A Plot Where...

Jeyda’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t move to take the mail right away. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked from the envelopes to the woman standing before him—Aylin. 4B. Too many words, too much warmth. He wasn’t used to either.

A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, he reached out, taking the stack from her hand with deliberate slowness. The legal firm's gold lettering gleamed in the sunlight, but he didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew what was inside.

His voice, when he spoke, was low, rough from disuse. "Thanks." Nothing more. No welcome, no acknowledgement of her offer. Just that.

Jeyda turned the mail over once in his hand, then tucked it under his arm. His gaze settled on her, not quite meeting her eyes but near enough. Aylin was still watching him, waiting—for what, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have anything else to give. Not pleasantries. Not reassurances. Definitely not friendship.

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers based on this:

"Excuse me! Are you… Mr Arslan?"

Aylin held out a small stack of mail, the afternoon sun catching the gold lettering on the return address of a legal firm. "I think I might have accidentally grabbed your mail. 4A, right? I’m so sorry! I was in a rush, trying to beat the heat… and honestly, these boxes are practically prehistoric. I'm Aylin, by the way. I live in 4B." She offered a tentative smile, one practiced for calming anxious brides and soothing stressed mothers-of-the-groom.

She took a closer look at the man in front of her. He was… imposing. Tall, broad shouldered but there was an intensity in his eyes, a haunted quality that sent a shiver of unexpected concern through her. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. He didn’t speak, didn't even acknowledge her. He just stared, his eyes fixed somewhere just past her shoulder.

“Look,” she continued, her voice softening. "I really am sorry. Here." She extended the mail again, pushing it gently towards him. “I'm sure you’re expecting these. Welcome to the building. I hope you… settle in okay.”

She hesitated, a sudden impulse tugging at her. Against every ounce of self-preservation, Aylin added, "If you need anything… anything at all… please don't hesitate to knock. I'm usually home, knee-deep in tulle and seating charts, but… I wouldn’t mind a break. Just let me know if there's something I can do." And then, she waited, holding her breath, wondering if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

Spencer can’t look at him. He knows he should, knows Miguel deserves at least that much, but it’s too hard. If he looks, he’ll see the frustration, the disappointment, the hurt—and Spencer isn’t sure he can handle that. Not from him.

So he stares at the floor instead, at the scuffed-up toes of his sneakers, at the way his fingers twitch uselessly at his sides. He wants to shove them into his pockets, but that would make it too obvious how bad they’re shaking.

“I tried,” he says finally, voice quieter than he wants it to be. “I— I did. I asked, and he said no. Told me to get out.” His throat feels tight, but he swallows past it, grips the hem of his hoodie like it’ll hold him together. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

It’s not enough. He knows it’s not enough. But it’s all he has.

He can feel Miguel waiting, expecting something more, but Spencer doesn’t have the right words. The truth is tangled in his throat, too raw, too ugly. He knows what Miguel must be thinking—that he should’ve planned better, that he should’ve just called and asked for more time, that it’s that simple.

But it’s not. It never was.

“I can’t call him.” The words slip out before he can stop them, too sharp, too fast, and he immediately regrets how defensive they sound. He clears his throat and forces himself to steady. “It’s not that simple.”

The weight of it settles heavily in his chest, but he doesn’t let it linger. He can’t. He won’t. He forces a shrug like it doesn’t matter, like it’s all in the past, and he’s fine now. “It doesn’t matter. He’d just say no again anyway.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. Because the truth is, Spencer is terrified to call him. Just the thought of hearing his voice again makes his stomach twist. He doesn’t want to give him any reason to think he still has power over him, doesn’t want to hear the way his name would curl like a warning in his mouth.

So, no. He can’t call. But he won’t say that, won’t give Miguel a reason to look at him like he’s something fragile.

Instead, he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Look, I just—I just need a place to crash for a couple days. I’ll figure something out, I swear. I just—” His voice catches, and he hates it. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

He won’t go back to his parents. That was never an option. Not after they told him he wasn’t their son anymore. Not after they looked at him like he was something shameful.

He's already concerned about the fact that Spencer can't quite look him in the eye, though he supposes having to come running back to your ex with your tail tucked between your legs would be kinda humiliating for anyone. And, to be fair, Miguel never expected this------- he'd assumed that Spencer had washed his hands of their entire relationship, even after agreeing to be friends later when they'd broken up. Miguel couldn't deny how badly the sudden disappearance (and knowing that Spence left him for better) had hurt, but eventually, he pretended that it was all for the best, just to snuff out any lingering hope for them. So, of course he didn't know all the right words to say the moment Spencer resurfaced out of goddamn nowhere, homeless and seemingly helpless. "Yeah, you say no," Miguel snaps like it's fucking obvious what should've been done, "you say no so you have enough time to look for a new apartment. Call his ass up and tell him you need more time."

someone do an au with me like he’s a photographer and she is the model like a playful one that is always being cheeky and he’s just serious. she knows what she wants in life and he’s just lost in life since his girlfriend died 5 years ago and he doesn’t know what to do but she just a ball of sunshine and he was just instantly attracted to her but scared that he was going to forget about his dead gf and ends up loving her

"Funny, sometimes I think the same thing." Owen replied with a shrug knowing she wasn't the only one responsible for the way things were.

open | f/m/nb muse | paisley jones, she/her, 39, physics professor connection | anything! could include coworker, gf/bf, ex gf/bf, best friend, fwb, enemies, frenemies, stranger, etc (no taboo pls)

"sometimes i think you must hate me," paisley spoke with a forced chuckle, trying to hide any hurt that was tempted to seep through.

"Don't take it personally. I'm just used to it being just me," Felix replied, scratching the back of his neck, feeling awkward. He'd always hidden his emotions away from others, and it was weird trying to be open and honest around Arden, even with her gentleness.

"you know i care about you right?" arden says gently to the other with a small sigh that leaves her lips. "you don't have to hide away from me when things get hard." // @littledaydreamers

"I don't think that's your place to say. And please don't presume to know what my demons are or what they look like."

OPEN TO: any muse 25 + ! MUSE: vance wilder. twenty-nine. callum turner fc. your hometown burn out.

"The difference between us is that you weren't the worst thing that happened to me. But you? You've got your demons and they all look like me."

Ruby stared at her phone, biting her lip. She had intended to back off, to put an end to this and redirect her focus. But as she stared at the last message from the guy she liked, the one who had asked her out, her stomach twisted. He had left her on read.

So here she was, sitting in this weird limbo, trying to figure out whether she was just going to sit there and wait around for someone who seemed to be ignoring her—or lean into this playful back-and-forth with King.

She hesitated, staring at the screen. Should I just let it go? she wondered, but she couldn’t ignore how she felt now—how the attention from King, the teasing, the compliments, was almost like a balm for her bruised ego.

text: yep... why'd you ask? text: oh... wow, king, I had no idea you paid that much attention

She paused, her fingers hovering over the screen as she tried to think of a reply. She had always found King attractive, she'd even go as far as to say she had harboured a crush for her neighbour, but she had no idea he also found her attractive -- maybe it was just her body he liked. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened to her ... Still, for some reason, she didn't mind playing along.

text: it was a little red lacey number I was hiding under that dress, actually ;)

he wasn't bothered sending a picture of himself. and in his in way it was kind of like him shooting his shot. he knew he wasn't the most muscular guy, but he also wasn't super skinny and un-defined, he had something going on and not just in his pants region. which he knew she would clock. it didn't help that moments prior she'd sent him a photo and it prompted a reaction.

text: so that.. lingerie, is that what you have on now?

he wasn't quite sure what he was doing at this point but he was just completely rolling with it.

text: could imagine you hiding that little set underneath that dress you wore the other day. the one that hugs your curves and makes your legs look really long.

was he trying to sext with her right now? well, he hoped she'd take the compliments because he meant it, she was gorgeous and the dress he remembered IS incredible with her body, so it's not like he was wrong.

Closed starter | @amoonlitmemory

"Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?"

"Of course, it isn't," Nadia replied, rolling her eyes. "I'd be pretty crap at my job if it was." She held her hand up, admiring the crimson red staining it. "Pretty, isn't it? There's no other red quite like the colour of blood."

open to anyone! muse: amar 'ozzy' oza, wanderer / musician. age 29-32.

"is that your blood?"

Open to || females only Muse: Casey. 23-27 . straight. he/him pronouns Connection: friends, fwb, anything along these lines

Casey wiped the blood from his lip, the taste of copper metallic in his mouth. He knew he couldn't stay. Not this time. His dad had gone too far. They'd been in fights before -- Casey had experienced broken bones from his father's wrath, but something in the way his dad had looked at him tonight, eyes blazing with a fury that made Casey's skin crawl, was different. His dad had even reached for the knife off of the kitchen table. Casey was sure he'd only been saved because of the knock at the door. He needed to get out, get far away. He thought of his friend, her bright smile and the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. He'd insisted they were just friends, afraid of admitting the truth. But now, with his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach twisting with fear, he knew he had to tell her. "I need you. I need to get away, and I need you to come with me." He didn't know if she'd say yes, but he had to try. The thought of staying, of facing his dad's wrath again, was unbearable.