Warnings: Underaged drinking, drunk characters, Fred has a problem in his pants, undressing someone, one lil dirty joke, one horrible dad joke
Summary: Y/N decides to let loose one night at a Gryffindor party, making a slightly less drunk Fred resort to being her babysitter and hearing some confessions that sober Y/N would never dare say.
Prompts: Getting Drunk Together with dialogue prompts “I think I forgot how to breath,” and “were you dreaming of me again?”
Word Count: 1.8k just a lil shorty
A/N: Day 4 of @theweasleyslut‘s 2k writing challenge -- WAIT GUYS THIS ONE’S ACTUALLY LIKE ONE OF MY FAVS --
“Freddie catch me!” You launched yourself off the back of the velvet couch in the Gryffindor Common Room, arms and legs spread wide like you were a flying squirrel. Fred, who had his back turned to your antics, saw you right before your feet left the couch and he dove frantically toward you, catching you right before you would’ve broken your nose on the floor. “Again!”
Fred chuckled and continued to hold you much to your dismay. “I need to keep a better eye on you, don’t I?”
“Put me down!” you said, squirming in his hold. Fred decided to give you what you wanted, so he placed you down on the couch. And then he sat right on top of you.
“Fred!” Your voice was muffled by his jumper, which you were now trying to spit out of your mouth. “Let me out, let me out you big stupid.”
“Oh I’m the big stupid?” he asked mockingly. “You almost just killed yourself for the third time tonight. I knew letting you get this wasted was a dumb idea.”
“T’was also your dumb idea,” you said, still trying to push him off of you to no avail.
Fred glanced around the common room at who was still left. After the Quidditch match earlier and a great win for Gryffindor, Fred and George had thrown the best party that Hogwarts had ever seen, with music and food and dancing. And, of course, lots and lots of firewhisky.
Most of the festivities had died down about an hour ago and only a handful of people remained downstairs, most either too wasted to move or babysitting those who were too wasted to move. Fred got the honor of being one of those babysitters.
He realized that he had probably pinned you down for long enough and he moved to let you have your space. You sat up gasping for air, wrapping your hands around your neck and leaning from side to side.
“I think I forgot how to breathe.”
Fred rolled his eyes and moved closer to you, grabbing your hands in his and removing them from your neck, placing them on your lap instead.
“C’mon, stupid, it’s not that hard. Breathe in. Breathe out.”
You tried to do what he said but ended up doubling over in a coughing fit, small tufts from his jumper coming out of your mouth.
“Bloody hell, did you inhale my jumper?!”
You giggled bashfully before sticking almost your entire hand in your mouth, pulling out a long thread and gagging in the process.
“You’re disgusting,” he said, grabbing a nearby napkin to clean off your spit-covered hand.
You stuck out your hand as if going in for a handshake. “Hi disgusting, I’m dad.”
“That’s not even how that joke works, dummy.” He wiped you down, grimacing as some of the spit got on his hand. Fred was not sober enough to deal with this. Earlier, when you had told him you’d never really been drunk before, only tipsy, Fred thought that tonight would be the perfect night to have you let loose if you wanted to. He promised he’d watch you and take care of his friend, which is why you finally let yourself go and had a wild time. Unfortunately, Fred had never been the responsible one before and you were good at being sneaky, so you had a lot more alcohol than he would have liked.
His head buzzed with the firewhisky burning inside him, wishing he would’ve decided to stay sober instead of taking a handful of shots. But you just looked like you were having so much fun out there on the dance floor and he figured a few wouldn’t hurt. Now the both of you were drunk and only one of you knew how to handle their alcohol. The other now had their head laying in their best friend’s crotch.
“Y/N!” he hissed, hoping no one was looking at the two of you, but they were all either too drunk or too distracted to notice. “Get up, what is your head doing down there?”
“You’re soft,” you said, snuggling into his lower half.
He quickly lifted your head and put it on a pillow, grabbing another to hide a growing problem where your nose had just been. “Yeah, that’s definitely not true,” he said, laughing quietly at his own joke. He shifted for a few seconds before deeming it ok for him to stand.
It was getting late, and Fred knew that you were already going to have a rough morning, so he’d better get you to bed as quickly as possible.
“Alright, love, let’s--”
He cut himself off when he looked back down at you lying on the couch, completely asleep. He sighed but smiled warmly, wondering where all of the energy you had minutes ago just went. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
He reached down to pick you up, carrying you bridal style to your prefect dorm. He walked ever-so-slowly, stumbling a bit from his intoxication but determined to make sure you got back safe. After effectively ascending the stairs (thank Godric he and George had found a way past the no boys allowed charm years ago) and getting to your private room, he laid you down gently and grabbed a t-shirt and shorts for you to change into.
He was crouched down and digging through your drawers when he heard your small voice whisper. “Freddie, I love you Freddie.”
He grabbed the clothes and sat next to you, seeing that you were still asleep. “Hey,” he said softly, shaking you awake. You swatted him away a few times before allowing yourself to open your eyes.
“Were you dreaming of me again?” he teased. He grabbed you under your armpits and lifted your torso up, gesturing for you to put your hands in the air. You did, using all of your strength to keep you from toppling over.
“Mhmm,” you said. “I was dreaming of you and me, and how much I love you.”
You elongated the word love, saying it in a singsong voice and bringing a smile to Fred’s face as he lifted your old shirt over your head. “I love you too, stupid, your my bestest friend.”
All of a sudden you were shaking your head, looking annoyed and angry. “No, I love you. Like love love.”
“Uh huh,” Fred replied, brain not working fast enough to catch onto what you meant. “I love love you too. Now help me get this shirt on.”
You hphmed crossly and pulled the shirt over your head. “You’re the stupid, Mr. Big Stupid. I love love love you. In my dream, you were there and you kissed me! Like this.”
You leaned forward and planted a big sloppy kiss onto Fred’s lips, immediately slumping forward into his shoulder. It took him a couple of seconds to realize what had just happened, but before he could say anything you started talking again.
“You kissed me, then you told me how you loved me too, and how I was your favorite person in the whole wide world, even more than Georgie!” You suddenly gasped, covering your mouth with your hand. “Don’t tell Georgie I said that, I love him so much, he can’t know that I want you to love me more than him. Don’t tell, ok?” You seemed as though you were going to cry from what you had just confessed to Fred.
“I won’t, I won’t, I pinky swear,” Fred said quickly, thrusting his pinky into your face. You frown washed away and was replaced with a gleeful smile as you shook his pinky, sealing your promise.
“Good, I don’t want George to hate us.”
Fred pulled you into his arms and stood you up slowly, grabbing the shorts he had picked out for you. “Ok, can you take your shorts off for me please? You need to put on new ones.”
Nodding, you reached for the pants but tried to put them on over the skirt you were already wearing.
“No no no, not like that.” Fred sighed in exasperation and decided that had had to help you with this too. “Ok hold still.”
He sunk to his knees in front of you, one hand firm on your waist in order to keep you from falling. Trying to avoid looking as much as possible, Fred fumbled around the waistband of your skirt and pulled it down, leaving you standing in only your shirt and panties. He tried not to look, but his drunk brain was making it really hard for him to control his eyes. He had you step forward into the pant legs and pulled them up nice and snug around your waist, hoping he hadn’t done anything that he shouldn’t have during the encounter.
“Thanks love,” you slurred, falling immediately back onto the bed. “Wanna kiss me again? Like you did in my dream?”
Fred plopped down next to you, letting his fingers play with your hair as you cuddled up on your side. “Yeah, I do. But not tonight, ok? We’re both a little crazy tonight aren’t we?”
“We’re both a little stupid”
“No, we’re big stupids. Mr. and Mrs. Big Stupid.”
You laughed loudly rolling over a few times and almost falling off the bed before Fred caught you. “I wanna be your Mrs. Can I be your Mrs., Freddie? Pretty pretty please?”
He snickered, pulling the blanket up over the both of you. Staying the night would probably be for the best, especially since you didn’t have anyone else in the dorm to take care of you. “Of course, you’ll be Mrs. Freddie Big Stupid, how does that sound.”
You clapped your hands smiling into your pillow. “I’m gonna marry you. And we’re gonna have the biggest bestest wedding ever. And everyone’s gonna be there. Oh no, but we have to go on a date first. We’ve never been on a date.” You pouted.
Fred put a finger to his chin, thinking. “How about tomorrow night we go on a date. I can take you on a beautiful picnic and we’ll watch the sun set and then you can kiss me again like you did tonight. Sound good stupid?”
“Hmm,” you said, voice trailing off as sleep threatened to overtake you again. “That sounds perfect.”
Fred bit his lip, trying to hold back a loud whoop of joy. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back into him.
“Freddie?” you asked quietly. “Am I gonna remember this tomorrow?”
He laughed and nuzzled his head into your hair, happier than he had been in a long long time. “Probably not. But I will, and I’ll make sure to remind you.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Skye | Daisy Johnson/Daniel Sousa
Characters: Skye | Daisy Johnson, Daniel Sousa
Additional Tags: Drabble, Drinking
Series: Part 214 of A Drabble A Day 2021
Summary:
After a successful mission, Daisy asks Daniel how he celebrated in the past
...I have never been drunk in my life. Because I don't drink.
Therefore my knowledge of how to be drunk is very limited, and mostly based on the idea that it's similar to being very, very sleep-deprived (which I have been on probably far more occasions than is healthy for me). My suspicion is that if I did drink, I would be either a very giggly drunk, or a very angry drunk.
Reading the chapter to the end will clarify why this is valid.
“You what?!”
Shermie and Ford both stared at Stan, aghast, as he continued to scramble eggs after telling them how he’d essentially bought himself from their father.
Stan grinned. “You shoulda seen the look on his face-it was even better than the time when we went to that restaurant with the triple-decker steak.”
Shermie snorted, hard. “Oh wow...I always knew you were crazy, Stanley, but this-this exceeded even my expectations.”
He did a little theatrical bow, twirling the spatula between his fingers. “That’s what I do best.”
When their mother came down, however, some of his ebullience-a lot of it, in fact-dissipated at the look on her face.
Ford’s stomach twisted in a hard knot, because even he could see that level of heartbreak.
Stan winced, and turned off the burner. “...Hey, Mom.”
Mom looked up at him sadly for a moment, before at last whispering, “This isn’t gonna be fixed, is it?”
Stan let out a sigh that was equal parts sad and frustrated as he set down the spatula he’d been using. “Whaddya want me ta do? Beg and plead for him ta say I’m part of the family again? It wouldn’t work, Mom, and even if it would…”
Even when he had still been mad at his brother, Ford knew he wouldn’t have wanted him to sacrifice his dignity to that extent. He wanted it even less now, when he understood better what had happened and wasn’t a stupid hormonal teenager.
Mom was trying hard not to cry now. “Stanley…”
“Am I gonna lose you too if I can’t make things up with him?” Stan suddenly asked.
It snapped Mom out of her despondency somewhat: her eyes widened, and then she jabbed a finger into her son’s chest.
“Stanley Pines! What kinda mother ya take me for?! What, ya think I’m gonna tell ya ta shove off just cuz your pa’s got a big stick up his-”
The rest of her words were muffled in Stan’s shirt as he pulled her into a hug.
“Just checkin’,” he whispered into her hair. “Love ya too, Mom.”
********
Pa came down a while later, and sat stoically through breakfast, before telling Shermie, “Pack up the car when you’re done. We’re leaving.”
Shermie blinked. “Already?”
He nodded. “Gotta get back to the shop. The rubes ain’t gonna fleece themselves.”
The oldest son sighed. “You got it, Pops.”
Pa gave him a sharp look at the slight insolence in his tone, but then went back to eating the eggs.
Since they hadn’t brought much, it didn’t take them long to get ready to leave. Mom held both her boys tightly, wringing out promises for them to call her more often, and then Shermie took his turn for some more affectionate noogying and apologies for not getting to spend more time checking out their home. Then they were putting their things in the car, leaving them alone on the porch with Pa.
Ford wondered if he was going to say-well, anything.
An apology was most likely too much to hope for, but-well, something. Something to prove that he was a human being, not a robot.
All he did, though, was give a small nod, and then turn away and head for the car.
As they watched it drive back down the road, Ford said, “...We need to go to Dan’s place.”
“What for?”
“I need a drink.”
********
On the Corduroy cabin’s front porch, Dan poured out more of his family’s home-brewed liquor and handed it over.
“Sounds like you guys had a rough time.”
“...Wasn’t so bad, not after I gave ‘im the money,” Stan muttered into his glass.
“Ya shouldn’t’ve done that,” Ford scolded; his words slurred more than usual, finally making him sound like a Jersey boy for once. “‘S wasted on ‘im. Prolly never even spend it.”
Stan shrugged, and held out his glass again. “S’not my money anymore. I don’t care.”
The part of Ford’s brain still capable of rational thought wondered what exactly was in this Corduroy family recipe. Dan had said it was apples...or mostly apples. Definitely had apples in it. It was powerful stuff, whatever it was; they’d only been doing this for half an hour and he’d already reached the point where the edges of his vision were going in and out of focus, and he needed to sit down even though he was already sitting down. He squinted at Dan.
“How’re you handlin’ this stuff so well? You’re lit-ral-lit-little-little-er-ally younger’n we are, you’ve had less years ta build up a tolerance for drink.”
Dan smirked. “Guess I’m just manlier than you.”
Ford glared. “Ha. Ha. You even drinkin’?”
Dan pointedly poured himself a glass of whatever-he-called this stuff (Crumble? Scramble? Something like that), from the same bottle they’d been using, and gulped down a shot.
Stan whistled appreciatively. “You’re good.”
“Got a lotta Scottish in my blood. Makes it easy.”
“Nice.”
****
“...I shoulda stood up ta him better,” Ford muttered finally.
The other two stared at him.
“He started sayin’ all this crap about you bein’ a-a bad influence an’ stuff, Stanley, and I tried ta defend you, but I just...froze up. I failed you again.”
“What? No, nononono, don’t do that ta yourself.” Stan scooted his chair over next to Ford’s, not heeding the horrible scraping noise it made on the wooden boards, and slung one big arm over his shoulder. “S’not your fault, ‘kay? Dad’s-Mom says I got pershonality, but he’s got one too. Big one. Size’a New York City-big. Not an easy one ta go up against.”
“What, are you-are you sayin’ I don’t have personality?” Ford gave Stan a wounded look.
“No, no, ‘course not. Jus’ not a pers’nality used ta fightin’ people. ‘Specially not Pa.” Stan squeezed him. “Not your fault.” He ruffled Ford’s hair...and then gaped at it in wonder. “Whoa. Your hair’s real...floofy. Heh heh. Floof, floof, floof.” He continued playing with it, giggling, until Ford swatted his hand.
He felt a little comforted by Stan’s words...but not much. “S my job,” he insisted stubbornly, staring at the middle of Stan’s three faces floating before his eyes on the assumption that it was the real one. “Needa...fix things. Last time-you were homeless cuz I couldn’t get over myself an’ help you, so I needa-”
“Hey, I shouldn’ta hung around your project, so I wouldn’t’ve broken it, so you coulda gone ta the dumb science college. You’re more important than a boat, Sixer, an’I made ya feel like-likit was the other way ‘round.” Stan suddenly snatched the bottle off the table, began chugging down the rest of its contents.
“Hey! No fair, gimme that.” Ford grabbed for it, leading to a sloppy tug-of-war that ended with the-grumble? No, scumble, that was the name of this stuff-splashed all over both of them.
Ford put the bottle back on the table with a resigned sigh, and then wrapped his arm around Stan.
“You’re more important’n a college, St’nley,” he murmured, letting his heavy eyes droop shut. “Shoulda remembered that too…”
****
Soon enough they were both snoring, completely passed out on each other.
Dan threw away the empty bottle, and went inside to grab a blanket, which he draped over both of them. Then, as the effects of the scumble finally started to hit him, he just made himself comfortable stretching out on the porch.
********
When they wake up, all three boys are VERY hungover. Stan and Ford end up staying until they're feeling well enough to stand and walk home without throwing up, while Ford tries to deduce the ingredients for a hangover cure Fiddleford came up with in college. As best he recalls, it included a raw egg, Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce, but he could never get his friend to divulge the rest of it. He resolves to experiment until he deciphers it on his own-as soon as his head stops feeling like it's all stuffed with rocks that keep rolling around and banging into each other.
Stan has a few nightmares while he’s sleeping them off, but he doesn’t remember them that well when he wakes up, just being surrounded by a lot of indistinct whispers.
If you're still taking requests can I have a lil fic for estinien like the one you wrote about haurchefant/wol getting drunk together? If you have time, if not, no worries :)
(*Kermit voice* Hi-ho! - Sorry I’m so late, as usual. I have no excuse, really, except lack of writing motivation with how my job has been recently. Ah… I hope this is to your liking. I meant to draw it out more, but I think WoL needs some sleep. (So do I, lol.) Drunken Estinien is smoother than Sober Estinien. XD This version, anyhow. I was writing him like… Hmmm, I hope he seems IC. Estinien is kinda cocky, though, isn’t he? Anyway, please enjoy?)
This is a Prequel to this OT3 (Aymeric x WoL x Estinien)
....
...
..
The heavy sound of glass scraping across the polished wood of your table has you blinking open your eyes that you hadn’t realized you had closed.
A bottle of familiar booze sits in the middle of your table. You stare at it, eyes drooping blearily, gaze unfocused.
You hadn’t ordered it.
Your eyes focus only as someone sits across from you. That familiar voice addressing you, sarcastic and dry as the Sagolii desert, “Do you ever tire of fighting wars not your own?”
Your lips curve up, eyes dragging over him lazily. “Estinien,” You say on a sleepy sigh. He is a sight for sore eyes. Sore, overtired eyes. You cannot remember when last you had lain down to truly rest.
Estinien is frowning heavily, the light behind him casting an ethereal glow on the fall of his pale, unbound hair. His pale skin a bit more tanned than when you saw him last. Though shadows still lingered under the bright blue of his eyes, he looked far healthier than he had - lying pale and drawn in the infirmary after your battle with Nidhogg. His eyes are sharp, a too bright blue that drag over you with much too knowing a look.
He is…
“Gorgeous,” You say, dazedly and with a heavy tongue.
Estinien’s eyes widen infinitesimally, his head dipping down—his hair, so bright and shiny, slipping over his shoulder and drawing your eyes to the open lacing of his shirt baring his clavicle—and slides an empty glass across the table.
Even with how tired you are, your reflexes do not fail you as your hand snaps out to catch the glass before it can slip over the edge to shatter on the floor.
“Drink with me,” Estinien doesn’t ask in a voice that is rough with what you think to be embarrassment.
You stare down at the glass that you clasped in a loose grip, eyes half lidded.
Estinien pops the cork on the heavy bottle he’d brought, pouring his own glass and then yours. Yours, you notice, he fills just shy of the brim.
“Fury damn them,” Estinien grouses, “You need this more than I do. Look at you,” Estinien slams the bottle down hard enough for liquid to slosh up over the neck, snatching up his own glass to gesture with to your own too full glass. “Been possessed lately? You look about one foot in the grave.”
You grimace, ignoring your glass to touch your face. Fingers tracing under your heavy eyes as you ask, “Do I look so terrible?”
Estinien slams his emptied glass down, leaning in to snarl and pin you in place with furious blue eyes, “No! You look..” He freezes mid sentence, jaw flexing with his grinding teeth. “You look… good.”
Your hand drops to rest near your glass. Good, he said. “Good,” You echo, not questioning him, merely stating that you are glad.
Estinien takes it the other way, you surmise, as his face flushes in the soft lighting. His lips, wet with traces of his hard booze, parting as he tries to elaborate, “Better, I mean. You were so…” Estinien falls quiet. Swallows.
“Sad.”
Sad. Angry. Bitter.
Empty.
You had been many things after the Dragonsong war. You had lost two people who had become dear to you. Your eyes follow Estinien’s fingers as he drags his bare fingers through the water pooling around his chilled glass.
Almost three. Almost. But you had been able to save him. Had been allowed that where you hadn’t been before. Not him, you had thought back then. Had begged - pleaded, even - to the Twelve. To those Gods who had a hand in writing your Fate. Not Estinien too.
Then you had decided you were done asking. No, you decided. You can’t have him. You won’t. I won’t let you take him.
And then you hadn’t.
You smile instead of voicing such things. “I am always better having seen you.”
Estinien clears his throat and pours himself another. “Drink with me.”
You dip your head and lift your glass. Estinien’s favored drink sliding heavy over your tongue. Burning like dragon fire as you swallow it down. Still you tip it back. It would be most impolite to refuse. Besides, you had never been one to turn down Estinien’s offers of companionship.
You finish your glass, warmth settling in your belly. You should have eaten something, you muse, as Estinien pours you another too full glass.
“Good Ser,” You say teasingly. “I dare say, are you intending to get me drunk?”
Estinien snorts into his glass, booze spraying in his humor. He wipes his face and grins at you. “I intend only for you to catch up.”
You blink. Catch up? “Estinien,” You lean in, whispering lowly. “Are you drunk?”
Estinien leans in, breath mingling with yours, “Mayhap a little.”
So more than a little.
You glance at your glass, eye the mostly full contents of the bottle, and make a decision. You grab the bottle and your glass.
Swallowing back your entire glass of booze in one long drink, and then pouring yourself another overly large.
You’re not letting Estinien overdo it on your watch.
“Whoa there!” Estinien gives a huff of a laugh as you tip back your third glass. “Slow down, will you?” He grasps your hand, warm, calloused fingers stroking over your knuckles.
You swallow hard, looking up into his face. The amusement in his eyes. In the curl of his lips.
“Easy does it,” He continues, soothingly. That low, growly quality to his voice somehow even raspier in his partial intoxication.
His eyes are so blue. So vivid. You feel swallowed by them.
Estinien says your name and you blink, shaking your head to dispell the heavy feeling over you. Like being charmed, you think dazedly as you watch Estinien lick a stray drop of booze from his glass.
Seduction. This is a…
“This is a seduction.”
Estinien chokes, looking at you with wide eyes. “What?!” He barks. Trying to play it off, but his eyes look awfully shifty to be playing for innocence.
Ahh. Yes. It all made sense now. His hair seemed shinier than usual. His lips, too. Not to mention how much skin he was showing with the lazy lacings of his dark blue shirt - baring more than the usual of his toned chest. That, then touching you with his hands. And he kept sticking his tongue out and licking things. His lips, his glass. His wrist where he had spilled on his hand and it had dripped over his skin, eyes catching yours as he licked up his inner arm.
“Estinien,” You say, squinting in suspicion. “Are you trying to seduce me right now?” Was this happening or had you finally succumbed to exhaustion?
Estinien struggles to deny it, but the way his cheeks flush and his eyes shift give him away. “What? No! Why would I…? That would be…”
You stare at him and wait.
Estinien’s face falls, and he stops trying to deny it. “If I said yes - that this was a… an attempt to… Ah. …What would your reaction be?”
You tilt your head, turning your glass in your hands. You take a deep breath, pretending to mull it over. You shrug, as though careless. Like everything in you isn’t crying out in relief. You had thought your feelings for Estinien would forever remain unrequited and ever unspoken.
You smile and grasp your glass to clink against his. “All right then, Azure Dragoon. Show me your moves.”
Estinien sits back, looking all sorts of adorably puzzled. Jaw working as he has the nerve to squint at you in suspicion, “…All right.”
As if you would joke about something like this! You nod back at him, quirking a brow in challenge. “All right?”
Estinien knocks back his glass, clears his throat roughly, and says, “Then.. Yes, this is a..” He flushes. “This… is that.”
You slide your glass forward, clinking against his even though it is empty.
Estinien grabs the bottle and pours.
You smile, tracing the rim of your glass.
You are not prepared for Estinien to climb over the table.
“What are you doing?”
Estinien huffs as he settles next to you on your suddenly too small side of the booth. “Seducing you, obviously. Am I meant to do it all the way over there?” Estinien says, sounding rather grumpy for someone trying to seduce you.
He shifts close and you find your back hitting the wall behind you as Estinien cages you in with a hand by your head.
You feel very much drunk suddenly. Your head swimming with the scent of Estinien. That familiar smell with just a hint of something new. Was that cologne? Whatever it was - it smelled particularly pleasing. You cannot help but deepen your breaths to take him in.
Estinien is looking altogether much too smug. “Look at you,” He positively croons. “I haven’t even started yet and you’re…” Estinien leans in, his breath fanning over your lips, “All. Flushed.”
Estinien grunts in surprise as your hand smacks him in the nose, his hands raising up in surrender as you push his face away from yours.
“Not so fast, Ser!” You say breathlessly. Your cheeks feel on fire, but you’ll not be so easily conquered. “I expect a bit more of a proper seduction before you start stealing kisses!”
Estinien barks a startled, if not delighted laugh. His hand cupping over yours to grasp and turn in his hold. His head lowering as he kisses your hand like a proper chivalrous knight.
His eyes gleam playful blue through the soot of his eyelashes, shiny lips curling in a flirtatious grin. “Like this?” He asks in his signature throaty growl as he kisses your hand, over your wrist and up your arm.
You swallow hard. “That’s… rather nice, yes.”
Estinien’s eyes crinkle with his pleased grin, nuzzling his nose and one of those sharp cheekbones against your arm like an affectionate cat.
His thumb drags over the veins on your wrist. “Your heart is pounding,” Estinien sighs. He drags your hand by the wrist to press against his chest between the gaping fabric of his shirt. To feel the racing of his own heart. “Mine too.”
You gulp. Cannot help yourself from spreading your fingers wide and basking in the feel of his skin.
Estinien grins rakishly. “Seduced yet?”
You squeak. “A little?”
Estinien chuckles. “Shall I try harder then?” He leans in, shaking his head just so that his hair falls forward around his face in a waterfall of pale moonlit strands.
The fragrant oil in his hair wafts over you and inspires in you that strange mix of pleasure and hunger at smelling something pleasing. You want a lot of things. To touch his hair. Feel the sure softness of it. To bury your face in it and breathe him in. To rake your hands through his hair and drag his lips to yours.
You only make a strangled whining sound and lean into him, helpless to his magnetic pull.
You let out a startled yelp as Estinien drags you into his lap.
Your hands are frozen against the bared skin of his chest. Eyes wide as you tip your head back to stare into his own.
Estinien expression shifts from purposeful seduction to worried. “Too much?” he asks.
You shake your head mutely.
You are in Estinien’s lap.
You silently thank every god, goddess and deity you know, and all the ones you do not. You have been blessed with glorious fortune this night that you had thought would amount to naught but boredom and eventually succumbing to your exhaustion.
Instead you sat in the Azure Dragoon’s lap as he attempted, and so far quite thoroughly succeeded, to seduce you.
Not just seduce, you muse drunkenly, as Estinien smiles in relief and cups his hands over your cheeks to stroke your skin with calloused thumbs.
“I think I’m drunk,” You say slowly, leaning into him drowsily. Your overtaxed body catching up with you now.
Estinien snorts. “Caught up, have you? Don’t fall asleep on me now.”
You smile goofily, sinking into his delicious body heat with a satisfied hum. “But you’re so warm! Seduce me later.”
Estinien sighs, smiling ruefully. “I suppose it was selfish of me to drink beforehand. To attempt such as you are now. An onze of liquid courage turned to much more than I meant. Feeling your exhaustion now, I suppose? Shall I carry you to bed?”
You let loose a giggly drunken laugh. “Whaaat? We can’t go to bed together! You haven’t even kissed me yet!”
Estinien flushes like he hadn’t just been trying to seduce you. “Together? Ah.. Do you… Would you like me to kiss you?”
You would like him to very much. Yet now your head was dropping. Eyelids fighting to droop closed and remain so. Your cheek falls to rest against his bare skin, nose brushing his shirt. “Kiss me.. Kiss me,” You sigh, nuzzling into his chest.
Estinien does not comment on your sudden change of mind, bless him.
Estinien laughs softly, and you blink up dazedly at him as he curls his fingers under your chin to tilt your head back.
You part your lips, ever so slightly puckered to receive his kiss.
Estinien smiles, lowers his face towards yours, and kisses your forehead instead of your lips.
You make a mild sound of protest. “Tha… doesn’… count!” Your words slur from drink and your mounting exhaustion.
Estinien kisses your forehead again. Then the tip of your nose, laughing as you wrinkle your nose in response.
“I’ll kiss you,” Estinien says gently. Seriously. “When we are both a little more sober. Aye, a little more than rested on your part as well.”
You hear him, but are hardly awake to reply with aught but, “Promise?”
Estinien strokes his hands over your hair and down your back, his voice a throaty hum. “Of course. I promise.”
You close your eyes, feeling safe in his arms, and give in to your exhaustion under the soothing motions of his hands and the soft sound of his breath.
....
Estinien stares down at the sleeping Warrior in his lap with aching fondness, smiling and shaking his head at his own foolishness.
“I question mine own thought processes, truly. What had I intended when you were clearly so exhausted you sat half awake at this table in this questionable bar?”
Estinien sighs. “I have not been known for mine decision making. ‘Tis not mine strong suit.”
Estinien strokes a finger under the shadows lining the Warrior’s eyes. His eyes dropping to their parted lips, slightly curled as if they were smiling in their sleep.
“You continue to be my best decision yet.”
Estinien smiles. “Try again later, shall I?”
The Warrior sighs in their sleep and Estinien nods in affirmation. “Aye. Off to bed with you.”
With some clever maneuvering on his part, he stands from their shadowed booth with the Warrior cradled safely in his arms.
“Right,” he sighs. “Now to find out where you’ve been sleeping. If you have at all.”
I love my crew in INquisition so much like there’s Vivienne judging the shit out of everyone and skipping daintily through the wilds and Cassandra barreling through and awkwardly shouting her feelings with no shame and Sera relentlessly teasing all of them and caring so much about everything and then there’s me, all sneaky and weird and kind of quiet, Inquisitor sort of hunches forward a bit, you know, and my eyebrows are so dark, I love it, I love it, holy shit
