#tequila misery

[goatmanslatenightsnack]

Designs for my (sudo-real) band called tequila misery :P

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

Just imagining what it would be like for you and Eddie to both drunk and looking for each other. You don't realize you've been talking to one another the whole time.

Steve's party had been going on now practically all night. You and Eddie arrived hours ago, and now you can't seem to find each other. He went off with his friends, and so did you. You mingled and stayed close together when you first got there. But soon, you unintentionally drifted away the drunker you got.

Your face was tingling, and your head felt so heavy. Your whole body just wasn't corporating. Your limbs felt like they were in a constant battle to keep you standing or even walking straight. You kept calling out for Eddie.

You wanted to go home but knew he wasn't driving. Not in the condition he was probably in. He got drunk way before you did. You saw him throwing back shot after shot. Then chasing it down with his favorite beer, a pbr. The thought of the taste is already making you gag. He was a lightweight no matter how much he tried arguing against it.

You were stumbling and kept calling for your boyfriend. "Eddie!"

You even grabbed some random dude just because he had longish hair. He was definitely not your Eddie. You made a face of diagust and mumbled "ew" under your breath when the guy turned around.

The party kept getting louder the drunker you became. Everyone kinda started looking a like. Your vision was nothing but a blur. You even confused Nancy for Steve at one point. All because she had on his jacket.

The funny thing is that she never even bothered to correct you. If it wasn't for Robin speaking up to tell you, it was actually Nancy you were talking to. You would still be calling her Steve the rest of the time.

The killer hangover you're destined to have in the morning made you wish you never started drinking tonight. Too late. You knew you were screwed by the fifth shot of tequila. You and Eddie were going to be in misery.

You stumble again and flop down on the couch next to someone. A man who you really can't even focus on any distinctive features. He's just there slumped back with his legs spread open holding a candle that he assumed was his beer can.

You may be drunk off your ass but not drunk enough to mistake a candle for a can of beer. You look over, and he's nothing but a blurry figure to you. You blink and blink, trying to figure out who he is. Your drunkened mind comes up with nothing. He is another stranger to you. Little did you know that's actually your boyfriend. Who you have been on the hunt for all night long.

You heard him mumbling something in coherent over and over again.

"What you say?" You slurred.

He burped before repeating. "I said you have seen my girlfriend? She's cute. You can't miss her."

"Oh no havent seen her...m'lookin for my boyfriend actually. He's a nerd you can't miss'em" you giggled and sat up a little.

"Haven't seen any nerds around." Eddie quipped and went to take a drink from the candle.

He made a face when nothing went into his mouth. He still has yet to notice his actual beer is on the table.

"Been lookin' for her all night. I even cried at the beer keg." He sounded like he was about to cry again. "Guys out there forced me to come sit down to calm myself."

You put your hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He sounded so sad you couldn't help but feel bad for him. "She's around here somewhere."

"My boyfriend is missing too, startin' to think he's in a bush passed out." You rubbed your eyes and laid back against the couch.

Eddie snorts and goes in his pocket to grab his pack of cigarettes.

"All I know is when I find that little shit I can pass out in peace." He slurred and practically ripped open his pack of cigarettes to get one out.

"Yeah, me too-- When I find my boyfriend, I'm passing out too." You hiccuped, and your eyes slowly got heavier. The party started to die down a lot. People were falling asleep or walking home.

"When you'd get here?" Eddie turned to face you. "Been lookin' for you all night!"

[goodgirlfaith1]

Sneaking Around

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Fem!reader

Summary: Sneaking around with your brother’s best friend is fun, until your brother finds out.

Warnings: Intoxication, violence, kissing, sexual innuendos, fluff.

Word count: 3.7k

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D LIKE ME TO WRITE THIS IMAGINE FROM JAKE’S WIFE’S POV!

I’d love to write a Jake Seresin imagine, so let me know if this is something you’d want to read!

Girls, Girls, Girls by Motley Crue had just began playing through the Hard Deck as you walked in the door. The bar was filled with people, but you immediately spotted your best friend, Natasha. She was talking to Penny, who was standing behind the bar.

You met Natasha through your big brother, Jake Seresin, since she was one of his best friends. It was Natasha who insisted you come out tonight, so here you were, walking into the Hard Rock, where you knew your big brother, and your boyfriend would both be...in the same room.

Bradley was an amazing boyfriend and he made you the happiest you'd ever been, but the only issue was that neither of you had told Jake yet. Bradley was Jake's best friend, but Jake was insanely over protective of you, and you knew how pissed off he would be if one of his friends even looked at you the wrong way. And Bradley had done much more than just look at you.

You made it about halfway through the bar before Natasha turned her gaze over her shoulder and spotted you. A grin took over her face. "Olivia!" She shouted, clearly drunk, and happy to see you.

You noticed a few heads turn when Natasha screamed your name, including Bradley's. He was standing next to Jake by the pool table, looking handsome as ever. You noticed his face light up when his gaze landed on you, but when Jake said something in his ear, he was pulled back to reality, and quickly tried to hide the look on his face, his gaze returning to the pool table.

Seeing how happy Natasha was, you assumed the mission she and the rest of the group, including Bradley and Jake, were doing today. You felt a sense of relief wash over you. You and Camila - Jake's wife - had both been worried sick about all of your friends all day. Of course, Camila was better at hiding how much she worried about Jake, for his own benefit. She was an incredible support system for him.

You wanted to be that for Bradley.

In the weeks leading up to the mission, you'd noticed a shift in both Bradley's and Jake's behaviour. Anytime you asked what they were doing, Jake told you it was classified and that for your own safety, he couldn't tell you, and Bradley said the same whenever you asked him.

"Look at you!" Natasha said as you neared her. "You look amazing!" She pulled you in for a hug when you reached her, which was something she only ever did when she was drunk. You were just happy she was having fun.

"Thanks, Tash," you smiled. "Tell me how it went, I can't wait any longer," you begged her to put you out of your misery.

"It went well," Natasha smiled. "We did it!"

You smiled, letting out a breath in relief. "Thank god," you said. "And everyone's okay? No one's hurt?"

Natasha shook her head, "nope, everyone's fine," she smiled.

You smiled at your best friend. "I'm so proud of you, Tash."

"I'm proud of me too!" She said before she turned to Penny. "Penny, can I please have two tequila shots?"

You smiled at Natasha, rolling your eyes, "fine, just one!"

~~

~One hour later~

It was in fact, not just one.

After one too many tequila shots, you were feeling tipsy, and you'd just caught Bradley stealing another glance at you for what felt like the millionth time tonight...though you weren't complaining. Although you were all hanging out as a group, you hadn't spoken to Bradley one on one yet, with Jake being around.

Smiling to yourself, you set your drink down on the pool table and looked at Bradley over your shoulder, finding his eyes already on you. You smiled and turned around, beginning to walk away and make your way across the bar, heading towards the restroom.

He'd been driving you crazy the whole night, and you seemed to be having the same effect on him. He looked so damn good in his aviator suit, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him whenever Jake wasn't looking.

When you walked into the restroom, the door hardly had a chance to close behind you before it swung open again, and in walked Bradley, looking handsome as ever. You let your gaze run down his body, smiling as you took him in.

"Hi, lieutenant," you said with a smile.

A smirk pulled on Bradley's lips, and he took a few quick steps towards you, wrapping his strong arms around your lower back before he crashed his lips into yours. You completely melted into him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as you craned your neck to meet his kiss. You could taste whiskey on his tongue as it moved with yours, and you hummed into the kiss. You knew Bradley was always horny when he drank whiskey.

You pulled back, breaking the kiss, and a look of disappointment flashed across Bradley's face."Tash said the mission went well," you said with a smile.

Bradley nodded, "mhm." A boyish grin grew on his face as his large hands snaked up your back to rest on either side of your ribcage. "Are you proud of me, baby?" There was a look of vulnerability in his brown eyes as they flicked between yours.

Bradley always wanted to be strong for you, and that was something you admired about him, but seeing him being so vulnerable with you like this meant more to you than he'd ever know.

You nodded with a smile, gently toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm so proud of you, Bradley." You smiled, "You always make me proud."

Bradley smiled and licked his lips. There was stars in his eyes as he gazed down at you. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off you all night, and he was past trying to hide it. He knew now that he was in too deep to care about Jake finding out.

"Can we talk about these shorts for a second?" Bradley said with a smile, flicking his gaze back up to meet yours. "And this little top?"

You smiled, running your hands down his muscular arms. "What about it?" You played dumb as you pulled Bradley's Ray Ban's out of the pocket on the chest of his aviator suit and slid them onto your face, letting them rest on the bridge of your nose.

Bradley's gaze darkened ever so slightly. "D'you know how hard it's been for me to have to stand there and watch all these stupid fuckin' little boys drool over you all night? Maybe I should just let everyone know your mine."

Your gaze fell down to his lips, lingering there for a few short seconds. "And how would you do that?" You flicked your gaze back up to meet his.

"Why don't I show you?"

A smile grew on your lips at Bradley's words. He was quick to connect his lips with yours, and you felt his hands run down your lower back as you wrapped yours a little tighter around the back of his neck. You melted into him when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you smiled into the kiss, moving his sunglasses so they were resting on top of your head. You could feel yourself aching for him. You threaded your fingers into his hair and tugged gently, making Bradley groan into the kiss. The noise sent butterflies erupting in your stomach, and you could feel yourself soaked for him.

You felt Bradley's large hands make their way further down your lower back until they reached your ass, which he gave a squeeze before he picked you up. You smiled into the kiss as you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he walked you over to the sink and sat you down on the counter next to it.

Standing in between your legs, Bradley broke the kiss, breathing heavily as his eyes flicked between youre. "Tell me you're mine," he said, his eyes filled with lust, but also a little neediness. It turned you on.

"I'm yours," you whispered, leaving a kiss on his lips. "All yours." You kissed him again and a boyish grin took over his face. You smiled too, breathing out a laugh. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Bradley's smile never faded. "You're mine," he said, as if he was in disbelief. 

You placed your hands on either side of his face, pulling him a little closer. "Yours," you repeated, and you meant it. "I don't want anyone else."

Bradley looked at you like he was about to say something. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he smiled as he crashed his lips against yours. You smiled into the kiss, too, threading your fingers into his hair.

It was a heated and urgent kiss, and it was clear how needy both of you were for one another. You melted under Bradley's touch as his hands roamed your body, kissing him back with as much urgency as he gave you.

Until you heard the door swing open.

Shit.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound, and you and Bradley were both quick to take your hands off each other. Your lips parted at the sight of Camila standing by the door, a hand covering her mouth.

"I'm so sorry," she said, trying to hide a smile.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Camila didn't seem at all shocked, and you wondered why.

Why was she being so cool about this?

"Why do you not seem surprised right now?" Bradley asked her. He was clearly confused, too.

"Because it's obvious you two like each other," she smiled. "I don't know how Jake hasn't figured it out yet."

"So Jake doesn't know?" You asked.

Camila shook her head, "no." You felt so relieved. You'd hate for Jake to put the pieces together himself or hear it from someone else. You owed it to him to tell him yourself.

"But, I do think you should come with me, 'cause I think Jake might be coming in here in a minute," Camila said, taking a glance over her shoulder at the door as she walked towards you.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you got down off the counter, "why?"

Camila's eyebrows raised and her lips parted, "no reason," she said.

Your face scrunched up when the realisation hit that Camila and Jake were headed in here to do the same thing as you and Bradley were about to do. "Ew," you shook your head.

"Sorry," Camila said awkwardly. She took Bradley's sunglasses off your head and handed them back to Bradley, who took them from her with an appreciative smile, though he was dying inside. He wanted nothing more than to tell Jake about you and him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could wait. He was sick of sneaking around, he wanted everyone to know you were with him.

"Come on," Camila said, putting her arm around you. "Lets get you out of here."

"Thanks, Cam," you said softly, giving Bradley a glance over your shoulder before you walked out of the restroom and back into the bar with Camila. There was an expression on Bradley's face you couldn't quite read.

~~

You spent the next few hours painfully needy for Bradley, but getting caught by Camila was a close enough call - it could've been Jake that walked in on you. And god knows how badly that would've ended.

You and the rest of the group - including Bradley and Jake - had been playing pool for the past half hour, and you and Bradley had been stealing glances at each other whenever you can. You just hoped it wasn’t obvious, though no one seems to suspect anything.

Just as you were about to take your turn, you heard a voice from behind you. "Excuse me, miss." You turned around, meeting the gaze of a man who you didn't recognise. He looked to be around the same age as you. His blue eyes wandered down your body shamelessly, and you thanked god Jake was at the bar, getting another round of drinks. "Can I buy you a drink?"

You smiled awkwardly and shook your head, aware of the fact that Bradley was standing behind you. "No, thanks. I'm good."

You turned your back to him, ready to take your turn until you felt a pair of hands take hold of either side of your waist. You stole a quick glance at Bradley, and he was glaring at the man. You swore his eyes could burn holes right into him.

"Come on," the man said with a smile as you turned around to face him, his hands still on your waist. You'd be lying it you said you didn't feel extremely uncomfortable. "You won't regret it." He raised his eyebrows, smiling.

"She said no," Bradley said from behind you.

Uh oh.

The cocky smile was wiped straight off the man's face when his gaze landed on Bradley. He clearly hadn't noticed him until now. "Bradshaw," he said.

"Williams, I suggest you take your hands off my girlfriend before I break them." You could tell by Bradley's tone alone that he was absolutely seething. "'Cause I will."

The man quickly took his hands off you and took a step back, but Bradley was quick to take a step forward, now standing in front of you. You glanced at the bar, and your heart dropped when you couldn't see Jake. You knew he must've been making his way back over to the group.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise she was with you!" The man pleaded as Bradley towered over him, his jaw clenched.

"Is something wrong?"

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest when you heard Jake's voice. Your gaze snapped to your right, and there he was.

"I-I didn't know she was his girlfriend!" The man said to Jake.

And you swear you could feel your heart drop to your stomach.

Jake's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he flicked his gaze between the three of you. "Whose girlfriend?"

"Bradshaw's!"

And just like that, Jake's expression went from confused, straight to angry. His green eyes narrowed as his gaze flicked between you and Bradley, and you could feel your palms sweating.

"Fuck off, Williams," Jake said, keeping his darkened gaze trained on Bradley's.

If looks could kill.

"Outside," he ordered Bradley. "Now."

You feared what Jake was going to do. You knew he could be unpredictable when it came to protecting you. "Jake, lets just talk-"

"Stay out of it, Olivia," Jake interrupted you.

It felt like a knife had been lodged into your chest when your name left his lips, so bitterly. Jake only ever called you by your full name when he was angry, which was hardly ever. You were so used to him calling you Liv, you felt scholded when he called you by your full name.

Jake turned around and began walking away, and when you took a step forward to follow him outside, Bradley stepped in front of you. "Stay here, baby. It's okay."

Bradley could tell how worried you were by the look on your face, but he wanted to let you deal with it and take ownership for his actions. He owed it to his best friend.

When Jake stepped outside, Bradley followed closely behind, but the second Bradley stepped onto the sand, Jake was ready, and he threw a hard punch straight across Bradley's face.

It killed you to watch Jake hit Bradley, but what killed you even more was the way tht Bradley didn't fight back. He took it, wiping away the blood that had begun to trickle down from his nostril. You suddenly felt a wave of guilt hit you, it wasn't fair that Bradley was taking the fall for both of your actions.

Your vision soon became blurred, and you felt a pair of arms wrap around you. It was Camila. You kept your gaze fixed on Bradley and Jake as you cried into her shoulder. She gently rubbed her hand up and down your back as you cried. "I love him, Camila."

"I know you do, honey," she said softly, holding you tight.

You watched as Jake took hold of Bradley's collar to throw another punch, but Bradley said something to him that made him stop in his tracks. You weren't sure what Bradley said, but you thanked god for whatever it was. You couldn't watch Jake hit him again.

Jake said to Bradley with a serious expression on his face. When Bradley nodded, Jake let go of his collar and took a step back.

"What did he say?" You heard Natasha's voice from behind you.

Camila looked to you, smiling softly. "I think we both know what he said," she said to you, raising her eyebrows expectantly. You knew what she was getting at, and you shook your head, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks.

"No," you said, smiling as you shook your head. "I don't think he feels that way."

"I think he does," Camila smiled softly. "He loves you," she whispered teasingly, just loud enough for you to hear.

"Shut up," you smiled, feeling a little embarrassed, though you hoped she was right.

Camila wiped the tears from your face and you took a breath in, smiling softly. "It's okay. See?" She nodded her head towards Bradley and Jake, and when you turned your gaze to them, you noticed they were now talking in a more calm manner. Jake still looked a little irritated as he stood in front of Bradley, who was now sat on the hood of his car, looking a little frustrated as he spoke. He was clearly trying to explain himself.

After five or ten minutes - though it felt like forever for you - Bradley stood up from the hood of his car, standing in front of Jake. Jake said something to him with a serious look on his face and Bradley nodded. It looked like Bradley said I promise, but you couldn’t be 100% sure.

You couldn't stop the smile from growing on your face when Jake pulled Bradley in for a hug, patting his back.

The two of them walked back into the bar together a couple minutes later, and you quickly left the rest of the group at the pool table and began weaving through the crowds of people until you reached Jake and Bradley.

"Are you okay?" You asked Bradley, who nodded and smiled softly down at you as you took a gentle hold of his face to inspect it. There was still a faint blood stain beneath his nose. "You didn't have to hit him," you turned to Jake.

"I know, I overreacted Liv. I'm sorry, but I just saw red. You're my baby sister, I'm supposed to protect you from assholes that only want one thing from you," Jake explained, flicking his gaze to Bradley. "But clearly, this asshole's in it for the long run."

You smiled, breathing out a laugh through your nose. "So, you're not mad?"

Jake shook his head, "I'm not mad."

A wide grin took over your face. "Thanks Jakey boy," you said as you threw your arms around your big brother. Jake smiled and wrapped his arms around you, and you gave him a squeeze, feeling a huge weight lifted off your chest now that he knew.

"I love you, kid," he said.

"I love you too," you smiled, pulling back. You felt Bradley's arm wrap around your side, and you leaned into him, wrapping your arm around him.

"Remember what I said," Jake said to Bradley. "That wasn't a threat, it was a promise." And with that, Jake walked away, making his way towards the group.

You craned your neck to meet Bradley's gaze, he was so much taller than you. "What did he say to you?"

Bradley wrapped his arms around your waist, smiling softly down at you. "He told me he'd kill me if I ever break your heart."

You rolled your eyes and placed your hands on either side of his face, still a little concerned. "Are you sure you're alright?" Bradley pulled closer until your body was pressed flush against his as you gently wiped away the last of the blood stain from under his nose with your thumb.

He smiled down at you, "I'm okay, sweetheart."

"I'm so sorry he hit you." You shook your head, feeling so guilty.

Bradley shrugged, "it was worth it." Your smile grew wider into a grin, you felt so lucky. "You know what this means?"

"What?"

"I can finally let everyone know you're mine," Bradley said with a smile before closing the gap in between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours. You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms a little tighter around the back of his neck.

It felt so good to kiss him in public. Sneaking around could be exciting at times, but you knew that you loved Bradley, and you wanted everyone to know you were together.

Bradley's arms remained wrapped around your waist when you broke the kiss, and you placed your hands on his muscular chest. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him the truth," Bradley answered.

You smiled softly, tilting your head to the side slightly. "Which is?"

"That I want so much more with you than just sex," he began. You smiled up at him, and he gently brushed a few stray hairs off your face. "That I want a future with you more than anything," he continued. "And that I'm in love with you."

So many butterflies erupted in your stomach, you swore you could've opened a sanctuary. You couldn't believe he felt the same way as you did. A smile slowly grew on your face as Bradley's words sank in.

"You are?"

Bradley nodded, smiling softly as he gazed down at you. "I am."

You grinned widely and jumped into his arms. Bradley was more than ready, and picked you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. With your legs wrapped around his waist, you smiled as you took hold of his face and kissed him.

"I love you, too."

[caratacus]

Love letter to tequila

I was never a tequila drinker. That feeling you get, when you feel like you’re about to throw up, some people get that after getting sick on a particular type of alcohol. Just the smell of that particular type of drink sets them off. I’d never drank tequila and yet, when I smelled it, it was as if I’d had many bad nights suffering from its ill effects. Until I had good tequila. Now I long for it. Much like I have always longed for the Southwest. Dry, exquisite desolation, where tequila is the rain. The elixir that balances my soul as much as it slakes my thirst. It is both the fire on the cool desert night and the cool desert night that quenches my overheating body in hot scorching sun. I’ve never been much of a drinker. It’s never much agreed with me. Instantaneous headaches, general malaise. Anything related to misery comes to mind. But now I am concerned, after all these years abstaining, I may have developed an unhealthy obsession with a liquid that transports me to that romanticized region of copper, green cacti, viridian, gold, rose and all the magnificent hues at sunrise and sunset. Those things that our senses and brains have evolved to awaken the soul, set it afire, and make the heart ache; burning into mind a haunting memory of constant yearning. Heaven is Zion.

[shadeysprings]

Rebound - Part I

—DBF!Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Your night of wallowing in your misery takes a different turn when your dad’s best friend bumps into you at the bar. 

Warnings: noncon/dubcon undertones, oral sex with fingers at play, unprotected sex, age gap (around 20-25 years), kinda SoftDark!Joel but also nah & predatory vibes. Use the warnings wisely and tread carefully. But nothing to worry about for this part for now.

A/N: Another Joel fic for ya nasties. This is a Modern AU so no brain-eating fungus is present. Also, tell me what kind of Joel you wanna see next! This is a mini-series, y'all!

Your feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support Content Creators! And of course, I hope y’all enjoy!❤️

“Fuck you, Alex,” you murmur under your breath before taking a shot of the liquor, the burn of the tequila is a welcome sensation.

Slamming the glass down against the bar top, you give the bartender a tipsy smile of apology when he looks at you in disapproval of your rowdy actions. But can he really blame you? The anger you thought had passed slowly starts bubbling in your core, your hand gripping tight around the glass before letting out a defeated sigh.

Bullshit!

That’s what you call the reasons he gave you that fateful afternoon when you marched into his office, worrying, thinking if he was alright and well but also annoyed for ignoring you the entire five days he was on his business trip. 

You couldn’t take it any longer. His silence, too deafening and his disregard becoming too much to handle that you stormed into his office the day after you knew he would be back. You even went as far as missing a day of work, Denise’s nagging ringing in your ears when you called that morning. 

Though you can bear her wrath, something you’ve done countless times. But this? Not this. Not with Alex toying with your feelings. 

I’m not ready for anything serious yet.

You deserve someone who’ll give you the time and attention you want. And that’s not me. But you can always call me when you feel lonely. 

Oh, how you wanted to scream at him and punch away the smug look on his face. To throw the things sitting idly on his desk and cause a ruckus and fully express that you are not one to be played with. To make him regret wasting your time loving him and taking care of him. 

But you didn’t.

Instead, you nodded in defeat, much to your chagrin, and bade him goodbye, shoving him as hard as you could when you ran out of his office. You ignored the stares of curiosity his co-workers threw at you, your heels clacking against the marble floor as you rushed through the lobby so that no one would stop and notice the tears running down your face and hear the sound of your heart breaking. 

And now, here you are—wallowing in your self-pity, your sadness, and loneliness with tequila being your only friend.

Unshed tears begin welling in your eyes and you mop them away harshly with the back of your hand. You call the attention of the bartender once more, a little loud and more obnoxious than you expected, and order another round of shots.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ alone in a place like this?”

Your back straightens upon hearing the lilt of the man’s voice. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widen in surprise when you see those familiar hazel orbs glinting against the light of the bar mirroring your expression.

You almost don’t recognize him without the flannel he usually wears, replaced by a navy suit jacket hiding the same colored shirt underneath. His salt and pepper hair is tousled back neatly and the scruffy facial hair you’re used to seeing him with is neatly trimmed, accentuation further the cut of his jaw.

“Joel?” you ask with a soft voice. “Wh—”

“Sweetheart—” he grunts, “Jesus—fuck!” he takes a step back, disbelief and embarrassment evident on his face before he turns to you once more, a sigh leaving his lips. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I thought you were—wait,” he pauses mid-way, palm pressing flat on the bar when he leans closer. “Why are you crying?”

“I—”

You turn away quickly to face the bar and dab away the tears away you didn’t know escaped, cursing yourself for allowing them to fall in the first place. But you stop moving when you feel a hand gently wrap around your wrist, your eyes looking upward to see Joel with concern looming in his. 

“I—I wasn’t,” you say with a chuckle, hoping the display of mirth would mask your lie. “I just had something in my eye and the tequila they serve here is very st—”

“You know that I’ll know if you’re lying to me, sweetheart.” Joel scolds and you pout at his words, knowing full well how much the man knows you. “Who hurt you? Was it that stupid boyfriend of yours?” he growls.

His question makes you blink in surprise. “You know about Alex?”

“Yeah. Your papa told me about him before I moved here.”

“Moved? Here? But this is a long way from Tex—”

“Don’t try to change the subject, sweetheart.” he interrupts, hand moving to cup the side of your face with his thumb reaching over to rub gently underneath your eye. “Now, tell me what happened.” 

Releasing a breath of resignation, you turn back to face the bar and grab one of the shot glasses already lined up in front of you. 

“He broke up with me,” you admit, tipping your head back as you take a drink and hiss when the liquid burns your throat. “After five days of ignoring my calls and messages, he tells me he isn’t ready to be in a committed relationship and a couple of bullshit nonsense.”

You glance at Joel, waiting for him to chime in or say anything, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes focused on you, the hand once on your cheek now resting on your shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze. You continue. 

“I loved him, Joel—fuck! I still do.” you cry, the tears flowing freely, though this time, you do nothing to wipe them away. “I just don’t understand why he would do this to me. Why he would ghost me like some stupid teenager and hurt me instead of being honest with me.”

You frown as doubts begin to plague you and your self-esteem slowly crumbles. You never once were the first person people chose, always the last, or if the universe was being kind, at least the second. And meeting Alex, you thought that would change, that for once, someone actually chose you, wanted you.

He was sweet, attentive, and possessed all the qualities anyone would want in a partner. The sex was definitely amazing but that was simply a consolation for you for it was his personality and charm that drew you closer to him. But people always said ‘if it’s too good to be true, it probably is’ and what he did and the pain he’s caused you, only proved it to be very accurate.

“Was I not good enough?” A hiccup erupts from your lips and you press the heels of your palms to your eyes when the tears keep going, sobbing silently as sadness completely takes over you. “Was I not worthy enough to be loved? To be honest to?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Compassion laces Joel’s voice and you keep your head down to avoid him seeing you in such a state when he takes your hands away from your face. You allow him to wipe away the tears, calloused hands cupping your face gently afterward and tipping your head back for your eyes to meet his. “Never think that because you are enough and you are worth it.” he intones, thumbs gently caressing your cheek to put away stray tears.

“You are beautiful, inside and out, and that boy couldn’t see that. Just know that someone is out there and they want you, will do anything to be with you and it will only be a matter of time before they reveal themselves.” His words, sweet and comforting, pierce through your heart for no one has ever told you such things. You want to believe him, you really do, but a small part inside tells you that he simply pities you and is feeding you words you want to hear. 

“You’re perfect,” he adds and leans over to press a kiss on your forehead. You sit on your stool, stunned at his display of intimacy and staring up at his warm, caramel gaze when he steps closer. “I hope you can see that.”

Warmth blooms at the base of your neck, crawling up your cheeks and you pull away from Joel’s hold to face the bar instead, feeling shy with the way he’s acting. Still, you’re grateful for his presence, happy to have even bumped into him even if it was a weird coincidence.

“T-Thank you, Joel.” you give him a small, pathetic smile. “Really—it means a lot and I’m happy you’re here.” 

“Anything for the best girl I know.” he grins at you and calls on the bartender before leaning against the bar and setting a hand on your thigh. “Tell you what, why don’t we drink and let the alcohol take that heartache of yours away.” You startle when the bartender sets two tumblers of whiskey in front of the two of you and stare at the glass when Joel casually slides it in your direction. “No need to think of the pain but be happy at the fact that loser saved you years of it.”

He lifts his glass to you, a grin etched on his face. 

“What do you say?”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springlibrary and turn on notifications.

[andavs]

Drinking Preferences in 9-1-1

Quick note: All of this is free from paid product placement because the show doesn’t have the characters interact with/drink real alcohol brands. They only use real brands for set dressing when they aren’t the focus and wouldn’t really be recognizable unless you already know that bottle/label.

So Maddie and Chimney have Grand Marnier and Monopolowa vodka (real brands) sitting out on a bar cart but the one bottle anyone interacts with is the fake brand of Glencallan scotch. The bar Chimney worked at was fully stocked with real brands of vodka (Deep Eddy, Stolichnaya, Tito's, Absolut) but no one actually touches them.

The fake prop brands fall into two categories: totally fake and generic, and lookalikes.

The totally fake brands are things like Glencallan scotch (a mashup of Glenlivet and Macallan) or the piscos behind the bar in Peru. Buck has Meichtry Draft beer in his fridge, which is a common prop beer that other shows use too, and a lot of characters in the show drink the generic Genuine beer.

The lookalikes are things like the beer Buck serves Connor that's called Cerveza Extra but it's written in a similar font to Corona Extra so to the passing glance, it’s recognizable to most people as a real brand they’re familiar with. When Buck and Hen are doing shots, the tequila is Carlos Medina Especial, made to look like Jose Cuervo. (Judging from the bottle shape and back label, Buck and Taylor were also doing shots of a different fake Jose Cuervo.)

Because they aren’t restrained by product placement, the show can give the characters their own drinking preferences instead of having them all drink the same brand with the clearly visible label conveniently turned towards the camera.

And because I was watching anyway, I kept track of how many times each character drinks what. (Scenes that show them drinking and what they're drinking, not counting up every drink they've had.)

So as of 6x12:

Chimney

Beer: 15 | Wine: 9 | Spirits: 4 | Cocktails: 0

Chimney seems to prefer beer, and he also drinks wine with Maddie pretty often. His go-to spirit appears to be tequila, but he also had scotch while his dad was visiting.

When he’s hanging out, he has a beer or two.

When he's misery-drinking, he has more than two, like when Albert first showed up or when he felt responsible for letting Shannon die.

When shit’s going down that he's not directly involved in, like when the Buckleys were coming or when Karen thought Hen was cheating again, he goes for tequila. It's a fake Don Julio called Señor Suertes.

But when things were really wrong, when Maddie first left and he was falling apart trying to figure out what happened to her, there was no evidence of him drinking at all. The entire apartment was covered in baby stuff.

Maddie

Beer: 2 | Wine: 18 | Spirits: 0 | Cocktails: 0

Maddie almost exclusively drinks wine, and in their new house, she and Chimney have a small, full wine rack on the counter.

She first drinks a beer after dispatch was taken hostage, when both Chim and Buck are also having beer but Josh is having wine. She seems to have another beer at May's graduation party, but everyone's drinks are in plastic cups and look more like juice than their usual prop beverages.

She stops drinking through all of s4 (pregnant) and doesn't seem to have another drink until the balcony with Buck at the end of s5.

Athena

Beer: 2 | Wine: 26 | Spirits: 4 | Cocktails: 3

Athena drinks the most out of the main characters.

She usually drinks wine, but she'll also go for something stronger, usually when she's out at a bar. She often has a glass of wine with dinner, and seems to favor having one after a rough day. After she slapped Harry, she drank a neat whiskey at home. She's added whiskey to her coffee twice.

But like Chimney, when she's spiraling and obsessively cleaning the entire house after realizing Hudson was in there touching their belongings, she was totally sober.

Bobby

Beer: 0 | Wine: 0 | Spirits: 3 | Cocktails: 0 | Club Soda: 2

Obviously Bobby doesn't drink, but when he was struggling with relapsing in Starting Over, he was holding the same prop Glencallan scotch that Chim has. When he did relapse in Worst Day Ever, he was drinking a fake Jack Daniels. In Point of Origin, he was drinking a generic vodka.

(Interesting that he chose a 35 year scotch, which is not cheap, when he previously drank Jack, which is about $25.)

When he's out with people who are drinking, he usually goes for club soda or water.

(The same scotch being used for Bobby, Chim, and Buck could be intentional, but this is also a common fake scotch brand used all over the place, so it could just be that they had it on hand.)

Hen

Beer: 9 | Wine: 11 | Spirits: 1 | Cocktails: 1

Hen is mostly seen drinking beer or wine; beer when she's out at a bar, and usually wine when she's at home or at Athena's. Hen and Karen have a full wine rack in their kitchen (added after s4), but clearly neither one of them will turn down tequila (I like to think it’s Chim’s influence).

Eddie

Beer: 13 | Wine: 5 | Spirits: 1 | Cocktails: 0

Eddie generally sticks to beer. He's also the one we see drink the least out of everyone who does drink, but Maddie's only one scene ahead of him.

We've seen him drink wine a few times (always red) and he also had a cognac or brandy at dinner with Shannon (judging by the type of glass). But when he's most comfortable and relaxed, having a drink with Buck or the team, he's drinking beer.

We don't see him drinking after a rough day unless he's talking things through with Buck over a beer. If he keeps anything beyond beer in his home, it’s kept out of sight. There was no visible alcohol in his house in Texas either.

Buck

Beer: 12 | Wine: 11 | Spirits: 6 | Cocktails: 2

Buck is pretty evenly split between beer and wine.

He worked as a bartender, but he doesn’t seem to have much interest in alcohol beyond having a drink with other people. This makes me think he wanted to bartend for the social aspect of it, not because he particularly cares about spirits or making cocktails.

Buck also doesn't seem to care about the quality of what he drinks. Chimney's go-to bottle is about $40-50, while Buck's doing shots of bottom shelf tequila with Taylor and Hen, and drinking a full pint glass of watery margarita with Lucy. (This man should stop drinking tequila.)

The first time the Buckleys all have dinner together, Phillip has scotch and Buck has wine, but the second and third times, Buck opts for scotch with his dad. These are the only times we've seen him drink scotch, so I assume he did because his dad did.

The only time we've seen Buck drink alone was while he was depressed after the blood clot, as there were a few empty beer bottles scattered around his kitchen when Eddie showed up, and he was sitting with an empty beer bottle when Eddie and Chris came by after the tsunami.

He has a small wine rack on the kitchen counter that has a few bottles in it, and occasionally there's a wine bottle grouped with the olive oil/other cooking bottles.

Random Observations:

Buck and Eddie didn't have a beer together on screen until 3x9, the Kitchen Scene.

Athena frequently drinks wine at Bobby's apartment in s2. They keep alcohol in their home (out of sight) and he has no problem pouring wine for others.

I'm pretty sure that the only time we saw Buck drink in all of s1 was (trying) to have a glass of wine on his date with Abby.

Hen and Athena almost always drink wine at each other's houses. I think they only had beers once.

Anyway, I think prop alcohol is really interesting and I have a passion for label design, and this is what I've chosen to do with that. Hopefully I didn't miss too much.

[alittlebitofsainz]

a place in this world (carlos’ version)

chapter 3: the other side of the door

summary: what’s a team celebration party without a little drama?

pairing: carlos sainz x f!reader, slow burn colleagues to friends to lovers, a lil’ bit of angst

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, allusions to sex but nothing explicit

a/n: the cheese room of a club just plays cheesy music, think abba or anything from the 00s. also carlos’ phone background is a picture of him and piñón, but it cropped weirdly hahaha

masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

6th September, 2020

Italian Grand Prix, P2

second place. your first time ever being hosed down in champagne. carlos swore that he wasn’t aiming for you, but the way that he smirked when he saw you absolutely drenched head to toe told you that he may have been lying. if it wasn’t for that adorably goofy grin, that wild, mischevious sparkle in his eye, and the way he’d let you fix his hair when he came back into the garage, you would’ve been cursing him right now, as you rinsed shampoo and champagne out of your hair for the third time this evening, trying desperately to get the stubborn stickiness out of your roots. but you couldn’t be mad at him. not at carlos.

you picked up the message when you got out of the shower. shit. you didn’t realise how long you’d spent trying to get champagne out of every orifice, and now you were running late - very late. hair, makeup and outfit in just ten minutes? the feat had never been accomplished before, and you weren’t sure it was going to be done now either. plus you’d wanted to look nice for this one - you couldn’t show up to the team celebrations for carlos’ second place podium looking like you’d just been dragged through a hedge backwards. the ensuing fifteen minutes were like a whirlwind, blasting a hairdryer through your hair, shimmying into your dress and finally turning your attention to makeup, your hotel room looking like a bombsite in your wake. you were considerably late by the time you’d finished everything. you hoped carlos didn’t mind.

carlos did mind. until he saw her walking across the lobby towards him, all apologetic smiles and fluttering lashes. and then he didn’t mind so much anymore.

“you look…” he struggled to find a word appropriate for a colleague to call another colleague. gorgeous, stunning, beautiful, they all seemed like too much, but they also all seemed to fall short. almost sensing his inner turmoil, she cut him off, putting him out of his misery.

“you too.” she replied with a knowing smile. “and sorry I’m late, took ages to wash that damnedchampagne out of my hair.”

“oh so now it’s my fault that you’re late?” it was carlos’ time to flash that knowing smile in her direction, and she rolled her eyes in reply.

“well it’s not my fault.” she retorted, taking the arm that he was offering out to her, as a gentle reminder that they were already late and they needed to get a move on.

“nothing’s ever your fault.” carlos muttered, tone still playful as he stepped back to let her exit the hotel lobby before him. she chuckled in reply, spinning round on her heel to watch him come through the door after her.

“you’re learning, carlos. slowly, but you’re learning.”

it took carlos an embarrassing ten minutes to realise why she wasn’t texting him back. he’d found her phone: she’d left it at the bar, the case slightly sticky where someone had spilled tequila on it (it may or may not have been carlos himself, but she didn’t need to know that). he’d messaged her several times to let her know that he’d found it, and was increasingly worried why she wasn’t replying, only realising when he felt her phone vibrate in his pocket immediately after sending the second message why she wasn’t answering her phone… that she’d lost… that was in his pocket…

okay, so maybe he’d had a few too many tonight, but looking around the dancing mass of people in underground bar of the club, who hadn’t? still, his mind wasn’t clouded enough for him to forget her. where was she? it must be over an hour since he’d last seen her, disappearing off to the toilets in a huddle of giggling girls. and now she was without her phone as well.

“have you seen y/n?”

lando shook his head, frowning slightly at his teammate’s question before his face broke into a boyish grin.

“no, mate, sorry. why? you wanna take her home?” he teased, earning a grunt from a frowning carlos, who wasn’t in the mood for this.

“knock it off, cabrón.” he huffed, eyes darting around behind lando’s head, still constantly on the lookout for her. “I have her phone, but I can’t find her to give it back.”

lando’s features softened, even he couldn’t bring himself to tease carlos further, and ever since shehad joined the team lando enjoyed nothing more than reminding his teammate of his little crush on his race engineer, despite how much carlos denied it. we’re just friends, he’d say. just friends my ass, lando would say in return.

“this place is a maze, mate. it’ll take you ages to find her.” lando replied, “she’s probably fine though, she’s got loads of friends. if I see her, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

carlos nodded gratefully, although still emitting a low growl from the back of his throat at the frustration of not being able to find her.

“thanks, mate.” he gave lando an appreciative pat on the shoulder before moving off in a direction of the club that he hadn’t searched in yet.

he couldn’t help but admire her, just for a moment.

he’d found her in one of the side rooms, and he mentally cursed himself. the cheese room should’ve been the first place he’d searched - of course he’d find her singing her heart out to gimme! gimme! gimme! it hadn’t taken carlos long to learn that wherever abba could be found, she wouldn’t be far away.

in the low light of the club, she’d captured him. the way she twirled under the arm of her friends, giggling as she nearly overbalanced on her heels. the way her head was tilted back, singing out the words of the song to the ceiling, every lyric on point despite the number of drinks she’d had. the way she locked eyes with him across the room, her face immediately breaking into a grin as she pushed her way through the crowd towards him.

“hey stranger!” she had to lean in close so he could hear her above the bass of the music.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he replied, a hand on her shoulder to steady himself as he spoke into her ear.

“and you didn’t think to check the cheese room first?”

he shook his head, chuckling to himself, before remembering why he’d even been looking for her in the first place.

“I found your phone, on the bar upstairs. someone spilled tequila on it, sorry about that.” 

she took her phone from his outstretched hand with raised eyebrows.

“I didn’t even realise I’d lost it! you’re a lifesaver, carlito, thank you.” 

she tucked it away in her handbag, securing it in a zipped pocket so she didn’t lose it again, before turning her face back up towards carlos.

“you should come dance with us!” 

she held out her hand, fingers outstretched. carlos wasn’t sure whether it was the beer, the tequila, the abba song, or his pure desire to hold her hand, but he grabbed it, interlacing their fingers together as she pulled him through the crowded dancefloor back to her group of friends.

carlos wasn’t sure at what point he’d let go of her hand that night, but he knew that it hadn’t been for a very, very long time.

carlos sainz didn’t know much about what had happened last night, but he knew his head hurt. and his mouth was dry. and… and someone was in bed beside him? 

oh jesus, ohhhhhh jesus. his eyes widened, rolling over in bed. he tried to scan back through his hazy memories of last night. of doing the tequila shots, of finding her phone on the bar, of holding her hand on the dancefloor. he’d wanted to do things properly, take her out to a nice restaurant, tell her how much she meant to him, have their first kiss under the stars, and now she would just think she was a one night stand!? god, he really hoped it wasn’t…

it wasn’t her. was that a good or bad thing? he thought he’d been hoping it wasn’t her, so why did his heart have that sinking feeling? why did he feel so disappointed? and who was this woman in bed with him? as he lay there, silently, staring at the mystery woman’s sleeping figure, his memories came flooding back to him, almost making him dizzy as it all hit him like a tidal wave. he’d gone to the bar to buy her a drink, but as he’d been waiting to be served, a rather striking blonde girl had started a conversation with him. she was a model, she’d said. or was it an actress? carlos couldn’t quite remember the details. all he knew was that she’d ordered a round of shots for everyone waiting at the bar, and then another, and then… maybe another? for carlos, that’s when it all started to drift into a hazy fog. 

but he couldn’t shake one memory - one moment of clarity. he’d had his arms round someone; yes, it must’ve been the woman from the bar, the blonde that was currently in his bed. they’d been making out in a way that was borderline inappropriate for the middle of a dancefloor, but several shots of tequila down and neither of them had cared. until carlos had opened his eyes, only for a moment, to see herwalking past, on her way out of the club. her head had turned for just a moment, their eyes locking in the same way they had several hours earlier across the dancefloor, but there was no smile that could light up a room, no glint of mischief or playfulness in her eyes. no warmth in her expression. she stared at him, and for the first time since he’d known her, carlos felt like he couldn’t read her expression. maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was because he’d never seen that expression on her before. as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone, heading towards the door of the club. the blonde woman had kissed him again, and he’d forgotten all about everything else.

you resisted the urge to throw your phone at the wall. instead you stared at it, face screwing up slightly at how sticky it still was to the touch, the smell of tequila still lingering on it. you reread the message twice, three times, the way you used to when carlos had first started texting you. but there were no butterflies in your stomach this time. just a sinking feeling.

you couldn’t put your finger on why you were so upset. you and carlos were colleagues, at most very good friends, nothing more. it shouldn’t bother you one way or the other who he took back to his hotel room last night; you weren’t in a relationship with him or anything, he was completely free to do what he liked with whoever he liked. but you couldn’t deny the way your heart had done a backflip when he’d taken your hand, gripping it so tightly as you’d lead him across the dancefloor. he’d made you laugh over and over and over until you could barely catch your breath at the way he fumbled over all the lyrics, and with his completely outrageous (read: outrageously awful) dance moves. when he said he was going to buy you a drink, you could’ve sworn you’d felt something in the air, like this was the beginning of something. when you’d walked past him several hours later, latched onto another girl like a limpet, the feeling had dissipated.

you’d called him special, once. you made the mistake of believing that you were special too.

she had never been the fastest replier, but three hours was the longest she’d ever left one of his messages unanswered. he checked his phone again. at least she hadn’t left him on read.

the blonde girl was long gone from his room, gathering her clothes up once carlos had made it clear that no, he wasn’t interested in going for brunch with her, thank you very much. despite the pounding in his head, and the feeling that he was still possibly slightly drunk, he’d dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, trying to wash away the feeling of guilt and embarrassment, and failing miserably. brushing his teeth didn’t help, nor did styling his hair or putting on the only uncreased polo shirt he had left. no, he knew that the only way he could make himself feel better was to talk to the one person that didn’t want talk to him right now.

he sighed, sinking down onto the bed and resting his head in his hands momentarily, before picking up his phone to check it again. still nothing.

with all the resolve he could muster whilst still feeling very sorry for himself, he found himself outside her hotel room door. it felt a little desperate, to go to someone’s physical location just because they hadn’t answered his message, but hell, carlos sainz was a pretty desperate man right now.

she didn’t even need to ask who it was outside her door before she called back that she was busy. carlos bit his lip.

“I’m sorry.” he said flatly, voice just loud enough for her to hear it through the thick fire door of her hotel room. he heard the click of a bolt on the other side, and shuffled back a few paces when the door swung open, revealing her stood on the other side. she looked tired, but not as tired as he did. a different sort of tired - she didn’t look hungover, or like she hadn’t gotten enough sleep. it was something else. for the second time in 24 hours, carlos couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“sorry for what?” she replied, her voice sharp, as if she didn’t have the time for this interaction. carlos drew in a breath, as if to speak, but then he just simply let out a long sigh instead.

what was he sorry for? technically, he hadn’t actually done anything wrong, so why did he feel so guilty? sure, it was a bit harsh to promise that he was going to get her a drink and then end up forgetting about it when one pretty blonde lady offered him a shot of tequila, but she’d been surrounded by friends, it wasn’t as if he’d just abandoned her on her own in a club. and they weren’t dating or anything, he hadn’t cheated on anyone, hadn’t broken anyone’s heart or anything daft like that. carlos and her were just friends, right? lando’s voice came into his head momentarily. just friends my ass.

his thoughts were interrupted by a loud sigh. her arms were folded across her chest, still waiting, but there was something else mixed into her expression now, something carlos could read this time. he couldn’t put a name to it, not exactly, but it was almost like confusion, mixed with understanding, if that was even a possible combination.

“I don’t know.” carlos eventually replied. he knew in that moment that the correct answer was the honest answer. from the way her arms uncrossed and she opened the door slightly further, he knew he was right.

“me neither.” she sighed, “I mean, I don’t know why I’m upset. I guess I just…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking up to meet carlos’ before resting on the floor. “… no, I don’t know.”

he opened his mouth to ask what she was going to say, to push her, before deciding against it and merely nodding his head in agreement.

“do you want to go get brunch?” she asked quietly after a moment, looking up at him through lashes that still had tiny traces of mascara clinging to them from the night before. he let a faint smile creep up onto his face, before nodding.

“yeah, that would be nice.”

as it turned out, brunch fixes everything, a fact which carlos was very, very grateful for.

27th September, 2020

Russian Grand Prix, DNF

brunch fixes everything. even if the ‘everything’ trying to be fixed is the crushing disappointment of hitting the barrier whilst trying to rejoin the track on turn one, and the ‘brunch’ is one lukewarm croissant shared between two whilst sat in front of a computer screen.

you brushed the pastry crumbs off your fingers before pointing at the computer screen.

“I mean, you don’t need me to tell you that that’s the line you should’ve taken.”

carlos shook his head, eyeing up the last mouthful of the croissant before flicking his eyes up back to the screen, following your gaze.

“argh, I’m such a fucking idiot.” he growled as he was forced to watch the way he clipped the wall for the umpteenth time in the span of the past twenty minutes. you shot him an apologetic look - as much as you’d love to disagree with him, you really couldn’t. it had been a pretty daft move, you knew it, carlos certainly knew it, there was no getting round it.

“do you want the last piece of croissant?”

was the only way you could think to cheer him up. his shoulders shook slightly with a small chuckle.

“are you sure?”

“I think you need it more than I do.” 

you slid the plate towards him with a smile, one which he mirrored as he accepted the croissant, tossing it into his mouth and licking the pastry off his fingers. you shook your head, chuckling to yourself. you looked back at the screen for a moment, and when you turned back to look at carlos, he was gazing out the window. he seemed a million miles away.

“you alright?”

your head cocked to one side slightly as you asked him, observing the way his features creased into an expression of frustration and disappointment. he let out a heavy sigh, his eyes still focused on something in the distance.

“I’ve been thinking-“

“uh oh.”

carlos shot you a look, trying to hide a smile as he attempted a look that said ‘don’t interrupt, I’m trying to be serious right now’, but ended up delivering one that was closer to ‘you think you’re so funny, and you’re right, but shut up for a moment’.

“I’ve been thinking,” he paused for any offhand comments again, raising an eyebrow at you before continuing. “I really don’t know what I would do without you.”

you opened your mouth to say something that toed the line between sincere and pure outright teasing at how soppy he was being, but carlos continued before you had the chance.

“which is why I want to ask ferrari if you can come with me. next year. to be my race engineer at ferrari.”

the more he spelled it out for you, the more confused your expression became. it took a few moments to sink in, for you to process what you had just heard. a race engineer at ferrari? mclaren was an incredible starting point for your career, and you owed them a lot for taking a chance on you, but ferrari? isn’t it everyone’s dream to work for the ferrari? carlos must have read your expression like a book, because he let out a low chuckle, the noise vibrating in his chest.

“I didn’t want to go ahead with it before asking you. but it looks like I might already have your answer.”

your mouth hung open for a moment, the first time carlos had ever seen you lost for words.

“don’t get your hopes up.” he added, gently, “there’s still a high chance they could say no. it’s just- well, I would feel better knowing that you’re still on my team.”

you nodded, still slightly dumbfounded.

“I- that would be, well, yes!” you eventually managed to stammer out, earning another deep chuckle from carlos, and a broad grin that made your heart do backflips in your chest.

taglist: @itsjustkhaos @bicchaan

comment/message if you want to be added!

[ernmark]

Juno Steel and the Case Closed (part 1) reaction

It's been a while since I've done one of these, hasn't it?

But it's the last episode, and I wanted to be here for the end. So if you'd like, some thoughts and theories under the cut:

It was a solid choice to have Nureyev go-- to make this final story about Juno and his world and his life, rather than specifically about their relationship. But also, the choices made around Nureyev's leaving-- holy shit.

Because here's a man who's spent the last twenty years entirely defined by his relationship with one man, and now he's cut loose and of course he's flailing to re-establish himself in a different orbit. And you can hear it in his voice, where it rises into something halfway to panic (amazing job, Noah Simes), and you can feel exactly how horribly wrong it's going to go if he goes down that road. And then there's Juno, who's healthy enough to be the voice of reason, even when it hurts him? Who makes it clear he's willing to wait until Nureyev is ready for him? Oh my god, that's perfection. (And Nureyev going maybe back to Brahma-- my little fanfic writer heart did a leap there). Nureyev may very well be back next episode (I suspect he will, if only for the final moments), but I really like this as an ending of their arc-- not the neatly laced up riding off into the sunset together, but looking forward to that sunset and being actually ready for it when it comes. It makes my heart feel so good.

--

And from that happy moment, to have Juno go back to Hyperion, to his office, and immediately start slipping back into his worst self? Oh, that's too real-- in a way that I am very happy with. Because he isn't 'fixed'. Juno 'born-a-sad-baby' Steel won't ever be 'fixed', not by romance or a vacation or a wonderful new family dropping him reminders of how much they love him. What's wrong with him isn't something that can be fixed-- but this time around it's different. This time around, when he yells at Rita she stands up to him (with a small, tremulous voice, because goddamn standing up to people you love is terrifying). I am so proud of her for that, and of him for backing off. It takes a palpable effort for him to rein himself in, but he's making that effort-- and he knows how, in a way that I don't think he did in those early seasons. It's a choice he's making, over and over again, just like it's a choice he makes to keep replaying Jet's wisdom instead of drowning his misery in tequila.

(Another kudos there: that Juno's problem isn't addiction, not the same way it is for Jet-- alcohol isn't a problem for him when things are going well, but it's easier to retreat into a bottle than to deal with his feelings. It's a distinction you don't see very often. Honestly, the way this show has dealt with addiction has been really refreshing to see.)

I've said from the beginning that one of the things that really drew me to this show was how it handles Juno's depression-- as a genuine mental illness that's an inherent part of him. And it's enheartening to see him struggle with it, but now be able to reach out for the tools and the support he needs. And that support doesn't have to be Jet literally talking him away from the bottle, or Rita or Nureyev petting him and making him feel better. He can reach for the pieces of them that they leave behind. And he can wish the Ruby 7 a good journey home, and send Nureyev to find himself, not without pain and grief, but without completely losing himself to it.

That kind of story gives me so much more hope than any kind of 'happily ever after' ever could.

--

And then the designated mystery, which has me so freakin' excited:

Nightmare.

She is the culmination of so many plot threads that I've been picking up on for so long and I'd completely forgotten about, and I am so freaking excited to see it.

I was in such a rough place emotionally when we last visited the most obvious of those threads, I genuinely don't remember if I posted meta about it or not, but it definitely struck some bells:

When Juno rescued Rita from Dark Matters, the safehouse she was in was described as being full of items that were clearly meant for a child. At the same time, Sasha was having Rita destroy all evidence of her own life so thoroughly that not even Rita herself would be able to find traces afterward.

It seemed most obvious to me that she was hiding a child (one that, I didn't realize until Juno remarked on Nightmare's area code, could have been hidden in the suddenly repopulated New Town without anybody asking inconvenient questions about who she was or where she came from). Also her taking care of a child would explain her ever-escalating reactionary tendencies-- she certainly wouldn't be the first parent who descended into authoritarianism in a misguided attempt to protect someone.

So some theories about who and what Nightmare is:

Alessandra's daughter is the most obvious, of course. (I still hold onto that theory that Sasha was either the Worst Client that Juno told Alessandra Strong about, or else that Sasha was the cheating spouse in that story.)

Nightmare could be Annie Wire's daughter-- assuming that Annie survived the factory, grew up, had a child of her own, and then died for real this time, leaving her grieving sister to raise her niece.

Nightmare could be Annie Wire herself-- dead, kept in stasis, revived by Dark Matters technology, and then whisked away to the safe house.

Nightmare could be a clone of Sasha and/or Annie. Honestly, not digging this theory, but I might as well throw it out there.

Nightmare could herself be a Radical, not unlike the Ruby 7, who's taken on Sasha's appearance and stayed that way ever since (after all, Sasha would have been at just about the right age when she was recruited by Dark Matters)

From a narrative standpoint, I'm most fond of the idea of Nightmare either being Annie or Annie's daughter, personally. Because that's literally the second mystery we were given, and it was pointedly never solved. As much as I like the idea that some mysteries just aren't and you have to make peace with that, I'm a big fan of long games like this, and of tugging on threads from the beginning of a story when you're wrapping up the end. That's especially true for Sasha's arc closing here, back in Hyperion City. Sasha's voice was one of the very first that we heard in this series, and Sasha's trajectory has always been a funhouse mirror version of Juno's. She's always been an integral part of his story. It seems fitting that her story gets wrapped up alongside his.

[spagheddiediaz]

fuck it friday 👅

tagged by @honestlydarkprincess welcome back bby i missed you sO MUCH <3

-

HELLO I AM ALIVE. i wasn't going to start writing again until s7 began bc i needed inspiration and have been feeling ~blah~ lately about a lot of things but what can i say this one kind of hit me in the face and i couldn't stop writing once i started SO.

this is temporarily called the dumbass fic ✌🏼

_

“You make me feel like I’m going nuts.” Eddie mumbles and reaches for the NyQuil. It was barely seven pm, but he was ready to curl into bed for the next twenty hours or so.

“You need to be eighteen to buy NyQuil.” Buck continues, his smile still not fading. 

“Mmm,” Eddie mumbles as he pours the liquid into the small measuring cup. He goes a little over the line, hoping it will work in his favor and he’ll be put out of his misery sooner rather than later. 

“And I forgot my wallet.”

Eddie hums and nods at Buck as he downs the NyQuil, scrunching up his face and gagging as if he just took a shot of cheap tequila. “Buck, did you rob a CVS?” 

“What? Oh. No. No no, I had Apple Pay!” He assures him. “But the lady didn’t believe I was over eighteen” 

Eddie looks Buck up and down once, twice, three times before meeting their eyes. “Ha. Haaaaa.” He laughs sarcastically and leans his body over the counter. 

“No, Eddie. I’m serious. They really wouldn’t let me get it without an ID!” Buck was persistent. Eddie would give him that. “So I- I just searched my pockets, looking for something, anything.” 

“And you pulled out my badge..” Eddie begins. 

“And you need to be over eighteen to be a Firefighter!” Buck nods excitedly, a little too proud of himself. “You, Eddie Diaz, are looking at Eddie Diaz of the 118!” And - that’s why Buck was grinning like an idiot.

-

G O O F Y shit anyway

tagging @callmenewbie @jeeyuns @malewifediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @fortheloveofbuddie @disasterbuckdiaz @shitouttabuck @exhuastedpigeon @king-buckley @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @wikiangela @theotherbuckley and anyone else who wants to do it <3

[loveandleases]

Hello Cutie! I've got a question (you know it already), but how would the ROs react to the MC asking the most important question: "would you still love me if I turned into a worm?"

Hello gorgeous ~ Like how you would step on me and put me out of my lil worm misery out of love? (not even in the fun way!) I guess I could answer it for ya.

❤️ Cam - "I would love ya even if you were covered in nasty dirt, and I had to regurgitate food back to you! Wait is that weird?"

💙 G - "I'm a vet so if anyone could care for you properly it would be me. Though I really don't want you to be a worm."

💚 Kara - "I guess it would make it easier to boss you around, not like you put up much of a fight anyways. Oh but you won't be able to enjoy me as much as you do now! Your little worm body just wouldn't press all the right buttons anymore....I guess I could keep you in my bra."

💛 M - "Wait how will you become a worm? Will it be like Isekai anime? Wait, do I get powers to, will we be worms together?"

💜 Isaac - "Can we not do this? Can't I just love you as you are? I don't want to be kissing all on a worm. Can I put you in tequila, we both get to have fun that way."

🖤 Ardent - "You know Cupid would eat you as soon as you turned right? I wouldn't have time to love you before she gobbles you up."

[kira-fluff]

….. can you please do “sleep with no pants” for our birthday boy kita shinsuke??? …… and make it extra spicy?? 🥹

a/n: oh. my. god. YES. i could commit tax fraud and embezzlement if he asked me to. of course. yes. yes. also, I have high alcohol tolerance so I'm not really sure how much is too much...

drunken mistakes | kita shinsuke

pairing: kita shinsuke x reader yes, this is a continuation on "sleeping with no pants on" but I decided to make it longer/special for some reason. HAPPY BIRTHDAY KITA!!! tw: fem!reader, alcohol misusage (drunkness), swearing, mutual pining, grinding, nsfw, dom!reader, sub!kita pt 1 pt 2 pt 3

it was only supposed to be one drink. that's what you'd told yourself at the beginning of the night, but you would be lying if you said you stuck to what your convictions very often. for example, you told yourself not to fall for your best friend, kita. and yet here you are, drunk and in love. anyone looking at you around your friend's apartment could see the misery on your face. they turned to each other, speaking in low voices as if you couldn't notice because you were too far gone. well, you weren't. and you knew now that they knew you're downing your eleventh shot of casamigos because of something other than "for the vibes". honestly, your facial expression probably gave it away, too, with the lame, pouty lip and mopey eyes. the thoughts and conversations surrounding you only made you yearn for another glass of something to dim the sound of your increasing heartbeat. reaching for the bottle of tequila, your eyes met with the last person you ever hoped to see that night.

fuck, and why was he checking his phone like he'd received an invite? you swore in your muddled mind you'd wring the neck of whichever piece of shit thought it would be a good idea to invite your best friend despite all of them knowing (at least, now) that you are head over heels in love with him. you cursed as he took immediate notice of you. kita.

kita

to be quite honest, I don't care much for parties or really any celebration that involves an exuberant use of alcohol. ever since high school, in fact, I'd done my very best to avoid them rather than allow myself to get sucked into caring for vomiting, regretful teens (or adults, if we're speaking in the now). still, when I'd received a text saying that she was wasted and needed a ride who could take good care of her, I already was putting on my coat and shoes, as if I wasn't awoken to my phone vibrating numerous times at 2am. I can't help it. whenever it comes to her, there's nothing I wouldn't do to get a chance to even be around her. she's my best friend, so it's not like it's a mutual thing. just me being an idiot and getting sucked into those eyes of hers. the way she looks at me. the way she smiles. it were those thoughts and memories that had me sliding into my seat at 2:15 and on my way to one of her good friends' house. when I arrived at the address and walked through the entrance, my first instinct was the text once again to find where she was at that current moment. it was a need. I needed to know she was safe. that she wasn't crying or confused or sick. my skin prickled as I felt a pair of sharp eyes on me. I lifted up my head to see two languid pupils blinking slowly at me, lips downturned and mopey.

you blinked slowly up at him. "so," you hiccuped, "you're here kita." his brows furrowed at you. you grimaced. you knew he wasn't much for alcohol, but a more rebellious part of you thought he deserved to suck it because you didn't even want him here anyway. "mm...kita...." you trailed off, unsure where you were planning to take the start of your sentence. "mm?" kita replied quietly, patiently (like he always was). "'m startin' to think I'll die single." he let out a little scoff, "stop being silly. you're drunk. go to bed." you pouted, "but no one wants to go to bed with me." he flushed, thankfully it seemed you were too drunk to notice, and asked, "how many people have you been going around asking to sleep with?" you grinned at him, "just you." kita swallowed down the words does that mean you want to sleep with me? and instead opted for a choked "ok". you leaned closer. "hey kita...? since I'm drunk..." you ran a finger up his arm. he raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to go on. "since 'm drunk, I was wonderin' if you'd indulge me for a little while..." you said, the last syllables of your sentence coming out in a sigh. "what're you-" the next sound that came from kita's throat was a moan as you lifted your thighs up and placed their plush, softness on his hard, toned ones. you leaned in, whispering in his ear, "j-just.... for a while.... b-but stop me if..." you breathed many of your words in but fuck, he didn't want you to put an end to what he'd literally been dreaming of for so long. you then began your slow, languid pace of rolling your hips against his thighs. at this point, you weren't sure what was real and what was fake... but you knew you were dreaming. but there was no way in real life his thighs were that fucking hard. scratch that, you must be in heaven, because the little pants you're hearing from him are more than you could've ever asked for. his quiet "ah"s made your drunken rhythm turn faster, causing you to snap your hips and begin to roll them against his groin, eliciting a sharp groan from his mouth. "a-ahh... w-we sh-shouldn't..." you licked a stripe up the column of his neck, shutting him up. next, you made your way to the hem of your shirt, pulling at the fabric, all whilst rolling your hips against him. in a few seconds, all that was on was a shear bralette - lingerie, of course - and all that was below. kita took inhaled a sharp breath. he was already rock hard and he had no idea what he was supposed to do other than let you have your way with him. he swore he wouldn't do anything in return. you were drunk... but he couldn't bring himself to pull you off of him. he was enjoying it all too much. he blushed again, but this time in shame. he was disgusting, getting off on your drunken mistake. suddenly, you got off of him, leaving him in a strong feeling of want. he could still feel the ghost of your thighs on his legs. but then you reached for his arm lazily, dragging him over to a bedroom. you weren't sure whose it was, just that you wanted to have your way with your best friend, just for a little while, in this lovely dream. he was so compliant. his reactions were better than you hoped for, and you were living for it.

pushing him onto the bed, he let out a grunt of surprise. "you know... I go to sleep without my pants on every night... but tonight I just might not wear anything..." kita swallowed thickly, unable to stop himself from imagining your nude form in all its glory, riding his cock. he distantly wondered if you knew what you were doing. you had something in your eyes besides that heady lust and drunkenness that had him questioning something... that maybe, just for a second, there was something there like attraction... like love. slowly, you slid your panties down, exposing your naked cunt. kita took another sharp breath at the sight of you. then, you began to go at taking his own pants off. slowly, you rubbed your hands against his erection, eliciting a groan from him, and reached for his button. unclasping it, you moved onto his zipper, slowly - painfully - moving it down. when his cock sprung free, you gasped at its size. you were shocked that something so big and thick could be hiding in his pants that now seemed entirely in the way. so, you pulled them down, now angling yourself, your entrance and the head of his cock. you both let out a groan when you sunk yourself down onto him.

kita awoke to you in his arms, naked, and his dick pressed hard against your ass. guilt washed over him again, and he wondered whether he should take his chance to escape before you could wake up and yell at him. thankfully, nothing you did was something he'd forced upon you... he had merely let you do what you wanted to him. when you moaned his name last night he thought he might lose his mind. he leaned forward, careful not to stir you awake, and kissed the top of your head. maybe you would wake up, and instead of horror... just maybe, you'd blush.. and he could tell you how much he loved you, and not just because of what you did last night. it was wishful thinking, but maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way he did.

[ynandfics]

“Draco nobody literally asked you” Pansy turns to the boy decked out in his best black suit. His dark mark hidden after all these years.

“Y/n tell him he’s dreaming pretty please?” The girls had originally gotten together for one last

“You’re dreaming love, but also interrupting the peace” I waved him away, I heard Hermione giggle in the background.

“Is the bachelor party that boring you decided to check on us via floo powder?” Astoria questioned Draco, sharp as the true Slytherin she used to be.

“Let’s just say, Nott and Zabini would even be a surprise at the wedding cause they’re so drunk. And all the Weasley’s hold alcohol really well? They want to do tequila shots, only Harry knows how to get that though out of us” I laughed with the girls at his pure misery, it didn’t sound bad at all.

“Tell you what Draco? Take this bottle to them and shove off” Ginny handed him a bottle of tequila we were going to have later, but oh well, it was for a good cause.

“Oh uh thank you” Draco slowly walked towards the door and shut it. The second it clicked we all burst out laughing, the moment too funny and best of all it was relived with my best friends.

[sparxwrites]

The Body Shots Incident

A prequel-ish to this nonsense, aka "the origin story of the Hermitcraft server party tequila ban". cw for lots of alcohol consumption and excessive innuendo [ao3]

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asks Mumbo, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. He’s trying to delay the inevitable – primarily, being shirtless in front of a lot of people with Scar ‘Godlike Abs’ Goodtimes right next to him for comparison. It’s not working very well. “Just, I can think of, off the top of my head, oh, sixteen ways this could go wrong. At least three of them end with us respawning. At least.”

“Oh, no!” Scar, already reclining across a table in a distinctly louche manner, is nude from the waist up and looking distinctly self-satisfied about it. If anybody present knew who Jeff Goldblum was, multiple comparisons would have already been made. “It’s a terrible idea, and it’s going to go horribly wrong.”

Scar, unlike Mumbo, had taken his shirt off with precisely zero shame and absolutely maximum enthusiasm as soon as the whole concept had been suggested. It had taken three people – Bdubs included, remarkably – to stop him from removing his belt and pants as well.

Mumbo’s unclear whether the nearly-double-digits-worth of brightly coloured cocktails are to blame for Scar’s enthusiastic stripping, or whether this is just a Scar Thing. Probably just a Scar Thing, if he’s being honest. The man’s shredded. If Mumbo had pecs and abs like that, he’d take his shirt off all the time too.

“Okay, both of you, lie down,” says Pearl, officiously. Or as officious as one can be, after multiple bottles of Prosecco and a round of Jaeger bombs – which is frankly not very. She’s wielding a salt shaker in one hand, like it’s a hand grenade; two lime slices in the other, like– some other kind of weapon. Or something. Mumbo’s not exactly sober right now, either. Similes are a little beyond him at this point.

Scar, already draped elegantly across his own table, gestures to Mumbo with a raised eyebrow.

Mumbo, very reluctantly, sheds his shirt.

Grian, loitering next to Impulse, wolf-whistles in what Mumbo assumes is supposed to be a supportive sort of way. It doesn’t feel very supportive. Doesn’t do much to actually support him, either. Mostly, it just makes him go bright red – brighter red than he’d already gone, anyways, at having so much skin exposed in a room full of people.

Though admittedly not that many people, realistically. There’s him and Grian, as a team; Scar and Bdubs, as the opposing team; and Impulse, the judge of this ill-conceived competition. And Pearl, of course, as his self-proclaimed beautiful assistant. But pretty much every other Hermit is on the other side of the room, busy getting drunk and being noisy. Usual server party stuff.

It’s only them over here, with the two tables in the room not currently covered in alcohol and cups, because Grian and Bdubs had had a stupid argument, and decided that clearly the best way to solve it was a body shots competition, of all things. Which, yeah, sure, tracks as far as drunk Bdubs and Grian logic goes, but– Mumbo’s not even sure how you score a body shots competition.

That’s what they have Impulse for, though. Impulse knows how to judge a body shots competition. Probably.

So there’s not that many people watching, by the grace of any god paying attention. It’s just that, well. Mumbo has his shirt off. Right next to Scar Goodtimes, abs god extraordinaire. And Mumbo’s got no abs, and skin pale enough a vampire would flinch from it, and a soft little belly, and enough body hair it probably technically counts as thermal insulation.

And, to put the icing on the misery cake, pert little nipples. It’s not his fault it’s bloody cold with his shirt off but, for some reason, he doesn’t think that’s going to stop anyone from commenting on their pertness.

“Nice nips, Mumbo,” says Grian, as though he’d read Mumbo’s mind in the worst, most malicious way possible. He cackles when Mumbo turns self-consciously pink. “Hey! That was a compliment!”

Impulse clears his throat. “No– no commenting on competitors’ nipples without their explicit consent. Well-established rule of body shots competitions that I definitely didn’t just make up. I mean. Preferably no commenting on nipples at all but–”

“Don’t worry, Grian,” interjects Scar, cheerfully. “You can comment on my nipples all you like.”

“Thanks, Scar. That’s great. I appreciate the offer.” Grian does not, under any possible stretch of the imagination, sound like he appreciates the offer.

“Hey!” snaps Bdubs, immediately, outraged on a reflex. “No commenting on my competition partner’s nipples, okay?! Get your own!”

Grian, moderately drunk and visibly bewildered, flounders. “Get… my own nipples…?”

“Yeah! Get your own nipples, Mister!”

“Anyway,” says Impulse, loudly, clapping his hands together. Several Hermits look over. A few drift over for a closer look. Mumbo’s insides curl up like a dying spider. “If we could, uh, get things started…? Pearl–?”

Pearl crosses her arms.

“–sorry, my beautiful assistant, Pearl, could you do the salt, if our contestants want to lie down…?”

“On it!” says Pearl, with entirely too much glee. She approaches, menacing, salt shaker and lime slices in hand.

Both Scar and Mumbo, rather hurriedly, scramble to arrange themselves appropriately for their salting, and then endeavour to lie very, very still. They get a lime slice placed besides their head for their troubles.

Mumbo is chosen as the first victim for salting. He holds himself frozen on the table – deer-in-the-headlights frozen, even – as Pearl, tongue between her teeth in concentration, begins to tip salt in a line down his chest, right between his pecs. It’s a pretty wobbly line. Mumbo blames the Jaeger bombs.

“This is ridiculous,” mutters Grian, watching his half-naked best friend get salted like a slug by a drunk Australian. This, Mumbo feels, is a bit rich coming from the man who enthusiastically agreed to the idea when Bdubs proposed it.

Bdubs glowers at him by way of reply. Impulse just looks tired.

When Mumbo has had the appropriate salt applied, Pearl moves onto Scar. She wields the salt shaker like a loaded gun, and is doing a poor job of muffling her giggles. Those in her way move out of the way, very quickly, as she heads to Scar’s table.

“Do not get that on my nipples, by the way, Pearl,” says Scar, firmly, craning his head up as she approaches to watch the proceedings. “I don’t want any chafing!”

Pearl, already struggling to keep anything so much as approaching a straight face, barely manages to set the salt down before she doubles over in hysterics. “Im– Impulse–” she manages, wheezing, her grip on the edge of the table the only thing keeping her upright. “Gonna– tagging– tagging you in, mate, oh, oh my–”

Impulse, with an apologetic twist of the mouth in both Mumbo and Scar’s directions, takes up the salt.

His attempt at setting up a line of salt down Scar’s chest goes significantly better than Pearl’s did with Mumbo, primarily because he’s not a bottle and a half of prosecco down and sloppy drunk with it – just a few beers tipsy, instead. In short order, the pair of them are salted, with a lime slice ready to go in their mouths when the competition begins. Then he heads off to fill shot glasses of tequila, with the tongue-between-teeth concentration and unsteady hand of the moderately inebriated.

Bdubs and Grian take the opportunity to approach and examine their victims.

“Cute,” says Grian, and pokes Mumbo in the bellybutton.

Mumbo yelps, raising a hand to swat at him, before freezing when he remembers the salt. “Hey! No– no. I am sensitive. No poking.”

“Ooh,” interrupts Bdubs, peering nosily over at the competition. At Mumbo’s chest, specifically, and the thick fuzz of dark body hair growing across it. Much of the salt has ended up across it – or, rather, beneath it, within it, and amongst it. Mumbo’s not looking forward to tomorrow’s shower. “Look at that. Very nice. Lucky you!”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Lucky?” he asks, disbelievingly. “I– look, no offence, Mumbo, I’ve got nothing against a good bit of chest hair, but… I’m just not convinced licking it is going to be the best sensation in the world.”

“Lucky,” repeats Bdubs, firmly.

“You want to swap…?” Grian is once more visibly bewildered. Though, admittedly, that’s not an uncommon expression to find people around Bdubs wearing. “Because that’s fine, I don’t mind–”

“I do not want you two to swap,” mutters Mumbo, nervously.

He’s concertedly ignored by everyone involved.

“Aha!” Bdubs grabs Grian by the front of his jumper with both hands. “So it is true. You are trying to steal Scar from me, and you do want to lick his– Scar! Stop laughing, you’ll ruin your salt.”

Scar manages to muffle himself down to stifled sniggers, with what looks like a Herculean effort of drunken willpower. “C’mon, Bdubs. Leave poor Grian alone. We can discuss him licking me when I don’t have salt, uh, perilously close to my delicate nipples.”

“How’re you managing pel– perir– pelirousy after nine cocktails?” demands Mumbo. “You can’t even bloody say that sober!”

He is, once again, ignored.

“I don’t want to discuss him licking you! I want him to not lick you! That’s not his job.” Bdubs sounds aggrieved. He does, however, obediently release the front of Grian’s jumper, stepping back to give the other man the stink eye. “He’s not Deputy Mayor, now, is he.”

Bdubs is, technically speaking, not Deputy Mayor either. It’s several months and an entire world since he was Deputy Mayor. But everyone present is aware that, for Bdubs at least, Deputy Mayor is less a job title and more an eternal-obsessive-crony-to-Mister-Scar-Goodtimes state of mind.

“Since when has licking the Mayor been part of the Deputy Mayor’s job?” asks Mumbo, of no one in particular, though he suspects the answer is since Bdubs got the job.

“I do not want to lick Scar,” says Grian, firmly. “I’d just, you know, prefer not to lick Mumbo’s chest hair. No offence, Mumbo.”

“Some taken, mate, I’m not gonna lie.”

Scar pouts. “You don’t want to lick my–?”

“Ladies, gentlemen, and uh, sentient mosses,” says Impulse, returning with the shot glasses. Pearl has given up on proceedings entirely, sinking down to sit against one of the table legs and looking distinctly out of it. Not out of it enough, however, to have surrendered the prosecco bottle she has in a death-grip. “If we could maybe get back on track with the competition…?”

“How’re we scoring this?” asks Grian, because of course he does. Grian plays to win, after all.

“Uhhh.” Impulse, preoccupied with setting the slightly precarious shot glasses down on Mumbo and Scar’s belly without spilling them, flounders. “I was thinking maybe, like, speed, and style, and… Spanish-ness…?”

“Tequila’s from Mexico, idiot,” interjects Bdubs, helpfully.

“Mexican-ness, then.”

“None of us are from Mexico, though,” Grian points out. “Or Spain. Or anywhere in South America or Europe, actually.”

“Fine! Fine, speed and style, fine, can we just– god, I need a drink. Can we get this over with so I can get a drink?” Impulse’s voice has picked up the whining desperation of a man powerfully regretting several recent life choices.

“Yes,” agrees Bdubs, emphatically. “I would really like to get started, oh yes.” He’s looking at Scar, laid out on the table, as though he’s a slab of particularly well-cooked steak. Scar – somewhat worryingly – preens beneath his hungry gaze.

Mumbo’s relieved when Grian, deciding for reasons known only to himself to be reasonable for once in his life, tosses Impulse a casual salute by way of agreement.

“Alright.” Impulse inhales, and exhales, as though to centre himself. Or perhaps brace himself. Either way, it adds an unexpected gravity to the situation which Mumbo could really do without. Bad enough he’s shirtless on a table covered in salt, without it feeling like some big deal. “Ready, everyone? Right. Lime slices in your mouths, Scar and Mumbo. Bdubs and Grian– On your marks. Get set. Go!”

Grian goes for speed. He’s done the shot, licked the salt, and bitten the lime out of Mumbo’s mouth before Mumbo even really knows what’s happened. He’s kind of grateful for it, honestly – like ripping a bandaid off.

Bdubs, of course, goes for style.

The noise Scar makes as Bdubs drags a tongue up his belly is positively pornographic. Bdubs is flushed red-cheeked from the shot, and Scar is flushed red from a tongue dragged across sensitive skin and taut muscle. By the time Bdubs cranes his head up to take the lime from Scar’s mouth, it’s more of a lewd, open-mouthed kiss than anything else. It’s like watching a train wreck. None of them can look away.

“…Well.” Impulse clears his throat, awkwardly. His nose looks a little pink. Even odds on whether it’s from the alcohol, or the display he’s just witnessed. “I, uh… I think I’m gonna have to call that one for Scar and Bdubs, guys? Um.”

Scar whoops, gleeful. “Yes! Bdubs, it’s official. We’re the best.”

“I,” announces Bdubs, with the smug delight of a man who’s just licked a line of salt off of Scar Goodtimes’s abs and gotten an award about it, “am going to find us some more tequila. To celebrate.”

He’s gone before any of them have the time – let alone the inclination or recovered cognitive faculties – to point out that that’s probably a bad idea.

There’s a long moment of silence, as they all slowly come to terms with what they’ve just done.

“Oh, god,” says Grian, miserably, breaking the quiet. He sticks two fingers in his mouth, and comes back with something dark and wiry clutched between them. “I’ve got bloody– Mumbo hair, in my mouth–”

Mumbo is not looking at Grian. Mumbo is busy staring at Scar, still laid out across the table and looking quite pleased with himself. “Yeah, well,” he says, “I think the rather more pressing issue is that Scar’s got–”

“Absolutely no need to comment on that,” says Scar, cheerfully, finally sitting up. There’s still a little salt clinging to his abs, shimmering and crystalline. It draws the eye to it, and then encourages the eye to move further down, to his happy trail, and then on to his– “Perfectly natural reaction to getting your stomach licked. You wouldn’t shame a man for his natural reactions, now, would you, Mumbo?”

Suddenly unable to make eye contact with Scar, Mumbo averts his gaze. As he does, he mutters something that sounds remarkably like, “Bloody well would.”

He is, once again, ignored.

Scar is saved from having to discuss the particulars of his natural reactions by a loud crash from the opposite side of the room. Grian, sensing trouble occurring that he’s not yet involved with, whips his head around with velociraptor-like enthusiasm and speed.

“Bdubs, please, I just really think you don’t need any more–”

“I won!” Bdubs is yelling, holding the bottle of half-full tequila above his head as high as he can – which, given his height, is not very. Somehow, despite being far taller and significantly more sober, Xisuma’s attempts at grabbing it are going exceedingly poorly indeed. “I won, I licked Mayor Scar so, so good and I won, which means I get to celebrate, okay? With tequila.”

“No– no, Bdubs, you– come on, please, that’s very– you know what you get like when you drink too much of that, please, I really don’t–”

“Let him drink!” yells Keralis, from the sidelines, with both his characteristic lasciviousness and the motivated enthusiasm of a man who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. “It’s a democracy, Shishwammy. Let Bubbles drink! Or at least let us vote on whether he can drink. I vote yes.”

If it goes to a vote, Mumbo knows, Xisuma will lose. Keralis is not the only person who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. Far from it, in fact.

“Bdubs–” wails Xisuma, now weeping openly. Bdubs is stanced for combat, knees bent and arms wide like a sumo wrestler, the neck of the tequila bottle gripped in one fist. His moss hoodie and undershirt, somewhere in the proceedings, have vanished from his body. A circle of interested Hermits, sensing the evening’s entertainment, is beginning to gather around the scene.

Scar, Grian, and Mumbo watch from the other side of the room in companionable silence for a long moment – soaking up the general chaos, and attempting to process what’s just happened, respectively.

Then Scar swings his legs off the table, and stands up, with an admirable amount of grace and balance for a man nine cocktails down and counting. It’s an ongoing, server-wide mystery that Scar somehow becomes more coordinated and better with his words when drunk, and it’s always struck Mumbo as deeply unfair. “…Do you think we should go help?” he asks, mildly, watching Xisuma make yet another failed grab for the tequila.

“Absolutely not,” says Mumbo, immediately and very firmly.

As he watches, Bdubs downs two large mouthfuls of the tequila without flinching, and manages to duck Xisuma’s lunge with the poise of a ballet dancer. Xisuma, regrettably helmetless, lunges head-first into a table full of bottles instead. The resulting crash shakes the floorboards. “I do not want to get mixed up in that, thank you.”

“I think we should go and make it worse, actually,” says Grian, brightly. He is, Mumbo notices, holding a prosecco bottle – prised from Pearl’s now-empty hands where she’s slumped half-snoring beneath the table. He takes a sip, directly from the bottle, and hums appreciatively.

“Why,” says Mumbo, weakly.

“‘Cos it’ll be funny. Duh.” Grian offers the bottle to Mumbo, and wrinkles his nose when Mumbo doesn’t take it.

“Excellent point, Grian.” Scar swipes the bottle instead, tilting it up and taking a hearty chug – because that’s the part of the evening they’ve gotten to, apparently. Chugging prosecco from a bottle. “See! This is why you’re the brains of the operation. However, consider– you could also go make out in the bathroom.”

“With who?”

Scar strikes a pose, arms out, abs flexed. “With me, of course!”

“Eww. No,” says Grian, as though he hasn’t made out with Scar at nine out of the last ten server parties. Mumbo should know. He’s been keeping track. For the Boatem Pool, of course. It’s important to have those kinds of numbers to crunch, when you’re trying to work out how and when your best friend and your other best friend are going to have sex for the first time. Which is, of course, a perfectly normal thing to be trying to work out, thank you very much.

“I just want you both know,” Mumbo interrupts, “that I want no part in this.”

Grian turns to look at him, and Mumbo quails beneath the intensity of the mischief in his gaze. “What,” he says, “not even the bathroom makeouts?” as though he hadn’t been objecting to said makeouts mere moments ago.

Mumbo is just a heartbeat too slow in his denial.

“Mumbo. Mumbo!” says Scar, brightly. He’s grinning at him, a salesman’s smile, a snake’s smile, all teeth and smirk. “If you want the rewards of bathroom makeouts, you have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of doing crimes with us! You should know that by now.”

“What does that mean?!” Mumbo’s beginning to wish he’d taken the prosecco when it was offered.

“It means you should come with me and we can both take our pants off in front of Xisuma,” whispers Scar, secretively. “As a distraction. So Grian can do crimes, while everyone’s distracted by our ahmayzin’, uhhh– underwear.”

Scar’s natural reaction, Mumbo cannot help but notice, has not quite subsided yet. And, despite his trousers sitting low on his hips, there’s not so much as hint of underwear peeking out above the waistband.

“Underwear,” Mumbo repeats, slowly. “Right.”

“Absolutely not,” says Grian, but Scar is already gone, sprinting towards the Hermits ringing Xisuma and Bdubs’ ongoing tequila battle. “No! Scar–! Keep your damn pants on!” And then he’s gone, too, chasing after Scar. Or the promise of chaos.

Or, more realistically, both.

In their aftermath, Mumbo sinks – miserable, shirtless, belly hair still faintly damp from being licked – to the floor. Consumed by his own bewilderment, it takes him a moment to realise there’s a hand on his head. Pearl, apparently awake again, is petting his hair gently.

“There, there, mate,” she says, sympathetically. Her eyes are bleary, but her hands are remarkably steady as she pulls a fresh bottle of prosecco from god-knows-where and uncorks it with her teeth in a manoeuvre that leaves Mumbo staring, impressed. “Prosecco?”

“…Yeah, actually,” says Mumbo, as the noises of tequila-based disaster from the other side of the room increase, abruptly, in volume. “Yeah. You know what? Why not.”

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the chaos unfolding. Xisuma is on the floor, weeping. Bdubs is shirtless, teeth bared, wielding a now mostly-empty bottle of tequila. Scar is invisible through the throng of other hermits now watching, heckling, egging them on – but Grian is yelling, “Scar! Put your trousers back on!”, which gives them a pretty clear mental picture.

“They’re going to have sex in that bathroom, aren’t they?” says Mumbo, absently, after a while. The prosecco has settled, warm and fizzy, in bottom of his already thoroughly alcohol-lined stomach. A pair of trousers just flew out of the middle of the Hermit huddle, which is rapidly looking less like a circle and more like an active, good-natured brawl.

“Yeah. Probably.” Pearl pauses, thoughtfully, and makes grabby hands at the prosecco bottle. Mumbo obediently passes it over. “That is, if they don’t just give up and fuck right in the middle of the party.”

Mumbo ignores that last bit, because if he starts thinking about that then he’s a bit concerned he’s going to have a natural reaction of his own. Across the room, Bdubs has begun wailing in misery, in the way only Bdubs can. “I should probably be there,” he says. “If they are. For Boatem Pool purposes, you know?”

“Boatem Pool purposes,” repeats Pearl, solemnly. “Totally.”

She passes the prosecco back, and fist-bumps the bottle in solidarity when he takes it. And then they sit there, in silence, sharing the rest of the drink between them as the sounds of tequila-based disaster fill the rest of the room.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Outsiders Prompt fic 1- Aren't you tired of this?

This for @battleslippers who requested prompt #6 and Tim Shepard

******************

“Heyyy Tim,” Curly was sprawled out on the sofa for the third time this week, glassy eyed and sloppy. Ma was beside him, eyes the sort of bright Tim knew could go from nice to nasty in an instant and for a second he thought he might cry.

He didn’t- of course he didn’t- but he could’ve. Shit, Curly was takin’ this whole situation real hard. He’d always liked his booze a bit too much but Tim figured that was just part of their DNA. This was something else though. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his kid brother truly sober.

“Timmy,” Ma smiled and Tim felt his shoulders tense. There was no good ending to his mother’s brief moments of excitement. He’d survived enough of her tantrums and rages to know it, “come sit with us! Have a drink.”

She’d always liked him the best.

“No,” he tugged the bottle of tequila out of Curly’s hand, “I think you’ve both had enough.”

Ma’s face darkened, “I am your mother. Don’t think you can tell me when I have and haven’t had enough.”

His mother. Right. Maria Shepard wasn’t his mother. She was a child without a childhood. A baby who’d had babies. A monster of her own making.

“Fine,” he knew better than to argue. They wouldn’t make it through the afternoon without her screaming, but if he played his cards right they might get a few more hours of peace, “but Curly’s done.”

She didn’t fight him. She never did when it came to the twins, never had, never once even wanted to. 

“Aw that ain’t fair,” Curly protested, but his voice was slurred and he was too drunk to stand on his own let alone fight him on it. Tim passed the liquor over to Ma, who immediately took a swig. “I wasn’t- wasn’t finished.”

“Oh you’re finished all right,” moving to the side of the couch, he wrapped one arm around Curly's thin shoulders- christ the kid needed to eat more- and hauled him to his feet, half carrying, half dragging him down the hall to his room. 

He dumped him onto the mattress on his side of the room. Angela had propped hers up on milk crates years ago but Curly had always left his on the ground, always slept curled up in the far corner, even when he was a baby, like if only when was small enough and far enough beneath notice he could ever have a chance at resting.

“Aren’t you tired of this?” Tim asked, “The boozin’ and the drugs- don’t say you ain’t tried anything, why else would you be a mama’s boy all of a sudden? Seriously kid, you’re killin’ me here.”

“Nah,” cloudy blue eyes blinked at him, “I’m killin’ myself.”

A shock of panic shot through him like lightning.

“Shut up!” He shook his kid brother’s shoulders half desperately, “You ain’t! Shut up!”

The faintest hint of that troublemaker grin showed on his face, “you can’t stop me.”

“Watch me.”

Curly’s eyes filled with tears. Tim couldn’t say he didn’t expect it. Drunk folk were awful predictable, even though Curly was- per usual- trying to give him a heart attack.

“He’s gone, Tim,” Curly’s voice broke, the drunken grin and sardonic comments replaced with such genuine misery Tim can feel it stinging even him, “they- the socs- the socs killed him. Drowned him in a fountain like-like he wasn’t nice and smart and good-”

“-I know,” Tim doesn’t really do affection and Curly doesn’t usually like it but shit the kid needs something, and per usual Tim is all he’s got, so he pulls him into a hug tight enough to bruise even though its clunky and awkward not a Shepard type thing to do. Those damn socs had already taken one east side kid this month. He’d be damned if he let them take another- even indirectly. He’d be damned if they took Curly. “Shit kid, I know.”

“He was my friend.” Tim knew that wasn’t strictly true. Ponyboy Curtis had always meant more to Curly than a simple friend.

“I know.”

 Curly swallowed convulsively before starting to sob in earnest, tears soaking into Tim’s sweatshirt. 

“It’s ok,” Tim said, knowing it wasn't any sort of ok, “it’ll be alright.”

They stayed like that until Curly finally fell asleep.

[moonbeamwritings]

“This can’t be real.” You whine, your face suddenly feeling hot, the collar of your costume tightening around your throat. Had the elastic strap of your stupid squirt bottle cap hat always been this uncomfortable under your chin? “This is a nightmare. Pinch me. Please, put me out of my misery.”

“A nightmare!?” Your friend whispers incredulously. “This is a dream. Look at him! His friends look hot, too.”

You take a big gulp of your tequila. “I can’t talk to him like this. It’s humiliating.” You gesture to the cheap, ill-fitting ketchup bottle costume you’d adorned for this night out, your life choices coming into sharp, dizzying focus. Why couldn’t you have just worn a revealing costume like a normal person? It’s times like these where committing to the bit isn’t always a good thing.

“Hey,” she scolds, clicking her tongue at you, “ketchup can be beautiful!”

“Not enough to talk to- to that!”

Across the room, in all his beefy, athletic glory is Bokuto Koutarou — your calculus deskmate and occasional study buddy. Someone you’ve had a crush on all semester. Your eyes scan his figure and you realize that no amount of tequila or cheap beer could give you the confidence to go say hi to him. Not like this.

He’s wearing a baby blue crop top, one that’s a size too small and tugs across the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, squeezing at his massive biceps. Drawstring shorts in the same color expose the meat of his thick thighs and for a moment, the breath catches in your throat. What the fuck is in the water for these volleyball guys?

His two friends are in much the same state, red and green get-ups matching Bokuto’s own. The Powerpuff Girls. Bubbles has never looked so intimidating.

“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die in front of the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, and I’m wearing a fucking ketchup costume.” Tequila angrily sloshes in your cup, threatening to spill.

Your mustard counterpart rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’ll drag you into the yard. Give you a little dignity.”

You nod solemnly. “Thank you.”

Unbeknownst to you, your costume hasn’t escaped the ever vigilant gaze of the famous superpowered trio. In the opposite corner, Bokuto bounces on the balls of his feet.

“That’s them! The one from my calc class!”

Kuroo’s (Buttercup’s) head whips around to follow Bokuto’s gaze. “The witch?”

“No,” Bokuto responds, mildly offended. “The ketchup.”

“Ohh, right. Should’ve guessed.” Kuroo’s eyes roll.

Akaashi (Blossom) chimes in to add, “They were looking over here earlier.”

“They were?”

“I mean, it’s kinda hard not to notice,” Kuroo gestures to the three of them and their lack of clothes, “all of this.”

Bokuto downs the rest of his beer in one, resolute chug, confidence emanating from his very being. “I’m going over there.”

You’re in the middle of lamenting about how ridiculous you look when your friend reaches out to grip your elbow. “He’s coming over here.”

Your face drops, anxiety thrumming through your veins as your heart pounds. “No. No, don’t say that.”

“Oh, look!” She calls, glancing anywhere but at you. “It’s...... that girl that I know! I’ll uh... I’ll see you later!”

You open your mouth to tell her to get the fuck back here, that this is truly an ultimate and bitter betrayal, but the words die in your throat as Bokuto approaches. He beams as he comes to a stop in front of you, like you’re making his night by simply... existing. The sight brings heat to the apples of your cheeks.

Bokuto has to bend a bit to be heard over the music, and you can feel his breath ghosting over your ear as he says, “Hey! How’s it going!?”

“Good! How are you?”

With how close he’s standing now, not only do you get an even closer look at his defined pecs (which seem even bigger up close), but you also notice, much to your amusement, that his spiky hair has been pulled into two pigtails, wrapped together with little blue bows. How someone can manage to be cute and hot at the same time is equal parts infuriating and fascinating.

He smiles like he knows something you don’t, a hint of mischief sitting in the corner of his upturned lips. “I’m good! It’s not every day you get to talk to your favorite condiment.”

You put a hand to your heart as a surprised, teasing grin over takes your face. “Who? Lil’ ol’ me? You’re flattering me!”

“I’m only speaking the truth!”

“Well,” you start, any anxiety you felt before melting away the longer you spend in his presence (and the more the tequila settles in your stomach), “if you must know, Bubbles was always my favorite Powerpuff Girl.”

Bokuto seems thrilled at this, shifting a little to bump his arm into yours. “You’ve got good taste.”

Conversation flows easily after that. You talk about class – he hasn’t done the homework yet and he’s not ready for the test, don’t ask. He asks what your drink of choice is (it’s tequila) and how you landed on ketchup for a costume of all things (it was a joke that felt funnier at the time than it is now). It’s comfortable and breezy, and you regret not coming to these stupid house parties sooner.

You open your mouth to ask if he’d want to study together, and maybe the alcohol had loosened your tongue enough to ask if he’d want to grab coffee too, but you’re interrupted by Buttercup.

Buttercup eyes you for a moment, his eyes flickering between you and his “sister” before a smirk pulls at his mouth. An expression crosses Bokuto’s face, one you can’t read, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“I hate to interrupt,” he interjects, “but it seems we have a situation in the upstairs bathroom. Mind giving me a hand?”

Bokuto sighs, his gaze shifting to yours apologetically. “Sorry, duty calls.”

You smile, a half-hearted thing that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Bokuto. “Go save the city, ladies.”

“I’ll uh-” he pauses as if he’s really considering his next words before a little twinkle alights in his golden eyes, “I’ll ketchup with you later.”

As he turns to leave, you swear you hear his friend shout over the music, “Dude, that was terrible.”

Having lost your condiment companion and your superhero crush, and with no one else to talk to, you decide to venture outside, hoping that the cool October air will help to ease the flush on your cheeks.

You can still hear the music from out here, can listen in on the gossip offered up among friends sharing a smoke at the table in the yard, but now that you’re separate from the party, looking out into the backyard, you can’t help the doubt that creeps into the back of your mind. It’s a blink of a thought, a wisp of smoke in the wind, and you suspect it’s only because you like him so much, but you wonder, idly, if someone like Bokuto could ever be into someone like you. You deflate, dropping your cup on the deck railing and pulling the stupid bottle cap hat off your head. Sighing, you feel stupid all over again.

You spend another few minutes in relative silence before the back door slides open and an excited “I found you!” sounds from behind you.

A hand presses into the small of your back. “I was looking all over for you! I came back downstairs and couldn’t find your little hat in the crowd anywhere.” The thought of him seeking you out again makes your head spin. “I brought you another drink, if you want it.”

Bokuto offers you the cup with a cute, almost sheepish quirk of his lips, and you take it gingerly. A smile forming to mirror his own. You take a sip and it’s the exact drink you had before, mixed to perfection and made all the tastier knowing Bokuto brought it for you. “It’s perfect! Thank you.”

He’s all too pleased by the praise. “I’m glad! I practically had to wrestle the last of the Sprite from some drunk dude in the kitchen.”

His expression and the hand resting on your back make your legs feel like jelly. “My hero.”

“I do what I can for my people! You wanna sit?” He gestures vaguely to the stairs leading to the yard and you nod. Before you can sit, you try, and fail, to pull your costume over your head. It isn’t exactly the most forgiving fabric for anything but standing, and you huff when you can’t bend your arm enough to pull it up and over your head.

“I hate this.” You grumble, dropping your new cup onto the railing right next to your old one. “What the fuck?” You try again and when it doesn’t budge, the annoyance only seems to mount. “This costume is cursed, I swear.”

You bring your hand up to angrily pull at the offending fabric, but Bokuto stops you from tugging again by placing his hand over yours. “Want some help?”

“Please.”

Bokuto needs all of about five seconds to get it over your head, and in that time, the costume drags the fabric of your undershirt up, exposing a sliver of your stomach. His eyes widen and he feels like those memes about Victorian men getting a glimpse at a woman’s ankle.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you breathe a sigh of relief, plopping the costume onto the ground behind you. “Thank you. God, that was so much easier to get on.”

You collapse onto the deck stairs and pull your cup back into your grasp. Bokuto follows your lead, and when he puts his free hand behind him to rest against the wood, it ends up on top of your own. You don’t move a muscle and neither does he. The moon hangs bright and brilliantly yellow in the sky, painting Bokuto’s face in shadows that bring out his eyes and accent the high points of his face. For the umpteenth time, you think about how pretty he is and the chaos it’s causing in your heart.

You’re broken from your revelry when his eyes meet yours and, unable to hold his curious gaze, the tree in the distance suddenly becomes far more interesting than his side profile. When you’re not looking, Bokuto’s expression is struck by unabashed lovesickness. God, if Kuroo could see him now he knows he’d never hear the end of it.

In the comfortable silence that follows, and free from the confines of your condiment prison, your unasked question from earlier sits on the tip of your tongue. Do you wanna get coffee with me? The question plays over and over again as you rehearse the words and imagine them leaving your mouth. It can’t be that hard, right? People in cheesy rom-coms make this part seem so easy.

As if sensing your hesitation, you feel Bokuto’s hand curl a little tighter over yours. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You’re convincing yourself more than you are him, and it shows. His brows furrow and he seems to lean a little closer to you, awaiting an explanation. “I was just...” You sigh, collecting your nerves. “I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me this week? I could help you with the homework, too, if you want?”

Bokuto’s head tilts to one side, and before he can think to stop himself, he asks, “Like a date?”

He watches as your eyes widen. “I mean- I-...” You flounder, your face hot under his gaze. “If you want!”

The grin that overtakes Bokuto’s face is downright blinding, and you’re certain it’s the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. And, for the first time, you catch a glimpse of his dimples. It should be illegal for one man to be this handsome.

“I’d like that. I don’t have practice on Tuesday. Wanna go at 11? I can pick you up from your dorm and we could go to that place down the street. Get off campus for a while before hitting the books?”

Your nod only spurs his smile to widen, his dimples to deepen. You have to fight the urge to reach out and pinch his cheek. “Sounds good to me.”

“Now,” Bokuto says suddenly, plucking your hat off the ground and fixing it over his pigtails as he moves to stand, “I’m freezing my ass off out here. Get that costume on and let’s go dance!”

With his free hand, he pulls you up. His hand only leaves yours for the second it takes you to pull your costume back on before his fingers are intertwining with yours again. And as the colorful lights of the living room bounce off his face, his laugh ringing out over the music as he pulls you close on the makeshift dance floor, you can’t wait for Tuesday.

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Hi, could I please have a Daryl Dixon comfort/fluff request where the reader got her period and it's a sucky one so Daryl comforts her please and thank you?

I love this so much! Thank you for the request, friend❤️

"What's wrong with you today?" Daryl's voice startles me from my half asleep state, my eyes cracking open so I can look at him through the bars of my cell, a groan escaping me as the stabbing feeling in my lower stomach returns.

"Stop it." I mutter, waving him away but he just chuckles under his breath, pushing the door open with a loud creak.

"I didn't do nothing. Just askin' a question." He steps up to the side of my bed with a sigh, head tilting curiously at me as I tuck my knees to my chest, sucking in a breath of air. The pain is worthy enough of knocking me cold on the ground and I bury my face into my pillow even more, avoiding Daryl's prying eyes. "You sick or something?"

"Not sick." I groan, suddenly feeling a wave of annoyance wash over me and I feel my bed dip beside me, Daryl's hand reaching out to rest on my aching hip.

"Oh." He mutters and there's a shift in the atmosphere around us and I finally lift my eyes to look up at him. "Oh, alright, alright. I'll leave you alone then." He suddenly has a look of realization that passes across his expression and I feel a mortified rush of terror run down my spine.

"Wait." I reach out to grab onto his hand before he can run away and I suck in a breath as another wave of pain crashes over me, a pitiful wine escaping me. "Can you just-"

"Yeah, sure." He says before I can even finish my sentence, his hand not leaving mine as he settles back down onto the bed. "It hurt?"

"Like a motherfucker." I chuckle and a small smile slips across his lips, thumb brushing against my own.

"'m sorry." I can't help but curl myself into him, enjoying the warmth that he has to offer in this cold, damp cell that's doing nothing to aid my pain or my mood. "Need anythin'?" He asks softly.

"No, just to lay here in a ball of misery." He chuckles, eyes rolling sillily at my drama and I allow myself to giggle. Daryl rubs my hip gently as I groan loudly, stomach cramping severely as tears prick at my eyes. "Can you rub my back?" I ask through a strained gasp and I can tell that it must've taken him by surprise based on the parting of his lips and widening of his eyes.

"Yeah I can do that." He whispers and I roll onto my stomach, a shiver running down my spine at the feeling of Daryl pushing my tank top up so he can rub my lower back with his large hands. I shove my smiling face into the pillow beneath me to conceal my giddy excitement but I know he can sense it, he knows me better than that.

"Thanks Daryl. I appreciate it."

"I got you."

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