#fuckyeah2222sleepover

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

congrats on 2222!! soulmate au with frankie would be so cute. I love frankie sm he’s just the cutest 😍

Hi lovely! Thank you for this prompt. I was a bit apprehensive because I've read one (1) soulmate AU in my entire life and wasn't sure if I could do it justice. But obviously, Frankie takes this by the ears and I just had the best time writing it. This is also a college AU because apparently I love AUs set with Pedro boys in college 🤷🏻‍♀️

This drabble is actually an AU of an upcoming fic I have in the works, called Summer House (with a lot less angst and pain). I hope you like it sweet anon!

Frankie Morales x soulmates AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1346 words (sorry) | warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, college AU, inexperienced reader, drinking games, friends to soulmates

Sometimes, you wonder what colour Frankie’s eyes are.

It’s not something you wonder about often, not when everyone has grey eyes - but not really. One day, when you kiss your soulmate for the first time, you will see their eye colour, and they will see yours.

So you definitely don’t have any business wondering anything of the kind about Frankie at all, seeing that you two do not get along. Never have, probably never will, despite having been in the same close knit group since you were kids. Benny has long played the second to your principal in your duels with Frankie, while Santi is his, with Will keeping the peace whenever you get into a particularly thorny disagreement.

But that’s the funny thing about friendship. Despite your bickering, you got his back, and you know he has yours.

You’ve heard about it once or twice through the grapevine in high school, but finding one’s soulmate seems to be a dime a dozen in college, with happy news dropping left, right and centre throughout the academic year.

While you’re not in a hurry to find your fated other half, you start thinking that you should at least get started with the kissing part. You’re way behind your friends and peers on that front, somehow missing out on the formative experience despite being a regular fixture at house parties at high school, then sorority parties in your freshman year in college.

You really should blame the boys. No one wants to risk messing with a girl who has three hulking seniors and one equally hulking sophomore at her beck and call, not when there are far easier options around.

But you know it’s not just that, and you’ll only admit it when you're drunkenly tucking yourself into bed, alone yet again after another party. It feels like you’re the only person your age who’s still (stupidly) holding onto the hope that your first kiss can be something, not just a sloppy makeout session with too much tongue and too little meaning.

And so you find yourself, still never been kissed, when summer rolls around at the end of your first year at college. Your gang of five is about to shrink to just you and Benny, with the rest of the boys enlisting after they graduate, and the impending farewell upsets you more than you care to show.

The five of you spend the first week together at the Millers’ summer house after school lets out, as has been tradition since you were kids - with your parents when you were younger, but it’s been just kids for the last few years.

Well, just the kids plus one, since Frankie always brings a girlfriend. Unfailingly, it's someone beautiful with perfect hair who has a wandering eye for the other boys, and hates your guts for being the only girl in the group.

On the last night, the guys invite a select crowd over for one final hurrah before they go home and get ready to ship out to basic training the following week. Music is booming, cheap beer is flowing, and you’re all in the garden, the sticky Floridian heat clinging to you like a second skin.

Ironically, it’s Frankie’s girlfriend who wants to play spin the bottle. He sits opposite you, his Standard Oil cap pulled over his eyes but failing to hide his annoyance at being forced to participate. You roll your eyes at him across the circle, and he gives you a middle finger back.

Will, the self-appointed gamesmaster, spins the bottle set on a pizza box atop the lawn.

It spins, and spins, and spins - until it doesn’t.

You look on in sheer horror when the bottle stutters to a stop squarely before you, the other end pointing at Frankie, who turns green with nausea.

‘FUCK NO!’

You attempt to run, only to be tackled to the ground by Santi, who practically hauls you by the waist back to the circle as you kick and scream.

Frankie, on the other hand, has to be restrained by both Miller brothers.

‘I have a girlfriend!’ he shouts, digging the heels of his beat-up sneakers into the grass.

She doesn’t seem to mind though, clapping gleefully along with everyone else, chanting, ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’

Shoved toe to toe in the middle of the circle under watchful eyes, you exchange vicious glares. Frankie’s broad shoulders are hunched over defensively, arms crossed. It’s strange, you’ve known him forever, but this is probably physically the closest you’ve ever been to each other without being locked in a fist fight.

Warmth bounces off his tightly wound up frame as he towers over you, and by some folly, you feel an inexplicable pull.

You fight the staggering want to bury your nose in that grey tshirt (the one he wears Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and restocks at Old Navy when it wears too thin), to swipe that hat off his head to brush the curls from his face, to look into his eyes - and see what colour they are.

In the end, Frankie breaks first - you’re not sure if it’s the jeering and goading from the crowd or your stubborn standoff that makes him snap. Grabbing you by the elbow, he hauls you firmly into his chest before you can react.

You should be embarrassed, mortified that this is how you’re going to end up losing your first kiss. And yet, losing doesn't seem like the right word.

There’s a deep-seated calmness inside you, knowing that it’s going to be Frankie. The boy you’ve known since you were three, the teenager who used to make you cry with stupid juvenile pranks, and the man now who wouldn’t hesitate to throw a punch if anyone even looks at you the wrong way.

As soon as the tip of his proud nose brushes yours, your eyes slide shut of their own accord - and he kisses you.

God, his lips are so soft. Your breath catches in your throat, and your knees wobble so dangerously that your fingers twist into the front of his tshirt, holding on for dear life.

Can he tell that you don’t know how to kiss, at all? Does he think you’re terrible? The fact that this feels so fucking perfect despite having no idea what you’re doing sets you on edge, a magnifying glass trained on your inexperience in a way that makes you stiffen with nerves and awkwardness. 

He must be appalled at how bad you are, especially after the litany of gorgeous, more experienced girls he’s been with over the years. You can’t believe you’re subjecting him to this, how would he ever look you in the eye afterwards -

But then, something shifts when his hands find your waist, palms easily spanning the small of your back as he pulls back for air, but only just, still so close that you can feel the tickle of his beard on your chin. There’s an unmistakable hitch in his breath, a tremour as he exhales, which in turns makes you tremble and switches off the unwelcome commentary in your head.

It’s as if he wants you.

Before you can think too hard, Frankie leans in and kisses you again, harder this time, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, and heat chases down your spine like a meteor. He sucks on your bottom lip when it falls open in a gasp, dipping between your lips with a clever swipe of his tongue against yours that makes you shudder and whimper, which he swallows with a possessive growl.

Your lungs are burning when he draws back, his nose still touching yours.

Then he calls your name.

You blink as your eyes open -

Frankie’s staring at you, lips parted, his gaze reverential. Like he’s never seen you before. Reaching up, he takes your face in his hands, calloused palms on your cheeks, thumbs swiping away the tears that won’t stop. You break into a watery grin, which he mirrors, a warm chuckle rumbling in his chest, holding you close as everything falls into place -

Frankie’s eyes are brown.

Note: In case it's not clear, in this fic, everyone’s eyes appear grey. You can only see your soulmate's eye colour after you kiss them for the first time.

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales soulmates au #frankie morales college au #frankie morales imagine

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

hihi! congrats on such a cool milestone 💗 i am so excited to see what you’re going achieve in the future!

i would love to read this prompt with neighbor joel x reader, pre outbreak or post outbreak, that’s your choice :)

“Person A keeps ending up in Person B’s bed. It’s just a matter of time until “drunken mistake” is no longer a believable excuse.”

p.s. i ADORE seams it’s soooo good and i can’t wait to read more of it !! 💕 tysm

Hi lovely! Thank you so much for your sweet message and this prompt! So I don't know why, but the moment I read the prompt, I just knew I had to make this a college AU. This reads very differently from Seams, which I hope is something you'll enjoy!

Joel Miller x college neighbour AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1285 words (sorry) | warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, jealousy, possessiveness, one bed

The first time it happens, it is a drunken mistake.

All these dorm rooms look the same, especially at four in the morning after clearing out all the tequila at the college bar.

It does smell nicer, cleaner. And the bed is on the other side of the room. But Joel can't really tell left from right nor up from down, so he just drops face first onto the duvet - so soft - and falls fast asleep.

You, on the other hand, are absolutely mystified by the appearance of a man in your bed after your toilet run in the early hours.

You recognise him. He lives a few doors down, and you've seen him around in the college football team jersey, almost always with a cheerleader hanging off his arm.

You may or may not have seen him in the corridor with just a towel around his waist, hair slicked back, on his way back from the communal showers.

You may or may not have stared at those ridiculously broad shoulders from behind your books as you went down the other side of the hallway.

Unsure of what to do - you have an early class in a few hours - you reach out and poke him firmly on the arm. You keep poking, not entirely convinced by what you're trying to achieve, until a hand appears, thick fingers closing around your wrist, and pulls.

He rolls you under him with a smooth turn of his hips. You barely have the presence of mind to let out a timid squeak when stern brown eyes bore into yours in the darkness.

'What are you doin'?' he demands, his voice so gravelly that you almost feel the lumps and bumps on the back of your neck.

You don't exactly have a short fuse. Quite the opposite, in fact. But the accusation in his tone has you snapping back, 'What am I doing? What are you doing?'

Your outburst seems to catch his attention, and he watches you closely as he replies, 'Tryin' to catch a wink.'

Reaching over to the nightstand, you flick on the little bedside lamp. You arch an eyebrow as he glances around as realisation dawns on him. 'Does this look like your room?'

'Oops,' he deadpans, but he doesn't move off of you. Instead, his eyes drop lower, pausing over your oversized college tshirt, and lower still, where your sleep shorts have ridden high up your bare thighs -

His eyes snap up to yours when you clear your throat, and he stiffens above you, Adam's apple bobbing with a swallow. 'Sorry, darlin'.'

Then he's gone.

The second time it happens, it's another drunken mistake.

He knocks this time, loud enough to wake you, and you trip over your feet to get the door.

'What now?' you gripe sleepily when his face appears, eyes glassy and reeking of cheap beer.

'Lost my keys,' he explains, words slightly slurred, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

'So?'

'Can I sleep in your room tonight?'

You stare at him, dumfounded. 'Don't you have friends?'

'They're all the way across campus. It's freezin' outside.'

With a sigh, you move to the side and he squeezes in past you. Too tired to care, you burrow head first into the covers, shuffling so that you're right up against the wall to make room behind you on the single bed.

But he doesn't climb in.

'What are you doing?' you grumble, not bothering to turn around to see for yourself.

'Uh, I'm sleepin' on the floor.'

You roll your eyes and pat the mattress. 'Just get in. I don't want you freezing to death on my rug.'

So he does, and when you wake up the next morning, his arms are tight around you, legs tangled in yours.

The third time it happens, you're both drunk for a change.

His team won the college derby, and there's a huge celebration at the local club with the bill being footed by the sponsors. Even with the promise of a free night out, your friends still have to physically drag your ass to the party.

You spot him easily from across the dance floor, in the same jersey he wears often. He's surrounded by hoards of girls, all keen to nab the bragging rights of being the one to fuck the team hero tonight.

Something twists in your stomach, which you quiet with a tequila shot.

And another.

And another.

You end up on the dance floor, and you never dance. You're just drunk enough to feel good about yourself even in a room full of jocks and sorority sisters, and when one of the quarterbacks on the team twirls you into a dance, you laugh and let him.

One minute, he's spinning you around, and the next - you're pulled nose first into a much broader chest that smells faintly familiar.

It's slightly jarring seeing him out of the context of your bed. Does he always look this grumpy?

'Congrats on winning the game,' you shout over the music, attempting to make conversation.

He doesn't budge, standing like a stone wall in the middle of the dance floor under the strobe lights. Too drunk to catch the nuance in his glare, you shrug and turn on your heel, intending to find that quarterback that you lost mid-spin -

Only to be hauled back to Joel's side by one big hand.

'What are you doing?' you demand with a frown. 'I'm trying to find the guy I was dancing with.'

'You're not dancin' with him.'

You blink. 'Why not?'

'He's a fuckin' asshole.'

'So what?'

He narrows his eyes at you. 'What do you mean so what?'

You roll your eyes. 'Why do I care if he's an asshole? I'm looking for a dance, maybe a fuck, it's not like I'm marrying him.'

His nostrils flare, and you see his fists clenching at his sides. 'You're not fuckin' him.'

You scoff. 'Watch me, Miller.'

Spotting the blond on the edge of the dance floor, you march right up to him, grab him by the collar and kiss him square on the lips.

Pulling back, you turn to give Joel a smug look, only to find that he's no longer where he was. Miffed, you scan the crowds, and it doesn't take you long to find him.

It's one thing to see the cheerleaders flirting and hanging off his every word when you pass each other in the hallways. It's another thing entirely to see him make out with one, not five paces away.

Blindly, you stumble out of the club, not bothering to get your coat even though it's bitterly cold outside. Your heels clatter loudly on the concrete, you probably shouldn't be walking alone back to the dorms, but you need to get out of there.

You hear him call your name, but you keep walking, eyes trained stubbornly in front of you.

He catches up easily, and with a growl, he wheels you around with one palm on your elbow. You fight him, pounding on his chest with tightly clenched fists, and he lets you, wrapping you in his jacket while you do, until you tire yourself out.

When all the jealousy bleeds out of you, you sag in his arms, and he has to hold you up by the waist. His breath brushes your temple. 'Wanna go home?'

He's warm, solid, when he slips into your bed behind you, one knee nudging between your thighs, fingers tangling in yours when he slings one arm over your waist.

You might both be drunk - but this is not a mistake.

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller oneshot #joel miller college AU #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Congrats on your unique milestone!!

Hmm how about a micro with Dieter Bravo and Library AU?

Hi lovely! Thank you for this request. This turned out to be something completely different than what I expected, but... I kind of dig the vibe 🤷🏻‍♀️ I have no good explanation for this, but I hope you find some kind of enjoyment in it!

Dieter Bravo x library AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 800 words | warnings: grumpy, booklover!Dieter, librarian!Reader, I honestly don't know what else to say lol, I can't explain what I've written

Dieter Bravo tosses a dogeared paperback onto the check-out counter at the local library and fishes for his wallet somewhere in the depths of his sweatpants.

You take one look at the familiar cover, and blurt out, ‘That’s my favourite book.’

He hums, not particularly interested in your opinion as he hands you his library card, which you’d personally printed out and laminated when the request from the mayor’s office came through a week ago.

At his dismissive air, you grumble under your breath, ‘It’s way better than that dumpster fire of a book that your movie is adapted from.’

That catches his attention.

Skeptical eyebrows ascend from behind his dark sunglasses. ‘Is that right?’

Having checked out the book, you slide it across the desk to him with a faux sweet smile. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

Dieter comes into the library every Thursday, after filming hours. You want to say you don’t understand why he does, but your workplace is one of two spots that’s still open after six o’clock in your tiny little town, the other being the local diner. And you guess there’s only so much drugs you can do in one’s hotel room before that gets boring too.

The next week, he returns your favourite book and surprises you with a question. ‘Got anything else like this one?’

So back and forth you go. He never tells you if he likes the books. He barely grunts two words at you, the sunglasses always firmly on, ringed fingers tapping on the counter impatiently when you beep the bar codes on his card and the book you recommend that week.

You don’t mind. You work at the library for a reason, and it’s not for a love of talking.

The weeks wind down, and soon there are whispers that his movie will wrap soon, in a couple of weeks. You’re not exactly sad, but you’ve liked sharing your favourite books with this man, whose glitzy, high-flying life is so far removed from yours - and yet your eyes have read the same words, your fingertips have traced the same lines of text, and your hands have turned the same pages.

The penultimate Thursday, when Dieter walks up to your counter, you have a book ready for him.

It’s a departure from the established routine - you usually tell him where the book is, and he goes fetch it himself. He doesn’t question you though, and instead, waits for the blurb that you always give him by way of an introduction. When you shrug wordlessly, he arches an eyebrow at you, but he doesn’t probe.

The next Thursday, you’re down with the flu and you call in sick for the day. If you’re honest with yourself, you’re relieved that you won’t see Dieter for the last time. Filming has wrapped, and you know he’s flying out this evening (there are no secrets in a small town).

Your dinner of canned chicken soup is bubbling on the stove when there’s a knock on your door. Swinging it open, you wonder if you’re high on your flu medicine.

Dieter Bravo is standing on your tiny doorstep, which is barely wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. He holds the book in one big hand, his ridiculous rings catching the porch lights. Something is off, and it takes you a few more moments to realise why -

He’s not wearing his sunglasses.

Warm brown eyes hold yours as he says more than asks, ‘You wrote this, didn’t you?’

His confident statement steals the breath right out of your parted lips, and you stare back at him, dumbfounded.

Not a single soul knows. You published the book under a pseudonym with a small press on the other side of the country and made enough to cover your costs, which was more than you expected. Covertly, you ordered a copy for the library, and it’s been checked out exactly three times in the last four years. It’s been sitting in its little spot, gathering dust until you took it off the shelf last week on an impulse.

You realise that Dieter is still waiting for your answer, but the words don’t come. The car sitting on the curb honks, and he smiles ruefully before pushing the book into your limp hands, and walks away without looking back.

When the SUV rounds the corner, your gaze drops to the paperback. His eyes have read the same words that you wrote, his fingertips have traced the same lines of text that you know by heart, his hands have turned the same pages you now fan through - 

Something falls out of the book and you just manage to catch it before it flutters out of reach. 

It’s a name card with Dieter’s cell number on one side, and on the other, in precarious handwriting that can only be his -

Wanna make a movie?

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo drabble #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Hey, Cee!💗Congrats on your amazing milestone!👏I’m rather new to the family, still making my way through your master list and I enjoy it a lot😊 For the sleepover I’d like to request a micro drabble if you’d be so kind - Roommates Au with Dieter Bravo 🙌 What a nightmare!😅

Hi lovely! I'm so glad you're here and I hope you're having a good time with my Pedro boys 😘 So this one ran away from me, I'm very sorry if this wasn't what you were hoping for, but I've been itching to write for a younger Dieter, and this is what came out.

Dieter Bravo x Roommates AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1000ish words (sorry) | warnings: mature themes but not explicit, mentions of drug use, angst, hopeful ending

You're not sure how you ended up sharing an apartment with Dieter Bravo.

Honestly, calling this dumpster fire of a studio above a laundromat/dealer's den an apartment is a kindness it does not deserve.

You tried in the beginning. You painted the walls a soothing buttercup that has long peeled off in patches. You fixed the table with the crooked leg so it doesn't wobble when you eat discounted sandwiches on it. You even bought potted plants, dotting trellises of green throughout the small space to give it some semblance of life (that quickly expired from lack of daylight).

But then one day, your college boyfriend, your supposed ride-or-die, left for an audition and never came back.

The next morning, Dieter Bravo showed up on your doorstep, a beat-up weekender bag at his feet. He looked bored even then, wearing an unaffected nonchalance like he does his favourite green robe. 'Some dude I met an an audition yesterday said there's a cheap room for rent?'

Except there's not really a room. There's a bed in the corner with a privacy curtain around it like a fucking hospital ward, and there's a fold-out couch on the other side of the tiny space.

Dieter lets you take the bed.

You don't bother getting to know your new roommate, too wrapped up in the cotton wool of your heartbreak and a blind determination to make it. Honestly, you'd struggle to pick him out from a lineup.

All you know is that he's messy, but he consciously contains that mess to his side of the studio. It's like there's a glass wall holding back his dirty clothes and mismatched shoes from spilling into the shared kitchen. He's also bad at clearing out the fridge, always forgetting the discounted Cheddar he seems to have a fondness for, but always leaves rotting at the back of the dairy shelf.

He doesn't complain when you throw his shit out though, and you don't mind cleaning up after him.

You're ships in the night, each pulling as many shifts as possible in between auditions to stay alive in this money-guzzling, soul-crushing city.

By the time you come home well after midnight, the only sign that another person lives with you is the occasional Chinese takeout he leaves out on the (still wobbly) table if the buffet place he works at gives him leftovers.

In your rush to leave for your first shift one morning, you accidentally make too much coffee, which you leave on the counter for when he returns from his graveyard stint. A few more accidents later, you start making enough for two out of habit.

The first time you actually share space in the studio is maybe five months into your not-quite-cohabitation. It's been a tough day - two rejections after third-round auditions, and a drunk customer spilled Jack and Coke onto your favourite white top, which will definitely leave a stain.

You let yourself into the studio quietly, not bothering with the lights. Stripping down to your underwear, you're about to head into the bathroom when you hear it.

Just above the thumping bass of the illicit nightclub across the street, and the whirr of the industrial-sized washing machines under your feet, is the unmistakable squeak squeak squeak of old springs in the fold-out couch.

You freeze. Someone else is in the apartment with you.

A breathy, distinctly female moan reaches your ear, but a vicious blare of a car horn promptly drowns it out.

Holy fuck. Dieter is fucking some girl not ten steps across the studio, with nothing but the flimsy curtain around your bed separating you.

Suddenly hyperaware, you hear everything. The heavy, loaded slap of skin on skin. Shallow breaths muted in the curve of a neck. The low timbre of his voice, whispers of words that you can't make out - but you know that it's filthy by the way the fold-out creaks under the motion of quickening thrusts, and the desperate cry from the woman, quickly muffled.

You know exactly the moment he cums - there's a sudden stillness, a suspension of time, like everything is on tiptoes - and then three long, drawn-out thumps of the couch hitting the wall.

Then all goes quiet.

You can barely open your eyes the next morning when you trudge to the bathroom in just a threadbare sleep shirt and underwear. The door opens without you noticing, and you walk nose first into a broad, wet chest.

You open your mouth to apologise, but no words come out as you tip your chin upwards.

Dieter Bravo has brown eyes, hooded by deep set lids. He will change a lot in the years to come, as fame and drugs take hold - but one thing that does not is the way your breath hitches when he looks at you. Really looks at you.

His curls are long and unruly when dry, but wet and slicked back, the contours of his profile are more pronounced, and your eyes slide down the strong bridge of his nose and linger on the plush lips under a moustache that seems almost fastidiously tidy compared to the rest of him. It's the one constant when everything else in his life is anything but.

Dieter Bravo will be many things to you over the next fifteen years. Lover, boyfriend, ex, stranger, co-star, friend, friend with benefits, fiancé, ex, fiancé once again -

But he was your roommate first. And that morning, in the doorway to the tiny shower, your tits inadvertently pressed up against his bare chest, the wet towel wrapped around his narrow hips brushing your bare thighs, he smiles at you for the first time.

And when things get difficult down the line, because by god, do they get difficult - you hold on to that smile.

You hold onto him. Sometimes you have to, literally, wrapping your whole body around his through withdrawal shakes, and you whisper in his ear to remind him of how far you've both come from that dumpster fire of a studio above the laundromat/dealer's den -

Which you're kind enough to call an apartment.

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fic #roommates AU #dieter bravo angst

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Omfg congrats on the 2222! I’m sure many more to come!

Alright , hear me out. This idea consumed my brain the entire weekend.

AU Stripper!Frankie

I know, kinda out of character for him, but I can’t help it.

I recently « stumble » upon Magic Men of Australia on tik tok and instantly my mind went to Frankie.

Reader could be at his show and he chose her to come up on stage … after that , you write what you want .

What do you think Cee ?

Sweet anon - I am saving the best for last! Ngl, I might have drooled several times while writing stripper!Frankie. I might also have blacked out when I first saw your ask, thank you for sending in this delicious request. I hope you enjoy this cheeky oneshot, because 1.4k does not count as a drabble 😂 This reminds me of my dearest LJ's @prolix-yuy SW!Frankie universe, do go read it if you haven't yet!

Frankie Morales x stripper AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1460 words (sorry) | warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, bachelorette party (mis)behaviour, mentions of food

Okay, this is definitely not your scene.

The said scene being a rowdy bachelorette party in an intimate, soundproofed room draped in plush dark velvet and deep-seated sofas, disco lights pulsing in time with the booming bass that shakes your bones. 

And oh, and there’s a half-naked stripper gyrating to the music. Obviously.

Not that he doesn’t look good doing it. He absolutely does, and not in that chiselled, perfectly sculpted way you imagined all strippers would look like. He’s hot in a realistic way, if that makes sense - his arms are strong, his chest is broad and firm, but there’s just a touch of softness to his tummy that makes him human. 

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen a naked man. Heck, who are you kidding, when was the last time you even saw a topless man?

But he might as well be completely starkers. The shorts he’s wearing are glorified panties, paper thin, and they do nothing to conceal the fact that he’s hung. You can see the whole business, front and back. For someone as well packed as he is between the legs, his behind is endearingly flat, but mercifully, it doesn’t seem to compromise his balance in any way.

The lean muscles in his arms flex and roll when he locks his hands behind his head, thighs bulging with corded muscle as he plants his feet, and then he thrusts - his bulge swinging heavily, defying gravity. 

He’s got to be half-hard, at least. There’s no way he’s that big standing at ease, so to speak. 

Of course, the girls are going wild. They’re screaming and hyperventilating, Cosmpolitans sloshing over manicured nails and staining their dresses as they throw dollar bills at him. He obliges, crawling onto the couch on all fours so that they can tuck the cash into the waistband of his shorts, copping a feel as they do.

Frankie doesn’t mind it. He plays along, grabbing the bride-to-be’s wrist after she smacks him on the ass, shoving her back into the couch before clambering over her. Getting onto his knees, he dances right in her face, grinning when she squeals and reaches around his waist to grab both his ass cheeks as he rolls his hips.

His eyes slide over to you, sitting a polite distance away as the other girls crowd around him, getting close and personal, not wanting to miss out on the action.

You, on the other hand, look like you’d rather be curled up in the far corner with a book and a warm drink. But he can tell that you’re trying your best, sipping away at your cocktail (with an endearing wince that you try to hide when you swallow), and bobbing to the music even though you’re clearly feeling out of place around your more outgoing friends.

Being the quiet one out of the guys, he gravitates towards your energy. 

Frankie always makes sure all of his customers have a good time in his session and that no one is left out, but he also wants you to be comfortable. Quietening his hips, he hops off the couch, taking two steps towards you, watching as your eyes widen, as if you want to bolt.

One corner of his lips inching upwards, he unfurls his fingers towards you, and the smile widens when you fit your smaller hand in the heart of his palm with a shy one of your own. Pulling you gently onto your feet, he surprises you with a firm tug next, spinning you around with your back to his chest. 

You smell sweet, like shampoo and soap. Not letting go of your hand, he puts his other one on your hip, and you instantly stiffen when your friends screech in excitement, obviously not used to being the centre of attention. 

Hooking his chin on your shoulder, he sways you to the music, his hips snug against yours. He feels you inhale sharply when his breath skims your skin, the shiver that goes through you unmistakable. He revels in your reaction, far more real and intimate than your friends’ drunken wandering hands. 

You slowly thaw in his arms, the tension easing out of your shoulders where the straps of your pretty dress sit, and he knows that you don’t mean to tease when the swell of your ass brushes his front, bolder as you move your hips to the beat.

When the song draws to a close far too soon, he turns you around, wrapping one arm around your waist to dip you backwards. You let go of his hand to grasp the back of his neck on reflex, and he takes the opportunity to glide one palm up the smooth expanse of your leg, before hitching it around his waist.

He sees more than hears the whimper that slips past your lips, and he may or may not be half-hard when he presses his hips between your thighs.

As your friends holler and wolf-whistle around you, he holds your gaze, not missing how your pupils blow wide in the flashing lights.

Then you duck your head, and he lets you go, the bride-to-be demanding his attention.

You happily fade into the background again, but he catches the way your knees buckle when you wobble on your heels back to the sofa.

You’re fucking adorable. 

The guys are tallying the tips for the bookkeeper in the break room when Pope comes in with a phone in his hand. ‘Fish, one of your customers left this behind. Do you know whose it is?’

Tapping on the lock screen - he sucks in a breath when you appear, posing with a big golden retriever. Your face is turned up into the sun, eyes closed in mid-laugh as the dog licks you on your cheek.

With a grunt, Frankie gets on his feet, a dull ache in the small of his back, which always happens when he thrusts a bit too vigorously. Tucking the phone safely in his pocket, he grabs his jacket and strides out, not seeing the guys looking curiously after him as he tosses over his shoulder, ‘Send me her address, Pope, I’ll drop it off.’

You jump when your laptop wakes up with a shrill ringtone. Clicking the green button, your best friend’s voice comes through the speakers. 

‘Hon, the strip club just called. You left your phone there.’

With a groan, your palm meets your forehead in a smack. ‘Oh shit, it always happens when I drink! Should I go pick it up, or -’

‘Don’t worry, I gave them your address.’

‘Wait, what? You gave them my address?’

‘Relax, they’re strippers, not serial killers.’

You shift your feet nervously. ‘Do you know who’s coming?’

‘The one who danced for us today, you lucky bitch.’

Your heart almost leaps out of your mouth as you panic. ‘What the - but I’ve taken off all my make up and I’m not wearing a bra, and I got fucking chili on the stove -’

Your doorbell rings, and you whisper, ‘Shit, he’s here!’

‘Say hi to the hottie for me, babe! Night!’

Padding on bare feet towards the door, you take a deep breath, and reach for the knob.

Warm brown eyes meet yours, but not before they dart over your wet hair and pyjamas. You cross your arms self-consciously, knowing that he must have caught a glimpse of your nipples under your thin sleep shirt.

He smiles, handing you the phone. ‘Glad I caught you before you went to bed.’

Jesus H. Christ. It really is a blessing that you didn’t know what he sounded like when he had his clothes off - 

You barely manage to squeak, your cheeks heating up. ‘Thanks so much for bringing it by, it was so clumsy of me.’

He shrugs easily, his gray tshirt bunching with the movement. ‘Happens. You’ll be surprised what people leave behind.’

‘What?’ you prompt, curiosity piqued.

‘I don’t strip and tell,’ he winks. ‘I’m Frankie, by the way.’

A handshake seems redundant after your close encounter earlier, so you give him your name and a smile. You admit, ‘I almost didn’t recognize you.’

He taps the beak of his cap. ‘It’s the hat.’

‘I like you better with clothes on,’ you blurt out impulsively, the alcohol still running thick through your veins.

He chuckles. ‘You might be the only one.’

He glances over your shoulder, breathing in the smell of simmering beef mince and tomatoes. ‘Are you cooking chili?’

You bite your lip. ‘Guilty. Case of midnight munchies.’

‘It smells delicious,’ he compliments you, lingering by the doorway and making no move to leave.

Emboldened, you ask, ‘Do you want some? I made way too much, as usaul.’

He grins, and it goes straight to your head. ‘I’d love to.’

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #frankie morales oneshot #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Congratulations on your milestone!!! If you're still taking microdrabble requests... How can I, as a tattooed girl, turn down Mr. Daniels in a tattoo parlor AU? x

Here we are, my first ever AU (if you don't count Palomino!). This was incredibly fun to write, thank you Lucy for sending in this request. Now, I didn't have the word count to talk about what Jack has tattooed on his arms, but if you'd like to know, you know what to do 😉

Jack Daniels x tattoo parlour AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 360ish words | warnings: mature themes but not explicit, Jack is a menace any universe he's in, mentions of alcohol consumption

You stomp your foot, the two glasses of wine you had with dinner making you more petulant than usual, jutting your bottom lip out in a pout. 'What do you mean no?'

The proprietor who introduced himself as Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels gives you a stern look from under the brim of his black cowboy hat. 'Exactly what that means, sugar. No.'

'This is a tattoo parlour. Aren't you supposed to give the customer what they want?'

With a sigh, he leans on his palms on the counter, and you can't help but run your eyes over this man. He's wearing a white wifebeater under a thin leather jacket, sleeves pushed up to the crease of his elbows. His forearms flex, sending a ripple through his full sleeves tattoos with the movement.

'But you don't know what you want,' he points out.

'So what? Just tattoo whatever on me - I don't care!'

He scoffs. 'Oh, I ain't fallin' for that again. Nearly cost me my shop last time.'

'C'mon. I just want a small tattoo,' you whine. 'I'm on my Eat, Pray, Love journey.'

'In Kentucky?'

You try a different tact, softening your eyes and drawing your brows into a pleading angle. 'I just want to do something stupid. For once.'

At that, he arches an eyebrow, and his whole demeanour changes. A lazy arrogance settles into his handsome face, and his lips pull into a grinning smirk as he traps you with something bordering on lecherous in his gaze.

It really shouldn't work on you - but it does.

'Well, well, well, you don't say, sugar,' he drawls. 'If you wanted to do somethin' stupid - why don't you just do me?'

Three quarters of an hour later, sweaty and half-undressed on a cushioned tattoo table, you grin at the man slumped on top of you through dilated pupils, your body sluggish with a bone-deep satisfaction that you haven't felt for a long, long time.

'I know what tattoo I want to get now,' you declare, still breathing heavily when you reach up to push a damp curl from his forehead.

'Is that so?' he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple, but otherwise showing no intention to move off you. 'And what might that be?'

'Your face. On my neck.'

Jack laughs, the sound deep and velvety against your warm cheek as his eyes crinkle. 'Now that's definitely somethin' stupid.'

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey au #jack daniels au #tattoo parlor au

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover

The stars have aligned - my husband is out of town until next week, and I just hit 2222 followers (such a neat number!), so what better time to have a sleepover with my fictional husbands? Thank you everyone for my recent follower milestone, I've enjoyed interacting with new readers so much! I hope there's something fun for everyone who wants to get involved in this sleepover.

AU Drabble Requests

Joel Miller x college neighbour AU (requested by @worhols)

Jack Daniels x tattoo parlour AU (requested by @lunapascal)

Dieter Bravo x roommates AU (requested by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog)

Dieter Bravo x library AU (requested by @commander-writergirl)

Frankie Morales x stripper AU (requested by @meveispunk)

Jack Daniels x pirate AU (requested by @psychedelic-ink)

Frankie Morales x soulmates AU (requested by anon and @pimosworld)

Headcanon Requests

Consent!Dieter's tattoos (requested by @julesonrecord)

Palomino!Jack's guilty pleasures (requested by @miss-mandalorian)

Palomino!Jack and horses (requested by @shirks-all-responsibilities)

Palomino!Jack is king of the two step (sent in by @vermillionwinter)

Palomino!Jack and Grays!Frankie: what action of theirs is most beloved by someone close to them that they're not aware of? (requested by @ohsomightypeaches)

Palomino!Jack/Consent!Dieter/Grays!Frankie's allergies (requested by @fireproofmarta)

Moodboard Requests

Grays (requested by @psychedelic-ink)

Palomino VI - Mustang (requested by @imaswellkid)

Butter (requested by @nothoughtsjustmeds)

Jack Daniels x tattoo parlour AU (no one requested it, I made it lol)

Song Recs

Palomino: Carrying Your Love With Me (sent in by @vermillionwinter)

Palomino: a playlist (!!!) created by lovely Britt @vermillionwinter. I am obsessed and I'm listening to it while I write Palomino ❤️

All posts are tagged fuckyeah2222sleepover. Thank you for getting involved everyone, it's been so much fun!❤️

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #follower milestone

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

I don't know why but I'm deep in my college Joel feels these few days. I think I need to name this universe at some point, I definitely have more planned for them ❤️

#queue #college joel AU #fuckyeah2222sleepover

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Hi! Congrats on your 2222 followers! 🎉 I read all of your work, and everything is just so good! You really have a way with words

(Me while I was reading haha)

For your sleepover, I was wondering if you had any Dieter Bravo or Javier Peña fic rec?

Thank you so much lovely, I'm so happy that you're having a good time with my boys 😘 And oh man, do I have fic recs for you!

Dieter Bravo

LJ @prolix-yuy has written three iterations of this racoon man, all of which are delectable: Below the Line, The Plan (and All its Iterations) and Simulated. She also has a brilliant upcoming continuation of Simulated in the form of Midnight Alley!

@jazzelsaur has the gorgeous Stay on the Screenplay and recently reviewed loose fit series No Drug Like Me.

@radiowallet has the brilliant Funny Girl.

@psychedelic-ink (masterlist) and @toomanystoriessolittletime (masterlist) have written one-shots for Dieter as well, and Sil has a Dieter series that I unfortunately have not had time to dig into called we fall like snow.

Javier Peña

I first found @iamskyereads via the beautiful Insomnia, and she also recently finished her second series Lie to Me.

@psychedelic-ink has an epic TLOU crossover AU Infections of a Different Kind.

@ezrasbirdie's going slow is one of my favourites, and beretta is insanely hot.

@toomanystoriessolittletime has so many tasty Peña treats (masterlist) and @pedropascalsx has a soft post-Colombia The Beginning.

If anyone wants to chime in with more recs or self-recs, please do ❤️

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #fic rec

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Congrats on hitting 2222!! 🥳 I am in a SOFT mood and would love to know more about Palomino Jack and animals! Horsey and critter stories from his past? Fluffy or angsty stories from growing up on a farm or ranch? Did he have pets as a kid? His philosophy about our animal friends? How his gentle, tender relationship with horses developed? I wanna know MOAR about the man that will forever have a place in my heart for arranging that reveal of horseys in birthday hats and tinsel 🥰🥰🥰. Headcanon or whatever tickles your fancy! 🐎🐖🦙🐍🐇🐐🐿🦔🐤🐌🦋🐞🦜

Shirks my darling, thank you for this fun ask! You know I'll take any opportunity to talk about Palomino!Jack 😘 I'd actually left Jack's history pretty blank when I started this series, so it was really fun brainstorming and putting down in words where our cowboy came from.

I briefly mentioned how Jack learned to ride in Dapple Grey:

Jack learned to ride on his uncle’s farm. His first pony belonged to his older cousin who lost interest in the sport, so he spent years riding Sparkles, resplendent in matching pink bridle and saddle, until he outgrew her. He worked in and around the equestrian circuit until Champ offered him the job ten years ago, after meeting at a rodeo.

I will actually be getting a little bit more into Jack's family in the next chapter of Palomino. Without giving too much away, Jack grew up on his uncle's farm on his dad's side. He's the youngest of his three cousins, and he's always tagging along and wanted to do whatever they were doing.

When he was too small to learn to ride, they taught him how to groom the horses, which brushes to use, and how to tack up, even though the saddle was too heavy for him. He would run around the stables with a bag of carrots and apples, standing on tip toes to pet the horses on the nose. He sat on the fence when his cousins had their riding lessons, watching and learning from the sidelines until he turned five.

His riding instructor was Jill, a long-time friend of the family and a bit of a horse whisperer. She instilled in young Jack a deep respect and love for his four-legged friends, teaching him that he should never pull on a horse's mouth, or flap his legs and kick, nor did spurs or whips have a place in the Daniels farm.

As he grew up, he learned that he had a particular knack for handling difficult horses, not by strong arming them, but with patience and gentle hands. Throughout high school, he took on odd jobs at stables around the area, paying his dues, saving up because he knows he wants to get out of the small town he grew up in.

After he graduated high school, he drove off in his beat-up truck and went where the wind took him. He worked on a cattle ranch in Alberta, Canada, then a stud farm in Georgia, then he joined the rodeo circuit, working as a groom while studying for an equine veterinary diploma.

It was on the rodeo circuit where he first met his wife, and then Champ, who poached him for the Statesman Ranch ten years before Palomino begins. And as they say, the rest is history.

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #palomino series #palomino headcanon

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Frankie x soulmates AU drabble tonight? 🥹

Or should I save all the celebration requests for this weekend? I'll be finishing Stripper!Frankie and also Pirate!Jack 🏴‍☠️

#fuckyeah2222sleepover

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Congrats on the milestone 🔥🎉🥹

Idk if anyone has asked this already but I saw it on the headcanon prompt list and could not resist.

💕: What seemingly meaningless action of theirs is most beloved by someone close to them? Do they know how much they love it?

For our beloved cowboy and if you would indulge me Frankie as well 👀💕

-@ohsomightypeaches

Thank you so much darling Peaches, I love this request 🥰 I tweaked it a bit, so instead of ‘meaningless actions’, it’s actions that they’re not aware of.

💕 For Darlin', it's the way Jack is so connected to his horses. He doesn't even notice it, it's so instinctive to him, it's second nature.

She loves the way he chatters to Whiskey first thing in the morning, as if catching up on the hours since he last saw him, and the way he stays connected with his horse during a ride, with a hand on his neck once in a while, or a pat on the rump, a whistle every now and then. Seeing Whiskey respond to his touches and sounds, ears pricking up and answering with a snicker - her heart swells with love for this cowboy to see the deep trust between him and his four-legged friends.

💕 For Shiv and the boys, it's the way our favourite pilot is the calm, clear-thinking backbone of the group without even knowing it, especially when something goes wrong. The boys know that a big reason they came back from Colombia in one piece was that Frankie kept them going when it would've been easier to fall apart.

And when things get a bit tight at the salon and Shiv's stressing about making rent a particular month, he goes about doing things that he can wordlessly. He calls Benny and makes sure he pays off his tab, and he suggests Santi pay for his next few regular fortnightly appointments in advance. He cooks dinner or orders takeaway, knowing that she'll skimp on food. And when sleep is hard to come by, he holds her, knowing that the weight of his embrace calms her and makes it just a bit easier to slip into slumber.

He'd never let them thank him for it, but man, do they love him for it ❤️

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #palomino headcanon #grays headcanon #fuckyeahgrays #palomino series

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Congrats!

Fuck, Marry, Kill

Jack Daniels, Dieter Bravo, and Joel Miller

(Yes I know, I’m evil 😂)

Ok this is NOT FAIR because you mentioned both of my husbands.

Marry: Jack. Always.

Fuck: Dieter.

Kill: Joel. HEAR ME OUT. There’s no way little old me can possibly kill Joel Miller, I mean, c’mon. So I get to keep him as my side piece in my little harem 😌

Thanks for playing lovely! What are your choices? 😘

Fuck Yeah 2022 Sleepover

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #fuck marry kill

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

"^THIS just imagine him tilting his head, his cowboy hat hiding his eyes as he works, so you’re just looking at that delectable moustache and gorgeous lips saying ‘good girl’ while he tattoos you 🫠"

Please. Stop. I'm not strong enough. I can't be thirsting over Jack I can't I CAN'T

Ok but think about him leaning over you and you can see exactly how his broad shoulders and biceps flex under that leather jacket? And how the tendons of his neck move every time he tilts his head? Or he takes off the jacket and his arms are covered in nothing but tattoos? And you're so caught up in drooling over him that you forget to brace and the needle makes you flinch so he puts his big hand on you to hold you down?? All while he murmurs "easy sweetheart you were doing so good don't start being a bad girl now" ?

RAVEN SHUT TF UP.

SOMEBODY SEND HELP

Me@me: Don't do it raven dont do it. Dont fall for the over the top cowboy with the stache dont you dare i will kick your ass

(It's feral old me: @ravensmadreads)

Girl you CAN I BELIEVE IN YOU

Also I refuse to send help because someone needs to write cowboy Jack doing some actual tattooing and I think it should be YOU 🤩 Cos seriously you're halfway there with those delectable thots already PLEASEEEEEEEEEE

#fuckyeahasks #fuckyeah2222sleepover

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Hi honey! @nothoughtsjustmeds here. Can you show me a moodboard for a fic you’ve been working on/haven’t released yet?

Congratulations again on your follower milestone! What a joy it is to share this space with you ❤️

Ella my darling! Thank you for this request and you are an absolute joy ❤️ So this is a moodboard for Butter, a pre-outbreak!Joel fic idea that I floated here. Here are the tags:

Young!Joel Miller x Baker!F!Reader | outbreak, what outbreak? | fluffy meet cute with a smutty second part | planned two-shot

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

It came second in the fic vote, but with the way Joel and Pin are hogging my attention, it won't be a while until I start this one, but I loved making this moodboard, I'm so looking forward to it!

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #fuckyeah1stbirthday #butter inspo

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Hey darling Cee! I hope I'm not too late for the sleepover, and let me start by thanking you for all the gifts coming our way 💝 I'm still not over that latest chapter of Palomino, Mustang. Your talent is such that I really feel like I'm on this journey with them, your gorgeous descriptions of the nature surrounding them (AND OF JACK'S BODY) are a dream, and I would be so happy if you'd indulge me with a moodboard for that particular chapter? Thank youuuuuuuu 🧡

Darlin' Maddie, thank you for always being the staunchest supporter of my horny little lovebirds in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness ❤️ I'm halfway through Palomino VII, so I'm very much in my cowboy Jack feels right now! Thank you for requesting a moodboard for Mustang, I loved putting this together 😘

Fuck Yeah 2022 Sleepover

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #palomino series #palomino inspo