#thinking with your heart vs thinking with your mind

[wosospacegirl]

Williamson vs Williamson - Leah Williamson

Warnings: (+18) smut, fingering (r receiving)

Word count: 1.4k

a/n: this was a request (well, two requests, two anon asked for the same thing)! <3

..

You loved Leah with your whole heart. You really did. 

It had never been a doubt in your life. The warm feeling began growing in your chest when you first met her at a Pepsi campaign shoot a year ago.

She was cocky, you were cockier. She liked that. She said she enjoyed being challenged, liked to be pushed and pulled, and liked how you were the one person she allowed to do that to her. 

That dynamic ruled your relationship, which started as a friends-with-benefits arrangement. It worked because you didn't play for the same country or the same club, so having a low-maintenance relationship was functional.

It served its purpose. 

It gave both of you someone to call whenever you were in the same city.

But then it became something more. You found yourself sending her pictures of your cat, then you began taking pictures of books you were reading, telling her how much a particular sentence reminded you of her.

You were drunk when you confessed your feelings, but it was okay because Leah was drunker. You had sex, but neither of you could remember it. The only thing both of you could remember was the aching headache you woke up with the next day, and how, since then, you both just...became a thing.

There wasn't any big declaration, you were just dating. It grew naturally.

Same thing with how Leah proposed two years later. You were on one of your rare breaks together. It was a sunny day on a beach in Greece, and Leah casually asked if you'd like to be called Williamson. 

You said yes. A week later, you signed the papers.

It was easy. it always was when it came to Leah. She wasn't dramatic; she was honest, straightforward. You were, too. That's why you guys matched.

Your relationship was intense yet steady. No unnecessary drama, no pointless arguments.

But oh, it was so much different when it came to how you two were on the pitch.

You were both captains-Leah for the Lionesses, you for your country.

When the game started, you shook hands, shared a smile, and then turned your backs to each other. Williamson and Williamson.

The media loved how it absolutely didn't seem like you two even knew each other when you were on the pitch. Both of you were absolutely ruthless, only one goal in mind: score goals and keep clean sheets.

The green of the pitch didn't match the red of love. 

They were supposed to be separate things. They shouldn't mix with each other.

..

It was a heated game. 

You were losing. 

Ninety minutes were up, and the referee added three minutes of stoppage time. 

You weren't very nice when you were playing, and you were worse when you were losing.

You were running, ball at your feet, only two or three players in your way to the goal. You were ready to take a long shot when Leah rushed past you, ready to put herself in your path.

You ran faster, ball on your left foot as your right one slipped past her calf. She fell. You didn't mean to, but her body was in the way, so you stumbled awkwardly, almost hitting her knee.

The knee. The one she tore her ACL on years ago.

You obviously didn't mean it. You would never purposely hurt anyone badly, let alone Leah, but it happened. You almost stepped on it.

The referee blew the whistle, and you took a step back, ready to help Leah to her feet again. But then Leah got up, her brows furrowed, the veins on her neck showing.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" she said, getting closer. She looked mad–very mad–which made you angry as well. 

Did she think you seriously did that on purpose?

"Oh, it seems like we have a Williamson vs Williamson situation right now," came the commentator's voice over the stadium speakers.

"Oh come on, I clearly didn't mean it," you said, rolling your eyes.

"Yes, you fucking did," she said, pointing a finger at you. Her chest was puffed out as if she were trying to make herself look taller.

 It worked.

"Don't be such a baby. It's a fucking game, it happens," you said.

"Fuck you–”

Greenwood showed up, you didn't see her coming. She was holding Leah's face and telling her to back off. You kept your ground, looking Leah straight in the eyes. Fuck her if she thought you would seriously do that on purpose.

"Fuck you," you echoed back to her. Then you turned your back on her as the referee got in the middle of it.

"Give me my fucking last name back!" she shouted, looking at the back of your jersey.

"You can keep it, idiot!" you called back over your shoulder.

..

You snapped your hair tie in half as you walked to the locker room. Your teammates were patting your back, telling you that the team would come back stronger next time, which you agreed with–you couldn't not do it. You were the captain.

You were the last one in the showers.

 You needed the hot water running down your neck, dripping down your back. It was a domestic game for you, so you didn't need to go back with the rest of the team on the bus. Instead, you could stay as long as you wanted in the locker room and just go home after.

You hated to lose. It was one of the worst feelings ever. It was friendly, but whatever, it still felt sore. You were replaying everything that went wrong in the game: every pass you did wrong, the times you were too slow.

You clenched your fists, your fingers digging into your palms. Your nails hurt your skin, they would have drawn blood if your nails were longer.

You screamed when you felt cold hands against your body, but then her shampoo scent hit your nostrils. Leah.

She kept her hands on your naked hips, pulling your body against her clothed one. "Keep it, idiot? Really?" she murmured in your ear.

You smirked, letting yourself be pulled into her. "You were the one who asked for your name back."

"Mm," she hummed, kissing your neck. "I didn't mean it, though."

"It seemed like you did," you said. "You were coming at me, your face was all red."

"You know my knee is a sensitive topic," she said, her fingers trailing down, closer and closer to where you needed them most, your cunt was wet already, ready for her.

"My wife telling me to give her name back is also a sensitive topic," you breathed as she filled you, slowly, teasingly.

"Your wife is a bit hotheaded," Leah whispered, quickening the pace of her fingers and taking your skin of your neck between her teeth.

"Guess that's a Williamson trait, then," you said, moving your hips against her fingers.

"Kind of is, yeah," she said, her breath hot against your ear. "But you know what else is a Williamson trait?"

"What?" you managed to ask, your voice catching as she found exactly the right spot. She always did, and she knew it.

"We don't stay mad at each other for long." She held your jaw so you were looking at her. "Especially not over something that happened on the pitch."

You lifted your head up, brushing your lips against her cheek. "We always fight when we play against each other…we’re idiots.

"Completely idiots," she agreed, pressing her forehead against yours. She was getting wet, the water dripping down on her as you dripped down her finger with your own wetness. "But we're married–can't forget that."

"We’re married idiots who happen to be really good at football.” You moaned as she added a third finger. This woman was gonna be the death of you. 

Her and her stupid fingers–and knee.

"Speak for yourself. I'm the one who won today," she teased, her lips found your neck again, sucking it, and leaving a mark. Leah loved to mark you up.

"Don't push it, Williamson," you warned, but you were suddenly quiet when Leah’s thumb found you clit, massaging it sweetly. “Fuck–more.”

“Yeah?” Leah said, a smirk growing on her face. “Gonna make you cum right here, make you remember why you have that name on your back, why you’re mine.”

And Leah did exactly that. In the steam and heat of the shower, you were just two people who loved each other as much as you loved winning and competing.

Well, some days more than others.

..

a/n: i hope you gus enjoyed it!! <3

let me know what u think!!!

[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.”

[gracklesascendant]

I suppose it would depend on if the particular Christian sect cares more about heartfelt belief over doing religious actions. The evangelical "you must invite Jesus into your heart or be forever damned" vs Catholic kind of thing. Because being a monk is pretty damn religious!

This would get especially sticky if the mind wiped person had a different religion before the wipe. Especially if it was a religion that has suffered forced conversation to Christianity in the past - yikes!

I do think the show did a good job of showing how "this is horrific", but we can go deeper!

"Passing Through Gethsemane" is a good episode but the thing that confounds and haunts me is: was Edwards Catholic prior to his mindwipe?

If he was Catholic, it implies that religious affiliation is so integral to the human psyche that it persists even after the death of the entire personality.

If he wasn't Catholic, it implies that either whoever was working on him made him Catholic, presumably just for the hell of it, or that the new Edwards, a complete blank slate of a man, stumbled straight out of a fire and into a monastery to immediately convert. Wild either way.

[comfied-chriterature]

shakes you. do you think when loulu parted, lucy, the romantic and heartbroken, tried to tell herself to think logically?

it was for the best and she knew it. the guild is the past, louisa is win the guild, therefore she is the past too. but that kind of logical thinking was what louisa would’ve done and maybe she rubbed off more on lucy more than lucy had thought.

to rub salt in the wound, that mindset actually helped. it also showed that louisa (and her thinking) is good for lucy. even when she’s gone

(does this make sense? i’m not sure)

(being shaken) Urgghhhhh it hurts to think that in order for Lucy to move on from Louisa she had to be like her and think like her. Had to absorb parts of Louisa into herself to forget her. And she continues to carry Louisa's influence with her as she leaves her behind.

Maybe she was thinking like a romantic at first — that maybe she and Louisa would cross paths again on some fateful day, maybe Lucy could "show her the light" and bring Louisa over to her side. Because, surely, they're going to see each other again, right? Louisa was her first friend, fate wouldn't be so cruel as to split them up forever, right...?

Until she realized that of course Louisa would choose the Guild. The logical girl with hundreds of plans in her head, the strategist who prioritized the Guild's survival over anything else, she would be able to leave Lucy in the past. She would be thinking toward the future; she would be able to accept that they weren't meant to be (even if it hurt Louisa to put their history aside, even if she was so much lonelier now than she thought she could be).

So Lucy would have to do that too. But there are other traits of Louisa that Lucy may pick up over time. Maybe she'd be more open with things and people that she loved. She'd grow to care in a more gentle way (well, sometimes). She'd find a home and a pursuit that she could cling to with such resolve and devotion.

And maybe while she sacrifices nearly everything to protect her home, she'd have a fleeting thought that it's something Louisa would've done.

[daddy-ul]

The biggest Metallica fan there is.

[rogloptimist]

spring classics season van der pog is very rush by troye sivan coded to me. yeah they’re fucking in the kitchen on the couch against the wall etc etc but like it’s chill ykwim. they’re having fun. to me classics van der pog is just not that serious and that’s the beauty of it- they can be so intimate and know each other so thoroughly so quickly and easily *because* it’s a fun little fling! their world takes the two of them so seriously and i think they appreciate each other’s novelty

[themyscirah]

This is how this went right?

Parallax!Hal: I miss being a hero... wish I had my ring back

Kyle: oh well you can have mine then! That way you can have a second chance : )

Parallax!Hal: YES!!! A SECOND CHANCE TO PLAY GOD AND RESHAPE THE WORLD AS I WILL IT MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Kyle, now ringless: .................huh. im gonna be honest here I really didn't see that coming

[floorpancakes]

smth so genius abt doumeki basically being the lore personification of not just being super fucking gay but the most stubbornly obvious example of watanuki being gently held up by a whole circle of people who love him unconditionally and that resistance towards unconditional love and being needed, something he sorely and visibly needs to function, fundamentally being the source of the fake beef. and like. meki is such a straightforward person it's impossible to look away. so there's several occasions of watanuki just fucking staring up at the ceiling post near death experience either with him or with yuuko and just. having quiet emotional outbursts where he processes it in chunks before taking pocketfuls of that love with him into the next try while packing the difficult stuff back into his head. and it's not even just this but in the back half we get to see the kind of fucking pain unconditional love puts them both through in ways I genuinely struggle to articulate but constantly try to. unconditional love of multiple kinds runs through watanuki's heart like a river but he hates it cause its a series of ropes tying him to the earth keeping him alive, but he loves it cause of that same reason. it's all so visceral. god

[sysig]

But would you tho (Patreon)

[zanzanne]

amy is teaching me their "telepathically send your food to people" power. to make myself feel better i'll believe this silly little landmine is actually psychic

[luna-azzurra]

Some Tips for writing internal conflict

Wanting Two Things at Once Imagine your character really wants to chase after something big, like a dream school, a major opportunity, or maybe even moving to a new city. But at the same time, they’re terrified of leaving behind everything they’ve ever known. Or maybe they’re in a relationship that’s holding them back, but they can’t bring themselves to let go. Show them getting pulled in two directions, torn between their ambition and their fear of losing the people or places that ground them.

Right vs. Wrong Sometimes, your character will know deep down what the right choice is, but it’s the most difficult one to make. Like, maybe they see someone getting bullied and know they should stand up, but doing so could make them a target. Or maybe they have to decide between helping a friend and doing something that could ruin their own future. These moral dilemmas create intense internal conflict because it forces them to question who they are and what they stand for.

Doubting Themselves We all have moments where we wonder if we’re enough, smart enough, strong enough, brave enough. Let your character wrestle with that same doubt. Maybe they’re the kid who has always been told they’re special, but now they’re in a place where everyone is just as good, and they start to wonder if they even belong. Or maybe they’ve been through something tough, and they’re not sure if they can bounce back. These moments of insecurity make your character feel human, like they’re trying to figure it all out, just like everyone else.

Dreams vs. Fears Show your character dreaming big but getting frozen by their own fears. It’s like wanting to ask someone out but being terrified of rejection, or wanting to move away for college but being scared to leave home. Let them imagine all the things that could go wrong , that moment when fear makes them doubt if they should even try. But also show their desire burning just as strong, making it impossible to ignore. That’s the heart of internal conflict: they’re stuck between wanting something so bad and being afraid of what it’ll cost to go after it.

Beliefs Being Challenged As your character grows, the world will start challenging their beliefs. Maybe they grew up in a family that drilled certain values into them, and now they’re meeting people who see things differently. Or maybe they’re experiencing something new, and it’s changing their perspective. It’s like when you think you have everything figured out, and then life throws something at you that makes you go, "Wait, maybe I’ve been wrong this whole time." This kind of internal conflict is powerful because it forces the character to question who they’ve always been.

Keeping Secrets If your character is hiding something, like a mistake they made, feelings they’re afraid to admit, or a truth they don’t want to face, that secret becomes a huge part of their internal conflict. The fear of being found out or of dealing with the consequences can create a constant pressure in their mind. Maybe they’re scared they’ll lose their friends if the truth comes out, or maybe they’re dealing with guilt they can’t shake. The tension comes from their battle to keep it hidden while knowing they can’t keep it locked away forever.

Pressure from Everyone Your character might feel like they’re trapped between what they want for themselves and what everyone else wants from them. It could be pressure from parents, who have their whole future planned out, or pressure from friends to fit in or follow the crowd. Maybe your character wants to be true to themselves, but they’re scared of disappointing people or standing out too much. This kind of internal conflict is super relatable because, at some point, everyone feels like they’re stuck between living for themselves and living for others.

Fear of Failing Sometimes the biggest obstacle isn’t the external challenge but the internal fear of failure. Your character might have big dreams, but they’re paralyzed by the thought of messing up. Whether it’s competing in a sport, performing on stage, or just trying something new, the fear of not being good enough can be overwhelming. Maybe they’re afraid that if they fail, everyone will see them differently, or worse, that they’ll see themselves differently. The internal conflict comes from their desire to succeed battling against their crippling fear of failure.

[erebus0dora]

some of you asked if you could print/chew/otherwise consume my Devil's Minion art, and i did ask if you needed a masterpost on the topic, so-

may i offer you this Google Drive folder, o gentle creatures..?

i'll add more, and i believe it's sensible to add the links to the original posts with these images, but frankly speaking i am chill with whatever way you use or share them if that's for your personal use

just keep them free, that's my only request

what was born as a free art should remain free art

any questions left? ask them, i don't bite unless you would really like that

now, have a peaceful day and my digital hug

💜UPDATE💜

it feels appropriate to make it a fully shaped masterpost, links and all, so... links to each and every artwork on the theme - below the cut

the Tarot cards (Hermit/Death)

"...rest" (but mirrored)

first take on Armand that looks like anime

some thoughts on the age of the magnolia tree

human!Daniel deliberately thinking of beautiful things

The Magnolia Tee Print

animated Daniel (literally, as in, a gif)

a very vampire!Daniel, thoroughly researched

Byzantine Icon Armand

a tender moment which is vague but there you go

sleeping Armand from a fic

hugs (the quiet)

more hugs (abrupt)

more hugs (headphones on, updated)

Daniel gently cleaning Armand's face

some extra somfte quiet gremlin

crack!chibi!Daniel on tees

crack!chibi!Daniel on teefs

sneaky sleepy uncertain hug for another fic

moar tender touch for another fic

beige pillow

the return of the beige pillow

"i see you"

kissing the maker's hand

more tender face-touching, couldn't choose one

Daniel comes to Louvre

Daniel collects art

four pages of Armand running and Daniel chasing

Hug The Gremlin

Hug The Gremlin For He Is Art

Armand as a candle, literally

Armand and magnolia petals (the art)

Armand and magnolia petals (the sculpture)

(slightly off-topic, but) Perforated Heart because ffs Eric knows his shit

good old don't you maître me thing which i keep forgetting to include

Only Fangs Molloy - keep in mind there's a JPEG and a TIFF version in the Drive folder, the TIFF works better if u wanna print it

(+bonus TALK SHIT GET BIT file is also there)

A LOT of traditional stuffs, scanned in 350 dpi for your entertainment

Daniel gently feeding his feral master, which is honestly one of the most tender things i have created

cozy sated hugs on a sofa

a domestic scene of Daniel waiting for Armand to enter his space, i suck at descriptions

trad art bonus! fighting with graphite dust, vol. 1, Luke

trad art bonus! fighting with graphite dust, vol. 2, Assad

an inspired old dogboy Molloy because face it, the world needs more hot aged people

trad art bonus! fighting with graphite dust, vol. 3, Armand

trad art bonus! Salomé Armand (+ vid)

MORE trad art! sculpting dat old hot man

what happens when you use ur own slightly inaccurate sculpture as a ref

EVEN MORE trad art!! Eric vs. watercolours, for his face compels me and his wild ig inspires me (+ vid)

TRAD ART AGAIN, since i found paper that looks like fun base for bookmarks (+ vid and bonus Daniel)

"he is behind my back, isn't he" (+ linked explanation)

tbc🫀

"he is 100% behind my back and i have ideas about it 😈"

MORE TRAD ART WITH TIMELAPSE VIDS:

an honest-to-God oil-painted Eric

a very purple-eyed Eric/Daniel (gouache testing)

[writting-stuff-sometimes]

Or you just told us to do it...- Lando x F reader

Summary: Y/N is the McLaren community manager. Lando leaves a comment on the latest Mclaren post, y/n is not happy about it.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive

Word Count: 1.2 K

Notes: My romance book delulu mind instantly thought of something when reading Lando's response. I'm working on the Play with fire part 3 but it will be a long one

Your job as a McLaren CM was awesome, as it was stressful. You had two young drivers and complete freedom from the managers to do all sorts of trends. And you would if you weren't dealing with a PR nightmare and a black cat.

As much fun as it was when the two of them were in the mood to record stuff, sometimes it could be a torturous nightmare if one was in a funky mood or couldn't deal with pr at that moment.

But after the last race and all the comments on the most recent McLaren post about Oscar deserving more support and Lando being a spoiled diva, plus all sorts of posts on social media about the two of them doing an eventual Hamilton vs Rosberg. The heads of coms had requested to do as much damage control as possible. So the moment you walked in the garage and saw a tyre trolly laying around, you got an idea.

You sent the drivers a text requesting their presence at the garage entrance.

Both drivers knew why you wanted them, so they stalled as much a possible, making you wait over 45 minutes.

"Hey, sorry for the delay." Oscar said with his classic half smile

"Yeah, sorry for the delay. We didn't really want to come." Lando spoke both their minds. Oscar just turned towards him with a look of disapproval but held back a smile.

"I'm just doing my job, guys." You lifted your hands in defeat.

"So, what dance are we doing today?" Lando walked and took your phone from your hand.

"No dance today." You said, yanking the phone back and trying to hide your blushing cheeks. "This will be super simple. You'll push each other on this trolley." They both stared at you, not a single emotion on their faces.

"You're serious?" Oscar wasn't usually so critical, and it almost made you doubt your idea, but you were certain this would please the fans.

"C'mon you guys, this will be gold. It's fast, easy, and the fans will love it."

"You've become so good at describing Lando" Oscar said and then laughed silently as he inspected said trolley.

"I ain't that easy," Lando tried to defend himself

"Or lovable," you replied softly, looking down at your phone.

"Hey, I heard that." Lando turned to look at you, offended.

"Anyways, please, help me with this, and I won't bother you for the rest of the day."

"Promise?" Oscar asked.

"Promise" You answered, crossing your fingers in front of your heart.

"Fine, c'mon Lando, before she comes up with another weird trend."

Both drivers did their best to look entertained, and as much as they hated your idea initially, they ended up having a good 20-minute play date with the trolley, giving you enough material for the day.

After they were gone, you posted the video to Instagram, and like you imagined, it got tons of reactions right away.

At lunch, you checked your phone again, reading through the comments and smiling at your success. Most of them were positive and praised how fun both drivers looked; a couple of mean ones remained, but this was normal. Then a blue check mark caught your eye.

lando "Or you just told us to do it..."

"I'm going to kill him," You said out loud.

"Lando?" Mike, the engineer eating beside you, turned to look at you, amused.

"Who else?"

"You two are like an old married couple." Mike said as he took his coffee and walked towards the exit. "Don't hurt him much; we need him for quali" Mike shouted back as you took your stuff from the table and stormed towards his driver's room. If you weren't so angry, you would've been worried about people thinking about you and Lando as a married couple.

You knocked a couple of times, but there was no answer, then opened the door to find an empty room. You weren't about to search for him around the entire track and make a scene out there. He had to eventually come back, so you decided to sit there and wait, reading the comment whenever you felt the anger was easing down.

Finally, after an hour and a half, you heard his distinctive laugh approaching.

When he opened the door, his eyes went from amused to worried in two seconds, your expression far from friendly.

"Jon, can you give us a sec?" Lando asked his trainer without taking his eyes off you, as if you were an animal about to attack their prey.

"Told you it was a bad idea." Said the trainer before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Lando walked towards you, but you stretched out your arm, your hand on his chest, making him stop at arm's length.

"Are you trying to get me fired?" You asked, staring right into his soul.

"I was just messing with you."

"No, Lando. You're messing with my job."

"C'mon, it was just a comment." He pushed your arm to the side and walked to hug you tight against his chest. Your arms stuck to your sides, not wanting to fall for his sweet cologne or warmth.

"No, it wasn't. I got specific instructions from coms! We needed this to ease the shit going around"

"People will always say shit" He spoke against your head, his tone slightly tinted with sadness. Social media hasn't been the same for him, at least for the last couple of seasons. The moment you felt his sadness, you couldn't hold back and placed one arm around his waist; he wasn't fully forgiven yet.

Your phone rang in your free hand.

"Ugh" you pushed yourself away, just enough to lift your arm and read the message.

Steve Hello, can you stop by my office in ten?

"He's going to fire me." You let your head fall back and sighed.

"I'm sorry," his voice filled with honesty. "I didn't think."

"Sounds like your MO."

"Hey, unnecessary rudeness."

He hugged you tight again, giving a kiss to your exposed neck.

"If you forgive me, I will let you film me later in our room; I bet the fans would love that," he whispered in your ear. As much as the comment had you blushing and feeling warmer than the scorching sun outside, you had an uncomfortable meeting with your boss to think about.

"If you want to get me fired, just say so. I will sign my resignation right now."

"Fine, we can tape that, and I will let you keep it for personal use."

"You're unbelievable."

Your phone rang again.

Steve Sorry, something just came up. See you in an hour.

"Excellent, extend the torture" you sighed loudly again.

"I'm really sorry" Lando spoke against your neck, giving you goosebumps. "How about I make it up to you?"

You stared at him, eyebrow raised and a serious look on your face.

"I don't have to be out there for another 40 minutes; we can have some nonsocial media-approved fun." He started laying open-mouth kisses to your neck as he took the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

"And what are we doing for the other 35 minutes?"

"Forget it." He said, unwrapping his arms and turning to walk towards the door.

"Come here." You took his McLaren-issued shirt and pulled him back to join your lips. He had done it bad this time, but Steve was probably just going to give you a slap on your wrist, and you would just blame it on Lando.

__________________

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec, @ironmaiden1313, @formulas-bitch, @f1fantasys, @formulaal, @widow-cevans @aleatorio1234 @stylesmoonlight12

[fairvtaels]

Toxic Au! Caleb x Reader

(mentions of cheating, obsessive behavior from mc/reader, darker theme, slight smut?)

Alright yall, this is my first LADS fic so please bare with me, lol. 

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. That’s all your leg seemed to do as you sat on the bleachers, your eyes never leaving his form, that damned 6’2 form in all its glory going back and forth as Caleb ran across the court. The Linkon vs. Skyhaven basketball game, and even if you were part of the Linkon Uni, there was no way in hell you’d go for the team that’s going against your best friend. Cheers and woos filling the auditorium as Skyhaven scores a three-pointer, but your face remains stoic as you hear the conversation beside you.

“Damn, that sophomore got skills, what’s his name again?” The brunette asks her friend beside her. Jesus her voice was like nails scratching against a chalkboard. Still, your eyes remain on Caleb as he stands across the court taking a quick water break, his purple eyes quickly glazing over your way, shooting you a small smile.

“Not sure, Caleb I think? He’s hot but definitely not my type..though, Minah for sure got a taste of that last weekend at Gideon’s party. Whole place was wasted off their minds, those seven minutes in heaven turned into a 30 minute quickie.” The blonde replies, oh were you about to kill someone.

Quickie? Oh so now we’re having quickies with other whores on campus now? Much less, lied to me over the phone. I knew it. I knew it wasn’t just a dumb lecture study at Gideon’s place, I should’ve checked on you myself instead of just trusting your stupid location. 

Your blood was beyond the point of boiling, fuming through your nostrils as you abruptly stood up from the bleachers, earning a couple of stares from you. Hurriedly walking down the stairs before you could storm out of the auditorium’s doors on the side, your feet taking your body as you try to gain some type of fresh air but the thoughts were suffocating you, swallowing every part of your brain and all you saw was red.

What else are you hiding from me Caleb? How many other girls are there? You’re mine. You know you’re mine.

Standing now in the middle of Caleb’s dorm it was like you blacked out from then on, aggressively going through his drawers, trying to find what? You didn’t even know it yourself, but you wanted to see what else your precious best friend was hiding from you, keeping you in the dark from. Clothes, clutter and papers now scattered all over the carpeted floor. It was until you finally crouched down to look under his bed, a misplaced shoebox all the way at the end, tucked away.

You slid your body underneath, a grunt leaving you as you reached for it. Dusting off the top of it you open it, piles upon piles of letters inside there. Crumbled and from the looks of it already read. Some mixed with letters you’ve written to him since you two were kids, for his birthday, his graduations, or just random letters. But some…some were not yours and not your handwriting. 

“Caleb, my love, happy anniversary. Six full months with you baby, I love you more and more each day I spend with you and I’ve completely fallen in love with you without a doubt. You hold a special place in my heart, and no one could ever replac-” Your hands furiously ripped the paper in pieces, thousands of them as tears rolled down your cheeks, your heart aching to burst out of your chest as you let out a scream. A scream of frustration, anger, and heartbreak all together. No, there’s no way right? Caleb wouldn’t keep such a secret from you, right? It was way worse than hearing about his random quickies at parties, a whole relationship. 

Fury was written all over you, how could he. This was not the Caleb you knew, he told you everything! You knew him like the back of your hand and more so now that you started fooling around with him. The late night calls, touching yourself as he whispered filthy words to you over the phone while your fingers thrusted in and out of you, imagining it was his cock stretching you. Fucking in his car whenever one or the other called, and now you’ve become the side piece? 

The sound of the door locking behind you immediately shoots you up straight, meeting your gaze with Caleb’s purple hues of his eyes. Pale he stood as he glanced at the torn paper surrounding you.

“Pips-” His voice trembled and before he could finish even saying the damned pet name he gave you years ago, your lips vomited out the words you never even dared to say to Caleb ever in your life.

“Fuck you, Caleb. Fuck. You.” 

“It’s not how you think it is, her and I date-”

“The fuck you mean it’s not like how it is Caleb?! You had a girlfriend this whole time and I never once heard about this girl? What, did she not satisfy you enough that you had to resort to me and other girls? Or what, did you not think I wasn’t going to find out about that either, about your disgusting quickies.” A scoff leaves you as you toss the last bit of letters at him, not even bothering to look into them, as you quickly reach out to him, snatching his phone away from his grip. Knowing everything about him, you unlock his phone immediately.

Melissa: U up? 

10:23 PM

Sabrina: miss u daddy <3 come see me..

8:18 PM

Minah: Hey baby, almost done?

5:47 PM

Obsessively scrolling down through his messages, all messages from today or days ago. You felt disgusted, not only did the guy have a whole girlfriend, but you weren’t the only girl on the side. Who was he? 

Caleb fought against you, trying to take his phone back from your hands but you were all too quick to pull away as you paced around his room continuing to scroll through his phone. Countless photos and videos, not just of the girls but of him fucking them, them having their lips wrapped around the cock you loved having so much. Even if he wasn’t yours by the title, it still hurt. It hurt more that your best friend of two decades now could ever do this to you. The lies, he used you.  

“Give it back!” He growls as he reaches out for his phone again, but you turn on your heels facing away from Caleb. His phone began vibrating against the palm of your hand. The caller ID showing an S with a white heart emoji beside it. “Oh look, someone’s calling, should we answer?” You say sarcastically, your finger already pressing against the green dot on the screen. 

“NO, I swear to go--”

“Hello? Yeah, you looking for Caleb? Oh yeah he’s here, he’s just in the shower, by the way great tits by the wa--”

Caleb rips his phone out of your ear, hanging up on the call before tossing it over onto his bed, not caring if it falls or cracks. 

“That was girl number what? Number 5? Number 8 on your list? On what rank do I fall on, Caleb?” You push his buttons as he stands still before you, his nostrils flaring in and out with anger and frustration radiating his body. That’s all it took as his hands were gripping onto your wrists, yanking your body firm against his. “You just don’t shut up do you? Always running your damn mouth, you want answers? Huh? Fine.” He pushes you against the door with a loud thud against it, earning a grunt from your lips as he keeps you pinned there. Caleb’s tall frame caging you in easily. “I stopped seeing her long time ago, those letters were from last year, and I kept it hidden because I know how you can be. You think I didn’t know about your little crush on me?” Caleb’s lips form into a smirk as he sees your gaze falter at his last words, a mocking scoff leaving him. His fingers now sneaking up behind your head, threading his fingers into your hair as he holds a firm grip, lifting your gaze back up at him.

How I can be? Bastard, you used me.

“So you just go on and fuck every girl you know? You’re sick Caleb, I knew some guys were like this but not you. But fine, you want to play that game, two can fucking play it.” With all the will and force, you pushed him out your way, making him stumble back on his feet and before he could reach you, you were out the door. You could hear Caleb desperately calling out your name as you ran out of his dorm building, still seeing red and having those images from his phone stuck in your head you grew more angry, poison running through your veins aching to hurt him. So you did.

“Hey, you still at the library? No, nothings wrong…just let me see you.” With that you hung up the call, sticking your phone back into your front pocket and made your way towards the library building in the middle of campus. The sun was beginning to set, the warm summer wind slowly becoming cooler as the sun continued to descend. 

Perfect, no one will see us.

“Let you see me huh? I’m assuming you’re not here to hang out.” The sound of Zayne’s voice creeps behind you as you wait outside the library entrance. Turning around to find him standing right before you, casual as always. Black sweats paired with a solid white t-shirt, hair softly flowing against his forehead. Zayne, another childhood friend but nothing compared to your relationship/friendship with Caleb, sadly when you guys were about to start high school he moved cities away. Being the smarty pants he is, he got into all the best schools of the state without a doubt and now in the road to becoming a doctor. A smile forms at your lips hearing his playful teasing tone. “Guess I caught.” You let out a small chuckle, Zayne shaking his head as he begins to walk down the hall. You knew he didn’t like to beat around the bush and get straight to things, fair enough since he’s always busy. 

“Well you coming or not, gorgeous?” He asked as he looked at you over his shoulder, slipping the lanyard with his keys out of his pocket.

All thoughts of Caleb now pushed into the depths of your brain as you remained sat against Zayne’s lap, your mouth eagerly devouring his as he did the same to yours. Moaning and whimpering into his mouth as he began pushing the hem of your skirt up, pooling it around your waist. Zayne’s moves have always been more precise and almost all too natural when it came to you, rather than Caleb’s; rough and greedy. Both of your heavy panting fills the space of his backseat, slowly grinding your ass right against the bulge beneath the fabric of his sweatpants, the heat between your legs growing with each passing second, his teeth grazing against the flesh of your skin as he leaves his mark. Zayne could feel you, smell your arousal even, feel the dampened panties. 

“Lift your hips.” He commands you and you follow suit.

Tugging down his sweats along with his briefs, letting them hang at the mid of his thighs, giving himself enough space to free his aching cock. Begging to slip inside your dripping pussy. In one swift move he tugs your hips down, earning a gasp from both of your lips. Tilting his head back against the headrest, pulling you flush against his chest as he starts to thrust himself from beneath you, deep and fast. His balls slapping right at the curve of your ass with each upward move, echoing all through the car and thank fucking god he parked all the way at the end of campus or else everyone would hear your muffled cries from inside. 

“Za--zayne! Fuck!” Breathlessly you cry out his name, all while he continues his assault, drilling right into you hitting the sweetest spots inside you.

It all goes on for an hour, making you come undone and fall apart multiple times on his cock and fingers. Caleb? Long forgotten, for now. After finally calming down and a quick banter chat Zayne drives his car out of the parking lot, driving back towards your apartment not far out from the university. As he pulls into the driveway, his fingers come beneath your chin pulling you over the center console of his car to capture your lips in a long deep languid kiss. Wanting the savor the last bit of his mouth before you pull away.

“Mm…I gotta go, doctor.” You murmur against his lips, earning a chuckle from him at the ‘doctor’ mention. “Kay, get your ass inside safely, doctor’s orders.” Zayne whispers to you, not before pressing a kiss at the back of your hand as you slide your body out of his car. Waving him goodbye, before quickly running towards your apartment. Now you stand in silence as you close the door behind you, your mind already ahead of you as memories of today’s events run through your head. A wave of just pure sadness washing through you as you toss your keys on the counter, letting out a sigh before plopping yourself onto the couch. Before you could even get the chance to let yourself cry over everything, your phone begins to vibrate.

Caleb: Wrong fucking move. 

11:18 PM

Caleb: Open your door, i’m outside. 

11:20PM 

[itsmywritingtime]

.. 【 A Fierce Competitor 】 ..

Notes: love triangle (love angle), ace trappola x reader, malleus Draconia x reader, jealously, love rivals, reader is yuu, gender neutral reader, very minor spoilers for book 5 and 6 ♥ vs ⚡︎ Words: 2.5k

Ace had never expected to fall for the magicless janitor he teased on the first day of class. More importantly, he never would have anticipated how persistent you would be. No matter what he did or what he got himself into, you would be right there beside him.

He couldn’t exactly pinpoint when he had fallen for you. Maybe it was when him and Deuce were bickering after fleeing from the abandoned mine. You had quickly set the two of them straight, yelling at them to get their act together and cooperate. Having that fierce look in your eyes he hadn’t expected from someone like you.

Perhaps it was when he had eaten that tart and been collared by Riddle and you allowed him to stay at Ramshackle after only knowing him a day.

Or perhaps it was when you had signed that one-sides contract with Azul for the sake of your friends. Consequences be damned.

Or perhaps…

You get the point. He could recall a handful of stories in which he had seen you as more than just the Prefect. More than just his friend.

Ace had never been one to chase after something he wants. Why try so hard when you can make it come to you, hm? However, he had been having a bit of a problem. No matter what he did, he was always the pursuer not the persuadee.

You, the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm were smart, quick thinking, agreeable, and most importantly, majorly oblivious.

You couldn't take a hint. From him awkwardly casually bringing up that he was into someone —"You like someone? Really??" — to flat out asking you to go out with you — "Oh you wanna go out? We should invite everyone. It'll be fun!", — you just couldn't grasp anything he was laying down.

As annoying as that was, he wouldn't typically have any reason to worry. He would just have to put in a little more effort. Nothing, he, Ace Trappola, couldn't handle. However, there was a major roadblock in the form of the housewarden of Diasomnia.

Malleus Draconia.

Ace hadn't put that much thought into the curious night visitor you had offhandedly mentioned a few months back, he had been too occupied with the ongoing investigation into the confusing injuries with the up and coming spelldrive tournament. Now, he was kicking himself at his carelessness. At the time, he hadn't even been acknowledged his own feelings for you!

Ace had almost felt his heart almost stop (for multiple reasons) when Malleus appeared after Vil's overblot and you revealed that he was your midnight guest.

When everything has settled down—a dangerous thought had crossed his mind.

—No, no, no. Everything was still okay, he had rationalized. Nothing would change.

Just because the two of you hung out every so often didn't mean anything, right?

♥

It had been a typical study session run late. After a few minutes of you clumsily bargaining with Riddle over the phone, both him and Deuce had been allowed to stay the night at Ramshackle. An impromptu sleep over.

Ace had fallen asleep quickly, exhausted from the amount of material he had been forced to memorize in such a short amount of time.

He had awoken at an unknown hour, his throat burning with a lack of moisture. He stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. While Ramschakle had been renovated, it had been a collective choice to still not trust the pipes and stick to bottled water.

The lid was twisted off with little resistance and Ace poured the cool liquid into his mouth. Sighing in relief as a wave of chill washed over him.

As he chugged the water, his eyes wandered over to the window that overlooked the front lawn. He really hadn't expected to see anything besides maybe a wandering ghost or the swaying of trees.

However, small flashes of green caught his eye. What? He took a few steps closer to the window to get a better look.

Were those...fireflies? Ace swore that they didn't come out during the spring time.

Now that he was really looking, he noticed that there were two figures on the front lawn, by the metal gated entrance of Ramshackle.

His hand squeezed around the bottle as he connect the dots.

Ramshackle → Late at night → Two people outside → fireflies → fireflies don’t come out during spring + green magic → …MIDNIGHT VISTOR!!

*Ding! Ding! Ding!*

Water rushed from the bottle, and down his throat from his tight grip. He rushed over to the sink and coughed up any water that clogged his throat, his eyes not leaving the scene in the front lawn for a moment.

He regain his composure just as the two figures reached close enough to be illuminated by the lamppost. He was not surprised to see you and Malleus. You were smiling, animatedly discussing something he couldn’t make out through the thick walls. Damn these renovations!

Malleus looked down at you, following every word with a similar smile on his lips.

An uncomfortable feeling festered in Ace chest the longer he took in the two of you.

Malleus had a strange look in his eye as he stared at you. A fondness and appreciation that was almost familiar to Ace.

It hit Ace like a tidal wave when he realized where he had seen that look. It was the same expression he saw in the mirror every morning. The same expression he saw in the photos you took together. Where, unbeknownst to you, his eyes would linger longer than what was deemed appropriate.

Your conservation came to a standstill and you made your way towards the front door before suddenly pausing. Ace’s heart almost leapt up into his throat as you turned back to Malleus.

You gave a quick wave goodbye before turning back around and resuming towards the door.

Ace sighed in relief. He had thought you were going to invite the housewarden in. But then it hit him. What would he have done then? What could he have done?

As you entered Ramshackle, he quickly patted up the stairs, attempting to convince himself that he hadn’t confirmed what he had feared.

Malleus eyes had never left you.

Oh boy. He was in deep shit, wasn’t he?

~

Malleus knew less about romantic love than he did friendship. It had been the last thing on his mind when you and him became companions.

You were a breath of fresh air. You knew nothing about who he was, his name, his face, his strength. Even with such little info, you still welcomed him with open arms. It was unfamiliar. Not being feared.

It was only after you had given him tickets to the VDC did he realize that he felt something peculiar about you. A feeling that he had never endured before.

It took a lengthy conversation with Lilia for him to realize that what he felt for you was much deeper than friends.

A likeness.

Perhaps love.

Fae did not fall in love easily. Especially fae that carried royal blood through their veins. Once he yielded to his feelings, the courtship began.

Malleus was used to having what he wanted at his fingertips whether from his immense magical prowess or his position as the crown prince. You provided a challenge, yet, it wasn’t unwelcome. He knew you were different the moment he met you.

He attempted to reach out to you during the school day, now that you knew his identity, with the intention of inviting you out and living the “average” school life. There was no reason your interactions to be contained to nocturnal outings only.

However, there was a problem.

Unlike him, you were quite popular. There always seemed to be someone by your side. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him, but you had always looked so happy and he would rather stand to the side and be alone than potentially take that away from you. No matter how badly he yearned to know the cause of your glee.

He could be patient and wait. Wait from the right moment. Fae has an abundance of time on their hands, after all.

Still, there was something else that bothered him. The ones that most commonly made your company was a group of freshmen.

It made sense, he rationalized. You technically were a freshmen too. Nevertheless, something felt…off.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize. The occasional brushing of hands. A silent, but desperate plea for your attention, to tightly grip onto it. Holding onto every word as if it was sacred….

Oh.

Alright then.

His rival had taken an unusual face. A freshmen of Heartslabyul dorm, Ace Trappola. Malleus knew little to nothing about the first-year besides the fact that he was always around you.

But that closeness that had been building up over the months. The constant smiles you shared. That familiarity that he hadn’t quite reached with you yet.

Malleus knew that he shouldn’t be worried. He was the prince, the future king to Briar Valley, but as he watched the two of you interact, he couldn’t help but let something fester deep inside him.

You were both so…normal. Something that he never has been or will be.

But he digressed. Just because Trappola had feelings for you it didn’t automatically mean anything…

…right?

⚡︎

It was bright a day, but not blinding. Cool, but not an uncomfortable chill.

A perfect day for studying gargoyles, if he said so himself.

A few days ago, during one of your midnight talks, you had promised to go with him on an outing for the gargoyle research club if the weather approved of it.

Today was that day, so, he was going to make sure you made due on your promise.

He just had to find your first.

Malleus wasn’t exactly the best with electronics, he couldn't contact you via phone, and he didn't think you would appreciate it if he would randomly appear one second. Thus, it was up to him to seek you on campus on foot.

He didn't know how long he was walking for, it was hard for him to keep track of time. The sun was not as high in the sky as it was when he started his search. After a few more minutes of walking, and slightly growing frustration, he had found you.

You stood on the steps of the entrance of the gymnasium holding a bulky water bottle. You checked your phone, looking back and forth every so often into the open gymnasium door.

Malleus felt his heart pick up as he made his way towards you. An almost giddy smile spread over his face at the mere thought of being able to spend time in your company.

When he was a few dozen yards away from you he suddenly stopped.

Ace can bounding out of the gymnasium clad in his club uniform. He enthusiastically greeted you, taking the bottle from your hands. Malleus watched as you both chatted away. How easy you fell into conversation.

The sky darkened.

Pushing aside his thoughts, he steeled himself. He was dead set on at least asking you if you wanted to spend some time with him.

Then, as Malleus made his way over it happened. From an outsider, it wouldn’t have had seemed like much. But to the Prince it was, oh, so much more.

You had adjusted yourself, giving Ace a small wave goodbye. An odd expression had crossed over Ace’s face. He moved slightly to block your way, a grin forming onto his face. His hand came to the small of your back, attempting to gently convince you to sta—

*BOOM*

Lighting touched down on the ground, the thunder following soon after. The two of you jumped away from each other in surprise. The rain came almost immediately.

Malleus knew he shouldn’t allow his feelings to control him. It was unbecoming for a crown prince.

But, perhaps, this time it was okay.

Malleus continued his way to you. A black umbrella pulled over his head.

Once you regained your senses, from the corner of your eye you saw him approach. You fully turned around to greet him with a nervous smile.

He stepped under the awning, closing his umbrella with a slight shake to get the water out.

With as much charisma as he could muster, he held out a hand to you. “Will you go gargoyle watching with me, Child of Man?”

You blinked in surprise. You looked at the dark sky and then back at him. With his free hand, he held up his umbrella, slightly shaking it for emphasis.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his uncharacteristic behavior. You took his hand.

“I did promise didn’t I—?“ You remembered, Malleus could feel his cheeks redden at the thought—“However, I didn’t bring an umbr—”

With a nonchalant wave of Malleus hand, a soft green glow enveloped you. When the light dimmed it revealed a similar outfit to Malleus’s club uniform and in your hand held an identical black umbrella.

You cooed in delight, spinning around to view your new outfit.

Almost as if you realized something, you turned back to the freshman on the steps. Ace had a sour expression on his face, however he remained silent, simply taking in the scene before him.

You gave him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry..I’ll watch you another time. Promise!”

Ace had a contemplating look on his face, as if he was weighing a decision on his mind. Finally, he grinned, leaning in close you. So close that Malleus had half the mind to pull you away. He should remember himself.

“Hey Prefect, do you mind if I come over tomorrow night? My brother sent me some DVD’s and I saw some that were just up your alley.”

You placed you fingers on your chin, as you were deeply pondering the request. You finally hummed, nodding your head, finding your answer.

“Fine. But I want the crème de la crème! You better not cheap me out, Trappola!” You huffed, sporting a grin of your own, slightly leaning in.

Malleus felt his eye twitch.

“Alright great~ Just me and you?” Malleus could’ve swore he saw Ace’s eyes wander over to him, “It’s a date then.”

A flash of indignation washed over Malleus. Crackling burst of light danced across the dark sky.

This freshmen had some gull, Malleus would give him that.

Ace backed away, seemingly happy with himself. From inside the gym, a whistle rung out. Ace gave a quick wave goodbye and jogged back inside.

He was gone. Now it was just the two of you. Just how Malleus wanted it.

Or just how he should have wanted it.

What should’ve been a nice outing with you had turned into much more than he anticipated.

Even as the two of you walked away from the gymnasium and the rain lightened, the soft rumble of thunder was always in the distance.

It seemed as if he was mistaken. He would just have to try harder.

a/n: I tried to reflect their mindsets and personality through the third person writing. Had to pull out the thesaurus for Malleus. As I reread this I kinda realized went a little extra for Malleus's part. Oops!

[smileysuh]

me and the devil

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. “I can be your manager. It’s something I have experience in. But we’d need to form a contract, and it’s not the type of contract most singers agree to.” Johnny takes a breath. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m the Devil, honey, and if it’s fame that you want, you’re going to have to make a deal with the Devil.” 

tw/cw. Unprotected consensual sex, slight monsterfucking themes (Johnny has a big forked tongue), monster/big cock Johnny, pussy eating, breast worship, multiple reader orgasms, small vs large kink, soft dom devil John, dirty talk, praise, etc… I pet names: (hers). Honey, songbird. 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.9k 

🍭 aus. devil!Johnny, singer!reader, supernatural au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This fic is inspired by the songs Me And The Devil by Soap&Skin and The Devil Wears A Suit And Tie by Colter Wall, it also loosely draws inspiration from the TV shows Yellowstone, Landman and Supernatural. 

Prologue:

You love the warmth of midnight in small desert towns. The bar doors are open, and a breeze that’s beginning to cool is flowing through the space. For a Friday night, this isn’t the best turnout, but you don’t let that affect you as you sit on a stool on stage, a guitar in your hand and a microphone near your lips. 

Wanderers always seem to tumble in from the street, seduced by the sound of your voice, and motion by the front door of the bar draws your gaze.

This stranger doesn’t look like the others.

While the patrons here are all cowboys, Hands, and small-town folk, the man in the doorway of the bar looks entirely big city. 

He’s adorned in a dark suit, his hair slicked back meticulously. Even from a distance, you can see the striking angles of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips.

The stranger approaches the bar, his eyes fixed on you even as he orders a drink.

It’s hard to focus, your heart racing at the sight of this beautiful newcomer, but you carry on.

You’ve not made a name for yourself yet, and these small gigs matter. You drive in your van from town to town, making the money you need to survive by doing what you love most: singing. 

The songs are all originals, and they come from your heart; you think it’s one of the reasons people seem bewitched by your music, although you know these lonely cowboys are enthralled for other reasons, too.

When your set finishes, you get off the stage. A number of the more drunken and boisterous patrons of the establishment stop you to chat as you walk by, and by the time you make it to the bartop, the mysterious stranger is gone.

“Good set,” the bartender tells you, sliding a drink your way. “The man in the suit left this for you.”

“Thanks.” As you look down to grab the glass, you realize there’s a hundred-dollar bill under the cup.

“Left that for you, too,” the bartender explains. “Told me if I pocketed it, he’d know.” 

He says it in a joking tone, but there’s something laced under his words, an understanding that the suited stranger who had been watching you is not someone to trifle with.

A feeling of dejection bubbles through you that the gorgeous man had left before you’d had a chance to talk to him. Something inside of you - call it intuition, or your dreamer’s heart - tells you that it’s important you introduce yourself to the stranger, and now, you might never get that chance. 

One:

This is now the fourth time the big city stranger has come to one of your sets in two months, and it’s the third town, too. Your heart is racing, your mind spinning at the notion that he’s following you, following your career perhaps?

Every time he comes to a show, he leaves you money with the bartender, then slips out before you can catch him, but tonight, you’re about to change that.

The moment your set is over, you practically bolt off the stage, a flurry of apologies leaving your lips as you brush past people who want to talk to you.

By the time you make it to the bartop, the man is gone, so you turn your sights on the door leading to the street.

It might be a bad idea to chase this potential stalker out into the night, but you’re not thinking about that as you dart after him.

The stranger isn’t hard to find, however. He’s standing next to a mint-condition old muscle car, it’s fully black, and although you’d half expected him to own a Lamborghini or a Mercedes, there’s something timeless about the old Ford Mustang that suits him. 

He’s lighting up a cigarette, and he turns to you as if he expected you to be standing there.

“Hi,” you say, approaching him.

“Hi.”

You watch the way he exhales, smoke billowing out around him- it must be a trick of the light because for a moment, his obscured shadow on the pavement looks larger and more menacing.

“You’ve been to a lot of my shows,” you blurt out, not quite sure how else to start the conversation.

“I like your voice,” the man nods.

“I’m Y/N,” you tell him.

“Johnny.”

You take a breath, trying to figure out where to go from here. 

Luckily, you don’t have to speak next, because Johnny does. “Why do you sing at these dive bars in shit small towns when you have the voice for stadiums?”

“Uh-” His question takes you back. “I mean, I don’t really have a manager, and booking things is rough these days without an online following-” You can feel yourself floundering with your answer, and his fixed gaze on you only makes matters worse. “I guess I’m just not great at this.”

“You’re a singer. It’s not your job to be a manager too.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

He takes another long drag of his cigarette. “Do you want to be famous?”

You think about the question for a moment. “Doesn’t every singer want to be heard by millions across the globe?”

Johnny shrugs. “People have… longings for grandeur, but not many have the talent to achieve it.”

“Do you think I have the talent to be famous?” you ask, suddenly feeling quite small and childlike as you look up at this beautiful man.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

A smile works its way onto your lips, and you let out a sigh of relief. “Guess I have to find a manager.”

“That’s one route.”

“Is there another?”

Johnny stares at you for a moment, and you get the sense that when he looks at you, he really looks at you. It’s as if this stranger can stare into your soul, but then again, as a singer, you always strive to bare your innermost self, so it’s a sensation you can appreciate.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks.

“Of course.”

Another drag from his cigarette, which is now at its end. You watch him flick the butt, discarding it carelessly onto the worn small town pavement. “I can be your manager. It’s something I have experience in. But we’d need to form a contract, and it’s not the type of contract most singers agree to.” Johnny takes a breath. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m the Devil, honey, and if it’s fame that you want, you’re going to have to make a deal with the Devil.” 

You look up at him, trying to process his words. “You’re the Devil?”

“Come, I’ll show you.” Johnny holds out a hand, and against your better judgment, you take it. With one quick adjustment, he has your back to his chest. The two of you are angled so the streetlight casts a shadow in front of you. 

Your outline is dwarfed by Johnny’s, and right there on the street, emphasized by the contrast of dark and light, you see two horns sprouting out of his head. His hands are still on your shoulders, so there’s no logical way for him to be doing this by some trickery of the light and shadow-

You practically jump, whipping around to look at the stranger, the Devil- who looks just as ordinary as he had a moment ago. 

“Believe me now?” he grins.

“I-” You swallow thickly. “I’m not sure.”

“You don’t have to be sure. You just have to think about it.” 

“But… If I say yes, what do I give you in return?” you ask.

“Your soul, but don’t be scared, when I collect and you join me in Hell, you’ll be my personal songbird, probably the best position out there for a human in my realm, if I’m being honest with you.”

“And… If you’re the Devil, don’t you have work to do? Aren’t you busy? Why are you wasting your time trying to make a contract with me when there are bigger fish to go after?”

“I’ve got minions, honey,” Johnny grins. “These days, I never get my hands dirty. I live a charmed life, for a Devil.”

You gawk at him, mind void of anything else to say.

“I’ll give you my card, and you can think about it,” Johnny tells you simply. 

With a snap of his fingers and a tiny, spontaneous flame, a black card appears between his thumb and pointer. He hands it to you, flashes you a wink, then walks around his car to get in the driver’s seat.

The engine roars to life, and you stand in shock - and maybe something a little like awe - as the Devil races away.

It’s not until Johnny’s gone that you look down at the card he left you and realize it’s not a phone number at all, it’s a location.

Johnny’s instructions are clear: if you want to make a deal with him, you’ll have to meet at the crossroads by Route 127. 

Two:

Your skin is prickling as you get out of your car. The side of the road is all gravel, and the crunching of your footsteps seems exceptionally loud in the eerie quiet of the night. 

There’s no one around, but with a deep breath for courage, you approach the junction, standing in the middle of the crossroads.

“So you’re here to make a deal.” 

The voice comes from behind you, and you whip around to find the Devil standing there. It’s as if he’s appeared out of thin air, and your heart jumps at the sight of him.

He’s just so handsome, and the suit he always wears only exacerbates the allure.

You take a breath to steady yourself. “Why here? Why a crossroads?” you ask.

Johnny shrugs. “There’s something reminiscent of the old days when it comes to crossroads. You know, the roaring twenties, singers showing up at a crossroad to make all of their dreams come true.” Johnny steps closer as he speaks, and you can feel his breath along your collar as he leans closer, inspecting you. 

“Did you make a lot of contracts with singers back in the day?” you enquire.

“All the greats were my doing,” Johnny muses, stepping back again. “Some were better at contracts than others. I suppose I was more lenient back in the day. If someone was truly great, I’d sometimes let them continue longer.”

“And is that what you’re going to do for me?” you ask. “Be lenient?”

“You’d wish for that, wouldn’t you, my little songbird?” Johnny smirks. “No, for you, I give twenty years, and that’s final.”

Your heart clenches at his words. Twenty years of stardom, then The Devil himself would come to collect your soul.

“So how would this work?” you ask, not wanting to rush into anything.

“I’d be with you every step of the way,” Johnny assures you. “Guiding you, opening doors. Anything you want, if it’s in my power to give it to you, would be yours.”

“You personally? Not a minion?”

Johnny shrugs. “Usually, I’d send a jockey, but there’s something about you. I heard your voice from Hell itself, and that’s not a metaphor. You have something special, and I want to be the one who watches it grow.”

You consider his words, and you can’t help the way they boost your ego. 

“I would have been happy just watching you forever, you know,” Johnny muses. “But you approached me, and fuck it, an opportunity for a deal is an opportunity.” 

“So let me get this straight. I make this deal with you, you make me famous, you make all of my dreams come true, but in twenty years, you take my soul down to Hell, and I spend eternity with you?”

“It’s a pretty good deal, if you ask me.” The Devil grins, and you hate how handsome this powerful being is, how charming.

Your heart is racing now, and you’re aware that you’re about to practically jump off a cliff with this whole thing- is twenty years of fame on Earth really worth an eternity in Hell?

“Fuck it,” you breathe. “Let’s do it.”

With the snap of his fingers, Johnny has a contract in his hand, and he holds it out to you. 

“Do you have a pen?” you ask.

“It won’t need a pen, just a drop of blood,” he explains. He gently grabs your wrist, tugging you closer. A needle appears in his hand, and with the tiniest prick on your pointer finger, a drop of blood appears. “If you would be so kind as to do the honours, my little songbird.”

Without another thought, you press your digit to the paper, your blood marking the contract.

There’s no turning back now, and yet, something like relief floods over you.

“One last thing,” Johnny said, snapping the paper out of existence again. “For a deal like this, it’s best sealed with a kiss.” 

“What?” The word comes out as a squeak, and you blink at the gorgeous Devil.

“A kiss,” Johnny grins. 

“Is that necessary?”

“Let’s just say it is.”

You sigh. “You’re pushing your luck here, mister Devil.”

“That’s just the kind of man I am.”

Johnny reaches for your hand, and you let him pull you to his chest. You look up at this beautiful, demonic entity, and you know you’re in deep.

Twenty years with this man, guiding you, taking care of you-

Fuck it.

You move forward, cupping his face as you press your lips to his own.

Johnny’s grip on you tightens, pulling you flush to his chest as his mouth eagerly works against your own.

Your whole body is on fire from the sensation, and when he finally pulls back, it’s the most you can do to blink up at him in a daze.

That had been, without a doubt, the best kiss of your life, and now, you simply want more.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Johnny grins. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, the Devil vanishes, leaving you at the crossroads, your heart nearly beating out of your chest. 

Three:

You can’t believe you’re here.

It’s only been two weeks, and Johnny has somehow already gotten you an audition as one of three openers for a pretty well-known band. 

“How did you even swing this?” you ask, heart practically in your throat as you and Johnny wait for your turn to audition.

“I’m the Devil, remember?” He winks at you, reaching out to place a protective palm on your shoulder. “If I’m being honest, I could have gotten you an even bigger audition, for an even bigger group, but I figured baby steps would work best for you.”

“If this is a baby step-” you let out a whistle. “So is this a guaranteed thing? What are you going to do, smite my competition or something?”

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. 

“Honey, if your voice could bewitch the Devil himself into making the trek up to Earth to personally take you on as a contract, this whole thing will be a piece of cake. It’s a formality, honestly,” he assures you. “You land this audition, you go with them on tour, you make a name for yourself, we pop out a number one hit for the summer, a great music video, and by next year, you could be on your own tour.”

“You’ve got this all planned out, huh?” 

“I’m contractually obligated to,” Johnny teases. “What would be the point of a twenty-year deal if you spent a quarter of it just trying to get on top? I’m going to launch your career, honey, and it all starts here.” 

Four: 

You’re practically glowing, and it makes something stir in Johnny’s cold, dead heart.

Tonight was the first night of the tour, and your opening set had blown the whole audience away. 

In Johnny’s not-so-humble opinion, it had been clear to a lot of people that you have more talent in your little finger than the headliners do in their whole bodies, but alas, schematics, schematics.

Johnny will have you on your own tour in a year, of that, he’s certain.

God, so many plans, swirling around in his ancient brain.

He wants to give you the world, and he could have done it already- but he knows you’re a fragile human, and he wants to give you time to adjust, too. He doesn’t want to break you, not so soon into your career.

He’s done it before, helped a struggling artist, shoved them into the limelight- then addiction had descended, and all hopes of glory had dwindled, drained from the artist the way they drained bottles every night.

No, Johnny wants to keep your purity intact; he wants to grow your strength, your confidence, until you’re able to take on the world, the way he knows you can.

To celebrate your great victory, Johnny takes you to a bar, and he can see the energy still surging through you as you have your first cocktail. 

“That was insane!” you tell him, practically buzzing.

“You were amazing, honey, I knew you could do it,” he smiles, loving the feeling of your light as it glows around him. He hasn’t been around someone with an aura like yours in many, many years, and having been in the dark for so long makes him crave your light in a way he’s never craved anything.

“I want to dance!” you exclaim suddenly. “Come dance with me!”

He can’t refuse you as you grab his hand and lead him to the floor. Johnny’s generally not one to partake in human things like dancing; he often feels it’s beneath him, but tonight, for you, he’ll give in.

You’re already moving, swaying your hips and grinning as the music seems to consume you.

It’s one of the things he loves most about you, the way you clearly feel music- to get lost in sound, it’s a gift, one he’s only ever felt when he listens to you.

Johnny could do without the loud pop music blasting through the club right now, but again, for you, he’ll acquiesce. 

Then, you shift closer, throwing your arms over his shoulders to tug him closer, and it makes Johnny’s skin tingle.

He can’t help the attraction he has toward you, which is saying a lot, since he generally hates humans. 

Johnny’s hands find your hips, and the way you’re swaying now is practically bewitching him.

Your smile lights up your whole face, and it brings a sense of pride to Johnny, pride in knowing he’s the mastermind behind your newfound happiness. This isn’t just a contract to him, he knows that now, and part of him doesn’t mind that he has a personal investment in this. 

It’s only two and a half months into your contract, but Johnny would be lying if he said he didn’t spend most of that time thinking about kissing you.

And right now, your lips are looking like perfection. 

He must have gazed too long, because you wrap your hand around the back of his neck, leaning closer-

Johnny shouldn’t be doing this. He of all demons should know that getting involved with a contract is not a good idea- but as the King of Hell, who else can break the rules if not him?

Johnny gives in, he closes the gap, and you release a sigh as you mold against him, your body flush to his own.

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight as the kiss deepens, his tongue swiping against your lip before you open your mouth for him.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to release a groan, his hand slipping down to grab your ass before he can even help himself.

Johnny prides himself on being a man of composure, but you’re making him come unraveled, unlike anyone has in hundreds of years.

It takes all of Johnny’s power to pull away from you, and he gazes down at your starstruck eyes. “We should get you back to the hotel,” he warns. “We’ve got an early flight.”

He sees the dejected expression that makes its way across your face, but you sigh, nodding.

You’re a good little songbird, and you already listen to everything Johnny says.

He loves how submissive you are, and he takes your hand, leading you out of the bar.  

Five:

To your surprise, when Johnny had taken you back to the hotel, he’d dropped you off at your room and then gone his separate way.

Part of you had really thought tonight would lead to more for you, but Johnny is ever the controlled man you know him to be. 

If only you had self-control like he does.

It’s two am, and you can’t sleep. You can’t get the thought of him out of your head.

It’s become something like an obsession, and your attraction to the Devil has only grown as you’ve spent more and more time with him. 

You would have thought the Devil would be meaner, but he’s not. Johnny’s the best mentor you could have hoped for, opening every door that needs opening and supporting you in the most genuine way you’ve ever experienced. 

With a groan, you stand up, slipping on your little slippers. 

His room is next to yours, and your heart is racing as you step out into the hotel hallway.

Two quiet knocks and a moment later, Johnny appears at his door.

He’s still in a suit, like he always is, and part of you had hoped to catch him in perhaps a more vulnerable moment- but you should have known, this is the Devil, and he must always be on guard. 

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” you say, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood.

“No rest for songbirds either, it would seem.” He flashes you a smile, and you relax instantly.

“Can I come in?”

Johnny pushes the door wider, and you step into his room.

It’s larger than your room, and the decor is completely different, all dark and marbled-

“In case you’re wondering, the door is a portal,” Johnny muses. “I prefer my own room to anything a hotel would have; the bed is much nicer, too.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re the literal Devil and have weird supernatural powers,” you laugh, still taking in the space. “So… is this like, your bedroom in your Hell palace?”

“I guess you could say that.” Johnny closes the door behind you, leaning back against it. 

“It’s nice, actually.”

“Then don’t go close to the windows, and keep it that way.”

Your eyes shift to the glass wall in question. You can tell this room is high above the wasteland landscape, and even from this distance, you can see flickering lights that can only really be Hell fires. 

A shiver runs through you, and you turn your back to the windows.

“So what do you need, songbird?” Johnny asks.

“I think you know what I need.”

The Devil grins. “I’d like to hear you say it.”

You take a deep breath, wrapping your arms around your pajama-clad body. “I need you.”

“You have me, it’s in our contract.”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean, Johnny.”

He stares at you for a moment. “If we slept together, wouldn’t this be an unfair power dynamic? I know how ‘woke’ you humans are nowadays. Think of it, you, a new singer, sleeping with her manager who also happens to be the Devil… what would the tabloids say?”

He’s making a joke out of it, but you appreciate that he’s even broached the subject of there being a power imbalance between the two of you. Because he’s right, the contract - and the fact that he’s the Devil - are major obstacles, not to mention, you don’t have a clue how much Johnny actually feels for you. 

“If there had been a clause in our contract that by accepting, it would mean we could never be more than manager and client, I maybe wouldn’t have signed it,” you state.

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. “There was no such clause, I’m only preparing you for ramifications. I’m the Devil, honey, and regardless of what happens to us, I’ve agreed to be in your life for the next twenty years. For me, that’s just a blip, but for you, that’s a quarter of a lifetime, and I know how attached you humans can get.”

“Twenty years might be a blip, but I also agreed to an eternity as your songbird, so let’s face it, you’re stuck with me now,” you point out. 

“I suppose I am.”

“And something tells me you’re getting attached, too. Something tells me I’m not the only one starting to feel something.” 

“What makes you say that?”

“The way you treat me, with such care and compassion,” you point out. “You said it yourself, you could have given me to a minion to handle, but you didn’t. You offered up your time, which is valuable, so there must have been a deeper reason for that.”

Johnny looks you up and down. “Maybe my poker face isn’t as good as it used to be.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“If we do this, I might not be able to control myself around you,” Johnny warns.

“I’d like to see that actually, you know… you, losing control.” 

“Do you think you could handle it?”

“You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t.”

“Sometimes I think you forget that I’m the Devil,” Johnny muses, stepping closer to you.

“You might be the Devil, but you’re my Devil, it’s in the contract.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything else; he simply grabs your hips, tugging you to his chest. 

You stare up at him, adoring the soft brown shade of his eyes and the way his lips look so full and kissable.

You can’t help yourself anymore; you close the distance, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to draw his mouth to yours.

There’s no need for waiting now, no need to hold back, so you throw yourself into the kiss. You part your lips, giving the Devil entry as he deepens things. His hand presses tighter to the small of your back, and between the pressure and the sensation of his lips, you find yourself at a loss for breath very quickly.

A moan slips out of you, and Johnny grins, then in one easy motion, he lifts you off the ground.

Your legs wrap around his hips, and he guides you toward the massive king-sized bed in the middle of the room. He sets you down on it, his mouth never leaving yours, and you welcome this change of position.

Johnny now has the opportunity to grind down against you, and he takes it, applying pressure to your core that has you whimpering even louder.

His lips move to your throat, teasing and licking, as if he’s claiming you.

Regardless of anything else in your life, your body, and Hell, your soul- they belong to Johnny, and something tells you that the Devil belongs to you too, for more than just the twenty-year contract.

His mouth continues to move down, and his hand grabs at the front of your button-up silk sleeping shirt. With one rough tug, he tears the fabric open, revealing your bare breasts to him. Your nipples are pebbled from the stimulus of his kiss, and from the way he groans at the sight of you, you know he’s enjoying himself as well.

Johnny immediately draws his mouth to your chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth while he fondles the other with his hand.

It feels delightful to be worshiped this way, and you toss your head back against the bed, closing your eyes to bask in the sensation.

You smooth your fingers through his hair, not tugging, just encouraging. All the while, you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your core practically throbbing already.

Then… Johnny begins to descend again, and your breath catches as he hooks his fingers in your sleeping shorts, slowly tugging them down your legs.

Johnny is still fully clothed in his suit and tie, yet you’re practically naked. There’s something so interesting about this dynamic, about the fact that the Devil seems to be more of a selfless lover.

You wonder if it’s something to do with him claiming you. Maybe he gets off on the knowledge that he’s still completely put together while you’re aching and desperate, naked and vulnerable for him.

The whole thing turns you on, and when Johnny sinks to his knees next to the bed, tugging you closer, you swear you must be in Heaven right now, not Hell. 

Being with Johnny could never be Hell, and when his mouth makes contact with your pussy, everything else drifts away from your mind.

He’s gentle at first, licking your slit before circling your clit with his tongue. You can feel his eyes on you, and you whimper a sound of affirmation, shifting on the bed in an effort to get closer to him.

A chuckle escapes Johnny’s lips, and then he dives in fully.

He no longer holds anything back, and you cry out from the sensation of him eating you like a last meal.

Then you feel something interesting, he’s licking your clit, but the feeling is diferent-

You open your eyes and sit up a little, looking down at him. Johnny reacts to your motion by pulling back a little, and he sticks out his tongue for you, which is when you see it’s forked.

No fucking way.

The Devil has a forked fucking tongue, and it feels so fucking good as he goes back to licking your clit, stimulating you in every possible way-

You’ve heard about alien fucking kinks, about dildos that are all ridged or tentacled- but you’ve never been a ‘monster fucker’ kind of girl yourself- 

Maybe that’s changed.

Because the Devil is - in practically every sense - a monster, and now, you’re reaping the rewards of supernatural body parts that are bringing you pleasure you’ve never experienced, never even dreamed of experiencing. 

You can feel your orgasm rising quickly, and a tingle begins vibrating throughout your body. 

“I’m close,” you warn him, clenching your eyes shut as your muscles start to tense. 

Johnny simply growls, and the vibration does wonders for your clit.

Your thighs are beginning to shake, the cord in your abdomen clenching tighter and tighter-

Then Johnny does something you don’t expect, he pushes his tongue into your pussy, lapping at your walls- and fuck, it’s the biggest tongue you’ve ever experienced.

At the same time, he rubs his nose against your clit, providing just the right amount of stimulation in all the right spots.

You cum instantly, your core pulsing around his massive tongue as it continues to lick at you, lapping up everything your body wants to give him.

Your heart is racing, your body going practically numb from the force of your orgasm, and all you can do is scream in pleasure as Johnny works you through your high.

Your whole body is practically shaking when he finally lets up, and you open your eyes to watch the Devil lick his lips with his long, forked tongue.

“You taste like sin,” Johnny muses. “It’s my favourite flavour.”

Something about his words are so cheesy, and you find yourself giggling in your post-orgasmic state.

“You going to fuck me now, mister Devil?” you ask.

“I think I’m contractually obligated to,” Johnny grins. 

You laugh. “I agree. So… take off that suit and let me see you.”

Johnny shakes his head at you, standing. At his full height, he towers over you as you lie in his bed.

He begins with his black suit jacket, which he lays on the foot of the bed. Then he moves to his waistcoat. It’s a deep burgundy colour, and it’s very fitting for him, but each button takes what feels like an entire age.

Once the waistcoat is undone, he gently sets it with his suit jacket.

Then, he goes to his cuff links-

“Can’t you just snap your fingers and be naked?” you groan.

“What would be the fun in that?” Johnny chuckles. “I like making you wait.”

“I don’t like it.”

“But you’ll be a patient girl for me, right, honey? A good, patient, little songbird?”

Your skin tingles at his words, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a glutton for praise.

With a sigh, you nod. “I’ll be good and patient for you, sir.”

“Sir?” His eyebrow raises. “I like the sound of that.”

You knew he would. He’s the Devil after all, although you hadn’t expected him to take the soft dom approach, he’s clearly a dom nonetheless, and all dominants like some sort of title. 

Johnny doesn’t seem like the ‘Daddy’ sort, at least, not this early into your budding relationship. 

Master had felt too overpowering for you, so Sir had fit best.

He begins to unbutton his black dress shirt, and your eyes take in each piece of exposed skin. 

You realize he’s tattooed beneath the suits, hidden markings that become more and more visible with each passing moment.

“What do the symbols mean?” you ask, curiosity bubbling within you.

“All sorts of things,” Johnny shrugs, placing his shirt with the rest of his clothes. “Their an ancient demonic language, nothing you’d understand. Protection runes, anti-summoning crests, that sort of thing.”

“So, they’re strategic?” 

“Everything about me is strategic, honey.” Johnny’s hands have now moved to his belt, and you swallow thickly as he undoes it.

He’s so well muscled and beefy; the tattoos were unexpected, but they only accentuate the power that radiates off of him.

You’re practically drooling now, heart thundering in your chest.

“I guess you’ve waited long enough,” Johnny grins, and with the snap of his fingers, he’s completely naked.

Your breath catches as you stare at his massive cock.

“How's that going to fit inside of me?” you squeak. 

“It will fit,” he assures you. 

“I’m glad you’re confident,” you tell him, an anxious laugh escaping you.

Johnny chuckles, shaking his head as he joins you on the bed. You’ve adjusted slightly so your head is on the pillows, giving Johnny the full length of the mattress to maneuver as he slots between your legs. 

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone before moving to your throat again, where he suckles on your sweet spot. “And you have to give me permission. Demons can’t enter humans without it.”

“You can’t fuck me without consent?” you ask in shock. “How progressive of you.”

Johnny only laughs, rubbing down against your, his massive cock prodding your wet hole and teasing your clit.

“I give you permission to enter me, Devil,” you tease, making him chuckle again.

“And I thank you for the permission.”

Johnny adjusts, reaching between your bodies to grab the base of his cock. He guides the tip to your entrance, rubbing it through your slick to gain some lubricant.

Then, he pushes into you, just an inch, but the stretch is huge. You cry out, latching onto his shoulders as your core tries to adjust. 

He’s thrusting slowly, still restricting himself to an inch of penetration as you get used to his size. As always, Johnny’s able to read you, and he seems to know the exact moment you’re ready to take more of him.

This continues for a short time, slow, gentle thrusts, inch after inch, until he’s almost fully buried inside your wet, throbbing core.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking big,” you whimper, digging your nails into his broad shoulders.

“Taking me so well,” he coos, suckling your earlobe into his mouth.

“You can move,” you tell him. “I want to feel you.”

“Whatever you say, honey.”

Johnny brings his lips to yours as he begins to properly fuck you.

He’s slow moving, with each thrust splitting open your pussy, but each thrust helping your body aclimatize to him. 

You’re also super turned on, and you can feel yourself practically juicing all over him. The extra lubricant does wonder to the sensation, and soon, nothing but pleasure fills you as Johnny starts to fuck you even harder.

“That’s it,” he groans. “I knew you’d be able to take me.”

“Johnny,” you whimper, kissing him desperately as ecstasy begins to overtake you.

“Squeezing me so fucking tight,” Johnny growls, railing into you with even more power.

God, he’s hitting every spot imaginable, and it feels perfect, like your bodies were always meant to be connected in this way.

“My perfect little songbird,” he coos, lips moving to your ear. “What pretty sounds you make.” 

You’re not someone who can always cum from penetration alone, but fuck, nothing in your life has ever felt as good as this does. 

Johnny adjusts your thigh, hiking it on your hip, and suddenly he’s going even deeper. It’s like you can feel him in your stomach, and for some reason, it’s not an unpleasant sensation. In fact, it makes your eyes roll back into your head, your lips parting as a desperate whine escapes you.

“My little cock drunk honey,” Johnny grins, fucking you even harder. “I always knew you’d be the best girl for me.”

His words go straight to your core, which is starting to throb around him with your impending orgasm.

“Going to come undone for me already?” he asks.

“Please, I’m so close-”

“You can cum, but I’m not done with you yet.”

“That’s okay, fuck, please just let me cum,” you whimper desperately.

“I’m not stopping you, let go, cum on my cock.”

A few more thrusts send you over the edge, and this time, when your core clamps down on his cock, it excentuates how massive he is. Your body hardly has any room to convulse around him, and the sensation of being this full has your body going into overdrive.

It’s one of the best orgasms of your life, being stuffed to the absolute brim with this Devil’s monster sized cock-

Pure ecstasy is practically vibrating through you, your skin tingling in the most delightful way as waves of euphoria surge through every inch of your body.

“Such pretty sounds,” Johnny groans, fucking you through your high until you’re gasping and clawing at his back. “My turn.”

He pulls out of you and you gasp, only to be manhandled onto your hands and knees.

Johnny presses his tip back into your core, grabbing your hips so he can push fully inside of you in doggy style.

Your thighs shake from the intrusion, heart racing in your chest.

Something about this makes sense- that Johnny would be careful for you, but now that it’s his turn, he wants you in this position. There’s something about doggy that screams ‘I claim you,’ and the wetness dribbling down your inner thighs only solidifies that fact.

He’s not holding anything back now, but you love the roughness of it. You love that he’s using you to find his own release, and you feel blessed in a way that you can be the one who provides it for him.

The sounds escaping him are like magic, and you wonder if this is how he feels every time he hears you.

It’s as if your souls have always sung to each other, but now, you’re singing together, and nothing has ever sounded this pretty, this perfect. 

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, and you love how you’re making him come undone like this.

“Please cum in me?” you whimper, arms starting to shake as you try to hold yourself in the position he wants. “I want to feel you so bad.”

Johnny’s grip on your hips tightens, and he pulls you back to meet each hard thrust.

You feel powerless, like a ragdoll, but there’s something so freeing about it. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you continue to cry, core still like a vice around him.

“Okay, songbird, you want to impress me?” Johnny groans. “Take it, take all of it.” 

He pushes all the way into you, and you can feel him explode. You feel him coating your inner walls as he fills you to an impossible level.

Your toes curl from the sensation, your eyes closing, mind focused on the feeling of his throbbing cock burried deep inside of your wet pussy.

“That’s it,” Johnny growls. “So fucking good for me.”

It’s like he cums, and cums, and cums-

Some people have a kink for that sort of thing, and like the monster fucking situation, you never thought you were one of those girls- but fuck, Johnny’s making you realize all sorts of things about yourself tonight.

Finally, he lets out a groan, his grip loosening on your hips. He’s still for a moment, and you both struggle to catch your breath. 

“I’m going to draw us a bath,” Johnny tells you with a sigh. “I’ll wash you up, then you need to sleep. We have a flight in the morning.”

“Whatever you say, Sir,” you tease.

A chuckle escapes him. “Twenty years of this. Contract of the millennium.”

You think you’re pretty lucky, too.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I really enjoyed drawing inspo from Hotel California for Seungcheol from svt, so I wanted to do a similar lyric-inspired fic for nct! hope you enjoyed devil!Johnny!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. You’re the Devil’s songbird, and you were always meant to fulfill this role.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, supernatural powers for sex, rope bondage, pussy slapping, use of a tailed whip, edging type foreplay, use of toys/vibrator, overstimulation, big/monster cock Johnny, strip tease, dirty talk, praise, multiple reader orgasms, nipple clamps, slight pain kink, breast worship, etc…   I petnames. (hers) honey, songbird. (his) Sir.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 200

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

There’s no sadness as your time runs out. You’ve lived a good Earth life. You’d had a very successful career, and you’d spent all of it with the best man you’ve ever known at your side as your guide and protector.

Now, your life contract is up, and Johnny collects.

It’s odd to be standing over your lifeless body, and Johnny had explained it would look like a heart attack- some mundane death, perhaps a little early for someone of your age, but nothing out of sorts either.

Your lover takes your hand, and the two of you approach the doorway that leads back to his Hell palace.

You’ve come to know this place well over the years, as it’s been a sanctuary for you both for some time now.

Johnny had mentioned something about aging together on Earth, but now that you’re back in his realm, you’re both reduced to how you looked when you’d met. 

You turn to Johnny, who is as stunning as he always was in his prime. Sure, aging had brought a silver fox kind of aesthetic to the man, but there’s something sense of completion as you stare at him now.

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