in which 'you wanna get a beer

anonymous asked:

u wanna get hammered ya gotta drink a lotta beer which means buying a lotta beer. hard liquor is the only drink for a true working class fellow

Or you know you have a series of really cool issues with your liver that you’ve dealt with and don’t want anyone worrying about but which led to you not drinking for five years and now you can get premier status fugged off like two genny cream ales

anonymous asked:

I love the tingly feeling you get when you're drinking wine I'm experiencing it right now I'm on the couch under my big born comforter and I'm so content and smiley but I'm also having serious Harry vibes and I want him under the covers with me legs wrapped around each other every time we look at each other (which happens every 30 seconds) we just giggle for no reason UGH I wanna drink wine with Harry so bad

Mmm I think about that every time I drink. I’m in the same position as you (except with beer not wine) and I want to cuddle so bad.

Imagine his tipsy ass giggling. “WHY D'YA KEEP LOOKIN AT ME” And he laughs while you try to explain and he kisses your cheek mm


“I like pizza,” Barton says as Bucky storms into the kitchen from the living room.

“What?” Bucky answers, confused about the statement.

“Pizza. It’s the best. Especially here in New York. You were arguing with Steve over what’s changed in ninety years and I just thought I’d throw in my two cents. Pizza’s still good. It’s awesome, and Larry’s Pizza, the place about three blocks from here? It’s the best.”

Bucky sucks in a breath and stares at Barton. He’s sitting at the kitchen counter working a cross word puzzle, with a bottle of beer sitting near his hand. He isn’t even looking at Bucky, which lets Bucky stare a little at his broad shoulders and the green t-shirt stretched tight across them.

“You wanna go get some pizza?” Bucky asks, because why the fuck not?

Barton looks up from his puzzle and his greenish blue eyes are god damned startling to Bucky. When did Barton, the eyes up high, the guy who spent his time at meetings making paper airplanes and then disappearing until mission-time, suddenly become so damned hot?

Pizza. Yeah. That’s what Bucky wants.

Barton slides back from the counter and stands in one fluid motion, making Bucky’s mouth go dry. He looks Bucky up and down like he’s something to savor, and then he nods. “Yeah. I’ll get some pizza with you. I’ll take you to Larry’s. You’ll love it,” he says, and he stands and stretches and Bucky has to put his hands in his pockets to try ignore the buzz through his body that happens when he sees the little patch of skin above Barton’s jeans when he stretches.

Barton brushes past Bucky and says, “Come on. Let’s go see what’s changed in ninety years.” He pauses and adds, over his shoulder, “I’ll bet it’s not the pizza.”

Bucky swallows hard, checks his wallet to make sure he can pay for the pie, and follows. This is lookin’ like it’s gonna be a good night.