#sorry my english isn't englishing today but uhhhh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hopefuloverfury · 11 months

Note

Omg hi! May I request something with harvey and gn!reader in which they are in a game of truth or dare with the other balchelors/rettes and one of them dares the farmer to kiss the doctor (farmer and harv are not necessarily in a relationship yet but they are close friends...or more ?)

Drink water! XD

Hello!! This prompt was a lot of fun to do, and Harvey is so cute! Thank you for the request anon, I really appreciate it! I don't have a beta reader unfortunately, so this might have typos or awkward phrasing (english isn't my first language agh) but I hope you enjoy anyway!! This one took me a bit longer, sorry about that! Also I drank water just for you, anon <3

2329 words, foul language, alcohol consumption, general dumbassery. GN!Farmer, implied Sam/Penny, a little suggestive at certain points but this is overall pretty tame, it might be a little ooc near the end but i tried my best whoops, manipulative Haley(but it's for everyone's benefit, don't worry), uhhhh did I miss anything? OH YEAH someone eats a spoonful of mayo sorry about that LMFAO

Harvey doesn’t like drinking anything that isn’t wine.

Wine lets him unwind—it loosens up his tense, stressed muscles, and after one glass, he’s usually set for the night. He doesn’t go crazy. He doesn’t drink liquor.

The Farmer, however, apparently does.

They’re squeezed in on the loveseat between Elliott and Shane, with one arm thrown over the back of the cushions, and they’re intermittently stealing Shane’s beer to down a few gulps at a time. As their doctor, he’s concerned, but as their boy—as their friend—his nerve endings are singed, and an uneasy feeling is building in his gut.

If he was an idiot, he’d blame the feeling on the nasty liquor Alex and Haley brought to the farmhouse, deep brown and thick like molasses on the way down. Unfortunately, he’s more self-aware than that.

Which means he knows that the sudden stab through his chest when the Farmer leans in a little too close to Elliott—harsh and thrashing, like a green sludge cloying up his throat and gluing his tongue to the back of his teeth—is just jealousy.

Maru and Abigail cheer loudly on his left, piled onto the couch with Sebastian and Sam, and part of him wishes he’d stayed home. He could’ve faked sick, maybe, and blamed it on the cold slowly blowing in from the ocean during this time of year. He’s never really liked the winter season, anyway.

But then he’d have missed this, and even though watching the Farmer eat up the attention from Shane and Elliott is keying him up more than any surgery he’s ever had to perform, he never misses Thirsty Thursday.

‘Thirsty Thursday’ is what the Farmer calls it. They coined the term with their old group of friends back in the city, or so he’s been told. Rules are simple: once a month, everyone brings a bottle of alcohol to one person’s house, and they spend the whole night getting plastered while playing drinking games. The game is different every time.

Today's game of choice is truth or dare—or strip.

Everyone is in varying states of undress, and he’s already lost his vest, his tie, and both of his shoes. There’s a pile of clothes building in the middle of the living room, and eleven pairs of shoes scattered between half-empty bottles of alcohol.

Thankfully it doesn’t look like he’s going to be losing anything else, because the group has abandoned their attacks on each other in favor of ganging up on the Farmer, who’s still fully clothed. Their boots are still perfectly laced, strings untouched and swinging to-and-fro. He watches them like pendulums, and takes another sip from his cup.

Alex flops back on the floor and throws his arms up in defeat.

“I give up, this is impossible,” he shouts, and Haley pokes him in the side with her foot.

“Quit being dramatic, you big baby,” she scolds him, raising an eyebrow with all the judgement of an angel at the gates of the afterlife. She's always scared him, a little. Too keen, knows too much, sees too much. Reads him like he's a children's book.

“Oh come on, there’s gotta be something they won’t do.” Sam yells across the room, his laugh as boisterous as ever. Harvey winces. His ears always get more sensitive when he’s drunk.

The Farmer tosses their head back and laughs, the sound ringing sharply in his ears. Harvey licks his lips, and rubs off any residual alcohol clinging to his mustache with the back of his hand. The hair scratches his skin, and it grounds him, if only a little bit. He likes their laugh.

“Oh, I think I’ve got one,” Penny says suddenly, sitting up and pointing at the Farmer with an eager look on her face. Harvey knows for a fact that she’s stone-cold-sober, and he honestly can’t believe she’d even show up for Thirsty Thursday, given how she feels about alcohol, but maybe the fact that she’s been glued to Sam’s arm all night has something to do with it. He won’t ask. “Farmer, truth or dare?”

“Bring it on, Pen. Dare,” the Farmer says.

“I dare you to eat a spoonful of mayonnaise.” Harvey’s face twists in disgust immediately, and the volume goes up to a hundred. Everyone’s laughing because they’re sure they wouldn’t. Not even the Farmer would do something so disgusting.

Harvey knows otherwise.

He watches with unsurprised horror as they lean forward, elbows on their knees, and give Penny a wild grin with their tongue bitten between their teeth. He wants to do that.

“That’s it?” Their voice is like a gunshot in the living room, silencing the group for half a moment before, like vultures to a corpse, Sam is jumping up and rushing into the kitchen with Alex and Leah hot on his heels.

Within thirty seconds there’s a jar of mayonnaise sitting heavy between the Farmer’s thighs, and Emily is handing them a spoon. Harvey’s pretty sure at least seven of them are yanking their phones out of their pocket to video the whole thing, and while he gets it, he’s seen the Farmer do much worse.

He’s no longer surprised by anything they do. As their doctor, he’s well aware of the shenanigans they get up to during their free time, and if he’s being realistic, eating a spoonful of mayo is probably the tamest thing they’ve done in his presence.

It’s still fucking gross though. Harvey snorts to himself, watching the look on their face when they twist open the jar and dig their spoon into the devil’s condiment. Even when they talk a big game, he can read them easily. Harvey chuckles a little bit at the slightly green tinge on their cheeks as they bring it up to their mouth, and close their lips over the spoon.

They barely manage to get it down, to the resounding cheers of glee and disgust around them.

“Holy shit, you actually did it!” Sam cackles, shoving his camera in the farmer’s face. They flip him off and he devolves into a fit of giggles.

Sebastian gags behind him, shaking his bangs out of his eyes and flopping back down on the couch behind Harvey. “That was the grossest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted,” Shane muses, holding his beer far out of reach from the Farmer’s grabby hands. “Nuh-uh, don’t even think about it, Farmer. You did this to yourself, and I don’t want your mayo mouth on my drink, go get your own.”

The Farmer whines petulantly, and Harvey gets up on his knees to pass the bottle of cranberry juice Penny brought for the punch mix. There’s just enough leftover to wash down the taste, and the Farmer plucks the near-empty jug out of his hands gratefully.

“Oh, my savior, thank you.” They guzzle the rest of the jug without preamble, and in their haste, a single drop trickles from the corner of their lips and down their chin. Harvey watches it like a hawk, eventually losing sight of it under the collar of their shirt. He wonders how it’d taste to lick it off, and immediately turns his eyes to the floor.

His ears burn.

“That was disgusting, don’t make me do that ever again,” The Farmer says, and Emily throws a pillow at them. It bounces off of their head harmlessly, and Shane catches it as it falls to the floor.

“We didn’t make you do anything,” Shane reminds them dryly, leaning back into the cushions with a smirk. “You could’ve just taken off your boots or something.”

“But they have to protect their honor!” Leah laughs, sea-blue eyes bright and twinkling as she throws her arm over Elliott and the Farmer’s shoulder from behind the loveseat.

“Oh goodness, I can still smell it on your breath.” Elliott jokes, dramatically yanking himself out of Leah’s grip and leaning far over the arm of the loveseat.

“How do you think I feel?” The Farmer snaps at him without a trace of heat in their voice, and Elliott snorts into his palm.

“Well, if that didn’t work, I’m out of ideas.” Penny shrugs, sitting back against Sam’s chest.

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing,” Sam agrees. “Anyone else?”

Silence follows, and Harvey almost gets ready to collect his clothes from the pile, when Haley raises her hand.

“I’ve got one more.”

“Can’t possibly be worse than making me eat mayo, so go ahead.” The Farmer shudders, setting the empty juice jug on the coffee table with a hollow thunk. Harvey settles back down, his heart making a distantly similar sound.

Haley cocks her head to the side, her hair swaying in front of her calculating blue eyes. “I dare you to kiss Harvey.”

Harvey doesn’t like a lot of things.

He doesn’t like liquor. He doesn’t like coral, or salmonberries, or the cold. He doesn’t like when the Farmer goes into the mines and comes back with a new gash on their skin, or a fractured bone in their limbs. He doesn’t like Thirsty Thursday.

He keeps his eyes glued to the Farmer, and desperately ignores every other pair of eyes currently digging into his skin. They’re probably all talking, but his ears have lost all functionality. The world sounds muffled and faraway, like his head is underwater.

“I, uh…” The Farmer stutters, and Harvey’s pulled back to shore. He hangs onto every syllable, his gut clenching, waiting for the sucker-punch of rejection. When it comes, he’s going to have to pretend to be normal about it, but everyone will stare at him with that glitter of pity in the backs of their eyes that he hates so much— “I’d have to brush my teeth. Harvey hates the taste of mayonnaise.”

Harvey’s lower jaw unhinges itself from his skull and falls into his solo cup with a splash.

He shakes his head, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. “I’m sorry, come again?”

The Farmer shrugs, but they won’t meet his eyes. “I mean, if you’re cool with it, I just have to brush my teeth. It was my dare, why should you have to suffer for it?”

They glance at him, at his lips, and Harvey’s launched to cloud nine.

“I—okay. Go brush your teeth then.”

The Farmer nods stiffly, their cheeks and ears flushing as they stand up. “Cool. Be right back.”

He looks up, suddenly afraid, and glances across the coffee table at Haley. She’s grinning, her teeth glinting like a lioness who just caught a gazelle in her jaws. Harvey rubs the back of his neck, his skin burning.

There’s a few hollers from the guys behind him, and he’s pretty sure Alex and Leah have both clapped him on the back. He didn’t even do anything.

“Okay!” The Farmer calls, their voice echoing down the hall and entering the room a few seconds before them. Harvey stays rooted to the floor, his wrists aching from leaning back on them for so long. His palms are probably indented with the texture of the rug beneath him. His eyes don’t stray from the Farmer as they walk around the couches and every forgotten bottle littering their living room floor. They crouch down in front of him, settling down on their knees, and Harvey’s brain finally catches up with him.

This is actually happening.

The Farmer is going to kiss him. He’s going to pass out.

“So, um. How do you want me to…?” They ask, and he thinks about it for a moment before realizing they’re looking at Haley.

“You can’t figure that out for yourselves?” Haley asks, her voice sharp and cutting.

The Farmer’s hands flap around chaotically as they sputter, searching for an appropriate defense. “This is your dare! How am I supposed to know, I can’t read your mind!”

“Farmer.” Harvey sets his solo cup on the coffee table. “You didn’t brush your teeth just to argue with Haley, did you?”

It’s the fucking liquor. It always makes him lose his filter. It gives him confidence, but it chases his inhibitions away and makes him bolder. He’s impatient, and he’s been dancing around this ‘will-we-won’t-we’ thing he’s got going with the Farmer for months, and he’s sick of it.

Another round of hollers and gleeful exclamations bounce off the walls, but he’s not paying attention anymore.

“No, I didn’t.” They say quietly, and they’re not paying attention anymore, either. “So how do you want me to do this?”

Harvey swallows hard, his eyes flicking down to their lips. “How do you think I want you to do it?”

“Messy,” they whisper, cupping his jaw in their hands, and he might as well be delirious. “But that’s not really appropriate when we have an audience, so you’ll have to settle for a little less.”

“Guess you’ll just have to do it again when there’s no audience,” Harvey hisses, and then their lips are on his. There’s condensation from the beer mixing with the sweat on his palms, but he brings his hands up to grip their waist anyway. They shiver against him, breathing slowly through their nose, and Harvey pulls them closer.

They taste like toothpaste, and feel like silk in his hands. He squeezes once, trying not to groan into their mouth, lest he put on a show for the rest of the group, but they rearrange themselves against his lips, and suddenly his glasses are digging into the bridge of his nose.

He yanks himself away, barely taking a breath as he tears his glasses off his face and tosses them onto the coffee table with a clatter. He pays it no mind. Someone whistles. Probably Sam. He drags the Farmer back in and slots their lips together, clicking together like puzzle pieces as they sling their arms over his shoulders.

He slips his thumb under their shirt, just barely, and their voice rumbles deep in their chest.

He loves Thirsty Thursday.

43 notes · View notes