met bar

valentine’s day // dylan o’brien

Summary: Dylan falls in love with a girl who hates Valentine’s Day

Requested: no

Pairing: Dylan & Y/N

Warning: yes, mature language, themes, & smut throughout

Masterlist

His long legs extended across her lap as he took a large gulp of the amber liquid. Sighing contently, he placed the glass bottle on the floor and snuggled deeper into his couch. Her hands were lazily drapped over his feet as she focused on the television. The movie that they had been watching was fairly interesting although she was having a bit of a hard time following the plot.

“Wait, is he the sister’s boyfriend?” Y/N asked her best friend who shook his head in return.

“No, that’s the guy they met at the bar who looks like the boyfriend.” Dylan explained.

Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N continued to watch the film hoping somewhere along the way things would make sense.

This was their routine. Every Friday night for the past 3 years was spent on his lumpy couch drinking beer, eating pizza, and watching movies. As the ending credits started, Y/N let out a soft yawn as she extended her arms.

“What did you think?” Dylan asked, eager to know what she thought of the film. “I thought she was going to pick the boyfriend’s brother’s friend.” Y/N admitted with a giggle, thinking about the cliched love triangle movie she just watched. “The ending was very unexpected.”

Pulling his feet off of her lap, he sat on the edge of the couch.

“What about you?” She called out as he walked to the kitchen with his empty beer bottle.

“I was routing for the boyfriend’s brother’s friend too.” His laugh echoed throughout the kitchen.

Their friendship consisted of watching cheesy romance movies together, texts at 3am when they couldn’t sleep, and the comfort of knowing that they always had someone they could count on. It was completely platonic.

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Rogers Jr.

Summary: You and Steve tell your daughter about how you met back in Brooklyn. This is for @redlipstickandplaid who wanted enough floof to give her cavaties, I hope I met the bar!<3 

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader, Phoebe Rogers [their daughter], Bucky Barnes

Warnings:  so disgustingly cute and fluffy, Dad!Steve, I wanted to puke rainbows while writing this :’)

Sidenote;; Bolded text are past events as told by the Reader & Steve, [basically like a narrator] 

‘Cause all I know is we said hello, and your eyes look like coming home

All I know is a simple name, everything has changed

All I know is you held the door, you’ll be mine and I’ll be yours

All I know since yesterday is everything has changed’

                                                 ___________

“Mommy?”

“Yes, bug?” You gave your daughter a soft smile, tucking her into bed before sitting on the edge.

“How did you and daddy meet? Was he already an Avenger?”

“I knew Daddy before he was all tall and muscly, Phoebe,” you chuckled, earning an amused grin from the 5 year old, those beautiful bright blue eyes gazing up at you.

“Were you taller than him?”

You nodded, “I was.”

Phoebe laughed, her legs kicking underneath the duvet in her hysterics.

“Alright,” you smiled, trying to hide your own laughter, “calm down, miss. It’s time for some sleep, or you won’t be up in time for the school trip.”

“Oh,” her little face fell as she groaned in protest, “But you didn’t tell me the story.”  

“How about both me and Daddy tell you tomorrow?”

She nodded, enthusiastically. “Yeah!”

“See you in the morning, baby.” You lean down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before she snuggled beneath the sheets and settled to sleep.

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Stood Up (Castiel x Reader)

Plot: Cas notices a beautiful girl sat by herself and realizes she’s been stood up. To stop her being embarrassed, he goes over and pretends to be her date.

Pairing: Cas x Reader

Warning: Fluff, angst if you squint, sadness, being stood up, Cas being adorable and awkward, Dean being annoying

Word count:1,110

Prompt: “Is ketchup a vegetable?” 

Originally posted by sooper-dee-dooper-natural

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“Mundane World” - Alec Lightwood

Originally posted by madyvh91

(not my gif)

REQUEST: Alec and (Y/N) are dating but she is human and he visits her at night to make sure she is safe and she introcuces him to human things such as Netflix and video games.

(Y/N) and Alec Lightwood made a surprisingly cute couple. Alec, who was a shadowhunter, always hated mundanes. He never considered them as inferior, but he has always found them quite helpless and confusing. He never understood them or their lifestyle or why they were so fond of such things as Twitter or TV reality shows. Obviously, mundanes didn’t have to worry about demons or th battle against evil, but Alec thought that there were more important things to do in life than sit on a couch and watch a football game.

This is why everybody was surprised to see Alec get on really well with a mundane. (Y/N) and Alec met at a bar in town one night. Alec was on a mission with his sister, Isabelle, and (Y/N) was just having a few drinks all  by herself. Alec had accidentally spilled a drink all over (Y/N)’s shirt as he pushed someone out of the way. He was such in a rush to leave the bar – which was way too crowded with mundanes to his displeasure, that he hadn’t noticed that (Y/N) was yelling at him, until she voluntarily spilled her own drink on him.
“What the hell?” Alec had shouted as he turned around to face a very angry-looking girl.
“Newt time, you’d want to be more careful and apologize!” (Y/N) has yelled back at him.
“What did I do?” Alec asked, confused but still angry.
“You’re being a jerk!” (Y/N) had said before storming out of the bar.

Then, a few days later, Alec and (Y/N) bumped into each other again, but this time, the atmosphere was a lot more at peace. (Y/N) had apologized to Alec for her behaviour in the bar.
“I was having a bad day and, well, I was a bit drunk.” (Y/N) had explained to him.
She had offered him to go get some coffee and, to his own surprise, Alec had accepted. Since then, they were always hanging out together. Alec had told her that he was a shadowhunter and, oddly, (Y/N) didn’t seem surprised.
“I had a friend once, she was a shadowhunter too. I could tell you were one by the runes on your arms.” (Y/N) had told Alec.
“People usually think they are tattoos.” Alec shrugged.
“People are usually blind. They only see what they want to see.” (Y/N) had said.

(Y/N) was sat on her bed when she heard footsteps downstairs. She grabbed the first thing she found and held it in front of her, ready to defend herself. But the person who opened her bedroom door was no murderer or kidnaper, but her boyfriend, Alec Lightwood. Alec looked at his girlfriend, who was holding a lamp in her hand.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, puzzled.
“I thought you were a intruder!” (Y/N) said, putting the lamp back down on her bedside table.
“And what were you hoping to achieve with a lamp? Blinding me?” Alec asked, slightly amused.
“Oh, shut up.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I wish you would stop using a rune to unlock the front door. Normal people knock, you know.” (Y/N) stated.
“Normal people are boring.” Alec shrugged.
Alec sat down on the bed next to (Y/N) and kissed her forehead.
“I was just checking on you. Is everything OK?” Alec asked.
“Yes. You know you don’t have to check on me every night, right? I can defend myself.” (Y/N) said, she sounded confident.
“Yeah, I saw that. That lamp looks pretty lethal.” Alec said, sarcastically.
“Shut up, will you?” (Y/N) laughed as she threw a cushion at Alec. He laughed too but then looked serious again.
“It’s just that now that Valentine is back and everything, I’m worried about you.” Alec declared, concerned.
“I’m fine, Alec. Plus, I’m not gonna wander around the streets at night. I have a date with Netflix tonight.” (Y/N) smiled.
What?” Alec said, angrily.
“What?” (Y/N) asked, confused.
“Who’s that guy?” Alec was furious.
“What guy?” (Y/N) aked, perplexed.
“That Netflix guy? The guy you said you’re going on a date with!”
(Y/N) bursted out laughing. Alec still looked furious.
“You think it’s funny?”
“No, babe, listen.” (Y/N) tried to stop laughing. “Netflix isn’t a guy. It’s a Platform to watch movies and TV series.” (Y/N) eplained.
“But you just said something about a date.” Alec said, confused.
“It’s an expression. What I meant to say was that my plans for tonight are to watch movies on Netflix, see?” (Y/N) turned the TV on and the screen read ‘NETFLIX’.
“Oh.” Alec felt a little embarrassed.
“I would never go on a date with someone else than my adorable non-mundane boyfriend.” (Y/N) declared.
(Y/N) kissed Alec’s lips and then looked at him.
“Do you have plans for tonight?”
“Not really.” Alec shrugged.
“Would you stay with me then? We can cuddle and Watch Netflix together.” (Y/N) said.
“I’d like that.” Alec smiled and laid down on the bed, holding (Y/N) tight against his chest as they watched ‘FRIENDS’ for the rest of the night.

“I like Netflix, after all.” Alec told his girlfriend, halfway through their ‘FRIENDS’ marathon.
“Welcome to the mundane world.” (Y/N) smiled.
“I mean, as long as it’s not a guy who is trying to steal my girlfriend.” Alec added.
(Y/N) laughed and kissed Alec passionately.

this is an au my bestie @llamavillana​ and i made up !!

So Jason and Lena met at this bar, both were drunk, crying for their loves (kara and barbara, who are friends, coincidentally) and since then, they become bff and give advice to each other on how to get their girls. Lena would always tell Jason how to make a romantic dinner for Barbara (not good), and Jason would always tell Lena how to act cool, dress in leather, and impress Kara (also not good, it usually ends up in trouble but these kids are trying their best)

Too Right To Be Wrong [Chapter 1]

New Series!!! Request by an awesome anon that inspired me to turn it into a series :) hope you guys enjoy!

Series Genre: Angst/Smut/Fluff

Originally posted by myjaebutt


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Bad Intentions

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Based on: Bad Intentions by Niykee Heaton

Word Count: 1,212

Warnings: cursing, smoking weed, past soulless!Sam, a lot of implied smut, loss of a child, angst, character death

*flashbacks are in italics

Originally posted by frozen-delight

It’d been a long time since you could be considered anything close to innocent. Meeting Sam Winchester turned you into an insatiable monster in the bedroom. Sure, there were nights when he’d laid you down and take it slow, but not at first.


You met in a smoky bar, you drowning your sorrows in rum and coke while he was slamming straight whiskey and smirking at you through the dim light. His eyes seemed to linger on your neck, and you absently wondered what kind of marks he’d leave if you let him get his hands on you. So you did.

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Beautiful Stranger [Chapter 1]

Originally posted by jinyoung-ahh

Request by a wonderful anon! : “Hello can you please write a Jinyoung smut scenario :) it can be any plot you want. Thank you. Have a good day my dear <3″

^^ My original idea took me down a whole new path and I decided to turn it into a series. I hope you like it, my love!

Series Genre: AU/Smut/Fluff

Warnings: Adult content and language


Today was an extremely long day. Work was crazy lately as the current CEO had been forced out of the company for embezzling corporate funds. You and everyone else were pulling double time to compensate for the legal ramifications his actions had on the company. Plus, you were all going to be introduced to your new boss tomorrow so the level of stress in the office was high.

All you wanted to do was have a drink and unwind so you stopped off at the bar close to your apartment. You took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink.

You couldn’t help but feel as if you were being watched.

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thousandlivesreader  asked:

Outlaw Queen + “Come home with me.” Please and thank you!

A/N: This one turned out to be just on this side of Mature. (AKA a bit stronger in the sensuality department.)

ONE NIGHT

She likes his smile, the way it splits his face, dimples piercing deep into his cheeks. His voice is soft, British, rasping over her skin, leaving feathery chills in its wake. He asks questions, blue eyes fixed on hers as if each word she speaks is rapture. (Robin is his name; she likes that, too.) She lets him buy the next round, though she’s never allowed herself to become beholden to any man for any reason–particularly a stranger she’s just met at a bar. But she thinks he won’t play the tit-for-tat game. He’s too open, too guileless; a refreshing change from her world of false geniality laced with poison–all in the name of professionalism.

She sips the whiskey he’s chosen and listens as he talks of his young boy, as he admits the heartache of having to split time with his ex-wife, though he would never dream of interfering with their special mother-son bond. “Roland still comes first for both of us,” he explains, and she decides that she’ll tell him about her own shared custody agreement with Henry’s birth mother–that her son’s away with the other woman for a week. (The longest she’s been apart from him.) She’ll give her new acquaintance this cherished piece of herself because he makes her feel safe. Because the alcohol courses warmly through her veins, relaxing her defenses.

She likes the casual brush of his hand against hers, the way he laughs at some anecdote about single-parenthood. The way he’s inched closer to her, propped his head against his palm, elbow on the bar. His gaze dips to her mouth–fleetingly–but it’s enough. She’s beginning to forget what brought her here in the first place. This is a better distraction than she had originally planned. There are thoughts she doesn’t let herself think, but she thinks them now. Her pulse thrums like a wild hummingbird and her fingers quiver only a little as she caresses the lion coat-of-arms tattooed on the inside of his wrist. She’s assaying the tension curling between them and smiles at the way he bites his lip in response.

There’s a story of his time in the service, edited for her benefit, she’s certain. But her attention is latched onto his fingertips grazing the shell of her ear when he pushes a lock of her hair back. She traces a line across his jaw, appreciating the faint beard there. That, too, seems more honest than the clean-shaven businessmen who cross her path daily. They are vipers hidden inside of pretty plastic mannequins, but the man in front of her is so incredibly human. She can’t stop touching him. His flesh is a wonder.

She likes that he escorts her outside after last call, holds her steady with her arm twined in his. She’s a little drunk–but not on alcohol. (She hasn’t had enough to dull her good sense.) She’s drunk on possibilities. She’s drunk with the sound of his dusky timbre. She doesn’t hail a cab, not yet. Neither does he. Instead, he takes her cheeks in his hands, presses his lips against hers. It’s tender, a tentative question seeking an answer. He pulls back before she can reply with the awakening heat smoldering in her belly.

“Sorry,” he says with a rueful grin. “I don’t normally do this.”

“Me, too.”

It’s the only warning she gives him before she draws him back down to her, slants her mouth over his, wet and hungry, to erase any doubt he might have of her interest. He grasps the fine fabric of her dress at her hip, tugs her into him as he fists his other hand in her hair and breathes her in. Everything becomes suddenly sharp, alive when she parts her lips and he accepts the invitation.

They choose his place; it’s closer and the thought of him in her bed is too personal, too intimate for what they are about to do. His apartment is smaller, but lived in. He drags a hand through his hair, hurries to tidy the few toys dotting his living room and mutters sheepishly that he wasn’t planning on company tonight. She laughs quietly at his charming embarrassment and tells him that it’s fine. It’s perfect. She doesn’t tell him that it’s because of clumsy, candid display that she’ll go through with their impulsive arrangement. She reaches for his hand, pries the Hot Wheels car from his fingers and sets it on the coffee table.

“Show me your room,” she asks with a boldness belied by the pounding behind her sternum.

He steps toward her, transforming from slightly befuddled single father to starved lover. His pale eyes are hooded, a ghost of avarice painted in his smile as if she’s become the only prize he could ever want, and her sinews grow elastic at his unfettered desire. “As the lady wishes,” he breathes over her lips.

She likes that he takes his time, but he’s not too timid. There’s a languid equilibrium between them as they kiss, as he unzips her dress, following the descent with his other hand trailing against the bare skin of her back, as she pulls his Henley over his head. He lets her savor the hard lines of his bare chest, the firmness of his abs. He worships her softness in like manner with lips and tongue chasing after fingertips.

He listens to her, follows her cues as though they are the road map to paradise. She hasn’t had a profuse companion like this, not since Daniel, and she tramps down the memory, blinks back the sudden burning in her eyes. She’s not quick enough to hide the brief aberration.

Robin pauses, brows pulled together with concern. “We can stop,” he offers.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers with a shake of her head. She pushes him over when he hesitates, straddles his hips and takes his mouth in a yawning kiss. She’s relieved when he’s once more lost to his voracious want.

Tears threaten again when he brings her to the precipice and sends her soaring, but it’s not regret that makes her face damp. It’s gratitude. He doesn’t know–he can’t–that she needed this tonight. She needed him. His expression is both gratified and confused as he collects the briny wetness on her cheek. She gives him a tender kiss to allay any worries stirring in his mind.

She likes that he offers her something to drink afterward. She pads after him to the kitchen, wearing his shirt, enjoying his lopsided grin and disheveled hair. (She did that.) He warms milk for hot chocolate, and she sits on one of the stools at the breakfast counter. They talk about nothing and everything. Their alma maters, the best age to start swimming lessons, favorite bands of the 90′s, and it’s unencumbered. Natural. She should be unsettled, but it’s only one night–a fleeting step outside of her life. He kisses the dollop of whipped cream off of her lips, laughs when she wraps her legs around his torso and encourages him to take them back to the bedroom.

She waits until he falls into a deep sleep before she gingerly extricates herself from his arms. (He snores; it’s muted and oddly endearing.) She wants to linger, but it isn’t a good idea. This has been a lovely game of pretend, she tells herself, though the peace she’s felt, the diaphanous sigh of happiness in her chest seems very real. These are thoughts she never thinks, however. She can’t.

She leaves her card on his nightstand on a whim, her personal number scribbled on the back with a thank you. This is dangerous, but she can’t bring herself to cut all ties, not yet. She hopes he won’t call. (She hopes he will.)

On the cab ride home, she turns on her phone. There are dozen texts and messages from Mary Margaret, from Emma, from Henry. She understands how worried they would have been, but they weren’t what she needed. She didn’t need to mark this anniversary with yet another tearful memorial of what she should have had but was stolen from her by a drunk driver more than a decade ago. This time, she wanted to forget. She wanted to live in a moment where her perpetual grief didn’t exist, where the wisp of second chances was within reach.

But the moment has passed and it’s now time to return to reality.

4

Pictured above are serial killers Jeffrey Dahmer and Dennis Nilsen.

Due to their similar modus operandi, Nilsen has often been described as the British Jeffrey Dahmer. Both would lure young men they met - usually at gay bars - to their flats, where they then strangled their victims after they passed out from drinking (Nilsen) or drinking and sleeping pills (Dahmer). After their victims were dead, they would cuddle them, share the bed with them, and engage in sexual acts with them; keeping them for several days before disposing of the bodies. While Nilsen only dismembered the bodies, because it was easier to get rid of them that way, Dahmer took pictures during the dismemberment, kept the skulls and even the full skeletons in two cases, and ate certain organs and muscles.

Unlike most other serial killers, neither Dahmer nor Nilsen tortured animals. The clips above show Jeffrey Dahmer as a child kissing his dog Frisky and as an adult kissing his grandmother’s cat, and Dennis Nilsen kissing and playing with his dog Bleep.

anonymous asked:

I'm making out with this one boy from time to time and when we met at a bar last Friday night Toto's Africa came up while we were kissing and he stopped and said "what a good song" and now I'm in love help

OMFJFKDJDHSJ

anonymous asked:

PLEASE TELL ME ALL UR ALEX X MAGGIE X LUCY HEADCANONS PLZ

So the thing no one knew is that Lucy and Maggie actually have some history. Some “we met at a bar and had a drunken one night stand that grew into a casual friendship with occasional boning” type history.

It was never anything serious; Maggie fears commitment more than death and Lucy always seemed hung up on someone from her past, but they stayed in contact and actually talked about things, and considering how emotionally stunted and work-obsessed they both are their dynamic is surprisingly healthy.

One day Maggie gets a call letting her know Lucy will be in town for a week on ‘business’ (she’s never said what she does but Maggie knows it’s federal) and so Maggie invites her out for drinks. She takes her to the alien bar, because Maggie knows who her father is and the prejudices she’s struggled with and honestly Maggie kind of wants to see if She is any more comfortable with this sort of thing. And luckily for all, Lucy is. She’s unfazed by the alien nature of the bar and actually seems to know a few of its inhabitants. Lucy looks good, she seems healthier and happier than she was the last time they met. Maggie feels her heart swell a little at the thought.

And so they sit and they talk about what’s going on in their lives and it only takes a few drinks for Lucy to start nervously talking about someone she’s gonna see in town soon and Maggie realizes this is who she’s always suspected existed, the mysterious person Lucy is hung up on.

“I’m in a much better place now and it’s just made me realize some things I think I was ignoring before,” she says.

“God, realizing is the worst,” Maggie says, smirking into her bottle as she takes another long drink. Lucy laughs and runs her fingers through her hair nervously.

“Tell me about it. Either way, I’ve got to figure out what to do now that I know there’re feelings there.”

“Ask her out. Or just kind of, you know,” she makes eyes at Lucy, holds her pointer and middle finger up in a V, flicks her tongue suggestively. Lucy snorts her beer so hard a little comes out of her nose.

“Fuck, Sawyer,” Lucy chokes through her laughter, “at least wait until I’m done drinking.”

“I’m just saying! Try asking her if she wants to come watch you work out. I’ve seen those guns in actions, that line would work on me.”

“Anything would work on you,” Lucy teases before dodging Maggie’s indignant smack. “Besides, it wouldn’t be like that with her. I don’t think I could just be with her, you know? without it being a forever kind of thing.”

Maggie’s stomach hurts a little at that, which only pisses her off. She’s always known what they were to each other and it’s ridiculous to be bothered by this. The benefit of being with someone like Lucy is how loose and casual it can be. So what if Lucy gets moon-eyes thinking about some other girl? Maggie isn’t looking for a forever kind of thing and Lucy knows that. Besides, it’s not like Maggie isn’t still drinking away her thoughts of Alex.

And great, now she’s thinking about Alex again. First she gets fuzzy thinking about Lucy and now she’s got Danvers back in the foreground where she seems to always lurk, like a constant blanket of affection and guilt that weighs down Maggie’s every moment. This is really why Maggie doesn’t do relationships or, hell, even feelings really. All they do is make everything hurt and Maggie’s had enough hurt for one lifetime, thanks.

And speak of the devil herself, in walks Alex Danvers. She’s got on those tight jeans and that leather jacket and god, Maggie wishes she wasn’t such a fuck up that Alex needs to avoid because there’s nothing she wants more than to run her hands under that jacket.

She’s so caught in her gawking that she doesn’t even notice Lucy has frozen up beside her; all she can focus on is the small little smile Alex is sending her way, a smile that shifts into a shocked, full blown grin when she sees who Maggie is sitting with.

“Oh my god, Lucy?”

Maggie can hear the sharp exhale from Lucy and it sort of sounds like maybe she’s been holding her breath this whole time, waiting to be noticed.

“Hey, Alex,” Lucy says in a voice so soft and affectionate Maggie almost does a double take. Lucy’s just staring at Alex as she approaches and her eyes are shining like she’s looking at a star come to life.

Alex scoops Lucy up into a hug that makes her squeak and suddenly Maggie can’t help but tune out Alex’s ramble of excited questions. She signals M'gann to bring her something stronger than the beer she’s been nursing all night, because now she knows exactly who Lucy Lane’s dream girl is, and honestly Maggie has never felt more thoroughly fucked over in her life.

We met at the bar. Two strangers talking: a story as old as the pub. We talked for several hours, forging a common ground. After, I asked about a toast half-joking.

The smile I received wasn’t something I understood. It felt as if I had passed some kind of test by failing it. “Sláinte,” was said.

“Good health,” I responded, and I think maybe it was that I knew that phrase which saved me.

Only it wasn’t like that at all. Every day since has been sláinte. No sickness. No pain. I haven’t aged a day in thirty years. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t ask about toasts anymore.

I don’t even eat toast.

(I just don’t want to see my children get older than I am.)

Texts From Last Night Sentence Starters

“Why the fuck is there a goat in the kitchen?”
“That cat I follow on Facebook beat cancer so we’re drinking tonight in celebration!”
“Someone who makes you cum so hard that you have an asthma attack is clearly your soulmate.”
“Okay I’m officially a Texan now, I banged a dude with cowboy boots.”
“I DO have hobbies! I drink. I drink more. I catfish men on Grindr with photos of guys who are less attractive than me. I listen to Lovecraftian podcasts. I’m very well-rounded.”
“Did you happen to find my bra? I’m pretty sure I still had it on before we left that bar…”
“We ate sushi in a hospital bed, then fucked in a bathroom while I wore a gown. Pretty sure she’s the one.”
“So the girl I met at the bar last night came home with me. Played with my puppy. And left.”
“I cannot handle Xanax… I just turned my computer on and I googled how to work YouTube.”
“I don’t need this shit right now. I just woke up covered in pistachios.”
“It was great.  Somehow, sleeping with her sister cured everything!”
“Fuck winter. I had to scrape my windshield, shoeless, after the walk of shame so I could go home.”
“He wanted me naked, so I got naked. You can’t hold that against me.”
“Should I get the rainbow boxer briefs?”
“As your boyfriend, this is a level of gay that even I can’t handle.”
“Yeah, I mean I’ll probably fuck him regardless but I’m trying to be a lady about it.”
“I swear to god, if you have sex in my bed one more time you’re gonna start paying rent!”
“Reminder- he’s a douche bag. A big one.”
“He took shrooms and didn’t want anyone to touch him. He kept saying he was a chip and he didn’t want to break.”
“We have a pile of chopped wood here that suggests we may have chopped down a tree of some sort.”
“I totally thought the tree was playing the guitar…”
“I feel like you’re the reason public nudity is illegal and generally frowned upon in society.”
“No longer is one of my lifelong dreams to ride in a kangaroo pouch. You have eternally ruined that for me. Thank you.”
“When I’m drunk I really like to hold dicks. Like, affectionately.”
“We found your brother, passed out, floating in our pool, with a bottle, on a blow up mattress. How did he mange to walk two blocks and get into our backyard?”
“He dated a girl who could do the damn splits on his dick like how do you compete with that?”