#i don't go here but you know that doesn't mean anything

[dcxdpdabbles]

Tim: Hello, I'm Tim Drake. I just moved to town with my family. Mind putting him down?

Dash: What? This doesn't concern you, so why don't you run off, nerd?

Tim: If it's happening in front of me, I think it does concern me. You have five seconds to put him down.

Danny: Hey, I know you're new and that you're trying to help, but I go through this all the time. Its better for your health if you-

Tim: *flips Dash*

Danny: Moby Dick!

Dash: Ugh wha happn'?

Tim: You have five seconds to scram before I break your bones.

Dash: Why you-! Ow ow ow ow okay okay let go!

Danny dazed: You just beat up Dash Baxer to help me?

Tim: I don't like bullies. You alright?

Danny: Um yeah?

Tim: Great. Well, I best be off. Have to find my classes. See you around pretty boy.

Danny even more daze: Pretty? Me?

Hours later: *Im Fenton Lab*

Sam: Danny, just because the new guy is hot and a decent person doesn't mean he's automatically a ghost

Danny: No one that perfect moves here unless they are a ghost. Wake up, Sam.

Tucker: He did sort of pop up out of nowhere. I can't find anything on him online and get this. He's supposed to have moved with his family, but there are literally no records of them or Tim Drake anywhere.

Danny: I knew it. He's a ghost! Just like that, Red Robin guy thats been running around the city breaking into places.

Sam: I'll admit that Red Robin is a ghost. No sane human would ever be willing to wear that in public.

[criminalyapping]

due for trouble | how it begins

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: i freaking told you guys (i say to an empty void) i'm having a baby renaissance in my personal life and i'll be writing about it for suuuuuure. sassy jack abbot thank u. also i have no idea where i am going from here so if you have ideas send me them i'm begging pleading on my knees thank you. i will be pool-ing with the gf this afternoon but i will come back sunburned and ready to write thank u v much

warnings: language, suggestive content

check out part 2 here!

"Christ, Jack, someone's gotta take away your MD," Robby sighs, resting his hands on his elbows and rubbing his hands over his eyes.

He leans back against Jack's leather couch and looks back at the man. Jack doesn't seem rushed to reply, so Robby starts up again.

"I mean, I knew you were getting back out there, but I thought you were just getting your toes wet," he questions.

Jack raises his eyebrows and brings the can in his hands up to cover his mouth.

"I mean, yeah, but I was also getting something else wet," he mumbles with a smirk.

"Jesus," Robby sighs, again. "You're not even taking this fuckin seriously,"

Jack looks back at him seriously before speaking.

"Okay, brother, you can get down off of that high horse you're on." he admonishes. "It's news to you but it's not news to me. I've already done all this." he says, gesturing to the stressed body language Robby is exuding.

"So you're just fine with the fact that you've impregnated some girl that's half your age?" Robby questions.

Jack takes another sip of his drink.

"First of all, don't say impregnated. Second of all, she's over half my age-"

"By how much?" Robby interrupts.

"Well, I'm not feeling like I want to tell you with this attitude you've got." Jack replies.

Robby rolls his eyes. Jack gives him an unimpressed look.

"Look, man, I get it. Everything you're thinking and saying right now, I've already thought and said. Yeah, we didn't mean for this to happen and yeah, she's a lot younger than me. So what, man? What's done is done, we've had the conversations, it's happening. I didn't tell you so you could do this at me," Jack explains, gesturing at Robby, "I told you because you're important to me."

The admission sits in silence as Robby takes it in.

"Okay," he sighs, "Okay, I get it. What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, maybe try asking me about her? How I'm feeling about this?" Jack suggests.

Robby scoffs. "You, Jack Abbot, want to talk about your feelings?"

"Try me," Jack provokes.

"Fine. How are you feeling about all of this, Jack?" Robby asks, exasperated.

"Hmm," Jack says, pretending to think. "Why don't you ask me again when you mean it."

"Jesus fucking christ," Robby mumbles, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"It's fine, man, take some time to reel it in," Jack says good-naturedly. "I didn't expect you to be this cut up about it,"

"I'm not cut up about anything," Robby denies. "I'm just thinking about you, I mean, are you even sure it's yours?"

Jack looks at him with a steely glare.

"You're on thin ice with that one, pal."

Robby has the good sense to look guilty.

"Sorry," he apologizes.

"It's fine," Jack says.

Robby takes a deep breath, shaking his head to clear it.

"Okay," he starts, "Please tell me about her. How did you meet, what's she like, all that." he asks.

"I'm old enough to be your father!" Jack yells over the deafening sound of the bar you're in.

"Ew, don't talk about my father!" you yell, grasping the firm bicep of the arm around your waist.

"But I-" Jack starts, only to be interrputed.

"I really don't give a shit," you roll your eyes, "do you?" you ask the man in front of you.

Jack looks down at you in his arms. The big eyes looking up at him, the expanse of skin of your legs shown below the hem of your shorts. Smooth and inviting; Jack is desperate to get his hands on you.

"No," he smirks, "no, I really don't."

"Good," you tell grasping the back of his neck and pulling him forward into a hot, messy kiss. He returns the kiss with enthusiasm, his tongue running along your lower lip before plunging into your mouth, muffling the noise of surprise you make.

Distracted by the feel of your tongue on his, your hair grasped firmly in his fist, and the soft skin of your waist in his hand, Jack realizes that this is the most alive he's felt in a long time.

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮/𝑩𝑬𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑳𝑬𝑭𝑻 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

BEING LEFT ❛  wait! you can't just leave me here alone!  ❜ ❛  i don't know how to live in a world where i'm all alone.  ❜ ❛  everyone i've ever loved has either left or died.  ❜ ❛  i'm not yet ready for it to end.  ❜ ❛  will we ever see each other again?  ❜ ❛  please! you promised! you promised you'd never leave.  ❜ ❛  if you leave now, i'll never forgive you.  ❜ ❛  are you really going to leave after everything we've been through?  ❜ ❛  how am i supposed to keep on like before when you're not here anymore?  ❜ ❛  i knew this day would come, but i hoped it wouldn't be today.  ❜ ❛  please don't go. not yet. just stay a little longer ...  ❜ ❛  don't just walk away. say something, anything, before you go.  ❜ ❛  so that's it? you're just ... gone?  ❜ ❛  you can't just walk away like none of this meant anything!  ❜ ❛  why does everyone i love always leave?  ❜ ❛  i should've known better than to think you'd stay.  ❜ ❛  is it really that easy for you to walk away?  ❜ ❛  you said we'd face the world together. now i have to face it alone.  ❜ ❛  if you're going, at least look me in the eyes and say goodbye.  ❜ ❛  i don't have the strength to watch you walk away again.  ❜

LEAVING ❛  i'm sorry, but i cannot stay here any longer.  ❜ ❛  for once, i'm trying to do the right thing.  ❜ ❛  you don't need me here anymore. you've always been stronger on your own.  ❜ ❛  i wish staying was enough. i really do.  ❜ ❛  don't look at me like that. if i don't walk away now, i never will.  ❜ ❛  one day, you'll understand why i have to walk away.  ❜ ❛  i wish i could stay, but this isn't my place anymore.  ❜ ❛  don't wait for me. i don't know when ... if i'll be back.  ❜ ❛  i wish there was another way. but there isn't.  ❜ ❛  this isn't goodbye because i don't care. it's because i do. too much.  ❜ ❛  this goodbye is the hardest thing i've ever had to do.  ❜ ❛  i'm leaving because i love you too much to keep hurting you.  ❜ ❛  i'm sorry i couldn't be what you needed me to be.  ❜ ❛  i have to go find who i am without all this.  ❜ ❛  just because i'm leaving doesn't mean i stopped caring.  ❜ ❛  i'm not running. i'm just done waiting.  ❜ ❛  every step i take away from here is breaking me.  ❜ ❛  i can't keep pretending this place feels like home.  ❜ ❛  the hardest part isn't leaving. it's knowing you'll be here when i'm not.  ❜ ❛  sometimes goodybe is the kindest thing we can say.  ❜

[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.”

[sastielsfandom]

Happy pride month. I don't get to celebrate much because I'm currently homeless with my family. Two of my sisters, my mom, her mom, and I are all just trying to make it by. We've all been in abusive situations recently and are trying to escape these cycles of abuse. I swear I'm on here constantly begging for help to keep us afloat as we're being tugged down. We deal with so much bullshit on a day to day basis if I didn't live it, I wouldn't believe it. We have people stalking us, stealing from us, trying to take advantage of my sisters car. All we want to do is have a roof over our heads, piece our family back together, and never be bothered by our abusers ever again. One was in jail but is getting out this month. The other is supposed to be going to jail but is evading the police and hiding my other sister. She is disabled and non-verbal, and is being physically and emotionally abused. It is torture knowing that no one is protecting her but everyone is protecting her abuser. We're drowning over here just trying to get on steady ground once again. Tonight we have nowhere to sleep and will probably run out of gas. We're running low on sleep because every night we're unsure where the hell we're going to sleep. This heat is killing us. And every step we take forward, we're knocked ten feet back. This isn't a battle we can afford to lose but we are. We just need help. If you can spare a dollar or two, maybe even five, it makes a difference. A dollar can be the difference between shelter, having money for food, or making sure we don't run out of gas on the side of the road. I'm putting a large amount down, because it's how much we do need to just keep going. I don't expect anyone to give us the full amount. Not with this economy. But if you have a dollar you can throw our way, and you do. Well, that'll mean the world to us. This is so long, and probably repetitive but I am exhausted and just trying to make it to the next day. So apologies for anything that doesn't make sense. Below is where you can help send us money. I appreciate you just sharing this if you have nothing to offer. It means a lot getting this out there.

0/$5,000

Paypal

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Cashapp

Kofi

I appreciate any help, from small to large donations, reblogs and shares. It all makes a difference even if you don't believe it does.

[pomefioredove]

hi may i please have a sugar cookie with sprinkles #15

order #15, sugar with sprinkles

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ linger

summary: no one is allowed to push around rook's pet... except for himself, of course tropes: hurt/comfort characters: rook additional info: romantic or platonic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, long, perhaps a bit indulgent, injury/blood, rook is rook, if you're reading the title and thinking "like the cranberries song" yeah like the cranberries song, fluffy

Free meal.

Those words, and the haughty, hungry mouths they came from, followed you all the way from class, through the corridor, down the hall, around the corner, and, now, here.

You weren't sure what exactly you were thinking; maybe you didn't want to cause a scene. Maybe you didn't want to draw any more attention to yourself than you do already. Maybe you thought you could handle it on your own- a foolish thought, but in the safety and sunlight of Trein's classroom, it seemed, to you, tactless to hide behind your teacher and have him tell off your bullies for you.

And now you're here. Backed against a wall, between the stone of the school and the hard place of your pride. And you'd give anything to hear the stern voice of a staff member, or your name from a friend's mouth.

But, it's only those two words, those taunts- "Free meal- come back, free meal!"- that you dare not wonder the meaning of. Accompanied by cackles, a biting sound that buries itself beneath your skin, and cracks your bones.

"Whaddya gonna do, cast a spell?" the first says, flicking your forehead as if you were a nasty, annoying fly. "Oh, right."

The other- shorter, but more menacing, with slumped shoulders and bags under his eyes- tsks.

"Y'know, I worked my ass off to get in here," he says, brushing off the purple-and-silver band on his arm- Octavinelle. "Since I was four. Took all these supplements to manifest my magic early, stayed up for days studying, worked nights at a time just to afford the uniform. I made deals. And you wouldn't know a thing about that, huh? You can just waltz in, all cute- and innocent-"

He hisses, his hand slamming on the wall by your head. His friend doesn't let up, either, the both of them crushing your hope of escape with their cold, clammy bodies.

"-And despite nearly burning down the damn building, and despite destroying everything you touch, and- oh, yeah! Being magicless, you can bat your eyes at the Headmage and he'll give you whatever you want. Free tuition? Sure. Uniforms, books, your own dorm, even though you never belonged here in the first place? Why not! But some of us- worked for this. And we're not going to get outdone and risk losing a place for some poor unfortunate soul in oversized shoes,"

"Can we rough 'em up now?" the first one giggles, a sharp, oafish grin spreading over his lips.

"Azul said not to," he mutters. "But- hey, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?"

You don't even have the strength to shield your face, and so you only shudder, feeling the air around you become tight with tension and unbearable with the looming threat of first blood, and then-

wwwhhhhISH.

"AaaaayyyyyyEEEEEEEEE!!!"

You can suddenly feel your feet on the floor again, and you finally breathe, and your knees buckle, and you crumble. And you're not alone- there's a puddle of blood pooling beside you, but it's not yours.

"Ah, zut alors! It seems as if I have forgotten to tighten my bowstring this morning, and my aim has been most unfortunately affected!"

"YOU SHOT ME!"

You wouldn't have heard the softened sound of Rook Hunt's footsteps if you weren't already on the floor. He walks with the elegance of a housecat, and the stealth of a much hungrier predator.

He hums, too, something merry and unbothered, his hands behind his back.

"Oui, I see that," he says, inspecting the arrowhead lodged in the first boy's hand. The one he was about to hit you with.

You look between them from below, eyes wide. There's no way that could've been an accident- the arrow is perfectly slot in the back of his hand, not deep enough to pierce all the way through, but enough to draw blood. Only an archer like Rook could chance such a dangerous and delicate blow.

"DO SOMETHING!" the bigger boy yells.

Rook tuts. "Moi? I'm afraid I've left my first-aid in my room today. I would hurry to the infirmary before you lose more blood and begin to feel faint,"

He doesn't need to be asked twice. He bounds down the hall, and the second boy- the surlier, shorter one- snarls at you before he follows.

Before you, too, can flee the scene of the crime, you're lifted to your feet and carried away by thick arms.

"Mon Trickster~ getting up to trouble again?" Rook giggles, dragging you out of the hall.

"I didn't- but I-"

He laughs merrily, the sound light and mirth, like the tinkling of bells. "Non, you misunderstand! I know you, chouchou, you would never invite such trouble. It simply... has a way of finding you,"

"Mhm," you mumble, smothered between his arms as he coos and carries you around like a beloved pet.

"Back to your humble abode," he hums. "Are you injured?"

"No...t physically,"

"Très bien, then I will lovingly tend to your emotional wounds once we're home!"

You grimace. "You don't have to do that,"

"Ah, but if I don't, who will?"

He has a point there, you suppose. And so you let him ramble on about his bowstring and his beauty routine and the play he's seeing this weekend, until you're comfortably inside Ramshackle and he's sat you on his lap.

"I had never seen a beetle with such a luminous color! Oui, and I said to the professor, I must have that insect!"

"And what'd he say?" you ask, still somewhat forcefully muffled with your face pressed into his chest. Something you're used to, at least.

Rook sighs, wistfully. "It scurried away before I had to chance to capture it- perhaps for the better, hm? Its beauty would no doubt have inspired me to pin it in a pretty case..."

You feel a little sympathy for the beetle. You, too, have been pinned in a pretty glass box by Rook for your beauty.

In a way.

"How do you feel?" he asks, lessening his tight hold on your body as if he had been reading your bitter thoughts.

"...Better,"

"Tsk, tsk, trickster, you know I hate when you lie,"

You hesitate, and, while finding the words to respond to that with, you feel his hand on your head, patting your hair.

Which is pleasant in its own way, you suppose.

"...Those guys, just... said some stuff,"

"Such as?"

You hesitate again. "I mean... I... they just... I didn't really work to get here, did I? It was all chance. I don't deserve to be here..."

Rook falls silent, for once, and he cradles his chin in his palm, a contemplative, almost pitying expression on his face. Strange.

"...But, no one could do what you do, could they?"

You blink, a bit taken aback.

"I can't really do much of anything, Rook. No magic, remember?"

"Ah, but that's what they would think, isn't it?" he asks, sitting you up a little straighter in his lap so he can look at you properly.

"The common student- as magnifique as his magical talent is- thinks that that's all it takes to "make it", oui? A few powerful spells, a talent for potion-making, a natural aptitude for magic, perhaps an academic background, as well. But you... mon trickster, you shine brighter than all of them. Tell me, who could tame a direbeast like Grim? Who could see to the Headmage's demands, day in and day out? Who could have worked as hard to catch up to their classmates in a world where they are all sixteen years ahead? You are as diligent as a mage, as clever as a mage, as deserving to be here as any student- and yet, you have more- you possess what so many Night Raven College students lack- you are kind, mon trickster. Could the cold, ruthless, determined or conniving, well-meaning as they may be, have the patience or love to care for Grim, with no reward?"

You're silent, limp in his arms as if you had fallen asleep there. Rook smiles at your dumbfounded expression and cradles your face between his hands.

"Could they have?"

He's looking for an answer. You look away.

"...It wasn't all that hard,"

"Ah, to you," he corrects. "Any student, even the most powerful housewarden, would struggle to earn the trust of a wild beast."

"But that's not- I mean- that doesn't matter, here-"

"But it does!"

He pulls your face a little closer to his, piercing green eyes, softened only by brown liner and the benevolent, loving look in them, finding yours.

"If I... may be so bold," he mutters. "...I do not think you belong here, chouchou. Truthfully, you are far too good for this place. You should be somewhere more suited to your personality... I have pictured you in the pristine uniform of Royal Sword Academy, perhaps once or twice... but... I am, selfishly, grateful that you stay. That you are here."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and fleeting but imbued with all the love in the worlds, both his and yours.

"...I fear the others do not understand how special you are, and how easily one could lose a precious thing like you... though you are bound to leave, like the setting moon, let it be another time. Let the beautiful night linger, for just a little longer,"

[webslingingslasher]

J! I just got a Spidey plush!! And he’s adorable and so cuddly. I love him.

Idk if you’re taking requests (if not, please disregard lol), but a drabble/blurb (idk the difference) about Trouble w/ a Spidey plush. And Peter getting jealous bc she’s choosing to cuddle with it instead of him

'i found spider-man today.'

peter wasn't out in the suit today so he's not sure what you mean. 'you did?'

'mhm, i took him home with me.'

now peter's imagining a copy-cat walking around in some halloween costume, pretending to be a hero, and allowing girls to take him home. when peter said spider-man could be your hall pass, he didn't expect you to actually find him.

'what?'

'what, what?'

'what do you mean you took him home?'

you smile, 'oh. yes, i took him home. i almost didn't but he was so cute i couldn't say no.'

a fake spider-man is running around and flashing his face. 'you saw his face?' you shake your head, peter thinks that might be worse. 'no, but i know he's cute. wanna see him?' you start digging through your bag before he can say anything, if you show him a picture of someone touching you, he'll scream.

but it's no real threat. it's a miniature, stuffed him.

'aw.'

'i know, right? he's perfect cuddle size too.'

peter waves you off. 'nah, i'm perfect cuddle size. he's too small.'

you hug spider-man to your chest and squeeze tight. 'he fits right between my arms. i can't wait to hug him all night.' peter's eyebrows slightly furrow, 'i thought you were spending the night?'

you nod. 'i am.'

'then how are you going to hug him?'

you sway back and forth, hugging spider-man a little tighter. 'like this.' peter looks at you, looks at his bed, looks at spider-man, then back to you. 'but that's where i sleep.'

'nuh uh. it's more like me laying on you and you trying to escape me the whole night.'

'you make me hot!'

you shoot a wink his way, 'right back atchya, baby.' you trace the black lines of the plush mask spider-man is wearing. 'it's a win for you, petey. you won't get all sweaty tonight.'

peter wears a frown and crosses his arms over his chest. 'what's the point of spending the night if you're not going to cuddle me?' your mouth drops, 'okay, mr. sassy.'

'well, i just don't get why you'd want to sleep here if you don't want me.'

'i do want you! i'm sharing a bed with you, duh.'

'while cuddling...' peter's eyes narrow on his new enemy, 'him.' you try to hold a straight face but you're unable to swallow your laugh. 'there's no way you're jealous of a stuffed spider-man right now.'

peter exaggerates a head nod. he's jealous and he doesn't care if you know. 'i only get trouble cuddles two nights a week, three if i'm lucky. and you want me to give up a whole night for that thing? no way. not happening. i'll allow it in the bed but cuddles? no, that's me and me only.'

you hold spider-man closer to your chest. if he had ears, you'd cover them. 'we went from him to it real fast, parker.' peter gives spider-man a death glare. 'it's taking you from me. i don't like it.'

'well, maybe if you didn't complain everytime i try to cuddle you i wouldn't have to find someone to take your spot.'

'someone? someone? that is not someone, i'm someone!'

you give spider-man another squeeze. 'fine. but he's sleeping next to me and if you give me any lip about getting off you, i'm turning my back and won't turn back around until morning.'

peter smiles wide. 'deal.' 

[written-in-knife]

Could I request platonic Ace, Sebek, Deuce, Leona, Epel and Crewel (idk if you write for side characters but if you do could we squeeze Baul in?) with half-fae reader who has disproportionate strength? Like strikes that could off a man with full strength or punch through brick.

Strong

Ace, Deuce, Leona, Epel, Sebek, Crewel

gn!fae!reader, no other notes

I love this, but I haven't read enough of Baul to be able to write for him so I am going to leave him out. Also, here's some of the new banners, I like that most of them are more dynamic. Some are staying the same just because they're my favorite but I swapped almost everyones out

Ace Trappola

He and Deuce were arguing about something stupid and it was getting heated

To the point that, when Ace tried to run, Deuce summoned a cauldron to try to stop him

You had just been standing there, minding your damn business while they did their thing, not noticing Ace behind you until Deuce shouted for you to look out

He'd summoned the cauldron above your head on accident, too focused on trying to nail Ace

You caught it with one hand, like nothing, and just tossed it aside

Ace was thrilled about this new information

Constantly asks you to lift things now. Never anything important, never that it needed to be lifted, just to see if you could

That couch? What about that boulder? Can you lift me?

You pick him up and toss him into the air like a stuffed animal. He doesn't ask again despite how fun it was

Deuce Spade

He was so worried when he almost hit you with the cauldron that was meant for Ace, he would've felt so bad

But when you caught it and tossed it aside like a mild inconvenience, he was SO impressed

He would also want to experiment about it, mostly summoning a bunch of cauldrons in a stack for you to lift

You caught him off guard when you folded one of them shut

He's incredibly impressed every time you show off your strength, he thinks it's so cool

Leona Kingscholar

You offered to help him haul the Spelldrive equipment to the stadium for practice

He didn't really think you'd be much help, but knock yourself out ig

Doesn't show it outright other than maybe an impressed "huh," but mans is stunned when he watches you hoist a full bag of discs over one shoulder and a full bag of pads over the other

He knows from experience those bags aren't light

You're gonna come haul equipment for them next time, right?

Epel Felmier

The jealousy coursing though his veins

He was also there when you offered to help Leona with the Spelldrive equipment

Expects you to carry some brooms or maybe a water cooler

Openly gawks when he watches you toss the disc bag over your shoulder like a pillow

They usually have to use a cart to get it to the stadium, what do you mean you can just pick it up???

You have to explain to him that your strength is from being half fae and you don't think he could just strength train his way up to your level

Sebek Zigvolt

He talks you into sparring with him one time, and he can tell you're pulling punches

Straight up yells at you about it "if you're going to hold back, you may as well not have even shown up!"

Refuses to admit that, even while you're pulling punches, it still hurts pretty significantly

Refuses to believe that you could easily kill him if you didn't hold back

After way too much back and forth about it, you end up punching one of Diasomnia's stone walls to prove your point, your fist going through it easier than drywall

Well, of course you're strong, you have fae blood in your veins!

On a totally unrelated note, what's your training regimen like?

Divus Crewel

Your lab partner dropped a closed vial of an essential ingredient into the grate under your cauldron during cold mix lesson

Crewel was mildly annoyed but went to get you a new batch, he'd have to fish the dropped one out once the cauldron was emptied after class

But when he turned back to hand bring you the vial, he saw you with the full cauldron lifted into the air and your lab partner crouching underneath to grab the dropped vial

He just about had a heart attack

Lectures you for the rest of class about how it doesn't matter if you can lift the full cauldron, what if it were to spill on someone? Or what if your hand slipped and you dropped it on your lab partner?

Despite his disappointment in your obvious lack of lab safety, he was impressed

Might see if you can help set labs up on occasion, save him the spell usage

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[keen-li]

What you need | 07

Chapter title: You need...a hobby

Synopsis: Everybody needs, but how do you define need? do you even know what you need. The simple answer is no. But Jungkook knows what you need. he just wants to help you realize it.

Genre: best friends au, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn. Friends to FWB to Lovers

Jungkook x reader.

Wc: 10.3k+

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Index

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Jungkook sighs, making a mental note to go grocery shopping after opening the fridge to disappointment. He's quick to pull out the only egg he has and shuts the fridge, the bottles inside hitting eachother.

How did he forget?

He's definitely been cooking more than he's used to, but unfortunately, he hasn't been keeping track of his groceries. With you around, he feels like he has a reason to cook more. He always cooks more when people are around. He'd hate for a visitor to starve in his home (his mother would kill him).

When he thinks about it you should starve, he could let you starve. You're more than a visitor now, so you should be up here making your own food. He doubts a visitor would go into his closet, pick one of his graphic tees, and make an outfit for the day just because it looks better than anything she has.(what was the point of going to pick up clothes from yours?)

But it's all in good humor; he'd never let you starve. He likes to cook anyway.

"You need to tell me where you buy your shirts. They're so cool," you enthuse as you walk into the open kitchen, your eyes still on the details of the shirt, not bothering to look where you're going. You're too familiar with Jungkook's floor plan to need your eyes to navigate.

His lips fall into a smirk when he catches your words. But with his back to you, you don't see much of the way he shows his teeth. What you do get is a good view of his back.

The days are getting hotter, so it's not surprising for him to be shirtless. You'd be in your bikini top if you could, especially if you had the female equivalent of Jungkook's body.

You've never minded Jungkook's Baywatch cosplays. I mean, you're not in medical school, but it's never not been beneficial to study the male anatomy and differentiate each muscle group. Right?

He's got a great body, to say the least, but a back should not make you this flustered.(Its the last part of a man you look at when you you get the chance.)

It's just a back—Jungkook's back. Your best friend.

It's your best friend's back.

A very nice back that tenses every time he moves to perform another action. It's like a wall, those you find in gyms or play places. It stares back at you like a challenge: "Climb me, Y/N, climb me." Honestly, it's more like a mountain; its large form blocks everything in sight and takes your eyes captive. The clouds at the top of a mountain would be his hair. They may contrast in color, but they'd probably feel the same.

You avert your eyes from the landscape.

You've never touched a cloud, but you've touched Jungkook's hair, and all you can say is that's what the clouds wish they could feel like. They envy him.

Shit, fuck. Get yourself together.

You've never paid this much attention to his figure, so there's some kind of shame that blossoms.

Why the heck are you thinking like this?

He's being sarcastic. He doesn't mind it, as long as you return them. And you always do, but this one, you might not. And the way you caress it tells him that.

Pan in hand, Jungkook turns to the counter, and you're quick to shift your eyes elsewhere again.

"Why? Then I wouldn't have anyone to steal from me," he lets out humorously as he scrapes the egg onto the china he set out.

You round the counter to try to hover over his shoulder to see how he makes coffee, as though you have no clue how to do it by yourself.

Even though you aren't super short, you just can't seem to look over his shoulder fully. Being reminded of that moment in the kitchen, you decide maybe you should walk away from any form of heat in the kitchen.

One of your childhood flaws is coming to haunt you. If it wasn't for your mother's quick instincts that day, the hot soup would have fallen on your head. You were too jumpy in the wrong places. You could never sit still. Your mother understood that maybe you were just trying to help and got excited, but since then, she's never let you in the kitchen. The only time you got to see the food was at the table. It made you sad because you never understood, but you got used to it.

"It's not stealing if I'm going to return it."

If. Big IF.

You choose to sit on one of the kitchen stools and lean on the counter.

When silence settles, your mind continues to bug you, not wanting you to forget a single thing.

You thought Jungkook was going to say something about it; you were hoping he would. Then maybe you'd get some type of reason that it was just some silly action. But from the looks of things, it's only affecting you. Little do you know, Jungkook feels like he can still sense the sensation of his hand on your skin.

You shake your head. It doesn't mean anything anyway; you're just grateful it didn't bruise. Though a bruise would have been much better than the mark it's left on your mind.

Jungkook continues to walk around making breakfast. Every action he makes is necessary to reach the end goal.

You find unnecessary the touches on your waist as he passes by you. With all the space in the kitchen, he wants to act like you're taking up so much of it that he can't pass by without brushing past you.

He started it when he chose to kiss you. Well... maybe that was your fault. But he definitely made it worse with the smack. You know what? This has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Jungkook is just being the playful friend you know him to be, and here you are, leeching on every drip of contact from him.

You wonder if he can feel you stiffen when he does so.

You blame your reaction on this stage of being single—feeling touch-starved. And Jungkook is only making it worse.

In this stage, even the smallest, most meaningless gestures can feel big. They can feel like something they're not. In the past, when you felt that way, you'd hook up with somebody (not that it ever was enough or what you truly needed; it just got you momentarily satisfied), but you want to stay away from that. You can't let yourself do or be that. And you won't let Jungkook be a victim of it too. He's your best friend; you'd never want to cross that boundary with him. You like being friends with him. But that can't stop you from seeing him as the attractive man he is. Why the hell is he so attractive?

You shouldn’t be so caught up in physicality, but you’ve been so used to being in a relationship or jumping from one to the other that being alone and "on a break" feels uncomfortable. And you just want to say "fuck it" and jump onto the next, but you know Jungkook keeps records of your words, and he'd bring it up if he caught you.

So he just doesn't have to catch you?

Anyways...

You like compliments. It feels good when someone compliments you, especially in your stage of questioning yourself or your faults. It feels good to have someone bandage your insecurities wiht sweet words. It just happens to be Jungkook right now on that job. So it doesn't change anything.

"It looks good on you, though. I'll give you the guy's number." You blush when you finally meet his warm, dark eyes.

You can blush; you're allowed to. It doesn't mean anything. You blush when Jimin or Willow compliment you. For fuck's sake, you even blushed when Hoseok told you you were doing a good job. It doesn't mean anything—just an expression of gratitude.

"You good?" Jungkook pauses, walking from the counter to the cabinet when he sees your face fall. You do look gloomy when you wake up, but it's more when you're still stuffed under the sheets, not when you're fully freshened up. You're usually all smiles, so to see your face fall means you're thinking of something. You're overthinking something.

Jungkook has never considered himself a therapist or able to heal somebody, but he's always tried by doing what he can: cooking, offering words of affirmation, going out to do some activities—just anything to make the person feel better. He always tries to learn what makes the person feel better and then do it, and that's what he's always done for you. And it's what he'll do. He knows little touches make you happy, so he tries to get in every chance he gets. He makes sure to do things that make you comfortable.

He knows you don't like to talk about what's bothering you, so he won't ask. When you're ready, you always tell him.

You stare a little too intensely at his marble counter before you lift your head and speak. "Yeah, I'm good." You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes, and he sees that.

He nods, waving away any more questions he has. He'll take your word for it.

"I'm sorry I only had one egg." He slides the plate to you. You're taken aback when the plate reaches you. You stare at it. You hadn't realized he was making it for you. You stay here so often that you thought Jungkook was over and done with making you food. But maybe he feels an obligation to make you feel happy. Here you go, feeling like a burden again. "Remind me to get some more groceries." His voice pushes your thoughts away.

He knows that he's more likely to remember than you are, so maybe he just wants to give you something to do. Do you need something to do? Maybe. You nod anyway, accepting the request. It's the least you can do while you're here.

You watch him as he grabs his shirt from the couch and swiftly runs it over his head, covering his torso. This is sad—really sad and pitiful of you. "Enjoy." You've barely touched the plate, having been distracted and confused by how fast he's moving.

You don't think you will, not after you freeze up when he walks up to you and suddenly places a goodbye sort of kiss on your temple. He used to do it before you started dating Yunho. You guess the habit is back.

"And you?" You furrow your brows and turn your head in confusion when you watch him grab his training shoes.

But again, meaningless touches drawing harmful thoughts.

Is he going to have breakfast too, with whatever he has in the fridge? You don't think working out on an empty stomach is good, but knowing a fair share of gym guys, you know they only get off on their protein shakes.

He's going to stop by a café and get himself something afterward. But it's cute that you're worried.

His fingers play with the string of his water bottle. He forgot to tell you beforehand, but he hopes you don't mind and that you don't feel like he's running away from you. Because he knows that's what you're thinking. "Uh... I'm going to hit the gym a little. I'll have something on my way back."

You nod. You're aware of his routine: gym every morning. He usually goes earlier than this, so seeing him still here made you think he ditched the idea. But just staying longer meant you could be awake when he makes you breakfast. You would hate to eat cold food, even though his microwave works fine (you've told him that a hundred times).

It's childish, but why does your heart sink at the thought of him leaving? He's not going to be gone forever. It's so childish and needy, and you hate feeling this way. It's just that you fear being alone with your thoughts; Jungkook's always there to distract you. So even a split second away feels like you're about to slip into a dark place of wonder, questioning, and self-doubt.

"You're gonna be okay alone?" He knows.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" But you try to pretend. You grab a toast and bite into it, just to keep your mouth busy and not beg for him to skip the gym today. That would be selfish and embarrassing.

You brush him off with a wave of your hand and pretend like you aren't a little sad you're not coming along. Even though you dislike the gym, you only like the gym when he’s there, though you wouldn’t utter those words yourself.

He squints his brows playfully. "Well... maybe because you look like I just told you I don't want to be your friend." He laughs.

Jungkook notices even the tiniest muscle changes you make; it's like he's got x-ray goggles that can see every part of you, even your emotions. He's the only one you'd let own such a device if it existed. But a feature it lacks, which you're glad about, is the ability to read thoughts. Jungkook wishes he could, but for the sake of everything, you're glad he can't.

"I'll be fine, Kook. Go sweat at 9 a.m." You sound kind of bitter as you playfully roll your eyes, but whatever.

He chuckles, walking over to grab a toast from your plate. He is kind of hungry. You deadpan him and he shrugs.

"I'll be back in no time. Okay?" His hand glides past your hip in a temporary goodbye. You wish he could've just waved. "Do me a favor and write a grocery list for me."

You let out a short, sharp laugh. "Dumb of you to trust me with such a task."

"Then i'm the dumbest...I trust you tho." He winks at you before walking out, leaving you staring at the door.

You roll your eyes playfully and chuckle. He shouldn’t trust you.

A few minutes after, just out the door and probably in his car, your phone dings.

kook: You can add whatever you want to get for yourself too.

You: Already ahead of you. 😌

kook: My bad.

kook: Guess I don't know you as well as I think. 💀

You smile at his text. Jungkook might be the only one who knows you best, or on a different level. And he knows that.

While Jimin and Willoe know you well too, since they started dating, you spent more time with Jungkook (not that he was a rebound). Because of that, there are just some things that he knows more and better, like the way you're probably looking around his apartment for what to do.

That's why he's given himself an hour at the gym—an hour less than he usually does.

You don't respond; instead, you return to your breakfast. Why the hell does Jungkook do these things? You blush... hard. Or maybe it's because you're easily impressed. That’s why you always seem to choose the most unsuitable guys. Jungkook's just being hospitable, and it has you squeezing your thighs.

kook: Be back in an hour, nothing more. ❤

You need to raise your standards... and find something to do.

---

As much as he enjoys your presence, it was a good idea to go to the gym alone. He needs time to think, to not be distracted, to reflect on everything he's doing. A temple kiss?

What the hell was that? He usually likes to think things through, but lately, he’s been getting sloppy.

He rubs his face in frustration.

He wants to be there for you, and he wants you to feel that he's there for you. So the touches and breakfast—even though he'd still do it on a normal day—are his way of reassuring you of his presence, making sure you don't detach.

He shouldn’t have done that. It was too much. It makes him wonder if he knows what he's doing. His intentions may not be coming across as clearly as he thinks.

So why does he feel like he's crossing a boundary? Like it's illegal for him to be that close to you when you're nothing more than friends?

Fuck... he shouldn’t have kissed you. What a dumb move.

He could have gone on pretending. He was doing so well before, but that was before he had the luxury of tasting you, of feeling your warmth. It's killing him. He never thought it would affect him this much.

Every time he shuts his eyes, even just a blink, every lick of his lips, all he can think about is that moment—your lips on his.

He feels guilty; he feels like a liar. His intentions were genuine. He just wanted to make you feel better. He's a fool for thinking it wouldn’t trigger something he’s been hiding—something that could scare you and push you away.

He's a fucking dumbass, really. He doesn't want to push you away. He would lose his mind if he lost you as a friend.

But maybe if he wasn't around, you would have been better off. He can't even begin to imagine life if he hadn't met you.

Jimin was right, and he hates to admit it. But if he had listened to Jimin, he wouldn't have gotten the chance to experience what it's like to be your friend—your warmth, your comfort, your understanding. He wouldn't have had that. And honestly, who knows who would have been there for you if he had listened to Jimin? Who would have been there to take your mind off things? Of course, Jimin and Willoe would be there—and it’s arrogant for him to think this—but he believes he's better at being there for you.

It's not a competition, but he prides himself on being there for others. And lately? Especially for you, for the past three years.

Unfortunately, there's no exercise he can do to sweat off every feeling, especially the feeling of knowing he’s going to go back home, find you spread across his couch like you share a lease, filling his Netflix with dating shows, and have to keep pretending. Jungkook will smile and ask what you're doing like he doesn't know. You'd tell him, and he'd walk away or talk about something else. That’s what he should do—not tease you in any way. Even teasing you feels like he's pushing you away.

Jimin is going to kill him. He'll kill whatever Jungkook hasn't already killed of himself.

Jungkook knew one hour was enough to do everything he needed, but it still felt insufficient. He usually does more than just train his body or distract himself. He trains his boxing too, with Yoongi. The older is very particular about Jungkook’s training.

As well as you know Jungkook, there are just some things you might not know.

Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook train on game day; that’s why he wasn’t there to bug him about only spending an hour. He is there to bug him about coming into the arena, though.

He parks his car in the parking lot of the apartment. As he's about to get out, he finally decides to address the text he's been ignoring. It’s better if he answers now rather than when he’s with you. He hopes it will work, but one thing about Yoongi is... he’s persistent.

He should, but he can't right now. It's a hard decision for him to make. But you're alone, and you'd get worried if he was gone for any longer.

Yoongi: There's a game today; you should come in.

Plus, he promised you one hour—nothing more. And he plans on delivering just that.

Yoongi: I can get you a spot.

Jungkook glides his tongue over his teeth in thought. He can wait until next week. This week is about spending time with you; his other endeavors can wait.

There's really nothing to think about, but Yoongi doesn't like to hear the word "no." So he’ll just stick with ambiguity.

Jungkook: I'll think about it.

"Whatcha watching?" is the first thing Jungkook says when he walks in and spots you folded up on his couch, looking comfortable as hell. You look so good and blend so well into his home (and life) that it makes him feel a little unwell. But he has to shake it off.

---

You're going to have to chip in for his Netflix now.

Your eyes shift to watch him instead. His muscles look a little more defined; it’s probably just your brain messing with you. You took biology and have common sense—he can’t grow muscles from just one session. You fold your legs to yourself.

“Just some dating show.” Not the best thing to watch, but it’s comforting to see others pick shitty love partners as well. "How was the gym?" You choose not to look at him as he stands over you, chugging down a bottle of water. You can’t see, but you assume his Adam’s apple is doing that thing—bobbing.

"Draining. Like always." But he still goes. At this point, the gym is less about health or his body; it’s a distraction. An addiction. He wipes the drop of water that runs down his chin.

"Don't sit down; you'll make the couch smell. Take a shower first," you scold, stretching your arms out to block him. Even after the gym, you can still catch a whiff of his cologne but its mixed with sweat so it's no good.

"Just joking. Did the gym drain your funny bone too?" You look at him, frowning, and he chuckles.

Jungkook furrows his brows, his lips pulling into a smile. “Why are you so worried about my couch?" He emphasizes the word a little too hard for your liking.

He should go take a shower. That's what he should do—not linger around you and fight with himself.

He loses. He always loses when it comes to you.

"Fine, I'll take a shower... right after I..."

Now, all he'll think about when he tastes cherries is you. Or whenever the sun dances warmly on his skin or the wind whirls by his ear, all he'll think about is you.

Jungkook swiftly takes you into his arms and rubs his 'sweaty' body against you. In the act, he inhales your scent—he knew he should've just gone to take a shower. Now you've fully invaded his senses.

He's felt you, tasted you, smelled you, and heard your soft snores and he can't stop seeing you in everything.

"Jungkook!..."

He pulls away with a proud smile, and you're stuck rolling your eyes. "Now I can take a shower."

"You're so messed up." You whine.

"See? I still have my funny bone."

"That was not funny. I was clean," you whine harder. "Now I'm going to keep this shirt." You say it like it's a threat.

Jungkook laughs, his voice lowering as he speaks. "It was yours the minute you wore it, baby." He confesses softly. "But that's not an invitation into my closet. I just like that one on you."

You roll your eyes.

“You did what?” After he forced you to switch what you were watching to Law and Order, just because he can't stand dating shows, you happened to land on an episode about a guy who physically assaulted another guy. At that, Jungkook thought it fit to share his own experience with you.

He's so ridiculous. But he's the only one you'd let get away with this. At least you've got the shirt now.

Win-win

---

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, did you really?” You turn sharply to face him. When he nods, you smack his thigh.

He winces. “You’re upset?” He rubs the spot you hit, since you're too distracted to show him the same care he showed you.

“No, but… he could've pressed charges against you.” Jungkook didn't think that far; he never does in those moments, which is not a good trait. He’s not proud of that. “I just didn’t expect that from you. Willoe suggested the idea, but I never thought—” you ramble thoughtlessly, forgetting you have your own secrets.

“Willoe…?” It looks like you're both spilling the tea, so you might as well.

“Oh yeah. Uhm... I have a secret of my own.” Jungkook turns to you, intrigued by what you could be hiding. He thought you told him everything.

“Before Yunho and I broke up, he told me to choose between you and him.” Jungkook raises his brows in shock. You can't tell what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t look upset. Why would he be? You’re here, aren’t you?

“Seriously?” Jungkook processes this. Why didn’t you tell him? He wishes you had. Why? No clue. But he can only assume how hard it was for you. Would he have made you choose Yunho if he knew? “So, he’s more of an asshole than I thought. Now I don't feel bad." Not that he ever did. Maybe if he knew, then he’d have another reason to go harder. You didn’t deserve a guy who would put you in such a difficult position.

“So, you picked me?” Jungkook leans his head back and gives you the most childish smile. You roll your eyes and turn away.

“Close your mouth, Jeon.” You say when he doesn’t stop smiling and keeps looking at you.

“He could've pressed charges, stupid.” He seems to be forgetting that fact.

He smiles softer, pulling your legs into his lap. The action rake you by suprise but you compose yourself.

“I’m so glad to get to hang out with you now.” His voice is softer, his eyes larger, and his pupils dilated. He tries his best to keep his eyes on yours. You have on the same cherry lip gloss.

He shifts you closer.

You’ve changed out of his shirt, and he frowns, noticing you’re now in a light purple dress with darker polka dots. You’re sitting down, but he can tell it’s one of those that hugs your figure. Some men just don’t know how to keep good things huh?.

“All to myself,” he whispers before you clear your throat and pull back slowly. He pouts at the loss of contact, but he soon realizes it’s for the best. He’s getting carried away. He shouldn’t be doing this. You’re still not over the guy yet. Probably.

Jungkook clears his throat rearranging himself in his seat. "But he didn't. The bozo can't think that far."

You roll your eyes at how arrogant he is about it. You’d be in a different situation right now if Yunho had decided otherwise. You’re not sure if he still could, but the thought of it makes you anxious. You appreciate how caring Jungkook is towards you, but threatening his freedom for you is too much. "You should be thanking him." You’re not sure why Yunho didn’t press charges, but you’re glad he didn’t.

"That was stupid." The fear sinks deeper into you. Jungkook sits up when he sees you sink into the couch, more affected than he thought you’d be.

"For what? Breaking your heart? Cheating? I'm good." He scoffs, and you lower your eyes at him. When he catches your concern, which he’s been ignoring, he softens his features. He really didn’t think about it, which was stupid, but it felt good.

On a more serious note, he doesn’t know what he would do if Yunho had pressed charges; there was a witness. He wonders why he didn’t. So maybe he is a little grateful, but only because it would break your heart to see him in cuffs more than it would to see Yunho cheating on you. And he’d never want to do that to you. He’d never forgive himself if he was the reason for your heartbreak.

"Look. It's over now." He takes your hand into his, interlocking your fingers, and places kisses everywhere he can. You can't deny the way each smack of his lips against your skin has you crossing your ankles. This is what you meant; you're just touch-starved.

"It is. But I don't want you doing it again—to or for anyone." You rub your hands, and Jungkook pretends like you’re not rubbing away his kisses. "I don't like seeing or hearing about you in a fight."

It doesn’t soften the look on your face, but it warms your heart.

Realizing you’re getting carried away in his hold, you pull your hand away, though Jungkook is slow to let it go.

There’s a mutual silence as you both stare at the screen but aren’t really paying attention. An underlying tension holds you captive. Has Jungkook always been this touchy even before you started dating Yunho? You both aren’t sure. But it’s something you don’t want to address.

After many beats of silence, you feel it’s your responsibility to fill the air. "On that note, don't ever bring me to watch you practice with that friend of yours." You’d stopped thinking about it, but now that he brought it up, you can’t help but get flashbacks.

Jungkook holds himself, his voice soft and careful as he speaks. "Why? don’t you like it?" You don’t have to answer, but he’s just curious why you detest it so much.

"Why?" He doesn’t want to bug you because it looks like it’s affecting you. But he needs to know why. Did something happen to you? Maybe you both don’t know each other well enough to call each other best friends. He wants to reach out, but you hold yourself far from him.

"I don't like fighting in general, real or fake." Your hands caress your forearms, and Jungkook checks if he turned the cool air too high.

It’s just alright.

"I don't want to talk about it, Kook." Jungkook may know you well, but there are just some things he doesn't know at all, and you're not sure if he'll ever know them. You don't want him to see you differently or pity you, like others did. Or even worse, tell you, It’s not that bad.

"Okay then. We won't talk about it." He says. "Come here."

Yout shake your head and stand.

Surprising yourself, you actually wrote the grocery list, and Jungkook liked it. No offense to you, but he had a backup prepared just in case you forgot. However, looking at yours, it’s better than his.

"I need to use the bathroom. "

---

Later that day, you both decided to head to the store. The air wasn’t tense anymore; the good thing about you two is that you bounce back from things easily.

"While you were at the gym, I was thinking..." you say, making sure the vegetables you’re picking up are the same ones on your list. One by one, you drop them into the trolley that Jungkook pushes. He leans on the handles, hunching his back when you stop by a section for a little too long.

He doesn’t rush you, though, even when the thing you’re looking for is right in front of you. It’s amusing to watch you so focused on something. Or maybe it’s amusing to watch you in that dress.

You called it a bodycon when he asked, but he can't be sure because he wasn't paying attention. He also lied that the reason he was asking was curiosity and not for a Christmas list. Is it odd?

"Oh oh," he chimes, as if your thinking is a threat to national security. When you deadpan his way, he retreats with his hands in the air. "What were you thinking about?" he finally asks, and you turn to drop the last vegetable in, confirming it’s the last one you need from that category.

He likes how you arranged the list in categories; it makes shopping more linear. He's going to have to start doing that too.

"I was thinking about getting a hobby." Jungkook raises his brows and halts playing with the bracelet on his wrist. He's silent, so when you turn to see his facial expression, he nods for you to go on. He’s curious. "You're into boxing and mechanics or whatever... Jimin's good at art and crafting. And Willow has a garden..." You could go on to list other hobbies they have, but Jungkook gets the point.

You, on the other hand, are stuck working out of obligation.

Another thing you envy is how they all managed to turn their hobbies into something that earns them money. Jungkook works in mechanics, Jimin's a goddamn architect, and Willoe, though she works in real estate, has a plant (side)business (that’s where you get any plant you gift someone). You assume it makes going to work much more fun.

"You guys have stuff, and I don't." You move to the fruit section, and Jungkook rolls with you, not even paying attention to where you're going, so he has to remind you.

"I'm sure you have something..." He reaches out to pick up the citrus you dropped and apologizes to the worker who'd been eyeing you, frustrated.

"What?" You question him when he’s back in position, holding your hands at your waist in an interrogative stance.

"You have that thing..." Jungkook stutters. You must have a hobby... you have one. At least that’s what he thinks. He should shut up. He needs to do better. "That thing..." He tries to keep thinking, but you’ve already clocked it.

"See? I have no hobby. I've been so focused on the job and Yunho, and now that I don't have them, I've realized I'm nothing." You confess, just low enough for Jungkook to hear your frustration but not loud enough for others to hear how insecure you are. Should you even be talking about this here? "Yunho was my hobby." Probably not a compliment to the guy or any of your exes, but it’s something. It’s a realization for you.

"You're not nothing, Y/N." Jungkook comforts you. "You'll get your job back." That’s the only thing he finds himself able to say, and honestly, he’s not proud. He's better at this.

"Okay, if I get it back, fine. But... what will I do in my free time?" You continue to talk, and Jungkook doesn’t mind listening. He likes when you tell him what you’re thinking. He thinks you look cute when you get lost in your ramblings, the way you bite your lip unconsciously or how you touch the necklace that hangs low on your chest...

"Everything I used to do was with... that guy." He snaps back to you picking stuff. You grip the box of grapes too tightly for his liking.

"Well, you’ve got me." He takes the box from you, bringing you back to reality.

"I know. But you're my best friend, and we do best friend stuff." You don't want to add that he might not always be there.

Jungkook wants to be offended, but he doesn’t have the standing ground. "Okay. So, what did you and that guy used to do that you and I can't?" He straightens his back. He probably shouldn't have asked that.

And you’re about to remind him why he shouldn’t have asked. “Well, we kissed, we cuddled." It's like his ears are being roasted, but you don’t notice and go on. "We had sex..."

"Okay," he jumps in a little too quickly.

Jungkook gets it; he understands you. And getting a hobby is a good thing. Seeing that he’ll be going to work soon and you won’t be glued at the hip forever, you'll need something to keep you company. "Okay. If you want a hobby, you can get one." He hates how he sounds like you need his permission. "What did you have in mind?"

You laugh at his reaction. "See? That's why I need a hobby. I can't depend on other people forever. I did that enough in high school..."

You spent too long with girls who never really liked you but stayed because they were the only ones you had. “...and college. Did me no good."

In college, when you got into dating guys, you should’ve learned then, but by the looks of things, you did not. You have no clue what your problem is. Maybe if you focus on yourself and time alone, it’ll do you some good.

He sees the smile grow on your face. You're now by the fridges picking out drinks, and Jungkook is quick to pull some beer cans into the cart. "I was thinking about gardening too. Get a little plant pot and whatever." Jungkook is silent, and when you turn to look at him, he has this unsure look on his face. "What?" you question him with knitted brows. What? Does it not suit you?

"I was just thinking... are you committed enough for that? It takes time, you know?" What, like you didn’t know? Willoe tells you about it. But unlike you, she isn’t impatient and grew up with parents who liked to garden. But you don’t need to have a childhood attachment to it, right?

"Woooow, you think I have commitment issues?" You hold your hand to your chest.

Jungkook lets out a breath. Even though you’re just playing, he wants to tread lightly. "All I'm trying to say is... you can be really impatient."

So that's how people see you?

"Wow, way to be supportive, Kook." You tease him, knowing he’s going to panic.

And he does. "Me telling you your faults is me being supportive. I don't want you to start something, and when it doesn't work out, you get frustrated."

"I won't be frustrated," you say in a barely audible tone, avoiding his eyes.

"Jungkook, my plant won't grow, and it's only day two." You pause and hold back a laugh when he mocks you. He knows you, doesn’t he?

"I don't sound like that." You chuckle lightly, still wanting to stand your ground.

Jungkook watches you laugh, and he knows you know how right he is. "Sure." He rolls his eyes playfully.

"Okay, what about something else?" You give in. Maybe he is right; you would get impatient. So you put your thinking cap back on. "I've always been interested in sewing and fashion."

"Now we're getting somewhere."

You have been, and you thought about it. "But I've seen some prices on sewing machines, and I felt like gauging my eyes out, so maybe not that." You don’t have the funds for the machines that require you to spend. You can wait, and when you do get your job, then you can save for it.

"What about crocheting? You can still do fashion with that?" He states bluntly.

You turn to look at him over your shoulder. You’re now standing in line to finally pay for these things and get out. You raise a brow at Jungkook, who looks away awkwardly, knowing what words are about to come out of your mouth. "How do you know about that?"

He’s reluctant to open his mouth, but he eventually does. "My ex..." You raise your brow higher than it should be going, paired with a wide smirk. “...she was into that."

You get it now. You think you know who he’s talking about, but you can’t be sure. You’ve never paid attention to Jungkook’s girlfriends. “Is it that sweater?" He’s not slow with the answer. "I knew it was too unique to be bought in a store. You liar."

"Is that why you won’t let me wear it? Because she made it for you?" Your voice has a little mocking tone to it, and Jungkook continues to avoid your eyes but you continue to bug him. "Oh gosh, are you even over her?"

"Yeah..." He clenches his jaw and holds the cart a little tighter. Weren’t you talking about wanting a hobby?

Thankfully, you don’t press into it; otherwise, he’d hate to see the face you make when he ignores you. “Anyway..." You move to bag the groceries, and Jungkook pulls out his wallet.

"So I'll do crocheting," you decide, and he nods in agreement, though he regrets bringing it up. For a second, he thinks of suggesting something else, but you’re already dead set on this. "And then I can make my own sweater."

"You can make me one too." He pockets his wallet.

"I'm not making you anything." This time, you’re the one taking the cart and walking into the other part of the mall. "Let's hurry before the yarn store closes." You’re glad there’s a yarn store just across the mall. It only makes things easier.

"We still have time."

"I know, but I'm just so excited."

"Who was that?" You ask, wondering when Jungkook's phone keeps ringing and why he won't just pick it up. And even though his ringtone isn't the worst, it's irritating. Why can't he just answer it? He rarely ignores calls unless he's busy, but he's not busy right now.

---

"Yoongi," he says, turning it to silent mode. You watch how he fumbles with stuffing it into his pockets. "It's nothing important, I'll answer it later." He continues when he sees the suspicious look you have on your face. This is exactly what he didn’t want. But he expected Yoongi to call, so he should’ve just turned it off earlier.

You relax your brows and turn back to find which yarn to pick. "Okay... but if it is, you can take it, I don't mind." Maybe he thinks it will bother you, even though it won’t.

"It can wait. It's cute you care, though." He pokes at your side with a smile.

"I don't care; you just don't have the best ringtone in the world." You poke back.

He scoffs. His ringtone is nice.

You ignore the moment and switch back to what you were doing. There are so many colors and textures to pick from; you have no clue where to start. You feel like a kid in a candy store.

"So, what colors do you think I should get?"

Jungkook really wasn’t much of a help, unless when it came to holding the basket. But it's a good thing you could go on the Internet. And after a quick search, you budget for all the essentials you'll need.

"I don't know what the first thing I'll make is." You squeal, walking into the line and running your fingers through the things you’ve picked. Fingers tingling with excitement.

Since the time his phone started ringing, Jungkook seemed distant and off. He wasn’t responding as quickly as he does when you said something. He responded in short hums and yes. You have no clue what could’ve changed in the short moment. Even right now, as you reach the counter, he doesn't look your way or even respond at all.

“Jungkook, are you listening to me?"

You walk to the front and lay your basket on the counter. Jungkook’s eyes look beyond the horizon. You're about to question what's wrong with him before he speaks.

"Leah..." You look up at him, and when you see him look elsewhere, you follow his vision to the cashier.

Her light pink wavy hair is the first thing you catch. It's long and dances past her chest. Not to be prejudicial, but she definitely fits the aesthetic of someone who'd work in a yarn store or any art-related store, honestly.

As you analyze, you squint your eyes. You know her from somewhere, but you can’t put a finger on it. Wait... did he say Leah?

You thought she moved out of the city to start a business elsewhere. That’s why she and Jungkook broke up, right? You couldn’t be too sure; you were caught up with Yunho during their relationship.

They only dated for what? 8 months. But those months definitely affected Jungkook. You were happy to see him with someone who made him happy; she did that, and when they broke up, it broke him. Even though he was tough around you, you could still tell how affected the man was.

He barely wanted to leave the house or hang out, and honestly, that’s when he got a little bitter towards Yunho, but you let him have it; he was sad. And now, as he stares at her, it’s like all that time of hard work learning to live with it is unraveling.

During that same time, you tried to spend as much time as you could with him, but it's not as good as he does for you now. But to be fair, you were in a relationship by then. And Yunho honestly hated you going over to visit Jungkook; you assume that’s when the insecurities began.

You weren’t too familiar with her, and honestly, you got a vibe that maybe she didn’t like you then. You're not sure.

"Jungkook..." Leah says, equally as shocked to see him here. She knew he still lived in the city, but she thought he’d never step foot into a yarn store, at least that's what he told her when she asked him to go along with her. He was so fussy about it, but it’s shocking to see him here... with you. So easily, she assumes.

She scoffs internally. It still bothers her because he couldn’t admit it.

She moves her eyes away from you to look at the objects you have spread out on the counter. One by one, in a slow, almost deliberate action, she scans each of your objects.

"H-hi. What are you doing here?" Jungkook continues, still in awe of the sight before him. It was a stupid question, but between them, it's deeper than that. She swore that she’d never come back to the city, and if she did, she would tell him. But here she is, back, and he never knew a single thing.

"Working," of course, she's working; that's not what's surprising him...

"I mean in town." You stand there awkwardly, purse in hand, waiting for her to finish scanning the items. There's nothing more awkward than being the one in between the tension.

She doesn���t look up at him, but Jungkook is all she stares at. "Oh, uh... I came back." She continues to scan, and you watch as Jungkook’s jaw clenches. If you thought he was tense before, he’s going to be worse after this.

"And you didn't bother telling me?"

She rolls her eyes when his tone gets tighter. It’s expected; she expects this from him.

"Wasn't necessary, honestly." He can't believe she's still the same. She can’t bother to see how he may be feeling. "You two are..." she points with her eyes at you and Jungkook, and immediately you scoot away from him as not to give the impression she may be having.

"Still friends." You laugh out awkwardly. Jungkook rolls his eyes.

"You're the one getting into crochet, I assume?" Leah's attention is now on you, and you've never swallowed harder. She always had a side-eye for you when she was dating Jungkook, but at that time, she never knew you were in a relationship.

"Yeah." Out of pure nervousness, you begin to bag them on your own. The line isn’t super long, but you assume their conversation and tension are holding up the only counter. "Do you have any suggestions on some beginner stuff to make?" Why do you keep talking... Jungkook watches you pack in a slight awkward panic. He hates when people insinuate you're dating, even though it makes his heart flutter; it makes you pull away from him.

He hates that. Makes him realize he has to keep pretending.

"Sounds great, thanks." Finally, you snatch the plastic bag and turn to Jungkook. "I'll just see myself out. Meet you in the car?" It’s your way of telling him to talk more with her and not worry about you, because you know he is.

"Uhm, headbands are the best, but you could also make some plushies. Granny squares maybe." You nod at each suggestion she gives. You will probably do that; she's the pro.

How weird you bumped into her.

You lean closer to him. "Ask her out." You whisper to him, even though you should’ve just shut your mouth. Jungkook isn’t at odds with the idea; he thought of it. He just wants to talk things out, know why she came back and didn’t tell him.

"Anything else you want to get?" She asks when Jungkook stands awkwardly after you leave.

"Why didn't you tell me you were back?" He continues, even though a queue stands behind him. They don’t fuss, though.

"Somethings are better left alone." She’s the one getting frustrated with this now. "I have customers, Jungkook.” Like he didn’t fucking know.

He breathes out and decides maybe he should end this quicker. When he reaches into his pockets, he finds his keys; he forgot to give them to you. So, you must be standing outside awkwardly. So, he should definitely hurry. “We should grab a coffee or something. To catch up."

"Kook..."

"Just one."

She looks behind him, thinking. "Fine." Just to shut him up, because he won't stop. And she wants to end it; her shop isn’t a place she wants Jungkook to frequent now that he knows about it.

"Nice seeing you..."

"You too."

When Jungkook walks to the car, you’re leaning against it, like he thought you would be. You don’t look as upset as he thought you would, seeing it's hot, and he forgot to give you the keys. You don’t blame him, though; he was too caught up.

"So, did you ask her out?" He nods. As he opens the car, "Good. That's good." You say more to yourself. It’s good for Jungkook to go out with someone or rekindling something. It’s what you’ve been wanting.

When you’re finally settled, you speak first, seeing his lost expression. "Why do you not look good?"

He holds onto the steering wheel but doesn’t drive. "It's just weird seeing her, after so long." He picks at his lip ring, still trying to put his thoughts together. He’s angry that she didn’t tell him, but there’s much more he’s thinking of. "Maybe I missed her."

It's not certain, but it could be. This all interaction was random and not expected; heaven knows what he should be feeling right now.

"Wow, uh, that's good. I'm happy for you." You are. "It's like we're switching. I'm single, and now you're about to get a girlfriend." You lean back into your seat and look forward with a weak smile. Gosh, are you going to be the only single one in the group now?

Jungkook scoffs, bouncing back to his normal self a bit. He turns to look at you. "Who said anything about getting a girlfriend?" He points to the seatbelt, and you’re quick to pulling it over yourself as he does the same. "I just want to talk things out." Just get some questions out of his mind.

"That's how it starts."

"Come on, I'll still be here for you." He reaches to cup your hand in his, an action you're getting more acquainted with and unknowingly wanting more of.

Still, you pull away from him, trying to be playful, but Jungkook takes it as the opposite. He can’t help himself but do so when you won't even look at him.

"Yeah, sure... Let's just go home; I wanna unpack my stuff." You say not sounding as excited as before.

Jungkook groans and moans internally as you wrap yarn around his wrist. The tutorial said you should unwind your yarn and you thought jungkooks wrists would be the best for that. They are, the colour of the yarn looks great in his skin and even though he’s not strict about colours he wears, cause its rare, he makes not to get more of this one.

---

You don’t wrap it tightly but he feels like a prisoner the way you have his arms stretched out. Everytime he tries to relax, your hand is quick to pulling him back in place. He listens. It’s nice to see you passionate at something even though its at the cost of the movement of his arms. He’s happy To see see interest Ed jn something other than a relationship,  he hopes it stays like this, so you can focus 8n yourself.

He smirks watching you items down on yiur tongue too focused on perfectly wrapping the string around his wrists. You switch from biting down on your tongue to on your lips, your lips....

"i'm gonna be your bitch now huh?" He speaks so that he’s thoughts have no room to flourish

You chuckle at the terminology. “Yea. Very much my bitch." You say the last part a little too passionately. As much as he’s down to helping you he doesn’t know how much of this he could endure, the gym has taught him endurance, but this is a new kind of patience. But if it’s helping you he’ll learn to endure. "but if you're lucky you'll get a sweater."

He nods accepting the deal.

"You still want that sewing machine?" Hes voice grows lower, like he’s contemplating on promising what he’s about to promise.

You pause and look up at him wiht a raised brow. "Yeah, but it can wait." You return.

"You know what? "

"What?"

He smiles kissing his teeth not believing he’s about to say what’s he’s about to. "If you stay consistent with crocheting for 3 months, I'll get you one."

You freeze and slowly lift yourself to eat his gaze already on yours. Would he actually? No...jungkook a more well off than you from his stable job but would he actually? Gosh you’d really appreciate that. He’s gotten you gist before but this would be big.

"What a sewing machine?" You repeat in disbelief. "eally?"

"Yeah, if you stay consistent. A birthday gift."

"Now I will." You cheer wiht a determined scoff. You were always planning on staying consistent. Maybe to prove to you jungkook, you can but mainly to yourself. That you didn’t need to depend on anybody but yourself to get you through this.

The familiar tune of his phone pulls you out of your thoughts.

"That should be Jimin. Answer it." You’re about to question why he can’t do it but when you realise...

"Hey Jimin. Gosh I've missed you."

"Missed you too." Jimin replies voice calm but excited to be hearing from you. "I assume you're with jungkook." Seeing that you’re on his phone, yes you are wiht jungkook. Its not unusual for you two to be together right now.

"Hiii." You exclaim when you add willoe to to call trying to match her ecstatic energy when ou add her to the face time call.

"Hi- oh are we interrupting something?" Shes quick to analysing you and jungkook. She has a curiouslook on her dade but it all play. "never took jungkook to be the one getting tied up."

You cringe at the idea and jungkook smile at your reaction.  "Oh no. god no." Jungkook almost takes you defending yourself a little too hard to heart.

"I'm fucking with you." Willoe adds a laugh,

"He's just helping me with crocheting." You explain  like it wasn’t obvious,  wjat else would you be doing wiht yarn,

Jungkook continues to hold his hands out like a sub p, not making the situation anymore explainable. Bur he relishes in the reaction cause you. This time when you smack his arm its for him to put his arms down.

Finally his muscles can relax.

"Ohhh, your crocheting? make me a sweater. "

"Me too. " Willoe follows after. You can’t help but scoff off their requests, how long dot hey think you’ve been doing this. It makes you blush how much they have hope in you.

"Guys, she's not making sweaters for anyone." Jungkook shines in bitterly.

"No. I'm only not making you a sweater."

He scoffs.

"Anyways, guys I can barely make a knot, I won't be able to make a sweater anytime soon. " You return to wrapping  the yarn around his wrist. You’re almost done. "But maybe if I stay consistent, I'll have your Christmas gifts sorted." You never thought about it but crocheting  would make getting your friends gifts easier.

"just don't make it Christmas themed." Jimin jokes and you all laugh.

"noted." You’d want them to actually  want to wear what you make them.

"you can make mine Christmas themed." Yiu side eye jungkook when he speaks trying to warm you up in the idea of making him a sweater. You probably will, if he keeps up wiht those doe eyes.

"shh"

Your focus is now on the screen, jimin and willoe were probably of talking as you bickered wiht jungkook. Tlking and making of yiu two. "It's good you're keeping yourself busy." They try their best to avoid the larger topic. Of course ythwy knew through the group chat and honestly you’re glad they aren’t  bringing it up. You still want to desire desire consistent in crocheting.

"Yeah." You mumble looking down and the shrink ball of yarn.

Jungkook sensing cuts in. "How's the project going jimin."

"My jobs done in a week. The bar restaurant is coming out nice."

"Ooo so will it be open soon?"

"Yeah I think so, the owner's gonna come and check the place out,  then we'll know." You’re  happy that something good is happening  in our friends life."Still has to get furnished though."

"Send some pictures babe."

The call ends and you and Jungkook are back to YouTube. Now you're practicing how to single crochet.

"Will do."

---

You stare at what you've gotten done and its okay. it's only day one, so you can't be too hard on yourself.

Jungkook watches you closely. Watches how you lift the porous cloth to his ceiling lights. The light seeps through and glitters your irises. He watches the way you pout when you look back at the tutorial and yours doesn't look the same. He wants to tell you it looks good, but he'd be lying.

He watches the way you start over and closely and slowly you work.

You're concerned that he's getting bored but he assures you he's not. how can he.

You don't see the way he looks at you and he doesn't realise the way he enjoys it.

“I’m serious about the machine, you know,” he says quietly, voice not teasing this time.

You nod, distracted. “Yeah, I know.”

He watches you play with the yarn, twirling it around your finger, to hook. “I just think... you need something that’s yours.”

“Crochet?” You ask, half-joking, but he's serious.

“No,” he says, eyes not leaving yours. “Something that makes you feel like you again.”

You freeze.

“You haven't been yourself lately.”

You look down at your lap, not trusting your voice. Of course he noticed, but how far has he noticed.

“But,” he adds, softer now, “you’ll figure it out.”

“How do you know?”

You turn to look at him and your eyes meet his.

if Jungkook's back is the mountain, then his eyes are the sun that sets behind it at dusk. The orange, pink and blue in the sky and eventually the deep darkness. How can one person contain so much of nature's beauty and not be a god. It's clear to say you have the most attractive bestfriend. what makes it better is that his attraction goes deeper than his body.

But any girl is blessed to have him as a lover.

He's caring, great listener, he's supportive...you could list it all. The world doesn't own enough stones for you to write down all his good qualities. As much as you admire them, they've never been for you. The type of guys you go for and jungkook are two different people. His qualities make him a good friend and maybe a good boyfriend for somebody. You were never into that. Not that you'd ever think of you and jungkook as more.

You don't think you'd get along as lovers. You like them a little more distant. You don't like knowing much about your lovers. Makes it easier to leave

You're losing your mind.

You love your best friend...truly. As a bestfriend.

“Because you always do.” He encourages.

you always do but it's always with his help.

who helped you find your job? Jungkook. who's helped you through your breakup? Jungkook. who's going to make you cry right now? Jungkook but who's going to the one to hold you and tell you its gonna be okay?...jungkook.

You look at your yarn trying to go back to your project but the conversation's pulling both of you in. You blink any tears away.

Yes you can always do it... but with him. And you hate that. You know its only cause jungkook is the closest friend you have. If you had another friend maybe he wouldn't be so prevalent in your life.

For a second, he looks at you like—Like maybe he’s the one who needs you to figure it out for him. Tell him whatever and that's what it's going to be.

The ball is in your court. It will never be in his.

He checks it, stands. The day is over, night has fallen and he knows the games are over. So, there's no yelling Yoongi could do to irritate Jungkook. “Let me take this.” he stands his hand already set free.

Before you can say anything, his phone buzzes again.

incoming call from Yoongi

You saw the youtuber using a yarn unwinder to hold the yarn, so maybe you can go back to the store and check for that and not bother Jungkook. even though he says otherwise you know this boring for him.

“Okay.”

He heads towards the front door, why does he have to take the call outside?- you ignore it.

He hesitates at the door with his hand on the knob.

“Three months,” he says over his shoulder. With a smile trying to lighten the mood and leave you smiling and not question why he's going downstairs to pick up the phone. “I’m holding you to it.” he points at the yarn.

“Yeah?” you smirk. You will make it to three months.

He turns his head just enough to showyou his teeth. “And if you’re lucky—maybe I’ll get you something else.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

🥊

taglist: @jksusawife @mother2monsters @gimeow @nikkinikj @jxeonlux @7thsthings @erisuna @kookietkk @revolutionbreez @kookiesncreamri @notsevenwithyou

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So what you think? Let's discuss in the replies.📩

Also what are you guy's hobbies? I'd love to know❤. (Of course mine is writing, reading and art.)

A/n: I'm becoming in love with these two only, if you knew what I have planned. I hope I keep writing and you keep reading and supporting. I appreciate all of you.

All positive reblogs and replies are appreciated. Thanks 😊

If you want to join the taglist just ask.☺

[skeletonh0e]

hello! i was wondering if you could do an imagine of the boys with a workaholic reader? your choice of skeletons!

love your work btw :D

Thank you so much, sorry this took a bit, life has been hectic! I decided to do a draw the names outta a hat trick and narrow it down to just four, you got....

Killer, Red, Classic annnnnnd Ace!

You work too much ft, some of the boys.

Classic Sans:

Lazy x Workaholic, interesting dynamic

But honestly, he gets it. He works a lot too (not really). You've seen all the jobs he has right?

Here's the thing about that though, the more you work, the more breaks you get.

In others words....

Rest.

There is some tough love here, he'll always start off to gently tell you "hey relax" and when that doesn't work a bit more firmer of "relax or i will make you"

How will he do that?

Flopping onto you like a cat, putting all of his weight onto you (possibly even using gravity magic) and making it impossible to do anything.

He's grinning like a dumbass the entire time too, sorry, he loves you too much to let you stress yourself out silly.

Like he can fully respect that you are a naturally hard working person, after all he's gotten deep into some passion projects back in the day. A part of him honestly admires it, but he's never going to let it go too far.

And he has his methods of getting you to relax, aside from just laying onto of you, he'll hide your keys so you HAVE to call in from work, conveniently whatever you were working on is already finished, etc, etc.

It almost becomes a game, especially if you ever try to find workarounds to all the things mentioned above.

It's all silly but he loves you, don't stress yourself out please.

Underfell Sans:

Kinda does what Classic does but like....far far less tactful about it.

Will just grab you while you're working, drag you off somewhere like, "we're doing something fun, get yer' shit"

And suddenly just like that you're on break

Red is like very blunt, crude and yeah kinda mean, that tough love with Classic is doubled here.

"if you stay up any later you will get bags under your eyes and i don't want my s/o lookin' like shit" type beat

He means well, but yeah

He's a certified lazy fuck as you'd expect with any Sans, while there might be some form of admiration he doesn't get why anyone would willingly overwork themselves. Especially if it was a very demanding job

Also isn't he more fun? Don't you wanna spend more time with him? Huh? (he's not saying that because he wants to spend more time with tho-)

Will snatch your laptop, book, phone, etc to get you to stop.

Especially if work tries to call you in on a day off, full blown grabs the phone, tells your boss you're busy, then hangs up

Looks at you like "what?" afterwards, he did nothing wrong, you are busy.

Will also fucking lay on you to distract you

Unlike Classic he's a lot heavier tho so F in the chat there

Killer Sans:

You'll be buried in work then suddenly you have a knife placed right against your neck, not with enough pressure to hurt you but with enough to make you realize that it's definitely there.

How did he get into your house? How long has he been there? Who knows but he's come to give you a very important demand

"Rest. Now."

Will he actually hurt you? Unclear. I wouldn't push it though.

Like, he can respect the hustle but he does NOT like the idea of work taking advantage of you

Especially when he has his own shitty boss he has to deal with (we all know who)

So very aggressive forms of love here

Totally 100% threatens your boss into giving you more days off and insisting he make sure you're actually taking mandated breaks. Might even find a way to get you a raise or two

He got you boo!

Will also just drag you away from whatever you're working on to do something else, except it's basically a mini jump scare especially since he just appears outta nowhere.

However he can't really judge too much since he is also working a lot not willingly mind you, but still.

Will chill a bit if you assure him you're not being forced, that you do like working, etc. But not by that much.

Underlust Sans:

Workaholic? Him too bitch, the fuck.

He's a lot more tactful and far more reasonable than the other three bozos above as a result

See his policy is he does all his work on the clock only and instantly stops the moment he's off, but of course that's not a valid method in every work field

He's all about helping you pace yourself, like, he's not constantly nagging you but gives check ins, helps you set limits like no working long hours without at least one break, sets reminders

Probably tips he's learned over the years while being employed under Mettaton

....not as intense as Killer but if he suspects you're being taken advantage of, he'll help you go full Karen on your boss

As well as lecture you to not let others do that to you, you're better than this sweetie

Also he knows what it's like to have a job you like, excel at, and want to keep doing but constantly get bagged down by the expectations, demands and effort it takes.

Always here if you need to vent

He's very understanding, he does get it, alright.

All about finding compromises, but also he is not above bribing you, be it with cuddles, foods, things you like and well...he's definitely attempted to seduce you away from work at least once

If that didn't work he pouted about it for hours

This also ironically enough helps him phase himself at his work even better, largely because he refuses to be a hypocrite in any form

[the-pallid-king]

He snorts. "Is that a promise?" As if Ichigo's ever failed to deliver in the throw down department. "I guess if you promise, I won't ship you off to Ghana myself."

He shoots Ichigo a mild scowl. "Whatever." And takes a drink, before deciding, "if I'm needy, it's nothing new and it doesn't deter you, so you must like it." Ichigo's clearly thinking about this a little too hard. He props an elbow on the table, chin in hand, while he listens. "I mean, that's kinda hot. I could buy you a collar and leash if you want, but I didn't say anything about house arrest. Who said you couldn't leave? I just said you don't have to do dangerous shit and you could stay here." He really does hate people messing with his stuff though.

At first, he just scoffs a mild, semi amused sound, but it bubbles into a laugh that's a little too grim to be true amusement. "I can't just leave. I'd be hunted down by colleagues, by the police. As soon as I step out of this kinda power, I'm a wanted man." Nevermind the addictions and habits and routines. "I had more freedom when I was on the streets. No one woulda noticed me leavin' back then. Just another junkie that disappeared." It's supposed to be a joke when he adds, "Now I'm a notable junkie." But it feels a little too true.

He's not sure if he thinks it's different for Ichigo or not, honestly. Even when apart and trying to hate each other- hell even when Ichigo really did hate him- they seem to be inexplicably drawn to each other. Placeholder feels accurate. Everyone he's tried out, tried on, has felt like a poor fit. A cheap imitation. A fucking joke. He's so distracted ruminating on it that he catches that half assed proposal a beat late and blinks, then frowns.

Yes for sure would fall out of his mouth. It's about to. He opens his mouth to say it, still frowning, but Ichigo cuts in and tells him not to answer. Except he frowns harder. "I'm sober enough to know what I'm saying, jackass. You know how many people try to get me a little too drunk or high to make it easier for them to get what they want? It doesn't work. You get what you want because I want to give it." Wait. That sounds like he's going back on what he said. "But don't ask me right now because I'm mad at you, because you need to be sure, not me. I already know what I want."

He stays leaned over, close, while he waits to see if the phone connects. He wants the girls to be ok too, they're good kids. He won't forget how accepting of him they were the first time he met them, or the random texts after. Then Yuzu answers and a lop sided smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth and he leans back in his chair again, taking a drink from his glass. His attention lifts away from the phone and to Ichigo when Ichigo face plants into his arm like he's hiding.

Fine, his ass. He scoffs into his glass, but doesn't interrupt the conversation. "Glad to hear you're both safe." He says when Karin says hi to him awkwardly. It probably is awkward. They probably never expected to hear from him again. Maybe he should be surprised Yuzu answered at all when his number popped up. But maybe not. Yuzu is kind of a softy like that. She's sweet. He watches Ichigo through the brief conversation, and watches the hurt in him when Yuzu hangs up, the knowing that he just hurt his sisters. "Give it a few days, maybe we can go out there to see them so they don't come here." Because he has no doubt that the girls would at least try to figure out where their brother is.

He shrugs while he finishes off his glass. "Up to you." He's not even entirely sure what Ichigo means to tell them. About them? About his capture? Who knows. "I don't have any experience with siblings, you shouldn't take my advice. I'd tell 'em though."

That sounds crazy, but he wouldn't put it past traffickers to pull something like that off. Half jokingly, "Woulda been a good career for you." Not that there would be any pay involved, so not much of a job.

His brows go up a little tiny bit and he looks over. Obviously he knows Ichigo's not serious. "I mean. Yeah. That sounds like a dream, why're you saying it like it's not a perfect life? What more could you want?" He snorts a dryly amused sound when Ichigo flips the script. "I wish." He doesn't realize how serious he is until he says it. He does wish he could do that, the lounging in Ichigo's bed part, of course, but mostly the quitting part. There's a lot he'd quit if it were that simple. He takes a deep drink from his glass, then snags Ichigo's to refill it.

"Yeesh. Way to make it depressing." But Ichigo's right. "If I have to bury you any time soon-" he doesn't finish, just shakes his head, looking vaguely exasperated, and shoots the rest of his drink like a shot. He pours Ichigo's, slides it to him, then pours himself another. That softer statement makes something sharp slide between his ribs to prick at his lungs. That's what all the partying and drugs and sleeping around is really about; he hates being alone. He even hates his own company more and more. He's not good for himself. "Not just anyone will do." He's tried. He's been trying. Before Ichigo, and now after Ichigo, and no matter who and how many he surrounds himself with, he's still alone.

Ichigo hesitates to accept Shiro's offer and for a second he wonders why. He wonders what must be going through Ichigo's head. Does he think it's some sort of trick? Or is he afraid of getting answers about his sisters? But he takes the phone. Shiro huffs a small laugh. "It's the one I have on me this late." Or early. Or whatever time it is.

He nods while Ichigo talks, recognizing the nervousness there. He wants to offer reassurance, but he's never been one for false promises, and Ichigo got himself mixed up with some really nasty people. His attention shifts down to where Ichigo's fingers tremble, then raise again, seeing the fear in Ichigo's eyes. He reaches over, hesitates a second, then brushes his fingers across Ichigo's as he hits the call button, then the speaker phone button. They can do this together.

[quintessenceofdust88]

mpreg / pregnancy prompt for bucktommy - You're glowing!" "I don't feel like it."

Heeey anon! Thank you for the ask! I decided to go with pregnant Tommy because the last one was pregnant Buck, and I couldn't help but do some SalTommy bestieism Here you ago anon, I hope you enjoy it ♥ (Btw this is set in a canon divergent au where everything is the same except Bobby didn't die bc I said so) - When someone knocks on the door, Tommy definitely doesn't have the energy to get up from the couch and answer it. He doesn't even have enough energy to even lift his head from the throw pillow he's resting it against. "It's open!" He yells, trying to ignore the way his stomach just won't settle and his little tenant is revolting against their landlord. "How can you just yell 'It's Open'? This is LA, you know, what if I were a serial killer?" Sal says, and Tommy opens his eyes to see his best friend coming in with a grocery bag in his hand. "A very polite serial killer who knocks on the door?" Tommy deadpans, and Sal shrugs, unceremoniously sitting on the couch. "What are you doing here, anyway?" It comes off a little more rude than Tommy intended, but Sal pays it no mind. He's seen Tommy's bitchy side more times than they can count. "Buckley texted and asked me to check on you if I could. Said you had a rough night" He says, his voice going softer, and he raises a hand to check Tommy's temperature on his forehead. Tommy wants to be annoyed at his husband for tattling on him to his best friend, but he's actually touched. After all, he didn't lie; Tommy did have a rough night, morning sickness hitting at 3AM and not subsiding until early morning. Evan had even offered to call Bobby and be dismissed from his shift, but Tommy had told him it wasn't necessary, that he'd be fine. Evidently, Evan hadn't completely believed him and had sent for back-up. "Well, Evan is a tattletale, that's what he is", Tommy grumbles anyway, for the sake of his dignity.

Sal doesn't even asnwer; he opens his grocery bag and wordlessly offers Tommy a lemon soda and a pack of salty crackers. Tommy ignores the crackers entirely, focusing on the lemon soda which is a welcome reprieve on his sick stomach.

He sits up to take a few sips, very aware of Sal's eyes on him. "I must look like shit, don't I?"

"No, actually", Sal offers, and it's clear to Tommy that he means it, which makes him feel a bout of affection for his best friend. "You're glowing" Tommy knows Sal means well, but God does he hate that sentence.

"Yeah, well, I don't feel like it." He sighs, placing a hand on his bump. "Can I confess something to you, Sal?"

"Well, I'm no priest, but have at it, mate"

"I really want this baby", he starts, because he feels he has to make that very clear. He and Evan are ecstatic about their little one, they planned for them, Tommy wanted this pregnancy to happen to him, and yet... "But being pregnant sucks, and I know it's awful of me to think so, because it's supposed to be a magical time, but it sucks." "Oh?', Sal says, and there's a hint of amusement in his tone that makes Tommy glare at him. "Glad my misery is amusing for someone" He remarks, and Sal snickers, squeezing his shoudler affectionately.

"Sorry, mate, it's just this whole 'magical' stuff? Instagram bullshit" He says, a smirk on his face. "Gina was just like you; she loved the result, but she didn't love the process. And that doesn't make her love the girls any less"

Sal says the last part very pointedly, and Tommy knows his best friend knew exactly the kind of insecurities that were running through his mind. He sighs deeply, and finds himself resting his head on Sal's shoulder in an uncharateristic display of physical affection. Their friendship is not the touchy-feely kind, but he's pregnant now; he's allowed. Sal doesn't really say anything, he just wraps an arm around Tommy, allowing him to cuddle to his side.

"I promise you the nine months will be over soon, and then you'll get to the best part: raising this little one"

"You make it sound easy", Tommy grumbles against his shoulder, and Sal chuckles. "Definitely not easy. But it's worth it." He promises, and Tommy believes him. "Now c'mon, you gotta eat at least two crackers or Buckley and Gina will both kill me"

--

I hope you like it anon! I meant to add Buck to it but this felt like such a perfect ending point! Maybe I'll add a small snippet afterwards for Buck as well, though ♥

(send me pregnancy prompts)

[radioactive-earthshine]

I see why someone can interpret Wally as being mean or even abusive to Bart but honestly there is another valid interpretation which I think should be considered and that is that they are just brotherly to each other. IDK if you have siblings or not but the way they behave around each other is literally how me and my sib behave. I have never seen their behavior as anything other than brotherly honestly. I am not saying this to say you are wrong about seeing them as that hostile but they also could just be brotherly.

"It's not abuse they're just siblings." - Spoken at family gatherings everywhere for thousands of years.

I am absolutely familiar with the interpretation of them being more sibling-like, and it is valid.

I cannot tell someone they are incorrect to see their own sibling dynamics between them, however, I would be deeply, deeply, concerned for anyone that has a sibling that treats them the way Wally treats Bart, because straight from Bart's mouth, it got to a point where he just didn't want to be around him.

Impulse (1995) #82

If you get to a point where you just don't want to be near your sibling out of anticipation of how they are going to treat you, then there is a problem somewhere.

Wally and Bart can simultaneously have a sibling dynamic and a hostile dynamic where there is abuse from Wally.

Siblings can still abuse each other. Siblings can still bully each other beyond what anyone would consider "normal for siblings". Granted, this is also dependent on the family and the people involved, but here Bart doesn't appreciate it.

It is still very clear that Bart was written that he doesn't like how Wally treats him, and the comic multiple times make it clear through the narrative that Wally is, quite frankly, mean to Bart. Both in his actions towards him, and in his own private thoughts.

Also, Wally is an adult, Bart is a teenager. Wally has power over Bart and a lot of it - which in my opinion sort of debunks the sibling dynamic interpretation because siblings typically do not have power over the other, other than arm-reach and literal muscles, and sometimes parental favoritism.

Wally should know better than to treat a teenager the way he does because he is an adult. It would be one thing if they were both teens or children but Wally was written as a full ass man beefing with a teenager is not in any way appropriate. Yes, even as young adult it's inappropriate.

We should always remember however that Wally and Bart do not actually have any thoughts on their own - they lack all autonomy, agency and accountability because they are not real people. The writers chose to write this, the writers chose this dynamic, and it is up to the reader to come to their own conclusions.

[kamisamabest]

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

also known as "a collective name for 'abusive piece of shit asshole stupid toxic fuckers'"

smh

Common misconceptions about NPD :

"Narcissists don't have hearts! They only love themselves!"

Wrong. Shocking but pwNPD are still capable of having a heart and loving someone. I know countless pwNPD in healthy relationships with their partners. pwNPD might show love in other ways,as we are disordered people whose perception of multiple things are way different than an egotypical's.

"NPD isn't real! Narcissism is just excessive self love!"

Wrong. NPD is a very much real thing that comes from childhood abuse and neglect. It is a disorder for a reason,and we are traumatized. (of course it can be genetic but i won't be talking about that)

Narcissism isn't the "i love myself so much i always kiss myself on the mirror i have portraits of myself on the walls" thing. Narcissism NPD is basically someone masking as having a huge ego and thinking of themselves as superior to everything and anything because they have a low self-esteem that ruins their life. In fact,even the slightest mistake makes me and other narcissists crash out hard.

"All narcissists are evil! They don't care about anyone!"

Faulty. We are actually very capable of caring about people,we simply keep it for people we deem worthy of it. pwNPD can be very nice and kind, especially covert type narcissists. I myself have helped countless people.

As for the "People we deem worthy" part, pwNPD have"inner hierarchies". We may not care about a stranger on the street. But we care about people we deem equal/chosen/close to us. Some pwNPD including me think about their chosen/equal people as an extension of themselves and accept them as worthy as we are.

While pwNPD might be bad people,not every single one of them are. There are,like,thousands of people that have this disorder and not all of us are the same.

"Narcissistic abuse is real! Narcissists are evil and abusive!"

Oho ho,not only wrong but ableist! Narcissistic abuse isn't a real thing. If it is,then ptsd abuse/depression abuse/autistic abuse/neurotypical abuse and all other [disorder] abuse is also real, which they aren't because a disorder cannot abuse you and every single person with a disorder aren't the same.

People think that saying narcissistic abuse isn't real is invalidating their trauma but it isn't. If it invalidates someone's trauma, it's actually pwNPD's. If you go to any trustworthy site and look up types of abuse, narcissistic abuse won't be there,because it isn't real. Call it what it is: emotional abuse,or whatever abuse you went through,because narcissistic abuse isn't real.

In fact,people preaching about narcissistic abuse and selling stuff about how to cope with narcissists are the real people invalidating you and your struggles. They benefit off of your trauma and the stuff you went through by invalidating tons of other traumatized people with a disorder they cannot control and manipulate you into thinking it is real.

And here's the thing: a person cannot control their disorders. They cannot control which disorder they form and which they don't. And NPD forms from severe childhood trauma. The traumatized person you're shitting on did not choose to have that disorder,and they didn't sign up for your bullshit about them being evil because they formed a disorder out of their control.

If you are a neurodivergent person/person with a cluster b personality disorder/person with NPD and actively contribute to narcissistic abuse,you are also ableist. You having a disorder doesn't mean you can't be ableist to other disordered people,because you are: simply because they have a disorder. "I have NPD and I use it!" you are contributing to your own and your folk's oppression. This doesn't make you any better.

People with NPD are also traumatized,they do not control what disorder they form and what disorder they don't. Quit being an asshole to people just because they have a disorder and quit demonizing them.

[threegoldfish]

Another inhale of air, a soft exhale - and Marc nods, swallows, presses his lips together as he unlatches the other hand from the chair's armrest, finally - puts it back onto his lap, blinks a few more tears away. Sighs. Looks over at one of the windows, taking in the sight of what little he can see from the position he's currently in.

A grey sky. As far as he remembers, it had been sunny back when he'd... when he'd freaked out, as he likes to call it. When he'd spiraled, overwhelmed by memories and feelings...

He will never go back to the military. He'll never be able to ever get his rank back, his weapons, his reputation; While that one had both been good and bad, it had at least existed - and the higher-ups had seen him, noticed him, allowed him to work his way up and show then what he was capable of.

Marc's sure that he's got an entirely different reputation by now, one thats oh-so-much-worse than it has ever been. Even if his superiors had tried to keep that issue a secret - whether they even attempted or not, he doesn't know - words spread as fast as fire does, unable to be stopped; Everyone knows about the dead guy. Everyone knows about the four badly injured ones. Yeah. They all know, as they know who'd caused this mess to begin with. Definitely.

"---I just want to forget." Surprisingly honest as it slips from his slightly parted lips, Marc's gaze focuses back on Harrow - tired, exhausted, despite having slept through the night. "I had everything under control, I got my shit together, and now... I'm here, and it sucks. You keep making me think of shit, and I'm... god, I don't want to think of shit. I just..."

Out of sight, out of mind - one of Marc's coping mechanisms. Don't think of what she did to you, don't think of what you did to survive. Don't think of him, don't think of her, don't think of your childhood. Don't think of your teenage years, don't think of your birthdays. Ignore it all. Put it into a box, seal it up, leave it behind. Never open it back up. Look straight ahead...

"...Whatever."

Shaking his head, Marc lifts himself out of his seat and stands - sighing, tuggng a bit on his shirt, his pants, rolling his shoulders.

"...You didn't drug me. I had... whatever the fuck. An episode, as you call it. Why? Dunno. Who you've met there, when I can't even remember having been awake? No idea. I didn't kill anyone, that's good. Anything else, or... is this it? Am I, like, going back to my room now and stare at those fucking white walls and white floors and white ceilings, hoping for the days to pass?"

A serious inquiry, but also defiant. What else is he supposed to say? Thinking about who it could've been to take over his body when he'd been out of it... it scares him. It does something to his most vulnerable insides, and he wants to protect them - keep them safe from everything dangerous.

Whoever had killed his comrade is dangerous. If it's Marc himself, it means he has to protect himself from... himself.

Steven didn't do it. His precious Steven would never cause harm to anyone or anything. He catches flies and throws them out of a window rather than killing them. He's the most softest idiot one could ever think of. ... Marc doesn't want him to get hurt, ever. He will do whatever it takes to keep him in his precious bubble of a happy, normal life - because Steven deserves to have it, to be... normal.

To be what Marc himself cannot be. Will never be. Will never have.

Arthur nodded as he listened, relaxing back into his chair when it seemed that Marc had calmed down enough to get through the moment. 

“It’s not fair,” he pointed out, gentle and soft. “That something you can’t remember did that much to you.” 

It was a genuine statement, one of the few ones he offered; everything had a script. Everything had a set way to go, proper reactions versus improper; but this was the truth. The painful, horrible, yet honest truth; he couldn’t imagine what it’d be like. There was a baseline of respect, for how Marc was able to even balance this at all. 

The smallest furrow found its way between his brows. “That isn’t something I can fix. I won’t pretend it is, I’m sorry. I can’t… go back and undo anything that’s happened, or anything you lost. I can’t get you back into the military. But I can give you back how you felt, during that time.” 

He wished he could fix it; he wished he could clear the man and have him fit for duty, but that wasn’t how things worked. Anything this severe couldn’t just be undone; it was lucky that Marc was able to end up here, to end up in a place where he could get help. 

“You’re more than just a Marine. I’m more than just a doctor. For now, we’ll work on coping mechanisms - and you won’t have to worry about these skips in time, these moments you forget. Then, we’ll find out what you want to do, where you want to go.” 

He knew that there was little to say. Marc had likely spent so long in one place, that he didn’t understand what else to do in his life; Arthur could imagine it. It was one of the hardest things in the world, letting go of something and moving on — especially something that was paired so close to identity. 

“You’re not a mission. You’re not a job, you’re not wasting time by not knowing what mission to go on next. You’ll find out what you want from the world, just give it time. And for now, I’ll be here to tell you your next steps. I’ll tell you where you’re going, until you know where you want to go, yourself.” 

[razzberrycorner]

"START SMILING ALREADY!" (Forsaken tickle fic)

A/N: The Forsaken addiction is only getting stronger. Gotta get in that non dw grind💪💪 (live laugh love lee bluudud)

I made a drawin' and I wanted to make a fic based around it. So here ya go

Plot: C00lkidd and Pr3ttypriincess notice that Bluudud hasn't been smiling much. So they decide to engage in a little.. let's say, family bonding.

-🔷🔴🩷-

Bluudud grumbled to himself again, shutting the doors of his quarters after losing yet another match. Now he just rarely ever smiles, because when he does... it's just this large, teethy, cringy looking grin.

Of course it does. He's the eldest sibling. The grumpy one. The... Ugh. Nevermind.

As he got in his bed, he believed it just keeps getting worse. And guess what? His siblings probably already noticed it already. How limp he gets, how his thoughts lack any coherence. He's just completely tired. Of what? Every. Single. Match.

Well, maybe, just maybe, he needs to have fun...-oh come on, he barely has that on the matches now! What's the big idea with fun?! It's only fun when he wins!

Meanwhile with his siblings, they're concocting a plan to get him back in shape. He just doesn't know it yet. And it will work—hopefully.

"You noticed, didn't you?" Pr3ttypriincess was the first to speak. The child with the large pink bow sat on a pink beanbag chair on her room's pristine table. She looked unusually serious, her head placed on top of her hands.

"...Yeah. He's been acting so weird." C00lkidd sat on the opposite side of the table on a red beanbag, carrying the same unusual seriousness, his hands placed on top of his arms. "Isn't that... Agh! C'mon! He's serious, but not THAT serious! Something's up!"

"I know, right?!" She said, banging her fists in he table for dramatic effect. "If only there was a way to make him happier..."

The two children sat in thought, until an idea came to mind. Pr3ttypriincess stood up with an excited smile on her face. The type of smile that said 'ohoho, this is gonna be so good.'

"Waaaaaaait." The pink child said as she rose from her chair. "What if we tickled him into submission?"

C00lkidd stared at her with a look of puzzlement on his face before realization hit, resulting in him saying, "Yeah! ...I can do the thing, right?" Restraining usually was a bore to him, as he didn't get any part of the action if he did that!

"Sure!" His older sister replied. "But only if you win a game of rock paper scissors!" Pr3ttypriincess was highly convinced she was an all-around better tickler than her younger brother. She was proven wrong, and still thinks it. As she likes to say, she gets better every day.

"Ugh, fine!" C00lkidd groaned.

They put their fists in front of each other, put them down, and...

"Scissors cuts paper! I WIN!" He cheered, practically excited to get to work.

"Aw, man. So that means I'll get to work in making sure he does NOT escape us!"

Well, he usually is pretty slippery when the thing is done to him, so that would make for a pretty hard game of tag. In situations like this, restraining is fair. But he still thinks it's plain boring. Eh, it is what it is.

"Well... It's a deal then!"

They then shook hands as if they were business partners, fully engrossed in their mission as their older brother was fully and completely unaware of his fate.

Back with the blue child—well, pre-teen—he was waddling in his own thoughts when he heard footsteps.

Four feet were stepping on the ground, meaning two people were nearing his area. One male and one female. Exactly like he guessed, his two younger siblings immediately barged into his room.

"Hi Bluu!" Pr3ttypriincess said her voice sugary sweet. "You haven't been smiling so much, so me and C00lio decided we should fix that!"

Pr3ttypriincess then started making way for C00lkidd who looked anything but not evil, rubbing his hands like a villainous mastermind. He knew what that meant.

"You two. Don't you DARE-"

Before Bluudud could even react, Pr3ttypriincess went behind him and restrained his arms. "Nuh-uh-uh! You're not getting out of this one, silly!~"

"Plus, seeing you like this is too much of a bore!" C00lkidd said. "START SMILING ALREADY!" With that, the red child latched over to his brother's sides.

"DON'T YOU DARE—"

"Too late!" And so, the tickling started. What they got in response was nothing short of priceless: their older sibling... holding it in, much to their disapointment.

"What's wrong? You don't want us to see that you're weak?~" C00lkidd said in a rather teasy tone. This gets him real fast, according to Pr3ttypriincess.

"PFF—...Hehehe—eHEHEH..-"

Welp. Turns out, she was right.

"Come on... just a biiit more...!" The red child said before going towards his ribs and causing the blue pre-teen to crack.

"Hehehe...gehehehah! GAHAHAH!"

Boom. There it is. It did take a while for them to get it, but they got the sound of his laughter—boisterous, loud, shrieky, and pretty much the most glorious thing they've ever laid their ears upon.

Not to mention, the most sickeningly adorable thing they've ever seen too. And his smile... Oh my goodness, his smile... Normally it was creepy to look at, but like this? It's so... endearing.

"There we go! Isn't that much better?~" said Pr3ttypriincess with a sweet smile.

"NOHO IT'S NAHAHT!" Bluudud shrieked as he tried yet failed to shove them away. "YOHOU'RE GONNA REGREHET THIHIS!!"

"No, we won't!" C00lkidd said. "Plus, you're just so...ugh, CUTE like that!" He can't believe he just said the word 'cute'!

"All silly, and loud and giddy, and—"

"Yeah, we get it. And C00lio, it's not cute. It's adorable!~" His older sister followed, causing the pre-teen to screech due to being unable to handle the amount of teasing from them.

That, and the fact C00lkidd went to the one spot between his ribs and armpits and back to the sides again.

"SHUHUT UHUHUP!!"

C00lkidd then moved from his sides to his ribs, causing a loud shriek to get out of him. "HAHANDS OFF!! HANDS OFF OF THEHERE!!"

"What's this? You seem particularly finicky with this spot..." Pr3ttypriincess said with a knowing smile. "Shall we go a bit higher with the stakes?~"

"Right away!"

After he said that, C00lkidd started nuzzling his face into his older sibling's stomach, going to his armpits and back to his sides again, causing another shriek from him.

Outside the room, 007n7 was coming home after a long, tiring day of doing his favorite thing in the world: scripting. But you've got to admit, sometimes it gets... just straight-up mundane.

He was confused to hear loud laughter. Probably just the kids again, having fun. Or another tickle fight, so the scripter shouldn't be surprised by that. But back on topic.

"Man, being a scripter is boring sometimes." 007n7 then took a deep breath and said, "Maybe I should take the day off toda—"

The scripter was then interrupted by a loud shriek that came from Bluudud's room after they hit a particularly good spot, causing him to get startled, and the burger on his head to fall over.

Thanks to his strong reflexes however, he catches it fully intact and returns it to his head in one piece.

"NOHOT THE PIHITS—EHEHAHAHAH-"

Is that just him or was that Bluu? ...Maybe he should check in on his three children. It's never a bad idea, after all.

The door opens, and lo and behold, the scene before him was... rather something. To him, Bluudud was in a... precarious position, to say the least. He was screaming with laughter, face flushing in a light blue tone.

"You okay, kids?" 007n7 hesitatingly asked.

"We're doing great, dad!" C00lkidd said between the loud giggling before nuzzling into his older brother's stomach as he tickled his sides for what felt like the billionth time, causing yet another giggle fit.

"IHI'M GOHONNA— I'M GONNA KIHILL YOHOU FOR THIHIS—GAHAHAHAH!"

So, it's not just him. Their father smiled as he looked at the cute scene, taking notes mentally. Closing the door behind him, he mumbled "I guess, scripting would be kind of fun."

About a couple minutes later they ceased their ministrations, letting the blue pre-teen catch his breath for once. Through pants and residual giggles, he mumbled "You're not getting away with this... Ihi'm... Gonna kill yohou soho bad.."

Exactly then, he glared at his younger siblings. You better believe they knew that glare.

"Uh oh." C00lkidd said.

"O-oh, crap." Pr3ttypriincess mumbled under her breath.

The red child looked at the pink child, his eyes devoid of any bravery he had left. "...Do we start running, or—"

"Oh, you better. GET OVER HERE!"

Both kids came out of the room, screaming and scrambling for their lives. 007n7 stared with a tired smile as the children played around the house.

Maybe, just maybe, the day wouldn't be so bad.

-🔷🔴🩷-

Please don't say I went ooc, I wrote them for the first time + I see them as these extremely chaotic siblings more than anything else—

And to the ppl saying, "erm actually, their parents are-" I hc that 007n7 SOMEHOW adopted bluu and priin so there ya have it <3

Don't worry guys, I'll still post Dandy's World stuff, the fic motivation hits during random ass times and idk why-