irregular-orangutan

[bi-hop]

all of this is probably gonna be reworked when I'm not in "QUICK, jot down fic snippets while you work on a university project" mode but since the last preview for this university AU was just kabru and rin at their apartment, wanted to actually post these two talking

without any evidence to back this up, I think Kabru has a great memory for regional accents and likes looking up the meaning of names. it's his favorite party trick. he talks to you for 5 minutes and then goes "so how were summers in Kahka Brud?" even though you never mentioned you were from there, actually, but it's fine because he sincerely listens to your answer and offers his own commentary. I saw all of this in a vision. *exits stage left, pursued by a basilisk*

[jolapeno]

7. honey cream

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nice forearm in your story.

Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.

Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.

I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.

You’re hilarious.

I try to be.

You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?

That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.

Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.

Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?

I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.

They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.

I bet they look great on your ass.

Everything looks great on my ass.

Including my hand.

Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.

I can’t wait to see you.

Drive safely, Butterscotch.

“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”

Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.

When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.

He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.

It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.

“Don’t—I want to be here.”

“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”

Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.

Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.

“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”

“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”

Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"

You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”

He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.

The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.

You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —

“Race you to the end of the wall?”

Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.

Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.

In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.

Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.

“We did good, didn't we?”

You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”

Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”

Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.

But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.

“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”

“You don’t have to…”

Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.

“You cooking for me?”

“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”

He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.

Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.

Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.

A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.

“Can I do anything?”

Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”

And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.

“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.

“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”

His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.

When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”

You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”

He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.

As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.

But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.

Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.

“So, how often do you have Luca?”

Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”

Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.

“Does that… bother you?”

“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”

Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”

Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”

“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”

Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”

Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.

“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.

“Yeah?”

Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”

Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”

“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.

You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.

His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.

“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”

His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."

And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”

Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.

“My friends… they want to meet you.”

His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.

Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—

“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—

Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—

Until he says your name.

Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.

“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.

Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.

Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.

Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.

“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”

Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”

Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”

“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”

“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”

“When?”

He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.

I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?

It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.

Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.

Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.

A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.

The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?

Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.

It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.

A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.

As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.

Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.

Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:

Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.

With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.

Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.

Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.

As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.

The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.

It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.

You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.

Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.

“You look nice.”

Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”

“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”

Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”

“Smooth talker.”

The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.

As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.

No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.

Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.

As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.

By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.

“So, where will your friends be?”

Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”

Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.

“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”

“His other non-official, less present trainer.”

“You slacker.”

Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”

Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Because you missed me?”

His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.

“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”

Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”

Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”

“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.

Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.

Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”

The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.

It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.

“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”

“Does Harold like them?”

Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”

“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”

Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.

I think they like me.

Are you texting me from the bathroom?

Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.

Baby, are you peeing and texting me?

No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.

So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.

Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?

Don’t answer I can see it.

Shut up.

If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.

Basta!

You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.

Come back and keep me company.

Grin a bit more and I might.

Rainy.

Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)

[hwashua-luv]

Frosted Shadows

Dinner began, and the hall was filled with students chatting at Hogwarts. The enchanted candles overhead flickered, their warm light bathing the room across the long house tables. Y/N, a 16-year-old Prefect of Gryffindor, from her seat, gazed through the crowd; her eyes suddenly narrowed as they fell upon the Slytherin table. Seonghwa, Prefect of Slytherin, talked seriously with some of his house co-members; his demeanor commands easy attention. Y/N's lips curled into a scowl. "Half the school worships the ground he walks on, and it disgusts me," she muttered to her friend Emma, who sat beside her. Emma shot her a sympathetic look.

"Seonghwa's not so bad, Y/N. You've just never really talked to him."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Emma. You don't honestly think that arrogant, manipulative Slytherin Prefect is anything but trouble, do you?" Across the hall, Seonghwa's sharp gaze flicked over to the Gryffindor table, catching Y/N's disdainful expression. A small smirk played on his lips. With calculation, he did not linger his gaze on anything for very long, but those with intense opinions of him were ones that he made sure to note.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Later that evening, Y/N was patrolling up and down the corridors with Emma, keeping a lookout for any miscreants. The castle's silence at night was both soothing and unnerving.

"Are you sure we're not being a bit too cautious?" Emma whispered as she looked around. 

Y/N shook her head. "You can never be too careful, especially with the kind of troublemakers lurking around here."

As they turned a corner near the dungeons, Y/N's heart leaped into her throat. There, leaning against the wall casually, was Seonghwa. His pale face lighted by the light of the torch gave him something ethereal about him.

"Seonghwa," Y/N had spoken curtly, its echoes resonating in the empty corridor. "What are you doing here? You know you are not allowed to be out this late."

Seonghwa straightened, his smirk twisting further upwards. "And what if I am? I could say the same to you, Gryffindor."

Emma stepped back, feeling the tension. "Let's not make a scene," she whispered, tugging at Y/N's sleeve.

"I'm not making a scene," Y/N retorted, "but someone needs to remind you of the rules."

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. "Rules are meant to be bent, don't you think? Especially when they're as rigid as Hogwarts's."

Y/N stepped forward, her eyes thinning. "Not everyone thinks breaking rules is charming, Seonghwa."

Seonghwa's eyes softened just a little, but he never lost his smirk. "You are so dedicated to your morals, Y/N. It's. almost admirable."

Y/N blinked, off guard by the compliment. "Don't think flattery will get you anywhere. Just go back to your common room before I'm forced to escort you myself."

Seonghwa chuckled, rich and warm. "Alright, alright. I'll take my leave. But do try to lighten up a bit. It's just a little late-night stroll."

As he walked away, Y/N watched him go with an increased heart rate than was necessary. Emma glanced at her friend, eyebrows raised.

"Did Seonghwa just compliment you?"Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. "I think he was mocking me. And it's not worth reading into."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ Days turned into weeks, and Y/N began to encounter Seonghwa on almost a regular basis. Whether it was through their respective patrols or even just passing in the halls of Hogwarts, their paths seemed to be crossed often.

One rainy evening, Y/N got caught in a downpour while she was on duty. She herself was soaked in robes and was shivering, despite the warmth of the castle. She had taken shelter in an alcove near the dungeons when Seonghwa came walking towards her, carrying a large umbrella.

"Stuck in the rain, Gryffindor?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Y/N looked up, surprised. "I'm fine. I don't need your help."

Seonghwa stepped closer, proffering the umbrella. "I insist. No need for you to catch a cold on my account."

Numbly, Y/N took the umbrella, their fingers brushing for a brief moment. The contact sent an unexpected shiver through her.

"Thank you," she muttered, more out of politeness than gratitude.

Seonghwa's eyes softened. "It's not about gratitude, Y/N. It's just. good manners."

Under the umbrella, walking side by side, Y/N found her eyes sliding to the side as it happened—Seonghwa was quiet, and there was a different kind of warmth in his presence that she hadn't noticed before.

As weeks went by, the hostility between Y/N and Seonghwa started to blur out, very slowly twisting into a cautious friendship. Still, they argued, but now, on top of these wrangles lay a playful undertone. The smirks of Seonghwa no longer taunted, but teased; his smugness became a challenge for equal play, and the comeback of Y/N gentled, now followed by reluctant smiles.

One evening, as they sat together in the library working on their prefect duties, the tension between them was more relaxed than ever. The only breaks in the complete silence were made by page rustling and whispering.

Turning his eyes from his notes, Seonghwa spoke, "You know, for a Gryffindor, you are not as insufferable as one would have thought."

Y/N chuckled and shook her head. "And you are definitely not as unbearable as I imagined."Seonghwa's eyes locked with hers, shining with unsaid words. "Maybe we're not so different after all."

Y/N's heart thumped as she hesitated to respond. "Maybe."

As they did so, their fingers occasionally brushed across the same book, the proximity of which said more to just how much things had changed than words could. The more time they spent together, the more Y/N found herself reevaluating her initial assessment of Seonghwa. For all his arrogance, he was quick-witted and tenderly kind in soft ways that increasingly captured her interest.

The final confrontation came unexpectedly, during the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. Seonghwa, as usual, was in the center of attention; his skill on the pitch was undeniable. Y/N watched from the stands, feeling frustrated yet in awe.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

After making a really cool goal, Seonghwa looked up into the Gryffindor stands, immediately locking eyes with Y/N. Their gazes held for the slightest moment as he gave her a real smile.Y/N felt that he was smiling directly at her, and her dislike dissipated; he was much more handsome up close. As the game drew to a close and Slytherin won, Seonghwa strode into the stands, still decked out in his Quidditch gear.

"Enjoy the match?" He sounded playful but sincere.

Y/N nodded, her smile unfading. "You were brilliant out there."

Seonghwa's smile grew wider. "Coming from you, that means a lot."

As they stood there, amidst the celebration of Slytherin's victory, the distance that once defined their relationship suddenly seemed to close. The rivalry that once felt so sharp now felt like a memory.

"Maybe we should stop being enemies," Seonghwa suggested, his voice softer than usual.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "Maybe."

It was then, in that one fleeting moment amidst the echoes of cheering and the warmth of shared understanding, that Y/N and Seonghwa began to see each other in an entirely new light. The frost of their animosity slowly melted away, revealing the beginnings of something altogether different: a tentative, blossoming connection neither of them had really expected but both were now quite willing to explore.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ With the sun setting on another day at Hogwarts, most uneventful, Y/N walked with Seonghwa, their footsteps even as they headed toward a softly worn smile for both of them at the beginning of their shared journey.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Word count: 1209

Author's note: This is my first time publishing my work so please let me know if I have spelling or grammar mistakes. The same book has been posted on Wattpad and Quotev(hwashua-luv). Each oneshot will be posted on Instagram (hwashua._.luv1708). Requests are also open <3

All rights reserved. © 2024 hwashua-luv

All works written by me do not copy, translate or repost my works without my given consent.

[nekkomaa]

Warnings: Violence, inappropriate language, manipulation, toxic relationships.

Notes: The first chapter and maybe the second will be more focused on the protagonist's story, this is going to be a longer fanfic, I don't remember writing many chapters before, but I'll do my best. I warn you that English is not my first language.

I'd love to know if you'd prefer a protagonist with a name, or a “reader” protagonist

Portuguese version published on Wattpad

The noise of the rain is loud, every fat drop hits the roof, the ground, the window and it's as if you're struggling to break each one of them.

You hate rainy days, they're depressing and remind you of everything you'd like to forget.

The letter in your hand takes your breath away, your fingers tremble almost without the strength to hold the piece of paper in your hands, the air feels heavy, you breathe but the air doesn't reach your lungs. You didn't know what you were getting into until you were in the middle of it, the letter just shows you that once again.

The sound of the front door slamming is what breaks your trance, forcing you to leave the letter where it was and try to pull yourself together with the few seconds you had.

Footsteps approach the room, and everything in you screams for you to hide, your feet don't obey, the loud noise of the rain makes everything seem more macabre, and you soon find yourself facing him.

“Darling, I missed you…” Your husband drops his bag as soon as he sees you, heading in your direction. He moves confidently, like a predator who knows his prey will never escape. You stiffen and put a tense smile on your lips, the letter on the table next to you teases you, as if it could speak, trying to make you make the slip and look at it.

Your husband wraps you in a tight embrace, he holds the back of your neck tightly, you feel like an object in his hands. Without moving away you wrap your arms around him, a tense sigh leaves your lips as he speaks.

“I believe you collected the letters from the post office, didn't you?” He asks in a calm tone, his voice laced with a cloying sweetness that consumes you inside like poison and makes you sick to your stomach.

“The letters are on the table.” You reply quietly, in a tone devoid of pep. You know he noticed your strange behavior, but luckily he was in a good mood and didn't question you further.

“Great, what a good wife I have.” He turns away from you and leaves a kiss on your lips before heading towards the letters.

You watch him for a few minutes before covertly wiping your lips on your shirt sleeve. His body seems less tense now that he's a little further away.

“I'll get dinner ready, darling.” Forcing the words out, you wait for his confirmation, and as soon as you receive it, you almost run towards the kitchen.

The sound of the rain has died down, and soon the only noise you can concentrate on is the sound of the TV in the living room, and the sound of the knife tapping against the board. You try to keep your thoughts as far away as you can, but it becomes a little difficult when what you're holding is an object that could kill you.

The vegetables are placed in a bowl, you're still holding the knife, it feels heavy in your hands, one look at it and you can see the thing glowing. You watch it for long minutes, time seems to stand still until it breaks.

“What are you thinking?” The man behind you holds your waist, watching your movements from behind.

His hand grips the knife tighter, his knuckles white as you feel your whole body stiffen and become alert.

“Nothing, I was just about to call you.” You lie, your tongue hangs heavy in your dry mouth, fear consumes you as you feel him move one of his hands to your knife-holding hand.

“You don't lie to me, do you?” The voice is lower now and resonates in your ears.

“No… Of course not,” comes his reply, quicker than it should be. He again lets his slip, a laugh is all he gives you before walking away and towards the table.

You don't look in his direction.

Every time you pick up a knife, you find yourself thinking about what it would be like to plunge it into his neck, your husband's, the man whose name you weren't even sure was David. For all you know, he could have had other names. Watching the blood flow and his face turn white and pale.

You don't know how you'd feel about that. You don't even know if you'd like to know.

The next morning, all you hear are birds singing. You're grateful when you realize that David didn't sleep with you, he probably left as soon as he finished his shower.

As you sit up in bed, your chest tightens. The feeling that something was wrong has stayed with you ever since you read that letter. The handwriting only confirmed that it was something serious, the name Las Almas, emblazoned across the top, you knew it was something bad. You remember hearing David arguing on the phone about it.

When you were younger, you were too innocent not to realize who David was, he painted himself to you as a decent man, a guy who would give you the world. Only to lock you in a cage and treat you like a mere toy. Your mother, she would have done anything to help you if she had known who David was, but the poor lady never heard from you again, David made you cut ties with your family, you changed countries and never saw your parents again.

Cell phones were forbidden in the house, the TV only played specific channels, and the house was isolated, any communication you had was monitored, the maid who appeared from time to time never spoke to you, just a few words like good morning or a quick goodbye. The security guard who stood at the door exchanged few words with you too, he focused on being professional, answering your questions briefly and without many gaps for you to ask more.

You realized the situation was out of control too late, and now all you could do was look back at your past and blame your old self for being so blind.

You accepted that there was no chance of getting out a long time ago. And with that, all you had left to do was look after the house, waste time reading silly books that were scattered around the living room, and cook different things.

Your routine never changed.

That was until that afternoon. The afternoon when your whole life changed.

[corpseofbunny]

ﾟ｡˚ ୨୧ ⁞ ❛ YOU'RE SCARING ME! ❜

part two of this! i am still not active or have a new tumblr and i now realize jinho is ooc (imo) in my previous works but this was requested by someone so i decided to just make it and go back to the grave, lol.

wiping your runny nose with your sweater sleeve, you looked down at the sidewalk from where you sat. it was a rainy day, the streets were still full. some had umbrellas, some used personal items to protect them from the rain, some didn't use anything and were doused.

you and your friend were lucky, the cafe you went to had outdoor seating under a reflective awning, the grey skies giving everything a murky and disgusting appeal. "you wanna talk about it yet or...?" she finally asked, almost too shy to break the silence that'd grown between you.

you ruined your entire life for him.

now you had nothing. you didn't say anything at first, just staring at the iced coffee and rice balls she had bought you. "not really," you hadn't eaten in days, too despondent to even fathom anything other than rotting in bed all day. her staring was enough to make you finally give in and pick up the cup, bringing the blue straw to your lips. you didn't know what to do without him, or where to go, he supported every aspect of your life and now you had split up. you packed all your things and when you reached the front door of his apartment, jinho didn't say anything or move. you opened the door and took your things, making sure to slam the door.

your other friend was kind enough to let you stay with her, her bed big enough for the two of you. on the nights you cried, she held you close and touched your hair lovingly. something he used to do with less sentiment. he took everything from you. you no longer had a single first that wasn't his. everything that was once yours was his - he robbed you blind and you let him. when you got ready in the morning, you only ever thought about one thing, one person; you'd always be thinking of him and what he wanted. "i'm just gonna go, yeah?" you ran your fingers across your scalp, strands of hair running through them.

"what? you just-" despite her attempt at trying to keep you, you shook your head. "no, i'm just not feeling it. i'm really sorry." you knew you shouldn't be apologizing. you couldn't even try to stay or open up - being a bad friend. you were a runner, always straying away from difficulties when you shouldn't - yet you did. you never wanted to confront or face anything, a lack of accountability followed you everywhere. it didn't take five hours into you breaking up with him to realize he liked that, jinho made you believe you were the victim in every situation. it was his way of making sure you were never going to doubt him, everyone else was at fault - never you. he comforted you, kept you safe, why would you ever even think to question him? the train home was crowded and sticky but you didn't care, as long as it got you out the rain and being questioned by those who liked to pry for few minutes more. the sun had descended by the time you got back to the flat. it was different than jinho's home - smaller, crammed but loved. his felt empty, always lacking something. unlocking the door with the spare keys, you didn't bother turning the lights on, removing your shoes, and hanging the keys on the wall. it wasn't until you heard a click that you got tense, reaching for the light switch and flicking the lights on.

and there he was. "what are you doing?" for the first time, he scared you. jinho was comfortably sat in one of the armchairs, leg crossed over the other and looking at various papers on the coffee table with a smile. job applications, credit card requests, everything you needed to get back to a decent life. "don't worry, i'm only here for one thing and then i'll leave."

he was so calm, the complete opposite of you. "what do you want?" you don't know what it was that made you start saying it but you did. "look, i love you. i love you and i miss you, okay?" you teared up because for the first time he was making you feel afraid and you were defenseless. you took a deep breath and as he stepped forward, you stepped back. it went on until he backed you into the wall, making you flinch. "don't, don't! don't touch me." something was telling you to get away from him but you were stuck. " what are you crying for?" you didn't answer him, shaking your head. what was it that was putting you off? something about all of this was disturbing you and you didn't know what it was. you were trying to figure out how he got in but what was sound before you turned on the lights, that familiar click? you didn’t want to confront the idea on what you thought it could be. how could someone you loved make you worry like this? he used to make you feel safe. "what was that noise like?" you finally asked. he didn't respond. "jinho, what was that noise? you're scaring me, you're scaring me." you gasped at the end of your sentence when he grabbed you, his hand resting on the back of your neck as he pulled you in a hug, free hand resting on the small of your back. "please tell me. i love you and i just want you to tell me.” there was still no response, just the feeling of his lips connecting to the top of your head.

[etrsilk]

killua x reader that has a fever? thank you!

₊✩‧₊˚ ᡣ𐭩 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐘𝐂𝐊 ⇝ 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙨: 𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘢

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 — ✘

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

⎝ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚:: I didn't know if you wanted a one shot or a Headcanons so I did a bit of both, I hope that suits you! 😭

It's a rainy day, and you're lying in bed. The heat spreads to the tips of your fingers, and your sweat-soaked back clings to the mattress. You can't stop trembling, and the fatigue prevents you from even getting up. You're eagerly waiting for your boyfriend to return from his mission.

Suddenly, you hear a door open and close. Killua is right there, in the next room, surprised that no one is rushing into his arms to greet him.

"Sweetheart, are you here?"

You hear his gentle, raspy voice, and it motivates you to go see him. Despite everything, you try to get up. You take a few steps before reaching the doorway of the bedroom, facing him. You look at each other, and suddenly, coughing, you lose your balance. Fortunately, before you hit the floor, he catches you and helps you back to bed.

"Are you alright? My God, you're so pale."

He says, touching your forehead.

"And so hot."

You take the hand he placed on your forehead and hold it between yours.

"Don't worry, it's just a fever, it will pass quickly."

"I'll get Leorio, I just left him. He shouldn't be far considering how slow he walks..."

You grab his sleeve and beg him to stay.

"No, stay with me! You can call him later."

Your eyes meet again, his worried eyes shining through your words.

"Alright, I'll stay with you."

You turn over and he wraps his arm around your waist, and you spoon each other. He gently kisses your neck, and you caress his arms, noticing a few more or less serious, very recent injuries.

"Your injuries..."

"It's nothing, rest and don't worry about it."

" they need to be disinfected..."

"I'll do it while I call Leorio."

You smile softly before turning and burying your head in his chest to fall asleep.

➘ Killua tries to prepare your favorite dishes to encourage you to eat, even though your fever has completely taken away your appetite. Despite his efforts not always being successful, he continues with love and determination.

➘ Killua takes care of you as best as he can, trying not to show his worry. His actions are filled with tenderness and dedication, paying attention to every little detail to make you more comfortable.

➘ He does his utmost to ensure you don't have to exert yourself, handling all the daily and household chores. He regularly reminds you to take your medicine and makes sure you stay well-hydrated.

➘ He stays by your side the entire time while you lie in bed, closely monitoring your health. He tries his best to distract you, telling you stories and joking to keep boredom at bay.

➘ To help reduce your temperature, he places a towel soaked in cold water on your forehead, regularly changing the compress to keep it cool and soothing.

—English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!!

[winniethewife]

Isn't it lovely in theory? (Three year old!Steven Grant x F!Reader)

A/N: Based on the story I came up with on @ominoose 's Baby Steven Bot.

Warning: Character death

Prompt: Kid-fic

Words: 1452

It was another Rainy Saturday morning, the sun had barely peaked through the clouds Steven had fallen asleep in his mother’s arms the night before and as she starts to wake up she looks at his soft sleeping face in her arms.  She leans in and gives him a kiss on the forehead.

"Steven time to get up baby. We’ve got a big day ahead." She runs her fingers through his curls. Her eyes filled with motherly affection.  Steven nuzzled up against her with a sleepy yawn, leaning into their body.

"Mummy... I don’t wanna get up..." he mumbled. With a small, grumble of protest, he reached up to rub his eyes with his chubby, little hands. "Cuddles First. Pwease." Steven looked up at His mum with a pout on his face. She laughs slightly and pulls him in for a cuddle

"Of course, I'll never ever say no to cuddles with my Steven." She kisses the top of his head and snuggles him close to her. Steven was her greatest joy she was so thankful for the last three years, and for all the ones to come. Steven buried his head in her chest.

“I love you Mummy... love you more than the moon..." Steven mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. She felt the familiar prick of tears in her eyes and she held him tight

"And I love you too, more than the sun..." She nuzzles her face into his mop of curls with a soft smile on her face.

“I Love you more than all the stars!” Steven says with a smile as he opens his eyes and looks up at her.

"All the stars? That's a lot. I don't know if I can keep up with that." She smiles as she rubs his back. Kissing his forehead.

"... and you're my favorite star..." he added. “The best, brightest, most shiniest... star!"

“Alright baby boy. You ready for breakfast?" She smiles at him as she starts to get out of bed lifting him in her arms lifting him high into the air and spins him around. "Look at you! Getting so big!" Steven starts giggling like crazy as they spun around...

"I a big boy now!" Steven Exclaims in a tiny, childish, excited voice. "And big boys... eat pancakes!!!"

"Pancakes! Pancakes it is!" She says with a smile, she takes him to the kitchen and she sits him in his chair and gets to work on some microwave pancakes. After carefully cutting up some fruit and heating up a plate of pancakes he places the plate in front of him. She ruffles his curls. "Eat up baby we got a big day ahead." With an excited squeal, Steven began to dig into his plate of pancakes.

"Wha? A big day?!?" he asked between bites. "Tell me more!" Little Steven demanded.

"Okay! Okay I'll tell you...we're going to the museum today!" She announced. She knew the museum was one of Steven's favorite places to go.

"Ah! Mummy! I love the Museum, So so much!" Steven yelled excitedly as he pumped both of his fists into the air. His small hands were covered in syrup "Can we go see the mummies and Egypt stuff?" Little Steven begged and pleaded.

"Of course baby. I know that's your favorite." She says as she wiped his hands off with a wet towel. "On our way we need to visit daddy okay? Do you want to pick out the flowers this time?" She asks. She wasn't sure if Steven really understands what visiting his father’s grave means, but she always tries to take him every Saturday. Steven nodded with a sweet little smile.

"We give daddy the prettiest flowers!" He answered, Steven was still small, still innocent... He was still just a little one. "Come on, Mummy! Let's go!" he shouted, grabbing her leg eagerly.

"Alright! Alright, let's get ready and get going." Rose follows him to his room getting him ready for the day. Picking out a good outfit for the day. Helping him step into his pants and pulling a dinosaur Jumper over his head, pulling his arms through the sleeves. Humming a song as they get ready. This Saturday was like the others, like so many Saturdays before. Little Steven was too young to grasp the concept of his father's death... they stopped at the florist, and Steven picked out a lovely bunch of flowers. They walked through the cemetery Rose held Steven in her arms as they traversed the muddy pathway. As they approached the headstone she tries her best to stay strong for Steven, no tears today. Stevens’s father died just a couple months after Steven was born. If she didn't have Steven...she has no idea how she would have made it. She sets Steven down as they stood next to the headstone "Hey darling. It's Us." She said softly. Little Steven looked up at his mother tilting his head and looking at her with a sad and confused look.

"Where did Daddy go, mummy?" he asked with a quiet voice, as Rose could see the innocence and lack of understanding in his eyes. "Daddy... I miss him... where he go?" The boy's tone broke her heart... She gets on her knees and looks at Steven. Her hands taking his little ones in hers "Well baby, Daddy...Daddy died. When you were still in my tummy, daddy... daddy was really sick, and we knew that he wouldn't live very long after you were born. But he loved you…So very, very much. That I know..." She feels a tear run down her face.

"He... loved me?" Little Steven asked quietly, his lip jutted out in a small pout and tears came to his eyes. "I... Miss Daddy...Mummy do... Am I like daddy?" the small Boy had so many questions, this wasn’t unusual but this was the first time he had so many about his father. She smiles at him, more tears coming down her face.

"Yeah, you look just like your daddy. Exactly like him" she pulls him into a big hug "I miss him too. I miss him too. He would have spoiled you rotten." She chuckled slightly at the thought of it. Everything Steven's father would have done with the little boy...Steven looked up to her again, an idea in his head.

"I want... Can I see daddy?"

"I have a picture. Here." Rose pulls out her phone and pulls out a picture of her late husband, Steven's father. He had the same dark brown curls, pushed back into a neat style, and he had the same chocolate eyes, his face looked very similar to Steven's. Rose offered to let Steven hold the phone and look at his father. Little Steven's eyes lit up as he got a look at his father's picture on the phone. He used his small hands to carefully hold the phone. He looked at the phone, then back at his mum...

"I want to talk... to my daddy..."

"Of course baby....what do you want to tell him?" She pulls him into her lap as they sit in front of the headstone and the flowers that lay in front of it. "He's right here. Listening. Always baby boy" Steven stared at the picture of his father for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks as he sniffled

"Hi daddy...Is...daddy here with us?" Little Steven asked quietly, with hope in his wavering voice... He wanted to believe that his father was right next to him. That his Father was sitting next to him... That he was talking to him now. His mother tried to hold back a sob as she nuzzles her face into his soft curls.

"He's here baby. He's always with you Steven." She lifts her head and puts her hand on his chest over his heart. "He's right here. For you, any time, always." Steven felt the warmth of her hand on his heart  as he held the phone tight, holding it to his chest, his brows furrowed in concentration as he closed his eyes, he keeping the phone close to his heart.

"Oh daddy... I love you...I will always love you. Just like you love me." He mumbled softly, hugging the phone tightly to his body as if trough the phone he could pretend he was hugging his father. She smiles and she rubs his cheeks. She kisses his forehead before standing up, Steven still in her arms as she takes a few steps over to the headstone and touches it softly. She speaks softly as Steven watched with rapped attention

"I miss you every day darling. You're still the only one for me. And our little Boy...he's everything you hoped for. I love you…Marc."

Bingo Masterlist

Tag: @moonknight-events @juneknight @spacecowboyhotch

[flimflamfandom]

More Lacy Vignettes

This features my Lackasona, Arthur Keane - who you can read about here!

On Loan

-

Lacy sighed as she got her coat on. "Hasn't Mitzi got a maid?"

"Yes, but she's...ill, or...has a sick aunt or...something, I don't know." Sedgewick shook his head. "She wasn't clear over the phone. She just said she needed someone and-"

"I'm not doing any criminal work. Not after what happened last time."

"No, no, I made sure it isn't that." Wick said. "Just...don't let her talk you into anything like that, alright?"

Lacy made her way to Mitzi's place, a little annoyed, and very tired. She hadn't had a chance to wake up this morning before she was suddenly recruited to be in for Miss May.

She opened the door, letting herself in. "Miss May?"

"Ahh, Lacy...come in." Mitzi said, wearing a silk robe. "You're just in time."

"Miss May, I want to help as I can, but I'm not a chambermaid, I'm a-"

"Oh, hush." Mitzi scoffed. "Be a dear and help me with this, would you?"

Lacy groaned. She was not going to spend her morning putting up some aging star's hair just because she-

Huh.

Lacy stared down a pile of what appeared to be paychecks.

"I need you to make sure those are all accurate - the boys got a little holiday bonus this year and I swear I did some math wrong someplace."

"...you make your maid do payroll?"

"Nio, sweetie, the maid's a moot point. Ever since Mordecai I've been doin' it myself, but-...well. You know how a girl gets."

"I do not." Lacy wryly asserted. She sat down to work, trying to not get distracted by the fact that Mitzi was just mulling about, changing, putting on makeup...humming and hawing about dresses.

"Do you prefer Pink or blue on me?"

"I prefer clothes on you. This is indecent."

"You know, you're just like Mordecai when you talk like that." She said. "Just...turn around and look."

Lacy rolled her eyes and turned to face her. She watched as Mitzi held both over herself. Lascy thought for a moment. She blushed as she watched, blinking, and shaking her head. She rubbed her eyes.

"...Lacy?" Mitzi asked, furrowing a brow and perking her ears.

"...Blue." She said. "The pink reflects a bit off your fur, which would be fine if you were using a different stole."

"The stole's gray, it's neutra-"

"The stole is silver - blue serves it better, Miss May." Lacy got back to work.

"..." Mitzi hummed a little tune. She looked over. "Find what I did wrong yet?"

"I believe so." She said. "You'll have to sign these..." Lacy peered at the books one more time. "You forgot a 3 with Rocky, that cascaded through the rest of the results."

"Heavens! How silly of me."

"Hmm."

"...you're a little Icy, lace." Mitzi said, plainly. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you didn't like me."

"It's just early." Lacy said. She looked away. "I apologize if I came off the wrong way, I-"

"Lacy, you realize I sent for you because you would come off a little icy?"

"Beg pardon?" Lacy asked.

"Ivy normally does the books, but she never says I did anything wrong, despite me knowin' I did something off. She just fixes it - tries to hide it. And my maid, god love her, she's...concerned with keeping me in a good mood. She's too obsequious and all that. But you? You're honest. An honest woman is a fine friend." Mitzi said, holding one of Lacy's hands and patting her shoulder.

"...Thank you, Miss May." Lacy nodded slowly. She smiled a little.

"Of course, dearie...now, you do what you need to do for Wick, I'll be alright here."

"You're sure, miss May?"

"You wouldn't wanna help me with ironing, would you?"

"...no."

"That's what I thought. In a while, sugar."

-

Orpheus

-

It had been rainy and miserable all day.

Lacy walked out of Wick's mansion, heading home. On the way, she saw the little shop - Boggs & Co. - the luthier. She smiled. She looked inside, and saw the cinnamon, mild faced cat behind the counter, wearing an apron and a work shirt, his sleeves rolled up, his brow twisted in thought as he stared at something on the wall. She crossed the street and entered, more than ready to use the 'in from the rain' excuse if need be.

"Hi, welcome t-...Lacy." Arthur Keane smiled that sweet, gentle smile of his. Lacy always felt like hers was a bit stilted compared to it, but she was sure that was just her brain talking. She purred a little when he said her name.

"Evening, Arthur." She said, getting a bit closer. She perked her ears up. She looked over at the wall. "...what were you staring at just now?"

"Oh, this?" Arthur grabbed something off the wall. it was a guitar, and it looked...metallic? He strumemd it, and Lacy winced a bit at the sound - moreso how loud it was.

"It's a metal resonator - nickel plated brass." He said. "I had a friend help me make it - there's a company out in California making them, and I wanted to give it a try." He leaned on the wall, and began to idly strum away at it, as quietly as he could.

"You won't get in trouble for that?" Lacy asked. "Surely they've got a patent?"

"Oh, I'm not selling it. Just want to have this one...it'll help with that band at the daisy." He said.

"...d'you mind playing something?" Lacy asked.

"Sure...I won't sing, though." He said. "And it'll have to be quick, I need to help close up." He sat down, and began to play. It must've been some sort of baroque thing - maybe Bach. Lacy recognized some of it. The soft, still air in the shop rang with the bizarre, alluring noise of the metallic thing. There was a coolness to the sound, as if it was relaxing Lacy as she listened. Arthur leaned into it as he played, his eyes closing, his head moving, his body swaying.

She began to close her eyes and just feel the sound, as she sat on one of the many stools in the shop. She lifted her eyelids as the music stopped...

She leaned over, almost to kiss him, before she realized...

The sun had come out.

[petruchio]

after i wrote my thoughts on on lover and fearless, it made me want to dig into all the taylor albums, but especially the early ones, and really think through all the themes, the imagery, and the progression of the album. so i figured why not start with the one that started it all... the sweet, the lovely, the earnestly beautiful self-titled debut.

it hardly needs to be said what a masterful opening line tim mcgraw gives us, but from that very first moment, we're introduced to a lot of imagery that will return throughout the album. first, the stars: "he said the way my blue eyes shined put those georgia stars to shame that night, i said 'that's a lie'" -- we return to stars in "the only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star" and "i looked at you like the stars that shined in the sky" (even referencing eyes that shine like stars in mary's song, "but your eyes still shined, like pretty lights")

eyes come back again and again too: "cory's eyes are like the jungle" and "look in those beautiful eyes and know she's lucky" also come along with the eyes we get in tim mcgraw and mary's song. and beyond that, debut is obsessed with not only eyes, but the very concept of sight itself: "i can still see you, this ain't the best view," "i fake a smile so he won't see/i can't even see anything when he's with me" "the only one who doesn't see the beauty is the face in the mirror looking back at you," "you can see that i've been crying," "trying to see through the rain coming down" (the last one also gives us the first of the iconic early swift rain imagery: we also get "but he leaves you out like a penny in the rain," "what a rainy ending given to a perfect day" and ""i'm taking pictures in my mind so i can save them for a rainy day," which also connects us back to picture to burn -- because the ultimate diss on debut would be to burn a picture; to take something that was once visible and render it invisible.)

(sensory experience isn't just limited to sight though. we also hear plenty of things on debut. we come back to the radio again and again: "someday you'll turn your radio on," "got the radio on, my old blue jeans, and i'm wearing my heart on my sleeve," "when he smiles it's like the radio," "i look around turn the radio down" "i've heard every album listened to the radio" and people are always saying things too "he said the way my blue eyes shine" "that girl he talks about" "he says 'baby is something wrong,' i say 'nothing'" "when we're on the phone and he talks real slow" "she said 'i was seven and you were nine'" "and he says" (in stay beautiful we get to see and speak in one line: "those pretty girls on every corner they watch him as he's walking home saying he doesn't know")

but the other side of all this seeing and hearing, all these moments that are grounded in reality and sensory experience, we also get the opposite. debut is an album that's filled with absence: the would'ves, the could'ves, the should'ves, so to speak. for all the words that are said on the album, there's also "no use defending words that you will never say." there's the time when you "should've said no." (there's also "the first date, man i didn't kiss her and i should have.) there's the unrealized fantasy in teardrops on my guitar of "everything that we should be," and the pain that comes with a lack of action when "you could've helped if you had wanted to." there's also the fact that "i know you wouldn't have told nobody if i died for you"

but absence also comes in the form of hope. there's an element of excitement for futures that are yet unrealized: "don't you know you're really gonna be someone?" "i'll be eighty-seven, you'll be eighty-nine" "and tomorrow's just a mystery, but that's okay" and the wish for the future that "when you think tim mcgraw, i hope you think of me."

the key through line in all of debut, though, is that it's an album about music. more so than that, it's an album about songwriting. it's a meta work. tim mcgraw is a song about listening to songs. teardrops on my guitar is a song about writing songs. cory "whispers songs into my window in words that nobody knows." it's only natural that we come back to the radio again and again: because this is music about music.

and so our song is the perfect closer for the album, because it brings all of this together. of course our song begins with "turning the radio down." we're turning OFF tim mcgraw's songs and and writing our own now. for an album about finding "a place in this world," about always feeling like you're "on the outside looking in," it's only natural that the conclusion would be to write our own song. it's taking ownership of the very thing we've obsessed over for the whole album.

the album ends with taylor begging us to "play it again." but just after this request, she leaves us with one last image: "i grabbed a pen and and old napkin and i wrote down our song." that's the funny thing about our song -- we don't actually hear it. what's called "our song" on the album *isn't* the actual song she's referencing. that's still an unknown: she's still writing it down.

at its core, debut an album of possibilities: places we haven't been, futures we haven't lived, and songs we haven't heard. it's an album that looks forward -- up to the stars, through the rainy days, and into whatever comes next. ultimately, it's a promise: play this album again, and next time, i'll write you an even better one.

[byberbunk2069]

@streetkid-named-desire tagged me for an OC association thing. I copy-pasted from their post

I tag @fourth-floor-at-langley, @medtech-mara, @aggravateddurian

I'm using the most recent pictures I have of them but their appearances are gonna be changing again over time (not so much with my netrunner tho)

First is Veil (aka V31L or any variation that other runners might have seen her handle as):

Animal: Standard domestic cat because that is just the general vibe netrunners give off tbh

Colors: 007BA7

Month: June/July (wrt birth month: January)

Plants: She's a California girl at heart so she likes palm trees

Numbers: I was gonna go for 23 for reasons relating to William Burroughs and Psychic TV but I'll go for 42 as the maximum RAM she had in the most recent playthrough

Songs:

Cowgirl - Underworld

Mindfields - The Prodigy

Teardrop - Massive Attack

Smells: Tropical fruits, coconut, vanilla

Time of Day: 10PM - 5AM

Food: Combination of classy Japanese dining and street food.

Drinks: Rum & Coke, beer, real coffee (bought off a black market dealer on the Net)

Elements: uwu the fifth one

Seasonings: the shit that makes Indian curries slap (I'm Bri'ish so I've only ever had a proper curry a few times and the others have been bastardised ones made at home)

Weapons: Quickhacks, Skippy, D5 Sidewinder, Hercules 3AX, suppressed Unity

Places: EdgeNet (Yoko Tsuru's shop), H10 rooftop

Sky: Clear night sky (so she can see the moon)

Weather: Rainy days, clear nights

Candy: I think bubblegum counts. Cigarettes definitely don't count.

Hobbies: Hacking, arguing with other Netrunners, remote controlling her Galena when she decides now is the right time to get in to a disagreement over the phone or with a passenger.

Artstyle: Patrick Nagel

Fear: The collective weight of guilt after spending 11 years of her life in NetWatch and the last few of those years sub-conning for Arasaka catching up with her. Losing her found family.

Clothing item: Black leather racers, knotted tank, personalised edgerunner with shoulder mounted monitor on the left sleeve and shoulder pad on the right, heeled boots (her wardrobe varies but that set in particular is her go to)

Three Emojis: 🧠⚡💥

Star Sign: Capricorn

Ronnie below the keep reading:

Animal: Some kind of attack dog, doberman maybe.

Colors: #660000

Month: August (birth month)

Plants: Roses

Numbers: 10 - which was the most she took on (so far) in an impromptu street fight in Northside. Unfortunately for her the gang was NCPD and they had to deploy a netrunner to pacify her.

Songs:

Boys Wanna Be Her - Peaches

Hips, Tits, Lips, Power! - Pigface/Silverfish

If You Want Blood (You Got It) - GWAR

bonus: Ratfinks, Suicide Tanks and Cannibal Girls - White Zombie (also Caramelldansen but because of that one Doom Eternal meme which is Ronniecore)

Smells: Pineapple

Time of Day: 8PM

Food: Pizza

Drinks: Beer

Elements: Fire

Seasonings: hottest possible chilli powder

Weapons: Cut-O-Matic, Baseball Bat, Carnage, her (cyber)fists

Places: Lizzie's, trailer park outside SanDom, Megabuilding H11

Sky: She was born way after the Time of the Red but that.

Weather: Rainy

Candy: leelou beans.

Hobbies: Fighting, sleeping, defending her output's honor (even though she's capable of standing up for herself).

Artstyle: Jamie Hewlett

Fear: Adam Smasher, Militech

Clothing item: black bustier, short shorts, harness, fishnet tights, combat boots

Three Emojis: 🦾👊🪚 < pretend thats a cut-o-matic

Star Sign: Leo

[sheliesshattered]

Top third or so of the pleated panel is sewn down!

I tried out a couple of different methods for handsewing this to the shoulder and sleeve, but after a few inches of each, the 'stitch in the ditch' method was the clear winner. It's basically invisible, and lets the piping stand up as it ought to. I'm doing a stitch about every 1/8th inch, and keeping most of the distance on the top so that the stitches inside the sleeve are as small as possible, and won't get caught on things. I'm getting faster with the technique, so I'm hoping to buzz through the rest of this sleeve and the other one over the next few days.

But I'm also going to be interspersing this sewing with starting on my vest scratch build. I was able to find the pattern I made for my vest for The Moment way back in 2014 (it was exactly where I thought it would be, hurrah for keeping old patterns), and I spent some time staring at the existing vest in the mirror and pin-marking the changes I would like to make.

There are enough small changes that I'm going to just draft a new version of the pattern using the old one as a guide. But there are only the four main body pieces that really need re-drafting, and once it's something I can try on then I'll figure out how I'm doing the new collar (so it doesn't look so much like a motorcycle jacket), and I might just drape the new collar on me while I'm wearing the in-progress vest.

Over the weekend I also went though my stash looking for fabrics that have enough yardage (or at least big pieces) to cut out the body of the vest, and after comparing all those to the pieces I know I'll definitely be wearing as part of my Batuu Bound -- gray hooded wrap, brown leather belt/bag/gloves, and black leather-look leggings -- with Jack's help I decided on some lovely dark navy linen that I've had in my stash for years, left over from a dress project. It's on the heavier side for linens, but not quite as stiff as the canvas the Moment vest is made from, but I think it'll work nicely.

I'm going to stick with the basic lines from the Moment vest, including the diagonal cross-body closure. After noodling on this for a week or more, what I've decided to do is a shorter zipper that ends around underbust level or just slightly higher, and then a flap over that with either no visible closures, or some cool looking Star Wars-y buckles or something. I have a few ideas for that, but I won't make any decisions until I can try the new vest on. The separating zipper and the thread for this project have been ordered and should arrive before I'm anywhere close to needing them. Pics on this whole vest project as it develops.

Beyond that, I need to add a tiny dot of glue to a pendant that I made (in the upper left of the photo -- it looks a bit like Jyn Erso's kyber crystal necklace, but smaller with more of a blue tone to it) to make sure the wrappings stay attached. I still want to figure out something to cover the lacings of my big Doc Martens, either wraps over the whole boot or a suede panel that snaps onto the lacings or something of that sort. I've started to gather other accessories, and there are a couple of things I want to order (in particular my Captain's License, once I can settle on a name and spelling for my OC, lol).

I have a long sleeve shirt to go under the vest that works with my color pallet, and an idea (and fabric) for another shirt I could sew, but the weather has been so all over the place lately (80 degrees and sunny! no wait, 60 degrees and rainy!) that I don't want to put too much effort into the shirt until I've got a better idea of the weather we'll have 4 weeks from now. Finishing Jack's jacket and making my vest are definitely the priorities.

4 weeks to go! Hokay, I've got a pile of linen scraps to go iron.

[lemony-snickers]

Seedlings for Kakashi and female reader please (this is PF and I’ve been going through it lately and my own kakarisa rambles aren’t making me feel better so I would really appreciate it <3 (not that I’m asking for kakaoc that’s too much of an ask) (equally if you have too many for this request that’s completely fine) 🌸🌸🌸

hey, @pfreadsandwrites it's never too much to ask for that <3

Risa glares down at the patch of ill-tended earth before her. Attempting to garden had clearly been a mistake, but she's too deep in it, now, and so she forges ahead, scraping her small trowel into the dirt as she thins a row of carrots.

She only hopes her brother will eventually forgive her for so completely demolishing the delicate plants he gifted her a few weeks ago.

"Who brings seeds back from a mission, anyway?" she wonders, shaking her head.

Risa's wide brimmed hat shades her face as she kneels in the small makeshift garden bed she constructed, the rich smell of damp soil mingling with the scent of freshly cut grass drifting from someone's yard nearby. She sneezes, wiping carefully at her nose with her sleeve to avoid smearing dirt across her face.

She's glad for the gardening gloves Zekuu delivered with the seedlings, at least. She can't imagine how her nails would fare against her new hobby without them.

She sighs, letting her eyes drift from the terribly limp-looking stalks of her meager future harvest to the hutch where her two rabbits sit happily nibbling on the greens she left for them when she first came outside.

"It would be nice to grow food for them," she mutters.

But any hope Risa might have for a hearty yield of veggies has likely already been dashed for the season. Maybe next year.

As she stands to brush herself off, the wind changes swiftly, lifting Risa's sunhat off her head. She chases it a few steps, but gives up rather quickly, frowning.

She should have ditched the gardening for a book about tending vegetables instead.

With her hat gone, Risa realizes the sun has disappeared behind a set of rather ominous-looking clouds and she scrambles to gather her tools and return her rabbits inside before it rains.

She's much more comforable once she's back in her kitchen, a cup of tea in hand as she stands by a window, watching drops of rain chase one another over the glass pane. With how hard it's coming down, Risa imagines whatever persistent plants might have perservered under her inept (and definitely not green) thumb are likely being pummeled into oblivion.

At least she can blame the garden's failure on Konoha's irate weather patterns instead of her own lack of skill if anyone asks.

She's about to go find a book to occupy the rest of her rainy day when there is a soft knock on her door. Not expecting company, she walks cautiously over, confused.

"Who is it?" she calls, leaning close to the wood so she can listen for a response.

"I have your hat."

Risa tugs her lip between her teeth, all her garden woes suddenly forgotten when she hears Kakashi's voice emanating from the other side of the door.

She yanks it open perhaps a little too quickly, already smiling.

And there stands Kakashi Hatake, soaked to the skin, holding a sodden and slightly trampled sunhat in his hands.

Risa tries not to laugh, but a slight giggle escapes her, anyway. "Forget an umbrella?" she asks.

Chuckling, Kakashi steps over the threshold, careful not to step too far inside while he's still dripping. He holds her hat out to her, "I thought maybe this would keep me dry, but it turns out it's much better suited to sunshine than a downpour."

Risa, still smiling, sets the hat aside and turns toward her bathroom, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be right back with a towel."

Once Kakashi is sufficiently dry, Risa offers to make him a cup of tea and he joins her in the kitchen, peering out through the rain-slick window at her unimpressive garden bed.

"I take it they haven't quite adjusted to your unique gardening style," he teases.

"Stop," Risa says, offering him a steaming mug, "I tried so hard not to kill them, but I think they were beyond saving even before they drowned."

Kakashi chuckles, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on Risa's nose.

"I'm sure I could ask Tenzo for some help. He's much better with plants than I am."

Risa shakes her head. "No, it's fine. If I kill them, I kill them. It's not like I asked Zekuu to give them to me, he had to know the risks."

That doesn't mean he won't mercilessly tease her over the failure, but she has no doubt he'd find something to tease her for, regardless.

Still, she frowns as she stares out at the little patch of dirt, lamenting the pools of water already collected between her careful lines of snap peas and butter lettuce.

When Kakashi's arms wrap around her waist from behind, Risa startles a little, but he catches her cup before she can spill tea all over herself before resting his chin on her shoulder to watch the rain with her.

"Once the weather clears up, I can rig a tarp over it so it won't flood again. And I'll bring Tenzo over in a few days to see if there's any way to salvage the harvest."

Risa turns in his grasp just enough to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you," she says.

She doesn't really care all that much about the garden, but knowing Kakashi cares enough to help her make it a success means the world.

Maybe she'll make a stop at the library once it stops raining to check out the garening section. She can't be the only hopeless novice who's ever tried to raise crops in their backyard.

For now, though, standing in Kakashi's embrace, quietly enjoying a rainy afternoon, is all Risa cares about.

[ink-fireplace-coffee]

x questions, y people

tagged by @iwrotemyowndeliverancesblog and @sleepyowlwrites Thanks!!

ooh boy, let's get into it cause there are a lot of questions haha

---

1 - do you prefer owls capybaras, or flamingos?

i'm going with capybaras. just the cutests biggest rodent there is<3

2 - what is your favorite soup?

my mom does this white asparragus soup that i love so probably that! Salmorejo as well.

3 - what is your favorite rock?

I'm with Sleepy on opals

4 - choose a familiar:

black cat. classic and gives me the ultimate big sister witch vibes.

5 - which planet do you feel would be kind of an asshole if you met them?

i'm going with netpune. or mercury.

6 - if you were a worm would you love me?

wait, but if I were a worm, would I keep my human conscience? would I wonder about existensialism and the short short life ahead of me? would I be my own conscience trapped inside the body of a worm?

7 - least favorite type of clothing?

puffy sleeves.... I like them on other people but get them away from me.

8 - you are now in a horror movie-so sorry. chance of survival?

oh I'm the horror part of the movie, don't worry about it :)

9 - would you rather: the ability to instantly grow a perfect mustache or the ability to talk to vegetables?

why would I need a mustache? and like I don't want to hear screams of agony and begs whenever I'm making a soup or something. So neither.

10 - what do you think of whales?

love them, deserve the best.

11 - are you named after anyone?

my mom, my grandma and my great grandmother. Fourth gen of Carmen's.

12 - when was the last time you cried?

like today cause I feel awful after my shot.

13 - do you have kids?

no, but i've adopted like five chaotic gremlins so now I'm an older sister of more people i'd say.

14 - do you use sarcasm a lot?

noooo me? neverrrr 🙄

15 - what's the first thing you notice about people?

their face. but more specifically their expression. I need to know what they think of me at all times or I'll die.

16 - what's your eye color?

okay wow that's a hard one. So i can say blueish grey with orange in the inside, but one of my eyes is more greenish grey so

17 - scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings. Maybe if I'm always around them I can find one for myselfl

18 - any special talents?

i like backing to destress and i've been told to be good at giving advice.

19 - where were you born?

at the hospital, luckily.

20 - what are your hobbies?

reading, writing, knitting and crocheting, drawing, fencing, baking and cooking and cross stiching.

21 - have you any pets?

a dog and two birds.

22 - what sports do you play/have played?

okay let's look over the extensive list: tennis, paddle, horse riding, basketball, hockey, swimming, ballet, flamenco, volleyball, badmington and fencing.

23 - how tall are you?

159 cms/ 5'2 inches.

24 - favorite subject in school?

english and history.

25 - dream job?

i'd love to go to a remotely coast english town and open a café that's also a bookstore and be friends with the locals and give them advice over a cup of coffee or inside a note of the book they choose.

26 - what kind of not-usually-classified-as-nice weather do you enjoy, actually?

rainy days. it's a peaceful soundtrack.

27 - if you had to eschew one color from your wardrobe forever, what would it be?

pink. or yellow.

28 - do you have a favorite flower. if you don't know the name you can just describe it. you can google one right now if you don't have an answer.

oh wow is it too basic if i say lylies of the valley?

29 - when you explain stuff to yourself in your head or out loud, do you imagine another person there who's listening, like a character from your current fixation? who's the rubber duck, or is it just you?

it's me talking to myself, there's nobody else

30. what's a candle scent that sums up your vibes? you can invent one.

hmm i'm guessing coffee and something cozy haha

OPEN TAG!!!

[piece-ofmindd]

The Mannequin

He'll simply serve as a skeleton for the design

that I'll recklessly drape and pin to his form,

stitching my desires into the hem of his sleeve

and underneath the flap of his collar

with the idiomatic yarn I've spun myself.

The tag will bear only my name;

his identity can only be seen

in the faint whispers of inspiration

that have been pleated into the final garment.

Two guardian angles, Cedar and Lavender,

also known as Tacitness and Reticence,

are keeping watch from the corners of the closet.

They protect the threads of my fantasies,

keeping them safe from the moths of reality,

tirelessly chewing their plot holes into the fabric.

Delicately steamed and hung on velvet hangers,

I’ve saved it for a rainy day of the mind,

when sweet daydreams ask to be wrapped

in the soft caresses of cashmere and

in the delicate admirations of silk.

I’ve reserved it for when the imagination

has no inclination to be poisoned by the

acrylic admonishments or polyester pejoratives

that are so often worn.

Some men

simply fit better

as fiction.

[alyssasoutfitdiary]

2023 03 17 Friday

St. Patrick's Day

What I am wearing today to the office.

A damp and dreary St. Patrick's Day. It's not really a skirt or dress day, but I have a St. Patrick's Day Opposuit that I wear basically every St. Patrick's Day, and would like to do so again this year. I was actually planning on wearing the darker green nylons that I am wearing today with my dress yesterday, and the brighter green nylons with my suit today, as I think the brighter shade is more festive. I switched them, knowing today would be dreary, so I matched them to the conditions. They're still green, though.

I wanted to wear plain green pumps rather than boots, as it is rather warm, but I don't have such a pair in leather that is dark enough, in my opinion, for these nylons. I do, though, think these boots look good with this outfit, so boots it is. I could definitely use green shoes in more shades in my wardrobe, as shade is very important when it comes to green. I've always had difficulty finding the right shades of green.

Yes, I am wearing a shirt from a costume supplier to a professional office, but I think it looks professional, yet festive, when in the context of a suit. I don't want to wear long sleeves today, as I do want to keep my blazer on all day with this suit. Sleeveless would actually be better, but short sleeve is okay.

I like these suits (for all the holidays). Even though they're festive, and can be a bit costumey, they feel and look (in my opinion) professional at the same time. None of the partners (who set the dress codes) have objected for the five years I've worked here, so they obviously agree.

Another thing I like about my outfit today, my earrings and necklace are nearly the identical shade to the shamrocks in the suit itself. I could wear shamrock nylons with this suit, but that might be a bit too much for the office, so I'll just stick with solid green, which is still plenty festive on color alone. I'll wear the shamrock nylons over the weekend.

My outfit details:

Weather: Upper 40s (morning), low 50s (afternoon), cloudy and rainy 🌧️

Hair down

Green button front shirt with white shamrocks: Tipsyelves

Skirt: OppoSuits

Balsam green nylons (50 denier): Wolford

Shamrock necklace: Soul Breeze Collection

Green watch: Target @targetstyle

Blazer: OppoSuits

Dark green leather belt: Falari

Green purse: Ling Chuang

Dark green leather boots: DSW

Green coat: Target @targetstyle

[fluffyprettykitty]

oh! im so thinking about brock rumlow + wrath (+maybe bodyguard au?). again, congrats on your milestone!!

Pairing: bodyguard! Brock Rumlow x rich! female reader

Word Count: 777 words

Outline: Rumlow is ready to show you what discipline truly means.

A/N: thank you so much, di! you're one of the best writers out there,this was so fun to write, I've been itching to get my hands on Rumlow! hope you will enjoy this!

warnings: swearing, age gap, power play, fingerfucking, spit play. ​minors dni

Main Masterlist ・❥・Sleepover Masterlist

"You know you're nothing but a bad little girl."

You try to let out a scream but his hand over your mouth doesn't allow anything more than a muffled groan.

"Why you gotta do this? Just stay here for an hour, mingle with the fucking party and then I would take you home and have you any way you need me to. But this? This whole show? Is goddamn insulting to me?"

He sounds angry because he truly is. Brock Rumlow has been your bodyguard for the past year, assigned by your dotting father. And yet six months ago on a particularly rainy night, you and Brock had started the most intense love affair. You didn't know if he was married, he never talked about himself, never talked about his past, all he cared about was you telling him how you belonged to him. Irrevocably, entirely, though, and through. He loved marking you up, bruises and bites to signify you were his and his alone.

Always in discreetly hidden spots, he sure knew how to keep his bases covered. He was never too far away from your side from that day on.

But you weren't always playing nice, you were naughty in every sense of the word. You liked provoking him, you liked neglecting your underwear and openly getting drunk at every opportunity just to watch his jaw clench and unclench at whatever trick you performed. It was always a show with you. A power play, to see who would break first. And in response, he was always there shoving you in a corner, disciplining you, showing you who was truly boss. Evidently, it was a game, not a cruel one but definitely not a healthy one.

This time though, you were dressed in nothing but your white bikini, in the hotel pool making out with some rich college boy that you would never remember the name of. Maybe he went to your college maybe he didn't, you didn't have to know. What Brock knew, was that you were doing this on purpose, performing this obscene act just for him. He tried to calm himself down, but it only took him ten minutes before he jumped in the water to the various screams of the college boy whom he smacked right in the face. What a shame.

He grabbed you by your arm and quickly shoved you out of the water taking you to the nearest room. Away from prying eyes. One photo and his career would be in shambles.

"You won't be pissing me off, little girl." His voice is close to a growl and before you know it his other hand is tearing apart your bikini exposing your body to him. Wasting no time. What a gentleman.

"Only mine." He growls, looking you up and down. The heat is rising up inside you, you have him right where you want him. And he knows it, and he gives in entirely, or almost entirely. He has a couple of tricks up his sleeve as well. It was time for some proper training. He can't have you stray like that anymore.

"You're gonna learn some manners, today." You try to nod your head but his grip on your face is tight and strong.

"You are not getting my cock until you behave." You try to protest, your pussy already clenching at his command, your hands wrapping around his strong bicep.

"I'll shove my fingers so deep inside you and only once you pass out from the pleasure will I ever think of giving you what you want."

No, this could not be happening, you were completely enamored and obsessed with his big fat cock and you both knew it. Looks like he knew exactly where to hurt you. You whimper, you wiggle your body, you try to make any sound, to plead your case but he doesn't budge at all. His expression was still furious, his pupils darker than you could ever dream of.

He spits on his free hand, his palm against your face never stopping shoving you to the wall. And all you can do is let a couple of small tears fall from the corners of your eyes. The intensity of the scene is making your body weaker, your bravado breaking. Brock growls once he shoves a curled finger inside your folds. Your pussy trying to engulf him immediately.

"You don't have to promise me anymore that you are going to become a good girl. I'm going to form you into one, understood?" You try to nod your head, feeling his knuckle close to your clit.

You would learn, you had no other choice.

for updates follow @fluffyprettykittylibrary