#(maybe i have a few thoughts about his fingers. perhaps! i am imagining things)

[russellius]

2020 BRITISH GP : Friday | © James Moy

[imsilay]

LETHAL

NSFW! mdni, cw: possessive behavior, somnophilia, drugging, stalker!König, obsessive König (idk lmk if i forget anything)

word count: 1.5k

summary: he was picky and he picked you.

next chapter here

art cr: Tava_tavatic on twt

You were doing the dishes as he was watching you from the apartment building next door which had a wonderful view of your bedroom and kitchen. He had seen enough to know many things about you and your life. You left your house at 10 AM every day and returned at 8 PM. You were a homebody, never wanting to leave your home aside from work and you only had your cat for company. You lived alone in a nice house and didn't often have friends over. He couldn't see any guys when your friends came by, meaning you were single, perfect.

He could even hear the music you were playing while doing the dishes. Your delicious-looking lips moved in time with the song, mumbling the lyrics. He couldn't tear his eyes off your lips. Focusing on them and imagining how they would taste. Perhaps blackberry? He had seen the lip balm you bought a few days before when you complained about how dry your lips were in the winter. Would you let him taste it and find out? Would you even look at him after discovering what he did?

His thoughts were cut off when you finished cleaning the dishes and embraced your cat, it was bed time. His gaze was glued on your back as you left the kitchen and disappeared into your living room, and then reappeared in your bedroom. He knew every part of your house. His heart raced when you put the cat down on your bed and then began removing your shirt revealing the curves of your body and the black bra he was stupidly fond of. He moved closer to the window without realizing it. Crossing his arms to stop the aching feeling to touch your smooth skin, his fingers dug into his arms when you finally tossed the shirt somewhere in your room, probably onto the chair, and then threw yourself onto your mattress.

Yawning and getting comfortable with your cat, it purred and get its place next to you. He wishes it was him… Curling next to you falling asleep with the warmth of your body. But it was impossible, cause he was just your sweet neighbor that you only had small chats, cause he was fucking massive and probably would take the majority of the space of your bed. You eventually fell asleep, he checked his watch. Just in time.

Well maybe it wasn’t that impossible…

He continued his observation for a few more minutes but he was unable to contain himself anymore. He had to be with you. He had to feel you, your body, your hair, the curve of your waist and hips. He wanted to touch your lips, but he was afraid that if he kissed you he would just get lost into them and fuck you there.

He shook his head and pulled himself out of his thoughts before they got dirtier. He grabbed the keys of his and your house and made his way to your apartment. After entering your home and closing the door behind himself, he took his sweet time to breathe in the smell. It was full of you, it made his head spin and heart race. This was his first time coming into your house when you’re there. You were so introverted and had barely any friends. You were living happily in your small world, that was until he came.

The man was over two meters and had on a strange looking mask. He immediately drew your attention because he just looked like some game characters you played. At first he was distant, cold. His icy-blue eyes were intimidating but somehow inviting. You were the first to start the conversation with him, asking about his work. You two became closer with time but it was never too friendly. He was just some neighbor you knew. But he wanted more. Much more.

So after many months of observation and gaining a lot of information about you, he managed to copy your keys. He would come into your house and feed your cat with treats making his presence known and loved. Unfortunately just with your cat. But now his dreams were coming true. He had given you some homemade cookies. And poor you accepted them without any suspicion and now you were on your bed, in a deep sleep, as he walked into your room. Your cat immediately noticed him.

But he was too mesmerized by your sleeping form on the bed that he was frozen in his place. The cat meowed loudly, drawing his attention to it, he gave it some treats he brought with him. Everything was planned. When the cat was out of the room and the door of your bedroom was locked, he walked to your bed. He was finally here. Right next to you as you slept beautifully. He swallowed thickly and sat on the bed. The bed made a squeaking noise with his weight.

You looked even more pretty this close. His gaze lingered on your face; his breath hitched when his gaze stopped on your lips. He reached out a hand and brushed the strands of hair off your face. He was so nervous that his hands were shaking when he touched your hair. It was as soft as he imagined it would be. He tucked your hair behind your ear; his fingers lingered on your jaw before stopping on your chin and tilting your head up just a little, just so he could see your face better. Your lips parted and a soft sigh escaped from your lips when he did; his heart skipped a beat.

You continued to sleep, without noticing the man's touch on your face, thanks to the cookies. His thumb caressed your lips. He closed his eyes for a moment and bit his lower lip. He was holding the urge to give into his feelings, to give in to his desires and take you just then, in that moment. But he had to be patient. He wanted your first time together to be special, like you deserved. But it was turning him on so much to see you in that vulnerable state. He just wanted to tore of your bra and see what’s underneath. Then move to your sleeping shorts and take them off along with your panties so he could eat you out until you cum or wake up. He wondered what your expression would look like.

But still… it was just his fantasies. It caused him pain physically. “Scheiße, Maus.” he mumbled with a sigh. He took of his mask with his still trembling hands and put it on your nightstand, then took of his boots placing them on the floor next to your bed. He was ready to curl up with you. He climbed next to you, close. So close that you felt his breath on your face. His heart was beating like crazy now. His hands found your waist. “Gott.” he hissed when he felt how soft your skin was. His arms snaked around your waist and drew you close until your body fit perfectly with his, lips only centimeters apart. “Mine.” he growled. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack because the proximity of your body. Your body was almost disappeared inside his arms. It only made him want to protect and posses you.

His fingers caressed your skin as he watched your face closely. To memorize everything about you. He even tried to count your eyelashes. It was stupid but he was just too lost in your beauty. One of his hands found yours and put it on his face. Like you was caressing his cheek. It was pathetic but he was too desperate for your affection. He left your hand on his cheek and his hand found your back. His fingers tracing up and down on your spine then eventually stopped on the clasp of your bra. “Nein, not now.” he scolded himself with his eyes frowned. His gaze found your lips again and softened. He wanted- no he craved to kiss you. Your lips looked delicious.

He swallowed and closed his eyes promising himself that he would stop after a taste. When he opened his eyes, he was determined to contain himself; to show restraint. So, his hand was on your chin again, tilting your head up to meet his lips. When his lips brushed against yours, he took in a sharp breath; like someone just hit him with a bat, kissing you felt like it. His hand on your waist pulled you closer, as close as he could. His kiss started slowly, with all of his love and affection; with all of his feelings. But the craving... the craving only grew. His whole body shook as he stole your breath. The determination of containing himself was no where to be found with his morals. He moaned into your mouth and his cock throbbed. His hands traveled down and big palms covered your hips. The kiss was sloppy and hungrier now. He was too lost into heaven. You were his heaven.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc<3

Stalker König has a special place in my heart. this is definitely my favorite work. also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)

i’m so sleepless so i’m just gonna post this and post the rest tomorrow.

[yandere-sins]

How'd you think Yandere luci and Yandere Mammon would deal with a S/O who's hiding the fact they're a virgin and is always trying to avoid intercourse by excuses like pretending to be asleep etc because they don't want to lose their virginity to them? (ALSO BTW, I LOVE YOUR WORK. like your work is super amazing and detailed <3 best yan writer)

Thank you for reading my writing!! I am so glad you enjoy it ^-^

And thank you for requesting! ♥

Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Lucifer

♡ As if he doesn't know. You might be able to fool another human, and maybe someone as dense as Mammon, but you can't fool Lucifer. He had already noticed you shying away from his touch, the goosebumps and sudden tension that would go through you every time he touched you (rather innocently even). It's like you expected something to happen and are unsure how to react. Maybe you don't want it, perhaps you do, but your signals aren't very clear, and that makes him suspect you.

♡ He could blame it on some form of trauma that he doesn't know about, but he'd expect your reactions to be a bit more violent or fueled by rejection if that was the case. Instead, they are bashful and tense, with a taste of sweetness and innocence that Lucifer quite likes. And he caught Asmo giving you a knowing look once while you seemed even more hesitant to approach the 5th oldest brother; you made it much too easy for Lucifer to figure out what kind of game you were playing.

♡ So, he'll play along for a while since it's now in his control. You might not be a well-aged drop of lust yet, but delaying the inevitable is going to do you both well. Riling you up, getting you to let down your guard, and leaving you hot and bothered will benefit Lucifer greatly. Seeing your walls crumble will be enough to satisfy him for a while, so he won't have to put his hands on you prematurely. You may simmer on the knowledge that he'll take your virginity at some point, be sensitive, and get confused at times over his actions. Maybe even fantasize what it'll be like. Will he be rough? Gentle? Ease you into it or brutal steal your innocence like he did with your freedom? Letting your thoughts and desires run wild, no matter how much you want to deny them, will almost guarantee that once you are ready, you'll be at a point where you'll crawl to him, begging for release. And Lucifer likes that idea very much.

♡ Things he'll do to chip away at your defense include but aren't limited to spooning up against you at night, his cock perfectly pressed against your body but not grinding against you. Just letting you know it's there and ready for you and allowing you to get used to it but never letting you scoot away. The same is true with his hand placement at night, his palm at your lower abdomen, just resting there, and his fingertips slipping beneath your clothes to leave feathery trails of allurement. So close yet far enough away, teasing, playful, promising. The warmth it emits seeping into your body, heating you up, only for him to retract and leaving you hanging. Sometimes, his fingers will play with your clothes, letting you know just how agile they are. Your mind will do the rest as you can imagine the chaos and pleasure they can leave in their wake. He wears human pheromones suited to your taste, and he'll flirt with you, complimenting you even when you feel vulnerable, letting you know how receptive he is to taking the next step. It's only a matter of time until you cave, but Lucifer will do everything to make it the hardest few days of your life.

Mammon

♡ Mammon is indeed a little dense. He might feel a bit off-put if you reject his advances repeatedly, but he doesn't see anything wrong with it the first few times. There is absolutely no subtlety in his advances, his kisses bordering on orgasm-territory already when he's in the mood, his hands greedy as is fitting for his title. You might be forced into these affections, but even you can't help but squirm beneath him. It only gives him more incentive to take it up a notch when he's just so passionate, your lips constantly bruised, and your neck marked by his teeth.

♡ So it becomes very frustrating and confusing for him when you kick and scream the moment he gets a bit more intimate. He'd like to respect your choice despite him not giving you one when it comes to whether or not you'll be with him for the rest of your life. Mammon likes to think he's gracious like that. But he thought you two were on the right path to taking the next step, yet you keep rejecting him. To be fair, he's been very clear that he wants you for a long time: Grinding against you, fondling your body even though he should be concentrating on other things. You've caught him jerking off next to you, moaning your name quite a few times even though you pretended to be asleep. And if that isn't clear enough, he's been nagging and sometimes even begging on his knees for you to give him some of that sweet body of yours to fuck. You've rejected him all the same, so for Mammon, it hints at something being seriously wrong, but he can't quite figure it out himself.

♡ It takes some... advice from more experienced individuals for him to come to a conclusion. Levi thinks perhaps he smells bad, Satan questions why anyone would want to be with Mammon in the first place, and Beel asks if maybe you're too hungry for any of that stuff and if Mammon fed you properly. But hey, at least Asmo is useful, hinting at the possibility of you feeling... insecure. Maybe you're too "inexperienced" (Mammon vehemently denies the possibility of you being a virgin, cause duh, look at you! Stunning, gorgeous, and he will totally kill anyone who touched you before him, but clearly, with how seductive and sexy you are, he can't possibily your first). So Mammon deducts Asmo is right; you're just nervous because you'll be with a great guy like Mammon!

♡ Worry not; he decides to show you the ropes! ... Literally. You might stutter and reject his ideas of getting close and personal, but Asmodeus had a handy bag of goodies for Mammon before he left. Even though Mammon is at his limit, he tries to keep it together for you, tying you up and making you watch him jerk off, reciting all the things he wants to do to you, how he'll do it, and showing you how insane you are driving him. There won't be any more nights to hide away after that, as Mammon will demonstrate to you exactly how worthy you are to lay with him. But at least he'll ease you into it, that's something, right? You'll get the full 7 hells of orgasms from his mouth to fingers to toys. Forcing you to rely on him as he takes away your senses, like sight, and the freedom to move as you please. By the time he finally gets to wet his cock on you, you'll be already too well-fucked to care, and if that isn't devotion, what is?

[scummy-writes]

A Silly Drunk

Fluff

Pairing: Clavis/Reader(she/her)

Words: 654

Prompt: "Can you be my girlfriend?" "I already am." "Oh, lucky me!" From this prompt list.

Context: I livestreamed me writing on my server, Bloody Simps, and let whoever joined pick a prompt for me to write then and there! @ridiculouslly-ridiculous picked out this prompt with clavis, and then we sat and... listened to lofi calmly as I typed ahahaha

Clavis lowering his defenses was a rare, rare feat. Everytime you managed to catch him in such a state, he would either try to hide away, or have you swear never to mention it to him again. The risk of seeming ‘uncool’, even to someone he’d been dating- no, engaged to- for well over a year now, was still something he was striving to avoid. 

So, given all of those experiences, you were wondering how your fool of a lover managed to succeed in getting drunk tonight. How hard was it to stick to the same glass throughout the night? 

Despite it all, you had managed to lug him to the nearest guest bedroom, given that Clavis could hardly walk more than a couple of feet at a time.

Now you stood beside the bed, setting a glass of water as he babbled to himself.

“Clavis? How do you feel? Do you think you’ll be fine in a few hours?“

Clavis looked up at you, eyes wide as if he had just noticed there was someone else in the room with him. For a moment, his mouth was slightly agape as he searched for words, before he looked away with a small giggle.

Right, not sober in the least. You sighed as you kicked off your heels, settling in on the bed aside him. It would have to do for the night, regardless of how Sariel may lecture the two of you in the morning. 

“At least try to drink water tonight, you get so fussy when your head hurts the next day,” you gently chided, sighing with relief as you took off your heavy earrings, “can you handle helping me with my corset?”

You heard the bed creak as Clavis sat up. He huffed out an anxious chuckle. 

“Shouldn’t - ah, a gentleman wouldn’t do such a thing to such a lovely woman. That is, unless… this is a confession?”

“...Clavis, what are you on about?”

“My, my! Are we already on a first name basis?”

You looked over your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed as you met your lover’s eyes. … Your lover’s very genuine, confused eyes. Oh hell.

“You haven’t drank enough to forget my name, surely?”

Clavis’ eyes darted to the side as he nervously licked his lips, and every second that ticked by as you watched the gears turn in his head left you feeling… exhausted. Maybe you needed to be the one in charge of what Clavis drank during events…

“Perhaps… My memory isn’t the best at the moment, but your lovely, if stern, gaze seems to warm my heart all the same.”

Letting the compliment(?) slide, you hummed along with his observation.

“So, as you can see, I must have been very smitten with you to take you here tonight.”

Ignoring the fact that you were the one to drag him here, you entertained his train of thought, “I would like to imagine so, yes.”

“Then I must have been prepared to ask a vital, important question.”

Idly, you twisted the engagement ring on your finger, “and what might that be?”

He paused before clearing his throat, 

"Can you be my girlfriend?" 

You stared at his hopeful and excited gaze, the blush coating his cheeks… The longer you took to reply, you could see the nervousness settle in more, reminding you of the first night you had ever seen him this drunk. Arguably, the first night you realized just how in love you had been with this fool of a man. 

So you soften your voice, "I already am." 

"Oh, lucky me!" His shoulders sagged with relief, and you were torn between feeling insulted or using this as blackmail in the future.

“Will you take off my corset now?”

“Right! Yes, of course! What else could be expected from a gentleman like myself, ahaha.”

“Remembering my name would be nice, for starters.”

“... In just a few moments, my lovely lover…”

Divider by @/enchanthings

Annnd that's that! Just a short, silly lil thing.

Ikepri Masterlist || Ikevamp Masterlist || Ikepri/Vamp Server

Taglist (Sign-up form here!): @m-mmiy @xbalayage @bubblexly @yarnnerdally @keithsandwich @nightghoul381 @katriniac @fang-and-feather @namine-somebodies-nobody @pawnkyyy

[withleeknow]

for the requests — i'll send two songs that i've liked for quite a while and you can choose the member that you see who fits the vibe?

sand by dove cameron

and

make you mine by madison beer

conversations with strangers.

pairing: seungmin x gn!reader genre/warnings: exes to ??, non-idol au (i wrote this with seungmin in mind as a celebrity/singer or musician of some sort so it's pretty vague and it's not explicitly mentioned what he actually does, so if you wanna imagine him as an idol it still fits the narrative. i can't tell you what to do lol), Angst™️! (i think. i liked this at first but then i was looking at it so much that i became desensitized to it and idk if it's that sad anymore lol); the ending is a little ambiguous maybe?, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex, could've been more edited word count: 2.9k note: this might be one of my favorite things that i've written lately but i am also in my fish freshly dropped on land era so i am fully prepared for this to flop like ass lol bye

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I saw the end when we began You couldn't love the way I can I tried to bargain with the stars For more than half of your heart But you have more pieces of me than the desert has sand And I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand

Sand - Dove Cameron

"Why did you call me?"

"Why did you come?"

There isn't a good answer to his question, so you choose to ignore it in favor of keeping your eyes on the road, your fingers holding tightly onto the steering wheel. You don't know what to tell him. You yourself aren't even sure why you came to that bar, why Seungmin is sitting in your passenger seat right now just because he was drunk and he wouldn't let anyone take him home but you.

"I asked you first," you say. It takes an effort to keep your voice even, an effort not to look over at him.

"Don't know," he sounds like he couldn't care less, but that's always been Seungmin for you. "Old habits die hard, I guess. You were the only one I used to call."

You round a corner without even having to look at the GPS. The route to his place is still ingrained in your brain even after all this time. On some nights when you feel too stuffy indoors, you would go on a walk by yourself. Directionless for an hour or two, you just want to feel the wind wrap around your body and solid ground beneath your feet.

On these same nights, you would find yourself at Seungmin's door.

It's always unintentional, the way your feet would carry you to his home without your permission.

"Used to," you reiterate. "Past tense. You don't get to call me anymore. I'm not your chauffeur."

You feel his eyes on the side of your face. Then his voice, ever so calm and collected, "You came anyway, didn't you?"

His words irritate you for some reason, even though he means nothing bad. No malice in his voice; he's just simply stating a fact. You did come when he called, and perhaps the person that you're really annoyed with is only yourself, because why did you come?

He should be a stranger to you by now, and yet, you're here.

Maybe you know the answer. Maybe it's not a hard question at all.

You let the both of you wallow in silence for the rest of the drive. When you pull up to Seungmin's building about ten minutes later, you finally turn to cast your gaze upon him with your eyebrow slightly raised, a polite Get out if there ever was one.

Instead of taking the hint like a normal person and going on his merry way, he just stares at you with his big eyes and his hair still styled to perfection even after a night of celebrating and drinking. Seungmin loves to be difficult, this you can't ever forget.

"Well?" you press. "You're home."

He blinks, then swallows thickly. He looks around your car for a few seconds, unsure of himself. If he wasn't intoxicated, you would think he's trying to stall.

"I... I can't go up by myself," he says.

"Are you serious?"

He just nods, something expectant in his gaze.

"You're a grown man."

"Help me up." He doesn't sound all too drunk, but maybe he's just got a way of masking it because Seungmin would never outright ask for help. He's stubborn, and he thinks it makes him look weak. Incapable.

In the end, you give in to his request. You let him lean on you in the elevator on the way up to his floor, the scent of his cologne still overpowering the bourbon he had all night and it makes you just a little nostalgic.

At his door, you hold onto his waist and look away when he punches in the passcode. The door unlocks and this should be it for the two of you, your unexpected reunion should be ending the moment Seungmin crosses over to the other side of the threshold, but he just turns around and looks at you, his body against the frame of the door this time.

"There, you're home safely," you say. "I've done my part. Goodnight."

"Come in."

"Why?"

"I'm tired. Come in." And with that, Seungmin retreats into the apartment, leaving the door open for you to follow without any further explanation at all. For a moment, you stand there by yourself, not really sure of what to do. You hear him shuffling inside, before the sound of his body plopping onto the couch carries over to your ears.

What business do you have here? What business did you have with Seungmin in the first place today?

And yet, you find yourself trailing inside, closing the door behind you until the lock clicks into place. Maybe you're curious to see what the place looks like since the last time that you were here. The two of you never lived together - you weren't foolish enough to agree even though he did ask - but you were over often enough to consider this your second home.

Not much has changed. It's still the same minimalist four walls that you were used to. Same light gray paint, same black couch. Same framed signature of his favorite baseball player and same tiny crack in the decorative bowl on the coffee table. There's a photo on the credenza lying face down seemingly on purpose, but you don't say anything about it.

"What am I doing here?" you ask.

"Why did you come?" he shoots you the question for the second time tonight.

You blink at him. He only stares back.

"Why did you call me?" you repeat. "Why did you really call me?"

Questions thrown out but no answers received, like you're both running in circles, with neither of you knowing why you're even running in the first place.

Seungmin purses his lips before he stands up, the suddenness of the movement leaves him unsteady on his feet, makes him hold onto the couch's armrest for support. "Do you want some water?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Okay."

"Give me a second. Have a seat."

You watch as he pads into the kitchen a little wobbly, then returns a few minutes later with two glasses of water. He sits back down on the couch next to you, some distance dividing the two of you. He takes a sip, you do the same.

"Called you because I missed you," he says, casually admitting it like he was merely discussing the weather. The place hasn't changed, but maybe he has.

The last time you spoke to Seungmin was about six months ago, when he dropped off your things two weeks after you broke up. You haven't had any contact since, and that's exactly the way it should be for you and him now. You went your separate ways and that was it. A mutual agreement that hurts, but it was mutual nonetheless. For the past half a year, all he's been to you is a stranger. You know why it had to happen. You agreed to it.

But, just because you haven't talked, doesn't mean that you haven't thought of him. You wish he only crossed your mind in passing, wish your brain only conjured up the image of him whenever you saw something that he would like, or whenever you caught a glimpse of him on the TV or radio. In reality, it's been much more pathetic. You think of him almost every day, despite your best efforts to cleanse yourself of everything that's remotely related to the name Kim Seungmin. His absence carries itself with you all the time, a hollowness that seeps into every crevice of your life.

You know he means it. Seungmin doesn't lie, least of all to you. His honesty twists inside of you like a knife. Salt, meet wound.

You have no words to offer him, no response you can think of that would make sense to say out loud so you don't say anything. The only sound that falls from your lips is his name, like a warning, a plea, a consolation all at once.

But he doesn't seem to mind. Not his sudden vulnerability, not your reluctance to entertain that split second of honesty.

"I answered your question. Now you have to answer mine," he says. "Why did you come?"

"What do you want me to tell you?"

He doesn't respond right away. Instead, he takes a moment like he's mulling it over in his head. "Thought maybe you missed me too," he says eventually, ending the sentence with a bitter chuckle. "Just a little bit."

You tongue your cheek, stall with another sip of water before you place the glass on the table. On a coaster of course, Seungmin hates cup rings on his fancy table.

You lean back to rest on the couch, staring up at his boring ceiling. There are memories of you on this very couch, ones of you lying with your head on his lap as he plays with your hair, the two of you winding down after a long day. Or ones that are far too inappropriate to bring up ever again, of nights where you were both too desperate and impatient to take it to the bedroom. Those gentle reminders are still here somewhere, tucked between the cushions perhaps.

"Sure." You hum, nodding along. "Let's go with that."

Another chuckle, humorless. Though, you think he's pleased enough with that non-answer but you're not sure. He mirrors your position, falling into the couch with a sigh. From your peripheral vision, you think he's scooched closer to you, just by a few centimeters, in the process of settling into the sofa.

"My turn," you say. "Why do you want me here?"

"What is this, 21 questions?"

You shrug simply. "You asked me to come in. I'm just curious."

When Seungmin stays silent for a beat too long, you turn your head to watch him, thinking maybe he's knocked out because of the alcohol in his system. But you find him wide awake, his eyes staring ahead, looking like he's already sober.

His face is unreadable when he says, "Wanted to see something."

"See what?"

"See if something is still there."

It's your turn to remain quiet as you process his words, and it's Seungmin who has to turn to gauge your reaction.

"And? Is anything still there?" you ask.

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the one that stayed."

"Does it matter? If I say there is?"

"Of course it does."

"What would you do about it?"

He goes still once more. You know he doesn't have an answer to your question. What would he do? What could he even do? Patch things up only for them to fall apart again in a couple months? Once upon a time, you were naive enough to think that you could find a way to make it work. You had enough blind faith to think that it would all work out in the end; that if you wanted it enough, maybe the universe would let you have this one thing.

You return your gaze to the ceiling. He's shown you his cards, maybe it's only fair that you show him some of yours too.

An uncertain inhale, then the realization that this is the only time you would be able to have an honest conversation with him about this.

"Wanna hear something funny?" you ask.

"I have a feeling you're gonna tell me anyway."

It's anything but funny, and Seungmin is certain that you're not building up to a punchline. Sure, it's a little tragic that nothing matters, but there's some freedom, some comfort in that too. You can tell him everything that's plagued your mind for the past couple hundred days or so without having to worry about the repercussions. Even though not all is said, everything is already done.

"You know, you were mine before you were anyone else's," you say. You feel his eyes on the side of your face. The silence persists, and you aren't sure if you can take it as a sign to continue, but you do so anyway because at least he's not pumping the brakes on it, right? "I used to be jealous of your life. Toward the end, I mean."

"Jealous of what?"

"I don't know. Just your life, your dream. All of it."

Seungmin blinks. "You were jealous that I got to live my dream?"

"I said I was jealous of your life, not you," you correct him. "Because you always seemed to want everything else more than you wanted me."

"You make it sound like I was the bad guy." He turns a little defensive all of a sudden, an edge in his voice when he says, "That's not true."

You still remember him well enough to know that it is.

And it's not such a terrible thing; it's simply the truth. You can't fault him for having a dream and for having enough courage to see it through, even if it means unintentionally leaving you behind in the process. You could foresee the end even from the beginning. If you wanted to blame someone, you would have to blame yourself too.

You swerve around his metaphorical walls, his make-believe suit of armor. If you'd been nervous around Seungmin tonight, then that anxiety is now chipping away brick by brick the more you internalize the fact that nothing matters anymore.

"Remember your last show before we broke up? You were so happy, I was so proud of you. You belong on stage and I never wanted to take that away from you. But then I noticed the crowd, the thousands of people out there cheering your name and I realized that I would never compare to them. Their praise meant more to you than mine, and it was only a matter of time before you outgrew me to look for bigger and better spotlights.

"I'm not saying you were wrong for any of it. I don't blame you. You were always going to outgrow me. It's sad, but it's okay. I always knew that you'd have to leave me behind at some point. It's on me too; I just fell too hard too fast for someone who could never stay. It's your dream, you can't help it. But that night... that was the nail in the coffin for me, knowing that one day, to you, I would be just one of the faces in a crowd that you can't even tell apart."

It doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would. In fact, it's even a little cathartic to pour out the words that have been sitting heavy on your chest. Although it's not until a single tear spills over that you realize your eyes have welled up somewhere along the way. You quickly wipe it away with your thumb, then you feel his hand reach for yours after a few beats.

Seungmin calls your name, and you can hear the regret in his voice. When you look at him, his eyes have softened, no longer on the defense now that you've beat him to the offense. "I'm not drunk enough to forget about this in the morning, you know," he says.

"Does it matter? What are you going to do about it in the morning?" you ask. "We're already broken up. It's not like we can go anywhere from here. But at least now you know what it was like for me."

It seems to be a common theme tonight - stretches of silence in between admissions of truth so that one of you can gauge the other's reaction, trying to assess what path would be worth it to take at this crossroad you find yourselves unable to move on from.

Then he's tugging on your hand, pulling you to him until you're in each other's orbit again. Close enough for him to wrap his arm around you. Close enough that you're weak, not that you were ever that strong to begin with. It doesn't really come as a surprise that you let him.

"I..." Seungmin starts, full of uncertainty as he tries to string together a sentence. "We could go back."

This isn't a surprise either, that you're considering his words.

"What happens when it ends again?"

You can practically taste the residual bourbon on his breath when he leans into you, his lips brushing your cheek just slightly. "Then it ends again," he says, a little pained, all too selfish. "But it'll be worth it. It's worth it to me."

"What if it's not what I want? What if it's not worth it to me?"

He pulls back, putting some distance between your faces so he could see you better, the deep brown of his eyes searching for something that you're both aware of.

"You came tonight," he murmurs, as if that in and of itself is a sufficient enough explanation. "You stayed."

Not all is said, but everything is already done.

You had chance after chance after chance to leave, to shut this down - whatever this is - but you didn't, not even once. You're still a willing participant even though you've lived through this ending before. You know he loved you, know he loves you even if the way he goes about it is selfish.

Because you do know the answer to his questions. It's clear as day; anyone can see it from a mile away.

When your world eventually comes crashing down again some time from now, you won't blame Seungmin. You won't blame yourself either, despite having option to walk away from all of this right now.

Because maybe some pains are worth enduring twice, aren't they?

Why did you come? Why did you stay?

Is anything still there?

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.06.2024]

[rueanaddict]

His little filthy secret

permise: you found something he was hiding from you

pairing: vinnie hacker x female reader

warnings: smut- contains rough sex, uprotected sex, oral sex [female receiving], mentions about masturbating, praise kink, spit swallowing, spanking, degradation, overstimulating, fingering, swearing

word count: 2801

A/N: I am obsessed with this mf so i felt the urge to write about him

it’s only an imagine, I know that irl vinnie is literally the sweetest soul ever

(also english is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes)

hope you enjoy ;)

You were at Vinnie's house because tonight was supposed to be one of your movie nights together. You loved those nights. After a week of worrying, you were able to breathe and relax a bit. Most often you watched two or three movies and then fell asleep cuddled under a blanket. You wanted to lay your head on his chest and wrap your arms around him. However, you had to wait a bit for that because Vinnie went to get the groceries.

While waiting for Vinnie and snacks, you decided to take a nap. You were a bit tired and you wanted to regain strength so as not to fall asleep right away while watching a movie. You went to his bedroom. Vinnie's bed was the most comfortable bed you've ever slept in, so you couldn't wait to wrap yourself in a warm blanket soaked in the scent of the curly-haired boy. When you entered the room you saw that the bed was unmade.- obviously- you thought. Vinnie often forgot a lot of things in a hurry. - one of them was making the bed. You started to fold the soft blankets thinking that in a moment you would wrap yourself in them and fall into a sweet sleep. When everything was ready, you laid down on the bed, snuggling into Vinnie's pillow so you could smell his scent. However, your fingers under the pillow stumbled upon something strange. You pulled a piece of fabric from under your pillow, quickly recognizing what it was.

-Holy shit.- you said out loud.

You were holding a black thong... your thong. You used to stay over at Vinnie's a lot and sometimes you forgot something, but never your panties. Besides, what were they doing in his bed? Of course, you've slept with Vinnie in the same bed before, but not like this. After all, you were just friends. You stared in disbelief at your discovery for a moment, wondering what the hell this was all about, but you were interrupted by Vinnie's voice from downstairs.

-I'm back. Where are you?

-Upstairs.- you said, gulping down the saliva in your throat.

You took a deep breath and went downstairs. Vinnie was unpacking groceries in the kitchen, hearing your footsteps behind him.

-Listen, they didn't have your favorite cookies, so I took...

-Vinnie...?- you interrupted him with uncertainty in your voice.

-Yes?- he turned and looked at you with those damn beautiful brown eyes full of innocence.

-I wanted to take a nap so I went to your room and...

-And?- he came closer. -Something happened? You seem scared.

After a moment of silence, you gathered your courage and asked, lifting the thong so that it was now in front of his face.

-What was it doing in your bed?- Vinnie froze for a moment, staring at your panties.

-Uhhh I don't know what that is...- he stammered.

-Vinnie don't play dumb and tell me what the hell my panties are doing in your goddamn bed.- you said quite loudly.

-Ohh come on baby, don't pretend you don't know.

-What the fuck are you talking about, Vinnie?- the boy slowly approached you, looking you in the eyes with a sneer.

-You know... you left them at mine a few weeks ago so I decided to take care of it.- he slowly got closer and closer to you. You were stepping back with each step he took until your back hit the wall.

-I don't remember leaving it at your place.- you said looking into his eyes which were now full of lust.

-You don't remember huh?- he smiled slightly at his own words.- You used the bathroom and left them on the bathtub in a hurry. Or perhaps you did it on purpose? Maybe you wanted them to be found by me?

-What!? No Vin...

-Shh don't interrupt me.- he put his finger to your lips.- I was going to give it to you but I couldn't resist.

-What do you mean?

-Ohh baby you have no idea what I’m talking about do you?- you swallowed hard.- As soon as I picked them up, the thought of your little pussy touching that piece of cloth drove me crazy.

You looked deep into his eyes. He wasn't the same kind and loving Vinnie anymore. In that moment, lust overtook him.

-Vinnie did you... you know... did you use my panties to... - you couldn't finish the sentence.

-You don't even know how many times I've been jerking off thinking about you. How many times I’ve cummed on those cute little panties imagining that cum is deep inside your little pussy baby.- after those words you were totally stunned.

Sometimes you fantasized about Vinnie and felt awfully bad about it because he was your best friend after all. But after what he told you, the guilt disappeared and was replaced by lust. God, this man had no boundaries and you were terribly attracted to it.

You stood there stunned when suddenly Vinnie yanked panties out of your hand.

-What are you doing?- you asked trying to snatch them from his hand.

-You won't get them. This is my property now.- he said as he put your panties in his back pocket.

-C’mon Vinnie give them to me.- you leaned over to take them out of his pocket, but you lost your balance a bit and fell straight on Vinnie who caught you.

-Hey be careful sweetheart. I don't want anything to happen to you.- Vinnie held you in his strong arms. You wanted to look him in the eyes, but you couldn't. You were too flustered after what he said.

-You're not so talkative anymore, are you? I don't understand why you're so surprised. You've seen the looks I gave you. I've wanted you all to myself for a  very long time and... I know you want me too.- he leaned and whispered in your ear.- I've caught you staring at my bulge more than once. You think I don't know what's going on when I'm around and you clench your legs. I know what I do to that little pussy.- shivers ran down your spine. You've wanted Vinnie for a long time, and the thought of him rubbing his cock against your panties turned you on even more.- he moved away from your ear so he could look into your eyes, then your mouth, then your eyes again, then your mouth again...

-Can I kiss you?- he asked gently grabbing your cheek and stroking his finger over your soft and thirsty of his touch lips. You nodded slightly, looking into his eyes.

He leaned down and placed a passionate kiss on your lips. He moved his body closer to yours which made you feel the bulge in his pants. He lightly pushed his tongue into your mouth, asking for the access you gave him. His hands slid up your waist until they stopped at your hips. You pulled away from each other for a moment to catch your breath.

-You want this?- Vinnie asked seriously. You just nodded your head.- Use your words princess.

-I want this Vinnie.

-What do you want?- he said with that cocky smile.

-I want you to fuck me Vinnie.- that was enough for him. He quickly picked you up and carried you to his bedroom, placing kisses along your neck. You just whimpered at his actions.

-Do you like it little one?- he asked between kisses.- You don't even know how long I've wanted to sink my teeth into your neck.- he growled throatily, continuing to giving you wet kisses along your jawline. When you entered the room Vinnie gently placed you on the bed still holding you in his strong arms.- Damn, you did a really good job with that bed... too bad all that effort will go to waste baby.- he said, then kissed you.

-Listen, it only goes as far as you want princess... okay?- you nodded slightly in response as you couldn't say anything.

-Let’s get rid of this.- he started to pull up your hoodie and placing gentle kisses along your tummy, finally reaching your tits. He began stroking your hardened nipples softly, sucking on one and then the other, letting out moans of satisfaction.

-God, you have such a nice body.- when he was done with your tits, he went a little lower and started to pull down your pants. You were in front of him only in a pair of black thongs. He stared at your soaking panties for a moment with desperation in his eyes.

-I want to taste you so badly.- he placed a kiss on your lips. You started looking at him. He was still fully clothed and you were about to reveal yourself completely to him. Vinnie noticed you staring at him in frustration that he still had clothes on and he took the hint. He took off his shirt revealing his tattooed body. You moaned in satisfaction and placed your hands on his chest, running your fingers over his black tattoos. It's not like you've never seen Vinnie shirtless. It was completely different now...

-Let me take care of you baby.- he said moving down to your lower parts placing kisses on your inner thighs.- You're so damn wet for me sweetie.- he started taking off your soaked panties and hiding them into his back pocket.

-I won't get them back, will I?- you asked sighing.

-Trust me you won't need them anymore... Now lift your hips up a little bit.- Vinnie leaned down to your needy pussy.

-You want to feel my tounge on your little pretty clit sweetheart?

-Please Vinnie stop teasing me.- you moaned in response. With those words, Vinnie started eating your swollen pussy. He sucked and licked all they way up and down.

 -You taste so good darling.- whimpers and moans escaped your mouth as Vinnie savored the taste of your pussy. He put one finger in your little hole.

-Vinnie please... I need more...

-Be patient little girl. My fingers are much bigger than yours.- he said, adding another. You moaned at the pleasure he was giving you.- Do you like the feeling of me stretching your tight pussy?- he asked, pushing his fingers in and out in rapid motions. He brought his face closer to yours to place a passionate, wet kiss on your lips. You couldn't take it anymore, it was too much.

-Vinnie I’m gonna... he immediately moved away from your swollen and dripping pussy.- My poor little girl wanna cum? Ohhh baby let yourself cum and feel the pleasure.- he started sucking your clit again.

-Ohh fuck.- you moaned.

-Cum all over my face like a good girl.

-Fuck Vinnie...- you cummed and Vinnie held your trembling legs, licking your release.

-Look at the mess you've made. I have to clean it all up now. When he was done, he pulled away from your sore pussy and admired your body.

-Fuck baby look how hard I am.- he said stroking his cock through his pants.- C’mere.- you moved closer and he wrapped his arms around you. You were now sitting on his massive thighs.

- Now... will you be an obedient little whore for me sweetheart?

-Yes Vinnie.- you said quietly.

-I want to hear you saying it.

-I'll be your obedient little whore.

-Ohh fuck you make my cock throb even more.- he said kissing your neck.- C’mon undo my belt.- he looked you straight in the eyes. You placed your hands on his bulge. God he looked so good. You unbuckled his belt and slid  pants off Vinnie. He was only in boxers now.- C’mon take them off.- you slowly slid the fabric off his hips and his cock popped out hitting his stomach. Your eyes immediately widened in surprise. His cock was huge. Thick, long, pulsating, covered with veins. You didn't know how it was supposed to fit inside you. You stared at him a little too long what Vinnie noticed.

-You like what you see?- he said with a cunning smile.- Bend over that bed and stick your pretty ass up.- you did as he said.- Damn you have such a nice ass.- he spanked you hard and pulled you closer so you could feel his throbbing dick pressed against your ass.

-I can't fucking wait any longer.- he said and thrusted into you, giving you no time to adjust to his length. You felt pain at first, but it soon turned to pleasure. He fucked you at inhuman speed and the sound of skin hitting skin echoing through the room. He leaned down from time to time to give you kisses down your spine.- Turn around, I want to see your face when I fuck you.- he shoved his cock back into your dripping pussy, letting out a long, guttural moan. He thrusted into you faster and faster, moaning in pleasure.

-Fuck my cock feels so good inside that tight pussy.- you just moaned and screamed his name like it was the only word you knew.

-Ohhh fuck baby... Do something for me... Open your mouth and stick your tongue out... wider...- he spat into your mouth.- Drink my spit.- you did as you were told. It wasn't typical of you, but you liked that so badly.

-You like when I’m so rough to you aren't you? C’mere...- he started leaving marks on your neck and shoulders. He held you tight, digging his fingers into your thighs, continuing his thrusts. Your and Vinnie's moans intensified with each thrust.

-Ohh fuck baby you gonna cum? Cum for me pretty girl... Cum all over that cock.- you cummed after that but Vinnie didn't stop moving inside you.- You thought I'd stop because you came?- he chuckled lightly.- Give me one more... Okay baby?- you knew you wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow, but at that moment you didn't care. You felt too much pleasure to think about anything. Your brain was getting dizzy.

-I’ve come so many times thinking about your tight little hole and now I have it all to myself.- he continued fucking you so hard and so good.- Give me your hand.- you stretched out your hand and he placed it on your tummy.- Can you feel it...? Can you feel that bulge in your tummy? See how deep I am inside you...- he was panting harder and harder.- Fuck it’s  pressed against your fucking womb... Ohhh fuck it feels so good.- his moans were so hot.- Fuck baby, I'm about to fill that little pussy with my cum... Ohh fuck... I want you to cum again when I will drain my balls in your little cunt baby... Ohh shit...- his movements were now faster than ever. You felt every inch of his dick pulsating deep inside you.- Ohhh fuck fuck fuck I'm cumming... Cum for me baby... Ohhh fuck.- he started rubbing your already swollen clit rapidly.- Right after that his warm cum filled your pussy. Vinnie collapsed tiredly on top of you. He was panting and whimpering against your chest. You tangled your fingers in his soft curls, scratching his scalp. You stayed like that for a while until Vinnie spoke up.

-Was I too harsh my love?- he said, placing a kiss on your cheek.

-No Vinnie... you were perfect as you always are.

-My love?- Vinnie said softly.- I need to tell you something... I've wanted to tell you this for a long time... I fell in love with you...- you didn't expect those words to come out of his mouth and he noticed it.

-Fuck, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so sudden...

-Shhh Vinnie it’s okay.- he looked at you with love in his eyes.- I fell in love with you too...

-You don't know how happy I am to hear that... Can I kiss you?

-You don’t have to ask me Vinnie.

 He placed a loving and passionate kiss on your lips.

-But Vinnie...- you said uncertainly.

-Yes sweetheart? - he asked a little worried.

-You can't steal my panties anymore.- he chuckled at your words.

-You promise?

-I promise...- he covered you two with a blanket and snuggled into you even more, inhaling your scent.

He placed one last kiss on your forehead and you fell asleep in each other's arms.

[ickadori]

It’s 2:58 am where I am but imagine Poly!Gojo after finding out he actually did love reader getting jealous whenever the reader pays attention to literally anything else. Reader sitting there confused as hell, and mildly uncomfortable as gojo tries to pry their attention away like he didn’t leave them for dead when they were kidnapped.

cws for yandere gojo vibes and reader wearing a skirt.

And you are uncomfortable - this sudden onslaught of…possessiveness seems entirely out of character for him. He had been so free and careless when it came to you before, hardly batting an eye when someone chatted you up in public, never looking twice when you left the house in an outfit a bit too risqué with your friends, and never even so much as frowning when you talked about your male friends and coworkers with a bit too much enthusiasm.

You had never seen him jealous, angry, territorial, and you thought you had hit the jackpot in the boyfriends department - two men who completely rejected the male toxicity that some of your friends had to deal with.

But now…now Gojo was different. He was stifling, suffocating, always leering over your shoulder and checking behind you. Suddenly, he was looking over your outfits, tugging at your skirts and complaining about how short they were, how your ass was practically hanging out, how men wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes, maybe even their hands, off of you. You told him every time, “What do you care? You wanted me dead, remember?”, and every time he’d sigh and complain about you bringing up the past.

Whenever you happened to be approached in public by some man who was friendly enough, Gojo would somehow make an entrance (his ability to sense these things were uncanny - or perhaps he was just always lurking, watching) and drape himself over your shoulders as he stared the man down, those bright eyes of his, which had been entrancing once upon a time, now making you want to shrivel up and never look at him again.

Whenever you’re out with your friends, your phone is constantly pinging with texts. You had blocked him before, but had quickly learned that flat out ignoring Gojo would result in him resorting to more…desperate measures.

You could only avoid his texts for so long before he’d start calling, and unless you wanted him making a surprise appearance, it was better to answer and humor him for a few moments. He didn’t usually hold you for long, unless Getou wasn’t around (which was rare), and you could get away with a few yeah’s and mhm’s thrown in, unless it was a night where he wanting a bit more.

In the rare moments where you can overlook the past to be around Getou - because he wasn’t really the one to blame, was he? He loved you, and he still does, as he so often tells you, Gojo had been the one to mess up, so you couldn’t punish him as well, right? - Gojo always rears his head up, smile on his face and something shining in his eyes before he’s covering them up with a pair of dark shades.

He’s putting himself down between the two of you, arm curling around your waist and head resting on your shoulder as if you two have been doing this for weeks, years—and he has, with Getou, while you had sat off to the side, just to happy to have been there.

You try to keep up the conversation with Getou, but Gojo is always butting in, trying to steer the conversation into the direction he wants it to go in. When that doesn’t work, he starts touching you; nuzzling his nose against your neck, pulling on strands of hair, intertwining his fingers with yours, blowing in your ear and cackling when you flinch away with a scowl.

Whenever he’s around, his attention is always on you, something that you’ve never experienced before, and you can’t say that you like it—maybe that’s what the three of you worked alright before, his encompassing love and everything that came with it -the obsessiveness, the clinginess, his overwhelming presence- was reserved for Getou (God, how could he stand it?) while you got nothing. But now…now it was split between the two of you, and you still found it to be entirely too much.

He was entirely too much.

And you don’t think that was going to change any time soon.

[mochiwrites]

“Scar?”

Grian pokes his head around their tower, squinting against the desert sun poking in through the windows. The recently turned red name is nowhere to be found, much to Grian’s confusion.

Things have been quiet since they returned to the desert after taking a few stops around the server. Grian had dropped off some things in a chest, stopping at the lilacs and poppies on his person. The flowers were carefully deposited in a pot before Grian moved to crafting up some more TNT.

Ever since getting back, Scar had been out of sight, and suspiciously quiet.

Grian had only lasted about thirty minutes of TNT crafting before getting up and going to search for his partner.

Which leads him to his current search, walking around the tower to find the red name.

“Scaaar?” he calls out to him, brows furrowing. He checks the main room of the tower before the smaller rooms and upstairs. Still, nothing. It leaves Grian confused and very bewildered. “Where on earth could that mad man be?” he questions.

There’s a bump that comes from above him, and he looks up. Ah.

Grian heads over to the ladder, grabbing the rings and hauling himself up until he reaches the very top of their tower and — Scar is right there, back facing him. Something in Grian relaxes at that, relief filling his lungs like it’s air.

“There you are, Scar. I was starting to wo—”

“Don’t take another step, G.” Scar’s voice comes out in a rush, cutting Grian off before he can move any closer to him.

Grian freezes where he is, words dying on his tongue as his wings snap close to his back. He stares at Scar, specifically at the back of his head, confused. “Okay?” he says. “Are you… alright, Scar?” There’s a crease between his brows forming, concern settling under his skin.

“Oh me? I’m just peachy! As good as can be, really!” Scar replies, but his voice is too grand, lilt just a bit too high pitched and forced and Grian knows he’s set his mask on.

(The thought of Scar wearing a mask when it’s just the two of them makes Grian’s chest twist.)

“You don’t have to worry about lil ol’ me, Grian. I’ll join you downstairs in a few minutes.” Scar waves him off, and Grian can imagine the way his lips curl into a placating smile. But that won’t work on Grian.

Instead, he takes a slow step forward. “Well when you disappear for an hour while being red it’s a bit concerning,” he replies. He takes another step, and as he closes the distance between himself and Scar, he sees the man stiffen.

“Just needed some fresh air! You know how it is, the air can all hot and stuffy down there!”

“It’s the desert, Scar.” Really, what did he expect?

Scar chuckles, but the sound rings hollow in Grian’s ears, flat. He doesn’t like it. “Right, right! Which is why fresh air is important! It’s not good for the lungs to be inhaling all those dust particles.”

The entire time Scar talks, he doesn’t look at Grian. Not once. He keeps his back to him, never glancing behind him or turning around to meet his eyes. Something that Grian knows is important to Scar when he’s talking to people. He always said managing eye contact and looking at people was a big component in striking deals with them. It’s how he reads them.

Perhaps Scar just doesn’t need to look at him, doesn’t need to read him.

Maybe he’d be more willing to believe that if he didn’t see the tension in Scar’s shoulders.

With a deepened frown, Grian reaches out to Scar, taking hold of his wrist. “Scar,” he says, causing the man to jump when they make contact. “What’s going on?”

Scar feels stiff under Grian’s touch. “What makes you think there’s anything wrong?”

“I’m not stupid,” he huffs, giving Scar’s wrist a soft squeeze, “you haven’t looked at me once.” Look at me, please, look at me.

The red name falls silent, stilling completely. He leaves his wrist in Grian’s grip, skin warm against his fingers. “You sure I can’t spin some fancy words and convince you I’m totally fine?” Scar eventually answers. “Because I am! Completely and totally fine.”

Grian doesn’t believe him. “You’re a bad liar, Scar.” He isn’t, not really. Scar is a master at weaving lies together, spinning the story the way he wants and pulling everyone along for the ride. But in moments like these, where it’s just the two of them, and Scar is trying to convince Grian of something he doesn’t believe, Grian doesn’t fall for it.

“Should’ve known it wouldn’t work on you,” Scar mutters, shaking his head. “You’re too good, G.”

“I’m just good at seeing through you,” Grian retorts. He squeezes Scar’s wrist again. “Now will you please just stop avoiding my quest—”

Scar cuts him off again, but this time it’s face him. His red eyes stare into Grian’s green ones, and Grian freezes where he stands. There’s a sad and solemn smile on Scar’s face, and when he speaks, his voice makes Grian ache, “I’m hideous, G.”

“What?” Grian breathes, staring at him with confusion. He’s still holding Scar’s wrist. “What are you on about?”

“Just look at me!” Scar exclaims, face twisting with conflict. “I’m all red now! And my skin is gray! I’m like a — a walking corpse!” His eyes drop to the ground as he hangs his head, and Grian can’t help but imagine an upset puppy. Maybe the comparison isn’t too far off. “I’m completely hideous, Grian. How can you even stand to look at me?” I didn’t want you to see me like this.

Grian stares at him, attempting to process what Scar has just told him and— no. This sort of look on Scar is all kinds of wrong. It just doesn’t suit him. It doesn’t belong on him. Grian certainly doesn’t like it. Not when… not when Scar is one of the most handsome men he’s ever met. Red or otherwise.

He swallows thickly, feeling his hands start to shake with slight nerves as he lets go of Scar’s wrist. “No. You’re not.” He speaks with finality, leaving no room for Scar to argue with him. “You are not hideous, Scar.”

Grian takes a breath.

And then he reaches out to cup his hands around Scar’s face. The man obviously startles at the sudden touch, wide red eyes lifting to meet Grian’s. His mouth is open in shock, a little ‘o’ forming. He stares, caught off guard.

“Far from it, actually. And you hardly look like a corpse, certainly not cold like one.” Grian stares at Scar as he says it. “I happen to quite enjoy the way you look, actually. Your eyes are—” he stops himself, trying to fight down his embarrassment. He already knows that Scar won’t let him live this down after he says it. He’s never going to hear the end of it. But he’s doing this for Scar. For Scar. “Your eyes are… pretty. I like the shade of red.”

Scar sucks in a short little breath, and Grian can feel his face start to warm. “You… think my eyes are pretty?” he asks, sounding a little breathless.

Embarrassed, Grian slowly nods.

There’s a matching blush that rises to Scar’s cheeks now, and his hands lift to take gentle hold of Grian’s wrists. His touch is soft, kind. He keeps Grian’s hands on his face, leaning into the touch.

“You aren’t afraid of me?” Scar quietly questions him, hesitant and fearful of the answer.

“Out of everyone Scar, I have the least reason to fear you,” Grian answers, lifting a brow. “You’re leading around a bee on a lead, for crying out loud! And you’re attached to a llama.”

“And an avian,” Scar mutters so quietly under his breath that Grian nearly misses it. “But I’m… I’m red now. You should be afraid of me.”

Grian shakes his head, trying to ignore how warm his face is. How Scar’s own face mirrors his. “I’m not. If anything I’m afraid for you.” Scar can die at any moment now and that’d be it. He’d be gone. Slipping right out of Grian’s grasp like grains of sand.

“Oh,” Scar says, and Grian thinks he could laugh. It isn’t often he renders Scar speechless.

He sees Scar relax then, watching the way he leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together. Grian doesn’t let go of his face, and Scar doesn’t let go of his wrists.

“You like my eyes,” Scar mumbles, something giddy in his voice as he speaks.

“Yeah,” Grian admits quietly. “There’s a bit about you I like.”

A wide smile splits Scar’s face, and he’s beaming at Grian, and Grian knows his words will come back to bite him. Scar likes teasing him with them, unfortunately.

“No take backs!” Scar exclaims, lifting his head up to grin at him, and Grian can’t help his amused little huff.

“No take backs,” he agrees, nodding. Scar is smiling at him like he’s hung the sun, and the attention makes Grian want to squirm. Instead, he fondly rolls his eyes and uses his grip on Scar’s face to pull him down. He brushes their lips together. “You’re not hideous,” he mumbles against them. “And if I ever hear you say that again I’ll beat you with my wing.”

Scar laughs quietly, nodding. “Aye aye, Captain Grian. Next time I’ll think about how pretty you think my eyes are instead,” he teases, but Grian gets the underlying message. Thank you.

“You better,” is all Grian says before catching Scar’s lips in a proper kiss. Scar is more than happy to lean into it, one of his hands slipping around Grian’s waist. “Red or not you’re still Scar,” Grian tells them when they pull apart for air.

Scar looks at him with wide, adoring and grateful eyes. Grian hardly gets a second to catch his breath before Scar’s lips are on his again.

[tranquilsonata]

~Daddy issues~ II welt yang x fem reader II hsr smut II 18+II ```

______________________________________________________________

For Aeon's sake, how you love imagining unholy things about this man.

Twice your age or even older, the most competent astral express's crew, Mr. Welt yang, or for short; sir welt. Being one of the few adults in the express have been quite a stressful job for him; and it is very obvious, that fatigue constantly washed over him,.

Rummaging through his brown, neat hair, his slender finger intertwine with his soft straight hair. His eyes observing the paperworks on his hands, as the office room- his room, is empty.

In this very 'late' hour, astral express crews are most likely to be asleep, or busy with their night routines. Except, for Mr.Welt, and perhaps, you will be either way.

Putting his paperworks aside, he cleared his throat, as he murmurs some words to himself. His eyes travels up from his desk, to you- your eyes. Meeting awkwardly, as flashes of things you've done while thinking about this very man, come back.

"Y/N," He spoken with the sultry voice of his strict tone,. He takes a deep breath, as he hold a paper of printed papers. But before your mouth could ask another words; you saw your writings. A fanfic you wrote, about HIM. About Mr. Welt.

He must've accidentally spotted one of those spicy fics she had wrote about him. Oh f*ck.

"Yes, Mr. Welt,..?" You could feel the tense on your own voice, as your hand sweated. Uh oh, this isn't really a fitting situation for yourself to handle- especially about those fics.

He cleared his throat for the second time, as it gives you a glimpse of your printed fanfics.

"...Sir, i can explain,-" Her words are caught off, as she feels his gaze observing her eyes whom is trying to avoid his'. His right hands gripping through the black darkness of his glove.

"I Just- i only intended to return this, Miss Y/N,. I suppose it is yours, am i quite correct?" He turned the paper, which the author username is 'Y/N'. This, probably will be the most embarassing doom situation you've ever found yourself in.

"I guess, you do have a creative mind, Miss." He forced a compliment- or atleast you thought so, out of his lips. No matter how embarassing the situation is, his praises always enlighten you the most.

"Is that so, sire?" You stopped at your own words. Oh, your mouth really does not wanted to cooperate tonight, eh? How utterly flabbergasting. Now, holding your own shy-ness.

But, she have made an unintentional move, so it already happened anyway. Why not continue? Besides, she won't die if he rejected her, anyway. Atleast, maybe.

"Getting confidence, Y/N?" He replied, with a soft scowl- no, not the irritated type. But, the soft, amused scowl. Fidgeting with your own finger, you looked directly into his old eyes.

"Miss Y/N, you do know that i am 83 year old, do you?" He can't help, but let a curl of his lip curved up, creating a faint, slight, smile. Yes, you might know yourselves, that he is old enough to be your grandparent. But, there's just something about him- that attracts you.

"I am indeed, have full conscience about this, Mr. Welt.." Your voice faded, as you see a glint of need in his eyes. Could he might be..? But, let's not get too over-hyped.

"Do you have daddy issues, or such kinds?" His questions, left you mouth wide agape, a bit speechless, you are. Daddy issues, Huh? Oh, well. You, yourselves are not very aware nor do you ever have care about your own mentality state.

"I don't know, Sir. But i just.." Your words are left trailing, as you caught his eyes reading your print papers- smirking.

"Even, if i do not acted like this, but you've got some wild needs, going on, do you?" He faintly chuckled, with his deep voice. Oh, how kinky he'd be.

"I- Don't, sir-" She take a deep breath when he recites her worded writes by second, by each detailed words. "Oh yea?" He abruptly laughs.

"I am not comfortable, when someone else satisfy their needs while thinking about me, Y/N." He continues. His words- makes her breath hitches, as her chest running up and down, nervous.

"I'd consider satisfying them by myself," His choice of continuation pick of words, left you flabbergasted. Was he really..

...offering himself?

Aeons, you'd be excruciating out of breath screaming your lungs out right now, if only he was not in front of you. ",..''Xcuse me, Mr. Welt?" You asked him once again-for confirmation.

The stars outside the office's window polarized the room, making your sillhouette looked very close to his, as the purple-blue scheme makes the tension clearer, and every words nor moves, more bolder. You don't mind, however.

"You heard me right, Little lady," He softly let his un-gloved hands, runs through your hair- like he did to his own hair a few moment earlier.

"You asked for it, and i am willingly offerin' myself," The man glare at her, with those hunter, lust-ful eyes. Ready to be preyin' on her, eating her, inside out.

"Oouh, Who am i, to decline such offers..?" She shyly replied back, faster than the astral express traveling itself. She knows, this all is extremely risky, but she knows deep down, it'll be worth it.

"I'll ask you one more time; and i will have no self control, miss." This, is an easy yes for Y/N. Who'd reject such tempting offer?

"I Surrender myself," Those wording flow out as clear as water, in a blitz second of time, as a pink hue slowly spreaded from ear to ear, glint off en-lustment are seen, in her innocent eyes.

"Then allow myself, Dear,." His gentle hands, slowly rummages through your waist, as he gently picked you up by the thigh, placing you on his desk, as he pushes all the paperworks off, with no hesitation.

You slowly slid off your skirt,as a slight scheme of your very cleavage is showing. Skin to skin to him, as his left hand is still below your thigh, stabilizing you, as the other right, cupped your face, before he nibbles on your ear gently, and slowly, making it over-sensitive,.

Stimulating, you trembled at his touch. Your thigh clashing against each ones, as your hands conquer his head, pulling him for an aggressive kiss. As each of thus both' saliva intertwined, translucent effects haunt your body. Tongue is your languange, which you are exchanging with him now, as he lay you down, on his desk.

Unbuttoning your shirt, his hands roams on your free, uncovered skin,as he licked your nec, before marking it, with a horrendouse, prettily red bite mark. "You're mine, for tonight."

The last words he managed to speak out, before your lips crashed against his again. Sloppy wet sounds of kisses you traded with each one another, filled the room.,.

His slender hands, spreaded your smooth porcelain skin, thigh, up. As he smiled, seeing how soaked you are- under him, because of him, of his words, his kisses, his touch. He, himself, and nobody else.

"Fuck,.. it've been a while i haven't been turned on seein' anyone like this." His gaze becomes more...Predatory, than gentle. As his first middle finger slipped through your panties, entering your tight shaft, as the sound of your holded back- groaning is heard.

"Don't be noisy now, Mhm,? You don't want others to see you like this, do you?" His voice is teasing, not like the usual him. You've become more wary- of making more sounds. But, your attempt only made him more turned on, as his second finger, dwelled deep inside the soakey coast tip of your cave.

Feeling his long fingers, makes you accidentally moaned hard- loudly, which was shutted up by his sudden kiss. Lips brushing against yours, as his hands now enters you fully, without warning, making you almost screamed so loud- luckily, his hands covered you mouth, making your scream sounded muffled.

Taking his hands out before you even came, was such a cruel thing that he did. But, there's another reason about why he had done that earlier.

"Now, i'm needy," He unzipped his pants, as he positioned you; facing the opposite direction of him, as his hand hold you for stability, below the stomach. His other hand on your mouth, silencing your not-so silent moans.

The tip of that monstrous size, touched the red entrance of yours; as a dangling scream is heard; oh how hurtful but good it was. Slowly making you get used to his size, he pounded slowly, as by time.

His hands now groping your over-sensitive breast, as his pace and tempo is now quicken. Sloppy sound of wet impaling is heard, as tranquil essence liquids started flowing out of you.

"F-Fuck,..S-Sire..! nghh..." Your groaning stopped him;

"Call me Welt," He whispered on your ear, as he pounded back, sweet white sticky thingys started to wet the desk. Aeons, it hurts but also pleasuring at the same time.

You could feel the extremity of the climax heading to the edge. Fuck- you might will just passed out before he could even finished. As his tempo is extremely quick, you could feel your leg began to numb out, as your self became weak.

"Hold on, Little Lady," He groaned, as he's almost coming too. The final impale, his warm, sticky, liquid filled your inside, as you fall down to his desk- weakly. The fatigue washing your body is taking over you.

His strong hands capture your fragile body, perfectly, before you falls off his desk.

Carrying you by his hand; he placed you to the grey sofa near the desk, as he stares over you naked body. Covering himself first with a towel, he then grab a fur blanket, covering your sleeping self, as his soft lip landed a good-night kiss on your forehead,

"Rest well, Lil Birdie,." He whispers, before the last thing you saw, is him heading to his bathroom, preparing to cleanup.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[igglemouse]

The start of a new day brings me a fresh wave of optimism and that's all because of the success of my stand. It started as a random dream, a stray hope that maybe, just maybe, I could move forward into a new life and have it be fueled by a career driven by my passion and ambition.

So yes, I will start the day off with left over pizza because I simply deserve it!

There are a few things I must do before I can really get the day started. The usual chores of course. I cook so there's always dishes to be done and counters to be cleaned and of course there's always flowers to attend to as well. It's the dying days of spring with the coming of summer so I have plenty of gardening left ahead of me it looks like and that is work I look forward to.

Just when I think things are going well the day hiccups, putting before me a challenge, a problem to be solved in the form of a broken toilet. Yeah, I'm not going to worry about it and so I call the now usual repair service, my voice familiar to them by now, and let them know that something else in my house is broken.

I thought about trying to fix it myself but I do have things to do today and I do have somewhere to be as well.

And that somewhere? Pascal's.

I'm not going to dwell on what Simón and I shared earlier this week. I'll think of it as a book completed and closed. I've come to Oasis Springs to start a new life and that means starting new relationships which also includes those of the romantic variety.

So here I am before Pascal's place, large, big enough to house multiple people to be sure but its less than what I would have expected. He's an athletic prodigy, right? The next big thing? I'd think he'd at least live in a mini-mansion of sorts.

It's more than I have so who am I to judge?

Pascal is there to open the door for me and lead me deeper inside. Holding my hand on the way there, perhaps ready to direct me into this next part of my life or maybe he's just grabby? Either way, his presence is welcoming and his smile is inviting.

"You look amazing," he breathes out, bringing his lips to my fingers for a well placed kiss. Playing the role of gentleman, I suppose? The subtle action brings some warmth to my cheeks that is difficult to hide.

Pascal pushes every button for me. Physically, he's everything I could ever want. Mentally? Well, that is up for debate, isn't it? Mental faults are something you have to dig up to discover. Honestly, I feel fortunate that he finds me attractive at all.

"Love day is tomorrow," I remind him, already picturing another date with him, wondering if I should imagine a future with him at all.

"I know! It's just too bad I have a game that day," he says, sincerely disappointed, I think. "It is only a day, we have more than one day to spend together, don't we?"

"We do," I agree, two words fumbling from my lips and realizing that the language we are using right now assumes there is an 'us'. It's vague and really, too vague for my tastes. I want something more, something concrete, something I can rely on. Especially from a man like him. I chew on my lower lip, hesitating to ask the question I know must be asked. "When you say we..."

The laughter that comes from him is welcoming and the sound itself pushes relief through me. It's warm and jovial and comes before a confident nod of his head. "Yes, we! There should be a we, shouldn't there?" It was my turn to give a nod, I feel a little fluttery to be honest, thinking this relationship is advancing rapidly but feeling like there is no sense in getting in front of a speeding train. "Frida?"

"Y-yes, yes, 'we' sounds good!" Does that make it official? I suppose so. For a moment I think of Simon and then remind myself that he's a man from my past and not my future.

In the wake of our mutual agreement I can see that Pascal seems a little lighter, the smile on his face brighter with a vibrant look to his eyes. It's the look I imagine he has on his face after scoring a goal or making a crucial play while playing futbol.

Speaking of that, I find myself a little more curious about his world. I don't know much about it, if I'm being honest, next to nothing other than a bunch of people kick a ball around and try to get it into a goal, but the questions I ask him, about the basics and such, creates a shared energy between us. His passion for kicking balls around on a field is very infectious. "I should come! See you play-"

"It's an away game," he says, crushing that idea the moment I thought of it. "Of course you could travel. There's a wives club or something, they keep together sometimes but-"

"Yeah, pass," I reply a little harshly. I'm not a wife and I sure don't want to spend time with a gaggle of what I presume are stuck up and spoiled women who will certainly judge me for being just a girlfriend. "I can't any ways, my food stand is really picking up and I don't want to slow down that momentum."

"Your stand is so cute," he says, bringing energy back into the conversation. "And those waffles were amazing. I keep meaning to come back but my diet is pretty strict sometimes."

That I can understand. He's an athlete, after all. "I thought about becoming a full time chef. You know, work at a restaurant so that I can earn even more simoleons."

At this he frowns for just a moment. Quick enough for me to notice. He's also quick to explain himself. "If you're going to be with me you won't have to worry about simoleons."

"You can never have too many! Besides, I'd like some simoleons that I earn for myself. You know?"

"Yeah," he utters, but the word comes out flat, a tone that doesn't quite fit well into my ears. It's a disagreement then, one he's not ready to get into but what could be the issue? If we were to become official official, you know, living together and everything, what would be wrong with having more simoleons between us? "Give it a year, Frida, and I'll be one of the best players in the world. Simoleons will never be an issue for us."

He says it with such conviction and confidence that all I can do is nod my head. There is a clear determination in his voice and and a look in his eyes that tell me this is a future he's already seen. One promised to him or at least he believes it has been promised to him. This part of him is a little intimidating, the drive of a man that will not be stopped and will let nothing get in the way of his goals but that part of him is also exciting and admirable. Maybe it's because its a contrast to what Simón offered, a man who was happy to get what he could out of life, nothing more. Pascal, I can tell, is a man that settles for nothing.

I make it back home with more of a direction. I'm not single anymore. I'm not single! I don't know if this is a good or bad thing (because you know ladies sometimes its better to be single than miserably coupled) but it is definitely a thing!

I'm back in my kitchen, making waffles and baking cookies and decided to do something a little new. Fried chicken! It's one of those foods universally loved, who hates fried chicken? Other than vegetarians and vegans I suppose but I hope it will be a welcomed surprise for my customers!

The waffles and cookies disappear from my counter, dishes that are familiar to my customers by now, and the chicken is not far behind. Overall, a pretty breezy 700 or so simoleons are earned and that's enough alone for rent. I might outgrow my little place before I can even get settled into it!

The sun starts to fall, casting long shadows over the day and slowly but beautifully giving way to night. I don't like having my stand open at night because...duh, why would I? So I'm just about ready to close up shop until one more person lingers over to my stand.

"Hola!" I call out, catching his attention. One more sale won't hurt.

"Fryda?" He asks, his pronunciation all wrong. I nod my head any ways, impatiently wanting to make my sale and call it a night. "Closing up?"

"Yes, loong day but...one more," I keep it simple, Simlish still being new to me meant short sentences are better than longer ones and despite what others say I do not like my accent.

"Anything you would suggest?"

"Ummmm..." that's a question I don't get a lot so it makes me think for a moment. I look over the counter, most of the dishes are cleaned, my best offerings long gone leaving nothing I'd really suggest. "Pizza?" I wave a hand over it. It's not my best creation but he smiles, hands me his simoleons, and takes a slice.

"Can't go wrong with pizza! Thanks, Fryda!"

But little does Friday know that her last lingering customer was none other than Ray Booker. Infamous local food critic and one who was looking for any reason to leave a scathing review.

He happily made his way to a nearby bench in a neighborhood park, cleared of children thankfully, and signaled for his cameraman to pop out and start the show.

Once the lens fell on him he went into his usual motions. Playing up his chewing, making the same 'oooh' and 'ahhh' sounds as if his palate was so distinct that he could suss out every bit of flavor.

After finishing it, he gave his audience a knowing smirk, an expression they knew all too well as the precursor for a bad review.

"I've never had a slice of pizza so bad that it might make me consider having pizza ever again. Who makes a cream corn pizza, any way..."

Episode List - Next

[scary-lasagna]

KITTY!!! I humbly request a Zalgo and Slender fic 👀👀 smut if you may 🫣

I've never written smutty m/m but HOO

good golly

contains: sexual tension, a follow-up with nitty gritty in part II bc kitty didn't want it to be so long

also i am posting this now because I haven't posted yesterday nor today so part II will likely be following up this week :]

A Business Meeting [Zalgo/Slender - NSFW]

"I'm not quite sure that I'm following."

Slender sat at a six person table, a long elegant piece of granite. Zalgo sat at the other end, only two chair length's away, his hands clasped in front of him.

The demon had shrunk out of politeness, adapting to Slender's height versus the usual 12-foot stature he carried. Despite the rips and tears littering the webbing of his bat-like wings, they looked well-kept and proper for a demon of his status. Embezzled with jewels, chains, and gold clips for the rare occasion of a meeting with his enemy.

Slender felt wildly underdressed for the occasion, and he knew this was only one of the many mind games Zalgo would play on him. Even so, Slender couldn't help but adjust his 24k gold cufflinks out of a nervous habit.

Zalgo's wings fluttered as he straightened his shoulders ever so slightly, puffing out his broad frame. A sharp jawline, good figure, crooked nose, a dangerous look in his eye, and a bit of charisma were all Zalgo ever needed to get his way about things.

But Slender wouldn't be backing down this time.

Imagine spending one of your few days off, sitting on opposite sides of a table, in enemy territory, staring down this vile creature that refuses to wipe that shitty smirk off his face. Zalgo has Slender right where he wants him, and Slender knows, and Zalgo knows that he knows.

This is why Slender must win this little game of the King.

"Then perhaps I shall elaborate, dearest friend." The demon hummed, placing his elbows onto the black granite of the stretched meeting table. "Allow me to think." He pitched his fingers together in a tent and pressed his fingertips towards each other, grazing his knuckles with his claws. Zalgo closed his eyes briefly, his mind flickering with all the possible outcomes for his next arrangement of words.

Slender continued staring at the supposed king, taking in a sharp breath. This might have been the closest they've been in ages, alone. In fact, if he so wished, Zalgo was just a tendril length away from being choke-slammed across the room. Slender attempted to block the thoughts of what Zalgo would look like being choked. Alas, he failed and must advert his gaze to the webbed granite.

"I beg you to elaborate before I grow too old." Although the mental picture of Zalgo enjoying being choked occupied his mind, Slender must admit that his patience had worn thin since he stepped into Zalgo's territory. Besides listening to the screams of The Pit on his walk to the castle, the king's consistent mind games have been irritating him.

How Slender wished to shut him up with the taste of his-

"I'm terribly sorry to be the one to break the news, but you're already very old and decrepit."

"Considering how many years you have ahead of me, I suggest limiting time spent on your mundane activities such as thinking." Slender straightened his tie in an attempt to loosen the grip it currently had around his neck. Or maybe that was the phantom of the thought of what it would feel like had Zalgo been choking him instead.

Zalgo huffed shortly, irritated by such incompetence, "If you believe two minutes is a lengthy sum of time, I pity whatever poor creature must share the bed with you."

Slender's jaw tensed. This stupid, stupid demon. Sexy, too, but mostly stupid. If Slender ever wished he could express a face, he would have wished to smirk back at Zalgo at this very moment.

"Your Grace, you of all people should remember how that isn't true." Slender's voice lulled, a slow, captivating tone that dripped with condescendence.

Zalgo smoothly yet dangerously looked toward Slender. Had he really heard him correctly?

"I believe we vowed to not speak of it, my dear friend." Zalgo dropped his hands to the table, intertwining his fingers. His own claws scraped his midnight-tainted skin. Getting blood on his suit was the least of his concerns now.

"And I believe you vowed to keep your minions out of my territory unprompted, yet here we are." This was a clever retort. Slender hoped this would make Zalgo uncomfortable enough to drop the subject altogether. It was a pitiful prayer, but something that might just work. The Tall Man leaned back in his seat, flexing his hips to cross his leg comfortably under the table.

Zalgo was uncomfortable, alright. But it had nothing to do with the memory of so many nights ago. No, no. The tent in his pants has become absolutely painful.

He liked it.

"Slender, you are playing a very dangerous game that I am not quite sure you'd like to win."

"I would win."

A quiet yet dangerous silence slithered around them. A challenge.

Zalgo always enjoyed those.

[legacygirlingreen]

July 1890 // Farmer Sebastian Sallow x Reader (part 6)

Part 6, master list and description here

Word count: 2,000

My smile is like I won a contest

Sebastian had been encouraged to keep a closer eye on the neighbor ever since he’d been the one to bring her back home that day he found her under the willow. He could hardly forget how relieved her mother had been to see she was okay, nor the way the woman grabbed him violently, kissing his cheeks and repeatedly thanking him for his help. Despite the unpleasant circumstances surrounding Anne, he still was attempting to find moments to give attention to the neighbor girl who he’d grown so fond of. 

“What house do you think you’ll be sorted into?” Sebastian asked her as he plucked a weed from the ground, rolling it between his fingers before throwing it down. 

Over the last year the girl, who was nearing 12, had grown up so much. Her face continued to lose its baby fat and she gained a few inches in height. Despite that, she still her distance in age behind Sebastian, who still bore the impressions of being older than her.  

“You know them better than I do… what house do you think I’d be sorted into'' she asked with a shrug. 

“Hmm… as much as I’d love to say Slytherin I hardly imagine a world where you end up in the same house as me… unless of course you asked to be.” He said before glancing back over her. “You are very brilliant, you enjoy reading, so I’d put my money on Ravenclaw. But I could also see a world where you get sorted into hufflepuff for how caring and kind you are. Perhaps even Gryffindor since you put on such a brave face despite all that’s happened” he reasoned, truly unsure which house she’d end up in. He did however think more than likely in a few months he’d see her walking about the castle in blue. 

Sebastian wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was so relieved she was finally starting school. Since Solomon decided Anne would not be going back he was wildly unprepared to start school without her. Knowing the sweet girl next door would be starting soon to keep him company was a nice compromise he supposed. 

“I still haven’t gotten my letter.” She said bluntly and he turned towards her hopeful. 

“You’ll get it. Should be any day now… when was your mother going to take you to hogsmeade to get your wand? I remember how exciting it was when I finally got mine!” He exclaimed. 

“About that… mum has been very busy with my siblings and work as of late… I’m not sure she even recalls I am to be starting education this year if I’m honest.” She mumbled out frustrated. 

“I could always take you if you’d like,” he offered and she thought about it for a moment, realizing her mother likely wouldn’t care who took her, and would find that having the task completed to be a relief. 

“I think I’d like that, if you don’t mind” she told him and he nodded. 

“Of course, I would be honored to take you,” he said with a smile. 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow then. We can also get some things to help Anne while we are there. Maybe even swing by Honeydukes” he offered and she grew warm at the thought of being out and about in a new place with Sebastian alone. 

She hardly slept that night, busy thinking about spending the day with him. There would be no chores, no distractions, and she’d get such an important element of being a witch alongside a young wizard only a few years her senior. Ever since the day he’d found her, she had felt the crush she developed long ago growing more, and more intense.  

When he finally came to her door that morning, explaining to her mother his offer, she was elated. Her mother was thankful enough he was taking her, saving the trip. 

It wasn’t long before she found herself walking the streets of Hogsmeade with the boy. As she took in the awe and splendor of the bustling little town, she couldn’t help but smile. She almost neglected to notice Sebastian watching her as she looked around, senses filled to the brim with new sights, sounds, even smells. 

“Charming village isn’t it?” he asked her as he gestured for her to keep walking straight ahead. 

“Very charming…” she said, reading a sign for the book shop. 

“Mr. Ollivanders is just up and to the left. His family has been making wands for generations!” he explained as they continued. 

She recalled the countless times he had proudly displayed his very simple and straight aspen wand, with its light wood, and the ornate handle that he’d picked out for it himself. The green checkered pattern with its gold details looking so striking and beautiful against the very plain wand. It was strong, unyielding, and so very Sebastian. She had recalled him mentioning it’s core so long ago, and how it was often attributed to those who could duel well. Beyond that she simply had glances of it from the times he’d twirl it out of a need to not be still, or the even rarer occasion he’d use it in front of her to demonstrate a spell. 

As she stepped foot into the cramped shop, filled to the absolute brim with wands she became overwhelmed. This was such an integral moment, and while she didn’t regret allowing the neighbor to be the one to take her, a small portion of her wished she could’ve gone with her father instead…

Pushing that thought aside Sebastian spoke with the shopkeeper, explaining the situation as the man looked over her, examining things like her clothes and her demeanor before rummaging around to try and find some. As they continued to search through and try different wands, each failing more than the last to connect with her, she wanted to give up. 

They’d gone through so many woods, all of the well known cores and still nothing felt right. If it hadn’t been for Sebastian’s encouraging face she’d have suggested giving up. The wand maker departed the main room, rummaging through the back as she let out a sigh. 

“Hey it's fine, you just haven’t found the one that's chosen you. I’m sure we’ll find one in no time!” he explained and she let out a snort. 

“Not surprising. What wand would want to be stuck with such a -” she started, degradation heavy in her tone as he frowned immediately, preventing her from continuing that sentence. 

“Stop. Whatever you were about to say, just stop.  You’re nothing short of brilliant, even untrained. I’m sure all the wands we’ve tried are simply just feeling anxious about working with such a talented witch.” he said and she looked down. 

As she tried to find her bearings she heard the old man in the other room say “ah ha!” before rushing back towards them. In his hands contained a very dusty box, much more ornate than the ones in the main room. She could tell this wand in particular was very old in comparison to the others. 

“This one has been waiting for the right owner for nearly a century now… perhaps you are its rightful owner,” he said, opening the black box. Nestled inside the silk lining was a slightly twisted wand, with a beautiful light but slightly reddish hue.  When she lifted it, she could almost feel the connection instantaneously - as if the wand was speaking to her directly. 

“Go ahead try it out” the wand maker encouraged as she lifted it, unsure what she wanted to cast, or even how to use it. Regardless she lifted it, waving it and thinking about how wonderful a connection it felt to her very essence. Thinking of how lovely the songbirds outside sounded, she waved it, producing a small ball of light, resembling a bird but made of gold dust, that repeated the same song as those outside. 

“Wow…” she said, finally realizing that this wand must've been a long lost companion of hers, despite being made many years ago. 

“I think we’ve found a winner. A very rare wand indeed. Willow wands are often sought after for their beautiful appearance but it's nearly impossible to find one that trusts their owner enough to use. Willows usually go for witches and wizards that need to grow a sense of confidence in themselves. They also are usually wielded by those who have aspirations of healing or protection. As for the core… I hardly see thestral tail hair cores being made anymore, as they are usually quite unpredictable but they are extremely powerful. This wand is quite an eccentric one, but it seems to be just what you need” he said, closing the box back for her. 

She nodded, finding it odd that the wand that chose her would be so unique, but hardly questioned it. Shelling out the money given by her mother that morning, she finally collected the wand and turned to Sebastian who nodded towards the door. 

“Just head out, I will be out in a moment” he explained while looking at the handles and she thought nothing of it. His wand handle had started to look worse for wear over the time he’d been using it so she stepped out, sitting one one of the steps as she waited. 

Sebastian didn’t keep her waiting long, and eventually joined her before ushering the both of them off in search of some herb he’d read about that might help Anne’s curse. 

When they returned to Feldcroft for the evening she started to part ways with Sebastian for supper when a very elegant Owl swooped down from the sky near her head, dropping a note for her. As she moved to pick it up off the ground from where it had fallen she looked at the front, detailing her name in cursive on the light blue envelope. She flipped it over to the back and when she saw the crest detailed in the wax seal her stomach dropped. 

No this wasn’t right.

Ripping open the letter she quickly discovered her fears. 

Bonjour Y/f/n, 

It is with great pride that we welcome you to study and grow your magic at Beauxbatons, where magic meets excellence… 

She stopped reading after that.  Looking up at him, knowing that Beauxbatons wouldn’t have sent a letter if Hogwarts intended for her to receive one as well, she realized quickly that they would in fact not be attending school together in September. Worse than that, they’d be separated by the English channel and too many miles for floo travel, or for him to aparate - a skill he very recently mastered. 

She had almost not even realized Sebastian had leaned into her, reading the letter over her shoulder but she soon felt his breathing disrupting the baby hairs escaping her plait along her neck. Turning around quickly, she discovered trying to hide it from him proved useless as Sebastian already looked upset.

“I-” she tried to reason, pushing aside her own disappointment in turn for focusing on him in the moment. 

“You’re not going to Hogwarts.” he spoke, seemingly devoid of emotions as if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. 

“Not by choice, I told you I never received my letter, and -” she explained to him as he looked down at her, sadness looming in her eyes and she wished more than anything she could fix the situation. It’s not like she really wanted to go to Beauxbatons. Although, the thoughts of attending the school her father had, back in her home country did have some appeals… 

“I’m going to be alone.” he said flatly.

“That’s not true, you’ll have Ominis and -” she tried to reason once more and he stopped her again. 

“You don’t understand. If you’re not there… I… I need to go” he quickly spouted out before aparting away from her without so much as a warning, leaving her there in the hamlet alone as her mother called her home, tears beginning to fall down her face.

[zhongrin]

Rin rin, I got this idea when thinking of some imagines. So how about this?

You die.

Yes, you died.

And who is arranging your funeral? Well, of course, it's none other than the Wangsheng funeral parlor consultant, a.k.a your husband, Zhongli. The funeral hall is impeccable, Zhongli spared no expense when it comes to his spouse's funeral. Hu Tao is nothing but solemn as she tended to the funeral procession. Rare and exotic flowers from every corner of Teyvat, fragrant candles, expensive incense, and a beautifully crafted casket where your body was laid.

Zhongli already spent half of his fortune, his hard-earned mora, just to fund your funeral. He would have spent more, if not all, but Hu Tao stopped him from doing so. According to Liyuean custom, an elder should never show respect to someone younger, and since you died young, Zhongli would be lying if he said he was not hurt by the fact that you have to be buried in silence.

As the consultant gazed upon your body, he would've thought you were merely sleeping if not for the casket, Zhongli, your husband, the love of your life, the one you swore to spend an entire lifetime with, couldn't take his eyes away from his wife. Though in some cases, he would've broken a taboo about touching a dead person's body, but he doesn't care, this was his spouse we're talking about. And the funeral attendees couldn't help but feel pity at the sight of a husband losing his beloved wife.

"My dear, are you at peace up there in the heavens?" He whispered, using the back of his fingers to caress your pale cheeks.

"You have loved me until the end of your life," Zhongli grasped one of your folded hands, not minding the flowers faltering in your hold, placing a heartbroken kiss on the back of your hand, "Allow me to fulfill my end of the contract. I shall love you until my life perished."

The funeral attendants have finally left one by one until only a few stayed, including Zhongli and Hu Tao, the funeral director. Both of them had a silent conversation, Hu Tao knew that her employee wished to be the last to leave to pay respects, at least that is what Zhongli showed on the surface. The truth is, he doesn't want to leave, he wants to embrace you for as long as he could before you would be taken away from him. But, he can't. As much as painful that is, Zhongli has to accept reality.

...what's this? Did your hand just twitched? Oh!? Was that the colors returning to your once pale visage? No, that was just his imaginations. His mind playing tricks on him since he couldn't soothe his broken heart. Perhaps, the erosion will too eradicate his immortal soul so he could be reunited with you in the next world--

...wait, was that a scream? Why are the attendees screaming? Ah, so that's why.

You woke up.

It feels like you were having a long, long slumber. Your body may be tired but you still mustered the strength to rise and sit on the-- wait, why are you sitting inside a casket? That's not important, right now. What's more important is the first thing that you saw is the face of your husband-- oh wait, he looks mortified... and were those tears in his eyes?

"Lǎogōng, why are you crying?" Gently, you asked, wiping his tears with the sleeve of your burial robes, made from silk and the finest fabrics. Thank the archons more than half of the people left, if not, they would've seen the respectable gentleman known as Zhongli collapsing to his knees, half-wailing as he embraced you, thanking whatever higher being that brought you back from the dead that's a story for another day. Poor him, the staved off grief he felt because of your supposed death came pouring out at last. Even Hu Tao was speechless

But what came next out of your mouth was, "Alright, who's paying for my funeral?"

Hu Tao's face turned pale.

---

"So, technically, I am alive, right? I'm not dead, so can I get a refund?"

"No." Hu Tao deadpanned.

"A discount, maybe?"

"NO!"

Yeah, Zhongli tried to convince you to let it go since he already paid Hu Tao a whole ass mora for your funeral, but you decided to bitch about it because YOUR HUSBAND'S SPENDING IS OUT OF CONTROL, he wasted half of ya'll savings, Childe got dragged into it too.

Childe: Say sike right now

And no, Hu Tao isn't going to let go a big chunk of this month's income. Zhongli paid fair and square. Besides, that money is going back to him anyways some of it, maybe? in the form of his monthly wage.

Zhongli's lucky that you love him, he got away with only a bonk on his head

But, he couldn't help but smile. He doesn't regret spending the mora one bit. In fact, it's a bargain, he thought. Your life for half the price of his savings? It's free real estate /j 🤭

Just don't be surprised if half of Liyue Harbour pissed their pants when they saw your dead ass sliding down the neighborhood.

I'm sorry I tricked you to reading angst when it's actually crackhead content

For anyone asking how you came back to life... go figure, ehe~♡

HELLO????? NOHR?????? I NEED YOUR WRITING BLOG STAT OH MY GOD???? *grabby hands* URL PLEASE 🤲🏻

oh no zhongli’s silent grief and immense love in this are making me tear up… my bby. my beloved. my love. my darling. wo de xiang gong. wahhhhhhskdjsldjlsd

coincidentally, i am writing two others ‘reader is dead’ fics… is this some kind of a sign….. 👀

i just want to say 1) sorry for hoarding this ask i just needed to reread it like a hundred times before releasing this to the world, and 2) thank you for sending this in because i’ve been in a writing rut recently, but this made me write a little something! i hope you win all your 50/50s, your wanted character comes home at you within 10 pulls, and your genshin f/o visits you in your dream. take care, and don’t forget to drink water, eat your meals, and take breaks!!!

also i hope you like the little something i wrote in relation to this delicious delectable masterpiece <3

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Twelve

Summary: Javier thought, brutally honest: the fuck you think you’re kidding?

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: Brief allusion to sex, dead bodies (kinda gore), violence, torture, angst, feeling of inadequacy, people smoking, gun mention and... cop work? 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: In the middle of a lot of shitty things, I was able to finish editing. Am I happy with this? Maybe. I know that at some point I looked at what I was doing and liked it, so I decided to not change my mind because I’m not that reliable these days - when it comes to accept by achievements. There’s a few political comments, mostly my opinion, so beforehand I warn: I hate captalism. 

Oh, and that gif was a choice because... Yeah. It’s small, discreet, but that interaction will do some good in the future. Keep that in mind!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

-------------------------------

You were a cynic - that was both a curse and a relief. A relief, yes, because with that lifestyle, the best way of going through most of your shit was being resilient, added to a big dose of an anesthetized sense of reality. A curse, yes, because it was like you became a numb thing, acting by intuition even in moments where you should just be more… normal. 

It wasn't like you could blame your father, but it sure as hell wasn't something that came from your mother's side. She would definitely have a more genuine and less furtive response to whatever happened inside that office, even if you knew exactly what Carrillo’s words meant.

Because Carrillo used to talk once. 

With deliberate honesty.

You wish you could speak to her, rely on her. Suddenly it had been so long since you walked to her house, talked about your day and the plans for the weekend. Suddenly it all felt too much to handle - the violence, the traps, the long nights, the responsibility. In your moments of calm, spaced and almost non-existent, there were figures that hovered in your imagination and that, despite being equally disturbed by what that life had in store, still made you more innocently accommodated.

Running on the beach. Drinking that good coffee from across the street. Repeating the same things to Mrs. Jackson because, again, she thought you were that girl who used to sell her cigarettes during the 40s. 

It was as if all the control that kept you from smoking your cigarettes or the patience for your morning jogs had gone down the drain, just because Carrillo assumed a truth that made you as afraid as if Juan Marcos had put that knife in your jugular. 

Nobody talked about it. You went back to that room as if nothing had happened, lit a cigarette and went back to your papers; Javier and Steve maintained silence for nearly an entire hour, perhaps deciding whether to keep things as they were or whether to be more combative. Your head went back and forth with the sound of Carrillo's voice saying those things, all mixed up with the jumble of useless information that you had to review because you weren’t fucking paying attention. No one wanted to open up a hornet's nest of problems for an unofficial case in that environment so inhospitable for such indulgences.

You looked up at the sound of a glass being placed on your table - Peña poured three fingers of whiskey and that was as close as the three of you came to a resolution. Silence, then it would be. Temporary consent, in other words.

You couldn't be more grateful for the team you had there.

------------------------

“How are you feeling?”

Murphy was always comfortable being in the background as a listener - he knew himself well, he knew he needed to preserve as much stability as he could for Connie, so he avoided getting mixed up with Javier's shit or your shit, unless it had to do with work. Still, that day, a couple of weeks after that happened, Steve waited for the right moment to make his notes known, before Javi could arrive for work or anyone else entered the office.

At that moment, everything was a complete mess. Things were nothing short of heated with all that hunting for the golden eggs, with a lot of people dying and even more dead ends. Your father took your peace. You readily offered not to attend meetings with Carrillo if you could avoid it, and you even got offensive to Messina in one of her bureaucratic inconveniences. 

“Well, if you’re so worried about it, you should ask him. I’m not inside his head.”

And you remembered how Javier and Steve hid the urge to laugh, even though they were equally worried about the consequences of that comment. Fortunately, nothing happened, and afterwards it became a reason for relaxation between you. 

Which wasn't the same with Horacio.

He lived up to his word and wouldn't make your presence more than a mere inconvenience to his routine. At cluster meetings, he gave direct comments about the work and it was strange not to have any bickering sessions between you two - even if that didn't lessen the discomfort. Sometimes he would flex his fists when he heard you talk and stand back while watching you show him something on the satellite maps. Javier would look at you from the corner, Steve would watch Carrillo; sometimes they switched.

You didn't think any of that was fair. In the letters, you mentioned this to your mother and she said that it was up to you to make that decision: about how you were going to take it all forward and whether you could keep the man in his own torture. She knew, however, that it was also torture for you. That you missed the nights you spent together, the escapades at work, the way he touched you. It was too soon and too pathetic to mention feelings like 'love' or 'infatuation' or… whatever. You two were too skeptical for that. The company made everything more bearable, just as Javier had the girls and Steve had Connie. You and Carrillo didn't have anyone; or at least you didn’t. Juliana was still there for him. Always have, as it seemed. 

Maybe, deep down, that was what bothered you the most - knowing that he had a past connection and that it was easy, in a way, to take the initiative to go for the easier, more comfortable side. You couldn’t provide him that. None of it, to be honest. 

“... It happens, right? With the best and the worst of us. In the end, this is all kind of fucked up.”

You knew that in other circumstances (maybe in another life) Steve would be more reticent about this, more traditionalist. He was the type. So you didn't show much more than muttering under your breath and taking another drag on your cigarette as you continued to sit on that cheap leather couch, the morning sun scorching your back a little.

It took you a moment to answer something - when you did, you saw that he looked uneasy, as if he wanted to say something else.

“I’m fine.” 

“You just make it sound like it's a sacrifice.”

And it wasn't really a sacrifice - in that kind of profession, there was a fine line between just choosing the best and giving things up. Addictions went hand in hand with lucidity, just as the withdrawal from a normal life distanced you from the fact that not having a gun in your belt was like walking naked. You knew yourself; like any human being, you clung to the smallest moments of comfort, stability, joy and pleasure that arose. You were weak for the good life, tired of the constant resilience and warning signs that went off in your head every single day.

Again, you almost left him unanswered. Steve noticed your uncertainty, though. It scared the shit out of you.

“... It’s complicated.”

“Not that I want to be a bitch or something-”

“I know.”

“-But it’s a surprise. 

If he still had the innocence to believe in the system that governed their lives, Steve would be indignant, be the church boy he always was. But no, that wasn’t the case - at least he didn’t show it. He had seen the real world too brutally to fill it with more moralism; otherwise he would ignore it, be rational, move on. Then he blew the smoke that was stuck inside his mouth, shook his head and smiled, all the while staring at the ashtray on his table.

“You two used to hate each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it some kind of kink? Love-hate stuff?”

You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head and mirroring the smirk he threw in your direction. 

“At least it wasn't on my table,” Steve teased, as if coming to the realization just seconds before. “Isn’t that fucking considerate?”

As usual, you both laughed with an almost hopeless acceptance surrounding what little humor you shared. Not that it was fun, or worthy of such genuine laughs, just… That. Rational complicity. And you didn't want to ruin the moment, but inside there was another reason for your amusement - when you and Carrillo were making out in the building back in the day, maybe you bumped into something or other on Steve's desk, and you almost broke his desk lamp.

Rational complicity then, you decided, averting your gaze from Javier, who entered the office with nothing more than a grumbled ‘good morning’. 

-------------------------

The landscape became more arid, spaced out - at the very least, isolated. You stared at the bodies splayed out on that cave, trying to somehow decipher what could not be deciphered. There was a morbid but equally cold atmosphere surrounding this discovery; you watched five Carrillo men taking one by one out of that hole, placing them side by side for further identification. The youngest of them was nothing more than 20 years old; at some point, you just turned your head to the side because the ones with more time there were already smelling. 

You stomped to a distant spot and, making sure no one was looking, you threw up. Years of experience or all the circumstances of that job didn't always make you have such a strong stomach. Later that day, you found yourself in your apartment just to brush your teeth - that led to a few minutes of a shower you thought would clean all of those images inside your head. 

Again, you sat alone in the office with more than enough whiskey inside a cup and a third cigarette ready to be lit between your lips. Steve rushed home to Connie; Javier had a puzzled expression on his face when he noticed that you would stay, but you assured him that it was okay, that nothing would happen. For the first time in days, you felt sure of something. 

“Stechner will follow Juan Marcos' lead.”

You turned your eyes from the mountain of papers in front of you, brows raised at the sudden intrusion - out of politeness or not, your father didn’t ask what you were doing there. At worst, he took the cigarette out of your mouth and made you tsk.

“He can be more persuasive than the rest of us, I suppose,” You said nonchalantly. “Or just more than me.”

Again, if he noticed the way you eyed him up and down, probably too full of bitterness, your father decided to keep it to himself, both hands behind his back.

“You agree, then?”

“That's not a question you associate with someone like Stechner.” It sounded almost like a warning, a subtle message of how your ‘soft spot’ used to lead your conceptions and moral judgements to a place way more complicated for that line of work. 

He hummed. Nodded his head. You thought that the conversation was over, of course, but you always should know better than to believe your father could be less than suffocating.

“I figured we could have dinner. I know a place nearby, still discreet enough.” 

“Trying to make me feel better?”

“We're past the stage of understanding that this is your mother's job.” 

The blunt honesty with which he said it made you consider the possibility more; it would be more than enough, spending some time with your father, to understand that there were people in life who knew how to make moments more bitter - or bitter enough to distract your mind from the worst. 

So you accepted. 

Frijoles Rancheros, he said with the best accent he had. 

“Didn't you stop with that?” He said, again, this time without the flirty smile to the waitress or the good Spanish of his.

“Tried to,” You shrugged, cigarette finally being lit and the smoke flowing through the air. 

“Not tryin’ anymore?”

“I needed to keep my list of disappointments with you,” With a smirk, you leaned more comfortably against the chair you sat at, legs crossed and eyes with that devilish spark he hated so much. “What brings you here? Stechner missed you licking his balls or something?”

“... We talked.” He said in a low, stern tone. “Apparently even the CIA knows how to recognize your work around here.”

“So you talked about me.”

“About your achievements, that is. Too emotional-”

“Of course,” You scoffed, dragging more of your cigarette with sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“-But efficient. The one raising your voice to the stubborn Colonel Horacio Carrillo.”

The mention made your stance falter, but just for a moment. You gave him a side-eye, then got back to look at anything but his face - not wanting to fail in your attempt to not show how affected you felt. It sounded like a sin, the fact that your father would use such an indifferent manner to talk about Horacio. How it was so easy for him, a man with so many flaws, to talk about Carrillo as if he was just as insignificant as… Anything. You grew defensive. The guy could still have that way of his, but you didn’t act (even before) like he was nothing. 

“Is it supposed to be a bad thing?” You decided to ask instead, watching him sip his beer faster so he could answer. 

“Have I already told the story of Cúcuta?” 

Probably, but you didn’t pay enough attention back then and wouldn’t pay there. Still, he kept talking. 

“We had discovered that some communist groups were regrouping and we took the National Police guys there. You know, for fact-finding.”

Or killing. Whatever he called it to make him lay his head on the pillow every night. 

“We stayed there for two weeks. Maybe Carrillo was involved, I can't be sure,” But then he got quiet, as if it was the end of the story. After a few beats of silence, you made a face.

“And…?”

“Ah, well, I didn’t know he had that in him to become what he is now. Not the most remarkable cop, but committed to the cause. Very Catholic, however, he called his mother every day. It amazes me that he has come as far as being on the front lines to catch Escobar. It takes a certain obscurity to be good at this job.” 

You considered it silently, watching your dad's grimaces as he just talked about the situation like it was a normal thing. Maybe it was after all. Reality was lighter if you took it as a routine, using conformism as a shield. You wondered if he knew about what happened with you that afternoon - if Carrillo, once, was the type of guy who would throw up because of it. You even wondered, with the space your father gave while simply not paying attention to you, what it would be like to meet that version of Horacio and whether he would make the same decisions, or think that this would be his future.

“I'm sure he has his own demons just like anyone else,” You said out of nowhere, taking in the way the man just watched your motions. “No one gets away with this kind of shit.”

“This shit is catching a communist pig like Escobar.”

Communist, you almost laughed, but you didn't argue. You couldn't even count the number of Americans involved in the lists of secondary cartels in the States, nor how many white-faced people who signed Republican votes negotiated with these 'communists', which only made you more skeptical of the idea of ​​what you were really doing there or the kind of person you had the pleasure of not being raised by.

Under the circumstances, Carrillo's revulsion was understandable.

“You know, you really look like your mother.”

“Conscious?”

“Naive. Maybe not all the violence in the world will make you realize that we are not always the villains.” 

“... No,” You puffed out more of the smoke, arching an eyebrow. “Sometimes you find a shallow ditch full of bodies and it turns out to be Escobar's fault.”

Because everything, from the bastard son who was hidden in the bowels of that country to the resistant hands of Juan Marcos against your neck, had a finger of the communists. If the pain you felt earlier or the pain you felt in childhood with his absence existed, it was because of the communists.

Damn communists.

-------------------------

You threw the other two packs of cigarettes in the trash that same night, as soon as you got back to the office.

With effort, you would remember to look for nicotine patches or anti-smoking gum in the morning.

-------------------------

Carrillo was familiar with the feeling of self-repression, and for some reason, he too deserved the strict discipline. Never a hair out of place, but that same hair wouldn't be styled any other way than the way he saw fit; short, practical, that was not an interruption but also a form of imposing.

This discipline made him learn that the way we present ourselves says something about us. That's why he really didn't understand why he saw you with a subtlety that definitely didn't exist in that job and, consequently, in you.

That day, you were at one of those reunions. The atmosphere was tense, as always, but Carrillo watched you climb on a small step to gain access to a higher part of the discreet shelf in the corner of the room to reach a cup, all the while laughing at something Peña was saying. It wasn't just the way your thighs flexed in the material of your jeans or the way everything felt tight enough that you had the flexibility to move; your manner changed, your modus operandi. There were no delicate mannerisms in your posture, nor in your approach - the harsh parts made you look like a hedgehog, even with that smile on your face.

If the whole situation had hurt you the way it seemed to him, if… that moment, inside the office, had a similar meaning, he didn't know, but he understood the mystery. There was so much going on and suddenly you had your dad and your issues and your life; Carrillo knew better than anyone that neither he nor you would want to bring up yet another drama. 

He valued that effort, was familiar with it. As at other times when Horacio had to be the rational figure, the loneliness of being dedicated to a discipline was something he knew well how to live with.

Carrillo also knew your frustrations about your father were bubbling to the brim. You tried to cover it up as best you could, always scratching the back of your neck or looking away when a CIA decision interfered with the DEA's. It was obvious that hanging out with guys like him could be like idle work - he, of all people, knew that being here on the ground following more archaic strategies wasn't your style. Or worst: that his presence there meant that he was almost always a flawed tool of a plan he was never fully a part of.

For him, watching you was like watching all the energy that walked beside your manners when you arrived disappearing because, in the end, it sounded as if only he, Horacio, saw the full magnitude of your achievements and efforts. Like an awed spectator of a hungry muse, all teeth and claws for what she believed but cutting off by… the others.

“You know that’s bullshit, right?” You said then, sitting at the edge of the table after serving a good amount of coffee. “I remember seeing you there and I’m pretty sure the night ended really differently.” 

“Well, we didn't say goodbye on my doorstep.”

Carrillo frowned at the suggestion, especially at the way you two seemed to forget he was there too, watching Javier using that natural flirty personality with you. And then you turned to see Steve walking in with Trujillo, away from the commotion, and when Horacio decided that it was his sign to stop staring at you, he saw Peña himself sending him a curious gaze. 

That day, Horacio discovered that Javier had been measuring the situation like a scientific project.

“No tenemos tiempo para esto.” We don't have time for this. 

Was all Carrillo said as soon as the reunion was over and they were walking side by side down the corridor. 

“No se de que estas habl-” I don’t know what you're talking ab-.

“Tu sabes.” You know. 

They both stopped in their tracks, interrupted by the Colonel's gruff voice and the way he jerked him around with a shoulder pull. Javier frowned, tried to understand where that all came from, then raised his eyebrows at the realization. He sighed, looked around and put his hands on his hips.

“¿Alguien te ha dicho alguna vez que no eres la persona más sutil que hay?” Has anyone ever told you that you're not the most subtle person around?

Horacio kept quiet. Caught. 

“Su padre es un gilipollas, quizás uno de los peores con los que me he cruzado. Ha dejado muy claro que quiere la oportunidad adecuada para sacarla de aquí.” Her father is an asshole, maybe one of the worst I've ever come across. He's made it very clear that he wants the right opportunity to get her out of here.

And for a moment, Carrillo almost understood those motivations. If he was a worried parent, he wouldn't sleep easy knowing his only daughter was putting herself in front of bullets or curled up in the arms of a fucking narco, nearly suffocated to death. He himself didn't like to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time. 

“... No estaba coqueteando con ella, si eso es lo que te preocupa. Nunca saldríamos bien, esa mujer es una diabla.” I wasn't flirting with her, if that's what you're worried about. We would never work out, that woman is a devil.

True. So true. 

“Pero es mejor que decidas qué va a ser de eso, porque está bastante claro que te estás engañando a ti mismo.” But you better decide what's going to become of it, because it's pretty clear you're kidding yourself.

Javier didn't elaborate, and despite not being the most sensitive of men, Carrillo knew when he was being put up against something he was avoiding. As Peña walked away with a frustrated posture, he wondered if that was the effect he had on you, of disappointment at being… him.

Of course, he didn't openly mention this to anyone, nor did he feel able to do so; to the fullest, he reinforced his serious expression when he saw you leave the operating room and look for someone. You looked one way, then the other, and saw him standing there. Something must have gone through your mind with the way you swallowed hard and clenched your fists - Carrillo wondered if it was the same memory of that night in your apartment, when you were still fresh from sex and with other perspectives.

For an instant, just one, he felt it. Like a replica of that same night.

When he was the first to look away, smothered by the idea and tempted by the sensation you offered those days, Carrillo knew he was probably letting you down again.

As he should. 

-------------------------

You felt frustrated. You'd been having that feeling for a while before the whole Carrillo situation, but it wasn't like you could deny that that disappointment had lessened dramatically once you'd spent time in his bed.

They began to monitor letters sent by employees exported from the States. Peña always walked around with an even more frown on having the letters he sent to his father being invaded in this way and, as much as Steve didn't complain while having Connie there, he complained about the intrusion just like Javier.

You felt suffocated. 

That’s how you ended up getting fucked inside a restroom stall, legs attached to the sides of the hips of a guy named Carlos and dress hiked up to make it easy for him to access… you. Or your decency, if such a term existed at the moment. There was an effort there, though. Carlos made the time well spent. When you went home that night, maybe you really were more relaxed, your shoulders less rigid and your spine relaxed.

But there was a reason you couldn't sleep a wink that night.

Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo.

Perhaps, you tried to justify, it was because there was a greater reason than just the attraction with the two of you. There was an almost paranoid fear that the days were uncertain, the daily stress of a job that seemed to be failing and the frustrations - Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo. The kisses, the touches, the look; two opposites. You would close your eyes if you were Horacio, you would sleep like you haven't slept in days. Surely you wouldn't wash yourself so vehemently after sex either if it was him. 

It wasn’t though. It was Carlos. 

So when the phone rang around two, you got up without difficulty and answered it on the second ring. There was no need to rub your eyes to chase away sleep because it didn't exist, even if physical fatigue made you massage your shoulder while listening to a brief recorded message from a woman saying it was a private and recorded call.

“¿Es usted responsable del caso de Juan Marcos de las Puentes?” Are you responsible for the case of Juan Marcos de las Puentes?

The voice was too Latin to be Javier's and too different to be Carrillo's; even if it were one of them, they wouldn't use Spanish or act like they didn't know you. Your first reaction was frown - and the second, unconsciously, was to look around as if the answer to the as yet unspoken question was in your living room. 

“... Sí. ¿Quien habla?” Yes. Who’s speaking?

“Soy Frances Tenorio, directora encargada del Centro Especial de Detención de Medellín.” I'm Frances Tenorio, director in charge of the Medellín Special Detention Center.

The last time someone called you this late at night, five years ago, was when the family found out that your grandmother had passed away. Your uncles, two other men who lived in the South, asked if it made sense for you to help them with the funeral arrangements - not that there was any intimacy to it, but because she would like to be treated with a delicacy that none of the three had. You took responsibility because you knew your father wouldn't do it out of hurt. He never had a good relationship with his mother.

Still, all that cold commitment to ensuring that the body was well treated and the ceremony well organized, such as the mass that took place seven days later, did not compare to the coldness with which you reacted to Frances' words.

There was no clarification and you didn't ask; just requests you weren’t so used to having, but obliged anyway. You listened to the instructions, hung up, got dressed - gun in the holster, badge on your belt. When you left, you locked the apartment door as usual, walked down the hall, got in the car and realized that the radio was still on a specific station, at that time of night repeating romantic songs. You didn’t turn it off. 

Your mind hesitated to do the call - you didn’t want to. Circumstances did not have an exact logic in the chronology of the facts that you knew. Juan Marcos wasn’t supposed to be there, least in Medellín. Whatever the fuck Stechner tried to do wouldn’t be placed there for obvious reasons. There were at least five people who received that kind of information before you, and suddenly the director of a place you didn't even know was part of Juan Marcos' punishment had your phone number. It was statistical to know that no one died like that at a time like this - the guy was a bull, healthy from head to toe, with at most a late tetanus vaccine.

Then, all of the sudden-

“As I said, dead.” 

Frances didn't have the best of English, but the heavily accented words made a lot of sense in your ears, even if they didn't make sense on their own. His office was poorly lit, and generally speaking, you had a lot of questions, but you just stared at that death certificate with nothing but open confusion on your face. Perhaps it was the way you lagged to say something, because Frances kept talking.

“The National Police was already warned about-”

“The National Police?” You abruptly raised your head. 

“It's the norm. Rules. I couldn't let another gringo into my jail alone.”

Before you could ask what he meant or process the information, you noticed someone entering the door and, of course, it needed to be Carrillo. The National Police. He looked at you with a big frown, then at the officers behind and Frances - mad. 

“¿Desde cuándo es este un protocolo aceptable?” Since when is this an acceptable protocol? Horacio asked in a harsh tone, standing right beside you. Looking at the door again, you spotted Trujillo, confused and a little taken aback by the sudden situation. 

“Llegaron los gringos y tenían orden de interrogatorio. Eso es protocolo, tú lo sabes mejor que nadie.” The gringos showed up and had an interrogation warrant. That's protocol, you know that better than anyone.

“Que gringos?” 

The silence that followed, short but helpful, was like an obvious answer to an even more obvious question. You faced the early death certificate, then Carrillo, who didn't express any reaction. You, by yourself, couldn’t express any reaction.

“I want to see the body.” 

“Qué?” What?

“Do you think that’s a good id-”

“Quiero ver el cuerpo. ¿Ahora me entiendes?” I want to see the body. Do you understand me now?

Carrillo wasn’t combative with your interruption, nor with the way you were snappy with Frances; otherwise, he nodded in approval of your request, as if none of that hadn't already been the same as everyone in that jail dropping their pants for the CIA's threats, as if they needed just Carrillo’s approval. 

At some point in your education, you learned about the special rooms for political prisoners during the communist uprising and the government's quiet work of putting down Sierra Maestra-influenced guerrillas. 64, the formative year of half the men inside those halls and, arguably, the golden memories of that Frances Tenorio. With the 'peace sealed' by right-wing groups, you knew that many of these rooms became normal interrogation spaces or, as in the case of that institution, an improvised mortuary that looked more like a shallow spawning pit.

Fractured skull from a fall, the obituary said. They were opening an internal investigation into a possible gang rebellion.

Juan Marcos was a man nearly six feet tall, with truly thick arms, long legs, and robust from head to toe. You knew his weight, strength and physical skills like no one else. The hands, you noticed, did not bear a single mark of retaliation or defense. You would know if he had; moreover, healed from the clash with you months earlier. Looking from there, with nothing but a pale, lifeless face, motionless, you noticed that Juan Marcos looked no less frightening or dangerous or… Well, the face of a criminal. 

You wondered how many guys came to do the job. Two to tie, one to intimidate - maybe one more to watch. They used to had this one.

“Is your father in Medellín?” Carrillo asked in a low tone, not daring to disturb the intense staring you’re giving the guy right in front of you two. 

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head slightly, then turned to Frances. “Stechner.”

“Protocol.” Was all he said, already turning to leave the room but probably standing still on the other side of the door. 

Three fingernails had been torn out and there were electric shock marks on his nipples, groin and mouth. The face was disfigured and torn by what looked like blows; if you turned him on his side, you probably would see the marks on the backs of the knees just as you saw them on the wrists and heels. The corpus delicti examination, still unsigned as well as the obituary, only recorded the head injury that didn't really exist - done with a typewriter that probably came from the office you had come not so shortly before.

When you raised your head, Carrillo was watching you carefully, measuring every reaction that could come out of your neutral expression. He knew how it was. He did it himself. You could see that, probably, he was just mad that he wasn't responsible for it. Maybe you were too, just a little - deep down, better saying. 

“I need a cig.”

The conversation must have lasted ten, fifteen minutes? You only managed to finish the first one, leaning against the hood of the car and alone in the side parking lot of the prison. The nicotine patch must have been lost somewhere in those hallways and his arm was still marked by the glue. When you went to take the second cigarette in your mouth, you saw Horacio approach and also the way your hands were shaking. He chose not to be at your side, but in front of you; as soon as you lit the cigarette, you kept both elbows resting on the car hood behind you.

No one said anything for a good minute. When you dared to give him a look, just once, Carrillo was lighting a cigarette for him - something way stronger than yours, as always. 

“What was it?” You broke the silence with a single question, one he just shrugged at first. “I’ll give it an hemorrhagic shock.”

“I’ll give it a fractured skull from a fall.”

“Please,” You scoffed, raising the cigarette to your lips again. 

“The CIA put in their report that the last operation didn’t suffer any casualties. I had to sign two letters of removal and I almost signed one of death. So yes, a fractured skull from a fall. ” 

It was difficult. You knew it was. When you started to get close to him and understand a little more of what was there, under the skin, you could see that his biggest frustrations were in the fact that the potential of his work was limited. There would always be a Stechner, a CIA, a DEA, a bunch of outsiders with funny accents and shitty Spanish. That he, as a man and as a professional, always had the cards in his hand but would only play them if someone from above said so; that when he started to overcome this hierarchy, he was banished to Madrid and then back with a freedom tied in very loose halters, under conditions that you didn't know, out of sheer whim.

Carrillo knew those marks and those consequences - many had his name transcribed. And he could say it was hemorrhagic shock or whatever the fuck fucked up Juan Marcos' life, but you both knew that outcome held particular satisfaction for him. At least enough to accept it unchallenged.

“... He was my suspect,” You said in a defeated tone, blowing smoke in the air. “It's pretty stupid of me to think they'd at least consult me ​​first, right? To say they would come here to destroy the guy?” 

“Yeah. But you’re smart all the same.” 

“Not enough to not do the math on why my dad pretended he wanted to have dinner with me.” 

“He wanted?”

“He did it.” You responded vehemently, tapping your thumb on the end of your cigarette to knock out more of the ash. “I should have known better when I saw him there in the office so late at night. Talking about Stechner taking the lead as if he wasn’t already planning on killing the motherfucker.”

“And do you think it would have made a difference if you had known?”

“... No.”

You didn't say it was because you were witnessing what your father could do for the first time and that it scared the shit out of you; they were childish thoughts. After years of paddling against the tide, seeing him miss his own mother's wake and even all the disappointments he could’ve caused you, everything was more tolerable when his stories were just that: stories. You also had your share of lives under your belt: one guy in Compton, one in South Beach, one more in a warehouse during a drug traffic operation. Still, you learned to live with them because it was your job. Yours only. And sometimes you could forget that someone who was supposed to give you a little more petting reduced you to one more small obstacle to doing his.

Again. And again. And again. 

You felt stupid. Naive. Again.

“It’s like fucking Hotel California,” You muttered, eyes closed and fingers massaging your temple. 

“Like what?” He asked in sincere curiosity, making you look at him in time to spot his own cigarette mid air. 

“Like the song. On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…? Nothing?” Your hands gesticulated. 

“Too gringo for me,” Carrillo inhaled on his cigarette and pretended (pretended) he was keeping a straight face. You rolled your eyes.  

“Your friend Frances must agree with that.”

“By your time here, you should know that not everyone trusts you.” 

“There’s a few exceptions.” You defended. 

“Yeah, some people might lose certain opinions for one person or another.”

With another drag on your cigarette, you let out a low 'huh' and shook your head, but when you glanced back at Carrillo, you saw that he was watching you with a very wide gaze. Again, measuring your reactions, as if trying to send a message with his silence. You did the same. 

It's been a while since you've been like this, with time to observe each other and capture details that captivated your encounters. He was more tired, visibly fresh out of his static spot in the office on the upper floors, probably with a couple of glasses of whiskey in his system. Damn pretty, you could add. Prettier than Carlos - poor Carlos. 

He broke eye contact first. 

“You’ll talk with your father?”

“Well, at least to know if it was hemorrhagic shock.”

“I don't know if this will make you sleep better.”

“Nah,” You shrugged, tilting your head to the side. “Just looks like I forgot the guy can be sadistic as fuck.” 

“Habit.”

“Personality.”

Again, silence. This time though, you were the first one to break eye contact, mostly because that thing got into a place you wouldn’t like to go. You didn’t tell Carrillo, probably wouldn’t, but your mind was building scenarios and creating perspectives about something you really preferred to forget. 

Your mom always knew better - you wished you weren't so curious as to choose the same career as your father to know what kind of shit he did.

“You’re going back to the office?” 

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He walked in your direction, but went straight to the door to open it. Before he could do it, though, Carrillo turned to you. “I would do the same.”

You nodded. 

“I know.”

“And you too.”

“Not with the same motivation,” You looked at him nonchalantly. “I have personal reasons. The type I could understand.”

“He don’t?”

“Well, we’re not the same,” Another shrug, this time dragging more of the cigarette before blowing the smoke out the side. “Perhaps I’m more different for not being adept at this, but is it really that different? I don't feel guilt, but I do feel angry that he disappeared with a guy who could give me information. Screw his life, right?”

“... Sometimes this type of life makes us forget that we are humans. You're not Gandhi or any shit like that, you're you. Flesh, bone and a gun in hand, ready to fire at the right time. I would do it, because I know what he's done to other people, but I've also seen what he's done to you.” 

He took a step closer - just one. And when you instinctively backed away with your eyes closed and a hurt murmur coming from your throat, Carrillo froze in place. 

“We don’t need to talk-”

“I know.”

“But stop playing with me, Horacio. Stop.” For a moment, he looked confused, then noticed something that perhaps even you didn’t and nodded in defeat. “Don’t be like him. Not now.”

Don't be opportunistic like him, don't be selfish like him, don't be capricious like him, don't use you like he always did. That's what you meant. That he shouldn’t pretend he didn’t say no twice and approached you later with some kind of warm conversation because it seemed convenient. You didn't need it - what you wanted and what you accepted he denied too quickly.

“... I’ll be back in the office.” You said after a time, eyes on the floor right where the cigarette landed and hand brushing your left eyebrow. “Body identified, death certificates and stuff like that. It's just, isn't it? Do you proceed from here?” 

Carrillo gulped, considered your face like a brave man and said a simple ‘yes’ before insisting on opening the goddamn door for you. And you let him, even when he stood there, the door now closed, staring at you through the open window. 

“Good night, Colonel.” 

“... Good night.”

He tapped the opening twice, took three long steps back and inhaled on the cigarette which, as you had barely noticed, was still lit in his hand. You watched him through the rearview mirror, just for a moment longer, and after that split opportunity you also stared at your own eyes - coming to a conclusive revelation. One you already knew, in fact. 

Carlos was Carlos. Carrillo was Carrillo. 

And damn you for always choosing the complicated ones. 

--------------------------

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons ​

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@mysoulisasunflower​ 

[helenofsimblr]

Sage: This is the empty room I mentioned, there’s no windows here, so, it’s a dark room, like… pitch dark. The previous tenant used it as a store room but it could be something else if you wanted. Maybe some lab equipment?

Guy: Don’t know, it’d be hard work getting that stuff up here in that small elevator.

Sage:  Perhaps a man-cave?

Guy: Heh… not a bad idea Sage. Shame more women didn’t think like you do.

Sage: Oh! Well, I uh, just try to see things from my client’s perspective.

Guy: We best hurry, your next appointment will be waiting if we aren’t.

Sage: Oh that’s fine… these hold ups sometimes happen.

****

Sage: This is the main bedroom. You have some great city views and if you wanted to get some blinds on the window for um… privacy, you could, though I don’t imagine there’s many that could see clearly though this glass.

Guy: I should get my mother and sister round to help with the decorating. It's a bit, depressed looking. They’d have this place ship shape in no time.

Elita: Guy clicked his fingers on the right hand creating a rather loud bang that startled Sage for a moment. It was little moments like this the facade of his normalcy slipped.

Sage: Well as the occupant it’d be your call. Assuming you went ahead to occupy…

Guy: I value the opinions of my mother and sister on things I am much less informed about.

Sage: Ooh, that’s very sweet.

****

Guy: So, overall I think I like the idea of renting, it’s cheap, any maintenance I can handle myself easily I just don’t know what to think about the bedroom.

Sage: What is it you are having trouble with about it? Perhaps I can help?

Guy: I think you could Miss Garner. Since you showed me around, maybe I can show you what I mean?

Sage: Um… uh well.. I think I can spare a few more minutes, Professor.

Guy: Excellent.

Elita: If at the start of this you thought, “Oh, I bet he’ll nail that Realtor!” Give yourselves a pat on the back, you were right. But rather surprisingly for such a teeny little thing, it was her that took the initiative and struck first in the bedroom.

[fubureaders]

is this meet-cute to your liking? | tyler james williams x reader

summary: based on that interview where he mentioned wanting a casual meet-cute on the subway in nyc... baby if that's what you want, i will try my absolute best

masterlist

also, pretend that you're someone who likes tattoos or art or something, because that's kinda the first thing mentioned

thoughts are italicized

you're on the subway from brooklyn to manhattan to meet up with some friends for dinner, after having gotten an impromptu tattoo, and then stopping at a table on the street to buy some pretty artwork. needless to say, you're running late and looking cute doing it. because of this, you're also kind of not paying attention to anything that doesn't seem dangerous (cuz you know you still gotta watch out with tourists getting wilder and crackheads getting crack-ier)

but you find a subway car that seems to have a decent amount of people (but not too many either), so you get in and sit down, looking at your watch/phone to check how late you are -- only 5 minutes right now, but these delays might have your friends bugging so you're hoping for the best. at the next stop, a couple comes in with their baby stroller, and you give them space to sit just as the gentleman across from you (whom you hadn't yet noticed) gets up too, for the same purpose. the train decides that's the perfect time to make a major turn, and as the couple quickly sit down and check on their napping infant, you and the gentleman race to grab the pole. if it couldn't get any more obvious that the universe likes the idea of you two, your hands touch. now as a reflex, you pull away because... a black woman alone on the subway? safety first, darling. but then you look up, and wish your hand had remained there, even if it is a pole on the nyc subway.

he looks familiar, but you're more focused on the smile in his eyes... man those are pretty eyes. maybe you've seen him on this line before? maybe you're hoping to keep seeing him on this line he laughs to diffuse the awkwardness, and if you weren't running late (now at 10 minutes), you would pull every pick up line out of your arse that you could possibly think of. instead, you smile through your mask (respectfully staying masked and vaxxed) and pray you see this guy again. as you stand together, you look up to notice that he's wearing a custom letterman jacket and catch him already eyeing you.

he breaks the silence first, "Is your arm not sore at all?" you tilt your head and raise an eyebrow, and clear your throat before responding, "No it wasn't that bad of a turn. should've been more prepared honestly." he laughs again, and you think yes i'm in, made him laugh and he's checking me out? new story for the dinner table.. that i am still 10 minutes late for

he gently points to your arm, and your ego realizes it's not the time for it to be popping up. perhaps, your new tattoo with the clear cover is what caught his attention. might as well use it to the best of your abilities, right? so you, being you, strike up a conversation about noticing the cool design on his jacket. "Is that something you bought or was it custom made? It's a beautiful design." please don't think i'm being forward but you are so beautiful "Thanks, bought it at a thrift shop a few years ago, and a friend added some patches." you light up at the idea of having a conversation about fashion, and repurposing, and the importance of personalizing clothing as its a form of art in its own right. suddenly, you notice a muffled, exhausted voice mumbling once exciting - now dreaded - words:

next stop is canal st

the mumbling continues to list transit options and other lines available, but with that you know that the universe has decided your time with the beautiful artistic somewhat-mystery guy; you still can't put your finger on where you know him from but are too scared to bring it up in the time left. the look on his face communicates that he understands, and you're hoping that your imagination is overtaking your reality because he looks as disappointed as you feel. "maybe i'll see you at L Train sometime, the thrift store i mean. where i got the jacket, at L Train. or maybe at the tattoo shop where you got that done?" you reply with your new favorite place, not mentioning how it's your new favorite because you just got your first tattoo done because it's not as important as trying to figure out how you know him. "i'm (y/n) by the way. just in case i do see you at the store, or at the parlor. i do hope to see you there" this is canal st, with the 6, N, and Q lines currently available. the next stop is bowery with that, you smile and give a little wave, happy that it gets returned, and run off to apologize to your friends for the wait.

you step into the restaurant, eyes glancing around to find your friends seated and ordering drinks/appetizers. you smile over at the small group, and pick up the spare menu they were kind enough to request. you feel bad, but also giddy with knowing you've got a great "do it for plot" moment to tell... though you do wish there was more to the story. after you all order and you exchange greetings, you begin to regale the group in the total NYC rom-com meet-cute you could've had if you had stopped overthinking. as you begin describing the gorgeous guy and his deep voice and rich laugh, you get the feeling that you should turn your head... and as you do, it seems as though the universe is personally whispering in your ear. and his.

he smiles, and begins to approach the table, hands in the pocket of the now infamous (to the table at least) jacket. you raise an eyebrow at your friends, and they know that the story is about to get a part two at which they have front row seats.

you smile and try to speak as if you're not picturing him holding your favorite flowers, "hi there L Train."

"it's tyler, but i kinda like L Train. funny about that, the same destination, different stops. but now i can ask you more about art, and talk about that date i was gonna ask you on"

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

i had no idea how to end this but i felt all butterfly-ey?? writing it so i hope it shows and you get the same feeling. i just really liked that interview (linked below, with that letterman jacket in mind cuz it just looked really cool and i personally want to know if it's his or if they let him keep it cuz he looked good in it)