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nemesyaaa · 5 months ago

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a house in nebraska ! rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary ; you were the reason he won't come home but you still call home. this story is based on the song of ethel cain.

warnings : it's angst. fully angst. it's about toxic relationship. so violence, arguing and fighting, sick behavior, daddy and mommy issues, the urge of love and being loved, mentions of drugs, the feeling of being misunderstood and unsteady. home is used as a metaphor of relationship. it's about inner rage too. slight of smut but very little. both rafe and reader being fucked up. southern goth/small town coded.

author's note : it's my first time writing angst so be easy one me please ! as i said, it's based on " a house in nebraska" by ethel cain (because she's my favorite artist and my muse.) and a lot of her songs make me think of rafe, but i also take inspo of her others songs like crush, strangers, and hard times. also a hint of bet on losing dogs by mitski.

i dont know how many words are in this works, but i think around 3k ? it's a one-shot ! BETTER TO READ IT WHILE LISTENING TO A SAD SONG. (a house in nebraska (live version)or anything else)

you lived in the nebraska with rafe, he was your man and you were his girl. it was a small town that allowed you to be just him and you against the world, to be safe from the rest. but the ugly truth was that your house had become a raging mess. the mattresses had become dirty, the silence too comfortable, the night too long, the emptiness too deep, the love too absent and the violence too present. everyone was angry here, even demons and the silence.

rafe was a storm, and every time you tried to calm it, you became further worse. no, you weren't becoming like him, you were becoming him, the mirror of his emotions, full of rage and inexpressible feelings. like a bomb, you needed it to come out, to scream and explode. like a bomb, you needed to hurt, and destroy everything in your way.

you had built this house together, when he still worked with his hands, oh god, how much you loved those big and strong hands, the dirt and bruises on his skin. the softness of his palms when he touched you, the pulsating veins engraved. they were made to love you, to caging you. they were always rushed with blood and wounds because of his work, but despite how dirty they were when he came home, they were always pure and clean on your body. but you also were so in love with his messy sweaty hair, caressing by the wind. he was tall and handsome, the kind of man who worked all day, and drunk at night, some whiskey or bourbon. but never missed to please the needs of his girl.

when he smoked his red marlboros on the porch, you were sitting on his lap like a sleepy girl to take a nap on his heavy arms that managed to hug your body. when he took a sip of his cold beer, while you had nothing to do but being his own pretty girl. when he allowed you to bathe him, cleaning the mess and the sweat. when you used to learn him how to play some classic music on the old piano, and he was just turned on by the way you used so damn well your fingers, and making you sit on the board, and fuck you right there, even if the windows were wide open.

at this time, you would have die for him.

when he still listened to what you said, when he still answered your calls and did not make you sick by his silence, when you laughed every time he came home . but now you were starting to hate the fact that he was coming.

how did the man who was supposed to make you so happy manage to break you so easily? but you weren't an angel either, oh far from it, you had neither wings nor halo on your head, you didn't even have god in your heart. you made him, like all men, your enemy.

it was four in the morning, it was still dark, you were waiting in the living room.

the tv wasn't on. rafe had broken it during an argument. that wasn’t the only thing he shattered, you had to be the hardest thing he does. not even with his fists, with just the force of his words, the way they were murderous, the way they had the force to tear your heart open and crushed it into pieces.

most people would say that this man was not the type to cry, that a man doesn't cry, but rafe cried. and you had seen him a couple of times, and the first time you saw him burst into tears, you knew straight away that it was the real him. that behind all this hatred, this anger, there was a hurted little boy. and who grew up with an open wound, a wound impossible to heal, even with all the love in the world.

rafe was the kind of man who screamed, who cried, who bled, a fallen angel who had lost god along the way, who had been ignored, but mostly, never heard.

when he opened the door to the house, you hated the strong smell of alcohol, but also of blood. you never asked him for anything, the only thing you wanted was for him to come home on time for dinner, to go to bed with you. but no one, absolutely, no one tamed a dog like him. and you rathered not bet on losing dogs.

“where were you ?? ” you had already started shouting due to lack of patience, getting up from the chair to confront him.

you had seen him sigh, making that bored face, like you had no reason to be upset, that face that made all women become even worse.

“if you had the same energy to scream when we fuck, we would have a fantastic sex life.”

“seriously, rafe? you want to play the asshole, right now ? ”

“ it will suit your bitch behavior, so why not ?”

you slapped him very hard in the face. what obviously rafe didn't find this very amusing, he crushed you in the wall, pinned your hands above your head.

“ don't you dare slapping me again. you want to be mean, sweetheart ? i can be meaner. let's see....oh this is the necklace that your mom offered to you before leaving ? how sweet. maybe, i can sell it for a good price. ”

“ rafe. don't. ”

he shushed you, by putting his other hand on your mouth. “ you're not allowed to talk right now. you had your turn for, now, it's my fucking turn. and i will do whatever the fuck i want ! it's my house, my rules. ”

he unhooked the necklace, as you tried to break away from his grip but he closed his fingers tighter against your wrists.

“I'm going to kill you, no matter what you do, i'm going to kill you. ”

“murder me” he said with a louder voice. “i’m asking you to murder me! it’s probably the only good thing you’ll have done well in your life. you know even if i die tonight, i will die yours. even if you kill me, i will always be here.”

he released you, and you exploded. “you have exceeded the limits, rafe! ”

” since when are there boundaries between us, sugar? we're freaks, remember? ”

you threw away the first object you found, it was an empty coffee cup. you threw it at his face. but he had dodged it with a sick smile. your jaw clenched, eyes blazing with fury, you were out of control. you were what he wanted you to be every time he came home late

” oh you can do better than that baby. i'm sure i taught you how to shoot better than this when i showed you how to kill? do you remember? ”

“ this, this fucking attitude, rafe is why everybody leaves you ! ”

“ yes. and do i fucking care, y/n ? do i fucking care ? i grew up in a family where nobody loved me, nobody reached after me, nobody looked after me, nobody dared to pay attention to me and you tell me i have to care about everyone leaving me ? no, it's not fucking fair ! so do you understand ? i don't care. if you want to leave, you know better than me that the door is open because you're the only one to be stucking in front, waiting like a fucking dog that i come come. ”

“ fine. i leave ! ”

you took the keys of the car, even if rafe hated that you drove, especially at midnight. but you were too upset, too mad.

your man wasn't done with you. he stood in front of the car you were driving.

“if you think i'm afraid of killing you, when you were the one who taught me how to do that, you're wrong. ”

" yes ? then show me how well i did my job. kill me. ”

“ rafe, i’m not kidding. ”

“ perfect, we are both serious then. ”

you moved the car forward, pressing the pedal with your feet. you hitted him with the car. it was strong but not violent either.

you got out of the car quickly to check on him. but he was smiling, a little blood on his face.

“are you sick!? ”

“ i raised you well, i fear. now, lick this face. i can see in your eyes how pretty you find me covered with blood, so please yourself, lick it all. ”

“ wait, i will find some tis….”

“ no, with your tongue. clean my whole face with your tongue. don't waste anything. i want to be able to kiss you right after, and recognize the taste of my blood all over your mouth. you want to be sick ? make me feel sick too. ”

maybe you were too young to realize that some loves could be bad. but this relationship was toxic. you had both destroyed each other, and it was complicated when you saw this world, this universe only through your union. you felt like you had lost a lot, like you had lost everything, like you had failed. maybe, you were the failure, and rafe, the problem. but also, maybe, he was the failure and you, the problem.

and you hated not knowing what was going on in rafe's head, you hated that no one on this earth could figure it out, and that even rafe himself didn't know it. he was crazy, he was sick but that wasn't all, it couldn't be just that.

you gave up the fight, going to the bathroom to take a bath. you needed some peace because the house didn't feel like a home anymore.

sometimes wheezie would call you to see if you were okay, she had grown up, and you lied to her all the time. because it hurt so much to be two in a relationship, but not feel like you were a part of it anymore. and the worst part of it all was that you could kill yourself for just one minute of affection, just one second of happiness, just one moment in the past when everything was okay. where rafe was still the sweet little boy you knew. but the stories were not meant to have a happy ending.

it was hard this feeling, this lack when he still lived with you in this terrible house. but one day you'll be the reason he won't come home again. but you would always call home. you promised yourself. because it would always be yours.

rafe had joined you in the bathtub. and you could tell by his red and empty eyes, his blank stare that he had been crying. he cried and he was not the drugs, he was you, only you.

and you didn't mention it. you didn't say anything. you preferred to stay smart and not start another fight.

“the walls could break down with so much screams. ” you said, laughing slightly.

“maybe we should sell the house. ”

“i like this house. i feel at home here. i have nowhere to go. ” you lied for the two first, but not for the last.

and it was true. you had built everything, paved everything here. you had remade a world. you couldn't leave, you couldn't leave anything. and above all, you were too tired to leave.

it would be a lie to say that you didn't had sex in the bathtub, that you didn't feel his tears on your shoulder, that you didn't feel his thrusts get harder each time a sob broke out his empty eyes, that you didn't feel how much he was breaking every time you took pleasure. because, it was hard for him to seeing you being happy. because it was so hard to take care of you. because it was so hard to feel loved and being loved. you were both too young, too stupid, too sick for love.

and rafe wanted to make you happy without sex, without all this selfish sex. no, he wanted to make you happy by some casual things. but sometimes, you pissed him off so bad to the point, he wanted to leave. but how can a man who hoped to be loved can leave the woman who promised to cherish him ? it was too tired, too angry, and too unsteady to leave. you broke him too. and it was sad for him, because you were the only one he was not scared to tell it hurts.

but at six in the morning you were fighting again as if it were a ritual, a need, a desire to destroy each other, as if sometimes love needed to be violent and destructive to work. actually, for freaks like you, surely.

“why did you throw my fucking drugs down the toilet?! ”

“because you don’t need that!” ”

“you don’t know what i need, you barely know what i want! you had no fucking right to do that. ”

“ don't be a crybaby ! ”

“ repeat. i dare you to repeat. ”

“crybaby! you're a fucking crybaby, rafe! your new personality changes nothing about the boy you were and will always be! what, you don't like the truth ? bad for you, i'm about to tell you what everyone doesn't want to tell you. because i'm not scared at all of you ! you're a fucking crybaby ! ”

“ but you're still here, you're still fucking here. because you know what ? i'm maybe a crybaby, but i'm a river worth wading. and this is why, you're standing in front of me with all this confidence. you wanted a broken man, you wanted someone to fix ? then come on baby, i'm here, i'm watching you, i'm listening, i'm literally at your feets, fix me ! fix the little boy you wanted, make him better. ”

“ rafe…”

“no, i'm asking you now who do you think you are? do you think that because you have this attitude, it doesn't make you a little girl who needs her daddy? because damn, yes, you need him. but i fear daddy was the only one who didn't need you because guess what ? he left. and you make all the men leave around you ! but the difference between us is that you care. when i fucking dont care.”

“ you're sick, a sick asshole. and don't touch me ! ” you pushed him away, but he came back, his hand on your throat. “ but you're the sick one who loves me, remember that ?” he answered.

“ but do you think i still love you ? ” you said with a smirk, taking pleasure to see his widen eyes. “ i'm asking you right now, do you think i still love you, and if one day, someone will like you like i do ? it would be so hard for you to find happiness after me, i can promise you this. you will fight a lot. because ? can you see ? can you see i can breathe without you, i can live without you ? but you, can you do this ? yes, you can fight, you can scream and shout but what else ? ”

“ it doesn't hurt, y/n. it doesn't hurt. and you can't break me, as you can't fix me. ”

“ then why are you crying, big boy ? why are those tears for, if not for me ? ”

“ i built a home for you, i did everything for you. ”

“ and then what ? ”

“ don't make me regret it, y/n. don't make me regret the only good thing i've made well in my life, just don't make me regret...this. you don't understand. why did every house i'm in never felt like home ? ”

“ you destroy everything, rafe. but me too, i guess. the difference is that you have an excuse, a reason for being like that. your dad fucked up with you. and i hate him for that. if he had loved you correctly, you would have known and learned how to love people, how to be attached to them. but you don't know any of that, you don't know what it is to love, and to be loved. everything i do for you, you could call it love, even when i'm mean. but it's false, love is tender, it's beautiful. but you know, i think i'm sick because i also like the way you love me, this violence, this rage, this impulsiveness, it drives me crazy but it makes me alive. so, do you think you could do it again? ”

“ why you didn't leave, why you never leave ? ”

“ because it's our house. we're stuck in forever. this is our house in nebraska, our only heaven. now be a good boy and cry a little for me, i think i'm going away a little...” you said, taking him in your arms, your hand placed on his back, and your hand pressed to his cheek. “don’t worry, i cry a lot too. all the time, even when you make me happy. ” you shushed him, bursted in tears in the hug.

you kissed him on the corner of his lips, your mouth meeting his tears, before he joined you in this kiss, you felt his sad and salty tongue against yours, his hands came squeeze your waist.

but now in the present, you were alone. the house still existed but it was just you.

you weren't sleeping anymore, because you kept hoping that he would come home, you were hoping that he would come home late at night.

but you were alone in a dirty and cold mattress. and you prayed for him hoping he was okay. the phone was broken but you were hoping to hear it ring, the door was open and you were waiting for a sign.

nothing was right, everything was wrong. you just wanted to say to rafe that he had you, that he had a house, and his home missed him, like nobody ever does in his life.

you didn't realize that you had been lying all this time, and that you were silently dying. but at least you died, only his.

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frost-queen · 1 year ago

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The moment I knew // part 8 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine,

@panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cayt0123,

@powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @omgsuperstarg, @helen06dreamer, @misscaller06, @l4venderia, @dracoflaco, @loliakeoghan23, @emotionaldamageemotionaldamage, @reallysparklychaos, @ok-boke, @the-fifth-marauder7, @asgards-princess-of-mischief, @cherrysxuya, @lol6sposts, @cierrajhill, @heheyhey

Summary: During a ball sneaks Tewkesbury his presence more onto you. Almost desperate to be near you. Even so desperate he calls upon your house yet he isn't the only one. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3& part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 9 & part 10 ]

Candles were dazzling in the bright room. The walls warmed with the comfort of people. The ton bustled together in a room of delight. Chattering chippering up yet not too loud for the music to be overwhelmed. In a corner was the orchestra. The piano forte, violins, cello’s, enough to make the room dance. In the centre ladies and gents were waltzing. Graceful and delicately.

Each in their own world of slowly falling in love or hoping to be. Benedict appeared from between the crowd holding two lemonade glasses up so they wouldn’t get knocked over. He approached with a heavy exhale. Francesca and you turned more towards him. – “Your drinks sisters.” – he said lowering his hands to offer the glasses. Francesca and you took yours.

Benedict joined Colin’s side behind the two of you. Colin looked at Benedict half disappointed. – “What about me dear brother?” – he asked with pouted lips. – “Go fetch it yourself!” – Benedict replied with a sneer. Colin raised his eyebrows playfully at you when you had turned around to listen in to their conversation. – “I’ll fetch mine all by myself than.” – he exaggerated making Benedict roll his eyes.

The dancers came to a stop as the dance had ended. The room emptied as the orchestra began their next song. The first few notes shot up like a rush. Playful tunes that made you supress a squeal out of excitement. You hastily pushed your glass in Colin’s hands. Startled he nearly spilled some lemonade on his gloves.

“Y/n!” – he groaned out as you grabbed Benedict’s wrist. – “Come brother dance with me!” – you called out. Benedict got pulled with you swept amongst the crowd of joining the dance. Francesca came standing at Colin’s side. – “Now you have your drink.” – she said before taking a serious sip. You came to a stop as Benedict nearly stumbled. You positioned him before you and dove right into the dance that had already begun.

Benedict was a bit slower watching those beside him to what he needed to do. He held his hands up as you clapped your hand against his diagonally. You then clasped your hands together and spun around. Benedict started to catch on clapping his hands against yours at the same time making you laugh. You heard laughter from all around you as this dance was not so stiff.

A pleasant folklore dance with lot’s of spins, hops and fun. Tewkesbury’s eyes widened seeing you amidst them dance with your brother. He knew what kind of dance it was. Gulping nervously he very much wanted to join. Looking quickly around he grabbed the first girl’s wrist he saw near him and pulled her without a word into the dance. He forced his way to be beside you.

The couple that were already dancing near you got stopped in their movement, leaving them confused for a brief moment. They cleared the way as Tewkesbury dove right into the dance. He took the girl’s hands facing your back as he followed the dancers go in a circle forwards.

“What an honour my lord.” – the girl said breathlessly. – “Quiet!” – Tewkesbury said to her trying to focus on you. They came to a stop, changed hands and went back the other way. You furrowed your brows looking at the suspicious back of the person hopping before you. – “Is that?” – you muttered before Benedict pulled you to a halt. Clapping your hands against his again. Benedict let you spin under his arm. Benedict then walked over to you to come at your side.

Tewkesbury’s eyes widened as he hastened himself at your side. Taking your hand before the girl he was with could do so. Feeling the sudden warm grip on your hand made you look up. – “My …” – you wanted to address his presence but got pulled to the centre by your brother and Tewkesbury. Each holding your hands as you had formed a circle with the other dancers. Coming together in the middle to then part back to a full circle.

In a confused haze they pulled at you needing you to follow the direction they were going. The full circle going to the left. There was a brief pause before you were pulled in the other direction. There was another stop as you stood lost when Tewkesbury stood before your brother and you before the girl he danced with. – “What are you doing?” – Benedict shout-whispered, clapping his hands against Tewkesbury’s. – “May I dance with your sister?” – Tewkesbury asked before taking a spin as did Benedict.

You and the girl did the steps in silence and confused as to why you were suddenly dancing with each other. – “Please.” – Tewkesbury pleaded as Benedict sighed deep. Tewkesbury took it as an agreement turning his posture away from Benedict and giving the girl a gentle nudge to get her out of the way. You took each other’s hands hopping to the side and back.

You watched Benedict leave the dance returning to your siblings. – “You scared my brother away.” – you teased. – “I asked.” – Tewkesbury responded taking you by the waist. You did the same twirling around with him. – “This is more fun isn’t it?” – he said. – “I’ll decide that.” – you responded trying to supress a smile. Tewkesbury saw the mischief in your eyes knowing you weren’t serious.

He let you twirl under his arm before he pressed his hand on your back and pulled you to his chest. He was a bit too eager making you fall against his chest, needed to have pressed your hand to escape a hard bump. – “Where’s your partner?” – you asked glancing to the side. Tewkesbury pulled you back in by your chin, wanting you to look at him. – “Right here.” – he whispered making you look bashful away. – “Don’t be silly.” – you slapped him against his chest. Tewkesbury took a hold of you dancing around with you. Hastened and energetic that you were out of breath. The music slowed, fading out as the two of you were panting.

Tewkesbury bowed before you as you took a hold of your dress and curtsied. The two of you moved to the side allowing other dancers to join the next dance. – “May I see your hand?” – Tewkesbury asked. – “Wha--- why?” – you responded confused. Cheeks flushed from the heat. – “May I see it?” – he pressed on. You moved your hand up with a taunting smile. Your dance card dangled on the cord around your wrist. – “Perfect.” – He mumbled pulling at the cord. – “Hey!” – you called out as it snapped, dance card now in his hands. – “That’s mine!” – you called out wanting to grab for it. Yet he was faster pulling it back out of your reach. – “I’ll keep this.” – he showed you the card with a smirk.

“If you think you are being charming, you are wrong silly boy.” – you answered crossing your arms. Tewkesbury shrugged his shoulders. – “You can have it back when I’ve claimed all my dances.” – he replied finding it cute how angry you were trying to look. – “You see it has my name on it.” – he continued as you puffed loud. – “Where? I don’t see your name.” – you said tauntingly back looking closer at your dance card just for the dramatics. – “Right here.” – he began moving his gloved finger down your entire card. – “Tewkesbury.” – he spoke slowly as his finger went down.

“It’s in invisible ink.” – he added jokingly. You punched him in the armpit just to stop him from laughing at his own smoothness. – “Au!” – he called out, rubbing the pain area. You stuck your tongue out to him as Tewkesbury did the same just to play with you. He dangled your dance card happily up to tease you even more. – “Stealing girl’s dance cards are we now?” – you heard as Tewkesbury stiffened. He turned, dropping down into a bow at the presence of his grandmother. – “I…I was just…” – Tewkesbury began as his grandmother shushed him.

“Who are you girl?” – she asked narrowing her eyes at you. You dropped into a curtsy. – “Miss Y/n Bridgerton, My lady.” – you introduced yourself. She only hummed intrigued. – “I hope my grandson has his manners.” – she shot him a glare making him swallow nervously. You stepped up, coming a bit in between him and his grandmother. – “He has been more than polite, My lady. A dream as to say.” – you spoke to her. His grandmother hummed intriguingly again before taking her leave. Tewkesbury exhaled relieved once she had gone. The dance card was for your plucking as you took it from him. – “I’ll have this back now.” – you laughed out backing up.

Tewkesbury smiled widely following you trying to take it back from you. You kept backing up till you bumped against someone. It made you gasp, turning round quickly to apologize. – “Enola!” – you blurted out upon seeing it was her you had bumped into. She furrowed her brows. – “You know my name?” – she then looked beyond you putting on a smile to Tewkesbury. – “Viscount.” – she addressed as Tewkesbury smiled nervously back at her. Then the two dots connected. – “Ah you must be the girl.” - she spoke with a giggle at Tewkesbury.

“I can see why he likes you.” – she spoke as Tewkesbury was waving his arms across behind you. - “What was I not to say that?” – Enola said dumbfound just to tease him more. Tewkesbury slapped his palm against his face in agony. You looked back to Tewkesbury who nervously rubbed his hand to the back of his head. – “Y/n!” – you heard, drawing your attention away from him. Francesca appeared from between the crowd making her way over to you. She eyed Enola and Tewkesbury before coming to take you away from them.

You brushed past Tewkesbury letting your hand brush against his. His eyes slightly widened feeling the card being forced into his hand. He closed his hand keeping the dance card by him. Enola came at his side as they watched you leave. Tewkesbury opened his hand and held the dance card up. Letting it twirl in the air by it’s snapped cord. – “You are so in on her.” – Enola teased with a comforting pat on his shoulder. Tewkesbury looked from the dance card to where you had gone.

The next day you were in the Parlor with mama, Francesca, Hyacinth and Gregory. Your brothers had gone out. Just a boring midday. Mama was knitting. Francesca reading a book with less interest. Hyacinth and Gregory playing a game of cards. You sat near your sister, head laid back to stare bored at the ceiling. These calling hours could be so dreadfully boring someday. The time of the day where anyone without an invitation could announce themselves at the house.

Mama had let her calling card known with who would be at home. The door opened as it barely made any of you move. – “Is that how you all spend the day?” – your eyes widened at the voice of your sister. – “Daphne!” – Hyacinth shouted loud dropping her cards immediately. All of you jumped awake getting up to greet your sister. You were hugging her when the duke dropped in with Augie. Augie now at the age of three he held Simon’s hand.

“Ladies.” – Simon greeted. Hyacinth and Gregory rushed up to him to hug him. Simon let go of Augie’s hand and hugged them tightly back. Francesca picked Augie up to play with him. You hugged your sister tightly as you had missed her dearly. – “You must come more often.” – you told her. – “I know.” – Daphne responded giving you a tight squeeze.

Daphne took your hand and led you to the armchairs. – “Now you must tell me all.” – she spoke. – “There is not much to say.” – you told her. – “Now that is a lie.” – Francesca pitched in as Augie bounced on her knee. – “Is that so?” – Daphne asked intrigued. – “There’s this Viscount.” – Francesca went on. – “Viscount? What Viscount?” – Daphne wanted to know looking curiously and eagerly at you. – “It’s… it’s… not like that…” – you told her a bit unsure of what was happening between the two of you.

Would this simply grow into a friendship or was there room for more from both sides. To be honest Tewkesbury have been giving you mixed signals. All with the whole Enola thing going on. – “Then what is it like?” – Daphne wanted to know more. The door opened once more, this time the doorman entered. He cleared his throat before speaking. – “A visitor for Miss Y/n Bridgerton.” – he called out. – “Me?” – you said confused getting up. – “Well who is it?” – Daphne asked. The doorman cleared his throat again. – “He said Miss Y/n Bridgerton could guess.”

You already had a clue so you left the Parlor to head into the hallway. Your idea had been right. Tewkesbury stood by the door waiting for you. – “Miss Y/n.” – he spoke dropping into a bow. – “What are you doing here?” – you shout-whispered at him. Tewkesbury got startled a bit by the tone of your voice. – “I…I came for you.” – he said. – “My sister is inside.” – you told him a bit panicking. – “Francesca?” – he guessed. – “Daphne!” – you told him. – “I…I just wanted to see you.” – he responded as you kept looking frantically over your shoulder.

“I hope my grandmother had not scared you away.” – he asked when you gave him a gentle nudge back towards the door. You stopped furrowing your brows. – “I…you needn’t be frightened of her. She’s all bark but no bite.” – he told you taking a hold of your hand. – “I promise you.” – he continued as you got lost in his eyes.

Forgetting about your surroundings and only thinking of him. You were so deep into his eyes that you didn’t hear the door open. Till you heard a voice. – “You must be the Viscount?” – Daphne spoke. You jumped out of your skin, pushing Tewkesbury behind you.

“I am.” – Tewkesbury replied politely, moving a bit from behind you. – “And he is just leaving.” – you said pushing him back. – “Wha…no… no Miss Y/n.” – Tewkesbury whispered at you holding you by your wrist as you pushed him back. – “Come back another time.” – you whispered back to him. Desperate to get him away from Daphne yet he stood his ground, not moving quick enough. – “I still have your dance card.” – he whispered back making you look panicking over your shoulder.

Daphne watching the whole display. Tewkesbury holding you by the wrist trying to stay close as you tried to push him out of the house. She tilted her head with an intriguing hum. – “A cup of tea Viscount?” – Daphne called out. – “Yes!” – Tewkesbury called out letting go of you and stepping to the side. Daphne gestured to the Parlor. Tewkesbury went in as you followed behind. In the door opening plucked Daphne at your cheek with one of her glances. The one you feared the most. The one that stated that she knew more than you could see.

“The Viscount!” – Francesca pointed out teasingly. Simon turned his head looking the boy up and down. – “Isn’t it wonderful that he came to visit.” – Daphne said. Tewkesbury glanced over to you, catching your gaze. You held it still for a moment, for a longing moment where you stared into his eyes. Daphne looking between the two of you. – “Y/n tea!” – Francesca called out making you hum loud. You took your leave to set some tea.

Tewkesbury came to sit down in the armchair as Daphne had offered to him to sit. Both Simon and Gregory got up, coming to sit at each his side. Tewkesbury swallowed nervously at the stare Simon was giving him. Gregory smiled rather teasingly at him yet it uneased him a bit. – “You were at the opera.” – Gregory stated. – “I…I was…” – he replied. You returned to give him his tea. Taking a seat by your sisters across from him.

Tewkesbury drank his tea nervously hoping his hands weren’t shaking too much. – “Are you nervous boy?” – Simon asked. – “Simon!” – Daphne hissed at him for trying to intimidate him. Tewkesbury nearly spilled some tea. – “No…no your grace.” – Tewkesbury answered. You smiled sheepishly at Tewkesbury feeling a bit embarrassed by your own family.

“He’s very handsome.” – Hyacinth sitting on the ground in front of him. Staring dreamingly at him. Tewkesbury smiled. – “If you do not marry him then I want to marry him.” – Hyacinth said to you. – “Hyacinth!” – you shout-whispered at her to stop embarrassing you. Francesca snorted loud. – “Alright I believe calling hours are ending.” – you had jumped up, wanting to end the attention on you. – “Are you perhaps feeling shy sister?” – Francesca asked as you slapped a pillow at her head.

You gestured for the door as Tewkesbury followed. In the hallway you waited with him as the doorman opened the door. – “Have a good day my lord.” – you told him pushing him a bit to the door. Tewkesbury stood in the door opening turning back to you. – “Your family is lovely… please do not fear mine.” – he said almost desperately. As if he wanted you to know his rather cold grandmother could do you no harm.

You leaned against the door with your head, curling up a smile. – “I am not afraid.” – you answered. Tewkesbury took your hand and kissed the back of your hand. – “Till our next meeting.” – he told you taking his leave with a bow. – “For that I cannot wait.” – you spoke out of reach for his ears, watching him get in the carriage.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

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alittlebitofsainz · 10 months ago

Text

me (and you) and my guitar

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: just a little drabble; you’re shy about playing guitar around other people, but charles desperately wants to hear your hidden talent

masterlist

“I didn’t know that you play the guitar?”

your cheeks immediately flushed red, instinctively trying to hide the instrument behind your back, a task you didn’t really achieve considering the instrument in question was a guitar roughly half your height. you glanced away, not meeting charles’ eyes, feeling his curious gaze flitting between you and the fret of your guitar peeking out from behind your back.

“I don’t. well, not really.” came your reply, words bordered by a nervous chuckle. charles was unconvinced, raising an eyebrow, but your response was only half untrue. you didn’t play guitar, as far as most of the world was concerned; you didn’t play in front of other people, preferring to keep your favourite hobby to yourself. this was the first time someone had stumbled across you, hiding in a corner of the ferrari motorhome, trying to while away the minutes that were threatening to turn into an hour. the rain wasn’t letting up, and the race didn’t look like it would resume any time soon. charles didn’t seem to think so either, judging by the way his fireproofs were hanging round his hips, and by the way he was hanging around the back of the garage instead of discussing data with his engineers. there’s only so much you can talk about, he once told you when you’d asked him about it.

“you won’t keep playing?” he asked, the wounded expression on his face worming its way into your heart, even if you knew it was mostly playful, “not even for me?”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his fake pout, bottom lip sticking out and eyebrows curving upwards to give you those puppy dog eyes that he knew you couldn’t say no to. or, rather, he hoped you wouldn’t say no to. you had a tendency to be stubborn from time to time. and this? this was one of those times.

“sorry, charles.” you shook your head, even as he blinked imploringly at you. but his expression changed after a moment, an expression that always worried you. charles leclerc was coming up with a plan.

“if I play first for you, will you play for me after?”

it was tempting, you had to admit. there was a time, a few months ago now, that charles had been obsessed with learning guitar, could barely be pictured without one attached to his back. you’d always known he’d been musical, something you’d bonded over. but then he’d picked piano back up, and guitar seemed to have fallen by the wayside. charles had that personality where he liked to be good at things. so you’d dropped it, never asked him about it, despite your curiosity. so this offer? and combined with the pleading look in his eyes? well, how could you refuse?

his face lit up when you agreed, reaching for the guitar with an outstretched hand. he sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder, weighing up the instrument in his hands, fingers finding their way over the fret. okay, so the chord changes were a little clumsy, his fingers, clearly made for piano, fumbling a little over the barred notes. but there was an undeniable musicality to it, an underlying reminder that charles had a good ear and pure rhythm, no matter what he turned his hand to. you rewarded his piece with a quiet round of applause and a broad, genuine smile.

“you ought to practice more!” your tone was enthusiastic, but charles tilted his head with a confused expression, clearly expecting something a little more… complimentary. you quickly backtracked, shaking your head,

“no, I mean-“ you stumbled a little, becoming tongue tied in your attempt to reassure him you meant it positively, “I mean you’re a natural, charles, really. if you really worked at it, you could be incredible; as good as you are at piano.”

his expression changed, understanding, and he flashed you a rueful smile.

“if only I had the time.” he replied softly, his words carrying a hint of wistfulness. you hummed in reply, a soft sign escaping you.

“yeah, fair enough.” you agreed quietly.

but charles wasn’t going to forget your end of the bargain in a hurry.

“a deal’s a deal. your turn.” he handed the guitar over to your reluctant hands, an expectant grin spreading across his face. it was rare you saw him get this excited over anything that wasn’t a podium finish or a puppy; it almost felt like an honour.

“okay, fine.” you replied in a way that let him know that you really didn’t want to do this.

he sat there, enraptured, eyes alternating between following the way your fingers danced across the strings and being glued to your face, your expression concentrated yet relaxed at the same time. when you finally finished, he sat there for a moment, quiet, as if processing the last couple of minutes. you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, shifting the guitar off your lap and propping it up beside you.

“thank you.”

“yeah, like I said, I’m really not that good, and- wait, what did you say?”

you paused as his words overlapped yours, both speaking at the same time.

“I said thank you.” he repeated, quieter this time, as if almost embarrassed by the words. “I mean, for letting me listen to you play. you’re really good.”

you opened your mouth to disagree, but charles cut you off with a shake of his head.

“and don’t say you’re not.” he told you with a warning glance. you chuckled; he knew you too well. he paused for a moment, his gaze wandering across the garage to focus on the rain still falling on the tarmac outside. he had that look on his face again. his thinking look.

“could you teach me?”

he said suddenly, and not for the first time today, you had to ask him to repeat himself so you could make sure you’d heard him right.

“I mean, I don’t have time for formal lessons or anything like that, but moments like these…” he turned to face you, gesturing vaguely around the garage, “the little moments in between races. sometimes… well, let’s say it would be nice to think about something other than driving for just a few minutes.”

when he put it like that, how could you say no?

“I’m not exactly a qualified teacher.” you tried to protest, but it was a losing battle.

“you seem good enough to me.” came his reply, as if he’d lined it up, already anticipating your argument. “I don’t need to have a perfect technique. I just want to be able to play every now and again. like you.”

you ducked your head to try and hide the blush creeping up into your cheeks, feigning the need to tune a string on your guitar. the rain was starting to ease outside: the race would begin soon.

“okay. you’ve got a deal.”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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beanibon · 1 year ago

Note

Do you do g/t requests? If so, would you be willing to do something with a Giant! Knives and a Tiny!Reader? It could be sfw or nsfw. Much appreciated!

Of course! Fair warning I may not be the best with g/t, but something about a tall Knives coddling his tiny human makes me soft!

CW: nothing! Just pure tooth rotting fluff and wholesomeness, sorry Anon I really wanted to give Knives some loving from his tiny mate.

If anyone were to ask where you'd see yourself in the future, the first thing that came mind would be the opposite of this. Enjoying the sunset on the tallest building in Julai city, with an oversized, 10 foot tall, independent plant wrapped around you like a cat.

Still, nothing could change this, not even if world was offered in its stead. How could you ever possibly replace the rare affection of your odd relationship with the planets most deadly creature. You simply couldn't.

As your hand brushed through those soft tresses of platinum blonde hair, humming as the wind began to turn chilly, you couldn't contain the smile from appearing on your face.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" You asked softly, afraid to stir the partially snoozing Knives.

A huff sounded, ice cold eyes staring up into your own as they solely focused on the sky. "I suppose, though I find gazing at you much more preferable."

"Is that so?" You giggled.

"Is it wrong to compliment my mate?" He queried, often getting confused at your teases. Knives had never quite grasped the concept of human behaviours, characteristics and personality. Why would he when his soul intention was to free his sisters from humans? Yet he tried around you, finding it difficult at times when you playfully teased him.

Gently you grasped his face, a loving kiss placed between his brows. It was enough reassurance that you only teased, leaving the plant to untense and bury his face against you.

These times spent together were rare, as Knives spent more and more time travelling to reclaim what was his. Never did he take you with him, for fear of you getting hurt or worse. So you remained in the care of the Eye of Michael in his absence, that way you were always protected.

He stirred, shuffling into a sitting position where he gently scooped you into his lap, arms wrapped around your small frame. The warmth you provided was comforting, easing Knives into a light slumber.

"Are you tired, my angel?" You asked, gazing up as his eyes opened reluctantly.

Those cold eyes were only ever filled with warmth when gazing upon you, the moment you weren't in view that stare turned stone cold immediately.

"Yes, but if you wish to stay beneath the stars longer than I'll stay."

"Ever the gentleman," Your laughter was addictive, if only he was more skilled in bringing it out. Humor wasn't his strong suit. "But I can enjoy it inside just as much as out here, so please take me inside. That way you can rest, you've had a long journey and I'm sure others will allow their god to relax for a night."

Knives elected to ignore your mockery for tonight, ever since you happened to hear him refer to himself as a god he's been the butt of your jokes for months. Not that he truly minded, if it meant to hear your laughter.

"Hush, unless you wish for me to gain a headache." Knives attempted at a joke, which seemingly worked as he hoisted your tiny body with ease into his arms.

"You only get headaches when you leave me unsupervised in your piano room, I can't play those notes properly with how big everything needs to be for you."

"Well, maybe you should stick with the one I had specifically crafted for you. After all, that did take a bit of funding to put together." Knives shot back, a gentle smile present as you playfully slapped his chest.

"It's not as fun!"

A deep laugh rumbled from your beloved, face nuzzled into the curvature of your small body. How he enjoyed such light-hearted banter, if only Vash were here to join, then maybe he'd feel even more complete.

"If you behave and let me rest, perhaps I'll allow for your 'artistic key smashing'." A kiss was placed against your stomach, earning him several along his forehead in return.

"You have a deal."

#trigun stampede #trigun #beanibon asks #trigun x reader #millions knives #millions knives x reader #knives millions #knives x reader #million knives x reader #millions knives x you

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queendeeshorrorimagines · 1 year ago

Note

Hi for the Soulmate Au could I request Bo Sinclair for this prompt please - You can hear your soulmate's voice in your head only when they're singing

Here's your fic, I hope you enjoy dear anon

Song Bird

Bo Sinclair x reader

Gender neutral reader

Soulmate AU where you can hear your soulmate's voice in your head whenever they sing.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Bo being Bo I guess, mentions of his childhood trauma, I couldn't decide which retention of the song that I wanted to refer to in this so I picked both.

Bo remembered hearing growing up that soulmates came to each person in their own ways. He never really paid no attention to the stories to begin with, especially after asking about the ideal of soulmates to his mother when he was five years old, only giving Bo a harsh laugh before telling her son that he will never have a soulmate that will love him.

The combination of being a natural skeptic towards subjects like soulmates and how his parents constantly will tell Bo growing up that monsters like him don't deserve to have a soulmate caused Bo to avoid the subject altogether.

He never truly believed in the tales and stories from the people he grew up with until he heard his soulmate's voice when he was 17. The songs started with old church hymns that he remembered hearing throughout his childhood during Sunday church.

The voice he heard singing made the lyrics have a haunting atmosphere, as if the person he's hearing- his soulmate was hiding years of pain behind the melodic songs. It was too real for him hearing the singing of his soulmate fill his mind.

At first, Bo was rather annoyed with hearing the hymns as he's trying to listen to his small radio. Behind his initial annoyance was the fact that he had to deal with the fact that somewhere in this world, he has a soulmate and they could hear each other sing.

As the years went by, Bo could hear you sing more. From their various rock out to whatever rock mix tape they had, all the way to songs that he's never even heard of. Bo found those times where he hears the singing to be calming to him, giving him a sense of peace.

It was early one afternoon when Bo heard the voice sing. He was in the garage, piddling with a recent attraction's vehicle when he started hearing the singing. It was louder than usual, almost as if the source of the singing was haunting his brain. He tried to move on with his day, attempting to ignore the singing.

The phone from the garage started ringing, quietly startling Bo from his focus on the singing. He quickly wiped his hands with a grease rag before walking to the wall phone, picking it up. It was Lester informing him that there's a new arrival that just entered town. After hanging up, Bo decided to see if he could find the person and lure them.

The normally dead street made Bo more hyper aware of the singing he's hearing, he could hear the faint notes of a piano playing coming from the church. He quietly walked towards the entrance of the church. The singing became louder as he tried to resist the urge to sing the song with the voice.

Bo enters the church quietly, seeing the back of your body as you sat on the piano bench. Your black shirt and blue jeans was what Bo was mostly able to see as he made his way through the isle in the middle of the pews. His nerves filled his body as the temptation to sing with you grew louder and more intense.

He was right behind you just as you were going to finish the song. Bo gave into the intense temptation and sung the last few words with you. You quickly took your hands off the piano jumped just as you were about to finish the final word, causing you to look into Bo's eyes in a startled worry.

"I'm begging you please wake me up, In all my dreams I...."

#queendeeshorrorimagines #slasher imagines #bo sinclair imagines #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair imagine #gender neutral reader #soulmate au request #slashers imagines #dees sweet tea #anon ask

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chansbabygirlsstuff · 8 months ago

Text

Just a Bet Chapter 15

You get home after a silent car ride, Trying to figure out where his stressed attitude came from

"Thanks for taking me," you say trying to break the silence

"Sure," he says as you take the things out of the bag and he helps you organize the food in the pantry and kitchen

"Just to put it out there, you cant bring boys over here" he looks serious

"Of course, you think I'm a whore to do that in your house?" you say chuckling trying to put the ambiance a bit chiller and fun

but he stays silent "Oh? You do?" you say offended "No that's not it, I'm just being serious about this topic" he still cold towards this topic

"I understand" I nod and continue helping to sort the food out

after finishing everything he starts by saying "Thank you for the groceries today"

"Of course, thank you actually" You smile putting your hands together and nibbling your fingers as you get nervous about someone flattering you even though is a small thing

"do you have something to do?" he asks you

"not really just relax before work, why?" you ask anxious to hear what he is going to say

"Maybe we can eat ice cream and watch a movie?" he asks you as you nod in excitement getting the strawberry ice cream you rush getting 2 spoons and 2 cups to serve what is left of the ice cream

While you were getting everything ready Chans got to the sofa and turned the TV on putting on one of his favorite animes

you sit next to him handing him his ice cream, you get comfortable as you try to pay attention to what is playing on the TV.

"so what about you?" he asks you as you look confused at him

"What about me?" you ask, "I just want to know you more," he says as you freak out inside

"Like?" you shift your body in his direction to keep the conversation going

"Like hobbies, food, music, or whatever you think is interesting about you" he rests his head on the couch's support

The way he man spreads, his eyes roaming towards you, casually looking at your body from time to time and his head leaned back just licking the spoon that he used for his ice cream

As you take your eyes off his mouth to his eyes, when you look at him he smirks

Danm... you were caught

"umm... I like to paint in my free time... I usually read every chance I get and-"

"oh yeah those little books you didn't finish to tell me about"he cuts you off with a smirk on his face getting ready

"is not what you think" You roll your eyes and shift yourself over to the TV getting annoyed at his teasing

"mhm, I'm not really sure" his smirks get wider as he shifts more toward you as you pretend not to know he is looking at you avoiding the topic

"you know this is a safe zone" he chuckles "I don't judge" he shrugs trying to hide his smile of how cringe he sounded

"Pfffftt" You blurt as he joins in your laughter, you notice his little squeaks in his giggles

"and what about it?" You exaggerate your hand movements while he keeps laughing at the situation "And what about it? " he copies you as you both continue laughing

"no, but for real I just don't get the hype" he comments

"well it means you've never been a bad bitch before" You pull a sassy face towards him, and he grabs his stomach laughing

"ok, now I understand why Seugmin is so sassy" he rolls his eyes looking back at you

"take notes babe" You flip your hair and chuckle at your funny attitude

"not shy anymore are we?" he remarks on your sudden outburst from shy to your normal fun space, you smile feeling embarrassed

"how about we ask each other questions?" you propose as you are not sure what to talk about yourself

"ok then, I go first," he says "Do you play any instrument?" you take a bite out of your ice cream and nod

He looks surprised "Really? Which one?"

"I play the piano do you?"

"yeah I play the drums and guitar"

"that's so cool" You nod your head acknowledging his talent

"Is it true that you and Hyunjin dated before?" he asks you

"Woah, wasn't my turn to ask?"

"no, you asked me if I play an instrument as well so it's my turn" You roll your eyes

"no, we never dated we are only friends, who tf said that?" you get intrigued by his sudden questions

"Nah, we just saw you guys talk sometimes and get comfy, so that's what we thought but we can never trust hyunjin"

"mhm, now I don't know what to ask" you kept thinking to yourself what fun questions you could ask

"I heard you talk shit about me with the girls the other day," he says out of the blue

"me?" you put your hand to your chest as you feel offended

"yeah, you were eating the gossip about me and my ex-girlfriend in stats class"

"Hey! I was listening not talking, those are different things you know" You try to defend yourself but the guilt on your face gives it away, you try to be sarcastic as you get caught

"They didn't even tell you the right info, Danm if you finna gossip look for the right info"

"Now I'm curious, is it true you guys try to get back?"

"Ha!, now look at you all over my business" he laughs as you get embarrassed at your teacup problem just waiting for it to be filled with tea

"No, it didn't happen like that, I mean she tried to but it was just toxic" he leans his head back down

"or maybe you're the toxic one" you mumble

"what the fuck does that mean?"

"I mean... I heard what people say about you yk" he looks at you waiting for the details

"Well they say you're a player so maybe she was just yk... protective"

"yeah but I'm not like that in an official relationship, she was even checking my phone and shit like there was no trust from either of us"

"damn," you say trying to stop the conversation as you didn't want to talk about his ex-girlfriend

"what about you?" he looks at you

"what about me?" you take another bite of your ice cream getting nervous about this topic

"had you had a boyfriend? or any sorta problem about that?"

"no... I never really dated anyone before" You pretend to be busy with your ice cream to coat over your shyness, acting like it's a natural topic

"why though? you seem cute" he smiles as he looks at you but you get nervous and go back to your ice cream "Thank you" you mumble getting shy

"but seriously, aren't you interested in something like that?"

"I don't know, I've been busy and no one seems to be interested in me anyway" Danm that was embarrassing

"well maybe you never found the right person," he says and you only nod

"Well if you ever need help with stuff like that you can ask for my help"

"Why do you think I'm bad at dating?" you tease him faking being mad but then giggle

"No I mean, from what I see you're very shy and friendly, you need to flirt with a dude to start something yk"

"well maybe I'm not a whore like you" you smirk at your evil remark

"ouch" he puts his hand on his chest pretending to be hurt

"but also be aware some men are shit" he sits up and moves closer to you

"no shit," you say sarcastically

"for example, I do this"

he grabs your chin and pecks your lips, your eyes widen as he stares at you

"What are you doing? you're supposed to slap me, you can't just let any dude kiss you like that" Your mouth opens a little as you are shocked "Did you hear me?" you close your mouth still trying to comprehend what happened

He giggles "Look at you all red" he continues laughing but he suddenly stops "Wait, don't tell me the other day was your first kiss?" but you stay silent being shy about the kiss that just happened

"Oh wow it was" he pretends to be shocked like he knows already but tries to find a way to fluster you more

"No, it wasn't, I kissed someone before" You deny his accusation

"Then why are you so red, and shy?" you blush more and put your hand up your cheek

"Don't tell me you liked it?" he smirks a little as your eyes go in shock but the only thing that comes from your mouth is a little confused 'uh'

"Oh you did" he smirks "You can kiss me again if you want, I won't stop you" You can see his ego speak to you, but you don't move

"it's ok baby, I can do it for you " He grabs your chin and kisses you deeply as you follow his movements, you lean deeper to him as he grips your waist and his other hand goes behind your back

You put one hand on his neck and the other on his cheek, but he leans you on the couch for you to lie down while he still kisses your soft lips, your hands go around his neck and one onto his hair pulling lightly his hair as he sighs in pleasure, he gets between you thighs, grabbing you hip and rubbing from your thigh to your hip slowly, he separates his lips from yours and looks you in the eyes, your cheeks were hot you look at him waiting for his next move

Chans POV

As I'm kissing her I rub her hip and thigh trying to get her to relax, she is tense and her movements seem to be forced so I separate our lips and look at her, her actions tell me she wants more but her eyes seem nervous and unsure, so I'm not forcing her to do anything she doesn't want to, but she caresses my neck... a little makeup sesh won't hurt, right?

My lips kiss her neck as her breaths get louder, I feel her pulse beating fast, I should stop myself soon before I can't control myself, she hooks her leg on my hip but then retracts it, that's where I understood she wasn't ready, so I stop kissing her and smile to her

"not bad you see?"

her cheeks still red and she hides her face in her palms "Oh baby don't get shy, not after what you just did" I tease her not to make her feel bad as I know she is nervous. as I crawl back on top of her to take her hands off her face and caress her cheek. But we hear a ringing sound that starts vibrating on the couch

she reaches behind the back to grab her phone which was the one making the noise

"Hello?" she looks at me but looks away... cute

"Yes sir I will be there right away" She grabs her phone with both hands and hangs up. she puts her lips together and looks at me awkwardly

"My boss needs me there 2 hours earlier" She gets up wiping her sweaty hands on her clothes

"ok" I nod still having a small smile on my face "Go get ready I'll drop you off

she nods and fastly walks to her room to get dressed

I rub my eyes feeling stressed about not being able to have her tonight but I guess patience is the key to success, I chuckle as my classic move of 'don't let boys do this to you' worked

I sigh and get up as I see her make her way up to me

" you ready?" she nods

and we make our way towards the car

15 mins later

The car ride was silent and she kept picking at her lips, she was still shy about our kiss but I tried to put her at ease

"I hope you are not uncomfortable with me" I comment as she looks my way

"no, of course not, I just got nervous" She starts fidgeting with her shirt so I leave the topic alone so as not to make her embarrassed

"we're here," I say as I park

"call me if you need anything," I tell her and she thanks me for the ride

she gets out of the car and I drive, still feeling turned on, It's gonna be a hell of a time with my hand tonight

but that's not enough, so I made the decision

and drive to Marty's

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Tag list: @oddracha @Darthmaddie25 @Stayceebs97 @strayywayy @hyunnjiin

#bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #skz #skz smut #chan smut #skz angst #bang chan imagines #bang chan smut

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klmwrites · 7 months ago

Text

Where words fail, music speaks (part 2)

[part 1]

What if it had not been Task Force 141 that found you in the conservatorium, but Makarov?

Song that inspired this chapter (recommended to listen as you read):

You reached inside your vest once more and pulled out a tiny pencil. But just as you were about to draw the first note you heard the sound of something shifting in the audience.

Your head now whipped towards the darked audience, eyes scanning the rows of seats in anticipation of someone. But no one was there. Shaking your head, you once again leaned forward, eyes glued towards your journal when the sound of a slow applause came from behind you at the backstage area making you jump.

“With such skills, you are wasted on a battlefield.”

“Makarov.” You squeezed your eyes shut, partially in panic. This was exactly the situation you were worried about - that your music had inevitably acted as an unintended lure. And of all people who had taken the bait it just had to be Makarov.

You feel the man slide into the space next to you on the piano bench, chuckling with amusement. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have already done so when I was backstage behind you with a clear view of your head.” You feel a hand gripping onto the base of your skull for emphasis. “But the music was simply so beautiful; why shoot its source, hmm?”

You now plucked up your courage and turned to face Makarov. “I’ve finished playing now. Are you going to kill me?” the man next to you simply raised an eyebrow, and instead of answering your question takes one of your hands into his. He gives them a good look over.

“Just as I thought - Your hands are too smooth and slender. They are those of a musician, not of a soldier.” His thumb rubbed against the back of your hand in circles, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in the military anyway?”

You cast your eye downwards towards the piano pedals. “I wasn’t here by choice.”

“Oh?”

“Not everything in life goes the way we want it to, Makarov.” you bit out harshly as you took your hand out from his in favour of fisting it lamely by your side. From the corner of your eye, you saw the man narrow his eyes. “And you think I don’t know that feeling?”

“I never presumed so. I’m sure you have your own demons to handle.”

Makarov’s eyes now shifted uncomfortably from you to the scoresheet. “How does one read sheet music?”

“Huh?” The question caught you off guard.

“How does a bunch of irrelevant dots and squiggly lines on a sheet of paper become the music that is played beneath your fingertips? I never understood its appeal.”

You involuntarily chuckled. “Well, music is a type of language. And like any language, one needs practice to be proficient in it.”

Makarov hummed in assent before squinting at the notes in suspicion. If not for the fact he was a dangerous ultranationalist that could kill you off in an instant, you might have just burst out laughing there and then based solely on his facial expression.

“Show me.”

And so, with much uncertainty, you began what eventually became an unwitting mini-lecture into the basics of music theory: understanding the name of each note and their respective numerical value; basic note reading and basic italian musical phrases. You even went as far as introducing some of the musical ornaments present in your compositions.

“...And this is an acciaccatura: it's one of 2 grace notes utilised in music. The smaller note on the top is to be played quickly and hence gives the impression of being ‘fleeting’ in nature. People sometimes do tend to get it confused with appoggiatura -”

Throughout the entire time you were talking, you noticed that Makarov’s eyes had never once left your face. While his gaze was occasionally redirected towards the notes in your notebook at your discretion, other than that never once did his attention waver - not to look at the entrance behind you, or backstage: the two places where a sniper was most likely to shoot him given his current vulnerably open position and his status as an international threat. But that spell was broken as soon as the sound of boots could be heard clamouring in the direction of the concert hall’s dress circle. The semi-soft gaze that you had just gotten accustomed to seeing was now swiftly replaced by the familiar battle-hardened look; the look the world had now associated with the infamous KONNI leader.

“Not your men, I’m presuming.” Makarov nodded curtly in response to your question as he swiftly stood up and cocked his gun that had been sitting in the inner pocket of his suit.

“We will meet again soon.” And with those cryptic words the man slipped backstage like a phantom, leaving almost as quietly as he came.

“Y/N!” the distinctive gruff voice of none other than Captain Price now rang out across the auditorium and into your ears. You snapped out of your trance-like state and turned away from the direction in which you last saw Makarov. You looked upwards, where you could now see the silhouettes of three people - Price, Soap, and Ghost - all armed to the teeth as usual. From your position on stage they looked hilariously tiny, drawing out a tiny chuckle from you.

“You alright Lass?”

“I’m fine!” you yelled back, smiling as you waved a cheerful hand towards your comrades in arms. You decided to shelf your encounter Makarov towards the back of your mind, chalking it up to a lucky one-time encounter.

In the midst of your excitement however, you failed to notice the lingering shadow backstage who upon watching the smile upon your lips, pursed his own lips and made himself truly scarce, finally disappearing from the venue for good.

The next time you and Makarov met was of all places, in an airport. Task Force 141 had received a tip off that him and his merry band of ultranationalists was planning to launch a terrorist attack in Zakhaev International Airport, hence the reason why you found yourself currently in civilian clothing, all wired up standing in front of a huge departure board with your team, trying to guess Makarov’s next move.

“There are dozens of flights coming in and out of the airport, it will take forever to guess which are the ones he is going to target.” Gaz grit his teeth.

“Not to mention that the informer listed the airport itself a potential target of his as well.” You chimed in irritably.

“Laswell, how many terminals are there?” You hear Captain Price use his right hand to press against his ear discreetly.

“Five.”

“Just nice.” Price now turned to look at the rest of the team. “We split up - one person, one terminal. Comms on at all times; radio check every 30 minutes. Laswell, you have eyes in the sky?”

“Always. And I’ll be in your ears with updates if necessary.”

Your captain’s lips curved up in a semblance of a smile. “ Affirmative Watcher-1. Suggestions on how we should split?”

“Price, take terminal 1. Ghost, terminal 2; Gaz, terminal 3; Soap, terminal 4 and Pianist, terminal 5. We are in the blind as to how many of Makarov’s men would be on the ground so stay frosty.”

“Copy that.” Price now looked up, his eyes scanning the throngs of people around. “You all heard the lady. Let’s split.”

Your earpiece crackles to life once more. “One last thing: Y/N? You will be happy to know that there is a baby grand in terminal 5. Second floor.”

You rolled your eyes good naturedly; the four men snorting humorously at Laswell’s words.

In an unexpected turn of events, the day went by without a hitch. Throughout the time you spent either seated at a nearby coffee shop or just window shopping, you neither heard nor saw a single peep from either Makarov or his men. With how smoothly everything was going, you almost felt like an average joe with the exception that you had neither a passport or any luggage with you.

Just what game was the man playing? Or was the intel the informant gave inaccurate by any chance?

“Price to Task Force, how copy?” It was 6pm, and you were seated on one of the benches located just before the departure terminal watching as loving couples embraced and small children squealed in delight as they held their parents' hands and made their way to the passport inspection counter.

“Pianist to Price, what’s the situation?” You muttered into the tiny microphone just below your chin. The wire attached to you is designed to look like just an ordinary jack-in earpiece to a casual observer, but just below your clothes the earpiece was connected to the long range comms that was sitting at your hips alongside your other combat equipment that you prayed you would not need to use.

“It’s too quiet, I don’t like it.” Price growled. You concurred, as did the other members of your team.

“You reckon the intel is off?” You ventured the question to your Captain.

“Negative Pianist, it's accurate all right. Our systems just picked up 2 men coming into the airport right now - Makarov’s men." The update from Laswell made you sit up a tad straighter. “They are coming into Terminals 2 and 3 now.”

“On it.” Both Ghost and Gaz replied at the same time.

“The rest of you, stay frosty. Makarov would undoubtedly have more men coming, take them out as soon as I have ID'd them.”

You gave your surroundings a good look. Currently you were on the ground floor, which meant spotting these individuals would be a challenge as would be killing them discreetly. The best option would be sniping and to do that you needed to get to higher ground. You turned your head towards the upper floors and saw a glimpse of what looked to be the very baby grand Laswell had mentioned. Best part was that it was on the second floor, and its current position was a fantastic vantage point to keep an eye on the crowd flow from the main entrance of the terminal into the departure area.

You left your current location and took the lift to the second floor where you were greeted by the sight of the white baby grand. Your heart leaped with joy and of course you made a beeline towards it. A part of you was, however, paranoid and hence you checked the piano for any bombs or chemical weapons. You saw some passersby frown at your actions before moving on and you gladly ignored them - better be stared awkwardly at then seeing a pile of dead bodies.

Once you have given the piano a clean bill of health, you sat on the piano bench and wiggled your fingers in anticipation. Since the Conservatorium Truce, the last time you played the piano was back at base where you finally had the time and the conducive environment to compose 3 proper piano pieces. You were in the middle of your fourth when you were deployed to your current mission with the boys. But since when did being on a mission stopped your creative streak?

From inside your sling bag you fished out a A4 sheet music notebook - that A5 journal of yours had long been filled, and this notebook you currently had in your hands was a christmas gift from Price. “Never stop composing, Love. Promise me you will keep that humanity of yours inside you alive no matter the horrors you see out there, ya?” It was a promise you intend to keep.

You flipped past your completed pieces and now stared at your fourth - a half-baked composition which you had yet to give a title to. But before you could start playing, you needed to warm your fingers up. Lifting both your hands just above the keys in the proper starting position you now started off with playing a simple C major scale before going into the likes of arpeggios, chromatic and dominant scales of various major and minor keys alike. Once you have deemed your fingers sufficiently nimble, you started playing the notes you have written down -

“Excuse me?” the soft voice of an adolescent was now directed towards you. You turned around and saw that it was indeed a child that had come and approached you.

“Yes?” You smiled at the darling, all while keeping an eye on both your comms and the people below.

“Can I request a song?” Your flicked your eyes towards the couple standing not far, seeking permission. They nodded their heads.

“Of course darling. What would you like to hear?” Please for the love of god, let it not be baby shark.

“My music teacher in school mentioned someone called Bee-though-van. Do you know him?”

A small smile graced your lips. “Why yes! Do you know which piece specifically you want to hear?” the child frowned, clearly deep in thought at the weight of the question posed.

“It’s okay. How about I play one of my favourite movements by him? Would you like that?”

The child’s eyes sparkled and nodded their head with enthusiasm. Patting the left side of the bench you watched as the child climbed into the space excitedly and gave you their undivided attention. Positioning your hands above the keys once more, you started playing the very song you had mentioned - Presto Agitato, the 3rd movement of Moonlight Sonata.

Your fingers flew across the ivory keys in the same familiar fashion you had done back in the rundown Conservatorium those many months ago. As a pianist, this was nothing new to you but to the child, it was almost superhuman. Their mouth was agape as their eyes took in the speed and precision in which your fingertips danced and pressed each ivory key without once slowing; the way your head was always turned towards the lower floors of the complex, never once turning forwards to view your fingers. It was almost as if the piano was a part of you; an extension of your being.

Once you had pressed the final chord down, you could hear small pockets of applause from the people around you but most important to you at that moment was the childs. The way their eyes sparkled brought a smile to your face. Their parents now came forward to collect their child and after waving goodbye to the sweetheart, you settled back into the bench waiting for Laswell to contact you.

“I would also like to request a song, if that would be alright?”

You looked up towards the figure on your left and nearly sprung up in shock. But you forced yourself to keep your cool - in this moment, you were no one; just a nameless, faceless person at the airport. You were not a member of task force 141, just simply a civilian. “Of course! Do you have piece in mind?”

“I actually can’t remember the name, so I'll have to play the tune for you.” He then slid into the space the child had once occupied uninvited. The feeling of something hard and cold was now pressed against your left rib cage.

“We meet again…Pianist. What a fitting call-sign.”

You sighed, mostly at his dramatics. “What do you want, Makarov?”

“What else? To finish where we last left off. Act normally or else I will have everyone on this floor killed.”

You gulped. Normally, you would have been able to stomach such threats for breakfast but dressed as a civilian? You felt vulnerable. You didn’t have the equipment you needed to defend these people nor take down Makarov and you were doubted airport security were even aware that they had a terrorist amongst their midst already.

Shit! How did Laswell or myself miss him?!

Makarov chuckled good naturedly at your dilemma, but the words that came out from his mouth next were anything but. “Relax. Being tense will do you no good.”

“Alright Makarov, I’ll bite. You requested a song, and said you don’t know the name and needed to play the tune. Would you like to do just that?” the Ultranationalist shook his head. “That was a lie. Why don’t you play me whatever you already have on hand?” the man gestured towards your notebook.

“It’s incomplete.”

“I don’t care.”

You shrugged your shoulders and brought your fingers towards the ivory keys once more, playing out the unnamed composition as demanded. As you played on, a small frown made its way onto your features, something which you didn’t notice until Makarov pointed it out.

“Something isn’t right.”

The man next to you raised an eyebrow at your words.

“It doesn’t sound right. Like the rhythm is just as I had imagined it as are the dynamics, but the notes…!” You reached over to your right side towards your bag, but were stopped by the further pressing of Makarov’s gun into your side.

“For heaven’s sake Makarov, I need a pencil! What composer doesn’t have a pencil and eraser by their side? And with no pencil how else am I supposed to write my notes down? In blood?” For a while the man hesitated, but then nodded stiffly upon reaching the same conclusion as you.

You resumed your activity and opened your bag to retrieve the pencil and eraser in question, but unbeknownst to Makarov, that was also where you hid your emergency transponder. You quickly and discreetly flipped the switch - signalling to the Task Force and Laswell of your current predicament - before closing the bag and going back to an upright position. Makarov watched impatiently as you revealed the pencil and eraser in the palm of your hands before slowly placing them on the sheet music rack where your notebook was.

“...Have you considered playing the piece in A minor instead?”

It was as if your roles had been reversed since the conservatorium; for it was now your turn to look at your bench partner in confusion. The man next to you simply blinked back with indifference. “C major and A minor are enharmonically equivalent, are they not? Why not substitute one for the other?”

Well, colour me surprised. You absolutely had not expected Makarov to be able to read key signatures, let alone understand music theory. This was coming from a man who had openly declared no less than 6 months ago that he saw no appeal in music nor in its study. How very strange indeed.

“...It’s a lot more complicated than that, but why not.” You now scrutinised the notes on your manuscript and added the relevant sharps as you saw necessary, all while Makarov eyed your every move. You almost felt as if you were that candidate all over again, a nervous 17 year old sitting amongst a whole line of potential students waiting to be auditioned in hopes of being one of two students successful in winning that scholarship into the university.

Just as you were halfway through, You saw from the corner of your eye Makarov checking his watch rather impatiently. A few minutes later, when the clock struck 7pm, you felt the lead weapon leave your side in favour of your detainer’s holster.

“Do not leave this bench for the next 15 minutes. You would not want to see what happens next, trust me.” From inside his jacket he now removed a long white envelope and placed it next to the notebook you were working on. “Keep the contents of this envelope to yourself, hmm? It would be in your best interest to do so.” The man then got up and walked towards several other men - whom you presume are his - before blending into the now throngs of people who were preparing to board the evening flights. All the while you sat there, stunned.

As soon as he was out of sight, You did not hesitate to switch off your transponder and contact the boys and Laswell via comms.

“Pianist to 141 how copy?”

“Steaming Jesus lassie, good to hear ya voice! We saw your emergency transponder lit up, Price is onto your location now. What happened?”

“Makarov.”

An uncomfortable silence now permeated the comms. “And what did he do?” came the calm but firm voice of your Captain.

“He held me at gunpoint near the piano, and said that if I dared move away he would kill everyone on the second floor.”

“That explains why we hadn’t heard of a massacre at your end.” joked Gaz. “If you are talking to us, I’m presuming that you are not anywhere near him. Do you know where he went?”

“In the direction of the departure hall.”

“Fucker wants to hijack one of them flights!” you heard Ghost growl over the comms. “Laswell -”

“On it.” came the curt voice of none other than Watcher-1.

“Pianist, can you try and locate him?”

“I would, if I hadn’t just been threatened by the man on how leaving my place at the piano would signal his men to start a massacre.” You heard Price swear. “I’ll sweep for bombs and the like in your immediate vicinity when I come get you. Gaz, Soap - get to terminal 5 and into the departure hall as soon as you can!”

Whether Makarov had been lying or not you could not ascertain, but all you knew was that when Price came to get you and the both of you went sprinting down into the departure hall (after showing your special clearance of course) neither the sound of machine guns going off nor bombs followed you in your wake. By the time the both of you had met up with Ghost and Gaz they had both confirmed that Makarov and any other entourage he had with him had long disappeared.

“The next best thing we can do is wait for Laswell to communicate with airport control who will in turn instruct the pilot to ground the flight. Let’s just hope -”

The sound of an explosion not far off could now be heard, accompanied by mild shaking. Price’s hand was immediately pressing onto his comms. “Laswell what the fuck just happened!”

“An explosion, Price. Makarov had used a fake passport for boarding, so I had to use facial recognition to trace his steps. I only found out too late.” You watched as crowds of people now began to gather outside near the windows overseeing the runways, with some even pointing to the cloud of black and brown in the distance where the aeroplane had exploded.

This was a man with no feelings, no empathy. Just a cold, calculating automaton equivalent who viewed people as pawns and events as a zero-sum game. You now opened your bag and stared at the white envelope nestled between the pages of your compositions, all semblance of screaming fading into white noise.

If this was a man who notoriously viewed everything and everyone in binomial terms, then where do you sit with regards to that?

“This is the security feed from the airport. Passenger had a boarding pass for flight 761”

As soon as Makarov’s face popped up on screen, you squeezed your eyes shut in anger and embarrassment - anger at yourself, anger at the whole situation before you. All this could have been avoided if you had been more vigilant.

“We knew he had a fake passport. Inside job?”

“Most likely. Reason why none of the scanners rang despite you all being at the airport.” Nikolai’s gaze now went to you. He had been debriefed by Laswell earlier on the situation, and knew from your expression that you felt partially responsible for what had happened.

You now watched as Soap walked towards Price in a frustrated manner, pointing towards the man on the screen. “Had him right in our fuckin’ hands!”

The Captain nodded. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“What stopped you?”

You knew what Price and Soap were referring to - four years ago, Makarov and his KONNI group were responsible for another airport massacre. Soap, Ghost and Price were part of a strike team responsible for the apprehension of Makarov and his life-sentence in the gulag. Who knew that the man was so conniving?

You attempted to swerve the conversation away from Laswell’s lingering question at Price. “Makarov passed me something while I was in his custody.” All eyes were now on you as you took out the now slightly crumpled white envelope and threw it on the table.

“What's this supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. He told me to see its contents in private, but I’ll rather have you all as my witness than just God alone.” you shrugged your shoulders. “Simply put, whatever Makarov tells me to do, I’ll do exactly the opposite.”

A small smile formed on Laswell’s lips. “I’ll get a letter opener.”

With semi trembling hands, you slipped the tool underneath the well glued seal and sliced it open in the first try before dumping the contents onto the wooden table. In it were two items - a faced down polaroid, and what seemed to be a paper of some sorts written in Cyrillic. You grabbed the polaroid and flipped it. What you saw next made your face as white as a sheet.

“Lass?” Soap asked concerned as you stumbled backwards and shoved the photo into his hands. He frowned at the photo, indifferent to its contents before showing it to Price. It was a picture of your step father Anthony, sprawled on the floor of an alleyway with what was clearly a bullet wound to the side of his head. Below the picture, written in silver marker were the words: now you have no reason to be afraid - V.M.

“Who is this, Love?” Price asked gently, shaking the polaroid.

“M-my stepfather. Anthony.”

“How does Makarov know about him?”

“I don’t know.” your eyes widened in fear as you now looked towards Laswell. “My mother! If he knows about Anthony, then there is no doubt he knows about her as well.” Oh god, is she going to be next?

Laswell nodded understandingly. “I will have someone from ASIO check in on her.”

“I need to check on her myself as well - I won’t be able to sleep properly unless I know she is genuinely safe.” your pleading eyes now swept across the room for support. Most of the men were looking at you in sympathy, all except Nikolai for his attention and gaze was currently on the other object from the letter.

“This is an invite.”

“Invite to what?”

“Invited to…attend the 12th anniversary dinner in honour of Imran Zakhaev. It’s to be held in St Petersburg in a month’s time.” Nikolai looked up, clearly puzzled. “Why would he give you this?”

“I don’t know.” For the second time, those words came tumbling out of your mouth. Although you knew that to be the absolute truth, you couldn’t help but feel stupid every time you said so. It made you involuntarily feel like an invalid mentally; a deadweight to the Taskforce in their goals on bringing KONNI down and apprehending the members of their inner circle.

You felt the table shake below your fingertips as Soap banged his knuckles on it in frustration. “Makarov is clearly capitalising on the Lass’s fears here, using the potential threat to her family members to force her to withdraw from the field.” he now looked up towards you. “It’s what he wants.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded your head. You were stuck in an impasse; in a situation where one choice was not better over the other. “I know.” you finally answered back, after a long while.

“Even though you know that you might be playing right into his hands? What if he ambushes you when you return home?”

“But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” You now looked towards Price, with a determined look on your face.

Price exhaled in a manner that could be described as a mix of reluctance and concern. “Very well. But you must perform radio check-in every day while off-field, if not we will presume you are KIA.”

“Very good, Captain.”

#cod fanfic #cod #vladimir makarov #captain john price #reader is a pianist #reader insert #gaz cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap cod #cod modern warfare #kate laswell #i'm back with part 2 baby #did I mention that there will be a part 3? 👀#Youtube #Spotify

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viburnt · 1 year ago

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Mammon|| Burnt cookie

Type: Reading bites

Genre: Fluff with slight angst

Characters involved: Mammon (Obey Me!)

Prompt: "Cookies for my love"/Mammon feels left out

When Mammon came to you with a baking magazine in his hands, you thought for a split of second he was up to something sketchy again. After all, his antics always started that way: “Oi, human! Teach me this or that.” Then? Grounded for a month for scamming people around him.

You sighed, giving the mag a brief look: Butter cookies, heart shaped, with a red velvet cover.

Raising your eyebrow confused, the question raised.

—Why do you want to bake cookies?—

Mammon looked away, trying to avoid your wondering gaze as much as he could.

—Just help me, dammit! I'll treat you to Madam Devian's if you do.— The demon stammered with certain embarrassment. Seeing how worked up he was over the topic, you huffed but agreed.

—Fine, but if I have to go through one of Lucifer's scolding monologues again, I'm breaking those sunglasses of yours with my hands.— He heard you grunt.

After a quick run to the store for ingredients, you settled on the kitchen counter to teach your demon.

It was a smooth process, you had to admit, impressed by Mammon's foreign good behavior. He was taking notes, watching with care your every step and not trying to tamper the recipe.

Putting the dough to bake, you eyed the concentrated man by your side.

— Who are you? What did you do to my Mammon?— You teased. His hand scratched the back of his head, confused.

—Whatdaya mean? It's me! Have you ever met a demon as dashing as me? Cuz there are no impostors on my watch!— He pouted, earning a laugh from you.

—I mean, cookies, your best behavior, and you're telling me this is not for scam purposes? What's the ruse?— The avatar of greed heard you inquire. He just clicked his tongue and frowned.

—Oi, get off my dick! It's a secret.— He answered with a sly smirk. —Besides, if I tell you, you'll tell the others and I won't be hearing the end of it.

With a snort, you shook your head. Mammon had always been stubborn when it came to secrets.

—Fine, fine. I need to go pee anyway, keep an eye on the oven while I go.— You said, walking off.

Weeks later, the House of Lamentation was plagued by all sorts of cookies: burnt, uncooked, salty, hard, weird looking…

Mammon went through the whole process of trial and error for days, wanting to bake - at least- one decent treat.

—You've been going on for days, Mammon. Are you ok? Is this some sort of demon midlife crisis?— You joked as the white-haired man sat defeated on the kitchen floor. The look he gave you made you shut your mouth quickly. —Hey… what's wrong?

Mammon huffed, rubbing his eyes.

—I just wanted to do something nice for you, is that what ya wanted to hear?— He grunted in discouragement. —Lucifer always plays his piano for you, Asmo gets you fancy presents. Hell, even Belphie gifted you a knife! I just…—

Hearing him like that almost brought tears to your eyes. He had tried so hard to keep up with his siblings that he felt the need to give you a gift. You hugged the demon with no hesitation.

—Mammon, you dummy. I love you so much.— You muttered, cupping his cheeks. — No gift or token would change that, you're still my first…

The demon grew flustered with every word you said.

—But the cookies…— He whined. You took one of the burnt cookies from the tray and dug in: it was gross and bitter, but it tasted just like love should.

—The best I've ever tasted.

Like my content? Comment and follow! The feedback encourages me.

#Obey me!#Shall we date: Obey me #Mammon #Obey me! Mammon #Mammon x Reader #Spotify

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randomtacoscry · 10 months ago

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WIP Wednesday!

We're back! (sort of) This is the first thing I've written in a minute and is also the first smutty thing I've attempted so yeah... I am good with constructive criticisms and tips though if you have any <3 thanks! Specs: Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Jake "Hangman" Seresin Word Count: 2,636 Bradley's POV: Narrative/3rd Person Warnings: Sexual Content, Implied Drunk Sex Fic after break:

God he needs a drink.

Bradley strolls over to the bar, asking for a shot of whatever’s strong so he can begin to feel the lights blur a bit. He should probably loosen up if he’s going to try and pick up someone.

Bradley came late, which means all of his fellow pilots and their WSOs have been here for a few, already drinking and talking. Bradley doesn’t really care about that though considering he gets by on being cordial and playing a few hits on the piano every once in a blue moon. His only friend he cares about is Nat, who he is currently scanning the room for but is unable to find. His eyes flick over to that pilot- that golden boy, preppy-ass, southern belle, grade-A asshole pilot. And he looks good- of course. Bradley rolls his eyes to himself because the fucking guy could wear ribbed jeans and a ratted tee and still look like a goddamn model, but tonight, as per usual, the man’s wearing his service khakis, which are also known as the sluttiest uniform in the Navy. Of course Bradley isn’t the only one looking to get lucky tonight- it’s just now, Bradley is going to have to actively ignore the other man for reasons he isn’t quite willing to disclose to himself tonight. Bradley practically hates the guy, so a stupid, reluctant attraction to him isn’t exactly the best thing to have on top of work and his romantic life. God, he just needs to get laid already.

“You’re pathetic.” He hears the familiar voice of his friend as she saddles up beside him, leaning her arms on the bar. Bradley looks over to her confused- and well, slightly insulted- and she smirks to herself. “Why don’t you stop eyefucking Seresin and either make a move, or go pick up one of those all-american, worships-the-ground-you-walk-on girls?” Bradley would cover her mouth when she’s yelling about Bradley’s eyefucking (totally inaccurately, he tells himself) if he didn’t know she would break his wrist if he tried. So, instead, he just widens his eyes and leans closer to her.

“I’m not-” He huffs out a breath before lowering his voice to continue, “eyefucking him.” She looks at him knowingly as Bradley keeps talking. “I was looking for you.”

“Right, right. Of course.” Natasha’s voice is sarcastically stoic and Bradley can’t help but give her a ‘seriously?’ face back. She smiles before turning back to the bar. “That girl looks nice.” Bradley follows her eyes to a brunette ordering a drink at the bar. She’s smiling and laughing with the bartender and Bradley notices her friend walk up behind her. She does look nice.

“Okay, she does.” Bradley turns to Nat nodding and she nudges him with a smirk.

“Look’s like her friend’s playing wingwoman,” Bradley looks over to see the brunette’s friend nodding in his direction and she looks directly at him. “Go on.” Nat nudges him again and Bradley makes his way over to the bar.

“Hey.” He ducks his head before leaning on the bar and the girl turns her head to fully look at him.

“Hi,” She smiles before holding out her hand and Bradley can hear a hint of a southern accent, “I’m Dani.” He meets her shake before she continues, “Well, Danielle, but most people call me Dani.” Her sweet smile and genuine laugh is somewhat refreshing to the girls he normally meets at the bars. He also notes that her friend has slowly shifted away from their conversation, letting them talk.

“Bradley, nice to meet you.”

“So, what brings you here tonight Bradley?” Her southern accent is familiar, sort of reminds him of the way his mom would talk, but Bradley shifts his thoughts away from that point.

“Night off.” She tilts her head curious and Bradley knows his answer is going to change things already. “Navy, pilot.”

“You’re not in uniform…” She says it teasingly but the accent now reminds her of another pilot- one he definitely does not want to think of right now.

“Well, some of us like to wear our civvies on our days off.” She smiles before biting her bottom lip and Bradley can see the Navy-speak clearly had its intended effect. He isn’t looking for a relationship, just a hook-up so it’s good if she’s just seeing Bradley for the Navy brawn he is.

“So, you gonna buy me a drink? Or is chivalry dead already?” He laughs before calling for the bartender and she finishes off the beer in her hands.

A half hour later, the lights are a lot more hazy and “Dani” has gotten a lot more drunk than Bradley thought she would. Good news is, she’s a fun drunk. Bad news, she’s also incredibly loud and Bradley can’t say he’s loving it.

“Hey,” Bradley turns away from Dani at the bar to see Nat behind him, “hey!”

“Yeah?” Nat cups her hands around her mouth and leans up to Bradley’s ear.

“I’m heading out!” Bradley nods and she leans back up to him, “I’ll see you!” She steps back and Bradley waves her goodbye before watching her head over to Hangman, who is clearly making eyes at a girl at the bar, and Coyote. They exchange a couple of words before Nat wraps her arm around Javy’s shoulders and they make their way out of the bar- guess she got a ride.

“I like you!” Dani turns towards Bradley and places her arms on his shoulders pulling him closer.

“Do you?” He teases, smiling at her (god she’s really drunk).

“Bradshaw!” He hears a familiar voice echo through the bar and Bradley almost wants to run out. He looks over to the origin to find a smug Hangman staring right at him and can suddenly feel the alcohol starting to hit him with a heat wave. “Shots!” The man points a finger right at him and Bradley can feel the bar’s patrons turn to look at him. He turns away with a smirk before finding Jake right next to him.

“I don’t think so.” Bradley sees Hangman’s eyes lock with his and can practically feel them turn competitive.

“What? He smirks before continuing, “You scared?” A sharp smile paints his face as he challenges Bradley and he can’t help trying to play nonchalant- it’s how he was raised, and no hotshot pilot was going to make him doubt his drinking abilities.

“You wish.” Bradley can’t help but scoff at the other man because he’s so damn good at getting on his last nerves. Bradley almost wants to beat him at a drinking competition just to humble his egotistical ass.

“Just do it!” And before Bradley knows it, Dani’s shoving them chest-to-chest and telling him to win- and well, Bradley? He’s not one to back down from a challenge.

Bradley hears his alarm muffled first thing when he wakes up. He feels his sheets being warmer than usual and smells a lighter, woodier scent. Bradley leans over to his bedside table to shut off the alarm before realizing it’s not there. He follows the sound to the ground to see a pair of jeans wrinkled with-

“Shut it off!” Bradley jerks to hear a voice behind him leans over the bed to get hold of the phone. “Off!” Bradley can’t help rolling his eyes at whoever’s in the bed with him as he clicks the snooze.

Wait.

Someone is with him. Like, in his bed.

Bradley quickly leans up and turns to find a familiar blond looking at him confused and Bradley wants to punch himself for getting so drunk last night. A few hazy memories bubble up to the surface and Bradley can see flashes of a shitty bottle of vodka and Hangman panting with his head thrown back in pleasure.

Bradley quickly shifts his mind to the fact that he has the world’s worst hangover right now. “What the fuck happened?” He curses his voice for being so groggy and rubs his hand down his face to wake up.

“Um,” Hangman hesitates so Bradley immediately gets nervous for the next words that come out of his mouth, “Are you wearing any clothes?” Bradley notices that he is completely naked under the sheets and his mind jumps back to the image of Hangman; back arched, underneath Bradley, eyes fluttering- nope. Bradley’s not going to think about that, not at all. Not just because it goes against everything Bradley has told himself in regards to Hangman, but also because it’s somewhat disrespectful to remember someone in a position that they likely didn’t approve of or remember.

Bradley mutters a “Nope.” under his breath and the regrets of last night begin hitting him hard. At least it’s their day off but seriously, the hangover’s a major bitch already. Bradley notices Hangman shift in his periphery before turning to look over at him.

“Well, I’m gonna get dressed.” Any shock on the man’s face is long gone, like he’s already come to terms with everything, and he flips his legs off the bed before shoving the comforter back.

“C’mon man,” Bradley quickly shifts his gaze away from Hangman as he stands up to walk around the bed.

“What, like you’ve never seen me naked?” Bradley can’t bring himself to look at the man in front of him but hears him make his way out of the room, picking up his clothes around Bradley’s assignment.

Bradley takes a deep breath in and out before deciding to get up. Placing on a pair of gray sweats, Bradley walks out of the room to find Hangman sitting at the counter, plugging in his phone.

“Hey.” Bradley makes his way into the kitchen and Jake turns to look up at him.

“Hey.” The response is somehow sarcastic but frankly, Bradley’s too tired to roll his eyes at Hangman right now.

“Coffee?” Bradley turns to start the stove and places the kettle on the burner. He turns his back to the counter and sees Hangman making his way around the island and in front of Bradley.

“Sure.” Bradley nods in acknowledgement before turning to grab two mugs and placing them on the counter. He’s honestly just trying to figure out a way to bring up what happened last night without it being awkward between the two of them. Honestly, Bradley didn’t even know Jake swung that way so that was enough shock in itself (let alone hooking up with him in his own assignment).

Bradley turns back around to see Hangman leaning against the counter across from him, arms crossed, just watching him put instant coffee in their mugs. He matches the other pilot’s pose, placing his hands on the counter behind him, and takes a breath. “About,” Bradley sighs again and is beginning to wonder why this is so damn difficult to talk about, “last night.” Hangman immediately rolls his eyes and Bradley is now remembering why he hates having conversations with him.

“What about it?” The guy already sounds put out and Bradley’s said three words.

“I think we should talk about it.” Hangman rolls his eyes again (god that’s starting to get really annoying) and he looks back at Bradley.

“Why?”

“Well, I think it’s kind of important.” Bradley shouldn’t have to explain the concept of consequences to him but maybe since Hangman's never experienced them, he needed a refresher. He clearly forgot about the entire DADT thing that’s going on and the whole ‘we hate each other’ rivalry that’s been present for the past year.

“You know me Bradley,” He almost punches the asshole for saying his name, “actions are worth more than words.” What the fuck does that mean?

“What?” Honestly, Hangman was starting to get on his last nerves again.

“I said,” Hangman lightly pushes himself off the counter, “actions,” he takes a step in Bradley’s direction to be safe few inches away, “are better,” he leans towards Bradley and he can feel the light fabric of the man’s shirt graze his bare torso, “than words.” Bradley follows Hangman’s movements as he sinks himself to his knees and he can feel his throat dry out.

Bradley can’t seem to stop the deep breaths that are coming out of his mouth as Hangman lightly touches the skin above his waistband. He looks up at Bradley and they lock eyes- shit. Bradley knows he can read his open and shocked expression like a book. “Tell me no and I’ll stop.” Hangman lets a breathier voice come out and Bradley can feel himself getting hard with just the other pilot’s hands on his hips.

Hangman’s hands slowly slide down the elastic band of Bradley’s sweats and he fights the urge to place his hand on Hangman’s head so soon. He feels his dick spring free of his sweats and all the sudden, a stripe is licked up from the base to the tip. Bradley can’t help but look down and can see Hangman’s coy smile as he flicks his tongue lightly over the slit of Bradley’s cock. He slowly urges it deeper into his mouth, licking underneath as he moves back and forth. Bradley can feel the heat radiating through his body, bolts of pleasure shooting through him as Hangman applies pressure to the most sensitive spots.

God, he’s way too fucking good at this.

Hands press into Bradley’s thighs as his cock is pushed deeper into Hangman’s mouth and he can’t help but lean his head back to breathe. His hand naturally goes to the short, soft hair of the pilot and he lightly presses Hangman towards the base of his dick. To Bradley’s surprise, Hangman obliges, beginning to deepthroat Bradley’s cock and he quickly becomes aware of how close he is. Bradley’s never been one to make much noise but he can’t help the deep moans coming out of his mouth as Hangman picks up his speed.

“I’m gonna..” Bradley pants out the words while trying to keep his head on straight but the intense pleasure coursing through him is almost too much to bear. He uses his hand to pull the hair on Hangman’s head lightly, getting him to ease up, but he’s still dragging his tongue back and forth against Bradley’s cock. “I’m..” Bradley looks down at the man below him and can see the tears in the corners of his eyes. He looks up to make eye contact, and Bradley almost finishes right then. He nods and Bradley tries to say it again. “I’m gonna..” Hangman’s nods get more violent before he places his attention on Bradley’s dick again, bobbing back and forth before his right hand moves along the base quickly. Bradley can feel that it’s the final straw with cock starting to hurt and the heat coursing through his veins.

“Fuck..” Bradley moans before letting himself go, and he can feel Hangman’s mouth come off his cock. His tongue traces the residue on the tip of Bradley’s dick before he locks his eyes with Bradley’s again and swallows.

Hangman leans back on his heels, letting himself breathe for a second, before the cocky smirk paints his face again. He slowly stands up and Bradley leans down to pull up his sweats while reminding himself to shower the second the other man leaves. Hangman quickly turns around to run his hands under the faucet before drying them and Bradley’s just trying to catch his breath. Honestly, did that just happen?

Hangman turns back around and points at the kettle, “I think it’s done.” He smiles almost innocently and Bradley nods before filling the two mugs silently. This just made everything a whole lot more complicated between the two of them. Hangman takes his mug from Bradley with a smirk, lightly brushing their hands together and Bradley can feel himself getting hot again.

#top gun #top gun maverick #sereshaw #hangster #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #wip wednesday #wip #long reads #fic writing #fics #my fic #bradley x jake #rooster x hangman

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 1 year ago

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I love love love your Cheslock content and the tragic backstory you have for him - maybe a fluffy piece where reader can empathise with him and they comfort each other?? If this is too much then feel free to ignore!!!

I hope this is the kinda thing you meant!! aaaaaaaa my HEART-

Most of the time, CHESLOCK keeps his vulnerability close to his chest, even with you. At first, anyway.

He’s told you some things about his childhood, about the awful things his father put him through. And more than anything, he brushes it off. “It wasn’t that much, y’know?” “Ain’t like he did it all the time.” “Other people had it worse, it ain’t a big deal.”

He acts like it doesn’t affect him. But you know it does, even when he tries not to show it. So what if his father didn’t do a bunch of things? A single event is enough to traumatize a person, let alone a handful.

When you visit his home for the holidays, though, it becomes that much more evident how much that one thing haunts him.

It’s the way he sits hesitantly on the piano bench, the way he barely touches the keys, the way he’s careful not to play when his father is in the house. He never plays the same song twice, even when his father isn’t around. He also doesn’t dare to take his violin out of the carrying case despite the fact that he brought it to play a song for his sister.

You settle yourself down beside him while you’re alone in the house, while the rest of his family are out visiting one of his father’s friends. (He probably should have gone. You wonder if he’ll hear about it later; that his father’s youngest child came and his oldest ‘couldn’t be bothered’ or something, even though Cheslock’s an adult.)

“You should play my favorite one nonstop until everyone gets back,” you grin as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“… Y’know I can’t.” There’s a smile in his voice, as if he’s trying to keep things light. Trying to avoid talking about it. “Play y’ a medley, though, if y’ want.”

You reach over and hit a sour note on purpose with a soft laugh. “You can with me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He shakes his head. “I know, love, I know. It’s jus’… I…” A sigh, and he brings his hands down from the keys. “Every time I try to play anythin’ more than once round here, I… start thinkin’ ‘bout what happened back when I was young, so… I… I can’t.”

It hurts your heart, thinking that the man you love has been so hurt that he just can’t bring himself to play a song more than once while he’s at home. Even when the person who hurt him isn’t even around, his mind just won’t let him do it.

The details of the incident are fuzzy as he’s told them to you. Maybe even as his own mind remembers them? You can just envision your partner, ten or so years younger, sitting at the piano and excited by playing a song he loved. Only to be hit hard enough that it left a scar over his eye, by the gift his parents had given him, and by someone who may have done similar things before but never anything so… personal.

You can only imagine the pain. The way that you can feel those things, the emotions are the worst part of it. What could he have possibly done to deserve to be hurt so badly? He must have thought it was his fault, because his father surely told him it was. That he was irritating and to stop playing that same thing over and over.

More than anything, the feeling of something that he loved, that violin bow representing all his passion for music, being used to beat a ‘lesson’ into him ― it’s horrifying.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. You gently wrap your arm around his waist, nuzzling against him. You can feel how terrible that memory is, to the point that tears are gathering in your eyes. “It must have been really scary, wasn’t it? What he did really hurt you. I understand why you can’t… I just… wish he hadn’t done that to you.”

He frowns down at you, likely only because you’re crying. You don’t think anyone has ever felt hurt for him before. Maybe because he doesn’t tell a lot of people about this. It’s debatable whether he’s even mentioned it to his friends.

Almost immediately he has his arm around you as well, and gives you a kiss on the top of your head. “Darlin’… y’ don’t need to… I mean… it hurt, but it was a long time ago. I…” Here his voice breaks, if only briefly. “… I wish he didn’t, too. But there ain’t no changin’ it. It’s happened already. Why are y’ cryin’ over somethin’ y’ can’t change?”

After a moment, you glance up at him. You lift your hand and wipe away the tears starting to well up in his eyes. “Well, why are you?”

The piano is forgotten fairly quickly. It doesn’t take long before the two of you are in each other’s arms, tears shed over something you don’t think he’s ever allowed himself to cry over after it happened.

With any luck, that means he might finally be allowed some small measure of healing from it.

#abuse tw #trauma tw #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Cheslock #reader insert #romantic #hurt/comfort #fluff #domestic #UGHHHHHHHHH I'M CRY-#one hell of a queue

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renova-writes · 2 years ago

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the way you look tonight

a rainy day in new york inspired work

gatsby wells x reader

word count: 649 (short and sweet)

warnings: no warnings needed

a/n: I was watching a rainy day in new york for the first time tonight after rehearsal and I think this film changed my outlook on many things

masterlist

“Tabbie? Is that you? What’s wrong?” He entered the kitchen where you were cutting vegetables. He didn’t go over to give you a kiss like you were accustomed to, instead he kicked the trash can.

“I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s possible I guess.”

“What’s possible? Use your words.”

“That, that I left my wallet on the subway!”

“How- Why would you leave your wallet on the subway?”

“I don’t know! That’s not like me. I don’t forget things!”

“Well you did today Gatsby.”

“Gatsby. God woman, why do you insist on calling me Gatsby?”

“God, why do you call me ‘woman’! For christ's sake Gatsby you left your wallet on the subway. No big deal. Just call, cancel your cards, and get a new one. People lose wallets all the time.”

“Yes but not Gatsby Welles! I don't forget things.”

“For heaven's sake Tabbie, relax! Sit down, have a glass of wine. Let’s go out to Le Corbeau tonight, like we used to. We can sit in one of those leather couches in the back with the cigarette ashes and listen to the piano while we gaze into each other’s eyes. Doesn’t that sound nice.”

His eyebrows lowered down from his face and his cheeks began to glow. Here came the Gatsby humor you were well acquainted with. “But you're forgetting something darling: I don’t have my wallet.”

“You might be a successful businessman, but don’t you forget: I was successful too.”

“Oh, how could I forget? With a voice like that? Darling you were an angel. Listening to you sing was like seeing light for the first time. I fell in love before I even spoke a word to you.” He moved in to engulf you in his arms, pulling you in from behind.

“You tell me this every day.”

“And good for you to remember it. I don’t deserve you my love. I could live a thousand lives and never come close to your purity.”

“My love you need look only in the mirror.”

“You flatter me.”

“You flatter yourself.”

“I know you didn’t mean that my bird.”

“If I am a bird then your arms are my cage and yet I sit content within.”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t we take a walk in the park? The city is so beautiful in the rain.”

“So long as we can stop underneath the clock tower and dance to its song.” You pressed your lips gently onto his.

“Will you sing for me?”

You sat down at the piano in the great room. You stretched your fingers before letting them dance over the keys.

Someday, when I'm awfully low, When the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, And the way you look tonight

Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm, And your cheeks so soft, There is nothing for me but to love you, And the way you look tonight

With each word your tenderness grows, Tearin' my fear apart, And that laugh wrinkles your nose, Touches my foolish heart

Lovely, never, never change, Keep that breathless charm, Won't you please arrange it?, 'Cause I love you, A-just the way you look tonight

And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, It touches my foolish heart

Lovely, don't you ever change, Keep that breathless charm, Won't you please arrange it?, 'Cause I love you, A-just the way you look tonight

Mm-mm, mm-mm, Just the way you look tonight

Gatsby had joined you at the piano bench while you played. He said nothing during the course of your performance but at its close, he lifted your hand from its ending note and brought it to his lips. “Darling, oh my darling, it’s you who looks beautiful.”

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everythingelvispresley · 11 months ago

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Stories From Elvis’s Band

When he first hit in 1955, Elvis was like an H-bomb on shaky legs. In 18 months, he went from hillbilly singer to the biggest star in America, with a parade of No. 1 hits such as “Heartbreak Hotel,” “All Shook Up” and “Jailhouse Rock.” Along the way he upended our entire pop culture—from music to fashion to attitudes about race and sexuality.

His traveling companions on the road to the Hilton were a group of ace musicians, including Glen D. Hardin (piano), James Burton (guitar), Ronnie Tutt (drums) and Jerry Scheff (bass)

Preparing for Elvis’ new live show was an impressive undertaking. Luckily, Elvis and his new band clicked immediately. We rehearsed probably 200 songs, says Jerry Scheff. When we played them with him, it wasn’t like a rehearsal. It was more like we were just having fun, like jamming almost.

In rehearsals, and on stage, Elvis keyed off the guitar, says James Burton. We had great eye contact. He loved guitar. If I’d play a lick or something, he would just turn around and say, Yeah, baby! It was a great communication that all of us had. With so many songs at his disposal, Elvis rarely followed a set list. You never knew which way he was going to go on stage, Burton says. He could change at any moment. He’d say, James, give me an E. Then he’d go into whatever song he had in his mind.

He’d play stump the band, Hardin says. He’d try to find little ways to pull something on us. I don’t think he ever did because we were watching him so closely. We were playing the Forum in L.A. one time, and he was about as far away from me on stage as he could possibly be. He bent down to kiss a girl and I guess she whispered in his ear, Do Blue Christmas. As he raised back up, he went right into it. Now there’s only three eighth notes as pick-up notes. I’ll have a … and the whole band came in. It was things like that, non-stop. He was always very appreciative that we were right on top of him.

Says Tutt, As time went on, he would use more and more karate moves, to cut off songs and during songs, where there’d be musical interludes or solos. Because they’re almost quicker than the eye, those moves, I felt like there was only way for me to really understand them. And that was to study the same form of karate as he did. We’d have lessons and workouts up in his suite. It helped me a great deal to understand how he moved.

Elvis the comedian

The intensity was balanced out with practical joking. For all his iconic status as the king of rock ’n’ roll, Elvis often acted more like a jester on stage and off.

He was always coming up with something silly, says Hardin. Once he introduced me and said, You know, somebody told me the other day that the D in your middle name stands for Dolores. Is that true? I said, Why, hell no!He said, I think it is. I was told by somebody who ought to know. He just went on and left it at that.

He’d do imitations too. He did Engelbert Humperdinck and Tom Jones real good. He could do Billy Eckstine, Dean Martin a bit, even Moms Mabley. He would sing happy birthday to me a lot, Burton says, even if it wasn’t my birthday.”

Scheff says, One night, he brought one of those little battery operated laugh boxes on stage and said, Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Colonel Parker. As far as the humor is concerned, says Tutt, Elvis, as much as anybody I’ve ever known in my life, loved to laugh. He was a very emotional man when it came to that. He didn’t hesitate to laugh or cry. His whole life was built around trying to find humor in things.

What Might Have Been

All the musicians agree that the big fight that might’ve saved Elvis was a world tour. During the ’70s, he toured America, but never beyond the 50 states (his 1973 TV special Aloha from Hawaii was a vicarious substitute, beamed worldwide via satellite). The reason that Elvis never performed outside of the U.S. was that Colonel Parker, née Andreas Cornelius van Kuijk, was an illegal alien. To fly out of the country would risk not only being exposed but barred re-entry.

Elvis wanted so bad to go to Europe and to Japan, says Burton. He was looking forward to it, even in the year or so before he died. He felt that these people always came to him from around the world to see his shows, and he felt like it would be great for him to go over there and present his show to them in their country.

If Colonel Parker had let him follow his idea to become a more serious artist, things might’ve been different, adds Scheff. Elvis had a lot of pressure put on him by the Colonel and by fans to do the old stuff. I’ve worked with a lot of people, like Bob Dylan and Bob has always been able to change, like a chameleon. He didn’t care what the fans thought. He didn’t care what his manager thought. Elvis wasn’t able to say, Listen, screw you. I’m doing it my way. That more than anything else was one of the reasons he got so depressed.

In the end, when these players talk about their time with Elvis, it’s overwhelming how much they loved and respected him. I’m sure I expressed how much I enjoyed working with him, but he wasn’t one to sit around and let you pat him on the back, Hardin says. If you said, You’re the greatest, he would’ve probably said, Well, I’m doing pretty good for an old country boy.

I don’t think I ever told Elvis how much I admired him as a singer, says Scheff. Back then, everybody was being cool. I regret that now. I don’t even have an autograph, because I was being too cool. I think if I’d asked him for his autograph, it might’ve pleased him.

Burton concludes, Elvis didn’t know how great he was. He never came off like, I’m the king of rock ’n’ roll. As a matter of fact, there were many times on stage when people yelled out, Elvis, you’re the king! And Elvis would say, No, I’m not the king. God’s the king.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis aaron presley #50s elvis #60s elvis #70s elvis

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promiscuouspomegranate · 1 year ago

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Illicit Ivories

TWs: Stalking, Manipulation, Carnell is condescending, bullying (sort of), forced kissing, and angst (kinda).

(There is so much tension between you two, and you are CRUSHING!.!.! This is softer, but if there was a part two.. you’d see 💀 Enemies to lovers enjoyers come feast !! Yet again, another sleepy write pasted from notes.)

Each callus on my hand faintly whispered a story of my musical past, from begging my parents to buy me a violin in 4th grade to my first piano solo in middle school and restless evenings rigidly practicing sonatas for Macherów’s entrance exams. Every little chipped fingernail, bloody finger, and tear shed was all I could offer to such a grand university. Yet–although I am not entirely loyal to any god–I found divine intervention, and an accidental performance with a professor allowed me into the school of my wildest dreams.

The campus was nothing to write home about, but it was the prestige and education that set Macherów apart. Many of the contemporaries graduated from Macherów–except for a select few who decided to dabble in the University of the Muses would help them excel. Yet, I firmly believed that only the world's elite musicians came from Macherów. Those who failed to get in were better off playing piano for an elementary choir recital or tuning instruments in a music shop.

I gripped my sticker-covered violin case and headed toward an empty practice room. For, I believe I finally found my Melpomene to my Thalia. Carnell was an ostentatious, melodramatic, and horrendously talented musician I despised more than any mediocre musical performance. He relished competing with me in every aspect of music and boasted whenever he bested me.

The professors must have been severely intoxicated or praying for my unraveling–perhaps a bit of both–when they announced a graded concert. I remember hearing people gossip and whisper amongst themselves when I saw two names written in bold.

“Carnell and Y / N – An original duet composed by both.”

“Fucking Cosend must’ve been behind this,” I mumbled and pulled out ink-stained, crumpled sheets of paper, “He’s a madman, but fuck.. he knows how to arrange a good performance.”

I heard the door open and rolled my eyes as Carnell entered, his glasses at the tip of his nose, his long, black hair pulled back with a blue ribbon, and his pristine clothes tightly fitting his scrawny body.

“Wait.. fuck no. No! Y / N, he is not fucking attractive,” I thought and glared daggers at Carnell.

“I hope you intend on putting more effort into your appearances as well as your playing,” He advanced to the piano and smirked at me, “Have you tuned your instrument yet?”

“I’d worry about your piano playing; try not to hit the C sharp key so much this time,” I took my violin out of its case and began to warm up. I slightly blushed when I realized it was out of tune, “Don’t you dare fucking say anything.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take things seriously, as per usual,” He hummed to himself and took out the composition he worked on, “Now, you need to start with an E. Do you need assistance finding the right fingering?”

“I will fucking kill you with my bow,” I grumbled and positioned my fingers, “I hate you.”

“Oh, but I thought I was the miserable wretch? You are quite amusing, Y / N, full of contradictions and lacking in musical proficiency,” He laughed the way he usually did and smiled his stupid smile. His laugh always came from his stomach but sounded elegant despite its volume.

His smile was always mischievous at first as if he knew something you would never understand. Then, he showed his teeth, and his nose slightly crinkled. It softens his rigid, upper-class ego and looks. It made him look friendly and…

“You played the wrong note again,” He chimed, and I snapped back to reality.

“Whatever,” I muttered and resumed playing.

•

I took a spoonful of fruit as my friend knowingly smirked at me.

“You love Carnell; you’re so in love,” They loudly teased, “At the end of the duet, you should confess your passionate, animalistic desires to your lover!”

“S– Fuck off! Don’t talk so loud,” I blushed and covered their mouth, “Fuck you so much.

“Not as much as you want to fuck Carnell. I wonder what he’d say if I told him that in class today,” They grinned and gasped, “What if I told Carnell for you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I loudly whispered and glared at them, “Stop talking about Carnell, I don’t like him.”

They burst out into uncontrollable laughter, and I felt my face burning.

“Oh shit, he’s right there,” They froze and pointed behind me.

I jumped and turned around, seeing nobody there. My friend started laughing again, and I splashed my water at them.

“The way you jumped! You sprang out of your seat,” They fluttered their eyelashes and spoke in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, is that my dearest Carnell waiting for me? How I wish to kiss his chapped lips and play with his ugly hair!”

“His hair is not ugly,” I scoffed, “You should focus on Lila’s horrible outfit choices.”

“Lila dresses like a sexy librarian, okay? She wants me so bad,” They groaned and slammed their hand on the dining hall table, prompting some people to look at us.

“But.. does Carnell talk about me in class? Seriously, don’t tease me, or I’m telling Lila that you’re not interested,” I pleaded, “I will finish the rest of your theory work, please!”

“You are so desperate,” They smiled and leaned in, “But.. I might have heard that he got caught practicing a song with your name on it.”

“You’re fucking with me,” my jaw dropped, and I giggled, “No, you’re actually fucking with me.”

“It was so Carnell worded too,” They took a bite of their all-melon fruit salad, “To my dearest Y / N, or some corny shit like that. Anyway, let me know when you two make out during practice. I might’ve pressed my ear against the door once or twice, and oh my gosh… You wear your heart on your sleeve. Don’t worry, he does too. Normally, he’s an asshole to everyone.”

“I’m going to kiss him today,” I stood up and gathered my belongings, “I know I’ve said that a thousand times, but I’m going to do it.”

“Well, good luck with that,” My friend hugged me and dreamily sighed, “I wonder if Lila needs someone to massage her back after carrying your entire class.”

I rolled my eyes and hugged them back before going to the practice room. I was incredibly excited to work with Carnell; I felt my heart pounding as I reached the door.

“Carnell, do you like Y / N? C’mon, just tell us, dude,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say as I listened in on the conversation, “There’s a rumor going around you wrote a song about them.”

“Oh, you honestly believe I would dedicate one of my songs to someone so vulgar and disorganized? Please,” Carnell scoffed, and I could picture his eyebrows furrowing, “I would rather dedicate a song to bile than write a measure in her name. She’s a terrible musician; you haven’t had the displeasure of working alongside her. Her head is always in the clouds, which is probably why she’s so breathless and air-headed whenever we rehearse.”

I felt my heart sting as he continued.

“I look forward to the end of this concert so I can get back to focusing on real music,” Carnell sighed, “Her saccharine, sappy, and utterly abysmal compositions make me want to cut my fingers off and never play any instrument again.”

“Damn, that’s harsh,” The voice laughed, “You suck.”

I heard footsteps approaching and hid inside a different room. I waited until the person was gone and went into our practice room.

“You’re late, Y / N. Right when I assumed you were beginning to take our practices seriously,” He playfully teased.

“Sorry, I guess I’m too much of a fucking airhead to remember anything,” I felt my emotions get the better of me as I clenched my case, “Maybe if I weren’t so stupid, I’d do a better job composing.”

I could see Carnell was taken aback and dropped my case on the ground.

“You know, Carnell, I actually really fucking liked hanging out with you. I thought our dynamic was fun,” I felt hurtful tears trickle down my face, “You– Carnell, I can’t believe you’d say that shit about me. I.. I liked you in a stupid, high school crush way. I was going to buy you fucking fresh-cut roses for the concert and shove them into your hands.”

“Y / N, I–”

“No, fuck you. I don’t want this duet to happen. I’m going to Cosend and telling him I quit,” I stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind me.

I felt myself crying as people whispered and pointed. I pulled out my phone and called my friend.

“Pick up,” I muttered and shoved it into my bag when they didn’t answer, “Damn it, they’re probably too busy fucking harassing Lila.”

I stormed off to the school gardens and took a secret path my friend showed me. I sat under a massive oak tree, pulled out a sheet of music titled “To Carnell,” and began to tear it into pieces. I cried and felt an irrational hurt in my heart.

“Fucking prick,” I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and took a deep breath, “I’m never talking to him again.”

I heard frantic footsteps and poked my head up. I caught a glimpse of a navy blue vest and immediately knew it was Carnell. I gathered the torn-up paper and stumbled to my feet. He panted as he stood before me, gripping a bunch of papers.

“What do you fucking want,” I croaked and mentally cursed myself for sounding so pathetic.

“Y / N, please, listen to me,” He took a deep breath, and I noted that he seemed slightly manic, “There’s a confession I have yearned to tell you ever since freshman year.”

“That you despise me and think I’m stupid,” I mumbled and tried not to cry again, “I got the message.”

I looked at his face and felt shocked when I saw how wide his eyes were. I stepped back and felt like something was terribly wrong with him.

“Oh my word,” He laughed, not as he usually did, but breathlessly and erratically, “This feels so unreal. I can barely believe that you reciprocated my feelings. Obviously not to the intensity I have, but still, you love me.”

He shoved the papers in my hands, and I looked through them. They were dated back to freshman year and were all dedicated to me. The content varied from musical compositions, dramatic sonnets, and poetry to ink-stained confessions with details that sent shivers down my spine.

“You are my muse,” He took a step closer, “When I laid eyes on you for the first time, I thought that the heavens were deceiving me. How could someone so perfect be at this university? When I heard you play for the first time, I had to excuse myself from the classroom. I bit my lip so hard it started to bleed. The crimson red reminded me of your favorite pen–the one you still use despite it being taped.”

He grabbed my arm, and I saw an eerie smile creep over his paling face.

“Your conversation with your friend at lunch today, I overheard it,” He leaned in closer, “You confessed you wanted to kiss me. Well, let me confess something as well: ever since I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve thought of ravishing your body.”

“Carnell, please stop,” I mumbled and tried to pull away, “You’re freaking me out.”

He feverishly placed a kiss on my lips, and I felt my eyes widen. He quickly pulled away and whispered words of excitement.

“Hah! This– You are so much better than I ever dreamed of, my beloved,” He tightly embraced me, and I could hear him smelling my skin, “I-I need more of you. We need to finish our duet, dear.”

#yandere #yandere writing #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere male #dark romance #☆–Carnell

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