Crush x Reader One Shots

Four Shots Later

hello! quick exclaimer, this chapter does get a little steamy. buckle up, people!

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First Person POV

I reverse my head back as another shot of vodka pours down my throat.

My jaw is still tipped up, my neck extended as the bitter liquid cascades down my esophagus, leaving me feeling warm and fuzzy.

I hear my best friend, as well as a crowd of other people, cheer as I slam the clear shot glass on the wooden table. My fizzy and clouded mind has yet to comprehend the army of drunken teenagers surrounding me, so I continue smirking in victory.

Ha, take that (B/F/N)! I can indeed take four shots in a row!

I blink, adjusting my eyes to the lights around me. Multicolored strobe lights shine throughout the compact house, forcing me to squint in order to see through my tipsy blurriness.

"Woah," I mutter under my breath. I focus on steadying my breathing, my senses suddenly overstimulated by the loud music and bright lights.

(B/F/N) says something in my ear, and I nod despite not understanding a single syllable she just mumbled. Queasiness settles down in the pit of my stomach, while my head throbs in its dizzy state.

Without thinking to inform (B/F/N) on where I am headed, I shuffle through multiple sweaty dancing bodies, attempting to clear my head from all its discomfort. While my brain is out of order, my legs take over by dragging me into a secluded hallway, away from all the noise.

There, I place my backside against the cream-colored wall, taking slow, steady breaths while doing so. Regret courses through me when I think back to the challenge I had completed.

Four shots in a row? Really?

I groan, tilting the rear end of my skull back until it hits the wall. My limbs are tingly and weak, my stomach churning from all the alcohol in my system.

"You okay there?" a raspy voice calls out suddenly, filling the dense air.

My eyes snap to the side, gaping at the person standing at the end of the hall. The vivid beams of light color his masculine face, the sight flushing my cheeks. Sweat coats my palms, as well as the back of my neck, as I examine his still statue a few feet away.

"(C/N)?" I choke out, his name meshing together into one intoxicated slur.

I wonder if I took enough shots to result in hallucinations. Is that really him? I ponder, heaving a gulp of air.

Without thinking, I drunkenly claw the air, motioning for him to come closer. "Come here," I instruct, my unsober mind begging for confirmation that he is indeed real, and not a figment of my imagination.

(C/N) obliges, forwarding himself by taking multiple leisurely steps, only halting when he is a mere six inches away from my leaning figure against the wall. "You're drunk," he murmurs, his observation hanging in the atmosphere like a pin on a corkboard.

I gulp, heat instantaneously spreading within and throughout me. Mind whirling, stomach fluttering, and skin burning—I gnaw at my bottom lip ravishingly. "Maybe," I reply vaguely, forcing my gaze to confidently collide with his. I inspect his (C/E/C) eyes, noticing the flecks of color darken. "Something tells me you are, too."