#instant-glow cream

[colorbar1]

The Psychology of Glow: How Skin Glow Creams Boost Your Confidence

When talking about skincare routines, products like cleansers, toner, serum, moisturizers, and sunscreens are usually mentioned. Despite their effectiveness, face creams rarely come up in discussions about skincare. Anti aging face creams or even skin glow creams influence our perception of ourselves and our interactions with the outside world by reaching into deeper psychological mechanisms. With their claims of brightness and energy, skin glow creams have been incredibly popular in the last few years.

However, these creams do much more than only improve appearance; they also significantly contribute to increased self-esteem and confidence. In this blog, we'll delve into the intriguing psychology of glow and reveal how skin glow products can give people a boost of confidence and self-assurance.

Recognizing the Psychological Effects of Appearance

It’s important to understand that having a good appearance has very little to do with having fair skin. Face creams, like anti-aging face cream, nourish our skin, protect it against problems like fine lines and premature aging, and improve skin elasticity, hydration, and even skin tone. A healthy and nourished skin:

Improves confidence: research has shown that when we feel good about our appearance, it automatically improves our confidence and self-esteem.

Enhances social interaction: Having a good appearance and being comfortable with your look makes you approachable during social events, leading to positive interactions.

Professional success: Having healthy, non-dull skin helps us present ourselves properly. This overflow of confidence and ease can be very helpful during important client meetings and interviews.

Being confident, approachable, and doing well in a career can all contribute to our mental wellbeing.

Even the smallest task of using a glowing skin face wash can work wonders for your facial appearance.

The Growth of Skin Glow Products in the Cosmetics Sector

The cosmetic industry has released a profusion ofskin-brightening serums and creams in response to the increased demand for radiant skin. The components used in the formulation of these products are said to improve brightness, balance out skin tone, and give skin a natural glow. As celebrities and social media influencers support the glowy skin trend, more and more people are turning to these creams as a way to get the desired radiant complexion. If you are in search of good skin-glow products, you can check out Colorbar’s…

Enriched with ingredients like water glycerin and niacinamide, this face cream’s light reflective pigments make our skin glow against light. Apply the cream, wait for 28 seconds, and see your skin transform into a healthy and bright canvas. This instant-glow cream is perfect for both men and women.

Colorbar’s Luminous Glowing and Brightening Moisturiser is a 2-in-1 moisturizer and glow cream that moisturizes and brightens our skin. Rich in vitamin C, antioxidants, hyaluronic acid, and niacinamide, this moisturizing cream increases skin luminosity and reveals a healthy glow.

Conclusion

Glow's psychology is profound and touches on our core needs for wellbeing, assurance, and confidence. Skin glow creams provide people with more than just surface-level beauty; they provide them with the confidence and comfort to feel good about themselves. Through comprehending the psychological processes underlying radiant skin, we may effectively utilize its transformational potential to augment our general self-worth and inner brightness. Recall that genuine beauty comes from the inside out.

If you are looking to incorporate face creams into your skincare routine, you can check out Colorbar Cosmetics. They are one of the best cosmetic brands in India that sells high-quality beauty products. Along with face skincare products, you can also buy makeup products like foundation, highlighter, lipsticks, lip gloss, primer for combination skin, kajal, lip liner, and more. Shop Now.

[avoidthings]

kitchen’s closed | t. richmond

About: Terry catches you in the kitchen late at night and has his own idea of a midnight snack. [word count: 2.1k] Warnings: Explicit language. 18+ Readers Only. Oral (female receiving), Unprotected PIV (wrap your willy, pls). I had concepts of a plot. 

It was well past midnight in North Carolina, and you could hear the crickets and other critters abuzz outside of your bedroom window. You stared at the sliver of moonlight cast between your curtains, realizing the clutches of insomnia had sunk its sneaky fingers in you yet again. 

Your boyfriend, Terry, rarely stirred in his sleep, and kept a hefty arm draped over your waist every night. Being that he was ex-military, it was sort of ironic how heavy of a sleeper he was. Some evenings you tried to count the rise and fall of his chest instead of sheep, but rather than lulling you to bed it just disgruntled you. You wanted to poke the bear awake and damn him for leaving you so smitten. 

The room was quiet aside from the bustle of the outdoors, and you thanked God your man didn’t snore or else this would feel like a torture chamber. You flipped through the rolodex of your thoughts and landed on recapping your day; you went to work, Terry picked you up and made a stop at Kroger, then you two watched some sitcom reruns for a bit. House rules were to grab takeout after grocery shopping so neither of you had to bother with cooking something. 

All that thinking of food must’ve sent a reminder to your stomach. You exhaled as it grumbled. While very cute, you would rather not see Terry’s grumpy face should he discover his miso soup missing. You perked up at the memory of slipping a pint of ice cream in the shopping cart earlier. 

It was counterproductive, solving sleeplessness with sugar, but you hoped Ben & Jerry’s would be your saving grace tonight. You peered over your shoulder to find your boyfriend as sound as ever, eyes fluttered closed like a saint. 

After a silent prayer, you wriggled from his hold and toed out of bed. You pattered around the twilight of the room, starting your mission to the fridge. Past the master bathroom, the thermostat, (which nearly broke the two of you up), and to the far right of your living space was your destination. Thankfully, the range hood light was on so you weren’t too sore of eyesight. 

You opened the freezer and plucked out your reward. After grabbing a spoon, you settled in, sitting on top of the counter. The granite was cold against your bare thighs, your body only blanketed by a worn t-shirt that hung off your shoulders. 

That first mouthful was instant gratification and you nearly rolled your eyes back in delight. 

“Baby, what are you doing up this late?” You were startled by Terry’s voice, the tone more gruff from the interruption of his slumber. 

You were caught red-handed, spoon in mouth, so you shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted something sweet.” 

He hummed. Terry made his way closer, no longer a distorted shadow in your peripheral vision. He had come to bed in only his sweatpants and socks. 

Terry had a glow about him, even in the dim of your surroundings. He slipped comfortably in your personal space, stepping right between your legs. You relished in the warmth. 

You had to look up even with the extra height the counter gave you.

“Sorry to wake you. I know you have to go for your run in the morning,” you said. 

Terry gave you a lazy smile and shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Everythin’ okay?” You nod wordlessly. 

“Hey!” You protested when he nabbed the pint from you, his hands quicker than your reflex to reach for it back. It was a battle you would more than likely lose anyway. 

He successfully hushed you by taking a scoop from the container to raise to your lips. 

“Open.” 

You held his gaze as you took what was given, inciting a groan that rumbled low in his chest. 

Terry obliged you once more and made notice of your tongue swiping to the corner of your mouth to catch what you missed. His own hunger dwelled in his underbelly. Between your job returning to the office and his growing trucking business, you haven’t made much time for intimacy as of late. 

“I think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet too.” The spoon and tub clattered by your side and he disappeared from your view. 

“Terry--” 

“Open,” he demanded once more, kneeling toward your feet, causing fire to crawl up the back of your neck. He did not take kindly to being ignored, and you wanted this to be an easy night, so you let your legs spread apart. 

He tossed one behind his shoulder, mumbling something inaudible to you. A kiss to your ankle, the inside of your knee, then your thigh. 

A yelp pierced the air when Terry’s large hands claimed the curve of your hips, tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. Your clammy palms braced themselves on the flat surface beneath you. You could feel his smirk and goatee rubbing on your exposed skin. 

Your breath quickened with the anticipation of what was next. His mouth ghosted over your center, blowing on your clit through your dampening panties. 

“Oh, fuck,” you shuddered. 

He was a merciless man, dropping open-mouthed kisses to your clothed center. He retreated as you tried to furl into his touch, reaching underneath your shirt to roll your nipple for more stimulation.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Terry inhaled your scent without shame. Finally, the cotton of your undies was torn from your pelvis to who-knows-where. You felt the coolness of the air over your exposed skin for a brief moment, the absence of touch not lasting long. 

You jerked, feeling his tongue swipe a slow strip up from your wet entrance, gathering your slick. He lewdly spat it back over your clit and sucked until you cried out. Terry ate you without abandon, with little regard for any manners, overtaken by his own greed. --

“I missed how you taste, baby.” Voice muffled in between your legs, his eyes flitted up at you, earnest as always. Terry’s grip maintained the underside of your thighs, keeping your legs spread so he could continue to steal all breath and sense from you. 

“Oh my God,” you moaned. Your brain and your body sounded an alarm, reeling with the increasing need for release. His name fell like a chant from your mouth. 

Two fingers pushing into you caused the band to snap, Terry immediately seeking the button that left you gushing. He was unaffected when your heel dug deep at his shoulder, urging his face further in your pussy as if it was possible. His fingertips sped in pace, turning your mewls into high-pitched squeals. 

Soon enough, your back bowed with the intensity of your orgasm. He tightened his hold, keeping you steady as the current flowed through you. “That’s my girl,” he kissed and licked you through it. Pleasure never reached a precipice when you were under his care, and you shouted to the heavens.

When your legs eventually deflated, your hands found his ears, rubbing behind them gingerly. A grunt slipped from his mouth.

Terry staggered to his feet, hooded eyes glazed over your heaving body. His teeth nipped between your breasts over your shirt, up to your collarbone and your neck. You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in to feel his erection prod at your inner thigh. 

Instinctively, he rutted up against you and you sighed. You were warm all over, sheeted with sweat and clenching around nothing, wanting only to be full of him. 

His lips left your jawline and found your mouth, luring you into a mind-numbing kiss. You cradled Terry’s face in your hands and took control, allowing your tongue to slot against his. It felt all the more indulgent, the lingering taste of chocolate on your lips mixed with your own arousal. 

He was still rubbing on your leg and it only intensified your need for connection. Like a minx, you curled into him, purring in his ear. “Terry, I need you. Please.” 

Your hands lowered to explore the solid planes of his body, all of its beautiful ridges and scars. He leant down so his forehead was touching yours. “Fuck, I need you too, baby. Been losing my damn mind about you,” he breathed.

Terry yanked at the waistband on his joggers and his dick sprung free. You two didn’t usually forgo protection but your cycle was around the corner, and desperation made your judgment very foggy. 

His fingers splayed under your shirt to grasp at your plush waist, thumbing the folds of your belly from where you sat. Terry pushed his way inside, coating himself to about half of his length. You sighed into his hold, legs locked at his torso, trying, and failing to meet him in the middle. 

Without much effort, he stilled your movements. Terry pulled out slowly, and slapped himself over your clit twice, leaving you to squirm pitifully. “Stop teasing and just fuck me, already,” you whined.

Terry did as told and burrowed into you in one, deep thrust. You ate your words in a choked gasp. His head cocked back as he felt your walls squeezing him, putting the cords of his neck on full display. 

Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried desperately to hold on to the thread of resolve you had left. Terry trampled on it when he set a brutal pace, drilling in you like you owed him something. Your ears were ringing with your own moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. It all felt like too much, far too soon. 

You pressed a hand to his chest feebly and whimpered. Promptly, he grabbed your trembling forearm and kissed the inside of your wrist. “I’m fucking you like you wanted, huh? Why you tryna run from me?”

“It’s t-too, m-much,” your words were slurring and you frowned through the pleasure, hoping he’d give you relief from his punishing strokes. That all too familiar storm brewed in your belly again and you couldn’t stifle any noise that left your lips. Each thrust brushed against that sensitive spot within you, and you try your might to stave off your climax. 

His stare was focused on you, utterly enamored by your carnal state. “Terry!” You wailed, slapping the countertop behind you and shifting to scoot away. The crack of his hand on the side of your ass rang loud and welled your eyes with fresh, salty tears. Terry landed a sweltering kiss on your lips to pacify you. 

He gripped you by the coils at the nape of your neck, and you blinked at him, huffing out shattered breaths. You wanted to ask him why he was fucking you like this, and what did you ever do to deserve it. But your brain could only compute expletives. You clenched and unclenched around him greedily, and his teeth clashed at the sensation.

“Stop holding back, I can feel it. Let that shit go.” And under his spell, you did, surmounting to a shaking ball in his arms. Your toes curled at his sides and his rhythm didn’t falter, his own release not far behind. You keeled with overstimulation, the air feeling sticky on your skin.

Terry’s hands abandoned your waist to cup your ass, bouncing you on his dick in hardy, final thrusts. You bite down his shoulder so you don’t scream loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now, sweat dripping on your collar. 

“‘Gonna make me cum all in this tight pussy, fuckk,” he groaned, ropes of his release starting to spurt inside of you. Your body was taut around him as his hips slowed to a halt. You were filled to the brim.

“My pretty baby did so good. So perfect for me,” Terry was panting like he just finished a mile-run, and still chose to sing your praises. He softened and pulled out, a part of you now missing. You sat there for a beat to catch your breaths, limbs still tangled together.

“Mm..’can’t stop shaking,” you whispered.

His actions had left you exhausted, drowsiness coated in every blink of your eyes. Terry separated from you for a second and he had his pants back on, scooping you up in his arms. You latched onto him like a bear, nuzzling into his chest.

If it was up to you, you’d pass out right there and crawl to bed in the morning. Something squished against his foot on his trudge out of the kitchen. 

“Shit, my socks are wet…what is that?” 

Ice cream.

--

Author’s Note: Just wanted to drop my contribution to the Terry Richmond industrial complex.

P.S. This was supposed to be Trainer!Terry but my hormone monster won. 

As always if you made it to the end, thank you bunches!

[onlyhereforthestories]

Sing, Well, Try To Sing For You (Mapi Leon and Ingrid Engen x Reader)

Day 14. This is the first time I have tried writing a three person relationship. I hope you enjoy, can't believe there only 10 days left of this!

The snow had started falling just after sunset, a steady drift of large, soft flakes that blanketed the street outside and made the night feel like a scene from the snow globe you knew was sitting on your windowsill in the other room. Inside the warmth of Mapi and Ingrid’s cozy apartment, the three of you were settled in for a festive, low-key evening. A string of Christmas lights cast a gentle glow around the living room, where the three of you had a small Christmas tree set up, already half-buried in gifts you’d been excited to exchange.

You had yet to move in with your lovers having been in a relationship with them for a little over a year now. The two of them taking a liking to you the instant you joined Barcelona two seasons ago but taking a little while to work out their feeling and the logistics of said feelings for you. They had finally brought it up with you just before Christmas last year at the club you and the team had gone to in order to celebrate the holidays. Mapi and Ingrid had saved you from a weird man trying to grind on you on the dance floor and had confessed that they were more than just protective of you because you were a teammate. Luckily for all of you, you had felt the same way about the women just didn’t know how to approach a conversation around it.

This all lead you to the here and now, where Ingrid set down three mugs of steaming hot cocoa, each one topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon. “I think that’s the last of the whipped cream,” she said, her cheeks pink from a combination of the heat and the sight of you and Mapi curled up together on the sofa.

“Perfect, just in time,” Mapi said, grabbing her mug and settling herself back on the couch, patting the space on the other side of her. A gesture that made you pout a little in protest to not have the Norwegian sandwiching you between them. “Can’t do karaoke without fuel.”

You raised your eyebrows, your mind shifting away from the thought of being sandwiched by your lovers. “Karaoke? We didn’t exactly decide on that yet,” you teased, knowing full well Mapi had been hinting at it since earlier in the day.

Mapi shot you a playful grin, tossing a pillow your way only to be scolded by Ingrid about the steaming mug of cocoa you had in your hand and how that could end up in your lap burning you. “Oh, come on! It’s Christmas. What else are we going to do? Go stand outside in the snow?”

Ingrid laughed, snuggling close to Mapi and pulling the fluffy blanket over all three of you. “You’re both lucky. My usual Christmas karaoke partners have been my family back home and trust me, my dad’s version of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ is something no one should have to hear.” There was a small grimace on her face as she spoke, a testament to how bad it really must be.

You snorted, imagining Ingrid’s typically reserved dad belting out the holiday classic, and leaned in to make your pitch. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it a try,” you said. “But don’t expect any Grammy-winning vocals. I am no Adele.”

Mapi grinned, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Oh, we’re definitely expecting something memorable.”

Grabbing her phone, she queued up a playlist of Christmas karaoke songs, and before you could change your mind, the familiar opening notes of All I Want for Christmas Is You began to play. Mapi shot up, hand outstretched in your direction like a microphone, her eyes daring you.

“You’re first,” she said, bouncing slightly with excitement. She had been waiting to rope you into her singing antics for the last week or so, knowing full well Ingrid would only get involved if you did. The Norwegian was powerless to saying no to the both of you together.

Giggling, you took an exaggerated breath and launched into the first verse, immediately straying off-key. You were painfully aware of how shaky your voice was, but a quick look at Mapi and Ingrid’s laughing faces only spurred you on. You poured your heart into each word, completely butchering the notes, throwing in an extra dramatic flair as you went. Your hands were thrown out left and right and you even tipped your head right back when you were trying, and failing, to hit the higher and longer notes.

Ingrid was beside herself with laughter, her face buried in her hands, while Mapi watched in wide-eyed delight. By the time you hit the chorus, you were practically yelling, arms outstretched as if you were performing for a sold-out arena.

Bagheera was sleeping peacefully on the arm next to Ingrid when you had all settled in, she was now sat up looking in your direction in as much disgust as a cat could display. As you started the chorus the cat had obviously had enough, meowing her distaste and jumping off the sofa before quickly heading for your open bedroom door. Mapi finally lost it, doubling over with laughter and clapping her hands. “I, dios mio, I can’t breathe,” she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes.

You shrugged, looking unbothered. “What? You were the one who asked for karaoke.”

Ingrid tried to contain herself, though she was still giggling. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone commit that hard to singing a song that off-key before. You really went for it.”

“Oh, just you wait,” you warned, grabbing the imaginary mic and thrusting it toward her. “Now it’s your turn!”

She gave you a look of wide-eyed horror, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’m any better,” she protested, but with Mapi’s look of encouragement and pure eagerness, she finally took a breath and began singing along to Last Christmas.

To your surprise, Ingrid’s voice was soft and surprisingly melodic, though she was shy about hitting some of the higher notes. Mapi looked at her with a proud smile, nodding along to the beat, and you couldn’t help but join in, trying to match you tune with her, which was impossible for you. Eventually, you pulled Mapi in, and soon all three of you were singing at the top of your lungs, Ingrid’s occasional nervous giggles blending into her notes.

Mapi put her arm around both you and Ingrid as she danced and sang along, her loud and raspy voice making each note sound hilariously exaggerated. You watched her, laughing so hard you were practically doubled over, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was having a blast.

When the song ended, you were all out of breath and still chuckling. Mapi grabbed the imaginary microphone back and put on a low, dramatic voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, next up, I give you…” She made a drum roll with her hands, looking pointedly at you. “The Christmas Karaoke Champion!”

You groaned, already laughing again. “Mapi, I think you’re just saying that because I’m the worst singer here.”

“Not at all,” she replied, adopting a very serious expression. “In fact, you are by far the most memorable.”

She queued up Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and as soon as the song started, you began belting out the lyrics, sounding more like a drunk in a club than anything resembling the original tune. Mapi doubled over in laughter, thoroughly enjoying your enthusiasm, while Ingrid clapped along, nodding with an encouraging look directed your way.

When you finally reached the end of the song, you took and over the top bow, before thanking your fans like Elvis would have “Thank you, thank you very much!”

Ingrid was giggling as she took the “mic” from you, cueing up Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. She and Mapi singing surprisingly well together. Mapi threw an arm around Ingrid’s shoulder, swaying her slightly with the beat, while Ingrid’s eyes sparkled as she playfully matched Mapi’s energy, swaying just as much as the shorter woman.

“Look at you two!” you teased. “A match made in karaoke heaven.”

Mapi shot you a grin, twirling Ingrid around. “All part of the show, love,” she said, before she dipped Ingrid in dramatic fashion causing the tall brunette to break out into a fit of giggles.

After a few more songs, the karaoke session began to morph into a full-on dance party. The three of you decided to abandon any attempts at singing and instead began grooving along to the holiday tunes blasting from the speakers. Mapi grabbed your hands, spinning you around the living room as Jingle Bell Rock played. She was a surprisingly good dancer, her movements loose and fun, her infectious energy impossible to resist.

Meanwhile, Ingrid took over with some light hearted dance moves, waving her arms and bouncing around with an enthusiasm that sent you into another round of laughter. Watching her, you couldn’t help but join in, mimicking her movements and earning a playful shove.

The three of you kept dancing until you were all out of breath, collapsing in a heap on the couch. Ingrid was on one side of you and Mapi the other, a blanket had been pulled over all your laps and your mugs had been abandoned on the coffee table.

“That,” Ingrid said with a sigh, “was the best workout I’ve had all season.”

Mapi smirked, nudging her with her elbow. “You think the team would be on board if we pitched holiday karaoke as part of training?”

Ingrid raised her eyebrows, considering it. “Maybe we just don’t mention the off-key singing part?”

You chuckled, nestling deeper into the warmth of the moment. “I think that might be an essential part of the experience.”

Mapi nodded in agreement, pulling you and Ingrid closer. “Agreed. No real karaoke session is complete without a little, what should we call it, personal flair.”

[bookwormjust]

Pregnancy cravings (established relationship Cassian)

The house was dark and quiet, the fire in the hearth long since reduced to glowing embers. It was well past midnight, edging closer to 1 a.m., but you couldn’t sleep. The cravings had hit hard tonight, and after tossing and turning for an hour, you gave in and padded softly to the kitchen, not wanting to disturb anyone—though, with Cassian gone dealing with an issue in Illyria, the house felt much emptier.

Now, sitting at the kitchen table, you found yourself indulging in the oddest mix of foods: a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a jar of pickles. Pregnancy cravings were wild, but this combination had somehow hit the spot, despite being absolutely ridiculous. You scooped up a spoonful of the cool, minty sweetness, savoring the way it melted on your tongue before reaching for a pickle, the sharp, tangy flavor cutting through the sweetness.

You let out a contented sigh, resting a hand on your belly as your child stirred within, a gentle fluttering against your palm. At six months along, the pregnancy had started to feel real in ways you couldn’t have imagined—especially with Cassian’s fierce protectiveness growing right alongside your belly. He had barely left your side since he found out, fussing over every little thing, constantly checking on you, trying to anticipate your every need.

But tonight, duty had called him to Illyria. Something had gone wrong with one of the war camps, and though Rhysand and Feyre had tried to keep him here, Cassian had insisted on handling it himself. You knew how much responsibility he carried as the General Commander, but you missed him fiercely when he was gone, especially now. The bond between you hummed constantly in the background, a steady comfort, but it wasn’t the same as having him physically near.

Just as you were contemplating going back to bed, you heard it—the familiar swoosh of wings, faint but growing closer. Your heart gave a little leap, and sure enough, moments later, the door to your home creaked open, and there he was.

Cassian.

He filled the doorway, his tall, broad frame shadowed in the low light, his wings tucked in tight behind him, shoulders tense with the remnants of the night’s stress. But when his eyes landed on you, the hard edge to his features immediately softened, replaced by a look of warmth and relief. His hazel eyes brightened, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You're still awake," he said, his voice low and gravelly from exhaustion, but there was that unmistakable affection laced within it, the love that always seemed to wrap around you when he spoke.

You grinned, gesturing to your odd snack selection. “Couldn’t sleep. Baby was demanding mint chocolate chip ice cream and pickles.”

Cassian blinked, looking between the ice cream and the jar of pickles with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. He chuckled as he moved toward you, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if that’s a craving or a culinary crime, sweetheart.”

You shrugged, spooning another bite of ice cream into your mouth with a satisfied grin. “It’s what the baby wants, so I don’t question it.”

Cassian was beside you in an instant, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before pulling up a chair. “Far be it from me to question what our child demands,” he teased, his hand reaching out to rest on your belly, the familiar warmth of his touch grounding you.

The baby gave a little kick beneath his palm, and Cassian’s grin widened, his eyes softening even more. “Hey, little warrior,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder, as if every movement from your child was a miracle. “Already keeping your mother up late, huh?”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, the scent of sweat, leather, and pine clinging to him from his long night. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer, and for a few moments, you just sat there together in comfortable silence.

“You look exhausted,” you said softly, glancing up at him.

“I am,” he admitted, his fingers tracing gentle circles over your belly, the other hand stroking your hair. “The Illyrians were being their usual stubborn selves. Rhysand’s going to have his hands full with them tomorrow. But I couldn’t stay there another night, not with you here.” His voice softened, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “I needed to be with you.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you snuggled deeper into his embrace, the exhaustion you hadn’t realized you were feeling creeping up now that Cassian was home. “I missed you,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “The bed’s too big without you.”

Cassian chuckled softly, his hand never leaving your belly. “The bed’s too big without you, too. I promise I’ll be home more now. I don’t want to miss a second of this,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as his gaze dropped to your rounded belly.

You looked up at him, catching the fierce love and devotion in his eyes, and your heart swelled. “I’m glad you’re home,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him softly. “But for now, do you want some ice cream?”

He made a face, pulling back slightly. “I think I’ll pass on the ice cream and pickles, thanks.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Suit yourself.”

He watched you eat for a few more moments, his hand never leaving your belly, before he gently took the spoon from your hand and set it aside. “Come on,” he said, standing up and scooping you into his arms before you could protest. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You yelped in surprise, but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up as he carried you out of the kitchen. “Cass, I can walk!”

“Not when I’m here to carry you,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck, his wings flaring slightly as he carried you up the stairs with ease.

Once in the bedroom, Cassian laid you gently onto the bed, slipping in beside you as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, spooning you close. His hand rested protectively on your belly, his thumb brushing soothingly over your skin as you both settled into the quiet of the night.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair, his deep voice lulling you, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

With the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body wrapped around you, it didn’t take long for sleep to claim you. Safe in his arms, with the love of your mate and the life growing within you, the world felt perfect again.

[hatsukeii]

fragrance: coffee break, replica / timeskip!akaashi keiji x barista!reader

notes: coffee (top), lavender (heart), milk mousse (base)

description: the first shot of espresso after a long shift, freshly dripped coffee from the brewer

disclaimer(s): a love or hate fragrance for many

wc: 2470

warning(s): mentions/depictions of puke and anxiety, overworking culture and capitalism LMFAO but no nsfw!! angsty akaashi is a corporate slave and reader is a free soul who just likes brewing coffee </3 gn reader too!!

Akaashi Keiji doesn't like coffee at all, especially not when the black liquid that pools in the abyss of a flimsy paper cup on his desk is only a means to stay awake, to keep editing. But if anything, the instant coffee stand in his office is a necessity to keep him alive these days. He stares at his monitor, and his phone goes off in clicks and whirs just as it has for the past seven hours; messages from Koutaro, who has just won his qualifiers with MSBY, the qualifiers that Keiji wanted so badly to be at. He glances at the time that blinks at the corner of the screen.

22:45:01

Just another fifteen minutes, he thinks. Just another fifteen minutes until he can finally flick the lights off and lock himself out of this hell for the next two days. His eyelids grow heavier by the second as his fingers click impossibly quickly at his keyboard, regurgitating words on a blank canvas the way he throws up black coffee into the toilet every night. Despite that, his hand reaches for the paper cup that sits on his coaster, a pandora's box of putrid bitterness waiting to be consumed. After all, the vile, soured sensation of puke flushing out from his esophagus is infinitely more enjoyable than falling asleep at his desk and being berated by his dickhead of a boss again. He flips the swampy black liquid into his mouth, wincing at the tartness that claws lines down his throat all the way to his stomach.

Surely enough, right as the numbers at the corner of his monitor blink into 23:00:00, Akaashi Keiji is already frantically shoving his documents into his messenger bag, inevitably folding them in the wrong spots as he haphazardly slips them through the free cracks amongst his laptop and other miscellanous items. He flicks the lights off and sprints out the door, missing the key hole twice before finally managing to lock the office up properly, and makes a run for the bathroom, where he kneels in front of an empty urinal, and throws up everything he’s consumed in the past six hours. This consists of a single cream cheese bagel from the office fridge, and five cups worth of pure instant coffee.

The streetlights buzz above Keiji's head, moths feeding into their brightness as they dance around a ghastly tungsten glow. The walk home is tiring. He is so very tired. His guts have been emptied out in an office bathroom and the buzzing of the streetlight makes him want to crawl up its post and shatter it to shards, taking the moths down with it. Walls of glass on both sides line the night streets, mannequins staring him down as he slumps and turns the corner to his own.

Warmth.

The corner he has just turned heats him up like a fireplace does when the wind howls and screams at his windows, and he turns to the warm glow of a usually unnoticed cornerstore. It's fifteen past eleven, yet one person resides behind the counter. The sign at the door is flipped to ‘closed’, and Keiji can do nothing but stand at the entrance, watching you meticulously swirl steaming water into filter paper. He turns away in embarrassment when you look up at him, and place the long-spouted kettle in your hand down. He steps away from the corner as you swing open the door, the bell jingling in a merrier fashion than the droning streetlights.

"Are you good? You look a bit pale."

He turns back, and your body is halfway out the door. He doesn't say a word, yet his feet move towards the store unconsciously, and he doesn't realise it until his body is lined up with the doorframe.

"Do you, by any chance, have any food? I can pay."

Keiji sits at the coffee bar, where your steaming kettle sits amongst a plethora of brewing tools. Brown liquid falls into a roundbottomed flask drop by drop, tantalisingly slow. You flick on the television behind him, and the unmistakeable sound of leather against hardwood rings loud from the speakers as you reach into the fridge behind, searching for anything edible.

"You allergic to anything?"

"No, anything's good. Thanks."

Grabbing a leftover croissant, you throw it in the microwave, pressing carelessly at the buttons until the little glass dish begins to spin and whir. Facing the counter again, fingers return to the handle of the kettle as you continue swirling steaming water into coffee grounds on filter paper. Keiji's eyes are trained to the television, the reflection of a volleyball on the screen following the motion of his eyes.

"Volleyball fan too?"

"Yeah, my best friend plays on that team. Black Jackals."

Your eyebrows raise, still trained on the brewing batch of drip coffee. One circle, two circles, and down. You're not sure why your peculiar visitor is here instead of in the stands, but the bags beneath his eyes and his ghastly figure at your door are enough to give you a clue. You set the kettle down again, and the coffee begins to drip faster with the addition of water.

"Oh, really! Which player?"

"Kou- Bokuto. Bokuto Koutaro."

"That's cool, he's my favourite player. Got his jersey sitting somewhere at home."

The microwave beeps, and you reach for a ceramic plate, sliding the crispy croissant onto it and handing it to Keiji. He reaches for it hesitantly, the crust crunching beneath his fingers as layers of flaky pastry steam and fold against each other, before taking a bite. Buttery soft layers of bread, warm flakes dancing on his tongue, a hint of salt between each sheet of croissant pastry. His face stretches into a barely noticeable, but satiated smile as he chews. For the first time this week, Akaashi Keiji swears he is in heaven.

"This...this is a really fuckin' good croissant." He chuckles out with his mouth stuffed, a rare occasion given his usual schedule of throwing up, then going to bed. You wink at him, clicking your tongue proudly.

"In-house favourite, took me months to get right. I'm glad it's good."

Keiji pushes his glasses up with his knuckles, glancing back at the television. Koutaro graces the screen now, piercing golden eyes wide with enthusiasm. His voice rings through the speakers.

"I'm dedicating this win to my best friend! He was supposed to be here, but he must've been busy, so he couldn't make it. But that's okay! I know he's watching me back home, right, Keiji?"

He wants to cry, his mouth still stuffed with your croissant. His Adam's apple shifts ever so slightly, and you take notice of his neck tensing. The whites of your visitor's eyes are more red than anything, the bridge of his glasses sliding down when his nose scrunches at Bokuto's words. You eye the croissant on his plate, half-eaten in the two minutes it's been out of the microwave for.

"Would you like some coffee? Freshly brewed, new recipe."

Akaashi Keiji doesn't like coffee at all. Yet as he turns around to meet your eyes, lips pursed in guilt, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it might be what he wants right now. You swirl water into the coffee grounds again, brown liquid dripping into the flask alluringly.

"Are you sure? It looks like it's taken a while to collect."

"You'd be doing me a favour by telling me if it tastes like shit."

You wait for the droplets to cease, before swirling the flask once, twice. Brown coffee trickles into a white mug as you hand it to your visitor, who takes it timidly with both hands cupping its warmth. Notes of lavender and almonds peek from the cover of coffee, flushing his sinuses clean from the biting acidity of the instant coffee he's become so accustomed to.

"Sorry in advance if I end up puking this out. It happens with instant coffee, and it's not going to be because of the taste, I promise."

You shoot your visitor a questionable look, and he grimaces in shame.

"You must be drinking a lot of shitty coffee, with too little water. Could be acid reflux. This should be much better, but let me know if you need anything."

Keiji does not down the coffee in one go this time. Instead, he takes such small sips from the mug, that he may as well be taking kitten licks at the liquid. It slides past his tongue and into his throat, smooth as silk. Hints of vanilla fill his tastebuds, offsetting the innate bitterness of caffeine, and for once coffee does what it's meant to. He feels alive again.

"This is incredible. I think I can actually hold this in my stomach."

"Coffee shouldn't make you worry about keeping it in your stomach, so I'm glad."

He smiles, a real one now, taking in another sip. His bag hangs from the wooden frame of the chair, papers still crumpled between laptops and binders and files. He watches you swirl water into the filter paper again, and wonders how long you might be willing to keep him here for. The street is desolate, spare for the leaves that flutter in the midnight breeze. He would like to stay in this seat forever.

"So, why aren't you in the stands? Bokuto was clearly looking for you."

He freezes, initially unsure how you've figured him out, before recalling his declaration of comraderie with Koutaro upon the flick of a television remote to the volleyball match. The mug of coffee is half empty when Keiji places it down on the counter, and he rubs his face in his hands. His nails are short, evidently chewed on, and you catch onto the way his thumbs instinctively massage against the fleshy cushions at the bottom of his palms, and the centre of his inner wrists.

"Office work, manga editing is no joke."

"Yeah, I can tell, you've worked yourself into anxiety and carpal tunnel."

"Must be nice brewing coffee without a dickhead boss on your back for everything."

You grin sadly, because he's right. You've seen it on the faces of every visitor, tired eyes searching for hope on laptop screens, teeth gnawing at peeling lips at seven in the morning for no particular reason, restless feet bouncing on the floor as they wait for their coffee, and almost burn themselves trying to finish it in one go, before rushing out the door without so much of a thank you. Your midnight visitor is no different than the rest, other than the fact that he displays genuine human emotion, and is willing to slowly enjoy your five hour brew.

"Yeah, it's the least I can do for everyone who comes here. Fix them a good cup. They're tired enough as is."

Keiji chokes up at your words. The past year of manga editing has graced him with screaming seniors, hours upon hours of overtime, throwing up food and drink every night until all he has the guts to eat are microwaved frozen bagels. His throat closes up, Adam's apple swallowing thickly. Shoulders begin to tremble, and you place a hand on the side of his bicep, rubbing it soothingly over the counter. His sobs fill up the shop, drowning out the television as he rubs at his face even harder, wiping his tears with his jacket. In one night, you have shown him more care than anyone else has in the past year combined, and all you've done is microwave him a leftover croissant and fix him a mug of real coffee.

"S-sorry, 's been a shitty week."

"You're okay, you're fine. Let it out, as much as you need."

And for just a moment in his bleak existence, the sterile white lights of the office become a lamplit cafe, hidden in the corner of his street. The stench of air freshener is swapped out for vanilla, and coffee, and lavender, and all that is right. For just tonight, Akaashi Keiji, who doesn't like coffee at all, thinks that he might actually be able to enjoy it, as long as it's from you, and only you.

author's note:

bet you didn't expect this series to get angsty!! i really wanted to write a coffee shop romance, but i also wanted to get a little ambiguous, like a sorta fateful meeting, and i thought this would work!! the idea of throwing up coffee makes me want to cry because i love coffee so much i could not imagine my life without it icl

hope you guys enjoyed this though! it's not as romantic as the other ones i've done on the cologne series, but it's a change in pace that im looking to achieve!! might be the most gentle piece i've written for this series in terms of atmosphere as well :333

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @catsoupki @fiannee @afyrian @bailey-reeds @iiwaijime

ok love u guys see u in the next one bye bye

[peachiejeongin]

Crimson Christmas | Bang Chan

Day 8 of the 12 Days of Staymas!

Synopsis: It is time for the annual Stray Kids (plus one) gift exchange, and Bang Chan has an interesting gift up his sleeve for you.

Pairing: bf!Bang Chan x fem!gf!reader

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Suggestive

Warnings: Lingerie, allusions to sexual intercourse

Notice: Hello, darlings! Welcome to the eighth day of Staymas! This is the one and only truly "suggestive" fiction for this series, so....Merry Christmas, lol! Enjoy the reading, and check out the other stories if you would like to :)

The dorm was alive with festive energy, every corner glowing from the soft, golden twinkle of the Christmas lights. The scent of cinnamon candles mingled with the aroma of Christmas dinner. Blankets and pillows were strewn across the couches, a few draped haphazardly on the floor, where some of the Stray Kids members were already sprawled out.

You balanced a tray of steaming mugs, each topped with a creative swirl of whipped cream and crushed candy canes, carefully dodging an excited Han who was attempting to wrestle a pillow away from Seungmin.

"Felix, if we watch 'Home Alone' one more time, I'm going to scream," Seungmin grumbled grumpily, his tone as flat as ever. He narrowly avoided the pillow that Felix launched in retaliation.

"Leave him alone!" Hyunjin drawled from his self-designated throne of throw pillows near the fire place, his hair catching the flicker of the flames like a halo. "Let him live his festive truth!"

"Forget his festive truth," Minho reorted, reaching for a marshmallow from the tray you were precariously holding. "Let us live without the same movie on repeat each holiday season."

"Minho!" you scolded, twisting your body to save the tray from certain disaster. "If you don't let me put this down, you're all getting instant coffee instead of hot chocolate next year."

"Babe, you're doing amazing. Don't let them get to you." Chan, perched on the arm of the couch, chuckled softly at your exasperation.

Finally, you placed the tray on the coffee table, passing out the mugs one by one to a chorus of, "Thank you, y/n!" and exaggerated sighs of relief. Chan tugged you down beside him as soon as your hands were free, his arm slipping around your shoulders.

"You spoil them too much," he murmured, his lips barely brushing against your temple.

"That's what Christmas is for," you replied with a grin, gesturing towards the chaos as Felix launched into another impassioned defense of 'Home Alone.'

As the boys finally agreed on 'Elf', albeit, after much negotiation and a few suspicious rock-paper-scissors matches, you reached behind the couch and pulled out a stack of boxes. Each one was wrapped in crisp red paper with little silver ribbons tied in bows.

"Alright, children," you announced, setting the boxes down on the coffee table. "It's time for presents!"

They scrambled over the gifts like actual children, eagerly grabbing their boxes and tearing into them. Each box contained a matching pajama set, fluffy socks, and a small treat you had picked for each of them, such as a minature fox plush for Jeongin, a new sweets recipe notebook for Felix, and a scented candle for Changbin.

"Y/n, you're the best," Han declared, already pulling his socks on.

"This is so soft," Hyunjin announced, grinning as he held up his pajama top.

You basked in their delight, feeling the warm glow of satisfaction that came from making the people you love happy.

"Well, my love," Chan suddenly began. "We can't you go without a gift, now can we?" Chan reached behind the couch, pulling out his own gift box; this one was a chartreuse color, wrapped in a golden bow. Your name was scrawled on the tag in Chan's familiar handwriting.

"Let's see what the man of the house picked out for me," you teased, lifting the lid.

Inside was a pair of cozy flannel pajamas in a soft cream and emerald green pattern, folded neatly on top of a small bundle of tissue paper. You smiled, lifting the fabric to admire it, only to freeze as the tissue paper shifted, revealing something entirely unexpected.

Your breath caught as your fingers brushed against delicate lace, deep crimson and impossibly intricate. The lingerie set nestled beneath the pajamas was impossibly intimate, and your cheeks flamed the same color as realization hit.

You shot a wide-eyed glance at Chan, who was already watching you with a mischevious twinkle in his eyes. His lips quirked into a barely suppressed grin.

Before you could react, Seungmin, ever the curious one, leaned over to peek into the box.

"Wait, what is that-"

"Chan!" you exclaimed, slamming the lid shut with a sharp thud. "Not in front of the children!"

The room erupted into chaos. Han choked on a marshmallow, his laughter turning into wheezes as he rolled onto the floor. Changbin and Felix clutched their stomachs, their faces bright pink from laughing so hard.

"Chan!" Minho screeched, clutching his chest in mock scandal. "On Christmas Eve?! Really?!"

Hyunjin, the ever dramatic one, flopped onto the carpet with a hand over his heart.

"This is better than the movie," he declared, wiping a fake tear from his cheek.

Chan leaned closer to you, his face flushed but his grin shameless.

"What? It's festive."

"Festive is not the word I'd use," you muttered, glaring at him, though your lips betrayed you with a twitch of amusement.

The boys continued their exaggerated uproar, shouting over each other with increasingly dramatic reactions. Changbin gasped about being scarred while Jeongin muttered something about needing therapy.

Chan, unfazed by the chaos, pulled you closer, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, "Merry Christmas, baby."

You could not help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned into his warmth.

"You're unbelievable," you uttered quietly, a soft smile on your lips contrasting your stark words.

"Maybe I could make it up to you?" he questioned, his voice shushed to where only you could hear him. "I could always give you another present."

"Oh yeah?" you challenged. "Like what?"

"Well, I'd have to show you, but I will say you'll have to wear the present I got you in order to get it." Chan's eyes darkened slightly, yet the cheeky grin on his face was ever-present. You stared into his gaze, your face flushed but your lips twisted into a daring smirk.

"Deal," you agreed, eliciting an eyebrow raise and soft giggle from Chan as he pulled you closer into his embrace.

Despite the teasing, the laughter, and the absolute mayhem, you could not imagine a more perfect Christmas Eve.

[mrs-bucky-barnes106]

☆｡.:*･ﾟ Sweet Nothings ｡.:*･ﾟ☆

pairing: tfatws!bucky x baker!reader

warning: fluff, multiple mentions of cake, mentions of Bucky with children

a/n: Ahhh I had this idea before going to bed and literally stayed up two hours working on it. I finished it this morning, and I've gotta stay I'm proud of my commitment because I usually take at least a month to finish a fanfiction. Hopefully, there's more where this came from. P.S. I'm not a baker, so I'm sorry if I fudged any details. Feedback is always appreciated but please be kind. Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated but no reposting without credit <3

word count: 1.6k

summary: Reader is a baker and Bucky gets a cake from her to take to Sam's picnic party on the docks (scene from tfatws).

☆｡.:*･ﾟ

The bell jingled as Bucky entered Sweet Nothings, the bakery you had started from the ground up. He was instantly enveloped by the sweet scent of baked goods from the array of desserts neatly displayed in the glass case by the counter. Underneath the sugar, he smelled the new chai latte you had just added to the menu. It had been an instant hit, totally trumping the one at Starbucks that everyone raved about. Chai had been a nostalgic drink for you and a completely new one for Bucky. He now had an affinity for it, however, and asked for it every time he entered the shop after you made him the first honorary taste tester of the drink. Now, the shop was bustling since it was happy hour.

Soft music played in the background. Bucky recognized the voice of Taylor Swift, one of your favorite artists. She was one of Bucky's favorites now too. You had impeccable taste, and any song you loved became his favorite. The album that was currently playing was Midnights, the one you had told Bucky he was most like. He loved that about you, how you would associate things like albums and songs with him. It made his heart swell, knowing you thought about him in relation to music, which had a special place in your heart.

You were nowhere in sight, so he assumed you were in the back checking on your bread dough. Bucky approached the barrier that led to the backroom for employees and pushed the door open, hoping to surprise you while you were working. Once he entered, he found you bent over your proving drawer, checking on a fluffy batch of bread dough. He tiptoed up to you and grabbed your waist, lifting you off your feet and causing you to let out a yelp of surprise. Bucky spun you around, chuckling at your reaction (what did he expect when he literally attacked you with a bear hug from behind?).

Finally, he set you down on your feet and spun you around to face him. His eyes were crinkled with laugh lines as he took in your disheveled form. Your hair was in a low messy bun with a few strands astray in the front. You donned a cream-colored beret and a blue long-sleeve over which you had on your cheeky apron that read "Kiss the Cook." It was, of course, gifted to you by none other than your doting boyfriend. A light dusting of flour over your entire being gave you an angelic glow. In Bucky's eyes, you looked more heavenly than all of the desserts in your shop combined.

You blew your hair out of your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest before attempting to glare at Bucky. You didn't last long, however, as his sheepish grin caused you to look down, so he wouldn’t catch you smiling.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me,” you admonished him half-heartedly. “Bakers can be dangerous when startled, you know.��

“Sure, doll,” Bucky still had on that cheeky grin. “I don’t know about dangerous, though. Former assassin here, remember?” He pointed at himself with his index fingers as if you didn't already know. "I think I can handle a blow from a rolling pin." He picked up the nearest tool his hand landed on, which, unfortunately for him, was a basting brush, making his joke fall flat. He sheepishly put the brush away as you tried not to laugh.

You gave him a warning look before turning your back to him and smiling wide. You may pretend to be annoyed by his antics, but they truly brought joy to your heart and brightened up your bland days. You loved your job, but you loved your man most of all.

“I’ve got the cake ready for Sam’s. Just gotta put the finishing touches on it. Did you bring the Oreos, baby boy?”

You turned around to find his face in yours. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve found it incredibly infuriating. But with Bucky, it left you blushing to your core.

He wrapped his arms around you and held up the blue plastic box. “Right here, sweetheart.”

It was a generic nickname that every single boyfriend in the history of the world had called his girlfriend at some point. But somehow, it was almost erotic coming from his plush pink lips with that deep timbre. You sometimes wondered if Bucky knew the effect he had on you.

“Thank you,” was all you trusted yourself to say as you took the box of cookies from him and started peeling off the plastic cover. You moved away from him and carefully placed six cookies on the cake, one on each of the iced rosettes on the border.

“Alright, Buck, I think it’s ready for the party. Lemme just get a box for it, and we’ll be on our way.”

Bucky smiled as he watched you tenderly place the plastic casing on the cake as if it was your baby. In a way, it was, along with all of your other creations.

“Alrighty then, doll,” Bucky grabbed the cake in his gloved flesh hand, then put his metal arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to plant a kiss on your temple. “Thank you so much for making this, baby cakes.”

You turned pink hearing him use your favorite nickname of all time. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you mumbled bashfully, suddenly shy again in the crook of his arm.

“It’s a Sweet Nothing, which means it’s the opposite of nothing. Doll, this cake is quite literally everything to me.”

“Buckyyy,” you playfully swatted him away. Sure, you were proud of your work, but you still got flustered when people complimented you, especially your boyfriend, who took every chance to make you feel like you were the biggest star in his world.

You eased yourself out of his embrace momentarily to hunt down your assistant. “Lemme just tell Nico to take over the closing shift tonight.”

Bucky nodded and waited patiently by the door for you to rejoin him. You returned and looped your arm around his waist to steer him out of your shop.

☆｡.:*･ﾟ

Bucky drove the both of you from the bakery to the docks in his pickup. You held the cake securely in your lap with your right hand and entwined your left with Bucky's. When you arrived, you let go of his hand and moved to open the door, but Bucky reached over you to close it again. Then he climbed out of the truck and rushed to open your door.

"M'lady," you rolled your eyes at him but couldn't help smiling as he took the cake from you so you could climb out of the car. He shut your door behind you, then took off with the cake balanced precariously in his flesh hand.

"Bucky! Be careful!" Your cries were drowned out by Sam's nephews, who were happily trailing Bucky at the sight of the cake. They tried play-fighting with him, pretending to punch him in the face, to which Bucky pretended to stagger backward from the force of impact.

You sighed and let the corners of your mouth lift as you watched your lover boy, totally enamored by his way with children.

Bucky ran to the nearest picnic table and finally placed the cake down safely. You let out a breath of relief you didn't realize you had been holding in and walked over to him.

☆｡.:*･ﾟ

Bucky returned to entertaining the kids a little while after everyone had eaten. He stood atop a picnic table, talking to you and Sarah with his metal arm extended out. Sam's nephew and his friend hung off of Bucky's arm. You were trying your hardest to concentrate on what he told you about his days in the Navy, but you couldn't help giggling softly at the sight of him effortlessly holding up two children using only one of his arms.

When you could finally steal a moment alone with him, you handed him a beer and tugged his arm to lead him to the pier's edge. You plopped down and let your feet dangle, the bottoms of your boots grazing the water's surface. After a moment, Bucky crouched down to join you. He scooted closer so his thigh was pressed up against yours. He put his arm around you, and you sighed softly, leaning into his shoulder and staring at the setting sun. Nose pressed against Bucky's shoulder, you inhaled, reveling in the warm scent of freshly-cut pine and the sweet undertones of amber and musky vanilla.

You leaned up to wrap your arms around his shoulder, suddenly needing to be closer to him than you already were. He seemed to understand and gently twisted to the side, snaking one arm around your lower back and using the other to bring your legs into his lap. You moved in to kiss him tenderly. Your hands were in his hair, his hands were on your hips, and everything felt perfect at that moment. You could still taste the Oreo cake on his breath, and you broke away from the kiss slowly, smiling all the while. Bucky returned your smile warmly as you turned to look at the sunset.

Bucky watched it paint your face the most gorgeous shade of pink and thanked his lucky stars at that moment. Somehow, life had brought you to him. He had never thought of himself as fortunate, but he was ecstatic now that you were in his arms, and he damn sure was never going to let go of this beautiful thing he had with you. He pressed his lips to your forehead and tightened his hold on you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

☆｡.:*･ﾟ

[austinbutlerslovers]

You're my favourite Austin writer on here I think you're amazing!

Please can I ask you to write an Austin x fem reader smut based on False God by Taylor Swift? It's one of my favourite songs and i think its so Austin coded 😭

False God

Label Mature 18+

Summary

Based on the lyrics ‘False God’ by Talylor Swift

Established relationship girlfriend

💝Romantic Smut 💝

passionate foreplay • oral receiving fem•clit play•p in v • orgasms •cream pies

Special thank to the requester. This is the first time I’ve written this style it was very difficult thank you for your patience . 🙏🏻

Master List ••• Upcoming List

False God

Above the bustling streets of vibrant downtown town New York city, you sit in the window of the high rise penthouse apartment you share with Austin. He landed over an hour ago at JFK international and you were frequently checking your phone to see when he would be arriving home to you.

He used to fly you with him to public events but as he became more famous he thought it better you remain out of sight. As his pay increased with his movies he moved you from your shared one bedroom loft to a five bedroom penthouse downtown. When the shopping sprees, vacations and lavish dinners began, so did your insecurities.

You would stare over at him, your once shy timid boyfriend now engaging a table full of his famous costars. He was confident and brilliant, even more beautiful than before.

His charming smile, dazzling blue eyes and perfect features were only enhanced by his new jewelry, clothing, and stylish haircuts of his sandy brown hair.

You tried to stop yourself but you couldn���t help it, you became insecure as his girlfriend. The more he left town the more you checked his name on social media, the later he would stay out for premieres the later you would stay up until he returned.

When he was in town and he was able to spend time with you amidst the chaos of everyday life, you two found solace in each other's embrace.

But deep down you were terrified he would leave you now. He had everything he ever wished for from having nothing when you two first met.

You were a free spirited artist with a passion for painting who worked as a secretary for a famous art studio. You gained notoriety on Instagram as soon as you posted your first official piece which is how you still gain many of your clients. today.

Your job and artwork paid the bills while Austin attended acting classes then. You knew he was special, though he was extremely shy as himself, he blossomed when he was in character. You witnessed his raw talent many nights when he would read scripts in your living room.

You knew without a doubt he would be famous and helped him in every way possible to reach his goal. With his charismatic personality, unwavering love, and passion for sex combined you were head over heels in love with him.

You two met one fateful evening under the glow of neon lights at one of your studios art exhibits in the West Village.

All of the artists were instructed to incorporate clear luminous paint into their work so their creations would glow once the exhibit switched to black light above them for a big reveal.

Austin was there with his friends from theater class because he was a lover of the arts. As soon as the black lights were switched on Austin was drawn to your painting with an unwavering attraction.

He asked immediately if it was possible to meet the artist and your manager called you over. The connection was instant like a magnetic pull drawing you two together as if it were destiny. He was tall, handsome, and shy, his smile flashed when his blue eyes lit up seeing you for the first time and you knew it was love at first sight.

He had long blonde hair then and wore a baggy plaid shirt with a black tee beneath. His skinny jeans and vans giving away he was either an aspiring actor or a musician. As you two delved deeper into each other's worlds, you discovered a shared love for the unconventional, the unspoken, and the untamed.

You brought him back to your apartment immediately after the show. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you; in the cab, the elevator, and even at your front door. Once you fumbled into your apartment he began taking of his clothing.

You waited and watched as he revealed he was hiding the fittest muscled body you’d ever seen beneath his modest clothing. When he mentioned he would be flying to New Zealand to film a show as an elf you were not expecting his body to be the most sexually desirable one you’d ever seen. You were extremely turned on by him.

As he stood fully naked in your living room with his shoulder length blonde hair and his large cock you began to strip off your clothing too.

He smiled and came closer helping you pull off your shoulder straps to drop your dress, then he kneeled down pulling your panties off as you stepped out of them. As he rose to stand taller than you he placed his hand beneath your hair and held the nape of your neck pulling you to him and sinking his lips onto yours in a deeply powerful kiss.

The world around you seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in a moment of pure, unbridled emotion. Austin kissed you passionately as you both felt the sparks igniting between you two. He enjoyed the feeling so much he smiled and began to open his lips onto yours lingering on your kisses with an extreme warmth that turned you on so much you became wet.

“I have …a condom.”he said between kisses “I’m on …birth control.” You whispered back against his lips. Hearing your verbal consent he easily picked you up into his strong arms taking his hands cupping them one at a time under your thighs making you wrap your legs around his waist

He was so strong and the moment was so intense you shivered as he stared into yours eyes. He confidently smiled and you knew he was going to make you his. “Where’s you bedroom “ he asked staring at your lips. Looking closely at his angelic face as he easily carried you made you lose all of your resolve you couldn’t even speak you just pointed the way and he smiled. He knew you were his.

He gently tossed you down on your bed and kneeled between your legs pulling you to the edge. “Can I taste you? “ he asked permission and you nodded eagerly.

With a gentle yet confident touch, he reached his hands up and spread your thighs apart. Your core was already throbbing when he placed his tongue to your folds. He grazed it up and down your sensitive wet folds until it sent a shiver up your spine. Your hands immediately flew to his long hair pulling and tugging it as you praised him.

He leaned in pressing his mouth onto your folds trying to reach the depths of your core with his tongue lapping which sent shockwaves throughout your entire body. His tongue was relentless and electrifying, while his mouth sucked your folds tenderly. With each skilled lick and suck from his mouth you felt yourself surrendering to the overwhelming desire that consumed you.

You tried to calm your imminent orgasm but it was too late. Your legs began to quiver lost in the intoxicating sensation of him eating you out. When he pressed his thumb into your clit and swirled it you gasped. Overcome by the sheer intensity of the moment you orgasmed for him melting into a pool of ecstasy as your core uncoiled. He licked your folds of your cum and trailed kisses as he climbed your body.

Starting from the soft skin of your navel, his kisses moved with a feather light touch, tracing the contours of your waist. With each press of his lips, your skin came alive, electrified by the intimacy.

As he journeyed upward, his kisses grew bolder, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. The warmth of his breath against your skin between kisses sent a rush of heat coursing through your veins, reigniting the fire deep within your core.

His hands cupped your breasts pressing each one with a tender kiss before he rested his chest onto yours. It seemed like time stood still as you stared into each others eyes feeling your hearts beating in perfect rhythm. His lips finally met yours again, and you both knew that this was the beginning of your relationship. Your heart was pounding in anticipation of what was to come

His fingers Intertwined with yours on the sheets before he lifted his hips and gently thrust into you. The pleasure of his large cock was exquisite. You arced your back as he stretched you out and filled you with his passion. Each of his thrusts carried the promise of so much more as he hit depths you never knew existed . It dulled the ache of your sexual desire and refilled it with an overwhelming sense of longing for him, only he could fill you this way.

With each thrust your bodies mingled together feeling your connection growing stronger with the sounds of your moans filling the air. As you reached your peak he looked into your eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored the same affection you had for him. Without a word he cupped your face in his hands wanting to gaze into your eyes knowing you he felt the same.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the weight of his gaze, a silent admission between you two. And in that moment, you knew that you wanted nothing more than to lean in and lose yourself in the depths of his desires.

With a soft moan your walls fluttered as Austin thrust into your body and you came for him closing the distance between you two. His lips met yours with a tender kiss that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. In that fleeting moment time stood still and the world around you faded into obscurity as he came in you too and you melted into each other's embrace.

Wrapped in the warmth of each other's arms after you both orgasmed, you surrendered to the enchantment of the night. Your fresh new love painting the canvas of the universe with hues of passion and promise.

You lay naked and cuddling together whispering and sweet nothings into the night, knowing that this was just the beginning of your fated love story written by the universe.

But this love story was not without its challenges. Insecurities and doubts always lingered in the shadows, threatening to overshadow your bliss.

Austin thought you would leave him for a wealthy patron from your gallery in the beginning when he was struggling to find work. The arguments were like hell and you almost quit your job.

Now you feel that he will leave you for a famous actress or model having seen the more extravagant side of life. Seeing him on more than one occasion lingering and hugging females to closely at events you dared him to leave you.

But just like the calm after a storm on an ocean separating you two, the tensions dissolved and peace reigned once again. One of you would always bring the wine out which would start the flow of tender reconciliation, where words were replaced by gentle touches and heartfelt apologies.

Hearing Austins key turning in the lock surprises you, he didn’t text he had arrived before entering, but as he opens the door you rush to greet him. He is holding a large bouquet of your favorite flowers. He looks ravishing with his short sandy blonde lightly layered in waves.

Your lips meet as you embrace and your kisses are filled with passion and longing. He brings his hand to gently cradle your face and just his simple touch sends waves of warmth coursing through your body. “I missed you so much baby” he says finally breaking the kiss .”I missed you too austin.“ you say smiling.

Austin hands you your beautiful flowers. “I’m so sorry I’m late I had to get these for you I know they’re your favorite. Will you put them away while I shower then come into the bedroom.” He says pulling your head to his lips planting another kiss as he smiles “Yes of course Austin.” You say sweetly.

You do as he says washing them and finding a vase filling it with water. Next you carry the flowers in the vase and place them on the dining room table.

You enter the bedroom and Austin is still in the shower, you can hear his melodic voice singing and it makes you smile.

You hear his singing stop as he turns off the water and you strip down to your bra and panties in anticipation for him to come out of the shower.

The master bathroom door opens and you look at Austins body with a towel wrapped snugly around his waist. Each muscle is defined and sculpted like a work of art. His broad shoulders taper down to his narrow waist, creating a silhouette that exudes confidence and athleticism. Droplets of water glisten on his skin and his hair, with the scent of his soap and shampoo lingering in the air.

The corners of his lips curve upward in a mischievous grin as he looks at you with playful intent. You both have the same idea.

His lips part ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of his teeth, adding an air of allure to his devilish smile. “ did you miss me baby?” He says with a subtle tilt of his head. He drops his towel and your eyes immediately fall to his hardened cock. He exudes so much confidence and charm, as he stands naked in your bedroom that he’s practically daring you.

You immediately unhook your bra and pull off your panties and slowly approach each other.

Your arms wrap around each others bodies, pulling close as your lips meet in a sweet lingering kiss that turns electrifying.

Austin lays you down on the bed and trails kisses down your body. It’s a slow, deliberate descent, igniting a trail of sensation along your skin. With each kiss your breath quickens and your pulse races with escalating passion. He kisses every curve and dip making you a canvas for his lips to cover. You exert a gentle yet firm grasp into his hair conveying your desire for him that can no longer wait and he smiles looking up at you taking his cue.

He climbs your body and aligns himself between your legs sliding his large cock into the warmth of your wet entrance. He fills you completely when his tip meeting your core.

He thrusts his cock into you repeatedly in a rhythm of precision and determination. With each thrust, your coil tightens until, it springs free. There is a satisfying release of tensions as Austin grinds against your throbbing core creating a symphony of sounds and motions from you both in ecstasy. With each thrust you both feel a sense of accomplishment, knowing you are getting lost in the highs of each other’s orgasms.

As Austin fills you with his passions on the expensive duvet covers of the king sized bed It ignites the fires within you both that burns the brightest when you are together. A promise of devotion that transcends words.

As you finally pull away, your breaths mingle in the space between as you gaze into each other’s eyes knowing you both found something rare and precious, a love that would weather any storm and stand the test of time.

Together, you navigated the maze of modern romance unafraid to confront your fears and embrace each others flaws. For in each other's arms, you found your truest selves, imperfect yet perfectly matched.

You and Austin put on robes to enjoy each others company after the intimate encounter. You wanted to view the city that you loved out on the balcony. Austin brought a bottle of wine to pour you both glasses to enjoy before bed.

As you stood hand in hand, gazing into each others eyes above the city lights in your New York City high rise drinking wine together you knew that your love was your sanctuary, your false god, and your salvation all rolled into one.

🩷End 🩷

🏷️ Always Tag Me List 💌

@faegoddessog @purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @obsessedvibee @abswifey @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @magicovento @star017 @buckysteveloki-me @cauliflowercounty @thegabbyh @dacreshoney @elvismylove04 @emeraldsgirl @fallofthedamned @lindszeppelin @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @feydsociety @phil2135561 @softboo

[sonnyangelgirl]

i need re2r stalker leon with an idol reader :;(∩´﹏`∩);:

mdni

warnings: stalking, gross leon, this is unfinished i donr think i ever will finish it 😇😇😇 enjoy tho i didnt proof read this

imagine, you're an up-and-coming idol, your group isn't all that popular and you aren't really a fan favorite.

he's just some cop, doesn't have a girlfriend, probably not getting one soon. he's attractive, sure, but he's not good with women.

one day, he hangs out with claire. the whole time she just rambles about this girl group she discovered, showing leon a video of them!

claire was just ecstatic about the fact that your group was coming to racoon city and she got tickets to see you.

she invites leon to the concert with her, he doesn't have anything to do so he agrees to go. when the day comes, he sees you.

you're just so.. cute! the way you glow onstage, you have that kind, girl-next-door vibe to you. he can't help but stare at you in pure awe, you were so beautiful.

he had to have you to himself.

as soon as he got home he researched everything about you!

he feels so gross, hes a grown man! why is he so obsessed over an idol that doesn't even know he exists??

Well, its fine anyways. This is what your company wants, right? To make these creepy losers obsessed with your group and spend all their money ln merch!

Plus, he wasn't obsessed with you per se, he just... really liked you, alot!

He thought you were pretty and wanted to know everything about you, he wanted to count how many moles you had on your body, he wanted to know your favorite things, what you disliked, etc! There's nothing wrong with that.. right?

He wasn't gonna buy any of your merch, he wasn't that weird! For God's sake, he was a cop, a grown man, why would he spend his hard earned money on some stupid idol goodies?

As soon as he got his next paycheck, he ordered some of your merch.

This couldn't keep going! He just needed to be closer to you!

When your company announced tickets for a fansign, he was quick to buy them.

Sure, he will only be able to eat instant noodles of the next few weeks if he wanted to pay his bills, but it's okay! Its worth it because of you.

He saw people buying their favorite idols some gifts, he wasn't sure what to get you so he just bought a bouquet of flowers and a plushie of your favorite animal.. he tried.. ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

He doesn't really care about talking to the other members much, and when it's his turn to talk to you, he could cry of happiness.

his face turns so flushed and he gets a bit sweaty, when you offer to shake his hand, he swears healmost creams his pants. Your hands were so small, he could smell your perfume and it was making him all hazy inside.

"Hii, what's your name?" Your voice echoes through his head, he cant even think.

"Leon — 'm.. uh.. I got you — a gift.." He stuttered like crazy, his hands trembled as he handed you the flowers and plushie.

You see the way he's nervous, you put a gentle hand on his shoulder and smile sweetly, "Hey, no need to be nervous, okay?" You say this despite the fact he has the mannerisms a total creep. Sure, hes cute, has a nice face and moles, but still, you cant help but feel creeped out.

It's your job as an idol though, to smile, be nice, let the fans be weird to you. His face lights up when you say that.

[bloomzone]

can u make me a rlly good skin care routine? except I don't have any toner...

🧾- hi pooks how are uuu I hope u finne

How to build a skincare routine ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ꪆ୧ㅤ🧁ㅤ۫ ♡

Morning Routine: for All Skin Types

1. Cleanse: Start with a gentle cleanser that clears away overnight buildup without stripping your skin.

Oily skin? Use a gel-based cleanser.

Dry or sensitive skin? Opt for a hydrating cleanser.

1. CeraVe Hydrating Cleanser

Skin Type: Dry, normal, sensitive

2. CeraVe Foaming Cleanser

Skin Type: Oily, combination, acne-prone

3. La Roche-Posay Toleriane Hydrating Cleanser

Skin Type: All skin types, sensitive

2. Rice Water Boost: Here’s the secret that works for everyone. No toner ? After cleansing, apply rice water using a cotton pad or gently pat it onto your skin. It brightens, soothes, and balances your skin naturally. (Make rice water by soaking rice in water for 20 minutes, then straining and refrigerating it.)

3. Moisturize: Hydration is key! Choose a lightweight moisturizer for oily skin and a richer one for dry skin. Combination or sensitive skin? Stick to non-comedogenic and fragrance-free formulas.

For Dry Skin

1. Eucerin Advanced Repair Cream

Deeply hydrating with ceramides and urea.

2. Weleda Skin Food Original Ultra-Rich Cream

Nourishes very dry skin with botanical extracts.

For Oily Skin

1. Neutrogena Hydro Boost Water Gel

Lightweight, oil-free, and hydrates without clogging pores.

2. La Roche-Posay Effaclar Mat Moisturizer

Controls shine and minimizes pores.

For Combination Skin

1. Clinique Dramatically Different Moisturizing Gel

Balances oil and hydration levels.

2. First Aid Beauty Ultra Repair Cream

Lightweight but hydrating for dry patches.

For Sensitive Skin

1. Avene Skin Recovery Cream

Calms irritation and strengthens the skin barrier.

2. Cetaphil Daily Hydrating Lotion

Gentle and non-irritating with hyaluronic acid.

For Acne-Prone Skin

1. La Roche-Posay Toleriane Double Repair Matte Moisturizer

Non-comedogenic and soothes irritated skin.

2. Vanicream Moisturizing Lotion

Free from common irritants and ideal for breakout-prone skin.

4. Sunscreen: Finish your routine with SPF 30 or higher, even if you’re staying indoors. Sunscreen protects your skin from UV damage and prevents premature aging—an absolute must for everyone!

Night Routine: Restore & Repair

1. Double Cleanse: If you wear sunscreen or makeup, start with micellar water or an oil-based cleanser, followed by your regular face wash.

2. Rice Water (Again!): Use rice water as a natural toner to calm your skin and prep it for the night. It’s a multitasking hero that helps reduce redness, minimize pores, and add a glow.

3. Targeted Treatments:

Acne-prone? Apply a salicylic acid or benzoyl peroxide spot treatment.

Dull skin? Try a niacinamide serum for even tone and radiance.

Dry skin? Opt for a hyaluronic acid serum to lock in moisture.

4. Moisturize: Seal everything in with your favorite moisturizer. At night, you can go for a slightly heavier one to aid your skin’s repair process.

Weekly Extras for Radiance

Exfoliate: Once or twice a week, use a gentle chemical exfoliant (like AHAs or BHAs) to remove dead skin cells. DIY trick: Mix honey and sugar for a natural exfoliating scrub.

Face Masks: Hydrate with aloe vera . You can also use sheet masks chilled in the fridge for a refreshing treat.

Steam and Detox: Once a week, steam your face for a few minutes to open up pores and deep-clean. Follow with a clay mask if you have oily skin or a soothing mask if your skin is sensitive.

Secret Skincare Habits for All Skin Types

2. Cold Spoon Hack: Struggling with puffy eyes? Chill a spoon and press it gently under your eyes for an instant de-puffing effect.

3. Jade Roller Magic: A jade roller or gua sha tool works for all skin types. Massage your face daily to improve circulation and reduce puffiness.

4. Silk Pillowcase: Sleep on silk pillowcases—they’re gentle on your skin, reduce friction, and keep your hair and face smooth.

5. Hydration Inside Out: Drink plenty of water and eat skin-friendly foods like avocados, nuts, and fruits. Your skin reflects what you put into your body!

and there is a LOT of skincare tips I will try to make other blogs Abt it soon. !!

@bloomzone 🧁

[ponderingmoonlight]

hi! first i love your writing. it’s so amazing

since it’s getting into the christmas season, i was wondering if you’d want to do something with choso experiencing christmas season things with a partner for the first time. like decorating a tree, kissing under mistletoe and all that kinda stuff?

thank you so much for all your insanely amazing writing!

Aww this was absolutely fun and cute to write, I really hope you like it! Thank you for your request and kind words love 🤍

Teaching Choso about Christmas and kissing underneath the mistletoe

Pairing: Choso x reader

Word Count: 1,1k

Synopsis: Even though Choso thinks he's seen it all by now, the idea of Christmas just doesn't reach him until you show him the tradition of kissing underneath a mistletoe...

Warnings: Christmas fluff coming your way! This was such a fun request and I really hope it gets you into Christmas mood! Would you like to read more Christmas special content? Let me know in the comments or get in my inbox <3

„And…why exactly are you putting those strange balls onto that tree?” Choso questions while eyeing you up and down critically.

Within the last few months, you were able to teach your precious boyfriend a lot of things he missed as a cursed womb. Everything was new to him: having feelings, getting close to each other, ordering ice cream. But somehow, you actually managed to make a decent human being out of him.

Well, at least until now.

“That is called a Christmas tree and those ‘strange balls’ are called ornaments. We do that every year around that time. Look at how stunning it is”, you explain with excitement glowing in your eyes.

Choso truly loves seeing you like that, wearing that strange sweater and a gorgeous smile on your face. But somehow, this whole concept of Christmas doesn’t make any sense to him. Why would you celebrate the birth of a single child for more than 2000 years? And why do you have to decorate a tree to do so?

He watches as you carefully place another ornament on the tree, clapping your hands in joy. Oh, you look so lovely in the dim candle light with your slightly redden cheeks. His heart begins to jump up and down his chest all over again, eyes not able to tear away from your beautiful sight. If it makes you happy, he’ll celebrate Christmas every day.

“Stop looking at me like that”, you mutter all of the sudden, hiding your face behind your hands.

“Why would I ever stop looking at you?” he remarks along with tilting his head.

He crosses the room in an instant, his hands gently removing yours from your delicate face.

“You told me to tell you about my feelings. And right now, I feel captivated by your sight.”

Your heart skips a beat, shy eyes staring up at the man you learned to love after Shibuya, the man who stood out to you the second you met him. Choso Kamo is way more than a reincarnated curse, way more than a puppet of someone random. No, he is your boyfriend, the love of your life. Never in a million years you would have thought that you’ll stand here like this, him staring deeply into the ocean of your eyes while you can’t help but hold onto his strong arms for support.

God, how much you love that man. And how much you adore to teach him every little thing about Christmas.

“You know what that is?”, you question innocently.

Your fingers hold onto what looks like a branch.

“I now know what a branch looks like”, he remarks dryly.

“This isn’t just any branch.”

Carefully, you tie it to a hook above the both of you, your hands wrapping themselves around his. You smell so lovely, like vanilla and dough from the cookies you baked earlier. The room suddenly feels so warm and welcoming, making his heart feel as light as a feather. Seeing you like this truly makes him melt away in an instant.

“This is called a mistletoe. It’s not entirely clear why, but this branch is a symbol of love. It is tradition to kiss underneath a mistletoe whenever you have the chance to do so. Especially men should steal a kiss from a woman when standing under it. Otherwise it brings you bad luck”, you explain gently.

“I am allowed to kiss you wherever and whenever I want. But since I wanted to do it anyway, I’m more than glad to follow this tradition.”

You hold your breath, his lips pressing themselves onto yours. Sparks fly, it seems like the world around you fades away. It’s only you and him underneath the mistletoe. You, him and his mouth brushing against yours. Instinctively you wrap your arms around his neck, caress his back gently, get lost in the feeling of his body against yours. God, his smell is so intoxicating, the way he holds you by your waist sends shivers down your spine. Never in your life would you have imagined to love anyone as dearly as you love Choso Kamo. It’s almost a miracle, you and him standing here together. An incarnated cursed womb and a jujutsu sorcerer. But somehow, you made it. And oh does it feel right.

“Is there anything else you want to show me? Maybe another tradition that includes stealing a kiss from you?” he mumbles against your lips.

“Actually…There’s something I want to show you. Just stay here, okay?”

He stares at you in confusion as you run up the stairs into the bedroom, your giggling filling the air with nothing but happiness. What are you up do? Choso shakes his head to himself with a small smile forcing itself onto his otherwise cold features. It doesn’t matter what makes you this happy. The only thing that counts for him is your breath-taking smile.

“Turn off the lights!”, you shout towards him, only your head sticking out of the door.

“Turning of the lights…But why?”, he replies with a frown.

Even though it makes you this light-hearted, Christmas seems to be a mystery for him still. What is up with all those lights, the different smells, all the things you hung up in the entirety of the house before? And why would he turn of the lights now?

“You’ll see, just do it!”

He signs to himself before doing as told. Maybe one tradition includes you getting naked after all…

You storm out of the room, holding what looks like a blinking sweater over your head in pure delight. Oh no, what is this about again? He still has to get used to the knitted sweater you’re wearing right now, but this thing? It literally glows in the dark, blinking so hard that he has to squint his eyes in order to see it clearly. Please, let it be another decoration, a strange tradition maybe-

“This one’s for you”, you announce proudly.

Choso isn’t even able to protest since you’re already pushing his head into the tiny hole, pressing his dark hair roughly into his face.

There he stands, blinking like the Christmas tree in front of him in this scratchy thing.

“The mistletoe was definitely more my taste”, he comments dryly.

“Oh, you’ll get used to it! Are you in the mood for learning some more about Christmas?”

He takes a step back while scratching his back.

“No, I think that’s enough for today…”, he mutters.  

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez

[novelizt]

PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ childhood friends (to estranged friends) to lovers. angst w/ a happy ending.

WC ➺ 12.2k

SYNOPSIS ➺ to uncover the mystery of iris griffith's murder, it's time to face the music, cross the fence, and talk to a friend you never expected to become a stranger to.

WARNINGS ➺ mentions of the lockwood family tragedies, strained family dynamics, discussions and descriptions of murder

DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! reader. lockwood & co. are aged up to about 18-years-old, I try to shoe-horn forensic science into psychical investigations (I am not a professional so... it's unrealistic, sorry.), and Lockwood calls reader cherry/cherry cheeks

NOTE ➺ I can't remember if Portland Row has wrought-iron fences. In case it doesn't, it does now — this is fan fiction. Also, this is the first time I've finished a story this lengthy and I feel really proud of myself. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Lockwood had laid eyes on you, you were a set of peering eyes over a wrought-iron fence. He could barely see over it, but he could remember how round and shiny your eyes were. All doll-like and unrealistic. Honestly, it scared him. You couldn't blame little Lockwood for scuttling back to his sister.

That same day, your parents had brought you over and formally introduced themselves. Between your parents's statuesque figures, stood you.

Contrary to your encyclopaedic eyes, your mannerisms were timid. You looked miniscule in your Sunday dress. You looked like a breeze could knock you over. Anthony couldn't help but feel bad for running from you earlier.

Following introductions, a terse dinner ensued. Your parents were doctors, the kind who would scamper about in hospitals in scrubs and white coats — people who believed in science. His were researchers who dabbled in spiritual devices of different cultures — people who preferred to find the emotional aspect in the supernatural. Suffice it to say, the conversation was very one-sided.

Even then, Anthony was determined to be your friend. He thought having pretentious parents, like yours, would spoil the fun in things like spinning tops or fencing or enjoying pie with ice cream after supper. (Your parents had insisted the sugar would make it difficult for you to sleep.)

Anthony had made up his mind before you even uttered a word to him.

The instant the adults had dismissed you to the living room with Anthony and Jessica, he had snuck you a pie with extra ice cream on top. He and Jessica had their backs to the door so in the unlikely event that your parents came in, they wouldn't see you breaking their rules.

You weren't much younger than Anthony back then, but with cherry smeared across your cheek and ice cream clinging to your lip, he thought you were as cute as a button. He wasn't aware that he had been smiling at you so widely.

He missed the knowing glint in Jessica's eyes.

Across the peaceful months you'd spent as friends, Anthony and Jessica would tell you about their parents' most recent findings and you'd tell them the most bizarre concepts you learned at the academy.

At night, Anthony would sit by the window in his attic room, flagging out written messages on a sketch pad. Across the way, you would poke your head out to read it.

lots of apples are falling these days. want some?

my parents won't let me

that's because an apple a day keeps the doctors away. i think they're scared

no way... papa says he cuts people open. how could he be scared of apples?

ew... and I dunno, cherry. do you want apples or not?

stop calling me that

apples?

sure...

come down

ARE YOU MENTAL??

He was, indeed, crazy. He had tiptoed all the way downstairs and grabbed his mother and father's favorite jackets on the way out.

In the bite of night and the glow of ghost-lamps, he looked up at your house to see your head poking out of of a different window, a crazed expression on your face. 'What are you doing?' you mouthed.

"Hurry!" He yelled back. He chuckled when you'd flinched and checked behind you. He held up the jackets and took a breath, watching in amazement as fog formed from it.

All while you tapped the window sill in thought. You took one more contemplative glance behind you, then shut the window.

You were vaulting over the fence in no time. He caught you, cushioning your fall with the jackets he'd taken and greeted you with an incandescent smile. Even in greenlight, your little heart skipped a beat.

"Here. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold. We'd both be in trouble if you did."

He threw his mother's coat over your head. It was so big, it enveloped you like a gown. You tried to slip your arms through the sleeves but you only got halfway before you wiggled the limp fabric in his face. He swatted you away but folded them up enough so your palms could come through.

His father's jacket was huge on him, too, but he had the kind of air that made him look natural in it.

In his efforts to help you, his own hands had turned red from the cold. You seized them and stuffed them in your pockets, since your—his mother's—jacket had the lined pockets.

After huddling for warmth, you two grew warm enough to walk further into the backyard and pick up handfuls of apples. You found that you could only fit three apples in each pocket, so you held more by tucking your shirt into your pants and shooting them into your shirt. Anthony had done the same. You didn't realize how ridiculous your actions were until you saw how puffed his figure looked with that many apples stuffed down his shirt.

You snorted so loud it hurt, slapping your hand over your mouth to kill any more laughs that could alert the sleeping adults.

He turned his head to you, like an owl. It made more apples fall from your shirt as your shoulders shook. He shushed you, frantically glancing at the house. "What's wrong with you?"

You shook your head, riding the wave of maturity before it crashed. Little laughs and apples spilled from you. "You look like a pufferfish!"

He looked down and examined himself then, indignantly, he pointed at you. "You're literally spewing apples, you're just as bad!"

Restraint crumbled. Your hand came away and your laughs filled the silent night air. Anthony's laughs began to dance with yours until the pair of you were reduced to shaking stumps surrounded by fallen apples.

"Don't look at me! You're making me laugh!"

"Your face is funnier!"

"Stop it!"

"Cherry— You're only making me laugh more!"

It was no surprise that his parents had woken up and scolded you two accordingly. While they tutted at you, you two sat under the same blanket. Elbowing each other when they began to question who'd initated it.

You weren't a snitch. You did not tell, and they never found out who caused the trouble.

Jessica later rewarded you both with a cookie under their noses. You cracked your cookie in half to share with her. Anthony did the same to his, giving his other half to you.

—

Those memories were a far cry from the present. On some days, they felt like dreams. Now, all you are to him is a pair of peering eyes over wrought-iron fences.

Lockwood would catch glimpses of you on the way back from a case. He would nod, you would nod. Then both of you would continue on with your lives like the era of cherry pies and fallen apples had never happened.

Some days, he would turn the newspapers, checking to see if student doctor you had earned any new accolades in your scholastic journey to saving lives, but he never had it in him to say hello to you.

That morning's issue had you on the front page. You with your resplendent eyes and smile finally sporting a white coat at the ripe of eighteen, the first one of your age to earn 'Doctor' as a suffix to your name. Apparently, you'd applied your studies on forensic science to aid psychical investigations involving mummified body parts.

Seems you were doing well.

He placed the paper face down on the thinking cloth, ignoring Lucy's questioning gaze as he took a sip of tea.

"What's happened now?" Lucy asked, stretching her neck to see what made him so upset. She settled back into her seat after she set her eyes on the crossword puzzle, unable to glimpse the front page. "Kipps's crew?" she guessed.

"No, he would have his brow furrowed like this–" George turned to show his brows knitted together so hard they looked like they were drawn on with marker. "–if it was Kipps. It's got to be something else."

"Oh, right," Lucy said with bite, smacking her head like that made sense. "How could I forget?"

George shrugged, grinning like he had a secret on the tip of his tongue. "I don't know, Luce. Maybe it's the letters you've been receiving from one; Norrie White."

Lucy's chair scraped as she stood, gaping at George with anger tightening her mouth. "You went through my mail!"

"She wrote her name in marker. Red. Marker. I would have to be blind to miss it."

Lockwood kicked back and watched the drama ensue, a smile easing itself back on his face. Lucy and George's petty squabble was always a shot of espresso on a rather depressing morning. They made an excellent stopper to all his wonderings about the past.

"That was none of your business!" Lucy shrieked. In her fury, her hands itched to do something... to throw something.

Lockwood realized too late. He vaulted forward to pry the newspaper from her fingers, but Lucy's rage made her a savage. She chucked the newspaper at George with the velocity of a racing car.

The headlines collided with George's face with a resounding thud.

His glasses fell and landed with a unceremonious noise. Thankfully, unscathed from the impact.

The same could not be said for his nose.

George's face pulsed like he had been stung by the world's largest be. He splayed his hand over his nose to check for bleeding and groaned.

"That hurt..."

"Of course it did. I intended it to," Lucy huffed. She scooped up George's glasses and the paper. "That ought to teach you about looking at my correspondence."

"Didn't have to thump me that hard though," George grumbled, snatching his glasses back.

He looked like a dartboard bullseye wearing glasses. Lockwood couldn't focus on it though. His eyes were honed in on the newspaper Lucy was currently unraveling.

He bit his cheek and decided to finish his tea in one gulp. "Well," Lockwood started, fixing his collar as he stood. "I'd better see what we're taking on tonight. I'll be—"

"Hey, this is that girl next door." Lucy pushed her face closer to the paper to reassure herself that she wasn't seeing wrong. She'd seen that blouse and trouser combo on you a few days ago. "Yeah! That's her!"

George showed a rare kind of expression. A raised brow aimed at Lockwood. "She's a doctor now. How could that be upsetting?"

"Don't tell me you have a rivalry with her because she poked you in the bum when you were little," Lucy joked.

Lockwood's face flushed. He looked at the kitchen door, contemplating escape, then back to his friends. He leaned on the doorframe, attempting to look lax but coming off as stiff as a board. "Who said I was upset?"

"You were quiet over tea," George said.

"What of it?" Lockwood pushed.

George gave him an are you kidding me kind of look. "You never shut up when you can help it."

"And you did this." Lucy copied his pondering face, and Lockwood grimaced—reminding himself to school his expressions better.

"Please. For all things good, never do that again, and I am not upset at her—"

"Defensive now? You so are," George chuckled.

Lockwood's jaw ticked. "I am not—"

Saved by the bell. All three heads turned to the door with interest. It was still early in the day, so a new client was unexpected.

"I'll get it," Lockwood said. He left a prattling Lucy and George in the winds of his coat.

The doorbell rang again before he got to it. "Keep your shirt on—"

George and Lucy idled at the foot of the stairs as the door swung open. George let out a gasp, Lucy elbowed him to keep quiet.

Speak of the devil and he will appear. Though, you were more seraphic in that white dress, innocently festooned with embroidered cherries. Your smile was as disarming as ever. It was even brighter than the light haloing your hair.

"Hello."

Lucy tripped over air at the sweetness of your voice, now understanding how the word 'mellifluous' came to be.

Lockwood was indifferent.

Just staring at the back of his head, Lucy knew he was sporting an expression reserved just for Kipps and his crew. It made her want to kick his shin and tell him to get himself together.

"Hi," Lockwood finally greeted, tone bleak. "What are you doing here?"

"Lockwood," George finally intervened. Seems he was taken by how you carried yourself, too.

Both your and Lockwood's heads turned to him.

"Oh, you must be George Karim." Your smile widened, outshining the light above the door. "And Lucy Carlyle. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Lucy and George rarely agreed on things, but they spoke like they were on the same wavelength then. "Pleasure is ours."

A little laugh escaped you, just as graceful as the swish of your skirt. You introduced yourself, discounting your new title. "My parents asked me to invite friends to my celebratory dinner tonight but I don't have people I'd really consider friends." Your honeyed eyes drifted back to Lockwood, trying not to wilt under his blasé gaze. "I was thinking you three could drop by. No need to bring anything but yourselves. We have pie and ice cream for dessert."

Hope was alight in your eyes. The insider statement flew over George and Lucy's heads, and apparently, Lockwood's too. Your expression dampened as it struck you.

"That sounds nice," George said pleasantly.

Lucy nodded in agreement. "And it's not every day we get invited to a free meal."

"With pie." George was already dreaming about it.

Lockwood let out a breath. "Sorry. We have a case tonight."

"No, that's for Friday night," George interrupted. "Isn't that right, Lucy?"

"That's right," Lucy doubled down.

Both of Lockwood & Co.'s best simply blinked and grinned at Lockwood's taut form.

"Great," you quipped. Your eyes lingered on Lockwood but moved to George and Lucy when he showed no interest in being civil. "I'll see you tonight, then. Have a nice day!"

"You too!"

Lockwood gave you a sufficient nod and lipped smile as he closed the door. The moment you were out of sight, the room turned sepia.

Silence for a moment, then George.

"There is definitely something going on here."

—

Despite Lucy and George's joint efforts to pry answers from him, Lockwood did not bend. When the light began to die outside, they retired to their own rooms to prepare. Finally leaving him in silence.

Lockwood chose to wear his usual get-up. The only difference was his waistcoat. It sported a thin, stylish red stripe down it's right side; George had worn an unstained shirt for once, so he did put a bit more effort into his looks that evening; and Lucy wore her best skirt and sweater to put her best foot forward.

"Now," Lockwood said as they all spiraled down the steps. "You have to remember a few things about our neighbors."

"And that would be?" George rolled his eyes.

"They're doctors," Lockwood answered like it was a sin.

"All of them?" Lucy asked with interest.

"Yes, the entire family," Lockwood confirmed. "You have to remember that when they start getting weird about our work."

"Why?" Lucy flicked a crumb left on George's shoulder once they reached the last step. "We get help from hospitals when we need to examine post-mortem documents. It's not like our professions are worlds apart."

"You mean I get help," George corrected firmly. "Not like either of you do the grisly work when it comes to research."

"Well, you're the best at it," Lucy said placatingly.

"'Course I am," George nipped.

Lockwood shushed them. "Regardless of what they say, do not loose your cool. They think getting you worked up means they win.

"They can't be that bad. Your girl was nice enough," Lucy said.

Lockwood's brows furrowed then unfurrowed. "She's not my girl," he said, opening the door with zeal.

"Sure," Lucy grinned as she slipped past.

—

34 Portland Row looked the same as 35 from the outside. The interior decor made it clear that the home was made up of doctors. Successful ones, by the looks of it.

You greeted them at the door with the same radiatant smile from the papers. Your dress was marvelous but Lucy and George could not help but look over your shoulder, into the opulence of 34 Portland Row.

Like always, Lockwood greeted you with a nod and addressed you by name. It wasn't much but you accepted it with cheeks strained from practicing your smile.

As you lead them to the dining room, their eyes wandered at their own volition. Lockwood couldn't help but do the same.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was as decadent as ever; the doorknobs had been changed to be made of glass and silver; the bookshelves were packed with newer books—likely yours; the wall next to the stairs still held your height measurements from years ago. He caught your eye as he did so, trying not to flinch at the waves of melancholy that crashed over him. He chose to look at the back of your head as the light of the dining room enveloped them.

Like every room in this house, a chandelier sat in the middle. Everything was gleaming. Not a speck was out of place, except maybe him. Perfect, just like the family that lived here.

The table was already set with steaming meals of steak, veggies, and mashed potatoes. There was a pitcher of juice in the middle but Lockwood noticed that he, Lucy, and George's glasses were already filled with water. Your mother had just finished filling the last one when she offered her most deceitful smile.

"Anthony Lockwood and friends..." your mother greeted. Her tone was eloquent but the drawl in it sent an unwelcomed pang of anxiety through Lockwood, he tensed then forced himself to relax. "Haven't seen you around lately, Tony."

"Running a business does eat time, unfortunately." He spared her a terse smile and sat at the chair you directed him to — just across from you. Lucy sat beside you, and George had the misfortune of sitting next to your father. Lockwood cleared his throat to break the silence. "You haven't aged a day, Mrs.—"

"Doctor, actually. We've had this conversation before," she chortled with a furled smile you would only expect from the devil's mistresses.

Lucy and George found sudden interest in their food. Your shoulders sunk, but like times before, you didn't say anything. Lockwood tried not to look surprised.

"Right... Doctor. My apologies." He straightened himself in his seat. "You two look swell. How has the winter been treating you?"

"Oh, it's absolutely tiring," your father said. He had the kind of tone that suggested that he was always pouting. At least he wasn't spitting venom while he was talking about himself. "Patients coming in but rarely being able to make it out. Terrible thing, really."

"Sorrows to those who have passed because of the upstart," your mother chipped in. "Our little darling saved some lives in lieu of her recent graduation, and she's only been a doctor for a few days!"

Your mother smiled at you. You refused to look up from your dinner. "All I did was administer CPR. The hospital was understaffed that day. I work in a different department, mama."

Her smile faded before her eyes snapped to Lockwood, her grin sharpening.

"Can you imagine that? Not even a day as a doctor and she's already on the papers. Real talent gets recognized straight away, everyone knows."

Your father did not finish chewing his steak before he joined in. "Kids these days run around wasting their time on things other than their academics. What do they expect to do after their talents fade, huh? Our girl has no worries in that department."

George pushed his plate away after a blob of spit landed on his potatoes. He thought it was best to put down his utensils as well. His grip was turning his knuckles white. Lucy had resorted to pushing her asparagus to calm the anger beginning to stoke in her mind. They were beginning to see why Lockwood did not want to come. The aforementioned remained with a practiced smile on his face.

Your eyes conveyed your apologies yet Lockwood refused to look at you. You were as meek as the girl Lockwood first saw over the fence. Your voice was weaker when you used it in this house. "Mama, papa. Those kids risk their lives to make living easier for everyone. Bravery like that can't be learned from textbooks."

"No, but keeping your nose out of that business altogether will keep you alive." Your mother's expression changed, a beguiling woman turning into medusa before their very eyes.

You sunk under the weight of her stare. You might as well have turned to stone.

"Knowledge keeps you alive," your father added. "Perusing supernatural business will only end with dead kids or orphans who have to resort to psychical work to get by. Some of them work up the nerve to call it a real profession."

A resounding ring resounded from Lockwood's side of the table. He had dropped his knife. His smile had gone. His lips twitched, like he wasn't sure what to do or say. Ultimately saying nothing.

Your eyes glossed over, anger and sadness swirling together in your belly. You were ready to let loose, to set your parents straight. Yet, one look at your father's face was enough to have you curling in on yourself.

The temperature dropped like the conversation had. No one said a thing when smoke began to choke the room.

"Well," your mother cheered. "Seems like the pie is ruined. I'm afraid we'll have to end supper here."

—

Lucy rushed the door open, just itching to unload the tangle of colorful words she'd thought up in that stuffy house of yours.

"They were horrendous," George said, throwing his flannel aside. "I thought that junior doctor was nice but now I know she's Medusa's spawn."

"She is. And have you seen her dad?" Lucy doubled down. She considered going downstairs to release her pent-up emotions but thought better of it. "Terrible, the lot of them."

Lockwood had thought the same cruel thoughts but hearing it from them made him defensive. You weren't bad. You were just a bystander. Your lack of responses hurt as bad as your parents's passive-aggressive jabs, but you weren't even close to being half the evil your parents were. He felt his stomach churning as they began to drag your name through the dirt.

"We are never going back there," George declared. "You were right, Lockwood."

"I need 24 hours of sleep to recover from it. I've never felt so murderous before." That was Lucy's way of saying goodnight. She started for the steps right after.

"I think we should go back. So you can finish the job," George said, following Lucy up the stairs.

Lockwood stumbled ahead, throwing his coat on the newel and collapsing at the foot of the steps. From where he lazed, he continued to hear Lucy and George bicker.

"Maybe you could call up that Norrie White to help you get away with murder," George said encouragingly.

"Don't even start on that, George," Lucy warned.

Her door closed.

"Fine," George said despondenty. "It was just a suggestion, geez."

His door closed, too.

Lockwood let out a breath. It felt like his soul had left his body for a moment of reprieve. He didn't have even five minutes of silence before he heard urgent taps reverberating through his ears. He sat up, alarmed, trying to assess where the noise could have come from.

After a quick sweep, he swung the kitchen door open and discovered you on the other side of the garden door, knuckles raping against the glass with a pained look on your face.

He contemplated leaving you out in the cold but decided that he wasn't that kind of person. He opened the door and wasn't all that surprised that your habit of forgetting a jacket stayed true. You were shivering.

"Anthony—"

"Give me a moment," he interrupted. He turned, walked back to the steps to retrieve his coat, then returned to drape it over your shoulders. "Come in. Sit. You never remember to bring a coat at night, stubborn girl."

You smile despite the frost on your face. Your face turns pink as the warmth of 35 Portland Row thaws you. He sits you on his usual seat and takes George's cushioned seat instead.

"Old habits die hard," you chuckle, holding his coat tighter. If you bent your head enough, you would get a whiff of him on it. You could have tried to do it inconspicuously but he was sitting right there, he would know. "I'm sorry... for everything. I thought they wouldn't– I really should have known they would say things like that. I apologize for them. I really do feel bad. If Mr. Karim and Ms. Carlyle are still up, I'd like to tell them as well."

"They've retired for the night," he reports. He redacts the part that they were discussing the demise of your family. "but thank you for coming to say that."

"And I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you add.

Lockwood doesn't say anything to that. In his mind, you would have stopped them if you were really sorry. "Why did you come here? And please don't say you're inviting us to another dinner."

"Goodness, no." You snort. "I... have a case. I don't know who else to surrender the evidence to."

His brows jump. "You're asking for psychical service? From me? Us, I mean."

You nod. "I hear that Ms. Carlyle is particularly gifted. What I think we're facing is something special. Something no regular agent can feel out."

"Why hasn't Fittes or Rotwell been put up to this if it's that important?"

"Because it's a personal study of mine." You drop a manila folder on the thinking cloth. Lockwood didn't even notice you were holding it earlier. "It's a closed case. An unsolved one. The autopsy is gruesome and justice was never brought to the victim. I searched her property myself and found the source. I tried to communicate with her but I can't do it."

"And you think Lucy is the Listener for the job?"

"Yes. I don't just want to get rid of a ghost, Anthony, I want to lay her to rest. To give her peace."

He leans back in his chair, drinking in the information while he raked a hand through his hair. "You investigated the area of the haunting alone?"

"In daylight," you said in your defense. "My sense of touch is useful enough for me to know if something is a source. Problem is, I can't get any psychical resonance to find out who had killed her."

"Amazing..." he breathed. He didn't know you had that level of sensitivity. Still, he had to think of this as an official case. He righted his posture immediately. "I'll ask George and Lucy in the morning. Can you come by at nine?"

"Yeah. My parents are at work before then. No worries about them."

"Good."

You nod, not knowing what else to do. "Good."

You stared at each other. Possibly taking in how much time had changed you; The scars he'd earned through the years, the callouses on your hands from studying, blemishes, changed mannerisms—and then the unspoken reminder that you had drifted apart after the Lockwood family turned from four to one. You were completely different people to the children who used to laugh through these halls.

"I better get going," you said. You couldn't handle Lockwood and his expressive eyes. You don't know if he was doing it consciously, but it was like you could see his sadness bleeding into the world just by glancing at them.

He nodded like a puppet on a string, pulling himself up and leading you to the garden door once more.

"Goodnight," you said, mustering a friendly smile that was, thankfully, returned.

"Night... Cherry," he replied.

You smiled for a moment more before you snuck back home. Neither of you remembered that you had his coat until morning.

—

You were knocking at 35 Portland Row at 8:55. You stood stiffly, not knowing how to conduct yourself after last night's catastrophe. Lockwood's coat was folded over your arm when George answered the door.

Opposite of the day before, his face was flat. If you turned around and left, you'd be doing him a favor. Unfortunately for him, you were there with intention.

"I need the help of Lockwood & Co."

George opened his mouth, probably thinking of some creative way to say 'shove off'. Lockwood's voice from the kitchen bellowed over his train of thought. "It that her? Let her in, Georgie."

George was mumbling something but he stepped aside and didn't stab you with a nearby rapier. You believed that meant there was a chance to redeem yourself.

You were lead to the receiving room where you were shortly joined by Lockwood and an either groggy or bloodthirsty Lucy. George had retired to the kitchen to bring in biscuits. You hadn't earned the respect to have cake in the vicinity.

Lockwood lead the conversation, eyes trained on you. It made you conscious enough to shuffle and pick at the frayed seams of his coat.

"You only gave us a few details about this case. Evidently it was murder but it was closed and unsolved for two decades."

"I have the rest here," you said, revealing another manila folder. This one was thicker, packed with all you knew about it. It was the real deal. As you passed it across the table, the three of them ogled at the vivid red 'confidential' stamp slanted across the front. "Her name was Iris Griffiths. She was a forensic scientist who cracked several unsolved cases in her time. She had sensitive hearing, from what her colleagues said. She wasn't working on any new cases before her housemate reported her dead on a random night."

"Was it during winter? She could have been ghost-touched." Lucy suggested with a clipped tone. She just wanted to close the case and never see you again.

You shook your head, reaching across and guiding Lockwood's hand to another page in the folder. "Her autopsy shows several lacerations and bruises but no remnants of ghost touch. Her body was already decomposing when she was found."

"And her flatmate? They could be a suspect." George pitched.

You shook your head again. "Celia Rodney was out of town with her fiancé. Several colleagues were interviewed and confirmed it."

Lockwood looked up. "Then we have to assume that it's someone from Griffith's personal life. Did she have a lover?"

"This is like the Annie Ward case all over again," Lucy groaned.

You continued nonetheless. "She did have a lover, actually. Howard Gasley was her co-worker and boyfriend. They had a good relationship, according to the interviews, so I don't suspect any foul play between them."

George leaned against the right side of his chair. There was a creak from the old thing but he ignored it. "What if their relationship was rocky behind the scenes?"

You looked down at the evidence file and sighed. "I guess we will find out when Ms. Carlyle's able to speak with her. All our suspects have solid alibis. To obtain justice for Iris Griffith, we'll have to be her witnesses."

George turns stiff. "We? Lockwood."

Lucy does the same. "You're asking me to communicate with a ghost?"

Lockwood tries to settle them down with a relaxed smile. "It's high time I stop scolding you for being good at what you do, Luce. Our client is explicitly asking you to exploit your talent and find us a killer. The client is always right. Isn't that right, George?"

George grumbles a reply you don't hear, and Lucy nods limply, like she can't comprehend the fact that Lockwood was being so lax about this. What happened to the dangers of communicating with ghosts?

Regardless, they realize that arguing with him was going to be a losing battle. He has that look in his eye—one akin to an adrenaline junkie who's about about to jump from a cliff, and his eyes are set on you.

Lucy and George watched as you returned his coat before they shot each other looks.

What happened to hating you and your white-coat family? Lockwood marched to the beat of his own drum, apparently.

They had their kits ready before dark and met you on the street you'd told them about. Lockwood saw your peering eyes over the run-down house's picket fence and quickened his pace.

"Lovely place," Lucy drawled, eyeing the chipping paint with faint curiosity. Two decades could do so much to a nice house.

"Very lively," George seconded with bite, side-stepping the corpse of a rat.

"I have the source inside, under a chain net," you inform them. You push open the door, wincing as the hinges break and send the wood slamming to the floor. "I hope the house holds long enough to finish this investigation."

"Finally," cheered Lucy. "something we can agree on."

Lockwood was contemplating over how to behave himself. One second, he was keeping pace with you, then walking ahead the next, then falling behind you. He cycled between all three, ignoring George's rolling eyes and Lucy's sighs until all four of you reach the second-floor's lavatory. Luckily, no one had fallen through the floor.

"Do tell me we're not dealing with supernatural turd," George begged.

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "I'll be the one doing the Listening so you can take your complaints outside, George."

"This might be worse," you answer them when you pull off the chain net from an odd looking thing. It looked like a starfish wrapped in ripped and yellowed tissue paper. Lucy gagged when she took a second look.

"Mummified hand," Lockwood said aloud, trying to keep a placid smile on his face. "I always tell you to never mess with mummified body parts but we'll have to make an exception."

"Mummified parts bridge the forensic and psychical field, unfortunately." You cover the source back up as a mercy to Lucy. "They couldn't find her hand before they autopsied her body. Found this under a plank in her bedroom."

"Handy," George said dryly.

Lucy glared at him. "Not the time."

"I'm not sorry," he replied.

"You could have mentioned this sooner," Lockwood interjected, turning his head to you.

You gave a smile in response. "I think it's just another piece of evidence that proves someone had been very angry with her."

"Did the academy teach you to smile so morbidly?" George questioned.

"No, that's just her face." Lockwood said gravely.

George spared you a look that resembled concern. "Pity."

You dropped your smile and walked passed a chuckling Lockwood.

—

Lucy couldn't hear a thing while there was light out. Even with the chain net off, all she could hear was George's heavy breathing.

Lockwood had everyone sat in the disparaging kitchen to have tea and some biscuits before night fell. All the courtresy of Lockwood & Co., of course. Papers spread across the table, rehashing the details in hopes that it would help Lucy discern which questions to prioritize once she made contact with Griffith.

George squinted his eyes at the court transcripts. "There's an awful lot of witnesses."

"It was a big case. Griffith did wonders to connect the world of science and the psychic." You dipped a biscuit into your overly sweetened tea; it was not so coincidentally your favorite brand, and took a bite. "She inspired me to study. It's been a dream of mine to solve her case."

George nodded with the most plastic smile on his face. "Wonderful. We're fulfilling childhood wishes while Lucy experiences rediscovered trauma."

You sighed and sunk into the rotting seat. There was no salvaging an acquaintanceship with George at this rate. You lulled your head to look at Lockwood. He spared you a smile but looked away just as quick.

"Don't interrupt me, that's all I ask," Lucy said as the clock struck six.

Papers were put away, circles were drawn, several more candles were lit, and Lucy hunkered down in the lavatory. The door was closed to give her room to work, leaving you to stand between Lockwood and George. You hobbled from heel to heel as you eyed their rapiers and their weary wandering.

The silence reminded you too much of home. Words poured out of you to chase away your parents's images in your mind. "How strong are Ms. Carlyle's talents? I've only heard heresay about her abilities."

"None of your business—"

"She's the best Listener in the field," Lockwood answered. Even in the dim light, you could see his smile pull higher. It made your heart do funny things while your stomach dropped. "I ought to think she'd be on parr with Marissa Fittes, given enough time. Maybe even better."

George nodded in agreement, turning his head as the ghost-lamps outside flickered to life. The green hue bled into the room, dimming the atmosphere even more.

You leaned against the wall as a chill crept out from under the lavatory door. "I have no doubt that we'll be able to get our answer then."

"Oh! Ow!" George exclaimed.

You didn't have a rapier or any form of weapon but you turned to him like you could help, just to find he was simply hugging himself.

"Got really cold all of a sudden. Felt like something passed through me," he said. He looked down at his thermometer. "Temp's dropped significantly. This visitor is a force."

"That's why she got the best of the best to do it," Lockwood boasted, winking your way and changing his stance as a spectral glow began to flicker under the door.

"Do we have a guess on what we could be facing?" you asked, backing away.

Lockwood didn't miss the tremoring in your hands. "No, but where where is a lack of knowledge, there is faith. We'll make it out this alive."

"Oh," you laughed unhumorously. "how reassuring."

"He's good at that," George added flatly.

Lockwood held out an arm, guiding you to stand between him and George. Their backs turned to you, their rapiers raised and at the ready.

"Here," Lockwood didn't look away from the dark as he unclasped a salt-bomb and a flask of lavender water. He held them out and you took them with shaking hands.

Malaise stalked in on you three, making the hairs on your arm stand. You gripped the salt-bomb and lavender water for dear life. Pressure squeezed down on your chest and your heart raced for a danger unseen.

"This much activity before ten? Griffith must have had qualms about dying." George said.

Lockwood chuckled, nodding along. "Wonder how nobody reported this much activity if the source was hidden all this time."

"Nobody wanted to visit this place when the killer was still at large," you answered, struggling to keep your tone even. "Some kids started some rumors during the court proceedings. They said someone just wanted the house badly enough to kill for it."

"That would be unfortunate," George said. "Imagine all that commotion over a killer who simply wanted real estate."

You tried to stiffle a laugh but failed. "It does sound ridiculous."

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, catching your faulty smile before a scream shook the Earth.

"Lucy?"

"Lucy!"

"Ms. Carlyle?"

She came bursting out of the lavatory, two fingers pinching the mummified hand, and looking quite disgruntled before she stood in the boy's protective circle.

"We might need Little Miss Doctor to stand in the iron circle," Lucy said, fumbling for her rapier and holding the source a ways from her body. Frost was gripping at her gloves.

The plan was scraped with one glance to the circle. It had been thrashed by Griffith from the time Lucy came tumbling out of the lavatory.

"Type two," all three of them agreed.

"What happened?" asked George. His eyes darted down the hallway with more apprehension than before.

"She got angrier and angrier the more names I mentioned," she answered. "I felt like she was about to drown me."

You took the mummified hand from her grasp. The sigh she let out was laughable. "Did she say who killed her?"

Lucy shook her head as she readied herself. Miasma was building. Fear gripped you like nothing you'd experienced before. When you touched the hand, that feeling multiplied. You heard murmurs but nothing substantial.

Shell...

Kill me...

Secret...

You couldn't stitch those words together to come to any conclusion. You were crossing your fingers that Lucy could. The possibilities kept you up at night. If you weren't thinking about your estranged friendship with Lockwood, you were thinking of getting justice for this woman you didn't even know. The cold pinching your skin from the source was a reminder that it wasn't over.

Like a light in the dark, Lucy looked at you and said, "She kept nodding her head whenever I asked if some person killed her; She said yes to Rodney. She said yes to Gasley—"

"So even she doesn't know who killed her?" George laughed emptily. "Brilliant."

"We might have to investigate more on our own to find more details." Lockwood nudged your side. You thought it was to shield you from the cold but that would be too presumptuous. He had bumped into you to swipe away the apparition of Iris Griffith.

She came and went like a zap of electricity. Frantic and unpredictable. Every time you caught sight of her mauled face, your heart picked up. How these three hadn't double over from heart failure was a mystery. Your knees gave up when she'd appeared beside you.

Your eyes watched her in slow motion. The rippling gashes in her plasma, her sneering face, her slashed dress... She was a hairsbreadth away from you before your instincts kicked in.

Your blood fell to your feet but your hand reached into your pocket in a panic, saving yourself as you pulled out a silver button. You threw it at her face and, fortunately, it was enough to disperse her ghost.

Lockwood let out a loud breath of relief but jumped back into the rhythm when her apparition reappeared. "Was that my mother's button? Nevermind. Time to make our exit! Luce, where's the chain net?"

She clicked her tongue. "Dropped it. Her manifestation appeared right in front of me."

"Go get it then!" George rushed, swiping at the air and setting off the first salt-bomb of the night.

"I would if I could," Lucy replied with a bite in her tone. She grimaced at the hand in your vice. "It's in the toilet."

"Pick it up! You've held worse." George backed into Lucy. They switched places.

"It's best if you don't," you advised. "This place has been deserted for years. Who knows what kind of bacteria's been growing in the bowl."

"Oh, you have to know everything, don't you?" George hissed.

Lucy didn't snap at you this time. "Listen to the doctor, George! Did we bring any more chain nets?"

Lockwood reached for your shirt, tugging you towards him as Griffith bit the air where your head would have been. He held you between his arms as blood rushed to your ears and cheeks. Lockwood's breath tickled your ear. The warmth of your face was a juxtaposition to the cold encasing your hands. "My bag! It's a bit away. We'll have to split up."

"Try not to die," George said with false sweetness. He and Lucy ran the opposite way you and Lockwood had.

Griffith chased them. The farther she got, the more you remembered how to breath.

"Calm down, cherry cheeks, ghosts can feed off of your fear," he tried to pacify you. The rasp of his voice evened your heart rate enough for you to get your brain turning again.

"Right. You're right..." You looked ahead, through the darkness and could barely make out the lumps on the ground. "Chain, we have to get the chain net."

"I've got you," he assured.

Even if your pivotal functions had returned to normal, your legs hadn't gotten the memo. Getting up made your knees buckle and legs feel like cooked pasta. As if the cold eating your fingers weren't bad enough.

Lockwood caught you around the waist, holding your weight while he held his rapier at the ready. "Hold on to the source and remember the salt-bomb."

You nodded firmly, clutching both to your chest as you two made a joint effort to get to the bags.

You were almost there, just passed the iron circle that Griffith had broken through, when she appeared above you like an unwanted mistletoe.

You screamed, Lockwood said something to console you, you threw the salt-bomb without taking off the clip, and Lockwood quickly sliced off the top to set it off. Salt sprayed over you two. His body folded over yours as it showered down.

Griffith's yells faded for a moment, a moment long enough for you to slide forward and grab the chain net that clung onto the side pocket of Lockwood's kit. Your hand wrapped around it, Iris's spectral glow kissed your skin, you felt the chill of it — she was colder than her source.

Suddenly, Lockwood had tugged you back towards him. His pull was strong enough to knock you onto your side. It would bruise but at least you weren't ghost-touched.

You wrapped the mummified hand in the net and sighed as the glow faded away and the screaming ceased. The frostbite on your fingers were worth the pain. You were alive.

Silence and heavy breathing ensued.

You rolled the rest of the way on your back, heaving for breath you won't get back. Not while Lockwood remained hovering over you.

The candles had been blown out in the earlier attack. The only light came from the ghost-lamps that sifted through the broken windows. Everything was in that ugly shade of bottle green... but that didn't make him any less magnificent.

Sweat collected on his brow, his mouth was agape—chasing for breath, and his lips were curled in that kind of smirk you could only dream about. Holding your breath did little for your racing heart.

"You okay, cherry cheeks?" His lips moved like their one purpose was to enrapture you.

You nodded dumbly, unable to find your words.

—

Portland Row was cloaked by the night when you four made your escape.

The three of them headed for the 35th while you bound up the steps to your parents' place. George and Lucy gained enough respect for you to wish you a good night before heading in, successfully tuckered out. Lockwood remained, staring at you with his hands in his trouser pockets.

He raised his brows at you then motioned to your front door. "Head on in. It would weigh on my conscience if I don't see you home safe. Your parents would have my head."

"You..." you paused at the fog before you. It was colder out than you thought. "You called me cherry cheeks earlier."

His stance turned tense. He rocked on his heels before he mustered a smile. "Old habits die hard... Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"It's okay," you reassured, returning the smile. "I missed it."

"You don't mind then?"

You shook your head. "Never did."

His smile broadened, teasing a glimpse of his pearly whites before he looked at his shoes to hide it. "See you tomorrow then, cherry."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him. These days, both of you were tall enough to see each other clearly over the wrought-iron fencing. You missed the days you had to tiptoe to show him a smile.

You had no problems shooting him a smile from over the fence. You had no problems coming home to your perfectionist parents. You had no problems imagining your world without Lockwood in it... but you missed him.

Now that the events kept replaying in your head, all you could think while you looked at him was I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry.

Lockwood had the talent of knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't bring yourself to. He forgot how when you had grown apart. Now, in the quiet of the night and the privacy of the stars, it came back to him like the memories he tamped down by closing his window.

"What's wrong?" He asked, setting his hands on the freezing iron fence.

You feel the knot in your throat and the tears in your eyes. It hurts to hold back. Your lungs are lined with spikes as you take a breath. It feels like you're cracking your ribs open as you cave and admit to him, "I don't want to go home to them."

It may have been a trick of the light, but you swear there were tears in his eyes, too. His smile had changed. It was the same one you were accustomed to—the one he used to welcome you into his parents's house all those years ago. Like no time had passed at all, he beckons you. "Come on in then. 35 Portland Row is always open for you. It's your home, too."

—

One night's sleep on 35 Portland Row's most uncomfortable couch was worlds better than the comfy bed in your own cold home. You stretch like a cat to work out all the kinks in your joints, smiling at the air for no reason other than the happiness that filled you the moment you realized you were at the Lockwoods'. Your frosted hands had been wrapped up over a very sleepy catch-up the night before.

Ambient music was playing in your head as you took in your surroundings. The browned books and the disarray of trinkets left all around you were more home than anything you were used to.

It felt like you were wading through the most pleasant dream.

It all screeched to a halt the moment you swung your foot down and stepped on something squishy and loud—it groaned like a beast.

Terror clawed out of your throat in the form of a scream. Juttery legs hopped onto the back of the couch to gain height, and weary eyes looked down at the monster under the bed— er, sofa.

The lump inflated, made of patchwork quilt... until that fell away to reveal a very disheveled and very grumpy Anthony Lockwood.

"Ow," he simply said.

Your soul returned to your body. You offered a little laugh as you eased back down on the couch. "Sorry, Anthony."

"Don't worry yourself," he assured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I was the one who snuck down here."

You were a kid when you admitted to being afraid of being alone. It was thoughtful of him to come down here to keep you company when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs.

With a fluttering belly and a sheepish smile, you reached out and patted his sleepy head. "You've always been good to me. I should be more grateful."

He opened one eye to look at you while he rubbed the sleep out of the other. A corner of his lip tipped up into a lazy smile. "You can start with a 'thank you', darling."

"Thank you," you said all too quickly. The deeper octave and the rasp in his voice had finally hit home. It made your cheeks warm.

Judging by the growing smile on his face, he had accomplished what he was intending to.

Your shoulders jumped. A knock broke through the calmness of the air. You turned and saw George in an apron and kitchen mitts. "Are you two going to give each other goo-goo eyes all morning or are you joining us for breakfast?"

—

The investigation resumed as soon as the breakfast plates had been cleaned.

You split into two groups. George and Lucy were off to the archives to work out all of Griffith's social connections, and you and Lockwood were off to the hospital to look for documents that contained the same M.O. or similar timeline to Griffith's case.

"I thought police were the only ones allowed to hold information like this," Lockwood admitted as you two shuffled through files upon files in the hospital archives.

"Most of it, they do. I just hope there's something here relevant to our case," you reply. "If we have to hand this off to detectives, DEPRAC will get involved. They'll just close the case and leave it be."

He nudges up to you after a good three hours of finding absolutely nothing. "Let's look at the last few cases she solved. Could have a clue."

"All of those are solved though," you respond. You were biting your nails at this point. You had to find something before questioning Griffith's ghost again—for Lucy's sanity and for the group's safety.

Lockwood took you by the shoulders just as you began to imagine the worst. "Cherry," he said to snap your attention to him. "If we can't find anything, I don't want you joining us on this one."

"What?" You back away from him in your incredulity. "I helped last night, didn't I? This is my investigation as much as it is yours, Anthony."

"This visitor is a type two, cher. It's not as simple as solving a case. This means lives are in the balance—"

"I'm aware." You put your foot down. You slapped his hands away and shimmy a thick stack from under the desk. "I'm aware of the risks and I consent to them." You pick up the one at the top of the stack and shove it into his chest. He had always liked the curiosity in your eyes, so he was taken aback by the void in them as you looked at him. "I have enough people treating me like I belong at home or behind the safety of iron fences—I do not need you to coddle me like that. My parents do it enough."

He watched your back as you look through the second file in the stack. "You know I don't mean to coddle you..."

"You're doing it right now." Your tone carries a point. "You're telling me to sit this one out because it's too dangerous."

"It's risk assessment—"

"You're underestimating me—"

He slams his hand down on the paper you're idly reading. Bringing your attention to him. "I do this because I don't want to lose you."

Your anger falls away.

The reminder of how how much he'd lost occurs to you. It makes your arms grow limp and your heart to shrink. You can only stare at him with those same eyes he can't unsee even when his are closed. He hates the way he's made sadness swim in them. "Anthony..."

He said your name with the same caution. "You want to know why I became distant?"

"People grow apart when they grow up, Anthony. It's not your fault—"

He knelt beside you, laying his heart out right then and there. "I couldn't stand watching you with your perfect family. They always said any field tampering with the supernatural was a death sentence. I hated how they were right. I hated how they made you so small. I couldn't watch you like that. I hated that you turned into a doctor, just like them. I hated how they were so bad and so cruel, but they were always right."

You were quelled into silence. Biting your lip to keep the tears in. He held your hands delicately, careful of your injury. His touch was light but you knew you would feel it for hours. You held his hands with as much strength as you could muster, even as your skin burned and screeched for reprieve, you did not let go. "They are wrong about you..." you whisper to him.

He went on, plastering on a smile you knew was fake. It sheared your heart to know that. "I knew they were right when they said you would do great things... But they said so many other things that hurt. I couldn't stand being around. It just made me remember that no one was around to defend me anymore. I'm sorry that I had to leave you out, too. Seeing you reminded me of everything they said and I... I couldn't shake it."

Your eyes hurt so much. You gave up somewhere along the way and let the tears fall. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to fight them. I wanted to say so many things but they've always been so- so..."

"Scary?" he supplied with a pathetic laugh. "I know. Don't blame yourself."

You bobbed your head, sniffing as tears went. "You don't have to apologize for all that, Anthony. I'm so sorry, I didn't stand by you when you needed me. But I am going to see this case through to the end, I've dedicated my life to it."

Even when you were hiccuping and heaving for air, you wiped away the tear that tracked down his cheek. His heart surrendered to you then.

"Okay... And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ignored you like I did," he said again, just because he felt like you needed to hear it.

"No. I'm sorry," you reply. Vehemently wiping his eyes. "Anthony, come on. Don't cry. I'm not worth crying for."

"Oh, don't say that," he said lightly. "You're worth everything, cher."

Both of you manage a smile but neither of you are well enough to hold it. You laugh at each other's attempts.

You came clean to him too: How your parents had made you the sun of their solar system; How they poured their knowledge into you like you were a cup meant to hold their images in vivid color; How they moulded you into being the projection of a golden girl—their magnum opus. You carried the weight of their world. Most days, they acted more like teachers than parents. It got worse the older you got. Trophies and medals took the places of photographs until all you became was your achievements.

"They were so hard on you..." he said slowly. It was just sinking I just how trapped you were. You were cornered in a place that was supposed to covet you.

"Still, I should have defended you. I hate that I didn't," you said, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. It was the most ungraceful thing he'd seen you do but it brought him back to the cherry pie incident, and he found that he couldn't even think of you in a bad light.

"It's water under the bridge. I hate your parents, but there is one thing we can agree on," Lockwood said, cracking a semblance of a smile.

You cocked your brow at him. Teary eyes and all, he still found you as cute as a button.

"I would make you the sun of my solar system, too. They got that right."

With a snort, you said, "You're good at buttering people up, you know that?" You shoved his shoulder to shut him up but he caught the red on your ears and the smile you hid with a tilt of your head.

—

When you rendezvoused with George and Lucy, it was around 5:40 in the afternoon. The sun was dipping and the ghoulish were about to walk the earth. If George or Lucy noticed the redness in your eyes, they said nothing of it. You hurried along inside the stranded house and relayed newfound information.

"The last case Griffith reviewed involved a woman named Shelly Carson. She immigrated from America and died at 17 while she was interning for Hayes Inc." You flipped the file open on the kitchen table over tea. "They profiled the case to be a suicide but I don't think Griffith agreed." Your finger pointed to the lower left corner where Griffith would put her stamp of approval. The line was void of it. "She wrote 'Garrote not rope??' on the unofficial report. Carson's case could have been a murder."

The information set off a spark in George. He was rubbing invisible dirt from his glasses and finished doing so as you concluded your assessment. "We found a Shelly Carson in our search too," he said. Everyone lent their ears. "She was friends with Griffith in childhood. Alongside Rodney and Gasley. The four of them were close friends from well-off families."

"Ah, they're rich. Explains a lot," Lucy snorted. George ignored her quip.

"Turns out Rodney and Carson were both interested in Gasley. Rodney moved on with some bloke named Jerome Holt, but she suspected him of having an affair with Carson. Holt proposed to prove her wrong."

Lockwood tilted his head. "Sounds like gossip, Georgie."

George brandished an old leather diary. "We tracked down Howard Gasley. He gave us this."

Lockwood lit up. Sitting up with renewed energy. "How did you manage that?"

Lucy grinned. "The death of his girlfriend weighed on his conscience. All I had to do was tell him that her ghost can't be put to rest. Spilled like a waterfall after that."

"So, he did kill her?" You asked.

"Well, that's the difficult bit... The rest of the pages were ripped out and he didn't explicitly say he did. Maybe he did do it, he likes ripping things." George revealed, pointing the diary at the mummified hand in the net. "I think he's involved, one way or another."

Lockwood looked at it, then looked at Lucy. "What do you think, Luce?"

She looked at all three of you with a gleam in her eye. "I think we're about to find our killer."

—

The set-up was same as last night, except the iron circle had been extra fortified to fit all four of you in case things get out of hand. Lockwood stuffed lavenders into your pockets as Lucy lit the the candles.

"If you die tonight, I will not forgive you," Lockwood said as he put a salt-bomb in your hand.

"Same goes for you," you retort with a smile.

He returns your grin, tapping your sides and making your heart flutter before he sets off to help George with inventory.

You cross the chains to help Lucy in the lucky room chosen to host the seance in. With all the furniture pushed to the walls, the sitting room was the epitome of morbid. The carpet was patterned in a way that made it perfect for summoning and the cobwebs embellishing the place contributed to the unsettling ambiance. Lucy herself was lighting candles around the source. You took a pack of matches and helped light the rest of them.

"How are you feeling?" you asked as you lit the last candle and killed the match.

"Confident," she replied. She even spared you a smile. "And you?"

"Scared. Excited, mostly."

She bobs her head. She had a far-away look in her eye before she asked, "Your room is an attic room, correct?"

The nature of the question surprised you. "Yes. Why?"

A smile teased her lips. "I knew it." She looked at you like she saw right through you. "Lockwood was loitering near the window this morning. Just thought it was odd."

You hear him in your mind then — cherry cheeks. Warmth crawled up your neck as Lockwood and George entered the room.

"What are you two blabbering about?" George questioned, off-put by Lucy's smile and your flushed face.

"Nothing," you said together, one more pitched than the other.

George didn't look convinced.

Lockwood spoke up. " You ladies ready? Let's catch ourselves a killer."

The door was left open with an heavy stopper, giving you ample room to run to the iron circle in case things took a turn for the worst. Though, you doubted it would. The other three shared the sentiment. Some kind of energy buzzed between you four and livened the room, something that wasn't there the night before.

Lucy looked between you and Lockwood with a knowing expression you only ever saw from Jessica Lockwood. It was gone as quick as it came but the brief blast from the past made you dizzy. The resemblance must have been what made Lockwood so comfortable with her.

Lockwood had crossed the room and stood by you. Close enough to catch you if you stumbled forward in your daze.

He glanced at his wrist to check the time. "7:30's a good time. Ready, Lucy?"

"Ready," she confirmed. With a tug, the iron net came off of Griffith's mummified hand.

George and Lockwood reconsidered their stances with their rapiers as warmth was immediately sapped from the room. It was akin to jumping into a lake without testing the waters. Blood rushed to your ears. The whispering began again.

"We're here to help you," Lucy said calmly.

Wind began to pick up despite the windows being closed. Lucy persevered. "Iris Griffith, I know that you're experiencing a great injustice. Let me help you. Talk to me."

Lucy closed her eyes. You trust that she was establishing a connection with Griffith. The chill subsided by a fraction, her eyes were moving rapidly like you do when you're in the middle of a dream.

"There's a spectral glow behind you, George." Lockwood caught that faster than you. He was glaring down at the opposite corner of the room.

George's face remained impassive. "You'll tell me if she gets too close."

"Shush!" Lucy threw a hand up in the air. "Shell... Shelly? Yes, what about Shelly Carson? She died before you. You saw her case. They got the autopsy wrong, didn't they?"

A faraway scream interrupted the silence. You fumbled forward. Lockwood caught your arm. "Careful there, cherry cheeks." You lived up to your nickname.

"They all kept... Secret...?" Lucy murmured. "They all killed you to keep a secret?"

If this were a cartoon, you imagine everyone to have exclamation marks above their heads. Finally, some of the mystery began to come into focus. Who are 'they' and what secret were they so desperate to keep?

"Secret... Shelly Carson?" Lucy's expression lightened and the room grew slightly warmer. "Yes! Their secret is Shelly Carson. No? Oh, then what— They killed her to keep the secret... then paid people to say they were innocent."

"Rich people," George tutted.

The anticipation was killing you. All those nights of research, pouring over case files and autopsies were boiling down to this. You gripped Lockwood's sleeve to ground yourself. He glanced at your hand, worried you were seeing something he wasn't, but felt a smile twitching on his lips when he noticed the elation on yours.

Lucy'a voice pierced the air. "They killed her to keep what secret?"

The silence, the anticipation, and the chill in the room melded.

"Rodney pregnant? With Gasley's—" Lucy shut herself up. It was like a bad episode of a telenovela, but this was real, and someone had died because of it. "And when you were about to uncover the truth about Shelly... Rodney and Gasley they got you, too? I'm sorry to hear that. Gasley must have regrets. He had left a diary and... your, ah, hand so we could uncover your story."

It wasn't the most peaceful way to end a talk with a ghost. As soon as Lucy finished the conversation, the apparition of Iris Griffith had appeared once more. Contrary to your hypothesis, finding out the motive and her killers did not put her to rest at all.

She wailed louder than the previous night and zipped about even faster than before. Nothing Lockwood & Co. couldn't handle though. You showered the room with lavender and salt as Lockwood & Co. danced with a ghost.

—

You all appreciated a bit of silence after getting your ears blown off by a visitor. The world clearly didn't like you enough to grant the request, judging by the hunched and fuming figures of your parents blocking the door to 35 Portland Row. They sported crossed arms and crossed expressions. Your mother, specifically, was blowing steam from her ears.

Seeing your sweaty and worn form only confirmed their suspicions: You'd been running around with ghost hunters.

"You ungrateful brat..." your mother muttered.

Lucy stepped forward, blocking her way to you. She was hardened by her own experiences and least expected the horrid woman to turn on her own daughter for simply doing something outside of white-tiled establishments. You were grateful for it.

That only stirred the pot for your parents.

"We sheltered you, spoiled you, and educated you to be the lady you are today. You are our legacy." Your father harumphs forward. "We made you what you are and you would throw that all away by risking your stupid little life for some miniscule ghost adventure!"

George is the next to block their way. He wasn't that protective type, but he did look the part when he wanted to. "It was her childhood dream. Let her live." Leave it to George to be forward.

Your mother stamped her feet. The display was so awfully childish you had to look away. "You are children who don't know a single thing about building a foundation for a good life! You are going to run my daughter to ruin!"

Because of her display, Lockwood & Co. weren't so intimidated by her anymore.

Lockwood had stepped ahead, completing the wall that prevented your iron-fisted parents from getting to you ever again. "We're the best psychical agents in London. We expect a little more respect, doctor."

You could hear the smile in his voice. You couldn't help but smile, too.

With a last burst of anger, your father yelled to you. "You either come home or you find your own way. I'd rather live without a daughter than live with a disappointing one."

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but you had given your whole life to live up to the version of you they were dreaming of. Even if you had achieved all that, all it took was having a moment of autonomy for them to turn against you and disregard your sacrifices.

Lockwood had turned to you with a face so full of hope, it brought you back to the other night at the horrid dinner party and the night you snuck out to pick apples. After all that's happened, you found it in yourself to steel your resolve and face your father with bravery that felt unnatural but oh-so addicting.

"I'm going home," you told them.

You walked passed a stunned George and a speechless Lucy. Lockwood was far bluer than the two, but you shot him a smile that put all his worries to rest.

When you were kids, he was the one to take you by the hand and drag you off on a new adventure. This time, it was you so took his hand and pulled him passed your parents's skyscraping figures and into the comforts of 35 Portland Row.

Home, at last.

The first thing you saw as you pulled Lockwood through the threshold was his smile, radiant as ever. He didn't give you much time to admire it. He swooped down and stole your first kiss before you could even blink.

You could hear Lucy and George laugh over your parents plights. You were tired, sweaty, and covered in salt but all you could think of was; you should have done this sooner.

The next morning, you submitted the evidence and psychical report to the relevant authorities, convicting Celia Rodney and Howard Gasley for their crimes. Griffith's source was relinquished from your possession and burned at the Fittes Furnaces, marking the end of Griffith's case. It was the best thing you could do to bring her peace.

Shortly after, Lockwood and Co. welcomed you as the company's official forensic consultant, and in 35 Portland Row, you were finally comfortable in your own skin.

You and Lockwood now stand on the same side of the fence. There is no need shyly avoid your peering eyes when he could have the satisfaction of seeing them flutter close as he kisses you.

Thought, it is nice to remember that all this started with those peering eyes over wrought-iron fences. You and Lockwood reminisce those days over a cherry pie with extra ice cream or an afternoon picking apples from the backyard.

Every now and again, Lockwood would toss an apple over to your parents's side of the fence to scare them.

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

LOVELOCKED (PEOWIF BONUS CHAPTER)

NOTE ➺ Thank you to everyone who made it through to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. It's the first time I completed a project this big so I hope it brings you some joy. To everyone mourning the seasons we'll never get, I'm with you. To my fellow writers, I'd appreciate a tip or two to improve my stories. To everyone in general, may you continue finding fics that comfort you 💙

[desigirldairies]

Reveal Your Bollywood Glow: Unveiling Celebrity-Inspired Skincare Secrets.

This blog is going to be all about Indian & bollywood inspired products and skincare tips. If you also want a blog separately about Indian natural and authentic skincare or hair care I'll surely make it. 🫶

Know Your Skin Type : Identify your skin type - whether it's oily, dry, combination, or sensitive - to tailor your skincare routine effectively.

Cleanse Like a Star : Use a gentle cleanser like Cetaphil or Neutrogena to remove dirt and makeup and a oil cleaner is a must if you wear makeup daily. Opt for micellar water for a quick and effective cleanse on busy days. (But I don't really recommend it).

Exfoliate for Radiance : Incorporate a mild exfoliator like St. Ives Apricot Scrub or The Body Shop's Vitamin C Glow-Revealing Liquid Peel to slough off dead skin cells and reveal glowing skin. And my personal favorite coffee scrub from The Bombay shaving company. Don't exfoliate more than twice a week.

Hydration Is Key : Use a hydrating toner such as Clinique Moisture Surge Face Spray for an instant boost of hydration or toner + mist from pilgrim works like magic (my fav 😭).

Targeted Treatments : Include a serum with ingredients like hyaluronic acid (for hydration) or vitamin C (for hyperpigmentation) if you are under 17 or 18 like me don't use vitamin c or if you want to use in very less %, I use 2% kojic acid for my uneven skin tone from pilgrim, it's very begniner friendly. (Always consult a dermatologist for your skincare don't go around seeing videos on insta and YouTube believing them). I recommend Minimalist if you want chemical bases serums.

If you are above 23 or 25 Incorporate a retinol-based cream like RoC Retinol Correxion Deep Wrinkle Night Cream for anti-aging benefits. (Got this tip from mumma for y'all 😭✨️)

Sun Protection Essentials : Always apply a broad-spectrum sunscreen with SPF 30 or higher, such as La Roche-Posay Anthelios Ultra Light Fluid, to protect your skin from harmful UV rays. More affordable and effective sunscreens from brands — dot and key, aqualogica, Dr. Seth and wish care.

Overnight Nourishment: Use a hydrating overnight mask like Laneige Water Sleeping Mask to replenish moisture while you sleep. Incorporate a facial oil like The Ordinary's Rose Hip Seed Oil for added nourishment and radiance.

DIY Treatments Inspired by Bollywood:

- Try a turmeric, gram flour and yogurt face mask inspired by Priyanka Chopra for glowing skin.

- Use aloe vera gel like Deepika Padukone for its soothing and hydrating properties. (MY fav bolly actress btw 😭❤️)

Lifestyle Tips for Healthy Skin : Stay hydrated by drinking plenty of water throughout the day people are not stupid that they are going around telling you to drink water, IT'S A MUST!. Incorporate antioxidant-rich foods like fruits, vegetables, and green tea into your diet for overall skin health.

Some of my fav brands (mostly available in india) : dot and key, Foxtale, pilgrim, minimalist, st. Botanica, organic harvest and aqualogica!

Fav brand released by a bollywood actress: Hyphen by Kriti Sanon, their lip balm can even beat Rhode's lip balm istg- and their sunscreen 🔛🔝.

Channel your inner Bollywood diva and achieve a radiant, flawless skin with these skincare tips and product recommendations. Let your skin glow like a star!

[gumballavocadoharry]

Asthma attack:

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over Willow Grove Park. It was a perfect Saturday afternoon, dotted with the sounds of children’s laughter and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Harry reclined on a weathered bench, watching closely as his eight-year-old son, Justin, raced around with a small group of children. His heart swelled with joy at the sight of his son’s infectious laughter, the kind that seemed to spread like wildfire among his little friends.

Justin was in his element, clad in a bright blue T-shirt and scuffed sneakers—an explorer ready for adventure. He darted from one end of the playground to the other, his endless energy propelling him like a little rocket. Harry couldn’t help but smile; he marveled at how much his boy had grown. In the past few years since they’d moved to Willow Grove, Justin had blossomed into a sweet, adventurous soul, always seeking out the next big exploration.

"Hey Dad! Watch this!" Justin called out, his voice bubbling with excitement. With a determined look, he climbed up onto the top of the slide, pausing for dramatic effect before launching himself down with unrestrained glee.

Harry chuckled to himself but kept a watchful eye; it was just in his nature to keep tabs on Justin’s daring feats. Despite the rosy picture, Harry was always mindful of the darker winds of fate. He had his reasons. Justin had been diagnosed with asthma when he was only four—something that never dulled his spirit but still prompted Harry’s protective instincts, even on the sunniest of days.

As Justin competed with his friends for the ultimate slide, Harry’s gaze wandered around the park. Families picnicked under the trees, dogs frolicked, and the air was filled with joyful shouts. Harry felt a sensation of peace; it was just an ordinary day, yet moments like these were the threads weaving their life together, colorful and warm.

Suddenly, the carefree atmosphere was punctured by a strangled yell from Justin. Harry’s heart leaped. He straightened up on the bench, scanning the playground. Justin bent forward, hands on his knees, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His friends were looking around, confused, small faces falling into worry.

“Justin!” Harry shouted, breaking into a sprint.

As he approached, he felt the sickening clench of panic tighten around him. Justin's face was flushed, a stark contrast to the pale coloring of his lips. The tightness in his son’s throat became palpable, like a shroud of fear enveloping them both. “Dad… I can’t breathe!” Justin gasped, his small body trembling.

Harry reached him in an instant, kneeling down to meet his son’s wide, terrified eyes. “It’s okay, buddy. Just focus on me,” he said, forcing calm into his own voice. His mind darted through the protocols he knew so well—the deep breaths, the inhaler.

“Just breathe, sweetheart. Remember our game? In through your nose, out through your mouth?”

Justin nodded slowly, his eyes brimming with tears, clearly fighting against the tightening terror in his chest. “I-I can’t…” he stammered, his breaths shallow and uneven.

Harry quickly pulled out the small, dark blue inhaler from his bag—the one he hoped he’d never have to use. "Here we go, buddy," he said, holding it steady as Justin tried to focus on his father rather than the rising panic in his chest. "Just a little squirt, okay?"

He placed the inhaler to Justin’s lips with practiced gentleness, squeezing the canister. Justin’s eyes flitted from the inhaler back to his father, and in that moment, Harry saw not just fear, but an unyielding trust. He pressed the inhaler again, watching intently as his son inhaled, forcing the medicine into his lungs.

Minutes felt like hours as Harry focused on Justin’s breathing. He whispered reassuring words, promising ice cream later, reminding him of the adventures still waiting. Step by step, inch by inch, the color began to return to Justin’s cheeks. His breaths grew deeper, the panic fading slowly.

“I think… I think I can breathe now,” Justin wheezed, a small smile breaking through the remnants of fear.

Harry let out a massive breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. Relief flooded his veins, washing away the panic that had clouded his mind moments before. "That's my boy," he said, throwing his arms around Justin, feeling the solidity of his small frame against him.

“Let’s sit for a bit, alright?” Harry suggested, guiding Justin to a bench where they could rest. They perched under the vast shade of an oak tree, the steady heartbeat of the world around them returning.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Justin murmured, his voice still tiny and shaky.

“Sweetheart, you never have to apologize for your asthma. It’s just something we’ll manage together. Always.” Harry rubbed Justin’s back soothingly, feeling their connection deepen in the afterglow of panic.

Harry watched Justin carefully, the weight of responsibility heavy yet grounding. It made him wear his fatherhood like armor. He knew he couldn’t control what life threw their way, but he could be there for his son in every moment.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Dad,” Justin said, his eyes shiny as the colors of the park washed over him again.

“You didn’t scare me,” Harry replied gently, though the memory of that moment clawed at him. “You just reminded me how much I love you.”

As they sat side by side, Justin began to chatter again, regaling Harry with tales of heroics from the playground. The laughter returned, their world shifting once more from shadows to light.

With a serene heart, Harry realized that being a father was about nurturing, guiding, and, above all, being the rock his son needed in tumultuous waters. He held Justin’s hand tightly, feeling the warmth and pulse of life intertwined between them. As their laughter echoed through the park, it mingled with the chatter of children and the rustle of leaves—a perfect harmony captured under the watchful trees, reminding them both that every ordinary day could turn extraordinary in the blink of an eye.

[saturnville]

in the dirty south, III.

pairing: cowboy!coriolanus snow x black fem oc. warnings: old slang, sexual innuendo, flirting, sorta forbidden infatuation if you blink. shy!oc. content: while at a town fair with her family, delilah finds herself heavily infatuated with the new face in town. an: last part! I just realized I was heavily inspired by Romeo and Juliet when I wrote this (in the sense of immediate connection with someone).

tags: @snowlandsontopp @babyzzlove @hlstead @rosewine-5 @unicornqueen05 @thegabbyh @neeville @fastlikealambo @urfavesim @cherry2stems to keep your spot on the tag list, you are expected to interact!

The night draped itself over the small town, casting veil of darkness upon the fairgrounds. A myriad of colored lights twinkled above, painting the scene in hues of red, blue, and gold. The once lively fair had transformed into a dreamscape, a place where reality and enchantment danced together.

Delilah stood at the edge of the fairgrounds, where the glow from the string lights met the shadows. The rhythmic laughter and distant carnival music were the background symphony to her contemplative thoughts. She couldn't shake the lingering sensations from the day—the warmth of the sun, the taste of poundcake, and the unexpected connection with Coriolanus.

Just as most young women her age, Delilah dreamed of experiencing an instant connection with someone. She longed to bask in the serenity of adoration that came from another. To be cloaked in desire was a wish of hers, and as the nightsky blanketed the sun, and the stars made an appearance, she knew that her wishes were grant.

In the midst of a sea of people, she spotted him. Coriolanus. A solitary figure, his silhouette etched against the radiant backdrop of the fair. A sense of anticipation filled the air as he turned, his gaze meeting hers. A subtle smile played on his lips, and he gestured for her to join him in the dance of shadows and light.

With a deep breath, Delilah stepped into the enchantment of the fair once more, the echoes of laughter and the distant melodies guiding her toward an unforeseen future.

Delilah's voice was soft as she muttered her pardons to the strangers who were engrossed in carnival games and deep conversations. The aroma was thick with beer, ice cream, and apple pie. As she approached Coriolanus, the bustle of the night seemed to quiet.

"Quite a sight, ain't it?" Coriolanus asked, his eyes trained on the artwork etched in the sky. His voice was filled with warmth, and Delilah couldn't help but to smile in agreement.

"It is." The stars were beautiful. The stage was big enough for them to dance without their shine being stolen or dimmed by another.

Coriolanus extended his hand, inviting her to join him in exploring the fair's wonders. As their fingers intertwined, Delilah felt a surge between them, a connection forged in the shared moments of the day.

They strolled through the fairgrounds, exploring pockets of quietude between the lively attractions. The game of ring toss to their left, and the stage with a blues band on their right.

Amidst the whimsical glow of the fair, they found a secluded bench. Coriolanus pulled Delilah closer, and they sat in a comfortable silence, watching the flickering lights and the shadows they cast.

"Delilah," Coriolanus began, his voice carrying a sincerity that echoed in the quiet night. "I wasn't planning on staying in 11."

Delilah turned to him, curiosity etched in her expression. She looked so stunning beneath the rays of the moonlight. Her lipstick was long gone and only a faint tint of red remained on her full lips. A thin layer of sweat adorned her forehead and loose curls stuck to her face. Breathtaking, he had to admit.

The night seemed to hold its breath as Coriolanus continued.

"I found something unexpected—someone unexpected," he confessed, his gaze steady. He sighed softly and caressed her bare shoulder with his thumb. "I was granted the option to go back to the Capitol within six weeks. I'd been spending time with the boys 'cause I made up in my mind that I was leaving. Until today. Until you and I crossed paths."

Delilah felt a rush of emotions, a mixture of surprise and joy. The carnival around them seemed to celebrate their connection, the lights flickering in unison with the beating of their hearts.

The revelation hung in the air. Coriolanus's words lingered, and Delilah found herself momentarily lost in the depth of his gaze. He had decided to stay—his path no longer leading him away from District 11 but winding through its fields, its people, and, unexpectedly, into her life.

Delilah blinked.. Her eyes traced the contours of Coriolanus's face, searching for any signs that this might be a jest or a fleeting decision. Yet, sincerity lingered in his expression.

"You're staying?" Delilah whispered, a mixture of surprise and curiosity coloring her words. The thought of him becoming a constant in her small town, a familiar face amidst the fields, stirred something within her—a quiet joy that unfolded like the blossoming of a rose.

District 11 was overlooked often. It was the last place anyone would consider finding something they'd been searching for. Except Coriolanus. He found exactly what he longed for. Away from the gltiz and the glam of the Capitol. In a town where everyone felt like family, where the was warmth in every smile, where not everything was a competition of wealth and fame. Life in 11 was simple. He enjoyed simplicity.

"I am," Coriolanus nodded. "Can't lose the opportunity of getting to know the prettiest woman in town. But again, that's only if you let me."

There is was. That charm. The corners of Delilah's lips tugged upward to a smile. Slowly, she brought her lips to his cheek, taking note of how they reddened like the beets in her Mama's garden. "I'd like that."

She rested her head on his shoulder and together, they embraced the radiant glow of the fairgrounds, that had witnessed the birth of an unexpected union.

[luckycharms1701]

*waddles into your inbox and drops this into you lap before scurrying away*

Hello

Behold my humble offering to the Mikey Well Please Suffer 🧡🫡

Angel Kisses

It was just another day.

You were at the lair, just chilling with MIkey on the couch.

He was scribbling furiously into what looked to be a well warn and obviously well loved sketch book, if the frequently thumbed pages and what seemed like a 100 faded stickers were any indicator.

His tongue was poking out in the corner of his mouth, bleping the way he did when he was working intently at something.

And intent he was.

You watched as his eyes flicked around the page, bright with that rare sense of direct focus as his hand danced over the page with his pencil. he was even humming a little, or maybe it was him just talking to himself.

He did that sometimes when he would get into these “Mikey Mojo Moments” as he called them, and you absentmindedly wondered if that was a subconscious trait he had somehow picked up from hanging around Donnie.

You could never be too sure with this one. He was a wonder through and through. A wonder that you could never quite believe that somehow landed as your best friend.

Your lips quirked up with a soft smile at that thought as you secretly peaked at Mikey from over your phone.

You liked seeing him like this. Happy. Creative. In his element.

It had certainly been a while since he had last hyper focused on an art project. But when he did….whew… it was like magic in action. He just had this…light about him that sort of made him…well…you didn’t know…

It sounded cheesy but he just kind of… glowed.

Your eyes flicked to the little bright spots that decorated Mikey’s face like small yellow freckles that peaked out from underneath his orange mask.

Just like those spots lit up his face, without even trying, Mikey could just light up a room.

There was just something about that sunny smile of his that always made your heart happy. He made you happy. Chasing those rainy skies that often would cloud into your life with that ever bright sunshine of his.

You loved it. You loved him.

Whether platonically or romantically, you really didn’t know. You really didn’t care either. All you knew was that you wanted him in your life anyway you could have him because it was brighter simply because he was now in it.

So lost in your musings, you hadn’t realized that Mikey had somehow become aware of your attention. Might be due to the fact that you were burning holes into the sides of his head with your gaze. Or maybe it was the fact that he had ADHD, and he caught ahold of more than what meets the eye.

Who knows? Turtle was a ninja. A ninja who was now grinning like a cat before the cream in front of you.

“See something that you like, Clementine?” Mikey all but purred to you with a teasing waggle of his eyebrows.

You blinked in surprise as his words broke you from your revelry, a slight heat coming to your cheeks as you realized that you most indubitably had been caught staring. Directly at him.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had in fact caught you, you cleared your throat and placed your phone down.

“Actually yeah…” You quirked back at him, placing an elbow on the back of the couch, so you could cradle your head with your palm with a soft smirk. “I was thinking how cute your freckles are.”

It was Mikey’s turn to blink as your comment was obviously not what he was expecting.

“My…freckles?” He echoed dumbly, placing his sketchbook down and turning to you, his head tilted in such a way that you were somewhat reminded of a curious puppy.

You chuckled softly at the mental image and nodded with a soft grin, reaching up to gently trace those little sunspots on Mikey’s face with your finger.

“Mhm. They’re super cute, and I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted freckles.”

Mikey froze the instant your finger touched his face, his baby blues widening comically to the size of dinner plates.

Mikey had always been a very affectionate turtle, that was no question. Hugs, cuddles, hand holding, playing with hair, painting fingernails, you named it, he did it.

Well…that was the problem. In this case at least. He did it. Usually he was the one to always initiate with you warming up and reciprocating only after he started.

This was the first time you had ever touched him first, and in a way that was so…so…Mikey didn’t have a word for it, but he knew in that moment he didn’t want it to stop.

He swallowed a little as he felt the tip of your finger slowly trace his “freckles” as you called them with that unfairly adorable smile. That smile paired with that soft look in your eye made his heart skip a beat, and Mikey absentmindedly found himself leaning in a little closer to your touch.

“You…wanted freckles?” He murmured curiously, feeling that a moment like this needed to be treated with a whisper for whatever reason.

You chuckled again and nodded your head, a most darling shade of pink crossing your cheeks as Mikey leaned into your hand. You changed from gently poking his forehead with your finger to tenderly cupping his cheek with your palm, lightly caressing a “freckle” on the corner of his jaw with your thumb.

“Yeah…I always thought they looked so pretty. Small smackerings on the bridges of peoples noses. Dark spots like cheetahs on others. Or even the ones that are so tiny they look little stars on peoples faces, peeping through the skin. I once heard freckles described as angel kisses, little reminders of a love that couldn’t be contained and well…as cheesy as it sounds…I really haven’t been able to see them any other way since.”

A muscle thumped in Mikey’s jaw as your thumb brushed up against the sensitive skin there and he had to resist the urge to just lean into your hand and start churring like some ridiculous reptilian cat, it’s just felt so good. He shook off the shiver that travels down his shell and blinked up at you with his signature crooked grin.

“Angel kissed huh? You’re right. That is cheesy, but lucky for you, I love pizza so cheese totally is my jam.”

You snorted at that and reached up your hand to poke Mikey’s forehead with a shake of your head.

“Cheese is your jam? What you making sandwiches or something up there, Mikey Man?”

Mikey snickered at the poke and reached up to capture your hand with his, holding it tightly as he smirked up at you. There was an interesting light in his eyes as he caught your gaze directly. It seemed friendly and innocent enough at first glance, but the way he held it had you leading to believe otherwise.

That look was dangerous because it made your heart do that weird skip hop thing like a drunken frog attempting to land a jump onto a lily pad, but before you could further that thought, Mikey interrupted with his own.

His head tilted at that doglike angle again and he leaned in with his all too eager curiosity.

“What can I say? I’m always in the mood for a good snack. But, back to the angel kisses thing. You got me curious now. If you could have freckles where would you want them most?”

You blinked a little at Mikey’s question, and sat back a little, tilting your own head in thought. Your free hand that wasn’t being held captive by Mikey’s reached up and lightly touched the bridge of your nose and the tops of your cheeks.

“Huh…that’s…actually a good question. Probably somewhere around here? Gimme that cute look that you have working so well for you or something.”

Mikey sputtered at the light flirt and shook his head with a grin. He rather adored how quick you were. It meant you were comfortable with him and that alone meant the world to him.

He looked up at you as you traced your own face, that same gleam shining in his eye. Mikey leaned in a little closer and said with a raise of his eyebrow, “You know…I could probably help with that…”

Your brows furrowed as you looked at Mikey incredulously before your eyes widened and you excitedly grabbed his hand and leaned closer.

“You…can help me get freckles? Wait…is that something you can do with your ninpo?!”

Mikey was not expecting you to lean in as close as you did, but he wasn’t complaining. Not at all.

He’d never get sick of getting to see the little masterpieces that were your eyes up close like this. Mikey could get lost in those eyes if you let him.

Shaking his head to clear that train of thought, Mikey just smirked up at you.

“Hmm something like that…I was thinking more along the lines of…angel kisses and what not.”

It was your turn to parrot back dumbly as your eyebrow raised in confusion, your heart picking up pace from a drunken frog to buzzed hummingbird.

“A-angel kisses?” You stammered especially as Mikey leaned in even closer, his nose almost brushing yours.

His hand reached up to cup your cheek in mirror of your movements just moments earlier. That bright rare sense of direct focus now centered solely on you as he leaned in even more, his warm breath barely ghosting over your face as he whispered in a low murmur.

“Yes…angel kisses…because I do put the angel in Michealangelo after all…”

@yorshie @justalotoffanfiction