#and the way i LAUGHED when those first piano notes came on

[luluahxo]

love letters never sent

5k - lee heeseung x reader - 18+ smut

note: didn't proof read this at all, its kind of a selfish work, love u all always

His touch was fire to your skin, burning you alive in feverish bliss. Holding onto the softness of his bambi eyes before he’d leave again like you knew he would, you stared deeply into them as if to ingrain the sight into the back of your eyelids. That way you could close your eyes and admire it in his absence. Living like this was hell, but a hell so sweet you let it rot your teeth and numb your mind. 

Your back hit the wall as he pressed against you with a roughness that made you dizzy. In this spell you muttered his name like a mantra, a plea, a bargain, to just stay a little longer.

“Heeseung.”

His lips brushed against yours, fanning warm breath you inhaled. 

His smile was sweetness itself. He knew you existed wrapped around his pinky. 

He tortured your soul mercilessly.

A cruel lover. 

But Heeseung was yours since the day at the beach house. He was yours through the seasons. He was yours when he played those notes on the grand piano in the living room where the window gazed upon the beach waves. Love’s Sorrow, a piece you heard on the violin only once before, he played for you on the piano from pure memory. He had you trapped since then. 

Perhaps it was before then though. Maybe it was the day your eyes first laid upon each other. 

A week into traveling solo you saw him across the restaurant, both of you sitting on your own. Heeseung was waiting for someone though, you knew he was, he told you later that night. 

The dimness of the restaurant illuminated the light in his eyes, you couldn’t help but look at him throughout the entire evening. Occasionally he’d look up at you too but otherwise he would play with the silverware or gaze at the marina, his chin resting on his hand. 

On your fourth glass of wine and his almost fortieth minute waiting lonesomely, he approached you. 

“Did you get stood up too?”

You never met a stranger so bold,

nor beautiful.

The tie around his collar was pulled loose, his cheeks were rosy, tinted by the sun's heat but still present in the night, and his eyes glossy. 

Humbled you looked up at him, pushing the hair out of your face in an attempt to look more sober.

“No, I’m here on my own”, you laughed softly.

Heeseung’s eyes widened so prettily your mind skipped his words and remained trained on his expression while he invited himself to sit down in front of you. 

“You’re too pretty to be on your own?”

You laughed at his flattery, no hesitation to flutter your heart with cheap words. Were you always this weak for a handsome face?

His elbows were now resting on the table as he leaned in, showing you an intoxicating smile.

“But I should've known, no one would stand you up.”

You swirled your glass of wine, anything to occupy your hands and line of sight.

“Have a drink with me”, you countered. 

Oh, what a mistake. You were beyond tipsy by the end of the night and Heeseung, who only had one drink, was perfectly sober. You remember the fabric of your dress bunched up in his hands as he carried you along the marina, your legs far too gone to walk with. He said he had a beach house nearby he’d been staying in for the past couple days, he came here often when he wanted a getaway and he could take you back with him.

Your heart dropped slightly as you wondered if he only wanted to sleep with you, but his eyes looked down at you with an expression so clear and genuine that you decided to be a fool and believe. You wrapped your arms around his neck tighter and fell into the strangers embrace, 

“Take me back to your beach house.”

God was it a memory you’ll never forget. The beach house had more windows than anything where it faced the ocean. The view faced you that night as Heeseung played old records and you slumped against the couch. 

After a couple minutes he pulled you up by the hands and waist, asking you to dance. The floor was cold against your bare feet, the only warmth was when you’d mess up and step on Heeseung’s shoes. Spinning in circles to Francis Lai, it was slow, the kind of music that evokes a feeling of nostalgia. You swayed in his arms and thought, getting to know him more wouldn’t be so bad.

In the morning you were facedown in his bed.

Alone.

The cycle began like that. You spent the days at his beach house, given mirages tinted with love wistfully contained in his nature. And every night, you’d make love. 

You were never the kind of girl who could easily become intimate but his touch rendered you defenseless. It began with a kiss, one to your forehead, the next on your nose, and lastly your lips. It was pure softness when your lips were against one another before his tongue broke the seal, crossing the boundary between a kiss and the desire for more. What started slow and gentle became fervent and needy. His lips all over your collarbones, fingertips bruising your skin through the fabric of your dress with a firm hold, his scent reminiscent of sandalwood, it laid way to your ruin. The intensity in his touch wrinkled your dress to the point it may as well come off, only your stomach was spared any sense of modesty as he turned you over, ass in the air, knees pressed into the sheets of his bedroom. You couldn’t see when he took his pants off but you felt the weight of his cock on the bottom of your back, sliding over your entrance back and forth against the wetness that with each of his movements dripped down the inside of your thighs. It was the only night he ever fucked you without foreplay. The pain of him driving into you contorted into pleasure as he continued to thrust against the most pleasurable spots with ease. You had to rub against your own clit to climax as Heeseung came inside you twice, overfilling you with cum from his pent up libido. His sex was neglectful yet addicting. Your body collapsed into the sheets, his stamina was incomparable to yours. With his mouth he cleaned up the mess between your legs, aching with sensitivity you knew you’d never be as intimate with anyone else. Your cunt was spread with his tongue, lapping against your clit to inside you with an insatiable hunger. It was as if he could never be fully satisfied. A pretty moan vibrated through his throat as he drank you up. You felt your cunt clench despite being fucked out as his mouth built up the arousal in you all over again. Instead of going for another round Heeseung laid next to you, bringing your face that was nestled in the sheets towards him while brushing your hair out of your face and kissing your lips softly with a faint bite. You could taste the mix of your own arousal and his. His heavy lidded eyes bore into you with an expression you prayed could become love. Sex and love lived separately from one another but for you the line between them was blurred. Your heart was open, bleeding onto the sheets dangerously, all he had to do was embrace it just as he embraced your body.

You fell asleep looking into his round eyes, the ones that absolved you of all rationality.

During the daytime you’d watch him walk by the shoreline. His glasses sat low on the slope of his nose and the wind blew the baggy button up exposing his clavicle. From afar he was a peaceful sight. The rising sun made him glow like he was heaven sent. So unattainable but within your reach. 

When he’d come back to the house from his walks he’d play the piano, eat with you, read with you, lay with you, but the escape had to end at some point. Summer wasn’t endless, and Heeseung was the first to go. He said you could keep staying at the beach house until the day of your flight, he left you a spare key, his phone number, and a kiss. 

You didn’t understand what exactly was between you and Heeseung that summer, it was never clearly defined, he never told you he liked you let alone loved you. He never even asked you out on a date or proposed dating.

And when you got back to your apartment he never reached out.

Truth was, neither did you. You only stared at his number, the last few texts between the both of you simple. You spent your days like this, going to work and once home daydreaming, waiting for him. His hold on your mind was debilitating. When you’d walk down the sidewalks under your umbrella you imagined him next to you in the rain. Before picking up any call you pretended it’d be his name on the screen. You saw his face in strangers who walked and moved the same, you wondered if that meant he was unique from the others but soon you realized you sought him out in every person you saw. He was a ghost following you throughout the month. 

It was the middle of the night when he first reached out to you. Only the second time he rang your phone did you wake up and answer without even checking the contact.

“Hello?”

His voice was strained, distant and nostalgic like the music he’d play.

‘Heeseung?”

“Sorry I've been gone for so long, but I wanted to see you.” 

You sat up, too groggy to fully appreciate the sound of his voice that you couldn’t even imagine after how much time had passed between the two of you. 

“Where are you?”

His words were heavy like honey, “I’ll be wherever you are.”

Soon after he was at your door, head to the sky admiring the moonlight while he waited for you to open the door. 

Nobody knew. Nobody knew he was at your door, or about the beach house, nor how pathetically you fell into his arms. All the words you held back bundled up into a knot inside your throat and accumulated into one wish, his love.

In front of you were the eyes you cherished, now looking down at you. Fate sealed with a kiss, you let him into your space. 

"I've missed you”, he whispered into the crook of your neck. His face lifted to face you again, shadowed by the dimness of your apartment. His fingertips slipped between yours, lifting them to his mouth and kissing each knuckle tenderly. 

At his three simple words you felt yourself collapse from the inside. 

You traced his features with your free hand, the sharpness of his nose, faint flutter in his lashes, his adams apple, back up to cradle his jaw. Heeseung watched you in silence as you made him a personal spectacle. He was ephemeral, passing with the wind, you needed him lastingly. 

“How long will you stay?” 

He never answered, you just both sat on the floor by the fridge, cold knees on the hardwood. His own hands were cold as the tips of his fingers slipped beneath your thighs and snaked around your back to carry you like the day you first met. 

The bed was only a few paces away up the loft stairs where he placed you down, now above you. 

“Are you still mine?” He murmured. 

Your nod was meek but Heeseung still noticed.

“Then I’ll stay forever.”

With your arms around his neck you fell into a familiar place, the one between his body and suffocated by the overwhelming nature of his allure. His pretty words, pretty face, there's no escape. His lips are featherlight on your skin, he caresses you. Heeseung adored you throughout the night, the resonance of his heartbeat against your chest like a lullaby, but in the morning as always, he’s gone. 

His presence is wiped clean to the point you wonder if you're going insane, was it a dream while in reality he was never there? But he was, because flowers started to come to your door almost weekly, small bouquets of lilies, a notecard, H dot Lee. The flowers took up the space he left empty without explanation. You flipped the notecard hoping for a message but there was nothing. It was minimal but every bouquet at the door was a reminder that while you lost your mind and dignity over him he still thought of you. So you watered each week's lilies, placed them in the only vase you had and kept the spot in your heart open for him.

Every thought of yours about him was tinged with guilt, when you were out for brunch with your friends you found yourselves connecting the conversation to him. 

“I think it’s obvious you’re not his main girl, he keeps you on the side.”

“You’re telling me I’m the other woman?”

“Well yeah, no one treats a girl they take seriously like that.”

You sipped quietly on your drink while observing the conversation. 

Were you the other woman with Heeseung? Your stomach turned sick with speculation. 

“What do you think?”, your friend asked.

“You deserve better.” 

Three words easy to tell her but hard to give yourself. 

When you got home you twirled the beach house key between your fingers. Heeseung never asked for it back, you could’ve given it yourself but you didn’t. Maybe if he stopped by again you would. You watched the setting sun hit the metal through the window as it spun on the key ring back and forth.

Why couldn’t he just be a bit more loving. 

It was alright.

It was ok.

You put the key in your bedside drawer and let your head rest as you melted into memories of happier days. Heeseung left you one text a day ago, “When can I see you again?”

It felt foolish to answer, you wanted to see him again and he could see you anytime but you knew better. 

If he really cared anyway he’d try harder to contact you. 

The next morning you got ready for work in the lab, walking slowly down the sidewalks towards the bus station. The wind was crisp, beating at your back as October settled in. The summer was just a memory now. 

The faintly sterile smell of the lab filled your nostrils as you arrived and you fell into the rhythm of centrifuging samples, pipetting, running gels, again, and again. By the end of the shift you were exhausted from the repetitiveness and said your goodbyes to your colleagues. Before you could go, Sunghoon, one of your seniors, reached out to you. 

“Since it’s Friday everyones going out for drinks, do you wanna come?”

You usually never said yes to their offers but tonight you might as well need it. 

All their talk at the bar went over your head, you were a lightweight, gone after just two and a half drinks. 

Sunghoon sipped on his beer and turned to you, his thick brows furrowed into an expression of intrigue.

“Are you already drunk?”

You nodded very, very slowly. It felt like your head was ten pounds heavier. His laugh was toothy, sharp canines peaking through.

“Wow, I knew you were a lightweight but the night just started.”

You laughed along at nothing, perhaps yourself. The more drinks were passed around, people talked, and you remained sat as the air became stuffy. Only more people filed in, overcrowding the place.

You tapped Sunghoon who was talking about how his PCR kept failing. He was obviously killing the mood by still bringing up the lab work he couldn’t get off his mind. He turned to look down at you with a questioning look.

“Come with me to get some air.”

Sunghoon obliged, getting up and placing his hand on your back to move you through the bustling atmosphere. The moment you reached outside the air was refreshing, cold soothing your mind. 

He leaned back against the brick and lifted his chin to the sky, looking at the almost full moon.

You looked at his side profile, the way he gazed up reminded you of Heeseung despite them not looking alike. 

You’ve known Sunghoon for a while now though. When you first landed the job after graduation he was already there, always immersed in his work barely uttering a whisper in the lab but going on tangents constantly about work outside. It seemed to be his livelihood meanwhile you were hoping to eventually go back to school. The contrast between the two of you was stark but you still got along well, at team events you stayed close and in a simple way understood one another. Sunghoon bordered on friend and colleague. So much so that he noticed when something was off about you.

“You seem different lately.”

You hummed, “Really, how?”

“Ever since you came back from vacation you just seem more and more out of it when I see you.”

“Ah, am I that much of an open book.”

Sunghoon looked back down at you.

“What’s going on?”

You tilted your head towards your shoulder, scratching slightly against the ridges in the brick.

To explain yourself would be to reveal the humiliating secrets that gnawed at you lately in ways they shouldn’t. Sunghoon wouldn’t understand anyway, he didn’t understand the complexity of the emotional value things had. He viewed everything objectively. 

So you shrugged your shoulders and spoke sobered words, “I guess I’m just tired lately.”

“After vacation?”

“Hey, it's been two months.”

“Ok, ok. As long as you’re okay.”

“I wish I could be like you.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened at your sudden confession.

“What?”

“You know, grounded, level headed, not easily swayed.”

Sunghoon scoffed with realization, “Ha, so something is wrong? You wouldn’t say all that for no reason.”

“Yeah, you’re a pretty shitty guy”, you laughed.

“Shut up.”

You smacked his back playfully, almost stumbling on the pavement, Sunghoon caught you by the waist before you could embarrass yourself. 

“I forgot you’re actually drunk, I’ll take you home.”

You swung your arms up feeling the cool breeze on your skin, you were done with this outing.

“Let's go.”

Sunghoon waved down a taxi and in the backseat you stared out to the lit up city, lively in the dead of night. You looked over to see Sunghoon doing the same as were, gazing off into the blurred scenery. In silence you leaned over, letting your head rest on his shoulder. Sunghoon let out a small hum in question as you stayed in place.

“Just tell me it’ll be okay,” you whispered faintly “That it's all going to pass.”

His response was slow but genuine.

“It all does”, Sunghoon answered. 

When the cab arrived at your apartment, Sunghoon bid you farewell, you stumbled between grass and pavement until you came to your door. 

There was a man, head in arms, sitting by the entrance, with an oh so familiar face, oh so haunting, heart wrenching really. You knelt down to face him, his big eyes locking with yours.

“Heeseung?”

He took a deep breath, looking you up and down before speaking.

“Who was that man?”

“A colleague, my friend. How long have you been here for?”

“I called you, you know. Even texted but you never answered.”

“You don’t even live around here, why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

It was simple like that for him. He didn’t hesitate when he wanted something like you did. So he was at your door, waiting to get what he wanted. You let him in, and he looked just as beautiful as he did that summer night. The rosiness of his cheeks were gone but his clear features all blended into one stunning mosaic. Your face was hot and tears welled up through your throat, you weren’t sober enough to hold your heart back.  

“Do you see other women?”

Heeseung leaned back on the kitchen counter, confusion washing over his expression. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You only come around when you want.”

His words fell flat.

“I’m busy.”

“But you never say that! You never say anything.”

Heeseung looked down at the floor.

“I sent you flowers.”

You fell onto the couch, tears falling without restraint. You usually weren’t like this, you were able to remain composed no matter what but it seemed everything had to shatter today. Heeseung came toward you, wiping the tears beneath your eyes with his thumbs. He let you pour them out onto his chest as he whispered fragile apologies. What did anything really mean to him? 

Heeseung was charming, tempting, and addictive. He knew what to say and what not to say but what was truly going on inside his mind? When he’d play melodies on the piano what was he thinking, or what made him pick his favorite records? What was the reason he always had to leave? 

“I don’t want your flowers, or your beach house key, I just want you to be with me the way you’re supposed to be.”

Looking up from his tear stained chest you saw the light glimmer within his eyes, reflecting unsaid emotion.

“You don’t love me the way you’re supposed to”, your voice broke.

Heeseung consoled you the only way he knew how, with the softness of his lips.

“There’s no one but you”, he muttered, “No one.”

His touch was gentle to your aggrieved heart, only the lightest of kisses graced your face. He kissed you numb until you both fell asleep there on the couch. 

At dawn your eyes opened to him by your side, the first time you witnessed him asleep. There’s a melancholy in his sleeping face, like everything caught up to him in his dreams and disturbed the peace. Just as the moonlight he’s entrancing in the sun too. Pushing the stray hairs away from his forehead you continued to cherish the sight of him. 

The day passed by slowly, as you clung to his skin with a love that never dulled with distance or time. It was reminiscent of your days spent in the beach house, although there was no piano for Heeseung to play or vinyls to spin, only what was yours in your space. There was a slight hangover from the night before but to get through it was simple with the presence of Heeseung who you longed for devastatingly. 

Heeseung is attentive in nature. He boils the soup for your headache with care, neatly putting every ingredient back and making sure you enjoy the taste. He smiles romantically with his teeth and eyes. The clothes he wears tend to be very baggy but the frame beneath is solid, noticeable through the layers. When the sun comes in it reveals the reddish tint in his hair. All your observations about him pile up as you sink into the couch and watch him move around you. 

The weekend is too short, no amount of time is enough with Heeseung but your spirits are lifted embarrassingly high, so much so that Sunghoon notices. You don’t tell him that Heeseung invited you up to his house in the north, or that you had one of the best weekends you’ve had in a while. You wrap your love up into a secret and place it in the house on a hill. 

The bus towards Heeseung’s house drove through mountainous valleys, covered in greenery, surprisingly lush in the month of October. Each rock and jolt of the bus made you feel alive, a similar sensation to when you began traveling on your own, except this time you had someone to go to. You know that the most formative years you spent were on your own but introducing a new face into your life taught you about sides of yourself you never had to face until the relationship. The romantic parts of you were so underdeveloped because of this, and you fell so hard, loved so passionately, hurt far too deeply. Staring at Heeseung next to you, you wondered if by the end he’d destroy you entirely or give you everything you ever wanted. Either was okay by you. 

The house sits far up the hills, wooden and cozy. The rain is constant and so the two of you remain contained between the walls for what lasts a week. Heeseung enjoys music deeply, he plays the piano practically as soon as you arrive. There’s an emotion in the way Heeseung plays every opus, you hear it no matter the kind of piece. Sometimes it makes you want to cry and you don’t know why. He’ll ask why your eyes have become so red and you’ll have no answer other than it sounded too beautiful. To tear up would be the only proper reaction. Beautiful is a redundant word with Heeseung, it always comes to mind when he’s around. He lives and moves in beauty. It feels mythical the way he perfects everything, like poetry in motion. There’s parts of him revealed in the tunes, depths you can’t yet make sense of. 

But why? Why does it hurt even when you’re happy?

Like a masochist, you drown in it. 

Every moment feels fleeting with Heeseung even though he promises it’ll last. He says you’re his girl and it’s all you wanted to hear but it’s not. Couldn’t he say he loves you? Something official, cemented, real. Instead you float around in dreams he curates specially for you, and they’re lovely. He cooks for you, even though his range is limited, he kisses you, he holds you, plays music for you, watches movies with you, but he doesn’t share himself with you. There’s only the glimpses you see of Heeseung when he falls deeply into the music. It’s a heavy feeling when you start to think you don’t know him like you want to, and it's because he refuses to share those genuine parts that would truly connect the two of you. You hate it. But you love him. It hurts, it hurts so badly. Even if you contort yourself in a million ways, you know you’re pounding at a chained and locked door. Why is it so easy to share his body but not his soul? Are both not valuable? Heeseung holds you, he kisses you, he has eyes that adore you. His eyes adore you, rather the shell that holds you. So for the week you love him like you’re mourning him. Talk about all the things you and him will never do, turn him into a memory. There’s no upper hand here, you’re both such unfortunate losers. The last night at the house you watched his sleeping face. Just as before it carried an aching sorrow, so different from his smiling face in the daylight. Your tears above him looked as if they came from his own eyes, the eyes that when open carried sweetness so much so it’d be palatable on the tip of your tongue forever. 

By the morning you were gone.

How often have you spent mornings all on your own? This bitter cycle has a sense of nostalgia to it. 

They’re adding new facilities to the lab. Sunghoon is excited. Sunghoon’s PCR hasn’t failed. Oh, he’s even more joyous. You walk with a weight. You don’t want to ruin his happiness so you talk with Sunghoon who never lets out a word in the lab about the news. But it seems you’ve created a level of transparency beyond glass when you unfortunately run into your colleague drunk on the sidewalks you’ve wandered for hours you can’t count. You see the happiness you wish never faded go so instantly. He’s worried for you. Whether it was the liquor or a need deep inside of you to reveal your shortcomings you tell Sunghoon everything, how you loved where there is no love, hoped where rationality reigned, and bargained in a closed market. How you didn’t ever come around for yourself but only ran away because you were afraid, afraid to see who you are when the care flickers away from his eyes and you’re left with the pathetic reflection of yourself. Scared to see who you become when the ephemeral lover disappears first. 

Surprisingly Sunghoon is empathetic, and his words are painfully consoling.

“You know feelings aren’t just pretty metaphors. They have meaning, yet somehow you belittle them so well while at the same time trapping yourself in them. It was all real, and everything real passes. So live with the pain, and you’ll wake up one day realizing it’s distant.”

“Do you know from experience?”

Sunghoon laughed, the kind of ‘there’s more than you’ll ever know’ laugh.

“I think it’s inevitable.”

“I feel so stupid.”

“Maybe you are, but really it’s normal.”

You teased and talked while walking along the sidewalk until Sunghoon offered you a taxi home. You took the taxi by yourself, looking at the city while your mind ran through a million thoughts. You hadn’t spoken to Heeseung for weeks at this point, even when he reached out you stared at the screen as if paralyzed. Time went on that way, hauntingly slow, and devastatingly empty without the boy you shouldn’t have loved. The days carried on, almost blurring into one another but you made it through. You got ready, walked to the bus, went to work, came home, ate, slept, the cycle was keeping you on. You got ready, opened the door and saw a bouquet, lilies, H dot Lee. You were about to leave them in your place when you saw a note. Heeseung wasn’t the kind to leave a note, or any sentiment really. Your heart skipped pitiably fast and immediately your hand reached to read the card. 

“I think you hate my flowers but we haven’t spoken for long. I could come to your door but I get the feeling you’re done with me since you left. I won’t ask you why, I know you to be someone who acts with reason. But you know you can come back to me whenever you like, the beach house key is yours. There’s not much I have to offer but all that is me is yours. I’ve loved to be loved by you and I live with love of memories from you. Just don’t forget me, I’d like this one thing.”

Your tears watered the flowers without restraint. It was a feeling so viscerally felt within you. Because if the world was yours he’d forever stay, and you’d have known him like no one else. All your shameful desires flood back and release through your reddened eyes. It resounds within you painfully. Of course you loved him more than he loved you. You’ve never been cared for the way you dreamed of. Your love has been misused, your heart is becoming blue from restlessly beating. He could've stroked your hair, maybe for a while hold you tight, no need to make love. The memories are clear of orange rays illuminating the scene of him releasing his tension within you. None of these pretty things makeup for it all. 

And so, you live with words you’ll never say.

[iinthehexcore]

random steb HCs

summary: A braindump of random things about Steb!

wordcount:

a/n: this truly is just... a bit of everything, HAHAH! not coherent and a bit all over the place, my bad! i also put some steb x librarian headcanons at the end for those who have read that! might be adding more things later on :)

⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Despite being an Enforcer, I don't think he is a very violent man. If he has to, he can be (like we saw in S2E9, for example) but that is only when the situation calls for it. Still, he would not be reckless I don't think.

Something tells me that he played an instrument as a kid - maybe piano - which he never tells anyone about. The only way to find out is to see him actually playing it.

Is a pretty decent cook! Despite working long hours, he still tries to eat mainly homemade meals. Has gotten into meal prepping to make things easier for himself.

Might be quiet, but is still confident in his skills. A lot of new Enforcers whisper about him and try to figure him out, sometimes even thinking he is just too scared to speak, but when they see him in the training room, they quickly change their mind.

Despite being very silent himself, he actually doesn't mind being around people who talk a lot, as long as they don't poke fun at him for not talking back. He's used to Maddie not ever being quiet, but she never laughed at him or anything like that.

About Maddie, I think he kind of blamed himself in a way about her betraying everyone? He had trained with her for a while and he did consider her as a friend, but in the heat of the battle, he wasn't quite able to process the actual death and betrayal. Though feeling deeply hurt by her actions, I do think that he mourned the idea of her/the friend he lost, though he would not excuse her from her mistakes.

His apartment is probably super comfortable and cozy. I'm imagining a lot of dark wood, maybe some leather, a candle here and there, lots of books, and warm lights. Probably an apartment that's higher up in a building so he can look out over Piltover.

Steb's 'free time' clothes are not extremely different from what his Enforcer uniform looks like. Probably wears button-ups with a sweater on top, some nice pants, and leather shoes.

Maybe wears glasses (saw this in a fanart and I've been sold ever since)

ROMANTIC!

He takes time to warm up to his partner, but once he does, he is basically an open book.

GREAT at communication. If something bothers him, if he feels a bit down, anything that could potentially start miscommunication - he will tell you immediately. In turn, he is also always open for you to talk about anything you want with him.

Loves to leave little surprises for you for when you wake up. He is definitely a morning person, starting most days with a workout. I think he would do things like setting up the table for breakfast, leaving sweet notes on your bedside table, cleaning up stuff that you didn't get the chance to clean the night before. Then when he comes home from working out he has flowers or a sweet treat in his hands, kissing your cheek before walking to the shower.

Let's you wear his shirts/clothes.

Not the biggest fan of PDA, but he does always stay close to you and/or hold your hand.

LIBRARIAN READER AND STEB!

The first time he went to the library, he actually didn't want to go there. Not because of you or because of the library - he was just super tired and thought that everyone would be able to just go there themselves. The next week, Maddie offered to go as she knew Steb was annoyed from the week before, but she was surprised when he said no.

He probably kept most, if not all, of the written receipts that you had given back to him from every single time he came to bring back books.

Noticed immediately when you got a new pen and thought it was sweet.

Very observant, so he could tell what your favorite cafe/order was just from empty packages that were in the trashcan next to your desk. When he went to get it for you as a surprise/gift for finishing your essays, he had not expected you to be there, and then he had to deal with thousands of questions from Maddie.

Cait knew something was up with him, but she never fully found out what it was until the drink and when he had written her a message, asking if he 'and a guest' could be authorized to enter the Piltover Council building. She had her suspicions from when he asked her to let the library close early, though.

I think that Steb was actually very nervous to show you the Council building. He knew you would love it - as you told him many times before - but he wasn't sure if it would be like you imagined. Spent a lot of time trying to pick out which clothes to wear and even more time on figuring out the best strategy to get you up there without raising suspicion.

Afterwards thought that guiding you while you had your eyes closed was maybe not the best way of doing so, but was glad you still enjoyed it.

Steb actually did go home with you at the end of chapter 2. You made tea, talked, and then both fell asleep on the couch. You woke up with a sore neck (from leaning against the man for the entire night), but that wasn't anything Steb couldn't help with. Told you to lay on the couch, covered you with a thick blanket, made you tea, and read a book next to you.

[nemesyaaa]

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.

[frost-queen]

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.

---------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists! 

[alittlebitofsainz]

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.”

[1009files]

Liebestraum No. 3

synopsis Eighteen year old Y/n, the daughter of two accomplished musicians, spends her summers surrounded by aspiring artists in her father’s prestigious program. Among them is Heeseung, a quiet, talented pianist who captivates Y/n with his reserved nature and mysterious charm. Amid the music, family expectations, and unspoken feelings, Y/n must navigate her growing affection for Heeseung and decide what she truly wants for her future—and her heart.

word count 2k+

contains fluff, summer love, rivals to lovers, teenagers in love, eventual smut (in the next chapters), comfort, heeseung x reader, slow burn

author’s note hi guys! this is my first post and first time writing something like this~ english is not my main language so there might be errors! i wish to make this a series with an eventual time skip to make things more interesting <3 i hope you like it^^

chapter 1

Your fingers softly brushed through the black and white tiles, like a ballerina spinning rapidly on her pointy shoes. They danced, at times increasing their speed, hungrier and expectant for the next one, until the running stopped.

Your right hand played a single-note melody, while the left one sustained a long, flowing chord. Your fingers were delicate now, more careful as if you were too scared to touch the piano, or it might break into million pieces.

“Incredible! Truly stunning, my dear!”

You didn’t notice your mother entering the studio with a satisfied look on her face, making you suddenly aware of your surroundings, while turning to look at her.

“Oh my, mom! I told you not to startle me when I practice!”

Your parents loved to brag about you with the rest of your family and friends. You knew you were good, but you were a perfectionist and always aimed for more.

“What can I say, you are indeed your father’s child…besides, dinner is ready and tomorrow is an important day~” she said with a sweet tone, still looking more serious, reminding you of your duties.

You know what was next, you wouldn’t have the room just for yourself. The blinds would finally be shut open, welcoming the light from the sun that would soon illuminate the big wooden piano in the center of the room. The pillows of the sofa and most books from the library would be scattered around and the little glass table in front of it would have pastries and beverages ready for everyone, while your father would begin to explain the summer program to his students.

You were used to this, it wasn’t really a big deal to you.

For almost three years your father had been welcoming his most privileged pupils to hold private lessons for them, preparing them to enter the prestigious conservatory in your city, which your eighteen year old self was expectant to attend.

Most students returned each summer, some aimed to enter the academy but still came for extra practice. This is actually how you met your current best friend, Jungwon.

His cheerful personality made it easy for you to get along with him. He was a bit of a prankster and sooner or later, you two found yourselves running around the tight colored alleys of the countryside, under the hot sun of the summer.

“Y/n wait!”

“Come on, Jungwon! Are you really scared of a little water??” You said, wetting him with a hose you found on a nearby garden.

“What are you saying?? I’m completely soaked! Your mom will kill us if we enter the house like this!”

Your eyes suddenly widened.

Oh my god. The music sheets.

Screw the water, you were supposed to keep them completely safe and now they were most likely wet and-

Jungwon started laughing at your shocked expression. Making his way to his backpack, he quickly took the precious dry and brand-new looking sheets out, holding them in his hand.

“You looking for these?” He smirked with an entertained look in his face.

“Give me those! Oh my God, Jungwon I almost died!”

“You’re such a drama queen!” He laughed, running away from you.

You two were actually pretty similar. Even though he was younger, there was a sparkle of responsibility in his behavior that often made you come to your senses. You could always count on him, that’s why most of the time you confessed your cheesy teenage stories and dreams to each other, whether it was an awkward situation or a romantic interest, like the big crush you had on Lee Heeseung.

Well, you still didn’t know yet.

Your first impression of Heeseung was that he was pretty shy. You were introverted yourself, but he wasn’t much of a talker—for some reason, that made you curious and at times, you would act bratty around him. You knew this wasn’t the best way to approach him, but you felt like that was the only way to get close to him…as if that made any sense.

Like you, he was considered pretty talented: the boy had a perfect pitch and he could play both the piano and the guitar. Despite his age, he was a bit taller than you and you couldn’t help but notice his big brown eyes scanning the studio, before entering each time.

Did he see me staring?—you’d think, quickly gazing away from him when his eyes met yours.

He was magnetic and you couldn’t resist, but you always wondered where your sudden curiosity for him came from.

What’s your deepest meaning for music, Lee Heeseung?

Can I share my secrets with you?

Why don’t you talk to me?

It wasn’t easy for him to break his shell either.

One night, you were all seated around the big table outside the house, a plastic cloth on it and half a watermelon cut into portions for everyone to eat. The air was humid and salty, as if the sea wasn’t so far from the porch. After a nice dinner, your parents left soon to sleep, so you were chatting under the starry night.

“I didn’t think you’d come back this year as well, Hoon. ” Jungwon asked, shuffling some cards between his fingers.

Sunghoon stretched on the chair with his arms behind his head. “Yeah well, my parents think my sister still needs some practice before she’ll get used to the conservatory,” he said, turning to look at you. “So i thought I’d come to say hi again...”

You instinctively blushed and looked down at your hands. There was always some sort of connection between you two. He was the child of two talented musicians, so him and his sister would often spend their summer at the studio.

“My parents always have a plan for everything…” he admitted, for a moment lost in his thoughts. You knew what he meant.

“Sounds like you’ve got your whole life mapped out…does it ever get old?” Jungwon sighed with a knowing look.

Despite your talent, sometimes you wondered if your passion really did come from a deep interest or rather you were supposed to like it, because that is how things went for you.

On the other side of the table, Heeseung was listening to the conversation while taking a bite out of his gelato. With him hanging around this time, those thoughts weren’t so rare. You turned your head to look at him. How was he always so calm about everything? Could he feel any emotion at all?

“Oh, Heeseung!“ Jungwon’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “I saw your recital last year!”

Liebestraum No. 3.

You remember Jungwon telling you about a performance that made him feel shivers all over his body. He was always the empathetic type, but he’s never had this kind of reaction for anything else before. He could almost feel everything around him transforming, Heeseeung’s figure in the middle of a moonlit garden. White lilies shimmering under the sky, the chilly air making them move at a slow pace.

“Seriously, how do you play like this without getting nervous?”

Not knowing how to take the compliment, Heeseung shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but smiled softly with a light flush on his cheeks.

So he wasn’t a robot?

You started to get annoyed at the idea that you never got to see his most vulnerable side. Sure, you could hear him playing in the studio sometimes, but it wasn’t the same thing.

A dry chuckle escaped your mouth.

“You make it sound so easy…” You murmur.

You didn’t want to be rude and knew that your comment was out of place. Immediately you shut your mouth.

“I-“ Your eyes widening.

Everybody’s attention was on you now, which you hated. Heeseung’s expression was once again unreadable.

“I’m going to bed.” You got up out of embarrassment and headed quickly to your room. Jungwon rushing behind you, but you ran faster up the stairs, until his voice calling you was long gone.

The sound of the waves filled up Heeseung’s ears. His pants were rolled up so the water on the shore wouldn’t wet them. Some clouds starting to prepare the sky for the rain. He liked the quiet, but often blamed himself for not stepping up at the right time. It wasn’t just his personality, Heeseung could be bold if he wanted to, he just preferred to observe from time to time.

Suddenly he heard your voice from afar. “Aren’t you coming to practice today? My dad has been looking for you everywhere…”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me?”

“Really? You barely ever spoke to me and that’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”

He took a step closer to you. His feet shifting the hot sand.

Standing in front of him you realized how tall he actually was. Some of his hair strands moved with the light wind and covered bits of his face. You felt your breath quicken as you tried to avoid his gaze.

He held out his hand to you.

“What?”

“Let’s try this again. Give me your hand please.” You freeze. “Uhm..”

“Come on…” He insisted. His eyebrows raising.

You reluctantly reached out, looking at him with squinted eyes, unsure of his intentions. He gently took your hand and kissed the back of it, leaning forward slightly.

You quickly got away from his hold.

“…Wh- What do you think you’re doing??”

His confidence suddenly gone as you noticed his ears getting red.

“I’m sorry. I-…I don’t know how to talk to you.” he admitted, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“You look…so dumb right now. ” you chuckled at his embarrassment, almost laughing.

“I know, I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable last night.” His eyes softening and looking more sincere.

You didn’t think he did. It was more like you acted out of jealousy and you only blamed yourself for that.

You cleared your throat, not wanting to remember what happened. “Uhm…do you want to get away from here? I’m sure my dad wouldn’t mind for today.” You lied, but Heeseung seemed chattier than usual so it was worth it. He was surprised at your statement but still nodded slowly. A big smile printed on his face.

It was almost evening and the sun was setting already. Everybody was getting ready for dinner, so you could feel the lights from inside the houses illuminating the streets of the village.

After walking for a while you reached a swing on a nearby park, Heeseung following you with an amused look on his face.

He was now standing in front of you. “What are you, ten?” a mocking tone in his voice.

You rolled your eyes and shot him a look. “You’re so boring…” You stuck out your tongue at him, a grin pulling at your lips. “Come on, push me.”

Heeseung chuckled, taking his hands out of his pockets.

“You’re older than me and yet, here you are, swinging your legs like a little kid…”

Besides his provocative comment, he stood behind you, pushing you from your back. He watched as the chilly wind brushed your hair away from your face, softly tickling his hands each time he touched you. He was as delicate as possible and found himself staring at the way your sundress perfectly hugged your lower waist. The ends of it moving back and forth with the swing and, as you got closer, he could almost taste the sweet strawberry scent of the lollipop you held in your hand.

Heeseung was intoxicated by you, and of course he blamed it all on his feverish teenage hormones. Things were still pretty awkward between you two, but right at that moment he felt bolder than usual. He pushed you again — once, then twice, and then a third time. You began to feel the swing slowing down, coming to a stop with a quiet creak. You glanced back at him, a confused frown tugging at your brows, only to freeze as his hand moved toward you.

Heeseung’s touch was careful at first, but it sent a jolt through you when his finger brushed down your exposed spine. You inhaled sharply, suddenly aware of the way your chest was rising and falling. He moved slowly, deliberately, his fingers tracing the line of your back with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. The cool rain, which had started to drizzle, landed softly on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat that suddenly bloomed in your chest.

The touch lingered a little too long, his finger pressing gently into the curve of your lower back, making it hard to breathe. Everything around you seemed to blur, the sound of the rain mingling with the racing of your heartbeat. You couldn’t tell whether it was the rain or his touch that had made your skin shiver.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, he withdrew his hand, the sudden absence of his touch making you stand up, as though snapping yourself from a trance.

Turning around you noticed your drenched clothes. Your eyes widened as both of you realized how your parents would have eventually reacted if they saw you entering the house like this.

“We should head back.” You said.

Heeseung nodded at you with a soft smile, amused by your alerted reaction. Feeling the adrenaline rushing through his body, he started running and you followed him. You both were breathless, maybe because of your race, or maybe because of what had happened minutes before.

Reaching your house and not wanting to get caught, you exchanged a look with Jungwon who saw you from the window of the kitchen. His eyes widening. “What the…Get inside quickly!” He opened the porch door and let you in.

“Y/n you’re lucky nobody’s here! Where were you all day?? Go wash up before your mom comes back!”

You quickly ran upstairs, the sound of your wet footsteps echoing through the hallway, your heart still racing from the close call. You had barely made it inside before your mother could catch you drenched, and a wave of relief washed over you. You shut the bathroom door behind you, leaning against it for a moment to catch your breath. Heeseung’s touch, his hesitant smile, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

It had been too much, too fast, but you couldn’t deny the rush it left behind. You splashed your face with cold water, hoping to clear your head. You didn’t understand him yet, not fully. But somehow, you had a feeling you were about to.

to be continued…

[beanibon]

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."

[mrsfrederickchilton]

FREDERICK. Chapter 68

You didn't stay the night — Frederick didn't try to persuade you. The electricity came back on in two hours, and you said you were leaving him with a clear conscience.

Another lie.

You were less and less willing to ruin his life. But otherwise, your life would be left in ruins. The choice was no longer so easy, but still obvious.

Before you left, you saw Frederick receive an e-mail — a notification appeared on his phone, which he swiped away, but you managed to read the beginning: Okay, I'll do what I can.

That's curious. You checked mail sometimes — his mail, sent (you, like him, still received notifications on inbox, and there was nothing interesting there yet). You'll have to see what's there.

Frederick insisted on a taxi this time; during the trip you logged into his work and personal email accounts. But you didn't find anything like that. He probably deleted the letter, or maybe it was spam. What kind of garbage isn't being sent out these days.

You came home, took a shower, changed clothes. Looked at the calendar. There were a few days left. You'd be in shape just in time.

An eternity ago, having found out when his birthday was, you set a reminder on your phone.

“Of course, I won't forget,” you said then. “But someday, senile sclerosis will overcome me.”

You saved the date.

“Although,” you added after thinking, “it's unlikely that we'll both live to see it.” Not with regret. Just as a fact. As a given.

You knew it and were ready for it. It's your choice.

“You'll live to see it,” he answered. “I won't let anything happen to you before you're ninety.”

“Why not a hundred?”

“Then, I think, sclerosis will overcome me too.”

I won't let anything happen to you. He could have left you, disappeared. If he was such a psychopath who couldn't love, why didn't he? Instead, he gave in. He didn't let you get locked up in a mental institution. All those stupid words, all those notes mean nothing. Frederick thought he was taking away the human qualities of your love one by one, but he didn't know that even that wouldn't affect your feelings.

He hasn't changed. He's just adapted to you.

But isn't that enough?

Frederick called when you were already going to bed. As if you hadn't spent the whole evening together. As if he still missed talking to you. You didn't like phone calls — text messages are better. When you talk on the phone, you have less time to think, you can hear the intonations. That's exactly why Frederick called you more often now than he wrote.

He will stop soon.

“Are you coming tomorrow?”

There was another reason why you hadn’t stayed the night, in addition to the two you already had: first, you wanted Frederick to miss you more (your body, to be more precise), and second, you didn’t want to ruin this friendly evening. And third…

“I think I’ll stay home,” you answered.

“Why?”

What kind of questions are you asking, Frederick…

“I’ve got a lot of things to do.”

“Things to do?”

As if I can't have them. Before you could answer, he asked again:

“Are you okay?”

Although, yes, what kind of things do I have to do? Really.

“Well,” you hesitated, “like…”

“What?”

Oh, God, stop it, he’s a doctor after all.

“My... stomach hurts,” you said.

“Poisoned?” Frederick asked anxiously.

“And it will still hurt a little tomorrow,” you added meaningfully, hoping that you wouldn't have to add anything else. Like periods, for example.

Blockhead.

“Oh...” he paused for a moment. “Should I bring you something?”

“No, oh my God,” you laughed. “Just...”

“Come anyway. Well, if... It's convenient. I promise I won't...”

“What?”

“Importune.”

You chuckled.

“I'll think about it.”

* * *

And the next evening you came. You needed to tease him a little more. You put on jeans and a white shirt, seemingly formal, but rather thin, and through it slightly — slightly, but enough — a black bra was visible.

In a friendly way.

You settled in the living room. You played the piano a little — for him, but he didn't know it. Then Frederick went to the chest of drawers.

“Would you like to play?” he asked, taking out a box.

The same box that you had received as a prize at the Arcade at the game park. Then, having carried it in your backpack, you returned it to Dr. Chilton. “Familiar Strangers. Psychological Game”. You took it and read the inscription on the side: To get acquainted — to open up — to become closer.

It seems that you and Dr. Chilton — Frederick managed without this game.

“Well,” you answered, “not really.”

“Okay,” he smiled. “Then I'll take care of dinner.”

“And me?”

“Practice some more,” he nodded at the grand piano.

“Maybe I should help you?”

“I'll do it myself,” he lightly kissed you on the top of your head and left, not noticing how your heart sank.

You decided to look at your prize from the game park. The box contained game cards and rules of the game. People had to honestly share information about themselves by answering a question. You fished out a few cards at random, each of them really did have a question written on it.

What was the biggest challenge in your life?

Oh, well, perhaps taking a risk and falling in love with a killer instead of giving in and turning him in.

What can you do today that you couldn't do a year ago?

Wear evening dresses, walk in heels.

Seduce psychiatrists...

Tell us about the most wonderful trip of your life.

Eternal, unforgettable Copenhagen. Now so far away. Will you ever visit it again?

What fears and experiences were important to you a few months ago, but now have ceased to matter?

You were afraid that you would never see him. That you would never be able to get a single visit. That Dr. Chilton won't fall for your tricks. That you yourself won't be able to fall for them, to convince yourself that you're someone else.

Not afraid anymore.

At least of this...

Dare to be frank — share your secret fantasy.

You've already done it twice, even to your own disgust. The second time only in words, but the idea was successfully planted in Frederick's head.

My fantasy. (Almost the truth. Even if not the one he imagines.) I think about it almost constantly. About doing it in the office.

(And where it should lead.)

Yeah, it's good that you refused to play this game.

Frederick returned to the living room and said that dinner would be ready in ten minutes.

“By the way... Maybe we need to throw out something else?” he asked with a smile, nodding towards the hallway, and you obediently followed him. To the dressing room.

Jeans and sweaters, once hidden deep in the drawers of the dressers, now took their rightful place in plain sight. Of course, he did not wear such things to work and never would, but at least the undeservedly consigned to oblivion clothes no longer caused Frederick to panic. Before, he could not imagine that someone would see him in such clothes — even at home.

“Will you take a look?”

You ran your hand over the sweaters, nodded. You already knew that there was nothing more to throw out.

The phone vibrated in the back pocket of your jeans. You glanced at the screen, a lump came to your throat. You turned around — Frederick was gone. You picked up the phone.

“Yes?”

“I didn't get it,” said orderly Higgins

And nothing more.

You were silent too, but the silence soon became tense. You slipped out of the closet and headed for the bathroom, hiding your phone under your shirt. Frederick smiled at you from the kitchen. God. You locked the door, turned on the water, and hid in a corner away from the door.

“Have you changed your mind?” Higgins asked after all.

You looked at the second toothbrush that Frederick had placed in a glass on the shelf by the mirror. When did he have time?

“No,” you whispered.

Truth.

“What?”

“I haven't changed my mind,” you repeated a little louder.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“I missed the right moment.”

Truth.

The moment when he was still Dr. Chilton, a means to an end. To ran away and forgot. Without any regrets.

“And when is the next one?” Higgins wondered.

“Are you okay?” Frederick asked loudly, knocking on the door.

“Yes,” you shouted, pressing the mobile to your chest. Then you brought the phone to your ear.

The orderly let out a nasty laugh.

“Maybe I should come and visit you? I've never been to Dr. Chilton's. They say he has a decent apartment. Even a grand piano. Is it there?”

“Yes.”

There was a sigh in the phone.

“Probably it won't be there soon.”

Truth.

“I have to go,” you said. “See you the day after tomorrow.”

“You mean ‘see you’ — or see you?”

Now a sigh escaped you.

“Make him fun before he dies,” the orderly Higgins chuckled.

“Don't say that,” you shuddered.

But essentially he was right.

You came out of the bathroom and bumped into Frederick.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, looking at your slumped shoulders.

“Yeah. Just a little tired.”

“Well, we'll fix that now,” he led you to the kitchen, where an incredibly pleasant aroma reigned.

Dinner was ready and beautifully served. Frederick pulled out a chair for you to sit down, as if you were in a restaurant.

But it was much better here.

Before you could sit down, a beeping signal caught your attention, and Frederick picked up his phone from the countertop. The signal was about the battery being low, only a few percent left. You saw a red indicator in the corner of the screen.

“Where is your charger?” you asked.

“In the living room,” Frederick was about to leave the kitchen, but you stopped him.

He was cooking dinner while you were treacherously talking to orderly Higgins.

“I’ll get it,” you gently pushed him toward the chair. “Sit down. Where exactly does it lie?”

“On the shelf under the TV.”

Frederick stayed in the kitchen. He put his phone down and straightened plate, then cutlery. He moved the napkin holder. He liked what he saw. A few hundred dinners alone were worth it. They were just a grueling path to where he was now.

It was all worth it.

Frederick heard your footsteps in the hallway and smiled. The phone next to him beeped again, differently this time, and he took it in hands. Looked at the notification.

Oh, not this, he thought.

Please, not this.

Next chapter (Chapter 69)

Masterlist

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

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...."

[chansbabygirlsstuff]

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

--------------------------------------------------

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

[summerrivera777777]

he was charismatic, magnetic, electric, and everybody knew it..

a. note: ok sorry i am obsessed with him. as in him i mean the inspiration i’ve created in my mind. sorry not sorry. enjoy my babies xoxo 💋

The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the audience. The air buzzed with anticipation, the way it always did before she took the stage. But tonight was different. Tonight, she wasn’t just singing. She was bleeding.

The piano started, soft and slow, the melody curling around the dimly lit theater like a ghost of something lost. And then her voice—velvet and aching, filled with something that tasted like love but burned like regret.

Money is the anthem of success

So before we go out, what's your address?"

From the second she sang those words, she felt him. Felt his presence in the crowd.

John.

He sat in the center row, a dark suit molding to him like he was born to wear it, his jaw tight, hands clasped together like he was holding something in—memories, maybe. Or pain.

She sang for him. Only for him.

I'm your national anthem

God, you're so handsome

Take me to the Hamptons, Bugatti Veyron."

The flashbacks came unbidden. Long summer drives in Montauk, the wind in her hair as he laughed beside her. Lavish parties in the city, where he’d pull her close in the middle of a crowded room, whispering in her ear that she was the only thing that mattered. Midnight swims under the moon, salt water on their lips, his hands tangled in her hair.

“He loves to romance 'em, reckless abandon

Holding me for ransom, upper echelon."

But they had burned too hot.

Too many women stared at him like he was something to be devoured. Too many nights she spent alone, knowing he was torn between who he wanted to be and who the world expected him to become.

And yet, she had begged him to stay.

“He says to be cool, but I don’t know how yet

Wind in my hair, hand on the back of my neck."

Her voice broke on the last note. She closed her eyes, holding onto the moment, the silence that followed, the weight of everything unsaid.

When she opened them again, he was gone.

---

The news came three days later.

She was in her dressing room, staring at her reflection, her lipstick smudged from wiping away tears she refused to acknowledge. Then—her manager’s voice, low and careful.

"His plane went down."

The words didn’t make sense at first.

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "No. No, that’s not—"

But the look on their face said everything.

The world would talk about him like he was a prince, a legacy lost too soon. They would mourn his charm, his beauty, his name. But she would mourn the way he once whispered I love you against her collarbone, the way he made her feel like the only girl in the world, even when he wasn’t sure how to hold onto her.

The funeral was grand. The cameras captured every tear, every bowed head. She stood at the back, black veil shielding her from prying eyes, but not from the truth.

She had lost him long before the crash.

And yet, she still loved him. She would always love him.

---

Later that night, with a glass of whiskey in her hand and the moonlight spilling through the window, she whispered the words, just for herself.

And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me. We both knew it, right away. And as the years went on, things got more difficult—we were faced with more challenges.

I begged him to stay. Try to remember what we had in the beginning.

He was charismatic, magnetic, electric, and everybody knew it. When he walked in, every woman’s head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him. He was like this hybrid, this mix of a man who couldn’t contain himself.

I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities life could offer a man as magnificent as him.

And in that way, I understood him and I loved him. I loved him, I loved him, I loved him.

And I still love him. I love him."

The glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the floor. But the pain in her chest?

That had shattered long ago.

[klmwrites]

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.”

[kathlare]

held in a note

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: A simple moment between Amelie and Rodrigo sparks questions she hadn't let herself ask before—questions about love, trust, and whether she’s ready to let someone in again.

Wordcount: 1.0 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

September 29th, 2022 - Atlanta, GA

The arena was empty except for the crew, the band, and a few scattered techs adjusting the stage lights. Amelie stood center stage, gripping the microphone, her voice effortlessly filling the space as she ran through the final chorus of how many things. The music swelled around her, the sound of Alex’s guitar blending seamlessly with the piano and drums.

She was exhausted, but it was the good kind. The kind that came from doing what she loved. The opening night of her emails i can’t send tour was just a few hours away, and everything had to be perfect.

Alex gave her a nod from across the stage as the last note rang out, his fingers still lingering on the guitar strings. —Alright, not bad,— he called out, adjusting his strap. —Wanna run it again or take five?—

Amelie exhaled, rolling her shoulders. —Five. My voice is gonna hate me if I don’t chill for a second.—

She took a sip from her water bottle, stepping toward the edge of the stage when a familiar voice echoed through the arena.

—Didn’t think you’d need a break already. Thought you were a professional.—

Amelie’s head snapped up so fast she nearly dropped her bottle.

Rodrigo.

He stood near the first row of seats, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, a smirk playing at his lips. His presence alone sent a rush of warmth through her, and before she could think twice, she was running down the stage steps.

—What the fuck are you doing here?— she laughed, closing the distance between them.

—I had a few days off. Thought I’d come see your big moment,— Rodrigo said, grinning. —You didn’t think I’d miss it, did you?—

Amelie didn’t answer. Instead, she threw her arms around his neck, her momentum nearly knocking him backward. He caught her with ease, arms wrapping tightly around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground as she buried her face in his shoulder.

God, she’d missed him.

Rodrigo smelled like home—clean, familiar, safe. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands still resting on his shoulders. Their faces were close, too close, but neither of them moved away.

Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft, natural, easy. He kissed her back without hesitation, his hands settling on her waist, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of her tank top. When they finally pulled away, she could see the small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

—Guess you missed me,— he teased.

Amelie rolled her eyes, even though she knew it was true.

—Shut up,— she muttered, fighting a smile as she pulled away.

Rodrigo chuckled, grabbing his duffle bag from where he’d dropped it. —Where can I leave my stuff?—

—Dressing room. Down the hall, second door on the left,— she said, pointing toward the back of the arena. —You remember?—

—Yeah. I’ll be back in a sec.—

She watched him disappear through the side entrance before making her way back onto the stage, still feeling the ghost of his lips on hers.

Alex was leaning against his amp, arms crossed, a smirk already forming as she approached.

—That was cute,— he said, amused. —Didn’t know we were getting a live rom-com today.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, grabbing her water bottle again. —Shut the fuck up.—

—No, seriously. You look happy,— Alex said, his tone softer now. —Are you guys official yet?—

She hesitated for a second, then shook her head. —No.—

Her pianist, Sofia, who had been adjusting her sheet music nearby, chimed in, —Why not? He looks head over heels for you.—

Amelie blinked, caught off guard.

Head over heels?

She hadn’t really thought about it in those terms. She knew Rodrigo liked her—obviously. They spent time together whenever they could, and it was easy, fun. But was it more than that?

She felt something with him, something warm and real. But love? She wasn’t sure she was ready to go there again. The last time she let herself truly fall for someone, it had shattered her.

But now, standing there under the glow of the stage lights, Rodrigo’s touch still lingering on her skin, Sofia’s words echoed in her head.

He looks head over heels for you.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, glancing at Alex, who was watching her carefully. He knew her better than most people did. He had been there through it all—the highs, the heartbreaks, the moments when she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to write a love song again.

—Is he?— she asked, her voice quieter now.

Alex tilted his head slightly. —I mean... yeah. It’s pretty obvious.—

Sofia nodded in agreement. —The way he looked at you when he walked in? Like you were the only person in the room. I’m just saying, if you’re waiting for a sign, that was a big fucking one.—

Amelie exhaled slowly, staring down at the stage floor. She had spent so much of the last few years keeping people at a distance, convincing herself that she was better off not letting anyone in too deep. But maybe… maybe it was time to try again.

Maybe it was time to stop being afraid of the what ifs and just let herself feel.

Rodrigo had been nothing but patient with her. He never pushed, never demanded more than she was ready to give. He was steady in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

And maybe, just maybe, she owed it to herself to see where this could go.

She looked up at Alex, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at her lips. —Do you think I should?—

Alex shrugged, but there was something knowing in his eyes. —I think you deserve to be happy, Am. If he makes you happy, then what are you waiting for?—

She swallowed, nodding slowly.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to give her heart a chance again.

Rodrigo came jogging back onto the stage, his easy grin still in place. —Alright, where were we?—

Amelie met his gaze, something shifting inside her.

—Right here,— she said softly, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

[viburnt]

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.

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[randomtacoscry]

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. 

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

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.