#I left out a lot of the ums and ers

[andersunmenschlich]

A Vanishing Post

There was a Tumblr post containing a video of two interviews done by the same interviewer, one with someone from Hamas, the other with someone from Israel.

I reblogged this post and saved it as a draft because I intended to add a transcript (and summary).

The post disappeared from my drafts. I went to the blog where I'd seen it, and it wasn't there either. I couldn't remember any other usernames. I couldn't remember the interviewer's name or the names of the people they were interviewing.

I'm a stubborn cuss, however, and I pummeled Google until it turned up the video I remembered.

The interviewer was a man named Marc Lamont Hill, the host of Al Jazeera English's current affairs program Up Front. The person from Hamas was Osama Hamdan, the senior spokesperson for Hamas, and the person from Israel was Danny Ayalon, Israel's former deputy foreign minister and former foreign policy advisor to Netanyahu. The date was October 13, 2023.

A Brief Summary

Hamas shot rockets from Gaza into Israel, then attacked multiple places on foot, killing people and taking hostages. Israel cut off Gaza's food, water, electricity, etc., and started bombing it.

Interviewer: Hamas, why did you attack civilians?

Hamas: Civilians, non-civilians, potayto, potahto. They're invaders who have been stealing our land and lives, killing our men and women and children, for 75 years.

Interviewer: How can you attack Israel when you know the retaliation will kill innocent Palestinians?

Hamas: Israel is always killing innocent Palestinians no matter what we do. They kill us if we're violent. They kill us if we're peaceful. And no one in the world cares. We might as well at least try to resist.

Interviewer: Israel, why are you hurting and killing everyone in Gaza, civilians included?

Israel: It's Hamas's fault—they won't surrender and they won't let the civilians leave. So we're going to keep hurting and killing those civilians until Hamas either surrenders or lets the civilians leave. This is all Hamas's fault. Look what they're making us do!

Interviewer: Hurting and killing civilians is bad.

Israel: Yes, but it's not our fault! We're not bad! The whole world is on our side because we're in the right here! Hamas is bad! They're making us kill innocent Palestinians! .

full transcript below readmore

Hill On October 7th, Hamas launched a barrage of rockets from Gaza, followed by a coordinated incursion into Israel by Hamas fighters. Scores of unarmed civilians were killed and many taken hostage. In response to the attack, Israeli prime minister Netanyahu swore, quote, "a mighty vengeance" against the group.

Israel has since retaliated with a complete siege of Gaza, launching air strikes that razed entire districts, killing hundreds and injuring thousands in the Palestinian enclave.

On today's show we'll delve deep into the conflict. Coming up in the second half of the show, we'll speak to the former deputy foreign minister for Israel and former foreign policy advisor to Netanyahu, Danny Ayalon. With us first is senior spokesperson for Hamas, Osama Hamdan.

[cut, show title]

Hill Osama Hamdan, senior spokesperson for Hamas, thank you so much for joining me on Up Front.

Hamdan Thank you.

Hill On October 7th, Hamas launched an attack when they launched thousands of rockets into Israel. Militants entered the country and took scores of civilians hostage, including women, children, and the elderly.

While the right of resistance is absolutely secured for all occupied people under international law, the use of force is not unlimited, and targeting civilians and taking hostages are war crimes.

How can you justify attacking civilian targets?

Hamdan Well, thank you for having me. First of all, I have to say that this is the story from the Israeli side, which is not really true. I have to turn you to Oren Ziv, who is an Israeli journalist. He was today in Kfar Aza settlement, and he said there is no evidence that Hamas slaughtered children.

I'm sorry that the Israeli government is using that to commit its crimes in Gaza.

So this is the first part of the answer: we have also some Israelis who are telling this has not happened, and it's used—it's a story, a fake story, used to kill more Palestinians. But this is the, the other part—

Hill But the question was "how do you justify attacking civilian targets?" That was the actual question. One second, nono, the question was "how can you justify attacking civilian targets."

Hamdan You are asking the wrong question.

Hill No, no, no; the question was "how can you justify attacking civilian targets."

Hamdan You are asking—you are asking the wrong question.

Hill We may disagree on what the right question is, but I do want—I would like you to answer this question. How do you justify attacking civilian targets?

Hamdan But this is a wrong question. This is a wrong question, and I'm not going to the same game of the Israelis.

Hill I'm asking a very clear question about civilians. Let—let me ask a very direct question: have any civilians been killed?

Hamdan Well, I don't know exactly, because this is what is told by the Israelis. What I'm telling you is that for this Israeli government—

Hill You—you just cited Oren Ziv: he says civilians were killed.

Hamdan No, he didn't say—he said, "no evidence that children were slaughtered."

Hill [incoherent sound]

Hamdan I don't—I don't—

Hill He said—he said, "dozens of bodies of Israelis murdered in their homes."

Hamdan Excuse me!

Hill Those were his words.

Hamdan You are—you are wasting the time. It's your time. It's not my time. You are wasting the time.

Hill All right, let's pause for a moment, sir. My question is, if you find out that civilians have been killed, would you consider that justified or would you consider that unjustified?

Hamdan There is—three hundred children have been killed today in Gaza by the Israelis. Two hundred women have been killed today, by the Israelis, in Gaza. One thousand two hundred children were injured. One thousand women were injured today, just today and yesterday, in Gaza.

You are asking me the wrong question. You have to ask about what is happening in Gaza, which is under the siege for the last seventeen years, which is under the offensive Israeli attack for the last four days.

You keep asking about the Israelis: why don't you ask about the Palestinians?

Hill So, so that's a—that's a fair—

Hamdan Can I understand that you don't care about the Palestinians?

Hill Sir, sir, sir, that's a, that is a fair question, that—

Hamdan Excuse me! I have to continue. You are asking about the Israelis. You don't ask about the Palestinians. No one cares about the Palestinians. This is the story: the story is the occupation. 75 years of occupation for the Palestinians. We have to talk about the occupation and how the Palestinians are looking to—for this occupation, and how can we make an end for this occupation.

This is the story! It's not the story about what you are asking about.

Hill Okay, I—I, I understand your perspective. To be clear, after this interview I will be interviewing a representative of the Israeli military, and I will be asking him about Israel's war crimes.

I absolutely acknowledge that Israel has committed war crimes. In fact, I have written a book with a whole chapter about Gaza and the war crimes that have been committed against Gaza there, so please do not suggest to me that I do not take this issue seriously. However—

Hamdan Thank—thank you—

Hill However, let me finish, I—I allowed you to finish—

Hamdan —thank you for clarifying that—

Hill —yeah, so, so now—

Hamdan —thank you for clarifying that, but I also—

Hill —now that—sir, sir—

Hamdan —you can't compare—

Hill —sir, I—I'm not comparing anything, but—

Hamdan Okay.

Hill —please allow me to finish. My question for you is, "Is everyone living inside a settlement a legitimate military target for Hamas?"

Hamdan According to the international law, the settlers are not civilians.

Hill So, sir, again, human rights organizations have said the legal status of settlements under international humanitarian law does not negate the rights of the civilians living there.

The fact that a person lives in a settlement, whether legal or not, does not make him or her a legitimate military target.

So, in light of the fact that human rights organizations would argue that even if settlements are illegal the people living inside of them are still considered civilians, how do you see, moving forward, Hamas's vision of whether or not settlements are legitimate military targets?

Hamdan Well, uh, the "legitimate" thing which I believe in is that Palestine is our land.

Our people are living on our land, challenging the occupation for the last 75 years. On those 75 years, the women, the children were killed by the Israeli soldiers, the Israeli settlers. Their homeland was taken. They were replaced by Israelis who came from everywhere in the world. They talk different languages and they claim that this land is for them.

If you ask any one of them about the grave of his father, he will take you to Poland, or to Argentina.

But if you ask any Palestinian about the grave of his seventeenth grandfather, he will take you to some place in Palestine, showing you the graves, telling you, "This is where my seventeenth grandfather was buried"—or maybe before that.

We are in this land from the days of Jesus Christ! Don't ask me about those settlers and those soldiers who are killing my people every day, every time—and this is the fact which creates the resistance of the Palestinians. The Palestinians did not start the war.

Hill Let's talk about the Israeli response to the Hamas attack, which has been horrific.

Israel is bombing Gaza and has declared a complete siege. It's cut off food, fuel, and water from being admitted to over two million people. Thousands of Palestinians are going to die. One resident from Khan Yunis said, "This is a bloody war that is different from previous wars. What is going on right now is total annihilation."

We see this horrific response by the Israeli government—my question for you is, "Have the actions of Hamas over the past week made things worse for Palestinians on the ground?"

Hamdan The Israelis have done this before. They did that in 2014. They cut the electricity from Gaza, in 2014, for seventeen days. They cut the aid for the hospitals. In 2014, two thousand five hundred Palestinians were killed. In 2021, more than one thousand Palestinians were killed. No one remembers the numbers, because they are only Palestinians.

But I want to tell you, they were shocked by what had happened to their army. Eleven military points were attacked by the militants of Hamas. The soldiers were killed, or taken as war prisoners, and the Israelis were shocked. This is the main troops attacking Gaza for the last ten years: they fall down in a few hours. This is a shock! They want to get back the image of Israel army. They want to show everyone that Israel can destroy everyone—

Hill That's an interesting point, sir—

Hamdan —by the supervision of the American and the support of the—

Hill —that's, that's an important point you're making. You're saying that Israel sort of commits to a certain kind of response when it looks bad; that Israel responds disproportionately, and that Israel already wants to use this as a pretext for destroying the Palestinian people.

I'm saying, if you know that's going to happen, then how do you calculate the decision to launch an attack, knowing that a university is going to be bombed, knowing that power is going to be cut off, knowing that fuel's going to be cut off, knowing that people are going to die because of the Israeli response—if you know that, why do you still make the attack?

Particularly when the Palestinian people don't have a say in whether or not that's going to happen?

Hamdan This is a good question. You know, the fact that the Israelis are killing the Palestinians on all the ways, all the times.... For example, in West Bank, in the last ten months, more than five hundred Palestinians were killed.

Most of them were civilians. They were shot in the streets, just demonstrating peacefully against the Israeli troops!

The fact that everyone has to understand is that this occupation is killing the Palestinians all the time. He's not giving them any chance to have normal lives. He's not giving them the chance to be independent and to have their independent sovereign state—even after thirty years of signature of Oslo agreement, he's not implementing any international resolutions. He doesn't care about the international law.

So we are facing this fact: the Israelis are killing you if you are treating them peacefully or if you are resisting them.

At the end of the day, the occupation is still there. So it's better to resist than be slaughtered daily without even resisting the occupation.

Hill What was the goal of last week's actions? What was the immediate goal of last week's actions—what would you say the target or goal was?

Hamdan The goal is to make an end for the Israeli attacks against the Palestinians. To make an end for the Israeli attacks on Jerusalem, [place name I couldn't catch], in West Bank; taking over the lands and to lift the siege on Gaza.

The Israelis are planning for a long, long occupation on Palestine, and I think if they don't get the lesson from what has happened the last four days: this army will not protect them. Their violence will not protect them. Even if they were supported by the United States. If they want to be protected, they have to acknowledge the Palestinian rights and to implement the international resolutions which gave the Palestinian people their rights—without negotiations.

Those are rights. No one can negotiate our rights.

Hill Osama Hamdan, thank you so much for joining me on Up Front.

Hamdan Thank you.

[cut]

Hill We tried repeatedly to get an Israeli Army spokesperson on the show to respond to Hamas, but they canceled the scheduled interviews. For more on the developments in Gaza, we are joined by Israel's former deputy foreign minister and a former foreign policy advisor to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Danny Ayalon.

[cut, show title]

Hill Danny Ayalon, thank you so much for joining me on Up Front.

Ayalon My pleasure.

Hill Danny, last Saturday, the 7th, Hamas launched a devastating attack. Thousands of rockets were fired towards Israel, and hundreds of Hamas fighters crossed into the country. There are reports of horrific killings of Israeli civilians: a clear, clear violation of international law.

In response, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu threatened to turn the Gaza Strip into, quote, "rubble," and the government announced a, quote, "complete siege of the enclave."

Since then, we've seen mass bombing in Gaza, with reports that hundreds of civilians have been killed—and while the actions of Hamas are a clear, and I want to emphasize that, a clear violation of international law, isn't the collective punishment of all Gazans also, by definition, a war crime?

Ayalon Not really, because the situation is very clear.

You know, as you mentioned—rightly so—Hamas perpetrated an attack (which was a surprise attack, the IDF was caught unprepared), and they got a major victory for the first 24 hours: but who was this victory against? Babies and children and all families that were massacred in bed. The IDF was nowhere to be seen. When the IDF came back, now, they pushed them back into Gaza.

Now, the problem with Hamas is that they're committing a double war crime, because they are targeting only civilians, and they're using their own civilians, the poor Palestinians of Gaza, as human shields.

What Israel did gave them a fair warning, and I think this is the only way to do with them, is we told the Gazan people to clear the area temporarily so we can go and take Hamas out—and then, of course, they can come back.

So this, by definition, is not a war crime.

We understand the plight of the Palestinians. They deserve their dignity and everything else. But nothing justifies butchering families.

You know, this day, as you mentioned, the 7th of October, was the day that more Jews were killed in 24 hours than any other day since the Holocaust. So you see, I mean—

Hill Without—without question, respectfully, this is a devastating moment. An extraordinary act of violence that, again, is a violation of international law. But you said a couple of things that I want to push you on.

The idea of collective punishment is one of the things that we're talking about here.

Electricity has been cut. Power has been cut. Fuel has been cut. The Gazan people right now are being punished for the actions of Hamas. How is that not, by definition, collective punishment?

Ayalon Two things. First of all, Hamas has turned Gaza into an enemy state. So there is no law, nothing in international law, that compels a country you are in a war with, to supply them the electricity. Now, what do they use the electricity for?

Hill As, as—as an occupying power, international law does say that you have certain responsibilities by law... but before we get there, even if we—we'll hold it for a moment, the power thing—there are residential buildings being hit. There are hospitals being hit. This is a densely populated area. The idea of being able to run away or to escape or go to a safe area seems impossible.

Also, according to your own military representatives, you've abandoned the idea of knocking on roofs: that is to say, giving a warning, of dropping a non-explosive munition on buildings before people go.

So people aren't getting a warning, they have nowhere to go, residential buildings, schools, and hospitals are being hit.

How is this not, again, an act of collective punishment, and how is this not a target of civilians—unless, of course, you're regarding everybody in Gaza as an enemy combatant?

Ayalon Okay, well, I hear you, I hear you. But again, what we gave the population is a fair warning.

What would you do, you know, what would you do if—

Hill What—what, what was the fair warning? This—I just want to make sure we're on the same page here. Benjamin Netanyahu told everyone to leave the area. Where were they to go?

Ayalon Okay. Very, very—I mean, this was thought out. It's not something that we tell them, "Go to the beaches, go drown yourselves," God forbid, not at all. There is a huge expanse, almost endless space in the Sinai Desert just on the other side of Gaza.

The idea is—and this is not the first time it will be done—the idea is for them to leave over to the open areas where we and the international community will prepare the infrastructure. You know, ten cities with food and with water. You know what, just like for the refugees of Syria that fled the butchering of Assad a few years ago to Turkey. Turkey received two million of them. This is the idea.

Now, Egypt will have to play ball here, because once the population is out of sight, then we can go. You know what the Palast—what the, what Hamas did. You know, we—

Hill When the—you said, "the population out of sight," is that practically possible in such a densely populated area?

And, and forty—you have two million people in a densely populated enclave. Forty-seven percent of the inhabitants are children. Is it reasonable or plausible to think that all those people are going to relocate to this excluded area and be safe from a bombing attack? And again, the warn—we're saying there's warnings, but there are numerous reports on the ground that there are no warnings, that people are getting hit, that families have been killed from these attacks!

Ayalon I'll tell you in a practical manner what we should do and what we can do. Create, like in the past, in history, a humanitarian corridor. When there is a humanitarian corridor—and we have been discussing this with the United States—then we can guarantee, in this corridor, that nobody will get hurt.

Now, again I say there is a way to receive them all on the other side for temporary time in Sinai. Because, what did Hamas turn out on Gaza, Gaza—

Hill On the other side? Are we talking about—are you, are you saying, "the other side," they go to Egypt?

Ayalon Yes. Absolutely, absolutely, and Egypt will have to play ball because this is—human life is at stake, and if you are—

Hill [disbelieving laugh] But, but sir, human life is at stake because you're cutting off power, you're, you're shutting down hospitals, you're bombing residential buildings—

Right now, there is a hospital that does not have sufficient power. There is a hospital where people are literally going to die. And Israel's energy minister Israel Katz said, "No electrical switch will be turned on, no hydrant will be open, no fuel truck will enter until the Israeli abductees are returned home."

Now, the ICRC spokesperson Hisham Mhanna said that by cutting that power "hospitals are going to turn into graveyards."

This is not an ideologue. This is the International Committee of the Red Cross. They're saying that because of your country's actions—not the actions of Hamas, not the actions of Egypt, but because of Israel's actions—the hospitals are going to turn into graveyards.

How is that not a war crime? How is that defensible by any standard?

Ayalon First of all, the war crime, if anything, is Hamas. They are the ones. And I know exactly what you're talking about. Hamas does not allow—sometimes, when they can, they keep those civilians captive. They don't allow them to run away, because this is what they want.

Now, I know the area. And I suppose you're talking about the main hospital, which is the Shifa Hospital.

Hill Yep.

Ayalon The Shifa Hospital has been turned into a Hamas bunker. If Hamas wants to save them, they should just leave their arms, come out, and nothing will happen. But as long as they keep the Shifa Hospital, just like schools and kindergartens, as bunkers and they fight out from there, there is no law—there is no law in this universe that protects them. And this is what we're doing, and this is why the world is—

Hill Sir, sir! Sir, is there any independent reports—are there any intelligence reports that show that the Shifa Hospital is primarily a Hamas bunker and not an actual medical site?

Ayalon Yes, and you know—and you know what—

Hill W-where? Who? Where?

Ayalon A-and you know what, mark my words, and, and you can show it again, because I know it's recorded. When this war is over and we bring in the international press to Shifa and to all the bunkers, the underground tunnels that Hamas has created in Gaza—ask intelligence services of every country in the world, they know it—but anyway, what I'm saying is—

Hill No, no, no—just to be clear, for the audience's benefit, no intelligence service has claimed that. Not one government has claimed that the Shifa Hospital is a Hamas bunker. That is your claim, and I want to be very clear that that is your claim.

And you're saying that you don't have any reports, but that I should just trust you.

Ayalon No!

Hill Mark your words, trust you, and later on it'll be proven true.

Ayalon I'm telling you, everybody will see.

Hill Okay.

Ayalon After the war is over.

Hill Fair enough.

Ayalon Even—

Hill I have—I have to move on just in the interests of time, but I want to continue on the same vein, because the Secretary-General of the UN, António Guterres, said that he was deeply distressed by Israel's announcement of a siege on the Gaza Strip. He said that the humanitarian situation, quote, "will only deteriorate exponentially," and that crucial life-saving supplies, including fuel, food, and water must be allowed into Gaza.

So the UN is saying, "You must do this." You are saying you're not going to do this. How do you—

Ayalon No. We're not, we're not saying that.

Hill He's saying "do it immediately." What I'm saying is, what you're—he's saying, "do it immediately."

Ayalon I got you. I'll tell you exactly what we're saying. I'm saying, we will do everything for the Gazan people, once—and now we demand immediate surrender, unconditional surrender of Hamas. If Hamas people come out with their hands up and clear their weapons, believe me, everything will be restored to Gaza. It is Hamas, in Hamas hands. If they care—

Hill Okay, now I understand. Thank you for clarifying that, sir. I think we're actually on the same page here. You're saying that once Hamas leaves, you'll grant the Gazan people food, shelter, fuel, electricity, hospitals, schooling. And if Hamas doesn't leave, then they'll continue to starve and die in hospitals.

You are defining for the international community, right now, collective punishment.

You're saying, "Until Hamas acts differently, the two million people in Gaza are going to be treated this way. And once Hamas acts differently, these two million people in Gaza will be treated better."

That is exactly what collective punishment is: you're holding them accountable for the actions of others; that is the definition, the textbook definition, of collective punishment, sir. Now, you—you may accept that that's what you want to do, but this is absolutely a contravention of international law.

Ayalon Well, I'll tell you exactly—no! Had we had no—if we had pushed them into the wall—we're not pushing them to the wall! We want to open a humanitarian corridor so they can leave. But if Hamas—

Hill So that who can leave? Citizens? You're saying civilians can leave, but only through the Rafah Border, correct?

Ayalon At this point, yes.

Hill So they can't—

Ayalon Because, where else—

Hill Your country! They can come into Israel!

Ayalon [big fake smile, long pause] I'm telling you one more thing I want to say—

Hill I-I want you to address that point—

Ayalon [another big smile]

Hill —don't just smile, sir, respectfully. You're saying—

Ayalon [smile vanishes] I'm not smiling!

Hill —they, you're making a corridor, they can go to Egypt—you're bombing them! You say you want to save them, but you—they can't come in.

Ayalon I—first of all, I'm not smiling. I'm crying in my heart. I'm crying in my heart for all the butchery of thousands of Israelis. Why do you think the world is with us? Why do you think the world is wise? All the international media was there.

So don't talk to me about collective punishment, don't talk to me about humanitarian—these are new rules of the game.

There is no coexistence with Hamas, which is worse than Isis, and we will not stop. We are allowing the population to leave. But if Hamas will surrender, there won't be any problem whatsoever.

Hill Danny Ayalon, thank you so much for joining me on Up Front.

Ayalon Pleasure.

Hill All right, that is our show. Up Front will be back next week.

[end cut, show title]

[mrsshabana]

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

ꔫ‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding kink, pregnancy, age difference, angst, fluff, modern au ꔫ‧₊ Note 5k words. This is the last chapter for this fic, but I still have lots of things that I want to write for this au so be on the lookout for oneshots in the future. Thank you for all of your support for this series ♡ ✧:･ﾟ→ Part one ✧:･ﾟ→ Part two

“Fuck fuck fuck! What do I do? Her mom is gonna kill me if she figures out I’m dating her daughter! And then Y/N is gonna kill me for telling her mom!” Gyutaro thinks to himself as he begins to panic.

“Ahem,” your mother clears her throat and repeats her question, “Who the hell are you, sir?”

“Er um… Gyutaro?” he says as if he’s not sure what his own name is. 

“Gyutaro?!” her eyes widen.

“Shit… does she already know who I am? I thought Y/N didn’t tell her…” he thinks again. 

“Y/N! Come here!” she yells inside the house, then she turns back to Gyutaro and opens the door, “Come in, Gyutaro.”

“Um… th-thanks,” he stutters as he nervously steps inside, not sure whether your mother is angry with him or not. 

“Yeah, mom? What’s wro-” you stop mid-sentence as you come into the dining room and see your boyfriend standing there. 

“Y/N,” your mom says sternly, “This man just told me that his name is Gyutaro.”

You blush, “Um yeah… this is Gyutaro.”

“You failed to tell me that your boyfriend was a grown ass man,” she scowls and walks into the kitchen.

“Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you! I was scared of how you’d react,” you plea as you follow her into the kitchen.

Gyutaro just stands awkwardly in your dining room, wishing that he could shrink and hide somewhere. His palms begin to sweat as he thinks about the consequences of his actions. Is your mother going to make you break up with him? 

The thought makes his heart ache. Is he going to lose his sister and his girlfriend on the same day? 

Your mom comes back into the dining room holding a teapot and some cups, “Gyutaro, come sit and make yourself comfortable,” she says as she pours a cup of tea for him. 

“Y-Yes ma’am,” he mutters and sits at the table.

You aren’t sure what to do or say to make things better, but you sit beside Gyutaro and give him a reassuring look in an attempt to comfort him. In response, he looks at you with a guilty look in his eyes as if he’s apologizing. 

“Gyutaro,” your mom says calmly as she sits across from him at the table, “I have three questions for you.”

“Y-yes?” he gulps.

“Do you have a job?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do you have a criminal record?”

“No ma’am.”

“Do you pay your taxes?” 

“Of course!” he answers enthusiastically.

“Alright. Now Y/N, I have three questions for you,” she diverts her attention to you now, “Does Gyutaro make you happy?”

“Y-Yes! He makes me very happy…” you blush. 

“Does he behave like a gentleman?”

“Yes, always,” your cheeks redden.

“Do you love him?”

“I-I do,” you mutter, feeling shy about admitting this in front of your mom. 

“Alright, then I approve of him. Even though he’s a bit older than you, he seems like a decent man,” she states as she looks over at Gyutaro’s flustered face, “Welcome to the family, Gyutaro.”

“Th-Thank you Miss L/N!” he lets out a sigh of relief, finally feeling in the clear that your mom approves of your relationship. 

“See mom! I told you he was a good boyfriend!” You jump up and give him a big hug, genuinely feeling so happy that your mom accepts your relationship. It was something you were really worried about, especially since your mom has always been very protective of you. Honestly, you're quite surprised she’s so cool about the age difference between you and your boyfriend. 

“I honestly thought you’d be mad,” you laugh nervously, hoping you aren’t jinxing it. 

She sighs and sips her tea, “You know dear, your father was the same age as me. And he left me when I was pregnant with you. He was young and immature. Age means nothing,” she shakes her head, “I rather you date an older man that pays his taxes and takes care of you than a man your age that only cares about himself.”

Gyutaro smiles, finally feeling like someone accepts him and doesn’t judge him. He sees where you get it from now. 

“And that’s why your father is in prison for tax evasion…” she mumbles under her breath, only Gyutaro hears what she says. 

“Aw mom… I promise you Gyutaro is nothing like dad,” you say, looking a bit somber as you take a sip of your tea. 

“I can already tell,” she smiles, “Well, you two can go have your fun. Just be home by ten.”

“Are we going on a date, Gyu?”

“Oh uh no… actually I came over for something else,” he swallows dryly, “Um… I told Ume about us.”

Immediately from the look on his face you can tell things didn’t go well. “Oh… Did she take it really hard?”

“Yeah,” he nods, choking up a bit, “She called me disgusting… then she slapped me and left,” he touches his cheek, still red from her hand. 

“She what?!” you gasp, totally shocked that Ume would get physical with her brother. You aren’t sure what words to say, it seems like nothing would be able to fix this. The one person who has been with him his entire life, the person he dedicates all of his hard work to doesn’t accept his relationship. It’s a really hard pill to swallow, and he’s still struggling to even think about it. 

The surprise meeting with your mother distracted him momentarily, but all of those raw feelings from his argument with Ume are flowing back now and he feels his eyes begin to well up with tears. 

“Ume is his sister, right?” Your mother whispers to you.

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“I see,” she puts her hand on Gyutaro’s shoulder, feeling lots of sympathy for him, “Gyutaro listen, your sister didn’t mean it and I think you know that. The two people that she’s closest to started dating and she’s probably feeling left out. Like you two will get closer without her and leave her. She’s just scared and said whatever she could to try to hurt your relationship. Just give her time, I promise she’ll come around.”

Your mom smiles softly, offering Gyutaro that motherly care he grew up without.

“Th-thanks,” he sniffles, trying to hold back his tears, “I know you’re right. It just hurt when she said those things, but I know she still loves me… and I still love her too. I just hope she comes home soon…”

“Maybe try calling her tomorrow if she doesn’t come home by then,” you suggest as you rub his back.

Gyutaro nods, feeling better after having talked to the both of you. 

Of course, it hurt like a ton of bricks crushing his balls, but he knows the pain is only temporary. Soon enough his sister will come back and he’s going to make sure she doesn’t feel left out. 

The thing is, even after a couple of days Ume doesn’t return home. Nor does she answer Gyutaro’s phone calls. 

Every day you receive worried texts and calls from Gyutaro asking if you’ve seen his sister. You haven’t heard anything from her, and to be honest you think it’s kinda messed up that she’s ignoring her brother like this. Sure they had a pretty big argument but she knows he cares about her, and she knows he’s losing his shit worrying about her right now. 

Seeing your boyfriend so torn up over it is making you really upset, and you’ve had enough of it. 

Ume has been ditching class for a couple of days, but she finally shows up. Coming into the room completely ignoring you, taking her seat at the opposite side of the lecture hall. Even though you hate confrontation you know you can’t just let her walk away after class ends, so you stop her as she’s leaving the lecture hall. 

“Ume! Hey wait up!” you shout as you follow her out of the room. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” she turns her nose up.

“Please talk to me,” you finally catch up to her, “I just want to talk, Gyutaro told me what happened.”

“Of course he did,” she scoffs, “Because you two are so buddy-buddy now. How about you just move in with him and take my spot in the house? I bet you’d like that, huh?”

“What? No! I’m not trying to take him away from you!”

“What else am I supposed to think?! You were my best friend and then I find out you’ve been hooking up with my brother behind my back! You’re a shady bitch!”

“It’s not like that! I was never “hooking up” with him!” You plea, “We just started dating like any other couple, I don’t see why you have to say it like that.”

“So what is it then? If you weren’t just hooking up with him what were you doing then? Do you want his money or something? Want him to be your sugar daddy?” she makes a disgusted face.

“No! You don’t get it! Just because Gyutaro’s older than me doesn’t mean I’m using him for this or that. I just like him because he’s a good guy,” you say, trying to get your point across without yelling at her, “Why can’t you just accept that I like him for who he is?”

Ume’s frown begins to soften and her eyes dart from side to side as if she’s thinking about something. She’s beginning to realize how selfish it was of her to think that someone couldn’t love her brother for who he is. Gyutaro came to the realization that he was unlovable long ago, and his beliefs rubbed off on his sister. But now she’s starting to see how wrong that is, she should have been his biggest cheerleader regardless of how glum things seemed. 

Sure Gyutaro isn’t the most attractive guy, nor is he the most charming, but she knows her brother more than anyone. And she can think of a thousands reasons why someone would fall in love with him. 

“I’m sorry Y/N,” she says, “You’re right. My brother is super slay, and I shouldn’t have been surprised you liked him. You’re the only girl to get close to him, so I guess it makes sense.”

You smile, finally feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

“It’s alright, I know it came as a surprise to you,” you lean forward and hug her, “But I’m honestly just happy to have my friend back.”

“Me too,” she says with a smile.

After you reconcile with Ume, Gyutaro comes to pick you up from campus as the two of you had planned a date for tonight at his place. But when he pulls up to the curb and sees you with Ume he immediately parks his car and gets out.

“Ume!” he shouts as he runs towards you, “Where the hell have you been?!”

“Calm down brother,” she acts nonchalant about being missing for three days, “I was staying with a friend.”

“You had me worried sick,” his voice cracks as he tears up. Feeling a mixture of anger and relief.

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a tight hug, “I-I’ve been a brat lately. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did when you told me about Y/N… and I should never have hit you either. I’m really sorry, brother…”

“It’s alright, sis,” immediately Gyutaro’s attitude changes and he has a smile on his face, “You are a brat, but I love you anyways,”

For the first time in your relationship, Gyutaro actually feels normal. Knowing that he has the approval of his sister, he no longer feels so much shame about being older than you. He can confidently walk out in public with you now and hold your hand without giving a fuck. Someone stares at you weirdly? Well, fuck them! Gyutaro is with his girl and he couldn’t care less about anyone else’s opinion about it. He’s happy and you’re happy. That’s all that matters to him. 

The three of you go back to Gyutaro’s house and watch a movie together. The plan was for you and Gyutaro to have a stay-at-home date together, but you decided it’d be best to include Ume too so she doesn’t feel left out. It went well despite the fact that Ume decided to sit in between you and Gyutaro. 

After the movie ends Gyutaro asks you a question as he cleans up some popcorn that fell between the couch cushions, “So uh… did you want to stay the night?”

“Not with me!” Ume butts in, “She has your cooties now!”

“Ume! Shut it!” Gyutaro blushes, “Cooties don’t exist, don’t be so childish.”

“I was just kidding, brother,” she rolls her eyes, “Y/N just stay in my brother's room. Just promise you guys won’t be too loud.”

“H-Hey!! It ain’t like that!!” he shouts with a completely red face as Ume is already walking back towards her bedroom. He knows she’s just teasing him but he still feels very shy when it comes to this kind of thing. Especially since the two of you have only spent one night in the same bed, and both of you vividly remember what took place then.

“It’s ok Gyu,” you chuckle, your cheeks already pink from Ume’s earlier statement, “Let’s just get ready for bed, ok?” 

“Ok…” he grumbles as he finishes cleaning up his sister’s mess. 

Following Gyutaro to his room, you can’t help but think about what might happen tonight. Will you have sex with him again? How will it go? Maybe you’ll try a different position or maybe even oral this time. Your heartbeat quickens as you think about all of the possibilities. 

Little do you know, he’s thinking about the exact same thing. He wants to be intimate with you again so badly. And for the first time instead of feeling awkward and insecure, he feels confident about initiating sex with you.

“I’m going to run a bath for us,” he says after he closes the bedroom door behind you and walks into the bathroom that’s connected to his room. 

“O-Ok,” you stutter as your face heats up. Did he say he’s going to run a bath for us? Meaning he wants to take a bath with you?

As you hear the water running in the bathroom you decide to take off your clothes, only leaving your undergarments. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you take a deep breath and try to calm your thoughts. If you do end up having sex with him tonight, you want to be relaxed so you can enjoy the moment. 

But even though Gyutaro seemed cool and collected he’s freaking out on the inside. And that shows when he comes back into the room to see you in nothing but panties and a bra. Immediately the cool guy act crumbles and he’s staring at you like this is the first time he’s seen a naked woman. 

“U-um Y/N?” he stutters. 

“Is the bath ready?” you sit up to meet his flustered gaze. 

“Yeah,” he nods, tenderly taking your hand and leading you to his pristine bathroom. The first thing you notice is how clean and neat it is compared to Ume’s. 

Gyutaro avoids eye contact with you as he begins removing his clothes. First to go is his shirt, revealing his muscled torso and the large tattoo on his arm. He hesitates when taking off his pants, already feeling himself getting hard. 

“Fuck…” he mutters to himself. Not wanting to make this awkward by just flaunting his hard-on. So he faces away from you and quickly steps into the tub, covering himself with his hand just to be safe. 

To be honest, he got in so quickly that you didn’t even really notice. You do feel a bit shy removing your own clothes though, this will be the first time he’s seen you nude in a fully lit room. 

And your boyfriend can tell just how nervous you are so he doesn’t stare. Only reaching out a hand to help you get into the tub when you’re ready. 

The water is warm and soothing, the surface covered by cherry scented bubbles - which he strategically put in there so you wouldn’t be able to see how achingly hard he is. 

Leaning back with a content sigh, Gyutaro opens his arms to you, “C’mere.”

With a blush you come to your boyfriend and lay your head on his chest, snuggling up to him under the warm water. Surely by now you can feel it, so maybe the bubbles were a waste of time. But that’s ok because Gyutaro isn’t even worried about that anymore, he’s too focused on how lucky he is to be having this moment with you right now. 

“This is nice, Gyu,” you hum as you trail your hand up and down his chest, “I like being alone with you like this.”

“Me too,” he whispers while trying not to moan from your touch. “You-you look really beautiful by the way…” His gaze drifts down to see your curves peeking out from beneath the water. 

He can’t deny it anymore, how badly he wants to have sex with you right now. Ever since you did it the first time it’s constantly been on his mind. But not for the reason you may think. He loved it so much because he felt so loved. It was the first time in his life that he felt so intimately close to someone. That kind of love and closeness is something he’s craved for his entire thirty-five years of life. 

And after today, all of the confidence he gained from finally having his sister’s acceptance, he’s feeling less ashamed of himself. His girl loves him, so why shouldn’t he show her how much he wants her? There’s nothing to be afraid of. 

Mustering all of the confidence he has, Gyutaro gently caresses your cheek - moving a strand of hair away from your face and looking into your eyes. Immediately you feel your knees go weak and your thighs rub together with need. 

He pulls you closer and presses his lips against yours, initiating a heated kiss. 

You can’t help but completely melt into him, allowing him to guide you fully on top of him. Now you’re definitely able to feel his erection as it presses between your legs. But it’s no surprise, you could tell he wanted you by the way he looked at you before he kissed you. 

Beneath the water he maneuvers his hands, one cupping your breast and the other squeezing your thigh. Enjoying the slippery softness of your soapy skin under his touch. Moving his kiss down to your neck, he nibbles and sucks on your delicate skin. 

“Ah, Gyu,” you whimper and hold onto his shoulders. 

He can’t help but smirk, pride building up within him that he’s able to make you melt like this. “M’gonna make love to you,” he whispers into your ear as he moves forward, pushing you to lay on your back as he moves your legs to hang over his shoulders. 

Looking up at him, you feel like your body has become jelly. He looks so sexy as he hovers above you, from the way his long damp hair sticks to his forehead and neck to the way the water droplets cling to his abs and biceps. Not to mention the patch of hair that trails up to his belly button. It all makes you feel butterflies and you can’t help but spread your legs for him. 

Tightly gripping your thighs, he leans forward and whispers, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll go slow,” and gently moves his hips forward - gradually sliding into you, splitting you apart on his length. 

You gasp and squirm beneath him, your body sweats as you are not only surrounded by the warm water but also by his hot body on top of you. 

Once fully inside, he slowly thrusts into you just as he had promised. Making sure to pay close attention to your reaction to make sure you're comfortable. 

And you’re more than comfortable. If anything you’re too comfortable. The fact that he isn’t vigorously ramming into you as if he intends to put a baby in you is unbearable. So you grab his hips and forcefully plunge him into you, “Fuck me harder Gyu!” You pant, desperately trying to guide him to a faster pace. 

His eyes widen and his cheeks turn pink, but he doesn’t need to be told twice. With your permission, he grabs your hips and violently thrusts into you - so hard that the water in the tub spills over the edge. But neither of you care, too lost in pleasure to even notice. 

“Ahh, I wish you could put a baby in me, Gyu!” you moan, not fully realizing what you’re saying. But your statement sparks something within him and triggers a kink he didn’t even know he had. 

“Fuck… I wanna put a baby in you so bad,” he grunts, “gonna stuff you full.”

The thought of getting you pregnant makes Gyutaro absolutely feral. A family is something he’s always wanted, so just the mere idea of you carrying his baby drives him to fuck you even harder. Determined to get as deep as possible, ensuring that his seed fills you nice and full. 

With that thought in mind, he picks you up and holds you close to his body while he stands on his knees. Holding onto your hips as he pounds into you, the sound of wet skin slapping fills the room along with water splattering onto the tile floor. 

Meanwhile, you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tightly while he fucks you silly. Saliva dripping down your chin and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, moaning and gasping as your boyfriend continuously forces the air out of your lungs. Your entire body begins to tingle, you know you’re getting close. And he knows it too by the way your walls are tightening around him. 

That’s the only warning he gets before you’re cumming all over him. Your body shaking as his strong arms hold you up. 

However, his orgasm hits him out of nowhere, as soon as he feels your orgasm hit you it pushes him over the edge as well. He didn’t want to cum just yet but you feel so good that he can’t help it. His cock twitches as it fills you to the brim with his sticky seed. The warmth spreading inside of you comforts you as your sensitive body lies in his arms. 

Gyutaro pants as he holds you there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Then he gently lowers himself back into the tub, holding you and softly kissing you as you remain in his arms. 

Now that his orgasm has ended, he knows it was all just talk. That he can’t actually get you pregnant since you’re on birth control. But he can tell that a part of what you said was true and not only because it was in the heat of the moment. And it was true for him too. He really would like to get you pregnant and start a family one day. 

“Don’t worry my love,” he whispers, “One day we will start a family together, I promise.” 

You can’t help but smile and snuggle closer to him - hoping that one day you really will get to start a family with him. 

.˚₊┈୨♡୧┈₊˚.

And it won’t be long until Gyutaro makes you an official Shabana.

Because a year later he proposes to you. 

After you graduated and moved in with him he knew that he had to make you his wife. So it wasn’t long until he couldn’t wait any longer and just asked. The two of you were on a weekend trip to the beach when he proposed. Nothing too fancy, but it was nice and romantic. He hadn’t planned to propose that weekend either, he had been carrying the ring around in his pocket for weeks. But when he saw how beautiful you looked as you walked beside him on the shore, he knew he had to make you his wife as soon as possible. 

You had the wedding four months after the proposal. It was a small ceremony with close family and friends, but it was absolutely perfect. 

Ever since then your life has felt like a dream. 

Gyutaro got a promotion so now he doesn’t have to work overtime as often and there’s no pressure for you to work a full-time job if you don’t want to. Ume moved into an apartment in the city so now it’s just you and Gyutaro living in his house.  He’s even taken up doing some renovations in the kitchen and the spare bedroom too. 

It’s strange how your life changed so quickly after you met Gyutaro. You went from a college student living with your mom to being married and living with your husband in your own house all in the span of a year and a half. 

This isn’t the life you had envisioned yourself having after college, but you wouldn’t change a single thing. It’s perfect, and it’s only going to get better from here. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Gyutaro shouts as he comes into the house, “Sorry I’m late. I wanted to pick us up something from the bakery-” he stops when he looks around and sees you’re nowhere in sight. 

He peeks into the kitchen, “Where the hell is she?” next he checks the garden. “Y/N?” no, not there either. 

Usually, when he gets home from work you’re in the kitchen preparing dinner or sometimes outside in the garden. Sometimes you go out with your friends but you usually tell him first. He’s not mad though, he just assumes you went out and forgot to tell him. 

“Oh well, I’ll text her and see what she wants for dinner tonight,” he says to himself as he takes off his tie. His mind is lost in thought as he thinks about what he wants to make tonight, he’s thinking one of your favorites. 

As he contemplates dinner, he walks into the bedroom to see you sitting on the bed. Immediately he can tell that something is wrong. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” he walks over to you and puts his hand on your shoulder, “What’s that in your hand?” He asks as he notices you’re clutching something in your hands, hiding it from his view. 

“Gyu… I-I have to tell you something…” you mutter. 

“Babe, you’re scaring me… whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise I won’t be mad,” he says in a caring manner, trying to comfort you. 

Your thoughts are spiraling, not sure whether he will be happy or angered by what you say. But you know that it’s something he needs to know. 

However, you can’t even muster the words. So you just hand him the object you had clutched in your palms. 

The room is filled with silence as he closely observes the object, “You… you’re pregnant?”

“Y-yeah, I’m pregnant,” you nod and look up at him, anxious to see his reaction. And it isn’t at all what you had expected. 

There are tears pouring from his eyes as he clutches the positive pregnancy test. All of his walls start crumbling down and he lets it all out, sobbing uncontrollably. 

“Gyutaro?” you gasp, starting to panic. 

Before you can reach out to him he lunges forward and embraces you, tightly wrapping his arms around you. “We-we’re gonna have a baby!” he sobs, “I can’t believe it.”

“Aw honey, so… you’re happy?”

“Of course I’m happy! Th-this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” he says between sobs.

It seems you were worried for nothing. You knew Gyutaro always wanted children but you didn’t know if he wanted them now especially since you haven’t been married for very long. Gyutaro has always been nothing but loving and supportive towards you, so of course he was overjoyed at the news.

Your husband drops to his knees and presses his forehead against your stomach, “This is everything I’ve ever wanted…”

“Aw Gyu…” you smile and kiss the top of his head, “You’re going to be a great father.”

Hearing those words makes his tears flow even more. “I-I had no idea you were pregnant...”

“It was bound to happen,” you chuckle causing him to chuckle too.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right haha,” he stands and gives you another tight hug. 

The news was shocking to him, but he couldn’t be that surprised. Ever since you got married you’ve been having unprotected sex so it’s no surprise that it happened so soon. However, even though he’s married to a beautiful woman there was still a part of him that told him he was too old to have a family. Too old to have a child of his own. And too old to make a woman like you happy. 

But now he’s finally starting to realize that none of it was true. 

And he does deserve this. Marriage, children, and most importantly you. 

“I love you, Y/N… thank you for making all of my dreams come true.”

Taglist: @gyusimp @kyu-kitsune @idontevenknowlsjsbsbdj @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @chibi-absol @sterzin @cherrysxuya @angelicsaiko @misskaorii @matsukaah @dawn-rays-dingo @hoshigafuru @gloomysel @tergyri @404starlight @irondreamerface @zoroisminty @edenminx @multisstuff @that1lxnlybxch @emberlovesthemoon @blurpleuni-squid @boggiesho @nekee-lilac02

[randombush3]

cool about it

alexia putellas x reader

summary: you can't find inspiration for your play

notes: this was rotting in my drafts and then i got drunk and finished it lolz

i refuse to read it back so have fun

The first time Alexia sees you, you are with your friends; sleeves rolled-up, wide smile on your face, a pool cue in your hand as you wield it like a weapon the minute one of the women beside you opens her mouth. She is drawn into observing, craving the knowledge of what you are being told; what is making you blush so furiously. She sees your mouth open, a blackhole that draws her in without mercy, and she barely survives the sound of your loud, raucous laughter

Suddenly, in the universe of football and media events and her little sister’s embarrassingly active love-life, you appear. Like a new star, burning bright, big and hot and… “You’re staring,” says Mapi with a smile. She knows not to tease, and she treads lightly. “You’ve been staring for a while.” 

“They’re speaking English.” It’s an incriminating sentence, but it would have been futile to deny Mapi’s accusation anyway. 

“I saw her at the bar. She spoke Spanish then.” 

“You’ve been stalking her.” 

Mapi nods, and holds Alexia’s drink in a silent push to get her over to the pool table. To you. “Because you’ve been staring. I was only making sure she wasn’t a psycho.” 

“Thanks,” she scoffs, but, in truth, she is grateful. 

As she saunters over (a newly regained skill, months down the line from her traumatic ACL reconstruction surgery), her confidence a believable façade, she decides that she is going to be Alexia Putellas. She is going to be cool about it, and she is going to impress you, and she is going to make you laugh so that she can hear that sound again. 

Again, again, again. 

“Yeah, sure, you can take over for Soph,” you say, nodding towards the woman who had been on the receiving end of your light prodding with the wooden stick all of friends regret allowing three-drink you to be in charge of. “So you’re spots, I’m stripes. I’ve got two left until I can pot the black, and you, er, you might be at a disadvantage here.” You rub the back of your neck as you peer at the balls on the table, almost all of them left behind by Soph’s inability to play pool. “How about we just, um–” 

“Está bien.” Alexia pretends to understand a lot more of what you said than she really does, regretting her choice to approach you in English, but she gets the jist. And, although you make her feel as though life has only just begun, she remembers her competitiveness very, very clearly. “Voy a ganar,” she scoffs. 

She holds in her celebration as you break out into a grin, immediately rising to the challenge, glad your friends have tired of the pool table so that no one can interrupt the battle you are about to commence. A battle with a very pretty woman, you must admit. 

You lose. 

You blame it on Alexia – she tells you her name as she pots three balls in a row – and try not to acknowledge the taunts from your friends at the bar, most of them having watched the entire game from afar to have something to talk about tomorrow. “You win,” comes your pitiful concession after a brutal defeat. “So, what will your prize be?” 

It’s an easy answer. 

That morning, throat hoarse from the cries that left it the night before, eyes red and tired and way too sensitive to light for you to consider drinking a drop of alcohol ever again, you wrap your arms around the warm body in the unfamiliar bed, finding the intimacy to have lived on longer than it should for a one-night-stand. Barcelona is warm and sunny, the day one to be enjoyed, and the company the best you have had in a while. 

It isn’t just that Alexia is a goddess. It isn’t the Amazonian ridges of her stomach and the firmness of her thighs, nor the softness of her hair or the deft movements of her fingers against your scarred skin. No, that is not what has, in just one evening, made you fall in love with her. (You bite your lip as you are overcome with emotion, chest filling up – with which feeling, you do not know –, heart pounding into your bones as the rhythm of your desire to be in Alexia’s life sets into the very framework of your being.) No! How could it be that? How could it be that when there is more? 

The coarseness of her determination; the slippery confidence, delicate and sharp, as though it is both the petal of a rose and the thorn that will prick you. Her humour, mistranslated at times, but always ready to make fun of idiots (most often, a specific idiot with a neck tattoo, as you come to realise). 

Personally, you believe it to be unfair that Alexia, Alexia Putellas, is simply ‘all that’. 

Getting to know each other fails to feel awkward, though you spend a lot of time waiting for the tension to appear. 

She discovers who you are, how you have moved to Barcelona for inspiration, finding that very thing lacking in dreary Leeds (the most depressing place on Earth, you could argue). She learns of your dream, although you label it as your ‘plan’: to write a play and to see it on the stage, preferably a grand theatre in the West End. Or in Stratford, where upon lies the greatest soil from which a playwright can grow. 

You show her your empty pages, devoid of black print marks. White and white, that goes on until it is clear that you have tired of pressing the ‘enter’ button as though it will ignite a story within. A story that hasn’t yet come, mind. 

“Do you think it will work?” she asks you, her accusation carrying nothing but curiosity once you see past the abrupt manner in which she interrupts your lengthy monologue about your severe case of writer’s block. 

Maybe you intend to be a little vague, for the sake of your racing heart and your delicate emotions, because you only shrug. You have already found your inspiration, not that you are going to tell her. 

Alexia is forward in the sense that she checks how temporary your presence is in her city before asking you out on a date. Your answer of ‘however long this shit takes’ is enough for her to be sure that she wants a second. A third, too. 

Then, before you know it, it has been a year. 

A year of Barcelona, a year of Spanish sun, and, excitingly, a year in which you have been cured; fingers blessed with movement and ideas and words on the tip of your tongue that run free in Alexia’s ear as you talk and talk and talk. She listens and listens and listens, and switches into the focus of your pairing when you go with her to watch her team play and play and play (why the fuck does football have so many matches?!). The final stage direction, all curling italics and sentimentality, sits at the bottom of the page. 

The end of your play. 

It is finished, it is done, and, soon after you have revised it one last time, it is sent to your producer friend with a nervous click of the ‘new email’ button and the hope that he is thankful for the times at university when you cared for him when he drank himself so silly that he barely made it to his lectures two days after the night-out. 

“It feels good,” you tell Ingrid, the girlfriend of the idiot with the neck tattoo, beaming as she inquires about your work. “I feel like I lived through it to get to this moment, you know? All that’s left to do is for him to read it and decide whether he’ll pick it up. Then, table reads and funding, of course. I’d want to direct, but, also, I’m not going to sell this one. Leasing it and taking a percentage of the royalties will make me loads more, because, Ingrid, this one is the best thing I’ve ever written.” 

There is a moment, usually, that comes after you have finished writing. A brief, sharp sort of panic, where you question your worth and your talent; you wonder if you have been lied to your whole life, and that your version of the same twenty-six letters of the alphabet, jumbled up on a white canvas as though you are (after a sleepless, usually) Picasso, is terrible. Or, worse, bad. 

Bad. Bad is so… plain. If it is just ‘bad’, you have failed as a writer. If it is not outrageous or unbelievably horrible, or, as one obviously hopes, incredible and amazing… if it is just ‘bad’, well: “Alexia, I’m terrified.” 

Alexia kisses your neck (you do not feel the finality of it, or maybe it is that you do not want to) because she knows it isn’t bad; she is more than aware that your play, your new creation, is really rather good. Brilliant, even. “Tranquila, mi amor,” she murmurs in your ear, bringing her arms to rest on your tense shoulders, a hand closing your laptop on its journey. “Le va a flipar.” 

“You think so?” 

“Sí.”

“Are you saying that because we’re together and you love me?” Your voice is small and unsure, and its teasing lilt is thrown off-kilter by the croak of your anxiety. “Or do you mean it? Please, I hope you mean it.” 

“I mean it.” She hates that she does. “Yes, of course I mean it. I love you and I am proud of you.” She hates it, she hates this, and she hates the talent your mind wields; something that is going to rip you from her grasp. It was bound to happen.

Your phone rings; soft, electronic trills dancing in the space between you and the coffee table it has been placed on. “I think that’s him,” you whisper, the volume you had intended to speak at smited by the nervous lump in your throat. Alexia nods mournfully, but you are too busy accepting the call to see.

“Let’s do this,” he says. 

…

The first frost of London comes that January. It’s unusual, the locals claim, because the city exists in its own polluted microclimate, but their statistics do not stop the layer of ice from freezing onto the windshield of your car. You are glad London feels just as cold as you do. 

Your play is beloved by the actors who speak your words, and the critics amongst your friend group, who for once, have no criticism to give. There is promise here. It is going very well. 

You drive to the theatre, ready to sit in on another rehearsal. Though your original intention had been to direct, you pawed off the role to an old school friend upon her return from Broadway. Your decision, you tell her, comes from a lack of experience in direction. You pretend to have had an epiphany: you only want to write the plays. 

In truth, this is a lie. 

Of course it is a lie. 

But how can you direct such happiness, such love and romance, if you know that the very thing that inspired each line has ceased to exist? 

Alexia feels like she has ceased to exist. 

On the outside, she seems relatively fine. She trains well, plays well, makes appearances where she should, says what you’d expect of her, hopes to make the world a better place. She walks Nala as though the Pomeranian does not whine for you to hold her leash, and she visits her mother and sister even though they continue to ask her why she did what she did. 

At night, she scrolls through social media, fingers always leading her back to you; your life; your work; your experiences that you no longer share with her. She cries, then, usually: a common occurrence nowadays. 

There is a gaping hole in her chest that has been made by her sticking her fucking foot in it. 

She has questions, naturally; each directed hatefully at herself. Why? Why, why why? Why on Earth did she tell you never to come back? Why did she blame you for leaving? 

You were always going to leave! Alexia knows that, hates that she knows that. 

You came to Barcelona because you couldn’t write, and you wrote. You wrote, you made her fall in love with you, and, when you had finished, you discarded the life you had unexpectedly built all because of some stupid, stupid play. 

A play titled–

A play. 

A… Alexia can’t even bring herself to think about it. 

No, all Alexia can think about is how insignificant she feels when you are no longer in love with her. You: sophisticated, intelligent, brilliant, adoring. Her? 

“Lex, you can’t mope if you’re the one who broke it off.” The words leave Alba’s mouth in jest but Alexia recoils as though she has been whipped by her sister’s tongue. 

“I’m trying to be cool about it,” she replies like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

It seems as though the globe has spun a full circle on its axis by the time Alba formulates her response, dumb-struck by such fucking idiocy. 

Alba hopes her sister feels like a fool – she hopes Alexia looks at herself in the mirror and… laughs, at this point. The whole thing has been ridiculous, in her opinion. 

First, her sister claims she is in love with a playwright with no plays to her name (Alba is examining the facts objectively, here, because she did quite like you); then, poof! Like a rabbit in a magician’s hat played in twisted reverse, away you go, and it somehow isn’t even your fault. 

She’d like to hate you, for her sister’s sake, but she finds herself loathing her own blood as it thins and thins until it trickles just like water. 

Okay, maybe she is being a little dramatic there, but she is still annoyed with Alexia. 

Alexia – whose existence as more-than-a-footballer is fading as she loses herself to waves of futile guilt – hates that she cannot hate you. She is plagued by emotional constipation, and though she tries to squeeze the situation for a drop of cruelty from you, she fails to discover a gram of relief.

It would have been kinder for you to have been cruel. Mercy is getting Alexia nowhere, and she would run to you if it were fast enough. Mercy is what renders her in a perpetual state of regret. Mercy is what keeps her up at night, but maybe mercy is what she likes having because it is yours and, in that way, she carries a piece of you with her. 

To confuse herself even more, to skew her mind further onto a path of unconventional self-destruction, she silently begs the mercy you have left behind to disappear so that she can learn to do without it. It’ll become a crutch and she wants it ripped from her grasp so that she can learn to walk on her own. She’s capable of that, she tells herself. 

(It probably isn’t true.)

…

Opening night. 

You’re wearing something far too nice to be comfortable, and there has been a champagne flute in your hand since the lunch held by the investors of the production company. The bubbles have served their purpose, clouding your mind with thoughts that weren’t to do with Alexia and her Alexia life and her Alexia smile and her Alexia way of making an Alexia-shaped cavity in your heart. 

It gushes quite a bit, because Alexia is strong and big and capable of damaging you to this extent. You reckon your surprise is foolish but fuck off, you’re trying your best. 

Comfortingly, not one scrap of red velvet is visible once the audience is ushered inside the theatre. 

It’s beautiful here; small, old. The perfect place to fall in love, just as you did. Or at least, experience the good part through deliciously talented actors and a stellar script (your horn has been tooted enough times for you to give it a go). 

Fear creeps up your legs as you take your seat in the front row, guarded by friends and family and proud English teachers who’d believe in you, but you take another sip and it simmers down. 

“Careful,” whispers your mum, shoulder nudging yours as you place your plastic cup (no glass in the auditorium) on the patterned carpet just as the show is about to begin. “You’ll not remember this if you don’t take a break.” 

And you’re halfway to announcing you don’t want to remember anything at all when the curtain goes up and a woman walks onto stage. 

It’s sobering. 

The audience is restlessly quiet, anticipating the brilliance they’ve been promised with an impatience that demands to be sated, but the actress takes her sweet time. 

She walks from stage left to stage right, then up and down. She’s passively searching for something. 

Someone. 

(It’s the fucking point, and you knew this would happen because you typed out these exact stage directions once upon a time. Alexia had misplaced a sock – a lucky sock, she claimed – and her passion, her desire to discover it, had weirdly morphed into a scene you could see being played out on a stage.) 

“Figure this out later,” speaks the actress with a satisfied smile, folding her arms over her chest. Finally, the audience’s breaths catch, enraptured by the vaguest cop-out of opening lines you could’ve chosen. 

They love it, though; they lean forwards in their seats as they are plucked from London and dropped into the middle of Barcelona. It’s mildly unnerving that you can’t escape the journey, clearly a member of the audience even if you don’t need to be told the story, but you land without the masses in the rows behind you. 

You land right into Alexia’s arms. 

There she is before you, in all her glory, proudly displaying the blue and red that she is so admirably dedicated to. Muscular and tanned, beautiful in the way that she always is, but shining brighter than just that. 

And you fucking hate it. 

When you imagine Alexia, you imagine her crippled and bed-ridden. Cracked knuckles come to mind, too, and she can barely speak without descending into rattling sobs that hack on and on until she somehow falls into fitful rest. 

You come prepared for absolution, expecting to see her dying just as you are, so it’s no wonder that your fists clench at her blasé declaration of “no regrets”. 

(By the way, Alexia’s not really there. You’d been stalking her Instagram and so that’s why she’s wearing her training kit, and… and you’re drunk!)

There are many things you’d like to say to her. 

Alexia had always been apprehensive of your relationship. She was closed-off to new people, and though she was certain of your importance to her, she was untrusting of much else. It happens when you’re famous; there are many wrong turns to take. And she needed to stay on the right path. 

It was impossible to pass Alexia’s test. 

For you, that is clear. Broken up with, told to leave and never come back, and begged to find someone else are not descriptors of the winner, nor she who achieved full marks. You’re a bit of a stranger to failing, but you’re trying to forget about it so that it never happens again. 

You’re breaking a sweat trying to banish her from your brain, barely registering the applause rippling through the theatre as you reach the interval. Trying to get her out of your head is like tugging at your intestines – a hand down your throat renders you dumb, and pains sears through your stomach as you are emptied and left to be a carcass.

“Is it good?” you ask your mum as you head to the bar in the foyer. 

“I wish you had let me meet her.” 

…

Alexia has never been to London outside of football before. She’s played in the north and in the south – she’s won every time – and it’s summery enough right now, but she is still a foreigner in the city. 

It’s fitting, this feeling of being lost, and it’s acceptable to feel it here because she has an excuse. Lost in Barcelona would be ridiculous. 

(But she is.) 

Why is Alexia in London when she could be in Spain? 

Well the only answer is that she has a ticket to a play in a theatre just off the West End that reminds her of someone she once loved. 

She thought it might help, seeing as she hasn’t scored a goal in four weeks with no assists to excuse the drought. Her manager gladly gave her the weekend to recharge, and she escapes matchday seven of Liga F under the guise of illness. 

While sleeping with your pillow, your t-shirt, she must have absorbed whatever the fuck you were on. By osmosis. 

That block. 

And now she has to act like she can’t read your mind. 

Her ticket, acquired last minute by a friend in high places as a massive favour, means that she has a front row seat to a damned play. She is well-prepared for the dread that wrenches her gut. 

The silence settling over her is uncomfortable and impatient, and the lights go down with a sense of impending doom. It’s a bit like being on death row, Alexia thinks. Here she gets to see the good things – a last meal of whatever she would like (you, of course that’s you) – but it is only because of her inevitable execution that this happens. 

The necklace hanging from her collarbones is a noose, the seat is a wooden box about to be kicked out from underneath her, and she needs to make her decision now: does she scream? Should she– 

She’s pulled out of her insanely dramatic spiral by a woman walking onto the stage. 

Her shoulders are hunched slightly and she has that look in her eye; that pang of hunger. 

The actress is recognisable, sure, but that is not the familiarity that strikes Alexia. 

It’s the character. 

It’s you. 

Walking from right to left, towards the back, down to the front, the actress is desperately searching for something. 

Inspiration, Alexia assumes, a smug smile briefly brushing her lips as the opening line breaks the tense silence. 

“Figure this out later,” you say. 

The actress is experienced but she has never read a script like yours before. It moved her to tears, though you claimed it was very happy. 

She lies awake at night, furiously envying those who could love like you do. 

She pities you, partly, because it’s no secret that the story of this love ended when you came here to put the show on. 

She has had to fall in love with someone – method acting, according to the director. 

It’s not quite the universe exploding and stars being born that your relationship must have been, but it’s alright and she is glad to see him in the audience. 

He’s next to a woman who does not seem to be enamoured by the beauty of the plot. 

A woman who seems absolutely fucking horrified. 

Her eyes are wide, fists clenched.

You – the real you – are watching Alexia with curiosity, more interested in her reaction to the play than the play itself. You wonder if she knows the significance of tonight; the reason you are here once more. 

In one month, the set and costumes will be packed up in boxes and taken onto the main street. 

It’s a dream come true. 

You’re here to announce the good news at the end of the show. 

…

“Alexia.” 

She tries not to turn around but she does. 

The night is cool and fresher than she’d expected the London pollution to allow, and the lamp posts are scarily looming over her as she forces herself to not run into your arms. You don’t wear a coat, although your year in Barcelona has borne a certain nostalgia for a warmer climate, but Alexia is wrapped up warm. 

“How… how are you doing?” 

You cringe at how apologetic it sounds. She broke up with you. 

There is a year that will be forever lost to love and happiness, bliss in Barcelona that was always going to be too good to be true. 

There is a year that you will never get back, but there is a breakup you must deal with. 

It’s not a brick wall, it’s a hurdle to jump over. 

Breaking up won’t be the end of your worlds. 

Knowing this, despite the weakness in her knees and the aching of her heart, Alexia lies. For your sake, she lies. 

“I’m good. It’s nice to see you.” 

You’re drowning but you’ll eventually remember how to swim. 

“You too,” you say with formulated sincerity that one day will grow naturally. “Score a goal next time you play, though.” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: it's a new week

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your phone buzzes against your leg, ripping you back to reality. Your eyes widen and drift away from the stream of font. You sit up and mark the page with your finger as you reach for the jittering cell. 

You scramble to grab onto it and hesitate to hit the big green button. The screen doesn't look like usual, not that you get many calls. You tap the button and the image changes at once, Bucky startling you as he appears. 

"Hey, doll," he grins and winks at you, moving the camera to lean against something. "How's it going?" 

"Uhhhh," you drone, surprised. He can see you too. You know by the little reflection of yourself in the corner. "Hi. Fine." You put the book down with no mind to losing the page, "um, you?" 

"You busy, doll?" 

"Reading but... no." 

"Mm," he hums, "glad to see you enjoying your treats but... no pajamas?" 

He steps back and you get a view of him from waist up, the edge of a counter in the lower edge. You pout then give a sheepish smile, "sorry, I haven't... had a chance." 

"That's okay, doll, I just wanted a peek before I went to work," he undoes his shirt button by button and pulls it off, revealing his muscular torso. You gulp at the lines of his muscle along his stomach, "why don't you put them on now and give me a look." 

"Oh, uh..." you glance at the wall. It's late. You're pretty sure Roxie already left for work and your mom will probably be settling down. "Right, uh..." 

"Just want something to think of when I walk the floor," he purrs. 

"Sure, er," you nearly choke, "I'll just-- one sec." 

"I can wait, doll. I've been waiting, haven't I?" He purrs. 

You feel a pang of guilt. You place the phone down so the lens faces the ceiling and climb off the bed. He's given you a lot, too much honestly, and now you feel like you owe him. It isn't fair to take his kindness without anything in return. And he isn't asking much, is he? 

You dig in the bag, the crinkle loud as the only other noise is the subtle movement from his end. You fish out the soft pajamas and peer over, making certain the phone is still flat. You change far away from it, paranoid. 

You look down at yourself in the tank and shorts. Oh gosh. It's a lot less than you usually wear. Your legs are showing, your shoulders, and a bit of your tummy. 

"Doll?" He says and you flinch. 

"I don't know... I don't think it fits." 

"I'm sure it fits just nice," he insists, "show me." 

"Oh, uh..." 

"I'm just looking, doll, I'll only think of what I really wanna do," he snickers. 

You cross back to the bed and pick up the phone, careful to stay out of view. You turn back and prop it up on the dresser, overly aware of the unflattering angle as you do. You give a wide-eyed look and back up so you're all in frame.  

You hug yourself shyly and sway. 

"Let me see ya," he orders. 

You put your arms straight and notice how he leans in to look at the screen, smoothing his hair back. He keeps his hands over his dark strands and growls. A flutter starts in your stomach. 

"What do you mean too small? That fits your perfect," he says. 

"I... really?" 

"Sure, doll," he turns and you realise he's getting ready.  

He combs his hair stands straight. He grabs a new shirt and buttons it as he peeks again. You near the camera and move it so he can only see your face.  

"Damn, doll, I'm gonna be all over the place," he says, "you're so sweet and sexy." 

"Bucky," you squeak.  

"I don't lie. That's the one thing you should know about me. I will always let you know exactly what I want." 

You blush hotly and a tap on the door nearly makes you drop the phone. You hide it behind you and shuffle closer. You clear your throat. 

"Uh, yeah?" You call through. 

"Hey, honey, everything okay in there?" She asks. Shoot, she must have heard you. 

"I'm watching something," your heart hammers, "sorry, I'll turn it down."

"It's alright, honey. Just thought I heard you..."

"No, just a show," you wisp out.

You quickly back away and go as far from the door as you can. You look down at the phone as Bucky tucks in his shirt. Ugh, that was embarrassing. He heard all that; surely he must realise how lame you are. 

"Mom sounds real sweet," he says, "must be where you get it." 

"She's working tomorrow. Don't wanna keep her up," you explain quietly. 

"That's too bad, doll. I'll just have to keep waiting... wanting," he shrugs and pulls on a dark jacket, "what do ya think? Look good?" 

He poses for the camera. He looks great, as always. You feel smaller than ever. 

"Yes," you answer softly. 

"Yes? That's it?" He sounds disappointed. 

"Very handsome," you eke out. 

"Handsome?" He squints as he picks up the phone. 

"Er," you search your repertoire and borrow from his, "sexy?" 

"Are you asking or telling me?" He chuckles. 

You giggle. You don't think you've ever told anyone they are sexy. You've never been that bold. 

"Yes." 

"Yes?" He laughs. 

"You're, er, oh, sexy," you touch your hot cheek and look away. 

"You are adorable, doll," he growls, "that's exactly what I need to hear." He grazes his fingertips over his beard, "unfortunately I gotta get on it so... tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow," you confirm. 

"Don't worry about a thing, doll, just bring your gorgeous self." 

🃏

The next day is restless. It's worse having hours to wait around for... what? You don't know. 

You spend your time reading, or trying to. Breakfast is small, what your roiling stomach can handle, and you put on an outfit that you think is acceptable, not that you have much to choose from. It might be strange if your mom or Roxie notice the lack of uniform. You could say you change at work? 

Ugh, lie after lie. It's all so much.  

You don't get very far in the book and your phone buzzes, a reminder from Bucky that your fate is coming. You grab your purse and sit out on the stoop, the sunlight beaming down. It would be a nice say if you were so damn uptight. 

Merv pulls up in the sleek luxury car and you get up, checking over your shoulder to see if there's any curious tug on the curtain. Your mom's already at work but Roxie is puttering around somewhere. She could be sleeping or not. 

Merv gets out to greet you. He opens the door and you thank him. He sits in the driver's seat and Springsteen drones from the radio. You smile as he shifts into gear. 

"I know this one," you say. 

"Of course, a classic," he praises. "And how are you today, miss?" 

"Good, you, sir?" 

He laughs as he steers, "very good, miss. And how could I not be." He peeks at you in the rear view, "with sunshine in my backseat." 

You smile bashfully and cross your legs. You can't help the shake in your foot. You're more and more nervous with each second and turn of the wheel. 

As if noticing your unease, he turns up the music, "I like this one too." 

You sigh and ease into the drumbeat. The tempo keeps your heartbeat in check. You're thankful for his subtle comfort. 

You turn to watch through the tinted windows. You never noticed how scenic this city is. You never went many places to have the chance. 

He keeps the volume up and you let it carry you through the long journey across the city. He pulls up to the casino and steers around to the hotel entrance. You peer through then back at him in confusion. He turns the knob down. 

"Mr. Barnes says to give your name at the desk," Merv instructs, "have a good day." 

"Thanks, you too," you unbuckle the seat belt and sidle across to the door. 

You get out with reticence. Staring up at the grand facade, you're more unsure than you've ever been. You've come this far, you have to keep going. You really have no choice as Merv slowly rolls away.  

You step forward. It doesn't get easier the further you get. Your pulse hammers behind your ear as you enter the lobby and a flash of deja vu overcomes you. That night with Roxie, the morning after, and everything since. How does it all feel as if it happened so fast and yet so long ago? 

You go to the desk, feeling entirely out of place. What if Merv is wrong and you shouldn't be there? What if they just look at you and laugh? No choice, keep going. 

You stop on the other side of the desk and give a stiff smile. 

"Hello, welcome, checking in?" The modelesque concierge asks. She's stunning and you're all the more self-aware. 

"Uh, I think? My name is..." 

She keeps her pristine smile in place and her eyes lights up. She doesn't even bother typing into her computer. She flits away and returns with one of little folders with the room keys inside. Oh, this is really happening. 

You thank her and slowly back away. You make a slow advance towards the elevator and wait beside a couple with their suitcases. You step on with them, avoiding a glimpse through the transparent walls.  

You unfold the folio and read the number, pushing the floor number, then stand back on your heels. You keep your eyes on the door, the motion alone making you dizzy. 

The couple gets off before you. When it's your floor, you thankfully scramble off and take a deep breath. You once more check the number and follow the hallways to your assigned suite. 

You swipe the card several times, you still don't have the hang of it. The door opens and you enter meekly. You focus on every move. Shut the door, slip the card back in the folder, put it down on the corner table. 

You look up at last and let yourself marvel at the suite as you delve further in. The smell of pollen greets you with a large bouquet of roses. The suite is huge, even bigger than last time. Two rooms just the same and a full kitchenette and spacious bathroom. You don't go onto the balcony, not wanting to test your stomach. 

You go back inside and glance over the table draped in a red tablecloth beneath the crystal vase of flowers. There's also a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries and various colours of macarons. You've never had the delicate cookies before but you'd watch countless recipe videos, wishing on day to try them yourself. 

There's an envelope too. You take it and run your nail along the sealed flap. You open it carefully and slip out the card within. 

'Enjoy yourself, doll. I'll join you shortly. B.' 

As if on cue, there's a knock on the door. Oh gosh, you're not ready. What does he mean? Join you? You hoped for a little long before... before... 

You stand frozen but when the door doesn't open itself, you go to answer it. You slowly twist the long handle and open it just a crack. You peer around the edge and blink in confusion. 

"Hello, dahling," the woman's affectation drags out her syllables, "well look at you, how precious." 

She presses on the door and you let her force her way in. You're dumbfounded. Who the heck is she? Another long-legged beauty you can't compare too. 

"Lovely hair," she remarks as she closes the door without a care, "oh, and your skin, yes, perfect canvas..." 

"Sorry, er, I think you have the wrong room--" 

"Mr. Barnes sent me, dahling," she trills in her way, "and I see you are very much in need of my visit so let's begin. Mm, yes, I have a vision," she struts forward, a rose gold chest in her hand, "not very much, you have a natural lustre I adore." 

You retreat as she advances on you. She lifts her chest onto the chaise and flips back the lid, revealing an assortment of precisely organized palettes and tubes. You're horrified and humiliated as you realise why she's there. Maybe you aren't as pretty as Bucky keeps telling you. 

[raayllum]

a/n: set after 6x06 and heavily references 6x03 bc they were blessings

Sometime after they stop kissing — alright, they don't really stop, but languid silences, soft giggling, and sweet nothings fill some of the space in between kisses as they curl up together on his bed in the Starscraper — Callum asks, "So, what were you crying about on the Ray of Illumination?"

The sun is rising above the sea of clouds outside their bedroom window, and for a moment he regrets bringing up anything potentially sad, both of them happier than they've been in years, honestly. They have everything they need for her parents, his connection to Aaravos has been severed, the light and truth of her love filling the cracks in his heart, instead, and finally, finally she knows that his heart has always belonged to her. That it always will.

But he's always been curious, and he's always wanted to sooth whatever's troubling her, fix whatever is breaking her heart, and she'd had a good deal to cry over just a couple weeks ago — maybe even something from the last two years apart — and... he wants to know. He wants to help.

And, slowly, he thinks she's getting to a place where she wants him to be able to, where she'll let him.

"Oh, um..." Rayla averts her eyes, fingers tangled with his, but her smile doesn't dim. She sticks her tongue in her cheek. "It's a bit silly, really."

"Still." He uses his free hand to brush his thumb over the curve of her cheek, the blue bend of her marking, where he knows the tears would've fallen.

"Just an old diary written by the captain. Esme something. Stella pushed it open." Rayla scoots a bit closer and Callum lets go of her hand to wrap his arm around her, more than happy to give into her desire to be held; he never feels more at peace than when he's holding her, now more than ever.

The bump of the tip of his nose against hers as a gentle prod. "And?"

Rayla turns her face down, his lips brushing her brow, but he can still tell she's worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. He wants to angle his face down and kiss that worry away, draw her lips to his, but refrains. They have plenty of time, after all. To kiss, and rest, and prepare for their journey. It's close to dawn now, and Callum knows they won't leave till the day after tomorrow at least — they need supplies for the journey to the Nexus, recover from their trials, and to say goodbye to their new friends here.

Finally, Rayla explains, "She was writing during the last days of her life, on that ship I guess. About a man she left behind. Her one true love, Conrad."

"Oh." Callum pulls her further into a hug on instinct, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Just... resonated with me," she nearly sniffles, laughing weakly, but her smile is real and reaches her eyes when he glances down to check. "I'm sure you can imagine why."

"Lots of stuff about what she would've said if she saw him again?"

"Mmhm."

"Think I can relate to that too," he hums, giving her forehead another kiss. "I love you, Rayla," he repeats for what might be the millionth time that day, but he already knows he can never say it enough. He's always known that. "I'm so glad you came back."

She wraps her arms tighter around his torso, cuddling in closer, tension ebbing out of her and face half pressed to his scarf. "I'm so happy you're here, Callum," she sighs warmly.

"Always." He strokes her hair, wondering if she'll fall asleep like this—it always got her a little drowsy in the past—or if she'll let him weave her braid for her one of these days, musing, and then... "The Captain's name wasn't Esmerelda Skall, was it?"

Rayla lifts her head, brow furrowed adorably. "Er, yeah, it was. Why? How do you know that?"

"She was a famous explorer in the Human Kingdoms. Charted out a lot of our maps up north. My Dad—King Harrow—took me on a diplomatic mission once to Del Bar, where she's from, when I was eleven or twelve." There's a warm, content feeling blooming in his chest that he'll get to give her closure on this, too, somehow. "Conrad founded a town near the capitol and served as mayor. He named it after her. He loved her all his life—put a grave marker for her next to his when he died and everything."

Rayla's "Oh" comes out choked and small, but her smile is wide as she blinks back tears. "That's—that's beautiful. I guess he really—"

"—loved her?" Callum finishes, curling two fingers under her chin to lift her face for a moment. Then he brushes away the real tears trickling over, drawing her further into his snug embrace. Her breath is beautifully warm as it fans over his lips before he kisses her, soft and firm. "Yes. I really do."

[suzukiblu]

Tim?

Tim did not actually mean to kidnap an alternate reality's version of Kon.

In his defense, he'd had very limited time in that reality and everything in it had been going to shit and . . . well, everything in it had been going to shit.

Also, Lex Luthor had been a lot more heavily involved in that particular reality's Cadmus, and fuck it if Tim was ever going to leave any version of Kon with that bastard.

With any bastard who could ever look at Kon and call him "it".

"Ow," Tim grunts into the dirty pavement of what he hopes is his own Gotham as blood drips out of his mouth, and feels Kon's fingertips brush very, very tentatively against his back. He's a little too dizzy to lift his head, but he figures it doesn't matter. Like it's just . . . it's fine. They're not in Cadmus and Kon is safe and Tim is . . . conscious, at least, which means he can work with the situation.

Whatever the situation actually is, anyway.

Kon's hands flatten against his back, which is a very familiar tell, and Tim immediately feels the even more familiar embrace of TTK wrapping him up.

Less familiar is the impulse to find said embrace adorable, but in Tim's defense, this Kon is physiologically about ten years old and so far every single thing he's done has been either adorable or heartbreaking or some terrible combination of the two.

"Robin?" Kon asks anxiously. "You're okay, right?"

"M'okay," Tim mumbles blurrily, because it's more or less true. More blood drips out of his mouth and splatters on the pavement. "All okay. S'fine. You hurt?"

"No," Kon says, still sounding nervous. "Dunno where we are, though."

"Should be Gotham," Tim says, forcing himself to lift his head enough to check and nearly laughing as he recognizes their surroundings as the exact part of Crime Alley that he got interdimensionally yanked out of seventy-six hours ago. "Yeah. Gotham."

He pushes himself up enough to look over at Kon. Kon looks very small crouched down next to him with buzzed-down hair, barefoot in pristine white lab scrubs with a shiny metal cuff stamped with an identification number locked around his wrist. "13" features prominently on it.

Tim wants to melt it into slag.

"Is it your Gotham?" Kon asks.

"No clue, but I'm hoping," Tim says. He thinks about getting to his feet but he's pretty sure he'd throw up if he tried. Or fall over. Or both?

Probably both, at this point.

Oh well, he figures, and pushes himself up. He doesn't vomit, surprisingly, although he is very definitely sure that Kon's TTK is the only thing keeping him from falling over.

No reason to look that particular gift horse in the mouth, Tim decides.

"I need coffee," he says as he gives Kon's shoulder an appreciative pat, because the caffeine withdrawal is real. Also he needs medical attention, probably, but also-also he needs to come up with either a cover story for the ER or an explanation for Bruce and therefore caffeine can't hurt.

"Uh, okay," Kon says skeptically. "I don't think Starbucks or anything is gonna be open right now, though, it's pretty late."

"God, what did Cadmus teach you, kid," Tim says despairingly, making a face at the thought. "Starbucks is a punishment from God. We're going to the nearest twenty-four diner and I'm ordering roofing tar. And we're getting you a hot chocolate. Do you want a hot chocolate?"

". . . yeah," Kon says, biting his lip. "Um. I mean, I dunno if I'd like it, though."

"If you don't like it, we'll get you something else," Tim says. "But I haven't slept or eaten properly since I left my reality and I need coffee before it becomes a legitimate medical emergency."

"Shouldn't you get, like, real food, then?" Kon asks skeptically. "Not just coffee?"

"Coffee is food," Tim lies reflexively.

". . . I don't think it is," Kon says, squinting up at him suspiciously. "Are you taking advantage of me being too stupid to know if coffee's food or not?"

". . . we can get something to go," Tim says, wishing he'd blown up a bit more of Cadmus on his way out of that fucking cesspool of a reality. "You're not stupid. Luthor can choke on a fucking cactus for all the shit he kept saying to you."

"I mean, I didn't come out right," Kon says uncomfortably. "I'm not as smart as Dadd–as Lex is. Or as Superman was."

Tim pretends that Kon wasn't about to say "Daddy" for both their sakes. Just . . . yeah. At least for the moment, anyway.

Luthor was a lot more heavily involved in that Cadmus.

And horrifyingly.

Tim tries not to think about the way that Luthor had kept touching Kon. All the little too-deliberate points of contact he'd made time and again and too often.

Much too often.

Tim hadn't seen anyone else even so much as enter Kon's personal space the entire time he'd been in that godforsaken lab, and every single time that Luthor had made a gesture like he might touch him, Kon had tensed in something that couldn't decide between being fear or anticipation.

It'd made Tim want to burn the whole fucking lab and every single LexCorp-owned building he could find to the ground.

He'd settled for interdimensionally kidnapping Kon and destroying all of Cadmus's systems and DNA samples as thoroughly as possible. C-4 had been involved.

A lot of C-4 had been involved.

Possibly that had been a slight overreaction, but fuck if Tim cares. Just–Clark had still been dead, and Cassie hadn't had powers and Bart hadn't been in the time period and Tim himself hadn't even existed, for whatever reason, and apparently neither had Cissie or Greta or Anita or Slobo, and Bruce had already had his hands full with Damian and Dick had been off-planet and Jason had also still been dead and just–

Options had been limited, alright?

Options had been limited, and by that point Tim hadn't had time to go check and see what the Kents were up to or track down Lois Lane or Jimmy Olsen or even just tip off the Justice League or the Titans, because by that point he'd been in an examination room with a Lex Luthor who was stroking a frightened Kon's face with one hand while holding a syringe that was glowing kryptonite-green with the other and Tim had just . . . he'd just made some choices at that point, okay?

He'd made some very decisive choices.

And some very decisive commitments.

Or at least one very decisive commitment, anyway.

[mandomaterial]

Miguel when you get turned into a child

This popped into my head and i couldn’t resist writing it! || Masterlist

So first of all it was all an anomaly’s fault, some crazy scientist that shot you with some kind of ray and it turned you into a child almost instantly, the thing was that your memories also reverted to childhood. So there you were, Miguels cute ass girlfriend turned into an even cuter kid. At first Miguel was unsure how to act, but he decided to finish off his enemy and then come pick you up. So he just shot you a calming look saying, “Stay here okay? I’ll be right back.” And back he was. He picked you up and sat you on his hip, opening a portal with his other hand. It looked like you were a bit shy as a kid so he tried getting you to open up to him by asking easy questions. The first one being obvious “Hey,.. do you remember me?” You shook your little head and averted your eyes, a bit scared of what just happened. “Um okay, well then I’ll tell you,” he tried to describe your relationship as something other than romantic “I care for you very much and you like me a lot as well, I’ll take care of you until everything is back to normal, okay?” He knew that kids liked being involved in decisions so that’s just what he did, he asked your opinion and you nodded, feeling a little more confident and looking at him. “So what’s your favourite color?” Miguel asked a bunch of simple questions wich you answered with glee every time!

After explaining what happened to his team he proceeded to take you home, to his large penthouse, but not before stoping at a toy store, that you had seen on the way. So now he was standing next to your small form, looking at the different stuffed animals. Up until now, he had carried you up and down the isles, showing you everything that there was to see, he told you that you could pick one thing for being so brave today and he quickly found out that stuffier were your favourite. Miguel suddenly felt a tug on his pants, pulling his attention to you “I- i think I wan that oneee” you pointed up, your little tongue had a little trouble pronouncing some words and Miguel thought that he was gonna die from your cuteness, he smiled and picked you up again, lifting you to the top shelf “Wich one?” You leaned forward almost falling out of his arms, wrapping your little fingers around a brown bunny with a little bow round it’s neck. “Woah, there sweetie, don’t fall off okay?” You nodded softly hugging your bunny “m’kay”. He paid for the toy and sat you back in the car, making sure you buckle your seatbelt.

It was already pretty late so he wasn’t surprised when he found you dozing in the back seat cuddled up to your bunny. The two of you weren’t home yet, Miguel had to make another stop at a child’s clothing store for you. He carefully picked you up from the leather seat, sitting you in his right arm, leaning your head against his shoulder, making sure that you were still sleeping, your tiny snores tickling his ear. He went over to the preschool section and picked out anything that caught his eye, for all he didn’t know how long you were going to stay this size. Wich a bunch of colourful shirts and pants in his basket he walked over to the checkout. The woman there cooed at you “Aww isn’t she just a darling, tired out from a day of fun with dad huh?” Miguel just smiled, agreeing with her and paying for the clothes.

Now with nothing left to do he drove the two of you to his place, parked in the driveway, walked over to the elevator and rode it up to the top floor. You’re ere a comfortable weight in his arms, sleeping on his chest. He brought his hand up to your back and patted you a little, his large hand almost as wide as the small of your back, he cuddled you a bit and to be honest he did it more for himself than you, you were just too a adorable!

Once in his apartment he quickly laid you down on his large soft bed, giving you the softest pillow so that your neck wouldn’t hurt in the morning, he covered you with the blanket and watched you snuggle and nuzzle your rabbit. A little later, after finishing a bit more work he got ready for bed as well. He crashed into bed, rolling over onto his side, when he suddenly felt something small wiggle against his side, he looked down and saw you, fast asleep and comfortable against his warm muscle. Miguel laid one of his arms around your small body and cuddled closer, falling asleep with.

Early next morning he was awaken by something crawling over him and sitting on his chest, suddenly he was shaken away with tiny hands, that barely even moved him. Miguel sat up pulling you with him, “Good morning Cariño” he stroked his fingers through your messy hair carefully untangling it “are you hungry?” “Uh-Uh! Yeah! I wan bweakfast!” You yelled with your cute high pitch voice.

Miguel got up and out of bed, carrying you over to the kitchen, sitting you down on top of the island. He then turned around grabbed a couple fruits and started juggling them, giving you a little show. You on the other hand squealed and giggled in utter joy. Miguel carefully threw an apple at you, wich you caught with two little hands. After that little fun, he started cutting the fruit into little animals, the apple into bunnies, the orange into a snail and the pear into little butterflies. You soft hands clapped in amusement and your smile only grew as you squealed. He put the fruit on a plate and gave you a small cup of fruit yogurt as well. As you ate he started brushing your hair and once it was untangled he parted it in two and started braiding. In the end your hair was beautifully styled with little bows at the ends of your braids.

Miguel decided that he would take a day off work to spend it with you, how could he resist you after all? He took you to the park to play and feed ducks, when it was time for lunch he took out the lunchboxes from his car and sat at a park table with you, helping you cut into your fried chicken with rice, while you were eating he felt your small hand wrap around two of his fingers, showing him that you cared about him. This was still something you did when you were normal and now he’d seen first hand that its a childhood habit, wich just makes it even more adorable.

[emma23]

The awkward art of flirting:

Steven grant x reader

————————————————————————

Steven Grant’s heart pounded in his chest, louder than the Egyptian drums that had played in his dreams last night. He stood outside the dimly lit warehouse, a nondescript building hidden in the maze of London’s abandoned industrial district. This was the hideout of one of the city’s most notorious criminals—you.

His mission? Gain entry, gather intel, and get out without getting caught. Easy, right? Wrong.

Steven wasn’t the sort of man who infiltrated anything—let alone a villain’s lair. Yet here he was, trying to channel every spy movie he’d ever seen, which, frankly, wasn’t many.

"Okay, Steven, you can do this. Just... be charming, be confident," he muttered to himself, wiping his clammy hands on his trousers. He pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

The interior was surprisingly cozy, not at all what he expected from a villain’s lair. It had more of a… lived-in feel, with mismatched furniture, stacks of books, and a coffee table littered with half-empty mugs. You were sitting on a couch, reading a book, and looked up as he entered. Your eyes immediately narrowed, recognizing him as soon as he walked in.

“Well, if it isn’t Steven Grant from the British Museum,” you drawled, not even bothering to hide your smirk. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Steven froze. This wasn’t going according to plan—not that he really had one to begin with. “Oh, um, hello there,” he stammered, trying to recover. “I was just… uh… passing by and thought I’d… pop in?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Pop in? To a villain’s secret hideout?”

“Er, yes?” Steven winced, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “I mean, no! Not a villain! A person! A very interesting person. I just thought we could have a… chat?”

You tilted your head, amused by his awkwardness. “A chat. With me. Right.”

Steven cleared his throat, trying to summon what little courage he had left. “Yes, I thought maybe, you know, we could, um, get to know each other? Over tea, perhaps? I make a mean cuppa.”

You blinked at him, unable to tell if he was genuinely trying to flirt or if this was some kind of elaborate joke. “What are you doing?” you asked, genuinely curious now.

Steven shuffled his feet, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “So… this isn’t working then, is it?”

You sighed, setting your book aside. “No, Steven, it’s not. But I’ll give you points for effort. It’s not every day a museum gift shop employee tries to flirt his way into my hideout.”

He scratched the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Yeah, well… I’m not really good at this whole espionage thing, am I?”

You stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “No, you’re not. But it’s oddly endearing. What exactly are you hoping to achieve here?”

Steven gulped, realizing he was in over his head. “Honestly? I was supposed to gather intel, but… I think I’ve mucked it all up, haven’t I?”

You studied him for a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Well, Steven, you’re lucky I find your bumbling nature somewhat charming. Otherwise, you’d be in a lot more trouble right now.”

“Really?” he asked, blinking in surprise. “You think I’m charming?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you retorted, though there was no malice in your voice. “Come on, let’s sit down and have that chat. You’ve clearly gone to a lot of trouble to get here, so the least I can do is hear you out.”

You led Steven to the kitchen area, where he fidgeted nervously as you prepared tea. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the clink of cups and the whistling kettle. When you finally placed a steaming mug in front of him, he thanked you quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the hum of the refrigerator.

“So,” you began, taking a seat across from him. “Tell me, what made you think you could flirt your way into my hideout? Was that your idea, or did someone else put you up to it?”

Steven’s face turned redder than the bricks outside. “It was… er, sort of my idea. I thought maybe if I came across as… friendly, you wouldn’t be so… suspicious.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Steven, you walked into a villain’s lair with a nervous smile and a cup of tea as your only weapon. That’s more naïve than suspicious.”

Steven looked down at his tea, feeling like a fool. “I just… I wanted to help, you know? I’m not like Marc. I’m not brave or strong, but I thought maybe I could do something useful. I just didn’t want to be useless…”

Your expression softened. Despite your hardened exterior, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. “You’re not useless, Steven. You’ve got a good heart. That’s more than I can say for most people.”

He glanced up, surprise and gratitude in his eyes. “You… you really think so?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “But yeah, I do. It’s refreshing, really. Most people in my line of work are either power-hungry or just plain cruel. But you… you’re different.”

Steven didn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply sipped his tea, letting the warmth of the drink calm his nerves. The silence between you two wasn’t awkward anymore; it was comfortable, almost companionable.

“So,” you said after a while, breaking the silence. “What are you going to do now? Go back to your normal life, pretending this never happened?”

Steven hesitated, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to run back to the safety of his ordinary existence, but another part—the part that had brought him here in the first place—felt a strange pull towards you. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t want to keep living like this, not knowing who I really am or what I’m capable of.”

You studied him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Well, Steven, you’re already doing more than you think. You walked into the lion’s den, and you’re still here. That’s something.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I’m not sure how long I’ll last. I’m not exactly cut out for this.”

“You might surprise yourself,” you said, standing up and extending a hand to him. “Come on, let’s see what you’re really made of. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up liking it here.”

Steven stared at your hand, torn between fear and curiosity. Finally, he took it, letting you pull him to his feet. “You won’t, um, kill me, will you?”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Not today, Steven. Not today.”

As the evening wore on, the two of you settled into an easy rhythm, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Steven found himself opening up to you in a way he hadn’t with anyone else, telling you about his struggles with Marc, his love of ancient history, and his dreams of a life less ordinary.

You listened intently, intrigued by his honesty and vulnerability. There was something about Steven that made you want to lower your own defenses, to show him a side of yourself that you kept hidden from the world.

Eventually, the conversation turned to your own life, and you found yourself sharing more than you intended. You told him about your past, your reasons for choosing the path you did, and the loneliness that came with it. Steven’s empathetic nature made it easy to talk, and before you knew it, the barriers you’d built around yourself started to crumble.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Steven asked quietly, genuinely curious. “You don’t even know me.”

You sighed, staring into your tea. “Maybe it’s because you’re different. You don’t judge me, you don’t try to manipulate me. You just… listen.”

Steven smiled, his heart swelling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. “Well, I’m glad I could be that for you. Even if I am a bit of a… bumbling idiot.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re not an idiot, Steven. You’re just… you. And that’s not a bad thing.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the silence thick with unspoken emotions. Then, before either of you could think twice, you leaned across the table and pressed your lips to his.

Steven’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he found himself kissing you back, his hands trembling as they moved to your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss deepened, and soon, the table between you was forgotten as you both stood up, still locked in each other’s embrace. Steven’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but the strongest one was how much he wanted this—wanted you.

The two of you barely made it to the bedroom before clothes started to come off, piece by piece, falling to the floor like discarded memories. Your hands roamed over Steven's chest, feeling the softness of his skin and the faint ridges of his muscles. He was surprisingly fit for a man who worked in a gift shop, and the thought made you smile against his lips.

Steven’s hands were hesitant at first, nervous and unsure, but as you guided them over your body, he grew bolder. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, then moved upwards, gently brushing over your ribs before settling on your shoulders. His touch was both tentative and eager, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening but didn’t want to stop.

“You’re sure about this?” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. They were wide and dark with desire, yet there was a tenderness there that made your heart skip a beat. You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I’m sure, Steven. More sure than I’ve been about anything in a long time.”

He smiled back, a relieved laugh escaping his lips. “Good, because I really don’t know what I’m doing here, but I… I want to. With you.”

You chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss him again. “Just follow my lead,” you murmured against his mouth. “I’ll show you.”

With that, you guided him to the bed, gently pushing him down onto the mattress. He watched you with rapt attention as you climbed on top of him, your legs straddling his hips. His hands settled on your thighs, gripping them lightly as you leaned down to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the feel of his lips against yours.

As the kiss deepened, you felt Steven’s body respond, his hands moving up your back, pulling you closer. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, fast and strong, matching the rhythm of your own. The connection between you was electric, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your veins.

You took your time exploring his body, your hands running over his chest, down his arms, over his stomach. He shivered under your touch, his breath hitching when your fingers brushed over sensitive spots. You could feel his arousal growing, pressing against you, and it fueled your own desire.

Steven’s hands were everywhere now, touching, exploring, learning. His fingers tangled in your hair, then moved down your back, tracing the curve of your spine. He was gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid to hurt you. It was sweet, and it made you want him even more.

You moved your hips, grinding against him, and he groaned, his hands tightening on your waist. “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “That feels… amazing.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him again. “Just wait,” you whispered. “It gets better.”

You guided him inside you, taking him slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully buried within you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and connection that left you both gasping. Steven’s hands gripped your hips, holding you close as you began to move, setting a slow, steady rhythm.

His eyes were locked on yours, filled with a mixture of awe and desire. He was completely focused on you, on the feel of you, the sight of you, the sound of your breathing. It was as if nothing else existed in that moment but the two of you.

The room was filled with the sounds of your lovemaking—soft gasps, quiet moans, the creak of the mattress beneath you. The rhythm of your bodies was in perfect sync, a dance of pleasure that built higher and higher with each movement. Steven’s hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

You lost yourself in him, in the feel of his hands on your skin, his breath against your neck, his body moving with yours. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only this, only him, only the connection between you.

When the climax finally came, it was like a wave crashing over you, pulling you under, drowning you in sensation. You cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body shuddered with release. Steven followed moments later, his own climax tearing through him with a force that left him breathless.

You collapsed against him, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in unison. Steven wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his face buried in your hair. You lay there together, the world outside forgotten, the only sound the steady beat of your breathing.

You woke to the gentle light of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Steven was still asleep, his arm draped over your waist, his face peaceful and relaxed. You watched him for a moment, feeling a strange sense of contentment. It had been a long time since you’d let anyone get this close, but with Steven, it felt… right.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, grabbing a robe from the floor and wrapping it around yourself. You moved to the window, looking out at the quiet streets below. The world was waking up, and soon, you’d have to face reality. But for now, you allowed yourself a moment to just be.

Behind you, Steven stirred, stretching and yawning. He blinked sleepily, then smiled when he saw you standing by the window. “Morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

You turned to face him, a smile playing at your lips. “Morning,” you replied. “Sleep well?”

“Better than I have in a long time,” he admitted, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair. “Last night was… incredible.”

You walked back to the bed, sitting on the edge and leaning in to kiss him. “Yeah, it was,” you agreed. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Steven Grant.”

He laughed softly, pulling you into his arms. “Honestly, neither did I. But with you… everything just felt right.”

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Steven was silent for a moment, then he gently tilted your chin up, making you look at him. “Now, we figure this out together,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know one thing—I want to face it with you.”

You smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through your chest. “Together,” you agreed.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you could face them, as long as you had Steven by your side.

[pollenallergie]

cassie my love, i need more of this in my life. getting high post-sex w older!tom just seems soooooo <3

So…. it took me an embarrassing amount of months to get back to you on this but um…. here you go… this took a turn??? and then a swift turn back in the other direction???? so um…. horny whiplash warning??? ig????

Tagging @ali-r3n bc she asked me to and also @ghosttownwherenoonegoes because Eri helped me out with a lot of the british specifics (the britifics??) so thank youuuu

Okay, okay, without further ado:

Your First Introduction to Older!Tom’s Post-Sex Ritual

(except I can’t stick to a prompt)

Word Count: 2.1 k

Warnings: Nudity, allusions to sex and also some *ehm* inappropriate touching, reader has boobies and a bajina.

18+ only!! MDNI!! Minors do not read this!!! This is not for you!!!! This is for adults only!!!

“Fuuuuuck,” Tom exhales as he lays on his back, staring up at your bedroom ceiling.

“Fuck,” you agree weakly, still slowly drifting down from cloud nine. Tom chuckles at your response as he sits up and eases out of bed. You smile at the sweet sound of his laughter, though you don’t immediately register the movement; still just a bit too far gone.

When Tom struts past your line of sight, still naked as the day he was born, on his way out of the room, that movement manages to catch your attention finally. You frown, at first, because you were already missing him, and then because you were disappointed in yourself for already missing him. Casual, this is just casual, keep it casual, you remind yourself. Tom doesn’t do the whole dating thing, you know that, so keep things platonic and casual. Don’t scare him off.

Suddenly, you’re pulled out of your internal self-lecture by the sound of a distant, but not distant enough, crash and Tom exclaiming, “shit!”

You sit up as quickly as you’re able to, your whole body still feeling pretty limp and boneless after Tom spent the better half of the evening pulling as many orgasms from you as he could. Once you’re upright, you call out, “Tom? Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah. Shit! Er, yeah, just, erm- hang on,” Tom calls back. You hear more shuffling and clattering from the other room, and then you hear the undeniable creak in the floorboards from Tom’s heavy-footed steps as he approaches the bedroom. Soon enough, he appears in the doorway, still shamelessly nude but now with a joint in hand and a sheepish expression on his face.

“Have you got a lighter or, er, matches or anything like that? I tried looking ‘round for either of ‘em, but erm… Yeah, I couldn’t find anything,” he asks, his cheeks blushing as he carries on.

“Is that what all that crashing was?” You ask amusedly, failing to stifle the grin that curls on your lips.

“Yeah… I erm, I might’ve knocked some of yer shit over,” Tom admits sheepishly.

“Tommy,” you say, your tone a perfect mix of amused, exasperated, disappointed, and scolding.

“But, but!! But I put it all back, and none of it’s broken. Swear on me granda’s grave,” he promises.

You can’t help but roll your eyes fondly at that before chastising him a bit, good-naturedly, of course, “Don’t swear on that poor man’s grave. Knowing you, you probably already put him through enough when he was alive.”

Tom chuckles, “Fair enough,” he concedes before raising up the joint to draw your attention back to it, and then simply asking, “Lighters? Matches?”

“Er, right. Lighters. Kitchen, the counter to the left of the fridge, top drawer, it’s my catch-all drawer, there should be a few lighters in there, take your pick,” you inform him.

Tom grins at your response as he makes his way over to the bed. His grin widens tenfold and becomes much more smug when he notices your gaze flit down toward his cock, which gracelessly flops around with his strides, still limp and spent from your previous activities. When he reaches your side of the bed, he places his hand down on the mattress near your thigh, using it to support his weight as he leans over and plants a kiss on the crown of your head. He holds his lips there for a few moments, softly inhaling the residual scent of your shampoo as he does so, deciding to allow you both to enjoy this moment of peace without even being truly aware that that’s what he’s doing.

When Tom finally breaks away, he leans down to whisper into your ear, “Don’t get any ideas, love,” he warns cheekily, “You and that heavenly little place between your thighs milked my cock dry; don’t think I’ll be able to get it up again anytime soon,” he finishes teasingly before kissing you again, this time pressing his lips against your cheek to punctuate his teasing.

You scoff and stifle a smile as you push him away. Cocky little bastard, you think.

Tom holds his hands up in surrender as he backs away from the bed, joint still clutched between his index and middle finger and a smug grin still on his face.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, baby. It’s yer fault for bein’ greedy,” he teases as he walks off into the other room, still refusing to put on clothes.

God, how are you supposed to keep your feelings in check when he treats you like that? He’s just one of your mates, and yet he treats you better than many of the dickheads you’ve dated in the past ever had, better than some of your mates’ current partners treat them, even.

As if he can sense that you’ve begun to spiral from the other room, Tom calls out to you, effectively pulling you out of your fretting, “Ay, me lover, think I’m gonna light up and make meesen a bacon butty. You want anything while I’m out ‘ere? Water? Bacon butty? Some wine? This Crunchie you’ve got hidden in your cupboard? Actually, wait, nevermind, I call dibs on the Crunchie.”

“Maybe some wa- Hey, wait, Tom, no! Leave that Crunchie alone! I’ve been saving that!”

Of course, you frantically try to get up to rescue your precious candy bar from Tom’s thieving grasp. However, your legs are still a little unsteady, which forces you to walk to the kitchen looking like a newborn giraffe, all while Tom’s grating (read: annoyingly sexy) chuckle fills the space of your flat.

You find him cock out, lit joint pursed between his lips, standing in front of your stove, hands on his hips, heating up a frying pan for his bacon, and, annoyingly, nowhere near your candy stash.

“I haven’t got any bacon, so, it’ll just be a butty, I’m afraid. No use heating up a pan for that,” you grumble as you walk over to the cupboard where you stash your candy. Might as well snag that Crunchie before he can.

At the sound of your voice, Tom turns around and looks at you, bemused, albeit amused as well, and says, “the fuck are you doing out ‘ere on those wobbly li’l legs, Bambi?”

His words come out a bit muffled, thanks to the joint perched between his lips.

“Thought you were gonna steal my Crunchie,” you shrug and admit sheepishly through a mouthful of chocolate and honeycomb. At that, Tom barks out a laugh, which quickly morphs into a cough from accidentally inhaling during said laugh. He promptly removes the joint from between his lips, ashes it in the makeshift ashtray he’s made out of foil, clears his throat, and goes back to smoking.

“Jesus, you’re a strange one, aren’t you,” he remarks fondly, his voice slightly hoarse from coughing, as he begins to gather the ingredients for his sandwich.

“I’m very serious about my Crunchies,” you reply, half-jokingly.

Tom chuckles as he rifles through your fridge.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that now,” he replies, pausing to inhale before continuing to speak on his exhale, “Sit down at the table then, yeah? I’ll get you some water and make us some toasties if that sounds alright?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay,” you agree awkwardly as you sit down nearby at your kitchen table, watching him as he works on preparing the food.

Soon enough, he comes over to you with a glass of water and that same cheeky smile.

God, that smile will get you in so much trouble someday, won’t it?

“What’s that grin for?” You ask as he sets down the water, though you can’t help but reciprocate it with a smile of your own.

He shrugs before leaning over to press his lips against yours, moaning into the kiss when you needily take the initiative to deepen it, parting your lips eagerly for him. Far too soon for your liking, though, he’s breaking the kiss, pulling away just slightly to look into your eyes with his lovely brown ones.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have really, really great tits?” Tom asks, his voice low, sultry, and serious, but you can see the mischief swimming in his gaze.

You roll your eyes and scoff at his question, leaning back in your seat, though anyone could see the amused smile you fail to keep from tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah, you have like a million times since we started hooking up,” you reply with a chuckle.

“What can I say? I’m a man of honesty,” Tom teases, making you huff out a laugh; he smiles at the sound of it before holding up the joint in your line of sight and asking, “Do you want to take a few tokes ‘a this while I finish up our sandwiches?”

You nod and purse your lips, and, as if it were already second nature to him, Tom slots the joint between your lips.

Instead of immediately going off to work on the food, he sticks around to watch you take your first few puffs, still leaning down so he’s just about at eye level with you, his hands boxing you in on either side, one palm pressed onto the tabletop and the other holding onto the back of your chair. Meanwhile, you sit diagonally in your seat, facing him and maintaining eye contact as you smoke. The haze of your high slowly but surely begins to set in, lowering your eyelids to a relaxed level and easing your posture. Between your new relaxed state, the sex hair you’re sporting, the fact that you smell like you’ve just got done having sex, the fact that you’re completely naked right now, and the fact that you’re, well, you, Tom thinks you might be one of the prettiest things he’s ever fucking seen in his whole life.

But he mustn’t forget about the toasties!

So, he plants one last kiss on your cheek because, hey, he fucking feels like it. Then, he surprises you by kneeling in front of you to say goodbye to ‘his girls’ (your tits).

“I’ll see you ladies in a minute, yeah? Be good while I’m gone, try not to miss me too much,” he whispers to them, making you giggle.

“Tom, you’re so fucking wei-” That (affectionate) jab immediately dies on your tongue the moment he leans forward and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, engulfing it in the warm, wet heat of his mouth and applying just enough pressure to make a heated, buzzing sensation spread beneath your skin as he sucks on it. Then, just as you feel that pleasant sensation spread down through your core, Tom’s pulling away, but only so he can give your other, neglected nipple the same attention.

Small mewls and moans spill out from between your parted lips as the long forgotten joint, still clutched between your fingers, hovers over your table, where the ashes fall from it carelessly, sure to leave a mark. Once Tom’s had his fill, he places a final kiss to the center of your chest before pulling away completely and leaving to go finish preparing your sandwiches, waltzing back over to the stove as if he hadn’t just done, well, that.

“Tom… what the fuck was that?” You ask breathlessly. Still too bewildered to notice the damage the neglected joint is doing to the surface of your table.

Tom has to stifle a cheeky, mischievous grin as he feigns nonchalance, shrugs, and simply replies, “Just giving the ladies a proper goodbye, love. They get nervy when I leave ‘em just out of the blue. You know, separation anxiety, and all that?” Tom tuts, “Poor girls. Think maybe you should start keeping a couple pictures of me in your bra, one in each cup, so they can still see me when I’m not around.”

“Tommy, you’re ridiculous,” you laugh as he dishes up the toasties onto plates and turns off the stovetop.

“Ridiculous…ly fit? I know, baby, but why don’t you finish that glass of water and eat some of that sandwich before you go jumpin’ me bones again, yeah? Gotta stay fed and hydrated,” He teases you as he brings the plates over to the table.

“Oh, and, you’re ashing on yer table, love,” Tom informs you with a kiss on the head as he sets the plates down and goes to grab a wet rag to wipe the table off with, along with the makeshift ashtray.

“Shit!” you exclaim as you lift the joint away from the table. You hand it to him when he gets back, trading it off for the rag so you can wipe up the mess you’ve made whilst he gets everything else sorted.

Tom tuts and shakes his head, feigning disapproval, “that’s the devil’s lettuce, it’ll do that to you.”

“Shut up, Tommifer,” you reply, feigning annoyance all while sporting an amused smile. He chuckles at that, though he also appreciates the fact that you neglected to call him ‘Thomas,’ his full first name, when you very easily could’ve.

“Eat yer toastie, me birdie,” He says as he nudges you teasingly, “sooner you finish it, sooner I can get back between those thighs, yeah?”

[hannahssimblr]

Beginning // Prev // Next

Transcript

Jude: So, how are things going at home?

Shane: Man, everything is the same. We're all exactly as you left us.

Jude: [laughs] I can't decide if that's good or bad news. I saw pictures from your debs on Facebook. Looked like fun.

Shane: Yeah, it was craic alright, but I barely remember it, to be honest with you. There was a free shot of Sambuca with dinner, two Jaegerbombs to follow it, and I was gone. Heard you never went to your debs in the end, by the way.

Jude: I couldn't make it work with the move and all that. I didn't want to go anyway.

Shane: I suppose, yeah. And you'd have had to find a date and all that.

Jude: Yeah and... I don't even know who I would have asked.

Gabija: What is that? Debs?

Shane: Like a prom. It's a dance you go to after you finish school.

Gabija: Ah, I see. It makes sense. There was something a little like it in my school. I went with some friends for mine, as there were no boys to ask me, but still, it was a lot of fun. [yammers]

Jude: So Shane. How's Evie?

Gabija: Oh, is that the name of your girlfriend, Shane?

Shane: Er, no, she's not. My girlfriend is Claire. Evie is... Claire's friend.

Gabija: Jude is wondering how is your girlfriend's friend? [laughs] that is an unusual question.

Shane: She's alright, Jude, I think. [pauses] Claire mentioned something kinda offhand though, about her having some trouble at school, but I don't know the details about it.

Jude: She told me that. Said she was finding the work a bit much.

Shane: Yeah.

Gabija: Well, in Lithuania we-

Jude: Kinda the way sixth year is though, isn't it? They push you so hard.

Shane: Yeah, I don't know, to be honest. I thought... um, yeah. 6th year is stressful. She's okay.

Jude: Good.

Shane: You been in touch?

Jude: We email sometimes.

Shane: Maybe you can visit her at Christmas.

Gabija: Jude, I think we need to go back to university now.

Jude: Yeah, we will soon.

Gabija: I don't want to be late.

Jude: It's fine. We can hang on another few minutes.

Gabija: No, I want to get a seat close to the screen today. I can't see the text well from the back of the room.

Jude: They'll email the slides.

Gabjia: Jude.

Jude: Okay, fine. Shane, it was nice to see you. Maybe I'll run into you again before you head home.

Shane: Maybe. You might end up pulling me out of a gutter tomorrow morning after the carry-on.

Jude: Gladly.

[mylifesjustacarousel]

the crow - part II

pairing: monty finch x fem!reader

summary: part two of the crow!

type: angst

CW: swearing, monty kinda trauma dumping ?

WC: 1.3k

part 1 | not proofread!

“None of this even makes sense.”

The long-haired boy, er… bird? Boy? You still weren’t a hundred percent sure what the hell was going on. The boy sat across from you at the kitchen table, after he had found his clothes and gotten dressed, of course, fiddling with the ring on his finger.

“Okay.” You sat up, still trying to process all of the things that you had seen and heard over the past twenty-four hours. “So, you’re telling me that your name is Monty, right? Your name is Monty and you are a bird, who was turned into a human by the crazy lady Esther Finch… then turned back into a bird?”

Monty nodded, his dark brown eyes finally looking up at you. “It’s been a crazy few months, to say the least. A lot of confusing emotions, a lot of heartbreak.”

You glanced over at the window, groaning as you saw the sun starting to peek through the trees. “What’s your plan, Monty? You’re a human… now what?” Monty just shrugged, his eyes darting around the room to avoid yours. “I haven’t really thought that far. I just can’t stay in this house forever. Not anymore. I’ll find somewhere to go, y’know? I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again.”

Your guilt was absolutely eating you up inside as you looked at him. Your heart broke for Monty, he just seemed… lost. Standing up, you grabbed your bag and held it out to him. “Throw some clothes in there, you can stay with me until you figure something out.”

“Are you sure, y/n?” he asked, taking the bag from your hands. You nodded. “My life seems to just be getting weirder and weirder by the second, why not? Hurry up, I wanna go home and take a nap. You kept me up all night.”

Monty quickly got up, making his way upstairs to grab whatever clothes of his that he could find. While you waited, you started to wander around the kitchen. Your eyes landed on the bird cage, which you assumed belonged to Monty. Or, at least used to belong to Monty. He wouldn’t have much use for it in his current state.

He soon made his way back downstairs, wearing a black coat over his sweater and the bag, now filled to the brim, in his hand. “Okay! Um, lead the way.” he said, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “Are you sure?” you asked, “Because you seem to already know your way to my place. You coming to my home is actually the reason we’re in this situation.”

“I’m sure.” He nodded. Monty looked over at you, feeling a pang in his chest. The sassy attitude, the quick wit. He knew it all too well. “Capricorn?”

“I’m sorry, what? How did you know?”

“Astrology never lies.” He followed behind you as you led him outside. You groaned, looking back at him. “Oh god, don’t tell me you believe in astrology. That’s just a load of bullshit that hippies push on you.” Monty rolled his eyes, an almost unnoticeable grin on his face. “Almost three thousand years of patterns can’t be wrong. Plus, if you didn’t have even the slightest bit of interest, you probably wouldn’t even know that you’re a Capricorn.”

“I’m gonna need to you stay quiet for a bit, Monty.”

Monty sat on the floor in front of your couch, quietly watching whatever you had on your TV before you left earlier that morning. You were in your teeny tiny kitchen, cooking up some breakfast. Although, you didn’t really have much of an appetite after what your did to that poor bird, er… Monty? You were still so confused.

“Pancakes, Monty?” you called out, peeking your head out from the doorway. Monty looked up at you, a puzzled look on his face. “A what?” he asked. You took a deep breath, your fingers pressing against your temples. “Right, you’re a bird. Um, are you hungry? I’m making food. You know what? I’ll just make you a plate.” You nodded, turning on your heel and going back to the kitchen.

He got up after a few minutes, taking it upon himself to take a look around your place. There wasn’t too much going on decoration wise, but it was cozy and felt like home. Monty picked up a picture frame, running his finger over the black frame. It was a picture of you and a younger girl who looked similar to you. “That’s my little sister, Daphne.”

Monty almost jumped out of his skin as he quickly set the frame down. You snorted, walking over to the coffee table and setting his plate down. “Didn’t mean to scare you, birdie. Um, I made banana pancakes. I don’t know what you like, so I just put some maple syrup on the side. I’m gonna go lay down, I am exhausted.”

“Wait!” Monty quickly said, his hand reaching out to grab yours. “I’ve, um… Can you just sit with me? I’ve been alone for… a while. I’m not ready for that again.” You slowly nodded, holding back any sarcastic or witty remark you had. “Alright. I guess I’ll take a nap on the couch.” you grumbled, sitting down and pulling down the blanket that was neatly folded on the top of the couch. Monty hesitated before sitting down in front of the coffee table, using his fork to pick at the pancakes.

“Monty, you never really told me much about the whole Esther thing. I mean, not in much detail. What happened?” you asked, curling up in your fuzzy blanket. He froze for a second, not knowing whether to tell you the truth or not. “Um… okay. Esther made me human for a revenge plot. There were these two boys, ghost boys, who she was not fond of, to say the least. She made me to help lure them in.” He took a deep breath, his fingers toying with the fork in his hands. You sat up a bit, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s a sore spot.”

“No, no. I think you should know the truth. I’ve been quite deceitful since we first met, haven’t I? Anyway, everything was going smoothly until I met… him. Having all of these emotions… it was a lot. I couldn’t do it, and she could tell. I also loved him, but he didn’t feel the same. Esther then deemed me useless and, before I could even process, I was myself again. The worst part was that I remembered everything, y’know? I can remember all of the heartbreak and tragedy like it just happened to me.”

“I’m sorry, Monty.” you whispered, tears threatening to bubble in your eyes. You knew that it couldn’t have been easy being the pet of Esther Finch, but what happened to him was horrible. “Human emotions are awful, I understand. But, that’s all behind you now. You’re starting fresh. I’m here for you, whether I want to be or not. Ya know where I live, so it’d be hard to get rid of you.”

He nodded, finally starting to eat his breakfast. He took small bites, eating like a bird pecking at a snack. You giggled to yourself as you watched him. “If I didn’t know you, I wouldn’t be surprised that you’re actually a bird. You’re like a bird in a human suit.” Monty groaned, setting his fork down. “Is it that obvious? I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Very, birdie. But, don’t worry, I have quite the experience being a human being.” you yawned through your sentence, curling up on the couch with the blanket wrapped around you. “Will you be alright if I fall asleep? I am literally so tired.” Monty looked back at you, a warm smile on his face. “Go ahead. I’m gonna keep enjoying… whatever these are. They’re delicious.”

You sighed, your eyes involuntarily closing. “Pancakes, Monty. They’re pancakes. I’ll, uh, be here. We’ll figure everything out when I wake up, okay? I’m, uh, I’m not leaving you… at least right now. But, if you keep chewing loudly I might throw you out of the window.”

“Sorry!”

a/n: sorry it was a little short, but i’m working on p3!! <3 LOVE YOU ALL MWAH MWAH MWAH!! also if you want to be added to a taglist lmk?

[naomis-daydream]

essence in the air // letitia wright

summary: interviewer!reader. it seems there’s a lot of underlying chemistry between you and your interviewee, Letitia Wright

a/n: saw clips of tish flirting w interviewers and here we are. i included a lil piece inspired by @drletitiawright and @aaliyg talking about a Dr kink 😏

warnings: just fluff. flirty reader and flustered tish. reader is from the Dominican Republic and speaks Spanish (very minimal)

✧

you exhale softly as you get last minute touch ups to hair and makeup. you glance across from you to look at your interviewee—Letitia Wright. she was dressed in a off white hoodie with matching sweats, a black jacket, and air forces, scrolling on her phone while her glasses reflect the bright screen.

you were very excited for this interview. you had gotten great reviews from many stars and prided yourself on having laidback, fun sessions with all guests for Essence Magazine. from Lashana Lynch to Keke Palmer, your issue of celebrity interviews in the magazine and on their channel had been something viewers looked forward to, which was very beneficial for your paycheck.

she looks up, catching your gaze as she offers a smile. you return the gesture, crossing your legs in the lounge chair. “you ready?” you ask as the cosmetologists left.

she inhales sharply, “yep, though i wish you’d told me about the dress code,” she says, eyeing your exposed legs from the slit in your dress. “i would’ve come in something nicer.”

“girl, you’d look good in a trash bag. besides, the whole point of this is for you to have fun and be comfortable. as long as that’s happening, you’re good.”

“says the one wearing a body con dress,” she says as you wave a hand at her. “you go out in designer everyday, you’ll be good for 30 minutes, hon.” she laughs, humming in agreement.

the tech guy comes in, cueing you as the cameraman starting rolling.

“hey guys, I’m y/n y/l/n with Essence Magazine, and today i’m here with esteemed movie star, devoted Christian, and—as of recent weeks— doctor in arts and letters, miss letitia wright. how you doing, angel?”

a smile dances across her face, eyes surely lighting up behind her black sunglasses. “wow, what an introduction. thank you. i-i’m well, how are you?”

“great, thank you,” you begin. “so, tell me a little about how you earned your doctorate, what’s it in, and what it means to you?”

she sighs briefly, “man, it’s um, it’s definitely an honor, such a blessing to even be considered for something like that. it’s in arts and letters, as you said, and to have it come from a school in my home country, Guyana, made it that much more…moving for me. i’ve been acting since I was a teenager and never dreamed of any of this happening.” she said, gesturing around us with her hands. “from small projects in London to…”

“being an international award-winning actress?”

“yes! it’s all a lot, but being recognized for my work is-is great.” she finishes.

“do any of your friends or family use the title or is it just a formality?”

“nah, after i got it some did as a lil joke but for the most part I’m same ol tish.”

so, can I call you doctor?” you tease.

she laughs lightly, shaking her head. though her words contradict her as she replies. “i-i suppose so, yeah, yeah you can.”

“dr. wright.” you said. “has nice ring to it. though mrs. wright wouldn’t sound too bad either.”

her laughter was fuller this time. “bad. you are bad.”

you shrug lightly, a knowing smile on your face.

“but in all seriousness, it’s nice to see representation for Afro Caribbeans out here. being an inspiration for so many across the world, and a role model for young people everywhere to see someone who looks like them, who comes from a place like them, on screen. we don’t see enough of us gettin’ our flowers. I’m glad you are.”

she nods humbly. “you Caribbean? stop playin, what part?”

“la República Dominicana, act like you know,” you said smiling. She hummed in admiration. “oh, the accent, ok I see you. you speak any Spanish?”

“eres muy hermosa y tienes mucho talento.”

you’re very beautiful and have so much talent.

you say the short sentence to her, none of which she understands, yet she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she listened. “i don’t know what you said, but it sounded hella good,” she smiles.

you shook head as you laughed. “man, you something else,” you said as you looked at her again, to which she put her hands up in defense.

“speaking of accents, in a lot of your productions you’re seen using your regular British accent, as well as those from various parts of Africa.”

“mmhm.”

“yet, we rarely hear you with an american accent onscreen. can you give me your best american accent right now?”

“right now?” she asks, pointing down.

“right now, go.”

she shakes her shoulders out before turning to the camera. “hey y’all, i’m letitia wright here with Essence Magazine,” she says in the absolute worst attempt of a southern accent you’ve ever heard.

your eyes go wide before you bust out laughing, shaking your head. “come on, now. don’t do me like that,” she says, a shy smile on her face.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” you begin as you calm yourself. “it’s just refreshing to know there’s something you’re not good at.”

“i haven’t had any roles that require an american accent yet, so there’s time to perfect it.” you nod in agreement.

“so for the real question of the hour,” you say as she leans back in her seat, waiting for you to continue. “why you always got them glasses on?”

she smacks her teeth, trying—and failing—to suppress the smirk that grows on her face. “man, i thought we were gonna get deep.”

“oh, we can get deep, angel. i mean, why hide the eyes? the windows to the soul. i bet you have a beautiful soul, yet the entire time you’ve been here i haven’t got to see for myself.”

“my eyes or my soul?” she asks, tilting her head back.

you open your mouth to respond, yet can’t find the words. you begin to smile as she points at you. “ahh, i got you there, huh?” she says, grills glowing under the studio lights.

you roll your eyes as you reply. “alright, alright. don’t let it happen again.”

“my bad, baby girl. here,” she says, reaching up to take off her shades. “to make it up to you.” she sets them down on the small glass table between you.

“aw, thank you, dr. wright.” you say, thankful for the gift of melanin, and blush applied previously, that the heat rising to your face isn’t visible.

“so?”

“so…”

“my eyes…do they live up to your expectations?”

you lean forward, not missing the way her eyes drop to your cleavage as she does the same. you pause to really look at her, defined jawline, toned skin, fresh haircut, before going back up to her eyes.

“they are…subpar.” you say, swiping her glasses from the table as you slide them over your eyes.

“wow,” she says, bringing a hand to her heart as she leaned back. “it’s like that?”

you wave her off. “i’m just teasing, relax,” you assure as she mumbles, “yeah, ok.”

with the glasses off, you can really feel her gaze on you, though luckily part of yours is hidden this time.

“now look who’s hiding,” she comments, nodding her chin up at you.

“a nice change of pace. i think i look good, right? real official.”

she laughs before she responds. “yeah, you look good.”

you smile as you take them off, putting them on the neckline of your dress.

“so, can I count on seeing you at Essence Fest?” you ask with a sickeningly sweet smile, one that prevents her from answering with anything other than yes. “yeah, yeah you’ll see me there.” she replies while nodding with a smile.

you turn to the cameraman, “ok, i think we’re good!” you turn back to her, “thanks again for coming! it’s been a joy to have you.”

“thank you for having me. truly one of the best interviews i’ve had in a long time.”

“just doing my job, angel.”

she shakes her head, looking at the floor. “of course, of course. would you mind if we have a picture?”

“not at all,” you say, going to sit on the arm of her chair. you do a few sitting, her signature smize and a couple hand motions. you both get up to do standing shots, some with her hands clasped in front of her and others with her arm around your middle.

once you’re done she pulls you in for a hug. your hands slide up her shoulder blades as hers find their way around your waist once more. she gives you a caring squeeze which you reciprocate. you feel pressure between your chests which makes you pull away as you realize. “oh! don’t forget your glasses,” you pull them from the hem of your dress, extending a hand towards her.

“please, keep ‘em,” she assures, giving you one last smile—small yet warm—before heading out.

“bye, doctor!” you call as she leaves.

she turns around, walking backwards with her hands in her pockets. “see you soon.”

-

you packed up for the day, locking up your office and the main studio. walking out the building, your stride pauses as you feel your phone buzz in you purse. you pull it out to see a notification from instagram.

letitiawright started following you

you smiled at the message, seeing you missed two others from a couple hours ago.

letitawright mentioned you on their story

letitawright tagged you in a post

liked by essence, danaigurira, and others

letitiawright new issue of @essence for the March 2023 issue. You can watch the interview on their channel and see the wonderful photos this spring✨

koffee 😍🖤

load comments

✧

a/n: best believe she looked up whatever the hell you said and blushed

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

My Girl 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your brother’s friend from work starts hanging out a lot more often. (short!reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You carefully pull the pastry over the slices of apple a cinnamon. You twist the corners together to complete the effect and hold it in place. Your blossoms are your specialty. You'll sprinkle coarse sugar over the top before you put them in the oven but for now, they'll have to rest. Your mother still has food cooking for the main course. 

You start another one, roll it out the pastry, slice it just so, wrap, and twist…  

The front door clatters and you hear Isaac say hello to your mom on her way in, “where's dad?” He adds on. 

“He'll be home soon,” she chimes. She's indulging in some wine for all her hard work in the kitchen. 

You can't help but long for your bed and the book you left on your pillow. The real world is always so monotonous. You enjoy baking but you'd rather finish the chapter. Sigh, you suppose that comes with the human condition; you're obligated to acknowledge the non-fictional slog. 

“Hey,” the deep rumble cuts through the air like the distance approach of some lingering dragon in its lair. You pop your head up and look over as Sy sets down his usual courtesy; beer and wine. He looks at you then the pan you line with pastry and fruit. “Er, whatcha making?” 

You look back to your hands and finish the twist, “apple blossoms.” 

“Mm, I like apple,” he steps closer to the counter, stopping at the counter, wavering as if he's afraid to come any further.  

“Thanks, er, oh, me too,” you shrug awkwardly, “my grandma taught me.” 

“Ah,” he nods and looks to the side, scratching his beard as he puffs out, “how's… how's your book?” 

You rinse of your hands, drying them thoroughly, “it's alright. I read it before.” 

“Tolkien, right?” He wonders. 

You nod. 

“Ahem, yeah, I… I started… the Fellowship one… pretty good so far.” 

“Oh? You did?” You face him. 

“I pick it up on my break, get a few pages here and there,” he chews his lip and pats his front pocket, feeling along it before dipping his fingers into the fabric, his brow slanting, “I… I made this.” 

He slides out a long flat piece of metal. It's slender and delicate, corner rounded to an oval, with elven patterning along its face. You squint and lean in to have a better look. 

“Wow. What is it?” 

“It's for you,” he says abruptly, “I mean it's a bookmark. I made it for you.” 

“Me?” You wonder as your eyes round, “that’s…” you look him in the face, “why– you didn't have to do that, Sy.” 

“Eh, it isn't much,” he holds it out, “be good to keep your place and all. You never drink the wine or nothing so…” 

“That's… sweet,” you smile and accept the book mark, turning it over. Your name is wrought in beautiful calligraphy on the other side, “it's beautiful.” 

He's quiet as you admire his handiwork. You don't know what else to say. You didn't expect it. You wouldn't expect him to think that much about you. 

“Anything I can help with?” He breaks the stuffy silence, made more stolid by the radiating heat of the stove. 

“Um, no, I'm pretty much done,” you move the pan of blossoms to the other counter, “but thank you.” 

“Ain't no trouble,” he assures and taps the countertop with his thick fingers, “s'pose I'll see ya at dinner.” 

“Sure,” you say over your shoulder. 

You wait until he's gone and back up, looking down at the bookmark. You can't believe how nice it is. How delicate. How can someone like him make something so elegant? Once more you’re reminded of the brutish dwarves and their renowned creations. 

You'll have to do something for him. To make it even. You don't know much about Sy but you know about Tolkien. You're sure you'll come up with something. 

📖

You sit down for dinner. It seems a lot for just a Wednesday. You won't complain even if you would rather be reading. Your mom has put together a merry feast which could feed a king himself. 

The chair beside you scrapes out and you expect Isaac to elbow you as he always does. Instead, he takes the chair across from you. Sy claims the seat to your left. He’s so big, he can’t help but brush your arm with his thick one. You send him a meek smile and he nods. 

As you serve yourselves from the glistening roast and potatoes and medley of salads and veggies, your mother flutters around offering to fill glasses. When she finally sits, she can barely stay still. 

“So, I know this is a lot,” she begins, “but I have news I wanted to share and this is my little surprise celebration.” 

You quirk your head and Isaac barely reacts as he cuts into the pork. 

“I've been given a really big opportunity at work and I'll be heading up a new project,” she's shaking with excitement, “in London.” 

“London?” You echo and look around. 

Isaac chews around his confusion as he finally reacts but your dad only smiles at your mother. You try to muster some positivity but you’re too surprised. This is a bigger twist than any book you’ve read. 

“I'll be gone for three weeks,” she says, “so yeah, I'll miss you all. I know it's all very sudden but I can't pass this up and I know you'll be okay.” 

“What?” Isaac chokes down his food. 

“Congratulations,” Sy says, “that's big news.” 

“When do you leave?” You ask. 

“Friday.” 

“Friday?” You gasp. 

“I know it's short notice but there were details to be confirmed and–” 

“Mom,” you squeak, “that's… that's great. I'm happy. Just… surprised.” 

“What are we gonna do?” Isaac whines. He dramatically sits back and rubs his cheeks. 

Sy clears his throat, “you're grown. You'll figure it out. You should be happy for your mother.” 

“He's right,” your dad growls, “your mom worked hard for this.” 

“We'll be okay,” you wisp, assuring yourself as much as everyone else. 

“Won't be long at all,” your mother beams even as she gets teary-eyed, “I'll call you every day.” 

📖

After dinner, you offer to clear the table. You want to think. You’’ll miss your mom when she’s gone. You assume you’ll be doing much of the cooking in her absence. You don’t mind, she always does so much. But that isn’t the only thing that will go away with your mom.  

It’s just disappointing that you were away for college and finally get back home and she’s leaving. You wasted the time you did have. You shouldn’t have spent all those hours with the Fellowship. You should have spent it in reality. Funny how fast your perspective can shift. 

You finish up tidying as you hear the voices from the front porch. The smell of the apple blossoms lace the air with cinnamon. You take them out of the oven, they’re perfectly golden and some of the apply good noose oozes out the little slits in the side. You plate each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and take them out two at a time. 

You elbow out onto the porch, the snap of the screen door announcing your arrival. Your mom and dad sit on the porch swing as Sy stands across from them leaning on the railing. You force out a ‘hi’ and hand your parents their plates before you step back. 

“I’ll grab yours,” you say to Sy, “does anyone want tea or coffee?” 

“Oh, peanut, you’re so sweet, I wouldn’t mind some tea... even though I’m sure I’ll have more than enough in England,” she chuckles. 

“Decaf, please,” your dad grins. 

“Alright, will do,” you say. 

“I’ll help,” Sy stands straight, “you’ll have your hands full.” 

“Aw, Sy, you are too much,” your mother preens. 

“Where’s Isaac?” You wonder allow as your hand hovers on the screen door. 

“Moping, somewhere,” your father scoffs. “let him come out for his own dessert, if he wants it.” 

“Oh, right,” you accept and as you turn, a hand grabs the door above yours and pulls it open. Sy is close as he reaches above you to let you inside. You flit ahead of him and he follows with his sturdy steps, pausing to leave his boots on the mat. 

“You don’t have to help,” you say as you grab his plate and offer it to him as he enters the kitchen, “I just gotta put the water on.” 

“Wanna,” he says, “leave mine there. Why don’t you have some?” He insists. 

“I will,” you assure him and reluctantly put the plate back on the counter. 

You turn and flip on the electric kettle. You take out your mother’s favourite mug and a tea ball. As you do that, Sy nears the counter next to you. 

“Where’s the decaf?” He asks. 

“I said you don’t have to,” you giggle out your nerves, “really, I got it.” 

“I said, I want to,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind.” 

You don’t want to argue. How can you? He’s being helpful and you won’t have much of that. Isaac and your dad work so naturally, you’ll be taking on more of the housework. You’re not unhappy at that prospect, you just don’t want things to change so fast. 

“You’re gonna miss your mom?” Again, his questions sound like statements. 

You wince and nod, “yeah,” you close the tea ball and hook the chain on the rim of the cup. He works diligently to loud the coffee maker, measuring out the grounds deliberately. You can’t really explain everything you feel. 

“Well,” he snaps the lid down, “if ya need anything, let me know.” He backs up and goes to the other end of the counter. He slowly turns the plate of pastry and ice cream, “make sure you get some too. Can’t be doin’ all that hard work for nothing.” 

He slides the plate towards him and lifts it. He turns his broad shoulders to you and stalks out. You hear the spook clink into the porcelain before he reaches the front door and he lets out a rumbling purr. Well, at least the dessert turned out. 

[goddessofteyvat]

Starfall | I - A Star Makes Its Landing

return to masterlist

Chapter Summary: You wake up in a strange but familiar place, and meet some new friends.

Chapter Warnings: None yet

A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of my new fic! Wanted to try my hand at writing something for SAGAU, and here it is! I'm also opening up requests, so feel free to start asking questions, just don't expect any spoilers, lol. Also to those of you who want to join my taglist for this fic, just drop a like or reblog on this post or the masterlist.

Hope you guys enjoy~❤

A gentle breeze blows across your face, cool but pleasant. A tingling sensation runs over your nose; you frown, bringing your hand up to swat at it. The sensation returns only a second later, joined by more on your arms, legs, chest, everywhere practically.

You open your eyes reluctantly, thinking, Is it too much to ask for five more minutes to sleep?

You are met with crystalline wings, definitely not your bedroom ceiling. You sit like a catapult, hair flying around your face as you whip your head around. A kaleidoscope of sky-blue butterflies flutter around you as you take your surroundings in – you’re in the middle of a forest with no houses or buildings in sight.

“Where the fuck am I?” You blurt out, anxiety bubbling up in your chest. You almost open your mouth to scream but before you can a butterfly darts right up to your face, flapping its wings almost frantically. Distracted by the sight before you – you can’t recall butterflies ever wanting to get this close to you – you hold your hand out to let it land. To your surprise it does, allowing you the chance to see the designs on its wings. The designs seem familiar, and as the butterfly gently crawls into your palm you realize it:

“Are these… Anemo Crystalflies?” you mumble to yourself. The butterfly – Crystalfly – flutters its wings once almost in response to your question. It takes flight once more, joining its siblings around you.

“No way.” You walk up to a nearby tree, where three fruits hang from its branches. They look like Sunsettias and as you pick one from the lowest branch to inspect it, you realize that that’s exactly what it is. You run your fingers across its surface to feel the Sunsettia’s smooth texture, then lift it to your nose to smell it – it has a sweet aroma.

You lift the Sunsettia to your lips, you sink your teeth into it, and a sweet but slightly tangy juice gushes into your mouth. It’s delicious – you eat the whole thing in three bites, leaving you with just the pit. You feel renewed, energized even!

“I’m in Teyvat,” you whisper. “I’m in Genshin Impact!”

The Crystalflies seem to rejoice at your revelation, fluttering around you excitedly. Everything bursts with elemental energy, from the grass to the trees to even the breeze blowing through the foliage. It’s overwhelming and you blink in an effort to adjust, which brings something else to your attention; you only feel one eye blink.

You bring your hand up to feel the area around your left eye, and startle when you feel nothing there.

Is my eye missing?!

You look around for something to confirm your suspicion, but the only things here are you, the Crystalflies, and the flora. Wait – aren’t the Crystalflies supposed to be skittish? They always flew away from the characters when you were playing the game. There has to be some specific reason they’re hanging out around you.

Maybe you could ask them for help? It seems silly, but you didn’t have a lot of options here.

You hold out a hand again and almost immediately, a Crystalfly lands on it.

“Um, can you understand me? Flap once for yes, twice for no.”

The Crystalfly flaps its wings once. Your eye – er, eye – widens in shock. The Crystalflies in the game were never anything more than floating models with some code attached to them. How was it possible for them to be intelligent answer your questions? You were getting sidetracked – back to the questions.

“Okay, uh… Is there like, a lake, or some kind of water nearby?”

The Crystalfly flaps its wings again.

“Can you take me to it?”

The Crystalfly flaps its wings once more. It takes flight this time, its siblings following behind it to make a trail for you. It wasn’t long before you arrived at a little pond at the end of a creek. You kneeled down at the edge and leaned over the water to look at your reflection, only to find something even more unexpected.

“What happened to me?”

Your eye was missing alright, but your eye socket wasn’t empty. Instead, there was a tiny silvery floating sphere with flares jumping off it in its place; it was almost like a miniature sun. That wasn’t the only thing that was different though. Your hair looked like it had been cut from the night sky – galaxies, stars, and nebula were strewn all through it and floated above your shoulders in an otherworldly manner. You pulled a strand away to feel it; it felt like regular hair but misty somehow, like it was partially incorporeal.

You put your hand over your new “eye” and the elemental auras disappeared, replaced by the regular world around you. Was this how you could see elements? You took your hand away then put it back again. Somehow your left “eye” gave you Elemental Sight, but that shouldn’t be possible. As far as you knew, only Vision users could do that.

“Am I dead?”

A Crystalfly sat on a lily pad and flapped its wings twice to answer you. You pinched your wrist just to be sure then winced when a sharp pain shot through your wrist. You were definitely not dead. But how did you get here then? You weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary before you ended up here. But come to think of it…

What was I doing before I got here?

With a frown on your face, you sat back on your heels and began to dig through your mind. Try as you might, you couldn’t remember anything solid about your past. The only things that came up was basic information like your name, your age, and what objects were, like phones, cars, and backpacks.

“My backpack!” You gasped. You jumped to your feet in an instant and darted back the way you came. You tore through the underbrush in a panic as the startled chiming of the Crystalflies followed you. You came back to the clearing you started in quickly then searched almost frantically through the bushes; your backpack all of your stuff in it! Maybe there was something that could help you remember how you ended up in Teyvat.

“Ow-hey!” A Crystalfly tugged on your hair, not harshly but strong enough to get your attention, nonetheless. “What the hell was that for?!”

It chimed energetically and fluttered back to its siblings, all of them flying in circles over a specific bush. You followed them and pulled the shrub back; there lay your backpack, thankfully untouched.

You let out a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank God.”

You sat down and pulled you backpack into your lap.

“Oh, thanks by the way! Sorry for snapping at you earlier.” You looked up at the Crystalflies. They flutter back in response, in glee almost.

You opened your bag to see what it had; thankfully your phone was there, along with three textbooks, a pair of headphones, some snacks, a water bottle, notebooks and pencils, and your laptop. Unfortunately, there were no chargers to go with your phone and laptop. However, you did manage to find two other things: a wallet and a pair of tickets to the movies.

Your wallet had about 100 dollars in it and two cards but given that you were on Teyvat and not Earth, your money was probably worthless here. Your driver’s license was a bit more useful because it had a picture of yourself from before you ended up here. You had a shocked look on your face in the picture, probably because you hadn’t been prepared for the clerk to take the picture when they did. You had been waiting in line all day just to take your test and hadn’t much sleep the night before. It didn’t help that the instructor was the most boring person you’d ever met in your life. He could find a way to make beige look exciting.

Wait, that was a solid memory!

Your phone beeped just then – how could it be getting notifications when there weren’t any cellphone towers around? You pulled your phone out to investigate, unlocking it with the code you somehow still remembered.

To your surprise, your entire screen had changed; gone was the custom background and all the apps you had downloaded. Genshin Impact was gone just as you suspected it would be – you were currently inside the game after all – but so were all the other games you had downloaded. Instead, there were only six icons present on the screen: one for a camera, one for an encyclopedia, one for a “command console,” one for storage space, one for runes, and one for settings. There was only one icon with any notification, the Encyclopedia with a glowing number 2 by it, and so you opened the app to see what had happened.

There under the tab that read “Repository” was a picture of you, sitting in the driver’s seat with an exasperated face look on your face. In the front passenger seat is your driving instructor, seemingly droning on and on about nothing at all. It’s the memory that you had just recovered.

“So, my phone is some kind of magic now?” You said to yourself, “I guess it’s nice to have a mini Sheikah Slate on me, but it kinda sucks that I can’t use it for much else now.”

You began to scroll through the various features now present on your phone. In addition to the Repository, the Encyclopedia also had information on practically everything on Teyvat, from plants to animals and monsters to even weapons. The Storage Space app held a list of everything you had on you at the moment, and when you tapped a picture of your backpack, it disappeared into the app. The Camera functioned the way you thought it would, and the Settings app seemed to be rather barren. At least it let you change your hair back to the way it looked before you got it here, but that was the only thing that you were really interested in there.

You started to tap the Command Console, but the sound of snapping branches and faint voices in the distance made you pause. You strained your ears to see if you hear more.

“I think… landed somewhere… check it out?” A light, energetic voice chattered, drifting closer and closer. It sounded familiar, like a character you had seen in the game.

Panic began to crawl up spine; what if they saw you the way you looked now? You may not have looked terrible but seeing the way you dressed and talked, it would be obvious to anyone around that you weren’t local. Thinking fast, you ripped a vine from a nearby tree – you don’t remember being this strong before – and wrapped it around your head over your missing eye. You used your newly altered phone to bring your backpack back out into the open.

Unfortunately, the sound of the approaching strangers chased away your newfound Crystalfly friends.

“Hey, wait!” you shouted before you could stop yourself.

“…Think I heard something…!” The voice grew closer. If there was any hope that they would just pass you by, that hope was dashed now. You stood and dusted yourself off; hopefully the people you ran into would be friendly.

“Um, hello? Is anyone there?” You called. You slung your backpack over your shoulder as you walked towards the voice.

“Don’t worry, a Knight of Favonius is coming to assist you!”

Wait a minute, is that Amber?!

A blur of silver burst forth from the foliage and knocked you flat on your back. You groaned, your vision blurry from the sudden fall, but that didn’t stop you from recognizing the white and golden garb of the young man just behind.

“Paimon! Look what you did!”

“Sorry!” A weight lifted from your chest and three figures stood above you.

A hand clad in a red and brown glove opened wide to help you up. You took it, standing with shaky legs.

“Are you alright? Paimon crashed into you pretty hard…” A platinum blonde-haired girl floated into view, anxiously pressing the tips her of her fingers together. If there was any remaining doubt that you were in Genshin Impact, Paimon’s appearance had chased it all away.

“I’m a little sore, but fine.”

“As a member of the Knights of Favonius, it is my duty to formally apologize for our conduct.” Amber placed a fist on her chest, a solemn look on her face as she bowed. “Allow us the chance to make it up to you. I’m Outrider Amber, and this is Paimon and Aether, Honorary Knights of Favonius. What’s your name?”

You gave it to them; it’s not like there was any harm in giving them your name, right?

“Hmm…” Paimon narrowed her eyes at you as you floated right up to you. “You sound kinda like Aether.”

You felt a jolt run through you. “What? How? He hasn’t even said anything!”

“Paimon’s never heard of anyone from Teyvat with a name like yours. Well, except for… Nah, that can’t be right!” The elf girl shook her head as if to dispel the thought.

You open your mouth to question her, only to be cut off by Amber: “And come to think of it, your style of dress doesn’t match anything I’ve seen here. Are you another Traveler then?”

They figured that out fast; you’d barely even said anything to them, and they had pegged you as an outsider almost immediately!

“I don’t about Traveler, but I know I’m definitely not from around here. I woke up here a few minutes ago, and I can’t remember what I was doing before I got here. In fact, I can’t remember anything about myself before I got here.” You said carefully. You still didn’t how much you could tell them about your circumstances without freaking them out. There’s no way any of them would react well to learning that their reality was just a game to you.

Amber began to scratch her head and mused aloud, “Well, this is strange. Three days ago, a star falls from the sky and leaves a huge crater in the ground. But instead of a meteorite in the middle, there’s a person with strange clothes and amnesia left in the crater.”

“Wait, did you say crater? I didn’t see any craters where I woke up.” At that, Aether and Paimon shared a look with each other.

“About that… Well, it’s probably best if you see it yourself. Follow me!” Amber began to walk towards the top edge of the valley.

“Okay, but I don’t see what this has to do with-” You cut yourself off with a gasp. There at the top of the valley, you saw exactly what she was talking about; the valley was in fact not a valley at all. It was a crater, an unmistakably gigantic crater, and at the center was the exact spot where you woke up.

“This can’t be possible, you said that this happened a few days ago! How could it be covered up with plants that fast?” You turned to Amber in shock.

“Maybe it has something to do with you? Paimon did say that you seemed kinda like Aether…” The fairy-like girl put her hand to her chin contemplatively. “You woke up here with no memory of how you left home, and you said that you know for a fact that you aren’t from Teyvat. Maybe the god that separated him from his sister brought you here too!”

Aether only nodded in agreement.

“Well in any case, it won’t do to keep discussing it out here. Come on, we should head for Monstadt City before it gets dark.” Amber took the lead in your impromptu caravan with Aether and Paimon right behind her and you reluctantly trailing behind them.

There was no way a huge crater could be filled in so fast with foliage, let alone one that huge. Maybe there was a Dendro user nearby? But you were the only person around for miles, and Crystalflies usually only showed around places that had their matching elements.

Maybe… it really does have something to do with me? You looked down at your hands; you didn’t look any different than normal, aside from the missing eye situation.

Aether’s nature as a Descender meant that the had no vision, but instead they could “resonate” with the Elements and wield them as if he was a native of Teyvat anyway. Had you gained that ability too?

You snuck a glance up at the group before you; Paimon was chattering away about what eat when she got back to the city, while Amber was thinking aloud about why you here, and the Traveler remained silent through it all. None of them were paying attention to you.

You looked back at your hands and took a deep breath. You imagined a little flower, growing and blooming right in your hands. Not even a second later, an emerald green light sprang from your palms and two cerulean starflowers bloomed right in your grasp. You gasped and the flowers disappeared just as fast they were summoned.

“Did something happen?” Amber called from ahead of the group.

“Oh, I thought I saw a bug. It’s nothing.” You wiped the palms of your hands on your pants. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice the petals in your fingers.

“Ugh Paimon hates bugs! Let’s go before we run into anymore.” Paimon darted ahead of the group, passing Amber in seconds.

“Hey, wait up!” The brunette girl shouted and ran behind the floating elf.

You were left alone with Aether, but you paid him no mind. You felt him cast a curious gaze in your direction and you pretended not to notice as you began to jog to catch up. The less questions you were asked the better. Once you were in Monstadt City, you could start to figure out how you got here.

Taglist: @zozz-zoya, @yuriisclumsy, @slowlyfriedkingdom, @maichun, @dondonrulerofall, @redacted-ghost, @sleepy-waffle, @putridjoy, @irondinosaurbread, @atrcclovsxoxo, @ladyzsgolla, @darling-of-the-night, @mimi-batt, @noblessejjk, @haksnochw, @nervouseaglelover, @perfectroadstudenthumanoid, @dontletmeinthekitchen, @miyuubleh, @icannotfuckingcook, @odenshuffle, @allblognamesaretakenlikereally, @porkbunll, @cyinthesky, @mikiwylds, @novel0, @code-roevember, @g3n0dtt, @capttsuki, @idontknowhyimhereither, @mi-kage, @snkshhy, @irondreamlandcloud, @alethiaa, @golden-gilden, @dontlookatmepreetyplease, @3sryn, @blueevileye, @reemthetheme, @popcornkernels69, @chocogi, @ihasuwuonmypaper, @mask-tea, @thedarknesslord, @inklaetus, @depressoexpressothepoet, @luckeclover, @shybonesnstuff, @the-reaper-of-souls, @shifter2088, @therionnexus, @de-ruin, @rxixo31, @mysweetsterling, @yumemsa, @eyeless-kun

return to masterlist

[broadwaybalogna]

Zutara Prompt

Zuko is visited by the mysterious Painted Lady and becomes enamored.

Mmmm pre state testing brain go brrr with silly ship.

FEATURINGG: Sly Zuko and awkward Katara, I mean- Painted Lady.

Zuko had heard stories of the painted lady when he was a kid. She was an old legend that lived among the poorer people of the fire nation. Nonetheless, his mother still insisted on telling him stories about the woman. Through the years, Zuko had learned to associate the Painted Lady with the good parts of the fire nation. A nation that had destroyed so many others could still have creation. This nation that he had learned to despise could still be good. He knew that there was still good.

He never expected, however, to meet the woman in person, outside the small tea shop his uncle owned in Ba Sing Se.

And he cursed his mother for never telling him how beautiful she was.

It was only for a split second that he had seen her, dashing through the streets in a flash of crimson, but he recognized the silhouette and memories came flooding back to him.

Then she stopped and looked at him. Zuko felt his face flush at the sudden stop of movement from the woman now right in front of him. And damn, she was beautiful. Even though he could barely see her face from the veil that covered her head, he still got a good view of her from how close he was.

Then, almost as soon as she stopped, she left, dashing away and leaving nothing behind.

Zuko blinked in confusion.

-

The next day, there was more commotion when the painted lady came. More people were outside watching the woman dash from once place to another, this time, with soldiers on her tail.

Zuko didn’t move much, but he still got a good view of the chase from where he was in the city. Then, after ducking down into a small alleyway, she reappeared atop the buildings that layered the large city.

Then, she finally disappeared among the shops and houses, close to where he was. He let out a sigh and went to the top of the tea shop where his room was (well, it was less of a room and more of a slightly large closet with a window). Once entered, he stopped in his tracks.

The painted lady was in his room.

Oh.

Oh.

This was awkward.

“Um… hey-“

“Shh,” she rushed over to him and covered his mouth with her hand. Outside, they could still hear guards running and yelling to find the woman.

Once she was certain they had left, she uncovered his mouth.

“Nice to meet you too,” Zuko said, sarcastically.

“I apologize,” She took a long pause, “I thank you for your- er, hospitality, but I must be leaving.”

“Wait!” Zuko stammered out before she left, “Guards are usually stationed around this area for the hour. And I doubt you want to be caught up in another police chase,” he rambled.

The lady pursed her lips then slightly nodded. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. I’m Zuko.”

“I- um… well- Painted Lady,” she rushed out.

“Bit of a mouthful but okay.” The lady rolled her eyes at his remark.

“Here,” he said, gesturing her to come downstairs, “my uncle makes a great tea.”

“Oh! Thanks.” She sputtered.

She and Zuko sat in a spot that was unseen from people behind the windows outside. Seeing the Painted Lady from the legends they were told as children sitting and drinking tea in the jasmine dragon would be an interesting sight. It was a good thing business was small.

“Any reason you’re here? Or do you just run away from soldiers for fun?” Iroh laughed as he dropped off a second cup of tea.

“I’m just trying to help. Though it feels like I’ve been causing a lot of harm as well,” Katara mumbled.

“Hmm,” Iroh hummed, he took a seat next to Zuko who was sitting across from Katara, “well I’ve heard great things about the business from lower classes this past day. Many people are happy there is more clean water to be accessed.” He nodded in recognition at a memory, “I know I am too.”

The Lady sighed in relief. “That’s good to hear. Thank you.” She bowed her head to Zuko then Iroh. “I should leave now. I appreciate your hospitality.”

Zuko smiled and led her back to the window in his room. When she dashed off this time, a slight scent of lavender lingered.

Next time she came by, he’d have to make sure she stayed longer.

[smolghostbot]

Oneshot? I 'ardly even know 'er!

... No but seriously this is a short little follow up to that story I wrote a few days ago because the characters wouldn't leave my brain and I wanted there to a less ambiguous ending.

Word count: 700

=====

“Hello? Miss borrower? Can you hear me?” said the human to an empty kitchen, a pleading tone in her voice.

It had been a few days since she had met her little ‘housemate’, a borrower who had set up shop somewhere in her apartment. It was hard to tell based on her actions, but it seemed like she hadn’t heard about The Discovery, when humans finally discovered the little folks living amongst them.

The human was about to give up, and try again tomorrow, when she heard a tiny voice coming from behind her.

“It’s Hazel.”

The human turned around to meet the borrower, who was partially hidden behind a cup. The borrower then repeated herself.

“My name is Hazel. Not ‘Miss borrower’. You know about us… how?”

“Nice to meet you, Hazel. My name is Lucy. And… well…” replied the human, bracing herself for a long conversation.

“... How?” Hazel repeated, still looking incredibly cautious.

“Well, most people do… there was kind of a big thing, um… back when smartphones became big…” said Lucy, although the longer she spoke, the less confident she sounded. Truly, she wasn’t an expert on the story, she just remembered seeing it all over the news.

“Wait…” Hazel said, her voice hitching, “Humans… know about us? All humans?”

Lucy nodded, as Hazel began to speak again, her voice growing faster and more panicked. “But… if humans know about us, they’d… they’d… put us in cages… pets… experiments…”

Lucy noticed Hazel’s speech getting less coherent, and quickly tried to calm down the panicked borrower.

“Woah, woah, calm down, calm down. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Everything is okay,” Lucy repeated in as calm a tone as she could muster.

“No it’s not! Humans… how many… have they hurt? How many… are left?” cried Hazel.

“Lots, please, listen to me. You need to calm down first, though, okay? There are lots of borrowers. They live alongside us. I got advice on how to talk to you from a few classmates who are borrowers. Things aren’t always perfect, I won’t lie to you, but… pets? Lab experiments? Absolutely not. So please, don’t freak out.”

“Don’t freak out… don’t freak out… everything I know is a lie, a human is telling me she knows about borrowers, but okay, I’ll try not to freak out!” said Hazel, as she continued to freak out.

“Listen, Hazel, I know this is a lot to take in, but I promise, everything will be fine. I just… I just don’t want you to be scared of me, or any other human, that’s all,” gently replied Lucy, as she pulled out her phone and began to search for images.

“See, look. These are pictures of humans and borrowers living together. Most borrowers stay in the walls and keep, well, borrowing, but some decided to come out into the open. You don’t have to, of course. It’s up to you.”

“Up to me…” repeated Hazel, as she stared at the photos, calming down a bit.

“Entirely up to you. Like I said, I just didn’t want you to be afraid anymore. That’s all.”

A brief moment of silence overcame the two of them, before Hazel spoke again. “In that case… I should go… and think, I guess,”

“Okay,” replied Lucy. “And if you need anything, I’m right here, okay?”

Hazel didn’t respond as she walked away, disappearing behind a few objects piled up on the counter.

-

It was a week later, and Lucy hadn’t heard anything from Hazel. She almost wondered if the borrower had moved out, as that was what traditionally happened when they were seen. At the moment, Lucy was relaxing on her couch after a long week of classes, preoccupied with watching a mindless show about shopping for wedding dresses as she dug into a carton of ice cream.

Eventually, Lucy heard a small scoff, and when she looked to the source of the noise, she saw Hazel, sitting out in the open on a nearby end table.

As they made eye contact, the borrower spoke up, “Nobody on this show ever has any standards. I mean, I can’t believe she picked that dress, is she kidding? It fits her terribly.”

Lucy couldn’t help but smile.