#how to tie a scarf to a hand bag

[babyleostuff]

⸻ first date with vocal unit

[ ☕️ ] how they would spoil their partner, what they would be like taking them out for the first time & what they would plan to make them feel special

jeonghan

place: a park

what they would do to make you feel special: jeonghan wouldn’t hesitate to wrap his scarf around your neck at the slightest breeze (which means so much, since he gets cold so easily) 

what they would be like taking you out: so polite and charming, with a glint of mischievousness that shines through his humour and jokes. he’s a great listener, but at the same time can hold a conversation like no other, so you never feel awkward. and even if there’s silence, it’s not that uncomfortable and suffocating silence, but a peaceful one.

“jeonghan? what are you doing?” you asked, brows furrowed in confusion, as you watched your date unwrap his thick scarf. 

“told you to dress warmly,” jeonghan ignored your words and muttered with a hint of disappointment, shaking his head. he kind of reminded you of your mom when she was angry at you. 

“what…,” you stood still, as jeonghan wrapped the scarf around your neck, making sure to tie it tight enough to keep you protected from the wind. “but what about you?” 

“yah, don’t worry about me, okay?” he smiled, the usual mischievous spark gleaming in his brown eyes, and pulled you closer, so you were glued to his side.

joshua

place: pottery class

what they would do to make you feel special: whatever he’d make out of the clay would be made with you in mind, to match your aesthetic and vibe, so that he could gift it to you afterwards 

what they would be like taking you out: suuuch a gentleman; picks you up, opens all the doors, helps you with your coat or jacket, wipes off the clay that you accidentally smeared on your cheek. seems very calm and collected but is freaking out on the inside.

“wait, wait,” joshua said, his body shaking from laughter, eyes scrunched adorably, as you once again messed up what was supposed to be a mug. maybe pottery wasn’t for you after all… 

you looked up from the disaster in front of you and raised your brows. 

“c'mere,” he waved at you, the smile not disappearing from his face. 

“why?” you asked, suspicious. “i’m not falling for one of your pranks again, joshua hong.” 

“darling,” he whined, making your heart skip. “have a bit more faith in me,” you noticed a clean cloth in his hand. “you got some clay on your cheek. wanted to wipe it off.” 

oh. oh. 

woozi

place: jazz club

what they would do to make you feel special: the morning after the date you’d get a message with a link to a playlist with the songs from the bar and a (probably a bit corny) title that would make your heart swoon. 

what they would be like taking you out: at first woozi would be kind of awkward and shy, just because he’d be intimidated by you and the fact that you agreed to go out with him??? and you didn’t think a jazz club was lame??? mans would be sweating and panicking, but with time the stress would disappear because of how at peace being with you made him.

“do you maybe want to…,” jihoon shyly looked up from his glass that he was holding onto for dear life. “uh, i was wondering if… you want to dance?” panic like he'd never known before welled in his throat, as jihoon finally managed to ask you the question he’d been dying to ask you for the past hour. 

“say yes, say yes, say yes.”

you honestly wanted to laugh, because if only he knew how much you wanted him to ask you that. 

“of course, jihoon, i’d love to,” you smiled gently at him, noticing how the tension disappeared from his shoulders. 

oh, he’d be the death of you. 

dk

place: the zoo

what they would do to make you feel special: carry your bag without you having to ask, not a single peep. he’d grab it after like five minutes and seeing your confused face or your quiet “i can carry it myself”, seokmin would shake his head and say, “i don’t want your shoulder to hurt”. 

what they would be like taking you out: shaky hands, shaky voice, wobbly feet; because no amount of pep talk would be able to calm seokmin down. he’d be so happy to go out with you, but the stress would be eating him alive - it’s just that he wouldn’t want for anything to go wrong since it’d be your first date :((

“where to next?” you pulled out the map of the zoo, crossing out the small picture of an otter.

“what about the lions? or tigers?” a shadow fell over the map and you could feel seokmin’s cologne, as well as his chest gently pressing against your back. 

“you sure you won’t get too scared?” you teased, reminding him of how he almost ran out of the tarantula terrarium. it was honestly adorable, but at the same time he looked like he went to hell and back. 

poor man held onto you for the next fifteen minutes. 

“huh, very funny,” he said, fixing his hat, as if getting ready to fight the tiger himself. “let’s go.”

seungkwan

place: karaoke place

what they would do to make you feel special: at the end of the night seungkwan would pick out a (not so) low-key romantic, cutesy, first love coded song to sing (definitely not dedicated to you). 

what they would be like taking you out: a blushy and giggly mess. seungkwan would be so mesmerised by you, but at the same time too shy to actually look at you, kind of scared that you’d disappear if he’d stare for too long. his face would be as red as a tomato all night long, though he'd go back to his goofball usual self by the end of the night.

“what do you mean i got 95 out of 100?” seungkwan yelled at the machine and pushed his slightly sweaty bangs from his forehead, as if that would change the score written on the display. “this is ridiculous,” he grumbled. “seriously i’m so over this thing.” 

“seungkwan?” you asked, amusement lacing your voice. as much as you found his tantrum to be cute, you had one more mission to do that night. 

“yes?” he turned around at the speed of light, his neck cracking slightly. 

“could you sing one more song for me?” you asked. 

suddenly, as if the beef he had with the karaoke machine never happened, he pulled out the keyboard to type the song title. 

“of course i will, what a silly question, baby.”

[fastandcarlos]

When He Carries An Item Specifically For You : ̗̀➛ F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

If there was one thing that Max loved, it was your hair, and when he loved playing with it as much as he did, it meant that he absolutely hated when it got ruined. To save that from happening, he always carried a hairband around his wrist so that he could offer it to you when you needed to move your hair out of your face and tie it back. As soon as he saw that it was annoying you, Max would hold the band out, or sometimes even decide that he was going to be the one to tie your hair up instead. 

» Lando Norris 

There were often times during the long race weekends when you found yourself getting pretty bored, using your phone to keep you entertained. The one thing you often forgot to pack with you though was a charger to keep your phone going throughout the day leaving you feeling a little lost as the screen went black. After one too many groans that your phone was dead, Lando decided that he was going to make sure that he kept a phone charger in his driver’s room at all times so that you always had easy access to one and could keep you happy whilst he raced. 

» Charles LeClerc 

When you were in the paddock, Charles loved to make sure that everyone knew which family you were a part of, and so usually had an item of Ferrari merch on him somewhere to pass onto you. Whether it was a top, a bracelet, a cap or a scarf, Charles loved to dress you in red. Even if it was a piece of merch that wasn’t realised to the fans, if he had access to it then he made sure that you did too so that everyone knew exactly who you were cheering on whilst at the back of the garage. 

» George Russell 

With all the travelling that you did, your bag was often filled with different things to keep yourself entertained, one of your favourite things being your latest read, the story usually gripping you. However, one thing you weren’t quite so good at remembering to take with you was a bookmark. After watching you fold pages for many weeks, George ended up going out and buying a bookmark on a day off and slipping it into his bag so he always had one that he could hand to you to use when you wanted to make sure that you didn’t lose your page. 

» Oscar Piastri 

To say you were clumsy was an absolute understatement, and so simply to survive, Oscar was always the one to carry your passport. After one too many near misses at airports, he decided that he would take it instead so you both knew exactly where it was. He had a safe space in his bag where yours and his sat, unlike you who tended to just hold it in your hand. You tried to protest that you were capable of carrying it, but after being responsible for several missed flights you knew that it was probably for the best that Oscar looked after such an important item. 

» Carlos Sainz 

Although he tried his best to convince you that the hairbrush that he usually carried in his bag was for you, you weren’t entirely convinced, and neither was the rest of Carlos’ team either. When you watched Carlos pull the brush out, quite often you’d catch him brushing quickly through his hair to fix his messy locks before handing it across to you to use. He was far too proud to ever confess to carrying a brush for himself, but you knew that he loved having it on him just as much for his benefit as it was for your benefit. 

» Daniel Ricciardo 

Just like Daniel, the cold was not your friend, especially during the tricky winters at some of the races. You were like holding onto an ice block sometimes with how cold you were, which Daniel was not particularly a fan of when he wanted so often to hold your hand. To counteract this, Daniel often kept a pair of gloves in the bottom of his bag when the two of you went out into the chilly air, making sure that you had a nice thick layer on to keep you warm, and make holding your hand much more comfortable for him too. 

» Lewis Hamilton 

It was a nervous habit of yours to mess with your lips, you often picked at the skin whenever you began to get worried which Lewis usually picked up on. Luckily for you, Lewis was always on hand to make sure that your lips were well taken care of though, with a lip balm safe in his pocket most of the time when you were out of the house. Every so often he would remind you to put some on so that your lips were nice and smooth and make sure there wasn’t any skin for you to tug at and risk making your lips sore. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Four: daddy needs his lunch

tw: threats, minor threats of non-con, minor character death, surprise austrian death

The remnants of your life rattles in your lap as you trot along campestral American terrain. 

You sit on the back of Kyle’s horse—a large, sweet beast named Bear—with your carpet bag on your lap and your legs thrown over the side of the animal. Unforgiving heat plagues the back of your neck as the mid-morning sun reaches high into the beryl sky, beating down and baking the earth and you along with it. Anxious hands grip your bag as you keep your head down, eyes staring at the sage brush and thickets that pass you by. Grasshoppers jump through the air as the earth around them is disturbed. You smile as their wings flap. The dirt looks just the same as it does in Penmosa, but the air smells fresher without the livestock to kick up muck. 

It’s been hours since you’ve departed from the camp, and a single word has yet to leave your mouth. Your rump aches from your uncomfortable seat, but you keep your kvetching to nothing more than a thought in the back of your mind. Really, you’re glad that you’re here with Kyle rather than any of the other men. Riley intimidates you, Soap is too odd and mouthy, and John Price makes your skin crawl with a nervosity you can’t quite name. 

Quiet chatter bleeds from the front of the pack where John Price leads the way as you cut through untraveled lands, but it sounds like buzzing flies to you. Unimportant. Something not meant for your ears. You keep your head down and mouth closed as you allow them to chat away. As the horse sways, you remind yourself that you’re nothing but a guest here. 

(It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.)

The only thing you’ve been able to think about all morning—despite the fact you’re absolutely looney for traveling with such disgraceful men—is how you missed Daddy’s sermon this morning. You wonder if the church feels quiet with your absence. You wonder if he even realizes the gaping hole left in the pews. Your fingers gingerly reach for the cross on your necklace as if your guilt can absolve you from your skin. 

“Awfully quiet back there,” Kyle suddenly hums. His voice has your head perking and back straightening. Angry muscles tighten along your spine from your poor posture, but you hide your wince. “Doing alright back there?” 

You aren’t aware of how dry your mouth is until you swallow. “Yes, thank you,” you answer monotonously. 

“Comfortable?” he presses. 

“It’s a little warm,” you admit. 

Kyle nods in agreement. “There’s a canteen in my saddle pack if you need it.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Course,” he shrugs. “Exposure can kill just as easily as a bullet. Need to keep yourself fed and watered if you wanna survive out here.” 

You’re embarrassed by how quickly your fingers reach for the clasp on his pack. It comes undone with a simple flick of your fingers, and you’re eagerly reaching for the leather canteen before your mind can fully process it. It’s not cold, but it is fresh. As you take a sip, you let the water sit on your tongue, hoping it’ll rehydrate your mouth and bring it back to life. 

“You got a hat?” Kyle asks as you put the canteen back. 

“Afraid not,” you murmur. You pause as you secure his saddle pack. “I’ve got a scarf.” 

“You should put it over your head,” he recommends. “The sun can be brutal out here on cloudless days like today.” 

Taking Kyle’s advice, you rummage through your carpet bag until you find your headscarf. It’s made of thin, dainty silk that you put over your head and tie under your chin with ease. You pray the sun’s rays haven’t done too much damage to your skin, but the reprieve lets you breathe easier. 

“I hope Riley didn’t scare you too much last night,” Kyle then says. “He can be rather crass at times, but I promise he’s all bark and no bite. Well, concerning us, anyway.” 

“It’s alright,” you assure. “After all, I was the one who trespassed.” 

“I thought you were just wandering?” Kyle teasingly goads. 

“Well, the trespassing was an accident.” 

“Of course.” 

Bear interrupts your conversation with a peeved huff as the small caravan crosses over a particularly rough patch of terrain. His hooves slip over the chossy terrain, kicking rocks on either side of him, but he manages to keep steady. Kyle coos as he leans forward, hand patting the animal along his neck to calm him. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you murmur just loud enough for only the two of you to hear. 

“Didn’t you already?” Kyle deadpans. 

You huff. “Well, another one.” 

“Of course.” 

“Why the… you know. The mask? It’s a little off putting.” 

Kyle’s shoulders hunch before falling limp. He leans back with a sigh, but straightens himself back up when he feels himself bump into you. “Dunno. Guess he was accused of killing his family back home in Manchester. England, yeah? Showing his face would get him accosted, or worse. I think he’s just grown used to wearing it, that's all.” 

“He killed his family?” you repeat, hushed. 

“Oh, course not. No, he’d never. His family meant everything to him. Simon spent weeks tracking down the people who framed him and killed them. Settled the scores, and avenged his family. Couldn’t quite clear his name, though. He’s a good man,” Kyle recalls. 

“Is that why he’s here? To get away from that?” you question. 

He shrugs. “Part of it, I suppose.” 

You nod your head as you adjust the scarf on your head from falling past your hairline. “What about you?” 

“Why am I here?” Kyle clarifies. “Price was about all I had back in England. Lost my parents from consumption. Well, my dad died from consumption, but mum’s pneumonia wasn’t much easier. He’s taught me everything I know, so when he left, I did too.” 

Your throat grows tight as he reminisces about his parents—about their deaths. You pull your carpet bag closer to your chest as you shift on the horse, as if your pitiful belongings can be of any comfort to you. 

“I’m sorry about your family,” you offer. 

“Yeah, me too,” Kyle sighs. 

You swallow and change the subject. “So then, Mr. Price?” 

A long pause settles between the two of you as you come to a vast, verdant pasture. Bear begins to move smoother on the kinder land, and you notice you’re not being jostled around as much as you were previously. Wildflowers brighten the slade with vivid yellows and purples, and suddenly the sun no longer feels quite as overbearingly warm. 

“It’s a long story,” he finally relents. 

“Oh,” you chirp. 

It’s difficult to hide your disappointment at his evasion—it soaks your tone until it’s dripping wet. Feeling how your letdown emanates from your bones, Kyle looks over his shoulder at you before nodding at the short train of horses ahead. 

“Soap’s also got a long story,” he explains. “I dunno much about it, if I’m being honest. All I know is that he doesn’t seem too keen on returning to Scotland.” 

“He’s a curious man,” you note. 

“That’s a polite way to put it,” Kyle deadpans. 

“Is that why his accent is different? Because he’s from Scotland?” you wonder. 

He nods. “Yeah, he’s up further north than any of the rest of us.” 

“Is that why his hair is so strange, too?” 

Kyle’s laughter is so forceful that it nearly scares you out of your seat. He manages to calm himself quick enough so as to not garner too much attention from the others, but his words still titter. 

“No, I think it’s because no one’s been brave enough to tell him otherwise,” he humors. 

The mirth Kyle shares with you is so contagious that you catch yourself chuckling as you sway on the back of his horse. Now content with knowing that you’re well hydrated, he allows silence to fall between the two of you once more as the small band of outlaws, cowboys, and a wayward woman continues to cut through the lush pasture. 

A duo of deer stand proudly along the environs of a small weald that skirts the edge of the pasture. Perking up, you blink at the creatures as they curiously watch you pass by. One of the deer—a beautiful doe with a wiggling, wet nose—prods at her young calf, but the boy does not seem alarmed at all. He stares, unwavering, before eventually listening to his mother and returning into the safety of uncultivated trees and bushes. 

After another mile or so, the speed of the caravan begins to dwindle, and you find your body leaning to look around Kyle. John Price has his head held high as he surveys the land with his horse stopped. She whinnies as he orders for her to trot in a circle, and he doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with what he sees—a lack of people. 

“Right then. What do you say, boys? Lunch time?” he prompts as he looks back at his crew. 

When everyone begins to nod and grunt in agreement, they quickly dismount. Kyle awkwardly manages to swing his leg over Bear’s back without kicking you, then he offers you his hand to aid you down. The moment your feet hit the earth, you feel every muscle in your body scream. Your tailbone pops as you stretch your legs, and your bum feels numb. Sighing, you place your carpet bag down before stretching your arms high into the sky as if you could cup the sun into the palm of your hands. 

It’s then that you realize most of your pain comes from more than just riding a horse through the hardly civilized backyard of the United States. Though you’re not particularly disfigured, your cheek still throbs with that dull ache, and your scraped knees scream at you when you bend them a certain way. The skin is still angry, and its sting is hard to ignore when you walk. But there is a pleasant breeze, and the wildflowers wave at you as you adjust the skirt of your dress. This country is as good of an emollient as any, and your father’s steeple isn’t even here to ruin the view. 

“Hungry?” 

John Price’s voice has your head whipping to the side so fiercely that your scarf falls down the back of your head. You don’t even bother to fix it as he stares at you expectantly with his arms extended. In his hands lies more of the same jerky you were given last night for dinner, along with a generous amount of hardtack. 

“Thank you, Mr. Price,” you murmur. As you take the food into your hands, your thumb swipes over the hardtack, forcing a few crumbs to flutter into the uncut grass at your feet. You wonder if this would count as your daily bread. 

“Just John is fine,” he waves. You stare down at your food as you wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. Thumbs hooked into his belt buckle, he continues to stare at you. “How’s your cheek?” 

Blinking, you look up at him and fight back the urge to press at the wound. “It’s fine.” 

John hums. “The swelling isn’t too bad.” 

“Yes, it’s… fine,” you repeat, gauche. 

Still, he does not leave. Harsh, cobalt eyes wander over every inch of your face before he trails lower. His gaze sears your skin as it settles on your throat, and then your collarbones. When you shift, uncomfortable under the pin of his gawking, he looks back up at you. 

“Ought to keep that necklace of yours hidden,” he recommends. 

Looking down, you witness the way the charm on your necklace glints in the glory of the sun. It’s so bright it nearly burns. “Why?” you ask. 

“You shouldn’t put stealing past anyone who we might run into out here,” he shrugs. “You might get hurt. Or worse.” 

Swallowing, you feel the sweat on your palms begin to soak into your hardtack. “People would kill over a silly necklace?” 

“I’ve seen people get killed for less, and that’s a fair amount of gold you’re lugging around, little lamb,” he says, his voice grave. “If you won’t take it off, at least keep it tucked underneath your blouse.” 

All you can do is stand there and blink as John walks away, leaving you with your hands full of food and your mind riddled with worry. Shoving salted jerky in your mouth to hold between your teeth, you quickly shove the charm of your necklace between your breasts, keeping it well hidden beneath your clothes. You don’t think your heart could handle losing the only trinket you have left of your mother. 

Only then do you allow yourself to enjoy your meal. As much as one can enjoy hardtack, anyway. It is—well—quite firm against your teeth, and as you bite into it you fear you might crack the enamel and splinter it into a million pieces. It’s bland and salty on your tongue, and you find your lips puckering. No more easier on the jaw but more tasty, you chew on your jerky next. It’s certainly nothing compared to your salted pork—a luxury you can no longer afford now that you’re out in the thick of the heartlands—but it’s enough to fill your stomach and quell its growling. 

Kyle offers you his canteen again when he notices you’ve finished eating, and you use it to wash down the sawdust texture stuck on the insides of your cheeks. Then, you stretch your legs. Miniature daisies dance at your feet as you wander the pasture, and you revel in the kind zephyr that teases the skirt of your dress. 

It’s strange to be here. As if it wasn’t odd enough being in the middle of nowhere with four men you don’t know, it’s even worse knowing that you should be working. Pews need cleaning, and Daddy needs his lunch—something you always prepare—and here you are, enjoying a makeshift picnic with a band of outlaws and crooks. Teeth sink into the flesh of your lip, and your face throbs. Guilt erodes your chest until your ribs are brittle enough for your heart to puncture, and still you ignore it as if your bones aren’t turning into dust at the soles of your shoes. 

“You hear that?” 

Riley’s gravelly voice cuts through the quiet afternoon, ripping your attention away from the nature around you. He stands staring at the hill on your left with quiet eyes and tense shoulders. Rolls of lush grass sway as it covers the earth better than dirt covers a grave. Riley stares past the hill, eyes squinting at the horizon while his fingers itch for iron. 

“Hear what?” you question. 

He snaps his head in your direction as if he had forgotten all about your existence. Jaw flexing, he motions you away. “Get back,” he bites. “I think someone’s coming.” 

Breath catching in your throat, you quickly fumble with your scarf as you pull it back over your head. His warning has caught the attention of the other men, and they all stare at the same hill that Riley does. Stumbling over a small thicket, you quickly make your way to Bear who’s busy eating his own lunch as his head dips low to graze on the grass. 

You situate yourself next to him just in time to witness someone come up over the hill. A large man on an even larger horse gallops over the horizon. He travels at a leisurely pace, then halts the moment he catches sight of the group. The stranger sits back on his horse, but not even the distance can erase the anger emanating from his body. 

“I think we just found trouble,” Soap murmurs. 

“There’ll be no trouble unless he makes any,” Riley chuckles darkly. 

A single gunshot rings throughout the air, quickly followed by a squeak that rips its way through your throat. The sound echoes over the rolling hills, and it’s enough to get the horses to perk up. 

“Don’t worry, he’s not shooting at us,” Kyle assures. “He fired a round in the air.” 

“He’s headed this way,” Riley huffs. 

John rubs his hand over his chin as he looks back at everyone. His eyes stay on you for longer than what feels comfortable before he brings his attention back to the stranger. “Just be quiet and let me do the talking.” 

It takes the man little time to close the distance with his horse galloping at full speed. Riley’s hands shake with the hardly restrained urge to reach for his gun, but John stands cool with his hands on his belt and a smile on his face. 

The stranger slows the moment he’s within talking distance, and your tongue shrivels up at the sight of him. He’s the largest man you think you’ve ever seen—even larger than Riley. He sits proud and broad on his horse who huffs and puffs with exertion like he’ll be crushed beneath the weight of his master soon enough. Similar to Riley, his face is obscured by an odd mask, though it’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Nothing short of an executioner’s hood, black cloth obscures the entire circumference of his head and face, excluding two holes in which his pale eyes peer through in a glare. 

“You’re on my property,” the man barks in an odd accent. It’s different from John’s, and even stranger than Soap’s—something else you don’t quite recognize. 

“My apologies,” John chuckles cordially. “We’re just passing through. We thought we could cut through here off of the main trail. We’re in a bit of a hurry.” 

The man adjusts his grip on the reins of his horse, and it’s only then that you see the pistol in his hand. It flashes in the rays of the sun, bright enough to singe your eyes, and despite the heat baking you alive, you feel your blood run cold. 

“Do you think I’m a fool?” he spits. “Do you really expect me to believe that you weren’t aware this was private land? That makes you a trespasser, doesn’t it? And trespassers get shot.” 

John’s shoulders tense through the cotton of his shirt and the leather of his vest. His six shooter sits loud and proud on the side of his hip, yet he doesn’t reach for it. 

“Or,” he says, hands gesturing to either side of his body, “we leave and you never have to see us again.” His voice is too firm for his words to be a suggestion. 

The stranger is quiet for a long moment as if sincerely contemplating John’s offer. His pale eyes scrutinize every detail of his face before glancing at Riley, then to you. His gaze burns you to the point you nearly wince, but you attempt to save face by keeping your feet steady as Bear continues to peacefully graze next to you. 

“Or,” the man counters, “we could make a deal.” 

John hums, sincerely surprised. “Well, I’d never say no to an offer,” he chuckles. “What’s your proposal?” 

“Times are tough. I work these lands with these animals and sparse crops by myself. No ranch hands or workers, just me. I’ve no wife to come home to, or children to raise.” A swift air of arrogance surrounds the man as he holsters his pistol beside his hip. Your head grows light when he points a finger in your direction. “If you let me take that one there, and I’ll consider it fair payment for your trespassing and let the rest of you leave without a bullet in your back.” 

It’s as if every last bit of air has been syphoned from the earth. No matter how much you will your lungs to expand, your diaphragm refuses to relent. Instead, the useless muscle seizes and flutters as you stare at this man and replay his offer over and over in your mind. His words echo just as bad as his gun does; relentless and deadly. Your feet urge you to run, but you’re stuck in place. 

John’s chuckle is sonorous and warm. Stomach churning, you watch as he looks back over his shoulder at you with florid cheeks and bright teeth. His gaze is warm and kind despite the chill his titter sends down your spine, and if you were any more like your father, you would have slapped him for the gesture. 

“I’d take good care of her,” the man assures with a haughty grin lacing his tone. “I just need a bitch for breeding and-” 

John doesn’t even give the man any time to explain himself before his fingers wrap around the holster of his six shooter. Head whipping around, hand raising, he pulls the trigger before anyone can comprehend his actions. A single shot fires and leaves a cacophonous screeching in your ears as your hand covers your mouth in an attempt to swallow your scream. With wide eyes and a fluttering heart, you watch as this stranger falls off his horse and plummets to the ground like a boulder crashing off the steep palisades of a canyon. 

Once his body stills, you notice a newly made hole in his mask sitting right above the two for his now lifeless eyes.

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[aethercoreheart]

zayne | 8:08 PM

“You shouldn’t be here.”

You glance down at Zayne, who has his head in your lap. He looks at you through fluttering eyelids, insistent on staying conscious.

You roll your eyes. “And why shouldn’t I be? You take care of people when they’re sick. Someone should be taking care of you too.”

Zayne inhales deeply before muttering his reply. “But you could get sick too.”

You give him a reassuring smile. “Whatever it is you have, I’m pretty sure I’m immune to it.”

“I sure hope you are,” he quips back, his eyes closing.

“I’ll leave if you want me to leave,” you reply, pressing your lips into a tight line.

He shakes his head, his eyes still shut. His expression softens. “I’m just making sure you’re not looking after me because you feel obligated to.”

You chuckle, and run your fingers through his hair. You press your lips against his feverish forehead.

“Sick or not, who else would I spend our anniversary night with?”

Your question goes unheard as you hear Zayne start to snore softly. You huff in amusement, and reach for the television remote. You turn the volume up, returning to the documentary you were watching.

—

You felt bad about leaving Zayne sleeping on the couch by himself, but you wanted to stop by your apartment quickly to pick up your anniversary present for him. You would be gone twenty, thirty minutes at the most, and you had left a message on his phone telling him you would be right back and to call you if he needed you.

You rush to your apartment, grab his gift from the coffee table (a navy blue silk tie embroidered with snowflakes, wrapped in a gift bag), and you’re on your way back to his place without incident.

You are back in record time, and you hope he hadn’t woken up while you were gone. It had just started to snow, and you thank your lucky stars that you had made it back before it got too heavy. You make your way inside and notice that the house is eerily quiet. You had left the television on at a low volume when you had left, but you can’t hear it anymore.

“Zayne?”

No one answers you. You make your way around his house, checking every room - his bedroom, his study, the kitchen, bathrooms. You leave no corner uninspected. Panic begins to set in and your heart begins to race as you run back to the living area. He’s too sick to get anywhere, and if he did leave the house, you’re afraid that he might have passed out only God knows where.

You reach for your phone in your pocket, and you realize you’re still holding on to the gift bag. You were gripping it so tightly that your nails had torn into it. You drop it and hold your phone with both your hands. They tremble as you swipe at your screen to unlock it.

You try to call him, but immediately hear his ringtone coming from the sofa. You watch as it lights up from where he left it, your name flashing across the screen. You hang up.

The next number you call is the front desk at his department at the hospital. Yvonne picks up after two rings.

“I’m sorry, but Doctor Zayne isn’t here,” she tells you. “I’ll call you back if I do see him.”

A lump in your throat has formed and you swallow before you reply. “Thank you,” is all you can muster before ending the call.

You’re about to call Greyson when you hear the front door open. You freeze and strain your ears. Zayne’s voice, thick and raspy, calls out your name.

You sigh, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted off your chest. You shove your phone back into your pocket, and head to greet Zayne at the front door. He is dressed in a coat, a scarf, sweatpants and boots. Snowflakes frame his eyelashes, and he blinks them away. His cheeks are bright red under his scarf, his eyes watering slightly behind his glasses.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. “Where did you go?” you demand, your voice breaking at the end of your question.

Zayne sees how upset you’ve become, and he lowers his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I… felt bad about leaving your gift in my office at the hospital. I just wanted to get you something for today.”

Your anger dissipates at his apology, and you sigh again. “Don’t be,” you say, reaching for his hand. You lead him back to the living area, to the sofa. “Are you okay?”

He nods, but tugs his hand back. You release it, and he unbuttons his coat. He takes a paper bag from one of the inner pockets and hands it to you. “I’m sorry,” he repeats as you take the bag. “I couldn’t get far, but I did get to the bakery before they closed.”

You take a peek into the bag. Inside are two pastries, slightly squashed. You bite your lower lip to stop it from trembling, and you take a deep breath before wrapping Zayne in a tight embrace. Zayne half-chuckles, half-coughs as he attempts to squeeze you back. You bury your face into his shoulder, suddenly feeling a swell of affection rise in your chest.

“I’ll make us some tea and we can eat this together,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. Your arms are still wrapped around him, one hand holding the bag of pastries.

“Sounds… sounds great,” Zayne mumbles, his voice faltering. You see his eyes start to close.

You feel his body go limp in your arms, and you kneel down slowly, trying not to drop his entire body weight onto the floor. You end up partially cradling him, his legs sprawled out on the floor. Once again, he’s snoring gently, and you place the bag of pastries down beside you.

You position him so that his head is in your lap again, making sure he’s laying down comfortably. The short walk he had taken must have exhausted him.

You watch as his chest rises and falls. “Happy anniversary, you big dummy,” you whisper, your thumb softly stroking his cheek.

[kwonkissed]

pt.2 of this

wonwoo’s been bouncing his leg for so long, the muscles in his calf have started to get sore. he clutches the doctor’s note for a brand of ear drops in his hands as he patiently waits for your shift to end.

the moment he chooses to check the time on his phone is the moment you shuffle into the waiting room. wonwoo immediately shoots up from his seat.

dressed in your winter coat and matching accessories, you waddle to over where he’s standing. you have to lean back to get a good look at him. the multiple layers you have on to keep out the cold proves difficult to move in. wonwoo chuckles at your penguin-like state.

“you warm enough in there?”

you beam at him.

“why yes I am. you ready?”

wonwoo nods. and with that, both of you exit the clinic and you begin to guide wonwoo back to your apartment.

you two talk about all sorts of things on the 10 minute trek back to your home. books and tv shows and how bad the cafeteria food gets by the end of the week. you and wonwoo both are especially passionate about that last one.

a particularly harsh gust of wind hits the two of you as you round a bend in the sidewalk. wonwoo bristles. you take a moment to look him up and down. all he has on is a long sleeve undershirt, dark wash jeans, and a hoodie. and even though you’ve only known him for about a day, you already know what he’ll say if you ask about it: I thought it’d be warm enough, with a cheeky smile and a shrug.

“sweetheart, you need to bundle up,” you say concerned. “you were just sick.” swiftly, you unwrap the scarf around your own neck and move to place it on his.

“oh no, I-I can’t,” wonwoo says quickly. you quiet his protests with a finger to his lips. “absolutely not young man. I have a coat — you do not.”

young man…we’re literally the same age, wonwoo thinks with a confused smile. sheepishly, wonwoo bends down so you can tie the scarf around his neck. immediately, he’s glad he took the scarf - it smells like you.

too caught up in your conversation, neither of you notices you’ve made it to the apartment until you’re at the door.

“end of the line,” wonwoo asks. there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“yeah,” you reply bashfully, digging around in your bag for your keys.

wonwoo goes to remove the scarf from his neck, but you put your hands over his to stop him. “keep it so we’ll have to see each other again. besides, i have plenty,” you say was a sweet smile. a swatch of red appears on each of wonwoo’s cheeks at your words. his reaction makes you bite your lip.

“bye wonwoo,” you say softly. after unlocking the door, you pause and throw your head over your shoulder. “i’ll be expecting my scarf back soon though. ok?”

“yes ma’am,” is all wonwoo can muster. you grin slyly at him, wave your goodbye, and enter your building.

wonwoo stares at the spot where you just stood. he’s smiling to himself as he plays with the fringe of your scarf.

[writingoddess1125]

Jessica Rabbit Effect pt. 4

So a lot of people have asked what if Crocodile & Mihawk found out about Buggys hot wife. So here we are!

Previous <<<

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Masterlist <<

• Buggy would be dragging his feet and reluctant on letting you go.. Truthfully he wanted to keep you on his little island village were you could live in ignorance and bliss. (Cause he's possessive)

• However it seemed some things couldnt be helped-

• Especially after your kidnapping attempt. So he felt safer dragging you with him to the Cross Guild meeting-

• "I'm so nervous" You admit, stepping in land as he kept you close.

• "Don't be- You'll be fine. I promise nothing will happen" He stated confidently, you assuming because these men were his friends- (While Buggy ment he'd kill to make sure no one harmed you)

• Once inside you saw them- And you damn near were ready to run back to the ship..

• They looked so much scarier in person!

• Craning your head up to meet the two massive men- Your nerves now all over the place as they just seemed to stare down at you.

• Hard-

• Your hand instinctively squeezing Buggy for reassurance.

• "Croc, Hawk- This is my Wife (Y/N)" Buggy said calmly with a hint of irriation in his voice at having them meet you at all, keeping a secure hand on your waist as you smiled softly at the two infamous men, still a bit nervous.

• "It's lovely to meet you both"

• Sir Crocodile and Mihawk exchanged puzzled glances as they stood before Buggy's wife.

• Perplexed-

• This pretty women was Buggy's wife?- Sure they had both heard rumors that she was apparently attractive but they assumed this was just Buggy's dramatic words floating around.

• However you were actually gorgeous!?

• Crocodile muttered, "Lovely to meet you as well-" Migawk nodding in greeting to you.

• "I know its a bit short notice me coming here and all, vut I made you both some gifts as a gesture of kindness" You say so sweetly as you reach into your bag and pull out the nice gifts for both of them nicely wrapped in colored tissue paper. Mentally praying Buggy's information was correct.

• Both Guild Leaders took the gifts in question- Still assuming something about this was fishy as both slowly ripped the tissue paper to take a peak at what you'd made.

• You had made a beautiful silk orange gold puff tie for Sir Crocodile since Buggy kept saying he was wearing a 'scarf' as a tie (But you knew better that it's a Puff Tie and not a scarf)

• And for Sir Mihawk you made him a white ocean cotton button down with front frills, you didn't make it as dramatic as you typically made Buggys but it was a incredibly pretty and beautiful shirt that would be comforble to wear whenever.

• Both men stared at the gifts, like they were trying to figure out what sort of trickery this was.

• "You made these?" Mihawk questioned at first,

• "I'm a seamstress" You state calmly, a bit worried they wouldn't be interested. However smiled when Crocodile complemented your craft and the quality of the tie.

• Once inside the main meeting room, conversation flowed naturally, You chatting up both men so they could become familiar with you. Even telling them the story of how you and Buggy met all those years ago.

• "Are you wanted to married him?-" Crocodile mused, taking another drag of his cigar.

• "Of course! He's so sweet afterall" Buggy looked miffed by Crocodiles words and the fact you gushed so much-

• Mihawk was the most interested in you however, taking sips of wine as he looked over you calmly.

• "Would you reconsider your marriage for a more suitable option?-" He so bluntly asked which made you blink in total surprise.

• "HEY!" Buggy yelled, Wrapping a protective arm around you as he began to yell at Mihawk for daring to 'hit on' his lovely wife- His temper definitely getting the best of him.

• Buggy throwing a full on tantrum now as he pointed a finger at Mihawk and screamed at him. The yellow eyed man grabbing his sword in warning-

• You flushed in embrassment and patted Buggys arm gently to calm him down before he got chopped to bits. "No No- I'm very happy in my marriage and love my husband dearly. I wouldn't choose anyone else-"

• Buggy stopped his little tantrum and seemed to be soothed by your gentle hands and soft words.

• Both pirates respecting such a loyal trait and moving on from such conversations.

• Both Guild Leaders found you quite enjoyable- You had wonderful humor, great in terms of conversation and essentially made up for everything your husband lacked.

• Work did take place however, Buggy and the two men talking over strategies of wealth and gaining a greater sense of power between them all.

• They did however find it irritating they couldn't beat Buggy's ass like normal- Seeing how it would upset you and the man seemed to be practically glued to you.

• By the time for you and Buggy to retire, Maps, Plans and even money had been exchanged-

• As the meeting delved later. Food and Alcohol was served, which left you full and a bit tipsy. Leaning your head on Buggy's shoulder as you soon fell asleep against him.

• "(Y/N)? Buggy said softly, claiming his arm to properly secure you against him as he saw your sleeping form.

• "Seems it's time to go our separate ways" Migawk said calmly, having finished off 4 bottles of wine himself and not too far behind you in terms of sleep. Crocodile wiping his mouth of the crumbs with a napkin as he set his near finished cigar on a ash tray.

• "Yes.." Buggy said softly, scooping you up with care.

• "....Since my wife is asleep- I need to say this to you both"

• Buggy didn't look at the two of them just stroking your hair as you slept- "I will only speak this once... If you two hurt my wife or make her upset in any way- Death will be the kindest thing I can give to you"

• They had always know Buggy hid his true abilities and simply didn't take things seriously- But they saw you were his only button.

• His only weakness-

• No words were exchanged, but a silent agreement seemed to settle on the three men.

• You were off limits.

• Buggy carried you out of the meeting hall, taking you to his private quarters so you could rest properly. Already mentally mapping out changing you into your nice PJs-

• The two men left behind watching their peer leave with his prized wife. Crocodile muttered, "How did Buggy manage to snag such a pretty and sweet wife?"

• Mihawk, equally mystified nodding in agreement.

• "It's a mystery as profound as the Grand Line itself."

Extra!-

"I can't believe those dirty bastards got you to make them clothes!" Buggy yelled, stomping his foot dramatically as he watched you sew at a purple and gold vest which clearly would belong to Crocodile by the large size.

You sitting in your favorte chair, dressed in comforble clothes as you continued to work into the evening in the home you shared with your dramatic husband.

"I make all your clothes" Gesturing to his low riding pajama pants and socks he was currently sporting. He waved this off with a dramatic eye roll-

"That's different your my wife and I still pay for your time since it's important! and they shouldnt get it fre-"

"They are paying me Buggy Boo" You cut him off quickly, taking the winds from his sails as he stopped mid rant.

"Eh?" He said confused, not knowing what you were talking about. You reach into your vanity next to you and handed your husband the letter both men had slipped you when you'd first met them in the guikd hall.

"They have me a lump some for 5 peices of clothes for each of them. 2 pairs of trousers, 2 shirts and a special item for each. For Crocodile he wanted this vest Im working on- and for Mihawk to restore a coat he liked" You explained, Buggy raising a brow at this news as he opened the letter quickly and read over how much they offered for such peices.

....

"GAHH!-"

Buggy yelled as he fell to the ground foaming at the mouth at seeing the large number.

15,000,000 Beri for each man....

He couldn't complain-

Well not about the men paying you so handsomely but about having to become the grumpy delivery man for his wife once the clothes were finished.

When he went to the meeting handing his two peers the clothes they had specially bought from you in the nice boxes youd always packed everything in.

Both men quick to open them and look over their new purchased goodies. Mihawk immediately putting on the repaired coat after seeing its quality- which was better then when he bought it.

"Tell your wife I'd like to make another commission when she has free time- I'll pay double" Mihawk said smoothing out the coat and seeing the nice gold pattern on the sleeves and nice red satin insides of the inner coat.

Crocodile adjusting his orange Puff Tie and he nodded in agreement and went through his box with great satisfaction. "Same for me as well-"

"I fucking hate you both..."

[jessiso]

"Knit for keeps"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader

When you knit a scarf for a quiet stranger who passes by each morning, he finds it and starts wearing it, a gentle connection begins to grow between you.

cw: none, wholesome af (unless you're scared of yarn? you never know.)

w/c 1,152

...

You saw him every morning at 8:07 a.m.

Not 8:00. Not 8:15. Always 8:07 — give or take a minute if traffic was bad.

He passed by your yarn and coffee shop with long strides, a cup of black coffee tucked in his hand, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and a coat that looked too thin for the brutal D.C. winter.

Sometimes he was reading as he walked — a paperback tucked open with one hand, pages fluttering in the wind, as if he didn’t notice the cold nipping at his cheeks.

And he never wore a scarf.

You watched him through the foggy front window of your little shop, a mug of peppermint tea in hand, fingers warming around the ceramic as you sat behind the register.

You weren’t trying to be weird.

Just observant.

That was the word you preferred.

He looked… tired. Kind. A little shy in the way he glanced up from his book and nodded to passing strangers. A quietly thoughtful kind of person, you guessed.

But always cold.

You could see it in the way he hunched his shoulders, ducked his chin into the lapel of his coat, rubbed gloved hands together absentmindedly while waiting for the crosswalk light to change.

After the first week, you started expecting him.

After the second, you started knitting.

Not for him.

Not at first.

That’s what you told yourself.

You just needed a project to keep your hands busy. The shop was quiet this time of year. Business slowed after the holidays, and knitting had always helped ease the silence.

It wasn’t strange at all, you reasoned, to knit a scarf and just happen to think about a stranger with soft brown eyes and messy curls while you did.

You picked a grey yarn first — soft, understated. Something gentle and quiet.

But halfway through, you ran out of the skein, and instead of replacing it, you added a deep burgundy stripe that warmed the scarf in a way you didn’t expect.

It didn’t match. But neither did he. He wore scuffed shoes and cardigans under his coat and carried his books like they were made of glass. You didn’t think he’d mind a little mis-matching.

And if your fingers lingered a little longer on the final stitches than necessary, if your heart beat a little faster as you tied it off and held it up to the light — well, no one had to know.

You left it on the bench outside the shop one morning, folded neatly with a handwritten note slipped underneath.

“You look cold. I had extra yarn.

— A stranger who thinks you deserve warm things.”

You weren’t expecting anything.

Honestly, you half-expected the wind to carry it away before he ever saw it.

But at exactly 8:07 a.m., you peeked through the window and saw him stop.

Pause.

Look around like someone had just called his name.

He picked up the scarf delicately, fingers brushing the yarn with almost hesitant reverence.

He read the note.

He looked up.

Right at your window.

Your heart leapt so high you nearly ducked behind the espresso machine, but you forced yourself to stay still — eyes lowered, pretending to be extremely invested in arranging tea bags.

When you glanced back, the scarf was gone.

And so was he.

But the next morning, when the bell above the shop door jingled softly, and you looked up to greet a customer — you froze.

Because there he was.

Standing in your doorway.

Wearing the scarf.

It was wrapped around his neck awkwardly — one side longer than the other, like he hadn’t quite figured out how to tie it properly. But it was unmistakable. Grey and burgundy. Lopsided and lovingly knit.

Your scarf.

And he smiled when he saw you. Shy and sweet. His eyes crinkled a little at the corners.

You said nothing. Just smiled back, warm all over, like someone had lit a candle in your chest.

He didn’t stay. Just bought a coffee, nodded politely, and left.

But the next morning, he came in again.

And the one after that.

And always — always — he wore the scarf.

It took him twelve days to say something.

He walked in a little later than usual, snow dusting the shoulders of his coat. You were re-stocking yarn behind the counter, fingers half-lost in a bin of soft wool when you heard him clear his throat.

“Hi,” he said, voice quiet but precise. “I, um… I hope this isn’t presumptuous, but I wanted to thank you.”

You turned. “For…?”

He touched the scarf lightly — still around his neck. “This.”

You smiled, cheeks warming. “Oh. So you figured it out.”

He gave a soft laugh. “It wasn’t hard. Your shop name is on the tag inside.”

You blushed. “Right. Subtlety is not my strong suit.”

“I’m Spencer,” he offered. “Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid, technically.”

You blinked. “Doctor?”

“Of several things, but mostly psychology and mathematics. I work for the FBI.”

You stared. “Wait — seriously?”

He shrugged, a little bashful. “It’s not as dramatic as it sounds.”

“I think that’s the first time someone’s ever said that about the FBI,” you said, and he grinned.

“I just wanted to say… no one’s ever made me something before,” he said, quieter now. “Not like this. Not something warm. Something meant for me.”

Your throat tightened.

“I know it’s a little crooked,” you said, suddenly self-conscious. “The tension’s off and the color changes were kind of rushed—”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupted softly. “It’s the warmest thing I own.”

You swallowed, heart skipping.

“Well… if you ever need mittens to match,” you said, forcing a lightness into your voice that didn’t quite cover the fluttering in your chest, “I know a girl with too much yarn and time on her hands.”

He smiled. “Would that girl maybe also want to get coffee with me sometime? You know. When she’s not saving cold strangers with her knitting?”

You felt your breath catch — not because you were surprised, but because something about the way he asked felt careful. Hopeful. Like he’d never asked anyone quite like this before.

You nodded.

“I’d love that,” you said. “But I’m buying. Coffee’s the least I can do, Dr. Reid.”

He tilted his head. “Only if I can bring you a book in return.”

Your smile widened. “Deal.”

Later that week, he showed up with mittens.

Not good ones — not like yours. They were slightly too big and very uneven, clearly a beginner’s project. But they were wrapped in tissue paper, and tucked into the stitches, he’d written a little note on a torn-out book page:

“Everyone deserves warm things, too. Including the girl who notices strangers.”

You cried a little in the back room after he left.

But the next day, you wore the mittens.

And he noticed.

And he smiled.

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 6

Check out part 1 here. AO3

John texted memes. Something about that surprised you. He presented as such a straight-laced demeanor that the silly text images added a layer of intrigue to the man who already took such care not to share more the bare minimum.

He sent his commentary about his ‘muppets’ as he called the men under his command. The image of a man in suspenders, a tie, and a coffee mug in one hand with the text “If they could just not…” followed by any number of pictures of Jim Hensen’s muppets. It always prompts you to ask for the cleansed version of their nonsense. John had confirmed that the men who had come in asking about him were the men under his command. They were still under orders to leave you and your shop alone. When he mentioned that in the first week of texting you were surprised.

>I can hold my own in my shop John, release them to come by for fixes on anything you haven’t already stolen from their bags.

When he didn’t reply within a few hours you followed it up with.

>Your Scotsman seemed pretty excited about getting a family kilt fixed. Let them come by John. I don’t scare easy.

Halfway across the world, John squints at his phone in the darkness of the safe house he and Johnny are waiting for exfil in.

“What did you say to my girl Soap?” Price questions in the quiet.

Soap jerks from his nodding-off sleep in the corner where he had settled down.

“What’s up boss,” he asks sleepily.

He turned his phone to show Johnny the message from you.

“What did you do to my girl?”

Soap squinted through the brightness blasting his eyes.

“Dinne do nothing Cap. Alls I asked about was a kilt repair. Me granddad’s kilt was given to me when he passed, I want to get it fixed up is all.”

Soap lacked the guile to ever pull off being an undercover agent. John turned the phone back to himself, frowning.

“Fine. You can go visit her. Spread the word, but if I hear any of you gave her a bit of grief?” He let the warning linger unspoken behind his words.

“Got it. Can I go back to sleep now?”

John harrumphs and pulls out a cigar, lighting it up as he contemplates how to reply to you.

<:Rolling eye emoji: Fine, but you let me know if they give you any trouble.

>You reply with a gif of someone giving a salute with the text aye aye captain below it.

Physically rolling his eyes this time John settles in to watch the sky and think of you.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

Christmas had to be the most peaceful one you had ever experienced. Laughing with your aunts and eye contact across the table with your cousins when someone said something wild before taking a sip had never been the norm. Every Christmas season meant spending time with your Mum’s family and her resentful sniffs when Pop would inform you of the times when his sisters might be passing through so you could see them. You think Mum hated that you had real conversations with the other side of your family. Everything on her side sat stilted in past hostiles and clothed in niceness for the sake of Gran who still watched with a sharp eye.

You hadn’t expected any gifts but the highlight had to be the scarf from your favorite cousin. It sat light and delicate on your neck. When you said goodbye to everyone and headed up to the spare room your Nana had set up for you. Settling onto the bed you fired off a text to John.

<Merry Christmas! Did you have a good holiday?

>Decent.

>Merry Christmas.

Attached was a photo of John with what looked like egg nog in his mustache with an arm around a man and woman who also had white streaks along their upper lips. Standing so close together you can see they share the same eye-crinkling smile.

<Aww! You look so cute with your egg-nog mustache! Did someone spike it before cups were passed around?

>But of course, can’t discuss childhood stories without a healthy glug of whiskey. Added enough of a kick that even the scary stories were told with a laugh.

>How has yours gone? You mentioned you would be with extended family up north this year.

<It’s been a blast. Best Christmas I can remember for a long time. I am spending the night with my Nana before driving home tomorrow.

<You have any fun plans between now and New Years?

>Other than deep cleaning the mold from my fridge?

You laugh out loud in the empty room. He probably wasn’t kidding. John had mentioned that he can be called for a job at a moment’s notice and sometimes it leaves him with some nasty surprises when he eventually got home.

<Yes you silly man, other than that.

Those dots went on and off for a long time. When the message finally comes through you are disappointed.

>Nothing crazy, mostly catching up on my shows.

<What like The Golden Bachelor?

You can imagine him fighting down a smile as he contemplates a reply. He isn’t that much older than you, but the way he mothers his men has them calling him ‘Old Man’. John complains about it but always with love.

>The muppets would like to you if you would like to join them for New Years.

>I told them I had plans with you but they insisted and are watching for your response.

Smirking you fired off one last response before starting your bedtime routine.

<Should I wear jeans or a pretty dress?

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

Stepping from the cab you wave your thanks and turn to the building. John is standing at the glass door, waiting for you to get close enough that he can welcome you in. You smile at him, excited for his reaction to your dress. It is mostly visible through the undone buttons of your long coat. You had made it yourself, hands cramping late into the night with the number of times you have had to pleat the skirt to sit exactly right. Ironing the piece flat each time you wanted to pleat it slightly differently had been deeply frustrating work.

The black dress wrapped around, sending one tie through the side piece to stretch across your back and meet the other tie to create a bow. The long sleeves and v of the crossing front gave you an excuse to pull out your push-up bra and put the girls on display. You had chosen a long skirt. Reflective swirls of gold shined in the light from your skirt. It brushed the top of your shoes each time you took a step. Jewelry you kept simple; gold hoops and a single pendant on a long chain. Some light eye makeup and a lip stain are all you did for your face today. You would forget to wipe it off when you got home and refused to deal with the breakouts that overnight in your makeup would provide. Thankfully your hair cooperated and sat neatly in a sleek bun.

Looking John over as you approach you are pleased to see him in a suit. The juxtaposition of his winter beanie will never not make you smile. You hadn’t seen this one from him in all his times of coming by. You would tease him about the belt he needed to keep them up later. Perfect you could poke and prod at him tonight to confirm that you had the right size for his Christmas present. It sat in the back of your shop, waiting for his next visit to confirm the dark blue suit would contrast beautifully with his eyes. Double vested with a double vent, because something about that cute bum being covered just so gave you butterflies. The pants should cling to his thighs barely and give him a nice long silhouette

John took you in from top to bottom and back up again. You thought him unaffected until he took your hand as he opened the door and pulled you directly into a hug. Hugging him fired off a spring-loaded batch of emotions. Between the subtle smell of his cologne and the heat of his hands searing through the back of your coat, you’ve never wanted a New Years kiss more than now.

God. You had to say something. Fuck it all. You opened your mouth to say anything really but John beat you to it.

“You look stunning tonight,” he pulls back, hands still settled on your spine. He looks from your hair to your cleavage and back, a warm smile growing on his face.

“Thanks, you look pretty spiffy yourself,” tugging on the lapels of his jacket you continue, “But this doesn’t fit quite right, and was that a belt I saw? How could you keep something like this from me, John?”

His smile got impossibly wider. Joy spread through you like the first drink of a warm liquor.

“I wondered if you would notice. Gaz mentioned to wear a suit and when I went digging through my closet this was all I could find.”

John released you from the hug, one hand sliding from your back and down your arm to catch your hand. He holds it all the way up the elevator. When the elevator deposits you on the 26th floor you let John lead. Number 2607 he opens without hesitation.

All his muppets are present, some even have dates. Kyle stood at the island, cutting cheese for the board. The woman who you assumed to be Kyle’s girlfriend floated around the room. Charms weaved into her braids and a sleek body con dress matched her beautiful smile as she offered you and John both a drink. You were surprised to see that Gary was a blond. His choice of date made much more sense than his hair color and makes you smile. Sharing a look with John he nodded once; Gary had a thing for goth women. Johnny and Simon sat at a table, deep in discussion. Neither had a date to be seen.

“Simon doesn’t surprise me but why doesn’t Johnny have a date?” You turn to question John, wary of letting your voice travel in the open space.

John takes a sip of his drink, “They would have a date if either of them would buck up and ask the other.”

Your eyes widened as you snapped your gaze back to the men.

“You would not make a good agent,” he chuckled. “Johnny come hold this for me.”

Johnny pops up and out of his chair without question, closing the distance to take the drink John is holding out. John then takes your drink and passes it off to Johnny as well. Shivers assault your body as John’s rough fingers slide the coat from your shoulder and move away to hang it up.

“Miss Seamstress!” Johnny leans in and places a kiss on your cheek as he passes your drink back. “It is good to see you. How is your shop going?”

“Good, almost too good. If my space were any bigger I would bring on another seamstress full time. As it stands I might still hire someone to help with the simpler tasks.”

“What counts as a simpler task in a shop like yours?” Johnny cants his head to one side.

“Mostly ironing, unstitching simpler items, phone calls, running the register, things like that.” John appears at your side, a finger catching your pinky. You curl it tight to acknowledge his presence.

Movement over Johnny’s shoulder shows Simon and Kyle both heading toward you for a greeting. Kyle gives you a kiss much like Johnny did and Simon nods. When Gary sees everyone is saying hello he abandons his date for a rib-crushing hug since both your hands are busy.

The night flows on, laughter and food flowing more freely than the drinks do. You end up chatting with Kyle’s and Gary’s girlfriends about Pilates and how funny it would be to see the men try. They jump from history to space to fashion and beyond. Midnight sees Gary and Kyle kissing their girlfriends. Johnny and Simon stare at each other’s feet in abject longing and John places a kiss on the back of your hand, much to your chagrin.

As John had nursed his single drink all night he drove you home after one, passing through a sobriety checkpoint with ease. The conversation never stopped flowing with John, teasing and jokes kept your spirits lifted until you arrived at your flat. He walked you to your door, hand firmly in yours.

His thumb brushed against your knuckles as you stared up into his eyes, hoping, praying for a kiss.

“Thank you for coming. I left your gift at home since I didn’t want you to have to lug it about. When can I bring it by?”

“You’re gift is at the shop, so tomorrow maybe? About noon?”

“That would work fine. I had a lot of fun tonight and I know my guys like you.”

“They are important to you, it makes sense you would want someone in your life to get along with them.”

“And do you,” he paused here, eyes searching your face, “What to be part of my life?”

Desperately. More than anything. Fuck yes.

None of those words passed your lips. All you could do is nod.

With his free hand, John cradles your face, pressing his lips to yours.

It had to be the best first kiss you ever had because you can’t remember a damn second of it. When you finally blink John is halfway down the hall and turning back to see if you are okay since you haven’t moved.

Sending him a sheepish smile and a nod you fight with your key to get your lock open and fling yourself inside. Once the door finds its home you squeal as quietly as you can and happy dance like a dork.

Part 5 | Part 7

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist

[marlynnofmany]

Drying Out

The wind on this alien planet was like I’d expected: not quite strong enough to put my balance at risk, but enough to make me glad I’d braided my hair back extra tight. Even with that precaution, little hair tendrils were whipping the sides of my face as I walked, and I didn’t have a hand free to brush them away. I was, as usual, carrying a box.

Mur could have carried it, but it would have been much harder for him, since he needed his tentacles to walk. Lucky bipedal me, with my free hands. I tried to focus on that as I squinted into the wind, scanning the nearly-deserted spaceport for our clients. I really should have brought goggles. Or at least a hat that wouldn’t get blown off.

A beanie would be perfect right now, I thought. Or even a scarf. I could be nice and fashionable with my swim goggles and a tie-dye bandanna. Why did I grab chapstick but nothing for my eyes?

I knew it was because Wio had only mentioned the drying properties of the local air when I’d asked. She was a Strongarm like Mur, and they admittedly had different priorities. No hair, for one.

“There they are,” Mur said over the wind. Not a thing got in his eyes.

I followed the direction of his blue-black tentacle, and spotted the little alcove that looked like an old fashioned bus stop. Three small whitish shapes huddled there that I’d thought were trash bags. Whoops. A bit of judicious squinting showed that they were another pair of tentacle folk and their bag of belongings, avoiding the worst of the wind.

Not a bad idea.

They unfurled as we got close enough for them to see the package and correctly deduce that we were here to deliver whatever they’d ordered. Miscellaneous stuff from an offworld store without its own delivery crew, I think. Not my business.

Mur greeted them warmly, taking point in the conversation while I stood there like the hired muscle with the box. The clients were very glad to see us, mostly because that meant less waiting in all this wind. The bus shelter didn’t do much to hold it back.

“Thank you for being prompt!” said the bigger of the two Strongarms as she signed the payment tablet. Her coloring was off-white with patches of yellow, which reminded me of a popcorn-flavored jellybean. The other popcorn squid was a little smaller, but had the same coloration. Probably related, but what did I know?

“Our pleasure,” Mur said as he took the tablet back and they pulled out a small hover platform to carry the package. “The less time spent in this desiccating wind, the better.”

They agreed heartily. I placed the box on the platform and helped the small client strap it in place while the big one explained that they had one more delivery to wait for.

“Unfortunately, that ship has been delayed,” she said. “Which would have been good to know before we got out here, but that’s the twist of the current for you.”

The smaller one piped up in a voice that sounded young. “I’ll say. I ran out of moisturizer with one arm to go — I would have dug up more from storage if I’d known we were going to be out here all day.”

The big one was visibly worried, already tugging at the small one’s tentacles. “Where aren’t you covered? How bad is it? Let me see!”

Mur made sympathetic noises while I mentally went over what I knew of Strongarm physiology. The previous courier ship I’d worked on had kept the air at a higher moisture level than the current one, largely for their benefit. Mur had told me about the lotion they all wore in dry air. I’d honestly forgotten about it.

And it appeared to be a big deal. The one yellow-white tentacle that the small Strongarm had been holding curled close looked dry and stiff even from where I was standing. She winced as she uncurled it. Her mother (yeah, I’m assuming) rushed to dig through the bag for a bottle of water, which she rubbed into place with visible worry.

The young one watched her fuss over it. “I’ll be fine; it’s just a little dry.”

“It’s a lot dry! Why didn’t you say something? And I didn’t bring any moisturizer either, because this was supposed to be a short trip. Oh, and this port doesn’t have a shop!”

Mur winced. “Yeah, this place is mostly Heatseekers and Mesmers, isn’t it? They probably wouldn’t even stock the good stuff.”

“Or any stuff,” the older client agreed. Another gust of wind spun in from a new direction, as if it was determined to make things worse. I licked dry lips while the client fretted.

I had an idea.

“Hey, I don’t know if this works, but do you want my chapstick?” I offered, pulling the tube from my pocket and removing the cap. I swiped some on the back of my hand to demonstrate. “It’s made to keep human lips from drying out, but it might work for you. Assuming you’re not allergic. It has like three ingredients, mostly wax.”

The big Strongarm was already reaching for it, spilling gratitude. She inspected it quickly, picking up the cap with another tentacle while she read the ingredients. “Beeswax, coconut oil… What is coconut? And almond?”

“Plants from my planet,” I said. “Seeds, kind of? Though the coconut is really big and kind of like a fruit with a shell. I don’t know what it really counts as. At any rate, it’s not toxic for me, though that doesn’t mean much.”

She turned it further. “There’s a species-safe diagram here, though it’s very small. I think that’s a dot in the Strongarm corner. Do you remember which is where?” She looked up at Mur.

“Lemme see.” He studied it for a moment while the wind gusted around us and the smaller Strongarm curled her tentacle under her. “Yes, that’s the right corner! Good news.”

“Excellent! Thank you!” The client snatched the tube and instructed the young one to hold out the vulnerable tentacle.

It took a while to cover the whole thing in chapstick, but the elder was determined, and the youngster was patient. Also more than a little embarrassed if I was reading the body language right, but I couldn’t blame her for that.

“Done!” the elder announced. “Did I miss anything? Are there any other spots that feel dry?”

“No, it’s fine.” The youngster pulled her tentacle back. “Feels weird.”

“Yeah,” I agreed with sympathy. “The wax is more noticeable than a good moisturizing lotion would be. But I hope it helps!”

The elder put the cap back on and moved to return it to me, but I told her she could keep it. They needed it more than I did. Plus it had tentacle-alien cooties all over it now, which I’d feel weird about using on my own mouth, but I didn’t say that.

“Honestly, it’s my least favorite flavor,” I said instead. “I got that one in a multipack. I’ll just get a better one later.”

She thanked me again and badgered the younger one into holding the tube, with instructions to reapply it the moment her skin started feeling dry again. The youngster insisted she was fine. The adult had clearly heard that before.

“Well,” Mur said. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you! May the wind torment you as little as possible.”

“We appreciate that,” the client said. “Do all humans carry these? I’ve seen human-run shops before, and never thought to look for moisturizing agent there.”

“Most of us probably don’t have chapstick on hand all the time, but it’s a good thing to have available. And humans do use skin moisturizer too! It’s probably not the same grade as the kind you’re used to, but if you’re in a tight spot in the future with a human-run store nearby, you can probably find something there.”

“That is very good to know,” she said. “Thank you again!”

We said our goodbyes and headed back out into the brunt of the wind. I could swear it was trying to unbraid my hair one strand at a time.

“Morbid curiosity,” Mur announced as we walked, “But what flavor do you prefer for lining your mouth with? Knowing humans, it’s probably gross.”

I had to smile. “I like the minty ones, which isn’t that weird. Or cherry. Though there was a cinnamon one I found once that I’d like to get again. It looked more like lipstick, which isn’t really what I’m going for, but it smelled good.”

“Hm,” Mur said. “And what was this one? Plant flavor?”

“It was mostly just beeswax. Not that great.”

“What kind of wax is ‘beez wax’?”

“Oh!” I lit up. “I told you about honey, right? The sweet stuff made by bugs?”

“Yeeeees,” he said with suspicion. “Your food additive that’s full of insect spit. Don’t tell me this is the same concept.”

“It’s what they make their hives with!” I told him. “I don’t think there’s as much spit involved. I looked it up once, and the wax seeps out of these pores on their sides, making little scales, then if enough of them flap their wings to raise the temperature to soften it, they can shape it into the little cells to lay eggs and store honey in. But not at the same time. And yeah, they probably do that with their mouths, so there might be some spit involved.”

Mur’s squid face was contorted into an expression of spectacular disgust. “And you put that on your mouth,” he said.

“Yup!” I brushed hair back from my face. “Probably good the client only asked about the other ingredients.”

Mur walked faster. “I hope they don’t find out until we are far out of range.”

“It’s not that gross!”

“You said that about honey too.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[cherryblossombankai]

Can I request Toshinori/ small might with a reader who just loves to crochet and make him things?

How would he react to receiving so many gifts? Like crochet blankets, scarves, plushies, etc. (even if they’re not together!)

And obviously the reader likes him, so they make him a bouquet of flowers (sunflowers?) to confess their feelings.. I think it would be so cute! 😊🥹

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network, @actuallysaiyan, @sweet-chocolate-sweet, @helloiamadrawer, @satorustar, @keiva1000, @copolite01

Warnings: fluffy, gn!reader, sweet

Toshinori Yagi was a man of many wonderful qualities. He was kind, compassionate, and dedicated. All good things which had drawn you to him like a moth to a flame, and every moment you were close to him was like bathing in the warmth of the sun. 

He was also clueless. 

It had become a well kept inside joke around the UA campus that you were down bad for the man, and he was none the wiser. 

“What’s going on with you and the Japanese Lit teacher?” Present Mic asked him one day with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. 

“They’re a wonderful friend!” Toshinori answered without skipping a beat. He was wearing a scarf you’d crocheted for him in All Might’s color scheme…And carrying his notebooks in a bag you’d made him…Oh, and wearing a cute tie you’d also made him. You were all over him. 

“Yeah, got ya,” Mic winked before heading to his next class. 

You were getting frustrated. Toshinori didn’t even seem to notice that you were only bringing him presents. So, you took matters into your own hands. 

“What is everyone’s favorite flower?” you asked thoughtfully at the teacher’s lunch table. 

Everyone stared at you for a moment before finally, Aizawa spoke up, “I like cherry blossoms.” 

“My favorite is nightshade,” Midnight said in her usual sultry tone. 

Then, you looked at Toshinori intently. He coughed when he saw everyone had joined in your staring. 

“Sunflowers,” he said quickly. 

“Interesting,” you smiled. 

“Why the odd question?” Midnight asked. “Looking to treat us nice?” 

“Nah, just healthy curiosity,” you shrugged. 

That evening, when your final class let out, you went to the hobby store close to campus to collect your supplies. 

It took you about a week to finish them. The carefully crocheted sunflowers. The petals were a bright shade of yellow with dark brown centers. You’d delicately made the stems and leaves. Seeing the finished product, you were quite proud of yourself. 

You got to work early, and set the bouquet on his desk along with a note that reads, “You and me, dinner at my place?” 

[woodle-isbae]

In lust, we trust.

Farleigh.S x Catholic!Reader

Warnings: drinking, religion, little to no dialog, missionary, oral(f receiving), voyeurism, virginity loss, religious guilt, loads of projecting, Oliver hate, Farleigh is super sweet(to reader)🔥

A/N: this is sort of a self indulgence post, big guilty pleasure here🔥🔥/ Guess who posted this a little TOO late 👨🏾‍🦲

Kinktober Masterlist

You sat at the alter , kneeled over with your rosary clumped in your hands. Soft mutters of your prayer filling the empty Cathedral.

"Hail Mary, Full of grace.."

You were too drowned into your prayer to notice the figure that sat near you, waiting for you to Finish.

"-Holy Mary, Mother of God.."

You muttered the Hail Mary, soft breathing snapping you out of your focus, but still ignoring it and continuing.

"-Now and at the hour of our death..-"

"Amen."

You both said in unison, eyes shooting open to be met with your Boyfriend. He was dressed in a sweater and the colorful pants he always wore.

"Oh Farleigh..I didn't see you."

You got up, bowing and doing the sign of the cross before waltzing over to the man who sat with a slight smile. You knew something was off with him, but decided not to pester him about it.

He stood up to greet you with a hug, looming over you with a look of adoration and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"Well..I do have alot to tell you!"

He chirped and walked with you hand in hand, many people believed you two weren't fit for eachother. He was known for sleeping around and doing drugs, you were a Saint who goes to church everyday and the sweetest soul alive.

That's why when hearing about your relationship, rumors spread about how he wanted to corrupt and ruin you for his own greed and lust. You were loving and understanding, helping him get over his drug use, never even daring to make you uncomfortable or sad from how you loved him.

He drove the both of you to the saltburn estate, having begged you to come just once and meet his family. He chatted about his school life and the things felix told him or has done, getting a reminded from you not to Gossip.

"Well , here we are m'lady!"

He hopped out the car before you, striding all around to open the door for you. You fetched your luggage and followed right after him ,he took you to a room that looked as if it was his, telling you that you will be staying in the room next to his to respect your boundaries.

You got into the floral printed room, knowing that Elspeth doesn't like her rooms like this she must've designed a room just for you, being Farleighs first genuine girlfriend had the whole family at your feet.

You unpacked your bags, enjoying the fresh country and a proper holiday away from friends and family. Farleigh peeping in to remind you that they're going swimming in the pond, they liked to call it their natural pool, telling you it's gonna be hot and wear sunscreen.

You wore a floral patterned one piece bathing suite, throwing on a scarf over your shoulders and sliding on sandels. You went down to the pond , sitting next to Felix and chatting about school and other things until you were interrupted by his friend, Oliver.

It's not that you hated him, but something about him was odd, like he was planning something sinnester but you couldn't tell through his cheery demeanor. You brushed it off and went to the water , floating around until you felt a pair of hands at your waist.

"Boo! Did I scare you?"

"Very funny Farleigh."

You deadpanned at him while he laughed at you, he rested his head on your shoulder and floated around with you. Having a conversation about day to day things and joking around, Elspeth comming around to greet you and reminding you that you need to dress up for tonight's dinner.

You guys finished up swimming and decided to start getting ready for dinner, Elspeth giving you a dark red ankle length lace gown along with a black lace scarf to tie around your shoulders. She remembered.

You got dressed and did your hair into a bun, strolling thought the mansions corridors until the large doors for the dining room, stepping in and finding your seat next to your curly headed boyfriend.

"I love the outfit Babe"

He whispered into your ear ,prepping a soft kiss onto your cheek and keeping a hand on your clothed knee. You glanced around the table, attention looking towards the large doors opening again, This time Oliver stepped in. He made his way towards the empty seat next to you ,since it sat across from felix, you were about to ask Felix something until Oliver cut you off.

"I really like y'dress, suits your body well."

You only stared at him, he gave you a sweet smile but something much deeper rested in those big bug eyes. You only nodded, feeling uncomfortable with him being around, as he was an evil spirit trying to rub onto you. The food arriving shortly, everyone else waiting for you to finish praying over the food before devouring it down. Exusing yourself to your room, finished with your food and ready for bed.

You slipped out of the dress and into a night gown, sitting under your covers with your Bible in hand, soft hymns playing from your recorder. You sang along softly , enjoying the cool night air that slipped in through your window, your thoughts interrupted by the door creeking open.

There stood Oliver, his blue eyes suddenly turned darker. He stood there for a good moment, relising you were staring back at him and threw on a small smile.

"Ah. . .thought this was my room..sorry"

He said before turning around and slamming the door shut, honestly shocked that nobody else woke up at that alone. You decided to ignore it, opting to tell Farleigh in the morning.

Time skip 🥰

You were currently walking with Farleigh to the fields, talking about how weird Vanetia and Ollie were acting during breakfast. You were the first ones to get to the field, getting undressed and sharing a blanket to sunbathe on.

Soon Vanetia and Felix joined, Oliver coming later. You glanced over at Farleigh, whispering what happened to you last night to him, which had him grimacing at just the thought.

"Yeah, he's definitely a weirdo now."

You lightly hit his hand, giggling a bit and telling him that's not nice. You continued discussing other stuff, feeling Olivers piercing gaze on you, getting uncomfortable and throwing over a bikini cover on your hips and laying down on your stomach.

The day activities went on as usual, everyone playing tennis in fancy attire while you kept score, skinny dipping in the pond and hide and seek in the maze.

Tonight was dinner with the Henry's, you wore a dark Blue velvet dress and a silk scarf over your shoulders, your hair done neatly and minimal makeup on. You strolled down the stairs, towards the crowded dinning room and taking a seat Next to Farleigh.

"Saved you a seat"

He murmered out, eyes locked in on the brunette who sat not very far from him, an obvious tension between the two. You only brushed it off, eating the food you were served before everyone left to go to the Living room, chatter filled the wide and nicely decorated room.

You sat next to Vanetia, fanning yourself with a drink in hand, enjoying the evening slightly intoxicated. Your boyfriend giving a brief performance with you cheering him on, the alcohol in your system had caused you to tip toe to him, whispering something about hanging out alone. Needing some quality alone time atleast once this summer.

You didn't know what to say, finding any and every possible way to get some time with him, the whole time you were here his eyes lingered on Felix's mousey friend. You fiddled with the scarf around your shoulders, searching in his eyes for some kind of answer.

"Sure"

He blurted out, walking ahead of you to get to his room, leaving the door open for you to enter in. He patted the empty side of the bed, laying his head in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around your waist- He didn't even bother to let you change first.

"You look so breath taking in that dress babe...wear it more often."

His words flew into your ears, swirling around for a few seconds and slipping back out. You blushed, knowing the emotions he made you feel were normal- but not this one, it was strange and Degrading, it felt disgusting good .. the warmth in your stomach dropping lower..way lower

"Thank you-"

Your words cut off by his swift kiss, his hand cupping the side of your face as he moved up , placing himself between your legs while you two made out. Something of your had snapped, the vow you've taken to wait until marriage has been long forgotten, an insatiable hunger emerging from you.

Hands clawing to find stability in eachother, his own slipping under the dress and feeling your soft skin. Sounds you've never made before slipped through your lips as he pressed his hips against your own, having you feel exactly how he feels

"Wait- I don't want to ru-"

"Shut up, I want you. So, so bad."

You cut him off, your mind already made up and decided. You both flailed to remove any articles of clothing, continuing your starved kisses on eachothers bodies. You couldn't hold back from what you wanted mose anymore, begging him to work were you needed him most.

He slipped down, leaving a soft trail of kisses down your body only to come face to face with your cunt, instinctively diving in face first.

A foreign euphoria washing through you, gasping at the pure and utter skill he has to have your legs shaking already, making out with your puffy clit and twitching hole.

"Wait- Leigh!"

Your fingers coming down to tug at his curls, hips pushing up to gain more pressure and pleasure, adding on more for your first orgasm on the night. You clenched your eyes shut, keeping his plump and soft lips placed right at your core. Everytime you were near your orgasm, he pulled away- claiming that it helps with your orgasm.

This went on for nearly an hour, continuing his edging on your clit, by this point you've shed a couple of tears from the orgasm denial. Getting fed up with his actions, you pulled him over, straddling his lap.

"Oh my?, really bold!"

He grabbed a wrapper from the bedside drawing, slowly placing it on his girthy cock and lifting you onto his cock. Giving you a breather to get used to the new intrusion, prepping you with soft kisses and words of praise, promising not to hurt you.

You had given him the signal that your ready, he took this as a chance to lay you down on your back and softly move his hips, interlocking his large hand over yours. Your eyes screwed shut, bliss filling all your senses- and his.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, his face buried into the crook of your own, praises falling past his pink lips. The grip on your hips tight as if he would loose you any moment, lost in the moment of eachothers embrace.

The door had opened, Oliver walking in only to stop and stare, unsure of how he should feel in this current moment. Hes gaze was judgemental.Your eyes meeting for a brief moment, his gaze never leaving the two of you- almost allured by the sight. His watchful eyes spurred you on even more, your legs locking around the curly headed man's hips, chasing for your orgasm.

"Oh- Leigh, please!"

You weren't sure exactly what you were begging for, nonetheless it slipped through your lips, along with other things. Oliver stood there for a few more seconds before storming out, muttering something under his breath, but you were too out of to even focus on him.

The string in your core was tightening, threatening to break as Farleigh's fingers slipped down, playing with your clit. He gave you a deep kiss, continuing his harsh yet loving movements, his own orgasm reaching.

"You got this, yeah? Cum for me."

His voice was raspy, whining into your ear, his hips snapping into you with a speed you never knew was possible. He gave a few more sloppy thrusts, halting inside you with a deep groan, biting a mark into your shoulder.

This triggered a reaction in you, clenching around him as you came, shameful sounds coming from your lips and flying around the room. You both layed there, absolutely slumped and sweaty from the warm summer night, catching your breath until Farleigh decided to pull out.

You yelped a bit, foreign to the sudden emptiness that still in you, his fingers creeping up your body to fiddle with the cross that sat around your neck. That's when it dawned on you.

"Oh my..what have I done!?"

Farleigh stared at you, knowing you were filled with panic but decided against saying anything that might worry you even further. You quickly knelt by the bed, muttering a soft prayer, the brunette watching intently- careful not to make a sound.

"I shouldn't have drunk so much.."

You frowned, sitting back on the bed, shifting under the sheets of his bed. You only looked up to him, his face calm and unphased, knowing your commitment to your religion.

"There's a church near, you can confess there.?"

"I guess.."

You knew what you did was wrong, yet you enjoyed every moment, willing to do it again if you could. You only sighed, opting to go with the plan your boyfriend gave, deciding to get some rest in his bed.

You'll talk to Oliver aswell in the morning, but for now- all that sat in your mind was your sweet boyfriend.

[halcome]

Small headcanon about the snails, what if each team dressed up their teammates snails pre-session?

Grian: Dresses up Snumbo, taking extra time to make sure the tie is tied on properly

Mumbo: Cutting sleeves from a doll suit so it fits Snailman and matches Skizz's suit

Skizz: Proudly presenting Gary to the other Spanners with a tiny wig from the costume bin and a very short scarf

Scar: Used his zoo and theme park connections to acquire snail safe paint, painting LDSnailLady's shell a lovely pink

Lizzie: Dressing up SlimeidarityGaming in the cutest tiniest jean jacket and wig combo she could find

Jimmy: Still isn't quite sure how to get eSCARgo to smirk like scar, currently practicing facial expressions with a snail

Gem: Wondering how Grian got Slimeishbeans to be green despite being the same species of snail as the others, decided not to question it

Joel: Buttoning snail overalls onto Geminisnail and using Scar's snail safe paint to paint the shell a pastel orange, indecisive on which flower to use on top

Bdubs: Borrowed a vest and shirt from tango and is trying to fit it onto the shell, trying not to look at Tangastrapod's eyes

Tango: Testing the propeller and parachute on Ethostropod, has yet to start dressing the snail

Etho: Found a toupee in the costume bin and plopped that on Bdubsnail, the snail already had "teeth"

Ren: Hand stitching a tiny bag for InTheLittleShell as well as the rest of the snail's outfit

Martyn: Couldn't find snail sized sunglasses in the costume bin so he borrowed one of Ren's spares, can't stop laughing at how well they fit on Renthesnail's shell

Cleo: Using Scar's snail safe paint to paint iSnail's shell black while talking to impulse as he paint's Scott's snail

Impulse: Using Scar's snail safe paint to paint a tiny rainbow on Smollusk1995's shell, asking for pointers from Cleo on how to keep the lines clean

Scott: Carefully brushing PearlescentSnail's wig, the snail seems bloodthirsty

Pearl: Not sure if what she's looking at is still a snail, currently sewing up a zombie snail in hopes that it is indeed Cleo's

Bigb: Somehow managed to communicate with BigbShell and teach the snail how to dress himself, they're now having a conversation before the murder spree

Based some of these on loose interpretations of the character, so if anyone has a better description of how they go about dressing the snails up I'd love to read it! "@

[bigoltrashpile]

H (any), O1, S2, or W3 for Blue. Take your pick! Bonus points if you can match two of them into one scenario but ofc it's not required

*Cracks knuckles* Challenge accepted.

You sighed and plopped your bag down. It had been a long day, and you were looking forward to warming up some quick food and passing out. Yawning, you stepped into the kitchen, wondering what you could make quickly, and-

Screamed when you saw what was waiting for you. Someone was in your home. Someone you had never met. A skeleton monster, wearing a suit and tie with sky blue accents. He was sitting at your table, which had been laid out with a delicious looking meal. The whole scene was lit with candles, casting an eerie glow across the skeleton's round face.

"AH, YOU'RE FINALLY HOME, DEAR!" The skeleton stood up, his deep, booming voice shocking you back to reality.

"What the-who are you? Why are you in my home?" As you spoke, you tried to back out of the room, moving slowly and praying he wouldn't notice.

The skeleton grinned. There was something dark behind that smile. "SILLY THING, IT'S OUR ANNIVERSARY! HOW COULD YOU FORGET?" He lifted a hand, and you were frozen in your tracks. "THERE ISN'T A SINGLE THING I DON'T REMEMBER ABOUT YOU~"

He made a "come hither" motion, and you were dragged along the ground towards the empty chair. You tried to fight against it, but it was as if gravity itself was working against you, pulling you closer and closer to the maniac in your house.

You were forced into the chair, and once again, there was nothing you could do to get out of it. You growled and glared up at the skeleton. "What the fuck do you want?"

"WHY, I JUST WANT TO ENJOY A MEAL WITH YOU! LIKE I SAID, IT'S OUR ANNIVERSARY! I WORKED HARD ON THIS MEAL, I MADE ALL YOUR FAVORITES!" Indeed, the plates were filled with some of your favorite foods. How the fuck did he know this?? "NOW...ARE YOU GOING TO BEHAVE, OR DO I HAVE TO FEED YOU?~" A sky blue tongue ran over his teeth, and you shuddered. As much as you didn't want to eat this, you also didn't want him to feed you.

"H-how do I know it's not poisoned?" you demanded.

The skeleton put a hand on his chest, like you had wounded him. "I WOULD NEVER HURT YOU! YOU KNOW THAT, RIGHT?" He looked so innocent, but you knew you couldn't trust him. Your glare apparently broke him, because he suddenly smirked like you two were sharing a joke. As if humoring you, he took a small bite from each thing on your plate. "THERE, NOW YOU KNOW."

Well...you were hungry. And obviously it wasn't poisoned if he ate it...The magic holding you down loosened, and you were able to pick up your silverware. You cautiously began to eat. It was good! You eagerly scarfed down the food, despite your misgivings.

"THERE, SEE? I WORKED HARD TO MAKE THESE, IT WOULD BE A SHAME FOR ALL THIS FOOD TO GO TO WASTE!" The skeleton grinned and began to eat his own food.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, you took a deep breath. "...Who are you?" you finally asked.

"HEHEH, WELL, I SUPPOSE I SHOULD INTRODUCE MYSELF." The sky blue lights in his eye sockets were heart shaped. He folded his hands under his chin, the eye lights not moving away from you. "I HAVE KNOWN YOU FOR A YEAR, AFTER ALL, EVEN IF YOU DON'T KNOW ME. MY NAME IS LUCKY."

A chill ran down your spine. "A...a year?"

"YES, LOVE, AND IN THAT TIME, I'VE LEARNED EVERYTHING I CAN ABOUT YOU~" Lucky leaned closer, the candlelight making his skull seem impossibly sharp. "YOUR TASTE IN MUSIC...YOUR SCHEDULE...YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY...AND I JUST CAN'T KEEP AWAY ANY LONGER!"

You once again began fighting the magic holding you down. This...this stalker was clearly insane!

The skeleton took a steeling breath, then took a sip of his drink. His eyelights were back to small dots. "ANYWAY...IS THE FOOD GOOD? IS THIS OKAY? DID I DO WELL? IT TOOK QUITE A BIT OF WORK TO MAKE IT SO YOU WOULDN'T TASTE THE SLEEPING PILLS."

Immediately, your mouth went dry. "S...sleeping pills?" There was a weight in your stomach, and your hands started to shake.

"DON'T WORRY, NOT A LETHAL DOSE, OF COURSE! BUT YOU ATE ENOUGH THAT IT SHOULD BE TAKING EFFECT ANY MOMENT NOW." Lucky took another bite from his plate, before standing up and stalking around the table. Your eyelids seemed to be getting heavier, but you fought to stay awake.

You struggled, even as your limbs grew weaker. There was no getting out of this. But you weren't going down without a fight. You growled, gathered the last of your strength, and-

Spit right in Lucky's face.

His smile twitched a bit, but he just calmly wiped it off with his napkin. "NICE TRY, DEAREST, BUT THAT'S NOT GOING TO MAKE ME CHANGE MY MIND." His eyelights once again changed to little hearts, and his smile widened. It almost looked like his face was going to split in half.

"NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO TO ME, I'LL WORSHIP THE VERY GROUND YOU WALK ON. THAT'S WHAT IT MEANS TO LOVE SOMEONE!"

You tried to struggle, but you were quickly losing consciousness. Lucky placed a gloved hand on your cheek, thumb swiping across your cheekbone gently. "JUST SLEEP, MY DEAR. WHEN YOU WAKE UP, YOU WILL BE SAFELY AT HOME WITH ME~"

The last thing you saw as your eyelids shut was the skeleton, standing up and straightening his tie. You felt his arms wrap around you and lift you into the air. Just as you lost consciousness, Lucky's teeth pressed to your forehead. "I Will See You Soon, My Love~"

[itsabouttimex2]

A Brand New Journey:

Part Five

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six)

Macaque has always been so good to you. Even from the first day you accidentally stumbled onto him, he had been kind.

Your arm had been gashed open by an unfortunate fall, dripping blood and throbbing in pain with each shaky step forward. Although you had hoped to get home before dark and patch yourself up with an ever dwindling first-aid kit, praying that there were enough bandages and antiseptic left for the wound.

But then there were two sets of footsteps close behind, spurring you to disregard caution and start sprinting down the street-

Whereupon you had bumped into one very strange demon, wearing an inconspicuous ru and sporting a tattered scarf.

“Going somewhere, kiddo? You shouldn’t be in such a rush, you now. You might get hurt. Ah, but…”

His hand then shot forward to clamp around your wrist, turning it over to examine your bleeding forearm.

“Looks like you already did, huh? Here, let me just…”

Rip. Shriiiip.

The precise shredding of thick fabric, his clawed fingers cutting a rectangular strip from the already ragged scarf. He had placed one end on your wrist, then gave you a strange grin.

“Hang in there, kiddo.” The simian warned you almost too late, given barely a second to brace for the stinging pain of having a wound forcibly bound shut with naught but pressure and cloth.

Biting back a wail and a set of fresh tears, you watched the monkey demon firmly tie off the end of the makeshift bandage.

It had been such a simple thing to do- but you still cherished him for it all the same.

How you’ve come to cherish your precious mentor, who stares down at you now with a strange smile.

Lifting a sleeve to your puffy eyes, an effort is made to stand up- only for Macaque to push you back down.

“I don’t think you’re steady enough for that just yet, kiddo.” Base words to convince you to do as he says, and you believe him. You always do.

Have you ever not believed him? Even for a moment, has there ever been any doubt in your heart?

He wraps the crimson scarf a little tighter around you, making sure that it covers your shoulders and neck.

“Now, what’d you bring all the way out here? You really should know better than to carry such a fancy bag in a neighborhood like this, kiddo.”

Was this all your fault?

Maybe you should’ve wrapped the mooncakes up in something less appealing- grabbed one of the disposable plastic brown sacks from a grocery store before heading in.

How easy would that have been?

“I wanted to share a meal with you,” is the dull response you give, newly downcast and despondent. “I brought mooncakes and tea.”

“Aww, aren’t you just a gem? Just the nicest.”

Nice. Anyone can be nice, can’t they? But it’s a lot harder to be clever or strong or capable.

Maybe he’d be happier with a different student.

Maybe if you were less nice and more-

“C’mon, kiddo- are you eating or not?”

He’s already got everything ready, the mooncakes strewn across his coffee table, the bottles of tea in the microwave.

Strange. You never even saw him get up.

He notices your questioning eyes, and quickly shifts the subject.

“Real sweet of you to bring this all the way out- I’m guessing you got a good deal, if you brought all of this?”

“Y-yeah! Yeah, I, uh, I’ve been using an app that tells me about local deals, y’know? Saves some money, and, um, all that.”

“Smart,” he praises, and a rush of euphoria races through you at just that one word. It feels almost pathetic to rely so heavily on someone’s praise to feel good about yourself. Still, you can’t help but adore each moment he breaks from his reserved norm and drops an honest compliment.

“Go put your stuff up and get changed, kiddo. I’ll pour the tea and get cushions.”

An actual sit-down meal with your mentor! You wouldn’t just be snacking and chatting on the couch this time!

Jumping to your feet, you excitedly race to the guest room, painted in a smooth purple and decorated with black curtains. He had essentially given it to you, letting you settle in with him at least semi-permanently.

A shelf right next to your bed is stocked with mementos, most of them memories you’ve shared with Macaque. A little snap-together set you had convinced him to put together with you, a bright mecha built from colorful blocks. By the end of the build, you had learned that he’d much rather watch than try to fiddle pieces together with his claws.

A framed photo beside it of something that Macaque had enjoyed much more- pumpkin carving. In place of a serrated knife or design card, he had taken great joy in simply shredding precise diamonds into the thick orange hide of the vegetable. The carved gourd had looked something like a lantern by the end of his fun. It had even put him a good enough mood to allow for a photo to be taken.

And you had a photo of you, MK, and Mister Pigsy to put up, but-

Enough reminiscing! Your mentor is waiting for you, after all.

You throw on the coziest thing you have in the closet- an old nightgown, long abraded to softness. Black as night and cool to the touch, decorated with purple cloud embroidery. And it never seemed to stop smelling of plums, a scent you had grown familiar with very quickly.

You aren’t quite sure where it came from, or when you got it- just that it’s a few sizes too big and pools around you comfortably.

Shoes off, bag placed carefully in the corner, and then you’re racing back out to meet Macaque in the living room.

You don’t notice two golden-eyed figures slinking out of the shadows and into your room.

The coffee table is prepared, the bottled tea is poured into mugs and the mooncakes are laid out two by two. He’s even put your little sitting cushion beside his instead of across.

You quickly take your seat, Macaque’s hand coming to ruffle your hair.

“Are we ‘expanding my horizons’ again today, kiddo? An ice cream day wasn’t enough?”

“I want you to try nice things,” is your protest, causing his golden eyes to soften.

“That’s… sweet of you,” he admits, folding his arms. “Really, Y/N.”

“…yeah,” you awkwardly respond, grabbing one of the napkins Macaque had set out. You grab one of the mooncakes and wrap it, then pass it to your mentor. “Do you, uh, know what’s inside this one?”

The sable simian lifts the pastry to his nose, sniffing intently. Quickly, his face scrunches up. “Tsk. More ice cream? Not in all of them, I’m hoping. Unless you’re trying to give me cavities, kiddo.”

“No, there’s only four with ice cream- and we’ve got two of them right now. I know you don’t like your food too sweet.”

“You’re a good kid,” he chuckles, biting into the mooncake. Vanilla ice cream leaks from the middle, oozing onto his tongue.

In turn you munch on your own, slowly leaning your head onto his shoulder.

Macaque doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your form, yanking you closer.

“You’re a good kid,” he says again, an ancient look in his golden eyes. There’s a newfound contentedness in them, and a pang of something much darker boiling underneath that new satisfaction. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

Swallowing down the last bit of the sweet pastry, you nod. “Sure, Macaque.”

“Nothing big- just I wanna know how you feel about me, kiddo.”

…something is scraping around in the room Macaque has fixed up for you.

“Keep looking,” a quiet and steady voice says. “They wouldn’t have just left it anywhere.”

“Shut up,” another angrily returns. “Don’t tell me what to do, Rumble! You’re lucky that I’m even helping you!”

“…you’re the one who wanted to come in here and look, Savage.”

“Shut up! Hurry up and throw me their bag!”

With a groan, Rumble carries your backpack to his ‘brother’ and drops it in front of him.

“Be quick,” he cautiously reminds. “Those mooncakes won’t last forever.”

“…I didn’t find the book,” Savage snarls, his crimson fingers hitting glass.

“But I did find something.”

And slowly, he pulls out the photo of you and your friends.

[fanfictionsweetheart]

Try Something

Pairing: Dominik Mysterio x Reader

Summary: based off this request. (Name) is helping Dominik wind down after a match. And he has a new idea.

Trigger/Content Warning(s): smut, oral sex (both receiving), vaginal sex, dirty talk, light bondage, blindfold use, shower sex

Word Count: 1106

A/N: sorry this request took so long. Life got hectic. But here it is, hope you like it. Also, anyone else who has requested anything. I am working on them. :)

Tags: @staley83

Travel could be hard on anybody. Even if they did it for a living. Traveling and then being expected to perform athletically over and over again. It could be hard.

But it could also cause an extreme build up of adrenaline after wins or just good matches in general. He was used to this by now. He’d been in this business a long time.

In the past he would just relieve his adrenaline and tension in the shower with his hand and try to sleep afterwards.

But now...now he had a much better way to relax after a match.

(Name) was on her knees in front of him in the shower. One hand was using the wall for balance while she the other stroked his cock. The head was in her mouth and she was eagerly suckling it. Teasing him just how he liked.

She began to lick along the underside of his cock moaning before taking him back into her mouth and sucking.

“That’s it,” Dominik groaned, “Just like that…”

Dominik had always been vocal like this and (Name) relished in that. She loved being able to draw these sounds out of him.

He reached down to grasp her damp hair. Showing her who was in control. She didn’t really need the reminder. But it was erotically appreciated. She looked up at him, keeping her eyes locked on his face and the reactions he gave.

His brown eyes even darker with lust as she took him deeper into her mouth. Dominik flexed his fingers in her hair.

“That’s it...that’s a good girl…” he growled, “I’m gonna cum…”

She sucked harder moaning around him. Urging him to cum in her mouth. That was all it took and he came hard, filling her mouth with his release. He gripped her hair tighter and groaned as she swallowed him down.

She pulled away and smiled coyly up at him, still slowly stroking his cock.

“Feel better?” She cooed teasingly.

“You’re so in for it.” He growled at her, “Go Get dried off and wait on the bed for me.”

He needed a few minutes to regain just a bit of composure.

She giggled and nodded. Thankfully he helped her to stand before she made sure she was rinsed off. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed her towel. She dried her body off and dried her hair has best she could before making her way out of the bathroom.

She crawled onto the bed and settled down to wait for Dominik. He liked to tease her this way. Make her wait. It was maddening and delicious all at once.

She heard the shower cut off. And she felt the tingles spread over her body. She moved to get into a more seductive pose to entice him.

It seemed to work in her favor when his eyes darkened at the sight of her. Trailing along her body.

“I wanna try something,” he said after a minute of ogling her naked body.

“What’s that?” She asked.

He walked over to his bag and pulled out an old scarf he had tucked away for an occasion like this. He explained that he wanted to blindfold her. See just how much she liked the sensation of not being able to predict his movements.

(Name’s) face flushed but she agreed. She was curious if it would truly enhance things in bed. When he walked over she tilted her head to allow him to gently secure the scarf around her eyes to blindfold her.

He used an old shirt of his to tie her wrists together as well. That wasn’t entirely new to them.

Once he was satisfied he helped her adjust into a better position. He encouraged her legs apart and settled between them. His mouth watering at the sight of how wet she was. He kissed both of her inner thighs. She let out a whine.

He smirked and leaned in to lick a teasing stripe up her cunt. Groaning as the taste of her filled his senses. His cock hard from the whine she let out.

He continued his teasing movements. Barely licking and touching her. Working her up. The sounds of desperation she made fuelinn him to just keep tormenting her deliciously.

“Dominik...please...Daddy!” She whined.

“You want more?" he asked her, that dirty grin she loved so much on his face.

She almost cursed that she couldn’t see him but the anticipation was amazing.

“Please!” She begged.

He just kept teasing her though. Wanting her to beg more. Getting worked up by the sounds she made. This was as much teasing himself as it was teasing her.

Dominik finally pressed his tongue inside of her how she craved. When he was tired of denying himself that pleasure. He growled against her. Curling his tongue inside of her. Lavishing her needy pussy in all the attention they both craved.

He got off on giving head just as much as she did. He teased her clit with his thumb while his tongue caressed her inner walls.

“Dominik!” She moaned loudly, “Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum!”

Dominik smirked and stopped making her whine in desperation. He moved their positions enough so he could settle between her legs. Dragging his hard cock through her slick, sensitive folds.

“You only cum on my dick, baby,” he growled before pressing inside of her.

Filling her in one swift motion. She practically wailed his name arching her back. Her bound hands grasping out for him. Wishing she could hold him close.

“Hold your arms up,” he told her and helped her loop them over his head so they were secured behind neck.

Then he began to thrust. Slowly at first. Almost dragging his cock out of her. Before slamming back inside. Hard. Possessive.

She was his. Her whole body was his and he wanted her body to remember that physically.

He couldn’t keep up the teasing pace for too long. His hips sped up their movements. His groans began to mix perfectly with her moans.

He was claiming her body with every thrust. And it was perfect.

He kissed her as he fucked her. His pace grew brutal. Desperate. One of his hands lowered to tease her clit until she was sobbing out her orgasm against his lips.

He followed over the edge and filled her with his release. His whole body shuddering in bliss. He rested forehead against hers. Reaching up to move the blindfold up so he could see into her eyes.

Her blissed our smile told him everything he wanted to know. They would be doing this again sometime.

[silvergyus]

beautiful stranger- c.sb

The train car rushed along its dark passage, weaving through the network of tunnels beneath the city. You sat, decompressing from a long work day, taking in the sights and sounds of your familiar commute home.

You were fortunate to have found a seat today, holding your bag snug on your lap instead of bracing against a pole or hanging onto a sticky handle to steady yourself. You tucked your legs in close, conscious to not take up too much space so that others could pass by. One earbud played music, the other ear free to take in the sounds of public transit.

This was your everyday routine, this shuffle of bodies, this mechanical jolting and stopping, this familiar blend of voices and laughter cut through by the muffled conductor’s voice overhead. The familiarity of the routine made people watching the perfect way to pass the time. You usually saw the same collection of faces- the old woman with the floral cane, the portly business man with his checkered tie- but today you caught sight of a new face.

This boy was beautiful. If you had to guess, you’d say he was in his early twenties. Dark hair fell into his eyes as he read his book. You had access to take in his features, noticing his high cheekbones, his perfectly-crafted cupid's bow arching over full lips, his wide dark eyes and the way his dark lashes contrasted with his skin.

You felt giddy, staring at him, a girlish crush blossoming in your chest. You hid a smile in your scarf as you noticed the slender beauty of his large hands, his delicate fingers turning the page. The butterflies in your stomach quickly turned into daydreams of your future with him. Him taking your hand before you left the train, asking you to stay, to take the seat next to him, tell him everything about yourself. You could almost feel the way his skin would be soft and warm against yours as it rubbed small circles against your knuckles while you spoke, distracting you, but his warm eyes would find yours, he’d nod in encouragement so you’d keep speaking, keep telling him everything you ever dreamed about.

Daydreams faded back into reality as a mother and son walked past, towards the opening doors, breaking your view of the boy. When they passed, you saw him again, perfect bow lips twisted in concentration. You saw him try, fail, and struggle to keep his eyes on the page and not on the bickering women beside him. Stolen Focus the title read. You caught a glimpse when he shifted in his seat, the large letters of the title barely visible between his long, elegant fingers. His hands were beautiful, everything about him was beautiful.

Stolen focus, how you wished that just for a second you could steal his. You watched his large, rich brown eyes dart across the page, willing them to look up, across the narrow aisle, to you.

Your eyes trailed down from his face, taking in his long, long legs. One stretched out into the aisle, a tripping hazard for anyone boarding, the other bounced with a nervous energy that shook his whole slender frame slightly.

A muffled voice blared over the old train car speakers, announcing the stop two ahead of yours. It wouldn’t be long now before you parted ways from the beautiful boy across from you. Unless this was his stop, or next? Maybe that would be easier? If he were the one to leave first? Freeing you from the impossible responsibility of having to break this fantasy? Save you from the urge to stand up and see if maybe, just maybe, he would like to recreate Before Sunrise with you?

Or maybe, even better, he’d get off at the same stop as you, walk the same path home as you, take this route a thousand more times, a constant factor, a million more chances to catch his eye, to make him smile, to start a life intertwined with his.

Such fantasies were dangerous. You knew this. You always set your heart up to break, but you couldn’t help it.

The rush of bodies exiting and boarding the train briefly broke you from your daydream. More bodies, more strangers entered the scene. What if instead of this boy, your future was with one of these others? No, you thought, not today at least. Your beautiful stranger sat straight in his seat, reaching for his phone from his jacket pocket. There was the stolen focus, you thought, smiling to yourself.

Again the warbled voice called over the speakers, calling out the stop before yours. The boy did not move, didn’t do more than cock his head to hear, before turning his twice-broken focus back to his phone. Your heart braced for disappointment as the train lurched from the platform, racing towards your stop. Either your stranger would leap up, grab your hand and run away with you like a fairytale, or he would bury his head back in his pages, never even knowing that you existed.

The doors chimed open as you came to your stop and you sighed, fighting the heartbreak you yourself invented. You stood to leave. The hot air of the platform rushed over your skin as the doors slid open. You felt compelled for one last look at your stranger.

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to look back and found his brown eyes staring at you. Time seemed to slow as his gaze held yours, though it was only for a second, before he smiled, cupid’s bow mouth grinning wide, revealing deep dimples in his cheeks. It felt like a million futures on a million branches suddenly bloomed for you with his smile. He was beautiful before, locked into his book, but his smile, the curl of his lips and scrunch of his eyes, they made him light up in a way that made your heart flutter.

The rush of bodies, all commuters eager to go home, propelled you forward, out of the train, away from the warmth of your stranger’s smile, but you hoped, as you found yourself smiling fondly, that that wouldn’t be the last smile he gave you.