#and i can't help but wonder if this is the case for maisie

[nattikay]

This morning my brother filled up Rosie (his puppy)’s bowl, but I guess Rosie really had to pee because he wound up taking her outside before she ate it.

Meanwhile, I decided to go ahead and feed Maisie as well. I go and fill her bowl, put it on her mat, and go into the bathroom to take care of my own business.

Within the less-than-two minutes I was in there, Maisie had scarfed down all of her own food, slipped out the cat-flap on the gate, and already started going to town on Rosie’s! I had to pull her back and lock the flap.

Maisie you’re cute and I love you and all, but you’re a filthy little scavenger and you must be stopped 😩

[itsmiyamore]

enough for you

Character: Ushijima Wakatoshi

Genre: Angst

Warnings: implied fem!reader

Summary:

And I wonder who you're going home to

Would you do all the things that he don't do?

Inspired by Enough for You by Maisie Peters (read description for more insight teehee)

a/n: THIS WENT FROM 789 TO 1.7K WORDS that's called progress babyyyy, I hope y'all like it <3

I made it as gender neutral as possible but the reader does wear lipstick and have a bag (i don't think i specify what kind but if there's any other details please let me know)

“Your driving instructor will be Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

The name rings over and over in your head as you sit in the front seat of the white car. You lick your lips nervously, glancing at the man sitting next to you.

Ushijima has an imposing aura about him, yet you can't help but feel drawn to him. He’s tall, good looking, and his voice in itself gives you shivers. He's stoic and reserved; all your attempts at reading the emotions on his face fail, and now is no different. Currently, he’s looking down at some papers, the light from outside reflecting on his glasses.

He closes the packet, carefully placing the glasses in their case. It’s almost imperceptible, the way your heart flutters, the way your hands tighten around the steering wheel, the small blush making its way onto your cheeks as he looks up and catches your eye.

You let out a small gasp, turning to face forward and he begins instructing you. But you’re not really paying attention to his words, already lost in the memory of his endless gaze.

And you decide that however attractive he is with glasses, you like him better with them off.

You lean over the bathroom sink, staring at your lips as you precariously apply lipstick. You rub your lips together, letting moments pass as you scrutinize your appearance. You tilt your head, adjusting your outfit until you hum with satisfaction.

The lipstick clatters as you place it back in your bag, the door opening with a squeak. You give a sheepish smile to the person waiting in line, briskly walking to the entrance. It opens with a ding as you step out into the convenience store parking lot. You take out your phone to check the time, relieved when it tells you you still have seven minutes.

A small sense of confusion fills your mind as you walk to the car lot where Ushijima waits. You don’t understand why you’re so focused on the little things like your clothes and makeup, it’s only a driving lesson after all. You can't even remember the last time you'd worn this lipstick, and as a small voice in your head peeps up, “You like him,” you shake it off, laughing internally at yourself.

But as you approach the lot and see Ushijima’s car waiting for you, the thought comes back again.

“Hey,” you greet as you settle into the driver’s seat. You look up at him, breath hitching in your throat as he stares out the window. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowing slightly and you blush as you notice his gaze lingering on you.

“You look nice,” is all he says, but it’s enough to make the butterflies explode in your stomach. You don’t know what reaction you had been waiting for, but the elation that his words filled you made you think that it didn’t matter.

Because you realize you like Ushijima, and as you smile shyly at him, saying, “Thank you,” you think it’s a wonderful feeling.

Unfortunately, loneliness always finds a way to return.

It creeps back unnoticed until it’s all that's left consuming your being. And when you realize, you’ve already fallen into that familiar abyss of abandonment.

You notice it as you stare at your phone, the text staring tauntingly at your face.

I’m working late this week.

You sigh, the lack of surprise filling you with indescribable rage and sadness. You throw your phone to the other side of the couch, curling up as you try to provide some warmth for yourself. The sound of voices joins the soft sobs that are beginning to fill the room. You barely register the tv turning on, not even bothering to move off the remote. You’re so pathetic, you cry as it all comes in waves.

Pathetic for marrying a man you should’ve known would forget about you, pathetic for still hoping that one day he’ll come home early, pathetic because no matter how many times he’s done this it still hurts every fucking time.

But now your mind still wanders to Ushijima.

It’s taboo to be crying over your husband as your heart yearns for another man. You almost laugh at the cruelty of the situation.

It’s an undeniable fact: you miss him with all your being. You don't even know when "he" changed from your husband to Ushijima. It had crept up on you and you should've seen it coming since the moment you realized your feelings. Because it doesn’t matter if you’re crying or laughing, it’s Ushijima’s arms you’ve come to wish were the ones holding you. It’s his deep voice you want to wake up to, telling you an “I love you,” as he goes off to work. It’s his laugh you want to hear as you cook him his favorite meal, telling him he deserves it after a long day at work.

It’s funny, the way the things you used to experience with one person becomes your greatest desire with another. It hurts to think that you finally found someone that fills the hole in your heart only to leave a deeper one in your soul.

So when the words finally spill out in the front of Ushijima's car, whispered and rushed and maybe a bit hopeful still, you think he's never looked so beautiful.

But it was a mistake, you think as you clasp the back of your hand to your mouth. You’re an idiot, you scold as your chin begins to tremble, vision going blurry as the evidence of your humiliation threatens to spill out of your eyes.

Of course he’d never like you, the unfortunate truth impaling itself into your heart. You scratch your neck and rub your nose, attempting to get rid of the itchiness building up. Your lipstick smears on the back of your hand, the stain of heartbreak.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to say, sniffing. The burning in your eyes only grows with each passing second of silence that passes by. You take in a deep breath, mustering the courage to turn and look at Ushijima.

It’s an instant moment of regret, as your eyes meet olive ones. You can see the awkward pity in them, and though he’s holding out a handkerchief, there’s no doubt in your mind.

You’ve made him uncomfortable.

So you take it, almost even expecting his next words.

“The next person is almost here,” he says, shifting in his seat. He redirects his gaze to the digital clock, and as you stare at the blinking numbers, you take a shuddering gasp.

“You should go.”

And as the sobs begin to rack your body, you do your best to gather up your broken dignity, your broken heart, leaving the stifling car and the man you couldn’t help falling for.

It wasn't your fault, truly it wasn't. It's not your fault, you silently scream as the cold winter breeze hits your body. You can’t help the way you feel about him, a man who unknowingly made you feel loved again through warm silence and beeping turn signals.

But that’s why he can’t ever know the things you’d do for him, the effort you put in because of him. And he'll never know that you kill yourself every night as you wonder who he goes home to, as you lay in bed next to a man who used to hold the same effect on you.

And you wonder what things Ushijima must do with them, would he do all the things that your husband never does with you?

Ushijima is special, you think. Ever since you shook his hand when he introduced himself you'd known that he'd forever be imprinted in your mind. That you'd live every day, dreaming of the next time you get to see him.

And you think you should've known better than to make foolish schoolgirl mistakes because now you're standing outside his car, words caught in your throat as he leaves without a word. He doesn't want to see you, and now you’re here, trying to banish the memory of his eyes from your heart.

You step out, basket in hand, careful to not jostle its contents around. It's barely four o'clock, but the winter sun is beginning to set, the cold wind blowing against your face.

The bus door shuts, and you tug your jacket tighter around your body. Your eyes search the car lot, looking for that familiar head you've become so fond of.

It's a futile attempt to salvage whatever relationship you had with Ushijima, but you're a fool. You're a fool to be in love, a fool to have believed he would like you back. And as you look down at your hands, you think you’re a fool to think a small gift basket could do anything to change anything.

Your grip tightens around the handle as you shiver, walking around the perimeter to get closer to where you see his parked car. You smile involuntarily, a fleeting moment of forgetfulness and happiness.

But you never make it all the way to his car.

You make it close enough to see him, close enough for your heart to break all over again.

Because he’s laughing.

And he’s smiling at them like they're the only person in the world.

You never had a chance, you realize as you stare at the pair. You're ten years too late, trapped by a simple band that burns on your finger. A simple band that once was a blessing, now your biggest curse and you wish nothing more than to turn back time and maybe, just maybe, you could’ve found him then.

It’s all gone, you're nothing but a shadow as you turn to leave. You leave your bared soul abandoned behind you in the white car, faintly feeling the tears running down your cheeks. The world is a mere blur as your mind tries to process everything you're feeling right now.

Five weeks, barely over a month, was all it took for you to be taken by a man who could never be yours. He stirred your heart quietly, so different from the vivid pain you felt at home. And for the hours you spent with him, everything was okay. It was perfect, and you could almost convince yourself Ushijima was the one you made your vows with, that he sported a matching ring on his left finger, that his lips were yours to kiss.

But when it came down to it, it really was only a fantasy, like the movies and books you buried yourself in, and reality is harsh like it always is.

It could've been a forbidden, wonderful romance.

You just wish you were enough for him.

[strawberryaziraphale]

Omg I can't decide so pick the one that calls to you. # 9,13 or 37. With sherlolly ship please

9. meeting online au

“It’s not working, Tom,” Molly said from herposition on what was formerly their shared bed, hugging her knees to her chest,“we both know that. We’re just delaying the inevitable.”

Tom ignored her, continuing to throw histhings into his bag, not that he had much – some spare clothes, a toothbrush,maybe a comb? He had grown to love his girlfriend’s home more than his own,even if her cat didn’t share his enthusiasm. He packed slowly, determined todrag this out for as long as he could, until she changed her mind. This wasn’ther mind, he was sure of it. Her friends had gotten into her head, talked herout of it.

“Tom?”

He smiled triumphantly; he nearly alwaysturned out to be correct.

“Can I have the key back?”

Tom dug the key from his pocket and, in amoment of outrage, threw it against the wall which caused Toby to flee inpanic. He zipped up his bag and stormed out, vowing to never waste anothermoment thinking about her. Molly waited for the front door to slam behind herex before breathing a sigh of relief and throwing away her covers, reaching forthe laptop beside her. She flipped the lid, her fingers speedily opening hermessenger icon. A new message awaited her and Molly settled comfortably againsther pillows.

Consulting_DetectiveSH

How did itgo?

Molly breathed deeply, pondering her wordscarefully; oh, her internet chum knew all about her relationship troubles andhad been reluctantly dishing out advice ever since they’d accidentally met in achatroom some four months ago. He’d been looking for someone to help with work,she to vent; between them, they’d come to an odd sort of friendship. Not manypeople would be very accepting of others who wanted to share crime scene photosand autopsy reports. Molly later learned to her amusement he’d asked at leastfive other people before finding her, resulting in his suspension from othersites.

Molly flexed her fingers, choosing to behonest with him.

MHooper💕

Aboutas well as you can expect. He left, which is something.

Molly watched the screen, noticingthe ‘offline’ display beside his handle; she debated closing her laptop andreturning to the conversation later. Only seconds later, offline switched toonline and a new message followed.

Consulting_DetectiveSH

Isuppose I’m wasting my time telling you you’re better off without him.

Molly smiled sadly, already typingher reply.

MHooper💕

Itdoesn’t really matter. I always do this. I ruin every relationship I ever have.Just you wait.

Molly stared at the last three words,chewing her lip as she argued whether or not to send the message. She didn’twant him to take it the wrong way, scare him off.

IncomingSkype call…

Molly froze, her eyes wide as saucers;her heart hammered as she fluffed her hair into place, hitting accept. The familiarbedroom of SH’s flat appeared on the screen, the man himself sitting on his bed.The room was dark, his face illuminated by the lamplight on his bedside tablemaking his sharp cheekbones stand out. Molly much preferred typing theirconversations, he was so stunningly gorgeous, she always ended up humiliatingherself when they spoke face to face. She swallowed.

“Hi…”

“Hello.”

Oh, his voice was heavenly. So deep.This is exactly what she hated, he was so distracting. Molly forced herself tofocus, smiling shyly.

“I-I suppose I should thank you. Forthe advice about Tom,” she clarified when he frowned in confusion, “I mean, Idon’t even know your name and you know me better than anyone I know.”

He shrugged, “you don’t have to be adetective to see he wasn’t right for you. You said yourself you weren’t happy.I can’t take all the credit.”

He was speaking in such a hushedtone, Molly fiddled for her sound dial, “I think something’s wrong with mylaptop, I can barely hear you.”

“My nosy flatmate refused to go out,”he explained, gesturing somewhere offscreen, “I’d rather avoid the questions.”

“Oh, right…” Molly often forgot therewere other people in the world when they talked.

He smiled, “me too.”

Molly blushed madly – oh, god, she’dsaid that aloud? Eager to change the subject (and hoping he hadn’t noticed herembarrassment), Molly smirked cheekily, “figured out what the M stands for yet?”

He always rose to the challenge, “youcould be lying to me, Marissa.”

“Nope,” Molly said, shaking her headexaggeratedly. She only enjoying this slightly…okay, immensely. SH didn’t seemso sure, a frown appearing at his brow.

“Mildred? Maisie? Margery?”

Molly giggled, “no wonder you don’t havemuch of a reputation, Mr. Detective.”

“You don’t know MY name!” He poutedindignantly.

“I don’tclaim to be the world’s only consulting detective.”

To her surprise, he smirked. There was amoment in which they simply watched each other, until SH folded his arms.

“I could easily deduce it,” he lookedpositively smug and Molly had to admit it was a good look on him, “the phonebook, contact your work. It wouldn’t take long.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She said with herown smug smirk; she knew the mystery was part of the thrill for him. Theirdiscussions about his cases had told her as much, “anyway, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t I get to guess your name?” Molly raisedan eyebrow, taking the opportunity to tease him slightly, “I bet it’s somethingutterly ridiculous and pretentious. Spencer. It’s probably Spencer…” she said,gesturing at the screen; judging by the look on his face, SH wasn’t impressed.Oh, she was far from finished, “or Stanley. I can see you as a Salvatore.Satchel…Satchel Hewett, am I close?”

“Satchel?” He actually looked offended, “that-that’s not even a name! I-I have a website.”

Molly couldn’t stop herself from giggling, “ifyou’re Satchel then I’m Mildred. We could travel the country solving crimes.”

He fell silent for a moment, simply watchingher chuckle to herself. That preposterous idea didn’t sound at all unpleasantto the pathologist; he’d made no secret that he was in need of someone toassist him with his investigations. No one agreed to work with him at hiscurrent establishment. When she’d finally collected herself, she looked up tofind him smiling softly at her. A split second later, the look was gone and hecleared his throat.

“I have to go.”

Before she could reply, Molly’s screen wentblack. She blinked, staring at the blank screen in confusion. SH was oftenabrupt and insistent, even downright rude but he never cut their conversationsshort. Many nights they’d spent talking only to discover early morning lightcreeping in through the windows; they’d laugh about it and vow to chat thefollowing day. This was definitely unusual behaviour. Unless it was the nosyflatmate. Several minutes after he’d cut off, Molly decided she’d wasted enoughtime worrying; she shoved her laptop under her bed and switched off her lamp.He’d have a good reason. He always had a good reason.

It had been two weeks since she’d last heardfrom SH and Molly was quite frankly fed up with him. He’d disappeared before,no longer than a few days at a time, always with a short message ofexplanation. There had been nothing this time; she’d sent the odd messageasking how he was and that she hoped to hear from him soon. Nothing. So shegave up. She knew he didn’t owe her anything; nevertheless, it still stung. Despiteeverything, Molly thought he was one of her best friends, someone she could confidein and she thought the feeling was mutual. Perhaps she’d put him off, perhapshe’d lost interest, maybe he’d gotten everything out of their friendship and nolonger needed her. Whatever the reason, Molly made up her mind not to thinkabout him any longer.

Four drinks in at her local bar, however, hermind disobeyed her. Had she offended him? They’d been trying to guess eachother’s names since they’d met, why would it bother him now? Molly chewed hernail, desperately trying to think what it was she could have said or done.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Molly looked up into the kindly eyes of ashort, blond and not at all bad looking gentleman; he was smiling and sitingone stool over from her, giving her space yet showing her he was available forcompany. Molly sighed, swirling the remaining liquid in her wine glass.

“You don’t want to know.” The man moved over aseat and Molly smiled humourlessly, “where do I start? I recently split up withmy boyfriend because I think I’m in love with someone else. Here’s the thing…I’veonly know him for four months, I don’t know his name or where he lives, and he’squite possibly a psychopath,” she screwed up her face in thought, “can you bein love with someone without even knowing their name?” If the man was shockedby her confessions, he didn’t show it; in fact, he looked quite sympathetic.Great, just what she needed pity from a complete stranger. Molly swallowed thelast of her wine, shaking her head, “I’m sorry…I don’t know why I’m telling youall this.  You don’t want to know.”

“I’m a good listener…” he said, extending hishand politely, “John Watson.”

“Molly Hooper,” she smiled shyly, taking hishand.

“Can I get you a drink, Molly Hooper?”

Molly sighed in relief, “where have you beenall night, John Watson.”

Molly couldn’t quite believe what washappening. She was in a cab, on the way to John Watson’s flat at 221B BakerStreet; she’d insisted on staying for one drink before catching a cab home,cheekily telling him he’d need to work harder than that. John had laughed,hugging her tightly against him; he seemed nice, not at all like a serialkiller. It didn’t take long to get to his flat; he paid the driver swiftly andhelped her out of the cab, leading her upstairs to his flat. John cursed at themess, rushing around tidying up the various stacks of papers.

“Sorry about this,” he was saying, stowing thecase files, maps and various other rubbish under the sofa cushion beforewhirling to his date, “my flatmate. He’s a bit of a tosser.”

“No, it’s nice,” she said, examining the oddcrime wall above the sofa; a huge map of London was spread out with photos andnotes pinned around it. They obviously meant something to John’s flatmate, “it’sdifferent. Is that a Cluedo board?”

She’d moved to the fireplace, pointing out theitem in particular. John, who was rummaging in the fridge for a bottle of wine,groaned.

“Don’t ask…I learned my lesson the hard way,”he soon gave up searching for wine in the fridge and began searching the cupboards,“I’m sure I had a bottle here somewhere.”

The bathroom door opened, then, and none otherthan SH emerged, wearing nothing but a towel as he rubbed at his hair withanother. Molly’s mouth fell open as she laid eyes on him, his face…absolutely hisface. He, too, froze, staring at her. Molly wanted nothing more than the Earthto swallow her whole there and then.

“Oh, I thought you were out.”

SH didn’t look at John as he replied, stillshocked, “um, I-I was.”

“For God’s sake, can you put some clothes on?We have company,” John strode to her side, shooting his friend a disgustedlook. The way he held Molly’s waist with such familiarity made the frown of SH’sforehead deepen, “I’m sorry about this. I’ll go ask Mrs. Hudson. Excuse me…”

As soon as John left, Molly and SH continuedto stare at each other, as if in disbelief that the other was actually there;it all made perfect sense. The Cluedo board, the case map, the mess, the nosyflatmate. This was exactly her luck.

“I, um…John was being nice,” she saidstupidly, at a loss for anything else to say. He shrugged.

“It’s a free country. You can shag who youlike.”

Molly folded her arms protectively, “who said anythingabout shagging anyone?”

“Why are you here?”

“Why were you ignoring me?” She demanded, aneyebrow raised in challenge as she stepped closer, “I thought it was my fault.But you were just being a dick.”

SH sighed in annoyance, “I’ve…been thinkingabout how best to tell you I love you.”

Of all the things Molly had been expecting himto say, that was the last thing on the list. She opened and closed her mouth,at a loss for words; what did she say to that? The feeling was mutual,completely, but that didn’t change the fact he’d dismissed her and she was nowhere with someone else. John returned promptly, gesturing a bottle of red.

“Found some…” he glanced at Sherlock,frowning, “do you mind?”

“Apologies…I’ll go and get dressed,” his eyeslingered on Molly’s for a final moment before he disappeared into the furthestbedroom; Molly couldn’t help but notice he had a very appealing body to matchhis face.

By the time John had poured their glasses,Sherlock had re-joined them wearing a pair of tatty old pyjamas; he sat in hischair and proceeded to pout. John gestured between them.

“Sorry, you two haven’t been properlyintroduced. Molly, this is my flatmate, Sherlock Holmes,” if John noted thelooks they were giving each other, he didn’t let on, “Sherlock, Molly Hooper.She’s a pathologist at St. John’s.”

“Told you it was pretentious,” Molly saidsmugly, sipping at her wine. Sherlock’s pout deepened if that was at allpossible. Several moments of awkward silence passed until Sherlock jumped outof his chair.

“John, a word in the kitchen,” the army doctorfrowned but followed his lanky friend until they were out of earshot fromMolly. He paced in front of the sink, struggling to find his words…whichworried John.

“What’s the matter with you? You’ve beenacting strangely since Molly got here.”

“That’s M.”

“M?” John glanced over at Molly, watching asshe studied the skull on the mantlepiece with a slight smile on her face. He turnedback to Sherlock, confused, “you mean your…”

Sherlock nodded and John looked back at Molly;she was clearly fascinated checking out the items on display. His violin sooncaught her eye and she was clearly mesmerised, delicately stroking thevarnished wood. John knew a lost cause when he saw one. Sighing heavily, hescrewed the lid onto the wine bottle he still held and shoved it at hisflatmate.

“Don’t fuck this up.”

Again, Sherlock nodded, smiling gratefully. Hewatched as John stepped back into the living room, yawning loudly and declaringhe was calling it a night; he gave Molly a hug goodnight and discreetly winkedat his flatmate as he departed for his bedroom.

“Molly…” he tested the name on his lips,deciding he liked it very much. He was at her side, pouring her a glass; shecouldn’t take her eyes off him. Before, he was a screen name she could vent to.Now he was a person with a name and her heart.

Molly smiled, sipping her wine, “you nevertold me you played the violin.”

“Really?” He frowned, recalling theirconversations in his head. Apparently, he hadn’t mentioned that detail, “hmm,well, in that case…I should play for you sometime.”

He held his glass out and Molly clinked hersagainst his, unable to tear her gaze away from his, “I’d love that very much…Sherlock.”