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kkanabel · 5 months ago

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drunken confessions ✫ chapter ii

curly x reader

summary: Curly is the designated driver, so he’s helping you as you vomit your guts out because you pushed yourself too hard with the liquor. He knows you don’t like him the same way he does—right? At least he thinks so before you confess to him that you think about cuddling with him after sex. In this chapter, you both start to blur the lines.

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter - next chapter (comin soon)⇨

words: ~4.2k

t/w: friends with benefits!!, mutual(?) pining, confused!reader, hookup culture, slim jim exists (but isn't present in this chapter), pretty light yucky under the cut(very tame smut), gn!pronouns for reader (mostly, i think. if i fucked up somewhere, pls let me know), mention of s**ual harassment

a/n: more self-indulgent shit <3

The next morning greeted you with a relentless pounding in your head and a parched throat that felt like sandpaper. You groaned, shifting against the tangle of blankets before the events of last night hit you like a freight train.

At first, it had seemed like just a harmless, tipsy dream—a montage of Curly’s face, as breathtakingly gorgeous as ever. But as the dream played on, the edges of reality began to creep in. The heat in his cheeks, the incredulous look in his eyes, the sound of your own drunken voice slurring out “tiddiesss”—it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.

Your eyes flew open, wide with horror.

“Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself, voice hoarse. You sat up so fast your head spun, and you buried your face in your hands.

I sexually harassed one of my closest friends, you realized, mortified.

What the hell is wrong with you? Curly was nothing but kind to you—always the one to look out for you when you drank too much or got yourself into some sort of embarrassing predicament.

And last night? He’d been an absolute saint, driving you home without a single complaint. And what had you done in return? Made him feel uncomfortable and made a complete fool of yourself.

He wasn’t even interested in you like that—you knew that!—and yet your drunk self had decided to be the absolute worst.

You groaned again, louder this time, and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Of course, Curly, ever the gentleman, had not only driven you home but also plugged in your phone to charge and even left a water bottle next to your phone. The reminder of his kindness only deepened the pit of shame in your stomach.

As you tapped the screen and drank from the water bottle, your faint reflection on the dark screen caught your eye. Your heart sank further. You looked like a disaster—deep shadows under your eyes, your hair sticking out in every direction, and your skin dull and puffy from dehydration. You sighed, resolving to pull yourself together.

Tonight, you decided. The group was coming over for dinner, and Curly would be there. You’d apologize—really apologize—not just for last night but for all the other moments when you’d let your insecurities spill over into bad decisions. But for now, you needed to get to the bathroom and make yourself look halfway human.

By the time the evening rolled around, the smell of simmering sauces and roasted meats and vegetables filled your small apartment, doing its best to mask the lingering scent of cleaning products from your earlier frenzy. You glanced at the table, double-checking that everything was perfect. Plates, glasses, and cloth napkins were arranged neatly, and you’d even lit a few candles in an effort to create a warm, inviting atmosphere.

You stepped back, pressing your palms against your thighs to keep them from trembling. Everything was perfect—at least on the surface. Inside, your stomach twisted like a wrung-out towel, the weight of seeing Curly again sitting heavily in your chest.

The knock at the door jolted you out of your spiraling thoughts. You smoothed your shirt and opened it, a bright smile already plastered on your face.

Daisuke was the first to step in, his easy grin lighting up the room. “I come bearing gifts!” he announced grandly, holding up a bottle of wine like a wizard revealing a prized elixir. He sniffed the air and let out a low whistle. “Wow, smells amazing in here!”

Anya followed close behind, giving you a quick hug before dropping her bag by the couch. “Oh my, you’ve outdone yourself,” she gushed, eyeing the spread on the table while placing down a pie she’d made on the kitchen counter. Everything about the pumpkin pie was perfect—a perfectly smooth surface with dollops of whipped cream that were piped on with precision.

“Don’t get too excited,” you said with a laugh, your nerves making it come out a bit stilted. “I might’ve accidentally over-salted the potatoes.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Daisuke teased, and you rolled your eyes at him, grateful for the distraction.

“And as if you didn’t overcook the salmon last time,” you shot back, elbowing him lightly. His groan of mock defeat made you smile, the exchange doing wonders to ease your nerves—until Curly stepped through the doorway.

The sight of him hit you like a freight train. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorway, and his casual jeans and perfectly fitted T-shirt might as well have been tailor-made for all the effect they had on you. His golden hair caught the warm candlelight, giving him an almost ethereal glow, and when he smiled—a small, shy one—you felt the air in your lungs turn heavy.

Your heart clenched.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—

You tore your gaze away, fixating on the food instead, pretending to fuss over the table settings.

“Hey,” he said simply, his voice warm and unassuming, as though last night hadn’t happened.

The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the soft upward curve of his lips—it all felt like too much. Your chest tightened, the sting of regret bubbling to the surface.

“Hey,” you replied, the word slipping out softer than you intended.

As everyone settled in, you found yourself stealing glances at Curly from across the table. He seemed relaxed, chatting with Daisuke about some new project he was working on, his easy tone lulling you into a false sense of security. But every so often, his gaze flickered toward you—quick, fleeting glances that made your pulse race. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to catch your eye or trying to actively avoid it.

You poured yourself a glass of wine, swirling it absently as you stared down at the roasted zucchini on your plate. Your mind wandered, already concocting a way to escape your spiraling thoughts after the night was over. Maybe you’d call one of the people you regularly hooked up with, someone uncomplicated who wouldn’t make you feel like this. But first—you had to apologize. Properly.

Anya leaned closer, her voice a low murmur. “You okay? You seem… distracted.”

You forced a smile, shaking your head. “Just tired,” you said, your tone light but unconvincing.

She studied you for a moment but let it go, turning her attention back to the table. Meanwhile, you busied yourself pouring drinks for everyone, clinging to the repetitive motions to ground yourself.

You needed to find the right moment to apologize. You just hoped Curly wouldn’t leave before you got the chance.

Unconsciously, you refilled his glass multiple times, oblivious to the way his cheeks grew pinker with each pour.

He wasn’t drunk—not even close. Curly had always been a lightweight with his emotions, not alcohol. It was you being this close, leaning over him with your hesitant, apologetic air, that sent his thoughts spinning.

When the plates were empty, you clapped your hands, forcing cheer into your voice. “Who’s up for dessert?”

“Pumpkin pie courtesy of Anya!” you added, smiling at her.

Daisuke perked up immediately. “Any dessert Anya touches turns to gold,” he said dreamily. “I still think about that key lime pie sometimes…”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, watching him pat and rub at his stomach. Moments ago, he’d claimed he was too full to move, yet now he seemed ready to demolish an entire pie by himself.

“I’ll help,” Curly blurted suddenly, standing so quickly his chair scraped against the floor. He began collecting empty plates, avoiding your gaze as his movements turned brisk and purposeful.

The two of you found yourselves alone in the kitchen.

You watched him from the doorway, your gaze trailing over his broad back as he rinsed the dishes and placed them carefully into the dishwasher. So thoughtful, so helpful, so kind. Your chest swelled with something bittersweet—gratitude tinged with guilt. How could someone so lovely have been dragged into this… mess you created?

Your breath caught when you noticed the tips of his ears were pink. Why in the world-

“Curly,” you said, your voice soft, hesitant.

He stiffened slightly, pausing mid-motion. “Yeah?”

God, you felt so guilty. He must feel so uncomfortable.

“Later, when everyone’s about to leave… could I have a word with you? Privately?”

His shoulders twitched, and he tilted his head slightly upward, his blonde hair catching the light. You winced, imagining the worst—he must be uncomfortable, must hate this, must hate you. But then he turned to face you, his expression something softer, something… nervous?

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks a little red. “I’d like to talk to you too.”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach. What did he have to talk to you for?

You moved to the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you plated slices of pumpkin pie. “Curly, just to preface, I—” You stopped, your throat tightening. “I’m so sorry.”

His eyebrows flew up, confusion flickering across his face. His lips parted like he was about to ask you something, but Daisuke’s loud laughter from the dining room interrupted the moment.

You forced a weak smile, handing him two plates. “Let’s go.”

You carried the dessert back to the table together, but the knot in your chest only grew heavier. The words lingered on your tongue, waiting for a moment that might never come.

A couple of hours and a few glasses of wine later, Anya and Daisuke exchanged a glance you couldn’t quite decipher. Anya sighed—almost contentedly—while rising from her seat.

“Well, it’s about time for us to head out. Thanks for the amazing dinner!”

You walked them to the door, your mind already spinning from what was coming next. Hugging them both tightly, you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks for the wine, Daisuke. And Anya, the pie was heavenly as always.”

“No problem,” Daisuke said, grinning as he patted his stomach. “And remember: dessert stomachs are a thing.”

As their laughter faded down the hallway and the door clicked shut, the air in the room grew heavier. Turning back, you saw Curly sitting hunched over on the couch, his elbows propped on his knees and his fingers laced together. His cheeks were tinged pink, and his biceps flexed subtly as he leaned forward, lost in thought.

Your gaze lingered on him—on the quiet strength he carried, the way the light made his hair glow like gold. But then you tore your eyes away, guilt curling tighter in your chest.

“Curly, I—” You hesitated, deciding to sit across from him rather than beside him, worried you might make him uncomfortable. Your hands fidgeted in your lap as you avoided his gaze. “What I did last night… It was so inappropriate, and I’m so sorry. I probably made you so uncomfortable, and—”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. The sound disarmed you, warm and low, like a summer breeze cutting through the tension in your chest.

“Hey.” His voice was gentle as his eyes met yours. “I didn’t mind it.”

Your breath caught. You couldn’t look away, the way his gaze softened and lingered making your heart beat faster.

Before you could process his words, Curly stood up and walked over, taking the seat beside you. The couch dipped under his weight, and the warmth radiating off him was so tangible you felt your pulse stutter. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him.

“Wait. What?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“I mean…” His face turned redder, and he coughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t mind if… you wanted to cuddle after… sex.”

Your mind froze, his words reverberating in your ears as your brain raced to make sense of them.

Cuddle? After what?

And then it hit you.

“Oh my God,” you shrieked, burying your burning face in your hands. “What else did I say to you while I was drunk!?”

The mortification was instant and complete. Your skin prickled with heat as your thoughts spiraled to the worst possible scenarios. Whatever it was, it had to be bad. You didn’t trust your drunk self to have any sense of shame or decorum.

Curly chuckled, the sound light and amused, and your heart twisted in response. “I don’t mind,” he said softly, gently prying your hands from your face. His touch was impossibly warm, firm but careful, as if you were something delicate.

You reluctantly let him, meeting his gaze with what had to be the most mortified expression he’d ever seen.

“I was hoping for it, actually,” he added, his lips quirking into a shy smile that made your stomach flip.

For a moment, you could only stare at him, utterly appalled. Sitting this close to you, holding your wrists, was the most handsome man you’d ever met. And he wasn’t just okay with what you’d said—he liked it? Wanted it?

This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare.

As if to confirm this wasn’t some cruel trick of your imagination, his hands shifted. One slid from your wrist to cup your face, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek. His hands were big and warm, his touch tender in a way that made your breath hitch.

“May I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words sent a jolt through you. His gaze searched yours, his eyes patient yet tinged with vulnerability. He wasn’t teasing. He was serious.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe.

“Yes, Curly, please,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could process them.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a soft smile before he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. The kiss was so gentle, so achingly tender, it made your chest ache.

His hand stayed on your cheek, his other resting lightly on the couch beside you, keeping his presence steady but not overwhelming.

Your mind reeled. You couldn’t reconcile this—the softness of his kiss, the warmth of his touch—with your guilt and embarrassment. But as his lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, the world seemed to fade away.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hand lingered against your cheek. His eyes searched yours, his expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

“You’re… okay?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with hesitation.

“I…” You blinked, still dazed, your heart thundering in your chest. “I don’t understand. Why would you want this? After everything I said—everything I did—”

He kissed you again.

“I know you’re embarrassed,” he continued, his voice steady but kind. “And I know you think you messed up, but you didn’t. Not for me.”

The sincerity in his gaze was unbearable. You wanted to look away, but he held you there, his hand grounding you as your emotions churned.

The kiss lingered in the air long after you’d pulled away. Curly’s gaze locked onto yours, searching for something—anything—that would anchor him in the chaos you’d just unleashed. Your expression was a mix of confusion and something else he couldn’t name, and he was sure his face wasn’t much better.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off before you could speak. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said quickly, his voice lower than usual, rougher. His hand still rested on your cheek, the warmth of your skin seeping into his palm.

Your brow furrowed, but you didn’t push. “Okay,” you murmured, almost hesitant.

He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Maybe we... take things slow?” His stomach twisted even as the words left his mouth. He wanted you—God, he wanted you—but not like this. Not with you still looking at him like you were bracing for a rejection that he’d never even consider giving.

But then you nodded, a small, nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Yeah, sure. Slow sounds good.” Your fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, and he felt his confidence from the wine slipping.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, exactly—it was heavy, charged. He could feel it in the way your shoulder brushed his when you leaned back, in the way your foot tapped anxiously against the floor.

“Curly,” you began, breaking the quiet. He turned to face you, his chest tightening at the seriousness in your tone. “About what happened. Where do we go from here?”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he waited for you to continue.

“We could...” He hesitated, biting his lip. “We could just keep it casual. No pressure, no expectations. We don’t have to make it... a thing.”

Although those words came out of his own mouth, it hit him like a gut punch, and he hated how quickly his brain latched onto it. He hated himself for even considering it, for wanting to be close to you in any way he could. “No expectations,” he said again, his voice flat. He was so afraid of you rejecting him that he ended it right there—putting you into a situation he knew you were comfortable with.

After all, he knew you were completely comfortable with just hooking up with people. A part of him didn’t even consider that you’d ever want to be in a committed relationship. And honestly, you thought the same thing about him.

You nodded, expression unreadable. “Yeah, sure. I mean, we’re adults. We can handle it, right?”

He wanted to tell you “nevermind” and “no”. Wanted to tell you that he didn’t want “casual,” didn’t want to be another passing thing in your life. But the thought of losing you, the thought of not having what little you were okay with offering made his chest ache.

“Yeah,” he said finally, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “If that’s what you want.”

Even then, his mind raced at the idea you’d even be okay with kissing him. Fuck, he thought you didn’t even find him attractive whatsoever.

The room felt smaller, the air thick with something. Curly’s hand started cupping your face again, his pretty eyes searching yours as if for answers to questions he didn’t dare ask out loud. His eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he blinked, watching the nerves show in your face.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

And with that, the dam broke.

With a groan that was half pain, half relief, he pulled you closer. Your mouths collided, the kiss deepening as he lost all semblance of control. His other hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer still. Everything was so warm about him—his hands, his lips, his hold, everything. You found yourself trying not to melt in his hold.

It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken desires, of quiet yearnings kept hidden beneath a veil of friendship. Even then, it wasn’t honest.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you kissed him back with a passion that surprised even you. You felt alive, your body responding in a way it never had with anyone else. His scent was intoxicating, the warmth of his skin like a blanket on a cold night. You fumbled at the hem of his shirt, eager to feel more of him, to explore the muscular planes of his body that you’d admired from afar.

He broke the kiss, his chest heaving. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with need.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. “Yes,” you breathed.

With a gentle nod, he stood, lifting you in his arms with no effort and carrying you to your bed. For all you knew, you looked up at him like he hung the stars. The thought of it made your eyes wrench away from his face, still.

He laid you down with care, his hands roaming over your body as he removed your clothing. You felt a thrill of excitement as his fingertips brushed against your skin, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

He took in a sharp breath as he felt the planes of your body, thoughts conflicted but so satisfied all at the same time.

The room was a blur of sensations as you lost yourself in the moment. The weight of his body pressing down on yours, the heat of his breath against your neck, the way his hands moved with a confidence that sent shivers down your spine. There was no room for doubt, no space for regrets. Only the here and now, the feel of his skin against yours, and the promise of pleasure that grew with every shared touch.

He unbuttoned his jeans with a smoothness that belied his own excitement and then slid off your pants and underwear off in one fluid movement.

Curly’s eyes roamed over your naked body, a mix of hunger and awe in his gaze. He leaned in, kissing a trail from your belly button to your chest, taking his time to savor every inch of you. His mouth closed around one nipple, eliciting a gasp from you, while his hand explored further down.

The world outside the room ceased to exist as he entered you, filling you in a way that was both familiar and new.

There were no words, only the sound of your breaths mingling with his, the slap of skin against skin, and the heady rhythm that grew faster, more urgent with each passing moment.

You felt the tension build, your body tightening around him like a vice. He kissed you again, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hips, and you knew you were close. So close.

And then, with a cry that seemed to tear itself from the very depths of your soul, you climaxed, the waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. He followed, his own release a silent exclamation of ecstasy as he twitched and thrusted once more.

As the aftershocks of passion ebbed away, the room grew still, the silence broken only by the sound of your unsteady breaths. You lay there, staring up at the ceiling, your body warm against Curly’s, his steady heartbeat thumping beneath your ear as you leaned against his chest. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on you—not in regret, but in the terrifying awareness that this wasn’t just physical for you.

Your chest felt heavy, though you couldn’t bring yourself to move. His hand rested idly on your back, his thumb tracing soft circles that you weren’t sure he even realized he was doing. The quiet intimacy of it made your heart ache. You tried to focus on the present, on the afterglow, on the way his skin felt against yours, but your thoughts kept spiraling.

This wasn’t supposed to feel this way. It never has when you hooked up with others.

“Stay the night, Curly,” you said suddenly, your voice softer than you intended. You lifted your head from his chest to look at him, catching the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he smiled—soft, hesitant, but undeniably warm. “You sure?” he asked, his voice low and still tinged with the rasp of moments earlier.

You nodded, biting back the urge to explain yourself too much. “I don’t want to have to treat you like... the others,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The confession hung in the air, vulnerable and raw. You swallowed hard, the truth settling uncomfortably between you. You already knew—you couldn’t even imagine sleeping with (or even holding—at this point) anyone else after him.

His chest rose and fell beneath your head in a steady rhythm, his gaze fixed on yours. For a moment, you thought he might push back, remind you of the rules you both agreed on. But instead, his hand slid up to your hair, his fingers weaving gently through it. “You don’t have to,” he murmured, the weight of his words carrying more meaning than you could unpack in that moment.

You melted a little at his words, your lips curving into a small smile despite yourself. The knot in your chest eased just enough for you to breathe again. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding on until now.

You were still staring at his face after it all, still trying to regain your bearings. Then, breaking the tension with a casualness that felt both maddening and endearing, he grinned at you, boyish and bright. “Wanna grab milkshakes?”

The abruptness of it startled a laugh out of you, your forehead dropping against his chest as the tension between you shifted into something lighter. “Milkshakes?” you repeated, lifting your head to meet his gaze again.

“Yeah, I know a place that’s open late. Best chocolate shake you’ve ever had. Trust me,” he said, his grin widening. “Though I prefer malt.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound soft and unguarded. “Fine,” you said, shaking your head. “But you’re paying.”

“That was the plan anyway.”

And just like that, the moment shifted. The raw, vulnerable edges dulled slightly, tucked away for another time. But as he kissed your forehead and started pulling on his clothes, you couldn’t help but feel it—your heart was already too tangled for this to stay as simple as you pretended it could be.

a/n: let me know what you all think pleeeease!

big thank you to all the commentors, reblogs, and general LOVE that i've been getting from these fics. it means everything to me & keeps me writing <3

true curly tiddie yucky coming in the next chapter lol

taglist is open! lmk if you want to be on the taglist for just curly/mouthwashing characters or if you want the news on alll my fics.

also might be accepting requests hehe! i can’t guarantee that i can do em, but i’ll accept ideas!

as always, not beta read, please let me know if there are any typos/inconsistencies lmfao;; stay safe & hydrated as always!

thanks for reading! <3

crossposted on ao3

taglist: @m-carriaga2021, @skyeconch, @wolfsune09, @luvsymai

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter - next chapter (comin soon)⇨

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