Sundowners

starter for @loveisfolly (based on plot linked in source!)

he’d fucked up. that much was obvious, and probably the understatement of the century. he’d been dumb enough to get caught up in the craziness of hollywood, the screams of a stadium full of fans, and as a result, his relationship had become neglected, breaking a promise he’d made to his girl long before all this craziness had started. she’d dumped him - and pretty rightfully so - but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to fight for her. as soon as he got back home from tour, he was on the next flight back to his hometown, determined to get her back. every second spent standing on the other side of her door after he’d knocked on it felt like hours, but he wasn’t going to give up. whatever it took… he was going to get her back. he had to. 

Essie’s used to being kept on the back burner. She’s never really expected to be treated like a priority. Not by her parents. Not by her friends. Not by anyone that she’s ever really been interested in. Except Angel. He’d been different from the start. He’d always made her feel seen; always made her feel valued. So when everything had changed for him, she’d figured that he’d find a way to keep their dynamic the same. He didn’t though. After months and months of excuses and rearranged plans, she’d had to accept the fact that maybe he just wasn’t invested in their relationship anymore. Ever the over-thinker, she’d deconstructed every single moment of their time together, tried to trace things back to the moment they’d started to fall apart...but she can’t. And between the lack of actual closure and her unresolved feelings for him that seem to crop up at the most inopportune moments, seeing him isn’t something she’s prepared for. But he’s there. Standing in her doorway. And she hates the fact that there’s still a swooping feeling in her stomach when their eyes meet; hates how easily affected she is by his mere presence. She takes a moment to steady herself, afraid that if she speaks without taking a breath, there’ll be a quiver in her voice that’ll let him know that the nonchalant facade she’s affecting is just barely holding up. “You must be lost...last I heard you were meant to be halfway across the world. There’s a horde of screaming girls somewhere that aren’t going to be happy when the man they’re currently obsessed with doesn’t show up on stage. Processing refunds is going to be a nightmare.”

“If I need a break, gorgeous, then you need about two years off. You attorneys get it worse than we do. We just gotta catch the guy, you have to put them away.” The detective nudges her playfully, a grin forming on his bearded face. “Mmm, how about Bermuda? Actually, Alan’s always talking about Ibiza, could try that instead.” Teeth sink into lower lip thoughtfully.  “Gotta admit, wish you could be the one to put him away when we finally get the fucking freak. Would have been nice to see you stick the final nail in that coffin.” Sadly it was a conflict of interest, she’d never be able to represent on his cases and he’d never able to consult on hers. But shit did he love watching her work in the courtroom. 

Though last time he’d almost gotten kicked out for standing up and clapping when she got the defendant dead to rights on a trial. He swore he’d be silent next time.

Sliding his hand up her back, he eases his arm around her shoulders as they walk into the cool spring night, streetlights marking large, orange tinted circles on the city sidewalks. “ Don’t suppose you’d let me know ‘opposing counsel’s’ name?” The arm around her shoulder pulled her closer, long fingers fisting, knuckles bleaching. “Because if you wanna see him ugly cry on tape, I can have a chat with him and catch it on film for you. Maybe break a finger or two. See how it goes.”

“Speaking of ‘film’, did you know Morgan finally showed me how to use that tik tok thing?” He’d been avoiding it since it had come out, however, the current case called for him to make an account in order to search the freaks teenage victims feeds. “She also said that she could make us famous with a few ‘shoutouts’. Apparently she’s famous there, too now. And to think I just got my head around her being ‘youtube famous’.”

“I don’t know about that, love, you’re the ones who find the bodies. I can’t even imagine what’s that like...even just the pictures...” Essie shakes her head to try and get rid of the images that have been burned in her mind’s eye. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t remember the pictures of every single corpse she’s ever had to see in her evidence files. Still, in this moment she’s more than happy to focus on their holiday plans. “Ibiza could be good, if we can stay away from the Percocet popping and obnoxious fist pumping side of the island, it sounds heavenly. God knows my partying days are far behind me... actually who am I kidding? I never actually had partying days. My so-called hey days were split between ploughing through case books in the law library and staying in bed with a cup of tea in one hand and a good book in the other. Ooh and biscuits. Always biscuits.”

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll get to see me put other people away, though. As long as you can control yourself well enough that I don’t have to worry about you being held in contempt. Remember, it’s a trial not a piano recital. Applause is against the rules.” Her tone is teasing but she presses a kiss to his cheek anyway because she’s never had to doubt his support of her work, never had to doubt his belief and pride in her. 

“Not even worth the effort. Opposing counsel’s an asshole with the inability to keep his eyes on my face but he’s harmless. His client though.” She pauses as a shudder works its way through her body. “He wrote me letters. I don’t know who he got to mail them off for him but he wrote three a week all through the trial. The things he said...the things he wanted to do to me. I know I shouldn’t let it get to me. It comes with the job. He isn’t the first defendant to develop an...interest in me and he probably won’t be the last but it’s just...I don’t know. The way he would look at me. Gave me chills every time. I’m probably overthinking it.”

“Oh god, the one with all the weird dance routines? The amount of power Morgan wields online would actually be disturbing if she wasn’t such a great person. If celebrity culture has to exist, it gives me some measure of comfort when they’re actually good people. I’ll pass on the Tik-tok fame though. Not sure I can keep up.”

“sure, it might smell okay, but… the taste? don’t get your hopes up.” still, he had a good feeling that his cooking would at least taste better than stale cheetos or baby food. at least, he hoped so. “nah, she totally wouldn’t mind. she’s one of those, ‘the more, the merrier’ kind of people. especially now that i’ve moved out, and it’s just her there. plus, she adores babies.” the oven beeped to alert him that it had preheated, and asher set the lasagna inside, shaking his head at edie’s concerns. “don’t get too worried about it, we’re pretty casual. just… a nice sweater, some ironed pants, or a skirt… you’d be fine. she had a hard enough time getting me to wear anything besides basketball shorts in high school, so the bar’s pretty low.” 

“If it’s even just edible, it’ll be a huge improvement on what I’ve been shoving down my throat all day, although really one of these days I’m going to have to get some groceries and at least try to meal prep.“ It’s always been one of Edie’s biggest faults. She puts herself on the back burner and focuses on making sure everyone else around her is sorted and that instinct’s only intensified since she’d had Callum. “So the baby whisperer skills are genetic, then? Good to know.” She flashes him a smile and leans back against the counter while Asher places the lasagne in the oven. “I’ve got a white dress tucked in the back of my wardrobe that could work. Haven’t even attempted to tame this hellish mane in weeks but I might have to give it a shot.” She vacillates between tying her curls up in a crude approximation of a bun and just leaving it to sit loose around her shoulders and spill down her back. She can’t actually remember the last time she was able to take more than five minutes to style it properly. Most days, she’s just grateful that it’s clean. Aesthetics haven’t really been a priority at all. “I can actually see that, teenage you shuffling in fresh off a basketball game and heading straight for the kitchen. All you sports boys are exactly the same, no matter how old you get. My dad used to stay in his football clothes for hours after he’d get home. Half the time he’d come through the door and go straight to the kitchen. Can’t count the number of times I’d find him still in his match kit with a bag of crisps in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.”

of course, there were more romantic ways to spend this morning. and lucas really doesn’t consider himself to be a romantic if he was being honest, but, well, there was a part of him that wanted the breakfast in bed, her wearing his shirt, being able to brush his hands up against her warm skin and wake her up in a different way other than him having to shove her into the bathroom because adam just had to yell at him. fuck that guy. 

lucas chuckled, shaking his head. “you know, he would’ve been like–” lucas paused for just a second, clearing his throat and putting on a deeper voice in order to attempt to mimic adam’s. “this is breaking 37 different rules in your contract and i shouldn’t have to tell you about that, d’you hear me? this is worse than that one time i had to ride in a bus bathroom, god damnit. imagine the press!” lucas even mimicked  the handmovements that adam did before the man started laughing too hard to continue.

when he finally caught his breath, he nodded his head. “fine, fine. pancakes, i can manage. can even make chocolate chip ones,” he hummed. “i do enjoy whiskey and cigarettes, though, so they’re not totally wrong on that one.” lucas had his own handful of vice. his lips quirked into a smile at just how good she looked in his shirt. “fine, you’re only allowed to keep that shirt because you look so damn good in it.” the man headed out to the kitchen, looking at her over his shoulder. “you coming, love?” he asked.

A genuine string of giggles bubble out of her at the fake voice and mannerisms. The resemblance is absolutely uncanny. “That impression’s bloody brilliant...but you’ve been the target of so many of his meltdowns that you’ve got more than enough material to draw from. I’m pretty sure the only time’s Adam’s not yelling is when he’s asleep. There’s a vein on his forehead that I’m always afraid is like...15 seconds away from literally just popping.”

“Chocolate chip? I’m a lucky girl. We should get you on Celebrity Masterchef one of these days so you can show off those skills and get your army of fans even more obsessed with you. Life skills are this generation’s ultimate turn-on. Yeah, abs are nice or whatever but a man who can cook? Fold laundry? Do the dishes? Irresistible.” Edie waggles her eyebrows at him and feigns a swooning action before breaking out into another peal of giggles. “Whiskey gives me flashbacks to sneaking out of my boarding school dorm room for posh boy’s parties in their parents’ fancy summer homes. Every time I see a bottle of Jack Daniels’ I have to suppress the urge to throw up.” It’s the truth, far too many nights had seen her and her roommates creeping through their dorm’s hallways and jumping in Eton boys’ cars to reveal skimpy outfits underneath their puffy housecoats. Those nights had invariably been followed by mornings nursing raging headaches and uneasy stomachs. Even the barest whiff of hard liquor still makes her shudder a little bit. 

open to: f/nb prompt: sugar baby turned wife that happens to have a step-son that is right around her age & no matter how hard she fights it, she can’t stop thinking about how much more she has in common with him & not her own newlywed husband. on the other hand, he doesn’t understand why she’s married his asshole of a father & thinks he’s a much better fit for her

Strutting through the kitchen with his usual chip on his shoulder, Dalton snatched the freshly made smoothie off the counter that he knew wasn’t intended for him. His father was a fucking health nut and his play-thing wife was the lucky one who had to prepare all his ridiculous shit. Even though most of it was weird as hell, Dalton was in too much of a hurry to prepare his own food in the morning so this was going to have to do. “You must have made this for your favorite Arnett man. Gee thanks.” Glancing over his shoulder at her, his cheeks tugged up in a flirtatious grin.

asher happily followed her into the kitchen, removing the leftover dish from the fridge and setting it onto the counter with a soft laugh as he preheated the oven. “uh… no, no tied up italian grandma, but maybe i’ll look into that, because this thing was a bitch to make.” okay, so maybe it wasn’t the most challenging meal in the world, but compared to just unwrapping a pre-made burger? definitely more work. “i think i did an okay job, for a first time though, you know?” leaning back against the counter, he turned his attention back to edie, giving his shoulder a small shrug. “passover will be coming up pretty soon, you should totally come back with me to my ma’s place for it. she’s a way better cook than i am.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth It smells fricking amazing. At least ten times better than the stale half-eaten bag of hot cheetos I had for lunch.” Edie leans against the kitchen counter, taking a moment to rub the tension out of her neck and upper shoulder. “I can bake like an angel but cooking anything more complex than scrambled eggs is completely out of my wheelhouse. Scrambled eggs and weird organic baby food mixes. If I never have to see a batch of pureed carrots in my life again, I’ll be golden.” She’s pretty sure there are splatters of all sorts of fruit and vegetable mixes on almost everything that’s currently sitting in her laundry basket at this point. She looks up at him at the invitation to his mother’s, the same equal parts unsettling, equal parts tender feeling rising again. She breaks the eye contact again, inspecting her slightly chipped nail polish to avoid him noticing the slight blush that she’s pretty sure is spreading over her cheeks again. “That’d actually be really great. Are you sure she wouldn’t mind? I’ve never actually been to a passover seder. You’ll have to help me pick out what to wear. I’ve spent enough time in New York to develop an unhealthy obsession with Matzo ball soup and kugel but I’ve got no idea what’s appropriate and what isn’t.”

❝  AH , YES .  it’s quite a shame , really .  life is much more fun without them ,  ❞   dean grins , sipping at his drink .  ❝ well , we can agree to disagree on that .  but one ginger ale , coming right up . ❞  he made his way to his fridge , pulling out a bottle of ginger ale and a chilled glass .  dropping some ice cubes in , he poured the drink before sliding the glass over .  ❝ so , care to enlighten me on these so-called responsibilities of yours ? ❞

                        treads a troubled path when it comes to her. what was once a simple dynamic had snowballed into something more complex. never in a million years did he ever think he’d find himself so emotionally invested in someone who was hired to be his assistant. how she managed to become so much more in such a short span of time terrified him. the quickness of it all alarms him; he’s never been the type to indulge in relationships like this. would only ever graze with the tips of his fingers. he wants so badly to keep her around despite the war that rages on in the back of his mind. 

silence is broken when she enters his office. offers the femme a faint smile, although he knows the words that sit on the tip of his tongue will do nothing but offer distress. “thank you for coming to see me. i know it’s late, and that you have your obligations,” he offers. lets a small sum of silence fall between them, gathering the right words to say. “i don’t think we should keep doing this anymore.”

Ava knows being involved with Dallas is stupid. She isn’t oblivious to the obvious risks involved in what they’re doing. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected it either. She keeps the world at a distance. Walls built up high enough that she still isn’t quite sure how he’d managed to get past them as quickly as he had. There’s a strange hollowness behind his eyes that she recognises in herself. The same startling emptiness that loss has carved out in her is paralleled in him. He gets it, gets her, in a way that still surprises her sometimes. 

muse: max. open to: f. plot: max is a bad boy with a heart of gold, one night at a party he sees your muse being harassed by her ex so he intervenes. connection type: the local good girl, they could know each other or not.

he couldn’t help but watch her from across the room – she was so out of place. too prim and perfect to be in a shithole like this. max wonders what led a girl like that to show up here, but his wonders are cut short as a guy approaches her. they’re arguing and the guy is getting on his nerves. a red flag goes off in max’s head as the other guy reaches for her, and shoots up from his spot on the couch – reaching the duo in a few seconds. “ hey, shithead – ” max said before delivering a right hook to the guy’s jaw and knocking him to the floor. “ you’re obviously drunk off your ass and making her uncomfortable, why don’t you back off ? ”

based on: link in source !  open to: w / m / nb. 

gavin had never been a stickler for rules, much to his older brother’s disapproval. he didn’t see the point; life was too short for rules and expectations, and he lived as he wanted – finding a sense of adventure in doing all that he shouldn’t have. his one cemented rule was other people’s comfort; never wanting to step over anyone else’s boundaries; often alone during any escapade. however, the older man is somewhat convinced that he has something with one of his students, they pay attention to him in a way he’s sure no one else ever has, and he finds himself warm under their sweet gaze. perhaps he’s delusional, though he’s not as paranoid about that possibility as he probably should be. despite all of this, though, he’s under no illusion that he’ll ever attempt to pursue anything…that’s until a question is raised by another student; ‘will they go on a date with me tonight?’ and he curves a brow – tilting his head before allowing his truth to fall from his lips.  “no.” he states with a confidence, leaving no room for debate, “now if i can continue…” after that, it’s not long before the lecture comes to an end and the students disperse, and he’s stuck attempting to disguise the smirk by ducking his head; fingers flicking through a few papers left idly against his desk; unsure if anything at all will come of that, though almost hopeful it would.