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shotorozu · 3 years

Note

hello!! i saw that your requests were open and wanted to ask if you could do single dad! atsumu suna and sakusa falling in love with reader, like it's sort of a meet cute (or not) but the reader falls for them and the kid and happiness lskfjsdfk have a great day!!

single dad! falling for reader

character(s) : miya atsumu, suna rintarou, sakusa kiyoomi (haikyuu!!)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, timeskip au! (because,, single dads.)

headcanon type : fluff, crack and angst if you squint (x reader)

warning(s) : mentions of the character’s ex wives, the ex-wives being jerks for multiple different reasons and ways (so,, be warned. for negligence, not very detailed hitting, and cheating, but not on reader)

note(s) : me, writing for haikyuu?? wow, a surprise! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for haikyuu so if i don’t get the characterization correctly— ESPECIALLY FOR SAKUSA, i’m sorry in advance.

»»————-　♡　————-««

miya atsumu

at first, his marriage was happy. miya atsumu— successful in his 20s, basically set for life, and with a head strong wife that gave him a wonderful daughter

he was elated when his son, genji came into this world. he wouldn’t swap him out for anyone else. and it was all good, really

until he started spotting marks on genji’s delicate skin, and he even found a large bruise on his shoulder when he was changing his shirt! he almost passed away seeing that

genji would also have a sudden fear of being alone in the house— even when his mother would stay behind to take care of him

but why though? genji’s only 4! what could’ve happened to him? he doesn’t recall hiring any babysitters.

he finally found the answer one day, when he found out that his head strong, intense wife— has been physical with him!

basically, all the love for his wife flew out the window, and he filed for a divorce— and of course, he won custody

and he assumed that his love life would stop at that— and it didn’t sound terrible. all that mattered was that his son was safe, and happy again

but this is where you come in

you work at a toy store, a small business toy store really, that sold the highest of quality only

and atsumu took genji to either replace, or fix the toy he broke a few days back. the place was recommended to him by shoyo— who also had a kid of his own

you’re just two years younger than him, eyes full of determination and care, practically the complete opposite of his ex-wife.

you put up a good conversation with him, while you fixed the toy— the two of you talking about the mutual friends, and that ‘this place should be a lot more popular.’

and also, his son did happen to take a liking to you. he seemed joyous in your presence— compared to how he was with his ex-wife

and from that moment on, the two of you would only become closer— especially when a bunch of his son’s toys started breaking magically

before atsumu knew it, he harbored something for you— the absolute angel you were to the both of them

“‘m sorry for the inconvenience,” the faux blond scratches the back of his next “didn’t know genji here was a ‘lil clumsy weasel,”

you laugh, and genji’s just staring at you with amusement, “it’s fine, genji could break his entire toy box— and i’d still fix it anyway.”

so this was the nerve wracking part, “to make up for it, would you like some coffee later? i could treat ‘ya.”

“is this yer way of askin’ Y/N—”

“shut yer mouth for a sec— uhm,” he looks at you, sheepishly

you laugh, “miya, i wouldn’t mind honestly. but i’d assume you’re busy as it is.”

“not at all!” atsumu replies, “i’ll just, drop off genji first. say yer thanks to Y/N,” atsumu looks at genji, encouraging him to say his thanks

“,,thanks for fixing my toys, Y/N.”

“no problem, genji.” you smile at the two of them when they move to leave the store, fixed toys in hand— as they wave at you before parting

“oh, Y/N?” atsumu calls out,

“yeah?”

“call me atsumu— from now on.” his cheeks are tinted pink, and he can feel genji’s eyes on him.

“oh, uhm. yeah! i’ll see you later, atsumu.”

so yeah— the two of you went out for some coffee, and before he even knew it, he was in love.

it might take him a few months to realize it though

suna rintarou

i can’t imagine him having kids for some reason 💀 but if he were to have any, he’d definitely have a daughter

rintarou himself, didn’t think he would have kids at at all, really. but the moment he was able to meet asuka— his lovely little daughter

he was hooked. he seemed a little awkward at first, not very used to caring for a child. but he was actually decent at his job

he’d sneak into his daughter’s room to hold her when she was upset— even when his wife was too knocked out to realize it, and he’d show her picture books

since she liked them a lot, even when she can’t coherently read a straight paragraph yet.

it started to concern him when he realized how little his wife was involved in the development of their daughter.

she started acting different, a little bit after she didn’t have to breastfeed asuka

and then, that’s when it happened.

“i literally can’t believe you,” he speaks when he’s packing his things, “we have a child together.”

his soon to be ex wife is on the floor, begging him to stay— but he doesn’t care. “look, the idea of you cheating wasn’t very surprising. i don’t care anymore, really. but the fact that you’ve been neglecting asuka for your selfish needs is low. i hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”

his words are so much different that his lenient, calm self. which only solidifies reality

so he leaves with asuka, not caring about the sobs that left his soon to be ex wife’s mouth.

and even though he was still angry at his wife for not being there, he’d never let it show to asuka

he’d still show her picture books, he’d still sit down and watch miraculous ladybug with her— even when she doesn’t understand it all completely

and speaking of picture books— he decided that he needed to buy more for her

so he took her to the bookstore, and he didn’t really know what he was doing. he bought all those previous books when asuka was still a newborn

now it’s a little fuzzy on what he should be looking for. colors, right? he needs a picture book that has plenty of colors.

and that’s where you come in. you’re youthful, despite looking not that far off his age, you’re humming to yourself as you fix the bookshelves

“uhm,” he calls out for your help, and you look at him in recognition “need any help? what are you looking for?”

there’s a helpful glint in your eyes, and it reminded him of what should’ve been in his ex wife’s eyes. “my daughter, likes picture books. and,, i don’t know what i’m doing.”

she’s basically a replica of him, same eye color, and same hair color. but her eyes are much more rounded, youthful.

“cute kid,” you smile when she coos at you, “the children books are this way, follow me!” you exclaim, moving to navigate your way to the children’s book isle

so it seems to be that you really know what you’re doing. most people would’ve recommended picture books with a lot of words, or just no words at all

but you’ve found the books that made asuka exclaim in happiness.

and although it’s not very obvious that rintarou’s caring to his child— he is, and you could tell. despite looking lost, and sometimes bored when you’re explaining the books.

so every 2 weeks, the father would return with his daughter, after he got back from volleyball— and you’d help them pick out on certain books.

rintarou assumed he’d never take a liking in anyone again, but,, here he is. and he doesn’t know how you’ll react to that.

but it’s worth a try— he’d try and get your number when he’d see you again

the next time you see him, the middle blocker’s alone. and he tells you that he needs more picture books for asuka, since she’s staying over at his volleyball friend’s house for a day

“Y/N,”

“yes?” you turn your head, meeting his stare. he looks well,, himself. like how he first sought out for your help a few weeks back

“,, could i get your number? y’know, just in case asuka wanted worded books in the future. you’ve helped a lot, so,,”

you smile, “is this your way of hitting on me?”

he didn’t think it was that obvious, “what?— i mean,” he fumbles to reason out, feeling a bit more awkward. because yes, he’s asking you out but,, he has the power to make things more laxed, y’know?

truthfully, you don’t know much about him. you know a lot about his daughter, sure! but you don’t know anything about her biological mother, or what happened, or why she’s not taking asuka to the bookstore

but you chose not to ask, out of respect. he’d tell you some other day. “i’m just teasing,” you smile, moving to get a small piece of paper— writing your digits on the paper, and placing it in his pocket

“i’d like to see you again,” you smile, “say hi to asuka for me.”

the middle blocker left the store in content, absolutely sure that asuka would love to see you again even when she can’t form proper sentences.

sakusa kiyoomi

didn’t think he’d be fit to be a father— but here he is

though he seems cold, he does take responsibility, and he does love and care for his child, seina

it’s not like he’ll be posting pictures of his child everywhere— i mean, even if he had a different personality, he still wouldn’t be posting his kid everywhere

but he does cherish seina, like his life depended on it. he’d still silently watch her cross out word puzzles in a messy matter, he’d silently listen to her talk about her favorite pastries

he loves her!

so that’s why it made him mad, when even after 4 years of seina being born, her mother made little to no effort in spending time with her

doesn’t matter if it was a simple gesture like tucking her in, or showing up to a birthday— she just,, never did.

it was almost as if she was ignoring seina, which causes some distraught on the child’s behalf— which passed on the negative feeling to him

like,, seina wasn’t an unbearable kid. sure, she acted up here and there, that’s an issue kiyoomi has been trying to fix on his own

but it was nothing too concerning, and it was containable. but his wife treated her like she was absolutely unbearable

and it was super strange because, she’d act normal around him, but would barely acknowledge her own daughter’s existence

so what did kiyoomi do? he confronted her, of course.

and no— his wife wasn’t cheating, and nothing tragic happened that would’ve caused her to be this way

she was just,, lazy

“so.. you gave birth and stopped caring for her? is that it?” furious was an understatement, considering that his wife forgot to make her daughter breakfast

which caused her to sneak out of the house, and ask for some breakfast from some nice neighbors.

“look, if you want nothing to do with her, just say that. i’m taking seina, and leaving.” so yeah now he’s a single father.

to say he didn’t love her was too quick, a part of him didn’t love the fact that his wife loved him, but didn’t show any sign of affection towards her daughter.

he knew it was going to fade away anyway. his feelings for his unofficial ex wife.

and i don’t think he’d plan on seeing new people, since now these days— people just like the idea of being with him

which meant that most people would’ve been scared away, or turned off if they really sat down in a conversation with him

besides the point, kiyoomi was taking his daughter to the bakery again— as she was craving new pastries, and wanted to go to the new bakery that just opened near by

and kiyoomi was like “why not ig” and took her there— but then, this is where he’d meet you for the first time

you were one of the bakers, and it’s not like he was going to pay attention to you— until you did something even HE couldn’t do

“papa, whyyyy” the whining sounding painful in his ears, as his daughter clung to the display of pastries “can’t we get moreeee??”

“seina,” he sighs, “no, we can’t.”

“but—”

“papa, you’re no fair!” her bottom lip trembles, and he could almost FEEL the judgmental stares of the other customers in the bakery

and this is where you come in, “is something the matter?”

“papa won’t.. get me more!” she stares at the selection of pastries, “i’ve been so nice but.. it’s no fair!” her eyes tear up

“don’t cry,” you bend down to blot her tears away with a tissue, “y’know, he probably has a reason, but you’re in luck— actually!” you maneuver behind the counter

you come out from behind, presenting a fresh batch of pastries— that were just right to his daughter’s liking, to the point that it shut her up entirely

“they’re on the house, today’s our opening day, so it’s the bakery’s treat!”you state in a warming matter, grabbing a paper bag to place the pastries in

kiyoomi stares at you, observing you quietly— you could feel his cold stare, even though he’s wearing a medical face mask, that covers about half of his face

you blink, not knowing what is going through his head, and you gesture to his daughter to take them

you clearly don’t know who he is— and that gives kiyoomi some sort of relief, compared to the other customers that are murmuring to each other “sakusa kiyoomi’s here with his daughter! is this what he does in his free time?”

kiyoomi takes the paper bag, giving some sort of non verbal acknowledgement, before he takes his daughter’s hand and leaves

“bye, kind person!” seina calls out to you, which catches you off guard— this causes your coworkers to coo at the girl’s words

“didn’t know sakusa’s daughter was so cute!”

and you’d assume that your interactions with the quiet stranger and his daughter would end at that, but no! life is full of surprises.

the tall masked father comes in again, a little bit before closing time— you were absolutely beat, your back feeling as if boulders were glued to the back, and your feet burning from all of the rush

“oh, what could i do for you?”

he stays quiet, but a small presence sticks behind him, and peers up to you. the face is familiar to you, so you wave “hi there! it’s nice to see you again.”

“i wanna say thanks.” her rounded eyes practically shimmer when they lay themselves on the pastries again, but she shakes her head “for the pastries! they’re very tasty.”

“i’m glad you like them, what was your favorite part of the pastry?”

“the filling! twas yummy!” she gives a toothy grin, “tell me, where ‘dya learn to bake like that?”

kiyoomi stares at the scene unfolding before him. it was.. new. unfamiliar— he hasn’t seen his daughter act like this with anyone else— besides him and his team mates. so, he simply watched.

seina babbled and babbled, much to the your amusement— and the other staff members. you listened to her with your full attention, your interest never wavering in the slightest

it’s a bit later, kiyoomi holds a tired seina in his arms— you expect him to leave the bakery, his daughter’s wishes been fulfilled, and he wouldn’t have a reason to stick around

but then he presents to you a large stack of cash “for the pastries. my,, daughter really liked them.”

your eyes widen, “sir! i told you, the pastries were on the house!” you shake your head, “either way, i can’t take this! it’s too much for some pastries!”

“no, seina insists. in fact, she’s entirely why i’m here.” his tone stays consistent, but even with the mask— you could tell that he’s smiling. “she’s well,, everything. if she’s set on something, then she’ll do everything to achieve her goal.”

you smile at the statement, “thanks for bringing her here sir..?”

kiyoomi hesitates to tell you his name for a moment, an unfamiliar, yet familiar pound in his chest rises— he chooses to not figure it out right now, considering that it would be too soon to pursue a romantic relationship.

but, if his daughter brought him here, then it must be for a reason. “kiyoomi.”

“right,” you smile, “thanks for coming here, kiyoomi. you can give me a call, if seina wants any more pastries.” you write your number on a piece of paper, and hand it to him

he doesn’t reply, but he does take the piece of paper anyway— keeping it in his pocket

and for once, he thinks that he doesn’t hate having to go to the bakery weekly., because there’ll be a warm presence there to greet him— and of course, seina.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own hq!! and it’s characters. haikyuu!! belongs to furudate haruichi, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission :))

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Note

can you write something about cheating harry and yn acting like a proper couple in front of anna, like harry with his arm around her and kissing her head and stuff, and anna is just standing there fuming and maybe tries to get physical with yn

Love Your Broken Pieces

warnings: cheating; mentions of trauma and domestic abuse

if you enjoy please consider donating $3 to my ko fi.

(any donations over $15 get a guaranteed blurb written of their choosing!)

reblog, like, comment, & come chat!

YN really really didn’t want to go out.

She wasn’t going to tell Harry that because it was a celebratory dinner for him because he’d just won Entrperur of the yearand she wasn’t going to ruin it.

It’s not that she didn’t want to celebrate his achievement.

She was so so proud of him but her therapy session had got moved up a day because the therapist had to go out of town.

YN didn’t want to bother him so she had went herself without telling him.

It was trauma-focused therapy which meant it was intensive, draining, and overall triggering at time.

Today had sparked a new memory that she had suppressed and she was really struggling to get through the day without his support.

She shouldn’t need him for everything. It wasn’t fair to him.

So she’d sat on her bed for thirty minutes before she managed to pull on a nice dress before curling her hair - zoning out and accidentally burning herself lightly.

Harry had to pick up Anna, offered to pick up YN.

“Hey pup, y’want me t’pick you up on the way?” Harry had called while she was swiping on mascara.

“No, I’ll just Uber,” YN try to keep her tone light but couldn’t stomach sitting in the car with that disgusting woman right now.

“No, let me come get you,” He insists, always preferring to drive her around over some stranger.

“I really don’t want to be in the car with Anna, okay? Just drop it,” YN replies a bit too tersely.

There’s a pregnant pause.

“What’s wrong, puppy?” Harry knows her much to well.

She couldn’t help but bristle, “Nothing. I just have to get ready. Okay? I’ll see you there.”

YN shouldn’t have hung up like that but her hands were shaking and it was taking all of her might to pull herself together to go.

“It’s all your fuckin’ fault your mum hates me,” Her dad had spat at her, right in the kitchen after dinner.

“Fuck,” She mumbles to herself as she drops her lipstick and it rolls under the dresser.

—

She canceled two Ubers before she found a driver who didn’t seem intimidating.

It made her fashionably late, everyone already seated, and it doesn’t make it any better when Anna greets her.

“About time. Can’t even make it at a respectable time for your supposed best friend’s dinner.”

Anna and Gemma both make a grimacing face at the rude comment but Harry interrupts before they interject, “S’okay, Uber’s can be a pain in the arse.”

“Er, yeah. The Uber…” YN mumbles lowly, there was an empty seat across from Harry that had been saved for her.

She could feel Harry’s eyes following her, studying her as she kept her head down and looked on the verge of tears.

“You look too much like your goddamn mother.”

“What d’you want to drink?” Harry asks softly, tapping her foot under the table.

“God Harry, she’s not a child,” Anna rolls her eyes as she glances over her menu.

Harry glares over at her with a strict warning glance that she needs to change her attitude or there is gonna be an issue.

“Just water,” YN replies, swallowing hard.

He knows somethings wrong when she doesn’t bite back at her, instead looking down at the menu like it’s the most interesting thing ever.

Harry had already known by the phone call.

There were quite a few people at the dinner, constantly engaging him in conversation as YN kept to herself.

It’s after the appetizer’s arrive that he can’t stand her fake smiles and attempts to seem like she’s enjoying herself.

“Outside, now,” Harry says firmly, not a question but a statement.

“Harry, don’t,” Anna huffs, not liking the private attention her enemy is about to get.

“I don’t remember askin’ you,” He hisses under his breath before following YN’s retreating figure to the main entrance.

They end up in the small alleyway, “Tell me what’s going on.”

YN’s eyes are moody, putting back on a nonchalant expression that would work for anyone but him, “I’m fine, I don’t know why you’re making a big deal. Let’s go enjoy your dinner.”

Harry backs her up against the brick wall, hand over her shoulder, “We’re not goin’ anywhere until you tel me. M’not stupid.”

It triggers something because she starts sniffling, whispers, “You’re going to be mad at me.”

His hard facial features relax, pressing his forehead to hers, “Please pup, y’know I love you no matter what.”

“My therapist moved our session to today. I went and uh…” YN begins to full on cry, burying her face in her hands.

“C’mon, tell me,” He encourages softly.

“It triggered a repressed memory. I…I didn’t want to ruin tonight for you. I fuck up everything for you already,” She chokes out, letting him pry her hands away.

“Puppy,” He murmurs with a laugh of disbelief, “I fuckin’ wake up everyday because of you. You make my life worth livin’. I’m not happy unless y’are.”

“I just…didn’t want tonight to go like this,” YN sighs quietly, “One night without my trauma.”

“Hey, hey. We’re workin’ through it together, yeah? It takes time. Y’made the effort to come and that means more to me than anything else,” He says truthfully, tilting her chin up.

Harry melts a bit when she leans up to give him a lightening fast peck, “I am so proud of all your accomplishments.”

“Wouldn’t have done any of it without you, sweet girl,” He rubs a thumb under her eye to wipe off a streak of makeup.

They stand outside for a minute longer in a tight hug.

When they walk back into the restaurant, Harry quietly asks Gemma to switch YN seats which she graciously agrees without a fuss.

Anna is shooting daggers at YN while the change happens and Harry pushes in her seat for her.

The whole dinner consists of Anna fuming and hanging on every single movement between the two despite her hand on Harry’s thigh.

When he scoops up a bit of his mashed potatoes and feeds them to YN, laughs when she makes a face at the amount of chives mixed in.

It’s like he doesn’t even noticed the casual arm he occasionally throws around the back of YN’s seat as they chat.

“Harry,” YN scolds with a small smile when he steals a shrimp from her plate when she’s not looking.

Anna had shrimp too and he didn’t look once to do that to her.

“S’good, here, have a bite of m’steak. Know Y’don’t like it rare but s’good. I promise,” He encourages, cutting her a thick piece.

How the fuck did Harry know how YN liked her steak?

He didn’t even remember Anna’s favorite color.

“Y’gettin’ sleepy?” Harry whispers to YN towards the end of the meal, his lips are nearly brushing her ear and Anna pinches his thigh hard.

“Fuck,” Harry replies, flinching away from the pain as he turns to his girlfriend, “Wha’ did you do that for?”

“Can you pay at least a little bit of attention to me? I’m your girlfriend despite how much YN wants to pretend she is,” Anna says haughtily, loud enough for her to hear.

Harry is about to snap on her but instead YN speaks up first, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know jealously was on the menu. Eat up, Anna.”

Anna begins to sneer but Harry says, “Why don’t you go take a second in the bathroom? Then we can talk, okay?”

With a little stubbornness, she does - stomping away from the table without looking back at YN who had rolled her eyes.

“Y’on my menu tonight? A bath and cuddle sounds nice,” He offers to his love, thumbing her upper thigh.

“So nice,” YN agrees, “Can we use that sugar cookie bath bomb?”

“Of course, anythin’ you want, m’pup,” Harry hums sweetly, kissing the top of her head.

Anna is walking back when she sees it.

He’s cheating on me.

It flashes through her mind but she pushes it away because she reminds herself that YN is a pathetic little clingy girl who Harry wouldn’t ever like that way.

—

Later that night, Harry holds YN as she recount her memory.

Praises her for being so strong.

Kisses her because he loves her so much it hurts most days.

Assures her that he’ll love her even if she’s never ‘fixed’.

Promises that he’ll never let anyone hurt her again.

—

I’d love feedback 🥺

taglist babies (thank you): @dioc4ne @hazgoldenstyles @harrysdimple05 @wonwooen @ficnarry @leeroysdancer @harrysloveheart @harryscherrysugar @pradastardust @rish-haz @wildcstdrexms @evanstylestan @wisetoadbonkbiscuit @meredithhuntt @tpwkvictoria @lovely-him @haymix @eiffelmezarry @pilgrim-harry @soullessbabee @afterglowstyles @tulsasjesus @elenagilbert01 @meh–mood @pretty-pop-princess-hs @msolbesg @localfalsegodstan @evanjh @i-just-like-fanfics @harrys-hs-gf @lightsupdoyouknowwhoyouare @afterglcwswift @harrystyles-tpwk @amyvandijk @godilovetheenglishx @harrys-cherrry @theprofessionalfanby @your–sweetest–downfall @la-cey @bdbtchdir @killerqueencapstan @elizabeth23567 @camflowervol6 @its-a-finee-line @rish-haz @solonelytobe @nav1234 @harrynamjoon @hopefullimaginer123 @westallenhes @awesomebooklover17 @will-be-a-fineline @vasilikir5 @your–sweetest–downfall @pretty-pop-princess-hs @harrynamjoon @harrypinks @ivyirenehoax @harryspink @sunsetcurve-h @goldenstylesh @mouthfulloftoothpastehs @hello-34583 @prettylovley @nicolecarsley @lamariettes @imavirginhoe @unknown7549 @mellamolayla @kiwitsayedsugar

#harry styles cheating #cheating!harry blurb #cheating!harry masterlist #cheating!harry

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

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ruvatia · 3 years

Note

Sorry if this is a bit much with everything going on, but could I request a scenario where the Paladins + Matt & Lotor have a black s/o and they’re scared abt everything that’s happening in their country and are sad that racial injustice is happening? I’ve been rlly worried the past few days, but if this is smth too uncomfy I understand ;w; Thank you 💖💖💖

This got really long, I apologize but I turned it into half-headcanons with just the main paladins-- i apologize for not doing all the characters you’ve mentioned, but I don’t think they would fit all in a single post anyways www

On another note I hope you and every other reader take good care of their mental health; it’s important to be aware of what’s going on but it’s also important to be in the right mindspace to be able to tackle everything that’s being shared. It’s pain that’s been boiling for a very long time and there is absolutely no shame in taking some downtime to recover before heading back into current issues.

SHIRO:

If you were saddened, Shiro would suggest that maybe you switch to something else; if there was something that he knows will distract you and temporarily have you be a little more at ease, he’d do that!

But also maybe add a little twist-- extra soft blankets (fresh out of the oven! Screw the bills you’re worth it), extra cheese on your favorite dish, whatever it is that can make your smile a little wider, bigger or brighter just let him know!

Would give you hugs if you asked, but usually Shiro pets your head and brushes your cheek for comfort

He also does this when he wants to ask something of you, but thats another story

Why the TV was still on was a mystery to you, you’d stopped listening a long time ago. Your partner besides you noticed, and you felt the hand around your shoulder tighten his grip a little, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, maybe we should watch something else?” he asked softly, brushing your cheek with his hand. “I can’t really listen to this anymore.”

“Yeah… Sure.” you replied, though it felt like an automated response more than your actual opinion.

“Okay, I’ll switch to that weird show Pidge recorded the other day, we agreed to watch it, right?” he replied, quickly grabbing the remote to change the program.

The first episode started playing, but the moment that it did, you felt cold as Shiro left your side.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your interlaced fingers the only thing keeping him close.

“Ah, I thought I’d make us something. We both kinda skipped dinner….”

He’d thought about putting something together that you’d like, maybe order dessert to surprise you but seeing the look on your face, leaving your side was the hardest thing to do right now.

So he gave in, and your both fell asleep until the doorbell rang with your delivery.

KEITH:

I have this headcanon that Keith isn’t very good with physical touch but after the end of voltron and after enough time of humanitarian relief, he learns how important it is for someone that’s in a specific state of mind

So the best he has to offer when his words fail is physical touch

Over your time together he’s learned what you need depending on your mood, and it helped him out lots when you were more vocal about it-- if anything he liked it when you asked for things that he could easily deliver, he’d do anything to see you smile

A hand came over your phone screen, Keith’s fingers lacing into yours and making you drop the device onto the crevices of the sofa.

“Why did you--”

“You’ve been staring at that thing for the past hour, biting at your nails.” he said in a worried tone. “That’s enough. We’re going to bed.”

“But it’s just--”

“We’re going to bed.” he repeated in a harsher tone, lifting you off your seat.

Keith sat down onto the bed first, pulling you into him. You both fell onto the bed, Keith quickly pulling the covers over your shoulders before his arms came around you.

“My alarm is my phone.”

“That’s nice, but we both know we have nothing to do tomorrow.” he replied right away, making you chuckle.

“Keith…” you called, your hands sneaking up to his face.

You brushed away some of his hair from his face as he gave you a complicated expression, unable to reflect the small smile you wore. He knew things were shit outside, that being apart from your family and other loved ones was a toll on both you and that lately negative thoughts have plagued you more often than not but Keith, despite his good intention was still somewhat of an awkward man.

“Thank you.”

He kissed you in reply and you both left it at that, glad that he had someone like you to meet him halfway.

LANCE:

Lots of hugs the moment he feels something is off with you

Will be a brat™ for the sole purpose of distracting you, bET

I feel like post-series Lance tries his best to be as observant as Allura and tries to understand others better-- but it didn't take a genius or incredible empath to know why your eyes looked like they were about to overflow at the sight of the news.

I’d like to think that Lance, with a big connected family is one of the paladins that very easily gets what you’re going through, wouldn’t be surprised he’s been called one or two things in his past either

That being said it doesn’t mean that he completely understands your personalized struggles with racial injustices that you encounter everyday; as another minority himself + coming from a culture and upbringing that might be different than yours, its a very different experience.

Memories flooded as the news anchor spoke about “lootings” and as you scrolled down your feed to see feeble attempts at sympathy from local peacekeepers. You sigh and retweet another thread, only to find something equally as shocking right after. You stopped commenting in quote retweets a while ago, you felt like you were constantly repeating that none of this was okay and that a reform was desperately needed. Rather than typing out your thoughts you typed out your name, address and email over and over again, signing one petition after the other.

Hearing sigh after sigh, Lance eventually put an arm around your shoulder. He startled you, but his soft voice made both your shoulders and your guard lower.

“Hey, do you want to make a midnight snack with me? I’m getting kinda hungry.”

“What about that new rule we were talking about? Not eating 4 hours before we went to bed?”

“Every diet has one or two cheat days, don’t they?” he replied, kissing one of your eyelids. “Come on, I’m sure your neck is sore from being like that for so long.”

In the end you both made some soul-food until a food-coma knocked you out until tomorrow. In the morning, you realized that Lance must’ve woken up in the middle of the night because you remember cuddling on the couch, and yet you’re waking up on the bed. Of course, still in his arms.

HUNK:

Having a sensible heart, I feel like both you and hunk would struggle a little about maintaining a healthy distance with current events.

Though overtime he would understand that keeping in touch with everything that’s going on is important, but not at the sake of burning out

His best bet, to him, to pull you out of a such a dark space is with comfort food

“Ok ppl feel like they want to eat a horse but they actually cant when they’re in that mind space Hunk, let’s make something sweet and small; something direct and straight to the point! Let’s add smiley faces on it!”

Your turned down the volume from the news, let your head fall backwards and brought up your forearm over your closed eyes. It felt warm and made it you realize that you had probably been staring very intensely at the screen as a wave of comfort hit your eyes the moment they were drowned in darkness. Letting out a deep breath, you stilled and let yourself bask in your thoughts until a familiar voice brought you back.

“Maybe a little bit more sugar? No, then it would be disbalanced. The base is already so sweet-- Ah, I have to take the cupcakes out or else they might get burned!”

You felt a smile grow on your lips, making you ignore the horrid news being broadcasted to turn to your partner that as usual, seemed to juggle ten thousand things to create a whole meal.

“What’s going on over here?” you asked, leaning over the counter to note that one of your favorite dishes was made and machines that were mostly used for baking had been brought out.

“Oh you know, just a little pick me up for my most favorite person ever.” he shrugged, but a smile soon came to his face. His hands were full but he leaned over, his lips meeting your cheek. “Things outside are a little dark, so I thought we could both use a little something nice.”

He turned on the machine after dropping a drop of dye to make it your favorite color and within a few minutes the icing was finished. Hunk scooped up a small amount on his finger and brought it to his lips and nod.

“Wanna taste?” he asked you, his finger dipping into the icing.

A mischievous grin spread on your features as you took his wrist and let his finger fall on your tongue, the sweetness quickly spreading through your mouth. The yellow paladin shivered as you let his digit hang in your mouth for longer than necessary, letting out a satisfied hum when you returned it to him.

“Tastes perfect.”

PIDGE:

She knew what could be fixed, she knew how to fix it but this meant she was also aware of how long such a transition would take

I think Pidge would be similar to Shiro: whatever she remembers that helps you be at ease, she would defect to that in hopes to maybe distract you for a while.

I don’t think Pidge is a very touchy person either, so if she reaches out to you _physically_ in worry, it’s a very clear sign she’s serious/anxious

I feel like she would reach out in other ways and then if she knew you were in a specific state of mind where touch was not useful, or if she just also wanted to try things out lol

As you watched the twisted information that was being shared on screen, another message caught your attention. Rather than a small red icon in the corner, a small window appeared in the middle of your computer screen.

The video had stopped, every horrible gif about police brutality was paused and there was nothing else but the small window pidge had thrown onto your screen. You chuckled, and felt a pressure behind your working chair.

Another message popped up.

<You’ve been catching up with twitter for the past two hours. Surely you’re done now?>

A soft laugh came from you, making Pidge release a breath she didn’t know she was holding. You typed out an answer:

<Okay, but half of them are just cat videos and the other half are just retweets of said videos.>

You both laughed, before Pidge turned around and tapped your shoulder. She let her hand float in the air, yours coming to join it as a soon as your turned her way.

“Wanna take a nap?” she asked, letting her head fall onto your shoulder. “I had Chip make some hot chocolate, Hunk style.”

You squeezed her hand, putting your computer on sleep mode.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

#voltron writings #shiro x reader #takashi shirogane x reader #keith x reader #keith kogane x reader #lance x reader #lance mcclain x reader #hunk x reader #hunk garett x reader #pidge x reader #katie holt x reader #for context this was requested around june 2020 #its a year late and thata my fault wjdjan

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allyouneedisbuck · 3 years

Text

Saturday Sun I

Summary: it’s the beginning of may. mother’s day has come and gone, with your family trip coming up and things are seemingly falling apart even more. you and harry are forced to come head to head with real issues. (harry x fem!reader)

Word Count: 1.3K (second part will be the longer piece)

Warnings: Angst. Cheating. Find all in depth warnings in the first two parts.

Notes: hello, part three is divided into two parts, this first one focusing on some conflict & the second part to it will focus more on family dynamic & light resolution. part of this piece has harry’s pov instead of entirely the readers.

Part One & Two (along with a companion piece) can be found in my h.s masterlist!

i need to ask her

what’s going on?

are we going strong?

May - Part I

It’s the Monday before your flight.

April had come and April had gone and you were still struggling to focus on anything but your kids and issues with Harry. You suppose that’s okay, your next deadline was months away and with the trip coming up all you could focus on were those things.

Mother’s Day had slipped your mind completely. You were busy making lists and triple checking flight info to even think of asking the kids and Harry about their plans.

“How was your weekend? Everything went well?” Dr. Walsh’s voice forces you to look up from the new watch that adorns your wrist.

You glance at Harry, who waits for you to answer. You shrug. “It was nice… Harry and the kids treated me yesterday.”

The watch is a beautiful rose gold color and is a thin band compared to the band of your last watch. Your kids initials had been engraved onto the inner band. It was, by all means, a lovely and well thought out gift. Not only replacing the watch you had worn for a decade and had finally snapped, but reminding of the best parts of your life.

“Tell me about your day!” Dr. Walsh smiles kindly. Her eyes move between you and Harry, polite and u judging, before landing on your wrist.

“I got breakfast, at the table, breakfast in bed is too hectic with three kids and a baby.” You laugh softly, thinking of the kids and their not well hidden excitement for your day. “And they all got me gifts. The twins made clay handprints in school. Seph picked out a new wallet for me and even bought it on her own!”

It’s impossible to contain your happiness that rolls off of you when you talk about the kids. Bragging about their thoughtfulness and kind gifts makes you almost forget where you are.

“That sounds so lovely.” Dr. Walsh brings you back down. Your eyes move to Harry. His eyes are open and he’s smiling softly as you speak. But his fingers are fidgeting in his lap and you know he had hoped you would be proud of his gift too.

And you were. But maybe that was the worst part. That it was kind hearted and well thought out and so very Harry that you almost hated it. You hated how one small gift had caused a sliver of hope to crawl into your bloodstream and make your heart race for him again.

That it made you believe, for one brief moment, all his promises and words about never falling out of love with you and never wanting to let you go.

“Harry got me a watch too.” You finally say, quiet and full of despair. “Mine snapped a few weeks ago… It has the kids initials in it. It was a good day.”

Dr. Walsh nods. “It’s a lovely watch.” Her eyes move pointedly from it on your wrist to you. “So what’s wrong?”

You fiddle with it, twisting it on your wrist and tapping the face anxiously. “It feels tainted.” You steadily avoid looking at Harry as you say the words. Dr. Walsh nods, but doesn’t say anything, silently urging you to continue. “I love it. And that… makes me feel guilty. And it makes me feel dumb because one stupid gift made me forget this bullshit for a second and I just felt that love for him again.”

There’s an intake of breath to your right, but Dr. Walsh doesn’t look at all shocked by your words. “It makes sense. You want to be angry. You have a right to be angry and when something gets in the way of that, you’re unsure of how to feel.”

You nod. Her words make sense. You did want to be angry and after your brief elation with the gift you found you still were.

“I am going to feel like this for the rest of my life?” You whisper.

She shakes her head. “No. One day, this anger will be gone. But… it’s up to you whether or not you can get there with each other. If you can forgive Harry and let go of the anger. Or not. Neither is wrong.”

You nod. Sometimes these sessions felt like she was strictly talking to you. Harry just listened. Spoke up when you asked him to, or when Dr. Walsh worked on exercises.

A part of you found that it helped. You were able to say things you may not have ever said to Harry. But sometimes it felt like he was unsure if he should try and that made you angrier.

Harry’s hopes are built up and shattered. It’s his own fault, he knows it is. Knows that this was an easily fixable marriage before he fucked up.

You’ve talked about the cheating a little in therapy. Dr. Walsh has mentioned it, you’ve let your anger out, Harry has apologized. It’s a cycle that seems never ending. He doesn’t know what to do. All he wants so desperately is to fucking fix it.

But...

The drive has been silent. You stare out the window at cars and buildings that pass. There are bags in the truck rustling around, a last minute stop for last minute items needed for the trip.

You had been silent in the store too. Quietly checking off your list as Harry pushed the cart behind you. Had his gift upset you this much? You still loving him made you this angry?

“I… I don’t know what to do.” Harry finally says, forcing his voice to cut through the silence. You startle and turn to look at him. “Tell me what to do.” He pleads.

He knows you can hear the desperation in his voice. Whether or not you were angry at him, you knew him, you knew his tells and his emotions.

“What do you want me to say, H?” Your voice is a whisper but still harsh. “I don’t know! I don’t know what you can do! Build a time machine. Don’t cheat on me.”

“It feels like we’re going in circles.” Harry tries to keep his calm. He wants to keep the anxiety and hurt out of his voice. “Like, you’re angry then you see this chance and there’s hope, then there’s anger again.”

You scoff. “I’m sorry my pain isn’t linear enough for you! I’m sorry that sometimes I see glimpses of you and I’m reminded of us ten years ago, so in love and oblivious to the outside world. Sorry that it all comes crashing down when I remember that you fucking cheated on me!”

Harry sighs and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I fucked up so bad. I know. I know. God, what can I do? Anything.”

“Why did you do it?” You ask instead of answering. There’s a coldness in your words and Harry’s aware you’re both trapped in the car for another twenty minutes. So are you, apparently. “And don’t give me the same bullshit about being selfish and not knowing why and it being a mistake.”

Harry feels desperation claw at his throat and tears burning in the corner of his eyes. It’s like he can’t breathe, trapped in a coffin of your anger and his guilt. He tries to keep his eyes focused on the road as he talks. “I… I felt wanted. I liked the attention.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, but Harry keeps his face forward and eyes focused. “Tell me what happened.”

“Y/N…” Harry trails off. “I… I can’t.”

You groan and fall forward with your head in your hands. “I need to know, H. I don’t… I just need to know because all I can think about is these what if situations and scenarios in my head. And I’ll just keep running through them until I hate you.”

Harry bites down on his lip and spares a glance at you. “What if… What if I tell you and you hate me anyways?” The question is unfair. He knows it is. But he can’t fathom a world without you in it. A world where he sees you on drop off days and has to plan separate holidays.

“I don’t know.” You say quietly. But, it feels like answer enough. There’s no reason for you not to leave.

And Harry guesses a promise to try was never really a promise to stay.

notes: thank you for the patience! i understand this piece is short, this part has been a lil tricky and i wanted to get the first part to may out before summer courses begun. i’m hoping i’m able to continue writing through them, but i will warn readers i am enrolled in two of the three week classes that have a lot of work and move quickly. so patience will be appreciated. i hope everyone is safe & healthy and has a wonderful end of school/university/spring! and congratulations to all the grads these next two months. i’m planning on ending this series with a total of five parts (march, april, may, june, july) w/ two endings.

tags (im tagging a couple ppl who messaged me awhile ago (after the last part), if u dont wanna be tagged anymore let me know! sorry!@alwaysclassyeagle @yourgoldengirls

if u wanna be tagged just message me & let me know if u want it for just this series or for all my h writing! ❤️

#harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles #harry styles writing

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klbwriting · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Allies - Chapter 3

Fandom: Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone

Pairing: eventually will be Kaz/female!Reader but for now nothing

Warnings: I mean, Kaz Brekker is involved, someone is getting maimed

Summary: Fawn makes good on her promise of a safe house and a power struggle begins

The rest of the journey to the safe house was mostly in silence. They spoke only when asking for relief or water breaks, picking berries and sharing some of the rations Y/N had brought on the road with them. The had to cover their tracks as much as possible, staying mostly in dense foliage to be better concealed from the roads. Soon they approached a rundown cottage deep in the woods, no roads led to or away from it. It was just getting dark again and Y/N knew that they were all tired and that Kaz's leg must have been in immense pain. She let them in the cottage and smiled at their surprise. She kept the outside looking dilapidated, but the inside was fixed nicely. She told the others where rooms were, that there were fresh clothes in each and sent them away to change before getting a fire going in the hearth. Once it was ready, she put a pot of water on to boil and assembled a small meal for them to have now that they were safe. No one knew about this place, she was confident about that, they could rest here for a few days, visit the town a few miles away to resupply, and then travel north.

"How did you know what clothes I normally wear," Kaz asked, voice suspicious, as he entered the room again in black slacks and an almost fitted black button-down shirt. She looked him over and made a face of annoyance, she thought she could tell his size better, but he must have lost more weight in prison than she thought.

"I asked to search your discarded clothes upon arrival, its how I got Jesper's guns, your cane and gloves, I noticed what your color was," she said. Black, like the Darkling, but not for the same reason she thought. The Darkling wore black to assert a fear over people, fear of his power, fear of what he would do if you hurt his people, Kaz wore black to give the appearance of someone who's soul was dark, who had an empty dark hole where a heart should be, and for a short time Y/N had believed that might have been the case. Then she saw the look in his eyes when he asked her for Jesper to be put in his cell. He hid his emotions well but that one millisecond of true love for his missing friend had confirmed her suspicion, Kaz Brekker had a good heart and soul buried deep under his emotional baggage. She didn't need to bring it out or make him somehow whole again, she just needed him to have enough of a soul to help when they got to the resistance, his brains and ability to strategically mastermind almost any heist would be such an advantage to the group, they needed this man.

"Thank you, for the cane and gloves," he rumbled, turning to the take the boiling pot off the fire. Y/N almost moved to help him but realized if she did she would need to get close enough to touch him so she let him handle it, standing nearby in case the pot dropped. Kaz surprised her with how much he pushed himself, she knew he must still be in pain yet here he was working, keeping himself busy, probably trying to not think about his now decimated home. She knew how much that must be weighing on him. Her own home had been eviscerated by the old king of Ravka a few years before the civil war, when Ravka was only at war with the Fjedans. She had been in training at the Little Palace by then and her teacher had had to tell her about her family's death. It was devastating, she still couldn't bring herself to hurt anyone, much to the Darkling's annoyance. She was useful for her way of getting information, but she could always avoid hurting someone, she couldn't destroy a family like that, not like hers had been destroyed.

"I thought they might be helpful in the future," she said. "I need Kaz Brekker to be back to full power when we get to the resistance." Kaz eyed her and she couldn't tell what he was thinking as he went back to filling a kettle with hot water. She went to the cabinets, getting cups and tea. Jesper finally came out to join them, smiling like old times now that he was in proper clothes.

"You should change," Jesper said to Y/N, motioning to her still being in the prison tunic. She nodded and went to her room, changing into a pair of pants and white button-down shirt, putting on her vest of pockets and jacket. She loaded up the pockets of her vest with her gloves, some small irons ball bearings, a vial of water, and a few things for first aid. She looked in the cracked mirror on the dresser and saw she looked a mess. She washed her face in the basin of water and brushed out the newly short hair she had, putting it up in a small ponytail to keep it out of her face. She shrugged at the reflection. She was trying to escape a prison, not win a pageant so she just grabbed her guitar from the room before heading to join the others.

Kaz and Jesper were already halfway through the meal before she arrived so she just sat down at the table. Jesper passed her a bowl and some bread they had saved, she smiled at him. Jesper was such a sweet person still, ready to kill a man on site for trying to cheat at cards yes, but still so kind.

"Thank you Jesper," she said, taking up a spoon and starting to eat. After they had filled themselves, she sat back in the chair, picking at the last of her bread. "We'll stay here for a few days, rest, get supplies for the town nearby."

"We should keep moving, they probably know where you live," Kaz said, looking at her as if she were an idiot for wanting to stay in her home. She sighed; she knew they would butt heads, but did it have to start now?

"This isn't my home Kaz," she said. "I live here in secret sometimes, when I say that I am visiting home, but I have no home to visit anymore thanks to the previous king. No one knows about this shack and I have made sure that it is not easy to find. The nearest town is five miles away and they have many travelers and shouldn't notice use as long as we take precautions." Kaz didn't look convinced.

"I know in the prison you oversaw my movements, but out here, I am back in charge, it is two against one in this room so we will follow my lead. Tomorrow we get supplies, then we leave. We will go to this resistance to find our crew and until we arrive you will follow my lead," he said, voice rasping with authority. Y/N had had quite enough men trying to rule over her for her lifetime. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Look, this town is a well-traveled area, if we go in tomorrow then it will be swarming with Grisha looking for 2 escapees that killed a high-ranking member of the Darkling's inner circle, if we stay here a few days those Grisha will have left to search other towns and we can freely get supplies and head out on our journey. I know that prison has addled your brain but even Jesper knows that this idea of yours is foolish," she said. Both turned to look at Jesper who was trying to sneak out of the room.

"Jesper, tell her she's crazy," Kaz demanded. Jesper opened his mouth.

"Please, his plan is idiotic..."

"No one has ever said called me idiotic..."

"Maybe not to your face..."

"YOU'RE BOTH WRONG!" Jesper finally said, voice loud and clear, startling the two of them out of their argument. Kaz and Y/N looked at him again. "Look, we do need to lay low, but we still need to get out of here quick. So we should take a day, regroup and set out a plan to get north, but we can't just stay here for days, they will find us, you think that the Darkling, with all the betrayal he's suffered, is just going to let his new girlfriend disappear to a shack for a few days and not know where it is?"

Y/N saw Kaz grip his cane tighter, mirroring the look on her of annoyance on her face. Jesper was right on both accounts, a day would clear out most Grisha from the town, giving them a chance to resupply and maybe get lucky and steal a carriage out of town, and he was right about the Darkling. She was an idiot to think he hadn't tracked her to the shed when she disappeared. She looked to Kaz and he nodded at her.

"We stay in tomorrow, the day after we get supplies, and we get moving," Y/N said. Kaz agreed. "Now, get cleaned up and get some sleep."

Kaz had noticed the guitar that Y/N had brought out to the living area the night before but he didn't ask her about it until she began to strum it around midday. They were in the middle of their rest day and Jesper was still sleeping so it was just Y/N and Kaz sitting by the fire. Kaz had been thinking about what he planned to do once he found his crew again, how to get them out of the resistance, maybe find a new city they could run. Y/N had been humming to herself, picking at the guitar for some time now. Kaz found that the music was soothing to him, her voice deep and calming, it seemed to be helping him think. After a time he heard her mumbling some words.

"What is that?" he asked, looking at her finally, finding her looking at him as if in a trance. She shook herself and looked at him blinking a few times before her face reddened a little. Surprisingly Kaz felt his face getting red also, but he wasn't sure why. She had an attraction to him, that was clear now. He had thought perhaps at the prison she had been acting well, but clearly she did find him entrancing for some reason. And strangely Kaz found he liked that. He had known other women in the past had been interested in him, or well at least, interested in his power within the Dregs. There had been something he felt with Inej, but they had never explored that and honestly now that they had been apart it seemed perhaps those feelings were more friendly than he had previously believed. This that roared up in him now was new, strange. He had been in prison too long, he needed to focus. Y/N finally had pulled herself from her own mind, letting out a chuckle as she picked a couple notes.

"O, I used to write songs all the time, its been awhile but something just came to me last night," she said. "Do you like music?" Kaz should have just dropped it and not answered but he wanted to talk to her.

"Sometimes, but we didn't have a lot of music at the Crow Club, it was more gambling than entertainment, but what you were playing sounded nice," he said. She smiled at him and his mouth twitched up into a smirk.

"You never smile do you?" she asked, setting the guitar flat in her lap. He could see that there was writing on it, signatures. She followed his eyes and her own eyes turned sad. "My family...friends from my village, they signed it when they gave it to me. It was a present when I left to do my Grisha training." She looked back at him, her dark eyes a little watery. "My older brother taught me to play it when I was 4, couldn't even reach the strings." Kaz looked at her, a memory flooding back of being back on the farm, he was with Jordie in the barn, around 6 and Jordie was showing him how to tie a fishing line so he could go fishing for the first time.

"You're right, I don't smile," he said. He knew he should keep his mouth shut but he couldn't help but ask. "Do you know if Pekka Rollins survived the assault on Ketterdam?"

"I don't know, I don't have a list of names and I wasn't there," she said. He could tell she was lying, probably thinking he would hate her for being present at the destruction of his home but he didn't hate her. What he hated was the idea that Pekka Rollins could be dead and he hadn't been the one to kill him. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"No, his death was supposed to be at my hand," he responded, voice rasping in anger. He ran a hand through his hair, noting it was significantly longer than it was before he went to prison. When he glanced up at Y/N he saw she was watching him intently again. "It's rude to stare."

"Ya well then don't do that to your hair, makes me want to touch it," she responded. He looked at her, expecting her to giggle or blush and look away but instead she just stared right back at him. He swallowed hard. Why did her eyes have to look through him? It was almost like she could see what he was thinking. The thought of someone touching his hair made him shutter internally but he couldn't lie when he thought about her doing it, it wasn't as repulsive as everyone else, it almost seemed like it might be nice. She smiled at him.

"If you are ever comfortable enough let me know, I can give you a haircut or something if you want," she offered. He was going to answer when Jesper came stumbling out of his room, shirtless wearing one shoe.

"Is anyone making dinner?"

#six of crows #kaz #kaz brekker #kazbrekker #kaz x reader #kaz brekker x reader #shadow and bone #unexpected allies series

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melaninenthusiasts · 3 years

Text

Maldonia | Prince Naveen

Prince Naveen x black reader

"We are never doing this again," I say as I finished getting dressed at the foot of Naveen's bed now sliding the remaining of my dress down.

I don't know how we even got here.

Well, let me re- phrase that:

I know exactly how this how we got here.

A typical drunken night of passion on the night of Maldonia's Independence Day. We were at a party and there we're drinks. Lots and lots of drinks.

And he was just there with that gorgeous brown skin and pretty long eyelashes and charming accent just tempting me to go there with him.

Naveen chuckled to himself at my statement. "You said that after the first round and the second" he licked his lips. "And the third"

I slipped back on my heels. "Well, I mean it this time," I say looking back at him deep into his eyes.

That sexy smirk on his face rose again.

"Wanna go another before we make that official before I go?" He suggested to me.

Wow, I really forgot he was leaving.

I chuckled to myself. "No"

This man is so cocky.

"C'mon, it'll be like goodbye sex. You know I'm leaving for New Orleans."

"To find you a privileged princess," I smirked.

"Ha ha, very funny" he says watching me get dressed. He just layed there in the large bed half naked.

"One day your gonna find a woman who's gonna make your work for love" I say to him and he listens. "Not me though, that shit would be exhausting." I add.

"I'm Prince Naveen of Maldonia. I never work for anything. Women practically drop their panties at the sight of me. Kind of like you did last night."that sexy smirk rises on his face again.

I playfully rolled my eyes at him.

That got me thinking about last night and how everything went down.

There I was at the Independence Day party with my two bestfriends having fun until they ditched me to dance with some guys.

There were our traditional Maldonia colors everywhere. In confetti, people's attire, and of course the drinks. Peach and purple with the Maldonian castle on the flag.

As of now, I was at the bar sipping my Maldonia Martini that was a peach Crown Royal with purple crystals on the outside.

I just wanted to hang with my girls but I guess plans change.

"Another round of shots!" The life of the party, Naveen orders the employees behind the bar.

"Hey, Ria. Enjoying the party?" He looks over to me with a kind smile.

He had just came from being danced on by some women on the dance floor. He's what you call a Ladies' Man.

"The name is Aria, we're not in academy anymore. " I snap stirring my drink.

"Oh okay, my bad" he throws his hands up in defense.

We have known eachother for as long as I can remember. We went to academy together and our families are pretty close-like weekly family dinners close. Ever since his parents cut him off, Naveen has been searching for his Princess Charming. He knows that I don't have the amount of dough of his liking. I dodged that bullet with him. He wouldn't dare do that to me anyway. Whoever he plans to marry for money is their problem.

That's why today he is having his last hoorah for good times sake before he jets off to America—New Orleans.

I was apart of the few people in his circle that new of this. He will be missed-even with his slightly conceited, spolied-self.

"You know Navé, Im gonna miss you Navé. Underneath all of the glitter and gold, there's a nice,kind man." I say to him and he smiles at me.

"I guess I deserve that for calling you by your nickname. I'm gonna miss you too." He says.

"I know your friends ditched you but why are you not out dancing?" He asks. "Let me be your wingman. " Navé says and I shake my head no

"C'mon Ria, you gotta loosen up. There's plenty of guys out here for you to mingle with," Naveen says to me as he waits for his drink beside me at the bar. He was so busy ranting to me that he forgot that he was waiting for a drink. He's a prince, he never does that. Naveen gets what he wants when he wants it. That's just how it is with him.

"Wait, why am I waiting?" He says to himself causing to laugh at him. "What a man got to get another round of shots around here!" Naveen yelled loudly at the bartender.

I laughed at how irritated he was getting on waiting for his drinks. Unlike his usual V.I.P treatment in clubs and venues, this was already an exclusive party. So everyone basically got treated the same.

"Round of shots for the Prince!"the mixer fixed his shots to his liking.

"So what happened to Brandon?" He asks me referring to my ex. Naveen and I haven't seen eachother in a while so we were catching up.

"Brandon," I corrected him. "And he cheated. It's whatever."

"Are you serious? If I ever see him I'll-" he started to get mad. "How could he do that to you? You're gorgeous, sexy, and kind of nice" I chuckled playfully hitting him at that last part.

"But seriously...how?" He scoffs to himself in frustration.

"Here," Naveen passes me the Maldonian alcohol in the shot glass.

"To my last hoorah and getting you a night of passion," he says before linking arms with me as we both through our heads back taking the shots. I immediately felt the burn go to my throat. We unhooked arms.

"Woo!" Naveen exclaims in excitement.

"So, how you feeling about leaving?" I ask him.

"You know, I'm actually kind of scared. I've been here my entire life and never been on my own before. It's about damn time." He says admittedly.

"But I'm hella excited for New Orleans. The culture, the scenery, the music. I just need a new environment."

"I get that. But you'll be fine. Just do whatever your heart tells you."

Before I knew it, we talked some more and he helped me muster the courage to dance with someone as he did the same. I was on the dancefloor grinding my hips on a man I had just met.

Naveen locked eyes with me as he looked unamused by the girl grinding on him. The stunning woman felt all on his body pushing herself onto him but all he could do was gaze at me.

The man I was still dancing on hugged my waist squeezing me tightly as we motioned to the rhythm of the music.

Once we both then switched partners to dance with eachother.

"Let's go," I pull him closer to whisper in his ear. His lingering eyes gaze deep into mines in desire. I then took his hand leading us out of the party.

_______

"I-I'm gonna do you soo hard," I slur out to him tugging his shirt closer to me. I chuckle drunkenly and started nibbling on ear. Sending teasing pecks on his jawline, I felt a smile rise on his face.

"Fucking would be nice, eh?" He says to me with that charming accent.

His hands trail from my waist to my ass squeezing it passionately. My lips gravitated to his getting lost in them. The kisses grew from being innocent to sloppy.

We were now the leaning against the wall of the private elevator of his Royal Suite. We had entire suite to ourselves. And I was going to make sure to christen all of the rooms.

I got excited as we were rising up to our floor. Sticking my tongue down his throat with my arms around his neck, Naveen picked me up to wrap my legs around his waist. Without breaking the kiss,he managed to unlock the door.

We were now in the spacious white livingroom area accented with golden decorations. I threw my head back as Navé sent teasing pecks all throughout my neck.

"Are you ready for this?" He murmurs as his lips brushes against the skin of my neck.

"I should be asking you that question" I say I he lays us on the couch.

______

We got a little hunger after the first round. Here we were in the kitchen area looking for something to snack on.

With nothing but Naveen's white button down and a pair of lace panties on, I searched in the large refrigerator for a snack.

Naveen comes over behind me shirtless with his arms wrapped around me. He started sending teasing pecks on my neck.

I then grabbed the bowl of strawberries to take a bite of one. He then ate the remaining of it from my hand.

He then let go of me to grab a few things as I sat on the wide kitchen counter.

I continued eating strawberries as ge turned around with a few things in his hands. Whipped cream, honey, and chocolate syrup.

"For the strawberries, " he says and I chuckle. Naveen makes his way over to me standing in between my legs.

I grab the spray can of whipped cream and eat some. I nod my hand at how good it was.

Naveen then takes the can.

After spraying a bit of whipped cream on my neck, he licks it off.

I giggled at the sensation.

"You like that?" His eyes lingered in mines.

"Yeah," I smiled.

Naveen then snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Can I atleast get a goodbye kiss?" Navé asks. "One for the road?" He pouts his lips. I couldn't help but eye his built physique.

This man is so greedy I swear.

I roll my eyes making my way over to him sitting down on the bed. I gravitate my lips towards his once again feeling his soft touch. His tongue waved it's way down my throat and I couldn't seem to break the kiss. His hand felt on my thigh urging me to go there again.

"Okay, maybe this one last time," I chuckle to myself.

"Arania" he said before I could leave. I looked over to him. "Yes, Navé?"

"You we're the one who got away. How did I loose you?" He asked me and I had no words.

Hearing him say that was everything but it wasn't enough for us to be anything. We both knew that.

Lost for words, I just shrugged. "I don't know" I say.

"Have fun in New Orleans. And remember what I said." I say before exiting his spacious bedroom suite.

THE END

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#prince naveen #fairytale fantasies #naveen #princess and the frog #fanfic #melanin #prince naveen x black reader

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ibis-gt · 3 years

Text

Poker Night

dippin my toes in the writing pool again with a short one about anya and felipe! there’s a bunch of side characters in this one that i just now made up so don’t worry if you have no idea who they are, i don’t either skdjfklsf

just under 2.5k words, kind of hurt/comfort. warnings: fearplay, threats of violence, bullying, peer pressure, felipe not having a very good time at all

Felipe looked around at the five giants seated at the table he was currently sitting on and forced a smile. Once again, Anya asked him to come along to one of the parties her friend Emily often hosted, and once again she’d dropped him off at the husbands’ table while she caught up with her friends. Quite literally dropped him off, plucking him off her shoulder and depositing him on the wooden tabletop with a “Play nice, fellas!” as she waltzed off.

Usually, they did play nice - Anya was built like a brick shithouse and would defend her tiny human husband with every ounce of strength she had. But tonight there’d clearly been some drink passed around, and now the five giants eyed Felipe with varying levels of displeasure. Seth glared at him with annoyance, Rolf looked bored and disinterested, Leo seemed resigned to essentially babysitting the tiny man, Amos heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, but it was Bruno that really worried Felipe. Bruno was staring down at him with a mostly blank expression, but Felipe could see gears turning in his head, and he could tell it was going to come out to trouble.

He jumped as Bruno suddenly clapped his hands together, beaming brightly.

“Who’s up for a game of cards?” Bruno produced a deck from his pocket and began to shuffle them. The others took an interest, nodding their approval.

That took Felipe by surprise. It sounded harmless enough. “Yeah, that sounds like fun. Uh, don’t know if I’ll be able to play, though.” The cards were probably as big as he was, and he could maybe hold onto two at a time. Any more than that, and there would be serious delays as he figured out what to play. “Oh, don’t worry, I know how you can participate,” Bruno assured him. This was not, however, reassuring.

He dealt out a hand to each of the giants at the table, then began sorting out a set of huge wooden chips. Each one was about two feet in diameter. They had different colors and markings to indicate their value, but Felipe wasn’t sure which one meant what, and no one seemed like they were about to explain it to him.

Felipe shuffled his feet and glanced around nervously. He hadn’t been dealt a hand, and he didn’t know what Bruno had in mind, but he didn’t think it would be all that fun for him. His suspicions were proved right when Bruno tossed a few chips in the middle to start the betting, then grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dropped him next to them. Felipe let out a quiet grunt as he hit the table and looked up in confusion. A few of the giants seemed to have caught on and were grinning down at him, but for the ones who were slower on the uptake, Bruno announced, “You’ll be one of the chips, of course.”

Felipe sat bolt upright and stared at him wide-eyed. Then he laughed nervously, trying to calm himself down. “Oh, haha, good joke! No, but seriously. What am I...” he trailed off, turning from side to side to see their faces.

Silence. Everyone stared at him. Some were still grinning, some were serious. Leo spoke up.

“C’mon, Bruno, you know Anya wouldn’t like that. Just let him sit it out.”

“Oh, lighten up,” Bruno grumbled. “It’s not like she’s gonna find out, is she?” He looked around the table, getting a head shake ‘no’ or a shrug from each in turn, then down at Felipe. “Is she?” he asked again.

“Uh…” Words failed him. He wanted to say yes, emphatically yes, he’d squeal at the first opportunity, and in fact he was going to stand up and start waving his arms and shouting right now to get her attention. But truth be told, Felipe was terrified. Everyone had been drinking and he didn’t know how deep in their cups they all were. Who knows what they’d do if he didn’t go along with it? Maybe if he was quiet and played along, they’d get bored and leave him alone. “...no, sure, she won’t. Ha.”

“Good,” Bruno said, giving him a smile that was not in the least bit comforting. “Then let’s start.” He threw in a few of his own chips. The others followed suit, betting based on whatever combination of cards they had. Felipe flinched every time a chip hit the table. They were being careful - none of the tossed chips hit him, but they landed close enough to worry him. He hunched his shoulders and tried to make himself as small as possible.

Bruno won the first round. He grinned that awful grin again and reached out, putting both hands around the stack of chips and pulling them in close. Felipe, still seated, was dragged along with them, back pressed up against the palm of Bruno’s left hand, trying to resist the urge to his feet and push back.

“Hi,” Bruno said, looking down at him. A few of the others chuckled.

“H-hi,” Felipe stammered, forcing a smile. “Uh, so, what - ”

“Chips don’t talk,” Bruno interrupted, and started dealing out the next round of cards. Felipe shut his mouth and hunkered down, hoping Bruno wouldn’t get any good hands. He was lucky for one round, and Bruno only tossed in two chips before folding. The next round, though, Felipe’s luck ran out. Bruno glanced at his cards and the corner of his mouth went up just a little. He tossed in four chips, then snagged the back of Felipe’s shirt again and dropped him down in the middle. Rolf whistled and looked at his own cards, tapping a chip thoughtfully on the table.

“How much is he worth?” Rolf asked. “Like, how do I meet or raise or whatever?”

“I don’t care,” Bruno said. “Whatever you think he’s worth.”

Rolf threw in six chips. Felipe wasn’t sure if he should be offended or flattered.

Seth ended up taking the hand, and as soon as he slapped his cards down in triumph, Felipe scrambled to his feet and jogged over to him, not wanting to be pushed across the table again. There was a snort of laughter from one of the other giants but he paid it no mind. Seth raked in the chips then looked down at Felipe, tilting his head to one side, seeming to appraise him. Then he gave a horrid grin of his own and pinned Felipe down with a thumb on his chest.

“Ain’t chips supposed to be flat? So you can stack ‘em?” he asked, clearly thinking he was being clever. “Should I…” The pressure increased slightly, and Felipe began to panic and struggle, trying to get himself out from under the thumb.

“Cut it out,” Bruno growled. “You hurt him and Anya’ll have our asses.”

The pressure disappeared as the thumb lifted up and away. Felipe got to his feet and backed away from Seth, eyes fixed on the giant. He felt like his knees were going to give out. Being meek and quiet hadn’t helped one bit, but now he couldn’t find his voice to call out for help. His throat was dry and tight from terror and it felt like his heart was lodged in it. Seth scowled at him and poked his chest with a finger, knocking him on his back.

“Go on,” he grumbled. “I’m bettin’ you. Hope I lose.”

Lose he did. Leo took that hand. He didn’t look too happy about it, either. “Well, come on then,” he sighed, and Felipe managed to stand on his shaking legs and wobble over. Felipe looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Leo was the least happy with this setup, other than Felipe himself. Maybe he’d speak up now that he had him and could put an end to the whole thing. But Leo didn’t meet his eyes, just picked up his next hand and tossed a few chips in. Okay, next best thing, Leo never bet him and he could stay put and as far away from Bruno as possible. And Seth. Actually, just all of them.

Leo only managed to hold onto him for two hands before Bruno spoke up.

“Don’t get greedy, now,” he called. “Let us have a shot at him, too.”

Leo sighed and finally glanced down at Felipe again. “Okay, you heard him,” he said. “Get.”

Felipe got. Rolf won. Then Amos. Then Bruno. Then Bruno again. Each time, he’d slap his cards down as he reached for the chips, not giving Felipe time to register his victory. He seemed to delight in pushing the little man around and didn’t like it when Felipe tried to walk himself over to whoever had won him that time. Unfortunately he seemed to be the best at the game they were playing, with an impeccable poker face and a decent winning streak. Since he was also the dealer, Felipe half suspected he was cheating, but he lost often enough not to irk anyone else at the table. Bruno started to play with him whenever he had him. He’d dangle him by the back of his shirt and gently swing him back and forth, or pin him under his palm and drum his fingers on the table. Once he even picked Felipe up and began to toss him up in the air and catch him, not very high, but enough to get a frightened yelp out of him. Bruno seemed to think that might draw too much attention, though, and quickly set Felipe back down, shaking like a leaf and trying not to hyperventilate.

Rolf looked about as uncomfortable as Leo had when he won Felipe for the first time. Felipe caught him glancing at Leo and looked up at the giant too, but the combined effort of their stares still couldn’t persuade Leo to speak up, and Rolf didn’t seem to have the nerve to try on his own. Felipe changed hands a few more times before ending up with Bruno yet again. At this point he was fighting back tears. He desperately wished they’d get bored and give it up already, but it seemed pride was on the line for Seth and Amos, and Bruno was enjoying himself immensely. Felipe’s mind started to wander towards what would happen when the game was over for good. What would whoever had won him do? Would they try to take him home? Stuff him in a pocket or a cupboard for later? Or would they make him do something public and embarrassing? More embarrassing than being reduced to a literal object to be passed around, that is.

Just then, his saving grace appeared. He practically melted with relief as he heard Anya’s voice.

“Hey, y’all, what’re you up to? Where’s Felipe?” She caught sight of him and smiled. Despite how terrified he was, his heart sang out at the sight of her. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The others shifted nervously in their seats and glanced at each other, except for Bruno and Leo. Leo’s eyes were locked on Bruno and his face was grim. Bruno looked at Anya with his perfect poker face intact, although he was betrayed slightly by a small trickle of sweat down the side of his face.

Anya took in the scene and started to pick up on the energy at the table. Her smile started to fade. “No cards for you, honey?” She asked Felipe. “Are you helping Bruno, then? I’ll tell ya right now he doesn’t need it. He’s just about the best player here.” She looked around at everyone and then back at Bruno. She looked at the chips on the table all around Felipe, took in his posture, his expression, the way he was trembling ever so slightly. Her smile was completely gone now, and she set her jaw. When she spoke again, her voice was flat. “He’s not helping you, is he. He’s not playing at all.”

Anya held out her hand palm up to Felipe, and he nearly tripped over his own feet sprinting across the table towards her. He leapt into her palm and wrapped his arms around her thumb, pressing his forehead to the tip. “Thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou,” he gasped, his fragile facade of calm completely gone. The tears started to flow and he let them. Who cared anymore. He was safe, he was with his wife, the whole rest of the world could go to hell.

“You sons of bitches,” she spat. “I can’t believe you - ”

“Anya,” Felipe squeaked, and she held him up, her face instantly softening. “Let’s just go. Please.”

She looked like she was going to argue, but instead she shot a look at the cowering, ashamed giants, and stalked off. She headed for the exit, putting a hand on her friend Emily’s shoulder on the way.

“You set your husband right before I do it for you,” she warned. Emily spun around to glare at the husbands’ table.

“What kind of bullshit did you pull this time, Bruno?” Emily called, just as Anya slipped out the door, Felipe held to her chest.

She put a fair amount of distance between them and the house before lifting him up close to her face so she could see him better, the light dimming as evening approached.

“Honey? Are you okay? Do you want me to drop you off at the house and go back and kick their asses?”

Felipe managed a strangled laugh through his tears. “No, no, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter,” he lied. “I just want to forget it all.” That bit was true enough. He was so embarrassed by the whole thing. He wanted to pretend like it had never happened.

“I’m so sorry, I should never have left you with those idiots. I knew they’d be drinking, too, and Bruno always gets that mean glint in his eye when he drinks…”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Felipe said, sniffing and wiping his nose on his shirt. “They were just being dicks.”

“Did they hurt you? Because I’ll tell you right now if they did, I swear I’ll - ”

“No, no, they didn’t. And I’m not just saying that so you won’t go twist ‘em into pretzels. I’m fine, really.”

Anya gave him a Look. She rubbed his back with her thumb, working the tension out of him bit by bit. “I believe you that they didn’t hurt you physically,” she said softly. “But I don’t believe you’re fine. You were shaking like a leaf, honey. They scared you. You can admit it. There were five of them, they’re several times your size and could’ve snapped you like a twig without thinking about it.” He shivered, dropping his gaze. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’m never leaving you alone with them again. You poor thing. Let’s get you home.”

#writing #g/t #giant tiny #anya and felipe #i usually like fearplay stuff but struggle to make it myself bc i'm Soft #but this idea hit me out of nowhere and i just had to run with it #kicking myself just a little bit tho bc those are really good names i just used for faceless background giants #if i reuse them no one mention it ok. multiple people can have the same name it's fine

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Kurtbastian fic “Always and Forever” Chapter 3

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3.

Chapter 3 (4753 words)

Kurt stares out his studio window at the neighborhood below. It’s 10:15 a.m. and a Tuesday, so it isn’t as if the place is teeming with activity. Everyone living on Colony Lane seems content to stick to their own spaces, abide by their own schedules, and go about their lives without much interference from the world outside.

Kurt hates to hand it to Sebastian, but that’s what he wants as well. Isolation in a quaint fixer-upper is precisely what he needs.

Another point for Sebastian.

Damn.

He seems to be racking them up lately, while Kurt…

Kurt can admit that he’s not trying as hard as he should be, but he’s giving himself permission to be selfish. There shouldn’t be a timetable for bouncing back from loss, and Kurt got the double-whammy.

Sebastian gave him betrayal to get over, too.

Kurt knows that he should deem repairing his marriage a priority, but he also needs to do what’s right for him.

He hasn’t figured out what that is yet, but it'll come to him.

Underlying childhood guilt has him believing that he should introduce himself to the neighbors. Etiquette and all that. It’s what his mother would do. Every time his family moved, and there had been a handful of times, Kurt’s mother would bake a batch of cookies for the neighbors. She'd put a baker's dozen into colorful cellophane bags, tie the tops with curled ribbon, and take them door to door to say hello. She wouldn’t wait for people to show up on their doorstep with a casserole and a smile. She believed in being proactive. She would tell him, “New neighborhood, new life. Go out and be a part of it.”

But Kurt doesn’t want to, and the neighbors seem fine with that.

It’s been three days, and Kurt and Sebastian have only gotten one visitor – the technician who came to fix the heating. Of course, the neighbors could be waiting for them to get settled. Then they’ll pounce over with perfectly iced Gingerbread Bundt cakes and Chicken Kievs, church invites, and Girl Scout cookie order forms, like a swarm of Stepford Wives.

Kurt doesn’t care about being proactive, and his mother isn’t around to scold him for behaving like a hermit.

That may sound harsh, but it's true.

The clouds pulling together in the sky overhead, threatening rain, give Kurt an excuse to shut himself away and work on the house - an excuse he can ply without the assistance of a tragic backstory. With his laptop open on the floor in front of him, he browses those websites that feed his design fetishes: Ethan Allen, Neiman Marcus, Anthropologie.

But he's not the least bit inspired.

He’d decided to start small, take things room by room instead of attacking everything at once. But he gets stumped, staring at the screen in front of him, unsure whether the chair he’s been mulling over for the past half hour is gorgeous or gaudy.

He should focus on bringing the living room together since it’s where they do the bulk of their entertaining, provided they ever start entertaining again. And he should do something about the master bedroom, which, for the moment, houses a bed, a TV, and a dresser within the confines of four ashy walls.

Opinions on the topic vary, but Kurt has always felt that the bedrooms are the heart of the home. They’re sanctuaries where dreaming, planning, and affirmation happen. He only has the one to worry about, so he should put extra effort into making it comforting, relaxing, sensual on the off chance he ever plans on touching his husband again.

The jury is still out on that one, unfortunately.

The kitchen, he’s not looking forward to decorating. Aside from his studio, he and Grace spent much of their time together in the kitchen. They baked daily: cakes, cookies, bread, and anything else they could slop onto a baking sheet and shove into the oven. They also made jam, pickled fruit, and taught themselves (using YouTube videos mainly) to prepare various types of cuisine. Some were a hit, others a miss, but it was always an adventure.

Kurt had done something similar with his mother and her collection of vintage cookbooks, congregating around the kitchen island in the afternoons to shed the angst of public school, and spread the wings of his stifled creativity. He and his mother discussed everything in the kitchen while sifting flour and creaming butter. It was a tradition he had so looked forward to continuing.

Now, he’d rather not be bothered going into the kitchen again.

He could pick a page out of the IKEA catalog and recreate it. That should offend him. It did when Sebastian suggested it the first time Kurt redecorated their penthouse. But Kurt hardly cares. It doesn’t matter as much as it did. He can’t remember the last time he stepped into the kitchen and prepared anything more elaborate than toast and coffee, maybe dry scrambled eggs. Sebastian took over cooking duties after Grace died, which, nine times out of ten, means ordering out, if for no other reason than he gets to leave the house to pick up the food.

He knows Kurt appreciates the time alone more than he does a home-cooked meal.

Then there’s Sebastian’s office, which Kurt is decorating for the first time. He has tried to start a shopping cart for it numerous times, but, unlike the windfall of ideas he had for his studio, he can’t get into a groove. He remembers a time when thinking about decorating Sebastian’s office put a hundred ideas into his head.

Currently, he has only one.

The cheap, vomit-worthy, knock-off furnishings of the no-tell hotel room he pictures whenever he thinks of Sebastian sleeping with another man.

Kurt shivers in disgust. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy.

The room or the infidelity.

But how would Sebastian react if Kurt decorated his office to look like the business suite at the Marriott?

Kurt snickers, envisioning the sitcom-worthy shock that would erupt on Sebastian's face if he presented that to him.

"As you can see," Kurt would say, strolling through the room with his head held high atop the straightest spine pettiness can deliver, "I have chosen the most flame-retardant carpet available in subtle hues of tan and beige, a color combination well suited for concealing cum stains. This ergonomic, curved leather loveseat, for when you want to get adventurous with your afternoon romps, which, at your age, requires plenty of lumbar support. Plus, it cleans up in a snap with just a Clorox wipe, so that's a useful feature. Faux fireplace, faux aquarium, faux chandelier... are we sensing a theme? And in the corner, I've provided you a foldout of your own, for when you bring... ahem... work home."

The grin on Kurt's lips slides when Sebastian, wearing a gutted expression, pops to mind. It's an expression that Kurt didn't believe possible for Sebastian till their daughter died. He's only seen it once. He doesn't want to bring it back.

He sighs.

Revenge-dreaming isn't helping.

It isn't as satisfying as he thought it would be.

He’s not breaking through his creative block anytime soon. He puts his plans for the other rooms on the back burner and decides to spend time picking out furniture for his studio. With the exception of his sewing machines, he didn’t bring anything from his penthouse studio here, so he’s starting over fresh. He switches tabs and starts filling his online shopping cart with the basics: a new drafting table, a cabinet, a chair he’ll have to custom-upholster, a bolt of drapery fabric he can repurpose to make a bedspread (if he goes through with his plans for a foldout), and a few other miscellaneous odds and ends, nothing worth wasting too much brain-power over.

The clunk-clunk of Sebastian stacking cans in the kitchen cabinets reaches Kurt upstairs, as does the water running in the sink while he washes dishes and the squeak of the sticky pantry door when he fixes it. Kurt plans on redoing the kitchen and giving the entire room a facelift. Sebastian knows that. But repairing the door gives Sebastian something to do.

Sebastian has been considerate enough to let Kurt do his thing undisturbed for the morning. Kurt’s reluctance to talk to anyone extends to Sebastian, which Sebastian understands. He’s keeping his distance. But it’s nice to hear him puttering around the house. It gives Kurt comfort, the same way listening to his father snore in the middle of the night helped Kurt feel less alone after his mother died.

He may want to be left alone, but it’s nice to know that he’s not alone.

Especially not today.

Today did not start out good for Kurt.

Kurt woke up later than he’d intended, and when he did, he couldn’t remember where he was. Sebastian had woken up and gotten out of bed hours earlier, leaving Kurt alone to sleep in. Kurt climbed out of bed and wandered around frightened, hands crawling along the walls, searching for something familiar. Footsteps passed somewhere underneath him, and he froze. He didn’t want to venture downstairs because he didn’t know who could be there. Maybe someone had broken in, or worse - this was somebody else’s house, and Kurt was the intruder.

His heart raced. He started hyperventilating. He went from room to room, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there. It wasn’t until the second time he went into his studio that he began to remember. He saw his bag on the floor and, beside it, his sketchbook. He remembered sitting in there the day before, making plans. He remembered the wood grain of the floor, the dusty glass, the tree outside, the wallpaper, and that ripped corner by the window, which Kurt refuses to acknowledge any more than he has to.

He feels it behind him, like the sun on his back, trying to get him to turn his face to it, but he refuses. Of all the things he needs to deal with, that ripped corner and the word beneath it don’t make the list. It isn't doing the palpitations in his chest any favors.

It confuses him.

It angers him.

It saddens him.

It makes him consider what could have been, forces him to face everything he's lost. He didn't succeed in running away from his problems. He ran headlong into brand new ones.

But this is his house. He has to get used to it.

These episodes aren’t uncommon. They crop up whenever Kurt needs to adapt to change. They’re unexpected, like mines in fields he discovers he’s been running through when a second ago he was picking flowers in the park or strolling down the street.

It's their unpredictability that is the true torture.

They show up even on his good days.

His life for the last ten years revolved around his daughter. When she was a baby, he adjusted his work schedule to match her sleep schedule. They had the money to afford the best nurses in New York, but Kurt didn’t want that. He didn’t want his daughter raised by a governess. He was as hands-on a parent as there ever was.

As Grace grew, her schedule changed, and Kurt adjusted: daycare, Gymboree, kindergarten, ballet, elementary school. He dropped her off in the mornings, then picked her up in the afternoons. They spent the rest of the day going over her homework until it was time to make dinner, which they did together.

That was the great thing about being a designer and freelance editor. Kurt could work from anywhere, and, aside from doing consultations at Vogue, he could work any time.

When Grace became sick, her doctor visits and her medication regimen dictated Kurt's schedule, then her chemo.

Towards the end, there was only one item written in Kurt’s schedule - lie beside his daughter in her bed, holding on to her for dear life.

And not just her life.

His, too.

In sickness and in health, Grace kept Kurt’s life regulated.

Things flipped drastically when she died.

He felt adrift. Detached from the life he had gotten used to, he didn’t know what to latch on to. His internal clock would wake him up at six to get Grace ready for the day, only to find himself walking into a vacant bedroom. At the supermarket, he would grab her favorite cereal out of habit and put it in his cart, even though it wasn’t on the list. He would jolt when he'd come across a song he thought she’d like or saw an advertisement for a movie he thought she’d enjoy.

He has yet to stop the automatic deposits from his bank account to hers, her weekly allowance piling up on top of birthday and Christmas money. She had earmarked it for college (her decision, not his). Now it waits to be donated to the children’s hospital that took such incredible care of her. He doesn’t have the heart to empty it. She was so proud of it.

He doesn’t know what it will do to him to see the balance at zero.

But the worst moment of all, the absolute worst, was when he tried to go back to work right after they lost her.

There are many moments after Grace’s death, during Kurt’s own struggle for acceptance, that blur together, but this one he remembers so vividly, it brings a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

He was in the middle of a brainstorming session with his team. His boss Isabelle was there. She had dropped by with a box of cronuts and a grande nonfat mocha. Kurt hadn’t been eating. Everyone could tell. But Kurt overlooked the signs – the sharper than normal angle to his cheekbones and chin, his collarbone that showed through his skin a little too much, his hands that never stopped shaking. He had waved the food away when she offered.

An hour later, he was on his third one.

The tension of his presence in the office so soon after his daughter’s death slowly dissipated, making way for the familiar, though attenuated, back and forth banter he had so missed. Without knowing it, he was paving the way for a potential comeback. He wouldn’t have a line up for a while, and he would need to keep an eye on fashion trends as they came and went in his absence. But this, this felt so natural, so normal, it almost seemed like it was. He got caught up in the rhythm of this impromptu jam session. He smiled, he laughed.

He felt alive again.

Somewhere in the middle of outlining a rough schedule, he glanced down at the time on his phone. Mid-sentence, he got up from his chair and walked over to get his coat off the hook by the door.

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle over Chase’s last clap back at a jab from his boyfriend Ian, “thanks for everything, you guys, but I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk about this more when I come in tomorrow.”

The room went pin-drop silent. Kurt didn’t notice.

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked, getting up from her seat on the corner of his desk and approaching, knowing that he would need her in a second, the way she always knew. Kurt has referred to Isabelle as his Fairy Godmother ever since he first walked into Vogue fresh out of high school and trying to find a foothold in the hectic Gulf Stream that is New York City. She became his pillar of support, a sympathetic ear, and a clear head whenever he needed one. She had thrown his bachelor party. Hers was the condo he stayed in the night before his wedding. She’d hosted Grace’s baby shower.

Also, Grace’s wake.

She didn’t have children of her own and didn't plan on it, but she loved Grace as much as anyone.

And hers was the shoulder Kurt cried on when he found out Sebastian had cheated.

Kurt looked at her, confused, wondering why it was that everyone around him seemed to be holding their breath. “I just… have to go pick up Grace. From school. I’m going… I’m going to be late.”

Isabelle shook her head and put a hand on his. “Sweetie… ”

It took Kurt a second.

Even after one person gasped and another sniffled, with Isabelle’s sorrowful eyes staring at him, begging him to remember so she wouldn’t have to say it, he didn’t catch on.

When he did, it hit him like an electric shock straight through his body, rendering his muscles useless, and he crumbled to the floor. Isabelle held him for over an hour in that spot until Sebastian arrived. Kurt didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go to their empty penthouse and face the truth about his empty life. He wanted to stay at Vogue with Isabelle and live in that moment where everything was alright again for one shimmering second, even if it wasn’t real.

But he had to go. He had to leave with Sebastian, who had hurt him, back to his home, even if it killed him because even though he felt like his life was over, everything else continued on. People lived, and people died. The sun set in the evening, but in the morning, it would rise again.

He just didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.

Not without his Grace.

He was cried out by the time Sebastian got him home. Sebastian undressed him, helped him with his cleaning and moisturizing routine, and then put him to bed. It was Friday evening when Kurt shut his eyes and went to sleep. He lived that horrible moment at his office over again a hundred times before he opened his eyes. And when he did, it was Sunday morning.

Like this morning, but to a greater extent, when these attacks happen, locked in his own brain, sifting through the pieces to find one big enough and sturdy enough to hold on to, Kurt loses time.

In a blink, hours go by, sometimes a day. He’ll climb in the shower in the morning, turn the water on hot, and by the time he realizes it’s cold, it’s close to noon. He has sat at the dining room table for breakfast, staring at a bowl of oatmeal, and when he found the will to pick up the spoon, the oatmeal was old and stiff, and it was dinner time. He’s gone to bed on Monday and stared at the black behind his eyelids till Wednesday.

As far as Kurt knows, it’s only around lunchtime, but he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen to make sure.

12:45.

He breathes a sigh of relief. He double-checks the date to make sure he has a reason to and sighs again.

Still Tuesday.

Kurt switches back to the IKEA tab he’d been laboring long but not hard on earlier. He looks at the shopping cart he’s been steadily filling, scrolls through his selections of personality bereft, assembly line furniture, and groans. This isn’t him. This house, this blank slate, should be an endless fount of motivation.

But he's numb.

Maybe he's rushing into this. He should give this house and the neighborhood time to grow on him before he sentences it to the mundane.

He needs a break. (Kurt Hummel need a break from shopping? Since when?) He flips to a new page in his sketchbook. For shits and giggles, he tries drawing a sketch for his husband’s office. He starts with the easy part – Sebastian’s desk. Sebastian didn’t leave that in the penthouse, so Kurt will make it the linchpin and design around it.

Things flow surprisingly easily from there once he gets started, with a pencil in his hand writing on paper instead of working on a screen: an ornamental rug, a matching leather chair, burgundy velvet curtains, a chainmail style Tiffany desk lamp, 1930s art deco décor with a soupcon of Persian flair. But he doesn’t want the room to be too dark. No. Kurt wants nothing in their house to be dark. He adds a Salento chandelier over the open portion of the room and a sweep of color – one wall, opposite a window, a lighter shade than the rest. He doesn’t know what Sebastian’s office looks like, but there has to be a wall in there that will fit the bill.

An enamel and copper vase, a Khatam inlaid photo frame, a few Negar Gari…

Kurt stops.

Would Sebastian want that? The softer elements countering the strict lines of the art deco pieces, what could be described as feminine influences, are Kurt’s signature touch. But might Sebastian prefer the art deco without Kurt’s fingerprints all over it? Isn’t that what Sebastian meant by Kurt being heavy-handed with the pastels?

Back in high school, Kurt had decorated his bedroom so that he and his stepbrother could share it. He'd skipped school so he could complete it in one day. He’d worked hard on it, trying to fuse a masculine air with his theatrical influence. What he thought was an eclectic representation of the masculine and the feminine turned into a Moroccan-themed disaster.

The word his stepbrother chose to use at the time was faggy, but there were ulterior motives behind it.

Sebastian made jabs in high school about Kurt not wearing boy clothes, comments that adult Kurt recognizes as the teenage boy equivalent of pulling Kurt’s pigtails. But at the time, they stung. Sebastian wouldn’t have made those comments if there weren’t a grain of truth to them, would he?

Sebastian has never retracted those statements, so as far as Kurt is concerned, they stand.

Kurt flips his pencil over and starts erasing. He’ll pare down the extras – trade the Tiffany lamp for a banker’s lamp, replace the rug with something more Brooks Brothers than Pier 1.

Maybe he should just opt for another IKEA recreation, but that feels like copping out, going back on his word.

He could always ask Sebastian. He swears his husband has passed by a few times, his footsteps rising and falling outside his door, but Kurt didn’t think anything of it. He figures Sebastian is passing through on his way to get something from the bedroom that he needs downstairs. Kurt doesn’t imagine the man is pacing the hallway, even if he is, trying to find a way to tell Kurt that lunch is ready. Little things like lunch, innocuous things, have become huge divides over the past few months. With anyone else, Sebastian has a history of railroading over them, hurt feelings be damned.

But Sebastian has learned his lesson. He paid a hefty price learning it, too.

Contemplating between clearing his throat so that Kurt knows he’s there and letting another meal go cold, he sees Kurt’s head lift up. It seems like an opening. Whether or not it is, Sebastian takes it.

“Lunch is ready.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt mumbles, brushing eraser shavings aside.

“Are you… are you coming downstairs?”

Kurt erases again, then pencils something on a sheet of paper that Sebastian can’t see. “Hmm… mmm?”

It sounds like a question and an answer, but since Kurt doesn’t follow it up with anything, it most likely means that Kurt will be skipping lunch… again. Sebastian knocks idly on the door frame, giving Kurt a second longer to tell him for sure.

“Alright.” Disappointed, he turns to leave. “I guess I’ll come back up at dinner then.”

Kurt doesn’t know why the thought returns when he wasn’t even thinking about it, why it decided to nag at his brain when he had been able to ignore it for this long, but that’s the way his brain works now. His thoughts don’t always travel straight paths. They twist and turn, taking one thing and linking it to something unrelated. Erasing the ideas he’d sketched out, removing every inch of himself from Sebastian’s office, made him think about how eager he was to be rid of that word darling from above the window, and that ripped corner returns to his mind with a vengeance.

Well, as long as Sebastian is there, he might as well ask.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian pauses in the doorway, not daring to move. “Yes?”

“When was the last time you were here?” Kurt raised an eyebrow at the idea when it originally came to him. When would Sebastian have come to this house that Kurt didn’t know? They traveled Upstate once a year, but they always did it together as a family. And while they were here, Sebastian rarely ventured out alone. Sebastian isn’t the kind of person who would buy a house sight unseen.

Unless he had found it during one of his outings with Grace. Which would mean that Grace had seen the inside.

Grace would have seen this room and thought it would be hers, thought that they would someday live here, and Sebastian hid that word darling by the window for her and not Kurt.

The thought is so painful, it makes Kurt want to tear his nails out with his teeth so he’ll stop thinking about it.

Sebastian keeps his eyes locked to Kurt’s profile so he won’t miss the moment Kurt decides to look at him instead of the floor, the wall, or the ceiling.

“I found this house online. It wasn’t even on the market when I stumbled on it. To be honest, I’d only driven by it once. I hadn’t been inside until we moved in.”

“But you saw the inside,” Kurt asks. “Otherwise, how would you know about this room?”

“I took a virtual tour,” Sebastian admits sheepishly, “but it was extremely thorough. I’ve seen the blueprints, gone over the permits and the zoning. I had Tristan from the office look over the place when he came up to visit his folks. He facetimed me while he was here.” Sebastian furrows his brow. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Kurt’s heart beats regular again. Grace hadn’t seen it.

Thank God.

His eyes find the torn section of wallpaper, but they don’t stay there. He doesn’t want to clue Sebastian in about it if Sebastian doesn’t already know. He wants to uncover this mystery on his own. If Sebastian gets to keep secrets, big ones at that, then Kurt wants this one for himself.

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I was just curious, you know. Wanted to understand your process. Why this house, why this neighborhood, that sort of thing.”

Kurt’s sentence comes out choppy. It’s odd how awkward talking has become for them. Sebastian used to think that the two things they had mastered were talking and fucking. They did both together with such ease. There were never any boundaries between them, emotionally or physically. Even when they were cutting each other down, which they did in the beginning, they did so with such finesse.

Not like now, when Sebastian is walking on eggshells and Kurt doesn’t want to hear half of what he has to say.

“If you come down for lunch, we can talk about my process. If you’re curious, that is.” Sebastian watches Kurt expectantly, waiting for an answer.

And while Sebastian does, Kurt looks at his sketch – Sebastian’s office, the same way Sebastian always has it decorated. This is Sebastian without him and Grace: bland and emotionless, no light, little color, and no joy. Nothing exciting, nothing nuanced, nothing to indicate that he and Sebastian are together.

Not even those snapshots he’s so proud of.

Kurt hasn’t decided whether that’s a bleak picture or not.

“Sure. I’ll be down in a sec,” Kurt decides because he does and doesn’t have an answer to that one. It changes as the day changes, and the days change too quickly.

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.” Sebastian walks away, or Kurt thinks he does. He checks the time on his clock. It’s closing in on 2.

Kurt glances up at the window, the dangling wallpaper bouncing with the breeze coming from a draft near the ceiling. It would be so easy to tear it down – grab an edge and rip, be done with it once and for all. It might even feel cathartic, exposing whatever is underneath it. But lunch is ready. He’s already left Sebastian waiting long enough.

He leaves that mystery for another day.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #kurt hummel

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turtleedovee · 3 years

Text

Life Has A Funny Way of Working Out (Pt. 3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 2,454

Warnings: cursing, shouting, destruction (kinda), magic using, controlling someone, manipulative ex (if there’s anything else I miss please let me know!)

A/N: Part 3! hello lovely people thank you for reading this, I really liked writing this so I hope you guys enjoy this chapter just as much as I enjoyed writing it, not gonna lie... shit kinda hits the fan. There will probably be one more chapter after this, I mean I didn’t really see where else I was going with this after this last chapter but idk I might pick it up if I have another idea but anyways enjoy! Remember that I also post this on my ao3 so if you want to read it there my user is the same as my tumblr.

The next morning Bucky woke up to the sunlight streaming into the room, he began turning around and the first thing he noticed was how your side of the bed was empty. Panic began to set in until he heard shuffling in the living room, he slowly got up, rubbed his eyes and headed towards the noise coming from the living room, noticing how you were chipping off a piece of your broken wall.

“Hey, goodmorning?” Bucky asked, confused as to what you were doing.

You turned around to face Bucky, “Oh, good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“No don’t worry about it, what’re you doing?” He spoke while watching you struggle to pull a small piece of wood off the wall, the white paint slowly peeling off.

“Need to get this fixed before my landlady sees it and goes berserk.” You trailed off finally getting a big enough piece, you put it in a baggy and stuffed it inside your pocket. “Come on, let’s go.” You said grabbing your bag from the counter.

Bucky stared at you, dumbfounded, “Wait, wha- go where?”

“To get coffee? It’s the least I can do for you.” You grabbed your keys and made your way towards the door.

“I told you, you don’t owe me anything alright.”

“Barnes.” You stated, placing your hand on your hip and drumming your fingers on the counter, “Get your ass ready and let's go get some coffee.” You ordered.

Bewildered, Bucky responded, “Yes ma’am.” and headed towards your bathroom and began getting ready, mainly to make sure he didn’t look like he just woke up.

————————————————————————

Getting out of the house was good for you, having something to do to distract yourself seemed like a good way to heal. Both you and Bucky went out to get coffee and some breakfast. While you two sat down and ate you also talked and laughed, really about anything and everything, the conversation going from fits of laughter to comfortable silence. Bucky then joined you to the hardware store to buy paint and other supplies to fix your broken wall, he had offered to help which you happily took, being around the people who you cared about most was all you wanted but you wanted to refrain from going to the Compound for ‘no reason.’ Everyone there was highly perceptive and you really didn’t want anyone else to know, part of you knew you shouldn’t feel ashamed and yet you did. They were like your family so you weren’t sure why you didn’t ever feel ready to share your anger.

But telling Bucky felt right. You two had been there for each other during some of the lowest moments of each other's life, so he knew how to comfort you. He was always patient with you which is saying something considering how frustrated he gets when someone takes too long trying to do or explain something.

After running around the city for a few hours and feeling pretty good, you and Bucky started walking towards your apartment building when you looked up and suddenly the pit in your stomach formed and you shuddered with dread.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You said, almost shouting, at your ex who was now exiting your apartment building.

“Oh… hey, I was looking for you.” He said casually, as if you two were doing just fine.

You felt your face begin to heat with anger, “I told you I didn’t want to see you again, what do you want?”

“Listen I just want to talk about the mistakes of last night-”

“Oh! The mistakes?! Which one, do you mean the one where you decided to hit me?” You stepped closer, not caring who heard you.

“Babe please I was angry you can’t be mad at me about that.” He calmly said.

You knew what he was trying to do, you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of trying to play himself off as the calm collected guy and you as the crazy girlfriend.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself, “I am mad at you and I told you: we’re done. So you need to leave. Now.”

He started to reach out for your hand. “C’mon I know you don’t mean that-”

“Hey,” Bucky, who had stood back throughout the conversation letting you take charge, came in front of you and diverted the hand from coming near you, “she said to leave her alone so I suggest you listen to her before things get out of hand.”

His calm and cool demeanor changed in an instant when his eyes landed on Bucky. He scoffed, and noticed how you backed-up behind Bucky, “Are you being serious right now?” He looked at both of you and as if something clicked in his little brain he stepped back from the both of you. “Oh I see what this is, you only dumped me so you wouldn’t get caught cheating on me with this dick.” He said and shoved Bucky back, you grabbed Bucky’s arm to stop him from doing anything stupid, mainly so you could do something stupid and make sure Bucky didn’t get into any trouble.

“I told you I never cheated on you, and whatever my business with Bucky is, it’s my business, I don’t owe you any explanation given that I broke up with you so get over it.” You gritted your teeth, standing in front of Bucky to stare down your ex.

He gave a harsh laugh, “This is unbelievable you’re freaking out on me for catching you and now you don’t even want to admit that you did anything wrong!” He shouted, Bucky began to glance around noticing that people were staring.

“I didn’t cheat on you, asshat!”

“Oh please, now you're acting like a bitch.”

“Okay, that’s enough, leave her alone. Before you make yourself look more like a fool.”

He sized Bucky up, “Or what? You’ll kill me?” He puffed out his chest and pushed himself forward getting in Bucky’s face. “I know what you are: a killer, that’s all you ever have been and all you ever will be.”

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact. You feared that he wanted Bucky to beat him to a pulp, but he stayed there, unwavering in his stare.

“She asked you to leave.” Bucky repeated. “So leave.”

“Nah… I don’t think so.” Before Bucky could even blink he noticed a rising fist coming straight for him. But before he could block the blow, the fist stopped; midair, the guy’s face contorting in pain.

Bucky looked over his shoulder and realized you were controlling him, anger clouded your eyes.

“I told you to leave me alone. But you didn’t listen.” Bucky stepped back as you stepped forward, forcing your hand forward, making him drop to his knees, grunting in pain. “I told you what would happen if you so much as looked at me. Do you know how easy it would be to kill you right now?” You leaned into his ear and whispered, “Like breaking a toothpick.” You stood back up, anger creating an invisible barricade between you and him, you didn’t care who saw, you didn’t care what happened, all you knew is that he deserved nothing. “Give me one good reason why I should let you live.”

He tried to open his mouth, but you didn’t let him, he could see sweat falling down his forehead, and Bucky looked around, seeing all the eyes staring down at you in fear. Bucky walked up slowly to you and put his hand on your shoulder, feeling how tense you were. “[F/N], not here not now.”

Bucky’s touch seemed to remove the dark clouds that surrounded you and his soft words brought you back to reality. That was when you noticed the crowd, eyes just staring at you, along with flashes of cameras. He got what he wanted, he wanted you to lash out so he could play the victim, and you fell right into it.

You dropped him and started walking back to your apartment, Bucky following quickly behind you. You heard him start yelling, you tried not to pay attention but something he said caught your attention, “You think you’re done with me?! Just wait until your little guard dog leaves. Now what I did in there was just a warning.” He shouted while he started standing up.

“What was just a warning?” You asked, already up the stairs to the entrance of the building.

He just smirked, “Oh you’ll see, don’t think you can embarrass me like that, once I’m done with you, you’ll regret everything coming your way.” And with that notion he walked off, with a noticeable limp; you tried to process what he just said. What was he doing in your apartment? How did he get in? All of these thoughts ran through your head as you started fumbling with your keys.

“Shit.” You whispered as you began racing through the hallways towards your apartment, not paying attention to Bucky trying to tell you to slow down. When you finally arrived at your door you carelessly shoved the keys in and pushed the door to open when you finally realized what he meant as a warning.

You seemed to stop breathing all together dropping the paint and other supplies you needed to fix the hole in the wall, now, useless. He completely destroyed your apartment, your eyes scanned the living room and kitchen; to your right plates, mugs, and bowls were shattered into a million pieces, the different colors made a mosaic on the floor, the refrigerator door was left open and fruits and other foods laid splattered as well, now most likely spoiled. Your dining table was broken, all the legs of the chairs were sitting scattered with wood chunks around them. The potted plants you had now laid down on the floor, dirt pouring over the floor. Your couch had slash marks, the stuffing inside them was sprayed everywhere on what remained of your coffee table, your television now screening the various black and white speckles along with glass falling from the screen and surrounding the living room you were in the night before; and you could only imagine what else he did in your room.

Devastation couldn’t even begin to describe how you were feeling. You clenched your jaw, you felt more violated than before. He somehow managed to sneak into your home, and destroy the first place you had felt at peace in. You slowly stepped inside the apartment, the crunching of wood, glass, and broken ceramics under your shoes, and looked closer at everything, you felt as though your entire world had been slipped out from under you; grabbing a broken picture frame you looked at the picture inside now covered in dust, stuffing, wood chips, and dirt.

Bucky was at a loss for words, you two were only gone a few hours, that man you once trusted managed to destroy the one place you were safe in. He didn’t know what to say, or how to comfort you.

“You should get going,” You said quietly, not looking up from the picture, “I need to fix things around here.”

“[F/N] please, you don’t need to do this alone, let me help-”

“No!-” You shouted, “Please just, I need to be alone for a little.”

Your sudden shout startled Bucky but he knew when to back off. “Alright, call me later ok?” He asked, heading towards the door.

“Yeah, for sure I’ll… see you later.” You said distracted. Barely noticing that Bucky had walked out the door, you looked back down on the floor and noticed another picture, this one was ripped in half. Slowly picking it up you realized it was a picture that you and the rest of the Avengers had taken during Tony’s holiday party, the happy faces now ripped apart and stained.

————————————————————————

Bucky stayed outside your door for a few minutes, conflicted knowing that you wanted to be alone but he was worried that if he left your ex would come back and in his gut he knew that no matter how strong you were, being alone with him would not be the best thing in the world for you right now. He usually could help you out with anything but this was something completely different. Sure there were bad guys back in the 40s but growing up with sisters and a mother with a firm hand, he knew how to be a gentleman; and so did most men back then. He tried racking his brain for how he could help you out, when he finally got an idea. He made his way to his motorcycle that he had parked across the street the night before and headed towards the Compound.

After about half an hour later he made it back to the Compound and began his search; he looked around the living room and kitchen but it seemed empty, and after wandering for a few minutes he decided it would be pointless running around this Labyrinth.

Sighing, he said, staring at the ceiling, “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes?” An automated female voice responded back.

“Where’s Tony?”

“In his lab, sir.”

Bucky began his trek to the lab, “Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“You are welcome sir.”

After a couple of minutes of walking he finally arrived at the entrance of the lab where he noticed Tony tinkering with the helmet of his suit, too busy to hear that Bucky had now entered his lab.

“Tony I need to ask you for a favor.”

Tony just sighed, not taking his eyes away from his helmet, “Kind of in the middle of something Barnes so you better make this quick.”

“It’s about [F/N].”

This seemed to cause Tony to take his eyes off of his project and stare at Bucky, puzzled.

“And what about [F/N]?” Tony asked, standing up and crossing arms.

Bucky knew you didn’t want anyone else to know about what happened, but he knew you needed help, so he chose his next words carefully, “Something happened and well her apartment was compromised. She needs a new-”

“Was it that douche-bag boyfriend of hers?” Tony stated flatly.

Bucky stared at Tony, bewildered, “Ex-boyfriend.” He corrected.

Tony just hummed, after a few seconds of silence he finally started, “I can tell you don’t want to tell me whatever it is that happened and well whatever did happen doesn’t matter anymore so, tell me Cyborg, what is it you need me to do?”

Pushing aside the nickname he started to tell Tony his plan.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #tony stark #avengers #bucky barns fanfiction

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ravensbug · 3 years

Text

Beautiful

Fandom: Legend of Korra

Ship: Lin Beifong x reader

Request: No

Prompt: “It’s beautiful”

Summary: You’ve been stuck at home ever since you broke your leg. Lin refused to even let you go to the precinct to work at your desk. Seeing as you had nothing to do at home you decide to paint, seeing as it has been years since you’ve done so. Lin comes to visit to see how you're doing and admires your paintings. She visits more often to see how they’re going.

You picked up the two-inch brush and primed your canvas with turpentine. You decided you were going to use oil paints today, rather than the watercolor you’d been using for the past week. It was a change of pace since oil paint took much longer to dry. It allowed for more complex ideas and significantly more details.

You were always fond of painting animals, either from memory or when they would sit outside your window. You mostly painted birds, but there were a few cats and dogs scattered throughout your list of paintings.

Switching to a different brush, you situated yourself in a more comfortable position in your chair. Painting was much easier when you were standing, but your broken leg didn’t allow you to do that. It was more like Lin wouldn’t allow you to. She would scold you if she came over to find you standing while painting.

You really wished you two could spend more time together, but being a cop was a time consuming job for the both of you. More so for Lin, being the Police Chief and all.

Her visits were always nice. She would usually come with food, knowing you spend all day painting without a break. Of course she wouldn’t have eaten either, so she couldn’t judge you too harshly.

Today you decided to paint a raven, by far your favorite bird. Even though it’s feathers were all black, you were able to put so much color and detail into them. Of course feathers were still a pain in the ass to paint. If even one was off by size, color, or even shading you had to repaint it.

But that’s what made oil paint so much better than watercolor for this. If it didn’t look right then you could fix it. The paint didn’t dry right away. It was a nice ‘cheat’ as you would call it, even though it wasn’t cheating.

The downside was that the paint didn’t dry right away. Kind of redundant, but you couldn’t do too much work all in one day. The paint had to dry so you could add some details without the colors mixing. Things like eyes would be done last to avoid any chance of the paint getting wet.

You took a small amount of the general paint colors and painted over your sketch. You could still see the sketch, but there was a light layer of colored turpentine now covering it.

Turpentine was very important for oil paints. The paint refuses to attach itself to the canvas without it. It also serves as the cleaning agent, as water only moves the paint around everywhere.

You took some of the grey and began with the beak of the bird. Starting at the top was important to avoid smudging. You also had the background to worry about, but that would come last. You would rather be able to remove the excess paint covering the raven than paint over the background and have layering issues.

Once you were satisfied with the color and shading of the beak you moved on to the head. Black paint would be what you used for the most part. The eye, and the shading around it would come last, but it was still black.

You painted the small feathers that stick out from its head as well as the ones that cover some of the beak. The paint was nice and smooth, so you could get fine lines out of it when you needed to.

You painted down the neck and stopped before the wings began. It’s important to know that with oil paint you work from dark to light, rather than from light to dark. Lighter oil paints, like white, can never truly be covered once added. You avoid this by always adding less white until you get the desired shade.

Once you added the small details to add definition to the head and neck you began work on the wings. The most painstaking part of the painting. You started with the left wing first, which was at an angle. Less feathers to paint and it allowed you to get a technique figured out for this painting.

Because of the background you had chosen, a cherry blossom tree, you decided that the highlights on the feathers would include some green and even a hint of blue. It created a contrast that was noticeable, but wasn’t ugly.

The top of the wing was much easier to deal with as it was made up of smaller feathers. Since the wings were both tucked in you could get away with only using vague highlights to show off the small feathers. You knew you would come back to them eventually, either later while painting or when you finally decided you needed to fix it. For now it looked fine.

Moving down to the individual feathers you painted them one by one. Not just plain black either. Full shading on each feather before you moved onto the next. And if the previous feather didn’t look right after you finished another you would go back until it looked right. This was tedious and sometimes annoyed the hell out of you, but making these feathers look right was your main priority.

About halfway through the first wing you threatened to rip the canvas in half. The feathers weren’t cooperating like you wanted and there was the nagging voice in the back of your head telling you that you could never get them right.

Oh the perks of being able to paint. On one hand it relaxed you and kept you from thinking about being stuck in your apartment all day. On the other it pissed you off to no end when you couldn’t get something exactly right.

You eventually gave into your frustration when you threw the brush at the painting. It didn’t ruin anything thankfully, but it made you feel better.

Sitting back in your chair you couldn’t help but scold yourself for being stuck in this situation. You were always careful when it came to using your cables and zipping around the city or down from one of the blimps. But as life would have it you still weren’t careful enough.

Your fall wasn’t life threatening in any way, thankfully. Lin wouldn’t have known what to do if it had been. It was maybe fifteen or twenty feet from the ground when your cable suddenly snapped. There was training for these instances and you knew what to do.

You had used your other cable and attached it to a nearby building. It helped angle your descent to not have as much of impact which was the key to why you weren’t injured anymore. But you still managed to land awkwardly, catching your foot on a small hole in the street and breaking plenty of bones.

The adrenaline of the whole situation caused you to not feel anything, which was for the better. You tried standing up, but when your leg refused to hold your weight you knew something had happened.

Lin ignored whatever they had come to do in the first place and ran over to you. You weren’t crying, but there was a sense of sadness or disappointment around you.

No matter how many times you and the doctor told Lin you were going to be ok she never really believed it until you got home. You would have a cast on for six months or more if you tried to use the leg. You knew it would be more because you were stubborn as hell.

You didn’t want this to stop you from working, even if you were stuck at your desk for those six plus months. Lin, however, refused to let you come to work. She personally walked with you back to your apartment after you had come to the station the day after getting injured.

Lin would rather you be in a wheelchair than crutches, but she knows she can’t control everything you do. She remembers that you can handle yourself even if you’re more vulnerable now. She spends more time with you because of that, but neither of you complain.

Once you were done reminiscing about how you got to where you were right now you took a deep breath. Art wasn’t easy, you knew that. Being out of practice wasn’t much help either.

You picked up the brush from its spot on the floor and cleaned it off. The floor had some paint on it, but it was nothing a rag couldn’t clean up. At least it wasn’t a spill.

After another deep breath you went back to the feathers. Taking that short break to let out your frustration worked well. Whatever was stopping you from figuring out had left your mind. You could see that it was simply how wide the feather was. A stupid mistake that you scolded yourself for.

Finishing the wing became much easier now. It wasn’t faster because even though there were less feathers as you went down they also got longer.

You noted that you might have to change the shading after getting an idea. It was only a maybe though. Making it seem like there were flowers above the bird and out of view was hard, but not impossible. You would come back to that idea later.

The body in between the wings was left unshaded. Plain black was enough since your light source would make it shadowed anyway.

Now came the second wing. It would have to take much more time and patience for you to do this one, as you could see more of it than the other wing. Thinking you had plenty of time left in the day to finish the painting you started on the wing. You only stopped when you heard the lock of your door turn.

Were you startled by it? Yes, you definitely were. But it could be argued that Lin was more startled by having a knife floating inches from her face as she opened the door.

“Lin! Spirits you scared me!” you guided the knife back to the counter.

“I’m glad you’re prepared for intruders,” She seemed unphased even though you knew better than to think that.

“C’mon. You don’t need to be the high and mighty Chief of Police here,” you smirked. That was one of the things she had started to do around you. Let down her guard. It was rare for her to do that and you felt appreciated knowing she did that around you.

“I brought you dinner.” she lifted the bag of food in her hand. It was for both of you, but she wouldn’t say that out loud.

“You’ve been working on that all day haven’t you?” she placed the food down on the counter and walked over to you. She studied the painting while waiting for you to respond.

“Apparently I have,” you sighed. “I don’t even know the time.” You leaned over and looked at the clock. Seven in the evening.

“Well you got off early,” you smiled at Lin. It was rare for her to get off anytime before eight.

“Wanted to see how you were doing, that’s all,” there was a small grin that showed on her lips. You wondered if she left early on purpose just to see you.

“So what did you get us this time?” You added the us last second. You two had eaten dinner together so much in the past few weeks that it was the new normal for you two.

“Kwong’s,” she answered.

“No way! You didn’t?” You got up out of your chair and hobbled over, without your crutches. You were excited, who could blame you?

Kwong’s was something you had only a few times in your childhood, saved for ultra rare occasions, like your graduation.

When you made it over to the counter you saw that Lin had indeed gotten you two Kowng’s.

“How the hell did you get Kowng’s? They’ve been filled with customers for months.” Lin turned when she saw that you were now next to her. You knew your question wouldn’t be answered because of the scowl on her face.

“You have crutches, please use them. I’d like you back in the station as soon as possible,” she scolded you. It wasn’t her usual tone that she gave newbies at the station or even vets who were on her nerves. There was worry rooted deep in her voice. She cared about you, you knew that.

Lin walked over to where your crutches rested and grabbed them for you. She handed them to you and you reluctantly took them and put them under your arms.

“I’ll get the food ready, you go sit down. Use your crutches this time,” she told you.

You stuck your tongue out at her as you made your way to the table. If anyone else had done that, they would have been dead. But you weren’t anyone and you figured that out when you got injured.

You had speculated that Lin had liked you after the fourth day of her bringing dinner, as an excuse to see you. She would always say she was checking in, lying to herself about why she came to see you every time.

Once you had confirmed it, which was hard to do, you tried to get her to admit it for a while. You knew nothing could make Lin blush, let alone laugh, so when you were able to do both, that was the confirmation. That happened almost a week ago. Her hesitation to tell you frustrated you to no end, much like the feathers on your raven had.

Lin placed the take out boxes on the table and grabbed plates from your cabinets. Once they were on the table you both served yourselves some food.

Talk was usually minimal when you two were eating. You occasionally asked about what was happening at the station and Lin would usually tell you. She would grumble about it of course, because everyone there seemed to think her advice or orders didn’t matter to them. You would always listen, only sometimes saying things back to her about whatever she was grumbling about.

Today there was a strange call in and Lin couldn’t even finish telling you what happened before you were laughing your head off. You laughing brought a smile to her face because it was the first good thing that happened to her today.

When you two finish eating Lin is the one to clean everything up. You protest by trying to get up, but your leg seems to have a mind of its own and sends a wave of pain up your spine. You winced and sat back down in defeat.

Lin gave you another glare, but it was still soft. No anger was present, she couldn’t be angry at you. She would have done the same thing if it was her with the injury. Nothing would have stopped her from continuing to work in the station. Well you probably would and Lin would listen to you.

That was another thing that Lin would let only you do, argue. She would shut everyone else down immediately. Of course when she had tried to do that to you, you didn’t cower away like everyone else. You stood your ground against her and she admired that about you.

When she finished cleaning up dinner she moved to grab her coat and leave. You didn’t want her to. It was always what she did. Come in, eat dinner, and leave. It was nice and all, but you felt lonely cooped up all day.

“Could you stay? At least for a little while?” you asked. You sounded more desperate than you wanted, but it was how you felt.

Lin had stopped putting her coat on and looked at you. You felt like you made a mistake, but it was too late to go back now.

“We don’t have to talk or anything, I just don’t want to be alone.” You really sounded desperate now. You scolded yourself in your head for it.

“Sure,” she hesitated. “Of course.” She didn’t know why she hesitated to answer. Of course she wanted to spend time with you, that’s why she came over with dinner all the time. Bringing dinner was just the excuse though.

“You can continue painting if you want,” she suggested. You thought about it and then shrugged.

“I think I’m done working on that for today. It’s already made me frustrated enough,” you glared at the painting like that would do something.

“Are you having trouble?” she asked in disbelief. She was walking closer to the painting again, looking it over for a second time.

“Yeah, feathers are a lot harder than you think. It still doesn’t look perfect.” you had come over to the painting, on your crutches, and stood next to Lin.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she told you. “It’s beautiful.”

It was your turn to blush for the first time. You didn’t know if Lin wanted you to blush or not, but that wasn’t important. What she said was. She had always complimented your art when she came over, but it was always “This looks nice,” or a simple “Wow”. Her calling your art beautiful was like her holding your heart in her hands. Surprisingly soft for someone compared so closely to the element she could bend.

“T-Thanks,” you muttered.

“It’s been awhile since someone’s seen my art let alone compliment it,” you explained. Like that was the only reason for you to be flustered.

“I don’t understand why you ever stopped.” She looked at some of your finished watercolor paintings that were hanging by clips in front of your window.

“I never had the time when I was always at the station. I tried for a few months, but it just became stressful rather than relaxing,” you explained.

She had stopped and looked at one particular painting that stood out from the rest. It was the only non-animal painting you had. Still watercolor of course, which made it even more brilliant in Lin’s opinion.

She recognized it in a second. It was the view of the city from her office. You had painted her office. She smiled as she looked over the picture. She couldn’t see any mistakes. You truly strived for perfection in this painting.

“Oh,” you realized which painting she was looking at. “I was really missing the station that day. It made me feel better having some part of it here, even if it was a painting.”

Lin felt honored that you had chosen the view from her office as the part of the station you wanted to paint. She felt so gullible right now. Both of you felt that way.

“Thank you for always coming over,” you had said this a few times before over the past weeks.

“I honestly don’t know what I would do if you didn’t. I’d probably go crazy,” you laughed. That wasn’t entirely true. You would have found something to do, it wouldn’t have been as nice as having dinner with Lin, but it would be something.

“I’m sure you could’ve managed. Plus, there’s no one else checking up on you, so how am I supposed to know how you’re doing?” she raised an eyebrow at you.

“You could let me work at my desk,” you suggested.

“That’s not happening as long as you have that on your leg.” She pointed to the cast on your leg.

“I am perfectly capable of handling myself,” you argued.

You shouldn’t have argued. You knew that as soon as a sly smirk appeared on Lin’s face.

You had been leaning on your crutches while Lin had been talking to you. She knew that’s what you were doing and took advantage of that. She simply kicked one of the crutches out from underneath you and sent you falling to the ground.

“Shi-” You couldn’t react in enough time to find something to stop you from falling. You didn’t need to find anything because Lin wasn’t actually going to let you hit the ground.

You felt the wire wrap around your waist and hold you in your almost fallen position. You looked up at Lin who still had that smirk on her face.

“Y’know you really are mean,” you said jokingly. She grabbed your arm and pulled you back up. You leaned on her for support since you had dropped your other crutch while falling.

“I try,” she smiles. “Comes with the job.”

“Yet you rarely are to me.” you continued to lean on her.

“Because I don’t need to be with you. You actually listen to what I say,” she told you. You weren’t the only person who listens to her, Mako occasionally does, but that’s only after she scolds him.

“One, you’re my boss and two its kind of hard to ignore what you say,” you explained. Was this you admitting how you sometimes got lost in whatever she was saying? Yes it was.

“Everyone else has a pretty easy time ignoring me,” Lin counters. She took what you said as a compliment, in a way. She wasn’t sure what you were trying to say, so she couldn’t tell herself that it was really a compliment.

Your words were caught in your throat. How exactly could you tell her that you got lost in her voice. That sometimes your heart flutters around her the same way you know hers does around you. You really couldn’t explain in words. So you didn’t.

Did you regret moving in to kiss her? No, not one bit. Hell you were glad you finally did it because you knew Lin had been dodging around her feelings for weeks.

Her arms snaked around to hold you by the waist and you wrapped your arms around her neck. It felt so good, it felt perfect. You wanted to stay like that forever. But unfortunately both of you still need air to breath so you have to stop.

“You…” Lin began before pausing.

“Oh don’t act coy with me. You don’t think I’ve figured out why you come here so often?” You watched embarrassment flood her face.

“Not that I would have wanted it any differently,” you smiled. That made her feel better.

“Am I not allowed to worry?” She asked. She looked at you and the shell, the armor, that she wore to keep her emotions hidden was off. She was out in the open, her heart in your hands.

“You are. I’m glad you do,” you were still smiling. Of course you wanted her to worry, it made you feel loved.

“I still want to go back to my desk though,” you complained.

“What am I going to do with you?” she sighed.

“Love me?” you gave her a cheesy grin.

She rolled her eyes and kissed you again. Mostly to make sure you weren’t going to ask to go back to the station. You were hers to protect and she was going to make sure that you stayed here until your leg healed. Even if she didn’t bring dinner every night.

#lin beifong #lin beifong x reader #fluff #writing #legend of korra

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