Cover art by me, Biscuit19131
This book has oneshots for anyone and everyone. I am so sorry, this was made when I was 11-12, I'm suffering as much as you are.
P.S. This whole thing is PG-13, there is swearing and some mentions of violence, but tha...
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(Art by Moho-Roselemonade-and-Cockade on Tumblr.)
Bright lights flashed in every which way, highlighting the darkness of the night within the club. Singing, yelling, and flirting could not be heard over the brash music. I assumed the position of designated driver for when Edd forced me to take Tom out to drink. The complexities of keeping Tom out of trouble was excruciating, especially as Tom found a certain area to meet his fancy - the club bar. Soft hues of my phone shrouded my clearly depicted boredom and desire to leave this place. Yet, a woman's voice cheered as two drunken men broke into a fist fight, grasping my attention.
Blood rushed to my face as I noticed the certain standard of beauty this woman had. Even with the considerable difference as that she was drunk, she still looked quite pleasant to look at, unlike the other matrons whom were wearing quite revealing apparel. The (f/c) dress fitted nicely to their body type, and the design was quite accustomed to how they carry themselves. Inching closer, I scrutinise the empty bottle in her hand. Whiskey, as depicted by the label, was quite fitting for her, as far as I was aware.
Soft and clouded (e/c) eyes darted towards me. Before the knowledge was denounced to me, the collar of my hoodie was held firmly by the woman. I could barely hear her, as of the trash slurring from the club speakers. Top hits pop was never my idea of music. So, I politely asked over the blare of speaker and crowd if she may speak up.
"Shut your trap before I toss ya' into the dumpster!" the slurring the her voice was adorable.
"Why?" I asked politely.
"You were staring at me, you.... ya' womanizer!" the woman yelped at me. She had to think over the use of her words before accusing me of being a 'womanizer'. Carefully, I pry her fists from my collar and bring them gently to her sides. I set my own hands in my hoodie pocket and confidently look at her. No words passed between the two of us. Individuals of elsewhere did not consider our participation.
"I'm not a womanizer. I was simply curious as to who are you are," I hold out my hand, "Tord Larsin. And you may be?" Her eyes narrowed, and the world seemed brighter. Club lights dim and the woman's lips creep into a smile. She warmly takes my hand and shakes it.
"(Y/N) (L/N)," she answered after the trails and errors of nearly saying '(L/N) (Y/N)'.
(Time Skip)
(Y/N)'s POV
The morning glow of dawn interrupted my sleep. A hangover huts my head like a brick, causing me to gasp. I wince as I unlock and open my phone. In my contacts was the man I met last night. Fluffy, caramel hair and intelligent silver eyes brought out his tanned skin, toned muscles, and bright smile. I also noticed his soft looking red hoodie, which I hazily remember throwing up on.
Though, Tord didn't mind. In fact, he helped me home and set me down on the couch. I passed out as soon as the door closed behind him. As soon as I close my contacts, I get a call from Tord Larsin. Speaking of the devil, am I right? Anyway, I answer.
"Hello...?"
"Are you hungover?"
"Yes, very,"
"Well, I'll be arriving later today with fast food, entertainment, and Excedrin,"
"English, please," I groan.
"I'm bringing McDonalds, video games, and pain killer for your hangover," he grunts flatly over the phone.
