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hoodharlow · 3 years

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Don’t Move, Honey

AN: Y'all were supposed to get a fluffy Disneyland fic with light smut but Calum decided to be a whore and y'all are getting this. Also fuck Tumblr for eating this when I queued this.

Requested: Yes by my #CECOC anon and @nowherebound who engraved the idea of riding Calum's face with the mullet

Warnings: smut, use of sextoys, talks about recording a sextape (spoiler lol), and blink and you'll miss it voyeurism

Word Count: 3.9k words

Calum tripped over his Docs when he kicked them off. He bolted upstairs to his room. Earlier, when he was getting ready to drive back from a guy's trip, they had a very intense facetime call. Claudia sent him a few explicit pictures of her in only his white jersey with his last name in the back. He called her and one thing led to another. Now he stood alone and hard in an empty room.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and facetimed her. He laid back on his bed. Duke came in and nuzzled him for some overdue cuddles.

“Bueno?” She answered. She placed her phone on the shopping cart and smiled down at him.

“Where are you?” He asked, sitting up.

“Target. Remember when I said you were getting a treat?” she asked him. He nodded. “Well, I’m buying stuff to make you a chocoflan.”

Claudia stopped pushing and got on her tippy toes to reach for the cocoa powder, allowing Calum to admire how her ass looked in her leggings. She looked around and smirked to herself seeing that she had the aisle all to herself. She gave him her back and pulled down her top, exposing her breasts. She covered them with the two different brands of cocoa powder.

“Which brand did you like again?” She asked him.

Calum sat up. He looked behind her making sure no was in the aisle.

“Fuck.” he murmured. He switched the camera so that it was facing his mirror and slowly began stroking himself over his sweats. He pushed his hips up and with one hand he tugged down his sweats, exposing his cock. He rubbed the tip and rubbed himself. “Are you coming home soon? I need my pretty girl’s mouth on my cock.”

Claudia squeezed her thighs together. It has been almost two weeks since she last saw Calum. She needed him desperately. Her toys helped somewhat relieve her ache, but it wasn't the same as him fucking her. Even the dildo that was made from a mold in the shape of his cock, that he got her as a gag gift for Christmas, didn't do the job.

"No, I have to go to school and drop off some paperwork. I'll be home in an hour. Can you wait?" She asked.

"I waited almost two weeks, an hour is nothing." He said.

"Okay." she said pulling her top up as a woman walked passed her. "I'll see you in a bit then. I love you."

"I love you." Calum said before hanging up.

He sighed. He just lied to Claudia and told her that he could wait an hour. He really couldn't. He needed her badly.

He pulled his sweats and rolled into bed. He pulled Duke in for a cuddle, but the old puppy shrugged him off. He scoffed as Duke hopped off the bed and wandered out of the room.

Calum pushed himself off the bed and went to the bathroom. He quickly got himself off and went back to bed. Other than being extremely horny for his lovely girlfriend, he was tired. He spent the past two weeks hanging out and partying with his friends. He needed some rest.

He got in bed and laid on his back. After fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, Calum called his trainer and asked if he could squeeze him in for a session. Jesse responded instantly and told him that he'd be there in fifteen.

Calum unbuttoned his flannel and reached for the white jersey Claudia had left on the floor next to her dildo and vibrator. He pulled off his sweats and grabbed some black USC shorts from his duffle bag. When he caught himself in the mirror, he finally got why his girlfriend always complimented his ass. He decided to pull a Claudia and send her a booty pic. He pulled his shorts just below where his ass curved and snapped a few pictures. He saw the pictures and sighed, he tried his best not to think about Claudia on her knees in front of him gripping his ass as she sucked him off.

He sent her the pictures and added 'wish you were on your knees with your hands on me'. Claudia responded with crying emojis. To get him back she sent him a few explicit pictures of herself with her toys. She was saving them for another desert trip but now seemed like the perfect time to torture him.

Calum cursed after seeing her pictures. The one time he wanted to have the upper hand, she still managed to make him suffer. He locked his phone and went downstairs after hearing Duke bark. He picked him up and opened the door. He let Jesse into the backyard while he set up Duke's fenced area so he could be outside with them.

***

"Alright one more set on each side and we're done." Jesse said.

Calum nodded. He reached for the band and pulled it toward him while he rotated his body. His arms ached. When was out on his trip he barely worked out. In the house they rented out there was a home gym so he occasionally ran the treadmill and did a bit of weight training. It didn't compare to what Jesse was having him do.

"And zero. Alright we're done for today." Jesse said.

"Thank fuck." Calum mumbled.

He did his cool down stretches and then walked him out, agreeing to meet in two days. When he walked in the kitchen he was met with a chocoflan beautifully displayed on top of the center counter.

Claudia was home.

Calum grabbed his HydroFlask and jogged upstairs to their room. He found Claudia in one of his shirts and some sweatpants typing away on her laptop. He remembered that she was lesson planning for her internship at the magnet middle school in Boyle Heights. He was proud of her, despite everything that went down last summer, she was able to pick herself up and start fresh. She was doing something she loved and that made Calum happy.

He tiptoed over to her and kissed her head. Claudia pulled him down and kissed him.

"I felt your treat in the kitchen." she mumbled against his lips.

"I saw. I'm gonna shower." He said before kissing her once more.

Claudia slapped his ass as he walked passed, startling him. She giggled as he covered himself in case she wanted to smack his ass again.

He quickly showered and walked out naked to get his boxers. He felt Claudia's eyes on him. He turned and looked at her just as she went back to work. He put on a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers. He scrolled through his phone, checking the group chat with the guys. Luke was asking if he should finally announce his engagement with Sierra. Calum jokingly responded to wait until the following day since he was going to post later in the day.

He went to his side of the bed and connected his phone to the charger when he noticed Claudia was fully covered by her clothes. One thing he knew about her is that she always showed skin. If she wore pants or sweats, she'd wear a crop top or just wear a sports bra. And if she wore one of his shirts or hoodies, she only wore panties under, but if they had people over she wore shorts under. Then the only time when she would be fully clothed was in the winter. Seeing her in his shirt and in sweatpants at the start of June left him wondering.

What was she up to?

But decided to put the question on pause. He finally felt sleepy.

"Can I nap here while you work?" He asked her.

"This is your bed. You can nap here." she giggled. She reached for the files on his side and placed them on the floor.

Calum awkwardly crawled into bed. He laid on his back, not wanting to move in case it distracted Claudia. He closed his eyes and let sleep take over. Not even ten minutes later, he felt something wrap around his waist. He opened his eyes and saw Claudia's leg. In his sleep he ended up laying on his side so he laid on his back, allowing her to wedge her leg between his and hug his side. They both fell into a deep slumber, wrapped up in each other's arms.

Calum woke up an hour later. Claudia was still sleeping peacefully at his side. He ran his fingers over her soft curls, but it got him thinking about wrapping her hair around his hand as he fucked her face. He pictured her clearly. A proud smirk on her face as she opened her mouth wider for him. He cursed and let go of her hair.

Claudia lifted her head and pouted. "Why did you stop playing with my hair?"

"Because I'm this close to coming in my pants." He groaned sitting up to fix his pants.

"That's okay. I can just clean up the mess." She said, nonchalantly. "You know I don't mind… cleaning you up."

Calum came up with a snarky remark only for Claudia's stomach to speak up before him.

"Sorry, I haven't eaten since breakfast, unless you count the matcha lemonde I got at the Starbucks in Target." she giggled.

"We can't have that." He said. He grabbed his phone. "Let me order you some carne asada fries."

"So food then sexy time?"

"Yes, food then sexy time."

***

After food there was no sexy time.

They were on the couch settling down to finally get it on when Ashton blew Calum's phone up, asking him to record a video of him playing the piano. They tried to ignore him, but he ended up calling Calum on the landline. He went to the guest room and put on a grey smiley face hoodie and some sweats. He propped his phone next to where he placed his songs and began playing. He began recording himself.

Half an hour passed and Claudia got restless. One of her many weaknesses was Calum playing the piano. She couldn't explain why, but seeing him play always left her wanting to get on her knees for him. She tried sitting next to him on the bench, but he shot her a warning look. She noticed Calum was in the zone so he wouldn't see what she's up to.

She ran up upstairs to get her vibrator. Before she left their room, she took off her shirt and sweatpants. She returned to the living and Calum was still playing. She sat on the couch and started taking a few selfies in the lingerie set she wore. It was a red mesh set. The bra cleverly covered her nipples while the panties did nothing to cover how much she needed Calum. It also didn't help that they were crotchless. Though they did help in giving her easy access to get herself off.

She laid on the couch, propping one leg on top of the back part while her other leg was planted on the floor. She didn't even bother teasing her clit with her fingers, she was that ready for Calum. She slid her fingers in and turned on her vibrator to the lowest setting, not wanting to have the sounds reach his phone. She sighed feeling the vibrations on her clit. With that she let her fingers get to work.

She immediately moaned out for him as she got closer to climax. Claudia felt it. She sped up her fingers and circled the vibrator on her clit roughly. She was so close. Calum's name was at the tip of her tongue when she felt nothing.

Calum towered over her, vibrator in his hand. Before Claudia could even react, he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to their room. Seeing in her red, always left him with a hard on, especially if it was lingerie. But seeing her in a red mesh set and getting herself off? He was doomed. He desperately needed to be inside her.

He gently threw her on the bed and took off his clothes, staying in his boxers. He got on top of her and leaned down to kiss her.

They moaned into each other's mouths finally kissing how they craved. Calum held himself up in a push up position and took Claudia in, playing a movie in his head about all the positions they would be doing.

"What are you doing?" She asked. She pushed down his beanie and smoothed down his curls.

"Just wanna remember you like this for my next trip." he said quickly. He ran his fingers over the material on her breasts. Her nipples hardened as he ran his thumb over them. "I think this is my favorite set. I can still hear your whimpers from when you wore it on Valentine's Day. Nice to see you got the chocolate stain off your tits."

Claudia giggled. She sat up against the pillow and intertwined her fingers with his, making him look up at her. "What if you have the material at hand?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, what if you had a video of us, of me in this set, doing stuff…"

Calum furrowed his eyebrows together, confused. "I don't understand."

"What if we made a sextape? You can have the video with you when you're on tour or just out of town and we can't FaceTime for whatever reason. That way you can get off."

"A sextape of us?"

"I mean yeah. Unless you can get Tyler Posey to join us or just to fuck me." she joked.

Calum laughed sarcastically at her comment. He rolled off her legs and sat across from her. "Are you sure? About us making the video. I don't want you to feel pressured."

"If I'm being honest, I wanted to make one with you when you were on tour with the Chainsmokers. I never brought it up then because we were only dating for a few months. Now we've been together for two years."

Calum sat quiet, weighing his options. He always felt bad calling her in the middle of the night when he was out of town and needy for her moans. Now with the band finally getting to go back on tour, there would be time differences that wouldn't be ideal for them. But he didn't want to risk exposing her and ruining her reputation. Being a teacher is her dream and a sex tape of her out on the internet could hinder that.

"I want to, but we can't. I don't want to risk someone hacking out iCloud accounts and releasing it to the world. It could cost you a job in the future." He said.

"I was thinking we could record it on my GoPro and just transfer the video to a USB drive. We'd store it in your safe and only take it out when you leave. I trust you, Cal." Claudia said. "If it does get leaked, we can start a couples OnlyFans, so I don't stay unemployed and you can make extra cash."

"I doubt anyone would pay for us."

"You really think your fans wouldn't pay to see how you fuck? To hear the lovely sounds you make when you come. Please, we'd be so rich."

Calum laughed. "I suppose. Jokes aside, are you really sure?'

"1000%."

"Where's your GoPro?"

Claudia clapped her hands excitedly. She hugged him and got up. She pushed the sliding door of their walk-in closet open and went inside. Where her shoes were she had a box of miscellaneous items. She rummaged through it, pulling out the small camera. She went back out and closed the door. She connected it to her computer to see how long they'd have to wait for it to charge, surprisingly it was at 85%. She placed it back on the tripod.

"All set. We just need to figure out what we're gonna do." She said,

"How about you ride my face? I always wanted to see how we look." Calum offered.

She nodded. "Then I can go down on you. Or I go down on you then you go down on me, since that way you can hard so you'll be ready to fuck me."

"Doggystyle or our usual missionary." He asked.

"Doggystyle would look hot, especially when you fuck me facing the mirror." Claudia suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Doggystyle it is."

"I have one request though…"

"What is it?"

"Can you change back into the flannel and sweats you wore when you FaceTimed me at Target?"

***

Calum leaned back on his elbows, as Claudia sucked him off. He reached forward and pulled her hair into a makeshift ponytail, so the camera could get her and her ungodly mouth. He gently pushed her back as he thrusted his hips into her mouth.

"Fuck, pretty girl." he moaned loudly.

He stood up and kept fucking Claudia's mouth. He maneuvered them so that the camera got his backside as she pushed up his flannel to his waist and dug her nails into his ass. He felt close so he loosened her grip on her and let her finish him off.

Claudia jerked him off on her tongue then she slipped him back in her mouth. She swirled her tongue and bobbed her head. Calum moaned and whimpered, begging her to make him come. She only had his tip in her mouth and stroked him. His climax came out of nowhere. He whined and cursed as she continued taking him until he was empty.

Calum slowly pulled out of her. Claudia opened her mouth, proudly showing him that she swallowed every last bit of him.

"That's my pretty girl." Calum said. He bent down and kissed her. He let his hand wander down to her chest to her core. He slid his ring and middle finger in her and pulled them out. "Fuck you're ready to sit on my face aren't you pretty girl."

"Yes. I want your tongue to make me come. I missed it so much." Claudia said sweetly to him.

Calum pressed a chaste kiss on her temple. Claudia tugged him down to the floor where they had a comforter spread out to prevent them from getting tired against the hardwood floor. Their kiss deepened and without breaking their kiss, she laid him down. They kissed with so much urgency.

Finally, Claudia settled above his face, pressing her hands against the mirror doors in front of them. Calum looked up at her from between her legs with the most caring eyes. He leaned upward, needing her hips closer to his face, pressing her dripping core against his tongue.

She gasped when he dipped his tongue into her.

Claudia moaned loudly, resting her head on her arm as one of her hands dropped to his hair. She tightly gripped his curls as she swayed her hips against his tongue. He brought one of his hands to her core and slipped his ring and middle finger in her. His other hand made her way to her breasts to play with her nipples.

Claudia threw her head back and moaned his name. He groaned lowly.

“Fuck, don’t stop, right there. Fuck me so good.” Claudia panted. She wiggled her hips on his face, riding his tongue as she came. He sucked her clit through her high, making her a moaning mess.

“Holy shit, Cal,” she sighed breathlessly.

Claudia pulled away and sat on his tummy. She laid down on top of him, and felt him wrap his arms around her.

"You did so good, pretty girl." Calum whispered. He smoothed back her hair and kissed her cheek. "We can stop. With what we have, I'm good."

"I just need five minutes." Claudia mumbled. She reached over for the GoPro and turned it off while they rested.

After the five minutes passed, Calum turned on the GoPro. He gently pushed Claudia on her back. They slowly kissed.

Without pulling away from their kiss, Calum placed her leg on his shoulder. One of his hands made its way back to her hips and lazily ran his finger tips around her core, sending her goosebumps all over. With the other, he balanced himself so he wouldn't squish her.

She sighed against his lips; she could never get tired of how his lips felt against hers. She pulled away and gasped as he pulled his middle and ring fingers out of her.

Claudia rolled her eyes as he exaggeratedly licked his fingers clean. She pushed his hand down and leaned down to kiss him. She moaned as his fingers fucked into her at a deliciously slow pace. Her hips followed Calum’s fingers. In a matter of minutes she was close.

“Cal—”

“I know, pretty girl.” He pressed his thumb against her clit and increased his pace.

“Sh—Calum.” She moaned out. She gripped his hand as she came.

"Hands and knees, pretty girl." Calum said. He leaned down and kissed her before he sat on his knees.

Claudia stood on her knees and fixed her panties. She laid on her stomach with her ass in the air.

He took his time stroking himself as he lined up with Claudia’s entrance. With one hand on her hip, he used the other to guide his cock. He rubbed his length up and down her slit. Claudia knew this was him getting back at her as he continued to run his tip up and down her folds.

She looked over her shoulder to him and pouted as he continued to tease her. “Cal.” she whined.

“I need to get hard.”

Before she could make a remark, he roughly pushed himself inside her. “Shit!”

“That’s what I thought, pretty girl.”

Calum used both hands to grip her hips. He leaned down, pulling Claudia’s back to his chest as he kissed her shoulder. He slowly started thrusting his hips, letting her get used to him. She kept her eyes shut as he fucked her.

“Fuck.” Calum moaned out.

His lips kissed all over her neck as he continued to fuck Claudia. She rocked back against him, meeting his thrusts.

“Fucking missed you, Claudia.” He whispered in her ear. Calum shifted his hips as he thrusted into her. The new angle hitting her in the spot that made her a moaning mess.

“Please, fuck—.” Claudia moaned out, not being able to finish what she was saying.

She pushed back rougher to meet his thrusts. He gripped her hips with one hand while the other went down to her clit. Calum worked his fingers roughly as he pushed his hips into Claudia.

He buried his face in her neck, kissing her sweet spot. Her quiet praises filled the room, egging him on. She quietly whimpered his name, lazily meeting his thrusts before her orgasm took over. Calum followed soon after. With a few thrusts, he pushed himself deep inside Claudia, spilling every last drop in her.

Calum pulled out of her and plopped next to her. Claudia reached over for the GoPro and turned it off. She curled up to his side, closing her eyes. She felt a soft fabric over her back as Calum undid her bra. She frowned that she only felt the fabric on her back. She opened her eyes and giggled.

"You wore the flannel the whole time?" She asked him.

"You said you wanted me to wear it." He argued.

"Yeah when I sucked your dick, not the entirety of our sex tape."

"I didn't hear you complain. In fact you were telling how good I was."

"I doubt it."

"I can prove it to you. We literally have it on tape, Claudia."

Taglist: @suchalonelysunflower @f-mu @another-lonely-heart @sunshinebabycal-deactivated2021 @calumscalm @karajaynetoday @cherryxwildflower @ashtonsunflower @idontneedanyone @findingliam-o @5-secondsofcolor @mulletcal @polycashton @fckingpernico @2fangirl4u @calpops

Special Guest: @nowherebound @wastelandcth

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hallow-witxh · 3 years

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Things I do when my chronic pain flares.

So like many many people, I have chronic illnesses. That comes along with the fun little bonus of chronic pain. I have skin conditions that can make moving incredibly painful, but I also have other conditions that make frequent, quick movements very painful. Sometimes I just don't have the physical energy to move around a lot for my craft, so... I have to get a wee bit creative.

One of my favorite cheats is so stupidly simple that I hate I didn't think about it sooner. It's an easy cleansing method that I've been using for a few years now, and all I have to do is hold my burning smoke cleanse behind a rotating fan with the window open in my room. If you can't walk around, this work fine too. Just be careful.

I know I've said this is a few other posts, but lemons. Lemons. Lemons. I love them so much. Slice one up, pepper around your space, constant negativity absorption. Sometimes I sprinkle on some salt, or cloves, maybe a few pinches of basil. As they dry over a few days, they absorb negativity and leave my space feeling nice and light. Once they're dried up, my flare has usually calmed down and I toss them into the fireplace to burn.

Cat purring is extremely comforting and charging energy. I use my cat for charging crystals, spells, candles... pretty much anything. I lay down, give her a few pets, and we both take a nap as she infuses whatever-i-need-charged with a calming energy.

Here's a bulleted list of just a few more ideas:

Stick a crystal to your Roomba or pet's collar

Use an electric wax melter instead of a candle so you don't have to worry about getting up to put it out

Put dried herb leaves in your phone case

Keep a spray cleanser by your bed so you can very lightly mist yourself/your bed if there's too much pain to smoke cleanse

Light incense on the opposite side of the room as the window, and keep the window open to spread the smoke

I know it can be hard to keep up when things are bad, but keep in mind that resting is just as important as practicing. You're not a bad witch for needing breaks, rests, or pauses. There's no 'minimum engagement requirements. You're allowed to recharge and recuperate whenever you need to. Please take care of yourself, and good luck <3 Blessed be.

Tips and Commissions: Ko-Fi

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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years

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The Red Room

Summary: Meeting Yelena in the red room is the best and worse thing that’s ever happened to you. Warning: romantic Yelena x Fem!reader pairing and depictions of violence.

Those first weeks in the red room pass in a blur. You have one room. Just you. Meals are delivered like clockwork; no one speaks to you. Your only company being the television set that plays the same clips; morning, noon and night.

Until one day the lights flip on brightly above you and a woman enters. You squint up at her, “hello?”

“Hello.” She replies, “are you ready to get out of here?”

“Where will I go?” You wonder.

“Wherever I tell you.”

That is your first encounter with Madame B. When you were younger you thought her something of a savior. You know better now. Still when she calls for you, there’s no choice but to go.

You make your way down the long hall, florescent lights humming above you. Finally reaching the room you’ve been assigned; you grasp the door knob. Feeling the weight of the cool metal against your palm, with a steadying breath you turn it.

Inside is only Madame B and a girl. One you’ve only seen in passing, one of Dreykov’s favorites.

“Y/N, meet Yelena. She will be your partner from now on.” Madame B leads the introduction.

“Did something happened to Oksana?” Your brows pull together, voice small. Afraid to cross an unspoken boundary. She’s always been your partner.

“Oksana is no longer your concern.” The woman bites out. “Shake hands and prepare for your lesson.”

You nod, biting your tongue.

Lesson…

Sparring.

Dancing.

Captive simulations.

What will it be this time?

“Oksana is ok.” Yelena tells you, once the trainer is out of earshot.

“Good,” you whisper, holding your hand out to shake without another word.

“Is that why they kept you locked up so long? You don’t play well with others?” The blonde takes your hand, eyes narrowed into slits.

“I don’t play at all.” You inform her. Pleasing these people is your ticket out of here, and you will get out.

“Everybody plays, whether you want to or not.” Yelena tells you, letting your fingers slip from hers. “Just don’t get in my way.”

——————————————————————-

You don’t get in each other’s way. Somehow having Yelena as a combat partner is a lot less annoying than you anticipated.

Oksana is a better friend, but you aren’t here to make friends. You’re here to kill. Topple regimes from the inside out, Yelena helps you do that.

Your training with Yelena is different. Chipping away parts of you until you fit together seamlessly. From trust falls to synchronized attack plans, you name it you do it. Sometimes until you bleed.

One of your trainers, Ivan, has taken a liking to blind folded direction. Outside of captive simulations it is your least favorite team building activity.

You remind yourself to focus and breathe. In some ways guiding is worse than being guided. “Veer slightly to your right.”

Yelena lifts one bare foot, holding it airborne, allowing you to assess the placement of her next step. “Here?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, as she clears the bit of shattered glass. “That’s perfect.”

———————————————————————

Your first real assignment comes on Monday, June second.

“Come in, Miss American Pie. I have eyes on the target.” Yelena informs you through the ear piece.

“That’s still not my name, over. Stay high, I’m going down.” You reply, deploying your rope and riding it to the ground.

“Five ticks northwest and the package is yours.”

“Copy.” You follow her instruction, ducking away as a bullet shatters the window beside you. “Easy.” You chastise, in a hushed whisper.

“Sorry,” she apologizes half heartedly. The kill was necessary and she had a clean shot.

You spot your target, ready to turn onto the main street from the alleyway. You wrestle him to the ground, he puts up a good fight. Not good enough.

You wipe the blood from your hands before removing the usb drive from his breast coat pocket. “Just admit it,” you taunt, turning to the building Yelena is scoping from, “you’re proud of me.”

“Y/N!” Her tone is not playful at all.

What’s wrong? Before you get a chance to ask the man you’d assumed dead has his knife buried in your thigh.

You crumple to the ground as he prepares to strike again. In the time it takes to unholster your weapon a silent bullet reaches his temple from the sky.

You squint up at Yelena, watching her ride her teether down to the ground beside you. “Thanks.” You pant, inspecting the damage.

“That was sloppy,” she frowns, searching her pack for the midkit, then tearing open a package of gauze. “You always check the body, confirm the kill.”

“I know, I was stupid.” You gasp, feeling Yelena apply an obscene amount of pressure to your wound.

“We need to move to the extraction point, they can deal with you in medical.” Yelena rises, tossing your arm over her shoulder for support.

“It won’t happen again.” You promise, leaning heavily against her side.

“You’re right, it won’t. I have no idea what happens to me if you die.” She grumbles, somewhat bitterly.

———————————————————————

Interactions with Yelena are sparse after that. She doesn’t trust you. Only showing up for your lessons and leaving the moment they’re finished. You understand why she’s angry, you would be too.

According to your weekly rotation, today should be live target practice, however you are directed to a different room.

Once inside your eyes find the chair. You hate that chair. You hate this room. Nothing good ever happens here.

Slowly you move toward Yelena at the far wall.

“A little birdie told me that you’ve been holding back in combat lessons.” Ivan says, tapping a finger to his chin. “Why is that?”

You bite anxiously at the inside of your cheek.

“I said why is that?!”

You notice Yelena flinch from the corner of your eye. “It’s my fault,” you hold up a hand. “I took a hit on our last mission and my partner was being mindful of my injuries.”

“Oh I see.” He smirks, condescendingly. “You don’t want to hurt each other.”

“It would be counter productive to harm my partner.” Yelena points out. The red room drilled that into you.

“That is true.” His eyes dart between you. “But we can’t have you afraid of sparring together. Now can we?”

Your jaw ticks, awaiting the consequence.

“When’s the last time you girls ran a captive simulation?”

“Two weeks ago.” Yelena presents her left index finger to him for inspection. The nail just beginning to grow back.

Ivan hums, “When’s the last time you ran a captive simulation on each other?”

Your heart drops, all the blood running out of your face. Not for months.

“Hmm,” he wets his lips. “Who gets to play the captor first?”

Neither one of you volunteer.

“Belova,” he purrs. “Come choose your tools while Y/L/N straps herself into the chair.”

You don’t hesitate, it’ll be worse if you do. Tuning out his incessant chatter you find your seat. The metal chair sends a chill up your spine. Bending at the waist, you strap each ankle into a leather restraint, then your non dominant hand. Free hand waiting, curled around the arm rest.

Yelena kneels before you, her selections resting at your feet as she closes the final strap around your wrist. Your breath quickens.

“Fifteen minutes on the clock then you’ll switch.” Your spectator announces. “Make them count or we’ll start over.”

On autopilot Yelena reaches for the scalpel.

You don’t mean to scream…but eventually you do. You always do.

———————————————————————

Yelena knows your weaknesses and regularly exploits them to leave you face up on the floor during hand to hand combat sessions.

You used to resent her for it, but it made you strong. Stronger than you’ve ever been or hoped to be. The day you finally best her the room is filled with hushed whispers. Now you are ready.

You learn to move in harmony. The trainers ease up a bit and the other girls line up to watch you like an exhibit. You are two halves of a more perfect whole.

“Madame B, can I ask you something?” You say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Of course.” The older woman replies. “What is it?”

“Why was my training so different with Oksana?”

She leans in. “You were not brought here to be a partner to Oksana. She was standing in until we could be sure you were ready for a partner. Nothing more.”

“Was I brought here to be Yelena’s partner?” The question burns at the back of your throat.

“I understand the desire to seek meaning in these things. You hope to find your place in the world.”

You nod.

“But you have no place in the world,” the words cut like a knife. “What you do have is an opportunity to prove that you are not a waste of space, time, or resources. Come, let’s sit for debriefing.”

You wait in silence for Yelena to arrive, finally she does. Taking the seat beside you in the meeting room.

“In two days you will undergo the graduation ceremony, after which you are granted up to three days recovery time before you will be deployed to Moscow.” Madame B reviews the information, handing you each a folder of details.

“Enclosed you will find your identification cards and aliases. I suggest you take this time to familiarize yourselves. Tomorrow we will begin shooting photographs for the past two years of your lives. Report with several changes of clothing. Congratulations on this assignmet. It is a great honor.” Madame B dismisses you.

You open the file. ‘Katherine and Irena Reiner.’

“We’re sisters?” Yelena guesses.

Worse. “We’re married.”

“Even better.” She says under her breath, rising from the chair.

———————————————————————

Life in Moscow is different. Good. The neighbors are easy enough to convince. You play your parts to perfection.

The company you work for being the main focus. They have access to some sort of programming that Dreykov is desperate to get his hands on. You know better than to ask why.

Most mornings you get ready together, discussing the events of the previous day to prepare for the next.

“How come you only speak English?” Yelena wonders, turning off the steady spray of water from her shower and reaching out to grab a towel.

“I have a theory,” you reply, spitting excess toothpaste into the sink. “I think keeping me dependent on translation had more pros than cons.”

“They taught me.” She says, stepping onto the bath mat. “But I guess that’s different.”

You were brought in much older a majority of the other girls.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, seeing each other as if for the first time.

“I could teach you.” She offers, breaking the connection as she turns away.

“Yeah?” You pass the brush through your hair.

Yelena shrugs, “I have nothing better to do.”

“Just don’t teach me the wrong words to make me look stupid.” You arch a brow.

“It would be counter productive to harm my partner.”

Hours turn into days. Days into weeks and suddenly you stand on a blurred line. How much is she pretending? How much are you?

The two of you rest on opposite ends of the couch. Enjoying another round of prime time television.

“Yesterday I was talking to that girl in accounting.” Yelena pulls your attention from the picture.

“The blonde one?” You ask, tossing a piece of popcorn at her.

She attempts to catch it in her mouth. Having had more than a few drinks her coordination is lacking.

You smirk, when it falls into her lap.

“No Maggie.” She corrects you, finding the wayward piece and biting into it.

“Mmm.” You hum.

“Mmm? What do you mean, ‘mmm?’” Yelena’s brows pull together.

“Nothing,” you insist. “I was just acknowledging what you said.”

“You didn’t sound very happy about it. Did she do something to you?” Yelena demands, straightening her posture.

“No, she didn’t do anything. Anyway tell me what happened.”

“She’s worked there for a long time. I think she knows more than she says she does.”

“So are you gonna talk to her again? See if she’ll open up?” Yelena has that effect on people.

“I am married.” She rolls her eyes, flipping her left ring finger in place of the middle.

“Shut up.” You chuckle.

“I’m crazy about you, know you. Ever since we met in high school. You didn’t like me at first but you came around.” Yelena elaborates.

“I don’t remember seeing all that in our cover story.” You cock your head to the side.

“That was a shit story, I’m rewriting it.” She waves a hand.

“Tell me more.” Tell me everything.

———————————————————————

“Did you get milk?” You shout, peeking into the nearest paper bag.

“Was it on the list?” Yelena hollers back, from the front door, kicking it shut. Her arms full of groceries.

“I don’t remember,” you say, unpacking the head of lettuce and eggs.

“You made the list.” She scoffs, setting the rest of the haul on the floor.

A knock pulls your attention away from the food.

“Who is it?” You wonder.

“It’s me, George. From next door.” Your neighbor answers.

Yelena rolls her eyes, waving you out of the kitchen. It’s your turn to make small talk.

You step carefully around the produce to the main entrance. “Hey George.” You smile, swinging open the door, “what’s up?”

“Katherine!” He greets you. “Could I borrow Irena for a minute?”

“Is that lawnmower giving you trouble again?” You guess, leaning against the door frame.

“It’s running great actually. There’s something else I’m curious about though.”

“I can send her over after dinner.” You attempt to dismiss him.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” George moves his foot to prevent the door from closing, producing a pistol from his waistband.

“George!” Yelena waves, clearly oblivious.

“Irena,” he looks down at the gun, pointed at your chest, “we have much to discuss.”

“Clearly.” Yelena agrees, coming to join you on the threshold. “Are you going to tell me why you have my wife at gunpoint?”

“We should take this inside.”

“I’m good here.”

He presses the barrel against your skin through the fabric of your shirt. “You sure about that?”

“On second thought, I could go for a drink. Do you like scotch?” Yelena takes a step back, leaving room for him to enter the house.

“Who sent you?” George demands, guiding you into the kitchen.

“We also have brandy.” She says, expression unreadable.

“Who are you working for?” He asks a second time, adjusting his grip on the gun. “First one goes in her leg.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Yelena drawls. “But I’m going to warn you, if you hurt her, you die.”

“You have three seconds to give me a better answer,” the nuzzle of the gun sits flush against you upper thigh. “One, two-“

Yelena lunges, the gun firing into the floor when he’s knocked off balance.

George tosses her off as if she weighs nothing. You rush him, knocking the fire arm to the other side of the room. Your arms locked around his neck, flush to his back. He rams you back first into the china cabinet.

You fall away with a grunt.

“Now,” the man rights himself. Wiping away the blood from his split bottom lip with the back of his hand. “We’re going to have fun.”

Taking a fist full of your hair he begins pulling you toward the center of the room. You grab for a large shard of glass, slicing it over the back of this knee. He releases you, doubling over.

“I warned you.” Yelena snarls, stabbing her knife into his belly, making a straight line up to his sternum. “You thought you could use her to break me? They used to make me torture her! They used to make me-“ she breaks off, withdrawing her knife. Only to ram it in again and again.

George, if that was his real name, is long dead. A crimson puddle blooming on the floor. It doesn’t stop Yelena, hot, angry tears rolling past her cheeks.

“Yelena.” You say softly.

“They used to make me do it.” She repeats, the weight of the words crushing down on her.

Your arms envelope her from behind.

“No.” She sobs when she feels you there, holding exactly where it hurts.

“It’s ok.” You whisper against her ear.

The blood stained blade clatters to the ground. Her breathing ragged as both her hands find yours, squeezing tightly. Don’t let go.

“It’s ok.”

“No it’s not.” She cries, frantically shaking her head.

“I did it too.” As if she needs reminding. “They made me do it too.”

She allows you to stay curled around her, desperately trying to absorb some of that pain.

———————————————————————

Yelena’s drug of choice is alcohol, the spirits burn their way into her blood stream. Erasing all that she’s done.

“You want a glass?” She offers, setting the bottle of clear liquor down on the coffee table.

“No thanks.” You shake your head, hair still damp from the shower.

“Don’t be a hero,” she rolls her eyes as she takes a seat. The water had washed away any trace of George.

“Fine,” you take a long swig from the bottle in question.

“You’ll thank me later.” She tosses back a shot, sliding the strap of your pajama top down to assess the damage to your left shoulder. “It’s deep, going to need stitches. This is why we don’t go through china cabinets.” Yelena chastises, moving for the first aid kit.

“Yeah, not my finest moment.” You peek at her. “But it worked.”

“Mmm,” she hums, returning to her spot. Flipping open the white box and removing what she needs to stitch you up.

First she hits you with the antiseptic “сука!” Bitch.

“See,” you can hear the smile in her voice, “you are learning.”

You let out a pained laugh, “I guess I am. We need to call someone to clean this up.”

“Here,” she hands you her phone, blowing gently over you wound. “You take care of that, I take care of you.”

Your heart clenches at her words. But Yelena is your partner. That is all.

“Belova, do you have a status update?” A familiar voice answers after the first ring.

“Yeah, we need a cleanup.” You say matter of factly.

“Agent Y/L/N.” He greets you. “How many?”

“One.”

“For now,” The man remarks.

“You didn’t tell us we weren’t alone in this pursuit.” You purse your lips.

“There’s a reason we sent the best. I’ll put in for a clean up crew in the morning.”

“Let them know the body is in the bathtub.”

The goes dead.

The conversation distracts you well enough from the dull ache of the needle poking and pulling at your shoulder.

Carefully Yelena bandages the abused skin. Her finger tips running along the back of your arm.

“Thank you.” You whisper, relaxing into her touch.

Her lips ghost over your skin. “You’re welcome.”

Oh.

Slowly you turn, as if not to startle her. Yelena’s eyes find yours.

You move closer, tracing the line of her jaw. “Thank you,” you repeat.

She nods, still unsure.

“Of all the people I could’ve been stuck here with…I’m glad it was you.”

“You don’t have to say that.” She pulls your hand away gently.

“You’re right. I don’t have to say anything.“ You murmur, “But I want to… and it would be counter productive to harm my partner.”

“We can’t.” She knows it. You know it. ��It will get in the way. They’ll kill us.”

“No.” You chuckle bitterly. “They’ll make us kill each other.”

“I wouldn’t do it,” Yelena insists.

“You won’t have a choice.” You point out. “Didn’t you hear about that stuff they started pumping into people?”

“Mind control.” Yelena replies in Russian.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“Maybe we get out.”

“Maybe,” you smile sadly, “maybe we find each other.” In another life.

———————————————————————

Three days later Yelena comes home late. During your day off you were tasked with the more mundane tasks of running a household, but you suppose there are worse things. She finds you in the laundry room, drink already in hand. Her mouth set in a frown.

“What’s wrong?” You drop the piece of clothing back into the basket.

“I have it.” Yelena confesses.

You press your lips together, you knew this was coming. That information is the only reason you are here. “Did you contact them?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you going to?”

“You say that like I have a choice.” She stares down at her drink.

“I just meant-“

“I know what you meant.” Yelena knows you, better than anyone. The red room saw to that. “Do you want to stay one more night?”

“Do you?” You wonder.

“When I was a little girl…I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”

“In the morning,” you offer. Any longer and the risk will be too great. “We’ll go in the morning.”

She nods, taking in the room around her. “I wanted it to be real.”

“It was.” You choke down the lump in your throat.

———————————————————————

Your return to the red room is swift. No pat on the back or celebration to be had. Just two pawns, returning to their places on the board.

You’re separated from Yelena. Because your loyalties are to each other and that poses a threat. But what did they expect? They made you this way.

You are alone. Perhaps the most alone you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’d just forgotten that you could feel things. You remember now and wish you didn’t.

Like it or not she changed you. Knowing her had changed you, for better or for worse. After Yelena you were never the same.

Word of Oksana’s escape only fuels the need to chemically alter the minds of all agents. Beginning in order of importance.

Finding Yelena seated on the bench outside the physician’s office steals the breath from your lungs. To see her now is blatantly cruel and calculated.

Still you sit in the empty space beside her.

“Do you know where your orders are?” She asks.

“Yeah,” you nod, “Budapest. You?”

“Back to Moscow.” Yelena informs you.

You swallow hard, your pinkies skating past each other.

“Agent Y/L/N,” the doctor opens his door. You watch as another widow exits, she doesn’t look any different. Maybe the mind control drugs aren’t affective.

You steal one last glance at Yelena. Her eyes are desperate, ‘don’t go.’ Both of you knowing you can’t stay.

“Enjoy Moscow.” You whisper, moving reluctantly to your feet.

She tears her gaze away, unable to watch you leave. “I hear Budapest is beautiful.”

You hope so.

Wanna know what happens next? Check out chapter one of Miss American Pie! 💜

Yelena Belova Taglist: @captainwonderwidow

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #black widow #marvel fanfiction #black widow fanfiction #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x female reader #yelena black widow #miss american pie series #yelena belova one shot

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Why is the Girl Here?

Part 1 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/fem!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Summary: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions. Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic. There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic. As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…

Warnings: THIS WILL BE A FUCK OR DIE-ESQUE FIC. Smut will come in the second part.

***

“Why is it,” you ask, the heels of your leather boots clicking in perfect synchronization with the cloaked figure to your left, “that the greatest negotiator in the Jedi Order wields a blue saber, and not a green one?”

While you're unable to see his gentle smile from underneath your dark cowl, you sense a general wave of amusement reverberate through the Force from his direction. The energy somehow feels like the equivalent of a lift inside the cavity in your chest; transparent, tinted a soft blue in color, comfortable, calm, and familiar.

“Perhaps we should trade,” comes that crisp and precise Coruscanti accent you've ached to hear for the past two years. “No matter how much you lamented its color as a youngling, you know I have always been rather fond of yours.”

It’s true, you think. The color green never really… agreed with you, and much less what it represents to the Jedi, but your Master always said he found the pastel hue of the saber currently clipped to your belt to be unique and appealing. Green—any shade of it, really—is the color of the Jedi Consulars. The peacekeepers, the diplomats, the healers and seers. Their—your—inner nature and connection to the Force speaks to concord and harmony, and though you’ve come to accept your place amongst the pacifists and mediators in the Order after years of training and meditation, you still remember what a shock it was to discover the color of your kyber crystal as a youngling.

You always thought you’d have a blue saber. The mark of the Guardians—the second of the three branches of Jedi. Their skills are focused in battle, and any saber towards the far end of the color spectrum typically leads to specializing in lightsaber combat and warfare tactics. That’s what you always thought your soul spoke to most—the warriors of the Order. The soldiers and the members of the Jedi Core, the battle tacticians, the security of the Republic and law enforcers. You were always a bit of a brash and emotional child compared to your peers, a bit of a handful as a youngling, and you were certain your saber would be some shade of blue because of that. At that age, a yellow saber was maybe a possibility. Though you didn’t really have the amount of friends a sociable, service-oriented Sentinel would have, you still felt that if you didn’t have a blue saber, then yellow was far more likely than green. Yet, you still remember blinking down at your tiny, open palm deep in a cave on Ilum, stunned, a pale mint kyber crystal held precariously in it and nearly vibrating with how loudly it was calling to you through the Force.

“Did the Council do that on purpose, you think?” You ask, the both of you taking a sharp right down another unfamiliar marble hallway with no spoken direction. “Pair their most combative Consular with their most mild-mannered Guardian all those years ago, hoping we’d make a good team?”

“You know as well as I do that I chose you for a Padawan myself, young one,” your Master hums. “And that… we have always been.”

It’s been two years since you last saw him. Two years, since you passed your trials and graduated from his tutelage. Knighthood has been good to you with the exception of your former Master’s extended absence, a consequence of your newfound independence as a bonafide member of the Order. Though the circumstances surrounding your much anticipated reunion with him certainly aren’t ideal, you’re glad nonetheless that you’re face-to-face again—or, currently, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You hide the ghost of a smile under your hood and maintain a steady, calm signature in the Force, keeping in stride with him and speaking in hushed tones. “Things must really be desperate if they’re putting us back together again.”

“I do not wish to alarm you,” he drawls, sarcastic in cadence but a hint of affection weaving through his voice all the same, “but we are in the middle of a war.”

“Fair,” you acknowledge with a tilt of your head, though being on a planet so far removed from the chaos currently wreaking havoc on the rest of the galaxy allows you the privilege of pretending for the moment. “A threat to the very fabric of the Republic is the only reason the Council would sanction the two of us reuniting.”

Though you say it jokingly, there’s something hidden in it. An unspoken apprehension you’re attempting to mask with the high spirits of seeing him again. The stakes of the forthcoming interplanetary negotiation are absolutely staggering, and though it remains unsaid, you understand that just as well as he does. Scared isn’t the right word, and neither is worried, but—

“I sense a mild trepidation in you, young one,” your Master murmurs, and yes, that’s it. A mild trepidation.

“I am…” You close your eyes and attempt to find the right words. “I am… considering the long-term consequences should this endeavor fail,” you eventually settle on, allowing your feet to lead you left as you keep your pace with him. “While I consider it a great honor to lead this negotiation on behalf of the Galactic Republic, I’m concerned the Council’s faith in me is… ill-placed.”

Your Master turns his head just marginally in your direction, and though you both can't technically see each other, you know the face he's making under the hood of his robe: his eyebrow is raised, his chin is tilted, and there's the faintest hint of an amused grin threatening to morph the slightly sassy expression to one of genuine humor. “You distrust the Council’s judgement?”

“Failure and any potential repercussions will be mine alone to bear,” you clarify. “It’s not the Council I lack faith in, but rather my own skills as a mediator.”

At this, the Jedi does chuckle. “And I'm to assume I'm just the tauntaun next door in this scenario?”

The apprehension clears, almost immediately, and you can’t help but grin gently in return. He always did have that effect on you. “Better be,” you toss out, sensing the large congregation of lifeforms gradually burn brighter in the Force as you both continue your quiet approach. “This is my negotiation, after all; the Council’s instructions were clear.”

“Very well,” he agrees. “And, since this is your negotiation, I’m sure you’re more than aware of s’Ziscari etiquette and tradition? Wouldn’t want to offend them by accident.”

“Of course,” you nod. “But a… a quick refresher certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Your Master just tsks quietly, but launches into a brief explanation for you all the same. “It is the Council’s understanding that Queen s’Zerthia is absent from the Palace at the moment. In lieu of an audience with her, Ambassador Zyther is the only other member of her Royal Majesty’s court who happens to be fluent in Basic, so be sure to address only him when you speak, and to speak slowly and clearly, as it’s crucial they understand our intentions are purely diplomatic in nature. Do not forget the s’Ziscari are a Force sensitive race; they’ll be able to spot deception the second you think to speak it aloud. Not that I anticipate the need to mislead them for any reason, of course, but please. Be mindful.”

Instead of answering him, you direct an affirmative through the Force, and your Master continues.

“They are known to take offense to extended eye contact and they’re not fond of humor or small-talk either, so skip directly to the point: the Jedi are here on behalf of the Republic to garner the support of their planet during these times of war and great unease. Intel tells us they have amassed an army of Force sensitives three times the size of the Order. While we’re hoping for a pledge of at least a thousand soldiers to fight in the Clone Wars, we are more than willing to compromise and accept any assistance they’d be gracious enough to provide nonetheless.”

“In exchange for what?” You ask, the throne room doors now in sight. You were formally debriefed on mission details during the three day trip to s’Ziscari, but the answer to that specific question was kept purposefully vague, even for the likes of the Council. Presently, you still have no idea what exactly you’re meant to be bargaining with, not for.

“In exchange for the continued security of having a peaceful and harmonious neighbor with which to share the galaxy,” he replies breezily, the both of you coming to a halt directly in front of two large wooden doors. “Now. Are you quite ready?”

“Hang on,” you say, turning to face him, and he carefully ducks his head and removes his hood with two hands as his body rotates to mirror yours. “You’re telling me that we’re walking into the most important negotiation in the entire galaxy without actually having anything substantial to offer on our behalf?”

Slowly, the dark cowl is lifted from your head as well, and your eyes lock with a pair of calm cerulean blues staring back at you as he gently soothes the fabric down by your collar. He looks older—ever since the Clone Wars started, Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi has aged significantly. Gone are the long, flowing locks he sported for most of your youth—the short hair with a clean part is more refined, the beard fuller and more mature. More… attractive than you remember him being, even though you always remembered him being… achingly attractive.

Instead of answering your question, however, he simply moves both hands to rest over the curve of your shoulders, lowering his head and lifting his eyebrows at you in a look of genuine sincerity that makes your heart thump painfully in your chest.

“I am so very proud of you, my former Padawan,” he tells you quietly, and you feel yourself nearly swell with warmth. You’re strong enough in the Force to subdue the sentiment before it bleeds into your signature, but you can’t help the way your face flushes slightly and a girlish little smile pulls tight at your cheeks. “You’ve grown into a fine Knight and an exemplar for the Order. No matter the outcome of this mission, nor of this war, please know I’ve been truly blessed by the Maker to have been given the privilege of training you all these years.”

Master Kenobi tilts his head forward just slightly, allowing his Force signature to brush delicately against yours for just a moment, the soft periwinkles and lavenders of his energy swirling gently through your pastel seafoams and teals.

And then he clears his throat, straightens his spine, and claps his hands tight to your upper arms.

“Come now, Jedi,” he winks, turning his head to the double doors and breaking into a brilliant grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling with age but the sparkle in them still lovely and youthful and bright. “The fate of the galaxy awaits.”

***

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi remembers very clearly the day he chose you as a Padawan.

You were a fiery little thing. The Sentinels who raised younglings at the Academy would often speak about you at length to the Council, each of them reporting back with the same issues and concerns. Too emotional, too chaotic, too rebellious for the likes of the Jedi. You threw tantrums, you had outbursts, and to him, you were very likely the worst possible candidate for a negotiator to take on as an apprentice, if only because by all accounts it appeared that you were nigh impossible to negotiate with.

But then you caught his eye one day when Master Yoda was in the process of introducing him to your class. You should’ve been paying attention to the wisdom being shared by the oldest Consular in the Order (and, admittedly, so should he) but instead, you were gazing quietly at a dove that made its nest on the transparisteel dome arching across the ceiling. Obi-Wan remembers feeling your energy cautiously reach out towards it, gentler than anything he could’ve expected from a child of your age and reputation, and the moment stuck with him.

The younglings were each allowed one possession at the Academy, and when it came time for him to choose a Padawan, he swiped yours, if only to see what you’d do. A stuffed rancor you’d endearingly named Cory—rather hideous looking thing, if you asked him—and he was told you were fiercely protective over it.

Obi-Wan remembers carefully setting the stuffed animal down next to him in one of the old storage rooms in the isolated training area, locking the door manually and then taking a quick second to cloak his Force signature. You had three options, he figured, if you were able to find its location. Use the Force to unlock the door, use the brand new saber clipped to your belt to create your own door, or leave without your stuffed rancor. Based off your reputation as an emotionally volatile little youngling, he was assuming he’d have to replace the frame and wall paneling altogether, but regardless, Obi-Wan figured that if you had the nerve to break into the locked room to retrieve your missing possession, he would train you, and if you didn’t, then he’d find someone else.

He waited patiently, meditating for a few hours on your signature from across the Academy. He went through the subsequent stages with you. A bright flare of panic, probably from noticing its absence from your quarters. Sharp sparks of frustration for the next few minutes, likely in response to nobody knowing where it went. He was expecting some sort of distraught next as you began making your way through the Academy to search for it yourself, some sort of upset, but then you surprised him for the second time.

All at once… Quiet. Serenity. Your signature carefully sweeping out in all directions as you walked through the halls, calmly attempting to locate your missing possession.

Obi-Wan pondered this as you approached, and what it might mean. Were you just an excellent student when you felt the stakes were high enough? Were you capable of listening to instructions despite what he’d heard about you in passing? Were you simply just strong in the Force? Or was there perhaps more to you than what others had told him?

Soon, he could hear your footsteps come to a halt in front of the locked door. He waited silently; hidden in the darkness, hidden in the Force, barely breathing while he listened for either the sound of a lightsaber turning on or a lock clicking. He knew you’d find some way to breach the entrance somehow; he knew you wouldn’t just give up and leave.

Except, then all he heard was a quiet little rap of knuckles against metal.

“Master Kenobi?” A small voice called through the door, and Obi-Wan froze.

To your credit, he wasn’t focusing on hiding himself the way he should’ve been. Had you been roughly ten years older, he might’ve taken the time to concentrate a bit harder on it, but truthfully, that’s not what surprised him the most.

You didn’t break in at all.

Instead, you… knocked.

“Master Kenobi?” You tried again after a moment, your knuckles tapping quietly on the door once more.

“Em…” He eventually cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I think you may have accidentally taken something of mine on accident,” you carefully said after a moment, the overly cautious intent not to offend or intrude suddenly striking him as an invaluable trait in a potential negotiator. “May I please have him back please?”

You were quite a handful at times, Obi-Wan thinks, but it’s been so long. So long since he’s had to correct you in any way. As the years passed, you aged from an emotional Padawan to a refined Knight, a hot-tempered adolescent to a disciplined and capable young Jedi.

Now he looks on as you greet the s’Ziscari Ambassador to the Republic, your head bowed in respect and your eyes focused somewhere near the man’s chest. It appears the two of you have an audience for your audience—members of the Royal Court are sitting perched in a tiered viewing gallery, speaking quietly amongst themselves as you introduce Obi-Wan and state your purpose to the room.

Your voice rings out sharp and clear, and throughout the entire negotiation, not once does he feel compelled to assist you in any way. You do everything right—you make fair points without stepping on any toes, you never allow the Ambassador’s booming voice intimidate you or sway your collected composure.

Obi-Wan meant what he said. He’s proud of you.

Though… though at one point throughout the mediation, something about this starts to not… feel right.

It’s the Royal Court, he realizes. They’ve stopped talking, they’re… paying attention. It doesn’t make sense—none of them speak Basic, they must just be reading the energies in the room. Nothing spectacular has happened—no outburst, nothing to draw their attention any more than when you both first made your entrance. The Ambassador’s voice continues to echo throughout the vast ceilings and contrast with the pleasant and tranquil alto of your steady responses, but then Obi-Wan suddenly goes rigid and spins around—

The Royal Count immediately stands in unison as the Ambassador abruptly cuts off, and a familiar signature reveals itself in the Force.

***

The Queen.

The Queen is here.

You keep your head down and follow the intricate laced bodice of her gown as she makes her entrance into the grand throne room, gliding right between you and your Master before climbing the stairs and collapsing down onto the throne with a sigh. The Council was misinformed concerning her whereabouts, apparently.

The Court finds a seat not long after she does, and you clench your jaw at the unfortunate twist of events. Her presence means that whatever progress you’ve made with the Ambassador is now, for all intents and purposes, moot.

There’s also just something… odd about her and her energy, you think, something you can’t quite place. The second she turns her head and looks in your eyes is the second you forget all about avoiding eye contact with her, but if she’s offended by your sudden lack of etiquette, she displays no signs of it. In fact, you’d almost argue she looks intrigued.

“Your Majesty,” you greet. “I was just—”

“I got the gist,” she waves a manicured hand at you. “What was your name again, little girl?”

You tell her, and put a hard emphasis on your full title. She may be a monarch, but you are a General in the Clone Wars and a Knight of the Republic, and an attempt by the opposing party at intimidation by flippant degradation will not be tolerated.

“Pleasure,” she nods. “May I ask what your people are willing to offer in exchange for the military assistance you’re seeking?”

You swallow thickly, your stomach sinking. “Truly, your Majesty, I… I cannot provide you with a specific answer to that at this time. However, we would gladly be willing to—”

“Perhaps you can answer me this, then, little Knight, since I never was able to obtain anything satisfactory from your High Council,” the Queen interrupts, studying her jeweled manicure and sounding bored with the conversation she just initiated, and you feel your Master stiffen behind you. “If we s’Ziscari are so incredibly important to the Jedi, as you previously insisted to the Ambassador multiple times, then why in Maker’s name does the Council reject invitations to partake in our people’s most sacred of ceremonies year after year?”

You’re… you’re at a complete loss for words. The Sentinels have dedicated ambassadors to travel the territories specifically for these reasons, to keep political relations agreeable between outer-rim planets and the Jedi. There would be no discernible reason as to why the Council would reject attendance to an annual s’Ziscari cultural celebration, especially if their standing military was even half as powerful in the Force as rumors would imply.

Obviously you’re not privy to any of this information, so you subtly reach out to Master Kenobi’s Force signature with a tiny flicker of uncertainty, silently questioning your next move. However, before you can barely even mentally gauge the calm, sky blue of his aura, your Master’s outer-shields slam into place and even so much as shove against your open question in warning.

“It was—” You trip over your sentence, heart thumping in your chest with panic at his unprecedented response to you, “—It was never our intention to cause any offense, I’m certain—”

“And yet great offense was caused nonetheless,” the Queen returns. “However. As it just so happens, you’ve arrived on my planet the day the Sh’inzith Ritual is to commence. Because of that, I am more than willing to allow the Order to remedy their grave lapse in judgement tonight, in exchange for…” She tilts her chin at you, considering. “Ten thousand soldiers to fight in your little war. What say you, Jedi?”

No, this is wrong. This is all wrong—an addition of ten thousand trained Force sensitives would put an immediate end to the Clone Wars. Full stop. Instead of being tempted by the bait, however, you’re just becoming increasingly wary of it.

Regardless of how on edge you are, you keep an unbothered composure and continue stunting any major change to your signature. “You cannot expect me to agree to a deal before knowing the finer points of its terms, my Queen.”

“Of course not,” she agrees diplomatically. “My terms are simple, really. All you have to do is—”

“If you will pardon the interruption,” Master Kenobi’s voice suddenly rings out from behind you for the first time in what feels like ages, and he takes a few steps forward until he’s standing directly adjacent to you. “Apologies to the Court, but my companion and I have grown very weary from a long tr—”

“No apologies necessary, Master Kenobi,” the Queen grins, her eyes flicking away from yours. “Thought I saw you back there. Shall I elaborate? I’ll make it quick, so you don’t fall asleep.”

There’s a tense, pregnant silence that fills the throne room as everybody waits for his response, and you’re left wondering how your Master knows this woman.

He breaks eye contact with the monarch first and stares down at the floor while he considers his answer, before finally settling on a quiet, “Leave us.”

The Queen nods exactly once and everyone in the gallery rises and slowly files out. You take a moment to glance around at the handful of guards surrounding the throne room, waiting for their perfect statuesque posture to falter. Only, they remain completely motionless.

You turn back to the Queen, watching you thoughtfully from her elevated throne, and then to your Master, who’s… still looking down at the floor.

It takes you a bit longer than it should, even then.

Obi-Wan says your name in a tight, urging tone, not even bothering to turn his head to address you. “Please.”

What?

You? He wants you to leave? But… the Council said… they said that this is your negotiation. Clearly they failed to provide you with some very crucial piece of information, so now he’s dismissing you because of it? Openly? In front of the other party?

“But… But I was supposed to—”

“Padawan,” he all but snaps at you. “Please.”

You stand there, holding yourself as still as possible, absolutely stunned. Your Master has never spoken to you this way. You’ve never heard him speak to anyone this way.

The Queen just smiles down at you saccharinely from her throne, clearly enjoying your blatant discomfort and embarrassment.

This is humiliating.

You’d never say it out loud. But as you quietly leave the throne room, two guards on either side accompanying you to your chambers, you practically shove the words at him through the Force, trying your absolute hardest not to let the hurt through. Though in hindsight, you may have emphasized the last part a bit too harshly.

Of course. Master.

***

Obi-Wan realizes the grievousness of his mistake the second it comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t need the extended moment of silence as you work to process the unintentional insult. He doesn’t need the way your Force signature suddenly seems incredibly small, like it shrank in on itself in mortification. He most definitely does not need the spiteful remark reverberating around his brain as your footsteps fade into nothingness, the thought so sharp and directed that he’d likely have trouble blocking it out.

“Strange,” the Queen drawls out in his direction, breaking him from the whirlwind of his thoughts. “Do you really still view her as a Padawan? But she’s such a pretty girl. And she was doing so well.”

“I will not speak of this with you,” Obi-Wan replies candidly, abandoning all pleasantries now that they’re alone.

“Oh, but you will,” s’Zerthia tuts, somehow sounding disapproving and gleeful in equal parts. “If you want your army, that is.”

“Must you be so cruel, Your Majesty?” Obi-Wan sighs, lowering his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Maker, he’s getting a headache. “Are the Uncharted Regions truly that dull?”

“Come now, old friend,” she grins, tilting her head at him as she relaxes back in her throne. “You’ve known of my nature since we were introduced at the Senate all those decades ago. There is a reason you’re still with the peace-loving wizard monks and I am now the reigning monarch over twenty thousand square parsecs of territories.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan acknowledges. “And now we are grown. Though it appears someone has yet to remind you.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, General Kenobi, this is not about me,” the Queen sighs. “My people do not look kindly upon the Jedi. The Ritual is a celebration of our connection with the Force, and denying an invitation, to them, is akin to denying their existence as a Force sensitive people. I can give you your army at any time, of course—I am Queen. But I fear that will not be enough. The s’Ziscari will not willingly fight for you until you pay your due respects to our culture.”

“Queen s’Zerthia,” he exhales, clearly exasperated, “I cannot call myself Jedi and partake in such… proclivities. The Council will never agree to such measures. There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t, old friend,” she huffs shortly, her signature beginning to spark with impatience. “Make your choice.”

“I am not having sex in an arena, s’Zerthia,” he hisses.

“Then the Republic shall fall.”

“You’ll let trillions die—”

“Do not speak to me as if you are not the only person who can change that, Jedi!” The Queen suddenly barks, her voice echoing throughout the empty throne room and booming with frustration. “I cannot make them fight! They love their Queen, but I am thirty-nine years old, for star’s sake! These traditions have lasted for millennia! Would you abandon the ways of your religion simply because your leader ordered it so?”

“That is exactly what you’re demanding of me,” he returns sharply.

“Yes,” s’Zerthia acknowledges. “But you are but one martyr, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not an army.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “I’ve… s’Zerthia, I’ve never… It’s forbidden. And now you’re asking me to break my oath in front of an audience… with someone I don’t know?” He keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he knows it’s useless. The Queen of the s’Ziscari will see the wavering in his Force signature. The underlying pulse of fear at the center.

It’s her turn to sigh. “The Sh’inzith is about celebrating our connection with the Force… consensually. I… may be able to speak to some of my people about the possibility of you participating in private, due to the,” she clears her throat, “delicate nature of the situation, as well as your particular upbringing. However. You will have to project during the… closing ceremonies, if only to prove your direct involvement. This is the best I can do. Do we have an agreement?”

Obi-Wan drops his gaze. “I… I don’t know. I must confer with the Council first. But… but with their permission…” He chooses to leave his sentence unfinished, still so unbelievably uncomfortable with the terms of this nightmare to agree to them aloud.

“Understood,” she nods. “Then I shall arrange to send someone to your chambers at midnight unless you notify my staff otherwise. Which would you prefer—a man or a woman?”

He stays silent, his stomach churning in discomfort. He doesn’t think he’s ever even considered the question before. He truly doesn’t know how to answer it.

Intuitively, the Queen moves on. “No matter. What of the girl, then? A man would do well for her, I’m assuming?”

He lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “The girl? What girl?”

“The girl,” s’Zerthia repeats blankly. “All Jedi present will need to participate, of course.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says immediately, taking a few steps forward. “No, that wasn’t the deal. The girl has been a Knight for barely two years, she’s never even heard of the Ritual. She has no part in this.”

“And yet she was meant to lead this negotiation, was she not?” She tsks in disappointment, each staccato click of her tongue echoing throughout the vast ceilings and rafters of the room. “Is that how you Jedi treat your women? Throw her headfirst into a mediator’s position with none of the details she needs to be successful, dismiss and humiliate her when she inevitably fails, and subsequently refuse any involvement in a potential solution on her behalf because she ‘has no part in this’? Perhaps I should be offended that the Jedi thought so little of the s’Ziscari as to assign someone of her standing to lead this negotiation, but as of right now, considering the mere fact that my palace is still intact, I’m actually starting to believe your little Padawan may just be the best of you.”

Obi-Wan says absolutely nothing in response, his heart panging in his chest in shame hearing it put into words that way. He’s never been one to question the decision-making of the Council, but assigning you to this mission had admittedly been something he himself couldn’t quite puzzle out. Obi-Wan understands the need to further develop your diplomatic skills, but the terms of this specific negotiation were just far too complex and far too crucial to the survival of the Republic to gamble on one of the youngest Knights in the Order. By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here, but the Council was very specific in their instructions. You were to lead negotiations, and Obi-Wan was to act as reinforcement should anything happen to go awry.

The Queen quietly studies the Jedi Master all the while, tilting her head thoughtfully. “None of this makes any sense, does it?”

Again, Obi-Wan maintains his silence with a furrowed brow and a far-off look on his face.

“What’s so different about this one?” She asks him, sincere curiosity appearing to overtake her in the moment. “This girl, specifically, out of everyone—why would they choose her for this negotiation? There’d be no discernible reason, unless they wanted her to—”

She cuts herself off abruptly as Obi-Wan quickly flicks his gaze over to her. When she’s silent for too long, he has to prompt her. “Unless they wanted her to what?”

“Ah,” she whispers at once, her expression immediately clearing in understanding. “Clever. Diabolical, manipulative, and entirely unexpected from a group of glorified cultists with brightly colored laser swords. But oh, so clever.”

Obi-Wan is starting to become very frustrated with this conversation.

“You know,” the Queen continues, back to studying her manicure, “I used to lament my lack of free will as a member of royalty by marriage. My husband, Maker rest his soul, could never yearn for what he did not know, but as the daughter of a Senator, I was born as low as you. I was a Miss once,” she laughs airily, as if the thought of her holding that title is absolutely ridiculous now. “I knew the difference between a life of freedom and that of a puppet. But. At least my superiors revoked my autonomy to my face. Your Council sees fit to pull strings from behind a curtain.”

“You think the Council wanted this?” He can’t keep the intense skepticism from lacing his tone, despite his best efforts.

The Queen suddenly looks up from her jeweled fingernails and pins him with a hard stare. “Will you bed a stranger even with the direct permission of your betters?” She shoots at him, quite unexpectedly and shameless in her phrasing.

Obi-Wan nearly jerks back, the abrupt change in subject and rather personal question startling him. “I—”

“Would you have asked your Padawan to accompany you here if you’d been put in charge of negotiations instead?”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Do you think it simply a coincidence the two of you were scheduled to arrive on my planet exactly ten hours before a festivity that only happens once every five hundred and some-odd cycles begins?”

“I can assure you I was not privy the t—”

“Why is the girl here?”

He… he doesn’t understand. It’s like she’s trying to have four conversations with him at once. He’s getting whiplash. “s’Zerthia.”

“Obi-Wan. Come now, don’t be daft.” She goes back to picking at her fingernails, clearly done with her interrogation for the time being. “She’s here because she is a thousand times more prepared to participate in the Sh’inzith than you are, of course.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Council knew full well what the terms of this negotiation would be,” the Queen shrugs. “Though you may not be too familiar with Jedi-s’Ziscari interplanetary relations, I can assure you we have openly voiced our offense to their denial of our invitations multiple times. We still send them, of course, as is tradition. We have for a few centuries at least. A formal alliance would obviously require some act of rectification on the Council’s behalf, so therefore the only logical assumption to be made is that the girl was chosen for this mission specifically with that in mind. She likely didn’t take an oath of celibacy or something of t—”

“All Jedi take oaths of celibacy,” Obi-Wan interjects with a startlingly unfamiliar edge to his voice, clearly warning her not to continue on in this direction.

”Oh, apologies; I misspoke,” she clarifies. “She probably didn’t take an oath of celibacy seriously, or something of the sort.”

“Mind yourself, s’Zerthia,” he warns her. “I care not of your position nor our history, you will not speak of my protégé that way—”

“Oh, she’s your protégé now?” She grins, amusement flashing in her eyes. “I see. Because we both have been referring to her as your Padawan up until the moment someone other than you decided to insult her, so I wasn’t sure. Forgive me.”

Obi-Wan flushes and opens his mouth once, twice. He is quite honestly speechless at how his… long-time acquaintance is so truly gifted at creating sentences that somehow manage to turn themselves into icy daggers in midair, so instead, he takes a different approach. “E-Even… even if you were slightly correct with that… a-absolutely baseless accusation, it makes no sense,” he reasons desperately, still trying to find some way out of all this. “Breaking an oath of celibacy in her youth does not at all mean she’d be any more likely to lie with a s’Ziscari to complete a diplomatic mis—”

“No,” the Queen agrees, “it means she’d be more likely to lie with a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan stops dead.

She laughs, a soft tinkle of a sound, taking in the underlying shock of his demeanor. “By all their faults, the Council is not stupid.” She almost sounds… impressed. “Think, Obi-Wan. Pair the Greatest Negotiator in the Order with his newly ordained Knight? The one young enough to not have the strict pillars of your cult of a religion so hopelessly cemented into her mindset? The one who so very clearly considers you to be far more than a mentor to her? The Council knew you’d be incredibly reluctant to bed anyone, let alone a stranger from the Uncharted Regions, but they also knew of our history as friends—if anyone in the Order was in a position to make the deal with me, it was you, so if anyone in the Order was in a position to therefore… persuade you to follow through with the conditions of said deal, it was her. To gain ten thousand more Force sensitives and win a galactic war, all your Council had to do was shove two of their most agreeable Generals into bed with one another. Beautifully executed, Machiavellian at its core. Stars. I knew politics suited the Jedi, but this is just…”

Obi-Wan feels his chest sinking deeper and deeper by the second as she kisses her fingers animatedly.

“…Masterful,” s’Zerthia finishes, turning to smile widely at him, positively delighted in her demeanor. “I do say, I may have met my match in your superiors, Obi-Wan. Perhaps they shall make better allies than I’d originally assumed. If nothing else, this little display of cunning and manipulation gives me faith that perhaps the Republic isn’t so completely doomed after all.”

“Do you truly think they’d be so cruel?” He finds himself asking quietly after a moment.

“These are times of war, old friend,” she tilts her head with as much solemn comfort in her voice as she can reasonably provide. “They knew the terms, and they knew you wouldn’t agree if you knew them in advance. This was the only way. And honestly, should a… well, let’s face it, a rather attractive coupling be all that stands between the galaxy and total destruction, I’d say that may just be a fair price to pay. My only lament thus far is your rather timid demeanor. You two would’ve made for a crowd favorite.”

The Queen’s assertion startles him so much that Obi-Wan outright defaults back to skeptical pragmatism instead of entertaining elaborate and incredibly far-fetched conspiracy theories. “Yes, yes, s’Zerthia, but—but this whole entire scheme hinges on the completely incorrect assumption that she and I would actually be willing… willing to…” He can’t even finish the sentence.

“How old are you, Obi-Wan?” She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, thoroughly unimpressed with his sudden lack of articulation. “We are of similar age, correct? Are you outright incapable of saying the word ‘fuck’?”

“Quit being foul,” he snaps. “It suits your personality, not your tongue.”

“So quick-witted in conversation for someone so incredibly dim-witted in practice,” she muses, as if this entire thing is incredibly entertaining to her. “Do you really not see the way she looks at you?”

“She respects me,” Obi-Wan declares meaningfully. “She’s loyal. She thinks much higher of me than I deserve. She’d stand alone in the face of an army if it pleased me and she’d stand tall—”

“That’s not the only position she’d assume to please you,” the Queen mutters under her breath, pausing to give him a sweet little smile as Obi-Wan burns a hole through her with his glare. “The only variable remaining is your willingness to please her. After all, the offer to lie with a s’Ziscari instead will always be up for the both of your considerations, as is the ability to walk away entirely at any time of course. I’m assuming the Council was relying on the fact that you’d pitch an absolute fit after being informed her involvement was required—which, naturally, you did. And then they gambled on the answer to a question you’ve yet to ask yourself.” She leans forward and tilts her head at him, lacing her manicured fingers together. “Perhaps it’s not a matter of how willing you are to sleep with your Padawan to save the galaxy from complete and total annihilation, Master Kenobi, but simply a matter of whether or not the clueless little thing will want it bad enough to be able to convince you to do it. This—this is a real negotiation for her now.”

“s’Zerthia—” Obi-Wan sputters, “—I—She—I’ve traversed her consciousness more than anyone in the entire galaxy, and not once has she ever even hinted at the possibility that she—”

“And can you blame her? My, the scandal it would cause!” The Queen presses the back of her hand to her forehead and collapses dramatically back into her throne. “A Jedi Knight secretly harboring feelings for her Master? In my good temple? Shame! Shame! Sha—!”

“You think you know more of my successor than I?” Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, somehow more irritated now at the insinuation than he’d been the entire conversation. “The youngling I raised? The one I handpicked to take my place in the Order, you think you know more of her heart than I?”

“Yes.” s’Zerthia answers him simply, straightening up on her throne and abandoning all theatrics. “Because you did not see her face when you called her Padawan. I did. And I also happen to know far better than most that hiding the truth from nosy Force sensitive authoritarians is most easily accomplished by controlling one’s energy signature. Jedi, s’Ziscari, it matters not the culture—you lot spend far too much effort reading into the Force than simply looking someone in their eyes to learn the truth. Look her in the eyes next time, Master Kenobi. Then you will understand.”

***

You’re furious.

The Jedi are not meant to feel fury. But you are a Jedi, and by the Maker, do you feel it.

“Padawan?” You hiss, pacing the length of your bedchamber with clenched fists, trying to control the volume of your voice so desperately that the words come out shaky and slurred. “Padawan? Is that what he thinks of me? That I’m still a youngling?!”

You haven’t been this upset since you were a small child. And the thought stops you dead in your tracks.

You are a General. You are a Consular. You are a Knight.

Regardless of what he may believe.

So you climb up onto your unnecessarily large bed, crawling the incredibly soft fur blanket of an animal you’ve never seen before to sit yourself in the very center of the mattress, crossing your legs. Though it takes you longer than it has in years, you’re finally able to relax your breathing and clear your mind, slipping into a deep meditative state.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position, nor do you really care to. But when your Force signature feels the slightest brush of your Master’s, likely just looking for your location within the palace, you’re a bit too late in slamming your mental barriers up in response. You know he still senses the reciprocal shove he gave you earlier, the shocking feeling of being practically hurled out of someone’s mind with unprecedented ferocity. But he also knows where you are now.

So, like you’re a youngling at the Academy again, you just pretend to meditate. Like an actual child, you close your eyes and focus on just sitting still. You shouldn’t be responding this way, you tell yourself. Restraining your emotional response has been hammered into you for decades—keeping calm when you’re upset is your default, it’s how you’ve lived your entire adult life. Why can you not seem to accomplish it now?

What… what is this? This toxic, absolutely dreadful emotion? It's hard placing them sometimes when you were taught from infancy to just will them away instead of processing them. It’s not fury, not anymore. It isn’t sadness, either. You’ve been sad—you’ve been sad for two years straight, and it feels nothing like this.

You’re throwing a tantrum, you realize. That’s what this must be. You’re reverting back to your childhood, back to when you felt discounted and disapproved of by nearly everyone around you. You haven’t felt this way in years, not since you met Master Kenobi. This is hurt. Just pure, irrational, emotional pain, and it’s manifesting itself in truly ugly ways.

You can feel his signature glow just marginally brighter in the Force as your Master steadily approaches. You take slow breaths, trying to rearrange yourself into something at least mildly composed and tranquil, but it feels almost impossible. So instead, you just try to ignore the past few hours and think back on all the things your Master used to tell you when you were like this, this raging turmoil of emotions overtaking you and causing you to lash out.

You are a Consular, child, he’d say, and if you focus, you can practically hear the musical cadence of his calm, comforting voice. A peacekeeper. A dove. When faced with a locked door, what must you always do?

Master Kenobi’s knuckles rap on the entrance to your quarters quietly, and you blink your eyes open, taking another deep breath before replying. “It’s open.”

The door opens and he takes a few steps inside the room, stopping immediately when he lifts his head up and sees you sitting on your bed.

You both stare at each other in silence for way too long, and you’re not… really sure why. You’re obviously just waiting for him to say something, take the lead in this conversation since he was clearly a better fit to take the lead on this mission, but he just looks at you. For an eternity, he looks at you. Completely blank.

He suddenly jerks his spine straight and breaks eye contact with you, coughing and flicking bright blue eyes around the space as if he’s just noticing it. “Ah, I… Apologies, this is the wrong room. I thought… my quarters are—I must confer with the Council. Please, excuse me.”

And then he turns around and leaves.

You blink a few times, wide-eyed and completely bewildered as the door slides shut behind his billowing cloak.

He… he knocked on the door to his own quarters? And then… and then he waited for you to call him in?

What in Maker’s name is going on?

***

“This is unbelievable,” Obi-Wan sighs, and the hologram of Master Windu rubs his blue flickering temples in slow circles, looking equally as exasperated as Obi-Wan sounds. “Did you know the Ritual was to take place tonight?”

“The Council had no idea,” the fellow Guardian murmurs, and something pulls tight in Obi-Wan’s chest, remembering the Queen’s assertion that the s’Ziscari continue to send invitations to the Council every year. Perhaps… perhaps there was some sort of an oversight, he thinks, due to the Clone Wars taking precedence for the Order. “Intel told us she’d be off-planet for at least another week.”

Well now, that doesn’t make much sense, not if the Ritual is to begin soon. None of what Master Windu has said throughout the conversation has made any sense at all regarding the situation. Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan thought he’d feel better after speaking to another member of the Council, not more uncertain.

“What does Master Yoda think of all this?” He eventually tries, but the holographic projection of Master Windu sighs and tilts his head regretfully, his upper body flickering and waving with intermittent static.

“Master Yoda is currently dispatched to Rugosa to convince King Katuunko to allow the Republic to build a base in Toydarian territory,” he replies solemnly, and Obi-Wan… needs to meditate. Yes. Meditation sounds like a phenomenal idea. “Are you certain there is no more room for negotiating?”

“An ultimatum was given,” Obi-Wan says shortly. “These are the terms.”

Master Windu takes quite a while before responding, but when he does, he speaks calmly and with purpose, addressing him with a formal opinion. “Then the Council will leave this matter up to the discretions of you and your former Padawan, Master Kenobi. This mission designation has hereby been elevated to the highest level of classified and your subsequent choices need not be reported, nor will they affect either of your places in the Order. May the Force guide you and be with you both through these uncertain times.”

The transmission is cut and Obi-Wan feels his insides twist.

He collapses onto his bed and groans quietly, burying his face in his hands and finding it easier to just conceal his Force signature altogether than attempt to mask the anxiety and crushing pressure he feels threatening to overwhelm him.

This is not good. This is, in fact, very much a disaster. This is a mess. This is far worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined when he was first assigned to this mission.

Obi-Wan slowly rakes all ten of his fingers down the sides of his beard, lifting his chin and then letting them drag all the way down his throat, and the quiet scratchy sound it makes mixes in with another longer, even more exhausted groan.

Maker. First things first, he needs to apologize to you and explain the situation. Neither one of those things will be easy to accomplish, but in the grand scheme, they’ll be far simpler than anything else facing him.

He… he takes a second to think about you, about the awful way he unintentionally disrespected you earlier. Stars—he handled this terribly. He was caught off guard and he owes you an explanation, but he’s at a complete loss as to how to go about it.

And why… Why must you have been sitting on your bed? Staring up at him silently, waiting for him atop the very place he’s just been given permission to… to…

Obi-Wan shakes his head and clamps his eyes shut, rubbing them with a bit too much vigor to be from tiredness and stress alone. He should meditate. He should meditate, let his mind break free of the nerves and sudden change of events, but he doesn’t have time to even begin unscrambling the chaos of his thoughts. It’s getting late, and he has an obligation to tell you about the situation as soon as possible, to give you as much time as he can to process the decision facing you before the clock runs out.

He’s dreading this. He’s absolutely dreading it, but it needs to be done.

***

After your Master leaves, less than a half hour passes before you hear another knock on the door.

By then, you’re just sitting there. Sitting there, empty. This is good, really. Truly, this is a good thing. A flat emotional state is what you should always strive for, but… nothing about it feels like peace, really. No, this just feels… grey. Desaturated. Dull.

“It’s open,” you call once again, and Master Kenobi quietly enters your chambers. This time you don’t look at him, though. You don’t really… feel the need to, especially from the way his signature is still just barely presenting itself to you, still so guarded and cautious around you when he’s never been this way before.

Your Master comes to a stop right in front of the edge of the mattress, and stands there for a few moments in silence. You just blink down at the mattress and wait, undisturbed, until you hear him heave a long, heavy sigh, before spinning around and unceremoniously sinking down to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Something about it breaks through your blank, almost dissociative state. Your eyebrows narrow just slightly where your gaze is pinned to the fur covering the mattress, hearing him sigh heavily once more out of your line of sight, but it’s enough to urge you to crawl forward until you can see him sitting on the floor at the foot of the mattress, bent over on himself, his head buried in his hands. You’ve never seen your Master look so… vulnerable before. So small—not in all the years you’ve known each other. His energy is so concealed that you’re just barely able to sense anything besides the mere presence of his signature, but he’s clearly distraught with just as much emotion you were struggling with earlier, and suddenly…

Suddenly a calmness sweeps through you. A gentle sort of kindness fills your soul, slowly flooding your energy with color once again at the sight of someone who’s usually so composed struggling so openly in front of you.

Carefully, you lower yourself down until you’re seated on the floor next to him, your back pressed up against the side of the mattress as he continues to hide his face from you. You stay there, not touching him, not saying anything, but just radiating a steady tranquility through the room from the very center of your being, anchoring him through his storm until it clears.

The sun goes down through the window before either of you speak. Your Master eventually drops his hands from his face and takes a deep breath, choosing to break the silence first.

“Before I begin,” he finally says, his shoulders still uncharacteristically tight and full of tension, even though his voice is soft. “I must… I must sincerely apologize to you. This type of subject matter makes me extraordinarily uncomfortable and I took that out on you, and it was absolutely unacceptable behavior on my behalf. Unfortunately, I can offer you no explanation that wouldn't count as an excuse for something that was completely inexcusable.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, just as quietly, but then quickly correct yourself. “Well, no—I don’t. I don’t understand, but. Judging from your demeanor, I can only assume things have become… a bit more complicated.”

Your Master takes another full, deep inhale. “Yes, that’s…” he empties his lungs of air with a huff, amused but in a way that’s not really amused. “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“Do you…” You blink at the floor, still keeping your voice and energy as gentle as possible. “Just—before… before you begin… Do you truly think of me as your Padawan still?”

“No,” he answers firmly. Immediately, and with less hesitation than anything he’s said so far. “I do not.”

You nod, the finality in his tone leading you to believe that’s the end of his sentence, but then he eventually lowers his voice and continues.

“But sometimes, I…” Your Master sounds conflicted, like he’s not sure he should be saying this aloud. He still hasn’t looked at you. “I find myself… wishing you were. That we could go back to those days, the days before the war. Before fighting armies, and leading them… and now recruiting them. The happiest and most fulfilling days of my life were spent with you by my side, young one. I am not telling you this in an attempt to justify or defend my actions in any way, I am telling you this simply because I don’t want an egregious misunderstanding of this magnitude to continue to fester between us when it can be addressed right here and now. In the face of incredible discomfort, I selfishly reverted the terms of our relationship back to what they were two years ago—not because I subconsciously think of you as my Padawan still or that I somehow haven’t recognized your unprecedented list of accomplishments as a Knight—but because you, the former title, and the nature of the relationship it entails were the only things familiar to me when everything else around was so incredibly and uncomfortably foreign. I humbly beg your forgiveness for ever allowing you to spend a single second of your time thinking differently, never mind hours of it.”

You blink, startled by the sudden articulation and sincerity of the apology. “I—it’s… it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Master Kenobi softly counters, “but your forgiveness is greatly appreciated, no matter how undeserved.”

You smile at him. It’s one of those gentle, sad smiles—the kind of smile that would feel fake if it wasn’t for the comfort you’re trying to provide with it. Carefully, you place a hand on the bend of his knee. “Do you have a place you’d like to start, or would it be easier for you if I asked specific questions?”

He looks at you. Finally. For the first time, his clear blue eyes rise to meet yours and he looks… grateful. “Ask. Please. That would be so much better.”

“A ritual begins tonight,” you say after a moment, studying his handsome facial features for some kind of confirmation of the information you’ve managed to piece together, but then your Master abruptly breaks eye contact with you and lowers his gaze once more. “Yet the Sentinels historically choose not to partake. Why?”

“Because… the Ritual… contains proceedings that stand in direct opposition to the values and teachings of the Jedi,” he explains to the floor. “It goes against the core pillars of our religion to even spectate. The Uncharted Regions are… different. They follow neither the laws nor the customs of the Republic. It was decided long ago to politely decline their invitations, though we offered many times to meet during another time of the year. The Council had no idea the Queen would take this much offense.”

You have to ask. It’s important for you to know, but his rather vague explanation serves to peak your trepidation just as much as it does your curiosity. “…What is…” Maker, you’ve gone unbelievably quiet. “What is the Ritual, Master?”

Obi-Wan goes just as quiet, looking down at his hands as they fiddle idly in his lap. “Ah. Yes. That. Well, the—th-the Ritual is, uh. Uh—”

You blink softly at him and his abrupt loss of articulation, trying to rearrange your expression to be encouraging without appearing too eager.

He suddenly cuts himself off and looks up at you, pinning you with an ocean-deep blue gaze once more. “It’s a celebration of fertility.”

You blink once more at him, this time quite stupidly.

“People are encouraged to be intimate with each other. Openly. Shameless displays of fornication between two consenting adults are commonplace in almost every conceivable forum, said to permanently connect the s’Ziscari to one another through the Force—which is why they usually project throughout the act. In fact, they even have a gathering here at the palace capital, an ‘opening ceremony’ of sorts where people… perform. It’s debauchery disguised as a holiday.”

You… for some reason, the fact that he stares so intently at you while he says it makes your reaction marginally subtler. He gives away no emotion as he takes in how your mouth has formed a soft O shape, how a solemn understanding seems to flood through you. Of course he’d have incredible trouble with something like this. And somehow it’s only then that you fully forgive him for his previous mishaps and mistakes on this mission. You understand now, you get it.

“Ah. Okay. And… and in exchange for the s’Ziscari’s assistance in the Clone Wars, they want us to… what, exactly?” Maker, why is your throat so dry?

“They’ve presented the ultimatum of either walking away from the deal entirely or partaking from the privacy of these chambers,” he answers. “Together.”

Okay, so your reaction is a bit more pronounced this time.

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second, all the breath in your lungs whooshing out at once. Maker, it’s like he punched you in the chest. Muscle memory alone allows you to almost completely muffle the burst of shock that radiates through the Force, but your face is still a dead giveaway.

Is this… is this a trial? Are you hallucinating? Perhaps a vision, if it wasn’t so beyond ludicrous or had any basis in reality whatsoever. How many vaguely similar scenarios have you imagined throughout the duration of Obi-Wan’s tutelage? And yet never has one been so incredibly creative. Or elaborate.

And then, the thought suddenly hits you.

Oh. Oh, no, this is dangerous.

It’s one thing to harbor a dark, hidden crush on your Master for years, something you refuse to even let yourself think about most of the time. It’s one thing to learn how to bury your needs deep down and refuse to let them see the light of day, to learn how to build a mental fortress around a dirty, terrible secret from your youth and guard it with a saber and matching ferocity. This is the way of the Jedi.

It’s another thing entirely to have it offered to you on a silver platter. To be given just a sample of Darkness, knowing you’ll never have anything close to it ever again.

***

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s studied your face this closely in his entire life.

It feels almost… unnatural, how meticulously he’s trying to read your expressions. Outwardly, you don’t appear to be anything more than surprised, really. Not horrified at the idea, just… stunned.

“What did you tell them?” You eventually ask him.

“That I’d need to discuss it with the Council first,” Obi-Wan answers carefully, “and then that I’d need to discuss it with you. And I’d make a decision by midnight, when the Ritual is to begin.”

And—there. He sees it. Your Force signature continues to radiate a gentle calmness outwards, unwavering and unbothered in its beautiful gradient of pale greens and chartreuses and golds, brilliantly contrasting with the cool blues and periwinkles of Obi-Wan’s own signature, but there’s a flash of… something in your eyes, and he sees it for maybe a split second before it’s gone completely.

What did he say? What did he say? He tries quickly to remember. That he’d need to discuss it with the Council first, and then that he’d need to…

Obi-Wan sighs, instantly realizing his mistake. He both openly admitted and proved to valuing the opinion of the Council over yours. He valued the collective opinion of a group of Jedi tens of thousands of light years away who put you in the middle of this ghastly situation more than your opinion. You. The only other person directly involved with this absolute shipwreck of a negotiation, even though you never asked to be. The person whose opinion on such a delicate situation should’ve mattered the most.

Stars, s’Zerthia was right. Has he always been this blind?

“Though… though now I realize that was incredibly dismissive of me.” Obi-Wan’s head drops and his hand comes up to cover and rub at his eyes, feeling halfway stuck between amused at his endless list of mistakes and miserable at how they’ve affected you. “I’ve done absolutely nothing right on this mission so far, young one. And you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. The Queen of the s’Ziscari said you’re likely the best the Order has to offer and I’m very quickly beginning to see her point.”

You jerk back comically. “She said that?”

He peeks an eye open at you through his fingers, watching you look at him like he’s grown two heads. “…Yes?”

“And not as an insult to the rest of the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan drags his hand down his beard, trying to hold the corners of his mouth down, but it does nothing to stop the small smile that begins to peek through. So he doesn’t try to hide it. He just smiles at you, exasperated but so incredibly fond, shaking his head meaningfully. You sit there and stare at him with your mouth hanging open, completely discombobulated, and Obi-Wan actually begins to chuckle quietly to himself, marveling at how your reaction to the praise practically doubles its sentiment.

You’re the only one who’s been able to make him truly laugh in the past two years. You did it despite his wild discomfort concerning the unfortunate situation the two of you have found yourselves in. You did it despite the foreign territory, the foreign government, the foreign planet, the foreign customs, and the foreign subject matter. And you did it all entirely unprompted, despite everything he’s done to wrong you.

“The lady in the big chair? The one with the fingernails?” You lift your hand up and wiggle your fingers, both looking and sounding like a droid in need of a hard reboot. “The fingernail lady, she said this?”

“Why is that so surprising to you?” Obi-Wan asks with a gentle grin, leaning back to rest his shoulder blades against the bed, his muscles considerably less tense than they were even just two minutes ago.

“Because I don’t—? People don’t—??” You wave your hands around uselessly. “I’m not used to… that.”

“To what?” He prompts, still not removing his attention from your face.

“High praise? I mean—I spent years being told that I was quite possibly the worst of the Jedi,” you laugh awkwardly, and then you change the subject too quickly, like you’re attempting to fill the silence before it can be read into too much. “Not to mention she looked positively delighted when I was dismissed.”

There it is again, he thinks, your eyes once more betraying your signature, tone, and countenance. He only allows himself a beat to silently vow to himself to consciously voice his recognition of your dedication and achievements more often. It’s just… with the right ratio of patience and prompting, he always thought you were such a brilliant student. Obi-Wan is unable to recall the exact moment as a teacher he began to recognize any positive trait you exhibited in his presence as simply part of your hidden, untapped given character instead of a very purposeful mindset you had to actively work to embody. Perhaps the true reason he’s so skeptical about s’Zerthia’s assertion that you care more for him than you let on is because he cannot possibly fathom why. Not when it feels like he’s spent years by your side and is only somehow only just now seeing you.

“Ah, yes, well,” Obi-Wan says, easily glossing over his quiet moment of contemplation without arousing any suspicion, “the Queen is arguably obsessed with seeing how much torture a person can endure without actually having any physical pain inflicted upon them. She gets bored, see. Not many visitors to the Uncharted Regions. She likes to play games with her guests whenever they do arrive.”

You quirk a brow at him. “Then shouldn’t she have revelled in my suffering instead of defending me because of it?”

“I’d say she’s entirely capable of doing both, especially considering just how torturous it was for me to sit there and be reminded of all the many different ways this has been so terribly unfair to you,” he admits softly. “She paid you the compliment as a direct commendation for enduring such mistreatment and still leaving the walls of her palace standing.”

Your expression goes blank again, and Maker, this is more difficult than he thought it’d be. It’s a legitimate challenge to gauge your emotional state when you’ve so clearly mastered your control over your energy signature, to a degree of which Obi-Wan was almost entirely unaware before today.

“You’re sure this is the only way?” You eventually ask. “We either do this together or we go back empty-handed? That’s it? No other options?”

Obi-Wan takes exactly zero seconds to consider the implication behind his answer before confirming your assertion with a solemn nod. “No other options. I’m sorry, young one.”

Later, he’ll reason he refused to present the Queen’s first suggestion to you because he couldn’t agree to the terms, even if you could. It would be of no use for you to share your bed with a s’Ziscari when he was incapable or unwilling to do the same. Yes, that makes… logical sense, he supposes. Right now he just has far too many things on his mind to contemplate it, and the sudden reminder of the situation he’s in causes his heart to start beating faster in his chest.

“Okay. Well…” You look uncertain, your eyebrows furrowing slightly even as your energy continues to glow soft and undisturbed from the center of your being. “Well, what are—what are your… concerns? Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you?”

Because Obi-Wan has absolutely no clue how to answer that question, he just keeps quiet. He supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising that the Uncharted Regions feature so much… uncharted territory. He truly doesn’t know how to go about this; upon explanation of the situation, he had hoped you’d supply a firm no so that the burden of choice was taken away from him. He doesn’t want to offend you, but at the same time, the more you’re not directly protesting against the idea, the faster his heart begins to pound in terror at the realization that… breaking a sacred vow he’s honored his entire life is quickly becoming a very likely probability.

And also… why? Why are you able to be so… calm about this? Why are you not panicking and struggling with this decision the same way he is? When s’Zerthia first suggested you’ve already broken your oath of celibacy, Obi-Wan didn’t want to believe it, yet here you are—asking him if there’s anything you can do to make this easier for him when both of you should be having a crisis about this hypothetical. Are virgins typically so considerate? Is he just being over-dramatic about this? Is this just a manifestation of the serene hue of your saber reaffirming itself? Is this just your cool head prevailing when the one person you’ve spent years looking to for guidance is clearly on the verge of spiraling?

Why? Why aren’t you protesting more?

“Are we actually going to do this?” You ask after a moment, and Obi-Wan unintentionally cringes. Good Maker above, he truly doesn’t mean to. It has almost nothing to do with you—in fact, he can only assume you're genuinely trying your best to adapt to the unfortunate twist of events, and you’re actually managing to be somewhat successful where Obi-Wan is just hopelessly, miserably failing. You must be just trying to maintain some sort of base foundation for his turbulent mental state, but—but then he sees another flash of emotion in your eyes at the way he flinches away from the question.

He opens his mouth to respond—to apologize, or… stars, something, but then you supply a quick reassurance instead. “I won’t—I won’t take offense, if you need me to, you know,” you shrug, very much avoiding his gaze and your voice suddenly sounding incredibly small. “I don’t know. Not make any sounds? Or hide my face? Or… something?”

“You’re…” Obi-Wan’s mind, previously struggling with far too many chaotic, rapid-fire thoughts, suddenly can’t seem to conjure a single one of them. “You’re… serious?”

“It’s not a big deal—” you quickly tell him, “—either way, we don’t have to make it a big deal. I mean, I wouldn’t want it to be… It doesn’t have to be… terrible for you, or anything.”

Maker, is that what you think? That this isn’t a ‘big deal’? He stares at you, the word you used resonating with him. Terrible. On one hand, of course it’s terrible—the whole thing is terrible, it’s something out of an ancient Jedi parable he was told as a youngling, about the sins of passion leading to the Dark Side. On the other hand, he knows you can’t possibly mean it like that, and… you’re somehow managing to interpret this conflict all wrong. Asking him if he needs you to hide your face?

He eventually shakes his head just slightly. “I… No. No, young one, I will not…” he clears his throat, “I will not… require such a thing.”

Though neither of you say anything for quite a long time after that, the loud knock on the door still feels like it’s interrupting a crucial moment.

You quickly call that it’s open, and Obi-Wan turns his head to see the door swing forward and two s’Ziscari in thin black robes, standing in the hallway. A man and a woman.

His heart suddenly thunders against his ribcage and he scrambles to remember the hour. It can’t be midnight yet, no, he needs more time—

The male s’Ziscari says something in his native tongue, and the woman calmly translates to Basic. “Her Majesty the Queen formally requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

“Respectfully,” you nod at the guard while Obi-Wan struggles to regain himself, “if it pleases her Majesty, Master Kenobi and I would prefer to eat in our quarters tonight, as we are still discussing the nature of our potential involvement in the festivities.”

The woman repeats back your polite and much appreciated response to the guard, and he looks between you two, before clearing his throat and saying something that sounds remarkably similar to his first sentence. The translator turns back to you both. “Her Majesty formally and… firmly requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

When you don’t respond, Obi-Wan suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to speak.

“Very well,” he eventually sighs, reminding himself that you both are still guests on this planet. “We shall be there momentarily.”

Regardless of the language barrier, the guard appears to understand the sentiment of his response through the Force, not needing a translation. He says something and then turns to leave as the woman walks into the room, revealing a black bundle of fabric from behind her back to drape along one of the side tables. “Zashir is currently placing your ceremonial robes in your quarters, General Kenobi. If there will be nothing else?”

Maker, his what? Obi-Wan’s pulse stutters. “I’m sure that—that won’t be necessary, my lady—”

“It will be,” she nods shortly. “If there will be nothing else.”

And then she spins around and walks out without bothering to wait for an answer. You blink at the closed door as Obi-Wan drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose once more, so far beyond stressed concerning how tragically the events of this cursed mission are unfolding that he almost wants to laugh.

“Something tells me the s’Ziscari don’t like the Jedi too much,” you offer after a moment of silence.

“Nonsense,” he counters, lifting his head and sighing helplessly, apparently reverting to sarcasm when everything else he knows is all but ripped away from him. “Wherever could you have gathered that?”

Obi-Wan eventually moves to struggle up to his feet—struggle, being the key word, if only to maintain some essence of behavioral uniformity throughout these past few hours—when he suddenly feels your hand on his elbow.

He glances down at you, your soft features and gentle eyes blinking up at him in his half-standing position next to you.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” you remind him quietly. “Either way. Not a big deal.”

It’s strange. He knows your primary intent is to put his mind at ease, but everything you’ve been saying just seems… too disconnected. Good people are dying as you speak—civilians, children, innocents, you both know this, and yet…

Perhaps… perhaps Obi-Wan is simply just too emotional right now, too chaotic. He’s certainly not being fair to you. He realizes he’s responding negatively no matter how you’re attempting to go about reassuring him, and though he recognizes it, it’s more difficult than it’s ever been to reign in his mental state.

He clears his throat. “The Queen has assured us that we are free to decline her offer and walk away at any time. Her only stipulation is that we’ll have until midnight to… i-initiate the…”

Stars. Initiate the what? Is this a self-destruct sequence? It may as well be, Obi-Wan thinks, but you nod your understanding and rise to your feet nonetheless, far more gracefully than he does.

“Well,” you sigh, walking over to the side table and pulling the black robe off of it, turning to face him and balling the silky fabric in your hands awkwardly. “Uh. I guess. Fate of the galaxy awaits, and all.”

And then he sees you wince, your subtle call-back to the beginning of this mission landing flat and clearly not contrasting well with your previous assertion to him that this is no big deal, but… for some reason the mistake and subsequent display of self-consciousness makes Obi-Wan relax just marginally. Even if you’re not necessarily panicking, at least you’re still clearly nervous, and that fact alone is more reassuring than anything anyone has said to him since this disaster first started.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a companionable, albeit hesitant smile, patting your shoulder just once before moving to leave. “The… the fate of the galaxy.”

Stars. He’s… well.

Fucked, isn’t he?

#obi-wan kenobi x you #Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #fanfic #self insert #no-droids

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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

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sunflowers | m. tkachuk

a/n: today, i offer a humble too long matthew tkachuk fic, full of angst and thoughts about love.

i would like to thank @nolypats, for having a dream that i wrote a fic about? that dream looks nothing like this fic, but that was the og inspiration, and for being so supportive during the writing of this monster. also, @jasondickinsons and @slapshot-to-the-heart for freaking out every time i sent you a preview. never would’ve finished it without these three.

word count: 20K

warnings: swearing, and a ton of angst.

wine pairing recommendation: a full bodied cabernet sauvignon, because this fic is full bodied.

You ran a hand through your hair as you looked at Matthew across your apartment. The mug in your hands felt heavy and the tea inside had gone cold. The look on Matthew’s face when he walked in the front door had made you set it aside and forget about it entirely. He had been nervous, hesitant, his movements almost delayed, like there was too many thoughts swimming in his head for the signals to get down to his muscles at the correct timing. You drummed your nails on the cool ceramic, your fingertips tracing the outline of the sunflower on the mug, as you let out a long breath.

“We literally just-”

“I know,” Matthew cut you off. He stumbled through the next six words, but they stung all the same. “I think this was a mistake.”

It was as if he picked the words right out of your deepest vault of insecurities, sharpened them, then tossed them in your general direction careless, but still wasn’t surprised when they hit their mark. Your shoulders caved in, your body reacting to the weight of the insecurities you had tied to those words in your mind hitting you in the chest. You set your mug on the counter with shaky hands.

“Matthew,” you tried to start, but he just set his blue eyes to the ceiling instead of trying to look at you.

You pressed harder, this time, irritation in his inability to communicate with you boiling over, “You can’t just say something like that then not look at me.”

“Fine.”

His eyes were dead when they rolled back to yours, lifeless, emotionless, almost completely devoid of the person you knew so well that was usually behind them. He looked nothing like the friend you had for the past two years, nothing like the boy who you kissing on his birthday a few months before this terrible moment you were being forced to inhabit, and nothing like the boyfriend you had since that night. He was unrecognizable from the boy you loved, the set in his jaw unsettling you. Matthew had not come over to have a discussion. You could see that now. He was resolved to end this relationship when he walked through your front door. When Matthew Tkachuk’s mind was made up, you had yet to find anything that could redirect his course. You knew you wouldn’t be the first tonight.

“I think we can work on this, if you’ll just talk to me about it.”

The laugh that comes out of his mouth in response to your words made you instantly wish you had never tried. The part of you that had told you to just swallow the breakup he clearly wanted was screaming, “I told you so,” at the top of its lungs. There was no resolution to be had. This relationship was over before he walked in the door, before he walked in the building, before he had gotten in his car. It was over the minute he texted you, curtly informing you he was coming over. Now that your mind was ruminating, the tone of his text felt rough and succinct, like he just wanted to get through it to get to this.

“I think that there’s nothing to work on,” Matthew told you, his tone flat. “I think we were friends, are friends, good friends, and we just starting having feelings because we thought we couldn’t have each other. That whole forbidden fruit thing, right? And we got all mixed up. Sex was great, is great, don’t get me wrong, that kind of chemistry isn’t the problem, but I just don’t think we’re supposed to be together. I think we just got our wires crossed and mixed the chemistry and the friendship up to mean that we’re in love when I just don’t think we are. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. I don’t think I really have feelings for you and I don’t think you have them for me either. I think that’s why we fight a lot. There’s nothing really here, in all reality, and I think we can both sense it. You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Get. Out.”

You spat the words out with all the venom and anger you felt. It wasn’t until the door shut behind him, not another word spoken in the tense moments it took to cross your kitchen to it, that you felt the pain in your chest. The anger, and the adrenaline that came with it, had disguised it while he was still here. Now, it was just you, in your empty apartment, realizing you not only had to deal with the pieces of yourself left over after Matthew just shattered you, underneath that was the agony of losing a friend. A friend you had come to know so well over coffees and sheet pizzas and margarita pitchers, in parties and houses and parks and arenas. He left with your now ex-boyfriend, because they were one and the same.

All you had was the now tainted memories of him and an even colder cup of tea.

------

You shuffled around your kitchen island, skipping the tea kettle in favor of your trusty slightly rusty coffee pot. This wasn’t a morning tea could handle. None of the mornings since Matthew told you that, in essence, your entire relationship was built on false pretenses and was doomed to fail from the start, had been tea mornings. They’d all be coffee caliber mornings.

Just as the coffee started to drip into the pot, your phone lit up on the counter. It was either your mom or another friend checking on you for what had to be the hundredth time. Your friends had be rotating who would check on you and who would bring you food. They were genuinely worried this break up was making you a bit of a recluse. The problem was, the person that had gotten you out of ever breakup funk you had over the past two years, every bad date, every ghosted text, was the person that caused this one. Your mind unwillingly brought you back to a memory you had been trying to avoid for the last four weeks.

There was a knock on your door. You pulled your sweatshirt sleeves over your hands to wipe your nose and eyes. You would have thought that after two weeks, a whole fourteen days, you would have cried everything out by now. Your body apparently had other ideas and was content to continue to produce tears until you felt better. When that would be? Who could say.

Matthew Tkachuk was trying to have a say about it when he was on the other side of the door you opened. You sighed. You weren’t in the mood for him and his persistence in getting his way.

“I brought donuts, Legally Blonde because my sister said to, and my sparkling personality and I’m not leaving until you smile, eat at least two donuts, and take a shower.”

He pushed his way into your apartment effortlessly. You didn’t consider yourself particularly weak, but there really wasn’t much you could do against Matthew Tkachuk with his mind made up on his side. He kicked his shoes off on the way to your coffee table, dropping the donuts on it before grabbing the TV remote.

“I said I brought Legally Blonde. I meant that I brought my intent to watch it with you. We both know I’m just gonna rent it on your TV for you. I don’t own a DVD player and neither do you,” Matthew said to you as he started pulling up the movie. “Also, I have no idea how to log in to my stuff on this thing because you have a Fire TV instead of an Apple TV like a loser, so I’m just going to Venmo you $3.99 for the rental.”

“Matthew,” you sighed, running a hand through your unwashed hair.

“Yeah, you can’t physically remove me from your couch, so I will not be leaving this apartment,” he informed you. “Watching Legally Blonde on your couch without you and stuffing my face with donuts I’m not supposed to have feels like it would be a pretty low point in my life. Unless you come watch with me and save me from half of these donuts.”

You saved him from half the donuts. He saved your hair from a record eighth day without washing it. You saved him from actually watching the sequel. He saved you from your torturous thought spirals and your tendency to look entirely for mistakes you made and flaws within yourself in lieu of acknowledging that relationships always take two people. He saved you from becoming a recluse that time, pulling you out of your apartment for dinner with him the next day. It was just Chipotle. He said he chose the environment for low social stress, high food volume ratio. You had hit him in the chest and he’d squeezed your hand softly, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it softly.

“You know he didn’t deserve you, right?” he told you as you waiting in line. “You can and will do a hell of a lot better than him someday, probably sooner than you think.”

“Thanks, Matty.”

Looking back on that memory, you couldn’t find any fondness for it. It just made the dull ache in your chest that had become a permanent resident over the last month transform temporarily in a sharp, stabbing one, before returning to its original form. You poured your coffee, each movement it required felt exhausting. You felt absolutely spent constantly because you were spending all of your energy trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Relationships were a two way street, but you could never drive down the other side, only your own. Matthew’s side, his view of it all, would always be foreign to you, but you could analyze every word, every movement, and every piece of Matthew’s reaction to all of your actions to find what you had done, what you had done to contribute to the car wreck that had caused the pain in your chest. Did you veer too close to him? Did you veer too far? What did you do?

When you get together with a friend, after years of mutual pinning, it’s supposed to work out. Every book, movie, and hell, every other couple you had ever seen that had been great friends first, then started dating, worked out. It always had a happy, romantic comedy kind of ending to it all. Everything was supposed to fall into place the second Matthew kissed you for the first time because friends falling in love felt inevitable in the kind of way that made you believe in predestination, in fated futures. You had come to the conclusion that fate either didn’t exist, or she was a fucking bitch.

“Come here!” Matthew shouted to you across the party when you were less than two steps into his front door. “I want a birthday hug!”

“I literally just got here!” you shouted back, your voice dropping in volume as you got closer to him, bumping your way through the party to get to him in the kitchen. “You couldn’t wait two minutes for me to like, put your gift down and take off my coat? Needy.”

“Ah!” Matthew raised a finger to you and shook it slightly. “It’s not needy when I’m the birthday boy. Hug. Now.”

You rolled your eyes, but tucking yourself willingly into Matthew’s broad chest. He was so warm all the time, but particularly now that he was definitely a few drinks deep and very much enjoying himself here at his party. Matthew always smelled the same, like the slightly too strong laundry detergent scent boosters his mom made him use and spearmint toothpaste. You couldn’t stand the combination at first, but now, pressed into his chest, you felt calm, the stress of the day washing away when you enveloped in him. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of your head and gave you an extra squeeze before letting you go.

“Also, you’re late,” he pointed out as he grabbed you a beer from the sink he’d filled with ice in lieu of people going in his fridge.

You took the beer from him after he slammed the top off on the edge of the counter. You chugged about a quarter of it before scrunching your face up and stopping. The first few sips were always the worst, before any of the wondrous affects of alcohol actually kicked in.

“Work,” you told him with a shrug.

Matthew rolled his eyes at you, a common occurrence, and you rolled yours back, and even more common occurrence. He laughed a little at your routine, before he tapped his beer suddenly on the top of yours, making foam rise rapidly, overflowing the bottle. You cursed and shifted your hand over the sink so the foam covered his makeshift cooler instead of the counter, but your hand was a lost cause.

“Matthew,” you groaned, your displeasure heavy in your voice as you shook your hand free of the foam.

Matthew threw his head back and laughed as you rinsed off your hand. When his head lifted, eyes finding yours again, he was met with a glare and the displeased shaking of your head. He smiled lazily, his blue eyes crossing your face to take in your expression.

“You’re cute when you’re pretending to be mad.” His words were a little more connected than they should be, his faint lisp expressing itself more, endearing in a way that cut through your annoyance at him. “I would like to request a birthday, ‘One of my best friend isn’t mad at me anymore,’ pass.”

You rolled your eyes again at him for the second time in minutes, “You’re going to get real annoying with this birthday thing, aren’t you?”

Matthew smiled wryly at you, “Comes once a year. Feel like I should get my money’s worth for the twenty-four hours I can, no?”

You shook your head at him, then took a sip of your beer. You were pretty sure you knew how this night was going to go and after a long day at work, it wasn’t exactly what you had been looking for. But the smile on his face, the curls falling down his forehead, and the fact that you were head over heels for him, meant that even though you hadn’t been looking to get on a rollercoaster today, damn it all to hell if you weren’t going to throw your hands in the air, scream your head off, and enjoy the ride.

“How about,” Matthew slurred slowly at you, “a birthday dance?”

“You could just ask me to dance. I’m used to you stepping on my toes and elbowing me in the face,” you threw back at him.

He faked pain, like you shot him in the chest, a large hand clapped over his heart as he winced. You giggled at his expression, before your laugh made him laugh. Matthew extended the hand on his chest out to you. You sighed before clapping your hand into his open one and letting him pull you toward where a few people were dancing. He spun you into his chest with a tug on your hand, purposefully putting your hands on the back of his neck.

“Odds you step on my toes tonight?”

Your beer bottle tapped between Matthew’s broad shoulders as he slowly started to sway with you, using his hands on your hips, one hand still with two fingers wrapped around his beer, to guide you. He smiled down at you knowingly. You knew the answer to your question before you’d even asked, but Matthew knew you were just teasing him.

“Oh, one-hundred percent,” Matthew told you with a smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. “I should get you steel toes for your birthday.”

“If you can remember when it is,” you laughed as Matthew spun you by your hips, your hands breaking from his neck to allow the spin.

“Don’t doubt me,” Matthew grabbed your wrists with one hand and pulled them against his chest. “I might have had to make it my phone passcode to be sure I don’t forget, but I definitely am not going to forget it.”

“That might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever done in your life, Tkachuk.”

He rolled his eyes and freed your hands, only to wrap his arm around your neck and yank you into his chest where your hands had been moments before. You squealed at the action, which only made him laugh. Matthew was a touchy drunk, but it was the closest you could be to him. These were the moments you could touch him, dance with him, and let yourself feel like the world you lived in was also the world in which he had feelings for you too. But you knew those worlds weren’t the same. The would you lived in was a world full of stolen drunken moments like these and unrequited love.

“Birthday beer?” he asked you, presenting you with the empty bottle you hadn’t realized he’d finished.

“You are really pushing your luck,” you told him.

The smile that came across his face when you grabbed the empty bottle made your heart beat heavier in your chest. You smiled back up at him and you could have sworn you saw his eyes glance down at your lips, but you shook off the idea like the intrusive thought it was. It was a self-indulgent misreading of him, your mind projecting a motion you wished Matthew had done, instead of accurately reading the moment for what it was. It might have been a false creation of your mind, but it made your chest hurt all the same.

You grabbed Matthew his beer. Then you birthday grabbed him a slice of his birthday cake. Then you had to birthday dance with him again. Another birthday hug. It started to wear heavy on your shoulders because tonight all Matthew seemed to want was you glued to his side. Your mind was twisting and turning, running down dark, unlit roads you had blocked off in your mind for your own good, but the combination of alcohol and Matthew’s hand on your hip was allowing your mind to blast through barricades you’d built to protect yourself and you were imagining this being real. Worse, you were wondering if maybe he felt like you did, which was as dangerous as driving down a twisty, forest road in the middle of the night, with your highlights out, and faulty breaks.

As the last guests trickled out of the party, Matthew said you didn’t count as a guest, he collapsed onto his couch, throwing his arm over the back. He motioned over to you as he polished off his remaining beer. He sighed when you had yet to move, letting his head roll back, curling bouncing at the movement.

“Come on, birthday cuddle,” he whined softly, gesturing you over to him again.

You groaned and hoped off the counter where you had posted up as everyone else left. Matthew smiled and lifted his head up when he saw you coming, adjusting on the couch to give you a clear spot, right under his arm, right against his side. You climbed onto the couch and slid in, dropping your head onto his chest as his arm dropped around your upper back instead of remaining on the couch. You sighed as you snuggled into his broad chest and Matthew’s chest suddenly rattled beneath you as he laughed.

“Well, make yourself comfortable then,” he laughed softly.

“You’re comfy and I’m tired,” you mumbled, tucking your face down to try and hide the flush rising in your cheeks.

Yes, you were tired. Yes, Matthew was pretty comfortable. Neither one of those things had anything to do with why you were thrilled to be snuggled into his chest. The smell of spearmint and laundry detergent was mixed with cheap beer, but you found yourself falling more into him, your shoulders relaxing, your mind slowly, but your heart racing. You might be pushing your luck, tipping your hand with how you were openly enjoying this, but Matthew’s hand playing with the ends of your hair and the steadiness of his breathing plus the sheer volume of alcohol he had consumed tonight was giving you hope that even if you were tipping your hand, he wouldn’t be able to recognize the cards.

“Come here. Birthday hug.”

“I’m literally snuggling you. Why do you want a hug? Snuggling is an extended hug,” you muttered to him.

“Hug,” Matthew repeated, a hand patting his thigh.

You groaned as you lifted your head from your comfortable spot, twisting awkwardly to get your arms around Matthew’s neck. He huffed, clearly not thrilled with your position. His hands found your waist, fingers sliding into your belt loops to pull you onto his lap, situating your legs on either side of his. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tight against him, hugging you to his chest. His face was tucked into your neck, his hot breath fanning out over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He mumbled something you couldn’t entirely hear, but you caught the word birthday again and rolled your eyes. You sighed as you pulled back, his arms giving way to let you sit up on his thighs.

“What did you say?” you asked him softly.

Matthew swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from your attempted eye contact. His jaw clenched, nerves getting the better of him. You just didn’t know what he had to be particularly nervous about.

“I want a birthday kiss.”

His words were soft, vulnerability keeping his voice tense, but his volume low. His eyes lifted up, scanning over your face, looking for some sign as to how you received his words. Matthew moved a hand to the back of your neck and gently pulled, ever so slightly, to bring your mouth closer to his. His eyes continued to take in your face, trying to read your expression, but he was clueless, his own feelings clouding his judgment. His tongue darted out, swiping across his bottom lip.

“You don’t have to, obviously, but fuck, I really hope you want to, ” he breathed out, eyes still trying to find some sign, something to hang onto in your face.

It was clumsy with excitement, but you dipped your head forward and pressed your lips against his. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as he started to kiss you back, the sound blocking out everything except how you were finally doing this, you were finally kissing Matthew. All you could feel was him, his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his tongue working yours softly. Just him. You pulled back and resting your forehead against his as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair at the back of your neck.

“Thank god,” Matthew mumbled. “I thought I ruined us for a second there.”

You shook your head softly and smiled down at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips again. He was smiling before you even pulled away this time.

“Fastest my birthday wish has ever come true in my life,” Matthew told you softly, a smile wide on his face as he spoke. “Also, my best birthday wish ever, if I do say so myself.”

“Wait, what did you wish for?” you laughed, letting a hand run down his chest lightly.

“You,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wished for you.”

Everything after that was easy, for a little while. You both had dreamed, fantasized about having each other, so you were both in absolute bliss when everything came together. It felt like two pieces in a puzzle, finally finding each other after being separated by the expanse of the unfinished masterpiece in between if the masterpiece was the world as far as both of you knew. But you never found your place in it together, never locked into the bigger picture. Two pieces floating out in space can’t stay connected forever when hands start trying to smash them into place, hands that wonder if those pieces even belong together at all.

The hands that ripped you and Matthew apart weren’t from the outside looking in though. They were the same hands that held your hips so tightly on nights between the sheets. The same hands that held yours where you walked through the city after a few too many drinks at the bar together. The same hands that ran through your hair softly when you came over crying about something you couldn’t even remember anymore.

They were the same hands currently wrapped around a glass at a bar across town. The boy, not man, whose hands they were was running one through his hair hurriedly now. He couldn’t get you out of his mind and he just couldn’t figure out why.

“Okay, why did you break up with her again?” Johnny pressed Matthew for what had to have been the twentieth time over the last month. “Because you’re fucking miserable all the time. She’s fucking miserable. None of us can get her out of her apartment. So I’m just not getting this one, man. Why aren’t you at her place right now? Why weren’t you there a month ago really, begging for her to take you back?”

Matthew groaned and screwed his eyes shut hard. He had explained this so many times, the words and memories were starting to blur together for him. If you say the same word too many times in a row, your brain begins to question if what you’re saying if even real anymore. Matthew felt the same type of confusion and disassociation with recounting his reasons for breaking up with you. The version of him that had original thought those thoughts, felt those feelings, wasn’t here anymore. It was replaced with a shell of a boy who realized he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Wait, have you seen her?”

Johnny rolled his eyes at Matthew, but he answered anyway.

“No, I didn’t,” he sighed, motioning to the bartender for another beer. “A couple of the girlfriends stopped by, brought her some casseroles or something.”

“Don’t you bring casseroles when someone dies?”

Matthew forced the terrible joke and his own laugh in response out, in a poor attempt to disguise the ache in his chest at the thought of you. He could see you so clearly in his mind, pacing holes in the floorboards of your apartment, wearing out your favorite mug, but there was no way on God’s green earth you were wearing your Flames sweatshirt you usually did when you were upset. Hell, Matthew would be amazed if you hadn’t burned it after what he done. He knew you had to hate the casseroles, both based on the fact that you barely considered them an edible type of food, and the fact that they seemed to be an homage to the funeral of your love life. You would’ve made a better joke than him too and he wished he could’ve heard it, but you probably hadn’t made one. Matthew was the person who helped you out of the negative thought spirals that sent you spinning around your apartment. He caused this one instead and he was here, sitting in a bar, doing nothing about it because there was no way you’d even talk to him again, not with what he said.

“I just,” Matthew sighed again and fussed with his beer, lining and unlining it up with the condensation ring on the coaster as he talked, “I got too into my head. We were fighting. It just, it wasn’t good, Johnny.”

“It wasn’t good or you weren’t good?” Johnny pressed, watching carefully as Matthew’s body froze in response to the question, glass frozen mid-movement, eyes fixed on a broken neon sign in front of him. “Chucky, you don’t do anything unless you already know you can do it. You’ve never been in a relationship as an, I don’t want to say adult because that’s not entirely true, but as an adult, so you probably sucked at it.”

Matthew rolled his eyes before throwing back verbally at him, “Thanks, Johnny. Loving this pep talk. I’ll make sure when Gio retires, you get my recommendation for the C.”

“We both know exactly,” Johnny tapped Matthew on the forearm, “where that C is going next and don’t even lie. But that’s neither here or there right now. The point is that she was your girlfriend. You were supposed to talk to her about being a shitty boyfriend.”

“I am not in the mood for this,” Matthew groaned, dropping his head to the bar, recoiling when his skin stuck to it, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“I mean, Johnny’s right,” said Monahan as he slipped up next to Matthew’s other side, making a second groan slide from Matthew’s throat. “You were supposed to talk to her, not break up with her like a dumbass. She was your friend first. She knew you weren’t perfect and that she’s have to put up with some shit because you definitely don’t know the first thing about being someone’s partner. She went all in with you anyway,”

“Decided the person you could be and the person she could be with you was worth it,” Johnny jumped back in.

“Good one, Johnny,” Sean nodded appreciatively, tapping his beer bottle against Johnny’s across the bar in front of Matthew. “She gave you a chance, a hell of a good chance. And you decided to throw it all away? Because you fought?”

“Who the fuck are you right now?” Matthew cursed at Sean. “Where did you find all this girl advice, huh? If I wanted this, I would’ve asked your girlfriend.”

“Fianceé excuse you,” Sean reminded him, a smile pulling at his lips. “She relayed all of this back to me. She saw her a few days ago. This is all straight from the source, man.”

“Wait, she said that stuff?” Matthew choked a little on his beer.

“Yeah, she did. Wanna know what else she said?” Sean didn’t give Matthew time, much like Matthew gave you no time during that conversation a month ago, no regard to if Matthew could handle what he was about to say. “She said you weren’t good at communicating or being a boyfriend, but she was okay with it because she loved you. All she wanted was effort. Just a little effort from you, man. And you just left instead of trying.”

Your words, albeit coming through the probably clumsy filter of Sean, stung in Matthew’s chest. He felt like a coward, a fraud. He tried so hard to be tough, to be the guy that kept pushing, kept grinding, kept giving a shit even when his team was down three goals with five to play. He was the guy everyone counted on to try, even when everything else was screaming to just give up and accept defeat. That’s what he’d done with you. He gave up when the waves of trials started coming, when a storm kicked up. Matthew had taken one look at a swell coming that looked to be the type that could swallow ships whole, took the lifeboat, and ran without a second thought. He left you on a battered boat, full of holes, without even a bucket to bail yourself out.

To make matters worse, the wave he had been so scared of was either entirely a fabrication of his own mind and he had run from his own twisted imagination. Or worse, he had created the wave himself and ran before it could catch up to him.

It was catching up to him now though, sitting at a dive bar in Calgary, a warm beer in his hand, and the weight of what he had done sitting heavy on his shoulders.

“Fuck,” was all he could say.

“Your dream girl, really.” Johnny was twisting the knife now, but Matthew knew he deserved it when Johnny added, “And you fucked it.”

“Yeah,” Matthew laughed softly, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes that were still staring at a broken and sputtering neon sign, but really seeing something that wasn’t there.

He was seeing you, in that pretty sundress, the one with the sunflowers on it that Matthew loved on you because you always looked so happy whenever you wore it. Countless memories of you in that dress. You wore it out with friends, the second time Matthew had ever met you. That’s the first time he remembered thinking just how pretty you were, the way your hair fell down on your shoulders, the way your smile formed, the way your nose crinkled when you laughed. Matthew was used to thinking girls where hot, but you? You were beautiful, standing there, laughing at something Johnny had said, in that sunflower sundress.

He remembered that dress from the first time he almost kissed you, a month later, walking down the street together after dinner, his hoodie around your shoulders because you had gotten cold and Matthew was always warm. It was the first time you wore his clothes and it made Matthew’s heart beat loudly in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, couldn’t think about anything else, but kissing you. He almost went for it, but then you pulled him back to reality, actually pulled him out of the street he hadn’t noticed he stepped into because he couldn’t hear the cars over his heartbeat.

That dress starred in his memories of your first date that occurred a week after his birthday, the one where he finally kissed you for the first time, over two years after the first time he almost kissed you. It might have been January in Calgary, but there was that dress again, with tights and a thick coat and knee high boots and socks and a little hole at the bottom hem and it made Matthew want to die. If he died staring at you in that dress, kissing you in that dress, he was pretty sure he would be fine with whatever his obituary looked like.

Except that dress and all the memories of it were tainted because you had been wearing it when he broke your heart, when he watched you break apart and shatter, all of his own doing. Hell, he probably tainted sunflowers as a whole for you. He’d gotten you so many over the few months you’d been together, even though they had cost far too much money since sunflowers in Calgary in the winter weren’t exactly commonplace. The necklace for your birthday, a sunflower and his number in delicate gold, his sister’s idea.

Matthew wondered if people could hate certain types of flowers for the same type of reasons people loved them. People loved them because of how they looked and smelled, but also the memories associated with them. His mom loved pink tulips, but was it more because she always had or because his father always bought them for her and now she couldn’t look at them without thinking of his dad and all the times he has surprised her with them? Was the existing love or the associated love the more powerful factor in her love of them?

Either way, Matthew was just hoping you didn’t hate sunflowers anymore because of him.

“How do I fix it?”

Matthew’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper now, his hand tense around his glass. Matthew had too many thoughts running through his head, but he needed to make sure you didn’t hate sunflowers now. He just didn’t know how to even get you to talk to him to find out if you did.

Johnny and Sean looked at each other and Johnny sighed when the silent communication resulted in him being the one to answer. “I don’t think you can, Chucky.”

“No, I have to, I have to fix it, Johnny,” Matthew’s voice cracked. “I just, I have to make sure...”

He didn’t finish the thought because it wouldn’t make sense and they would both probably send him home, thinking he was either too drunk or having a breakdown, more likely both, if he started ranting about sunflowers.

“I think all you can do is reach out,” Johnny told him softly. “Just let her know that you now realize you made a massive mistake, that you want to be a team this time and work on it, I guess. From there, it’s up to her.”

“Should I bring flowers?” Matthew was asking the universe more than either of the two not so romantics next to him. “Chocolates? Something? Is there anything I can bring or do to fix it?”

“I don’t think you can fix it, dude,” Sean cut in with a sigh. “You can’t force it. if she even talks to you, she’s going to have to decide you’re worth a second shot and knowing her, she’s not going to just give it to you tonight or tomorrow or whatever. She’s going to want to see real change first. You just tell her that you’re going to try and then fucking try, even if she doesn’t ask you to try. Start working on yourself anyway. Start acting like she’ll give you a second shot.”

“Do you think she will?”

Matthew’s voice echoed how it sounded earlier, timid, small, a whispered prayer from a boy who knew his only hope was if fate heard him and decided to twist the world in his favor, if fate wasn’t a fucking bitch after all.

“I mean,” Sean sighed, thinking about himself now, trying to shove his feet into Matthew’s water-logged shoes for a moment to find an answer, “if I was her, I wouldn’t. But she’s a better person than all of us put together, so maybe she will, but I know I wouldn’t.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening them to pick his phone off the bar. He knew you wouldn’t answer a phone call. He also knew your voicemail was definitely full at this point. He was always the person who had to tell you to delete the old ones whenever he tried to leave you one and couldn’t, but he wasn’t there to do it, so it would be full by now. He had to settle for a text, which felt like a much shittier version of a handwritten letter, but he had terrible handwriting and spelling, but at least it ranked well above an email in the power ranking of methods of communication.

Please tell me you don’t hate sunflowers because of me. I really hope I didn’t ruin them for you.

Matthew placed his phone face down on the bar, then nervously flipped it face up even though he knew you wouldn’t have even been able to read his text in the millisecond his phone was face down. He didn’t know if you would answer, or if you would even read it. You would read it, Matthew assured himself. He knew you. You never got a text or a message you didn’t read. Would you say anything to him about it though? Would it be on your phone, nested among texts from people who didn’t break your heart until one day, probably a year from now, you would meet someone else and have no need to remember him anymore, so only then would you finally delete it?

Matthew tried not to think about it, but his eyes glanced down at the screen every thirty seconds even though he was willing them to just give you time. He didn’t even realize it was past one in the morning. You were definitely up, he knew you better than to think you would be asleep, but awake and awake and answering texts were different. He just hoped if you were awake, that you didn’t hate sunflowers, maybe that you didn’t hate him, and that you weren’t crying.

You were awake though, holding that godforsaken necklace that you had ripped from your neck the morning after he ended it and thrown into the back of your jewelry box. The necklace was in one hand and your phone with Matthew’s text pulled up in the other. You were crying, something Matthew desperately wished you weren’t doing as he drank the last dregs of his beer and headed home with his head hung low, his phone alight in his hand as he ritually checked for a reply from you. You sighed, looking between his text and the necklace, wondering if you hated your favorite flower now. That question hung on another one though, one domino relying on the other to fall. Did you hate Matthew Tkachuk?

Yes, you did. That was decided the moment the door closed behind him and he left you to deal with the crashing waves of grief all by yourself, without even a bucket to bail you out.

Did you hate him more than you loved him though?

You stared at the necklace, the one you hadn’t been able to throw away, and you knew the answer. The delicate golden necklace would be buried deep in a landfill if you really hated him more than you loved him, not in the palm of your hand now. But here you were, staring at it until your eyes went cloudy with tears, before you had to put it back in the box. You couldn’t put it back on, not now, maybe not ever, but you also couldn’t bear getting rid of it, the idea making your heart twist in your chest in a way that made you physically wince.

You put your phone on your nightstand at the same moment Matthew did across town, both with your minds racing over the unanswered text. Matthew went to bed thinking you would never answer it, forever leaving the question hanging in the wind. You went to bed knowing your answer, but unsure if you were ever going to share it with him.

------

Matthew groaned when he heard his doorbell ring, followed by cautious knocking. He hated that doorbell. The noise was absolutely piercing, especially to his hungover brain. He hadn’t even drank that much last night, but he was so incredibly hungover. Matthew could only guess that the alcohol had worked in tandem with the ache in his chest after deciding he needed to feel worse to create a hangover this bad from five beers over three hours. He shuffled to the front door, not even caring he hadn’t bothered to find any clothes other than sweats on his way to it. Whoever it was was too goddamn early and they would need to come back another time.

When Matthew ripped open his front door, a groan falling from his mouth at the effort it took, he was looking at the ceiling, head thrown back in hatred of the exhaustion he was now feeling due to having to actually do something other than lay in bed and be hungover.

“Look, this building better be on fire or-”

Everything stopped when he saw it was you. You looked so small to him, standing there, a tray with two coffees in hand and a brown bag in your other hand. Your sweatshirt was swallowing you up and you looked like you were strongly debating making a break for the stairwell with the way your eyes were shifting to the right. There were dark circles under your reddened, swollen eyes, eyes that only looked like that when you had been doing a lot of crying recently.

Matthew thought you would have a lot of possible reactions to his text. He never once let himself think you would show up at his front door.

“I brought bagels,” you finally said, after far too long of both of you assessing the other.

Matthew looked almost as bad as you did. His hair was unkempt beyond normal, the curls broken and haphazard across his head, hanging into his forehead. His eyes were sunken and absent, vacant like a forgotten home on the outskirts of town. Days old stubble patchily covered his jawline, razor clearly lost among his things again. If you weren’t at his apartment, if you had just passed him on the street instead, you might not have recognized him. There was always a lightness to Matthew, an inability to keep his feet on the ground as he searched for the next adventure he could have, but he seemed rooted in place, held down by some outside force. He was complying with it, the force, but it was clearly under duress and it was exhausting him. The force was absolute agony and it was written all over his face, in his posture, in his every labored movement.

“And coffee,” you added after no words left Matthew’s mouth long enough for an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both.

“You’re here,” Matthew breathed out, words spoke so softly as if he feared if he said them too loudly, you would disappear.

Matthew’s head was pounding. His mouth tasted awful since he went straight to bed when he got home, not even stopping to brush his teeth. He knew he looked like an absolute mess because there wasn’t a way a person could feel like he did and not look like a mess. He didn’t care about any of it. You were here. You were actually here, with coffee, and bagels, at his front door.

He didn’t think. He knew it was a mistake after the fact, really as soon as he did it, but he also knew there was a chance you were here just for personal closure, that this might be the last time he ever got to see you again. He reached out and grabbed you by your waist, crushing you into his bare chest. His face pressed into your hair, which always smelled like strawberries to him even though you swore your shampoo wasn’t supposed to smell like strawberries. If you never talked to him again after today, he just wanted to hold you one more time.

You hugged him back, hesitation evident in your loose arms and your tense shoulders. It was barely a hug, but it almost made Matthew cry. Even just the small response, no matter how cautious it was, made him feel better than he had felt in a month.

“Go brush your teeth and like, actually wake up,” you told him as you pulled away from him. “I’ll, um, toast the bagels, I guess.”

Matthew was on autopilot as he walked into his en suite and grabbed his toothbrush. His movements were slow, robotic as he brushed his teeth. There was only one thing on his mind, replaying over and over incessantly, persistently. Why did you show up at his place? Matthew was desperately trying to turn the broken record playing his mind over to the other side, hoping to find the answer, but it was only more of the same. There was no reason, no reason he could understand, why you had shown up at his front door. Why you had shown up with coffee and breakfast for him was so far outside of the realm of things Matthew could understand, he had to eliminate it from his mind.

Until it all suddenly clicked in place, Sean’s words from last night flowing back into his mind.

You were here because you were a better person than he was, a far better person. Sean had said you were better than all of them, very much including Matthew, put together and it was true. You were bright and beautiful and good, so incredibly good. You loved people with an honesty and a bravery that made Matthew’s heart ache due to the effort it had to put in to keep up with you when he’d been smart enough to accept your love. You were so much better than he was four months ago when you kissed at his birthday party, so much better than the bedraggled boy looking back at him in the mirror today, and somehow infinitely better than the person he was going to be in fifty years, already. Who you would be in fifty years? You were going to be the kind of person that needed a designated overflow zone at your funeral because too many people were going to want to acknowledge they’d felt your love in front of hundreds of others.

Matthew never deserved the piece of you he’d gotten. He knew that now as he heard you humming softly to yourself as you dropped the bagels in his toaster. Matthew had never deserved you and it’s why he had ended it because he’d known all along. He knew you were fighting because he wasn’t good enough for you and that he never would be. He would have spent his life running at top speed behind you, trying not to slow you down, trying not to be a drag on your life, trying not to lessen the impact for good you could have on the world. You would have never let him go, slowing yourself, stunting yourself in order to accommodate him.

But here you were, looping the train of your life to run back through the temporary station of your relationship with him that was in complete shambles, and Matthew let himself dream it was because you were ready to hold his hand and fix it up brick by brick, piece by piece because you were so good it hurt. Matthew knew the right thing to do would be to make sure your train left the station today, unencumbered by any damage from him, and more importantly, without him. But Matthew Tkachuk was three things that made that impossible. He was competitive, problematically so, always wanting to get better, always wanting to win. Damn it all to hell if he couldn’t spend the rest of his life running to keep up with you because one day, he just might actually catch up if he could figure out how to run fast enough. Matthew Tkachuk was also incredibly selfish and incredibly in love with you, one a personality flaw and the other the purest part of him that had ever existed. He had to figure out how to catch up because he couldn’t let you go.

Matthew stepped out of the bathroom with resolve settling into his clenched jaw. He knew asking you to take him back without any proof he could improve was a hopeless avenue. He couldn’t ask you for that; him asking for anything was already unfair, he needed to try to at least ask for the least he could. Any plan he had formed was tossed out the window of his high rise the second he saw you, sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder, hair piled on top of your head, humming softly to yourself as you spread cream cheese on his and your bagels, barefoot in his kitchen. For a moment, that moment Matthew held his breath so you wouldn’t hear him standing in the kitchen doorway, it was like the last month hadn’t happened and you were still his. Matthew hung in the moment as long as his lungs would allow, soaking it in case he never got to see it again.

“You going to keep staring or are you going to come get your bagel?”

Your words pulled him out of his thoughts violently, head shaking off the ideas that had been swirling, pulling him down that whirlpool of you and him that might just kill him. He yanked the nearest bar stool out, dropping down into it unceremoniously, before graciously taking the bagel and the coffee you’d brought for him.

“Why did you ask me that?” you finally said, words slicing like knives through the palpable tension in the air. “The sunflowers. Why that? After a whole month? That?”

You said a few extra words then you’d meant to say. You were trying to keep everything short and brief, just here in a quest for the peace you needed and nothing more. More words meant more feelings and more feelings meant the idea of peace slipped further away with each expressed word.

“I just,” Matthew ran a hand aggressively through his curls before starting over, “I just wanted to make sure that after everything I did, I didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you.”

You sighed, debating if you wanted get into this or not with him. What could it hurt? It was just a story.

“I like them because my mom does,” you told him softly. “She always had them growing by our house when I was little. She always had them in a vase by the front door, and she had these sunflower earrings, these little golden ones. They’d kind of like the necklace-”

Your fingers touched the bare skin where the necklace he gave you had sat until a month ago, fingers finding nothing to touch to. Matthew’s eyes had followed your movement, saddening when he saw you weren’t wearing it even though he hadn’t expected you to be.

You cleared your throat before continuing, “Anyway, she lost them a while ago. But I guess they just remind me of home. That’s why I got that dress. I got it when I first moved here. I saw it walking around downtown in a window and just took it as a sign that everything was going to be alright, you know?”

Matthew nodded softly as he continued to listen and mindless pick at his bagel.

“And then when we started dating and you figured out they were my favorite flowers and started getting me dozens of them all the time, I guess you and us started creeping in as part of those reasons I love them. It kind of sucks because they make me sad now and I can’t wear that dress anymore.”

The words were tumbling out of your mouth now, practically on top of each other. You weren’t sure where you’re going, but more words meant more expressed and acknowledged feelings and you were saying a lot of words. Matthew was trying to keep up, trying to take time to process and read between the lines. You always said so much whenever you spoke, half of it jammed in between sentences in pregnant pauses and shifting eyes. He was trying to take it all in, trying to figure out how you were actually feeling, but you weren’t resting in any one emotion long enough for Matthew to identify it.

“But no,” you sighed. “I don’t hate sunflowers. They’re sadder now. It used to just be missing home, but now they make me miss us. But I don’t hate them. I don’t think you can fully hate something that reminds you of so many people and places and times that you loved. I don’t hate them because I don’t hate you, Matty.”

He didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you and you didn’t hate him. In full honesty, Matthew didn’t think you hated him. He knew one of your flaws, but also your best quality, the one that made Matthew feel so lucky to have been with you, was your capacity for love. It got you in trouble sometimes, kept you with people you shouldn’t have been, made you believe in fake friends’ false pretenses, but it also the only reason you didn’t hate him now and the only possible reason you would ever accept any sort of olive branch Matthew could clumsily extend.

“I fucked up,” Matthew said suddenly. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t filtering. He should have taken his time, picked his words carefully, but it was you and you didn’t hate him and Matthew was painfully awful at this sort of thing and he was overwhelmed with the idea he might just have an opening back into the warmth that was you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I totally get if you can’t trust me again. I know I’m a shit boyfriend. But fuck, I love you. I know I do. I’m just so bad at showing it. I want to fix that. I want to fix it with you. I want you and I want to show you I’m not a fuck up and that I do love you. I won’t need a second chance ever again, just some patience. Please.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath when the final begging word left his lips. He knew he’d been pleading with you with each and every word, hoping something he could say might hit you in just the right away, might have just the right effect to get the result he so desperately craved. You. Back in his arms. Back in his bed. Back in his jersey at his games. Back with him, where he wanted you more than he had wanted anything in an embarrassingly long time.

“Is any of that even true?”

Your question stopped Matthew in his tracks. It felt like a punch to his chest, right over his already aching heart. How could you doubt that? No, Matthew knew how you could doubt it. You could doubt it because you could doubt every single thing about him if you damn well pleased. He deserved every bit of doubt and caution you presented. He had broken you because he refused to take his seat at the adults’ table and talk about how he felt, how he was feeling insecure, how he felt like a bad partner, and how he felt worse about all of that because he felt like he couldn’t fix any of it. He attributed the two of you not working out to you two not being a match, instead of acknowledging his own flaws and what they were doing to both of you. In retrospect, all of that probably would have been far better to say to you than what he had actually said, but words couldn’t be stuffed back in his mouth. They were now in your mind, in your memory, and Matthew would just have to live with another mistake on the laundry list of things he had done wrong regarding you.

“Every single word is true,” Matthew told you softly. “I have so many other ones too, if you want to hear them.”

You breathed out hard, shoving the air forcefully out of your lungs as you ran a hand through your hair, “You don’t get to say those kinds of things to me, Matthew. You don’t have the right to that.”

“I know,” Matthew grimaced in reaction to your words.

He should’ve held his tongue, but he had so much he needed to say to you. But there he was again. Thinking about himself, only himself. He wasn’t considering you, wasn’t communicating with you. He just vomited all of his thoughts and feelings up without even bothering to see if you were actually open to receiving them. Saying you didn’t hate him didn’t even correlate to being open to the conversation Matthew had forced into your hands, unaware he had even pried your fists open to put it there.

“I shouldn’t have forced that all on you,” Matthew admitted softly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just, I have so much I want to say to you.”

“Matthew,” you sighed. You had been doing a lot of sighing lately. “I don’t think-”

“I don’t want you to take me back,” Matthew cut you off. “At least, not right away. I don’t deserve that. I know that. I’m not asking for that.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes scanning over his face to try and figured out where he was going. You thought he would ask you to take him back, something you weren’t going to do without a sign from him that it would actually be different this time instead of exactly the same, with a shorter honeymoon period. Another two months with him, only to suffer the same heartbreak wasn’t enough time to make you take a blind chance it would be different. You needed something to hang your hat on, something to make you feel like he wanted to be your partner this time around. You needed to see him try, try in the long nights apart, try in the close nights together, try in the afternoon dates, and try in the stolen morning moments. You needed to see Matthew try and be your partner, and not just some emotional, freeloading friend with benefits version of a boyfriend who would spin you around a dance floor, then into his bed, then leave whenever you asked for more.

“Then what are you asking for?”

Your words were quieter than you expected, confusion ringing heavy in each syllable. Matthew ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in how his fingers tugged on his curls at the end. He didn’t really know what he wanted. He just wanted a shot to prove to you he was worth your time, that he could be the partner you deserved. He wasn’t even sure he could be, which was part of the reason he was struggling to speak to you now, feeling like he was trying to row up a rushing creek made of his current feelings and his past failures without any sort of paddle or even a life vest, about to drown at any possible second.

“I just, I want to show you that I’m worth a real shot again.” Matthew was begging now, figuring that if you said no, at least you would know how badly he wanted you. He couldn’t get more pathetic than asking you if he’d ruined your favorite flowers because it had somehow said everything without saying anything at all. “Just, let me be around, let me earn a second chance. Let me show you I’m trying, trying to get better, trying to communicate better, trying to be someone who is good enough to deserve half of you. Let me show you I can try and that I’ll keep on trying forever, if that’s what you want from me. If you want to watch me try for five fucking years before giving me another shot, that’s fine. If you want to watch me try to five fucking years and then not give me another shot, that’s fine, at least I spent five years trying for someone who is so goddamn worth it, it hurts.”

“So, you want what exactly?” you pressed, a defensive laugh edging at your voice. “You want to just, what? To be around all the time? To be together all of the time? That’s just being friends, Matthew, and you were always a great friend, but you were a shitty fucking boyfriend. You want to spend all day with me, showing me that you’re trying to be better, then do whatever you want when you’re not around me?”

“No, I, fuck,” Matthew groaned, hands digging into his hair, head dropping to the cold granite counter in dismay at the mess he had made.

“Here’s your first communication test then,” you told him, letting the passive aggressive biting words you held at the back of your tongue roll off the front of it instead. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” Matthew banged his forehead on the counter with each word, frustration getting the better of him now. “I don’t even think this is going to make sense, but let me be your boyfriend even though you won’t be my girlfriend. That sounds so fucking stupid now that I said it out loud, but I guess I’m just trying to say I’m going to be one hundred-percent, all gas no brakes, full throttle about you and trying to actually change for you and show you I’m changing, but you can do whatever you damn well please because even letting me try is a fuck load more than I deserve.”

Matthew let out a breath to try and steady himself before continuing, “I know I’m still asking for a lot, both of your time and of your ability to at least sort of try to look at me not like the guy who said all of that shit a month ago. But I promise, I’ll be worth it. You do whatever you want, no strings, no jealousy, nothing. Let me be around and prove I’m worth a real second shot, please. You can send me packing whenever you want and I won’t bother you. You’re just too fucking incredible for me not to ask to try, even though I don’t have any right to ask.”

You breathed out hard, forcing all of the air out of your lungs. Matthew was asking, begging, for an opportunity to prove himself, to prove he could do what you wanted all along, just for him to try. Standing in his kitchen, bare feet cold on his hard wood floor, the idea of giving him that opportunity made your heart pick up in your chest, but made pain radiate through it at the same time. The romantic in you, the part of you that wondered if maybe Matthew Tkachuk was actually worth it, the part of you that loved sunflowers even though the memories attached to them were so incredibly mixed now, wanted to give him a chance. The other part of you, an equal part of you, was screaming, demanding that you be protective of yourself, of your happiness, from the people you let into your life, especially ones who had already proven then had no problem burning the life you were building for yourself and leaving before the ashes started to fall.

But did you even have a happiness you needed to protect? If you didn’t, then the answer was simple. If there was nothing to protect, there was extremely limited risk. You were already in a variation of hell of his own creation, sponsored by the feeling of someone you love deciding you weren’t worth an ounce of effort. What could it do to you if he failed? It would just affirm what you already experienced as a perennial fact instead of a potentially annual moment.

But the romantic inside pushed back, hard. Would you always wonder what would have happened if you gave him a chance? Would you always carry a torch for him? Would there always be an empty room, with a light left on, for him, in the house of the life you ended up making for yourself?

Romanticism versus realism. That was the question at hand. You knew both sides of the argument, the angel and devil on your shoulder both just facets of you, screaming at each other, both trying to decide what was best for you. They were just extensions of you though, so if you didn’t know, they didn’t know. But you did know two things though.

You knew you still loved sunflowers and you still loved Matthew Tkachuk.

And that was enough to convince you punch him a round-trip, one month ticket on the train of your every moving, ever developing life. You would be directing the path, choosing which tracks you would take, making all the moves, and he would have to figure out how to be your co-director. You weren’t going to stop or simplify anything for him. You were just going to continue on. In a month, the train would loop back to the station and you would decide to punch him another ticket, offer him the seat next to you, or leave him stranded there, alone at a run down train station probably in the pouring rain like in all the movies, before he would leave and watch as the station crumbled to dust upon his exit along with the idea of you and him.

“Okay.”

You settled into your answer as you gave it, trying to get it to settle over your body in a way that made you feel warmer rather than colder. Matthew’s eyes were staring into yours and he looked like he was teetering on the edge of crying, like he wanted to tell you everything that single thing that word made him feel, but he bit his lip and held his tongue. He was listening instead of talking, a welcome change, a welcome first attempt.

“You get one month,” you told him, your voice shaking as you tried to force it to be level. “One month of being around, I guess we can call it that. You figure out how you want to prove it to me. I’m not here to help you out. You hurt me. This is me, unlocking the front door for you. You have to figure out how to open it all on your own, okay? After a month, I guess we can talk and see where we’re at.”

“Thank you,” is all Matthew can figure out how to say for a moment. One month to try and show you he was worth another maybe, or if he let himself dream for a second, one month until you might want to be with him again. “I’d take anything, so thank you.”

“Take your fucking breakfast,” you smiled softly, trying to break the tension as much as one joke can. “And your coffee is cold now but that’s going to be a you problem.”

“Is your coffee cold?” Matthew asked you. He just wanted to fix something, even something as small as a too cold cup of coffee. “I can fix it.”

“Well, it’s iced coffee,” you informed him, a genuine laugh in your voice this time as you reached behind you to grab your drink on the opposite counter, giving the cup a little shake, ice rattling, as you showed it to him. “So, I sure hope you’re not going to try and warm it up.”

“No, no,” Matthew laughed softly, hands fiddling with the collar on his now room temperature at best coffee. “Probably should’ve asked what you were drinking first.”

You nodded softly, “Your heart was in the right place.”

Matthew smiled softly as you and your heart picked up in your chest again. God, that smile. It cut through everything, through the dull ache in your chest, through the deafening noise in your head of your own thoughts, and hit you right in the room in your heart that was reserved for him. It was vacant now, but the lights shone brighter for a moment and the furniture in the basement that used to be in there for him rattled, drawers and cabinet doors smashing, a reminder that everything you felt for him was still there. It might be covered in drop clothes and an inch of dust, but it was there. Part of you was already ready for him, but it wasn’t most of you. Maybe one day it would be. Or maybe this was one of the worst things you’d allowed in a long time under the impression that he simply couldn’t make things worse for you, which was almost a challenge to that fucking bitch fate at this point. Your insecurity and shaky foundation got the best of you for a moment and a sentence like a child’s prayer slipped out of your mouth.

“Matthew, please don’t waste my time.”

“I won’t,” Matthew’s words followed yours without a second of hesitation. “I promise. I won’t.”

The romantic in you hoped he was right, that this would be worth how difficult it would be, how difficult it would be to look at him over and over again with his past words playing like a broken record stuck on a broken record player in your mind. If he truly did try, then enduring the torturous reminder of the past would be more than worth it because you were pretty certain that if Matthew Tkachuk could figure out how to be everything you knew he could be, he would be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. But could he get there? You didn’t know, but sometimes people take risks, people bend until they almost break in search of love, like sunflowers bend towards the sunlight, in search of a new and brighter day.

------

You woke up the next day after breakfast at Matthew’s, after ducking out for a planned series of activities, lunch with a friend, and errands to run. You had tried to fill your day after Matthew’s to give yourself an out if it went poorly and a break from Matthew to process everything if it turned out positive. Part of you was wondering if what had happened was really positive or not, but you felt better today than you had over the last month, able to get out of bed and get the coffee pot started with too much extra effort. The bags under your eyes looked better than they had in weeks.

A knock on your front door, eerily reminiscent of the one you’d delivered on Matthew’s door the day before, brought you and your freshly poured cup of coffee in hand to the door. You opened the door and were greeted with an unfamiliar face with a very familiar expression, one far too cheery for the hour in the day. The smile plastered on her face didn’t falter as she read your name and address off her list to confirm who you were and that she was in the right place. You nodded as confirmation, which just made her smile impossibly wider.

“Great! These are for you then!”

Her voice was somehow worse than the fact that she was downright euphoric before nine in the morning. No one who could be this excited about life before nine could be trusted. She practically shoved a bouquet into your hands, turned on her heels, then seemed to skip down the hallway and out of your building. You shook your head as if to shake off the memory of the world’s cheeriest delivery person from your mind, before turning back into your apartment, kicking the door closed on your way to the kitchen table.

Of course, they were sunflowers. Matthew’s consistency with flowers was never in doubt. You grabbed the card, smiling at the words printed on the small card.

If you don’t hate sunflowers yet, give me a month. You’re going to get so many, you’ll be sick of them. Lunch today? - Matty

You tapped the card in your hand, taking deep steady breathes as you walked over to the counter where your phone was. You were really doing this. You were really giving him a chance to show you he could be better than your downright awful four months full of casual disagreements, fights, and near constant miscommunication had shown you. There were people in your life you didn’t think would approve. No, you knew they wouldn’t approve. That’s why you hadn’t told a single soul about yesterday, but this wasn’t about anyone else. It wasn’t about the opinions they would be bound to have. It wasn’t about what they thought was best. This was you and Matthew and everything that was still there. It wasn’t for other people; relationships never were.

You texted him, accepting his invitation for lunch. He texted back immediately even though it was way too early for him usually. If Matthew had practice at ten, he wasn’t out of bed until a quarter past nine and he lived fifteen minutes from the arena. Your mind wondered if he had been awake, just waiting for your text, but you pushed the thought of side as you headed to take a shower. He wouldn’t get up before nine unless his building was on fire.

Across town, a curly-haired boy who had woken up two hours earlier than he usually did, just to see if the girl he loved had gotten her sunflowers, smiled when he saw her text.

She had gotten them, thankfully. Matthew got to go to practice with a smile on his face, wondering how she’d smiled when she had seen the flowers arrive, and with the knowledge he’d get to see her smile in person after practice. Well, if he played his cards right, he’d probably be able to con a smile or two out of her. He felt damn near giddy, like a kid at a county fair who had too much cotton candy and who has just accidentally won the biggest prize the fair had to offer, even though he hadn’t even come close to winning you back yet. Getting to be around you again was his win, and it was so much more than he thought he would ever get, he could feel like a little kid for the morning if he wanted to.

He could and did feel like a little kid the entire time he waived for you at the restaurant. Matthew arrived fifteen minutes early. Being late had been his specialty the first time around, not necessarily a problem often within itself, but compounded upon everything else Matthew didn’t do then, a list that seemed to grow longer the more he picked apart the past from your point of view, showing up early carried more weight. The shock on your face when you saw him already waiting at the table when the hostess brought you around was proof enough that every effort Matthew made, every single thing he took notice of from the past and changed, would make a difference.

“Hey, how was practice?” you said as you dropped down into the seat opposite him.

Matthew had the smallest sliver of hope that the sunflower dress would have reappeared, but he knew he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to see you look like you had when he had gotten the opportunity to take you out the first time, to do this right the first time. If he hadn’t screwed everything up with his stubbornness and his general inability to be a boyfriend, he wouldn’t be wishing for that dress right now. He could be in your apartment, holding you, face in your neck, arms around your waist, decompressing from practice and life in general. But he was here, sitting four feet apart, in the middle of a restaurant, knowing he wouldn’t even get to hold your hand on the walk to his car later because you hadn’t even driven together.

“Um, practice was good,” Matthew told you, his mind still running through a seemingly endless list of things he could be doing with you right now if he hadn’t given up before ever really getting in the game. “How was your morning?”

“Good. Didn’t do much since I didn’t have work.”

Matthew nodded, taking a sip of his water before doing what he would need to do over and over again, if he really did want to get the chance to love you to you again. He tried again.

“So, um, how’s your mom doing?” Matthew asked, hands trying to find a resting spot on the table, his lap, somewhere.

“Fine.”

The distance across the table felt wider with each passing second to Matthew, like you were somehow slipping further away from him with each clipped answer you gave. It was painfully obvious that the sunflowers had only gotten you to show up. The magic of them had worn off the second you sat face to face with him and had to claw through all of the emotional shrapnel that was heavy in your chest and in your mind that Matthew had caused to sit across a table from him. Just sitting across the table from him, all you had was your past with him on your mind. You had too much time to think, to remember. Matthew needed to find some way to overcome it, to make you see the him from the present and not the past when you looked at him. It wasn’t going to happen in this restaurant with nothing but time for you to get hopelessly lost in the past.

“Okay, nope,” Matthew sighed, tossing his napkin and menu onto the table. “We’re not doing lunch here.”

“You picked it,” your brows furrowed down in confusion as Matthew stood from the table. “Do you not like see anything you like?”

“I see you,” Matthew slid in with a playful smile on his face and just for a moment, you remembered why it had been so easy to fall for him what felt like a lifetime ago. “But no, this just isn’t working. Let’s get out of here.”

Matthew threw far too much money on the table considering the only thing you had ordered was water, but he felt bad for wasting the wait staff’s time, and started putting on his coat. You slowly rose from your seat to do the same, confusion pulling your brows together. A patented Matthew Tkachuk date was a meal and that was pretty much it. A change of venue mid-date? Multi part dates? Definitely not in his wheelhouse. Especially when you considered you hadn’t even ordered an appetizer yet.

“Where are we going?” you asked him as he gestured for you to lead the two of you out of the restaurant.

“Honestly,” Matthew sighed as he pulled the door open for you, waiting for both of you to exit before continuing, “I don’t really have a plan. That just felt stuffy? Weird? I don’t know. It didn’t feel like us.”

“What does us feel like, Matthew?” you sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear, a nervous habit that would never die and never stop making Matthew want to die since he thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, every single time.

“I know what it used to feel like when it was good,” he told you. “We could talk for hours about anything. We used to be able to anyway. I know it might be awhile before we can do that again, but that wasn’t like the good parts of us and you know it.”

You sighed again, something you knew you would probably be doing a lot as you tried to give Matthew the space to just try, but the part of you, a large part of you, the part couldn’t stand not being the line leader in kindergarten, was screaming at you to do something, anything. Kiss him, which would have been the worst idea you might have ever had, slap him, also not advisable, get in your car and leave, not a great suggestion either. Just something, anything other than just standing in the street, looking at him and remembering how much it all hurt, how much it hurt to love someone who always seemed to have one foot firmly planted somewhere that wasn’t with you.

“Come on. I know a better place,” Matthew told you, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts before you could fall too deep into them.

It took everything in him not to offer you his hand. He was pretty sure holding your hand might make him cry, which wouldn’t be the best look for him, but he was pretty sure it would feel like heaven. But no pearly gates were going to open for him today. He’d have to settle for standing next to you with the knowledge that maybe heaven did exist after all.

You walked side by side with him as he weaved through the streets of downtown, staying close, but far enough apart so you couldn’t accidentally brush his hand with yours. You stayed in step with him into a nearby coffee shop, the warmer more comfortable atmosphere already sinking into you and Matthew, loosening your shoulders, the tension softening. The restaurant had been cold somehow, harsh, and considering your love for him was pretty frozen in permafrost, this was much better.

“They supposedly, according to Benny, have the best blueberry scones in the city,” Matthew said softly.

“You know me,” you smiled softly.

“Love a good baked good.”

You and Matthew spoke in unison, bringing a laugh over both of you, tension continuing to loosen with each passing moment. Matthew asked you what you wanted and ordered for you, mostly so he could pay without hearing a fight from you about how you didn’t need him to pay for you. You sat down with your scone and your coffee at a table Matthew dwarfed, but he didn’t seem to mind too much as he looked at you.

“So, take two,” he joked. “Is this better by the way? You just didn’t seem happy at all there. It seems like this is more your speed.”

To say you were stunned that he was actually checking on you, trying to tune into your emotions, would be an understatement. He had showed up early and was asking about how you felt, genuinely. His blue eyes, long standing one of your favorite features of his, bounced across your face, trying to take in every micro expression before you could even answer the question.

“Yeah, Matty,” the older nickname sliding out, “this is better.”

“Okay, good,” he smiled softly and this one made its way to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

He asked you about work, desperate to catch up on the office drama he had missed. You asked for updates on the team, the things the media would never and could never find out about. He asked about your mom again and you actually told him. Sliding back into old ways, it didn’t feel like your relationship in the coffee shop. It felt like your old friendship. The world felt like it felt when you fell in love with him in secret originally. Matthew was actively listening to you the entire time, something he deeply struggled with because did he ever have the tendency to talk too much, but he was trying. He apologized for cutting you off once to tell his own story and you almost got whiplash when he sank back into his chair and verbally gave you the floor. He was making space for you, fully and honestly, and trying to appreciate you inhabiting the space he was making for you in the conversation and in his life. He talked too much, but there was a peace he found in listening to the best person he had ever had the privilege of knowing tell him stories, tell him about her life like she wanted to give him part of it and god, did he ever want part of your life.

Matthew went home that day and was damn near clinical about the whole thing, breaking apart everything he could remember about how you reacted to what he said, what you seemed to appreciate and what you didn’t. He treated his memories of it all like game tape, reviewing what he considered to be a win after a rough first period showing, looking to areas of success and areas of possible improvement and man, he was finding a lot of areas to improve. He kept getting stuck on your smile, the few true ones in the coffee shop, where you looked like the girl he fell in love with instead of the hollow one he created with his own words. Matthew let himself sit with those moments for a couple of steady breaths. You were worth the effort, he reminded himself again. You were.

The next morning you were thankfully already milling about, halfway through your coffee and halfway through getting dressed when the knock came to your front door. You had a suspicion based on the knock which somehow itself was cheery that you were going to open the door to the same delivery person as yesterday. There she was when your door swung open, ponytail swinging, smile tattooed on her face, unable to fall. This time though, she shoved a bouquet of a dozen red roses into your hands, much to your confusion. You almost asked her if she’d given you the wrong flowers, but she had already vanished who you looked up from the flowers, off to curse the next person with her cheeriness.

When you placed them on your side table next to your sofa, the spot on the kitchen table still inhabited by the sunflowers from the day before, you at least knew she’d given you the right bouquet.

Can’t always get you sunflowers, sweetheart. Got to keep you on your toes. :) - Matty

You immediately pulled your phone out of your pajamas pants pocket and shot off the first thing that crossed your mind to him.

Variety is NOT the spice of life, Tkachuk. Stick to the status quo.

You got a text back shortly after exchanging your comfortable pajama bottoms for the confines of work appropriate pants. You checked your phone seven times on your walk to your car, feeling like a version of yourself you thought you left behind in middle school. You had dealt with unrequited feelings for Matthew so long, fell in love with him in secret, that when you had the chance to love him out loud, you jumped at it and so did he. It might have been the only time you had ever been completely on the same page together. Before that, you had been fast friends, falling into friendship without any effort really by either of you. This was something else. Matthew Tkachuk was putting in more effort than you saw him put into anything besides his career. The effort was making you feel like you should be back in a plaid skirt, shoving a binder into your locker, and whispering about the cute curly-haired boy from your science class, a kid with a crush who had no idea what was yet to come.

But you could only wish you had no idea of what was to come. It had already come, running you over faster than you could ask, your heart shattering under Matthew’s feet due to his carelessness. One sentence from the speech he so carelessly used to break your heart felt like this moment. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. The amount of times you had fallen in and out of crushes in middle school was too high to even attempt to count. Was what you were feeling just a recurrence, a temporary realignment of the train on the tracks? Was Matthew putting in all this effort for fleeting feelings? Was he right this whole time?

------

Matthew Tkachuk was working against himself with you, fighting the mess he’d made of you and him a month ago. He created the situation that made you build the walls he was trying to surmount with an army of sunflowers and his poor excuse for love. Matthew was good at a few things, hockey, being a pest, and creating chaos. Righting the chaos he made had never been a task that was asked of him before and now, three days after that first day in the coffee shop, he was struggling to figure out where to go from here. He wanted to make the right decision, systematically work through the heartbreak he’d caused, taking leaps each time he saw you until maybe he’d be close enough to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again. He might have to settle for a baby step today though since you were at work, slammed with a new project from your boss, with no time to see him

He sent you lunch at work instead, from your favorite burger place you always went together. You swore you could have cried when you realized he included both sweet potato fries and regular fries, your mind pulled back to the first time you went together, back when you were just friends.

“Should I get the sweet potato fries or regular?” you asked him.

“Get the sweet potato ones,” Matthew told you, running a hand to push his curls out of his face. “You always get regular fries and complain about how you should’ve gotten sweet potato whenever we all go out to eat together.”

You agreed with his suggestion, letting the conversation fall comfortably back over the two of you as you waited for your food. You hadn’t even realized time had passed when the waitress dropped off your food. Spending time with Matthew melted away stress and your perception of the passage of time, letting you live in the moment, unencumbered by the stressful comings and goings of your day to day life.

The sweet potato fries had been a good choice. They had a honey drizzle on them and you were more than pleased with your selection. But Matthew’s regular potato fries appeared to have some sort of special seasoning on them and you were itching to try one, but Matthew wasn’t big on sharing in general, let alone when it came to food. He saw you staring at them and groaned.

“You’re the worst,” but he flipped his plate around so the fries faced you anyway. “Don’t say I never do things for you.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Tkachuk.”

You frequented that same burger joint with him throughout the years of your friendship that came after, and during your short relationship. The burgers you ordered changed, but never the fries. You got sweet potato. Matthew got regular. He let you steal as many of his as you wanted without a single complaint sliding between his lips despite dozens of repeat visits to the restaurant.

In your office, holding a container of sweet potato fries and a container of regular in opposite hands, you thought it was a little ridiculous that french fries were making tears well up in your eyes. He hadn’t forgotten. You shook your head to shake off the desperate thoughts that were swirling, the ones that were tying emotional weight to french fries of all things, and shot him off a quick text to thank him for lunch before getting wrapped back up in your day. You didn’t see his reply text until you had already kicked your heels off at home too many hours later.

Would never forget to get my girl her whole meal :)

Sometimes, love wasn’t big gestures. Oftentimes, it wasn’t even gestures that would make much sense to relay to other people. Two kinds of french fries wasn’t something you could explain to anyone else because it would just seem childish, but you felt cared for. Above all, you felt remembered when you’d opened that bag. You felt like Matthew Tkachuk had seen you almost two years ago in a restaurant and remembered exactly who you were in that moment and still knew who you were today. The french fries would go untold to anyone else, but they made you smile more than the roses on your coffee table when you fell asleep that night.

The next month felt like it happened all at once. There were enough sunflowers to create your own you-pick patch of them, rose and tulips and whatever other kinds of flowers Matthew knew the names of interspersed, just to keep you on your toes. Movies nights at his place, complete with half-burnt, half-unpopped popcorn courtesy of Matthew’s non-existent culinary skills. Nights out, full of laughter and storytelling that made you feel like nothing had ever changed, like you had flipped over an extra month in the calendar, skipping one entirely, the month you’d been apart, and moved on without it. He felt like your friend again, something that had lapsed when you’d started dating. You both tried so hard, arguably too hard, to change your relationship into a romantic one that you didn’t leave space for friendship, booting it out without anything solid to fulfill its previously occupied space. The relationship collapsed without a solid core, the frail coverings of romance too heavy for the hollow center to bear.

Matthew wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. He still talked over you, parts of his brain running faster than others. He still forgot to talk to you on road trips sometimes. He still forgot your sister’s birthday. He still resisted emotional responses from you, physically pulling back and trying to dodge conversations that would bring discomfort. The gestures were there, hundreds of them in the form of your favorite flowers, but was it enough? Did you truly believe you two were hand in hand, putting the train station of your relationship back together, or was this just an attractive paint job hiding the cracks for a few months until they became exposed again because of time? Was the effort a permanent fixture? Or was it just a passing small town station that Matthew had created to attract you, pulling you into town with the promise of nice accommodations and restaurants always being available, only to abandon them as soon as the train left the station and your life got on without you, leaving you stranded, trapped in a small forgotten town forever?

As you walked into your favorite coffee shop, you cut the line, heading right to the front like you had become accustomed to doing. Matthew had called your order in and paid for it over the phone every work day before you got there since that first day after he sent you lunch. He knew what time you usually got to your favorite shop, and worked it out with the staff that they had your order ready for you now like clockwork every day. You had been able to gain twenty minutes of sleep from it, but you were wondering now if this would all stop if you took him back or not. Really, the coffee order ceasing would be more than fine. Love wasn’t in monetary gestures like this one technically was, but what else would disappear with it? Would Matthew trying to verbally and physically make space for you in his life disappear too? Would him genuinely trying to, even if it’s hard and he’s pretty shitty at it, understand your emotions fade away? Would all the effort fragment into sporadic moments, slowly growing further and further apart until they stopped happening all together and you wasted years of your life giving Matthew Tkachuk your love and not getting enough back?

You didn’t know the answer, which is why you were thrilled you were having dinner with some of your closest, non-Matthew related friends after work. You had been keeping Matthew a bit of a secret. Actually, a complete secret. You knew your friends wouldn’t approve at the start, so you hadn’t told them a thing. They would have told you he didn’t deserve any semblance of a second shot, that the things he had said in the past could never be overwritten by future good actions, that you weren’t supposed to give people who break your heart second chances. But now, you were at a crossroads.

You could give Matthew more time, maintain the status quo until inevitably your heart gave out. You could open your arms to love him again, knowing full well that you would never be one hundred percent sure or not. You could brush him aside, thanking him for his temporary effort that would never be enough for you. Three clear options left you further from a solution than you thought possible. You needed advice. You needed opinions from people who only had stake in you in this relationship. You needed to be more selfish than you knew how to be, so you were passing the task off to your friends.

While they were usually quick to pass judgment, they were silent as you went through every painstaking detail of your past month, starting with that fated text about sunflowers, through every dinner, every movie, every moment until the text you got before you sat down in this chair at dinner with them. You were exhausted by the time you got through everything, emotionally and verbally spent, feeling no closer to your answer. You had hoped retelling everything would pull you in one direction or the other, with no such luck. Your friends, however, weren’t undecided in the slightest.

“So, you’re ending this experiment, right?”

You were shocked, almost spitting out your drink at the harshness of the words that spilled out of your best friend’s mouth. She shrugged off your shocked expression.

“I mean, it was a nice experiment, I guess, but a total waste of your time,” another friend added. “There isn’t any way to prove this is a permanent change and I, for one, will never tell you to take that kind of a risk. You’re too good to put up with a guy who very well could end up not being worth it.”

Your friends were talking a mile a minute, all at you, but really at each other in their bubble of agreement, agreement that Matthew Tkachuk was not worth your time. He could buy you flowers, coffee, as many lunches as he wanted to. He could make promises about listening and trying and making an effort, but he was on trial during it all. He was under a performance review. It was a manufactured situation as far as they were all concerned, entirely unrepresentative of who he would be outside of it. When there wasn’t a close date, a date he could begin to slack off again according to your friends, and you demanded engagement and effort from him every single day without any relief from that pressure, he would fail. He would fail every single time.

How had you not seen that? You created a situation with a time limit, a window in time he would have to be a different person than he was, with a definitive end date. Was anything he had done representative of actual change, or was it just a temporary side step towards being closer to what you needed, only to return back to his original spot when you took him back? There was no way to know if anything he had done over the last month was real or some elaborate farce.

The farce, this charade of a month, it swept the both of you up with returning feelings of seemingly endless longing from when you loved each other in secret. You were pretty sure Matthew had gotten swept up right along with you by the fantasy of fate and love being something unbreakable that would always pull people back together. This effort wasn’t real, even if Matthew believed it was. It was all part of some twisted game fate was playing by telling the both of you that you were meant to be. Two puzzle pieces that aren’t supposed to go together don’t go together, even if one tries to bend their corners until they can. Matthew thought he was cutting corners off, not just bending them, making permanent changes to fit with you, but it would never matter. The picture the two pieces that were you and Matthew created together would never be correct. You were shades of blue, like the sky on a Sunday morning as you remembered it as a child full of wonder, like the ocean, powerful and unstoppable. Matthew was red, like the deepest tones of a fading sunset, like the feeling of sitting by a fireplace on Christmas morning. Both pieces individually were beautiful and important to the larger picture, but they didn’t belong anywhere near each other. There were no transition colors. It was blue and red, black and white. They couldn’t mix. They just had to fit. And you two just didn’t fit. You didn't create a picture together. It was just two pieces trying desperately to create something you couldn't because red was your favorite color and blue was Matthew's and fate was a fucking bitch.

You were crying as you walked into your apartment building and pulled out your phone. You typed out a text that echoed one you’d received two months ago without even meaning to do it.

We need to talk. Come over?

It was identical to the one Matthew had sent before he set all of this in motion and you were about to mirror him even more closely. Before he came over, you had to have your words collected. You knew he would push back, try and argue that your friends didn’t know the two of you, that they didn’t know what you both felt. But feelings were fickle and often told lies and it was telling you and Matthew the same one right now, that this would work if you tried hard enough even though it would just hurt a thousand times worse when the lie became undeniable six months down the road.

You almost didn’t notice the small package on your doorstep, eyes too clouded with tears to successfully unlock your door on the first three tries. You snatched it off the doorstep, a sob breaking through your chest when you realized it was from Matthew, no address on the package, just your name scribbled on the top in his horrendous handwriting. He had dropped this off himself and somehow that made it all feel more heartbreaking in your chest. You shuffled inside, the fourth attempt being the charm today, and tore into the package as you kicked the door shut behind you. The wrapping was even his handiwork, too much tape, not enough but somehow too much paper, and you were ruining it with tears dripping on and staining the paper.

You sat down on the floor, back against your front door. The lid of the box slid off easily and you tossed it aside. You were greeted with a picture of your mother, one you had framed on your front table, mere feet from where you had collapsed on the floor. It was your favorite picture of her, something you had definitely told and retold to Matthew one too many times. You flipped it over in search of some reason for it’s inclusion, finding more of Matthew’s handwriting on the back.

Hey sunflower,

Hope work was good today :) If it wasn’t, I’m sorry and call me and we’ll talk about it. They switched our flights around for this roadie so I’m on a plane right now, but I wanted you to have these before I left.

You told me your mom was a big part of the reason you loved sunflowers and that she had these sunflower earrings you loved growing up, but that they were lost. I saw your mom was wearing them in this picture, so I took it to a jeweler and well, they aren’t the ones your mom wore, but I hope you like them anyway.

I know you probably aren’t ready to hear it from me, feel free to skip to the end if you aren’t, but I love you and the past month has made me realize just how much I do and how stupid I was in the past. I’m going to keep trying to get a little better every single day and maybe, if I try hard enough, I might become someone who deserves you.

- Matty

Your hands shook as you slowly set the picture on the ground next to you and pulled back the tissue paper. Nestled safely in the box were two golden sunflower earrings, delicate golden wire bending to make up their shape. They were identical to the pair your mother had worn almost every single day of every summer of your childhood. Except these were yours. And they were made for you by a boy who loved you who was trying really hard to become a man who loved you and deserved to be loved back by you.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter. Your judgmental friends didn’t matter. Your negative thought spirals that tried to ruin everything good you ever had that was risky because the best things in life were always inherently risky didn’t matter. Fate and whether or not she was on your side or not didn’t matter. Matthew Tkachuk mattered. His effort was real and raw and pure and the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for you and it mattered. And all Matthew needed for all of his effort to matter was exactly one single act of effort from you. It would have to be a continuous act, a constantly, daily task, but all he needed was your patience with him. And as you sat on the floor, tears staining your cheeks, holding a pair of sunflower earrings you knew Matthew Tkachuk was worth your patience, that he was worth your love, and that you didn’t hate sunflowers at all, not even a little bit.

People weren’t puzzle pieces. You and Matthew Tkachuk didn’t fit together seamlessly to create one image because that’s not how people work. Puzzle pieces are stagnant, fixed, unchangeable. People are supposed to flex and grow and change, be mutable over time, with contact from others. You were blue now, but there was no reason to say throughout your life, from touching other people and their beautiful lives, that you would always be the same shade of blue you were now. Tomorrow, maybe you’d meet the most yellow person you had ever met in your life, and you’d be a little more green for it. Matthew Tkachuk was red and just maybe, purple was supposed to be your favorite color.

You pulled out your phone and deleted six words and two punctuation marks you had typed walking into your apartment building, but never sent. You replaced that text with a picture of the earrings in your lap, and simple red heart emoji because you knew words would fail you and any words that came to you, you wanted to say to his face when he got back from his trip. He texted you back almost instantly, just a simple red heart emoji. Matthew had started the red hearts. When you were friends, he’d send every other color except red. But when when you started dating, he would send a red heart whenever he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t, when he was on the road and wouldn’t see you for a while, when he was across the table from you at dinner with his parents. It was one of your little quirks, little things that neither of you had forgotten, an old habit that never worked its way out of your behavior. You didn’t send red hearts to anyone else anymore, and neither did he. But you sent one to him now.

Matthew Tkachuk sat on a plane that night, wishing he could driven across town fast enough to deserve to get pulled over and kissed you instead of sending you a stupid fucking emoji. He fell asleep that night, letting himself remember what it felt like to kiss you, something he had kept in the back of his mind for the last month because the thought of never being able to do it again made his knees pull up into his chest to try and block off pain that was unfortunately coming from inside himself. But tonight, tonight he let himself remember it, let himself pretend that you were thinking of the same thing, let himself remember what it was all like with you because you wanted to kiss him too. He fell asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in months and woke up the next morning with it too, still thinking about you and getting back home to you to finally get to kiss you again.

------

Matthew didn’t even think twice when his feet touched the tarmac a few days and two road wins later. He knew where he needed to go. He got to his car and tossed his tie into the passenger seat before starting to drive way too fast to your apartment. He didn’t hit a single red light, which made him think about fate again for a brief moment, but then he remembered this wasn’t about her or anyone else. Everything was just about you, you and your love affair with big yellow flowers and hopefully, him again. He took the stairs two at a time after parking incredibly poorly in front of your apartment, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to kiss his best friend, the girl whose heart he broke, the girl that somehow didn’t hate him or sunflowers, the girl that just might love his undeserving self in spite of it all.

He barely got two knocks on your front door before you yanked it open and Matthew could swear he wanted to die. There you were, a lightness in your eyes he hadn’t seen for months returned to you. Your hair was pulled back, the earrings he had made for you on display. His eyes drifted down, taking in the familiar golden chain around your neck, the one that had been missing for two months now, the one that held a small sunflower and the number nineteen at its base. But Matthew Tkachuk swore his heart almost gave out when he saw the familiar white neckline of that damn sunflower dress. You hadn’t worn it in the past two months, unable to take it out of your closet without crying, but you put it on today and it made you smile.

“Hi,” he breathed out.

Driving over with the intent to kiss you was as far as he’d gotten and you in that sunflower dress was making it impossible to think of anything other than that one word he had managed to say.

“Hi,” you breathed back, a genuine smile pulling up the corners of your mouth.

Matthew cleared his throat, letting his eyes close for a second so maybe he could try and think about something other than how you looked right now. He let his head fall back, taking in a deep breath, giving his head a shake in a vain attempt to shake off some nervousness from his mind to clear his thoughts. It worked well enough so one thought could slip through as he let his head fall forward and opened his eyes into your gaze again.

“Do I, um, get another month?” Matthew asked you, his voice timid and frail, on the edge of breaking. “Today is a month.”

You looked up at him, eyes taking him in. The parting of his lips, the happiness that finally reached his beautiful blue eyes, the curls falling on his forehead, the wrinkled game day suit sans tie that you knew was probably crumpled in the passenger seat of his car. He was on a tightrope, ready to fall to either side with your answer. One side was absolute heartbreak, the kind he was pretty sure would taint the concept of love for him for most of this life, and the other was joy and love and happiness and everything he ever wanted. He was ready to fall with your words, giving you all the control to push him to one side or the other.

“No, Matthew,” you told him softly.

Matthew’s face started to fall instantly and he felt like his heart dropped into his stomach where his own body started to eat away at it immediately. The dress, the earrings, the red heart, everything, he thought he had finally broken through to you. More than that, he had thought he finally was loving you in a way you wanted, in a way that you deserved. He thought he finally had enough of the pieces of what you needed, wanted, and liked together in himself to be someone you wanted to give your love to. He knew a month wasn’t a lot of time, but he’d loved for over two years now. He loved you as a friend. He loved you when he thought there were only unrequited feelings. He loved you when he was your lover. He loved you when he broke your heart out of sheer stupidity, when he thought fighting meant you would never work together, that somehow he was wrong to love you. He loved you the entire month he didn’t see you. He loved you this past month he spent desperately trying to show you he could love you through actions, not just in his own head and chest, that he could love you like a partner, like you deserved to be loved.

“You don’t get another month,” you continued, each syllable twisting the knife deeper into Matthew’s chest. “You don’t get another month because you don’t have anything else to prove to me, Matthew.”

Matthew willed his eyes to find yours again, hoping the hope that had just alit itself in his chest wasn’t misguided. You were calm, your eyes steady, keeping contact with his. Matthew almost dared to feel reassured for a moment, like maybe the hope he felt when you said he had nothing left to prove was correct. But if he was wrong, which he so often was in general, but especially with emotions, yours in particular, it would just serve as an additional twist of the knife. When it was already in so deep, did it really matter anymore?

“You’re not on trial. No more tests,” you said to him, letting your love for him you had tried to store away pour out. “I want you, Matthew. I want you and me. I want to see if purple is my favorite color.”

The purple part was beyond Matthew and he made a mental note to ask you about it in a minute, but he needed to kiss you right now. He reached out and you leaned into his touch for the first time in a long time. His hands cupped your face and you rocked up on your toes as he pressed his lips to yours. Your hands came up to rest on his chest as he kissed you so softly, tenderly. He wanted to crush you into him, but that wasn’t what this moment was. This was hopefully the end of the longest period of his life he’d ever have to go without kissing you again. He wasn’t going to rush this, his second chance with the girl who loved him for some reason and sunflowers for much more obvious reasons.

Matthew was slow as he pulled away and tilted his head down to rest his forehead against yours. One of his thumbs shifted to ghost over your lips, his blue eyes staring into yours, but really past your eyes, and into you, seeing you better than anyone else did. He loved you without the rose colored glasses. He saw you and loved you, it had just taken him almost too long to figure out how to show it. It had almost taken him too long to figure out that love wasn’t just something you could feel and ride the feelings to bliss. Love was daily effort, trying and retrying and sometimes he would fail, but it was constantly showing up anyway. Love was hard, but holding your face in his hands, he knew you were worth the effort he planned on putting in every single day for the rest of his life.

“I love you, sunflower,” Matthew whispered, the words left raw and unpolished by how real the feelings he injected into them were.

“I love you too.”

#Matthew Tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine

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sweetsbfreex · 4 years

Text

a perfect mix

hi! I had this idea and decided to write it for @tbslenthusiast ‘s dadathon enjoy!

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

“Look Bub, she’s so pretty” you say sniffling, her tiny hand wrapped around your finger.

“I know love, the perfect mix of me and you, thankfully more of you,” he said laughing breathily. He stood against the hospital bed, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, and the other–just his finger, though– used to graze her puffy, blotchy cheeks.

She had just been cleaned, now wrapped in the pink hospital blanket and a cute beanie wrapped around her head.

“Shut up,” you laugh. “Look!” you whisper. “Her eyes, they're a mix of green and brown”

“See a perfect mix of us” he replied nudging your shoulder, looking at you, and lifting his finger that was on Bub’s cheek to wipe away the happy tears at the corner of your eyes. “I’m so proud of you, you really went through it back there,”

You smiled shyly at his praise, puckering your lips for a kiss which he delivered gleefully. “I'm proud of you too.”

“What’d I do? All I did was throw a few ropes in.”

“H! You can't talk like that,” he laughs at your astonished look. “If you must know, your hand really went through the ringer.”

“Oh that, that was nothing,” he says shrugging his shoulders, his lips pursing in faux confidence.

“Baby...You asked me to go easy on you,” you said laughing as his face dropped.

“Well ‘m sorry, your grip is so tight, pretty sure I would've lost circulation at some point”

You had tears rolling down your face and neck and sweat piling all over you, as you squeezed the ever daylight of Harry's hand.

“I hate you so much Harry Styles, look what you did to me” you cried, flinging your head back.

“I know, know I promise you can use this over my head for the rest of our lives” his face cringing at the sound of your tears and screams, while blotting your forehead with a cloth “but you have to keep pushing, love.”

“Okay” you whined. “harry you said ‘ours’” you cried, trying with all your might to get the baby out of you.

“Are you guys ready for the rest of the family to join you?” the nurse asked, extinguishing the duo, of their baby induced trance.

Harry angled his head a bit to anticipate your answer, you nodded in return. “Yea we’re ready,” he answered, smiling at the nurse, who left the room to rally everyone in.

He looked down again at his little family, “you ready to meet your family, my sweet little girl,” he cooed, descending his head to set a light kiss to her puffy cheek at the moment she decided to yawn eliciting a laugh from you and Harry.

In that moment you heard the door opening. Anne, your mom, Gemma, your dad, Jeff, and Glenne walked through the door with an array of pink balloons and flowers.

“Hi!” you greeted cheerfully at everyone.

Harry walked away to hug whoever he could, rotating with whoever came to the bed to gently hug you.

“I'm so proud of the two of you, look how cute she is,” your mom said sniffling bringing her finger up to the tip of her nose, pulling your head into her chest gently and placing a kiss to your forehead.

“congratulations, darlings” Anne said, hugging harry again and also placing a kiss to your forehead.

“thank you mum” “thank you mom” you and harry repeated at the same time.

You could see the pair of grandmothers trying to hold back their tears of joys and so could Harry as he released a playful groan with a “great now the mums are crying.”

“H, hush,” you say, laughing briefly.

“look how cute you all look, gather in for a picture” Gemma said pulling out Harry’s camera that he insisted on packing in the baby’s bag of all places.

Your mom stood to your left leaning and Harry doing the same on your right, however, and Anne stood next to her second-born. Everyone leaning into the middle and smiling the for picture.

“say cheese!” Gemma said.

You and Harry were shuffling around the hospital room, gathering everything you needed to go home.

“Make sure to grab all the baby formula and stuff you see” you yell over to Harry while you tried picking the baby’s going home outfit, leave it to your indecisive self to change your mind last minute.

“Harry, the pink or brown?” you asked turning around to present him the two footies.

“I like the pink better.”

“Brown it is” you say looking over the cute brown, bear like footie.

“Heyyy!” Harry dragged out, tossing a diaper to the back of your head.

Once you were finished, you raised her up murmuring how cute she looked. Kissing both her cheeks religiously. “You’re such the perfect mix y’know, look how cute you are, you smell good too,” you say kissing her lips lastly, before setting her in her car seat.

Harry walked over to both of you, winding an arm around your waist, kissing your cheek.

“Ew, Harry, that was wet,” you say, turning to bite his cheek in return.

“I’m sorry these are the people you’re being raised by, muffin,” Harry says leaning down to kiss her.

You flick him in the back of his head, his hand raising to touch the spot. “ready to go?” he asked.

You nodded, mumbling an mhm. You outstretched your hand out to grasp the handle of the seat, until a quick slap was directed to your hand.

“babe?!” you express, looking at him bewildered.

“you just gave birth, you absolutely think ‘m gonna let you carry the carseat,” he answers, voice filled with false offense, mumbling something along the lines of ‘out of her mind’ talking to the baby exactly.

“ok, well can I carry th-”

“No. Ready to go home?” reaching his thumb to massage away the furrow of your eyebrows.

“Yes”, you sigh, reaching up to kiss his cheek “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Just one of my many jobs,” he replies, hauling you in for a kiss. The baby bag on his shoulder and the baby in his opposite hand, all while his free hand embraced one of yours as you both trailed down the hallway.

You were meant to walk through the front entrance of the hospital, but it didn't seem that was happening.

“christ” Harry hissed, his jaw clenched in utter annoyance.

“What is it? H?” you asked tugging his hand.

“Think someone told the paps we were here, its fine don’t worry, we’ll just go through the back,” he said, towing you both to the desk to hopefully sort out the mess.

“meet your new home Miss Styles,” you whispered crouching in front of the car seat, taking her out.

“lovie, look at this cute set, Alessandro sent,” Harry said in excitement from the living room.

When the three of you first walked into the room, you were met with an abundance of flowers, balloons, sweets, and gifts splayed-out all over the living room and some lingering by the hallway where the front door was. What you could only assume was brought in by his assistant.

The night before you were supposed to give birth to the baby– laying in the hospital bed on your side, while Harry spooned you from behind, one hand rubbing your back and the other your belly – you both stayed up texting whoever you needed to tell them the good news.

You walked into the living room, sitting next to Harry (who still secured the box of clothes in his lap.)

“Look at these shoes, oh!, They match my Brit Award ones from 2020″ he said grinning ear to ear, holding the pair up.

“They even have her initials on the sides” you fell about happily.

“I know! We’ll have to thank him later,” he said placing them gently back in the box and the box to the floor. He laid back against the couch, holding his arms out awaiting you.

You scuttled back gently, the baby still in your arms, until you were curled up into Harry’s chest – your back to his. He bounded both his arms over your shoulders, leaning his chin on your shoulder to view the bundle in nestled in your arms.

“I can't believe we’re really parents,”he mumbled, turning his head to kiss your neck.

“I know, and this isn’t a temporary thing like our nieces and nephews,” you replied, a smile on your face.

“We’re doing this every single day”

You all sat quietly in the living room, his record playing A Sunday Kind of Love in the background. The Idyllic feeling was all over the room, Harry singing along to the song lowly by your ear, rocking the three of you slowly. You couldn’t believe it even though she was in your arms right now, jostling her head a little...uh oh.

...Before long a loud shrieking sound emitted from her small body, her hands in fists rising up to her chest.

“Yep. Every day” Harry said, sighing as her cries only got louder.

#dadathon #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles reader insert #dad! harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #dad! harry

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reinerispretty · 3 years

Text

reminiscence. (? x f!reader) pt11, the end.

hello everyone :) i know you’ve been waiting for this, and it’s finally here!! thank you all so much for liking this dumb idea i had at 2:30 am one night. i can’t thank you enough for all of your support and patience, so i hope you enjoy!!

pt1

pt10

MASTERLIST

After their discussion, Korra led their group to the darker parts of the Spirit World. They were far from where Iroh’s cozy home sat and it was a long walk. (Y/N’s) legs, feet, and back started hurting from how long they had traveled and how heavy her pack was. She shifted it uncomfortably, adjusting the straps on her shoulders. Mako glanced at her and tugged at her pack.

“Let me,” He said, offering to take the pack from her shoulders. (Y/N) shook her head, leaning away from him.

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own backpack,” She said, holding her chin high. Her muscles were killing her, but she was already the weakest link among her friends. She wasn’t about to act like it. Mako chuckled, shaking his head.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Bolin questioned, jogging to catch back up with his friends. He had never been in this section of the Spirit World before, and kept getting distracted by its flora and fauna. Korra shrugged.

“I guess I was looking for a sign.”

“So, you have no idea where we’re going?” Mako scoffed. Korra glared at him and (Y/N), desperate to ease the tension, spoke up.

“I think the way Korra is leading us is right. I mean, I have this feeling in my gut.”

“Feelings aren’t going to lead us to whatever took your memories.” It was (Y/N’s) turn to glare at Mako.

“Your negativity is what’s not going to lead us anywhere!” She inhaled a deep breath, looking back over to Bolin. He smiled kindly at her, his green eyes shining. Looking at Bolin was like being at peace. “I can feel a pull towards where we’re headed. It’s inviting but makes me want to run in the opposite direction. I’m sure that has to mean something.”

“It’s the only lead we have,” Korra agreed.

They walked over the plains and fields of the Spirit World until the sky began to darken. They had only been there a few hours, so it was not night passing above them, but rather the darkness of the forest that loomed ahead. Its trees sprouted from the ground and reached toward the sky, darkening everything around them. Their limbs held no leaves, only sharp and pointed edges of branches. Nothing could be seen within, only a darkness that seemed impenetrable.

(Y/N) swallowed. A chill traveled up her spine, settling deep in her bones. She was gripped with such a fear that made her chest tighten, and she looked between her friends with panic in her eyes. The forest was wholeheartedly not good, but perhaps the scariest thing about it was how familiar it had felt to her. Like the spirit had said, she had been here. She had set foot into its darkness and the feelings it gave her then were what she was feeling now.

She wrapped her fingers tightly around the straps of her backpack. This is where they needed to go. Korra looked back at her, raising her eyebrow as they approached the forest’s edge. “It’s in there,” (Y/N) said quietly.

“Are you sure about this?” Bolin asked.

“I was the one who didn’t even want to do this in the first place,” (Y/N) said.

“We’ve made it this far. There’s no turning back now.” Korra grabbed her hand. “Everyone should join hands so we don’t get separated in there.” (Y/N) couldn’t keep her eyes off of the forest, but she offered her hand for one of the boys. Bolin reached for it, but Mako beat his brother to it, his fingers slotting between hers. Bolin inhaled a deep breath and took his brother’s hand, and they set off into the forest.

As soon as they stepped foot inside, the darkness completely surrounded them. (Y/N’s) eyes took a while to adjust, and in that time she tripped over nearly every root she encountered, causing a chain reaction with Bolin and Mako. “Hey!” Mako called out as Bolin slammed into his back, and the younger brother groaned and rubbed his nose.

Korra formed a ball of fire in her hand, turning back to the rest of the group. “Maybe Mako should be on the end,” She suggested, “So he has a free hand.” Mako nodded, releasing both Bolin and (Y/N’s) hands to switch places.

“Wait,” (Y/N) said, shuffling her pack off of her shoulder. She reached deep inside the main pocket, pulling out a flashlight. “Korra, hold--” Her voice was lost as a powerful gust of wind blew through the trees. The forest did nothing to protect the group from the weight of the breeze, and (Y/N) was knocked to the ground. The wind was so strong that it pressed her down into the earth further. She could feel the cool dirt against her cheek and curled herself into a ball, holding the flashlight tight against her chest. She lay there until the wind had completely died down. The uncomfortable silence of the forest returned, and she sat up.

“Bolin?” She called out as she rose to her feet. She wiped the dirt from the side of her face and turned her flashlight on the point where Bolin should have been. He was nowhere to be found. “Mako?” She slowly rotated around herself. “Korra?” Her friends had disappeared, as had her pack, and (Y/N) was alone in the middle of the Spirit World forest.

Panic had started to creep in and she could feel tears welling in her eyes. She had already considered the forest to be scary, and that was with the company of her friends. Now that she was entirely alone, (Y/N) was terrified. The fear she felt was crippling, and all she could think to do was stand in place and wait for someone to come find her.

No, she couldn’t do that. Bolin, Korra, and Mako had all disappeared, and they wouldn’t do that on their own volition. As far as she knew, she was the only one with a flashlight. She had to find them.

She pointed the light ahead of her, or at least, what she believed to be ahead, and started stepping and climbing over the gnarled branches. Part of her wondered if she could call for them. What if she drew the attention of some Spirit World monster? She doubted a rough understanding of hand-to-hand combat would help her in that situation.

(Y/N) inhaled a deep breath. “I’m not scared,” She called out into the forest. It was a lie, but whatever being was out there didn’t need to know that. “I know you’re trying to scare me by separating me from my friends, but it’s not going to work!” She continued moving forward, swiping the flashlight in front of her. “At this point, you’re just making me angry, and you don’t want to see me angry!” Her voice was wavering, but it was the only thing that made her feel less alone.

---

Bolin felt a bit dazed. His body was sore, as if he had been lying down on a hard surface for hours. He clenched his fists on the dirt of the forest floor. He very well could have. “Mako?” Bolin called out, the sound of his own voice sending an ache through his head. He was having trouble remembering why he was here in the first place. He had been with Mako, that much he knew, but who else?

In his mind, he saw a flash of bright blue eyes and the colors of the Water Tribe. Korra had been with them, that’s right. But what would he, Korra, and Mako all be doing in a dark forest?

“Bolin!” He heard a familiar voice call out, and in the distance he saw a light moving back and forth. (Y/N!) That was the reason they were here, to help her get her memories back. Bolin rose to his feet.

“(Y/N)!” He shouted, scrambling over the brambles of branches and brush to reach her. They pulled at his pant legs, keeping him from moving forward at the speed he was trying to move. Bolin resorted to earthbending the plants out of the way by flipping the earth on itself. He did this over and over until he had cleared enough of a path to continue moving. “(Y/N), stay there! I’m coming to you!”

Bolin wasn’t sure if she could hear him. The light was disappearing, deeper and deeper into the forest, and he worked with haste to keep up with her. He made a mental note to tell her how fast she was.

The light was fully gone now, leaving Bolin in the dark. He didn’t have time to think about what he should do. He kept earthbending and moving forward through the trees, trying to follow the direction that he had last seen the light travel. Bolin had lost (Y/N) once, and he was not about to let it happen again.

---

While the gust of wind had pushed (Y/N) to the ground and sent Bolin in a different direction, Mako awoke tangled in the branches of one of the Spirit World trees. He was terrified when he had opened his eyes, feeling his feet dangling beneath him. He could not see how high up he was, but his backpack was caught in the limbs and there was no way Mako would be able to untangle it.

He used his bending to cast a column of fire beneath him. The trees seemed impervious to his bending, but he was able to see that he was only a few feet off the ground. Mako shimmied out of his backpack and fell to the ground, landing on this back with a heavy thump. He groaned, allowing himself a few moments to lay on the ground before standing. He lit a ball of fire in both of his palms, one to light his way and the other to throw at a potential enemy.

He wasn’t in the same place he had been, this much he was sure. The trees here were considerably shorter than the ones that had surrounded his group. Mako guessed he had been tossed back toward the edge of the forest, far away from his friends. With a heavy sigh, he pressed on toward the deepest parts of the woods.

“Bolin!” Mako shouted into the darkness, pausing every few moments to see if he could hear any shuffling. “Korra!” He repeated this process, shouting all three of his friends’ names. It was likely that them being split up hadn’t been a product of the Spirit World, but rather a conscious effort by something far more sinister. As Mako walked deeper into the forest, he felt the familiar sensation of such a fear that had only gripped him a few times during life. His thoughts drifted to a certain night with his parents, but he shook them from his head.

That was what the Spirit World did, Korra had told him, especially if you weren’t careful. You needed to keep your thoughts guarded or else they would wander and the fear that you felt on the inside would be reflected on the world surrounding you. He just hoped that Korra maintained her composure, or else everything would get very bad very quickly.

---

Korra’s eyes flew open, taking a while to adjust to the bright light surrounding her. It was such a contrast from the last thing she had seen. (Y/N) had been handing her the flashlight, since they were only lit by the light of the fire in her palm. A strong wind had knocked (Y/N) to the ground and had blown out the flame, leaving Korra and everyone else in complete darkness. But that did little to explain how Korra had ended up here.

She sat up to find where here was, exactly. To her left was the darkness of the forest. To her right was a small oasis, surrounded by lush green grass. A waterfall poured shining blue water into the small pool. The sun shined down on them, despite leaving the rest of the forest completely untouched.

A twig snapped to her side and Korra jumped to her feet, poised in her fighting stance. A man exited the forest, holding up his hands in defense. To Korra, he looked like a depiction of her Uncle Unalaq, but there was something off about him. It was as if he looked like a memory of her uncle, what she would have pictured if she had not seen him in many years.

“I apologize,” The man said, a smirk reaching his lips. “I thought this form would put you at ease.”

Korra did not hesitate to react. She kicked into the air, sending a swirling column of air toward the man. He deflected it, so she punched slabs of rock at him, which he also deflected. Korra utilized every move in her arsenal, but the man simply shot her attacks away from himself.

“Please, Korra,” He chastised. His voice was similar to Unalaq’s, but not quite. It was as if many voices were talking as he spoke. “I only want to talk to you.”

Korra paused, her chest heaving and her fists clenched at her sides. “Tell me where my friends are.”

“They’re exactly where you left them, somewhat. I do hope they do not get lost in my maze, but no matter. You’re who I’ve been eager to see.”

“Who are you?” Korra demanded. The man chuckled, taking a few steps forward. He walked atop the water without making any ripples in the pool.

“I understand that you have no connection to your past lives, is that correct? A shame, really. Aang might have been able to tell you a thing or two about my brother. Or my mother. He was quite familiar with them.”

Korra’s dark brow furrowed as she thought back to all of the history lessons she had received in her training with the White Lotus. It was hard to separate what Kyoshi had done from Aang, Kuruk from Roku, without the connection of her past lives to guide her. It only added to the rage she already felt for this man before her.

The man chuckled. “Very well, if you’re lost, I will guide you. My brother is Koh, the Face Stealer. My mother is the Mother of Faces. My brother can steal a face, while my mother can restore them. I’m sure you remember the story of Prince Zuko and Ursa. Mother had given Ursa a new face and taken away her memories to ease her pain. She also restored them, years later.”

“I’m not interested in the history lesson.” Korra cracked her knuckles.

“Quite short tempered, you are. Unalaq had told me that much. He had said you wouldn’t be any fun to work with, but I’ve had great fun toying with you. Did you like the little pet I sent to you and your friends? She’s proven to be very useful in getting you here.”

Korra blinked. “You’re the one that stole (Y/N’s) memories?” The man smiled, stretching out his arms.

“Baat the Memory Stealer, at your service.” Korra waterbended from the pool, trying to unsteady him, but it was no use. He hovered above the water, amused with Korra’s actions. “Now, Korra, there’s no need to be upset. I only needed someone to help bring you back here, to me. That was your uncle’s intended purpose, but he was so power-hungry that I always knew I needed a back-up plan.”

“You ruined her life!”

Baat shrugged. “When I met her, it had seemed as if she had ruined it herself. I have been watching you a long while, Avatar. You young adults care very little for anything else except your relationships. I saw the heartbreak on (Y/N’s) face when she had seen you and the earthbender boy on your date. And then right after, she ran into the older brother. She needed a shoulder to cry on, and he left her waiting. I approached her in the park while she waited for him to arrive and offered her a cup of tea from my shop.” Baat smiled as he reminisced on the memory. “She told me of her troubles and said, ‘I just wish I could forget everything.’” His voice mimicked (Y/N’s) perfectly. “I was simply helping her.”

“If you could travel to the mortal world, why not come to me directly? Why involve her in all of this?”

“You weren’t a fully-fledged Avatar yet. You couldn’t even airbend! What use could I have for you then?” Baat stared down his nose at her. “I needed something to tug at the heartstrings, something that would guarantee that you come to me. What better than a heartbroken girl with no memories?”

Korra set her jaw. “What do you want with me?”

---

(Y/N) hissed as a tree branch snapped at her arm and rubbed at it to make the sting go away. She had been walking for ages and was unsure if she was really getting anywhere. Her flashlight was still bright, but she wasn’t certain it would last very long. None of them had been anticipating being lost in total darkness.

A flame passed through the trees just a few inches to her right, narrowly missing her. She screamed, ducking down close to the ground, before jumping back up. Flames could mean firebenders! “Korra?” She shouted into the brush, trying to step over the branches to locate the source of the blast. “Mako!”

“(Y/N)?” Mako shouted back.

“Stay where you are, I’ll come to you!” They both said at the same time. Mako clambered over the roots to reach the sound of her voice. (Y/N) shined her flashlight all around her, growing desperate to find him, until she was pointing it directly into his eyes. Mako held up his hands to shield himself from the light and (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness you’re okay!” She wrapped her arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly and pressing her ear to his chest to make sure that she heard a normal heartbeat and not something Spirit World-y. She pulled away quickly and both were thankful neither could really see the blush on their face.

“Are you alright?” Mako asked, analyzing her limbs for any sign of distress. (Y/N) nodded.

“A little shaken up, but I’ll be fine. Have you seen Bolin or Korra?” Mako shook his head. (Y/N’s) hopeful face fell. She took Mako’s hand in hers. “Well, at least we’re together. We can find them better if we’re both looking.”

Mako squeezed her hand, as if to silently say that he wouldn’t be letting go this time. (Y/N) led him back from where she had come, and they started their walk. “Do you know what happened back there?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “There was the wind and then you guys were gone. I lost all of my supplies. I was worried I’d get stranded in here.” She laughed lightly to ease the mood.

“I won’t be of much help in that department. I lost my pack in a tree.”

“I don’t suppose I was a good forager when I had my memories?”

“Not unless you count digging through my pockets to look for candies.” (Y/N) pursed her lips.

Behind them, they heard the sound of an earthquake. The ground shook beneath their feet and Mako pulled (Y/N) into himself to help steady her. She shined her flashlight on the source of the movement and was grateful to see Bolin, a sigh of relief escaping her.

He paused his earthbending as he came upon them, squinting his eyes to see in the sudden bright light. (Y/N) ran over to him and flung herself around him before he even had the chance to register who she was. “Are you alright?” She questioned, analyzing his limbs the same way Mako had hers.

“I’m fine, just a little headache.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I think I got knocked out, or something.”

“We’ll get Korra to heal you once we find her,” Mako said.

“You guys haven’t found Korra yet?” (Y/N) shook her head.

“I only found Mako a few minutes ago. I’m not sure how long we’ve been in here, but staying longer doesn’t seem like a good idea. We need to find Korra and get out of here.”

“What about your memories?” Bolin set a hand on her shoulder. (Y/N) shook her head.

“It’s not worth putting you guys in danger.” She hopped down from the mound Bolin had created with his earthbending. “I mean it,” She told the two brothers. “We’re finding Korra and we’re leaving.”

---

Baat hummed, pressing his long fingers together as he thought. She had heard stories of Koh and the Mother of Faces, but she had never heard of this spirit. There were hundreds in the Spirit World, it was impossible for anyone to know them all. She wasn’t quite sure how, but she knew Baat was dangerous. He had stolen (Y/N’s) memories and could shapeshift. What else could he do?

“I have been alive for many years,” The spirit said. “I remember the days of the first Avatars. I never saw any purpose of getting involved in their lives, or the lives of mortals. You all die just as quickly as you are born. My brother, though, he loved torturing mortals. It wasn’t until your uncle arrived, that my interest was piqued. A human hadn’t been here since Avatar Wan. I could tell he had immense power, and wanted more.”

“It was only natural that he was drawn to Vaatu, but I watched. I, too, was tired of how you humans ripped the earth to shreds, and over trivial matters. You had no reverence for the spirits anymore.”

“But I opened the Spirit Portals,” Korra interjected. “I’m helping bring harmony between the two worlds.”

“Is that what you think you’re doing? You’ve interrupted life not only in your city, but in the Spirit World as well. You are too young, too rash, to usher in any sort of peace.” Baat inhaled a deep breath, shaking his head. “I knew your uncle wouldn’t be able to do it, either. He was too focused on what Vaatu could do for him. He was selfish, really. All I wanted from him was so he could bring you to me, but he failed at that. He wanted your power all to himself. What I am trying to do, Korra, is bring peace to all.”

“How are you any different from Unalaq? You want my bending to yourself. You ruined lives for it!”

Baat rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. You don’t think (Y/N) is better off, without her memories? I took away the pain she once had. I can take away everyone’s pain, if you would only give me what I want.”

“Why would I ever give you my power?”

“If you don’t, your friend won’t get her memories back.”

Korra wished she could talk to Tenzin, to get some guidance on what to do. There was no way that she could hand her powers over to Baat. His claim of wanting to provide peace to the world was a farce. He knew that she knew that. But they had traveled here to get (Y/N’s) memories back. How could they leave without them?

(Y/N) emerged from the darkness of the forest, with Bolin and Mako coming into view behind her. Her face lit up in relief as her eyes landed on Korra. She moved to run over to her friend, but Mako grabbed her by the elbow, his amber eyes trained on the being before them.

“Ah, (Y/N),” Baat said with a smile, extending his arms out to her. “It’s so good to see you again. I’ve enjoyed watching your journey in the mortal world.” The pool beneath him flickered, showing her laughing with Bolin over toast, diving into the river on top of Naga with Korra, practicing her hand-to-hand combat with Asami, and lastly, Mako kissing her on the balcony of the ship. (Y/N) winced, shutting her eyes tightly.

“You know him?” Bolin questioned, face looking pale from having just witnessed his brother kiss his ex-girlfriend.

“She does, she just doesn’t realize it yet.” There was nothing familiar about the spirit in front of her, but (Y/N’s) blood ran cold with icy fear. If she had been scared in the forest, she was absolutely petrified standing in front of Baat. The worst part of it all was that she couldn’t tell why she was scared. This spirit had an effect on her that terrified her. “Although she could, if Korra agrees to my terms.”

Korra’s hands clenched at her sides. She turned back to her friends. “If I don’t give him my powers, he won’t give (Y/N) back her memories.”

(Y/N) felt her stomach drop. As intimidating as the Spirit World was, she had been hopeful that somehow, they would be able to get her memories back. She would leave this place knowing who she was and knowing her place in the world.

But there was no way she could let Korra do this. She stepped out of Mako’s grip, walking down to stand beside her friend. The closer she got to Baat, the more she wanted to run, but she inhaled a deep breath and tried to pretend that her nerves were even. “Keep my memories,” She told Baat.

His smile fell immediately. “(Y/N),” Korra started, but she shook her head.

“I know what I’m doing. I know what it’s like to feel lost, Korra, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Especially not you.” She shrugged. “I’m not the same person I was and that’s okay.” (Y/N) turned to Baat, taking Korra’s hand in hers. “So we won’t be accepting your offer.”

“I suppose if you won’t give me your powers, I’ll have to take them for myself.” His appearance as Unalaq fizzled out of existence, leaving in its place a snake-like creature that towered above them. He unhinged his jaw and a beam of bright light began forming inside, pointed directly at Korra.

(Y/N) didn’t want to wait to see what would happen. She threw her flashlight upward, knocking Baat in the side of his head with the heavy metal. He went to the side and the light hit the trees, completely wilting them.

“What an arm!” Bolin cheered, forming the same mound of earth that he had been traveling on. Mako joined him, and Korra did the same with (Y/N). They earthbended as quickly as they could into the forest, but Baat was slithering behind them, nipping at their heels.

Mako utilized every firebending move he could without losing his balance. He had to defend not only himself and Bolin, but (Y/N) and Korra as well. The Avatar could only spare a few shots at the spirit until she had to return to earthbending, or else she and (Y/N) would be thrown off. (Y/N) felt helpless, wishing there was something she could do.

Something heavy came down on top of her head, nearly knocking her over. She let out a shout before realizing what it was. In the flashes of light from Mako’s firebending, she saw his pack. Their movement must have dislodged it from the trees, causing it to fall. She reached out and grabbed it before it was lost forever and began digging around inside.

She wasn’t sure if Mako had meant to take Asami’s pack, but she was pleasantly surprised to find the inventor’s electrified glove inside. If they made it out alive, (Y/N) would be sure to let Asami know just how much she loved her.

(Y/N) had no idea how this glove was supposed to be used, but she knew she needed to wait for the right moment. Baat had paused in chasing after them, and was rearing his head back to power up his light blast. “Split up!” (Y/N) shouted to Korra and Bolin. The two crossed their earthbending mounds in front of each other, hoping to confuse the serpent. Without Mako’s fire, Korra and (Y/N) were left in the darkness.

Korra kept pressing forward and (Y/N) was too worried to make a sound in case Baat had gotten them confused. All that could be heard was the movement of earth beneath them. (Y/N) was trying hard not to berate herself for these events. She had known that she had a strange feeling about being in the Spirit World. She had anticipated that there would be danger, but she never expected it to be anything like this. And now there was a giant serpent monster spirit thing chasing them so that it could gain Korra’s powers and take over the world. Fantastic day this was shaping up to be.

And while everyone was so ready to put themselves in danger for her, (Y/N) felt horrible. She couldn’t bend. She had no way of protecting her friends like they were willing to do for her.

“Thought you could hide from me, did you?” Baat’s voice loomed in the shadows. Korra paused her earth bending, leaving them both standing on top of a mound of dirt. She shot fire, air, and summoned water from the trees to attack Baat, but he was impossible to locate. The darkness of the forest surrounded them wholeheartedly.

Korra lit fire in her palms to give them at least a bit of light. She looked over to (Y/N), and she noticed the hint of fear that was in the Avatar’s eyes. He had taken (Y/N’s) memories, what if he took hers? What if he ended up getting her powers after all? There would be no one there to stop him.

(Y/N) swallowed. Korra was the strongest person she knew, and even she was scared. That thought should have terrified her. If Korra was scared, surely there was no hope for them.

(Y/N) pressed her lips into a harsh line. No. She would not allow this to happen. Her friends had been willing to risk everything for her, and she would do the same for them.

The light formed to their right, directly behind Korra. (Y/N) pushed her to the side and turned on the electricity glove. Even if it meant risking everything, she would do her best to protect them.

She leapt off of the mound of dirt and into the blinding light.

---

Asami and Tonraq had been through so many games of Pai Sho, they had lost count. Each hour that her friends were gone, Asami grew more nervous. “Does time pass differently in there?” She asked Tonraq. He smiled at her and shook his head.

Asami gnawed on her bottom lip. It had been over twelve hours since she had watched her friends pass into the Spirit World. She knew she was being overly optimistic when she had expected it to be a sort of in-and-out situation, but three of the best benders she knew were in there. Surely if something went wrong, they would be able to handle it.

She hoped that Mako had found the glove she had placed in his pack and given it to (Y/N). While (Y/N) had done great in her training, Asami knew firsthand how easy it was to forget everything as soon as you were faced with the first inkling of danger. She would have given it to (Y/N) outright, but she was sure the girl would have refused. “You need this to protect yourself!” She could hear (Y/N) insisting. Asami smiled wryly as she moved her Pai Sho tile.

Tonraq heard them before she did. The crunch of boots against snow was barely audible, but he was so much more accustomed to the silence than Asami was. He stood and Asami scrambled up to join him, leaving the Pai Sho tiles forgotten between them. Although her jacket and pants were bulky, she ran to the best of her ability to meet her friends.

The bright smile on her face faded instantly, and she brought a hand to her mouth in horror. In Bolin’s arms lay an unnaturally limp (Y/N). Her clothes were singed, and in some areas the cloth melded with her skin in horrible burns. Her head rested against Bolin’s chest, but it bobbed back and forth as he walked.

Korra looked to her father, her bottom lip trembling. “I need your help,” She said, her voice sounding authoritative yet hollow. Asami knew that she felt the need to be the strongest among everyone, but even Korra was known to falter. “I tried my best in the Spirit World, but I couldn’t get her to wake up. I--I tried really hard, Dad, I don’t know why she isn’t waking up.” Korra’s eyes welled with tears.

“Asami,” Tonraq said, and she snapped back to reality. She tore her eyes from (Y/N’s) form to look at him. “Gather all of the blankets and place them in my tent.” She nodded and started rummaging through their packs, pulling out blankets and laying them on the floor of Tonraq’s large tent. Mako soon joined her, his face looking blank and sallow. He leaned down to the firepit in the middle of the tent and lit it.

“Mako,” Asami started, but he didn’t look at her. “What happened?”

“I didn’t see it,” Mako said, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat. “She was with Korra.”

Tonraq entered the tent with (Y/N) in his arms, Bolin and Korra only a few steps behind. He lay (Y/N) atop the blankets. “I need everyone out of the tent except Korra,” He said, giving them an order but doing so gently. “She’s the only one who can help me heal her.”

Nodding, Asami pulled the two brothers out of the tent. Bolin’s eyes were rimmed red with tears, but Mako was frozen, his head hanging as he stared down at the ground. “Can someone please tell me what happened while you guys were in there?”

Bolin told Asami the whole story starting at the very beginning, from Iroh’s house to Baat chasing them through the dark forest. “(Y/N) told us to split up,” He said, struggling to form the words as sobs clawed their way up his throat. “Mako and I weren’t anywhere near them when it happened. Korra told us that Baat had been behind her, so (Y/N) noticed him first. She pushed Korra away and jumped right in his mouth, just before he used his powers on Korra.”

“We met up with them again outside the forest,” He continued. “There was a huge explosion. Korra thinks that she used your glove inside of him. When we found Korra, she was trying to heal her.” Bolin closed his eyes, trying to block the memory of (Y/N’s) lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. “Korra managed to bring her back, but she kept fading away.”

Mako remained silent, but Asami noticed as the tears he blinked away landed in the snow. “I’m sure she’ll be okay,” Asami said, trying her best to remain positive, although their odds weren’t looking great. From what Bolin had told her, it sounded like (Y/N) had been at the very center of an explosion. The electricity of the glove was enough to incapacitate anyone, but that coupled with the energy of a spirit...Asami had no clue what that could mean. At the very least, she believed it to be a miracle that (Y/N) was still in one piece.

They waited around the fire in silence as Tonraq and Korra worked. The sun was starting to rise over the horizon before they heard anything. Korra stepped out of the tent, her cheeks puffed from the tears she had shed throughout the night. Asami ran over to her first, wrapping Korra in a hug. Korra gripped her tightly, burying her face in her neck. The sobs that she had been holding in so she could work escaped her body all at once, leaving her a heaving mess in Asami’s arms.

Tears flowed freely from Asami’s green eyes. If Korra was this upset, it could only mean the worst. Mako kicked a log from the fire pit into the snow before storming off. Bolin collapsed back into his seat, staring straight ahead. He had just gotten (Y/N) back and now he was losing her all over again.

Tonraq stepped out of the tent, waiting until the friends had gained some of their composure to speak. “She’s more stable than she was,” He told them. “But I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to wake her up. We have to get her back to Kya as soon as possible.”

He radioed for Varrick, who sent one of his commercial planes to pick them up within the hour. Tonraq remained in the Southern Water Tribe, but instructed them to keep him updated on everything that was happening. (Y/N) and Korra remained in the back of the plane so she could perform healing if necessary, and the rest of the group sat tensely as they flew back to Republic City.

The plane landed on Air Bender Island and Kya and Tenzin boarded before anyone could exit. Tenzin took (Y/N) into his arms and whisked her off into the house’s back rooms. Korra stood up to follow, but Kya pressed a hand to her chest to stop her. “It’s not your fault, but you are too out of control of your emotions. You’ll do more harm than good.” With that, she went to join her brother.

Pema stepped onto the plane then. Normally she had children running at her heels, but it was as if everyone could tell the weight of today. “Why don’t you all come inside and rest?”

---

It was an entire two weeks of hushed whispers and “adult” discussions. One by one, Asami, Bolin, and Mako returned to their homes, requesting that Korra notify them as soon as there was any news. Bolin and Mako were keen on staying on Air Temple Island, but were forced by Tenzin to go home and at least change their clothes.

So Korra sat on the island and trained, trying to do absolutely anything that would keep her mind off of the girl that lay in the back room of the house. Truly, things were not going very well for Korra. The city was angry over the Spirit World vines that had grown over its property. It was like no matter what she did to make people happy, it always backfired.

Korra was fast asleep when she heard Naga growl at the door. A knock sounded against the wood, and a groggy Korra opened the door as she wiped sleep away from her eyes. Kya stood before her, a slight smile on her face. “She’s awake.”

Korra didn’t hesitate to run down the hall, Naga barreling after her. She flew through the door, startling (Y/N). Naga bounded inside, licking a stripe up (Y/N’s) cheek. The girl laughed, wiping at the slobber with a bandaged arm. “Hey, Korra,” She croaked, her voice husky from not being used for weeks.

The Avatar flew forward, wrapping her arms around her friend. “I’m--Wow! You’re back. And you remember who I am!”

(Y/N) nodded. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?” (Y/N) nodded excitedly.

“It’s a little overwhelming, having so many memories in my head now.” She squeezed Korra’s hand.

“I’m so glad you have your memories back. Now I won’t feel as bad for doing this.” She slapped an uninjured part of (Y/N’s) arm. “What were you thinking!”

“I was thinking about how you guys risked your lives to help me! And I had to do the same for you.”

“There’s only enough room for one reckless person on this team, thank you very much.” Still, Korra couldn’t help but grin. The past few months had been the hardest of her life, but at least (Y/N) was okay.

Asami was the first to arrive. She had been up late tinkering with an idea for her company, so she had come as soon as Korra told her. Much like Korra, she too hugged (Y/N) and then promptly berated her for her actions. “I wouldn’t have given you the glove if you were planning on killing yourself!”

“It was more a spur of the moment decision than anything,” (Y/N) laughed.

Bolin came next, later in the morning. Since her legs were still badly burned and she hadn’t used them in weeks, Korra wheeled (Y/N) out into the courtyard so he could see her. With her memories back, (Y/N) was overcome with emotion at the sight of him. As he approached her, she realized he was crying, too, but the smile on his face was as wide as ever.

He kneeled down so he was eye level with her. “We have to talk,” She said immediately, and Bolin’s eyes widened.

“Are you sure? You just woke up last night, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not--” She shook her head to cut him off.

“My mother made me break up with you. She said I’d lose my job if I stayed with you and with that, my house. I didn’t want to, Bolin, but I didn’t really see myself having another choice. You and Mako already struggled so much just to take care of yourselves. I thought it would just be easier if I cut things off completely. But I realized soon after that the life my mother wanted me to have wasn’t the life I wanted to lead. So I came to find you. And that’s when I saw you on the date with Korra. I didn’t know who she was, I just thought you had moved on. I ran into Mako and he told me to wait for him at the park. That’s where Baat found me, except then he looked like a very nice old lady.”

“She, or he, rather, could tell I was upset and invited me for tea. I figured I could kill a few hours before Mako was done with practice, so I went. I poured my heart out to Baat and told him that I wished I could forget everything. The next thing I know, I woke up where all of this started. I think Baat kept me in a sort of trance-like state until I could be of use to him.” She inhaled a deep breath once she finished. “I’m really sorry for all the hurt I caused you, Bolin.”

Bolin smiled and took her hand in his. “It’s okay, (Y/N).”

“I didn’t mean it when I told you I didn’t love you.” Bolin knew her well enough to hear the “but” before it came. “I loved you so much, Bolin.”

“But if things had been different…” He trailed off. The sting was much lesser than it had been before. Bolin supposed this was only natural. It had been over a year since they had been together. If he really dove into his own feelings, he had a hard time discerning between nostalgia and the present.

“Are you mad at me?” (Y/N) asked, her voice incredibly soft. Bolin’s green eyes flashed.

“Of course I’m not mad at you,” He said. “You have to do what’s best for you. Just...promise me you won’t disappear again?”

(Y/N) grinned, wrapping her arms around Bolin’s shoulders. “I promise.”

Mako couldn’t arrive until later in the day, when the sun was already beginning to set over Republic City. He had gotten the news that (Y/N) was awake earlier in the day, but he had already been at work, and there was no way the Chief would let him off his shift after a two week vacation. He rushed to Air Temple Island as soon as he was relieved. He would have extra paperwork to do in the morning, but he figured it was worth it.

Korra directed Mako to where (Y/N) sat in the gazebo. They had moved a bench there so she could sit and get some more fresh air. He cleared his throat as he approached her from behind. (Y/N) turned to look back at him, a smile on her face.

“Nice uniform,” She quipped. “Are you gonna ticket me?” He glanced at the wheelchair to her side.

“Only if you don’t follow the speed limit,” He said back, and (Y/N) laughed. He took a seat beside her on the bench. “How are you feeling?”

“My head feels really heavy,” She told him. “I never thought memories carried so much weight, but it feels like I’ve got ten bricks on my shoulders.”

“You have your memories back?”

She nodded. “Every single one of them. I wished I could’ve let go of the embarrassing ones, but oh well.” They sat for a few moments, watching the sun crawl further and further below the horizon.

(Y/N) hadn’t anticipated how many memories she would have of Mako. She saw flashes of cheering him and Bolin on at their probending competitions. He used to bring home her own order of dumplings whenever he brought Bolin’s. Giving her his jacket when they were caught in the rain, and Mako’s lips turning up at the corners at a joke she had told. But one memory stood out above them all, so apparent that she wondered how Baat had even been able to erase it.

She remembered the memory that Mako had shared with her a few weeks back, while they sat around the fire pit before entering the Spirit World. They had sat for hours together, just talking, until Bolin had gotten home. (Y/N) had gone up to bed with him, but returned downstairs a few hours later, battling a fit of sleeplessness. She had been surprised to see Mako still sitting on the couch, listening to the low hum of the radio.

“Can’t sleep?” She had whispered, and Mako’s eyes snapped up to look at hers. He gave her a half smile before nodding. She had joined him on the couch, pulling her knees into her chest. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Mako said dismissively, but (Y/N) had been around him enough to know when he was lying.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” She said. “But I’m always here for you, Mako. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“I’ve got Bolin.”

“And me, too.” Mako remained silent, so (Y/N) hadn’t pressed further. Instead, she hummed along to the music playing on the radio. “Do you know this song?” It was something slow and sweet, lacking any vocals but the instruments succeeded in carrying it.

Mako nodded. “Mom and Dad used to dance to it.”

(Y/N) stood, offering Mako a hand. “Dance with me?” He stared at her, an amused eyebrow raised. “As friends,” She had added, because for some reason she felt the need to clarify.

“I can’t dance,” Mako admitted. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him to his feet.

“It’s not that hard, unless you’re doing some super advanced moves.” She slotted her fingers in his and placed his other hand at the small of her back. She rested her other hand at the back of his neck. “You just move in time with the music.” She stepped back, and Mako’s foot followed her. They stepped around the living room, Mako’s eyes flickering between (Y/N’s) face and their feet the entire time. “You’re doing great!” She exclaimed quietly.

“I think I’m supposed to be leading.”

“I thought you couldn’t dance?” Mako smirked as if he was hiding a secret from her. As far as (Y/N) knew, he could have been.

At the very heart of the song, where the music was the most powerful, he spun her around with one arm. (Y/N) let out a surprised squeak before having the breath knocked out of her by Mako dipping her down. She stared up at his amber eyes, taking note of how their faces were only inches apart.

He brought her back up and (Y/N) had felt dizzy, although she wasn’t sure if that was from the spin or being so close to Mako. He gave her an amused bow. “Thanks for the dance,” He said, before retiring to his bedroom.

In the present day, (Y/N) inhaled a deep breath. She hadn’t realized it then, but she had always felt something for Mako. And it was stronger now than ever before.

Without looking at him, she inched her hand closer to his, wrapping her fingers around his gloved hand. Mako stared at her, surprised. “I thought you remembered everything about you and Bolin.”

She nodded, still refusing to look at him. If she did, she feared that she would lose her nerves. “I do. But I remember everything about you, too, and--” She sighed. “I’m doing a horrible job at this.”

“I’m having fun,” Mako told her, and she glared at him. Her heart nearly melted at the soft expression on his face. Mako rarely showed such tender emotion.

“I need to do something and I need you to be quiet while I do it,” She told him, and Mako chuckled at the callback to that night on the balcony. She leaned forward slowly, her heart beating a thousand beats a minute. Every nerve in her body felt like it was short circuiting and she paused, looking up at Mako. He smiled down at her before meeting her in the middle and pressing their lips together.

For weeks, (Y/N) had thought that the part of her that had been missing were her memories. As it turned out, it was Mako.

---

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aot-brainrot · 3 years

Note

Dudeeee if you would write me something abt me and hotch and me being a brat like in front of the team and he gets angry or like I flirt with Spencer to piss him off... and then he fucks me really hard like overstimulation and squirting and cream pie. And can he call me babygirl, kitten, bunny and I call him daddy. Okay I think that’s it lol

NSFW Drabble below!

Pairing: Jealous!Daddy!Hotch x brat!sub!reader

Warnings: Cursing. Dom/sub relationship, brat taming, restraints (handcuffs), degradation, name calling, choking, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, impregnation/breeding kink.

Word count: 2034

You hadn’t planned ahead for any of this, but you weren’t exactly surprised either when it happened. You woke up to find that Hotch was still asleep, his pajama pants already tight from whatever dream it was that he was having. He would’ve been embarrassed if he knew that you caught him having a wet dream. You smirked to yourself, though, a plan forming in your mind, and so you slid out of bed and raced to get dressed for the day. Hotch was awake when you walked out of the closet. He turned to say good morning to you, his morning wood already suspiciously gone, but he stopped suddenly when he saw what you were wearing. You had put on a low v-neck shirt with a pair of pants that were tight around your ass and thighs but flared out at the bottom. Every bit that Hotch loved about you was on display for everyone to see yet he never said anything, even when the two of you were in the car or walking into the office.

It wasn’t until you leaned down to pick up a piece of paper after you dropped in front of him and Reid that you finally felt his glare. He was watching you closely. You tried to shake it off, pretending like you didn’t notice, and you walked a few steps towards Spencer to hand him the paper. You bit your lip when you looked up at him.

“Spence, did you get a haircut or something? You look cute.”

He cleared his throat as he blushed. “I, uh... Yeah, I did...” He tucked one of his curls behind his ear.

“I like it.” You put a hand on his bicep.

“Thanks.”

Hotch had impressive self-restraint, however, and it was plain to you as you went through the rest of the day, continuing with your plan of making Hotch incredibly jealous by flirting with Spencer, and he never once said or did anything. All you got was that glare.

When you got home, that was an entirely different story. The second the door was closed behind you, Hotch pinned you against the wall with a hand on your neck, and you gasped, clawing at his wrist to make him let go, but he refused. His grip tightened.

“You thought it was funny, brat; didn’t you?” he said into your ear.

You played dumb. “I don’t know what you mean, Daddy—”

“Don’t lie. Try again.”

You were still trying to get out of it by wiggling and insisting that you had no idea what he was talking about, but Hotch growled angrily and used his grip on your neck to start pulling you upstairs to the bedroom. You yelped as he tossed you onto the bed and he didn’t hesitate to restrain your hands behind your back using his handcuffs. He flipped you back over to look up at the ceiling when he was sure that you were at his mercy.

“First, the clothes…” He tore your pants off and scrunched your shirt up around your collarbone so that he could see your bra. He let out a shaky breath. “And then bending down for that paper…” He tore your panties off. “Lastly, you purposefully flirted with Spencer for the entire day whenever I was looking over in order to make me jealous.” His fingers found your clit without warning. Something in his eyes told you that he didn’t want to waste time with teasing and edging you when he could torture you in other ways that satisfied his urge to tell you: “You’re mine. Only mine. Never fucking forget it.” That look in his eyes somewhat scared you, but the thought disappeared when he dipped his fingers into you and started fingering you as fast as possible. “At first, I thought to myself that we were going to get home and I wasn’t going to touch you— or at least not let you cum; but then I realized that the brat in you would’ve said some stupid shit about Spencer—” You cut him off with a desperate moan when he hit your g-spot. “So, I realized that I had to do something to remind you that I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.”

“Daddy, I’m close.”

“Already?” he teased with a proud smirk.

“Yes. Daddy, please.”

“Cum, bunny. Cum for me.”

You bucked around as his fingers continued to help you through your orgasm, stretching you when your walls tightened around him with every wave and golt that passed. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you.” You panted as you slumped against the bed, but Hotch didn’t stop. You shifted uncomfortably. “Daddy—”

“I’m the only one who can make you cum, baby girl… So, I’m going to make you cum.”

“But- But I… Fuck…” When his thumb started rolling circles over your clit, you tensed up at the feiling, your stomach and muscles still too tight from your orgasm. “I already did, Daddy.”

“And you’ll do it again.”

You tugged at the handcuffs under your back in an attempt to free yourself and pull his touch away from your sensitive pussy, but to no avail. “Daddy, I can’t.”

“You can, baby. I know you can. I can feel it. You’re so wet for me, so tight so that my fingers and cock can stretch you the way we both love.” He parted his index and middle fingers, doing exactly what he was talking about: stretching you. “Just like that…” He snickered. “And if I do this...” He curled his fingers and used his wrist to rotate around and bob as he fucked you with the pure intention of making you cum as fast as possible. “Feel that?”

You nodded and screwed your eyes shut. “Daddy, I’m gonna cum again.”

“So fast… Just like a good whore should.”

You moaned and tried to turn onto your side as another attempt to escape, but Hotch pressed his free hand on your hip, holding you steady as he somehow managed to fuck you harder through your second orgasm. You were squirming, begging for him to stop, but he was just chuckling at how pathetic you look. And then your back arched as you cum again by some miracle— a third orgasm before the second one could even finish— but it was more than that. You felt an extra release, something you were unfamiliar with.

When you calmed down, your back falling against the mattress again, you lifted your head up, and you saw the mess on the sheets, Hotch’s hand, and on his knees that were between your legs. You realized what you did. Hotch was entirely starstruck, staring at you with a wolf-like hunger. He looked so proud of you, too.

When you blushed and tried to hide yourself by sinking into the bed, he smirked and pulled his fingers from you, wiping them up and down your slit to collect everything, and he teased, “Aw, bunny, you made a mess.” And then he started playing with you again. “Let’s see if I can force another out of you.”

You shook my head. “Please, no, Daddy. I can’t.”

“Would you try again for Spencer?” he scolded, his smile fading, his usual frown returning as he used his free hand to choke you again. “You would; wouldn’t you?”

You shook your head. “No, Daddy, promise. I’ll do it for you. Whatever you want, Daddy.”

He kissed you roughly. “That’s my good girl.” Hotch removed his touch from you entirely so that he could sit back on his knees and start fiddling with his pants. When he was bare, there was no hesitancy between lining himself up with your entrance and thrusting all the way into you in a way that made you scream and he snickered. “Is it too much?”

You nodded. Between cumming three times, as well as squirting, and now having to take every inch of him, your whole body was screaming for mercy, but it was also begging for more. You were so conflicted between needing a break and needing him to fuck you harder. Hotch didn’t give you an option. He steadied himself on his knees between your thighs, held onto your hip with one hand, and while he drove into you over and over again without mercy, his other hand was using his delicate, talented fingers to play with your overstimulated clit. You screamed again. He loved hearing your screams. He loved how pathetic and needy you sounded for him— only him. No one else could make you cum that many times, squirt even once, or fuck you the way that Hotch could. The two of you always understood that, which was why you had been a brat in the first place, but now Hotch had every reason to prove it to you.

“My fucking whore,” he grunted into your ear. “A brat all day, but nothing but pathetic moans in bed. Why is that? Hmm?”

“You- You… Shit…” You struggled against the cuffs. “You, Daddy. Because of you.” He was close enough to you that you were able to breathe into his neck now to try and hide your helpless pants. “You’re so good to me, Daddy.”

He growled happily. “Fuck, kitten.” You melted at his words. “Cum when you want. Cum as many times as you can.”

“Daddy, I need you.” You already had him, but that wasn’t what you meant. You knew that the only way he was going to relent was after he had cum, and if he were going to do that, you at least wanted to make it count. “Cum in me, Daddy, please.”

Hotch moaned, so taken aback by your words. “Fuck. You wanna be my cum bunny? Walking around with me leaking down your legs? Wondering if anything will stick?”

You moaned, too. “Yes, Daddy. Please, please, please, please—” You were boiled down to nothing but those repeated pleas as your aching clit couldn’t take it anymore, so that knot that had been building in your stomach finally broke, making another orgasm wash through you. You twitched around on the bed somewhat. Hotch continued to fuck you and play with your clit. “Daddy, stop, please!” You squirmed involuntarily. “I can’t!”

“I want you to make another mess for me, bunny, and then I’ll consider stopping.”

“I can’t,” you whined, on the verge of tears.

“Yes, you can.”

Your legs kicked around on the bed as another orgasm crashed through you in the most painful of ways, making you dribble with squirt this time opposed to the force it had before. You cried at the humiliation. “Daddy… Please…” You were so tired and used now, and your worn out cries were a signal to that.

Hotch finally took mercy on you, pulling his fingers away from his clit, but that wasn’t an excuse to stop fucking you. As his wet fingers worked their way into your mouth, Hotch let out a string of curses that ended with him driving into you one last time before burying to the hilt as he came inside of you, giving you every drop. He groaned as he gave another short thrust to make sure everything came out. When you stopped sucking on his fingers, he slowly pulled out of you and ducked down, watching as his cum started to leak out of you already. He didn’t like that. He wanted you to be full, to be reminded that it was him you were carrying around— Him, not Dr. Spencer Reid. If you were going to remember who you belonged to, then you needed to hold onto every drop. So, Hotch made sure it stayed there. He collected what was dripping down to your ass and started gently fucking it back into you. You whimpered again at the feeling, but at least it wasn’t enough this time to make you cum. You could live with that.

“My baby girl’s going to carry my seed around,” he hummed happily. He looked up at you through his lashes. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

You nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I belong to you.”

“Yes, you do.” He smirked and kissed you again.

#mine #fanfic #drabble #hotch #reader #sub!reader #ask

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lizbotw · 4 years

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Kageyama, Tanaka, and Daichi When Their Younger Sister is Dating Someone from the Volleyball Team

Anonymous said:

Hello can you please write hcs for how Kageyama, Tanaka, and Daichi would react to finding out that their younger sister is dating someone from the volleyball team ? I feel like they’d have the most reaction from the team lol

they definitely would have a big reaction, i agree with you!!! this was really funny to think about aha. lots of protective big bro headcanons ahead! i hope you like them because i spent a bit too much time on them and they almost morphed into actual scenarios lmao so please let me know what you think! ♡

Kageyama Tobio

This idiot is so focused on himself and volleyball that he would barely even think to worry about what was going on in your life.

Sure, you guys shared snippets of your day as you tossed a volleyball back and forth in your backyard during the evenings, but most of the time he was so tired from afternoon practice that he just wanted to eat dinner and crash (you had to shake him awake and drag him out of bed several times to remind him to do his homework because you were just that nice to him ♡ he didn’t seem to appreciate it though).

You didn’t always need verbal communication though because the comfortable silences of your walks home and the way you always slipped each other snacks whenever one of you was up late (you usually studying for a test the next day while he was just staying up late for the novelty of it all—laying down in bed and tossing a volleyball above his head, watching volleyball videos, staring out the window dramatically thinking about volleyball… you get the idea).

For all you knew about each other and your routines, Tobio seemed unable to even think about change in a context that included you—you were his little sister and it would always stay that way, and he was caught up in his own life and the changes he had to go through to grow. You were meant to be a constant.

That’s probably why he was the last person to expect you getting in a relationship—and with someone from his team no less.

Popping your head into the gym one day—holding a bag of meat buns you had bought for him and he had forgotten on the counter at home—turned into a regular routine once his teammates seemed to take a liking to you.

They bombarded you with teasing questions about the “King” and his personal life, and you were asked how it felt to be “royalty” (“Nice one, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi snickered at some point in response to that).

You stole glances out of the corner of your eye at Tobio aggressively chugging water on the sidelines and hiding his flustered face, finding him looking back at you intently. You gave him a knowing smile and it was as though another silent pact was formed.

You made small jabs at your brother as you joked around with the teammates, but you always steered the conversation away from topics you just knew he would throw a volleyball at your head later for answering.

Lighthearted conversations were always expected when you paid short visits to the gym, and the overexcited members always immediately abandoned their drills to talk to you, earning them quite the earful from Coach Ukai, although that never seemed to stop them.

But then your visits started getting longer and longer until suddenly you were staying for the entire afternoon practice sessions whenever you had time and even helping with manager duties on the side. You had always gone to your brother’s games (he forced you to come, even if you protested that you had already made plans with your friends that day) so you weren’t all that interested in what he was up to because you had dealt enough with his self-obsessed phase in middle school.

However, you were interested in Tobio’s latest move—just not the Tobio part. The infamous quick was now all yours to see up close and while the genius setting abilities of your brother came at no surprise to you, you couldn’t help but go slack jawed every time you saw the energetic orange-haired boy Tobio always bickered with leaping into the air.

(Actually, you were still in awe of your brother, but you were reluctant to admit it and inflate his ego so you stayed quiet. Also, you wanted to take the time to admire other volleyball players too, not the same one you had been cheering for for years. Tobio seemed to understand your emotions without you needing to explain them though and didn’t take them to heart—you two just knew things like that about one another.)

The game moved fast, as volleyball had the tendency to do, but even as you watched the practice matches and drills, your eyes locked onto the short player each and every time he sprung into the air, hair flying and arm drawn back for a powerful spike.

Hinata Shouyou—his name was about all the useful information you got out of Tobio when you asked him later during the walk home before he went back to complaining about how Hinata can’t do this and Hinata can’t do that. You rolled your eyes and tuned him out—just sibling things, you know.

Thank God he had told you that at least because you had embarrassingly forgotten a majority of the team’s names after they hurriedly introduced themselves when they first met you and then never made an effort to remind you of their names afterwards.

Hinata wasn’t the only one you had your eyes on though.

Tsukishima Kei—tall and blonde with a feisty attitude that was strangely alluring, mainly because he managed to get under Tobio’s skin almost better than you ever could. His blocks were clearly calculated, and his demeanor was cool and effortless, or snarky when he wanted it to be. His height definitely helped his cause (both in volleyball and in you noticing him).

The first year Tobio seemed to talk to the least was Yamaguchi Tadashi, but only because he wasn’t a regular in the volleyball rotation and Tobio tended to have a one track mind that included not paying attention to those he didn’t need to. You saw the boy practicing his floating serves though and you were instantly hooked. The way the ball effortlessly fluttered to the ground once he served it over the net? Way cooler than whatever Tobio was doing (once again, an exaggeration, but you didn’t want to fawn over your older brother that already knew he was a genius). You couldn’t believe you had been missing out on seeing all this action just because Yamaguchi wasn’t a regular.

Since Tobio was constantly stirring up trouble with the others in his grade, you ended up getting to know the other three pretty well at first, but soon you become well acquainted with the other players and the upperclassmen.

The older members of the club moved with a certain grace and sureness that came from pure experience with the sport for so long, and you were drawn to the way they built up a solid foundation for the underclassmen, filling the holes where Tobio and the others stumbled and made mistakes.

The entire team was amazing to you. It was breathtaking to watch them play now that you weren’t bound to sitting in the stands at some tournament, and you found your eyes darting about constantly throughout the game.

Everyone there was definitely amazing, each in their own special way. This is what Tobio had been keeping you from when he said not to come to his practices because he thought you’d just get in the way?

You made sure to let Tobio know how lame you thought he was afterwards and he gave you a punch in your arm in reply as he sipped from a milk box on your walk home, scowling before turning back contently to focus on his drink.

You admiration of the Karasuno boys wasn’t one-sided at all though, and they thought you were an absolute joy to be around, whether it be your helpful nature when it came to offering your assistance to Kiyoko (Tanaka and Nishinoya were especially a fan of that one), your sweetness in complementing them whenever they perfected a technique, or the way you could easily joke around with them as though you had known them from the start. Even Tsukishima had to admit you weren’t that bad.

If you were dating Hinata, Tobio would most likely find out when Hinata kept messing up his quicks whenever you were watching—wanting to impress you but also getting too overexcited and losing focus. Cue the arguing between them until Tsukishima made a snide comment about Hinata wanting to impress his girlfriend—you.

“What the hell? No??? Why would you even say that about my sister, you idiot?” Now Tobio was all up in Tsukishima’s face, eyebrows furrowed in anger. “She would never date a dumbass like him, right?” At that he turned to you, ready for your instant confirmation—but then you hesitated and he started to get worried. “Right?” he asked again, this time almost pleadingly.

Tsukishima snickered at your brother’s crestfallen expression when you shook your head, not knowing how else to answer, and Tobio knew it was all over. He snatched Hinata up by the collar of his shirt faster than lightning and shook him in the air, yelling at him because what the fuck.

Hinata managed to wiggle out of Tobio’s grasp and shoved him back, saying that you actually liked him and it’s not like he blackmailed you or anything so what’s the big deal.

The rest of the team had to break up the fight before it got out of hand and the two of them had to be separated for a while to cool down. During all of this, Tsukishima was standing next to you, watching with an amused expression while you were simply in shock because you had no idea what had just happened.

Tobio bombarded you with a lot of questions on the walk home about why Hinata of all people and you had to explain to him that you don’t get to chose who you love because if you did you wouldn’t choose someone you knew would deliberately piss him off (he thought that was pretty stupid because just like he chose to play volleyball, you could choose not to date Hinata—sigh, he really doesn’t understand these things).

Tobio and Hinata had a lot of competitions after that to settle it once and for all who you liked better out of both of them.

(“She chose to date me, dummy!” Hinata would shout.)

(“I’m literally her brother! I’ve known her longer!” came Tobio’s reply, slightly out of breath because their latest competition involved seeing who could run the farthest and the fastest—as if that was an accurate representation of how much you liked someone.)

Tobio would keep a careful eye on Hinata and you, and there would definitely be lots of bickering between the two, although that was normal.

He would mellow out at some point and become less intense about trying to get rid of Hinata and break you two up, but if you two ever showed PDA in front of him Tobio would make sure to grumble and huff as he watched it happened, or turn away and cross his arms—if you ignored him, he would just keep doing it louder until you noticed and were forced to stop because talk about mood ruiner.

When Tobio is just completely over it and is just like ‘whatever, I guess this is happening now,’ he’ll actually tell Hinata that he… kind of trusts him with you, and Hinata would be all shiny eyed and sparkly at the complement and reassure him that he’ll do his best to always keep you happy.

There may even be a time where you’re feeling sad, perhaps after a fight, and Hinata hesitates—wondering if he should run after you, if he should bother pursuing you, if you even really want to see him again—and Tobio would be there, arms crossed and raising one eyebrow as he looks down at him.

“What are you waiting for? Go after her, stupid.”

Hinata, lost expression being replaced with one of surprise, would shift to peer up at him. “Wha- You really mean it?”

Tobio would turn away, forcing the grumpiest expression on his face possible. “Well, yeah… you’re her boyfriend. That’s your job. She wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

With Hinata’s spirit reinvigorated, he was quick to run off after your retreating figure, shouting back at Tobio that he won’t let him down. Your brother couldn’t help but crack a smile at that.

For the love of God, do not date Tsukishima if you don’t want Tobio to disown you.

Tsukishima wouldn’t really care much about being public with your relationship—to him, who knows knows, and who doesn’t just doesn’t, simple as that. And it wasn’t like you were itching to tell your brother you were basically dating his arch nemesis (okay, that’s dramatic, but it felt like your life had become some dramatic secret—a soap opera brought to life —and you were living a double life by keeping this a secret from your brother), so Tobio basically knew nothing for quite a while. Tsukishima also didn’t show too much PDA in general so your brother remained oblivious.

That is until Tobio and Tsukishima got into another argument and Tsukishima was getting so annoyed that he just let it slip, using it as leverage to get a leg up on Tobio.

Tobio immediately clammed up and went stone-faced, mainly just at the mere thought of that, not because he was accepting it as his reality. But then he watched Tsukishima’s smirk grow and he broke out of his trance, definitely being like, “What the fuck??? She’s not dating you and I will beat you up for saying that you fucking idiot.”

Tsukishima found it sooo funny how Tobio was fuming and gave you a smug look from the sidelines. Oh boy, Tobio did not like that and was like, “Hey??? I’m talking to you, pay attention to me and don’t look at her!!! I bet she hates you!!!”

Even Hinata wanted to get in on the action, and of course Yamaguchi didn’t want his best friend to get ganged up on so he stepped in and started listing off all off Tsukishima’s good qualities that were definitely likable enough to date him.

It was getting embarrassing just how much Tsukishima had made Tobio lose his cool, so you had to step in and diffuse the situation, although no one could step away from the argument until they knew the truth so, begrudgingly, you told them that yes, you were dating Tsukishima. That didn’t really help much though because Tobio was still losing it and arguing with Yamaguchi because Tsukishima didn’t feel the need to defend himself and now Hinata was asking you if Tsukishima had blackmailed you into saying that.

To pour gas on the already flaming and wildly out of control fire, Tsukishima went up to you while the others were distracted and gave you a kiss on the forehead right in front of everyone—absolutely no shame. Oh my god, it was a whole mess and a half and everything was falling apart.

You have no idea how, but everyone calmed down at some point, although there was a lot of tension as practice continued. Things were fairly back to normal the next day once everyone had time to sleep on the issue and come to terms with it on their own.

Tsukishima loves throwing it in Tobio’s face and it’s horrible, yes, but you have to admit it’s sort of funny at times and you still love your boyfriend regardless.

Tobio goes back to hating Tsukishima even more for a while (and they had been making some progress with their relationship too so talk about a major step back), but after a while of silently fuming in his room every day for almost two weeks, he’s mostly normal again. Definitely still eyes Tsukishima suspiciously whenever he so much as looks in your direction though and reminds you that you were not supposed to date until you were like fifty (you had never agreed to or even heard of that rule before for that matter so that was a nice surprise).

Generally expect Tobio to give you guys a hard time for way too long before he sees some instance of Tsukishima actually being very caring and helping you out of an emotional rut whenever Tobio is unavailable to do so, and then his opinion of your boyfriend shifts into a somewhat favorable light. Don’t expect too much from him though.

And, well, if you were with Yamaguchi? That’s a little too close to Tsukishima for Tobio’s liking, but at least it’s slightly better.

There’s literally no way Tobio would really find out unless one of you explicitly told him. Yamaguchi might confide in Tsukishima about his relationship and there might be a chance Tsukishima uses it against Tobio in an argument, but generally he would probably decide that it’s not his place to say anything.

Tobio already doesn’t interact with Yamaguchi all that much anyway and their relationship is mostly fine (minus the times he joins Tsukishima in being a major pain in Tobio’s ass), so there’s no chance of your boyfriend blurting it out on his own in the heat of the moment either. He’s also too shy for PDA most of the time, so everything is very much hidden.

It actually starts to get ridiculous when you’ve been dating for months though and Tobio still hasn’t realized. You decide that it’s important for your brother and your boyfriend to be on better terms with each other if this relationship was going to last—which you most certainly hoped it would—so you were forced to take matters into your own hands.

Sitting Tobio down at the kitchen table, all serious with your hands neatly folded in front you, you would break the news. Tobio’s fidgeting and complaining about how this was stupid and why couldn’t you just talk to him in his room, ugh, would all fall away instantly while he processes the news.

“…Really?”

“Yeah.”

Tobio would still argue with Tsukishima whenever he was with both you and Yamaguchi, telling the blond to “back the fuck off, you overgrown bean sprout,” but he would also look to the root of the problem and take a special interest in harassing your timid boyfriend.

Although Tobio could be intimidating at times, Yamaguchi had seen it all before, so he does his best not to be freaked out when Tobio starts directing threatening glares at him instead of at Hinata or Tsukishima like normal.

After seeing that Yamaguchi is the pure definition of harmless though, Tobio would try not to keep a cold exterior, since his protectiveness didn’t seem to be doing much anyway because there was nothing to fix when it came to worrying about Yamaguchi hurting you, and would slowly try to get closer to your boyfriend. Forcing out compliments when it came to his serves, giving him little tips along the way, and making sure to greet him and bid him farewell every practice.

It was awkward at first because he was clearly trying to force the friendship for your sake, but when you told him to just be himself because he was freaking Yamaguchi out, that seemed to do the trick and it was now a mixture between his earlier aloof behavior and his newer friendly one. A happy medium.

Yamaguchi knew that he didn’t need shining compliments from Tobio every second of the day to know that he had accepted him as your boyfriend and he was fine with that—that was just how Tobio was—plus Yamaguchi was really here for you, not your brother, so it didn’t matter much anyway.

Things were pretty mild between them, although Tobio would occasionally let Yamaguchi know that he… appreciated (yes, he had to choke it out) what he was doing for you and all that jazz.

Dating one of the upperclassmen would be a much less chaotic affair, and you would probably go about things the “mature” way and tell Tobio about your relationship near the start, rather than waiting a long time like the Yamaguchi situation, or having someone else tell him like the Hinata and Tsukishima situations. The upperclassmen are also generally more mature than those in Tobio’s grade—even Tanaka and Nishinoya would have a bit of sanity in this situation—so they would say it’s up to you if and when you want to let your brother know.

When you tell him, Tobio will kind of blink at you for a bit, just absorbing that fact because you looked dead serious.

“Don’t think you can just boss me around during practice now.”

“I do that anyway, so shut up.”

He wouldn’t know what to say to your boyfriend—yeah, he wants to be all like don’t mess with my sister, but also they’re older than him and he’s supposed to be respectful or he’ll be forced to run extra laps as punishment while Hinata laughs at him from the sidelines—so the first few practices after you tell him just end up with him studying your boyfriend very intensely from across the gym while tightly clutching a volleyball. It’s very unnerving and your boyfriend begs you to talk some sense into Tobio because he is ruining their concentration so bad and Coach Ukai is definitely considering if he should have them do extra drills to make up for it and they do not want that.

In order to save your boyfriend from such a fate, you encourage both him and Tobio to talk it over. It consists of your boyfriend doing the typical upperclassmen thing of being very reassuring while at the same time being very overbearing with their intense presence and Tobio is sweating because this is your boyfriend, don’t say anything weird or you’ll hate him forever, just keep cool.

He’s not usually one to be that worried about this sort of thing, but no matter which upperclassmen it is and no matter what kind of relationship he had with them before, he’s going to be very stoic and try to come to terms with the fact that you’re actually dating them.

While your boyfriend is all like “Don’t worry! I’ll take care of her!” and “Sorry, I know this is a little weird, but I really do like her!,” Tobio’s like “mhm,” “yeah,” “okay” so to the untrained eye he seems very nonchalant about the whole thing, but internally his mind is working a mile a minute. He probably starts sweating a little and your boyfriend is like, “Uh, you okay?” and he’s just like “mhm, yeah,” while sweat starts dripping down his forehead and he feels like he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

Rather than the conversation between the two consisting of Tobio asserting his dominance as your brother and threatening your boyfriend, it’s just him being forced to accept his fate while your boyfriend says his piece and is like “Wow, I’m so glad you’re okay with it!” at the end of it all.

You try to minimize PDA because your brother looks like he’s going to blow a fuse anytime he witnesses it and always turns away very embarrassed, blushing furiously. Come on, you can’t really blame him. Like when did his little sister grow up so fast? Uh, a long time ago, you moron, stop being so focused on yourself.

He makes an extra effort to ask more about your life now and wants to know everything, so now your usual routine silences or shallow talks have turned into midnight discussions either in one of your bedrooms, lightly tossing volleyball back and forth, or in the kitchen as you two sit at the table and binge eat snacks.

That actually helps him a lot with coming to terms that yes, you have your own life and it’s just as important as his volleyball one and that he should really make an effort to keep up with you. He feels really bad that it took him so long to realize that you were even dating someone and after getting your perspective on the matter, he comes to accept it, trusting them to do a good job because he’s seen what they can do on the court and for the team and has known them firsthand for quite a while.

Dating anyone on the team would have its fair share of ups and down and bumps in the road, but it’ll also be a great wake up call for your sometimes too-dense-for-words brother and actually end up strengthening your relationship in the long run, especially because now he knows you have someone reliable to lean on whenever he falls short.

Tanaka Ryuunosuke

Oh man, your entire life was just filled with him constantly butting into your personal life, playing the big scary guy at anyone who looked at you funny and always asking if there were any so called “punks” you wanted him to beat up (the answer was always a firm “Ryuu, no” because you didn’t want him to get in trouble, but you always looked at him with a sparkle of admiration in your eye at his bravery).

Just like with Saeko, he’d get embarrassed when you showed him affection sometimes, or would kick you out of his room if he had his friends over (your teasing revealed one too many embarrassing personal secrets of his that his friends made fun of him for ages for).

He still made his love clear through his protectiveness though and he wasn’t any stranger to giving you a good-natured pat on the head in public. Basically, as long as it didn’t ruin his tough guy appearance (he said that reputation was important and that he had to keep it up so that no one would even think about messing with you in the slightest), he would be very clear of his pride in your achievements and just how much you meant to him. This meant it was mainly at home or in private that he would flip the switch and give you hugs, or get started with comments of “look how much my pupil is growing” (you punched his arm when he said things like that, but you were always grinning when you did so).

(His overly affectionate moments were mainly to get back at you for teasing him in front of his friends and he gave you the same treatment, but he also really did mean it.)

He taught you how to be “tough” (hence the “pupil” nickname sometimes and the feeling he had of taking you under his wing) and you eagerly studied him with shining admiration because he was your cool older brother after all.

You were always in the know about each others lives and while he ranted to you about volleyball and school, you let him know about how you totally put some kid in their place today in class like he taught you to or if you needed his advice for things (as much as you liked to make fun of each other, you still looked up to him and his “worldly” experience that simply came from being older, plus he was very attentive when it came to solving problems in your life and giving you his input).

Finally the day came that you two were reunited and going to the same school once again when you started your first year at Karasuno. Ryuu gave you a pep talk before you went inside about what to expect of high schoolers and reminded you that the same rules still applied and that if you needed him to take anyone on for you he was just one floor away (he cracked his knuckles for good measure at that)—he reassured you that you were never too old to rely on your big bro.

Despite your protests, he decided to walk you to class on the first day, saying it was on his way to his own class anyway. He spent the walk bragging about how he was a second year now and how it was so nostalgic to walk in the first year halls now and how he remembered this and that in the hallways (he pointed to specific spots as he recalled the memories of sitting on the floor for lunch with his friends, or telling you something hilarious he spotted from the windows one day), and while you rolled your eyes and reminded him that he had been a first year just a few months ago (he shushed you when you said that), you listened with rapt interest, wondering what your own high school career would end up looking like. He also gave pointed glares to several students you passed by in the hallways, especially the guys, and made sure to loudly repeat how you must be so glad to have a second year who can fight as your older and protective brother, relishing in the way some of the first years gulped in fear.

It wasn’t long until you two reached your classroom, and you lingered just outside the doorway with him, ready to say your final goodbyes as you got ready to embark on your first day. However, when you turned to him, you realized he was looking at you strangely, his eyes sparkling with pride, but it also seemed like he was trying to hide his face from you.

“Ryuu? Are you… are you crying?” You had to try extra hard to keep yourself from bursting out laughing.

He dramatically turned his head away. “Of course not! Anyway I’ve, uh, got to go, so bye now! Have fun and trust no one!” And then he was off back down the hallways you had come from, ready to ascend the stairs and begin his own new school year.

He brought you to volleyball practice with him as soon as it began for the year, waiting for you outside of your classroom so he could lead you there and you wouldn’t get lost trying to find the gym. He wanted you to know where he was going to be spending a lot of his time outside of school in case you ever needed to find him, so he figured it would be best to let you know from the start, especially since they wouldn’t be doing much on the first day anyway.

“Hey guys!” he greeted the third years as he walked in, “I brought my sister with me, hope you don’t mind.” You followed after him somewhat timidly, not sure what the captain and vice captain he had told you so much about would be like.

Daichi and Sugawara were more than welcoming though and reassured both of you that it was fine. They asked about your interests and how your first year of high school was going so far. The duo was kind and funny, and you felt instantly at ease joining in with their antics.

You already knew the other second years from when Ryuu would have them over, so it was basically smooth sailing from then on in terms of you being friendly with everyone on the team.

That is, until the first years showed up and you had to watch the drama between them unfold—everything from Kageyama and Hinata’s initial disagreements once they realized they were on the same team, the entire storm that came with the duo of Tsukkishima and Yamaguchi, and, last but most certainly not least, the match between all of them.

Ryuu kept you updated about all of it, even letting you know of his plan of allowing Kagyeama and Hinata to use the gym before morning practice (you thought he was the coolest for taking a risk behind Daichi’s back to help the first years out), and you were so caught up in wondering how it would all turn out that he invited you to the match that Saturday.

Of course you were cheering for your brother once he was dragged in to be a part of the match and let him know afterwards how cool it was. You had been to his volleyball games before, but it was entirely different seeing them up close with everyone practicing.

You slowly began to spend more time with the boys’ volleyball team, always one to cheer on your brother and admire his skills, and once you got acquainted with Kiyoko, you began to help her out with simple manager duties in exchange—Ryuu always tried to use you as a gateway to talk to Kiyoko and having him be jealous of your friendship with her gave you a sense of triumph because you finally had something to hold over him.

You even became fast friends with Yachi once she joined the Karasuno crew due to you both being in the same grade and she became one of your favorite people to talk to whenever the day was particularly slow. You showed her the ropes of being a manager and gave her your own personal anecdotes about what it was like to be new to the team so she didn’t feel so nervous about the whole thing knowing that someone else was once in the same boat as her.

At last you were able to socialize properly with the first years now that their dispute had been settled and, similar to your experience with the rest of the team, you instantly took a liking to them, even if some of them were snarky or could be blunt sometimes (Kageyama and Tsukishima). You grew especially close to them since you were all in the same grade, although the upperclassmen still looked over you and you had a good relationship with all of them as well.

Ryuu would be able to tell right away if something was off with you once you started acting a little strange. He would be concerned and probably ask you what was wrong when you two were home and just hanging out on the couch, and since you’re so used to confiding everything in him, you end up blurting out that you were dating one of his teammates, immediately covering your mouth after and staring at him with wide eyes, unsure of what he would say.

All of the first years would need to watch their backs once he found out if it was one of them that you were dating.

“Seriously? Him?” he would ask in disbelief when you told him and shake his head. Then he would get all sentimental again and lean back, hands behind his head. “Ah, young love,” he would muse.

“Ryuu, shut up, you’re not that much older than me!”

Ryuu would constantly be lurking nearby anytime you were with your boyfriend, and during practices he would take a special interest in teasing them. Definitely glared at them a lot, gave them lots of scary faces, and threatened them whenever he had a chance during the beginning and found it hilarious if they ever seemed scared or uncomfortable. He kept that up until you told him to knock it off or else you would stop talking to him for a whole week (he can’t go that long without his little sister so he was basically forced to comply).

Tsukishima wouldn’t be all that phased by his threats anyway though so Ryuu would continue trying to intimidate him no matter what you said. (“What? Why do I need to stop? That kid needs someone to put him in his place!”)

Tsukishima wouldn’t really care at all about trying to appeal to Ryuu, but the any of the other first years would probably try to show that they were doing their best to be a good boyfriend so could he please stop looking like he wanted to murder them, please they are begging you.

Depending on the first year you chose, it may take him different lengths of time to warm up to the idea, but once he did he’s always teasing you two and “Aw, Noya, look at the tiny first years in love. If only that was us and Kiyoko. Minus the tiny part. And the first years part.”

If you choose one of the second years, when you told him he would groan and cover his ears, screwing his eyes shut because he did not want to know that.

“This is a joke, right? I can’t believe you’re dating one of my friends! Gross! I’m never going to be able to look at you two the same again.”

Nishinoya is his best friend, so once he got over the initial weirdness of it all, you three went back to being the most chaotic trio of the team. Tanaka even forgave Noya for betraying Kiyoko since he was dating you after all. Those two were basically your protection squad before, but it was ramped up to the max now that Noya was actually dating you. Anyone come near you? They were about to enter a world of pain with two feral volleyball players guarding you at all times. Lots of hanging out between the three of you, and Ryuu would get all pouty when you told him that no, he can’t come on your date tonight (lo behold, unbeknownst to you, Noya had also invited Ryuu over because “bro code” so you couldn’t escape him anyway).

Ryuu had a lot of respect for Ennoshita, so if you were dating him he would trust him to take good care of you, although since Ennoshita always kept him and Nishinoya in line, you basically had that same power now and he was not happy about you bossing him around.

Overall, Ryuu would have a hard time accepting the fact that his friends were dating you because how in the world did this even happen (the first few weeks would have him cringing and turning away if he ever saw any PDA because please spare his eyes), but ultimately he knew he wouldn’t trust anyone else to treat you better than the guys he already knew so well, so he would try his best to be supportive and make sure you knew to come to him if you needed anything as always.

Decide to date a third year and Ryuu is going to stare at you in silence for a very long time once he hears that. He’s just sitting there blinking, waiting for you to burst out laughing at the joke, but when you ask him if he’s okay, he realizes you were most definitely not joking and now he’s having an existential crisis.

“How can my precious baby sister be dating someone older than me? How am I supposed to keep that guy in line if I’m supposed to be respectful to him?” He’s freaking out because suddenly you and your entire life in his mind could no longer be considered to only consist of people younger than him that he could easily intimidate and be seen as your cool older brother by—no, you had entered uncharted territory and this was so weird.

He couldn’t do much in terms of threatening the third years, but once you let your boyfriend know that you had told your brother about your relationship, they would go talk to him themselves after seeing how tense he was acting during practice. They’d let him know they intended to take good care of you and everything like that, and Ryuu knew that he trusted their word.

Whether it was Daichi, Sugawara, or Asahi, Ryuu told them he was fine with it, but that if they ever did hurt you, he doesn’t care if they were older than him, he will come after them. He also definitely keeps a watch on you two when he can because of course he’s worried about his younger sister dating someone older than both of them.

Just like with the second years though, he knows the third years are responsible and trustworthy, and he feels pretty safe leaving you alone with them.

Eventually, no matter who it is you’re dating on the team, Ryuu will come to accept it because he wants you to be happy, but he’s constantly ready to jump to your defense if your boyfriend ever does anything wrong because he’ll always be your caring, protective older brother.

Sawamura Daichi

Daichi was the responsible older brother every parent dreams of having (albeit a bit overdramatic at times).

Once you started at Karasuno, you were stuck to his side constantly—although it wasn’t through your own choice, no. Your dear older brother was convinced he needed to keep a close watch on you at all times and that if he wasn’t there something bad would happen and he would be the one who had to deal with the blame from your parents.

He gave you your freedom, especially because he was busy with his own life, but he was always waiting right outside the school to walk you home, and if he saw you at lunch you better believe he’s going to embarrass you in front of your friends and say “hi.” (Your friends would then proceed to ask about the “hottie upperclassman” that had just talked to you, and you would gag and stick your tongue out, letting them know that they did not want to date your brother. Listen, living with him meant that you had to see a side of him that wasn’t the perfect boyfriend facade your friends seemed to see in him. You knew the truth.)

When the time came that most people were signing up for clubs they were considering and attending club interest meetings, he invited you to stop by the gym after you were done looking around after school. This was mostly because you two could easily meet up there and then head home right after, but he also thought it would be fun for you to see what antics his team got up to, even if you couldn’t join.

You poked your head into the gym and glanced around, instantly spotting your brother on the far end of the room. “Yo, Daichi! I’m here!” you called out in a sing-songy voice, making your way across the gym. Your strides were confident, even as the rest of the team turned to stare at you, because it was your cool brother that was the captain after all and that automatically made you the star of the party, or something like that.

He would be glad to see you and introduce you to the rest of the team right away, mainly to get them to quit staring and actually get back to practicing. That didn’t help much though because you were bombarded with questions and practice was entirely derailed by your arrival.

You already knew Sugawara and Asahi from when Daichi would invite them over and you even hung out with them a few times when Daichi would host a movie night for them at your house and you would join them in the living room.

Depending on if you were a first year or second year, you might even be acquainted with the underclassmen as well if they were in your class, especially once they learned that you were related to Daichi and would go to you whenever they needed to pass on messages to him, such as if they couldn’t make it to practice later that day or requests for him to pick up supplies for them if they needed it or questions about their training. Yeah, they could easily go to him most of the time, but it was a lot more fun going through you in an unintentional game of “telephone.”

Even after you decided on the club you wanted to join, you still kept coming to the practices. Your club usually finished earlier than the volleyball team did, especially because Daichi usually kept them pretty late, so for the end of practice you would sit quietly in the corner, finishing up some homework. You could technically go home on your own if you wanted to, but the sounds of the team practicing were comforting background noise to your work, even when you had your headphones in, and Daichi preferred to walk you home anyway and make sure you were safe and nothing happened. It just sort of worked out that way and since no one had a real problem with it, everyone simply went with it.

At one point, Kiyoko asked for your help with refilling the boys’ water bottles and you agreed, setting aside the notebook you had been scribbling in as you reviewed your notes from the school day. After that, you asked her occasionally if she ever need help, or would step in on your own if you saw she or Yachi was struggling since they usually didn’t want to bother you, and soon it became a regular routine with you helping out during the practices most of the time and doing your homework on the side if you had a chance.

You got to know the team members much better now that you were actually participating, rather than tuning them out and focusing on your work, and their dynamics were intriguing and hilarious, especially how they always seemed to drive your brother up a wall while simultaneously impressing him constantly. The duality of it all kept drawing you back for more.

Now Daichi wasn’t the only one who would say “hi” to you at lunch. Some of the other boys would greet you if they saw you—if Yamaguchi dragged Tsukishima over to you when he went to say “hello,” the blonde might give you a slight head nod of acknowledgement on a good day—and the comments from your friends on the rapidly increasing number of boys that would come up to you just seemed to multiply. Expect it wasn’t just Daichi—your nice but occasionally stupid older brother—they were talking about, it was actual boys you talked to.

When you had first started attending the volleyball club practices, you had regarded everyone there as family, since that what they always said they were and that was the dynamic they had with Daichi, so you thought you automatically fell into that category, but the offhanded comments from your friends about “Ooo, what did you think about that one?” and “Yeah, he was nice, but that one from yesterday was cuter,” had you reconsidering your thoughts about a certain few of your brother’s teammates.

You would probably feel guilty keeping your relationship a secret from your brother and would decide to break the news to him somewhere near the start of when you began dating one of his teammates, choosing to do it as you two walked home one night, the air chilly and refreshing after being in that stuffy gym all afternoon. It felt right to do it then because you didn’t want to make it a big deal, rather fitting it into your daily routine so that hopefully he wouldn’t take the news as hard.

You two were in the middle of a discussion about practice that day when you bite your lip and steel yourself to tell him, shoving your hands in your pocket and staring down at the ground as you walked. “Um… Daichi… there’s actually something I wanted to tell you…”

He would immediately stop walking and turn to face you, the tone of your voice making him concerned—so much for not making it a big deal. “(Y/N), you’re not getting into any sort of trouble, are you?”

That made your eyes go wide, quick to correct him. “What?! No, no! You’ve got it all wrong! It’s just that…” And with a deep breath you would break the news to him, holding your breath right after as you watched him to see what he would do.

“That’s all? Oh, thank God, I thought you were about to tell me you joined a gang or something,” he’d chuckle, and you would hesitantly join in with your own awkward laugh, a little scared at how well he was taking this.

The fact that you had almost given him a heart attack and he was so glad that the truth wasn’t the worst case scenario he had come up with would initially have him not reacting that much to the actual implications of you dating someone, just relieved that it was something normal.

But then he would dwell on it some more as you two continued walking, your chest much lighter now that you had gotten that secret off of it. You weren’t off the hook just yet though, unbeknownst to you.

He wouldn’t say all of his thoughts out loud just yet, although he would muse, “I guess I should have seen that coming. You have been spending a lot of time with him lately,” as he reflected on the past few weeks.

“Wh-what?” you would choke out, stumbling over your steps and then rushing to catch up with him. And here you thought we were being slick the whole time. Brother knows best as they say (or something like that).

Literally start dating any of the underclassmen and Daichi is going to have to pull them aside to have a little “chat” as soon as he finds out.

When they emerge, your boyfriend looks absolutely terrified (even Tsukishima would be a little shaken), but Daichi is grinning widely and gives them a hearty clap on the back, thanking them for their time.

“N-no problem,” is what they would probably stammer out before slinking away to continue practicing.

You don’t even bother asking Daichi what he told them because you already know he’s not going to tell you, or just give you a watered down version, but you do give him your own lecture about how he should be nicer to your boyfriend and quit giving them a hard time. Daichi ends up being the one coming out of that talk a little shaken so it seems as though justice has been served for your boyfriend.

Daichi tried to make an effort to be nicer after that, but you can feel him watching you guys like a hawk across the gym whenever you’re so much as talking with one another. As soon as you turn to glare at him though, he looks away, going back to whatever he was doing, whether it be sipping from his water bottle, having a conversation with someone, or cleaning up a section of the gym, even whistling a little tune as though he hadn’t been giving the death stare in your general direction just five seconds ago.

If he really wants to know what you two are up to, he’ll pretend he’s doing something, such as picking up a ball, and inch closely to eavesdrop on your conversation. Leaning in for a short kiss? Oops, he accidentally bumped into you two very hard, he’s so sorry about that, and oh, would you look at the time, shouldn’t they get back to practice now, that break seems like it was long enough—tight-lipped smile and all to accompany it.

If your boyfriend comes to pick you up at your house to go out on a date, Daichi is there. Whether he opens the door himself, or is looming behind you as he bids you two farewell and no, he’s not trying to communicate threats using his eyes, what are you talking about?

Inviting your boyfriend over for dinner with your family? Daichi is there of course. Movie night? I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if he joined, right? Studying in your room? Hmm, maybe you should leave your door open. What? It’s just to let some fresh air in, that’s all.

Of course you want to do that whole romantic walking home together thing, so you tell your boyfriend to hurry up and change early after practice so you two can start walking before Daichi even finishes.

But somehow, without fail, no matter what you do, he’d always be there right behind you two, walking a few steps away.

You turn around to shoot him a glare. “Daichi, I swear-”

“What? I’m just walking home. I live here too, you know.”

“Go walk with Suga or something like you usually do!”

Somewhere in the distance you can see Suga running up the hill to catch up with Daichi, panting loudly and calling out for him to wait up, he was still getting dressed, can’t you have some mercy, you stupid captain.

Daichi would be generally overbearing at first and although it’s annoying it’s clear he’s just looking out for you. Plus, your boyfriend is lucky Daichi actually knows him because the treatment would be much worse for anyone else.

He may be a bit more hesitant when to comes to the troublemakers of the team, such as Tanaka or Nishinoya, versus if you were dating one of the more mature underclassmen, but ultimately he knows that even those who cause him headaches almost everyday can be just as responsible as the others when the time comes.

Daichi will probably still keep up the overprotective act for quite a while, although it gradually decreases over time, but deep down he really does trust his teammate to take care of you and will let them know as such if he sees they’re actually ever feeling unsure during the relationship and thinking that you deserve someone better.

If you’re dating one of the two in his grade, dear God, he has zero control.

Suga just amps up his playful bullying of Daichi if he’s being too worrisome.

“Suga, be careful, don’t hold her hand too hard, she has a paper cut on that finger- oof.” Cue Suga punching him in the gut with a devilish grin and reassuring him you two will be fine and to quit hovering so much.

Daichi is actually at Suga’s mercy in this case and while you feel a little bad, it’s just so funny. Whenever he looks over at you for help because please, someone stop Suga from making fun of him for being an overprotective brother, you burst out laughing and tell him, “Sorry, but I have to side with my boyfriend on this one.” Please stop rubbing salt in the wound, he looks like his spirit is about to leave his body.

You and Suga are a fearsome duo against Daichi and he has absolutely no control over either of you. As reckless as he can be sometimes, Suga is still high up on Daichi’s list of people he trusts and his caring side more than makes up for the trouble he gets you in, so Daichi feels as though you’ll be fine.

With Asahi, Daichi would try to pull the whole scare tactic on him, but he feels bad when Asashi gets all worried about Daichi hating him and ends up barely touching you if he’s around—this winds up with you complaining to Daichi about how’s he’s getting in the way of your PDA and he actually tells Asahi he should ramp up the romantic act (even if it pains Daichi to say it). Plus, he knows you’re in good hands with Asahi and he’s always careful and treats you with the utmost care in the world, so Daichi begrudgingly accepts that there’s no reason for him to step in and that you deserve to be in a relationship with the ace.

Both of the third years worm their way into Daichi’s heart in some way and he just knows he can’t control either of the people he’s spent the last few years playing with, so he simply comes to accept it, secretly glad that you chose one of them because he couldn’t think of anyone better to entrust you to.

Dating anyone on the team will have Daichi wary at first, but ultimately he knows all of them and he knows they’re good people and will likely be even better boyfriends, especially if they know he’s always lurking close by when you’re involved, so although he may try to give some of them a hard time, it all comes from a place of love and wanting to make sure that you know he’s always there for you no matter what. Once he cools down the act and sees that you’re open with him about your relationship and let him know if you’re unsure about certain things—no matter how small—he’ll be more comfortable since he knows he can be sure you’ll never keep him in the dark if it really is serious.

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