#just want to clarify that i will never directly contact you even though you said i could

[tinymilkcarton]

v

[katerinaaqu]

Hehe yeah i guess you could say that it's the timezone that made me finally clarify it after like 5 posts of it, though I genuinely love your analysis posts, idk why but i simply found myself smiling so damn widely whenever i read one of them.

Also another question i just thought (sorry if i have too many questions), i read from some sites that Eurylochus was cowardly and an unpleasant man (also i once read that after Odysseus got his man back after Circe turn them back to normal, Eurylochus insults him, I guess? Then Odysseus was tempted to kill him but the crew hold him back, idk if it's true or not), so with him being second in command, do you think that the crew would treat him differently despite his position as second? Like they would be a bit skeptical of Eurylochus or do they just respect him the same as Odysseus?

Genuinely sorry if this sounds like a stupid question, i am a very curious person.

Hahaha I understand 👍 and I also understand that not everyone wants to write their asks with their username so the adittional questions could be answered with reblogs or comments 😅 hehe I absolutely understand

Oh my that is so kind of you to say. Thank you very much! 🫶

Not at all it is a very good question and not stupid at all so here's what I think;

Like I mentioned before Eurylochus has been named Odysseus's rival in one way and most of the time he is seen opposing Odysseus either because he is scared or because he has had enough with the situation. Yes after Circe's adventure for example Odysseus goes to the beach to inform them on the change of the situation and Eurylochus opposes. He says that if they go then Circe would transform them all to pigs or wolves and lions to guard her palace and then he insults Odysseus by saying:

"And so had (followed) insolent Odysseus and so because of his recklessness they perished"

(Translation by me)

So basically he straight out insults Odysseus in front of everyone and Odysseus indeed had it and he did consider to kill him;

So he spoke and I was seriously considering whether to draw my pointy sword that was hanging from my thick hip and strike him there and then and take his head even if he was my brother in law (lit: kin by marriage) if it weren't of my other companions to restrain me with soft words

(Translation by me)

However I should say it is an unfair characteristic to call him "cowardly" or "unpleasant" all the time given what he has been through in the arduous trip and all and much of what he said was correct and his fears justified although spoken out of disrespect which was also kinda understandable given how tough their situation was.

Now for the main question it is hard to tell. Although I wouldn't go as far as to say they respected him the same as Odysseus. Odysseus was not just their king but he was also someone with so much knowledge talent and on top of that he was known to have direct contact with the gods. Which is why no one ever directly rebelled against him apart from Eurylochus himself or never staged a mutiny against him. I analyze most of it in some other analysis of mine

Odysseus was what kept them going. However Eurylochus does seem to be a character with plenty of influence. Perhaps the fact that he was the closest to Odysseus in terms of being his brother in law or the fact he was a prince himself and so he did have knowledge to rule was definitely the next possible candidate to take over things. However his power of persuasion seems to be the strongest when they all hit their lowest part; when they got desperate or hungry. Eurylochus persuaded them to slay the cows of Helios and he didn't deny to them the possibility of that meaning their death. But he also mentioned how death in the sea seemed quicker and more preferable than dying of hunger. In one way he is an influential figure but no. Once Odysseus takes over there is no doubt who has the most respect amidst their peers.

I hope this answers the question and it is not stupid at all. It is very intriguing and very important for the Odyssey. It shows how someone like Eurylochus openly insults or challenges Odysseus's leadership and why his peers seem to allow it. In fact Eurylochus brings many valid points and his behavior like come on who wouldn't be scared or worried for their safety and the rest of the men after what they had been through? And Eurylochus has stayed till the end in that nasty situation

[pommunist]

What I don’t understand from the statement made by the union is them saying that other CCs have contributed to the harassment of the admins and ex admins. Cause no CC has made any statement of them even insinuating anything close to wanting to send harassment to them.

That and them insinuating that a specific person’s identity is being protected, even though Q has stated this specific person was never involved in the project.

Honestly, at this point with the newest statement from the union that holds varying degree of misinformation has now led me to not trust the union’s at all, especially after finding out several weeks ago that they never made any moves to actually contacting Q to begin with..

well fuck me lmao bc i had just sent an ask to someone trying to explain this very point 😭 i’ll just copy paste what I sent them here as well

First at least from what I’m aware (and I hope it is the case), no CCs have actively encouraged harassment against anyone involved in this.

Now, I’m assuming what the union is referring to are statement such as

-Aypierre who has tweeted against doxxing (not a bad thing obviously) and generally defended Quackity. Obviously he isn’t encouraging harassment intentionally at all, but fact is that by doing so it fueled a lot of hate against the admins and also french fans who speak in favor of them.

-Quackity’s streams in which he has talked multiplie time about « people with bad intentions », people who wanted to see the downfall of the server etc. Again no intent to directly encourage harassment but this still lead to a lot of hate being thrown the admins way.

In both cases, the union isn’t saying that they’ve actively tried to fuel the hate, just that CCs should be mindful of what they say and how they word it, because when you have a big community the consequences can be and have been quite intense. Of course CCs aren’t guilty by proxy of the bad behaviour from their fans, the union is just saying that they should be careful with their influence. (Ideally this applies to everyone, not just influencers, but the bigger your reach is, the more careful you have to be)

Now for the point about the problematic person Q has said is not working in the studio : the union just said that there are uncertainties about the identity of the person who co signed the NDAs the workers had to sign, as that identity seems to not match anyone that has so far been identified as working for the company. The statement doesn’t say or imply that this is the same person as the one you mentioned.

Would you mind telling me what other things the union said you’re seeing as being misinfo ? I’d like to be aware of them and to clarify anything I can if I’m able to

[opinated-user]

indeed, anon. i'm sure it means a lot for LO that you're willing to lie so blatantly. 1. that user they mentioned? not one of my followers or regular users who interact with my content. if you go to their blog, literally the only one that reblogued from any of us was this post. for the record, it was the post where i posted the screenshot of LO using the r-slur against her critics and Brittany commenting that LO later changed it to "crackhead".

i can't speak for the other blogs though. at least they didn't ring any bells for me. just in case it's needed too: i'm stubbornly clear about how i don't want anyone reading my blog to go interact with LO in any sort of way. the goal here is deplatforming and you can't deplatform someone if you just keep validating their platform with more social interactions. not to mention that anything you say to her is just more for her victim narrative. 2. one reblog post. zero likes. the rest of their interaction are miscelanious posts that have nothing to do with either LO or our blogs. is that what "regularly interact with" means now? but even if they did "regularly" interacted with any of us... again, we're all pretty adamant about not harassing or bothering LO because it'll always be useless. so clearly this person is not listening to us either and went out of their way to go against what we try to do. i'm not happy about this person going off on LO like they did either. 3. let me get this straight. when we say that some anons write the exact same as LO does and we can recognize the tone, or it's just pathetically obvious in some other way, that's us building conspiracy theories because we can't accept that someone might actually like LO. those two things have nothing to do with each other in the first place, LO is capable of using sockpuppet accounts and also there being people who for some reason think they like her, those are not mutually exclusive, but that's what LO has said before. but when this unconfirmed anon that nobody know who they are say that they recognize the writing style of some of the anon messages we get with this other random tumblr user who only wrote something by themselves once, oh, now that's a valid thought process. to clarify, they might be right for all i know. i have no clue. i just know that this user went against LO in the most unnecessary way possible and it did nothing but anyone, so i hope at least it was worth it for them because certainly it wasn't for us. they might have also send us some anons for all i care. i just question the double standard here. when we do it, it's a conspiracy. when other people to it to defend LO, no, that's just being a smart person who just notices this kind of things. 4. "showing people 5+ instances of you being directly contacted by the blog"... what is this even talking about? what other 5+ instances are they refering to? i only just found out about this one user going on their own. this one user i might have seen once in my activity notifications and never again. where are those other blogs who are part of this side of tumblr doing this? 5. "everything going on with Poppy last month has also been very helpful." i'm so glad, anon, that you're able to be so honest and say that you're glad that Poppy violated the consent of a survivor of CSA to the point that she destroyed his trust. i almost respect that. or do you mean the multiple allegations of abuse against her that have nothing to do with us or LO? the ones that LO has majorly ignored? while treating Poppy like a potential victim only after she put the testimony of Courtney behind a paywall? truly, i'm fascinated with how you see a sex pest harming people, using them and discarding them as "helpful" to keep the good reputation of your favorite youtuber. indeed, the sign of a well adjusted and moral person with their priorities in the right places. thank god that all those people were negatively affected by Poppy so it could serve you to keep protecting a proven groomer. i bet all those victims will be delighted to know that their experiences were useful for you. but really, what i can expect from a fan of the woman who has said more victim blaming things that are more aboherrent than that? you two truly deserve each other.

[tiredassmage]

for what it’s worth

Did I polish this off instead of doing another character’s run of Corellia? Absolutely. But that’s not relevant. : P Set during the 5 year gap before KOTFE; no warnings for this one I think and just a general sort of plot filler/explanation of what Oli’s up to while Cee takes... a nap. A vacation. An unplanned napcation.

Oliver reaches out through Cee’s old contacts, trying to do their part - for themselves and for whatever’s left that’s worth fighting for.

“Beryl Thorne?”

Beryl frowned. For all her time on Taris, she’d never much believed in ghosts. And yet here she was getting a call from an old frequency - from the supposedly dead.

Though that was certainly not who stood before her on the holodisplay. Still, she’d seen him before and that was just barely enough to tamper the regret that spiked from her curiosity and possibly partly-sleep-deprived decision to answer in the first place.

Barely, mind. Still, she hesitantly pulled away from the controls.

“Yeah? Don’t make me regret it.”

The male shuffled on his feet as his hands met to restlessly wring together. Even through the filtered blues of the holoprocessors, he seemed haggard and the frown pulled across his lips wasn’t doing him any favors in that regard.

“I’m… sorry for the… unconventional contact,” he said. His hands finally clasped in front of him as he settled on his words. “I wasn’t sure you’d answer from my own frequency.”

Her frown deepened. “Somehow, those odds don’t seem as long as me answering a call from a dead woman.”

She could tell he stiffened before he carefully rolled his jaw. It did nothing to release any of the tension gathered there. “I’m… sorry to bother you, again.”

She sighed faintly and shook her head. “No, I… I’m sorry, that was insensitive. You’re… Oliver, right? Cee’s ah…”

“Correct.” For a blessing, he spared her from fumbling for an appropriate label.

“Forgive me, but uh… weren’t you… y’know..?” Her frown settled a little deeper. “I want no part of trouble, agent.”

“I’m not calling on business, lest you worry,” Oliver clarified. “Not… Republic business, anyway. This…” He stopped to close his eyes tightly and take in a deep breath, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose briefly before both hands settled on his hips. “This is… for Cee. And… for me.”

“Spy business not cutting it for you anymore..?”

He huffed. “We both know the Republic’s spinning the same wheels it has for the last decade or more when there’s an entirely new threat at our doorstep,” he fired off with narrowed eyes, waving one hand in a broad gesture. Another frown settled back across his lips. “Look, I… This isn’t a recruitment call, Miss Thorne. I’m not asking either of us to fight a war-” He abruptly broke off into a hiss and shook his head again. “Okay, not directly, I…” 

Again, his hands settled heavily on his hips. “I have a proposition, Thorne. I’m bringing it to you because Cee… spoke fondly of your work together. She looked up to you, what you did on Taris…” He finally looked back at her evenly. “She kept in touch from time to time, I understand, and there’s… There’s a lot of good people out there where official lines don’t reach.”

Yeah. That sounded like the Captain. Beryl shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “Charity work isn’t exactly lucrative, you know?” she said carefully.

“Nothing’s lucrative if you’re dead,” Oliver said tersely. “It’s not about the money.”

Finally, Beryl started to smile. “She always was oddly optimistic.”

He nodded slowly, though his gaze dropped for a moment. “Yeah… She…” He cleared his throat roughly. “I’m… not half as good at any of this as she ever was, I’m sure, but… I’m not a half-bad pilot and the Prancer still flies.”

She waved a hand. “I’m not much of a dancer, boy. What, exactly, are you thinkin’ to propose?”

A light of focus seemed to flicker back into his eyes. “Putting our networks together,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve been doing what I can to maintain the Voidhound’s network of contacts, but it’s not enough. I know she pulled you into some of the Republic contracts a while ago and I stuck with them for a time myself, but…” He shook his head.

“So,” Beryl mused, “you want my help?”

“I’m offering if you’re interested,” he said. “Like I said, it isn’t getting anyone rich. But you and I both know the Republic’s terms aren’t going to cut it, and neither are the Empire’s. This is about people, Beryl. Real people.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Last we’d talked, you were still in with the SIS.”

Oliver huffed and shook his head with a frown. “Yeah, well… with the rate things are going, if I’d stuck around, I’d likely be looking at a ‘gentle’ reassignment to desk jockeying on Coruscant or ‘encouraged’ into retirement to some quiet, remote colony within a year or two.” He shifted to fold his arms across his chest. “I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t cut it for me. Out in the thick of all this, it’s…”

He rolled his jaw as his gaze broke from hers yet again. “Well, it’s right where she’d be… So, if nothing else, I owe it to her… to do the best wherever I can.” 

Beryl puffed a faint break of a chuckle. Stars. She’d never have guessed a Republic spy would be such a keeper. Where’d Cee even find this guy again..?

Nor would she have really agreed with Cee’s assessment from back then. The setbacks after she’d left Quesh hadn’t been kind and she wasn’t about to pretend she was ever a saint about it all. The war had already been an endless cycle then and she’d about had her fill of seein’ it too up close.

Then again, Cee had fired back that she needed to take her own advice more often. So, leave it to the Voidhound to make their lot out to look like they could be half-decent citizens, huh?

A smile slipped slowly back across her lips. “You’re not very good at ‘no,’ are you?”

“No,” Oliver smiled weakly, “Not when I think there’s something worth fighting for.”

Beryl considered him for a moment longer before she nodded. “Alright. You’ve got yourself a deal, Captain.”

His smile strained somewhat before he shook his head. “‘Captain’ was my wife, Thorne. You can just call me Oliver.”

He straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “But I’ll take that as you’re interested.”

“You may,” she allowed with a smile

Oliver nodded.”I’ve attached some coordinates with this message then along with my personal holofrequency - all encrypted and all with the necessary details for access. We can discuss compensation in-person. I’m afraid any further details would risk interception by less welcome parties.”

Beryl couldn’t resist a mild smirk. “Still thinking like a spy.”

A lighter smile finally drifted across Oliver’s lips as he shrugged a shoulder and opened his arms. “Cee did threaten to make a half-decent smuggler out of me one day. I’d like to think a dose of healthy paranoia has its boons.”

Beryl snorted lightly. “I can’t imagine why Cee would’ve ever picked you up,” she teased. “I’ll be seeing you then.”

“Right,” he said. “If I have any updates before we meet, I’ll send them your way. Fly safe, Captain.”

[libitinalarvaia]

Kink Talk: Multiple/Forced Orgasm

I wasn't really sure if I could say this was distinctive enough to clarify but I think I will, anyway. Easily one of my biggest kinks is multiple orgasms/forced orgasms. (and over-stimulation by said orgasms/sexual contact) I pair them up together because they're just similar enough to talk about at the same time but not different enough to each have their own entry.

I guess to start, I like orgasm? I mean one could say 'who doesn't?' But some people don't and some people don't care. I do, though, I care about it a lot and like it a lot and it’s not difficult for me to achieve. I've also been capable of orgasm since I was in the single digits, so I've just always sought it out I guess. On top of this I’m what I’ve seen referred to as 'Sensory seeking autistic' maybe.. I tend to be inclined to seek out sensory stuff as opposed to avoid it (with some exception) it’s difficult for me to be overstimulated but it’s very easy for me to be under-stimulated. So for that reason, I’m much more inclined to over-stimulation and have a generally higher threshold for over-stimulation in general.

First and foremost, this ties directly into my submissive preference, which I’ve written about, to reiterate, orgasm renders a lot of my senses just gone and overwhelmed by orgasm itself. To allow someone else to bring me to orgasm is submission, there’s no way I can experience it that isn’t submissive in some capacity.

Multiple orgasm, specifically, is because I like and enjoy that overwhelming pleasure. It’s nice to be able to just.. Not think for a while, to be in a place safe and considerate enough to not think about what I have to do or how much time has passed and just disappear into sensation. It’s scary at first, because I have a baseline inclination to control myself and my senses (a big reason why I suffer insomnia) and be active and ‘available’ at all times. Orgasm, especially multiple orgasms, makes it completely impossible for me to be of ‘use’ at any time, and it’s nice to be in a spot where it’s okay for me to you know, just be ‘unavailable’.

As a sidenote, when I say forced orgasm I don't always specifically mean unconsented. (but my talk about unconsented stuff has also been covered) It can also mean just the aggressive action or the struggle against it despite consenting to it. When a person has consented but is still afraid of relinquishing physical control of their own self to the other. The mental struggle of one’s loss of control and the eventual take over despite their best efforts to stave it off is something important and allegorical to me. If unconsented, well, see the non-con post.

There’s also this nice effect of, someone is willing to do that? For me? Someone is actually willing to spend their time, effort, and planning to give me pleasure. Even if they may get something out of it themselves, it still feels so selfish and I still sometimes feel like I don’t deserve this because I’m not doing or giving anything, but they still want to do it anyway??? Heck the very fact that someone else might actually like or enjoy doing that for me, specifically, That’s just.. So much..

It’s nice, especially in times where I feel like I’ve never done enough that I haven’t worked hard enough that I haven’t given enough, that I deserve not just a small amount of pleasure, but a lot of pleasure. An overwhelming amount of pleasure. That I’m allowed to turn off and just be lost in a sea of overwhelming experience for however long the instigator wants and in that time I don’t have to be responsible for anyone or anything.

[onlyseokmins]

jeonghan + face sitting 🙈

I apologize skdjfskdj I took off w/ this one and expanded on my timestamp pairing bc they just seemed to fit this and it turned out WAY longer than I thought but I hope ppl still enjoy it!

It’s a well-known fact that Jeonghan is one of the prettiest men in the world, but you think he looks the loveliest between your legs — hair disheveled from your fingers, forehead shining with a sheen of sweat, and eyelids fluttering shut with bliss. Although now he looks directly up at you with glazed-over eyes, begging for your forgiveness.  

You had given him the cold shoulder the entire drive and even upon arriving home, despite his offer for you to just use him as you pleased to make up for the things he’d said. In fact, you’d just wanted to go straight to bed, partially convinced your sour mood was a result of exhaustion. But your mouthy boyfriend refused to cease his incessant whining, literally following you around your shared apartment until you finally snap and decide to really shut him up.

He’s compliant once you push him down on the bed to straddle his torso, so you brush away the urge to pull out the handcuffs and leave him cuffed to the bedpost until morning. Forgetting the idea of toys altogether (even if your boyfriend looks downright gorgeous gagged), you might as well get something straight away out of this anyways.

And you do.  

Jeonghan’s well-trained when he actually behaves. With his tongue swirling rapidly in and around your cunt as you balance your weight on top of his delicate face, it’s your turn to talk.

“Did it feel good? Telling the boys you fuck me like I’m some worthless whore?” When you lift up slightly, he gasps below you, eyes drawn to the delectable meal he’s eating until you tug his hair. “Was it worth it?”

He licks his shiny, swollen lips as he contemplates his answer. “’m sorry, love.”

You scoff. Dropping back down and gyrating your hips across his mouth, already aware of the fact that this really wasn’t a punishment even before his delighted groans reach your ears as he messily makes out with your pussy. Your hand reaches behind before you get too lost in the feeling, easily finding the hard bulge of his dick still tucked in his jeans.

“Isn’t it funny how hard someone is from a lil face-sitting?” You squeeze lightly and he hisses. “And isn’t it cute that a certain someone could cum from that alone, yet he acts like such a big brat?”

Jeonghan’s noises grow louder as you continue to stroke him and when you lift up again to let him breathe after his rather guttural groan, hands fly to your hips despite the implicit command to not touch without permission.

“Will you forgive me if I make you cum first?”

It’s probably not the best timing but you gently pry his fingers away to move off him even as he makes sounds of protest. He sits up and continues to hold eye contact, searching for an unspoken answer only to raise an eyebrow at your chagrined smile.

“I’m not really mad, I just… okay. We should talk. Are you ashamed of our relationship?”

“What? Angel, no, I — ”

“Maybe I should clarify, does our… dynamic embarrass you? Because if you’re not happy with the sex then — ”

“It’s not that!” Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip. “I love our sex life.”

“But…”

“I don’t know! I wouldn’t change anything, but I just felt so… never mind. It was pathetic, I said stupid shit, and I’m sorry about it.”

You’re pretty sure you’re getting closer to what you speculated and take his hand in yours. “Hannie, you’re not any less of a man or partner whether I’m in control or you are. All that matters is that we’re enjoying ourselves and acting safe.”

“And in love,” he cracks a grin when you raise your eyebrows in surprise at his addition, “I do know that, and I wouldn’t change a thing… I guess I just got… I don’t know…”

“It’s alright, I’ll be honest though — I don’t really like these new friends of yours.”

“They’re a little… different. More vulgar, I guess.”

“Tempted to fuck in front of them so they learn some respect.” Jeonghan lets out an appalled gasp of your name even as his hips jerk up slightly to betray him and you giggle. “You’d like that, huh?”

“You’re evil.”

“On occasion, sure, but.” You switch to a more serious tone again. “Babe, be honest. Are you still wary of what Cheol’s gonna do? This is why I asked about our relationship, I promise he’s not as serious as he says. He’s always going to be a protective lil snot.”

Your boyfriend strokes your cheek with a regretful smile. “He just wants his older sister to be happy and well-taken care of — something I keep fucking up.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, you take that back right now!”

“Alright, alright,” he puts his hands up in surrender, “but you and I both know there are at least twelve guys ready to chop off my head if you so much as cough because of me.”

“I cough a lot because of your — anyways, you know that they all expected this right? Joshua thanked me last week because my brother took them all out to the fanciest restaurant in the city.”

“Why?”

“Because he lost the bet, figured you wouldn’t have the guts to go through with it even if I managed to ask you out. That’s prolly why he joked about you paying for his drinks.”

“Seungcheol is terrifying. He doesn’t play around.”

“I keep telling you he’s all bark and no bite! We all know who’s the real biter in the family.” You prove your point and lean in to refresh the pretty markings you love leaving around Jeonghan’s collarbones, continuing to mumble against his skin. “All them are going to be — already are — so supportive. Sure they may tease a bit but they’re not going to disrespect us like these randos.”

“Angel, I know you’re always right in the end, but… can we not have a heart-to-heart in the middle of sex? I think my dick’s gonna go flat if you mention our oh-so-lovely friend group one more time.”

You click your tongue. “Impossible. We can’t have that, can we?”

“We can’t.”

With the way he easily slips back into the dynamic, eagerly licking his lips as you reposition your thighs around his head, you’re filled with a strange sense of relief. It might not be an easy transition into the friendship with the relatively new and different relationship with Jeonghan but at the very least, they’re the people closest that love the two of you very dearly.

But your boyfriend’s right — now is not the time to think about it anymore. Instead, you focus on taking his length into your mouth to make sure it stays hard (of course it would), the shift into facing the end of the bed (and his dick lol) ensuring that desire. It isn’t long before you finally let him have his way with you, the restraining control he exercises completely breaking as his hips slam erratically against yours.

His hands roam freely across your curves, happily groping at your breasts and sliding down to play with your clit. Moans fill the bedroom before you pull him close for messy open-mouthed kisses, tongues tangling in a heat-filled frenzy as you both approach your climax for the night.

Jeonghan’s rinsing the shampoo out of your hair when he suggests grabbing lunch with the boys and their significant others over the weekend. You smile at him in agreement, placing a chaste kiss against his lips before mischievously swiping a handful of soap suds across his nose. You’re sure your neighbors will file a noise complaint because of loud giggles and shrieks, shortly followed by another round of sinful moans echoing up the shower pipes. But who cares?

When you’re finally in bed, Jeonghan’s arm draped over you waist as he quietly snores, you send a message to your brother.

i’m the happiest i’ve ever been so don’t fuck this up for me by being scary to hannie >:(

it’s 2am why r u up? wait don’t answer that. and i’m not scary

don’t threaten him he’s fragile 

ur the only one that thinks he’s fragile…

well i’m right so play nice

owes me one round of drinks at the very least - best friend things... but maybe if you score me a date w/ your hot coworker i’ll re-consider

next round of drinks on me and a possibility of a date, deal?

deal.

Despite a wrinkled brow and occasional grumpy scowl, Seungcheol conceded and eased up. After all, Jeonghan was his best friend. And by the grins on your faces even as everyone gave into the friendly teasing, he knew you were happy — and that was all that mattered.

Now, did he score his date? That’s a story for another time ~

Send me a NSFW headcanon and I’ll write a 5(ish) sentence ficlet about it 👀👅

[strawberrymilkgeorge]

Part Eighteen. The Package.

warnings: swearing word count: 4.3k (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

a/n: me: *it’ll be a much shorter update* also me: *makes it 4.3k words* okay 🧍‍♀️ basically um.... strap in :D

**********

As expected, Y/n’s appearance on Quackity’s stream had caused a panic on Twitter, half of their fans screaming about how cute Bugity was, the other half defending Dreamsy with their lives. It was all very amusing to Y/n, knowing nothing could ever happen between her and Quackity and that neither of them actually had feelings for each other. 

It seemed certain people thought otherwise. 

Dream, the confident and bold man that he usually was, had once again gone quiet towards her. Though it had only been a couple of days, they hardly talked after the stream and had little contact since then, which was very unusual for the two, who normally FaceTimed at least once a day since he showed her his face. 

The weirdest part was he hadn’t Tweeted any jokes about Quackity being too short for her or how Dream was her self-proclaimed Minecraft husband. Maybe he was just busy or tired, but she had a suspicion that it was because she and Quackity had succeeded in making Dream jealous, and she didn’t like it. 

Unlike last time, Y/n knew to confront him about it and work it out before whatever was going on became a bigger issue. She couldn’t deal with him being weird around her again and she had a feeling that he couldn’t either. Even if he was just busy, she wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.

After sending a text to Dream to see if he was busy, Y/n was startled by her front door opening.

“Y/n!” Karl shouted as he ran in, hands full of as many white, plastic bags as possible without dropping or tearing any, though there were a few bags on his right arm that looked like they were about to give. “My beloved!” 

“Karl!” she said back in a slight panic, not expecting him to burst into her house so abruptly. Naomi followed behind him with a few bags in her hands, kicking off her shoes by the entrance and dumping her keys next to them. The two friends set their new purchases on the kitchen counters and Y/n made her way to them to sit at the counter. “Enjoy your trip?”

“Oh for sure,” Naomi nodded sarcastically, unbagging a few items. “Grocery shopping with this one is always sooo fun.” 

Y/n laughed as Karl perked up like he remembered something and dug through a few of the bags Naomi was sorting through. “LOOK WHAT WE BOUGHT!” 

“Uh… cereal?” she guessed, eyeing the brown box her best friend held up proudly.

“Dude, it’s Cocoa Krispies!” he clarified. “I forgot these exist! I’m so excited, it’ll be like eating childhood.” 

Naomi rolled her eyes fondly at his antics before turning to Y/n. “Any word from Dream?” 

She shook her head. “But I only just texted him.” 

“What about Dream?” Karl asked softly, worry in his eyes as he looked between the two girls. “Did something happen? Besides, you know, you showing him your face.” 

Y/n groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of this. I’m sorry you found out from a stream and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first. It just happened so fast.” 

“As long as I’m the first person you tell when you inevitably start dating.”

“Oh, like you tell me anything, Mr. I’m-Obviously-Texting-Someone-Cute-Because-I-Never-Stop-Giggling-At-My-Phone-But-Haven’t-Mentioned-Anything-To-My-Best-Friend,” Y/n accused, lifting her hands to put air quotes around the last two words. Karl turned bright red and Y/n raised her eyebrows as his phone buzzed on the counter, his eyes darting to it before looking at Y/n with a bashful smile, face still glowing. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Karl sputtered out some attempt of an excuse as he grabbed the ends of his green hoodie in his hands before giving up and huffing. “Okay, and? I only keep things from you because you keep things from me!” he said with a laugh.

“Lie,” Naomi cut in. “We know you've been texting someone for a while. We just respect your privacy about relationships, but we’ve definitely noticed.” 

“I'm private about relationships?” Karl laughed. “Says you!” 

“I'll tell you anything you want to know as long as you don't share it with fans,” Naomi challenged, crossing her arms and looking at Karl pointedly, as if asking him to test her.

Karl dropped his hands and paused before genuinely asking, “Are you guys dating dating?”

“We’re waiting until we meet to see how it goes,” she answered. “Your turn! Is it the camera girl at work that you mentioned a few months ago?” 

“Anyways!!” Karl dragged out the word loudly, pretending to not hear Naomi's question or either of the girl’s laughter. “What about Dream?” he tried redirecting the conversation and luckily for him, Y/n didn’t mind. 

“Well, I kinda....” she took a deep breath as she started helping Naomi put groceries away. “I really want to... I think, well, I know—”

“She decided to tell him she likes him,” Naomi answered for her, receiving a glare from the taller girl. “What? You were taking too long.” 

Karl’s mouth opened. “Wait, really!? When? Today??” He fired off questions and Naomi chuckled. 

Y/n took a shaky, but excited breath. “I don’t know when. But I’m going to tell him,” she said with determination clear in her voice. 

“What made you decide to?” Karl asked with a wide grin, reaching over to Naomi to help her place a box on a higher shelf than she could reach. “Why all of a sudden?” 

Y/n shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly with excitement. “Well, I started to think he likes me too and I really want to know if something could happen or if I should try to just move on. I’ll never know unless I ask, right?” she said, and Karl and Naomi both smiled at her. “I'm sick of not knowing for sure.” 

“I’m so excited for you!” Karl giggled. “I’m—Y/n, this is gonna be good. I know it.”

She smiled widely, scrunching her nose lightly. “I think so too.”

“So do George and I,” Naomi commented as she took a handful of Cocoa Krispies from the box, earning a look of betrayal from Karl, who snatched the box from her to have a snack too. 

“Does everyone talk about him and I?”

Karl nodded slowly while Naomi took a more blunt approach. “Yup.”

“What are the odds that he’s the only one who doesn’t think we like each other?” 

Karl giggled. “1 in 7.5 trilli— OW! You just hit me!” 

“Overused joke,” Naomi explained, retracting her hand from the back of his head with a sweet smile. 

Y/n pulled her phone out of her pocket as it vibrated and gasped lightly before looking up at her friends. “Okay Karl, I need to know details about this secret person you’re keeping from us, especially if it's camera girl because she sounded adorable.” 

“No,” he protested pointedly. “Not until something actually happens.” 

“Is.. is that a confirmation that it's camera girl?” Naomi snapped her head to look at him.  

Karl paused, turning pink. “N-no?” 

“Karl!” Y/n pouted and he winked dramatically at her. 

“Go talk to your boy. I know it was him that just texted you.” 

“Make him your boyfriend,” Naomi demanded jokingly, though the glint in her eyes told Y/n that she meant it. 

“Not happening right now,” Y/n assured, getting up from her seat. “But I am going to go talk to him. So love you both, bye.”

“Hi,” Y/n greeted happily as she propped her phone up on her desk and tucked her knees to her chest.

“Hello,” Dream said with a weak smile, less enthusiastic than he seemed over text, though he was trying his best to make that not noticeable. He pulled his hood over his hair but kept his face in view and Y/n could clearly see him being vaguely distant, not looking directly at his phone.

Focus on the mission: make sure he's doing okay and if not, find out why, she reminded herself as her thoughts started to focus on how adorable he looked all tired and pouty. Don't tell him you like him if he's mad at you for something.

“Are you doing okay?” He nodded distractedly at her question and she frowned softly. “What’s wrong, Clay?”

The man stuck with his story, adding a slight smile and a breathy laugh in an attempt to make his obvious lie more believable. “Nothing. I’m fine, Bug.”

Y/n took a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it suddenly. “At the risk of sounding… narcissistic,” she paused, “are you by chance upset at all by the... stream from the other day?”

Hesitation was written all over Dream’s face as he chewed on his lower lip and hummed.

“Or something completely different? I just wanna make sure I didn't do anything to upset you..”

“I'm not upset at you,” he clarified quickly before hesitantly adding, “but... maybe it has a little bit to do with that.”

Y/n nodded, hoping she was understanding correctly and wasn’t about to make a fool of herself. “In a... jealous way?”

Dream huffed, clearly frustrated. “Yeah, I get it, the whole point was that Alex wanted to make me jealous because he knows how much I care about you and… and whatever. Well, it worked,” he admitted the last part softly like he was embarrassed.

“Dream,” Y/n sighed, “I’ve said it before, you have nothing to be jealous of.”

“I’m aware that I’m not allowed to be jealous, Y/n,” he said harshly, though she knew the slight anger wasn’t directed at her specifically, despite the use of her real name, which he hardly ever used.

She frowned. “That’s not—no, that’s not what I’m saying. I mean that there’s nothing to be jealous of.”

Dream looked at the camera skeptically. “I mean… there kinda is, to be fair. Two of my best friend’s reading—”

“Dream,” Y/n deadpanned, looking softly but sternly at him through the pixels that made their distance seem closer. “I’m serious.”

The blond boy shrugged slowly, seeming to realize how dumb it was to think there was a possibility of him losing Y/n’s attention in any way. “I know it’s stupid to be jealous anyway. You can, you know, have whatever friends you want. I just…” he trailed off like he wanted to say something important but shook his head.

Y/n took a deep breath, so tempted to just blurt out the words at the back of her throat. Just tell him you like him, she scolded herself, do it. It’s the perfect chance. She didn’t know if she was being dumb and was just reading into things or if she was right, but she felt like he liked her. Even before he saw her.

“Sorry I made you mad,” she whispered and he frowned.

“You didn't—Bug, I'm not mad at you. Or Quackity. I’m mad at myself if anything but… not mad.”

“So… you don't hate me?”

He rolled his head back and smiled, scoffing lightly. “I could never be mad at you. Like, actually.”

She rolled her lips between her teeth, feeling the words bubble at the back of her throat again. But before she could open her mouth to let them fly, the boy on the other side of the phone spoke up.

“Hey, did you get my package yet?” Dream asked suddenly. Y/n couldn’t tell if he was changing the subject on purpose or if he just remembered and didn’t want to forget, but it made her want to hit her head on her desk. She needed to figure out a way to subtly bring the conversation back around eventually so she could make herself tell him she liked him.

Y/n let out her breath shakily and her shoulders dropped. “Oh, uh, I don’t think so. The mail hasn’t come today though.”

Dream groaned. “I wish it would show up already,” he pouted. “It’s supposed to get there sometime in the next couple days. I don’t know exactly when because UPS is being vague.”

Y/n laughed. “What did you send?”

“The hoodie!”

“Oh yeah!” she gasped, forgetting about her self-appointed task from moments ago. “I’m very excited. Thank you again, by the way. It’s very sweet of you to send me your merch for free.”

“Of course,” he said with a soft smile. “Anything for you.”

“I’ll just have to pay you back by giving you the very first Bugsy merch.”

“Ohh!!” he gasped excitedly. “Are you working on some?”

She shrugged vaguely to tease him. “I may or may not have a few ideas.”

“Please, can I know? I really wanna know.”

“Why are you so excited?” she asked with a laugh. “You can find out when I announce stuff.”

He pouted. “I don’t get any sort of privilege?”

“Pretty privilege will only get you so far in life, bud,” she teased and he shook his head. She wondered if she would have butterflies in her stomach still if she called him pretty under different circumstances, like if they were dating. Would he react in a different way or still just give her that smile.

“I just can’t wait,” he interrupted her train of thought. “I love having every crumb of BugsyGames content I can get.”

“You already get more than anyone except Karl and Naomi. So greedy.”

He hummed and smiled at her fondly.

“Hey, you said you wanted to talk about something?”

“Huh? Oh… that… uh, well.” He stopped abruptly and his brows furrowed in deep thought, like he was deciding how to say something important again.

She decided to give him a way out by offering, “Was it just about wondering if I got the hoodie yet?”

Dream’s face lit up and she didn’t mistake the grateful look for anything else. “Yeah, that. Just let me know when you do get it. Or I’ll text you if they ever let me know where it is.”

A few days later, Y/n got a notification on Twitter from Dream’s alt account. She rolled her eyes fondly at his theatrics, knowing he didn’t text her like he made Twitter think. 

Y/n lifted the large, brown box from her doorstep and shook her head as she brought it into her apartment. She dropped it on her bed with a huff, hoping that Dream didn’t send her more than one of his merch hoodies. She read the label on the front and immediately knew he did; the white sticker had her nickname written in a small, neat but childlike script instead of a label printed off from a factory. He made her believe he had ordered one from his website and had it delivered to her house, but this clearly showed it had been at his house, giving her the impression there was more than one. She breathed out and grabbed her phone, hoping Dream would pick up her FaceTime call.

After only two rings, Dream answered. “Helloooo,” he greeted slowly but happily. He was slouched sideways on his couch so his cheek pressed against the back and he smiled sleepily.

“Clay.”

“Clay?” he laughed. “Are you mad at me or something?”

“What did you send me?”

“Hoodies? Did you get them?”

“Plural?” Y/n emphasized and he smiled.

“Plural,” he confirmed, making Y/n groan.

“I feel so bad! I didn’t even want one free—”

“Come onnn, it’s fine. Bug, I’ve gifted you, like, 700 subs in one stream before but you don’t want more than one of my hoodies?”

She paused. Did he mean ‘his’ hoodies as in his hoodies? Or as in his brand?

“Just open it!” Dream prompted as he sat up a little. “I’m excited!”

“Which ones did you send me?” Y/n asked as she grabbed scissors from her desk and started opening the box, propping her phone up on her pillows so he could see. “Also, nice handwriting.”

Dream laughed. “Yeah? Sapnap says it looks like shit.”

“I doubt his is any better. I like the little… thing you drew? What is that?” she asked as she paused and leaned closer to the package to get a better look at the artwork.

“It’s a bug!” Dream laughed. “It’s not that bad. Okay, it is pretty bad but you could have figured out what it was from context clues.”

“It's just a scribble.”

“Okay, Miss Artist,” he mocked. “Just open the package!”

Y/n finished opening the box and was hit with an unfamiliar scent. It was nice, making the butterflies in her stomach flutter. She grabbed the material on top, a classic lime green hoodie with Dream’s smile printed on the front, and held it up with a wide smile.

“IT’S SO CUTE!!” she complimented, stepping back from the camera and holding it up to her body. “And also the perfect size! Thank you so much, Dream, seriously.”

“Put it on!” he said with a giggle and she complied, wanting to feel how soft it was while wearing it. She pulled the hoodie on, noting how the scent from the box lingered on the green fabric, but wasn’t strong enough to be the source.

She stepped back and lifted her arms, showing how it fit just how she liked her hoodies to. “It’s perfect!” she assured.

“It looks good on you,” he complimented. “There’s still another one.”

“I know, because you just can’t help but to break rules and go against our agreement,” she joked as she took off the new hoodie and poked her head in the box to see what else he had sent her.

Her eyes locked onto a maroon-colored hoodie with an unfamiliar logo on the front, definitely not more merch like she expected.

“It’s mine,” Dream explained softly from her phone. She looked at him to see him doing his best to hide behind his hand without making his embarrassment obvious.

“No, it’s not,” she challenged in disbelief. No way he sent her his actual hoodie.

Dream nodded and she grabbed it from the box, noticing how much larger it was than the last one. She held it up to her body again and almost fainted at the size difference.

“It’s from, like, forever ago when my family went to the Florida Keys on vacation,” he explained. “Thought you might want a reminder that warm places exist while it gets colder there.”

Y/n smiled widely, not even trying to hide her happiness, which made Dream crack and flash his own grin. “Wanna try it on?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice, slipping it over her head like the last one. It smelled amazing. This was definitely the source of the cologne and she just knew it was his. If this is what he smelled like, she was going to have a hard time not cuddling with him 24/7 when they went on vacation.

“Y/n, you look so cu—”

“It smells so good,” she voiced abruptly and distractedly, making Dream cut himself off and turn a pink that even his phone camera could pick up on.

“Glad you think so.”

She lifted the material over her nose and was even more overwhelmed by the scent that surrounded her. If her stomach butterflies were fluttering before, they were raging lunatics at this point.

“You look so cute, Bug,” Dream complimented fondly and she smiled at him, flipping the hood up to cover her face. “I was right, you do look much better in my clothes than in Karl’s.”

She hummed happily and fiddled with the hoodie strings as she walked back to her phone and took a breath.

She needed to just say it. It was obvious now; there was no way he didn’t like her, sending her his hoodie practically drenched in his cologne and saying she looked cute in his clothes while he blushed. She had nothing to lose in telling him she liked him.

“Thank you, Dream. It really means a lot to me,” she said genuinely and he smiled at her.

“One more thing,” he said and she could detect nervousness in his voice, worrying her only slightly.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know how to say this because I’ve never done this like… this… but you know there’s a first for everything I guess, and, uh—”

“Dream,” Y/n got his attention with a small laugh. “Just say whatever you need to say.”

“I lied about what I wanted to talk to you about the other day,” he admitted, tightening his hoodie strings before loosening them and huffing loudly. “I mean, I did want to see if the package was there, but I also wanted to… I have a better explanation for kinda ignoring you after Quackity’s stream and stuff um…” he paused and took a deep breath. “I know I can get kinda, I don't know, possessive about people,” he stated, his voice raising at the end like it was a question. “And it's something I'm definitely working on because it’s not a really good trait to have, but I do it especially when I like someone a lot so I’m sorry for being jealous of Quackity and Karl and even Naomi but, uh, I really like you a lot so if I’ve ever come across as overly jealous, that's why. But, again, I'm working on that.”

Y/n didn't know how to contain her smile even if she wanted to. Her heart raced as she looked at Dream’s embarrassed and red face.

“This is also not how I wanted to do this but, I’m pretty sure if I went another day without telling you that I like you, especially after seeing you in my hoodie, I was going to actually explode.”

“You asshole,” she mumbled, a huge grin contradicting her words.

“Oh god, I'm so sorry for rambling. I understand if you wanna send me the hoodie back or even just burn it if you want. Go ahead and burn it. I didn't mean it to come across as creepy if it did. I can see how it would be because I told you I like you after telling you to wear it and… oh god. And I'll stop texting you so much and not go on streams you'll be on and—”

“No, no! Dream, I don't want any of that!” She laughed. “I called you an asshole because you beat me to it.”

“Beat you to what?” he asked, the shakiness in his voice telling her how anxious he was.

Put him out of his misery, Y/n. “I was going to tell you I like you,” she explained before softly adding, “You beat me to it.”

Dream looked at her like she hung the moon just for him. “You do?”

“Yes, dummy. I really do.” Her face was on fire and she lifted the collar of her (his) hoodie over her nose like she always did when she was flustered. This time, the action only worsened her state since she was reintroduced to the scent of Dream’s cologne.

Y/n’s screen showed Dream’s ceiling as he set his phone down abruptly and put his head in his hands, which she could kinda see by his mess of blond waves shoved into the camera lens as he leaned over his desk.

“Dream!” She laughed. “Come back!”

He grabbed his phone and held it close to his face, absolutely beaming. “You have no idea how happy— Bug, I like you a lot.”

“I like you too, Dream,” she repeated and his smile only grew.

“Holy shit. You have a crush on me!”

“Shut up,” she joked. “What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I'm going to take you on a fucking date when you get here, that's what I'll do about it. Sound good?”

She bit her lips and nodded. “I can check my schedule.”

“Oh, come on,” he whined lightly. “Really?”

“Yes, I’ll go on a freaking date with you, Clay. What kind of question is that?”

“Consent is key!!” he declared. “I'm not gonna force you to go out with me—”

“You'd have to force me not to,” she laughed. “But just to be very clear, do you see now that I meant it when I said you had nothing to be jealous of?”

He frowned seriously. “I'm really sorry. I know it's unattractive and unhealthy and I'm working on it, I really am.”

“Honestly, you've done pretty good, I think. I mean, I didn't even know you were jealous of Naomi until you told me. And you didn't blow up at Quackity… at least not during stream or in front of me, which shows you have some self control.”

Dream laughed through his nose. “I actually didn't yell at him for that at all. Just… pouted to George and Karl.”

“W-wait to KARL? Karl knows you like me? AND George? That means both of us told them how we felt and neither of them let us know!”

“They hate us,” Dream joked.

“Just for that, I'm not telling either of them about the date. Purely out of spite.”

“I made them swear they wouldn't tell you anything though. So I understand why they didn't say anything.”

Y/n hummed. “I guess I did the same… okay fine they're super loyal, perfect friends. Still annoying.”

Dream smiled at her attitude and her frown melted away.

“By the way, I never said you being jealous wasn't hot.”

Dream’s eyebrows shot up. “What the hell did you just say?”

“Unreasonable jealousy isn't but you sending me a hoodie just because you don't want to see me wear Karl’s is kinda…” she suddenly got shy at her words but still raised an eyebrow at him. “It's definitely attractive.”

Dream shook his head fondly. “You're going to kill me.”

*********

PREVIOUS | NEXT

taglist: CLOSED (bold couldn’t tag) @hydrate-tion @loraleiix @iamnothereatthemoment @charsdummb @jeyyes @notgeoreg @cerberus-hellhound @gaysludge @queestionmark @carnations-red @letsloveimagines @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @boiled-onionrings @fee-btheweeb @erwinss @just-a-stan @axths @kayleigh2703 @furiouspockettoad @sometimeseverythingsucks @powerpuffyn @tinyegg @millavalntyne @automaticcomputerpaper @nikkineeky @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @sprucekot @bellomi-clarke @possiblyanxioushuman @crybabyjabby @mushroom-main @hungoverhellhound @dreamyteam @kuroo-icedtea @stuffforreferences @menacingaesthetic @sapphic-soot @fangeekkk @haseulreturns @queenwastaken @sunbunniie @losingvienna @bi-narystars @zero-nightshade @erinitoburrito @sparklykeylime @youhyakuya @danny-devitowo @clubfairy @loser-keiji @oi-itsemily @alm334 @the-katastrophe @wreny24 @applecakeradio @unicornblood4ever @hehe-red @brendalopez99 @spacecluster @justonemoreepisode @strawbrinkofdeath @aikochan4859 @chaotic-tieflings @dreamslittlebitch @where-thesundoesntshine @jamiealenaa @unstableye @kageyamama-hinatatata @officiallyunofficialperson @secretly-a-weeb @localsimp @loxbbg @rhymeorreason1 @flubblubbb @kiritokunuwu @sylum @raining13lemonade @aiyncel @ghostfacefricker6969 @avengemepercy @modyoonie @givemeyourcrunchbars @donttellaweirdweakling​ @dreamiewrites @misfortunatem00n @mayempress @strang-ersclub​ @panic-at-space-camp​ @netheriteaxes​ @kaqinq​ @momo-has-a-gun​ @lunelicmoone​ @beller-18 @bluechocolatemint​ @mythicalamphitrite​ @crypticcandi​ @80sfeel​ @asianfrustration13​ @justanunknown​ @libbynotfound​ @osculatcr​ @bindythedemon​ @haikyall​ @hyuckslytherin​ @thatonearieschild​ @the-perfect-gemini​ @ialexabsuniverse​ @sleepingalaska​ @renjunniex​  @rebellionburnsthemup​ @moonchildwildx​ @sarcasticmichelle​ @carat-eri​ @ravennightingaleandavatempus​ @isthatyouritalian​ @cha0ticg0b1in​ @suwunarin​ @bxsmentchildxx​  @mintchip17 @vincent-stargogh​ @jules-skye​ @askgeoff​ @d-fendyr​ @diedestress​ @idiotinnit​ @gabbysblogthingy​ @call-me-soap​ @fujiapfel @stxrryb1tch​ @onlynarry​ @squarky-sheep​ @ecao @ok-honey @saltishima-rex​ @kodzukatcore​ @gwendolyn02​ @kiwismoothies​ @flippyninja​ @xfihvru @anqelanqel @letkeefeswear​ @cantaloupe-draws​ @what-is-the-creature-oh-glob @theboywhocriedlupin​

[mc-lukanette]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

"Sass, scales rest."

Luka felt the de-transformation light wash over him as Sass emerged, hovering a small distance away. The battle had been easy enough, though Luka's face inadvertently implied otherwise.

The red of Ladybug's suit only reminded him of Marinette's situation - her “fate” - and he couldn't shake it no matter how hard he tried.

"Thanks for your help, Luka. I know I can always count on you," Ladybug said, holding her hand out with the tiny Miracle Box on it. She then paused, noting his expression, and questioned gently, "Is... everything okay?"

He straightened, his hand instinctively reaching for the bangle on his wrist. Stopping short, he hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Ladybug."

She took a step closer, holding the box to her chest as she replied, "Yes?"

"Can I... talk to Sass?" he asked, then clarified, "Alone, for a while?"

The brows of her mask rose, the concern in her face doubling. Her free hand reached for him, though didn't touch him directly. "Luka, really, is something wrong?"

Luka was glad that she trusted him not to run off with the miraculous at least. Still, he struggled to explain the issue; would she even understand it?

Sass floated in front of his face, eyeing him quietly, then turned to address Ladybug's question himself. "This is a matter between snakes."

She tilted her head in confusion, looking back-and-forth between the two like she was trying to piece together what that meant. When she couldn’t seem to find an answer, she gave in and nodded her head anyway. "Um, okay. It sounds serious. I hope nothing's wrong. I'll—uh—" She looked around, then pointed to a nearby alleyway. "—go recharge and meet you back here?"

Luka nodded, then followed after Sass as he flew in the opposite direction that Ladybug was going. They went into an alleyway of their own, Luka letting out a sigh as he leaned against the wall.

"What did you see?" Sass inquired, crossing his legs and placing his paws on his knees to show that he was offering his full attention.

Luka glanced up at him, frowned, then looked down at the snake bangle and fiddled with it. "My friend... Marinette—" He made eye contact, hoping he wouldn't have to explain himself further. "Do you know her?"

"Ah." Sass gave a hint of a smile, placing a paw to his chin in thought. "Multimouse."

Completely unsuprised and thus unphased by the notion that she'd been a hero, Luka murmured, "So you've seen it. T-the..." He raised his hand to his neck, his thumb and index finger indicating what had already been burned into his memory by then. When Sass didn't respond, Luka hurriedly added, "The red string."

Sass straightened at that. "She had the string... around her neck?"

Luka nodded, grimacing at the sentence. "You didn't see it?"

"I can sense the bonds, but I can't see them," Sass explained. He uncrossed his legs, floating down towards the snake bangle. Luka raised his forearm in response, keeping it level with his chest, and Sass placed his paws on the object, turning it into its transformed state. "The miraculous has more magic in it than simply giving a kwami's power to a holder. I've been sealed in that box for so long, and it's been a very long time since I could affect anyone's fate myself; it's usually just myself and my holder until they have to give up their miraculous."

Luka held still as Sass brought himself to rest on Luka's forearm, keeping his paws on the miraculous while rubbing it in thought. Tail wrapping around Luka's arm, Sass then continued, "But the magical bond the miraculous creates gives my holder power from being connected to me. You see fate because you can interact with the world around you."

"And... Marinette?" Luka urged. "Can I help her?"

Sass took his paws away from the miraculous, settling for lounging on his arms and staring up at Luka thoughtfully. "You said... her neck?"

Luka nodded urgently.

"Ah, she's a victim of the kind of fate no one would want," Sass observed neutrally, though Luka got the feeling that he was hiding concern from him. "Do you remember what I said about her luck?"

"You think that has something to do with this...?" Luka asked, gaping in disbelief. Marinette having terrible luck was bad enough, but this—

"It's possible." Sass pressed his cheek to Luka's skin, never breaking eye contact with him. "Or it could be that the universe has done this for the sake of the one on the other end."

"The other—" Luka felt a spike of irritation, his free hand tightening into a fist "You mean this is all for Adrien? What about her?"

Sass' expression soured at the mention of Adrien. "It's what destiny has already decided for her. It wants everything to happen in a certain way, punishing those it's against and favoring those it prefers."

"Against? Prefers?" Luka hissed, raising his voice at the implications. "So it's tripping Marinette - choking her - for its own sick games? Because Marinette is so talented and amazing that they—they—"

He looked away, idly searching the sky for specks of black and purple while forcing himself to calm down. Running a hand across his face, he took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth.

"Can I help her?" he repeated as he looked back at Sass. Gesturing desperately with his free hand, he begged, "There has to be a way, Sass, please."

"Snakes choose their own fate, and they have the power to change the fate of others," Sass reminded him, then paused for effect before continuing, "but they can't change everything. It depends on them, the person who has the fate, and what the snake is willing to do."

Luka opened his mouth, ready to say he'd do anything, but noticed that Sass seemed to have more to say. He at least got the feeling that Sass already knew anyway.

Sass offered an approving smile, confirming Luka's feeling, then gave him a brief once-over. Humming with intrigue, he met Luka's gaze with an evaluation of, "If it's you, I won't worry about her."

"Huh? What—"

"Luka?"

Ladybug came to stand at the entrance of the alleyway, backlit by the light behind her. She walked forward, biting her lip for a moment before saying, "Sorry, I was waiting but I got anxious—not that I thought you'd go anywhere, but—" She wrung her hands together, brows furrowed with concern. "—you were taking a while..."

Luka glanced at Sass for an acceptable response, but Sass didn't reply to her. Instead, he uncurled his tail from Luka's arm, floating up to be level with his face and giving him a reassuring nod. Luka wasn't exactly convinced of anything certain, but looking between Ladybug and Sass, he knew he couldn't delay things forever to ask every question he had.

He wasn't sure he wanted the answer to some of them anyway.

Closing his eyes, Luka gripped the miraculous and pulled it off, only opening his eyes again when Sass was back inside. Ladybug approached, a little awkward but nevertheless taking the miraculous from him and returning it to the little box. She then searched his eyes, unsure, but asked, "Was there something wrong with me giving you the miraculous? If it's a problem, I—"

"No," Luka said firmly, bringing one hand underneath hers and the other on the box on top. "It's not that. I'm grateful, if anything. It's..." He sighed. "...someone I'm worried about."

"Really?" She seemed hesitant to prod. "Who...?"

"...Marinette," he answered automatically, his hands dropping back to his side as he ducked his head. "She's going through a lot, and I—I just want to be there for her."

He missed the slight gape Ladybug gave, along with her blush. He was too busy staring at the ground, at a complete loss for what to do; Sass had given him answers, but not a lot of advice, and the idea of seeing that tightening string again tore him up inside.

He only became aware of Ladybug’s presence again when she stepped towards him and placed her hands on his cheeks, gently encouraging him to look at her. Blue eyes met blue as she whispered affectionately, "I'm sure she knows that, and I'd bet both of my earrings that she appreciates it. If you're even half of the person you are as a hero, she's lucky to have you."

Lucky. The word brought a sense of numbness with it, but there was something familiar about Ladybug that made him accept it for now, enough for his shoulders to relax as he was pulled back to reality.

He didn't have a plan, but he was a Couffaine, and he wasn't going to give up that easily; not when Marinette didn't give up on him either when his music had been stolen. She was worth all the support he could offer her and so much more.

[astranva]

Locked Out

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning: Few swear words.

Category: Angst to fluff.

Prompt: “Stop running from me.” 

Summary: Communication is key, but you locked Harry out.

let me know what you think, anon! hope you like this🤍

// masterlist // 

..

When you ask couples of their best period, they would tell you that it’s the “honeymoon phase” of their relationships.

They’d swear up and down on the cute gestures their partner did, giving you a list of all the fuzzy emotions they felt during that very time, how everything left a lingering sweet taste that they longed for.

Some would say that their honeymoon phase wasn’t just that, a phase, but it was a belief that both partners could practice so it would linger and embed itself into their relationship with no signs of decay from the passing years.

These are the same people who would go on and on about how it was communication that kept all these “sparks alive” and how important confrontation was; how being with someone meant that you unravel yourself to them.

Harry knew that seeking perfection was pointless because nobody would ever reach that, not him, not his closest friend, and not you.

It was why he accepted how you were a closed-off person when you began seeing each other; you weren’t one to open up and spill out your emotions and deepest thoughts that were anything but the happy aura you had around you at all times.

He accepted you.

It was acceptance that built the 10-month relationship.

You were there for Harry whenever he needed you, during the bad and good; the stress of writing a new record, the stress of how the world saw him, the stress of wanting to reach a perfection he knew didn’t exist.

You held him at night as he was naked in more ways than lack of clothing would be. It was when he was vulnerable and felt small that your heart clenched, feeling helpless even though you were the first person he sought after good news or an uneasy day.

It was you who held him as he cried. It was you who assured him when the industry made him feel like he wasn’t good enough. It was you who cursed at the world when it gave him shit for his self-exploration and self-love that you praised him for.

It was you.

But it was never him.

It wasn’t because Harry didn’t care nor didn’t put effort at helping you feel at ease; it was because you had denied him of that privilege.

You fought your demons on your own to a point where you tried convincing everyone around you that you didn’t have any before shifting the conversation so that their needs and state were put before your own.

Besides crying that one time as the both of you watched Marley & Me, Harry had never seen you cry, although he heard you a few times.

It happened one time, 3 months into your relationship. He was surprising you at your office with lunch, smiling and greeting your colleagues whom he had seen a few times before he reached your office, putting a finger to his lips as to hush your assistant with a smile before he quietly opened the door to your office.

Your chair was turned towards the window, and if Harry was any louder, he could’ve missed the quiet sound of your sobs.

“Lovie?”

And he heard you gasp and saw your arms moving furiously before you turned, avoiding eye contact as you took a gulp of the glass of water on your desk.

“What’s wrong?”

He was gentle, he knew he was. So why did you tell him that you were “just a little tired”?

And then it happened again at a party Jeff was hosting.

He noticed that one minute you were beside him as he talked to his friends, the next you weren’t.

The music wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet enough to make you hear your phone. He had searched for you everywhere before finally trying to check if you were at the restroom.

He knocked, “Y/N?”

His ear was pressed against the door and it was why he heard the sniffle before he heard your voice, “I’ll be out in a minute!” Your voice broke at the end.

“Are you okay, Lovie? Do you want me to come in there?”

“No, H. I’m fine.”

I’m fine.

Two words Harry never believed.

And although he tried to get you to talk that night, assuring you that he would listen to whatever that was on your mind, he reached the same dead-end street – you were “fine.”

The both of you were shopping when it happened.

Holding two bags in one hand, Harry held your hand in his free one as you walked outside the Gucci store he wanted to visit.

You were midway through a laugh at Harry’s reminder of how you looked in one fiery red and brown sweater that you tried and he had taken a picture of when suddenly a shout directed to you sounded from across the street.

“You don’t fucking deserve him, you fucking gold-digger!”

Harry was a royalty when it came to not giving haters the reaction they wanted, but to hear something directed to you so directly and vulgarly, he was seething.

His head instantly snapped towards the source, looking at the girl who insulted you, standing among other fans and paps.

It was you tugging on his hand that had him drift his attention, “Let it go.”

“Let it go?” He questioned, face hard as you somewhat dragged him towards your car, “No, this wasn’t-”

“Harry, please.”

“She just insulted you.”

“Just get in the car, alright?” Your defeated look almost made him soften – keyword: almost.

Harry got inside with a slam of the door and a scowl on his face, running the car before driving.

Once he got out of the street, Harry glanced at you, “Are you not angry?”

“No.”

You couldn’t be real.

“But you know it’s not true, don’t you?” He asked with concern, glancing from you to the road.

With every passing second that you remained quiet in, Harry’s heart seemed to break.

“Don’t you, Y/N?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You said quietly, moving your legs so that they didn’t face him before you looked out of the window.

“Of course you don’t,” he found himself saying, “You never do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You frowned, turning back to look at him.

“It means you don’t talk to me, Y/N. Ever.”

“I do talk to you.”

“I mean opening up, Y/N,” he clarified, “I’m always bitching about my problems, crying to you and ranting about everything, but I just don’t get why you don’t do the same. Not even the slightest. And don’t give me the because there’s nothing wrong bullshit, please, because we both know that’s not true.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Your voice was raised a little.

“I just want you to trust that I won’t judge you, that I’ll listen to you,” he frowned, “That you don’t have to do and feel everything on your own.”

You remained quiet for the rest of the ride and Harry hated it.

Reaching your apartment, he followed you up and into it, cautiously watching your every move and how you seemed to keep distance from between the both of you.

“What do you want for dinner?” You asked him, your tone almost fooling him and driving him into denial of how nothing wrong had happened only some minutes ago.

Softly, Harry sighed as he watched you begin to take out a few ingredients from your cupboards, “Are we not going to talk about what happened? You want us to just sleep on it?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

Your reply angered him, his jaw clenching for a second before he squinted his eyes at you, “Will you ever stop doing that?”

Sighing, you turned to face him, “Doing what?”

“This,” he gestured towards you, “Denying any discomfort or feeling just because you want to convince everyone that everything is fine when something isn’t, Y/N.”

“You know that I’m not one to open up. You knew that before we got together.”

“I do and I accept that, but can’t you see that it’s unfair, too? I had to find about Jim stealing your designs from your assistant, Y/N. I had no idea that you were terrified of cats until Sarah told me, yet you let me place Evie on your fucking lap and didn’t utter a word! I can go on for days, Y/N,” Harry said, the frown not leaving his face before his face softened, “It’s like every time I finally catch up with you, you run away.”

“It has always been like that for me, don’t you understand that?!” You shouted, mentally cursing at yourself at how your eyes grew tearful.

“I do understand and I understand that it’s something we can work on together! As a couple, a team,” he gestured at the distance between the both of you, “I just need you to help me out, Y/N!”

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” You threw your arms in the air.

With a soft expression and a pained look, Harry’s shoulders slumped down. “Stop running from me.”

Sensing your uneasiness, Harry approached you, engulfing you in a hug as he tightly wrapped his arms around you, feeling you clutch to his sweatshirt.

And then he heard it.

You let out a sob, crying into his chest as you shook against him.

He said nothing, but Harry held you.

“I’ll try,” you had managed to let out and although it was muffled, he heard it, “I’ll try, I promise.”

Harry moved his head to press a kiss to the top of your head, pulling away slightly to cup your face and have you look up at him, “At your own pace, Lovie. No rush.”

You only nodded, face looking innocent as Harry left a kiss on your nose.

“No rush.” He promised.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 2

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a pretentious ass - that's the only way you could possibly explain the man. That being said, you needed a job to help pay for grad school, and the position of being his TA was the only thing available. You'll suck it up and deal with it, but the last thing you'll do is let this man get inside your head in the process.

WC: 1131

Rated: M

Chapter Tags: laszlo is very to the point with his expectations.

🧠

Monday morning came too quickly. There was no need to dress super professionally as a TA, but you still found that you wanted to at least look presentable on your first day with the devil himself. One less thing for him to judge you on, right?

The hall in the Psychology wing was quiet, only a few students could be seen shuffling to their early morning classes. A tall guy walked past you, offering up a pity-smile in your direction as he saw where you stood. If what you had seen on the professor over the weekend was any real indication, you felt bad for the psych majors. Even so, you would do your best to withhold judgement until you met the man.

You stood outside his office. The dark mahogany door was shut, a gold “Dr. L Kreizler” placard adorned the wood. Pulling out your phone you check the schedule for the tenth time this morning.

Schedule:

MWF 8am-12pm

TTH 3pm-7pm

You lick your lips and look at the clock on the wall - 7:59. The second the hands switch to 8 you knock on the heavy wood. There is a muffled “come in” from the other side.

You don’t know what you anticipated as you entered the office. Taking a minute, you examine the decor he has set up. It felt like walking through a time capsule; as though you were transported to the gilded age. Rich, dark colors of wood and tapestry filled the space. Large bookshelves had tomes that looked to be at least a hundred years old, well worn and rubbed off of their titles. Small artifacts, pictures, and old scientific instruments line the shelves. The room is massive, not something you would have anticipated. He does not use the fluorescent overhead lights, instead having a series of tall warm-toned lamps scattered around the room. There is even a couch along the back wall, decorated with swirling filigree carved into the arms and legs. A laptop and second monitor on his desk bring you back to reality.

In your admiration of the office you pay no mind to the man it belongs to. Finally, you notice him as he stares at you from his chair, looking annoyed at having to wait for your introduction.

Even with the less than pleased look he’s giving, you can’t help but notice how attractive the man is. The picture had done absolutely nothing to show off the depth in those brown eyes, the softness of the delicately styled hair, the fullness of his well-groomed beard. He was much younger than you anticipated too. If anything you figure he’s maybe early 40s. And fuck, he’s just your type. Too bad he’s an asshole… and your boss…. you think belatedly.

“Oh! Sorry, um, I’m the new TA,” you introduce yourself and tell him your name. “It’s very nice to meet you professor.” You reach out to shake his hand. He does not move to return the favor, but instead keeps his calculating eyes on you. The silence tics on as you wait, hand outstretched. Clearing your throat you drop it back to your side.

Finally, he speaks in an accented voice. “You may call me Dr. Kreizler. I have space for you there,” he gestures with a nod of his head to a desk in the corner. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a list of expectations for you. Should you have any questions or concerns I expect that you address them with me directly. You’ll note that I have included my personal number for work purposes only. I expect you to provide me with your own should I need you outside of contract hours. Do not contact me while you are intoxicated or you will be dismissed from this position.” To the point then, you blink at his directness. And presumptuous as hell to assume that you would even consider drunk texting him.

He briefly explains your role and clarifies some of the less detailed points on his list. The entire time he’s speaking his focus is on whatever work sits in front of him, not you. A beat passes once he’s done.

“Sounds great, thank you.” You had done your best to remain civil and polite, ignoring the ill-reviews in hopes to create your own opinion. Quite frankly, he wasn’t faring well so far.

He looks up at you; his eyes are piercing. Does he always look like he’s picking apart people like they are a specimen he’s studying?

“I suspect you have done your research on who I am, yet you are still present today. That is promising. But tell me, who are you?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.

You’ve never been good at talking about yourself when put on the spot. “Well I’m 26 years old, I graduated magna cum laude with a dual degree in history and political science. The last few years I’ve been working with the graduate studies program to get my doctorate in history. My thesis is on 1960s shifting cultural norms and the development and impact of countercultures on American society.”

“Have you considered the emerging role of sequence murderers in your studies?” He almost looks interested as he asks.

“Some, not as much as I would like yet, though. I suppose a perk of taking this position means you can give me some insight on that since you teach about it.” You give a little smile-shrug, hoping the statement will earn you some points with him.

He ignores it. “And what background in psychology do you have? Or do you even have any?”

You are a bit taken aback by his tone. “I took an introductory course with Professor Stratton during my undergrad years.”

“Hmm. That will have to suffice. In the meantime I would suggest you make haste with the reading I’ve left you. It’s best you spend this week with that so you can be most useful to me this semester.”

Looking through all the contents he’s left on your desk you see two books, a textbook, a few slide show print outs, and his syllabi - each marked up with his cursive and colored tabs to mark pages of importance. Sitting down, you give an inaudible sigh; this is going to be a long semester. You pick up the first syllabus and get to work.

Noon rolls around after what feels like a lifetime. Packing up all the materials he’s provided, you wish him a good afternoon. As you are walking through the door he calls out to you.

“Next time, do not be late.” You give him a confused look, seeing as you got there exactly at 8am. “On time is late,” he explains curtly.

“Noted.” You don’t catch the door as it all but slams closed.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles

[plus-size-reader]

Allies

Matt Murdock x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2075 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Wilson Fisk’s daughter learns something very interesting about her past, something that leads her right to Matt Murdock’s doorstep

——————————————————————————————————

You wanted him dead.

Never in your life had you wanted your father dead, not as incredible as he’d always been to you, but that had all changed recently.

Wilson Fisk, the most wonderful father in the world, had always done everything he could for you. There was nothing you wanted that you hadn’t gotten, in all your life.

As far as the material things life had to offer, you always had everything you wanted, but there was one thing that you couldn’t forget. There was one thing that you wanted more than anything that he couldn’t give to you.

...and that same thing, was the one thing he’d taken from you, it seemed.

Your mother, an angel walking among the monsters of this planet, had died when you were fourteen years old. She was in an accident, laid up in the hospital for a week, and then died in the middle of the night.

Ever since then, all you wanted was her. You wanted to hear her voice again, to hug her again, but that wasn’t a luxury you had. No one did, no matter how much they wanted it.

That was what your dad told you, whenever you asked about her. He said that he wanted the same, that he missed her dearly, but you were beginning to think that was all a lie.

You heard him talking about her, to Wesley, the biggest weasel of all time. He talked about how the events unfolded, how he tried to fake an accident, and how she wasn’t supposed to survive.

He talked about having to find a way to ‘put her down’ from the hospital, while she slept in that bed. That was how he phrased it, like putting down a rabid dog.

It was nearly enough to make you sick.

You weren’t supposed to hear it, supposed to ever learn the truth, but that didn’t change the fact that you did. From the moment those words left his lips, you could hardly look at him.

However, there was a sort of beauty in the way you found out. You were able to find out without having to figure out the hard way, and no one knew that you knew.

It was all you’d been waiting for.

For some reason, as soon as you knew the truth, it was as if you were seeing the world with fresh eyes. Everything your father had ever told you, especially about your mother, was a lie. It forced you to call into question everything you knew about the world around you.

There was just no way around it.

Perhaps what you did next was foolish, some kind of pathetic rebellion against the only family you had left. Though, at the moment, you didn’t care about that.

All you cared about was getting back at the man you thought you loved for what he’d done. From this second on, Wilson Fisk might as well have been a complete stranger.

He certainly wasn’t the man who raised you, and he never would be again.

He was a murderer, and naturally, that led to the only man in Hell’s Kitchen who could help you figure out what your next step would be. They called him the Devil, but the way you were feeling, you may have made a deal with the actual devil.

Your mother was murdered, taken from you for no reason other than your father’s greed and selfish rage. That wasn’t enough for you, it was never going to be enough.

He could die for all you cared, it didn’t matter.

You had been loyal to your father, your only family, for far too long but without that bond, you didn’t have any reason to care what happened to him. Without that, he was just another criminal who needed to be brought down.

...And you knew just the man for the job.

The first time you saw him in person was at Vanessa’s art house, carrying a white cane that you were sure served him no purpose.

You had only ever seen pictures before, of Matt Murdock, but you’d been watching countless hours of footage of that man in the mask, of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and you could have spotted him anywhere.

It was a shot in the dark, something you could have been wrong about, but you didn’t think so. You didn’t have much of a choice, in the state you were in, and you were desperate.

You needed to see someone, anyone, that wasn’t directly in the pocket of your father and his men. As best you could tell, this masked man was one of the only people in the world who wasn’t.

This was all you could do.

Casually, you made your way over to him, a soft smile on your face. You knew that he couldn't’ see you but this wasn’t about making a good impression on him. This was about making everyone else believe that you were what they thought. As long as you were daddy’s little girl, the apple of his eye, there would be no reason for your father to question what you were doing. For right now, that was the best you could do.

“Looking for someone?” you asked, a soft smile on his face. You weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to say, how to proceed, but you knew that you had to try.

After all, he was your only hope. It wasn’t like there were a million other people waiting around to help you find justice for your mother.  

“Oh hello, I’m Matt Murdock” he smiled, doing his best to come off as unassuming and nonthreatening. You were hanging on his every word, waiting for a chance to say what you wanted to say, but you didn’t have to.

Frankly, he knew who you were, and assumed that you had nothing of value to say to him. Though, he was only partially right.

When you opened your mouth to speak again, you said something about your favorite painting on the far side of the gallery but what he was focused more on was the piece of paper you slipped into his hand.

You gave no indication of what you wanted on your face, but your heart was hammering against your ribcage, indicating that whatever it was made you pretty nervous.

Whatever it was, it was dangerous.

“My father is here, Mr.Murdock. If you’ll excuse me” you allowed, moving slowly away from the man over to where your father and his men had just started toward the doors.

You knew that your plan was foolproof, at least for now, but that did little to ease your paranoia. Everything had to go perfectly, or you weren’t sure what would happen.

Nothing guaranteed your safety, especially not now that you knew just how far your father was willing to go to get what he wanted.

You had to be careful, more careful now than ever before.

“Of course” he hummed, sticking the tiny slip of paper in his pant pocket, hiding it away from any prying eyes. Whatever it was you needed, it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t a tad bit curious.

Having you as a contact would certainly put him a bit closer to Fisk than anything else would. If nothing else, it would be an interesting development in this whole thing.

It wasn’t like you could lie to him, after all.

~

The slip of paper you’d handed Matt was embossed with braille, something that shouldn’t have impressed him as much as he did. You had the resources to figure out something like that, and you certainly were smart enough.

More than anything though, you decided that it would be the most private option you’d have for a private conversation with Matt. Most people wouldn’t be able to understand the meaning of each tiny, punched dot.

It only enforced the idea that only the two of you could understand what it meant. He had to admit, it was a bit eccentric, but much better than if you just handed him a written note.

That would do very little for either of you.

Even more interesting than that, however, was the context of your note. What you wanted from him wasn’t even outlined, nor was any sort of contact information.

All that was there was a single thing, in the center of the sheet, a time.

It hardly meant anything to him in the moment, standing there on the corner of the street, feeling over the raised ridges of each number. It wasn’t possible he’d read it wrong, or that he’d misunderstood.

All you’d included was a time, ten o’clock, to be exact.

It didn’t make any sense, and it wouldn’t until, of course, ten o’clock that evening, when you knocked on the front door of his apartment. It was out of the blue, and more or less a total intrusion, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t have the luxury of caring.

In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have had to partake in something so strange, and so late in the evening, but this was the best you could do. With what he recently happened to Vanessa, and all the enemies your father had, he didn’t let you out of his sight.

You’d had to sneak out away from his men as it was, and you had no idea how long you’d be able to be out before they tracked you down and dragged you back home again.

For such a nice place, the palace your father had built was beginning to feel like a prison.

“Good afternoon, Mr.Murdock. I apologize for coming on such short notice” you tried, doing your best to keep your wits about you, in such a strange time.

You liked to think that you were the smartest person in every room, like you were three steps ahead of everyone, but that wasn’t necessarily the case in a place like this.

Matt Murdock could easily get the best of you if he tried.

“What do you want? It’s a little unusual isn’t it? You coming here, alone” he clarified, noting how in the past, you were always accompanied by at least one armed man.

It didn’t seem right to have you here, all alone, without any explanation of why you were here.

“I didn’t have a choice, did I? My father’s men would have your head on a stick if they knew I was here” you sighed, only moving again when Matt stepped back, a clear sign that he wanted you to come in.

You had a point, as strange as it was.

If anyone saw you here, there was no telling what kind of trouble it would cause. It was bad enough that men were trying to kill him constantly when he left his home, but if they knew who he was, it would be so much worse.

...And the last thing you wanted was to ruin his life. After all, you needed his help.

“I’ll make this quick Mr.Murdock, I came to propose something to you” you started, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. He could either help you or not, and it wouldn’t take long for him to decide.

Every minute you were here, you put both of your lives in danger, more than they already were.

“It has recently come to my attention that my father butchered my mother, something I cannot let stand. I would like to help you, in your plan to bring him down”

It was a pretty good sell, as far as you were concerned. No one in their right mind would turn it down, and unfortunately, Matt agreed.

While being allies wasn’t something he was excited about, or looking forward to, in any way, it did make sense. You would have an insight into what your father was doing that he couldn’t hope to have without cracking some skulls.

Unfortunately, it seemed like the best option he had at the moment, and there was no way he’d turn it down. Clearly, you must have been sort of desperate to come to him.

It didn’t hurt that your heartbeat had maintained its steady rhythm the entire time you’d been talking, something he took to mean you weren’t intending to lie.

Whatever your father had done, it seemed obvious that there was no going back from it.

[no-droids]

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?

[sagemusesoutloud]

Anti-Romantic, Part 3

(credit to the original owner of the image)

Character | Jaehyun x reader

Genre | nonidol!au, Mutual Pining, Slowburn, Fluff, Angst

WordCount | 2.5 k

Author'sNote | I know I promised this would be up Monday, but life has a funny way of getting in the way sometimes. I honestly don't know what came over me, but I woke up at 3 am and just HAD to write this down. Hope you like it ^^

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Sorry I’m an anti-romantic, I want to run far away

My heart that already chases after you, Blazes up with a small flame

You begin to regain consciousness as the pain in your neck increases. Ugh, this is why you brought your pillow from home. Rolling your neck in the other direction, you reach your hand over from the warmth to fluff the pillow when you feel movement under you.

You freeze and open your eyes, the light so bright that you immediately shut them again. Once your watery eyes calm down, you try opening one at a time. The sun was shining directly on you from the window behind you, you’d guess it was probably early morning. What shocked you into panic mode was the fact that you were still on the sofa and not in the guest bedroom like you had planned last night. Lightly lifting your head, you peek over at Jae to find him still sleeping.

Sometime during the night, both of you must have shifted to a laying position on the couch. Jae was still under you, his arms wrapped around your lower back. Well, there are worse things to wake up to. But now that you were up, so was your bladder. Do you just get up and leave? You didn’t drink that much water; you eyed the half empty water bottle on the coffee-table. Yeah, you could hold it. You relax your body and plan to drift off again when you feel Jae’s chest move with a deep breath, stretching an arm over his head. Crap, maybe I should have moved earlier…is it gonna get weird? Will he be mad?

You’re so deep in thought, it takes you a while to realize he’s not pushing you away but pulling you closer. He places his arm back, this time cradling your head as he peeks at you. “You’re awake?”

“No, I’m sleep-talking.”

You feel him rather than hear him chuckle. He rolls you both over so that you’re lying side by side and able to see you better.

“We fell asleep on the couch…did you sleep ok?” the sun hits half of his face, one of his eyes shining a deep honey color. Even the dust motes help make him look ethereal. Curse him for looking so beautiful first thing in the morning.

“hmm, yeah. Don’t get too close though, I have eye-boogers,” you try to bring the blanket up from your waist but it’s stuck so you opt to covering your eyes with your hands.

“shut up, as if it weren’t normal,” he groans as he pulls you into his chest. “It’s still early, just go back to sleep.”

“I can’t”

“…You can’t?”

“no”

“oh…” he lets you go and scoots as far back in the sofa as he can, “sorry.”

“I’m just gonna go freshen up,” you say as try your best not to fall flat on your face trying to untangle from the blanket, “I’ll be back.” Your only response is a groan before he presumably falls right back to sleep.

As you take care of your business, you can’t help the heavy feeling in your chest. What you were both doing, was it wrong? Did something change or are you overthinking things? It’s happened to you before, where you get too ahead of yourself and end up in misunderstandings. You wanted to enjoy whatever step it was that you both took together last night, but you needed that reassurance or confirmation that it wasn’t all just in your head. Jaehyun would never hurt you, not intentionally. But his cold exterior had been known to break a few hearts here and there throughout your childhood. Heck, even at work nowadays. Now that you think about it, the only times he’s hurt you he hadn’t even been aware of it. You desperately wished you could just waltz right up to him and demand answers; you just didn’t want to make yourself look like a fool for diving straight in to the ‘something more’ stage.

Up until the night before, you had been content with the game of push and pull and if someone would have told you yesterday that what transpired the night before would happen, you would have thought they were joking, but…they do say that the body makes known what the heart wants. You were still in a mess when you realize that you’d been washing your hands for long enough that the water ran cold. You decide that now was a good time as any to wash your face and brush your teeth, combing your fingers through your hair. If he wasn’t going to say anything, why should you? Yeah, this is all probably too much too soon to mean something more, so you were just going to enjoy it while you can. If anything, this could be like a free trial before committing to the long-term subscription. Yeah, that’s simple enough.

You get back to the living room to find Jae still on the couch. An arm covered his face blocking the sun and the other splayed out next to him, an invitation. Or was it? Stop it. You can’t be the one to blame when he’s taking up the whole space. You pick up the blanket from the floor and lay it half on him, leaving an opening for you to slither into. Leaning over the sofa, you move the sheer curtains to cover half the window. they didn’t do much but Jae did move his arm in alarm at the change of lighting, “oh, you’re finally back.”

“yup, all good now.” You nudge your way back into his chest as you laid down facing the room. If you really were going to sleep, you don’t know how much rest you’d be getting if you were facing him again. “good, we can sleep an hour or two more,” his arm reaches around you to pull you even closer, “don’t want you to fall off.”

And there it is, the ‘excuse.’ Is that all this was?

It all felt so intimate and personal. Jaehyun wasn’t sure if the excuses he kept giving you since last night were even believable anymore. He just couldn’t get enough of your closeness. Like a man starved, he kept drinking in the sight of you next to him, the feel of your body along his. This had officially been his best birthday to date.

He was aware that some deep, deep part of him was tensed up waiting for something to go wrong or to bolt at the first chance. But for once, his heart was louder than those thoughts. He wanted this, he wanted to have you. All of you. In turn, he wanted to give you all of him as well. That’s what scared him the most, he’s known he’s wanted you since forever, but the fact that he needed to you to embrace all of him? That he needed you to be his safe space?

In a way, he’s always known about all of this. It’s why he’s kept you at a distance for so long, but maybe he was finally ready to open up to you and be completely honest and vulnerable. Fuck, he can’t even believe it took him this long to actually do something about it.

You both wake up later in the morning. Jaehyun’s preparing coffee while you whip up breakfast, an easy pattern you both fall into. He’s not sure if the silence is a comfortable one or a heavy one, but you did seem to be in a good mood. While he’d gone to freshen up, you had connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers and had a light melody playing. He makes a mental note to ask you over more often, he would gladly become a morning person just to see you fit so seamlessly in his home.

As you both settle down to eat, he hears you let out a gasp, “I forgot!”

“What is it?”

You whine, “aww, I wanted to give it to you on your birthday. It’s the whole reason I needed to see you.” You get up and dash over to the guestroom before he can even stop you.

“So you didn’t come just to spend time with me? Ouch,” he zeroes in on your form, hiding something behind your back. “Don’t tell me you got me flowers.” Your smile drops.

“No, they’re not flowers,” you roll your eyes. You pull his arm out, guiding your hand down until you grasp his hand. He hopes you don’t see the way he shivers at the contact. “Here,” you place the red-velvet heart-shaped box in his palm. He gasps, “oh.”

For a moment, he doesn’t know how to react. Is this what he thinks it is? No, you couldn’t possibly have, you for sure would be way more nervous if you did. But it did look like jewelry, expensive jewelry. “well, are you gonna open it?”

He wordlessly lifts the lid and finds an exquisite bracelet inside. Jaehyun wasn’t much of a guy for jewelry, but it was simple enough to be worn as everyday type of accessory. It was a thin silver type of chain, the clasp had his initials and a heart hidden on the inner-side of it. “Just so you know, the heart was part of the model,” you begin explaining, a nervous shake to your voice, “but I did ask them to engrave your initials on it to personalize it. You don’t have to like it, like I said, I saw it while out shopping and thought of you.” He glances at you to find your ears red but your expression was drawn. Fuck, were you even real?

He hands you the box back, for a second, he sees your shoulders deflate before clarifying, “I’m gonna need some help to put it on.”

“Why do you always tease me?” but you concede his request, taking out the chain carefully and pulling his wrist closer to you. Because I love you…

Because this is the only way I can show you affection without scaring you…

“Because I love your reactions.”

You let go of him as you finish your work, inspecting the way it looks. “I’m glad I knew your size,” you mumble, “it fits you perfectly.” He doesn’t miss the way he feels it weighing down his wrist. Was it a comfortable weight?

“Of course it does, you got it for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” your eyes are piercing his, no doubt that your thoughts are probably going a hundred miles per hour. “What I just said,” his eyes are staring you down, “anything you give is perfect to me.” You weren’t going to make him spell it out for you, right? Not after last night.

You frown at that, “what if I don’t want to ‘just’ give you this?”

He finally looks away as he finds the courage to say, “what are you willing to give?” He’s treading carefully, he can’t mess up now.

“I don’t know.”

That stings. Are we back to playing games? So soon?

He’s tired of it. Forget tired, he’s exhausted from it. And all it took was one night to help him realize that he really doesn’t want to continue playing, not when it comes to you.

“Then, I would be happy for the time you spent together with me last night. I would be grateful it happened but I probably wouldn’t feel comfortable being that close to you again.”

Did he just say that? Maybe this was all a dream still. A cruel nightmare.

So he doesn’t want to move things further, is that what he’s saying? After all the moments you just shared, that’s all he’s got to say to you?

“I’m sorry I crossed the line then,” you need to go. Before you say something more and before he sees the tears that are just itching to be released.

You force out a laugh, “but thank you for being honest, I guess.”

You grab your plates and move towards the kitchen. Almost there, please don’t fall. He will not see you cry. God, you knew this was getting too good to be true. You knew it had to be a trick, you were back to square one! Man, you felt so stupid now. Did you really think one night would change everything?

You don’t realize he’s quick to go after you, grabbing your arm to face him. You let the plates crash on the sink, the sound startling him as you push his hold off you. You almost make it out the kitchen when he pulls you back again, this time pushing you against the counter standing chest to chest.

“No, you’re not listening to me.” He grabs you by the shoulders. Your heart is pounding furiously against your ribcage. You finally break down, “No, you’re not being honest.”

“If you had told me last night that I make you uncomfortable, I would have respected your boundaries, Jae.” You push down a sob, “If you had no intention of—of being that close—” You can’t even find the right words to express yourself. You spent so much time thinking about what you wanted to say earlier and now you couldn’t recall a single sentence.

He cuts you off with groan, “How can I make myself any more clear? What do you want me to say?” He lets go of you and takes a few steps back, “that it scares me? How much you know? How much you hold over me?”

“Hold over you?? You keep me at a distance! You always draw the line! Even last night, all you could do was excuse each and every one of your actions. What, you thought I wouldn’t catch that?? You don’t leave room for misunderstandings; you are crystal clear.”

You get close enough to poke his chest, “YOU—it was always you! I’ve always just been happy to go along at your pace. FOR YOU. And for years, too. So no, YOU don’t get to throw it back in my face like that. YOU—”

He pushes your hand away, “Me?! Ok no, you’re joking right? This push and pull cycle? I’m not the only one to blame and you know it! What about all those relationships you’ve been in? All those relationship questions you’d ask me, literally just a few weeks back! This is not entirely my fault either. Because guess what sweetheart, it takes two to tango.”

You’re so angry at upset, because how dare he?! Was he not the one that would sleep around in high school? The one that decided to study in a different freaking country?! Leaving you and your friends behind? Leaving the sport he oh so loved behind? He’s just running away again.

You don’t realize how hard you’re breathing and how close you’re standing until you can literally feel his breath on your lips. It’s the whisper you barely catch against the loud ringing in your ears, “You want me to be honest?”

You freeze.

“I’ll be honest with you, you can’t fault me for what I honestly need to do.”

Who made the first move, you’re not sure. But the moment his lips touched yours, it was game over.

EndNote | hahahaha... and there it is. Will there be more tension or are they finally gonna stop being so stubborn?? I honestly don't know, but this has to have been my favorite chapter to write 🙊

In the future, is it ok to post short but daily? Or would people rather I post the whole story in a single post?

Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4

[angstsfordays]

Beautiful Pain (4)

Chapter Four- Now or Never

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Summary: Post-Blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the Blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-Blip world.

Chapter synopsis: Your supposed ally leads you to an unlawful nation where danger lurks at every corner. Bucky starts to see you in a different light.

Warnings: Sexual objectification. Very bad undercover work. Calling Sam daddy. Sexual innuendos.

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: I am very humbled that people have been enjoying the story and liking it so far! This means to me a lot as a novice writer! ☺️

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, felt like I got more to expand for the Madripoor episode. I love to know what y’all think of it so far! 😘

The tag list is still open! Let me know if you want to join with a message or comment in the chapters!

Previous: Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Next: Chapter Five

-------------------------//---------------------------

As Zemo made arrangements on his end, you did not know what to expect. You, Sam and Bucky were brought to the tarmac of a small private airport, your attention was brought to the private plane that Zemo was leading you towards.

Sam made a comment on Zemo’s wealth and the latter explained that he was practically royalty before the Avengers destroyed his country. Touché.

You took the seat right across from Zemo and you couldn’t help but put your guard up around the man. He could sense the tension all over your face and offered champagne to which you declined. You wanted to make sure you were fully sober around this guy.

As you looked on at the exchange he had with his steward, he almost looked decent for a moment. You wouldn’t have thought of this guy to be a manipulative and scheming man that caused that chain of events many years ago.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be locked in a cell.” Zemo started off after having a sip of his champagne. He then paused in his actions as he looked over all of you and corrected him.

“Oh that’s right, you all do. My apologies.” Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms as you leaned into the comfort of the plush aeroplane seat.

Sam tried to get Zemo to start talking but the baron brushed it off for a moment as he looked at a book in fascination. As Zemo brought up a familiar notebook, he asked who Nakajima was.

Your eyes perked up at the familiar name and you immediately turned to look at Bucky who instantly pounced on Zemo and grabbed him into a chokehold. Bucky warned him not to touch his notebook or he would actually kill Zemo, probably with his bare hands.

As Bucky settled down in his seat once more, you gave him a knowing look but he averted his eyes to avoid eye contact. The conversation then took a more light-hearted turn as Sam tried to describe how Steve noted down his suggestion of the Trouble Man soundtrack in the notebook that now was passed onto Bucky.

Sam asked if Bucky liked it too and the super-soldier replied that he liked 40’s music to which Sam look almost offended that Bucky didn’t share his taste in music. Bucky looked like he didn’t even want to bother but he clarified that he indeed liked it just to get Sam to back off.

Zemo decided to join in the conversation and put his two cents. Sam was surprised at how Zemo managed to eloquently describe the music style. Afterwhich, Sam went on to say how everyone loved Marvin Gaye while Bucky agreed that he did too.

Sam added that Steve adored the singer too. Hearing this, Zemo commented that Bucky must have looked up to Steve very much.

Yes, we all did. You wanted to add that in too.

Zemo, however, then took the liberty of giving his view on Steve. He talked about how dangerous it could be to idolize super soldiers like Steve and start to disregard their flaws, thus allowing him to not be held accountable for the repercussions that stem from his actions. Even if that meant the formation of movements, the fighting of wars, the loss of innocent lives.

Sam gave him a warning to better stop talking but Zemo continued on. When Zemo noticed how you started shaking your head in dissatisfaction, he gave a light chuckle before speaking directly to you.

“Miss Y/N. Contrary to my own personal views on enhanced individuals, I do find you fascinating, The files I read on you only make me more curious. Can I ask some questions?” You could feel the attention being put on you in the room and you grew slightly uncomfortable.

“What do you want?” Hoping to act nonchalant to mask your nervousness, you crossed your legs and leaned back into your seat.

“You have no family history. You grew up in an orphanage, am I right?” Nodding at the facts he laid out, Zemo carried on.

“You couldn’t have possibly been experimented on. You have gotten into any accidents?” You shook your head in response.

“Chemical exposure, radioactive bites, cosmic ray exposures….those are the possibilities that an ordinary person could obtain superhuman abilities according to the theories online.” Unimpressed, you continued to shake your head at him.

“Tell me. I’m curious.” You couldn’t entertain the likes of him but seeing how he was leaning in to wait for your answer, you gave an indifferent expression before speaking.

“It appeared out of nowhere. Someone committed arson in the local convenience shop where I was at the time. I was trapped with the elderly shopkeeper and I thought we were both going to die. A burning beam was falling onto us and I thought that was the end. I suddenly emitted a burst of energy that managed to put own the fire and incinerate the beam into ashes.” As you retold your story, memories of your fear from that time came back.

“The shopkeeper lost consciousness but I saw everything. I wasn’t sure if it was me but I ran away. I couldn’t’ return to the orphanage because I was afraid the police would find me. I lived on the streets for a week before my powers manifested again.” Your eyes fall to your fidgety hands, cracking your knuckles as it gave you some sort of relief.

“A kid was crossing the street without his mum knowing and a car was speeding on the road. I tried to reach out and pull him back in but the car was just inches away from us both. I caused a scene that couldn’t be ignored. S.H.I.E.L.D managed to find me and took me in.” Zemo’s eyes were tracking your every movement and expression in a way that Bucky didn’t like. As if you were something up for display and Bucky put his foot down.

He was getting protective of you and did not want Zemo to harbour any hidden intentions. Who knew what Zemo was thinking of?

Zemo spoke up before Bucky had the chance.

“Fascinating just fascinating. It’s like your powers had been dormant inside you all along. Are you even human?”

“Last time I checked, my blood is still red.” Your sarcastic response earned a laugh from Zemo and he stroked his chin as he continued to observe you quietly. Sensing he had more thoughts in his mind, you returned the questions back to him.

“You hate enhanced individuals so much, would you get rid of me if you had the chance?” Growing a smirk, Zemo wasn’t expecting you to ask him that and he was more than eager to give his reply.

“I am undecided, but you’re different. I can see you are more discreet than the others, just like Bucky over here.” Zemo made his final remark before he moved on to talking about the location that you were headed.

His words sunk in and you kept on thinking about how he hit the nail on the head.

Yes, you had to be more discreet. You could never proudly show off what you had, instead, you had to keep yourself hidden in order to protect yourself.

Recalling your S.H.I.E.L.D days, you remembered how you were told to keep your powers on a low profile by Director Fury himself.

Your lab results came back and it was discovered that you had a special gene in your DNA that could be identified. There weren’t any references or connections to existing research and findings so you were viewed almost as an abnormality.

It was then later discovered that your powers were connected to your life force and if you ever over-exerted yourself, you could possibly die. That almost happened back during the civil war between the Avengers. It was the first time you ever used your powers on a larger scale and you had even passed out at the end of the battle.

You remembered waking up in a hospital bed on the raft.

When you found refuge in Wakanda, you got to learn more about your powers with Shuri’s help. She believed as long as you trained your stamina and built up your strength, you could control your powers without ever worrying about being drained. That’s how you found yourself the privilege to receive special training with the Dora Milajae under King T’Challa’s request.

You definitely owed the Wakandans big time.

Seeing how you were uncharacteristically down, Bucky wanted to check in with you out of concern. However, he chose to restrain himself, thinking that you probably one to be left alone. He wished he could do more for you like you do for him.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Before you knew it, you landed in Madripoor. An island nation that was lawless and dangerous, yet home to the darkest of black markets and underground businesses. Zemo said that all of you could not go in as yourselves and had to basically go in undercover.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter when Sam changed and came out in a fancy printed suit. He was to act as a real life promiscuous and rich man who really could have been his doppelgänger when you saw a picture of the man.

However, you weren’t one to laugh when Zemo asked you to act as one of Conrad Mack aka Smiling Tiger’s fling for the night. When you first received your outfit, you threw it back in Zemo’s face.

You were not the most comfortable with sexy and revealing clothing personally so you couldn’t imagine yourself wearing it at all. Zemo tried to convince you that Smiling Tiger’s women were all of a certain type so you had to go through with it in order to fit in.

Letting out a groan, you snatched the little champagne dress with an open keyhole back. The front was designed to give a loose look that shyly reveals your cleavage. The dress held onto your shoulders with thin straps and it overall gave the impression of a silk slip dress.

When you put it on, you wiped your clammy hands on the silk material and grimaced at how it barely covered your ass. You were grateful that the shoes you received had thick block heels as you had forgotten how to even walk in high heels anymore.

Swiping on the red lipstick for the final touch, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves as you looked in the mirror. You got this.

Stepping out of the changing room, you were met with the full attention of all three men and you put a finger up to warn them of making any unneeded comments.

“Damn Y/N. I mean this in the nicest way possible but this is an entirely different look for you. In a good way, of course.” Sam tried to compliment you seeing that you weren’t fully into your outfit.

“Thanks, Sam.” You knew his intentions were always pure and good, so you didn’t mind it much. As he and Zemo went off to discuss something, you saw that Bucky was still looking at you intently. He must think you look weird, you thought.

In all the years that Bucky have known you, it was the first time he has seen you looking like this. You always had gone for casual and comfortable looks in your daily life. The only time he has seen something different was when you put on your tailored suits for formal events.

He had to do a double-take when he saw how the little dress number hugged your figure in the right places.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t continue looking but his eyes fleeting quick glances when you were looking elsewhere. He always felt that you were one of the most beautiful people he knew on the inside, the fact that you could look past what he did and accept him for he was. He never felt that he had to pretend to be fine when you’re around because you were there to accept him for better or worst.

Seeing you now stirred up a different feeling inside of him. Why did you suddenly seem so attractive this time? He did not want to be that guy who viewed women differently because of the way they dressed. In fact, he was never the kind to like someone because of the way they look but more of how they make him feel.

However, observing how bashful and shy you look in front of him, Bucky suddenly felt rather nervous himself. He saw you taking a step towards and he swore his breath hitched as his mind was registering this scene in slow-motion.

Your hands came up to put his dog tags inside his black shirt before going for the zipper of his jacket. Your eyes fleetingly met his for a moment before you started saying something.

Bucky wasn’t able to process it as he was entirely focused on how you were casually helping him as you normally did, but his mind can’t help but think of it as an intimate gesture.

You continued to buckle up the belts of Bucky’s harness and couldn’t help but to relish in the act of caring for him. This was probably the only time you could fulfil your feelings of wanting to be close to him without crossing the line.

“All done.” Once you have adjusted the straps on his shoulder to make sure they were comfortable, you glanced to see Bucky looking down at you in a daze.

“Hey Buck, you there?” Calling for his attention, Bucky snapped back to reality as he saw you staring at him with a curious doe-eyed look. Clearing his thought, Bucky scrambled to recall what you had said and just continued looking at you in question.

You went on to ask if the straps were comfortable to which he nodded curtly. You grinned in satisfaction for a short moment before it fell into a tight-lipped smile.

“Bucky, are you really ok to go into character? I know how hard you worked to get away from all of that.” Implying how he had to act like the Winter Soldier for this undercover mission, Bucky took a deep breath before answering you.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just for this mission.” You just silently nodded at his words before signalling that you two should get a move on.

-------------------------//---------------------------

All of you were heading to Low Town as Zemo named to find his informant, Selby. Zemo reminded everyone to stay in character regardless of the situation, if not the mission would be compromised and your lives could be at risk.

Zemo gave you a personal warning to avoid using your powers if possible. If your powers were revealed publicly, there was a high chance you were at a bigger risk than the rest because people would want to take you for their own.

It was not every day an enhanced individual with superpowers walks into Madripoor and you would definitely become a prize to be coveted.

You were first greeted by the hustle and bustle of the nightlife crowd. The neon signs lit up the incredibly dark streets followed by the loud booming music that could be heard from some of the places that you passed. Your eyes were focused on Zemo’s back as he led all of you to the location, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else.

Entering the crowded bar, you could hear Zemo speaking Russian to Bucky. You weren’t familiar with the language but you could make out one world, Soldat.

Sneaking your arms around Sam who was caught off, you gave me a pointed look that told him that the undercover work starts now. He gave you a brief nod before rolling out his shoulders and you pressed yourself closer to him, putting your acting face on.

All of you stood by the bar where the bartender greeted all of you.

“Hello, gentlemen. Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.” The bartender nodded to Sam. His eyes moved over to meet yours before greeting you, Miss. You gave your best smile in return.

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.” Zemo told the bartender. You could see the shift in his eyes and saw someone from out of the corner of your eye moving away. Shifting your stance, the bartender didn’t acknowledge Zemo’s words and glanced back to you again.

“New face?” His comment was directed towards Sam but seeing how Sam was hesitating, you realised that he hadn’t had much experience with undercover work at all. He was a military man not a spy or agent after all.

“Hopefully, the last.” You giggled shyly and looked up to Sam with an affectionate gaze before giving the bartender a wink.

The bartender nodded curtly before asking Sam (Smiling Tiger) if he wanted his usual. Sam nodded silently in an efforts to prevent himself from doing anything out of character.

You caught Bucky looking at you as he leaned sideways on the counter. Your silent exchange was a way for you two to check in with each other and a brief smile mirrored on both of your faces before you turn to see the bartender taking out a snake from a big jar.

Trying to control your expression at the disgust coming up your throat, you subtly swallowed heavily at the sight of how the bartender slit the snake open. Sam who had his back turned for a brief moment was shocked to see what was presented on the counter in front of him.

Zemo tried to continue to put on the act and acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Your global knowledge and several visits to Asia made you realised why this was the Smiling Tiger’s favourite. Snakes infused into wine was touted to be an aphrodisiac to help a man increase, ahem, stamina.

Bucky felt almost bad for Sam and looked away briefly. You could see Sam gulping down nervously when the bartender added the finishing touch to the drink and you gently rubbed his arm for emotional support.

“I love these.” Sam managed to say through gritted his teeth and clinked his glass with Zemo. Your own bile almost resurfaced and you quickly turned your head to hide your nervous gulp.

Putting up a thumbs up awkwardly, you wanted to facepalm when the bartender looked back at Sam with a dubious expression.

You knew you needed to do something so everyone’s covers won’t be blown. Putting on a sly smirk, you let a hand move up Sam’s chest slowly and sensually before resting it where his heart was.

“Looks like you and I will be in for a long night.” Adding a slight giggle, you pretended to act shy after you spoke your words. Sam was trying his hardest to not look bewildered at your act while Bucky was trying to suppress a sudden wave of annoyance that washed over him.

He knew that this was an act but he still didn’t like it for some reason. He had to admit that he was not expecting you to get into character so well, seeing that this image you were presenting was the furthest cry from who you actually were.

The bartender looked slightly less suspicious of all of you before he went away. You could feel Sam heaving a sigh of relief beside you and you did the same alongside him.

Another man came up to Zemo, telling him of how he was unwelcomed in the area. Zemo putting up a cool façade, explained he had no business with someone named the power broker. Zemo restated his business here once more before the guy left.

Zemo explained that the power broker runs Madripoor and it was best you all stayed under his radar. Moments passed before another guy came up behind Zemo and Zemo turned to Bucky talking in Russian once more.

The instant the man placed his hands on Zemo, Bucky went into winter soldier mode. Everyone’s attention was directed to the scene happening. The whirling sound of Bucky’s vibranium was heard clearly as he was nearly crushing the man’s hands and went ahead to knock him over.

More and more people started to gather fool’s courage to take on Bucky. You saw how he easily took down everyone with barely any sweat.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form,” Zemo commented to you and Sam, and in all honesty, you wanted to choke him like what Bucky was doing to another guy on the bar’s counter.

Hearing the continuous clicking of guns from everyone in the bar, your senses were now alert at the possibility of having to break character and use your powers.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” Zemo whispered into your ear and grabbed onto your hand before you could even think of doing anything.

Zemo got Bucky to back down and the bartender told you all that Selby was ready for your visit. Sam checked in with Bucky to which he responded with a curt nod.

As you made your way along the back end of the bar, you could see the stacks of cash all over a table and the armed guards that filled up every corner of the room.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t come into my bar and make demands.” Selby turned out to look like what you would imagine her to be. She sat comfortably on her couch with a dominant presence and seemed like she was not someone easy to deal with.

Zemo tried to reassure her that he was making offers not demands to quell her mood. Selby asked how Zemo was able to escape from prison and Zemo replied smugly on how people like them always found a way.

As Zemo tried to shift focus onto the order of business, Selby wasn’t still into it. Making a comment about Sam’s taller than usual height, Sam not knowing what to respond just nodded in silence.

She even purred at him teasingly before her eyes landed on you.

“Who’s this pretty little thing you have here? Where are you from?” Selby’s eyes narrowed in as you sense everyone starting to look flustered by the unexpected question. You were just meant to play a background character but didn’t expect the sudden attention.

Biting your lips into a furtive grin, you snaked your hands around Sam’s biceps. “Daddy picked me up from the club that I was working at. He says I am his one and only now.”

The men all tried to stop their jaws from dropping to the floor at your sweetly coy act. Who were you?

“Hmm…” Selby hummed while she looked you up and down. “You can do better, sweetie,” Selby remarked smugly before giving a subtle gesture to herself.

Lips forming into an ‘o’, you feigned a surprised reaction at the flattery. You tried to send a flirtatious look back so that Selby would be in a better mood.

Your act was rewarded when Selby grinned wider and asked Zemo for his offer. In exchange for information on the super-soldier serum, Zemo was willing to trade Bucky in pretence. He added how he would give Selby the codes word to control Bucky, treating him like an object.

A wave of anger started rushing through you as the scene unfolded and you glanced to see how Selby became more intrigued.

“Hmm, I have plenty of strong men already working for me. What else can he offer?” Zemo was taken aback by Selby’s words, thinking that she would already be interested in Bucky.

As the men were grappling to come up with a good response, you went on your first instinct and spoke up.

“Well he is rather handsome, isn’t he?” Everyone’s focus turned onto you and you took a breath to continue as Selby gave you an expecting look.

“Not as handsome as my daddy here but-” Walking around Sam, you headed towards Bucky who was trying to look unbothered but dying of curiosity on what you were about to do.

“He seems like fun to play with.” You purred as you gazed at Bucky’s profile. You gestured for Bucky to face you and could see how he was still staying in character. Running your fingers down his five o'clock shadow, your eyes glinted as you batted your lashes flirtatiously before looking over your shoulder back at Shelby.

“You can’t help but imagine having a good time with him. Super soldier serum should have some perks, no?” Your hidden innuendo was loud and clear to everyone in the room. If this didn’t appeal to Selby, you didn’t know what will.

Sam was trying his hardest to maintain his expression as he couldn’t believe his ears. Never in a million years would he think the sweet and innocent Y/N he knew actually dared to speak like that.

Bucky did his best to tighten his jaw and continue his stoic facade to hide the shock from what you had just said.

Never did he thought you would take the situation to such a turn. Your improv was unexpected and he couldn’t believe the woman in front of him was actually you.

Your sudden bold and cheeky persona was doing something to him. Your innuendo about him started to make him feel hot in his ears. Bucky had to clench his fist tightly to get himself to hold it together as he felt his heart racing out of nowhere.

He didn’t know what was happening to him but he knew you were having some sort of effect on him.

“Of course, that’s my silly opinion.” Turning to face Selby with a mischievous smile to keep up your character, you noted her looking at you thoughtfully as she rubbed her chin.

“Not just pretty but you’re witty, aren’t you?” Selby noted as she grinned like a Cheshire cat. Satisfied with your input, Selby then revealed what she knew about the super-soldier serums.

Apparently, there was a doctor, Dr William Nagel who has been helping the power broker to create the serums here in Madripoor. When Zemo tried to probe further about Nagel’s location, Selby decided that Zemo was overstepping.

In the very next moment, you could hear a vibration of a phone and saw Sam reaching out to his jacket.

Great, all of your covers might be blown. Selby demands that Sam answered it on speaker. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. To carry on the act, Sam reluctantly proceeded to answer the phone.

A woman’s voice came up and in the next sentences spoken, you realised that she was his sister, Sarah. Oh boy, this wouldn’t end well. You closed your eyes in prayer as you hoped it can go over smoothly.

Taking a sharp intake of breath, you looked to see Bucky glancing down in shared unease. Sam was doing his best to make sure his cover won’t get blown. You thought all was going well but when you heard Sam’s name from Sarah, you knew you were all toast.

Selby immediately called for all of you to be killed and in that moment, all hell broke loose. Selby got shot in a blink of an eye and her guards were up in action. Bucky pushed you behind him protectively as he fought off Selby’s men.

Once all her guards are dealt with, Zemo called for weapons to drop and you took the back exit.

Making a swift escape, all of you tried to play it cool while taking long quick strides. The sound of the first gunshot made you jumped and sprang into a run. You saw Zemo took off in another direction but you didn’t have time for him.

You, Bucky and Sam decided to sprint ahead. “I can’t run in these heels.” Sam cried out and you retorted in annoyance.

“How do you think I feel? Mine’s twice as taller than yours!”

Bucky reached over to grab your hand and interlocked your fingers together. His super-speed was practically lifting you off the ground, dragging you like a rag dog.

"Hey! What the hell man? What about me?" Bucky ignored Sam's whining and focused on not letting your hand go.

Not knowing where you are headed, a sense of dread started pouring on you and you grew anxious by the second. People on motorbikes were starting to drive up behind you three.

You were wondering if it’s time to not give care and actually use your powers for real this time. All of a sudden, the two people on the bikes behind you have been shot by someone from above and you stopped in your tracks to locate that individual, fearing you were next.

Zemo reappeared from the shadows and claimed that you all might have a guardian angel.

“Drop it, Zemo.” The familiar voice brought relief as you matched it to the face that emerged into your sight.

Your smile at the thought of a friendly face faltered when she continued pointing a gun towards all of you. Sharon didn’t seem as pleased as you were. Turns out she had to fall off the grid and found herself in Madripoor after the turn of events many years ago.

"Y/N, is that you?" She took a double-take on you, probably not used to seeing you dress up like this.

"Hey." You awkwardly replied. The moment didn't last as Sharon trained her eyes on the men and continued to be hostile.

Your heart dropped as you hear her telling of how she was unable to be in contact with her family anymore. She had become a fugitive and still is. An immense amount of guilt washed all over you when she retorted about how she wasn’t backed by the Avengers.

You weren’t batch mates with Sharon back in S.H.I.E.L.D academy but you became friends when you crossed paths during work. You could not believe you haven’t reached out to her all this time.

Bucky pleaded with Sharon for her help and Sharon gave a thoughtful look at all of you. When she saw you with your uncomfortable expression, she gave a sighed and stated that she wasn’t done discussing the topic.

Offering refuge in her place at High Town, all of you accept it.

You sat beside her in the front and the two of you exchanged silent looks before she started the engine. What were the odds of seeing her again in Madripoor?

You hoped to be able to get a chance to talk to her later.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Tag list: @tanyaherondale @spookycereal-s @cataves @conflicted-noxsirius

[1980s-robin]

Pinkie Promise

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Reader and Steve are inseparable, even through dangerous times. But despite nearly dying, there’s just three unspoken little words that burden their minds. 

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Stab wounds, mentions of blood, cussing, basically just canon-typical stuff, pretty sure I clarified the reader as a girl at least once 

Notes: So, I’ve been rewatching Stranger Things because… ya know… October. And I’m in my Steve feelings and decided ‘hey! let’s write a giant fanfic about him’ so here it is. And kids? It’s a big one. Enjoy! I’ve been working on it for weeks.

It was meant to be a calm summer, perhaps your last ever calm summer - the plan after graduation having been to spend a year working to pay for your college tuition, or at least as much of it as you possibly could. It was a good plan, but of course, you didn’t factor in a Russian conspiracy theory underneath the mall.

You waved a goodbye to your supervisor at The Gap, watching her finish locking up from behind you as you pretended you were walking to the exit of the mall like you had done every other day. “If you need to get back in, you have your key right?” She questioned, you nodding as you pulled it out of your ‘hiding place’ - which happened to just be your bra. 

Once you had seen her take her leave, you quickly turned back around and knocked four times on the locked entrance of the Scoops Ahoy, being greeted by the face of your new friend Robin.

“Hey! Is everyone gone?” She questioned, peeking her head out as she opened up the store enough to let you in but not make too much noise - just in case there was still someone out there. 

“I think so, my store is usually the last to finish closing.” You responded as you looked around the inside of the store and followed Robin back into the break room, pulling a chair over to the table. Typically, when you came here during your lunch break, you would take a seat across from Steve but the inclusion of Dustin put you directly in the middle of the table.

“Well, Y/N, you joined a little late.” You heard from beside you, turning your head to watch Dustin sitting dramatically, his finger pointing accusingly at you.

“The hell is he on about?” You questioned as you glanced over at Steve, who turned to look at you and coughed awkwardly. 

“Robin already figured out what the code said but uh…. I don’t really believe it’s right.” He said with an almost disappointed look on his face as Robin and Dustin moved to the exit so everyone could leave. The code was figured out as far as they were concerned.

You glanced at the board and read what it said, your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as you read the word but you shrugged and turned to face Steve. “If it is some sort of Russian code, I don’t see why they would say whatever it is they wanted directly.” You said as you moved over to the counter  climbing on top of it with the help of Steve.

As you slid onto the floor, your feet meeting the ground as gently as possible as to not hurt yourself, you watched Dustin nod in agreement with your statement. “She’s right, a top-secret Russian code wouldn’t be that obvious - it’s obviously coded.” He said.

“And I know my translation was right.” Robin added on, your head turning back to look at Steve for just a moment before you turned ahead again. 

As you listened absentmindedly to their conversation you sighed, almost relieved that you most likely didn’t have to deal with this anymore. “Well, whatever it is thankfully it’s far away from here.” 

Almost like a curse, the minute you turned back around Steve was kneeling in front of the mini-carousel ride and demanding a quarter. You had no idea why, you were just assuming he wanted to get on it or something - odd since he wasn’t five but… you weren’t one to judge him. 

As he finally got his quarter you watched with confusion written all over your face before you heard it, the song that you’d been hearing for the past few weeks but… then you realized why he was playing it. It seemed Dustin had the same thought as he pulled the recorder out, playing it for you all to hear the same song playing in both places.

You felt chills run down your spine, but as Robin reasoned that maybe they had the same type of horse in Russia you agreed - maybe because you wanted to believe it. 

But, Steve pointed out the name of the horse. Indiana Flyer. Why would they have an Indiana Flyer in Russia? The recording must’ve been coming from within the mall, and the thought of that horrified you. 

As you all walked out of the mall, you wanted to get away as quickly as possible, you followed Steve to his car since you lived close together - he typically drove you home. 

“Y/N?” You heard from beside you once you’d gotten in the passenger seat, everything seeming to go by in a blur since you hadn’t even noticed that he’d left the parking lot. “Are you okay?” Steve asked, watching as you finally turned to look at him.

“You want to go after the Russians, don’t you?” You asked, your head seemingly spinning from all the information that was being presented to you in that moment - it was a lot for you to process. 

“Well yeah, we can’t tell the police about it, they’ll think we’re pulling some kind of prank.” replied, as though it was common sense that he wanted to go after them - whoever they were.

“But Hopper he- he knows about all of the weird stuff going on, I’m sure he’d be understanding.” You reasoned, still not wanted to go through with this.

“Y/N… do YOU want to go after the Russians?” Steve finally asked, turning into the area of town with more houses, leaving behind the gas station that you both usually stopped at for drinks after a long day of work. 

“No I- It’s dangerous.” You said, but that excuse with nothing and you knew it.

“We’ve fought monsters before, I’m sure humans are a step down from that-” 

“Steve I- last time you almost died and I can’t-” You internally cringed at the memory of seeing him bloody and bruised, remembering him going out with nothing but a baseball bat and the terror on your face as you did everything you could to help. “I don’t want you to die.” you commented, glancing back down at your lap.

“That won’t happen again and… is me living really more important than like- maybe everyone in our town?” Steve questioned you as he glanced at you for a moment, mostly keeping his eyes on the road, though.

“They’re not you.” You mumbled, looking out of the window of the car, almost embarrassed at the clinginess you felt toward your best friend. All those years of watching Steve grow and change, feeling more than friendly things toward him and nearly crying every time he told you about a new girl and you’re just just attached at the hip as you always had been.

There wasn’t much time to think about this, though, as you felt Steve slide his hand into your own comfortingly, his other hand firmly on the steering wheel. “You can stay back if you want to, you know, I’d rather you not be in danger an-”

“No!” You rushed out, eyes wide as your head snapped to look at Steve. “If you’re going I’m going, you’re not getting yourself killed and leaving me behind.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, “So you’re implying we should die together?” He asked, trying to keep the conversation somewhat light-hearted as he pulled into the parking lot of his own home - about three down from yours. 

“I’m not implying anything, I’m saying that if this goes wrong and something happens I’m gonna be there.” You finally said, unbuckling your seatbelt before motioning ahead. “You want a sleepover or something? I’d love to braid your hair, Stevie.” You teased as you got out of the car, but even teasing felt wrong. You were absolutely terrified. 

“I want to walk you back, but since you’re so worried for me maybe you don’t want me walking back alone.” He retorted playfully, meeting you on the other side of the car.

You smacked his arm, “This is serious.” You said, walking toward your house with the boy practically at your heels. 

“I know, Y/N I know I just-” He stopped, not knowing exactly what it was that he wanted to say. “I’m scared too, you know, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” He said as you finally reluctantly turned back to look at him. “But we have to do this, someone has to, you know people are just going to think we’re being crazy because of Vietnam or something.” 

With a sigh, you nodded. “I know that, I just hate seeing you hurt. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You’re my best friend… I need you.” You said, feeling Steve link his arm with yours as you walked closer to your house, almost wishing you didn’t have to go in without Steve - just incase you never got to see him again.

You had noticed something stall in him at your words, maybe it was saying that you needed him - not that it was the only thing you wanted to say. But whatever it was that had given him pause wore off rather quickly as he composed himself. “I need you too, and I’m… I’m sorry to put you in this situation… again.” He said as you finally reached your door and turned to look at him - your worried expression instantly softening at his apologetic features.

“You shouldn’t have to apologize for wanting to help people Steve, I’m just being paranoid.” You brushed it off, moving your hand to fix a strand of his hair that was sticking up. 

Steve sighed and shook his head, “I understand that,”  He said, catching your wrist to keep some sort of contact - something that caused your stomach to flutter slightly. “But we will make it out of this, and everyone else will too. I promise.” He said, sticking out his pinkie for a pinkie promise - one of dozens you’d made with him.

You tried to fight back the smile on your face as you twisted your pinkie with his, “I trust you.” You finally responded, letting yourself smile. 

“Good, good, because you also just agreed to a sleepover when this is all over - I wanna see what you can do with my hair.” He teased, causing you to laugh. 

“Ok, ok, but if you hate it don’t cry.” You said with a smile. “Goodnight, Steve.” You finally said, rather softly, as you opened the door to your home. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He responded, walking down the sidewalk back to his house. There was a part of you that wanted to follow after him, ask him to stay with you or kiss him or something - it was almost always in the back of your head when he said goodnight. But you knew you couldn’t do that, so you just shut your front door and ran to the living room. Contrary to mocking annoyment at the idea of you not trusting him to walk down the sidewalk, you’d feel bad if you didn’t watch to make sure someone didn’t get him. 

Once you knew he had made it back home, you sighed and walked  to your bedroom, changing into what you typically slept in and slipped into bed. On a normal day, you might take a shower and watch a movie or something. But tonight you just wanted to go to bed, everything you had learned about the mall that day had just been too much.

The sound of your alarm clock startled you awake as you got out of bed, changing what you usually wore to work and turning to go outside. You were met, as you usually were, by the sight of Steve sitting in his car waiting for you to finish getting ready. 

“So, what are we doing today?” You asked him, sliding into the passenger seat and wrapping the seatbelt around you as you clicked it in place.

“I’m not sure, I’ll let you know if something happens but… I’ll just let you know.” Steve seemed to trail off, doing a U-Turn to turn back the way he had driven the previous night. For a moment it almost seemed like he didn’t want you involved, similar to how you didn’t particularly want him involved, but there you both were - directly in the middle of the Russian conspiracy theory. 

As you arrived at the mall, you left your bag in the car - again, as you usually did. Normally, you would be talking to Steve on the way in, but both of you seemed rather tense.

“It feels wrong going in here… I feel like we’re gonna be like-” You cut off, glancing around to make sure there was nobody that looked suspicious. “It feels like we might be… killed or something.” You finally said as you glanced over at Steve, walking into the mall with him, but a part of you wanted to turn around and never come back.

“It’ll be okay, they could have killed us last night probably if they thought we were on to them. I’m sure this is going to be fine.” He said, but he didn’t seem too assured. 

You nodded, though, because he really was right. The mall had your addresses from the checks being mailed home, if the Russians suspected that you knew something they could have had you killed already - and it made no sense to do something like that in a giant mall, especially when you lived so close together. 

“I’ll see you during our lunch break?” You questioned as you had reached Scoops Ahoy, Steve nodding in response. 

“Or earlier, if we find something and I have time to get you.” he responded, your heart almost dropping. 

“If you find something you need to get me, okay, or at least try- I don’t want you to get hurt I-” You were getting frantic again, keeping your voice down to not draw-awareness. 

“I will, but if something happens and you don’t see me during lunch promise you’ll come looking.” He said, watching as you nodded in response. You had to be realistic, something might happen and you might not be able to go together. “And you can’t pretend to be sick.” He said, as if reading a thought that may have crossed your mind.

“Alright.” You agreed reluctantly, waving a hello to Robin who you saw behind the counter and turning around, but for a moment something clicked in your brain. You might not see either of them for a while, if worse comes to worse. “Please stay safe, both of you.” You finally said as you turned back around, both of your close friends nodding before you walked to your job at The Gap.

The rest of the day you had basically spent most of the day folding clothes and answering customers questions, but your mind couldn’t help but wander. You were completely distant from everything that was going on, you couldn’t focus on anything. More than once you’d wanted to tell a customer to leave the mall, to never come back, because you felt like everyone was in danger at that moment. But you couldn’t. 

A while later, your lunch break started - as you walked over to Scoops Ahoy you noticed that neither Steve nor Robin were there, and you started to fear for the worst. 

It was a frantic scramble for the next few moments before you ran into someone, someone who grabbed your arms and pulled you in front of them.

“Hey-” 

“Steve? I th-”

“I know, I can explain, just come with me.” He said as he started guiding you over to a table. When you sat down, you noticed the people you were used to, at this point. Robin and Dustin, but you also noticed the inclusion of another new face. She looked familiar for a moment, before you placed that it was Erica Sinclair. 

“Why is-” You motioned to Erica, “Is she going to help us? What’s-” You were practically choking on your words, completely confused by what was going on as you felt Steve slide into the seat beside you. 

“We need someone to go through the vents to open the loading dock for us to get in, Dustin couldn’t fit and he thought he knew someone who could.” Robin explained, “And, she agreed in exchange for ice cream.” She added on.

You nodded along to what she said, wondering if it was a good idea to have her tagging along but knowing that if there was no other option there was no reason why the rest of you couldn’t just watch after her. 

The rest of the day was finished somewhat normally, with the looming knowledge that you would be getting into Russian equipment as soon as the mall closed. 

Ironically, you finished work early for the first time in a while. Your co-workers had been a little too diligent in making sure everything was stocked for the next day, granted, your supervisors had told you to be extra diligent for the next few days since it was the week of the holiday. While it meant that everything was going to be done sooner than it would have been otherwise, it also meant that you needed to break into Russian information sooner.

You quietly walked to where Scoops Ahoy was, you shouldn’t have been as paranoid as you were about going to see your friend who drove you home anyway - but with the given circumstances you felt like everything that you were doing was completely out of the ordinary. 

“You’re here early.” Robin commented from behind the counter as she jumped on top of the stand, sliding across it. 

“We finished early, I don’t think anyone else is still here though.” You said as you glanced around the empty mall. “Even if they are, I don’t think anyone’s going to notice us climbing on the roof.” 

It was only a few minutes later before Dustin, Robin, Steve and yourself departed for the rooftop outside of the loading deck - Erica moving for the vents that would allow you all to enter from that part of the building. 

As you laid on the rooftop, making sure to be as close to the roof as possible as to not draw any attention if there were to be someone who could be paying attention to any of you, you couldn’t help but feel like you shouldn’t be doing what you were doing.

There was just this feeling in your brain, this feeling that maybe this was wrong and that none of you should be involved. But, before you could allow your mind to wander too far with that idea the dock was open, and you were all climbing down the latter and walking quickly and quietly into the building before shutting the door behind you. 

It was eerie being inside of this part of the mall, surrounded by these boxes that you’d seen being walked through the mall and thought nothing of. Seeing them knowing that they were something else, something that could pose a threat to yourself and everyone else that you happened to know. 

You kneeled next to the boxes, watching as Steve opened one of them with a box cutter. You nearly jumped as you told Dustin to get back, but you did not expect him to tell you to get back. 

“If you die I die.” Dustin responded to Steve’s criticism, his firm tone seeming to surprise everyone - including you. 

“I agree with Dustin, if you die I die too.” You commented, high fiving Dustin above Steve’s head.

Steve seemed to blink for a moment, “Okay then.” He finally said, glancing between the both of you before twisting one of the tubes inside of the box and pulling it out.

You all stared in awe of the green, shining liquid-type thing inside of the jar that Steve was holding, having no clue what it could possibly be that he was holding.

Before you had the chance to tell him to put it down you all felt the room begin to move, only for a moment, before everyone started rushing to get the door opened. But the door didn’t seem to want to open. 

You let out a yell as you saw the walls begin to close in, and felt the room start shooting downwards. You fell over on top of one of the boxes, hitting your hip and most likely leaving a bruise. 

As soon as the room stopped, you slowly stood up. Of course, you quickly pieced together that what you were in wasn’t a room at all - but rather an elevator where the Russian’s happened to be keeping their things. Now, not only were you deep below the ground, but the doors to the elevator were completely covered over by a metal wall. 

As soon as you stood up, moving to stand with everyone else, you felt the need to collapse back onto the ground in some sort of defeat. “I didn’t think this was how we were going to die, of all the ways.” 

Steve kneeled in front of you, “We’re not gonna die, we just have to find a way out of here.” he tried to reassure you as he stood back up and started looking around for something. You assumed he was looking for some kind of emergency switch or exit, or maybe a way to get above the elevator in order to get out. 

But that kind of idea was quickly shot down, realizing that this might as well have been a metal box that you were all stuck in. There didn’t seem to be a way out.

“Maybe someone will come back in the morning, we could just…” You trailed off, making the motion of running your finger over your throat. 

“We are not going to kill whoever comes in here, Y/N.” Robin replied, a nearly disappointed look on her face at the way that your mind had instantly gone to that. 

“My point still stands, someone is probably going to come in here for whatever that green shit is tomorrow, if we hide I’m sure there will be a way to hold the door open. Better yet, maybe it’ll just go back up.” You said, feeling as if your brain was finally clicking into place. Most likely because this wasn’t the first time you were in a life or death situation, and truthfully it wasn’t the scariest either. 

“But what if they don’t come back for like… a week or something for another delivery.” Dustin added on, but you shook your head.

“That thing can’t just be sitting here, they’ve gotta do something with it I’m sure.” You said confidently. Maybe you weren’t too confident that someone was going to come back tomorrow, maybe someone wouldn’t be back for a few days, but you didn’t want to think about that. 

“In the meantime, though, we should try to find a way out in case whoever comes back tomorrow knows that we’re here.” Robin said, something that you couldn’t help but agree with.

It was about two hours before you had just given up, deciding that you most likely weren’t going to find a way out as everyone has scoured every inch of the elevator that you were stuck in. You gave the ‘Open Door’ button one last press before sliding back against the wall, a yawn escaping your lips as you leaned your head back. 

You felt someone beside you, and turned to find Steve sitting next to you, a defeated look on his face. “We’re not gonna die here,” You said. But you weren’t sure if you were saying it in an attempt to reassure yourself or to reassure Steve.

“Even if we do get out…” He trailed off, seemingly not wanting to think about what could happen next. “We were just supposed to come in here and leave. Not… get stuck down here.” He seemed frustrated and somewhat exhausted.

“We came down here to stop bad people from doing bad things, it just went a little wrong.” You said, wanting to bring some kind of hope into the discussion. But even before you didn’t have much hope that just the few of you could do much of anything, and now you’d all gotten stuck in an elevator.

“I didn’t want you down here with all the Russians, you know that right?” Steve asked, turning to look at you as you finally met his eyes. “I know you didn’t even want to be involved with this and if you get killed ‘cause of me-” 

“It’s not that I didn’t want to be involved, it’s that I didn’t want you to get hurt. It was never about me.” You said rather softly, watching his expression seemingly change for a moment as he got ready to do or say something - which one, you weren’t sure - but he seemed to stop himself when you let out another yawn.

“You can sleep, Y/N, I won’t let anything happen to you - I promise.” He said, sort of comfortingly as he wrapped an arm around you and let you rest your head gently on his shoulder.

“Goodnight Stevie.” You mumbled as you quickly fell asleep, the exhaustion from working and the stress of the day and the current situation being enough to effectively knock you out. 

It was only another few hours before you woke up at the feeling of movement, not really doing anything about it until you eventually heard the sound of a door opening. You were concealed by a box, and thankfully whoever had come in wouldn’t be able to see you. As you came to a bit more, you noticed Steve slide a box in between the doors that had opened to stop them from closing again. 

You followed everyone out of the room, “Nothing happened while you were asleep.” Dustin said from in front of you, your eyes moving over as you realized he was speaking to you. 

“Well, I figured, we were locked in a room - but I guess you never know.” You responded, quietly, as you walked down the hallway - your eyes practically running around the room as you made sure that there was nobody in there with you. 

It was a little while longer, everyone walking down corridors and you mostly being quiet out of fear that someone was going to hear you, that you would speak at the wrong time.

Eventually you reached what seemed to be some sort of communication room, but as you walked in you were face to face with a Russian Soldier. You froze for a minute, before searching for some sort of blunt object that you could use - for a moment considering throwing your shoes at the man. But Robin distracted him by reiterating the Russian code to him, and Steve seemed to think quick enough to knock the man out. 

“Good thinking,” You said as you turned to Robin - before your eyes began scanning the room. Finally, they found a door, and you walked with Robin to it, assuming that the others were following.

“Thanks,” She trailed off, seemingly distracted as she pushed open a door. You stood in shock of what you were staring at, the other three following you both into the room as Robin motions them in.

“Shit…” You trailed off, your brain connecting what you were looking at. Of course this had to be the reason that they were in a small town like Hawkins, seeing it before you made everything make perfect sense. Or, as much sense as a situation like this could possibly make to someone with a limited understanding of any of it. 

Quickly, you all made your way out of the room, looking for an escape before Erica noticed that the Russian soldier was no longer with Steve. By the time you’d all realized, though, it was too late. 

The only thing that you could do was run as fast as your feet could carry you, following after the other four. But you couldn’t be shocked that you were outnumbered, and try as you might to look for any type of exit it was obvious to you that there wasn’t going to be a safe exit - at least not for everyone.

You watched as Dustin and Erica quickly walked over to a vent, Steve pushing you toward them. “Go! It’ll be safer-”

“I can handle myself, Steve.” You replied back, urgently trying to get back over to the door with Robin. 

“It’s not about that, just go I don’t need you to di-”

“No! Not without you!” You finally yelled back, Steve seeming to stop for a moment before accepting that there wasn’t enough time to convince you to go with Dustin and Erica. You watched as they got away, knowing at that moment that your choice had been completely solidified. 

The next thing you knew, there was a swift punch to your face - the world going black, and all of the commotion surrounding you seeming to just fade away. 

You weren’t sure how long it was before you woke up again, but you seemed to come to your senses rather quickly. The room you were shoved into was rather small, almost like a mop closet but it was completely empty - a flickering fluorescent being your only form of light. There was no one with you, for a couple seconds, that is. 

Within a few moments of waking up a man walked into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as you turned to you with a smug expression.

“You put up quite a fight, you know.” the man commented, much to your dismay.

“I can’t… I don’t remember that.” You responded, which, again to your dismay, made him seem to laugh for just a moment as your confusion.

“No, you wouldn’t, we’ve already injected you with the serum we’re about to give your friends.” He said, glancing down at you for a moment, seemingly at your body. “Have you looked at yourself?” The commented, again, with a smug expression on his face.

It was then that you glanced down, multiple knife wounds on your body, blood covering the front of your shirt. “Wh-”

“The serum will stop the pain for a little while, but if you don’t start telling the truth soon…” He trailed off, moving closer to you and pressing down on the wound that you could only assume was a stab, though it felt as if it was covered by a bandage, “You’re going to regret it.” 

You watched as blood pooled around where he was pressing, but the serum was strong enough to make it only feel like an intense pressure, almost like getting a root canal at the dentist's office - you know something terrible is happening, but can only kind of feel it. 

At that moment you could only realize: he had mentioned your friends. “Where are they, where did you take them.” You grunted out, almost instinctively reaching for the man’s neck as he moved back.

“It wouldn’t matter if I told you, the way things are going - they’re not going to make it out of the day.” he responded, his thick Russian accent making his words harder to understand - but you understand perfectly clear what he was trying to say.

“If you don’t fucking tell me where they are I swear to God I will fucking bite you- I will bite your Adam’s Apple out you son of a-” That was enough to make the man swiftly slap you across the face, standing up and waling to the door. 

“If you don’t want the easy way… I guess I’ll just send in the doctor.” He said, walking out of the room and leaving you alone.

As you stood up to look for some way out, assuming there had to be a way, you narrowly dodged a vent falling from above you. “Dustin?!” You whisper-yelled, watching as he dropped from the vent and onto the ground.

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked, taking in your bloodied form. 

“I don’t remember- Where’s Steve?” You asked him, watching as he moved toward the door with what appeared to be a couple bobby pins he had gotten from Erica. 

“We’re going to get him right now,” He started as the door unlocked. “How is it that you got stabbed and your first question is ‘where’s Steve’?” Dustin questioned as he peeked his head out of the door way before motioning for you to follow him out. 

You followed Dustin out, feeling the familiar pressure of the stab wound on your waistline - now that you were standing, it was clear that it was somewhere on the far left part of your hip - thankfully far away from any important organs. 

As you walked through the long corridors, making sure to avoid any hubs of people, you found yourself passing by the very room that you last remembered being in - before being brought to another interrogation room. Dustin prodded a man in a lab coat with a large, electrified metal rod before you both made quick work of untying Steve and Robin.

Despite your current bloodied and wounded state, you still found yourself getting a lump in your throat seeing the injuries that Steve had sustained. 

“You’re going to be okay, we’re all going to be okay.” You said once you had finally gotten the ties done on his hands - resting a hand on the side of his cheek for a moment before turning to Dustin. “You know how to get out of here?” You questioned, watching as he nodded in response. “Alright then, good.” 

You ran after Dustin, making sure Robin and Steve were behind you both as you got into the cart, leaning your head against the wall as you sat across from Steve and Robin.

You tilted your head at their current state, before remembering the mention of a serum - one you were supposed to have had, but you just assumed it was why you couldn’t remember anything that happened to you; that and the fact that it was probably working overtime to numb the pain of your wound. 

For the first time, you pulled your shirt up slightly. Your suspicion was correct, they had put a bandage over the wound. But it was flimsy at best, leaving a large patch of blood on your hip where you had been bleeding through. 

You dropped your shirt quickly, shifting uncomfortably as you followed everyone into the elevator. Maybe it was how quickly it was moving, or maybe it was just the natural span of the drugs, but you felt your head begin to pound, and with it you felt the stab wound for the first time; a sharp pain coming through as you let out a groan.

“You’re not looking too good,” Dustin commented as you looked over toward him with a slight glare. 

“I’ll meet you back at the movie theater, just let me run and get a first aid kit.” You responded, once you’d finally gotten out of the elevator. It felt odd being in the movie theater, having just escaped from a Russian lab directly under where you were at the moment. 

As soon as you stepped out you quickly made your way to The Gap, knowing that there was a first aid kit kept in the back. You reached your hand into the side of your bra, pulling out the store key that you kept in there and sliding it into the lock - twisting it and making a painful bolt for the back of the store.

Letting out another loud groan, you grabbed the first aid kit and basically dropped onto the ground, leaning against the wall for support as you hiked your shirt up and removed the bandage.

It was a painful process, trying to clean up the blood and tightly wrap a bandage on in a timely manner - but you managed, with perhaps less than a dozen cuss words uttered. 

As soon as you were finished, you reached into the kit and pulled out a few advil’s, doing your best to swallow them without water before locking the kit back up and making your way back out of the store - but as you looked down at your clothing you sighed and grabbed a shirt and jacket, changing quickly before walking back out. Stealing was wrong, but in this case you knew you would raise some sort of suspicion if you ran out covered in blood. You locked the store back up and left  to go to the movie theater. 

You didn’t end up making it all the way back as you found the scoops troop gathered outside of the bathroom. “Wh-”

“Long story,” Dustin cut you off as you all noticed people beginning to pour out of the movie theater. “Let’s go.” He said, and you followed after him.

“What happened to you, Dustin mentioned something about getting stabbed?” Steve questioned, watching as you turned to look over at him.

“Well… I got stabbed.” You said, almost teasingly as you walked out of the movie theater area with them. “I can’t believe this worked.” You said, a small grin of relief covering your face as you made your way to the door of the mall - but before you did, your hopes were immediately dashed by the men checking identifications at the door. 

You ran quickly through the crowd of people, running anywhere that you could possibly run to hide from the people following after you - as you finally jumped behind the scoops ahoy counter you hugged your knees to your chest, slowing your breathing as best as you could as you scooted in next to Steve.

It felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest as you heard the last voice exit the movie theater, your head quickly turning to face Steve. He slowly moved his hand to slide into yours, you weren’t sure if he was attempting to calm your fears or his own but you didn’t care because in that moment it helped you. 

There was so much you needed to say, so much you knew you were never going to say as you heard the men’s footsteps draw closer to the countertop. But then the car started going off, and after the loud noise of an automobile crash you popped your head up to see the men having been crushed by a car. 

As you glanced up, you saw the rest of the party on the ledge above, your face breaking out into a grin as you stood up. “We’re alive!” You said, rather enthusiastically as you turned to look at Steve. He didn’t seem to have much time to respond as you quickly pulled him into a tight hug, the grin never leaving your face as you pulled back to look at him. “I really thought we were gonna die for like… the second time tonight and I-”

You were cut off as you felt him lean in to quickly press his lips against yours in an urgent kiss. It didn’t take more than a couple seconds for you to pull him closer - even if it just lasted for a few moments.

“I’m sorry, I just realized I had some unfinished business while we were about to die.” He said as he finally pulled back, a small smile covering your lips as you looked at him. 

“That’s crazy, because I felt the exact same way.” You said in a rather playful manner, your conversation cut short as you hear someone clear their throat.

“If you two are finished making out, we have a situation at hand.” Dustin commented, watching as you both begrudgingly got out from behind the counter and joined the rest of the group. You seemed to tune out the conversation though, your eyes settling on El. She seemed uncomfortable, you assumed at first she must just be hurting from the wound you noticed on her leg, but it seemed to be much worse than you had suspected. 

As soon as El collapsed to the ground you followed after her, before you noticed that something in her leg was moving. You were all going to have to act fast to figure out how you could help her, and Jonathan seemed to be the one that had figured out how. 

You did your best to calm the poor girl down, but you knew that it wasn’t going to end up working.because there was no way that she was going to end up feeling better with the amount of pain that she was clearly in at the moment. 

It was difficult for you to watch when Jonathan brought back the knife, even more difficult when you watched as the poor girl got her leg sliced into, his hand going in to dig out the intruder in her leg. You leaned back a bit when she decided to do it herself, moments away from asking if there was anything you could do before she ended up getting the thing out of her leg and throwing it to the side.

When you looked up, you noted that there was three more people in the room with you all - maybe this would be easier with them here. Maybe.

As you stood up from your place on the floor, you made your way over to sit beside Robin. “Are you okay?” You questioned as you turned to look at her, but she didn’t seem to have a solid answer. 

There was so much going on, and part of you didn’t even know how to comprehend it even though this wasn’t the first time that something like this had happened. You did your best to listen to the plans that were being made, but you figured it would be easier to just wait and see what you were going to end up doing.

You found out much sooner than expected as you left in a car with Robin, Steve, Dustin and Erica only moments later to go find a way for Dustin to guide Hopper, Murray and Joyce through the mall. 

You quickly walked out of the mall, your eyes widening as you turned to look at Steve. “I accepted King Steve, not too sure I’m down with Daddy Steve.” You teased as you got into the car. 

As you did Steve sent you a playful glare, “You know you love it, who wouldn’t.” He responded back with a grin and a teasing kiss on your cheek as he started up the car.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Dustin seemed vehemently opposed to just giving Steve some normal directions to where he was being expected to drive you all, but maybe it was easier this way in some sense. Not that you were sure what sense that was, but perhaps it was easier for Dustin. Or, perhaps he just wanted to be difficult. 

You were rather calm, feeling the breeze in your hair despite the situation as you drove down the country roads. But what you weren’t expecting at all was the drive up a literal grassy hill. 

You let out a shocked yelp at the feeling of the grass under the car, and the feeling like the car was about to roll off of the hill. Thankfully it didn’t, but as the car cut out and you sat in shock you slowly realized that the car wasn’t going to work any further. 

You all got out of the car, walking up the hill and sitting down next to Dustin’s communication machine, watching as he attempted to get into contact with Suzie. 

“You know, maybe Suzie is asleep-” You started, but held your hands up defensively as Dustin sent a cold glare your way. 

You sat rather calmly in the grass for a little while, your eyes moving up to watch the stars before you turned to glance again at Steve. “You know, I did mean what I said earlier.” Steve said as he scooted over to sit closer to you.

“That you think I love calling you Daddy Steve?” You questioned with a tone of bewilderment in your voice as you stared at him. 

“What? No, I mean… when I thought that we were going to die I just- I realized that I um… I had some unfinished business because i uh-” He seemed to cut himself off, not really knowing what to say without being awkward. 

“I don’t know exactly what you’re trying to say but I’m pretty sure I feel the same way I mean I was literally stabbed and I was all like ‘oh god- but what about Steve’.” You said, more awkward than you intended.

“It’s true, she was asking about you when I rescued her.” Dustin said, you motioning to him.

“See? I just-” You cut yourself off as you glanced down, your eyes finding that of the mall. “You see that too, right?” You questioned. Steve turned where you were looking and his eyes widened. 

“Uh… guys?” He said, pointing to the mall. 

Dustin began to frantically try to contact the people in Starcourt, but when he did all that you heard was the sound of a monstrous roar that was absolutely not Mike Wheeler, or anyone else in that mall. 

You and Steve seemed to have the same idea as you shared a glance and stood from your place on the ground, running down the hill without saying anything before Dustin questioned where you were going. You didn’t know what you were going to be able to do, just you Steve and Robin weren’t going to be able to save everyone. But you would be damned if you didn’t try, at the very least. There had to be something you could do, even if it was the move of a martyr. 

You quickly got into the car, watching as Steve struggled to get it started before backing up down the hill. You were surprised that it ended up working, but glad that you would be able to have something that would, hopefully, get you all to the mall quicker than you would have been able to get there on foot. 

As Steve sped to the mall, you found yourself fruitlessly trying to find a way to look at it and see something, anything, that was going on there - maybe even someone from the mall having escaped. But you found nothing, no matter how hard you looked. 

“Are there any weapons or something in here?” 

“No! No there’s nothing here I checked on the way.” Robin responded, seemingly as stressed out about this as you were. 

Once you made it to the parking lot you saw a car trying to crash into your friends, trying to escape from the mall. You recognized the car to be Billy’s, which was odd since you had no idea why he could possibly be there. 

You hopped out of the now destroyed car you were in, looking around for somewhere to go before you heard someone yell to get in. You quickly got into the back of the van with everyone else, listening to the communication channels as you finally heard the voice you had been waiting to hear; honestly thinking that it was probably not real.

“Suzie is real…” You trailed off, letting out a laugh at the sound of her singing with Dustin on the communication channel. While it hardly seemed to be the right time or place, you were absolutely not going to let Dustin live that down the next time that you saw him.

You all made your way back to the mall when the commotion stopped, when it seemed like everything was over, to make sure that everyone was okay. But when you got there, you quickly learned that both Billy and Hopper didn’t survive the attack. 

You covered your mouth with your hand, feeling tears well in your eyes - maybe it was the stress, maybe it was because Hopper who you’d known was dead, or because of how El was going to feel after losing him. But you felt absolutely distraught at the news. Steve pulled you into his side, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head before an EMT stopped in front of you. 

“Ma’am… you’re bleeding.” She said lightly, pointing to the wound on your hip. 

“Oh- Yeah I… um… long night would you-” 

She cut you off with an immediate nod, bringing you back to stitch up your wound. You insisted that you would be okay without going back to the hospital, and she very begrudgingly let you go so long as you weren’t going to be alone.

It was a rather short, and mainly silent, walk back home with Steve. As you stopped in front of your door, you turned to look at him. “Would you… um… come in?” You questioned, Steve nodding lightly as he followed you into your house and to your bedroom. 

Neither of you really had any interest in changing, the stress of the day being enough to make you not feel the need to change - you just wanted to lay down with Steve. 

As Steve laid down, pulling you under the covers as you rested your head in the crook of his neck, you felt him mumble something against your hair.

“What was that?” You questioned, your head moving up to look into his eyes.

“Earlier, I was trying to tell you that I love you and… thinking I was going to die without saying it… I was so scared.” he said, his eyes soft and genuine.

Your lips formed a smile, light, but all you could manage after the long day. “I love you too, Steve, I- I think I always have.” You said lightly, feeling him learn down slightly as you met him in the middle for a soft kiss. 

As you both pulled back you let out a sigh, “Does this count as our sleepover?” You asked playfully, Steve letting out a laugh as he shook his head.

“No, expect me over for dinner tomorrow night.” He said matter-of-factly as he looked at you.

“Fair… I don’t think I want to be alone for a little while anyway.” You said, a certain vulnerability showing that seemed to make Steve’s eyes soften.

“You never have to be alone, you know that right?” He asked, to which you nodded and pressed another soft kiss to his lips before resting your head once more. 

“Pinkie promise?” You asked softly, to which he held out his pinkie, your two fingers intertwining - a moment later just shifting to tangle your hands together. 

There were a lot of obvious reasons to fear staying in Hawkins, to resent the things that you were exposed to through the life that you had - nothing about it was normal. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world, because Steve was the only normalcy that you needed. You knew he would never leave, because for you both a pinkie promise meant forever.