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hotchscvm · 10 months

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bad ideas (and good results)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, sort of spencer reid x reader

summary: after aaron’s rejection, you enlist spencer’s help to make him jealous.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: reader putting on a naked show, airplane turbulence, reid calling reader out for daddy issues

a/n: accidentally put too much spencer in this whoops

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The tension between the two of you was so palpable you were practically choking on it. You couldn’t be alone in a room with him without resisting the urge to throw yourself at him. Even with others around, you still had to peel off your drenched panties when you got home and take a cold shower.

And you knew he felt the same, though he wasn’t as obvious about how it affected him. The team had commented how you were his soft spot, always assigning you to him on cases (when you were newer, you had brushed the thought aside, thinking he wanted to watch over you and evaluate your work), getting your favorite coffee every morning and even putting his jacket around you when you’d been soaked in lake water after catching the unsub.

So when you decided to take the leap and ask him if he wanted to have dinner, you weren’t expecting him to reject you so blatantly. Just a flat-out no. Didn’t even try cushioning the blow.

You still couldn’t erase his expression from your memories as he told you he didn’t like you in that way. Confused at the time, you had stood there dumbfounded by what he was saying. Walking out of his office and heading home was a blur and you wondered if you had imagined his previous actions.

Sitting on your couch with a bottle of wine in hand, you thought about your interactions. Surely you didn’t imagine the way he looked at you on those nights you stayed late to help him with paperwork? Or the way he had comforted you after an unsub had harassed you mercilessly during an interrogation. Or when you had to share that hotel room in Alaska and sleep in the same bed for “warmth.”

After an hour of watching The Wedding Date, you had got an idea that was so delusional it might work. Calling Spencer in the wee hours of the night had him pick up the phone after the second ring, concerned it was an emergency. In a way it was, and he had gotten to your apartment in record time.

He had barely knocked on the door when you swung it open, grabbing by the arm and practically dragging him and his Jesus haircut inside. Spencer raised an eyebrow at your excitement, glancing at the state of your apartment as you drag him to the couch.

“What’s going on? Why’d you need me to come at,” he checks his watch. “Eleven thirty-seven at night?”

You sighed, pushing him to sit on the couch and grabbing the remote. “I kind of asked Hotch out. And before you congratulate me for making the first move, he doesn’t feel the same and basically told me he found me ugly and disgusting.”

Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “He did not say that.”

“Whatever, it was implied,” you reply and Boy Genius gives out a snort at your dramatics. “Anyways, I was watching The Wedding Date when I got this idea … In the movie, this girl hires an escort to be her date to her sister’s wedding because her ex is going to be there. And I was thinking …”

“Go on.” he encourages.

Spencer was the only one to know about your crush on Aaron. The others, especially the girls, had a suspicion you did but Spencer was the one you spilled all your information to. Mostly because he was the first to catch you making eyes at your boss and the closest in age to you. He had listened to the details of your days with Aaron, sometimes debriefing you on how Aaron had interacted with you, the words he had said about you, or the way his body language gave him away. You had eaten up everything he had said in the hopes it had been true.

He was also the only one you could go to with this plan. Derek would’ve had you relayed all the details of your crush to him before agreeing and you didn’t want to tell him he had been right about your crush. You’d have rather died than have Derek Morgan know he was right. Spencer was sweet and attractive, and despite your taste for older men than the doctor, it would be believable considering how much time you spend with each other outside of work.

“I was thinking that we fake date to make Hotch jealous.” you finish, slightly grimacing at how stupid the plan was now that you said it out loud. Before Spencer could reply, you jumped in. “I know it probably won’t make him jealous considering he doesn’t like me that way but on the off chance that it does–I kind of want him to hurt a fraction of what I had tonight. And you probably think the plan is idiotic and pathetic–”

“Alright,” he said, cutting off your rambling. When you raise an eyebrow, he lifts a shoulder. “I don’t think it's idiotic or pathetic. I think we should do it.”

It took you a few seconds to process his words. “Really?”

Spencer nods, giving you a small smile. “Yes, I would do anything for you. Besides, it would be a good experiment and I love experiments.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Of course you do.”

“So how is this fake dating thing going to work?”

You spend a good half hour talking about the parameters of the plan. Both of you had decided it was best to keep it subtle instead of announcing to the team you were “seeing” each other. Neither of you would confirm it and if asked, you’d redirect the topic somewhat noticeably so whoever had asked would be able to pick up on it.

Spencer surprised you when he came up with the idea for small touches and light flirting. When you had given him a look, he was quick to explain his idea. Obviously, you had to be affectionate towards each other in front of the team and especially Aaron, but not so much that it qualified as PDA.

The smart doctor had proposed small touches like lingering fingers, a hand on a shoulder (you pointed out you did this with him quite often and he argued it would only make more sense to keep doing it), hair ruffling (again you told him you’ve done this to him and he admitted he liked getting his hair played a certain way), and hand squeezes.

You waited for the shock on Spencer’s face when you wondered out loud if it was effective for you to “sneak” into his hotel room during a case and have a member of the team see you going into his room so they could relay what they saw to the others; instead, you were met with an intuitive hum of agreement.

By the time you’d gotten done with planning, it was ten minutes past midnight and Spencer was yawning every few minutes. And while his apartment was only about ten blocks from yours, you offered for him to stay the night with the promise to stop at his place before work for him to get a change of clothes. He accepted and both of you had fallen asleep in the living room while the credits of the movie played in the background.

In the morning, you came to the realization that the wine you had drank had caused you to oversleep, and keeping Spencer up past midnight had also caused him to wake up about half an hour later than usual. You slapped him awake with a pillow before rushing to get ready.

Spencer had been half asleep as he got in your car but after a near-death experience with a semi, he had woken up and clutched his seatbelt all the way to work. As you entered the building, you were rolling your eyes as he mumbled how you were more of a reckless driver than Derek–impossible–and how he feared for his life whenever you were in the driver’s seat.

As soon as you pushed through the glass doors, Emily noticed something different. You placed your stuff on your desk, plopping down on your chair when she sits on your desk, glancing between you and Spencer, eyebrows raised.

“Reid, are you wearing the same sweater from yesterday?” she questioned, and your ears perked up at her words.

Your eyes flicker to Spencer’s outfit. With your lateness, you weren’t able to stop at Spencer’s place and he had assured you he could change into something from his go bag. He was in the midst of picking up the duffel when Emily commented on his fashion sense. You gave him a look to play along but he was looking down at his outfit to notice.

He tilted his head, nodding. “Yeah, we woke up late this morning.”

You’ve never seen Emily’s head turn so fast–you were worried she had accidentally snapped her own neck. The brunette smirked at you before turning back to Spencer. “We?”

Spencer looked up, eyes finally meeting yours. His eyes flickered with recognition and took the opportunity to start your idea. His slight blush was the cherry on top. “What?”

Emily’s smirk grew, and she looked like a cat that swallowed a canary. She turned to you, giving you the look she’d make when a guy would flirt with you during a girl’s night out. “So … what’d you do last night?”

You couldn’t help but grin at her nosiness. “Work. Long, hard work.”

“Yeah, I bet.” she chuckled, side-eyeing Spencer. “The work definitely looks hard when you’re doing it.”

The water you sipped trickled out of your mouth at the innuendo, and you furiously wiped your chin. Emily cackled at her own joke, drawing JJ’s attention from nearby. You try to ignore her, gently pushing her off your desk, mumbling about having to do work, but it only makes her gasp for breath.

JJ sauntered over to your desk, curious at whatever made Emily cackle like the green witch from the Kansas movie. “What’s going on here?”

Emily leans over to whisper in her ear before pointing at Spencer who had taken his go-bag along with him to the bathroom. JJ adopts Emily’s smirk, sharing a look with the brunette before glancing between you and the men’s bathroom.

The blonde pulls up a chair next to yours, the girls surrounding your desks. JJ leans in close, grinning mad wildly at you. “I thought you liked Hotch, not Spence.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed by the whole thing while you smiled internally. “I don’t like either of them, beyond friends. … Stop looking at me like that!”

“Clearly you like Reid more than that if you guys spent the night together.” Emily wiggled her brows, earning another chuckle from JJ. She yelped at the small smack you gave her on the arm.

“We didn’t spend the night together.” you hissed, keeping your voice low. How you would’ve loved to show Rossi your performance right now after he commented you were a terrible liar. “We were doing paperwork together and we fell asleep because it was late and so we woke up late.”

The girls gave each other a look, nodding at you, clearly not believing the semi-lie you told. (Did it count as a lie if you told them the half-truth but in a way that was unconvincing?)

“Uh-huh.”

“Of course. It makes perfect sense.”

“Yeah, especially if you guys were up late. It’s only reasonable that he stayed the night.”

“Mm-hm. You guys were probably so tired you didn’t do anything before sleeping.”

The sarcasm was leaking from their voices, practically dripping on the floor. You didn’t know how to answer their cryptic responses, covering your smile with a hand. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips. Despite Aaron’s harsh rejection not even twelve hours ago, you were feeling better.

Thankfully, you were saved from coming up with a reply when Penelope came in the room with a case file in her hands, gesturing towards the briefing room. Unfortunately, JJ and Emily’s amusement was so obvious, Penelope was able to pick up on the brewing gossip from just the look on their smug faces.

You passed her on the way up the stairs, giving her a small smile as she stayed back to get the information from JJ and Emily. You rolled your eyes when you heard the technical analysis gasp, walking to the briefing room faster.

While you temporarily escaped Penelope’s wave of questions upon entering the briefing room, you were met with the presence of the man your bones–and pussy–ached for. You avoided looking in his general direction as you sat next to Derek.

He turned to you as the girls entered the room, smiling. “Damn Mama, you look tired. What’d you do last night?”

And as if on cue, Spencer sat down in the empty chair on the other side of you, causing Emily to burst out laughing. The guys turned to look at her, confused by her reaction to Spencer’s timed action. She waved away their confusion, hiding behind her iPad, pretending to study the case all the while her shoulders shook from silent laughter.

Penelope had her eyes set on you and Spencer, giving you a look that read she wanted all the details directly from you. Saving you from having to explain Emily’s reaction, Penelope started the briefing, pulling everyone’s attention from you and Spencer to the serial killer running around Los Angeles.

It was easy to ignore Aaron’s stares through the briefing, too focused on the case details to give him attention but that couldn’t be said on the plane, especially when he walked up behind you on the steps. Your eyes met his and it felt like your nerves told your brain it was a fight or flight situation, causing you to internally panic.

You more or so sprinted up steps and into the plane, inadvertently sitting down next to the man half your coworkers suspected you were hooking up with. While it wasn’t unusual for you to sit next to anyone on the team, your normal spot had been right beside Aaron, the window seat while he took up the aisle seat. So accidentally sitting next to Spencer had caused Emily and JJ to share a glance with each other.

After Aaron had given the team details on what they were supposed to do–thankfully he had partnered you up with Rossi instead of himself–your phone buzzed relentlessly as Penelope texted you asking for details about your new paramour. Said paramour was peeking over your shoulder to read the numerous Penelope had sent.

After a second of them being left unanswered, she called you, her name popping up on your phone. You playfully glared at Emily and JJ before getting up and answering the call.

“Yes, baby girl?” you cooed, pushing the curtains aside to get a cup of coffee. “What can I help you with?”

“You and Reid?!” her voice was so loud you flinched as it hit your eardrum. “I thought you liked Hotch!”

“I don’t like either of them.” you sighed, heart pounding at the lie. Even just hearing his name had caused your body to tense, and you were sure there was a patch of wetness on your underwear. “And Spence and I are just friends.”

“JJ told me you guys spent the night together,” she replied, and you could practically hear her brain cogs working overtime. “As in doing intimate, not-suitable-for-work stuff.”

“No funny business, I swear,” you mutter, hissing when you spill coffee on yourself.

“Please don’t lie to me,” begged Penelope. “You can tell me anything, you know that. And you don’t have to be ashamed that you like Spencer, he’s cute in a nerdy way! You guys would make a great couple–”

Spencer pushed through the curtains, and it was as if Penelope sensed him through the phone because she went silent. Boy genius reached over you to grab a plastic cup from the counter, pouring his own coffee.

“Is that Garcia?” he asked, motioning to the phone. You nodded, smiling at the nearly inaudible hitch of Penelope’s breath. He chuckled, moving a tad closer to the speaker. “Hi, Garcia.”

Before she could reply, you intervened. “Bye Pen.”

You hung up, sighing. Taking a sip of coffee, you leaned against the small counter. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think our plan would progress so fast. Do you think it makes it look less believable?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it just made it more so,” said Spencer, mirroring your actions. “It’s very realistic friends would hook up when the situation pushes them to like working late nights, watching movies, or going to chess tournaments together.”

Giving him a blank look, you slurped your coffee rather loudly.

He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “Anyways, the only thing people may not believe is that I was able to … get you.”

“That’s insane. Why don’t you think you could pull me?”

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that I’m me and you’re … you. It’s kind of obvious you’re out of my league. I mean you’re very pretty and you could get any guy and honestly, I find it hard to believe Hotch would turn you down–”

You grinned, interrupting his rambling. “Aww, Spence, you’re so sweet. But you underestimate yourself. You’re very cute and if I wasn’t attracted to men twenty years older than me, then I would’ve gone for you.”

“Have you ever wondered if your attraction to much older men is caused by your daddy issues?” he blurted.

The plane lurched to the side, bringing Spencer to pin you against the counter, a hand placed on the counter to keep himself from falling right into you as the plane stabilized. Fortunately, Spencer’s coffee had spilled on the floor instead of either of you. Unfortunately (or fortunately), Aaron had chosen that moment to walk into your little space.

You and Spencer freeze in place as your boss–and the object of your desires–catches you in a position that would’ve had Penelope screaming from excitement. Spencer's free hand was on the counter, trapping you in between. His torso touched yours, your breast pressing up against his chest and your right hand was on his shoulder to stop him from crushing you during the turbulence.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed at the contact and the lack of space between you and Spencer. Both of you immediately sprung into action, Spencer taking a step back while you slid to your left, trying to put more space between you both.

While you were internally celebrating Aaron’s almost-jealous expression, you were more embarrassed at what he must be thinking. You didn’t plan to be so outward with Spencer, after all, you both agreed on only subtle touches, not pressed up against each other in a public space.

“Are you two alright?” Aaron questioned, eyes darting between you and Spencer.

You didn’t want to be delusional and lie to yourself but the vein on Aaron’s neck was bulging, a thing that only happened when he felt stressed or angry. You must’ve smiled subconsciously because he stared at you, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, the turbulence just caught us by surprise,” you reply, motioning to the coffee-stained floor. You stepped around him, shoulder brushing up against his arm. The curtains parted and you backed out. “I’m gonna head back.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes linger as you walk back.

By the time you head back to the hotel, you’re grumpy and sticky from sweat. Throughout the day, everyone has heard you moan and groan about the heat. By now, the team has figured out you’d rather freeze to death than heat.

The AC at the police station could only do so much when the temperature outside was over one hundred degrees. Rossi fanning you while you checked out the crime scene hadn’t helped and when you got back to the station, you begged Aaron to let you stay inside, breaking that awkward tension between the both of you through your hatred of heat.

Not that the tension hadn’t grown whenever Spencer and you were in the same room. Aaron would send him out to look at the body or interview close friends but as soon as he came back to the station, Aaron would find some excuse to send him back out, not giving you two the opportunity to work the plan. Not that you cared that much, you were too busy melting.

When everyone got to the hotel, Aaron held out four keys, and the team groaned. You’d have to share.

JJ snatched a key from Aaron’s hand. “Me and Em will share.”

“I’m not sharing a room with Reid, again,” Derek announced, crossing his arms. A confused Spencer tilted his head at him, a little hurt at the comment.

JJ smiled, handing Spencer a key. “Spencer can share with his friend.”

You glared at JJ, and she threw you another smug smile. Emily snorted, faking a cough when Rossi turned to look at her. Turning to Spencer, you nodded. “Yeah, we can share.”

“Actually,” objected Aaron, eyes never leaving you. “It’s Reid’s turn to have a room to himself.”

Derek looked at him, confused. “No, it isn’t. He had a room to himself in Alaska, it’s my turn actually–”

“Morgan, you can share with Rossi,” Aaron said with finality, giving him a key. He looked at you once again. “I’ll share a room with you.”

You knew the plan had worked but you were too exhausted and sticky to be happy about it. Not that you hadn’t wanted to share a room with him again, but all you could think about was taking a cold shower and hopefully freezing your entire body to the point where you stay cold all throughout the case.

The team dispersed. Aaron and your room was on the third floor while the rest stayed on the first. He carried your duffel bag, and you didn’t bother fighting him like you usually had. The elevator ride up was awkward and you wished he could make up his mind on whether he wanted you or not.

As soon as he unlocked the door, you rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower, setting the temperature to cold. You snatched your bag from his shoulder and ran back to the bathroom, peeling off your work clothes. A moan slips out as the cold water hits your skin, and for the entirety of the shower, you forget about the man behind the door.

Exiting the shower, you notice you haven't shut the bathroom door completely. The tiny crack allowed you to see Aaron sitting at the table, staring at the file in front of him. If you could see him, he could probably see you.

This is fucking crazy.

Maybe it was a breeze from the vent or maybe you mastered some form of telekinesis but the door cracked open further, about four inches wide now. You don’t make a move to close it.

Heart pounding, you dry yourself, turning away from the door as you bend over to dry your legs. The vent was the only noise you hear as you do so. You’re about to cave and shut the door but you feel eyes on you as you stand up straight.

You don’t turn around. Confidence grows as you take your time drying your hair with the towel, sometimes running a hand through it to separate the wet and semi-dry strands. The reality of the situation finally dawns on you when you squeeze the remaining water out of your hair.

Growing wet at the thought of Aaron watching you, nakedly drying yourself, you can’t help but give him a small peek at what he was missing. You turn around, enough so he could see a glimpse of your pussy. No, you don’t look in his direction, but you can see him staring from your peripherals.

The door had cracked open further since you last saw it. There was no doubt he saw every inch of your backside as you hadn’t wrapped the towel around you once.

You let your hands squeeze your breasts once before bending down to grab a t-shirt from your go bag. It’s oversize, the hem falling just below your ass. Putting a pair of red panties on, you remember how much Aaron likes the color.

Once you’re done, you zipped up your bag and looked in the mirror. It’s obvious how free your breasts are under the shirt, your nipples peeking from the thin material. Reading the words on the shirt, you realize it was one of Spencer’s. You remember stealing it from his duffel after swimming into the lake to save an unsub.

Your lips twitched into a smirk. Opening the door, you were met with Aaron’s unrelenting stare, eyes drifting up and down your body. Not giving him the satisfaction, you ignore him, dropping your bag on your bed.

Wait.

Looking around the room, you notice just one bed.

Shit.

In your distracted haze about the one-bed problem, you failed to notice Aaron moving. A hand gripped your waist tightly, pulling you back towards a hard chest. You freeze, glancing behind you to see a heated Aaron. His lips graze your ear.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic

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aphroditelovesu · 3 months

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Yandere Hannibal Lecter Headcanons (General)

''Nothing here is vegetarian." — Hannibal Lecter.

❝ 🍽 — lady l: I think it's amazing that my hcs become more and more extensive lol, but you like it, don't you? Hannibal is my newest fixation and I loved writing for him, due to his personality. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! It's four in the morning here 🤎🤍.

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, cannibalism and murder.

❝🍽pairing: yandere!hannibal lecter x gender neutral!reader.

Hannibal Lecter is decorous and very polite and he really appreciates that, politeness. He values and is easily offended by people who are rude or who do not have the correct manners, especially at the table. In addition to being a perfectionist analyzer.

He believes that the way people behave at the table directly reflects their education and social status. Hannibal is meticulous in choosing ingredients, preparing meals and presenting dishes. The problem is that his food tends to be human flesh, but Hannibal doesn't consider himself a cannibal, since the victims he chooses are seen as pigs to him.

Hannibal is known for his distinct personality and his appreciation for elegance and refined etiquette. His impeccable education, combined with his exquisite taste, creates an intriguing and contradictory image, due to his serial killer side. He stands out not only for his intellectual abilities and his ability to appreciate high culture but also for his meticulous and artistic approach to his darker pursuits.

You must have his politeness and good manners, that's the least he requires, Hannibal doesn't like rude people and although he won't kill you, he would have to teach you to have good manners. He will be happy to do so, however.

When interacting socially, Hannibal is observant and analytical, evaluating people based on their behavior at the table and in everyday situations. His aversion to rude people puts him in a unique position where he feels compelled to correct these "lapses" in etiquette. The way he corrects these mistakes varies from murder to a class, in this case, that class would be just for you.

You would have to be someone who achieves these Hannibal decorums, or comes close at least, for him to become obsessed with you. He likes polite people and will be happy if you are one of them, but if you are not or don't know the correct manners very well, don't worry, he will help you.

Hannibal is a psychiatrist and is very well aware that his thoughts of you are not ''normal'' or healthy, but he doesn't care. He knows it's morally wrong to do what he does and does it anyway, so what are some dark thoughts about you? But these thoughts quickly become actions he committed in your name.

He will take notes about you and create your psychiatric profile and if there is something ''wrong'', he will offer therapy for you, that is if you were not already his patient. Always very observant and attentive, he will be keeping all the necessary information about you, so that he can use it to catch you later.

If you have problems with your family or friends, Hannibal will take care of it. He doesn't like the idea of someone wanting to hurt you, whether emotionally or physically, and most likely he will kill them one by one and serve them to you. Of course, without your knowledge. He knows you're not ready to know that yet.

Hannibal will be very picky about your food, just as he is about his. If you eat poorly or incorrectly, he will correct it. He enjoys cooking for you and will be adamant about doing so, serving refined recipes and elaborate dishes using fresh ingredients. Hannibal is a bit too controlling.

He is not possessive, but rather obsessive. Hannibal doesn't like it when you get too close to other people, but he will be more uncomfortable if it's someone he has apathy or something against. But he will sort it out. He feels jealous, but he deals with it in his own way, releasing that feeling on other things... Or people.

Hannibal is quite protective of you and will be adamant about keeping you safe. He may try to convince you to live with him or will make regular visits to your home, work or where you study. He will always be around when he gets the chance, just to look out for you.

He will try not to completely succumb to his desires, as Hannibal doesn't like being controlled, and allowing you to have so much power over him makes him more than uncomfortable. At least until he is sure that you will let yourself be completely dominated by him, only then will he feel more comfortable in making his feelings for you clear.

Hannibal Lecter is very intelligent and knows very well how to get rid of evidence that could incriminate him. Besides being a psychopath who doesn't feel remorse or empathy for others, he becomes softer when he's with you. Although his feelings aren't clear or fully understood, he knows he cares about you, enough that he wants you to be his. And you'll be his.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter x reader #yandere hannibal #yandere hannibal lecter #yandere hannibal lecter x reader #headcanons #yandere headcanons #hannibal lecter #x reader #yandere au #yandere #dark!hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc

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lynnlovesthestars · 21 days

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Lesson one

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader. Genre: fluff. Warning: Mention of Cazador- and that itself it's a warning. Insecurities. Synopsis: Astarion needs a reminder that you don't want anything back. WC: 1.2k AN: You can thank my delulu brain at night for this one, i simply dreamt of it a few weeks ago, n just found the guts to post it. Taglist: @sessils @spacebarbarianweird / Masterpost / Kofi / Patreon

His lips lingered on your neck, hovering over the punctures as his hands still cradled you to him.

He let out a pleased hum before he kissed the mark, quickly stealing the stray droplets of blood with his lips.

You noticed right away how his body stiffened once he had laid you down. His hand cupped your cheek as you were quickly pulled to his lips. Despite his clear discomfort he pushed himself on top of you, his hips pressing against yours as you gently pushed him away.

“Astarion, stop” You murmured as he stared at you, his eyes full of confusion and something you couldn't quite grasp, but lacking the usual light they kept. His hands were holding the hem of his blouse, ready to be tossed away. He was doing it again.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked with furrowed brows, as he let go of the cloth.

“Yes, what are you doing?” You asked softly as you sat up, gently moving him with you until he was on his knees next to you.

“I'm clearly repaying you for your kindness” He smiled coy as he crawled few steps closer, one of his fangs peaking our from his lips while his dark eyes tried so hard to paint a different picture from his body. The confidence of his movements was shadowed by the uncertainty pooled in the crimson of his eyes.

You placed a hand on his cheek, softly grazing over his peachy skin. “Astarion, this is not a transaction” You shook your head as you admonished him kindly, your hand lingering on his cheek, focusing on the tense lines of his face, that begged to be eased.

“What do you mean?” He asked, confusion written all over his face, either for your physical response or your logic. Regardless it was foreign to him, everything was a give and take and he had just been given sustenance, it was logical he had to repay you.

“You don't need to repay me for anything” You leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “I'm doing it because I want to do it” You explained, not missing on his confusion.

He hesitated, it was too good to be true. There was something he HAD to give back, either with his blood or his body. Cazador had demanded always something. “I don't believe you, everyone always wants something back.” He crosses his arms and sat back. “No one is kind for free” In a way his harshness was like a slap to you, implying you wanted something back was by far unlike you, but then you remembered. You remembered what it when through and you understood if only briefly and theoretically.

“I never wanted anything back, Astarion.” You explained as he evaluated your words, you just gave him time to let them sink in, all the times he had bedded you, they were not because he had to do it, or because you expected him to fuck you as a payment, but because you wanted to.

“So what am I supposed to do, just get up and leave?” He raised an eyebrow skeptic, despite understanding he still was not completely sold on the idea of taking without giving up something.

“If that's what you want yes” It was astonishing to him how you didn’t hesitate, as if this was the norm, even though Astarion knew. He knew how the world spun and if there was something about it that he grasped effortlessly, was that nothing was free and no one was so selfless. Yet he wanted to believe you, even if just for a second.

“I-” He hesitated. He swore that if he still was alive, his chest would be thumping like crazy in that moment. “Want to give you something back” He lowered his eyes with a sigh. “I don't have much to offer besides sex though” He explained, a wave of nausea hitting him harshly. The mere thought was gagging him as he couldn't help but revive one of the countless nights he was forced to bed someone to survive. How he was devaluated to a simple piece of meat, and yet you saw him as much more than just his cock.

“One: you are much more than sex” You raised one finger up, admonishingly. “Two: if you truly want to do something, then come and lay next to me” Your voice softened, just like your body as you offered a soft smile and patted the softness of your bedroll eagerly.

“What?” It was Astarion only reply.

“Come and lay with me, here, under the duvet, in my arms” You spelled out almost purring like a cat at the idea of cuddles. True that Astarion had cold skin, but it wasn't any less enjoyable, and that seemed like enough of a repayment for you.

“You are kidding right? You want to cuddle” He chuckled holding his stomach, half in disbelief as the previous uncertainty dissolved to give space at the new emotion.

“Yes” You nodded. “I want to hold you and care for you” You scooted to the side and opened your arms for him.

“How's that my way of reciprocating the favour?” He raised an eyebrow, how could something so mere even compare to giving up your blood to feed a vampire.

“You are allowing me to love you” You said simply, urging him to join you with a hand gesture.

“Love?” He asked taken aback.

“The point is” You ignored his question casually. “I’m not giving you blood for sex, I'm doing it cause I know you need it” You gestured for him to come closer again. “and I don't want anything back” You closed your eyes and breathed out. “as a matter of fact, if you don't wanna cuddle you just have to say it and you can leave”

“No, no” He sat up, rejecting the idea of leaving, deep down he enjoyed your company even though most of the times it seemed as if he had to put a mask on, but you knew why it was like that, didn’t you? “Don't get me wrong, I'm confused, but I don't even know how to do it.. what it feels like” He admitted as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Then come here”. You simply said as you lifted the blanket to your legs and invited him in the warmth. “And let me show you, small spoon or big spoon?” You asked casually as he climbed next to you, unsure how to position himself as you draped him with the blanket as well.

“Why does it even matter? I usually prefer using a bigger spoon if I have to pick, though I’m a vampire, why would it matter how I eat soup?” He rolled his eyes as he tried his best to ignore the blush that surfaced on his cheeks once you wrapped your arms around him and dragged him to lay. You couldn’t help the giggle at his sudden naivety as you guided his head on your chest as if to invite him to wrap closer with you.

“This is..” Astarion thought for a moment as he allowed you to handle him while your warmth enveloped him. ‘..nice” He hums as he snuggled closer and closed his eyes.

“I’m glad” You murmured before placing a kiss to his temple and tangling your legs together, he didn’t resist to it, he simply molded with you as you rested together.

The weight of the day slowly sunk on the two of you, and lulled by the cicadas, you were asleep before you could say anything else.

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books-and-omens · 9 months

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Rather a big thing, by the way, that many of us are probably re-evaluating right now is Crowley consistently not wanting to be called kind or nice. Especially not by Aziraphale.

In S1, that was what triggered the wall slam. ‘Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me’—but in S2 we see more about how strong Crowley’s feelings are on the topic.

In the Job minisode, Crowley vehemently insists that he is a demon. He is so angry at God. When Aziraphale tells him that he is certain Crowley does not want to destroy Job’s children, Crowley takes his glasses off to expose full-demon irises and looks Aziraphale in the eye as requested and says, “I want to”.

Aziraphale is heartbroken over that. His shoulders slump, he exhales shakily, his faith in Crowley has indeed cracked. Look at him:

And then, of course, he figures out the trick, and it turns out that he is exactly right about Crowley. “Well,” he says, and looks vindicated, triumphant, amused.

He was right. He knew Crowley would resist atrocity with everything he has. He knew Crowley would understand it’s an atrocity in a way Gabriel and Michael did not seem to (and neither did those two care). What Aziraphale sees is that, for all of Crowley’s demonic posturing, Crowley came through.

(He remembers the angel that Crowley used to be. So joyful. So happy. So unlike Gabriel and Michael, too: the angel Crowley would never have gone along with killing Job’s children.)

At the end of this minisode, Aziraphale is ready to go to Hell. He thinks he must: he lied, he thwarted the will of God. Crowley, of course, tells him that he is simply an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can.

Aziraphale will process this in some way later, but… he won’t process it in the same way as Crowley. Aziraphale won’t reject the idea of Heavenly goodness—Heaven is supposed to be good, that’s the whole point—but he will take note of how, time and time again, Crowley exemplifies this idea when the actual Heavenly angels do not.

Across history, Aziraphale sees Crowley do things that are good. And then disclaim them, reject them, call them something else. A demon could get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing, Crowley had warned him a long time ago.

Aziraphale will remember this.

Don’t say thank you, Crowley hisses in the Bastille. My lot do not send rude notes.

And the Victorian minisode?

Off my head on laudanum, not responsible for my actions, Crowley tells Aziraphale vehemently after saving Elspeth from suicide. (In Christianity, certainly in the 19th century, suicide condemns a soul; one who died by suicide does not even get a Christian burial. So Crowley has actively diverted a soul from Hell by drinking the laudanum.)

And—look at how indulgently Aziraphale is looking at Crowley as Crowley insists he is not responsible for his actions.

Of course you aren’t, my dear, he seems to think. We both know you did it on purpose, to have a plausible excuse for Hell. But of course we both know that you are in fact responsible for your actions, and that, at great personal risk and cost, you have once again chosen to do good.

So by the end, from Aziraphale’s point of view, Crowley has a much better idea of Good than Heaven itself. And—oh joy!—in the finale, Metatron, the voice of God, finally acknowledges that fact and validates it. Your demon recognized me when nobody else did, Metatron essentially says.

(I just cannot with the ominous dramatic music that plays as Metatron leads Aziraphale out of the shop. Get the FUCK OUT David Arnold, this is so pointed and disturbing. In this season and in the last, the music is narration, it tells us so much without a single word.)

Anyway! Yes! In the finale, Aziraphale is being manipulated, and part of why it works is that he still does not understand Crowley’s motives in insisting he is not nice or good. He has been interpreting Crowley’s insistence solely as protective, which makes a lot of sense from what he has seen. A demon doing good deeds must hide to avoid punishment and pain. Crowley has hid for six thousand years, has gotten used to hiding. Sure, the last four years were different, but even in these years the danger hasn’t gone away, and six thousand years is a long time to set a pattern.

Aziraphale wants to see Crowley happy. He wants to see him—both of them—safe. And here, finally, is an official Metatron-offered way. Heaven is finally admitting and working on its mistakes. Surely Crowley will forgive them? Surely Crowley and Aziraphale can make Heaven better, together? Make into what it should be? (And they would be safe, they would be safe, they would be safe.)

They still haven’t talked. Aziraphale still does not understand Crowley’s choices. In the past, it might have been too dangerous for Aziraphale to know exactly why Crowley Fell, while for Crowley, it might have been too vulnerable a thing to discuss. So they haven’t talked, and Aziraphale does not know the exact questions Crowley had asked, does not know the exact reasons. He assumes.

And his assumptions, oh so well-meant, are going to be catastrophic.

#good omens season 2 #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens

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mostlysignssomeportents · 29 days

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Humans are not perfectly vigilant

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Here's a fun AI story: a security researcher noticed that large companies' AI-authored source-code repeatedly referenced a nonexistent library (an AI "hallucination"), so he created a (defanged) malicious library with that name and uploaded it, and thousands of developers automatically downloaded and incorporated it as they compiled the code:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/03/28/ai_bots_hallucinate_software_packages/

These "hallucinations" are a stubbornly persistent feature of large language models, because these models only give the illusion of understanding; in reality, they are just sophisticated forms of autocomplete, drawing on huge databases to make shrewd (but reliably fallible) guesses about which word comes next:

https://dl.acm.org/doi/10.1145/3442188.3445922

Guessing the next word without understanding the meaning of the resulting sentence makes unsupervised LLMs unsuitable for high-stakes tasks. The whole AI bubble is based on convincing investors that one or more of the following is true:

There are low-stakes, high-value tasks that will recoup the massive costs of AI training and operation;

There are high-stakes, high-value tasks that can be made cheaper by adding an AI to a human operator;

Adding more training data to an AI will make it stop hallucinating, so that it can take over high-stakes, high-value tasks without a "human in the loop."

These are dubious propositions. There's a universe of low-stakes, low-value tasks – political disinformation, spam, fraud, academic cheating, nonconsensual porn, dialog for video-game NPCs – but none of them seem likely to generate enough revenue for AI companies to justify the billions spent on models, nor the trillions in valuation attributed to AI companies:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

The proposition that increasing training data will decrease hallucinations is hotly contested among AI practitioners. I confess that I don't know enough about AI to evaluate opposing sides' claims, but even if you stipulate that adding lots of human-generated training data will make the software a better guesser, there's a serious problem. All those low-value, low-stakes applications are flooding the internet with botshit. After all, the one thing AI is unarguably very good at is producing bullshit at scale. As the web becomes an anaerobic lagoon for botshit, the quantum of human-generated "content" in any internet core sample is dwindling to homeopathic levels:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/14/inhuman-centipede/#enshittibottification

This means that adding another order of magnitude more training data to AI won't just add massive computational expense – the data will be many orders of magnitude more expensive to acquire, even without factoring in the additional liability arising from new legal theories about scraping:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

That leaves us with "humans in the loop" – the idea that an AI's business model is selling software to businesses that will pair it with human operators who will closely scrutinize the code's guesses. There's a version of this that sounds plausible – the one in which the human operator is in charge, and the AI acts as an eternally vigilant "sanity check" on the human's activities.

For example, my car has a system that notices when I activate my blinker while there's another car in my blind-spot. I'm pretty consistent about checking my blind spot, but I'm also a fallible human and there've been a couple times where the alert saved me from making a potentially dangerous maneuver. As disciplined as I am, I'm also sometimes forgetful about turning off lights, or waking up in time for work, or remembering someone's phone number (or birthday). I like having an automated system that does the robotically perfect trick of never forgetting something important.

There's a name for this in automation circles: a "centaur." I'm the human head, and I've fused with a powerful robot body that supports me, doing things that humans are innately bad at.

That's the good kind of automation, and we all benefit from it. But it only takes a small twist to turn this good automation into a nightmare. I'm speaking here of the reverse-centaur: automation in which the computer is in charge, bossing a human around so it can get its job done. Think of Amazon warehouse workers, who wear haptic bracelets and are continuously observed by AI cameras as autonomous shelves shuttle in front of them and demand that they pick and pack items at a pace that destroys their bodies and drives them mad:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

Automation centaurs are great: they relieve humans of drudgework and let them focus on the creative and satisfying parts of their jobs. That's how AI-assisted coding is pitched: rather than looking up tricky syntax and other tedious programming tasks, an AI "co-pilot" is billed as freeing up its human "pilot" to focus on the creative puzzle-solving that makes coding so satisfying.

But an hallucinating AI is a terrible co-pilot. It's just good enough to get the job done much of the time, but it also sneakily inserts booby-traps that are statistically guaranteed to look as plausible as the good code (that's what a next-word-guessing program does: guesses the statistically most likely word).

This turns AI-"assisted" coders into reverse centaurs. The AI can churn out code at superhuman speed, and you, the human in the loop, must maintain perfect vigilance and attention as you review that code, spotting the cleverly disguised hooks for malicious code that the AI can't be prevented from inserting into its code. As "Lena" writes, "code review [is] difficult relative to writing new code":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773779967521780169

Why is that? "Passively reading someone else's code just doesn't engage my brain in the same way. It's harder to do properly":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773780355708764665

There's a name for this phenomenon: "automation blindness." Humans are just not equipped for eternal vigilance. We get good at spotting patterns that occur frequently – so good that we miss the anomalies. That's why TSA agents are so good at spotting harmless shampoo bottles on X-rays, even as they miss nearly every gun and bomb that a red team smuggles through their checkpoints:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

"Lena"'s thread points out that this is as true for AI-assisted driving as it is for AI-assisted coding: "self-driving cars replace the experience of driving with the experience of being a driving instructor":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773841546753831283

In other words, they turn you into a reverse-centaur. Whereas my blind-spot double-checking robot allows me to make maneuvers at human speed and points out the things I've missed, a "supervised" self-driving car makes maneuvers at a computer's frantic pace, and demands that its human supervisor tirelessly and perfectly assesses each of those maneuvers. No wonder Cruise's murderous "self-driving" taxis replaced each low-waged driver with 1.5 high-waged technical robot supervisors:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

AI radiology programs are said to be able to spot cancerous masses that human radiologists miss. A centaur-based AI-assisted radiology program would keep the same number of radiologists in the field, but they would get less done: every time they assessed an X-ray, the AI would give them a second opinion. If the human and the AI disagreed, the human would go back and re-assess the X-ray. We'd get better radiology, at a higher price (the price of the AI software, plus the additional hours the radiologist would work).

But back to making the AI bubble pay off: for AI to pay off, the human in the loop has to reduce the costs of the business buying an AI. No one who invests in an AI company believes that their returns will come from business customers to agree to increase their costs. The AI can't do your job, but the AI salesman can convince your boss to fire you and replace you with an AI anyway – that pitch is the most successful form of AI disinformation in the world.

An AI that "hallucinates" bad advice to fliers can't replace human customer service reps, but airlines are firing reps and replacing them with chatbots:

https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20240222-air-canada-chatbot-misinformation-what-travellers-should-know

An AI that "hallucinates" bad legal advice to New Yorkers can't replace city services, but Mayor Adams still tells New Yorkers to get their legal advice from his chatbots:

https://arstechnica.com/ai/2024/03/nycs-government-chatbot-is-lying-about-city-laws-and-regulations/

The only reason bosses want to buy robots is to fire humans and lower their costs. That's why "AI art" is such a pisser. There are plenty of harmless ways to automate art production with software – everything from a "healing brush" in Photoshop to deepfake tools that let a video-editor alter the eye-lines of all the extras in a scene to shift the focus. A graphic novelist who models a room in The Sims and then moves the camera around to get traceable geometry for different angles is a centaur – they are genuinely offloading some finicky drudgework onto a robot that is perfectly attentive and vigilant.

But the pitch from "AI art" companies is "fire your graphic artists and replace them with botshit." They're pitching a world where the robots get to do all the creative stuff (badly) and humans have to work at robotic pace, with robotic vigilance, in order to catch the mistakes that the robots make at superhuman speed.

Reverse centaurism is brutal. That's not news: Charlie Chaplin documented the problems of reverse centaurs nearly 100 years ago:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_Times_(film)

As ever, the problem with a gadget isn't what it does: it's who it does it for and who it does it to. There are plenty of benefits from being a centaur – lots of ways that automation can help workers. But the only path to AI profitability lies in reverse centaurs, automation that turns the human in the loop into the crumple-zone for a robot:

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/01/human-in-the-loop/#monkey-in-the-middle

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Jorge Royan (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Munich_-_Two_boys_playing_in_a_park_-_7328.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

Noah Wulf (modified) https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Thunderbirds_at_Attention_Next_to_Thunderbird_1_-_Aviation_Nation_2019.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #ai #supervised ai #humans in the loop #coding assistance #ai art #fully automated luxury communism #labor

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cepheustarot · 4 months

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Message to yourself from the 2024

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: You from the future want to tell you that in general your year will be filled with positive emotions, you will feel very happy and joyful, in your life will be many pleasant memories and bright moments, and all the good memories will be connected to people close to you. This year you will really devote time to your loved ones, as I see you from the future wants to tell you that you have found yourself a good partner and are now happy! Or you’ve become close to someone and they’re an integral part of your life. For those who already have a relationship, your favorite person will make you a marriage proposal! You will also spend a lot of time with your family or loved ones, and that will strengthen your bond. Also next year you will meet new people. In addition, next year you will work hard, but these efforts will bear fruit, you will get a promotion at work, your business will grow and generate income, you will finish a great study and pass important exams. 2024 will be fruitful for you and filled with positive emotions!

But you from the future want to warn you: you will most likely decide to change your field of activity, work or go into something new, which should be supposed to bring you money, but with this it is better to wait, because this activity will not meet your expectations and you will get which didn’t expect. In other words, it can be a waste of money, time, resources, and unwarranted investment, so be careful and think before you start something!

The advice that wants to convey your version of the future: most likely at some point in your life you will feel like a squirrel in the wheel, work a lot or have a lot of meetings with people. This whole thing could wear you out. Here the advice is that you take your time and do everything at your usual pace, sometimes you also need to go with the flow, and not rush any events.

Pile 2: Your version of the future wants to tell you that within a year, you’re going to be faced with problems that will wear you out and you’re going to feel exhausted, both physically and emotionally. You may also be haunted by indecision for a year, lack the courage to commit to something that can bring about new changes in your life, perhaps you will fear the consequences of your decision and will therefore delay. But you will eventually gain courage, you will do as you wish, you will be firm in your convictions and principles, nothing can break you!

Your version of the future also wants to give you a warning: you should always defend your opinion, your principles and your personal boundaries, you do not need to avoid conflicts (within reason of course) and left to chance., otherwise you risk being manipulated, bend to someone’s opinion, it can aggravate your morale and damage your self-esteem.

Also your future version wants to give you advice: start thinking about your future, build your own plans. Perhaps this year you left to chance and have no idea what you want to do with your life or what to do next, so 2024 will be a year for you to discover, to know yourself and to be filled with thoughts about your future. Think about the consequences, it is clear that not can be ready for everything in life but competently evaluate your actions and think about what consequences can be.

Pile 3: Your version of the future wants to tell you not to worry, as the year will be quiet enough for you, without any major changes and difficult moments. As I see it, next year you will pay more attention to work, study or your self-development, you can secure the title of specialist, which will certainly bring you success and good income. In general, as I said, this year you will not have hard periods and in all spheres of life you will have everything stable and sustainable.

Your version of the future wants to give you a warning: pay more attention to the people you work with or learn from, because they can frame you. It could be people you’ve known for a long time, so be careful! If this is not avoided, your reputation may change, you may be demoted or your academic performance will decline, and this will undermine your self-esteem.

Advice from you from the future: always remember that you are stronger than you think! And if you encounter obstacles and problems that seem insurmountable, always remember that everything can be solved! You are able to influence your own future and you are always able to do as you would like, take the situation under your own control.

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

#tarot #tarot cards #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a pile reading #pac

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dwyntwo · 2 months

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The world would be a better place if all men were like Jesper Fahey

Let me elaborate. So.

One thing that's always irked me is that many men see women as potential partners first and as individual human beings with valuable thoughts second. They evaluate whether she's attractive or not, whether she's worth keeping around- if she's not willing to enter a relationship at some point in the future, she's not. It's becoming so blatantly clear when you see how many men complain about the "friendzone" because they simply cannot fathom being friends with a woman and spending time without the promise of sex or a relationship.

Then we have Jesper Fahey. He flirts with just about everyone and he's an absolute whore, and of course he compliments women and evaluates whether he finds them attractive or not, it's normal; but he's able to keep women around AS FRIENDS. He compliments Nina's looks the very first time he sees her, but he doesn't need or expect a relationship with her. They're just buddies, they value each other, and they value each other's thoughts and ideas. Sure, you could say it's because he knows that she and Matthias have a weird thing going on, but if he didn't respect her as a human being the way so many flirtcoaches (🤢🤮) do, he'd talk to Matthias more than to her, and only talk to her if it's necessary since she's taken and not part of "the game" anymore. That's not the case. Nina didn't suddenly become invisible for him just because he knew a fling was off the table.

And Inej? He LOVES her in the most platonic way and it's beautiful. They have such an unbreakable bond, and at no point of it does Jesper see the metaphorical unattainable carrot dangled in front of his face when it comes to her.

Hell, he's literally stuck in the "brotherzone" with Kaz, who he canonically has a crush on, but does he complain?? NO, this is good enough for him, because he cares about and values the men and women in his life, whether they're attractive to him or not, OUTSIDE of what they can do for him. He sees them as PEOPLE. Not as assecoires that elevate his status as a man.

He's the prime example of "You can be a player without disrespecting women". I want a friend like Jesper Fahey.

#six of crows #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #nina zenik #kaz brekker #soc #All of the crows are feminists istg #Well maybe not Matthias #Friendships with women are awesome I promise #Men should try it more

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fanfic-obsessed · 2 months

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No Memories, Just Vibes

There is a part of the Jedi Apprentice series that has sparked two different ideas, of which this is the first.

Early in one of the books, before Obi Wan is taken as a padawan, Qui Gon Jinn witnesses a duel between him and another initiate. Qui Gon perceives that these two pre teens (if I remember correctly, Obi Wan is a few weeks away from turning 13 and Bruck Chun was a few months to a year younger) are too angry and tells Obi Wan that he is destined to fall, that training Obi Wan would be a waste of time.

As traumatizing as this speech is, when we take into account Obi Wan’s entire story it is also, objectively, the single most hilarious thing that Qui Gon Jinn could say to Obi Wan Kenobi.

From this Two ideas were born.

IDEA 1

The first is that as soon as Qui Gon tell Obi Wan that he is destined to fall, the Force drops post Death Star Qui Gon into current time Qui Gon’s head. Except there are no memories, just vibes. So between one moment and the next Qui Gon goes from ‘I will not teach you. Get away from me’ to ‘this is my baby padawan, my little boy! Isn’t he precious?’.

And the Masters watching, particularly those responsible for assigning the Master/Padawan pairs, go ‘we were going to let you take the baby, until just now. Now we need do a psych eval’

And Obi Wan (twelve years old) is a mix of emotions that he is not sure there is a word for. Ten minutes ago he was hopeful that Qui Gon Jinn would take him as a padawan. Three minutes ago the same master shattered that hope and left him devastated. Now the Master who devastated him is now hugging him and babbling about a padawan braid and how Obi Wan is his son.

Nothing makes sense.

Eventually, after innumerable medical and psychological tests, Qui Gon is allowed to take Obi Wan as a Padawan. At some point, during the evaluations, Qui Gon comes to two ‘realizations’ (based on nothing but vibes). The first is that he decides that Obi Wan must be the chosen one, but Qui Gon cannot tell anyone, believing that Qui Gon would not be allowed to teach him (left over vibes from the High council not letting him take Anakin as a Padawan) and to not put excess pressure on the baby. He also decides that Obi Wan’s goodness (the vibe that Obi Wan is incapable of falling) is just what is needed to bring Xanatos back to the light.

It should be noted that Qui Gon communicates this plan poorly to Obi Wan, who perceives that Qui Gon took him on to be bait for Qui Gon’s fallen former padawan. Obi Wan, though lacking in much of the trauma that we associate with him, is fairly fatalistic and just shrugs, thinking ‘well, this might as well happen’.

As soon as Qui Gon is released from medical, he takes himself and his shiny new padawan haring across the galaxy looking for Xanatos. It takes long enough to find him that Feemor hears about what is going on and, out of concern for the child involved, goes to find them. When he arrives Qui Gon is waving Obi Wan at Xanatos going ‘I got you a baby brother.’

Feemor, somehow both too young and too old for this shit, goes ‘For Kriffs sake, Qui Gon’ and briefly steals Obi Wan.

At some point Obi Wan and Xanatos bond enough that the next time that Xanatos tells Qui Gon that Xan is going to kill him, Obi Wan pipes up saying that Qui Gon was the only master ho would take him and Obi wan really wants to be a Jedi.

Xanatos now has a new mission, to find a new Master for his little brother, so he can go back to trying to murder Qui Gon. (For handwavy reasons, we’ll call it the repudiation, Feemor is not allowed to take Obi Wan as a Padawan-Xanaots asked).

So now we have the weirdest chase in history. Qui Gon is vibing and chasing Xanatos. Xantos is leading Qui Gon on a chase and looking for another Jedi Master without getting skewered (because of the darksider thing). Obi Wan is being dragged along with Qui Gon, hoping that he gets to learn something about being a jedi before he is killed? He is not even sure. Feemor is following Qui Gon and Obi Wan, occasionally confiscating Obi Wan, because he is not sure anyone should be exposed to this much Qui Gon over any length of time.

They are also utterly ignoring both the senate and the Jedi council. Well Feemor and Qui Gon are ignoring the Jedi Council and the Senate. Xanatos, since he is not part of the Jedi Order any longer, is not bound to either. Obi Wan is actually filling out the required reports to the best of his abilities but the information boils down to ‘We continue to ignore the assigned mission, I am thirteen (having had a birthday in the interim) and cannot change that. Feemor is quite kind when he abducts me.’

You may or may not have guessed but this clusterfuck lands on Galidraan. Just before the fighting between Jango Fett’s True Mandalorians and Dooku’s Jedi is due to erupt. Qui Gon wanders through the tense standoff, stops and with no context whatsoever goes ‘Oh, everyone here is being tricked’. With him is thirteen year old Obi Wan, a tiny child. Xanatos, who beat them to the planet by about an hour strides dramatically as fuck from the other side of the potential battlefield shouting out ‘Qui Gon Jinn, you ass…’ before clocking the Jedi and going ‘Jedi’.

Feemor also lands and exits his ship from yet another direction, already looking like he had a headache, going ‘Qui Gon, what he Kriff’.

Now the tense standoff between the Madalorians and the Jedi is derailed as everyone involved goes from violent rage to baffled rage. Also everyone recognizes that there is now a kid on the battlefield and no one wants to be the one to fight a tiny child. This does eventually defuse things enough that contacts can be exchanged and everyone gets to realize that the governor is the asshole.

Qui Gon refuses to elaborate (and frankly is unable to elaborate, he has no information only vibes) on the ‘Everyone is being tricked’ thing. Or what he meant when he wandered up to Jango Fett, peered at him, and told him ‘You’re not the right one, but I won’t hold it against you’ (what Qui Gon means, even if he doesn’t realize it, is that Jango is not Cody). At some point or another during the time that they are figuring this out, everyone in the combined party of Jedi/Darksiders/Mandalorians/Other says ‘For Kriffs sake, Qui Gon’ (This includes two Deathwatch prisoners captured during the campaign).

Throughout this Xanatos keeps trying to corner other Jedi to get them to take on Obi Wan, except he is also not great at communicating his intentions, so it is perceived that he is trying to get rid of Obi Wan so that he can have Qui Gon to himself. No one is willing to question any further, though most are a little freaked out.

IDEA 2

The second idea is not quite as detailed. It’s a Read/Watch the series. Again we start from Qui Gon telling Obi Wan that he is destined to fall. The Force pulls everyone (initiates, knights, Masters, and the Council members) in the area outside of time where they watch the Movies and shows (Starting with TPM and watching in chronological Order: The prequels, The Clone Wars, Kenobi, the OT) with a focus on Obi Wan Kenobi.

So everyone gets to go ‘Oh, Obi Wan is actually awesome’. Except of course for Obi Wan, who nearly has a breakdown believing that this is proof that he should not be a Jedi knight (somehow convinced that the Purge/Order 66 is actually his own fault).

So now Obi Wan has a plethora of Masters who want to train him (including Qui Gon, who again believes that Obi Wan must be the Chosen One) , additional trauma of survivor's guilt before the events that he survived, and a shiny new appointment with the mind healers. He also has the admiration of the initiates that had previously bullied him.

The Jedi council is able to piece together enough information on the Sith to try and change things, with varying results.

#star wars #star wars au #obi wan kenobi #fanfiction prompt #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #xanatos du crion #feemor #jango fett #yan dooku

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twice-inamillion · 3 months

Text

The Company

Interlude 1

Smut and Story Building

1,185 Words

(A small timeskip. Will be introducing some new characters and imporant events)

It’s been a couple of months since you and Jessica hooked up. The weekend was one of many nights that the two of you spent together. At first, she made the excuse of visiting IU and Taeyeon and would try to get a quick one before meeting them. You know her trick and obviously didn’t reject the offer. Instead, you made sure to pump a load or two before she left to meet her friends.

————

With two confirmed groups for the company, you took some time to get to know them without exposing your position as CEO. You came up with a false position as a trainer/staff to better know some of the trainees before their official debut.

Your assistants were fine with the idea since it gave you a chance to be involved in their bi-weekly evaluation process, but not most felt that way. There were some staff that were a bit stressed by your presence by having the CEO breathing down their back. You assured them that they could act normally and that your focus was on the trainees.

After the first week, their stress disappeared due to how involved you were with the trainees. They enjoyed watching you become a backup dancer, even cheering you as you took off your shirt.

“Wow, such a hot body!”

You turned around to catch the person who yelled that but only saw the girls holding their laugh.

“Alright, let’s end this here. Good job, girls,” says one of the female trainers.

You return to the seats and grab a towel to wipe yourself off. Through the large room-sized mirror, you see someone eyeing you, biting her lip as you dry your face.

“Jennie unnie, let’s go. We need to head out and get to class,” says the girl next to her. The girls gather their bags and rush out the door.

“CEO nim, sorry for the rude comment the girls made. I’ll talk to them later today,” says the female trainer.

“Don’t worry about it. They’re just being playful. No harm done.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Also, what's the girl’s name again?” pretending not to know her.

“Her name is Kim Jennie, aka Jennie.”

Later that day, while waiting in the cafeteria line, you get a feeling of someone eyeing you and notice it’s Jennie sitting across the room with four other girls. You grab your food, take your tray to an empty table, and begin eating. That feeling of someone watching you continues throughout lunch, even as you pass by them to return your tray.

You change your outfit, return to your office, and pull up the group’s file:

Group A:

Kim, Jisoo

Kim, Jennie

Cho, Miyeon

Park, Chaeyoung

Manobal, Lisa

Group B:

Irene

Kang Seulgi

Son Wendy

Park Joy

You look at Jennie’s file and see numerous comments stating that she has an ‘It girl” factor based on her looks, language, rapping skills, and stage presence. Many state they have hopes for her in the group. You look at her pictures and videos from her evaluations and can’t help but want to get to know her. After much thinking, you decide to make her your new toy as you close her file.

————

You leave the practice room, walk towards the hallways, and see Irene. You stop, look through the window slot, and see her together with her future girl group. You watch as she stands in front of the group, plays the music, and gets into formation.

“They’re good. Irene chose some good members.”

You take out your phone and take a quick snap but forget to turn off the flash; Irene turns her head and sees your apologetic face. She runs to the door and opens it, yelling at you to go away. You run and turn the corner, laughing out loud as some of the staff members look at you with worried expressions, as they have never seen the CEO act this way.

————-

Throughout the next week weeks, you notice Jennie throughout the company or calling you to move some furniture around when the rest of the members are not around, and you’re surprised by the way she talks to you so comfortably, “Oppa, can you move that over there? Is to heavy for me” as she pouts. “Sure, don’t worry about it” carrying some heavy boxes from one corner of the living room and into another. You tell yourself that you shouldn’t have played the staff role since you’ve been busy recently, but you can’t blow your cover, so instead, you suck it up for a bit longer.

“Here, that’s it. Anything else?”

“No.” She comes close to you and touches your biceps, “You’re so strong, oppa. Do you work out a lot?”

“I do work out a bit here and there” as you flex your muscles. She claps and says, “Wow, does that mean you’re strong?”

You pick her front her waist with much ease, making her yelp from the surprise, and say, “Wait, what are you doing?” You spin her around once, then hear the door open and see the other four members enter the apartment. Immediately, you put her down, and the both of you pretend that nothing happened, but the girls see Jennie’s reaction and can’t help but laugh.

“Alight, I’ll take my leave if there is nothing else for me to do.”

“Jennie, don’t you want to say goodbye to oppa?”

Jennie turns red and covers her face from the teasing of her members as you exit their apartment.

—————

You get a phone call and see that it's from Jessica. When you answer the phone, you can hear her upset, almost crying. “Jessica, what’s wrong?” There is a short silence and a cry until she finally speaks up, “Can you pick me up?” Worried you let her know that you’ll be there in a couple of minutes in front of her apartment.

When you arrive, you see that she is waiting by the entrance of the building with a small suitcase and bag. She comes in a hurry, so you quickly open the door and load her items inside. You arrive at your apartment and settle her things down; you offer her something to drink as she sits on the couch. “Would you like something to drink?” She gives it some thought and eventually says, “I think I’ll go for a tea.” You’re surprised by her choice since she normally gets some wine whenever she visits.

You hand over the drink and sit next to her, asking her what’s wrong and why she’s so upset. She breaks down and says repeatedly that it’s not fair. “What do you mean by it’s not fair? What happened?”

“The company and the girls are kicking me out of the group.”

“What? Why?”

Jessica stands up and undoes her thick coat, revealing a small bump. In a panic, you say, “Are you…”

She nods and says, “Yeah, I’m pregnant with your child.”

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midnightloversmusic · 5 days

Text

Ruined Movie Dates ✧.*

James Potter x Reader

Hurt/Comfort

“Did you think I would have been mad? because i’m not mad, honestly I don’t think I could ever be mad at you even now when you hide yourself in a bathroom to avoid me helping you when you are hurt, I can never be mad.”

masterlist

————————————————————————

You are currently hiding from James in the bathroom.

It’s not like you want to be hiding from James, you want to be cuddled up in his arms watching a movie right about now as you had planned yesterday, but here you are with a black eye hiding in your bathroom as you hear James letting himself into your apartment.

It really wasn’t your fault it’s not like you prompted this person to punch you, she mistaked you for the girl who slept with her girlfriend and that’s fair.

but god does it hurt like an absolute bitch.

And all you know is that James can not know about this. Your sweet, kind, lovely, caring boyfriend would flip the absolute fuck out if he saw that you had a black eye.

in a loving and concerned way of course but, how exactly are you going to hide it from him when he’s literally in your apartment right now for a movie date?

you have absolutely no idea.

“Love?”

you hear James call from the entry way

“I’m just in the bathroom i’ll be out in a sec!”

fuck.

you usually keep your makeup in a drawer under the sink but as you open it is you realize you left your foundation in your purse yesterday when you were running late to work. Now you really have to option but to kick James out and wait until your eye heals to see him again.

“Um James can you come here please?” you ask in a small voice

you hear his footsteps come from the kitchen up until the door and you open the door a crack so that he can’t see your bruised eye

“I’m really not feeling good tonight and I know it’s a little late to cancel seemingly as you’re already in my apartment but I hope you’ll understand when I ask you to please go?”

he stands there silently staring at you, evaluating you, looking right into your soul, and stealing all the thoughts from your brain.

how dare he.

“If you really are feeling unwell and want me to go, I will but I don’t mind getting sick and I would rather take care of you, if you’ll let me?”

and shit. When he talks in that sickly sweet voice it’s really fucking hard to lie to him.

“Jamie I appreciate the offer but I just really need you to go-“

as you are as politely as possible asking him to remove himself from the premises of your apartment complex he shifts his position allowing him to see just a little further into the bathroom. Just enough to see your absolutely fucked eye.

“Baby what happened?”

All the sudden his concerned look gets ten times worse. his eyebrow scrunches more and is frown deepens and he opens the door to grab your chin and examine your eye.

without the stress of trying to hide from james you can finally feel the throbbing pain in your eye and you really wish you had sneaked an ice pack before you scurried into hiding

“lovie you have to tell me what happened”

you just whine.

he lightly brushes his finger over the bruise and you wince

“sorry”

“it’s okay” you say taking a deep breath

“This girl mistaked me for the girl her girlfriends been cheating on her with but it’s not her fault because she showed me a picture and we do look exactly the same I mean I was wondering if i was secretly adopted and had a twin that I didn’t know about-“

and now youre rambling and it doesn’t seem to be soothing james’ pitying expression

“ Love why didn’t you call me immediately? I would have been there in an instant. Did you think I would have been mad? because i’m not mad, honestly I don’t think I could ever be mad at you even now when you hide yourself in a bathroom to avoid me helping you when you are hurt, I can never be mad.”

“i’m sorry I just didn’t want to make it a big deal”

“it is a big deal, you’re hurt, cmon love let’s go get an ice pack that must hurt”

and he scooped you up into his arms as if it was your legs that were hurt and carried you the couch as he grabbed an ice pack

you can’t lie, there are much worse things than being taken care of by james. much much worse.

#james potter x you #james fleamont potter #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter x fem!reader #jamespotter #james potter hurt/comfort #marauders era

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transmutationisms · 2 months

Note

Feel free not to answer this ask so you dont have to step into this particular hornet's nest but do you have any thoughts about people sharing inaccurate science about COVID in order to push for more COVID regulations? I agree that COVID is being neglected and we need better policies but I'm also a biochemist so it pisses me off to see people cite research in a way that makes exaggerated and terrifying claims. Two years ago, I was warning my colleagues against this condescending "just trust the science" approach but now the same crowd pushing that has shifted to pushing "don't trust any of the positive science, only my catastrophic interpretations of it". Can't we mask without also trying to convince each other that COVID is a guaranteed one way ticket to death and permanent disability?

you must be new here haha i swing bats at this hornet's nest like once a month. yeah i think the current state of covid communication sucks a lot. i mean the truth is that "follow the science" is always a disingenuous sentiment; Science doesn't speak, and scientists disagree with one another. and it's naïve to pretend majority consensus is a reliable mechanism to identify truth—anyone who has followed the covid aerosolisation about-face will recall that although linsey marr was not the first researcher to challenge medical orthodoxy on airborne disease transmission, even well into the covid pandemic the idea of aerosol transmission was marginalised by global health authorities because it was politically inconvenient, out of favour with powerful established academics, and reminiscent to some of pre-pasteurian miasma theories of disease. those who would "follow the science" were not presented with a convenient dichotomy between reasonable evidence-backed expert consensus and fringe peddlers of heterodoxy; to evaluate these positions required actually, yknow, reading and evaluating the arguments and evidence from multiple competing positions, and deciding which had the greater explanatory power. which is good epistemological advice only insofar as it's so obvious as to be trite.

fundamentally a huge driving force of this situation is the social, political, and institutional forces that make expert knowledge (a generally good thing) all too often synonymous with inaccessible knowledge. i don't mean inaccessibility caused by knowledge being specialised; obviously this is inevitable to some extent simply as a result of the fact that no one person will grasp the entirety of human knowledge. but the fact that knowledge is specialised, specific, highly technical, and so forth doesn't automatically mean, for example, that it has to be monetarily gatekept from all but a select few with the resources to persevere through a highly punishing, nepotistic, hegemonic university system; this is a political problem, and one that additionally has the effect of enabling and sheltering low-quality work (see: replication crisis) behind the opaque walls of university bureaucracy and the imprimateur of the credentials it grants. in lieu of an ability to actually engage with, read, or challenge much of the academic research being generated on any given topic, the lay public is supposed to rely on signs of reliability like possession of a degree, or institutional reputation. what we in fact see again and again, and with particularly high stakes in the case of something like a pandemic, is that these measures are instruments of class stratification and professional jockeying that don't inherently ensure quality information: MDs can and do peddle anti-vaxx lies and covid / long-covid denialism; the CDC and WHO can and do perpetrate bad and outdated scientific advice, like that masks are unnecessary and isolation periods can be shortened for convenience. many of these are just blatant cases of kowtowing to political pressure, which arises from the capitalist logic that counterposes disease prevention to economic growth.

this all leaves us in a position where it is, in fact, smart and correct to evaluate the information coming from 'official' and credentialled sources with scepticism. the problem is that in its place, we get information coming out of the same capitalist state-sponsored scientific institutions, and the same colonialist universities; the idea that some chucklefuck on twitter is telling you the secret truth just because they correctly identified that the government sucks is plainly absurd. where covid specifically is concerned, the liberalism of academic and scientific institutions is on display in numerous ways, including the idealist assumption, which many 'covid communicators' make, that public health policy is primarily a matter of swaying public opinion, and therefore that it is always morally imperative to form and propagate the most alarmist possible interpretation of any study or empirical observation. this is not an attitude that encourages thoughtful or measured evaluation of The Science (eg, study methodology), nor is it one that actually produces the kind of political change that would be required to protect the populace writ large from what is, indeed, a dangerous and still rampant virus. instead, this form of communication mostly winds up generating social media Engagement and screenshots of headlines of summaries of studies.

meanwhile, actual public health policy (which is by and large determined at the mercy of capitalist state interests, and which by and large shapes public opinion of what mitigation measures are 'reasonable', despite the CDC repeatedly pretending this works the other way round), remains on its trajectory toward lax, open exposure of anyone and everyone to each new strain of covid, perpetuating a society that is profoundly hostile to disabled people and careless with everyone's life and health. this fucking sucks. it sucked that we have treated the flu like this for years, and it sucks that we are now doing it with a virus that we are still relatively immunologically naïve to, and that produces, statistically, even more death and disability than the flu. and it sucks that the predominating explanations of this state of affairs from the 'cautious' emphasise not the structural forces that shape knowledge production under capitalism, but instead invoke a psychological narrative whereby individuals simply need to be sufficiently terrified into producing mass action.

#michael hoerger hate blog #covid

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eco-lite · 9 months

Text

I’m once again returning to do god’s work by bringing you delightful moments from Spock’s World by Diane Duane.

[Text ID: “Spock was bent over [the Science Station], making some adjustment. ‘Readout now,’ he said, straightening and looking over his shoulder at the large, shaggy-fringed rock that was sitting in the center seat. Some of those glittering fringes stroked the open circuitry of the communicator controls in the seat’s arm. ‘Point nine nine three,’ said a scratchy voice from the voder box mounted on the rock’s back. ‘A nice triple sine.’ ‘Nice?’ said Spock. Jim raised an eyebrow: you could have used Spock’s tone of voice to dry out a martini.” End ID]

There’s a Horta crewman on the Enterprise now and they’re great!

[Text ID: “Still working on her doctoral thesis, Jim thought. Uhura was busy working on improving universal translator theory, mostly by taking the old theory to pieces and putting it back together in shapes that were causing a terrible furor in academic circles on various planets. Jim vividly remembered one night quite a long time ago when he had asked Uhura exactly how she was going about this. She had told him, for almost an hour without stopping, and in delighted and exuberant detail, until his head was spinning with phoneme approximations and six-sigma evaluations and the syntactic fade and genderbend and recontextualization and linguistic structural design and the physics of the human dextrocerebral bridge. The session had left Jim shaking his head, thoroughly disabused of the idea (and ashamed of how long he had held it) that Uhura was simply a sort of highly trained switchboard operator.” End ID]

Uhura continues to be a total badass and is amazing at what she does.

[Text ID: Chatroom title in all caps: “COMMON ROOM OPINION, INFORMED AND NON- RANTING AND RAVING PERMITTED NAMES NOT NECESSARY” Regular text: “It was one of the places he came to find out what his crew was thinking. Messages did not have to be attributed to a name or terminal, but they could not be private. The office of the common room system operator rotated through the crew, offered to various members on the strength of their psych profiles in areas like calm reaction to stress and anger. The common room syops tended to be closemouthed and dependable, the kind of person that others refer to as ‘a rock.’ (Once it had actually been Naraht, to the amusement of just about everyone.) Here tempers could flare, awful jokes be told safely, suspicions be aired, rumors be shot down. The common room was sometimes a peaceful place, sometimes a powderkeg. Jim never ignored it.” End ID]

The Enterprise has a dumpster fire chat room that has just as much shitposting and vitriol as twitter.

[Text ID: “Jim bowed over her free hand. ‘It’s been too long,’ he said. ‘It’s good to be back,’ Amanda said. ‘And in the middle of a party as well.’ She looked a little wry. ‘A little entertainment will be pleasant before the deluge.’ Sarek’s eyes flicked to Kirk, a considering look. ‘My wife speaks figuratively,’ he said, ‘in the tradition of her people. Deluges are not common on Vulcan.’ ‘My husband speaks circumspectly,’ Amanda said, just as dryly, ‘in the tradition of his.’” End ID]

Amanda and Sarek are as charming as ever.

[Text ID: “Jim was mildly surprised to see that to his other rank tags and decorations, McCoy had added a small, understated IDIC. ‘If I didn’t know you better,’ he said, ‘I’d think you were going native. When did you get that?’ ‘Today in the gift shop, when you were looking at the snowball paperweights with Mount Seleya in them. Tackiest things I ever saw.’ ‘Yes,’ Spock said; ‘they were imported from Earth.’ ‘You be quiet. We can’t let these people leave the Federation, Jim. At least not until they teach us how to make tasteful souvenirs.’” End ID]

Just this.

[Text ID: “There was Sreil, the burly, brown-haired biologist from the Academy, and T’Madh, a little bright-eyed woman of great age and curiosity, a computer programmer; and her son Savesh, who when asked what he did, said, ‘I am a farmer,’ with a sort of secret satisfaction that hinted he thought his job better than any of the more technical ones that the people around him held. Jim had to smile; the thought of a Vulcan farmer was slightly funny, even though there naturally had to be some. But the image of a Vulcan in coveralls, chewing on a stalk of hay, kept coming up and having to be repressed.” End ID]

I love Savesh the Vulcan farmer!

[Text ID: “’Jim,’ he said, ‘the best translation of nehau would be an old word: “vibes.” The feeling-in-your-bones that something gives you. It’s highly subjective.’ ‘Right. Go on, Savesh.’ ‘Well, Captain, I have heard numerous Vulcans say that losing the Federation and the Earth people would be no particular loss, because they had bad nehau, and that could not fail to affect us sooner or later.. But I must tell you that I find your nehau not objectionable at all; pleasant, even.’ End ID]

Vulcan wanting to leave the Federation because the ~vibes~ are off.

[Text ID: “His grasp of dialect and idiom as amazing for anybody, off-planet or on. He once reduced the President of the United States—then a ceremonial post, but one much loved by the people who lived within the old borders—to tears of laughter at a state dinner, by delivering a learned dissertation on computer data storage technology in a flawless Texan accent. The lady was later heard to propose an amendment to the Constitution to allow off-worlders to hold high public office, so that she could have him for her running mate in the next election.” End ID]

I would give anything to hear Sarek do a perfect Texas accent.

[Text ID: “—but when Amanda became annoyed over what she perceived as his smugness about being right, her eyes would flash and she would become splendidly insulting, usually in bizarre Anglish idiom that Sarek found as refreshing as it was annoying. She caused him to laugh out loud for the first time in many years when she told him, after a disagreement over the translation of the word for war, that he should only grow headfirst in the ground like a turnip. Later that month, when he was right about something again and made the mistake of not immediately down-playing it, she issued him with a formal malediction, wishing that the curse of Mary Malone and her nine blind orphan children might pursue him so far over the hills and the seas that God Almighty couldn’t find him with a radio telescope. Sarek laughed so hard at that that he entirely lost his breath, and Amanda panicked and started to give him cardiopulmonary resuscitation, which was useless, because his heart was somewhere other than the spot on which she was pounding. It took him nearly an hour to recover: he kept laughing. He had never been cursed like that before, not even by union leaders, and it was very refreshing.” End ID]

This dynamic is perfect, no notes.

[Text ID: “The next night they sat in the Rec Deck again, in the middle of a large impromptu party that was going on around them by way of celebration. The sense of relief in the ship was palpable. A group of about a hundred crewfolk, mostly human, had surrounded Spock earlier in the evening and sung ‘For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow,’ accompanied by twenty crewmen on kazoos. Sarek had been given champagne.” End ID]

I really hope the TOS Enterprise has crew performances like on Next Gen. This kazoo band needs to be heard! Also, I can perfectly picture Spock’s annoyed-but-tolerant expression as he resigns himself to the kazoo serenade.

Thank you @dianeduane for making me laugh!

#star trek #star trek tos #spock’s world #diane duane #star trek books #star trek novels #spock #jim kirk #leonard mccoy #sarek #amanda grayson

917 notes · View notes

daylite-writes · 3 months

Note

Ayo ayo!!! I got an angsty idea for ya!!

Imagine this:

The harbingers find out that the reader has a plot to kill them/the Tsaritsa. How does this go? How do they react?

And for even more angst;

Imagine if they were successful

(Songbird anon- New anon)

OKAY OKAY OKAY I LIKE THIS (also hi ur my first named anon!). I won’t be doing “if you succeed in killing them”, since they’re dead and therefore won’t have a reaction lmao. I also won’t be doing every Harbinger here because that’s so many words omg. Probably will have multiple parts if ppl are interested.

Wasn’t sure if the ask was meant to be yandere, but this kinda is lmao. To varying degrees for each. Didn’t go too hard on angst but oh well

HARBINGERS REACT TO READER ATTEMPTING TO KILL THEM OR TSARITSA—AND IF YOU SUCCEED? (Pt 1, ft. Childe, Dottore, Arlecchino, Scaramouche)

cw: yandere, violence, referenced death, implied kidnapping, death of reader (in Arlecchino’s), etc.

Childe - mixed results

If you attempt to kill him? Oh baby. He lives for this shit. If you are strong enough to even get close? Well, his heavy panting, wide eyes, and red cheeks convey his feelings easily. If he wins the interaction, overpowering you and forcing you to the ground, he won’t kill you. He’ll probably let you up, let you try again—come onnn. Don’t tell him you can’t continue. You wanted this, baby. Try again. If you escape unscaved, then by god he’ll be thinking about this for weeks. Blushing, refusing to wrap the scars you give him.

If you attempt to kill the Tsaritsa, Child takes it very, very badly. One thing people forget about this man is he is not loyal to the harbingers, but he is extremely loyal to the Tsaritsa. Sentient abyssal creatures tend to latch onto an idea, a “purpose” of sorts that they will hinge their entire sanity on. Without her guidance he is nothing. He will fight tooth and bone to squash any attempts you make on her life. He takes on his Foul Legacy form to fight you, and in his anger, would end up either maiming or ending you. If you survive, he will make sure it never happens again (Read: mangling you). You just had to ruin a good thing, huh baby?

Succeed in killing the Tsaritsa? He’s either killing you, or dying trying. There is no way you’d both survive.

Dottore - Takes it pretty well

Attempt to kill him? How annoying. If it’s a physical attack, he’ll simply thwart it, pinning you down, tossing you in an observation cell, or sedating you. After, he’ll probably just reduce your privileges—less access to the lab, no longer allowed to go out without him. Be a brat, and he’ll put you on a leash no problem.

But… if you're clever about it? If you're slipping poison into his coffee, or setting up traps around his lab, only to greet him at dinner with only a strained smile when it fails? How fun. He’ll let it continue until he’s bored of it, ignoring your attempts. Honestly; it’s a little cute. He’s blushing a little bit you can’t tell with his mask.

Attempt to kill the Tsaritsa? He’ll stop you. Weirdly enough, he’ll only really punish you if the Harbingers or the Tsaritsa herself noticed. Otherwise, he’ll chastise you, leading you back to his lab with his thin, sharp fingers digging into the back of your neck.

Succeed in killing the Tsaritsa? Well… damn. You gonna eat that? He’s kinda turned on. This isn’t a dealbreaker for him, unless it really messes with his plans, in which case he’ll punish you for it later. An easy way to get out of trouble with him is to just gift him the Tsaritsa’s corpse. So thoughtful! He’s never had the opportunity to play around with the remains of an archon. Hm? What about overthrowing Celestia? He’s the second of the fatui harbingers, on the power level of a god, they’ll figure it out.

Arlecchino - takes it badly

Try and kill her? Her eyes sharpen as she evaluates you, panting heavily and on your knees. You’ve proven yourself a traitor, and a bold one at that. Something so bold, to her, indicates you are not an independently acting force. There are others you work for or with. After a moment, her face softens. “I’m hurt” she says, voice raw, “But I love you. Leave and never return.” You take the chance. You have to.

It’s a trap. Her subordinates—handpicked by her—are trailing you, stalking you. The moment your guard drops and you meet with your associates, she’s got you again.

The last thing you see are her boots, languidly walking towards you. The last thing you hear is her voice, barely cutting through the screams of your co-workers. “I suppose I should kill you. It’d be fair. But I am… selfish. Don’t worry, darling, you won’t go unpunished. This will be a fate worse than death.” The last thing you feel is her claws, carding through your hair.

Try to kill the Tsaritsa? You’re called into her office with little explanation what for. Usually, it’s empty. But there are Fatui by the doors. Scattered over her desk, is the proof of your sins. An attack against the highest of the Fatui. You can’t see it, but her heart is quick, and her throat tight. She opens her mouth to speak, baring her teeth, too white, too sharp. Her voice trembles a bit, almost minutely. “You understand what this means? What the collapse of the Fatui would mean for me? For my children? And still…”

It’s a death sentence. She speaks it once, lifting her hand to signal her children to step forward. She doesn’t do the job herself, leaving the room, letting the heavy wooden slam behind her.

Kill the Tsaritsa? She’s not there at the time. Still in Fontaine while your plan gets carried out in Snezhnaya. When she gets the news, she freezes. Hardly a few weeks ago, she found the will to break character for a moment to press a kiss to your cheek before you set out on the voyage north. She ignites the page as soon as she’s done, storming to her private quarters.

Later, when she collects herself, she’d set her assassins out, correspond with any remaining harbingers, and lay out a plan for the future. For one, painful night though, she mourns.

Scaramouche - Manipulatable

Try kill him? Oh god. The monologue. You almost wished he just killed you in response. The “fourth betrayal, at the hand of his lover, cruelest of them all—” it’s a long tangent, and your body hurts from the binds. Don’t tune it out though, because the moment he notices, a jolt of electricity tears through your body. His face darkens at your scream. How dare you ignore him—he probably won’t kill you, but your leash shortens considerably.

Whether you kill the Tsaritsa, or plan to kill the Tsaritsa it’s roughly the same response. It all depends on how you treat him after. Suck up, apologizing again and again, creeping closer and closer, until you climb on his lap, whispering how you only have eyes for him. You love him. So much. Press a kiss to his cold, doll-like cheek. Say after it was all done, you were going to run away with him—it’s your best shot. He may just stow you away, somewhere where his coworkers can’t get to you. He’d keep you to himself and tell everyone he disposed of you.

If you’re unapologetic, making it clear you didn’t care for him, he’d freak the fuck out. A very dangerous temper tantrum. At the end of it, you’re hardly conscious, laying on soft blankets, body throbbing in pain, you wince when you try to move. A hand, porcelain and cold, drags you down. Stay still, he says. You’ve been an idiot and gotten yourself mangled. By him, yeah. He couldn’t bring himself to kill you though.

~~~

So… much… and i didn’t even get half of themmm aaaaa

Anyways I really enjoyed this ask, but doing something for all of the harbingers is a lot, plus this is a side blog and I’m 6k works deep in a main blog project, bleh.

#yandere genshin x reader #yandere harbingers #yandere scaramouche #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere arlecchino #yandere dottore

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Text

CAMP UPSIDE DOWN PART ONE

Steve Harrington x fem!reader[33K] summer camp, broken kayaks, too much tension and that boy you hate. an enemies to lovers camp counsellor story.

She drives me crazy and I can’t help myself.

By week four, you were in need of a break. And when a scheduled day off of yours finally aligned with Robins, you wasted no time in organising some time out of camp. A small trip to another nearby lake, one without yelling kids and sun bleached kayaks.

The sun was high, the air was warmer than ever and the promise of a day in the water sounded like magic. You wanted green lakes, blue skies and roads lined with trees. You wanted the mountains in front of you and the camp in the distance for a few hours, music that you got to pick, and a bikini that wasn’t uniform regulated.

You’d packed a cooler, cans of beer that Jonathan had snuck into camp for you both, sandwiches from Bob and you a pile of junk food that would go great with the joint Robin had been tasked from getting from Eddie.

You didn’t expect your friend to meet you at the staff parking lot with the boy in tow, grin sheepish and her baseball cap jammed backwards on her head.

“Hey, Munson,” you greeted easily, if not a little confused. You stood by your car, cooler at your feet, looking between the pair.

Something suspicious was going on and it tugged at your gut.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he smiled, eyeing up your car like it was being evaluated. “Yeah, I don’t think this gonna fit us all, y’know.”

You turned, wide eyed to Robin and she flushed before kicking at a stray rock.

“Come again?”

Eddie grinned, slapping a hand to your shoulder before gesturing to Robin. “Buckley invited us to join you both. She said music, swimming and food, and I was all, how could I say no to that?”

But you weren’t really listening to much else the boy said, the summer turning warmer around you because all you could focus on, all that seemed to matter was:

“Us?”

But then another bag was being dumped beside yours, the smell of cedar and mint and boy filling the air and you didn’t even bother looking before you were shaking your head at Robin.

“No.” You stated, deadpan. “No, no way.”

Steve grinned, leaning against your car like he hadn’t a care in the world and he tilted his head towards Robin and Eddie, rolling his eyes as he said, “see?”

It was unfair that he looked good, soft jeans that weren’t as tight as the ones he usually wore, the knees worn and ripped from time. But in the time that you spent observing him, eyes trailing up and down the tall length of him, you didn’t notice how Steve did the same to you.

Not that it mattered. ‘Cause you went back to glaring at Robin, palm thrown out to gesture at Steve and you didn’t really care that the back of your hand rapped against his chest.

“Ow,” he muttered.

You ignored him.

“Why is he here?“

You didn’t care that it sounded like you were whining, voice petulant if not a little panicked because the idea of spending an entire day at a lake with Steve Harrington filled you with a cacophony of emotions. Your stomach tumbled, twisted, dipped.

Instead of Robin answering, Eddie raised a hand like he was a kid in a classroom, smiled all soft and warm at you.

“‘Cause I am.“

You groaned. It was extremely difficult to be mad at Eddie Munson.

“I need out of this camp just as much as you do, princess,” Steve scoffed, “Henderson keeps going on about someone called Vecna and how he needs a bard.”

“Well, take your own car!” You grumbled, toeing at the backpack he’d dropped by your feet. It felt heavy, cold with the cans of beer that were shoved inside. “Find another lake, preferably far from ours and deep enough so that no one will be able to find your body.”

“Charming,” Steve snarked, but he was already peering into your car windows, a frown on his face. “Yeah, no, my car needs an oil change and the nearest mechanic doesn’t open ‘til Monday.”

He pulled at your back door, ignoring your squeak of protest and you burned when a cassette or two fell out, followed by one trainer and an empty Gatorade bottle.

“Jesus Christ, I’m not getting in this.”

You shoved at the boy, your shoulder nudging his until he relented and moved aside, letting you slam the door. You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyance already simmering in your chest, an all too familiar feeling.

“As if I’d let you,” you huffed, “besides, the seatbelts don’t work in the back.”

“Have I told you recently that your car is a piece of shit?”

You glared at Steve, overly aware that you were once again standing far too close to each other and that you most definitely had an audience. You didn’t really have an argument, you knew your old car was lacking in several areas. Speed, reliability, cleanliness, maybe.

“Not everyone’s daddy can buy them a shiny BMW, Harrington.”

“Don’t act cute,” Steve tutted, “I bought that car myself.”

You rolled your eyes before pushing away from him, shoulders nudging once more in a final act of defiance. The birds were singing, the morning was bright and you were already far too angry for what should have been considered healthy.

But then Eddie was clapping his hands together, still grinning wide beside Robin and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the old van that was parked at a weird angle beside the trees.

“Guess I’m driving, huh?”

The minute the bags were loaded in the back of Eddie’s van, Robin rushed to the passengers door, hopping into the seat with a grunt and grinning as she hung out the open window.

“Sorry, lover boy,” she called to Steve, eyes innocent except for the wicked flash of a smirk across her lips. “I get travel sick.”

“That’s a damn lie,” you glared at her, wondering how this morning had gone to shit so quickly.

The temperature was climbing as the early hours slipped away, the sky turning from pink to lilac, blue around the edges and the sun coming through the canopy trees was brighter and stronger than before. You could hear the kids in the mess hall, the smell of breakfast and the buzz of conversation.

Eddie stood between you and Steve, far too amused as the back doors of the van sat open, the shag rug carpet and mismatched cushions waiting. Steve looked at you and back into the truck, eyes wary, like he was weighing up his options.

“I could drive, man,” Steve offered, hands shoved into his pockets and trying to avoid your gaze.

You scoffed, unsure if you were relieved or offended that he didn’t want to spend the hours drive with you, trapped in the back together.

Eddie tried to smother the smile he couldn’t help but give him, fist pressed to his mouth and he levelled the other boy with a mirthful stare.

“Really? I thought you hated driving my van?”

Steve didn’t know what to say.

“I mean, you can if you want,” Eddie told him, his voice all caramel soft, he sounded like he was goading Steve when he turned to you, all sticky sweet smiles, “I don’t mind riding with Hawkins here, I’ll keep you right when the road gets bumpy.” He winked and offered his keys to Steve, silver dangling from a ringed finger.

The only sounds came from the forest.

Then, a sigh, rough and low, before Steve pushed past Eddie and his outstretched hand, the keys jingling as they went ignored.

“Doesn’t matter, your clutch is fucked,” Steve clambered into the back of the van, gaze steady on the floor as he threw himself down onto a beanbag, ignoring Robin’s snickering. “It’s annoying as shit.”

Eddie grinned.

The drive was silent for the most part, at least for the first twenty twenty minutes. The road out of camp took you through the forest, past the river that led to the lake and when the cabins were too far away to see, you finally relaxed.

Until Robin made a fuss of finding some music that wasn’t Black Sabbath or any other band she’d declared migraine inducing, and finally she held up a cassette with a small noise of triumph.

“Prince, Eddie? Didn’t peg you as the type,” she told him coyly whilst Steve snorted from the back beside you.

“Hey now, Prince is perfectly acceptable,” Eddie argued, the tips of his ears turning red under his curls. “I am a man of mixed taste.”

“Sure you are,” Robin placated as she slid the tape into the player.

The roads were becoming less smooth as you neared your destination, favouring smaller, forgotten lanes as you passed the bigger lakes, flashes of blue and green flying past the small window in the back.

The journey became more bumpy as you all turned off into a track that took you through a part of a forest, the van manoeuvring itself over overgrown roots that interrupted the trail, a too big rock making the truck shake. And as the opening guitar riff of Prince’s ‘Kiss’, started to play, you were sent into Steve’s side, the van bouncing with Eddie’s efforts to get you all to the water's edge.

You scrambled to right yourself, moving away from the boy as if you’d been stung and the sudden proximity was jarring. You’d managed to spend the majority of the journey on either end of the van, backs pressed to the metal sides and you’d only just moved into the middle so you could lean over the front bench to take a handful of M&M’s from Robin.

But the jostle of the drive meant that you landed on Steve’s lap, clumsy and in no way meant, but your back was suddenly pressed to his chest and out of instinct, his hands caught your waist before your head could jerk back and slam into his nose.

‘I just need your body, baby, from dusk 'til dawn…’

“Fuck,” you whispered, desperate to not draw attention to the position the two of you were in, but Robin was snickering and Eddie caught sight of you in the rear view mirror and he let out a low whistle.

“Christ, kids, at least wait until Robin and I are out.”

“Fuck off,” you and Steve both snarled, voices mixing as you shoved away from each other.

The rest of the drive went like that, no matter how much you and Steve tried to cling to opposites of the van. The road got rougher as the lake came into view, blue green water meeting bluer skies, the beginnings of mountains and forests lining its edges.

Your shoulders brushed with Steve’s, hips bumping, hands falling onto tops of hands, pinky fingers grazing as you both tried to stay upright and by the time the van parked up beside a sandy dip in the grass, you were both burning with the exertion of the journey and all the casual touching.

Steve burst out of the van before anyone else, the engine not even switched off and the back doors brought in fresh air, bright sun and the smell of pine.

The lake was on the smaller side, no jetty’s to tie a boat to, no long stretches of beach that became home to little kids and their buckets and spades. In fact, the four of you were the only ones there. The silence was dizzying, the views almost too pretty, and it was complete bliss before Eddie jumped out of the driver’s seat and grinned.

He threw his hands up, his head back, messy curls tumbling as he let out a loud whoop, a noise that bounced off of the cliffs before the forest on the other side of the water swallowed it whole.

You smiled properly for the first time that morning, Robin on your left, Steve on your right, as you all watched the city boy tear off his shirt, jeans abandoned on the way before leaping into the shallow water.

The day went like that.

Genuine happiness from four twenty somethings that were just trying to do enough to get by. You knew your co-workers loved Camp Upside Down as much as you did, it’s why you all returned summer after summer. But there was something different about being able to stretch out along sand, Robin’s head resting on your bare stomach ‘cause you’d pulled your shirt over your head the minute you’d lay down.

Your unbuttoned shorts showed off the edges of a cherry red bikini, something you weren’t allowed to wear during work. The boys splashed in the lake, the campfire burned and you’d even reluctantly shared your lunch with Steve - half of your sandwich for some of the potato salad he’d managed to scrounge from that day's lunch prep.

It was the burn of the sun and cool lake water, sand between your toes, stolen towels from camp, the smell of smoke and the taste of lukewarm beer. It was quiet, it was loud, it was the crackle of Eddie’s van stereo flooding out from its open doors, it was power naps with your cheek pressed to your bundled up shirt, watching Eddie throw himself from tree branches, laughing until your stomach hurt and it was not arguing with Steve Harrington.

Not really.

Not like before.

And when Eddie retired to the back of the van to close his eyes and get out of the sun for a bit, Robin swam back to shore and got herself comfortable in the sand, a sketch pad in one hand and a case of pencils at her still wet feet.

It left you and Steve together in the lake, deep enough that your feet couldn’t touch the bottom and you swam lazy circles around each other, floating on your backs, water lapping at your ears and your chin tilted up to the sun.

It was nice. It was easy.

Every now and then, the lake pulled you both closer, bobbing on what little current there was until your outstretched fingertips brushed the boys and you were both startled from whatever daze you’d fallen into.

Eventually, you couldn’t find it in you to care too much, not when it happened again and again and again. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the heat, maybe you were just too lazy. But it’s how you found yourself shoulder to shoulder with Steve, bare legs brushing, skin slick with lake water and leftover sunscreen.

You kept your eyes closed when you finally spoke, like it would make you braver, like you could keep your words a secret.

“Why do you hate me?”

There was a pause after you spoke, a dead space in the water between you both and you could feel that Steve had opened his eyes. The water moved, splashed at your cheek and you felt his head turn, his gaze on you.

“Who said I hate you?”

The tips of his fingers were still brushing yours.

You laughed and it sounded nervous, a soft noise of embarrassment, like a girl with a crush. You didn’t know how to feel about it.

“You argue with me about everything, you look like you wanna kill me every time I open my mouth near you and you’re constantly finding new ways to wind me up.” You told him casually, like it was nothing new, like it was normal. And it had been, for as long as you could remember. “I’d say that insinuates an annoyance, at least.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you, princess.” Steve smirked, “what if arguing with you was the best part of my day, huh?”

His reply made your eyes flutter open, heavy as if you’d been pulled from sleep, from a dream and the sudden reality of your situation made you dip further into the lake, your legs pulling you down and your feet kicked to keep you afloat.

Steve mirrored you, easily treading water as the surface swallowed half his face, his eyes impossibly golden as they stared back at you. You were a foot apart, maybe two, and you realised rather quickly that you missed the closeness of him.

“Don’t lie,” you scoffed but there was something about the way Steve was looking at you that made you feel doubtful. “What’s next, pulling my hair at recess?”

Steve laughed, a genuine burst of amusement from his lips that didn’t sound sarcastic for once. He let himself fall back, the water lapping at his shoulders and he grinned at you, the soles of his feet brushing up against your thighs, just for a second.

“I dunno,” he looked a little pink around the cheeks, his smile nothing short of scandalous. “Would that do it for you?”

Your mouth fell open.

This was a fight that you weren’t sure you could win, his teasing words no longer a taunt, the conversation no longer an argument. Steve looked at you with the same fire he always had though, a challenge in his eyes that you desperately wanted to rise to. It wasn’t really a fight, no, not anymore.

But you still wanted to win.

“Guess you’ll never know,” you shrugged, smug when Steve grinned wider.

—————

The drive back to camp was a world away from the journey in the morning. You climbed into the back of the van with Steve without argument, all four of you soft and lazy from a day under the sun, hours treading water, throwing your tired bodies from small rocks and cliffs.

The sun had warmed the truck, the air smelling like boy and coffee and a little weed, and you were slack as you fell into the cushions, not really caring that your foot was pressed against Steve’s thigh.

Robin turned the radio on, the tinny crackle of static making the music seem softer and Eddie hummed along as he drove, the trees outside creating dappled shadows across everyone’s sunburnt skin.

It was nice, it was peaceful.

Your hair was still damp, your skin smelling like sunscreen and the lake, lemonade and cheap beer on your tongue and you didn’t really care when the rough road out of the forest sent you bumping into Steve’s side again.

His hand caught your waist to steady you, a wide, warm palm on bare skin because you hadn’t bothered to button your shirt back up, the sides hanging open on your shoulders, the bright red of your bikini a reminder of the day spent in the water.

Your shared conversation in the lake hung in the air as Eddie drove you all home, the long haired boy and Robin oblivious to it. But it fizzed in the back of the van like a firework waiting to pop, the anticipation of wondering what colours would fill the air when it did. It felt like the slow climb to the top of a rollercoaster, it felt like the night before a storm, it felt like what if?

When you arrived back at camp, dinner was over and the kids were lingering, heads tilted to the sky that was uncharacteristically dark, navy clouds looming overheard with the threat of rain. You’d left the sun behind, hanging over a different lake, along with a different side of yours and Steve’s relationship.

You didn’t know what to say when the four of you clambered out of Eddie’s van, Robin and the other boy talking happily about music and Robin’s sketches, rucksacks over their shoulders as Steve awkwardly handed you the empty cooler.

You mumbled a thanks, suddenly shy and you stood at the back of the van, waiting to see if Steve would say something, if you would be brave enough to say anything.

But then the sky split, the clouds crashed and rain tore down on the camp.

You all scrambled under the canopy of the trees, yelling swears between laughter and the sound of the kids screeching was drowned out by the rumble of thunder, the on-shift counsellors telling everyone to return to their cabins.

No one really said goodbye, the rain making you all run to your bunks, the day ending without so much as another shared glance. So you tripped through the trees with your hair plastered to your forehead, laughing when Robin stumbled in mud and shrieked. By the time you both made it home, you were giggling on the porch, skin soaked, shirt and shorts sticking to you and Robin was wide eyed.

“Wait! I’m going to Vickie’s!” She almost shouted, barely heard over the roar of the rain, the rumble above.

You laughed, incredulous as you watched her run back out into the downpour.

“You’re what?!”

“Vickie’s cabin!” She called back, “no one’s gonna care where everyone is when we’re all stuck inside!”

And then she was gone, probably for the night, you assumed.

That’s why you were surprised when there was a knock on the door fifteen minutes later, the rain still falling, the day turning to night quicker than normal as the clouds stayed heavy, the forest dark.

Everywhere smelled like damp moss and pine, wet bark and the lingering smoke from the campfire that had long been ruined. You’d only managed to drag a brush through your hair, the strands tangled and partly dry, your shorts uncomfortable on your skin and your shirt hanging off one shoulder.

You answered the door, not sure who to expect, not sure why Robin would be knocking, why anyone would be out in this weather.

When you saw Steve standing there, you realised that the boy hadn’t even been an option. Surprise coloured you, mouth falling open at the sight of him on the porch, drenched, shirt sticking to him, almost translucent and his hair a wet riot.

He was holding a blanket, the soft knitted one you’d taken from your bed to use on the beach that day. It was half soaked from where he’d hidden in under his arm, running through the rain from his cabin to yours.

You stared, shocked.

“I think, uh, I think I shoved this in my bag by accident.”

He was yelling over the dim of rain, the world noisy around you both, the forest creating chaos, a whole other kind of fight. It was waiting, it was wondering if you were going to join in.

“It couldn’t wait?” You cried back, completely bemused by Steve’s decision to come over for nothing more than a stupid blanket.

But the boy was struggling to respond, shoulders shrugging, cheeks pink and looking a little wild. Thunder grumbled above, the trees swayed and a drop of rain slid down Steve’s cheek, rolling over the curve of his lip.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, voice too honest, “it probably could’ve, yeah.”

It happened like the storm, the slow roll of electricity over your skin, a building in the atmosphere, something in the air that told you that something big was coming.

And Steve was still standing there, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath, and neither could you when he was looking at you like that.

Rain soaked shirt, brown hair sticking to his forehead and falling into his eyes, all flushed cheeks and parted lips.

“Was that everything?” You asked, voice almost too quiet to be heard over the sound of thunder above, the sky goading you, telling you to say something else.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” Steve said and it sounded like a lie, it sounded too sweet. “Maybe? I- I don’t know.”

You swallowed, chest bursting, heart pounding, ‘cause it felt like you were supposed to be waiting for something more, something spectacular, something that you were supposed to give into a long time ago. And then:

“Christ, fuck it-”

He was crashing into you, arms tugging you into him rather than wrapping around you and you let him, Jesus fucking Christ, you let him, a gasp that sounded like a moan falling from your lips as he kissed you.

Your hand was fisted in the front of his shirt, the other tugging into his damp hair and the sounds he made against your mouth were obscene. Nothing about this was gentle, nothing about Steve was soft. He was pushing you both backwards, into the cabin and out of the storm with his hands gripping hard on your waist, crescent moon marks left on your skin and it was sinful, it was too good, it wasn’t enough.

You pulled where he pushed, tugging him into you, the door slamming shut and the rain pounding in the wooden roof. The kiss was messy, heated, another fight you both wanted to win.

It tasted like the storm, like mint and the woods and Steve, and it said: fuck you, fuck me, I don’t hate you at all.

It was a kiss that was wildly different to the one you shared at the gym, the one with an audience, a kiss that was supposed to be nothing more than a dare. This kiss was all teeth and tongue, wandering hands that grabbed at exposed skin, pulled and shoved shirts out of the way so you could touch and touch and touch.

The lack of sun outside made the cabin a little darker, the small light by your bed casting nothing but a weak glow and moody shadows, perfect for hiding feelings in. You pulled Steve into the room, clumsy feet tripping over a shoe or two, the strap of a bag, the blanket that he dropped to the floor in favour of holding you.

No one spoke, not apart from letting out hushed curses, swears that sounded like prayers, unholy noises that came from the back of your throats, whines and begs that came from years of tension.

Robin's notebook hit the floor, pencils and pens rolling with it when you stumbled into the desk and Steve grabbed the backs of your thighs, hauling you onto it. He was licking into your mouth with a greed you’d never experienced before, a hand on your cheek, telling you to tilt your head this way and that so he could kiss you deeper, kiss you filthier.

It was fun to fight back a little, grabbing at the hair at the nape of his neck in return, fisting it in your hand and pulling until he groaned for you, lips faltering against your own and attacking your neck instead.

Your legs were around his waist and you weren’t sure how it happened. You knew you didn’t mind, you didn’t care, not anymore. Because Steve’s hand was curled around your knee, hiking your leg further up his hip so he could move into the space between your thighs.

The sounds you were letting out were a little pathetic, small sighs and whines, asking for more without saying the words and all you could do was pull the boy into you and open your mouth for him when he used his thumb to tug at your bottom lip.

He kissed you like he wanted to argue about it afterwards.

“Shit,” you gasped, eyes rolling back when he rocked into you, body pressed against yours, all wet clothes and rain damp skin. “Steve.”

The groan that ripped from his chest was absolute sin, lips leaving yours to press his face into your neck, his hands flexing on your hips.

“Say that again.”

You were confused until you realised that you weren’t sure of the last time you called the boy by his actual name. No Harrington, no wonder boy, no asshole, no douchebag.

At least, not right now.

It made your head swim, the hold he had on you, literal and figurative, because for the first time in your life, you did as the boy asked.

It was a whimper against his ear, mouth moving deliberately against the shell of it, all dirty and coy. Your lips brushed his earlobe, your hand cupped his jaw and you canted your hips into his, just the once.

“Steve.”

A dam burst and you couldn’t help but appreciate how gorgeous Steve Harrington looked when he lost all the composure he liked to pretend he had.

“Oh god, holy shit,” he was back on you, all lips and tongue and teeth and hands, “you sound so fuckin’ pretty, so good, fuck.”

You whined in response, a high, keening noise that you didn’t even recognise but you were on fire, burning in all the places that his lips touched. You weren’t gentle with each other, hands grabbing, tugging, getting as close as you possibly could and you needed more, now.

“Steve…”

He moaned again, whispered your name back to you like a prayer and god, he was right, it sounded so good coming from his lips like that.

“What d’you want?” Steve asked, low and rough, his lips on your neck, skating across your pulse. “What d’you need, huh? Tell me.”

You wanted everything, all of it at once. You wanted his lips, his tongue, his mouth, you wanted his hands, you wanted him naked, you wanted him under you, above you, against you. You wanted his noises, you wanted to make him moan, to make him swear, to make him throw his head back and call out your name.

You wanted him.

You wanted Steve fucking Harrington.

Instead you said, “-want more, need more.”

Another groan, a disbelieving sound, one that you shared with him, because Steve was running the flat of his palm across your throat, fingers curling briefly before they splayed out and ran the length of your body.

They trailed down your chest, down between the thin, red straps of your bikini, between the open sides of your shirt and they landed on the still wet band of your shorts, a finger tapping across the button.

“D’you want me to touch you?”

Jesus Christ, you couldn’t stand it. You squirmed on the desktop, legs tightening around the boy’s waist to gain some much needed friction but Steve moved his other hand to your thigh, holding you still.

“C’mon baby, use your words,” Steve murmured. “You’re usually so good at that.”

Baby.

It shouldn’t have made your heart stutter, it shouldn’t have made you wetter than you already were. But it did, fuck, it did.

You leaned back, hands on the table and chest heaving, your shirt sliding from your shoulders and your head hitting the wall. You stared at the boy through your lashes, lips parted and glossy from his kisses.

You looked wrecked and Steve fucking adored it.

“Touch me,” you wriggled again, hissed when he tightened his hand around the curve of your thigh, a delightful sting on your skin. “Steve.”

He huffed out a laugh then, mixed with a moan, and he smiled at you, sticky sweet. “Say please, princess.”

Absolutely not.

“In your dreams, Harrington,” you gasped out, a laugh lacing your breath.

‘Make me,’ is what you meant.

Steve tsked, grinning. “So stubborn,” he said.

‘Challenge accepted,’ is what he wanted to say.

And then you were kissing again, deep, slow passes over each other’s lips, teeth catching, tongues soothing and the boy swallowed every moan and gasp you gave him. His hand found your neck, cupping it to move you the way he wanted, head tilted so he could kiss you even harder.

Steve kissed like he argued, like it was his favourite hobby, like he wanted to have the last word, steal the breath from your lungs and leave you shaking.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tugged a little mean when you nipped his lip almost too hard and you surprised even yourself with the sound that left your mouth.

Steve pulled back from you, just a little, just so his nose brushed against yours and you could see the dark glitter of his eyes.

“Well, would y’look at that,” he murmured and his voice was tougher than you’d ever heard, sticky honey and a storm, “I guess you do like that.”

You were reminded of your conversation in the lake and you flushed, hating the smug expression on the boy’s face, hating that you liked it even more.

Steve was real fucking pretty when he was proving you wrong.

But you didn’t say anything, didn’t give him the satisfaction of an argument, you just just shoved him backwards, following the way he stumbled until you were pulling him back into you, pushed onto your toes so you could catch his jaw with your hands and press your lips back to his.

“You’re insufferable,” you told him between kisses, voice too breathy to carry any real heat.

“Yeah?” Steve shot back, grunting a little when you pulled at his shirt, his arms flying up so you could pull it off of him. He stood, shirtless, chest heaving and gazing at you like you were something to eat. “I could say the same about you, sweetheart.”

And then he was turning you, walking you backwards with his mouth on your neck until your body hit the wall and his fingers were back on the button of your shorts.

He sucked a bruise on your throat, all pretty and sharp, lilac on your skin and he nosed at it, humming thoughtfully.

“Say please,” he told you again, a finger dipping into the denim, scratching soft against the red edge of your bikini. “Be nice for me, princess, huh?”

It was dizzying, his words. His touch. His breath on the column of your throat, his hair brushing your jaw.

Another kiss, sweet and soft, jarring in the way he held you to the cabin wall, body hard and solid against your own. His thumbs pressed circles into your hips, soothing and a silent reminder that you could stop this whenever you wanted.

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”

It was too sweet a deal to say no to. Especially when Steve was looking at you like that, like he wanted to give you the world, like he’d been waiting an age just to touch you like this.

So you let out a huff, more whimper than protest and your hands fell to his jeans, damp with rain and tight for other reasons. You cupped a palm over him, hard and thick inside the denim and you were close enough that your lips brushed over Steve’s when you spoke.

“Please,” you whispered.

He was popping the button on your shorts before the words left your mouth, groaning and canting his hips into your hand as if he couldn’t help himself, as if this was all suddenly too much.

You slipped your shirt from your shoulders, the wet smack of it hitting the floor as you both toed off your shoes, a different trainer hitting a different corner of the cabin, patience gone as Steve slid the flat of his palm down the curve of your tummy, fingers reaching into your bikini bottoms to find you slick and ready for him.

“Oh shit,” you both gasped out together, your hands flying to grip Steve’s shoulders, nails digging into the muscles there as his fingers dragged through your folds, thumb finding your clit, his middle digit easily sliding inside of you.

“Jesus christ, sweetheart,” Steve groaned, eyes falling shut as he leaned into you, forehead to yours and his free hand pulling at your knee, hitching your leg back to his hip so he could push his finger into you a little easier.

It was a slow drag, a white hot burn that had you clawing at him, already teetering. It was almost embarrassing, almost. It would have been if Steve wasn’t rutting against your hip, desperate as you were, looking so, so pretty and wrecked.

“D’you always get this worked up when we argue?”

You thought he was joking, and you were about to tell him off, the bite of your response on the tip of your tongue, but your body had other ideas. You clenched down on him, involuntarily, hips stuttering at his question and he swore into your mouth, delighted.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, another kiss, quick and dirty, “you fuckin’ do, don’t you?”

“Of course you’d run your mouth,” you snarked, but still, you tilted your head back for the boy, just so he could suck another kiss onto your throat. “Why am I not surprised?”

He grinned against you, all teeth and curled his finger into you, hitting a whole other spot. Another hot drag, slipping out of you before he pushed back in again, two fingers moving a little faster, his thumb running circles.

“Somethin’ tells me you like it,” Steve told you, smug.

And god you did, you really fucking did.

You didn’t satisfy the boy with an answer, you just whined, pressing your lips back to his as you chased the high you were desperate for. Steve seemed to catch on pretty quick, surprisingly in tune with the way your body was reacting to him and he curled his fingers in and out of you a little quicker, mouth hovering over yours, noses bumping, panting softly.

“I’m gonna come,” you told him, your hands buried in his hair. “Steve, fuck!”

His hand that was still gripping your thigh was the only thing holding you up, Steve’s body pinning you to the wall and was smiling, victorious as you tightened around him, your face pressed into the crook of his neck as you came, soft sounds falling from your lips.

“Aw fuck,” he hissed, “that’s it, there you go princess.”

The boy coaxed you through it, murmuring soft, sweet praises, telling you how pretty you sounded when you came, how good you felt around his fingers. It was too much and it wasn’t enough. And when you shrugged off the hazy warmth of your orgasm, you were quick to move into Steve, lips back on his as he slipped his hand from your shorts and grabbed at your waist.

You walked him backwards, in charge now, smiling against his mouth when he groaned into you.

The backs of Steve’s thighs hit your bed and you pressed one more kiss into him, a little mean when you nipped at his bottom lip and then shoved him. There was a satisfaction in watching him fall into your mattress, eyes shocked, lips parted and before he could say anything, you hooked your thumbs into your shorts, pushing the denim down your legs.

The cherry red bikini was the only thing you had left on, the straps of it slipping down your shoulders, the bottoms cut high on your hips. You waited to feel the rush of insecurity, the self conscious need to shy away and cover up.

But Steve was staring at you with a slack jaw and flushed cheeks, eyes roaming greedy over bare skin and all the places he could get his mouth on, and that nervous feeling? It never came.

“Pants off, Harrington,” you told him, voice a little too breathy to sound demanding.

He smirked, pushed onto his elbows so he could tilt his head up to meet your gaze. “Always knew you’d be bossy,” Steve murmured and you warmed at the notion of him thinking about this, about you, like that.

“I’m not bossy,” you argued, but then you were on him, straddling his lap in a way that made Steve lose his rebuttal, his argument slipping from his lips as his hands found your waist again.

You pushed him back into your pillows, hands flat on his chest and overwhelming need to make him fall apart like he’d done for you taking over.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, princess,” Steve grinned, tongue caught between his teeth as he gazed up at you through messy hair.

But his smirk slipped from his hips when you settled over him properly, nails pressed into his bare chest as you rocked your hips a little. Steve groaned, loud and unabashed and you think you kinda adored how loud he was about it.

His palms kneaded at your hips, a push and pull that told you ‘holy shit, stop’ and ‘fucking hell, do that again.’

Your fingers shook as you popped open the button of his jeans, hands tugging at the waistband, sneaking under his boxers to find him hot and hard for you. Steve sucked a breath through his teeth, looking a little wild underneath you and his hand shook like yours did when he grabbed at your wrist.

“This is gonna be over way too quick if you keep doin’ that.”

His voice was all rough honey, sweet to your ears, low enough to make your thighs clench around him.

“D’you have a condom?” you rushed out in a sigh, ‘cause you were desperate now, brows knitted together with impatience and Steve tapped at your hip, silently asking you to shift back.

You moved, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as he fished his wallet out of his pocket, hands fumbling with the leather until he pulled a silver foil square out of the back.

“Is that-?”

Steve grinned, all teeth and cheekiness, eyes sparkling. “The one Murray threw at us? Yeah.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or shove at the boy for his smugness, so you did both. A huff of breath falling from your lips, a hand pushed to Steve’s chests in a poor attempt at a scolding and then he was pulling you down with a hand around the back of your neck.

“Were you hoping to get to use it?” You asked, eyes fluttering closed when Steve hooked his fingers under the straps of your bikini. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Harrington.”

But Steve just hummed, unphased by your teasing when he had his lips on your collarbone, pressing a line of kiss to your breast.

“Seemed symbolic, no?”

And then you were on your back, tucked under the boy with his elbow pressed to the pillow, his other hand trailing up and down your waist, taking in soft skin and new freckles and scars, mapping out the scar on your knee, the bruise you got from helping El do a cartwheel on your hip.

You looked up at him then, time slowing with his movements, all soft hands and softer eyes and oh my god, this was Steve fucking Harrington. You weren't ready to admit what this meant, not yet, you weren’t ready to realise what this was.

So you reached up between your bodies to tug at his jaw, fingers spread out to tap at his chin, thumb on the plush curve of his bottom lip.

“You gonna kiss me or what?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he huffed and he tried to look annoyed, he really did but Steve kissed you anyway, heat flooding you both, the rain battering louder on the roof as you pulled at his jeans, pushing them down his hips.

“I- god, shit,” Steve was mumbling, voice cracking at the feel of you under him, against him, body squirming for friction, for him.

You pushed at him, lips still moving against his, giving him all your soft noises, rolling you both until you were on top again, precariously close to the edge of the bunk, sheets rumpled.

“Of course you wanna be on top,” Steve snarked, but he couldn’t hide how his eyes were glassy, how needy his hands were as they tugged at your bikini and you laughed as you raised your arms for him, letting him pull the swimsuit off.

You’d never felt more powerful when you smiled down at him, saccharine sweet. “Don’t you like it?”

Steve was speechless. Just for a second or two, at least.

“Yeah, I really fuckin’ do,” and oh, his voice sounded too sweet, a little broken and wild, all husky just for you.

Everything snapped, the tension, the waiting, the storm outside. The foil packet crinkled as Steve ripped it open and the air fizzed when he rolled it onto himself, tip already leaking at the sight of you waiting for him.

Neither of you had the patience to allow you to move off of him in order to take your bikini bottoms off, neither of you wanted to stop touching for that long. There was a new found desperation when Steve sat up, back against the headboard as you crowded over him, gasping and sighing into the mess of his hair when he pulled your bikini to the side, swiping his fingers through you.

“So wet,” he whispered, lips pressed to your chest, teeth grazing skin, kisses pushed to every part of you he could reach. “You hear that, babe? How wet y’are for me?”

You were on fire and yes, yes you could. It was obscene in the best way, intense and a little dirty, and you watched in awe when the boy pulled his fingers away from you, sucked them into his mouth instead and soothed your responding whine with a pet to your hip.

“Shit, shit, shit- Steve.”

“I know, I know,” he cooed, voice far too soft and gentle, and Jesus, he was still trying to tease you. “Tell me what you want, yeah?”

But then the charade fell when you sat up and slipped over him, hard tip nudging against you before you blew out a breath, groaning as you took him all.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he was clawing at you, hands pushing at your hips to make sure you didn’t move just yet, eyes clenched shut as his forehead fell against yours. “Oh good girl, good fucking girl, princess.”

That did it for you, that little gush of praise and it had you clenching around him, making you both moan. You rocked your hips, once, twice, against Steve’s tight hold until eventually he helped you. Strong hands lifted you up and down over him, the slick, hot slide of the boy making you dizzy.

He whispered your name, moaned it, gasped it out on a hot breath that fell across your cheek and you pushed a palm to his jaw, held his chin in your hands to make him look at you and you felt the boy throb as you did it.

“My name sounds so pretty when you say it,” you murmured, repeating his previous words back to him and he groaned and laughed, hips canting up into yours with a snap.

The bed was moving against the wall, a dull thud, thud, thud that was hidden by rain and thunder, but Steve still grinned when you moaned louder than ever, his hand pushed to your mouth to muffle your sounds.

“So noisy, huh?” That taunting tone was back, the one that made you press yourself down onto him a little harder, deep enough to make him gasp and grab at your waist. “Oh, you’re too sweet, you know that? So pretty - you know just how to get me all wound up, don’t you?”

You moaned, soft and sweet, to pent up to argue back but you moved a little quicker, made Steve’s head fall back, neck taught and fingertips bruising on your thighs as he kept you spread open for him.

You pulled away from his hand, breath hitching as he twitched inside of you and you mouthed at his throat, lips pressing a scattering of messy kisses there and you trailed them to his ear.

You hummed, a happy noise that came from the back of your throat and you wound your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair.

“You close, hmm?” You gasped, chest pressed flush to the boy’s and you both rocked your hips, a dizzy mess of desperate movements. “Huh, Steve? Are you goin’ to come for me?”

The boy realised your game and he huffed out a laugh, groaning as he tucked his face into your neck, smelling rain and leftover sunscreen, letting you take your hands through his hair, tugging a little when you wanted him to slam his hips up into you.

His hand found its way between your bodies, slick with sweat and rain, thumb running perfect, little circles over your clit as he forced you into the same breathless high that you were pinning on him.

“Christ, yeah,” he grunted, voice shot, every word tumbling into the next, “come w’me? Not gonna last much longer, y’feel too good.”

His voice was a shot of whisky, caramel and sticky sweet when he spoke into your skin, a hand roaming up and down the expanse of your bare back, tongue laving over a nipple, sucking bruises into the dip between your breasts.

You can’t remember a time you had ever felt so needy, it was startling, it was electrifying.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” you sounded wrecked, and Steve adored it. “Harder, fuck, harder, I’m close-”

Amazingly, Steve was so much more agreeable when he was buried to the hilt inside of you, hands pressing bruises to your hips as he slammed up into you, meeting your thrust for thrust as everything came to a high and you crashed into it together.

“Awh shit, that’s it, there you go sweetheart.”

The boy whispered your name when he came, hips stuttering, mouth pressed to yours as he held you still, your limbs twitching from the aftershocks of it all. Steve petted at your thighs, hands all soft and shaky, forehead pressed to yours as you both panted, trying to catch the breath the other had stolen.

The rain had stopped when you clambered off of his lap, Steve helping you move on your shaky legs as he tied off the condom and tossed it into the bin near your bed. The birds were chirping again when he lay down beside you, both of you half naked, clothes rumpled, hair misbehaving, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

The clouds were lifting, the room not as dark, a stripe of sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, gold cutting through the shadows. There was a drip, drip, drip of leftover rain on the porch, the soft gasps from both of you, sheets tangled at your feet.

Quiet passed over you both, skin still tingling, lips feeling bruised from each other's mouths, the taste of Steve Harrington and rain still on your tongue.

I can’t get any rest, people say I’m obsessed.

The last week of summer camp went by in a slow roll. Like the way a camcorder stuttered over its film, lazy and with a soft crackle, memories trapped between sunspots and dust.

Days passed without you being able to see much of Steve, Hopper finally making good on his promise as he kept you both apart, Steve sharing lifeguard duties with Billy and you co-ordinating crafts with Nancy.

The kids kept you all busy, the last few days bringing a new buzz of excitement as the thought of returning back home, to school, to reality, set in. You helped Will finish his painting, watched with pride when he presented it to Will, the other boy awed. Nancy settled arguments between Max and Lucas, raising her brows at you in amusement when you told her that they were fine, they were both just too stubborn. Steve finally taught El how to swim and when Robin caught Dustin and Suzie sharing a shy first kiss behind the old bike shed, she didn’t have it in her to tell them off.

In fact, you didn’t see Steve until three days after the storm, trailing out of Hop’s office after a surly looking Billy, both of them sporting bruised faces and cut lips, Steve’s hair messier than usual and Billy’s red lifeguard shirt was ripped at the collar.

He glared at you as he passed, blonde hair mussed and blue eyes cold, as if somehow, his black eye was your fault. But you didn’t worry yourself over Billy Hargrove’s sour mood, your feet quickly carrying you over to where Steve was.

Catching Steve’s elbow in your hand didn’t feel anywhere as near as unnatural as it did a week ago, your touch almost too casual on him. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, your hand on his bare arm, not really, not after that night.

But you hadn’t spoken about it since, you hadn’t touched, hadn’t pressed your lips back to his. So now, the feel of your palm curled around his elbow had you both burning. Steve stared at you, eyes flickering to where you held him and you swallowed hard, told yourself to be brave and you didn’t let go. He didn’t pull away either.

“Hey,” your voice was a soft murmur, the low buzz of the kids in the mess hall almost drowning you out. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You were frowning as you took in the bruise at his temple, shades of lavender and navy creeping towards his eyebrow, a cut on his lip that was red with dried blood, his hair falling over his eyes like he’d been thrown around.

Steve shrugged, eyes glancing back towards the door of Hopper’s cabin, scowling when he saw that Murray was at the window, watching you both with a mug of coffee to his lips, hiding his grin. Steve took your hand in his, gesturing to the old gym and you would’ve followed him even if his hand wasn’t pulling you along behind him.

Once you were both hidden from the rest of the camp, bodies pressed into the cool shadows that the side of the old building brought, Steve turned to you, a hand still tangled in yours, the other finding the dip in your waist, just because he could. His touch brought shivers to your skin, a feeling you still weren’t used to and you found that you didn’t hate, not at all.

If anything, it made you braver, urging you to take a step closer, your hand taking his chin in your grip as you tilted his head up to the sun, the bruise catching the light and you made a soft noise, a quiet hum. Steve let you push and pull at him, the start of a smile on his lips that you were sure he’d normally try and hide from you, but his fingertips were curling into your staff shirt, pushing it out of the way until his skin found yours and your breath hitched.

“Billy?” You asked, careful.

“No, I’m Steve,” he joked but it was weak, his smile too tired and you huffed, catching his gaze with a stare he knew too well.

It was no secret that Steve and Billy had never seen eye to eye, Steve took genuine offence to the way that Billy treated the kids, too harshly and with rough words, rolling his eyes if they ever got upset, laughing when he managed to scare them.

But it had never come to a head, fist staying clenched by sides and jaws clenched, but Steve tended to try and stay out of fights - for the kids sake if anything.

And you knew that, knew the boy better than you thought, years of living in the same small town, summers spent in the same warm forest making you pick up more than you realised about Steve Harrington.

“What happened?” You asked again, still quiet.

Your thumb ran over the cut on his lip, gentle and if Steve wasn’t in pain, you probably would’ve smirked when he shivered at your touch.

“Jus’ Hargrove talkin’ shit,” Steve grunted, voice rough as if he’d been yelling. Knowing Hopper and Murray, he probably had been. “It’s fine, m’fine, princess.”

The pet name carried so much more affection than it had before, warming you to the bone, skin tingling, cheeks flushed.

You frowned, lips pouted, unperturbed when you dropped your hand from Steve’s jaw and it landed on his shoulder instead, the two of you swaying slightly together, not all that used to touching just yet, but enjoying the closeness nonetheless.

“You don’t usually let him get to you,” you huffed, brows still knitted together and you were somewhat annoyed at yourself for not being there to break the boys apart. Steve had proved himself capable of listening to you now, and you were not above using it to your advantage, especially if it kept him out of the way of Billy’s fists.

Steve just looked at you, eyes all soft, brown sugar and honey, shrugging with a small smile, like he was keeping a secret.

“Stranger things have happened, haven’t they, sweetheart?”

You stared at him, lips parted, wondering if this was another taunt, a tease, the start of an argument, because neither of you had had a chance to talk about what had happened in your cabin that night. You’d both woken up tangled together, bodies lazy and tired, the moon in the sky outside and Robin thankfully still gone. You had wrapped yourself in the sheet that smelled like Steve as you watched him get dressed, cheeks warm and nerves fluttering at your chest.

Neither of you had spoken, but he smiled all soft and bent down to kiss you before he left, his lips yielding on yours, a small noise of something huffing from him as he let you cup his jaw, holding him to you a little longer. The fight seemed to have left both of you, too slow and sleepy to pretend anymore. Steve had traced the bruise he’d left on your neck, pushed your still messy hair from your forehead and kissed there too before he left, the cabin door closing softly behind him.

So you were waiting for a snarky comment, a dismissal, an argument, maybe. But Steve grinned and squeezed at your waist, fingers still brushing warm underneath your shirt and then the bell rang, signalling the end of dinner and you both startled, jumping apart, despite being hidden.

“Steve-” you stopped, laughing embarrassed when Steve said your name at the same time. “Uh, you first,” you told him, achingly shy all of a sudden.

“Do you- uh, you think you could meet me later? By the lake?” Steve asked, squinting at you like he too was suddenly feeling awkward.

You felt like a teenager standing at her locker between classes, the school hall empty and your heart in your throat. You grinned, tried to hide it by ducking your chin to your chest, an already scuffed trainer kicking at the twigs by your feet.

“Are you asking me on a date, Harrington?” Your voice was all soft teasing, warm like the summer and it made the boy smile, cheeks pink, eyes rolling with affection, not annoyance.

“No,” he scoffed and you heard the lie there, heard the warmth. “Shut up.”

You laughed, snorting softly in a way that made Steve grin even harder, both of you feeling uncharacteristically giddy in the presence of the other, and god, you couldn't help but think about how the boy had dragged you into his lap, half naked and desperate.

“I hate you, remember?” Steve whispered it, moving a little closer, a hand playing with a stray lock of hair, knuckles brushing against your cheek.

You hummed and nodded, brows furrowed and lips pursed as if you were indeed, remembering. You remembered how the boy tasted, how he felt, how wild he got for you when you tugged his hair and bit down on his pretty bottom lip.

So you pushed softly at his chest, all strong muscle and warm skin underneath his faded staff shirt and you looked up at Steve through your lashes.

“Yeah, I remember,” you murmured back.

And then the sounds of the kids spilling out of the mess hall finally got too loud, the evening hardly over and there were jobs still to do. You both heard Eddie announce that week's dungeons and dragon’s meeting, a crowd of the kids cheering, Nancy corralling others to the campfire, s’mores and storybook in hand. You had promised Max that you’d swap some mixtapes with her, the redhead and El both at your side during lunch, brandishing old Madonna and a double cassette of Kate Bush that Max said she was sick of listening to.

“Eleven o’clock?” Steve asked, hand brushing down your arm, any excuse to touch you before his palm curled warm around your elbow. “Where the old boathouse used to be?”

You nodded, relishing the last touch before he left, hand in his hair as he walked back out to the chaos of the camp, meeting Dustin on one of the walkways and ruffling the young boy’s curls. You waited until Steve had disappeared into the woods, following the trail that led to where Eddie was setting up his wizard game.

It didn’t take long for you to settle yourself onto a fallen log beside Robin, cheek leaning on her shoulder as Suzie settled herself by your feet, leaning on your legs as El tucked herself into the other side of you. The kids were all enraptured by Nancy, the small crowd lit by the glow of the fire as the girl told stories of three headed dragons and kids with superpowers, little girls and boys who were all strong enough to defeat monsters and nightmares.

And then when the fire was starting to burn out, the night darker, the kids sleepier, you swapped your old tapes with Max’s, sending the girl back to her cabin happier than before. The rest of the camp followed the trails into the shallow parts of the forest, the moon filtering through the branches as they tumbled into their bunks, all smelling like smoke and with marshmallow stickiness on their fingers.

Nancy waited until Robin had been pulled away by a disgruntled Mike, Will on their heels as they claimed they needed an impartial party in order to settle a game debate, Eddie too busy laughing to indulge the boys.

“So,” Nancy murmured, shoulder nudging yours, “you heard about Steve and Billy, huh?”

You panicked at the mention of the boy, a small surge of ‘oh god, she knows’, before you remembered the bruises, the fight that Steve never explained to you.

You blew out a breath and shrugged, suddenly feeling like it was too hard to play normal, like Nancy would look at you and know, like she’d notice the lavender bloom on your skin, hidden by your shirt collar.

“I mean,” you started, voice overly casual, “I knew they tried to beat the shit out of each other, but I dunno why.”

The girl looked at you through frizzy bangs, brows raised and hidden behind her fringe. Her mouth fell into a little ‘o’, surprise colouring her features before she smiled, knowing.

“You don’t?” You shrugged again, following Nancy’s lead as you both made your way around the now empty logs, gathering up chocolate smeared paper plates and forgotten sweaters. The fire simmered between you both, the burnt out logs still glowing and smoking, the faint sound of Hopper’s records playing from his open office window filling the air.

“Hargrove was being his usual self, a complete dick.”

You snorted at Nancy’s words before she continued, still smiling.

“But then he started talking about you,” the girl said, lips twisted, eyes gazing at you. “Kept asking Steve if he thought he should make a pass at you, some disgusting comment about how easy you’d give it up.”

You screwed up your face, unimpressed but unsurprised by Billy’s words and you were standing still, feet planted as you waited for the rest of the story.

“Guess he finally pushed Steve too far, ‘cause before any of us knew it, he flew for Billy, fist straight to his face.”

Your jaw dropped, lips parted, eyes wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Nancy huffed out a laugh, “took Eddie and Hop to break them up, Steve was really gunning for him. But I guess, I can’t really blame him, Billy was still running his mouth even after Steve rattled his jaw.”

“Huh.”

You were speechless.

“I know, right?” the girl smiled and she walked around to take the stack of plates you’d collected, looking at you with the air of suspicious interest that only Nancy Wheeler could manage. “Has, uh, anything happened between you two?”

You baulked, eyes ever wider and you wondered if Hopper’s music was loud enough to cover the thumping of your heartbeat. You laughed, forced, pulled your brows together and scrunched your nose. “What? Who?”

God, you’d never made it as an actress.

“You and Steve,” Nancy replied lightly, settling another inquisitive stare on you. She seemed to be searching your face for clues, for hints. “You’ve been getting along better lately, no arguments.” She grinned, sharp, “it’s been quiet.”

You barked out a laugh, nervous and shy, because she was right, of course she was right, Nancy was always right, she just didn’t need to know the reason why.

So you shrugged again, feeling warm, wondering if you needed to blame the leftover heat from the fire for your flushed appearance. “Yeah, uh, I guess Hopper finally decided to keep us apart.”

Your words sounded scripted, the lie sounded thick and it tasted weird on your tongue. Nancy smiled at you like she knew everything. But she nodded, soft and placating as she sighed and picked up another sweater, chocolate stained, and a hat that looked like Dustins.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I guess.”

----------

Robin was already asleep as you pushed your feet back into your shoes, your friend snoring softly from her bunk, hair covering her eyes, lips pressed into a pucker with her face squished to the mattress edge.

The rest of the camp was somewhat quiet, the hushed conversations coming from some of the open cabin windows, torch lights shining out of cracks in the curtains, whispered stories and secrets lingering in the still warm air. Hopper’s cabin was illuminated in the distance, music still playing softly, the backlit figures of the camp leader and Joyce sipping wine over the desk.

You passed Eddie as you walked towards the lake, sticking to the shadows off of the path, converse crushing pinecones and the boy was leaning over the edge of the railing of his porch, a sneaky joint hanging from his fingertips, the tip glowing a dirty red in the dark.

He caught your gaze, grinned wide and toothy as he raised a hand in a lazy wave and you felt too warm knowing that he was well aware of his own missing bunkmate. Did he know? Did Steve tell him? Did you mind?

“Late night rendezvous, Hawkins?” Eddie whispered, head tilted to look at you teasingly. You flipped him off and he chuckled, low and throaty. “Don’t argue too loud now, you don’t wanna wake the kids.”

And then he winked, stubbed his joint out onto the railing and padded back into his cabin, barefoot and ready for bed.

The camp was darker without the campfire lighting up the main square, the tall trees blocking out most of the moon, the stars white dots between indigo clouds. It got brighter as you neared the lake, skirting the edges of the beach before you waded through the longer grass, the messier part of the waters edge that no one was usually allowed into.

Wildflowers and weeds brushed your bare shins, your pyjama shorts not doing enough to keep you cool, even in the night. The summer lingered in the air, on your skin, leftover sun kissing at your cheeks, your shoulders. Or maybe it was the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side of the lake, who was waiting for you.

So you moved a little faster, crickets chirping in the longer grass, cicadas buzzing from the forest you’d left behind. The moonlight danced off the surface of the lake, the water silver, the air fresh and sharp. Everything was pine and cedar, damp moss and old smoke.

And then Steve was sitting in a clearing in the bush, bare feet dipped up to his ankles in the water, jeans rolled up as he sat on the remnants of an old dock, half of it destroyed by weather and time with the bare bones of the boathouse behind it.

Steve looked up as you approached, hiding his smile by looking back out at the water and he shuffled along the old boards a little, letting you sit down next to him. You pulled your shoes off like he had, tucked your socks inside so you wouldn’t lose them and you sighed when the cool water licked across your feet.

You wish you could say the silence was comfortable, and it was, in a way. The night wrapped around you both like a warm blanket, familiar in a way that only the camp was, smoke and mountain air, fresh water and cedar.

But there was something buzzing underneath it all, an electrical current that carried tension and questions. It fizzed, it crackled. It was stolen glances from under lashes, hands curled around the edge of the dock, close enough for pinky fingers to brush. It was the promise of another kiss, the flushed cheeks of remembering that you had kissed. It was the boom, boom, boom of a nervous heart, that sticky feeling of not being able to swallow properly.

Your shoulders brushed, hands grazed, breath hitched and chests burned. There was a smile on your lips that you were trying to hide, the kind that made your cheeks ache, biting your tongue to stop the sheer giddiness of it all.

“D’you still hate me?” Steve asked, and he sounded like you felt, that hidden smile in his voice, rosy around the edges, the sunshine boy in the middle of the forest.

You laughed, soft and on a huffed breath, chin tilted down so you could watch the way your toes trailed patterns in the water, the way the lake looked like ink underneath you both. You thought about his question, about how you would’ve answered it a week ago, how you wanted to answer it now.

You realised then, that despite what had occurred in that small space in time, the answer would have been the same.

“I’ve never hated you, Harrington,” you told him and his surname sounded so much nicer now, an endearment on your tongue instead of a curse. “Not really.”

Steve glanced at you from under his lashes, brown eyes looking black in the night, the shadows on his face blue and the bruises from Billy looking darker than before.

He smiled, lips curling a soft line, dimples appearing and he looked adorably shy. He nudged you, shoulder bumping your own.

“I don’t know if I believe that, princess.”

You knew he was joking, at least you were sure he was. But you guessed that such a statement required an explanation. So you inhaled the mountains, the forest, the lake and Steve in your lungs, before blowing it back out with all your pride.

“I was always jealous I guess,” you shrugged, eyes on your hand, fingers playing with an old knot in the wooden board you sat on. “You always seemed to get what you wanted. You were so popular, everyone liked you. Even the teachers.”

“Kinda immature, I know,” you flushed, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “It just seemed like everything I wanted - everything I worked so hard for - was just handed to you.”

You snuck a glance at the boy, knowing that your words were unfair. Steve wasn’t stupid, he did well in school, well enough to get good grades and get away with being too cheeky every now and then.

“I know that sounds harsh and- and I’m sorry that I always spoke shit about your dad,” you cleared your throat nervously. “About your family, your uh, financial situation… that was never very nice of me.”

It wasn’t a secret that you didn’t live in a house that was as big as Steve’s, or that through middle school, your mom worked two jobs. But you were happy and it wasn’t Steve’s fault. You knew that. You’d always known that.

But the boy only nodded, a knot between his brows and he moved closer until his knee knocked against yours as if he was telling you it was okay.

“No, uh, you’re right,” Steve whispered. He was frowning, like he had only really come to this realisation then. “You’re right, about my dad.”

You didn’t want to be.

“He’s not really around, you know? Neither is my mom. There’s always business meetings, trips out of town, out of state.” He laughed, humourless. “Which is why we stay in that nice, big house, I know but-”

Steve swallowed, face twisted in sadness and frustration and you ached to reach out and smooth away the lines there, the furrow on his forehead, the downturn of his lips. Somewhere in the distance, something small splashed in the lake.

“-but they’re just never around. They never were.” He looked at you, smile sad, eyes sadder. “My dad’s just an ATM. He’s a cheque, a couple of numbers after a report card.”

“Steve…”

He didn’t want your sympathy you realised, he didn’t want pity. But he didn’t brush you off when you lay your hand on his leg, rough denim under your palm, just above his knee.

“My mom was the same, pizza money on the counter, a couple of hundred dollars for the weekend when I was fourteen and they had to go to Memphis -no, Minnesota - I can’t remember. But I was alone the whole week.”

“That’s horrible,” you told him. Your statement was simple, an understanding, a fact, and Steve liked that your voice didn’t soften for him, it didn’t change.

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding and pulling the hand that was on his knee into his own. Your fingers tangled with his and your tummy flipped at the roughness of his palm.

“I hated when he pulled that shit, you know? The science fair?” Steve scrunched his nose in annoyance. “He didn’t even stay for the results, to watch me get a prize. He just paid and left.”

Your hand squeezed his a little tighter.

“Your parents were always there,” he murmured and his voice warmed. “I remember in fourth grade, when we changed classes and you were so nervous, your mom was there giving you a hug and your dad was taking photos even though you were crying.”

“I wasn’t crying,” you huffed, voice breathy because you were embarrassed by the memory, shocked that Steve remembered. “You noticed me?” You couldn’t help but ask.

He only hummed, still smiling, both of you leaning into the other more than before, letting the boy take your warm weight as you accepted his.

“I always noticed you,” he said and his sincerity was life altering. “You just drove me crazy.”

It didn’t sound like a bad thing, when he said it like that, when he was looking at you the way he was.

“Did you always hate me?”

Steve grinned, shaking his head as he looked out onto the water. “Never did, princess, I told you that already. I guess I was jealous of you too, huh?”

You were shocked, lips parted, heart heavy. But then you shook your head, thinking of something else to say to clear the weight in the air because you didn’t want to think of fourteen year old Steve in that big house all alone anymore.

“I work here to save for college,” you told him, like it was supposed to be a secret, like Steve hadn’t heard you talk to Dustin about it before. “My grades weren’t quite good enough to score me a scholarship so-” you trailed off, gesturing uselessly to your staff shirt you were still wearing.

“I failed my Chemistry exam,” Steve told you in return, voice unaffected. “Then I told my dad I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to college, that I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do.”

You turned to look at the boy, traced the lines of his face with careful eyes, the slope of his nose, his jaw, the curve of his cheek.

“He cut me off,” Steve said simply, “we don’t really talk anymore. So I’m tryin’ to save up for my own place.”

��In Hawkins?” You asked, because nothing else seemed to matter.

“Anywhere,” Steve answered. “Where d’you wanna go to college?”

“Anywhere,” you told him and it felt like a confession.

His smile was blinding.

—————

Steve kissed you behind your cabin, the forest your only audience. He pressed you into the wet wood of the wall, just like he had done the days before, rain on his skin and his lips on your neck.

But this felt like a first kiss, it felt like the first time. No one dared you to do it, no fight or challenge in either of your bodies and it made you melt against him all slow and soft, butterflies in your stomach, your heart in your throat.

It still felt new, it felt like a crush, like something to wake up and look forward to in the morning, like the first day of summer, the morning before camp began.

Steve kissed you lazy and deep, like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to swallow you whole like then night. He tasted like mint toothpaste and soda, the fizz of it making you buzz, cherry and sugar on your tongue. He brought his hand to your cheek, fingertips pressing gentle to your skin, his thumb soothing over the sting of his teeth on your bottom lip.

It made you push up onto your toes, chasing his mouth, your hands in his hair and making him bend down for you, sighing all happy like he didn’t care you were telling him what to do.

He kissed you like he wanted to keep you.

It was hard to pull away from each other, even when the rest of the camp was asleep and the night was drawing into early morning. You craved the touch of the boy you’d always kept at arm's length, amazed at the way you responded to him so easily, so desperately, like your bodies were both yelling at you, asking ‘why weren’t we doing this all along?’

You wanted to tell him your secrets, you wanted to share your summer. You wanted to ask what this meant, but you were too scared, maybe still too full of pride and the idea of going back to Hawkins and being rejected was too much to bear.

So you took the stolen kisses behind the cabin, hands touching bare skin under shirts, edging just shy of being scandalous, the sounds of your soft breath mixing with Steve’s and it was dizzying.

It was enough for now.

You went to bed with one more kiss still fizzing on your lips, a new mark pressed on your neck, hidden under hair and matching the one you had given the boy. Steve watched as you walked into your cabin, footsteps soft and the shy squeak of the door made you both cringe but Robin stayed asleep.

You waved goodnight, eyes tired but your heart still thumping, and when Steve raised his hand in response, a smile on his face that had the shadow of shyness, you wanted to squeal.

It was ridiculous, this giddiness, this new feeling for the boy you’d known for so long. It wasn’t all that different though, being pressed up against Steve Harrington as he kissed the breath from you. He still made you wanna bite back, kiss him harder than he’d kissed you, a sense of a challenge lingering around you both at all times.

It just felt more fun now.

—————

Hopper seemed almost disappointed that he hadn’t managed to collect more damage money from you and Steve. There had been a mason jar sitting on his desk from day two, a haphazard sticker on it with the words `therapy savings' written in sharpie. After the kayak incident, there had only been a few more dollars stuffed into it, some loose change for snarky comments made at meetings and one green M&M that Eddie had managed to throw into it from across the room.

But the camp was still standing after another year, the buses and cars of parents littering the spaces between the cabins as the kids dragged out too big duffel bags, yelled about lost games and forgotten socks.

Some kids lined up to hug you goodbye, El and Will sniffling softly into your t-shirt as your own tears fell into their hair, your arms wrapped tight around them. You’d see them next year, like you always did, when they were older and taller and less likely to throw themselves into your arms in greeting.

Dustin told you all about a radio he was building, something that would allow you to chat to him through the school year and he was handing you a scribbled note with all the best walkie talkie brands on it and numbers for different frequencies. He let you mess his curls one more time, his grin wide and his cheeks pink.

Lucas and Mike helped you load your bags in your car, despite their parents standing waiting with smiles on their faces. You pestered them both into a hug, both of them pressed to a shoulder as you told them to be good and stay out of trouble.

Your voice didn’t really crack until Max appeared, Walkman around her neck and another cassette in her hand. She tried to look casual about it when she handed it to you, a piece of tape stuck to the front with the words ‘love from Max’ written on it.

“Maxine,” you gasped, all faux shock and she rolled her eyes. “You made me my own tape?”

The girl shrugged, one hand pulling at the end of a braid as she scowled, trying to keep the pink from her cheeks.

“It’s no big deal,” she muttered to the ground, “your taste in music needed expanding.”

She said it huffily, but she meant ‘I’ll miss you.’

“Thanks kid,” you whispered, throat tight, eyes glassy and you nudged your shoulder into hers. She pressed her head to your arm in lieu of a hug, saving that one show of rare affection for Lucas instead.

Then she was gone, along with the rest of the kids, and the camp was finally quiet again.

Billy picked up his wages and left without saying goodbye to anyone, duffel bag dragging on the ground as he grabbed a greyhound out of Indiana, face still mottled with bruises from Steve’s fists.

Robin left with Eddie, the boy telling her that he’d drive her home instead of her having to share the same fate as Billy, shoved on a bus during the high heat of the day. She didn’t take much convincing when Eddie jumped into the driver seat and started blaring Prince from the radio, curls messy as he grinned at her.

“C’mon Buckley, you can’t say no to me.”

And she didn’t.

They boy hugged you tight before they left, Robin promising to write, promising to visit and Eddie lifted you off of your feet, crushing you to his chest as he whispered in your ear, “look after my boy, huh?”

They left in a plume of dust and dirt, the sound of ‘purple rain’ trailing behind them.

Nancy and Jonathan were next, the girl doing one last round through the cabins, arms full of forgotten drawings, a lone teddy, seventeen odd socks. Then she hugged you, eyes fond, leaving with her boyfriend for a week's holiday in his hometown before promising you that she’d catch up with you back in Hawkins before college started.

It left you and Steve alone in the staff parking lot, sun shining, blue skies, green forest and birds chirping.

He was leaning against his car, arms crossed like the way he was looking at you was no big deal, smile all soft and familiar now, like that’s the way he’d always looked at you.

Maybe it was. Maybe you’d never noticed.

You pressed your hip into your own car, eyes full of trouble as you gazed at him expectantly. Steve raised his brows, smirked like he wanted to argue with you, like he wanted to kiss you.

“Race you home?” He asked and god, his voice was honey, sweet and warm, capable of stopping you in your tracks.

You laughed, patting the hood of your old car affectionately before telling him, “nah, my car is slow as shit.”

Your callback to his own words at the beginning of camp made him bark out a bright laugh, genuine amusement in his eyes and he shook his head, lips twisted.

“Glad you can finally admit it, princess.”

You wondered if this was a goodbye, if this was it. You wondered if you were supposed to talk about what had happened, if this kiss you shared behind your cabin meant the same to Steve as it did to you. If you were supposed to go back to sharing the same town and calling each other names like you hadn’t been on top of him.

So you waited, a beat of silence, a roll of summer washing over you both. The breeze picked at both your hair, stray stands blowing across lips and mouths and you sighed, soft, wanting.

“Uh, there’s um,” Steve was scratching the back of his neck, eyes fond on you, smile all nervous. “There’s this diner in Lowell, they do a pretty good burger.”

You grinned, happiness beating out of you like the fucking sun.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve called back, grinning just like you. He looked pretty, softer than you once knew him, all wild curls and caramel eyes, new freckles on his nose, the bruise you gave him faded on his throat. “D’you wanna stop for lunch?”

You could’ve sworn the only sound in the forest was your heart.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Harrington?”

You waited for the scoff, the teasing, the taunt. You were so used to the quick, sharp bite of a reply, that when he shrugged all slow and lazy, head tilted to look at you from under his lashes, you were surprised.

“Yeah,” he told you again.

It was such a simple reply. One word, so sincere, heart stoppingly sure.

You ducked your head, hiding your grin, your flush, the way your eyes must’ve been glittering. It felt a little magic, a little manic, that feeling of something new.

It felt like a first kiss, a boy touching you during a thunderstorm, like the taste of rain, the smell of campfire smoke. It was all Steve fucking Harrington.

So you nodded, took a breath, took a chance, grinned and opened your car door.

“I’ll meet you there.”

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic

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rogersideup · 2 months

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｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini ♊︎ ✩ °｡

Chapter 3

Expendable

Series Masterlist

Previous part: wine and dine next part: pink peonies

Word Count 5,333

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Mentions and descriptions of sexual acts.

Standing in front of a human shaped dummy in the private training room, Steve was showing you all the best ways to direct an attack to assure your opponent goes down, and stays down.

After your mission and injury, Steve was out for a few days on a business trip the same day that you were medically cleared to get back to work. So, it had been a while since the last time you trained together.

You both decided it was a good idea to just take it easy and review what you already know as a means of studying for your final evaluation coming up.

Every agent had to take a final evaluation upon completing every single training course shield had to offer. It was a big deal, and though nobody had any doubts that you were ready for it, it could never hurt to review and improve.

"Knock knock, bitches." Bucky announced, causing both of you to stop.

"Hey, Bucky boy" You greeted him.

"What's going on, Buck?" Steve questioned.

"I dunno, I'm bored." He shrugged. "Can I just sit and watch?"

"Don't you have work to do?" You asked with a giggle.

"I finished!" He defended himself. "You two get to spend so much time without me, it's only fair I get to insert myself here whenever I want to."

"You act like this is personal and not us doing our jobs" Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's a technicality I'm choosing to ignore." Bucky sat on the ground with his back against the wall.

Steve looked at you to make sure it was okay that he sat and watched, but he caught something he wished he hadn't. Just for a split second, you narrowed your eyes at Bucky, and he gave you a very subtle nod back.

He realized that it very well could've been nothing, but it definitely seemed like it was something.

Though Steve didn't bring it up at all, he made mental note of it. He was confident in his deep knowledge of both of his friend's behavior, and he was choosing to trust his gut on that observation.

The rest of your time together, Bucky sat and watched quietly, only occasionally responding to conversations that would break out that weren't work related. Towards the end, Steve wanted to confirm some scheduling, so he cut the physical work a few minutes early.

He sat on the bench with you as you pulled a sweatshirt over your head, and your everyday sneakers onto your feet.

"Okay, so, your final evaluation is one week from today." Steve noted. "So this week will be really simple, we can keep doing this, just reviewing what we've already been over. But our training together is still supposed to run until the end of the month so we have three extra weeks together."

"What am I supposed to do when this ends?! I'll be so bored without you!" You exclaimed.

Steve chuckled. "You should be happy that you survived my course!"

"I mean I am, but then what?"

"Maybe another Avenger will take you under their wing." Steve shrugged.

"I can only think of one Avenger with wings" you noted.

"What do you want to cover in the three weeks together after your evaluation?" He asked.

Your lips formed into a pout. "I know what it should be, but I don't wanna do it"

"Restraints?" Steve questioned sympathetically.

"Restraints... I guess." You grumbled.

Every fighter had a weak spot. Just one thing that made their stomachs turn and their hearts race, something that really scared them regardless of mental work or preparation. Some people couldn't handle heights, didn't do very well when they saw blood, and really freaked out over handling certain weapons.

You just happened to be terrified of being restrained, which unfortunately was a very plausible situation to find yourself in as an agent. There was no reason why you were terrified of it, nothing happened in your life to make you fear it as much as you did. But the thought of having your hands or legs tied made you feel claustrophobic in a way you couldn't even describe using words.

"It'll be scary at first, but we'll work on it" Steve reassured. "Wouldn't you rather learn how to get out of any sort of restraint with someone you trust then find yourself in a situation where you're tied up at the hands of an enemy with no way out?"

"Logically yes, but in reality I would like neither of those things to happen." You responded with a twinge of sarcasm.

Steve laughed, "okay well, I wouldn't like that to happen to you either! But once you learn how to escape from a bunch of different scenarios, you won't be scared of it anymore. Knowledge is power!"

"I know you didn't just knowledge is power me, you loser!" You joked with a snort.

"Oh I certainly did, and I'll do it again." He stated with a smile. "Confidently!"

"Okay, I guess I trust you enough to teach me." You committed to the endeavor.

"Good job, pushing yourself is how you grow better as a fighter." Steve praised your bravery. "We'll start with the easiest and work our way up to the hardest, then you'll be such a pro at it that nothing could ever hold you back."

"Yeah, yeah." You playfully rolled your eyes.

"Then after our training together is officially over, I'm going to block off my schedule these same two hours every day to just cry." Steve put a hand over his heart.

"Can you do that to my schedule too? Maybe we can cry together?"

"I'll see what I can do." Steve agreed, before opening his arms up for a hug. You happily hugged him back. "Good job today! You're going to do great on your assessment no matter who is assigned to asses you. We all know it."

"Thanks for teaching me!" You smiled. "In all seriousness, I've really enjoyed getting to learn from you. Thanks for all the time you've put onto me."

"Anytime, Bug. I've been enjoying it just as much." Then Steve turned to include Bucky in their conversation. "What are you guys up to for the rest of the day?"

"Nothing, well, I think that's pretty obvious considering I'm just sitting here" Bucky shrugged. "Do you guys want to hang out? Maybe we can walk to that cool park a few blocks from here? Watch the sunset and get some fresh air?"

"That sounds good to me." Steve agreed. "Buggy, you in?"

Both boys watched as you stood up and slipped your gym back onto your shoulder. "As fun as that sounds, I can't. You know Agent 563? We made plans to have an early dinner together so I have to get ready to leave here soon."

"Booooo, buzz kill!" Bucky announced dramatically.

"That doesn't mean you can't go on a cute little sunset date with your boyfriend without me, Bucky." You smiled at him. "By all means, you boys have fun."

"I think that's great." Steve told you, ignoring the boyfriend comment. "563 is a great agent, and I think it's important that you girls stick together.

"Lord knows we need some time away from the amount of testosterone in this place." You agreed.

“Even me?" Bucky pouted.

"Even you." You smiled at him, approaching him for a hug that you had to bend over pretty far to get. "And Steve. I love you both, but I need to interact with other people than just you two!"

"Hey! I only talk to you and Steve and I'm doing just fine" Bucky defended himself.

"What about Natasha?" Steve wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at him.

"Don't bring up Natas-" Bucky started passionately

"I'm leaving!" You announced before an argument broke out. "Love you boys! Have fun on your date! I hope you hold hands and kiss each other's foreheads!"

Steve and Bucky stared at each other as you walked out of the room. The door closed behind you, and your foot steps faded until completely inaudible to either of their heightened ears.

"Why are you actually here, Buck?" Steve asked.

"You're in love with her." He claimed deadpan.

Steve's heart sank, but controlled himself the best he could as to not bluff. "Why would you say that?"

"I figured it out last night." Bucky admitted. "I was trying to sleep but my brain wouldn't turn off. I was thinking about the dynamic of our little friend group and it hit me like a train. I had to come confirm it with my own eyes."

Steve puffed out a performative chuckle and put his hands on his hips. "You understand how crazy that sounds, right?"

"Is it though?" Bucky raised an eyebrow while standing up from his spot on the floor. "I never noticed it until today. Your eyes physically twinkle when you look at her. Your cheeks have been pink since I got here, and you never stopped smiling until she left the room. Encouraging, sweet, considerate..."

"It's my job to be encouraging towards her, Buck. I'm her boss." Steve huffed, feeling annoyed and attacked by this conversation.

"Why won't you admit it?" He asked.

Steve stopped in place and noted Bucky's furrowed brows. "Wait, why do you seem so upset about this?"

"I'm not upset." Bucky denied, shaking his head. "But if you're actually pining after her, Punk..."

"What?" Steve's heart was pounding.

"Do you like her?" Bucky asked one more time, his tone was nothing but serious. His face was stone cold.

"I'm her boss." Steve slumped. "There's a power imbalance, I can't break her trust."

"And if she joins the Avengers?" His head tilted.

"She just got out of a relationship."

"It's already been a month since then." Bucky insisted. "Steve, this is between me, you, and the grave. I'm serious."

Steve threw his head back with a groan. It had been a while since he had seen Bucky this worked up about anything, so he knew it was important. But getting the admission to slip past his tongue felt morally wrong and partially impossible.

"Steve."

"Yes." He said simply, staring up at the ceiling.

"How long?"

"How long what?" Steve sighed.

"How long have you had feelings for her?"

"Since the day I met her..." Steve mumbled.

"Oh my-"Bucky rubbed his face with his hand before running his hand through his hair. "You hid it too well."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve froze up as his mind ran laps around Bucky's behavior. He already knew what was coming before he could admit to it.

"You're going to hate us, but I need to tell you something..." Bucky said apologetically.

Meanwhile, you were having a fantastic time with Agent 563, Clara. Though the two of you were friendly around the compound, you never had the chance to actually sit and have a long conversation with her before. Both of you getting the chance to vent about the workplace environment and culture to someone who actually understood what it was like to experience it in the unique way you did was refreshing to say the least.

After dinner neither of you were ready to end the conversation there, so you grabbed ice cream on the way back, and walked the whole way home together. At a certain point, work was a topic long forgotten as you two bonded over other similar interests like movies, hobbies, family, you two even shared the same love for video games.

By the time you made it back to your apartment, there was a smile on your face and a lightness to your heart you hadn't felt in a while. It was obvious that work was making you feel heavy and alone for a while, but you didn't realize how bad it actually was until you got away from it.

That smile was wiped off your face when you opened the door to Steve sitting on your couch with a stiffness in his body and an anger on his face you had never seen before.

"Hey, are you alright?" You immediately asked as his head snapped over to you the second the door opened.

Alarm bells were instantly ringing. Your heart dropped into your stomach, and raced with a speed you didn't quite know was possible.

You had given Steve and Bucky a key to your place just like you had keys to theirs, but the three of you typically hung out at Steve's place. Either of them coming to your apartment was a rare occurrence, and them ever using your key was even more rare.

Steve watched you kick off your shoes and hang up your purse, he felt so many emotions all at once that he couldn't even begin to get the words out.

You hesitantly approached, he still didn't answer. "What's wrong?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Steve questioned. His tone very obviously gave away his state of emotion, it only made you feel more anxious.

You had a suspicion what this was about, but number one rule as an agent was to never incriminate yourself. "Tell you what?"

"Don't do that with me." Steve denied. "Bucky already told me. I don't understand why you guys would do that and keep it from me."

Your posture slumped knowing that this reaction was exactly why you and Bucky decided to keep a dirty little secret from Steve. So you sat down on an armchair next to the couch he sat on so you could explain.

But, he didn't even give you a chance to defend yourself before he spoke again. "Did either of you even consider how hooking up with each other would affect me?"

"Hey now, let's get some facts straight." You didn't let him go any further. "I feel like the term hooking up is giving what we did way more credit than what it was worth, and yes, we did consider you, which is why we both agreed we weren't going to tell you."

"Great, thank you so much for the consideration. That makes me feel really secure in my friendships with both of you!" Steve said sarcastically, feeling betrayed and admittedly heartbroken beyond words.

"Wait" You shook your head. "I know that sounds bad, but you have to understand that we all have different morals and personal opinions when it comes to sex and we knew you wouldn't understand."

"What is there to not understand?" He questioned. "You two had sex with no regard to how it would effect our friendships with each other."

"First of all, it wasn't sex, there was no penetration." You corrected. "Second of all, we didn't think it would effect our friendships because that's all we are to each other."

"I don't care about the details or what actually went down between you. Had either of you told me you liked each other from the get go it wouldn't have been a problem. I would've been happy for you two." He grumbled.

"We don't like each other." You denied. "We were just at the right place at the right time, things moved fast, and that's that. There's no romance happening, nothing to make social group weird. We all know Bucky likes Natasha."

"Well it's weird now." Steve glared at you.

"What do you want me to do now? It already happened, I can't go back and change it." You noted. "Want me to suck your dick too and call it even?"

"This isn't funny and I really don't appreciate that comment." He scoffed.

"It wasn't weird for you until Bucky opened his mouth, huh?" You asked him. "Was it weird for you two weeks ago when it actually happened?"

"I don't care." He swallowed thickly.

Feeling quite taken back by his behavior, and a little more that a little annoyed that Bucky spilled the beans, your attitude came out. "I'm a grown woman capable of making grown choices, and I don't owe you an explanation of what I choose to do with my body, Steve."

"No, you don't." He agreed, but you made him snap. "But I'm feeling betrayed and disrespected by the two of you, and that, I do feel like I'm owed an explanation for."

"Are you mad at Bucky too?" You snapped right back. "Huh? Did you yell at him?"

"He told me the truth." Steve rationalized.

"Yeah, well I never lied to you." You pointed out. "And why did Bucky feel the need to tell you what we did privately? Huh? Do you feel like I'm allowed to feel betrayed and disrespected for him going against our word?"

"I'm not here to tell you how to feel. I'm here to try and rationalize any of the choices we're making right now." He raised his voice. "My friends are the only family I have, and I refuse to lose a friend I've already lost many times before over a stupid choice."

Just with that one sentence, he broke your heart. "And that right there, is exactly why I thought it was okay in the first place." You growled as all of your self defenses came rushing in to protect you from the words you always knew to be true but never wanted to admit.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm expendable to you and Bucky. I always have been." You stood up from your spot next to him. "You say you're upset because you didn't want to ruin the dynamic of the friend group but guess what? The dynamic has always been you and Bucky hanging out and me just kind've being there. You'll always choose each other, and everyone will always choose someone else over me."

"That's not true." Steve denied. Although he was seeing red with anger, your words made him sad for you.

"I'm never anyone's first choice, Steve. You'll always choose Bucky, Bucky will always choose you. My sister will choose her husband, Harvey will always choose literally anything but me. Nobody else here is willing to be my friend because it's like social suicide, and I had to completely isolate myself from my normal civilian friends for this job." You explained. "I'm the best agent so I get used and abused and harassed out of the pack, but if I become an avenger I'll be singled out as the worst one. You and Bucky claimed you'd always have my back but now I know that's not true."

"Stop saying that." Steve shook his head.

"Nobody wants me." You spat, Steve could tell you believed that to be true.

It shattered his already broken heart, because if you had even the slightest clue of how bad he wanted you, you'd never say those words again. But he couldn't tell you, it simply wasn't an option.

"Nobody wants me ever but that night, Bucky wanted me. So forgive me for latching onto any ounce of human connection I can get these days. That choice was never about you, and I'm sorry that it hurt your feelings but I'm struggling more than I ever have and right now I need to put me first."

"Bucky and I have always loved having you around."

"That might be true, but you proved my point with your own mouth." A single tear fell down your cheek, but you wiped it away just as fast as it fell. "You said you weren't willing to lose Bucky. But right now it feels like you're willing to lose me."

"Don't be mad at him." Steve shook his head.

"He had no right telling you that without consulting me first." You denied. "Unless he broke some kind of code or something there was no rea-" Your own words made reality wash over you like an angry ocean wave trying to swallow you whole. "Oh my god."

"No-" Steve shook his head.

"He broke bro code, didn't he?" You asked Steve, feeling suddenly nauseous.

Steve felt nauseous too. His brain couldn't think of anything but the truth at the moment, but he was horrified. Though he tried to formulate the correct response, nothing felt right at the moment. "You slept in my bed."

"Oh my god." You took a slow step back, unable to process what information you were just receiving. He watched as your face turned just as red as his. "You like me?"

A billion different things came to mind. So many scenarios, so many possibilities, every single time you suppressed your own feelings for Steve because you never thought a man like him could ever love you. It was wrong. Yet all this time, he was harboring a secret of his own. And even then it was still wrong.

"You slept in my bed while you had a boyfriend." Steve spoke so firmly you swore you could feel the bass vibrating the floor.

"This whole time you we're hoping I'd jump right into your arms after breaking things off with Harvey?"

Steve knew where this was going, and the look on your face was just as horrified as he felt. Your lip was wobbling, your hands were shaking, and with every statement you took a step back. "No. But I did think that there was enough happening between us that you wouldn't go for Bucky."

"I slept in your bed because I trusted you, you asshole." You cried, pointing a finger at him. "I slept in your bed while staying with Harvey because he was the only man crazy enough to actually love me and I didn't ever think anyone would be crazy enough to love me ever again."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His jaw hung open for a moment, before it closed, then opened again. "Well then I guess you were wrong."

"I was wrong." You agreed, wiping your face once more as you watched his eyes tear up. "I trusted you to keep me safe in training, protect me against the people who are harassing me. I trusted you as a friend, a confidant. I even trusted you enough to see me naked, but I was wrong."

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you." Steve mumbled. "Because you trusted me and I didn't want to break it. Bucky didn't know."

"So let me get this straight. You had a secret that you kept from both of us, but Bucky's actions are excusable because he didn't know. My actions are inexcusable but I also didn't know, and we did the exact same thing together?" You asked. "You spend a lot of time talking shit about men's double standards around the compound for someone who turned around and is treating me the exact same way."

"I'm trying to talks through this so we can all go back to being friends."

"You we're never my friend." Your words cut through his heart like a knife. "You we're someone being nice to me in hopes of getting in my pants one day."

"No, that's not true." Steve pleaded, blinking back tears. "Our friendship means a lot to me. That's why I'm this upset in the first place."

"I don't think I can ever go back to being just friends with your or Bucky ever again." You cried. "All of you guys here are the same, I can't do this anymore."

Steve watched you clutch your stomach, as you spun on your heels and walked straight for the door. Little did he know, you felt so nauseous you were trying your hardest not to throw up.

"So that's it?" Steve asked, standing up from the couch. "You're going to throw away everything the three of us have built together as friends because we can't have a rational conversation?"

"A rational conversation? You can't even admit that you're only mad at me because you wanted to get into my pants and now you feel like you can't because Bucky got me first." You turned around to look at him. "That's all I am to anyone. That's the only relationships I've been able to form since I've gotten in this compound. You, Bucky, Harvey. I'm not a human to you guys, I might as well just be a glory hole."

"You're misunderstanding me." Steve shook his head, eyebrows raising upward like a sad puppy.

"That makes two of us." You turned back around and grabbed your packed duffel near the door that you always kept for emergencies.

"I care about you, you know that right?"

"It sure doesn't feel like it right now." You denied his claim.

"Where are you going?" Steve asked. "This is your house."

"The compound has never felt like home to me." The door swung open. You didn't even look back at him before stepping through the doorway. "Don't worry about where I'm going, just say the fuck away from me."

And just like that, the door slammed behind you and rattled the ground. You set off like a storm on the other side, and Steve was left on his own to crumble. Only when he was sure you were gone for good did he let tears fall down his face.

Trying your absolute hardest to hold it together you rushed through the compound hallways, desperately trying to avoid seeing anyone you knew before you made it to your car.

You didn't have it in you to have a face to face conversation with Bucky at the moment, but you did feel like you needed to tell him that the friendship was over, so you called him instead.

"Hey, bug." He answered sympathetically.

"Why did you tell him?" You cried.

"I had to." There was a deep sigh from the phone line. "What did he tell you?"

"Why the fuck are you protecting him?" You asked. It was admittedly a little harsh, but Steve had already amped you up.

"So he told you everything." Bucky stated. "I figured out he was in love with you last night. I couldn't in good conscience keep our secret anymore. He needed to know because the longer we kept it from him the worse this would've been."

"He doesn't love me, Bucky." You denied. "What he did wasn't love. It was control, and it was power, but it's not love."

"I can tell you're upset with him, but I don't think that was his intention." Bucky calmly denied. "Give it a few days to settle, alright? You can be mad at us all you want and I understand why, but emotions are high right now and it seems like both you and Steve are villianizing each other."

"I'm going to be gone for the weekend." You stated, needing to set firm boundaries. "I love you, but you hurt me and I need to get away."

"I'm sorry, bug. I really am." He apologized.

"You, Harvey, and Steve will all be blocked from reaching me unless it's during work hours. And as of now, I can't be a friend of yours."

"I understand" Bucky accepted the repercussions of his actions, though he was sad about it. "I hope you know we care a lot about you. I'm sorry this is all happening this way, but I still want you to be safe. Will you let someone know where you're going? Maybe Commander Bennett?"

"Yeah, I will." You agreed, feeling relieved that at least Bucky was being rational. "I hope in a little while we can figure this out between you and I, but it's going to take some time."

"I hope so too." He agreed. "Stay safe, and be smart. I'm here for you whenever you're ready."

You hung up, drove off, and the second the compound was in your rear view mirror it felt like the weight of the world was off your shoulders.

The weekend came and went simultaneously way too fast, yet painfully slow at the same time. You stayed with your sister who welcomed you with widely opened arms, and really took the time to listen to you when you spoke. She let you get it all out, she wiped your tears, then by morning you'd put on a brave face for Luca.

Spending a lot of quality time with him was truly the only reason you hadn't fully lost your mind. By Monday you felt well enough to face the shit show that was work, but it didn't last very long.

You had made it a whopping 4 hours into the work week before getting sent to Steve's office with an ice pack pressed to your cheek and Commander Bennett opening the door for you.

Steve looked up as the two of you entered, but your eyes were glued to the floor. You didn't need to look around to see where the chair was. You already knew.

He hoped that Bennett couldn't feel the thick tension that filled the room, but it was unusual for him to follow you to his office, and he did take note of how bad you looked.

Well, unfortunately for him he always thought you were stupidly beautiful, but your eyes were swollen. You looked exhausted, drained, and nothing like your usual fiery self.

"We need to do something about 212." Commander Bennett cut straight to the chase. "We can't keep cutting into her work time and having her get hurt because 212 and all his awful friends are picking on her."

"What happened?" Steve asked, trying to see what was under the ice pack.

"I saw them trip her with my own eyes. I don't know if they thought I wasn't watching, or if they thought they were being sly enough that I wouldn't notice, but this cannot continue." He stood firm. "Poor thing smacked her face against the floor, but she still is claiming that reprimanding them will make it worse. So what's the solution?"

Steve sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Do you have any ideas, Commander?"

"Give them one more strike. Let them all know that if they pull this again one more time before evaluation we will disqualify them from taking the test." He suggested. "That includes physical, and verbal attacks."

"That's a really good idea, thank you." Steve agreed. "I'll talk to them today."

"Are you comfortable with that, 306?" Bennett asked you.

"Yes, sir." Your voice was hoarse.

"I'm going to give her the option of cutting her work day short or continuing her training, but no matter what we all know she doesn't need more training." He noted. "I'll leave her with you so you guys can figure out your schedules."

"Thank you." Steve said politely.

Bennett left and the door clicked shut behind him, but your eyes stayed glued to the floor. Your options were go to your apartment and sleep the rest of the miserable daylight away, or spend two hours alone in a room with Steve.

You both already knew what the choice was going to be. There was no need to discuss the schedule change.

Steve knew you hated his guts right now, and he was still feeling hurt by you, but it took a few moments for it to dawn on him that he still needed to be a boss and a leader regardless. So he put his best foot forward.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

There was barely any compassion in his voice, he might as well have been a robot, so you didn't bother responding. You didn't even bother looking at him.

"Would you like to talk about the incident?" He pushed.

"No, Captain." You responded, coming to the same awareness that he was still your boss.

Your use of his title and refusal to look at him felt like a shot to the heart. "Would you like to be relieved of duties until tomorrow?"

"Yes, Captain."

"You are dismissed."

Just like the last time he saw you, you walked out on him without as much as a glance back knowing the next time you'd be forced to see him would be evaluation day.

Next Part: pink peonies

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