#Alcohol consumption

[aventurineswife]

College AU part II

Ok but what if reader comes home one evening (alhaitham is away for a while) and finds kaveh on his maybe 4th glass of wine so they know he is stressed...again. And while they try coax him to get some rest, kaveh in his half drunk state blurts out he likes reader.

Reader is of course stunned, but thinks they can figure it out in the morning when kaveh is better and if he remembers saying it. Just after reader tucks kaveh in, he grabs them and pulls them down next to him and cuddles them, falling asleep right then and there. Unfortunately, reader has no way out of his iron grip and falls asleep there.

Kaveh might have a mini heart attack in the morning XD just two silly idiots who are pining for each other so hard, its too comical (yes, you can end it with a more proper fleshed out confession blurted out by both at the same time, we love silly idiots in love)

“The best thing to hold onto in life is each other” | Part 2

Summary: You come home one evening to find Kaveh on his fourth glass of wine, clearly stressed from his work. As you try to coax him to get some rest, he unexpectedly blurts out that he likes you. Stunned but uncertain, you decide to wait until morning to see if he remembers. After tucking Kaveh in, he unexpectedly pulls you down beside him, cuddling you tightly as he drifts off to sleep. Trapped in his embrace, you eventually fall asleep too.

Tags: Kaveh x Reader, Modern AU, College AU, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Lighthearted Romance, Confessions from both sides.

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Potential minor implications of intoxication.

A/N: AHAHA I KNEW IT YOU WERE GONNA COMMENT SOMETHING LIKE THIS ANON!! 🤭

Part 1

You stepped into the apartment, the familiar scent of Kaveh’s notes and scattered architectural plans filling the air. You called out a casual greeting, but the only response was the soft clink of glass against wood. Frowning, you moved toward the dining room and found Kaveh slouched at the table, a half-empty bottle of wine by his side, the remnants of his fourth glass pooling at the bottom.

“Kaveh?” you ventured cautiously, noting the slight flush to his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

He looked up, his sharp red eyes slightly glazed over. A lopsided smile spread across his face, the kind that hinted at a lighthearted spirit struggling against the weight of his stress. “I’m... splendid!” he declared, raising the glass like a trophy. “A true artist needs his inspiration, after all!”

You stepped closer, assessing the chaotic spread of sketches and blueprints littering the table. “It looks like you’ve been at this for hours. You need to get some rest.”

Kaveh waved his hand dismissively, though it was less of a confident gesture and more a sign of his unsteady state. “Rest is for the weak! I can’t stop now; I have to finish this project for the exhibition next week! It’s... it’s my masterpiece!” He emphasized this last word with a theatrical flourish that made you chuckle despite the concern gnawing at your heart.

“Your masterpiece can wait until tomorrow,” you insisted gently, moving to pull the bottle away from him. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up.”

He pouted, a mix of frustration and exhaustion in his eyes. “But you don’t understand! Everything I do has to be perfect! I can’t let anyone down!” His voice wavered, revealing a hint of the pressure that had been weighing on him. You sat beside him, feeling a swell of sympathy.

“You’re not letting anyone down by taking care of yourself,” you said softly, placing a hand on his back. “You’re more than your work, Kaveh.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider this, his expression softening. “I know, but—” He paused, taking another sip of wine. “But you’re the only one who sees that, you know?”

You felt your heart flutter. “I’m just trying to help you, that’s all.”

He leaned back in his chair, suddenly serious, the laughter fading from his eyes. “You really care, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” You could feel your face heating up as you met his gaze, but then he startled you with his next words.

“I like you,” he blurted, words tumbling out in a rush. “Like, a lot. You make me feel... happy, and I—”

The weight of the moment struck you like lightning, leaving you utterly speechless. Your mind raced as you processed his confession. “Wait, you like me?”

“Yes, I—”

But before he could continue, you shook your head slightly, wanting to ground the conversation. “Kaveh, you’ve had a bit too much to drink right now. Maybe we should talk about this in the morning?”

He blinked at you, confusion swirling in his red eyes. “But I mean it,” he insisted, slightly slurring his words now. “I really do like you... a lot.”

Trying to keep a straight face amid the internal chaos, you nodded slowly. “Okay, let’s get you to bed, and we can figure it out when you’re sober.”

With some effort, you helped him to his feet, guiding him toward his room. He stumbled slightly, and you laughed softly, feeling a mixture of affection and exasperation. Once in his room, you helped him settle onto his bed, pulling the covers over him gently. “Get some sleep, Kaveh.”

He turned onto his side, looking up at you with a sleepy smile. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

You hesitated, glancing back at the door. “I—”

Before you could finish, Kaveh reached out and grabbed your wrist, tugging you down beside him with surprising strength. You landed beside him, flustered and caught off guard. “Kaveh, what—”

“Stay,” he murmured, already drifting off. “I like you... so much...”

And with that, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close against his side, his warmth enveloping you like a soft blanket. You felt your heart race, trapped in his iron grip, unable to escape. You’d never expected this turn of events, yet you couldn’t deny the comfort of being beside him.

With a resigned sigh, you nestled into his side, feeling your eyelids grow heavy as you tried to process everything that had just happened.

The sun filtered through the curtains the next morning, the warmth of daylight creeping into Kaveh’s room. You stirred awake, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings and feeling the weight of Kaveh’s arm draped possessively over you.

Panic shot through you as you remembered the night before. You carefully extricated yourself from his grip, only to find his eyes fluttering open, blinking against the light.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. Then his expression shifted from drowsy to horrified as realization washed over him. “Oh, no... Did I...?”

“Uh, yeah,” you admitted, trying to suppress a smile. “You might have confessed your feelings while drunk.”

Kaveh shot up, wide-eyed, his hair a wild mess. “I what?!”

You chuckled, leaning back on your hands. “You definitely did, Kaveh. But it’s okay. We can talk about it if you want.”

He put his head in his hands, mortified. “I can’t believe I did that! This is so embarrassing!”

“Relax,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice. “You weren’t wrong in what you said.”

Kaveh looked up at you, confusion etched on his features. “What do you mean?”

Taking a deep breath, you smiled softly at him. “I like you too, Kaveh. A lot. But maybe we should both be sober when we talk about it more seriously.”

His eyes lit up, and he sat straighter, a spark of hope igniting in them. “Really? You—”

Before he could finish, you both blurted out at the same time, “I like you!”

You stared at each other, a mix of surprise and joy on your faces. Laughter erupted from both of you, the tension breaking like a wave.

“Okay, so we both like each other,” you said, feeling your heart race at the realization. “Now what?”

Kaveh grinned, the nervousness replaced by his usual exuberance. “I think we should start with a proper date. I’ll even design a place that’s beautiful enough to impress you!”

You laughed again, shaking your head at the endearing absurdity of it all. “I’m looking forward to it, Kaveh. Just try not to spill your feelings after too much wine next time.”

He smirked, leaning closer. “No promises!”

And with that, two silly idiots finally embraced their feelings, their hearts in sync as they began to carve out a new chapter together, full of beauty, laughter, and love.

[aheckinmess]

Chapter 1/? of Top Shelf, a bartender Sukuna AU that was inspired by someone on Instagram (@pikkufrog). It started out as my take on bartender Sukuna and has gradually devolved into a fic idea. Since I finished chapter 1, I figured I'd post it.

Read on AO3.

Tags: Ryomen Sukuna, Ryoumen Sukuna, Sukuna x Reader, Sukuna x You, Female Reader, Soft Sukuna, Bartender Sukuna, Bartender AU, Canon Divergence, Might Devolve into Jujutsu Sorcery, Who Can Say?, Reader is Drunk, Shameless Flirting, Alcohol Consumption, Sukuna's House Makes an Appearance, Sukuna Collects Skulls, And Also Books, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Yuji Will Eventually Make an Appearance, Somewhere in This Series, Suggestive Themes, Suggestive Content, Reader Gets Hit On, But Nothing Actually Happens

Word Count: 2,169 words

Summary: After a long, difficult week, you find yourself at your favorite bar, people watching and appreciating the view. The view being Ryomen Sukuna, the local bartender. With a little liquid courage, you find yourself flirting shamelessly until he invites you to his place. What happens afterwards is a bartender and bookstore barista trying to find balance among their chaotic lives.

Chapter 1: A Shot in the Dark

After a long day of work, there’s no better way to wind down than to people watch at the bar. Dulling your mind with a few drinks loosens your muscles and stifles your insecurities. At the end of the counter, your eyes wander over the bartender you see regularly this time of day.

Damn, he’s hot. You sip the rest of your margarita and rest your head in your hand. As your head gets heavier, your gaze lowers from his face to his broad shoulders, roams down, and settles on the curve of his ass. His fingers stretch inside the cup he’s cleaning, his back to you. Do me like that.

“Enjoy the view?” Soft lips tilt up into a smirk as he steps over, leaning across the dark wood. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, darling. Have a rough week?”

Your cheeks darken to match his hair, but you stretch across the counter towards him anyway. 

“It’s been long. Dealing with people is frustrating.” You pout.

He laughs as he finishes cleaning the glass and sets it down. He mutters something that you miss as you get distracted with the tattoos on his chest, peeking out of his button-up. A soft whine whistles through your nose before his finger tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“Can I get you anything to drink, (Name)?” 

“An amaretto sour and a shot of tequila.” You lick your lips, acutely aware of how easy it would be for him to wrap his fingers around your neck. Hot! I need to calm myself before I do something I regret. 

You do your best to behave. But it is entirely unfair just how much his clothes strain against his body. The black fabric practically screams with his every move. 

“Here. If you’re going to gawk, you can at least use your words to tell me how good I look.” Sukuna taunts, tapping the counter to regain your attention. You throw back the shot without hesitation as your fingers ring the rim of your drink.

“But I wanna hear you talk.” You admit, holding out your open palm for his. You’re pleasantly surprised when he places his hand in yours and lets you trace the patterns of his tattoos. “Your voice makes me melt.” Oops…where’d that come from?

You can’t say you regret it, because it’s the first time he doesn’t meet your eyes as his cheeks flush bright pink. His hand twitches in yours.

“You’re too cute for your own good.” He pulls his hand back and drums his sharp nails on the countertop. “Here. Let me get their drinks and then we’ll talk.”

Your eyes follow him down the bar until you feel someone sit beside you; a tap on your shoulder pulls your gaze away from Sukuna and onto a red-haired stranger. “Mm?”

“I noticed you were over here looking lonely, pretty thing.” His voice is calm and smooth despite his obvious intoxication. “You wanna get out of here?” He winks.

You shake your head, trying to shove aside the immediate instinct to call back the bartender. I am perfectly capable of handling a drunk on my own. “I’m not really interested, thank you.”

“Ah, understood. Figured I’d shoot my shot, though.” He tips his head and struggles to get to his feet. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous, for what it’s worth.” 

“Thank you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

While Mr. Red Hair might be a perfect gentleman, his friend mutters something to him before wandering over himself. You deliberately turn towards Sukuna, trying to make it obvious who you’re interested in.

“You’re not interested in my buddy, huh? Can’t blame you. He’s a scrawny fellow. Not a lot to offer.” A gravelly voice speaks over your shoulder.

You ignore it.

Mr. Blonde & Buff doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“You’re not ignoring me, now, are you?” He growls, shoving your shoulder to look at him.

You wobble dangerously in your chair, hand flashing out for the counter when something steadies you from behind. Strong, warm, tattooed arms keep you from sprawling into the floor.

“That’s enough, Riku. Either go back to your table or get the fuck out.” The unspoken or else hangs in the air, dripping from Sukuna’s voice and the way he braces his shoulders, like he’s prepared to kick ass.

And damn, if it isn’t hot.

“Tch. Whatever.” He grumbles several obscenities as he stumbles over to his seat, not even glancing back in your direction.

“Sorry about that. Riku’s…well, an asshole, to put it lightly.” Sukuna sighs, pulling his hands away and gliding around the counter to stand across from you. “Are you alright?” 

“Why’d you let go? You can stay here.” You whine, chasing your straw with your tongue before taking a long drink. It gets warmer as you look up at him, hanging on his every word.

“I wasn’t sure if that might make you uncomfortable. You’d already voiced your disinterest to the other two.” He smirks, resting his chin on his fist. “I don’t make you uncomfortable?”

“No. I told them no, because I like your company better!” Your chair wobbles under the passion of your movements, but somehow you manage to keep from toppling over like an idiot.

“My company, huh? Why’s that?” 

“You’re an asshole, but you’re a respectable asshole.” You yawn, stretching out your back.

He barks out a laugh, causing the head of every drunk to swivel in his direction. Sukuna’s not exactly known for being full of mirth.

“A respectable asshole…” He grins and tucks a strand of your hair back in place. “So, can this respectable asshole ask when you’re free to come by my place?” 

“Can I come by later tonight?” You ask. “I don’t know that I’d be able to make my way home in the dark anyway…but if you’d like I can–”

“Tonight works.” He purrs, face marginally closer to yours. “I don’t get off for another thirty minutes. Think you can wait that long?”

“I’ll wait.” You agree, swallowing thickly. “If you keep getting that close to me, though, I’ll have no choice but to kiss you.”

Is it you, or does he move even closer? The tip of his nose almost meets yours as he looks down at you. The red of his eyes glistens under the dim bar light, pulling breath after shuddering breath from you. Your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You’re quite bold after a few drinks, aren’t you?” He chuckles.

“Not bold, just a warning of what you’re in for if you keep looking at me like that.” You murmur, aching to claim his lips and wipe that smirk off his face.

But you don’t. You wait for thirty minutes like a good girl, in and out of focus as you watch him clean up and get ready to leave. He disappears behind the employee door and comes out soon after.

“Ready, love?” He extends his arm while swinging his keys around his finger.

You get up from your chair, but forget about the step down from the counter. You fall straight into a pair of muscular arms as he catches you. You’re certainly not complaining.

“Watch your step.” He snorts. “As often as I’ve seen you in here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

“I needed to feel numb.” You explain, leaning your head against his chest as his arm comes around your waist. 

He guides you out of the bar, leading you to a car. Your stomach turns as it copes with the alcohol in its system. I could use some carbs.

“You got any french fries?” You ask, swinging his arm between the two of you. 

“That’s right, you didn’t eat much tonight. We’ll grab some on the way to my place.” His fingers comb through your hair. “Anything else you want?” “You.” It slips out before you can help it. 

“That can certainly be arranged.” He whispers in your ear, thumb grazing your side. But he pulls back and loosens his grip on you. “But it’ll have to be when you’re sober enough to remember it.” 

If he was sexy before, he becomes a hundred times sexier to you with that admission alone. He helps you into his car and starts the trek to the nearest fast food chain and orders some fries. When you offer your money, he rolls his eyes and hands the cashier his card.

“If you won’t let me pay, at least take my money.” You shove it back at him.

“You pay me money all the time to make you drinks. Allow me to return the favor.” He swats the money away. “Put that back.”

“But I don’t make you drinks!” “No, but you’ve made me very amused this evening.” 

You both get your order and when he tells you to dig in, you stuff your face full of fries. Your head lulls against the leather seat with your eyes closed in ecstasy. Truly, carbs are the superior food group.

By the time he opens your door at his house, you’ve inhaled a full serving of fries and gulped half of your water. He takes the food and you follow him inside.

Dark red walls greet you in the living room, with lavish furniture that matches his personality. A dark brown leather sofa sits adjacent to a matching recliner, and a coat rack with a cow skull on top stands in the foyer.

He catches your appraising eyes and smiles.

“I have a bit of an obsession with animal skulls.” He nods to the mantle decorated with skulls of more variety. “They’re interesting to me. But I keep my library down this hall. You enjoy reading, don’t you?”

“Mhmm!” 

He takes your hand and leads you into a room filled top to bottom with colorfully illustrated spines. His shelves all match and he’s got them organized neatly with added trinkets here and there for decoration. You vaguely remember telling him last week about your new favorite manga when he steps over to his large collection with you.

“As you can see…there’s your favorite.” He gestures to an entire row of the Hotel of Villains series. You instantly finger the 4th book, pulling it out and gaping at the cover. “I’ll warn you, once you get to the 8th volume, things start picking up. You won’t want to put it down.”

You’re too enthralled with the cover in front of you before you sling your arms around his waist, voice muffled as your face gets squished into his chest.

“Thank you.” You whimper, tears draining from your eyes. You tend to get a little more emotional when drunk. “I’ve been waiting so long to read the rest…and my favorite character is trapped so I’ve been so worried.”

“Heh. Dasuko is your favorite?” Sukuna smiles crookedly.

“I know he’s the big bad villain but he’s such a respectable one!” You whine, turning away self-consciously. In the world of fandom, you’ve learned there’s no telling how anyone will react to your favorite characters.

“Mm, I guess respectable assholes are your type, huh?”

You hide behind your hair, trying to get your sludgy brain to decipher whether he’s just teasing or being serious.

“Hey, hey,” He tilts your chin up at him. There’s a growing smile on his face. “I’m not shaming you. I think it’s cute that someone so soft would fall for someone so…feral.” His eyes shine under the glow of the light. “He’s one of my favorites too.”

You smile up at him before his hand rubbing your back reminds you that he’s still wrapped in your embrace. You set the book back, before you sway into his chest. Your fingers search out his exposed skin and you paw at him.

“Do you mind if I stay?” You purr sweetly.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow and takes your hands in his.

“You may stay for a place to sleep. But I will not take advantage of you. Any woman would choose me with a hazy mind. Only women who understand my worth and power would choose me while sober.” He croons.

You’re of a stubborn disposition, though, and feeling a bit whiny as your mind fogs. You slide to your knees and look up at him in hopes to change his mind. 

“(Name).” He speaks, voice thicker but still resolute. “No.”

You huff, but try on a compromise.

“Fine. But…can I at least have a kiss?” You ask, forcing yourself back up into a standing position, giving yourself an indulgent look at his mouth. I’ve been dying to kiss you all night…all week! Please say yes.

“Mm,” His gaze flickers to your lips and back to your face. “One little peck, and then off to bed with you.”

It’s short and brief, but those soft lips tap yours as he bends down to kiss you. He pulls back almost as soon as he’s started, and you whimper when he does.

“Come. Let’s put you in bed.”

Part 2 coming soon!

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Thinking about Steve getting so big and round that he can rest on his belly like it’s a giant beanbag and he’s alone without Bucky so he starts to belly fuck himself and is just whining and moaning and panting being very verbal while feeling himself jiggle

Asdfghjkl 🥵🥵🥵

Oh.

Warning for unbeta'd stucky belly kink ahead, including impossible/unrealistic levels of belly fat, belly humping, immobility, etc.

A stuttered, high moan bursts desperately out of Steve’s heaving chest as he squirms on top of his impossibly big gut. The sensation is otherworldly. It doesn’t feel real even though it’s so fucking visceral. It’s all he can feel. He can only feel his own fat. Fat. Fat. Fat. Huge. He’s lost in it, lost in his own fucking fat. Steve’s grown so huge. Fattened and then overfattened recklessly. Ungodly round and swollen.

Steve lets his head hang down toward his overgrown middle and chest, pecs turned to moobs to just breasts, they’re so big and fat. All of him is. And he’s out of breath, panting and gasping, just from bucking his hips down frantically, barely doing any work at all, just trying to get any sort of friction to his blubber-buried dick. He hasn’t seen his dick in so fucking long, he hasn’t had Bucky’s hand or mouth or anything of Bucky’s around his dick is so long. His dick might as well be gone at this point, all of his normal sexual pleasure replaced by the pure pleasure of consumption - eating like a madman, eating so much that his belly stretches and he moans and cries, swearing he’s going to burst at the seams, straining around all this food and drink packed and stuffed into his body. It’s how he’d like to go, though, if he has to, he’s going to ride the wave of utter unrestrained gluttony like a true pig. Steve shivers just thinking about it - oh, oh, fuck yes. His gut stretched, new marks etching themselves into his thick flesh, his stomach churning and gurgling, his skin flushed red with how big he’s made himself, his body glistening with sweat, and creaking. There’s not enough room. There’s never enough room for everything he wants inside him. Delicious, decadent food.

Steve’s thinking about stuffing himself now, while he fucks his own fat. He’s reached an entirely new plane of greed and gluttony that he can’t be stopped. He’s the size of a boulder, his belly the shape of one, and he’s going to be stopped just about as easily as a boulder rolling down the side of a mountain. Jesus, he’s greedy. He’s fat. Huge. He’s moaning, crazed with the sensation of what he’s become.

The only thing Steve has to work with to get out his throbbing, pulsing arousal is the taut, huge surface of his belly. Nothing else. He’s so big. He can’t reach anything but so of his gut. Even his belly is too big for him to reach all of it. Steve whimpers. All he can feel his the sweaty, hot sensation of his own overfattened flesh. Thick and heavy, wobbling and jiggling underneath him. All over him. He’s massive. He almost can’t breathe, his stomach is so filled and so hard and pressing into him, trying and failing to find any more room to expand into.

Still, having trouble breathing or not, with every lazy thrust of his hips, pleasure sparks inside Steve. It feels so good. Fucking his own fat. So. good. But he needs more. Still. Steve always needs more. More food, more pleasure, and more complete hedonism.

Really writhing now, not just squirming, Steve’s toes curl until the soles of his feet ache like the sizes of his absolutely massive belly do, trying to stretch around all those calories, exponentially swelling him more. More. Steve whimpers unstoppably through a burp. There’s gas inside him rolling and bubbling in his stretched stomach and intestines from the damn keg of beer Bucky poured into him (trying, in vain, to placate and satisfy the monster of Steve’s appetite that they’ve built together) before he left to work on the monumental task of gathering, buying, and then hauling all the groceries they (mostly just Steve) need at home. So, now, Steve’s gargantuan stomach is carbonated. The feeling of bubbles in him is too much. He keeps belching and moaning, the bloat, the pressure mounting inside him. He’s gonna explode. All the humping and wiggling isn’t helping, he’s making more bubbles inside himself. Pressure. More pressure, tricking his body into thinking he’s fuller and leaving him panting even harder. He’s so fat. He can’t believe it.

Actually, he can believe it. He lives in his own head with the constant onslaught of thoughts that demand moremoremoremoremore. That’s how he got so giant. More. That’s how he grew this massive, round gut that holds his body off the ground like he’s laid out on a big, plush beanbag.

More.

Lavish.

Soft.

Big.

Steve just can’t fucking help himself. He’s so gluttonous and he doesn’t want to stop. Never.

Waves of his own wobbling fat take Steve beyond reason, almost beyond pleasure. It’s fucking good. So good that he can’t comprehend what he’s become. A true, immobile beached whale. His feet can’t touch the ground, they haven’t been able to touch the ground in ages. Ages and ages that have only been filled with food and drink - filled like Steve is filled. Overfilled. Unbearably filled with literally anything that Bucky wants to shove down his throat, from greasy pizzas to rich pastas to creamy desserts to malty beer and thick milkshakes.

More.

Steve licks his lips, whining. He just keeps fantasizing about food while he humps and fucks his gut. Jiggling. Wobbling. Bloating. Slowly… slowly… slowly growing fatter, stuffed with food, and always reaching new heights. Every day that goes by he’s the fattest he’s ever been and also the smallest he’ll be from now on.

God.

Another burp makes its way out of Steve, he intends to moan, squeezing his arms and legs into the blubbery sides of his belly - what he can reach of the sides of his belly underneath him - but he can’t control whether or not he moans or burps. He can’t control himself. What’s the difference anyway at this point? Indulgence is pleasure, pleasure is indulgence; food is sex, sex is food. There is no difference. All he knows is the pure sensation of unending fat underneath him. His body. So big. He can’t comprehend how fucking huge he is and it makes him so fucking horny.

[freshiegayboi]

All the Sanses playing "never had I ever" and it getting steamy. Except Blue has drunk every single time for anything they could think of. Everyone has a conniption.

you. you get it /lh

went with the ever fun Blue and the Bad Sans Poly for this, just to keep it funky lol enjoy!!

(this one gets a little nsfw, so its under the cut for talk about kinks and suggestive stuff. please do not read if you are under 18!!)

~.~

Laughter filled the castle, and had been for a couple hours. The longer the drinks were brought out, the louder the gleeful sounds got, until Nightmare finally cut them off. Water only, but as a consolation he permitted them to play a few group games, without his supervision.

He knew they were less likely to try anything violent with how drunk they'd all gotten, but he was also fairly likely to come back to something less than innocent if he didn't give them something else to do.

It was Horror that had recommended Never Have I Ever, a simple game that while usually had alcoholic drinks accompanying it, was easily supplemented with weird sodas. Blue had agreed easily; surely it couldn't get too bad.

Now armed with ranch, bacon, bubblegum and other various flavored sodas, they started in almost immediately on the most hardcore things they could think of.

"Never have I ever kissed someone until they couldn't breathe!" Killer said, smirking as both Horror and Cross blinked, then took a drink, grimacing at the taste of synthetic bacon. All of them did a double take, however, when Blue also took a drink. He didn't seem to notice them all staring at him until he glanced up from his phone, his sockets widening.

"What?"

Killer shook himself out of his shock, waving a hand. "You're just a lot more kinky than we thought, Baby Blue, that's all! Your turn Dusty~"

Dust gave him a look, then signed a quick "Never have I ever spanked anyone."

This time Killer took a drink, gagging at the horrendous taste of fake bubblegum, as well as Cross. But they all stared as, once again, Blue took a drink with them.

"...Blue?" Horror asked, Blue startling as he realized they were all staring at him again with something only definable as total shock.

"What? I like impact play!"

Horror blinked, but shrugged. "Alright. My turn, I guess. Never have I ever... Used a knife on somebody."

Killer raised a brow, Horror huffing a laugh as he supplemented a "Sexually."

Dust took a drink. Killer took a drink. Blue took a drink.

And once again, they all stared. Blue stared back, perplexed through the state of being drunk off his ass, and finally said...

"...I've literally done all these things with you guys."

And well. There was truth to that, wasn't there?

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

A Drunk Mind Speaks A Sober Heart Part 1

Summary: Reader gets injured on a call but Buck is swiftly to the rescue with Eddie in tow. Later on, Reader and Buck make drunken confessions to separate confidants. 

TW/CW: Evan “Buck” Buckley x Reader, Best Friends to Lovers, House Fire, Injured Reader, Alcohol Consumption

Requested?: No 

Word Count: 3,042

A/N: Alrighty, part 2 picks up right after where this one leaves off and I’ll have it up as soon as I edit through it lol. This took like 4 or 5 hours to write as a whole and I’m pretty fuckin proud of it. 

A/N: I can't... he's so fucking adorable.

Part 2 Here

--- Third Person POV --- 

    It’s Monday and the LAFD 118 team has been called to a two-story house fire and said house is beginning to collapse. Buck and Eddie jog away from it toward the engine to assist in putting out the rest of the fire, having rescued the residents and left them with Hen and Chim. As they approach Bobby, his gaze is cast behind them, “Where is (Y/N)?” he asks looking back to Buck and Eddie. The two look behind them and then back at each other before Buck takes off sprinting back toward the house even as the roof caves.   

    Bobby makes eye contact with Eddie who is already backing away, “Way ahead of you.” Eddie swiftly catches up with Buck as they both dodge a falling rafter.  

    “(Y/N)!” Buck yells, fear evident in his voice. Together the two yell for their teammate as they carefully pick through the flames around them. After what feels like ages, but is only a couple of minutes, Eddie slaps his friend on the shoulder. Pulling him to a stop, he motions for Buck to stop yelling. Barely audible over the flames, a chorus of meows is heard.   

    The two look to each other once again. “Don’t tell me she went back for cats,” Eddie mumbles, shocked.  

    Buck sighs and begins moving toward the sound, “This is (Y/N) we’re talking about. Of course she did.”  

    Finally, they find (Y/N) lying in the corner of whats supposed to be the kitchen. A rafter seems to have swept her off of her feet and is now lying across her ribcage. The area is mostly clear of flames and lying just to the side of (Y/N), as if she had dropped it when she was crushed, is an upturned nylon basket which is the source of the meows. “Help me with this rafter,” Buck urges as he moves towards (Y/N). Together the two lift the rafter off of her and toss it aside. Buck bends down and carefully lifts (Y/N) into his arms and begins heading for an exit. Eddie retrieves the basket of cats and follows.  

    By now, the flames have been subdued and only small flickers are seen scattered across the now demolished building. Buck shakes (Y/N) softly and she begins to wake up. She looks up at him in slight confusion before looking around her. “Wait, wait,” she mumbles, “Put me down, please.” Unwillingly, Buck does so to avoid an elbow or knee to his ribs.   

--- Your POV --- 

    I stop Eddie as he catches up to us and retrieve the basket of cats from him. I look inside to make sure all three kittens and their mother are accounted for and at least breathing before I turn back around to find their owner. I spot the little girl with Hen and her parents and b-line toward them. My legs attempt to give out from under me as my ribs and head throb in pain but I need to do this. I pull my helmet off, tossing it to the ground and stop in front of the little girl. Holding out the basket to her, I offer a small smile. “Oh! Thank you so much! You shouldn’t have!” her mother gasps as she realizes what is inside the soot covered basket.  

    “I don’t know what I would do if I lost one of my fur babies. I wanted to,” I lean closer to the mother as the little girl takes the basket, exploding with joy. “For her sake,” I whisper to the mother and father.   

    The mom pulls me into a tight hug, which makes my ribs riot but I ignore them. She pulls away and places her palm against my cheek, “Thank you so much, honey. You just made this whole ordeal a little better for her.”   

    I offer another smile, “Don’t thank me yet. They’ll need a vet visit asap and,” I lower my voice, “I tried to keep them covered as much as possible with my coat but they got a good bit of smoke exposure. They seem okay now but I’m not sure about the long-term effects,” I pause, “If you catch my drift.”  

    The father nods, “We understand but regardless, thank you.”  

    I smile to both of them before kneeling in front of the little girl who has busied herself with brushing the soot off the still meowing cat and kittens, “You take real good care of them okay?” She nods eagerly as she sets the basket aside and hops down from the gurney. She wraps her small arms around my neck in a tight hug and mumbles a thank you into my shoulder. “You are very welcome, Sweetie.”  

    The little girl lets go and returns to her basket of fluff so I stand and turn around to see Buck waiting a few feet away. He does not look happy and I know I’ll get an earful later. I make my way toward him, and looking back at the little girl with her basket of cats I decide, “It was worth it,” I state firmly to Buck as he meets me and wraps an arm around my shoulders to guide me to the other side of the firetruck out of sight of the family. As soon as we round the corner of the truck, my legs give and Buck has to catch me to keep me from faceplanting the pavement.   

    He picks me up once more before setting me on the side of the truck. He brushes my hair out of my face, “You’re going to give me an aneurysm one of these days.” Bobby, Hen, and Eddie join us before I can muster up a response. By now my ribs feel like they're about to collapse inwards and my head is trying to explode. A bout of dizziness nearly takes me down again but I lean into Buck who has collected a handful of alcohol prep pads to clean the soot off my face and taken a seat beside me.  

    “What’s the damage?” Bobby asks as I do my best to follow the penlight Hen is moving back and forth in my eyes.  

    “Definitely a concussion,” she responds, “Let’s see those ribs.” I suppose Eddie must’ve reported back to them alerting them to my injuries plus he’s pulling an oxygen mask over my face.  

    Bobby nods and holds up my helmet, “Well, that’s not surprising.” I now notice the crack across the visor and cringe. I struggle with my turn out for a moment before Buck slaps my hands away and helps me out of it. I lift my shirt to reveal already bruising ribs.  

    Hen gently feels across my ribs and presses a stethoscope over my lungs. I take a deep breath in as Hen speaks again, “I don’t think they’re broken but definitely heavily bruised.” She pulls the stethoscope away and places it back in her kit before taking a step back to look at me, “I know it’ll be your biggest nightmare but you’re gonna have to take it really easy for the next few weeks.”  

    Buck hooks a finger under my chin and pulls me to face him as I groan. “I know. I know. You’ll live. Now let me get the rest of this mess off so we can bandage these cuts.” Eddie and Bobby depart as I attempt to sit still for Buck but I keep fidgeting and adjusting in an effort to ease the pain in my ribs.   

    Hen laughs but states seriously, “You’re gonna need a CT scan to check for brain bleeds and some X-rays to make sure your ribs aren’t broken and to check for skull fractures.”  

    “I know,” I mumble as she passes Buck some band-aids before closing her kit and returning to the other side of the truck. Buck finishes cleaning my face and begins fighting with the wrapper of a band-aid. His hands are shaking so bad he almost drops it several times before I finally wrap my hands around his and look up at him, “Just breathe, Buck. I’m alive,” I pause, “Very banged up but alive.”  

    His lips press into a thin line and he breaks eye contact to look down at our hands. He lets me have the band-aids so I open one of them before handing it to him for application. As he places it right below my hair line, eyes trained on it and not looking at mine, he mutters something under his breath. I wait for him to place the band-aid and smooth it down before tilting my head, confusion plain to see on my face. He sighs heavily, “I said you scared the shit out of me.” Finally making eye contact with me again he adds, “I can’t lose you. You mean too damn much to me.”  

    I wrap him in a hug, which he promptly returns, and mumble, “I’m sorry.” He buries his face in my neck as I bury mine in his chest and we stay that way for a long moment before finally returning to the task at hand. I open another band-aid and hand it over for him to place on my cheek below the other. “I just figure that the house burning down is pretty shitty but to lose the cats too would be even worse. I know I would’ve been devastated to lose mine,” I explain and he nods in understanding. Once he’s satisfied with my treatment, we both make our way to join the others, Buck keeping an arm at my back in case I start to collapse again.  

    Soon, we all depart and return to the Fire House. I’m carted off to the ER to get a CT scan and X-rays as doc ordered. As expected, the results confirm a concussion but no brain bleeds, skull fractures, or broken ribs.   

    Finally, the weekend is here and I am spending my Saturday night at Maddie and Chim’s house with Maddie, Athena, Hen, and Karen. By now my concussion is gone for the most part but my ribs are still pretty sore. My fellow ladies are all taking it easy, having a beer or glass of wine. I on the other hand have managed to get sloshed even though they have repeatedly warned me to slow down. Who knows what trouble Buck and Eddie are getting into tonight but Chim is at Bobby and Athena’s house with Jee-Yun for cooking lessons.   

    I’m currently sprawled out on my back in Maddie’s living room floor babbling on and on. Most of it is drunken non-sense but soon I find myself on a train of thought that I’m not quite sure I should be voicing aloud but drunk me has lost all fucks to give. As soon as the first sentence stumbles out of my mouth, “You know who I really really like?” the ladies are all on the edges of their seats. Hen has even pulled out her phone and started recording but I couldn’t care less. I need to get this off my chest and it’s about fucking time. I might as well carry on while I have the guts. “Buck,” I pause trying but failing to collect my thoughts and decide to simply ramble on as the room wobbles, “He’s just so fucking sweet. He’s got the largest and shiniest heart of gold I’ve ever seen. He’s hilarious as fuck… And adorable… And fine as hell… He makes me feel safe… and happy… and giddy.”  

    I sit up abruptly and wobble slightly before looking at the nearest person, who just happens to be Maddie, “And I don’t know what the hell the whole knee nudge thing is that he does,” I point to Hen, “You know what I’m talking about. That thing he does whenever he’s sitting beside me where he just like nudges my knee with his,” The room starts to spin so I lay back down and look up at the ceiling, “I-I don’t know what that is. I don’t know if he does it as a funny funny ha ha. Or if he does it to aggravate me. Which it did at first because I couldn’t figure out why he was doing it but I finally gave up and just started nudging back. But anyway, I don’t know why he does it but I hope he never stops… It always reminds me that he’s right there… It reminds me that I’m not alone, that someone will have my back if I’m about to do stupid shit or be there if I need a shoulder to lean on. It makes me feel safe.” I come to a halt and shuffle through the thoughts in my head.  

    “And another fucking thing. His fucking biceps, dude. They’re damn near as big as my head. Sometimes I just wanna,” I click my teeth together, “bite them. Actually, next time he hits me with the ‘Bite me, (Y/L/N)’… I’ma do it.” I stop to catch my breath and a sudden realization hits me, “I think I fucked up,” I slur out.  

    “Yeah, honey, you’re pretty wasted,” Athen says with laughter.  

    “No. No I said I fucked up,” I correct her, assuming she thought I said, “I think I’m fucked up.”  

    “You mean by drinking so much?” Hen asks,” Yeah, probably so.”  

    I see Maddie shake her head with a grin out of the corner of my eye and I inquire, “What?”  

    “Elaborate. They haven’t put two and two together yet,” she replies.  

    I huff, “I said, ‘I think I fucked up’ because I told myself I was not gonna fall in love again because my luck with relationships is so damn shitty but I think I done fell in love with him and I’m scared.”  

    “Why are you scared, sweetheart,” Karen asks.  

    “Because I don’t wanna get hurt again,” I mumble before quickly adding, “It’s not that I think he’s gonna hurt me. It’s just… conditioning ya know? Like, anytime things are going good for a while, my body kicks into fight or flight thinking something bad is about to happen because that’s always what happens. I always get steamrolled and knocked down a peg. I don’t wanna rope him into the shit show that is my life. He deserves someone that has their shit together. Someone who can give him the world. That’s what he deserves… not someone who’s gonna expect shit to go south from the start.” The room is silent as this explanation sinks in.   

    I hear the beep of Hen stopping the recording as Maddie gets up from the couch and bends down to grab my arm and help me up, “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” I nod as she guides me toward a spare bedroom.  

--- Buck's POV ---

    “How’s (Y/N) doing?” I hear Eddie ask from the kitchen as I sit sipping my whiskey. Chris has already gone to bed for the night and Eddie is putting away leftovers from dinner.  

    Having not fully processed what he asked due to the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream I drop my head onto the back of the chair I’m sitting in and grin, “She’s just so beautiful.”  

    Eddie pokes his head around the wall and looks at me in confusion, “What?’  

    “You asked about (Y/N). She’s pretty… and smart… She’s funny too.”  

    Eddie waves his hand to interrupt me and sits down on the couch across from me, pulling out his phone, “Hang on what were you saying about (Y/N) I couldn’t hear you through your mumbles.”  

    I know damn well I wasn’t mumbling but repeat myself anyway, “I said, ‘She’s pretty and smart and funny,’” making sure to over-annunciate my words.  

    “Go on,” Eddie encourages, grinning at his phone.  

    I shake my head and carry on, “She’s always down for an adventure. She’s self-less. Like, as much as I want to be mad at her for risking her life to save those cats the other day, I can’t be because I know I’d do the same damn thing. She’d risk her life just to make sure someone else's doesn't end or is a little brighter despite the catastrophe they’ve just endured.” I sigh loudly, “I could watch her dance around like a goof ball or ramble about random shit for hours. Her smile makes me smile. Her laugh makes me laugh.”  

    “Really?” Eddie asks to keep me going.  

    I nod, “And you know how I nudge her knee with mine all the time?” Eddie nods, “It started out as just a way to annoy her when I was bored but now it’s way more than that. Now it’s a gentle reminder to her that I’m still right there by her side but also a reminder to myself that she’s right there within arm's reach. I-I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her. I thought I did when I looked behind us and she wasn’t there. If I had lost her that day then not only would I no longer be able to enjoy her presence but i-it would’ve been my fault. I should’ve pulled up the rear and made sure she got out safe.”  

    “Don’t blame yourself, Buck. You know she would’ve gone back for the cats anyway,” Eddie comments.  

    “I know but like I said that’s one of the things I love about her,” I pause, “Love. Did I just say love?” I see him nod, “Man, I think I’m in love.” It’s quiet for a few moments before I breath out a laugh, “She has a really nice ass too.”   

    Eddie shakes his head and puts his phone away, “Alright buddy,” he says as he gets up and pulls the glass of whiskey from my grasp, “Time for you to hit the hay.” I begrudgingly get up and Eddie helps me to the couch.  

    “Wait,” I slur out once I’ve plopped onto the couch, and try to get back up but Eddie pushes me back down, “But I wanna go see her,” I whine but as the room wobbles, I give up and lie back down.  

    “You can see her tomorrow. We’re having family breakfast at Athena and Bobby’s remember?” Eddie responds.  

    “Oh yeah,” I mumble before drifting off to sleep. 

Masterlist

More 911

[asgardianhobbit98]

Four for Valentine: Week 2 "The Letter"

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield / Reader

Characters: Dwalin, Thorin, Gender Neutral Reader

Important Tags: written from Dwalin's POV, romance, angst, death, alcohol consumption, grief, love, redemption, healing

Words: 1146

Summary: When Dwalin attempts to heal his grief after the Battle of Five Armies, his finds himself not just grieving Thorin but also his sibling. But in the depth of night, ghosts come to life, and Dwalin finds that the letters are more healing than he originally thought. (I really meant for this to be fluffy but then my brain made it bittersweet instead because apparently angst is all I can manage today)

Written for my "Four for Valentine" event 🩷

My dearest y/n.

They are calling it the Battle of Five Armies: a Historic event, it seems. I certainly won’t be forgetting it. And I will make damned sure no Dwarf ever forgets it either. Just like I am making sure that no Dwarf ever forgets Smaug’s taking of the Lonely Mountain. Two points of important Dwarven history… and two moments in my life I would rather forget than remember. But it is crucial I don’t forget. If people remember it feels like people also remember you. Both of you.

My brother said writing down feelings is better than cutting down Orc filth. I still disagree. But I can’t deny that it helped me greatly when I lost you. It will certainly help me greatly now that I have lost him.

I loved you. You were my sibling, how could I not? But even if you had not been my family, I think the two of us would have gotten along well. You were funny in a way I didn’t really get, but which others seemed to find endearing. Thorin certainly found it endearing. More than he dared admit.

You see, I found a letter of his in his belongings. I didn’t mean to rummage through his things. It fell out when I was moving it. So don’t come yelling at me from the rocks now! And I only read it because it was addressed to you.

I hadn’t read your name in so very long. Maybe it was the already present grief, but I suddenly grieved you once more. I had to. Because when I read his letter to you, I saw the life you could have had if I had just been quicker in getting to you. That damned dragon!

He is dead now. Smaug. Revenge didn’t taste as sweet as I thought.

You would have had a life with Thorin. I know it. Because he wrote so. He loved you. Dwarves only love once. He was more devastated than he admitted to any of us. I knew he slipped away from us for a long time after the fall of Erebor. I knew he grew quiet. Distant. I never in a million years thought it was because of you too. I thought his family, his people… And here I was grieving you in front of him, burdening him with my own shite.

Yet, he never once said a word. He simply supported me.

He loved you.

You could have been his. He could have been yours.

Maybe this is for the better after all. If you had been here, you would have had to grieve him. The loss of Thorin is one I do not know how to handle.

I wish you were here to help me.

Perhaps the two of you are there in the afterlife, living among the rocks of Erebor, reunited at last.

Stupid.

Dwalin put the pen down and crumpled the letter in his hands with a little more force than necessary. He threw it aside where he watched it land among all the other attempts. Alone in a room in Erebor, finally home, Dwalin thought he might find some solace in a successful quest. But everything felt wrong.

With a sigh, he moved over to his bed and simply… drank himself to sleep, like he usually did. It helped with the nightmares, it helped with the grief, and it put him right to sleep. It was a win win, really.

Balin hated watching him do it, but Balin wasn’t around at the moment. He was on his way to Moria to continue furthering their people’s wealth; to try and retake the mountain. Meanwhile, Dwalin was still stuck in the past, in his grief… doing nothing with his life… or so he thought, at least.

…

As the darkness engulfed him, a restless sleep devouring Dwalin, he found that the alcohol actually did very little to help him. Rather than steering him onto a path of just dark, dreamless sleep, Dwalin found himself suddenly standing in his room.

Actually, that wasn’t the best description on where Dwalin found himself. He was in his room, yes, but he was sort of… standing by his bed, watching himself sleep.

It was a weird position to be in, and for a long time, Dwalin did nothing but stare at himself.

Had he died?

Was this the afterlife?

But no, he was breathing… Snoring, actually. It was a rather pitiful sight.

There was a strange humming in the background. As if someone was singing, but it wasn’t one person. It was a vibration so loud it sounded like a thousand people humming. It was peaceful, almost recognizable. As if Dwalin had always heard it in the background whilst walking in the mountain, or out and about.

But he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

The humming was interrupted by a little shuffle in the room behind him. He turned, finding it rather difficult and slow to do so, and watched…

You.

And Thorin.

Both of you looked ten times better than you’d ever done alive, warm peaceful looks on your faces at all times. The two of you were picking up Dwalin’s attempts at writing a letter to you, reading them with your heads held together, arms locked in a loving touch…

“Y/N?” Dwalin asked, staring at his sibling with pure… shock. And Thorin, his king… “Thorin?”

Both of you looked up at him. But it was you who answered Dwalin: “I like your letters. They make me happy.”

Dwalin must have looked quite dumb as he simply stared in shock, because suddenly you began to chuckle. That chuckle… He’d missed it.

“My dear Dwalin,” Thorin said, “you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Both of you chuckled a bit at this.

“You both are…”

“Dead,” you finished for him. “Yes, quite. But that doesn’t mean we’ve left you.”

Thorin nodded along. “We’re always with you. In the rocks that make up your home. In your memories. And we’ll be waiting. Until you’re ready.”

You smiled. Thorin smiled.

…

And far too soon did that ‘dream’ end because suddenly Dwalin woke up with a start in his bed, looking around the room, searching…

He pushed away the bottle of alcohol. His heart lighter, and went back over to the crumpled up drafts of a letter.

Okay… he thought to himself… I’ll keep writing if it makes you two so damn happy.

Chuckling for the first time in a long, long time, he wrote at least twenty long letters in the candlelight, telling the both of you everything that he wanted to. Because he missed you both, and he loved you. And if you two really did read his letters, then he was going to keep at it until he was sure you both knew just how much you meant to him.

tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know!

reblog and comment = love and support 🥰

[n0cturna1-m3]

Hi, can you do a Jason Todd x male reader spending Christmas or thanksgiving together?

Like Jason obviously feels like he can't have a good Christmas dinner with the whole Batfamily without a yelling match. He only really stays in contact on a daily basis is with reader, because their joined at the hip during missions/ cases.

So Jason is fine just have Christmas alone in his apartment but, reader has different plans. Using his spare key to Jason's apartment letting himself in, holding a couple of beer bottles and take out.

The rest of the night they just spend talking and eating, enjoying eachothers company. Then reader falls asleep leaning on Jason, letting him feel so loved without pushing any of his boundaries.

If you end up doing this request, I'd really appreciate it. I know a lot of people ( including me) don't see Christmas has a happy, joyous, holiday. So I feel like this could be comforting to some of us.

Could you share a link when you do?

Holidays Are Subpar | Jason Todd x Male Reader Fluff

Warnings; Alcohol consumption, marijuana use, perhaps a smidge of sexual tension but it's not really there

A/N; I'm sorry this is short i'm having writers block 😭

900 words 💔

Jason scraped the edges of the ice cream tub and spooned the last amount of it into his mouth as he watched the screen of his TV, wrapped up in a blanket and hunched over in his bed. He hated Christmas. It always caused problems with his family, so he tended to spend it alone rather than in company. Especially during holidays.

The Matrix lit up his studio apartment dimly, the blueish tint from the dark atmosphere of the scenes casting dark shadows along the walls. He jerked his head at the sound of his front door being unlocked, setting his pint of ice cream on the side table before reaching under his bed and fishing out a gun from underneath his mattress.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He grumbled, clicking the safety lock on his gun and placing it on the nightstand. He grabbed the remote and paused the movie, glaring at Y/N in the process. He was holding a grocery bag, setting it on the counter and pulling out a pack of beer.

“What do you think?” He snarked, slipping off his shoes and tossing them by the door before grabbing the pack and walking over to Jason's bed, proceeding to flop beside him. “I couldn’t let you wallow on Christmas eve.”

Jason huffed at him. Y/N pulled a can off and offered it to him, the latter taking it and cracking it open. Y/N did the same, clinking their cans before taking a big sip.

“What were you watching?” He asked, scooting back to seat himself next to Jason, making himself comfortable amongst the pillows.

“Matrix,” He stated, taking the remote and pressing the resume button. Y/N hummed in excitement as it started, albeit halfway through.

After a few minutes, Y/N made an ‘ah’ sound and dug through his pockets, fishing out a small container. He opened it and pulled out a joint, showing it to Jason who nodded in approval. He grinned and placed it in his mouth.

“Gimme a light?”

“Sure.” Jason leaned over to his nightstand and opened the drawer, fishing through it and grabbing a lighter. Y/N turned his head to him and leaned in while Jason fiddled with the shitty bic before it sparked to life. He lit the end while Y/N held it tightly between his lips, shoving it in his hoodie pocket once it was burning. Jason watched him take a long drag before handing it to him, but his eyes stayed glued to his lips as he exhaled the smoke.

Turning his gaze back to the screen, Jason took a hit and then sipped on his beer, breathing out from his nose and passing it back to Y/N.

This continued for a few minutes, puffing and passing while they worked on the beers in front of them and ash collected in one of the crumpled cans that acted as a makeshift ashtray. When the joint became nothing but a stub, Jason snuffed it out and gathered the garbage, consisting of three beer cans, and stood up.

“No, where are you going?” Y/N asked, pouting at him.

“Throwing these away, and I’m gonna grab some snacks,” Jason responded and Y/N hummed in acknowledgement before turning back to the TV, Jason walked to the small kitchen throwing the trash into the bin Y/N sprawled over the place where Jason had been sitting, lazily watching the movie while acutely aware of the shuffling across the room. Jason nudged him over, a bag of chips in his hands. Y/N grinned up at him but didn’t move.

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, shoving Y/N’s head.

“What? You left, this is fair game,” He explained. Jason stared at him and pinched his ear, pulling on it. “Ow, ow! Okay, I’m getting up, I’m getting- I’M GETTING UP!” Y/N whined, swatting at Jason’s hand as he tried to sit up. Jason snickered at him and crawled up next to him, sitting down and glancing at Y/N, who was rubbing his ear and muttering to himself about how ‘mean’ Jason is.

“It’s your fault, really,” Jason said as he opened the bag of chips and put one into his mouth. Y/N dug into the bag as obnoxiously as he possibly could and pulled out one singular chip. “Are you going to be like this all night?”

“Probably not,” Y/N said between chews. Jason gagged at the sound.

“Stop- eating with your mouth full,” He scolded. Y/N glanced at him and smiled, shovelling chips into his mouth before speaking again.

“What, like this?”

“You’re so annoying.”

Y/N smiled and chewed slowly, smacking his lips.

“I’m going to hit you,” Jason warned. Y/N took a long drink of his beer and smiled at Jason, eyes hazy and reddish. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re always so mean to me,” Y/N whined, draping himself over Jason’s side.

“Uh-huh,” He mumbled, popping another chip into his mouth with his eyes glued to the screen. Y/N wrapped his arms around Jason’s chest, resting his head on his chest. Jason wrapped his arm around him and continued eating, scooting forward slightly so he could lean back and give Y/N a more comfortable position to nap in.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Do you ever imagine Steve burping helplessly and Bucky getting turned on in a public place?

This isn’t public public but something that I have been thinking a lot about recently is car rides and how an especially rough ride might jostle burps out of someone while also forcing them to hold their sensitive, overfull tummy, groaning with complaints as the car rumbles and shakes. Then, as all this is going on, there’s also nothing they can do about it because they need to get home. In fact, before they got in the car and started getting jostled around, they really wanted to get home, they were so excited to get home so they could lie down and sleep off all the excess food and/or drinks they stuffed into themselves. So they're just trapped burping and being shaken up like a can of soda, about to pop. And that’s what I’m going with here! I hope you enjoy it!

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the cut. Warnings for alcohol consumption (but Steve can't get drunk because we're talking about serumed Steve, so it's not really intox? yanno?), burping, bloating, button pops, etc.

Steve and Bucky have just spent their evening at the latest fancy, excessively formal gala where they’re playing politics. Shaking hands with the government officials they pretend to listen to when it comes to how to save the world, living up to their roles as superheroes who are definitely not vigilantes and certainly operate under the law, yes, sir. Really actually gritting their teeth against boredom while making polite conversation. They’re doing it for the sake of the other Avengers and so they’re not deemed as enemies of the state… again.

So, once it’s over and they’re free to go home, both Steve and Bucky breathe a sigh of relief upon getting back to their car. It’s all over, well into the night or, actually, the next day. It’s morning now. Early, early morning. But. It’s over with. Thank God.

Steve, however, sighs especially loudly, fidgeting with his tie and instantly undoing the knot the moment he drops his ass into the passenger seat, shutting his door with a little too much force.

“That bad?” Bucky smirks, teasing him but not looking over from the driver’s seat at him because he’s too busy sticking the keys in the ignition and starting the car, flicking on the ventilation system and fiddling with the radio, turning it on low for some background noise.

“You have no idea,” Steve snarks back tiredly, falling farther into his seat as he buckles up with a click.

Amused, Bucky looks over at his best guy now that the car is idling, warming up, there’s something in his voice that catches his attention - he swears if anyone said something stupid to his Steve, they’re gonna pay for it - and

Oh.

After he blinks and takes a moment to process what he’s seeing, Bucky feels his own eyes widen comically when his gaze lands on the way Steve’s gut is suddenly bulging out from his body. The breath gets caught in his throat. His stomach. Woah. It’s… it’s a thing. It’s big. Suddenly, straining the limits of his choking formal attire. His neatly pressed black suit jacket and white dress shirt underneath with the tails of his black tie falling to either side of the hill rising from the middle of his body.

“What the fuck?” Bucky murmurs involuntarily, staring at his best guy and trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. His belly is so pressed outwardly and distended that Bucky can’t see the shiny leather belt that he knows is holding up his slacks. He’s… huge.

With eyes on him, Steve stretches like a cat, arching his back like his belly actually fucking fighting to escape the formal wear and seat belt that he’s wrapped haphazardly around it. His suit looks painted on, so unbelievably tight; his seat belt is curving underneath his belly’s sudden weight and curled over the top of it, emphasizing its heft.

“C’monnn,” Steve whines, high-pitched, breaking his Captain America facade that he uses for these types of events and returning to the punk he really is, “get us out of here already.” He turns his head to the side, his blue eyes glassy.

Automatically, Bucky puts the car in gear and does as he says - he’d do anything for that stupid punk - but, at the same time, he can’t stop shooting glances over to the passenger seat where Steve’s resting, reclining, fully exhausted, in his seat. He sighs heavily again, this time it’s in relief from unbuttoning his suit jacket. Bucky catches an eyeful of it, his dick jumping, trained like a dog to a whistle but the whistle is Steve taking off his clothes. And… if possible… his belly swells outwards another inch. Maybe more.

“Jesus, Stevie,” they come to a stop at a sign, just leaving the parking garage, and Bucky uses the moment to reach over and touch his belly. Just making sure it’s real and he’s not seeing things. Patting him down. Under his palm, it’s very real. Very tight and very real, making a ripe, solid thump sound with each pat-pat he makes.

The collision has Steve stifling an airy belch behind a loosely curled fist, “c-careful, Buck,” he warns.

“Or what, you’ll pop?” Bucky’s teasing but also… he could. He might. Just look at him, nearly bursting out of his clothes. On a goddamn normal day, Bucky can’t deal with Mr. Steve I-Like-Tight-T-Shirts-That-Show-Off-Every-Inch-Of-My-Hot-Bod Rogers. So how is he supposed to deal with Steve when he’s dressed to the nines in formal wear and they’ve just had to deal with a fucking room full of stuffy politicians that frustrate him to the point of wanting to rip out his hair or punch a wall or fuck someone hard? (Preferably the last option, and preferably Steve).

He looks - Bucky licks his lips which are suddenly dry - almost pregnant. Ready to pop alright. Bucky shivers as he shifts gears.

Steve lazily chuckles at him, breathless, explaining his situation away by flapping a hand passively, “everyone wanted to have a toast to or a toast with Captain America,” Bucky nods, trying to listen and barely succeeding, “and you know how it is, I can’t turn anything down when I’m wearing the stars and stripes, it looks bad.” Steve shifts in his seat as Bucky hits the gas, the softest groan falling out of his loose, full lips already driving Bucky insane even before he admits, “so I have no idea how many flukes of champagne I drank.”

As they continue to cruise, Bucky keeps looking over at him, stealing glances, trying but failing to keep his eyes on the road. He’s trying to process the thought of Steve getting fucking wasted in this new century. Sloshed. Hitting glass after glass, bottle after bottle, until he’s flushing pink, and getting stumbly and tipsy and touchy like he used to before the serum when he was the lightest lightweight. Always snuggling up to Bucky, all over him, curling up in his lap like a cat after they went out drinking back in the day, kissing him and clinging to him, begging him with slurred words and dangerously mischievous eyes to fuck him rough and hard. Yanno how I like it, c’moooon, Buck, do meee, Bucky can still hear his drunk voice.

“Christ,” Bucky finally spits out some fucking words, his brain practically smoking, “it’s a good thing you can’t get drunk then, pal.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s breathing is labored as he tries to get comfortable, wiggling around in his seat, pulling at his now open collar and the seat belt cutting into him, “still can get full, though-”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees too quickly, too eager.

“And bloated,” Steve hisses out the tiniest of burps, leaning completely back into the leather seat, flopping back, his hands limp at his sides, “I’m sooo bloated.”

Bucky swallows thickly, “you look it… looks like you’re smuggling a watermelon under that suit.” Bucky’s flesh and blood hand aches with how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel, he’d be worried about breaking it if all his attention weren’t split between making sure he’s not about to crash and Steve.

“Thanks, asshole,” Steve laughs gently, the sweet sound ending in a gasp as he feels the alcohol in his belly swirl, the finger food he ate swimming in it, there’s so much.

“Just look at yourself, baby-” Bucky can’t resist pushing further, teasing and in awe at the same time. That’s what he and Steve do, though, they give each other shit. It’s a love language.

“Mmmmm-hm,” Steve lazily glances down, moving slower with just how overfull he is.

“You were sucking that thing in?” Bucky risks taking one hand off the wheel to reach over and smack his gut. Lightly. But, still, it’s enough to jostle a bigger burp out of Steve. He can’t believe how tight Steve’s belly is. He can’t believe how big Steve’s belly is. It’s making it hard to think. “That whole time? Your poor abs!”

“Uh-huh,” his big chest heaves as he tries to breathe deeply but can’t find the room in his body to fully expand his lungs, his stomach is too big, stretched, taking up all the extra room in his body and more, “Jesus, yeah,” he agrees, “my abs hurt, they’re so stretched-”

Bucky licks his lips, why does that sound so good? To him, and evidently to Steve with his tone of voice… it’s gone all breathy and soft like it does when he likes something. Turned on and weak for whatever it is, unable to put up a fight.

“-But it feels good to let it out, too.”

Christ.

Tease much, Rogers? Bucky wants to bite back.

But instead, Bucky can’t be bothered to be ashamed of himself when he answers, “it looks good, too.” Fucking sue him. He’s attracted to Steve all the time. Constantly. How would this be different? Why wouldn’t he want him like this? Even more of him. He can’t believe how hard that dress shirt is straining to keep his swollen gut covered. There are diamond gaps of exposed pale flesh between every button. It’s as if his belly is dying to get out and swell bigger, needing more space to get larger. And he’s… he’s interested in seeing it get bigger. If Steve can stomach it (ha), at least. He doesn’t want to actually pop Steve. He just wants to push his limits. See how much he can take.

Steve huffs, shaking his head affectionately like he can’t believe it. But he blushes bright pink, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He’s on the same page, just shier about it, “thanks, pal,” he murmurs, ducking his head, “you know how to make a guy feel special.”

Bucky snorts, “sure thing,” they stop at a red light and Bucky indulges himself, finding one of the gaps between his buttons to put two fingertips against his bare skin. Investigating the new landscape of Steve’s mountainous gut. It feels like he has a fever despite being unable to get sick these days, and when Bucky presses his fingers in, just to feel how much give there is in that tight belly -

“Oof,” Steve groans, “be carefu-uuuurpp,” there’s nothing Steve can do to stop the burp that comes barreling out of him.

“Be careful?” Bucky smirks, laughing a little, more breathless than anything, though, he had no idea that a stomach could do that. Could be so tight. He’s felt up Steve’s rock-hard abs plenty. Often, even. But… this is different and it’s exciting. “Or what? What’re you gonna do if I’m not? It seems like you’re having a hard time over there, bud.”

A car drives up behind them, appearing out of the empty night and honking, forcing Bucky’s eyes back onto the road. Ah, the light’s green, it probably has been for a while, too. So, he drives on.

Steve is about to respond, giving him shit right back, he’s sure, when the car hits a sudden pothole, jostling them both. But, poor Steve, it hits him worse. Not just startling him. The pothole is on the passenger side, to begin with, and Steve’s more affected by it anyway with his bloated belly. Despite how tight it is, packed to the brim with carbonated liquid, the dip in the road leaves it bouncing, jiggling, and sloshing violently as the car shakes. Bucky has never so deeply paid attention to the suspension because fuck. The impact seems to send a shockwave through Steve’s whole body, causing him to emit a loud, reckless belch that actually echoes in the tight confines of the car. The last of it turns into a groan as Steve curls his hands protectively around his belly like he can stop it from sloshing around. Meanwhile, Bucky could fucking thank the god-awful Nazis right now for gifting him with super hearing, forgiving all the other torture they put him through, just because he can hear the way the champagne bubbles trapped inside him fizz, tickling his insides almost… pleasurably if the blush spreading over Steve’s face and down his neck is anything to go by.

They’re both breathing harder now.

Not even a minute later after the first cacophonous, obscene accidental moment, Bucky turns onto another road, taking them home on autopilot, leaving NYC and heading towards Brooklyn. On the other road, right after the gut-churning too-fast turn, there’s another polehole, this one worse. Worse not because it’s bigger but because Bucky knows what’s going to happen. He sees it ahead of them and his brain is still processing what just happened, how seeing Steve jiggle and wobble made him feel involuntarily forcing him to picture the way Steve’s ass and tits move when he rides him, the way he groans when his dick bottoms out inside of him, stuffed full, and -

Bucky doesn’t even try to avoid the pothole, he just stares at Steve out of the corner of his eye, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

Steve’s swollen midsection heaves with another burp. Fuck. Bucky might be crazy, he might be seeing things, but his formal shirt, the buttons!, God, they’re almost straining more than they were before.

This time, his burps mix more with his groans and moans of discomfort.

Bucky’s head is spinning.

He feels like he needs to ask, “you alright?” But it’s more excitement than concern racing through him. This is… something about this is hot. Boiling even.

Letting the back of his head hit the headrest, hands supporting the underside of his belly, Steve swallows. Then, he nods weakly, cheeks flushed, “yeah,” he coughs to half-hide another burp, “‘m just gassy.”

Bucky’s gaze lingers on the mesmerizing sight before him, unable to tear himself away. The roughness of the road seems unending, who the fuck is in charge of New York streets anyway? They’re doing an awful job!, every jiggle and slosh of Steve’s belly sends shivers down Bucky’s spine. It makes Bucky’s face hot and tingly, stealing glimpses of his bloat as he takes them home.

Bigger and bigger and bigger.

He’s just filling up more with each shake-up of the contents of his stomach. Gas building. Bubbling.

Reflexively, with each belch and moan that escapes Steve’s lips, Bucky gets more and more aroused. His dick feels as hard as Steve’s belly looks. The tension in the car thickens. Steve tries to apologize for being so noisy and gassy, embarrassed, the manners he was taught holding him back, but Bucky won’t have it. Hastily, he reaches over with his hand not on the steering wheel to massage the roundest, most bulged-out part of his belly, saying, “you gotta let it out, baby, it’s okay. I want you to. Don’t hold back” He digs his fingers in just enough to cause another belch from Steve - a whimper right after - and they both squirm in their seats. “That’s it,” Bucky pats his tummy, encouraging him.

It seems impossible. He’s so full of champagne, so round. And all the sweet, fizzy alcohol is just getting more and more carbonated, more sparkling, more bubbly, more sloshy inside him with every jolt and shake of the car. Despite how much he’s burping, letting some of the gas escape, he just keeps swelling. Little by little, his belly inflates farther, expanding like a balloon. A balloon attached to a helium tank. Bucky is exhilarated by it, and judging by how Steve’s uncomfortable groans have pitched up into sounds that are more like moans of relief chasing each belch… Bucky isn’t the only one.

There’s something so hot about watching him blow up. Inflate. Expand. Swell.

The tension in the air follows Steve’s strained dress shirt, at first, it’s well-fitting, then a little bit tight, then tighter, tighter, until it’s creaking at the seams, ready to burst. The tension is so thick, it could be cut with a knife. Ready to snap. The buttons are threatening to pop off at any moment. All that gas… all the sloshing. The pressure is mounting. Every pothole, speedbump, black-tar snake, and accidental hit curb is a sweet torment for Steve, making him burp and cry out more which in turn torments Bucky. Both of them are wracked with anticipation, crawling with the need to touch each other.

The next time Bucky can take a hand off the steering wheel again and reach out to thump Steve’s swollen gut, Steve lets out a low, guttural moan, his body jerking into the sensation. But at that same risked moment, they hit the deepest, biggest pothole yet and -

Pop!

The first one is so loud and unexpected that it makes both of them jump in their seats, Bucky slams on the break which doesn’t help Steve’s precarious situation.

Pop!

The second one makes Steve whimper, trembling in his seat under the sloshing liquid inside him, swirling around, leaving him aching, the seat belt digging into him harder, feeling as though it’s cutting him in half.

POP!

The third one has Bucky swearing because fuck. Fuck! That’s so fucking hot. Steve is so big, so swollen that the buttons on his shirt, stretched over Steve’s belly have popped right off, flying forward and hitting the dash or the windshield. His shirt is no longer able to contain the bulging dome of his gut. It’s too much to handle, it’s expanded too far for the once perfectly fitted formal attire to hold on.

With each button that bursts free, a pleasurable relief in its own right, Steve’s pale, round, so fucking round, gut spills out into the heated, thick air. No longer held back by his clothes. The audible slosh of Steve’s champagne-and-gas-filled belly swelling suddenly, violently into his lap between the white halves of his now-ruined dress shirt is mouth-watering. With every stuttered breath Steve takes, stunned by arousal and shock, his gut seems to pulse with his overindulgence. Bucky can hear his heart racing and he knows Steve can feel it in his expanded stomach. All that taut, smooth, blushing skin exposed.

Oh, God.

Steve lets out his loudest moan so far, reckless with it. His hands had been braced on the center console and door handle respectively, hanging on as he was sloshed and jiggled. His hands fly up, grabbing his gut now that he isn’t so precariously balanced on the edge, feeling ready to burst with the pressure mounting inside him, forcing burps to come out of his mouth whether he wanted them to or not.

“Oh. Ohhh,” he can’t stop saying it, as if he’s shocked by what’s happening to him and he is, probably just as much as Bucky is. Somehow his flesh is still so taut. The pressure has alleviated some, but not much. He still feels like a fucking balloon.

Swollen.

Bloated.

Spherical.

Shaking, the blond caresses the surface of his shiny stomach. The heat of his belly pressing down against his thighs, in his lap, sends waves of pleasure through his whole body. He may not be so tightly compressed but the burps keep coming, released between his desperate gasps for breath, “ah, urrrp, oh, ooh, auurp, fuck me. Buurp. Guh. Uhhn. I feel so full!” He whines, “I’m so gassy, and, urrrrrp, God, so round.”

Bucky is amazed that he’s still fucking driving because he isn’t fucking functioning. Watching Steve touch himself, rubbing the dome that is his tight middle and daring to try and sink his fingers into his swollen body for relief from the pressure, Jesus Christ, it’s enough to kill him where 70 years of brainwashing didn’t.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

“Ah, oh, ohhh,” Steve’s voice trembles, “I can’t - URP - believe it. Look at me,” he begs Bucky, turning his head to the side to pout at him.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

“‘M so big! Buck! I’m so big! I didn’t know-oh, I could stretch so much. It aches,” he whimpers, “‘m so stretched! Buurp.”

Bucky stops in the middle of the road. He doesn’t give a shit anymore. It’s nighttime. There’s no one driving behind him anymore. There are other lanes. Anyone who does drive up behind him can fuck off. They can go around - they can go to hell. He needs to get his hands on that gut. Now.

Steve writhes as much as he can under the mass of his gut sitting on top of him when Bucky lunges toward him, “look at me!” he whimpers again, happy under his attention, “it, it… it fills my, my whole lap. Urrrrp, ugh, God, ‘m so bloated!”

His stomach feels so tight that Bucky can’t believe it. He can’t imagine what the pressure must feel like for Steve. The fullness. It has to be unbearable. Like being fucked full of cock but so, so much more. Hell, just looking at him is raw and pleasurable in a way that it shouldn’t be, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for Steve. There’s nothing erotic about this yet everything about it is insanely erotic… how he can’t stop making noises, uncontrolled burping. Sloshing. Belching. Fizzing. The way he’s squirming. The way he’s begging Bucky to help him, relieve the pressure, touch him, massage him, anything!

“Buck, I’m… I’m so full,” he whimpers.

“I know, Stevie,” he growls, his voice low and husky, practically already fogging up their windows he’s burning so hot for this, “but, Christ, babydoll, you look incredible.” He does. His gut is throbbing, red, and shining under the street lights. Bucky can’t stop touching his belly, massaging it worshipfully. Thumping it to hear how much his body sounds like a drum. “We should keep you like this,” he’s already salivating at the thought, his hips jerking forward to grind into nothing but thin air. He wants him so bad when he’s like this, stuffed full, exposed, and incapacitated by the sloshing weight in his big, sexy belly.

“Unnngh,” Steve whines, nodding, “it, it feels so good,” he pants, “urrrp, aarrp, ‘m so fuckin’ full, Buck.”

“You’re like a balloon,” Bucky whispers, leaning over awkwardly in the car to say the words into his mouth, kissing him desperately, “so tight you’re about to pop.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, shivering, “keep, keep touching me, I need-” he cuts himself off, burping right in Bucky’s face with a flare of embarrassment so strong it makes him squeak. Mortified.

Bucky won’t have it, though. He bites Steve’s lower lip hungrily and digs them deeper into the debauchery, “I bet we can find a liquor store that’s still open, you wanna see if we can get a few more bottles into this tanker?” Then, he slaps his gut to make him convulse, curling around his pulsing, throbbing, aching belly.

Steve can’t take it, moaning, “yes! Yes, Buck! Please! I wanna be bigger. Fill me up until I can’t take any-ah-ahh, URP, any more!”

(Why does staring at an overflowing bottle make me horny? What even is this fetish 😂)

[painsandconfusion]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Prompts and starters A collaboration with @wormwriting

[Prompt Masterpost]

“How much did you hear?”

Whumpee crouched and trying to stay quiet until they can slip away. Then the cool barrel of a gun pressing against the back of their head. Bonus for ~click~

“You know what happens now, right?”

Whumpee stumbling home, breath ragged and body in shock still. They stare at the liquor bottle - and without thinking, uncap it and start downing as much fire as they can stand. They don’t want to remember what they just saw. For everyone’s sake. 

Whumper shoving a bottle against Whumpee’s chest. “You’re going to want to forget that. I’ll check back in tomorrow to make sure you did.” 

Walked into the wrong bar at the wrong time - now they’re a vampire’s lunch.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who fucked up everything. Now I need to clean up your mess.”

The shaky hand Whumpee presses to their mouth to try to stifle their echoing breaths. Eyes squeezed shut so hard that they might press the memory of what they saw out of their mind.

“How’s about you and me go for a little walk, hm?”

“Sorry kid - boss said no loose ends.”

Whumpee stepping around the corner to see people and blood and heads slowly turning toward them. Seeing them seeing what just happened. Seeing the blood. Seeing them seeing the blood. Whumpee slooooooowwwwwly steps back, eyes stricken with horror-

“Can’t talk without a tongue, right?”

Whumpee driving in the middle of nowhere - how were they supposed to know it would be fifty miles to the nearest gas station? At least they can cal-......they don’t have signal either…

Whumpee flinching at each echoing footstep, tucking further back into their hiding spot. “I know you’re theeeeerrreeeee~ Come out come ouuuut~”

“You know this isn’t personal, right?”

And escaped whumpee bumping into Whumper completely randomly years later. The  s t a r e. Aaaaaaand run-

“What are you so scared for? I don’t gotta kill you~”

“Wh-y me?” “You were the easiest to grab.”

Stepping into a bear trap. 

Whumpee getting mistaken for a target. Tortured in their place while pleading all the while that they got the wrong mark. Of course, no one believes them.

“Know what you are? A liability.”

The random guy the villain shoots in a bar just to make a point. 

“Don’t. Move.”

[Prompt Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

(a few of these arent working so if wibbly-wobbly-whump or hold-back-on-the-comfort changed their blogs please lmk <3

[ask-team-misfit]

[ in reference to this ]

He'd be staring at the punch bowl when he overheard Reshi's announcement.

He was convinced he'd seen enough. His heart was set on taking anything he can and booking it. Maybe leave behind a surprise "gift", or several.

But he wasn't gonna do that without knowing which of these foodstuffs had meat, and which didn't. Thus lead to him becoming distracted by what he smelled from the punch bowl, staring into it until now.

Lief: "Truth or dare, eh?"

He turned his attention back to the bowl of wine, pondering over whether or not he should stay. His antennae twitched, taking in the aroma of the liquid.

The scent made him think of the cider back home he wanted to try once, were it not for Eve yelling for him to go away; just that instead of apples, it smelled quite a bit more like grepa berries.

He'd assume this was some kind of juice, but it only vaguely smelled like such. Very vaguely, the more he thought about it.

The curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the ladle to do so, directly drinking from it.

For a drink that only vaguely smelled like fruit, the taste completely took him by surprise. He nearly shuddered from the intense flavor upon swallowing.

Lief: "Ugh... that was not juice. Note to self."

He turned away, initially. But then he dipped the ladle back in to take another, slower sip.

Lief: "It's so fruity... and so bitter. But it's not bad. I think..."

Perhaps he really was just thirsty. Or perhaps he didn't hate the taste as much as he figured. Or perhaps he inadvertantly awakened a part of him that would like drinking it a little too much.

Because he went on to drink more. And more.

And more.

Stopping only to hiccup from how quickly he was gulping it down.

Lief: "Gods. Really hope no one saw that..."

He wasn't sure when it happened or how, but he now felt a lot more relaxed. If any parts of his fur looked frazzled or still stood on end, it didn't anymore.

He swore he also felt a little woozy, but he waved it off as being exhausted still.

Lief: "But you know what? Maybe this place is alright. I can salvage this. Totally..."

[ Lief is now accepting Truth or Dare asks. Also he's somewhat drunk. ]

[johnschneiderblog]

Name your poison

Remember the good old days, when modest alcohol consumption was considered a normal, acceptable - yes, even healthy - aspect of adult behavior ...?

It calmed our nerves. It helped our blood flow.

Now, aside from advertising - "Guinness refreshes the spirit" , etc. _ you'd be hard put to find a kind, or even neutral, word about drinking.

A Gallup poll released a few days ago asserts that 45 percent of Americans believe that even one drink a day is bad for our health. That's the most ever recorded by the survey.

I believe it. In recent months three friends of mine - all very modest tipplers - have, at the advice of their doctors, jumped on the wagon, taking "dry January" to extremes.

The phrase "name your poison" was once considered a light-hearted way of asking somebody what they wanted to drink. Suddenly it's a serious statement.

(The photo shows a small sample of alcohol-related Christmas tree ornaments available at Bronner's Christmas Wonderland in Frankenmuth, Michigan.)

[uncertainwallflower]

The past is dead, Tomorrow is not born. Be today!

— P.G. Wodehouse, Carry on, Jeeves

BETWEEN THE DESIRE AND THE SPASM Chapter 9: Alas!

A tapping at the kitchen window drew her attention and she left the thought uncategorised, venturing out of the bathroom to find Dorcas tending a small fudge-coloured owl. “It’s for you,” she said, holding a neat square of parchment out towards Lily. “Who’s it from?” shot Marlene. Two flaps of its wings and the owl was gone. Dorcas shut the window behind it. “Dunno.” Lily turned it over in her hands. “Oh.” “‘Oh’?” What’s ‘oh’? Who is ‘oh’?” “No one. It’s nothing.” She took her glass from the kitchen counter and emptied it in one bitter mouthful. “It’s definitely someone—”

AO3

[kimium]

Chapters: 1/1

Series: Part 3 of Sort of Saw Franchise AU Summary:

One shot. Sort of Saw Franchise AU.

"Yuu pressed their lips together. The chances of running into Leona were high and Yuu could already think of several awkward scenarios that would arise from their graduate friends discovering they were friends with royalty. Smart option was to decline and go home. They could see Leona any time they wished.

“I heard they’re having a dessert special,” Riley added.

Grim immediately perked up. “Oh! A traditional Sunset Savanna dessert?? Count me in!”

“That’s the spirit!” Heather exclaimed with a grin. “Yuu?”

Well, there was no holding Grim back from food. Yuu shot him a look. “Fine, but only for a little bit.”

Yuu didn't expect a fun evening with their university friends to end with them seeing Leona, but sometimes that's just how things work out. (What murder in the background? Not important. Yuu won't notice; it's fine.)

~

Hello everyone! I’m back with a Sort of Saw Franchise AU fic that myself and @m34gs have created! This time it’s focused on Yuu interacting with Leona and Ruggie! I hope you enjoy this fic! All the mentions of anything murder or traps is very, very light in this fic! Still, be mindful of my tags and read my beginning author’s note for more details.

[hellopuns]

Bun-Berry #48 !

[dcmontreal]

New Canadian drinking guidelines ... Seriously?

New Canadian drinking guidelines ... Seriously? #AlcoholGuidelines #Montreal

It seems the Canadian Centre on Substance Use and Addiction has come out with its suggestions regarding alcohol consumption. I must admit this revelation caught me by surprise.  Not that I was naive enough to think something positive could possibly come out of such an announcement; even I realize that no recognized body was going to suggest that a wee bit of the demon may be good for one, as the…

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I can't stop thinking about that one-night-stand stucky fic you wrote where they meet at a bar and bucky is stuffing his fat belly full of food and steve is filling his own fat belly full of alcohol, and i can't stop thinking about them meeting months later and they're just absolutely massive, their guts (and the rest of them) even bigger than the last time they saw each other, and in that time their hobbies have gotten even worse. I imagine that Bucky always needs to be full and heavy and tight and so he carries around snacks and things wherever he goes, and steve always needs to be sloshy and drunk and gravid so he carries around those little aeroplane-sized bottles of alcohol to top him off whenever he feels like he needs a re-up, and i think that if they decided to do more than a one-night-stand the next time they meet and appreciate how badly the two of them have been consumed by their gluttony and their desires, i think they could be so good for each other, bucky always making sure steve has a steady supply of alcohol and beer to make his belly constantly sloshy and his head constantly empty, steve to ensure that bucky has enough food to keep his gut stuffed and full... i don't know, i think you've ruined me, i love it....

One night stand stucky

Oh, yeah, their “hobbies.” I don’t think getting drunk (actually drunk or just food drunk) counts as a hobby but… that’s cute. We can pretend that it counts to indulge them and ourselves. Besides, Lord knows both Bucky and Steve think of their respective bad habit of filling themselves up to the brim as hobbies, hobbies that are so pleasurable and all-consuming that they just can’t stop. Isn’t the point of a hobby for it to be something that you find enjoyable and can spend your leisure time doing? It’s so goddamn hot for both of them, it feels so good to be filled up to the point of heavy, round bellies leaving them beached that they lose track of time. Time flies when you’re having fun. And, oops, exactly like you said, it spirals out into their daily lives. They can’t help themselves! Their hobbies are just so fun, why would they ever want to do anything else? 

Stucky belly kink under the read more. Warnings for alcohol consumption/intox kink, stuffing, semi-public sex acts (but in the feedism way), weight gain, mutual gaining, etc.

So, Steve has miniature bottles of booze with him all the time. Every hour of every day, no matter where he is. Those little bottles that he can easily sip from, covert, or sometimes, he just says fuck it and brings flasks or water bottles to have with him as he goes out and about. There’s only so much those little bottles can do when he’s working with the fat keg that is his distended, hard gut. Sips don’t fill him up, he needs chugs and chugs. Steve doesn’t fucking know what to do with himself if he’s not sloshing and so full that he has to burp, desperately trying to relieve some of that straining pressure, otherwise he might pop. If he isn’t sweating and panting from overfullness, he feels lost, more lost than he does when he’s drunk as shit.

Steve waddles around all day thinking of two things: when can he get more booze than just those airplane bottles and when can he get out of his fucking clothes, they’re so tight and rubbing his stretched itchy skin. He just wants to spread out on his couch in front of the huge TV in his apartment, pounding beers, gut bulging into his lap, weighing heavily down on his thighs, and dropping between his thighs. It’s so big these days with its mass keeping him pinned in place unless it’s an emergency (re: unless he runs out of drinks).

More than airplane bottles, flasks, and water bottles, Steve even considers buying one of those wine bra things, he’s already got quite the rack going, the alcohol going somewhere other than his gut (finally), so it wouldn’t make a huge difference right? Actually, he could probably get away with a camelback, right? His gut makes his spine arch so far forward, dragged by the weight pinned onto his front and barely balanced by his growing ass, that it wouldn’t be that noticeable. He could fill one of those up with alcohol and go to town anywhere anytime, wouldn’t that be the fucking dream? Steve’s chunky, heavy body shivers just thinking about it. 

Meanwhile, Bucky has snacks - snacks on snacks on snacks. At first, when he starts to himself go, first allowing himself to leave the house during the day so packed that he has pit stains and crescent moons under his flabby tits, exhausted by the effort of dragging his belly everywhere with him, so heavy, he’s shameful enough to just slip a few protein and candy bars in his pockets alongside loose change that he knows he’s just going to end up using for vending machines wherever he can find them, exchanging the cold, hard coins for sugary, fatty goodness that will be gone in too few bites. Quickly, he loses his shame, though. It sheds from him in bits and pieces.

He carries snacks in his pockets but as he outgrows his pants, the room in his pockets is hit by his widening hips and thicker thighs - not to even mention his ass, dear god - so he buys himself a purse. Nothing huge. Just a little bag to have “emergency” snacks to tide him over between meals of impressive size. Then, when his little snack-stuffed purse (bulging and heavy just like Bucky himself) isn’t enough, he reverts to his college years, albeit with the weight of an entire ‘nother person on his frame, carrying a backpack with him everywhere. This time around, there are no books, planners, or even a laptop in his bag. He fills his snack backpack moderately at first, but it doesn’t last because, of course, it doesn’t. If Bucky understood moderation, he would’ve ended up perverting the lean, athletic build that he spent so long procuring in high school and college into an excessive, wide, heavy body that’s so plush it’s hard to believe. Bucky wastes hours fresh out of the shower investigating himself as the weight piles on, poking and prodding and pinching his fat, his rolls thick and sliding together hotly, it’s so hard to believe the whale he’s turned himself into. He’s such a needy, big whale that his backpack gets too heavy when he drags it around throughout the day. He huffs and puffs and sweats worse than before, lugging all his snacks around. He tells himself that he can get relief from the weight by eating his snacks faster, no problem! Every bite makes the load lighter, right? But, really, if he stopped to actually think for once, he would easily realize that it does nothing of the sort. It evens out.

The hours pass and Bucky’s backpack gets lighter as he munches, sure, but his belly just gets heavier and heavier to compensate. All those empty, unneeded calories go somewhere. 

Bucky moans to himself and squeezes (exaggeratedly… for now) through his apartment door to come home after a full day of eating. He’s supposedly working and taking a few snack breaks, but… as he’s lost control and shame, it’s more like he’s eating with the occasional work break. As he comes home after his hard day’s labor of stuffing his face, all Bucky can think about is how the weight of his backpack nearly pulled him over this morning when he snagged it on the way out, unprepared to pick it up with how out of shape he’s gotten. It was that heavy and now? It’s all in his gut now. Picturing his soft, empty, flabby belly in the mirror that morning, Bucky considers how it would look if he put his snack-pack on backward with the heavy, filled bag over his belly… God. It would stick out so far. It’d make him look so round. And, considering that his backpack is empty now, that’s how fat he’s gotten over the course of the day. 

Fuck. 

Steve swells like beer poured into a glass without being tilted, fizzing, foaming, reaching the rim of the glass, and almost overflowing. Steve’s fat is getting softer the more he gets of it, but he’s still so dense and firm. Yet, Bucky rises like proofed bread dough, all rounded with rolls escaping the sides of the pan and flowing over. Bucky’s fat is so exorbitantly soft. He’s squishy, really like bread dough, Bucky often finds himself kneading his plush body - he just can’t get enough.  

This time, when the two gaining, ripening men see each other again, they meet at a grocery store, bumping into each other all those months and pounds later with nothing to dull the impact. In the broad light of day, there are no flashing club lights, no writhing bodies (mostly thin and scantily clad, but just as sweaty as the two overpacked fatties still shoving more in their greedy, moaning mouths), and no pounding music to hide behind. There’s nothing but the evidence of their indulgence on complete display.

Steve is swaying through the alcohol section, debating between different kinds of wine - who’s he kidding, though? He’s going to end up with both and he’ll knock them back so fast he probably won’t even taste the difference. He best get both. Both and more. He just, oops, he needs to be careful because he might fall on his ass and then he’ll break the bottles which would just be a fucking waste. No one would get to drink them then! Steve wants to drink them so bad, he wants to drain them both right now into his sloshing, dizzying belly. He could be heavier. He always needs to be heavier. He wants to roll back to the Uber that brought him here and he doesn’t want to be able to be stuffed into his seat. He’s going to swell himself up until he’s not only constantly giggly and dizzy but so he’s so round that a seatbelt extender will be essential, otherwise he’ll never be able to fit into a taxi or Lyft or Uber again. Godddd, he wants more already, he feels like he’s drying up despite all the sloshes and burps he’s stifling. Maybe both and then a few six-packs?

Bucky, however, is plodding through the food aisles, half-pushing, half-leaning on a cart that’s haphazardly stacked with enough food for a family of six. He’s so fucking loud and noisy between his almost ground-shaking footsteps and fast, shallow breaths. He ate before he came. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Never go grocery shopping hungry? He was just trying to follow the rules! But it doesn’t look like it’s worked on account of the crumbs around his mouth and the empty wrappers littering the baby seat of his cart. His gut is churning loudly - he just destroyed a whole box of snack cakes while debating what kind of ice cream he needs, thoughtless and shameless, only concerned with how to fill himself up until it hurts in the best way. Too tight. His belly keeps bumping the handle of the cart, so large that it makes his arms feel short.  

As they’re checking out, Steve isn’t looking where he’s going and he walks straight into Bucky. Bucky isn’t looking because he’s staring at the candy bars displayed near the front of the store, trying to drool remember if there’s any at the bottom of his cart or not.

Without their attention, they end up colliding belly to belly, making them both choke and groan, pressing on their sensitive guts sends hot, intense jolts of arousal through them both. It’s like pressing on a bruise - a big, fat bruise that’s been aching constantly for what feels like months. It’s a wonder neither of them come in their pants right then, hitting together like yoga balls and stumbling backwards, almost falling, they’re so on edge after months of unending gluttony. Stretched to their limits. Steve arches his back, reveling with a groan how his whole firm gut sloshes but doesn’t move all that much, he’s solid; Bucky curls around his soft tummy, breathing through the waves of heat with his fat jiggling everywhere, barely shoving a moan down. Neither of them can be out in public like this! This was a terrible idea! Now all they want to do is slump down and pant and digest a little so they might stand a chance at, at… 

Who hit him anyway?

Oh. 

They both look up at the same time, meeting each other’s dilated eyes and wondering, not even needing to speak out loud, how long they’ll have to wait to digest to be able to move better, just a little less sensitive, enough to touch each other - to squeeze and grope each other. Both of their bodies have ballooned, hugely fat, but they’re still so different. Hard and round; soft with rolls. How different are they these days?