𔓘 (+18) thinking about mature Michael and his controversially young wife.
Tw: spanking; masturbation; Brat!reader.
"Please Michael!" It's almost impossible to convince him of something that he already decided not to do.
He understood that before meeting him, and changing her life completely cause of him, you were a party girl. He's pretty shy and he hides it kinda well. If he goes to a party he'll probably stay for an hour or less.
"You've been invited to all of the after parties! We don't need to go to all of them, just one! Please baby." Her big eyes looking at his.
"...only one." He shows a finger before quickly getting hugged by her. Michael holds her face so she can look at him. "God what am I going to do with you."
As he said, he fulfilled his promise. Not expecting what was going to happen.
Even tho he promised he wouldn't be such an eagle around her. He couldn't help but look at her from the bar. I mean, she drank a lot, but she assured him that her tolerance was very high, and she did look normal. What could he say? He trusts her.
Suddenly, he comes face to face with Chris Tucker. Oh man, what a good chat. His son was already three years old. They planned about him visiting Prince and Paris so they could play together. While the chat was losing its matters he started hearing something familiar. Actually, a voice way too familiar.
"No fucking way." Chris chuckles. Michael covers his face, feeling it burn.
His dearly beloved wife was on the karaoke with a famous rapper. She looked good but God wasn't she out of her mind.
"This dude named Michael used to ride motorcycles." She started singing and everyone started screaming looking at him. "Dick bigger than a tower, I ain't talking bout Eiffel's..."
"For God's sake." He looks at her without believing it. Laughing nervously and embarrassed.
"Now you find a pearl, Michael, damn!" He laughs shaking his shoulders.
She continued. "Pussy out his ass to sleep, now he calling me NyQuil!" She points at him, winking. She starts rapping. "Come through and I fuck him in my automobile"
He rubs his face, trying not to think of the many times they- stop it.
"He keep telling me it's real, that he loves my sex appeal. He says he doesn't like it boney, he wants something he can grab."
They're cheering for her. He couldn't be angrier.
After all the ovation she walks to him.
"Did you like it?" Innocently.
"..." She continues to look at him. "We're going home."
She frowns instantly. "But-" She cuts herself as she looks at his face.
The ride home was full of apologies, but there was not a single word from him. He was saving it all to home. If it was another teasing from her he would've taught her right in that limousine.
His dear wife didn't know if she should be excited or scared. He never acted like that. Did she go to far by embarrasing him in front of A list celebrities?
"Babe-" About to apologize again, she's cut off by him with a single shush. She couldn't help but feel her tears building up.
As they get home, their bodyguard opens the car's door, Michael getting out first leaving you behind, he always gave you his hand. You tremble to your feet. And in your state of drunkeness of course you felt to the ground. Making the bodyguard quickly grab you.
"Are you ok Mrs.Jackson?" You quickly nods, getting out of his hands.
"Yes, thank you." Of course, Michael was watching the whole interaction by the corner of his eye.
They walked up the stairs completly silent. Getting to your room. The tension was unbreathable. You immediately sits down on the bed, looking at him with we need to talk stare.
He stares back at you with a unknown expression, one that you've never seen. He sighs and goes to the bathroom.
You're confused for a few minutes before hearing the water running. You didn't want to wash yourself. You groan, closing your eyes as you lay in the middle of the bed, accidentally falling asleep.
"Hey!" Michael says pissed off.
You gasp, sitting down.
"Don't you dare sleep." He points at you. "Get your dirty ass off the bed."
"...dirty?" You whisper, getting up.
"...you have mascara all over your face." She couldn't help but feel embarrassed. "Go take it off."
You walk to your vanity. Yes, a vanity. The bathroom was big enough to be your vanity, but Michael liked to lie down on the bed while watching you getting ready. He liked how delicate and perfeccionist you were in that matter.
About to sit down, you stop yourself, feeling his presence behind you.
"..." You felt like you couldn't breath. "Bend over..." His deep voice ecoes through you.
Relieved washed you over. Thank God he wasn't actually mad at you, and you would get what you wanted, a tame in the good old fashioned way, spanking. Slowly, you bend over, putting you forearms on the vanity.
"Now pull up your dress..."
...Ah- "...What?" You whisper.
"...I said pull up your dress." He whispers in a deep voice.
Still a bit shocked, not expecting the change of the situation, you pull slowly your green skirt.
"I'm not going to fuck you." Whispering.
What. You catch you breathe.
You stay in that position for a few minutes, feeling the warmth of his hand but not quite the touch of it. You were confused, dazed and confused as you heard his steady low panting.
Slowly looking up to the side face mirror, you stare at his face. He was... Your mouth went open, and amout of pleasure you couldn't describe. You were sure he could see the big stain of wetness in you underwear. His arms moving quickly as the pace got quicker. You couldn't stop looking. You wouldn't.
Within a few seconds, you gasped at the feeling of a hot jet in you back. Still staring at his face full of pleasure through the mirror. As he calmed himself, panting, he caught you staring with your big eyes, the same gentle eyes he loved, through the small face mirror.
You continued staring at him in disbelieve, being left without that burning feeling in your ass. He walks away to clean himself.
You stand straight again, looking at the dripping creamy liquid running down your back. Fuck, now I'll need a bath.
A bit of Secretary (2002) in the end huh. You like it?
Thinking about doing one with a scene from the movie. Instead of James Spader (love him ugh) would be Michael, duh (love him even more ughhh). Let me know if you like that idea.
I really like your pieces! Stunning! Hope you still taking requests 🙂
Could you please do a Sam one where reader is definitely not really Sam's type (I mean, we've seen he's into brunettes and stuff), so even though she likes him, she totally is blinded by her insecurity of not being it for him, that she can't see his interest in her
Thanks in advance 💜
thank you sm!! of course, always more than happy to write some requests, this is for u :)
UNCONVENTIONAL
wordcount: 1172
summary: Sam's ex girlfriends looked like models, despite not being upset, you simply thought you’d never be an option in his eyes– thank God Dean doesn’t know how to mind his own business.
warnings: some self image issues?, cursing, fem!reader, vague descriptions of physical appearance, angst if u squint, fluff n comfort in the end!!
Life with the Winchesters wasn’t easy, you knew that before even agreeing to tag long– still, it was nice. The boys became like brothers to you, they were funny, kind, fiercely caring and loyal to the bone. It was only natural to feel so comfortable around them.
Dean was loud– in all ways imaginable. He’s proud, cocky and unapologetically a flirt, you’ve seen it first hand– it was actually a running joke between the group, always messing with him for hitting bars looking for any chick willing to go home with him. No strings attached, one fun night and onto the next town.
Sam, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. He’s not quiet per se, but he didn’t exactly thrive from being the center of attention– which worked out great for his older brother, who gladly popped in for him. His dating history was completely contrary to Deans, he never liked hookups– found it uncomfortable, always preferred to take his time, talk and get to know the woman. Sammy had officially two ex girlfriends, Jess and (not very proudly) Ruby.
When you first joined the brothers, Jess was long gone, plus Ruby had already been taken out of the picture. Even so, you’d heard a lot about them– demon talk from Dean, fond memories from Sam– mainly about Jess.
Both women were stunning.
The demon: petite frame, luscious dark hair, full lips and toned body. The law student: wavy golden locks, beauty marks littering her skin, flat stomach and long limbs to mirror Sam’s. You were never one to envy other girls for their beauty, there’s nothing bad about it– both of his ex girlfriends were drop dead gorgeous.
Your looks weren’t bad, they’re just… different. The hunting life was brutal, barely giving anyone time to pamper themselves up, therefore your appearance matched that. Though you weren’t exactly chubby, your body had nothing to do with Ruby or Jess’ – it was fuller– rounder around the edges where they had flat expanses of skin. A soft pudge at the bottom of your stomach, stronger muscles from wielding weapons and scars littering your body. Your hair had nothing to do with their luscious, wavy delicacy. It was messy, kept by the basics found in motel bathrooms, the occasional ponytail serving to conceal the knots formed from rough nights.
It was fine, you didn’t beat yourself too much cause that was just how it was– expectations were never too high.
While you didn’t give it much thought, there was another person who was completely and utterly confused as to what was wrong– Sam Winchester.
Ever since joining the Winchesters, Sam had become your best friend. He took care of you, watched your back on hunts, rubbed your sore back with gentle hands, read old lore to you until falling asleep, listened to your stories with genuine interest…
It wasn’t like he did all those things strictly because of his feelings for you– it was hardwired into his kind nature– but still, he felt he was being as obvious as he could and you remained completely oblivious. As fun as it was for Dean to watch from the sidelines, it was starting to get hard to watch– therefore, ever the caring older brother he is, he went to you.
The motel room was dimly lit by the buzzing neon sign outside, some old western playing on the crappy TV when Dean finally spoke up.
“Why aren’t you into Sammy?” Wow, bold.
It takes you a second to fully process his words, eventually looking up at him dumbfounded, your brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you on about?”
“Oh c’mon you can be honest with me, I won’t say a thing” he places a hand to his chest in faux seriousness, “scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
“Hunter, scout… same thing.” Dean scoffs dismissively, “No, but really, why aren’t you?”
You take a deep breath, already used to his antics. “Do I really have to talk about this with you?”
“Ain’t like you got many options, sweetheart. It’s either me or the man himself.”
After weighing your options you finally reply, “I do like him… dunno why you’d think I don’t.” Your eyes focus back on the cowboys to try and mask the weird vulnerability of the moment before continuing “anyone who spends an hour with Sam likes him but it ain’t like I’m about to throw myself at him just to get rejected. We’ve both seen Sammy’s type, this–” you gesture vaguely to yourself “ –ain’t it.” Dean feels tempted to push further– probably laugh at how stupidly oblivious both of you were– instead he simply nods, satisfied for now.
The next day, he corners Sammy by the impala. “Dude.” Sam sputters as his brother shoves him against the car.
“What the hell man?”
“She does like you.”
“What–” that stubborn, confused puppy expression in his hazel eyes “ –Dean what are you even talking about?”
“I asked her why she didn’t like you,” he sees the pointed look his younger brother shot at him so he quickly adds: “purely out of brotherly concern, of course.”
“Of course…”
Dean continues, completely ignoring the eyeroll directed his way. “She’s totally into you, Sammy. She just thinks you’re not into girls that look like her or whatever the Hell that means.”
“Why would she think that?” If you were here, the soft confusion in your friend’s voice might’ve just been enough to make you melt– it was so sweet, so utterly Sam.
“Beats me, man.” His brother scoffs, ever the sentimentalist. “But might as well make a move now before I lose my fuckin’ mind seeing y’all do lovey eyes at each other all day.”
He could be an ass– an overly blunt one at that– but Sammy had to admit he was right, it was enough pinning for one lifetime. While walking up the motel stairs he went over the dialogue in his head, mentally preparing all the things he’s wanted to say to you since first meeting back in Lawrence. The peeling paint on the door to y’all’s room met him sooner than he would’ve wished but anyways, he knocks softly– an old habit he’ll never quite shake despite you telling him he’s more than welcome to come in any time, no knocking needed.
Sam had it all planned out, the whole nine yards– how beautiful you are, how he’s liked you since he first saw you and loved you since the first conversation– the works. Even so, when he finally stepped into the room and saw you standing there– a fond smile tugging at your lips just from seeing him, all the heartfelt confessions left out the window.
With two big strides, his big hands cradled your face, mouth pressing against yours with such tenderness that could only belong to a man like him. His lips were soft– warm like coffee, honey and too much waiting. When Sam finally pulled back, mouth slightly parted in a deep breath he spoke up:
hey chat im theo 07, I'll write ONLY mlm smut, angst and fluff depending on my own personal mood ofc requests are appreciated, PLEASE KEEP IN MIND IM NOT A PRO WRITER AND ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. everyone is welcome, and yeah, have fun!
I WONT be writing abt-
minors unless it's pure fluff
rape/non-consent
animal type shit/ hybrids and all that
female idols
but otherwise I'm pretty open to anything else
ateez-
sub! seonghwa, a lot of plot sorry guys, mlm, fingers in mouth, gay sex (duh), alcohol mentioned, degradation (not super heavy), flu
synopsis: the one where you have the hots for your dealer, and Wakasa is always eager to please a customer. (don't let your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband.)
pairings: wakasa imaushi x f!reader, light takeomi x reader
content warning: smut, porn with some plot, car sex, cheating, oral sex, sneaky link, sexual tension, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, sex while high, consensual drug use, mentions of abuse.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven
ONE: TWELVE THOUSAND YEN
YOU DIDN’T HATE YOUR BOYFRIEND. That would be too far of a stretch. Yet a part of you felt smothered whenever you were around him, like the sparkle you had once been known for dimmed in his presence. You didn’t hate your boyfriend but you felt a little piece of you die whenever his lips would whisper white lies against your own. It was something remarkably strange to behold; that you could feel a sense of resentment towards someone you used to adore, and even more so that you had no idea when or where these feelings began.
If you had to guess, it was probably some time around the end of the honeymoon phase which, ironically enough, had lasted longer than you had expected it to. After the new feelings subsided and the “just because” gifts trickled to a stop, what remained was an empty shell of what your relationship used to be. Empty kisses, empty conversations, empty promises. So why were you still with him? At times, it was a convenience thing. Other days it was because you loved him. It was limbo.
You were drained.
Your boyfriend sat next to you on the couch. The two of you were watching something, some show that you couldn’t recall if your life depended on it. Six long, loving years ultimately led up to this point in time, where the two of you sat side by side watching a shitty television show leaving room for all the conversation in the world – and taking none of it.
A part of you wished you had your own place. You used to dream about living with him. You had no idea, of course, that six years later you would be sitting here regretful you hadn’t decided to be self-reliant and get your own place.
“He said he’s about to pull up right now,” The man finally spoke. His voice was a little hoarse from the harsh words he had shouted at you only a few minutes earlier. “Go outside and meet him.”
You turned towards him. “It’s cold out.”
“Yeah?” He hummed. His eyes remained trained on the TV screen. His remarkable lack of care for you could not be more obvious. “I didn’t ask.”
Feeling put down – the way you usually felt when he was around, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself – you forced a smile. Reaching for the jacket that you had strewn over the couch just a few hours ago when you had gotten home, you threw it over your shoulders. “Fine.”
You didn’t say bye. You didn’t feel a need to do so. Instead, you stood up and walked over to the front door. Giving it a good, firm tug, you pulled it open and stepped outside. Immediately, you felt the warmth beneath your skin shrivel into hiding.
Pulling the coat tighter around you, you continued the tread down the road in solitude. You weren’t sure what you were looking for.
It was a cold night, colder than most nights this month so far. Far too cold for you to be out here by your lonesome, on some empty sidewalk at 11 or 12 at night. Mildly interested, you watched the hot air from your breath materialize into opaque clouds, grayish white against the otherwise black midnight gradient.
It didn’t take too long before an inconspicuous vehicle pulled up next to you, right up to the curb.
You felt the pace of your heart quicken. You’d seen so many shoot-outs and drive-bys lately. God, what if something like that happened to you? Would now be a good time to start running?
The car slowed to a stop in front of you. Sleek, black, expensive-looking. Nothing at all like you had expected it to look. You swallowed the lump in your throat and, as the window began to roll down, stepped forth.
The face you were met with threw you for a loop. The description of the man your boyfriend had given you did the man absolutely no justice. He had this cute nose, one which complemented his rather feminine features – deep lilac eyes framed by long blonde lashes, perfectly arched brows, strands of hair dyed purple and blonde falling against his face in an almost delicate fashion. You had never had the pleasure of meeting the notorious Waka – the one your boyfriend hated so much. He was… actually really cute.
Waka – who appeared to share a similar sort of confusion with you – looked you up and down. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” He said rather plainly, and then began to roll the windows up again.
“Wait!” You cried out. “I’m picking up for him. I’m his girlfriend.”
And down the windows rolled once more. You felt the intensity of his gaze as it raked itself up your now trembling form. When they settled on your face, he made a face, as if to say ‘whatever’, and reached into what appeared to be his pocket. “Just an 8th, right?”
His voice, honey-smooth, made your head spin. So much so, in fact, that you almost completely forgot where you were. “Yeah. 5000 yen, right?”
“That’s right,” He affirmed, extending his hand towards you. You produced the money from your pocket and placed it in his palm, watching his long fingers close around it. He slipped the money into an envelope. Then, with a softer gaze, he turned to you and dropped the bag into your hand. “He really made you wait out here all by yourself, doll?”
After a brief silence, you nodded.
“He sent his girl to get his bud?” He remarked. “I know he’s mad at me, but shit.”
Pulling your little coat tighter around your body, you breathed out. The heat of it formed a small cloud in front of your face. “I’ll be alright.”
The man, taking a brief moment to look you up and down carefully, rested his arm over the car door. “Get back safe,” he hummed.
“Thanks,” you replied. After he rolled the windows back up, you spoke to no one in particular, “You too.”
A week had passed and you couldn’t get him out of your mind. He was very attractive, objectively so. Lord knew you had questionable taste in men these days. No, that wasn't quite it. You were intrigued by him and his quiet charm.
That was it. Your boyfriend’s cohort slash dealer had piqued your interest, that was all.
“Shit, that’s strong.”
Takeomi continued coughing to expel the smoke from his lungs.
The two of you were sat in the middle of his room. On the floor, of course, because his bed wasn’t big enough to fit the two of you side by side. An ashtray was settled between you, along with an ice-blue bong and his favorite black lighter.
You furrowed your brows, directing your thoughtful gaze down to the carpet below. You felt terrible about having these thoughts. It’s not like you would ever act on them, no, not in a million years. But they hadn’t gone away in a week.
hadn’t even bothered to change. He was still wearing his work pants and the same T-Shirt he had come in wearing – a stupid one, at that.
You glanced over at your boyfriend. He was fiddling with the strings of an old guitar. Pinching a mini pipe between your fingers, you tapped the burnt remnants of the bowl you had just smoked into the ashtray.
“Play me something, Omi,” You hummed. You were buzzed. You hadn’t smoked enough to get high just yet. You knew that shit was expensive nowadays – but you were buzzed. “Won’t you play me something nice?”
He didn’t answer you. Instead, he began playing a quiet tune. He fucked up one of the chords and then sighed. “I’m tired.”
“ Tired? ” You smiled. Fake, of course. “From what?”
There was some sort of bitterness between the two of you left over from one of your more serious altercations a few weeks back. To make a long story short, Takeomi hit you. He had raised his hand to you in the middle of an argument – in the middle of the mall – and he’d struck you with such force the hit had left a bruise in its wake.
You had taken him back, of course. You loved him – you thought. Something like that. Whatever it was, you kept coming back for more. Time and time again you had tried to see the better in him, tried to allow him the time to prove that people can change… but still, that sense of disgust you get after being hurt by someone you love never truly goes away, does it?
He sighed. “Work shit.”
Work shit. It was always work shit with him. Never any details. Just Work shit.
You packed another bowl, handing the pipe to your boyfriend.
“Thanks, babe,” he grinned. Holding his lighter up to the green bud, he took a long drag, sucked it in, and then exhaled. “You hungry?”
“A little, now that you ask,” you replied. He offered you the remainder of the bowl. You took it from him but set it on the floor as you quickly decided you didn’t want it anymore. “I could go for a ham sandwich or something like that.”
“Sounds good,” Your boyfriend said, voice strained while he sucked in another mouthful of smoke. “If you’re gonna make one, make me one too.”
You paused. “Oh. Okay.”
The corner store was relatively barren, as per usual. So you, a regular, strolled through the aisles with comfortable ease. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, so to speak. You were just looking to spend some money before your shift started.
You liked slow days like this. Nothing really ever happened. Being that your job was so high-paying, you were able to take it easy. You usually started work near the evening time, and you were allowed some days off here and there for no particular reason. The job in question that permitted such a lifestyle was rather demanding, though, but you couldn’t complain. Desperate times had called for desperate measures. After Takeomi had blown all of his money and landed himself in a cesspool of debt, you’d picked up a job to help out.
Carefully, you grazed your fingers over the glass bottles. You’d never been big on beer, but today seemed like a kind of day. So you bent down, letting your black miniskirt ride up because who really gave a fuck these days, and picked a pack off the shelf. Feeling a little better about the whole Takeomi situation now that you had access to means to drown out your sorrows, you sauntered over to the checkout counter.
It took quite a bit of arm work to hoist the heavy pack onto the top, but the minimum wage worker behind the counter did not seem to appreciate the raw display of brutish strength. Standing a few inches above you, she had her arms crossed over the front of her form-fitting uniform. The little brunette smacked on the pink bubblegum stuck in her teeth.
“I’m gonna need to see ID” She mumbled.
Your smile faded slightly. “Sure, okay.”
Reaching back into the pink crossbody purse you had brought, you pulled out your wallet. You popped it open and began quickly flipping through its contents. A few moments spent searching revealed that your Non-Driver’s ID was nowhere to be found.
You felt your heart sink through the floor. “Shit,” you hissed. You flipped through your wallet one more time to no avail. “I don’t think I have it on me.”
“Okay, well,” The girl paused for a moment. You knew she didn’t believe a word that had just come out of your mouth. “You know I can’t sell to you without an ID, right?”
You sighed. “Not even for 2000 yen?”
She stood still, lips pressed thin with her bored eyes resting on your worried face. She didn’t look amused. “No."
26. You were 26 years old, and here you were, still being carded. What made matters worse? The girl behind the counter looked to be at least 5 years younger than you.
“If you’re not buying anything please step to the side,” She waved you off.
What a dick. You still obeyed, of course, but shit.
“You really can’t tell I’m not a teenager?” You thought out loud, more to yourself than anyone else. Not like the girl acknowledged you, but still.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, ma’am,” She replied. She turned the other way, towards the customer who had been behind you in line – apparently. You hadn’t seen him step behind you – and offered in a much nicer tone, “I’m sorry about that. Are you ready to check out?’
“Just this and a pack of Mevius lights,” He spoke.
Finding it a little infuriating that this man was receiving service when you weren’t even finished checking out, you whipped your head around. You felt a strange sensation squeeze your heart when you immediately recognized the man who was checking out.
Standing there at eye level with you – maybe even a little higher – was a man of feminine nature with a pretty face and a pretty nose. His blonde-purple hair was near unmistakable.
He had this cute nose, one which complemented his rather feminine features – deep lilac eyes framed by long blonde lashes, perfectly arched brows, strands of hair dyed purple and blonde falling against his face in an almost delicate fashion.
Waka in the wild. Who would have thought.
Your heart squeezed again when you realized he was looking right at you.
“Hey,” you offered rather lamely.
The pretty man nodded his regards to you, sliding his own ID card onto the countertop. “Hey,” he replied. “Take’s girl, right?”
Part of you was flattered that he’d cared enough to remember you after one interaction. Part of you felt a little let down at the prospect of being reduced to Takeomi’s girlfriend, especially in the presence of such an attractive specimen. But, still, you forced a smile and said. “Yeah.”
The girl at the register placed the pack of cigarettes on the counter, right next to the brown bottle he had given her. From here, you could just barely make out the words on the label; Don Julio.
She pressed some keys at the register and then hummed. “9517 yen.”
Waka took his ID off the counter, tucked it away into his wallet, and then brought forth a black card. “Let me get the beer, too.”
The girl behind the register paused. She glanced between you and the man and then sighed. She typed some more numbers into her stupid little register and added, “12,017 yen.”
She took the card from between his fingers. After a quick swipe and a few more key presses, she handed the card back to him – along with a receipt this time.
“Thanks,” He hummed. Slipping both the card and the receipt back into his wallet, he folded it up and put it back in his pocket. Without much of a signal of departure, he set out for the door, then he paused. As he turned to you, his blond hair slid over his shoulder like silky drapes over a grand window. His lips, pink, plump, kissable, uttered the words, “You coming?”
And come you sure did (pause).
You speed-walked out of the store, right alongside him.
When the two of you were a safe distance away, he dropped the case of beer into your arms.
“Wait, hold on,” you said, fumbling for the opening of your purse while simultaneously trying not to drop the beer on his foot. “What was it, 2500 yen?”
He braced his hand on the beer box, helping you steady yourself. When you returned your gaze to his pretty face, he was shaking his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he muttered.
You froze for a moment, hand still stuck in your purse. “You sure?”
“Positive,” he replied. When he saw you stumble a bit trying to regain your posture, he reached for the box of beers again. “You got a pen?”
“Yeah, sorry,” you nodded. You searched for a pen, which you then placed in his hand. You let him put his hands on the box. “Thanks. For everything.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said rather noncommittally. He was scribbling something on the beer box. After recapping the pen, he handed it back to you. “I’ll see you around.”
You couldn’t quite see what he had written, and you had barely had enough time to strike up a conversation, let alone ask the man what he had just scribbled on your beer box. So, instead, you watched the man take a few steps back and hop onto a bike – his bike, you assumed, as it looked like he was the one who had parked the thing there. It was still running.
He turned his head to look you up and down one more time. “Oh,” he added like it was an afterthought. “Tell your man I said hi.”
God, his voice made you weak at the knees. Fighting the heat that threatened to take over your face if you continued looking at the soft-spoken man, you averted your eyes to the gravel below – head bowed. “I will.”
You watched him pull off.
Out of sheer curiosity, you turned the beer box on its side to see what he had written.
Then you felt the warmth begin to crawl up your neck and spread onto your face as you spotted a series of digits written there in black ink – a number.
As the sound of his motorbike faded into the night, his words played on repeat in the back of your mind.
