It was a Saturday and you felt a little bad for going out. It was one of those rare occasions where the boys had time off. But it was your friend‘s birthday and they had insisted it was fine that you went, and admittedly you were having a great time.
You were maybe a few too many drinks in, but you were always very responsible. So you drank some water and went to the bathroom before your group stumbled outside to switch bars. Despite your efforts, you were unbalanced and giggly and couldn’t feel the cold at all.
Your friends were chatting, split into groups of two or three to hold each other as you started to walk to the next destination. You’re only temporarily taken out of your revelry at your phone buzzing.
“Hope you’re having a good time, bug.” It read.
Your smile widened. Ugh. You love Kyle. You tuck your phone into your arm so your hands are free to grab your friend, excited to continue your conversation and talk about how much you love your partners. What you don’t notice, however, is that you accidentally sent him your location with no explanation.
Kyle wasn’t necessarily expecting a response, he knew you’d be busy dancing probably. So his heart did drop at the message containing a pin for your location.
He stood immediately, startling Johnny whose head was on his lap.
“Huh—“
“Up, we’re going.” He said in a tone that Johnny knew meant business, so he didn’t question further, just got up and got ready for whatever was next.
Were they beating someone up? Did they get called in for an emergency mission? He didn’t know, he just scrambled to put his boots on.
Kyle moves with purpose to the kitchen where John is leaning his hip on the countertop, beer in hand, keeping Simon company as he makes a grilled cheese.
John sees his expression and stands to attention. Kyle flips his phone to show the text, and John is immediatley in business mode too.
“Simon, keys.” John starts toward to safe where they keep their more…dangerous tools.
Simon saw their faces and was also put into action mode despite not knowing what the situation was. He spares a final sad glance at his sandwich before going to get the car keys.
Before anymore words are exchanged, they’re all piled into the car, more armed than probably necessary. But where you were involved, John wasn’t willing to take any chances.
Simon’s driving with Kyle in shotgun, directing him to the pin you sent. Every member of the 141 would ride without context if one of them asked (and they just did), but now knowing it was for you brought tensions up even higher. Simon doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but the idea that you needed help wasn’t a situation he liked to imagine. He gripped the wheel harder, foot pressing the pedal to the floor, and just hoped they were there on time.
You were having so much fun.
This new bar had more people in it, and the DJ was better, and their drinks poured heavier. You were jumping around with your friends, trying not to spill too much of your drink as you did.
That is until you hear the guy behind you exclaim “hey man!” and then you’re being flipped around by hands on your shoulders.
It’s Kyle!
“Kyllleeee!!” You throw your arms up, heart clenching. Your boyfriend is here! How much better could this night get?
He steps closer to you, alarm falling off his face and into relief, revealing the rest of your partners behind him. The night could get better!
“Hiiii, baby!” You wave to Johnny, stepping into Kyle to hug him.
You frown suddenly. “You guys weren’t invited. You should know better than to come to a birthday party uninvited that’s rude—“ you stumble over your shoe, but Kyle steadies you.
“Honey, you sent us your location with no context.” John still looks concerned, looking around the bar like some threat will jump out.
You pout. “No I didn’t.”
Kyle shows you his phone. You have to concentrate harder than you’d like to in order to decipher what you’re looking at. You see your contact, him telling you to have fun, and then a pin to your location.
Your mouth opens, you bring your cup up and sip.
“Okay,” Kyle mumbles, grabbing it from you.
You frown but let him take it, “hmmmm, I guess I did. Oopsies!”
A guy stumbles into you, but Kyle has a secure grip on your hips. It doesn’t stop Simon from saddling up behind you. One intimidating step toward the guy and he’s scurrying away.
“Siii, don’t scare people awayyy,” your head flops back to look at him upside down which makes you giggle.
“He hit you.” He says it like he should now have the right to kill him. He gets close to you, also grabbing your waist, so now you’re sandwiched between two of your favorite guys.
You hum contentedly until you remember that they aren’t supposed to be here.
“Hey!” You push away from them both, “no boyfriends allowed at the bar tonight!”
John shakes his head affectionately, “heard, sweetheart. Sorry…we got worried you were in trouble.”
The sound of multiple friends going “awwww” resonates from behind you.
“Don’t encourage them!” You say over your shoulder to your friends, happy to see that they aren’t upset with you. “They’re way too protective to begin with.” You say quieter, meant only for the four of them. You complain, but you like it. Knowing they would be that ready to defend you if you needed it.
Still, you feel a little bad that they came all the way out here, “sorry for scaring you…” your lip juts out, hand grabbing for John’s forearm even though you’re supposed to be getting them out of here.
“‘S alright, hen. Ya didn’t mean ta.” Johnny pecks your temple. “We’ll get outta your hair.”
They start to walk out, Kyle handing you your drink back.
“Wait!” You stop them, “…thanks for coming when you thought I needed you.” You smile bashfully.
thinking about when rafe picks you up from a girls brunch, and you're nothing but a flirty horny mess.
he made sure he drove out the rang rover, so all your friends fit comfortably in the back. when he arrives at the brunch, he can tell immediately tell you're already drunk, having one too many martinis.
"hiiiiiii rafeeeyy babbyy" you drag out with a blissful smile on your face and a high pitched voice. "hi sweetheart, you had fun?" he asks, as he approaches you. "the best time" you say. he reaches down to your legs, sweeping you up off your feet bridal style, you squeal at the sudden movement. he says a quick hello to your friends, opening the back seat door for them, before placing you in the passenger seat.
your smile doesn't falter, as you watch him, reach over you buckling your seatbelt. his neck is exposed to you, the smell of his woody cologne hitting your nose, and you lean forward taking a sniff. "ugh you smell so good i could eat you right here" you say placing kisses on his neck.
he let's out an amused laugh, followed by a soft smirk. "how many drinks did you have?" he asks, eyes locked on yours. your eyes can't help but fall to his lips. just how soft and pink they look. and so irresistibly kissable. you shrugged, "we got many many many pitchers of martinis and margs," you start, "you know i'm a slutty slut for passionfruit martini's" you finish, and his smirk deepens at your choice of words. he leans in close to your ear, "you're not a slut for your boyfriend huh?" he whispers knowing what that'd do to you in this state.
you pout, leaning in and kissing his lips, "oh always a slut for you" you respond with a sultry smile, voice dropping to that low seductive voice you know he gets head over heels for. forgetting your friends are behind you, and can kinda hear this entire exchange. "UGH!" one says, "GET A ROOM!" your best friend says, "you know we can take uber if you're get freaky right now" your other friend says, and you can't help but laugh. "drammaa mamas" you wave them off, with a playful eye roll.
rafe places another peck on your lips before he closes the door, and get's into the drivers side. your phone immediately comes to life when the car turns on, and you instantly start playing Stateside by PinkPantheress and Zara Larsson.
the entire drive is filled with you and your friends, screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs, "YOU CAN BE MY MERICAN, HOT HOT BOOOYY!!!" you obniouxously sing, with a wink, while you randomly touch rafe everywhere. the mix of alocohol and the andrenaline of having fun making you feel so much hornier than you thought you could be.
and it doesn't help that your boyfriend is an absolute smoke show. or how those beautiful blue eyes, always seem to make you feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet. how his plump lips can always ground you with a kiss or how his large hands can caress you into safety.
"what are you staring at?" he asks you, your friends oblivious due to the volume the music is at. "you're so fucking hot" you tell him. "am i?" he smirks at you, the skin around his eyes crinkling from his now formed blush. "mhm" you respond, eyes darkening with need.
"wait til we get home. i'll show you how hot i really am" he says, and you lick your lips. "i don't know if i can wait till we get home" you smirk back at him.
“Wooah n/n, think it’s about time I take you home alright?”
“Party pooper!”
You blow a raspberry at him
Rafe puts an arm behind your back, guiding you to his truck and making sure you don’t fall over
“Y’know your parents will kill both you and me if they see you like this, I’m supposed to babysit your ass”
“Yeah whatever” you laugh
You hear a couple voices yelling your name from behind,
To see two of your friends, clearly as drunk as you, waving and yelling to come
“Don’t,” he warns
“Oh em gee! Hannah, macey i’m coming!!” You squeal as they cheer
As your running towards them, you laugh, hoping this is provoking and annoying rafe
He just stands there, arms crossed, keys in hand
Watching as you embarrassingly run all over the place.
But surprisingly he adores it.he lets out a nasal laugh at the sight of you being a mess.
You look back smiling to see if rafe is chasing after you, although you don’t see much of him, instead you fall on your face
Your mind goes blank for a moments but when you open your dazed eyes You realise rafe is carrying you, bridal style.
“What happened? Where are they? Hannah and macy…” you say dramatically
“I just wanted to say hi to them…”
“You fell over and fuckin fainted for a second before you even got to them” he laughed
“Clumsy girl” he teased
“Shut it…”
Your eyes go wide like you just came up with the greatest invention ever
“Rafe, How about we go back and party!”
“Too late”
He cut you off, dropping you on the passenger seat
“No it’s not! cmonnn rafe it will be fun just-just carry me back”
“Your parents set a curfew, remember? You’re not goin anywhere.”
He slams the door, walking to the other side
As he starts the truck, you quickly unlock your door and jump out,
“Wooo!”
“Are you sure about that?? Cause watch this”
“Goddamnit y/n”
Obviously it only takes about two seconds for him to scoop you back up
“this isn’t gonna work if you keep runnin away. i’ll get someone else to drive while i hold you hostage”
Thats how you ended up sitting in his lap, while he made sure you didn’t move As he called kelce
“Yo bro i owe you one”
You prayed kelce would get here soon,
The entire atmosphere changed once you sat on his lap.
Every second that passed by with you sitting on his thigh, your panties were getting more wet and more heat pooled low in your stomach.
Surely he could feel your pussy pulsing like crazy
“When is kelce getting here…”
“In ten”
You nodded. Turning yourself around to be face to face with him
“I’m getting really bored y’know…should we go back to the party?” You try tempting him, and wanting to distract yourself before you do something stupid to him
“No, like i said we’ll both be in shit if we’re even more later than your curfew.”
You sigh in defeat, resting your chin on his shoulder
Gosh, his cologne smells heavenly and his-
You can’t hold your needs in any longer.
lifting your head all the way back up, gazing into his eyes, hands holding onto his shoulders, sudden shortened breath
“Well if you wanna trap me in here atleast let me do this..”
You slowly roll your hips forward and back, letting out a small gasp
He puts his hands on your hips to stop you
“Woah woah y/n, are you fuckin serious? humping my leg huh?” He almost lets out a laugh
“Don’t stop me, please. You’re driving me crazy rafe, i just want you”
You foggily say
He loosens his grip, allowing you to continue
“Shit, if that’s what you want, go for it” he smirks with a chuckle
He tenses his thigh muscles under you as his big n rough hands guide your hips back and forth
“Aw fuck” your head falls back as your nails dig into his shoulders
“Shit this is so good, ‘m not gonna let you forget about this”
He grabs his phone out his pocket and starts recording, the flash strong and bright, allowing you to shut your eyes
But you don’t care that he’s recording, couldn’t care less infact. the sensation of it all overtakes & floods your senses that you can only moan and whimper
“Y’ really don’t care huh?” He teases, flash still blinding you
“No, no” you shamelessly admit
“Well, i can’t keep this all to myself, that’d be greedy, why don’t i send it to the boys?”
You speed up
“And don’t forget to tell them how hard you are while you’re at it” you giggle
“No shit, you’re the one grinding on me” he smirks
“Rafe i-“
“Close?”
You nod, biting your lip down
“Shit, well it’s obvious alright,” he points the flash at the wet trail you created on his shorts
He stops recording at that.
he’s the only one that can see you come undone, this will be for him, and him only.
Sent
“What a needy little thing huh? Grinding on your best friend’s leg, ruining my shorts, you ovulatin’ or something?”
Him calling you that was enough to send you over the edge
“Fuck yes!”
“Yeah? Was that good hm?”
“Oh rafe… that was so good, can we do it again?”
“Well you need to repay me somehow, can’t just leave me high n dry” he smirks, caressing your hips
You giggle into his chest until a thought intrudes
“Wait how do you even know what ovulating is anyway-“
You ask like it’s a inside joke or something, he rolls his eyes.
But you’re cut off by kelces laugh and the door opening
“What the fuck were you two just doing in here?”
A/n: anyway yall this is a safe space pleaseee request literally whateverrr u want i am down for almost anything
Summary: You were both way too drunk for your own good. It also made you all the more needy for eachother.
Warnings: Drunk sex, Oral sex, rough sex, teeny tiny dubious consent coz they are drunk
Word count: 3411
A/N: I may have started writing it while incredibly drunk…. And I was about to say sorry if it’s a bit weird, but rereading it… perhaps I should drink every time before I start writing (a joke!! Remember to drink in moderation!!!)
I had RE2 Leon in mind, but any will work!
Also on Ao3!
≻──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────≺
Your head was spinning.
It was the only thing you could really feel as you slumped against Leon’s shoulder, the haze of cheap liquor turning the bar’s noise into a warm, blurry lullaby. Everything was too bright and too blurry all at once, but his warmth beside you was steadying – and you were grateful for it, even if your eyelids kept slipping shut.
“Hey,” Leon murmured, his finger booping your nose, giggling like he’d just done something genius. You cracked one eye open, only to find him grinning at you, cheeks flushed and gaze hazy. You’d have swatted him for bothering you, had you not been too drunk yourself. “Someone’s sleepy,” he teased.
“Am not,” you mumbled, words clumsy in your mouth. You’d never admit he was right, but your head drooped against his shoulder again. You knew he saw right through your lies, but hoped he would just ignore it… You wanted to stay a bit longer, listen to the music and the conversation your friends were having!
“Uh-huh. Sure, Mrs. Wide Awake.” He shifted, straightening up, and you almost fell not expecting him to move. He was trying to stand, you realized when you finally stabilised your own wobbly body. “C’mon. Time to get you home.”
“Nooo,” you whined, your lips pulling into a pout. “But it’s so fuuun here… can’t we just stay a couple more minutes??” That first part wasn’t exactly true. The sticky bar floor, all-surrounding smell of alcohol, and cheap neon lights that were making everyone look just a little sick were starting to give you a headache – or perhaps that was just the amount of alcohol you’v had earlier. But the warmth you felt in your belly, the fuzz in your head, and Leon’s arm brushing yours… that was nice. You were comfortable here, among friends and so close to him, but he was clearly determined to get you home. You watched Leon as he wobbled a little pushing himself upright, hands braced on the table like his life depended on it.
He looked about as stable as a baby deer on ice skates.
You sighed. If he was that gone, you probably weren’t much better… and bed did sound nice right about now.
“Fine,” you gave in, huffing like it hurt – though you both knew you weren’t really mad about it.
You mumbled your goodbyes to the others, before Leon’s hand found yours. You would call it an anchor if at least one of you had the ability to walk straight. The fresh air seemed to do little good too. Sure, it was nice to be able to breathe something else than the stuffy, alcohol-filled air in the bar, but it didn’t do much to two drunkards, trying to make their way home.
You were bothe swaying as you walked the rocky path that lead from the bar to the main street, half-holding each other up, half-ready to topple over at any second.
“We should get a taxi,” you slurred, trying to stop your escapade. With how the walk was going, you would be lucky to get home with just a few scrapes.
As you said that, it was Leon’s turn to pout.
“A taxi?” he repeated, like you’d just suggested putting his dog up for adoption. “We’re so close, though…” The house wasn’t far, that was true… but with the world spinning, every step felt like an achievement.
“I won’t carry you, when you fall on your face.” you huffed as he tugged your had to get you moving again.
“Wouldn’t let you,” he snorted, clearly amused “I’ll crawl, like a real man.” You rolled your ayes at that – a move you quickly regretted as the world spun even more. Enough to make you loose your balance. Whether you would have kissed the pavement or not, would remain a secret thanks to Leon’s swift reaction. Surprisingly fast for someone this drunk, but you were glad for his arm wrapping tightly around your waist.
“Careful.” he murmured, pulling you closer against his chest, forehead bumping clumsily against yours.
“ ‘m fine,” you mumbled back, but you clung to his jacket anyway, grasping at the only stable thing in your spinning world. He didn't let go of you for the rest of the way back, arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his side as you both marched forward.
It took twice as long as it should’ve, but somehow you made it down the street, past the apartment buildings with mostly dark windows. You looked at the ones with light inside with a soft smile. There was something deeply comforting in the fact you weren’t alone in your nightly escapades. Somewhere, someone was also up at this ungodly hour. It made the walk a bit more… pleasant.
As you finally reached the door to your house, you fumbled with the keys, giggling when Leon snatched them from your hand. Clearly he didn’t believe you wouldn’t drop them – a fair assumption really. He managed to shove the door open after three tries, making you both stumble inside. Neither of you were ready for them to open.
"Home sweet home,” Leon muttered dramatically once you were standing steadily again. He leaned against the door to click them shut. For a moment, you thought he would slide down and stay on the floor with how heavy his eyes were.
There was something in the way he looked – eyes dropping, lips slightly parted – that made you unable to look away. He looked so soft, so stupidly pretty like that, it made your chest tighten. You took a step closer, fingers slipping under his jacket, just enough to feel the warmth that laid beneath.
Leon blinked, a slow, sleepy smile tugging at his mouth. “Hey,” he breathed, voice low, a little hoarse. His hands found their way to your hips like it was second nature – thumbs pressing lazy circles into your sides through the thin fabric of your clothes. His hands alone made you feel steadier than your legs did. Warm and solid… your head spun in a different kind of way. You pressed closer, chest brushing his, mouth so close you could feel his breath on your lips. You didn’t need a clear brain to know you needed him.
Without thinking – you weren’t even sure you could think anymore – you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.
“Want you,” you whispered into his lips, the words slipping out between kisses. Leon’s breath caught for just a second, his brain needing a moment to process what you had said, how needy you have been. He was all over you after that second, like you’d just given him permission for something he’d been craving all night. His fingers dug into your hips and he pulled you even closer against his body, kissing you desperately.
You barely felt his hands slip down to cup your ass, squeezing just a little too eagerly before venturing even lower. He only paused when his fingers reached your thighs. He had to bend a little to grasp them, just enough to hook his hands underneath. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you up, slow and steady, and your legs wrapped around his hips. You squeaked softly as his body wobbled for a second. Truthfully, you were both lucky there was a door behind him – otherwise, you would be lying on the floor now. He took slow paces through the hallway, aiming for their bedroom, and you gasped when your back hit the wall, his body pressing against yours.
“I… planned that” he huffed, making you choke out a laugh. He pretty clearly did not plan on that, but just did not aim for the doorway in his drunken state. That didn’t stop him from using this brief stop to devour you. His lips traced a path from your neck to your collarbone, leaving behind a trail of fervent kisses that sent shivers along your skin, each warm breath a silent promise of more.
“Sure you did,” you tried to tease, but the words that left you were more breathless than you intended, the neediness betraying you.
His teeth sank into your collarbone, making you whine softly as your hand tangled in his golden locks. “Smartass,” he huffed against your skin, lapping at the mark he had left. You tugged his hair, a weak attempt to pull him back so you could see his face – or perhaps just get him away from the now slightly painful spot – but all it did was make him groan against your skin his breath hot and uneven.
“Leon…” you managed, hands clumsily tugging at his hair again. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.
“Yeah… yeah, right,” he huffed, annoyed that you had stopped him from enjoying you right here “Bed.” the words were as if he needed to remind himself too. He shifted his grip under your thighs, tightening his hold before pushing off the wall – carrying you the few stumbling steps that separated you from the soft bed.
It was somewhere behind you – close enough to fall into. And you did, pulling him down with you, bodies hitting the mattress with a not-so-soft thud and matching groans.
“Shit, we need a new mattress,” you groaned, face scrunched up from the unpleasant meeting your back just had with the bed. You were both just a bit too eager to remember that throwing yourselves onto the bed wasn’t exactly the smartest idea.
Leon mumbled quiet “sorrys” against your skin, lips brushing your neck between every word. Whatever guilt he felt about the rough landing clearly wasn’t enough to stop him – if anything it made him act even more desperate to touch you, mouth trailing down the slope of your neck, hands slowly slipping under your shirt.
It was off before you knew it, his hands moving behind you to unclasp your bra.
“So beautiful…” he mumbled, watching your chest with shiny eyes.
He was drunk, incredibly so – you both were. But his eyes still slipped to yours before he did anything, looking for the permission to continue. The slightest nod of your head was enough for him to lean down, lips pressing a soft kiss to your nipple. He was slow only for a moment, only until first gasp escaped your lips, before he was all over you again, kissing and sucking on your tender breast, while his hand was playing with the other.
“L-Leon…” you stuttered, thighs rubbing against each other in hopes to get any kind of friction. You burned for him. Burned with the need that was making you go crazy. “Please… just,” the words died on your tongue when you felt the softest scrape of his teeth.
That bastard chuckled against your skin, clearly amused by your inability to speak. “What do you want, princess?” the nickname made you giggle. He only ever used it when he was drunk, otherwise calling you something cheesy like his pumpkin or petal.
“You,” you whispered, smashing his cheeks between your hands. “I want you. Need you. Please… fuck me until I can’t feel my legs.”
Leon seemed a little taken aback by how straight-forward you were – another side effect of alcohol, it took all the shyness right out of you. You, at least. Him? He turned bright red, eyes widened for a split second before he buried his face in the soft valley between your breasts, hiding in it. He mumbled something unintelligible against your skin, before his lips were back on you, slowly travelling down to the hem of your pants.
You felt a wave of heat wash over you as he struggled with the zipper – not that it was particularly hot, but the way his fingers fumbled with it and the focused look on his face with his tongue caught between his teeth made you feel hot. That was your man. Desperate and needy and so, so drunk.
When the zipper finally gave in with a soft click, Leon let out a breathless little laugh against your stomach before pulling down your pants and underwear in one swift motion. You giggled when he nearly lost his balance, unprepared for how easily they would give in.
“Keep laughing,” he murmured, voice hoarse as he leaned to press a soft kiss just below your navel. “See what happens.” Your breath hitched when his mouth dipped lower – down your belly, until his head was between your parted thighs.
“Pretty…” he murmured, the word slurred, muffled against your skin as he peppered soft kisses on your clit. Not yet feasting, but appreciating the meal he had before him. “So fucking pretty…”
Your fingers buried themselves in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. He didn’t mind – if anything, it only made him hungrier. He dragged his tongue along you, slow at first – a lazy, teasing stroke that made your hips jump – then deeper, his mouth locking onto you like he’d die if you pulled him away. He ate like a man starved, whining into you like it was giving him pleasure to be buried between your legs.
“L-Lee~” you whined his name, hand pulling on his hair. No strength in the world could pull him away now. “S-shit…” Your head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as heat coiled tight and low in your belly. Every wet, sloppy drag of his tongue pushed you closer. It was too much already… You tugged at his hair again and he groaned into you, the vibration shooting up your spine.
Before you could argue, he pressed you closer against his face, tongue fucking you open while his nose bumped against your puffy clit. You were so close you could almost taste it. Moans of pleasure spilled from your lips, with every movement, interrupted only by the frustrated when he stopped for a brief second.
He pulled back just enough to speak, still close enough that you could feel every breath against yourself. “C’mon, baby,” he panted, his mouth slick and red. “Wanna feel you come for me.”
And when he sucked on you again the pleasure came crashing through you all at once. Your hand grasped his hair as the orgasm shook your body, riding it out on his face. You were still catching your breath when Leon finally pulled back, mouth slick, lips swollen from how thoroughly he’d ruined you. He gave your thigh one last kiss before parting from you. Pushing himself up, he crawled up your body until his face was hovering over yours, and you watched as he licked his lips to clean the last of your come from it.
You could still taste yourself on his tongue when he pressed his lips to yours. His tongue invaded your mouth in a kiss that could only be described as heated and sloppy. Neither of you worried about being graceful, nor did you care for it.
“On your belly, princess. C’mon…” he purred, voice hot against your ear. His tone made it sound like a question, but his hands were already on you, slowly guiding you to turn on your belly. You cheek was smushed against the pillow and all you could do was squeezed the bedding with your fingers as he lifted your hips higher. “Good girl…” he rasped, leaning in to kiss the back of your neck., his hips already pressing forward, letting you feel just how hard and desperate he was. You felt a soft kisses being pressed down your spine as his hand slipped lower, fingers curling into the skin of your hips. He just couldn’t wait another moment.
“Stay still,” he warned with a spank to your ass. He pulled away for a moment, and all you could here were the sounds of his breathing and clothes being thrown onto the floor. Then, he was behind you again, murmuring praises at how good you were for staying still.
When the blunt head of him nudged at your entrance, you couldn’t help but push back a little, earning yourself another quiet laugh and a smack to your hip that made you gasp.
“Impatient,” he teased. “Can’t even wait a second, huh? Gonna give you what you want, princess. Gonna fuck you so good you won’t even remember your own name.”
He was slow at first, the way he bullied his cock deeper inside your tight warmth inch by inch, slapping you softly each time you tried to buck back into him. You thought you’d actually go crazy before he bottomed out.
You could feel him let out a pleasurable sigh when he finally did, his hips pressing against your ass making his head swirl with need. Still, he took his time, forehead resting on your back as he let out a groan.
“So good…” he breathed, voice mumbled by your skin “Could stay like this forever…” the soft shaking of your hips brought him out of his haze. He could stay like this forever, but right now, he needed to fuck you was overpowering every cell in his body. He needed to hear your moans filled with pleasure as his hips snapped into you. He pulled back, then snapped forward again, a little harder this time – enough to prompt a soft moan out of you and make your fingers curl tightly in the sheets.
Every thrust pushed you forward into the mattress, the soft smack of skin on skin mixing with your broken moans and his rough, breathless praises.
“So fucking tight… so good for me… that’s it, baby, take it– fuck…” His voice cracked when you clenched around him, your hips pushing back to meet his thrusts. He pressed his chest to your back, mouthing at your shoulder, teeth scraping at your skin. You could feel the way his breaths hitched witch each snap of his hips. He was close… you didn’t need words to know that, just the sudden roughness of his thrusts and uncontrollable, downright sinful whines that left his lips.
The room was filled with your joined moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin so loud you almost felt bad for your neighbours. Almost. The thought quickly slipped away from you, replaced by overwhelming pleasure.
“I’m so close–” he whimpered, each thrust turning sloppy, desperate.
He was close. But Leon wasn’t a selfish lover. Even in his drunken state, he aimed for you to cum with him, and you cried out when his hand slid down to stop between your thighs.
“Shit– F-fuck, Leon~” you cried out, the pleasure blinding you. You barely had time to recover from your first orgasm, and he had you right on the edge of overstimulation with how rough he was treating you. Anything to make your walls squeeze around his cock.
“C’mon princess,” he rasped, the gentle massaging of his hand a stark contrast to how rough his thrusts were. “Milk my cock–“
Your words dissolved into broken gasps and your whole body shuddered, walls tightening around him so hard it knocked the air out of his lungs as he came with you, emptying inside your warm heat.
“Fuck… that’s it princess–” he gasped, riding out his high with his cock buried deep inside you. Your body fell limply onto the bed, held up only where the two of you were still connected.
“Holy shit” you whined into the pillow. Your legs felt like jelly. Your whole body did, and the moment he pulled out of you, you plopped down lifelessly.
“Wait here,” he mumbled, softer than before, words adorned with a few kisses to your shoulders. You barely managed a nod, your eyes fluttering as you were snapping in and out of consciousness. You felt him slip away, and the room went quiet for a moment, lulling you away from the world. Until the sudden warmth of a wet cloth made you flinch back to life. Gentle and careful, Leon wiped you clean. After he finished, the towel landed somewhere on the floor with a plop, and the bed dipped again with his weight. He curled next to you, warm hands pulling you into his embrace.
“You okay?” he aske with hands rubbing soft circles into your hips – an apology for how rough he was with every snap of his hips. Not that you minded him being rough, but the softness was always greatly appreciated. So you smiled, using the last of your energy to nuzzle into his naked chest.
“Brilliant.” You let out a soft chuckle, eyes slowly closing.
A/N: heres a cute lil thing. nanami seing you drunk for the first time/ you seing him drunk for the first time. Enjoy!
warnings: alcohol is involved
Drunk in love (and also sake): a very serious tale of Nanami’s downfall:
The first warning sign is the phone call.
You’re knee-deep in a bowl of kettle popcorn, fuzzy socks on, hair tied back, halfway through an aggressively low-rated true crime documentary. Life is simple. Life is good.
Then Gojo Satoru’s name pops up on your screen like a beacon of chaos.
You stare at it.
It stares back.
You answer. Regret is instant.
“HEYOOOOOOO~” Gojo sings, voice far too cheerful and echoey, as if he’s inside a giant beer can. “So. Okay. Hypothetically, if Nanamin were drunk—like, very drunk, like totally wasted, like sexy salaryman has left the building and now only ‘Sad Dad at Karaoke Night’ remains—how fast could you get to my place?”
You blink. “...Hypothetically?”
There’s a clatter in the background, a loud thump, and something that sounds dangerously like Nanami whisper-screaming, “I’M FINE, I’M WEARING A TIE.”
Gojo muffles a laugh. “Yeah, no. He’s gone. Please come get your man before he starts stripping and reciting Shakespeare at my furniture.”
You don’t even put on real pants. This is a sweatpants emergency.
*-*
THE LOCATION: GOJO’S PENTHOUSE OF BAD DECISIONS
You arrive. The door’s already half open. Chairman Meow’s pet carrier sits in your passenger seat, unopened, because you thought you might need backup.
You step inside and you immediately see him.
Nanami Kento. Exorcist of curses. Slayer of high-level threats. Known for his calm demeanor, buttoned-up suits, and general unshakable aura of “I have better things to do.”
Currently?
Red-faced, shirt half-untucked, tie wrapped around his forehead like some kind of weird office headband. He's swaying slightly, glassy-eyed, staring at a decorative mirror like it's challenged him to a duel.
“Oh, thank God,” Gojo sighs, sprawled on a beanbag with an empty bottle of sake balanced on his head like a party trick. “I was gonna have to sedate him.”
Nanami turns at the sound of your voice:
You blink. “Kento?”
He spins around like a surprised cat. Blinks. Squints. And then?
“DARLING??” he gasps, as if he’s seeing the face of God. “My LOVE is here??”
The second he sees you—actually sees you—his entire face lights up.
Like… sunshine.
Like a kid seeing a puppy. Like a puppy seeing another puppy. Like a man seeing the one person who makes him forget that he regularly punches demons in the face for a living.
And then—oh God—he starts to run. Drunkenly. Like a very wobbly, very earnest golden retriever with a tie hanging off one shoulder and shirt buttons that have given up halfway.
“You’re here,” he breathes.
You nod, warily. “I am. And you are… definitely not sober.”
“I missed you,” he slurs, taking a wobbly step toward you. “You’re the prettiest person. The most beautiful. Like a—like a dessert. Like a forbidden bun.”
Gojo snorts.
“Okay, Casanova, let’s go.” You try to guide him toward the door.
He resists. Resists with the full power of floppy limbs and clingy affection.
“Wait, wait, wait—I need to kiss you first. For health reasons.”
“We can kiss in the car, Nanami—”
“NO. You’ll disappear. You always disappear when I blink. I need to kiss you to make sure you’re real.”
“...You mean when you blink normally?”
“No. When I blink long. You know. Like a cat. Like love.”
Gojo wheezes from the floor.
You groan. “Please get in the car.”
“Only if you promise to marry me,” he mumbles into your neck.
“You already proposed last week—”
“I need to hear it again. It helps my digestion.”
*-*
Seatbelt buckling is an Olympic sport. Nanami tries to make out with you the entire time. His hand is on your cheek. Then your hair. Then your boob, briefly, before he apologizes dramatically and starts whispering, “Forgive me, I love you, I didn’t mean to sin—"
Objectively, you are a safe driver.
But it is very hard to focus when your drunk-ass boyfriend is doing the following:
Whispering “God, you’re hot” every 45 seconds, like it’s the first time he’s noticed you exist.
Attempting to caress your face every time you stop at a red light.
Yelling “ILLEGAL TURN!” at every mildly curved road, even though you are going exactly the speed limit.
You barely manage to start the car.
He sighs dreamily and stares at you for the entire ride.
“Did you know,” he says solemnly, “that your thighs are the most comfortable pillows known to mankind?”
You grip the wheel like a NASCAR driver. “Please don’t make me crash this car.”
“You could crash it into my heart.”
“I’m begging you.”
*-*
Chairman Meow greets you both at the door, fluffy body vibrating like a fridge with fury and joy.
“MMMMRRRAAOOOOWWWRRRRRR.”
Nanami gasps. “My son!”
Chairman Meow, your glorious chonky cat (round, red bowtie, war criminal tendencies), yeets himself down the hallway like a furry cannonball.
“MY BOY!!” Nanami screams, slumping to the floor. “MY SON! MY—MY BOY!!!”
Chairman Meow: screams louder
You: “Please stop yelling.”
Nanami: “I CAN’T. I MISSED HIM. LOOK AT HIS LITTLE BOWTIE—HE’S DRESSED FOR BUSINESS.”
Chairman Meow immediately flops onto his back, exposing his belly and demanding tribute. Nanami, naturally, melts into a puddle on the carpet, mumbling, “my beautiful bastard child” while attempting to kiss the cat on the mouth.
“He missed you,” you mutter, trying to juggle keys and a nearly deadweight boyfriend who keeps nuzzling your shoulder. “He’s very vocal about it.”
Chairman Meow screams again. Nanami screams back.
Then starts crying.
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “I’ve broken him.”
“I just love you both so much,” Nanami sniffles. “You and the rotund beast.”
“His name is Chairman Meow.”
“He’s round,” Nanami says, eyes wide with reverence. “He’s like a meatball in a bowtie. A delicious meatball of judgment.”
“Jesus Christ,” you whisper.
*-*
You finally get him into the bathroom. Somehow. It takes twenty whole minutes. He refuses to brush his teeth unless you do it with him. Then he insists on washing his face “like a gentleman” and accidentally slaps himself with a towel.
Chairman Meow watches it all from the sink. Judging. Screaming occasionally.
You get him into pajamas—not easily. He tries to seduce you with a “sultry” voice and winks, but ends up poking himself in the eye.
“You’re gonna see my titties,” he slurs.
“I’ve seen your titties.”
“NOT LIKE THIS.”
You try to unbuckle his belt.
“I’m a respectable man!!” he cries, clutching it like a lifeline.
“You literally just tried to kiss a cat.”
“I’M STILL A GENTLEMAN.”
Eventually, somehow, you get him in a t-shirt and sweatpants. It takes 15 minutes and you nearly break an ankle because Nanami insists on dancing to a song that’s only playing in his head.
He also refers to himself as “The Salaryman of Love.” Twice.
Then it’s time for water.
“Drink this,” you order, handing him a full bottle.
He squints at it. “This isn’t wine.”
“No. It’s hydration. Or your liver’s going to declare bankruptcy.”
“I’ll only drink it if you kiss me.”
You kiss his forehead.
He pouts. “Lips, please. That’s where my feelings are.”
You kiss his lips.
He drinks the water in one go, like a man who has been rewarded.
*-*
You bring him toast. He tries to feed you instead. You both get crumbs everywhere. Chairman Meow steals a corner and acts like he’s earned it.
“I don’t deserve you,” Nanami mumbles, halfway between awake and asleep. “You’re too good. Too soft. You smell like sugar and dreams.”
You stroke his hair. “You smell like stale beer and regret.”
“And yet you stay,” he whispers dramatically. “A goddess among mortals.”
You roll your eyes. “Go to sleep, Shakespeare.”
“Not without kisses.”
You give him one. Then another. Then another, because he keeps whispering, “I’ll perish.”
Eventually, you snuggle in beside him, cat wedged between you like a furry marshmallow of authority. Nanami’s arm wraps around your waist like he’s anchoring himself to a lifeboat. He buries his face in your neck and sighs so deeply it’s like he’s finally home.
And despite everything—the chaos, the drama, the sheer amount of bodily fluids his flushed face produced tonight—you smile.
You kiss his forehead again.
He sleep-mumbles, “We’re getting married tomorrow. Tell the meatball.”
*-*
Absolutely not trying to bang in the parking lot (except she absolutely is):
Nanami: “How much did she drink?”
Nobara: “Not… a lot?”
Yuji: “It was just six shots. And a fishbowl.”
Nanami: “…Of what?”
Nobara: “Yes.”
To be clear, Nanami was not surprised.
Concerned? Yes. Deeply. Existentially. On a spiritual level.
But surprised? Not in the slightest.
Because after a long, cursed-spirit-infested week and an even longer mission where you had basically gone full “Final Girl slasher film mode” on a cursed womb and walked away with a cracked nail and a new scar on your thigh (Nanami still hasn't recovered), you were owed a drink. Or five. Or six. And according to the group chat, you had enthusiastically ordered a “Blue Bitch Supreme Deluxe” and shouted “TO BEING THICK, ALIVE, AND IN LOVE!!” before starting your descent into depravity.
Nanami had not heard from you since.
Until he got the Call™.
When he arrives, it’s like a scene from a war zone.
You are standing on a bar patio, one heel off, one heel on, holding a slice of pizza like it owes you money, titty out of place, giggling at a potted plant.
Nanami stops dead.
You look up. Beam.
“OH MY GODDDD,” you shriek. “MY HUSBAND!!”
Nanami flinches. You’re not married. You call him your husband when you’re trying to guilt trip him into sex or let you eat cheese in bed.
“HUSBAND!” you repeat, louder, titty bouncing. “I MISSED YOU. YOU’RE SO HOT.”
“Sweetheart,” Nanami says gently, walking over like you’re a wounded animal. “Time to go home.”
You grin. Drop the pizza. Grab his face.
“I would like to climb you like a TREE,” you announce. “Right now. On GOD. In front of the potted plant.”
The plant, probably named Derek or something, trembles in fear.
“Baby,” Nanami tries again, catching your wrists, “you’re drunk.”
“Not that drunk.” You start unbuttoning his shirt. “Just… a little wet.”
“That’s not what that means.”
“WELL IT IS NOW, MR. SALARYMAN.”
Then Came The Wrangling: Nightmare on Titty Street.
You keep trying to kiss him. Open-mouthed. Sloppy. Loud.
Every time Nanami turns his head, you grab his butt.
“STILL PLUMP,” you giggle, giving it a squeeze. “Mmm. Beefcake. Sexy loaf.”
“You’re outside,” he hisses, red-faced. “With civilians.”
“Civilians should say thank you.” You squint at a passing car. “HEY, HE’S TAKEN!! EYES TO YOURSELF, PEASANTS!!”
Nanami physically picks you up bridal-style. You start kicking your legs like a gleeful toddler.
“CARRRYYY ME, MUSCLE MAN.”
“Oh my God,” he mutters. “I am never drinking again.”
*-*
Getting you into the car takes fifteen minutes.
You keep trying to grind on the center console.
“Babe,” you whisper, pawing at his thigh. “We could do it in the parking lot. I could be so fast. Like NASCAR.”
“Stop touching the gear shift.”
“THAT’S NOT THE ONLY THING I’M SHIFTIN’—”
“Seatbelt. Now.”
You buckle in. Immediately try to take your top off.
“It’s hot,” you whine.
Nanami rolls all the windows down.
“I can still feel your aura,” you sob dramatically, throwing your head back. “Your dick aura is melting me.”
“Sweetheart.”
“DADDY.”
He swerves a little. “Okay. That’s it. We’re done. No more fishbowl cocktails.”
*-*
The second the door opens:
“MRRRRRRROOOOOOOW.”
Chairman Meow barrels down the hallway like a chunky, furious bowling ball.
“MY BABYYYYY,” you shriek, dropping to your knees.
Chairman Meow screams louder.
You: “I love you, you fat bastard!! Look at your tummy! Look at your bowtie!!”
Chairman Meow: hiss/screeches with the rage of ten thousand suns.
Nanami watches you roll on the floor trying to kiss the cat’s paws and whispering “you are my flesh and blood,” then walks into the kitchen and slams a cup of water on the table.
“She’s your mother,” he tells the cat. “You deal with her.”
Chairman Meow runs.
*-*
Nanami gently pulls your arms up to change your shirt.
You immediately start rubbing his chest. “When did you get so big?”
“I always look like this.”
“Noooo,” you slur, eyes glazed. “You used to be a small, modest prince, and now you’re a thicc god of power.”
“Your shirt is off.”
“It’s called equal rights.”
He tries to help you into a t-shirt. You bite it. Just. Bite the fabric.
Then you try to seduce him while half in your pajama pants.
“Baby,” you purr, crawling on the bed like a drunk jungle cat, “I have a secret.”
“Oh God.”
“My panties match my bra.”
“You’re not wearing a bra.”
You wiggle your eyebrows.
“Exactly.”
*-*
Nanami manages to get you to brush your teeth after you spend five solid minutes insisting you only need to lick toothpaste off his abs.
Then you drink from the faucet and burp like a frat boy.
Chairman Meow watches from the sink.
You stick a toothbrush in your cleavage and scream “I’M MULTITASKINGGGG.”
Nanami stares at his reflection and reconsiders his entire life.
*-*
You are halfway through inhaling a cup of spicy instant ramen when you turn to him, noodle hanging from your lip.
“You ever think about how freaky we could get with ramen?”
“No.”
“You ever wanna do it with noodles between us like Lady and the Tramp but slutty?”
Nanami chugs his tea.
You lean in, saucy and slurred: “You ever wanna use the noodle—”
“YOU’RE EATING. STOP TALKING.”
*-*
You finally collapse onto the bed.
“Love you,” you mumble, face in the pillow.
“I know,” Nanami sighs, pulling the blanket over you.
“Gonna suck your dick tomorrow.”
“Please stop saying these things while the cat is in the room.”
Chairman Meow judges you silently from the windowsill.
You roll into Nanami’s chest. Mumble into his shirt.
“You’re so hot.”
“You’ve said that twelve times.”
“Not enough,” you pout. “You’re the love of my life. The sexy building I want to live in. You’re my—my fleshlight-shaped soulmate.”
Nanami blinks. “That’s enough.”
You latch onto him like a very warm koala. He’s stiff. Resigned. Slightly aroused. Mostly exhausted.
But when you sigh, long and soft, and press your lips to his neck and whisper, “You make me feel safe,” he melts.
Right there. Heart and all.
“Sleep,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.
“Only if you spoon me like a goddamn man,” you whisper, already snoring.
Your drabbles are amazing!! Im salivating... I would loveee some like drunk or high sex with bucky.. I know he can't get high or drunk, but imagine her just being so delirious.. so smiley and slurring her words. Maybe even saying things she would never admit sober😳 thankkk you and enjoy you day
You weren't really drunk. At least not from your perspective. You were tipsy. But just drunk enough every inhibition just evaporated from existence. You were giggly and wild and romantic. You convinced Bucky to drive home before everyone else, insisting you needed an early night.
An 'early' night went out the window the second you were alone with your boyfriend in your apartment. You crash your lips to his the second he gets through the door. He's flustered for a brief minute before he melts into it and his hands go straight to your ass and he picks you up. He wraps your legs around his waist, continuing to kiss you as he lays you down on the couch and pulls up your dress. You giggle tipsily, tugging at his belt but hands not quite coordinated enough to undo the loops. A smile tugs at his lips against yours as he undoes his belt with one hand while removing your panties with the other (HOT, by the way.)
Your head tips back against the pillow, lips opening in a lazy gasp as your wet cunt meets the air. "Fuckk.. Baby.. Let me sit on your face, pretty please.. Lemme warm your ears.." You rasp, not quite caring about the words tumbling from your mouth without a care in the world. He snickers and nudges his nose into your cunt, licking an experimental stripe up your slit. Your legs twitch, nearly kicking him with how fast they move. He laughs against your pussy before diving back in to eat you out. You give a lazy giggle that melts into a whiny moan. "Baby.. Holy shit.. Don't stop.." You whine, hips already bucking.
⟢ content: mike wheeler x reader, college au, roommate!lucas(mybaby), slow burn, mike staring at the back of reader’s head for 4 months(he’s a bit of a perv tbh), drunk confessions at a frat party, both are d&d nerds, makeout sesh on a boat but idk how boats work, pov changes throughout, not proofread
college was supposed to be the big reset button. that’s what mike told himself when he was packing up his room back in hawkins, staring at the empty shelves. a new city, new classes, no upside down, no crumbling mental state. just grades and hopefully, a degree.
the best part was that lucas was coming too. finding out they were rooming together was a relief that actually made his chest feel lighter for once. having someone there who knew exactly why mike sometimes panicked when he did was a safety net he didn't deserve.
then the spring semester started, and with it, the transfer student who sat right in front of him in intro to creative writing.
mike tried to ignore them. he really did. the professor was droning on about post modern narrative structure, something mike usually loved, but all he could focus on was the way the back of the student's neck looked, the slight slouch of their shoulders, the way they sighed every time the professor tried to be funny.
stop it ,mike told himself, gripping his pen so hard his knuckles turned white. look at the board. listen to the lecture. you are here to get a degree, not to stare at strangers.
"it's just a person," he muttered under his breath, barely audible over the scratching of pens around the room. "just another student. stop looking at their hair."
but he couldn't help it. it was like a magnetic pull. he was obsessed with why they seemed so bored, so completely unbothered by the academic posturing around them. everyone else in the class was nodding, taking notes, desperate to prove they were smart. they just sat there, chin in hand, staring out the window or doodling in the margins of their notebook. to mike, it was infuriating.
his own notes were garbage. he looked down at his page and saw he’d written 'why are they even here?' like ten times in the margin. he scribbled it out, his chest tightening with anxiety. he was losing it. he was becoming the weird guy in class. you are losing your mind, mike, he thought, feeling a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. get a grip.
one tuesday, the new student turned around to grab a pencil from their bag, and their notebook shifted on the desk, the cover flapping open.
mike’s eyes were glued to it before he could even register what he was doing.
there it was. a fading, slightly peeling sticker of a d20 die, right next to a 'dungeon master' decal.
mike’s brain basically shortcircuited. he stopped breathing. he felt like the air in the lecture hall had been sucked out, leaving him in a vacuum. he almost dropped his pen, it clattered loudly on his desk, and he jumped, his heart hammering against his ribs.
no way, he thought, his pulse roaring in his ears. there’s no fucking way.
he spent the rest of the hour trying to convince himself that it was a coincidence, or maybe they just liked the aesthetic.but he knew better. he knew the specific wear of those stickers. he knew the 'dungeon master' decal wasn't just a fun piece of stationary, it was a badge. it was a signal. his own accessories wearing the same stickers.
he wanted to reach out and tap their shoulder. he wanted to ask them about their campaign, about what edition they played, about who they played with. the words were right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue. but they died in his throat every time they made eye contact.
he was a coward. he knew it.
why are you such a loser? he berated himself, staring blankly at his own paper.
he tried to look away. he tried to focus on his own story drafts, trying to force himself to write something that wasn't just a thinly veiled retelling of his own nightmares. but his eyes kept drifting back to that d20. it was a beacon in the dark. it was a tether to a life he was desperately trying to leave behind, but also the only thing that made him feel like he wasn't completely alone in this crowded, bright, terrifyingly normal university.
he didn't know their name. he didn't know their voice. but he knew, with a sinking, terrifying certainty, that he was already in too deep.
"we are going," lucas said, throwing a shirt at mike’s head on a friday night. "it’s a boat party, mike. it’s not a rave. just get dressed."
"it’s a boat," mike argued, pulling the shirt off his face. "i don't like boats. why do we have to be on water?"
"it’s docked at the marina. it’s not moving, it’s basically just a floating frat house. come on, don't be a hermit."
mike caved, mostly because lucas looked disappointed. he regretted it the second they stepped onto the deck. the boat was swaying, just a little, but his inner ear didn't like it. he felt seasick despite the fact that they weren't even off the dock.
he followed lucas down the small, wooden stairs, away from the loud music on the deck and into the cabin.
the interior was almost offensively nice. it looked like an expensive yacht magazine spread, led lighting glowing under the cabinets, wood paneling everywhere, and brown leather bench seats that looked way too clean for a bunch of college guys to be drinking beer near.
"dude, check the windows down here," lucas shouted over the noise, clapping mike on the shoulder.
mike didn't hear him. he was too busy trying to ignore the plastic, tacky looking speaker shaped like a dolphin that was perched on the countertop. it was blasting some pop song with a bassline so aggressive it rattled the ice in mike’s empty cup. he didn't even recognize it, sounding like a dying robot trying to harmonize.
leaning against the counter were three guys from lucas's frat. mike recognized two of them immediately: brandon and jace. he’d spent 2 hours on tuesday sitting in the library trying to explain the difference between 'they're,' 'their,' and 'there' to brandon. watching brandon now, holding a beer and slurring something about his midterms, mike rolled his eyes so hard it physically hurt. he’d corrected brandon's usage of 'there' three times in one paragraph, and here he was, likely failing to even spell his own name right on a scantron sheet. fucking miraculous, mike thought, turning away before he had to listen to another slurred sentence.
he hovered near the kitchenette, trying to look busy so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone, gripping his red plastic cup like a lifeline.
then he looked up to see who was sitting in the booth across from the galley, and the air left his lungs.
she was there. tucked away from the noise, looking entirely out of place in the best way possible. she was nursing her own drink, staring at the table with that same bored expression you wore in class.
you were wearing a short white summer dress, paired with clean white sneakers and a hollow, white knit cardigan that hung loosely off your shoulders. it was a stark contrast to the dark serious mahogany of the cabin. mike felt his palms go instantly clammy, the heat from his cheeks flushing all the way down his neck.
he stared, unable to look away, as you shifted in the booth. the low light of the cabin caught the reflection on your mouth. a thick, glossy coat of red that made your lips look wet and entrancing. it was.. completely distracting.
mike felt his pulse jump, a jolt that settled low and heavy in his stomach. his breath hitching as the realization hit him. he was currently painfully attracted to you, and he was trapped in this cabin with the one person who made him feel like he was constantly losing his footing.
he was sweating through his shirt, his heart was drumming a wild beat against his ribs, and he had no idea how to hide the fact that he was staring like a total freak.
great. this was going to be a disaster.
the boat wasn't helping. the constant rocking was messing with his sense of stability, and the liquid courage he’d downed in about thirty minutes was making his head spin in a way that had nothing to do with the sea. he leaned against the walls of the kitchenette, watching you. you hadn't looked at him again, but he could feel your presence like a localized gravity.
then, you stood up. you didn't look back, just turned and walked down the short narrow hallway toward the back of the boat.
mike didn't think. his brain to mouth filter had been dissolved by the cheap frat house tequila. he pushed off the wall, stumbling slightly as the floor tilted beneath his sneakers, and followed you. the hallway was tight. he caught up just as you ducked into one of the staterooms, the door left cracked open.
he pushed it open a little wider. you were sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at your phone, and you looked up, eyes narrowing.
"uh, hi—hic—i’m-i’m mike," he stammered, swaying a little. he grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. "i’m in your creative writing class. we’re... partners? i think? i saw you."
you stared at him, eyebrows raised, clearly unimpressed by his state of inebriation.
mike didn't stop. he couldn't stop. his tongue felt thick, but the words were rushing out like a dam breaking. he stumbled further into the room, pointing vaguely at your bag which was sitting on the floor.
"i saw the sticker," he blurted out, gesturing wildly. "the d20. the dungeon master one. i have that same one on my laptop. i mean, not the same one, but the design. and it’s-it’s actually crazy because like, most people just think it’s a game, right? just dice and paper. but i’ve... i’ve lived it. i’ve actually had to play the game, you know? like the real stakes, the monsters, the... everything."
he was rambling now, waving his hands around, his eyes wide and unfocused. "and i thought i was the only one who still cared about it, or thought it meant something, and i’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks but i’m a fucking idiot and i can’t talk to people and-“
he stopped, breathless, his face burning hot. the alcohol taste suddenly becoming too bitter in his mouth to be ignored. he realized how loud he was being, how pathetic he probably looked, swaying in front of a stranger in a bedroom on a boat he didn't even want to be on.
you stood up slowly. at least you didn't look annoyed anymore, mike thought. you took one step toward him, then another, closing the distance until he was backed up against the doorframe.
"you're.. loud," you said, your voice low and flat, cutting right through his spinning thoughts.
"i... i know," mike whispered. "i’m sorry, i’m just-“
you didn't let him finish. you reached out and grabbed his jaw, your hand firm, tilting his head down until he was looking right at you. you didn't say anything, just pulled him down.
the kiss hit him like a physical impact. it was hard and immediate, teeth clicking against each other for a split second before his brain caught up. mike made a choked, pathetic sound in his throat, his hands flying up to grab the edge of your cardigan, bunching the fabric in his fists.
the boat gave a violent, sudden lurch, the wood frame of the room groaning as it shifted on the water. the motion knocked you off balance, and you stumbled, forced hard into him. mike’s arms went around your waist instinctively, bracing you against his chest, but the momentum carried you both forward, until rocking back the opposite way. mike’s shoulder blades again slammed into the doorframe.
"damn boat," you muttered against his lips. you didn't pull away, though. instead, you shoved him harder into the frame, pinning him there with your body weight.
mike didn't care about the swaying or the nausea or the fact that he was probably going to throw up later. he shoved his leg between your knees to steady himself, and he felt the friction of your dress against his jeans. it was a stupid, clumsy adjustment, but it brought you flush against him, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis.
you let out a huff, one hand moving to the back of his neck, fingers tangling deep into his hair and tugging hard enough to make him wince. he liked it. he didn't mind that he was drunk or that he barely knew you. he leaned into the hand, opening his mouth against yours, desperate to get closer.
the air in the room was hot. you weren't kissing him like you were strangers. your tongue was aggressive, demanding space, and he just scrambled to keep up, his hands roaming over your back, pulling you in until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. he wasn't the kid in the front row of class anymore; he was just someone who couldn't stop touching you, trying to ground himself in the only thing that felt real.
the world is just the friction of her sweater against his knuckles and the pressure of her mouth, until a loud metallic click cuts through the haze.
the stateroom door swings open, the wood scraping against the floor, and the heavy bass from the deck floods into the small, quiet space like a physical blow. mike jumps back, stumbling, his shoulder slamming into the closet door behind him.
lucas is standing there, leaning against the doorframe. he’s holding his car keys, jingling them against his palm.
"dude, we gotta go," lucas says, not even looking at the other person in the room, just staring at mike with a look of mild amusement that immediately turns to confusion when he takes in mike’s messy hair and the fact that he looks like he’s just been dragged through a hurricane. "my car’s started outside. you good? you look like you’re about to throw up."
mike blinks. he has no idea what time it is. ten minutes ago? two hours ago? his head feels disconnected from his body. the adrenaline from the kiss is warring with the tequila in his stomach, making his gut turn over.
"yeah," mike croaks, his voice sounding like gravel. he wipes a hand across his mouth, his lips still feeling numb, still feeling like they’re burning from yours. "yeah. sorry. going."
he stumbles toward the door, his sneakers feeling too big for his feet. he pushes past lucas, who gives him a weird look, but mike can’t focus on his roommate right now. his brain is buzzing, trying to process what just happened. he feels like he’s walking on a tightrope, terrified that if he looks back, this whole night will vanish like a fever dream.
he reaches the hallway, the cool air from the deck hitting his face, but he stops dead. he can’t leave. he can’t just walk away and go back to his dorm and pretend he didn't just kiss the person he’s been obsessing over for half a semester.
he spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet, and finds you still standing by the bed, leaning against the headboard. the adrenaline hits him so hard he almost gasps.
"wait!"
the word comes out too loud, desperate. lucas pauses in the doorway, raising an eyebrow, but mike ignores him. he’s only looking at you, his chest heaving, his hands balled into fists at his sides to keep them from shaking.
"wait," he repeats, softer this time, his face flushing deep red. "would you... would you be interested in joining my campaign sometime?”
the silence in the room is deafening. lucas looks back and forth between the two of you, totally lost, but mike doesn't care. he just needs to know if he’s crazy, or if this is actually real.
Summary: You are a drunk, flirty, and teasing mess. Benji can't concentrate when you are like this.
Warning: I wish one day, I could take such a nice picture.. Alas, I will have to content myself with a Pinterest pic. Mention of Tequilla, for all of you, who can taste the hangovers caused by it.
(Im)possible to focus:
Benji Dunn had been in love with you for what felt like forever.
Not the dramatic, heart-in-flames kind of love. No, it was quieter than that. Softer. The kind that built itself up over late-night mission planning and cramped van stakeouts, over the way you laughed at your own bad jokes, or always remembered to grab his favorite energy drink before a mission. It crept up on him, slow and stubborn—until one day he realized there was no part of his life you hadn’t slipped into.
Luther knew, of course. So did Ethan. They’d tease him about it in passing nudges, smirks, a not-so-subtle “maybe you should just tell her.” but Benji always brushed it off with a nervous laugh or a change of subject. Because how does he tell someone like you, someone brilliant and brave and out of his league in a dozen different ways, that he's quietly been building a future around the sound of your voice?
He doesn’t.
He just kept showing up, doing his job, pretending the look in his eyes doesn’t unravel him every time he gets too close.
Until one night, you stumble off a mission slightly drunk, still beautiful, and smiling like trouble, and suddenly Benji has a much bigger problem on his hands than he’s ever trained for.
---
The tequila hit you faster than expected, warm and reckless, loosening the tight coil of nerves you usually kept locked away. You hated it, the way your heart skipped every time Benji was near, the butterflies that wouldn’t quit, no matter how many missions you pulled together. It annoyed you, really. How was it possible to be so distracted by just one guy? Especially Benji, always the brainy, nervous tech guy. But no. He had your tongue tied and your thoughts scrambled.
Tonight, the weight of pretending was too much. Pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, or how your chest tightened when he laughed. Hiding your feelings had become exhausting. And honestly? It was kind of ridiculous.
Your boots clicked against the floor as she stumbled back into the safehouse, the remnants of the mission and a few too many drinks trailing behind you. Then, just like that, you locked eyes with Benji across the room.
The butterflies in your stomach flipped again. Your grin grew mischievous. Maybe it was the tequila talking, or maybe it was time.
Time to stop hiding.
Time to test the waters.
“Heyyyyy,” you drawled, walking into the operations room like a cowboy after a long ride, if the cowboy had glitter on their cheek and smelled faintly of lime.
Benji looked up from his monitor and froze. Luther turned slowly in his chair. Ethan, ever the professional, sighed like a man who’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes.
“You’re back,” Luther said.
“I am,” you announced proudly. “In one piece. Which is more than I can say for the guy who challenged me to a mezcal chugging contest.”
Benji opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Are you… okay?”
“I’m thriving,” you beamed, arms stretched out like you were ready to be crucified by a hangover. “Ten out of ten. No notes.”
“You smell like a bar floor,” Luther muttered.
“That bar floor won us the microdrive with the nuclear launch codes on it,” you pointed out, flopping into a chair with absolutely no coordination. “You’re welcome.”
Ethan stepped in, arms crossed. “Great. You can sleep it off on the plane. We’re wheels up in twenty. Benji will brief you.”
You blinked at him. “Huh?”
“We got a new mission,” Benji explained gently. “While you were, um… blending in.”
----
You looked at him. Like, really looked at him.
And there it was again, that adorable little furrow in his brow, the nervous energy practically crackling off him. You barely heard his words, but man, his mouth moved so nicely when he talked. His lips were doing a whole performance. You were captivated. There could have been subtitles and a background score, and you still would’ve stared.
Benji paused mid-sentence. “You’re not listening, are you?”
“Nope,” you said cheerfully.
The tablet in Benji’s hands was clearly trying its best. He had diagrams, thermal scans, a bullet-pointed infiltration sequence, all very smart, very Benji. But you were leaning against the wall beside him, legs stretched out lazily, cheek resting on your hand as you stared up at him like he was an alien species made entirely out of sunshine and soft sweaters.
He was focused, reading from the tablet. “…once we get into the gala, the target’s expected to meet with a buyer, codenamed—”
You blinked slowly.
Nice eyes.
“…you’ll be in position by the east wing. Disguises are prepped. I uploaded blueprints to your—”
Cute nose. The way it crinkled a little when he got technical.
“…backup’s arriving in a separate convoy—are you even hearing this? You’re staring.”
“I am.” You didn’t even pretend to hide it.
You rested your chin in your hand, turned your head toward him with a blissful, dopey smile, and booped his nose. “I like the way you talk.”
Benji’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
“…what?”
“You’re just so…” You waved your fingers vaguely, as if that explained it. “Benji.”
Benji shifted in his seat, gripping the tablet a little too tightly.
“Okay,” he told himself. “Focus. You’re a professional. You’ve trained for this. You’ve hacked nuclear facilities in Belarus. You do not get rattled by—”
His eyes flicked to you.
“—by smiles. Or knees touching yours. Or that lip thing she’s doing.”
He sat back like the seat might offer protection. It did not.
You, on the other hand, were basking in the effect you had on him. It was rare to see Benji flustered to the point of collapse. His cheeks were practically glowing, and his knee had started bouncing like it was trying to send Morse code for "HELP ME."
“You always wear glasses when you brief?” you asked, ignoring him entirely. “Or is that just for me?”
He cleared his throat. “I need them to read.”
“Hm,” you said, eyes twinkling. “They make you look very… smart. Like a genius who might accidentally defuse the wrong bomb but still look good doing it.”
His lips parted, but no sound came out. His thumb accidentally flicked the tablet screen too fast, skipping four slides ahead.
“You cannot be undone by one smile and a half-drunken compliment,” he muttered under his breath, staring blankly at the tablet for the fifth time.
But you looked at him again, really looked at him.
“Okay, fine,” he admitted silently, “maybe I do like her. A little. A lot. A catastrophic amount.”
He closed his eyes for a second, just to regroup.
“She’s literally drunk on cartel tequila and flirting like she’s in the spy rom-com version. Get a grip, man.”
You giggled. “What’s your type, Benji?”
“My type?”
“Yeah,” you said casually, resting your chin on your hand. “Like. Do you go for the cool, serious types? Mysterious femme fatale? Hacker girls? Tequila-scented messes with messy hair and bad timing?”
Benji’s mouth opened. Then closed. “I, uh—don’t really—”
“Let me guess,” you said, eyes dancing. “You’ve never been flirted with on a plane by a semi-drunk teammate mid-mission briefing before.”
He gave a helpless laugh. “Not exactly a common occurrence, no.”
You leaned just a little closer, your voice dropping a note. “Well. First time for everything.”
Benji’s entire face went red. His brain short-circuited.
Words failed. Logic failed. The tablet in his hand might as well have been a toaster.
“She’s not even trying to be subtle,” he thought, eyes wide. “Is she joking? Please tell me she’s joking. Oh god, what if she’s not joking?”
He coughed, very professionally. “I should, uh, get back to .. slides.”
“I’m listening,” you said, clearly not listening at all. “I just like when you talk. You have a soothing voice.”
Benji shifted in his seat, looking like he was seriously considering jumping out of the emergency exit.
“Do you always get this shy?” you asked softly.
His response was a squeak.
You bit your lip to stifle a laugh and finally leaned back in your seat, giving him a little break. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. For now.”
He peeked at you from the corner of his eye, cautiously hopeful. “You will?”
You grinned. “No.”
Benji stared at the same mission slide for what felt like hours. Nothing was registering. He could hear his own pulse over the soft hum of the jet engines.
You shifted just a little closer, letting your hand rest on his knee.
His soul briefly left his body.
“I’ve lost all grip on reality,” he thought. “I don’t even know what I’m briefing anymore. This could be a grocery list. I’d believe it.”
He inhaled, clinging to what was left of his dignity.
“If she leans any closer,” Benji thought with wild-eyed panic, “I’m going to throw this tablet out the emergency exit, fake a nosebleed, and lock myself in the lavatory until we land.”
And honestly? It was starting to sound like a solid plan.
---
The mission was done.
No gunfire. No alarms. No sprinting through underground corridors with Benji cursing at firewalls.
Just the quiet hum of nighttime Madrid pressing in around the safehouse, and the distant flicker of neon signs across the rooftops.
Benji stood beside you, arms crossed, tablet finally powered off and stashed away. His brain should’ve been enjoying the peace, finally, a moment without explosions or last-minute improvisation. But instead, it was loud. Chaotic. Mostly because of you.
You were perched on the ledge of the rooftop, legs swinging over the edge like this was all just a casual afterparty. You hadn’t said much since the debrief. You just… smiled. Like you were still holding onto something.
Benji shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, replaying the memory of earlier. The plane ride. The briefing. The ridiculous way you leaned in way too close, asked if he always looked that “mischievously intelligent,” and ran your fingers along his arm like you were checking for static.
No more teasing, he told himself. No more flirting. Finally, some peace.
But then the question settled, sharp and heavy in his chest:
Did she really mean it?
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You were looking up at the stars now, lips parted in thought, that quiet little smile still ghosting on your face.
The way you looked at him back on the plane, like he was the only person in the room. The compliments, the soft touches. Were they just drunk-tired nonsense? Or something more?
You caught him staring.
“Benji,” you said softly, “you’re doing the overthinking face.”
He blinked. “I have a face for that?”
You nodded with mock solemnity. “It’s very... furrowed. Looks like you’re trying to defuse a bomb and do taxes at the same time.”
Benji gave a dry chuckle and looked down at his shoes. “That’s… surprisingly accurate.”
You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, your voice quieter now. “Listen, about earlier… I might have been a tiny bit tipsy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Just a bit?”
You gave him that smile—the one that had haunted him through more briefings than he’d admit. “Okay. Maybe more than a bit. But hey, it worked.”
He tilted his head. “Getting teased and flirting with me worked?”
“Sure did,” you said, smirking. “You didn’t run away. That’s something.”
Benji looked at you, really looked. You weren’t being flirty now. Not performative. You were just… there. Earnest. Still a little flushed from the post-mission comedown and maybe the tequila, but your eyes were clear now. Sure.
You reached out without thinking, resting your hand on his knee and giving it a playful squeeze.
He froze. “W-was that intentional?”
You tilted your head, lips curving in a smirk. “Maybe. You know. For science.”
He laughed nervously, eyes darting away for a second before returning to yours. “You’re dangerous when you’re curious.”
“Well,” you said, leaning just slightly closer, “if I’m going to be a mess, might as well have a good reason.”
And there it was again, the air shifting between you. Not heavy, not explosive. Just… full. With tension. With potential. With years of teasing, almost, maybe.
Benji’s pulse hammered in his ears as you closed the distance, your breath warm against his cheek.
He didn’t move at first. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. But your eyes flicked down to his lips, and that was permission enough.
He leaned in slowly, meeting you halfway. When your lips finally touched, it wasn’t fireworks or a dramatic swell of music. It was soft. Tentative. Real. The kind of kiss that said: Hey. Finally.
Neither of you rushed it. Neither pulled away too soon.
When it ended, you were both a little breathless. And smiling like fools.
Benji opened his mouth to say something—anything—but was promptly interrupted by Luther’s voice crackling over the comms:
“Hey lovebirds, I swear to God, if you’re making out on the roof and not helping me re-pack the gear…”
You burst out laughing, head falling against Benji’s shoulder.
He groaned. “He’s always listening. It’s terrifying.”
You looked up at him, your grin still wide. “Well… guess some things never change.”
Benji looked at you, heart still thumping, and smiled back. “I hope at least one thing does.”
