#on purpose. to see what else there is to life

[kinky-cas]

Jack should have tattled about the empty deal because the huge blowout fight Dean and Cas would have had about it would have been SO fun to watch for me personally.

Jack lets something slip (accidentally? on purpose? idk) when they're all in the library and Dean slowly turns to look at Cas.

"And when, exactly, were you planning on telling me—us about this?"

*Cas, jaw tensed* "I wasn't."

(at this point, Sam grabs Jack by the arm and starts backing out of the room)

"You weren't. Of course you weren't. Because secrets and deals always end so well for us."

"We have more important things to worry about right now, Dean. This isn't exactly pressing."

"A deal that could get you taken by an ancient eldritch force at any time isn't pressing?! "

*bitchy sigh* "At any time is a flagrant exaggeration. I wasn't exactly concerned about triggering it accidentally, or soon. It's hardly any of your business, anyways."

"None of my business? None of my business that you made a deal with some eldritch entity that has a personal grudge against you. A deal for your life, Cas!"

"I have full confidence in my ability to manage it, as I have been managing it, and the terms aren't impacting anyone else."

"Oh, because you think you keeping yourself miserable all the time is just a you problem, huh?"

"Definitionally, yes, it is a "me problem", Dean."

"Right, because you don't think the rest of us are at all impacted by knowing that if you're happy it'll literally kill you?"

"Well if things had gone as planned you wouldn't have had to know, would you?"

"Not knowing is worse! And besides, Jack still knew! You were going to let him carry that by himself? Did you ever consider what that kind of knowledge can do to a kid? What it would have done to him when the Empty did eventually take you? Because it sure doesn't seem like you had any plan to get out of the deal eventually!"

"Don't you dare make your issues with this about Jack. I won't apologize to you for saving his life, and frankly I don't understand why we're discussing this. The deal is already made, and I am not going to risk Jack's life by interfering with it now. I've been perfectly fine so far. This discussion is pointless."

"Pointless. Pointless? A discussion about the deal that's apparently just waiting to kill you is pointless?"

"I don't see what arguing about this will accomplish. It was my choice to offer my life in exchange for Jack's, and my "happiness" is certainly a more than worthwhile trade for his life and safety. Are you implying otherwise?"

"That is not what I meant and you know it. Of course I'm glad we have Jack back, that's not my point!"

"Then pray, tell, Dean, what is your point? Because as far as I can see it, the only purpose this discussion is serving is as totally unnecessary additional insurance against the Empty showing up right now."

"And what's that supposed to mean??"

*audible eyeroll* "I don't know, Dean, clearly I'm thrilled to be arguing with you right now—"

(this goes on for another 20 minutes, and ends with neither of them talking to each other for at least 3 days. and then we get to see dean being paranoid about cas being happy and guilty about cas NOT feeling happy all at once, and tying himself up into knots about it.)

[theenchantedchapter]

In Light of Their Gaze

Links: Reading Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Personal Readings - open

About This Reading:

The idea for this reading is about how 'your person’s' presence in your life will impact your confidence. It was inspired by how my person has impacted my confidence and general concept since meeting and being in a relationship with them. I do want to emphasise though, that this reading isn't about a lack of confidence or your person 'rescuing' you in any way. Instead, it's about how a positive connection can open us up to positive aspects of ourselves that we may not have been aware of and inspire us to use them better.

I read tarot and oracle cards using their literal meanings, card imagery and intuition. These readings are primarily meant for entertainment purposes. The contents of this reading are not meant to act as or replace professional advice of any kind. Please only take what resonates and use it to reflect if you feel called to.

How To Choose A Group:

Take a deep breath or ground yourself in whatever way works best. Whatever option you feel most drawn to is your group. If you feel drawn to multiple groups, that’s okay too.

Read the section that belongs to your chosen group/s and remember to take only what resonates.

🌟 Under Starlight

The core quality they reflect back to you.

Cards: the aspirant, the hanged man reversed, king of wands, ace of cups

The biggest thing your person reflects back to you that influences your confidence is your brilliance. You’re someone with significant and maybe even impactful dreams. But these dreams and your desire to make them into reality aren’t just wishful thoughts you carry within you. When you share them with others, they can feel that if you channel your energy or ‘harness your power’ correctly you will have massive success. I get the sense that consciously you might roll your eyes at this knowledge though because it sounds like generic motivational B.S. but I have this feeling that it’s genuinely deeper than that. It might not mean international sensation but the success you can find is 10x greater than what you might imagine for yourself.

I feel like this is the biggest thing that your person will open up your eyes to— how brilliant your ideas are and how likely they are to succeed. They could point out to you especially how or where you’re afraid of going against what’s traditional and expected. You're so focused on everything and everyone else that you can’t see how it’s blocking you. Your person, however, is privy to this. They can see not only your weaknesses (a concern with what should and shouldn’t be) but they see your strengths. They see how you not only have these fantastic ideas but also how you have the charisma and know-how to get other people excited about the things you want to do. If your vision takes a team, you could pull one together overnight.

Because your person can see all of this in you and reflect it back in a way that really lands, it helps you understand your own potential more deeply. You start to realise that while you're capable of amazing things, you haven't been giving yourself the care and support you need to actually pursue them. It becomes clear that it’s not about your ability, it’s about needing to approach it all with a different kind of energy and intention.

Reading with Same Theme: Where You Bloom Bold | Full Reading on Patreon ✨

🕯️ By Candlelight

The core quality they reflect back to you.

Cards: the enchanter, wheel of fortune, strength, the moon

You have this otherworldly beauty to you, and I don’t mean beauty in the sense of physical (although that’s always a possibility!) There’s just something about the way you carry yourself and interact with others that your person will open your eyes to. You dance on the line of being effortlessly charming & enchanting and actively working to create this illusion. You exude this sense of strength, softness and overall divine ‘feminine’ energy. You captivate people by being yourself and whenever you are fully in tune with that energy it’s like things are always working out in your favour.

Whether or not you’re aware of it, I think your person encourages you or helps you be more comfortable in using this skill. It feels like it’s less of them pointing this out to you in conversation, and more of how they react to you. I get this sense that they want you to use it, they want you to use your charms on them. It’s very much like “whatever my baby wants my baby gets”. For you, I get that idea of 'lucky girl/person energy' and 'ask for more'. Even if you’re already in a place where you do so and can tap into that energy— your person is going to help you realise that that tap doesn’t have to shut off. As long as you’re not harming others, the world can and deserves to be your oyster.

Reading with Same Theme: Where You Bloom Bold | Full Reading on Patreon ✨

☀️ In Afterglow

The core quality they reflect back to you.

Cards: the merchant reversed, the sentinel, seven of cups, nine of cups, temperance, the sun

You, my darlings, bring so much to the table and you don’t even recognise it. Way too often, you undersell yourself or let other people tell you that who you are and your capabilities are worthless. That is far from true. You have so many skills and such a warm personality or vibe.

I feel like your person wants to protect you from anyone who takes you for granted or wishes to do you harm, but just as importantly, they want you to toughen up and stop letting people treat you like shit.

Something else that comes to mind is ‘ugly duckling syndrome’ and the story of the ugly duckling in general. The card Temperance features a swan on it, and to me, that represents you. I’ve heard someone say the ugly duckling isn’t about people thinking you’re ugly and then you grow up and get hot (very loosely paraphrasing) — it’s about the fact that the swan wasn’t in the right environment in the first place, so they didn’t realise their beauty or value. That’s part of what I’m getting for you.

Your person is very passionate about you, and they want you to wake up and realise that you are more than valuable, you’re just paying attention to the wrong people.

I feel like your person plays a role in helping you see this about yourself, partly through your guides. It’s like your guides have been trying to get you to see this, but maybe you haven’t fully understood what they’ve been trying to say. However, your person comes in and helps you get in touch with your radiance, making you feel seen in a way you might not have been before, and everything finally clicks into place for you.

It’s not about them being your rescuer or knight in shining armour; it’s about them helping trigger the decision to cleanse the lens you view life through so you can see yourself and all you have to offer clearly.

Reading with Same Theme: Where You Bloom Bold | Full Reading on Patreon ✨

[lunarlegend]

i also want to add:

- seeing people confuse asexuality with celibacy is really infuriating and annoying. celibacy is an often religiously-influenced decision to purposely abstain from sex despite desiring sex. asexuality is when you experience little to no sexual attraction. it's not a decision, anymore than any other queer identity is a decision. the 'celibacy' meme that gets added to posts about asexuals only further invalidates us and causes confusion about what it means to be asexual.

- don't make assumptions about us or ask prying personal questions about how we view sex and relationships. it's not anymore appropriate to do that to us than it would be to do it to anyone else. if you don't understand something about asexuality or aromanticism and actually want to learn, then be respectful and put the effort into educating yourself.

- aphobia is real and it is harmful. i personally have experienced a whole lot of sexual harassment throughout my life from people who could not fathom why i don't want to date or have sex. and since the concept of asexuality made no sense to them, they used that ignorance to justify their actions. if someone tells you you've crossed a boundary or made them uncomfortable, it's your responsibility to listen and stop, regardless of whether or not you understand their reasons.

Asexuals and Aromantics, can you list ways Allosexuals can help your community?

[universefcb]

Hemlooo could you pls write something for cuba our boy?

Where reader has a tattoo on her ribs but she never told him (or he just never asked) and one day he sees her tattoo and is mesmerized by it and is just a lovesick obsessed bf 😸

BETWEEN THE SKIN LINES

→ Pairing: Pau Cubarsí X fem!reader

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff.

→ Author's note: Pau Cubarsí's parents, let him get a tattoo 🙏🏻

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

It wasn't planned. Like almost everything that made Pau lose his breath—it happened by chance. And that was what drove him the most crazy.

They were in his room, a lazy summer afternoon, windows open letting the heat mix with the muffled sounds of the city. They were both laughing at something that barely made sense, he lying on his side and she sitting on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly scrolling through the playlist on her phone.

She was wearing one of his blouses. One of those he would purposely leave in her apartment, pretending he had forgotten about it. But the truth is that Pau loved seeing her like this: dressed in herself, in the life they shared in silence, without promises, just presence.

They had started dating a few weeks ago — and even with all the familiarity they had from the beginning, they were still in that sweet phase of discovery. Where everything was new, curious, charming. Where even a silly gesture could reveal a whole world of meanings.

She reached for the water bottle, and her blouse—loose, thin, and slippery—rose a little higher than usual. It was in that moment, almost imperceptibly, that his eyes caught it.

Something on her side. Left rib. A delicate black line, hidden beneath the skin he thought he knew so well.

"Wait…" His voice came out low, surprised.

She turned around slowly, confused by his tone.

"What?"

Pau sat up in bed, eyes fixed on her as if he were faced with an ancient secret revealed by mistake.

"That." He pointed with his chin. "Do you have a tattoo?"

She seemed to hesitate for half a second. Too small to say she hid it, big enough to say she never told.

"Yes I have."

He approached as if approaching something sacred. The room fell silent again, as if even the city outside had held its breath.

"Can I see?"

She calmly lifted her blouse, exposing the side. The warm skin, golden from the sun of the last few days, revealed a small, almost shy tattoo: a thin line forming an olive branch, delicate and crooked, as if it had been drawn by hand.

Pau didn't speak. He just looked. Closely. He looked with the concentration of someone who sees art. The black line seemed to have been made to be there, on you — hidden like a secret message that only now was he worthy of deciphering.

"It's beautiful..." He whispered.

"I thought you would laugh."

"Laugh?" He laughed, yes, but it was in astonishment. "Why?"

"I don't know. I never told you. You never asked."

He meant he was too busy adoring other parts of her. That he was always so caught up in her eyes, her laugh, the way she bit the sleeve of her sweatshirt on cold days, that maybe he never noticed what was underneath.

But now that I had seen it… I couldn't think of anything else.

"Can I touch?"

She nodded, and Pau slowly touched his fingers. First with fear. Then with the devotion of someone holding an old, fragile piece of paper, full of valuable words.

He ran his thumb over the line, as if he could absorb its meaning. His eyes dropped to where the skin curved, and he thought of all the times they had been there, one on top of the other, and she had kept it from him. He thought of the way she had let him get close, but there were still mysteries hidden away.

"Why this drawing?"

She took a deep breath before answering.

"Because it is resilient. The olive branch... it survives fire, drought, war. It always grows back."

Pau felt his chest tighten. He was silent for a moment, his fingers still tracing the outline of the tattoo. His eyes lifted to hers, and there was something new there: not just the desire, which was constant—but a deeper, more obsessive, more devoted love.

"That's you," he said softly. "You're that branch."

She laughed awkwardly, but her eyes were shining.

"Corny"

"Totally." He smiled. "But it's true. And now... now I have to live with the knowledge."

"Of what?"

"That you have this here," he pointed. "This hidden art. A part of you I've never seen before. It drives me kind of crazy, you know?"

She looked at him lightly, not understanding the gravity of what she had just caused.

Pau brought his face closer to her ribs and placed a slow kiss, lasting longer than he should have. Then another. And another. As if marking every inch around it, making sure that it was now his too.

"You don't know what you did to me," he murmured against her skin.

"No longer…"

He lifted his face, his warm eyes locking onto hers.

"I love you in a weird way, you know? A kind of... obsessive way." He laughed, but it wasn't funny. It was a confession. "Sometimes I think about you when I'm on the field. Like... in the middle of a play. I get distracted, I miss a pass, I get mad at myself. But I can't stop. You live here." He pointed to his head, "And here." Then, his chest.

She bit her lip, trying not to melt.

"Now you're going to think of me every time you remember the tattoo?"

"I already thought so. Now it's only worse." He laid his head on her lap, facing the tattoo. "I'll never get over this. You with a secret tattoo on your rib cage... that's how you lost me. Now I'm yours forever."

She stroked his hair, smiling silently.

He closed his eyes. And he knew, more certainly than he had ever known anything else, that there was no turning back.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinott @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[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.”

[bloomzone]

wonyoung rules to be that girl ✧

Protect your energy : ur energy is precious, and you deserve to feel light and at peace. If someone consistently brings stress or heaviness into your life, it's okay to create distance (idk why ppl think it's a bad thing) . When people make you doubt yourself or fill you with worry especially when you're ready to pursue something meaningful trust your instincts and step back. honor your wellbeing. You have permission to protect your peace always at any time

Create sacred rhythms : there's something beautiful about starting and ending your day with intention. Consider creating gentle morning and evening routines that feel nourishing rather than demanding. Perhaps it's journaling with your coffee, setting a quiet intention for the day, or simply sitting with yourself for a few moments without thinking "oh no this bad will go bad" . When you give structure to your mornings and evenings, your days naturally flow with more purpose and less chaos.

Embrace balance: Life isn't meant to be lived at full intensity all the time. You don't need to be productive every moment to be worthy or successful. Think of yourself like water sometimes flowing rapidly, sometimes still and reflective. Rest isn't the opposite of productivity it's what makes sustained growth possible. Even wonyoung is have idol off mode . Allow yourself to have hobbies, to laugh with friends, to do absolutely nothing sometimes. Your worth isn't measured by your output and taking breaks doesn't make you lazy it makes you a balanced person .

Cultivate gratitude : Gratitude is like gentle sunlight for the soul. Instead of focusing on what's missing from your life, try turning your attention to what's already here. The simple fact that you woke up this morning, that you can learn and grow, that there are people who care about you this is everything. When you notice the abundance that already exists in your life you'll find that even ordinary moments begin to shimmer with meaning.

Hold criticism lightly : Not every opinion about you deserves a home in your heart. Some feedback comes from love and wisdom like when someone who truly cares for you offers gentle guidance. This kind of input is worth considering. But criticism rooted in judgment or negativity let it pass through you like wind through trees. You can listen without absorbing, consider without accepting. Trust your inner wisdom to know the difference between feedback that serves your growth and words that only serve to diminish you.

Choose kindness : Kindness is one of the most powerful forces in the world, and it costs nothing to give. When you approach others with genuine warmth and openness, you create ripples of goodness that extend far beyond what you can see. You don't need to reserve your kindness only for certain people everyone you meet is fighting battles you know nothing about. A gentle word, a helping hand, or simply treating someone with dignity can transform their entire day. In a world that sometimes feels harsh your kindness becomes a light that others will remember long after the moment has passed.

This is your life : not everything you do needs to make sense to other people.If it makes you happy and it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else then it’s enough. You don’t have to explain why you like taking mirror selfies, or dressing up for no reason or ..or ... . You don’t have to justify your routines, your joys, your weird little habits. The world will always have opinions that’s just how it is. But you’re not here to please them you’re here to live ur own life . So if something makes you feel calm, or safe, or more like you keep it. Ur life doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s.

@bloomzone ⌨️

[n3ptoonz]

'Political Animals' III

y'all ask, YALL SHALL RECEIVE!! this is the third and final chapter, i hope you all enjoy this work half as much as I enjoyed writing it 🤭

new tags/warnings: DURING THUNDERBOLTS; i tried to mix this story with the events in thunderbolts, y'all are like rabbits, cckwarming, DOG TAGS. you're on birth control cause you still got shit to do, alright!?...creampie :p, i hope this is not ass cause i had to stop procrastinating this LOL i don't normally write multiple chapters, be mad at him more often, barely proofread

Word count: 3.2k+

One, long, year later.

It was rough, but you got through it. The divorce went surprisingly smooth. He intended to run off with someone else anyway. Who cares! This is now. You got the house and were able to keep your things, and nothing was better than the day you redecorated the place. Especially the bedroom. It was more...you. It was always more yours than his anyway.

Nothing was more refreshing, more freeing than the first time you actually had good sex in that bed too, with the one and only Congressman that changed your life. I'm talking every position possible in the span of one year, and it was all worth.

Sure, the media speculated who you possibly had on your arm now that you're divorced, not to mention that journalist interviewed you a year ago. But nobody could figure it out. Your relationship was sealed tight and out of sight.

Enough about that though. There was no time to think about the past when Bucky softly smiled up at you like that. Your hands in his hair while washing it, you sitting in his lap stuffed full of him, and the occasional appreciative groan that left his lips every time your nails glided past a sweet spot on his scalp. This was the life he didn't know he fought so hard to have; to keep.

"You're really good at that, you know?" he murmured softly as his eyes stayed closed. The sound in the bathroom mainly being the shampoo being put in his hair and his hands coming out the water to glide against your back. He had to keep his eyes closed, otherwise this wholesome intimacy would not last another second with you looking down at him and your tits literally being right there if he looked a centimeter lower.

It's not like the feeling wasn't mutual. He insisted that he kept on his dog tags while you two bathed together. So it was only natural you stared appreciatively as they comfortably dipped between his chest.

You hummed and very subtly rolled your hips. Now, while that did earn a playful warning grip from his flesh hand on your hip, the very second after was met with a twitch inside you. Why? Well, because your nails hit that spot again. He opened his eyes a bit so he could just stare.

"Careful." he said softly and licked his lips. "I won't be able to continue like this if you keep-"

His words were interrupted by his own moan, a shuddering exhale escaping him. He was way more alert now that you were purposely trying to get a rise out of him. Bucky narrowed his eyes at you skeptically, letting your name fall from his lips.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a low, gravelly tone. You slowly removed your fingers from his hair and rinsed them in the water. Bringing your hands back up and cupping his face before leaning in close, your noses brushing against each other's.

"I'm on birth control." you whispered and watched him close his eyes again with his eyebrows furrowed. He shook his head and inhaled sharply. You could feel him twitch inside you once more.

"Don't say that." he said and gripped your hips tighter and sighed heavily through his nose. "How long?"

You took a dramatic pause to see his eyes flutter open.

"Two weeks." you said, your smile never faltered. He nearly broke right here as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder.

"The night I had you bent over my desk?" he asked in disbelief, rather cockily too. He remembered it like it just happened. One thing led to another, blah blah blah, and he had you gripping his desk like you'd fall through the floor. He even had you bite down on your own panties, you know, to stay quiet of course. That was a long, boring day for you both. And the head you gave him afterwards? Just filthy. He'll never get the image of your puffy lips wrapped around him and that dazed look in your eyes out of his head. Nastiest thing he ever did was lick up the cum that dripped onto your cleavage.

You've been planning this, huh? Oh, he could just-

"Get up." he said suddenly and lifted his head to look at you. It was a little hard to take him seriously when he had a head full of suds, but the way his pupils blew so wide let you know he wasn't joking.

"But your hair-"

"I'll rinse it." he said and lifted you up off his lap, his heart fluttered at the way your chest bounced in his face. "Wait for me, please?" he asked with pleading eyes. He squeezed your thigh like it was the only thing keeping him on Earth. You looked at him and couldn't help but laugh. You leaned down and gave him a tender kiss before standing up and pushing the shower curtain aside, deliberately getting out slowly so he could watch the water dripping down nearly every inch of your body. Grabbing your towel from the rack, you didn't look back at him,

"Don't keep me waiting." you said and sauntered on out.

It was comical, really. Because you barely had time to hang your towel back up before you felt his strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind. He wasted no time peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder, making you giggle at the prickly stubble he was so stubborn about.

He spun you around and carried you to your bed, yet he was inside you before your back even met the blanket. You gasped as he hovered over you, his dog tags dangling in your face. He was well aware how much you loved when he kept them on during intimate moments, it's why he was fine with them being on in the bath.

Just in case.

Bucky grabbed the lower one and swiped it between your lips. "Open," he whispered. When you opened your mouth, he let it dangle between your teeth. "Bite." he added, nodding along as you obeyed. He smiled and hooked your legs around his waist, making sure to stay close so the tag didn't slip.

Your thighs tightened around him as he fucked you like you'd disappear. He panted like he ran a marathon in your ear while you still struggled to keep the tag between your teeth. Any noise you made was muffled by that little piece of metal, but that's what made the whole situation better. The most that could be heard in the room was skin slapping and your soft whimpers.

Bucky would purposely not drive too much into you just to preserve this as long as he could, because he knows if he went full throttle, he'd find the right spot and send you to the moon in just a few thrusts. His metal hand softly caressing your cheekbone juxtaposed the harsh connection of his hips down south.

"You're sure you're on birth control?" he asked breathlessly and buried his face in your shoulder. You nodded with a lazy smile on your face.

"You'll make me a mother when I say you can." you said, your words only slightly obscured but he quickly put it all together. You spat the tag out your mouth and forced him to look at you with those drunken, hazy blue eyes. He made a noise you're not even sure you've heard before. It was like a pathetic and desperate groan. Gods, he was utterly smitten with you.

His pace stuttered when your intense gaze met his, causing him to stop for a moment. Everybody knows super soldier's have stamina for days, probably literally, but he was feeling so many things at the same time that it was hard to keep up.

"I want you to look me in the eyes when you do it." you said, locking your ankles around him. He almost collapsed right then and there. "You know what to do." you whispered.

Nothing else had to be said as he followed your orders. He picked up the pace again, this time with the right amount of speed and force that instantly made you squirm. The determination on your face didn't last very long, but you didn't have time to be embarrassed. He quickly pressed his lips against yours at the exact moment he knew you'd cum, holding you tighter just to make sure he was hitting that spot repeatedly.

Your body tensed beneath him as you came, and he soon followed after. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pressed himself fully inside and pumped you full. So much so that it started to spill out. Your lips moved out of sync and intensely before he pulled away, staring into your eyes while he completely drained himself in and outside. He smiled lazily at the sight of you, the sight only he gets to see.

"Oh, Madam President," he groaned and grabbed one of your hands to kiss your palm twice. He slowly pulled out and reveled in the lewd sounds from you and your body that came with it, looking proudly between your legs. "You spoil me." he added with a soft kiss on your forehead.

After cleaning up, which he so naturally generously offered to do for both of you, you were now cuddled up in bed. His arms safe and secure around you as you listened to his heartbeat.

"Anything important planned for tomorrow?" you asked while tracing along the ridges of his metal arm. He let out a sigh and shook his head in growing irritation.

"Attending a hearing tomorrow." he said, "Valentina's in deep shit and I need to find out if there's any glaring evidence."

Bucky kept it vague intentionally. He didn't want you to get involved or worry about anything. He also didn't want to make it obvious that it was the sole reason he became Congressman in the first place. It'd probably make him sound crazy.

"I heard about that. I won't be able to go because I have to fly out and campaign up north for a bit. But I'll be at the gala." you paused your idle tracing and looked up at him. "How come you need to know if there's glaring evidence?" you asked curiously. It was innocent, simple, but he froze.

"I just...want to keep up with what's going on around here."

Not entirely a lie, not entirely the truth. It's the first time he wasn't completely honest with you. However he was relieved when you let it go and finally went to fall asleep in his arms.

-

The campaigning went great! The hearing, not so much. Talk about stressed the fuck out. He was fed up with this whole charade. It started to feel like everyone was in on it except for him.

There were a million things on his mind, but then it kept circling back to you. It soothed him. His jaw unclenched and his shoulders slumped whenever he thought of you. He kept thinking about how you'd look, dressed to the nines for the gala tonight. It brought a very slight smile to his face, even while he was glaring at Val and figuring out a way to get Mel on his side.

-

The gala was buzzing tonight, just as he thought. Just a bunch of fake, snobby men and women schmoozing around. His eyes darted around for you from the balcony, but there was no sign. Just a sea of fake smiles and champagne.

Some time had passed and Bucky had just got finished talking with Congressman Gary when he walked over to the balcony and searched again. He watched Val talking with someone with a big smile on her face, a huff leaving his lips.

"This case must be that serious." a voice said from behind him. He stopped tapping the banister and turned around to see you standing there, a skinny glass half full of champagne between your fingers. You looked...amazing. All noise from the gala faded the second his eyes locked on you. You took a few steps closer until you were in front of him.

"You've been staring at her all night." you added, finishing the drink in one go. Bucky's train of thought was shot to hell but he did remind himself a million times that if you showed up, he couldn't just act the way he does behind closed doors with you. Instead, he took the glass from your hand to put it on a nearby table, looked over his shoulder for any cameras pointing in this direction, and then took your hand to lead you somewhere; a blind spot, if you will.

Next thing you know, you weren't expecting to end your night with the back of your dress bunched up in his fist and his metal hand cupped around your neck as he took you from behind in a dark corner, but hey, who's complaining? There was a low chance of getting caught and he got to relieve the stress from the day. Everybody wins!

"You've been waiting all day, huh?" you teased. He exhaled stopped abruptly, brushing against that spot he's sure he didn't miss.

"Madam-"

-

"-Secretary?"

You blinked and quickly looked up from your desk to see your assistant standing in front of you, a panicked look on his face.

"You might want to see this..." he said as he handed you the tablet. Your brows furrowed as you took it from him.

"What is it? Numbers decreasing?" you asked as you scrolled upwards.

"Worse." he said. "The title of the article..."

Once you reached the top of the page, your eyes widened and the tablet dropped from your hands.

'Secretary of State and Presidential Candidate Needs Votes That Bad?' in bold lettering, a clear and candid picture of you and Bucky leaving your house early in the morning from yesterday. You could almost feel your heart stop in your chest as you met your assistant's eyes again.

"How long has this been up?"

"...An hour." he answered quietly. You came to your feet and started pacing around the room. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "And...Congressman Barnes resigned this morning."

You stopped pacing and turned to face him fully. Was it the article? By choice? For you? For him?

"I need to make a call." you said and pulled your phone from your pocket. "Privately."

"Yes ma'am." he said, grabbing the tablet and hurrying out.

Your shaking hands quickly dialed Bucky's number, "Pick up, pick up," you pleaded and started pacing again, but no answer.

No answer?

You called three more times and still...nothing.

-

A few hours passed and still no response. You'd gone home early to figure out how you're going to deal with this and still have the people on your side. You didn't even dare to open any social media and the press nearly followed you home, your phone was blowing up with calls and texts. You couldn't believe it. During a crucial time like this, he was MIA. Nowhere to be found.

Turning on the TV, of course the news channel was on. You were about to change it when you saw them talking about some figure floating in the sky and causing destruction to the city. You were about to look up what people were saying in the internet then suddenly... everything went dark.

-

You woke up on the floor of your living room when you heard a knock at the door. Your eyes flickered to the news on the TV flashing "New Avengers!" on the bottom of the screen.

You had a mild headache as you stood up slowly, looking around confused when the knock came again. The second you opened the door your expression dropped to a scowl.

"Why are you here?" you asked him. Bucky just looked at you like a wounded dog. He knows he fucked up big time. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out so brushed past you and walked further into your house.

"Listen... I'm sorr-"

A loud smack connected to his face before he could finish his sentence. He sighed softly and nodded.

"I deserve that." he said in a soft tone.

"Where the hell were you?" you bit.

"It's...a lot to explain-"

"The fuck it is." you scoffed and walked away from him. He ran his hands over his face and followed after you. This time ending up in your personal space when you stopped in the kitchen.

"Can you just listen to me?"

"Bucky." you warned, not looking at him but you could see how close he was in your peripheral. You felt him trying to grab your hand and you swatted him off. But you weren't quick enough before he caught it and pulled you towards him. You glared at him and attempted to pull away.

"Let go-" you almost gritted out, but he pulled you so close, your mouths clashed together. You tried to fight, you really did, but that familiar strong hold of his always had the same effect on you at the end of the day. It was almost laughable.

Your free hand bunched his shirt up by the collar to show you were still mad at him and all he had to do was slide his hand down to the small of your back to make your grip loosen. He pulled away and began kissing down your jaw, muttering softly in your ear.

"I'm really sorry for not answering you," he said as he reached your neck. "I will explain everything. I promise. I won't ask for forgiveness either." he added. You honestly checked out before he even reached your neck, clutching onto his shoulders.

"It's okay," you finally said. "Cause you're going to make it up to me."

He hummed and slipped his hands under your blouse, kissing your shoulder.

"What'd you have in mind?"

-

"Look at me." you gritted, not even minding the cold counter against your back. His blinked a few times to stay anchored while your thighs wrapped around his head. His hands happily gripped the plush flesh keeping him from breathing normally. You had a grip on his hair and he just kept on licking you up like candy. Just like that night you first ever got intimate.

He was home.

You let up a little bit so he could breathe but your grip remained. "I'm almost there." you whispered like a prayer, which only drove him to knead your thighs and eat you out more efficiently. He was going to make it up to you and he was going to do it right.

Your thighs tightened around him as your climax washed over you. It left you gasping and twitching. You moaned out Bucky's name as your grip on his hair loosened and he just took it all. Every last bit of your essence coating his beared was just another reason to smile everyday for the rest of his life.

Bucky peeled your legs apart and stood up with a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. "I think I'm okay with the media knowing this is what you come home to." he said before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Oh, and by the way, the media was in fact on your side. #IGetIt trended nationwide for a month and undoubtedly pushed the popularity vote towards you!

Congratulations, Madam President!

[weirdsht]

Perilous - Cale/Reader

a/n: uni is so hectic i can barely breath... but we defended our thesis! so I'm gonna flood you all with fics as thanks for being patient huhu

tags: no specific gender mentioned for reader, yandere cale, yandere everyone if you squint, gaslighting and manipulation if you squint, cale wants to lock you up but he wont because he loves you

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

anon said: Hello may we have yandere cale with someone who likes to take a risk lmao

People may disagree on things, but they all unite on this one fact.

Cale and his significant other have similar personalities, and that must be why they get along.

It’s an indisputable fact that unites everyone.

It’s also the one thing that Cale refuses to acknowledge.

He and you have similar personalities? Please, don’t make him laugh. You are vastly different.

Cale Henituse is someone who prioritises having an easy life. He doesn’t like doing hard work, and he certainly doesn’t like running head-on into dangers when they can be avoided.

On the other hand, you, his lovely sweetheart, are someone who likes taking risks. 

It’s not on purpose, of course, you don’t even seem to be aware that you have such tendencies. It just so happens that your heart is so big that sacrificing yourself for others is your first choice. 

Whenever something bad happens or someone gets injured, you are ready to risk your entire being. You don’t like expensing other people and tend to carry every risk by yourself.

But you are Cale’s lover.

So that has to change.

Someone got injured, and you’d like to substitute that guy? No chance, you are staying right where you are and are gonna let Cale handle everything.

Running out of time and ideas, so you offer to buy everyone time? Say that one more time, and Cale will lock you up in his villa.

Honestly, Cale doesn’t know why he chose such a difficult life. But hey, the heart longs for what it wants, and who is Cale to deny his heart when that person is within reach?

So he trudges through this difficult life of his. 

Sometimes it feels particularly hard as his selfishness gets the better of him. 

Sometimes it comes to a point where he physically has to stop himself from preventing you from talking to anyone else. Has to stop his urges to physically bind you next to him every minute of the day.

And you certainly don’t make it easier.

“Oh no, is that so? I would like to help, but everyone said that I must recover from my previous battle first.”

See, not only are you a chronic risk-taker, but you are so, so lovely as well.

Even at this moment, Cale would like to gouge out the eyes of this soldier looking at his love while faintly blushing.

“A-ah, that’s alright [Name]-nim! I am merely reporting, as you are one of our leaders!”

Oh, the difficult life Cale trudges.

Good thing that no one dares to covet what belongs to Young Master Cale Henituse.

“Huh..? Is that so?”

You ask yourself out loud as you watch the soldier practically run away when he sees Cale within the vicinity. He may or may not have used dominating aura, but you’ll never know.

“Oh, love you’re here. A soldier just told me that the situation in the northeastern part of the battle seems difficult… I wanted to help them somehow…”

Cale slithers his hand on your waist and pulls you close to him, successfully distracting you from another self-sacrificial idea.

“But you promise to stay by my side. Besides, Choi Han and Rosalyn are on their way there right now, so you don’t have to worry.”

Choi Han and Rosalyn are, in fact, not on their way. They didn’t even know of the situation until they caught up with you and Cale. But again, there’s no way you would know because after Cale spoke, they were already moving. Acting as if Cale had given them such orders a long time ago. 

It’s an unspoken agreement between all of them. They do it not only because they follow Cale, but also because they don’t want to see you getting hurt again.

You pulled way too many stunts before that gave everyone heart attacks.

Honestly, if Cale wakes up one day and puts you in house arrest, no one will bat an eye. They aren’t blind to Cale’s actions and feelings. Everyone else in the group can see how hard his holding himself back. They are just waiting for the day his patience finally snaps.

But a patient man is what Cale is when it comes to you.

So he indulges you. Makes you think that you have everything in control when, in fact, Cale is manipulating things behind your back.

It’s the only way to keep you happy and safe.

Well, if Cale wills it so, he can make you believe and enjoy the life of captivity. You won’t even notice that you’ve fallen into his web if he wants.

But you look better with your wings spread out to the world.

So Cale Henituse steel himself. Tells himself that it’s the last resolve.

However, such patience is only reserved for you.

And so may the universe help his enemies that dare harm you.

Because Cale and his group certainly won’t.

Not when they even borrowed Tasha’s dungeon to deal with them.

[kooklovee]

Yours for a year - JJK

PROLOGUE

One year, one contract, one fake marriage. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

Pairing - Ceo!Jungkook x Reader

Genre - fake/contract marriage au, grumpy x sunshine, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, smut (MDNI)

Warnings - family pressure for marriage, inner thoughts, different perceptions of love👀, tae is a mutual friend, reader is a uni professor

Wc - 1.8k words

a/n - as mentioned, this is just the prologue- just so yk the bg )) I'm thinking of doing 5 chapters max bt those are not even close to finishing.. just bits and pieces🫠 so final update will be when I've finished AND satisfied with what I've written :) pls be patient <3

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

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Jeon Jungkook believed in a lot of things. But love wasn’t one of them.

Because it wasn’t a necessity in Jungkook’s life.

Love? That four-letter word people threw around like it held the universe together? He didn’t get it. Never had. Never wanted to.

He doesn’t believe in love. Not in the way movies or books paint it. Love is just a concept people cling to.

People made it sound like some grand, life-altering miracle. Like one person could walk in and suddenly your world shifted on its axis. Jungkook never understood how that worked. Why people gave up sleep and sanity and sometimes, even logic, for something so unpredictable.

He never saw the point.

What he did understand? Stability. Purpose. Building something that lasted—not based on feelings, but on facts. Work gave him that. Running Jeon & Co gave him that. He liked being in control. Liked knowing the next step.

And to be fair, his life was good. Great, even.

He had everything he wanted. His career, his family, and his dog- Bam curled up by his feet at the end of every day.

He didn’t need dinners for two. He didn’t need someone to hold. He didn’t need to wake up next to someone who snored or stole his covers or left their shampoo bottles next to his.

He liked the quiet.

He’d seen people fall in love, watched it bloom around him like a damn rom-com montage. Everyone around him seemed to be in on this big- clued into this big magical concept that just didn’t land for him. Like they’d all read a manual he somehow missed.

Love, to him, wasn’t something worth chasing.

So no, he doesn't dream of it.

His older brother, Seojun, was the one originally set to take over Jeon & Co. But somewhere in university, he got an interest in cameras, film reels. So he changed paths, started his own production house- something he was passionate about, something the family supported. Jeon Seojun, now happily married to the love of his life, Harin, and later blessed with a cute little bundle of joy—Rae.

Then there was his sister, Aera—also married, already a successful fashion designer, living abroad with her artist husband and sending aesthetic postcards from every continent.

That left Jungkook. The youngest. The one who was good at everything.

The golden boy. The straight-A student, top of his class, excelled in everything he touched.

So he took the reins. Quietly. No complaints. Took the company to even greater heights. Built Jeon & Co into one of the most respected names in the industry.

He didn’t need anything else.

His life was simple, structured, successful. And he liked it that way.

But now, the gentle nudges from his family started turning into obvious conversations- about marriage.

Even his grandmother had joined the marriage cheer squad, talking about how nice it would be to see him settled, how much she wants to see her youngest grandson married while she’s still around.

They’d been patient for years. But lately, it was like everyone in the Jeon family had decided enough was enough.

So when his mother casually mentioned over dinner that they’d been talking to a friend about a potential match—a lovely girl, smart, already familiar with the family- something in Jungkook snapped.

He didn’t even want to get married—least of all to someone he didn’t know. Not a life partner chosen by someone else. Not a stranger who’ll live with him, sleep beside him, and share the parts of him he doesn’t even know how to share.

So he did the only thing that made sense in that moment.

“I already have a girlfriend.”

The room had gone silent.

Five pairs of eyes stared at him.

And now, here he is, wondering what kind of fucking mess he’s dragged himself into just to avoid being shackled into a marriage with a stranger.

But Jeon Jungkook wouldn’t let anyone dictate what he did with his life.

Especially not when it came to his heart.

Love was a chaos.

And chaos had no place in his life.

Later that night, he called Taehyung,—the one person who’s been there since their school days, unsure of whether he needed a plan or just someone to tell him he wasn’t losing his mind.

Taehyung, in fact, didn’t think it was that bad of a situation at all. At least not one without a potential fix.

That’s when the idea came up—something so bizarre and impractical. Jungkook couldn’t believe he was actually considering it,

A fake marriage.

Taehyung had suggested like it was the most logical solution. Just a year. One year of pretending to be in love and married. Long enough to satisfy his family, long enough for everyone to believe it had been real. And then—well, things wouldn’t work out. They’d “divorce,” separate, move on with their lives.

At first, Jungkook dismissed it outright.

He couldn’t fathom the idea of someone sharing his space. His home was the only part of his life untouched by the outside world. His world ran on precision and privacy. Letting someone into that world- even under a fake arrangement, felt like crossing a line he’d drawn years ago.

And besides, it couldn’t be just anyone. His family wasn’t stupid. If he suddenly showed up with a complete stranger, they’d see through it in a second.

That’s when Taehyung said he might know someone—that he trusted, that she was dependable. She wasn’t from Jungkook’s world, which might actually work in their favor.

Taehyung promised to talk to her first, see if she’d even be willing to consider something this ridiculous.

The entire idea of a fake marriage felt childish. But the more he thought about it, the more it made a strange sort of sense. At least this way, he’d have control over who entered his life, buy him a year of peace—freedom from the constant “marriage talk”.

Just one year, after all.

"It’s the third time I’m saying no, Taehyung. Don’t you get it?"

You huffed into the phone, flopping down into your office chair. Your cardigan sleeves were already pushed up from the two-hour lecture you'd just delivered, your notes still a mess on your desk.

You had barely gotten a sip of water before your phone buzzed, and of course—of course, it was Taehyung.

“I’m not asking you to marry a serial killer,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Exactly,” you muttered. “The CEO Jeon Jungkook. Not exactly someone I see fake marrying for any reason.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper-shout as you turned away from the glass pane in your office door.

You’d never met Jeon Jungkook before. Not even once. Just heard about him in passing from Taehyung. "My best friend from school," he’d always say, tossing the name around like it was no big deal.

Like Jeon Jungkook wasn’t this corporate enigma. A hot prodigy in business, son of a chaebol family, making a name for himself in the most unnervingly silent way.

You remembered the buzz when it had happened—articles, interviews, headlines, the ‘mystery heir’ who never spoke unless he had to. He disappeared from the public eye just as quickly, and that was that.

Until Taehyung showed up at your door yesterday, looking far too excited for someone about to propose a fake marriage arrangement.

It had sounded insane at first. Because it was insane.

Taehyung had explained you the situation Jungkook got himself into, with the same energy someone might use to pitch a movie script.

And what was his solution?

You.

“It’s just a year,” he said now, voice sliding back into persuasion-mode. “One year. So it looks real. You two live together. Make it convincing enough so his family backs off. Then you divorce, like fake divorce whatever, and it’s over! No harm done. It's not like you're actually getting married.”

You stared at the ceiling, “Tae. That’s not normal. You know that, right?”

He snorted. “Neither is rent in Seoul. Come on. You told me your roommate left, you’ve been searching for a new place. This solves that plus you get paid too! A logical person would never say no to this, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend in front of the whole world. Just his family. Think of it like a job.”

You bit your lip, annoyed by how tempting that actually sounded. You were indeed searching for a new place ever since your roommate had gotten transferred across the country. You hadn’t realized how ridiculously unaffordable rent was until you’d started living alone. And this offer, as ridiculous as it sounded, came with a house and money.

Still. A fake marriage?

You weren’t exactly the fake-it kind of girl. You'd always held this quiet belief in old-school romance. The kind that was built slowly, like a soft song that stayed. But you’d also lived long enough to know life wasn’t a movie.

Back in your student days, you’d buried yourself in textbooks, not people. Relationships weren’t something that you felt urgent back then.

Then life happened. Work took over. The days got busy, and dating just… never found its way in.

Love, to you, was about ease.

About finding someone naturally, in moments that didn't feel curated.

But you'd still tried some years back- a few blind dates your friends sent you on, awkward setups, the usual.

But nothing ever felt right. Nothing ever felt real.

Romance was something you assumed would fall into place eventually.

You wanted something that just... happened.

When it was meant to.

And now, after years of quietly waiting for something real, you were being considered for the role of a fake wife.

You almost scoffed at the absurdity.

“He doesn’t even know me,” you sighed.

“He knows I trust you. That’s enough for him. So technically he won't be letting a complete stranger moving into his house,” Taehyung said, like that explained everything.

You blinked. “So I’m just... the least suspicious option?”

“That's just a bonus,” Taehyung laughed. "But no, really, just think about it."

“What if his family hates me? And his mom throws a Birkin at my head?”

He groaned. “You’re being dramatic. They’re nice people, Y/N. No one's gonna throw anything at you, I promise.”

“I mean, come on,” Taehyung added playfully. “I just know you’re gonna be a really good actor.”

You rolled your eyes at the unnecessary buttering he was doing.

You could’ve actually considered this whole fake marriage drama. Because as much as it sounded stupid, sure, but it also sounded fun to you.

But again, he wasn’t just any man.

You were just a regular girl with a regular job and a "not-so-glamorous" life. But you enjoy it, being a university professor with a cluttered desk, a habit of losing your pens at least three times a day and considered laundry a full-body workout. You liked your little routines.

But you were also someone who definitely didn't live in the same world as his.

So the idea of faking a marriage- especially to someone like Jeon Jungkook, a man who basically belonged in the pages of Forbes—felt so far out of your league it was laughable.

Even thinking about being tangled in something like this with someone like him felt strange.

But maybe...

it wouldn’t be the worst idea.

It was almost New Year’s. And People made wild resolutions all the time, right?

Maybe this was a little main character arc you never saw coming.

It’s not like you had wild plans for New Year’s anyway.

Just one year, after all.

What worse could happen?

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[pleasantlycrazyworld]

A/N:This was requested but I cannot find it anywhere!!! I'm sorry I couldn't tag you :( The request was for a mute reader who wasn't a hero working at the tower. Bob becomes a translator for them!

I do have a few follow-up ideas for this let me know if you're interested in one or both! 1. Bob gets jealous of someone at the tower bc they learned ASL and are taking up more of your time. 2. Soft mutual pining with no jealousy (obviously both could be combined lol)

Summary: Working with the Thunderbolts* is a challenge, especially when you don't speak. Thankfully Bob is there to communicate for you.

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Most of the team barely noticed you when you started at the Tower. You weren’t flashy — no special powers or combat gear. You worked in communications, more in the ground support area of things. It was quiet and precise, the kind of work that kept the mission flowing much smoother.

The only thing that would be labeled as special for you was that you didn't speak.

Which meant in a room full of people who were always busy solving problems you were often overlooked… except by Bob.

Bob usually blended into the background himself. He had a talent for disappearing into a room full of larger personalities. It was Bob who smiled the first time you signed “Nice to meet you.” You didn’t expect him to answer, most people just blinked at you awkwardly and waited for you to get your phone out. But Bob, he softly smiled back, and signed, slowly, clumsy but clearly: “Nice to meet you too.”

You stared back at him in disbelief.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish.

“I uh… picked up ASL a while ago. Long story. You’re the first one here who I can use it with.”

From that day on, everything changed.

You didn’t need to rely on text or nods. You could talk-- actually talk and be understood while Bob happily listened. He was patient and kind. He never made you feel like you were less than or an inconvenience. Whenever meetings got chaotic or everyone at the debriefs skipped you over, Bob would awkwardly clear his throat and voice your thoughts aloud. “She says we need to reroute the signal. It’s already compromised.”

No one else understood what you were telling them, but they started paying attention when Bob spoke. And that made him…proud? It gave him something nothing else did, it gave purpose to his life. He wasn’t just in the background anymore. He was your connection to the team. Your translator. Your voice. He was needed. He was important, he was…valued. He never knew that he was missing out on this feeling but he knew he never wanted to miss it again.

He’d walk into the control room just to see if you needed help. He started to pause during drills to check if you were okay. And you started saving little notes for him on post-its. Inside jokes and little drawings. Doodles of him and a speech bubble: “Best Translator Ever.”

He kept that one on his mirror.

One night, after a long hectic day, you both lingered by the Tower windows, watching the rain streak down the glass. The others had cleared out long ago but the two of you stayed in the peace that always seemed to find you when the two of you were together.

You signed slowly: “Thank you for seeing me.” Bob looked at you, and stayed quiet for a long moment. Then he smiled, it was a soft smile, a little sad, but very warm. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.”

You reached out and brushed your fingers against his arm, a small gesture that made him suck in a breath, a gesture that said: Me too. And in that silence between signs, Bob realized something: You didn’t need words to say everything that mattered.

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If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

I have started a taglist for Bob lmk if you'd like to be added <3

@itsjustisa

[shallowseeker]

I was actually thinking about this earlier in the week!

Specifically how Michael hones in on the fear connected to Sam as abandonment, but this aspect is less emphasized for the others. This makes a lot of sense given that one of John’s primary punishment tools was banishment. (Plus, Sam tends to compartmentalize his life like a boss and one of his dominant modes of coping is to run… )

But anyway!!!

Interestingly, abandonment is not the primary mode for the Cas-fear here. Much of what Michael honed in on for the Dean-Cas connection began with Michael seeming to mock Dean for believing too much, (SEE: “Oh, Cas… I believe in you.”)

All Michael can muster up after that is to focus on imperfections/mistakes and what they “owe”each other… which is exactly the kind of childish idealization Dean has already reckoned with, so it falls short of rattling Dean or Cas.

Which is just… fascinating to me.

I think with what Dean went through his whole life as protector/“attack dog” (especially in season 9, taking on Abaddon and then Metatron) Dean understands the reasons behind why Cas does what he does on a gut level. After all, Dean too watched Sam from afar at Stanford, and he tried to be a bystander until shit hit the fan. And ofc… Dean cut out Lisa and Ben to protect them. I think Dean gets the instinct better than most would give him credit for. (SEE ALSO: “Your happiness for everyone else? No contest. But why do I have to be a hero?”)

In general, I think Dean can get on Cas’s protectorship/failure wavelength pretty easily. (We see this with lines like: “He hasn’t exactly had a banner year,” etc etc in season 12. )

I also think that, as a general rule, Dean gives it his all to keep believing Cas will “return to him” (w/occasional lapses into despair involving the loss of Cas that tend to run parallel with frankly insane Dean motifs/themes of losing Baby/self/Faith).

TLDR; Dean often has bonkers levels of faith in Cas.

I’m not even convinced Dean is consciously hyperfocused on the fear Cas is going to leave-leave him on purpose. (He seems more worried Cas will die doing Cas-hero things, maybe?) The thought of Cas leaving him by choice becomes at times intolerable, so it lives in the seesaw land of rewriting his memory or resolving not to hope. (SEE: “Blew town? Sounds like him.” / “So this is it? E.T. goes home.”)

But overall in later seasons, when Michael is doing the above, it’s not dominant per se. I mean, even in s15, after disagreeing on Chuck plus the deaths of Mary, Jack, and Rowena, Dean seems stunned that Cas would leave, even after Dean unloaded on him.

I suspect on the whole… that Dean is surprisingly faithful when it comes to believing Cas will miraculously return (and Cas has lived up to that against all the odds a lot). At the very least, I think Dean develops a stable faith in Cas returning as a soldier to the mutual causes.

The scary part is getting Cas to stay in the capacity that is far beyond a soldier or family protector.

That is… as a specific kind of chosen family.

Aside// The primary Jack fear is, of course, being responsible for a burden that has a cosmic level of heaviness. It very much like a mouse trying to parent a lion.

i love that steve yockey wrote michael's dialogue like that, "i'm gonna write the opposite of what dean thinks for every character in order to hurt them" which means you can reverse everything he says and learn his true feelings about each character. genius.

I think this is definitely a clever part of the writing. (Yay Yockey!)

Michael is good at twisting things to create a diversion/undermine his enemies. (Maybe even better at it than Lucifer, heh.)

I think another part is that AU Michael understands absolutes better than duality. He’s picks out and amplifies the negatives. I’m reminded of Cas’s line in season 9 about human emotion: 

CAS: The ebb and flow of human emotion - Dean, I've been on earth for a few years, and I've only begun to grasp it. 9x09 Heaven Can’t Wait

AU Michael doesn’t grasp it. Not really.

He runs around asking everyone, “What do you want?” and if there’s any complexity at all to that answer, he brands that person/angel “lost,” “weak,” or “unreliable.” This is why he allies himself with vampires at the end of 14x01. Because he can’t comprehend shades of gray or nuance.

Humans feel a billion things every day. Moment to moment. But every fleeting discomfort, every microsecond of frustration, every scrap of resentment or bitterness? To Michael, these get magnified into absolutes. (This is often how demons present their truths: through the most uncharitable interpretations possible.)

///

Loved ones are burdens

A more honest answer might be that our loved ones are, in fact, both beloved and burdensome. We trade strengths and share burdens, but that doesn’t mean they come without weight.

It’s only in relationships that are more figmentary, kept at arm’s length, or those that have ended and become idealized—like memories of people who never truly had a chance to be seen for who they really were—that we see relationships without real baggage.

This is especially true in a world like Supernatural.

///

Dean wasn’t happier without Sam in his life

AU MICHAEL: And, Sam—oh, Sam... You know, Dean was his happiest when you quit hunting, leaving him with your dad, just the two of them. See, deep down, he knows that you will always abandon him, again and again.

I think it’s probably true that Dean was occasionally relieved when it was just him and Dad, but mostly because it was a break from the turbulence and in-fighting.

At the same time, he felt abandoned by Sam, maybe jealous that Sam reaped all the rewards (education! freedom!) of Dean bearing the family burdens.

Yet, Dean also wanted what was best for Sam and was genuinely happy to see Jessica Moore in his djinn dream. More often than not in the series, Dean encourages Sam toward happiness, though not at the expense of what he perceives is a balanced work-life obligation the people in their lives that depend on them.

But it’s certainly not true that he was happier without Sam, nor that he wished it had been only him and John all the time.

///

Dean’s not with Cas because he “owes” him but because he loves him

AU MICHAEL: You only tolerate the angel because you think you owe him, because he "gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition." Or whatever. But since then, what has he done? Only made mistakes, one after the other.

Michael mocks the line about being "gripped tight and pulled from perdition," showing us that this is a line Dean recalls often, perhaps replaying it in his mind over and over.

(AU Michael also coos: “Oh, Cas… I believe in you!” in an earlier scene, and it seems to me that he finds Dean’s emotions a bit… amusing.)

But to my point—maybe the bad parts are a little bit true. Feeling indebted to Cas might be intertwined with Dean’s gratitude, and it’s definitely true that Dean harbors real resentment over Cas’s mistakes. However, Michael can’t completely parse the complexities of Dean’s feelings for Cas. He can’t reconcile the bad with the good. It’s an alien’s perspective.

But Dean… The way Dean talks about love in Optimism shows us that he can handle all the complexities and put them into words. He feels a deep gratitude toward Cas for saving him, and he recognizes that Cas’s mistakes are part of the endurance of real love—not the idealized, immature kind.

Interestingly, while Sam and Jack are visibly shaken by AU Michael’s words, Cas doesn’t seem affected in the same way. Not only does he remain unruffled when he steps in to assure Jack that Michael is “loose with the truth,” but he also quickly picks up on Michael’s barbs as a deliberate strategy—he calls it out: “You’re stalling.”

By saying “Poughkeepsie,” Sam helped Dean break out of his loop of simplistic vampire hunts. But by mouthing off to Michael, it’s Cas who helps Dean rally his self-confidence. Cas's steadfast trust in Dean serves as a source of strength.

I personally think this implies that Cas and Dean have talked through their mistakes more in-depth than we think, even if they haven’t fully discussed their “feelings" per se.

They trust each other, even when they’re feeling completely downtrodden or vulnerable. Even when "their instincts might be screaming otherwise," you know?

///

Finally: Of course Dean loves Jack

We have to remember that AU Michael’s attack is two-fold, here. Unlike with the others, Michael is absolutely seething about Jack turning him down on family bonding time in 14x09 The Spear.

AU MICHAEL: “A moment of familial weakness. It won't happen again."

What Michael probably really wants is to undo the murder of his brother, Lucifer. But Jack is unwilling to become Lucifer’s replacement. So Michael wants to cut Jack as deeply as possible. As punishment.

AU MICHAEL: Like, I know how sad he was when you died… on the outside. On the inside, well, it's not that he was happy— he just didn't care. 'Cause you're not Sam. You're not Cas. You're a new burden that he was handed. You're a weak, helpless thing. You think that they care about you, love you? You're a job, a job none of them wanted.[…]

Ergo, following that mindset, maybe Michael’s a little bit right. Maybe part of Dean does see Jack as "another burden handed to him” and he might even he worried about Jack’s newfound weakness—but it’s also more complicated than that.

And it’s true: Jack isn’t like Sam or Cas, but it’s not because he’s not family. It’s because he’s a different kind of family. While Sam has grown into being a brother, an equal, Jack is and will forever remain wholly “son.” That’s a scarier bond. It doesn’t just come with love but with responsibility, hope, and an undeniable weight.

And as for Jack’s death—while Dean may have initially reacted with emotional numbing and shock, he was devastated. Time has shaped Dean's reaction to grief, and he is trying to do it right:

14x08 Byzantium via @spnscripthunt-inactive

//

Appealing to the “you’re just a burden” is something Zachariah also made good use of in his nightmare-land from Dark Side of the Moon:

ZACH!MARY: I never loved you. You were my burden. I was shackled to you.

5x16 Dark Side of the Moon

///

Oops, I rambled.

Anyhoo, that a wounded Dean echoes any of AU Michael’s words is, to me, a testament to how deep his psychological wounds are (late 14 through season 15).

The series told us over and over again about the psychological ruination that results from being the vessel for an archangel… with many humans implied catatonic afterwards. (The series also spent the majority of season 14 showing us how much being glued to Lucifer wounded Nick...)

But yes, I do love the double-speak in the writing and how it often implies the opposite of what’s being said. That’s so much for bringing this into my ask box!

///

One more bit about indirect dialogue:

I also loved when Dean was hurling word-daggers in at Bobby, Cas, and Sam in 5x18. Dean was mocking his unique relationship with each of his loved ones:

Mocking his belief in Sam’s strength:

DEAN (to SAM): I just…I—I don’t believe […] In you. I mean, I don’t. I don’t know whether it’s gonna be demon blood or some other demon chick or what, but…I do know they're gonna find a way to turn you.

& Pretending he doesn’t see Bobby as a father:

DEAN (to BOBBY): You’re not my father. And you ain’t in my shoes.

& Making light of his deepening feelings with Cas:

DEAN (to CAS): Well, Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid.

/////////////////

Finally, I can’t help that point out that fleeting moments of resentment and even longer moments of being angry/upset/disillusioned with our loved ones isn’t a big, abnormal thing. It’s just very human. And healthy.

(In SPN-world, it’s coded as more concerning when we see the opposite, when characters insist someone is perfect or never lets them down. This is a SPN “poughkeepsie” pattern that I mentally shuttle into the “pure” bucket. See: Harper, Amara, Chuck etc)

///

But fleeting moments of negativity are real. Which is to me what makes Jack’s murder of Mary so very sad:

"Only for a second." :(

[mortmere]

Final Thoughts: Due South Stacked Rewatch/Timestamp Roulette Art Challenge

Personal favorites (in no particular order):

Well this was fun. And it wasn't. Like most things, it was a very mixed bag. 

I started out in September wanting to see if I could develop a personal, recognizable lineart style, something easy-looking and confident. Turns out I wasn't very motivated to do that after all. Or maybe I'm so stuck in my ways that I don't want to put myself through the process of de-learning some things and learning new ways of working. I've always been self-taught in almost everything (just doing stuff intuitively my way) and get easily irritated if I'm pushed out of my comfort and skill zones. Not a great learner!

The one thing where I definitely did step out of my comfort zone and gained confidence in was posting stuff that's less than perfect to my own eye. Ha, got quite good at that, actually! I think I got over the fear that someone tells me "this is not up to your usual standards". I'm hoping - while definitely aiming to create stuff that gives people feels - that this will make me work quicker and post more happy-making art instead of sweating over whether a piece is good enough to be posted. And I truly hope that my shit-posting (as I've called my super quick doodle weeks) has given someone else out there a feeling that they, too, can post stuff that might not be perfect by some artificial standard. I keep saying that great fanart can be drawn with stick figures, too. 

One of the biggest joys in this project has been discovering oil pastels. They simply suit my way of working, the colors are easy to mix and I can work pretty fast (I'm impatient). One thing I've gotten a lot of feedback on is how much people love seeing traditional media used for fanart. I still don't know what to think of the difference between digital and traditional. Is there any? Don't I use my human hands to create digital art, too? What difference does it make if a piece of art exists in pixels instead of pigment (except that photographing the latter for online viewing is a pain in the ass)? I kept going back to digital art from time to time in this project, and certainly can't choose which I enjoy more, oil pastels or Photoshop. Probably will continue more with digital art for the simple reasons of less mess, no storage problems, available shortcuts to reach a better likeness, and endless editing options. The best medium for me is the one I actually bother to pick up to make art. 

This 38-week project was probably the largest-scale art experiment I've ever done - or will ever do, at least on a strict weekly schedule. I kept expecting RL stuff to throw me off schedule, but it didn't. I kept expecting I'd just give up at some point, but I didn't. I guess the joy of having even a small purpose in life (even if it was self-inflicted pain in the ass sometimes) was worth it.

Thank you for following this project - and super thanks to those who tried the actual timestamp art roulette challenge even once! It's still open - the instructions are in the first post here: https://mortmere.tumblr.com/tagged/*/chrono

(The link goes to a chronological view of all my art/crafts post from these past 9 months - it's been my "progress evaluation link" to see what I've managed to create so far.)

[abbotjack]

Oooo. I’d love the director’s commentary on what inspired “the house she left me”! 😄

⭐ Send me an ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines! ⭐

What inspired The House She Left You?

Grief. Inheritance. That horrible, unspoken truth that sometimes the person who dies wasn’t the best one. That sometimes the person you mourn is the person who made your life harder, smaller, more complicated. I kept thinking: What if the person who dies was the sun in your family’s solar system—but you were always burned by it?

And then I started thinking about what’s left—not the dramatic, poetic grief of clean death. But the mess. The room that still smells like them. The child you didn’t choose but now love like oxygen. The man you never touched but always wanted, and now it’s too late to be innocent.

And I knew it had to be about the house. A house that holds rot. A house that’s been rotting with her for years. A house where every drawer, every switch, every mattress spring has witnessed something.

Then—this story snapped into focus when I reread the myth of Psyche and Eros.

I always loved the moment in that myth where Psyche isn’t allowed to look at Eros. She’s told: Love him, but don’t know him. Touch him, but don’t see him.

And one night, she can’t take it anymore. She lights a lamp. She looks. She wants to know the shape of what she’s been letting inside her bed. And in that moment of illumination—he vanishes.

This story was built around that same idea: What happens when you finally turn on the light?

In the opening scene, she literally does it—flips the kitchen switch and exposes Pope standing in the cold light of the fridge. That’s the moment this story starts. That’s the oil lamp. That’s the sin of wanting to see what you’ve only ever felt in the dark.

But instead of vanishing, he stays.

That’s the difference.

This story asks: What if you could look at the thing you were never allowed to want—and it looked back?

Every mythology has an underworld. This house is that underworld.

It’s not just setting—it’s the body of the dead. It holds smells, stains, memories. It remembers who screamed where. Who bled on what. Who was loved here and not loved enough.

So when she walks in at the beginning and doesn’t immediately turn on the light? That’s a descent. That’s Orpheus walking into the mouth of hell, except she’s not here to rescue her sister.

She’s here because she inherited the ashes.

The house keeps her. The house keeps him. And worse—the house doesn’t recognize you yet. Because you weren’t the chosen one. You were just the one who was clean. Quiet. Watching.

But now you’re the only one left.

Pope is Eros, yes. But he’s also Hades. He’s the god who knows the house. He’s the only man who’s ever survived your sister’s fire long enough to come out of it still breathing.

But he didn’t come out clean.

That was crucial to me while writing. I didn’t want a sanitized love interest. I wanted a man you’ve hated. A man who fucked your sister and broke your heart and never looked at you long enough to let you exist.

Until now.

Until she’s dead, the spell’s broken and he finally sees you.

But he’s not safe. He’s a blade. He holds grief like a weapon. And the way he fucks? It’s not romance. It’s penance. It’s not “I love you.” It’s “I remember everything you never said.”

He doesn’t just carry her memory.

He carries the version of you that never got to breathe.

Your sister is not named on purpose.

She’s not a person—she’s a force.

She’s Circe. Medusa. Lilith. Cassandra. The beautiful woman who loved loudly and wrecked everything she touched. The kind of mother who made you believe you had to parent her before you could become anything else. I based her on the mythic feminine in collapse. The seductive sister. The bright star who burns out and leaves everyone else circling the crater.

And in the story, she doesn’t get a voice. Because she always had the last word when she was alive. Now, she just leaves silence. Stains. A mattress that smells like her and the man she once owned. And that’s what makes the sex in this story so charged: you’re not just touching Pope. You’re rewriting the myth.

You’re taking back the story she claimed.

This sex scene had to hurt.

Because it’s not erotica—it’s exorcism.

I wanted it to feel like bloodletting. Like communion. Like the opposite of a love scene and the exact shape of a real one. These are two people who have never had the chance to want cleanly. Now they’re bleeding it out.

When Pope says “Let me ruin it,” that’s not dirty talk. That’s sacrifice. That’s him offering himself up as the thing you always feared would kill you, and you saying yes anyway.

It’s not about dominance. It’s about history. About mourning someone through someone else’s mouth. About asking “Was I always this broken?” and hearing the answer in the slap of skin and the gasp between sobs.

This is not about sex. This is about recognition.

And when he says, “You were the only good thing in this house,” that’s the real climax.

Because that’s the first time anyone has ever made you sacred.

Also it should be noted that the niece isn’t just there to make the characters behave. She’s the future. She’s the girl who still remembers the bananas in pancakes. She’s the one who teaches you what memory looks like when it’s not soaked in guilt.

And most importantly: she’s the one who leaves the house without looking back. Which is something neither of you can do yet.

The final scene in the kitchen? That’s where the whole story pivots.

Because the first time you fucked Pope, it was about your sister.

The second time?

It’s about you.

And when he says “I don’t know how to want things without destroying them”—that’s his moment of truth. That’s his Psyche moment. He looked at love in the light, and it didn’t vanish. It kissed him back.

And when you say “You already are what I need. You stayed,” you’re not just forgiving him.

You’re forgiving yourself.

Because in every myth, someone has to choose to stop the cycle.

You just did.

[urmomsgnocchi]

buck realizes he loves eddie first and distances himself immediately because he can't risk making super straight guy eddie diaz uncomfortable and pushing him away. (of course he doesn't see that he's pushing him away to avoid pushing him away bc anxious buck doesn't think very much.)

enter buck 1.0...2.0? 1.2? idk its #letbuckfuck time and its the only thing that (kinda) takes his mind off of how much he loves eddie, so boy does he fuck. he shows up to shifts with hickeys all over his neck, hungover. he blows eddie (and sometimes chris) off to go on "dates" with random people off of dating apps. it's anyone at first but eventually he finds himself hooking up with people with dark hair and big brown eyes, maybe a couple inches shorter than buck, but strong arms, big hands, hands he can maybe pretend are someone else's... it's not on purpose, but eventually elena, marco, joaquin, start to look like eddie, sound like him, feel like him, as much as they need to for buck to not throw himself at eddie's feet and ruin their friendship.

meanwhile eddie is freaking out. he never met buck 1.0, and he doesn't really like him. buck is out of it at work because he clearly isn't sleeping as much as he should be, even though he has his own bedroom at his new apartment that he insisted he needed (eddie said he'd take the couch until they figured out a better solution.) he's hungover half the time and comes in covered in these bruises that eddie knows are hickeys but can't even bring himself to think about as anything so intimate. he knows about buck 1.0 but he also knows how hard buck worked to change, so he can't understand why he went back now? he's obsessing over it, trying to reach out and connect how they used to, check in on him, but buck blows him off and then, like clockwork, shows up almost late to work the next day with even more hicke- bruises.

when buck shows up to a shift late, dropped off by some rando, tanned, muscled up pretty boy in a muscle tank, who kisses him on the cheek and squeezes his hip in a way that has every single muscle in eddie's body tensing, they reach a breaking point.

eddie goes somewhere he's never gone before, to maddie's house, with two bottles of wine and movie tickets for chim and jee. he sits down, shaky, and tells maddie all about buck's dangerous and reckless behavior. tells her how confused he is, how he can't pinpoint a trigger. he came back, chris came back, sure the house was a little cramped but things were good, they were happy. maddie reaches for eddie's hand and he realizes he's tearing up a little. maddie knows what it's like to worry about buck, she doesn't hold back. he grips her hand when she tells him about tommy, about how buck fucked him in his house, his room. that must be it he decides, tommy was the catalyst. but maddie keeps going, "eddie he-he said something to him, tommy did...it really messed with buck's head-he didn't know how to process it...he said you were competition eddie. that he and buck couldn't be together because buck loves you." eddie's heart swells and drops and everything clicks into place. "I think he's trying to put some space between you sweetie, he mentioned that he didn't want to look like he's pining after his straight best friend..." she says it apologetically, almost at a whisper, she's nervous, telling someone else's secret.

but eddie's brain is somewhere else. of course buck loves him, and of course he loves buck, it's always been them. it's so clear and obvious now. why leaving buck was so painful, and why buck lashed out before eddie left. buck's place in chris's life, in eddie's home, it made sense, it was easy, natural. he doesn't know where to go from here, his whole world is crumbling, he doesn't know who he is anymore, he loves a man, it changes so much. it also changes nothing, he loves buck, he still misses him, and he's worried about him, that's his priority and it snaps him back to maddie's kitchen and her hands on his. he thanks her, hugs her in a way he never has before, like family, and rushes out the door. he's on autopilot until he finds himself at buck's new front door.

meanwhile buck is on his knees in the middle of his kitchen, hands deftly undoing the buttons on tonight's eddie stand-in's jeans. he's so focused on both imagining that the body he's slowly exposing is eddie's and trying his absolute best to not whine eddie's name around another man's dick (again) that he misses the sound of the key he gave chris for emergencies turning in his front door. the front door that leads directly to buck's kitchen. he doesn't miss the sound of confusion as he's pulled off of his date by the guy buck assured him wasn't his husband, even though the pictures on the fridge and entryway walls all feature him and some kid. he watches in shock as eddie shoves the man's wallet and shirt into his chest and drags him to the open door with a clipped that's enough buddy, say goodnight.

suddenly eddie's hand is on buck's chin, gently guiding buck to look up at him from where he's still kneeling, shocked, on his own kitchen floor. his other hand going to buck's curls, both their eyes shining, clearly both a little lost.

"no more of that, yeah? you don't need that anymore." buck nods softly, bleary eyed and clearly drunker than eddie anticipated.

they'll talk in the morning, there's too much they both need to say. too much for tipsy buck to process so eddie pulls him up, walks him to bed, and curls up next to him like they used to during covid, before things got so messy.

"missed you," "missed you too," in the dark, spoken to the ceiling, the wall, as they lay next to each other. that magnetic pull, which they now both recognize as more than platonic, setting in.

buck doesn't say anything when eddie scoots closer and wraps an arm around buck's waist from behind, and eddie says nothing when buck reaches down to hold eddie's hand tight to his body. when he thinks buck has drifted off he nuzzles his face down into buck's hair, kissing the top of his head, and whispers "I think I love you, buck."

buck is just barely awake, lazy smile spreading across his face as he finally lets himself feel the love he's been so scared to let take over.

[voidcat]

i see, you want kaiser to take your fingers in hus mouth huh? to feel him nip and bite at your skin, to leave indents like a ring, marking you as his in every way, to shiver when his tongue caresses your fingertips, the warmth and wetness, to feel him tasting you, devouring you, and you can never escape his grip

??????? Um excuse me what the actual fuck do you want me dead. Just say if you hate me… Sure what the hell… I’ve been meaning to write smt w my stupid finger issues for this bastard too… it was his turn

info: Michael Kaiser/reader. Reader has an unidentified issue with their ring finger which attracts all kinds of wrong assumptions from a certain individual.

Warnings + notes : mentions of red string of fate, implied cutting off circulation and causing ischemia/tissue death, dacryphilia if u squint… not a healthy relationship these two… Kaiser as his own warning tbh. Nothing in explicit detail as far as I’m concerned but lmk if I should add anything else to warnings

The air is tense, like lacking in the molecules that make of what it is humans normally breath.

Empty space that suffocates, that steals and scratches at your body, lungs aching for a moment of relief— yet all your turmoil is for naught, so long as blue eyes pierce through yours, holding your person in captive until one breaks down.

His hand firm on your wrist, Michael Kaiser watches you with great interest, body moving on command, he doesn’t need to look elsewhere to know where to move and what to do.

It is one thing to have the man clinging to you, nibbling at your skin, but this feels far too intimate, uncomfortable, like he is skinning you alive and getting under, nestling between the warm layers of dermis and epidermis— immortalizing where he stands in your life.

Teeth no longer graze but sink in, bite for the purpose of getting a taste, leaving a bruise. Maybe you will bleed as well, maybe he will taste iron on his lips today. It is equally intriguing and exciting, to be able to break you down in every sense of the world.

Eyes fixated on him, face scrunching up in pain, you cannot hold it in any longer to remain neutral, to show no color.

He thought it’d be aggregating to watch him leave his print on your finger, resembling all to circular indents of a ring too tight, at the root of your ring finger, oh how he was eager to see you squirm in fury and unbelief— he didn’t think you’d come down a lot earlier than this.

Instead, at the tip of your finger, your hand shakes, other fingers twitch, a squeal leaves you and you wince. Teeth biting into the inner side of your cheek, he wonders how the rest of the marks will bloom on your skin later tonight, if you’ll snap eventually, what you’ll sound like when you cannot hold it in any longer.

It is a funny thing he muses, how ring fingers are viewed. They are said to be connecting to the heart, hence the rings worn on them to signal two souls’ unifying. Though not so clear in many of the tells that come and go, the strings of fate are bound there, tied around the same level as the exact spot that draws out the real you, emotions reeking out, too much for your body to contain, too heavy to handle and hide.

Every few seconds, Kaiser disturbs the pace he has set, adding a little more pressure or taking away. He bites a deeper once more, feeling the soft of your flesh knead and take shape under his teeth, following his lead in sweet compliance— he spots tears gathering in your eyes, pooling up but refusing to drag down.

Resilient and stubborn until the very edge, just like the one who carries them with agony and pride.

He watches as a wave of emotions pass through your eyes, fear and pain most prominent. And Kaiser knows, though your eyes refuse to look down, what pushes you down is the growing pain as that string tied around your finger tightens with each pressure, until all there is left is ischemia and a permanent mark of no point of return.

[voxofthevoid]

JJK Teasers: June 2025

There's no teaser for the ghost in me was true, less due to the chapter length than because the format is better left as a surprise.

Chapter 8/24 of (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

All Yuuji can do is push out another weak, “Gojou-sensei?”

“There’s a thought,” Gojou says, tone a bit absent. His eyes aren’t, scanning Yuuji intently from where he’s towering over him. “Have you figured it out yet, Mini Yuuji?”

“Mini,” Yuuji echoes, torn between incredulity and pure confusion. He pushes himself up to his feet, again putting himself on eye level with Gojou.

“Yuuji Junior, Baby Yuuji, Yuuji-chan,” Gojou recites. “Take your pick.”

“No thank you.”

Gojou shrugs. “Alright, Yuuji-chan then.”

“Hey!”

“It’s weird though.” Gojou cocks his head to the side, the motion way too predatory for a guy in his…state. “You’re Yuuji down to a cellular level, I’m sure of that. Even your cursed energy has a similar flavor. But you’re different. Not the age, obviously. Something else, something deeper…”

Yuuji’s mind is reeling, Gojou’s words mostly just noise, taking several moments to coalesce into sense, but his eyes are a hell of a lot busier, flitting all over Gojou’s bare body before darting back to his face, rinse and repeat, and Yuuji’s blushing, he knows, his whole damn body hot, but the more he stares, the more he’s sure that this isn’t his teacher as he knows him. He’s definitely Gojou Satoru. But he’s not Yuuji’s Gojou Satoru.

Oh.

That’s what Gojou—this Gojou—meant.

“Is this like those sci-fi movies?” Yuuji asks, not realizing until he sees Gojou’s offended expression that he just cut him off. “Oh, sorry.”

Gojou rolls his eyes. Yuuji has never, ever seen his Gojou do that.

“I’m here inventing new theorems of cursed energy, and do you care? No,” Gojou says, looking and sounding extremely unimpressed. “Sure, it’s like the movies. This is where we kiss. C’mere.”

Yuuji takes a step back.

Chapter 2/2 of he makes of womb an altar

“Such a tortured expression,” she says, her voice low and…intimate. She raises a hand, resting a row of knuckles against his jaw. The touch is unfairly gentle. “Am I scaring you?”

“Scare—” Yuuji swallows; it’s too wet. “I’m not scared, but you’re being really weird, Mum. This is—this is weird.”

“We really need to expand your vocabulary,” she says, almost chiding. “But that’s for another day. You have a different kind of homework tonight.”

“What’re you—”

Yuuji’s voice gives out when her other hand comes to rest on the swell of her chest, right above the neckline of her nightdress. He tries not to, but he can’t not look. Her arm doesn’t quite hide her cleavage. It sure as hell doesn’t hide the rounded curves of her breasts right underneath, and Yuuji’s never seen a woman undressed like this in real life, but there’s no mistaking the tiny twin bulbs pushing up from under the fabric.

Something inside Yuuji coils tight, pulling him taut from throat to gut.

She slides her arm down, and the fabric goes with it. Her breasts bounce free.

Yuuji whimpers.

She laughs again, darker but also somehow sweeter than he’s ever heard it, and then the hand on his jaw is sliding down, skimming the side of his throat before settling firmly on his shoulder, stroking along the slope of it and down his arm, all the way to the hand clenched in the sheets. Yuuji’s wearing a full-sleeved hoodie, but the heat of her palm still leaves a blazing trail, and when it finds skin, he burns.

“Show me, then,” she murmurs, prying his hand off the mattress, “what the internet has taught you.”

She plants his hand on her breast.

Chapter 5/10 of taking the flesh is the only virtue

He dutifully carries Itadori over to the bathroom, all the way to the shower, before making another attempt at waking him. It’s as useless as before, though Itadori does mumble something that could generously interpreted as Kento’s name.

He turns on the shower.

And it’s not on purpose, the temperature settling having slipped his mind, but the water that rains down on them is brutally cold, a rough shock even to Kento’s system.

Itadori wakes up howling—an animal noise that, for once, has nothing to do with his rut.

“Sorry,” Kento says, clenching his jaw before his teeth start chattering. “Itadori—”

“Nanamin?” Itadori mutters. His arms are crushingly tight around Kento, but as Itadori looks up, squinting through the water, the grip loosens—still tight, still intimate, but no longer suffocating.

“Good morning,” Kento greets, even though it’s closer to noon. “I apologize for the rude awakening.”

Itadori blinks. “It’s cold.”

“Yes,” Kento says patiently, keeping one arm around Itadori to support him while adjusting the temperature with the other. “It was a mistake. But it worked, I see. How are you feeling?”

It’s mostly a test. Itadori was mostly nonverbal yesterday after that first knotting, and whenever he did speak, he didn’t manage more than Kento’s name—or, more precisely, that unfortunate nickname. Kento doesn’t want to know why or how that has survived the hormonal fever eating through Itadori when most of his cognitive abilities haven’t.

Itadori seems a little more coherent this morning, but the dark eyes blinking up at Kento are clouded with more than just the vestiges of sleep.

Sure enough, Itadori says, “Nanamin.”

He sounds happy. His face is back in Kento’s neck the next moment, and this time, there’s no doubting the fact that Itadori is luxuriating in his scent.

Kento sighs and reaches for the soap.

Chapter 2/7 of bloodstains on the collar means just don’t ask

“Was she cute?”

“Cute?” All irritation vanishes from Itadori’s face, but he doesn’t seem flustered, just surprised by the question. “I guess? Not really my type.”

“Oh?” Satoru crows. And when Itadori looks justifiably wary, Satoru leans in again because he’s not above playing dirty. “What is your type then?”

“A tall woman with a big butt!”

It’s Satoru’s turn to be taken aback; Itadori practically chirped that answer, and even now, he’s got a bright grin and matching eyes, all pointed straight at Satoru. The effect is…shockingly strong.

“Good taste,” Satoru says, blinking some more. He tries to shake it off, subtly. “And men?”

“Eh?”

“Your taste in men.”

Itadori just gapes at him.

Satoru expects the classic denial—no, sir, I’m not into men, not me. Itadori sure as hell isn’t straight, but not everyone accepts that easily, and Itadori’s young to boot. Satoru has witnessed a fair share of his peers engaging in Olympic-level mental gymnastics to explain away their true tastes.

Then Itadori says, “Tall men with…big shoulders?”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint Satoru’s ever possessed to not burst out laughing.

It wouldn’t have been mean, truly, but even he’s got the sense to tell that would be insensitive as hell. And Satoru doesn’t want to be that, not right now, with Itadori staring at him with wary eyes that are still not free of the effect Satoru’s had on him.

“Big shoulders, huh?” Satoru repeats evenly, resisting the urge to flex his own. “And a big ass?”

“Um.”

“Or other big…things?”

Itadori ducks his head, rubbing his nape. The angle does nothing to hide how he’s staring at Satoru’s chest. When his gaze shifts, it’s to drag along Satoru’s shoulders. They even linger on his neck for a moment before dropping back down to his chest.

Hungry thing, isn’t he?