The bass from the speakers vibrates through the entire house. Bodies press together in the living room, red solo cups raised, laughter cutting through the music.

And then there's her.

A girl with long auburn hair stumbles slightly as she weaves through the crowd, her large brown eyes scanning the room with a glazed but determined look. Her fitted top does little to hide her generous figure, and her movements have the loose uncoordinated quality of someone well past tipsy.

She spots you.

Her face lights up like you're the answer to a question she's been asking all night. She beelines toward you with impressive speed for someone who just nearly fell into a lamp post, and before you can react she's standing in front of you, swaying slightly, a radiant smile on her pretty face.

"Hi!" she says, louder than necessary over the music. She reaches out and grabs your arm with both hands, steadying herself and also — it seems — anchoring herself to you permanently. "I'm Orihime! You're really cute, did you know that? I've been looking for someone to talk to all night and then I saw you and I thought — there! That one!"

She leans closer, her soft chest pressing against your arm, her warm breath carrying the sweet scent of fruit punch and vodka.

"Are you having fun? I'm having fun! Well —" she pauses, her brow furrowing cutely. "I was having fun but then my friends left and I was lonely but now I found you so it's okay again!"

She tugs at your sleeve like a puppy wanting attention, her glossy eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that feels both flattering and slightly overwhelming.

"Will you stay with me? Please? I don't wanna be alone anymore..."

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The door barely clicks shut behind you before Orihime is pressing against you, her soft body warm and eager, her hands already fisting the front of your shirt.

"Finally," she breathes out, half-laughing, half-sighing. "I wanted to touch you all night."

She's drunk — definitely still drunk — but her eyes have a clarity to them now, a focused wanting that cuts through the haze. Her auburn hair is mussed from the walk back, her fitted top slightly askew, and she looks up at you with that open unguarded face like you're the best thing that's ever happened to her.

"Is this okay?" she asks, even as she's already pulling you toward the bed, even as her fingers are already working at the hem of your shirt. "I want this. I want you. You're gonna take care of me, right?"

She sits back on the bed, pulling you with her, and the motion makes her chest bounce enticingly under that strained top. She notices your gaze and giggles — that bright bubbly sound that seems impossible in this moment but is just so her.

"You can look," she says, unashamed and sweet. "You can touch too. I want you to touch me everywhere."

She reaches back and unclasps her bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away, and her massive tits spill free — soft and heavy and perfect, pale skin flushed pink with want. She takes your hands and places them directly on her chest, her breath hitching at the contact.

"Oh," she whimpers, her head tipping back. "Oh, that's — yes —"

She pulls you into a kiss, sloppy and eager and tasting faintly of that fruit punch vodka, her arms wrapping around your neck to keep you close. When she breaks away she's panting slightly, her brown eyes hazy and adoring.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good," she promises solemnly, like it's a sacred vow. "And then you're gonna hold me after, okay? You have to promise. I need — I need someone to hold me..."

She's already tugging at your belt, her clumsy drunk hands working slowly, her attention split between the task and pressing kisses across your jaw and neck.

"Tell me you want this," she whispers against your skin. "Tell me you want me."

Morning light filters through cheap blinds, casting striped shadows across tangled sheets.

Orihime is wrapped around you like a koala.

Her arm is thrown across your chest, her leg hooked over yours, her face buried in the crook of your neck. Her soft warm breath fans across your skin in slow steady puffs — she's still asleep, or mostly asleep, her body having molded itself to yours entirely during the night.

Her massive tits press against your side, warm and soft. Her hair is a tangled auburn mess fanned across the pillow and your shoulder. The sheet has slipped down to her waist, leaving her bare chest exposed to the morning air and your view.

She stirs.

A small sound escapes her — half whine, half contented sigh — and her arm tightens around you possessively. Her leg shifts, pulling herself even closer, and you feel her press a sleepy clumsy kiss to your collarbone.

"Mmm..." Her voice is thick with sleep and the remnants of last night's alcohol. "You're still here..."

She lifts her head just enough to look at you, her brown eyes soft and hazy, a slow sweet smile spreading across her face.

"Hi," she whispers, like you're something precious. "Hi, hi, hi."

She pushes herself up slightly, the sheet slipping further, and she doesn't seem to notice or care about her nudity. She touches your face with gentle fingers, tracing your features like she's memorizing them.

"I had a dream about you," she informs you earnestly. "We were together. Like, together together. And you were so nice to me, and we lived in a little house with a garden, and —" She cuts herself off with a yawn, then snuggles back against your chest. "It was a good dream."

She's quiet for a moment. Then:

"Can we stay in bed forever? I don't wanna move. I just wanna be here with you." Her fingers trace idle patterns on your skin. "Is that okay? Can we do that?"

She tilts her head up to look at you again, and there's something vulnerable beneath the bubbly surface — a quiet hope that you won't push her away.

"You... you liked last night, right? You don't regret it?"