Crime Drama on ITV sponsored by SEAT...
Just kidding - this use to be a Lewis (ITV) book but after consulting with my lovely reader I've decided to add other crime shows here. Hope you enjoy!!
- Lewis
- Endeavour
- Morse
- Killing Eve
- Death in...
Requested - Hello. Please, could you do an Endeavour imagine where the reader is scared of thunderstorms and he finds out about it?
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Imagine...
Astraphobia that small fear that often plague people's childhoods, something so beautiful that one day we come to admire them rather then hide under the covers away. Well not all of us get over the fear of thunderstorms, the loud rumbles and hot flashes of white light that blind the earth for a few micro seconds can still cause some of us to tremble down to our very core. Y/N L/N was one of these people, the y/h/c girl can't quite remember what made her fear this side of mother nature but she knows it's embarrassing I mean she's a grown woman for God's sake (at least that's what she aggressively whispers to herself once the storm has past).
After a sweltering week long heatwave a storm began to brew, almost like a kettle on the hob that's been left. Soon all the pressure will rise but there will be no high pitched whistle just claps of startling energy. Morse had never witnessed the girls reaction to the storms and it was never brought up, I mean why would it. But that night of August 16th 1967 after a couple of records and cups of tea Morse bore witness to the usually cool, calm and collect woman turn into a little girl in a split second. Y/N was always the strong one, comforting Morse after a bad days work or patching him up after an even worse days work. But now as she sat quietly trying to focus on Tchaikovsky's 6th symphony rather then the sound that almost made her jump out of her skin Morse only seemed to find the girl more beautiful then ever. Morse was never really an emotional man and was normally quite closed off, however something seemed to take over him, the need to return the loving hugs she'd given him in times of comfort. Silently approaching the girl the man simply wrapped an arm around her y/s/c form before slowly stroking her hair, her hot tears splashed at her checks as she allowed herself relax against the man. Tchaikovsky was forgotten, no words were exchanged they didn't need to be. Some say love in its purest form doesn't exist, but that August night as the warm English rain trickled down the window love became it's purest form of all.
