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threadbaresweater · 7 months

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if music be the food of love, play on

Nanami Kento x reader. You're the proud owner of a new music store that just opened up beside Kento's Bakery, a beloved oasis on a busy street of a quaint small town. Nanami is cold and unwelcoming when you first meet, but as the weeks pass, he discovers that there's a world of music and happiness right at his doorstep.

Tags: bakery owner Nanami, female musician reader (main instrument is piano); lots of technical talk about music; lots of food mentions (it's a bakery au, afterall); fluff, Nanami doesn't have a sorcerer background, Nobara and Haibara as supporting characters, first kisses, little bit of pining, smidge of angst for Nanami's back story. I've been nursing this for months and finally found the time to finish it today. Before you ask about a part two, please know that it's being considered, though it will be slow based on how long it took me to write this.

See end notes for details on the music mentioned throughout the story and an explanation of the title. 6.5k words. Dividers by the lovely @/cafekitsune.

While most of the city is still fast asleep, Nanami Kento unlocks the front door of his bakery and steps inside, ready for another day of creating the neighborhood's best loved bread and pastries. He works alone until his front of house staff arrives a little before 6:00 a.m., when it's time to open to the public. Every morning is the same– by the time he flips the little sign on the door from Closed to Open, there's a case full of fresh baked pastries that have each been handcrafted with loving skill by Nanami's hands. It's meditative for him– ingredients, measurements, time, routine, a well-loved butcher’s block table, intoxicating aromas and his favorite music playing on an old record player. He has an affinity for the classics: Vivaldi, Brahms, Chopin, Tchaikovsky. But on weekend mornings, when the strict weekday regimen is more relaxed and free, it’s jazz.

The storefront is small, the floors made of old pine planks that groan underfoot, and there's room for one small table for two in front of the window that faces the street. There are a few framed prints of famous artworks on the walls, a well-loved spider plant hanging in the corner, and a small wooden shelf with the daily newspaper and a few old cookbooks. Behind the cash register is a cutaway window where Nanami's kitchen is nestled just beyond. Customers come from miles around at all different times of the day– the morning commuters who build an extra fifteen minutes into their routine to stop in for a cup of coffee to go and a savory pastry wrapped in brown paper, the afternoon crowd who call to order sandwiches ahead for themselves and their coworkers to eat in the park on their lunch break, the evening crowd that stops to grab a fresh loaf of sourdough or rye to take home for dinner. By the time the last customer has left for the day, the case is empty and the cash register is full. An overnight baker comes in around 8 p.m. to begin prepping and proofing for the next morning, and Kento departs for home.

He appreciates the routine. It's predictable and comforting, and he thrives on knowing that he's still making a difference in the world– or, at least, in his little neighborhood. Owning a bakery is not a glamorous existence, but it’s honest work. His staff is competent and efficient, and he pays them fairly. He’s never failed a health department inspection– his kitchen is pristine and organized, with fresh ingredients and well-kept equipment being of utmost priority. It took him months to jump through all the hoops; health, utility, and zoning inspectors paraded through the store, nitpicking at every small detail until it’s all up to code. Nanami had little patience for all the red tape, but he held his tongue and signed all the papers and paid all the fees. He hired and trained a handful of workers and opened for business on a sleepy Thursday morning.

By the time the little music store comes to life next door, he’s been in business for over two years. And he’s thriving. Amid the other small businesses– a florist, an artist co-op, a jeweler, a few specialty clothing boutiques, a candy shop– he’s respected and loved, though the rest of the owners agree that he’s a bit of a grump. Hard to talk to, rarely smiles or makes small talk. Perhaps none of them have ever really given him a chance to say anything. Or perhaps Kento doesn’t really want to say anything to them. For all intents and purposes, he seems happy with his lot.

You purchase the store next door to Kento’s at the end of September. It takes a few weeks for the finer details to be secured, but the day you move in, it’s sunny and unseasonably warm. Nanami watches from behind the counter as the box truck you rented pulls up and takes up two parking spaces in front of his bakery. The dough he’s kneading bears the brunt of his frustration as he continues to watch.

You and two men get out; you survey your parking job and shrug your shoulders as if to say this will have to do. The truck is large, and there isn’t a lot of room in the alley behind the store, so it's really your only option. With a worried nibble of your fingernail, you turn and look in the window of the bakery to see if anyone’s watching. The glare on the glass makes it hard for you to tell, but Nanami watches you with a deep frown as you motion for your movers to start unloading the truck. For a moment, it looks like you’re going to come inside, but you change your mind mid step and go to unlock the door to your own store instead.

Nanami finishes the dough he’s working, dusts off his hands on his apron, and decides it’s time to confront you.

“Mr. Kento, is everything okay?” the counter attendant asks, concern etched into her features. “Are you–”

“I’ll be right back,” he says, without making eye contact. Onto the sidewalk he steps and crosses his arms, looking from your giant truck and over to your store, mouth slightly open, brows arched. He’s clearly annoyed, and he’s about to make it known when you bounce over to him, extending a hand in greeting.

“Hi! You must be Kento. I’ve never been to your bakery, but I’ve heard wonderful things.” You tell him your name, even though he doesn’t ask. And when he doesn’t take your hand, you sheepishly pull yours away, feeling a little deflated.

“You’re taking up two parking spaces.” It’s all he offers.

You scratch the back of your head and huff a little laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. The alley is so narrow, and I wasn’t sure if–”

“I receive deliveries out back twice a week, in a truck of a similar size. None of those drivers have ever had a problem fitting.”

Nodding, you stammer an apology, then call out to your movers. “We can park out back, you guys! He says there’s plenty of room!”

Nanami seems to relax, but only a little. “This is customer parking.”

You scoff, but you feel your face grow hot. This definitely isn’t the way you’d hoped to meet your next door business owner. “Look, I said I was sorry, okay? I’m not sure what else you want me to do.” As you start to say you’d like to buy something from him, the truck roars to life and you snap your lips shut with a short nod. Pleased, Nanami retreats back inside just as one of his customers pulls in to claim one of the spaces your truck left.

It takes hours to unload the truck, and days after that to sort through everything you’ve brought with you. You don’t hear another word from the baker next door, and you’re quite content with being left alone to organize your store the way you envisioned. There’s much more than you’d realized– stacks of sheet music, instruments you’d picked up at auctions and thrift stores that needed a little TLC, boxes of records and CD’s and even a few old cassette tapes, and an old upright piano that had been yours since the tender age of four. Your grandmother taught you to play on this piano, and now, it’s your turn to pass on the skill. Deep down, you know it’s a little crazy and overly-ambitious to open a music store and attempt to teach piano lessons, but you want to try. If worse comes to worst, you could always hire someone to tend to the store while you teach.

As the weeks go by and autumn settles in, word of your shop travels through town. You aren’t terribly busy yet, but you have a few regulars from the local university who like to raid your record collection from time to time, and you teach about a dozen piano students on a weekly basis. There’s generally a lull in business in the early afternoon, so on a particularly cool October day, you decide to lock up for a few minutes and head next door. You haven’t seen Nanami since the first time you met, but you’re hoping he doesn’t kick you out when he sees you at his counter.

A little bell above the door signals your arrival. Inside the bakery, it’s warm and inviting and smells like coffee and your grandmother’s kitchen. You order a drink and a croissant and make small talk with the counter staff. She’s young and smiling, seemingly happy to be at work as she goes about making your coffee order. You look around, noting the finer details of the store– the handwritten tags on the different varieties of bread, the old world feel and warm, yellow lighting. For someone whose first impression left you a little disenchanted, he certainly knows how to create a charming atmosphere.

As you go to leave, you hear your name called from the kitchen. You turn around just as you tear off a piece of the croissant to stuff in your mouth and meet Nanami's eyes, chewing in wide-eyed wonder. The flaky, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth texture of the croissant makes you want to moan in delight. But you're also gobsmacked that he remembers your name.

You swallow, then offer him a wide smile and a thumbs up from the hand that holds your coffee. "Kento! Nice to see you! I didn't know you were here today," you demure.

He is not impressed. "I'm here every day."

"Oh, right– being the owner and all."

"How do you like it?" he asks, giving a subtle incline of his head toward the pastry in your hand.

"Wha– oh, this?" You purse your lips and kiss the air. "Delectable. Delightful." You bite off another piece, and some of the flaky dough flutters across your cheek. "I should have come over weeks ago."

Something in his demeanor softens. It's so subtle that you'd probably have missed it if you weren't watching him so closely, anticipating his next move. "I wondered if you ever would, considering our first encounter."

You scoff. "That's old news. I was over it an hour after it happened."

There's a hint of a smile that lifts the corner of his mouth, and he pushes his glasses up with a floured finger. "Yes, I suppose it is."

For a brief moment, he considers asking about how business has been going for you, but ultimately decides against it. You take a sip of coffee as the cashier looks between the two of you, busying herself with wiping down the counter while trying to appear nonchalant. "Well," you begin, hooking your thumb over your shoulder, "I should probably head back over. I have a student coming soon. Nice talking to you, Kento!"

His interest is piqued. "Student?"

You nod, chewing on another mouthful. "Mm-hm! I teach piano lessons."

A golden brow raises, and his brown eyes gleam behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "I had no idea."

You laugh. "That's why you should come and visit me! I haven't had the most warm welcome in this little neighborhood, and you're partly to blame for that."

"I thought you said that was old news," he deadpans.

You throw him a wink and use your elbow to open the door. "Later, Kento."

You visit once or twice a week, then every day. It becomes part of your morning routine to visit, and you know it's no good for your wallet, but you can’t resist. Eventually, the counter staff stops charging you for coffee. “It’s on the house,” Nanami calls from his station one morning. You leave an extra tip in the little jar by the cash register, and he scowls at you. You laugh and wave, then head back to your store, pleased that you seem to know just how to get under his skin.

You bring him a record next time you come. Vivaldi– The Four Seasons. You’d been at an auction over the weekend and thought of him when you found it. You slide it across the counter and tip your head toward the grumpy baker in the back. “For your boss,” you tell the cashier, whose name you’ve learned is Nobara and that she’s in school for graphic design but she’s been shadowing Kento and learning the art of baking.

“He won’t take it,” she whispers, though her mouth betrays her when she grins with you in a conspiratorial sort of way. She slips it under the counter and leans forward, lowering her voice even further. “I’ll make sure he hears it, though.”

You sip your coffee and meander toward the window while Nobara sneaks her way toward the record player that’s playing some pretentious Bach etudes. She rolls her eyes and pretends to yawn, then winks at you and lifts the needle.

“What happened?” As soon as the music stops, Kento calls from the kitchen, though you can’t see him from where you stand. You and Nobara share a wide-eyed moment while she slides the Vivaldi record out of its sleeve.

“Record’s over!” she replies. “Just getting another one out.”

You stifle a giggle behind your palm as she drops the needle. A few revolutions of static fill the small space, then the triumphant fanfare of Spring makes your heart leap with familiar excitement.

Kento steps out from the kitchen, dusting his hands on his apron. It’s only the second time you’ve seen the entirety of him, as most of the time his lower half is obscured by the wall behind the cash register. He’s taller than you realized, with broad shoulders that strain against the cotton of his button up. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and you can’t help but notice the well-defined muscle in his forearms and the thickness of his fingers. He looks from you to Nobara, then back to you. He’s not amused, but he isn’t exactly mad, either. You wonder if this guy has ever smiled at all.

“Vivaldi,” he says. “This isn’t my record.”

“It is now,” you say. Nobara grabs a broom and sweeps under one of the tables, and Kento steps a little closer to you. The music plays on, and you can’t tell if he’s listening and doesn’t want to ruin the vibe or if he truly is at a loss for words.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks, reaching in his back pocket, presumably for his wallet.

You shake your head and smile at him. “It’s on the house. Now we’re even.”

“I didn’t realize you were in my debt.”

“Coffee. I haven’t paid for a cup in almost two weeks. I wanted to give you something in return.”

He knocks on your door just after you've locked up on a cold, rainy November afternoon.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, and if you didn’t know any better (and you really don’t) you’d think he was offended. He pulls a couple of bills from his wallet and holds them out to you. “Really. The coffee isn’t a big deal.”

You take a couple of steps backward until your shoulder butts into the door. The little bell above you jingles merrily. “Neither is the record!” And before he can say another word, you’re trotting back to your territory, leaving him with the triumphant sounds of Spring and your mischievous smile emblazoned on his psyche.

"We're closed!" you shout from the back, not bothering to see who's at the door.

"It's Kento," he calls, fitting as much of his body as he can under the awning to avoid getting any wetter than he already is.

You smile to yourself and go to let him in, sweeping your arm in a grand gesture. "Welcome to my humble shop, good sir. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

He doesn't even crack a smile, but steps over the threshold and dries his shoes on the welcome mat. For a moment, he doesn't speak, only looks around at your haphazard organization of goods. You watch him curiously, filing away a few pieces of sheet music before fully turning to face him.

“How do you like it?” you ask.

“Quaint,” he answers, not meeting your gaze. You notice for the first time that he’s carrying a brown paper bag, and he approaches you, wordlessly holding it out for you to take.

“Aw, thanks, Kento.” You accept it with a smile and stick your nose down in the bag, inhaling deeply.

“Rosemary,” he offers when he sees you lift a brow, trying to place the scent.

“It smells incredible.”

“You give piano lessons.” It’s a statement, not a question. You chuckle lightly at his abrupt change of subject. Either he’s incredibly socially awkward, or he doesn’t waste time on trivial small talk. You think it’s probably the latter.

“Right. We talked about it before. Why? Do you have a niece or something that wants to learn?”

He cocks his head at you, still expressionless. “No. I do.”

THe silence between you stretches on for just a beat too long, making the air tense and awkward. Nanami’s eyes don’t leave your face, and you find yourself stuttering out some kind of affirmative sound.

“Do you have an opening in your schedule?”

“I have a few!” you say. “What’s a good time for you?”

Nanami looks at his watch. “There’s no time like the present. Is this time of day usually free for you?”

“I–” You laugh sheepishly, but gesture for him to follow you to the back of the store where your little, slightly out of tune upright piano sits, surrounded by shelves of method books, theory worksheets, and volumes upon volumes of music through the ages. “I usually use this time to practice my own stuff, but I could make time for you.”

He slides easily onto the old wooden bench and inches it back, away from the keys, to accommodate his long legs. To say you’re surprised when he begins to play scales would be an understatement. He’s a little clumsy, using the wrong fingers on the wrong keys some of the time, but he keeps a steady tempo as his hands move up and down the octaves.

“You didn’t tell me you knew how to play,” you murmur, sitting in the chair you have placed to his right. Your teaching chair. Your newest student watches his hands, a lock of his golden hair falling over his forehead as he tilts his chin downward. You cross your legs and smile fondly.

"I took lessons as a child," he says quietly. "But I didn't keep up with it once I went to high school." He stops abruptly, then turns to you. "I'd like to refresh, though. Maybe learn a new piece or two."

"Of course!" From one of the shelves to your right, you pull out a volume of simplified classical pieces, thumbing through until you find one suitable. You lean forward and place it in front of him. "How's your sight reading?"

"Poor," he frowns, but he begins to pluck out the melody line, slow and deliberate.

"That's your assignment this week, then. I'll give you a book for home practice, and when you come back next week, be prepared to play one or two songs for me. Focus on the mechanics, the fingering, the tempo. We'll add in dynamics when you feel you've got it."

He continues to play, his left hand pressing against the pages to keep them from falling shut. "What's your fee?"

You answer without hesitation. "Bread."

He raises a brow as if to ask if you're serious. "Bread?"

You nod. "Bread. One loaf per week. Doesn't matter what kind, though I'm partial to a well-made focaccia."

"Bread is hardly sufficient for your services."

"I'm trying to be neighborly here, Kento. Indulge me."

"Fine. One loaf per week. And I'll buy my own sheet music."

"That's not necessary, I have–"

"I'll buy my own sheet music," he reiterates. You snap your mouth shut and give him a swift nod.

If his demeanor as a student is anything like his demeanor as a business owner, you're in for one hell of a ride.

The days grow short as winter settles in. With the holidays just around the corner, Nanami's bakery grows busier by the day with custom orders for parties and other social events, and you're busy preparing students for their first studio recital. Despite his busy schedule, he still visits you every Thursday afternoon and astounds you with the progress he makes. You wonder how he finds the time to practice, especially now, during his busiest season.

You've learned a few things about him during your time together. He's not much of a talker, preferring to keep his private life private. But when you do manage to get a little bit of personal information out of him, he gets a faraway, melancholy look in his eye, like maybe some part of him is stuck in those memories of a life long past. He’s divorced. It was a childless, loveless marriage, one where his ex-wife chased more after her own pleasure than their mutual enjoyment in more ways than one. He worked for years as a financial advisor, and when the divorce settlement came, she took her share of their assets and moved across the continent. He soon began to feel suffocated by the endless hours he spent at the office, so he took up baking as a hobby. What began as a way to distract himself from loneliness turned into a lucrative business opportunity; he opened the bakery with part of his retirement fund and never looked back.

His favorite composer is Beethoven. He appreciates the moodiness of the music, the complex and haunting melodies that seem to speak to a part of his soul he's buried long ago. You want to ask him why he never pursued music, but he beats you to the punch.

"There was a time as a child that I dreamed of being a concert pianist," he says quietly. He's playing the same two measures of a Beethoven piece, just the left hand, committing the sequence to muscle memory.

You hum and tilt your head. "What happened to that dream?"

He grunts, frustrated, though with the passage of music or his memory, you couldn't say. "My father. 'You won't make any money as a musician', he'd tell me. I said I didn't care about the money, so he found other ways to discourage me."

You're angry at his father on his behalf. It's true, the life of a musician isn't all glitz and glamor, but it's fulfilling work. The friendships formed and the memories of performances and late night jam sessions are worth more than any measly paycheck you might receive. It might be a romanticized way to think about it, but it's not unreasonable to find a way to make a modest living from music.

"So you studied–"

"Finance. Numbers. Spreadsheets and accounting. Math and music aren't really all that different when you break it down," he says. "Of course, you can't put emotion into algebraic equations," he scoffs. He lifts his hand from the keyboard and turns to look at you. "But you can with bread."

You nod. "It's true. I'm sorry you didn't have anyone to encourage you to follow your heart."

He pauses, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something retaliatory; but he sighs instead. "So am I."

You're struck suddenly with an idea, and nearly knock over your chair to open one of your cabinets. Nanami watches carefully as your fingers flip through different books, your eyes alight with excitement and maybe a smidge of mischief. "Found it!" You nudge him with the book as you sit on the edge of the bench to his right. "Scoot."

"What's this?" he asks as you set the music in front of the two of you.

"Play this with me," you say. You grab the book and bend the spine so that it lays a little more flat. "Look. It's in C Major. It's not fast. And your part is simple!" When he looks at you, skeptical, you laugh. "It's sight reading practice! Come on Kento, don't be scared."

It isn't the music that he's afraid of. It's the proximity of you, sitting mere inches away from him on the same bench. It's your shoulder rubbing against his, the light floral scent of your perfume, the way the setting sun slants in from the front window and makes your eyes shine. He swallows thickly and tears his gaze away from you to study the music, ghosting his hands over the keys without actually pressing them.

"I'll take care of page turns. You control the pedal. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he says.

"Alright. On my count. One-two-three-four–"

It isn't perfect by a long shot. You get through the first few pages without much difficulty, but Nanami's capacity for sight reading isn't quite up to par, and he grows frustrated that he can't keep up with you. He stops after an unsuccessful attempt at a set of quick sixteenth notes and shakes his head.

"What's wrong?"

"I need more practice," he murmurs, watching your hands as you continue playing.

"You were doing fine!"

"Not as good as you."

You laugh, incredulous. "Kento, I've got years of practice on you! Give yourself a break!" You swat playfully at his shoulder and start to slide away from the bench, but he takes hold of your wrist. You freeze, and the smile falls from your lips when you see the way he's looking at you.

"I'll pay you for the extra time if I can stay a little longer." I want to get this right. For you.

When you settle back in beside him, he releases his grip on your wrist. The loss of warmth and pressure takes your breath away. Your tongue feels to heavy for your mouth when you agree to let him stay. "You don't have to pay me. Let's work this through."

You spend the next hour writing in numbers on the sheet music to guide him on which fingers to use on which keys, which passages are important to the call and response with your part, where to pause, where to speed up. The piece in its entirety is long; four movements, a total performance time of over forty minutes, but you plan to concentrate only on the first. Nanami is attentive and asks plenty of relevant questions, but as the evening draws on, you find it hard to concentrate on the music. Stifling a yawn with the back of your hand, you glance at the old grandfather clock that stands near the back door.

"I think that will give you enough to do this week, don't you think?" In the beat of silence that follows your question, your stomach gurgles. Embarrassed, you rub a hand over your abdomen. "Sorry."

Nanami closes the book and checks his watch. "When did you last eat?" he asks.

"I had an early lunch. Breakfast. Brunch?" You giggle at yourself and shrug. "A while ago," you admit.

He's at war with himself, and it's written all over his face. There's guilt for keeping you so late, annoyance that you didn't stop teaching him at a reasonable time. There's a thankfulness in the way his brows knit together, though, and a tender admiration for how dedicated you are. He also wants to take you to dinner, but he doesn't want it to be a date, and he doesn't want you to think that he's asking you out because he doesn't want to overstep any sort of student-teacher relationship.

But he owns a bakery that's stocked with food, whose employees have long gone home for the evening.

"Come with me."

You begin to protest. You know what he's going to offer, but you're tired and a little frazzled, and you know you won't be good company for much longer. "Kento, I appreciate it, but–"

"Let me make you something."

You sigh, but your stomach has more to say.

Nanami lifts a brow and quirks up the corner of his mouth. "Come on," he says, "before I change my mind."

The sidewalk is dusted with a glittering swirl of snow when you step outside and lock up. The street in front of your shops is barren and dark, save for a lone, flickering street lamp and a biting cold winter wind. You wish you'd thought to grab your coat (or at least a scarf), but Nanami is quick to unlock his door and usher you inside, his hand hovering near the small of your back, barely touching. You're immediately thankful for the warmth of his bakery. Even now, with the ovens off and only the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the atmosphere warm and welcoming. You roll some of the tension out of your shoulders and look around while he goes straight to the record player and puts on an album. This one is different than his usual fare; the crackle of the needle on vinyl satisfies you in a way you can't explain, and soon you're surprised to hear the croon of Louis Armstrong.

"I didn't take you for a jazz fan," you muse, following him behind the counter. You feel like you're being let in on one of the world's best kept secrets, like you really shouldn't be here, even though you were invited– no, told– to come. Nanami pulls out a stool and instructs you to sit, and you do, though you're itching to help in some way.

"Sure you don't need me to do anything?"

He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, then uses his index finger to push them up the bridge of his nose. You take that as a no, so you settle onto the stool and listen to the music while he works.

"You know, for it to be a real exchange of services, you should teach me how to bake."

He continues to assemble two sandwiches with cold cuts of meat and fresh tomato and some kind of pesto spread that makes your mouth water. The sound of the serrated edge of a knife cutting through a loaf of crusty bread makes your stomach growl again. Nanami scoffs. "I'm not a good teacher."

"Bullshit. I bet you're amazing."

"I'm not patient. I thought you'd be able to figure that out from the way I study piano." He sets a plate in front of you, then pulls out another stool, settling in adjacent from you at the other side of the prep table. You wonder if it's not customary for him to eat here. Something tells you that he likes to keep this space pristine when he's not using it for its intended purpose, but you choose to ignore it.

"You've got to have a little patience stored in there somewhere." You point to his heart and smile. "Doesn't bread take hours from start to finish? Pastries, too? And pies, and cookies and stuff?"

"Cookies don't take hours," he says. "But you do have a point with the bread and pastries. If you really want to learn, I'll teach you. But not tonight." He nods toward the sandwich. "Eat. I know you're hungry."

You eat. The first bite is a little piece of heaven; you expected nothing less, based on the other things you've eaten from his bakery, but this is on another level. Maybe it's because you haven't eaten in hours, or maybe it's because you're exhausted. Maybe it's because the man sitting with you made it for you and you didn't have to cook or decide what kind of takeout to get, but you'd swear it to be the best sandwich you've had in your life.

You don't talk much between bites, and neither does he. He, too, seems exhausted by the work he put in, but not in a way that has him feeling defeated. It's a sense of accomplishment, a tired sort of pride that comes from concentrating hard on a project that means something to him. You let the music fill the silence, you sip a cup of fresh-brewed coffee (even though you know you'll regret drinking caffeine so late), you let your spine curve as you lean on the table, feeling full and satisfied.

You offer to help him clean up. He insists that you leave it, that it's late and you should go. You pick up your plate anyway and stick out your tongue as you dance away from him and over to the sink. He grabs your wrist for the second time tonight and you look at his hand, then up at him as he tugs you gently toward him, close enough so that he can take the plate from you with his other hand. The fluorescent lighting does little to conceal his expression; a lock of his hair falls over one eye, where you see the dark half-circles in the skin underneath. He's tired. And it's not just because he spent the evening poring over music, nor is it because of the hours he keeps. You think he's just perpetually tired from the hand that life has dealt him, and you wish in that moment that you could help him rest.

"I said I've got it," he murmurs, and you suddenly realize you're closer to him than you'd thought. So close, in fact, that you feel the warmth of his breath across your cheek when he sighs at your stubbornness. There's barely an inch between your chest and his, and you catch yourself staring at his neck, wondering idly what it might feel like to run your nails along the stubble on his jaw.

You whisper, "Okay." Your lips feel dry, so you wet them with your tongue; it's an unconscious reflex, but when you see Nanami's eyes flit to your mouth and his cheeks bloom with color, you realize that he reads it in an entirely different way.

Not that you mind.

He sets your plate in the sink, never letting go of your wrist as he pulls you in even closer. He breathes through his mouth, softly, and he uses his other hand to tilt your chin upward, honey brown eyes dancing across your face. You search his face in kind; your heart is in your throat, and you feel his energy radiating all around you. Testing the waters a bit, you lean in further until the tip of your nose nudges his cheek and he closes his eyes as his hand slips around your waist.

He can't breathe when your lips touch his. You're so tentative and soft, plush silk that presses against his mouth and makes him yearn for more of you right away. There's something otherworldly that happens in that moment; you've shared kisses with a handful of people in your life, but none have ever felt quite like this. You think about the romance books that you read as a teen, where the kiss would be described as electric, charged, all-consuming, like some kind of magic spell was cast over the characters and they knew in an instant that they were meant to be.

You knew how foolish it was to believe in those kind of stories, yet here you were, standing in the middle of Nanami's kitchen, kissing him while he kissed you back, with soft jazz floating on the air, your fingers tracing across his jaw just as you'd daydreamed about only moments ago. His kiss is slow and deliberate, his tongue gentle and languid as it passes over yours and touches the corner of your mouth as if he's savoring the taste of you.

You're first to pull back, your head light, your chest fluttering as you take in a gulp of precious air. Nanami's forehead rests against yours, fingers pressed lightly against the pulse at your neck.

"You should go now," he whispers, though it's the last thing in the world he wants you to do. It's dangerous for you to stay. He isn't sure he'll be able to control himself much longer in your presence.

You nod and give his waist a squeeze as you pull away, and the fatigue of the day begins to set in. Nanami thumbs at your bottom lip before letting you go, watching as you clumsily fumble for your keys in the pocket of your jeans.

The back door opens suddenly, bringing in a gust of cold air and shimmering snow flurries, and you both jolt as the night baker steps inside. He, too, widens his eyes as he sees the two of you standing there. Nanami cards a hand through his hair and clears his throat while you fish out your keys, laughing nervously.

"Mr. Kento! You're here late," the baker says, looking between the two of you as it dawns on him what may have just happened.

"We were– I was just leaving," Nanami says. "Let me wash up, then I'll be out of your hair."

The baker smiles. "Nah, I got it. Go on home. You look tired."

Nanami begins to protest, then stops himself. "Thank you, Haibara. I'll see you in the morning."

He guides you out through the front, stopping to turn off the record player. Outside on the sidewalk, he grabs your hand, thumb running over your knuckles as he smiles at you. A genuine smile, the first one you've seen since you've known him.

"Goodnight. And thank you," he says.

"No need for thanks," you demure, squeezing his hand. "I had fun. And the sandwich was delicious. You spoil me, you know."

He kisses your forehead, then dips down to meet your lips once more. Sweet, chaste, but lingering, as if he wants to commit the feel of it to memory.

"If you’re serious about learning to bake, we can start when you're ready." Tomorrow? Is tomorrow good for you?

"I'll let you know." How about tonight? Right now? You begin to think of ways to rearrange your schedule so you can fit in baking lessons. The thought of rising before the sun makes you scowl, but you might be able to make it work. Especially since you'll be working alongside him. "Goodnight, Kento."

"Goodnight," he repeats, and when he says your name, you can almost hear the way he relishes the feel of it on his tongue.

"Don't forget to practice!" you call to him as you flit down the sidewalk. He chuckles to himself and looks up at the street lamp, hand shoved into his pockets.

"I won't."

The title is taken from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. “If music be the food of love play on,” by itself, is interpreted as equating music to food for love. On its own, as it is commonly quoted, speakers interpret it as promoting love in one’s life as one might seek out more food to sate one’s appetite. But, in the context of the play and the entire quote, it becomes clear that the speaker is asking for more music because he hopes that it will cure him of his obsessive love for Countess Olivia. He hopes that with more music, his “appetite may sicken and so die.” In the case of Nanami and his love interest, I just wanted a clever title to tie bread and music together, so the quote is interpreted here without context, which changes the meaning entirely 😂

The record that reader bring to Nanami is Vivaldi's Four Seasons, and the song specifically that plays is Spring

The Beethoven piece that he plays is Für Elise, which is a common "beginner" classical song for pianists.

The duet they play is Franz Schubert's Sonata in C Major D.812 (for four hands). They don't get very far before Nanami gives up.

In the bakery when they go to share a meal, Nanami puts on a Louis Armstrong record.

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider a reblog to help spread the love.

#jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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bejeweledblondie · 7 months

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Swan Lake

König x F! Ballerina Reader

Summary: König’s childhood best friend & crush fulfilled her childhood dream of dancing a principal role in the Swan Lake Ballet in Vienna

Warnings: Mentions of a size difference kink, sexual themes

As awful as it sounded Y/N was happy that the main principal dancer had to retire early. She was a bitch anyway, but her early retirement due to an ankle injury opened up opportunities for other dancers. Nearly a week ago she was getting fitting for her Odette costume, now she’s stretching backstage at the Vienna Royal Opera House for the opening night of at Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. Her parents as proud at they were called, emailed, & posted on social media about their daughter’s accomplishment. But she texted König to let him know.

They had grown up together, & she was his support system. She’d help him work through his anxieties, & encouraged him to join the military. The size difference between the two once they became teenagers was a sight to see. She had also attended his basic training graduation, & always allowed for him to stay with her while he was on military leave. So when she had accomplished getting her dream role, he knew he had to be there. But with his own career it was never a guarantee.

She was stretching at the ballet barre when Anya who was playing the role of Odile came up to her. Anya knew all about König & secretly wished Y/N would finally muster up the courage to express her feelings for him. She saw the glimmer in Y/N’s eyes when she spoke about him. “I haven’t see him yet.” Anya said. “It’s nearly a full house too.”

“He’ll be here.” Y/N replied very matter of fact. Anya sighed & shook her head. She just didn’t want to see Y/N disappointed on the biggest night of her ballet career. Once Y/N was all warmed up & stretched she pressed her point shoes into the off stage rosin for grip. The orchestra started up & the lights in the house went down.

The first act started & soon enough Y/N started to grace the stage. Ballet was Y/N’s way of escape, she was so incredibly grateful. Even though the stage lights were incredibly blinding & sometimes her body wanted to give out but it was worth it. Deep down as she started her Pas De Deux she was hoping that König was somewhere in the audience. It was years since he had seen her dance & this was the one time she wished he was watching. Little did she know he had the best seat in the house.

König was late to being able to secure tickets for the ballet due to him being deployed. Y/N’s parents were even unable to him tickets. So he hatched a plan, he was going to sneak into the scaffolding above the stage where the lighting was. Which even though he stood at 6,10 due to his military experience it was incredibly easy. His stealth & ability to camouflage himself into the curtains helped.

Through the eye holes of his hood he was looking down at Y/N being handled with ease by her dance partner. One motion after the next came so fluidly for her. When she got on the top of her pointe shoe and lifted her leg into a pirouette he couldn’t help but noticed her flexibility. It had been a year since he’d seen her last & her body had fully blossomed. He bit his lip at the thought of just manhandling her & bending her into whatever position he wanted to. Deep down he had fallen in love with her but was too terrified of ruining a life long friendship.

Finally the Pas De Deux had finished, & the audience erupted into a standing ovation. Y/N & her partner Andrei exited the stage. The ballet continued on & Y/N finished the iconic solo of the, “Dying Swan.” She took deep breaths & looked up from her final pose. She tried to make out the the shadow of a man standing up in the scaffolding. If you had asked she could’ve sworn she saw a man in dark hood with eye holes cut out. He was dressed in a tuxedo & a bouquet of roses were in his left hand. With one blink of her eyes the mysterious figure disappeared. Chalking it up to the lack of oxygen & stage lights blinding her she focused on the fact she just finished.

The stage curtains closed & she stood up. Fellow dancers, & cast members came out onto the stage for the final bow. She grabbed Andrei’s hand & the stage curtains opened. The orchestra kept playing & one by one each principal dancer took a bow. When Y/N went to go take a bow the audience erupted into a minutes long standing ovation. A wide toothy smile spread across her face & she took the opportunity to live in the moment. The stage curtains closed & Andrei gave her a hug. They had been training for weeks & their hard work paid off.

König, now maskless in the wings. A pang of jealously wash over him as he watched her dance partner hug her. Anya locked eyes with him & she waved at him. He waved back & pointed to Y/N. She ran over to Y/N, & tapped her on the shoulder.

“Oh Y/N.” She said in a sing song voice. “Look who’s here.” Y/N turned around and realized what she was seeing. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him in his tuxedo holding roses. She gasped & ran towards him the sound of her pointe shoes hitting the stage echoed. With outstretched arms he lifted her up & embraced her into a deep hug.

“I’ve missed you, liebling.” He whispered. His deep voice ran a small chill down her spine. He put her down & handed her the roses. “I got these for you.”

“They’re beautiful.” She said & held the flowers close to her body. “Thank you.” His large hands reached down to her chin & lifted her face up. He bent down slowly, & locked lips with her. Her arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer. Once the both of them came up for air they rested their foreheads together.

“I’ve always wanted to that.” He said. “I love you, liebling.”

“I love you more.” Y/N replied & pulled him in for a deeper kiss.

#cod imagines #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #könig fanfiction #könig cod #call of duty #cod mwf2 #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod masterlist #ghost x y/n #kortac

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rabbitlake-mp3 · 2 months

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Regulus Arcturus Black headcanons

(cuz he is me and im him and we don’t actually have any canon information about him)

sorting hat sorted Reggie to Ravenclaw, but he begged it to be in Slytherin, so his parents could be proud of him

he’s autistic

he is exceptionally intelligent, but he is also very hardworking and he truly enjoys studying

self harm is his unhealthy coping mechanism

he likes to wear rings to stim with them

he likes puzzles and he always carries rubik’s cube with him

he is secretly obsessed with muggle things, especially with mugge art, paintings, literature, music and poetry

he is a great piano player and an amazing singer, tho he never does it in front of the people(he also composes music)

he is obsessed with Tchaikovsky music

his favorite book is The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

he was sexually abused as a child, so he couldn’t stand being touched (but he really wanted to be hugged)

he is not religious, but he likes going to churches and cathedrals, cuz he finds it peaceful

he is mostly silent, but when he is around the right person he never shuts up

he bottles up all his feelings and never really cries and even if he starts he realizes how pathetic it is and immediately stops

but he is actually easily touched and he has sooo much sympathy for everything and everyone

he is AroAce

He likes to wear mantles and robes cuz they look like dresses and he likes it

#regulus black #james x regulus #marauders era #marauders #jegulus #regulus deserved better #regulus being regulus #reggie black #harry potter #regulus arcturus black

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blackswaneuroparedux · 1 year

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I have played over the music of that scoundrel Brahms. What a giftless bastard!

- Tchaikovsky writing in his diary in 1886.

Russian composer Pyotr Tchaikovsky had a lot to say about Brahms’ music- all bad. Johannes Brahms, for his part, didn’t seem to much enjoy Tchaikovsky’s music, either. He attended a rehearsal for Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony and fell asleep. Although the two composers share a birthday - 7 May, with Brahms, born in 1833, being seven years older - they illustrate opposite poles of the composing spectrum. Brahms was the great classicist, building vast symphonies and concertos with intricate musical logic; Tchaikovsky was the heart-on-sleeve emotionalist, as colourful as Brahms was sober.

Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Johannes Brahms simply understood, felt and composed music very differently, and judged each other’s work accordingly — sometimes positively, sometimes brutally.

Tchaikovsky was far more an antagonist than Brahms. The Russian composer’s chief criticism of Brahms’ music was that it was too controlled and not emotional enough. In a letter to his patron in 1879, he wrote of Brahms’ violin concerto, “His music is not warmed by true feelings, there is no poetry in it, though it has great pretension to depth.”

As for Brahms, stories have long circulated that he fell asleep at a performance of a Tchaikovsky symphony. There’s no evidence that this actually happened, but it’s true that Brahms was often seen taking an afternoon snooze in the cafes of Vienna and was known to fall asleep at the table or theatre.

Composers are rarely members of a mutual admiration society, but Tchaikovsky’s concerns seem to focus more on style than on musicianship. “Hard as I try to respond to his music,” he adds, “I remain cold and hostile. It is a purely instinctive feeling.”

In his diary, he was even more explicit, calling Brahms a “giftless bastard,” and his work “self-inflated mediocrity.” But his opinion seems to have softened in 1887, shortly after being invited for Christmas dinner at the Leipzig home of a friend, where he was “astonished” to find Brahms at the table, as well.

Brahms was there to rehearse his Piano Trio in C minor, Op. 101, and Tchaikovsky sat through the whole piece and made no critical comment. Writing a friend about the evening, Tchaikovsky called Brahms “a very nice person, and not at all proud as I had imagined.”

It was a major breakthrough, and Tchaikovsky would spend six days in Leipzig, encountering Brahms several more times. He wrote home that the German composer did everything he could to be agreeable — but was far better as a drinking companion than as a conversationalist.

Brahms attended a rehearsal for the Leipzig premiere of Tchaikovsky’s Orchestral Suite No. 1, and expressed approval of the first movement, but strongly criticized the jovially childlike march (which to our ears points ahead to the sound world of the Nutcracker).

A year later, Tchaikovsky arrived in Hamburg to find Brahms there, planning to attend a rehearsal of Tchaikovsky’s new Fifth Symphony. Having heard the piece, Brahms told Tchaikovsky he approved of the first three movements but disliked the finale.

Honest criticism like this rarely upset Tchaikovsky - and, besides, he hadn’t liked any of Brahms’ symphonies, either.

“Brahms is very amiable,” he wrote to his brother. “After the rehearsal we had lunch together and drank well. He is a very sympathetic person and I like his integrity and simplicity.” Tchaikovsky even tried—unsuccessfully—to persuade Brahms to conduct in Moscow during the next season.

Brahms was the one contemporary who, both in output and stature, matched Tchaikovsky, and public comparisons were expected. But, in a somewhat endearing turnabout, the two rival composers grew to appreciate each other as individuals, if not always approving of each other’s music.

#tchaikovsky #quote #brahms #classical music #composer #music #feud #arts #culture #musicians #sympahony #concerto #history #friendship #rivalry

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clementine-writes-things · 22 days

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The Girl In The Woods pt.2 - V.Z

Summary: It's been some time since y/n and Victor first met, nearing around 3 months. During that time, the two of them had seen each other again 12 times. It wasn't much, but they still enjoyed their time together. One morning, Victor stops by again.

@killingboredom (i started writing this almost immediately after they commented they'd wanna be tagged in part 2! so, enjoy!)

Content Warning: Explicit language, mentions of death, fluff, knife, gun, Victor being a scary hitman and y/n being a sweet girl who can make him comfortable, think about the tiny fish that attach to sharks. They both help each other out :3 that's how these two are.

Songs For Inspo:

Soldier, Poet, King - The Oh Hellos

Call It Fate, Call It Karma - The Strokes

Heaven - I Monster

Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse (I know this song is about loss and realizing you weren't meant for each other, but the upbeat tempo fits the fanfic, so that's why I used it.)

Swan Lake - Tchaikovsky (im not writing out the whole thing u guys know what song it is stfu <3 also this song is SO Victor Zsasz coded...)

(bro I saw this gif while listening to end part of Swan Lake and I got chills...this gif doesn't rlly play a role in this fanfic im just using it cuz it made me get goosebumps...)

Read Below Cut

Y/n stood in the garden behind their cottage, a low cobblestone wall surrounding it. Moss covered the stones, the dark green patches soaked in the dew from the early morning rain. The clouds had parted just a little while ago, sun shining down and illuminating the woods. Mourning doves were cooing, their melancholy chirps echoing in the woods. Y/n sighed softly, closing her eyes as she took in the comforting warmth of the sun. They got down on their knees, the overall shorts they wore caused her exposed legs to get slightly covered with dirt. Pulling up the sleeves of her light brown shirt, she reached down and pulled up a carrot from the ground. Smiling, y/n placed it in the basket beside her.

"Need some help with that?" A voice asked.

Y/n turned around, a wide smile spreading on their face. She stood up, brushing dirt off their knees. She walked over to him, wrapping their arms around him. He chuckled lightly, hugging her back and using his gloved hand to pat y/n on the shoulder softly. The girl pulled away, giving him a simple nod.

"That would be very nice, Victor." She responded.

The two of them walked over toward the basket, getting back down on the ground. Victor pulled up his sleeves as well, his muscles flexing as he started to pull carrots out. Y/n giggled, touching him on the shoulder to get his attention. He looked over towards her.

"Pull them out more gently, we don't want the tops to rip off. It'll make them harder to get out of the ground." She said.

Victor nodded, smiling awkwardly. He looked back towards the vegetables, seeing that there was only one left. Digging a little under, he grabbed the top and pulled softly. When it yanked out, he smiled. The whole carrot was intact, which he was proud of. Placing it in the basket y/n had, he stood back up. Y/n did the same, dusting her legs off once again before grabbing the basket of various vegetables.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon." She said, walking out of the garden.

He followed her, cracking his neck as he rolled it around. His eyes squinted as the sun peered out from behind a tree and shone on him. Using his hand, he covered over his eyes at an angle so he could block the sun. The two of them stepped inside the cottage.

"Well, it's hard to keep away. The scenery is just absolutely breathtaking. What can I say?" He smirked, removing his shoes as he began to close the door behind him.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that's why you came. Would you mind keeping the door open? It's pretty warm today, I'd like a nice breeze to blow in here." She asked.

"Okie doke. You want the windows open too?" He asked.

"Oh, yes please. Thank you, Victor."

He pushed open the front door gently, getting blinded by the sun once again. Squinting, he moved to the windows around the cottage. Opening every one of them, he took a look at the scenery around him when he poked his head out. There was a pond not too far from y/n cottage that he would sometimes see duck in. Sadly, there were none today. When he finished opening the windows he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Hey, y/n."

"Yes, Victor?" She asked, placing the basket of carrots down as she sat at the table.

He looked at her, face void of emotion. His eyes were heavy, thoughts racing behind them. Y/n tilted her head, unsure of what was going on. Victor sighed, pulling out a packet from the pocket of his pants. He slid it across the table.

"What's thi-"

Y/n looked down at the table, covering her mouth. She giggled, grabbing the packet quickly. Victor tried to hide the smile that was spreading on his face. He cleared his throat, tapping his fingers on the table nonchalantly.

"Sunflower seeds? Victor..." Y/n trailed.

"Yeah well, I know you wanted some. And, I was doing a hit on this guy who had a garden. I saw he had those so I figured I'd take some." He said, looking out the window.

"Oh, well, that's slightly disturbing. But, I still appreciate it nonetheless!" She cheered.

"It was no big deal." He stated.

Y/n smiled, standing up from her seat. She walked over to him, bending over slightly. Victor looked towards her, confused as to what she was doing. However, his eyes widened when she pressed her lips against his forehead. A blush spread over his cheeks which he quickly fought away.

"You're cute, for a hitman..." She joked.

"I'm not cute, but thanks." He said monotone.

"Hm, what about handsome?" She asked.

Victor chuckled, tracing circles onto the wooden table. Y/n watched him through batting eyelashes. She crouched down, knees on the floor as she rested her arms on the table. Y/n rested her chin on her hands, tilting her head sideways to look at him. He looked at her.

"What about charming, hm? Attractive? Devilishly ensnaring?" She suggested.

"Why don't you keep complimenting me, maybe you'll find the right word soon enough." He grinned.

"I think I'm out of words. I don't have a thesaurus on me." She teased.

"Well, that's a shame. I was enjoying those compliments from your pretty mouth."

Y/n blushed, her face slowly turning bright red. Victor chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. She giggled softly, looking up at him through he hair that hung in her face. He watched as she slowly stood up in front of him. Straightening his posture, turned the chair slightly so he was facing her straight on.

"What are you looking at?" She teased, running a hand through her hair.

"You." He answered simply.

Y/n, already blushing, smiling shyly and looked towards the ground. Victor grinned, leaning forwards and grabbing her hand. Gently, he pulled her closer to him. With his other hand, he brought it up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I can't help but look at you, y/n."

"Victor..." She sighed.

"Hm?"

"Can you move your guns?" She asked, pointing at his holster.

Smiling, he removed his holster and placed it on the table. The guns clunked against the wood. Y/n watched as he pulled out a knife too, placing it on the table as well. He gave y/n a soft smile, teeth slightly showing.

"Do they scare you?" He asked.

"No. They were just in my way..." She said.

Victor's eyes widened slightly as y/n crawled onto his lap. Her legs straddled both sides of him. He had a grin on his face, y/n blushing above him. Pulling his gloves off, he placed them on the table. He reached up, cupping y/n's face with his hands. He sighed softly, looking into her eyes.

"You're so warm." He commented.

"You're so cold." She replied.

Victor looked down at her lips, glancing back up into her eyes. Y/n shifted in his lap, causing him to grunt quietly. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

"You do realize I'm a criminal, right? A notorious hitman? A sadist?" He asked, pulling down her bottom lip with his thumb.

"Yes, I do."

"Then why aren't you scared of me?" He asked.

"Because I know you won't hurt me. You love me too much to do that to me. And I love you too." She stated simply.

"What makes you think I love you?"

Y/n placed a hand on his chest, looking him in the eyes. She smiled softly, playing with the buttons of his shirt. Victor watched her as she did this, his heart rate accelerating.

"Well, if I'm wrong, then tell me I'm wrong."

Victor looked her in the eyes, one of his hands trailing to the small of her back. The other hand cupped her face gently. He mumbled under his breath, pulling her in slowly. Victor placed his lips against hers, eyes closing. Y/n placed her hands on his shoulders, giving her stability as she kissed him. Pulling away, hummed, an extremely subtle smile on his face.

"You're right. I do love you..." He sighed.

"Look at that, Mr. Zsasz has fallen for a girl..." Y/n teased.

Victor sat up quickly, grabbing y/n by their thighs. He placed them on the kitchen table, making sure to move the basket of carrots out of the way. Y/n blushed as he stood in between her legs, wrapping them around his waist.

"And look at this, y/n has fallen for a sadistic hitman..." He mocked.

"And I couldn't be happier." She said.

Victor leaned in, gently kissing her once again. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. Y/n hid her face into the crook of his neck, kissing it lightly. Victor chuckled, holding the back of her head with his hand. He kissed the side of her head as he mumbled something into her ear.

"Me neither..."

#writers #fanfic writer #writers of tumblr #fanfic #gotham #dc universe #victor zsasz #victor zsasz x reader

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midnightsun-if · 6 months

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can we have the most favorite media thing (like, favorite videogame series, favorite book, movie, etc) from all the ros?

Koda

Video Game: Stardew Valley, it’s just something he enjoys playing and he’s so proud of his farm.

Book: Charlotte’s Web, he knows it’s a book meant for children but he has a lot of fond memories curled up against his mom as she read it to him.

Movie: Brother Bear, it’s a bit on the nose but he loves the story, the visuals, and the soundtrack.

Song: On My Way by Phil Collins from Brother Bear.

Scarlett

Video Game: Dragon Age, she rarely plays video games but she’s always enjoyed that one.

Book: The Return of the King (LotR), A Dance With Dragons (ASoIF), or Pride and Prejudice… It’s a toss up.

Movie: Casablanca or Scream.

Song: Tchaikovsky— Swan Lake, Op.20, Act: 2, No. 10, Scene: Moderato.

Cyrus/Cyra

Video Game: Either classic Mario or Ori and the Blind Forest. They typically like platformers though.

Book: The Raven, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, or Jurassic Park.

Movie: The Queen or The Chronicles of Narnia.

Song: Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles.

Quinn

Video Game: Wii Sports, it’s always something they’ve enjoyed playing.

Book: The Odyssey.

Movie: The Sandlot or Field of Dreams.

Song: Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine.

Caden

Video Game: Peggle… It’s calming to them.

Book: The Da Vinci Code, its book that they’ve read numerous times.

Movie: Good Will Hunting or The Bucket List.

Song: My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion.

Sloane

Video Game: Elden Ring, it’s something they’ve enjoyed playing.

Book: Peter Pan, it’s something that reminds them of their childhood… However, painful that is now.

Movie: Hook, for the same reason as Peter Pan.

Song: Paint It, Black by The Rolling Stones.

Blake

Video Game: Sims, it’s one of the few things that’s been able to keep their attention.

Book: A Tale of Two Cities.

Movie: Coyote Ugly or Pretty Woman.

Song: …Baby One More Time by Britney Spears.

Reginald/Regina

Video Game: Left 4 Dead, but they also adore Knights of the Old Republic too.

Book: Dracula (funnily enough) or The Hobbit… (The Dragonriders of Pern series has its own category.)

Movie: Star Wars (Originals).

Song: The Force Theme by Samuel Kim (Cover).

#midnight sun #asks #ro: blake herrera #ro: r presley #ro: c aurelia #ro: sloane addams #ro: quinn grant #ro: koda kingston #ro: caden randall #ro: scarlett voltaire

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callsign-phoenix · 1 year

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I wrote this as a part of my advent calendar fics, I hope you like it!

It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x gn!reader imagine.

Thank you @marvelandotherfandomimagines for proofreading!

Day 23: Nutcracker ballet

Warnings: none, everyone who knows what the opening scene is referencing is a genius

You were changing out of your outfit for what you felt was the umpteenth time in front of your bedroom mirror as Nutcracker melodies carried through the air.

Jake hadn’t told you where you were going but had asked you to dress your best, which you definitely tried to do.

Jake looked outside at the busy street before moving to collect his belongings, putting his keys and what looked like tickets from afar in his suit pockets.

“Honey, have you seen my wallet?” He asked you as he busied himself with looking for it, going through a shelf by the door to see if he had left it there.

“Isn’t it on the bedside table?” You asked back from the bathroom, and Jake found it just there.

He moved to join you in the bathroom as you corrected the fit of your clothes, and he took a look at himself in the mirror.

“How do I look?” You asked him carefully and Jake didn’t waste a single second before answering, still holding his own gaze in the mirror.

“Perfect,” he replied.

“Is my hair okay?” You continued, and Jake corrected the fit of his formal tie.

“It’s great,” he said, and you let out a tiny half-annoyed sigh.

“You’re not even looking at it,” you stated, and he finally turned around to face you.

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to some exposed skin on your neck.

“You always look beautiful,” he added, and his reply finally received a smile from you.

The two of you turned around to leave and you collected your coat as Jake shut off the record player before turning off the lights.

Jake drove you for a while with a proud smile on his face, trying to make light conversation with you.

“I’m actually very glad I bought the tickets as quickly as I did, because it’s sold out now,” he said, and you listened curiously.

“I hope you’ll like it,” he added, before you fell into a comfortable silence together.

Jake had turned some music on in the car, once again Peter Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker was surrounding you and making for a comforting ambience.

When Jake pulled up at the opera house, and you parked the car in the garage below you were flabbergasted, especially when you saw the posters advertising the ballet the Nutcracker.

It hit you immediately and your mouth fell open, just as wide as your eyes were.

“The Nutcracker ballet? How? The tickets are sold out this time of year!” You exclaimed, and he chuckled in amusement.

“That’s what I’ve been saying. I got them the moment you first could, in September,” he answered, taking you by the arm and escorting you inside.

“Are you serious?” You asked excitedly, and he smiled in reply.

“Something told me you’d like it,” he winked at you as an employee showed you to your seats.

You were astounded that Jake hadn’t only bought tickets but also the best seats in the house, and consequently the most expensive ones.

You were so excited and gripped Jake’s hand the moment the lights went off, a broad smile gracing your face in the dark.

The music enveloped your senses and the dancers were absolutely beautiful, the performance left you in a trance that held on until you arrived back at home.

You didn’t even know what to do or say, but you were in love with the entire evening.

When you entered your home you turned to look at Jake, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him against yourself.

You smiled at him gently as you leaned over to press gentle kisses along his neck, leading a trail up his chin to reach his lips.

You could feel Jake’s smile when your lips finally connected and he wrapped his arms around you as well, all of your movements gentle and loving, to show just how much you meant to each other.

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#jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #hangman top gun #top gun hangman

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shosty-official · 4 months

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Opinion on homosexuality?

Also, did you know Tchaikovsky was of the... homosexual origin when you were alive?

I support it. Unfortunately, the Soviet Union was very antagonizing of it, so the people part of the community couldn't be open about their identity, or else they would get shot right there. But nowadays I see that people have become open and proud about it, which is heartwarming to see. Everyone should be able to express their feelings without being afraid of getting killed, though it seems it still happens in most places, but at least there is progress.

And... no... I wasn't aware of that, is that true? Uh, well, as I said, the Soviet government was actively erasing homosexuality from the history, so I wouldn't know, guess they got to him too.

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marauderivy · 7 months

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One thing I like about RusAme is that Alfred gets to be his true self in front of Ivan, or at least that’s what I think. He does not need to hide himself at all because he knows whatever thoughts he have, bright or dark, joyful or angsty, Ivan would understand them perfectly.

In Iron Mirgorod, Sergei Esenin described USA as: “The deeper you go into the heart, toward California, the impression of unwieldiness disappears: Before your eyes pass plains with sparse forest and - alas, terribly reminiscent of Russia!” And likewise, Van Cliburn, the American pianist who won the Tchaikovsky Competition in 1958, also expressed that seen from the airplane, the Moscow plains look so very much like Texas.

They both have this “mainland mentality” which I find truly fascinating - the vast expanses, everything is possible, everything is up for change. And they sure both have that proud and unyielding character that’s directly inherited from the nature that surrounds them.

#rusame #aph america #aph russia

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untitled5071 · 29 days

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yo idk if you're still taking requests but could you write a smth about Lisa taking the creature to see a ballet. i had this realization that the creature died before Tchaikovsky was even born and i think it's criminal that he never heard of the nutcracker, swan lake or even the 1812 Overture (where Tchaikovsky used actual cannons 💀). it could be any of his ballets btw ^_^

You had me at Tchaikovsky, I played violin for ten years and he's one of my favorite composers, though I've never seen one of his ballets, a mistake I'll have to rectify soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

It was a gift for both of them, really.

As a general rule, they were very big on date nights; every day they were together was bliss, but they loved finding new things to experience together, new ways to celebrate the strange second chance at life they were given.

Luckily for them, the smallish city they had settled in after Brookview offered a plethora of activities, from checking out different restaurants, going ice skating in the winter and having picnics in the park in the summer to walking around different craft fairs and farmer’s markets to examine the wares of local artisans.

They thoroughly enjoyed every endeavor as long as they did it together, but by far one of their favorite things to do was attending concerts and dances, their shared love of music and dressing up for special occasions making those dates extra meaningful.

So when Lisa surprised her husband with two tickets to a traveling ballet troupe’s production of Swan Lake, neither could contain their excitement at the thought of the upcoming event.

Creature had discovered Tchaicovsky’s work after he had found a book of sheet music in a thrift store while they were shopping for new clothes, and he had spent the next several days learning as many of the pieces he could on the keyboard Lisa had bought him for their anniversary. The sound wasn’t nearly as good as it would have been on a proper grand piano, but it sufficed, his talent overcompensating for the poor quality of the instrument. Lisa loved to dance to it, and when the event was announced, she knew it would make the perfect date night for the two of them.

But first, they had to get ready.

They stood together in front of the cracked mirror in their rented apartment (Lisa insisted it stay that way, since it ‘reminded her of old times’), Lisa applying a pale shade of foundation to cover her more stubborn burn scars and her husband adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket, humming one of Tchaikovsky’s more nationalistic works-a piece called “Marche Slav”-to himself as he went. Lisa joined in, and though the rhythm was mostly wrong, her husband beamed and sent a praising smile her way.

She caught his eyes, and neither of them could resist leaning in for a kiss, one of those several they already had and would continue to share that day, just like every day since Lisa's resurrection.

They parted from their kiss, and Lisa giggled when she realized some of her foundation had rubbed off on her husband's chin, and she reached out to wipe it away with a thumb, cupping his cheek as she did so.

“I don't think that's really your shade, honey.”

Her husband smiled, holding his hand on Lisa's to keep her there for a moment before releasing her and letting her continue her cover-up job.

Normally they wouldn’t bother; they were both proud of the physical quirks that came with being the living dead and city folk had a tendency to overlook things. But since they were going to be out with the refined public, they both chose outfits that would cover their more….inhuman traits, with Lisa donning a long black velvet dress and opera gloves, and Creature opting for sleeves that covered the stitches on his right wrist and a hairstyle that covered his left ear.

Once they deemed themselves ready, they posed in front of the mirror, Lisa taking a picture with a Polaroid camera she had purchased second hand at a flea market. She waited for it to develop before hanging it up on the designated photo wall in their miniscule living room, covered floor to ceiling in polaroids from different date nights over the years, their smiling faces looking down on them from all angles, all reminiscent of other nights spent enjoying each other's company.

Like the others, this night promised to be a wonderful one.

Neither of them felt particularly hungry at that moment (a consequence of being undead and also their pre-show excitement) so they walked to the theater with Lisa hanging off of Creature's arm, the two giggling and speculating about what they were about to see all the while.

The lobby of the theater was crowded, and the couple clutched each other close as they shuffled their way through the mass of bodies. They skipped the massive drink line and the somehow longer one for the women's restroom, and they presented their tickets to the usher, who showed them to their seats.

They were at the front of the balcony, and Creature helped his wife into her seat like a proper gentleman before he took his own, and he leaned into her space as they read the same program, their heads resting together as they looked over the extensive list of performer and crew names.

Lisa looked up at her husband, a twinkle in her eyes.

“It looks like we're in for quite the treat tonight.”

Creature smiled back, nuzzling his nose against hers briefly.

“Any night we spend together is a treat, my love. This one just comes with a show.”

Lisa giggled, but she didn't have time to respond before the lights dimmed and the first round of applause started, which both of them joined. The curtain rose on the stage to reveal a yard outside of a castle where a grand party was taking place, numerous dancers moving to Tchaikovsky’s jovial score in perfect sync. Lisa ‘ooh’ed quietly under her breath, and Creature’s heart swelled as his wife scooted up in her chair slightly, wanting to be closer to the performance.

The festivities continued, the prince was given his weapon and as he ran into the woods after the flock of swans, Lisa rested her head on her husband's shoulder, lacing their arms together as they settled in to enjoy the rest of the performance.

As expected, the music was impeccable and the dancing was breathtaking, and by the time the titular waltz began and the enchanted swan maidens began their graceful steps, both undead lovers were fully entranced in what they were seeing, their full attention turned towards the stage, though Creature did keep sneaking glances at the hidden orchestra pit and wondering what it would take to be a part of one.

Before they knew it, the show ended, the dancers receiving well-earned and rapturous applause during their final bows. Lisa and Creature were on their feet with the rest of the audience, and when the crowd began to disperse, they sank back into the plush red armchairs of the theater while they waited for the waves of people to leave and make their own exit easier.

And, as they usually did to pass the time, they talked.

Creature immediately launched into a passionate tirade about the orchestration and skill of the people tasked with delivering it, throwing around musical terms Lisa didn't fully understand but nodded along enthusiastically to anyway, delighted to hear that her husband had adopted her penchant for passionate ramblings.

“--and the violins in the Allegro giusto were absolutely phenomenal, the dynamics were–what’s wrong, Dove? You're thinking so loud I can practically hear it.”

Lisa chuckled distractedly, falling silent for a moment and staring at the stage. He ducked his head down to hers and placed a finger under her chin to turn her gaze his way, but all worry about what she was pondering over dissipated as she blurted out,

“Would you still love me if I was turned into a swan?”

He couldn't help it; the bluntness of her farcical statement made him chuckle, and the adorable pinch of her eyebrows wasn't helping matters. He pulled her close, holding her to him and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Of course I would, darling, I would love you in any form. If you were turned into a swan I would move to the lakeside so you could swim happily, and I would read you poetry as you did. I'd help you chase away anyone you wanted to terrorize–because let's be honest, my love, you would be an absolute menace–I would find you the best things to eat that you could still digest and, if that still wasn't enough, I would find a way to get myself turned into a swan too so we could be together that way, since I never wish to be apart from you, regardless of the measures I would have to take to do so.”

Lisa watched him deliver his impassioned answer with wide and lovestruck eyes, and the last words were barely out of his mouth before her lips were on his, and she was kissing him with an endless gratitude and adoration.

And of course, he reciprocated in kind.

By the time they parted the crowd has mostly cleared out, giving them an unobstructed path towards the exit. Creature got up first, stretching a bit before offering his arm to Lisa with a wink and a fond smile.

“Shall we go, my dearest? I do believe there is a warm bed waiting for us at home, as well as a keyboard that is dying to be played.”

Lisa blushed and took his offered limb, slipping her arm in the crook of his and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Lead the way, honey.”

They left together, still linked by their arms and chatting quietly amongst themselves as they continued to absorb the wonderful experience they had just had.

As they passed under the lights of the theater marquee and turned in the direction of home, Creature leaned down and kissed Lisa's cheek, savoring the blush that blossomed across his wife’s face.

“What was that for?”

He smiled, his eyes soft and tender.

“I just wanted to thank you for this night, my beloved Lisa. I'll never forget it, as with all of the time we spend together.”

She hummed affectionately and squeezed his arm tighter as they strode down the city street in tandem.

“No, thank you, darling. I can't wait to see what we do for the next one.”

#lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein fanfiction #lisa swallows x the creature #lisa frankenstein 2024 #lisa swallows #the creature #my writing #oneshot requests #swan lake

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