Drunk!ghost who slurs on and on about being married when gaz drops him off to you. He makes a big deal of not touching you when you try to guide him upstairs, tells you "m' lovie 's gorgeous. Never need anything else so fock off–"
And of course he refuses to let you sleep in the same bed as him, he's married, got it? So you sleep on the couch after watching a movie, awfully endeared by your husband.
Only to wake up to him standing over you at 3am with the saddest puppy dog eyes asking "why're you out here, love? Did I do something wrong? :(" and bodily hauling you to bed so he can smother you in slightly more sober cuddles.
Or: You know you can count on your boyfriend Dick Grayson when someone slips something on your drink
Warnings: Heavy topics at hand, reader's drink is spiked (their friends are nearby and help - mostly description of the physical effects) + a little bit of unreliable narrator given that reader isn't fully conscious while everything happens // There's mentions of feeling sick / vomit, tho it isn't explicit and I've avoided using any specific words for it. // Lovingly requested here <3
Morph's thoughts: Okay this one has gone through like five different versions, all because i didn't like the party portion lmao I'm honestly not too sure how i feel about it and Dick might be a little ooc but oh well, wanted to finally get it out there since it was a request <3 Longer one, so it's under the cut :)
It was meant to be a fun night out; one of your friends had been promoted. It meant she was getting a better wage and, more importantly, getting moved to a different department and far away from a very annoying coworker. It was clearly a matter of celebration, and your whole friend group had taken it very seriously.
Grabbing dinner at your favourite taco spot and getting the night started with a few rounds of margaritas had proved to be a great idea. You'd all reached the club a couple hours later with a buzz that had you crowding the dance floor and making the party much more lively that it had been before your arrival.
A few more rounds and even more songs had flown by and after a few hours, you'd found yourself slinking past the crowd and to the bar, almost begging for a fruity little cocktail that would help wash down the burning taste of the round of shots your friend had insisted on drinking.
You'd casually chatted with the bartender, offhandedly shrugging off the flirting attempts of a couple guys waiting for a drink beside you. The first sip had felt like heaven, the sweet and tart flavours washing off any of the bitterness the alcohol had left on your tongue.
That's probably when it happened, when the friend you were celebrating had joined you with a cheer and pulled you into a drunken hug. She'd asked about your drink, the vibrant colours of the mix making it appealing enough for her to call the bartender over to request one. It'd been just a moment, barely over a minute, that your drink had been unattended before you were both leaning on the counter and you were bringing the stripped straw back to your lips.
You'd been there for a bit, chatting and laughing about things that had happened earlier in the night. And then you'd felt it, the way your stomach seemed to churn and your eyelids grew heavy. You knew you weren't moving —in fact you'd managed to snatch a bar stool not long ago, needing some relief for your feet after standing for so long— and still it felt like everything around you was shifting, edges becoming liquid and sliding up and down your field of vision.
Your friend seemed to notice too, lightly waving her hand in front of your face and checking your level of awareness, the dizzy happiness you'd been feeling until moments ago dissipating as what had happened dawned on the both of you.
With a subtle movement you'd taken a quick look over shoulder, noticing that the guys you'd pretty much ignored a while ago were still there, lingering close, looking back at the both of you from time to time. The next thing you'd looked at was your drink, suddenly able to spot the fact that the ice cubes had fully sunken, barely responding to the swirl of the surrounding liquid when you spun your straw around.
Luckily your friend was moving before you could even think of what to do next, the dizziness fully settling now and making you feel like you were hearing the loud music from underwater. You'd barely caught onto what she was saying, even if she was yelling it over the club's noise. All you'd managed to catch was a mention of your boyfriend, the name of the place you were in and a hurried instruction to get there as soon as possible.
It was like you were skipping through time, because the next thing you remember is another one of your friends appearing beside you, looking as worried as the first one did. Between them, they'd managed to get you on your feet and walking towards the exit. A third person of your group walking past you and toward the spot you were in just moments ago, with two intimidating security guys following.
You blinked, or at least that's what you remembered, but suddenly you were outside and coming to when the voice of your boyfriend filtered through the noise that seeped from the club and through Blüdhaven's streets.
"You with me, baby?" Warm hands cup your cheeks, gently guiding your head to move side to side while he assessed your state. A dazed smile pulling at your lips when you realise it's Dick standing before you.
There's a light nod of your head, something he probably feels more than he sees. And then your eyes are closing and you let all your weight fall forward and onto his chest. A happy sigh leaving you as your hands clumsily cling onto the soft crewneck he's wearing.
His hands shoot out to grip your waist, arms wrapping around you to make sure you don't tumble to the floor. "Whoa, hey. Okay— Eyes open for me, baby. Have to know you're still here." All he gets in response is a nonsensical mumble, a slur of random words that leave your lips and onto the fabric covering his shoulder.
Another little sigh leaves you when one of his hands moves up your back and to cup your neck, gently tilting your head back until you're looking at him again. A loopy smile pulls at your lips, "hiii."
Despite the serious situation, he can't help the soft laugh that leaves him. Your eyes flutter closed again when he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your head. "Hi sunshine. How are you feeling?"
"Hmmm…." Your eyes crack open, blown-up pupils slowly dragging over his face while you mull over the question he's starting to think you've already forgotten. "Good," you settle on, "always good in your arms."
A little laugh leaves him again, and he gently pulls you closer, until he's got you gathered up in his arms. "Sweet-talker even in these conditions, hm?" Carrying you towards his car, he gives a thankful nod towards your friends, doing his best to ignore the fact that you're clingling onto him like koala.
The drive goes by criminally slow. The mix of whatever was dumped into your drink with the movement of the car triggers your nausea worse than the first hit of the drug had managed to. Dick has to pull over a few times, all of them helping you stay up and safely out of the splash zone while your body takes care of ridding itself of the toxin.
By the time you get home you're probably mostly clean of the substance. But whatever has been processed by your system, mixed with the alcohol and the exhaustion that only comes with being sick so many times in a row, has your head drooping down and your muscles feeling like an uncomfortably-sore putty.
"Come here," a small smile pulls at your lips even in your stupor, happy to melt into Dick's arms when he holds you again. "We're going to get you a nice, full cup of cold water. And you're going to drink all of it. After that, shower and comfy pj's— Nothing but rest tomorrow, too."
You just nod sluggishly to his words, sliding in and out of sleep while he lists off his instructions and walks the both of you to your shared apartment. Still, you comply with all of it — drinking not one, but two full cups, happy to lift your arms or legs when he tells you to, shrugging sweaty clothes off and finally relaxing on the warmth of the shower.
In what feels like no time —although you're sure it was way longer for Dick, who had to do all of it with pretty much no assistance from you— you're all warm and snug in bed, turned to your left side and close to the edge of the bed were your stomach to act up again.
A pitiful little whimper leaves you when you catch sight of your boyfriend slipping out of the room, barely processing the reassurance he calls out from the hallway before he's back. He sets another glass of cool water by your nightstand, along with something that should help the crazy hangover you're going to have come morning.
He's happy to hold the clingy hand you stretch from under the blankets, even if it makes his task of getting in bed more difficult. After solving a tangle of sheets and limbs, he manages to curl behind you, the warmth of his body seeping from his chest to your back when he holds you close.
"Not going anywhere, baby," he reassures one more time, pressing a soft kiss to your temple and then the curve of your neck. "Sleep now, I'll be here to make sure you're okay."
You're out barely seconds later, tired body slumped back against his while he gathers you even closer, curling himself so every part of his body fits with yours. As if having you this close will prevent anything else bad from ever happening to you again.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
You have no idea what time it is when you wake up, but it has to be late enough for the golden rays of sun to seep in through the curtains and, annoyingly enough, directly onto your face. A light grunt leaves you because of it, hand blindly reaching for a pillow to press your face into to avoid being blinded.
Another groan leaves you, rather offended this time, when Dick laughs behind you. It's soft and riddled with sleep, proving he hasn't been awake for much longer than you.
"Morning, sleepy head. How's my sunshine feeling?" You give into his touch when his arms wrap tighter around you, letting him turn you around and taking the chance to hide you face against his chest and away from the morning light.
"Hungover. Badly," you grumble, twisting a bit so you can tangle your legs with his under the sheets.
A light huff leaves him, and you feel the way his nose presses into your hair. The relaxed sigh that leaves him at the familiar scent of your shampoo. "Yeah, no wonder."
It's quiet for a bit, a comfortable, half-asleep kind. One of his hands lazily traces patterns along the length of your arm, while your fingers play with the loose thread on the hem of his sleep shirt.
"I'm sorry for last night," it comes out as a quiet murmur, something he can only hear because it's muttered against the crook of his neck. Your warm breath tingling over his skin with every word. "I shouldn't have taken my eyes off my drink, it was dumb of me and—"
Your words are cut off by the way he leans back, the hand tracing shapes on your skin moving to instead cup the back of your neck, guiding you to look at him. His expression is serious in the way Nightwing is, when he looks down at you. "Stop it. I don't want you to apologize— You shouldn't be apologizing. You have no fault of what happened, you should be able to have fun without having to watch your back."
It's dumb, because you know he's right and you never expected him to say anything else. But the reassurance hits somewhere deep in your chest, and before you can do something about it, tears are springing up in the corner of your eyes. You go to say something, anything. But only a choked little sob leaves you and in an instance you're back against his chest, tightly held in the comfort of his arms and cologne.
The weight that lifts off your chest at his words, one you hadn't realised was there, makes your whole body melt in his grip. It's pure relief, the factual knowledge that he doesn’t blame you, doesn’t hold what happened against you nor sees it as a failure on your part. Dick is just worried, thinking of your well-being and what to do to make you feel better, while simmering anger is pointed at the ones that did this to you. But not at you, never you.
"Shh, it's okay," barely over a whisper, he reassures you while peppering kisses to your forehead and temples. "I know it was scary. But you're safe, baby. I've got you. Always will."
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!Reader || fluff fluff fluff fluff i love fluff
warnings: people being drunk (in a silly way), that's about it :]
content: The lads need to bring a drunk Simon back home after a night at the pub. Kyle thinks he's stepped into a different universe.
~ 2.7k words !! || title: 'Potion' by Djo ❤︎ || ao3
Ghost doesn't get drunk easily. At least that's what the team's always thought.
He's usually the one to drive everyone home, barely affected by the few drinks he had. Usually, him and John are hauling Johnny into the car, while Kyle stumbles behind them, giggling like a mad man at the way the two are manhandling the Scot.
But tonight? They don't know what's gotten into him. All three of them had to put the effort to haul the brute into the backseat, while he mumbles and babbles nonsense about… missing something? Someone? Not that they can really understand, his voice being muffled by the crooked mask on his face.
It's once they're in the car that Kyle realises that… they don't actually know where Ghost lives. Sure, Price has to know, but he's off himself, eyes blinking slowly every so often in the passenger seat. Kyle opens his mouth to ask Ghost himself, but ultimately shuts it back up when he sees how he's leaning on Johnny and babbling away, hands moving in front of him like he's telling an elaborate story only he is privy to. He turns to his captain, and tries his best to coax directions out of him despite his tired and slightly woozy state. Luckily, he succeeds!
Driving to Ghost's house was utter hilarious chaos. Johnny starts singing at some point, Price joining in. Ghost is still muttering nonsense, all while swaying to the songs his teammates are singing. He groans every so often, like he's sick of whatever seems to be troubling him so much to talk non-stop about it. Kyle tries his best to drive straight and not laugh too much, and risk something happening to all of them.
Arriving at Ghost's house is odd. They're in a place Kyle doesn't really know of, a nice cottage just far away into the countryside that there wouldn't be too much noise, but still within adequate travelling time, and most likely walking time as well if the small paths through the trees indicated anything for Kyle, to go back to the main city. Honestly, he didn't really think Ghost would live in a house like this, but then again, he doesn't know much of Ghost's life at all.
Sure, he knows how Ghost takes his tea, a dash of milk and a single sugar cube, he knows how Ghost is on the field, quiet and deadly, and how he holds his gun with an air of boredom but with insane precision. Yet, he doesn't know if Ghost would have any decorations in his house, or if he'd have a nice house like this one at all. He doesn't know the breakfast he might prefer, nor the music he truly likes, or what he does in his free time.
Seeing the house first, he thinks — and realises — that he doesn't really know Simon, at all. He makes a mental note to fix that, to try a bit harder to soften the man turned brute, to give him more shoulders to lean on when the world's too loud.
The next thing Kyle notices, which makes him all the more confused, is that lights are on in the house. And he doubts Ghost would leave this amount of lights on for a pet if he had any, and he doubts Ghost would allow himself a pet if he was gone a lot of the time.
He stops in front of the house, and hesitates a moment. He feels a part of himself doubting John, but he perseveres anyway. He could never afford to doubt his captain.
Soap and John keep on singing as the car stops and Kyle opens the door. He's able to haul the both of them out on his own, the action shaking them out of their musical trance. The three put all their effort into lifting the gruff brit out of the car, though not without the Scot's constant drunken giggles.
Ghost seems as though he'd rather stay in the car than go to his presumed house. Kyle isn't able to tell why though, he still can't make out what Ghost could be saying. It's all muffled and mumbled nonsense, somehow more saddened than he had first been.
They're able to make it to the door, though with much trouble. Kyle shushes Soap and John, and turns to Ghost to slowly speak.
"D'you have your keys, Ghost?"
Simon tries to shimmy away from the hold he's in, but with very little force, almost like a petulant child.
"Nooo, no, no, no… don't—" he hiccups slightly, "—don't wanna.. not 'ere— L'vies not 'ere.." Kyle's not sure what (or who) he's talking about, but he's sure something has to be here, considering certain rooms have lights on. Ghost seemed to have not taken notice of those yet, not that Kyle thought he would in his current state.
Kyle sighs, he's too lazy to search Ghost, especially with how wiggly he's being, so he turns to the door, takes a breath in, and rings the doorbell, because there is no way someone isn't inside with that amount of lights on. Maybe Ghost had a roommate, made things cheaper for them.
A dog barks lightly, echoing slightly through the house. He hears something hit against what he guesses is furniture, hearing a faint "Slow down Maise!" through the door.
The ruckus stops after the command, and the door opens.
"Hello? Can I help yous— oh," You begin before you fully take in what's behind the door. You notice Simon before anyone else. He's still trying to stumble out of the two other men. Your eyes then drift to Kyle, and you take in the full scene, with slight surprise. "Oh, hello."
"Hi, erm…" Kyle looks too nervous for a soldier, he's not sure what's gotten into him then. He clears his throat, and shoots a glance back at his teammates, then back at you. "Does Simon Riley live here?"
You smile at him, and glance at Simon. "The big guy there?" You ask loud enough for Simon to potentially hear you, all while feigning clueless-ness. Simon's incoherent scrambling slows, and he starts to lean against Price by his side. He's slow to lift his head up at the familiar name, trying to figure out where it came from.
"Yeah..," Kyle responds sheepishly, a small chuckle leaving him as he awkwardly scratches his neck.
"Yeah, he lives here," you smile, and look towards Simon. His head is lifted now, and he's looking in your direction, though he hasn't seemed to fully take you in yet. He's squinting.
"Oh, grand. Could I ask who you are—"
"L'vie!"
Simon shoots straight up from where he's leaning on John. He stumbles a bit from the speed, and immediately starts trying to make his way towards you despite his seeming inability to walk straight. He stumbles forward, bumping into Johnny on the way and into Kyle, who tries to stop him from falling. You're watching the scene go down with barely contained laughter.
Simon stops only once he's in front of you, and he's leaning against the doorframe like he can't hold himself up (which he can't). His hands come up and cup your face, slightly mushing your cheeks together, and he presses a big wet kiss to your lips. You lightly and jokingly push his face away once he pulls away from you.
"Beh! Simon, you taste like bourbon!" You laugh as you turn your head away from him, sticking your tongue out in fake disgust. He tries kissing you again, though you evade him, and he lets out a mumbled mix of a sort of whine and a groan as he shoves his face in the crook of your neck.
"'s no' Simon… 's Si'… 's bi' guy…," he mumbles against your skin dramatically mournful, like you saying his full name instead of his nicknames was worse than any nightmare (which for him, it is).
"Yeah, yeah, you're alrigh' big guy," you mumble to him as you press a small kiss to the side of his head, your hand coming up to gently run through his grown out buzz-cut.
Kyle is stood a few steps away, staring at the both of you like a deer in headlights. He honestly doesn't know what he expected, if he really expected anything, but it certainly wasn't this.
He's not making a sound at all, genuinely speechless. Johnny on the other hand, had it different. He gasps loud after it, like it took him a bit too long to realise with the alcohol in his system, and then, starts cheering. It snaps Kyle out of his trance, and makes John chuckle, trying to settle the Scot down despite his slightest woozy state.
Kyle stares a bit longer before his mouth opens, but his words aren't too coherent either.
"Wha— Who— Huh?" He lets out a bit helplessly, looking between you holding Simon, to John whose trying to calm Johnny, and then back to you.
You look like you're about to burst out laughing at the scene in front of you, but somehow you're holding it in quite well.
Simon, then, stands back up next to you, of course not without stumbling (you try your best to keep him up despite his size), and holds you like you're a prize he's most proud of.
"'t's mah lovie!" He exclaims like a kid showing off a drawing. You laugh next to him.
"I'm his partner," you clarify with a cheeky smile to Kyle. He blinks twice and nods slowly. He takes a minute of silence to gather his thoughts before opening his mouth.
"Sorry, I'm err… a bit surprised," he says sheepishly again, still shocked at this new information. "We err… didn't really know." Awkwardness is oozing out of him like sap out of trees.
"I'm aware," you laugh again and pat Simon on the arm. "He's been meaning to tell youse, but this meathead's been pushing it off. Youse should come for tea this week," You smile softly at him, talking in a way that wouldn't rush anyone, wouldn't disturb too much. You're sure it's a lot to take in for them, or at least the one most sober. John and Johnny have gone back to doing shenanigans that are fortunately not too disturbing.
Kyle nods dumbly. He looks between you and the two men behind him.
"Yeah… That'd be good," he looks back at you sheepishly. "Think I should get these two bellends back home." He chuckles and you join him. John and Johnny have started singing another drunk song, fortunately quieter than in the car.
"Better do so. Send a message to Si when youse get home. Want youse safe enough to properly meet youse at least once," you smile, but he can tell there's underlying seriousness in your words. He nods and salutes you like you're his captain giving him orders.
He turns to the two behind him, and tries to rally them up. "Right, up you go, get in the bloody car." They stumble to it, Johnny giggling like a madman, John following behind him. Kyle turns back to give you a nod and a wave, before getting in the car himself. You reciprocate, and turn to Simon to try and shove him through the door.
"C'mon big guy, let's get you to bed, yeah?" Simon follows you, not without leaning on you with half his weight. He hums against your head as you walk to your bedroom.
Unfortunately for you, it's not that easy to get him to bed, at least not in his current state. The moment you made near the bed, Simon's going down and he's taking you with him. He's laying on his back with you on top of him, his arms liked chains keeping you from moving. You yelp as you're pulled down, and Simon grins big.
"Hi," he lets out bashfully, starting up at your face with unfocused eyes.
"Hello Si," you smile down at him, your hands coming up to gently push his hair away from his forehead, caressing it softly.
"Thought you weren' gonna be 'ere tonigh'," he frowns then, a slight whine to his voice, "Sai' y'weren'." You'd told him a while back you weren't going to be home after he came back from this deployment, having to go visit some friends and stay with them to help them move cities.
"'Know Si, took less time to move than they thought," you explain gently, moving your thumb so it could caress the skin between his eyebrows. His eyes flutter shut the the feeling, and he hums. "Wanted to surprise you," you say as you press a light kiss to his nose. You stay like that for a minute or so, before you try to move.
"C'mon lovie, lets get you changed, yeah?" As you speak, Maisie, your german shepherd, comes to nudge his thigh, most likely wanting some scratches herself and to be able to go to sleep at the foot of your bed knowing the both of you are safe and sound asleep there. Simon groans a bit, and tightens his grip slightly. "If you get changed, we can lay properly in bed, and I'll give you a buncha kisses," you suggest, chuckling slightly at his insistence. Simon hums as if in deep and important contemplation before ultimately loosening his grip. You chuckle again, press a chaste kiss to his lips, and then got up. You make your way to your dressers, and take out a pair of his sleep joggers before making your way back to him.
"C'mon, up-up lovie," you murmur, and help him up the best you can. He does, and you help him out of his clothes with some difficulty and get him in his sleep joggers. You lead him to the bathroom best you can and get him to at least brush his teeth before leading him back to bed, and under the covers.
"See? That was all quick, weren' it?" you mumble softly, carding your fingers through his short blond hair as you settle next to him, his arms around you once more. He groans and grumbles as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Maisie jumps on the bed and shoves at Simon a few times with her muzzle. Simon brings his hand out on instinct, and Maisie shoves her head into it, getting all the pets she wants until she's satisfied. You smile at the sight, and bring your hand out when Maisie makes her way towards you once she's had her fill of Simon. You've always loved this little tradition she'd started, always demanding pets before sleep, every night without fail. You press a small kiss to the top of her head with a loving "Nigh' Maise" before she settles comfortably in her own bed at the foot of yours. You lay down properly next to Simon again, and he's looking up at you now with half-lidded and unfocused eyes.
"Ah love y'u," he mumbles incoherently, but you understand him nonetheless.
"I love you too, you dimwit," you chuckle, pressing two kisses to his forehead.
"Hmmmm, ah'll marry y't'morro'," he add sleepily against your cheek, "Wanna marry y'now." You snort at his words, playing with his hair as you hum.
"Y'will one day, big guy," you murmur, but your comment goes unnoticed as Simon starts to snore loud next to you. You laugh, and slot yourself against him like a matching puzzle piece.
The boys do come over that week for tea, not without Simon's light grumbling. You know he doesn't mind, because he doesn't try to stop it. He lets it happen, and you know he's having a good time by the glint in his eyes. He's got you, Maisie, the people he chooses to call his family, for now, he couldn't ask for more.
Kyle loves the decorations you've got up, Johnny loves your cooking, and John can't seem to get up from the couch.
You wouldn't ask for anyone better to surround your big guy.
heyyyyyy........... i've kinda dissapeared off the face of the earth when it came to writing, sorry chat..... school has been kicking my ass, graduation year is not for the weak. can't promise how soon i'll be back soooo uhh yeah! have the longest fic i've written in a while that i wrote in class and while i was supposed to be revising mueheheheehe
thank youse for being here with me ❤︎
@sheepispink mueheheheehe here it is lovie ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ hope you like it hehehe
what about a text conversation between a drunk flambae and robert BUT flambae thinks he is texting prism. flambae is texting about how he wants to marry robert and being gushy about it because he thinks he's texting prism, but robert is there reading these a little stunned and says he'll give an answer later. flambae wakes up, hungover, and has to deal with the consequences of his drunken actions lol
Gaz was gently working Simon over his lap, scissoring two fingers in and out of him while keeping another two in his mouth. This had become somewhat of a post pub ritual for the two. At least, when Ghost got drunk enough to allow himself to say yes. Gaz had offered multiple times to take Ghost sober, even cornered him a few times, but every time Ghost would avoid him or flat out refused.
Only when Simon was a few too many beers in did he paw at Gaz's arm to take him to his barracks. And Gaz would never say no to his Lieutenant.
Gaz's attention snapped back to Simon's face as he garbled something into Gaz's fingers.
"What was that, Simon?" Gaz asked as he pulled his out his fingers from his mouth because with Gaz it was never "Ghost" or "L.T.", it was always "Simon".
"Please Ma- fuck-" Simon hiccuped, humping desperately against Gaz's thigh. His jeans were disgusting, covered in pre and sticky. "Ma- mama, lemme cum- please- guh-"
Now, this was new. In bed, despite being damn near blackout drunk, Ghost insisted on only calling Gaz, well, Gaz. Kyle or Garrick if he was feeling needy, but never "mama"
Still, Gaz was a man of his word, he'd never say no to his Lieutenant.
And if his dick throbbed at the way Ghost sucked on his nipples as he came, as if if he sucked hard enough milk would come out? Well that was just between Gaz and himself.
