why am i always motivated to draw gay shit when i’m drunk

anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a fic where… Aaron is off his head on pain meds (maybe after the car accident) or really drunk and starts complementing Robert, telling him how gorgeous and amazing he is, saying all the things he loves about him but is never able to say when he’s sober!

“God, I love that face of yours,” Aaron said, slurring his words slightly as he leaned across the table, a clumsy hand brushing against Robert’s cheek. 

Robert couldn’t help but laugh as his husband pawed at his face, Aaron absolutely polluted. He and Adam had been in the pub drinking since about four, so by time Robert had arrived to join, they were well on their way to drunk. He was only slightly tipsy himself, wanting to keep at least half an eye on Aaron.

“I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” Robert said, pulling Aaron’s pint away from him, jerking his head toward the door of the Woolpack. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

Aaron smirked, an attempt at a sultry smile on his face. “You going to show me a good time then Sugden?” he said, trying his best to play footsie with Robert under the table, kicking Robert in the ankle instead.

“Alright drunky, time to get you home to bed,” Robert laughed, standing up and hoisting Aaron out of his seat, Aaron instantly wrapping his arms around Robert’s waist, his grip iron tight.

“You’ve got a great body,” Aaron said, patting Robert’s stomach affectionately, an appreciative look on his face. “I could sleep on this, you know? Very comfortable.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if thats a compliment?” 

“It is,” Aaron drawled, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he moved one of his hands, smacking Robert on the arse, making Robert jump about a mile in the air. 

Aaron.” Robert hissed, painfully aware that Chas and Paddy were watching on from the bar, Aaron’s mum laughing hysterically at her son’s behaviour. 

“What? I like your arse!” Aaron defended himself, sticking a hand in Robert’s back pocket, giving it an appreciative squeeze. 

“Right, we’re definitely going home.” Robert hauled Aaron toward the door, trying not to give in to how brilliantly distracting it was to have Aaron’s hand on his arse, the familiar beginnings of a night to remember stirring in Robert. 

(Though, judging by the way Aaron couldn’t even hold himself up as they walked through the village, his husband would be passed out before Robert even managed to get him into bed.)

“BELLE!” Aaron waved at his cousin, giving her a dopey smile. “Look! I’ve got a husband, dead gorgeous husband actually. Right? He’s dead gorgeous.” 

Belle laughed. “You had a few drinks?”

“Just a few,” Robert rolled his eyes, answering for his once again distracted husband. Aaron was doing his best to untuck Robert’s shirt from his trousers, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration as he fumbled with the material. “I’d better get him home to bed.”

“Yeah you better.” Aaron grinned, looking delighted with himself as he managed to untuck most of Robert’s white shirt, a cold hand pressing against Robert’s hip.

Belle waved them goodbye, Robert having to half drag Aaron down the pathway to their house. “Aaron, you’re a terrible drunk, you know that?” he joked, trying to get his house keys out of his pocket, Aaron’s wandering hands everywhere.

“I love you,” Aaron slurred, whiskey scented breath ghosting over Robert’s jawline. “Do I tell you that enough? I love you, Robert Sugden. You are gorgeous and I love your face.”

“Just my face?” Robert teased, finally managing to unlock the door, bundling Aaron into the hallway of their flat, kicking the door shut behind him. Aaron was all over him instantly, burying his face in Robert’s chest.

“Love all of ya.” Aaron corrected himself, a happy smile on his face. “You make me so happy.”

“You make me happy too,” Robert replied, directing Aaron to the kitchen, sitting him down in one of the chairs, turning his attention to the kettle, making Aaron a cup of tea.

“I love your smile.” Aaron blurted. “Your proper smile, you know? The one you only ever have with me, or Vic, or Liv. It’s nice, y’know? Knowing I make ya happy.”

“Of course you make me happy,” Robert said, adding a dash of milk to Aaron’s tea, setting it down in front of him. “Drink that, eh? Might make the hangover a bit easier in the morning.”

Aaron nodded, blowing on his tea as if he was a kid, a grin permanently fixed in place on his face. “I know we’ve had our problems,” he mumbled, taking a sip of the tea. “But I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, you know that, don’t you?” 

“I know.” Robert said softly, giving his knee a squeeze. “I always know, yeah?” 

Aaron beamed, reaching out with a shaky hand, brushing it down the centre of Robert’s face, making him laugh. “You’ve got a lovely face, Rob. Really lovely.”

tell me what fic you wish i’d write

A selfie~

What is this? Wtf with Yoosung? I don’t know. No one will answer for these questions.

Well, anyway, I had a little time to do something and I did this. I remember that some of them talked about walk together and time to time I will draw some selfies from their walk.

Yoosung is drunk, haha.

Friday Night

Gather round children, and let me tell you a true tale of… woe or perhaps weal (that’s good fortune for those of you uncomfortable with nerdspeak).

A highly inebriated relative of my roommate called up, informing him and anyone that was listening that she won $2,100 in a casino.

Wait. It was $21,000. No. $2,100. Wait. $4,000. Nope, $21,000 for sure. All in cash. Wait. Some cash. Maybe.

She is downtown. On the street. Alone. Yelling on her phone about her good fortune. She is holding her phone, her wallet (which will not close as it is stuffed with money), and smoking a cigarette in the rain.


The casino paid the winnings by $4,000 in cash and the rest on a “black debit card”.

My roommate, the paragon of responsibility, calls the parent. The parent drives to the casino and is met with disdain.

Yelling with the occasional “I love you” occurs.

The parent eventually convinces the recalcitrant 35 year-old to hand over most of the cash and the black card. The parent is unwilling to continue to deal with her hot mess of a child.  She returns home.

The relative then discusses the fact that she didn’t really win the money, but it was won by a guy who gave it to her. You know. The guy who wrote Champagne Supernova.

Roommate clarifies: “that shitty song from the 90s?”

Yes. That one. Apparently Noel Gallagher has nothing better to do than hang out in a casino in a small Midwestern city. She boasts that he gave her a black card and a driver’s license.  To buy boobs. New boobs. For her.

Wait.  Is this the black card from the casino?



No.  Maybe?

Moving on.

Roommate clarifies: Is his name Noel?

She is unsure. A tense moment passes.

Roommate casually notes that she could check Noel’s driver’s license.

Yes. This is the answer we have all been looking for.

The inebriated relative responds: Of course, it’s Charles Michael the author of Champagne Supernova. He is passed out in the free hotel room the casino has comp’d her. From having won all that money.


She continues. Did you know that Champagne Supernova is about taxes?

Frown lines deepen on roommate’s face.

Realities begin crashing down on everyone besides the drunken relative.

Meanwhile the parent has returned to the family dwelling. Calls are made. My roommate asks the parent: What name is on the “black card” that supposedly harbors all of the casino winnings.

Pause. Parent replies: “Mike.”