ok but side note can we not use words like “threw herself on him” or god forbid slut for dot like ??? she got a little boozed up and got carried away; magnus stopped her and she respected that. you all rly do the most when it comes to woc lmao.
Yeah, you all should have known this was coming… They don’t call me Cowgirl for nothing…
(This gif was made by my gorgeous friend Pam @saucynewf - and is being used with her permission)
Seriously, how much
is a girl supposed to take? You share rooms with these guys, watch
them walk around half-dressed, banter back and forth with them. You
take Dean’s suggestive, flirty comments and respond in kind,
telling yourself it’s all part of your friendship.
And then he does
Of all things, a
mechanical bull. You thought those things died out with Urban Cowboy.
But now, as you stand watching with your jaw clenched, and your nails
digging into your palms, and your thighs clamped together, Dean is
riding the fuck out of Larry, the centerpiece of the bar you went
into for the sole reason of grabbing some burgers.
You can’t tear
your eyes from him as his body sways, looking like he’s part of
that saddle. The muscles of his thighs are tight, holding firm, his
torso lean and lithe as he moves with it, sinuous and sexy as hell.
One arm waves above his head, giving him the balance he needs, the
other bicep bunched and bulging beneath the plaid shirt, unbuttoned
at the front to allow your eyes to cruise over where his t-shirt
clings to his pecs, his ribs, his belly.
“Do you know him?”
the waitress whispers, and you nod, your lips parted and your eyes
glued to Dean as the ride ends, and he slowly lowers himself back,
sprawled and smiling. “Lucky you,” she says, turning to go back
to work, and you blow out a breath, closing your mouth and lowering
((I know you didn’t specifically ask for this to be a fic, but heck I got carried away. This is actually the first fic I’ve written on this blog, being a new mod and all. I hope you enjoy it!))
It was early in the morning at the Overwatch headquarters, and you were the first to arrive, as usual. That was alright, though, you enjoyed tidying up the place before anyone else had arrived; they always complimented you on how nice it looked, saying things like “You’re quite the overachiever” and “I’m glad we recruited you”. Something seemed wrong when you had come in, though. There was a strong, musty scent in the air, and a few more bottles of whiskey laying around than usual. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach, and your mind couldn’t help but race with what could have happened last night.
You gathered two bottles from the table and turned around to collect more, but a dark shape against the wall caught your eye. You turned your head and saw a body sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall, head facing straight up, legs out in different directions, surrounded by various types of alcohol bottles and cans. You were so startled by this that you dropped one of the bottles you were holding on the floor, causing it to shatter loudly and the person who was passed out on the floor to wake with a jolt and jerk their head around frantically.
Once you had steadied your breathing and gotten over your initial shock, you recognized the person as Jesse McCree, one of your allies in Overwatch. Although, “ally” was putting it lightly. Over the year-and-a-half that you had been a part of Overwatch, you had developed a crush on the cowboy.
McCree had come to his senses and realized you were in the room with him. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and attempted to greet you.
“Oh hey, (Y/N). I forgot you worked mornin’ shift around here,” McCree joked, rubbing his face as he began to stand up. He was trying to play it cool, but it was clear to you that something had happened last night. You knew McCree was a fan of the occasional bottle of whiskey, but this was the most bottles you had ever seen.
“Are you okay?” you asked as you put the bottles you were holding back onto the table and walked over to him.
“Yeah, I’m fine, darlin’,” he said to you, leaning against the wall. His breath reeked of alcohol, which made you hold your nose. “Just a little tired.”
“McCree, are you…” You hesitated. It felt wrong to flat out ask if he was drunk. You tried to find a way to reword your question. “Did you stay here last night?”
McCree, leaning against the wall and smiled at you with the dopiest grin you had ever seen. “Eeyup, had myself a lil party. Guess I got carried away,” he chuckled. “Yeah, I sure had a blast. Man, was that tiring…” he began to fall, but you caught him before he could embrace the floor. You nearly fell over with him, but luckily he was able to stand with your support.
“Come on, McCree, let’s get you to bed,” you sighed, and began to walk with him, his arm slung over your shoulders and your arm around his waist. You were leading him to the infirmary, thinking that he would be able to rest in one of the spare beds.
You walked in silence, when suddenly you hear him say, “Y’know, you’re awful cute when you’re determined.” The compliment caught you off guard, but you brushed it off as the alcohol talking, and kept looking forward. But he continued to speak. “When you first came here, I wasn’t too sure about you. I admit, I can be a bit cold on newbies, especially with how many wannabes we’ve had. But you…” He stopped, and you looked at him. You were shocked to see a deep sorrow in his eyes as he gazed at the floor. “You’re so determined to make a change, (Y/N). And you always have so much optimism. I don’t know how I even found the will to fight before you joined us.” He looked at you and smiled, but this time, it was a sincere, wholehearted smile that made your heart begin pounding.
“You… you’re my reason to fight, (Y/N).”
You had reached the infirmary, and McCree had sat down on one of the beds. You looked down, too nervous to meet his eyes. “Do you… do you really mean that?”
He grabbed your hand, and you looked up at him, seeing in his eyes a sincerity that could not be denied. “Of course I mean… I get it, you think it’s the booze messin’ up my sense, but it’s not. I’ve wanted to tell you this for so long, and I hate that it had to be like this, but I love you. I wanna be with you.”
Your throat tightened. It was hard to believe this was happening. You were at a loss for words, so all you could do was nod your head and smile. McCree understood what you meant, and he smiled back. He let go of your hand and laid down, but as you turned to leave, he said, “Wait.”
You turned back around and it seemed as if his melancholy had returned. He patted the empty space beside him, letting you know he wanted you with him. How could you refuse?
You laid down next to him, your faces inches away. He brushed your hair aside and kissed your forehead, and you realized how incredibly warm he felt. He put his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, and you put your hand on your face. Both of you were lost in each other’s eyes, before his began closing, and yours, a sudden fatigue coming over you, followed suit. Soon, you were both fast asleep, dreaming together in each other’s embrace.
Imagine: You have a major crush on Peter Hale, but, because of the Pack, you have to keep it a secret. One day, when he comes to your house injured, you are not able to hide it any more and comes clean to him.
Word Count: 1560
Being ordinarily human in a town crowded with supernatural creatures could be pretty boring sometimes; especially when all of your friends saw you as a fragile thing who could get broken if exposed to a high amount of shit. It was stupid, though. You were not a doll or anything related, for God’s sake; plus, even though fighting was not your thing, you could help on other stuff, like cleaning and bandaging the injured. Your aunt Melissa had taught you a lot of medical stuff, making you perfect for this task. However, bone killer Scott shut you out entirely, pledging you were too young to be on this life.
“As if I cared!” You snorted, angry. “Fucking Scott. Fucking rules. Fuck! Fuck!”
You threw, bored, the remote control on the couch’s corner, giving up on finding a decent show to take your mind away from the horrible powerless feeling you were experiencing. People needed your help and you were stuck at home, not able to do nothing about it. Why did you let people manipulate you like that?
“This calls for some booze”, you thought, standing up and heading to the kitchen. Sure, drinking would never solve entirely your problems, it’s not like it’s magic, however, you would at least calm down. Otherwise, it was very likely that you would rip Scott’s throat with your bare hands.
While trying to reach the highest shelf to grab the tequila bottle, you could not help but giggle, suddenly imagining what the pack would do if they discovered your secret crush on Peter Hale. Poor tiny human Y/N falling for a monster. It was ironic.
Finally getting hold of the bottle, you took a sip straight from it, not bothering to get a glass. The liquid went down burning and you smiled, enjoying the sensation. It was damn good, as usual.
Taking short steps, you went back to the living room, ready to put on some music and swirl your hips to it. All of that was probably due the alcohol excess, you were never a strong drinker. Yet, whilst you set up the stereo, you heard odd noises. As if someone was walking clumsily through wood sticks, breaking them with its feet.
“Shit.” You muttered, approaching the window and slyly looking through a brief shaft. There was nothing there. “I’m going crazy. That’s it.”
As soon as you returned to the room, you heard it again. This time, though, the door was swung open and a bleeding light brown haired man leant against the doorframe. What the hell was Peter doing here, at your place? Has he lost his mind?
“Hey, princess.” His voice was weak and he coughed, blood staining your carpet. “Care to help me a little?”
Your thoughts were mingled and confusing, but you propped up and went to help him. You pushed the door closed behind you and dragged him to the couch, staring deeply at his eyes. He seemed so defenseless!
“Kate is back in town.”
“Kate as in Allison’s aunt?” Your eyes were widened as you quizzed him worried. “Fuck, wasn’t she dead? How did she come back?”
“As it seems, she was not killed. She was turned.”
“Into a werewolf?”
“Not quite, princess. We still have to figure out that part.” You could notice him struggling to talk and it shattered your heart the mere sight of your beloved hurt.
You always had a thing for bad boys, that was true; however, when Peter tagged along, you knew he was different. Sassy, slightly bossy… Heck, a perfect match for you. Still, you had to keep it a secret from him and everybody else. No one was allowed to know about your feelings, because it would turn out to be a major problem, considering how overprotective your cousin could get. Argh! You hated it. All of it.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure I am.” Your reply came out with a fake laugh and a awkward gulp. “I think I should be asking you the same thing.”
“Uh, I’ll be okay. I only a need a shower.” He smirked tenderly, reaching to touch your right cheek. “Your heart is beating like crazy.”
Yes, this you could not hide or disguise. Seeing him hurt and in pain made your heartbeat go crazy. More than it would normally get when you were around him.
“I’m just…” You licked your lips, fighting to keep it together. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Uh, I’m sorry.” Hale seemed disappointed, which made you bit your bottom lip. “You were the only person who came into my mind.”
“I’m flattered you considered me as an option.” A sarcastic remark slipped. “People tend to treat me like I’m made of glass.”
“What?” Peter sat up straight, wincing in pain by doing so. “You’re so tough, princess. So resilient. I bet you would make a badass werewolf.”
“Damn, this is so good to hear.” A smile curved your lips, for you were genuinely satisfied. “Now, enough with this. You need to shower and I’m going to find you clothes.”
“All right.” Hale nodded and tried to get on his feet. You could nearly feel his ache to walk and, once more, made your poor pumping organ skip a few beats. “Where is the bathroom?”
“I’ll take you there.”
Right then you realised how hard this situation was going to be. You cared too much about him to keep your shit under control for that long. It was a true challenge for your sanity; one you hoped to win.
Twenty minutes later, you found yourself lying lazily on your bed, staring at the white ceiling and pulling carelessly the soft fabric of your denim shorts while waiting for him to come out.
You took a deep breath in order to relax; yet, before it made any effect, the door was opened and a shirtless dripping water Peter walked through it, looking refreshed. This tore apart any chance of relaxation. Matter of fact, it made you more tensed up than ever.
As you sat upright, your gaze locked on him and you licked your lips, nervous. Hale must have found it pleasing to watch, for he chuckled, delighted, leaning to grasp the bundle of clothes that were by your side.
“Do you like what you see, princess?”
“I would appreciate if you call me by my name.” You retorted, looking away. “Why don’t you get dressed already?”
“Does my nudity bother you?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Why would it?”
He traced your jaw with his long slim fingers, getting you to look at him. Once you finally gave up and rose your chin, meeting his eyesight with yours, you found them soaked with tenderness. His blue eyes engulfed you like a high strong wave.
“Confess.” The raspy voice requested, his thumb stroking leisurely your cheekbone. “Tell me you love me, because I can hear your heartbeat from miles away.”
“Please, don’t make me do this.” You did not break the eye connection, no matter how quivery your voice were. “I don’t want to say it.”
“But you do love me.” He knelt in front of you. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“Why I find you beautiful? Because you are! So perfect and freaking gorgeous.”
“No.” You shook your head, giggling. “If you know how I feel, why do you want me to confess it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself by falling for a girl who wasn’t in love with me as well.” A sinking feeling hit your stomach as you slowly understood what he was saying. “Oh, fuck! Did I scare you?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“So kiss me, please.” Peter asked, smoothly. “Go on, princess.”
A smug smirk enlightened your face and then you crashed your lips onto his, tasting all at once. He grasped your waist and pulled you closer, whilst you tugged his hair, wanting to release all the tension built up. It was so much better than you had imagined! His tongue fought with yours for dominance, the whole kiss heating up the place.
“Easy, tiger.” You whispered, splaying your hands on his chest as Hale was inches away from popping your shorts open. “I didn’t think you were this excited to be with me.”
“Ever since I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were going to be my doom.” Peter pecked your lips and continued. “The worst was that I didn’t care at all. I wanted you to crush me with your love. I wanted you to break my walls.”
“Damn hell you did.” Both of you chuckled. “What about me? Did I crack Mrs. Y/N Y/L/N?”
“You know you did.” Your voice was soft. “I am hopelessly in love with you.”
Peter Hale hid his face on your neck, smiling against it, half surprised half glad by your statement. He stayed quiet for awhile, just sucking on your skin and leaving love bites behind. When he finally reached your ear, he could not help but mutter the words you wanted to hear:
“I love you too, princess.”
Your heart warmed up upon hearing that and you sealed your lips once more, realising how deep were your feelings towards each other. You two were meant to be. Definitely a love written on the stars.
“Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy. Any of us will.”
“I was plannin’ on getting boozed up tomorrow night. If I don’t, I’ll walk over and find y'all.”
“Okay, greasers, you’ve had it.”
“Who’s this, your great-aunts?”
“Sorry, kid. I forgot.”
“Shoot. You’re ninety-six if you’re a day.”
“Brother, you’re a sharp one. Where’d you two ever get to be picked up by a couple of greasy hoods like Pony and Johnny?”
“Five. They don’t talk Arabian, I don’t think. Say somethin’ in Arabian, Johnnycake.”
“Hey, where is ol’ Dally, anyways?”
“He’ll probably find the fight. That’s why I came over. Mr. Timothy Shepherd and Co. are looking for whoever so kindly slashed their car’s tires, and since Mr. Curly Shepherd spotted Dallas doing it…well…Does Dally have a blade?”
“Good. Tim’ll fight fair if Dally don’t pull a blade on him. Dally shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“A fair fight isn’t rough. Blades are rough. So are chains and heaters and pool sticks and rumbles. Skin fighting isn’t rough. It blows off steam better than anything. There’s nothing wrong with throwing a few punches. Socs are rough. They gang up on one or two, or they rumble each other with their social clubs. Us greasers usually stick together, but when we do fight among ourselves, it’s a fair fight between two. And Dally deserves whatever he gets, ‘cause slashed tires ain’t no joke when that was his fault. Our one rule, besides Stick together, is Don’t get caught. He might get beat up, he might not. Either way there’s not going to be any blood feud between our outfit and Shepard’s. If we needed them tomorrow they’d show. If Tim beats Dally’s head in, and then tomorrow asks us for help in a rumble, we’ll show. Dally was getting kicks. He got caught. He pays up. No sweat.”
“You dig okay, baby. Anyone want a weed?”
“Me, too. Get Johnny some, too. I’m buyin.”
“You must make such interestin’ conversation, you keepin’ your mouth shut and Johnny not sayin’ anything.”
“Who is it? The F.B.I.?”
“And a few other of the socially elite checkered shirt-set.”
“Who’s acting? I’m a natural normal.”
“Don’t get mouthy, Ponyboy.”
“No…no, Ponyboy, that ain’t right…you got it wrong…”
“Shut your mouth, kid. If you wasn’t Soda’s kid brother I’d beat the tar out of you. You know better than to talk to Johnny like that.”
“He didn’t mean it Johnny.”
“Shut up talkin’ like that. We couldn’t get along without you, so you can just shut up!”
“I know. The chips are always down when it’s our turn, but that’s the way things are. Like it or lump it.”
“Who you callin’ bums?”
“Then pity the back seat.”
“Why? We ain’t scared of them.”
“Well, those were two good-lookin’ girls if I ever saw any.”
“Marcia’s number. Probably a phony one, too. I must have been outa my mind to ask for it. I think I’m a little soused.”
“Y'all goin’ home?”
“I don’t know why I handed you that busted bottle. You’d never use it.”
“Gonna go play a little snooker and get hunt up a poker game. Maybe get rip-roarin’ drunk. I dunno. See y'all tomorrow.”
“Hey, Ponyboy. Long time no see.”
“Man, dig baldy here! I wouldn’t have believed it. I thought all the wild Indians in Oklahoma had been tamed. What little squaw’s got that tuff-lookin’ mop of yours, Ponyboy?”
“What I like is the ‘turn’ bit. Y'all were heroes from the beginning. You just didn’t ‘turn’ all of a sudden.”
“Why is it very bad?”
“I’ll babysit him. I haven’t got anything better to do.”
“Work? And ruin my rep? I wouldn’t be babysittin’ the kid here if I knew of some good day-nursery open on Saturdays.”
“…anyway, I was walking around downtown and started to take this short cut through an alley…and I ran into three guys. I says ‘Howdy’ and they just look at each other. Then one says 'We would jump you but since you’re as slick as us we figure you don’t have nothin’ worth takin’.’ I says 'Buddy, that’s that truth’ and went right on. Moral: What’s the safest thing to be when one is met by a gang of social outcasts in an alley?”
“No, another social outcast!”
“This house ain’t messy. You oughtta see my house.”
“Shoot, kid, if I ever did that my mom would die of shock.”
“I would drive us, but the breaks are out on my car. Almost killed me and Kathy the other night. You oughtta see Kathy’s brother. Now there’s a hood. He’s so greasy he glides when he walks. He goes to the barber for an oil change, not a haircut.”
“You know the rules. No jazz before the rumble.”
“They treatin’ you okay, kid?”
“Don’t talk. Just listen. We’ll bring you some hair grease next time. We’re havin’ the big rumble tonight.”
“It’s too bad you and Dally can’t be in it. It’s the first big rumble we’ve had—not countin’ the time we whipped Shepard’s outfit.”
“Did you know you got your name in the paper for being a hero?”
“You want anything besides hair grease, kid?”
“Okay. Don’t y'all run off.”
“I wish it was any one of us except Johnny. We could all get along without anyone but Johnny.”
“No wonder he hates your guts.”
“Oh, lordy! He has to live with that.”
“We just left him. I don’t know about stuff like this…but…well, he seemed pretty bad to me. He passed out cold before we left him.”
“You feel okay? You’re awful hot.”
“All right. But Darry’ll kill me if you’re really sick and go ahead and fight anyway.”
“You know somethin? You’d think you could get away with murder, living with your big brother and all, but Darry’s stricter with you than your folks were, ain’t he?”
“You know, the only thing that keeps Darry from bein’ a Soc is us.”
“I never knew you to play chicken in a rumble before. Not even when you was a little kid.”
“Somethin’ is gonna happen. We’re gonna stomp the Socs’ guts, that’s what.”
“What’s up with the big-times?”
“Welup, I see we’re in prime condition for a rumble. Is everybody happy?”
“Get thee hence, white trash. I am a Soc. I am the privileged and the well-dressed. I throw beer blasts, drive fancy cars, break windows at fancy parties.”
“I jump greasers!”
“Shoot, everybody fights.”
“They’re running! Look at the dirty —— run!” (Ponyboy isn’t sure if Two-Bit says it or not, but we could count it as him.)
“So he finally broke. So even Dally has a breaking point.”
“You really would have used that bottle, wouldn’t you? Steve and me were backing you, but I guess we didn’t need to. You’d have really cut them up, huh?”
“Ponyboy, listen, don’t get tough. You’re not like the rest of us and don’t try to be…”
“What in the world are you doing?”
“You little sonofagun.”
“No, but that’s what I’m wishing was all that’s bothering me.”
STILES AS A COLLEGE BARTENDER??? tell me everything
OKAY BUT LIKE??? THIS IS SO REAL AND I LOVE IT?
Stiles is at GWU and he wants to help with the money a little bit but also wants some pocket money. Solution? Get a job.
But he knows he’s not patient enough to be a waiter, or coordinated enough, and he doesn’t want to do any type of labor work because he’s lazy. So he signs up for bartending classes the summer that he starts college and he gets certified.
He gets a job a little bar off campus– one of the many in the area.
It’s kinda dark, kinda dingy, but also he loves it there.
Stiles is such a night owl that the late hours don’t bother him– he’s been living with insomnia for years, and compared to what high school was like, college is Insomnia Lite.
He stands behind the long wooden bar in a tight black shirt and red jeans and black converse and convinces people to buy more booze.
Stiles makes up new drinks when he’s bored. Freshman year, he’s terrible at it. By senior year, he’s really fucking good.
Stiles seriously thrives under pressure (gee, I wonder why) so when the bar is craziest is when he’s at his best.
The girls love him because he’s funny and nice and they always try to flirt with him
The guys love him because he doesn’t give preference to the girls and serve them first– he’s an equal-opportunity Stiles.
Whenever Lydia comes to visit, she always spends the whole night on a barstool in front of him, watching him work through the rush with a towel over his shoulder and an easy grin splitting his mouth in half.
They both take way too much enjoyment from making fun of the college bands that the bar gets to play on live music nights.
Stiles always tries to swap his shift out on karaoke night, and when he doesn’t succeed, he basically always comes home grumpy. He hates karaoke night.
He becomes really, really good at making fruity, delicious drinks and basically vows never to touch scotch or whiskey ever again because… um… ew?
Stiles also makes it his task to always serve Lydia drinks that are as pink as possible.
Whenever he goes home to California at Christmas or for summer, Lydia throws a big party at her house or her lake house and everybody chips in for tons and tons of booze and Stiles is designated bartender.
He only hangs up the towel after he graduates and starts working full time, but whenever they have pack events or holidays, he’s still designated bartender.
“You don’t want to get rusty, just in case you have to take up bartending again,” explains PhD Lydia Stilinski as she invites fifty people to their modest home for a summer soi·rée. “Yeah, seems like a very likely scenario,” replies Special Agent Stiles Stilinski, who knows so many secrets about national security that he’d probably get murdered by a hired hitman before they fired him.
At the point in time where the story takes place, we know the ins and outs of Claymore physiology pretty well. Little details about their regeneration and limitations are revealed with time in the series, and there’s a lot to suggest that we understand their half-yoma bodies about as much as we could ever hope to. But when you think about it, even though the Org has scientists, most of the information had to come from the Claymores themselves, as human scientists can only learn so much through observation. Most of what we know about them has come from a decades-long process of self discovery on their part. And that makes sense, given that most of their special abilities shine through in combat, and they do a lot of fighting. Of course they’ve learned a lot about themselves that way.
But you know what isn’t combat related? The weird way their body processes alcohol. Now, it’s not strange that they would drink and eventually figure it out, but you’d think that they’d assume they just have much higher alcohol tolerance than humans, and not that they can completely control how much alcohol effects them. The fact that they understand it to the degree they do speaks of some form of deliberate research effort.
So like, what I’m getting at here is, at some point in history, at least one Claymore set out to get absolutely shitfaced for science.
It’s at a comedy level of complete farce now and I’m pretty sure B/n will fail to sell Boe as badly as D sells M/arren (if Zoe’s recent party video is anything to measure their chemistry against), but I’m sure PR will force a double date pic on us within the month.
You know a simple low key explanation by D of why B/n lives in the pr house would have been more effective than what’s happening with B/n now, but then you have to factor in the unpredictable M/a. As it seems when D ignores M/a she pulls some stunt, like the recent valentine Snap-chat pics and D then goes thru silly staged photo ops to rectify her mess and now B/ns roped in too and we get this fiasco where no seems to have any self respect anymore.
Last night is another example of red carpet pictures where D looks miserable, whilst M Tries to sell her sinking ship desperately by smiling. Note the moment the photographers ask them to get closer. D doesn’t move - she does. Then look at the backstage pics with other people where D is laughing and joking. It’s obvious to those who look there is no chemistry and D shows this blatantly and consistently whenever he does these events with her.
I actually cringe for all parties involved in this, just stop!!
I don’t know what stops D running from this mess, but I wish he would.