Drunk In Love

A/N: hi this is a one shot for your favourite cocky pool boy and his troublesome drunk girlfriend (you, ofc!!)

You returned home late, noticeably intoxicated, navigating your apartment with unsteady steps, colliding with walls, and the strong odor of alcohol on your breath. As you stumble, you briefly notice Rogers presence just before stumbling into him.

"[Name?] Are you okay?" He whispers, voice tinged with concern as he steadies you with a hand, observing your condition. "Where have you been?"

"Im okay." You stumble forwards as you glance at him, capturing his shallow tired eyes into your drunken ones.

"Don't lie to me. How much did you have to drink?" Roger's voice is blunt as he quickly reaches forward to catch you, supporting your wobbly body. His eyes are narrowed at you, a sternness to them hidden by his concern.

"I didn't have a lot to drink, honestly." You tried your best to sound convincing, but he wasn't buying it.

"Not a lot? You're practically wasted." Roger doesn't bother to keep his voice low, it's apparent to him that you're not in any condition to stand, let alone have a regular conversation with him.

He takes a hold of your waist and continues to steady you, cradling you softly in his arms.

"Roger please, i'm fine, i'm just a little tired.."

"I don't trust you." He glares at you, his grip on you tightened and his expression unchanged. He makes his way through the apartment towards the bedroom, keeping his eyes locked on you as he steps slowly backwards, making sure he knew you was okay in his reach.

"I feel sick" You blurted out, eyes now full of panic and cheeks turning flush.

"I know." Roger chuckles as he passes his bathroom and continues to guide your body through the hallway, towards your bedroom. He turns around to face you, eyes locked onto yours, and carefully sits you down on your unmade bed.

"I'm a little impressed that you didn't vomit before getting this far."

"This is not the time to be joking around. Please get me a sick bucket or something!" You pleaded, grasping the edge of the bed to keep yourself upright.

"Fine, just hang on for me [Name]." Roger sighs, walking over into the bathroom and grabbing a bucket with a frown. He grabs some tissues, towels, and a spare bottle of water he keeps on his side just incase he needs it throughout the night. He walks back to the bed and places it in front of you.

"Here." He reluctantly passes the bucket to you, hands meeting yours as you take the bucket from his reach. "Now stop complaining." He turns around to face you, and crosses his arms.

"Thank you."

"Don't." Roger turns his head away sharply, refusing to show that he's slightly embarrassed as this was his first encounter with the drunken side of you. "This is your fault. Not mine." He says, his words biting you.

"Do I look a mess?" You mumbled, unsure if you really wanted the answer to your question, as you were convinced you looked as rough as you felt.

"You look terrible darling." He crosses his arms and looks away, not bothering to be gentle with his choice of words.

Your chest tightened and you looked at the man infront of you, squinting ever so slightly to stop the sadness seeping through your eyes. "So, you don't think I look pretty?"

"I didn't say that. You're always pretty, but you look like hell while drunk." Roger glares at you, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Can you just throw up already so we can go to sleep? Come on darling, just get it over with." He looks away in disappointment, sighing deeply as he places a hand on your back, rubbing it reassuringly.