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all-alone-he-turns-to-stone · 1 year

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I'm Never Gonna Dance Again, The Way I Danced With You

Stranger Things Masterlist

Summary: After everything that happens to Hawkins, a school dance seems so out of place, but yet, everyone needs it. When an argument seems to break up Nancy and Jonathan’s relationship, Steve thinks it’s finally his chance to ask Nancy to the dance to conquer her heart. But first, he needs to learn how to dance. And of course, it has to fall on you. The only girl in Hawkins that seems to know how to dance and that is also deeply in love with Steve Harrington.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x F!Reader, Steve x Nancy, Nancy x Jonathan

Warning: Fluff, angst, misunderstanding, mention of the earthquake, Steve being a blind dumbass

Word Count: 5486

A/n: So this is the fic I took 6 months to finish, phew! Set up after season 4 when everyone tries to gather what they have left after the earthquake. No upside down breach leaks yet.

Having a school dance after everything that happened had to be the randomest, but the best idea people had in a while.

The school was one of the last, big buildings standing after the earthquake that opened the ground in pieces. With the hospital, it was the place people went if they needed food, shelter, clothes, anything they might have lost.

It was Robin’s idea, surprisingly. As she was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, she suddenly dropped everything she was holding, smiled brightly and ran around telling people. With some help, they transformed the school with what they had left, found some speakers in the audio room and printed flies to invite people. Everyone was invited. Not that there were many people left in Hawkins, everyone fled the town.

Since the cafeteria was used for the homeless and wounded, the gym was chosen for the dance. Clothes were given away for the occasion, suits, dresses, of all sizes, so people could take what they liked to wear to the dance.

With all that happened, it was really needed. Just one night, dancing, eating, having fun with everyone and forgetting the mess that was outside… Everyone needed that.

You needed that. It was the perfect opportunity to reveal your feelings to the man you loved. All you had to do was to walk to him and ask him to go to the dance with you.

And there he was, in front of you, folding the newest arrival of clothes. A big, long red dress in his hands, Steve was struggling to find a way to put it on a hanger, totally lost in the number of straps it had.

One foot in front of the other. Your heart tumbling in your chest. Sweaty hands kept wiping on your skirt. Mouth dry, lips silently mumbling the words you were ready to tell him. And it was easy, so easy, just… Hey Steve! Do you want to go to the dance with me?

Easy, right?

Another step, you were now even closer. Steve finally found how to put the dress on the hanger and placed it on the rack with the other prom dresses. People were so generous, he had an impressive amount of them in front of him.

Another step. “Hey, Y/n!” A voice suddenly rang behind you and you startled. “Sorry I scared you! I have a question…”

Turning to Robin, the organiser of the dance - a title not to pronounce in her presence, the mere thought of being the brain behind the dance turned poor Robin in a puddle of stress-, you forced a smile. “Yeah?”

“I know you were in the dance club before you graduated,” Robin was speaking very fast. In her hands, there was your year school book, her finger pointing at the picture of you with the dance club members. “So, since it’s a dance, I was wondering, what do we dance at a dance party? Like, for the music, of course.”

“Oh,” you picked up the book, smiling as you remembered that time. It was only a year ago, but yet, it felt like forever. “First, you need songs that are slow. We need that slow dance moment,” your smile grew bigger as you turned the page. “I can make a mixtape if you want, with songs we used to dance to?”

You lifted your head, at first to look at her as you asked her the question, but stopped breathing immediately when you noticed something happening in front of you.

Further in the cafeteria, there was the drinks stand where usually Nancy helps. Now, she was in a deep conversation with Jonathan, both of them having tears in their eyes. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, but at the looks of it, it looked like…

“Looks like Nancy and Jonathan are breaking up,” Robin muttered out loud what you were thinking. "Again."

And just to confirm, you watched as Jonathan walked away quickly, making everything to hide his face and his tears. Your heart broke at seeing them apart, you wished no one to live through a break up.

But then, your gaze shifted and you saw him watching. The moment Jonathan was gone, his hands were slicking his hair back, his eyes never looking away from Nancy.

He wanted to try it again with her.

Next to you, Robin jumped her way towards Steve to whisper something to him and you saw him nodding ferociously, clearly listening to Robin’s advice or the plan that she was already scheming for them to get back together.

Your heart sank even more.

Still really stuck in your mind and how you missed your chance, how Steve would never notice you, or notice you had feelings for him for years now, you didn’t notice there was actually a person in front of you trying to get your attention. You got out of your head when fingers snapped near your nose.

“What?” you jumped again, your voice high with annoyance of always being so jumpy. Your annoyance suffered a major down when you noticed it was Steve in front of you. “Oh… Uh…”

“Y/n. I need your help.” Steve left you no time to talk between his sentences. “I need you to teach me how to dance. I need to be the best dancer before I invite Nancy. Also because asking her immediately after she broke up would be quite a dick move,” Steve laughed, and god.

You wished he didn’t laugh.

You wished he didn’t offer one of his beautiful smiles.

You wished he didn’t have his puppy eyes activated.

Because helping the guy you love getting with the girl he loves was too painful to even think about it. But when Steve asked you something… Or simply talked to you… You always got in a trance.

“Yeah, of course."

Neither Robin or Steve noticed it. How you suddenly got really flustered and sad at the same time, your heart literally breaking into a thousand little pieces at your feet. How your eyes got darker as you lowered your head while the two were scheming again, creating a plan where Nancy wouldn’t be able to tell him no.

But someone else noticed. He was giving glasses of water to people, reminding them H2O was essential to the body. Still walking with his limp, his injured ankles dragging a bit behind, Dustin stopped to look at what was happening.

“And they call us kids. Unbelievable.”

“Hey, flashdance,” you groaned after the fourth time.

It’s been only an hour. Just you showing him the basics. And Steve already stepped on your foot four times. Always the same foot, on the same toe. And at first, you tried to swallow it, swallow the pain to avoid any kind of embarrassment for him. But that one really hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve cringed as he let go of your hand. Stepping back, he sighed and let himself drop on his couch.

After you agreed to teach him how to dance, Steve invited you to his house to start the same day. There was no time to lose, according to him. He had to be good, perfect, even, by the end of the week. Clearly, Harrington had a big ego and wanted to show Nancy how much of a good dancer he was.

The dance was happening next Saturday, and it was only Monday evening.

You sat down next to him, your hand still burning with the sensation of his fingers intertwined with yours as you tried to teach him how to spin his partner. “It’s okay Steve, we still have plenty of time,” you tried to comfort him. "Nancy's gonna be so impressed with your dance moves, you'll see." Of course, the sentence that wanted to be reassuring for him only hurt your feelings.

Steve ran his hand through his hair and you followed his movements, your eyes unable to look away. His hand and his hair.

Gosh, he was beautiful.

“Yeah but I feel like I’ll never get good…” Steve mumbled and sighed in defeat. His eyes wandered to the left and he looked at your feet. “Sorry for stepping on your feet,” he apologised again and you rolled your eyes.

“Stop saying sorry. Now, get up. We have work to do, you're gonna impress Wheeler at that dance,” you ordered, standing up and extending your hand for him to take. You had no idea how you managed to stay so calm. Perhaps, even if your heart was beating very fast, it wasn’t exploding because it was broken. After all, you were helping the guy you were in love with getting back with his ex…

Why were you doing that to yourself?

The smile he had on his face as he nodded, took your hand and got up. That was why.

That same smile you fell for and wished was only for you to see.

Swallowing your jealousy and your heart twisting painfully, you forced a smile and resumed the lessons.

Spending a whole week with Steve Harrington would have been a dream come true in any other circumstances.

But spending a week with Steve Harrington to help him get back with his ex was the most painful thing you had to do. Because you really loved spending all that time with him. Not just for the dance where you had to touch and be close, or where you could laugh at how clumsy he was. It was the late night pizza he would order. Or how he always had the house to himself since his parents were out of town, so you two would be alone. It was the few nights you stayed over because it was too late to drive back home.

It was that night he decided to jump in the pool and you joined him. Since you didn’t have your swimsuit, you jumped fully dressed. And it felt liberating.

The week was amazing. But now that it was over, that the dance was coming, that Steve didn’t need you anymore cause he mastered the art of dancing…

Emptiness was filling you up. Steve was simply so happy and proud of himself, he kept talking about it wherever he went. To Robin, Dustin, everyone knew he was now a professional dancer thanks to the best teacher in the world, you.

The dance finally arrived. You were home, wearing the dress you picked, looking at yourself in the mirror. Tears were drowning your sight and leaving trails of water down your cheeks. Luckily, you had no makeup on yet, because it would have been a disaster.

The dress was beautiful. Red and silky, the corset brought up your shapes and created a semi plunging neckline. In the back, many stripes were intertwined, it had been really complicated to put it on. It was mid length and arrived just below your knees.

It was the dress Steve was trying so hard to put on a hanger. You didn’t know why you picked that one, because it was pretty, or because you imagined how Steve would hold you if you were in it?

“Honey, your friend is here!” Your mom called from the kitchen. You startled, once again, and a hiccup cut down your little pathetic scream.

“Coming!” You screamed, hurrying to dry your cheek. One last look at the mirror and you admitted defeat. You wouldn’t be able to hide that you've been crying. Your eyes were way too puffy and red now.

Wondering who was at the door, you really hoped it wasn’t Steve. Then, you realised, it couldn’t be Steve. He asked Nancy to the dance. She said yes. That was the reason you’ve been crying for hours now with the dress on.

Steve was with Nancy.

When you arrived at the door, you expected a lot of people. But not the one that was waiting there. His hair was slicked back, Steve style, and he had the cutest suit on. “Dustin?” You wondered quite loudly as you looked at him, up and down, frowned and crossed your arms against your chest. “What… Why… How…”

“Gosh, Steve is so blind,” Dustin rolled his eyes and stepped inside your house like it was his now. “I’m making sure you’re coming to the dance,” he continued and then took a long look at you. You could see the moment his eyes softened, meaning he noticed you’ve been crying. “I knew it. Now, finish up, we’re going.”

“Where do you come from?” You wondered, trying to wipe invisible tears that would still be there on your cheeks. “How do you know where I live? Why are you here?”

“That’s too many questions,” Dustin rolled his eyes. “But okay. First, I came through the front door. Second, I know where you live because I’m smart. Third, I’m here to help you confess to Steve.”

That was indeed too many questions, because you received way more answers that your brain could comprehend. “How do you-”

“Like I said,” Dustin stepped closer to you and put both of his hands on your shoulders. “No time. I know. Now, go get ready, I’ll be waiting in the car.”

To that, you stopped mid track. Already, Dustin Henderson showing at your house was something you would never have expected. He clearly knew you had feelings for Steve, but that part strangely didn’t surprise you. Dustin was always the clever one, after all.

“The… Car?”

Once you were ready, after your mom kissed you goodbye and told you how beautiful you were, you walked outside to see what Dustin was talking about. And here, parked in front of your house was a car. Of course, it wasn’t Dustin’s, he didn’t have the age to get his licence yet. But as you got closer…

“Hello dear, you are beautiful!”

“Thank you m’am,” you smiled as you entered the car next to Dustin’s mom. Sitting at the back, you knew Dustin had the biggest smile ever. The kid was proud of himself.

Arriving at the dance with Dustin was weird at first, but quickly, you noticed no one was paying attention to you anyway. Already, people were on the dance floor, the mixtape you made for the occasion playing in the speakers. They used the same lights and the same decoration as the snowball dance, but no one minded. Adults and younger people were mingling and having fun for the first time since the earthquake.

“Dustin, I have to ask you.” You were at the drinks table with your friend, hiding. Looking at the choices of beverages to hide the fact you were too scared to look at people and seeing Steve with Nancy. He had to be there. That was for sure. “Why do you want to help me?”

“I’m not only helping you,” Dustin answered, taking a glass of grape juice. “I’m also helping Steve. That poor guy is so blinded by Nancy, it hurts both him and the girls that like him. At first, I thought he would get with Robin, but they don’t have that kind of relationship.” He took a loud sip of his juice as you still avoided looking at anyone in the room. Head bent down, you thought about what Dustin just said. “Then, I saw how you looked at him. It was easy to guess.”

Of course, if someone would see through the mask you tried to wear whenever you were with Steve to hide your feelings, it would be Dustin.

“So,” you resumed, finally making your choice. You picked a can of soda and turned to Dustin. “You do that for him?”

“Steve needs someone like you in his life. And he needs to realise Nancy loves Jonathan, break up or not. Look,” Dustin gestured in front of him, and it was with fear that you finally turned to scan the crowd.

To the left, there was El with Mike, dancing so closely it was barely if they were two people anymore. Hopper and Joyce were there as well, dancing cheek to cheek, and you smiled at seeing them so happy. Hopper coming back to Hawkins was the best thing that happened in a while, even if at first, people were shocked to see someone seemingly coming back to life, again. Then, there was Lucas and Will eating cake, clearly talking about DnD. Will’s face was bright with passion as he spoke to his friend.

Then, like there was a spotlight on them, Nancy was with Steve.

Steve looked so good, for a moment, you forgot to breathe. He had a suit on, with a bow tie and his shirt was unbuttoned enough to show the chest hair he was so proud of.

Nancy was as beautiful in her pink dress. Her curly hair was tied in a tight ponytail and clips with little bows were decorating the side of her head.

But above their unnatural beauty and how much they fitted together, there was something else. Nancy kept glancing towards the door, as if she expected to see someone come in at any moment. Yes, she was holding Steve’s hands, she was physically with him, but her mind was completely elsewhere.

Hope seemed to light a flame in your chest. She was looking for Jonathan, that was certain. They say the eyes are the mirror of the heart. And her heart belonged to him. Dustin was right, Steve hurt himself by holding on to her.

The slow song seemed to end, and Nancy whispered something to Steve. Again, you were too far to hear, but the look she gave him before walking to the exit meant enough.

She was leaving to find Jonathan.

Your heart sank then. How could you feel hope when you saw the man you loved getting his heart broken, again? You knew the feeling. It hurts so bad it gets hard to breathe. You could not take advantage of this.

Steve seemed to notice he was alone in the middle of the dance floor, because he suddenly looked all around him. And when his eyes fell on you, when a smile stretched his lips as he walked towards you, you really felt your heart drop to the floor.

“Here he comes,” Dustin sipped his juice again and subtly walked further in the room to leave you two some time alone together. Part of you wanted to punch him, after all, he brought you here and told you all of that about Steve, to then leave you alone with him. But the other part was thankful.

Here was your chance.

“Hey! I didn’t think you would come,” Steve said the moment he was close enough. You swallowed, played with your soda, trying to find something to answer, but nothing left your mouth. There were so many things you wanted to tell him, your brain was running wild with the desire to speak, but it was blocked. Impossible to say a single thing. “Oh, I love that song!” Steve bobbed his head to the rhythm, clumsily vibing to the music. You knew it was one of his favourites, you practised a dance on that song with him, that was the reason you put it on the mixtape. Hoping you would get to dance to this song with him again. “So, Nancy left to find Jonathan.” You glanced at him quickly to see his reaction; he rolled his eyes, drinking his apple juice quickly. “It’s like she can’t get him out of her head, y’anno?”

“Steve, I-” You tried. You tried so hard to make the words leave your mouth, find the courage… But you were immediately interrupted.

“I spent a week learning how to dance, gathered the courage to ask her, she came here with me, and now she’s gone? If you want my opinion, it’s so unfair. I was right there!” Steve exclaimed, drowning the rest of his juice. “Why is there nothing else than juice and soda here?”

“There’s kids to the dance, Steve, so there’s no alcohol,” you tried again, tears quickly filling your eyes. You wanted to say it. So bad. It was the time. You were alone with him, you just had to say it. The words were bleeding through your lips, your heart beating so hard it hurt. You could barely hear the song above the beatings.

“I just wished she could see me, y’anno?” Steve continued, not at all listening to you. “I’m right there, next to her… And…” You could see him lower his head, clearly hurt by what happened. You really hated to see him like that, so like always… You tried to comfort him.

“I know…” You whispered, knowing exactly what he meant. “Sometimes, the right person is right there, next to you. With only love to give,” you continued. Next to you, Steve nodded, agreeing with you. “You're there. Right there next to them. But they don’t see you.”

“Exactly!” Steve exclaimed. “If only Nancy was thinking like you…”

Tears were now running down your cheeks. You couldn’t hold them back. All you ever wanted to tell him, you basically just did. And he was still talking about Nancy, comparing her to you.

It would always be about Nancy.

“Sorry,” you excused yourself, walking as quickly as you could towards the closest door. You had to leave, right now. Coming was a bad idea. You should have stayed home, curled up in your bed, watching the wall like somehow, the answer to all of your questions was hiding in the wallpaper.

Making your way through the crowd, you couldn’t hold back the sobs that shook your chest. Good thing the music was there, it could bury the sounds. But it also buried Steve’s voice as he called your name.

There was only one place you could go. To hide and cry and let your emotions drown freely out of your body. The lock was broken for a while now, but since no one cared about this place, the school didn’t think it was necessary to change it. Who would want to steal anything here? Dance material, costumes, even the theatre props were put in here. Most of them were so worn, even the patches sewed on the fabrics to cover the holes were starting to rip apart.

During the hell that was your high school, being in the dance club was the only thing that brought you comfort and joy. And then, you became friends with Robin. She wasn’t in the club, but you could see her sometimes during practice in the doorway, mimicking the movements like she wanted so badly to be there. One time, you asked her if she wanted to join, and she answered she was so bad at dancing she would look like a clown. You proposed to teach her how to dance, but then, she suddenly got very busy with something she wouldn’t tell you about.

The earthquake happened shortly after. You knew there was more than that, a truth her group of friends were hiding. Of course, by hanging out with Robin, you ended up hanging out with her friends too, and that included Steve. She promised you there was nothing between the two of them, and you believed her.

Friendship didn’t always need romance after all.

In Hawkins, there was the big, main gymnasium, but there was also a smaller one right next to it. The room was surrounded by mirrors and designated for dance and theatre practice. And in the corner, the only place there were no mirrors, there was a door. And behind, the props you were hiding with.

You had no idea how much time passed. How many tears shed down your cheeks before there were none left. Gosh, you were crying for a boy, and missing the dance you were so happy to attend at first. It was so unfair, you couldn’t stay there and cry alone like a teenager with a heartbreak.

With that new resolution in mind, you quickly dried your cheeks, got up, and opened the door. Lights filled the room, but you couldn't remember you let the lights on when you came in here. Only one step out of the room and you walked into a firm wall of warmth head first.

“Ouch,” you mumbled, staggering a bit to find your balance back. Stupid high heels you were not used to wearing. Once the first surprise of heading into someone was passed, you noticed that in fact, you weren’t alone in here. In your private hiding spot. And you noticed it from the start, when you walked into him. You knew who it was, only with the soft scent he always had. Of course, there was a strong aftershave scent above it. But under, it was him. Your other source of comfort.

Though, right now, it was a source of heartbreak.

“Sorry,” Steve apologised, both hands raised. Not able to face him right now, you kept your head down and stared at his chest. Particularly at the patch of hair he was proudly displaying tonight with his unbuttoned shirt.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, rocking from one foot to the other. Stress started building up, did he follow you? How did he know you were in there?

“I couldn’t leave you after you ran away like that.” Steve’s voice was soft, low, almost a whisper. Like he was speaking carefully, choosing his words to be sure to not mess anything up. “I also couldn’t let you leave without…”

As the first note of the song echoed in the empty room, you couldn't help but lift your head towards him. A smile was stretching his lips, he looked so proud of himself, and he was so close to you you could see your reflection back in his brown eyes.

“How did you…” You started, looking around the room to try and find who put the song on. THe room had speakers, but to have access to it, you needed to be next to the sound console which was not with you right now.

“Do you want to dance with me, Y/n?” Steve's voice was now sulky and warm and even a bit flirty. And when you glanced towards him, it was to see his hand extended to you, a glint of amusement in his eyes and one wild hair strand falling on his forehead. “Please.”

I feel so unsure

As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor

As the music dies, something in your eyes

Calls to mind a silver screen

And all its sad good-byes

Who were you to tell him no? It felt like a fairy tale. Maybe you fell asleep in the prop room, and this was your dream coming true. Well, your dream being a dream. You couldn’t let that pass, so dream or not, you took his hand.

It was warm in yours, almost burning.

I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

This verse, he sung it with the song. And as the lyrics left his lips, Steve hugged you to him, his whole body engulfing yours with the heat. It felt hot, you knew your face was flushed with embarrassment of being so close to him. You almost missed the significance of the song. How the lyrics and what he was singing was exactly what was happening.

Though, as you started your slow dance, your left hand in his big one and your right one on his shoulder while his was around your waist, he didn’t step on your feet this time. He had rhythm.

You teached him well.

Laying your head on his chest, you closed your eyes. If only this wasn’t a dream.

I should've known better than to cheat a friend

And waste the chance that I'd been given

So I'm never gonna dance again

The way I danced with you, oh

As the song continued, time seemed to stop. It felt natural. To be this close to Steve. To hold him close to you. To share the same space, the same body heat and the same air. It was beautiful, just the two of you, surrounded by an endless amount of reflection all around you. Your twins dancing the same dance in the mirors.

Steve stepped back ever so slightly, but never let go of your hand. And then, with the skills of a professional dancer, he lifted the arms that were locked with yours and made you spin slowly. No feet stepping on your toes, you swung on yourself beautifully. The hem of the dress lifted and created a swirl of red that got reflected in the mirrors. You saw it all around you. And when you lifted your head to tell him he did it perfectly, your words were cut by lips.

At the same moment Steve kissed you, fireworks exploded in your stomach. There was no one else than the two of you in the school. In Hawkins. On the whole planet. Only the two of you existed. Not wasting a second, you put your other arm around his neck and kissed him back with all the love you had for him.

And in the distance, the song continued.

Tonight the music seems so loud

I wish that we could lose this crowd

Maybe it's better this way

We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say

We could have been so good together

We could have lived this dance forever

But now, who's gonna dance with me?

Please stay

“Please stay,” Steve broke the kiss and exhaled softly against your face. You closed your eyes and smiled sadly, knowing this just couldn’t be true. It was a dream. “I was blind, so blind,” he continued, a nervous laugh following his words. To that, you opened your eyes again and looked at him, listening to what he had to say.

And in his eyes, you could see anxiety.

Wait. Steve being anxious? He was always so sure of himself. You frowned. “What?”

“I was blinded by Nancy… We never really forget our first love, you know,” his gaze grew sad. Yeah, you knew. Nodding your head, you invited him to continue. “But I realised tonight… Sometimes… Sometimes, the right person is right there, next to you. With only love to give. You were there. Right there next to me. And I saw you, I saw you since the time I met you. But I couldn’t really see you, you know?” You nodded even if you were not really sure to follow. “I mean… Y/n, I like you.”

Butterflies flew widely in your stomach now.

“So that’s why you kissed me,” you nodded. God, you were nodding way too much!

Steve nodded as well. At least you weren’t the only one using your head to show agreement. “Please, forget how of a blind jerk I was, stay…”

To that, you thought. Stepping back from his warmth, even if staying in his arms was the only thing you wanted, you suddenly clasped both hands on your cheeks quite strongly. By now, the song was over, so the clap sounded loudly in the room.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Steve looked at you with wide, confused eyes. “No…?”

A bright smile stretched your lips. Good. This wasn’t a dream. You took a couple of seconds more to take in the moment, take a deep breath and admire the man in front of you.

God, your heart was about to get out of your chest.

“But… wait,” you momentarily lost your smile. “How… How did you know? Minutes ago, you were all over Nancy,” you reminded him, but you could see for him it was like a stab in the back. You quickly asked your question, afraid to spoil the moment. “And now you’re here, and danced with me, and kissed me,” you smiled, your lips tingling with the need to do it again. “What happened in the meantime?”

LIke he was waiting for the right moment, the door cracked open on an overly curious teen.

“Good, you both like each other. Now, can we go back to the dance please?” Dustin muttered before closing the door. You listened to his steps fading away.

“I should have known,” you rolled your eyes playfully. If someone had to open Steve’s eyes, it was Dustin.

“Ready to go back?” Steve changed the subject, probably a bit ashamed it took a kid to open his eyes and offered a hand that you took with no hesitation. Glancing up at his face, you were met with a soft gaze filled with warmth.

“Actually... I’d like to stay a bit longer,” you snuggled against Steve, his arms immediately circling your frame. “If it’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” Steve placed his cheeks on top of your head. “We can stay as long as you want.”

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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.”

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: listen..........your comments mean the world to me. I love you all so much!!!

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

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aethersgirlfriend · 4 months

Text

masquerade ball ghouls?

the ministry occasionally holds parties and balls to get everyone together and socialising, and this was one of them. copia came up with it after watching one too many historical romance movies with his ghouls!! they wanted their cute little night to show off their ghoulettes in their pretty outfits - and rain and zeyphr since there's only so many ghoulettes

they agreed to have one night of the usual masks and one night of more demonic looking ones, where the ghouls were not required to pair up and they decide to go around and serenade all the siblings who have no idea they're not fellow sisters/brothers of sin, that they're actually demons <3 (thank you @divinebees for that x)

copia announced it to the pack first - aswell as ifrit, omega, mist and zeph because they like to hang around the current ghouls sometimes when they don't have chores - and they were ecstatic!! this was the first time he'd gone with an idea they all came up with AND it was aurora and aeons first ball!!!!! the girls immediately start planning and getting inspo (aurora had a pinterest board) and the guys are already swooning at the idea of half of them in a ballgown (they're so real)

mountain asks cumulus with a love letter and wildflowers that smell like her perfume. she squeals and jumps up and down, and mountain blushes at how excited she is to go with him.

aeth asks cirrus by giving her a massage after a long day of practice, kissing up her neck and whispering it in her ear (she chuckles and says she's been waiting for him ever since she saw him and mountain looking at the inspo the girls had printed out).

swiss asks sunny over a shared bottle of red wine, she squeals and launches herself into his lap, saying she's going to "be the man" of the duo x

aeon asks aurora after she walks into a bed full of rose petals and candles and she laughs at him and then says "yes!!! of course bug!!!!" and he yells happily and they run into each others arms and jump around, so excited for their first ball

omega asks mist after alpha says he'll be working with the music side of the night. he walks into her room with a sheepish smile and she looks up from her book on ancient runes and says "ive been waiting, of course i'll go with you."

dew and rain wait for the other to ask them. dew eventually begrudgingly asks rain after he overhears him very loudly complaining to the girls on how he deserves better after being named the princess of the pack. rain makes him kneel all pretty and then says with his smooth tone, "of course my love". they then burst into a fit of giggles on rains bed and start talking about what they were planning on wearing.

ifrit sets up this fancy proposal after he watched one too many prom proposals with aurora and zeyphr pretended he wasn't blushing a very deep shade of grey and said "okay, i guess"

~~~~

here's the outfits and masks i picked out for the duos (i made them moodboards sort of because i wouldn't have been able to add every image seperately)!! i gave each pair 2 colors each and that was their theme, some include heels and flowers but that's just if i found something specifically for the pair, so not all have it

(all photos from pinterest - lmk if there's any credits u know of and i'll add them in !)

- cirrus and aether!!! the colors i chose for them are red and black - the romantic goth/vampire vibe suits them as a duo. aethers shirt and waistcoat would go with dress pants, shoes and a suit jacket - all black. cirrus would wear some delicate black heels with hers, and their masks are underneath their respective outfits !

- mountain and cumulus!!!! the collage messed up here BUT i'll explain! (the bouquet is what mount gave her when he asked) i chose green and white for them because i'm so incredibly creative!!?!?!? mountains suit is a mix of the 2 images there - plus the mask that's under the bouquet (NOT the one beside it - that's cumulus'). all of these are honestly mainly my imagination, the suit comes with pale green dress pants and shoes. cumulus' dress is so beautiful, in my head it's slightly corseted and laces up with white ribbon at the back. she paired it with beautiful pale green heels that have vines (?? idk how to explain it makes perfect sense in my head) and the mask next to the bouquet in the collage! mountain made the crystal himself :3

- swiss and sunny :D i chose gold for them! think beauty and the beast sort of (thank you @divinebees AGAIN for that) i thinkkk the dress in the photo might be ai generated (i do not support ai art!!!!!) but i couldn't find anything else that fit my vision😭😭 her mask is diagonal to the dress (instagram i hate u) but the gold is more yellow-ish and she wears docs that are almost mustard colored. no one can convince me she doesn't love docs. swiss paired that waistcoat and tie with a frilly white shirt (no jacket and sleeves rolled up because he's a slut) and black dress pants with gold detailing! his mask is under sunnys dress and he puts more gold charms in his dreadlocks hehehe

- AEON AND RORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PINK AND WHITE AND GLITTER AND PRINCESSY ITS SO PERFECT!!!!!! aurora watched sleeping beauty once and made a princessy pinterest board and was like this is what we're doing and he was just staring lovestruck like of course aurora whatever you want my love☺️☺️☺️ a sister gave her the fan and her mask is in the top right! it's sorta giving princess crown ;) she thrifted the heels and her dress is so fucking beautiful everyone just stares all night with no shame. phantom wears that waistcoat and tie with baby pink dress pants and his converse :33 no jacket ofc bc swiss isn't wearing one and his mask (bottom right) is so pretty and all the girls make sure to call him pretty all night <3 they're for SURE the couple of the night.

- dew and rain!! purple and black!! rain wears the shirt in the middle row to the left but the neckline is way deeper with a black jacket thrown over his shoulders and the mask on the bottom row :33 dew wears the shirt in the top left with the waistcoat next to it and the mask under it ! dew has his hair up all pretty and rain has silver and black dangly earrings on

- ifrit and zeyphr!!! i chose green and black for them!! ifrit wears the outfit and mask on the left with black dress pants and zeyphr wears the stuff on the right but the green on his mask his darker, the shirt underneath is black and he's wearing a grucifix instead of a cross. handsome boys <3 (everyone can thank @lonerm3g !!)

and finally ...

- COPIA!!!!! do i need to say anything ? handsome old man in gold - perfect.

i want to turn this into a full length fic but idk who's perspective to write it from so pls give me ideas if u have any x

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghoul headcanons #phantom ghoul #aether ghoul #nameless ghouls #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #nameless ghoulettes #cumulus ghoulette #aurora ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #mist ghoulette #papa copia #omega ghoul

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bad268 · 10 months

Note

Ik it says no specific character but I am on my knees for sebastian montoya (mans gen z personified)COuld we get a driver reader and him and the reder inviting him to go to prom maybe beause he couldnt go to his?(Ik this is oddly specify and i am sorry you dont have to tdo this )

Drive Me to Prom? (Sebastian Montoya X Driver! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (yo so the whole specific characters thing was so people would stop requesting characters I don't write for anymore, but anything regarding f1/2/3 drivers, I will DROP EVERYTHING FOR THEM lol)

Warnings: cheezy promposal

Pronouns: First POV (I/me), but fem-ish reader (wears dress mentioned but not actually talked about)

W.C. 1605

Summary: The reader tries to surprise Sebastian with a Prompoasl, but it does not go according to plan.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Google/Multiformula)

It was something really random to find out. While Sebastian and I were filming a video for the team’s YouTube channel, one of the questions asked about extracurriculars in school. It was a harmless question, really! But somewhere, somehow, we got on the topic of school dances.

“I was able to go to homecoming this year, and I think my prom is coming up soon,” I answered enthusiastically.

“I never actually went to my prom,” Sebastian admitted. My head shot over to him, confused. He looked even more confused at my reaction, “What?”

“Two things,” I started, “One, you wanted to go to your prom? And two, you just decided not to go?”

“I mean it’s a standard thing with high school. I would have liked to go, I guess,” he laughed in response. The disappointment in the second half of his response was easy to detect, “And two, I also had a race the week of my prom. Even if I wanted to go, I couldn’t.”

Thus, the plan began. Since I knew my prom was going to be on a week we did not have a race, and I knew I wanted to go, I was going to ask Sebastian to prom (not like I would want to go with anyone else, but y’know).

The first thing I needed to do was coordinate with his parents and friends. His parents were more than willing to help, and they even volunteered to take him suit shopping inconspicuously. I said they didn't need to because the dress I found was a dark navy blue that matched perfectly with one of the suits he already owned. Then his friends were easy to convince. They were already busy visiting family as the date fell while we were on a break, so they had no problem with not making plans with Sebastian.

Next, I had to plan with the team. There was no way I was letting them schedule us for another last-minute, meaningless meeting during prom. They were (surprisingly) okay with it, as long as we agreed to come in two days later for a promotional video and simulator work which I had no problem with.

Finally, the last thing I needed to do was ask him. I should not have been nearly as nervous as I was, but I wanted it to be perfect. I has so many ideas for how to ask him, but I knew I wanted to be cheesy and try to connect it to racing. I ended up deciding on a sign that I would take to the next race since we had one more race weekend before prom. The sign read, “Can you drive me to prom? I don't have my license.” I also printed pictures of our cars to put on the corners. It’s in reference to the fact that Sebastian has his normal driver’s license while I only have my super license.

The race I decided to ask him was at Imola, one of our favorite tracks. We both qualified well (him at P1, me at P3), and I won the sprint race with Sebastian in P2. It was the first 1-2 of the season! We had a break between the podium and the media panel, so we were able to head back to our team trailer after a brief photo shoot. We both split off to different sides of the trailer to take showers and change into comfortable clothes.

Sebastian immediately laid flat on the floor once he was done, and when I came out, he pulled me to lie next to him with a laugh. A couple of the staff chuckled at our antics, but let us be.

“That was a pretty good race,” he said quietly with a yawn, “I don’t want to do interviews.”

“It was a great race, and you don't have to, technically,” I responded just as quietly. He looked skeptical before I elaborated, “You could just pay the fine if you really don’t want to go.”

“No, I just like whining about it,” he chuckled, pulling me deeper into his side as he buried his face in my hair. “Plus, I would never turn down a panel with you by my side.”

“You mean you by my side,” I laughed pulling away to make eye contact. “Last I checked, I was the one that won the race, Mr. Montoya.”

“Ah, right,” he joked, “We should actually start heading over now. We can pick up a smoothie or something on our way over. My treat for you winning fair and square.”

“Is that supposed to be condescending?” I joked back, moving to stand up and brush off my clothes. I held out my hand to help him up, him immediately taking it and standing up but not letting go as he pulled me into his chest for a hug. “Is this your apology?”

“No, the apology is that I’ll also get you a smoothie and food,” he responded, placing a kiss on my nose. “Did you put my wallet in your backpack earlier?”

“Yeah, you asked me too,” I chuckled, pulling away slightly to kiss him for a moment before moving back to point toward my driver’s room. “I need to grab my phone if you want to grab your wallet from my bag.”

“On it,” he said as he kept my hand in his and led us to the room. We split off, him grabbing my bag from the desk and me going toward the bathroom where I had my phone charging on the counter. Before I head back out, I checked a couple of notifications until Sebastian called out to me, “Hey, Y/N, what’s this?”

I walk out and see him reading something and I instantly know what it was: the poster. I immediately reached to grab it from him, hiding it behind my back despite knowing that he’s already seen it and read it. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“You were going to ask me to prom?” He asked in disbelief.

“I was going to do it after the race tomorrow,” I admitted, “but now it’s not a surprise.”

“Ask me now.”

“What?”

“I said,” he paused as he wrapped his arms around my waist, one arm pulling the sign out from behind my back, “Ask me now.”

“Seb, you didn’t get to go to your prom, and I have my prom next week. You have a driver’s license, and I only have my super license. Maybe you could drive me to prom?” I asked as I leaned back, still with his arms around my waist, and held the sign up. “And we can dance if you want to.”

“I could not imagine going with anyone else,” he laughed, pushing the sign down so he could kiss all over my face. We basked in the moment for a couple of minutes before hearing our managers calling our names. “I guess that’s our call, isn’t it?”

“I mean we could just not answer and sneak out the back,” I suggested, gesturing toward the door that lead to a staircase directly toward the pack of the paddock. “We could just take the fine.”

“Do you really want to pay the fine when we have no real reason to miss the interview?”

“Not really, but I am hungry, so I’m weighing my options.”

“Come on,” he chuckled as he pulled me toward the normal door, grabbing his wallet on the way and propping the sign up against the wall before walking out. When we got to the main section of the trailer, we found our managers talking on the phone.

“Nevermind, we found them,” my manager said to the person on the call as they hung up. They both looked at us suspiciously before asking, “Do we want to know what you were doing in Y/N’s driver’s room together?”

“You say that like we did something wrong,” Sebastian pointed out. The look on our managers’ faces told us that they definitely thought we were doing something in there. “Wait, no we did not do what you think! The worse that we did was contemplate just taking the fine.”

“Okay, no,” his manager laughed, “we are not taking the fine. We were trying to find you because you need to do a post-race photoshoot and eat before the panel.”

“Oh, we already did the photo shoot,” I pointed out. “We did it before we showered and changed. Plus, we were just about to head out to get smoothies.”

“Make sure you get real food too, please? The last thing we need is one of you passing out during the interview. You’ve got 2 hours!”

“Got it,” Sebastian shouted behind him as we already started running out of the trailer toward the array of food stands. We slowed down once we reached a shaded table off to the side of one of the stands. Sebastian pulls out my chair, allowing me to sit first before pushing it in and taking the seat across from me. “Looks like we’ve got extra time to kill, so what do you want to get? My treat.”

“Is that supposed to be condescending?” I joked, leaning forward in my seat.

“Shut up or I won't buy you anything,” he pressed with an eye-roll. “Now, what do you want?”

“Well-” I started.

“No, don’t turn this on me,” he immediately interrupted, “I’m trying to congratulate you on your win.”

“And I want a smoothie, so you choose the actual food!” I retorted. “Second place is not easy either, so you choose the food.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I try.”

~~~~~

#sebastian montoya x reader #sebastian montoya #formula 3 #f3 #formula 1 #formula 2 #f1 #f2 #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

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csuitebitches · 1 year

Text

Getting Ready for Important Events

Do you have a prom coming up? Or a black tie event, a graduation, a wedding? Maybe nothing at all, but here is a beginner’s guide to (my personal) guide of beauty resources for big events.

1. If you’re planning to wear your hair up for an event, don’t get any keratin treatments done a couple of weeks before. Your hair will not stay in place.

2. Start dress shopping as early as possible. The more you leave things for last minute, the more hectic things will get.

3. Don’t buy dresses too small in hopes that you will lose a lot of weight in time. Buy it as per your current size. Drastic short term weight loss is unlikely.

4. Try the dress on at least 3 times before the event - once when you buy/ receive it; once when your event is about a week away; and 2-3 days prior. The reason being that weight can fluctuate. If you need to give it for alterations, you need to have a few days on your side. Make sure you have the right underwear.

5. Don’t get any facials done a couple of days before your event. Get it done a week or two prior, in case you break out. A lot of women make the mistake of getting facials done last minute or drastically changing their routine for just a few days. Your skin can’t get used to the change so fast and as a result, you break out on the day of the event. Stick to your original routine as much as possible.

6. In my experience, square shaped nails chip the most. If you’re unsure about what sort of nails to get, get a classic French nail, it’ll go with everything.

7. If you’re driving there yourself/ with a friend or in a vehicle that will be parked at the event, it is a good idea to carry an extra pair of flats. Keep it in the car if needed.

8. If you can afford to splurge, best to get waxed rather than shaved. If you have sensitive skin, be careful. You can easily get waxed 2 weeks before the event - waxed skin tends to stay hairless longer, and you won’t accidentally cut yourself with the razor.

9. Your clutch should have oil blotting paper (Sephora has good ones), perfume sample, a little cash, card, lipstick, hair tie and mints.

10. If you’re buying new shoes for this event, break into them. Put some talc powder around the edge of shoes and try to walk at least 3-4 minutes everyday until the event. Wear thin socks initially so that you don’t get any injuries.

11. If you’re stuck between two outfits, or if you have more than one event to attend to in a row, make an outfit PDF. Take pictures of yourself in each outfit, with its corresponding jewellery, accessories and shoes. Upload each outfit + accessories + potential hairstyles + make up looks + nails (the last three can be sourced from Pinterest) to Microsoft Word/ Apple Pages. Place each look on each page. Make sure that everything is clear and visible. Export it to PDF. You can print it if you like.

12. Don’t eat anything junk one week before your event. Start your days with lots of water, green juices, fruits and vegetables. Refrain from alcohol, smoking.

13. Start whitening your teeth a month before the event (if you’ve been given that much notice). Crest is decent.

14. If you’re getting your hair and make up professionally done, it really is a good idea to have a trial run, unless the MUA is tried and tested by you.

15. Plan the day of the event carefully. If your MUA tells you that the make up will take an hour, hold it as 1.5 hours. If your hairdresser says 40 minutes, hold it as 1 hour. Make a schedule for the day so that you are not late. Ensure you have enough time for photos!

#c suite #powerful woman #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #strong women #getting your life together #feminine energy #balance #prom #wedding #black tie #get ready #big event #important #event #function #get ready with me

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pancakes4two · 2 years

Text

omg… i FINALLY finished this pre frat blurb which means this is the last post in the harry eras series (for now 🥲🥲🥲🥲) thank you for all of your nice comments and for showing so much love to this series since the beginning 🥰 it means so so so much to me

MASTERLIST | REQUESTS | READ MY NEWEST SERIES HERE

yourinstagram

Liked by harrystyles, yourmom and 150 others

yourinstagram baby’s first show! can’t possibly put into words how proud i am of you and how excited i am for the year ahead!!!

@.harrystyles hope you know it doesn’t matter how big of a rockstar you become, you’ll always be the cute boy with dimples in my english class to me ❤️ ily

View all 40 comments

harrystyles Rockstar?! I’m just a kid who was on the X-Factor!

harrystyles In all seriousness, I love you lots. Thanks for being there and calming my nerves ❤️ And you’ll always be my baby.

niallhoran The two of you are gross

yourmom What a lovely caption! We are all so proud of you H, and can’t wait for you to see you perform in (your hometown)!

harrystyles Thanks so much Ms. L/N. Excited to see you all again soon.

yourbff so jealous you get to go on tourrrrr

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram h finally meets his long lost twin. you know, the one he supposedly ate in the womb

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nicholasgrimshaw Gross. You have no sense of decency @.harrystyles

harrystyles Two Harries are better than one.

yourbff how does it feel knowing your bf’s face is plastered against a giant wall???

yourinstagram feels scary and weird.

1dupdatesofficial

87,748 likes

1dupdatesofficial Harry was spotted back in (your hometown) this afternoon! Locals are saying he returned to take his girlfriend to her prom, as he wanted to be her date no matter what, despite his busy schedule.

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1d4ever they’re such couple goals i’m cryingggggggggg

harrygirl1 Can you just imagine Harry taking you to prom 😭😭😭

iluvharry he’s so young but such a good boyfriend already 😭

1dupdatesofficial UPDATE: He is in fact back for prom! Fans just spotted him and Y/N out for dinner at a restaurant near their school. Harry was wearing a heart print shirt & suit and Y/N was wearing a matching dress!!!

harrystyles

Liked by yourinstagram and 1,627,726 others

harrystyles Rough night out.

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harryfan1 ILY HARRY

ilovethe1dboys DID Y/N TAKE THIS

niallhoran Lmao disaster prom

yourinstagram omg don’t be so dramatic i only stepped on your toe while dancing

harrystyles It really hurt.

yourinstagram i’m sure it did h, i’m sure it did

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram past 2 months on tour.

watched my bf shoot death glares at me from his plane seat. watched my bf ask for a kid’s menu and proceed to color it in with crayons at a fancy restaurant. watched my bf run in front of the backup camera as i tried to park his car at a busy concert venue. watched my bf throw knives at a watermelon during a barbecue with ed sheeran.

someone tell me why i agreed to go on this trip

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harrystyles Hehe

harrystyles You agreed because you loooooove me.

yourbff what even is your life.

yourclassmate i’m dying of jealousy!!!!!!

edsheeran That was fun @.harrystyles let’s do it again

gemmastyles what is wrong with you @.harrystyles? genuinely wondering

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles social media #harry styles fic rec #harry styles headcanon #harry styles reader insert

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thefloorisbalaclava · 2 years

Text

the bet [dieter bravo x f!reader]

Inspired by that outfit.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Words: 2,540

Warnings: Flirty Dieter, vulnerable Dieter, kissing, like...lots of kissing, some spitting, pet names courtesy of Dieter.

Summary: You’re a journalist who makes a living bashing Dieter Bravo, but he can see right through that facade.

[part 2]

[Dieter masterlist]

You had just put the finishing touches on your article when your phone rang.

“Hello,” you huffed.

“Thinking about me?” the familiar voice asked, amusement in the tone.

“Mr. Bravo…” you sighed, “What is it this time?”

“You know, you could be a little nicer to me. I am one of the reasons you’re so popular,” he said, and you rolled your eyes. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but you would not admit that.

“Are you?” you asked, feigning ignorance.

“Pfft…you’ve written about me more than anyone else. I bet the article on your desk is about me, too.” You knew he had a smirk on his face.

You ignored that. “What do you want?”

“Are you covering the film festival this weekend?” he asked.

“Of course I am. Why?” You sat back in your chair.

“Just wondering if I’d see you there,” he said nonchalantly.

“You know this is an event you must dress nicely for, right? I doubt you even own one three-piece suit.” You had made a career of basically bashing Dieter Bravo and the clothes he chose to wear when he was out and about.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said. “Are you dressing up, pretty lady?”

“Yeah.”

“What color? We can color coordinate like we’re going to prom,” he joked.

“Dieter, I’m hanging up,” you warned.

“Wait, wait, wait! One more thing.”

You sighed. “What is it?”

“A bet,” he said, and you sat up in your chair. “I bet I can leave you speechless on that red carpet this weekend. I’ll look like a brand-new man, and you’ll have to find something else to write about me.”

“Okay, so, what do you win if you can even leave me speechless?” you asked.

“If I shock you speechless, you finally have to let me take you out to dinner. No funny business. Just two adults enjoying a meal. And I’ll even dress nice.” He waited on the other end nervously.

“Deal,” you said after a moment of thinking. There was no way he would win this. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get this article to print.”

“Can’t wait to read it,” he teased. “Bye, beautiful.”

“Bye.” You hung up and shook your head, ignoring the smile on the corners of your lips.

The film festival was in full swing, and the red carpet was bustling with international talent, but you could only think of him. You noticed how you were craning your neck and standing on your tiptoes, looking for him.

“Stop it right now,” you said quietly. You prepared yourself for seeing him all gussied up. You would not let him win this bet.

You looked down at your watch and shook your head. Dieter Bravo was never on time for anything. He’s probably at some store scrambling to find a suit.

Suddenly, everyone began to get louder and turn their cameras toward someone that had just pulled up to the event.

“Is that Dieter Bravo?” one of the other reporters said, and you whipped your head around.

“Whoa…” you said breathlessly. You wouldn’t have believed it was him if someone hadn't said it. “Dieter?”

He looked dapper. Suave even. A white shirt with a white jacket over that and a black bow tie to top it off. His slacks were black, as well as his shoes and the watch on his wrist. His curls were messy, and his shades hid his eyes from the cameras.

He let a few reporters stop him and allowed a few photographers to snap photos, but you were his final destination. He locked eyes with you, and you felt yourself heating up.

“Shit. Think of something to say,” you whispered to yourself. “Think of something to say. Think of—”

“Hey, beautiful,” Dieter said, and you swallowed hard. Your mouth moved, but there were no words to be found. “You okay there? You must have some burning questions for me?”

You swallowed again and opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came. Dieter moved closer, and you inhaled sharply. He smelled so. Fucking. Good.

“Dinner on me after the show?” he whispered. You looked into his eyes and blinked slowly before nodding once.

Then he walked away.

He was walking away, and you hadn’t said a damn thing. All you could do was slap a hand to your forehead.

You and Dieter sat in entirely different areas during the event. You were press, and he was one of the stars.

While your eyes scanned the guests for him, he did the same for you. He was getting bored and frustrated with all of this. He also felt as if his shirt was choking him. But he would do it a hundred times over if he had to be uncomfortable for a few hours just to see that look on your face.

At the end of the night, you took your place among the crowd of the press to do quick interviews and write about who showed up wearing what and with whom. When you finally got to look down at your notepad, you realized that you had written Dieter’s name with nothing else besides a tiny heart above the I. You rolled your eyes at yourself.

Grow up.

As things died down, you finally decided to call it a night and make your way away from all the noise. You hugged yourself as you walked back to your small apartment.

“You know, I think you’re the only reporter that walks everywhere,” Dieter shouted from the backseat of a massive SUV with blacked-out windows.

“I like the exercise.” You shrugged.

“You hungry?” he asked, and you stopped walking. A deal’s a deal.

You turned to him, and the car stopped. “I could eat.”

Dieter beamed at you and opened the door. Once you were settled in, you sat in awkward silence.

“You look…nice. You look real nice,” he said nervously.

“Oh, thanks. You do too. And, for the record, I was not speechless. I just thought I’d let you win this one,” you lied.

“That must mean that some part of you wanted to go out with me this whole time,” he said, tilting his head.

“Don’t get cocky, Bravo.” You looked out the window and sighed. “Where are you taking me?” you asked.

“Anywhere you want.” He watched you even though you had a hard time looking into his eyes. “Even if it’s just cheap hot dogs from a vendor. I just…want to spend a little time with you,” he confessed, and you finally looked at him.

“I’m so mean to you, though,” you said.

“That’s reporter you. Maybe tonight I’ll get to know…just you.” He smiled at you, and, for the first time, you noticed how adorable his smile was.

“Can we try that new seafood place?” you asked.

“Of course.” He shouted the directions to the driver.

“It must be nice having someone drive you around all the time.” You looked around the vast SUV.

“Eh, it’s okay. I kinda miss being able to ride my bike places,” he admitted.

“What’s stopping you?” you asked.

“Getting hounded by people.” He pulled at his bow tie, but it wouldn’t budge. You moved to sit closer to him and reached for the bow tie.

“Um…I go riding on this one pretty secluded path. Not too many people. If you like, I could show you one day….” You fiddled with the tie just a little more then it was loose. “There,” you breathed.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his eyes quickly glancing down at your lips.

“Uh, yeah, you got it.” You looked down at your hands. “When’s the last time you got dressed up like this?”

“Is this for one of your pieces, or is this off the record?” he asked.

“This whole night is off the record. You want to get to know me, right?” You smiled at him.

“The truth is, I don’t like all of this.” He gestured at himself. “I know you and hundreds of other journalists think I dress like some pothead who just rolled out of bed, but that’s how I’m most comfortable.”

“I get it. I’d love to come to work in sweats and a t-shirt.” You looked at him, then back at your fingers. “I want to apologize to you, Dieter.”

“Oh? For what?” He lowered his head to meet your gaze.

“If I ever hurt your feelings or just…I dunno. I’m sorry. I know you’re a nice guy….”

Dieter cut you off with a wave of his hand. “I know you have a job to do, and I’m tougher than I look.”

“Even so, I wanted to apologize.”

“I accept your apology…and just in time. We’re here.” He climbed out of the car first, then helped you out, your hand lingering in his longer than necessary.

“Thank you.”

“Didn’t know I could be such a gentleman, hm?” he joked. He held the door open, and you stepped into the restaurant. He gestured for a table for two, and you both were escorted to a corner booth.

“I’m starving,” you said.

“Order whatever you want.” Dieter watched you read over the menu for a minute. “I think I should apologize to you too.”

“Hm? For what?” You continued to look at the menu until he moved closer, and you were drawn in by his eyes.

“For how badly I want to kiss you right now,” he said in a hushed tone as the waiter approached.

“Oh…” you breathed. Dieter sat back and smiled at the waiter. You couldn’t speak, so you let Dieter order for the both of you. For the second time tonight, he had left you speechless.

“You okay?” he asked before taking a sip of water.

“I need a drink,” you said.

“I ordered wine, but if you need something stronger….” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a flask. You took it from him and smiled as you shook your head.

“You are something special, Dieter Bravo.”

“Is that the journalist in you talking or….”

“It’s just…me. It’s me,” you said as you twisted the cap off the flask. “Cheers.” The liquid hit your tongue, and you swallowed quickly, trying your best not to cough.

“Sorry. I should’ve told you what it was.” He took the flask from you as you cleared your throat. He drank from it, only wincing slightly, then slipped it back into his pocket.

“Wow, I needed that,” you said once you got your voice back.

After the food was finished, you two stayed and talked, ordering another bottle of wine for the table. The wine made you more talkative and, embarrassingly enough, more flirtatious.

“Let’s get you home,” Dieter said, grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine. He helped you stand and only let go when he was sure you could do so alone.

“I’m not that drunk, Dieter,” you scolded as you walked out into the cool night air. You hugged yourself, and then you felt something warm cover you. It was his jacket.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

Once again, he helped you into the SUV and climbed in after you. “Temperature dropped pretty quick,” he said.

“Yeah.” You paused for a beat. “Why did you apologize?”

“Hm?”

“For wanting to kiss me. Why apologize for something like that?” you asked.

“I thought maybe it was inappropriate,” he admitted. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about tonight.” He fiddled with the top button of his shirt until it came undone. “Fucking choking in this thing….”

“Kiss me,” you blurted, and he froze in place.

“Say that again.” He gazed at you longingly. You had a feeling that he knew exactly what you said.

“Kiss me. I want you to.” You slid closer to him—your thigh touching his.

He leaned in. “You sure?”

You bit your lip and nodded. “Mmhmm.” He gently grabbed your chin and then used his thumb to pull down, carefully taking your lip from between your teeth.

“Need your lips if I’m gonna kiss you,” he said before leaning in even closer, so close his nose bumped yours. Then you felt his tongue on your lips. Using just the tip of his tongue, he traced your lips slowly before pulling back.

“Fuck,” you whispered. You wanted more, but he was teasing you, and you deserved it.

Finally, he kissed you, and you surprised yourself by moaning when he did. He was a good fucking kisser. He pulled away and chuckled as you chased his lips for more. It didn’t take long for him to give you what you wanted because, fuck, he wanted it too. You tasted so good. Just like he thought you would.

You ended up on his lap during the kiss, forgetting that you were in a car and the driver was there.

The kiss seemed to have levels. You two would devour each other hungrily—tongue, teeth, nibbling, and sucking—then switch to a slower, more sensual kiss, still full of tongue but gentler.

And he was just as filthy as you thought he was. During one hungry kiss, you felt him pucker his lips and spit into your mouth. You moaned as you tasted him and swallowed.

“Goddamn,” he breathed.

Neither of you noticed that the car had stopped. You were at the hotel Dieter was staying at.

You tried to stop kissing him, but the other would chase every time either of you pulled away.

“Ask me to come upstairs,” you breathed.

“Mmm.” He pulled you in for another kiss but then pulled away with a sort of finality, shaking his head. “Can’t.”

“Why?” You pouted, and, god, did he want those lips on his again.

“Too fast, baby girl. And you’ve been drinking. As badly as I wanna see what’s under this pretty little dress, I’m gonna be a gentleman and say goodnight…this time,” he said.

You nodded, feeling defeated and needy. “Okay.”

“Tell my driver where to take you.” He opened the car door and got out. Turning to face you, he smirked, and you leaned out the door for just one more kiss.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” you asked.

“You wouldn’t let me,” he chuckled.

“Oh, that’s right.” Another quick kiss, and he closed the door and then waved goodbye.

On the ride home, you had a hard time believing any of this was real. You were making out with Dieter Bravo and liked it. No, you loved it. You wanted more.

The car came to a stop, and you thanked the driver before climbing out and walking into your apartment building. You walked up the two flights of stairs to your apartment and unlocked the door, throwing everything on the little table beside the door. You would worry about all that tomorrow.

You stumbled to your bedroom and collapsed onto your bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Your alarm woke you up, and you quickly rolled out of bed, showered, brushed your teeth, and then got dressed. Luckily, you weren’t hungover, but you sure were lovesick.

You sat at your desk writing your article on the film festival when your phone rang. You picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, pretty lady. Doing anything tonight?”

[PART 2] >>

#dieter bravo #the bubble #the bubble netflix #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #headcanon

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