#PEOPLE ARE GETTING THEIR BUTTONS AND TAPES………..

[squuote]

pretending I don’t care so my stanley parable merch will come faster

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Granny's Sugar Cookies

Summary: Working in Hero Force’s mail room is the equivalent of being a poison taster for monarchs – it wasn’t a matter of if a disgruntled citizen was going to send Hero Force a bomb, but when.

Based off this prompt (X)

--------.

Travis, your supervisor, makes you take Disposal Training every two weeks to keep your skills fresh for the inevitable day something does show up in the mail.

“You’re lucky,” Travis says with his wide arms folded over his chest. He still wears the mail uniform from the 90’s with the pale blue, short-sleeved button down and the darker blue pinstripes. The Hero Force mask covering half of his face is in the new “regulation black” that every Hero Force personnel has to put on at the start of every shift. You hear Travis complain that they won’t let him wear the old brown one a lot. “But luck won’t ever take you further than training, kid.”

You aren’t a kid. In fact, Travis could almost be your kid. Your pension isn’t supposed to start for another three years, so that’s how long you need this job to last. There are rumors that Travis is trying to get you to quit before then as a way to prevent you from collecting retirement benefits from Hero Force. Save the company some money. You don’t think that’s true. You think that the extra training every second week is actually Travis’ way of being kind – you get to sit in the air-conditioned office for two hours and watch the same videos with your feet propped up.

Still, it is unusual that you haven’t opened anything criminal yet. Lots of people cautioned you against taking the job. Your neighbors, friends, your husband…even your eldest -who also works for Hero Force and who suggested it to you in the first place. They said it was the equivalent of being a poison taster for monarchs – it wasn’t a matter of if a disgruntled citizen was going to send Hero Force a bomb, but when.

“I don’t think it happens as often as people think,” you’d told your husband and child when the offer letter came. What you didn’t say was we don’t have a choice. You’d laughed and petted the coffee table. “Now maybe we can think about getting this old thing refinished, hm?”

Three years isn’t a long time anymore, not with a good 63 of them already under your belt. When the financial advisor ran the numbers and grimly told you how long you’d need to stay in the workforce, you’d been relieved. You’re fortunate that being a baker for most of your life has kept you reasonably fit and that you’re used to being on your feet.

Still, eight hours is a long time for anyone to be staring at bland white envelopes and brown boxes wrapped with yellow tape, so you’re thinking longingly of the bath you know your husband will have drawn for you at home when the blast doors slam down over the exit, trapping you and three of your coworkers in the sorting room.

You blink at the heavy metal plate that nearly took your (seemingly ever-growing) nose right off your face. The WARNING light hanging above the door is lit, casting the room in a striking red glow.

“You scanned that here?” Ring asks. He’s over at the sorting table, standing over the new hire’s shoulder. He gapes down at the screen held between her hands. It shows an x-ray of the box sitting innocuously on the sorting table. “Boxes with that dimension are supposed to be scanned in the disposal room!”

“It’s my last package,” the new hire says. You have to strain to hear her voice despite only being a dozen feet away. She’s already been given a nickname – Mouse. Fear makes her even quieter than before. “I-I thought—It’s to Strongwoman. Who would even think sending her a bomb would work? She got hit by a bus last week and the bus lost.”

“You know we don’t sort based on recipient,” Hawk says, pinching the bridge of her nose under her mask. She’s the veteran in the room, gaining her nickname from being the longest surviving member of the mail room after Travis and for having the highest number of successful disposals in history. Hawk eyed. “Your scan just told the defense system there’s a bomb in a vulnerable part of headquarters. We’ll be trapped here until they can get Demolition out to disarm it.”

“Or until it goes off,” Ring offers helpfully. Ring stands for ring the alarm, something he’s always doing. “Which it probably will before Demolition flies over from freakin’ California.”

Mouse hiccups. Her hands tremble on the scanner. “I-I’m sorry. Maybe it’s not…it could be something else?”

Ring and Hawk look at each other over her head. Ring tilts his head to the scanner. Hawk’s lips thin.

Translation: Unlikely.

“Maybe,” Hawk says. She puts a comforting hand on Mouse’s shoulder. “The only way to tell for sure is to open it.”

“Which protocol says we shouldn’t do,” Ring says.

You rub your nose. You don’t have to go to the bathroom this second, but you know your body. Protocol is not to carry a phone in the sorting room, so none of you have a way to you’re your husband and let him know you’ll be late. “How long do you think it will take for a disposal team to arrive? Supposing there’s one besides Demolition.”

Three heads whip towards you. There’s a range of emotions there, from surprise to dismay to dread.

“Oh no,” Mouse whispers, “I’ve killed Granny too.”

“If you survive, no one will ever forgive you,” Ring says.

Mouse’s eyes well with tears. “R-really?”

“Even Neon loves her muffins—"

Hawk hits him over the head hard enough his mask slips down over his eyes. While he curses and sets it to rights, she says, “Sorry, Granny. We’ll probably be waiting a while.”

You tug at your cardigan and shuffle over. The box is too big to be scanned in the sorting room – about the size of a case of flour you used to get delivered to the shop. The three of them make room for you on their side of the table. You squint at the screen. “What type of bomb is it?”

“Not like any I’ve seen before,” Hawk says. She takes the scanner from Mouse and angles it towards you. The box is shown in green and black lines. Inside is a cube of white and some curly bits. There are strange shadows across each shape, as if there are layers and layers of something over the top. “You?”

You raise your eyebrows. You thought it was common knowledge. “Well, I’ve never seen one before outside of training.”

Mouse starts. “Never seen—”

“Granny is lucky,” Ring says. He pats her on the shoulder like Hawk had. It’s nowhere near as comforting. “You’re just unlucky enough to have canceled that out.”

You pull out your glasses. You’re supposed to get the mask with your prescription over the eyes to prevent anyone from recognizing your personal eyewear. You think the prescription masks are itchy, however, so you regularly sneak them in your cardigan pocket. The scanner remains incomprehensible to you, even with them on. “It doesn’t look anything like it does in training.” You frown as the curls begin to look like ribbon the longer you stare at them. “Are you sure this is a bomb?”

“The defense system triggered on it,” Hawk says.

You wave your hand. These new AI systems are wrong all the time. You recently saw a news article about how the facial recognition software at the Hero Academy failed to pick out a top journalist, allowing him complete access to the campus. “They wouldn’t have us here sorting if the system were infallible.”

A strange look crosses Hawk’s face. “That’s one perspective.”

“It’s a state-of-the-art system,” Ring tells Mouse in a low tone. You imagine he thinks you can’t hear him or the faint laughter in his voice. “It’s not wrong.”

That grates. You may be new to the sorting room, but you aren’t wrong to question the systems. You point. “It could be cookies. See these disks here? Sugar cookies, I used to make a recipe just as thick. They’ve been very popular to send to Strongwoman lately; she must like them. And that’s the ribbon tying the box closed.”

“No,” Ring says. “No, it’s not cookies, Granny.”

Your spine stiffens. “I think it is.”

“Granny,” Hawk says tentatively. “Do you…often think things like these are cookies?”

“People do send the heroes a lot of baked goods,” you say. “It’s the best way to show gratitude!”

Mouse’s jaw drops. In a normal voice, she says, “You’ve been sending bombs onto heroes thinking they’re cookies?”

“Because they are,” you say.

“Oh my god,” Ring says. “Granny has seen a bomb, she just hasn’t recognized one before. Oh my god.”

You’re too old to stamp your feet. Instead, you narrow your eyes at Ring like you did when your eldest drew on the walls. “I have not. I open each package—”

“You open them?!”

“Protocol—"

“-and they’re always just cookies,” you say. You snag the package before any of them can move. “I’ll prove it to you!”

There’s a bit of a scuffle. Mouse doesn’t move out of the way of Ring’s lunge in time, and they both topple onto the table. Hawk tries to yank the package away from you, shouting something or other about better to be cautious or Granny stop! But you’re stronger than they think. They may call you Granny, but you’re only 63! Do they think you need a cane to walk?

You rip open the tape. Mouse screams. Ring whimpers. Hawk closes her eyes tight. You shake out the contents of the box.

A pink pastry plops out of the package and onto the scanning table. The three of them are frozen, eyes darting over the pretty ribbon curled into a bow holding it closed. With an indignant huff, you use a letter opener to cut the ribbon and flip back the lid.

Sugar cookies in six sloppy rows and stacked four deep sit inside.

“See?” you say triumphantly. “Sugar cookies!”

Hawk’s brow is furrowed. “That’s not—that can’t be—”

The bomb doors slide down and the WARNING light switches off. The system beeps three times and then falls silent. The quiet that fills the room sounds like victory.

“…so I can go home now?” Mouse asks.

“Yes,” you say smugly. You know it’s bad manners, but all the excitement has dropped your blood sugar. You snag a cookie and bite into it. “We all can.”

Ring and Hawk stay behind, staring from the box to each other and back again as you go home.

----.

You have two days off, and then Travis is off the day you come back so it takes three days for someone to tell you it was a bomb in that box.

That someone is Foresight, the leader of Hero Force.

He looks out of place in the sorting room, smiling and standing by the door as you shuffle from cart to cart to collect your jobs for the day. Travis is there with his arms folded and his eyes narrowed on Foresight.

“We call your class of power S-class,” Foresight explains. “The ability to change reality with a thought – it’s only been observed in a handful of super-powered individuals.”

“I don’t care what power she has,” Travis says. “You aren’t poaching Granny.”

“I would also like to stay in the mail room,” you say.

Foresight opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. He looks bemused as he says, “Alright then. We do need to quantify your power. Does Thursday work for you?”

“Yes,” Travis answers for you. “We’ll be there.”

Your ears perk up. Maybe it will be a long meeting. Maybe you’ll have a chance to sit down. “Thursday it is then. I’ll bring some snacks for everyone.”

----

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Next week's story is already posted and is a follow up to this story (X) about Nadezh and Gannon

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning

Word Count: 2.44k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.

But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.

The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.

But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.

You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.

But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.

Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.

You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.

The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.

“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,” he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”

“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.

He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”

“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ’til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”

Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”

You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”

He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”

“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically

“Fucking christ-”

“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.

“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”

“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.

“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”

You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.

He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”

“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.

Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”

“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”

You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.

Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.

And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.

“Shit, I’m-”

You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.

You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”

It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.

But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.

But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.

“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.

“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.

You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.

“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.

He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.

“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.

“So are you.” You whisper softly.

The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”

Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.

“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.

He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[miyadollie]

R/CRUSHES : HOW DO I TALK TO MY OFFICE CRUSH ? sillyguy0813 says : dude just borrow a stapler

★ STARRING office worker lee jeno x fem reader ( ft. best friend jaemin ) ★ WORD COUNT 2.6k + 3OO bonus ★ CONTAINS co-workers to dating, fluff !! lee jeno being a cutie, jaemin is a menace to society, workplace romance, ★ MIYA SAYS 💗 this is my first time TRYING to write a long fic :3 pls give me any constructive criticism and feedback thank uu 🧘🏼‍♀️ . update : wow i absolutely dislike my writing here but its been rotting in drafts too long and i gave up on fixing this TT

it starts with a stapler.

one you’re not even sure belongs to you. maybe you bought it once during a sale, or someone left it at your desk during a particularly chaotic week, and it stayed. quietly claimed as yours.

the moment wasn't love at first sight, no grand declaration of love with bouquets or fireworks. just a quiet tuesday morning, your inbox overflowing, the boss increasing your headache by preponing your deadlines, the coffee machine on its last breath and the fluorescent lights above flickering slightly like they, too, were tired of this job. and then there’s him.

lee jeno. clean-cut. soft-spoken. the kind of guy who always says “excuse me” when passing behind you, even when there’s plenty of space. always dressed a little too well for your casual office. not flashy—never that—but tidy, crisp. thoughtful. one cubicle down, diagonal from yours. he’s been here a while. a familiar face in the sea of semi-familiar ones. you’ve never really talked but only ever exchanged the kind of polite nods reserved for coworkers who share nothing but recycled air and a breakroom.

until today. “could you pass the stapler?” you look up, startled slightly by the voice.

he’s leaning just slightly over the low partition separating your desks, eyes trained on the corner of your workspace where your lonely black stapler sits. he gives you a smile. not flashy. not flirtatious. just—nice. warm. gentle. you blink once. then reach for it. “thanks,” he says. you nod. he returns to his screen. that’s it. except… it isn’t. because the next day, he borrows a pen. the day after that, post-its. then tape. then scissors. always returning everything. always smiling. always saying thank you like he means it. and now you’re wondering. is this flirting? some kind of extremely office-safe, hr-friendly version of it? or are you just painfully, embarrassingly overthinking it? or maybe did you have an unspoken crush on him? not that you can be blamed. - lee jeno is attractive. undeniably so. you’ve seen him once—just once—rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down in the middle of summer, and you swear you forgot how to form a coherent sentence for ten straight minutes. defined forearms. slim but strong hands. that razor-sharp jawline, often tilted thoughtfully while reading something on his screen. dark lashes. deep voice. a gym guy, apparently—you overheard it once when he mentioned it to jaemin (you weren’t eavesdropping, you just… have really good ears). you haven’t initiated anything. neither has he. but those tiny moments? the ones that make your heart skip? they’re adding up

────

FRIDAY | 4:30 PM

“soo… still down to try that new restaurant?” jaemin asks one afternoon, casually leaning on your desk during lunch with a fresh iced americano in hand—probably his fifth for the day. “obviously,” you reply, eyes lighting up. “people have been absolutely glazing it online. thanks for getting us a table!” he grins. “see you at 9 then.” just as he turns, he spins back around like a cartoon character. “oh, also—jeno’s coming. hope that’s cool?” you freeze. your face says i’m fine, but your body language screams mayday. “y-yeah. sure. totally chill,” you manage. “coolcoolcoolcool,” you say, immediately turning your head towards your computer, and then you see your reflection on the blank empty screen. you were blushing. hard. jaemin smirks knowingly as he walks off. of course he knows. he always knows. after all, he’s the mastermind who told jeno to borrow your stapler in the first place. ────

8:55 PM

the restaurant is low-lit and warm, the kind of place where the wood-paneled walls muffle outside noise, and everything feels just a little more intimate than it should. you arrive five minutes early. out of habit, mostly. or nerves. you’re not sure which. jaemin’s already there, somehow sipping an iced americano even here, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to notice your presence with a dramatic sigh. “i told you 9:00,” he says, without looking up. “it’s 8:55.” “still early.” he glances at you now, then raises an eyebrow. “cute top.” you ignore his antics, he’s just trying to get a reaction out of you. typical jaemin. your heart is already thudding too loudly, because jeno walks in right after. black shirt, sleeves rolled up. clean slacks. a bit of cologne, subtle but warm. his hair’s tousled slightly, and his eyes light up just a little when they land on you. “hey,” he says, with that soft smile. you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just smile back, scooting over so he can sit across from you. the conversation is light, easy. mostly thanks to jaemin, who fills every awkward silence with a joke, a story, an embarrassing anecdote about your office. jaemin and jeno were friends in school, you get to know that night, they were benchmates. jaemin always chose jeno as his partner for every game, every lab, and jeno just liked his company, so he stood with him always. jaemin talks about you to jeno too—how you both were first day interns and hit it off over a conversation about which seventeen album is truly the best. but every now and then, you catch jeno looking at you. not staring. not even for long. just—looking. like he’s seeing something he's trying very hard not to see too obviously. “so,” jaemin says mid-way through dessert, smirking at you over his spoon, “funny how you two never end up talking at work.” you nearly choke. jeno shifts in his seat. “like, what’s with all the stapler borrowing, huh? no small talk?” you glare at him. he grins. “i’m just saying. feels like there’s some unspoken office tension.” jeno lets out a quiet laugh. and then, after a beat—he looks at you. “i guess i just… wanted a reason to talk,” he says, voice soft. and your breath catches. your heart is thudding again. you manage a smile, small and shy. trying not to mess up words or blabber out something nonsensical. “i noticed,” you reply. the space between you feels full, suddenly. full of every little interaction. every thank-you. every passing smile. jaemin stretches obnoxiously. “well, look at the time! i’ve got a meeting with my bed in ten.” you roll your eyes. “you’re so obvious.” he shrugs. “you’re welcome.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind. leaving you and jeno, two half-finished desserts, and a quiet restaurant glowing gold in the late-night hush. “i can walk you home,” he says, gently. not pushing. just offering. and something in you says yes. to the walk. to this night. to the maybe that’s been building between you both. ────

10:45 PM

the night is cool, with a breeze just strong enough to lift the corners of your coat and make you tuck your hands into your sleeves. the restaurant’s warm glow fades behind you, replaced by the hush of quiet streets and dimly lit sidewalks. jeno walks beside you, hands in his pockets, his steps matching yours. neither of you says anything at first. the silence isn’t awkward. it’s... full. full of unspoken things. of nerves and glances and the way your arms brush every few seconds and both of you pretend not to notice. “jaemin talks too much,” jeno says eventually, voice low. you laugh softly. “it’s his specialty.” he hums in agreement, then adds, “he wasn’t wrong, though.” you glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker to yours and then away again, like he’s testing the water, like he’s afraid of saying too much too fast. “i... didn’t really need the stapler that day.” your breath catches. “oh,” you manage, and you’re smiling now. you can’t help it. “i just... i guess i liked the idea of you looking at me. talking to me.” he pauses. “even if it was just a stapler.” you stop walking, just for a moment. jeno turns, realizing you’re no longer beside him. there’s a streetlight above him, casting shadows across his face and soft highlights in his hair. “you could’ve just said hi,” you whisper. he steps closer. barely. but enough to make the air between you buzz. “i know,” he murmurs. “i wanted to. every day. but you always looked so focused. and i didn’t want to ruin that.” your heart is a mess of drumbeats and warmth. “you wouldn’t have.” silence again. then he says, barely audible, “could i maybe get your number... just for office related stuff, of course.” you nod, because your voice has already betrayed you too many times tonight. a soft smile tugs at his lips. the quiet kind. the kind you know he saves for only a few people. he walks you all the way to your apartment. and when he says goodbye, it’s not a hug. not a kiss. just a quiet “goodnight” and a look that lingers longer than it should. but your heart knows. it knows everything. ────

SATURDAY | 9:00 AM

the next day, the office is just waking up. it always feels colder in the morning—half because of the ac blasting too early, half because everyone’s too busy chasing caffeine to talk. desks are still half-empty. monitors glow. the printer sputters. someone sneezes. a mug clinks. you step in, trying to hide the stupid smile that’s been stuck to your face since last night. your coat is too warm for indoors but your hands are cold, so you hold your coffee tighter. and then you see it. your desk. something’s different. sitting neatly on top of your keyboard is a brand-new stapler. blue, shiny, absolutely unnecessary. you freeze. right beside it, a yellow post-it. his handwriting. neat. almost too neat. “thought you could use one that wasn’t cursed.     —jeno :)” you almost laugh. it’s such a him thing to do—dry humor disguised as helpfulness. but your heart? it’s fluttering like it’s stuck in a romcom scene, an angelic choir singing along in tandem. you reach out and pick up the stapler.you didn’t even need one nor were you going to use one. but you want to keep this one forever. cherish it. maybe even pass it on as an heirloom.

just then, you hear someone clear their throat. “new office romance i should know about?” you don’t even need to turn around. jaemin. of course. loud, nosy, iced-americano jaemin. “shut up,” you say instantly, trying to sound bored. your cheeks are already heating up. but he walks past you, grinning like the devil, a bounce in his step like he’s in on the joke you’re still figuring out. and then—your gaze drifts. to the cubicle across. there he is. jeno. typing. or pretending to. his posture is the same—back straight, eyes on the screen—but his fingers are still on the home row keys, just gliding about. and when he feels your eyes, he glances up. It's brief, barely a second. but he smiles. like last night wasn’t just dinner. like it meant something.

a few hours later, a message pops up.

jeno lee “did the new one pass inspection?”

you “it’s still under review by the council. but i think they approve ;)”

jeno lee “let me know if it jams. i’ll personally fix it.”

you smile. a full smile this time. the kind that makes you reach for your coffee, lean back in your chair, and breathe in like something in your world has shifted.

jeno 💗 “what’s your go-to coffee order?”

you “anything except that poison jaemin drinks every day. ‘i like my coffee as dark as my soul’ ahh guy.”

jeno 💗 “haha.” “noted.”

the next morning there’s a cup of coffee on your desk, with yet another post-it note. “it’s the new specialty at a cafe near my place. i thought you’d like it :)”

that was truly the best coffee you had ever tasted. and maybe he started getting it for you every day. ────

WEDNESDAY | 9:00 PM

it's another day at the office. rain taps gently on the windows, a soft drumbeat to the silence of overworked employees and abandoned coffee mugs. you’re still at your desk & so is he. the fluorescent lights overhead are dimmer than usual, humming low like they’re tired too. you stretch your back, glancing at the clock. 9:04 pm. “still here?” comes his voice. you look up to see jeno leaning on the edge of his cubicle wall, sleeves rolled up, tie a little loosened. “so are you,” you shoot back. he smiles. “want company for the walk back?” you nod before your brain catches up.

the streetlights blur against the wet pavement, reflecting like oil paint smudged across the road. jeno’s shoulder brushes yours every few seconds—neither of you move away. he talks about the weird way jaemin eats ramen. you laugh. you tell him about your favorite childhood cartoon. he says he watched it too, and suddenly it’s three blocks later and you’re still talking. at a red light, you both stop. he glances down at you. you glance up. it’s a pause so charged you swear the rain quiets. “...you looked really pretty today,” he says suddenly. his voice isn’t confident or smooth—he says it like a secret. you don’t respond right away. just tuck your hair behind your ear, your face heating. he notices. the light turns green and you simply walk on. on reaching your apartment building you stop at the steps. he’s still holding the umbrella. you don’t say anything. he doesn’t either. there’s that moment again—that pause like the world might tilt if either of you moves. “i’m really glad you came to dinner that night,” he finally says, voice quieter than before. “been wanting to talk to you properly for months.” you blink. “...really?” jeno chuckles. “you had the office’s only decent stapler. of course i had to make a move.” you laugh—nervous and shy and full of everything you’ve been holding back. he takes a step closer. just one. not too much. “but also,” he adds, and this time his voice is a little more sure, “i like you. not just the lunch break, passing-notes kind. the kind where i want to sit and mindlessly watch silly romcoms with you, the kind where i want to walk you home every day and make sure you had dinner. the kind where - " he goes on. but words fall on deaf ears. you feel your heart clench, sweet and sharp. you’re about to respond when— “...so, if you’re okay with it,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck, “can i officially take you out sometime? like, not just coffee machine and post-it flirting. a real date.” you blink. once. twice. your face is warm. your chest feels like it’s glowing. “...yes.” you don’t even hesitate. his smile is soft. wide. genuine. and when he hands you the umbrella and waves goodnight, walking back with his hands in his pockets and a quiet bounce in his step. you think, maybe this started with a stapler. but it’s gonna end with something a lot more permanent. ──── BONUS : FEW WEEKS LATER | 2:00 PM

you, jeno, and jaemin were perched on the edge of the rooftop, paper lunchboxes balanced on your laps, chinese takeout - courtesy of jeno. the breeze is nice, the sky a little overcast, and jaemin's halfway through an enthusiastic rant about the company’s new vending machine layout.

“and like .. why did they move the green tea to the bottom row? what kind of criminal.. oh, thanks man.” he says as jeno hands him a napkin mid-rant, like muscle memory.

you say while giggling, “you guys are like an old married couple.”

jeno chokes on his rice. you pat his back helpfullly , still giggling.

jaemin just shrugs. “what can i say? i raised him well.”

jeno glares at him. mouthing ' stop. talking.' he knew jaemin could slip up any moment. for he always did.

jaemin does not stop talking.

“i mean, not to brag, but if it weren’t for me, he’d still be hovering awkwardly near your desk pretending he needed your stapler.”

you blink. “wait. what?”

jeno drops his chopsticks.

jaemin freezes. realizes.

“oh..." he mutters.

your jaw drops. “waitwaitwait. you told him to borrow my stapler?”

“in my defense,” jaemin says, holding up both hands, “i was just trying to save him from dying of heart failure every time you walked past. it was either that or fake a paper jam crisis.”

jeno is silent. fully hiding behind his lunchbox now.

you slowly turn to him. “is this true?”

“…maybe,” he mumbles.

you snort, trying to hold in your laughter. “oh my god. so all this time..”

“don’t act like it wasn’t genius!” jaemin interrupts. “you’re welcome, by the way. this whole slow-burn coffee shop romcom office love story? all me.”

jeno groans. “can i push him off the roof.”

you lean into jeno’s shoulder, grinning. “you should’ve just said hi.”

he sighs. “i wanted to. but every time i tried, you were always typing so fast. and glaring at your screen like it personally insulted your ancestors.”

you snort. “fair.”

jaemin raises his water bottle. “to true love, born from borrowing office supplies.”

jeno snatches it from him and takes a sip without asking. you think that’s revenge enough. read more ❤︎ please like, reblog and let me know your reviews (๑>◡<๑) this work is a piece of fiction and is not intended to reflect the real personalities, actions, or beliefs of the individuals portrayed. the idols mentioned are used purely as fictional characters for storytelling purposes. no harm, disrespect, or objectification is intended. everything written here is entirely imaginative and not based on real-life events or relationships.

[trampleddoves]

interrogations on uneven footing

Spencer Reid needs information on a confidential case. He is not above using unconventional methods to get you to spill.

Series masterlist

Pairing: unsub!Spencer x afab!BAU!reader Content warnings: Smut, 1.7k words, DDDNE! Noncon, bondage, sensory deprivation (complete darkness), nipple play, fingering, edging, overstimulation. Mentions of a made-up case, post prison unsub Spencer. Note: MDNI. This is not for everyone, simply scroll past it if it’s not to your liking. I cannot stress this enough. Heed the content warnings. Proceed with caution.

Multiple zip ties bind you to a wooden chair, an entire row on each arm like some twisted version of the bracelets that normally adorn your person. Ensuring you can’t move, can’t get out. It’s something straight out of a movie, your solitary figure alone in a dark room. You would have laughed if it weren’t for the distracting fact that it’s real, and happening to you right now. 

Smooth plastic digs into your skin if you struggle against them, but ultimately these zip ties will leave no marks. Unlike rope. Unlike handcuffs. They will not slacken even if you sweat through them, unlike duct tape. 

Spencer Reid is nothing if not thorough.

You’ve lost count of how long he’s kept you here. A slight burning in the space between your thighs is a flagrant reminder of his previous attentions. Legs and ankles still parted in the same way he left them, held and bound by the same zip ties that keep your arms and wrists in place. Panties stretched obscenely around your knees from where Spencer tugged them down, just enough to get a glimpse of your pussy. An odious mixture of sweat and your drying arousal keeps your inner thighs slick. 

He hasn’t hurt you. He hasn’t even penetrated you, only parted your folds and coaxed your core to weeping with rough, expert fingertips, while he asked you for details on Gregory Hall. 

Your body is weak, but your mind is sharp. While your pussy clenched and fluttered for more, you’d been able to deny him the details that you’d promised to keep confidential. Emily Prentiss is counting on you to build this profile independently; there’s a lack of certainty with this case. Whether or not Gregory Hall is behind those murders remains a mystery, but your unit chief had entrusted you to keep tabs on him on the side. A job outside the normal bounds of being a profiler, but naive pride had kept you from declining. 

Eager to please. To prove yourself. Icarus flying too close to the sun. You had accepted shady messages from unknown informants, arranged meetings with risky people in order to advance. 

Icarus flying right into Spencer Reid’s trap.

No one knew what happened to him. It’s a boogeyman’s tale in the Bureau, the type that has people ducking their heads and resorting to hushed whispers. Spencer Reid, prodigy, genius, dedicated profiler—in prison for murder. After several butchered attempts to prove his innocence, the genius was subjected to twenty five years in prison, with a chance for parole sometime down the line. He had escaped six months later.

You had never met him in person, not until tonight. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The door creaks open, but no light comes through. You incline your head to the right, where his footfalls make dull taps against concrete ground.

“Ready to talk now, sweetheart?” his voice remains low, deceptively soothing. You flinch as his hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing tight. The weight seems to press you deeper into the uncomfortable wooden chair.

“I told you—”

“We both know you’re lying,” he’s bent over your back, tendrils of his hair brushing over your cheek, “You have more information on Gregory Hall than anyone else.”

His free hand crawls up your side, fingers finding the buttons on your blouse. Even in the inky darkness, his movements are deft, undoing buttons with ease. You grow stiffer by the second, shaking your head.

“What is it that keeps you from telling me, hm?” you feel his nose tracing a line down your neck, before landing at the sensitive patch where it meets your shoulder. He takes a shuddering inhale, before touching his lips to the spot, murmuring in smooth, velvet tones, “Are you afraid you’ll get in trouble with Emily? I’d be the last person to talk to her, trust me.”

Trust. What a silly word, considering the circumstances. You almost want to spit at him, at his trust.

“What do you even want with it?” you reply instead, shuddering as both arms wrap around you, meeting at your chest to work on unbuttoning your shirt. Your skin grows slick with sweat, broken apart by goosebumps from every brush of his fingers. He’s been so gentle.

You both know he could hurt you, if he wishes to. The restraint he’s exhibiting is simply another layer of depravity, another way to toy with your mind, a looming reminder that this could be worse. 

That’s the problem. Hating him, hating your predicament, hating this twisted interrogation, would infinitely be easier if he were manhandling you. Causing wicked purple and blue blossoms over your skin like a perverse garden. Pulling your hair back so tightly they rip from your scalp.

You never thought you’d ever wish for violence, yet part of your yearns for it at this moment. It’s easier to reconcile violence with the violation you’re currently experiencing. Because that’s what this is. Violation. Assault. Spencer Reid exerting his will over you because he can. Because he wants something only you have access to.

“I simply need to know if my theory is correct, doll.” he coos, finally easing your blouse off your shoulders. Just enough so he could tug your bra down your chest, straps slipping down your shoulders. 

You whimper into the silence of the room, partially thankful for the lack of light. At least he can’t see you. At least you’ve been given the dignity to keep your face hidden. 

However, it poses another problem. One you had been grappling with all night. This impenetrable darkness goes both ways, blinds both of you. And without your sense of sight, everything else is heightened. 

When his thumb brushes over your nipple, the taste of blood floods your mouth. Your teeth had broken through the skin of your lower lip. Another flick, and then both thumbs begin to circle your nipples, and you shudder as they harden into stiff peaks. Another round of interrogation. He’s slowly wearing you down, you realize, literally stripping off your clothing, and in turn, adding more stimulation. 

Earlier, he had just been playing with your clit, attempting to wheedle out the information from you until your labia grew puffy from overstimulation. At your staunch refusal, he had left.

And now he’s back, pinching and tugging your nipples as you cling to your stubborn, one minded goal to keep the information to yourself.

“I would assume we have the same goal, anyway,” he murmurs, humming as he presses his large palms to your breasts, squishing them, your nipples hard and poking into his palms, “Prove he’s guilty.”

“How did you even know I was on the case?” you whimper, squirming as you feel your traitorous body reacting. The familiar warmth coiling at your lower belly. 

“You weren’t difficult to track, even I could find traces of your dealings and I have an aversion to technology. Tell me what you know, doll.” he replies, one hand leaving your chest and traveling down. You dread what’s about to come, dread the inescapable fact that he’ll cup your sex and find you drenched again.

When his hand meets your exposed pussy, he hums, a self satisfied sound that mocks you to your very being. 

“So fucking wet for me.” he hisses, licking a stripe up your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to do much but squirm uselessly on the chair. “You know, I’m beginning to think you want to be kept here.”

“No.” the word is sharp and clear, to your relief.

“Really? Yet you refuse to tell me what you know,” his index finger finds your entrance, circling it while the heel of his palm pressed on your clit, “You know the information will get you out of this.”

“I wouldn’t know that,” you hiss through gritted teeth, nails digging into your palms as he strokes up and down your slick folds, teasingly. Soon, your nails will break the skin there too, and you’ll be left with bloodied lips and hands, all from your own doing. How ironic, “For all I know, you’d kill me the moment you get what you want from me.”

“I’ve been a man of my word so far, haven’t I? I told you I won’t hurt you.” A finger breaches your entrance, sinking knuckle deep. True to his word, no pain is felt. Only the relief of the stretch, the fullness your disloyal body has been craving. “Besides, doll, you’re of more use to me alive.” Another finger. Your pussy clenches around them greedily.

“I - no.” It’s weaker now, breathless.

He laughs. He’s gone through this song and dance earlier, but now his fingers inside you are reinforced by his other hand palming your chest. “So you do like this. You just keep saying no to giving me information, doll, it seems you want to stay here and let meplay with your pretty pussy, hm?” his fingers begin a slow pace, thrusting in and out of your wet channel. Every time he buries them inside, they crook just so, hitting that perfect spot that has you straining against your bounds. This time, it isn’t out of a desire to get out. This time, it’s out of overwhelming pleasure.

“S-stop.”

“Stop?  I can feel you clenching.” he drags his fingers out slowly, and indeed, your pussy clenches around the digits like you never want them to leave. Spencer laughs, biting your earlobe as he transfers his ministrations to your clit. Quick, steady circles that have your thighs quivering.

“Reid, stop,” your plea is weak, pitiful.

“Tell me what you know.”

“No.”

He removes his hands. You choke back a sob, feeling your hair sticking to your forehead as you struggle to regain your senses. His next words are spoken from afar, and you realize he’s leaving again. “I’ll keep you here for days, if I have to, doll.” a threat. A promise.

Spencer Reid is a man of his word. As the door shuts, you realize you’ve condemned yourself to this fate.

[girlgenius1111]

new memories

fresa putellas x solstråle engen sol normally never talks about her parents or her childhood, until a moment at the putellas household has her breaking down. little solfresa blurb :) w @wileys-russo

—

It was the excitement with which Fresa tugged Sol into the house and over to the sofa that had Sol entirely unprepared for the way her heart was about to fall out of her chest. Usually, anything Fresa got excited about made Sol excited too. Even if it was something Sol didn’t really care for, like the Spanish soap operas Fresa was obsessed with, or the new moisturizer she was trying, Sol found that she loved those things because of how much joy they brought her girlfriend. 

But as Fresa clicked on the TV and hit the play button on the old VCR, Sol wasn’t excited anymore. 

Because there was baby Fresa, chubby cheeked, shrieking with laughter as a teenage Alexia chased her around the kitchen, a wide grin on her face. 

“Mami just found it in the attic! I thought we’d watched all the tapes from when we were kids but I hadn’t seen this one!” Fresa explained, a mix of something nostalgic and heavy and fond clear on her face. 

A younger Alba walked into the frame, and Fresa paused the video, looking at Sol’s face for a reaction. 

“Look, amor! Look at that haircut. Isn’t that a crime?!” 

Sol ignored the familiar tight feeling out of her chest, giving her girlfriend what she hoped was a convincing smile. 

“Yeah, yeah a real crime.” She murmured, looking down at her hands in her lap before she did something embarrassing like cry. 

The smile on Fresa’s face faltered as she studied her girlfriend, seeing for the first time that something wasn’t right. 

“Sol, amor, what–”

“Solstråle,” Eli called warmly, hurrying into the room with Alba trailing behind her. “How are you, niña?” 

“Good!” Sol lied, forcing herself to look up and meet Eli’s eyes. Of course, nothing was getting past the older woman, either, her eyes flickering between her daughter’s and Sol’s. 

Before either Fresa or Eli could say a word, more voices and loud footsteps filtered into the room. Sol felt herself shrinking in on herself, as if the more people that entered, the more likely it was for someone to question why she looked like she was about to cry. 

“At least you didn’t look like a mushroom!” Alexia scoffed. 

“I looked worse. Like a possessed doll.” Alba complained, gesturing to the TV where the image of her younger self was still frozen. 

“Solstråle.” Alexia said curtly, noticing the brunette sat on the couch next to her youngest sister. 

“Hola, Sol.” Alba chimed in, using a  much more friendly tone. 

Sol replied with a soft hello, doing her best to ignore the stares of her girlfriend and Eli. 

Alba threw herself down on Fresa’s otherside with a loud huff, reaching for the remote as if she was expecting to have to wrestle it away. 

Fresa was completely still, though, her eyes fixed on her girlfriend. It may not have seemed like a big deal to anyone else, but Fresa knew her girlfriend pretty well. She knew when Sol wasn’t okay, even if the Norwegian refused to ever admit that fact. It had just been a momentary lapse in her usual sunny demeanor, but Fresa could see it for what it was. 

And what it was… was a big deal. 

“Okay, Fresita, you show your girlfriend ugly pictures of me, then Sol should see you in your little helmet hiding from Alexia’s football.” Alba taunted, hitting the fast forward button on the remote, expecting Fresa to launch herself across the couch any moment now. Alexia chuckled as she took a seat in an armchair, also not clocking the tension in the room. 

Alba searched the tape for the clip, while Fresa extended her hand, lacing her finger’s with Sol’s. 

Except Sol’s hand wasn’t steady, as it normally was. It was clammy and shaking. In fact, it looked as though the entire body of the Norwegian was trembling. 

So, instead of wrestling Alba for the remote, or scolding Alexia to say a proper hello to Sol, Fresa abruptly stood up, pulling her girlfriend with her. 

“I need alone time.” Fresa announced, turning and dragging Sol towards the hall that led to her bedroom. Sol went willingly, which in and of itself was odd. She never passed up an opportunity to spend time with Fresa’s sisters. Now, though, she didn’t even look up from the ground as she followed her girlfriend down the hallway. 

“Huh?” Alba replied, tearing her eyes off the screen for a second to watch her sister walk away. 

“Hey! Door open! Six feet apart! No touching!” Alexia called after them, wincing and glaring at her Mami when Eli lightly smacked the back of her head. “What?!”

“This is my house, Alexia, they can have the door shut.” Eli explained exasperatedly. “Besides, Sol is upset about something, give them some space.” 

“Really? How could you tell?” Alba asked, brow furrowed. 

Alexia rolled her eyes, as if she too hadn’t been oblivious to the Norwegian’s mood. “She probably listened, Alba, instead of running her big mouth every second of every–”

“Oh, I see. I talk too much. I’m the one who goes on and on about corners and passing spaces and free kicks and–”

The two sisters began speaking at the same time, arguing even though they both had half smiles on their faces, like they were enjoying themselves. Knowing them, they probably were. 

Eli ignored them, glancing down the hall, hoping everything was okay. 

—

Fresa’s hand gripped softly to Sol’s as she led the Norwegian into her bedroom. Neither of them spoke; Sol didn’t have the words to explain everything that was going through her head. 

Fresa was sure she had an inkling of what was going on; she wasn’t completely clueless. It was obvious that things weren’t great between Sol and her parents, if for no other reason than the fact that she’d moved across the continent away from her parents and in with her sister. There were bits and pieces Sol let slip, too, short memories that clearly upset her, spoken so softly Fresa had to strain to listen. 

And then there were the jokes. The jokes more than anything, like Sol was afraid to let anyone see how much she was hurting. If it had a punchline, Sol could pretend it didn’t make her feel anything. 

Fresa caught the pain in Sol’s eyes when she joked about Ingrid being the favorite child. The first time Sol had met Eli, and had seemed completely shocked when Eli had pulled her in for a hug. 

The look in Sol’s eyes when the home video had begun playing was something Fresa was sure she would remember forever. It was more than pain; it was agony and sadness and heartbreak. And now, as Fresa pulled her girlfriend over to her neatly made bed, soft sniffles broke the silence. 

It was entirely instinctual, Fresa sprawling out on her bed and holding her arms open for the taller girl. It had only been a few months of them being together, but they were both very tactile people. Despite the size difference between them, and the often rough and tough exterior Sol presented, there wasn’t anything in the world that could make her feel better more than laying in Fresa’s arms. 

It was a few minutes of silence, of Sol listening to Fresa’s heartbeat and feeling the younger girl’s perfectly manicured nails scratching lightly at her back and scalp before Sol could talk. 

“I don’t… I don’t have any home videos of myself that my parents took. Or photos. They’re all mostly of Ingrid, with me in the background of some of them. They never came to any of my school performances or parent teacher conferences. They didn’t care about any of my milestones. Everything I have to remember my childhood by is because Ingrid thought to keep it. Not my parents.” Sol’s voice broke off, and she took a shuddering breath. Fresa’s lips pressed softly into the top of her head. 

“It’s okay, amor. Take your time.” Fresa murmured, like she knew exactly how hard it was for Sol to vocalize all of this.

“They never loved me like they loved Ingrid. They tolerated me, until they didn’t anymore. They never wanted me, I wasn’t good enough for them. I’ve just… I’ve never been good enough.” 

At this, Fresa shook her head. 

“That’s not true.” She said gently. “You’re enough for me, Sol.” 

Eyes still welled with tears, lip still quivering, Sol looked up at her girlfriend like she didn’t quite believe her. 

“I love you.” Fresa whispered. It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but it may as well have been given the expression on Sol’s face. “It’s easy to love you, Solstråle. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done, because you are good and kind and beautiful.” 

“Stop.” Sol choked out, wiping at her face and willing the tears to stop. She’d never been very good at taking compliments, especially from girls as pretty as Fresa. 

Fresa just shook her head, though, a sad smile on her face. “No. You need to hear it, and I’m going to tell you until you believe me.” 

The younger girl had barely finished speaking before Sol was surging up towards her, pressing her lips to Fresa’s almost desperately. Cradling Sol’s face in her hands, Fresa kissed her back before pressing their foreheads together. Her thumbs swiped away the tears that still slid down Sol’s cheeks, their eyes locked. 

“I love you.” Sol whispered shakily. Fresa whispered it back, again, before tucking her face into Sol’s neck and wrapping her arms around the Norwegian’s waist. 

Sol kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to slip out, and Fresa to realize that she was making a mistake. Yet everything Fresa learned about Sol, the good and the bad, she hadn’t gone anywhere, wasn’t going anywhere. It was with a warm feeling blooming in her chest as she tightened her hold around her girlfriend, that Sol let herself believe that Fresa saw her, and loved her all the same. 

—

[tqlepatia]

⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄. ( 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀. )

"Don't gotta fight for what is mine (now) You couldn't keep him even if I gave him to you It's just pathetic at this point If you think my baby'll leave me for you (tell the world)..."

౨ৎ - 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒' : "Hi angels! This work is based on the song "All Mine" by Kali Uchis, and all credits go to the artist of the fanart. I couldn't find them. If you know who they are, please tell me."

The bar’s dim, hazy with a soft white light, the air thick with your perfume and smoke. Sevika’s in all black, boots heavy on the floor, thighs spread like sin. Her shirt’s unbuttoned just enough to tease the tattoo curling at her chest, her chain low and glinting under the light.

You're sitting sideways on her lap in the corner booth, drink in one hand, her arm wrapped around your waist. You’re not doing anything loud—just sipping, looking at her from beneath your lashes like you already undressed her twice and she let you.

That’s when she shows up.

Waitress. Tiny little thing. Skirt barely covering her ass, glossy lips too pink to be accidental, button undone that definitely wasn't undone when she served the last table. She's pretty, you give her that—She’s chewing gum and walking like she’s trying to be noticed.

And yeah, Sevika looks up, just to be polite.

“Hey there,” the waitress says, her voice a little too breathy. “I was just wondering if you wanted another round. On me.”

She leans forward, tits pushed together like an offering. She sets the drinks down slow, one nail dragging against Sevika’s fingers. Bold.

You don’t say anything. You don’t even blink, Because Sevika doesn’t pull back.

She doesn’t have to, She just smiles—lazy, like a wolf who’s already full—and turns her head to kiss the side of your neck.

“Nah,” she says, her lips still brushing your skin. “I’ve already got what I want.”

The waitress blinks. Flashes a too-white smile.

“Well… you know where to find me if you change your mind.”—"I won't," Sevika replies flatly, gaze still on you. "But thanks." The waitress walks off, a little flustered now. But still she makes sure to give Sevika a full view when she turns around, hips swaying like a threat.

"Kinda hot watching girls throw themselves at you knowing you'd still crawl back to me." Sevika laughs, real and low, dragging you into her lap with ease

Sevika groans under her breath, eyes flicking down to your legs still draped over hers "You get off on that?" she smirks.

You sigh, sipping your drink. “She’s bold.”

“She’s desperate,” Sevika mutters, one hand sliding higher up your thigh. “Ain’t even subtle with it.”

You lean in close, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “You could walk in here with your fly unzipped and a sign that says ‘free pussy’ taped to your chest. I still wouldn’t be worried.”

Sevika chuckles, real low. “You shouldn’t be."

And that’s the thing. You know what she looks like. You know how people look at her. You know she’s hot, older, powerful and confident, that she could walk out of here with anyone she wanted.

But she doesn’t—She stays with you. Always does.

“You’re not gonna say anything to her?” you tease. Sevika grins. “What’s there to say? She can try all night, but she’s still gonna end it crying in the staff room while I’m making you come in my backseat.”

You laugh into her mouth as she kisses you again, full, slow and messy. The whole bar could be watching, but she doesn’t care. She wants them to see.

The waitress leans in again like she didn't just get dismissed twenty minutes ago. Like she didn't already try and fail.

"You gonna be busy later?" she asks, with a tone that tries to sound casual-like Sevika hasn't been running her hand up and down your thigh all night. Like you aren't practically seated in her lap.

But the waitress doesn't move.

So Sevika leans back in the booth, spreads her thighs a little wider, lets her prosthetic arm glint in the dim light- and says, "Yeah. I'm gonna be real fucking busy."

The waitress blinks, frozen.

Sevika keeps going. Calm. Lazy. Low.

"I'm gonna press her up against the bathroom sink. Still dressed like this," she says, nodding toward your outfit. "Gonna bend her over with her heels still on, make her look at herself while I fuck her with my fingers."

The waitress is frozen. Mortified. Probably wet.

"So yeah," she says, cocking her head. "I'm real fucking busy tonight."

The waitress swallows. Nods. Mumbles something like "have a good night" before practically stumbling backward.

You don't even pretend to hold back your grin now. You bite your lip and look up at her like she's the only religion you've ever believed in.

"Did you mean all of that?" you ask, lips brushing her ear. "Baby," she says, dragging her hand up your thigh, "I didn't even say the half of it".

౨ৎ - 𝐓aglist ; @prettyinpink69 , @abbysdollie , @marieeeluvsyou , @littlelovelunette , @madzorwhatever , @zvmbitegirl , @salsalsusu , @katarandaa , @starrycherie , @moonshimegf .

[littlelovelunette]

I want to get a post out there for ya'll so...

Headcanons: Sevika's Toys

Contains suggestive themes

100% owns a purple strap which is atleast eight inches big and girthy. There are ridges and silicone veins over it to give it more of a feel. Sevika's so proud when she's fucking you with that strap, it's her go-to.

Owns two purple straps actually, one is the normal one. And the other is the purple hexstrap. It has the ability of breeding you, one of Sevika's deep, desperate desires.

Owns several vibrators, mainly because she likes taping one to each of your nipples, your clit and watch you writh and moan against her arm while she pounds into you.

Sevika has atleast one glass dildo, that I can say with confidence. She usually uses it with your ass, pushing it inside, slowly of course, making sure it's well lubircated for you because you whine so much during anal, "Fuck your insides are so pretty. Can see you clenching it for daddy."

HARDCORE into bondage stuff. She is so likely to leave you tied down to the bed with a vibrator in both your holes, gagged and squirming against the red ropes as you mumble muffled apologies for mouthing her off. "So sorry, daddy, please, won't happen again. Please..."

Of course, she has a collar and a leash inside her drawer which you found on your first date by mistake. Sevika's excuse was, "I... Had a dog?" She's a terrible liar.

Sevika barely ever gets to ever be the submissive one in sex, but if she does, she enjoys having huge toys filling her up, especially double penetration turns her on the most.

Anal plugs of all sizes and textures, almost all of them are inflatable. She inflates them until you're crying and begging her to stop stretching you out from behind.

The amount of cuffs and chains you'd find in this woman's bedroom, you'd think she tortures people on a daily basis.

Owns a big, black vibrating dildo where the shaft moves, it wiggles inside your pussy when she inserts it. It has bumps and ridges all over the shaft and the base has the intensity buttons. At first, it barely fit inside you because of its sheer thickness but you both worked your way around it.

[pasukiyo]

I WANT YOUR VIDEO

college baseball player!leon x f!reader word count: 3,836 warnings: sex tape, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v sex with seemingly creampie, hint of corruption kink, leon's kind of an fboy if you squint, brief spanking synopsis: you've just gotten a brand new video camera and leon intends to use it properly...

 “Shit, shit, shit!”

 She curses through gritted teeth as she repeatedly jabs her finger against the record button, sliding her hand through the handle on the side of the small device, hastily bringing the viewfinder to her right eye. She quickly finds Leon where he stands in his ready position at third base just in time, as the batter swings and hits a ground ball that heads straight for him. 

 She gasps and her breath hitches, and she holds it in her throat as the scene seems to unravel in slow motion. Leon scoops the ball into his glove and shuffles into his throwing motion, her camcorder follows the ball as it soars through the air towards the first baseman and into his glove. 

 The runner only hits first base a second after the ball hits the glove. 

 Leon’s won the game. 

 She moves the viewfinder away from her eye to throw both hands in the air, her cheer emitting more as a shrill scream as the bleachers erupt into an uproar of applause. She watches Leon as his face splits into a grin, jumping in the air and pumping his fist in the air as his teammates crowd around him, banging their fists on his back, their palms on the top of his head. 

 She laughs and aims the camera back down to them, watching through the viewfinder as Leon disappears behind a wall of cheering baseball players. The wall crumbles only for a moment as two men dump the contents of a water cooler over Leon’s head, his dark blonde hair flattening against his forehead and beads of water drip down his face as he lifts his head and hollers. 

 People begin to make their way down from the stands and towards the field, which she takes as her cue to cut the recording to make her own way down to the dugout. She does her best to slither her way past the sea of bodies before her and she rolls onto the tips of her toes, searching for Leon between heads. She huffs, pursing her lips as she decides to just wait for him to find her until she feels a pair of hands on her waist and she shrieks as she’s lifted up into the air. 

 Someone hollers behind her and she kicks out with her feet, squirming to try and get a glimpse over her shoulder. 

 “Leon!” She whines as she’s finally set onto the ground and spun around, a hand on the small of her back drawing her into his chest. A mixture of water and sweat drops from Leon Kennedy’s forehead to the tip of her nose and she wrinkles it, reaching up with her free hand to wipe it away. “Gross. You’re all sticky and sweaty.”

 In a sea of dark blue, there seems to be a reflection of a star, one she’s become all too familiar with. She narrows her eyes at the mischievous gleam in his eyes as he scrunches his nose, nudging her forehead with his. 

 “Don’t give me that,” he whispers, drawing his mouth to hers. “You know you love it,” he says against her lips and she rolls her eyes, locking her arms around his neck. “You wish, Leon Kennedy,” she mutters back, unable to help the curving of her lips as Leon practically swallows them with his, groaning into her mouth. 

 The sheer force of Leon’s kiss nearly makes her drop the camera and after only a fleeting moment, she pulls away, hyper aware of the fact that they were most definitely not alone. 

 “You almost made me drop my brand new camera,” she complains, unraveling her arms from around his neck to fuss with her camera, willing the blood in her cheeks to cool down. Leon moans against the crown of her head, pressing a kiss to her skin.

 “Wouldn’t want that,” he murmurs, pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Their eyes meet again and her bottom lip quivers against his fingers because suddenly she knows what that roguish glint in his eyes earlier means. He leans in closer until their noses almost touch, “haven’t even gotten to put it to good use yet.”

 

They barely made it through the door of Leon’s dorm before he was already tearing her shirt off. 

 “Leon!” She moans as his kisses trail down her lips and to that delicate patch of skin on her neck that always has her knees wobbling. Her hands find his shoulders and fists a handful of his fresh, clean shirt as he backpedals towards his bedroom, kicking a foot behind him to open the door. He tugs her inside and kicks it back closed behind her, his teeth marking her neck, his forefinger lifting the strap of her bag away from her shoulder. 

 However, before he can absentmindedly toss it to the floor, he blinks, pulling away from her altogether. Her skin is warm and her vision has begun to blur but she blinks throughout, her brows knit as she watches him sift through the contents of her bag. 

 “What are you doing?” She pants and she watches as he finally fishes out what he’d been looking for. “A-ha!” He grins, holding up her brand new video camera. He begins trying to navigate all the different buttons and her spine stiffens at the sight— somehow, in her lust-drunken haze, she’d forgotten all about Leon’s intentions for tonight. 

 She’s not sure if the idea either turns her on more or makes her want to vomit. 

 Either way, there’s an ache between her legs and she swallows, trying to resist the urge to press her thighs together to quell it. 

 “Leon, you’re not seriously…?” She trails off as he finally finds the record button, pressing down on it, sliding his hand through the strap on the side, and holding the camcorder up to face her. She freezes when she realizes she’s being recorded and draws her brows together. “Leon!”

 She lunges, reaching for the camera but he backs away and she can see his toothy, little grin peeking out from the side of the folded-out screen. With the camera aimed at her face, reaches out to cup her cheek, drawing her in for another kiss. 

 “What? Isn’t this what cameras are used for?” He murmurs against her lips and she rolls her eyes, peeking towards the camera from corners of her vision. Leon’s tongue swirls her mouth and she hums into his kiss, already feeling her opposition begin to fade. She pulls away just enough to whisper, “you’re a menace, Leon Kennedy.”

 Her eyes flutter open to find he’s already staring, drawing her further into that dark, lustrous ocean of his that never fails to make liquid of her insides. His breath looms over her face like rolling smoke and she’s sinking with her head below his surface. Her gaze drops to his lips as they curve into a roguish, crooked grin. 

 “And you love it,” he mutters before her lips are enveloped with his again. She moans into his mouth as she cups either side of his face, bringing him in even closer to her orbit. 

 It's primal, the way he kisses her and she matches with equal fervor, fingers gripping locks of hair at the nape of his neck, pulling hard enough to make him groan into her mouth. His hand not preoccupied with the camcorder finds her hip, palming the flesh through her little denim shorts, grounding his bulge into her front. She mewls at the delicious friction as a flame kindles at her core and she pulls away, chest heaving with the weight of her breaths. 

 Leon watches through the viewfinder of the camera as she sinks to her knees before him, fingers hooking over the hem of his sweats. His entire body reacts when his cock springs free from his boxers as they, along with his pants, pool at his ankles. He watches through the little fold-out screen as she blinks up at him, as if she’s a saint, as if she’s nothing short of innocent. 

 She has to know what she’s doing. Leon still remembers that day a few months back in the batting cage, remembers the nervous, stuttering mess of a girl she was then. 

 It was back when she was just a silly girl with a silly little crush— she didn’t ever truly expect anything to come from it. She’d had little to no experience with sex or relationships for that matter, so she learned to keep her fantasies private, her feelings locked away inside a vault. 

 Or so she thought. 

 Until Leon stopped her after chemistry one day to ask for help. Everyone knew she was top of the class, and he’d seen the way she looked at him, sneaking glances when she thought he wouldn’t notice. But to find that she’d been writing his name in the very notebook she lent him?

 He knew he had to have her. 

 And now he does, and now he’s got her on her knees before him, fist wrapped around his cock with a camera practically in her face. It was no secret that she’d changed over the course of the past few months they’d been together, and Leon took great pride in having done the honors of breaking the good girl. 

 Now she was his good girl, conditioned to suck cock like her life depended on it, and fuck, he could come just from that thought alone. 

“Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath as he watches her lick a long stripe from his sack, up his length, all the way to his tip through the viewfinder. She stares at him— or rather, the camcorder— through her lashes, even as she parts her lips wide enough to take in just the head, the tip of her tongue circling around the slit at the top. Leon’s breath stutters in his chest and he gasps, a gravelly “oh” slipping from his lips.

“Spit on it for me,” he rasps and she complies, gathering saliva on the tip of her tongue, spewing it onto the head. Her fist pumps up and down, coating the entire length with her spit and it’s pornographic, the way Leon throws his head back with a moan. 

 “The whole thing?” She asks, absentmindedly pumping her fist from the base of his dick to just below the head, tilting her head and blinking up at him as if she wasn’t trying to wring his release out of him. He has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to control himself, snaking his hand not holding the camera around to the back of her head, taking a fistful of her hair between his fingers. 

 “You’re a fuckin’ minx, you know that?” He practically growls and her lips curve against the head of his cock, just before she dips her chin. 

 “You love it,” she uses his own words against him and then her lips part to wrap around him and oh, he’s already overcome with bliss. He has to pray somewhere in the back of his mind that the camcorder is still focused on her because he lolls his head backwards, squeezing his eyelids closed as she slowly takes him into her mouth. 

 He can feel every inch of him being drawn between her lips, all the way until he feels his tip brush the back of her throat and he can feel the way it tightens around him. 

 A filthy, rather embarrassing noise sounds from her efforts and her cheeks warm but Leon doesn’t care, if anything, it only turns him on more. She lifts her head up until just the tip is in her mouth and Leon grants her this one moment to gasp for breath before he’s guiding her back down his length, panting as every single inch of his cock sheaths inside her throat. 

 “Fuck!” He groans, peering back down at her through the camcorder’s screen. He can see her hand raise to wrap around his base just below it and she squeezes, pumping while she swirls her tongue against his tip, bobbing her head up and down as much of the length as she can take. 

 “Shit, that’s it,” he groans, watching as she takes him deeper, her nose against the little, coarse hairs around his base. “Just like that, pretty girl.”

 She whines around him and comes up for air, lips glistening with spit, streams of tears spilling from over the side of her lids. She blinks back the water in her eyes as she gasps for breath and Leon, with his fingers still tangled in her hair, tug her back down into his cock. There’s a knot building in his sack that’s making him start to see white, his release so close he can practically taste it. 

 He almost loses himself in his bliss before he comes to his senses, pulling her mouth off of his cock by the grip in her hair, his cock twitching and slit crying with precum. He pants, cursing beneath his breath as she rocks back on her heels, a string of spit hanging from her bottom lip that she wipes away with the back of her hand. 

 It’s all so filthy and provocative yet so damn erotic. It seems fitting now that they were recording— this is exactly the type of shit you see in the porn videos. 

 She blinks up at him from her spot on the floor and he leans down, kissing her just so he can taste her, humming at the mixture of saliva and precum in her mouth. He pulls away, a bridge of spit stringing between their lips, and turns, stepping out of his boxers and sweats before walking towards his dresser. 

 She eyes him curiously, still panting as she watches him place the camcorder down on the top of his dresser, adjusting the position until he’s certain the lens faces the bed. Blood bites her cheeks and lava oozes at her apex as Leon makes his back towards her, tugging his shirt over his head during the journey. 

 “Off,” his voice drips with authority and he gestures with his chin towards her clothes. His shirt falls to the floor and he’s left naked, save for the silver chain that dangles just above his chest and she swallows at the sight before her, pressing her thighs together as she rises from her place on the ground. 

 Their gazes meet and lock as she grabs the bottom of her shirt— the one she always wears to his games that has his name and number on the back— and Leon greedily takes in the sight before him as she pulls the material over her head. Her denim shorts are the next to go and he, admittedly, watches her breasts over the top of her bra as she bends over to step out of her bottoms, tossing them aside. 

 She’s left in her underwear and her eyes boldly meet his once again, her lids heavy against them, a refulgent white flame in the backdrops of her pupils. Her hands reach around to her back to unclasp her bra and she watches as Leon eyes the way the straps slip down her shoulders, the length of her arms until her breasts are finally on full display. His breath hitches as the lace falls down to the floor and she hooks her fingers tauntingly around the hem of her panties, lifting it up and sliding her fingers back and forth of the expanse of them before at last, she pulls them down her legs until they’re both standing before each other, nude and burning like two stars in supernova. 

 She makes her way back towards Leon, wrapping her hands around the back of his head, drawing herself in until they were close, yet not close enough. 

 “What’s next?” She asks, a corner of her mouth curved in a smirk and Leon’s eyes narrow, the center of his stormy sea expanding until nearly his entire iris is veiled by shadow. 

 “You’ve had your fun,” he says before pushing her towards the bed. She lands with a huff on her stomach and her brows draw together as she peers at him from over her shoulder. “Now I wanna see you on all fours.”

 Again, her core aches at the mere fact of how dominant he is and she can feel her arousal as it drips down her slit as she complies, lifting herself up until she’s on her knees and elbows. It’s a rather embarrassing position, if not risqué, at the least. Knowing she’s being recorded in this position only further makes her skin burn, as well as it makes insides melt, hot magma oozing straight down to her center. 

 The bed dips behind her and she mewls as Leon’s palm slams down onto one side of her ass with a loud smack, the sting deliciously lingering on her flesh. The nearness of him behind her makes her bones rattle and spine erupt in shivers as he runs his palm up and down the expanse of her back. She can feel the head of his cock against her ass, teasing her, taunting her. 

 “Leon…” she whimpers, wiggling her hips backwards in hopes of some sort of friction. Another slap against the other side of her ass makes her body quake and she yelps, balling her fists against the sheets. She catches a glimpse of him over her shoulder as he takes his cock in one hand, slowly pumping up and down his length, a quiet curse slipping from his lips. 

 “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He purrs, reaching forward to trace the line of her jaw with his forefinger. He hunches over her body to press a soft kiss to the side of her mouth and she hums, feeling herself turn into a ball of malleable putty in the palm of his hands. 

 “Yeah?” She says and he chuckles softly, nodding, his nose against her cheek. “Yeah. So, so pretty,” he whispers and she hums again as he pulls away from her face, palm once again soothing over her back. His right hand rests on the left side of her ass and for a moment, it’s peaceful, for a moment, it’s quiet. 

 Then Leon bucks his hips forward and with one thrust, she’s full to the brim. Her lips part to make way for a loud gasp that fully permeates his bedroom and lingers, balling her fists so hard against the sheets, she could feel her nails digging into her palms. 

 “And so, so damn tempting,” he grunts as he pulls back his hips just to piston them back into her again. “A fuckin’ vixen is what you are.”

 Bolts of ecstasy half her ability to make words as Leon sets his pace, his thrusts hard, forceful and fast. It’s truly pornographic— again, making it all too fitting that they’re being recorded— the way he fucks her. He’s like an animal and all this energy has been pent up inside of him for so long, too long. You would have no idea he just played a nearly three hour long baseball game. 

 He’s on a high— from making the last out of the game to being so lucky to have a girl like her on his arm— and he’s pouring every single ounce of that energy into her, into each and every single one of his thrusts. She has to dig her nails into the sheets to keep her body from being driven too far up the bed away from him. 

 His hands find her hips and he uses them as leverage to fuck into her harder, deeper. The sound of their skin slapping together permeates the bedroom, her eyes rolling into the back of her head and her toes curl as the tip of his cock repeatedly hits that spongy spot deep inside of her deliciously. Over and over and over and over again does he find that spot and it’s sooner rather than later that she feels herself burning, that kindling that had once been a small flame at the pit of her belly now fully blossomed into a wildfire, wreaking havoc across her ovaries. 

 “Le… Lee… Leon!” She cries, feeling tears brim and sting the outline of her lids as he mutters curses underneath his breath, making it his sole mission to utterly destroy her with his cock. “Slow down or I’m gonna… I’m gonna…! Oh, fuck!”

 She hears him laugh behind her, bending over her body— all whilst maintaining his speed— to press a tender kiss to the center of her spine. 

 “That’s kind of the point,” he says against her back, lips curved into an impish grin against her skin. She can feel drool fall from her mouth down to her chin and she prays that the camcorder can’t pick this embarrassing detail up as she clenches around him, his dick having coaxed her so close to her peak. 

 Leon lifts away from her back and barks a curse when she tightens around him, his hips stuttering. “Gonna take me down with you, huh?” He growls, bucking his hips harder and harder and harder into her until she begins to crack like the shell of an egg, her orgasm spilling through the jagged lines like the yolk. 

 She succumbs to blinding white, hot bliss and she shudders, Leon leaning over her to wrap his arms around her waist as he, too, is overtaken by the sheer power of his release. “Leon!” She moans, either of their noises echoing off the four walls of his room and she hopes somewhere in the back of her mind that his roommate, Carlos, is not home to further be exposed to their coition. 

 Leon’s hips finally still and he simply holds her through either of their orgasms, his chest flush to her back. She can feel his dick twitch inside of her and she mewls, feeling his fingers brush through her hair, his lips finding her ear. 

 He presses a kiss to the shell before he whispers, “okay?”

 It’s hard to speak through her panting but she manages to nod, her eyelids feeling heavy as they fall over her eyes. “Okay,” she replies and she simply lays there on her stomach, Leon on her back. The room smells of sex and perspiration but at its core, it smells like Leon, like home. His warmth is like the fire in a hearth on a cold winter's day and she hums as fatigue washes over her, lulling her towards a temporary slumber. 

 Leon groans from behind her and she feels him lift off of the bed, albeit reluctantly. Her nose wrinkles in displeasure but she does not lift her head, does not even open her eyes. She’s simply too tired, but before she drifts away to sleep, she hears a string of curses being said beneath Leon’s breath. 

 “Shit, shit, shit! How the fuck do you turn this thing off?”

a/n; teehee i'm so happy so many of you enjoyed the first baseball player leon fic, so here's a treat! wrote this up while freezing my tits off in the bathtub 😘

📹 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the entire world to me 🫶

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[spritepespi]

link is not in my bio, but here instead.

naya, yamen, and their family haven't been getting any traction on their gofundme, and this sweet girl and her brother deserve a second chance at life.

naya's father ayman is an arabic teacher who works at an international american school in gaza. he loves his children more than anything. in 2009 he applied for asylum in norway, and was denied because 'gaza is safe'

the frustration ayman is feeling, wanting to help his children but being unable to because of extensive red tape, is completely understandable. israel is doing their best to make this as difficult as possible for everyone who wants to leave, and the only people who can make a difference right now are folks like you, who can help them directly.

you can help them, so please do. donate to their gofundme if you have means to skip a treat, and regardless, please share this post and press the buttons to boost engagement. we can get them out.

[novvabee]

And They Were Roommates 11

this sat in my drafts for a while because of the whole tiktok ban thing.

Summary: you prank James and it makes for a great tiktok.

word count: 1.5k

cw: swearing once or twice

The boys really didn’t understand what you were up to now. 

They understood the concepts of social media and partook in the occasional instagram post, but they were all so… different.

You knew that they went to a boarding school that didn’t allow any technology, and they were severely lacking in the pop culture department, but usually Remus could fill in the gaps for the other two boys. He was the one who had seen all the movies you’d reference or know about a celebrity that you were talking about. 

But when it came to silly trends and social media references, the boys were completely lost.

So, you decided to take advantage of their lack of understanding for a good laugh. Even though the girls also went to this boarding school, they still had a good understanding of the world. You and Lily would send funny videos or TikToks to each other, Mary would always discuss the latest celebrity tea with you, and Marlene would recommend new artists she found and send them to you to give a listen to. The point is, they weren’t as blind to these things as the boys were, maybe the boys were just heavily sheltered?

Either way, when you rounded them all up to explain that you wanted to do a silly trend, they looked at you in bewilderment. You had to explain multiple times what a “hear me out cake” was. You explained to them the premise, that there would be a cake that you all would take turns decorating with people and characters that you think were attractive and the rest of the group would have to ‘hear you out’ on why. 

You all compiled your lists and sent the pictures up to Remus’s printer in his room. You noticed the boys had far less than yourself, but that was ok, you were really just trying to prank James and send the video to Lily.

The other day he had scared the daylights out of you when you thought you were home alone. He thought it was hilarious, you did not, so you knew you had to get him back somehow and you knew he wouldn’t be expecting this at all. None of them would, and you were ready to show off your mischievous side.

You sat in the living room, cutting out your images and taping them to toothpicks to later pop in the cake. Remus and James were kind enough to run to the store down the road and pick up a cake. You laughed at the inscription iced on top; a generic “Happy Birthday” with balloons iced around the corners.

“It’s perfect.” you smiled up at them.

They set the cake on the dining table as you and Sirius made your way into the kitchen. You handed both Remus and James their pictures and set your phone up to start recording. 

“I still don’t really get it,” Sirius said from beside you, “Why do you have to film it? And why do you want to know who we find fit?”

You laughed as you hit the record button, stepping back and in line with the boys. “Because it’s just a stupid TikTok thing. I thought it would be funny.” you said, looking up at Sirius and batting your lashes, knowing he would go along with whatever you wanted when you looked at him like that.

“Fine,” he said finally.

“Ok, I'll go first,” you said. You pulled out a picture and stuck it in the cake. “James Sully.” You finished placing the picture of the blue avatar front and center.

“The Avatar?” Remus asked as James said, “Why is he blue?” to Sirius. Sirius just shrugged and looked to Remus for an answer. “He’s from a movie,” he explained.

“That thing isn’t even human,” Sirius laughed.

You laughed too, shrugging. “I mean he kinda is… and I thought he was cute ok?”

The boys shook their heads, if they didn’t understand the premise of this game before, they definitely didn’t now.

“Ok, ok,” Sirius said, “I’ll go next.” He picked out a picture and placed it next to yours.

“Sirius,” you said softly, “That’s a cat.” You stared at the picture of the gray tabby on the cake. And he had the audacity to poke fun at you for your ‘non-human’ character.

“Well,” Sirius began, “I didn’t have a picture of her so… this will have to do.”

“Didn’t have a picture of who?” James asked.

Sirius turned to James slightly. “Minnie.” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Sirius,” Remus sighed under his breath. James just burst into laughter, leaning on an unamused Remus for support. “What is wrong with you?”

You didn’t quite understand the joke, and you certainly didn't know who ‘Minnie’ was, but it was nice to see Remus and James giggle like that. Your plan was working, you were getting them all to loosen up a little.

James went next. He placed a picture of Princess Leia then stood back and said nothing. Maybe he didn’t get the rules of this little game. “James…” you began, “Why would we have to hear you out… she’s a conventionally attractive person.” you giggled.

He shrugged in reply. “But she's an alien right?” Oh but your ‘alien’ wasn’t ok… hypocrite.

“I mean, not really.” Remus said.

“Well she doesn't live on Earth.” James countered.

“Ok we are not arguing about Star Wars right now you nerds.” You laughed. “Go Remmy.” Remus placed an old photo of Jane Austen on the cake. “Wow… You really are a nerd.” you sighed. You stepped forward to go again.

You decided to play out your little prank on James now. You placed your picture on the cake and stepped back without a word, trying to contain your laughter. You caught the smile on Remus’s face.

“You want to explain that one?” Remus asked.

You shook your head. “Nope.” You answered.

It took all but a moment for James to realize who the picture was. “THAT’S MY DAD!” James yelled. There was a flash in your peripheral vision which turned out to be Sirius falling to the floor with laughter. You held it together for as long as you could, but the second James ripped the picture off the cake and turned back to you, you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“This is my dad!” James kept repeating, shaking the picture at you. Even Remus was chuckling behind you, Sirius on the floor almost in tears and clutching his stomach.

“Where did you even get this picture? What, I mean… How even?” James was at a complete loss for words and you were losing it. You would never tell him where you got it. Lily would get a kick out of this video for sure. 

“Well James,” Remus chuckled again from behind where you stood, nudging you aside softly to make his way back to the cake. “I have a feeling you’re not gonna like this one.” He placed a picture of a woman you didn’t know. She was beautiful, looked kind. 

For a second the room was quiet, James and Sirius trying to see who it was that Remus placed on the cake. Sirius burst into another fit of laughter as James shrieked “WHAT THE FUCK!”

You looked to Remus who was full on laughing now. James kicked Sirius in the leg. “Shut up! She’s basically your mother too.”

“Wait, that's James’s mother?” you said, quickly making your way over and plucking the picture off the cake, holding it out in front of you to compare it to James. You could see the resemblance now. You decided to play along with Remus now. “Huh, you know what Remmy, she is hot.” you giggled. If that were to come out of either Sirius or Remus, James definitely would have punched them.

Remus threw his hands up in defence. “She said it, not me.”

James shook his head, speechless. “Why.” was all he could get out.

“Well I couldn���t put Sirius’s mother, now could I?” Remus stated matter of factly. 

Sirius, who was still on the floor and struggling for breath, managed to wheeze out, “They did… all that… for a your mum joke…” He was definitely crying with laughter now.

“Oh no,” You said, the boys attention turning to you, “We didn’t work together on this.” you held out your hand in front of Remus and he took the hint, giving you a victorious high five. 

“Great minds just think alike,” Remus agreed with you.

James’s face was quite priceless, somewhere in between shocked and baffled. 

“I wanted to get back at you for scaring me the other day.” you explained to him. He seemed to come to understand, but still so confused and freaked out that you had a picture of his dad that you had never met.

James looked to Remus for his explanation, but Remus only smirked back at him. “I Just think your mum is hot.” Remus joked. James was on him in an instant, tackling him to the kitchen floor. Sirius had finally pulled himself together enough to sit up and start wiping the tears from his eyes. You sat next to Sirius on the floor and watched as James attempted to wrestle Remus to the ground, partially successful, but you could tell Remus was letting him win, his reward for putting up with you all calling his family hot.

You couldn’t wait to send this video to Lily.

if you've seen the tiktok I am referring to 💋 that is for you. I hope yall like this, its a short but sweet one.

taglist 💌: @too-efn-old-to-be-here @cometsghost @eeviee4 @giuli-in-earth @spicybearnaise @the-lavender-girl @adharalikethestar @champomiel @itsleroyposts @enamoredwithbella @babymash @ilovejamespottersomuch @liszblog @sammyreid @kiaslily @idkman5335 @willowlovestheweasleys @lady-balem @nislame @latenightreadingpdf @v-loves-frogs @meggishhhh @mooonyxoxo @sodavrr @notmonstersapocalipse @plk-18 @prettylittlewrites @darkloverfox @navs-bhat @lexi2005 @bache3 @koolayee

[sanguineterrain]

we are not alone | steve harrington

Summary: Your whole life, you felt like you crash-landed on Earth from another planet. It's just another summer where you know that should be somewhere else. Then you meet Steve Harrington.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 15.8k

Warnings/tags: reader struggles to identify platonic vs romantic feelings. she feels very different/isolated from people. steve's a cutie patootie as usual. reader loves aliens (who doesn't?!) everyone lives. summer fic. post s4 volume 2. not explicitly romantic but a happy ending nonetheless.

A/N: omg it's been so long since i wrote for my bf steve<3 I started this fic last year LOL she is a labor of love. hope u enjoy (and if u do, please reblog and comment. u make writers' days when u tell us what u think!)

divider by firefly-graphics

The woods by Hunter’s Creek are still tonight, save for the chirp of crickets and the occasional car ambling down the road. Now seems as good a time as any to record what data you have. You have very little for the amount of time you’ve been out here. Of course, it’s a waxing gibbous moon tonight, and you’ve taken that into consideration—extraterrestrial activity is harder to detect during this phase. 

But still. You thought tonight would be more fruitful than this, especially since it’s Memorial Day weekend. Almost everyone is either vacationing at Torch Lake or getting drunk at a barbeque. Perhaps that’s what scared off all the aliens.

You put your night vision goggles on your head and press record on your tape recorder.

“8:54pm. May 30th, 1989. Location: Hunter’s Creek, approximately fifty yards from Skull Rock. No alien activity detected. Purple finches, AKA, Haemorhous purpureus, have been silent for many hours. Reason for this is unknown, but could be a sign of a possible disruption in the atmospheric pressure. Moon is in its waxing gibbous phase. Sky is clear but there is a distinct scent of—”

Across from the thicket you’re hunkered down in, there’s a rustling. You click the off button and pull on your night vision goggles. You grab your backpack and camera, then creep through the woods towards the sound. It’s probably some kind of wildlife, but every bit of information counts. Animals are imperative to understanding extraterrestrial patterns and landings. 

There’s more rustling as you approach Skull Rock. You go around slowly, so as not to startle anything. Someone moans. A red windbreaker lands a few feet away. What…?

You get to the front of Skull Rock. Through your goggles, you see two heat signatures that are definitely not wildlife. One of them screams. 

“What the fuck?!” she yelps, and you watch the left blob of color separate from the right blob. 

“Holy shit,” the right blob says. A boy. 

“Did either of you notice any birds or insects exhibiting unusual behavior?” you ask.

“Unusual behavior?” the boy blob repeats. 

You lift your goggles, annoyed. “I said, did—”

“Were you fucking spying on us?” the girl yells. 

You sigh and walk past them. “Never mind. You’ve probably frightened all the creatures away.”

“What kinds of creatures?” the boy asks.

“Steve, are you fucking serious?” she snaps. 

“She didn’t interrupt us on purpose,” ‘Steve’ says. 

“How do you know?”

“I mean… she’s wearing those army goggles.”

“To creep on us!” his less-than-lovely companion screeches. 

“Thermal night vision goggles,” you say without turning around. “But yes, the military is known to use this technology. And I wasn't spying on you. I didn't know anyone would be out here.” 

You kneel at the mouth of Skull Rock, studying the dirt. It rained recently. That could also be why tonight has been so inactive.

“You’re a freak,” the girl says behind you. “Something’s seriously wrong with you, walking around with–with army goggles in the woods. I don't believe you weren't spying.” 

Freak makes you swallow hard, makes your heart beat faster. You haven’t been reminded of your freakish status in a while. You almost forgot you were one. Almost. 

“Casey, relax. She wasn’t spying on us. She’s obviously doing science… stuff,” Steve says behind you. 

Your heart slows. Slightly. 

“You’re taking her side?”

You open a test tube and scoop dirt into the tube, then cap it. Steve and Casey continue to argue—well, Steve tries to reason with her. Casey just screams at him. You tune them out; you’re not keen on hearing the other mean names she’s likely calling you. And anyway, you have work to do. 

Then the shouting stops. You stand and turn. Casey is stomping away and she disappears among the trees, heading toward the main road. You turn on your flashlight.

Steve is Steve Harrington, whom you last saw six months ago at a Wegman’s in the frozen food aisle. He had three frozen pepperoni pizzas in his cart, a bottle of Schweppes, and two bags of Cool Ranch Doritos. You wonder how he stays so athletic. You'd hidden behind the fish sticks then and you wish you could hide now. He stands six feet away from you in a short-sleeve navy polo and light wash jeans. His hands are in his pockets, and they come out to shield his eyes when you shine the light on his face. 

“Hey, quit,” he says. 

You set the flashlight on the ground so it’s not shining on his or your face. It casts funny shadows and makes the legs of Steve’s jeans glow. 

“You upset her,” you say. 

He sighs, puts his hands on his hips. “Yeah. No kidding.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your intercourse, for the record.”

Steve grimaces. “We weren’t doing it, we were just making out. And it’s—ah, it’s fine. I’m sorry she called you a freak. That wasn’t cool at all. I didn’t know she was like that.”

“Like what?”

“Y’know, mean. It’s clear you weren’t spying on us. You have, like, military equipment for God's sake.” 

This is the strangest encounter you’ve ever had. And you found a nest of alien eggs last year. 

“You didn’t have to defend me,” you say. “It seemed like she really enjoyed your tongue in her mouth.”

It’s quiet for several seconds. Then Steve snorts in laughter.

You frown. “What?”

“I don’t–I don’t even know,” he says, still laughing. “Just… just the way you say things is funny.”

Your expression flattens. You grab your flashlight and turn on your heel, stomping back to where your stuff is.

“Wait! Shit. Wait, sorry! Hold on! I’m sorry.”

Steve jogs ahead of you, blocking your path. You shine the flashlight in his face again. He grunts and puts his hands up to block the light. 

“Jesus. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I like the way you talk, is what I was trying to say. I wasn’t making fun of you, okay? Can you please not blind me?”

You shine the flashlight onto his chest. Steve looks at you. There's a smudge of red lip gloss on his chin.

“You have lip gloss on your chin,” you say, stepping around him.

“I–oh. Thanks.”

He follows you down the path, twigs crunching under his shoes. You turn around, glaring. 

“Don’t follow me,” you say, voice stronger than you feel. “If you want to make fun of me in private, then go. In fact, go chase Casey, apologize to her, and then talk about what a freak I am. But don’t follow me, or I’ll use my flamethrower on you.”

His eyebrows go to his hairline. “Where did you get a flamethrower?”

“I made it.”

“Are you allowed to make flamethrowers?”

“There’s no explicit law against it. I checked.” You’ve decided that the mayor doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, he’ll be the first to go when aliens take over Hawkins.

Steve takes a careful step forward, eyeing your flashlight. Your eyes narrow.

“I’m not gonna make fun of you,” he says slowly. “And I don’t care about Casey, not anymore. I didn’t realize she was so mean. I don't like her anymore. I'm serious.”

“So why are you following me?”

“I wanted to make sure you got back okay to… wherever you’re going.”

“I’m fine,” you say. “I’ve been out here plenty of times before.”

“Oh. Studying animals?”

You shrug. “Sometimes.”

“That’s cool. My friend Dustin also likes science stuff. I don’t know what the kid’s talking about ninety percent of the time, but he’s really smart. You seem really smart too.”

You look away, shifting your weight between your feet. You don’t know what to say. Why is he saying that to you? 

“So what kinds of animals do you study?” Steve asks.

“All kinds. I’m not really focused on the animals, though. They’re only one component of my research.”

“Huh. So what’re you out here for?”

Past experiences have taught you that generally, the people of Hawkins aren’t very open-minded about life beyond Earth. Or anything, really. Historically, Steve Harrington has shown himself to be one of those people. You've never been personally victimized by him or his stupid friends, but you've known people who were. You know what he's about. 

And making out with a pretty girl at Skull Rock is exactly what you would expect from him, so logically, your observations are sound. But he didn’t follow Casey when she stormed off. He defended you. And he has kind eyes.

The last observation isn’t rooted in any logic. You don’t know where it comes from.

“I’m studying…” You take a breath and lift your chin. “I am studying extraterrestrial life. I came out tonight hoping to find more of the foreign isotopes I collected last month.”

“Whoa,” says Steve. “That’s so cool. Like UFOs? Aliens? You really think there are aliens here?”

You blink. “...Well, um, potentially. Probably not landing in Hawkins, but a lot of ufologists theorize that alien debris can penetrate our atmosphere. I think aliens have definitely flown over this area.”

Steve shakes his head in awe. “That’s amazing. Have you ever seen an alien?”

“No, but I’ve found an alien egg nest.”

“No kidding? Do you have pictures?” 

“At my house,” you say, fiddling with your flashlight. 

“That’s really cool.”

His watch beeps. You both jump.

“Uh… oh, shit. Sorry, I gotta go. I have to pick up my friend from work. She’s got the closing shift. But I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

“What about Casey?” you ask.

Steve shrugs. “She ditched me and walked up the road to David Quentin’s house. He’s having a Memorial Day party.”

You should definitely put that in your notes. No wonder there’s no activity tonight. Aliens are frightened of inebriated young adults. 

“I don’t want a ride,” you say primly. You certainly don’t want anything from the likes of Steve Harrington. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I live nearby.”

It’s a mild night, and it’s not even dark yet. Steve seems to realize this too. 

“Okay, if you’re really sure.” He smiles. “It was nice to meet you.”

You nod. You don’t know yet if it was nice to meet Steve or not. You’ll have to think about it. 

Steve disappears among the trees. When he’s completely out of sight, you return to the rock to check once more for wildlife activity. There’s none, but there is the same red windbreaker from earlier. It has the initials S.H. embroidered in white on the sleeve. 

You pick it up and give it a cautious sniff. It smells like jasmine and boys, but in a good way. Steve smells very nice, and you’ve smelled a lot of people in your day. 

You remember Steve’s old cologne as he'd passed you in the hallway at school. He’d smelled different, overpowering. You neatly fold the windbreaker and tuck it into your backpack. 

The Harrington residence has a planter of tulips on the front windowsill. You’ve never seen Mrs. or Mr. Harrington in person. There was a photo of them in the newspaper years ago. Mrs. Harrington wore a lot of pearls and had a thin, severe mouth with inoffensive pink lipstick. Mr. Harrington had a gold watch and looked like he was trying to sell something. You remember wondering where Steve had been when they’d taken the photo.

The tulips are a healthy, blushing pink. Someone takes care of them. 

Steve’s windbreaker sits like an anchor in your backpack. It was easy to find his address in the phonebook. You'd washed the jacket yesterday after taking some hairs to test for alien DNA. Can’t be too careful. 

It would make sense if Steve had been replaced by an alien. An alien with kind eyes. An alien who offers girls like you a ride home.

The lawn is mowed. A white picket fence surrounds the house. You pick up the latch and walk up the neat pathway. You take out the plastic Kroger bag with Steve’s windbreaker and place it on the top stair, on the welcome mat. The windows are dark, but Steve’s car is in the driveway. He and his family must be asleep.

You wonder if they’re the kind of family to have pancakes with expensive Canadian maple syrup on Saturday mornings. They could probably have sirloin steak for every meal if they wanted. 

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington would probably like Casey. You wonder what they'd think about Steve defending freaks in the woods. 

There’s a bin of junk on the curb in front of Steve’s house. It's the only unsightly thing on the block. Loch Nora has the best junk. You’ve been to just about every garage and yard sale in Hawkins. But the one thing you’ve learned is that rich people buy a lot of crap and a lot of it goes to waste. Summertime is the best time to root through their junk, because usually, people spring clean and then go on vacation. That means there’s less of a chance you’ll get yelled at for rooting through bags of stuff that didn't make the spring cleaning cut. 

You check the windows with the tulips. Still dark. 

The first thing in the bin is a Walkman. You press the on button. It beeps once, then goes silent. You put it in your backpack. There’s a broken hairdryer and a toy racecar. You take those too. The rest of the stuff is true junk. You look anyway. 

There’s a paperweight in the shape of a Mallard duck. Stacks of business magazines. A makeup bag filled with Estee Lauder and Clinique compacts and tubes. You open a lipstick and twist it to the top. It’s a bland pink, nowhere near as vibrant as the tulips. It’s unused, like it was bought and forgotten. 

There’s a mug with a child’s handprints in green and purple paint. Father’s Day 1976 is written on the bottom in an adult's handwriting. You quickly return it to the stack, heart pounding like you’ve touched a cursed artifact. 

You dig through the rest of the stuff. It’s all mostly in good condition. Rich people are wasteful. Perhaps you weren’t as wrong about Steve as you thought. 

“Uh… hi?”

You shoot up and back away into the street. Steve’s in a worn lifeguard shirt and black basketball shorts. He’s at the doorway, door half-opened.

“It’s all junk,” you say before he can speak. Steve has long legs. Long, hairy, and tanned. You quickly look at his face. “You left it on the curb. I wasn’t stealing.”

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn’t look angry, just confused. But you don't always guess people's feelings correctly. Maybe this is where he joins Casey and shouts at you and proves you right.

“Oh. The stuff in the bin? You were looking through it?”

“Loch Nora has the best junk,” you say.

Steve smiles, still looking confused. His hair is sleep-ruffled. “Ha. Yeah, I guess we’re known for our junk, huh?” 

“You left your jacket at Skull Rock.” You point at the bag at his feet. 

He looks down and takes the bag. “Oh, man! I was looking for this.”

You make fists and squeeze repeatedly. 

“I washed it,” you say. “With a cotton breeze scent. That one smells the least like chemicals.”

Steve looks up. His smile grows. “Thank you. That's really nice of you.” 

You want to rock on your feet but people treat you like you’re stupid when you do that. You want to rock so badly, though. Rock the nerves away.

“D’you want something to drink?” Steve asks. 

Your shoulders go tense, rising up. “Why?”

He blinks like he hadn’t been expecting that question. “Uh, because we… drink things?”

“Why would you want to serve me a drink?” 

“Well…” Steve scratches his head. “I thought you might be thirsty?”

Oh. That seems reasonable. 

“What are the options?” you ask.

“I have orange juice, chocolate milk…”

You hate those options. But you can never tell someone that you don’t like what they’re offering. They get very mad. 

“No,” you say. “I’m… allergic to those.”

Steve stops. “Oh. I also have apple juice. Robin—my friend—she’s been on an apple juice kick.”

You don’t know how one kicks apple juice. You elect to not ask.

“I will have apple juice,” you say. 

Steve nods. “Okay. Wanna come in?”

You’re back to hunching your shoulders. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to enter your house.”

Steve’s smile slides off his face. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re a stranger and if I went inside, no one would hear me scream. I will have apple juice outside your gate or nothing at all.”

His eyes widen. “That’s—I wouldn’t do anything to you.”

“We aren't friends,” you say crisply. “I don’t know you well enough to trust you. That’s my rule, and if you don’t like it, then I’ll leave, Steve Harrington.”

“No, it’s–it’s okay.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. Um, you have a point, I guess. I’ll get your juice and come back.”

Steve goes inside. You stay outside of his gate and put your backpack on the ground. He returns a minute later with two juice bottles. He goes to the gate and hands you one. 

You open it, listening for the click of plastic. You drink. It’s a nice juice brand. One that doesn’t taste like cardboard. It's cold too. The perfect juice state. 

“It’s very good,” you say. “Thank you.”

Steve smacks his lips, looking at the juice. “Right? I haven’t had apple juice in ages. Robin’s girlf—” He looks at you and coughs. “Her f-friend really likes apple juice, so I’ve started keeping it around. But I haven’t had it since, like, kindergarten. Remember they used to give us apple juice and cookies or whatever for snack time? I think it’s an underappreciated combo, apple juice and cookies.”

“I like grape juice with cookies,” you say.

“Yeah? Huh. Haven’t tried that before.”

The two of you stand like that for a bit, Steve on one side of the fence, you on the other, in the budding morning heat. It smells like freshly mowed grass. 

Once or twice you let your gaze roam too far and you notice Steve’s legs all over again. His calves are so muscular, and you see the muscles jump when he shifts his weight. It doesn’t repulse you, just fascinates you. You’d like to hold his calf, feel the tendon and muscle and bone underneath twitch and flex. You’ve never held a boy’s leg before or seen one up close. You imagine Steve can run impressively fast and for a long time. You'd like to time him, measure his endurance. 

You finish your juice. Steve takes your bottle and puts it in the recycling can outside the gate. 

“I can give you your junk back,” you say when he returns. You want to beat him to it, before he has to ask and embarrass you. 

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. Are you worried about that? Take whatever you want.”

“I didn’t take any makeup,” you say. “Or magazines. I only took the stuff people won’t want.”

He shrugs. “Take all of it. My parents left a bunch of crap after they moved away.”

They what?

“Moved? Where did they move to?”

“Uh.” Steve rubs the back of his neck. It causes his t-shirt to ride up and show the smallest belly pudge and a trail of dark hair around his belly button. You had no idea boys could have soft bellies. Your chest feels funny. Perhaps you have an arrhythmia. 

“I don’t really know, to be honest. Somewhere in New Hampshire. Concord, maybe? My dad’s family lives there.”

“Why aren’t you there?”

Steve glances at the junk. Shit. You’ve asked too many questions. You always ask too many questions.

“Never mind,” you say quickly. “I don’t need to know.”

Steve looks at you. “I—”

“I have to go,” you say, far too loud for a Saturday morning. You swing your backpack over your shoulders. “I have to go feed my bird. Goodbye, Steve Harrington.”

You bolt down the street, backpack banging against your spine. You don’t stop until you’re three blocks away and gasping for breath at the bus stop. Your feet ache in your sneakers. 

When you get home, the first thing you do is run to your room and check your test tube with pickle juice, rainwater, and three long brown hairs. The hairs are still intact. You frown. Negative. The only alien here is you.

Unbidden, Steve’s long legs flash through your mind. You dump the mixture down the toilet and flush. 

Concord is six hundred miles from Hawkins. For his sake, you’d hoped Steve was from another planet. A planet where mothers plant pink tulips and fathers keep their gift mugs.

You haven’t gone to Skull Rock in two weeks. You’re not sure what or who you’ll find, and for once, curiosity isn't enough to move you. In the meantime, you’ve charted more of the Hawkins woods, marking weather patterns, stars, and wildlife. You’ve also begun to tinker. 

Steve’s Walkman is easy to fix. You spend less than a day on it. As soon as you fix it, it starts to play tinny music, cassette whirring. Someone forgot to take out the tape.

“I’ve been waiting for so long, now I’ve finally found someone to stand by me.”

You hold it up to your ear, hunched over your desk, listening to the man sing. You understand the words, the music. You know songs. But you don’t know this one. And you don’t know where the tape came from.

“Saw the writing on the wall as we felt this magical melody.”

A woman and a man. It’s a duet. Is this… Steve’s tape?

You listen to them sing, the man and woman. They sing about passion and feelings and want. 

Have you ever wanted anything the way these two want? You don’t know. 

Does Steve want? You don’t know that either. What could he want? Doesn’t he have everything?

You look at the junk, at the Walkman. Steve’s probably already bought a new Walkman, so it doesn’t really matter that you’ve fixed this one. You don’t own many cassettes anyway; it’s not like you’ll use it frequently. 

“This could be love, because…”

Could be? Well, is it love or not? Don’t they know?

You curl your arms around the Walkman and bury your head in your arms, so that the music echoes and is channeled into your ears. You stare at the dark, feel your hot breath on your skin. Moisture gathers on the desk top and on your cheeks.

How does Steve listen to music?

Instinctively, you picture music washing over him only in someone’s living room, at a house party, a place you’d never be invited to, when he’s three drinks in and maybe has his legs out for a pretty girl to touch. 

“No, I never felt this way before… yes, I swear, it’s the truth…”

But then a new image comes into view: Steve’s eyes, sober, kind, looking up at the ceiling. Maybe he’s lying on his bed. His bed has stripes, or maybe plaid bedding. Not little green aliens like yours does. No, Steve acts his age. He does age-appropriate things like kiss beautiful, mean girls at Skull Rock. He drives his BMW and gets and gives anything he wants. He's absolutely awful and he served you apple juice. 

You jerk back as the music swells, startled by how you’ve lost time. Why are you even thinking about Steve? You don’t know. You hate not knowing. 

“I’ve had the time of my l—”

You stop the Walkman and remove the tape. There are probably more songs, but the thought of listening to the same music that Steve does frightens you. You open your drawer and shove the tape inside, burying it under notebooks. 

“And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack.”

A blast of cool air from the AC hits your face, drying the sweat on your forehead instantly. You make a beeline for the fridges at the back of the store, bobbing your head in time to the music. You haven't had a Cookie Day in a long time. You used to have them all the time, especially in high school. 

“And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile.”

There’s no grape juice. You search three times and flick through every bottle on the shelf. Nothing. 

“We’re all out, babe!” Sheila calls from the cash register. “We’ll get more tomorrow.”

You frown at the empty shelf. What are you supposed to drink? Orange juice? As if.

And how are you supposed to eat your Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookie? Juiceless? Pop makes your brain hurt, milk is too thick, water is boring, and any other juice would be a crime to pair with cookies. 

“And you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?’"

Sheila whistles to the music. You glumly take your cookie and go to the register. Sheila smiles at you, her teeth slightly yellow. She wears blue eyeshadow and bubblegum pink lip gloss and her breath always smells like mint gum, but her clothes smell like Marlboros. But it's okay, because you only really smell the Marlboros when Sheila hugs you. And Sheila always asks first before she gives you a hug. 

It was Sheila who taught you that it's okay to refuse hugs if they make you uncomfortable. And it was Sheila who said that Cookie Days chase the clouds away. She swears that a little treat is the best medicine. 

And you're in need of good medicine. 

“Find any aliens this week?” she asks as she rings up your cookie. “No drink?”

You decide to answer the second question. “There’s no grape juice. Anything else would taste funny.”

Sheila nods, smacking her gum. Her sandy blonde perm bounces. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Like, when I’m watching Wheel of Fortune, I gotta have a cigarette. Watching that Vanna White makes me need a cigarette. What a woman. You saw that pink dress she had on last week? Sweet baby J in Heaven!”

You’ve seen Wheel of Fortune once; you think it’s the most boring show on the planet. The answers are too easy. You don’t tell Sheila that, though. You like Sheila. When you like people, you don’t always tell them what you don’t like. 

“No, I didn’t see her,” you say, watching Sheila tap the buttons on the register. You give her a five dollar bill and she hands you your change. 

“You wanna sit with me for a little while, baby?” Sheila asks, patting the stool behind her. “Today’s slow.”

You open your cookie and walk around the register, then climb up on the stool. It’s hard to do with one hand. Sheila helps you up so you don’t tip the stool over.

“There ya go. You want Dr. Pepper? Oh, wait, you don’t like pop, right? Makes your brain feel funny?”

“Yeah.” You take a bite of your cookie and remember Sheila’s first question. “I found an alien egg nest last month.”

“No shit?” Sheila pulls her hair into a ponytail with a beaded green hair tie. “What kinda alien?”

“I’m not sure. When I go to UFOCon, I’ll ask. I suspect it's an avian hybrid.”

“Like the water?”

“Like birds.”

“Oh! You’re such a smarty, using those big words.” She smacks her gum. “Good, I’m glad you’re so smart. Us girls need to be smart in this world.”

“People think I’m weird.”

“Letting the days go by, letting the water hold me down.”

Sheila opens her Dr. Pepper can. The carbonation hisses. She takes a sip and her mouth screws up. 

“Whew! That’s strong. Yeah, I know, baby. People think I’m pretty weird too. Y’know, when I was your age, I almost got married to this boy. He was a decent guy, wouldn’t have hit me or nothing. Son of a farmer. And I, well, who the hell was I, y’know? Nobody. 

“So my mama was thrilled I was getting married to anybody. And then on the day we were meant to be married, y’know what I did? I ran out. Climbed through the bathroom window. Didn't stop till I got to my sister’s house. She hid me for a week, till my mama cooled down.”

“Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground.”

You swivel to face Sheila. “Why’d you do that? Isn’t getting married good?”

“Ha! No, there’s about ten million people who’d tell ya that marriage is so very not good. I didn’t wanna get married, bottom line. Some people do, and that’s well and good, but I’m not them. This kid’s name was Carl. Baby, he couldn’t even shave! His daddy shaved him the day of our wedding. We had no goddamn business getting married. You got chocolate on your lip, hon.”

She hands you a napkin. You wipe your mouth. Sheila gives you a thumbs up and takes another sip of pop. 

“Shit, still strong!” She smacks her lips. “Anyway, where was I going with this? Oh, yeah! Y’know, people will say you’re weird ‘cause you don’t fit in. But fitting in is usually a load of BS. And when you’re weird, you’ll find other cool people you like and who like you. Like my roommate, Carol. Carol and I are best buddies. She thinks I’m swell and I think she’s pretty fucking cool too.”

“But there’s no weird people in Hawkins,” you say, looking forlornly at your cookie. You know. You’ve been searching for a long time. Sheila isn’t weird, but she doesn’t mind that you are. 

“Are you kidding! There totally are. And you know something? Sometimes you meet people who aren’t weird like you but who like you exactly as you are.”

“Time isn't holding up, time isn't after us.”

The AC drones on. You finish your cookie and crumple the wrapper, then throw it in the small garbage can under the counter. Your mouth is so dry, but there’s no juice you like.

“Sheila, have you ever been wrong about somebody?”

“Definitely, honey bunches. Plenty have been wrong about me too. My mama was the first.”

“Have you ever been wrong in a good way?” you ask.

“You mean did I ever judge someone too quickly and then realize they’re actually good people?”

You nod. 

“Sure I have.” Sheila peers at you, lashes thick with black crust. “Have you done that recently?”

“I don’t know. I’m usually good at making observations about people, but so far, I’ve been wrong all the way.”

“Sometimes you just gotta get out of your own head. It's scary as shit but it's so worth it. Carol's my good friend. I love her to death. She's helping me to quit smoking. And I trust her to keep liking me even when I fall off the wagon. When I first met her, she scared me. Honest to God. I’ve never felt like that about anyone, y’know? Like I’d found my soulmate.”

You look at her. “How did you feel exactly?”

“Well, I felt jittery and a little nauseous. Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout her. She’s a cool lady, y’understand. Works with rock stars and folk singers and circus people. Plans concerts and stuff. And who am I? I work at some convenience store. I thought, shit, Sheila, what’re you playing at? Lotta people would think I’m weird to feel this way about Carol. But y’know somethin’? Carol liked me just the way I am. Still does.”

“Oh.” 

You’re so thirsty. Your feet move of their own accord, back to the fridges. Sheila pops her gum.

“Where ya goin’, babe?”

“Get a drink,” you say, though you don’t know what. You’ve never drunk anything but grape juice with your cookie. 

You open the fridge and take out a bottle of apple juice. It’s the same brand as the one that Steve gave you. The same brand he poisoned you with.

Except you’ve done extensive testing since. You went to the doctor twice. There’s no sign you’ve been poisoned. Your best guess is still aliens. As usual. 

“Didn’t know ya liked apple,” Sheila says as you return to the register. She waves away your money. “Nah, keep it. These cameras don’t work anyway.” She winks.

“I don’t usually drink apple juice,” you say. “But someone told me that it’s good with cookies. Like in kindergarten.”

“Is that what they fed you kids back then? Man! They fed us sawdust in kindergarten. I remember the teacher too. Mrs. Pip. She was okay, ‘cept she liked to chain smoke when we were having naptime, and…”

You drink the juice. It tastes exactly like it had with Steve. It tastes better than grape juice. 

“—Anyway, the kid was fine. He didn’t eat the whole cigarette. Built up his immune system, if you ask me. How’s it taste, babe?”

You nod. “I like it.”

“Always nice to find something new to like, right?”

“Yeah.” You stare at the bottle. “It is.”

Used bookstores are truly the most perfect places on Earth. 

Not only are they respite from the hellish weather currently plaguing the Midwest, but they're also filled with books. Cheap books. And books have knowledge. Knowledge that you really need.

Hawkins Local Books is the only used bookshop in Hawkins, but it holds its own in your tiny town. It smells like paper and book spines. You take deep lungfuls of the smell, happy that hardly anyone is here. Most people are out enjoying the heat. But you have work to do. 

First, you check the single shelf that sometimes has books about planetary systems and extraterrestrials. There aren't a lot of books on aliens, at least not at Hawkins Local Books. If you had a car, you'd drive to Indianapolis and take advantage of what is no doubt an extensive bookstore inventory. 

“Hi, girly.” Cora has spiky green hair and a tattoo of Frankenstein’s monster on her shoulder, which she showed you the second week you stopped by. She works on Saturdays and is three years older than you. She calls you girly and has never asked your real name, but you think she’s nice. Sometimes she gives you discounts on books. She also doesn’t care that you flip through books without buying them. Mostly, she blasts music that’s full of yelling and plays on her Gameboy. 

“Do you have any books on boys?” you ask. 

Cora squints. “Boys? Like male authors?”

“No, like, um… boys. And girls feeling… weird about boys?”

“Oh. Sure. Look back there. That’s where the romance shit is.” She points to the second room that’s equally cluttered with books. 

Romance? You could be dying.

You go anyway. Cora has never steered you to the wrong shelf before. You go and find that the romance books fill six shelves, which is overwhelming. Then again, that bodes well for you when it comes to research. There’s a sticker that says ROMANCE on one shelf. The one next to it says HARLEQUIN. You wonder what that’s about. As far as you know, ducks aren’t related to romance. But you look there first, because that shelf must be about romance in nature, and that’s exactly what you’re looking for. 

Except many of the covers feature long-haired men clutching women in odd poses. How do their necks bend that way? Why are the men so shiny? Steve isn't shiny… except for his hair. He has very nice hair. 

All you want is something that will tell you why you keep thinking about Steve Harrington’s legs and hair and eyes and why you’ve been ill since meeting him. Luxurious hair seems to be exclusive to these men, so maybe Cora is onto something. Maybe the illness part comes later for the women on the covers.  

Obviously, a part of your new feelings is that you're a scientist and Steve is a new specimen, so your brain is stuck on him. Understandable. It's just like when you found those alien eggs. But it's more than that. Your body feels clumsy and hot when you think about him, weird in a way that it doesn't when you think about the eggs. You went to the doctor for a checkup, but the results were normal. You'll have to find your own answers. 

You recall a girl in tenth grade who'd described in excruciating detail what kissing her boyfriend under the bleachers felt like. Far too much saliva for your taste. But you remember the feeling she'd described: butterflies in her stomach. Which doesn't make sense, considering butterflies would melt from stomach acid. 

No, of course you're not in love with Steve Harrington. But these new feelings require research, and perhaps books on the human condition of love can provide that. There might just be a link. 

You scan the books. Many of them have frightening titles like Held Captive or Prisoners of Love. You hope no one will try to imprison you out of love. That would be unfortunate. 

One makes you pause. Curing the Heart. Perfect! Exactly what you're looking for. A cure. 

You pull it out and flip to a random page. The cover is bent like its owner read it frequently. That seems like a promising sign.

Teresa had never been alone with a man before. She was nervous, her heart beating rapidly. 

A-ha! So this feeling was common. And you were just like Teresa. You've also never been alone with a man before, except for that time you got detention for hitting Martin Baker's hand with a biology textbook when he called you a baby and poured water on your sneakers. You hadn't even bruised the skin—Martin was the baby. 

But being with Steve hadn't felt like detention. Still, your heart beat rapidly just like Teresa's. You keep reading. 

“This pill you've given me… are you sure it will work?” Teresa asked. She followed Dr. Chase as he approached. He was bare-chested and glistening with sweat. His legs were sculpted and tanned. 

A pill! Of course. That explained the physiological reactions. But Steve surely hadn't given you a pill. Although… the juice. Had you been drugged? No, it would've worn off by now. 

And why was Dr. Chase naked and sweaty? No respectable person of science would carry themselves that way. You understood Teresa's admiration of his legs, though. 

“Certainly, Teresa,” Dr. Chase purred, his voice like whiskey and honey. “It's the best protection on the market. Do you trust me?”

Teresa thought so. Dr. Chase had been kind to her, given her all that she needed. She felt quite hot now. She'd been married for six years and had never felt this way with Ralph. She desperately wanted to remove her clothes. It would give her everything she wanted. 

Hmm. Teresa had lost you there. Removing your clothes in front of Steve was out of the question, even if it would cure you. 

Dr. Chase smirked. “Are you feeling… passionate, Teresa?”

“I'm so hot, Doctor,” Teresa whined. “Help me.”

“I know, my love. Let me help you feel more comfortable.”

This was wrong. Teresa was married. Dr. Chase was only meant to be treating her foot fungus. But… perhaps her ailments were more than skin-deep. At this moment, Teresa felt like Dr. Chase was the only man who could cure her. Cure the hole in her heart.

Teresa had a hole in her heart? Well, why wasn't this Dr. Chase fixing her? Although… he wasn't a cardiologist if he specialized in foot fungus. Still! He should refer her to one of his colleagues. What a terrible, selfish man. 

You wonder what Steve would do if you had a hole in your heart. He'd probably drive you to the hospital, at least. Better than this Dr. Chase, who was only getting sweatier. 

“Are you ready for me, Teresa?” Dr. Chase asked.

Teresa nodded. 

“Lie down on the table. The doctor will see you now.” Dr. Chase smirked again.

Hmph. He smirked a lot for a man who had drugged a dying woman. 

Dr. Chase unbuckled his belt. Teresa held her breath as she cast her eyes upon Dr. Chase’s huge, throbbing—

You drop the book. What on earth! What was intercourse going to solve when Teresa had both feet in the grave? You pick up the book and stare at the title. This had nothing to do with cures. Was Dr. Chase even a real doctor? 

You return it to the shelf with a disgusted sigh. Romance was clearly the wrong section. You've no idea what Cora was thinking, directing you here. As usual, you'd have to find sources alone and start with real science. 

You spend an hour searching the other shelves, hunting for something to explain your reaction to Steve. There are books about anxiety and its physiology, but you've felt anxiety before. You know it well. This isn't that. Really, the only possible explanation is aliens. Maybe you inhaled an otherworldly dust that's making you behave oddly around Steve. 

Hours pass before you decide that today has been a waste. You'll have to find answers elsewhere. You leave the bookstore, humid air hitting your face. You despise the heat. May has been a ridiculous mix of rain and heat. It's not too far of a walk to the bus stop, but you're not looking forward to waiting. 

Down the road, a maroon BMW moseys up the hill. Steve. You hide behind a tree. 

The car pulls up to the front of the comic book store down the block. But instead of Steve, a boy with curly hair gets out of the passenger side. He looks like a teenager, with his gangly limbs and Star Wars shirt. He's wearing a baseball cap that says Camp Know Where.

“Yeah, I got it, Steve!” the boy says impatiently. “Dude, I got it. Yeah, three o’clock, sure. Bye.”

He slams the door. You watch in awe as he climbs up the stairs and the car pulls away like nothing happened. Like this kid didn't just snap at The Steve Harrington. 

You follow him into the comic book store. He goes directly to the X-Men section. A kid with good taste. You're intrigued. You follow him on the opposite side of the bins, pretending to look through comics. He moves on. You follow him. Then he stops. You stop. He looks at you.

“Hey! Why are you following me?” he whispers fiercely.

You look around. Then you look at him. He nods. 

“Yeah, I'm talking to you! What gives?”

“Do you know Steve Harrington?” you whisper. 

He squints. “Steve? Yeah, I know him.”

You sigh and walk around the table of comics to join him. He blinks at you.

“How do you know him?” you ask, crushing your hands into fists.

“He's my friend. Wait, are you into him? Look, if you want his number, just ask him. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to give it to you.”

You pull a face. “I don't want his number.”

“You don't?”

“Why would I want his number?”

He tilts his head. “Um… to go on a date?”

Your entire body flinches. “What? No! What? That would—no. Absolutely not.” 

“Okay, jeez.” 

A date? With a boy? With Steve Harrington, no doubt. This kid thinks that you would go on a date with Steve? There’s no possible way that you look like the kind of girl to go on a date with a boy like Steve. Unless the mystery alien dust you inhaled that’s making you think strange thoughts has also warped your appearance to others. If that’s the case, then this is much more serious than you thought.

“Hey!” He waves at you. “Hello? I’m asking you a question. What's your name?”

You tell him. 

He nods. “I'm Dustin. Dustin Henderson.”

Dustin. This must be Steve's friend who likes science. But… surely, Steve wouldn't be friends with a kid his junior who doesn't match him in social popularity status. Bizarre. 

“Why do you wanna know about Steve?” Dustin asks, squinting at you. 

“Does he bully you?” you ask. 

“What? No way! Steve's nice. I mean, yeah, he can be kind of a loser, but he's cool.”

“How is he a loser?” And how can he be a loser and cool?

“Well, like, he listens to Madonna and sings along terribly, and sometimes he says things like, ‘Let's get ready to rock and roll!’ which is so old man of him.”

You have no idea what any of that means but you nod along anyway. 

“I met him a few weeks ago,” you say. “And he was different than I expected. I don't understand why. I knew him in high school. He wasn’t… like this.”

Dustin shrugs. “Yeah, he had his head up his ass back then, y’know? But now he's really nice. I promise.” He points at your bag. “Cool pin. Truth is out there, right?” 

You hum. “Yes, the truth is out there. You like aliens?”

“Do I like them? I subscribe to UFO Monthly! I went to UFOCon last year.”

“No way,” you say. “I want to go to that.”

Dustin nods eagerly. “They're having it in Indianapolis this year.”

You frown. “I know. I don't have a car.”

“Duh. Steve would take us! Me and my other friends are going. You could come.”

“You're inviting me?”

“Yeah,” he says, beaming at you.

“Why?” 

“Because you seem interesting and I'm pretty sure you're not a serial killer or anything.”

“I'm not.”

Dustin shrugs. “Good enough for me. I'll tell Steve when I see him.”

You shake your head. “No! No, don't. I'll… I'll tell him.”

Your palms feel clammy. You want to rock on your feet. You can’t. Not in front of Dustin.

“Don’t tell Steve that we talked,” you say.

“Yeah, sure.”

You step closer. “I mean it, Dustin. Please. I don’t want you to tell him. Alright?” 

Dustin holds up his hands. “Okay, okay! Jesus. I won’t tell him.”

You haven’t done nearly enough research to be able to go anywhere with Steve Harrington. If anything, you’re more confused than when you started. You have to prepare. 

“Are you o—”

“I have to go. Bye,” you say, then turn on your heel. 

You walk past the bins, past the new X-Men releases, and back into the humidity. You plop yourself down onto the rickety bus stop bench and wait. 

Your stomach churns. You feel like you ate too much. Maybe the juice that you had at Steve’s house had a delayed-release poison. From space. That must be it. 

On your way home, you stop at the drugstore and buy a bottle of Tylenol. You swallow two outside. You’ve neutralized foreign substances in your body before, stopped a fever in its tracks. This is no different. You feel better as you walk home. 

But then Steve’s legs pop into your head again. The slope of his throat and the freckles on his nose also infiltrate your mind. Sweat beads on your neck. You look around like you've been caught. Furiously, you shove the Tylenol into your backpack. Whatever ails you will require a stronger prescription.

“June 15th, 10:23am,” you say into your tape recorder. “Subject has left work and is now walking to Burger King.”

Marie coos in your ear from where she's perched on your shoulder. You pet her feathers gently, then pick up your binoculars. Steve is in his Family Video vest. He's wearing jeans, unfortunately hiding his legs, but his arms are on show and those are also tanned, toned, and equally as hairy. 

“See, Marie,” you say, putting the binoculars to her face. “That's my latest subject. I'm still not sure he's not an alien like me.” 

Marie pecks the lens. You quickly move it away and put it back on your eyes. Steve’s gone inside. You turn on the recorder again. 

“Subject walks very fast. Approximately double my stride.”

You stay low, creeping up to the Burger King windows to get a better look. Marie goes low with you until she sees a burger wrapper on the ground and she decides to go pick at that instead. Steve is ordering inside. Two teenagers approach him. Neither one is Dustin, but Steve seems to know them well. One is a girl with red hair and she's in a wheelchair. The other is a boy with short, dark hair. The girl talks to Steve. Steve puts his hands on his hips, looking mildly agitated. She shrugs. Steve turns back to the cashier and points to the teens. They add their order before Steve pays. Huh. 

Marie is trying to rip the wrapper into edible pieces. You take the wrapper and throw it away in a nearby trash can. 

“Don't do that, Marie,” you say, and return to watching your subject. She decides to play with her harness leash instead. 

Steve waits at the counter with the teens. When they get their food, they stay with Steve until he gets his. Steve and the other boy play around, miming basketball. You press Record again. 

“Subject is…” You watch them laugh. Steve says something to the girl that leaves a quiet, fond smile on her face. “Um, subject has many friends. He's well-liked. He’s nice to non-Caseys.”

You stop recording. The three of them leave Burger King, and you crouch further behind the side of the restaurant. Marie is hopping around on the ground so you return your attention to Steve. 

“Okay, but don't forget,” the girl says. “And don't spoil the surprise like last time.”

“I didn't spoil anything!” Steve says. “Robin can't lie to save her life.” 

“You told her about the party, dummy.”

“Well… she pulled it out of me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Just be there before the party starts, okay?” 

“Yeah, I'll be there. Of course I will.” 

Steve claps the boy on the shoulder and squeezes the girl's wrist. They leave in the opposite direction, away from the Burger King. You let go of Marie's leash and put your things away in your backpack, searching for your camera. This is a perfect photo opportunity. 

It happens in a moment. You've only just looked away when Steve yelps. You look up and see Marie on Steve's shoulder, insistently trying to take a French fry from his hand. Her leash dangles behind his shoulder. She's flapping her wings, making Steve's hair fly up. Steve squirms, trying to block her with his elbow.

“Jesus!” he shouts. You sprint to them. 

“Marie!” you say, hands extended. “Stop that!”

You grab Marie from Steve's shoulder with both hands and set her back on your shoulder, wrapping her leash around your wrist so she can't fly off again. You hold her in place with your hand. Steve is staring at you, eyebrows at his hairline. 

“I'm sorry,” you say tightly, and turn around, ready to run. 

“Wait!”

You turn around to face Steve. He looks dazed but he's smiling a little. 

“Uh,” he says. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that's a pigeon.”

You nod. “Yes. This is Marie. I let go of her leash for a moment. I'm sorry. She's domesticated and she doesn't have any diseases or anything. Did she peck you?”

“No, she didn’t. It's fine. I've handled way worse than a pigeon.” Steve puts his hands on his hips and leans back, shrugging like he wasn't close to fighting a pigeon. “I was just a little caught off-guard. Is she friendly?”

“Yes, she's very friendly. She likes French fries and mango, so she got excited. But she's a very good bird. I wouldn't have trained her any other way.”

Marie coos. Steve holds out a French fry. 

“Can I feed her?” he asks, eyeing Marie. You nod. 

Steve gives her the French fry. Marie eagerly gobbles it up. He steps back and dusts his hands.

“So how did you get a pet pigeon?” he asks, flattening his pigeon-swept hair. 

“I found her when she was a squab. She had an injured wing. Pigeons aren't as wild or dangerous as we think. Many people used to have them as pets.”

“Really?” Steve asks. 

You pet Marie's feathers thoughtfully. “Yes. We used them as messengers. And then we decided we didn't want them anymore. So we released them into the city. And by then, pigeons were so domesticated that they didn't know how to act like real birds. They can't make nests. They build them out of garbage. They can't survive in the wild. We did that to them.”

“Wow. That’s really shitty of us.”

You shrug. “It’s not unusual for humans, discarding what they don’t need.”

“Yeah, guess so. It’s cool that you took Marie in. Does she know tricks?”

“Sometimes she’ll find loose change around my house,” you say. “Mostly, she keeps me company. She’s my friend.”

Steve smiles. “I used to have a goldfish named Benny. But he didn’t do much. Having a pigeon for a friend sounds awesome.”

You nod. You don’t tell Steve how badly you want a human friend, how you used to cry to Marie over not having one. 

“Dustin told me he saw you at the comic store last week.”

You look at him in alarm. “What did he say?”

“Just that you guys met. I didn’t know you liked comics.”

You exhale, relieved that Dustin didn’t tell Steve you want to go somewhere with him. “Oh. Yes, some of them. I like X-Men.”

“Yeah, I, uh, don’t know a lot about any comics. I didn’t even know Star Wars had comics. I only saw the movie with the teddy bear.”

“Chewbacca?”

Steve snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. See? Nothing. Maybe you could give me some comic recommendations.”

You squint. “Why wouldn’t you just ask Dustin?”

“Oh, uh… well, that kid refuses to give me suggestions. He says I’ll be bored. But I would give comics a chance! I’m open-minded.”

“I guess I could write you a list,” you say.

Steve grins. “Cool. Hey, you like stars, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s supposed to be a comet sighting next Friday. Berg–Barfen—”

“Bertenstein’s Comet,” you say. “Yes, I know of it. You follow comet orbits?”

“Psh, are you kidding? I love that stuff!” Steve says, waving a hand. “I’m actually gonna meet friends at the park to see it. Dustin’s gonna bring his telescope. It’s gonna be, like, a picnic. At night.”

“Okay. Have fun. I’m also going to observe the comet. I have to go feed Marie now. Goodbye.” You begin to walk past Steve.

“Wait, uh—” Steve jogs backward to stop you. “Sorry, I was trying to invite you.”

You tilt your head. “To the park?”

“Yeah! Dustin’s telescope is super powerful. You can see Pluto, or something.”

You squint. “There are very few telescopes that can see Pluto.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, it’s a strong telescope. Do you wanna come?”

You pet Marie and look at Steve unsurely. “But you’ll be there with your friends.”

Steve nods slowly. “Yeah…”

“We aren’t friends.”

He sags. Instantly, you feel dread. You’ve said something wrong. As per usual.

“I… thought we could be friends,” Steve says. “I wanna be friends if you do.”

You should warn him, before he goes and recklessly makes an offer like that. “I don’t have many friends.”

Steve smiles. “That’s okay. I don’t either.”

“You did.”

He shakes his head. “Not really. I just had people I was around. These days, I make friends with people I actually like.”

And you’re one of those people?

“Okay,” you say quietly. “I will watch the comet with you and your friends, Steve.”

He brightens. That fluttery feeling in your gut returns. 

“Cool! So we’re meeting on the field, by the pond. I can pick you up around eight if you want.”

“The park is close to my house,” you say. “I’ll walk.”

“Oh. Okay. No problem. Lemme give you my number in case anything changes or if you have any questions.”

Steve takes out the receipt from his Burger King bag. He digs into his pockets for a pen. You watch him, limbs feeling slightly numb. Why is he giving you his number? Did Dustin tell him you want to go on a date? Or is this just to make fun of you later, to laugh at you for thinking that Steve—that anyone—would actually give you their number? 

“Here,” Steve says, handing you the receipt. There are three orders, two of which aren't Steve’s. Below the total, he’s written ten numbers and a smiley face. Marie tries to take the receipt. You put it in your jeans pocket before she can. 

You shouldn’t fall for this. You know better. You’ve studied people like Steve your whole life. 

“I’ll see you there,” he says, turning to go. His smile is quite beautiful. “Okay?”

Your mouth is dry. Another symptom. “Okay.”

You toss your bag on your couch when you get home and make a beeline for the fridge. It’s either ketchup and macaroni or a peanut butter and Captain Crunch sandwich. Tough choice.

You settle on the sandwich and take out a plate. The picnic is tomorrow and you have no idea what to bring. You should’ve asked but you were so stunned by the invitation, you lost all ability to ask logical questions. It’s not like you.

You angrily spread the peanut butter. The receipt is in your pocket. You scowl. How stupid does Steve Harrington think you are? Here’s my number! You might be weird and uptight and a freak. But you’re not an idiot. You can imagine Steve laughing at home now about how he gave you the number to a mechanic or a pizzeria. 

But then… you keep thinking about his kind eyes and how he ran after you. And how he was nice to Dustin and those other kids and Marie, even when she messed up his hair. And all that seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through just to bully you. He could’ve easily joined in with Casey. Called you more names. You’re sure Steve Harrington knows a lot of ways to insult someone, cut them to the bone. You’re sure there’s a lot of things Steve could say that would cut you to the bone. 

You put down your butterknife and get the receipt. Then you go to the phone and punch the numbers in. 

It rings once, twice, twice and a half—

“Hello?”

Steve. That’s Steve’s voice. 

You have no idea what to say.

“Uh, hello?” he says again. “Who is this?”

“It’s the girl from Skull Rock.” You pause. “Not the one you made out with.”

“Oh! Hi. Yeah, no, I figured. How are you?” 

“Fine.”

“Cool. Find any alien stuff lately?”

“Not tonight. But I collected a rock sample to study under my microscope.”

“Wow. You’re like a scientist.”

You pause. “I… guess so.”

No one’s ever called you a scientist. Your cousin called you a nuisance when you wanted to look at kelp and dried sand dollars under your microscope at the shore instead of play volleyball. And you should've played volleyball because everyone else your age was playing it but you're terrible at volleyball, at anything requiring hand-eye coordination, really. And you'd just wanted to do something quiet. Something that didn't make you a burden. 

“So where did you—”

“It’s a picnic,” you blurt. You cringe. “I’m sorry. I interrupted you.”

“That’s okay. Yeah, tomorrow, you mean? It’s a picnic.”

“Yes. So what should I bring?”

“You don’t have to bring anything,” Steve says. “It’s okay. We don’t expect you to.”

No, you know this trick. You know it’s impolite if you only bring yourself. People always expect more than just you, to make up for yourself. 

“I can bring food,” you say. “Really.”

“Okay, if you want to. Mike’s allergic to peanuts. But everything else is fine.”

“Is anyone bringing cookies?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

You rock on your heels. “Do you like chocolate chip?”

“I love chocolate chip,” he says. “It’s the best cookie.”

“It is,” you say. 

There’s a pause. Then Steve says, “I’m glad you’re coming.”

You swallow. “Okay.”

That’s the wrong thing to say. You often say the wrong thing, and that’s nothing new, but this time, you really wish you had a book to tell you what to say to boys who think you’re a scientist and who want to be your friend and who are glad you’re coming.  

“Well, bye,” you say. 

“Good night.” Steve sounds warm. 

You hang up. You really need to figure out what mystery alien powder you inhaled. The symptoms are getting worse. 

Steve is exactly where he said he’d be at the park, with several people your age or close to your age. The teens from Burger King and Dustin are there, as well as a few others. There’s an older girl and a boy who you immediately recognize as Eddie Munson. He wears the ‘freak’ label proudly. You’ve always been jealous.

There are a few other small groups here to see the comet, but they’re sitting far away. The sky is purple, kissing the night. It’s a waxing gibbous moon, the same moon you first met Steve on. The grass is dry from days of heat, but the air is cool now that the sun has gone down. It’s the perfect night to look at the sky and try to find where you belong.  

Steve sees you first and he jogs to you. 

“Hey,” he says, grinning. “Hey, you made it. And you brought cookies!”

You nod, giving him the plastic tray. “Meijer’s didn’t have Mrs. Fields in bulk, so I got the next best cookie: grocery store cookie.”

“They look great, thank you.” Steve leads you to the pool of blankets and people. Dustin has his telescope set up and he’s showing Eddie something through it. 

“Guys, hey!” Steve introduces you. “And this is everyone. You know Dustin, and that’s Eddie. That’s Robin, Max, Lucas, El, Mike, and Will. And Nancy and Jonathan might stop by, but we’re not sure.”

“Hi,” you say weakly. There’s no way you’re going to remember all those names. 

Everyone waves at you. Steve points to his blanket. It’s big and blue-checkered. 

“I’m sitting there. You can sit with me and Robin.”

You shake your head. “I want to sit on my own blanket.”

“Oh.” Steve nods. “Sure, no problem.”

You’ve missed something. Maybe you can explain and fix Steve’s face. Explaining doesn’t always work, but maybe Steve will understand. 

“I don’t like sitting by a lot of people,” you say. “But I’ll put my blanket next to yours.”

Steve smiles. “Got it. I can move my blanket further away. We don’t have to sit next to everyone.”

“But they’re your friends,” you say.

He shrugs. “Eh, I see ‘em all the time. Plus, once the comet passes, they’re gonna be loud as hell and crowd around the telescope to get a look.”

Something is very different about this new friend you’ve made. This boy with nice legs and kind eyes, who doesn’t mind moving his blanket for you. 

Steve moves his blanket away from the cluster of teens. You put your blanket down next to his and you both sit. Steve sits back on his hands, legs extended. You stare at his legs again. 

“So are comets connected to aliens?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” you say. “You can use them to hypothesize a species’ flight pattern. But they’re no more significant than stars or planets.”

“Aliens are so cool,” he says. “I hope if they ever visit us, they’re friendly.”

You hope that Steve thinks you’re friendly. 

“Oh, shit.” He sits up. “I didn’t get you anything to eat! I packed sandwiches. Cheese, ham, turkey… Dustin brought Doritos. Lucas brought Moon Pies. Eddie’s in charge of the drinks.”

“Um…” You hate when you have to eat other people’s food. It’s a gamble every time. Drinks are the only safe option. 

But Steve had invited you to a thing that friends do, and you want friends. You want Steve to be your friend. You can’t let your stupid freak self get in the way of that.

“I’m allergic,” you say. “I can’t eat those things. Sorry.”

Steve tilts his head at you. “Oh, really? Shit. You could’ve told me, I would’ve brought something you’re not allergic to.”

“It’s okay,” you say, guilt twinging in your chest. “I like being here. The food doesn’t matter.”

Steve half-smiles. He looks so much like a boy. He looks like a handsome boy that wears shades and drives a cool car and kisses a pretty girl, like in a movie, but for some reason, he’s here, offering you ham sandwiches. He smells good too. You like sitting next to him.

“Next time we have a picnic, you tell me your favorite foods and I’ll pack all of them,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, your neck getting hot. Why is he saying those things? Is that something friends promise? Is that something that you deserve?

Someone plops down next to Steve. A girl. She lies on her stomach. You wrack your brain, trying to remember her name. 

“Hey,” she says to you, waving. 

“Hi,” you say, looking at Steve, hoping he’ll say her name again. He doesn’t.

“So Steve says you have a pet pigeon,” she says.

You nod. “Marie.”

“That’s super cool. Can I meet her sometime?”

You blink. You’re not used to being cool. “Oh. Um…”

“No pressure,” Steve quickly says. “Maybe you can stop by Family Video sometime. That’s where we work.”

She groans. “The worst fucking place in the world. Next year, we’re working at the roller rink.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You can’t skate to save your life.”

“Who says I would skate? That’s your job. Pick up the kids that fall. I’ll be safely behind the counter, renting skates.” She scrunches her face at him. Steve gently shoves her. 

She rolls onto her back, looking at you. “So are you dating anyone?”

“A-hem!” Steve elbows her side. She punches his shoulder.

“No,” you say. Since when is everyone so interested in you dating? 

“Interesting,” she says. “Steve here is also not dating anyone, and hasn’t done so for a month. Fascinating, right?”

“Why don’t you go get a Moon Pie?” Steve says, practically shoving her off the blanket.

She obediently goes, winking at Steve. He grumbles, turning away from her. 

“I’m really sorry about her,” he says. 

“Why?” you ask.

“Just…” He shakes his head. “She’s just being dumb. Anyway. You can definitely stop by Family Video. I’ll give you free rentals.”

You raise your brows. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, uh, that’s what friends do.”

“Oh. Like you and…” You gesture at the empty space on Steve’s blanket. “Her?”

“Robin?” Steve grins. “Did you forget her name?”

You scowl and tuck your knees into your chest. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“No, I’m not! Sorry. I know I introduced everyone quickly and there’s a lot of us. You can always ask me someone’s name if you forgot.”

“Oh.” You relax your legs. “Okay. Yes, Robin. You two are also friends. Does she get free movies?”

“Well, she works there with me. But even if she didn’t, there’s no way I’d give her free movies. She’d just abuse it.”

“And I’m… different?” you ask carefully.

Steve smiles slowly. His lashes are very long. He looks like he knows a secret. Your heart pounds.

“You’re special,” he says. “So you get free movie privileges.” 

No one’s ever called you special. Or a scientist. Or cool. Or a friend.

“It would be okay if I went to Family Video and rented a movie from you?” you ask.

“It’d be more than okay,” Steve says. 

“Even without Marie?”

“Definitely. You only have to bring yourself.”

His gaze is locked on you. You look away first.

“Oh.” You swallow hard. “Okay.”

He stands suddenly. “Wanna go look through Dustin’s telescope?”

You glance at where a few of the kids are huddled around it. “Well…”

“I’ll go with you,” he says. “They won’t crowd you. I’ll shoo ‘em away.”

Steve holds out his hand. You take it. It’s rough with calluses and cool. He pulls you up easily, because he’s got strong legs and strong arms. A chill shoots down your spine.

You let go of his hand as soon as you’re standing. You follow Steve to the telescope.

“Make way, Wheeler,” he says to one boy. “My guest wants a look.”

“Yeah, dude, you’re hogging it,” the red-headed girl says.

“What’s her name?” you whisper to Steve. 

He leans in to whisper back. “Max. And the one hogging the telescope is Mike.”

You nod. Mike goes to get a drink from the cooler. Steve gestures for you to look through the telescope. 

“Dustin,” you say, looking up. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, drinking a 7-Up. “This is the newest Levenhuk model! Cool, right?”

You nod. “It’s very good. But I think you’re twenty degrees off. You should be looking at Cassiopeia.”

“But the comet’s gonna pass at 340 degrees. That's what the report said.”

“In California,” you say. “You have to adjust for the—”

“Latitude,” he finishes, thwacking his forehead. “Duh! Okay, you’re right. I’ll change it.”

You step back while Dustin adjusts the telescope. 

“See, told you she was smart,” Steve says. “Like a scientist.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dustin says distractedly. 

Steve looks at you. “You’re a genius.”

You nod, overwhelmed. Are you? You don’t feel very smart right now. You feel a little dizzy with Steve’s attention on you. Another symptom, probably. You’ll be dead in a week. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Steve asks. 

You hesitate.

“I brought grape juice,” he says. “That’s your favorite, right? With cookies?”

“Yes,” you say. You don’t tell him that apple juice has been your most recent buy. 

“It’s in the cooler. Wanna meet Eddie? We kind of have no choice.” He laughs.

“Okay,” you say, even though you don’t really want to be with anyone but Steve. 

You and Steve go to the cooler. Eddie’s lounging on a lawn chair, his curls tied up in a ponytail. He’s talking to the boy from Burger King.

“That’s Lucas,” Steve says before you can ask. You smile gratefully. He winks. Your stomach flips.

“Thirsty customers!” Eddie says, gesturing to you grandly. “Please, step forth and receive your beverages. Pick your poison.”

“Coke,” Steve says.

“I would like grape juice,” you say.

Eddie gives you a thumbs-up. “So you’re the grape juice girl. Sir Steve told me to guard the grape juice with my life. They’re strictly reserved for you.”

“What–why?” you ask, looking at Steve. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re a very special lady,” Eddie says, winking. “Steve-o made that clear.”

You wonder if you’re special like how Sheila’s friend Carol is special.

“Munson,” Steve says sharply. “Subtlety? Find it.”

Eddie shrugs, still grinning. “Not my style.” He digs through the cooler filled with ice and water, pulling out a Coke and your juice. “Here’s your drinks. You kids have fun now.”

Steve quickly steers you away, mumbling something about some friends. He flips the tab on his Coke and takes a sip. You watch, mesmerized, at the way the long, freckled column of his throat bobs while he swallows. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. If Steve was an experiment you could take home, you’d like to feel his throat with the palm of your hand. 

“Are you working tomorrow?” you ask.

Steve nods. “Yeah, why?”

“To see—I mean, I’d like to rent a movie.”

He drinks again. You watch the muscles in his jaw work. Steve smiles.

“That’d be great,” he says, and you feel like he means it.

You’ve been waiting across the street from Family Video for fifteen minutes. It’s less hot today, which is why you haven’t just gone home. You’ve been working up the nerve to go inside. 

No one is inside except for Steve and Robin, and they’re talking. You don’t want to interrupt. You wish you had Marie with you. 

You haven’t even planned out what you’re going to say. You didn’t really want to rent a movie. What movies have come out recently? You don’t know, except for a few that are still in theaters. And if you don’t have a movie to rent, Steve will know why you’re really there. He’ll know it’s because you don’t have a human friend, a friend who invites you to things, a friend who will give you free rentals.

Steve walks around the counter and out the door. He waves at you. Fuck.

“Hey!” Steve says. “Hey, you can come in, you know.” Then he jogs across the street and stops in front of you.

You step out from behind the tree you thought was hiding you well. “It seemed like you and Robin were having a conversation. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh, no, we were just talking about, uh…” Steve hesitates. “Dating… stuff. Anyway, you can always interrupt me. I don’t mind.”

That can’t be right. People hate when you insert yourself somewhere you don’t belong. The trouble is that you never quite learned where you do belong. 

“People hate being interrupted,” you say, expecting Steve to realize his mistake.

“Well, I—okay, yeah, not, like, cutting me off. I meant that if you see me somewhere, you can always come over, even if I’m talking to someone. You're not, y’know, interrupting.”

This is a very strange rule. No one’s ever invited you to do such a thing. 

“Okay,” you say. 

“Okay.” Steve nods, then smiles. He runs a hand through his hair. “So, uh, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Alright. Wait.” You pull out his Walkman. “I fixed this for you.”

“Holy shit, really? How’d you do that?”

“There was some faulty wiring, so I replaced it with wiring from the toy car you left.”

“Oh, wow. Wow, you’re amazing.”

You shrug. You don’t know what to say. Again. Steve stares at the Walkman for a few seconds. Then he looks at you. And looks. And looks.

You squeeze your hand into a fist. “Aren't you going to ask your question?” 

“Right! My question. My question is… well, I was wondering…” He peters off, chewing his lip. 

You frown. “What’s wrong?” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing! Nothing, sorry. I just, uh, I’m usually better at this.”

“Better at what?”

“Better at… talking. Hm. Yeah. Okay. Would you like to go out sometime?”

Steve watches you like you’re the only person in the world. His shoulders are tense. You don’t understand why. 

“You mean just you and me?” you ask.

“Yeah, you and me.”

Well, you suppose it’s significant that this would be your first time hanging out with Steve alone as your new friend. But he hangs out with Robin all the time. Surely this is no different. 

“Okay,” you say.

He straightens. “Really?”

“Yes.” 

You’ve been out with Steve before. Just last week. And you’ve been to his house, technically. You’re not sure why he’s so excited. 

“Great! Oh, that’s great.” He pumps his fist. “Awesome. Hah. That’s really great.”

“Where will we go?” you ask. 

“Anywhere, we can go anywhere. Uh, movies, mini-golf, dinner… Do you have a preference?”

“I like movies,” you say. “I want to watch Back to the Future: Part II.”

“Yeah! Yeah, totally, we can do that.” Steve is giddy. He must be a huge Marty McFly fan. “Cool. This is so great. So how ‘bout I pick you up at seven? This Saturday?”

You can get to the movies perfectly fine on your own, but you guess it wouldn’t be so bad to not have to walk. 

“Alright,” you say. “Saturday at seven.”

“Yes. Good. Great. I’ll see you then. I—”

Someone bangs on the windows of Family Video. You both jump. Robin is inside, pointing impatiently at her watch. Then she waves at you. You wave back.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Sorry. She’s hangry. Hasn’t had her break. I gotta go back to work. But we’re on for Saturday, right?” 

“I already said yes,” you say.

“Yeah, sorry, just… just confirming.” 

He grins, walking backwards towards the doors, and makes finger guns. You wince as the handle pokes his back. Steve grimaces, rubbing his back, then gives a thumbs-up.

What a bizarre reaction to going to the movies. Sequels usually aren’t even that good. 

Halfway to the bus stop, you realize that you didn’t even try to rent a movie. You hope that Steve didn’t notice. 

Steve’s car seats are soft and squeak when you move around. You’re focused on staying perfectly still due to this. 

“So did you see the first movie?” Steve asks.

“Of course,” you say. “You can’t watch the second without seeing the first.”

“Really? I saw the second Star Wars first. Didn’t really matter to me.”

“That’s very unusual,” you say, and look out the window. You watch the houses pass by. 

Steve is similarly dressed to how he was that night at Skull Rock. His hair is coiffed higher than usual. You want to ask him about it, but you’re not sure if that’ll anger him. Sometimes when you ask questions, people think you’re being rude. You’re always guessing. 

“I like your jeans,” Steve says. “I like the stars on the leg. Did you add those?”

“No, they came like that. Thank you.”

You look at the yellow star patches sewn on the bottom of your left jean leg. You’ve had these jeans for years. You don’t think there’s anything particularly nice about them. Especially compared to the kinds of clothes Steve wears. 

Steve parks close to the theater. It’s moderately busy inside. You feel people looking at you. You can’t imagine why. You’re at the movies just like them. Are you walking funny? Do you have something on your face?

“Do I have something on my face?” you ask Steve.

He shakes his head. “Nope. Your face is pretty as always.”

You look away, heartbeat ratcheting. You took another Tylenol today but it didn’t help. You kept thinking about Steve’s legs.

Steve buys your tickets and then you go to the concession counter. 

“Want anything?” he asks. 

“Why are you making purchases for me?” you ask. “I will pay you back for the ticket.” You take out your little green money purse. It has a UFO on it.

“What? No, no, I’m taking you out, remember? It’s all on me. Seriously, pick whatever you want.”

“But then I will owe you money,” you say. People can get very mean when you owe them money.

Steve shakes his head. “You don’t. Do you like popcorn?”

“Yes… Okay, I will have a small popcorn.”

“Or, um, we could share,” Steve says. “Get the big bucket?”

This is true. Plus, getting the big bucket is better worth your money. 

“Good idea,” you say. Steve smiles. You turn to the worker. “And can we get two empty nacho boxes?”

“Sure, dude,” he says, shoveling the popcorn into the bucket.

“Why the boxes?” Steve asks.

“So we can share the popcorn.”

“Oh. Well, I thought we could just share the bucket. Y’know, with our hands.”

“No, that wouldn’t work because one of us would inevitably end up getting more popcorn than the other, and that wouldn’t be fair. Besides, we’d be touching the fresh popcorn with the same hand we use to eat. Our saliva would mingle.”

The worker gives you the popcorn and the boxes. 

“Thank you,” you say, and go to the napkin counter to divide the popcorn. 

“See?” You hand Steve his box. “Now it’s even. And sanitary.”

“Uh, yeah. Good thinking.”

Steve buys slushies: cherry for him, blue raspberry for you. Then you go into the theater. It’s fairly empty since the movie came out three weeks ago. You’re happy that the theater is empty. You tell Steve as much. 

“It makes for a much more enjoyable experience,” you say.

Steve grins. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

You get comfortable as the previews begin. 

“Want some of my slushie?” Steve asks you halfway through.

“You want me to use your straw?” you ask.

“You can use yours, if you want.”

“But then you’d mix cherry with my blue raspberry slushie. That wouldn’t taste good.”

Steve shrugs. “It’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

Slushie flavors should be kept separate. Why doesn’t Steve know this?

“I’m allergic to cherry slushies,” you say. “So we have to keep them separate.”

“Oh…” Steve looks at you like he’s figuring something out, then smiles. “Okay. We don’t have to share anything.” He settles back in his seat. 

The movie begins. Steve's already shoveling popcorn into his mouth. Your eyes are glued to the screen, not wanting to miss any details.

“Hey, Alex P. Keaton!” Steve whispers when Marty comes on. “Wow, they made another one of these?”

“Yes,” you say briskly, trying to cut the conversation short. 

“The first one was weird. He kept trying to bang his mom.”

“No, he didn't. If anything, she tried to have intercourse with him,” you say. 

“Still a weird as hell story.”

“That isn't the story.”

“Then what's—”

“Steve.” You look at him in the dark. “I want to watch the movie. We can talk later.”

“Oh. Sorry.” 

The movie ends up being decent, even if the plot is a little convoluted and there are plot holes. You prefer the first. The lights come on. You blink at the sudden brightness. 

There's only one other couple in the theater. They're locked in a wet tongue-kiss three rows in front of you. You make a face. 

“Why would they waste money just to kiss here?” you whisper to Steve. 

“They're probably on a date. Or dating.”

“That's dating?” 

Steve laughs a little, rubbing his neck. “Sometimes.”

Dating looks horrible. 

You and Steve get up and leave the theater. The couple doesn't even come up for air. 

“How’d you like the movie?” Steve asks, throwing your cups and containers out. 

“It was alright. Not as good as the first one.” Steve follows you down the hallway. You keep talking. “And there were a lot of unresolved plot points. For example, there was no disruption of the time-space continuum. But Marty going to 1955 and seeing himself from the first movie would’ve unraveled time as we know it. They severely understated the disastrous effects. Doc Brown should've known better.”

Steve nods as he holds the door open to the exit for you. “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Also, what stopped Biff from killing George McFly in the first movie? He was more successful than George then too, and clearly just as big of an asshole. Was it the almanac that was the deciding factor? Did it make him more confident? We should’ve been given more psychological analysis. And what about the multiple timelines theory? Why did—”

You stop. Steve’s linked your hand with his. You look down at your joined hands, then back at him. 

“Why have you done that?” you ask.

Steve looks like you just accused him of murder. He drops your hand. “Oh! Sorry. Do you not want to hold hands? We don't have to.”

Well, you really don’t know, to be honest. No one’s ever tried to hold your hand. Certainly no boy. 

“Um.” You look at your hand. Bizarre. “I suppose it’s okay.”

Steve takes your hand again and gives you a small squeeze. “Yeah?”

“Yes. It’s alright. I like when people ask me before touching me.”

“I’ll ask from now on. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

He smiles. “Keep telling me what you thought about the movie.”

“I’m not annoying you by picking the movie apart?” you ask.

“No, I like listening to you. You're so smart.”

Your face gets hot. Bizarre, indeed. 

So you keep talking. You talk all the way home, in fact, going through the mental list of plot holes you made in your head. Steve responds a little but mostly, he lets you talk. And he doesn’t get frustrated or bored. 

Steve stops in front of your house and gets out to open your car door. He walks you to your front step. 

“Well,” you say. “Despite all of my criticisms, I did have a nice time. I enjoyed going to the movies with you.”

Steve beams. “I liked going out with you too.”

You nod. This is satisfactory. You have done a good job at going out with a friend. A friend who’s a boy, no less. A boy friend with long legs who’s not an alien and just likes spending time with you. 

“I’m really happy you agreed to go out with me,” he says, suddenly shy. “I, uh, wasn’t sure if you liked me that way.”

“We’ve been out before,” you say. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I know, but it’s just… different, you know? And I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship if it didn’t pan out.”

Wow. Steve sure put a lot of pressure on Back to the Future Part II. You don’t know if you’d do that to a sequel. 

“It would’ve been fine if it hadn’t been a good movie,” you say. “I wanted to watch it. I wouldn't have blamed you for it being bad.”

“Oh… uh, yeah. I mean, it’d be a letdown, but yeah, of course.”

You nod, fiddling with the pocket of your jeans. You don’t know why you’ve both been standing here so long. 

“You look really pretty,” Steve says.

You don’t know why he says that. You didn’t put extra effort into your appearance tonight. You simply checked the weather and dressed accordingly. 

“Thank you,” you say, to be polite, even though you’re doubtful. “You’re handsome. But that’s nothing new.”

Steve laughs, cheeks turning pink. “Ha, wow. You sure know how to compliment.”

“It’s a fact.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t lie about that. That’s why it’s so nice, I guess. And that’s why I, uh…”

Steve leans in, eyes beginning to close. You freeze, watching his mouth approach your mouth area. Your heart pounds, realization dawning on you. What’s wrong with Steve? Doesn’t he know that you don’t know how to do this? Doesn’t he know you don’t belong here?

You don’t think. Your hand comes up and blocks his face. Steve’s eyes fly open. His lips are on your palm.

“Oh no,” you say, and swing open your door. 

It slams shut in Steve’s face. You rest your head on the wood. It would appear you’ve miscalculated. 

Sometimes, you wonder what your home planet is like. 

You imagine that it's always a little cold because you’re hot even when no one else is, and you get impatient in the summer. On your planet, no one reads something in your tone that isn't there. You never make anyone unnecessarily upset and they never make you upset either. Earth isn't ideal because so many things make you upset or nervous or afraid. People scare you. You don’t think an Earth native is this afraid all the time. 

Above all, on your planet, you'd know when a boy likes you like a friend and when he's asking you on a date. You'd know when and how to kiss. You wouldn't run away. You wouldn't lose.

Steve stops by your house three days later. You see his car outside and you watch him from the upstairs window as he comes to the door and rings the doorbell. He calls your name. You go downstairs and stand behind the door.

“I’m really sorry,” he says. “I don’t know if you’re here or if I’m just talking to a door like an idiot… but I see a light on so I think you might be here. Anyway, I’m really sorry about Saturday. I thought you knew what I meant but you didn’t and that’s on me.”

You open the door. Steve steps back, startled.

“Hi,” he says. His voice is so soft. You don’t think anyone has ever spoken to you so softly.

“Hi,” you whisper. 

“Hey, God, I’m so sorry. I was so dumb, seriously, and—”

You shut your eyes. “I thought we were friends.”

“What? We are.”

“I didn’t understand,” you say.

“Hey, we are.”

You open your eyes. “I didn’t understand. I never understand. I always mess it up.”

“No, hang on—”

“I thought we had a good time.” You wrap your arms around yourself. “I thought that was enough.”

“It is! We did.”

“I thought…” You will not cry. “I thought you liked me as I am.” Your voice is small. People take advantage of your small voice. You hope that Steve won't. 

“I do,” Steve says. “Hey, I like you a lot. Listen to me, please. I wasn't a good listener because I didn't try to find out what you wanted. I thought, ‘okay, I'm good at taking girls on dates, so I can do this.’ But you're not like most girls, are you?”

You turn around. Why is he doing this? Why is he reminding you of how much you don't belong here?

“Please don't be mean," you say. “I really like you. I thought you were nice, Steve.” You don't know what else to do but beg. “No one ever tells me. I’m always guessing and pretending. I always guess wrong. I pretend wrong. I don’t know what to do, Steve.”

“Hey, no, no, it’s okay. It's okay that you're not like everybody else. It’s not a bad thing. I'm the dummy for not understanding that. I should've been clear and asked if you were interested in going on a date with me. I should've let you lead. Can I touch your shoulders?”

You sniffle and nod. Steve gently turns you around, hands on your shoulders. You bow your head. You can’t bear to look at him, but Steve leans in and tries to find your gaze. His voice is still so gentle.

“We don’t have to be more than friends,” he says. “You don’t have to guess. We can be whatever you want.”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” you say. “I’ve never had this happen. I don’t know how to behave around a boy like you. I think that I like you as more than a friend, but it’s confusing. I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” he says. “We don’t have to stop being friends. We can figure it out. We’ll do as much as you’re comfortable with.”

You cover your eyes and try to keep years of hurt in. “You're pretending.”

“I'm not pretending. Why would I pretend?”

You drop your hands. Steve is blurry. 

“Because no one has ever liked me enough to accommodate me.” 

Steve stands there for a second as you cry and wish that the aliens would take you then and there.

“This is wrong,” you say, breathing getting tight and fast. “This–this isn’t what happens to me. You aren’t supposed to like me. I shouldn’t want more.”

“I like you,” Steve says quietly. “You like me. I think that’s enough.”

You shake your head. There’s so much noise between your ears. Static and frequencies and wrong words. What are you doing? You have never known. You will probably never know. 

“I don’t know—” You heave gulps of air in between cries. “I don’t—Steve, I don’t know."

“Is it okay if I hug you?” 

You nod. Steve pulls you into a hug. You don't hug a lot of people; you can't remember the last time you got a hug. Maybe months ago, from Sheila. They're not typically your favorite. But right now, it's good. It's peace. It feels like Steve knows the right thing to do and you let him do it, and maybe that really is enough. You cry harder and Steve rubs your back. 

“I'm really sorry,” he says. “I'm sorry. I like you a lot. I want to accommodate you.” 

“I'm sorry that I don't know how to kiss you,” you say through tears. “I don’t know how to identify this feeling. I didn’t know we were supposed to kiss.”

“What? No, that's okay. We aren’t supposed to do anything. It's fine, you don't need to know.” Steve pets you between your shoulder blades, like how you pet Marie when she gets nervous during a storm. You can feel the heat of him, the warmth that emanates even when you aren’t touching. He smells even stronger like this. 

“But you like kissing,” you say, voice wobbly. “You like girl tongue.”

“I, uh—I’ve never heard it called that, but, um, no, it really doesn’t matter. I didn’t go on a date with you to get your tongue in my mouth. That would’ve been super shitty of me. I just wanted to hang out with you because I like you as a friend and as something more, yeah. And I misread the situation and thought you wanted to kiss, but you didn’t, and that’s fine.”

“I ruined it,” you say, face hot and wet. You clutch Steve’s nice hairy arms, feel the biceps twitch. “This isn’t how it should go.” 

“You didn't,” Steve says, easy as anything. “It can go any way we want it to. I want it to go your way.”

He feels so good. A boy you like has his strong, warm boy-arms around you. Have scientists discovered this yet? Perhaps only the writers know.

“I always ruin things,” you say. You don't know how to put a lifetime of crash-landing into words, but Steve seems to understand. He steps back and wipes away a tear on your cheek with his thumb. 

“It's shitty that people made you feel that way,” he says. “But you don't ruin things. Okay? That's bullshit. I like you. You didn't ruin anything.” 

“I thought we were just seeing a movie,” you say. 

Steve nods. “I know. It can just be that if you want. We can just be friends, it's okay.”

You shake your head. “No. I think… that I reciprocate your feelings.”

For years, it felt wrong to like a boy. You didn't want to subject anyone to that. You can't act like a girl who likes a boy; you've never been able to. Everyone has told you that you don't act right, no matter how hard you try to copy them. 

“That’s really nice if you do," Steve says. "But you don’t have to like me like that.”

“Is it okay if I do?” 

“Definitely.”

You stand there for a few moments. You wipe your cheeks. Maybe this world is yours too.

“What do you feel like doing?” Steve asks.

You take a deep breath. “I would like to get a Mrs. Fields cookie and a bottle of apple juice. And go somewhere cool.”

Steve offers his hand. You take it. He squeezes.

“We can definitely make that happen.”

[aliwritex]

Heyy!! could you make a franco x reader where they are young parents fic?

a/n: this is short but super cute. some thoughts about dad!franco

Finding out you were going to be parents at 21 wasn’t exactly the greatest thing ever. You were scared and confused at first, not knowing what to do about anything, really. And it was a while till you finally figured out what to do about it.

After you told Franco about your suspicion, you took a test and cried yourself to sleep in his arms when it came out positive. That was not what you had planned. Having just finished your studies, you wanted to start working in your area, get married and then finally start thinking about kids.

He did his best throughout your entire pregnancy, of course that landing the Alpine seat meant he was working more but he always made sure you look after you. He suggested you moved in as soon as you found out, already planing to turn the empty room in his apartment into a nursery.

Franco’s excitement made things a lot easier, he loved kids and always wanted some of his own, surely not so early but he had to take what the universe offered. He showered you with attention and he was in love with your bump. When the baby started kicking he’d lay his head on your lap and stay there for hours, feeling all the movements — then telling the baby off for hurting you.

Your baby boy was born in the summer, little Mateo looked just like him, it almost made you mad. But with a face like that it was impossible.

You were convinced that he was the easiest baby ever, completely healthy, settled into a schedule quickly, quiet and not much work at all. That was until he started walking. The boy became impossible, baby proofing the house was needed the day after he stood for the first time. Your once quiet little boy was now a cheeky smiley toddler.

“¡Boludo, te va a dar um toque!” Franco exclaimed, quickly picking up the child from the floor “Did you see that, mi amor? He was pulling the tape from the outlet” he explained popping into the bathroom where you were getting ready

“Don’t swear around him, please”

Mateo was now a little over a year old and was attending his first race. What you didn’t realize about traveling with a curious toddler was how unsafe hotel rooms are. You had managed to tape all the outlets shut but the baby boy was a little too smart for his own good.

“I didn’t swear!”

“Was that not a bad word?” he shook his head and you rolled your eyes “Right. Need to remember to bring the plugs next time, he’s too smart for the tape.”

It’s not that Franco kept you a secret, you just had a private relationship and never posted about your son. So when you walked into the paddock together with a stroller it was a surprise to many people. You tried to keep a low profile but Teo was just too happy to be there, waving and smiling at everyone. He also did not want to be locked up in his dads room while an entire world for him to explore was right outside.

“He kept calling for Papá” you explained as you walked up to the garage.

It was still Friday morning so there wasn’t much happening around, just Franco talking somethings through with his engineer. So he was free to take your son.

“Vení acá, Teo.” the child smiled, slipping his hand away from yours to run to his dad “Wanna see Papá's car?”

Your son absolutely loved everything. You could see his eyes light up in excitement when Franco showed him anything. He picked him up to show him the inside of the car, Teo was giggling as he flipped him almost upside down to look at it. He even pulled out the steering wheel and the kid was perplexed with all the buttons. You took pictures of everything, so many of them both smiling and laughing at each other.

“Right, that’s enough exploring” you took the child from his arms “someone needs a bottle and a nap or they’ll be too cranky to watch Papá drive later. See you in a bit, okay?”

Franco nodded, stealing a quick kiss on your lips before you left. He couldn’t be happier that he had his family there for him.

[emacrow]

Raven found a Feral Farshee and saved a town

Teen Titans got an alert for another candidate from titans east only the signal led to a broken titan in the middle of a dark foggy and scary woods in the middle of Illinois that seems to be causing the other to hallucinations and get lost.

Raven seems to be the only one immune to this as the teen titans got picked off one by one, distracted by something only to end by the shadows and a terrifying wail that scared the living souls out of them.

This was worse than movie night when her powers went out of control due to fear, except she beaten her own fears.

She know there was someone or something in this woods causing all of this and whatever it was, it was in pain, a whole lot of pain to steal everyone who seem to wander in the woods without hurting them.

Perhaps to absorb safety to distract itself from its own pain is what raven was thinking until she found the source.

In a barren broken town covered in frozen snow and ice. An old cracked sign covered fully in overgrown frozen vines barely said anything until she used her telekinesis to move them.

Welcome to Amity Park. It's a nice place to live! Home to the most famous sup- phant-! What was the sign said if it weren't for the evacuation and Do Not Cross tape and signs all around it.

There wasn't a place like this on the map, let alone on the Titan tracker that wasn't working anymore.

It was cold, below 20 winter cold as Raven flew in the town.

She could feel the eyes of something staring at her as she anazyling the town.

Something had happened here, something big as she was seeing ice statues of varieties ages people in clothes, shoes around stuck in place as if their were doing normal town things or running from something.

More and more statues in clothes, hats, dress, police uniforms, suits, etc she kept finding as she flew by..

Only to stop at a familiar statue.. it was Robin, except he was frozen completely like a ice statue except his Robin uniform were still on with his titan communiater in his hand still pressing the buttons as if he was shouting about something.

Her heart dropped as most teen titans members were here, along with a Titans east frozen like ice statues.

Before her eyes caught something, bringing another statue. She dipped into the shadows immediately.

"Safe, must keep everyone safe, safe, safe in forever ice, nobody can get hurt now, all safe, they can't leave through the portal, all safe..."

Watching as a very long white-haired boy wearing a frozen crown floating in a black hazmat suit and a mystical cape, carry beast boy frozen in ice statue like state as a frighten falcon with one claw out.

He was much taller than cyborg, but thinner than a scarecrow, four arms, with exposed skin on his long hand paler than sickening white paint with lines of blue.

His eyes were dull blue, wearing a necklace glowing a bright ominous blue, a familiar necklace tied with a simple gold thread she had read about once.

A curse necklace of power, thought to have been lost in a bargaining chip with the infinite realm King due to twisted and corrupt the user's power to gain control over them unless forcefully taken off or cut off, reverting the effects.

It seemed to taken over this person completely.

She thought of a plan easy enough for her to snap it. Manifesting a pair of thin shadow scissors to cut the gold thread through.

Hearing the sharp snip cut through the necklace immediately alerted his attention toward her, only for the snapped necklace to drop on the floor.

Dull blue eyes shrank before a glowing green and sharp pupil revealed themselves in his eyes before rolling upwards, gravity taking effect immediately for him to collapse on the floor immediately.

The guy fell into a deep sleep as she kept him contain in a giant shadow grasp, probably out of exhaustion as the status of her teammates started to thaw out, skin exposed as the ice practically fell off them.

Each teammate suddenly gasped for air. It wasn't just them as the town itself was melting, ice cracking, noise of people were gasping or mid screaming, coming back to life from the frozen prison.

The culprit, who cause all this was still asleep, suddenly had a flash of light surrounding them as long silvery mixed with black hair teen very malnourished thin lay in the shadow grasp.

Before Raven could explain, the town folks were suddenly holding strange guns glowing green.

"Let fenton go, you creeps!"

Part 2 -> here

[charmwasjess]

That One About the Temple Clones AU

Here's an underexplored and juicy plot point in the prequels that I can't stop thinking about! Because Sifo-Dyas was killed so early in the new canon timeline of the creation of the clones, with Dooku impersonating him to handle the subsequent details, we don’t even know exactly what he intended the clone army to be.

I think there’s even an argument to be made that Sifo-Dyas intended the clones to be culturally Jedi. Raised and trained in the Jedi Temple(s), learning Jedi skills and ways of life, growing up in a shared community alongside the Jedi. The clones serving not as an emergency button to hit in case of war, but as a support to the overstretched, under resourced Jedi Order in an increasingly violent, chaotic galaxy, one that might prevent the war he foresaw from ever even happening.

To begin, I’ll briefly touch on the galactic situation immediately before The Phantom Menace. Time and time again, we’re given a picture of the Jedi Order that is being stretched to its limit. All across the galaxy, Jedi temples such as the ones we see operating in the High Republic era in the Acolyte, are being shut down because the Jedi just can’t staff them. The novel The Living Force, set immediately before TPM, deals with the repercussions of these shut downs for the people living in those sectors - destabilization, a vacuum where the power hungry and corrupt can come into the space left and make life awful for the people. Problems arise, these systems go to the Republic for help, the Republic can't help due to bureaucratic red tape and lack of Jedi resources, and this creates more bad feelings about the Jedi and a great environment to grow the Separatist cause.

"I always heard so much about the Jedi. I never saw one, but they told me that was because you saved people -- and then you left!" - The Living Force

Enter Sifo-Dyas. As a member of the Jedi Council in this era, he would have overseen dozens of these painful but unavoidable closures. More, he was trained by Lene Kostana, a High Republic era Jedi, who remembered the golden age of the Jedi, all of these Jedi outposts, temples, and cultural centers being open and thriving, and surely filled her Padawan’s head with these stories. When Sifo-Dyas foresaw a coming cataclysmic war that would destroy the Jedi Order, it's not hard to see where he might have made a connection between the pervasive problem that was a lack of Jedi resources, and the galaxy falling further into darkness. In fact, it's exactly what happens in the prequels with a little push from the Sith.

The Living Force novel tells us outright that Sifo-Dyas’s original plan before deciding on the clones was to use his role as a Jedi Seeker to fill the Jedi Order with as many new Jedi as possible to counter the coming threats:

“(Sifo-Dyas) was always in a big damn hurry. Like the Republic would end if he didn’t swell the ranks.” - The Living Force 

Wow, Even Piell, that line aged like milk, buddy!

 Ki-Adi Mundi frowned. “Indeed, sometimes those he brought to us were not even viable candidates.”  - The Living Force 

So, Sifo-Dyas was originally trying to bring as many kids into the Order as possible, and didn’t particularly care if they were very Force sensitive. An intriguing detail, when considering how closely he might have imagined the non-Force-sensitive clones to work in Jedi roles.

Interestingly, he didn’t actually abandon that “swell the ranks” plan - he got his ass fired, so he couldn’t bring any more Jedi in the conventional way. Sifo-Dyas is in a desperate situation here, he feels he's running out of time, and he needs to get as many people into the Jedi Order as quickly as possible. I think you might see where I'm going with this.

“The future should remain unseen, but unfortunately, Sifo-Dyas has little choice in the matter.”  -Lene Kostana, Dooku Jedi Lost

We know he arranged the initial order for the clones, but not how he intended to use them, or saw their role, or even if he would have agreed with Jango as the DNA donor, since that part came in from Dooku.  If Sifo-Dyas, lifelong Jedi and true believer in the Order, was creating something to help defend his people in their darkest hour, it stands to reason that he might look within his own culture for their training, instead of outside of it.

Did he see them as a secret weapon, a surprise help in the hour of greatest need, as they would ultimately function as on Geonosis? Or did he envision the clones being raised with Jedi involvement on every level of their development, growing into keepers of the peace to fill those hundreds of empty temples and outposts and restabilize a galaxy sliding toward darkness?

I think an important clue that supports the latter argument is that as Sifo-Dyas is literally falling out of the sky to his death, he is busy trying to get a message to the Council that he ordered the clones via a recording: 

I've seen a vision of the future that I feel warrants an army. You've disagreed with me, but I felt I had no choice. Therefore I have ordered one: a clone army from the Kaminoans. Something must be done, and I made that decision. - Sifo-Dyas, Force Collector

He's hardly trying to keep the (currently embryonic!) clones a secret here. He seems to think he's done his part and the Council has no choice but to take it from there, and follow through with his unmentioned plan. He has delivered the needed personnel. And bear in mind, Sifo-Dyas did not expect his death to be a 10 year old mystery. He seems to have spent his very last breaths protecting Sillman and therefore leaving a witness to everything that happened. His last words are literally “Come find me!” 

These are not the actions of a man who has set his plan into perfect motion and a magic army will appear just at the right time in ten years. This is a man who is facing his unexpected death and realizing that he needs to tell the Council, who disagreed with him but he clearly still trusts, what he did because he won't be there to handle the details himself. It's almost poignant.

-

I worried about making this post at all because I’m not actually interested in blorbo apologism. Sifo-Dyas’s story is much more interesting if he is a good man forced to go to desperate, awful lengths to keep the apocalypse from happening. Whatever he intended the clones to be, it ended in Order 66; in a way, it doesn't even matter.  And yet, I think there’s something compelling there too, and I think canon gives us just enough - at least make an argument for a culturally-Jedi clone army what-if.

[zeltqz]

have u ever thought about like. making a sex tape with shuji but his sleazy ass sends it to a gang gc and then everybody wants u. or maybe he sent it on accident trying to share it with u. who knows. all i know is everybody wants shuji’s girl 🤤

Hanma barely texts people. The most you'll get from him is a one word answer, or he just likes the message and calls it a day. He leaves almost everyone on delivered, except you and Kisaki. 

Everyone in Kanto Manji expected nothing less from the man in question when they added him to the group chat. He hadn’t spoken in it once and left them all on opened. So you could only imagine the mixture of shock and confusion everyone felt when they woke up to their phones pinging with a video sent from Hanma..

Ran was skeptical and ignored it, going straight back to sleep. Everyone else ignored the message too, except Sanzu. He was the only one curious enough to see what he sent, and it didn’t disappoint.

The video started off with a video of you in a mall changing room. Hanma was recording as he sat on the bed, the mirror catching his legs briefly in frame. You were trying on the dress, patting it down along your thighs. The first thing Sanzu noticed was how short it was. When you turned to the side your ass was out, and if you bent over? Game over.

“Shuji I told you this was gonna be short.”

Hanma’s deep voice rumbled behind the camera as he hummed. “Looks good to me. Turn around.”

You caught wind of the phone in his hand and rolled your eyes. “I’m not flashing myself on camera. Weirdo.”

“Just c’mere. I wanna check something.” He gestured for you to step closer. 

You sighed and stepped over the mess of clothes on the floor and walked towards the camera, taking his hand in yours. With your hands linked, he ran them down your thighs, around to your ass and squeezed, enough to make you wince. 

“Turn around.”

With another sigh you obliged, turning around and letting him lift the hem of the dress over what little was covering your ass to begin with. He bunched it up around your waist and moved the camera closer to your ass. 

“You look so hot right now.”

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumbled as he felt you up, squeezing and spanking your ass. “Alright that’s enough. You’re doing too much.”

He laughed and you pushed him away when he tried to pull you closer. “What? Come on I wasn’t done yet.”

“Well I’m done! I came here to shop and you’re picking out the fucking shortest pieces of clothing ever.”

“I picked out some regular sized ones too.”

You scoffed loudly. “Yeah, sure. Where are they?” 

He pointed to the ones hanging on the wall and you stomped over to grab them. He set the camera down towards his lap, the screen going black as it pressed against the fabric of his pants. 

“Okay I like this one.” He picked the camera back up and focused it back on you checking how the pencil skirt looks in the mirror. “This one seems appropriate for work.”

“Too long.”

“Fuck you.” You strip your shirt off, standing in only your bra and begin to put up the white buttoned long sleeved shirt. You tucked it in your skirt and turned to face him. “How’s this one?”

He pretended to think deeply, though he was just wondering how he could make it more sluttier. “Unbutton the first four.”

“Shuji.”

He stood up, coming to stand behind you and turning you to face the mirror again. He made sure the camera was focused on the two of your reflections in the mirror. You tilted your head up to look at him but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look straight ahead. 

“Just unbutton them I wanna see something.”

You sighed and began to unbutton the first four. Without a doubt, your clevage was starting to show and he smirked, dropping his spare hand down to your chest. His large hands cupped your breast, squeezing and palming it. 

You bit your lip and looked up at him again. His smirk grew and his hand slipped inside your shirt, grabbing your breast even harder. 

Sanzu paused the video, exited and typed in chat: BROOOOOOOOOO WHAT IS THISSSSSS

Koko: why are you yelling 

Sanzu: WATCH THE VIDEO AND YOULL SEE

Rindou: nobody is watching that fuckass video. It’s probably gore or some weird shit Hanma is in to

Sanzu: just watch the video

Rindou sighed and took his headphones that were around his neck and put them on, leaning back in his gaming chair and pressed play. He had a habit of skipping halfway through videos out of impatience and immediately regretted it when the screen showed Shuji’s dick on screen tapping against your lips. 

“Ew what the fuck.” He instantly recoiled, dropping his phone onto his desk. He rubbed his temples for a few seconds then picked it back up. After the initial shock wore off, he pressed play.

“Don’t fucking choke me this time. I don’t wanna get caught.”

“Just put it in your mouth.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned forward. You started off by pressing a kiss to his tip, eyes slipping shut. You pressed kisses down the length of his shaft, tongue laving along the vein that ran along his cock. You finally reached the tip again and took him in your mouth.

“Goddamn,” Rindou said, sitting up straight when you immediately took him all the way in your throat with one go. 

Hanma’s hand went to the back of your head, stabilising your head in place. You slipped your hand under his shirt, running it along the plane of his chest. You softly moaned, trying hard to keep the wet sounds to a minimum as you sucked him off. 

Outside the sounds of customers moving around and talking made your heart beat a little. Dating Shuji puts you in the most unpredictable situations and you have to adjust and be comfortable with anything. Just last week he had you cockwarm him in a restaurant. 

“Shit,” Shuji hissed, exhaling lowly when you began to speed up. He bucked his hips, forcing more of his cock down your throat. Your eyes shot open and you choked loudly. 

Shuji chuckled evilly and you practically shoved him away from you. “You’re actually so annoying.”

“It wasn’t that bad, come on now.” 

He reached for you but you pushed him away again, getting off your knees. “No seriously, don't touch me.”

“Baby.” Shuji dropped the phone on the floor and the camera faced the ceiling. Rindou frowned. “Baby wait no I’m sorry,” he apologised while laughing.

“No fuck you. You’re never serious about anything.”

Rindou heard kissing sounds and the sound of you grumbling complaints about how he always does this shit. “Lemme make you feel better.”

You scoffed loudly. Hanma picked the phone back up and set it up on the bench. You crossed your arms together, leaning against the wall, watching him kneel in front of you. He raised one leg onto his shoulder, kissing your inner thigh.

“Are you serious right now?” you mumbled, even as you ran your hand through his hair. He moved closer to your pussy, kissing it through your panties. “Oh my gosh,” you said through a moan, head hitting the wall.

He pushed your panties to the side and ran his tongue through your folds. He was slurping obnoxiously, getting louder on purpose when he heard the sounds of an employee talking outside. 

You tugged at his hair harshly. “Keep it down.” He clicked his tongue and ignored you. He hitched your leg higher onto his shoulder. “Fuck Shuji.” You reached for the phone, fumbling for it and pointed the camera down at him devouring your pussy.

For the most part he kept the noises to a minimum, lightly licking at your clit. You squeezed his hair tightly, and he broke away from your pussy to kiss along your thighs again. 

“Forgive me yet?” he asked against your skin.

“No.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up. He was always so much taller than you and that was one of your favourite things, so you had a stupidly small smile on your face despite being mad. He wrapped his hand around your throat, lifting your head up to look at him. He leaned down to kiss you, shoving his tongue deep into your mouth. 

Your hand dropped the camera again as you looped both arms around his neck. 

Rindou backed out of the video to see the chat going crazy with notifications, especially from Sanzu. He’d always thought you were pretty and deserved better than Shuji.

Sanzu: nah if she was my girl id NEVERRRRRRRRRR treat her like that

Koko: well shes not so now what

Kakucho: let him dream

Sanzu: she could be if i really tried

Mikey: sanzu just stop

Rindou: @/hanma  dude why are you sending this? Literally nobody asked to see this

Ran: i aint complaining tho

Sanzu: ME EITHER

Hanma: oh whoops sent it by accident

Sanzu: so when is it my turn

Hanma: keep talking and see what happens

Sanzu: when you fuck up ima be there tho just wait