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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years

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I Want to Do What Lovers Do With You.◦○˚♡.˚ₓ

Pairing | Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings | 18+ only, P in V sex, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, praise kink, brief mention of uncomfy virginity loss (not to Eddie), brief mention of underage drinking, drug use, Eddie calls himself dumb a couple times, there’s maths talk early on I promise it’s only short.

Request | Concept. Reader has never gone on a date or anything before, they're not naive, they just haven't been interested in anyone. Eddie and reader have been crushing on each other for a while and when eddie half-jokingly asks them out they say yes. Reader being easily overwhelmed by the newfound affection and eddie having to get them used to it.

Word Count | ~4,000

A/N | So here's the thing. In hindsight I realise maybe you wanted virgin reader, and I didn't do that. I also didn't even write a date. However, I think I got the ~spirit~ of the request. I will definitely write virgin reader in the future, but I didn't do it here, sorry if that's what you were looking for. Reader is new to intimacy though, if that helps.

"Zero point seven." Eddie’s head snaps up from the calculator, waiting hopefully for the approving nods he’s been earning from you more and more.

"Mm-hmm,” you nod, pointing to the page of rough triangles you’d drawn out for him to practice. "Now remember, the cosine of the angle is equal to the adjacent, which we want, over the hypotenuse, which is twenty three, so..."

"I've gotta divide something now."

"Well, how about you write the equation down with what you have?"

"Shit," he sighs, leaning back in his chair. "That's just your nerdy way of telling me I gotta multiply."

You smile in spite of yourself, knowing that Eddie is the only person who has ever called you a nerd without any real malice. There's admiration, appreciation, in his tone somewhere, under the frustration.

"C'mon. Give it a try and then we can take a break, yeah?"

Eddie's face splits in a conspiratorial grin. “What sort of break are we talking here?"

"That depends on whether you answer correctly."

"Man. If only my real teachers knew how to motivate me like you. I'd probably have graduated early."

"Eddie. The cosine of the angle equals?"

"That’s just cruel. I’m trying to concentrate and you know your teacher voice gets me going."

You have to fight a nervous laugh, choosing instead to bite the inside of your lip and gesture to the paper with your head. Eddie sighs and brings his attention to the square lined notebook, twisting the pen round his fingers while he glances between the question and the calculator. You watch him pull his own plump lip between his teeth, hair falling over his shoulders when he leans down to stare at the numbers on the page the way he needs to do sometimes. He looks so sweetly determined your heart aches.

That's unique to him, too.

When you were twelve, you’d read teen romance novels and imagined yourself falling for someone the second you entered high school. Then you got there and boys were…exactly as they always had been. Sometimes friendly, sometimes cruel, but never very interesting. Your heart didn’t flutter, your knees didn’t shake.

Even when you lost your virginity, fumbling in the dark, head fuzzy with an early taste of alcohol, and it had been an endeavour of pure mediocrity. You expected it to hurt, but you wanted that hurt to feel like passion. Instead, it was an uncomfortable burn that had you gritting your teeth and avoiding wet kisses until he was done.

Luke Thompson would catch your eye in Physics years later, looking forlorn and longing.

Then there had been senior prom, something you had dreamt of when you were a pre-teen waiting for epic romance. You thought you probably would go, if you were asked. But when a smooth talking basketball player had sidled up to your locker, talking all kinds of slush about how he’d always thought you would get along but had never had the guts to ask you out, you’d weighed an evening of dancing awkwardly and pulling a strapless chiffon dress up to your armpits every twenty seconds against sitting comfy in your pyjamas and renting a good movie from Family Video.

You spent prom night gorging on microwave popcorn and falling asleep with Dune playing in the background.

You left for college, away from Hawkins and high school and boys whose parents knew your parents, and it allowed you one night stands without the pressure of seeing them in class every day after. Just the occasional awkward nod across a hallway, if you remembered them at all. Whatever they were, it was not love, or even affection. You were using them, and felt used in turn.

But now there’s Eddie.

When you were at school together, you moved in entirely different circles. Then you’d come back from your first year of college with fewer friends in Hawkins and a new interest in Mary Jane. You’d been standing in his trailer, fishing in your purse for a five dollar bill when he’d stopped you with, “hey, you’re kind of a nerd right?”

You blinked, raised an eyebrow. “There are seven hand painted Dungeons and Dragons miniatures to my right, Munson. You really wanna play this game?”

He grinned, a little surprised by the bite back. “Yeah, but a real nerd. You’re smart, I mean?”

“Not many people would admit to being stupid.”

“I do.”

You think that’s probably where it started. The ache for him. Eddie Munson, who you’d always dismissed as another boy with more confidence than he had any right to, stood there in his room, a sad but accepting smile on his face, and told you he thought there was something wrong with his brain.

“I mean, I never understand anything when I’m in class,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “And then whenever I think, maybe, I’m starting to get it, we move on to something else and I’m left sitting there like, hey, you’re not gonna go over that another couple times?” Eddie gave a defeated shrug. “I’m gonna fail again this year, I just know it.”

“Well, you don’t actually know that,” you’d tried, feeling guilty when he’d rolled his eyes at the meaningless platitude. “Okay, what, you want me to tutor you or something?”

“Yeah? I mean nobody smart enough at school would risk being seen with me. Wouldn’t be a problem for you though, right? You’re a college girl now, above that kind of stuff.”

“And the benefit to me would be?”

“Free bud? Or whatever else you’re into,” he shrugged, dimples appearing soon after as he leaned into your space, your heart beating in your ears. “I’ve heard you academic types struggle to stay away from the good stuff.”

So while your new friends from college are spending their long Summer in Key Largo, or camping in Joshua Tree, you are at home in Hawkins, driving most days to Eddie’s trailer to get him where he should be in Math, English, Science and Geography.

You are giving him more help than he’s paying you for, but it didn’t take you long to think of him as worth it.

Big brown eyes you have to get up close to appreciate, pretty pink lips always smiling when you’re around. He’s self deprecating but he blushes when you compliment and encourage him. Eddie calls you smart with adorable reverence and listens to your opinions. He’s funny and he’s talented and you want to hold his face in your hands and squish.

It’s like every embarrassing girly teenage crush you never had has been focused all on this one boy and fuck, you weren’t expecting it when you drove up to his trailer for the first time with a calculator in hand, but it’s barely been a month and you want him like you've never wanted anybody.

You didn’t mind touching people who knew better what they were doing than poor Luke from Physics, didn’t mind clashing teeth and your face pressed into sheets. You didn’t mind that they’d leave in the morning, or you would. You never wished them back. You never imagined holding their hand the way you think about holding Eddie's hand. Warm, big, soft in the palms and rough at the ends of his fingers, chunky rings you want to bring to your face and stare at.

You think so many things about Eddie you never expected, wonder endlessly about what you wish to know.

What is his favourite food? Could make it for him as he wants it? Does he like horror movies, or is that an assumption? Even if he doesn't, would he watch one with you anyway, let you cuddle into his side on his Uncle’s couch, jumping and laughing together? Would he want to drive you places, play the gentleman? Would he want to meet your parents? Get a house in the city? Adopt a dog or a cat? Go on dates and be sweet with each other well into your sixties?

What does Eddie picture when he thinks about his future? Are you there?

You wonder if he knows. No matter what he says, Eddie is not dumb, not even close. Surely he has to see that you’re giving more than you’re getting back.

“Sixteen point one.”

You flinch a little to be pulled from your thoughts, face warm while you check his work. Scratchy, messy handwriting, calculations done correctly. You smack your hands on your knees. “Break time.”

“Hell yeah,” Eddie grins, fingers waggling in the air as he stands to search for his metal lunchbox.

“You left it in the kitchen.”

Eddie pauses to give you a warm, thankful smile, hand coming to lay flat on the left side of his chest. “You always keep me right, sweet thing.”

You have a love-hate relationship with the flirting. It makes your palms sweat like nothing else, your stomach do something it has only ever done at the first jolt forward on a roller coaster, your heart pound in excitement even as it aches with worry. It's exhausting.

Eddie reappears at his door, hair flying out behind him as he glides over to you, settled on his bed. He settles in next to you, his long arm warm and in line with yours from shoulder to elbow. While he rolls a spliff on his side table, you pick at a new hole on the knees of your blue jeans. You scowl, thinking about how you’ll never locate a pair as good as these in Hawkins, thinking about driving to a city for the day, thinking about abandoning this place altogether, heading back to your college town where good stores sell quality jeans and whatever else you could want. Away from here, away from Eddie, who is beginning to torture you with his smiles.

And his touch.

Eddie grabs your hand from your knee to pass you the newly lit joint, leaving your skin aching to remember the feeling of his calloused fingers. You know his eyes are on your face when you take a drag, and you wonder helplessly if you look cute, or hot, or sexy in your college sweater and jeans, lips wrapped around rolled paper.

It's a new feeling, and you can't say you're enjoying it. Since spending all this time with Eddie, you’ve come to understand why other people had so much trouble getting their heads down at school. If you thought like this back then, endlessly pondering the prospect of being liked, desired, loved, you would never have got anything done.

“Hey,” Eddie says when he takes the joint back. “I have a question.”

“No, I don’t expect you to get back to trigonometry when we’re done.”

You hear the rushed breath from his nose, a little amused sound. “No question there. You lose all authority when you’re high.”

“Do not. I could make you study.”

“Nah,” he answers, eyes crinkling at the sides pleasantly, just like everything he does. “You get pretty docile. You’d let me do anything I wanted.”

His fingers brush yours at the next pass, a heated tingle running up your back and across your neck. Your mouth feels a little dry, and you lick your lips like it’ll help, thinking about all the implications of that sentence. “Not anything.”

Eddie has the good sense to blush then, but he quickly shakes his head and powers through. “What I was going to ask was, how come a girl like you is spending her Summer with me?”

You raise an eyebrow, settling back into his pillows to get comfy as your head begins to fuzz, trying to ignore the pleasant hit of his smell emanating from the squished fabric. “Were you smoking this before I got here? You asked me to tutor you.”

“Yeah, and God knows I need all the help you’re giving me,” he says, eyes wide and earnest. “I mean, seriously, I feel like I have a real chance of crawling my way out next year. But what I- what I meant was, and tell me if I’m crossing a line here, sweetheart, how come you’re here, with me, and not road tripping with some college boys or whatever all your friends are doing right now?”

Your face gets hotter. “Does it matter?”

“Does it- yeah. Yes. It matters.”

A prickle of recognition crawls up your spine, stemming from his tone, the way he’s looking at you, how he’s sitting; tense against your side. In the past, you would have felt pure dread, mind working overtime to prepare the required explanation for a boy who was really looking for you to change your mind. Instead, there’s nerves, all along your body, but there is excitement, too. Butterflies zipping about in your stomach.

“Why?” You ask, passing the joint back, letting yourself freely enjoy the brief touch of his skin, now that you realise that’s allowed. “Why does it matter?”

Eddie blinks at you, his bottom lip shaking. “Well, if I’m being honest,” he starts, pausing to turn away from you and take a long drag like he needs a moment to think it through. Then he eyes you from the side, thumb flicking ash into a metal tray. “I guess the answer might save me from making a fool of myself? If you say that this is all an elaborate prank or I have a rich distant relative paying you to spend time with me or, I don’t know, that helping out super seniors will be good on your resume, then, then I’d accept it. And even this particularly dumb super senior would know not to ask a really, really dumb question.”

“You’re not dumb, Eddie.” You nudge his body with yours, head cottony, loose lipped. “I really, really wish you’d stop saying that.”

Eddie’s gaze moves to your face where you are leaning back on his pillows, watches the subtle turn of your head, rubbing your cheek against the cotton, the feel of it uniquely pleasant after a couple hits.

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to if you go out with me.”

It sounds like he wasn't even entirely aware he was speaking until he's done. Eddie's eyes widen, his face flushing pink.

“Is that you asking me?”

“Depends on whether you answer correctly”

Eddie smiles at the repetition, like he’s playing coy, like this is fun, but he is too expressive by half. His big eyes are searching, waiting, with a hint of resignation, to learn that he is fooling himself.

Eddie always came across as cocky to you, at school. Just like the jocks he hated, he was an overconfident boy. Even now you can picture him stepping up on cafeteria tables and declaring himself a rebel with about a million different causes. But here, alone with you in his room, Eddie makes himself vulnerable.

Your cautious heart calls out to his. Don’t worry, me too.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself not to look away. “I’d say yes, Eddie.”

You receive a classically Eddie slow blink, followed by a grin that screams every ounce of his joy and relief. His head tilts forward. “Shit. You’re serious?”

"If you are."

"Jesus- yes, I'm serious." Eddie nods emphatically, eyes wide like he’s worried you’ll take it back if he doesn’t establish how much he meant it. “We could get dinner? Or I’ll take you to the nice cinema in the next town? Or- or the lake, or I could show you the bar my friends and I play in-”

You gaze at him, butterflies erupting at the sight of his pleased smile, the way his hair moves with every excited tilt and nod of his head. This is new, and exciting, and scary.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ♡ ୧.˚ₓ

You stay in Hawkins until the end of Summer, until you have to go back to college and Eddie needs work for his final, final year at high school.

He sends you off with a worn Metallica t-shirt to wrap around a pillow and cuddle into, a buzzy, crackling recording on tape of his voice over guitar, the black ring from his right hand that would be a promise made too early if it was from anyone else.

You leave him with all the pens he chewed the tops of, hand written practice sheets for every class he’s taking, old notes on differentiation, centripetal force, the River Nile, searched for and retrieved from the back of closets in your parents house. You hope Eddie knows that this is you trying.

Across the months you spend in his arms with weather cooling and trees turning, followed by stolen weekends, every break from classes lasting longer than three days, you learn so many things about Eddie.

He eats boxed mac and cheese by the pot. When you boil up some pasta on your own, he shovels it down the same way, surprised when the rich homemade sauce leads to you rubbing his tummy all night and trying not to laugh while he groans out that every spoonful was worth the pain.

He likes all kinds of horror movies; psychological and slasher and comedy. Getting you under his arm while they play in his living room and covering your eyes without your permission during the scary parts becomes a particular joy for him.

“Eddie, get off!”

“No can do, sweet thing. Gotta protect you from potential nightmare material. That’s my job now.”

He loves driving you everywhere, loves the sight of you in his van, sorting through the tapes in his glove compartment.

“Mega…Death?”

“The world’s foremost thrash metal band. Great choice.”

He wants to meet your parents, but he’s scared of what they’ll think of him. Dog or cat, he doesn’t mind as long as it’s not a horrible little yappy thing. He wants to get out of this town forever, live in a city, or really anywhere but here, where he could afford a nice-ish place.

When he pictures his future, you are there.

“Course, I would stay in Hawkins if you wanted to move back here.”

You’re trying, all of the time. You want him more than anything, because this is different, this is special, but that’s also what makes it so difficult. You are used to pleasured touches followed by closing doors, and it has left you disarmed to the open way that Eddie loves you, the only way he knows how.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs to your cheek, the roll of his hips a steady, torturous rhythm, drawing long whines from the back of your throat. Eddie’s big hand covers your forehead, pushing sweaty stray hairs away, rubbing your eyebrow with his thumb. The other is tucked under your back, helping you to arch sweetly so the head of his cock can find the spot at the back of your pussy that claims you, makes you desperate for him, with each heavy thrust. His brown eyes are sympathetic to your whimpers, proud of you for taking everything he has to give, even when it feels like your heart will beat out of your chest. “It’s always just a little too much for my sweet girl, mm? Still not used to being touched right.” He sighs, gives you a little pout with shining eyes. “I left you waiting too long for me, didn’t I?”

“Eddie,” you cry, fingers digging into his back, arms and legs wrapped tight around him as if he might leave if you let him loose. It’s perfect like this, his body weighing down on yours. You are too warm, your lungs protesting the lack of space to expand, but you can feel Eddie’s skin against every part of you. Any time you want, you can reach up to tuck some of his hair back off his sweaty neck. You do, earning yourself a perfect Eddie smile and a kiss from soft lips. The taste of his mouth, familiar to you now, makes your body clench around him, arms and legs around his torso, your weeping cunt around his cock. Nothing is like this, nothing is so perfectly overwhelmingly right.

“Oh, I felt that,” he smiles, breath spreading across your face at his chuckle. “Remember the first time you let me inside you? Wanted to be bent over and fucked, like you’re used to, mm?” Your toes curl in embarrassment, wanting to hide your face from him but there’s nowhere to go with his gentle hand holding you in place. You are left with your watering eyes, his pretty face blurring until you just about manage to blink the tears away. “It’s better like this, isn’t it?” He presses kisses down your nose, across your cheek to the corner of your mouth, sighing happily. “It’s better when we make love?”

You seize up, crying out, your back arching further as if you could get any closer to him. Eddie fucks you through the desperate clenching of your cunt, each hit to the spongy nerves of your spot building your pleasure past what should have been its peak. Your hand drifts up his back, grasping his neck from behind, fingers flexing and pulling at his pale skin enough that there will be dark bruises there tomorrow.

At the heavy sob that falls from your mouth, Eddie lets you up, wrapping a hand around the back of your head to help you bury your face in his neck.

Eddie hums as you come down, hips moving in tight circles like he’s just trying to get deeper while you weep into his skin. Your lungs feel increasingly restrained, little gasping breaths between wails, still confined between Eddie’s body and the mattress. “C’mon,” he says, leaning down to kiss your temple, rubbing below your ear with his thumb. “Let me see you. Need your pretty eyes to make me come.”

You feel him twitch inside you when he settles you back into his pillows, blinking up at him, finally letting the tears fall. The first time Eddie made you cry like this, overwhelmed at the intensity of feeling for him and all he does to you, you were afraid he would slow down, that it would ruin it for him.

He’d licked the tears off your cheek and grunted through gritted teeth that nothing had ever made him so hot.

Eddie stares at you intensely now, mouth relaxed and open, letting out excited groans as his hips stutter, almost ready to fill you up. He could cum without your voice, like the others before him, but he is the first who deserves it.

“You treat me so well, Eddie,” you breathe, taking a shaky gasp at the sudden increase in the pace of his thrusts.

Eddie nods desperately, his bottom lip shaking. “‘M trying.”

“I know,” you nod in turn, grasping his face with your hands, whispering so he knows it is all only for him. “I’m so lucky, Eddie. You’re so good, so good. Better than anything when you make love to me.”

His lips find yours to kiss you, but you end up breathing in his final moan instead, feeling him fill you up right with pooling warmth. Your legs squeeze his back, your pussy gifting you another little peak, a grateful flutter for taking Eddie’s cum deep inside you.

Eddie drops entirely then, face pressed to the base of your neck. You groan a little, but allow yourself to caress his face, sweep his hair away from his sweaty forehead, hold it away from his heated neck. He presses a final wet kiss to your collar and rolls off you, finally allowing your protesting lungs the space to breathe properly.

It doesn’t last long. Without ceremony, your whole body is pulled towards him, leaving your face tight to his chest. It steals the fresh air of the room, replacing it with the humidity your bodies create this close together.

But it’s good. It’s better, because it smells like Eddie, feels like Eddie, and everything is better with him.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #my stuff

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voguefashion · 11 months

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“Pink is the new black” - Diana Vreeland

Thomas Gainsborough, Mary, Countess Howe, c. 1764.

Marilyn Monroe wearing a pink satin strapless gown with an oversized bow attached at back, designed by William Travilla for the "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best friend" number from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953).

Vogue Paris, December 1964.

Jackie Kennedy wearing a Pink Chanel suit on the day of her husbands assassination in Dallas, Texas on November 22, 1963.

Margot Robbie on the set of Barbie.

Shirley MacLaine in a gown by Edith Head for What a Way to Go! (1964).

Brigitte Bardot wearing the famous pink and white gingham dress with a Peter Pan collar made of English lace, specially designed for her by Jacques Esterel on her wedding day to Jacques Charrier on June 18th 1959.

Reese Witherspoon wearing the pink leather 'driving suit' in Legally Blonde (2001), designed by Sophie de Rakoff.

Barbara Cartland the "Queen of Romance" fiction was often dressed in a pink chiffon gown.

"A brave new pink that accepts the challenge of the blazing summer sun." Elizabeth Arden "Arden Pink" advertisement in American Vogue, April 15, 1959.

Princess Diana wearing a pink sweater and pink and white gingham pants at her home at Highgrove, Gloucestershire, 1986.

Model Suzy Parker in the "Think Pink!" number from Funny Face (1957), costume designed by Edith Head.

Valentino Garavani Tan-Go Platform Pump in Patent Leather 155mm in Rose Violet.

Molly Ringwald wearing the 'prom dress' designed by Marilyn Vance in Pretty in Pink (1986).

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hawkinsindiana · 4 months

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*clears throat* heya here's 3.8k worth of some uber upsetting angst featuring unrequited love on the night of your junior prom and you convincing yourself you definitely don't love your best friend steve, written by @stevebabey and myself TWO YEARS AGO >:) enjoy and get your tissues

canon to almost paradise, pre s2

—

when steve called you this morning, he sounded like a hurricane.

a million thoughts were whirling through his mind; almost all of his sentences came out like a frazzled mess, reflecting the torrential downpour outside. but somehow, throughout all the chaos over the phone, he recruited you to help him get ready for tonight.

junior prom. ugh — you roll your eyes just thinking about it. ever since the date was announced, you’ve been dreading it. if steve hadn’t been so worried about getting everything perfect, you’d probably have forgotten about it by now.

well, that’s a lie. you were never going to totally forget about your prom, especially with dozens upon dozens of posters plastered throughout the school. for months now, you’ve been hearing the gossip of who asked who, or who said no. you choose to believe your lack of an invitation is due to steve’s company — not some other answer that’ll make you cripple in self-hatred.

the harrington’s front door is already unlocked, just as steve said it would be. you call out his name as you enter, careful not to snag your skirt on the umbrella before closing the door behind you. there’s a thump upstairs, followed closely by the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching from down the hall.

“thank god, i feel so much better now that you’re— woah.”

steve stops dead in his tracks at the top of the stairs. as he does, your eyes snap up to land on his, which continue to widen the longer he stares.

your dress fits you perfectly. the sleeves are draped off your shoulders, exposing the skin of your décolletage. all of your features are enhanced by the color of chiffon that cascades to your ankles, accentuated by a pair of small heels. you look like something out of a movie.

“what?” you ask as you slip out of your shoes, now hyper-aware of what you’re wearing. steve’s never looked at you like that — nothing even close to that. the butterflies in your stomach flare; it feels like you’re filled with them, as if they’re coming up your throat and will spill out of your mouth any second.

your fingers fly to your hair, gently pinned into an up-do, “is it… it’s too much, yeah?”

“no, just—”

steve blinks a couple times and descends further down the steps when he hears the insecurity in your voice. he clears his throat and grins lightly, “you, uh, you clean up pretty good, henderson.”

it’s embarrassing how wide your smile grows with his words. there’s a part of you that screams to get it together, but his praise feels so unbelievably good you can’t even hear it. you’re not in love with him.

you grab your shoes, “are you insinuating that i don’t try to look nice on a daily basis?”

steve panics as you walk forward to join him on the stairs, your brow furrowed teasingly, “what? no! i’m just— y’know this is the… i’m trying to tell you that you look good, okay? you look good.”

a laugh spills out of you at his nerves and your smile widens once again. you exhale, darting your gaze to the floor as you answer genuinely, “thank you.”

when you bring your eyes back up to land on steve’s boyish relief, you feel the itch to move even closer to him; it doesn’t subside as you resist the urge. if anything, it grows stronger. you don’t want to be too far from him ever again. maybe, if you’re lucky, he feels the same way.

it’s now that you realize what he’s wearing — a pair of his gym shorts and a white tank. his hair is soaked, like he just got out of the shower. he should be at least halfway done by now.

“i was gonna ask how it’s going, but…” you trail off as you gesture to his current state, your tone light, “i’m guessing not well.”

steve speaks gravely, “i’ve washed my hair three times.”

“steve!”

“i can’t get it right!” he pouts and stomps once, which makes you chuckle. god, it’s stupid how easy it is for him to get a laugh out of you. you’re absolutely hopeless. you follow closely behind him as he leads you to the second floor.

steve’s room is far tidier than it usually is, except for the en suite. the counter is covered in a slew of hair care products and appliances, ranging from mousse to gel and everything in between. before you can get a really good look, steve grabs a can of something near the sink and tosses it into a drawer. you scoff lightly, eyes moving quickly between his hand and the bashful expression creeping across his face, “what was that?”

his eyes narrow as he deflects, “none of your beeswax, henderson, alright?”

he moves his hands through the air in an exasperated motion, “just gimme a couple minutes to try this one more time and if that doesn’t work… you’re helping me shave it all off.”

“wow, you’re dramatic when you’re nervous, harrington,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice and toss your bag onto the floor. if he was five years old, you think he’d poke his tongue out at you. with another glare sent your way, steve enters the bathroom and leaves the door slightly ajar, presumably for any errant hairspray fumes.

the pair of you spend the next half hour conversing occasionally through the door, with the rest being spent reading as you wait patiently. it’s an effort to distract yourself from him, but it’s in vain. you smile every time you hear him curse under his breath. sometimes you find your eyes drifting from the page to land on his shadow moving across the floor. the comforter on his bed smells so much like steve it’s unbearable; you wonder what it’s like to sleep beside him, to kiss him awake or run a hand through his hair as he rests. you exhale — it’s pathetic how much your chest aches for him.

“alright, shit— how do i look?”

steve’s voice cracks through your thoughts, forcing your gaze up from the carpet. the way your jaw drops can’t be helped; you nearly shatter a tooth when you snap it back into place as quickly as it fell. this reaction isn’t enough for steve, however. your silence makes him nervous enough to ask again, “well?”

his skin looks incredibly tan against the navy blue of his tuxedo, which of course, is expertly tailored. the extra time he spent on his hair was worth it — he’s quaffed it perfectly. you decide the right words to describe steve’s beauty don’t exist. he’s like something described in the pages of one of your books.

you inhale and nod rapidly, “wow! uh, yeah, really good.”

“the hair? it’s—”

“good! definitely. i think you’ve tamed it,” a laugh titters past your lips as your breath gets caught in your throat. it really is quite unfair how effortlessly he can affect you this way. steve thinks nothing of it, turning around briefly to catch another glimpse of himself in the mirror, fixing a few strands that fell out of place. he sighs, allowing your reassurance to wash over him. you wouldn’t lie.

“sorry for being so pissy before,” steve mutters as he spins to face you again, “there’s a lot of pressure, y’know? i just want it to be good.”

you smile easily, waving off his concern with your hand, “don’t worry about it, steve. it’s fine.”

he nods and sighs once more before returning your smile. he’s so genuine that you think your heart’s gonna get tugged out of your chest one day. you’re not in love with him.

“okay. i think… i have ever— wait. shit,” steve stops his thought abruptly and moves to the stereo on top of his dresser. as he begins rifling through the cassettes, he glances back at you, “i need a song.”

“a song?”

“a slow dance song,” steve clarifies, “got any ideas?”

you swallow down the envy that stains your tongue at the idea, but it’s awfully difficult. the intimate sway that will be with nancy. but you want to be helpful; you want to help him. you bite down on your lip as you think, mentally flipping through your mom’s records. your neck burns at the thought of one in particular — it’s reminded you of the boy in front of you far too many times.

“that one by 10cc, ‘i’m not in love’, maybe?” you offer shyly and begin to bury your face into your book out of embarrassment. could you be more obvious?

“holy shit, i totally forgot about that song. you’re a genius,” steve says as he searches for the tape, jumping at the choice you offer, “i’d barely survive a day without you, i swear.”

you hum a sound of appreciation and feel blood pool in your cheeks out of embarrassment. before you get a chance to focus back on the book in your grasp, the song is drifting through the air of his room, and his hand is outstretched towards you.

the look on your face is pure surprise. you glance between his inviting palm and his face as he looks to you expectantly. steve’s brow furrows at your lack of movement, confusion washing over him, “what, you’re not even gonna help me practice?”

you begin to shake your head as he smirks playfully, “steve, i don’t know if—”

“you scared of me or somethin’?”

you have half the mind to reply no, when the answer is most definitely a yes. steve harrington is standing in front of you in his best suit, just about as handsome as you think he’s ever been, begging you to help him practice slow dancing for his girlfriend. now you kind of feel like you have to throw up.

he wiggles his fingers invitingly, but impatiently like time is gonna run out. he whines, “c’monnnnn—”

“okay, okay!”

you can’t help but laugh as you hesitantly grab your bookmark, placing it into the page before getting up to slip on your heels. steve takes your hand without another second to waste, which only skyrockets your heart rate. his palm is softer than you expected, with the hint of a rough callus on the tips of his fingers from all that time playing sports. he tugs you closer just a bit too suddenly, forcing your shoes to step onto his; steve smiles sheepishly with a slight chuckle, “whoops, sorry.”

when you recover and bring your head up, he’s barely a foot away — your cheeks immediately flush the hottest they’ve ever been. you swallow harshly as you try to speak but there’s quite literally nothing on your mind other than how close his lips are to yours. one quick movement and you could kiss him.

“so… um,” he pauses as he thinks, “how do you, uh, do this exactly?”

you summon the hint of a laugh, lacing your tone with sarcasm as you answer, “do i look like i know?”

you want to stare at him, take in every detail you can — how warm his skin is, how wide his pupils are. you’re afraid you’ll get caught if you do it for too long. you’re not in love with him.

steve shrugs, suddenly a bit embarrassed as well, “i don’t know. i don’t… i don’t really know how to do this either.”

then you stop breathing — he places his hands on your waist, fingers dancing lightly on top of your ribs. he’s made from electricity, sending little shockwaves into your body. steve gestures with his head, a small smile curling his lips, “i’m pretty sure you’re supposed to put your arms ‘round my neck, henderson.”

“oh! right—” you swallow harshly and force yourself to take another step closer. your chest is tight as you do as he says, your palms settling onto his shoulders before your elbows loop around his neck. you’re confident he can feel the tremble in your fingers.

as the pair of you begin to sway gently to the music, it feels like your eyes fuse to steve’s. you swear you fall into some sort of trance, the dreamy synths of the music only making it harder for you to resist. it’s hard to breathe.

“jesus, you’re tense,” steve jokes, “c’mon, loosen up already.”

he tightens his grip on you for a split second, but it’s enough to light your body up like a current. you accidentally step forward onto his toes in shock.

“sorry!” you squeak out, your eyes scrunched in embarrassment and you bow your head to hide your expression. you think that if you’re face to face with steve, he’ll be able to feel the heat of the sun coming from your cheeks. worse, he’ll probably ask why. you continue on, gaze watching your feet carefully.

“i— this is my first time doing this,” you say to try and explain, hoping the conversation will drag steve’s attention from your unusual reactions to his touch. the warmth of his hands on your waist is selfishly committing itself to your memory.

“mine too.”

steve’s sheepish admittance surprises you enough to lift your head, your brows drawn in close. you must look perturbed enough because steve laughs, tilting his head back a fraction and your eyes automatically track down his throat, dancing across each mole and freckle. fuck.

“don’t look so surprised,” he says, with eyes light and a casual smile, “i don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”

“oh yeah, because those rumors are definitely about you dancing with girls,” you cut him off with a chuckle and steve goes slightly pink. it comes through in his dancing, stumbling a bit over his feet and your hands slip to properly grasp his shoulders, steadying him. steve goes wide-eyed for a moment, long enough to send a bolt of panic through you, but he takes the chance to grab one of your hands and delicately spin you. there’s a swoop in your stomach with how gentle he is with it, carefully making sure you don’t get dizzy. you’re not in love with him.

“no, this, uh, would be the first… proper dance i’ve had. i’ve done?” he scrunches his nose as he questions his sentence. you cling to his every word, your arms settling back around his shoulders, back into that same trance from before. he hasn’t even danced with nancy yet, you realize longingly, but he’s danced with you. with a surge of love, you understand it’s because he trusts you enough to see him stumble and fail. that trust is enough to quell your envy, smiling up at him sincerely.

“well, nancy is very lucky.”

he doesn’t look as though he entirely believes you, his eyes unsure, “you think?”

“you’re gonna sweep her off her feet, steve.”

steve’s smile grows a bit at your affirmation, feeling the rush of confidence your words give him. it’s reflected in how he shifts one palm to your arm before letting it glide down your skin, settling at your wrist. the amount of goosebumps he leaves in his wake are mortifying, but he doesn’t think anything of it as he takes your hand in his.

the mood in the room grows increasingly intimate as you both grip each other a little tighter while continuing through the bridge of the song. then your thoughts turn selfish once again; there’s nothing more you wish to do than rest your forehead against his and let the music and gentle touches communicate to him how you feel. maybe he could figure it out for himself. maybe you wouldn’t have to tell him. maybe it’d all be okay if you didn’t have to say the words out loud.

are you a bad person if you try to enjoy this like he’s your own? you decide you don’t care.

“think i’m gonna tell her tonight.”

and just like that, the daydream dissipates, the haze wiped from your consciousness with his words. you’re reminded why you’re really here, what you really mean to him at this moment. you’re just the practice. the crack in your heart gets a little deeper, a little wider.

it takes every shred of willpower you have to push away the burning behind your eyes. he’s gonna tell her he loves her tonight, and you’ll be forced to watch. his eyes are hopeful, truly hopeful, for maybe the first time in his life. you wish it was meant for you.

you sigh silently, compelling a smile to spread over your face. as much as you want to, you can’t look away from him. your voice is quiet, gentle, packed with everything on your mind. combined with the look in your eyes, it’s baffling he doesn’t figure it out.

“i think… that sounds like a great idea.”

it’s steve’s turn to sigh. once again, your words are the support he needed to hear.

the next song starts to echo through the room and steve’s hands slip from you as quickly as they had settled on your waist. you don’t think it’s dramatic to say he took a chunk of you with him.

“thanks, henderson,” he says with a wink, words pouring over with his appreciation as you drop your arms back to your sides. then you’re grasping your own biceps, fingers holding tightly onto yourself for support as he moves to the stereo to shut it off.

“now we just gotta find your dance partner. don’t worry, i’m still looking at options,” steve adds as he smooths over the fabric of his suit jacket, “only the best for you.”

right — steve’s promise to find you someone, which has been hilariously unsuccessful so far. he swears there’s no one in hawkins good enough for you; you can think of one person who might be. but you force yourself to smile at his words, although you frankly don’t have the mind to take them in. it’s incredibly endearing how much he cares and yet you still can’t accept it as enough. you feel guilty for wanting more from him, especially considering his heart belongs to another. you're not in love with him.

—

jonathan didn’t want to come to this. it was his mom’s idea; joyce assured her son while rolling him for lint that it’d be a good experience.

“you’ll regret not going in a few years, promise”, she had said to him. but in traditional jonathan byers fashion, he arrived at least an hour late. he’s not a junior, but that doesn’t really matter in a town as small as hawkins — he managed to slip in through one of the exit doors down the hall that the chaperones aren’t watching. the gymnasium floor is coated in glitter and confetti; blue, purple, and white against the wood. it’s a miracle no one’s slipping on it.

a majority of his peers are out on the dance floor, slowly swaying to the ballad that bounces through the room. there are a few stragglers; a group of girlfriends who came together, a few couples more interested in swapping spit than dancing, and then… you.

there’s confetti in your hair, a light dusting of glitter against your up-do. your shoes are placed haphazardly onto the table next to your slouched posture, like you had taken them off in a hurry. your fingers are tightly wound in the fabric of your dress as you stare at something, no, someone. it’s the most dejected look jonathan thinks he’s ever seen — nancy and steve are amongst the crowd slow dancing.

it hits him like a truck. he’s had his suspicions over the last few months, but nothing as clear as this. if you weren’t his friend, he’d probably laugh. but he knows that you think it’s just as ridiculous as he does. maybe it was a good idea that he came here after all.

when jonathan sits down beside you, it takes you a couple of seconds to recognize his presence, too wrapped up in the feeling of steve’s hands on your body now committed to your memory. you were imagining it was you out there with him. when you finally acknowledge jonathan, you try to flash him a smile, but there isn’t much of a change in your expression. the distress is embedded too deep.

jonathan doesn’t speak. he doesn’t have to. after a few seconds of sitting in silence, the lyrics from the song you had offered steve flowing through the air, you grow puzzled. jonathan’s gotten up, offering his hand to you. normally, you’d flash him a look like ‘you can’t be serious’, something with a curled lip and raised brow. but right now, with how beat down you feel, you don’t have the energy to turn him down.

jonathan’s hands aren’t as soft as steve’s, but they’re gentle as he leads you to the outskirts of the dance floor. he purposefully chooses a corner far from them. subconsciously, your eyes still search for steve in the crowd, peering over his shoulder as jonathan guides your arms to his neck.

“hey,” jonathan says softly, but with just enough conviction to peel your focus over to him. your irises are still sad, still heavy with the weight of the secret you carry, the secret he understands more than anything. he shakes his head, finally placing his hands on you — don’t worry about them right now.

you close your eyes, tugging yourself a little bit closer, and then closer again until you can rest your chin on his shoulder. you try to forget about them, you really really do. you’re able to only spend a few moments focused on jonathan before your eyes open once more in search of him.

you spot him — you hate that your chest swells. then it’s burning. you’ve never been a particularly good mouth reader, but you’d recognize those three words anywhere; you don’t know how many times you’ve imagined steve muttering them to you.

you’ve stopped breathing, eyes intently focused on him to gauge nancy’s reaction. you can’t see her face, but by the way steve’s just lights up, you know what the answer was.

“hey—”

jonathan stumbles a bit when you abruptly shove yourself away. he catches the expression pinched onto your face — pure, gut-wrenching despair as you can fully turn and begin moving to the door. he manages to grasp your wrist before you can get too far, but you try to pull away instantly. broken tone coming from your lips as you hiccup, “just lemme go, jonathan.”

your face is already overflowing with emotion, large tears beginning to track black mascara down over your cheeks. jonathan feels a kick in his chest; he’s never seen you cry before.

“no, just…” he pauses, tightening his grip on you like you’re going to float away if he lets go, “just let me take you home at least.”

you think on it for a moment. the right thing to do would be to tell steve that you’re leaving. but the thought of him makes your body go numb. you’re definitely in love with him.

all you can muster is a nod.

—

#something something about both you and dustin crying at a school dance.........................................................#ruby and i really cooked with gas on this one #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #almost paradise #almost paradise blurbs

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟒

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It's almost 1979. You meet the crew. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 10.4k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟏𝐬𝐭, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖

This is the most beautiful you’ve ever felt in this little life of yours--the one that has felt entirely insignificant and insipid until so achingly recently.

This is not the kind of beautiful you were in your gingham print skirt at the county fair last fall, not the kind of beautiful you were in the soft pink chiffon dress you wore to the senior prom, not the kind of beautiful you were on your last date with Keith Garvey before you let him pin you up against the concrete wall of the bowling alley and fuck you. You’re not dressed in long skirts and soft pinks and deep yellows. You’re not dabbing lipstick off your lips with a thin piece of toilet paper and shaking your hair out of a braid. No, this kind of beautiful that you are right now is much different. You know that.

You can feel the difference--you can see it.

Finally, you have clothes, very much thanks to Rooster and Hangman’s checkbooks and insistence upon buying nice things that’ll last, and the gown you are donning right now is the most expensive piece of cloth that’s touched your skin by a landslide. It's a candy-red, chiffon gossamer skirt that clings to your body in elegant flows and a handkerchief top that’s tied around your bare chest. There’s even a whimsical scarf that is wrapped around your throat, its sultry ends cascading behind you with every movement of your taut body. Even your heels, which Jake both found and bought without much afterthought, are expensive satin platforms--they’re the color of a marigold.

Your mama would hate this: the sprawling skin of your body that is sunkissed now, the way your hair is completely ironed and cascades down your body like drapes, the red on your lips, the gold on your eyelids, your lack of underwear. But it doesn’t matter today--no, it doesn’t matter at all.

And it won’t matter at all as you go into the year of the Lord 1979: the year you become a star. The year that you become Cherry Arsan and molt the skin that used to contain you to early mornings and quiet dinners.

“Oh, Cherry-berry, you trying to knock everyone dead tonight?” Jake asks, leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom with his hand over his heart. He’s grinning at you, his brows pulled together in mock-anguish. “Cause I think you just got your first victim!”

Jake hasn’t left since the night you two met, and it has a little to do with him always being too fucked up to drive and a lot to do with his newfound fondness of you. Since waking up with you half-naked on his chest on Rooster’s sofa, you and Hangman have found some sort of kinship in each other. You’re a sweet thing, a free spirit, and you’re down to do just about anything in the world. Jake thinks you’re always ready and willing--and he is, too. You’re a girl that can keep up with him, a girl he wants to keep up with.

So, for the past few days, the three of you have been doing precisely nothing except getting ready for the party, day-drinking, swimming, and fucking. It’s been a perfect couple days and each of you would attest to it.

There is a sort of magnetism to you that has made him literally stay in your gravitational pull for days--he only left today to grab a change of clothes and a couple more ounces.

“Isn’t it groovy?” You grin, clutching your skirt and pulling it up before extending your foot towards Jake. “And the shoes! God, they’re out of sight! Good call!”

Jake, who is wearing a marmalade-colored crushed velvet suit with his trusty bolo tie around his naked throat, pretends to faint at the very sight of your leg.

“Scandal,” he cries out, army-crawling towards you across the fluffy rug. He grabs your ankle and lifts it to his shoulder, kissing up the inside of your calf fervently. “The mere sight of your leg has awoken something in me!”

He’s funny like this--and he seems to have endless energy, which you like.

His mustache is bristly on your skin, but familiar now. He does everything quicker than Rooster: kissing, fucking, cumming, laughing, swimming, drinking.

“I’m not wearing panties,” you sing-song as he sloppily pushes your gown up and peppers the inside of your thighs with his uncareful kisses. He groans against your skin and you laugh a throaty laugh, tangling your fingers in his shaggy hair. And just as his other hand starts to snake up your other leg, you put your heel in the middle of his bare chest and push him away. “Save it for later when the party gets boring! I’ll need a pick-me-up.”

“The party won’t get boring,” Jake promises, fluffing your dress as you grin down at him. That shade of lipstick looks real good on you--it looks like boiling sugar on your pouty lips. “Especially not when I give you your gift!”

“My gift?” You inquire, combing his hair gently as he holds onto your ankles, still on his knees before you. “What’s the occasion?”

Jake tuts, shrugging.

Your fingernails against his scalp makes his spine ache suddenly. Sometimes Gentry would do this--it makes the hair on his arms stand to attention, a strange memory shooting across his frontal lobe like a searing arrow skimming the surface of his skull. It’s little fragments: the smell of mud, the heaviness of their packs, the sleep in their bones, the blood on his tongue, Gentry’s fingers tangled in his hair when they were sure everyone else in their battalion was asleep. If he thinks hard enough about it, he might be able to remember the scent of Gentry’s skin--all that warm, unbathed, musky skin that made up the man he loved--but he doesn��t like to think about Gentry at all. Not even a little.

So, Jake leans away from your touch, only enough for your fingers to slip from his hair. It feels too good--makes his throat cake with emotion, makes the coke he just snorted a few minutes ago feel like it can’t do its job.

You pretend not to notice; you’re not wounded. You just let your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you carefully finger the soft velvet under your fingers.

“Welcoming you to the club,” he tells you, tugging you closer to him so his chin is resting on your belly. “You’re with the cool cats now, Cherry-berry.”

You squish Jake’s cheeks and lean down to give him a chaste kiss, just a friendly and fleeting thing. That’s another thing that’s happened very easily--the love flows freely. There are kisses in abundance, sometimes serious ones and sometimes not. You’re always touching everyone and everyone is always touching you. It feels good; it’s precisely the opposite of how you were raised.

Jake slings you over his shoulder and you erupt in a fit of giggles, slapping his behind as he jauntily carries you through the bustling house. All day, caterers and decorators and cleaners have been wandering in and out of Rooster’s house. There’s shrimp cocktails chilling in the refrigerator, crusty bread and fondue on the granite countertops, unlimited bottles of champagne and prosecco on ice, silver platters with assorted olives and smelly cheese. There’s a velvet-lined poker table and another couch being moved in now. There’s floats and beach balls in the pristine pool, a bartender at the tiki bar outside. The lights are dimmed and there’s a disco ball suspended from the vaulted ceilings--which Rooster tells you he only brings out for special occasions. There’s even a special three-tiered cake that’s reserved for after midnight--one that’s soaked in brandy and smothered in whipped cream and walnuts.

“Brother Rooster spares no expense,” Jake tells you, bobbing and weaving as you dissolve into a fit of laughter over his shoulder, waving to the workers who are trying their best to avoid the direct view they have of your tits right now. “He goes all out every year. You’re gonna dig it, Cherry-berry!”

“Think everyone’s gonna jive with me?”

You’re not very worried about that, really--if Dennis, Jake, and Rooster have been any indication of the way things are going to go tonight, you’re sure you’re going to wake up in a pile of sweat and skin and love tomorrow morning. It makes your fingers numb with excitement just to think about it.

“Oh, baby, it’s all gravy!” Jake laughs, spanking you softly one time as he steps out the sliding door and into the backyard. “Everyone’s gonna bow down to you! You’re Cherry fucking Arsan.”

That makes something grow in your belly--something big and warm, something that makes your toes tingle. It’s something between arousal and power, which are sometimes hard to differentiate.

You’re Cherry fucking Arsan. Whoever the girl was in Nebraska, the one chopping chicken’s heads off and shoveling shit and getting fucked by boys in mucking boots, she’s still there. She’s there and you’re here and it’s always going to be this way now.

Rooster is chatting with the bartender he hired to man the tiki bar when he hears the commotion that is you and Jake entering the backyard. He sighs, smiling softly and shaking his head before checking his watch. The party will start soon. It’s warm outside still, the sun setting low in the sky as dusk begins to close in. So far, everything’s gone swimmingly.

And you and Jake fumbling around with each other, the both of you laughing and fumbling all over the other, he’s grown accustomed to that in the past few days, too. You’re the first person that’s been able to keep up with Jake when he’s loaded; and it’s when you’re stone-cold sober. Rooster isn’t really sure what to make of that other than you’re young--and you’ve got a lot of living to make up for after the first two decades of your uneventful life.

“Howdy, folks! Welcome back to Miss America! Say hello to contestant number one: Cherry Arsan,” Jake introduces you, setting you on your feet. He pretends to speak into a microphone, giving his best beauty pageant host grin. “All the way from Nowhere, Nebraska, Cherry is wearing a smokin’ hot Halston dress and Chanel heels.”

Once your heels are on the concrete, you give your best pageant-girl grin, waving and politely curtseying as Jake speaks behind you.

Rooster just about loses his balance when he finally turns and looks at you two goons. You’re a fucking vision--you’re more than that, you’re literally out of this world. That dress, the one he picked out and paid for, is sitting like a second skin on your body. And he’s never seen you with makeup on before, but you look older with it on: shimmering eyelids, painted lips, long lashes.

“In her free time, Cherry enjoys skinny dipping, drinking vodka, listening to Blondie, roller skating, and sucking cock!” Hangman continues as you parade around him with a dazzling smile. “Cherry aspires to be the next Linda Lovelace and believes in peace, free love, and going commando.”

Cheeks flushed and throat wide open with laughter, you continue twirling around, winking at Rooster as he grins at you. His eyes are wide and swimming with affection as he leans against the bar, watching you act like a fool in that expensive dress.

“Now, Cherry,” Jake continues, hooking an arm around your waist. “What is your favorite quote?”

Giving that plastic grin and winking at Rooster again, you play along and lean down to speak into Hangman’s invisible microphone.

You’ve decided that this must be what it’s like to have friends--close ones that you can laugh with and tease and touch. It makes your chest want to absolutely burst. It makes you feel like this is your first day in kindergarten, when you were finally away from your parents and alone in the schoolhouse with other kids your age. You feel giddy--thoroughly giddy.

“Well, my favorite quote would have to be from Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. It is as follows: Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same,” you say, even adopting a faux-Southern belle accent. “Well, that or: We come from France. It’s from Coneheads!”

“Ain’t she something?” Hangman asks Rooster, eyebrow quirked. “Let’s give her a hand, everyone!”

Rooster claps, biting his lip.

Even the bartender is clapping, his eyes glued to your cleavage. He’s tended the bar at a few of Rooster’s parties and he knows for certain that he’s never seen you before.

You float over to Rooster, your heels clopping on the concrete.

“Cherry,” Rooster whistles, grinning as you loop your arms around his neck and beam at him. “Foxy lady!”

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Daddy Warbucks,” you tease, pinching the shoulder of his brown leather jacket. “You’re always put together, though. Square.”

Just as soon as Hangman sees the little bubble you’ve entered with Rooster, he turns to slink off to the guest bathroom. His high is fading--his fingers are tingling and his tongue is thick with a want he hasn’t been able to fulfill in a very long time. He’ll be back before the two of you even notice, he’s sure of it. He thinks that the Gentry thing has thrown him for a loop.

Rooster holds onto your hips, pulling your body against his. He thumbs the bare skin of your waist and laughs softly, admiring the glitter in the corners of your eyes and the rouge on your cheeks.

“And you don’t look like an extra from Tarzan,” Rooster teases right back, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you laugh. “Are you nervous about meeting everyone?”

“Nah,” you answer, shaking your head. “I’m a coolhead, baby. No worries here.”

He’s not worried about you, either--you’re going to get along swimmingly with everyone. He can’t really imagine anyone not getting along with you. It just doesn’t seem possible.

And you’ll be fucking most people at this party eventually, he thinks--that’ll be a sure way to have everyone like you. You’re fucking dynamite in the bedroom. Better to meet them here in an evening gown than to meet them on set entirely naked, though.

He squeezes your waist again, smiling softly. There’s something about the way your lashes are fluttering right now that makes his chest tight with affection. He has grown so very fond of you in such a very short amount of time--he hasn’t been this fond of anyone in this short amount of time ever before in his life. You’re special, special enough that he bought you a Halston gown and didn’t even think twice about the price--not that Rooster really has to think twice about any of his purchases these days.

“Thirsty, then?” He asks.

You nod, pursing your lips.

“Parched,” you answer.

He orders you your usual and then turns back to you, letting his gaze linger on your cheek as you look out over the glow of the backyard. It’s so beautiful--and he thinks you’re beautiful, too. Like the kind of beautiful that could get him in trouble.

“Gonna stick by me tonight?” He asks.

He hopes that you will--he wants to be the one to say your name to everyone tonight, wants to be the one to say this is Cherry Arsan. He wants to hook his arm around your waist and watch you laugh and drink and eat. He wants to be seen beside you, wants you to be seen beside him.

You sigh, shrugging softly. You want to mingle and get to know everyone and you don’t think it’ll be hard--you have molded your attitude to be one that’s easy to get along with. But you like Rooster--you wouldn’t mind sitting on his arm all night either.

“I’m a free bird,” you tell him, biting your lip. “Maybe I’ll perch on your shoulder sometime, though. Sing you a little song.”

The bartender hands you your Harvey Wallbanger, smiling timidly when you accept it.

Rooster watches you drink everything in, watches your eyes wander all across the backyard as your lips wrap around the glass. You really are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in his life and he has the distinct sense that you must know this to a certain degree. He thinks that’s good--what’s the point of being beautiful if you cannot appreciate it yourself? Even he understands his own beauty--understands why he’s the best in the business.

“Hey,” you suddenly say, turning to face Rooster. He doesn’t try and pretend like he wasn’t staring at you--he never does. You press your finger against his gold chain, smiling wryly. “Got any plans at midnight, baby?”

His breath catches behind his front teeth. He holds onto your hips again, nearly lets his eyes roll back into his head whenever you let him move your body against his. He has to keep reminding himself that you aren’t someone he is going to romantically involve himself with--you’re a coworker, a friend, almost a stranger even if it doesn’t feel like it. Just because he’s the first person you fucked in California doesn’t mean that you belong to him. He feels like that is getting harder to remember, something that’s growing hazy in the distance.

And then you do this--promise him a kiss into the New Year.

He feels like he’s reeling.

“I do now,” he answers, recovering slightly. “I’ll find you.”

As if he is ever gonna lose you throughout the night.

You push yourself up to your tiptoes and press your mouth against his, still grinning. You smooth your fingers over his mustache and kiss his chin very gingerly--he is still growing used to being touched so carefully. And you’re still growing used to touching someone so frequently.

“Oh, I’ll be waiting for you.”

It’s well past eleven now--the party is in full swing. You didn’t even see this many people at your high school graduation: the house is full from wall to wall, floor to ceiling seemingly. It’s more people than you can even count, a sea of big hair and thick sideburns and cleavage and thighs and lip gloss and glitter and platform shoes and gowns and cigarettes. Everywhere you turn, there is a beautiful person. The kind of beautiful that makes your throat absolutely ache--the kind of beautiful that makes you want to be surrounded by beautiful people for the rest of your life.

In the dark of the night, everything glows red--Rooster’s favorite color. It’s very warm in the house, the sliding backdoor propped open so everyone can flow freely from the house to the pool. There’s a few people swimming in their gowns already, drunk as a skunk or high out of their minds.

From your spot outside, you can hear Over and Over by Sylvester playing among all the clinking glasses and chattering and singing and yelling.

You’re sitting by the pool now, draped over Jake’s lap. He’s holding onto you with one arm while he nurses a beer in the other, nibbling on your shoulder every now and then when he wants your attention. He’s been giddily introducing you to everyone, telling them all about your escapades the past couple days.

“Cherry here doesn’t fashion herself a hippie, but didn’t own shoes until yesterday,” Jake told everyone, grinning while you kicked your feet to shoe everyone the heels you had on. Jake took your calves and lifted your legs as you grinned. “See? Ain’t they pretty, too?”

You’ve just met all of Rooster and Hangman’s best friends in the industry a few hours ago, but you’ve already decided that they’re going to be your best friends, too. There’s Phoenix, who is the only other girl, and she’s just about as graceful as a doe in a dew-misted field. Then there’s Bob, who is a sweet and timid thing that is wearing a collared shirt. Then there’s Coyote, who is maybe the broadest person you’ve ever seen: everything from his smile to his shoulders are wide and thick. And Fanboy, who is a handsome and sharp boy, more petite than any of the other men. There’s Payback, too--a well-read, tall drink of water that’s been passing around doobies all night.

“So, the only clothing you own is designer?” Fanboy asks, puffing on a slim cigarette. He’s eyeing you curiously, a grin tugging at his lips.

He spotted the Halston gown from a mile away, scurrying over to you in his shawl-collared silk tuxedo. Before he even said a word to you, he was rubbing the material between his fingers and staring at the fabric, awestruck.

You nod, leaning back against Hangman’s chest and carefully smoothing the skirt over your legs.

“That’s fucking fabulous, baby,” Fanboy tells you, a plume of smoke disappearing in the chilly night air. “You better stick around. I like you.”

You have at least one year with all of these people--but something deep in your gut tells you that you’ll be here for longer than that.

“Rooster’s never bought me a Halston gown,” Phoenix says pointedly, pursing her lips as she glances at Rooster, who’s chewing on a cigar. Rooster smiles, rolling his eyes. “And I’ve been fucking him for years!”

That makes your cheeks flush with joy--you catch Rooster’s gaze and give him a sweet wink. You’re holding up remarkably well for how much you’ve drank and smoked tonight--you’ve even smoked a cigarette, which you decided you didn’t like very much at all.

“And Hangman’s never bought me Chanel shoes,” Coyote says, his voice pitched from holding a hit in his lungs. He passes the doobie to you and you take it gratefully, grinning at him. “And I’ve been fucking him for years, too!”

You take a long hit, just the way Payback showed you. You suck and inhale, hold it in your lungs, then let it disappear through your lips and into the star-speckled night all around you.

“Well,” you answer with a small smile, “if anyone else wants to fuck me, I could use a new pair of bell-bottoms and a pair of Mary Janes.” Everyone laughs and you keen at the sound. “Designer, of course.”

You pass the doobie to Phoenix and she nods, winking at you.

“This is your first New Years party, isn’t it, honey?” Jake asks, squeezing your belly.

You nod, smiling gently. You lean back, let your legs kick up in the air as you drop yourself over him dramatically.

“Does it really show?” You ask, feigning exhaustion. “I thought I was hiding it so well!”

Not only are you high, you’re pretty tipsy already. Everything is warm and fuzzy, like you’re cocooned in a blanket. You’re hungry and full and jittery and calm all at the same time, so you’ve decided it’s best if you sit still here with these people instead of bumping shoulders with everyone else inside.

“You could’ve fooled me,” Payback says, grinning.

“And anyone else inside,” Coyote adds. He leans forward to squeeze your knee, laughing a big and broad laugh. “Swear it, Cherry.”

Rooster’s watching you get along with everyone and still smoking his cigar, comfortable in his seat as the party roars on.

Usually, he’s bopping all around the house and refilling drinks and lighting cigarettes and checking that no one is using his bedroom. But now, he doesn’t want to be anywhere else; he just wants to be right beside you. He’s been eyeing you all night, making sure that your drink is full and your makeup isn't smudged and your dress is still tied tightly. And now he’s perfectly content to just sit here, basking in your glow, waiting for midnight.

“Okay,” Bob says, smoothing his hand through his floppy brown curls. “What’s everyone’s resolution for 1979? Mine is to drink more.”

That makes you laugh--and everyone else.

“Only you, Bob. Dork,” Phoenix sighs, pinching Bob’s cheek gently. She taps her long acrylics against her martini glass, sighing. “Mine is to make more art.” Quickly, she points at Jake. “And I don’t mean porn.”

Jake holds his hands up in mock-defense, frowning.

He was going to ask if she meant porn, though.

“You draw?” You ask, smiling.

Your mama used to draw--nothing serious. Just little pictures on paper napkins at restaurants or in the margins of her bible. She was good--maybe even good enough to make money from it.

Phoenix grins at you--she’s relieved that you’re here to break up the sausage party and even more relieved that you’re so easy to get along with. She can feel the magnetism you have, the one that silently convinces Hangman and Rooster to spoil you.

“Paint,” she answers, pink dusting her cheeks. “Impressionism mostly.”

Maybe because you’re tipsy or maybe because you’re high or maybe because you’re so excited tonight, you lean forward to get closer to Phoenix and nearly topple over if not for Jake’s grip on your waist.

“I saw some photographs in a magazine one time,” you start excitedly, throwing your hair over your shoulders. Your lips feel funny and hot--you like it. “Claude Monet, I think. He was, like, an impressionist too, right?”

Phoenix is tickled--none of the men have ever inquired.

“Uh, yeah,” she answers, blinking a few times at your grin. “Do you know which painting it was, Cher?”

Cher. No one has ever given you a nickname so easily back home in Nebraska. Now you have three: Cherry, Cherry-berry, Cher. It’s making your toes numb with excitement inside your expensive shoes.

“God, I think it was, like, Poppies or something?”

“That’s, like, my favorite!” Phoenix grins--she’s elated, giddy. She rarely gets to talk about her paintings or any art in general--not with these men. “God, they have that displayed at Musée d'Orsay in Paris and I got to go last year--it was really something. I mean, like, it’s so surreal to be face-to-face with something you’ve always admired on paper!”

“That’s how it’d feel to meet Annette Haven,” Jake cracks, slapping you on the back.

The other men laugh in agreement and Phoenix deflates before your very eyes, sitting back in her chair and swigging her martini. This is how it usually goes with them--everyone except Rooster and Bob.

“Oh, sit and spin, Hangman,” Phoenix spits at him.

Biting your lip hard, you swivel on Hangman’s lap and hold his cheeks in your pinchers. He tries to grin up at you, but you shake your head at him, narrowing your eyes on his blown pupils.

“Don’t harsh the vibe,” you tell him. “Phoenix and I were having a conversation here, man.”

Jake swallows hard. It feels like you’re looking into his very soul--your eyes pouring into his, your fingers digging into the flesh of his cheek. Christ, he can feel his heart in his throat. But then you kiss his lips one time, very softly, and turn back to Phoenix.

“I would love to see your art sometime,” you tell Phoenix very seriously.

Phoenix is stricken by this. No one here has ever asked her about her art--much less asked to see it. And she’s known you for all of four hours and here you are, earnestly holding her gaze and asking to see her paintings.

“I’d like that,” Phoenix says, pretending like she’s not flushed.

“Well, shit,” Coyote says, rubbing his palms against his maroon slacks. “I just wanna take more photographs! Now I sound like a square.”

“Bob said he wanted to drink more,” Rooster reminds him, taking a long drag from his cigar before ashing it. “You aren’t the square here, pal.”

Bob’s flushing now, too. Everyone is laughing and you are, too. Except you’re the one that lays a hand on Bob’s knee, squeezing him in a friendly way.

“I wanna drink more, too,” you announce to the group. “In fact, I think my resolution is to just, like, live more. You know? Like, I’ve been so fucking bored for twenty years,” you exclaim, gesturing wildly as you speak. Everyone’s watching you with a smile tugging on their lips, their eyebrows raised slightly. “I think Bob’s got the right idea. Right on, Bob. We can be drinking buddies.”

Now Bob is really flushed.

“Well, in the same vein,” Payback starts, coughing a few times into his fist before he straightens out his paisley button up and leans back in his chair, crossing his feet at the ankle. “I wanna try shrooms again, man. I wanna trip for real. Meet God or whatever else shit happens.”

“You hardly meet God when you take shrooms,” Fanboy says, rolling his eyes. “I think you have to take, like, acid for that or some shit.”

Rooster shakes his head, stubbing his cigar out.

“Trust me, man, I did acid and I did not meet God,” Rooster laughs, shaking his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. “I just rolled around in the mud for a weekend while Hendrix played. Can’t remember shit from that weekend.”

Phoenix laughs, lighting up a cigarette, her glossy hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“Forgot you took the brown acid, Rooster,” Phoenix chuckles, taking a drag. “Bummer.”

“Bummer supreme,” Bob echoes, eyes wide. “Can’t imagine what that was like.”

“Not very groovy,” Rooster answers.

Jake bites down softly on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your skin as Fanboy describes his resolution: buying more designer. You smell like smoke and flesh--all natural. He likes your natural scent, though. You don’t seem like one of those girls who bathes herself in body spray and smells like a fucking muffin all the time. He prefers this--it’s human. It’s grounding.

“You rang?” You whisper, peering at him over your shoulder.

Your eyes are beginning to droop, your buzz amplified by every single minute you are this blindingly happy.

“Missed you,” Jake says, shrugging. You grin at him. “Party getting boring?”

Immediately, you shake your head vehemently. You couldn’t be bored right now if you tried.

“When am I getting my gift?” You ask, eyebrow perched.

He squeezes you close to him.

“Later,” he tells you. “After cake.”

Rooster sighs, pretending like he’s not watching you and Jake have a conversation between only the two of you, your mouths almost pressed together. He’s pretending like he isn’t just looking at the exposed skin on your arms, all that beautiful and smooth terrain he likes to run his fingers over.

“Rooster?” Payback asks, bumping him. “Your turn, old man.”

Rooster catches your gaze--you’re wide eyed and willing as ever. He knows that. And he knows that you’re really listening to him right now, ignoring the kisses Jake is pressing to your neck.

“I wanna read more,” he says, grinning when everyone groans. “I’ve done a lot of shit in my life, alright? I’m ready to just read a good goddamn book and sit in front of the fire!”

That only makes everyone groan louder. Rooster doesn’t bend.

“What book?” Bob asks. “Like, any particular one or?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rooster answers. “Emmanuelle by Emmauelle Arsan. It’s French.”

You’re staring at him now, your jaw slacked and your heart throbbing. He wants to read your book--and you really know that it isn’t your book, but it feels like your book. It’s the one you told him about a few days ago, the one that you love so much. And Rooster wants to read it.

Before you can say anything, before Rooster can meet your warm gaze, Jake clears his throat.

“How’s this for an ending?” He starts, laughing. “My resolution is to tell my dad to go fuck himself.”

He means it, too. Just thinking about his dad, just mentioning him, makes his knuckles white.

“I’ll drink to that,” Fanboy says, raising his glass. “Fuck fathers!”

Then everyone is raising their glass, even you and Rooster.

“Fuck fathers!” Everyone says in unison.

It’s your first toast with your new friends.

There’s only a minute until midnight.

You’re inside now and it’s stifling in here. Somewhere in the hustle and bustle of the countdown, you’ve been entirely disconnected from the group. Everyone around you is a stranger, just a sea of unfamiliar and beautiful faces. Your sweaty arms are bumping into other sweaty arms and your eyes are aching from the adjustment to the low light in here. The whole room is lit red, the disco ball spinning and painting everyone with dazzling pink reflections.

Beside you, there’s a couple devouring each other, completely lost to the world around them. Most everyone is boogying, in their own substance-induced haze. It smells like bodies and shrimp and smoke in here and you’re overwhelmed--especially since you’ve had a few more drinks and another cigarette, which you like a little bit more already.

I Feel Love by Donna Summer has been playing since you stepped inside and it’s so loud that you can feel the bass in your throat.

You’re craning your neck, standing on your tip-toes, but you can’t see anyone familiar in this red haze and through the cloud of smoke that’s settled over everyone. And everyone seems to be moving so thoroughly, so erratically, that you can’t even discern people’s facial features as they jive.

“Thirty seconds!” Someone calls.

The crowd goes wild, a sea of cheers and skin and hair and spit.

You almost feel upset that you’re alone--but then you decide that Cherry Arsan doesn’t mind being alone at parties. Cherry Arsan can walk into any place in the world and belong there. So, you move closer to the crowd and you start to dance, too. You’re grinning, your chest is pink, and your throat is open. You will accept everything that happens with grace.

This is your fucking year.

Rooster is standing near the kitchen, searching the crowd for you. He’s abandoned everyone else somewhere between the conversation pit and the fireplace, not that they even noticed. He’s tempted to call out your name, but he knows that you wouldn’t be able to hear him if he were to call over the music.

But then he sees it--your hands stretching into the air above, those cherry-colored nails, those bare arms. And he starts for you, his heart in his throat. There’s only fifteen seconds until midnight. He has to make it to you in time.

You’re dancing against no one in particular, but everyone around you. It’s just bodies on bodies as you pull the skirts of your dress up your thighs to keep from stepping on the hem of your dress.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six!” The crowd chants.

You’re grinning, your entire body alight with pleasure.

“Five, four, three, two--!”

“Cherry,” Rooster suddenly says.

You turn and there he is, just like he promised he would be. He’s holding onto your waist, an oak tree that is not swaying even by the erratic movement of the crowd.

“One! Happy New Year!”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he leans in immediately, pressing his warm lips against yours. He tastes like cigar smoke and nice liquor, smells like good cologne and leather. He’s so solid beneath your fingertips and his lips are very soft and warm.

He presses his body against you, trying to memorize the exact pattern of your lips so he can think of them any and every day that he needs to.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he whispers into your mouth. “I’m gonna take care of you. You know that, right, Cherry?”

You do know that--you don’t know how, but you do.

Either of you could pretend like you don’t know exactly what he means. You could feign ignorance to preserve the strangeness between the two of you. But you both know that he means it in every sense that it can be interpreted: he’s going to keep you safe, he’s going to keep you close, he’s going to keep you happy, he’s going to keep you healthy. It’s the promise that both fathers and lovers make: you’re not sure which one Rooster is to you yet.

“Yeah,” you answer simply, tenderly stroking his cheek. There is confetti falling all around you, red washing his beautiful face. You press the pads of your fingers into every line near his mouth and smile. “Happy New Year, Roo.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him that--he usually doesn’t like it. But he would like any word, even the ugliest ones, if they were falling from your lips.

Rooster holds you close to him. He wants to keep holding you close to him.

The party begins to thin after midnight, people filing out here and there in a steady stream of polyester and eye shadow.

It’s just after you’ve finished eating a slice of the special New Years cake that Jake pinched your tigh. You’re sitting on the counter, whipped cream in the corner of your mouth and brandy settling on your tongue, when Jake appears beside you.

“Want your present now, honey?”

You nod eagerly. You’ve been trying to guess what present Jake could’ve possibly gotten for you in the short amount of time you’ve known each other. You probably shouldn’t be so excited, but you are.

Jake tugs you through the remains of the crowd, past the group all perched in the conversation pit as they finish their slices, everyone nursing another cocktail. Rooster watches Jake tug you away as you grin at everyone, waving as you giggle.

“Where’re they going?” Bob asks, brows raised.

“They’re gonna go blow their noses,” Fanboy answers coolly. “Picking up what I’m laying down?”

That makes Rooster’s stomach turn over.

“What?” He asks, sitting up.

“Hangman said he was gonna give Cherry a bump tonight,” Fanboy explains further, very casually. “You know, like, to give her a memorable start to 1979. Or whatever.”

Something inside of Rooster is starting to wear thin, so thin that it is nearly translucent. He doesn’t know why or what it is. But it makes him stand up and follow your figures into the spare bedroom, the one you and Jake closed yourselves into.

Jake kneels before the bed as you sit at the end of it, combing your fingers through your hair absently as he excitedly hums. He’s fiddling with something from his pocket for a moment before he pulls out a tiny buttermints container and shakes it excitedly.

“Mints?” You ask, furrowing your brows. “You telling me to take a hint or something?”

Hangman grins, pressing the canister into your palm.

“Open it up,” he says, hardly able to contain his excitement.

Jake isn’t just excited about taking another bump--he’s excited that you and him will get to do it together. He feels like he’s his best version of himself, feels like he’s on top of the fucking world, when he’s high. Maybe you’ll feel the same way and he’ll buy you a pretty little necklace for you to keep your stash in.

You fidget with it for a moment, carefully opening it.

And oh--it isn’t buttermints at all. No, it’s white powder.

“Ta-da!” Jake says, gripping your thighs excitedly.

“What is it?” You ask, biting your lip.

“It’s blow, baby,” he answers. You still look confused. “Nose candy. Coke. Cocaine.”

Oh, you’ve heard of this a few times. Yes, cocaine. You know what it is.

“Far out,” you tell him, biting a grin.

That’s the precise moment that Rooster opens the door. You and Jake smile at him upon entry, both of your eyes far-away and buzzed. Something in your bones settles when Rooster looks at you, closing the door behind him.

“Blow?” Rooster asks. He doesn’t sound mad--really, he isn’t mad. He doesn’t know what he is. “That’s Cherry’s present?”

Jake nods, grinning.

“Groovy, isn’t it?” Jake asks.

Rooster crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly looking taller and broader than anything else in the house. He’s looking at you, suddenly so small and beautiful on the bed, holding cocaine in your hands.

“You wanna do it?” He asks, nodding to the coke.

You glance down at the substance. You’re already buzzed--what’s the worst that could happen if you were more buzzed?

“Yeah,” you answer and Jake squeezes your thighs excitedly again. “Might need some help, though. Like, I don’t know how to--!”

“Here,” Jake says immediately, licking his finger and pressing it into the mints container. Then he nears your lips and nods for you to open your mouth. “Smile pretty, baby.”

You do--Rooster watches with his heart in his throat. It does make him feel better to see it, he supposes. Just to make sure you’re okay. Just to keep you safe. And it’s much cooler and calmer in this low-lit spare bedroom instead of what’s left of the party.

“Not too much,” Rooster says, glancing at Jake.

Jake looks up at Rooster, eyes wide and grin even wider.

“Just enough,” he promises, winking.

Then he presses his finger against your gums and the front of your teeth, smearing the cocaine across them languidly. His finger, oddly enough, is not what feels unfamiliar in your mouth. It’s the cocaine: it’s powdery and thick, coating your saliva and leaving the taste of flower petals on your tongue.

“Fuck,” Jake whispers, watching your heavy-lidded eyes fall shut at the sensation of his finger on your gums. Your mouth is very warm and wet around his digit. “Giving me a hard-on over here, Cherry-berry.”

You hum, just taking in the sensation and swallowing thickly. Then you suck his finger clean, releasing him with a juvenile pop that makes his pants grow tight.

Rooster’s still just watching.

“Should take a few to set in,” Jake tells you, already preparing his own bump. “Why don’t you just lay back for a sec and wait for it, honey?”

You do as you’re told, lying back against the water bed and closing your eyes. Rooster watches Jake take a few bumps, rubbing his nose rapidly and clicking his tongue. Then he sits on the bed by your head, gazing down at your serene face.

Cracking an eye open, you take in his features all pulled together in concern.

“You’re such an old man,” you tell him, reaching up and tracing his frown. “And I really, really dig it. But you don’t have to be my old man. You jive?”

Rooster swallows hard, letting his hand rest in the middle of your chest. Your heart is still beating normally, solid and steady beneath his palm.

“It’s not gonna last long,” Rooster tells you softly. “You’re gonna feel it for, like, an hour. Then you’re probably gonna want another bump. You can do whatever you want, baby, but it’s just that--!”

Jake groans loudly, pulling both yours and Rooster’s gazes from each other to Jake’s form. He’s standing, stretching tall and moaning. He feels so fucking good right now, so loose and free. He slams himself into the waterbed, nearly shooting you and Rooster off.

“Careful, man,” Rooster hisses, holding you against the bed.

But you’re just giggling, falling into Hangman, who opens his arms and pulls you on top of him.

“Oh, fuck, Cherry,” he tells you, combing his fingers through your hair. “Tonight’s gonna be the best fucking night of your life!”

You lean up, let your palms rest on the bed so your face is hovering Hangman’s.

“It’s the morning now,” you tease.

“Well,” he says, grinning something fierce as you chew on your lip. “It’s gonna be a morning to remember.”

Then you roll onto your back again, closer to Rooster. He smooths his hand through your hair, softer than Hangman. And he watches as your eyebrows pinch, as your pupils grow wider.

“When does life begin?” You ask, staring at the ceiling.

Fuck. Rooster can tell it’s sinking in--you’re high.

“When you’re born, right?” Jake asks, rolling onto his side to watch you.

“Maybe,” you answer, shrugging.

Your heart is starting to race. Blood is rushing past your ears. Everything feels so good: the sheets against your back, the dress against your chest, Rooster’s fingers in your hair, Jake’s arm against yours.

“Life starts when you can form memories,” Rooster answers, still running his fingers through your hair that’s splayed across the bed. “What the fuck is life if you can’t remember it?”

Humming, you pull your brows together.

“So, when did life start for you?”

“Like, what’s my first memory?” Rooster asks.

You open your eyes--your pupils are blown now. You nod rapidly.

Rooster has to think about it. He’s distracted by the way you’re pressing yourself against him, the way your body is working towards him like you want to be closer. He pulls you to him, hooking his arms under your pits. Your head is resting in his lap now.

Jake moves, too, resting his head on your belly and hooking his arms around your thighs. You start to move your fingers against Jake’s scalp but suddenly remember the way he moved away from them earlier and let your hand flop back down on the bed.

“I guess it was a baseball game with my dad,” Rooster answers. He could say more: he remembers that it was the Kansas City Monarchs and that he saw Jackie Robinson hit a homerun; he remembers that it was sunny and his dad carried him on his shoulders; he remembers peanuts under his tongue; he remembers the sound of the crowd. “What about you, Cherry?”

You hum, throat caked in excitement, affection.

“Fuck,” you answer, shaking your head. “I think it was when there was a tornado that came through Nebraska. Fucking swept up everything in its wake. We were in the cellar and it was totally dark and there were worms on the floor. I thought we were gonna die.”

Rooster’s chest is tight.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake mutters. “Your first memory is thinking you were gonna die?”

You nod.

“Bleak,” Rooster manages to whisper.

“Such is life,” you sigh. You poke Hangman. “Your turn.”

Jake has trouble remembering--he’s worked at not remembering anything before the age of twenty-four. He doesn’t wanna remember his parents or his childhood home or his brothers or Gentry or Vietnam.

“This is giving me a complex,” Jake whines, rubbing his eyes. “Maybe the sky. Just big, blue and endless.”

“That’s it?” Rooster asks. “Just the sky? That isn’t a memory, dork.”

“Maybe it was the first time he looked up,” you suggest, humming. “Wicked.”

Rooster’s watching your face as a grin eats it. You probably don’t even know what you’re smiling about--it probably just feels good. He remembers how it felt: all that goodness with nowhere else to go except out into the world around him. He remembers it well.

“If you could pick a day for your life to begin, when would it be?” Hangman asks.

“Today,” you answer. “No, not today. That day on the boardwalk. The day I met you.” You reach up and press your finger against Rooster’s lips, laughing. “That’s when mine would start.”

Just as Rooster is about to tell you that his answer is the same as yours, just as the words are inching up his tongue and his lips are parting, Jake blows a raspberry against your belly and sits up suddenly. Both of you are in a fit of laughter now, holding hands and pulling each other up.

“Let’s play a game!” You suggest. You gasp, your eyes wide. “Let’s play Hide And Seek with everyone!”

Almost everyone is gone when the third round of Hide And Seek begins. To Rooster’s surprise and your utter delight, everyone agreed to play the game. And now that it’s started, well past two in the morning, there’s no stopping it.

The lights are off, the music is low, and only the usual suspects are here now. You’re high and so is Jake and most everyone else is drunk now, stumbling around in closets or under beds as their hiding places.

You’re in teams, which was your idea. You’re paired up with Rooster and Fanboy is seeking this time, counting to one hundred in the kitchen out loud as you all scramble around the house.

In the complete darkness, Rooster slides your hand in his and comes close to your ear.

“The pit,” he whispers.

But you understand. No further instruction necessary.

So now the two of you are laying flat on the floor of the conversation pit, your shoes discarded and your throats holding bated breaths as the house tumbles with movement.

“We’re gonna win,” you whisper to Rooster, chewing your bottom lip. You feel incredible still--your high hasn’t faded. “We’re so gonna fucking win.”

You’ve won almost every round so far: Coyote found you and Phoenix in the garage last the first round, Rooster found you and Jake under the spare bed second to last the second round. And you’re determined to stay on the down-low this time.

Rooster forgot what it feels like to play Hide And Seek. It’s exhilarating, which he knows is silly, but it’s true. That gut-wrenching excitement of coming close to being found, the way his bones shiver when he’s trying to make his breathing quiet. It’s fun--but it’s scary, too.

“Ready or not,” Fanboy calls out, voice strained with excitement. “I’m gonna come fucking get you!”

You giggle softly and Rooster elbows you.

The two of you can really only make out vague outlines of each other in the pitch black room, but you can feel each other’s breaths fanning out across the other’s faces.

“You wanna read my book,” you whisper.

His breath hitches.

“You wrote a book?” He chides very quietly.

Blindly, you reach out and press your palm against his cheek.

“Why?”

Rooster thinks for a moment. He isn’t exactly sure what to say. And he isn’t sure if he should tell you that he already put a hold on the book at the public library. Fanboy’s footsteps are at the other end of the house, retreating.

“Why wouldn’t I want to read something that’s had such an impact on you?” Rooster asks.

That sits funny on your chest for a moment.

It’s interesting, really: it never surprises you when people want to fuck you. You’re never surprised when a cock hardens against your thigh or when a gaze falls on your tits or when a hand cups your ass or when fingers pinch your nipples. But this kind of thing, one that has almost nothing to do with sex, catches you off guard immediately.

You’re not sure what to say.

“Do you wanna know what I think, Roo?” You ask. He nods. “I think you might be an angel.”

He very nearly laughs, giving away your spot. He can feel you biting your lip.

“Why’s that?” He asks.

“Maybe it’s the halo,” you tell him, pressing your hand against his chest and scouring until you find the gold chain, which you tug a few times. “Maybe it’s your checkbook.”

The two of you do laugh--very quietly, very controlled. He feels so young lying on the soft carpet beside you, playing Hide And Seek and stowing away from his friends in the dark. It feels good. It isn’t even that he doesn’t like his age--he does. He is very much enjoying his thirties. But it’s good to be reminded of this feeling, this sweet invincibility coupled with a juvenile adrenaline rush.

“Cherry,” he whispers.

“Huh?” You ask.

He swallows.

“I think you’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met,” he tells you. He is saying this very earnestly. “And I wanna know you for, like, a long time.”

“Good,” you answer quickly. “Because I don’t plan on getting my own place.”

That makes his heart squeeze with affection.

It’s quiet for a minute. If he strains, Rooster can hear Heart of Glass by Blondie playing. You like Blondie--he wonders if you can hear it. You can, just barely.

“What should we do to pass the time?”

You kiss him first, crashing your mouth against his and letting your lips mold together like they’ve been placed in a fondue pot. You two move every easily together, his hands finding your breasts and your hands tangling in his curls.

Moving almost silently, the two of you pull and push and kiss each other. Pleasure is starting to impede and recede across your entire body like the waves of the ocean, coming dangerously close to drowning you. Rooster’s already hard--almost fully--just from your hands fumbling with the buttons of his pants.

The high is fading, you’re coming down, but you don’t feel terrible. You don’t feel like you need another bump right now. You feel like you just need Rooster--you just need him to touch that spot, scratch that itch. That’s what you need.

“Gotta be quiet,” he whispers into your mouth as he unties your top and pulls it off in a swift movement. He feels your nipples harden against his chest as you pull his shirt off his body. “Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you answer meekly. “C’mon, baby, I need you bad.”

That’s all you have to say--Rooster immediately finds the zipper of your skirt and pulls it off your body, letting it pile at your feet. You finally tug his pants all the way off and lay back on the carpet, both of you totally bare before each other.

There’s something desperate about this despite the two of you fucking early yesterday morning, just a quick and easy thing before his shower and after your swim. Your movements are needy and your want is starting to take hold of every single one of your senses.

He dips his fingers between your legs as you spit into your hand. You’re almost dripping for him, the anticipation aiding in that greatly. He presses against your clit immediately, making slow and methodical circles as you let your open mouth rest against his, gasping quietly. Then you wrap your hand around him and Jesus fucking Christ, it feels so fucking good that Rooster bucks his hips against you immediately.

“Gonna make you cum, baby,” Rooster promises, sloppily kissing any part of your face he can find. “Just like I promised, huh?”

You whimper in response--a meager noise.

You’re pumping him perfectly, running your bump over the head of his cock and giving special attention to that sensitive spot he has beneath his tip.

Just like he promised, an orgasm is rapidly approaching you. He’s so fucking good at it--he’s been good at it since the beginning. It feels like your body was tailor-made for every single part of his, like he has studied your body in textbooks and under microscopes. He knows exactly where to touch, what to do.

But then he’s suddenly moving you, turning you so your back is pressed against his chest. He hooks his arm around your throat, connects his fingers to your clit again, then buries himself inside you deeply in one fluid movement.

And you’re almost curling around him, pleasure tightening your muscles and vibrating every single one of your nerves. You’re breathing heavily but still trying to keep it under control, pressing your throat against his muscular forearm.

You feel fucking perfect around him. You’re as tight and warm as you were the other morning and as he buries himself in you, pulls back, and eases into your again he’s reminded of your first encounter: how big you said he was, how tight you were, how easy it was for you two to come together.

He works you both at a steady and relentless rhythm, exhilarated to be this close to you, exhilarated to feel every single part of your warm body. You’re so close to coming, so fucking close to the edge as you grind your hips against his. And just as you toe that cliff, just as you’re about to free-fall, Fanboy’s footsteps echo out loudly. He’s heading straight for you guys.

But instead of stopping, which neither of you want, Rooster just bites down into your shoulder and covers your mouth with his palm. He keeps thrusting, keeps circling your clit because he’s getting close already and he wants you to finish before him.

Fanboy can’t hear anything in the house, really, besides the music. He’s clopping along the tiles, keeping his ears perked.

He doesn’t know that he’s standing just beside the two of you when you suddenly cum. Your entire body writhes and convulses and Rooster holds you firmly against him. He holds his palm down hard on your mouth and it grows wet with your saliva. He keeps bucking his hips into yours, keeps rubbing your clit as every single aftershock rolls through your body.

You and Rooster can feel Fanboy beside you, can feel his perked ears and his pause as he glides past you. But you’re quiet enough that he just keeps on down the hallway.

“Fuck,” you mutter to Rooster, giggling softly. “Keep going.”

At that, he pushes deeper into you, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his so you’re more open for him. He loves how easily you move, how trusting you are of him. And then he keeps rubbing your clit, barely giving you time to recover.

“You’re so fucking foxy, Cherry,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “Fuck, baby, I could do this all night.”

You don’t do it all night--just in the conversation pit twice. By the time everyone is found and the lights come on, you and Rooster are the only two who remain undetected. Somewhere between your three orgasms and the close-calls with Fanboy, you’ve fallen asleep against Rooster’s chest.

He leaves you there, covers you with a blanket, and quietly walks everyone out to their cars. Him and Jake quietly clean up the kitchen, just quickly throwing the glasses away and piling the dishes in the sink before the maids come tomorrow morning.

“She out?” Jake asks.

Rooster glances at the conversation pit--he can’t see you, but he knows you’re still there.

“Like a light,” Rooster answers, a smile tugging at his lips.

There’s a lull between the two disheveled men.

“She’s a good girl,” Jake says.

Rooster hums in agreement, stacking some silverware in a cup in the sink.

“I know,” Rooster says.

Both of them very nearly say it: they want to keep you a good girl. Not in the way that some men want to by means of obedience and servitude. What they mean is that you’re so very sweet and intelligent and witty and bright-eyed--they want it to stay that way.

But neither of them say it. They just keep cleaning the kitchen, loosening their ties and unbuttoning their shirts as they go.

“That party was to the max,” Jake compliments, stuffing a few bites of cake in his mouth. He glances at Rooster, who’s closing the backdoor now and locking it. “Best one yet!”

“Thanks, man,” Rooster yawns.

“Rooster?” Jake says softly.

Jake is thinking about Gentry--he does sometimes when he’s tired or when he needs a bump or when he wants someone to touch his hair. He isn’t really sure why he said Rooster’s name other than he saw Rooster’s back, saw him retreating, and suddenly felt the need to call out.

Rooster watches Jake’s eyes fall from his to the floor. He crosses his arms, shoulders slumped.

“Happy New Year, man.”

“Happy New Year,” Rooster returns. “Wanna help me get the lady to bed?” He isn’t sure why he says it, honestly--he isn’t even sure how he knows that Jake is deflating, but he does.

At that, Jake perks up.

“Happy to help.”

Rooster carries you to your bedroom when you don’t budge, mumbling something about sleeping right there. You’re naked except for the blanket he draped over you and when it falls off, you don’t try and cover yourself. You just snuggle into Rooster’s chest and hook your arms over his neck.

“You’re warm,” you whisper to Rooster. “Where’s Jake?”

“Right here, Cherry-berry,” Jake answers, softly patting your head. “Hide And Seek really did you over, huh, honey?”

Jake follows behind the two of you, a new kind of tired settling in his bones. He’s holding your gown and shoes, trailing after Rooster as he wanders into your bedroom finally.

Just as soon as you’re on the bed, head against the pillow and bare body against the covers that Rooster is trying to get you to lay under, your eyes suddenly open wide.

“Hey,” you say to the two men before you, each one in various stages of undress. “Don’t go.”

Rooster’s heart is in his throat. He glances at you, all bleary-eyed and soft and naked and sweet on the sloshing waterbed, curling yourself under the covers and blinking at them in the dark.

“Who?” Jake asks, voice thin.

He doesn’t want to be alone, but he isn’t sure how to ask for anything different. He never had to ask with Gentry--he just knew. He hates that being around you makes him think of Gentry, but loves that you can soothe the ache in his chest without uttering a word. It’s strange, really. It makes him feel more high than he really is all the time.

“Both of you,” you answer. You pat each side of you and then flop back into the pillows. “No clothes allowed.”

Jake and Bradley have been naked in front of each other plenty of times. They’ve shot scenes together, in big groups and small groups. Nakedness is nothing in this house except a common state of a person’s body. So neither of them care as they undress, yawning and folding their clothes.

The sun is rising, the sunlight pale yellow, as they climb under the covers and flank you. You’re already almost entirely asleep again, your skull heavy and your limbs aching. But there’s a smile tugging on your lips because this was the best night of your life. This was the first night you felt like Cherry Arsan.

“Good morning,” Bradley whispers, pressing your hair behind your ear.

You blindly lean forward and press your lips against his.

Then you turn to Jake, who’s draping his arm across your waist as Bradley tangles his legs between yours.

“Good morning,” Jake whispers.

You kiss him, too.

“I think I love you both,” you mumble. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m tired and high, alright? Swear it.”

Jake kisses your shoulder. He likes all of your skin against all of his. It makes his heart feel like it belongs precisely where it is inside his chest.

“Everybody loves Cherry Arsan,” Jake mutters, settling his cheek against your breasts.

Bradley kisses your forehead and lets his lips linger there for a long moment.

“Happy New Year, kid.”

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cameronspecial · 8 months

Text

Thorn In My Side, Rose In My Hand (Part 15)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Sexual jokes and Ward being a meany.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: The end of the school year brings about a lot of different activities when you are graduating and spending the with Rafe is absolutely perfect. But this also means the start of a new chapter in their lives.

A/N: Can't believe this is the last part! I absolutely loved writing this story and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thank you to the anonymous person who sent me that ask for inspiring this series. I don't know if this is the Rafe you were talking about but still got me inspired.

Masterlist

Y/N never understood the big hubbub people throw when it comes to Prom. And she definitely does not understand how any girl could want such a public display of being asked to Prom. She watches as Bane Rogers rides into the cafe on a horse in a knight costume toward Grace Harper. He held a promposal sign in his hand and the look on Grace’s face indicates she is going to say yes. Y/N watches the whole scene with clear disinterest, which contrasts the look of most of the other girls in the room. “You seem to be the only girl not captivated by the Bane’s scene right now,” Mason comments, sliding beside his sister into the booth. Rafe is not far behind, his eyes not leaving the scene. He is so glad he knows Y/N would not want a big spectacle when he asks her because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle the embarrassing feeling of doing something like Bane.

Y/N watches Rafe as she replies, “Yeah, well I just don’t get the point. Big and fancy proposals, prom related or not, have always weirded me out. With such a public display, it almost feels like you are trapped to say yes and I don’t like that. I definitely don’t want anything special for a promposal anyways. I mean poor Rafe is already going to have to think of a marriage proposal, I don’t want to give him a harder time by having to top a promposal.” Rafe nods at her words in understanding and feels a blush creep up on his neck at her mention of marriage. “Well, in that case. My rose, will you go to prom with me?”

She looks at him with an incredulous look. “Ugh, no. Rafe, you were supposed to disregard my words and give me a promposal that tops Bane’s.” Rafe panics quickly as he tries to backpedal disappointing his girlfriend. She sees his struggle and giggles, “I’m joking, Cameron. I would love to go with you. Could we match? I’m thinking light purple.” Rafe not one to say no to his rose, of course, agrees.

——

Y/N looks around at all the other girls showing off their prom dresses and her eyes almost pop out of their sockets at the amount of money some of them spent. Rafe looks amused at the look on her face. “What’s wrong?” Y/N tilts her head so she can look him in the eye. She brings her lips close to his ear, “All their dresses are so expensive. I mean twenty thousand dollars for a dress. Going to Paris to get the dress made. I don’t want to make fun of people but these girls are acting like they are getting married. I wouldn’t pay that much for a wedding dress, let alone a prom dress.” Rafe laughs at her candour and just shakes his head. “Well, you aren’t like most girls. Wow, that was cheesy. But those girls were cheated, honestly. You probably paid one percent of what they did and you are the most beautiful person here.” She smiles up at him and rewards his adorableness with a kiss. “Come on, let’s go dance.”

Her lilac a-line scoop floor-length chiffon dress trails along the floor just perfectly thanks to the cream-coloured heels she is wearing. She absolutely loves it, but her favourite part is the pockets. It was the very first thing she showed Rafe when he came to pick her up. Rafe follows Y/N towards the dance floor and places his hands on her hips when she started dancing. He is wearing a lilac suit jacket and pants that are an identical shade to Y/N’s dress. It is a bold colour he would not usually wear, but he loves the idea of matching her. He wears a white dress shirt with no tie to give it a little bit more of a causal look that matches the same aesthetic of Y/N’s dress. They both looked formal in their attire but with a hint of leisure.

The beat of the music moves the crowd of teens in various directions. At a certain point, Lacey joins the couple and starts dancing with Y/N. Rafe being made the third wheel, not that he minded, makes his way to the food table. He wants to get something for Y/N to eat when she eventually gets peckish after dancing. He fills one plate with a few fruits and vegetables before filling another plate with just about every cocktail food at the table. He makes sure to add double of anything that has cheese in it. He gets himself some chicken wings and then balances all the plates over to the table Y/N wanted to sit at.

Mason comes over to see the stockpile Rafe created. “You plan on hibernating this summer?” Rafe shakes his head, “Haha, I’m just getting all the good stuff for Y/N before they are gone. She is dancing over there with Lace.” Mason looks over to where Rafe points. “I see. Preparing for when she gets cranky. I see you got two of all the cheese things. Good, cheese calms Y/N/N,” Mace teases. He doesn’t see that his sister has made her way behind him, so he doesn’t expect the hit on the arm she throws at him. “Hey, I don’t get cranky,” she objects. “And thank you, Cameron. I am pretty hungry, right now. These all look so good. What do you guys choose for dinner? I got the portobello ravioli and I’m excited.” “Mace and I chose the steak. You can have some of mine if you want,” Rafe answers. Lacey sits at the table with them, “I ordered the vegan meal. I wanted to see how they made an upscale vegan dish.” It doesn’t surprise the group that Lacey’s dinner choice was based on her curiosity about how the meal is made instead of what she actually wants to eat.

Dinner is served a few minutes after the group sits down. Dancing quickly resumes once the meal is finished and it is soon time for Prom Queen and King to be announced. Y/N isn’t too thrilled about being on the Prom court. The idea of being crowned is not high on her list of things she wants to accomplish, but she knows Rafe secretly loves the idea of being Prom royalty. So she is going to suck up her lack of enthusiasm and put on a smiling face for him. “And this year's Prom Queen and King are Y/N Y/L/N and Rafe Cameron,” Principal Grant announces. The sound of applause fills the banquet hall as crowns are placed on both of their heads.

Rafe looks down at her as they slow dance as the King and Queen of the night. He can’t hide the love held in his eyes from her and even though she doesn’t understand the big deal about prom, she can understand that this moment is perfect. Pretending it is only her and Rafe in their own little bubble under the beautiful fake stars on the ceiling.

——

Graduation. An important milestone that people like to celebrate with extravagance. The students at Kildare Academy aren’t immune to these wishes. Y/N and Rafe had decorated their caps with matching roses the week before. It’s easy to spot each other through the crowd of other graduates looking for their own friends and loved ones. She runs into his arms with her diploma in hand, making sure to hold her cap so it doesn’t fall off her head. “We did it,” Rafe cheers, twirling her around a little quickly. She laughs at his action, “We did. I’m so proud of us!” “Come on, let’s go find everyone else so we can go to the graduation party.”

Surprisingly, Ward Cameron helped Cassie and Marvin a little bit with planning the joint graduation party. Rafe had refused to have his graduation party without the presence of Y/N and Mason, so he left Ward no choice but to allow the party to be combined with the Y/L/N’s. All of the three graduates' family and friends, who didn’t have their own parties, came to celebrate them. “Yes, Great-Aunt Ida. I am dating Rafe. Yes, Rafe as in Mason’s best friend,” Y/N clarifies to her mother’s aunt. Ida gives her a funny look, “Really, my dear? You don’t seem like you would have the same personality. From what I remember, he is much more social than you are.” Y/N meekly nods at the statement and excuses herself with some fake excuse of helping Bella with something.

Y/N had had multiple conversations like that one throughout the party and she was beginning to get tired of having to reiterate the same points to her family member’s still unaware of her relationship with Rafe because it had been a while since she’s seen them. Luckily, Rafe is there to whisk her away somewhere private. “Now, why do we have to be in private? It would be really weird to do anything during the party with literally just about all of our family downstairs,” she teases, turning towards Rafe.

“Of course, that’s not what I want. When did you get such a dirty mind? I just have a gift to give you. Now, close your eyes.”

“But Cameron, we promised no graduation gifts.”

“I know, but this isn’t really a gift just for you. It’s a gift for both of us. I promise.”

“Okay, fine. But the next big event we celebrate, I’m buying the gift for ‘us’.”

Rafe waits for Y/N to close her eyes before placing an envelope on top of her palms facing up. She peeks her eyes open and quickly shuts them before he can see her; she knows he would want to be the one to advise her to open her eyes. “Okay, you can open them, now.” She does just that and opens the envelope without hesitation. Inside, she finds various receipt screenshots for plane tickets from North Carolina to Oxford. The dates on the tickets are for all throughout her school year and the last one is even the seat beside hers for when she goes home for next summer.

ˇOMG, Rafe. These are too much. What if something happens?”

“Nothing will happen. And I just wanted to get us them to show you how sure I am about our relationship.”

“Thank you so much! I love them. I can’t wait for you to visit already and I’m not even in Oxford. I’m going to spend all my free time looking for places for us to go.”

Rafe laughs at her excitement and lets himself be pulled into the big hug she throws at him.

——

A week before Rafe is supposed to go off college, Ward asks Y/N if he could talk to her. After graduation, Rafe had gone back to living at Tannyhill because he only had a few more days with his sisters, so the couple was spending more time at his house. Rafe is currently dropping Wheezie off at a friend’s house. “So my son is off to college next week,” Ward states, rounding his desk to sit in front of it. Y/N inches a little bit from the door, “Yes, I know that. I’m supposed to help him move into his dorm. Mason is already in Toronto and I start at the beginning of October, so I have time to help out.”

“I see. And am I to understand that my son already bought tickets to come to visit you at Oxford.”

“He did. I didn’t ask him to, but it was a sweet graduation gift.”

“It is. It is. And what have you sacrificed for my son?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, from a parent's perspective, I see Rafe always making an attempt to sacrifice things in his life to keep your relationship going. He didn’t throw a big birthday party for his 18th because you don’t love big parties. He was going to break the family tradition of going to UNC, just to follow you across the pond. Now, he is sacrificing his reading weeks to go to Oxford. Instead of going to Miami or California for spring break, he is going to Oxford to watch you study.”

“I never asked him to buy those tickets.”

“Yet, you didn’t think of buying them yourself. Is it because deep down, you already know what you have to do?”

“No, it’s just… it’s just that UK universities have a different timing for school breaks so it’s better to buy my tickets closer to the actual day.”

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that. I have nothing more to say to you. You may go.”

Y/N leaves the room without another word. Truth is that Ward had been correct. At the time, she was super excited about Rafe’s gift. It felt so romantic. However, the more she started to plan her future with Rafe, she realizes he is indeed the one doing all the sacrifices. Ward pounding that into her head doesn’t help. Rafe is now returning from dropping Wheezie off and he sees her. “Hey, everything okay?” She smiles up at him, “Yeah. I just thought I saw a spider.”

——

A week has passed meaning Rafe’s move-in day is today. He is packing up his stuff into his jeep and waiting for Y/N to get here with Mason’s car, so she can bring the stuff that doesn’t fit into the car. He hears the gravel succumbing to the weight of the tires and turns towards the opening of the gate. He watches her get out of the car, jogging over to give her a kiss. She doesn’t have her brilliant smile on his face which concerns him, but he doesn’t say anything. He notices as she leans away from his kiss instead of leaning into it like she normally does. He shyly moves away from her and watches as she starts putting his stuff into Mason’s car without saying anything. Once they have everything packed up, Rafe says a heartfelt goodbye to his family and they drive off.

Rafe and Y/N planned to stay on call throughout the drive when they were separated between the two cars to make sure she doesn’t get lost. Rafe expected the conversation to flow and to be bountiful, but instead, he is left with a one-sided conversation with her just humming in response. Rafe knew the silent battle going on in her head. The argument she is having with herself about what she is going to do when they get to their final destination. However, Rafe isn’t going to let her just give up on them without a fight.

——

They arrive at Rafe’s dorm and they swiftly get all of his stuff out of their cars and into his room. Rafe’s roommate isn’t supposed to come for another two days, so they have the room to themselves. He doesn’t feel like doing anything else after they get all the boxes inside. “Should we get some dumplings? Or maybe a pizza? Or how about some ramen?” he recommends, wanting to delay the unwanted conversation as much as he can. “Cameron, we need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t. We need food. Food is what we need.”

“Cameron, please. Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is.”

“Then don’t do it. You don’t have to. We can work out the long distances. This doesn’t need to be the end.”

His tears begin to shed like a waterfall. He feels helpless in this situation like he is drowning. He tries to cover his eyes; however, she takes his hands into hers. “You know it has to be. Cameron, there is just so much against us. I mean the distance, our personalities, our futures. We aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say it as if you believe it. Please, my rose.”

“But I do. I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t believe it. I love you, but I need to let you go.”

“No, my rose. Please. Just give this a shot before you end the possibility completely.”

“I’m sorry, Cameron. I can’t. I’m breaking up with you.”

Rafe’s sadness shifts to anger as he realizes how easily she is willing to let him go. He knows it’s futile to put up any more of a fight, so his brain switches to the next best thing, which is defending his heart from any more heartbreak. “Fine, you want to be that way, then go! I don’t need you anymore, Y/L/N. You were always such a ball and chain to me anyways. I’ll be better off without you!” he shouts, gesturing his hands around like a wild man. Y/N looks at him with sad eyes. She can see the hurt in his eyes and understands what he is doing. It still doesn’t stop the sting of his words in her hurt. She gets up slowly from the bed they sat upon, “Okay. If that’s what you want, then I’ll go. This past year with you has been amazing. And I will never stop loving you. But I’m doing this for us, Rafe. You’ll see.”

With that, she gets her purse off the floor and walks out of his dorm. Rafe has no choice but to watch his rose slip out of his hands without a clue of if she is ever going to be back within his grasp.

Taglist: @itsalexwin @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @gillybear17 @terraeluce @f4ll-for-you @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @rafegirly

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breezybangtanbebe · 4 months

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❤️‍🔥💭 Boyfriend Minhyuk💭❤️‍🔥

The Best Friend Boyfriend

A/N: this one kinda just got away from me lol I don't know what happened. So if it's longer than the others, that's why :)

7.4k words

Emotionally💕:

Since I share a sign with this man, I can speak a little on how I think he operates in relationships. Similar to our Pisces Bunny, Minhyuk is very in tune with his emotions. Meaning he will know how he feels about you immediately. And he will make sure you know how he feels. IMMEDIATELY. I also feel like his relationships generally stem from close friendships since he's so selective about his circle. Isn't a huge fan of the dating game, finds it to be too tedious.

Very loyal. Very honest. Sometimes to a fault. He doesn't mean any harm by telling you the truth, so don't take it to heart. He's not for the sensitive types.

"Not that one."

Hearing Minhyuk's voice just now puts you off guard, startling you a bit. The last time you asked for his opinion, he merely shrugged without taking his eyes off his Instagram feed so you hadn't exchanged any words since.

Before that, he hadn't said a word other than to complain about being dragged into some tiny corner store boutique against his will. It was a place you hadn't paid much mind in passing, usually on the way to that Mexican grill Minhyuk always wanted to eat at. You just never had a reason to go in until now.

"Huh?" You frowned, looking back at him over your shoulder with your fingertips slotted between two hangers. As ironically uninterested Minhyuk appeared to be in what you were doing, the way he always looked like a supermodel posing was aggravating. Even in just a black tee tucked lazily in light-washed denim, shades perched on his crown to keep his chestnut tresses from obstructing his view of his phone, he was just one of those people who didn't have to do much to be stylish. It's just effortless for him.

Standing by looking as uninterested as any man would be watching his girl best friend thumb through clothes mindlessly, Minhyuk takes his hand from his pocket to point at the floral chiffon dress that held your attention longest.

"Not that dress." He states plainly, now stowing his phone in his back pocket and approaching you. He kept his eye on the dress you held up by the hanger with a slight cringe on his face. You mirrored his expression, looking at the dress you held as if you couldn't understand why he seemed so affronted by it.

"What? Why.. what's wrong with it?" You pout and Minhyuk snorts dryly before taking a pinch of the thin fabric between his fingers.

"Feels weird. Plus it seems pretty out of season don't you think?"

You laughed at that, hearing him sound so knowledgeable of such things. He looked like he did but fashion was never something the two of you discussed.

Your mouth opens to defend the dress you were only considering but it shuts the second Minhyuk is plucking it from your hands and hanging back on the rack.

"Plus it just screams 8th grade prom or Easter service. And I know neither of those are why we're in here." He adds, effectively ending that conversation.

"Ok..." you mutter under your breath, glancing at the dress one more time. It wasn't that bad, but then the image of you stumbling awkwardly in kitten heels back in 2008 in that exact dress makes you cringe.

You're about to reach for another one that's less frilly and a solid pastel shade when Minhyuk makes a sound of disgust.

"DEFINITELY not that one either. I'd rather you pick the Easter dress over that.."

"Oh my god...You know that spot at the front of the boutique with the chairs and crusty fashion magazines and stuff. You can go sit over there and wait for me. You don't have to hover." You gesture over Minhyuk's shoulder and he glances back with that sexy little smirk of his that stuck in your mind when you didn't want it to. He turns back to you with a brow lifted, looking you up and down to size you up.

"Apparently I do. You can't be trusted to do this alone. You were about to pick that." He snarks, nodding towards the floral catastrophe again.

You refused to give the dress any more thought as you huffed an exasperated sigh, slapping your thighs as you slumped in defeat.

"Well since you know every damn thing about dresses, you pick." You fold your arms just below your chest, tipping your chin toward the long rack of dresses that extends past where the two of you stand.

Minhyuk's gaze skates along the rack and he follows it to the window before turning back to you.

With that damn smirk on his handsomely smug ass face.

"You sure?" He tilts his head and you nod, hesitantly of course.

"If it's decent, yes. But...you have to tell me why it's better than any dress I've looked at."

Minhyuk eyes you for a moment, narrowing his gaze thoughtfully before smiling. He didn't want to be in here any longer than he had to be. The lighting was bad, it smelled like old lady, and whatever station they had playing overhead spun nothing from this decade or the one before it. Plus he was hungry and had his mouth set on fajitas so he was all for speeding up the process.

"Deal."

You couldn't subdue the anxiety along with the smirk of amusement on your face as you watched Minhyuk skim through the aisles, grazing the dresses with the tips of his fingers in passing. His expression was serious with a scrutinizing scowl on the several options before him, as if he were some sort of celebrity stylist dressing you for the Grammys.

But you followed behind him quietly, trying not to fall too deep into the broadness of his shoulders and the peak of his back tattoo just barely visible from the way his collar slouched.

Eventually, he stops at a section of more formal-looking dresses, his eye going up towards an array of gowns you'd never see yourself in on a good day.

It's a vermillion body-con with a sweetheart neckline and high thigh slit. You could tell from how defined the waistline was that it was very tight and left little to the imagination. Imagining yourself squeezing into that made a giggle bubble from your chest.

"Um...Minhyuk, I don't think.." you begin, silenced when your best friend's eyes light up.

"No...This is it. This is the one." He grins, reaching up immediately to lift the hooked hanger from the rack and pulling the dress away from the others to show you as if you hadn't seen it already.

The pride in his face was borderline heartbreaking and your smile hurt from how forced it was.

"Well?" He furrows his brow expectedly and you struggle to find the words.

"Well, it's...It's very...red." You half cringe and Minhyuk frowns at you as if he's offended.

"You don't like it?"

"No... it's not that I don't like it. It's just so...red.." you blanch and Minhyuk exhales impatiently.

"Yes, you said that."

"Well, you wanted my opinion! There it is.." you chuckle. Minhyuk rolls his eyes with a reluctant smile, breaking character from his serious celebrity stylist mug, and he steps closer to you.

"Yeah, but I thought you'd have more to say. So what if it's red? You like red don't you?"

"You like red. That's the only reason you picked it. Plus did you even check the size? I can't fit that.." you lean closer to examine the tag.

"You think I've been around you all this time and don't know your size? Look.." he scoffs and you ignore him while squinting to read the size printed on the tag.

Much to your surprise, it's your exact size.

Hmm.

"Lucky guess." You muse, all to Minhyuk's satisfaction.

"No such thing, my dear. Now would you like to know why I picked it for you? Or are you gonna keep making assumptions?"

His dedication to the task was adorable and you simply waved your hand, prompting him to carry on.

"Let's hear it." You perk your brow and Minhyuk grunts in amusement before straightening his posture, seamlessly falling back into his role. He clears his throat and you have to tuck your lips to keep from laughing as he sets out to state his reasoning.

"Besides it obviously being the best color in general, your skin just pops in red. I don't know why you don't wear it more often.."

He moves towards you, laying the dress over you as if to confirm his assessment. You tense a little from his sudden closeness, eyes fluttering up to his focused expression, but Minhyuk keeps his eyes low and on the dress draping over your body.

"I know you're shy sometimes about showing too much cleavage but this neckline would accentuate them in a classy way. And the way the zipper is kind of low shows off your pretty back.."

"You think my back...is pretty?" You ask, glancing goofily over your shoulder as if you could see your own back while trying not to giggle. But the moment he turns his eyes on you, the humor fades.

Minhyuk, like most Scorpios, is very seductive and flirty, but not in an overbearing way. He'll watch you for a while and get a read on what makes you smile and how to make you blush. He'll hold eye contact with you when you speak and smile when you look away. When he's feeling bolder than usual (like now), he's not letting you look away. He'll even take your chin and turn you so that you have no other choice but to look at him.

You didn't know why he was looking at you so intently. It was something you often witnessed him do with women he flirted with while you were out. Narrowing his eyes and tilting his head as if he could read their every thought.

But just as fast as he trapped you in his gaze, he blinked. Clearing his throat again, he continues speaking about the dress.

"I also like the slit here. Not too high but just enough for your legs to show when you walk. You shouldn't be hiding those from anyone.."

You look down at the mention of your thighs that were now pressing together subtly, furrowing your brow as Minhyuk spoke.

"..and the way the material has a bit of stretch tells me it's fitted and it'll cling to your body in a way that flatters you. You should wear your hair down for a more sultry look..."

Without warning, Minhyuk pulls the hair tie from your high ponytail and your hair falls around your face in waves that only existed because you let your hair air dry that morning. It falls naturally with a side part and Minhyuk proceeds to tuck the tresses on the less dominant side behind your ear with a satisfactory hum.

"Yeah..like that." He mutters, his eyes on you as if you were a piece of art he was appraising. And then there it was again, that look.

It catches you less off guard this time but the way Minhyuk's gaze drops to your lips has you blushing. You turn away, hiding behind your hair and mimicking the way he'd just tucked it behind your ear in a gesture that makes you blush harder.

"Um...Min... I'm looking for a dress to wear to my sister's graduation. Family and friends. This dress seems more appropriate for a.."

"Date?" Minhyuk completes the thought, his eyes still dark but with his brows lifted curiously. You blink up at him for a moment, stammering over your response.

"Um.Yes. I mean..yeah. I can't wear this for a family event. Id look crazy.." you shake your head, reaching for the dress hanger so that you can put it back where it belonged. Minhyuk lifted the dress out of your reach as he kissed his teeth.

"You'd look stunning. What are you talking about?"

You drop your arm with a sigh.

"You know what I mean. Don't get me wrong, the dress is gorgeous. Too gorgeous really. I just have no clue what chance I'd get to wear it.."

"Then just wear it for me. Duh." Minhyuk shrugs.

He said it as plainly as he'd suggest the two of you meet up downtown for drinks or when he'd give you directions on how to do something on your phone. He was always casual but there was something different this time.

For him.

It felt too personal to be casual.

"For you..." you repeat and he nods nonchalantly.

"Yeah..we go out often enough. Maybe one day I'll wanna go somewhere nice and it calls for something more mature.." he backpedals a little, donning that innocent smile of his that could convince you of almost anything.

"Right.." you chuckle after a beat, knowing damn well you knew what he meant. Hell, you felt it, fluttering in your chest and melting between your thighs.

For him...

"It's settled then. I'll get this for you and you'll buy me fajitas. Now let's find something for the graduation so we can get out of here. This music is making me nauseous..." Minhyuk huffs as he drapes the dress over his forearm, turning you around by the shoulder to face the rack of more casual dresses.

You say nothing more about the skimpy red dress he kept in his clutches as you thumbed through several less exciting garments, not really looking at them since your mind recounted what had just occurred between you and one of your closest friends.

Like, knows everything about your sublime dating life and past sexual experiences (good, bad, and embarrassing) type of close.

Has seen you on those bad days, hair and face a mess with mix match socks with a hole in the toe but you just refuse to throw them away and he scolds you every time he sees them ' kind of close.

He knew you. Well enough to know what'd you look good in and want to see it for himself.

And the idea of going out with him wasn't far-fetched either since you two shared meals at restaurants or went to clubs together enough. And he always let you know how you looked, making you blush most times when it was positive.

Which it usually was.

Maybe you were just overthinking this.

Perhaps he was simply implying that the dress he picked for you would look good on you because he knew you. Never mind the fact that you always felt something between the two of you that everyone seemed to acknowledge except you.

And him.

He couldn't have possibly meant anything more by it then...

Right?

🥴

Physically💋:

Minhyuk doesn't really give a damn about societal rules and regulations. He's touchy and handsy with everyone. Usually respectfully but sometimes it's a bit much. If he's with someone he's dating and he wants to kiss them and play in their hair and smack their butt on the street, he'll do it.

He's EXTREMELY territorial (more than the first two), but ironically he's not the jealous type. He can experience the emotion of course but he doesn't feed into it. If anything, it turns him off of it becomes too much of a reoccurring theme in the relationship. So if he's extra grabby in front of other men, it's mainly to keep them away for his temper's sake. Not for your satisfaction. But you better know who you're with too.

"What's wrong?"

The music was loud so you know he didn't hear you the first time you asked. All you knew was that one second you were grinding with a stranger to that one SZA song you can't remember the name of, next you felt a cold grip on your wrist and Minhyuk's venomous glare shooting over your head at the guy who was just about to cop a feel of your ass.

You tried your best not to slur your words when Minhyuk pulled you away from the dance floor so abruptly and you were surprised you could keep up with him in your heels as he led you back to the bar.

"Minhyuk...what the.." you huffed then gasped at the way your best friend's hands clasped at your waist to lift you effortlessly from the ground to perch on the barstool. You blinked in surprise, having never been handled in such a way by him before, and the rest of your sentence dies with the rest of your feelings towards the guy you'd abandoned.

You didn't get a chance to get his name and with all the flashing lights and loud music, you weren't sure if he was even all that cute. He could dance though and he smelled good, things that while sober you'd consider mildly attractive.

Your wingman didn't seem to oppose him approaching you and your group of mutual friends when he asked you to dance.

So what the hell was the issue now?

Minhyuk says nothing to you once he settles next to you at the bar, his eyes on everyone but you as he leans over it. He seemed to be looking for the bartender when you reached over to touch his arm, regaining his attention.

When he looks at you, you lift your brow expectantly because you know he knows what you are thinking. He rolls his eyes, more at himself for causing a small scene than at you, and exhales his visible frustration.

"I don't know...That guy was a creep. I didn't like the way that he was dancing with you." He leaned close to say in your ear, shrugging dismissively when he pulled away. You caught a whiff of his cologne when he did, resisting the slightly inebriated urge to follow him as his words registered.

You tip your head back and pout at his response, recalling the way you were just winding your hips and damn near twerking on Minhyuk after a few shots when you all first got to the club.

Hell, he was always your dance partner on nights out.

"Like how? I dance with you like that all the time.." reiterate and Minhyuk side-eyes you before exhaling sharply through his nose, returning his attention to summoning the bartender.

"That's different." He shouts over the music before mouthing 'water', pointing at you and putting up two fingers when the cute brunette serving up drinks finally made eye contact with him. She nods in understanding and Minhyuk settles against the bar, turning around so his front is now facing the dance floor.

You watched his keen eyes scanning the crowd silently with an undeniable scowl on his face. Then your eyes traveled lower, mapping out the way his silk button-up with nothing underneath that's half tucked in that effortlessly fashionable Minhyuk way.

He's tall and slender, his black jeans hugging his slim legs that seem longer than you'd ever noticed them to be. He'd shed his leather jacket a while ago and it was draped over his forearm as he leaned his elbow against the bar.

He looked good.

Like really good, and it takes some effort to stop yourself from staring at his handsome profile when your waters arrive. That was when Minhyuk turned around, pushing both glasses toward you with a stern look.

"Down both of those.."

In private, he was just about as affectionate as anyone would imagine him to be. Since he thrives off of intimacy, don't be surprised at him taking interest in your grooming and upkeep when things become more serious. Washing your hair. Painting your nails. Hell, I could even see him wanting to shave you because he's an expert at it and will ensure you don't have any ingrown hairs or bumps when he does it. I bet he's very nurturing when you're not feeling well or a little tipsy after a night out as well...

"I'm not helpless Min, I can manage..." you fuss as you watch your best friend remove your heels for you.

You were now back at your apartment, club night coming to an end after Jooheon almost punched a guy for looking at his girl too long.

You lived close and within walking distance of the clubs and bars you frequented, so it wasn't odd for Minhyuk to crash at your place when you insisted he was too drunk to find his way home.

Tonight, however, Minhyuk didn't seem to be in much of a drinking mood, not partaking in any of the shots from earlier and keeping close to you after making sure you drank some water. So when he stuck around after using your bathroom, you wondered vaguely why he wasn't preparing to head out.

Instead, he was kneeling on the floor in your living room, handling your feet with care contrasting the way he pulled you away from the dance floor and picked you up to set you on that barstool. You were standing so you had to balance with a hand on his shoulder to keep from wobbling, giggling every time he touched your leg.

"Please. I watched you almost break your neck three times tonight.." he chuckled, removing your other heel with one of his hands gently holding your ankle. It tickled a little, his fingers grazing your Achilles, and you had to bite down to keep from laughing.

"You did not." You roll your eyes.

Admittedly, you were still a little tipsy despite chugging that water and walking up the busied streets with the cool night air hitting your face. Minhyuk stayed to your side then too, gripping your hand the moment he noticed you struggling to walk straight.

"I did. Pretty sure I saved your life once or twice tonight." He looks up, your bare foot in hand. You tried to ignore the feeling in your seeing him from this vantage point, kneeling with his adoring gaze on your face, your leg lifted and your bare foot cradled in his big hands.

"I...I'm a pro in heels. Drunk or sober.."You stammer defensively and Minhyuk scoffs, shaking his head as he sets your foot on the carpet and stands. Doubling in height, he towers over you, looking down his nose in a way that has your ankles feeling weaker than they did in those damned high heels.

You blink up at him, and he silently searches your eyes for everything and nothing all at once, his lips parting slowly.

"Whatever you say...here." He says finally, tipping his chin in a gesture for you to sit and the both of you plop down onto the couch

You exhaled in tandem as you stared at the ceiling, and that cozy silence was instrumented by the swinging blades of your ceiling fan and the ticking clock in the distance.

The night replays in your head in a blur of moving lights, 808s pounding with the warmth of a familiar touch never too far away. The touch at the small of your back guides you through the crowd or curls at the bend of your arm to steer you out of potential harm's way.

Even if it said harm was just a few drunken patrons too caught up in the atmosphere to care if they bump into you.

The touch brushing the hair from your face habitually when it threatened the view of your eyes when talking over the music, his hooded gaze dropping occasionally to read your lips.

Minhyuk's touch, while you assumed it to be platonic, always made you feel protected and cherished. Like if anything stepped in your path, Minhyuk would be the one to stand between it and you. Years of knowing him to be the brotherly type to all of his friends, male and female, you often shamed yourself for interpreting the way he treated you as anything more.

Perhaps it's just his personality.

But there were times like now, when the feeling of knuckles strumming softly against the back of your hand as you sat beside him in silence, you couldn't deny the fluttery feeling in your chest that wasn't just friendly.

You tried not to react by keeping your hand still and relaxed, but in an act of pure bravery, you turned it slightly and lifted a finger to nudge his.

That slowly evolved into his finger curling around yours affectionately.

When you turned your head, you found him already looking at you, his eyes soft and vulnerable. And hot.

Like molten metal melting through ice, clouding the air with smoke and steam that makes it hard for you to look him in the eye.

But you surprisingly don't cower away this time.

"What?" You blush with a subtle smirk of amusement. Minhyuk's gaze falls to your lips for a spell, then drags back up to your eyes, sweeping between them as if he were searching for something.

After a long breadth of silence, he smirks too.

"One of your eyelashes is about to come off.." he says flatly, keeping that hot hooded look in the eye focused on your entranced expression that slowly fades as you digested his words.

You immediately lift your hand to your face, blinking and brushing over your lashes with your fingertips.

"What....no it's not, you.." you begin to fuss but fall silent at the feeling of Minhyuk's large hand sliding under the hand you held close to your face.

"Hold still.." he inhales and you freeze on contact, feeling his thumb now brushing over your eyelashes delicately as if to inspect them himself, his features soft yet focused.

He inches closer, squinting as his lips parted slowly. Your eyes fall to them thoughtlessly as you inhale the mint on Minhyuk's breath, and you play it off by just closing them.

"Did you....did you get it?" You ask just above a whisper, mindful of how close Minhyuk's face was to yours.

When you felt his touch idling just shy of your eyelids, his thumb gently sweeping over the apple of your cheek, you opened your eyes.

Finding him even closer than before with the tip of his nose threatening to graze the tip of yours.

Like magnets, your lips are drawn together, his top lip slotting between yours softly in the most tender kiss. You'd imagined, more often than you'd like to admit, that his lips were soft but feeling them against yours put your imagination to shame.

They almost felt like nothing, moving gently as he pecked your bottom lip and alternating so that you could suck his. And he tasted like like mint with a hint of citrus, inspiring you to lean into the kiss for more of him.

You weren't sure if it was the lingering alcohol in your blood or the fact that you were satisfying several years worth of curiosity, but your inhibitions seemed to dissipate the longer Minhyuk's lips moved against yours.

He felt too right, like his lips were made for kissing yours, and nothing else was meant to happen but this.

Sexually💦:

Scorpio. That's the tweet. 🌚😂

Very deep, very intense. Very sensual. Very intimate. There are no secrets (despite him being very secretive in general) with him and there's nothing that you have that he doesn't want to see. So there's no need to be embarrassed. Minhyuk is more attracted to your mind than your body, and your body is a bonus.

He wouldn't be able to choose between your ass or tits. To be frank, his favorite part of you is probably your mouth anyway🥴 He's the type to make you suck his fingers or gag you with them when's hitting it from behind. A fantasy he'd surely gotten off to a few times. More than anything, he loves the sounds you make, and the way your tongue moves. Loves kissing you. He'd kiss you all day if he could.

It didn't take long for things to escalate.

Kissing him alone felt like sex, the way he teased his tongue over your bottom lips without really putting it in your mouth. He knew you wanted it by the way you'd chase him, and he'd pull back a fraction to see the sexy frustration crinkling in your brow.

Touches were bolder now, yours holding him at the neck and shoulder, pulling yourself closer so that your chest was almost flush against his. Minhyuk squeezed you at your waist, his other hand pushing your hair back so that your neck was exposed.

He massaged your nape with his fingers before grasping the hairs there and tugging gently from the root, making you gasp. In doing so, your mouth opens wider and it's the in Minhyuk sought to glide his tongue against yours.

The second he tasted the heady mix of vodka and Sprite still there, he tugged your hair again in reaction.

Much tighter this time and you moan softly into his kiss. Your nails dig into his shoulder when he does it again, moaning loud enough to snap you both out of the bubble of lust forming around you.

Minhyuk pulls away with shining lips parted to breathe, his eyes blinking as he assesses you. You were notably hot and bothered as you stared back at him with whimsical eyes, his shirt clutched in your grasp.

He soothes your scalp with his fingers gently, licking his lips before asking...

"Should we stop?.. because I'll fuck you right here..right now...so if you don't want that...."

He pants with the fragmented statement, his eyes telling you that stopping was the last thing he wanted to do. But there was still concern there.

Concern for your state of mind.

Concern for your feelings.

Concern for your friendship...

Rightfully so. Nothing like this had ever reached this height between you. Amongst the many nights you'd laid next to him in your bed when he'd stay over. Never touching you inappropriately. Never crossing a line, physically at least.

Maybe you should stop...

Aw, Fuck it.

"I do..." you exhale without blinking and with that breathy admission, Minhyuk was given the green light to continue and not much time was wasted on any more smooches when there were layers of clothes keeping him from touching you.

Once free of your halter top that now bunched at your waist, Minhyuk eased you to lay back with his lips busy drawing a line over and under your jaw, down your neck, and towards your chest.

Without a bra to shield the hardness of your nipples from him, they were quickly engulfed by the heat of his mouth. He sucked them just enough to make you squirm before pulling away.

Everything was moving fast but there was a desperation in both of you that didn't mind it. You didn't think this was some drunken impulse you were on and you felt in complete control of yourself.

You watched with wide eyes as Minhyuk stood from the couch to finish unbuttoning his shirt and his pants next. You were shimmying out of your jeans and panties by the time he was shirtless, milky skin and broad shoulders dulling your focus on everything in the room that wasn't him. While slender, Minhyuk had the best balance of lean muscle in his arms and chest, cinching down to a small waist and the faintest hint of washboard abs.

He held an otherworldly beauty that felt unreal at times and you're left stunned and blinking up at him as you waited.

Minhyuk dropped his shirt to the floor before reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, fishing out the shining gold packet from the leather billfold.

Of course, he had a condom, you thought. You were glad since you weren't even considering it. Raw sex wasn't something you'd commonly do with someone new but nothing about being with Minhyuk felt new since you'd secretly thought about being with him this way for far too long.

Knowing the fantasy was bout to become a reality has you shifting on the cushions, biting your lip as your walls clenched in anticipation, thighs clamping shut to keep from exposing how ready you already were.

As if you could.

The second you were completely bare in front of him, Minhyuk paused. He takes in the full view of you in the dim lighting of your small living room, the lines of your body, and the soft glow of your skin.

His eyes dropped to the apex of your thighs, the part of you that you were trying to hide, feeling a little shy now that you were fully exposed. This makes him huff out a short humorless breath as he resumes undressing.

Eyes locked on yours, Minhyuk's black jeans and Calvin's became a pile on the floor as he stepped out of them with the corner of the condom slotted between his teeth.

You couldn't keep from looking down at the girth and length dangling towards you, veiny and bobbing as Minhyuk moved to rejoin you on the couch. You had zero expectations of how big your best friend's dick was, curiosity and attraction aside, but you weren't expecting that. Your insides clenched again at the thought of all of that being inside of you and you could feel the excitement seeping from your heat as he got closer.

He's on his knees before you with his hands on yours, and you separate them slowly to allow Minhyuk between your thighs.

As shameless as you were ogling his goods before, Minhyuk stares at your pussy, the ombre of nude and pink blending from your lips to your leaking slit. Your clit peaked from the hood, swollen and ready for stimulation and your skin shined from the slickness of your arousal.

You were just as ready for him as he was for you.

He ripped the condom wrapper between his teeth skillfully, spitting the sliver of foil away before rolling the latex over himself. It was all done so smoothly that you'd barely take a breath once he lined himself up with your entrance.

"And you want this?.." he repeats his apprehension from before with this secondary request for consent, the fat mushroom tip of his dick covered in the thinnest layer of latex rubbing up and down over your vulva. His head bumps over your clit and you shudder, nodding at him with lips parted in an anticipated moan.

"I want you... I've always wanted you..." you admit breathlessly with earnest eyes on his much to Minhyuk's relief.

You couldn't have said anything more necessary.

He enters you then, slowly and stretching you with the newness of his shape. The girth and curve of him that was foreign to your body, but never far from the deepest part of your mind. Countless nights when you were alone and the coolness of the sheets kept you company, you thought about what it would be like to feel Minhyuk's body against yours.

To feel him inside of you, rolling his hips back and forth, driving you crazy with his tip grazing your cervix over and over. He'd only been inside you a minute and you could already feel yourself unraveling.

Maybe you were still a little drunk, sober for sure on the walk home but intoxicated by the way Minhyuk handled you. Kissing you like his tongue was marinated in whiskey.

It felt like a dream until you felt his fingers pinching your nipple.

"Ah.." you gasp, barely keeping up with all the sensations attacking you. Your blurred vision regains focus on the source of the shadow looming over you. Minhyuk's dark fringe hung over his forehead as he moved, and he paused only to flip his hair back so that he could see you properly.

It shouldn't have been so sexy but your lip catches between your teeth at the sight of him and Minhyuk smiles.

"You're so perfect..." he mumbles, using the hand he'd tweaked your nipple with to smooth your hair from your face. It almost seemed like he meant to only say it in his head but he was too caught up in the moment to keep it to himself.

You crease your brow at the unexpected compliment but quickly forget about it when Minhyuk sweeps you deep. He ups the rhythm in the snap of his hips and cups your breast against his palm to hold you as an anchor, using his other hand to push your leg back. You were sure you were drunk on him now, feeling more sensitive and ignited with every second he was stroking you.

He fucks you harder now, drilling you deep into your couch cushions until you explode all over it and him, crying his name as he leaned in to silence you with his lips.

Minhyuk seems like the kinky type. Role play, bondage, some choking and spitting-in-the-mouth action if he's that turned on. (🥴) But he enjoys making love more than the theatrics. He is a lover after all, more than likely conceived around Valentine's Day. He wants to prolong your pleasure by edging you and teasing you until you're on the verge of insanity. He loves equal participation though. Don't be a pillow princess with this man please, it turns him off.

And once he gives in and lets you have it all, he gives 1000%. If you don't cum, he doesn't cum. Period.

The two of you lay there, spent and naked on your living room couch. The clock ticks and the ceiling fan creaks, the only sign of time passing despite you feeling like you're suspended in it.

You, running your fingers through his hair with heavy eyelids and him with his face between your breasts and listening to your fluttery heart and trapping your body in his arms.

"You know... it's about damn time..." his chin wags against your sternum and you hum questioningly, fingers stalling their hypnotic dance over his scalp.

Minhyuk lifts his head to look at you with that damned cheeky smile of his.

"...you admitting how much you've wanted me this whole time...Took you long enough." He grins wider and you mush his head playfully.

"Oh brother.." you roll your eyes, attempting to wriggle free from Minhyuk's embrace. It's useless since his dead weight was much more than you could lift.

"Oh No no... can't call me that anymore. That would be gross...To be fair, I never saw you as a sister anyway but I digress.." he chuckles and you don't even resist smiling this time.

"Oh shut up..." You mush him in the head again and Minhyuk only leans into your touch, ending in an affection caress. His eyes soften and you melt under them, sighing in defeat as you pushed ran your fingers through his silky dark tresses.

"...and don't even act like I'm the one who was taking forever to admit anything. You're the one who never dropped a hint that you were into me before..." you add, only for Minhyuk to scoff.

"I gave you every hint in the book...You just didn't catch on." He lifts his brow matter of factly and you were stumped, knowing he was probably right.

It wasn't that you didn't notice but more that you didn't want to be wrong. Having a suspected thing with your best friend and ignoring it versus being humiliated by his possible rejection was worth wasting all this time.

Had you known the dick was this good though, you might have risked it sooner.

Just sayn....

"So now what?" You ask him after a beat, pulling your attention from his smoldering sex eyes to stare at the ceiling. Minhyuk smiles knowingly, resting his cheek between your breasts again with your hand still stitched in his hair.

"Now?..well, I guess you'll have to let whoever thinks you're available know that you're not anymore. And I'll do the same..."He shrugs his shoulders. You chuckle at his nonchalance, as shifting the entire dynamic between the two of you would be as simple as sending out a few texts to break a few hearts. Surely more on his side than yours.

"Oh? That's it?.." you sarcastically inquire and Minhyuk continues.

"Yep...Then we have to tell people. Our families, friends. That guy who drizzles extra caramel in your frappuccino with no charge at Starbucks."

"Oh yeah, definitely Starbuck's guy." You joke and you can feel Minhyuk's cheek rising against your skin.

"Yeah fuck that guy...anyway. And then I suppose I should take you out somewhere. Not a club or bar or some Mexican joint during happy hour. Like actually wine and dine you so you don't think I just want you for your body. Now that I've had it, there's no going back. But Y'know...proper boyfriend stuff."

You were grinning ear to ear at everything he said until then. Now you were surprised, your smile fading as you lifted your head. Minhyuk does the same when he feels you tensing, his expression calm and expectant when he looks at you.

"What?" He asks, feigns innocence, smiling softly and you blink at him as if you were dumbfounded.

"Boyfriend? Skipping straight to that are we?" You joke weakly and Minhyuk shrugs again in the way he does.

"Well..yeah. I prefer to be in actual relationships with women I have feelings for. With a woman I actually love and admire, that knows me better than anyone. That loves the weird-flavored drinks on the menu and can't walk for shit in heels when she's drunk. Or sober. That isn't afraid to hold my hand in a crowded room even though people are looking. That acts all shy and self-conscious even though I know she knows she has no reason to be. But if it's too much for you, I can settle with just a boy who's your friend...best friend...that fucks you and stuff...for now."

"Boyfriend is fine. I mean...I prefer boyfriend as well." You blurt, pausing to clear the thickness of emotion in your throat. before Minhyuk could lengthen his tangent. He smiles, pushing up your body to plant a soft kiss on your lips and pulling away before he's tempted to drown you in his absinthe again.

Opting to cuddle naked with you in the middle of the living room, Minhyuk goes back to nuzzling your breasts like they were pillows.

"Mmhm." He hums affirmatively, acting unaware of the shimmer in your eyes.

You swallowed your emotions and relaxed back into the silence, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully.

"I suppose I have a reason to wear that dress now. Since you seemed to like it so much.."You tease just as you are sure Minhyuk is on the brink of falling asleep.

He grunts against your chest, rubbing his cheek over your heartbeat until he's cozy.

"Hmm...Or you could just be naked...I'd like that too."

Love Language:

Acts of service and Words of affirmation. Tell him his handsome and adorable and talented. He doesn't need it per se but he appreciates being seen by YOU. Because he for sure sees you. Minhyuk has a take-over spirit and he gets things done so be ready for him to snatch that jar out of your hands so he can open it. Or if you're having issues with customer service over the phone, hand it to him and you'll end up with a refund or a free month of service lol

I can see him being big on gifts and grand gestures as well. So holidays and birthdays will always be special with him...

Pet names/Terms or endearment🥰:

He'll tell you you're pretty, gorgeous, beautiful often. That'll probably just end up being your pet name while together. He's not much of a 'babe', 'honey', or 'darling' type.

a/n: i added his military pics because this is legit the most boyfriend/husband/baby daddy this man has ever looked and im standing on that lol

#monsta x smut #minhyuk #monstax imagines #monsta x fanfic #shownu #hyunwoo #changkyun #hyungwon #jooheon #kihyun #minhyuk smut #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #wonho

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