#refurbished for the record | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sometimesanalice · 9 months

Text

Leave a Light On

Summary: When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 7k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(this was the story I was working on back in January, before the 'Like I Can' series and anything else on my masterlist. I'm so excited to share it with you all!)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, you imagine he probably thought you’d check on his plants every now and then. That you’d pop by to give them a quick water and then be on your way.

Maybe that you’d take the Bronco out for a quick spin, so that his baby it didn’t sit there too long going unused. You were one of a very small handful of people he trusted to drive his most prized possession. There was something special about being behind the vintage wheel with the sun on your face as you cruised along the highway, even if it wasn’t the same without him sitting there smiling next to you.

He’d already put his mail on hold with the USPS, but you knew that he knew he could count on you to rescue any stray package that might slip through the cracks and make its way to the front door of his charming craftsman bungalow.

What he probably didn’t expect was for you to be there sometime past 2 AM sitting on the creaky bench of the old, but well-loved, piano that you had helped him to find.

You should be tucked away under the comforter of your own bed, in your own room, at your own place.

Instead, your fingers are navigating over the black and ivory keys trying, yet again, to make it through a tricky passage on a song that you’ve spent the better part of the last three months trying to perfect.

He was coming home soon and you couldn’t wait to hold him, to love him, to surprise him.

Each time he leaves, it gets a little easier to miss him. You wear your longing like a locket rather than an albatross around your neck, always there but easier to bear.

Rooster had a way of filling a space in a way you’ve never experienced before. His larger than life charisma was one of the first things that had caught your attention, followed by that damn smile of his.

He was always humming in the kitchen.

Or whistling in the car.

Or playing the piano to decompress after a long day.

Or listening to something on his mom’s refurbished record player.

His presence always so tangible and warm, like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer. With Bradley around, you could wrap yourself up in the sheer comfort of him.

And when he was gone, it was the quiet that you struggled with the most. A constant reminder of just how far away he was. No texts or calls or voice memos throughout the day. No little everyday sweet somethings that let you know he was thinking of you.

The sound of silence followed you everywhere. Its heavy companionship making itself known regardless of how loudly you sang along to his favorite songs on the playlist he had made you or how many times you played through the song you were learning just for him.

You had grown up in the silence, you knew it well.

Parents who stayed together because it was easier than splitting the house and sharing the kid. And on the rare occasions it wasn’t quiet, it was loud. The kind that was inescapable regardless of how much you buried under the covers or how far you tucked yourself away in the corner of the backyard.

Until one day the glossy, satin walnut upright piano appeared along the wall in your barely used dining room. And then it soon became your favorite way to cover the quiet and to mask the loud.

Looking back on it now, maybe your parents had wanted something to fill the silence too.

The hours and hours of lessons you and Bradley had both been forced to sit through as children was something that the two of you had bonded over pretty early on. And while he had kept up with playing, it was something that had fallen to the wayside in your life. First with school, then with a career, and now with purposeful avoidance.

There was once a time when reading sheet music had come as easily to you as reading a book. And then one day, they were just a bunch of random dots scattered in between and across five lines on a piece of paper.

There was once a time when you didn’t even need to look down to know where your fingertips were flying to. And then one day, all your fingers could do was stumble and trip over the keys as you winced at the dissonance it created.

And when Rooster had learned about your mutual musical upbringing, he had made it his personal mission to try and get you to play something for him. He was so sweet, so sincere in the way he’d ask you, all big brown eyes and hopeful smiles.

It had always made your chest tight to brush him off. It was something he clearly wanted to share with you, but that part of you ached like a phantom limb. You didn’t know what would be worse embarrassing yourself or disappointing him with your lack of skill when it was something that you used to be so proud about.

It was easy to dodge him at first during nights out at the Hard Deck with your understandable Not with all these people here’s to your practical Mozart would just bring the vibes down’s to your evasive Maybe next time’s.

And when his polite requests were met with empty answers, he took it a step further.

One night in his bed, the curtains fluttering as the sea breeze mingled with his sandalwood scent, he’d whispered into your heated skin, “I’ll get you to play something for me one of these days. Maybe I just need to find the right form of bribery.”

His teasing innuendo juxtaposed deliciously with the deliberate touch of his fingers and tongue as he’d played your body to a perfect crescendo.

It reached a point where you couldn’t stomach to see the dejection in his eyes, the hurt he tried so hard to hide when you’d deny him yet again, that you had to own up to your closely guarded secret.

The confession had whooshed out of you in one breath, leaving you feeling deflated and defeated afterwards.

When you eventually mustered the courage to look at him, he’d been wearing the softest look of understanding on his face, as if he could sense the toll it took to admit the loss of that part of yourself. Then he gathered you in his lap and held you, all while the tears of frustration simmered behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

And when he offered to help remind how to read that language without words, to help you remember the letters of the keys beneath your fingers, it had made your heart hurt a little less.

You weren’t ready then, not like you are now.

But nothing gave you as much pleasure as it did to watch Rooster seated in front of the well-worn and well-played upright piano of Penny’s at the Hard Deck. There was nothing more exhilarating than seeing him in his element so at home on the bench, scuffed and scratched from performers of the past, as he shared that part of himself with everyone in the bar.

He made it look so easy. So damn effortless. His thick fingers flying purposefully over the keys as he played from memory. His joyous enthusiasm electrifying and substantial enough to get the whole bar singing along with him.

It always drew him a lot of attention.

How could it not? He was magnetic on a bad day and captivating the rest of the time. And entirely too handsome for his own good.

Interested eyes, curious eyes, hungry eyes followed him around more often than not after an impromptu performance.

However, those brown eyes of his were always set on you.

Never wavering, never straying from you as he’d weave his way poco a poco, little by little, back through the packed bar. Handing out high-fives to people on autopilot as he passed by to return back to your side. Glistening with the sweat he worked up and grinning widely as he’d greet you with a How’d I do, sweetheart?. Those big, capable hands sliding around your waist, in the back pocket of your jeans, under your top to rest on your low back.

The two of you never stuck around for long after he wrapped up. You didn’t mind helping him find ways to put that excess adrenaline to good use. Usually in the backseat of the Bronco.

You’ll never forget the first time Bradley serenaded you. The song meant for you and you alone.

If someone were to cut into that soft, pink part of your brain, you’re pretty sure they would find that memory pressed there like flowers between the pages of a book. Forever apart of you.

It was the song that always took you right back to that little vinyl shop along the pier. And back to that date that had almost derailed it all.

When Rooster had picked you up to take you to dinner all those months ago, he had seemed a bit antsy and absentminded.

Sure, he had gotten out of the Bronco to come fetch you like a gentleman, instead of sending some half-assed Here text like your ex had been fond of doing. You thought for sure he’d be hustling you back inside after he caught a glimpse of what you were wearing once you opened your front door to greet him.

So you were surprised when he’d simply pressed a dry kiss to your cheek and escorted you to his car with a hand placed respectfully between your shoulder blades instead of cheekily in that space between your low back and ass.

That spot that toed the line between decent and indecent. That spot that made him smirk when you’d give him a pointed lift of the eyebrow, because the two of you knew exactly what he was doing. And better yet, liked it.

However, that night it was almost like he was going through the motions, like he was already somewhere else.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent except for the white noise of the highway as he drove. The circular knob for the radio set to the left.

Off.

Which in hindsight should have been your first warning, since Bradley was never not listening to the Oldies station. A vintage vibe for your vintage boy.

When you were finally seated across from him at that new trendy Thai place you had been dying to go to, his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping out some unheard tune. On the tops his thighs. On the top of the table.

His eyes were landing everywhere else other than on you. On the large leaves of the potted palms, on the ornate pattern on the gold silk that was swathed across the ceiling, on the intricate hand-painted tiles on the floor.

You’d been trying to carry on a conversation for the past fifteen minutes and were feeling completely on edge when you had to repeat yet another question for him.

The anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach had been getting more and more difficult to ignore. You could tell he wasn’t really there, what you were trying to figure out was whether or not he just didn’t want to be there with you.

And god, the drinks hadn’t even come out yet. There wasn’t anything for you to distract yourself with other than your water glass, and even that was already empty except for a few melting ice cubes.

His half answers and noncommittal noises were rapidly clearing things up for you.

He’s breaking up with me.

It was at that crushing realization that the waitress had returned with your drink orders. The bright orange concoction that she set in front of you had been topped with a lovely purple orchid and glittery swizzle stick.

A happy looking cocktail for the girl who thought she was going to have another great date with the guy who was saved in her phone as “Golden Boy”.

“Have you two decided on what you want to eat? Or would you like to hear the chef’s specials again?” the waitress had asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Bradley.

You could tell that she was sensing the brewing tension between the two of you.

“I don’t think we’ll here much longer, maybe just the check--”

“Sorry, if we could have a few more minutes to decide--”

You’d both started speaking at the same time only to turn to the other wearing matching faces of absolute confusion. He’d gone ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers finally still on the tabletop. The shock in his eyes was apparent, and you could only assume it was there because you beat him to the punch.

The waitress had looked at you sympathetically before saying she’d come back in check in a few minutes and then quickly spun on her heel to take her hasty leave.

It was the look that she’d given you that had really sealed the deal for you, and wasn’t that just great? You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rest of the waitstaff was already hearing about the couple fighting at Table 12 and taking bets about whether or not they’d break up.

Lucky them, dinner and a show.

You’d reached the fruity drink in front of you, the condensation from the glass leaving a ring on the table and took a large sip for moral support. Feeling the weight his stare on you the whole time as you savored the tart taste of passionfruit as it burst across your tongue.

He’d just have to wait. It was your turn to ignore him.

As you’d swallowed it down, it had left you feeling more than a little angry that it tasted so good when you were feeling so shitty. He knew how much you liked an over the top cocktail, why couldn’t he have picked some dingy hole-in-the-wall to do this at rather than ruin this place for you? The hot prickling sensation of righteous indignation filled your chest.

You really didn’t want it to drag out any longer, setting your liquid courage back down you’d met his stare and got right down to it, “If you’re going to break up with me, Rooster, can you just do it now? I’d like to still be able to order Pad See Ew in the future without thinking about you and this moment.”

You removed the napkin from your lap, folding it up primly before placing it back upon the table as you waited for the final nail in the coffin to be pounded in on the remains of the happiest-and-easiest-and-clearly-too-good-to-be-true relationship you’ve ever had.

“Wait, what? I don’t want to break up.” His eyes were wide and searching, the hurt in his voice had been evident. And it was the first time all evening that he seemed to be present with you, like your Golden Boy had finally showed up to the date. “I thought things were going well. More than well, actually.”

“Yeah. I mean, I did too. Until tonight,” you’d agreed, defeatedly. “I’m really confused here. You’ve been completely distant tonight. Not to be vain, but look at me,” you gestured to the sexy lowcut dress you’d worn for the evening. It was something you’d been saving in your closet for the right occasion. And you’d thought it was going to drive him wild, but he hadn’t even given it a second glance.

You’d leaned in a bit, lowering your voice, “It’s a boob and leg dress, Bradley. I look really fucking hot, and frankly, I didn’t even think we were going to make it here once you saw this. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve missed a dinner reservation. And you haven’t said a single thing about it.”

It felt like a silly thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things, but his inattentiveness that evening had stung more than you’d wanted to admit to.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed,” he’d retorted hotly. His eyes had been heated as he’d matched your movement and leaned in further across the table. “Half the men in here noticed it too the second you walked in.”

You didn’t bother trying to hold back your scoff of frustration, the man was infuriating.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re making me feel like being here- with me- is the last place you want to be right now?” You’d given up on trying to sound unaffected, this was not the evening you had envisioned. It felt like being blindfolded on a rollercoaster, unable to see what exactly you were hurtling towards.

“I got my new orders today,” he’d blurted out, his eyes trying to read yours for the reaction. “I’m being send as aerial escort for a diplomatic mission. I ship out next Monday for six weeks.”

He’d told you later that he was grateful it wasn’t a longer one, he knew he was lucky because he could have just as easily been sent away for a deployment longer than you’d actually been together.

“Oh.”

You’d known that that moment would have happened eventually with his job, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. However, it was one thing thinking about it theoretically rather than looking at a ticking clock with a deadline.

“Cards on the table, sweetheart?” He’d waited for you to nod before continuing on, “I am really fucking into you. I’m trying not to put pressure on this, because I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl. I wanted to take you out for a nice meal, get you a couple of those complicated fun drinks you like. I even looked at the menu in advance, they have one here that they light on fire and it seems like something you would love.”

He was right, it was something that you’d love. You had even eyed it when you first got the menu, but you hadn’t wanted to get anything that would draw you more attention when you already felt like you had too many pairs of eyes on you.

“Then I wanted to take you home with me and tell you after we had a great time out. I wanted to ask you to save that Sunday before I leave for me, so that we could spend the whole day together.” His fingers had started playing that unheard tune on the table again. “I wanted to show my girl the best time, to keep her wanting to come back and to stick around. So that someone else doesn’t catch her eye, so that I don’t lose her to someone better than me while I’m away.”

His confession had your heart taking up residence in your throat. Having him lay it out for you so clearly and knowing that he’d felt as serious about you as you did about him was everything you had wanted to hear. However, one thing nagged at you.

“Bradley, you make me happy. Like really, really happy. I’ve only got eyes for you. If I’m being honest, this stopped being casual to me around our third date. And I trust you enough to know you’d tell me if this”, you’d gestured between the two of you, “wasn’t what you wanted anymore before starting up with someone else. I hope I have that same trust in return, because if you’re worried about me stepping out on you while you’re away, I don’t know how this is going to work. And I really want it to work.”

“Shit, I’m really striking out here. Batting 0 for two,” he’d sighed out more to himself than to you, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Our third? Really? I thought for sure after that disaster that you were going to block my number.” He huffs a laugh, cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they had that chaotic evening on the beach.

“Bradley, it was comically bad.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at the memory of it. “You were trying so hard and you were so flustered. It was so endearing.”

“Who would have guessed getting attacked by seagulls and coming home covered in sand flea bites could have been so appealing?” He joked self-deprecatingly.

“Me, I could have. Since I was with you,” you said sincerely, “No one I’ve dated has ever put half as much effort into trying to make me happy as you have.”

The two of you exchanged a soft, tentative smiles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had a wandering eye or anything, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with you as he reached for your hands and threaded his fingers through yours, his palms slightly sweaty. “This deployment is different for me. I’ve never had to ask someone to wait for me before, never had anyone who wanted to. And I’ve been really in my head because I was trying to find the right way to tell you, to ask you.”

You were still getting to know all of the expressions of his face, but the look of open insecurity he was wearing was new to you. And you’d felt something deep in your chest release and unlock.

For how easily he owned a room, for how confident he could be, getting to see these tender parts of him because he trusted you with them had made you ache in the most bittersweet of ways for the man who was in front of you.

You held his gaze, taking in his anxious expression. How anyone couldn’t want this man or didn’t think he was worth the wait was incomprehensible to you.

“So Sunday the seventeenth, huh?” you’d said with a grin.

His relief was palpable as he’d squeezed your hand a bit tighter, “Yeah, baby, you up for it?”

“A perfect day with my dream guy?” you mused, squeezing his hand back, “Yeah, I think I’d be up for that. I’m up for all of it.”

Not just the date. Not just the deployment. You already knew. With him, you wanted it all.

When the waitress returned a few moments later, Bradley ordered a green curry for himself and the Pad See Ew for you. Along with one of those complicated, fun drinks that arrived with fanfare and flames, all while he played with your fingers.

And after you were finished, she’d dropped off a fluffy looking coconut covered dessert that she’d stated was on the house as walked away with a wink.

You’d totally called it, dinner and a show.

As you’d left the restaurant, he tucked you in close under his arm pressing kiss after kiss to your temple as you made your way back to the Bronco.

And later, when he had taken you back to his place for the night, your boob-and-leg dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, he’d apologized again. This time with his mouth on your body.

Twice.

It had been a fluke, really, finding that record tucked away in that small, but well-kept shop on that Sunday before his deployment.

You’d surprised him with a certificate for a haircut and hot towel shave at an upscale barber for a little pre-deployment pampering. He’d gotten his hair trimmed the day before and he was somehow looking even more sunkissed than usual. His patterned shirt was mostly buttoned up and he had on your favorite pair of jeans- the ones that might have been a bit too snug, but did devastating things for his ass.

It was the outfit he’d been wearing when you had first met.

You and Bradley had spent a lazy, perfect morning at the beach reading and lounging and trading sea salt kisses before changing and to grab a bite to eat. He’d held up a towel up around you to slip into your sun warmed dress, behaving himself for the most part. But you’d still caught him sneaking a peek from over the top of the terry cloth.

After eating a late lunch at his favorite little café that served the best cioppino, you’d popped in and out of the various shops that dotted the boardwalk near the pier. It might have been the bottle of wine you shared, but he made sure to stop at every photobooth you passed along the way, collecting strip after strip of snapshots and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

His hand staying in yours the whole time.

When he’d spotted the tiny record store, he’d cheerily pulled you along with him wanting to look for new additions for his ever-growing collection. It was his newest hobby after getting his mom’s old record player restored. You had even helped him build the sideboard he had specially ordered for it to display his prized collection in the living room of his home.

You could hear him talking excitedly to an associate about some Jerry Lee Lewis albums, who offered to take a look in the backroom for him. You never had good luck when you tried to search for specific things, so you were happy to meander around a bit aimlessly and see what spoke to you.

Casually flipping through the stacks, you’d gasped when you landed on what appeared to be the holy grail of all vinyl records ever made.

“Bradley, look!” You’d held out the record for him like a prize. And he abandoned his own search to come join you on the other side of the store.

“Soldiers’ Sweethearts, huh?” He grinned at your find, his eyes crinkling around the edges. The navy colored jacket highlighted a trio of glamourous looking women, each of the three records featured a different performer and their covers of songs popularized during WWII.

“Mm-hmm,” you’d preened, feeling entirely too pleased with yourself. “You’re a soldier, I’m a sweetheart. I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. I have to get it.”

“Well I’m not a soldier, technically,” he’d chuckled, as you’d rolled your eyes at him. The joke had you scrunching your nose, and his mustache grazed you as he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to it. “But you’re definitely a sweetheart, sweetheart.”

You were still trying to learn the ins and outs of that part of his life. But you’d liked how he never made you feel stupid when you had questions. More often than not he seemed excited to answer them for you, that you were interested in what he did.

Rooster gently took your newest most prized possession into his big hands, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Flipping the album over, he’d scanned the tracks listed on the back for the three records. “Some classics, but a lot I don’t think I know. Definitely some intriguing titles, like ‘Daddy’,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a grin that could only be described as lewd.

The man was a menace and had no problem finding new ways to make you blush. You were grateful that the shop was empty except for the two of you, as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“What about ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight’? Have you heard that one before, sweetheart?” His large body moving in and crowding yours, the smell of his cologne making your thoughts go a bit fuzzy around the edges. Your heartbeat kicked up in tempo as he brushed a piece of hair off your forehead.

That find was definitely a jackpot.

Him and those records.

“Mm, or how about ‘Make Love To Me’?” He’d murmured into your ear, his free arm slid slowly against your waist, making a home for itself low on your back. The warmth from his hand seeping through your dress and into your skin.

It was heady being the target of all his heated words and teasing tone. The pull in your low stomach getting more intense with every moment you’d stayed pressed against his hard body. You could see how his pulse was pounding arditamente con forza, boldly with force, from how close your face was to that thick throat of his. And you had wanted to--

“I knew we had it somewhere!”

The associate’s cheery announcement as he returned from the backroom startled you back into yourself. Feeling flustered you’d tried to pull away, but Bradley just kept his arm locked around you as he’d made his way to the counter.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. We’ll take this one too,” he stated as he’d smoothly placed your Soldiers’ Sweethearts album on the top of the pile he had accumulated. Only letting go of you to pay.

Naturally, you’d wanted to play the record the second you made it back to Bradley’s place.

He set it up for you before giving you a lingering, deep kiss leaving you to your own devices as he worked on the final few things left on his to-do list before his deployment early the next morning.

You were happy to make yourself comfortable on his wide seat couch with an Old Fashioned listening to Jo Stafford’s soothing voice with your eyes closed, wanting to luxuriate in the moment.

One where Bradley was less than twenty feet away puttering around in his kitchen and humming and murmuring to himself.

One where you could call out to him and he would be in front of you in a few long strides.

You wanted to avoid thinking about the next day and the beginning of your new normal.

One where you couldn’t expect text messages from him throughout the day.

One where concern and uncertainty would follow you around like a dark cloud until he came back home to you.

But he was here for now. And you wanted to savor it all, to soak up all of its sweet, syrupy goodness like the expensive cherry in your glass.

He must have sensed the turn in your thoughts because his sandalwood scent gave his closeness away before his voice did, “What do you say, Miss Soldiers’ Sweetheart? Can you spare a dance for me?”

You opened your eyes to see him standing before you with his hand outreached for you. The smile so gentle and open on his face, made it impossible for you to do anything other than wordlessly nod your head in agreement as you’d let him pull you up from your comfy perch.

“Apologies in advance for any injuries caused by my two left feet,” you joked a bit bashfully as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Lucky for us, I was gifted with two right feet. Don’t worry, we’ll even out each other,” he murmured.

He pulled you into his gravity, pressing your joined hands against his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand on your lower back urging closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head where you had tucked it into that safe space where his neck meets his shoulder.

take me in your arms, and never let me go whisper to me softly while the moon is low

True to his word, he’d guided you in a smooth, easy rhythm. The confidence in his steps as you were held within his sturdy arms was enough to make you feel secure in your own movement. With him you were completely taken care of.

hold me close and tell me what I wanna know say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow

Your other hand slid up slowly from where it was resting on his shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as your thumb traced the thick column of his throat.

Come a little closer, make love to me

He held you tighter, held you closer, as the song came to an end. The easy rhythm turning into a gentle sway that continued as the next song began. And the one after that.

That night in his bed he moved against you with such purpose, such tenderness. The sex with Bradley was always stunningly good, he was never content to let himself come until he’d rendered you thoroughly boneless and breathless. He was easily the best you’ve ever had, but that night it was different between you two.

The mood weighty and intense, both of you exposed in a way you hadn’t been before. But there was no mistaking the deliberate way he touched you, the unwavering way he rolled his hips against yours, the unguarded way he held your gaze as if he was committing that moment to memory as he made love to you.

He’d held you close to his warm body, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps, as you shivered through your orgasm. His mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered soothing sweet somethings until he followed you over the edge.

For Bradley, you were up for it. For him, you’d be up for all of it.

yesyesyes

Things were a bit too quiet for you.

You heart clenched in a different way when you looked at Penny’s piano on those evenings you spent with the Dagger Squad without him. The ache was still there, but so was a new kind of longing. Part for him, but also for yourself.

But you’d made it through that deployment with the help of your three favorite sweethearts: Jo, Vera and Anne. Although you always queued up one song in particular anytime you found yourself missing him a bit more than normal.

And when Bradley returned back home to you six weeks later, it was easy to fall right back into him. That quiet period was almost too easily forgotten when he was around to fill a space.

That night at the Hard Deck when he serenaded you for the first time, it was normal for him to strut over to the old jukebox to unplug it. His timing impeccable as always, silencing whatever country song Jake had queued up.

What wasn’t normal was the way he took you by the hand leading you directly to the old upright and pulled you right onto the bench next to him.

There was already some sheet music spread across the shelf, you’d noted as he’d wiped his hands on the outside of his jeans before settling his hands on the keys. It only took you a couple bars of the intro to realize what song he was playing, already completely enamored before he’d even opened his mouth to sing.

It was your song.

Nothing in the world could ever compete with Bradley Bradshaw’s deep, raspy voice singing just for you. The significance of the song meant for you and him alone.

You heart had swelled in your chest until you thought it might burst from happiness. Never in your life had you been so thoroughly swept off your feet. It was a gesture came from his heart that made a home in yours.

Ever the showman Rooster put on a full performance, his aviator sunglasses sliding down his nose as he really leaned into it.

Your wide grin had turned to laughter when a few members of the Dagger Squad jumped in as back-up vocals, singing into their beer bottles in a way that obviously had been rehearsed. You didn’t know how he managed to keep it a secret. While Rooster was a vault in his professional life, when it came to his personal life Bradley couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

The whole bar was having fun with the jaunty tune, some couples dancing along in smooth circles on the sticky wood floor as he crooned. He’d leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek every now and then in between verses, and you’d felt yourself fall for him even harder.

He’d pulled you into his lap once he was done playing, as the din of the resumed chatter softly cocooned you. You’d seen all you needed to know reflected in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Will you play it again?” you’d asked against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.” And you rested your head on his shoulder watching his fingers get into position on the keys once more as he played the few opening notes.

Somewhere you heard a groan followed by a grumbled, “Not again.”

“Shut it, Bagman,” you bossed at him, not even bothering to look in his direction. You only had eyes for Bradley.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled. “Shut it, Bagman.”

And then he played it again.

take me in your arms, and never let me go

You should be asleep in your own bed and not at his place with only the soft light of the lamp above his piano and a now cold cup of tea to keep you company.

Tired of tossing and turning, you’d given up on the idea of getting any sleep at your own place after the second hour of trying. Throwing on your slippers, you’d grabbed your keys and then drove over to his place, still in the oversized t-shirt you’d put on before bed, in hopes that scent of his sheets would help lull you to sleep.

But all it did was make you miss him more.

It was too quiet without his soft breathing next to you as he held you close and tucked against his chest.

Too quiet without his records.

Too quiet without his happy humming.

Too quiet without him.

The sound of the tea kettle on his gas range had helped fill the silence, but it was his piano that had called you as you had waited for the water to boil. The sheet music you had left there from the last time you were over beckoning like a siren’s song.

It was your secret.

Only for a few more days, only until he came home.

You wanted to surprise him, to sweep him off his feet the way that he always did with you when he played for you.

During that first deployment, for the first time in years, your fingers yearned for the feel of cool, smooth keys beneath your fingers.

You hadn’t even told Bradley, the one person who would understand it the most, that you’d been thinking about it. Let alone that you were actually taking classes again. Making up excuses about manicures or errands or spin classes for why you were busy for an hour every Tuesday at five PM.

The thing that had once hurt your heart the most, was now the only thing that helped soothe the ache of missing him. The only thing that made you feel close to him when you were thousands of miles apart.

You wanted that familiar comfort of making music. You wanted it because you missed him, but you also wanted it for yourself.

A co-worker had given you the name and number for her kids’ instructor, Mrs. McMullen, an elderly woman who started teaching after her husband passed away. It took you couple weeks to work up the courage to make the call, the sticky note burning a hole in the pocket of your purse you had tucked it into.

You had been an anxious mess the day of your first lesson, hands shaking like you’d had one too many shots of espresso. It felt strange, a little surreal sitting there in the body you’d grown into on the padded bench in her cozy living room. One of the walls filled with shelves and shelves of sheet music, her own personal library.

And for a brief moment, you were transported to a different year on a different bench in a different room. Now and Then. Older and Younger. Both versions of you there to learn. All too familiar, yet entirely new.

You started with the basics. A reintroduction to those lines on the page and the notes that spoke their own language for those who knew how to read it.

Your fingers wanting to move quicker than your sluggish mind, like an echo of a memory of how it used to be. You winced and apologized after every wrong note, until she put her hand on yours, her skin looked as delicate as her fingers did, and said gently, “We learn by doing, mistakes only mean that you are trying. Once more, once again.”

After that first lesson, you’d gone back to your car and promptly burst into tears. Overwhelmed tears, happy tears. That tender part of you still soft, however no longer aching.

You’d left feeling lighter as you pulled away from her house to go meet up with everyone at the Hard Deck, but also with a packet of sheet music to practice for your next lesson.

When Rooster had told you about getting his new orders, when he had asked you again if you were still up for it. You’d told him the same thing you had at that date, you were up for it all.

You would take the sadness with the sweet any day of the week for as long as he was yours.

You’d known how you would fill the space he left behind. And exactly how you wanted to welcome him home. You’d been excited to put that certain song just for him in your cart, and then tacking on one more song to your order, a song that would be just for you.

Both you and Mrs. McMullen had be surprised at how you’d been able to pick things back up over the months, you still weren’t anywhere as good as you were when you were younger, but it wasn’t nearly as daunting as it used to be. And when you showed up to your next lesson after your songs had been delivered, she was more than happy to help you figure out ways to simplify the songs a bit so that you’d be ready when he returned.

And now you’re bent over Bradley’s piano with a pencil tucked behind your ear as you played through the hardest bit of the song, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve gone over it tonight. This morning? You were in that liminal space between yesterday and today. Where the time on the clock was just a suggestion because it felt neither here nor there.

You had practiced and practiced the song you had wanted to play for him once got home. You’re pretty sure Mav wasn’t supposed to tell you the significance of that particular song, but it had made your heart flutter wildly in your chest when he’d told you. And every time you’ve heard it since then.

It was polished, it was perfect, it was ready. All you needed was him.

The one you’re playing now con amore, with love, is the piece you pull out when you long for him the most.

The cover of the song had made you think of him from the moment you’d heard it. It was more lyrical and delicate than the original, and captured just how you felt about him. Just how much he meant to you. Sometimes you sing along with it, sometimes you just let the keys and pedals express the things you otherwise could not.

It was the song of your heart.

Your fingers trip over one of the notes yet again, probably from the lack of sleep, but you weren’t ready to crawl back into Bradley’s comfy bed. Not just yet.

Sighing, you pull the pencil from behind your ear, muttering to yourself out loud as you note the spot on the page. It was already filled with little pencil marks, some older and some newer. All made because you were trying.

Once more, once again.

Breathing out slowly, you settle your hand back on the keys-

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

Read {vol. ii} here!

He's a sneaky one, friends! I have Part 2 in the works, not to worry! We have to see how it all plays out! (put intended)

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for the grand finale!

Here's a link to the Soldiers' Sweethearts Album, if you're curious!

But this is their song, the one Bradley serenaded her with! Jo Stafford's version of 'Make Love to Me'

I ended up making two moodboards for this part!

Here's the more colorful one! And here's the more yearn-y one!

You can check out my other stories here!

And a big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me spam you about this one!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #rooster x you

1K notes · View notes

moonhoures · 8 months

Text

[ 6:47 — i. changkyun ]

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, unprotected sex, riding / cowgirl position, pet name “baby” used for reader

a/n: this is dedicated to my beautiful, wonderful, lovely ✨ anon & 💐 anon & all my fellow kyun stans. ily!!! 😚🫂💓

“Kyun.”

“Hm?”

“I said dinner’s ready, like, five minutes ago.”

Your boyfriend sighed, but only because he had heard you. He just completely forgot you were waiting on him. He had been working diligently on some songs since he had came home from the gym earlier in the afternoon. Lately he had been using the couch and coffee table as his makeshift office space while his recording studio was being refurbished. You enjoyed having him work from home, but it was bittersweet in the sense that you felt guilty for disturbing him at any time. Still, you were determined to have him eat dinner since you knew he hadn’t eaten a solid meal since very early that morning.

You approached the back of the couch, placing your hands on his shoulders. Instantly, his tense muscles seemed to relax under your touch; he hadn’t even realized his muscles were stiff in the first place. He took a deep breath as he leaned into the cushions, his head falling back as his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, baby. I heard you. I just got wrapped up and forgot.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been working hard,” you said, a soft smile on your lips when his hand reached up to hold one of yours against the top of his chest, “That’s why I made shrimp for dinner. Just for you.”

He opened eyes and grinned, tilting his head to look at you a little better, “Have I told you I loved you today?”

“Only a couple times.”

“Remind me to tell you a hundred more times before we go to bed.”

You laughed softly, leaning down to place a sweet kiss against his forehead, then another on his cheek. You were going to return to the kitchen then, but his hand held firmly on your wrist, keeping you where you were. When you saw the pout on his lips, you instantly knew what the reasoning was. You rolled your eyes playfully before leaning down again to kiss his lips, a small hum of appreciation emitting from his throat. He could be so dramatic sometimes, but you loved him nonetheless.

“Come here,” he spoke so warmly despite the assertiveness of his words. You didn’t hesitate to listen, walking the few steps to the front of the couch. His hand took yours, drawing you closer until you were right in front of him. He looked up at you, hands resting on your hips, “You look so beautiful today. I know I haven’t said that yet, but you do.”

“Thank you, Kyun,” you felt your cheeks bloom with heat at the compliment. Mostly because you knew these small, intimate, flattery-filled moments led to much more intimate, passionate moments. And once his mind was in motion, it was difficult to get it elsewhere.

“I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t been able to take care of you,” the word choice he used seemed so deceivingly innocent, but the look he gave you was clear with his intentions. And if it wasn’t his eyes, then his fingers rubbing sensually into your hips definitely gave him away.

“You can make it up to me later,” you teased, your hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. They had lost the baby fat you fell in love with when you first started dating him years ago, but you loved him no less. If anything it just made him look more mature, sexier.

“How about now?”

His hands lowered to the spot on your thighs where your lounge shorts stopped, inches above your knees. As you were pondering the idea of having sex now, with your dinner growing cold in the kitchen, you got lost in his eyes. Those eyes that could convince you to commit a crime if he wanted you to. Those eyes that begged you to let him fuck you until you saw stars behind your eyelids. The eyes that distracted you until you heard the click of his laptop closing, and you realized he had reached behind you to shut it.

“Work is done for the day,” he added, pulling you closer until your knees were brushed up against the couch between his legs.

“The food will get cold,” you muttered an excuse, but your hands were already touching his jaw, aching to pull his lips to yours.

“I can reheat it when we’re done.”

Changkyun’s words meant nothing at that point because you two were already meeting each other for a kiss as hot as the stove had been before you turned it off to come get him. A low, rumbling noise sounded from deep in his chest as his grip on you tightened. He wanted nothing more than to push you down onto the cushions next to him and devour you. You deserved it.

“Can I take these off?” his deep voice tickled your ear as he spoke between kisses on your neck. His fingers were already tugging your shorts slowly, just waiting for your confirmation to pull them completely off. When you nodded with a mumbled ‘yes’, the cotton garment fell to the floor at your feet.

In the next moment you were pulled onto his lap, straddling him. His lips and teeth continued to entangle with your own, attempting to claim you even though he knew you were already his. He knew because you were saved in his phone under ‘my baby 💜’. He knew because you had stuck by him for the past several years, and he never doubted your loyalty for even a second. He knew because every morning when he woke beside you, he thought to himself, I want to wake up next to you every day, for the rest of my life. He knew because when he didn’t wake up next to you he felt like a piece of him was missing. He had never felt like someone completed him before you.

Several minutes passed and Changkyun had managed to slip off his sweatpants and shift your underwear to the side. He was relishing the feeling of you enveloping him, his dick throbbing inside of you. It had only been two days since he last had sex with you, but it felt like two decades—you know, because he’s dramatic. His toned arms were wrapping around you, holding you as close to him as he could, your chests pressed against each other. Well, your chest was closer to his face in this position, which made it perfect for him to cover your neck in kisses (and marks). He loved to nip at your sensitive spots with his teeth. He loved the way you let out a small squeak, moan, or whine in protest from the sensation. He loved every sound you made, but those were some of his favorites.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Uh huh,” you merely nodded and breathed out an answer as you focused on rocking your hips over his. His hands guided you, helping you reach the orgasm you were aiming for. He tried his best to thrust up into you, but he could only move so much. He was enjoying the view though, watching you work yourself on him with each of your hands clutching the couch on either side of his head. As your head leaned back in pleasure, he tilted his head to kiss your arm on the space between your elbow and wrist.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he assured you, “I’ll be right behind you.”

He always had a way of being so comforting in these moments. Intimacy was something he cherished with you, and he somehow always knew how to make it special every single time. If it wasn’t with the way he touched you, loved you. Then it was with the way he spoke to you, coached you through any and every sensation he gave you.

“Gonna-“ you panted as you felt your climax approaching. You rutted against him a little faster, using all the energy you could collect in your body. He continued to press kisses along your arm where he could reach. His fingers slid up and down the skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the flesh that he touched. “I’m gonna . . .”

He tried to resist the urge to chuckle at your lost train of thought and the way your eyes squeezed shut in preparation for your orgasm, “C’mon, baby.”

His voice only brought you closer, and soon enough you were groaning his name in his ear. Your arms circled his shoulders, hugging him tight while you bucked against him, the aftershocks of your climax taking over you. He rubbed your thighs, telling you how good you felt. You clenched and unclenched around him, causing him to cum with a few deep grunts. His breath came out in labored, heavy puffs while you two recovered from the releases you gave each other. He told you he loved you, just as he always did. No matter how many times he said it, it never lost its weight, and it never got tiring to hear.

“We can go for another round later, if you want,” he said as you pulled away, but not before you left a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“That sounds good, but we need to eat,” you reminded him, “I didn’t make that food for it to go to waste.”

“I’ll go reheat it while you clean up,” he laughed softly through his words, lightly patting your ass before you got up from his lap. He watched you pick up your shorts from the floor and go to your bedroom, a grin on his face the entire time.

— please like, reblog, or leave a comment! i appreciate your feedback! 🫶🏻

— taglist: @bruh-changbin @carronpatrick @bluesoobinnie

— join my taglists here 💌

#monsta x smut #changkyun smut #mx smut #im changkyun smut #monsta x i.m smut #monsta x #im changkyun #monsta x i.m #monsta x timestamps #changkyun timestamp #monsta x scenarios #changkyun scenarios #monsta x hard hours #monsta x hard thoughts #mx hard hours #mx hard thoughts #changkyun imagines #changkyun x reader

620 notes · View notes

darlingmbappe · 1 year

Text

The Loneliest [3] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: While Kylian lets jealousy get the best of him on the pitch, you find that a tequila-filled night might be the answer to healing your broken heart... even if it's just for one night.

Warnings: Still just absolute angst. Missing your ex, Kylian being overprotective and jealous, Erling Haaland being a dick (i'm sorry it's purely for plot purposes), heavy drinking, self destructive behavior, cussing, bad cheese puns, let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

The breakup was bound to go public sooner or later. It was surprising you made it almost seven weeks before the media got the hold of the story. You both were spotted alone on separate sides of town too many times, you’d missed all of his matches, and E!News got a source that told them you live alone now. You have a strong hunch it’s your next door neighbor that’s always lingering by the stairs. She asks entirely too many questions.

While you were still with Kylian, your relationship was kept mostly private and you rarely found yourself in any headlines. But, lord knows, if there’s anything the press loves more than a celebrity engagement is a celebrity breakup. When you saw a graphic of your face and Kylians face photoshopped onto a broken heart on Snapchat, a clickbait title asking, “did our fav football couple call it quits?”, you knew you’d be getting some unwanted attention. Fuck you, Daily Mail. Mind your business.

You clearly remember agreeing with him to wait for you to text first, but he’s a damn liar. He didn’t let a day go by before sending you a sweet good morning text. For the past three weeks, he’s been sending little messages here and there. Nothing too risqué or anything that made you feel pressure… they were actually nice. You’d been pretty good at not responding, being occupied doing absolutely anything else to stop yourself from thinking about him.

Kylian knew this. Being with you for such a long time, he understood how you got when you didn’t want to think about something. When your family dog passed, you claimed you were fine over and over again, and he just had to let you hyper fixate on new random hobbies until your feelings eventually exploded out. You taught yourself claymation, knitting, refurbishing old creepy dolls… that was definitely his least favorite. He needed to make sure you didn’t force yourself to forget about him, he wanted to be there for you when you were ready. He’s patience is usually very thin, but he’s impressed with himself for staying (mostly) zen about you not responding. He had to. He couldn’t fuck this up again and come swinging with the ‘I love you’s that he types out and erases promptly.

It’s finally Friday and you just finished a late lunch at your favorite café near your office, just listening to music on your headphones and reading through a document you were about to send to your colleagues. Your phone buzzed with a message from Kylian and, of course, you clicked the notification. You always did.

He’d sent you a picture of a decorative board at some market with a cheese-remix of the song Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. You immediately laughed out loud, having seen this exact sign before with Kylian years ago. For weeks after, you two sang the lyrics randomly around the house, in the car, pretty much anywhere until all of your friends were begging for you two to just shut the fuck up.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese, who am I to dissa-brie, I’ve travelled the world and the feta cheese, everybody’s lookin’ for stilton.

Your fingers began to respond before you even had a chance to really think about it.

(Y/N): Not this shit again

Kylian smiled widely upon seeing that you sent something back, typing back in record speeds.

Kylian: I think it’s…….. grate

You actually smiled at his horrible pun, twirling your hair against your own will.

(Y/N): very cheesy

Kylian was so quick to look up more cheese puns, not wanting to let his roll come to an end. Any communication, even about cheese, worked for him.

Kylian: it’s very gouda to hear from you again :)

“Oh, man.” You mumbled to yourself, noticing how your heart rate increased with just a couple of his really really bad jokes.

God, you missed him so much.

You stood up, leaving the conversation there, gathering your things and turning up the music. Yet, the whole walk back it was impossible to focus on whatever was playing in your ears because of the louder song playing inside your head. Sweet dreams are made of cheese…

Kylians thumb was lodged between his teeth in anticipation, but soon realized you weren’t going to respond again. Lowly cursing to himself, he threw his phone back in his locker. Everyone was prepared for todays game against Manchester City, especially Kylian. He wanted to win so bad, it almost felt like the World Cup.

He knew who he was going to play against — Erling Haaland. If he wasn’t too fond of him before, finding out he hit on you on you brewed a different kind of determination to win inside of him. You said nothing happened that night and he believed you — but he knew that Haaland had more in mind than just a nice conversation. He noticed last week that he followed you on instagram and liked all of your recent pictures, not including the ones with him. As of last night, you still didn't follow him back. Those late night stalking sessions have to stop soon. His nutritionists is really getting on his ass for finishing entire jars of peanut butter every other day.

He wondered if you were going to watch the game or if you had been since you left. He really hoped you hadn’t been. He’s been playing horribly these past weeks. Once the news of your breakup went public, every commentator made a point of mentioning it and saying stupid shit like, “life goes on, and that’s something Kylian Mbappé is going to have to figure out sooner or later.”

He let his angry thoughts fuel him as he walked into the tunnel. He tried to get his head in the game, but couldn’t help looking back every so often to the opposing team next to them, eyes always landing on the tall blonde man.

He stood in his place, but his neck twisted back against his will, not really caring if he was being too obvious. Right before the teams were meant to walk out together, Haaland caught his death glares. Kylian doubled down, making sure he wouldn’t be the one to lose this immature staring contest. Holland cracked a shit-eating grin and winked at Mbappé.

Oh, the rage… keep it in, Kylian.

He looked away with an unbothered “pft.” It wasn’t very convincing, not even to himself.

After the usual opening ceremony, the whistle blew indicating that the match had begun, sending Kylian sprinting in every direction as the game progressed. ManCity was good, but he knew PSG was better. He kept telling himself this, but his teammates continued to mess up, even allowing the light-blue motherfuckers to score the opening goal not even twenty minutes into the first half. And, of course, it was Haaland that buried the ball deep in the back of the net. He watched him celebrate on his pitch, listening to the crowd cheer their chant, feeling tortured and helpless.

His eye was fixed on the Norwegian as he moved back into the starting position, hating that he was laughing, still on a high from scoring. Hakimi walked next to Kylian, feeling that his friend is on the brink of doing something very dumb. His hand patted his shoulder, but Kylian didn’t even notice it, his entire body twitching with jealously.

When Kylian was in earshot, Haaland nodded up at him. “Kylian.” The young player called, but Kylian just side eyed him. Hakimi grabbed his shoulders tighter just in case he tried anything. “(Y/N) is up for grabs now, no?”

Kylians ears rung as he felt himself launch at Erling who just laughed. Hakimi had gotten in front of him without missing a beat, roughly shoving him in the opposite direction to keep him from beating up the 22 year old. Other PSG players joined, guiding Kylian to his position.

He didn’t even know words were coming out of his mouth at this point, pointing his finger threateningly at Erling. “Don’t fucking talk about her. I’ll fucking kill you. You hear me?” He was well aware that this was all to get in his head but, shit. It’s working. Kylian didn’t even notice that the referee was being talked down by Neymar and Messi, eventually the confrontation getting waved off with a warning at the start of a new play.

Halftime rolled around and no one scored again. In the locker room, Glatier yelled and waved his arms, demanding that the defense get their shit together. He zoned out, too deep in thought about what an asshole that guy is and how he wants to score and rub it in his face. He was brought back when he heard his name grumbling out of his coaches mouth, having no idea what the topic even was.

“Sorry?” He embarrassingly piped up, seeing all of his teammates had their eyes on him.

Glatier grunted, stomping closer to him. “I said, get your shit together!”

“Yes, coach.”

“Don’t worry about what they say. Just go out there and play like I know you can. You want to win, don’t you?”

“I do, coach.”

“Then let’s fucking win.”

Glatier was right and he knew it. Whatever that stupid hulk-boy had to say about you was only getting under his skin. He couldn’t play at his best like that.

So, when the second half started and he heard him say some bullshit again, he did his best to let it roll off his back. “You think she’ll respond if I DM her?” Erling asked nonchalantly to Álvarez, but Kylian was determined to let it slide. Let it fucking slide.

But, he didn’t stop there. When walking by him, Haaland asked him, “What’s a good spot to take her? Nothing too far, my hotel room is around here.” Kylians fists were balled in rage, biting his cheek and blowing air out of his flared nostrils.

“You better shut your goddamn mouth.” He snapped back, but continued walking away, knowing he can’t let him win. Hearing Haalands taunting chuckles behind him almost made him whip back around, but Neymar wrapped his arm securely around his shoulder, forcing him to look forward.

“It’s just talk, Kylian. Come on.” He rubbed his head roughly as if to beg him to not let it get to him before running back into position.

The game progressed, only ten minutes left of the second half before overtime. Neymar was at the left side of the field, preparing himself for a corner kick. Kylian searched for an opening that could potentially bring a scoring opportunity, but a brooding shadow seemed to follow him everywhere. Haaland was aggressively playing defense against him, his height advantage making it impossible for Kylian to move somewhere better.

“I hope she wears something nice and tight.” Erling chortled through his tired breathing. “I’ve been waiting for you to mess things up with her. I’ve had my eye on her for months… She’s so hot.”

His mind went blank, completely blank. It must have, because he didn’t remember shoving Haaland down onto the pitch, fists pulling back. He was seeing red, but his teammates dragged him off before his punch could land right on his cheek. Before he knew it, the ManCity players were charging at PSG. The whistle blew about a dozen times as the crowd got louder.

Kylian couldn’t stop trying to shake off his friends, screaming past the wall of light blue toward the blonde man on the ground pretending to be seriously injured, clutching his arm.

“Say that again! I fucking dare you!” Kylian threatened, Ramos clinging onto his shoulders, walking backwards.

He was pushed away far from the scene as his whole team began to fight with the other players in solidarity, the referee preoccupied with calming down the situation.

He was for sure already getting a red card, so his mindset was fuck it. He sprinted around the fighting crowd who immediately recognized his intentions, getting back in front of him before he could reach Haaland to really do some damage.

“Stay the hell away from her. I’ll end you, you son of a bitch. Off this pitch, I swear to god you’re dead.” Kylian talked out of his ass, already walking himself off the pitch when the referee held up a red card. He waved him off, spiting on the grass as he made his way back through the tunnel, ignoring the coaching team screaming at him altogether.

ManCity ended up winning 2-0 and Kylians suspension was decided to extend for two matches. He didn’t watch the remainder of it, but when he found out Erling Fucking Haaland scored the other goal, it felt like the knife was twisted. Fuck that guy. The press conference after was hell, having to claim that he deeply regretted his actions and that this doesn’t reflect his character or whatever his PR team wrote up for him.

He truly did feel like a dumbass. He absolutely hated how much he let those comments affect him. He knew he should’ve just blocked it out but how was he going to let him say that stuff about you? The way he talked about you like you weren’t even a person, like you weren’t the love of his life. Sure, he felt like a dumbass, but he would defend you to the ends of the earth.

He got home to his empty house, throwing himself on his sofa, flipping on ESPN to watch basketball highlights. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. Usually, he’s opposed to naps as they throw off his sleeping schedule, but recently he’d found them comforting; an easy escape from everything going on. Besides, his sleep schedule was already bonkers from the breakup.

He swears his eyes were only shut for five minutes, but he woke up to complete darkness. His TV even timed out, neck sore from the stiff throw pillows supporting his head, groaning so loudly that it echoed inside the vacant home. It was only when he picked up his phone to check the time that he realized you were even calling. The faint buzzing was probably what woke him up.

“Shit.” He shot up, wiping the sleep from his face as he answered quickly.

He cleared his groggy throat. “Hello?”

He faintly heard you saying his name, but the music in the back was pounding. “Kyyyyks!”

He laughed to himself, loving the sound of his nickname for the first time since your breakup. “Hello? (Y/N)? Are you drunk?”

“Hold on.” He heard you yell from the other line as the music got softer in the background. “Hellooo.” You giggled.

“Hi.” He giggled back.

“I woke you up.” He could hear the pout in your voice, having to bite his lip to keep his smile from getting ridiculous.

“No, no I don’t mind. Call me anytime.” Kylian began twirling his hoodie string on his forefinger. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but he can’t hear you. Your drunk brain didn’t catch up. “I think so.”

“You think so? Where are you?” Concerned, he looked at the time. A little past 3:30 am. Damn, long ass nap.

“Umm…” You paused to look around you, seeing no signs anywhere and finding it kind of funny. “I dunno. I lost them ages ago.”

“Them?”

“Yeah, my friends.”

He stood up. “Wait, wait. Are you by yourself?”

“Mhm!” You chirped, now walking away from the club, alone. Your skin-tight tights gave you no warmth at all, but the tequila that flushed your system had you covered. “Kyks…”

“Yeah?” He waited for you to say something, his concern for you growing, wishing he still had your location so he could go look for you.

You paused, looking around the dark streets. “I mi…” your sentence drifted off and you laughed off what you were about to say. “… I’m so drunk.” You stumbled further down the street, a loud club with red lights oozing from the entrance peaking your interest.

He knew what you were about to say, but wasn’t going to push it. “I can hear that. Do you need a ride? I can come get you right now, just send me your current location.”

“No, I’m fine! Look, I found somewhere safe!” You point, even though he couldn’t see. “Oh, my god. You’ll never believe who’s here. Oh, shit.”

“Who?” Kylian asked over the phone.

You giggled. “I don’t wanna tell you, Kyks. You’ll be mad. I saw what happened today during the match.”

He was tempted to quirk a smile hearing that you have been watching, but then it dawned on him. It couldn’t be… “Haaland?”

What are the odds? Erling Haaland stood outside the packed nightclub with a few of his teammates, surrounded by women and men, all trying to get his attention. He hadn’t seen you yet.

“Oh my god, you’re such a good guesser.” You clapped. “God, I forgot how tall he was.”

He grabbed his keys, putting his shoes on, holding the phone up to his ear by his shoulder as he rushed around his home. “Please just let me come pick you up. I’m worried about you, where are you? I’ll take you home.”

You got closer to the LED sign. “It’s called… uh… la petite robe noire… oh my god! That’s what I’m wearing!” You cheered.

He put you on speaker and looked it up. Jesus, you were so far, he wondered if you’d started out around there or if you’d ventured out alone. He revved up his engine, backing out of his driveway. “Stay there, I’m coming. Okay?”

You didn’t respond, your phone now by your side as Erling spotted you, jogging over to where you were standing.

“Hey!” You waved, letting him come to you because your heels hurt too badly. You couldn’t hear Kylian on the other line trying to get your attention.

“Hello, beautiful.” He leaned in and hugged you. You kind of hugged back, too drunk to balance yourself upwards that way without falling into him.

As soon as he heard that fucking accent over the phone, he pressed his foot down on the pedal, hoping he hits every green light in Paris. You, on the other hand, forgot you were still on the line with your ex fiancé, but hung up when you realized it with a giggly “oops!”.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you, how are you, (Y/N)?” Haaland asks, placing a steady hand on your waist to keep your wobbling frame from tipping over.

“So good!” That was a lie. You were out tonight drinking away the pit in your stomach since the match. You’d watched sneakily from your desk, fingers tugging at your roots when you saw the little incident during the first half. During those last ten minutes, you felt like you were going to throw up.

Why did you have to tell Kylian about Erling? What happened today definitely opened him up to a lot of criticism from his coaches, the team, the media… You couldn’t help but feel a little responsible because you knew he could behave himself if he never knew about that night on the balcony. On the other hand, it was kind of… very hot. Jealous Kylian was never your favorite, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling something spark in you. Or maybe you were just horny. Who’s to say? It's been so long...

“You’re good?” Erling accent repeats, grinning down at you. “Sorry to hear about your breakup."

"Pffft." You laugh. "Yeah right, you two were never exactly friends."

He shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You're right. I'm not sorry." He smirks, looking you up and down. If your head wasn’t filled with liquor you’d feel kind of gross, but his flirty stares didn’t mean anything to the drunken body you found yourself in tonight. It all went right over your head. He nods his head toward the club. "Come on, let's get you a drink, yeah?"

You followed him in, the lights were blurry and the ground wasn't very stable. The vibrations came up from the ground, making you feel like someone was shaking your brain around. You were absolutely not thinking straight, and it only got worse when a bottle girl came over to the section with Don Julio. It was all so fast, like the lights flashed and you were suddenly with someone else, or in a different part of the club, or dancing, drinking, stumbling.

Fuck, you had to get out of there.

Kylian arrived at the club and he definitely did not fit the dress code. But, despite his grey joggers and Nike hoodie, he was still Kylian Mbappé, so he got in without any issue. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to risk being spotted at a nightclub that Erling Haaland was at, but he did it for you. He politely smiled at his fans but weaved past people begging for a selfie. He called you plenty of times from the car, but you never picked up.

Once inside the club, he lifted his hood and put on some sunglasses, hoping this wouldn't cause a riot without his security to lead him through the crowds. People were too focused on grinding and not spilling their drinks to notice the international superstar frantically searching for one single woman in a sea of them.

He looked up at the sections on the second floor, finally spotting that tall blonde bastard, wasting not a single second before making his way up, security letting him through once he flashed them his famous smile.

"Haaland!" He cups his hands around his mouth, hoping that he knows where you are. "Haaland!"

He finally turns around, knitting his eyebrows at the sight. "Kylian." He steps around the models to stand close to him, the loud music making it impossible to communicate from even a few feet away. "What? You didn't get enough of me on the pitch today?"

Kylian rolls his eyes. "No, man. I'm just looking for (Y/N). I know she was here."

"Yeah, she was." Erling laughed. "She's wild, for sure. Don't know where she went, though."

"What? She's not here?"

Haaland shrugged. "She went to the bathroom and never came back. Why do you even care? Like I said, she's up for grabs. She's not yours anymore."

If he wasn't so worried about your current wellbeing, he would have grabbed his stupid little ponytail and gone full Fight Club on him. But he didn't, instead he shook his head at him and made his way down from the section before he regretted not throwing a punch or two.

His concern grew. He never thought he would wish you were with Erling Haaland at a nightclub, but at least he could find you then.

Kylian stood on a ledge hoping to see your hair or face anywhere from a birds-eye view, but had to leave promptly when the partygoers caught onto his less than great disguise. A security guard from the club lead him to the back exit, warding off flashing cameras in every direction.

Thanking the man when he was safely outside with a fist bump, he walked himself down the dirty metal steps, sighing. "Putain." He walked to is parked car, leaning on it to try and think a little, wondering how he’s going to find you. He really isn’t familiar with this part of town, but he'll stay out all night if he has to.

He wished you’d just pick up the phone, ease his jittery nerves. Just as he was about to click on your contact, he heard some slurred singing further down the alleyway he was in. The faint tune sounded familiar, but the voice definitely was. It was you.

He followed like a siren sound, turning the corner to see you sitting on a small cement step, head resting on your curled up knees, giggling to yourself as you continued the song.

"Sweet cheese are made of cheese, who am I to *hiccup* disa-cheese..."

"I think you've messed up the lyrics there, love." He smiled, letting out a breath he’d been holding now knowing you're okay.

You gaze up, smiling widely, gasping and jolting up, wrapping your loose arms around his neck and letting your legs go limp.

"Woah, hey..." He exclaimed with a laugh, grabbing your torso tightly to keep you upright.

"You're here!" You gaze up, grin wide as he peered down at you, smiling as well. "Whadda coincidence!"

It was like he didn't just spend hours worried sick, now feeling somewhat at ease. Your presence is all he needed for every weight to be lifted off his shoulders. He only cares about making sure you get back home with a glass of water on your nightstand and a trashcan at your side.

"You okay? Why are you out here by yourself?" He guides you to stand properly on your own, but you didn't let your grip go, so he didn't either. He let his hand stay on the small of your back, his other gripping your hip.

You shrug, scratching your fingernails against the nape of his neck. He shivered, goosebumps running down his body, letting a flustered giggle escape his lips. You stared deep into his eyes. Your funny demeanor simmered down, finding the familiar warmth of the man in front of you to be more intoxicating than anything you've drank tonight. "You always loved when I did that..."

Kylian's heart got caught in his throat, gulping it down along with the urge to hold you so tightly. He'd been craving your touch, spending many sleepless nights wondering if he'd ever get to feel you again.

"Let's get you home, okay?" He mumbled, running his hands down your arms to unwrap them from his neck. He held one of your arms as he bent down to grab your phone and purse from the dirty floor.

He started guiding you to his passengers seat, but getting you there wasn’t an easy task. Your heels kept getting caught in the cobblestones so he had to keep a steady hand around you in case you fell. He buckled you up like a toddler, doing his best to ignore the googly eyes that you made at him.

When he got in drivers seat, he looked over at you, a rush of memories making his heart flutter.

All of the times he would turn his gaze away from the road for just a second to see you. The way you smiled when you rode with the windows down, sticking your arm out to feel the rushing wind outside the car. The way he used to be able to put a comforting hand on your thigh while he drove and you'd draw circles on his knuckles mindlessly, rambling about anything that came to your mind. The way you would always unwrap a piece of gum for him because you didn't want him distracted, even though he would never not get distracted by you.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, clearing his throat. "So, what's your address?"

You laughed, taking your heels off. "I dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Geez, Ky. I've only lived there for like..." you counted in your head, but numbers barely made sense sober, "...not that long."

"Do you have it on your phone?" He pried, handing you your cell.

"Yes!" You cheered, snatching it only to see that it was out of battery when the screen reflected back at you. "Ah, man. It's dead!" You pouted, throwing it in the backseat, crossing your arms.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, turning on the heat higher when he noticed the chills running down your arms. "I can take you back to... uh..." he stuttered, having to stop himself from saying our place, still getting used to living there alone, "—back to my place."

You gave him a look, raising your eyebrow dramatically. "Nice try, Casanova." You chuckled.

He laughed too, rubbing his eyes. "No, come on, (Y/N). There's like five beds. I wouldn't take advantage of you like that."

You bite your lip and stare at him through your lashes. "I'd let you."

God, that stare. That tone. He's internally cussing himself out for all those times he told you he wasn't in the mood or too tired. He wished he could go back in time and slap himself.

He quickly shook it off, laughing dryly and having to look away from you. “You are so drunk.”

With that, he put the car in reverse, beginning the half hour journey back to the home that still has pictures of you on the walls. The home that still feels like it’s yours, the one that Kylian prays he’ll see you wake up in again… at a time when you’re not absolutely plastered, of course. For now, he’s content looking over to your sleeping figure in his car, slowly breathing and shifting every so often.

Once he pulled into the garage, he got out and made his way to open the passenger door. “Hey,” he gently put a hand on your cold shoulder, “we’re here, bébé.”

He didn’t mean for the nickname to slip out of his mouth, but it did. It actually woke you up, your heart thumping at the four letters that used to be so familiar to you, so intimate.

“I’m tired.” You grumble, putting your hands out toward him, slightly less drunk, yet nowhere near sober. “I forgot how comfy your car is.”

“Wait ‘till we get you into a real bed. You’re gonna sleep like a rock.” You grabbed his forearms and stumbled out of the car, Kylian quickly grabbing your heels, phone, and purse.

For a drunk, you moved surprisingly fast, beelining to the kitchen. He followed you in, attentive to your wonky steps. He set your belongings down on one of the barstools, turning to see you leaned inside of his fridge, grasping the handles for balance.

“You hungry?” He grins, walking around the kitchen island and leans against it.

“Mm… you got rid of all my snacks…”

“Uh, not true.” He quipped, opening the cupboard and pulling back a red box, the sight bringing a big smile to your face.

“Pancakes?!”

He opens the cabinet bellow him and pulls out a sleek black press, confident smirk spreading to his cheeks. “Waffles.”

You cover your mouth in excitement, stumbling backward a bit but catch yourself on the island. “No way.”

He nods, eyes twinkling at your enthusiasm. You look so pretty in this kitchen. It’s nostalgic. It feels warmer now that you’re back here, even if he’s just pretending to forget that you’ll have to leave in the morning.

“Go sit. They won’t take long.” You do as he says, hopping into a stool as you watch him begin to mix the ingredients in a bowl.

Your mind drifted to the last time you saw him. The way his chin quivered when he cried over you, how much it hurt to tell him you weren't ready and that you may never be. It was still true. In a more clearheaded scenario, you probably wouldn't be here with him right now. If alcohol didn't seem like such an inviting bandaid to your aching mind and heart, the feelings you'd been suppressing would likely have stayed suppressed... where you honestly wanted them to stay. Opening yourself back up to be loved by the same man that made you question yourself was still incredibly scary.

"Bon appétit." He placed the plate in front of you.

The waffle was dusted in powdered sugar, a small butter square in the middle was surrounded by sliced strawberries. "Oh... my... god..." You salivated, picking up the fork and knife he handed you and devoured the first bite, moaning in gratitude. "Oh my god." You had no other words.

Kylian laughed, picking up his own fork to dig into his less pretty waffle, standing across from you. "Yeah?"

He didn't get a verbal response back, but knew you meant it upon seeing the manner in which you inhaled every crumb on your plate. Your late night snack was gone too soon and you wanted more, but your drooping eyes and full bladder convinced you that sleep was better.

Kylian took his last bite, grabbing your plates and setting them in the sink. "I think it's bedtime."

You agreed without saying so, hopping off the stool and took the route to the master bedroom. You could walk there with your eyes closed and you might as well have. The sleep deprivation mixed with your drunkenness lead you straight to the dresser, opening up the top chest on your side to grab a t-shirt.

When your crossed eyes looked down at the empty drawer, it was sobering. You let out a shakey breath, clasping your hands in front of you. "Right..."

Kylain stood by the door, frowning at your stillness. The small window of bliss he had with you just seconds earlier shattered upon seeing your sorrowful face looking down at the drawer that used to contain your things, now containing nothing but memories of what used to be.

Silently, he walked over to you, gently shutting it for you. He opened up his side, handing you one of the shirts you left folded for him. One of your favorites. "Here."

You give him an attempt of a smile but don't actually look at him. "Thanks."

He goes to leave the room but you stop him. "Wait. Where are you going? I'll sleep in one of the guest rooms. I'm not taking your bed."

"No, please. You just get some rest, okay?" He almost whispers, taking in the sight of you standing in this room again before he went to close the door.

"Ky?" You breathe, locking your eyes on his. There was something you wanted to say, some words your throat closed up on, leaving you with nothing else but silence. He stayed still, his adoration for you threatening to spill out of him the longer he stared at you. You draw a subtle breath upon feeling your emotions pooling in your eyes. "Thank you."

Kylian felt the weight of your otherwise simple words, taking context from the way you were looking at him. "I'll always be here for you."

With that, he reluctantly closed the door behind him, trudging to the bedroom closest to you.

The room spun as you laid down on your favorite pillow, beyond comfortable under the duvet you picked out yourself. You wished you never went drinking tonight. If you'd just stayed home and pigged out on ice cream you wouldn't have to face the truth that's been slowly crawling to the surface.

Your eyes shut much too quickly to really explore the sentiments you've uncovered tonight, but that's probably for the best.

Kylian's mind was racing and he only hoped you couldn't hear how loud his brain was from the next room. Under the guilt and self-pity he's been swimming in for weeks, he finally felt a sliver of optimism beginning to grow inside of him. It was such a tender feeling, a feeling he let lull him to sleep, content knowing you were just on the other side of that wall.

A/N: The amount of times this deleted..... I was going crazy. Thank god that I started saving every draft on Google Drive or else I probably would have stopped writing out of frustration. Big things coming for (Y/N) and Kylain! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry about having to make Haaland an asshole bc I really do love him. It was just to move the plot along <3. Also I didn't know all of the soccer terms in english so forgive me if I messed any of that up. Love all of you and thanks for reading!

#kylian mbappe angst #kylian x reader #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappé x reader #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappe fluff #neymar jr imagine #neymbappe #neymar angst #achraf hakimi x reader #achraf hakimi #futbol imagines #kylian mbappe fic #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe one shot

773 notes · View notes

tblsomedoodles · 8 months

Text

Some more SaiNW Dee b/c why not

so i promised more info, and i'm here to deliver. (if it's a little disjointed, i apologize. I have a yapping puppy setup behind me and she's scrambling my thoughts every time she barks.)

Raphie finds bitty Dee when he's 35 (i was right about the age last night lol) and immediately panics like cannon. Only that there's no Donatello to run to in that panic, so he goes to April. She helps make sure he recovers, using whatever scavenged/stolen medication she had on hand. But Raphie can't stay with the resistance very long since Shredder panted a pretty big target on all the turtle's backs just for existing. So he takes the kid with him, (b/c he refused to be left behind) and makes April promise not to tell his brothers about him.

Dee grows up always on the move, the only real (positive) constant being Raphie. as a result, Raphie is the only thing/person he trusts or sees as safe.

Dee doesn't talk much at all, only to Raphie (even then it's not exactly consistent that he speaks.) Neither one of them knew much sign language so when he was young they ended up inventing their own that they used for a while. Dee sometimes still does, but he starts using tech to speak the more he learns about it. by the time the episode happens, he has pretty much built his own text-to-speech from scratch. It's a weird amalgamation of sound bites found on old refurbished computers, and various recorded audio including Raphie's voice and a bit of his own. (he has an entire subfolder of the creative swears Raphie's said that he likes to use.)

Dee uses the headphones pretty often simply to block out the propaganda audio that's always blasting, and will often climb on Raphie like a jungle gym b/c that is how they traveled when he was young.

oh, and last tiny fact, Raphie didn't give him the name Donatello (Dee) for several months after he found him. For that time, he called him Kid or (once the tot told him) Purple. It's only after he started seeing him play with broken tech and various other Donatello simularities, that he finally offered the name to him, explaining that it once belonged to a brother that he lost, but he could have it if he wanted it.

But yeah, that's about all i have right now.

#tmnt #rottmnt #adopted donnie au #non canon #tmnt sainw #my doodles #i'm trying out the text options in csp #seeing if it's worth the effort

307 notes · View notes

king-calycanthus · 1 year

Text

It’s 1994, just over 10 years since their first brush with the Upside Down.

Steve still lives in Hawkins, in a little house of his own on the outskirts of town. His life isn’t wild or exciting but he wouldn’t want it to be. He’s had enough of that, to be quite honest. No, he’s comfortable and safe and, most of all, he’s happy. He’s got a nice job in town, coaching at the middle school, and volunteers at the community centre when he can. Somehow, he’s once again found himself to be a beloved figure in Hawkins, but instead of the weight of his high school crown and the cruelty that came with it, it’s because the town knows him as someone who cares, someone who puts himself out there to help and support the community. The kids come and go, so do Robin and Nancy. Only Max, Lucas, and El still live in Hawkins, but Steve sees everyone else often enough.

He misses Eddie. Of course he does. Between touring and recording new albums and photoshoots and interviews, there’s not much time to come back to Hawkins since Corroded Coffin got big. Still, they call regularly and Eddie sends him the cheesiest ‘Wish You Were Here’ postcards from every stop on the road. Steve has a shoebox full of them, and his favourites are stuck to the fridge with colourful magnets.

The most recent tour ended a few weeks ago, but the band is in LA writing a new album that Steve knows he’s going to listen to on repeat as soon as he can get his hands on it. Last time they called, Eddie told him he wouldn’t be back until Christmas, and Steve finds himself wondering if July is too soon to start counting down the days. School is out for the summer so he’s bored out of his mind and at a complete loose end, so his mind constantly wanders to the calendar. He tells Robin as much when she calls, and is only slightly perplexed when she asks him insistently if he’s sure he’s got absolutely nothing on for the next couple of weeks. Yes, he’s sure he doesn’t. There’s refurbishment going on at the community centre so there isn’t even anything happening there. Robin ends the call with a cryptic ‘just making absolutely, completely, 100% sure’, before hanging up and going off to enjoy the rest of her vacation in Europe.

A few days later, just as Steve is settling down to sleep, he hears the sound of a vehicle pull up outside his house. From the amount of noise it makes, he knows it has to be something big. Before he can get the chance to check it out for himself, though, there’s a tapping on his bedroom window.

When he pulls back the curtains, he’s shocked to see Eddie standing on his lawn, pelting rocks at his window like they’re teenagers in a movie. Behind him is what can only be Corroded Coffin’s tour bus, with all its fancy custom decals and tinted glass. Eddie is grinning widely and Steve finds that it’s contagious as he opens the window and leans out.

“Eddie, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in Cali!”

“I thought I’d surprise you.”

Steve laughs, unable to contain his joy at the ridiculous theatrics.

“It definitely worked. You brought your tour bus?” he asks, incredulous.

Eddie’s eyes sparkle in the summer moonlight.

“Well, it’s no Winnebago, but I figured it would do the trick.”

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. He’s never quite been able to live down his ‘six kids and a Winnebago’ comment, but he knows that Eddie knows exactly what it means to him. And, in turn, Steve thinks he knows exactly what Eddie is trying to say with such a grand gesture.

“What do you say, big boy? Still up for that road trip?”

Surely the question has to be rhetorical, because they both know there’s only one answer.

#yeah im thinking about them living long and fulfilling lives together again. what are you gonna do about it huh?#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #caly's ramblings

167 notes · View notes

astoundingbeyondbelief · 8 months

Text

Kaiju Week in Review (September 3-9, 2023)

I was a bit nervous about GAMERA -Rebirth-; the animation looked dodgy and Netflix has a shaky track record with kaiju shows. I'm pleased to report this is the best entry in the genre that they've put their name on. Good characters, great action (brutal as always), and actual episodic storytelling that effortlessly weaves in elements from the Showa films beyond all the returning kaiju. Watch it immediately.

Tie-ins abound for GAMERA -Rebirth-: a two-part novelization, a manga adaptation, and a prequel manga that sheds some light on [UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE SPOILERS]. That prequel manga (GAMERA -Rebirth- code thyrsos) is being published online for free in both Japanese and English. You can read the first chapter here.

In unofficial translation news, English subtitles for GAMERA.1999 (1999) and yokaipedia (2022) are now available. The former is Hideaki Anno's making-of documentary for Gamera 3: Revenge of Iris; the latter is a fun, child-friendly fantasy from Godzilla Minus One director Takashi Yamazaki with a big ol' centipede-dragon at the end. (It's also maybe the first Japanese kaiju film I've ever seen with a major Black character.) I haven't gotten to GAMERA.1999 yet, though from scrubbing through it, it seems like a lot of dialogue was just ignored by the translator. Shame, as that's one I've wanted for a long time.

youtube

We have a teaser for Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, as well as a premiere date for the first two (out of ten) episodes: November 17. (I am being showered with Media for my 30th birthday.) The big news from this trailer is that John Goodman is reprising his role as Bill Randa from Kong: Skull Island. I assume that's going to be through flashbacks and old recordings only, since he was eaten by a Skullcrawler in that one. We also catch glimpses of two new creatures, a dragon and a crab from what I can tell. The latter looks to be fighting a Mother Longlegs.

Fandango and AMC have added mostly-empty listings for Godzilla 2000 on November 1. Fathom Events screened Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla on November 3 last year; despite randomly showing Tokyo SOS back in March, I gather they're making a tradition out of Godzilla Day. Note that the listed runtime is longer than the film itself. Predictions for the program: another message from Keiji Ota, the 2022 Godzilla vs. Gigan short, and the Japanese version of G2K. Interesting that they're running the last Toho Godzilla film to receive a wide release in the U.S. exactly a month before Godzilla Minus One has a wide release of its own here.

Gamera isn't a meta-defining Godzilla Battle Line unit... but he's Gamera in a Godzilla game, so I've been using him in every match since I unlocked him. He's gearing towards demolishing flying units, with fireballs that deal more damage against them and knock them back. A pity that he's arriving well after those units were at their most dominant.

Godzilla: Here There Be Dragons #3 still isn't giving me much to write home about, but the kaiju cult creeping to the forefront intrigues. Also cool to see Ebirah in a starring role.

youtube

Marubeni, one of Japan's biggest general trading companies, put out a bizarre commercial featuring samurai, zombies, a meteor, and a refurbished GMK King Ghidorah. The ad now has English subtitles, and you can watch a Ghidorah-centric behind-the-scenes video here.

I cannot believe I have more Cleopatra Entertainment fuckery to report on with regards to their Shin Ultraman releases, but they're truly trying to take the "Worst Film Company of 2023" title from the members of the AMPTP. Their third attempt at a barebones disc is starting to reach customers... but the ones who already received the initial replacement disc are being told no more will be sent. @starestream is trying to figure out if they'll be selling the third edition on their site, since it seems buying it anywhere else is a gamble. (Physically, the third edition looks almost the same as the first two, set apart only by the "SUBTITLED" text on the disc.) Either way, it's another blow to a movie that truly doesn't deserve this.

#kaiju week in review #gamera #gamera rebirth #godzilla #kaiju #yokaipedia #Youtube

87 notes · View notes

hymnsofheresy · 1 year

Audio

Truly He taught us to love one another His law is love and His gospel is peace Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother And in his name all oppression shall cease Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we With all our hearts we praise His holy name Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we His power and glory ever more proclaim!

“Since that first rendition at a small Christmas mass in 1847, "O Holy Night" has been sung millions of times in churches in every corner of the world. And since the moment a handful of people first heard it played over the radio, the carol has gone on to become one of the entertainment industry's most recorded and played spiritual songs. This incredible work--requested by a forgotten parish priest, written by a poet who would later split from the church, given soaring music by a Jewish composer, and brought to Americans to serve as much as a tool to spotlight the sinful nature of slavery as tell the story of the birth of a Savior--has become one of the most beautiful, inspired pieces of music ever created.” (x)

Learn about the abolitionist history of O Holy Night:

“Things start in 1843 or 1847—there’s some discrepancy about the year—in Roquemaure, a small town in the Rhône valley region. Placide Cappeau, who had followed his father into the wine business, was also known for the poetry he composed. Though a critic of the Catholic church, Cappeau was asked by the local priest to write a few stanzas in celebration of the town cathedral’s newly refurbished organ. He is said to have written the song’s words while in transit to Paris on business, with the biblical Gospel of Luke as inspiration. On the advice of the same clergyman who had commissioned him, Cappeau took his completed work—then titled “Minuit, Chrétiens,” or “Midnight, Christians”—to Adolphe Adams, a composer of some renown. Adams, who was of French-Jewish descent, arranged the music, and the song was newly christened as "Cantique de Noel.” The carol would make its world debut, with opera singer Emily Laurey belting lyrics, during Christmas eve midnight mass at the Roquemaure church...

Though "Cantique de Noel” would quickly become a French Christmas favorite, it was later denounced by the French Catholic church—a reported consequence of Cappeau being an avowed atheist and socialist, along with the discovery that Adams was Jewish, not Christian. One bishop reportedly dismissed the song as having a "lack of musical taste and total absence of the spirit of religion.” There was also some resistance to Cappeau’s overtly anti-slavery lyrics in the third verse, which were perhaps made more glaring by his emergent political outspokenness. In any case, the ban reveals where the French Catholic church stood on matters of abolition...

In any case, "Cantique de Noel” would make its way across the Atlantic to John Sullivan Dwight, a white American abolitionist, Unitarian minister, musician and classical music aficionado who published a magazine called Dwight's Journal of Music...

Dwight gave his translated verse the title “O Holy Night” when he published it in his music periodical in 1855. It apparently became a hit in the U.S., gaining popularity among the abolitionist crowd during the Civil War. Even as the song was being banned in its home country, it was becoming a staple of Christmas, and a song of protest, thousands of miles away, in the U.S. It’s long since become part of the broader American Christmas songbook.”

(x)

#hymns #carols #o holy night

355 notes · View notes

gretavanlace · 1 year

Text

Dirty Filthy Things 2

Jake kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, language, light impact play, anal play, somewhat public, anal toys, anal sex, etc. porn without out plot…ask if I care ❤️

When Jake presents you with a beautiful box, adorned with dried flowers, in lieu of the traditional bow, you’re expecting a gift, of course…

A bracelet, perhaps. Maybe a mixtape; he’s fond of creating those for you just to watch you tear up when you listen to them on the vintage record/cassette tape player he had refurbished. A keychain from a place he’s been and would now like to take you to visit. A rock he found and knew you’d love.

He presents lovely offerings. Usually unique, and unexpected, so you’re used to never knowing what you’re going to find beneath the wrapping paper. But this one? This one you hadn’t seen coming…

Lid lifted, you find a solid, clear, glass plug nestled and waiting amongst tissue paper. It’s solid when you close your fingers around it, but light enough that you could wear it comfortably…you think.

He’s watching you with an amused glint in his eye. It’s nearly childlike, the way you’re inspecting it with such surprise, and a hint of trepidation.

His voice, when it comes, is quiet…betraying how much simply watching you hold it has turned him on “Do you like it?”

“Would you like a truthful answer?” You ask, running a finger over the smooth glass.

“Always.” He nods, looping a lock of your hair around his finger idly.

“I like it very much. It’s pretty…is that weird to say?” He laughs, just a breath of a sound. “But I’m also a little afraid of it.”

“How afraid?” He’s about to weigh whatever you say heavily, you can feel it. He won’t stand for you walking into something you aren’t comfortable with just to please him.

Out of the box it comes again, with you rolling it back and forth in your palm. “Just afraid enough to make me want it even more. Will it hurt?”

He plucks it out of your hand gently and sits it aside before turning back to you, thumb and fingers clasping your chin delicately. “No, princess,” he promises, lips so close to yours his breath warms them. “It won’t hurt.”

When his tongue slips out to taste your kiss, you allow it and then turn around, suddenly impatient. Down go your panties, just low enough to give him the room he needs, and then up goes the old t shirt you’d been padding around the house in.

“What are you doing, baby?” He teases, with a sinful smile in his tone.

“Put it in.” Your request is a shaky whisper as you drop down against the cool wood of the dining room table, eagerly offering yourself up in delectable sacrifice.

“Is someone attempting to run the show?” His wrinkled, linen pants are pressed against the round swell of your ass now, just to let you feel how hard he is for you.

“No.” You arch back into him, needing more.

“No, you aren’t, are you?” His thumb has found its way into your mouth from behind. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you? My very best little princess who knows much, much better…”

“Mhmm…” you hum around him, sucking away as he presses his thumbprint into the flat of your tongue.

He fucks you there, bent over the table, with that very thumb slipped inside your ass, moving at a slow, half-maddening, clip that matches the drag of his cock…

But your new accessory lies ignored.

Days later, with you dolled up pretty for him in his favorite dress and a pair of heels he enjoys listening to the click of when you walk, he kisses your forehead while you toy with the ancient coin that swings about against his chest.

“You look good enough to eat.” He has chosen his words purposely, you know, to make you imagine him doing just that.

Stealing his heart away with a charmingly adorable blush, you adjust the collar of his blazer. “So do you, pretty boy.”

“M’not pretty.” He lands a light swat against your thigh. “Ruggedly handsome, yes. Intimidatingly good looking? Absolutely. Pretty?” He waits a beat and then nods. “Yes, that too, I suppose. You’re right.”

“And modest to boot.” You finger comb at his tangles, not thinking much of it when his hand slips into his pocket, until the plug is presented - an offering held up with a cocked, questioning, eyebrow.

“Tonight?” You shiver at the very thought, and he notices, because of course he does.

“Oh,” there’s that grin again. “Someone’s excited. Have you been waiting?”

“What a patient girl.” He praises when you nod up at him with doe eyes, fingers curled around his lapels.

It slips inside, slick from his gorgeous mouth, and leaves you deliciously full. A devious little secret tucked away inside you, warm and indecent. It sets your nerve endings blazing and your cunt throbbing.

When he slides your panties down around your ankles and helps you to step out of them, you’re sure you’ll soak through your dress at the restaurant. But, for some reason you’d almost welcome the stinging humiliation of weaving your way through tables with the evidence of what he’s done to you on display for all to see.

Let them stare. Let them talk. Let the women seethe with jealousy…they should. Let them want what’s yours, you don’t mind. The prize is taking you home tonight.

He fucks you that night, too. Spinning and tugging away at the plug as you whine into the pillow beneath you and beg for his cock there instead.

��Not yet, princess.” He soothes so softly after each whimper and plea. “Not yet.” His words are laced with calm and care, but you hear it there too…the wanton satisfaction that comes with listening to you beg for his cock in such a forbidden place.

He’s carried you so far, shown you so many darkened corners of yourself that you never knew existed, and he’s always anxious to guide you deeper…but all in good time, lest he frighten you away from yourself.

The very next night, you, with your soaked and fluttering cunt wrapped snug around the base of his cock, and he, stretched out beneath you, hair a tousled halo spilled out around the sheets, he holds you down firmly in his lap.

“Let me move…” you pout, nails digging dull nips of pain that he relishes, into his chest. “Let me…” you squirm in his grip. “Let me fuck you…I need, fuck, please…”

“You need what?” He tilts his head in feigned confusion. “Tell me what my sweet, sweet princess needs.”

“Need to cum…” tears are gathering in the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks when you attempt to blink them away.

They blur your vision, setting everything in a dreamlike haze as you watch him lick his fingers and reach behind you.

“How about if I slide my cock out of this pretty little pussy that’s hugging and squeezing me like such a sweetheart, and slip it in right here, instead?”

He punctuates himself by nudging the tip of his finger inside, reveling in the way your eyes widen in lustful surprise.

“Fuck…” the obscenity drags out of you, soft and slow, as you try to back up into his touch.

“Yeah?” In a bit deeper he pushes.

“Yeah…” you nod urgently. Who knew you could need it this badly?

“Ask real nice, angel…” he can’t resist taunting you. Loves to coax you along, to leave you desperate and writhing for whatever he’s willing to give. “Tell me where my dirty, filthy thing wants my cock. C’mon baby, be good and tell me.”

“You know where I want it.” You pound your fist once, and then twice against his chest…a muted, bratty tantrum.

“In your mouth?” He raises his hips when you shake your head no, grinding the tip of his dick against your cervix. “Here? In your perfect cunt? Is that where you want me?”

Rocking against his touch as it sinks in a little deeper, you fix him with a babydoll-gaze he can’t deny.

“Someone isn’t fighting fair,” his free hand strokes into your hair. “That’s okay, I know what you want, and I know where you want it. You feel that?”

He begins a rhythmic push and pull that should feel wrong, but feels more right than anything ever has.

“Yes,” your head falls back, lips parted.

On and on he goes, watching you with love and fascination blazing in his eyes, though you’re too far gone to notice. But, just as you’re clawing your way to the edge, he stops…easing his fingers out as your slick walls pulse and coil around his twitching length.

“Roll over, princess,” he rasps, clearly struggling to cling to some semblance of composure, “On your knees, alright?”

You do as he says, because of course you do, you would stand outside the gates of hell and insult the devil for Jake’s amusement should he decide to drag you to hell.

You can feel him behind you…the weight of his presence, his warmth, his love -

And then you can feel him…his palms, gingerly babying your skin, his lips meandering a trail over the small of your back as he breathes you in. “Need you to relax for me, princess. Can you do that? Can you relax and breathe? So it doesn’t hurt? You gotta help me take care of you.”

You nod without hesitation, assuring him.

More kisses and laps of his silken tongue pepper your back, whispered words melting against you, bruises suckled along your spine, fingers dancing a slow waltz where you never thought you’d want them.

“Please…” you finally whine, no longer able to stand it.

“There it is.” He lifts away from you and your skin instantly craves his lips, misses them, longs for them. How you wish you could feel him everywhere, all over you, all at once.

You’re buzzing with excitement, and a touch of uncertainty…and hyper-alert, but you still somehow manage to miss him fumbling around in the bedside drawer. The cap snapping open on a bottle of lube escapes you as well, but the vibrator that is suddenly humming against you pulls you out of the clouds.

A shaky moan causes his eyes to roll back in his head, though you can’t see it. “You keep it right there, princess…make that pretty clit feel nice. Deep breaths, yeah?”

A pitiful whimper of his name is all you can call forth, but that does just fine for him.

“You remember what you say if you want to stop, babe?” There are his palms again, petting over the dimples in your lower back.

Assuring him that you do sets him in motion, and you’re met with his pillowy head drawing slick circles over you. “You clench up every time I move,” he breathes. “It’s cute. You’re so fucking gorgeous everywhere. You shouldn’t be this pretty here.”

Blushing furiously over his praise, you swirl the vibrator around, chasing down the pleasure to run from the delicious shame of it all “Stop saying things like that.”

They should sound wrong ringing in your ears, those words of his…they don’t, but they should.

“Why should I stop?” He nudges against you, but with barely there pressure. “My girl is perfect…my beautiful princess. And her ass is as pink as her cunt, and I can’t believe she’s going to let me put my cock inside her, and I’m gonna fucking tell her all about it.”

Turning to hide in the pillow, your admonishment is muffled. “Jake, shh…”

For once, he listens and moves on. “Breathe, baby…remember? You just relax and breathe.”

He can feel you soften beneath him, but he checks in anyway. “You still good, baby? Because I’d be just as happy to fuck you like I always do. Just wanna be inside you.”

“No…” your fingers dart back and are stuffed into your pussy in a blink, simultaneously giving you something to clench around and barring his entrance. “Give it to me, please. Please, Jake…please.”

Cumming right then and there, with his hand fisted around his cock, watching you fuck yourself while begging for something you seem to think you shouldn’t want…it seems like a real possibility. One he’d almost like to give in to, he’s so fucking turned on…

Instead, he begins a slow, halting voyage. Pushing in little by little as you writhe and gasp below him, vibrator still working away as you finger fuck your cunt harder, driven by the blissful, burning sting.

“It hurts…” you pant, and he almost pulls out, until you finish your thought. “It hurts so good. More…”

Your entire body is flushed, blotchy dots of pink forming up your back like a roadmap. He trails a finger along the path, hand disappearing into the dampened hair at the nape of your neck to give it a swift tug. “You like it, princess?’

“All the way…” you plead feverishly. “Fuck it in all the way.”

The way that you’ve worded it sets him wild, and he has to actively fight the urge to slam into you. The way you would scream and likely try to scramble away…fuck.

When he drives in as deeply as he possibly can, though, he’s gentle. Loves you far too much to hurt you, even if he might indulge in the power trip of it all in his head now and then.

High pitched gasps are stuttering out of you, staccato and hitched, but your fingers are moving even faster now, and he can feel you clenching violently.

“You love that, don’t you, princess? Feeling full everywhere? Fingers in your cunt, cock in your ass?” The swift crack of his hand against the swell of your hip happens before he’s even registered his need to hear the dominant snap of impact.

“Yesssyesyesyesyes…” it moans out of you, hardly words at all.

He jerks your head up until your eyes are focused warily on the headboard. “Next time, I’m gonna suction one of your cocks right there, make you suck it down dirty and sweet until you’re gagging…every single hole filled right up, nice and full.”

You tighten like a fist around your fingers and his dick as it jerks and throbs inside you. “Please..”

“Please, what?” His grip curls into a fist against your scalp.

“Cum..” you barely make a sound, but he hears you all the same.

“Yeah? Would that get my girl off? If I came right here?” He slides in as deeply as he can. “You want it where you shouldn’t?”

“I want to feel it first,” you’re begging like a whore, and he couldn’t love it more. “And I’m so close, please…”

He couldn’t stop it for anything in the world. Not now, not after listening to you confess that you want to feel him, warm and wet, inside you, before you cum.

When he lets go, it’s with an animalistic growl that flips your stomach…a dirty, addicting, tumble that makes you tremble with the insatiable need to follow straight behind him…

And you do. You follow his lead, cumming hard, crying out for him to never stop, to fuck you just like this forever, to make you feel nothing but him for the rest of your days…nothing but Jake until you draw your last breath.

Like all good and perfect things, it comes to an end, with you collapsed down into the soaked sheets, and his panting, sweating form pressing you down against the mattress.

“Fuck me, baby…” he pauses to draw in a tightened breath. “That was…god, how am I ever gonna pull out? You’re so warm and tight.”

“Stay.” You murmur, settling into the afterglow. “Just a little while.”

He nestles his face into your hair and stays, just as you’ve asked.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @dvrkblooms @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordierama @calumspretty

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #fanfic #greta van fic #gvf fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka imagine #gvf smut #jake kiszka #gvf jake

308 notes · View notes