#Maybe! They’re trying to stay sober!

[chartreuxcatz]

the whole “water tiktok” hate thing is really pissing me off actually. Damn these people can’t fucking hydrate in peace? Don’t act so worried about their health. I know you never gave a shit about the affects of sweeteners until now. You don’t know why they’re doing it, and frankly you don’t need to. Whether it’s for a health reason or just because they like how it tastes, it’s flavored water for fucks sake. Shut up.

[ilyrafe]

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅'𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: ex-boyfriend!rafe cameron x ex-girlfriend!reader

warnings: angst

word count: 1k

“hi, rafe.”

just your voice is enough to decentralize him entirely. he didn’t expect to see you at sarah’s party, only because he didn’t know you were back to kildare.

you look beautiful as always. your hair is shorter, but that’s the only thing that has changed about you, at least, it’s what he can assume. the flower crown you’re wearing adorns your sage green dress beautifully.

“hi.” he takes a sip of his mock tail, trying to pretend he’s cool with you there, as if he knew.

“how have you been?”

“good.”

you know rafe too well. his short answers tell you he’s not at all amused by your presence, and that breaks your heart even more. he looks so handsome with a buzzcut, and it’s like he knows it.

“i guess you didn’t know i was coming.” you chuckle quite awkwardly. “sarah convinced me to come, she said it wouldn’t be an issue, but... if you want me to leave, i will.”

“i really don’t care what you do, y/n.”

you sigh, defeated. he’ll never forgive you for what you said. you thought that maybe he would have changed, or at least, understood your point, but you see that he hasn’t done either.

“okay, um... i’ll see you around, rafe.”

he watches you leave, and you’re not even pretending to be happy. he ruined your mood and he knows it. rafe sees sarah comforting you, and she shoots him a glare, making him roll his eyes and leave his spot at the bar.

he should probably leave, too.

when he turns his back and makes his way inside tanney hill, he doesn’t look back. he goes straight to his bedroom and plops down on his king sized bed. the music is muffled, thank god.

he’s been trying to make amends with sarah, even letting her come back home and be with john b in peace. sure, he doesn’t get along with the pogues, but if accepting them is what it takes for him to have the smallest sense of peace, he’ll do it.

rafe has also decided to get sober. after almost dying of an overdose, he was really scared and decided to quit. he wants to make ward proud. staying away from alcohol is a lot harder than quitting coke and marijuana, it turns out. the mock tails aren’t as enjoyable.

as if doing all that isn’t hard enough, you’re back. and with you being back, all of the feelings he’s successfully repressed are coming back up again, stronger than ever.

he hates that he’s given you this amount of power over him.

rafe never did feelings before, and the one time he did, you left him because of himself. rafe is his worst enemy.

he really loved you. well, scratch that. he never stopped loving you. you took care of him, you improved his relationship with ward and sarah. you asked him to quit drugs and selling it. you listened to him and you took none of his bullshit. you held him accountable while giving him grace.

deep down, he knows he fucked up. he wasn’t ready to grow up, but no one likes to say they’re wrong, do they?

“i just think it’s funny how you really believe this little island is an entire world for you.” you snorted. “but i know why you don’t wanna leave this shit hole. you’re a nobody outside the outer banks. there is no “kook versus pogue” once you step out of this place. you’re just another trust fund baby with drug issues to everyone else, rafe.”

he never understood your incessant need to “explore the world”, it’s so childish. you always talked about how you wanted to live in paris, toronto, tokyo, london, seoul, or berlin or whatever (honestly, you have mentioned so many cities, he has lost count), and you always said that you would be happy anywhere else, but rafe doesn’t see himself being happy far from north carolina. from kildare. from tanney hill. it’s where he comes from and where he wants to die. it’s what he knows.

a knock on his bedroom door interrupts his thoughts. rafe huffs and rolls his eyes. when he opens the door, he comes across you.

“what do you want?” he questions, irritated.

you enter his room and close the door behind you, drowning out the noise of the music once again. you’ve missed his bedroom. his bed.

“i think... i think i owe you an apology,” you say. “i shouldn’t have been so mean to you that day, it wasn’t right.”

rafe remains quiet, sitting on his bed, just listening to you talk.

“i just… i never liked it here, and i end up projecting that onto others, and i did that to you. i’m sorry.”

in theory, hearing you apologize should be gratifying, but rafe can’t identify any sign of regret in you. it’s not that he doesn’t think your apology is insincere, it’s that the regret he wanted to see doesn’t exist. you don’t regret leaving kildare nor leaving him.

“apology accepted.”

“thank you.” you smile.

“y/n, are you happy?” he asks.

“hm?”

“are you happy there?”

your smile and small nod tells everything he didn’t want to know. you are happy. in fact, you’re happier than ever.

“i am.”

rafe has vivid memories with you, and your smile has never been so wide, your eyes have never been so bright. maybe this will take him to hell, but he hates that you’re genuinely happy away from there, especially because he isn’t happy. and if he is not happy in where he feels he belongs most, there is no place in the world that makes him happy. 

maybe happiness isn’t an option for him, and the most upsetting thing about this is that money really can’t buy happiness. not the one rafe really needs anyways.

you want to tell rafe how you’re enjoying life for the first time, how being independent is amazing, but also sucks, but it’s still amazing, how the feeling of achieving something on merit is indescribable... but rafe would never understand.

it’s funny how two people who are so similar at first are so different in the end.

“that’s all that matters to me, then.”

i love feedback! let me know your thoughts! <3

[goldfades]

I’m just saying…. headcannons for paige with a bestfriend to partner who’s an introvert.

And I mean those introverts who seem quiet but the moment they get comfortable around you it’s over, but like only they get to see that side.

Paige seems like an extrovert that adopts introverts, like just imagine her having to drag her partner out of their room all the time cuz they’re a damn hermit.

-🐹

─ warnings | mention of drinking, teasing, fluff, nothin' else?

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

honestly, you are so right in that assumption

she definitely gets closer with more introverted people, bc opposites DO really attract

when you guys first met it was your freshman year at uconn, at first you'd probably think she's WAY too much ─ maybe even cocky LOL (but who can blame her she's the best)

but when you spend more one on one time with her, you realize she's really funny and sweet

because you're so quiet, paige would be naturally drawn to you cus she gets to know you

so she just pesters you until you eventually give in and hang out with her

from that point on, the one is never seen without the other

you guys would always be together

but like... usually, you're just WITH paige so people don't really acknowledge you cus you're so quiet

but then paige would like force you to socialize

"this is y/n, i promise she's fun you just gotta put a little liquor in her-" "PAIGE."

she would push you toward her close friends the most, def like ice, azzi, nika and kk

ESPECIALLY kk!

and then you eventually would get really close with them, you all have your cute little friend group

you and ice would make fun of paige and kk together, you and azzi are kinda similar so you find yourself hanging out with her alone a lot more, and nika would force you out your shell a lot too

after a couple months of being friends, paige would definitely find herself catching feels

like i've said in my other headcanons, she just thinks you're such a big source of comfort for her and it slowly just becomes full-on adoration cus

she adores you

and you compliment her personality so well she is just like "i NEED to have her right now"

she ends up confessing one night after a really terrible game and then y'all kiss ...

and the rest is history 🤗🤗🤗

jk here's some relationship headcanons

again, you are so right nonnie

like i mentioned, one is never seen without the other

so you're always tied at the hip, especially at parties

at first she has to force you

like FULL force

she calls backup ofc ice and kk come and then its 3 vs 1

they end up winning

and this happens time and time again, you just get so worn down you'd rather just endure the damn party then listen to all three of them scream at you

which was the goal 🥰

and you're definitely the sober one 95% of the time so you will be taking care of a very drunk paige

(maybe some separate headcanons for her if yall want)

and sometimes even ice/kk but it's mostly just your girlfriend

anyway, yeah you take her home, take of her and then get her into bed

and when you try to leave she will be so dramatic, she forces you to stay with her

you don't mind cus you love cuddly paige

but the 5% when you're the one who's blackout drunk, paige is gonna take such good care of you

because you're so introverted when you're sober, you're probably gonna be such a rowdy drunk

yes im her shes me

so paige makes sure you don't get into trouble and gets you home safe and sound

but if you do something stupid, she will never ever let you live it down

"remember that time you jumped into the pool and-" "SHUT THE FUCK UP"

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[a-schmoozer-and-a-dummy]

i am so obsessed with the idea of husk having to get sloppy drunk for the first time in a hot minute to confront that he has feelings for angel, yet angel stays sober for the same damn thing. can you imagine having Sober Clarity for the first time in ages and suddenly the guy you’re into gets drunk off his ass, confesses he might be in love with you, and falls asleep at the bar right then and there. what is angel supposed to do with that. how does angel respond to that. i think it’s so fucking funny.

but while it’s funny, it’s also the thing that angel wasn’t expecting, and that leads to angel helping husk into bed and takjng care of his hangover the next morning. he refuses to talk about it until husk is functioning properly, which is relatively out of character, but angel cares so much about doing this right.

husk half expects the confession to go “i like you” “i like you too” “drunk sex?” “yes” which is why he’s nervous and therefore gets drunk drunk, and maybe that’s how it would have gone in the past, but angel realizes he wants this to be real so he’s taking the lead and having a real conversation for the first time ever. he’s the one who says, “okay, you wanna do this? then we have to talk.”

so, they talk. angel confesses that he has the same feelings for husk, and they discuss the options for a relationship- because let’s be real, hell isn’t exactly the best place to fall in love even on a good day, let alone with their respective “someone owns my soul” situations. i think that angel and husk having to sit down and create a plan of action for navigating both a relationship and sobriety is so lovely- what happens when someone relapses, how to handle mood swings, etc etc. they love each other. they’re being intentionally communicative. they want to see this through.

it’s not easy, and they have aren’t perfect, but they’re trying, and that’s what matters.

(ty @withalittlesorcery for helping me flesh this thought out!)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: I got like insanely sick suddenly and I still feel off.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Sam, that paradise punch was a bad idea,” you groan as you struggle to get your bag out of the trunk of the taxi. 

“Whatever,” Sam slurs as he comes around, “I tipped the driver extra. Bud, you think you can get this out for the lady?” 

The driver is all to helpful as he comes around you take the handle from you and swiftly plants the bag on its wheels. It’s everything you have that isn’t bundled up into storage or sacrificed to the dumpster. You thank the man and swallow a belch. 

“Have a safe trip, miss,” the driver nods and turns to slap Sam’s arm, “and you, sir.” 

Sam salutes the man and pushes away from the cab, your carry-on slung from his shoulder. The two of you clumsily lift the bag over the curb. You look up at the airport as the roar of jet engines cuts through the dusky air. 

“I feel like I’m drunker,” Sam snickers. 

“Uh huh, me too,” you murmur. Two hours on his couch was barely enough. If anything, it’s just set your vision askew. “They’re not gonna let me board if – hiccup—I'm blasted.” 

“Don’t worry, we can get water,” he blathers and yanks your bag onto its wheels, “off to the land of vikings! Skol!” 

“Skol?” You follow him in a clamour. 

“It’s what they say, isn’t it?” He chuckles, “I saw it on a show or whatever.” 

“I... yeah, usually while they drink, not stumbling drunk,” you rebuff. 

“Sound pretty sober to me with all that whining,” he rebukes. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and follow him through the automatic doors. 

He veers off and you follow him in confusion, glancing back at the check-in counter. He stops before a bright vending machine and feels around in his pocket. He taps his card and focuses intently on pressing the button. 

“Waterrrrr,” he drones and leans on the machine to reach through the slot. 

He hands it over and you unscrew the cap. You chug half the bottle and let out an obnoxious belch. You cover your mouth in embarrassment and offer him the rest. He finishes it off and you linger by the machine as you let the cool flow settle in. 

“Feel any better?” He asks. 

“A little. I’ll have a coffee on the plane.” 

“Nah, you should sleep.” 

“Maybe,” you take out your phone and tap the side button. Nothing. 

“Anything from Mr. Carter?” Sam asks. 

“No,” you black the screen and shrug. “Come on, I gotta check my bag.” 

“You should check that boy,” he blathers as he stands straight and once more yanks the bag after you, “tell him what’s what.” 

“Sam, he’s busy--” 

“He’s your best friend! At least, he likes to say so then do nothing.” 

“Quit,” you beg him, “this is hard enough.” 

“This is what you need--” 

“I know!” You throw your hands up and face him as you come up before the counter. “I know. Okay. I’m stupid and---” you shake your head and let the truth sink back into the depths of your soul. You face the clerk and sigh, “I’m sorry, I’m here to check my bag.” 

You pull out your wallet and slide your passport across the counter. You show your boarding pass and pay for the extra weight. Your bid a safe journey and carry on with only the smaller bag still on Sam’s shoulder. 

Wordlessly, you sit in a row of seats. You look up at the clock. You’ll have to go to the boarding area sooner than later. He won’t be able to come with you. 

“Sam, I’m sorry. I just... is it that obvious?” You croak. 

He puts his hand on your back and rubs it gently. It’s soothing. The tension trickles down your sides and seeps out. It feels good to admit it aloud yet mortifying just the same. 

“No, I just sense these things. I know Steve, I know you, and I know he doesn’t deserve you. Even as just friends.” 

“Ugh,” you put your head in your hands, “I am so stupid.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re human. It stinks. Our brains, our hearts, they aren’t logical, as much as we like to pretend,” he huffs, “trust me. We’ve all been there and if we haven’t, we’ll get our turn.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you sit up as your eyes glisten, “I just... he said he’d be here. I thought I’d at least get that--” 

Your name echoes through the airy space and you wince. Right on cue, just before you can collapse completely. You turn as Steve rushes toward you. He wears jeans and grey sweatshirt. He remembered! 

You stand as Sam sighs. You smile, only halfway before you see the figure trailing behind him. Peggy looks less than excited to be there. Her sleepy lashes flutter as her wave hair is pinned back in a messy chignon, still elegant despite the carelessness. She wears a dark green trench over a silver satin nightie. She must’ve rushed out with him. 

“Hey,” Steve nears, “sorry I couldn’t make it for drinks, but I couldn’t miss take-off.” 

“Mmm, they don’t have any afternoon flights,” Peggy mutters. 

“They do but landing doesn’t line up with the train,” you shrug and glance at her briefly. Her glare darts back at you. You wonder if that work dinner was so impromptu after all. 

“Are you excited?” Steve drops into the seat next to you. 

“Uh, yeah, nervous,” you smile as the weight lightens from your chest. He came. Maybe Sam is wrong. Maybe friends isn’t that bad. 

“It’s going to be great. You have to send me updates, oh, and I’ll be sure to send you all the wedding news!” He grins, “I still can’t believe you’re going to be so far away.” 

“It’s a good opportunity,” Peggy intones as she sits on his other side, resting her hand on his forearm, “in her line of work, I’m sure they don’t come often.” 

You press your lips tight and look down, “yeah, not really.” 

“She can get out. Make new friends. Some girl friends, maybe,” Peggy remarks. 

“I’m sure she’ll make all the friends,” Sam interjects, “I hear there isn’t much sunlight over there, she’ll be a breath of fresh air for those grumpy vikings.” 

“Mm, yes,” Peggy grumbles as she trails her hand down to Steve’s. “Too bad you won’t make the engagement party.” 

“Or the wedding,” Steve adds. 

“Well, we’ve a full wedding party as it is,” she shrugs. “There’ll be lots of pictures.” 

“Right, yeah, I’m sorry to miss it all,” you frown. “I...” you sit back and nearly choke, “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.” 

You stand as Sam puffs out heavily and to your surprise, Peggy swiftly gets to her feet, suddenly very awake. Your soberness is setting in along with a pulsing headache. You really don’t want to deal with her. If you knew he’d bring her, you’d have told Steve to stay home. 

“I’ll come with you. I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills. 

“Alright,” you agree with a tint of uncertainty. 

She twirls and you walk parallel to her towards the bathroom signs. You chalk it up to the feminine habit. It isn’t unusual to visit the toilets in pairs, even without much kinship between you. It does however spoil your attempt at respite. You less so want to empty your bladder than clear your mind. 

You don’t say a word as you enter the bathroom. You go into a stall and she does the same. Your mind clogs your biology and you have to sit and focus before you can get a flow going. By the time you’re trickling into the bowl, she’s done. A toilet flushes and you hear her unlatch the door and approach the sinks. 

She’s in heels, even at this hour. The sink sprays out water and you listen to her hum as she washes her hands. You finish up and flush, coming out meekly to use the sink next to her. You focus on the simple task as she watches you in the mirror. 

Sensing her gaze, you look up and pull your hands out from under the censor-activated faucet. You meet her eyes and nearly wince at the steely intensity. You stand straight and move past her to retrieve some paper towel. 

“This is a wise decision,” she says, “well-needed.” 

You look at her again as you dry your hands, “thanks.” 

“Oh, I’m not congratulating you. About time you got some sense,” she sneers. 

You wince and crumple up the towel. You drop it in the bin and cross your arms, “okay, well...” 

“It’s better you’re not here for any of it. He doesn’t need the distraction.” 

You chew the inside of your lip as venom drips from her voice. You’re still slightly tipsy and too tired to process this. You have no response. 

“The distance will help you get over it. Finally,” she snips, “you know, I thought it was almost endearing at first then it just became pathetic.” 

You swallow. You’re humiliated that even she could see right through you. You can hardly blame her for her spite. After all, she’s his fiancée, not you. 

“He thinks it’s silly. He laughs.” 

You flinch then. Hard. Your chest rents and your stomach boils. 

“He knows. It’s obvious. I mean, it’s convenient, isn’t it? You’ll do anything for him and really it was rather helpful. Took a lot off my plate and his but it’s time for all of us to grow up. I will be his wife and he doesn’t need some girl to measure out his laundry detergent or remind him to eat.” 

You blink and look away. You cross your arms and push your shoulders up, “got it.” 

“So why don’t you go ahead and just put him on mute now?” 

“Peggy,” you whisper. 

“We’re getting married. You know you can’t stop it, that’s why you’re running away. So end it.” 

“You don’t have to be cruel,” you mutter. 

“I could be horrid. I could have been for all these years. I believe I’ve had remarkable restraint with you,” she points a manicured nail at you, “you should be thanking me for having the grace to do this in private.” 

Your lip trembles and your cheeks tug painfully. You nod and turn away, “don’t worry, Peg, you won’t hear from me. He won’t either.” You make your way to the door, “I wish you both the best.” 

“Mm, I pray you find some clarity and perhaps some maturity along the way,” she retorts as she follows you, heels clicking loudly across the tile, “perhaps you might find someone too. Someone you deserve.” 

Her last words sting. The derision is pungent enough to make your nose crinkle. Someone you deserve... because you could never ever be good enough for Steve Rogers. 

💟

You don’t look back as you go through the gate. You can’t. It’s too painful. The tears have receded but the pain is only deeper. Peggy’s words reverberate in your head, nipping at your ears as your nape burns hotter and hotter. 

She’s right. Sam too. This is overdue. It’s exactly what you need to do. You know it. It’s the reason you chose this. That moment when you were faced with being the eternal wobbly third wheel, you made up your mind. It’s over. That part of your life is behind you, but you don’t know that you’ll ever stop feeling this way. 

It’s hard to settle in your seat, even knowing you have ten hours of flying ahead of you. Disembarking alone will be another hour at least, then finding the train station, another few hours... It’s a lot of time to think and you just can’t stop. 

You don’t take the book out of your bag or touch the screen in front of you. Instead, you sit, slumped down in your seat, eyes drifting back and forth, as you wallow in your self-pity. You stay like that through the flight. You decline the mid-flight meal and the snack cart. You don’t even get up to use the bathroom. 

You close your eyes and float away into memory. You can feel the scene around you. You can smell the stale air freshener forgotten on the shelf above the desk and hear the muffled thrum of music through the walls. You sit on the bed, your textbook open in your lap and your laptop open by your leg. Steve’s on the other end, phone in hand, texting as his golden hair flops forward over his head. 

He’s younger. That rosiness still kisses his cheeks as subtle freckles speckle his pale skin. Yet he’s just a well-built as ever. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, long legs. He’s the very picture that should appear next to ‘hunk’ in the dictionary. Every girl’s dream. Your dream. 

“Huh,” he chuckles and drops his phone, “this girl in my history class wants to meet up.” 

Your heart plucks and you force a smile, “a girl? Meet up?” 

“Oh, yeah, she lets me copy off her pop quiz every lecture. Guess I kinda owe her.” 

“Wow,” you utter, the only noise you can eke out. Owes her? Funny, you did his laundry last week and helped him print out his term paper... what do you get? 

“Yeah, so uh, do you think you could send me a copy of your notes?” He pushes himself to the edge of the bed. “I probably won’t be back tonight.” 

“Right,” you nod and hide your embarrassment at the insinuation. 

“You can crash here if you wanna. Long way across campus at night,” he shrugs casually as he grabs his varsity jacket. 

“No, I’ll... I’ll just go now,” you get off the bed and close up your books. 

“Probably a good idea. Just in case she wants to come back here,” he chuckles, “see ya in poli sci?” 

“Sure,” you keep your chin down. “See ya.” 

Your eyelids lift as you come out of the dazed memory.  

New York is gone. Steve is gone. You’re all alone. You’ve left it all behind but that home was never a home. It was all a farce you built on a childish hope. You’re done lying to yourself. It was never going to be. You didn’t miss any chance at all. You just wasted your own time. 

You just languish there in the airplane seat. It’s still hard to believe it’s all real. It isn’t until the wheels bounce and hit the tarmac that it fully sinks in. 

You’re not doing that again. You’re better off alone. You have to be, right? You don’t really know. You don’t even know yourself. You just know the girl who only wanted to be what he needed. 

But what do you need? What do you want? Can you figure it out? Is there anything in this land for you that you couldn’t find in New York? 

At least you’ll have lots of time to figure that out. Intimate hours with yourself to dwell and cringe and regret. Time to think, time to move on, time to cut him out. 

As you join the line to have your Visa stamped, you pull out your phone and turn off airplane mode. You swipe through to Steve’s last message. It was weeks ago. That makes it easier to hit that button; ‘mute’. It’s a start. Maybe in a few weeks, you’ll be ready to hit ‘block’. 

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Moves

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: loosely based off Suki Waterhouse's Moves. It was also supposed to be SMUT, but apparently that wasn't meant to be.

Author's note 2: y'all I meant to post this earlier but got distracted.

Summary: Y/n has had feelings for Andrew for a while now, and she's pretty sure he feels the same. Can one night change everything?

Warnings: unrequited love, but also, more requited than not.

She likes him – maybe its a little more than like, at this point. She adores the colour of his eyes, the way they’re green when its bright out, but then when they meet at dimly lit pubs or he hangs around late at night and neither of them bothers to turn on an overhead light, they’re this dark, hazel hue. She is thrilled by his laugh – not the polite courtesy chuckle he spares when someone tells a joke that isn’t even funny – she means that full bodied sound that erupts from his throat when they’re watching that one episode of that one show, the way he rocks backwards a little and rests his hand over his chest. And there’s something about the way he says her name too, that makes Y/n giddy inside, especially when she picks up his call late at night, while he’s on tour and the rest of the band is asleep but he can’t seem to keep his eyes shut without her voice being the last thing he hears before doing it.

Andrew told her that once;

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried....I need to talk to you first. Hear your voice so I can just...."

"Just what?"

He paused, hesitating, "nothing, I just like the way you sound. That's all."

Y/n could have sworn that it would have been the call that changed everything. She'd held her breath until around two am, when he finally yawned and said he was going to try to get some sleep.

He must feel the same, Y/n determined shortly after that. Because friends don’t sling their long arms around your shoulders, or kiss your forehead right after pulling you against them.

Friends don’t have moments where their lips get so close to the other’s that it won’t expend any real effort to make them to touch.

Andrew was the one to pull away that night and apologize profusely before blaming it on the liquor. She’s never told him, but she wishes he hadn’t. She thinks about it so painfully often that she swears the memory is burning a hole into her heart – the ache of what could've been, but isn’t.

Y/n is thinking about it tonight. They’re sitting on Andrew's back porch, a bottle of wine shared between them. The backyard is illuminated by the light over the wide, glass door that separates his kitchen from the deck, and the blue hued, inground lights that give the pool that sits between his house and the foliage bordering the woods a glacial glow. Off in the distance, she can hear crickets and the occasional rustle of some other, nocturnal creature moving through the trees.

The mood would be entirely romantic if it weren’t for the smell of barbeque and booze clinging to the thick, humid air. It's why they’re outside; its unusually warm and sticky for an Irish October, but Andrew has informed her its becoming typical for this time of the year. He also said that being outside helps, but Y/n thinks that was just an excuse for them to sit outside in hopes that the fresh air would sober them up.

But she doesn’t particularly mind – even if she’s been bitten by a couple mosquitoes.

Everyone else is long gone, and he'd asked her to stay back for a few more drinks while she helped him cram leftovers into his fridge. Its not unusual for her to be the only one left at his place – or vise versa – so Y/n is used to being alone in Andrew’s presence. In fact, she thinks she prefers when its just the pair of them, occupying a quiet space saying nothing but whatever pops into their somewhat inebriated minds;

“I read this poem that made me think of you.”

“I bought you a jacket, but I forgot to pack it.”

“Have you read that book I told you about?”

“Would you read this thing I wrote?” He asks after a couple hours of them going around in circles of menial chatter. Of late, everything Andrew writes is about her, and while he’s thought of telling her that more times than he can count, he can't seem to force the words out of his mouth. It isn’t even that he’s intimidated by her – that would be far too uncomplicated for an overthinker of his caliber. No.

He could never be intimidated by Y/n anyway; he’s known her for too long, too well. She’s the person that puts him most at ease; his heart doesn’t quicken when she touches his arm the way she’s touching it now as she says, “Of course, I’d love to.” In fact, the tick in his chest slows when she does that, he isn't nervous or worried or anything, he's just…. happy. And though her hands are usually so cold, Andrew swears there’s a tingle permeating the thin fabric of his grey Henley when she touches him.

Their eyes meet as Y/n promises to read what he’s written and she finds herself drawing in a shallow breath. There’s something else on the barest top of her liquor-stained tongue, but its refusing to break past her lips;

“I’ll read anything you write. I’d do anything for you, really.”

“Great, great,” Andrew beams suddenly, straightening his back before standing with purpose. “I’m gonna get it, wait here.” He doesn’t wait for Y/n to respond, not even with a nod, before disappearing into the house.

While he’s gone, Y/n tops off those sleek, stemless wine glasses with the remainder of the chilled Sauvignon Blanc and takes a sip of hers, hoping it’ll help combat the sticky heat that’s surrounding the property. She knows she probably shouldn't have anymore; her head is already fuzzy and there’s that tell tale film over her eyes. The one that makes lights stretch out like shooting stars and makes you feel like you're walking through a dream. Andrew must not be any better either, because he stumbled over all too familiar steps on his way back into the house.

“Got it,” he announces as he returns to the patio, raising the notebook over the head in triumph. Andrew is less than graceful when he retires next to her again, dropping the book into her lap. After a lengthy sip of his wine, he leans back onto his elbows. “It's the last thing in there,” his cheeks heat up, the dusty red colour creeping up his cheeks, towards his ears.

He’s a funny sort of drunk; chatty and able to make a joke of literally anything. He’s flirty too, yet somehow retaining his usual reserve. When they venture to pubs, he’ll flirt his way right into a one night stand without even realizing it, and then slink back to her side, rattling off an excuse involving the words, “ehm, well, she isn’t really my type.”

“Yeah? What is your type?” She’d ask, eyes challenging him.

He’ll look at her for a bit longer than usual, squirting his eyes a little as his waning smile fades completely. “Doesn’t matter,” he’ll eventually say dismissively, covering his words with a swing of his drink before changing the topic.

“Its not finished yet,” he mumbles as Y/n finds the page.

“It looks finished,” Y/n frowns, looking down at the way he’s signed the bottom of the page, the way he usually does after scrawling out the final words.

Andrew shakes his head, “ehm, I mean….the idea. I’m not done with the idea.”

“Oh.” They lapse into easy silence when she starts reading, meticulously scanning every line, barely restraining herself from ghosting her thumb over his hurried, untidy penmanship. Y/n can feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she reads. He's still laid back and propped on one elbow as he steadily sips his wine while she tries to get her hazy mind to comprehend everything on the page.

Its a love song or a profession – or she’s pretty fucking drunk and has lost all ability to to comprehend words.

No, its definitely a confession. A beautifully written one. Of course everything he writes is always much akin to poetry; but with this, every word is strung together like tiny bulbs in a reel of fairy lights. Each one in perfect harmony with the other. They’re carefully chosen, as if just one were missing its entire, delicate balance would be pitched into uncertainty.

“Andrew….” He sits up, draining the last of his wine as she lifts her head from the page.

“Is it bad? The worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever written?” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he flashes her a lopsided smile.

“It's beautiful,” Y/n rasps, suddenly feeling like the air’s been knocked from her chest, or like she’s been running too fast. There’s something besides the night’s oppressive heat surrounding them, something fragile and precious. Part of her wants to say something else, she can see on his face that he’s aching for more, but Y/n is absolutely terrified that if she does, it’ll be the wrong thing and the moment will be shattered into a million little pieces, scattered across the forests behind his house by an unexpected breeze, the way it happened on a night all too similar to this one.

“But?” Andrew is the one that dares to speak, the word uttered softly and with the weight of reproach clinging to its single syllable.

God, what if he’s ruined everything? What if the reason he’s never been able to tell Y/n the way he feels is because a morsel deep within him knows she doesn’t return his feelings. Andrew doesn’t even know if she’s interested in a relationship – or anything adjacent – right now, she doesn’t talk about going on dates and or fancying anyone.

What if the reason she never talks about other men is because she’s somehow gathered how he feels and is trying to protect him from the hurt? That would be awfully cruel, but he supposes it's the kindest thing she can do without ruining their friendship.

“But….” Right before her, in a matter of seconds, a dozen emotions cross Andrew's face and Y/n realizes that, if she’d been in front of a mirror the night he told her he likes hearing her voice before he goes to sleep, this is what she might have seen reflected in it. That cautious hope, with a bit of fear sprinkled in.

Upon realizing that there's no ‘perfect’ thing to say, Y/n hastily leans forward and rests her lips on his, in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. He’s shocked at first, she can feel it in the way he stiffens. But after another couple breaths spent like that, Andrew wraps an arm around her, flattening his palm on the center of her back. As he relaxes, Y/n deepens the kiss, deserting the book in her lap to cup his face. His beard tickles the inside of her hands, just like she’s always imagined it would, and his tongue and lips are sweet with the wine’s fruity notes.

When they break, faces only inches apart, Andrew lets out a shaking breath while Y/n holds onto hers. “God….I don’t think I would’ve ever done that,” he admits, shoulders rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths.

Sometimes he wishes he had her courage, but most times, he’s glad its hers.

A hint of a smile tugs at her kiss-swollen lips. “I know,” she laughs softly, the sound airy and musical.

Her eyes are twinkling, like two stars plucked from right over the vast bed of darkness hung over their heads. Andrew is certain that no two stars have ever shone brighter, so its fitting that they belong to her – the most dazzling person he knows. Setting his glass down, he lifts his free hand to her cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing her lips. “I’ve been thinking about it for a damn long time,” he admits. It's hard for him to put a definite number to it, it might as well have been very soon after they met.

“Me too,” Y/n rests her hand over his wrist, offering it an affectionate squeeze.

“I think…..” he trails off, struggling to keep a firm grip on his thoughts. His imagination is running a little wild right now; his mind is already churning out thoughts of his future as it changes shape. It's funny to him how one thing can change everything else.

One kiss, and he swears he’s seeing the rest of his life. Holding it.

“Sshh, we don’t have to talk about it tonight,” Y/n whispers. Talking complicates – they’ve been talking for too damn long anyway, and knowing Andrew, his brain is already three weeks ahead of him. Its sweet actually, because every plan she’s made for her future has been built around him, and now suddenly, he’s doing the same thing. “Lets just….”

“Just what?”

“Do this,” in an instant, Y/n closes the space between them again and seals her lips over Andrew’s. That time, he responds immediately, pulling her against him until the only thing left for her to do is slide her leg over his thighs and shuffle into his lap, pressing her chest to his and draping one arm over his shoulder while she keeps her other against his cheek. The way his beard scratches the area around her mouth makes her smile, and she thinks its something she'll get used to quickly.

All of it is so close to being as commonplace his arm slung around her shoulders and the sound of his voice coming through her phone while there’s a timezone and entire ocean between them. The way his mouth moves against hers, the heat of his hands as they hold onto her waist, the sound of his voice as he says;

“I’m glad you stayed.”

[soonyoungs]

what about maybe angst/hurt to comfort with mingyu, it could be a really stupid argument they’re both feeling stubborn over & then some cute fluff/smut at the end 🥹🙏🏻

ఇ mingyu and gn!reader

ఇ warnings: smut! alcohol consumption mentioned! not proof read! written while sleep so i hope it makes sense!

ఇ wc: 1,597 (this was really only supposed to be a short blurb)

ఇ notes: i’m so sorry this took forever! i’ve been so busy with work. i hope this is alright! 💗

[4:33 am]

“you’re drunk,” you say to him, voice monotone “i’m done talking about this until you’ve sobered up and i’ve calmed down”. you close the front door behind him, as he stumbles in. he crosses his arms and juts out a hip in annoyance. if he wasn’t as drunk as he is now you know he’d roll his eyes, but at the moment he can’t even manage that.

he huffs, starting to move passed you and shakes his head “whatever,” he wobbles on unsteady legs, running into the entry wall. you move to help him level himself and in pure, emotional, instinct he pushes your hand away. “ve’got it,” he mumbles, just barely securing his footing and slowly walks by you. bending over to take off your shoes, you sigh at his outburst. hearing you he stops in his tracks, whipping his body back around “got a problem?” he makes his way back to you, softly running into you as he does so.

“no, gyu” you say, slowly “no problem, just tired. let’s talk about this after we’ve gotten some rest, yeah” you straighten your back and pat him on the shoulder “im going to bed, good night”. you stand on your tip-toes and leave a small peck on his cheek, letting your face linger next to his longer than you had meant to. you’re thinking of all the things you want to say, all of the bones you’ve got to pick with him, but before you know it he has his mouth pressed against yours and your back pushed against the front door. a small moan leaves your throat and your eyes widen in surprise, your hands resting on his arms for support.

mingyu lifts his hand to your face, holding it gently in place, as he deepens the kiss. you open your mouth slightly, only allowing him minimal access. in his state of inebriation he is quick to gently nip at your bottom lip warning you before applying more pressure and giving it a good tug before bringing his head back to make eye contact with you. “what were you saying,” he asks as you’re both trying to catch your breath. you honestly can’t even remember what you had been arguing about anymore. was it because mingyu doesn’t know how to turn off the flirtatious charm when he’s speaking to others? was it because he’d had one too many to drink when he told you he’d “only have one”? or was it because you had accepted a drink from a stranger and mingyu made a scene? no matter the reason, all that mattered now was that mingyu finish what he started.

“dunno,” you whisper, reaching up to grab at the hair on the nape of his neck. “not upset anymore,” there’s a mischievous smirk on your lips as you move forward to start where you’d left off. mingyu pushes himself back and picks you up, planning to drag you to your shared bedroom. he’s wobbling around and you’re scared for your life the entire way but, eventually, you make it to your room in one piece.

you’re unceremoniously tossed on to the bed, body bouncing on the mattress a few times at the impact. you’re about to complain when mingyu crawls onto the bed with you, hovering over your body. he sighs before bending his neck, resting his head on your shoulder mumbling something that sounded like an apology. “what,” you cock your head to the side, freeing him from his comfort space so you could hear him clearly.

“sorry i embarrassed you,” he shakes his head, his tresses tickling you as he does so “shouldn’t have made a scene. couldn’t stand to see some weirdo give you something,” you could tell there was more he wanted to say, he’s just struggling to find the words. you stay silent as you allow him time to think and when he’s ready he begins again “was worried about what they gave you too. you took it so easily and didn’t even seem to care, it could’ve been anything in that cup!” he’s not aggressive with his statement but his voice continues to grow louder as he speaks. you finally remember what had you both so heated on your way home. 

mingyu had brought you along to a party with some of his coworkers and left you unattended for a while to mingle. being the unsocial butterfly that you are you stayed close to the bar, so as not to get lost. as you were finishing up your drink someone, uninvited, took the seat next to you and had begun to try and strike up uncomfortable small-talk conversation. when the drink in question had been offered, you readily accepted it, thinking that it might just help you get through this painfully awkward moment. as soon as mingyu saw you accept the strangers drink, and throw it back in one go, he was on his way to you. ready to let this stranger know you weren’t available and to take a hike.

“baby,” you coo, running your fingers through his hair “i’m sorry i worried you. i didn’t mean to, i was just trying to get them to go away” you giggle softly, leaving kisses on his head. mingyu moves and peppers small kisses to your lips as his hands travel down to the hem of his shirt, removing it, separating from you to take it off. mingyu makes quick work of your clothes, tossing it to the floor and leaving you both naked.

mingyu is already rearing to go and he’s  sincerely hoping the alcohol is to blame, otherwise his neediness for you is much more embarrassing than he’d like to admit. you’re not much better than he is, as you’re quick to reach down and take him in your hand, stroking him. he groans as you apply pressure and tease his tip. mingyu sits up and throws his head back, allowing you to do as you please with him. “so good,” he’s whining “baby slow down, i’m already sensitive” he’s scrunching his nose and furrowing his brows in concentration. he knows he won’t last long but he wants to make the most of it, and cumming before he can even touch you is not the move.

mingyu puts his hand on yours, helping you stroke him for a bit before he stops your movements and starts rubbing his cock against you, teasing you in return. you let out a groan at the feeling of him rutting against you. “gyu,” you huff “mingyu, put it in soon, please” you’re borderline begging him. he hums in acknowledgment, but continues moving against you, hoping that you’ll climax once before he’s inside of you. you’re close when mingyu bends down and kisses the side of your neck, then you’re cheek and finally he’s tugging on your earlobe. you can hear him pant against your ear, as he’s struggling to keep his composure as he’s rutting his hips against you faster now. you finally tip over the edge and throw your head back, hips jumping as you become increasingly more sensitive.

“one more,” mingyu asks of you as he finally slides himself inside your warm walls “god please, give me one more?” you’re clawing down his back at the stretch of him and before you can even adjust he’s hitting the spots he knows only he can. “feel so good, i’m gonna cum soon,” he’s practically laying flat against you, lifting his hips and dropping them down to pound himself inside of you. mingyu’s got your head cradled in his hands as he burrows his face in your neck, licking a stripe the entire length of it before moving to kiss you. he’s so close, he can feel it in his gut. separating himself from your lips, he begins panting in your ear again. “gonna cum,” he’s repeating to you, breath tickling your neck.

“i’m so close mingyu, please don’t stop” you’re just as desperate to cum as mingyu is. you’re lifting your hips to help him fuck himself deeper inside of you. mingyu briefly lets go of your head to sling your legs over his arms, moving up your body, bringing them against your chest. mingyu takes hold of your head again, making eye contact as he presses his forehead against yours. he gives you a small peck before fucking you at a rapid pace, again. you arch your back, pressing your chest against his own and allowing him to hit deeper inside of you than before. “close, ‘m so close,” you’re eyes are glazing over in pleasure as mingyu begins to reach his peak. he takes hold of your ankles, moving your legs and stretching you to your limit. mingyu’s thrusts lose their rhythm as he begins chasing his high. he’s hitting you in all the right places, deep and fast. before you can even comprehend it you’re thrown into your own orgasm. you throw your head back and rake your nails down the expanse of his shoulders as you cry out his name. mingyu continues to fuck you through it, as you begin to babble. 

once you’ve both come down from your highs and mingyu has taken care of you, he lays you down, tucks you in and moves to snuggle as you settle down to sleep. “love you gyu, im sorry i made you feel upset. i won’t ever take something from a stranger again,” you pout, giving him a quick peck on the nose before running a finger down his chest, teasingly, “or maybe i will, we’ll see.”

[spencerreidenjoyer]

want you tonight | aaron hotchner x reader

wc: 675, rating: teen/mature (no smut)

tags/warnings: boss/employee, fem!bau!reader, they're drunk but they don't do anything yet, kissing and sexual tension

a/n: i am a spencer girl at heart but jesus christ does hotch make me feel some type of way. i just wanted to get this little drabble out, but if you'd like to see more please leave me a comment and i might follow up with the smut!!! (ao3 link here!)

Hotch presses you up against his front door, closed behind them when you entered his apartment. While Hotch has been eyeing you all night, you feel pinned against the door by his gaze right now. His eyes bore into you, studying your face, studying you. He looks like he wants to kiss you.

“Hotch.” You rest your hands on Hotch’s shoulders, letting your hands slide down his arms. “You– Do something.”

All of a sudden, as if he hadn’t been eyeing you up like a starving man in front of his next meal, he pulls away, head in his hand, massaging his temples like you’re the thing giving him a migraine right now. “No. No.”

The whiplash is enough to sober you up. You step forward towards him, reaching out. “What? Hotch–”

“No, we can’t–” Hotch shakes his head, keeping you away with one hand on her shoulder.

You frown. “Hotch, you invited me here. We’re both drunk. You pinned me up against your front door, and I know you want–”

“Don’t. Don’t say it,” Hotch’s voice comes out shakily. He looks conflicted, but you know he’s dead serious. “If you say it then– Then it becomes real.”

You can’t take it any more. It can’t just be a coincidence. Hotch is always asking you to stay by his side when the team splits up. You know the way Hotch looks at you means something, more than just a concerned boss. His dark eyes always regard you in a way you can’t put on paper, but they give you some glimmer of hope that your boss is just as attracted to you as you are to him. You’re both drunk. Hotch invited you up to his apartment. There’s no way he hadn’t intended for… something. Right?

“Don’t you want it to be real?” You ask. “Even just for one night? I know you want me, Hotch. Just because you’ve been doing this for longer doesn’t mean I can’t read you just as well.”

Hotch says your name, his tone grave. Then, “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

“You have me. In your apartment,” you say simply.

Hotch shoots her a glare. “But I’m your boss. If we… Whatever I do with you, I– We’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”

“No one has to know,” You say, feeling a little desperate. Yeah, maybe you are hot and bothered by the way Hotch pushed you up against the door, and yeah, maybe you do want Hotch to do something about it. “You’ve done things under the table before.”

“I know I have, but they’ve always come to light, one way or another. I can’t.” Hotch’s guard has come down, surprisingly vulnerable as they stand in his hallway, but his hand is no longer keeping you away.

“But you want to,” You affirm, taking a step closer to him. You try to meet Hotch’s gaze, and when you do, you can see the worry in his eyes. “I want you too, Hotch. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

Hotch exhales sharply, mind seemingly busy as he weighs out his options. After a moment too long of silence, a silence that has you thinking you should start making your way out, he says, “Just for tonight. And don’t call me Hotch. It just reminds me that I’m supposed to be your boss.”

“Aaron,” You start, hesitant, your boss’ first name unfamiliar on your tongue. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“God, yes,” Aaron sighs, like he’s relieved, and closes the distance between you and him. His hands reach for your waist like they’re magnets, pulling you close. There’s a tenderness in the way he presses his lips to yours, one hand holding your cheek as he sighs into the kiss.

Your hands are on his arms as you kiss him back. You feel up his strong arms, his sturdy body, feeling so secure while he holds you close and kisses you. Your head spins: finally, finally, you have Aaron, and it feels like heaven.

[palms-upturned]

I’m not gonna jump in ppl’s notes over this bc lord knows I do not want to have a debate about it but seeing someone say “I have qualms about people calling Jean ableist for trying to fire Harry and in the same breath saying Harry is unfit for cop work” is really getting to me. I am practically on my knees begging people to actually engage with what disco elysium has to say about disability and addiction and ableism and policing and social murder because it’s not even subtextual, it’s as blatant and hand holding as it could possibly be. The 41st is an awful environment for Harry not bc him being disabled makes him incapable of doing his job, it’s bc the job is fucking hostile to his existence. Like, no one is “fit” to be a cop because they shouldn’t exist, firstly, and even Harry himself will say as much in the Ruby bad ending. But talking about Harry’s case specifically, we know that this job is part of what landed him where he is to begin with.

From the start of day 2:

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You mean why are you so tired? Too tired and *down* to even think? It *is* worrying, isn't it. You can't be a detective like this -- detectives need to be able to think.

YOU — Why is this happening?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — It's just that your heart has finally pumped all the *speed* out of your system, buster. Time to get some more.

YOU — Wait. What *is*... speed?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speed is a potent central nervous system stimulant. It kept you propped up all day yesterday despite your debilitating hangover. How else did you think you even got up from this floor?

VOLITION — You got up from this floor because of a holy vow you made sixteen years ago. With *me*. To wake up exactly 07:30 every morning until the day you die.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Don't be silly. There was no vow. You were high on speed. That was the only reason you got up. You can't *detect* without it, it's that simple.

YOU — No. I can take this. I am not going to go looking for speed.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Are you sure? Ready to live as this pathetic shell of yourself for days? Basically a week? Let's be honest -- two weeks, maybe three? You won't make it. Half the town will be dead by then. You will be fired.

YOU — That's a lie. I can do this without the speed. Half the town won't be dead... (Opt out.)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Suit yourself, slow, sad shell-man. See how you do without your spark.

And from this talk with Kim in Klaasje’s room:

KIM KITSURAGI — "Amphetamine -- does it make you a better detective?"

SUGGESTION — Be honest. He's not grilling you, he just wants to know. Ask if he's ever wanted to take it too.

YOU — "Honestly, it makes me the detective I am. Have you thought of taking it too?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Maybe I should?" He lets out a little pensive hum, rubbing his shoulder...

DRAMA — It's not insincere. He's actually giving it thought.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Doesn't the... pupils and the gurning jaw, the sweating... doesn't it become tiring after a while?"

YOU — "I understand it's unbecoming but if I don't perform this job well I am nothing. It's the price I pay."

Harry knows that the cost of getting sober would be that the precinct would let him go. They’re not going to have the patience to deal with him slowing down from the combo of withdrawal and no speed to “keep him propped up.” Not when the reason that he’s stayed on the force this long and risen in the ranks is most likely because he manages such a massive caseload, as we find out from Kim:

YOU — "Is two cases a week a good case load, lieutenant?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Huh?" He raises his nose from his notes. "Two *complex* cases to undertake is a lot, yes. You *really* have to push yourself. I would not suggest it. Lest you start making mistakes."

YOU — "Two cases a week appears to have been my load, lieutenant. I'm not sure I completed them though."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Two?" He raises both eyebrows. "That's a lot. I didn't mean to say you're making mistakes, by the way. That was presumptuous of me."

And later:

KIM KITSURAGI — "This next row -- the one that wraps all the way around -- is your number of closed cases. *Closed* is good. It means finished. You've got, let's see..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Wow, more than 200!"

YOU — "Is that a lot?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "It's *quite* a lot, even for someone who's been on the force for nearly two decades. Usually clearing more than 10 cases a year puts you in the 90th percentile of *all* RCM officers..."

Despite the trouble Harry makes, he’s considered an asset so long as he closes cases. To the point where he wasn’t punished for drunkenly beating Burke unconscious and then injuring his knee so badly that he can’t walk anymore just because this allowed them to close the “unsolvable case” of Leslie and Burke. 41 and the RCM as an institution don’t care about Harry’s or anyone else’s wellbeing, they care about whether the pros of having him around outweigh the cons.

From the lazareth call with Gottlieb:

YOU — "Isn't there *anything* you can do for me?"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "What, you want me to do blood work for you again, tell you just how bad things really are *across the board*? You want another rundown of everything collapsing inside your body?"

YOU — "Yes. I want the truth!"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "You want the real, honest-to-god truth? Stop drinking, eat magnesium and vitamin D. Our station is not a retirement home. We don't have the funds to deal with *rock stars* past their prime."

RHETORIC — So it's political! You're being *neglected* because of political reasons...

NIX GOTTLIEB — "And no, I *don't* want to hear a *political commentary* on the topic. In fact -- I've got work to do."

If I were to quote every time Gottlieb was notably uncaring or said something blasé about how you probably didn’t have long to live, I’d have to quote pretty much every word of that dialogue. That’s the whole joke with Gottlieb. That’s just how it is dealing with doctors when you’re in Harry’s position.

From talking to Kim about Uuno:

KIM KITSURAGI — "We could take him to Remedie or Saint Batiste, but he doesn't have money for medical services. The Almshouse would turn him down..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "They don't do charity for people who're trying to kill themselves. Besides, he'll be dead in a few..." The lieutenant stops, listening to him.

RHETORIC — ... years? Months? Weeks?

“They don’t do charity work for people who’re trying to kill themselves” really sums up the absurdity of Harry’s situation and institutional responses to it. Harry isn’t seen as the kind of person in crisis who deserves intervention. He’s treated as a lost cause who deserves to suffer the consequences of his self harm, even though the unending crisis and the lack of response to it is what drives him to harm himself and hope that he “gets worse.” If he weren’t a cop, it’s unlikely that Kim would care about him any more than he cares about Uuno and Cuno’s situation. Harry’s job is killing him, but it’s also the only thing that gives him access to anything resembling a community or support network (at least at the start of the game). Again, that’s just the way it goes when you’re disabled.

From the second tribunal:

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Well -- here is my theory: What if this is an absolutely normal reaction to the world we're living in? What if this is *not* a significant anomaly at all, something to be explained, approached as a defect? Look at the sensory input here..." He gestures toward the scenery.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Look at the ruins, the neon, listen to the radio, the multitudes. The people. Live here for forty years... As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed *flat against it*. Total input."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Hard-wired to the free market..." He nods confidently. "He just needed for it to end."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, Trant, thank you. That's... absolutely meaningless. I'm glad we brought you. Will he or will he not be able to work in the Major Crimes Unit? Is he a cretin now? I want to know *that*."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "He is *not* a cretin. And he *is* able to do work -- if not in his previous leadership role, then as a line detective."

YOU — "Line detective is good for now."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "For *now*?" He looks at you, then at Trant. "I misphrased my question. It should have been: Is he able to put his clothes on, and use the potty, or do we need to get him on a disability pension?"

Or, alternatively:

YOU — "He's wrong. I'm too far gone for work."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Agreed, Harry." He nods. "Just don't expect us to get you a disability pension. Cops who actually gave a shit are waiting in line. You're not gonna hog their seat."

Trant, who, notably, is technically a civilian consultant rather than a cop, (edit: and maybe even more notably, as someone pointed out in the tags, has had experience with addiction, too) suggests to Jean that Harry’s breakdown is a basically inevitable result of his circumstances and the systems that created them, and Jean’s response is that he doesn’t care and all that he wants to know is whether or not Harry can work or if he’s going to be “hogging” resources from other people who are more deserving of help because they “actually gave a shit.” He’s a mouthpiece here for the institutions that he represents and his ableism is blatant and heinous to drive the point home. He denies that Harry’s case is as serious as it is and accuses Harry of faking it, despite the fact that it’s happened (at least) twice before, and very recently:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "I believe you *drank*. People do that -- you especially. What they don't do is forget their *whole life* because of drinking."

JUDIT MINOT — "But, Detective Vicquemare," she interjects. "He *has* blanked out before."

YOU — "I have?"

JUDIT MINOT — "Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders." She pauses, remembering. "One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural."

REACTION SPEED — The two cases... in your ledger. The Unsolvable Case and the Next World Mural. Those were recent.

And despite the fact that even Gottlieb doesn’t seem shocked about it:

YOU — "I've lost my memory. All of it."

NIX GOTTLIEB — "With all the damage you've been dealing yourself with drugs and alcohol, I'm not surprised."

AUTHORITY — There is no surprise in his voice. Only careless superiority.

DRAMA — It's hard to say if he doesn't believe you -- or doesn't care.

(Considering that Gottlieb’s PSY stat is so high (he’s even eating one of the PSY boosting candies during the call), along with his uncaring responses to all your other problems, it’s more likely the latter.)

Jean also won’t believe that you’re sober even if you haven’t touched so much as a cigarette for your entire playthrough, and even when Judit points out that he’s wrong, he’ll double down and say that it doesn’t matter because you’re going to relapse:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Even the insect -- I don't care. But you're an *alcoholic*. And you've been drinking -- again. I won't let my life unravel because of this."

JUDIT MINOT — "Jean -- I think he hasn't. I can see it on his face..."

ENDURANCE — The bloating *has* gone down since you woke up that morning...

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, so he's stayed clear for what? A week?" He sighs.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "It's tough. One of the toughest addictions to overcome. Comparable *only* to heavy synthetic opiates. Even morphine is easier to kick than alcohol -- statistically. The odds are against him. Especially at his age."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — He nods. "He's too old. He's been like this for too long. I've seen him try many times. It's a farce by now."

SUGGESTION — They're leaving. They're all turning away from you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — No. You can figure it out. *Replace* it! Replace the alcohol with amphetamine. Or GBL! Fuck it -- morphine! Graffito removal agent! Anything. It'll buy you time. All you need is time.

Electrochemistry brings up yet another facet of Harry’s struggles with substances, which is the idea that some of them may be replacements for alcohol. He doesn’t have time or space to try to quit in any way that is remotely healthy. What he has are substances like speed that keep him from collapsing from the strain of it all so that he can keep showing up to work, and other substances that might (he hopes) help him wean himself off the alcohol.

The game explores all of these different factors of Harry’s struggles with addiction and the circumstances that keep him trapped in them exhaustively (and the fact that Robert Kurvitz apparently was recovering from alcoholism during the development probably contributed a lot to that). The structure and culture of the RCM are hugely responsible for Harry’s situation. He’s mocked and berated for being an alcoholic and told repeatedly to get his shit together without actually providing him with the means to do that. Instead, he’s not only enabled but practically forced to keep using just so that he can show up to work at all and not risk losing the only support network he has (even if it’s the shittiest and most unhelpful network imaginable). As Luiga (iirc) said, Harry’s biggest tragedy is that he’s incapable of quitting the force. Many of the reasons for that are genuinely just due to Harry being a class traitor and an asshole, but it’s also true that even if he did want to quit, there is no safety net to catch him.

And then Harry comes to Martinaise, a town that has been “orphaned” by the RCM and neglected by Revachol at large, left mostly to their own devices. It’s not like policing doesn’t still exist in Martinaise, and things are pretty dire for everyone in the community, but at the very least you can see that it is a community. Isobel houses you for free. In Kim’s absence (and after Gottlieb stitches and ditches you), Cuno and Garte take care of you when you’re shot. Acele responds to your breakdown on the ice by saying it’s okay to cry and that you can talk with her about it when you’re ready. Idiot Doom Spiral and co run to your aid when they see you drive your car into the sea and invite you to come drink with them just to stop you from doing it again. Harry discovers that life, while very painful and bleak at times, isn’t necessarily hopeless for the marginalized. You can still find solidarity and support outside of the system.

Meanwhile, if Harry in the end has no one to vouch for him and hasn’t stayed sober, that system will abandon him, a well-known suicide risk with at least one bullet hole in him and severe amnesia, with the promise of nothing but getting served a station call slip. The point is not whether or not Harry “deserves” to be forgiven or even whether he’s a danger to himself and others (to be clear, he is). The point is that this is a system that doesn’t care whether Harry and people like him live or die. That is why, even in a “good” ending where Harry is welcomed back to the 41st, the work won’t be sustainable. It’s going to kill him because that’s what it’s designed to do. The miracle of Martinaise was the realization that he doesn’t have to die. There are people who will help to keep him on this earth. They’re just not members of the fucking RCM.

It’s not a “gotcha” to say that if Jean (and the RCM, and the institutions of Revachol on the whole) is ableist for wanting Harry fired, then saying that cop work is unsustainable for Harry is also ableist. I won’t even say what I personally think of that logic because I’m trying to keep the tone of this post polite. Jean’s dialogue during the tribunal is meant to parrot every bit of ableist rhetoric that the system is built on and that keeps Harry trapped in this hellish feedback loop. He’s a mouthpiece for the general culture of the RCM, just like Gottlieb is a mouthpiece for the shit that addicts and the disabled have to deal with from the medical system. He thinks Harry should be fired because he’s a drunk and therefor a lost cause. The truth is that Harry needs to quit this job because it shouldn’t exist and because it is actively killing him.

In one of Martin Luiga’s articles about the process of creating the game, he brings up the concept of social murder, which is a term coined by Engels:

When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live – forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence – knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains.

None of this is subtext. And all of it is intended to make players actually spare a thought for what it’s like for people in Harry’s situation in real life. For God’s sake, please engage with it. You have to try and understand what it means to be trapped in a life that is made unlivable and to know that your death will be ungrievable. That’s what this whole game is about.

Edit: I’ve seen some ppl say in the tags something like “yeah, I like to imagine a happy ending for Harry, but…” and listen. I am laying a very gentle hand on your shoulders. The point of this post was never to say that there’s no happy ending for Harry. The point is that the first step toward that ending is conceptualizing a life outside of the RCM. In Martinaise, he got a glimpse of what that might look like. Hell, in the bad ending, you can even say to Jean, “fine then. I’ll just live here.” There’s hope for him and for us. I promise.

[coryosbaby]

Playing Dangerous - Ethan Landry x reader x Chad Meeks Martin (18+)

a lil sum for @knxfesup 🤭

Warning: threesome, jealousy, car sex, angry sex, double penetration, marking, degradation, Ethan is literally so mean in this, dumbification, sir kink, daddy kink (it’s said like one time LMFAOO), cum play, breeding kink, a little bit of anal, dom! Ethan landry, dom! Chad meeks Martin, sub!bimbo! Reader

“Oh, my god! I LOVE Kendrick Lamar!”

Your voice rings out through the party you’re at. You always get loud, but it’s not like anyone is sober enough to care. The boy in front of you, some random frat guy with average frat guy music taste, is conversating you about different bands. He smiles, throwing his head back and laughing at your excitement. He’s cute, with sandy blonde hair and and green eyes.

He’s not Ethan or Chad, though.

And you know that. But neither of two boys seem to, because they’re death staring you and the frat boy from across the room.

Chad’s jaw is clenched, hands gripping his drink harshly, as Ethan’s cold stare examines the way you move your body towards him. An innocent little sway of your hips, but Ethan knows better. He knows that move.

When you walk away from the frat boy, his number now innocently resting in your pocket, you make your way over to Ethan and Chad.

“Hey, guys!” You excitedly bring Chad into a hug and kiss Ethan on the cheek. They give you the cold shoulder, however, and ignore you. You frown, not knowing what you did wrong.

“Are you both okay? You look-”

“Shut up,” Chad snaps. “We’re going home.”

Your mouth snaps shut, but then forms into a pout.

“Why are you being so mean? I wanna stay…”

“We don’t really care what you want.” Ethan says. His hand grabs your wrist and he tugs you to him. Him and Chad begin to direct you to your car, and you follow them, irritated.

Usually Ethan lets you sit in the floorboard when Chad drives, lets you rest your cheek against his thigh while he strokes your hair. And sometimes, when Ethan drives, Chad lets you rest your head in his lap in the backseat.

But this time, Ethan shoves you into the back without even a look at you.

He gets in the passenger side, and Chad throws your bag in the back with you. He begins to drive and you glare at him in anger.

“I was having fun.”

Ethan chuckles. “Yeah, sure you were. With that fucking idiot in the backwards hat. What was his name?”

You realize that they’re jealous, and you roll your eyes.

Chad sees your reaction in the mirror and looks back at you through the reflection to give you a harsh stare.

“Don’t roll your fucking eyes at him. Answer the goddamn question.”

You shrug nervously, your attitude slightly wavering at Chad’s tone. Your pink acrylic nails tap against the door handle. The place you’re driving at is mostly empty. It’s 3 a.m, after all, and the party was away from the city.

“He was just some guy named Alex. He gave me his number because he wants to hang out together at his frat wednesday night to talk about the class we share. It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah,” Ethan scoffs. “I’m sure that was the reason. He’s just trying to get into your pants.”

You frown.

“He was just being nice…”

“Baby, guys like that aren’t being nice unless they want something.” Chad cuts in. His tone is soft. Sometimes he gets scared your naiveness might get you into trouble. Both him and Ethan have to think for you most of the time, after all.

But of course, you still have that snarky attitude.

“Whatever…” you mutter. “He’s probably better in bed, anyway. Maybe I’ll still go.”

Chad’s eyes narrow, his hand tight on the steering wheel, and Ethan turns around to look at you angrily.

“That mouth is gonna get you into trouble, bitch. I would stop while you’re ahead.”

“Or what?”

And then Chad is pulling the car over, the road empty and deserted. Both him and Ethan are fuming, and they unbuckle their seat belts and stalk over to your door. When they open it, Chad leans over to roughly undo your seat belt. Your eyes are wide, face flushed.

And then Chad pushes you down, turning your body over and bending you at your knees. He yanks your skirt up, and your underwear down. He hits your ass with a hardened force, and you cry out, hands scrambling to hold yourself up as he spanks you.

“N-no! ‘M sorry.. I won’t ever do it again, sir!”

“Unless I hear a safe word, I’m not stopping.” Chad growls. He spanks you again, harder. Your ass stings, incredibly so. “You get five hits from me, and then Ethan is going to give you five more. Is that understood?”

You nod, ass backing up against the boy’s hand more. Although you love the feeling and only have three hits left from Chad, you dread the time when Ethan has to punish you. Even if he’s the smaller of the two, he’s the meanest.

Chads hand comes down on you again, and your body surges forward in the warm leather seat. Your pussy clenches, flooding with wetness, and the boy’s hand comes down one last time. You moan at the sting, and he rubs your ass soothingly before moving out of the way so Ethan can finish the job. And when Chad goes over to the other side of the car to get into the seat beside you, he begins to stroke your hair. it’s a form of comfort; he knows how harsh your shared boyfriend can be, and always stays beside you in case you get too overwhelmed.

You can feel Ethan’s soft palms press against you, and you tense. The sting of his harsh hits doesn’t come, however.

Because his hands move from you, and down to his belt.

Your eyes widen when you hear the sound of the metal buckle coming undone. He pulls it through the loops of his jeans, and you feel the leather up against your ass.

“You know I don’t like doing this stuff, sweetness.” Ethan sighs. “But you need to be disciplined.”

And then the belt is cracking down. You cry when it hits your skin, tears welling in your eyes, but Ethan just chuckles dryly.

“Don’t cry on me now. You asked for this.”

You sniffle. “Sorry, sir.”

Ethan rolls his eyes, and spanks you again. It’s harder than the first, and it fucking hurts.

But of course, that doesn’t stop you from being extremely turned on. Your legs are shaking, your tight little cunt begging for release. But you know it probably won’t come, not for the rest of the night or tomorrow. Another one of Ethan’s forms of harsh punishment; he doesn’t like other men being around you except for Chad, and he has little patience. You knew this, of course. You don’t know why you do this to yourself.

The second hit. Your body practically flattens itself to the seat, your ass clenching to prevent the harsh sting of the belt. You try to crawl away from the painful hits, but Ethan notices, and inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts. He grabs your legs and pulls you back to him roughly, and you mewl. “You’re gonna sit and take it like your supposed to, like a good fuckin’ girl. Jesus, it’s like you’re begging to get hurt. It’s pathetic.”

You shakily exhale, relaxing your body as much as you can, and the belt comes down for a third time. You sob, tears streaming messily down your flushed cheeks. Your mascara is smeared, lipstick worn off and staining the edges of your mouth. Chad watches your beautiful form next to him, his cock now in his hand as he strokes himself. Normally when you cry he’s concerned; but now, knowing that the pain brings you carnal pleasure, he wants nothing more than to shove his hot prick inside you.

You lift your head up to look at Chad, watch him touch himself and leak all over his own hand. “C’mon, sweet girl,” he murmurs “Just two more…”

“And then you’ll both fuck me?” You look into his eyes with a hazy, exited gaze. He smiles.

“Yeah, baby. Then we’ll fuck you.” He looks back at Ethan, and the boy nods.

“Give Ethan a kiss, honey. Thank him for punishing you.”

You bite your lip, hesitant. You turn around to look at him, and he smiles for the first time that night. You grin, moving your abused body up to press a kiss to his lips. The boy’s hand wraps around your throat to hold you upright, his mouth moving against yours in tandem. But only for a moment, before he pulls away.

“Thank you for punishing me, sir.” you murmur. Ethan strokes the expanse of your neck as he holds you up.

“You’re welcome, angel. Now lay back down, okay?”

You nod, bringing your body back down. He begins to give you directions, ways to position your body so Chad can see more of you and make himself feel good.

“Lift that pretty ass up… yeah, you sweet little whore. Just like that. Show Chad how slutty you are.”

You whine, pressing yourself against Ethan’s hips, feeling his hard cock poking through, as you lift your ass up.

And then he spanks you with the belt again, and more tears begin to flow. And finally, when you’re on the last hit, welts are running along your ass and thighs. You collapse in relief that it’s over. The fact that no one has stopped to see what’s going on is a mystery to you, but you aren’t complaining.

Chad moves onto his knees, his hard cock in front of you. He grabs your hair to lift you back up, and you moan. He shoves his cock into your open, awaiting mouth. You choke, your throat keening under the pressure of his fat dick. Ethan positions himself behind you, and you gasp when you feel his now naked cock pressing against your warm heat. He spreads your pussy lips apart and pushes in, filling you to the brim.

You cry out around Chad’s cock, and he mutters a small ‘son of a bitch!’ before beginning to shallowly fuck your throat.

Ethan begins to fuck you hard and rough, hands gripping your ass as he thrusts into you. He feels so hot, so good inside you, and he laughs when you try to pull yourself towards him.

“Poor baby. You just love being a little cock sleeve, huh?” Ethan spreads your cheeks apart, spitting down onto your other hole. He shoves a finger in, and you mewl. “Can’t even hold yourself up right now, and you think that that frat boy can fuck you better than us? God, you really are an airhead.”

Your cheeks heat at the degradation. The sound of both Chad and Ethan’s hips hitting your skin is loud inside the car, and your juices drip down your thighs as Ethan adds another finger to your tight ass. Chad thrusts into your mouth deeply one last time, before pulling off. You gasp for air, chest heaving, and your mouth hovers over Chad’s waist. Ethan’s thrusts begin to slow. His hips stutter, and you know he’s close.

“C’mon, Eth,” you beg, fucking your ass back onto him. He moans. “Don’t you want to cum inside my pussy? Wan’ your cum, sir, wan’ it so bad-”

“Fuck!” He groans, his cock finally spilling inside your tight heat. Your eyes roll back at the warmth, and Ethan rests himself on top of you. Your cunt is throbbing, finally getting the hot cum that it’s been aching for the entire night. Ethan rests for a moment, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

“Gonna let me fuck her, man? Or are you gonna keep her all to yourself?” Chad teases to the boy , and he rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Yeah, Jesus. Let me pull out.”

And when he does, he grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around. Your pussy faces Chad now, and he uses his fingers to gather the sticky cum dripping out of your opening to soak his cock. Ethan’s dick jumps at that, and he can feel himself getting hard again. His stamina is honestly scary, but it makes for good fucking at the end of the day.

You whimper when you see that he’s hard again. Chad pushes into you, the sound of Ethan’s cum inside of you making a loud wet sound. You clench around him, and the boy grits his teeth to stop from orgasming too soon. He lifts his shirt up and holds it with his teeth, watches your ass bounce as he fucks you and Ethan’s white cum create a thick ring around his dick. He brings his hands down to grip the red welts on your ass tightly. You cry out in pain, but it only spurs him on.

Ethan rubs his tip against your lips, and laughs.

“I’m gonna cum all over this slutty little face. God, you’re gonna be covered, baby. If this doesn’t get you pregnant, I don’t know what will.”

You moan, lips coming up to kiss the tip of his cock.

Ethan grins. “You like that, you sweet dumb thing? Wanna make me and Chad a daddy?”

“Yes! Please, please fill me up!”

Chad huffs, face on fire, and you clench down on him. He makes a low animalistic sound in his throat as he orgasms, his cum filling you up just like Ethan’s did. You clench, wanting to keep him cock inside for warmth. And he does just that, cock warming you as Ethan begins to touch himself in front of your face. You stick out your tongue, waiting for his load to land on it. It doesn’t take long before he’s creaming all over your tongue, face, and neck.

“Good little bitch. Take daddy’s cum. Yeah, that’s it. Filled the fuck up, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying not to giggle as your mouth stays open. Ethan lifts your chin up so he can examine his handiwork.

“Good girl. Now swallow.”

You obey, swallowing him down. He takes his fingers and scoops up some of the cum on your neck and feeds it to you, and you take it eagerly. Behind you, Chad finally pulls out, and tuts when he sees that his seed is dripping out.

“Can’t have any of that slipping out, sweet girl. Think you can hold it in with your fingers until we get home?”

“Yes, sir.”

And you do just that. As they fix your clothes and buckle you back up, you keep your fingers inside yourself obediently. Ethan keeps you company in the backseat as Chad drives once again, one hand kneading your tits and the other pressing kisses to your collarbones.

“You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you.”

“Proud enough to let me cum?” You whisper. Your eyes are hopeful, and he sighs.

“Fine, but just this once.”

And then he’s rubbing your clit in slow circles, and you’re tilting your head back in ecstasy.

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Drunk Headcanons

First ramble of the new year. Whoo! I was considering what would be fitting, then I wound up thinking about all the drinking that happens at New Years’ parties and figured, why not go with some drunken headcanons?

Content warning: this post contains talk of drinking, negative experiences with drinking, being drunk, and maybe some smut as well.

Talking about drunk headcanons also gives me the excuse to break out the drunk Jack art drawn by the ever awesome Sauce, since it’s very relevant. Credit as always goes to them for their amazing work and for being cool with me using their art in my rambles about the awesome characters they’ve created.

Isn’t Jack such a cute drunk? Funny how he’s only drunk when MC is though… possibly. After all, pictures like these don’t technically count as canon unless they’re in the game or on one of the official Sunny Day Jack pages, which you can find conveniently listed here.

Speaking of, why not consider supporting the SnaccPop Studios Patreon? If you sign up, you’ll get to see all sorts of exclusive pieces of art and sneak peeks at the lore, as well as amazing audio dramas. It’s well worth joining, in my humble opinion. Just remember to please not share anything privately posted on the patreon. Reposting paid content only hurts the team.

Anyway, back to the topic of drunk Jack, and specifically the teaser art by Sauce that may or may not be canon still.

I’ve talked about this picture before, particularly what it suggests for Jack’s powers, how it probably means he can be influenced by MC’s hormones, and how much he might be affected by MC’s state of being and vice-versa. To summarize, I believe that Jack and MC can sense how the other is feeling, both physically and emotionally, but it’s not quite as strong as the other is experiencing it, and it can be blocked out or minimized. I’ve alluded to it in Sunshine in Hell, as well as some of my short stories, especially the one where Alice is in a lot of pain.

So, as this picture suggests, if MC gets drunk, Jack does too. It makes me wonder though if he broke character and drank alcohol, he could be the one to get both of them drunk instead? The possibilities of these implications, canon to the game or not, are quite intriguing.

Of course, we can’t talk about drunk headcanons without considering what kind of drunk Jack and the rest of the crew might be. As they say, drunk words are sober thoughts, and alcohol does lower inhibitions…

Naturally, it’s kind of dangerous for a yandere character to be drunk. Self-control would be lessened, if not thrown out the window entirely if he’s totally hammered. I think Jack would be a clingy sort of drunk, hanging off his sunshine, shamelessly needing their warmth and reassurance that they love him and need him just as badly. He’s also a possessive and protective drunk, not wanting anyone else near MC. He’d probably insist on carrying them around everywhere even while he’s stumbling, though it’d take one near fall for him to decide that sitting with them in his lap is the better option. He needs to keep them safe, keep them close.

If you think Jack can be clingy normally, he is like glue when drunk, or at least I think so. Even if he was dutifully staying home like MC wanted them, once the drinks hit him through their connection, he’s got to be with them, no matter where they are. Suddenly there’s a clown in the club or party checking to see if they’re okay and wanting to take them home, hanging off them like a big warm blanket while trying to convince them to go and keep them safe from anyone that might take advantage of them.

Once agreeing to leave, Jack would probably forget about any implications or issues that might arise from carrying MC in a crowd of people. Hopefully no one is sober enough to film anything that might complicate things when he’s whisking MC away off into the night. He’s certainly not in any state to really consider consequences.

Well, maybe if they’re lucky any such videos would be assumed to be hoaxes. There’s certainly no shortage of fake “ghost” videos online. Maybe Shaun could use it to promote an upcoming movie…

Of course, if the relationship between MC and Jack is rocky, his desperation is cranked up while drunk. He needs them so, so badly.

Worse, if MC is getting physical with someone else, showing them love instead of him… Jack might not be able to hold back his yandere impulses to make sure that no one steals his sunshine away. He’d certainly have a lot of work to do once sober to convince his sunshine that he was just protecting them from being taken advantage of while drunk, especially if things escalated to outright violence. The level of intoxication, and the intensity of the moment would likely decide how far things might spiral.

Of course, you know me and how much of a sucker I am for my OTP being happy, so let’s swing back around to the fluffier extreme. If MC and Jack are in a relationship, that’s when Jack is drunkenly telling them how much he loves them, and that they should just go home together. There’s not even a token resistance to hold back his true feelings for them. He’s already got them whisked up in his arms, kissing and murmuring sweet words of love. MC is going to have a pretty hard time talking Jack into letting them stay, especially when they’d be more drunk than he is.

Naturally, the type of drunk MC becomes would affect things. Since there are way too many variables there, let’s use that as a segue to how my MC Alice is like when drunk. She’s not the biggest fan of alcohol, disliking beer, and only drinking sweet flavored mixed drinks socially before the breakup with Ian. Even then, it was rare that she got drunk at all.

After the breakup, the idea of drinking scares Alice, especially to the point of being drunk. She almost died after all. As such, the only way she’s getting sloshed in the present day is if she’s unaware that what she’s consuming has alcohol in it until it’s too late.

It’s kind of a shame, as Alice is a giggly, affectionate drunk. She stops caring about people around them and just wants to cling to her partner, giggling between kisses, occasionally gnawing on them or licking them playfully and saying silly things. Ian got quite embarrassed by how overly affectionate she was the few times she got tipsy when they were out with friends, though he certainly enjoyed the attention.

Needless to say, when Alice got drunk after finding out Ian cheated, she was anything but giggly or affectionate. Though the less said about that the better for now. Let’s keep this to fun headcanons, shall we?

Alice is also affectionate to her friends when drunk, telling them that she loves them, giving big hugs and saying what she loves about them. It was very hard on Shaun’s heart the one time he was around when Alice was drunk. She glomped onto him and told him she loved him soooooooooooo much while giggling happily~!

Of course, it was cut into by Ian crying because he was also drunk and thus more sensitive to things, so Alice went over to reassure him that she loved him mostest of all. It was a hard night for Shaun to be the sober driver.

Jack would sadly not get to experience this side of Alice. At least, not under normal circumstances. Knowing she doesn’t drink and isn’t comfortable even drinking a little bit, the moment he felt her get drunk, his protective instincts would kick into overdrive. What if someone spiked her drink? What if they had awful intentions? Even if he found out it was an innocent mistake, probably even a mixup, he would still be very concerned about her.

Well… until Alice latches onto Jack, squeezing him tight in a big hug as she tells him that she loves him. Oh how his heart would feel ready to burst, especially if they’re not together yet at the time. He longed to hear those words from her for so long… it’s just a shame that she’s saying them while drunk. Still, you better believe that his tipsy butt is going to tell her he loves her too. That would send Alice into a fit of happy giggles as she snuggles into his chest, since, let’s face it, her guilty impulses are on full display and his chest has always felt so nice and soft to cuddle.

Jack would be struggling to hold himself back and retain some sense of sobriety, to not ruin things, but it’s so hard when Alice is being so affectionate with him. Yet, he worries that her love for him isn’t the same as the love he feels for her. This is especially true if she was hugging and loving on other friends when he showed up.

Of course, even while drunk, Alice wouldn’t be open to physical contact with just anybody, only those she trusts. Being touched by someone she doesn’t know/trust would result in her fleeing to her nearest trusted friend/loved one to hide behind them, maybe even insisting they protect herrrr, and telling the person who tried to touch her to go away! Shoo! Shoo!

Naturally, if Alice was drunk while she and Jack were a couple, it would be a very strange sight for anyone else there to see her cuddling up to thin air, kissing, licking, gnawing, etc. It’d be even more outrageous to see her scooped up into the air! Hopefully Shaun isn’t there to see it and have his heart broken further. Though if he was around while Alice was drunk, and he was still sober, he would be getting her to drink water and getting her out of there since he knows she doesn’t want to drink alcohol anymore. So he’d be stepping in to help her out until Jack swooped in to steal Alice away from him… again.

Speaking of Shaun, he strikes me as a giggly drunk as well. Though he turns it more into a performance. He’s talking about stories he knows to anyone who will listen. Or anyone who is not listening, since he’d be drunk off his butt. I’m talking grand gestures, booming voice, passion thrown into it as he cries over touching moments in a movie he saw, or what he was directing. Oh, his actors killed it in the beach scene! He’ll tell you all about it, then get interrupted by a different thought halfway through the story, probably something he thinks will be a good idea for another film that he has to scribble onto a napkin. Of course, it becomes a weird scrawl that’s barely legible and makes no sense, but it was certainly exciting to him in the moment!

Of course, Shaun enjoys a good buzz. It makes him want to purr, so it’s a good tell for when he’s getting tipsy. He’s very responsible when he’s the designated sober person, but when he’s ready to cut loose, he’s a tomcat ready to play!

While Shaun is a more bubbly and fun drunk, I think that Ian is the opposite. When he has a nice buzz, he feels pretty good, but when it goes too far and he starts getting drunk… that’s when everything goes downhill. This cropped picture drawn by Sauce makes me think that when Ian gets drunk, that’s when his guilt and self-loathing hits him hard.

Poor guy needs therapy. Also, if you want to see the full picture, which is very NSFW, check it out over on Sauce’s twitter. While you’re there, send them some love for all their amazing art and characters!

I think Ian needs constant reassurance while drunk, especially from his partner. He clings to MC and feels lonely even if they’re a foot away from him. He cries at the drop of a hat, even for silly things like how tragic that is that snakes don’t have legs. Why don't they have legs? It's unfair! He’s going to be needing help not to get dehydrated from all the crying and the alcohol, and his hangover the next day is a bitch.

Needless to say, when Ian and Alice were drunk together, it was a very mushy scene. Ian would be down on himself, then Alice would smoosh his cheeks and tell him to listen to her because he is a prince. Prince Charming! No one else is better. That’d get the waterworks going, and he’d cling to her, crying. She would then start kissing his tears away.

I figure this too also happened when Shaun was around because I’m very mean with the guy and his unrequited crush. Sorry, Shaun, but it’s just too much fun teasing you, haha. Don’t worry though, he’s going to find his own happy ending in Sunshine in Hell with a partner or two who love him more than anything else in the world. Eventually.

On that note, let’s move on to the final love interest, Nick. Nick strikes me as someone who is very smooth when tipsy, but an absolute mess when sloshed. The filter is gone. He’s got opinions, and by God is he going to give them, even if they don’t really make sense. He especially has strong opinions about bad BDSM. That popular book series they made a movie about called, what was it again, 500 shades of fucked up or something? That is not BDSM. That’s abuse pretending to be BDSM. Do you have any idea what that mess has done to the BDSM community and how many people have done stupid things because of it? And don’t get him started on what an awful idea it is to tie someone up with rope from a hardware store of all places!

I see Nick as the type to start recording himself once his inhibitions are dropped. The people need to know! His thoughts have to get out there! His followers need to know the truth! This is why he makes sure that he has to put in several passwords before he can actually upload anything. He learned his lesson that he can’t trust drunk Nick with his socials the hard way. The fans are still making memes and using clips out of context from that embarrassing old video. At least he bounced back from it by joking about it even if inside he’s still dying of mortification.

Speaking of a drunk with complaints, I had the image of Barry really unloading all his grievances when he’s drunk. Fortunately, he knows better than to get sloshed with any of his employees, but if he did, they’d have a hard time escaping from him insisting that he knows what’s wrong with the service industry and customers and how the hell did his latest marketing gimmick fail?! Can’t they see how cute the new mascot is? He paid way too much to the graphic designer! Do you know what artists charge nowadays? It’s highway robbery!

Since we’re going into employees of Yogurtopia, why don’t I touch real quick on the other people on staff who I expanded upon a little in my earliest headcanon posts? Things have changed since then of course, such as the boss having an actual name now. Needless to say, I’m not going with what I came up with for that post, but let’s do a little rapid fire mode with the rest of the employees I want to use for Sunshine in Hell.

Carol is a flirty drunk, which is a big problem if she’s actually in a committed relationship at the time and the person she’s flirting with isn’t her partner. Though I’m sure she’d give her partner permission ahead of time to have sloppy drunken makeouts and sex with her.

Liz isn’t really a drinker so much as a stoner. Though if drunk they would be doodling on napkins and finding the ceiling tiles fascinating.

Susan is underage and isn’t much for breaking the rules, so it’ll be a few years yet before she’d have to worry about how she’d be as a drunk.

I know I haven’t touched on these characters a lot, but I figured why not expand on them when I can, even in small ways. If nothing else, it should make it easier for me to come up with more ideas of what parts they could play in the bigger picture of Sunshine in Hell.

Speaking of my OCs, why don’t I touch on the rest of the King family while I’m at it?

Mama Lycoris enjoys herself a nice glass of wine with good company, most notably her husband, whose name is still undecided. (I’ve narrowed it down to Eden, Seb, Luan, Yuri, or Heliotrope. Picking character names is hard sometimes.) It’s rare for her to get drunk, but when she does, she seeks out her husband, even if she just lost track of him for being out of sight. She’s the type to do the meme where she’s crying while texting them that she misses them while he was just in the bathroom. Once she finds them, she’s crawling in his lap telling them how much she loves him~

Papa King usually is the sober one at a party, embarrassed by his wife loving on them when she’s tipsy. Sometimes Lycoris pretends to be tipsy just to get him flustered. They do occasionally have a glass for a special occasion, like toasting at his anniversary or a special holiday. When drunk, they’re a sleepy sort of drunk, pretty out of it and just off in his own little happy world. They haven’t yet been drunk before though, or even gotten tipsy, as he drinks very responsibly.

Barbie isn’t one for drinking, even socially. Though that’s probably not surprising considering she’s not a very social person. If she did get drunk though, she’d be a mean drunk, eyeballing anyone who looks at her funny and ready to jump into any excuse to fight. It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t drink!

Though, I suppose if Barbie was drunk around Bo, she’ll probably let her dom side out more, ordering him around and getting a bit rough with him. Good thing Bo is a big strong alpha and can’t get drunk due to being an AI, so he’ll be able to take care of his puppy even when she’s gone a bit feral due to alcohol.

Coraline also doesn’t drink, but that’s because she can’t due to medical reasons. It interferes with her prescription medications, so it’s probably best if she sticks with non-alcoholic beverages. If she did get drunk, however, she would probably be similar to her father, being off in her own little world, looking at things as if they were fascinating. She would probably be very keenly interested in holding Elias’ head and examining his neck stump up close, which I’m sure her poor groom wouldn’t quite be comfortable with. He would have to make sure to redirect her focus elsewhere until she sobered up.

Of course, I can’t just end things there. I haven’t gushed nearly enough about Jack and Alice having some drunk shenanigans in a more specific sort of scenario. It might turn into some writing, or it might not, but it’s my post, and I can ramble on longer about my OTP if I want to.

As I said earlier, Jack would be very concerned upon noticing that he’s starting to get tipsy. At first he would probably be confused as to how lightheaded he is, until he realizes that it’s because of his sunshine’s influence. The immediate order of business after that is to find Alice and check to see if she’s okay. With lower inhibitions, it would be hard for him not to worry that someone spiked her drink or something.

While someone spiking Alice’s drink would make for some interesting drama, and a target for Jack to go yandere on for taking advantage of his sunshine… I think I’ll stick with something more innocent for this post and say that there was a mixup with her drink or Alice was unaware something someone brought at the party’s potluck had a high alcohol content until it was too late.

Though if y’all want me to chase that darker and more dramatic plot bunny of Alice getting her drink spiked by some unscrupulous character, and Jack has to save her, do let me know~ ;3

Back to the lighter scenario. While it is intriguing to imagine how torn Jack would be if Alice is loving on him while they’re not together, and she means tells him she loves him in a clearly platonic way, which wrenches his heart… At the moment, I’m more drawn to how much of a cock block it’d be for him if Alice was getting frisky with her affection and turning Jack on, forcing him to hold back his urges and stay responsible even though what he wants to do is take her and fill her with his love until her legs are too wobbly to allow her to stand anymore. He might be tipsy too, but she’s outright drunk, and he’s not going to take advantage of his sunshine in an inebriated state!

Of course, Jack’s first order of business is to get Alice home. It doesn’t matter if they’re in the middle of a party full of people, he’s carrying his sunshine home. Alice doesn’t protest being scooped up by her boyfriend, just giggling in delight before peppering his cheek and neck with kisses now that she’s in range. She also makes sure to tell Jack how she just loves him so, so, so, so, soooooo much~!

Jack does try to be discreet in getting Alice away from the party. He might be pretty tipsy, and his steps a little unsteady, but he needs to protect his sunshine. He needs to take care of her, be responsible. It’s what he’s there for after all.

It’s just a little hard for Jack to focus on walking straight when Alice keeps nipping at his skin. Her giggling tickles his ear too, and it’s hard for him not to melt when she tells him she loves him and that he tastes so sweet.

Having a hardon would also make it difficult for Jack to focus on walking straight. Poor guy. Alice doesn’t think about what she’s doing as she keeps kissing, licking, and nibbling on him, her hands wandering and squeezing his chest despite him trying to gently redirect her attention. He needs her to stop, since he can’t focus, but at the same time he really wants her to continue.

The first order of business once they get back home is to make sure Alice sobers up with some water and food. By the time they’re home, Jack feels like he’s going to go crazy. Like her drunkenness affected him, his horniness affects her, and those playful affections become more lusty as her inhibitions are lowered and the idea of teasing Jack and making him feel good becomes more and more appealing. Eventually it gets to the point that she’s being much more blatant in her teasing, such as tracing his nipples through his shirt with her fingers. Maybe even copping a feel lower down when they’re at the apartment and teasing him about the bulge in his pants.

Needless to say, Jack would be having a very hard time holding himself back. It’d almost be a relief when Alice abruptly nods off due to the alcohol. Of course, he’d have to give himself some real relief, imagining what it would’ve been like if she had sobered up so they could continue. All the while, he’s also swearing to himself that in the morning - provided Alice wasn’t in pain from a hangover - he was going to pay her back for all the love and affection she showed him tonight in spades.

The next morning, Alice is indeed hungover, though not quite as bad as she would’ve been if Jack didn’t have her eat and drink something last night. Of course, Jack is kind and cheerful, endlessly gentle and supportive of her, giving her some painkillers and making her a nice, mild breakfast. She remembers what she did last night and is too embarrassed to talk about it, just thanking Jack for helping her get home.

Though past the embarrassment, fear would slowly build as Alice woke up more and it sunk in how easy it was for her to accidentally get drunk at the party. It was so easy for her to lose control… for something to happen… Jack picks up on her worries right away and reassures her that he’ll always be there to take care of her and keep her safe. He’ll always protect her and make sure nothing bad happens to her. He made sure she got home safely last night, after all.

Jack won’t ever let Alice suffer through anything as awful as the night Ian broke her heart ever again.

Some reassurance and cuddles goes a long way, and Alice is able to let go of her fear and embarrassment to just appreciate how much Jack cares for her and takes care of her, even when the unexpected happens. She melts into his soft and reassuring kisses that soon turn hot and steamy. Suddenly the breakfast dishes are off the table, and she’s the one getting eaten by her very pent up boyfriend.

You better believe that Jack planned to feed Alice then do the deed with her as soon as possible. The moment she shows that she’s receptive to his affection, he starts enacting all the naughty fantasies that he had while giving himself relief the night before, making sure that Alice is the one being driven crazy this time. He won’t rest until she’s begging for him to make love to her. Repeatedly.

Needless to say, if Alice has work that day, she’s missing it. Jack would’ve turned her phone off after sending a text that she’s sick, just in case. There’s no way Jack is letting Barry cockblock him again. Not after he spent a night getting blueballed by a too sexy sunshine that was too drunk to make love to.

Fortunately, in the light of day and fully sober enough to consent, Jack gets to enjoy every inch of Alice, as well as a nice memory of just how fun and affectionate she gets when her inhibitions are lowered. He also has a goal to strive for, to encourage his sunshine to feel freer with him like that when they’re both fully sober so that they can enjoy every second of their lovemaking.

Well, I think that’s a good place to wrap up these drunken headcanons for now. I hope you enjoyed the silliness. It seemed like a good way to start off the year, and it certainly would be a fun start of the new year for these two!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

Eddie frowns. “Do you know why you were brought back?”

Steve shrugs. “Kinda. I know we knew what we were doing, when we were, but best I can figure, coming back in time messed with our memories and made them really hazy for a bit. It’s clearing up now, and I’m remembering more. Basically El found a way to send us back to make this all right from the beginning.”

Eddie nods, then seemingly changes the subject. “So Robin said you know? About her?”

Steve’s brows furrow in thought, then smooth out. “Oh! Yeah. She did.”

Eddie nods. “She knows, but… do you?”

“About?”

Eddie fidgets. “Me.”

Steve takes a second. “I didn’t know for sure, but I had an idea.”

Eddie nods. “So, you and I weren’t ever… we…”

“No,” Steve murmurs, then shrugs. “Maybe, if we had more time. And I know this probably sounds really weird to you, considering we officially met, like, two days ago, but…” Steve shrugs. “I can… I can lay off. If you want. If it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Honestly? I don’t think I’m going to process any of this until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Steve chuckles. “Fair enough. Just… let me know, yeah?”

Eddie nods, and with that they fall silent for a little while longer.

Eddie’s the one to break the silence. “The tape you gave me. Have you listened to it?”

Steve smiles. “Once or twice. I didn’t get to hear you play, but Dustin told me it was the most metal concert ever.”

Eddie chuckles. “Are you hoping for a do-over this time? Hoping to hear me play?”

“And if I was?”

Eddie sobers. “Then I guess I’ll just have to play it for you.”

Steve smiles. “I’d like that.”

They fall silent for a little bit longer until Steve sighs. “I feel like I owe you an apology. You didn’t ask for any of this. For my feelings or to be dragged into this or-”

“Hey,” Eddie says, stopping him in his tracks with a soft hand to his arm. “I asked a question. I wanted honesty, and I got it. Admittedly I got a little more than that, what with fuckin’ Mordor,” he gestures around, and Steve chuckles. “But you gave me honesty. That’s it. You didn’t push me to accept it or reciprocate anything. You didn’t even push me for a reaction. Did your answer surprise me?” He chuckles, shakes his head. “Man, I’m not convinced I’m not still dreaming. Maybe I fuckin’ drove the van into a pole on the way to school and now this is a very weird coma-dream and I’m in the hospital. I don’t fuckin’ know, man.”

Steve frowns. “Do people in comas dream?”

“I- what?” Eddie asks, then considers the question. “I- I don’t know. They do, right? They’re just asleep, I thought?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like you dream every night, right? Maybe comas are always on those nights. Or days. Or whatever.”

Eddie blinks at him, then slowly smiles. “Anyone ever tell you you’re weird as shit, man?”

Steve laughs. “Only all the time.”

His smile falls as he looks out at the landscape. “We should keep moving. We’ve been out in the open for a while.”

Eddie hums. “How far did the squirts say?”

Steve sighs. “They didn’t, just said to keep going this way until El tells us to turn.”

Suddenly, a shadow flits over his face. He freezes and looks up, then curses quietly and grabs for Eddie’s arm, stilling him.

“What the fuck is that?” Eddie hisses.

“Demobat.”

“Shit.” Eddie takes a shaky breath. “If i shoot it, will the gun scare off the others or bring them to investigate?”

Steve sets his jaw, mouth a thin line. “Only one way to find out.”

Eddie cocks the gun. “Shoot and run like hell?”

Steve nods, and Eddie smiles grimly before lining up the sights, taking a deep breath, and pulling the trigger.

The gun fires.

The bat falls to the ground.

Steve and Eddie run.

Eddie almost falls once, trying to run and carry the gun, and Steve grabs his hand, pulling him along, forgetting their hands are joined until the walkie crackles to life again and Mike’s voice comes through. “Turn left,” he says, and Eddie’s brow furrows.

“We’re getting farther from the lake.”

Steve relays the information, and they pause, catching their breath while they wait for a reply. “El says he’s not near the lake.”

Steve and Eddie look at each other, then shrug. “Alright,” Steve says. “How long?”

“She says you’ll know,” comes the cryptic answer.

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[scoops-aboy86]

Break Free (Secret Admirer pt 9)

This is the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue posted soon.

wc: 4663 / rated: T / set after season 3 / also on ao3

It ends with Steve’s hands sliding into Eddie’s hair—damp from sweat and a little tangled and stiff from whatever product he uses to make it look so full when, actually, the curls seem fine and almost wispy against Steve’s fingers—to cradle him closer. Eddie sways back, big brown eyes glazed and slow-blinking but coming back from whatever stratosphere the kiss had sent him to. Instead of letting go, Steve lets Eddie slip through his fingers until his hands come to rest on the guy’s shoulders. And then, when Eddie starts to scuttle backwards, he keeps a loose grip on his forearms that slides down until they’re nearly holding hands. 

“Eddie,” Steve tries desperately, stomach sinking. His lips and heart feel bruised. “No, please don’t go, it’s okay.”

For a moment, Eddie’s palms settle in his hands. Those wide eyes focus on him, seemingly with great effort, and Eddie starts shaking his head and muttering, “Shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have…” Slurs the words a little. 

“It’s okay,” Steve says again, softer, trying his best to be gentle, imploring. “It’s okay that you did, don’t worry about shouldn’t. I am the opposite of mad, alright?”

Eddie hesitates, then adds uncertainly, “M’drunk.”

“Yeah, you are, kinda,” Steve agrees. “I mean, kind of a lot. I’m not, but I’m… I’m good, baby. Please just stay and talk to me? For a minute?”

“Oh,” he says in the smallest voice Steve’s ever heard—smaller than he thought Eddie even could be. It sounds a little like something breaking, and everything about him seems to shrink in on himself. “So you know. That I’m me.”

“Yeah, I know you’re my secret admirer.” Something is breaking in Steve too, just watching it happen. “Look, Eddie, you’re a theatrical guy. Maybe you had an idea about some big, dramatic reveal where everything would fall right into place with, with an impressive speech like something out of your letters. You’re so good with words, man, so I can see it. I get the vision. I don’t know your voice as well as I want to yet, but I know how you sound from those letters because you’re so expressive and smart about that shit, fuck high school and what the teachers might say, but…” 

He rubs his thumbs gently over the pulse points at Eddie’s wrists, feeling how it races, and desperately clings to eye contact through the head tilt that sends curly hair draping across his face. 

“I don’t know what you had in mind for this, or if you could even picture it because it’s such a huge thing after all the build-up. But maybe this is okay? I mean, yeah, you’re drunk, that’s not ideal I guess. But I could go inside with you and get you some water, make sure you don’t puke again, get some aspirin out for you to take in the morning… and we could try that kiss again when you’ve sobered up. What do you say?”

Immediately Steve feels like an idiot for that last sentence. It sounds more like something he’d say when offering Dustin ice cream to cheer him up after missing a radio call with Suzie or something, not offering to take care of someone he’s hopeful about being able to date. He can feel his face heating up… and after a moment, Eddie raises one hand to very, very gently touch his cheek. The one that’s still bruised under the makeup. 

“Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, and that’s a new one. Maybe a little girly, but Steve kind of likes it because it makes their names match: Eddie and Stevie. “You’d really…?”

“Offer to take care of you? I think I just did.” Steve allows himself a tentative smile. “Kiss you again? Absolutely. I would maybe direct you to a toothbrush and toothpaste first, maybe some mouthwash, but—”

Eddie shakes his head with a wet snort. “Oh fuck off, don’t… don’ rub it in.” He blinks, one eye slightly slower on the uptake than the other but for the most part pretty well coordinated. “We can go in. You, you don’ care ‘s a trailer?”

“I’m literally considering getting one of my own when I move out,” Steve tells him. Because he has been, there aren’t a lot of options for a single dude in Hawkins that don’t involve a sublet basement or room above a garage or something else to that effect. Maybe if he had roommates to split the cost of renting a house with… but all the friends he has now are still in school. 

So. Yeah, Forest Hills trailer park had been on his radar before tonight. Right now, if tonight goes well, it’s honestly at the top of his list.

Big brown eyes blink at him again. “But where’ll you put your pool?” Eddie asks, dead serious in the way only little kids or the very drunk can pull off. 

“It doesn’t travel well.” Smiling, he reaches across and pops the passenger door open. “Come on now, you need more water. No, hey hey hey, wait for me to come around—!”

~

Eddie wakes up queasy and with a pounding headache. Definitely hungover, but vaguely aware that he should feel worse. 

He has a fuzzy memory of waking up in the middle of the night (or morning?) to hurl, and being coaxed afterwards to drink more water, nibble his way through a piece of toast, and swallow a couple of pills. Aspirin, probably, based on the fact that he’s not hallucinating right now, which—he’d had a bad experience once when he grabbed the wrong tin, okay, he does not want to think about that right now. 

…

Upon further consideration, the fuzzy memory was probably a dream. Because he remembers it being Steve fucking Harrington doing the coaxing. Coaxing, and blushing deliciously whenever Eddie’s fingers had brushed against his, so of course Drunk Eddie had made a point of letting that happen as often as possible.

Nice dream, though. 

…

Why is it so warm? Like, yeah it’s summer and the trailer has one dinky AC unit in the living room window that doesn’t really do shit, and it doesn’t feel like he’s slept until the hottest part of the day, but. He’s holding a pillow to his chest or something? Damn thing is radiating heat. 

He should move. 

Ugh. He doesn’t want to move. His stomach rolls less when he stays still. 

…

The pillow is breathing. It’s holding his forearms where they’re crossed over its stomach with big hands, grip lax with sleep. 

…

Wait.

That’s no moon. 

Eddie tenses, finally starting to actually wake up.

Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re… a fictional character and I’m SPOONING STEVE GODDAMN HARRINGTON.

The only thing Eddie doesn’t get is how he could’ve gotten his arms around the dude like that without waking him up. He’d been a gross, vomiting mess last night, surely Steve wouldn’t have chosen to cuddle up. Maybe Wayne had come home from work and sent him crawling in here to share the mattress instead of risking a perfectly good spine on their old monster of a couch… and then Eddie had wrapped around him somehow? While they both slept?

He tries to sit up, but immediately regrets it when his head throbs, his stomach clenches, and he realizes his left arm is numb from where it’s wedged under Steve. It’s enough to make him groan out loud, and of course that’s when Steve starts to stir. 

There’s nowhere to run. Even if he rolls away, the farthest he can go is flat on his back between Steve and the wall. It’s just a twin mattress, there’s not exactly— Oh god, and he’d spilled bong water on it again yesterday but hadn’t gotten around to stripping the sheets off and doing laundry yet. He’d figured he’d hit the party and afterwards bribe Jeff to take him by the grocery store for baking soda. But that hadn’t happened, because apparently he’d decided to get blackout drunk instead and now he’s in bed with Steve Harrington and, and, and—

“Eddie, Eds, hey, breathe!”

Steve is rolled over and facing him now, propped up on one elbow and eyes wide with concern. He has a hand pressed to Eddie’s chest over his heart—and this is how Eddie realizes they’re both shirtless, fantastic, absolute cherry on top of the freakout sundae that is this morning—while holding Eddie’s non-numb hand over his own. 

“Like this,” Steve tells him, and takes a slow breath in and out. 

In and out. Eddie tries to copy him. 

In and out. 

When trying finally dissolves into actually doing it, into breathing like a human again, something in Steve’s expression loosens in relief. “Fuck,” he sighs, sagging a little but still careful not to pin Eddie’s arm again. “I’m glad that worked, I’ve never done that with anyone besides Robin before.” He bites his lip, gaze scanning over Eddie’s face like a hot brand. There’s still fading evidence of a massive shiner around his left eye, more obvious than Eddie remembers it being last night and with hints of inexpertly wiped-away concealer here and there. “Are you okay?”

“No?” Eddie manages to croak. “How did— Why are you— What did I do?”

Because he must have done something to end up in this situation, something which he has absolutely zero recollection of, to end up in this predicament, wearing only his boxers and one sock, cuddled up to the guy he’s in love with.

Who is currently wearing a borrowed pair of Eddie’s shorts. Jesus H. Christ. 

And yet, somehow Steve manages to look bashful about the whole predicament. “I, uh. Kind wanted to make sure you got home safe, because you said you didn’t have a ride.”

Eddie rakes his brain for an explanation for that, because he had had a ride. And, fuck, where the hell is his lunchbox? He winces and holds up a wait a minute finger, because while this crisis is important, he literally cannot afford to have lost that and it’s making the bottom fall out of his stomach in a completely different direction. “I need to make a call. It’s very important.”

“Oh, uh… okay.”

There’s some shuffling, not made any easier by the pins and needles feeling now rippling through Eddie’s left arm, but eventually Steve manages to sit up and swing his legs off the side of the bed so Eddie doesn’t have to suffer the mortifying ordeal of physically clambering over him. It’s the one saving grace of the day so far. He stumbles out of his bedroom, mindful to keep quiet but still glaring down the length of his trailer where Wayne is asleep in his cot, sleeping soundly while his only nephew suffers. 

“Pick up pick up pick up,” he chants under his breath while the phone rings, using the mantra to keep his breathing steady. “Pick u—Oh hey, hi, good morning, is Jeff home? Uh, awake? I need to speak with him on an extremely urgent matter. Life or death. Please tell him that. Thank you?”

Jeff isn’t a morning person. Neither is Eddie, usually, but here he is at… Christ, only 8:42am on a Saturday morning, twisting the phone cord around one finger that it’s starting to lose feeling again. He just about jumps out of his skin when he hears Jeff’s gruff, “What the fuck, Eddie?”

“Goooood morning to you too,” Eddie blusters, trying to sound insanely cheerful rather than panicked. “Quick question, did I give you my lunchbox last night?”

The immediate groan mostly answers that question. “Yeah, Munson, you did. And I’m hauling your ass home next time if this is the thanks I get for letting you stay and get wasted.”

Eddie sags against the flimsy wall separating the kitchen from the bathroom. “Oh thank fuck. Sorry man, thank you, I’ll… It won’t happen again, I’ll never call you before noon for the rest of my days, I swear.”

“Yeah right.” Jeff yawns. “What the fuck has you so wired this early, man? Or are you still awake from last night?”

I wish. “Nope, weird dream,” Eddie replies. “I’ll, uh, swing by later. In the afternoon. Go back to sleep.”

“You know that once I wake up I can’t get back to—”

Eddie feels bad for hanging up on his best friend, but it’s not like he can tell him what’s actually going on. There’s the whole gay thing, for one, but even having a female jock in his bed would send shock waves throughout his tight little friend group, so panicking at Jeff about the remaining, and once again much more looming issue isn’t an option and never has been. Probably never will be. Maybe. Eddie doesn’t know. He has a Steve Harrington to deal with.

He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to check how he looks in the mirror. Too much pressure; he already knows it’s not going to be pretty after a night of drinking, and whatever his bed head has decided to do on feels lopsided and tangled and weird. 

Or maybe he’s overthinking it. He probably is. 

Okay.

Okay, he can do this.

… He can run out the trailer door, boxers and one sock be damned, and never look back. 

No, no, he can do this. He’d had the balls to start writing the letters in the first place, he can deal with whatever inexplicable fallout has come of it! What’s the worst that could happen? 

Maybe Steve had stayed to tell him to stop writing the letters. So he could reject him face to face in the light of day, without the risk of alcohol washing the memory of it away. Maybe even reveal that he’d figured Eddie out a long time ago and played along, that it was all just a big joke. Prank the freak, right?

Just for a second, Eddie lets himself contemplate bolting. Sinks down on his haunches with his reddening face in his hands and thinks it through: how he could get to Jeff’s on foot, pick up his seed money and his guitar, buy a bus ticket out of Hawkins and maybe find an apartment when he gets to Indy, maybe catch another bus headed for Chicago, New York, Los Angeles. He doesn’t have a high school diploma but shop was the only class he’s ever passed with flying colors, so he knows he can find work somewhere even if it sucks starting out. Set up in some city where no one knows his name and no one from home (except Wayne, of course, he could never cut Wayne out) knows his mailing address. No more letters from Steve, and it’s only a matter of time before Steve breaks out of his parents house and then Eddie really won’t be able to write to him anymore. And then life would be just… like that. Never knowing if it could have worked out after all, but by then it’d be too late. Forever. 

A world without Steve. Without sunshine. Without air. 

Okay. 

Eddie groans, scrubs his hands over his face, and reluctantly goes back down the hall to his bedroom. Without a stop to check the bathroom mirror, he’s already hanging on by a thread as it is. 

~

Waking up to Eddie having a panic attack wasn’t the best way this morning could have started out. The longer Steve waits for him to come back the more awkward he feels, enough that he gets up briefly to try and find his shirt. He fails, in all the mess, but opens a nearby drawer and pulls out the first shirt he can find: something so faded he can’t even read it, with the sleeves hacked unevenly off. 

Not that this makes him feel any less presumptuous about being here.

Eddie clearly doesn’t remember giving him a ‘grand tour’ of the trailer, or ending it with “And this is where all the magic hap’ens” while dragging Steve into his room, or whining for him to change out of his clothes and and get some sleep. He probably doesn’t even remember what had happened in the car—the music, the kiss, the pleading confession on Steve’s part. 

Actually, maybe it’s better that Eddie doesn’t remember the confession part. It was kind of embarrassing. Steve could probably do better. 

… Except he’ll probably have to do it all over again, which suddenly seems a lot worse. Shit. There are a stupid number of butterflies in his stomach and it feels like they’re about to form a tornado in there. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the bedroom door opens. Eddie slinks back inside and leans against it until it’s closed behind him again. “Sorry, had to check on my… illegally gotten gains.”

Steve almost frowns before he remembers that Eddie had been at the party in the first place to sell. He himself has a plastic baggie in his jeans pocket (carefully folded with the rest of his clothes on top of the messy dresser) that Eddie had literally sold to him. “Oh. Shit, man, I didn’t even think to check on that last night. Sorry.”

Eddie laughs thinly and slumps his way from the door to the bed, grabbing a t-shirt off the floor, sniffing it, and wiggling into it along the way. He keeps a carefully neutral distance between them—not close enough to touch, but not so far away that it seems like he’s avoiding him. (Or maybe Steve is overthinking it.) “I don’t think you have to apologize for not helping me enough, man. Pretty sure I’m the one that should be saying sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

That makes Steve frown. Is Eddie talking about last night, or about the letters too? Does he even remember that Steve knows? Butterfly tornado is officially a go. “It’s fine. Like I told you last night, I don’t mind helping.”

“Yeah…” Not quite looking at him, Eddie reaches up to rake the bangs out of his face, even though they fall right back into the same curly fringe just covering his eyebrows. That’s when he seems to notice the shirt Steve has on, pupils dilating slightly before he looks resolutely away and fidgeting. “I don’t exactly remember last night, but I’m pretty sure ‘helping me out’ shouldn’t include letting me grope you in my sleep.”

“I’ll take an octopus over a starfish any day,” he replies immediately, and truthfully. Embarrassingly. Lately, as the nightmares have started to calm down enough to catch some actual rest sometimes, Robin has become more prone to stretching out in her sleep. Not, like—she doesn’t stretch out so quickly that she’s flailing around and giving him more bruises, but the crowding is pervasive. Like the goddamn butterflies. 

The look Eddie gives him is flat, tired, and a little manic, plucking absently at a loose thread dangling from the bottom of his shirt. Which, upon further inspection, is inside out. “Steve. What am I missing here?”

Last night, after Steve had finally found him again in the crowd, he’d kept grinning and making dimples pop in both cheeks. If there hadn’t been so many people around, and if Eddie hadn’t been so drunk, Steve probably would have kissed him long before they got to the car. 

Steve takes a deep breath, lips tingling with the memory and urge to do it again. First, though, they have to get through this part. Again. 

He reaches out, taking Eddie’s hand from where it’s fussing with the shirt, and threads their fingers together. The chunky rings Eddie usually wears are still on the nearest flat surface to the bed, but this hand still has the thinner band—an old mood ring, Steve thinks, though the stone always seems dark so maybe it’s broken. He looks at their hands together, and feels something settle in his chest. 

Nervous as he is, this feels right. When he hazards a glance at Eddie’s face, it’s pink. Also angled down to stare at their linked hands, but Eddie is looking at him through unfairly long eyelashes. 

“Steve?” Eddie whispers, sounding… what? Afraid, awed? He’s got to be nervous too, it’s written into the tension in his slightly scrawny frame, looking smaller without all his usual layers of denim and leather. 

“I know you wrote those letters,” Steve murmurs, leaning into the carefully curated distance between them. “And I still like you. I keep telling you I like you, but you keep being surprised. Just let me want this, okay?” 

He squeezes Eddie’s hand again, watches as those eyelashes flutter slightly with the pressure. 

“Last night I said a bunch of stuff you probably don’t remember, and… I kind of don’t remember exactly either, now that I have to say it again?” Steve gives him a sheepish smile. The damn butterflies have stopped doing anything as coherent as tornadoing and are just flying around like lunatics. “Basically, you’re smart and fun and really good with words, which I’m not, but after you kissed me—”

Eddie’s eyes snap up, open wide as they’ll go. “I did what?”

“Shut up, let me finish. I was listening to that new tape you sent me on the way to the party because you make me feel good. Like everything is okay and I can do anything, even talk to you at a party. And I kissed back, by the way, and I really want to do it again now that you’ll remember it, if you still want to. But the point is—” he squeezes Eddie’s hand again “—I like being your sweetheart. I want to keep being that, but with face-to-face privileges this time. As… your boyfriend?”

He’s never seen anyone’s jaw drop outside of cartoons, but that’s what happens. Eddie’s pale cheeks go from pink to outright red, a flush that travels down his neck, and Steve can’t help but wonder how far down it goes. Stupid inside-out shirt that’s in the way now. 

“I,” Eddie says weakly. “I think I might pass out.”

“Well, I caught you the first time,” Steve jokes, and only feels a little bad for it when Eddie hides behind his free hand with a groan. And then second thoughts hit. “Um, pass out in a good way though, right?”

“Yes,” Eddie whines behind his palm. He peers out at Steve between his fingers, the hand in Steve’s gripping him back tightly. It makes the butterflies still swarming in Steve’s stomach suddenly feel a lot friendlier. “Fuck, definitely a good way, sweetheart. I was just… really braced for this to not work out, just in case, and instead I just woke up with a boyfriend.” His hand lowers just a bit, pulling a lock of his curly hair over his mouth. “And, apparently, a first kiss with you that I don’t even remember.”

“I can fix that,” Steve says eagerly, leaning forward—just a bit, he’ll wait for the official go-ahead, but god, now he’s focused on Eddie’s plush, bitten lips. He wants to feel them on his again. To feel the sparks, that rightness that he’s been missing since Nancy. The early days with Nancy, anyway… Back when she’d been just as in it as he’d been, before Barb died and monsters started crawling out of the woodwork on a semi-regular basis. 

Steve wants. 

Eddie looks like he wants too, gaze growing heated as he licks his lips in anticipation, but still his hand and hair are in the way. “I should, uh, brush my teeth…”

“Already did a few hours ago,” Steve assures him with a chuckle. “You used so much toothpaste I thought for sure you’d gag and lose that toast and aspirin I finally got into you, but you insisted on your ‘god-given right to hygiene  and tonsil tennis’ and threatened to duel me over it.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. “Can’t believe you’re still here after that.” 

Then it seems to occur to him that Steve is still here, and Eddie frees both hands and lunges forward, their mouths connecting just shy of too hard. 

Their bodies press together a second later and Steve lets momentum carry him to the mattress, the planes of Eddie’s body overlaying his. One arm goes around Eddie’s waist to keep him close and the fingers of his other hand sink into that sleep-wild mane of curls. The butterflies have dissolved, leaving his heart beating at its cage of still-healing ribs—which Eddie keeps himself propped up on his elbows just enough to not put pressure on. Steve’s lips part in a pleased sigh when he realizes, and it’s equally an invitation to deepen the kiss, his whole body tingling with glee when Eddie immediately accepts. 

It’s the opposite of the first time, which had been slow-fast and uncoordinated, desperate. This starts at a hundred miles per hour, even while chaste, and only intensifies as Eddie licks his way into Steve’s mouth. Firm and smooth, and, fuck, Eddie is good at this. Good enough that there’s a little green flicker of jealousy in Steve’s gut, in amidst the red hot coals of excitement, at the thought of Eddie making out with other guys—but he’d picked Steve to write love letters to. 

And even though Steve has been the lead when kissing girls, with extremely few exceptions, he’s happy to follow wherever Eddie wants to go. 

Just when he’s fighting off the urge to gasp for air, Eddie breaks the kiss without going anywhere, both of them panting against each other’s lips. And then Eddie presses close again and it’s even slower, savoring, tasting. Steve is floating with it, kissing back on pure instinct because everything beneath his skin has gone molten and glowing. He doesn’t have to think, because he’s the one being guided. He’s held in the gentle grasp of Eddie’s hand coming to cradle his cheek; he is loved. 

~

Dear Steve,

I hope this is not untoward; I have not written to you before, nor am I in the habit of writing letters to anyone. But as I’m no stranger to wielding a pen, I hope these words might convey the depth of feeling I hope to—no, that I must convey. 

You’ve looked so sad, for months now. It makes my heart ache to comfort you; to smooth the crease between your brows with my thumbs and shield you from the cruel world with its untold horrors. I don’t know if this will help, but I have to try. 

You, Steve Harrington, are loved. 

We’ve existed in each other’s periphery for years, enough that you might recognize my name or face if I dared to reveal them. For my part, I don’t think a day has gone by since the first time I saw you that you haven’t been on my mind. It’s as though there’s a spotlight in every room; whenever you’re there it always shines on you. I’ve seen from the way you share the contents of your lunch tray without a second thought, the way you work to cheer up your teammates after a bad game or what have you. You’re kind, Steve. While I can’t say I care for some of the company you used to keep, as some of them are real gold star assholes, even with them I could tell that you tended to give more than you took. I grew up without someone like that in my life for a long time, but I’ve come to hold it in the highest regard and you have it.

That’s all, for now. I’m going to slip this in your locker. Maybe I’ll hang around, try to see if any of it makes you smile, because god that’s such a sight. If it does, maybe I’ll write again. Try to break up a little more of that dark cloud hanging over your head, sweetheart. In the meantime, and forevermore, I shall remain—

Your Secret Admirer

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

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@kurofuckingshi16 @bookworm0690 @millseyes-world @live-laugh-love-dietrich @the-tenth-mus-e

[heavenlyvision]

Roommates

Pairing: Kenshi Takahashi x F!Reader

Word count: 5.1k

A/N: This was not meant to be this long, I am sorry !!! I know I am meant to be writing for Johnny but Kenshi calls my name and whispers sweet nothings to me (I’m relentlessly horny for the yakuza man). Anyways, it's not my best work but ENJOY !!! <33

Summary: When your roommate is out of town, you go clubbing to look for some companionship. When you strike out, you get an unexpected offer that you’re lightly hesitant to accept.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, mentions of creepy men, minor mention of violence (single punch), mentions of alcohol, dirty talk, p in v sex, creampie, omg… they were roommates, Kenshi (he’s his own warning), no use of y/n, I think that’s all !

MDNI

It’s Friday night and you’ve had a hard time at work lately, it doesn’t help that Kenshi has been gone all week and won’t be back until Wednesday at the earliest. You miss him and you’re frustrated from work. So, when your friends invite you out to the club, your immediate response wasn’t to turn them down – like you usually did, instead you shocked both yourself and them by saying yes.

Now, you’re a bit tipsy and dancing the night away with your friends, you finally feel light after being weighed down by anxieties all week. Unfortunately, men ruin everything and one has come up behind you, grabbing at you to try and get you to dance with him. You attempt to shimmy away and tell him you’re uninterested but his hands grab onto you harder. He pulls you back into him and now you’re feeling scared, your heart rate has spiked and you feel like you’ve completely sobered up.

You turn around quickly, trying to loosen his grip on you, when you’ve successfully turned you smack him square in the nose and run away. Weaving through the large sea of people, you’ve lost track of your friends and you don’t remember when that happened anymore. Maybe you were drunker than you thought.

Reaching the exit, you stumble out onto the street, it’s still busy and bright, people moving along the strip to get into all kinds of different clubs. You pull out your phone to try and get an uber home when you see a heap of missed calls from Kenshi. Your heart jumps, worried for him but as you go to call him back, your phone rings in your hand, he’s calling again.

Your words rush out as soon as you pick up, “Are you okay?”

He breathes a sigh of relief on the other end, “Are you? I come home early and I can’t find you anywhere at nearly midnight and you won’t pick up your phone.”

“…Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home so early.” You feel badly, you didn’t mean to worry him.

“Neither did I,” he pauses for a moment, “Where are you?”

“Just… out with some friends,” you cringe at your half-truth, “I’m coming home right now.”

He sounds unamused, definitely able to tell you’re lying, “Do you need me to come get you?”

“No, I’m okay, I’ll get an uber or something,” your eyes wander the streets, a group of men are approaching and you shrink in on yourself.

Kenshi doesn’t like the idea of you getting in an uber alone, “Where are your friends? Can’t one of them take you home?”

“They’re still inside, I’ll tell you about it when I get home,” the group of men that pass by whistle and cat call you, your face pulls up in disgust at it but you continue talking, “I shouldn’t be that long–”

“­–I’m going to come get you,” his tone is strained, you know he’s heard the men accost you.

His offer makes your heart swell but you tell him, “Kenshi don’t, it’ll take longer, just let me get an uber. I’ll be home super soon… okay?”

“Fine but if you aren’t home in 20 I’m coming to get you… and turn your location on,” he grumbles out, giving in to your logic.

“Yessir,” you joke at him.

“Don’t call me that,” he does not find you funny.

You pout at him, “You’re so mean to me.”

“Order your uber and get home safe,” he retorts before hanging up on you, not wanting you to talk to him any longer. The longer you stay on the phone with him, the longer it takes for you to get home.

You chuckle at his frustrations with you, he’s simultaneously so patient and impatient with you. Even though he’s a little short with you, he’s a good roommate and friend and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

.𖥔˖ִ ₊ ⊹˚

The uber came pretty quick, you get back to your shared apartment safe and within the 20 minutes he gave you. When you walk through the front door he’s quick to come up to you, he had been waiting for you on the couch.

His hands gently move over you, double checking you’re okay, “You smell like vodka.”

“I’m sober, the night started good but ended up blowing. The buzz was ruined after that,” you huff.

His hand holds yours; his thumb lightly brushes your knuckles and you intake a sharp breath, “What happened?”

“Mmm, some jackass grabbed onto me and I had to swing and run,” you’re dismissive, not really all that worried about it anymore, “I hadn’t realised I hit him that hard.”

His frown is deep, “Where were your friends?”

“I don’t know, dancing I guess. We just sorta lost track of each other,” you lean into him, your forehead rests on his chest, “I’m glad you’re home, it’s been lonely.”

“I don’t like your friends,” he’s blunt, straight to the point about it.

“They’re alright,” you defend.

Kenshi disagrees, “They do this every time you go out with them, they leave you behind.”

That is true, they have a tendency to forget about you when you all go out together but it’s not a huge deal. It’s not like they do it purposefully, you all get a little drunk is all.

“Not always,” you argue.

“Yes, always,” he’s not interested, especially since he knows the truth, “Why did you go out tonight anyways? You don’t even like clubbing that much.”

You don’t tell him the whole truth; you had been intending to get laid. Having a good one-night stand was something you were hoping would help with your stress levels. Your vibrator hasn’t been cutting it lately and with Kenshi away you thought tonight would be the perfect time but after his unexpected return and that creepy guy, you’re happy it didn’t work out.

You settle for a half truth, “I was bored and lonely, plus this week sucked,” you push off his chest and look up at him.

He snickers down at you and teases, “Miss me that much?”

Maybe it’s the small amount of alcohol swimming in your head but you don’t even try and deny it, “Yes.”

He scoffs at you, “Go to bed, you need to sober up more.”

You shake your head at him, “I don’t wanna sleep, you’re home now, I wanna hang out with you.”

“Go hang out in your bed,” he counters.

You’re quick to say, “Only if you join me.”

“You’re annoying,” he comments.

You pretend to be really hurt as you ask him, “So, you didn’t miss me at all?” His expression is stoic, he’s completely unreadable, it’s even worse with the blindfold. “You’re hurting my feelings here, Ken doll.”

He doesn’t like that, “Don’t call me that.”

You groan and throw your head back, “You don’t let me call you anything.”

His brow raises, “You could call me by my name?”

You jeer at him, “Boooo, boring!”

“You’re impossible to deal with,” he groans and walks into the kitchen.

You follow after him, “I think I’m entirely possible actually.”

He ignores you and fills a glass with water, he hands it to you once it’s full, “Drink that.”

Your face pulls up at him but you take the cup and drink it, “You’re quite crabby tonight.”

“I am annoyed,” he replies simply.

You speak into the rim of the glass, “Why are you annoyed, Ken doll?”

“I was worried about you,” is all he says, no further elaboration. Though it’s not really needed, you know he gets a little bit concerned when you go out with those friends.

“Awe, you worry about me,” you poke at his face, trying to lighten his mood.

He groans and his head rolls back, moving away from your prodding, “You should go to sleep.”

“Fine but not because you told me to,” you place the glass in the sink, “I am choosing to go to bed because I am tired.”

“Mhm,” he hums at you, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You walk off down the hall to your room, calling back to him, “If you’re lucky.”

.𖥔˖ִ ₊ ⊹˚

When you wake up it’s late morning but at least it’s still morning, small wins. Kenshi isn’t home when you wander around looking for him, you shrug off his absence and have a shower. You feel grungy from last night and find yourself wishing you had showered before bed.

By the time you’re clean and ready for the day, Kenshi is home and in the kitchen, “I got you a coffee,” he nods at the to-go cup on the bench.

“Thank you,” You reach over and take it.

He asks you, “How are you feeling today?”

“I’m fine, I hadn’t drank that much last night,” you stand idly, watching him sip at his own coffee. You aren’t sure if you’re imagining it or not… but he seems annoyed, well more specifically, he seems annoyed at you. “Are you mad at me?”

His reply is sharp, “I’m not mad.”

“You seem mad,” you insist.

“You’re gonna make me mad,” he retorts, his fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose, “I’m not mad at you, I just… don’t like when you go out while I’m away.”

“I’m always fine though and I rarely go out as it is,” you’re trying to make him feel better but you don’t think it’s working.

He doesn’t reply but his mouth pulls up in a scowl and he grumbles a sound of acknowledgement.

You walk around the counter and shimmy between him and the bench, so you’re directly in front of him, “Why is this worrying you so much?”

“You worry me and it’s not like you have a great support system when you go out,” he isn’t wrong, which is somewhat bothersome.

You pat his shoulder, “You need to stress less, It’s all good, Ken doll.”

He leans forward, his hands rest on the bench either side of you, effectively caging you between him and the counters, “Don’t call me that.”

He’s being weird, you don’t know why he’s so worried about you all of a sudden. He’s always been ‘protective’ over you but that always felt more casual, this feels a bit out of the blue, “Why are you so worried about this? You’ve never been so concerned.”

He frowns at you, “I’ve always been this concerned, I’ve just never said anything.”

“Oh.” It seems he has reached a sort of breaking point.

He tries asking you again, seemingly knowing you lied to him last time you answered, “Why did you go out last night anyways?”

He can’t see you but you shy away anyways, your eyes look away from him, “I told you last night.”

“No, you lied last night,” his head tilts at you slightly.

How he manages to know, you aren’t sure. It’s become an annoying talent of his, knowing when you’re lying, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He leans the smallest bit closer, “You are a poor liar.”

“I’ve never lied a day in my life,” you lie.

He doesn’t move or say anything, from how exposed you feel right now, you could swear he can see you. It feels like he’s staring you down… and it’s working.

You groan at him, “Kenshi, it’s not a huge deal, I went out to have fun and maybe… get laid,” you trail off, feeling embarrassed before adding, “but things didn’t work out that way.”

He’s completely unreadable right now, he doesn’t have a single tell, “You went out last night for a one-night stand?”

You’re facing him properly again, “Yeah but then no one really caught my eye and that guy was grabby and the night was ruined, plus you were home so I’m glad I didn’t bring anyone back.”

“Is that what you meant by ‘you were lonely’.”

Your face grows warm and you want to squirm into a heap on the floor, why is he asking so many questions, “Well… yes and no?”

His fingers grip the counter a little tighter, his frown deepens, “What would you have done if I were home?”

You aren’t sure what he’s asking, “I don’t–”

“–Would you still go out to the club or would you have asked me?” He clarifies.

You think you know what he’s asking now but you want to be clear, “Asked you what?”

He’s quick to reply, wanting you to catch on quicker, “To sleep with you–”

That doesn’t seem like it’d bode well for your friendship, “I don’t think that’s really–”

“–Cause I’d do it, in a heartbeat,” he’s resolute, completely certain.

You’re at a complete loss for words, he’s just told you he’d sleep with you and you’d think he was just teasing you if he wasn’t so steadfast. He shows no signs of joking and you have no idea how to reply to him.

“Stop playing around,” your tone is nervous, you’re trying to give him an out.

He doesn’t take it, “Princess, I’m being so serious.”

Your knees feel like they might give out, he’s flirted with you before and even then it had an effect on you. To have him in front of you, telling you he’s seriously willing to fuck you, is going to kill you. The nickname isn’t lost on you, usually when he calls you that, he’s teasing you by calling you delicate or sensitive, the change in context makes your heart skip a beat.

“Kenshi–”

“–Would you let me fuck you?” He’s unmoving, waiting for your answer.

A shiver runs down your spine at the low timbre of his voice, it’s not like you’ve never considered it, you just never thought he was interested, “Now?”

A large, wicked smile grows on his face, “Do you want me to fuck you right now?”

He’s crude and it’s arousing you, he’s always been blunt but this is different, you’ve never shared a moment like this with him, “Would you?”

“I would, like I said, in a heartbeat,” his leg slots between yours, pinning you closer to the kitchen counters.

He’s effectively worked you up and made you comfortable enough to ask, “Then… could you? Please?”

His smile is evil, ecstatic that you’ve asked, “Of course I could, princess,” one of his hands moves to your hip, holding you. “First, I have a yes or no question for you.”

“Okay…” You’re hesitant, you don’t know what he’s going to ask.

His leg slots higher, thigh pressed to your cunt, “Did you feel the need to get laid because your little vibrator wasn’t cutting it anymore?”

You gasp, both at his question and the sudden contact, “How did–”

“The walls aren’t all that thick, princess,” the hand on your hip encourages you to lightly rut into his thigh, “Can hear you sometimes.”

You feel beyond embarrassed knowing he’s heard you getting off, “It wasn’t enough”

“No, I bet it wasn’t,” he chuckles at you, “You got so fuckin needy you were gonna ask a stranger to fuck you, good thing I came home, hmm?”

Your hips grind down onto his leg, the stimulation shocking you. Your panties are well and truly drenched at this point, “Kenshi~”

“I’ll fuck you well, princess, I’ll give you what you need,” he leans down to you, his lips brushing yours, “But first, you have to take it.”

He takes your lips in his, unoccupied hand reaching up to hold your face, moving you how he pleases. You whimper into him, his tongue licks into your mouth. It’s hot and messy, he’s kissing you like he’s starved of you and it’s making you lightheaded. His hand paws at your hip before slipping into your pants, he reaches behind and grabs a handful of your ass. You moan into him, surprised by his rough touch.

When he pulls back, your lips are connected by a string of saliva, evidence of how messy he kissed you. Your mind is fuzzy and you whimper at him, mind filled with so many thoughts of him and his mouth. His thumb rubs over your mouth, spreading the mess more than cleaning it.

He hums at you in consideration, “Come with me,” he says, as he pulls you behind him into the lounge room.

You can’t help but stumble slightly, your legs wobbly from his lips. You feel stupid right now, you’re able to form thoughts but they don’t feel like your own. The only ones that do feel like yours are the ones imagining how he’d look tongue fucking you, or how he’d look when he cums.

He stops in front of the couch and then suddenly pulls his shirt off, you’re gobsmacked by the suddenness, “Undress,” he tells you, “Keep your panties on though.”

If you were a weaker person, even by just a little bit you would have fainted on the spot, “You’re bossy,” you mumble as you shimmy your pants off.

Kenshi undresses completely and sits on the couch behind him, his cock hard and resting against his abdomen. He’s patiently waiting for you to finish undressing, “You have no idea.”

You feel awkward, standing in front of him almost completely bare. He spreads his legs wider and you stand between them, patting his thigh he says, “Come on, don’t be shy, straddle me, princess.”

He’s doing this on purpose you could swear, you feel so hot in the cheeks and shy. He’s making you feel nervous and so horny. He’s working you up in a way that no one else ever has, “You say embarrassing things,” you comment.

“I’ve not even started,” he pats his thigh again, “Hurry up, got me aching for you here.”

You sit down on him and straddle either of his thighs, you’re holding yourself up on your knees, your hands reach out and hold onto his shoulders. One of his hands holds your hip, while the other runs over your panties, feeling how you’ve soaked them.

He groans at how wet you are, “Fuckin hell, all this because I kissed you?”

His teasing alone could make you cry, “Don’t be mean–”

“–I’m gonna be mean to you, princess.” His hand slips into your panties and through your folds, your fingers dig into his skin, a sigh passing your lips at his touch. “Gonna have you crying on my cock by the time I’m done with you.”

He plays with your cunt, fingers slipping through your slick folds. His cock twitches against his stomach, precum leaking from his tip and smearing itself against his skin. You mindlessly move your hips back and forth against his fingers, seeking more from him.

His hand pulls back and you whimper at him, he laughs, slightly amused at your neediness and slips your panties to the side, “Alright, sit down and take what you need.”

“Yessir,” you joke but his cock jerks in response and you smile to yourself at his reaction.

You take his dick in your hand and he chokes on a moan, you stroke him slowly, your hand collecting his mess of precum and spreading it over his length. Getting him slick with himself, he groans at you, his abs tense at the feeling of your smaller hand on him.

Hovering over him, you position his tip at your entrance, not pushing down but holding him pressed to you. Your cunt leaks on the head of his cock and he moans, his hands grip your hips, “Trying to let you do this yourself, princess but if you don’t hurry up… I’m gonna stuff you full and I don’t care if it’ll hurt.”

Your pussy jumps at his threat and he flops back onto the couch, his head hanging back on it, “You’re gonna kill me, you’re so fucking… wet and warm,” he’s mumbling mostly to himself.

Slowly, you start pushing down on him, the stretch is a lot, especially since it’s been so long since you last had sex. That and Kenshi may be the biggest you’ve attempted to take – not that you’re going to tell him that. You pull back and press down again, trying to fuck yourself open on the tip of his cock.

He groans under you, his brows pinched, thinking of anything he can other than how goddamn tight you are. He wants you to do this yourself but his patience is about to tear into shreds, it feels like it’s actively being put through a shredder. His thumb moves to your clit and rubs tight circles into it, trying to get you to relax enough to take him.

You whine at him, your hand on his shoulder gripping him tight. Taking a deep breath, you sink further down onto him, finally taking the tip and a little less than half of him. Your cunt quivers around him, throbbing. You feel like you could cry, the way he fills you is overwhelming and already so satisfying.

Your hand leaves his dick and holds onto his other shoulder, when you look at him, you can see how he’s clenching his jaw tight. His fingers dig into your hips, he’s trying so hard not to slam into you until you’re completely full. You’re gripping him so tightly, your pussy leaking down his shaft, you’re so warm and soft and he has a primal need to have you fucked full of him.

You slip further down him, gasped moans leaving you as you incrementally sit down, “Kenshi~”

He hums at you, his hands move up and down your body, gripping you anywhere he can reach, memorising you with his hands, “I said before, you have to take it.”

You understand now what he meant; he wants you to fuck yourself on his cock. He’s not going to help; he’s going to make you take it and you already know, it’s not going to be as good as if he were to just fuck you.

You go to complain, “It won’t–”

His hands grab your tits, playing with them, “–Won’t what?” He encourages.

You’re breathless, his fingers pinch and pull at your nipples and if it weren’t for your hands holding you up, you would’ve collapsed onto him, “It– uh– won’t feel as good.”

He smiles big at you, “I know.”

You whimper at him and in an attempt to get revenge, you slam the rest of the way down onto him. He moans loudly in shock; his arms wrap around you and tug you into his chest.

He speaks into your skin, “Holy fuck– nnghhf– You’re so fucking~” He can’t help how he holds you down and grinds up into you, “So wet~ bet you’re gonna be fuckin creaming all over my cock– nngh~”

You can only whinge into him, your slightly drooling onto his skin, feeling incredibly stupid at this very moment. His cock filling you so well, the stretch very welcome. You want to fuck down onto him but he’s holding you tight. His own thoughts lost in how your tight cunt is clutching him, he needs to grind into you right now, and you’re not going to stop him. Not that you want to.  

He’s trying to collect himself, his head resting against your chest, he moves to the side and bites into the skin of your breast. It shocks you and your cunt clamps down on him, he groans into your skin before pulling back. His chest heaves up and down, his head thrown back on the couch, hands back to resting on your hips again.

“Fuck– alright, fuck yourself on my cock now, princess,” his voice is strained, laced in arousal.

You lift yourself up, beginning to ride him, the slow drag of your walls on his cock have Kenshi twitching inside you. He’s starting to doubt his ability to hold on to control while you fuck onto him, already borderline pussy drunk.

You bounce up and down his dick, it feels so good but it’s not enough, you want him to fuck you, you want to get railed, “Kenshi~ I need you –hah– to please –nngh– fuck me.”

“Cum first and then I’ll –hah– fuck you,” his head is lulled back, only focusing on the tight clutch of your cunt.

The room is filled with slick slapping noises, your pussy leaking into his lap. The lewd sounds have your face growing hot, your soft moans furthering your embarrassment, you can’t keep them in though, they slip from you before you even register that it’s you making those noises.

Kenshi grunts, “Making such cute noises, princess,” his abdomen muscles tighten and twitch, “Always make such –hah– cute sounds, can hear the way you whine when you’re fucking yourself –mmph– can hear the slick sounds of your cunt, God, you’ve got such a wet cunt, drive me mental –nngh–” He’s babbling almost incoherently, his comments only further your arousal, more slick leaking from you.

The longer you ride him, the more frustrated you get, you’re so close to the edge but can’t seem to get yourself to fall off it, “Kenshi please, help.”

Despite his ravenous need for you, he smiles evilly and says, “No.” You shed tears, actual tears at your frustration, a sob gets caught up with your moans and he smiles wider, “You crying about it, princess?”

“No,” you sniffle out.

He grabs your face and his thumb runs along your cheek, feeling your tears, “God you are, fuck.” His cock jerks inside you.

You continue trying to get yourself off, your orgasm floating just beyond your reach, Kenshi seemingly takes some pity on you, his thumb rubs into your clit. You switch from bouncing to grinding, grinding his cock into you, your heart stutters in your chest and you moan out his name.

Your cunt pulsates on him, your orgasm on the tip of your tongue, you collapse into him as you finally cum on him. Tears fall from your eyes and onto the skin of his shoulder as you finish. Kenshi groans at the vice like grip you have on him, his hand helping you to grind into him, riding out your high.

“There you fuckin go,” he practically growls at you.

He doesn’t give you a second to come down, he’s immediately fucking up into you, both his hands on your hips, moving you up and down his dick like a sex toy. His hips slamming up to meet your cunt on your way down. He groans more freely, getting lost in the feel of you.

You’re fucked dumb, essentially. Only able to drool and cry into his shoulder, moans and whimpers spilling from you. Sounds that Kenshi relishes in, loving how vocal you are, needing the sounds to make up for his lack of sight.

“You should come to me from –ngh– now on, if you wanna get fucked,” his words slur together slightly.

“Uh huh,” you agree easily, even if you have a hard time forming complete words.

He continues, “You gonna let me fuck you how you need, mmm? Have you creaming for me whenever you want?”

“…Yes.”

His chest vibrates with a growl, “How about when I need it? Gonna let me fuck your tight little cunt whenever I need it, princess?”

“Whatever you wan,” you mumble out, focusing mostly on the heavy drag of his cock against your walls, of the force he drives into you with.

He chuckles darkly at you, “You’re real fuckin agreeable when I’m stuffing you full of my cock,” he purrs, “Where’d that teasing nature of yours go, mmm?”

You hum at him noncommittally, not having an answer for him.

“Probably wherever your brain is, you’re fucked completely dumb right now, huh?” his tone is amused, enjoying immensely how cock drunk you are for him, “Guarantee no one else would make you feel this good, princess.”

As much as you want to refute that, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt this fucking good during sex, or this full. You’re creaming around him, white ring at the base of his cock. Your stomach is fluttering, already so close to cumming again. You feel so far gone; eyes rolled back in your head. Cunt gripping onto him, holding on for dear life. With how wet and sticky everything is, you may have to buy a new couch.

Kenshi can’t help but whine as he gets closer to finishing, “Can’t get over how slick you are, you’re fuckin– you’re sucking me right back in ­–nghh–”

You gasp against him, “Kenshi~ I’m gonna–”

“Go on, fuckin soak me, finish all over my cock again,” his hips slam up into you harder, faster, “God, please, fuck– wanna feel how fucking tight you grip me again, wanna hear the little whimpers you let out, finish on me again, princess,” his words are grit out from behind his teeth, trying like hell to hold off his own orgasm.

His nails bite into the skin on your hips, he’s starting to growl out whines next to your ear and they sound so delicious, your mind swimming with them, committing the noises to memory. He fucks into you a few more times before you’re clamping down on him and cumming so hard you see white, tears falling freely from the force of it.

Your pussy spasms on his cock, the feeling has Kenshi moaning loudly before he’s suddenly cumming with a bitten back whine, his cum pumps inside you, coating your walls. He has cum so much it leaks back down his cock and into his lap, your panties are thoroughly ruined, soaked in so much cum and slick.

You stay stuffed full of him, barely conscious and clinging to him, you’re dazed and lost in how good you feel after finally getting fucked well.

Kenshi’s arms wrap around you, holding you close to him, “Better?”

“Mhmm,” it is better, you feel so content right now.

He presses his lips to the side of your head and asks, “Not gonna go looking for one night stands again are you?”

You mumble out, “Would you even let me?”

He laughs before pressing a kiss to your cheek, “No, swear on my life your cunt was made for me.”

You snicker at him, “Whatever you want.”

“I should fuck you more often, you’re significantly less annoying after a good dicking,” he jokes… you think.

“You love it.”

He laughs lightly at you, not willing to agree verbally but he does enjoy your teasing. That might just be because he enjoys you though.

A quiet lulls over the pair of you, both holding each other close and coming down from your respective highs.

You remember something and you ask him, “Why did you ask me to keep my panties on?”

“I wanna keep ‘em, could be handy to have when I go away,” he says blasé, unashamed.

You groan at him in disgust but you can both feel the way your cunt lightly flutters on him. Thinking of him using your panties to jerk off arouses you more than you wish it would.

Kenshi laughs knowingly, “I’ll let you watch.”

.𖥔˖ִ ₊ ⊹˚

A/N: I hope you enjoyed !!! Like I said, not my best work but I had to purge the Kenshi brain rot before doing anything else <3 My inbox is open for thoughts or questions but I am not taking requests at the moment, I have too many 😭 Anyways, I hope you all have a good day/night !!!

[mikkomacko]

Omg I’m obsessed we need a part 3 of Nico finding out is girlfriend Is pregnant on Valentine’s Day. Maybe like he goes and tells the team and his girlfriend tells all the other wags.

Prev

You and Nico had a deal. Throughout your pregnancy, Nico had to abstain from anything and everything that you also had to abstain from. The wine cabinet in your apartment stayed shut, the Zyn containers from Nico’s occasional indulgence were thrown in the garbage, and any sort of energy drink left sealed in the back of the mini fridge in the extra room.

You both figured it was fair. If you had to give up these things, so would he. And he was happy to do it. Actually, he was happy to do anything lately. For the past three months he’s been nothing but smiles and a good, can-do attitude. The team figured he was cheerier than usual since they know he’s getting laid on the regular, at least they’re assuming since he told everyone they were trying for a baby.

Not that they’re wrong, per se. The baby may be made but the baby making has not ceased.

Within the agreement of the shared sobriety, was also the decision to keep the pregnancy a secret. You didn’t decide until when, but you figured when the time was right you’d announce it somehow.

“Just for the night?”

Nico laughs, digging his fingertips into your thighs to pull you further into his lap. “Just for tonight baby, I promise.”

He seals it with a kiss, soft lips molding with your own and his left hand cups the back of your head, attempting to deepen the kiss. You melt into it, tilting your head to the right as you bury your fingers in his hair.

Knowing the two of you, you’ll need to climb off him soon or you’ll miss tonight’s plans in favor of rolling around in the sheets.

You slide your hands down to his chest, preparing to push your palms into the firm muscle when Nico breaks the kiss himself, a soft and breathy moan leaving his lips as he does so. He latches onto your neck, mouth hot and wet as he suckles at the base of it.

“We need to get going.” You wince, feeling guilty for distracting him. You love having his attention, love how he’s been all over you since New Years.

Nico whines, his hand sliding around to grope at your ass as he slumps against the back of the couch, lips all ruby red and wet.

“I’m hard.” He says as if that’s going to make you change your mind and it almost does, it would under normal circumstances but you’re a bit moody right now. Justifiably so since you now have to spend an evening with a drunk hockey team and drunk boyfriend while you watch bitterly sober.

When you don’t respond he groans, throwing his head back against the couch cushions. “That used to work on you, ya know?”

“Yeah,” you confirm “but you’re hard all the time now. I just assume it.”

Nico pats your butt, nudging you up from his lap and you rise to your feet. “You drive me crazy,” he says in defense “pregnancy looks good on you.”

He gets up, moving around you to go slip on some shoes and get his baseball cap off the kitchen counter. You watch him push his hair back over his forehead, tucking it behind his ears before sliding the hat on and it takes everything in you to not drool and strip him of his jeans right now.

“Whatever,” you finally say, gathering the car keys “you can’t even tell yet.”

And you were right because as soon as you entered the backyard party you were being handed seltzers and beers, urged to join in on games and even go make drinks.

Nico covered for you, claiming that tonight was a sober night for you because you drove but to keep from being a fuddy duddy he was drinking for you.

Jack made him drink the cocktail he had made specifically for you and you couldn’t stop giggling as you snapped a photo of Nico with the bright pink drink, a little umbrella hanging out the top as he licked at the sugar on the rim.

“You think this is funny?” He taunted, jabbing at your side. “Well the jokes on you because this is actually so good.”

You sipped ice tea as he finished the cocktail, perched on his lap by the fire pit as everyone hung out for a bit. Timo ended up stealing your boyfriend for a game of beer pong so you reluctantly kissed Nico bye before taking his empty glass to the kitchen. Nicole found you sitting on the counter top in the empty house, scrolling through your phone as everyone outside drank and partied.

Truth is you were upset with being there. You wanted to drink and have fun with the girls, you wanted to team up with Nico in beer pong because he always gets so cute when you do well. And if you win he acts like he’s just won the Stanley Cup, throwing you over his shoulder and running around for a victory lap. But you couldn’t do that and this was first time since falling pregnant that you realized you were the odd man out now.

“Hiding from us?” Nicole teased, pouring herself some Malibu and Sprite.

You tucked your phone away, forcing a laugh. “Hiding from Nico,” you said as an excuse “I like to mess with him when he’s drunk.”

She laughed too, knowing how clingy he gets. Once he’s buzzed, if you’re not in eye sight he turns into the world’s biggest whiner.

Nicole hung out with you for a long time, longer than you thought she would as you just talked about new things on TikTok and upcoming plans for game days. Before you knew it an hour and half had passed and you hadn’t heard a peep from Nico. Which was a recipe for disaster.

Heading back outside, your assumptions were right. Nico was carrying Timo on his shoulders and you gasped in shock at the sight, watching him easily leap around the beer pong table with his friend over him. Not that you didn’t know Nico was strong, but Timo has a lot of bulk on him and you thought he would at least struggle.

A part of you is impressed (and a little turned on) until you caught sight of his face and saw just how drunk he was. His hat was crooked on his head, shirt stained down the chest with alcohol and hanging off his shoulder like someone had yanked him by the sleeve. Those beautifully tanned cheeks of his were bright red, the color crawling all the way down his neck and he was yapping nonsense to Bratt and Marino.

“Oh no,” you say sharing a look with Nicole. She laughs, nudging you towards the table. You approach Nico, smiling when he locks eyes with you and immediately tries to shake Timo off. They struggle for a second until Timo gets his leg unhooked from Nico’s shoulder and then he stumbles to his feet.

“Baby!” Nico cheers, grabbing at your waist and pulling you into him. “I won! But I didn’t see you, where were you? I missed you ya know?”

He’s so cute with his big doe eyes, crinkles at the sides from his toothy smile and those damned dimples that make you melt.

“You won?” You giggle, reaching up to straighten his hat. “I’m so proud!”

His hair doesn’t fall right, so you take the whole hat off. Nico purrs like a cat as you rake it back with your fingers, tucking the long pieces behind his ears before putting the hat back on his head.

“Handsome,” you murmur so only he can hear, pinching at the apple of his cheek. His blush grows at your words, teeth biting into his bottom lip as his eyes sweep over your form and his left hand finds your barely there belly. He strokes over it as if he can feel your child in there.

“Lovebirds,” Bratt interrupts “play us.” You turn to the other side of the beer pong table, finding him and Simon gearing up for another round. Nico attaches himself to your back, arms around your middle to keep holding your stomach.

Neither of the other boys appear to be as drunk as your boyfriend and you wonder how many games him and Timo lost before actually winning that last round.

Not sure Nico should keep drinking, you open your mouth to politely decline but he beats you to it.

“No way, she’s pregnant and I’m plastered.”

For the first time all night, the whole backyard goes silent. Just for moment, enough time for your heart to jump into your throat and Nicole to choke on her drink.

“Nico!” You scold, whipping around in his hold to stare at him. He peers down at you over red cheekbones, eyes wide and lost like he has no idea what he’s done to deserve that tone from you.

You gape at him, waiting for the dots to connect in that pretty little head of his. Finally a look of clarity crosses his eyes and you raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain.

Instead he smiles, all dimples and white teeth. “You’re so pretty, ya know that?”

The group around you all laughs and Nico lights up at the sound, his smile growing as everyone squashes the two of you in a hug. You press up into Nico’s chest, his hands pressing into the small of your back and drawing you up to your tip toes.

Timo is pressed to Nico’s back, his arms stretched around both you in a tight embrace. “Congrats little Neeksy!” He cheers, words just as slurred as Nico’s. “We get a cute little Swiss baby!”

Nico gasps, turning over his shoulder to look at his friend. “She will be Swiss! Whoa!” And you have to laugh at that, watching him chatter with Timo about his baby (who he’s suddenly decided is a girl) is a Swiss baby even though she was made in Jersey and will live in Jersey and on and on.

Eventually Timo lets the two of you go and you get bounced between teammates and friends, everyone congratulating you and questioning about the baby. You find your way back to Nico after the party has returned back to normal, him immediately wrapping you up in his arms and pressing kisses to your cheeks.

“Now that you’ve left a lasting impression, ready to go home baby?” You ask, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

Nico hums, nodding as he dips down to kiss you again. “Mhm, let’s go celebrate our announcement.” He says with a cheeky smile.

Rolling your eyes, you agree to his idea but by the way he’s hanging onto you and blabbing goodbyes you know he’ll be asleep by the time you make it home.

[darkeralmond]

Do you write smut for conrad fisher? If you do can you do a jealous conrad x reader? thank you!!

i do now! thank you so much for requesting ILY anon ❤️❤️

WANNA BE YOURS

Conrad Fisher x fem! Reader

summary: You and Conrad were at a party for Belly’s birthday hosted by Nicole. You were stranded by Conrad and notice a guy alone on the couch. You decide to be friendly and talk to him before dancing with him. Conrad and you get into an argument over this until you say the thing he’s been waiting to hear.

warnings: 18+, smut, angry Connie, car sex, penetration, she/her pronouns, arguing, vulgar language, Conrad calling you “good girl”, dirty talk

word count: 1.9k

a/n: connie is a popular guy in my request board 😭, not complaining tho i love him!! thank you again for the request!! P.S. I LOVE ARTIC MONKEYS AND PAXTON H-Y!!!

masterlist | request info

The music was loud in your ears as you entered the crowded living room. Conrad had left you alone to go find out where Steven was, but all the people in one space triggered your claustrophobia.

You looked over and saw a guy sitting by himself on the couch with a look of defeat on his face. There were people dancing all around him while he chugged whatever substance he had in his red solo cup. Usually, you don’t feel sympathy for strangers, but something about this guy made your heart wrench.

You approached him. “You alright?” Sure, it’s weird when a stranger asks others how they’re feeling, but some people need to vent to someone they don’t know.

He looked up at you with red eyes, you couldn’t tell if he was high or if he had been crying. He sniffled, “Yeah, uh, I caught my girl cheating on me with my homeboy upstairs.”

Shit. “Oh,” you replied.

You sat down next to him while he explained, “It’s chill. She was a bitch anyway.” He brought his cart up to his lips and took a hit. He was high. “You wanna hit?” He offered it to you.

You shook your head, “I’m straight edge.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “The fuck is straight edge?”

You laughed at his reaction. It was the same one every person had when you told them the same answer. “That means I chose to stay sober.” Your thought process was by staying sober, it helped you avoid all the drama that starts when you’re black out drunk. Drunk confessions, drunk fighting, the list goes on. “It just helps me stay out of trouble.”

He exhaled smoke from his lips and nose. “Ohhhh,” he laughed. “Respect.”

“Yeah,” you giggled. You then looked out at everyone dancing and having a good time. “Why don’t we dance?”

He smiled, “Sure.” The two of you got up from the couch and went to the middle of the living room. The Motto by Drake and Lil Wayne played over the speaker, the bass shaking the whole house. Due to all the people crammed in one room, you and the mystery guy danced fairly close to each other. “Hey, what’s your name?” he yelled over the music.

“Y/N!” you shouted back. “What’s yours?”

“Noah!” Noah yelled. You nodded your head while smiling. The two of you danced while screaming the lyrics to the song. “You’re really cool, Y/N! I think we’d make great friends!”

“What do you mean? You’re stuck with me now!” You and him laughed. That’s when you spotted someone familiar pushing through the crowd. It was your boyfriend finally coming back from his search. “Conrad, hey!” You waved. “Did you find Steven?”

He completely ignored your question, his eyes set on the guy who you were dancing with. “Get away from my girl.” He stepped in front of you.

“Woah, man. We weren’t doing anything.” Noah held up his hands defensively.

“Conrad, stop!” you laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s fine! We’re just chilling.”

He scoffed in response, “I recommend staying away from Y/N. We’re going home.”

“Conrad-”

“We’re going home.” He cut in.

He sounded pissed, it made your guy twist as you looked back at Noah. “Sorry about him,” you said with a frown on your face.

“Don’t stress about it, maybe I’ll see you around.” He waved bye as you got dragged out of the house by Conrad.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you yelled as the two of you left the house. “Am I not allowed to make friends now? Why don’t you ever trust me?”

He rolled his eyes, “I trust you! I just don’t trust that guy!”

You yelled, “You don’t even know him!”

“Neither do you! You don’t know what his intentions were, Y/N!” His eyes were wide with anger as he looked into yours, the veins in his neck strained. “Get in the car.” The car beeped as he unlocked the doors.

You didn’t want to cause a scene in front of everyone, so you just did as he said and got in the passenger’s seat. You folded your arms over your chest and stared out the window. He got in the driver’s seat next to you and started the car before putting it into drive mode. “Just so you know, his girlfriend cheated on him and he was by himself,” you mumbled while pouting.

“Y/N,” he said. This gave you a glimpse of hope that he’d finally listen to you, but he then followed it up by, “I don’t fucking care.”

You rolled your eyes and frowned, shaking your head. “You’re a fucking child.” He didn’t say anything, he just kept driving.

The radio quietly played music, the air was tense as you refused to look at him. He stopped the car at a red light. “Y/N, I’m sorry,” he finally spoke up. “I get really insecure, babe, and I just want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

You looked over at him, your expression softened as you said, “Connie, I’m yours.” You placed your hand over his that draped over the shift stick.

He glanced over at you and saw your innocent expression. You knew something instantly changed in him as you noticed his demeanor swiftly change. “Say that again,” he breathed.

Now it clicked. It turned him on to know that you and your body was for him and him only. You batted your lashes and smiled deviously. “I’m all yours, Connie,” you teased.

He stared at you longer, his breath slightly hitched. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. When the light turned green, he took a turn that was the opposite way of both your guys’ homes.

“Conrad?” you said, concern present in your voice. “What are you doing?”

“I’m pulling the car over so we can fuck.” Butterflies swarmed in your stomach due to the assertiveness in his voice. He pulled the car over close to the beach where there were no lights except for the car’s headlights. “You fine with that?”

You nodded your head, “Y-Yeah.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and look up at him. Conrad’s hand reached up to the side of your neck and connected his lips with yours.

He was hungry for your kiss touch. He was desperate for his hands to be all over your delicate body. He pushed into you, his tongue slowly licking the seam of your mouth, which led to a more forceful kiss. He gripped the collar of your shirt, pulling you closer.

You broke away and smirked. The anger from the argument earlier melted into lust. He slightly leaned the seat back as you climbed over the center console. You rested on his lap, your legs straddling him. He moaned as you kissed along his jaw line, then his chin before leaning down to his neck and sucking on it.

His fingers dug into your hips and pulled you closer, making sure you could feel his hardening erection against your lower body. “My… job is to make you… mhm… feel good,” he said between moans.

You pulled away, “What? I’m not allowed to be in control?” This won a chuckle out of him. “I’m kidding, go ahead. I already said I’m yours.”

He ran his fingers through your hair while biting his bottom lip. “That’s my good girl,” he husked before locking his lips to your neck.

Your back arched off his lap as he sucked harshly on your pulse point, your breathing became heavy and erratic.

Your hands found their way onto his hair as he continued working his way down your neck. You couldn’t tell who was taking control anymore; the two of you were too busy focusing completely on each other. Your body began reacting.

One of his hands came up to your hip, gripping tightly as another hand traveled to your breast. Both of his hands were touching the fabric of your shirt and caressing the skin underneath. A gasp escaped your lips as your hand found its way to his crotch. Your fingers brushed against his sensitive member, eliciting a moan out of him.

‘You like that, huh?’ you thought to yourself.

He suddenly let go of your breasts and grabbed your face gently with his hands, pulling your lips forcefully to his own. He kissed fiercely, his tongue slipping inside your mouth. He bit your lip causing you to moan, his hands moving from your face down to your ass. He started grinding against you roughly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body.

A loud moan fell from your lips as you bit your bottom lip. “Connie, just fuck me already,” you pleaded. “Stop edging!”

He chuckled, “You’re still on the pill, right?” You nodded your head eagerly. “Good.” He reached down to his pants which caused you to back up slightly. He unzipped the zipper and pulled down his boxers slightly to reveal his erection. You got up on your knees so you could pull your panties, that were soaked, off. He helped lift your skirt up and slip your panties down your thighs. Once they were off, he threw them to the car floor on the passenger’s side.

Slowly, he inserted himself in you. A gasp escaped out from you while Conrad groaned from the feeling of your warm walls. His thrusting was slow at a steady pace, you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second. He placed one hand on your thigh as his free hand gripped your ass. Your breathing grew shallow as the pressure building in your body increased.

“Oh god,” you whimpered.  “Please! Connie, I need you so bad!”

He continued to work his way into you until he slammed his pelvis against yours causing him to let out a loud grunt. He rasped, “You take me so well.”

As you continued to grind against him, he let out an animalistic growl. “God, Y/N, please,” he panted. You continued to grind against him, he was close, you knew it. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the sounds that were begging to fall from your throat.

His grip on your leg tightened, causing you to cry out as a wave of pleasure that rocked through your whole body. “Connie,” you whined. “Cum for me, baby, cum inside me!”

He pounded faster and harder. You felt your walls tighten around him, squeezing his erection. As he came, you let out the loudest scream anyone has ever heard from you. You clamped your eyes shut and squeezed your thighs around his waist even harder to keep him in you.

After a few seconds you managed to open your eyes. You looked down at him and could see his face twisted in ecstasy, sweat drenched over his forehead. You felt something hot pool in the pit of your stomach. You leaned down to kiss him again before getting off him. You reached for your panties and slid them back on. “You feel better now?”

He nodded his head as he caught his breath. Both your faces were flushed red from the heat of the orgasm. After recovering from his orgasm, he smiled softly. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer to him once more, placing his lips on yours. “We should head back. It’s almost midnight. And I wanna have some fun with you somewhere more comfortable”

You giggled and kissed his cheek.