#i just spent twenty minutes washing the dishes

[g1rld1ary]

hope your requests r open! lockwood x reader where lockwood think reader likes george (but she doesnt) and reader thinks lockwood likes lucy (he doesnt). basically just a whole bunch of misunderstandings with angst and a happy ending please <3

miscommunications - anthony lockwood x fem!reader

wc: 6316

cw: swearing, angstish, series typical injuries

i am SO sorry this took so long lovie i had the biggest writers block but i loved loved loved this request so thank u for sending it in i hope i did it justice!!!! love u xoxo

Lockwood and Co was absolutely the weirdest psychical detective agency you’d ever been a part of. Not only were the actual case methods… unusual, but you were a bunch of kids. You didn’t know anything about running a company; the logistics of managing four teenagers and trying to be responsible whilst also experiencing hormones and teen dramas, all while living in the same house with no adult supervision. But it was great, most of the time at least.

However, even teen psychical detectives weren’t immune to the trap of cliques and you often ended up spending much more time with some members than others. For example, it often ended up being Lockwood and Lucy, and you and George.

It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision or something that happened because you didn’t like the other two members of the agency, it just tended to be the easiest decision. Lockwood and Lucy were undeniably in perfect sync on the field, and you and George worked better in the research department, so it only made sense that those pairs spent more time together.

The only problem? You were totally in love with Lockwood. And you were pretty sure he was basically fucking married to Lucy Carlyle. They were the dream team on and off the field, you were half convinced they could actually read each other's minds. Plus, they were both genuinely amazing people. Lucy was your best friend and roommate at Portland Row, and you loved her with all your heart. And Lockwood? Well, there were a million and one good things to say about Anthony Lockwood. So who could blame you if you spent more time with George? It hurt less than watching the love story unfolding in front of you, and George was good company anyhow.

You couldn’t avoid them though, nor did you really want to, so life was testing your limits as to how much Locklyle you could handle at once.

You and George had been cooped up in the library most of the day looking through archives and research for the agency’s next case, so you’d been glad to get home and have a long warm shower in the evening. Lockwood and Lucy were off on a smaller case together so you’d had the bathroom all to yourself while George was cooking; a small luxury when living with three other teenagers.

Your hair was still wet as you sat down at the dining table in the kitchen, droplets sinking into the paper of the thinking cloth. It was a lovely dinner with George, he’d made your favourite meal upon request, the most glorious dish of butter chicken you thought might’ve ever been made. Everything should have been perfect, except that it was just the two of you. Again. It seemed like you never had family dinners as a four anymore, you and George stuck eating across from each other amongst empty chairs and untouched plates.

“So, anything new?” You made conversation in decent humour, picking at the chicken you weren’t quite as pleased to be eating anymore.

“Anything new in the twenty minutes we’ve been apart all day?” George replied in his characteristic dry tone. You rolled your eyes, trying to stay playful.

“Just checking.”

You took the cleanup after George did all the cooking, switching on the radio as you stood in front of the sink and washing the dishes in peaceful quiet. It was past midnight when the door jingled and creaked open and you could hear Lockwood and Lucy’s tired chatter floating through the old house. Even their damn voices belonged together, making the perfect cadence. You calculated whether you could get away with running up the stairs and pretending to be asleep before they really made it inside, however, agents are known for their speed, and you could hear boots hitting the floor before you could move.

“You’re still up?” Lucy asked as a greeting, stretching out her arms with a sigh. You smiled, shrugging as you began pouring hot water into the mugs you’d prepared earlier, making you all tea how you liked it. Lucy took hers gratefully, adding in the sugar as she pleased, but you were still yet to see Lockwood, taking the initiative to prepare it for him.

He came in a few minutes later, smiling softly as he looked at you.

“You’re a godsend.” He took the mug gratefully, visibly relaxing as the heat penetrated his body. You just smiled, turning back to the dishes.

“Thanks for the tea, I’ll head up to the shower,” Lucy said, patting you gratefully on the arm as she passed. That left you and Lockwood in the kitchen in careful silence.

You talked about nothing for a while, Lockwood filling you in on the tabloids he’d read the night before, and you told him all about the music and news you’d been listening to on the radio.

“How was the research, how’s George?” Lockwood was beside you now, taking a few of the plates you’d finished drying. His tone sounded almost bitter, but you figured it was his exhaustion taking hold.

“It was fine, I think we’re pretty much good to go for this weekend. Oh, you should have seen it! George absolutely stacked it on the steps of the library earlier. He’s fine, of course, but I nearly pissed my pants laughing, it was so funny.” Lockwood managed an unenthused chuckle, turning away to put the cutlery away in the drawer. “How was the case?” Lockwood made a noise of affirmation, coming back next to you, your shoulders brushing lightly.

“As well as cases can go,” He said, smile back on his face. You listened to him tell the bloody details of the case, illustrating his own heroic moves with a full production of actions and impressions, drawing giggles from you as he fought around the room. “And of course, Luce was brilliant as always, saved my arse for the millionth time.”

Fuck. Of course Lockwood was singing Lucy’s praises again, right in front of you! You couldn’t catch a break. You finally got a moment alone with the boy you had a massive embarrassing crush on and he was talking about your best friend! You could feel your smile fading fast, jealousy bubbling in your chest as you imagined them out on a case together, all quick banter and soft touches while you were at home. With George.

You tried to stay obliging, giving him a small smile and finishing up the drying quickly.

“Well, I should be off to bed. Goodnight, Lockwood.”

“You’re not gonna read with me?” You could have sworn that Lockwood had disappeared and been replaced with a kicked puppy the way his eyes were making your insides twist with guilt. You often sat up in the library with Lockwood; he could never sleep and you often made up for the late nights in the mornings, starting your days hours after everyone else. You held eye contact for a moment, willing yourself to be strong.

It didn’t work, and you found yourself back in your familiar spot in front of the fire, digging into your novel as he flipped through a magazine. When your eyes began to strain in the low lamplight you closed it softly, chancing a glance over at Lockwood. He looked almost perfect in the moment, yellow light illuminating the highlights in his face, his eyes glinting as he found humour in the dramatised tabloids.

He looked up suddenly, his senses evidently alerting him to your staring. His head tilted almost imperceptibly, curiosity seeping from his features. You smiled softly, unable to give him any explanation, so you were glad when he returned it in a way that made his whole face light up. You looked away first, studying your hands intently as you heard Lockwood breathe a subtle laugh.

Another case later, you were going crazy. You’d hit an obstacle (of course) and the case had started going awry. A few relicmen interfering with the site threw you all off your game, the original case put aside in favour of your lives. You and Lucy had been together when the ambush happened, both fighting as a team to protect yourselves. Admittedly you weren’t as fluid as her and Lockwood, but you blamed that on the lack of opportunity. You were doing pretty well for yourselves, all things considered. Still, you were grateful for the two boys to come bursting in like heroes, rapiers at the ready. What you didn’t appreciate was the way Lockwood immediately leapt to Lucy’s side, falling into their familiar rhythm. That left George to help you, the both of you sharing the quickest of looks, your eye roll lost to the fight.

You’d all made it out alive but were severely battered and disheartened. You’d all sustained a few cuts and bruises, you knew you were bleeding from somewhere in your midsection, but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet so you pushed through.

You also weren’t particularly glad to see Lockwood looking at Lucy like she’d hung all the stars in the sky in the cab on the way back. He hadn’t spared you a glance.

“I know this wasn’t exactly what we planned,” He said, still not making eye contact with you, “But we’re all okay so I think that’s a win. Luce, good job on the defence and keeping the relicmen at bay. George, brilliant catch with the source, mate, you saved us all. And, uh, good work.” He looked over briefly, but you thought he was looking slightly above you still. He didn’t even care enough to look at you on the case! It was absolutely maddening.

Sometimes, like now, you wondered why you even liked him. He was obsessed with another girl, barely paid you attention and had you begging for crumbs of affection. And yet, sometimes you were sure he liked you back. The soft smiles, the time together in the dead of night, the moments he showed you such gentle care. Lockwood was a puzzle you just couldn’t solve, but you were really, really trying.

You weren’t in the best mood when you all arrived home. Your case had been compromised, you were injured, and Lockwood was basically ignoring you. The night was not looking good. And, on top of all that, George called the first shower so it was unlikely there’d be any hot water left by the time you got in. Silently, you peeled off your overcoat, hanging it on your designated hook before discarding your rapier in the umbrella bin. The cut on your side was beginning to sting, the adrenaline having worn off in the cab, but you powered through, figuring you’d take care of it when you had privacy in the bathroom. Instead, you followed Lucy into the kitchen, chatting away as she made some toast.

She’d already left when you got up from the dining table, motivating yourself to make some tea and something to eat. Your body was starting to ache though, and you really didn’t want to be moving much longer. It was all mostly fine, though uncomfortable, until you were reaching up for the sugar for the tea. It was a little out of your reach up on one of the higher cupboards which usually wasn’t so much of an issue — you were a high jumper — but raising your arm above your head was making it feel like your cut was splitting open, pulling a strangled hiss from you.

“What is that?” Lockwood’s voice made you jump, the harshness unfamiliar. You turned slowly, folding your arms across your stomach in vain.

“It’s nothing, I was gonna look after it in a bit.” It was the first time you’d made proper eye contact with Lockwood all night, and he looked pissed.

“Bullshit,” He argued, gaining proximity, “Sit down.” You weren’t typically in the habit of being bossed around by a man, but you could tell Lockwood was serious so took a seat. He stomped around the kitchen rather dramatically, tossing you an ice pack from the freezer. You placed it tentatively over the cut, groaning and throwing your head back when it stung. Your breathing was shallow, erratic as you waited for the icepack to do its job and start numbing the pain.

When you unscrewed your eyes Lockwood was standing at the kitchen bench, aggressively buttering your toast. You watched him put together the meal you’d started, all with deep furrowed eyebrows, ending with him placing it in front of you, looking at you expectantly. You smiled at him despite the pain in your side, pulling the mug of tea closer. He’d made it just as you liked it, too much sugar and a bit of honey. You sipped it pathetically, tension bubbling between you and the boy in front of you.

“What’s new?” You asked in what you hoped was a lighthearted tone. Lockwood wasn’t impressed.

“Eat,” He urged, “You’ll already be weak from blood loss, don’t let yourself get dizzy from hunger too.” You took an exaggerated bite of the toast to appease him, melting into a moan when the food hit your mouth. Somehow, it tasted better than all the millions of times you’d made your own. Lockwood had found the perfect balance of butter and bread, soft in the middle but the crusts were still crunchy and satisfying. The corner of his mouth flicked into the smallest smile seeing you enjoy the food he’d made you, but it was clear he still wasn’t happy with you.

You continued to eat as he got up from his seat, disappearing out into the hallway for a moment. He returned with the first aid kit and you groaned. This was going to suck. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, asked for your permission to start helping you, lifting your already cherry red case shirt up to tuck under your bra, out of his way as he examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, you didn’t think you’d need stitches or anything, but it was long, wrapping halfway across your stomach.

“This is going to hurt,” He said simply, but you could have sworn there was some gentleness there. Lightly, Lockwood began to clean your wound. Initially, it wasn’t so bad as he cleaned what had already spread and dried away from the cut which lulled you into a false sense of security. You cried out as he touched the wound itself for the first time, grabbing onto Lockwood’s shoulder for stability, though you were already seated.

“It’s okay, I’ll be quick. Promise,” He hushed you, offering his hand for you to grab instead. You clutched onto it for dear life, squeezing until both your fingers were turning white. Lockwood never uttered a complaint, working away at cleaning and treating the wound one-handed until it was done, stopping every so often for breaks when he thought you needed them.

When he was done he looked up at you from his position on his knees and it suddenly felt like the world around you was quiet. Lockwood’s eyes were so pretty. You’d always thought so, but it was particularly relevant when he was only inches away from you, sparkling in the amber light of the kitchen. Neither of you spoke, staring into each other’s eyes. You weren’t sure what to do, you didn’t want to end this moment between you but you didn’t know how to make it last. Well, you did, but that was highly inappropriate given Lockwood was in love with another girl.

“Thanks,” You settled on awkwardly, cringing as Lockwood seemed to realise where he was and what was happening.

“Any time,” He jumped up, backing up towards the sink and busying himself with pouring his own cup of tea.

You left the kitchen shortly after, unwilling to sit in the awkwardness any longer. The first step was to get out of the soiled clothes and clean yourself up a bit, the second was to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling of the attic.

“I’m going to die alone,” You said to the roof, catching the attention of your roommate.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucy said simply, “You’re hot, anyone would be lucky to have you.” That pulled a smile from you, tilting your head back to look over at Lucy on her bed.

“Thanks, Luce. You know what I mean though.” Lucy rolled her eyes with a soft smile.

“If Lockwood can’t see all your brilliant, attractive qualities then he’s a prat.”

“I’m sure he sees many of my great qualities — he hired me. The issue is that he’s blinded by your brilliance.” It was a conversation you’d had countless times before; you decreeing Lockwood’s love for Lucy and Lucy being disgusted by it.

“You know that I have zero interest in Lockwood. Like, zero. Honestly, I’d sooner get with you than him.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I have terrible taste in men,” You laughed, mostly cheered up.

Lucy flicked off the lamp, putting you to sleep with a story from before you’d joined the agency.

Lockwood had a similar conversation with George a few weeks later. It was after another case, all had gone well and the four of you were strewn about the house, tending to various chores that needed to get done. Lucy was mopping the floors, you were organising and putting away the mountain of books that had been used over the case, and Lockwood and George were both in the basement, tidying the store room and going over paperwork.

Lockwood looked at George, hunched over the form he was filling in, and wondered how to broach the subject. He thought you might’ve been avoiding him lately, which wasn’t exactly wrong, and thought it might be because you were trying to make your feelings for George known. In fact, it had nothing to do with George and everything to do with Lockwood. You figured if Lockwood hadn’t noticed by now that you liked him he never would, so you’d started the mountainous task of getting over him. It was unsurprisingly extremely difficult, given you lived and worked with the man. Still, you were doing the best you could.

“So, gone on any, uh, dates recently?” The sentence was awkward and Lockwood cringed. It was so unlike him and George to talk about anything emotional, especially romance.

“What are you on about?” George didn’t even bother looking up, figuring it was just one of Lockwood’s moments that he’d move on from soon enough.

“It’s just, you’ve never really dated anyone, at least while living here, so I was just asking. Um, maybe there’s someone in the house you’d like to take out?” George looked up, turning his wheelie chair to face Lockwood, resigning himself to the conversation he knew would follow.

“Yes, Lockwood. Can’t you hear Lucy and I having loud, passionate sex every night?” Both boys rolled their eyes.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lockwood grumbled.

“Then say what you mean. You’re trying to figure out if I like her because you do and you’re too scared to say anything about it.” Lockwood was silenced, caught out with his true intentions. “Let’s face it, you’re about as subtle as a car horn; you moon over her. She’s the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Lockwood mumbled, “She likes you.” George burst out into uncharacteristic laughter, wheezing and gripping his stomach.

“God, you’re daft!” He laughed, “The two of you are perfect for each other, you’re hopeless.”

Lockwood made an excuse to leave, something about folding his laundry. George watched him go, rolling his eyes before turning back to his paperwork. If the two of you weren’t going to get his exceedingly obvious hints, you were going to have to work it out between yourselves.

Your angst was bleeding into the company. You were trying (and failing) to get over Lockwood which was not only making you generally miserable, but it was impeding your ability to be a good agent.

You were on a relatively easy case, and for some reason you’d been paired with Lockwood, a rarity. Lucy and George were on the second floor of the house scoping out where the source may be whilst you and Lockwood were on the ground floor, preparing your defences and putting on the tea kettle. It was extremely awkward. Lockwood was trying to make conversation and you were trying to keep it as short as possible. If you fell into conversation you’d be reminded of Lockwood’s many wonderful qualities, and it would just get harder to get over him.

“Did you end up finishing that book?” He asked as you pulled the chains out of their duffel bags. You perked up for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. You had finished the novel and absolutely loved it, you wanted nothing more than to talk about it. Still, you controlled yourself, shrugging off the question with a “Yeah, it was pretty good.” Lockwood hesitated, caught off guard by your answer. Usually you were keen to discuss what you’d been reading, especially if you liked it.

“Are you alright?” He asked, softness in his voice and eyes. Your heart clenched for a moment, you didn’t want to worry him.

“I’m fine, Lockwood, promise.” You busied yourself with arranging the salt bombs but you could still feel his eyes on you.

The case progressed, all four of you ending up on the second level of the house to confront the visitor, each splitting up to cover the different rooms. You were in the master bedroom when the en suite bathroom caught your eye. You could have sworn you saw movement near the shower and crept towards it, trying to stay focused and address the urgency on hand.

You were immediately distracted by the similarities between the en suite and the bathroom in Portland Row. Set out almost identically, it was almost scary how similar they were; George’s soap (fancy and way more expensive than the one the rest of you bought) was on the ledge of the shower, and Lucy’s blue hairbrush sat by the basin.

It wasn’t necessarily surprising that either of those items were there, they were both bought for cheap at a grocery store so ought to have been common, but it surprised you nonetheless. You’d been so distracted by the weird similarities that you didn’t notice the figure floating through the shower curtain until its translucent hand was beside your face. You panicked, the only thing you shouldn’t have been doing, and flailed about in the tiny room, rapier knocking bottles off shelves and creating a general racket that was not pleasing the ghost.

You stumbled on the tiles trying to get your footing and get the fuck out but slid on a slippery substance — probably conditioner from the bottle you’d sent flying to the ground. It was a comedy of errors you would have quoted as impossible in an old slapstick comedy, but there you were, and the consequences were infinitely more dire than those faced by Charlie Chaplin.

The proceeding moments vanished from your memory; a violent fall, a sickening crack and an overwhelming darkness. Three more moments of light where you caught visions of the ghost, Lockwood, and aggressive flashing lights.

You woke up in hospital. You wished it was the hazy, unsure innocence that you saw in movies, but the incessant beeping and sanitised smell had you groaning as you gained consciousness. Lockwood was slumped over in the chair next to your bed, breathing uncharacteristically calm as he slept.

You watched him sleep in the least creepy way you could manage, admiring his features when they weren’t scrunched up in worry or stress. He must’ve felt you watching him as his eyes fluttered open, doe eyes overflowing with relief as he saw you awake.

“You’re up, thank god,” He said, pulling his chair up even closer to you.

“Why am I here?” You asked, examining the various wires and machines you were plugged into.

“What aren’t you here for?” Lockwood joked and you tried for a smile. He straightened himself out and continued, “Linear skull fracture, concussion, scary-looking cut on your forehead. We think you slipped and bashed your head on the countertop.” You grimaced, the pain of the fall manifesting in your head.

“That would be right,” You agreed sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in your hospital gown, “And the hand?” Your left hand was bandaged up so thick it looked more like an oven mitt than a hand.

“Ghost touch.” Lockwood didn’t sound so happy and casual now.

“Oh.”

“What happened? It’s not like you to put yourself in danger like that; it was stupid and reckless.” You didn’t understand why Lockwood was getting so angry. Clearly, you didn’t intend to get injured, it was an unfortunate accident that you would have avoided if you could.

“As opposed to you, who never gets injured and always sticks to the plan?” You couldn’t help the venom seeping into your voice but you detested being criticised by Lockwood when he was just as bad, usually worse.

“This isn’t about me,” He said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to keep his cool while you were vulnerable. You were angry though and didn’t want to back down.

“Of course this is about you, Lockwood! You wouldn’t blink an eye if it was you who’d ended up here, or George or Lucy. It was an honest mistake, why are you being such a dick about it?” You were raising your voice but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, the tension that had been bubbling for weeks coming to the surface.

“Because you could have died —”

“So could any of us, that’s the job! I still see you jumping head-first into danger.”

Lockwood groaned your name, hands in his hair and pulling in frustration. “You’re misunderstanding me, I just don’t want to watch you get hurt—”

“Then close your fucking eyes, Lockwood. I fell and I got injured. It happens and I resent having you treat me differently than the others. Fuck this, I want Lucy here instead, or George.”

“Of course you want George here, why wouldn’t you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” If you could stand you would be shoving past him and out the door, but you were at a significant disadvantage being hooked up to so many machines, stuck in your place.

“You know what I mean, you and George are such a close pair, aren’t you? Always working together and laughing about your own inside jokes,” He spat and the burning anger only got hotter.

“Are you fucking crazy right now? Or are you forgetting that you’re the head of this company and therefore you’re the one pairing us together in every case? Or are you so fucking busy making heart eyes at Lucy that you don’t even notice that we’re actually getting work done? Forgive us for trying to make ten hours of research bearable!”

“Heart eyes at Luce? You’re the crazy one, she and I are just friends, I swear. But you and George will make a great couple, I’m sure.”

“George and I couldn’t be less interested in each other! And if you could see past your own nose for once maybe you’d see why!” You all but yelled, surely alerting the whole floor of your argument, “Leave me alone, Lockwood, I don’t want you here anymore.”

Lockwood looked as if he was going to dispute that statement as well but a nurse came to your rescue, clearly hearing the disagreement from outside. She ushered him out, claiming it wasn’t good for your vitals to be getting angry and that you could continue the fight when you were discharged in a few day's time.

Alone in the sterile hospital room, you felt yourself beginning to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and landing on your embarrassing patterned hospital gown. In a perfect world, that conversation would have gone completely differently. In a perfect world, Lockwood’s eyes would have softened when he saw you were awake. He would have confessed how worried he was about you and how much he truly cared for you. He would have brushed his lips across your hand that he was holding, then pressed them again against your own as he admitted how he’d always been in love with you. You didn’t know that it was your own defensive nature that had stopped that from happening.

But it wasn’t a perfect world and you were alone, overwhelmed by the various noises and movements going on around you. You did eventually fall back asleep, a fitful, unsatisfying nap that had you groaning and exhausted when you woke up. You weren’t alone though, which did make you feel better. George and Lucy were sitting next to your bed, deep in a whispered conversation.

“Hey,” You said, shimmying up to a sitting position. They both stopped talking immediately, turning to face you with small smiles on both their faces.

“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked, pulling her chair up to be right next to your bed.

“I’m alright now, just tired and worn down.”

“You scared us,” George added, characteristically stiff but clearly trying to be sensitive.

“I’m sorry,” You admitted, “I really didn’t mean to. And believe me, Lockwood’s already yelled at me enough for it, please just forgive me.” They looked at each other, communicating non-verbally.

“We heard,” George said, “He basically punched a hole in the wall trying to recount it.” He let out a clipped laugh before Lucy shoved him, signature glare working its magic.

“You should really apologise, he’s cut up about it.” Your mouth dropped open as you stared at Lucy. How was this your fault?

“I’m not apologising, he was the one who got angry. Right, George?” You pleaded with him, praying he wouldn’t let you down now.

“I… I don’t think it has to be right now, but you two should get over it after you’ve cooled down a bit.” Ok, it wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped he’d say, but it was better than nothing. And better than the moral lesson you knew Lucy would try and impose — what a hypocrite.

“But he was so mean!” You whined, “I seriously just had an unfortunate fall, I didn’t die.”

“But you could have,” George quipped and you rolled your eyes.

“You know it’s because he really cares about you, right? He’d never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t save you.” You couldn’t tell if Lucy’s statement was making you feel better or worse.

“Yeah, really felt like it when he was yelling at me,” You grumbled, fidgeting with the hem of the scratchy blanket.

“Well, you know Lockwood is emotionally constipated,” George added and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter — what a statement to come from George.

“OK,” You agreed finally, “I’ll apologise when we get home. As long as he stops being a massive prick.”

You were discharged a few days later, healing nicely. It would have been sooner, but the head injury worried your nurses and kept you there, not trusting you would stay on bed rest. Lucy came to your rescue, posing as a very concerned caretaker who would ensure your safety.

In fact, it wasn’t Lucy who was enforcing your bedrest. It was George who was cooking every meal and Lockwood doing all the other motherly fussing. You hadn’t discussed your fight yet, both too exhausted and too awkward to broach the subject. You hoped your six-to-eight-week recovery time wouldn’t consist of the same heavy tiredness, but you figured it would improve once the concussion had faded.

The rest of the company had started doing two-man cases so that someone was always home to supervise you. It was a little stifling but you appreciated the effort. It also shook up the status quo of the company, Lockwood and Lucy’s perfect partnership being disrupted by no one wanting to be left at home each time, which was both a blessing and a curse.

In your first few days of being back home at Portland Row, Lockwood was home with you, helping wash your hair. You’d whined so much about how gross it felt, still blood-stained where you cracked your skull open that Lockwood gave up and told you he’d wash it for you. Of course, you’d protested, saying it went way beyond what you could expect of a friend or coworker, but Lockwood would not take no for an answer, justifying that it would be more dangerous to let you do it yourself since you could mess with the stitches since you couldn’t see the back of your own head.

You sat awkwardly in the bath, dressed in an old t-shirt and bikini bottoms to preserve what dignity you could. Lockwood stood outside the bath behind you, preparing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner to his side. The anticipation was destroying you, becoming fidgety and uncomfortable even in the perfectly warm water. The second Lockwood’s slender fingers threaded through your greasy hair you felt your body soften, relaxing into the feeling with no opposition. The feeling was heavenly, the careful but thorough massaging of your scalp could have sent you to sleep in three seconds if you weren’t simultaneously on edge at the proximity.

You sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, your head lolling back subconsciously against Lockwood’s forearms, drawing a small chuckle from him.

“I’m sorry for arguing with you the other day,” You said out of the blue, your voice cutting through the radio that was sitting next to the basin.

“It’s no worries, just forget about it,” Lockwood replied instantly, continuing his labours.

“No, I want to take this seriously. I said some terrible things I didn’t mean and I want you to know that I’m sorry for it. And, as I understand it you think I have some big crush on George which I would just like to disprove. I don’t. Like him like that, I mean.” Lockwood paused for a moment, hands going still in your hair.

“Oh,” He said after some time, “Well thank you for the apology but it is completely unnecessary. I started the argument and I was way out of line, I didn’t mean a word of it. What I meant to convey was that I was worried about you getting hurt because I… care about you. A lot.” You knew that was hard for Lockwood to say, vulnerability never coming easy to him. You turned to face him in the tub, knees pulled up to your chest as your just-rinsed hair dripped down onto your t-shirt.

“I care about you a lot too, Lockwood,” You smiled sweetly, glad you were finally getting over the weird tension that had been between you. Lockwood didn’t look as satisfied.

“No, it’s, fuck. I care about you in a different way than the others. I really like you, like, romantically.”

“Shut up,” You said quickly, not wanting to wake up from a sick dream. There was no way that Anthony Lockwood, after all these years, was telling you that he liked you. Lockwood looked lost for words. Obviously it wasn’t the impassioned reciprocation he hoped for, but it also wasn’t exactly a rejection. What was he supposed to do?

“I, uh, understand if you don’t—”

“Shut up,” You affirmed again. “I have been madly, foolishly in love with you since I started here, and you’re telling me this now? After we’ve screamed at each other and been moping around?” After a moment of him processing your statement, he began to laugh, mouth breaking into one of his light-up-the-room smiles.

“I guess so.” You joined in his laughter, admiring the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched as he did it.

“So what now?” You asked once your giggles had died down, leaving you two looking at each other across the edge of the bath.

“Well,” Lockwood inched closer, “We could try this?” He leant in for a soft kiss, pressing his mouth against yours lightly. You subconsciously followed his mouth as he pulled away, unwilling to open your eyes just yet.

“Mmh, maybe we could try that one again?” Lockwood laughed at your daze and happily obliged, swooping back in for a longer, deeper kiss that set your nerves on fire.

And if Lucy and George returned from their case to find the two of you still in the bath fully clothed, that was none of your business — and neither was the ten pounds that George reluctantly handed Lucy.

[luveline]

𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

remus’ touch after a long night prompts a tired confession (and a slew of clumsy kisses). 

requested here. modern au. fem!reader, 3.6k.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“I'm going to bed,” Sirius mumbles, scratching at his eyes as he gets up. “Don't let her sleep in her makeup. She'll get an eye infection.” 

Your eyes are getting sore, but it's hardly Remus' responsibility to make sure you wash your face tonight, nor Sirius’ to remind you. “I'm a big girl.” 

Sirius sends you a smile, ignoring your chiding. “Goodnight, my loves,” he says, waving you both away as he heads out of the living room and up the stairs. 

“Notice how he didn't do his dishes?” Remus asks, shifting beside you. 

He's sitting as he tends to, slouched in a way that can't be good for his back in the long run but is clearly comfortable short term. His chin is on his chest, his legs kicked out under the coffee table, which is decorated by the casualties of the night. Sirius’ dinner plate, Remus’ mug, James’ rarely used handheld console. He'd been playing a cutesy farming sim before he said goodnight an hour ago. Sirius stayed to mess with James’ crops and eat a late supper. You're surprised it took him as long as it did to admit defeat. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

You're laying on the sofa with your socked feet tucked behind Remus’ back, of which he's yet to complain. His elbow brushes your shin as he brings up his arm. “Nearly one in the morning, now,” he reads from his watch. “Let's go to bed too, yeah?” 

“I don't want to.” You turn your face into the pillow behind your neck.

“Me neither,” Remus says, dropping his hand on your knee.

You watch another twenty minutes of TV together failing to summon the energy to stand, but the want for a glass of water grows too big. Your head throbs as you get up, offering your hands to the pretzel that is your favourite housemate.

Remus turns off the TV and lights. You lock the front door. He carries the dirty dishes to the kitchen and you fill up two glasses of water to take with you. It's all so… regular. A routine you share nearly every night, only to climb into your two separate beds. 

He ushers you out of the kitchen and down the hallway with his hand behind your shoulders, his touch a phantom as you ascend the stairs.

You're silent beside the creak of the old wood, too tired to speak. Remus is similarly quiet, though he does whisper, “Watch,” when you nearly kick the box of Halloween decorations waiting to be taken up into the attic. 

You leave your water on the towel box in the alcove and dance around one another in the bathroom. Sirius’ toothbrush lays on the sink still wet, but otherwise there's no signs of him. 

You're feeling very, very tired. You hadn't realised how bad it was until you're putting your toothbrush in your mouth, leant up against the window sill, a slot of cold air seeping in from the dark outside. Your eyes shutter closed. The scrubbing sound of Remus brushing his teeth is almost lulling. 

He swills out his mouth and washes his brush. “Here,” he says gently. You open your eyes just enough to see him beckoning you forward. “Dove, your necklace.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” You turn your back to him. 

His fingers are damp and cool on your skin as he unclasps your necklace. He often takes it off for you. It's one of the things you'll miss when you guys aren't living together anymore, the slow meander to his bedroom, the wood of his door jam on your cheek as you lean against it and give him a hopeful smile. Sometimes he's awake, reading a novel on his side in bed or listening to music at his desk, other times he's sleeping. On those occasions you spend too long lingering, stolen seconds spent staring at the rise and fall of his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you say as he puts your necklace in the jewellery dish. It comes out missing vowels, lips stuck together as though honeyed. 

You spit pathetically in the sink, rinse your brush, and consider sitting down. “I'm tired,” you whine, wiping your lips. 

“I know,” Remus says, giving you a fond nudge. “Just wash your face and get on with it.” 

“You first. I'm going to nap standing up for a bit.” 

He puts as much of his hair behind his ears as he can and turns on the tap. This is just as familiar as brushing your teeth together. It's not quite as bad as watching James Perfect Skin Potter wash his face with bar soap, but you have to admit that Remus’ eight-nine pence face soap hurts your heart. He washes it off, pats his face dry, and takes the small bottle of bio oil out of the medicine cabinet to pipette onto his pinky finger. “Wash your face,” he says, smoothing the oil into his scars one by one. 

You shake your head. “M'gonna do it in the morning.” 

“That's why your eye was swollen a few weeks ago. You know yourself you won't.” 

“I might,” you say, letting out a big breath as you rub your sore eyes even sorer, “I'm too tired.” 

“Can you sit up, at least?” 

“No.” Remus takes you by the shoulders and forces you to sit on the edge of the bath. “Aggressive?” 

“Don't fall in,” he says, cupping your cheek briefly as if to make sure you've heard. 

You are hearing him, seeing him, even feeling the immensity of his touch, but you're tired, and you know you can let yourself relax completely with him. You'd be the same with James or Sirius, though neither of them could have your head feeling so dizzyingly light from a single touch as Remus can. You probably wouldn't let them persuade you into this, either, tilting your head back to watch through blurry vision as Remus soaks a cotton round in your facial oil. 

“Close your eyes,” he says. 

“Was that a dracula impression?” 

“I command you.” 

You close your eyes. The queasy feeling of oil drags against your lids as Remus wipes them, loosening the stiff tubes of mascara that coat your lashes. It's not a short process because he's very, very gentle, holding your face delicately as though you're a flower in need of coddling, and him the sun. It's the only metaphor that would ever make sense for you and Remus; he's like the sun even if it goes against every statement he's ever made about himself, or anyone else has, for that matter. People think he's a moody, sarcastic boy, and he is, but he's also a vestibule of sweetness, softness, and warmth. The kind of heat you'd only ever feel kissing your skin under the summer sun. But more than that, he's the relief that follows when the clouds come out. 

And his hands are all over you. Your head gets heavier by the minute, eased into dozing by his touch and quiet tones. “We're almost done. I'm gonna have to carry you to bed at this rate.” 

“I'm going to miss this so much one day,” you say. It's easier to admit when you're not looking at him. 

Remus turns on the tap. Hot water runs, you can tell by the sound as strange as it seems, and he wrings the dirtied cotton round before replacing it with a new one. He wets it, bringing it just that touch too hot to your cheeks to wipe you down. “What are you going to miss, dove?” 

“Us. You. I'm going to miss you.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere, but one day I will be. James will finally have had enough of us and I'll,” —you swallow around nothing as a rivulet of water runs down your cheek, a cooling tear from the cotton round— “have to move out and we'll never see each other anymore.” 

“Don't be silly, you're not going anywhere.” 

“It's not about the going,” you murmur, peeling your eyes open tentatively as his dabbing follows down your cheek to your neck. “I miss you sometimes and we still live together. I can't imagine how much I'll miss you…” 

Remus puts the cotton round aside. He takes your face into his hand, and suddenly his touch feels raw, nothing like it had moments ago. Because Remus would wash your makeup off for you any day of the week, but his looking at you like this, so unshielded and unabashed, is a rarity. 

“You won't have to miss me. Even if we did move away from each other, I wouldn't let it be that far.” 

“Friends move away all the time. We don't speak to half the people we knew at school.” 

“I only really knew you and the boys,” he says. It isn't true but it is at the same time. Together, you'd been a happy lot, but your current housemates are the ones you'd known. “And see? We're still together.” 

“But for how long?” you ask. 

Remus brings his second hand, holding your face entirely. He covers your cheeks, index fingers sliding slowly under your ears. He's exceedingly gentle, and his eyes are soft. He holds you like you're made of glass, like you could break under a hint of pressure. Slowly, he tilts his head to the side as though he might lean in for a kiss. Maybe he doesn't know he's doing it, but Remus is a very purposeful soul. He'd do much worse to wind you up if you wanted him to. 

You sober up. It's like he has caffeine in his palms. 

“You want to go where I'm going, is that it?” he asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” you say, barely say, voice shame-facedly weak. Is he asking what you think he is?

“Do you want to start now?” 

You breathe out as one of his hands shifts down your jaw. “Yeah, I… I want to start now.” 

“Okay, dove. Then close your eyes again.” 

You hold his gaze for a second that feels infinitely long and short at once, your heart racing. Clarity has returned, a thrust into wakefulness even if your fatigue ties knots around your ankles. You look at him in his late night glory, his scars shining a pink-white like the petals of a young peony flower, and you know it's happening now. 

You shut your eyes. 

He steps closer, though the bath you're perched on is low, and he has to bend a considerable amount to reach you. The weight of his hands on you doesn't change, not even as he grows near enough to sense the heat of his breath against your lips. It's his nose that makes first contact as it slides against yours, and then his forehead presses down into you, his lips noticeably absent. Each contiguity between you thrums. 

A pit opens in your chest, cleaved by his voice as he says, “I'm going to kiss you, okay? S'that what you want?” 

Your hands don't feel like your own. Under the sickening nervousness twining its way through your ribs, you're excited. You're smiling, your voice shaped by it. “Yeah. It's what I want,” you say. 

“Good. It's what I've wanted for a while–” while pressed into your lips, all shaken up by an emotion you've never heard him speak with. He kisses you and you're frozen, and he waits and waits and pulls away to push back in. You remember yourself then, responding to his wading with some pressure of your own. Sparked back to life. 

It's so strange. It doesn't feel real. Remus Lupin kisses you heated and hard for just long enough to feel it in your teeth before he pulls away. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his fingertip running down your cheek, following that same path as your earlier rivulet. To think he saw it, really saw it, locked it away to remember and trace into your skin now… maybe he's seen much more of you than you realised all along. 

“Will you do it again?” you say under your breath. 

Remus must hear the thread of insecurity running through your question; you're afraid he'll say no, but he strokes your cheek again with that unfathomable softness and says, “Yeah, dove, of course I will.” 

“Do you want to?” 

And that's less insecurity and more selfishness, wanting the confession. He hears that, too. 

“I want to kiss you more than I've ever wanted anything,” he says, eye to eye with you, your head tipped up and your heart in your throat, twitching and fizzling like a firecracker. “Yeah? And all that missing me you've been doing? All your worrying? You don't need to do that. You've never needed to do that–” 

“I just never thought you liked me like that.” You and Remus aren't new to one another. “You've been the same since the day we met.” 

Remus’ hands get a little more solid where he's holding you. “Dove. Dove, are you mad?” 

“Remus–” 

“Maybe I have been the same, but did you really not notice that I–” He squeezes your cheeks playfully, almost in disbelief. “If you want me, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere without you. You're not going anywhere without me.” 

“So you like me?” 

“Yes,” he says, his eyebrows pinched together at the starts. “Of course I do.” He laughs. “That's what I'm trying to tell you.” 

“Oh,” you say, lifting your head. 

Remus shuts his eyes a millisecond before you shut your own and kisses you again. The second round is softer, his smile to yours and struggling to find purchase. His breath huffs out in a minty laugh, shockwaves through your mouth. 

“Stop laughing,” he breathes, his hands falling to your neck, your shoulders.

“You first.” 

Your lips part under his, a split-second of contact. He yanks away before things can get too heavy, and you're glad he does, but for a moment you feel the loss like a wave of vertigo. 

“Sorry, I'm going too fast, and you're tired.” His touch is ticklish behind your shoulder. 

“It's okay. Maybe it is a bit fast, but I'm not tired anymore,” you confess. 

Remus hugs you, cementing every feeling for him you have as he wraps his arms around you from over your shoulders, a deft hand cupped behind your neck. “That's not true. I can feel your back shaking. Let's go to bed.” 

“After that?” 

“What, are you worried it won't have happened in the morning?” he asks genuinely. 

You go limp in his arms as he takes your weight against his chest. Not worried, but rather not sure you can be away from him so soon. You ask him in a whisper if you can come and sit with him, not to sleep with him, not to do anything else, and he whispers back, Anything you want. You both entertain the lie that you won't fall asleep in his bed. 

—

Remus tenses as he hears the scuffling sounds of movement downstairs. It takes a train of thought awakening for him to realise it's only James, rising early as usual to put on a load of washing and prepare bits for lunch before he goes off for training. He can see him in his mind's eye if he tries, his friend dressed in the red and white rugby uniform, green socks up over his calves and white cleats scrubbed pristine for another ruck in the mud. 

Remus’ relaxes, stretching out in bed until his hand bumps into something rigid. 

He flinches. 

You're laying on the mattress beside him, your head slipped off of the pillows and your arm tucked beneath you. It doesn't look comfortable, and if it were any other morning he'd pull it straight for you, but. 

I kissed you, he thinks to himself, as though talking to you. He turns away from you until his back clicks and alleviates the ache in his hips, though he has to settle eventually, back on his back, no way of ignoring you. He doesn't want to ignore you. The opposite —why are you so far away? Can he hold you? 

What are the rules here? 

Kissing… not dating… You're here in his bed, you'd asked to stay. 

He takes your hand and pulls at your arm. Still sleeping, you mumble and move onto your back, releasing the pressure on your shoulder as he pulls you toward his chest. Your face is impassive, lax in sleep. 

He should let you sleep. 

“Dove,” he says, stroking up the length of your arm. 

“Mm?” you hum. 

“I need to ask you something.” 

You twitch awake with a small cough. Your eyes are red with a lack of sleep as you open them, blinking, and he wishes stupidly that he could make it better. He makes a sympathetic sound for want of more to do. 

“Why have you woken me up?” you ask, blinking at him. You gather that there's nothing urgent happening and push your face into his shoulder, practically nuzzling him. “It's Saturday.” 

“I just need to ask you something.” 

“So ask me,” you encourage through your sleepiness. 

The washing machine whirs downstairs. It’s an old machine that you often joke is taking off into orbit during the final spin, loud as anything. He can barely hear your sluggish breathing underneath it, but he can't miss the catch in it after he asks, “Can I be your boyfriend?” 

It's not the catch he's expecting. You laugh and readjust, wrapping your arms around him from the side and kissing the side of his neck clumsily. “Y'u asked me last night,” you say in a borderless run-on, sounding about as dopily in love as he's ever heard you. 

He thinks about it. Yes, he did, after he'd kissed you many more times than he should've and curled up in bed with you, hands held loosely beneath the blankets. He remembers the question, the answer. The last kiss that followed, and you falling asleep beside him. 

“I need a coffee,” he says, encouraging your head back so he can kiss your temple. 

“No, you need to sleep more with me. And maybe kiss me again. If you want to.” 

Sleeping isn't half as interesting as kissing you. He slots his nose against yours and languishes in the feeling of your lips, wondering if he's having a false start. He could still be dreaming. It would make sense. 

The door clatters open with a curse. James stands in the doorway with a folded pile of Remus' washing from the radiators in his arms, an apology on his lips, “Sorry, mate, the door got away from– oh my god. Oh my god?” 

Remus isn't an overly shy guy but he can't deal with this. “For fuck's sake,” he mutters, dropping his face into your shoulder. Your arm wraps under his neck, fingers splayed across his cheek. 

“James–” you begin, resigned to your fate. 

“This is flat-cest. This is the cardinal sin.” 

“We don't live in a flat,” Remus says. 

“That makes it worse. You can't even blame close quarters.” Remus peeks up to watch James in the doorway, still clinging to Remus’ washing, pure shock curdling his features. He shakes his head. “I'm telling Sirius.” 

“Please don't!” you say.

You slump back into the pillows as James leaves anyways. 

Remus hugs your soft abdomen. “Don't worry,” he says.

“I guess it's a good thing you've already asked me out,” you say. 

“Why, what can they do?” Remus asks, wondering if he's allowed to put his face on your chest or if that's too forward. You rake a hand through his hair and encourage him forward, to his delight. 

Frantic words. You and Remus loved up in bed despite it. 

“I'm chucking them out!” 

“James, they've been seeing for weeks. Can I go back to sleep?” 

“What?!” 

You grumble into his hair. “That's not even true… Does everyone know, then? That I liked you?” 

Remus thinks of the shadow of you in the doorway, that sheepish smile you send his way before you ask him to unclasp your necklace before bed, or your face as he’d wiped the sooty stain of mascara from your cheek last night, half in love with him as you fell asleep in his palm. 

“I don't think so, lovely,” he comforts. “Don't worry about it. We'll clear it up at lunch time. James isn't even mad, he's just sulking thinking we didn't tell him.”

“How could you not tell me?” James asks on cue, rounding the door again, arms ever tighter around the bundle of Remus’ clothes. He assumes it's being kept hostage. “I thought we were best mates.” 

“James,” you say softly, all sympathy. 

Remus likes the feeling of your voice under his ear, and your slightly too-quick heartbeat. He could fall asleep here and now if it weren't for the company. 

“It's new,” you're saying, softness melded to a sweet pride. “Okay? I've barely told Remus how I feel, of course I was going to tell you. We were only talking about it last night. It really hasn't been weeks, Sirius is a stirrer.” 

Remus pulls the covers up over your heads and climbs on top of you in a rush, demanding that the both of you be left alone, to James’ great annoyance but your delight, your laughter loud in the shell of his ear. Your chest shakes with it beneath him. 

A great wad of fabric hits him in the legs. “Twats,” James says, seemingly stalking off. 

Your whisper sends shivers down his spine. “We're alone again. Do you have anything else to ask me while you're too tired to remember?” you tease. 

There's not a chance in the world that Remus would ever forget this. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thanks for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed, it's been a little bit since I wrote for remus like this so I was actually a bit nervous and I hope it's okay :D &lt;3

[storiesofsvu]

One ask wasn't enough! So, how about these prompts, with Cabot?

"I can't sleep, can I stay here?" and

"Don't... I'm ticklish!"

Thank youuuu 🥰🥰

Thank YOU so much!! Here ya go!

Insomnia Strikes

Alex Cabot x reader (more implied than anything else lol) Warnings: mentions of anxiety/insomnia, I think that's about it. Just a nice little comfort one shot.

Being the natural night owl that you were, you never had any problems swapping shifts around when someone on the squad got roped into an overnight shift. You honestly didn’t mind it, you basically chilled alone, ate snacks, scrolled through your phone and answered a handful of phone calls that the desk clerk downstairs didn’t catch. It was a very rare occasion where something actually made its way to you prior to six in the morning and by then you were usually only on intake, passing it off to the day team before heading home. It was a nice little break from the chaos that the squad room and a courtroom normally were.

You spent the first few hours catching up on paperwork, finishing all the nearly late files, scrawling your signature across them before popping them into Cragen’s inbox. The squad slowly disappearing as late evening hit until only Olivia remained and you tossed a crumpled up piece of paper onto her desk, telling her to get out of there. You knew she liked to stick around as late as she could, not wanting anyone to really be trapped all alone in the building and she was quick to ask if you’d eaten dinner yet. You laughed, saying you had your breakfast before you came in and that she better get home to get some sleep. If she complained of being tired when you finally did have to call her in, you’d hold it against her. That finally got her going, giving you a warm smile as she wished you goodnight and finally left the precinct.

Once office lights began to flick off and the downstairs desk attendant clocked in things fell into a state of stillness, quiet and calm seeping through the air. Your paperwork was actually done, the most recent case you’d been working on waiting on the jury and you appeared to be free from actual work. So you started on the more mundane tasks, things that didn’t get done until you were on night shift. You started out by cleaning your desk, tossing out old receipts, crumpled up pastry bags, pencils that were so slivered down they couldn’t be used. Grabbing the collection of coffee mugs from the bull pen you headed into the break room, loading up the sink with hot soapy water to take care of the dishes in there. The cleaning crew usually came through around midnight, so you tackled the fridge, throwing out anything and everything that wasn’t labelled, had been in there for too long or seemed to be growing its own ecosystem.

After a very thorough hand wash, you wandered back to your desk, phone in your hand as you ordered some food for dinner, though maybe it was technically your lunch. Having no messages, calls or emails waiting, you pulled out your I-pad, sitting it on your desk as you settled back into your chair, pulling up your most recent binge. You were starting to get a little antsy twenty minutes in, your foot tapping against the floor over and over again. If it were day shift you’d usually caught a case or had to trek over to the DA’s office by now, but you were still just sitting there wishing you had an easier way to get your steps in. Your prayers were partially answered when the desk sergeant called up saying your food was there and you got to jog down the stairs to pay the driver before wandering back up them to your desk.

You ate a couple of slices, snagged a soda from the machine and set the box off to the side as you turned your attention back to the screen in front of you. The cleaning crew came and went, efficiently working through the space in no time, waving a friendly hello and then goodbye to you once they were finished. It wasn’t much later after that when you heard the shuffling of feet coming from the hallway and you glanced up, half expecting the desk clerk to be coming to take advantage of the vending machines. Your head tilted when instead you spotted Alex, loose leggings and a fuzzy sweater wrapped around her frame, hair messily tied back.

“Lex?” You greeted and her head lifted up, a small smile on her cheeks when she saw you. “What’re you doing here? Please don’t tell me you’re gonna have to go wake up a judge.”

“No.” She replied with a small huff, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple before pulling over a spare chair and dropping into it. “Tried your apartment first, neighbour said they saw you leaving for work late so I figured you were stuck on night shift.”

“And you thought I needed a babysitter?” You asked with a tease and she shook her head at you.

“Long day. I just wanted to make sure I got to see you at some point.” She yawned, her hands sneaking under her glasses to rub furiously at her eyes.

“You could’ve just called.”

She glanced up at you, a nervous look in her eyes as she chewed on her lip for a minute before letting out a breath, “I can’t sleep. Can I just stay here?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, reaching out to squeeze at her knee, “course you can. Did you at least try to sleep? Or were you still up on the couch pouring over case files?”

“I did.” She revealed with a sigh, “stared at the ceiling tossing and turning for almost four hours before I gave up. My brain just won’t shut up.”

“Did you take your meds?” You asked and she glanced up at you with a sheepish look on her face, softly shaking her head.

“I ran out on Monday; didn’t realize I was so low and I couldn’t get an appointment for a refill until next Tuesday. I took the anxiety one at eight and doctor’s orders say I can’t take melatonin with it, so I’m just kinda out of luck.”

“Shit.” You frowned, squeezing at her leg again, “next time we’ll make sure you always have an immediate refill on hand.”

“Thanks.” Her hand caught yours, squeezing it softly as she smiled across at you.

“You eat?”

“Wasn’t really hungry.” She shrugged, “had a granola bar.”

“How about you dig into this,” you tugged the pizza box from the other side of the desk, flipping it open in front of her and when the smell wafted over to she felt her stomach begin to grumble. “I’ll see what they have for tea in the break room.”

Leaving a kiss on the top of her head you left her to it, commenting for her to change the Netflix to whatever she wanted while you were gone. Digging through the break room you were pleasantly surprised to find a box of chamomile tea, turning on the kettle and brewing a mug exactly the way Alex liked it. When you crossed back into the bull pen she was curled up in the spare chair, your NYPD hoodie you normally stashed in the lower drawer of your desk draped over her lap as her hands played with the fraying cuffs.

A warm smile overtook your features as you placed the mug down in front of her, kissing her cheek again before reminding her to eat. With a tired sigh she finally leant forward, taking a slice of pizza, a pleased groan leaving her when she found it still warm.

She’d chosen one of your mutual favourite comfort movies, a classic rom com with no drama or terribly corny jokes set in the city you’d made your home. She ate her slice and sipped at her tea while she watched, relaxing into your side as she did so. You had to answer a couple of texts over the course of the hour but otherwise you were pleasantly occupied and comfortable. There were about five minutes left in the movie when she was fully slumped on your shoulder, you could feel her steady breathing and were certain her eyes had finally closed even if she wasn’t asleep yet. Your fingers poked gently at her side and she grumbled, flinching away from your touch without moving her head off your shoulder.

“Don’t. I’m ticklish.”

“Sorry.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “lets get you to the crib, you can get some actual sleep.”

“Come with me?” She finally looked up at you with sapphire puppy dog eyes and a pout on her lips. You smiled softly, letting out a breath of a laugh.

“Okay, but only ‘til you fall asleep. I am on duty after all.”

“Fine.” She scowled, yawning, her eyes still drooping as she reluctantly stood from the chair, your hoodie still curled in her arms.

Alex shuffled away to the bunk room, letting herself in and leading you to the bunk burrowed in the corner. You grabbed a couple of extra pillows and blankets, making sure she was more than comfortable, tucked in and relaxed as she curled up on her side face you. Perched on the edge of the bed you smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her ear as her eyes fell shut again, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you.” She murmured; her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Anytime baby.” You whispered back, fingers trailing across her cheek before you kissed her forehead.

By the time you’d sat upright she was out like a light, soft snores echoing through the small room and a small smile crept onto your lips. Pulling out your phone you quickly set an alarm so she would have enough time to get home and get dressed properly for the day before having to return to the DA’s office and quietly made your way from the room. You knew it wasn’t much, but it really was the little things, knowing that whenever Alex was fighting a bout of insomnia she found solace and relief in you, that no matter where you were, she would eventually be lulled into comfort and thus sleep as long as you were around.

________________________

@mickey-gomez @cabotfan42 @detective-giggles @red1culous @beccabarba @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl rl @svushots @mspetey @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @gaylorrds @mysticfalls01 @littlegaybabe @bumblebear30 @wosoimagines @solemnnova @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @ex-uallyactive @lawandorderuswnt @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @narvaldetierra @momlifebehard @poisonedcrowns @a-little-bit-of-this-and-that @somethingimaginative17 @alexxavicry @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @7thavenger @disneyfan624 @msvenablesbitch @happenstnces @onmykneesformarvel @desperate-gay @riveramorylunar @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @noahrex @temp0rary-bliss @wittygutsy @chimnlex @maximoffcarter @sapphicqueenofdonuts @ralla-ralla @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts

[milkmanxreader]

１

"Isn't the new milk man just a dreamboat?"

. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

.

.

.

You hummed quietly to yourself as the feather duster swept over everything it could reach. Robert was out for his work, and you couldn't have been more happy. You liked when he was gone, after all. In the background, a phonograph played a slightly older, yet sweet tune. "Heartaches", by Al Bowlly. Robert didn't much care for the tune, but you found it simply darling.

A lot of the songs you had were a bit older, mostly from the '30s and '20s. But you could've cared less about the age of them.

Suddenly— a gentle, yet firm knock on the door shot you out of your thoughts. For a moment you fretted it was your husband, but he wouldn't have knocked. Upon realizing that it must've been the milk man, you sighed, making your way to the door.

The milk man was such a.. interesting man, broad shouldered, short. You opened the door— now who was this?

Instead of seeing the broad shouldered, short, blonde haired man who typically wore some grin standing in front of you, your eyes met with tired dark, dark brown eyes. He was a bit taller than you, with a long nose, a thin chin, and brown hair which was, mostly, covered by the hat you'd grown used to seeing. Only now on a different face.

Despite yourself, you had to admit the man was eye-candy. Face going a light shade of pink, you tilted your head to the side a bit, looking confused.

"Uh.. hello?" you said, though it came out sounding more like a question than you perhaps intended. The man jut out his arms, frightening you a bit. In his hands was the milk crate. "..Right!" 

Although the silent man was.. seeming to be a bit odd, he was quite cute.

You took the crate, "So, stranger," you said, smoothing out the apron you wore with your free hand, "what's your name?"

The cute milk man stared at you expectantly, before speaking in a tired, drawn out voice.

"Francis. Francis Mosses."

He took off his hat and bowed a little, a gesture which caused your cheeks to flare a rosy red, and a giggle to escape from you. "I like your name," you complimented honestly. Francis nodded, murmuring a 'thank you'.

"I'm {Y/N} {L/N}." You introduced yourself with a growing smile. He put his hat back on, shot you a nod and without another word, walked back to his truck.

What a dreamboat.

Once the door was shut, you couldn't contain the big grin from forming on your face. Such a handsome, mysterious man— and you got to see him every day? Wow.

.

.

.

Yet again, supper was quiet. But you were in a better mood, a soft smile on your face as you stared down at the leftover meatloaf you'd reheated from last night. "How was your day, hon?" you broke the silence, albeit reluctantly.

Robert hummed, "Fine."

While part of you wanted to press on, have a nice conversation for once, you managed to hold your tongue. After all, you wanted to go to bed early instead of having a long argument, afterall— you had Francis to look forward to tomorrow.

Distantly you felt a sense of self-disgust. You were a married woman, yet felt excited by the idea of being around Francis. Perhaps not in some lewd way, but something similar, in a way.

.

.

.

You weren't sure if you had ever cleaned dishes so fast before now. Only twenty minutes you spent scrubbing before you pratically ripped off the yellow dish gloves and was racing to the downstairs bathroom— the only place Robert allowed you to have your "womanly" stuff. Face wash, lotions, ectera.

Surpressing a laugh of excitment, you quickly began your nightly routine, quite excited for tomorrow morning.

[hhighkey]

Decode // Chapter Three, Dried Flowers

Dracule Mihawk (opla) x OC (female reader)

Rating: mature

Story Contains: live action characters, related and non-related one piece plots, unspecified religion, OC is a nun on sabbatical, trauma, violence, age gap (40 v 23), insecurities and self doubts, possessive / protective behavior, kidnapping, true loves, eventual smut

Note: WOW its been awhile I am so sorry

Masterlist

-

SEVEN YEARS AGO

The sounds of pattering feet against ivory tile echoed in the empty halls of the Saint Mana Monastery- a line of veiled nuns walked towards the temple. Angelic chimes rang through the air from the chilled breeze. Soft murmurs of prayers left the lips of bowed heads that never wavered formation. 

A year had gone by since Sabine's father shipped her off. How her hands still shook with anger when she thought of him- his hideous face with the larger than life mustache. A weak, pathetic man who cared for nothing more than himself and booze to hold him over another day. Oh how she prayed at night he'd receive his karma, or wonder if he already had. As her head bowed and her breathing quick, she felt herself grow angry thinking about him. 

The shining midday sun glittered through stained glass in the temple- an expansive room with little pews for the nuns knelt on the cold tile floor. Dressings dragged as perfect rows in front an altar formed. Prayers, both in silence and echoing unison, rang out over the monotonous hour. Like a choir of singing angels existed in the holiness as glittering colored light shone, chimes and lovely words alike breathing life into stale air. 

Each day was of strict routine, monotonous repetitions asides the holy day of Sundays. Early mornings causing early nights. Constant prayers and studying. Chores. Prayers again. Then little alone time which caused little individuality to flourish between sisters; a purposeful thing, intended to create to create pliable female worshipers,

Before 'silence time' however, there was a waiting stack of dishes needed to be ready for dinner. 

Which was how Sabine found herself in the kitchens with other girls her age. Her eyes had grown heavy with each passing minute. Her brain all foggy from a restless sleep and racing thoughts that felt like a knife stabbing her chest over and over. This wasn't what she saw her life being at sixteen– washing dishes in a neat assembly line with water all splattered on a nun's habit she wore each day. The closet of her room was filled with dozens of the same fabrics, it seemed. 

Normally one for conversation when able, it was quickly noticed when she wasn't partaking. Sabine looked at each plate she rinsed as if it were the devil, glaring eyes and pursed lips. 

"What about you Sister Mary Sabine?"

Sabine's head jerked to look towards the other girls assigned to dish duty, whose eyes bore into her, "Huh? Sorry, wasn't listening."

"What would you want out of life if you weren't a nun? Sister Mary Ellen says she'd work in a brothel! Can you believe it?"

"We all want what we can't have," Another Sister said, "Life of temptation always seems so fun."

"So, what about it Sabine?" Continued interrogation from the ever-chatty blonde, Sister Anna Lea.

"Yeah, what's your deepest darkest desire?" 

Sabine stopped, held the sopping wet plate in hand as she hummed to herself for a moment. She didn't want to say the first thing that popped into her head but she couldn't think of anything better to say-

"I want a husband," Sabine then said with a dreamy look in her eye, "Someone who meets me and knows I'm the one. I don't care about having kids, I just want to be loved and in love."

A few snickers followed her reply but most hummed in an agreement of solidarity, "Genuine question, why do priests and cardinals get to marry but not us? Sexist that we have to marry ourselves to the Father."

The group of girls Sabine spent her time with were of like age- teens to young twenties, most hadn't taken permanent vows like herself. So it was no surprise their talk turned to gossip about outdated ways. As much as Sabine agreed she tried to never engage even inadvertently, you never know who's listening, and she preferred to bide her time with her head down. Good behavior, as if she were a prisoner waiting for an early release.

"Ladies."

As if on cue— The matriarch, the most feared one of the elder nuns who sat on top, stood in the doorway hands on her hips. Most girls had shocked, wide eyes as they stammered apologies or turned back to their duties. 

Sabine could only shake her head, feeling nostalgic thinking about a life she'd probably never have. Daydreaming as the hours ticked by, her stomach filling with butterflies and chest tightening as she thought about scenarios of loving encounters with a man. 

It was 9:00PM when an intrusive knock jolted her and her dorm-mate, Sister Therese Sienna, up from their beds. Half-awake they looked at each other before Sienna crept to the wooden door. Their room was small and plain, not expected of two teenage girls. Peeling white walls with crosses hung on each surface. Simple wooden wardrobes and a centerpiece rug. Windows that had to be glued stuck, with pilling curtains covering them. 

Sabine rubbed her eyes as she looked around, shifting in the primarily uncomfortable bed, "Who is it?"

Sienna, with a huff, opened the door revealing Sisters Anna and Lea, "Oh the chatty squad is here,"

"Don't be like that," Lea shrugged, "You two aren't asleep."

"Neither are you two?"

The two uninvited visitors pushed their way in, with Lea marching proudly to Sabine's bed side to strip her of her covers. She recoiled from the sudden chill in the air and attempted to shield herself. 

"Get dressed, we have plans."

"Plans we didn't agree to," Sabine murmured, grabbing a lone shawl across the chair at her bedside. Yet she wasn’t willing to sit this out, not the way Lea had a smug confident look on her face. 

Neither of them were fond of the idea of being out past curfew, especially without an in depth explanation. Only by the light of oil lamps and scattered candles could they move about, footsteps echoing in the cavernous monastery halls. They were like little scurrying mice, constantly looking over their shoulders and around corners, fearful. But growing in certainty as they entered a more desolate area of the monastery. 

"Oh hurry up," Lea spat under the moonlight that streamed through a cracked window as they hurried by it. 

"You're being ridiculous." 

An eerie silence amidst their footsteps as they descended an older flight of creaking wooden stairs, made Sabine internally cringe. This wing of the monastery was creepy. Old. Worn down. Probably disease ridden in the air they breathed. Old paintings that collected dust amongst the broken cement walls, doors boarded up, and relics discarded haphazardly.

Rumors said a prior cardinal died here after performing a ritual, or an exorcism, the stories are different depending who speaks them. That afterwards series of misfortunate events began to take place, sudden deaths and great grievances that would plague their church for years. After a nun took her own life in the tower, it was officially regarded as dangerous for use and locked up. But all locks could be broken. 

Sabine felt unsettled. A pit in her stomach made her more on edge than past times they’d snuck into the abandoned ward. It felt like the eyes of the people in the paintings followed their every move with starch judgment, it filled her with shame. But the adrenaline to have say over her life that was unjustly ripped from her, was too tantalizing to say no to. 

“Good, we’re all here.” An older girl with long blonde hair spoke as they all formed a circle in a dimly lit room. It was further down than Sabine had been before, no windows and the air was heavy and moist. Her pulse began to hike. 

Thin papers with messy scrawl were passed around. Eight girls in total were present around scattered petals that gleamed a color unknown to her. And eight goblets of burgundy wine were handed out next. 

“All of you are girls that have shown interest in men, disdain for the unjust rules thrusted upon women in our situations. Women in this world in general. I found an old book, which appears ancient and during my time studying it, I have found a ritual that when done correctly, will bring you to your true love during your lifetime. That someone is meant for us all but there is no guarantee to meet them.” The blonde said in a serious tone, a fire behind her words that had Sabine hanging on to each one. 

“How.. Will we know? If we meet them.” A Sister asked. 

“It says- you just know. That it’s like your world changes, that you don’t think you’ll be able to survive without the person, that it’s more than love, that they compliment you, cherish you, protect you. It may be foolish, may not work, but there should be no downsides to doing the ritual. Harmless to try it right? Especially on the off chance it is real.”

Murmurs sound. Sabine knows she’ll do it. Not a bone in her body willed her to leave. It seemed all the Sisters were in agreement, that the ensuring possibility of meeting your soulmate through a ritual made perfect sense. What was there to lose besides never crossing paths with them? 

Or they all knew it was a form of child’s play. A fun little thing to do as girls who wanted something more than the Sisterhood. Their way of rebelling. 

“Now do what the papers say, we’ll all speak together.”

Sabine bent down to gather the flower petals into one hand, the other holding the directions the older girl wrote out. Her fingers trembled. 

"I cast this circle of flowers round, in calling for a love meant for me, to find me."

She sprinkled the delicate petals in a circle in front of her. She felt chills run down her spine, a disheveling cold gust she swore was her imagination. 

"Forever will my true love bind.”

Next each girl drank their goblet of stale communion wine, the raunchy taste making Sabine shudder. Was it stupid to feel anew? A fluttering in her chest as her extremities tingle in and out of numbness. The tips of her fingers down to her toes, up to her head tickled in a glittering daze and immobilization while she stood stuck staring at the circle she made. 

At sixteen she didn’t have the capabilities of forethought or critical thinking beyond that of her generalized life experience. How foolish to smile like an idiot as she made sure every drop of the wine was drained. The girls were all too giddy. Definitely too loud with their giggles and conversations that would have normally had a matriarch descending on them like a hawk. But feet below the surface in a desolate room of an abandoned wing, they were undisturbed to gossip through the night. 

-

PRESENT

"Father, please help Zoro through this storm. Provide him the strength and courage to conquer this obstacle. I put my trust and submit my ways unto you to seek help for his battle. Amen." Sabine's mouth was dry as she spoke, hardly above a whisper. Tears stung her bloodshot eyes as a faint throbbing numbed her face. 

Seeing him like that— all clammy, skin as if he'd see a ghost. Bandages peeking from his shirt where a pink tinge of dried blood stained as a reminder of what'd taken place. Sabine, in such a short amount of time, had grown fond- protective in her own way- over the crew. All younger than her, so she perceived them as her dear kids in a sense.

"Why do you feel so bad?" Nami whispered, a cold tone masked behind the question, "I went to leave, to leave the crew. And you feel guilty because you'd been flirting with that Warlord?" The redhead frowned, seemingly answering her own thoughts in her mind as her eyes widened, "Oh- cause you haven't experienced-"

Sabine held her hand up, signaling for Nami to stop, "I think I'd surprise you. It's not necessarily guilt, I don't quite know what it is really. Responsibility maybe? Or the fact I've spent hours listening to those who want to be saved, and act like I'm some saint? Maybe this is all I can do to offer help."

"I think I'd surprise you too." Nami shuffled in place. 

"I don't think you would. I can tell from your far away gazes and survival skills. I know you're hiding something." Normally Sabine wouldn't talk out of turn like she just did. Taught to always nod in understanding, listen intently while carefully thinking through a response. Taught to never interrogate but gently lead in the direction they point. 

"What are you profiling me? I'm not some drunkard, abusive marine stumbling into a church to repent."

"I never said that," Nami was right with her implications, Sabine needn't play her role as a nun with them. And she wasn't with her harsher than normal words as this was what she felt was a final chance to intervene. Nami was bubbling up, "Maybe hiding wasn't the best word to use. I know from experience when there's more to a story. I'm not judging, nor am I asking you to share. But we're all supposed to be a crew, yeah?" 

If Sabine could see Nami's face from where she stood with her back turned, grand line map in hand, Sabine would see the troubled tears in her friend's lash line. And she'd see how Nami's moment of pain fell to a blank stare, determination suddenly dancing in her eyes. 

Sabine frowned as Nami left, her footsteps echoing as they sounded further and further away. She let out a heavy sigh, chest deflating as her shoulders slouched. Guilt about how harsh she'd been, but nevertheless she wanted to speak her mind. 

Her legs screamed from soreness as she stood, carefully moving closer to Zoro's sleeping form. Standing over him, she let her fingertips graze over his clammy skin. She wiped the sweat from his brow-line with her thumb, reaching for a cold moist towel that rested on his left bicep. 

"Oh Zoro," Sabine whispered, "You kids are just too much to handle sometimes I swear." Not that she was much older than them, almost five years she thinks. A smile cracked on her lips about how Usopp never failed to mention her elderly age. 

The reality of it all wasn't that Sabine nor Nami were inherently evil due to pieces of themselves they kept hidden. It only further justified how complicated life is— how complicated people are. 

Sudden commotion, beyond what Sabine was told to expect, made her hesitantly leave Zoro and head to the Going Merry's deck. Her heart palpitated in her chest with each slow step, hand gliding along the walls for any sort of balance. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears as the banging intensified like muddled water swirling. Crouching down, looking over the bannister, her stomach sank. 

Hand clamped over her mouth to silence herself, 

"No!" She still managed to stifle out watching Arlong toss Luffy into the sea. Quick relief washed over her as Sanji jumped into the sea to go after him immediately. Splashes of torrent aqua blue. Technicolor drowning within her chest like trying to scream underwater. But curiosity shimmered in Sabine's eyes as she watched Nami leave with the fishmen.

But as much as Sabine wanted to be shocked or angry like others of the crew— she wasn't. A level of understanding grew in her chest as the minutes went on allowing her time to think. Little growing vines crept into her head as she recalled Nami's words and body language alike. Arlong would have torn the ship apart to find the map- would have torn Sabine and a recovering Zoro to pieces after taking down Luffy, she was sure. So Sabine stayed quiet even as Zoro woke and the others shared their uncertain opinions— she knew Nami did it to protect them. That she'd been right to assume the younger girl was nursing a secret. A searing sensation made her gasp, as her legs gave out, causing her to go down onto the ship’s deck. She clawed at her chest, at the clothes that adorned her and covered the necklace hidden beneath. 

On the dainty chain was the ring. Mihawk’s ring. Why it felt as if it burned her skin she did not know. The suffocating sea air swirling into her nostrils and intoxicating her mind with its musk and scents from the restaurant. 

It was a gorgeous piece. Sabine could not tear her gaze from it as she studied it. Too large for any of her fingers. Eclectic yet manly, clearly worth more berry than her life would ever be. Truly, it was a piece of him. She could recount the deep vibrations of his voice settled within her core, how his calloused fingers bruised along her skin. And how his lips were on her forehead. She could feel it. Feel his intense aura that warmed her insides like it was wrapping her in an all encompassing, protective blanket, to keep the outside world from laying a finger on her. 

Terror instilled itself, this wasn’t supposed to be happening to her! Close encounters with death. Pirates. Life itself! She should have stayed locked up in her isolated palace that was the monastery. 

But then Sabine realized something. That the terror she felt was from her thoughts. Thoughts that leaving her Sisterhood was the path she needed to take. And that was terrifying, the thought of giving up what was comfortable. All this time sailing with the crew and she wasn’t any closer to coming to a decision, not until meeting Mihawk. 

-

posted: july 12 2024

taglist : @zzbloody-animezz @honeybeezgobzzzzz @mythical-goth @iraaiitz @moonmaiden1996

[hannie-dul-set]

sunwater [teaser].

SYNOPSIS. this is how you get a merman boyfriend.

PAIRING. park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. merman! sunghoon, artist! reader, slight college! au, strangers to lovers, romance, modern fantasy, humor, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearning, drowning, dirty/inappropriate jokes, mentions of sex, things might get a lil spicy but No Explicit Smut, mermaid politics, reader says and does a lot of questionable shit (might add more as i progress!) WORD COUNT. full fic: est. 20k more or less. teaser: 1.3k RELEASE DATE. late july to early august.

NOTE. finally thought of a title last night and immediately made the header so i can post the teaser HAUHASDH. stemmed from a convo with a friend of mine (i quote "u reject every man woman person that tries to date u. little do they know, ur type isn't human 🤩").

anyway, send me an ask/dm to be added to the taglist! preview under the cut.

GANGNEUNG-SI, GANGWON-DO. The drive to the east coast is always nostalgic, like fragments of previous summers are powdered into the air and with every inhale of the breeze outside the car window fills you with the past— scraped knees from the rocky beachside, saltwater daydreams under bunny-shaped clouds, and the smell of paint and the sea melting together in early morning dews. It takes a little over an hour for the cab to roll up to your summer neighborhood. It takes twenty minutes of walking to get to your family’s vacation house situated right beside the sea.

“Welcome home.”

Your words echo in the empty living room and your own voice greets you with remembrance. A smile crawls onto your lips. Eggshell walls, sandy brown wooden panels, your favorite blue sofa matching the stripes on the rug underneath it, and the sheer cream curtains painted with the orange spills of the sunset through wall to ceiling windows— it’s a still life painting of last year’s summer. Prior to that, you still had plants around, but they kept dying, getting replaced and dying again until your neglectful guilt finally hit you. Throughout highschool, your family diligently spent time here every December and July. Now, it’s just you every summer and the caretaker that comes by every few months.

“I should call mom after dinner,” you hum, washing the dishes you found in the cupboards. Your first night here always ends early. By sunfall, you have a quick meal, wash up, tuck yourself into bed upstairs and allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by the sloshing waves of the nighttime sea. 

Four in the morning is when you start to feel alive.

The first thing you do upon waking up, pitch black sky with the sun still hiding behind the oceanline, you grab one of the bags you left on your living room sofa, slinging it over your shoulder before picking up a folded up easel leaned against the wall and two of the blank canvas panels stacked beside it. Your body moves mechanically, practiced and familiar movements— sliding the glass door open to the backyard and closing, feeling the sand wither underneath your bare soles until soft grains blend into jagged stone as you climb up the natural staircase of rocks, leading up to a solid flat plateau.

Is it safe to be painting on top of a cliff when you’ve just woken up? No. Have you been doing this every day since you were fourteen every summer you spend at your vacation home? Yes. 

When the sun starts to rise, you become invigorated with life that it almost feels like rebirth.

You haven’t fallen to your death yet, and you don’t have any plans to slip and succumb to its cold hands any time soon. Not until you manage to perfectly capture the image before your eyes at this very moment; neither your memories nor your imperfect renditions can compare to the vibrancy of the orange stained waves, the clarity white seafoam kissing its surface, and the beauty of flaming disk peeking from the firmament where the sky meets the sea in all its ephemeral glory.

It’s five-thirty when the sun fully emerges from the water. Your legs give in, and you fall onto the rocky ground with a sigh. All you could finish is the underpaint today. You’ll continue working tomorrow. 

Whenever someone asks you— why the fuck are you doing this? you never have a satisfying answer. It’s an exercise, it’s a routine; it’s the only time when I feel like I’m painting something worthwhile. You have countless pieces in galleries and exhibits, meaningless works with the highest praises from your professors, but they’re nothing worth the buzz of your fingertips whenever you chase the sunrise with your own paint-stained hands until it inevitably, ritualistically flies beyond your devoted reach.

The strain in your leg muscles takes forever to recover. You should remember to bring a stool tomorrow because although you don’t feel anything besides adrenaline whenever you attack the canvas with your brush, the aftertaste can be a little brutal. 

“Can’t you stay a little longer tomorrow?” you mumble to the orange tinted sky as you lay on the uneven ground, arms and legs spread out in vulnerability. When it doesn’t respond, you groan and pull yourself up. You could leave your painting materials here, but the probability of them getting thrown into the ocean by the wind is too high for your peace of mind.

As you collect your paint brushes and gather your extra paint tubes, your eyes keep getting pulled by the ocean’s songs. The scene before you has been imprinted in your retinas since you were seven. So when something appears amiss or changes, you can pick it apart immediately. A shift in the tides. A crack in the rock formation. Even a floating piece of driftwood from afar can’t slip away from your attention.

So when you find something— rather, someone emerging from the warm blue near the sprouting rocks, you drop your things and pace quickly to the edge to get a better look.

This is odd. This entire plot of land is private property, and it’s the only way to get into the water besides the island across it, which is still at least twenty miles away. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering how they got here, but when you get to the edge of the cliff, the rough terrain biting into your feet, your concerns are suddenly thrown into the water underneath you.

You can see the intruder’s face clearly now. Whoever he is, he’s breathtaking.

He’s gotten closer to the shore, resting his arms on the inky rock, half submerged into blue depths. The saltwater beads glisten like jewels on his porcelain skin, splashing sunlight into the water when he throws his head back before letting the ocean consume him once more. There’s a flicker of gold that splashes above the surface in a steady rhythmic wave, slowly moving further away.

You have found your new ocean sunrise. You don’t intend on letting him get away.

Splash!

Suddenly, all the warmth from your skin is stripped away as your body sinks into the sea, engulfed by the thick raptures of its waves. Though having been enamored by it for the better part of your life, you have never stepped into the ocean’s embrace— never dared to corrupt its ethereal beauty with your feeble humanity— that is, until now. You slowly feel heavier, and each second hurts more than the last, like the sun itself has entered your lungs and is burning you from the inside. Maybe you should have learned how to swim. Maybe you shouldn’t have jumped off the cliff in the rushing hopes of catching a fleeting stranger’s attention.

No one should underestimate the lengths an artist would go for their art. Just when your consciousness starts to slip, you see a spark in the dark water, slowly approaching before your eyelids flutter to a close. You can hear nothing. You feel nothing but the cold, until all of the sudden you’re gasping, coughing out water from your lungs and the jagged rock you’re laying on sinks its teeth into your wet palms.

There’s one person who could have saved you. You can’t believe your deranged plan worked.

You open your eyes and look above, your still beating heart burning into a frenzy and instead of the sunrise sky, your gaze meets a pair of stygian gemstones muddled with concern. A few droplets of water from his damp hair fall onto your cheeks. 

“Are you okay?”

Burnt stars form a constellation on his face. His lips are full and painted by coral hues. 

“I want to burn you in my memory.”

He’s even more breathtaking up close, it’s almost impossible to believe. Your gaze draws down, noticing how you’re caged between his arms, noticing the patchy waist bag loosely hanging on his bare hips over a makeshift skirt of fabric, noticing the iridescent gold flakes blending into his skin, shimmering under the sunlight from where his lower half should be.

You flit your eyes back up. His are now widened in panic.

Splash!

sunwater. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[fictionalwh0ree]

part 2 for the golden globes ?

golden globes pt 2- austin butler

summary: austin comes over for lunch the day after the golden globes so you can celebrate your wins. word count: 1.8k warnings: none a/n: this can be read alone but it's meant to be a pt 2 to my golden globes imagine

pt. 1

the next morning you awoke to the buzzing of your phone on your bedside table. you squinted as you looked at the bright screen, an unknown number popping up.

—

???

hi, its austin

—

a small smile tugged at your lips as memories flooded your head from the previous evening. you remembered the moment you’d gotten his number and how you’d spent the entire night talking between breaks, how you’d gotten to congratulate him for his win, and him you, and then how at the after party, your eyes would always meet from across the room, yet you never uttered one word to each other.

—

you:

hey, good morning

congrats again!

austin:

thank you

you too

you gnawed at your lip as you thought of what you could say to keep the conversation going, but soon saw the three dots pop up again.

austin:

did you enjoy your night?

you:

yeah, maybe a bit too much

really feeling the hangover now

—

what you said was true, your stomach felt empty and you were slightly nauseous. you’d drank a lot of water when you’d arrived, yet you had a faint headache.

—

austin:

hahaha, i feel the same way

you:

so you got a chance to celebrate your win?

austin:

in a way, i guess. i feel like it was more of a collective celebration of everything and everyone, you know?

you:

i get that

austin:

i would celebrate today but i’m pretty tired from yesterday.

don’t think i could handle a loud place and more alcohol right now.

you:

well…

austin:

well?

you:

why don’t you pull your shitty hall and oates out and i’ll pull mine out and we can celebrate together at my place

—

your hands were trembling lightly. your finger lingered over the send button for a minute before you pressed it, the noise notifying it had been delivered only adding to your nerves.

—

you:

i’ll cook

—

the three dots popped up, disappeared, and then popped up again.

—

austin:

i like the sound of that🙃

you:

great!! any suggestions?

austin:

no, whatever you want is fine. i’m not picky.

you:

okk

austin:

just tell me when and where and i’ll be there

you:

oh right

how does three hours sound?

austin:

sounds perfect

you:

okay then, see you in three hours :))

austin:

see you ;)

—

with that, you set your phone down. you walked into your kitchen and ventured around, picking up an advil while you were at it. you figured you should decide on a meal before anything. you also decided you’d make a cake.

within twenty minutes the chocolate cake was in the oven. you quickly washed the dishes before going back to your room. you picked an outfit, showered, and did your makeup. you were grateful that you didn’t have to do your hair as the styling from last night was still there. once all that was done, you popped on one of your records, the music flowing from the living room into the open kitchen. you hummed as you prepared the food.

soon, there were ten minutes till the three hour mark. you had miraculously managed to finish cooking and cleaning the dishes. you had just finished icing your cake when the security called, asking for your permission to let austin in. you approved and quickly ran to a mirror to make sure you still looked presentable as he parked in your driveway. a knock on the door announced his arrival and as you reached the door, you had to push your cat away.

you opened the door and there was austin, looking gorgeous as ever. a smile adorned his face as he held up a bottle of champagne in one hand and two hall and oates vinyls in the other.

“hi,” you smiled shyly.

“hi,” he said back, smirking slightly.

“you’re early,” you said, gesturing for him to come in.

“i know. i’m sorry, i was eager to see you again. you look really nice,” he flirted.

“you’re making me blush,” you mumbled as your cheeks heated up.

he laughed a little and he followed you as you walked to the kitchen. you grabbed a champagne bucket and filled it with ice and austin put it in there.

“do you need any help?” austin asked as you plated the food.

“no, i’m alright. if you wanna put some music on my record player’s right there,” you said as you pointed at your favourite part of the house.

“you know, i’m kind of surprised you came,” you said as austin walked towards your vinyls.

“why is that?” he asked as he kneeled down to browse your collection.

“well i figured you’d be celebrating with your sister,” you said.

“she decided to go to the mall before the weekend comes and it gets too busy. we’re celebrating tomorrow,” he explained, to which you hummed in understanding.

“you weren’t lying about your collection. it’s amazing,” he said.

“thank you. i think i have arguably the best record store in the world to thank for that,” you said.

“oh really?” he said as he put on his one of vinyls.

“mhm, it’s in a really quiet part of the city. usually it’s pretty empty and most of their customers are old people who probably won’t recognize a modern day celebrity. i’ll take you one day,” you said, heart pounding in your chest.

“i’ll hold you to that,” he said.

“daryll hall & john oates?” you asked, referring to the album he’d picked.

“that was quick,” he said as camellia rang through the speakers.

“i love this album, just never found it,” you said.

he hummed, but it was quickly cut off by his laughter.

“who’s this?” he asked.

you leaned over the counter to see him crouched down as your cat rubbed herself against his leg.

“that’s beans,” you smiled, “is she bothering you?”

“no no, quite the opposite. she’s adorable,” he said as he pet her head, his southern twang from elvis still present in his voice.

as he continued to play with her, you began placing food on the table. when he noticed, he got up and washed his hands, helping you set everything up before you both sat down to eat. you both dug in and conversation flowed easily between the two of you. you spoke about your families, fame, hollywood life, the people you knew in common and more. before you knew it, he was helping you wash dishes while you cleared the table. he’d insisted on doing them despite you telling him it wasn’t necessary at all. by the time you were grabbing dessert from the fridge, you’d already been through three albums. as he put on a fourth, you put your cake on the table.

“oh my god,” he said as he saw it, laughing a bit, “how did you do all this in three hours?”

“i was motivated by my need to impress everyone who steps into my house,” you said honestly, causing him to laugh.

“well, consider me impressed, but i would’ve been fine with ordering takeout and calling it a day. i didn’t want to cause you this much trouble,” he said.

“it was no trouble at all, really. i enjoy cooking,” you said as you remembered the champagne in the kitchen.

“here, open this,” you said as you handed him the bottle and placed two glasses on the table. you began to slice the cake, cutting one for yourself and one for him.

he poured the champagne and handed you a glass as you handed him cake. you sat down before he raised his glass.

“to you, because we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t crashed straight into me last night,” he joked, causing your cheeks to heat up as you laughed.

“and to our golden globes,” you added.

“and to our golden globes,” he repeated as you clinked glasses.

you both enjoyed the cake, which he thoroughly complimented, calling it ‘the best cake i’ve ever had in my life.’ once you were done and all the dishes were put away, he looked at his watch.

“i should probably get going. my sister wanted to order dinner,” he said sympathetically. you looked at your phone and saw that it was already 7 pm.

“god, i didn’t realize it was so late,” you said, “i’ll walk you out.”

you walked right next to austin, your arms just barely brushing against each other, but just as you were about to step out of the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks. austin stopped as well, looking at you with his brows furrowed.

“take some cake!” you said as you ran back to the fridge.

“no, that’s okay. it’s your cake,” he said.

“austin, what am i gonna do with 3/4 of a cake all to myself? take some for yourself, and your sister. i insist,” you said as you cut a large piece consisting of about four slices.

you handed it to him and he thanked you before you were walking to the door again. you opened it and you both stood in the doorway looking at each other.

“thank you for everything, i had a really great time,” he said, eye contact not breaking.

“thank you for coming,” you said softly.

the doorway was small, your chests were almost pressed against each other as he looked down at you. his unfaltering gaze made you blush and you had to look away for a minute. he smirked slightly and when you looked back up, he tilted his head towards you.

“can i kiss you?” he asked, a twinge of nervousness in his voice though he was still smirking.

you nodded in response and he leaned forward, closing the gap. the kiss was gentle and short but it left you with butterflies in your stomach. when he pulled away, you were both trying to bite back smiles.

“i should, uh, probably go home now,” he laughed.

“yeah,” you said, biting your lip as you pulled out your phone to see that it was 7:13 pm.

“alright then,” he said.

“bye, austin,” you said as he began to walk to his car.

“bye, y/n,” he responded.

you waited until he got to his car and just as he was about to get in, he stopped.

“oh, y/n, i’m holding you to the record shopping,” he smiled.

“how about next monday?” you asked.

“next monday is perfect,” he responded, getting in his car.

“next monday it is,” you mumbled, biting your lip as you watched him drive off.

you walked into your house with a smile that seemed like it would be permanently etched onto your face. your attention was brought to you record player when the vinyl ended and you noticed that austin had left both of his at your house. you shot him a quick text.

you:

you left your records at my house

austin:

guess i’ll just have to come over after record shopping then ;)

—

son of a bitch.

[emeraldkays]

𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬

he always used it as an excuse to get lost in his books or take a trip to the library

and though you weren’t much of a reader, you tagged along on his journeys, as long as you could stop off somewhere and get some ice cream.

it felt as if he picked each book in the library on the shelf and read the blurb before contemplating for five minutes whether he wanted the book or not.

so you left him to do his thing while you wandered off, pretending to be interested in the books when you were actually thinking about what flavour of ice cream you wanted.

until you actually found a book or two that actually caught your interest.

once he was done, he always apologised for taking so long

but you didn’t mind because it gave you time to settle for your ice cream flavours, which was all of them, plus whatever else you wanted.

you wouldn’t take any longer than ten minutes having previously had two hours to think about what it was that you wanted.

when you got back home, you removed your jackets as he dried both your drenched clothes with his seidr.

you each took your favourite seats on the sofa and he started reading one of his many books while struggling to find a film to watch.

by the time you found a rom-com you’ve probably seen more times than you could count, loki was already a quarter of a way through one of the smaller books that would have taken you at least a day to read.

halfway through his second book, you tediously watched the credits roll down the screen and listened to the rain smashing against the windows.

switching off the tv just before letting out a drowsy yawn, you crawled across the sofa to Loki finally laying down with your head on his lap.

“would you like us to go and lay down?” he closed his book, thumb still between the pages to keep his place.

you shook your head, nuzzling it further into his lap to find another comfortable position, “i want you to read to me.”

he placed his free hand on your shoulder, moving his thumb in circles.

“i don’t believe you will enjoy it very much,” his soft voice just about made it to your ears.

you closed your eyes once again tuning into the sound of the rain, “just want to hear your voice,” you said yawning for the second time.

“shall i wake you up in an hour?”

a small smile crept upon your face at the fact he knew you were going to fall asleep within a few minutes of him reading.

you hummed in response adjusting your head for the last time before hearing his gentle voice as you drifted off.

you often woke up from your nap, snuggled in your bed to kisses being pressed against your shoulder.

“one hour is up my darling,” he whispered to your skin.

you tried to get up straight away so you could spend the rest of your day together, but you’d always end up sleeping for an extra twenty minutes.

when you woke for the second and final time of the day, that’s exactly when you would find soft snores coming from the god beside you.

returning the favour he gave to you, you let him sleep for a bit while you put something together for lunch.

sometimes he’d wake up in time to help wash the dirty dishes, or in other cases, you’d climb back into the bed and run your fingers through his hair, admiring his sleeping features until he woke up.

after you both finished eating, you spent the rest of the afternoon playing board games, watching documentaries, and baking before ending the evening with either a home-cooked meal or a take away.

[aching-tummies]

Sounds like you had a rough time would be a shame if someone made it worse. Coming up behind you and placing their hands of your tummy. You thinking their gonna help with how bloated you feel but they only plan on making it worse. Your tummy is tight and hard from how bloated it is but they don't care they squeeze it anyway. Jiggling your tummy just to everything angrily slosh together as you moan in discomfort. Seeing how tight they can squeeze you before you lose everything. They would definitely tease you about how bloated you are by poking your bloated belly hard

Honestly, everything about this one (except for the partner and what they did to me) is basically a real experience. I made that discount chicken-noodle soup for myself when I was sick maybe five days in a week and it honestly felt like none of it digested by the third day. I think I skipped meals completely and fasted on the fourth day because my belly felt too damned bloated to have any appetite at all. Doing dishes was honestly terrifying and I was legitimately fighting back wet belches out of fear of suffocation all day between the third and fourth days.

As I write this, I realize I need more inspiration for dialogue in situations like this. Words definitely failed me.

I choke back another wet hiccup as I try to focus on rinsing the dishes without leaning on or bending around the counter as much as I normally do. If this kitchen counter were an inch higher, all of these plates and utensils would be getting re-filled very quickly rather than getting clean.

Apparently, sickness has decided that my stomach is going to refuse to digest for a while. I feel like a detergent pod--my belly bloated and swollen with a viscous liquid that'll burn my esophagus when exposed to the soft tissue.

My stomach rolls, rumbling without sound as the liquid contents churn inside my torso. My normally-trim stomach is visibly bloated out just a tad--plainly visible due to the form-fitting camisole I'm wearing. Thanks to fever and other symptoms not giving me a break, wearing the camisole is more efficient than anything else at the moment. I have plenty of spares, they're easy to wash and dry in a hurry, and when I feel overheated I can stand around in just the camisole, or rush to toss some layers on when I get too chilled. Unfortunately, the versatile clothing does very little for my ill-feeling stomach other than make it blatantly obvious that something's going on in the area. I've seen you leering at me in this get-up--eyes glued like a magnet to this liquid-y bloat that's refused to go down for the last three days.

I've been dodging you all week due to the sickness. Thankfully, you've been at work, but while you're home I usually have retired to the guest bedroom and thrown the lock for good measure. As much as we both love stomach-stuff, I honestly spent all those hours too sick to indulge in anything--including sleep. The last few nights have not been kind with the fever keeping me up by alternating between chills and sweats every ten or twenty minutes. The headache has been intense, and my stomach has refused to settle for the better part of a week.

I haven't eaten much of anything this week. I've made myself discount chicken noodle soup with chicken-flavoured boullion powder, onions, garlic, and macaroni and survived off of maybe a litre or a litre and a half of that stuff each day for the last three days. So...water and about three litres of soup is all that's entered my gut in the last three days. Honestly, it feels like it's all still in there, sloshing away as I carefully rinse off another plate. My stomach has been feeling increasingly more and more bloated with each day. It definitely doesn't feel like gas, especially not when I wake up to sour liquid lapping at the back of my throat. It seems my poor, little tummy has taken sick and refused to work over the last three days. Honestly, I have half a mind to just throw up and hope it makes me feel better, but the stuffy nose and congestion throughout my throat and chest threatens to asphyxiate me every time I try, so I end up swallowing back the hot and sour liquid that keeps coming up like some incessant groundhog.

I lean forward slightly with a groan as my stomach does another liquid-y flip.

"Unnngh...urk!" I yelp as I feel a new sensation--dry hands have slid over my camisole, coming to rest just over the crest of my bloated belly, right along my ribs. "Nnngh...ugh...d-darling...no." I bat at your hands, wincing as the force ripples through my bloated tummy. Your hands are in dangerous territory and it honestly scares me.

"Awww...poor tummy. So, so bloated." You tease, rubbing a languid, light circle over the tightest part of my stomach. Your rubbing causes another soundless rumble to tumble through my turbulent tummy, bringing up a wet belch.

"Nnngh...urrrrp--hic--b-babe...n-no. Please...n-not here...ulp...n-not on the plates."

My belly is surprisingly firm beneath your palms—bloated up with pretty much everything that has passed my lips in the last three days. You give it a light squeeze with your palm—testing the tension. Your hands pat roughly, dislodging a few more pitifully small wet belches that burn my throat and threaten to baptize the sudsy dishes in the sink with something nasty.

“Unnngh...nnnngh...” I mewl and moan, leaning back against you in a futile attempt to get away from the pressure of your hands.

You chuckle, jiggling my bloated belly and delighting in the wet 'glk' noise as well as my sudden reaction to bend over the sink with my eyes wide. I swallow desperately, trying to clear my throat enough to suck in a greedy breath of air. Damned congestion. I know I'd feel much, much better if I just threw up and purged the sick from my tummy—but there's a very real risk of suffocation due to congestion making it so that not only can I not breathe through my nose, but I also can't suck in enough air to even try to hold my breath for any length of time. I always thought 'shortness of breath' was just put there for people with pre-existing breathing conditions, or that it was legalese. Nope—it's real—and it is terrifying.

You continue to pat at my tummy with your left hand, jostling it uncomfortably and causing me to be reduced to moans and swallows as I fight to keep the waves of sick down. Your right hand rubs circles all over my bloated belly, varying the pressure based on what you think will cause me to moan. Eventually, you take to poking—jabbing your finger repeatedly into the tightest parts of my belly and delighting in the sharp cries and harsh belches that it causes. You nail my navel with one particularly forceful jab and I feel my mouth flood with something thick and sour.

[urfavoritedcwhore]

the russian boy//part seven

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of blood, brief mentions of violence

lowercase intended

not proof read!(sorry i’m tired i'll proofread it tmrw)

!reminder! boris’s first language is not English, so in some parts he’ll be speaking broken English. the writing “mistakes” in his dialect is intentional:)

part seven: the warm heart

boris and i walk in the kitchen where he pulls out a few ice cubes from the freezer and wraps them in a dish towel. he places the makeshift ice pack in my hand and grabs the bottle of whiskey from the counter. "head back. it helps with the pain.", he says, his face inches away from mine. i tilt my head back and open my mouth as he pours the liquor into my parted lips. we repeat this two more times before i tell him im feeling the pain a little less now. he puts the bottle back down and smiles at me, "see, it helps, yes?", i giggle back feeling tipsy. "yes it definitely helps.", say smiling. he looks down at my (well his) sweater and says, "let's get you changed.". i look down and see a swipe of blood on the sweater from where i had unknowingly wiped my fist on it. "shit boris, i'm sorry.", i say genuinely as i remember it's his favorite sweater. he shrugs, "will come out when i wash.". "let's go to my house, my mom texted that she left the house key under the mat when she came home to change clothes.", i say making my way to the front door. "shes working?", boris asks me. "yea, she had a shift last night and got off pretty late so she stayed at a motel on the strip. she came home earlier today to change before her next shift. she should be home at like ten tonight though.", i tell him as we walk out the front door. it's odd not seeing my mom for so long. i mean sure i've went this long without seeing her, she always worked long hours, but being in this new place without her is just so strange to me. it was in boris's car on the way to school when i saw her text,

mom

hey lucy bug! had a longer shift than expected and was too pooped to drive home. spent the night at a cheap motel on the strip, headin home now to change and get ready for the next shift! should be home at about 10pm, i'll let ya know if anything changes. love you! be good!

it made me slightly annoyed that she would spend the night at a motel instead of coming home so i could drive my car this morning. now that was the last thing on my mind, i wasn't even annoyed with her anymore, i was too invested in everything that happened after english class that led to these last twenty minutes. as we arrive to my front door i pick up the mat and grab the key, i unlock the door and open it, letting the cigarette smell hit us both in the face. boris smiles, "you've been here a little more than 24 hours and already have a cigarette smell stuck to your house.", he says breathing in the smell of the foyer. "and a russian stuck to my hip.", i mumble, placing the key in my pocket and closing the door behind us. i go into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, when i see a note on the fridge,

      𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮, 𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞 𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙧. 𝙞 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙞 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙧. 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙜𝙚, 𝙞'𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙞𝙛 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝, 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪!                

-𝙢𝙤𝙢🤍

fuck yeah. i was too hungover this morning to even think about eating, but now that the headaches past and i have more liquor in me, imma fuck up this food. listen, i know that it's not good to drink when your hungover, but when i was taking those shots i had completely forgotten how bad my stomach and head hurt. i was only thinking about how bad my bruised knuckles hurt, and trust me they fucking hurt. i open the fridge to find two togo boxes containing food from moms diner. i look over at boris, "jackpot!", i say shaking them. he grins at me taking one out of my hand and sitting at the kitchen table immediately. i sit across from him and we begin eating like it's the first food we've ever tasted. to be honest, the food was shit, but we hadn't eaten since last night. we finished our meals and both leaned back in our chairs satisfied. he smiled a crooked smile at me and got up from his chair, walking over to me. "go put on fresh clothes now new girl, you're beautiful, but a bloody shirt is not a good look for anyone.", he said pulling me out of my chair. i laughed, "wowww, so you're saying i need to put on something more sexy for you, huh?", i say raising my eyebrows. his face turns red, before he can answer i'm running up the stairs yelling, "wait there!". i go into my room and start digging through the box's of clothes until i find a tshirt that practically swallows me whole. i strip down to boris boxers and toss the Tshirt onto my body. as i leave my room, i pick up boris sweater and go to the laundry room. i toss the sweater in the washer with a generous amount of laundry detergent, start the cycle, and run back down stairs. "how's this for sexy?", i say striking a pose when i get in front of boris. he laughs, "very sexy new girl.", he says eying me up and down. he begins walking towards me, and just as he grabs my hips to pull me in for a kiss, his phone plays a song in a different language. "fuck!", he yells in frustration as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. "what's wrong?", i ask him looking at his phone. "is my father, i have to answer.", he says removing his other hand from my waist and bringing it to my face to cup my cheek. "don't move, i be quick, i swear.", he tells me before he walks from my living room into my kitchen. at first he speaks softly, in a tone i can hardly hear, but quickly forgets i'm only a few feet away in the living room and begins speaking in his normal tone. "да, папа....я думал, ты проведешь еще неделю в шахтах? ......я знаю, но я-", i assume his father cuts him off because when i turn to look at him his lips press together fast and his face turns a light shade of red. he takes a deep breath after a minute and begins talking again, "да, я понимаю. окей, да, я буду дома.", he says and puts his phone in his pocket. he walks back into the living room and sighs. "everything okay?", i ask slightly concerned. "yes, everything okay. my father will be home tonight, i thought he had to be at work for longer but i was wrong. we have to pick up theo and then i'll take you both home. you don't want to meet my father, he is...what is the word? eh, a dickbag?", he says explaining the phone call to me. "that's okay, no big deal. i should probably be here when my mom gets home anyways.", i tell him with a smile. if he wants alone time he doesn't have to lie about a deadbeat dad. yeah boris told me he drinks, but so does my mom, and she's not so bad.

he smiles a half smile and me and kisses me on my cheek, "thank you for understanding. i'll text theo and tell him we are on our way to pick him up, he should be done with his test by now.", he says typing a text to theo. before he's even done typing, he's taking my uninjured hand and leading me out my front door and into his driveway. he sends the text, i assume, because he puts his phone back in his pocket and opens the drivers side door and helps me crawl into the passenger seat, before getting in his seat and starting the car. we drive to school listening to music, talking, laughing, and holding hands like we're in some cheesy romance movie. as we pull into the school parking lot i turn down the music, "okay, remember, we're not telling theo about our...deal.", i say struggling to get out the word. boris brings a hand to his mouth, pretends zip it and lock it, then proceeds to give me the imaginary key. i smile, let go of his hand, and crawl into the backseat as i see theo waiting in front of the school. we park and theo opens boris’s door and crawls across boris to the passenger seat. before anyone can get one word out theo speaks, "lucy, everyone was talking about what happened. apparently kailey came out of the bathroom with a bruised nose and everyone saw. she claimed that someone opened a stall door on her face but i quickly shut down that rumor and told everyone what a badass you are. and thanks to yours truly, i don't believe anyone will fuck with you anytime soon.", he tells me with a small bow looking very proud of himself . boris laughs, "ha! yours truly? you didn't do anything, she punched her, she deserves credit, yes?", he said looking at theo amused. "yeah but if it weren't for ME people would have assumed that all she did was hit her nose, not got struck with the all mighty-ness of lucy gardeners fist, POW!", he said to boris pretending to throw a punch at him. the boys argued playfully about this subject for about five minutes before theo turned to me. "but seriously though, what happened? why'd you punch her?", he asked curiously with an eyebrow raised.

my face turned red as i tried to come up with a reasonable, sane excuse. boris looked in the rearview mirror, saw the worry on my face, and quickly came up with something. "kailey try to take her school bag, because she is new and kailey thinks she can mess with her and not get any consequences, yes? so new girl sees her pick it up and start to walk out. but just as the bitch thinks she is getting away with this, new girl spins her around, and tells kailey the bag is hers. kailey gets bitchy and tells her to come get if she wants. so, new girl does that. she punches that asshole in face, and gets her bag back.", boris explains to theo as he backs out of the parking lot and begins driving home. theo takes in almost every sentence with a gasp, then proceeds to turn back around to me, "badass.", he says with an approving nod. i smile at him and show him my bruised knuckles, "and i've got the marks to prove it.", i say as he examines my hand. "fuck dude, does it hurt?", he asks with concern. "well it did, but then i may or may not have drank a few shots of whiskey to numb the pain.", i say with a laugh. "and im guessing that was his idea?", he says nodding his head to boris. boris puts his hand over his heart dramatically, taking his eyes off the road for a spilt second and looks over to theo, "you know me too well potter. am flattered.", he says turning his head back to the road after his words, but not before giving me a quick wink in the rearview window that gave me butterflies. theo sat back in his seat and looked ahead at the road before speaking, "are we going to your house?", he asked boris i assume. "nie, dad is coming back tonight, i take you to my house to get popchyk, then i take you and new girl home.", he tells theo. "ah fuck i thought you had at least another week without him.", theo says in a tone that sounded disappointed. "is okay, he comes home early this time but will leave again room probably.", boris says almost likes he's trying to reassure theo. i don't understand what the big is about his dad coming home, i mean seriously is his dad really that bad? i guess i can imagine a drunk who screams, hell my mother has been that type of drunk before, but it's definitely nothing boris can't handle. if i can handle a screaming drunken parent, im sure boris will be just fine. we pull into boris's driveway as theo crawls across his lap and hops out of the drivers side door. he runs in the house, leaving boris and me alone. "good save, eh?", he says turning around to look at me. "yes very good story about how i punched a girl to get a bag of books back.", i say lifting my eyebrows and smiling. he smiles a crooked smile and places a hand on my leg squeezing it, before removing it quickly when we hear boris's front door open and close again. theo runs back to the car and yells through the window, "i'm gonna walk back! popchyk probably needs to take a shit!", he tells us before leaving the driveway and walking towards the curve that leads to more houses in our neighborhood. boris looks at me, and leans into the back seat to kiss me, which i swerve, "nuhuh, not so fast.", i wave my finger at him, "you've already gotten plenty of kisses today, and correct me if i'm wrong, but i seem to recall this being deal in which we explore eachothers minds before we explore anymore of eachothers lips.", i say with a cocky smile. he smiles back at me, "can you blame me for trying?", he says raising his eyebrows. i laugh and hop out of the car, and walk to his now rolled down window to give him a peck on the cheek. "talk to you later pavlikovsky!", i say turning around and walking to my door, almost sure i butchered his last name. i smile as i walked into my house, with a warm and unfamiliar feeling in my heart.

end of part seven, part eight out soon:)

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

stalker. ( nick rowan x reader )

gif belongs to me

Nick came home from work to find you waiting on the steps of the police house. He approached the door as you stood up, and noticed that your smile was smaller when you greeted him. He knew from the look in your eyes that you weren't here to see him as your boyfriend but as a policeman.

"Hello, love." He took the keys from the pocket of his jacket and unlocked the door, gesturing for you to enter first.

"I'm sorry to trouble you so late. I know you've just clocked off." You began as you headed inside, turning to him, holding the strap of your bag in your hands, tightening your grip anxiously. "I thought it was just my imagination."

Nick took off his jacket and hung it up on the hooks by the door. "What was?"

You swallowed thickly, feeling the tears returning to your eyes, blinking as you looked away. Nick stepped forward and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing them gently.

"Hey, hey," He said softly, "What is it?"

"I've been a fool." You wiped away a tear that fell down your cheek and Nick rested a hand on your back, leading you to the kitchen.

"Sit down and I'll make you some tea."

You took a seat at the small dining table while Nick set the kettle on the stove, turning the dials. "About a week ago I thought I saw someone following me home from the bus stop."

Nick turned, and you kept your eyes on your hands, knowing you couldn't handle seeing his reaction as you continued, "It was dark and there was no one around the village, I thought I was just imagining things. But then I started seeing a shadow outside my house at night."

Nick walked closer, sitting across from you. "Why didn't you call the police? Or tell me?"

You met his gaze as you shook your head. "I kept telling myself there was no one there. But last night there was a knock on my door and when I went down there was no one there. Just flowers." You opened your bag and took out the envelope, holding it out to Nick who glanced at you before taking out the white card inside.

"It's an excerpt from a love poem." He met your gaze. "Very graphic."

"It was hand delivered twenty minutes ago. By the time I got to the door, there was no one there."

Nick glanced at the poem, setting it upside down on the table with a look of disgust, and shook his head. "How long has this been going on for?"

"Nine days." Nick raised an eyebrow at you and you nodded as you looked at your hands. "I know. I just didn't think -"

You flinched when the kettle hooted and Nick reached over to squeeze your hand before crossing the room to remove the kettle from the stove and made two cups of tea.

Nick placed a cup and saucer on the table next to you and sat across from you, setting his own cup down. "You should have told me sooner."

"I'm sorry."

"This man probably thinks you have some kind of connection. Is he there every night?" You nodded. "So he should turn up tonight."

The plan was simple. You would go about your bedtime routine as normal and Nick would stay at your place, prepared to run outside to catch the peeper.

Nick was sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen, hidden from view due to the high window as you washed the dishes. "See anything?" He looked over at you and you remembered not to look back at him, continuing to act as if you were alone.

"No."

Nick spent the night beside you, and the longer you lay there in his arms, listening as he distracted your mind by talking about his day, the more the fear slipped away. You hadn't realized your eyes were closing until he kissed your head. You lifted your head from his chest and he sent you a smile.

"Go to sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

The night passed uneventfully. The next day, there were no cards, no flowers, or any sign someone was watching. But when you came home from work the door was ajar and when you entered the house was destroyed, ornaments and vases smashed, the sofa slashed, and furniture broken. The only thing in perfect condition was a photograph of Nick leaving that morning stuck onto the wall.

You rushed to the telephone to call the station, and Nick stood up when Phil said your name, taking the phone, knowing something was wrong.

"What happened?" He heard you crying on the other side. "Don't move. I'm on my way."

You were standing in the living room when the four policemen arrived. Nick looked around at the carnage, calling out to you, finding you staring a photograph.

"Are you hurt?"

You shook your head, sniffling. You handed him the photograph, crossing your arms while his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and annoyance when he saw it.

"Looks like he knew you were here, Rowan." Oscar looked at you, "I advise you to find somewhere else to stay for the time being." He said, referring to the pending arrest of your stalker. "Rowan."

Nick looked at you when Blaketon walked into the kitchen before following. Phil offered to stay with you while you packed a bag and when you returned downstairs Nick drove you to the police house.

He encouraged you to unpack, clearing space in his dresser, and stood watching as you began to set your clothes next to his. When he saw the first tear fall he was by your side instantly, and wrapped his arms around you, holding you to his chest as you cried.

"I'm such an idiot! I should've known that it would end like this!"

"Hey, none of that." He kissed your hair and rubbed circles on your back. "I promise you that I will find him. Phil and Alf are interviewing your neighbours. Hopefully, one of them saw or heard something."

Later that night while you were washing the dishes and Nick was drying them, he was called to the station about a possible identification of your stalker. After ensuring all the windows were locked, he traded his cardigan for a thick jacket and you followed him to the door.

"Lock it behind me. Don't open it for anyone." He turned as he stood outside, "I won't be long."

"Thank you." You smiled softly, and placed a hand on his cheek when he leaned in to kiss you.

"Everything is going to be fine. I promise."

When he walked away you locked the door and finished washing the dishes. You left them to dry before heading upstairs to bed. You were getting changed into a nightdress when you heard noises from outside, the whining of the gate. You peeled back the curtain a little to look out and gasped when you saw a dark figure approaching the house. You quietly crept downstairs and went to the telephone, calling the station.

Phil answered but before you could speak the doorknob jiggled. You held your breath and closed the door to the office before returning to the telephone.

"Hello? Y/N?"

"He's here."

You heard a loud bang as the door was kicked in, the lock useless, and held your breath as footsteps entered.

"We're on our way." Your hand trembled as Phil spoke before he hung up. You set the handset down and gripped the telephone tightly. You heard the footsteps get closer and braced yourself for when the door opened and hit the man with the telephone, sending him to the ground. You rushed to the door but when he started standing up you rushed upstairs.

A hand grabbed your ankle and dragged you down a few stairs. You screamed when he slapped you and grabbed your arms. You used your foot to kick him several times in the gut until he let go and shoved him away before racing into the bathroom, locking the door.

"I've seen you with him!" He seethed as he walked up the stairs. "I would have given you anything! But you chose the copper!"

You heard the sounds of him tearing apart the bedroom, and emptying the dresser and flinched when the vase of flowers hit the bathroom door.

When Nick arrived the room was a mess, and the man was kicking in the door to the bathroom. He swung for him but Nick blocked it and hit him in the gut with his baton. He got him on the ground and handcuffed him.

Phil took over as Nick went to check on you. The door opened and he saw the blood on your cheek, caused by the man's ring when he hit you. "Oh, Nick!"

He hushed you gently, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around your nightdress. You cried on his chest as he held you, kissing your head.

"It's okay. He's gone." He shielded you from the sight of Phil dragging the man outside to the car while Oscar and Alf followed.

Nick closed his eyes as he rested his head on yours. "I've got you, love." He tightened his arms around you. "I've got you."

The next morning you went to the station to give your statement and the lock was fixed on the police house. Nick asked you to move in with him that evening and slowly everything went back to normal and you no longer had to look over your shoulder.

[honeykngdom]

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 | 𝚎.𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 | 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

Pairing: Embry Call x Original Character Summary: Join Ainsley and Embry as they embark on a journey where they are forced to question everything they thought they knew, and embrace the pain that is inevitable to avoid in love. An imprint story. Self-discovery. Angst and romance. Word Count: 4.7k Warnings: NSFW - mentions of prior sexual assault, mentions of prior ingestion of date rape prev. chapter | next chapter

The sun broke through the curtains, pulling me from my slumber. Embry left the window open throughout the night, making the air within our shared room frosty and bitter; I sunk deeper into the mattress and pulled the thick duvet under my chin. My eyes strained against the light, and I gave a sort of whining noise as I stretched my legs, entire body aching with the movements. A pair of warm arms tightened around my waist and Embry’s nose pressed into my neck as he hugged me closer to his half-asleep frame. 

My eyes watched the gentle fall of the snowflakes, a small smile breaking across my lips as I gingerly ran my hand along the arm that held me. “Look, babe. It’s snowing.” I whispered quietly; the gentle lift of his chin was followed by a slight hum, then a lingering kiss was pressed to my jaw. It was mornings like these that I wanted to freeze in time forever. Wanted to remain in bed all day with Embry and his warm embrace. “I have to get up.” I lamented, my breath faltering into a laugh as Embry groaned in reluctance. 

I spent several minutes trying to coax him into letting me go – it ended with multiple kisses and disapproving mumbles. I had an early shift at the diner, and needed to give myself ample time to get to Forks so that I wasn’t late. I rushed through my shower, slipping on two pairs of socks to keep the cold tiles from bothering my feet. Once I was satisfied with my hair and no longer looked lifeless, I returned to the cold bedroom to see Embry’s frame spread across the bed frame. He laid on his stomach, hugging his arms around the pillow his head was resting on. The bed was a King, and still, he almost looked too big – as though he were sleeping on a double. 

I pressed my cold lips to his back, evading his desperate fingers as they searched blindly for me. “I’ll see you at Emily’s tonight – I promised her we’d help out.” 

“Your keys are in the ignition.” Embry grunted in response. 

I expected the Jeep to be buried under a mountain of snow, but instead it sat in the driveway cleared. Embry must have slipped out while I was showering to clear it off for me - and had even started the heat inside. I shivered in the warmth of the vehicle, thanking all the Gods for my boyfriend before I pulled the car into drive and sped off down the road towards the highway out of town. 

It took me an extra twenty minutes to get through the snow banks; the plows hadn’t come through the reservation yet but I was certain the drive home would be less daunting. I parked behind the diner, rushing through the backdoor. I was shrugging out of my jacket just as the clock ticked to 7:00 AM. 

“Mornin’ chickie!” Debbie chirped from the front counter, her red hair curled uniformly away from her face. 

“Morning.” I smiled, kicking my boots off at the door to pull my sneakers on. “Where’s Angie?” 

Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear. The short-haired girl rounded the corner, supporting the tray with her hip. I could tell Angie had recently buzzed the undercut, leaving the three inches up top to grow out a little more. I smiled wider, catching the cloth that was tossed in my direction. 

“Hey, nugget.”

“How’s the rush?” I asked.

“Not much of a rush,” Angie sighed, sorting the dishes off her tray. “Damn snow.” 

I bumped her hip, rolling the sleeves up on my white blouse to wash my hands. “Don’t knock the snow.” 

“What’s so great about it? It’s cold, it’s wet, it gets ugly when exhaust and cars run over it all the time.”

I rolled my eyes. “It means Christmas is coming.” I rinsed the soap from my skin, and flicked my fingers at Angie’s face, water droplets pelting in her direction. “Plus, it means my birthday is almost here.” 

Angie was about a year older than I was. When I first started working at Shaker’s, Ang’s hair had just reached her chin, was parted in the middle and was a warm chestnut brown. After her break up, she buzzed the undercut and kept it short, just long enough to grab a decent fistful whenever she was stressed. Her teeth sat in perfectly straightened rows – many thanks to the braces she endured in her teen years. Her pale skin made me envision red sunburns in the summertime. She was simple, but still pretty. It was her firecracker attitude that made me fall in love with her. 

“There’s somebody out there asking for you.” Angie stuffed her towel into the back pocket of her black jeans. “All morning - showed up right when we opened.” 

I pulled my brows together, tying my apron around my waist hastily as I wandered towards the front. The girls were right – the diner was essentially empty, except for the two occupied booths in the corner. There was a man that sat at the front counter, his hands wrapped gingerly around a cup of coffee and his hat pulled down over his eyes. I grabbed one of the breakfast menus as I wandered towards him. 

“Special for the day is blueberry pancakes. Trust me, you’ll want to try ‘em if you’re just passing through.” I mused lightly, sliding the laminated booklet in front of him. 

When he looked up, I froze. I would have recognized that petulant stare from a mile away; his brown orbs now darkened into a sort of black, his mouth pulled back into a slight grimace. I braced my hands on the countertop between us, trying to keep the bad taste from rising completely up my throat. 

Maddox looked as though he had been through hell and back a few times. I couldn’t find the heart to feel any sort of sympathy. 

“Not hungry,” he said finally, pushing the menu away with the tips of his fingers. 

I watched him carefully for a moment, assessing the way his shoulders hunched forward, the way his movements seemed controlled and careful. He was trying to make himself small, so much different from how he used to be. 

I had loved him once. Prior to the date-party, prior to my unhappy ending, I had believed him every time he said he’d marry me someday, that he’d make me happy. He’d take care of me. That is what I had counted on - being with someone that could protect me from any sort of danger, although I had never fathomed what that danger could possibly be. His honey-brown orbs used to make my head spin, the way he carried himself made me feel as though he was an unstoppable force of nature. 

When he was hanging out with my brothers, he spent fight  nights stepping into the shoes of some stereotypical douchebag, trying to put on a show to get the cash flowing. He knew people would never bet against him if no one ever landed a solid swing or two on him. He never wanted me to be there, mentioned something about it being too crowded, too busy. I never listened, obviously. Travis always kept good on his promise to sneak me in, but always failed to make sure I didn’t go missing. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked curtly, pulling the menu from the countertop to drill holes into his forehead. 

Maddox lifted his chin and sighed, his eyes wandering just above my head for a split second before he cracked a small half-smile. “Staying with some friends in the area,” he lied, cocking his left brow, “what are you doing here? Don’t you live on the reserve?” 

I pulled my brows together. “How did you know?” 

His eyes rolled. “Because you told me where you were born, love.” 

“Do not,” I seethed, leaning forward to get in his face, “come in here and pretend like you know me.” 

“But I do know you.” Maddox pressed, leaning back away from me quickly. “Your favourite colour is purple. You absolutely love ketchup even though it’s awful for you. You can’t stand the rain yet you can’t seem to find yourself anywhere sunny and warm to live. You’d never admit it outloud, but Trenton is your favoured brother -”

I held up my hand, having heard enough. I was certain he could go on and on. We had spent the majority of a year together as an item; being young had meant we spent more time in private than at house parties. The first time I agreed to go to a frat party was only because he was a freshman and had begged me to come along. Maddox was on bitch duty, had to make sure everyone had a drink in their hand, and had to be the one to clean up the house once everyone had left. Before that night, I thought I had met the one, thought I knew what it was like to be loved. 

If only I had known a love like Embry’s, I might’ve been able to save myself from the months of nightmares and internal torment. 

I moved down the countertop, wiping the space at the end of the counter where my regular usually sat. He only came in Tuesday mornings, right before his shift at the department with my father. My lips broke into a slightly forced smile as Charlie took his seat, shrugging out of his coat. 

“Regular black?” I asked as I pulled a mug from the dishwasher. 

“Yes ma’am,” he beamed; his face was old and weary. TJ talked about Charlie quite a bit, with him being the Chief and all. When I finally met him, we clicked and he swore up and down he’d only come in for breakfast or dinner on the nights I was working. He always tipped generously, and always left smiling. Last I heard, he was dating Sue, Seth and Leah’s mom. 

I glanced at Maddox from my peripheral vision; he had removed his hat, light brown hair pulled back into a small bun. He was watching me, assessing my movements much like I had been watching him earlier. I tried not to let my annoyance surface, poured Charlie’s coffee and tossed the empty canister into the sink. 

I set the mug in front of Charlie, leaning against the countertop. “The special’s blueberry pancakes.” I said cheerfully, browsing through the laminated pages of the menu. “But, you have yet to try any of the omelets – which is a sin, because they’re so delicious.” I mused, eyes scanning over the page. 

“How about just a big stack of bacon.” I glanced at him with slight disapproval. “What? Look at the crap I gotta deal with today, I deserve some pig meat.”

“Only if you get eggs with it.” I finalized, standing up straight.

“Fine.” Charlie replied bitterly, taking a sip of the steaming coffee. “Poached.” 

“Bacon burnt to a crisp?” I asked, slipping the menu back into its place under the register. Charlie nodded. 

Customers trailed in one by one over the course of the next two hours, each seated with heaping mountains of warm breakfast filling their tables. Maddox had yet to finish his coffee, but I was certain it was ice-cold by this point. When I walked past him for the umpteenth time, I swiped his mug off the countertop, dumped the contents in the sink and poured him a fresh cup. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” He said once I replaced it in front of him, leaning back on the stool when I neared. I pulled her brows together first in confusion, then annoyance. 

“Yes, I did.” I grumbled, wiping the counter around him. “My boss does keep an eye on me, and the customers.” 

Maddox pursed his lips together, settling his hands around his mug again, “You’re doing a good job.” 

“Don’t.” I hissed, turning to pile the empty and used mugs into the dishwasher up front. When I turned around to restock the napkin dispenser, Maddox was wearing a smug smile. His smugness was nothing like Embry’s - and that made me want to launch my fist right into his nose. 

“Would you prefer it if I left?” He asked. 

“Yes, actually,” I braced my hand on the counter and the other on my hip, trying to keep my face straight and emotionless, “because I don’t know why you’re here.” 

“I wanted to see you.” 

I clenched my jaw together tightly, lifting my eyes from his to scan the restaurant. Charlie was pulling his jacket over his uniform, offering me momentary relief. 

“I never wanted to see you. So, I think it’s best if you leave.” I pressed, hard eyes cutting back to the unwelcome visitors before I pushed away from the counter to meet Charlie at the till. 

Another hour passed; another hour where Maddox waited patiently, where his coffee remained untouched, another hour where I could feel my irritation building. I pushed through the doors behind the kitchen, wandering over to where Angie sat on a pile of skids. I sat down next to her, leaning against the wall for support. 

“Still there, huh?” Angie asked with a laugh, working her fingers through her cropped hair. 

“Mhm,” I sighed, fixing my ponytail. “I wish he’d leave.” 

“Tell him off.”

I rolled my eyes, “Don’t you think I haven’t tried that, Ang?” My friend tossed me a sheepish smile over her shoulder, shrugging meekly. “Debbie would be pissed if he left a bad review.”

“Would he leave a bad review?” 

I thought about it for a moment. “Probably. Just to spite me.” We exited the kitchen together, working to clear the tables on our respective halves of the floor, quickly wiping down tables and restocking condiment containers. By the time lunch pulled around, I opted out of walking down the street to buy lunch. I tossed my apron onto the skids in the back, and walked out into the dining area, around the counter with my food. 

Maddox watched me take a seat in one of the booths. Much to my dismay, he slipped off his stool, bringing his cold coffee with him. 

I watched him settle into the booth across from me; I began pouring the syrup across my two slices of french toast, trying not to pay him any mind. We sat in silence for five minutes before he spoke up, “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”

I dropped my fork on my plate, folding my arm., “That’s funny.” 

“What is?”

“You’ve got a lot of balls, Maddox.” I spat, cutting through the second piece. “To show up here and pretend like I don’t have every reason to completely hate you. The only reason why I’ve been playing nice is because this is my job, and I have to be nice.” 

Maddox leaned forward. “And if we weren’t here?” 

“I would’ve kicked you in the fucking balls three hours ago.” 

He laughed, mainly to himself, folding his hands on top of the table. “Still feisty, it’s adorable.” 

“Yeah,” I growled, “my boyfriend seems to think so, too.” 

“I’m sure he does.” Maddox – for the first time that morning – took a small sip of his coffee, face even, smooth and emotionless. “Embry, isn’t it?”

I paused again, eyes burning holes into his, jaw clenching shut again. “How do you know his name?” 

“Are you happy?”

I shook my head, pushing my plate away from me. “Dammit, Maddox.” I growled, leaning back in the booth. “How do you know so much about my life here? I haven’t seen you since –” I stopped talking, pursing my lips shut tightly. I watched the slightest hint of remorse flash in his dark eyes. “You need to leave.” 

“Ainsley.”

“No. You don’t get to show up here and pretend like nothing happened – like you have a right to know me.” 

“Your friends aren’t the safest people to be around, Ains.” 

“What friends?” I asked bitterly. 

“Jacob, Embry – the rest.” His tone was suggestive as he leaned forward. “They’re walking timebombs, love, you gotta know that’s not safe.” 

“Better than a bunch of rapists –”

“I am not a rapist.” He retorted, his eyes flashed quickly and his voice was low and raspy. The sudden change in his demeanor sent a shiver down my spine, causing the hairs on my arms to stand at full attention. 

My tongue moved slowly around the words. “No. You’re just an accomplice, which is just as bad.” 

Maddox was moving quickly then. He slid out of the booth, reaching into his wallet for a twenty. He slapped it on the table, his nostrils flared angrily. “For the coffee.”

“Coffee’s two-fifty –”

“Then consider it a tip.” He growled, pulling his hat back over his head. Maddox paused for a brief moment, then inhaled deeply and bent down quickly, pressing his lips to my hair – which I tried to refrain from recoiling from. He then turned and appeared to glide towards the front door, walking into the white storm with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. I moved my eyes back down to the twenty on the table, then looked up to meet Angie’s eyes, sinking down into my seat with a sense of defeat washing over my body. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I parked next to Emily’s house, cursing myself for not thinking to pack an extra set of clothing for after my shift. The baby shower was tomorrow, and I promised Emily I would stop by after I finished at the diner to help set up. There were sisters from her hometown that would be driving in, along with the entire pack plus their significant others, and some extended family. Embry and I had gone halfsies on adorable onesies. One read “You People Are Huge” (my choice) and another read “Watch your language asshole, I’m a baby” (Embry’s choice, unfortunately). 

I slipped my boots off at the door, leaving my jacket draped over one of the kitchen chairs. “You shouldn’t be doing that.” I chided, moving to help Emily down from the mini-ladder. The kitchen had been overfilled with streamers and balloons carefully and strategically hung from banister to banister. 

“My husband wouldn’t help.” She growled, resting a hand on her swollen tummy. 

Sam popped his head out from around the corner of the living room, his thick brows pulled together. “You yelled at me and told me you could do it yourself!” 

“You’re not supposed to believe me!” Emily hissed, shoving the leftover garbage into the white bag that sat in the middle of the table. 

Embry came up from the basement with Jared on his tail; I felt my chest lighten, hands instinctively reaching forward to him. “Warm.” I mumbled happily, wrapping my arms around his stomach, pressing my cold hands against his bare back. He leaned down with a quiet chuckle, pressing his lips to my hair.

And then shoved me away quickly, arms gripping my shoulders tightly. 

“Ow.” I whined quietly, trying to squirm away from his grip. “Emb, ease up.”

“You stink.” Embry said definitively, his eyes hard and cold.

I stopped moving, feeling the heat rise in my chest. I looked around the room uncomfortably, then lowered my voice. “No, I didn’t have time to go home and change, I’m sor–”

“No, shut up.” He growled, pulling me into him again, returning his nose to my hair. Embry inhaled deeply, pulling his face away with a look of disgust before he looked over his shoulder, “Sam, c’mere.” 

I shoved his arms away from mine, hands rubbing over the skin tentatively, hoping that it wouldn’t be too heavily bruised. I planned on wearing a short-sleeved dress for the shower. Sam put his empty wrappers into the garbage, then leaned over the chair to sniff the air around me. 

His face hardened, much like Embry’s had, a certain distaste crawled over his features as a visible tremor rolled down his spine. Emily watched from behind Embry with a confused expression, carefully keeping close eyes on Sam’s frame. “That’s the scent.” Embry finally said, taking a step away from my frame. 

“They’re in Forks.” Jared said quietly from his seat on the stairs. 

“What are they doing in Forks?” 

“Who’s in Forks?” I wondered out loud, looking up at Embry for some sort of explanation. He ignored me, following Sam into the living room as the pair began conversing hastily. Jared rolled his eyes, giving Emily a knowing glance. 

“Woah, what stinks?” Paul scrunched his nose up, Jacob, Leah and Trent following suit as they entered in from the crisp outdoors. Paul and Jacob were bare-chested and wearing cut-offs, which meant they were back from their evening patrol. 

“Ainsley.” Jared grumbled in reply to Paul, his eyes narrowing in my direction.  

Emily threw a roll of tape in his general direction. “Give it a rest, Jared.”

“What’s going on?” 

Emily rolled her eyes, sitting next to me at the table, “Ainsley came across one of the scents today and brought it home, so I’m sure Sam and Embry are in the living room plotting how to eliminate the threat.” 

Paul sat on the other side of me, sniffing again. I blushed. “That’s the males – how did you manage to bring that home?” 

“Bring what home?” I asked, annoyance dripping off each word. 

“The leeches scent. You’re covered in it.” He stated, as if it were the most obvious thing.

I paused, rearing my thoughts back to my day. I always kept an eye out for anything that seemed out of place, people that seemed obviously beautiful and perfect. People that seemed restrained. “Maddox ..” I whispered quietly, feeling my chest cave abruptly. There was no way – 

“Maddox?” Trent asked from across the table. “What’s he doing in Forks?” 

“He was looking for me at Shaker’s.” I replied absently, eyes unfocused on the table in front of me. “Came by before I even showed up, didn’t leave until after lunch rush.” 

“What did he want?” Paul asked, kicking his feet up onto the table. Emily grimaced. 

I shrugged, hoping I could remain cool and collected. “No idea, honestly. That would explain how he knows you all by name – that’s what he meant when he said you were …” I sighed, letting my eyes slip shut. “This makes sense.” Kind of. 

“His scent is saturating you, Ains.” Embry drawled from the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest. Sam stood next to him, mimicking the same seriousness.

I could feel my shoulders drop forward, attempting to make myself small under the careful watch of everyone in the room. “He sat with me when I was on break.” 

“You let the scumbag sit with you?” Trent asked dubiously. 

Better rip the bandaid off. “And he might have kissed my head before he left.” I conceded. 

“Ainsley –”

“I told him to leave.” I said desperately, trying to avoid bringing my eyes to meet my boyfriends. Embry had tried his best to keep his temper from coming forward when I was around, trying to believe nothing I did was to purposely hurt him. But in that moment, I could see Leah move in between Trent and Embry, hands braced on the back of his chair. The room had shifted; it was suddenly thick, hot and uncomfortable. 

“Who’s Maddox?” Jacob asked, breaking the silence in the room. I shared a look with Trent, hoping he would keep good on his word. When he met my eyes, his face softened in understanding. The situation I had thrown myself into was not one out of choice: undoubtedly, Embry was fuming. If not because a vampire had been close enough to his imprint that I could have died, then because said vampire had actually touched me. Kissed me. 

“Someone from Seattle that I knew.” Trent said finally. “Worked with him for a few months. Not the greatest guy.” 

“Perfect. So, we’re doing the world a favour, then.” Embry suggested, anger dripping from his words. It was uncomfortable to hear him speak so freely about the idea of killing someone, although I knew they didn’t necessarily see it as murder. Couldn’t kill what was already dead. 

“What are you going to do, Emb? Kill him yourself?” Leah asked from behind Trent, her tone half-teasing.

“Yes.” 

All eyes shot to Embry then, watching his arms settle at his sides, fists trembling the slightest bit. I thought back to Maddox – small visions played across my mind. Embry’s large gray wolf ripping through his flesh, his growls filling the empty air. I tried to suppress the urge to shiver. 

“Guess we’re heading back out there.” Jacob sighed, nodding toward Leah. “Embry, maybe you should go home with Ains. If one of them knows her, it might be better if –”

“No.” He said angrily, his hard eyes cutting back to me briefly before he returned his gaze to Jacob dutifully. “I'm going with you.” 

At this point, I couldn’t tell if he was adamant about finding Maddox to kill him, or if he really didn’t want to be stuck with me. I was trying to pretend like the latter wasn’t a possibility. The room emptied quickly, each warm body following Embry out of the front door, slamming it shut behind them. Trent, Emily and I sat around the kitchen table, quietly looking around the half-decorated room. 

“Better finish this, then.” I said finally, grabbing a roll of tape. Emily and my brother watched me for only a moment, both of their faces heavy, before Trent stood and came to help. We spent the following hour hanging multi-coloured ribbon from the ceiling, turning Emily’s kitchen and living room into open areas with lots of space, full of balloons and streamers. 

I offered to give Trent a ride back to Leah’s, seeing as Jacob had been their original ride to Emily’s. Once we were in the Jeep, he turned the heat on full and turned to me. 

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon, Ains.” He sighed, leaning his elbow against the window. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” 

“That’s a load of shit,” he grumbled, “Maddox gave you hell.”

“Maddox wasn’t the one who defiled me and left me on the bathroom floor.” 

Trent clenched his jaw. “No, but he was the one who let frat scum slip a pill into your drink.” 

“Trent, leave it alone.” 

“Why?” My brother asked, neck craned so he could look at me with a hard expression. “Maddox deserves everything Embry wants to do to him, and probably more.” 

I didn’t respond; my hands gripped the steering wheel tightly while my eyes focused on navigating through the white sheet of snow that whirled around in the darkness. I didn’t want to talk about Maddox. I didn’t want anyone to know about what had happened, or give Embry more of a reason to get angry. I didn’t want to make excuses for the man, but I didn’t want to think about my boyfriend taking pleasure in killing anyone. 

“Ainsley,” Trenton finally broke the silence, a sigh tumbling from lips. “Do you wanna go home? We can go home. I’ll stay at the house with you.” 

I shook my head vehemently. “No, I should probably be there when Embry comes back.” I sniffled, wiping my nose on my sleeve. I was still sick and the outside weather wasn’t helping me feel any less crappy. “You’re living with Leah now?” I asked, glancing over at Trent in the darkness. 

He shrugged. “My idea. Took a lot of persuasion.” 

“I bet.” I mumbled, turning into Leah’s driveway. “She doesn’t seem like she’s the type to jump head first into all of this.” 

“Definitely not.” He laughed, pulling his hat over his ears. “See you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” I nodded, offering him a smile as he exited the vehicle. 

The ride back to Embry and Jacob’s side of the reservation was slow; neither of the men were home when I arrived. To spare any sort of argument later, I showered as quickly and thoroughly as I could, and threw in a load of laundry in hopes of eliminating any traces of the vampire stench. The clock on the kitchen wall read 11:56 PM by the time I finished eating and cleaned the dishes.

My eyes fought sleep until my phone read 2:00 AM. I finally gave up waiting for Embry to come home, and gave in to the exhaustion that draped over me like a thick blanket. I locked the windows tightly, ensuring to keep any harsh winds from coming through. Then, I collapsed onto my side of the bed, pulling the thick white duvet up to my chin, shivering slightly in the bed that was colder than usual.

[safetycar-restart]

A little Hh!carlos thought I had from one of your recent posts but maybe where his wife is working from home that day and Carlos is wearing a little maid outfit throughout the day.

So for example they start out their morning slow and sweet filled with touches and kisses. After a while they stand and get ready to each do their own thing for a bit, she stands up and goes to her office while he changes into his little outfit in hope to surprise her. (He’s wearing nothing underneath of course.) He’s starting to wash dishes and she eventually comes out of her office to get a drink snd snack and is in shock at what she sees. Her pretty boy dressed up in a small maid outfit slightly bent over and sweaty from cleaning ready to be used by her. He doesn’t even notice her until her hands grab his hips, slowly run down and start touching him. He lets out little gasps and whimpers but she just cant help it Carlos is just her perfect boy!!!

(Side note: I was wondering if I could claim 🐳 emoji. Thank you have a good day/night!!)

Welcome 🐳 anon!! I’ll add your emoji to the claimed list and I’m so excited to hear more from you because I LOVE this thought so much.

So firstly, I think we need to discuss how much Carlos loves when you work from home? Honestly it's Carlos's favourite type of day when you're working from home. And because of that, you always try to arrange your schedule so that you get at least one day a week where you can work from home. Of course sometimes it's not possible, but you always try for it.

Every Sunday before bed you and Carlos will go over the schedule for the week, Carlos packs the dishwasher and cleans the kitchen while you sit at the kitchen island with your computer, the google calendar open. You love to watch the way Carlos's eyes light up when he hears you're working from home one day. He immediately starts making plans for what he's going to do that day, what will be for breakfast and lunch and dinner, what other things he can bring you throughout the day, what he can wear.

He just THRIVES knowing that his wife is upstairs in her office, working hard and earning money for the two of them.

This week, you're work from day is on Thursday, and Carlos has spent the days leading up to Thursday thinking about how excited he is for Thursday.

Carlos wakes you up in the morning with some water with mint, kissing your cheek and telling you that breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. You thank him, praising him for being the best sub you could ever ask for.

Twenty minutes later, you come downstairs having showered and quickly changed into some comfy clothes. You're working from home, so no need to dress up.

Carlos has breakfast ready on the kitchen island when you get there, scrambled eggs and pieces of fruit, toast and bacon and coffee. Even some frenchtoast too.

It's excessive even for Carlos's standards, but you've learnt that this is just what carlos does on the days you work from home, cause he's so so happy! You eat breakfast with him, with Carlos kneeling at your feet and being handfed, because he had been so good for you that he absolutely deserved to be handfed.

Carlos is in absolute heaven of course, because he made his wife breakfast and got handfed from his wife and got praised and now his wife will be working from home while he cleans the house. It's a perfect day in his opinion.

After breakfast, you give Carlos a long kiss and then head up to your office to start actually working.

Carlos cleans up the kitchen, and then changes into his maid outfit. He has plenty of different versions of the maid outfit, but maybe you've never actually seen the one he's wearing? Because he just has to surprise you.

After a few hours of working, you decide to take a quick break, get some coffee and a snack. You know that you could call Carlos and he would happily bring you some coffee and a snack, but you know that by now he'll be busy cleaning the house and you honestly just want to surprise him.

So he really isnt expecting you to walk in while he's busy washing the dishes in his maid outfit, which is the best surprise ever.

You simply have to hug him from behind, giving his pecs a little squeeze and kissing his neck, whispering in his ear that he looks so hot and that you're so so lucky. He smiles, thanking you for the complement and continuing to wash the dishes. He doesn't even flinch when you slip your hand under his skirt to cup his cock, which is nicely tucked away in his cage of course. He just lets out a little whine, continuing to wash the dishes like the good service sub he is.

You tell him that you'd like some coffee and a snack, and then go back to your office because you know he'll come with what you've asked for.

As expected, Carlos comes back to your office within ten minutes with your coffee and snack. He's still in his pretty maid outfit, and you simply have to move to the couch in your office and let Carlos come with you. He sits next to you, your hand resting outrageously high on his thigh as you drink your coffee and eat your snack. You can tell carlos is horny, and probably about two seconds away from getting to his knees and asking if he can taste you, but you have work to do.

So instead, you tell Carlos when to have lunch ready and then let let him know that after lunch, you'll let him kneel between your legs while you finish working if he would like. Which, of course he would like.

He calls you when lunch is ready, and then happily follows you back up to your office after. He has a special pillow at your desk that he kneels on, and he gets on it, nuzzling into your thigh and letting out little pants because he wants to taste!

You let Carlos eat you out, running a hand through his hair. You direct him with your hand, pulling him away by his hair when you need a break and pulling him back into you by his hair when you're ready for him to continue. You don't need to say a thing.

Carlos is in absolute heaven, hearing the sounds of you typing or writing above, getting to eat you out and kneel against your thigh. It's the perfect way to spend an afternoon.

When you're finished working, you stand him up, give his ass a little spank and send him off to go make dinner.

[clochanam]

she's a highly self-aware hypocrite this evening. in fact, it had made for quite the energetic dish-washing session after dinner had concluded. scrubbing plates with such focus that kate had eventually decided to step back and help anthony put edward to bed. she'd spent twenty minutes bouncing between confusion, frustration, self-reflection, then back around, again and again until the last spoon was tucked away and she found herself facing the ultimate conclusion.

she'd fucked up.

she kept her secrets, too. the company, moira, eoin, fiachra. even ajay's existence, and edgar's brief sentence of imprisonment in the pantry, two key features in her life, had never been discussed with ophelia. and it was fine! better than, really, because relationships are allowed to have some secrets. especially when the truth could hurt the unwitting listener.

but that doesn't stop her from bringing it up when phee turns the key in the door. idiot that she is, aisling attempts to communicate the complexity of secrets and privacy in a bond as intimate as theirs. in fact, what she actually says is significantly more accusatory ( " i know you have your secrets. " i mean, jesus, aisling, seriously? she's content to kick herself for such a stupid introduction for at least six months. ) even though she stumbles frantically for a more reassuring recovery. but phee looks at her with that same steady tranquility that stops her from groaning and giving up on her stupid speech, and speaks with a simple, matter-of-fact tone that soothes the panic in her mind.

it doesn't concern you. that's why i didn't tell you.

" yeah. " relief floods her mind, and she instinctively reaches for her hand. incredible, how @theresastargirl finds a way to communicate so clearly in ten words what aisling failed to achieve with a thousand. thumb running over her knuckles, aisling raises them to press a tender kiss, then nods slightly. " just... you know you can come to me if you need help. okay? promise that you won't take it on alone. because you're not alone. and you never will be ever again. "

[keeira]

DCASS2023!

Sorry it took me a minute to finish up! I saw that you liked slumber land and coffee shops so I decided to leave my comfort zone a little bit and dabble into something on the more romantic side of things haha. I hope you like it c: @korral-craftin Slumberland/DCA FNAF crossover

Stardust

“Is there anything more you’d like to add to that?” your colleagues' attention was focused on you as your hand desperately twitched under the cafe table.

 “I have nothing more to add, however, I’d like to pass this opportunity off to Helen so she can discuss our project’s plan moving forward,” you spoke in forced composure. A wave of relief washed over you as your project manager began to lead the meeting, commanding the attentiveness of the board while you ducked away from the camera for a moment to rub the sleep out of your eyes. These early morning meetings were killing you, not to mention your sleep schedule has been down the drain the past… You can’t remember quite clearly.

  A message popped up at the corner of your screen but you were quick to dismiss it. It was something you could address later. If you even wanted to look a it at all.

 “Careful,” the gentle clink of a glass cup diverted your attention, “it’s hot.”

 “Thank you!” You turned to the barista who gave you a small smile.

 “-Are you still with us?” The annoyance in Helen’s voice was evident. You will be hearing about this later.

 “Yes, please continue.”

This was your everyday. Early mornings, coworkers, and coffee. That was until you headed to lunch and then home to do project work. It was eleven twenty-six, meaning you only had about a half hour left of this before you could really start your day. At least the work was remote, or that’s just what you’ve been telling yourself.

The first sip of coffee drew a long sigh from you. Well technically this was your second cup but after the first round of meetings hell you needed another. Its rich flavor excited your tastebuds with the caffeine rush you desperately craved, only soothing them with a cool wash of sweetness to compliment. It was no wonder this place became an instant hit for you the second that delicate steam rose from the mug, not to mention the lovely latte art.

  But was coffee really enough?

  By the time your meeting finished, you had already downed the last of your liquid addiction and passed off the dishes to the barista with a simple farewell. You always felt sluggish getting out of the cafe’s sofa chairs. Hours of sitting haven’t been kind to you, but not much could be helped about it. It was your job after all. You packed your laptop into its bag and left for home, the endless ambiance of the city drowning you amongst the masses. The walk home was always nice. The spring air held the crispness of winter but the summer sun kept it just warm enough the get away with a light jacket.

  But even with all these wonderful things, the day just couldn’t end any faster.

  Lunch was microwavable and in your apartment, before you spent the last hours of your shift riffling through the endless tasks upper management was trying to drown you in. By the time your shift was over, you were collapsed on the couch with your laptop in your lap. Another message popped up and you clicked on it against your better judgment. You knew what they were. And yet a frown pulled on the edges of your lips.

  Bedtime.

  That twisting pressure that built in your chest pressed you towards your bedroom. Sure it was a bit early to sleep but what was the harm of getting to your real day faster? Your nervous smile was masked with the familiar giddiness that drives your days. Your clothes were long forgotten as you pulled on plush pajamas. Coffee may be the highlight of your days, but the real highlight begins once you close your eyes. Light off and covers pulled up to your chin. The bustle of the city mixed with the gentle quiet that came with the night.

  It took a minute, but you finally had your apron in your hands. After tying the strings behind your back, you all but danced behind the counter that sparkled in your eyes. The same mug you drank from today was in your hands as you poured freshly brewed coffee into it. Sure you were still a bit sloppy with the latte art, but in time you would learn the proper way to do it. Plus, you were sure your only customer wouldn’t mind.

  He started appearing in your dreams weeks ago, at first hiding away once you spotted him in the corners of your vision before waiting so patiently for a cup as he was doing now. That dangerous smile and all. Orange sun rays reflected the dim, mood lighting while his dark appearance drew all the attention from the pink shop onto himself. His black coat did not improve how badly he stuck out with a rose cup in hand and those amber eyes ensnared your heart with just a glance.

  “Your latte art is getting better,” the rich, velvety sound of his voice always caught you off guard, “and tastes good too.”

“Thanks, I've been practicing.”

“Any way I can convince you to just stick with practice this evening?” a metal eyebrow raised whilst Eclipse swirled the contents of his cup.

  You slipped into the seat across from the mechanical giant, “Absolutely not. Where are we going today?”

  This was the life you really craved. Not stupid project planning or cooking dinner alone. You wanted to be immersed in a world of adventure, clinging to Eclipse’s hand as he pulled you off to the newest wonder to see. Maybe he would take you to the Ferris wheel again? Or, no, he would bring you for a ride on another giant goose? All you knew was the tap of the glass against the table and gentle, fiery claws extending in your direction. And your heart soared.

  With your hand in his, he pulled you across your little coffee shop hand and hand. His life-filled cackle mingled with the excited strums of your heart. In an instant, the back cupboard was thrown open and the both of you tumbled into an expansive sea of vibrant coral, its neon patterning rippling along with the camouflaged fish that danced in between its homely pockets. In the real sea, the salt would have stung your eyes shut, but here its cool embrace encouraged you to look further into its beautiful depths. With dark hands to hold you steady, you were invincible.

Waking up in the morning was always your biggest tragedy.

  Your alarm blared, jolting you awake as usual. Just five more minutes was all you craved, but it was always too late to go back once you were awake., So you mechanically dragged yourself out of bed, threw on an appropriate outfit, and began the cycle again. Cereal, laptop, and bag. It was cold this morning but at least the sun was up. Its warm rays prompt a shy smile from your lips.

  The bell rings as you enter the coffee shop, its pink interior is only a further reminder of the dreams you craved. As always, the barista waved to you in welcome. You slumped into the same seat as yesterday and the days before, prying open your laptop and logging on. The open messages send a jolt down your spine but you close them with forced composure. Instead, you find yourself exchanging morning pleasantries with the people you couldn’t stand. Discussing project plans you can't bring yourself to care about and wishing that time would quicken its dragging pace. When Helen spoke, you could feel the underneath of your skin cringe but you endured her grating voice.

Instead of tuning in, you found yourself daydreaming of that wild smile again. He twirled with you in the water, hands interlocked with yours and eyes focused solely on you. He only broke his hold to tuck away the hair that floated into your face from the water’s current. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ is what he promised and you couldn’t help the butterflies that roosted against your ribcage.

Your name ripped you back to reality. Your coworkers stared at you expectantly and you felt helpless under their ridged gaze.

“What are your findings from the spreadsheets you sorted last night?” Panic gripped at your heart as you tried to rewind back to reality, clicking through your work files with sputtering nonsense. A ping alerted you to another message. You pulled up your data from last night. You treated their stares like a lifeless screen and like a machine you spit out numbers to satisfy its asking. Even your body movements were rehearsed like a fine-tuned program capable of churning without feeling. Flawless except for the rapid thundering of your heart that betrayed your false confidence. Another notification pinged an icy trickle down your spine. You didn’t spare it a glance.

A glass clinked down beside you, and a panicked spasm ran its course inside. You did not thank the barista as you remained in character for the wolf-like audience before you. By the time you were done performing, the coffee was cold.

There was no joy to your walk home this afternoon. There was no warmth in the food you ate. There came no relief to the end of your work day, the endless haunting messages on full display. Instead, you sought the only real comfort you knew in cotton clothes. You will know joy when you see him. You will feel warmth in his hands. Your relief will come once your eyes are closed against the endless city light.

Your alarm blared you awake, as it always does. But that couldn’t be right. You must have forgotten your dream.

You let your feet drag you through the daily motions. Coffee, coworkers, walking. Messages. And as soon as your work was finished for the day, you launched yourself into bed. It didn’t matter how much you tossed and turned, your body fighting against the early bedtimes to satisfy your need for the fantastical. And when you finally felt as if you could drift away to your dreams, your alarm blared you awake again in the morning.

Two days of dreamless nights. Perhaps you had grown too dependent on your dreams to face reality. Perhaps the month you’ve spent with your celestial savior was nothing more but a fantasy to hide behind. But his hands felt so real. Those burning claws were gentle against your waist as he dipped you during a ball dance. You remember the night clearly while resisting crawling out of bed to start the daunting day that awaited you. His sharp eyes bore into your own as the music enveloped the both of you. That lazy smile that painted his lips responded to your own gleeful grin. That night was magic. He leaned in close and pressed his forehead against your own.

“Will you spend every dream with me, my dear stardust?” his amber eyes twinkled like starlight.

“If you’ll have me.”

You hadn’t realized the quiver in your lip as you dragged yourself away from the safety your covers provided you. The real world does not wait for your promises. And neither would she. Everything was more difficult today. Your clothes wouldn’t settle nicely. The bag you carried was nowhere to be found. Even the weather was cold. It felt like your world was silently crashing down around you only that world wasn’t the one you were currently in. Part of you wondered how you had become so attached to a dream. Something that couldn’t be real.

Your favorite barista wasn’t in today and the work you were assigned only got harder. And the messages only got worse. You had to dream tonight.

When you finally lay yourself to rest, you awoke to find the apron you’ve grown to love resting gently on the counter. Yet, you ignored it. Instead, you burst into the cafe, eyes searching for the sore thumb that always sat at your favorite seat. The lights were dim, making the shop seem so cold like the heart of its joy was missing somewhere between the gates of your dream and the next. He would be here. You would wait. Wait as the lights only grew darker in your loneliness. And when they went out, you jolted awake. There was no alarm on the weekends.

He never came.

The feeling instead wasn’t unlike one you’ve felt before, only now it grew into a vast pit within your chest. The comfort you’ve relied on abandoned you. You felt like crying. The tears never came. You never realized how alone you were in this world until Eclipse wasn’t there to chase the nightmares away. You never knew how much you hated this life until your false reality was gone.

Despite not needing to work, you found yourself aimlessly walking to the coffee shop you spent your morning in. The air was slightly chilly like always, even with the morning sun trying its best. It just didn’t feel as bright as it used to. The city was grey and its walls were your concrete prison. Even the people seemed more secluded today.

The bells of the coffee shop door rang as you walked inside. The barista smiled at you and waved. You could not return his kindness this day. Instead, you sought the comfort of your favorite seat without ordering a drink this morning. Just somewhere to relax the edging pain that ate away at your insides. There wasn’t another soul in the shop today outside of the bartender and, honestly, you preferred that for today. You could get a drink in a minute, but for now this spot was all you needed. Just a small slice of happiness.

“Excuse me,” the barista set a cup down at your table. But you hadn’t ordered anything today?

You glanced up at the man with mild shock, your sorrowful eyes meeting his unreadable amber ones. His orange hair was messier than usual, like someone whose been desperately trying to sleep only to roll against their pillow for hours. You imagined you looked much the same. He lingered at your table, seeming unsure of what to do with himself.

“Thank you,” your pleasant smile was forced.

The barista stood at your table for a moment more, glancing at his station before ultimately sliding into the seat across from you. Much to your bewilderment. He seemed troubled. His hands fidgeted with each other and his eyes darted wildly around the room before settling back on you. You had no idea what this guy was doing. He never tried to talk to you more outside of a simple hello or goodbye. Perhaps he could tell you weren’t all there today? Or maybe he’s curious why you’re in on your day off.

“We haven’t properly met,” his voice rang with the familiarity of your everyday visit to the shop, “I’m Saros.”

He held his hand out to your cautious form like a dear friend meeting you again. You took his hand, giving your name in turn. The awkwardness you felt rang against your emptiness. You could tell he felt out of place too.

“I wanted to say sorry for not being there,” his hands rubbed nervously together, “I had something going on and I just couldn’t seem to get there.”

Was he talking about not being at work yesterday?

“You don’t have to apologize to me for not making it to work?” This guy had to be out of his mind.

“No thats-” Saros sighed “I’m not talking about work.”

Now you were thoroughly confused.

“I’m sorry I’ve never approached you sooner, I wasn’t sure how well you would take hearing this but,” he paused for a moment, those fiery amber eyes like ones you knew so well, “would you like to daydream with me, stardust?”

You never told anyone about your dreams. Much less did anyone else call you that nickname. His black dress attire was paired with a dark apron and on it was his nametag. Beside his name was a dark circle with orange triangles jutting out of it. Fiery red hair that spiked out and those wild eyes. Your dreams.

“Eclipse?”

His relieved smile cradled your crying soul, “the one and only.”

That piece you were sorely missing began to swell.

“Will you dream with me tonight?”

  “Why wait to dream when we have right now?”

[dogwatch05]

Human: The Space Dog Bonus Lore 1

The recent chapters haven't exactly been the most happy for our dear Human, so I figured that I would write some bonus lore of him being happy at home. Enjoy.

I stretched my back as I sat up, every bone in my body cracking and complaining as I looked around. Taylor hadn't come back with the kids yet and it was already 16:30.

"Might as well start dinner." I said to myself, getting up off the couch and heading to the kitchen. Dinner tonight was a family favorite. Southwestern eggrolls. Chicken cooked in taco seasoning, spinach, corn, tomato, black beans, and pepper jack cheese all rolled up in a tortilla and warmed in a skillet with coconut oil to crisp the bottom and top to a golden brown.

As I prepped dinner, I wondered when my family was going to come home. They had spent the day at Taylor's mom's and I had slept in as I had just gotten off a long trip on an oil rig yesterday evening.

With everything prepped and the skillet warming up on low heat, I turned on the TV to the news and sat on the couch. My dog, an elderly husky named Luna, jumped up on the couch next to me and licked my neck while we waited for everyone to come home.

Twenty minutes later I heard the door knob rattling as it was being unlocked and my two children came dashing through the door and leapt into my arms.

"Daddy!" They both cried as they clung on tight to my neck. I hugged them both tightly as I smirked at my wife and sent them off to wash up for dinner.

I got up and walked over to Taylor. "Hello Dearest," I said as I approached her. "How was your day?"

"Just fine. The kids had a blast and Mom said to tell you that she's glad you're back."

I smiled at her and told her that dinner was ready. It just needed to be warmed up.

While the kids were cleaning up, I stuffed and cooked 6 eggrolls. Once the kids were ready we all sat around the table, said grace, and dug in with gusto.

Taylor and I cleaned the table and did the dishes while the children played with Luna. We moved to the living room and watched the children until their bedtime arrived and grudgingly, we got up off the couch to put them to bed.

Hugs, kisses, bedtime story, more hugs and kisses, a bathroom run, a water run, and one last round of hugs and kisses later, the kids were all settled down and sleeping soundly.

As we were sitting on the couch, I grinned at Taylor mischievously. She glanced at me and grinned. "What? What do you want? What's with that look?"

"Oh nothing serious, My lady."

I stood up and held out my hand to her. She took my hand still grinning at me. "Now what" she asked. I grinned back at her and started singing.

"So when you're near me, darling Can't you hear me, S.O.S.? The love you gave me Nothing else can save me, S.O.S."

Taylor laughed, a full delighted belly laugh.

I continued:

"When you're gone, how can I even try to go on? When you're gone, though I try, how can I carry on?"

Taylor responded:

"You seemed so far away, though you were standing near You made me feel alive, but something died, I fear I really tried to make it up, I wish I understood What happened to our love? It used to be so good"

I spun Taylor around in a circle and we danced around the living room, laughing at Luna's attempts to try and join us. We sung the last part of the song together laughing the whole time.

"So when you're near me, darling Can't you hear me, S.O.S.? The love you gave me Nothing else can save me, S.O.S.

When you're gone, how can I even try to go on? When you're gone, though I try, how can I carry on?

When you're gone, how can I even try to go on? When you're gone, though I try, how can I carry on?"

We waltzed around the living room, our heads resting on each other's shoulder, living in the moment and not worrying about the past or the future.

"I'm glad you're home." Taylor whispered to me.

"Me too." I responded