened against his forehead and a shirt clinging to his torso, puzzled her. "Are you going to let me in?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. She widened the door, and he stumbled in, clearly affected by alcohol. Y/N hoped he hadn't driven in such a state for everyone's safety.

As the cold air swept into her apartment, she felt a shiver down her spine, not only from the weather but also from the unexpected presence of Harry. She wrapped her bathrobe tighter around herself, creating a shield against the unwelcome chill.

"Why are you here?" she inquired, moving towards her bedroom to fetch pain relievers for the inevitable hangover. Y/N handed them to him along with an Alka-Seltzer.

“You know you are actually meaner than I thought," he slurred as he downed the fizzy water. Y/N observed him, amused by his intoxicated state. She couldn't help but notice the disarray of emotions playing across his face—frustration, confusion, and a tinge of vulnerability.

"How dare you come to my match with another man?" Harry accused, banging the glass on the coffee table. The abrupt sound echoed in the room, mirroring the abrupt intrusion of chaos into Y/N's quiet night. She could sense the storm of emotions brewing within him.

“We aren’t doing this with you drunk,” she retorted, “You can sleep on the couch.” Y/N's tone carried a mix of exhaustion and irritation. She was tired, not just physically, but emotionally worn out from the tangled mess that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

“On the couch?!” Harry exclaimed, “I have seen you naked, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken desires and the complexity of their relationship.

"Harry!" she cut him off, “This is not okay. You can’t just barge in here, accuse me of taking a man to your match, and then ask to share the bed with me.” The room felt charged with tension, a palpable awkwardness that only intensified with every word spoken.

“You did take a man to my match!” he insisted, “It’s mean. It’s rude. I would never do that to you!” The bitterness in his voice clashed with the vulnerability in his eyes, creating a stark contrast that left Y/N torn.

“It was my brother! Emma invited my brother and my father to your game!” Y/N clarified, frustration seeping into her words. The revelation brought a mix of realization and embarrassment to Harry's features.

“This is insane,” she muttered under her breath, running her fingers through her hair. The chaos outside seemed to reflect the chaos within her own mind. She felt a surge of irritation and helplessness, trapped in a situation she hadn't anticipated.

"Why were you ever angry? You have no right. You have a girlfriend and are in a serious relationship," Y/N argued, her tone cutting through the room's tense atmosphere.

“I don’t want you to be my mistress. I don’t want to be with another woman. I want you to be mine,” Harry confessed, fueled by the courage alcohol provided. Y/N's eyes widened at the raw honesty in his words, but beneath that honesty, she could sense a layer of confusion and conflict.

Y/N was at a loss for words, torn between emotions. The room felt like a battleground of conflicting feelings—desire, guilt, frustration, and a hint of longing. She didn't know what to tell him. She also didn't want to keep arguing and keep going back and forth. Y/N just wanted to move on either forward with him or alone. The guilt was killing her, and until he didn’t resolve his issues with Emma, she wasn’t going to keep her distance.

“I’m tired, and you're drunk. Let's sleep. Tomorrow we can talk about the rest,” Y/N suggested, signaling the end of the argument. Harry silently agreed with a nod as she prepared the couch for him.

“I’ll leave this extra blanket out here for you in case you get cold,” Y/N added, “it sometimes can get very cold. Goodnight.” The room felt heavy with unresolved tension, emotions lingering in the air even as Y/N retreated to her bedroom, leaving Harry alone with his conflicted thoughts.

The room was cloaked in darkness, and Y/N lay in her bed, staring into the emptiness of the night. The silence enveloped her, broken only by the occasional sounds of the city outside. Despite the late hour, sleep remained elusive, slipping through her grasp like grains of sand.

Her mind was a tempest of conflicting thoughts, each wave crashing against the shore of her consciousness. The recent encounter with Harry echoed in her thoughts, creating ripples of confusion and longing. His presence, so close yet unattainable, cast a shadow over her solitude.

She turned restlessly in her bed, the sheets whispering in protest. The subtle creaks of the mattress mirrored the restlessness within her soul. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage trapping her with her own thoughts.

She couldn't shake the image of Harry standing at her doorstep, drenched in rain, his vulnerability exposed. The scent of alcohol lingered in her memory, and the echo of his words reverberated through the silent space. "I want you to be mine," he had confessed, and the weight of those words hung in the air.

A sigh escaped her lips as she contemplated the complexity of their connection. In the quiet of the night, she couldn't escape the truth: the magnetic pull drawing her toward Harry was undeniable. The intoxicating blend of desire and guilt was an intricate dance, a labyrinth of emotions that seemed impossible to navigate.

Closing her eyes, she tried to banish the thoughts that tormented her. Yet, as darkness surrounded her, memories flooded back with vivid intensity. The touch of his hand, the warmth of his breath, the raw honesty in his gaze—they lingered like ghostly imprints on her skin.

The proximity of the couch where Harry now slept only heightened the internal conflict. He was near, separated by mere walls, and yet a vast chasm seemed to stretch between them. The unspoken words hung in the air, leaving an uncharted territory of emotions that begged exploration.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she sat up in bed, the city's distant hum a lullaby that failed to soothe her restless soul. The desire for clarity battled with the fear of unraveling the delicate balance they had maintained. Y/N couldn't ignore the truth any longer—the emotions she harbored for Harry were a force beyond her control.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she padded softly across the room. The cool floor beneath her feet served as a grounding force, a reminder that the world continued to spin beyond the confines of her thoughts.

The door to the living room stood slightly ajar, and a sliver of dim light spilled into the darkness. Y/N hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open, revealing the silhouette of Harry on the couch. He slept peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his presence had stirred.

As she watched him, an ache settled in her chest—a longing for something undefined, a yearning for the answers that remained elusive. She wondered if he, too, wrestled with the complexities of their connection in the realm of dreams.

"Can't sleep either?" Harry's voice cut through the quiet darkness, his eyes still closed.

"No," Y/N admitted, standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room. The familiar surroundings of her apartment felt foreign, and an unspoken tension lingered in the air. Y/N felt like a visitor in her own space. A thick silence enveloped them as she contemplated the best way to invite him into her bedroom without sounding desperate. "Can you please sleep in the room with me? I can't sleep thinking you're out here and probably uncomfortable."

In the dimly lit room, she could barely discern his silhouette. Watching him rise to his feet, he reached for the pillow she had given him from her own bed. Y/N silently led him to her bedroom, a space he had never seen before.

The room emanated a tasteful vibrancy, adorned with colorful paintings and a large round paper lamp suspended in the center. Her bed boasted an array of pillows, matching a knitted throw blanket at its foot.

As Harry settled into the bed, his body relaxed. The room's cleanliness and orderliness prompted a desire for a refreshing shower. The bright white comforter was incredibly fluffy, the cold sheets providing a pleasant contrast against his skin. The pillows carried the comforting scents of lavender and vanilla, reminiscent of Y/N herself.

Y/N turned off the lamp, shrouding the room in darkness, and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

"I've never been in your bedroom," Harry whispered into the obscurity.

"Neither have I," she replied, settling into a comfortable position. A sense of ease washed over her, and sleep followed shortly after.

The morning dawned, and Harry ventured out to grab some breakfast for them. Surprisingly, he felt no hangover—just a slight ache in his body, understandable given the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

Pulling up the hood of his jacket to conceal his famous hair, he strolled down the street with a clear destination in mind. A craving for eggs, hot sauce, black coffee, and a desire to surprise Y/N motivated him. With her still in slumber, he aimed to make their morning delightful, eager to start the day on a positive note. Apologizing for his previous night's state was his first priority, and what better way than to begin with a hearty breakfast for her.

His purchases included breakfast sandwiches, hot chocolate, a latte, an americano, and a cinnamon roll for Y/N. Though he may have bought more than necessary, hunger and the appealing array of food influenced his choices.

On his way back to her apartment, he couldn't escape the harsh gaze of newspaper covers featuring him. As anticipated, the media had capitalized on their loss, blaming him for the game's outcome. The penalty shot had been particularly abysmal, out of character for him, and he braced himself for the media's ruthless criticism. Lowering his head, he quickened his pace toward the apartment.

Arriving at the entrance, he noticed he was now plastered across newspaper headlines. The doorman greeted him with a smile, clearly relishing the newfound excitement his job had acquired since last night. The fact that the Manchester star had spent the night added an unexpected twist to his duties.

She was still asleep when he returned, so he ventured out into the living room. Taking a moment to appreciate up close all the pictures, the art, the books, and everything else she owned.

“Harry?” He finally heard her call out from the bedroom, her voice tinged with surprise.

“I am right here,” Harry responded as he walked into the bedroom carrying the bags containing the food, hoping it was still warm and delicious. “I bought us some breakfast.”

Her face and eyes were puffy, hair slipping out of the ponytail she had gone to bed with. She was still sleepy, and Harry found it adorable.

“How long have you been up?” She yawned as he climbed into bed with her. Y/N was surprised she hadn’t heard him get up or leave; she was a light sleeper. Harry proceeded to take out the food and prepare everything.

“About an hour or so,” Harry explained. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made sure to get you some different things.” Y/N nodded and kindly smiled at him.

“Thank you,” Y/N was the first to take a big bite out of the breakfast sandwich. “This is so good!” she exclaimed after swallowing. “You need to tell me where you got this.”

“I’ll show you someday,” he chuckled as he continued taking ferocious bites. “When is your next show? Soon?”

“Yeah, in two weeks. I am a bit nervous about this one. It’s special.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great. You have a talent that not everyone has.”

“What are you talking about? You are insanely good at football. Not everyone can play like that,” Harry chuckled and shook his head at her as he sipped some coffee to pass the food.

“Most people would disagree with you today.”

“You mean because of the penalty shot?” she asked. “Everyone has bad days, H,” Y/N shrugged. “Everyone could have missed it, and the majority of the people currently judging you can barely get up from the couch or dribble a ball.”

“I guess you are right. It will pass,” Harry said as he finished his coffee.

“Unless football isn’t what you truly want, then you shouldn’t quit or put yourself down just because of what someone else says or does,” Harry nodded, wiping his mouth and cleaning his hands.

“Are you going to invite me to the art show?” Harry bluntly asked, “I promise to behave and not get drunk. I am sorry about that.”

“Mmm,” Y/N had only one condition, “I’ll invite you, but no one else.” She didn’t have to say a name for Harry to understand that she was talking about Emma and how she had made a big scene at her last show.

“Don’t worry. I am breaking things up with her today,” Harry said, making Y/N almost choke on her food. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I want to be with you and only you. That is unless you no longer want me.” Y/N gulped heavily as she tried to find the right words to express how much she wanted to be exclusive with him and be his.

“I— I do, but you have to make things right with her,” Harry nodded and reached for his phone in his back pocket. The coach was trying to reach him. He had training in a few hours and planned on telling Emma in the evening that he was done.

“I’ve got to go,” Harry said as he read over the urgent text he had received. They obviously had to do damage control after everything that had happened in the last game, and they needed Harry in attendance. “I’ll see you?” he asked as he leaned over and gave her a gentle hug. Harry didn’t leave without attempting to give her a kiss, but she refused, telling him only after he broke up with Emma.

It had been a few hours since Harry left, and Y/N found herself in her home studio, hunched over as she meticulously painted three canvases, adding the final touches. The music blared loudly, creating an atmosphere where the gloominess seemed to vanish, and she no longer felt trapped in sadness. Just as the song faded into the next one, the doorbell rang vigorously.

"I'm coming!" Y/N yelled as she set down her paintbrush and rushed to the door. Upon opening it, her regret was instantaneous—it was Emma. Without wasting a moment, Emma barged into the apartment.

"I know he's here," Emma declared as she walked into the living room.

"Who are you talking about?" Y/N asked, closing the door behind her, feeling an instant surge of nervousness. She hoped Harry hadn't left any evidence of his overnight stay.

"Harry! Who else!?" Emma yelled, storming into Y/N's bedroom. "I know he's here, Y/N. I'm not an idiot! People saw him around here this morning!"

"You're insane. Why would he be here?" Y/N questioned, trailing behind Emma, who was now opening every door in the apartment. Finally, they entered Y/N's studio. "And I don't appreciate you barging in here as if it's yours."

"I don't know! You tell me, Y/N!" Emma shouted, turning to face her for the first time, arms crossed. A friend had texted her about spotting Harry during a jog, and after analyzing the location, Emma realized it was Y/N's apartment.

"Lower your voice, Emma. This is my house. My home. I don't go to your house and yell at you there," Y/N retorted, clearly unwilling to tolerate Emma's attitude. She was nervous and just wanted Emma out.

"Why was he here?! I know he was here! My friend would never lie," Emma insisted.

"This is crazy!" Y/N replied. "Harry isn't here. Call him!"

"Don't you think I've done that already! He's not picking up!" Emma snapped, scanning the room for any evidence of Harry's presence. She didn't want to believe it, but things were starting to make sense. Emma finally understood why he always stood up for Y/N and shut her down whenever she mentioned her.

"I don't know what you want me to do or say! Leave! I have stuff to do!" Y/N pointed to the door, her eyes drifting to the covered sculpture, the main piece for her art show, which could easily give her away.

"What's under there?" Emma asked, eyeing the tall, protruding sculpture.

"A sculpture? For my art show?" Y/N replied as if it were obvious, giving Emma a look as though she had grown two heads. "Enough, Emma! Go!" She nodded, turning to leave, but before Y/N could stop her, Emma pulled off the sheet, revealing Y/N's masterpiece: Harry, wearing only a sheet.

“I knew it! You are a whore! How could you!”  She exclaimed as she laid eyes on the sculpture of her boyfriend. It was undoubtedly him. Y/N had meticulously crafted him from his toes up to the neck, deliberately omitting the head to avoid making it glaringly obvious. She also chose not to incorporate his tattoos, purely for the sake of aesthetics.

"Since when?!" Emma erupted, "you've always been jealous that I lead a fabulous life while yours is miserable!"

"Leave," Y/N asserted.

“You are a shitty friend and a fucking whore! I am going to ruin you, Y/N. Say goodbye to your career” was the last thing she said before she left. Y/N was left scared for the future as an artist. 

Harry had just finished training when he spotted her in the distance, struggling to walk on her heels as she trudged across the field.

"Is that your bird?" One of Harry's teammates inquired, catching sight of her. The men on the field halted their activities, diverting their attention toward her.

"Yeah. Just give me a second," Harry replied, jogging over to her. "What are you doing here?"

"You've been with Y/N," Emma blurted out instantly. "How could you? I've been nothing but a perfect girlfriend to you. I've done everything for you!"

"Perfect? Are we in the same relationship? We constantly fight. You're always nagging and making me do things I don't want, and if I don't, you just throw a fit," he calmly explained. "It's not healthy, and I'm tired of pretending that we're this perfect couple just so you can get your five minutes of fame."

"Five minutes of fame?! I always go to your games and stand beside you during your matches." Emma tried her best to start crying. She wanted to make him feel bad. She wanted him to beg for her forgiveness. However, Harry just wanted to leave her. He was defending his actions.

"You're just not a nice person, Emma. I don't want to be with you anymore. Clearly, we're incompatible. I'm sorry for cheating on you; I definitely shouldn't have done that to you, and I wish things weren't ending this way," he said, not wanting to waste any more time in a futile argument. Harry simply wanted to move on and remove her from his life. "I wish you the best."

The burden of secrets and the weight of a toxic relationship were lifted from Harry's shoulders as he finally came clean and ended things with Emma. He felt a newfound sense of freedom, but it wasn't long before the aftermath unfolded.

Emma, seeking revenge, exposed Harry's actions to the media, accusing him of cheating. However, Y/N's name was spared, thanks to legal advice. Harry was relieved that Y/N remained unaffected by the public storm.

Despite the personal turmoil, Harry faced professional consequences. His manager, publicist, and coach advised him to maintain distance from Y/N for a few weeks until the media frenzy subsided. The tabloids scrutinized his every move, dissecting his life beyond football.

The club, wanting to distance themselves from the scandal, enforced strict rules on Harry's public interactions. Although he disliked the restrictions, Harry complied to protect his contract. A month passed before the media found new topics, allowing Harry some breathing room.

As Y/N's art show approached, Harry, aware of the potential media circus, decided to wait until the event concluded before making his presence known. He couldn't risk overshadowing Y/N's success or jeopardizing her career.

Once the gallery cleared out, Harry entered discreetly. He observed Y/N from a distance, captivated by her beauty in a red cocktail dress, a vibrant contrast to the monochrome surroundings. Y/N was engrossed in a sculpture, and Harry couldn't believe his eyes—it was a detailed portrayal of him.

"He looks familiar," Harry remarked, his voice breaking the silence from behind her. Y/N turned, recognizing the unmistakable depth of his accent. "Who is he?" Harry's eyes widened in disbelief as he observed the sculpture, realizing it was a detailed and tasteful rendition of himself.

"That's the man I fell in love with, who tragically disappeared," Y/N explained with a hint of playfulness as Harry took a few steps closer, pressing his chest against her back. "Thinking of removing him from my collection. He didn't make a big splash," she joked, though the sculpture had already found a buyer.

"I doubt that," Y/N giggled, "I didn't know you were using me for your art. If I had, I would have hit the gym more vigorously."

"I wanted to capture you through my eyes and everyone else's. This is how you look from other people's perspectives," Y/N elucidated, "Perfect, actually."

Harry planted a soft kiss on the side of her neck, sending shivers through her body. She turned to face him, meeting the eyes of the man who had occupied her dreams and thoughts.

"I've missed you terribly," he confessed, a profound sense of love, understanding, and connection evident in his words. She had become an integral part of his life, consuming his thoughts and desires. Harry longed to be with her constantly, to be everything for her, just as she had become everything to him.

"It's good to see you," she smiled, a mixture of emotions in her eyes. Y/N had many questions, but on this special night, she didn't want to taint the atmosphere. "I thought you had forgotten about me."

"Never," Harry assured her, cupping her face and sealing their reunion with a kiss. The shared moment spoke volumes, an unspoken promise to navigate the complexities of their relationship together.

LET ME KNOW IF YOU LIKED IT!

[luciferfemme]

After meeting with Lucifer, Alastor isn't especially looking forward to meeting the King of Lust. Especially with how excited both Charlie and Angel are. It sets off his possessive protective energies over Angel. Until he meets the Sin and his charming boyfriend and feels so at ease that he doesn't even want to fuck with him like he did Lucifer. Especially when Fizz and Angel end up getting lost in a conversation and Alastor and Oz just watch the two of them like totally in love.

Alastor: I was prepared not to like you.

Oz: Why's that?

Alastor: Your brother Lucifer for one. And Angel is obsessed with you for another.

Oz: *chuckles* Yeah Luci can be a handful. Not technically my brother it's complicated. And your boyfriend is safe with me. I've got my hands full with my Fizzy anyway but just because I'm the Sin of Lust doesn't make me a homewrecker.

Alastor: *smiles* I like you Asmodeus.

Oz: Likewise.

*90 minutes and many drinks later Oz and Alastor are drunk*

Oz: So you like... killed his boss?

Alastor: Yup.

Oz: That's so cool.

Alastor: Thank you.

Oz: I wish I could kill Fizz's old boss.

Alastor: Consider it done my friend.

Oz: *grins* Appreciate the offer but he's also a deadly sin.

Alastor: Ozzie around here I'm known as the overlord killer I think I can handle it.

Oz: Fair fair.

Angel and Fizz watching their boyfriends snicker and talk.

Fizz: What do you think they're talking about?

Angel: Knowing my boyfriend? Murdering anyone who's ever hurt us.

Fizz: Kinda hot.

Angel: I know right? Let's go bug 'em.

*Angel and Fizz climb into their boyfriend's laps which makes both Oz and Alastor flustered*

[ipegchangbin]

changbin pegger i invite you to walk with me, come on take my hand, here’s a suspiciously perfect peach for you my love.

i’ve been having dreams and visions and hallucinations, a single face plaguing my every waking thought, a certain curly haired fiend (no no, not our usual small chunky furry friend) today i command a “bang chan” as they (kids these days) call him. in my dreams i am sitting at a bar all dark and cool and tall and beautiful and mysterious, as i am, and this enchanting little minx is just sitting there, all cute and pretty and fuckable, as he is, and i want him and he wants me but he’s shy u know :( the poor guy, he steals his glances and i just full on ogle, send a smirk his way here and there, but oh no he’s turning away now and he’s not smiling back, maybe i read him wrong maybe he- or not because he’s suddenly making his way over, conjuring up some confidence, okay my turn! i entertain him a little, we talk, i buy him a drink (it’s just coke, he says he doesn’t drink, he’s just here with friends, it’s okay i can work with that) maybe, maybe just maybe he’s staring at my lips too much by the time our drinks are gone and we’re all close and personal, and mayyybe we kiss and everything is beautiful, the sun sets as a double rainbow paints the sky and i can hear the laughter of a thousand pink dolphins

and then i take him to my penthouse (the club bathroom) AND I FREAK IT, I FREAK IT SO GOOD SO NICE SO SWEET, as i do, we both came so much all over his stomach and i have to set him on the counter to catch his breath and then i clean him up and leave first, and he never stops thinking about me, i intentionally did not give him my number, whatever i said about being dark and mysterious (and did i mention tall and beautiful?) and no dick will ever compare to mine

and then i wake up changbin pegger unfortunately 😣😣😣😣

side note: i realized writing this it’s probably my first time sending an ask in my years of tumblr history, i’ve never had anything to say but u enchant me changbin pegger they should make u president of the world

beloved fruitcakebin you have truly blessed me with your experience in the dreamworld and i cannot get enough of this (and thank you for the beautiful peach it mustve taken you far too many laps around your grandfathers land to find the perfect one)

🏷️ sub!bang chan, dom!gn!reader, public bathroom tipsy sex

i love the idea of discovering and befriending a meek channie while in a social event…there’s something so charming about a guy who doesn’t even want to drink alcoholics to let loose.

maybe you’re the vice he’s looking for.

so as you make your advances, inch closer and get the boy’s awkwardness riled up to a ten, he looks cuter when he’s flushed and flustered. as pink as the peach you offered to me — peach soda in his hands — and he’s drowning in both the fizzy sip and your sparkling gaze.

you’re eating him up with your eyes alone.

or maybe your lips, because before you both know it, the self-introductions turn into spontaneous kisses.

neither of you know how it happened, maybe it was the intimate distance and semi-privacy in a sea of drunk people, but

you invite him over to the restroom with you because “you need someone to guide you” or something of the sort: it doesn’t matter, he follows you anyway. you expect him to.

he’s a mindless dog at this point, only loyal to a person he just met.

he follows you into the stall without thinking at all and you’re grateful that nobody seems to notice, because his eyes are only set on you even if he’s sober yet drunk on your love.

realizing he’s right there in the stall with you, you say “fuck it” out loud and it gets his cock harder than it already was. you can tell how hot and heavy it is, straining against his pants as you pull the fabric down while crashing your lips against his plump ones again.

chan tastes the alcohol on your mouth but also the sweetness of lust and it spurs him on. he moans without a care in the world and he’s accidentally loud. when you break away from the kiss, he hungers for more, leaning in with a desperation that you have to chuckle at. you’ve never met one like him.

“y/n,” he mutters and you’re surprised he still remembers your name, “may i touch you?”

you smirk. “hmm, i wanted to touch you first.”

you cup his balls through his underwear and he whimpers like a hurt puppy, but there’s a need and satisfaction in his system that he can’t explain. it feels too good to be wrong but he lets your hand play with him, running your fingers up the shaft before squeezing his thick cock even if it’s so big and dumb that it barely fits your hand.

you jerk him while kissing him — more like biting his lips and leaving hickeys on surrounding sensitive skin — and he’s undressing you hurriedly, cupping your chest and reaching for your bottoms only to realize that he’s about to get fucked with the aggression escalating from your end.

you rub your crotch on his exposed cock and ride his lower body against the wall, grabbing him by the neck and calling him pathetic things.

“such a good boy. can’t believe you were so shy. do you want to be a slut or do you want to be my favorite toy?”

chan’s head spins and he can’t keep up, your hand digs into his neck while the other tugs on his hair as you keep going and going. your hips roll so well on his, his pelvis starts to shake from the sheer pleasure, your words and raspy post-tipsy voice takes him to heaven, you ride his shirt up to expose his toned stomach, and—

“y/n! fuck!”

he cums, screaming almost, shooting his own load all over himself while you spray your essence on his cock.

you lick up the hand marks on his neck, down to his heaving chest (and nipples), and lick his own cum off his abs. he’s so particularly savory with a sweet aftertaste that it might just addicting.

chan’s a shaking mess and he backs into the wall of the stall while you clean up his still-leaking cock with your tongue.

but it feels so good.

you don’t give him your number. you don’t do anything. you merely kiss him goodbye and all he has of you is your cum on his body, your alluring face ingrained in his mind, along with a dark and mysterious name that haunts him for what seems to be forever.

a week later, your stroll downtown makes you meet face-to-face with chan again, and he looks like a puppy that found its way back home.

“hi, y/n!” he smiles, as if he hadn’t just had a wet dream about you the night prior to your fated meeting.

thank you beloved fruitcakebin, ill think about this ask forever, you should start writing this (while i write dj!chan)

[marcandreyuri]

also one more: “you’re never alone” + sidgeno

vampire au, soulmate au, the prequel to this

838 words

The bond is new, fragile. Zhenya can practically feel the tendrils of it loosely winding around him and Sidney, binding them together in brilliant golden light, changing them both.

He’s so aware now–the blood of a bondmate rushing through his body, making his vision sharper and body stronger and his heart… for the first time in centuries when he puts his hand to his chest he feels his heart beat.

He stumbles home from the blood bar he and Sasha went to after the game, Sasha crowing about his victory to the entire club, the humans clustered in groups giggling at his antics and vampires heckling him to get off the table, bondmates on their laps with their heads tucked demurely into their vampire’s neck. Sasha did get off, grabbing one of the designated donors and sinking his fangs into her neck as Zhenya sipped his vodka soda.

He feels uncoordinated as he goes up the stairs to his and Sid’s bedroom, and that's another way he's been changed–he gets drunk now, the alcohol mixing deliciously with Sidney’s blood and making Zhenya giggle in the cab the bar made him take.

He can see in the dark as clearly as he can in the light, but the lamp clicks on when he comes into their bedroom, Sid’s little voice sleepily saying, “Zhenya?” as it does.

“It’s me,” Zhenya says and toes off his shoes as he crawls over the blankets so he’s on top of Sidney, feeling his firm body below him.

“Hi,” Sid says slowly. He blinks up at Zhenya as he adjusts to the light. Sid’s been changed by the bond too–his heartbeat slowed after it was infected by Zhenya’s venom, his body temperature dropping too low for humans as Zhenya’s rose–but he still needs his sleep.

“Should get some rest, Sid,” Zhenya says, and he runs his hand over Sidney’s eyes. Sid sends a rush of fondness through the bond, always tingling now in the back of Zhenya’s mind, but he doesn't indulge him and opens his eyes again.

“I can't sleep when you're like that,” Sid says and smiles.

“Like what?”

“All–fizzy,” Sid says and Zhenya searches the bond before he realizes that Sid can feel how drunk he is.

“Maybe you get drunk too,” Zhenya says and sets his teeth against Sid’s throat as Sidney hums in anticipation beneath him, squirming to grind their hips together.

Zhenya smirks against Sid’s skin and asks, “You want?”

“Please,” Sid begs.

“Just give you me,” Zhenya promises, “Not take from you.”

“Please,” Sid whines again, pushing his neck against Zhenya’s mouth.

His fangs descend, and Zhenya bites, not drinking, just letting his venom flow into Sid, letting it take him over until he can feel through the bond Sid getting as venom-drunk as Zhenya is from the shots Sasha made him take.

As he feeds Sidney his venom, he carefully reaches his hand down the front of Sid’s boxers, gripping his half-hard cock and stroking him gently. When he grips tighter, jerking him off harder, Sid thrashes against Zhenya, and he pulls back.

“You bruise,” Zhenya sighs, kissing at the closing bite mark on Sid’s neck, the bruise from bucking against Zhenya’s teeth already forming.

“I like it,” Sidney slurs before gasping as Zhenya thumbs over the slit of his cock, gathering the precome pooling there.

This part of the bond is addictive, feeling Sidney’s pleasure in his own head and sending his back to Sid, an endless loop of lust between them.

After, when Sid’s stomach is messy from his own come and Zhenya’s spilled inside of him and they're laying in their bed together, Sidney puts his hand against Zhenya’s chest.

“I like this too,” he says simply, feeling the beat under his palm and smiling shyly up at Zhenya.

He’s so beautiful–freshly eighteen, new to the league that Zhenya’s been skating in for decades, dark curls and a pouty mouth, smooth skin and hot, sweet blood. Zhenya can't comprehend him sometimes, can't linger on the feelings this little creature inspires. His bondmate, the one he waited centuries for.

“Beats for you,” Zhenya says. He feels a wave of affection sent through their bond, deep and powerful and so Sidney. “Because of you.”

Sid blushes, warm and pink in the lamplight, still venom-drunk.

Mario brought them together. Sidney agreed to the bond three days after getting drafted so he could be faster, stronger, better in every way. But those early days in Zhenya’s den made Sid into something else too, something that blushes long after midnight as Zhenya lets that incomprehensible, overwhelming feeling flood the bond.

“I missed you tonight,” Sid whispers. “Can I come next time? So I’m not alone.”

You're never alone Zhenya thinks, and Sidney gasps.

“Sid?” Zhenya questions.

“I–I could hear you,” Sid says before Zhenya hears in his own mind Sidney’s voice saying In here.

Zhenya feels his eyes go wide before he smiles, pressing his lips to Sidney and feeling the golden tendrils of their bond wrap around his entire body.