#bedroom colour schemes blue

[bean-the-clown]

Second part to my redrawing storyboards mini series!! (Not sure how many of these I’ll do but I’m having lots of fun!!!)

Part 1!

Storyboard panel by Alonso Ramirez Ramos.

This one took me so much longer to do compared to the first one omgggggg 😅😅😅 but I did it!!! The lighting was killing me but it turned out great in the end!!!

I had issues with what colours to make the sheets in the back. At first, it was (from left to right): blue for intelligence, yellow green for conflict, and red for struggle. Each matching the other and then the future conflict in the middle. Then I struggled making the blue not affect the sky so I turned it to white. Which made the sheets look like colours to a flag. I then turned them all to white. And then I based them off the bedsheets in the episode of “Tale of Two Stans” just to end up being with a similar colour scheme so my symbolism still sort of sticked 😅😅😆😆😆 so please enjoy this while I collapse onto my bedroom floor!!!!

[starrluvs]

I have a request! How about a scenario where we have a very ugly and strong argument with Bi-han, but later he comes back to apologize and let us take it out on him for treating us so badly?

(I just want some agressive sex/rage sex/fury sex with this man)

𝐁𝐈-𝐇𝐀𝐍 | 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘/𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐗

cw: fem reader, married couple, piv sex, bi-han is a little rough, reader cant stand bi-han's attitude tbh, angry sex, make up/apology sex, fighting for dominance, cock drunk reader, mentions of bi-han dirty talking in cantonese creampie, bi han and reader are both sassy/petty little shits that still love each other, and i think that's it! minors dni please!

wc: 2.6k

a/n: wow idk why this took me so long, but i kinda like this one ;) ... ty for this idea, nonnie <3 i also want to mention that the mention of bi-han speaking/dirty talking in cantonese was heavily inspired by a headcanon i seen from @bihansthot ! anyways, enjoy!!

silent treatment was without a doubt something that bi-han absolutely loathed. he truly believed it’d be better off if you were to scream your lungs out at him instead. but getting a cold shoulder and silent treatment from you was something his ego couldn’t handle. had anybody else dared to ignore his presence the way you had these past forty-eight hours, he’d probably have them executed after the first five minutes of this frivolous behaviour. but you, his wife, was a different case.

bi-han couldn’t discipline or punish you the way he would towards his students and lower ranked lin kuei ninjas. you were his wife– his equal –and this silent game of ‘who’s willing to crack first?’ was driving him mad, although he’d never admit that to anybody… yet.

the fabric of the towel was soft against your hands while you worked on drying out your hair. having just exited the shower, you were in nothing but a silk blue robe that complemented your husband's traditional colour scheme. just the thought of him made you scoff out loud and shake your head, who the hell did he think he was?, you thought to yourself. about two days ago, bi-han appeared to be grumpy when he arrived back at your shared compound after finishing his duties for the day. 

being the supportive wife you were, you tried to talk to your husband, ask him if he needed anything from you, or even tried to see if he would be vocal about what was bothering him. and much to your dismay, he lashed out on you as if you were some peasant who worked under him during the day– which you sure as hell weren't.

“leave me be. the last thing i need tonight is another insignificant fool blabbering in my ear constantly.” 

his voice was sharp when he walked past you and entered your shared bedroom. bi-han having miserable mood swings wasn’t something new, but he almost never verbally took out his stress on you– possibly because he knew better. truth be told, you were too tired for his attitude today and had no intentions of letting him ruin your peaceful afternoon. all you did was let out a ‘hmph’ that you purposely made loud enough for him to hear and continued in silence with the fruit you were cutting up for yourself in the kitchen.

ever since that transpired, you haven’t said a word to bi-han and completely ignored his presence, which made his blood run colder than it already was. he was a hard person to read when he kept his usual stoic expression, but deep down you knew he was aware of how frustrated you were with him. which is exactly what you wanted.

letting out a tired sigh, you look at yourself in the mirror and take time to fix up your hair before exiting the bathroom and arriving at your bed. as you sat in silence for a moment, you felt the temperature noticeably drop… he’s here. rolling your eyes, you decide to comfortably tuck yourself in on your side of the shared bed and warm yourself up from the chilly air.

however , your eyes never shut– not even when the door creaks open slowly and reveals your husband’s tall form. his demeanour didn’t seem to be as aggressive compared to how it was two days ago, which you were grateful for. but you still avoided eye contact with him and stared at the wall in silence, not wanting to be bothered. you knew your worth and refused to feed into your husband's ego, because you knew that it was already big enough… your thoughts came to a halt when you heard bi-han speak up. “your juvenile behaviour is astounding,” he scoffs, and you can damn near feel his eyes piercing into you. 

in response, you calmly grab your pillow and walk right past him, making your way to the living room. bi-han watches you settle yourself down on the couch as you lay down and begin to curl yourself up comfortably. all he does is release a sigh from his lips, contemplating on what his next course of action should be. bluntly calling you childish probably wasn’t the best thing to say after two days of neither of you talking to each other, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking his mind.

deep down he knew he’d have to put his pride and ego aside to resolve this. he was the eldest of three sons, a powerful and deadly assassin, the grandmaster of the lin kuei– and yet here he was, allowing silent treatment from his wife to get under his skin. letting out a stubborn groan, bi-han made his way towards you and knelt down on the mat so that he was at face level with you on the couch. 

he calls out your name in the softest way he could, hoping you would turn to him. but he clearly failed to get your attention as you didn’t say anything back. his small whim of patience had already run out, “do you insist on telling me what your problem is?” this time his tone sounded more cold and gruff, as usual. rolling your eyes once again for the night, you turn to bi-han and finally speak to him, “last i recall, i was just a mere insignificant fool blabbering in your ear when i tried to talk,” he could've sworn your tone was sassy, sarcastic and authoritative all at once– as if you were just waiting to bite at him.

if he was being honest, it’s one of the many things he found so attractive about you. the way you didn’t take shit from anybody– not even himself –made bi-han fall hard for you… he needed a strong willed woman by his side. but moments like this proved to be a form of self realisation. the only people who would ever dare to talk back to him were just you and his brothers. he was so used to everyone following his lead and command, it was almost… refreshing, to have somebody stand their ground.

the glare and frown you had on your face was something you were far too beautiful for. bi-han closed his eyes and inhaled as calmly as possible, trying to collect his words and choose them wisely. “what i said to you that day was regrettable–” you cut him off before he could continue, “and?,” you were already unimpressed with his words, “it’s not like there’s anything you can say to take it back.” your husband must���ve known that just words alone wasn’t going to solve this. 

“i understand that, but,” his cold hand gently grasps your arm, causing goosebumps to raise all over your body. “perhaps there’s something i can do to make amends for what i’ve done?”

and now you’re here, back on your shared bed, taking out your own frustration above bi-han on his cock. you had your hands planted on bi-han’s chest as you bounced up and down his shaft, “fuck..!” your voice lost that sting it previously had, making bi-han grow a prideful grin on his face. “still trying to put me in my place?” your husband’s taunting only made you feel more agitated than you already were. with an attempt to keep your moan in, you bite down on your lower lip and snake your hands up to bi-han’s neck, keeping a slight grip. “s-shut– ngh!– up…” the movement of your hips refused to come to a halt, forcing bi-han to lay back and stay below you.

it felt like a battle for dominance between the two of you. two hard headed (and sometimes ignorant) lovers trying to prove to each other how much power they had over one another. bi-han was confident that you knew how easily he could overpower you in terms of strength, but decided to let you have your little wish of ever taking control over him. looking down at him, his chest was covered in sweat and his ears and cheeks were flushed in a light shade of pink. though you’d have to admit that your hands around his neck were a great touch. it felt as if there was a surge of power and control coursing through you.

apart from his occasional groans, the cryomancer stayed silent as he watched your voluptuous body on top of his. noticing your lover’s face contort in pleasure, you can’t help but spew out more words, “yeah… did you r-really, ah!, think that i would tolerate that b-behaviour from y– f-fuck!,” before you could finish blurting out what you wanted to, bi-han had gripped your hips hard enough to stop your movements as he fucked up into you, making you cry out at the sudden surprise of pleasure he was bringing you.

the grandmaster only chuckled. he found your sounds pitiful, “you talk too much.”  from the way his cock was jackhammering into you, it proved too difficult to spit out any sort of petty comment towards him. the speed of his thrusts made your body feel limp and your husband took note of this from the moment you slumped down, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. his voice was dangerously close to your ear from this angle, “mmm…such an incompetent attempt of being in control,” your pride disallowed you from letting out any moans, “fuck.. y-you..!” hearing how slurred your words were only made bi-han scoff.

your attempts at keeping composure were becoming futile and bi-han knew how close you were to cumming around his length with the way your pussy tightened and gripped him like a vice. “i can feel how close you are, love,” bi-han stops his thrusts but keeps himself fully buried inside of you. before you could get the chance to protest or whine, the cryomancer speaks up. “i have no intention of letting you cum until you accept my apology.” the expression he held was smug while he secured your waist with that same grip he had before, making you unable to move your hips. 

you’d been so focused on taking out your frustration on him that you forgot the whole point of this was him trying to make amends for how he lashed out on you. truthfully, you would’ve purposely told your husband that he’d have to take you out on a fancy date in order for you to accept his apology… but you already felt so fucked out from how his cold cock was abusing your insides just moments ago. you were so close, and you needed that coil in your stomach to snap. “fuck, i forgive you– okay? just let me cum already, pleaseee–!” bi-han groans in response and glides a cold finger to press on your clit, making you shiver in pleasure at how swollen and sensitive your bud feels. without any more wasted time, the grandmaster delivers his quick thrusts from underneath you once again and rubs fast circles on your clit.

the feeling of everything was becoming overwhelming, “ahh– ‘s good! it f-feels so g– ngh!” your mind was clouded with lust and each sentence you tried to complete ended up failing to connect coherently. there were words that left bi-han’s mouth, but you could barely decipher what he was saying with the way your heart beat drummed in your ears– 

it was in that moment, your cries echoed in the room as you pulsed around his cock, gushing around his member. bi-han reduced the speed of his thrusts while trying to help you ride out your high. once you finally come back down from your bliss, you feel your husband's cold, rough hands manhandle you and flip the position that you two were in. you were now layed on your back as bi-han towered over you, parting your legs and easing between them. 

being able to admire your body with the positions swapped felt so refreshing to bi-han. watching the way your breasts heaved up and down with short breaths… the way your skin was coated with sweat, resulting in your hair being out of place from its presentable manner you previously had it in. and being able to see your juices not only coating his cock– but also the inside of your thighs. seeing your slick trickle down to the mattress… gods, you were so beautiful like this. 

bi-han couldn’t waste any more precious time just observing when you were unintentionally inviting him to ravish you even more than he already has. the cryomancer grabs your leg and hooks it over his shoulder as he positions himself enough to easily slide his cock into your pussy. being filled up again made your walls flutter– you wanted to be here forever, just taking his cock while it stuffed you full. to no surprise, bi-han’s thrusts were rough as he began to chase his own high.

your moans never came to an end and were only received as noises to push bi-han further. the cryomancer decides to place a grip on both of your legs this time and leans closer, pinning your knees right by your ears and increasing the force of his thrusts. your folded position had you seeing stars as bi-han’s cock was angled even deeper than before. the way his tip kissed your sweet spot again and again– you could no longer stop your tongue from lolling out, followed by drool rolling down from your mouth.

bi-han snickers, “all of that attitude earlier…” he moves closer to your face and his nose touches yours, “just to be reduced to a cock hungry vixen beneath me– shit!” your husband spits out, feeling how your walls clenched around him from his harsh words. even if you were able to coherently speak, you would never admit how much of a mess you become when bi-han works his cock inside of you…

the grandmaster felt himself becoming dangerously close to his climax, and you felt it with the way his rock hard cock twitched inside of you. his volume started to increase and his grunts became shallow moans that he desperately tried to hold back. noticing this, you use the last bit of your energy to purposely squeeze hard around him, clamping your pussy around his cock as if you were trying to keep it all for yourself. the unexpected action made bi-han lace out a loud string of swears and words in his mother tongue. although you didn’t quite understand what he was saying, you were aware that they were phrases he only used in scenarios like this, making you assume that only vulgar words were leaving his mouth.

the roles were reversed now– this time he was the one hiding his face in the crook of your neck with your lips right by his ear. his hips started to stutter and lose the rhythm it previously had. letting out a lustful hum, you speak into his ear, “inside… haah– c-come on..! fuckin’ fill me up, please!” hearing your voice spew out these words was enough to do it– he filled you to the brim with his seed.

you made sure to milk him dry, taking every drop that he had to offer you. both of you laid there, completely fucked out and exhausted– his body was still slouched over yours while he took time to catch his breath. very slowly, he pulled his cock out of you and planted a peck on your lips, “in no other realm would i have imagined reciting vows with a woman that carried such a flame and sharp tongue,” he leans down and places yet another kiss to your swollen lips, 

“yet i could never imagine falling in love with anybody else…”

[toucansafari]

Hey, hey Mr. Baxter Ward sir, care to explain why your bedroom and living room use the same colours as your rented condo at Sunset Bird?

(I know that the bg artist for the game uses orange and blue often, but I feel this is intentional)

(also apologies if all this has already been pointed out)

His guest room is so much more in line with his monochrome colour scheme.

It makes me think he intentionally decorated his personal spaces to remind him a little of that particular summer.

[theonotti]

SILENT NIGHT | OS | t.n.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader!Riddle

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: The ghost of Christmas Eve Past haunts Theo's present, but not because he needs to change. He needs a reminder of who to never become.

Warnings: Major Character Death (Not Theo or reader), Domestic Violence (Not with Theo or reader), Hurt/Comfort, angsty, fluffy,

Notes: I'm late, but heres a Christmas one shot for Theo :)

That Final Night | Mio

Christmas Eve: Then

“Teddy? To bed, my love.” 

Theo smiled from his hiding spot behind the curtains. In his eight year old mind, there’s no way she could see him. He was invisible. Behind the silky fabric, he ceased to exist. Beyond the darkness between the window and the curtain, Theo could hear the sounds of his mother’s heels tapping against the hardwood. She was close. He could see the outline of her silhouette from the other side of the thin curtain. 

“Father Christmas won’t leave any presents if he knows a certain boy is still awake and hiding!” Her honey soaked voice echoed out again. Before Theo even had the chance to process her words, the curtain was ripped away and he was in his mother’s arms. She spun herself around, making Theo fell as if he was flying through the air. His shrieks of laughter bounced off the thinly decorated walls before she slowed to a halt, smiling lovingly at the wavy haired boy.

“Come, love,” She whispered to him. “I have your tea ready.”

Setting him back down to his feet, Cassundra Nott smiled down at her son before leading him out of the sitting room and down the corridor to his bedroom. 

Theo didn’t like walking the halls of the mansion, despite his many years of living there. The energy in the air was always so grim, the walls bare and painted a dark grey colour. Theo was convinced that there were demons in the walls, due to the screams he could hear coming from them some nights. His mother assured him time and time again that they were only in his nightmares, but Theo was wise for his mere eight years. The nights he heard the screams being the same nights he would see his father go into the basement of the house as the young lad was ushered quickly to bed was not lost on Theo.

In fact, it only made him wonder if his father was summoning the demons, keeping them there as a way to ensure Theo stayed in line. 

There was only one person who brought any slither of warmth under the cold roof of Nott Manor, and it was the woman walking a few paces ahead of him. Her golden blonde curls trailed down her back, her delicate fingers tracing an invisible line into the wall as she led Theo to his bedroom. He looked at her with such incredible awe. Theo didn’t worship any sort of God, because no God could even come close to comparing to the wonder that was Cassundra Nott. If someone told him that she hung the stars and the moon every night, and that the sun only rose because she asked it to, he would’ve easily believed them. There were few people that Theo had in the world. His father’s care for him only extended as far as keeping the Nott legacy going. So that left Theo with three people: Mattheo, Draco, and his mother. But she topped the list. In every circumstance, she topped the list.

His mother opened the door to his bedroom, ushering him inside. The dark green of the walls made the room seem much darker than Theo would like. His father insisted on the colour scheme matching that of Slytherin house, as if it would somehow eliminate the already incredibly low chances of him ending up in another house come time for him to ship off to Hogwarts. His slot in the House of the Cunning and Ambitious was as guaranteed as the snow falling in the winter, or his father downing half a bottle of whiskey before dinner. Theo wished the walls were blue, though he learned the hard way to not let that thought be anything more than a thought.

A steaming mug of tea was sitting on the bedside table, waiting for him as his mother pulled the blankets out for him. Her smile was warm as he walked over to the bed, crawling under the covers and taking the warm mug between his hands. He knew it had Calming Draught in it, as he received this same dose in his tea every Christmas Eve, as well as the evening before his birthday. 

Cassundra sat on the edge of the bed as she watched Theo take a long sip from the mug. 

“Are you ready for Christmas, love?” She asked gently, raking her fingers through Theo’s hair. As he swallowed the tea, he nodded vigorously. 

“I hope Father Christmas got me the broom I asked for!” He exclaimed. “Mattheo let me try his new broom and it was so fast! I bet I could get to Scotland in under five minutes.”

His mother laughed softly before saying, “Under five minutes? That sounds rather fast.” 

Theo nodded enthusiastically.

“I could get to Hogwarts faster than the train! I won’t even need to take it! And then I could come visit you every single evening, so you can give me a kiss and a cuddle goodnight.” 

If Theo weren’t so young and oblivious, he would’ve noticed the flush that filled his mother’s cheeks, or the tender smile that pulled at the corners of her lips. Or even the sadness that filled her eyes over the idea of him leaving her. 

“Well, we have a few years yet before we have to worry about that,” She said delicately. “Maybe if you don’t get a broom this year, you’ll get one the Christmas before Hogwarts?” But all this response does is make Theo groan in displeasure.

“I don’t want to wait two years! I want a broom now!”

His mother smiled at his impatience, hooking her finger underneath his chin and forcing him to look up at her.

“I know you’re excited, lovely boy,” She said in a soft voice. “But I promise you, you’re going to have a good day tomorrow. I’ve made sure to let Father Christmas know how wonderful you’ve been this year.” She scrunched up her nose as she kissed the tip of his. “He doesn’t need to know of the times you were trouble.” She tilted her head as she looked down at him. “Surely he won’t disappoint.” 

Theo looked up at his mother. Of course she was right. She was right about everything. And he trusted her more than anyone else to make sure Father Christmas knew what he wanted more than anything for Christmas. 

Theo finished the last of his tea, making sure he got every last drop like he always did. When he set the mug down, he smiled up at the beautiful face of his mother, who was already smiling down at him. The potion’s effects were already starting to take hold, the running wheel of his mind slowing to a halt as his eyelids grew droopy. With one hand on the back of his head and the other on his shoulder, Cassundra laid Theo down against his pillow.

“Now,” She said, her voice more stern than normal. “What are we not going to do this year?”

Theo let out a tired sigh.

“I won’t sneak down before morning to see what gifts are left for me.”

His mother nodded once, definitively.

“We don’t need another episode with your father.” In his obliviousness from ignorance and the Calming Drought effects, Theo didn’t notice the disdain in her voice, or the fear that flooded her face. Though he did remember the events of the year prior, the screaming from his father at all hours of the morning, followed by Theo being banished to his room until midday. 

“I won’t sneak down again, mamma,” He said in a small voice, a yawn escaping him as his eyes began to droop shut. 

Cassundra tucked the blankets in before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Theo’s forehead. 

“Sleep well, il mio tesoro,” She said in a quiet whisper as the chestnut haired boy had already lost himself to his subconscious. With one last loving look, and a delicate trace down his cheek to ensure he was really sleeping, Cassundra Nott stood up from the bed and left the room, closing the door tightly behind her. 

Little did she know that this would be the last time she saw her son like this.

It was only a few hours later that Theo was awoken by none other than his bladder. He squinted his eyes in the dark as he jumped out of bed, all but running from the room as quickly as his still asleep legs could take him. It wasn’t until he was in the bathroom that he started to wake up. The clock in the hallway chimed three in the morning, meaning his mother was long asleep. His father had gone out to celebrate the holidays with a few other Death Eaters, and he made sure to tell Cassundra and Theo that it was unlikely he would be home before dinner the next day. 

Just one peak.

And then you’ll be back in bed.

No one will ever know.

The logic made sense to him, and before he knew it, his feet were carrying him out of the bathroom and down the hall. Walking right passed his bedroom, he went right to the stairs and slowly tiptoed down.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stairs that the voices registered.

“...wake Theodore, please keep your voice down.”

“How dare you police me in my own home!?”

The slur in his father’s voice was so prominent that he almost didn’t recognize him, though the yelling was a sound the young lad was deeply accustomed to. Theo sank down so he was sitting down on the edge of the step, his hands gripping the wooden poles of the bannister as he watched his mother cower. Standing behind the man of the house was a flash of long, platinum white hair with a cane that was used in this moment to stop him from swaying. Next to Lucius Malfoy was Fenrir Greyback, his arms bare despite the raging cold outside, and Antonin Dolohov, who had a flask to his mouth as he watched Nott Sr. in amusement. All of the men in the living room were inebriated beyond belief. 

Cassundra swallowed hard before she spoke again. The fear was so clear cut on her face that Theo wanted to rush to her and cup her cheeks, telling her all would be okay.

“I’m not policing you…” She said in a small voice. “I just think it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m setting up for Theodore, and-”

Her words were lost to the force of Nott Sr.’s hand wrapping around her throat and slamming her against the wall. Her head was unable to bounce forward, but it was evident by the deep grimace on her face how hard it was hit. The reverberation of his mother’s body denting the drywall caused Theo to fall backwards, almost falling down the stairs entirely. 

“Are you arguing with me?” Nott Sr.’s voice was so low that Theo almost couldn’t hear it. But he’d learn how to pick out that voice at a very young age. It was how he knew when to go sit quietly in his room with a book, remaining unseen and unheard. 

“No!” Cassundra was able to gasp out, her hands trying and failing to pry her husband’s calloused fingers from her throat. 

“That sounded like arguing to me, Nott,” Lucius piped in. “Can't let anyone think your wife wears the trousers in the household, can you?”

Theo was not a violent child, but the sound of his best friend’s father egging on the abuse of his mother was filling the eight year old’s chest with a level of anger he had never felt before. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch. He wanted to hit and hit and hit Lucius until his big, ugly nose went flat. But the fear that his mother taught him to have of his father and the other Death Eaters pulled at his muscles, keeping him frozen on the stairs as he watched the scene unfold. 

Before Theo had a moment to breathe, a wand appeared in Nott Sr.’s free hand, the tip pressed into his wife’s jugular. Theo could feel the air being ripped out of his lungs as he watched the colour leave Cassundra’s cheeks. Her face was illuminated by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree beside her. Theo’s face was pressed against the wood, so much so that his head was almost fully squeezing between the poles.

“You ungrateful bitch,” Nott Sr. sneered angrily. “Disrespecting me in front of my colleagues.”

“Are you planning to let that slide, Nott?” Fenrir chimed in with a laugh before taking a long swig from a bottle of firewhiskey. 

“Maybe I should have your voice?”

His wand didn’t even move, but a spark of light still shot out of the end, and suddenly, Cassundra’s mouth opened and closed, but no words, not even a stammer or faint whisper, came out. Hot tears spilled down Theo’s cheeks and onto his pyjama bottoms, but he didn’t notice as he watched in horror while his mother tried to speak but only air left her mouth. 

Please stop.

Please don’t.

I couldn’t handle never hearing her speak again.

Or hearing her sing to me.

Or hearing her say my name.

Theo’s hands gripped the poles so tightly that his knuckles turned a blazing shade of white. 

Nott Sr. threw his wife to the ground as Lucius, Fenrir and Antonin laughed in amusement, as if Nott Sr. had told a joke or done something funny. But none of this was funny. Not to Theo, who wanted to run over and protect his mother. Who wanted nothing more than to bring the same sort of pain to his father and friends that they were bringing to the most important person in his life. 

“A woman must remember her place,” Nott Sr. continued on, pacing slow circles around his wife while his fellow Death Eater’s watched in belligerent amusement. The slur in his voice would’ve added a sort of facetiousness to his words, but with the way he looked down at the blonde figure he had just thrown to the floor, it only made it more menacing.

“And how will you remind her?” Lucius asked, causing Theo’s father to turn and look at the blonde haired man with a smirk.

“I have a few ideas in mind.”

Cassundra attempted to scream with every fibre of her being, veins popping out of her neck and forehead while her skin turned a dark red, but no sound came out at all. Theo felt her pain as if he, too, had his voice taken from him, as if he had been slammed against the wall, as if he had been thrown to the floor. 

Nott Sr. turned back to his wife, the smirk fading quickly from his face and replaced with disdain. He raised his wand above his head.

Theo blacked out. 

The eight year old’s legged carried him at a speed he didn’t know he could move at, until he was throwing his arms around his mother, guarding her.

“Father, please,” He sobbed into her soft blonde curls as he addressed the presence towering over them. Cassundra wrapped her arms around Theo, noiselessly comforting him as her fingers raked through his hair, her eyes squeezed shut. The room went deadly silent for a brief moment.

“You will learn to speak when you’re bloody spoken to, boy,” Nott Sr. sneered, his voice low and filled with even more anger than before as he grabbed Theo by the back of his shirt and ripped him out of his mother’s arms, tossing him across the room so hard, he slid across the hardwood floor and into the wall. A shadow leered over him as Nott Sr. rounded on Theo, his wand at the ready.

“If you’re so desperate to be a man, then you can handle her punishment then, can’t you?”

The next few moments went by so quickly, yet also as if they were in slow motion.

Nott Sr. raised his hand above his head, the tip of his wand igniting into a bright red colour. 

A flash of blonde jumped onto his back, tackling the older man to the ground. 

Lucius and Antonin grab Cassundra off Nott Sr. and toss her to the floor once more.

And then, the flash of green.

He didn’t hear his father speak. Hell, he didn’t even see his father get up from the floor. But make no mistake, Theo didn’t miss the older man, with the wild chestnut hair that he did inherit and the menacing look that he did not, pointing his wand at his mother, sending the bright green spell directly into her chest. 

She was gone before the scream left Theo’s mouth. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no…”

Theo crawled across the floor, moving his mother’s head from the floor to his lap as he placed his hands on either cheek.

“Mum, please,” He begged, staring into her lifeless eyes as they remained open. “Mamma, wake up. PLEASE WAKE UP!”

“For Merlin’s sake…” His father mumbled before flicking his wand once more. Theo’s voice evaporated off his tongue, but his lips still moved as he soundlessly begged his mother to come back to him. His tears fell onto the bare skin of her shoulder, and he wondered if they would be enough to warm her back to life. When she didn’t stir, Theo broke down entirely, holding her head close to his chest and burying his face in her golden curls as he began to rock back and forth. 

“One of the house elves will clean it up,” Nott Sr. said to his friends, as if speaking about a

spilled dinner plate and not the dead body of his wife. “Come, gentlemen. The parlour is where my

reserve is, and I need another glass after that… unfortunate incident.”

And so Nott Sr. left the room, followed by Malfoy, Dolohov and Greyback, leaving his grieving son on the floor, where he stayed for hours until the house elves finally pried the body of Cassundra Nott out of his hands.

The hands that would never get to hug or touch his mother ever again. 

~

Christmas Eve: Now

The sound of a crash echoes throughout the kitchen, followed quickly with a loud groan. 

“Sorry, sorry…”

“I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, if you wake up my wife, I’ll throttle you.”

A slew of drunken laughter fills the kitchen as the three men clamber in through the back door. Draco respectfully picks up the trash can he knocked over under the watchful eye of Theo. Once it’s back in its proper position, Draco gestures towards it proudly, as if he had just done something profound.

“Happy, Nott?”

Theo bobs his head back and forth, pretending to mull this over.

“I’d be happier if you weren’t an idiot.”

Mattheo, who had just taken a large pull from the bottle of firewhiskey in his hand, spits it out all over the refrigerator.

“That’s like asking for snow in the middle of July.”

With a deep scowl on his face, Draco shoves Mattheo into the counter before sneering, “Fuck off, Riddle.” 

Mattheo, in his truest form, makes kissy faces at Malfoy, who then proceeds to throw a kitchen roll at his head. Before it can hit the floor, Theo catches it in midair. The other two look at him as if he had just juggled seven kitchen rolls, or caught Baby Jesus himself. 

“Alright, alright, let’s move to the parlour before the two of you destroy my kitchen.”

The walk from the kitchen to the parlour is one the three of them have taken on drunken nights like these hundreds of times, yet at this moment, the distance seems to have grown exponentially longer. Mattheo stumbles as he walks, a loud laugh escaping him as he anchors himself with the wall. Theo, in an effort to keep his friend quiet, smacks him upside the head. 

“What was that for?” The dark curly haired man shouts, not without an undercurrent of laughter in his tone. 

“For being a git,” Theo hisses. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

It’s too late though.

Over the sound of Draco’s giggles, Theo can make out the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Theo?”

His heart stops at the sight of you on the landing, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as they jump between him and his friends. He smiles sheepishly at you. 

“Did we wake you, cara mia?”

You shake your head as you reach the bottom of the steps. He sucks in a large gulp of oxygen as he takes in the sight of you. Even in your pyjamas, he finds the sight of you simply breathtaking. The sleep stains on your face and the way your eyes droop makes his heart race as if he was just seeing you for the first time. With a slight sway in his step, his feet carry him towards your magnetic pull, his hands gently gripping your waist. 

“You can tell me if we woke you,” He says in a gentle voice, an undercurrent of guilt filling his tone. But you shake your head again as you bring your hands to the tops of his shoulders, running your fingers along the curves of his muscles to the dip of his neck. 

“I woke up a couple of minutes before I heard you come inside, I promise.”

He doesn’t believe you, but his blood shot eyes are so enraptured by the beauty that is your face that he doesn’t care. His hands move up to cradle your cheeks before he brings his face to yours, peppering your skin with kisses. Your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your temples, your eyelids. Every piece of you that he can reach gets a kiss. His fingertips tease weave into your hair as you place your hands on his clavicle, laughing as he kisses you.

From behind him, Mattheo and Draco both make fake retching noises. 

“I’ve never met a more disgusting couple,” Malfoy whines.

“Truly the worst to be around,” Riddle adds in agreement.

“Oh, piss off to the parlour, you two,” Theo barks as he pulls his mouth away from your face. He doesn’t turn to make sure they leave, trusting the sound of their fading footsteps down the hall. His thumbs stroke the skin of your cheeks delicately.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” He says before gently kissing your mouth. You hum contently as the kiss lasts a few more seconds. 

“Happy Christmas, Theo.”

The sight of you smiling up at him makes his stomach flip. He finds himself wondering how he got so lucky, finding you? From the moment you walked into his life that fateful day at Hogwarts, his life turned into a sort of dream that he didn’t want to wake up from. And it was made even better when you had married him. 

Even after all this time, he can’t get enough of you.

“Get some sleep,” He says gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll keep the boys quiet.”

“Please,” You say, your voice still husky from just having woken up. “And please tell Mattheo that if he throws up on the carpet again, it’ll be him cleaning it up, not the house elves.”

Theo lets out a hearty, full laugh. It’s something his life is filled with a lot of these days. With his friends and you by his side, sometimes it’s easy for him to forget that it wasn’t always like this. 

“I love you with my entire heart,” He slurs, gently kissing you again. “Please never forget that.”

You laugh softly again, the sound making Theo feel lightheaded. Or is it the alcohol? No, it’s definitely the sound of your laugh. 

“I love you too, Drunky,” You tease him. “Please make sure you come to bed. Don’t fall asleep in the parlour.” He nods, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Yes, cara mia.”

You give him one last kiss to the cheek before you turn and make your way back upstairs. Theo’s eyes watch you the entire way, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as you disappear into the hallway. It isn’t until he hears the creaky bedroom door close that he finally turns and starts walking towards the parlour to join his mates. 

As he walks down the hall, one of the pictures out of the corner of his eye stops him. Slowly, he turns, the amusement leaving his face as his eyes fall on that one painting.

His mother smiles down at him as she sits in a rocking chair. Behind her is a dark space where his father had been, up until a night of grief and alcohol caused Theo to direct a spell towards the fake personification, and subsequently led to the destruction of all paintings of his father in the house. Though he had the frame replaced, the damage remains.

His eyes trace the trail of golden curls that flow down her shoulders and upper torso. He can still remember how soft the strands felt when she’d kiss him goodnight and they’d brush along his cheek.

“Please tell me I’m not like him,” He begs her, his voice suddenly small. “Please tell me I’ve made you proud.”

She smiles tenderly down at him, his heart feeling ready to burst.

“Oh, il mio tesoro,” She says softly as his eyes flutter shut. “You're ten times the man he’d ever be. And I couldn’t be more proud of you if I tried.” 

Theo smiles widely, tears escaping through his shut eyelids.

Bliss.

[tell-me-a-tale-that-tells]

YOUR COLOURS

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Request:

I need any kind of soulmate AU , Bruno Madrigal X Reader

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

When you were little, your mother told you millions of times about the day she met your father, and you, loving that story, asked her to tell it to you millions of times more.

She recounted that one day, during a walk with some friends, the wind blew away the shawl around her neck and a young beautiful boy picked it up for her, as soon as his hand touched the small piece of cloth, the silk became light blue.

Until a person finds their soulmate, their eyes can only be seen in black and white, but if one of the two predestined touches the same thing in a short amount of time, the object and the world around will slowly become colourful and their love would be strong as a mountain.

The years passed and you got tired of seeing the world only in black, white, grey and all the combinations in between.

One day, you were helping a new married couple, the Mejors, to move from their parent's house to the one their friend Luisa Madrigal had built for them.

Balancing two large boxes in your arms, you crossed the street with your field of view so limited that all you could see was cardboard and because of this one of your feet caught an uneven stone.

You were prepared for hitting the floor, but someone in front of you managed to avoid your fall and with your eyes still closed in fright, you thanked the stranger and entered the couple's house.

"Where do I put these?" You asked.

"In the bedroom, please" Mrs Mejor answered.

You placed the boxes on the floor and as you were about to leave, something caught your eyes.

The bottom box, the one you actually held in your hands was slowly changing colour, from a place grey to a light brown, the tone spreading from a handprint on one side.

"Oh Dios mio" you shrieked.

"Did something broke?" Señor Mejor told you.

"No! The box... The box is changing colour, I can see its colour!" You shouted.

"One of you saw the man that helped me before?" Saying so you walked outside but there was no one to be seen.

"Y/N, that means he is your soulmate. Do not worry, Encanto is not so big" the lady tried to cheer you up.

"I know..." You murmured.

You returned home distraught and with your head in the clouds, you had waited so long for that moment and due to an unfortunate case you were not able to see him.

Not having even eaten a single bite of your food and seeing you down in spirits, your family asked you what had happened, so you told them everything, they were happy for you but sorry that you had missed that very special moment and like Mrs Major, they were confident that you would find him again.

Laying in your bed you trashed around for a while but since sleep wouldn't come you schemed and planned how to find the mysterious man.

You thought of going to the main square and touching as many surfaces as possible hoping that passing by, your soul mate could touch them in turn in a short amount of time.

You soon discarded the idea.

So you imagined of purposely losing a shoe with your name written on it and-

"Ew, that's lame! Who goes around losing shoes without realizing it?" You grunted.

Several days later you informed your father that for the whole day, you would have to help with the decorations of the village in preparation for the Spring equinox.

"Buenos Dias, Y/N" the old lady that lived in front of your house greeted you.

"Buenos Dias señora! ¿Qué se dice de bella hoy?" You asked.

"You did not hear? Bruno Madrigal returned home!" She whispered.

"The one with precognition powers? Mama told me about him once but I was just a kid back then"

"I saw him going that way, be careful, he cause misfortune!" And she pointed the direction with one of her bony fingers.

You lined the streets with decorations and flowers of which colours you could not even imagine, helped by the only member of the Madrigals that could actually create flowers out of nowhere.

The ebb and flow of time seemed to slow to a halt, even the slow setting of the sun took you by surprise and climbing down from the ladder you were on, you saw a stranger talking with Isabela.

He was strangely fascinating and you found yourself staring at him for a few moments until you managed to disenchant yourself.

The man had long curly black hair with grey streaks and looked like he hasn't had a day of sleep in months since his prominent eyebags were impossible to ignore.

He wears a ruana two sizes bigger that has seen better days over a shirt, pants, and a pair of sandals.

"Hello! I'm Y/N, nice to meet you" you said greeting him cheerfully.

You extended your hand but looking at it he took a step backwards, staring at you in disbelief.

"You don't know me?" He demanded.

"No, that's why I'm presenting myself" You responded perplexed.

"I'm Bruno Madrigal, you certainly have heard about me and what I am" told the man fidgeting with his oversized ruana.

"I have, nevertheless, I'm glad to finally meet you" you smiled gently.

He was about to reach for your hand when a cascade of flowers dropped on your head, Bruno tried to catch them but they just brushed his fingers.

"I'm so sorry," Isabella said sincerely "one of the big flower decorations just broke right above you!"

"I'm fine! No need to worry " you laughed but Bruno was walking away.

The flowers on the floor became blue and bright pink, the ground became dark brown and all the rest of the world took finally colour, but as beautiful as it was you didn't care about that.

"Bruno wait!" You called after him.

"No, please. I don't know what you're seeing but there's a mistake." He blurted walking faster.

"We're seeing the same thing! Slow down!" You ran in front of him and blocked his way extending your arms wide open.

"I'm probably older than your parents, don't do this to yourself..." He tried to convince you.

"I've waited all my life for you! Now that I find you...you don't want me, do you?" Your eyes were filling with tears and your heart was hammering in your chest.

He softened a bit "You're my soulmate...I think I'm in love with you, even before you introduced yourself, actually...I've been seeing colours for days, since the time I helped you to not fall."

"You what?" It was your turn to be frightened.

"You touched my clothes, maybe you didn't realize it. Suddenly I was seeing the world as it is and...I ran away." He admitted.

"Why? Tell me why you didn't tell me about it" You implored, grabbing him weakly from his clothes.

"You are so beautiful and young...I didn't make it. I believed there was a mistake. I never had happiness so I thought I wasn't worth it. Or worth of you" he explained, looking down at his sandals.

"Worth of me? We're destined to be together from the day we were born, Bruno. Somewhere in the universe is written that you're made for me as I'm made for you" you said placing your hand on his cheeks, rubbing the skin lovingly with your thumbs "You're perfect and if you'll look into our future, you'll see me always by your side"

Bruno was positively crying at that point, hiding his face in your neck as you held him tight, he was mumbling apologies between sobs and you shushed him gently until he recovered.

"Colours are beautiful, aren't they?" He questioned letting you go and still sniffing a bit.

"Yeah, but nothing compared to you." You responded, stealing a quick peck.

Bruno reddened like a child caught with his hands in a cookie jar, so you stole another kiss but that time he reciprocated.

"I believe my family would love you" he expressed taking one of your hands in his.

You brushed a curly strand from his face, marvelled at how gorgeous were his features and the colour of his eyes.

"You know what? I want to meet them!" You informed him.

"I have to tell you, sometimes they are a bit too much" he wanted you, walking on the way home.

"They seem wonderful, just like you," you said with a laugh.

As the sun disappeared behind the high mountains of Encanto, you walked hand in hand with your soulmate and just at that moment you realized that it's not finding the right person that makes you see the colour of the world all of the sudden but love and being loved surely does.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I have lot of similar interests with Catherine and I would love love love if she would do some sort of photo shoot like other working royals have done as I feel her style and taste of home decor is so good, I also studied Art History and love colour so hearing jewel green is one of the colours chosen fits with my own personal preference as I’m currently decorating my own home albeit rented with jewel blue picked for my living room and I’m thinking a golden yellow for my hallway as it’s quite dark. I love how Catherine is able to make neutrals feel warm and homely and actually nice when they are hard to do so, but can do it with jewel tones and other brighter colours. What is your taste in decor and colour schemes?

It’s a combination of moody, art deco, and mid-century modern with little asynchronous nods to some interests.

The only two rooms that are done-done are my home office (jewelly/moody purple) and my powder bath (Harry Potter-themed). My bedroom is partially done (big accent wall with a moody floral wallpaper mural), but everything else is still Sell-Your-House-Millennial-Grey.

I don’t mind Sell-Your-House-Millennial-Grey - I actually like grey - but it’s so flat and one-dimensional that it’s starting to annoy me. I see some paint projects in my future. Since my family is no help (they’re very “everything needs to flow in one cohesive color palette for resale value”) I was thinking about crowd-sourcing some paint colors here.

Edit: I can’t believe I forgot about this! We have a paint color here in the US called “Kate’s Ring” and it is literally the most perfect shade of sapphire blue. I painted my nightstands (rescued from the Habitat for Humanity Restore) this color and I’m obsessed.

[styona]

Okay, so the grip this MV has on me is unrelenting, I'm not even joking, so I've done a little (highly subjective) deep dive. Hold on tight if you're interested. I'm gonna do several posts cuz that's a lotta words for just one. They're gonna be compiled here.

The dominant colours in the MV are blue (Pt. 1), green and red. I'm assuming, the colours in the bedroom could be created by mixing the dominant ones in some way, diluting them so there could be different hues of the colours. And there's also black. Because of course there is. White and silver, I'm gonna get into it too. And also purple.

There's also this thing called RGB color model, so just like the main colour scheme of the MV that helps us concentrate on the main topics, I guess.

[idontplaytrack]

I’m not clingy

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, fluff

It’s reader’s birthday. Regina, Janis and Cady pull out all the stops

Read other parts to the series here

“We have been talking about this party for two weeks. How is it that we have no theme yet? It’s already February 15. We have exactly seven days till y/n’s birthday.” Regina groans out of frustration, throwing her head back on the headrest.

“You need to chill.” Janis laughs.

���Easy for you to say.” Regina teased, “She loves everything you do.”

“And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Cady squinted at them both. “Guys—”

“How was your Valentine’s Day?” Regina asked with a smirk.

“Since you asked, fucking great.” Janis shrugged, a playful smile plastered on her face.

“This is why you had to soundproof your garage—”

“Will you guys stop that? y/n will be back any minute.” Cady smacked Regina on the arm and shot Janis a glare. “Should I just plan this party alone and let you two get back to talking about your sex lives? Preferably with me out of the room?”

“Sorry, you’re right. We should focus.” Regina leaned forward to grab her laptop, the screen was left on a Google document with barely anything in it.

“So…” Cady began, “Maybe we could settle on a colour at least? She likes what, blue? Baby blue?”

“And olive green.” Janis quips.

“Right, so we could definitely work off of that, get decorations and party supplies in either of those colours.” Cady continues, “As for a theme, how about we don’t have one? Just think about what she likes and have little touches of them all over the place that goes with the colour scheme?”

“Great idea.” Regina agrees.

“Hey, guys.” You walked in, placing your keys in the little bowl on the credenza.

“Hi.” Cady and Regina greet you almost in unison, their focus entirely on your sister’s laptop screen.

“Hey, honey.” Janis smiled, gesturing for you to go over. You do so, kissing her first, “Hi.” You sit down on the armrest of the armchair, Janis squints at you and pulls you into her lap. Regina jokingly rolled her eyes at the gesture.

You knew she’d make a joke, it’s gotten to the point where if she didn’t, it seemed weird.

“You know…” Janis says while squeezing your thigh, “We might have to soundproof the bedroom.”

Air gets caught in your throat at your cheeks go red— that could only mean one thing.

“Stooop.” You groan, looking away from the group of them.

“Not what I’ve been hearing a lot lately, but alright.” Regina teased with a smirk.

Janis snickers, “I’ve been hearing the opposite a lot these days.”

“Fine!” You say while hiding your face in her shoulder, “Soundproof it for all I care. I already tried to keep it down, alright? It’s not like we can’t hear y’all too, you know?”

Cady awkwardly cleared her throat, “Anyway. How was your day?”

“Was going great until y’all had to make me embarrassed about a normal thing.” You sigh dramatically. Janis rubs your back, “We love you.”

“That I know.” You smiled.

Regina quickly snapped her laptop shut, then turned the TV on. You squinted at her for how loud the noise was but shrugged it off once the remote control was handed to you. “You pick what we watch tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, baby.” Regina chuckles, “Whatever you want, but we all know what we’re gonna be watching.”

“So, then you still decided to ask me, why?”

Regina laughs lightly, “Because I wanna do that for fun? It’s fun.”

Cady chuckles, you just went ahead and picked whatever you wanted to watch, not intending to stay in the living room for too long anyway.

“How are you gonna see the TV hugging her like that?” Regina teased.

“I can see it just fine, thank you for asking.” You bit back a laugh. Janis had shifted in the seat so you could see the TV clearly while you literally hugged her like a koala bear. A little too affectionate to do so in this setting, but you could not care less at this point of day. You were getting sleepy and cranky, and just didn’t want to talk much. But, Regina was truly making it hard for you.

“Baby, you are so gay.”

“Oh, look who’s talking.” You poked fun at her right back. “Can you look at her and tell me she’s not attractive?”

“Oh hella attractive.” Janis snorted, laughing, then rubbed your lower back and soothingly. “We need to go back to New York again, don’t we? See if we can run into them filming the show.”

“Oh please let me be there when you finally run into Mariska because I would love to see how that goes down.” Regina continues.

“Tsk.” You tutted, growingly annoyed as you snuggled closer to Janis and kept your eyes peeled on the TV screen.

Janis grabs a decorative cushion and tossed it in Regina’s direction, Cady bursts out laughing. “I told you, you gotta stop making fun of her for things like that right now.” Cady said through the laughter, “She’s clearly tired and you’re making her all worked up.”

“Oh look who’s all motherly all of a sudden.” Regina switched her targets, you let out a little chuckle at that.

“Maybe a nap would be better for you.” Janis says, looking at you briefly.

“Can I just finish this episode?”

“Are you just saying that because you want to fall asleep on me?” Janis grinned cheekily.

“Maybe.” You hummed.

Eventually, you did finish watching one episode of the show like you said you would. “I’m gonna crash.” You muttered, climbing off of Janis. Well, you tried, but she didn’t want to let you go. “Jan.” You narrowed your eyes at her.

“What? You’re comfy, no?” She asks, batting her eyes.

“I am, but I wanna lie down for a bit.” You admitted.

She lets you go after kissing you on the cheek, “You want me to come with?”

“It’s okay, you can don’t have to if you wanna watch TV.”

“Okay, baby.”

You gave her a kiss on the cheek in return and retreated to your shared bedroom.

————

You woke up later that night to the smell of dinner— pasta, to be specific. You went to the bathroom then headed outside to see three of them laying the table. “Hope you had a nice nap.” Regina notices you were awake.

“It was pretty good.” You shrug, walking into the kitchen.

“Hi, honey.” Janis pulled you closer to herself, smooching you on the cheek.

You grinned, “Hi.”

“Let’s eat.” Regina hums, shrugging her shoulders. “We’re still not done with the planning.”

You glared at your sister. “I told you—”

“I told you, it’s your 16th. We’re definitely gonna do something.” Regina interjected.

“Keep the spending to a minimum.” You insisted.

“Fineeee.” Regina groans, they laugh. You, still being a little groggy from your nap only quietly ate your food while the three of them chattered away. Eventually, you were in the living area watching TV while they remained in the kitchen to plan whatever it was. It didn’t matter to you, whether or not you had a party. A birthday was just another day to you.

Your focus on the TV show gets disrupted when you hear Regina’s phone ring.

“Hello?”

She listens to the other person talk. Her face fell, contorting into one of confusion and shock.

“What? No, no, wait— you’re selling the house. Mom you can’t just say that and hang up! Don’t you think your should’ve discussed that with me? Or y/n?” Regina shrieked, you jumped, slightly startled. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“Just let her sell the house. It’s empty now anyway, most of our things are here already.” You told her flatly.

Regina quirked a brow, not expecting this indifference from you. About your childhood home. But she didn’t press you about it, thinking it was due to your tiredness. Janis and Cady were also looking at you for a second, you could feel their gazes burning holes into your head but you didn’t look back.

You hear Janis say something to them, but you couldn’t hear what. Seconds later, she was right next to you, asking if you wanted to cuddle. “I’m okay.” You told her, confused.

“I know.” She shrugs. “But don’t you want to lay on me?”

You squinted at her incredulously, “are you trying to tell me that I’m clingy?”

“Baby, I did not say that.” She bites back a laugh, brushing the hair out of your face.

“But yes, I want to lay on you.” You continued.

“Clingy.” Regina teased.

“Shut up.” You snapped back. Cady nearly snorted laughing.

“No.” Regina smiled smugly, batting her eyes at you.

“I’m not clingy.” You added on while Janis easily put you on her lap.

“Yeah, so you’re just trying to cop a feel?” Regina joked.

You gasped, “Oh, disgusting.”

“I wouldn’t mind though.” Janis snickered.

“Hey.” Your eyes went wide, and Janis was just more amused by all this.

“Okay, we’re done planning. Tomorrow after school, you’re on your own baby. We’re going out to grab the stuff we need.” Regina announced.

“That’s fine.” You shrug, refocusing on your rewatch of Full House. It has become one of those shows where you just put on for the sake of some background noise because you already knew the story so well. That didn’t mean it was no longer a good watch.

You watched a handful of episodes to pass time, then was back to bed, this time with Janis. “Brush your teeth.” She chuckles over her words.

You sulked playfully.

“Baby.” She was holding onto your toothbrush, and you were anticipating that she would toss it to you just to get you moving. It worked, wasn’t the first time after all. “Good girl.”

You damn near choked on air hearing her say that, narrowing your eyes at her. She only smiles back.

At 3pm the next day, school let out and as planned, you were making your own way home. Well, that’s what you thought. Your Mom pulled up in front of you out of nowhere, scaring you. “Get in.”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you, please?”

You thought about it for a second, nodded and opened the front passenger door then got in. “It’s about the house. Would you want to go back and take a look?”

“Rather not.” You replied quickly.

“Are you okay with me selling it?” She asked.

“Yes.” You told her simply, still staring out the window.

“Why?” Your mom asks, “In all seriousness, I want to know.”

“Well…” You began, “Uh, a lot of the bad stuff with Dad happened at the house and it honestly triggers a lot of negative emotions and thoughts. So doing without it would be best, for me.”

“I hear you.” She nods, continuing to drive, “Have you had lunch at all?”

“Why?” You spoke without much thought, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Because we need to eat. I know you’re not particularly fond of school food, but you can’t go hungry.”

You were quiet for bit before mumbling, “Okay.”

“Let’s go grab a bite, alright?”

Burgers and fries. That’s what you both got for lunch. The place was rather quiet, which wasn’t anything unusual. Not many came by here on weekdays since it wasn’t in a very convenient location. You knew she only took you here because you and Regina loved this place back then. And surprise, the place hadn’t been updated in years so you were hit with nostalgia almost instantly.

“How are things?” June asked hesitantly. You haven’t exactly been the nicest person towards her after all that took place.

“Better.” You swallowed thickly.

June nods, “That’s really good to know. I’m working through some things myself and I want you to know that I’m trying my best to be better.”

“I can tell.” You admitted, “You wouldn’t have taken me out to eat if it was a few months ago.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Just so you know, he eventually admitted to me what he did.”

“It wasn’t to me.” You stopped chewing your food for a moment.

“I know that now, but he still said things that made you uncomfortable and unsafe in your own home. That was fucked up, and I’m so sorry, baby—”

Your phone rang, interrupting her.

“Need to take this, excuse me.” You pick up your phone from the table and tapped the answer button.

“Jan, hey.”

“Are you home yet?”

“Not yet, no.” You told her, “Um, mom picked me up. We’re getting lunch.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t too shocked by that, “All good? Do you need any of us to—”

“All good, I’ll see you guys later.” You answered.

“Great.” She smiled, “See you, honey.”

You did have one question you have been dying to ask her. Though a little scared, you still decided that now would be the best time to ask.

“Would you want to come to my birthday party?” You asked.

“I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

————

Cady and Regina were practically dying of laughter after seeing Janis’ post on Instagram. It was rare sight— especially from Regina.

“You want the place to yourselves tonight or no?” Regina asks.

“Shh!” You exclaimed, “Hi, Mom.”

The entire gang stopped chatting and just turned around to look at the said guest. “Hi, y/n.” She walked up to you and gave you a hug. Regina almost passed out witnessing that. Look, she knew that June was coming here but she wouldn’t have expected this hug. Frankly, neither were you.

After a couple of minutes, the buzz settled down. The party went on without a hitch, until after the meal when June was taken aside by Regina to talk. You shared a worried look with Janis, “Everything is fine, I promise you. She just wants to talk about the house.”

“Okay.” You said, putting down your plate that still had some cake left.

Janis puts her arm around you to comfort you, planting a kiss to your cheek, “Breathe, baby. They’re fine.”

“I know now, I just haven’t been around to see that spending time alone together.” You revealed, resting your head on her shoulder. “Okay, maybe Regina’s right. I am clingy.”

Janis giggles, “Cling onto me all you want. Even if you do it at school, I’m all for it, honey.”

“Don’t tempt me.” You joked.

“Is it working?” Janis gasps dramatically.

“…yes.” You sigh quietly.

“Clingy.” Regina walked by at that exact second, squeezing your shoulder and making you yelp.

“I love it.” Janis retorted.

“Of course you do.” Damian mocked.

“Shut it, Damian.” Janis snarked, “I know you and Avery are inseparable too.”

You chortled, hiding your face in Janis’ neck before either of them caught it.

“Alrighty then. Can’t argue with that.” Damian sat down next to Janis, “Happy birthday, y/n.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

💭A/N:

Took me longer than I’d like to finish this part…🥴

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Interior designer Evie describes her 3 bedroom home in Sittingbourne, UK as  gothic vintage romance. There’s a lot of moody blues and grays, but she’s also incorporated her favorite color, pink.  The walnut cocktail cabinet is the hub of the sitting room.

You can catch just a glimpse of the pink foyer. 

There are so many wallpapers to choose from, one must wonder how people choose. This blue tropical leaf patter is lovely. Evie likes peacocks and the ceiling color is an homage to them.

She incorporates a lot of personal things into her design.

Evie refreshed the existing units in the kitchen with color using vinyl terrazzo. 

The color scheme in the hall matches the kitchen. Evie also loves teal.

Pink corner on the landing. 

The primary focus of Evie’s designs is bedroom design. 

Evie says, “Bedrooms are the spaces where people discover who they are as children, but as adults it can become a space for two people instead of one. It’s a space that can be used to bring two people closer together, created by both, which contains all their creative and restorative needs.”

The office/studio combines a tranquil pink and brown with a sunny yellow floor.

https://priceless-magazines.com/interiors/its-a-colourful-life/

[bellofthemeadow]

The Road Ahead - ch 1 | Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

Next chapter

For most of your married life, you dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently awaited his return, longing for the moment when he would be by your side again. During those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, you yearned for him to open up to you, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain. And as his addiction spiraled out of control, you held onto the hope that he would recognize his problem and seek help. However, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Colombia, engaged in God knows what.

But this time is different. Determined, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: Applicable for the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty

Chapter Summary: Now that Frankie is finally home for good, you can start looking to the future

Notes: Welcome everyone! This is a repost from my former blog "mywordhaven" Because of some technical difficulties with my old account, I decided that it would be easier to repost my work with a brand-new blog. It's basically the same chapter as the last one, but I did make some edits (mostly syntax tbh). I will be posting the other two chapters later tomorrow and the fourth chapter should be up on sunday.

I hope that those who were following me on my old blog will join me here and I look forward to meeting newcomers!

At Long Last

You find yourself drowning in the itchiness of the comforter draped across you. Its green, worn fabric scratches your overwhelmingly sensitive skin. Surprisingly, today you welcome this sensation. The uncomfortable feeling anchors your mind to your bed, preventing it from floating away. In this moment, as you struggle to catch your breath, the scratchiness of the duvet reminds you where you are.

Your hands glide slowly across the rough fabric, savouring its familiar prickle. As you trace the worn contours, you recall when you saw that green monstrosity for the first time— It was the day you and Frankie had first moved in together all those years ago, right before his second long deployment. From the moment your eyes landed on it, you despised its discoloured hue as it clashed with your envisioned home's colour scheme. But you had kept silent. Frankie was leaving, and you didn't want your last moments together marred by a pointless argument over a green bedspread, no matter how dreadful it looked.  

Now, ten years, 2 home relocations and a marriage later, that green duvet stubbornly remains an integral part of your bedroom decor, painfully clashing with the soothing blues surrounding it. Cornflower Blue, as the Home Depot employee had labelled it. You had agonized for days on which colour to go with, tirelessly checking Pinterest boards in the hope to find the perfect shade for your bedroom— A place you hoped would be a peaceful haven for Frankie. You spent weeks deliberating between countless swatches until finally settling on the current hue. Still, the horrid green persistently clashes with the blue you lovingly chose. Perhaps sage green would have been wiser, you think. But you had refused to admit defeat to an old, worn duvet and instead, had stubbornly gone with your first idea, horrid green be damned! But now, to your frustration, the bedroom remains an enduring battleground of colours, an ongoing struggle where different shades vie for supremacy in their quest to dominate the mood of the room.

Yet Frankie had never commented on the jarring combination of green and blue or their blatant mismatch. Perhaps you were making a mountain out of Molehill as you always seem to do. After all, your tendency to dramatize insignificant matters had been a subject of teasing within your family for as long as you could remember. Your brother had a habit of remarking on how seriously you took trivial matters. For your entire lives, nicknames like "Miss Prissy" or "Your Majesty" had been some of the less painful monickers thrown your way to highlight your over-sensitiveness. And while your family saw it as innocent sibling teasing, these remarks had a way of leaving you feeling bruised, unable to brush the comments off as easily as everyone expected you to.

Your hands pause above your bare, sweat-dampened chest, shaking your head to dispel the unwelcomed and intrusive thoughts. Instead, you focus on the blissful moment you’ve just shared with your husband. The memory of that bothersome, green eyesore and all its associated baggage swiftly retreats from your mind, vanishing as fleetingly as it arrived.

Finally, you begin to feel like the easy joys of savouring life are within your reach. With Frankie by your side, you start to envision a newfound freedom to engage in playful bickering, loud laughter, and sheer enjoyment of each other. The mundane moments hold an allure like never before, beckoning you to revel in their ordinary beauty. It's a longing for a life that seems quintessentially American, relentlessly depicted on daytime television—an idyllic portrait of a family, complete with devoted parents and their brood of 2.5 children, nestled in a cozy backyard. PTA meetings, a simple 9-to-5, soccer practices after school, and piano lessons on weekends create the repetitive rhythm of this picture-perfect existence. In your vision, the pinnacle of concern revolves around selecting the ideal flowers for the summer flowerbed. While some may deem it mundane, for you, it represents an exquisite slice of paradise.

Your husband Frankie had gone through years of military service, and he deserves nothing less, you think. Your hands still from their exploration as you think on the nightmares, anxiety, and fear that would consume Frankie. Even here with you, it sometimes felt as though he was still back there, never truly able to be completely present. Like on those many nights when Frankie was on temporary leave, he would wake up screaming and trashing in the middle of the night covered in cold sweats. Or when you guys would be out and about, and his eyes would shift with practiced zeal as if he was assessing for possible threats. Never really “turning off”. No amount of sweet reassuring words were ever able to soothe him when he found himself stuck within his own mind. Every time you tried to discuss these concerns with him, your husband would respond with calm reassurances, followed by a tender kiss on your forehead, urging you not to worry about him.

You shake your head, a resolute movement meant to, again, brush away the intrusive thoughts lingering on the periphery, refusing to let them dim this precious moment. You shift your gaze, fixating on the horizon of possibilities that stretches before you. It is a horizon where love acts as a healing balm, gently tending to the myriad wounds etched upon your husband's past. Your heart, though cautiously guarded, brims with a glimmer of hope, eager to embark on this journey together.

However, despite your best efforts, thoughts of your mother insidiously infiltrate your mind. Over the years, you've clashed with her on countless occasions, yet now, as a married woman, you think back on her warning before you got married. The resonating echo of her stern voice lingers in your thoughts, admonishing you to unwaveringly stand by your husband, regardless of the circumstances, and emphasizing that his happiness must always take precedence over everything else. Strangely, she never mentioned the reverse. With Frankie's return, you resolve to be more present, leaving daydreams behind and focusing on him and solely on him.

As you think of Frankie, you can clearly see his body and how it bears the evidence of his service, a map of scars, some worn openly, while others hide beneath his weary flesh. Deep wounds that bleed and pain him more than any bullet ever could. Words alone seem insufficient in the face of everything he has sacrificed. But now, Frankie is finally home, all of this is behind you two. And isn't all this what marriage vows were meant for? In sickness and in health, through the lows and the highs, you pledged to be there. As you remind yourself, supporting your husband doesn't diminish your strength and independence. It's merely an expression of love and partnership, you firmly resolve, even though the words ring somewhat hollow, as a voice in the back of your mind whispers, "But what about you?"

You slowly redirect your attention to the persistent itchiness on your skin. Taking three deep breaths, you allow each inhale and exhale to anchor you firmly into the present. As the air fills your lungs, you feel your shoulders slowly ease from the tension you always seem to put yourself under.

Now that Frankie is here to stay, you want nothing else than to provide the emotional solace and respite he needs to rebuild and find peace within himself. After everything Frankie has endured, you decide that he deserves a life that is predictably dull yet safe and warm. You want to build that life for him.

As your imagination runs rampant with visions of the life you're now free to construct together, Frankie emerges in the doorway. Clad in nothing more than a familiar, well-worn pair of briefs, he exudes an aura that is unmistakably his own—a blend of warmth, comfort, and a sense of home. In that instant, as you gaze at each other, it feels as though every small longing you held during Frankie's absence has converged into this singular moment. Nothing else matters to you right now except being with him.

In Frankie's hands, he carefully balances a tray, on it a tall glass of ice-cold water adorned with glistening condensation. The hunger stirs within you and your gaze falls upon two perfectly crafted PB and J sandwiches, invitingly prepared. It's evident that even now, the precise conditioning instilled by the army remains ingrained in Frankie. The unwavering precision, tidiness, and discipline persist, even amidst post-coital bliss. Sloppily prepared sandwiches? Never on Frankie’s watch.

Fondness envelops your heart, causing it to flutter with an intensity that threatens to burst from your chest. At this moment, a culmination of experiences floods your mind—the countless sleepless nights spent anxiously awaiting a call, the fear that gripped you while scouring the news for any shred of information, and Frankie's inability to share the depths of what he went through all race to the forefront of your mind. Now, as you reminisce about those moments when others would claim that being with Frankie wasn't worth the pain or hardships, a profound sense of satisfaction fills your heart. You're grateful for having ignored their words, as every single challenge and difficulty encountered along the way—the long-distance separations, the emotional uncertainties, and the sacrifices made—has ultimately proven to mean something. A smile mirrors your own overwhelming happiness as Frankie starts to walk toward the bed.

"I thought you'd have an appetite after all that exercise," Frankie says, his voice laced with a playful tone. His eyes, warm like melted chocolate, cradle you in their soft gaze. They speak volumes, no words needed, telling you just how much he cares.

A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you playfully quip, "Guess it doesn't help that we skipped dinner either, huh?"

"I apologize, mi cielo. I suppose I let my excitement get the better of me," Frankie admits, a touch of boyish bashfulness colouring his tone. "After eight long months apart, how could you expect me not to pounce on you, especially when you look so breathtaking?"

With utmost care, Frankie gently places the tray on the tiny side table, taking special care to move aside the book you're currently engrossed in. With the task completed, he turns his gaze towards you, slowly making his way to your side. Your eyes lock, and in an instant, he tenderly captures your mouth with his own. The kiss is unhurried yet filled with an intense passion, a promise of all that is to come, a fulfillment of the multitude of promises you have made to each other. Now, you have all the time in the world to embrace those promises.

As the kiss deepens, Frankie's hands begin to explore your naked body, their touch igniting a fiery desire that resonates deep within you. It engulfs you in a passionate longing that intensifies with each passing second. Frankie's wandering hands halt at your hips, where he gently strokes your sides while deepening the kiss even further. Breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily, his warm breath mingling with your own. A playful glimmer dance in Frankie’s brown eyes as he firmly grabs your hips, effortlessly flipping you both into the deep plushness of the bed.

A delighted squeal escapes your throat, and you find yourself on top of Frankie, straddling his warm hips. His devilish smile meets your gaze. Like a tidal wave, a rush of excitement cascades through you, electrifying your senses and igniting newfound energy within.

"I thought we were supposed to have dinner," you playfully tease, your hands resting on the firm planes of his pectorals.

Frankie's eyes glisten mischievously as he responds, his voice filled with playful affection, "Don't worry, hermosa. Dinner can wait another minute. Right now, all I want to do is admire you." With a tender touch, he grabs a handful of the fleshy part of your hips, gently massaging your sides. His voice carries on, laced with adoration, "You know, this angle is my favourite. When I see you from above, naked, and sweaty, you look like my very own Amazon. My fierce warrior queen whom I can’t wait to worship." His grip tightens possessively, playfully swatting your behind, causing your flesh to softly jiggle.

You can't help but snort with amusement, firmly grinding down in a slow sensuous movement Frankie exhales a low moan, his eyes closing in pleasure. Yielding to the temptation, you momentarily cease your ministrations and whisper, "Well, last time I checked, librarians weren't renowned for their battle prowess.”

Frankie's smile stretches, his eyes opening and locking with yours, while his hands gently secure your hips. His soft voice echoes sweetly, "Physical prowess is just a fraction of true strength, mi cielo. It's a mindset, a spirit that radiates courage and perseverance. Believe me when I tell you, you possess that strength in a way that surpasses anyone I've ever encountered."

His words envelop you in a comforting embrace that floods your being with warmth. Reflected in his eyes is an unwavering conviction, a faith given to you unlike any you've experienced before. Such belief, one you've never even held for yourself, captivates you. The weight of his words resonates deeply, shaking the core of your being, even as you strive to maintain a facade of nonchalance. But Frankie effortlessly sees through your charade, knowing you better than he knows himself at this point. He slowly pushes his upper body upward and starts peppering your collarbones with tender kisses. You feel your cheeks heating as you shyly avert your gaze, unable to resist the sweetness of his praise and the even sweeter ministration.

A brief moment passes, during which you nibble on your lower lip, contemplating your next words. Finally, you muster the courage to meet Frankie's eyes once more, you push him back down on the mattress and ask, a mischievous glint shining in your eyes, "If I am to be your queen, does that mean you're willing to obey my every command?”

A playful smile dances on Frankie's lips as he replies, "Well, mi cielo, let's just say I'm more than willing to embark on the thrilling adventure of fulfilling your every desire, one command at a time." With those words, Frankie softly grabs your right arm, the very arm that had been holding him down, and he punctuates each word with a tender kiss upon the palm of your hand. As he does so, his eyes gently close, allowing his lips to linger in their affectionate embrace, locked in that sweet moment.

Frankie surrenders to the present, savouring every precious second that slowly passes between the two of you. The ache of longing for you these past months had been insurmountable, a void that only you could fill. Amidst his world engulfed in chaos, pain, and the remanence of a haunting trail of death that seemed eternally imprinted on his very being, your presence at his side has always been the sole beacon of meaning and coherence. The only thing that ever truly mattered to him. Screw everything else; he should have chosen to stay home long ago, before feeling trapped in the abyss he felt he had dug himself into over the years. In an attempt to dispel the encroaching darkness threatening to envelop him, Frankie inhales deeply, pushing away those grim thoughts, before swiftly flipping you over.

Everything else fades away again, and only the two of you remain. As you draw in a deep breath, the air fills your lungs with a trembling intensity, causing a burning sensation. Your chest tightens, not just from the weight of Frankie's presence, but also from the weight of everything that surrounds you, suffocating you in its bittersweet grasp. Tenderly, Frankie gently presses his nose against yours, once, twice, before planting a soft kiss upon its tip.

“My love, I assure you that nothing can ever come between us. There is nothing that could separate me from you. I belong to you for eternity, and as long as I can share my life with you, my dear, it will have been a life worth living, mi cielo.”

Your eyes well up with tears, and with a quiver in your voice, you whisper, "I love you, Frankie."

"Te amo, mi cielo, te amo para siempre," he replies, his words carrying the weight of a vow between you two.

With intertwined fingers and hearts overflowing with love, you gaze into each other's eyes. As you lie there, wrapped in the afterglow of passion, you savour the tranquillity and completeness that permeates the room. You vow to cherish each day, to embrace the ordinary moments that always become extraordinary when you are with Frankie. Together, you will face the world with open hearts, ready to create this future you’ve always yearned for with Frankie. As Frankie peppers kisses down your throat, you smile, and a shuddering breath escapes you. Food can wait you think giddily. Your hands gently glide along the broad expanse of his back, savouring him in all his glorious being. Nothing else matters now, for Frankie is home.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Question!

What was cbmthy readers painting on the dresser. Did you mention it? And if not, what was it?

–☀

(Okay I had to search up 'dresser' because I thought it was like an armoire-which I now know it is not)

I'm assuming you mean her desk up at the House of Wind? (Unless l've foolishly mentioned a painting on her desk in her bedroom in the River House, in which case I'm so sorry but l've forgotten)

The painting on reader's desk was the gift Feyre gave her for her birthday! I can't remember exactly how I described it but l'm confident that I was thinking of Van Gogh's Starry Night at the time? Except instead of the blue, orange, yellow colours, it was rendered in blue, then a pale/radiant green, and a shimmering gold for the centre of the star so it was in line with Starfall!

Starry Night:

Tabby/Feyre’s version:

So probably something like this? (Pls forgive my art skillz, I’m on my phone and was using Instagram 😔)

Anyway, that’s roughly what I imagine the colour scheme looking like, but I hadn’t really given any thought to what it’s composed of? Idk if there would by a horizon line? Or the mountains featured somewhere? I guess that’s me leaving it up to you to imagine for yourself 😭

[wendy-leach-fanblog]

The colour schemes in AFCW and it's meanings

I just realized that and had to share it with you. I don't know wether John Cleese planned this or not but:

⚪️🔵🟡 = harmony

🩷 = disturbing/breaking harmony

⚫️ = mayhem

Garden scene

No 🔵⚪️🟡 = no harmony

⚫️ = mayhem

The harmony colour scheme is entirely absent which means no harmony. Archie's black suit brings mayhem into it.

Result:

🔵⚪️🟡 = harmony

🩷 = trouble

⚫️ = mayhem

Wanda's room is actually a harmonic place - but her pink blouse and the pink lamp trouble the harmony. Also Otto brings mayhem.

Result:

Bedroom scene

🔵⚪️🟡 incomplete = no harmony

🩷 = trouble

The harmony colour scheme is in complete as Archie's pyjamas are only blue-white. Wendy's nightgown is only white. The pink curtains cause trouble. No harmony but trouble in this scene.

Burglar scene

🔵⚪️🟡 incomplete = no harmony

⚫️ = mayhem

Wendy wears white-blue but that's not the complete harmony colour scheme so no harmony. Archie's entirely black clothing brings mayhem.

Result:

🔵⚪️🟡 = harmony

⚫️ = mayhem

The harmony colour scheme is complete! Not only on Wendy's cllthes but also in the room (yellow walls with white-blue vases) But Archie wears grey (a lighter shade of black) which causes mayhem.

Result:

⚫️ = mayhem

The scene where they all wear black except Portia who wears pink?

Well...

Pure mayhem.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

you be my fire and I’ll be your gasoline, Ch.11

[prev][masterpost] [next]

Jaskier makes his way back to Geralt’s room when the sun has already set, having spent half the day with Luke, talking, and the other — sleeping, his mind exhausted from the turmoil of replaying the events of the previous night over and over again.

The extra hours of sleep, an incredible luxury for someone that spends most of their time on the Path, did help, though not in the grand scheme of things. Opening his eyes, the windows of his bedroom dark, Jaskier wanted nothing more than to close them again and forget about everything until the morning, allowing himself to just escape reality for a little while, but he did promise the witcher he’d come. 

And so, standing in front of Geralt’s door, he knocks. It opens as quick as it had the first time, and the witcher wordlessly moves aside, letting Jaskier into the room. 

It’s different to the one given to the bard, a bit smaller and decorated in tones of cool blue and silver, whereas Jaskier’s is all crimson and gold. But the colour palette suits the witcher, and he seems comfortable in the room, if his half-unpacked bags are anything to go by. From experience Jaskier knows that bags usually stay all but unopened, ready to be thrown back over the saddle at any moment. 

“Luke is doing alright,” Jaskier says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and trying very hard not to show just how unexplainably yet endlessly tired he feels. “He’s going to have scars left, definitely, but it won’t affect him beyond that.”

Geralt regards him, for a long moment, from where he’s standing by the door, before finally coming closer to sit down next to the bard. He’s dressed lightly, which only further indicates that he’s comfortable in the room given to him for the time they’re here. His well-worn shirt, half undone, is a sharp contrast to Jaskier’s, tightly laced. 

“Have you stayed here all day or did you go exploring, like I told you?” Jaskier asks, because he cannot bear the possibility of Geralt asking him about last night. The nausea that had found its place in his throat refuses to go away still. 

Geralt huffs, dropping onto the pillows, his hair a halo around his head. 

“I walked around,” he says. “Tried to go out into the gardens, but was told that they’re closed until further notice, however. Still, even behind closed doors, I could smell harpy blood outside. Have they found it yet?”

“Not just yet,” Jaskier replies, shaking his head. “Luke will take the matter into his own hands once he recovers enough to leave the bed. From what I’ve seen, that will probably be tomorrow, though, of course, he will need more time to heal properly. He tried to get out into the gardens today, and multiple times at that, but I managed to convince him to rest until the morning.”

[Keep reading]

[dontcxckitup]

SENSES & OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS.

MUSE:  Gareth 'M' Mallory

what does your muse smell like?

Usually his aftershave, which has notes of light sandalwood and citrus. Something light and fresh and not too obtrusive. You smell it, it's in your nose, but it won't linger for long.

what do your muse’s hands feel like?

A bit coarse from the work he has done in his life; slight callouses on his right ring finger due to the writing he does every day (he still needs to sign a hell of a lot of papers).

what does your muse usually eat in a day?

Not much, really. On a working day, he rarely finds the time and muse to make breakfast or get lunch (however, you might occasionally find him at MI6's canteen to get a sandwich); in the evenings, he often frequents restaurants, either in the Trafalgar Square area, or Covent Garden. When he has a day off, he will start it with fresh fruits and curd, toast, sometimes even a Full English. Lunch, he still doesn't know what that is. And for dinner, it varies and depends on his mood; he sees it as useless to cook for one person, so he might just make a quick pan with vegetables and chicken nuggets, or a sandwich. However, he can never say no to a good pot of pasta.

does your muse have a good singing voice?

We wouldn't know, since he never sings. But he generally has a good, smooth voice, so he might as well just have one. Come in and find out.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous tics?   

Stress is something he lives with on a daily basis. However, if shit really does hit the fan, he will reach for a good bottle of scotch or cognac; he also tends to grab anything to keep his fingers still - aka paperclips, pens, etc.

what does your muse usually look like/wear?

Gareth dresses distinguished and impeccably, but not too fancy. A blue shirt, suit, tie that fits the colour scheme. Braces. Chelsea boots. No hairs or lint on his clothes. He dresses for the occasion, and since he has lots of responsibility in his job... Even outside of work you will most likely find him wearing a shirt, but he will also wear a pair of jeans and coats. At home, when he is relaxed, he often wears sweatpants in the evening. Woollen jumpers. His old t-shirts from the army ('I hate sand' and 'Little Sht' being his favourites).

is your muse affectionate?  how much?  how so?

He can be. But don't expect him to show it in public. Gareth often seems rather cold, but that is just on the outside; when he loves someone, he has a hard time telling them with words. He will gift them books, copy a poem to slip them the note.

what position does your muse sleep in?  

Usually on his right side, facing the bedroom window. It isn't that he doesn't want to cuddle to someone lying in his bed, it is just the position he is used to. He will turn his back on the other person simply because he knows the nightmares he has can get heavy, and he doesn't want to wake the other.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Oh, if Bond has fucked up again - yes. Yes, you will hear him down the hallway! He enjoys walking up to someone without them noticing, and suddenly standing behind them, though.

tagged by/stolen: @richardxoliverxmayhew tagging: @tealeavesandthorns @brokenthimbles @doctorveranair @jo-m-portman-rp @xseen2muchx @mr007pennyworth @jamesbloodybond @chiefofstafftanner @agent-scotch @kingofthewebxxx and everyone I forgot!

[mywordhaven]

The Road Ahead - ch 1 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Next Chapter

Throughout most of your married life, you've dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently anticipated his return home, longing for the moment when he would be by your side once again. You yearned for him to open up to you during those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain with you. And as his addiction spiralled out of control, you hoped that he would recognize his problem and seek help. Yet, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Columbia doing God knows what.

But this time is the last. Resolved, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + / no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Applicable to the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, hard relationship to food, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty guys (more warnings will be added if necessary).

Summary: Now that Frankie is finally home for good, you can start looking to the future.

Notes: Hey everyone, I am super happy (and anxious) to be sharing my first-ever fic! I hope you like this deep dive into character growth with a lot of angst and a healthy side of fluff. The story will be told in the 2nd POV, but there will be no use of Y/N, ya'll get multiple nicknames instead. Hope you guys enjoy!

Ao3 link for those interested is: Here

You find yourself immersed in the itchiness of the comforter draped across you, its green, worn fabrics scratching your sensitive skin. Surprisingly, today you welcome this uncomfortable sensation, as it anchors your mind to the bed you are currently lying on. In this moment, as you struggle to catch your breath, the scratchiness of the duvet is grounding, preventing your mind from flying away.

Your hands glide slowly across the rough fabric, savouring its familiar prickle. As you trace the worn contours, memories start to flood back— The day when Frankie introduced that horrid green monstrosity was when you first moved in together some years ago, right before his second deployment. And although you despised its discoloured hue that clashed with your envisioned home's colour scheme, you kept silent. Frankie was leaving, and you didn't want your last moments together marred by a pointless argument over a green bedspread, no matter how dreadful it looked.  

Now, ten years, 2 home relocations and a marriage later, that green duvet stubbornly remains an integral part of your bedroom decor, painfully clashing with the soothing blues surrounding it. Cornflower Blue, as the home improvement store employee had labelled it. You recall the days of indecisiveness, tirelessly seeking the perfect shade for your bedroom— A place you hope would be a peaceful haven for Frankie. Weeks were spent deliberating between countless swatches until finally settling on the current hue. Still, the green persists, clashing with the blue. Perhaps sage green would have been wiser, you think. But you had refused to admit defeat to an old, worn duvet and instead, had stubbornly gone with your first idea, horrid green be damned! Now, to your frustration, the bedroom remains an enduring battleground of colours, an ongoing struggle where shades of blue and green vie for supremacy in their quest to dominate the mood of the room.

Yet Frankie was unfazed, never commenting on the jarring combination of green and blue or their blatant mismatch. Perhaps you were making a mountain out of Molehill as you always seem to do. After all, your tendency to dramatize insignificant matters had been a subject of teasing within your family for as long as you could remember. Your brother had a habit of remarking on how seriously you took trivial matters. For your entire lives, nicknames like "Miss Prissy" or "Your Majesty" had been thrown your way to highlight your over-sensitiveness. And while your family saw it as innocent sibling teasing, these remarks had a way of leaving you feeling bruised, unable to brush the comments off as easily as everyone expected you to.

Your hands pause above your bare, sweat-dampened chest, shaking your head to dispel the unwelcomed and intrusive thoughts. Instead, you focus on the blissful moment you’ve just shared with your husband. The memory of that bothersome, green eyesore and all its associated baggage swiftly retreats from your mind, vanishing as fleetingly as it arrived.

At long last, a sense of savouring the simple joys of life begins to envelop you. With Frankie by your side, you envision a newfound freedom to engage in playful bickering, loud laughter, and the sheer enjoyment of each other. The mundane moments hold an allure like never before, beckoning you to revel in their ordinary beauty. It's a longing for a life that seems quintessentially American, relentlessly depicted on daytime television—an idyllic portrait of a family, complete with devoted parents and their brood of 2.5 children, nestled in a cozy backyard. PTA meetings, a simple 9-to-5, soccer practices after school, and piano lessons on weekends create the repetitive rhythm of this picture-perfect existence. In your vision, the pinnacle of concern revolves around selecting the ideal flowers for the summer flowerbed. While some may deem it mundane, for you, it represents an exquisite slice of paradise.

Your husband Frankie, having endured years of military service, deserves nothing less, you think. Your hands still from their exploration as you reflect on the vivid nightmares, anxiety, and overwhelming fear that would sometime consume Frankie. Even here with you, it sometimes felt as though he was still back there, never truly able to be completely present. You think of the many nights when he was on leave these past few years, and he would wake up screaming and trashing in the middle of the night covered in cold sweats. Or when you guys would be out and about, and his eyes would shift with practiced zeal as if he was assessing for possible threats. Never really “turning off”. No amount of sweet reassuring words was ever able to soothe him when he found himself stuck within his own mind. Every time you tried to discuss these concerns with him, your husband would respond with calm reassurances, followed by a tender kiss on your forehead, urging you not to worry about him.

You shake your head, a resolute movement meant to, again, brush away the intrusive thoughts lingering on the periphery, refusing to let them dim this precious moment. You shift your gaze, fixating on the horizon of possibilities that stretches before you. It is a horizon where love acts as a healing balm, gently tending to the myriad wounds etched upon your husband's past. Your heart, though cautiously guarded, brims with a glimmer of hope, eager to embark on this journey together.

However, despite your best efforts, thoughts of your mother insidiously infiltrate your mind. Over the years, you've clashed with her on countless occasions, yet now, as a married woman, you think back on her warning before you got married. The resonating echo of her stern voice lingers in your thoughts, admonishing you to unwaveringly stand by your husband, regardless of the circumstances, and emphasizing that his happiness must always take precedence over everything else. Strangely, she never mentioned the reverse. With Frankie's return, you resolve to be more present, leaving daydreams behind and focusing on him and solely on him.

As you think of Frankie, you can clearly see his body and how it bears the evidence of his service, a map of scars, some worn openly, while others hide beneath his weary flesh. Deep wounds that bleed and pain him more than any bullet ever could. Words alone seem insufficient in the face of everything he has sacrificed. But now, Frankie is finally home, all of this is behind you two. And isn't all this what marriage vows were meant for? In sickness and in health, through the lows and the highs, you pledged to be there. As you remind yourself, supporting your husband doesn't diminish your strength and independence. It's merely an expression of love and partnership, you firmly resolve, even though the words ring somewhat hollow, as a voice in the back of your mind whispers, "But what about you?"

You slowly redirect your attention to the persistent itchiness on your skin. Taking three deep breaths, you allow each inhale and exhale to anchor you firmly into the present. As the air fills your lungs, you feel your shoulders slowly ease from the tension you always seem to put yourself under.

Now that Frankie is here to stay, you want nothing else than to provide the emotional solace and respite he needs to rebuild and find peace within himself. After everything Frankie has endured, you decide that he deserves a life that is predictably dull yet safe and warm. You want to build that life for him.

As your imagination runs rampant with visions of the life you're now free to construct together, Frankie emerges in the doorway. Clad in nothing more than a familiar, well-worn pair of briefs, he exudes an aura that is unmistakably his own—a blend of warmth, comfort, and a sense of home. In that instant, as you gaze at each other, it feels as though every small longing you held during Frankie's absence has converged into this singular moment. Nothing else matters to you right now except being with him.

In Frankie's hands, he carefully balances a tray, on it a tall glass of ice-cold water adorned with glistening condensation. The hunger stirs within you and your gaze falls upon two perfectly crafted PB and J sandwiches, invitingly prepared. It's evident that even now, the precise conditioning instilled by the army remains ingrained in Frankie. The unwavering precision, tidiness, and discipline persist, even amidst post-coital bliss. Sloppily prepared sandwiches? Never on Frankie’s watch.

Fondness envelops your heart, causing it to flutter with an intensity that threatens to burst from your chest. At this moment, a culmination of experiences floods your mind—the countless sleepless nights spent anxiously awaiting a call, the fear that gripped you while scouring the news for any shred of information, and Frankie's inability to share the depths of what he went through all race to the forefront of your mind. Now, as you reminisce about those moments when others would claim that being with Frankie wasn't worth the pain or hardships, a profound sense of satisfaction fills your heart. You're grateful for having ignored their words, as every single challenge and difficulty encountered along the way—the long-distance separations, the emotional uncertainties, and the sacrifices made—has ultimately proven to mean something. A smile mirrors your own overwhelming happiness as Frankie starts to walk toward the bed.

"I thought you'd have an appetite after all that exercise," Frankie says, his voice laced with a playful tone. His eyes, warm like melted chocolate, cradle you in their soft gaze. They speak volumes, no words needed, telling you just how much he cares.

A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you playfully quip, "Guess it doesn't help that we skipped dinner either, huh?"

"I apologize, mi cielo. I suppose I let my excitement get the better of me," Frankie admits, a touch of boyish bashfulness colouring his tone. "After eight long months apart, how could you expect me not to pounce on you, especially when you look so breathtaking?"

With utmost care, Frankie gently places the tray on the tiny side table, taking special care to move aside the book you're currently engrossed in. With the task completed, he turns his gaze towards you, slowly making his way to your side. Your eyes lock, and in an instant, he tenderly captures your mouth with his own. The kiss is unhurried yet filled with an intense passion, a promise of all that is to come, a fulfillment of the multitude of promises you have made to each other. Now, you have all the time in the world to embrace those promises.

As the kiss deepens, Frankie's hands begin to explore your naked body, their touch igniting a fiery desire that resonates deep within you. It engulfs you in a passionate longing that intensifies with each passing second. Frankie's wandering hands halt at your hips, where he gently strokes your sides while deepening the kiss even further. Breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily, his warm breath mingling with your own. A playful glimmer dance in Frankie’s brown eyes as he firmly grabs your hips, effortlessly flipping you both into the deep plushness of the bed.

A delighted squeal escapes your throat, and you find yourself on top of Frankie, straddling his warm hips. His devilish smile meets your gaze. Like a tidal wave, a rush of excitement cascades through you, electrifying your senses and igniting newfound energy within.

"I thought we were supposed to have dinner," you playfully tease, your hands resting on the firm planes of his pectorals.

Frankie's eyes glisten mischievously as he responds, his voice filled with playful affection, "Don't worry, hermosa. Dinner can wait another minute. Right now, all I want to do is admire you." With a tender touch, he grabs a handful of the fleshy part of your hips, gently massaging your sides. His voice carries on, laced with adoration, "You know, this angle is my favourite. When I see you from above, naked, and sweaty, you look like my very own Amazon. My fierce warrior queen whom I can’t wait to worship." His grip tightens possessively, playfully swatting your behind, causing your flesh to softly jiggle.

You can't help but snort with amusement, firmly grinding down in a slow sensuous movement Frankie exhales a low moan, his eyes closing in pleasure. Yielding to the temptation, you momentarily cease your ministrations and whisper, "Well, last time I checked, librarians weren't renowned for their battle prowess.”

Frankie's smile stretches, his eyes opening and locking with yours, while his hands gently secure your hips. His soft voice echoes sweetly, "Physical prowess is just a fraction of true strength, mi cielo. It's a mindset, a spirit that radiates courage and perseverance. Believe me when I tell you, you possess that strength in a way that surpasses anyone I've ever encountered."

His words envelop you in a comforting embrace that floods your being with warmth. Reflected in his eyes is an unwavering conviction, a faith given to you unlike any you've experienced before. Such belief, one you've never even held for yourself, captivates you. The weight of his words resonates deeply, shaking the core of your being, even as you strive to maintain a facade of nonchalance. But Frankie effortlessly sees through your charade, knowing you better than he knows himself at this point. He slowly pushes his upper body upward and starts peppering your collarbones with tender kisses. You feel your cheeks heating as you shyly avert your gaze, unable to resist the sweetness of his praise and the even sweeter ministration.

A brief moment passes, during which you nibble on your lower lip, contemplating your next words. Finally, you muster the courage to meet Frankie's eyes once more, you push him back down on the mattress and ask, a mischievous glint shining in your eyes, "If I am to be your queen, does that mean you're willing to obey my every command?”

A playful smile dances on Frankie's lips as he replies, "Well, mi cielo, let's just say I'm more than willing to embark on the thrilling adventure of fulfilling your every desire, one command at a time." With those words, Frankie softly grabs your right arm, the very arm that had been holding him down, and he punctuates each word with a tender kiss upon the palm of your hand. As he does so, his eyes gently close, allowing his lips to linger in their affectionate embrace, locked in that sweet moment.

Frankie surrenders to the present, savouring every precious second that slowly passes between the two of you. The ache of longing for you these past months had been insurmountable, a void that only you could fill. Amidst his world engulfed in chaos, pain, and the remanence of a haunting trail of death that seemed eternally imprinted on his very being, your presence at his side has always been the sole beacon of meaning and coherence. The only thing that ever truly mattered to him. Screw everything else; he should have chosen to stay home long ago, before feeling trapped in the abyss he felt he had dug himself into over the years. In an attempt to dispel the encroaching darkness threatening to envelop him, Frankie inhales deeply, pushing away those grim thoughts, before swiftly flipping you over.

Everything else fades away again, and only the two of you remain. As you draw in a deep breath, the air fills your lungs with a trembling intensity, causing a burning sensation. Your chest tightens, not just from the weight of Frankie's presence, but also from the weight of everything that surrounds you, suffocating you in its bittersweet grasp. Tenderly, Frankie gently presses his nose against yours, once, twice, before planting a soft kiss upon its tip.

"I promise you, mi cielo, there is nothing that can ever come between us. No war, no ruler, no divine power could ever separate me from you. I am yours for eternity, and as long as I get to spend my life with you, cariño, it would have been a life worth living."

Your eyes well up with tears, and with a quiver in your voice, you whisper, "I love you, Frankie."

"Te amo, mi cielo, te amo para siempre," he replies, his words carrying the weight of a vow between you two.

With intertwined fingers and hearts overflowing with love, you gaze into each other's eyes. As you lie there, wrapped in the afterglow of passion, you savour the tranquillity and completeness that permeates the room. You vow to cherish each day, to embrace the ordinary moments that always become extraordinary when you are with Frankie. Together, you will face the world with open hearts, ready to create this future you’ve always yearned for with Frankie. As Frankie peppers kisses down your throat, you smile, and a shuddering breath escapes you. Food can wait you think giddily. Your hands gently glide along the broad expanse of his back, savouring him in all his glorious being. Nothing else matters now, for Frankie is home.

[harryandpedro]

uppercut - two

summary: Maisy moves in with Pedro to care for his son. An irrationalizable infatuation with the thirty-four years old boxer puts roots in her heart.

parings: boxer/singledad!pedro x nanny!fem oc

warnings: none

wc: 3k

series masterlist here.

Maisy

From the gym, I head home to pack up my wardrobe and essentials.

I try not to overthink this whole situation. I'm just helping this handsome-looking man, nothing else. And besides, this is my opportunity to be spontaneous for once in my life.

I fill two suitcases then take an Uber over to Pedro's.

The car pulls up by the curb of a three-story renovated brownstone in Tribeca. I pay the driver and climb out, spotting Pedro sitting on the steps holding what I presume is a baby monitor.

When he sees me, he leaps to his feet. I struggle with my suitcases and he comes over to help. "Thanks," I mumble sheepishly.

"No worries." He shoots me a warm smile over his shoulder as he leads the way inside. He holds the heavy mahogany door open and ushers me inside. "Go ahead."

I enter and notice how tidy everything is. Peeking past the foyer, his home is spacious but not empty. Sure, there are telltale signs of a toddler living here—a play mat here and a stack of building blocks there—but for the most part, he keeps his space neat.

I take off my shoes and place them by the end of a row of sneakers, mostly New Balances. Footwear he can easily put on. Dad shoes. A smile lifts on my lips at my conclusion.

"Thank you, Maisy. You're really saving my ass by watching my son," he says, and he sounds genuinely grateful. "As soon as the agency finds a replacement, you can go back to your big plans," he promises.

My big plans of wallowing in bed and regretting my life choices? I'd rather not.

"That's okay," I give him a smile. "Think this will be better for me than doom-scrolling and bed-rotting all summer."

"One piece of advice; enjoy those summers while you still can," he tells me, winking. "Let me show you around."

I hum and he rounds me and leads me further into his home. He faces me, walking backwards. "Oliver's room is on the second floor. I'll let you explore on your own when he wakes from his nap, but the main part of the house is this way." Hands in the pockets of his jeans—he changed out of his workout clothes, he nods towards the opposite side of the house.

I trail after him as he gives me a tour of the first floor. We pad barefoot across the hardwood flooring. "Living room, dining room, kitchen," he rattles off the open spaces as we pass them. The interior follows the same colour scheme—white, charcoal grey, navy blue and a pop of burnt orange on textiles. His kitchen is pine green with stainless steel appliances. The living room has a pillowy L-shaped couch and a nook for Oliver to play with a playpen and a basket of toys. A monstrous flatscreen television is built into a custom-made bookshelf system that takes up the entire wall.

"Why the big screen?" I tease him.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. "I like to make it an occasion when I watch a movie."

I scoff. "What movie do you watch that requires this many pixels?"

"Nothing mature-themed, if that's what you're getting at. More like The Big Lebowski. Blade Runner. The Gladiator, to name a few," he shrugs.

"Never seen them."

"Well, I have them on DVD so you can give them a watch when Oliver's sleeping." A beat of silence mushrooms us, and I use it to scan his book collection. He has a vast array, spanning from Dostoevsky to Daphne du Maurier.

"Let's go upstairs." We take the stairs to the third floor. "My room's up here," he motions to a closed door. "As is the guest bedroom. I got it all set up for you."

I follow him and he shows me to my room for the next ten or so weeks. I immediately notice how much direct sunlight it gets because of the south-facing window. The floors are the same hardwood as the rest of the house. The furniture is all white—a desk, a dresser and a built-in closet—except for the double bed that has an anthracite curved headboard.

I leave my spot and opt to explore and while I do, I hear him walk away and come back, placing down my suitcases by the door. I turn to face him.

"There's a binder on the desk for you with everything listed about Oliver in there. His routines and daily schedules. What his gibberish is supposed to mean, that kind of stuff. Also emergency contacts. You got my number right?"

I thumb through the pages. "Yeah, I have it saved in my phone."

"Good. That's good."

"You're really organized," I say more like an afterthought.

"I got to be. My son's relying on and I'm not about to let him down." He scratches his chin. "All right, I'll let you get comfortable. Oli's gonna wake up soon from his nap, come find us when you're ready to meet him."

He backs out of the room, leaving the door ajar. I don't bother to close it. I quickly change out of my jeans and into some shorts that go with the basic white tee I have on before unpacking. First, I put my clothes in the drawers and the wardrobe, then I move on to stacking my summer reads on the nightstand—all romance because if I don't have romance in my life then at least I can fantasize about it. I didn't bring much clutter, only a scented candle and a framed drawing of New York's skyline from when I was big into creative stuff. They find their new home on the desktop. I fluff the pillows and inspect the sheets Pedro got me. They're white and ironed, like in hotels. I smell them, and they smell fresh and something musky.

I store away my toiletries in the bathroom across my room and as I walk the two steps it takes back to my quarters I pick up on the babble of voices coming from the living room downstairs.

Anxiety rises in me as I contemplate the what-ifs, my biggest concern being what if Oliver doesn't like me. I take a cleansing breath to get over myself and make my way over to them.

Pedro

Oliver and I are in the living room, practising our walk when Maisy appears in the archway. She's wringing her hands so I shoot her an encouraging smile, prompting her to come closer.

"Look, Bug, someone's here to meet you," I say in a baby voice. I'm hunched over and I let him use me for balance as he clutches onto my hands and takes wobbly steps ahead of me. We stop and I lift him into my arms. "This is Oliver." I nod my head towards him, shifting my hip so Maisy can see him better.

"Hi, Oliver," Maisy coos, her eyes melting.

My son blushes, burrowing his head into the crook of my neck. He's being shy, but he's not afraid of her the way he is with most strangers. I think he's simply aware of her attention, and even though he's acting like he doesn't, he likes it.

"He's being shy."

"That's okay. We all get shy sometimes." She tells my son in a soft voice.

At that, he picks his little head up and peers at her curiously.

"Should we show Maisy all your stuff?" I ask my son. He makes a gibberish sound.

"He's not walking on his own yet?" Maisy asks.

My head snaps to her, looking for a judgmental glare to accompany her statement, but there isn't one. In fact, nothing in her tone was judgmental either.

It's a me thing, thinking others are judging my parenting skills or my son's progression. He's fourteen months old. Maybe he should be walking. Maybe he should have more words in his vocabulary. I don't fucking know. To be honest, I don't want to know because I'm doing my best.

"Not yet. It'll happen any day now, though." I shift my attention back to Oliver, not letting her see the concern on my face that I'm screwing up this whole "dad" thing.

"That's kind of a relief. I'm glad I don't have to worry about him running away on me," she chuckles.

Looking at her, I catch her watching my son with a fond smile. She's not judging us, not judging me.

"He's a hell of a crawler though." We make it to the second floor where Oliver's nursery is located. I close the stairs gate and then place him down and he immediately starts crawling. "The house is baby-proofed so you can let him crawl as much as he wants, just make sure the stairs gate is shut."

I steer her in the direction of Oliver's nursery. She enters first and I stop in the doorway, watching her take in the room.

"We're at the stage where he naps two times during the day and he's sleeping through the night. If he gives you trouble when you put him down, you can give him a bottle."

She nods along as she inspects Oliver's crib.

I push off the doorway and meet her by the dresser. Pulling drawers, I go over with her what where to find.

We make our way back to the kitchen. "We're doing baby-lead weaning. I try to introduce a new food every four days but basically, he sets the pace." I point to the fridge. "I have an ongoing list of foods he has tried. Please don't give him anything allergenic if I'm not here."

"Noted," she says before finding Oliver sitting at her feet, staring up at her with big eyes.

She gets down on her haunches, making herself as eye level as she can. "Hi, buddy."

Oliver gives her a giddy, toothy grin and I lean against the kitchen counter, watching their interaction.

There's something about this image of her standing in my kitchen with her big, beautiful brown eyes and the thick lashes framing them, that makes me forget she is the nanny and my coach's daughter and not one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. For just one second.

I erase the inappropriate thoughts.

"What do you say? Wanna hang out with me while your dad is working?" Maisy pokes my son's belly playfully.

Oliver makes grabby hands at her, his way of telling her he wants to be held. "Up, up," he babbles, smacking his lips together.

She picks him up with ease, positioning him on her hip, an arm securely wound around him. My son lies his head on her shoulder with a sweet sigh, his little palm settling on her collarbone. She gazes down at him, fondness glistening in her eyes.

Oliver has never been this keen on being held by a stranger before, least of all a random woman. I blame his general shyness around women on the fact that the one who gave birth to him left him to be raised by a single dad and a team of boxers.

Witnessing how quickly Maisy has gained his liking eases away a small amount of my hesitation about this situation.

Maisy

My nerves wake me before my alarm. I lie in bed for some time, listening to the soft sounds of Pedro getting his day started. I hear the coffee maker, him unloading the dishwasher, Oliver's sweet little squeals.

"Whoa, Bug. Let's try to keep the volume down. We don't want to wake Maisy, do we?" I hear him say and my insides go all warm and fuzzy.

I press down this foreign tender feeling and throw off my covers. I pull on a hoodie, hiding my bedhead with the hood and set out to find them. They're in the kitchen, Oliver in his highchair, elbow deep into some kind of puree while his dad watches him like a hawk over the rim of his mug of coffee.

"Morning," he rasps in a bourbon-backed voice, "Did we wake you?"

His morning rasp has my tummy doing cartwheels. I try to ignore the sensation but it spreads through my body.

I've never had sex but I do know what it feels to be drawn to someone. And this funny feeling his voice just wrought out of me is so wrong on many levels. For starters, he's my dad's client and friend. Secondly, I'm nannying his kid. And perhaps most importantly, he's twelve years my senior. I shouldn't be attracted to him.

"No, you didn't," I say, swallowing past a lump in my throat.

He does a casual peruse of my get-up but his gaze doesn't make me feel objectified. It's not predatory, it's curious. His eyes linger on my bare legs before lifting to meet mine. "Coffee?" he offers.

"Yeah, thanks." The grinder of his coffee machine gets to work.

"Black or—?"

"With milk, if you have some."

"Sure. Suit yourself."

He cleans up Oliver while I fix up my coffee. "We're gonna get ready. You can join us if you feel up for it," he prompts. Effortlessly, he holds his son up with a single forearm and the two of them wait for my answer.

Naturally, I agree and, as he has taken me through Oliver's nighttime ritual last night, I shadow him as he performs their morning routine.

An hour later, I come to the conclusion that Pedro is a bit helicopter-y. All morning he refuses to put Oliver down. Though he's needy, I can sympathise with him; he's probably trying to soak up every minute he gets with him because he's leaving his boy for the rest of the day and Oliver won't be awake when he gets home.

"You should go or you'll be late to your session," I remind him. He ignores me and continues to blow raspberries on his son's tummy and cheeks. I try to respect him but he's been saying his goodbyes for the last five minutes. "Seriously, Pedro, just go. I promise I can handle this."

He reluctantly hands Oliver over. "Call with anything," he says to me, boring into my eyes.

"We will be fine," I assure him.

With one final kiss to his son's forehead, he slings his duffle bag over his shoulder and heads for the front door. "I'll be back around seven," he tells me and finally heads out.

I shut the door behind him and peer down at Oliver. "Looks like it's just you and me for a bit." I bounce on the balls of my feet, rooting to keep him from getting fussy now that his dad is gone. "What should we do now, huh, buddy?"

Our day ensues without a hitch. I follow his daily schedule—eat, play, sleep and repeat. I play peekaboo with him but we both get bored of it quickly so when he's down for his afternoon nap, I consult Google about more engaging activities we can do together.

He gets clingy when I'm putting him down for the night—obviously missing his dad's comfort—but rocking him seems to do the trick and he eventually succumbs to sleep.

It's almost eight when Pedro gets in, and I've done the dishes, folded the baby clothes in the dryer and emptied the diaper pail.

Without as much as greeting me or bothering to take his sneakers off, he takes the steps in twos before breaking into a light jog on the second floor. I don't take it personally, I'd most likely be the same. It must be hard to leave your child in the care of someone else.

I watch on the baby monitor as he enters the darkened space of the nursery and hurries over to the crib. Oliver is soundly sleeping in a set of comfy pyjamas. Pedro's posture visibly relaxes. He tucks the edges of the blanket around his son's little body before kissing his forehead and slipping out of the room.

I hear him toeing off his shoes in the foyer. "Maisy?" he calls.

"In the kitchen," I respond, loud enough for him to hear.

I sense his presence and I turn to see him. "Hey," I say with a smile. "He's asleep?"

"He is. Did he go down okay?" He's still in his workout clothes, rocking a grey t-shirt with sweatmarks over it and a pair of basketball shorts.

"He was a bit upset but we managed. Otherwise, he was an angel." I dry my hands on a dish towel. "You hungry? I took the liberties and got groceries delivered with your emergency card."

"Thank you. I completely forgot we were out of stuff," he says. His gaze leaves mine and looks behind me. "Did you do the dishes?"

"Yeah," I mumble tentatively. "Am I overstepping here?"

"No, it's not that," he reassures me. "But you don't have to worry about that stuff. I have a cleaning lady come every three days to help with that."

"Oh, well, it wasn't that much of a hustle," I tell him.

He gives me a tight-lipped smile. "I appreciate the enthusiasm." He moves past me, heading for the fridge.

He starts pulling ingredients for an omelette and I simply stand there, observing him. "Can I ask you something?" I speak up after a beat. He hums in acknowledgement. "Where's Oliver's mom?"

There's a hint of hesitation in his eyes as he looks at me. "No idea. We were a drunken fumble. She didn't tell me she got pregnant, then she showed up one year post-partum out of nowhere and a couple of days later skipped town." He sets a pan on the stovetop. "Said didn't want any part of her kid."

That puts Pedro's overbearing protectiveness of his son into a better perspective. Oliver didn't have anyone and Pedro stepped up, ready to be his everything. My heart cracks.

"You don't need to feel sorry for us," he adds, turning on the stove. "I made peace with Oliver's mom's decision. I'm not saying that what she did was acceptable by any means, but I think Oliver is better off without her than to be loved half-heartedly by her."

I gnaw on the inside of my cheeks. It must've been a lot to take on, to fill in for two and to carry that responsibility.

"I know I've only been here for a day but I can tell that you're a wonderful dad to Oliver. He's lucky to have someone as loving as you are as their parent." I tell him earnestly.

"I do the best I can with our situation."

With that, silence descends on the room. He's in his head and I suddenly feel like I'm intruding. "Well, if you don't need me with anything else I think I'm going to turn in for tonight."

"Okay. Good night."