#no wait JAZZ FLUTE HANDS

[recurring-polynya]

Mid-Century Menos

#my fanart #skeleton drawing hours #menos grande #JAZZ HANDS #no wait JAZZ FLUTE HANDS #this is honestly not mid-century *enough* but it's only my first go i will keep at it #brain is still too attached to 'trying to make things look good' i gotta free my mind more

[feasibilities]

Sight and Smell - Tom x Married!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: Tom has feelings for you and won't let anyone stop him from telling you how he feels. Warnings: Drug Use, Infidelity, Allusions to Cuckolding, Sex as Punishment, Choking, Pining, etc. Author's Note: Readers need love too! I did some research on luxury hotels in Dublin as well (because I want a late-night rendezvous with Cillian in one of them). Also, thank you @mothhball for tagging me in the prompt that spawned this insane story. I hope you enjoy it!

The sight of your beautiful smile and the smell of your redolent perfume were mainstays of Tom’s psyche. He knew your husband, Seán, since they were kids. You came along during secondary school. He knew it was wrong to lust for any woman who wasn’t Marianne, but you were different. For the first time, he felt a deep-seated jealousy toward his friend. Knocking on the front door, Tom was finally prepared to tell you how he really felt. This party would go down in history. 

“Hey, Tom. Seán will be here soon. Won’t you come in?” You smiled sweetly. You noticed that he looked disheveled and restless. 

“Of course.” Tom replied. While you led him to the kitchen, he admired how your black dress hugged your figure. He hated that Seán got to see the treasures that lie underneath. 

“Where’s Marianne?” You inquired, going back to cleaning the champagne flutes. 

“U-um, she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed back.” Tom faltered, taking quick peeks at your cleavage. 

“Ah. Well, I hope she feels better soon. How have you been?” You asked.

“Fine.” Tom answered plainly

Walking toward him, you placed the back of your hand on his forehead. 

“Are you feeling okay, hun?” You asked innocently. 

Taking your hand away, Tom hurried to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. You heard him lock it shut shortly after. You stood there stunned before continuing to prepare for the party. 

After separating the thin white powder into lines, he gummed what was left over on his fingers. Snorting each line was like a hard reset for his body. His heart felt like it was clawing its way out of his chest. Collapsing near the bathroom sink, he trembled and cursed himself. He sat himself up in a corner and breathed deeply. The palpitations of his heart subsided. 

Hearing offbeat jazz come from the living area, Tom jumped up and gathered himself. He had to get this out of his system before guests arrived. It was now or never. 

“I need to talk to you.” Tom blurted out, watching you arrange hors d'oeuvres on multiple platters. 

“Fucking hell, Tom. You scared me half to death.” You jumped. 

“Listen, it’s very important-“ Tom started.

“Can it wait until after the party, hun?” You corrected.

“It can’t.” Tom said, growing irritated by the second. 

“Fine. What is it?” You said, exasperated. 

“I have loved you since I met you all those years ago. I think about you all the time. I hate that Seán got to you first.” Tom confessed, staring into your eyes. 

You stayed silent and stared back at him. You felt a mix of panic and curiosity. Seán would kill Tom with his bare hands if he heard this conversation. Tom’s advances made sense—especially since you felt the same way. You loved your husband with all of your heart, but you can’t say you never thought about leaving. He was away for work way too much. When he was here, he wasn’t present emotionally. Intimacy was poorer than it had ever been. You yearned for something different—rather, something electrifying. Tom was the closest you could get.

“We can’t do it here, Tom. I can meet you in a hotel after the party. Now, take these platters into the dining room. Be careful to not let anything fall.” You ordered. 

Tom’s eyes widened at your proposal. You’ve never seen him move so fast in the time that you knew him. Guests, including Seán, began to arrive. He kissed you deeply and gave you an embarrassingly hard smack on your ass. It felt like he was putting on the show of a happy couple in front of everyone. Tom was left to brood angrily as you gave him sympathetic glances throughout the party. Shortly after everyone’s departure, you got a text from Tom about your impending rendezvous.

Room 427 at The Westbury. Hope you’re still up for the challenge. 

“Challenge?” You murmured as you applied your makeup at your vanity.

“Where are you headed, love?” Seàn slurred, toying with your hair. He was too drunk to notice you flipping your phone over. 

“Out with friends. I’ll be back late.” You replied. 

“You know, I want to spend more time with you. I miss you.” He said, kissing your shoulder and starting to untie your house robe. This was another empty promise. You politely moved his hands and went back to finishing your makeup. 

“We can spend time together when I get back, Seán. I need some time to myself, ’s all.” You said. Finally getting the message, he stumbled to the bed and fell asleep.

— 

“Fuck, right there…” You moaned as Tom thrusted into you at steady pace. You raked your nails down his back—marking your territory for the time being. He stared down at you with the same admiration earlier. He loved the way your breasts moved with each thrust. He loved the resplendent noises you made when he bottomed out. You clenched around him as your legs began to shake.  Your eyes fluttered shut before you felt his hand grab your throat. He squeezed enough to limit your blood flow. You were lightheaded, but still conscious.

“Open your fucking eyes. This is what you wanted, right?” Tom hissed, speeding up his movements. This time was much more brutal.

“Yes.” You whimpered, feeling like you were about to break in half. 

Tom kissed you harshly and watched as you fell apart. Unintelligible praises came from you as he pounded you into the plush mattress. Your walls spasmed frenetically as you came. He wanted to make sure that you thought of him every time you fucked Seán. To his own perverse wish, this was payback for not choosing the better man.  Flipping you on your stomach, Tom yanked your hips backward and started taking you from behind. He put a pillow underneath you to soften the blows, but to no avail. He was reaching depths that your husband dreamed of. You weeped quietly and 

“Would be fucking sick if Seán came in and saw me nailing his wife, eh?” Tom teased, panting in your ear. A cruel part of you got off on the thought of him listening in on you two. Maybe he would give you the attention you deserve. A faint “Mhmm” emitted from you in response. 

“Cum inside me.” You cooed, looking back at him with heavy eyes. You bit your lip and clenched around him once more. His thrusts staggered as he came with a loud groan. You sung his praises as he came down from his high. Pulling out, he saw his seed beginning to spill out of you. He caught some with his fingers and pushed it back inside.  He pumped himself mindlessly before laying next to you. His stark blue eyes studied your features. He traced his fingertips along your back. You looked back at him lovingly before drifting off to sleep. 

Grabbing your lace underwear from the floor, Tom huffed them desperately. Similar to cocaine, he felt a sense of euphoria. He took in the sweet, earthy scent as he grew hard again. He didn't want to disturb you, so he walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He finally got what he wanted. 

#tom #the party #cillian murphy #tom x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #fanfiction #love #marriage #my writing #2017

[vladdyissues]

We Have A Problem

Danny could scarcely contain his excitement. After eight long months, the wait was finally over: Tonight was the premiere of the hotly-anticipated new television docuseries, Knowing Universe.

The product of decades of research and collaborative efforts from the world’s greatest minds—astronomers, physicists, astronauts, engineers—Knowing Universe was rumored to have had a production budget somewhere in the hundreds of millions and boasted the latest advancements in computer graphics and long-range photography. New lenses had to be fitted to NASA’s telescopes to provide viewers with high-resolution images. Helmed by a famous Hollywood director and scored by Hans Zimmer, Knowing Universe was expected to go down in history as the most pivotal science documentary ever created, eclipsing even Carl Sagan’s beloved Cosmos.

A year ago Danny would have eschewed such blasphemy, but the litany of promos and sneak peeks on The Science Channel had finally won him over. It was all he had talked about for the past month.

Every member of the Fenton family knew what a monumental occasion this was to Danny, and had marked their calendars accordingly. With the big day finally here, a festive atmosphere descended upon Fenton Works. Pizza was ordered. Living room furniture was rearranged around the TV, the windows blacked out with construction paper. Glittery blue streamers festooned the ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stars and meteors spackled the wall. Jack made three enormous batches of “galaxy brownies”, a regular brownie recipe but studded with white chocolate morsels and multicolored candy sprinkles. Maddie and Jazz took care of the music, arranging a playlist consisting of space-themed songs that featured such hits as David Bowie’s Space Oddity and anything by Daft Punk. Sam brought over a tray of veggies that had been cut into star shapes, and Tucker had printed out cards for an astronomy-themed parlor game to play while they waited.

At eight o’clock the lights were dimmed. Everyone gathered in front of the TV. Danny, hyped out on too much sugar, grinned like a maniac, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Sam passed a smirk to Tucker. “I think we know what to get him for his birthday this year.”

“Yeah,” Tucker laughed. “Posters, t-shirts, the DVD set—”

“Shh, shh,” Danny hissed. “It’s starting!”

Six pairs of eyes glued themselves to the opening sequence: a panning, high-definition shot of Earth, complemented by a gentle, sustained note on flute. Then, a voice:

“For as long as humanity has existed, we have looked to the stars…”

The ecstatic grin slid off Danny’s face.

It wasn’t David Attenborough’s educated gravel, or Neil deGrasse Tyson’s friendly, conversational baritone. No, this voice was intimately familiar, lightly accented, arrogant, with phlegmy fricatives and a rolling, almost musical modulation.

Tucker clapped his hand over his mouth. Sam goggled at the screen.

“Oh, my God, no,” Danny murmured.

Jack Fenton popped to attention. “Hey! That’s Vladdie!”

“No.”

“Vlad’s narrating the show!”

“No.”

“Hey, Danny, isn’t this—”

Outside Fenton Works, a howl rose over the rooftops, and every dog in the neighborhood took up the call:

“NOOOOO!”

Read on AO3

#danny phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #hjbwrites #dp fanfiction #humor #this is a long way to go for a joke but

[zhongliologist]

All or Nothing | Aventurine Modern! AU

Pairing: Aventurine x fem!reader Genre: SMUTTTT!!  Words: 4k A/N: Hi it's been a while. I've been busy. So busy that it seems I forgot how to write smut. So it's not the best I could write after such a long time. I definitely did not proofread this before posting lmao Anyways, thanks for the continued support! THIS IS AN 18+ FIC. BY CLICKING THE READ MORE BUTTON, YOU HAVE UNDERSTOOD AND ACCEPTED THAT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED AND LIABLE FOR THE DECISION YOU MADE.

In some deserted hotel stairwell, a sense of urgency has permeated within its walls--far away from the lavish party thrown downstairs. The soft jazz, polite chuckles and clanking of champagne flutes were replaced with the sound of shuffling clothes, muffled voices and shallow breaths. Here in this forgotten place, your heart was electrified, your hands clammy, yet you knew you were in the right place at the right time.

“Hurry up…”

His arms were snaked along the arch of your back, fingers dancing at the hem of your dress as if threatening to divest it then and there. His lips were slow and deliberate on yours, like savoring a treat after such a long time.

Meanwhile, your hand created creases on the lapels of his expensive coat, and the other played with the blond hair on his nape, both with the intention of pulling him closer to you until perhaps he’ll decide to never leave you again.

“No need to rush, love,” he replied in between kisses. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You could.” You moaned to a playful bite on your jaw. “I still haven’t forgiven you for last time.”

“Shh. Focus.” The blond scolded you, his leg already digging against the apex of your thighs. It might be too early for you, but he already has full intention to pull you into a climax.

It was a dangerous game you were playing, yet you couldn’t care less. Tonight, where it was only you and him--no roles to play, no time to pretend. Such moments were rare in your current lives, and you fully intend to relish it, despite all of its consequences.

They had no idea about me and you.

“Oh how scandalous…” he teased, lips tickling the edge of your ear. “The star of the party in a rendezvous with a Wall Street gambler? At an empty fire escape no less?”

You groaned, pushing him off. “You and your big mouth. You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

Despite your irritation, his bright hypnotic eyes gazed at you, filled with adoration. “You still like me nonetheless.”

This time you rolled your eyes. “C’mon, let’s continue this in my room. I don’t want to risk anyone finding us.”

Grabbing him by the collar, you dragged him through several flights of stairs until you were at the right floor. With quiet footsteps, the both of you sneaked down the hallway, careful not to be seen by anyone--at least you were careful. Your partner on the other hand, had other plans, earning himself several points of irritation from you.

“Hey, imagine if we really got caught by someone, huh?” he grinned, allowing himself to be dragged along. “Oh I could already see the tabloid headlines! New regulatory commission chief already getting in bed with an IPC executive…an infamous one at that! Of course the IPC gets preferential treatment again! Imagine that!”

Wordlessly opening the door to your hotel room, you stepped inside and waited for him to finish his spiel. You simply stood there in front of him, ready to close the door.

“Or, I could imagine shutting this door right now and you not getting any action tonight.” 

“W-wait!” He panicked. “I’m sorry. Fine, fine! I’ll shut up now.”

You sighed, hauling him by the collar again as he stumbled inside. Why do you put up with this man?

“You’re still one hell of a mess,” you remarked with a resigned breath as you closed the door. “After years of not hearing about you, you suddenly appear as an IPC executive? Care to explain…hmm, what do they call you now? Aventurine?”

Picking himself up, the man before you brushed some imaginary dust from his coat and pinned you between his arms to the nearest wall. He still had that same smugness, the same confidence that allowed him to win any high-risk, high-gain bet he gets himself into.

“C’mon, love. Don’t you find the conflict-of-interest sexy?” he asked, leaning closer towards you until his forehead was resting on yours. “It’s like some kind of forbidden love.”

“Stop kidding around. I’m not amused.” You glared.

Still, he chuckled. Brushing a stray lock from your cheek, he caressed your face gently with his finger--tracing some imaginary lines only he could see. He used to do this a long time ago, when you sometimes fell asleep during long hours of studying; when you were still unfortunate enough to have him as your thesis partner. Those were moments he often goes back to--a touch base whenever he loses sight of himself. But right now, you are in front of him--just a moment’s reach; just a stone’s throw away. He was often called a crazed thrill-seeking gambler, but he wouldn’t gamble this moment with you for anything. He can’t afford to lose everything here.

 “Why…don’t we talk about the past later…?” he whispered, eyes lidded. “Right now, I just miss you, and you miss me too, don’t you?”

At this point, you had closed your eyes. He was right. Your need for an explanation wasn’t as important nor as urgent as your need to have him in your arms right now. That could wait. This…whatever it is, you knew your soul craved it the moment you locked eyes again back in the ballroom.

“Kakavasha…” you spoke as softly as you could, careful not to break this delicate thing between you, as if it could disappear any moment. “Please kiss me?”

With that, he smiled fondly. “With pleasure.”

Unlike your previous tryst in the fire escape, he lips were tender on yours, almost scared and hesitant, yet the burn remained just as strong. It moved slowly through your veins like molten gold, turning you pliable to his touch. Without realizing, his hands were once again on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles on the fabric of your dress, while his lips continued their gentle approach.

Everything you kept and held back after all these years came crashing on you like a tidal wave. His scent, his voice, the weight and warmth of his touch--they used to be memories you kept coming back to again and again, resigning to the fact that maybe you’ll never be able to experience it again. But now, they were real, he is real, and that realization welled tears on your eyes.

“W-wait…let me just…” you gasped, hands shaking.

As you ran out of air, the both of you suddenly locked gazes. His unique eyes always mesmerized you, reminding you of teal suns on a pink ocean, pulling you in until you might sink and drown and die. It was as addictive as a psychedelic trip, and all you need was him.

Unbeknownst to you, Aventurine was not as calm as he appeared to be. Just the sight of you--hair mussed, lipstick smudged and just slightly breathless from the kiss you shared--was enough to make his heart jump out of his chest, and his pants tighten rather uncomfortably. Gods…

“Sorry. I just can’t take this anymore.”

He groaned, pushing you to the nearest wall in a muffled thud as he crashed his lips to yours, rough and impatient. It didn’t take long for him to bite and suck on your lips, imagining how you would look like right now--flushed and lips swollen. He initially planned to seduce you, slowly working his way into your heart until you give in to his advances, yet now, you had him wrapped around your finger. Maybe it had already been that way since a long time ago. He simply hadn’t noticed.

“What--mmmh…mm…”

You immediately melted in his embrace, amused at how Aventurine tried to contain himself but failed anyway. He was both endearing and annoying, sweet but also kind of mean, a gentleman yet at the same time, an animal ready to devour you anytime. You were often swept up in his antics--just like how his hands were deftly peeling away your dress until it pooled on the floor by your feet, or how he slipped his tongue in between your lips, greeting yours in a sloppy kiss that had your cheeks burning as if they were on fire.

Making out with you is often enough to send Aventurine into a drunk lust-filled daze with his cheeks flushed and bright eyes blown wide. He couldn’t help himself, not when you were this sexy in his arms, not when you oh-so-discreetly managed to get rid of his coat and tossing it somewhere on the floor. His thoughts were all filled with you and only you. For you, he would gladly gamble away everything, he could even bet the world if he has to. For Aventurine, there was no one else that mattered but you. Even if the world thinks of him as some kind of maniac, he couldn’t care less as long as you were by his side.

Distracted by your lips and his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that you were slowly inching him closer to the bed, until it was near enough that you could push him down in one move. Still in his button up and pants, you straddled him between your legs--his eyes wide and blown upon finally seeing you in black lace lingerie.

“Oh fuck…I’m not dreaming, am I?”

You smirked, grinding yourself against the very obvious tent on his pants. “Focus, dear. Can’t have you waking up so suddenly.”

“Ughh…”

The sudden friction had him gritting his teeth, amazed and at the same time unbelievably aroused at how bold you’ve become. With a toothy grin baring sharp canines, Aventurine suddenly grabbed your waist and rubbed himself against your covered slit, eliciting a moan out of you.

“We could do this all night, princess,” he gasped between words as he continued to grind himself against you, while you found yourself unable to do anything but roll your eyes as he brushed against your sensitive nub at the right angle.

“W-Wait…ah! P-Please…I…!”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, fingers toying with the hem of your panties. “C’mon. Don’t be shy. You can cum all over me.”

He could already feel your slick drenching him, lubricating the fabric of his pants and intensifying the friction that had you breathless on top of him. Aventurine could also feel himself leaking with pre-cum but honestly, he didn’t care if he’d ruin a good pair of pants. He was too busy admiring you above him--your beautiful breasts bouncing despite the constraints of your bra, the skin of your neck and your collarbones littered with splotches of color, your lips slightly ajar and whispering his name over and over again as if in a lust-filled trance.

Ah, fuck. He’d probably cum too if he wasn’t careful.

“Ahnn…! I can’t! Mnmm…I’m close…so c-close…!”

“That’s it…ahh…don’t hold back, princess.”

With one thrust, you came undone quickly--trembling and shivering as you moaned his name, your hands immediately grabbing on to his shirt so you wouldn’t fall over. Even though you were still reeling from the high, Aventurine had other ideas. Flipping you around, with him now hovering above you while you lay flat on the bed, he swiftly discarded his white dress shirt, revealing a toned body that was not there a few years before.

Unsure how it had never hit you earlier, you were now faced with the sudden realization that the scrawny college boy you knew was already a full-grown man; a man who could easily bring heaven to you.

“Like what you see?” The blond asked with a chuckle, dramatically waggling his brows just to tease you. “Like I said, don’t be shy now. You just came all over me.”

The thought immediately left your cheeks burning with embarrassment, and had you spurting a coherent reply. “S-Shut up! I’m just not used to this!”

At your words, Aventurine hummed, a thought crossing his head. “Well then, seems like it’s up to me to get you used to it.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he swiftly removed your panties--revealing trails of your glistening fluid.

“Wha--!” You desperately tried to cover yourself, yet Aventurine was faster, seizing both your hands away.

“If you don’t want me to tie you up, keep those hands on the sheets,” he threatened, but eventually grinned anyway. “or better yet, you could hold on to me. Whatever my princess wants.”

Not waiting for a reply, the blond leaned over as he spread your legs wide, allowing him access to your drenched pussy. Stroking a finger across your slit, Aventurine relished at your squirming figure--earning a shit-eating grin from him.

“Look how wet you are,” he chuckled darkly, teasingly blowing air right at your clit and making you yelp in surprise. “By the way, I’m called Aventurine now…in case you need a name to scream.”

The sudden reminder created a lot of questions in your head, most of them beginning with the word ‘why’. However, he didn’t give you time to agree or disagree, as he pressed a thumb on your sensitive clit, making your back arch at the sudden stimulation.

“Alright, hold on tight, love. I bet I can make you cum with just my tongue.”

The moment when he dived in you were struck by an unfamiliar sort of pleasure which electrified every vein in your body, rendering you helpless against his unrelenting tongue. He savored your juices as if they were sweet honey, lapping your slit clean, to the point of pushing his tongue inside of you.

Amidst all of this, you realized he was right again. You found your hands clinging on to him for dear life, pulling on his locks of blond hair as you struggled to find your breath after waves upon waves of pleasure assaulting you.

“O-oh…my god…fuck! Aventurine…!”

You were practically screaming when he reached your clit, sucking on the swollen nub until you were seeing stars. It was unfair how he was able to drive you crazy with just his tongue, and you can’t deny that it felt so good that you wanted more.

Aventurine could feel you getting close once again. Your body was trembling as you pushed his head down in a desperate attempt for more friction. He wouldn’t deny you that, of course. He continued his ministrations until you were screaming silently, your voice hoarse and dry after crying out in pleasure. And in one moment, something inside you snapped. With back arched and eyes rolled, you squirted on his tongue just like how he wanted; lapping on your juices like a man starved.

“See? I won again,” he gloated as he peppered your thighs with kisses, moving his way up to your stomach, and towards your chest. At this point, his erection was already too painful to keep within his pants, yet he had to do something first before thinking about himself.

Turning your head so you could face him, Aventurine once again descended his lips upon yours in a tender and gentle kiss. It was slow but passionate, filled with everything he wished to say after all those years but cannot. Despite the haziness from your high, everything was clear at that moment. His lips were soft and captivating, nibbling at your lower lip when he felt a little playful. Meanwhile, you met his tongue with yours, dancing in a wet and sloppy kiss which forced you to acknowledge how badly you missed him. Ever since you parted ways, there was no day where you wished he wasn’t there with you--through days where you were being celebrated, or through days where you had to crawl back home. Why did you have to go, Kakavasha?

Yet you knew that there will come a time that those unanswered questions will be finally answered. However right now, something else occupied both your minds.

“Hey…” you whispered between his lips, a trail of saliva still connecting you. “I want you now, Kakavasha…”

One more peck before answering you, the man asked. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re more than ready but--“

Cupping his cheeks, you interrupted him with another kiss. “I’m sure. I want you in me…please?”

For a moment, Aventurine was hesitant, yet as you continued to gaze directly into his eyes, he relented. With a resigned sigh, he smiled and gave you a kiss on the forehead. “No take backs, princess.”

Once again, he traced his lips down to your jaw, leaving a trail of pecks along his way. Remembering how much you shivered at a love bite, he made sure to suck on a pulse point on your neck, earning a low and sensual mewl from your lips. He drew a masterpiece on your skin, from your neck to your collarbones, biting, nibbling and sucking his way down to your chest.

 Expertly removing your bra with deft fingers, Aventurine reveled at the sight of your breasts, nipples pert and touch starved. He couldn’t resist the temptation, not when they were right there in front of him. His mouth descended upon one, twirling around his tongue as if teasing you, while his hand fondled your other breast, still in awe of its softness.

“You sure have grown in this department.” He remarked with a wide grin, earning a disparaging look from you.

Chuckling at your reaction, he continued to play with your breasts, squeezing a nipple and eliciting a moan out of you. He made a mental note to make you cum just with your breasts some other time--that would be quite a sight, wouldn’t it?

The vibrations from his laugh made your skin tingle, making you even more sensitive than before. It felt like there was a furnace under your skin, burning you from the inside out and turning you into a bumbling lewd mess.

“Aventurine…please…just…hurry up!” You whine through lidded eyes and a flushed face, as an uncontrollable emotion welled up inside you. “Please…I-I want you…”

Seeing you sobbing so desperately for him, something in Aventurine snapped. Brushing his bangs away from his face, his lips had widened into a dangerous smirk and a dark glint had appeared in his gaze.

“I was planning to be gentle with you tonight seeing that we just had a heartwarming reunion…” he started, kneeling before you and spreading your legs wide for him to delight in. “But never would I’ve imagined you’d beg for me so desperately.”

Finally releasing his dick from the confines of his pants, you could see how hard he was and how it was leaking so much of pre-cum. He was long, kind of girthy and it instantly made you nervous if it was right to goad him into fucking you senseless. You might have chewed more than you can swallow.

Placing himself on your slit, he began rubbing himself on you, coating his cock with your slippery juices. Of course, he had to tease you whenever he had the chance--hitting your already abused clit with his member as he brushed pass.

“You’re so wet, princess…” he groaned between labored breaths. “My dick could easily enter this pretty little hole of yours…”

“Please…! Aven…turine…I want you…I-I…!”

“Fine,” he replied as he gritted his teeth. “Here you go, princess!”

With one sharp thrust, Aventurine entered you, bottoming up immediately. The sudden stretch had you keening, arching your back from the sudden stimulation. You felt so full and warm inside…so full of him.

“Ah fuck…this is too much…” he growled, face as bright as his eyes. Upon meeting gazes however, Aventurine immediately crashed his lips on yours in a bruising kiss. In between pecks and bites, he kept groaning and murmuring your name, overwhelmed by the varying emotions welling up inside him.

“Mhhmm…Y/N…a-ahh…I missed…you…hngh--! I just…I’m sorry…mmhm…feels t-too good…”

“Aven…turine…!”

“Sorry…I can’t hold back anymore…”

As soon as those words left his lips, Aventurine began thrusting into you, looking for that one spot that had you melting in his arms. He was rough and relentless, pounding into you like an animal--leaving you screaming his name over and over again. It felt so incredibly good. After such a long time, you had forgotten how intense sex with Aventurine was. You could even say that he had become better, stronger and more refined in his ministrations, yet still intense nonetheless.

“Oh god…there! It f-feels…so good…!” you whined, holding on to his arm as he placed your leg over his shoulder, finding a better angle to fuck you silly.

“You like that, huh?” He purred, an amused grin plastered on his face. “Let me make you feel good even more.”

Without you noticing, he suddenly pinched your clit, earning a loud scream from your lips, your eyes rolling from the pleasure. Yet he didn’t stop there, he continued to rub on your sensitive nub as he pounded his cock into you, forcing your tight walls to remember his shape.

“F-fuck…fuck…I’m…ah! I’m gonna cum…p-please harder…fuck me harder…!”

With a sardonic smile, Aventurine snaked his arm around your leg and thrusted harder and deeper, making you drool on the sheets.

“I’m…close too…nghh…! Where do you want me, princess?”

“I-Inside…please finish inside…I want you…”

As soon as you said those words, Aventurine’s lust-addled brain refused to function anymore. All thoughts left the room and was instead replaced by lewd sounds of skin on skin and loud screams and low groans. You had been waiting for this moment, to be unraveled and ravished by him, to be pounded by his hard cock and filled with his warm essence. For a long time, you had waited to be with him, and finally your close to the climax.

In one particularly hard thrust of his cock, you came undone--squeezing him tight as you squirted once again. Your head turned blank and all you could see were stars as waves of euphoria washed over you, making you tremble and shiver.

“Ah, shit…! I’m cumming…!”

It didn’t take long for him to follow, filling you up with his warm cum as you trembled beneath him; the shock of his orgasm sent you falling from another peak. As soon as he was able to catch his breath, Aventurine leaned down towards you, capturing your lips with a tender kiss--this one saturated by his adoration for you. You easily reciprocated, smiling as you kissed him and allowed yourself to be swept up by his gentleness.

“I love you…” he whispered, burying his face at the crook of your neck. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry I left you that day. I couldn’t face you at that time…you were so perfect, while I was a fucking mess. I didn’t deserve you then. I don’t think I deserve you even now.”

Brushing your fingers through his fine blond hair, you listened quietly and allowed him to finish.

“Aventurine…no, Kakavasha…” you whispered gently to his ear, coaxing him to gaze into your eyes. “Yes, you’re a mess. Yes, you’re a goddamn headache. But I’m not perfect either. I might not be able to give you what you deserve. So it’s fine if you struggle and make mistakes, I’ll still love you all the same. As long as you would have me too, that is…”

Without warning, Aventurine enveloped you in a tight hug, kissing you wherever his lips landed. He felt relief wash over him, the heaviness in his heart he had harbored for so many years suddenly lifted just like that.

“I won’t let you go ever again,” he exclaimed. “This kind of luck doesn’t come around very often.”

Giggling, you began pushing him off of you. “Alright, get off me now. You’re heavy.”

“By the way, earlier…I, uh…” he scratched his nape, suddenly embarrassed. “You’re in some sort of birth control, right?”

You scoffed amusingly at him and shrugged. “Who knows? Wanna bet you’d knocked me up?”

Those words seemed to have unlocked something inside Aventurine’s head. He began imagining little versions of you with his unique eyes, and little versions of him with your features. He imagined you swollen with his child growing inside you, singing softly as you gently caress your belly. He could imagine all sorts of things; he could imagine a future with you. Covering his burning face with the palm of his hand, he glanced at you with an inexplicable expression.

“Hold on. We’re not done here yet,” he began, seizing both your wrists and pining you down to the bed. “If it’s a bet, I’d like to increase my chances of winning.”

#honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine

[ladylooch]

Loving & Leaving- Part 2

Visit the series page here.

A/N: We are going to get CHAOTIC with this one. So buckle up. 😈

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content, Swearing, angsty

Word Count: 4k

The Swiss Hockey Federation awards are in the late summer. And every year, Nico begs me at the last minute to come with him. With his good looks and professional hockey career, you would think he would be able to find a true date to go with. But every year, it’s me on his arm. We skip the red carpet, as per usual, and slide into the sleek, modern event space relatively undetected. The room is stunning, decked out in the reds and whites of our national colors. The Swiss flag flies proudly around the room while various projectors showcase the latest and greatest hockey talent Switzerland has to offer.

As an event planner myself, I am quite impressed. This is an detailed, high-end event with waiters trolling the floor carrying small bites and free flutes of champagne. The full, open bar has anything you could want including expensive liquors from all over the world. The bright chandeliers twinkle in the low lighting, complimenting the live jazz music that fills the room. An air of sophistication wafts through and loud laughter rings in my ears as Nico hands me a glass of champagne.

“Thank you.” I say, bringing it to my lips as I scan the room again.

“Expecting someone?” Nico asks, watching my face.

“No.” I lie. “Admiring the details.” 

“I’m going to go walk the room. You good?”

“Yeah. Take your time.” I tell him.

Anticipation buzzes in my blood, eye sweeping, looking for a certain Devil who isn’t my brother. I haven’t seen Timo since March. He’s reached out but I’ve put him off, absorbed in work and my friend group. I know he returned to Switzerland weeks ago, but he’s been in and out of the country with his family, spending precious moments with them that he doesn’t get during the season. But that doesn’t mean he’s been far from my thoughts. 

I don’t see Timo, but I know he will be here. Every year for the past three years, Timo has been here. I’ve been here. The night always ends the same: frantic lips, desperate hands, and silent screams of pleasure in a nearby closet.

The one just to the left of the women’s bathroom looks like the winner this year. 

The moment he arrives, my body knows. My brown eyes wander to him, drinking him in like a parched camel. He’s dressed in a Navy suit and works on buttoning his jacket again after the red carpet. He has dark, sexy stubble lining his jaw and upper lip. I want to know what that feels like between my thighs. I push out a controlled breath, feeling my core tremble as he rubs a hand along his cheek, then inspects the room. I watch him find my brother. He sees Nico alone and furrows his brow, running his tongue along the inside of his mouth. He heads right to him, extending a hand and shaking it with his easy smile. He looks good tonight. Everything about him pulls me in. I’m yearning to feel his skin, tanned from his trip to Italy, beneath my finger prints.

Nico and Timo talk for a few minutes while I watch. Timo lets out a loud laugh, head tilting back towards the ceiling. It flows through the air to me, lodging in my chest, soothing some of the missing him. Nico gestures to his left, then turns, looking right at me. I freeze as Timo’s gaze finds me. Excitement fills his face. He gives me a smile followed by a brief, friendly wave that has butterflies growing in my abdomen. When Nico turns away, Timo tosses me a wink. It’s brief. Anyone else would have missed it, but it’s been the agreement I’ve been waiting for.

Tonight, we’ll play another round of desperate roulette. Winner picks the tempo.

As the night drags on, I visit with various players, running around with my brother until I bore of the same conversation over and over again. Yes- Jersey is great. Yes, the team is getting better. Yes, its so funny how it’s become Switzerland of the West. Ha, ha, ha. Bleh. I don’t know how Nico does it. But, he’s always been sweet, charming, and attentive. It’s what makes him a great captain.

The one person we don’t go see is Timo. It’s all part of our game. When Nico and I get close, he moves along to the other side of the room. There, his gaze drags along my skin, spreading wildfire through me and an ache that I’m getting desperate for him to cure.

I’m on my third glass of champagne when I perch myself perfectly in Timo’s view. Lust fills my cheeks and lips as he strokes the glass of his drink, rubbing at the condensation while chatting with Kevin Fiala. If I close my eyes, I can imagine that same thumb rubbing against my throbbing clit. My teeth tease my lip wondering how much longer it’s going to take for him to make his move. Nico is drawing closer and closer to me again. The night is seemingly winding down after speeches and awards. I worry our time is running out.

Kevin disappears with his wife from the bar, but Timo remains. He glances over his shoulder in my direction, a small smirk tilting his lips at seeing me staring at him.

Here we go.

He pushes up, turning my way when a petite blonde with bursting cleavage intercepts him. My eyes narrow slightly. She’s ruining my night. I look towards my bother who is in conversation just to the left of me now. Shit. I contemplate how to get him further away while watching Timo from across the room. The blonde is closer now, absorbed, watching his mouth. Her fingers brush the jacket of his suit. I suddenly feel hot, but not in a good way.

It’s a different twist in my core now. Shades of green and ugly- about to rear into something I haven’t felt this intensely before.

The woman tosses her hair like she’s in a shampoo commercial, giggling at him. I jut my jaw out in irritation. She is so fake. And plastic. I bet she’s stuffed with fillers to hide from her insecurities. So unattractive. Yet… he’s looking at her like he’s interested? Is this what he picks when I’m not around? Yuck.

She calls out to the bartender who tosses her a white napkin on the bar top. She takes out her lipstick from her purse, red and deep just how I know he likes it. It’s almost the exact shade I picked tonight, just for him. She sketches what must be her number onto the napkin. Then, she places it in his hand, letting her fingers linger, taking stock of his curiosity. I stiffen, watching as she places her red lips against his cheek, then slide to his ear to whisper parting words.

My cheeks sting like he slapped me when he stuffs the napkin into his pocket. He knows I’m here, watching, and he did that? He could have tossed it on the bar. He could have let it accidentally drift to the floor from his hand. He could have not taken it at all. He should have don’t that. Instead, he’s saving it for later. My fingers almost smash the flute in my hand when I see his eyes soaking in her ass as she walks away.

And in that moment, I am decidedly done with this night.

“Can we go?” I interrupt my brother’s conversation next to me. “My feet hurt.” I point down to the black Jimmy Choos he bought for me last Christmas.

“I told you not to wear those.” He rolls his eyes. Truthfully, he doesn’t seem too disappointed at the prospect of leaving.

“You’re right as per usual.” I shrug, pacifying him so we will leave.

“I’m going to go say goodbye to Josi. I didn’t get to him earlier.” Nico hands me the valet ticket. “Have them grab the car.”

I stalk from the room before Timo can get to me. If he’s coming, I don’t know. I stopped looking when his eyeballs were glued to a sequined ass that wasn’t mine.

I’m standing at the valet podium when the man in question extends his vehicle ticket to the remaining valet. The employee walks off towards the parking lot, leaving us alone.

“Hi.” His voice is warm rolling over the bare skin of my shoulders to blanket me. One word and he makes me want to bury my face in the side of his neck.

“Hi.”

“Do I get to see you tonight?” He asks

Some fucking audacity. My eyes squint as I stare forward.

“No. But I’m sure the girl who’s number is on that napkin in your pocket is available.”

“Oooo.” He chuckles. “Careful, Em, you sound a little jealous.” I turn my icy stare on him. No words pass between us because we both know I am. “Ask nicely and I’ll come over.”

“I’m not begging for shit.” I snap back. He observes my anger, softening with his approach.

“You really don’t have to. I’m more than willing. You look so beautiful tonight.” He reaches his hand out to slide along the small of my back. His touch caresses like it belongs there. I close my eyes, jaw tightening as I resist the pull I feel to give in. “All I wanted was to be across the room with you. Be that glass you held all night.”

“Fooled me.” I snip. Damn him and his compliments.

“We were just talking.” Timo says. I turn to face him, demeanor still cold. “I’m out here with you, no?” My eyes drag along his suit jacket, stopping at the button holding it together. “I’m trying to end the night tasting the sweetest parts of you.” He reaches up, fingering the diamond stud in my ear that was a gift from him.

“I’m really not in the mood.” My teeth are tight from the tension. Timo’s fingers pause on my lobe until he slowly drops his hand back to his side.

“Why are you mad at me when I’m the one who hasn’t heard from you in months? I texted you earlier this week asking if you were going to be here and you ignored me.” His thick eyebrows pull together in annoyance. “I didn’t even know you were here until your brother told me.”

“It’s not your business where I am in the world.”

“It’s not?”

“No, you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Not by my choice.” My nostrils flare at his pointed tone.

“If I need to get crystal clear with you, I will. We’re never going to be together.”

“Yeah, because you’re fucking scared.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at me.

“No. I’m not giving up my entire life for you so that you can have all your dreams come true while I’m just your trophy wife. Staying silent and pretty is not the life for me.” I whirl my hands about. “Plus, your behavior tonight just shows how incapable you are of loving me the way I deserve. You want options and I’m not going to share you.” Even to my own ears, I sound scared and unsure of what I’m saying. Like its a bunch of rapid fire excuses to deflect from how badly I want him right now.

“Behavior? I didn’t do anything wrong.” He spits out. “You just told me I’m not your boyfriend, so why does it matter who’s number I take?” He holds his hands out to the sides exasperated. “And I never asked you to give anything up for me. You’re making this all or nothing because you’re too damn chicken to try. I told you in Jersey that I want this. You were the one who ghosted me for months.” His chest is rising and falling rapidly. “That fucking hurts, Em.”

Tears fill my eyes as I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. I peel my gaze away from him, trying to regain my composure. Footsteps fall heavily behind us belonging to my brother.

“You’re leaving too?” Nico asks Timo as he comes between us. Nico snuck up on us, but a quick glance at his lax posture makes me believe he has no idea about us. 

“Uh..” Timo clears his throat, stepping back, balling his hands into fists in frustration. “Yeah, early training tomorrow.”

“Bummer. Was going to say you should come over for a drink.” I hold my breath in anticipation of Timo’s answer.

“Nah, I shouldn’t.” He says as the valet comes forward with Nico’s car. Disappointment rattles in my stomach. Even as I want the distance, telling myself I don’t need this, I crave him.

“Next time.” Nico extends his hand for Timo to shake. I begin to walk forward without acknowledging Timo.

“It was great seeing you, Emma.” I toss a look at him over my shoulder. I can see the hurt in his blue eyes. I know I should say something to keep the act up, but I can’t. Instead, I slide into the passenger seat without another word.

Nico allows the silence for a few minutes on our drive home.

“You seem upset.”

“I’m just tired.” I toss a small, appeasing smile to him. His eyes don’t leave the road, but he sighs like he doesn’t believe me.

- - -

I’m outside.

Timo’s text comes through just as I settle against my pillows to sleep. I’m utterly exhausted after such a whirlwind night. I decide to ignore him, tossing my phone onto the other pillow and turning the lamp off. Light from my screen fills my room a minute later.

Come out here or I’m coming in.

Well. Can’t have that.

I toss my covers off begrudgingly, moving as quietly as I can down to the front door. I carefully tip toe out of the house, looking down the driveway to where Timo’s car purrs in the street, somewhat hidden by the trees and bushes. As I walk further down, I can see Timo outside the car, leaning against the driver’s side tire.

“Get in the car, Em.” He says as I approach. He takes in my matching pajama set of red shorts and an old, navy t-shirt.

“No.”

“Yes.” His jaw visibly tightens at my defiance. 

“Or what?”

My body shakes from the chill of the mountain air. I underestimated how cool it was without the summer sun.

“Or, I’m going to drag you back inside and fuck you so hard we wake up your brother.” Whoa, this is new.

“Shh.” I hiss, stepping forward. I glare at him as I walk around the car and put myself into the back seat. He gives me a tired look. “You didn’t say where to sit.”

“You’re being such a brat.” He rubs angrily at his forehead, mumbling under his breath as he slams his door shut. He begins to drive, weaving with the road towards a hidden park down the street from home. He tosses the car in park, then comes into the back seat with me. I stare straight ahead. “You don’t get to act like this.”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“You’re playing games with me. You’re all jealous because I took some girl’s number, then telling me we’re never going to be together? Which one is it? It doesn’t get to be both.”

“Fine. Fuck whoever you want then.” I snap. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t?” He snarls, grabbing my face with his hand. “It would be fine if I was balls deep in someone else tonight?” I wince from his words and he softens his grip instantly. “I’m sorry. I’m.. so sorry. I need you to… stop doing this to me. You’re driving me crazy, baby.” My eyes close when he murmurs the pet name. I get weak when he calls me that. “Acting like you don’t care and then getting all hot and jealous. Throwing tantrums and glaring at me before your eyes go dark, silently begging me to take you right in front of your brother.” He strokes his thumb along my cheek. I wrap my hand around his neck.

“Fuck me.” I tell him this time. “Right here. Please.” The rapid change between us is fitting and he takes it in stride.

“Thought you weren’t going to beg.” He reminds me, placing kisses along my throat, working down towards my chest. 

“I don’t care. I just need you.” I confess as his fingers slide up my t-shirt, skirting along the soft skin of my abdomen. “So bad.” I whimper as he sucks against my collar bone. 

“I don’t have anything.” He tells me, kissing sloppily over towards my ear. He pulls me into his lap after his confession. I contemplate, knowing we both know I’m on the pill. It’s a risk- I know it is. I hesitate, pulling back to look at his face. He pauses his movements, getting soft and serious as he holds my neck. “I’m clean. I’d never do anything that would hurt you.”

I believe him. Because he looks at me like he’s in love with me and it matches the yearning in my chest for him too. He could be anywhere else right now. Instead, he chose me.

“I trust you.” I whisper. “I’m good.”

“No one since me?” He asks the thing we always ask even though it hurts. I shake my head no. “Me either.” I smile against his lips on mine.

The feeling of our bare skins connecting has electric groans coming from our lips. 

“You feel so good. So fucking wet.” He moans, putting his forehead between my breasts. “I’m not going to last. Can’t.” He moans again, louder this time as I rock on him.

“Good.” I whine as he strokes my clit. He watches my face as I bounce on him, thick eyebrows pulling down in pleasure as I ride. I’m not surprised at how quickly the tension begins to leak from us.

“Baby, where should I cum?” He groans after what feels like seconds.

“Right where you are.” I plea, working my hips into him faster. I grind harder against his hand, moaning loudly when his lips work my nipple over with the right strokes. “T-T- Ah.” I sob as I come, clenching him tightly in hard pulses until he shoots ribbons inside of me. The feeling of him in my heat, leaking, has my heart constricting in my chest. It’s so intimate it aches.

“Mmm.” He moans against my breast. His hot breath dances against my wet nipple, making me tremble more in his arms. I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging the strands so his head falls back into my palm. I place my mouth, wet and hungry, over his, sucking his tongue into mine. I rotate my hips, feeling him ooze more into me. “You are… incredible.” He whispers when we pull apart to gasp in air.

Our soft smooches fill the car, coming down gradually from our hasty high, savoring the taste and feel of each other. 

“You deserve better than this.” He eventually speaks against my shoulder. “You should be in my bed, 800 thread count sheets hugging your beautiful curves. Or a luxury apartment building where you can look at New York City while I fuck you from behind. Not this.” He gestures to the back seat of his car, where our heads are awkwardly avoiding the roof. I turn to bury my nose into his shoulder again.

“I can’t leave my life here.” I whisper against his hot skin. 

“What is here that I can’t give you? Events are everywhere.”

“I have a client base that can’t be recreated anywhere.”

“I have connections. So does your brother. We can build you something new in America. Maybe even better?” Irritation pops my bubble. Why is he pressing this again?

“You can’t just create something new that fits with what you want and think that’s payment for leaving my life behind. My answer is still the same.” I say, pushing off of him. His softening dick flops out of me quickly. I grimace at the feeling of his cum sliding out.

“Why are you arguing against everything I’m trying to do to make this work?” He asks me, holding his hands out to the side in question.

I can’t really put words together to answer him. It’s just a dreaded feeling in my soul of following someone else, somewhere else, and getting lost in their world. Never mind that I’m in love with him. I feel my body jolt at the new, inner thought and pull myself farther away from him. It’s terrifying to love someone like him. Someone that proved tonight he could have his pick of anyone else. The temptation is so much. I know enough from Nico to not want to sign up for this.

“Don’t do this.” He mutters. “Just.. sit here for a second. I want to talk.”

My afterglow has been shattered by his questions. I stretch my neck to the side, wincing at the way it tightens back up immediately under the weight of my head. He reaches out to kneed at my tense muscles, thumbs putting firm pressure where it’s needed most.

“We already talked about this earlier tonight. Why can’t you just let this be enough?” I gesture between our bodies.

“I thought you were only saying that because you were mad…” He questions.

“No. I meant it.”

“You’re not even willing to try?”

“It seems pointless.” I shrug. Unwillingly, my mind cuts out pictures of that life. City dates in New York, wearing his last name on a WAG jacket, and waking up next to him in the morning, not needing to run away. Maybe a ring.. eventually a baby or two. There’s that ache in my chest again.

Timo is silent next to me. Carefully, fingers dragging along every inch of me, he begins to pull away. First his fingers fall from around my neck. Then, he slowly moves his other hand from my bare thigh. He works himself back into his pants as I wiggle my shorts into place. The only noise between us is his belt hooking back into place.

Until…

“Emma, I can’t.” He pauses. “I can’t do this anymore.” It’s quiet and questioning, like he doesn’t want to say or mean it.

“Okay.” I pick at my thumb nail. I’ve heard this before. It never lasts.

“No, I’m serious. I love you.” The blood slows in my veins. He’s never said those words to me before and I wish it wasn’t this way. “And I can’t have only parts of you anymore. It’s not enough.” Something about his voice makes my heart drop into my stomach. Panic forces my blood to begin racing through my veins again.

He pops the back door open. Hair stands up straight on the back of my neck, jolting when the door shuts again. My body trembles as he gets into the driver’s seat. The car roars to life. I adjust my shirt back into place and tuck my hair behind my ears as he drives. I purse my lips together, looking at him in the rearview mirror. He won’t return my gaze but his flickering jaw tells me he knows I’m looking.

The house comes into view. Timo throws the car in park at the end of the driveway. The interior of the car smells like sex. I can feel my raw folds coated with his sticky seed, still remembering his thrusts. Tears poke my eyes when he refuses to meet my gaze. I have no choice but to get out of the car. Isn’t this what I want anyway? I can’t ignore the way my heart cracks when I pop the door to step out.

I turn back, expecting him to get out of the car with me. To say something else. He doesn’t. And he doesn’t wait for me to get to the house.

Instead, he drives off into the night, red tail lights blazing until they disappear into darkness.

I won’t see him again until November, under much different circumstances.

#TM: Loving & Leaving #Timo Meier #Timo Meier Smut #hockey writing #New Jersey Devils #NHL fan fiction

[into-september]

Five things I'd never got to experience if I hadn't been in band

English is lacking a good vocabulary for ensembles consisting of adults of varying age playing wind instruments which sometimes involve marching, but it's not like the "wait, you guys do something else than Sousa and Christmas mucic" stereotype isn't a thing over here as well.

My two greatest musical experiences are ones I can't share because one of them was a jazz performance written specifically for the band I was in and performed only once, some nine or ten years ago, in a small, rural pub full of drunk people with no way to appreciate it. The other was some jazz-up version of "In the Hall of the Mountain King" performed in what was allegedly one of the world's best concert halls. In Riga, twenty years ago.

But here are some other pieces I'd never gotten to play if I hadn't done this.

I have a love-hate relationship to marching band marches, finding them one the one hand cool and on the other, exhausting. And - not gonna lie - Sousa is just tired, even for me who've played comparatively little of him.

But Army of the Nile is always a highlight. It's difficult, but it's so fun. The only song where the woodwind embellishments feel like they add something more than showing off the finger work of the flutes and clarinets. Best trio, change my mind, taken just that level higher by the bars seguing the first run to the repetition.

I feel like the only person who love Tolkien primarily for the hobbits, and this is the most hobbit-y piece of music in existence (arguably barring the Prancing Pony number from the musical stage show). Sure, the third clarinet might involve a technically impossible semi-quaver trill between A1 and C#2, but everything about this number is perfection; the way it captures the spirit of hobbits, the perfect shifts between cheer and melancholy, the fact that at 6:14, the score says "ships come. Gandalf comes too", according to the director. Too bad I haven't got the vocabulary to say what it is about the chord shift at 1:40

Never played this one with a cornet solo, and this is the only recording I could find. Which is weird, because I didn't even know this was originally written for a cornet solo until I saw a different performance of it on youtube. But the cornet is clearly the superior instrument for both the clarinet solo in the beginning and the trumpet one in the middle, so please enjoy it, and also the most triumphant french horns coming in with the main theme at the end.

This is, after all, the epitome of wind ensemble music.

Only Scandinavians would understand, but understand at least the joy it brings me every time I get to do the Schubert towards the end. This piece is just pure joy and so much fun

The second and third movements I can give and take, but the first and the fourth? Sign me up, any day. You'd think playing the exact same movement over and over would get old, but it somehow never does.

#music #musician #blah #tolkien #woodwind #Youtube

[2022-mmac]

Sundays at 2pm at MMAC Center

Three Sunday concerts of original music composed and performed by local musicians

Events made possible by funding from the New Mexico Music Commission https://www.newmexicomusic.org/

November 5: James Yeager

James Albert Yeager moved to New Mexico in 2009. He has performed regularly as conductor, organist, harpsichordist, and choral accompanist. He retired as Professor of Sacred Music at the Josephinum College in Columbus, Ohio (1984-2009). James has done numerous compositions and arrangements, including music for two short films. His orchestral works have been performed in Albuquerque and Santa Fe. At present, his primary musical interest remains as a composer

Program: The program will center on James’ three recent compositions: Passacaglia for Organ & Orchestra (2022), Fugue for Piano and Chamber Orchestra ”Mystical Desert”(2023), and Sonata for Piano Quintet (2023). Since the Passacaglia and the Fugue require large ensembles, they will be performed using recordings from Ravel Virtual Studios (NYC) . The Sonata will be played by New Mexico musicians - Flutist Ms. Hyorim Kim, a string quartet of Eric Sewell, Grant Hanner and Lisa Donald, and pianist Natalia Tikhovidova. - as a premiere performance. James will also play short pieces from his film scores. The program will last one hour and is free to the public.

November 12: Michael Hays

Mike Hays is a retired English teacher who has been playing music, especially on bass, since he was a young teen. In the last ten years, he has taken his interest in songwriting more seriously and has been creating jazz-based both vocal and instrumental compositions for the group he is working with. The current group (to whom Mike is deeply grateful) is more classically based, and the audience of the November Concert Series will notice his current compositions reflect this.

Program: Basement Dancing is a group that performs music written by Michael Hays. The group comprises Luis Delgado on clarinet and flute, Juli Palidino on viola and violin, Katie Harlow on cello, mandolin and accordion, Joseph Sabella on drums, and Michael Hays on bass and vocals. . Vocal songs at this concert will include musical portraits of the lonely soul waiting for his lost love in the Plaza de los Arboles Muertos, of the longing that hapless Señor Sapo feels as he watches a lovely circus acrobat, and of the nocturnal activities of Groany Bones, a skeleton who leads a danse macabre.

November 17: Kathleen Ryan + Exhibit Opening of "Masks & Metal"

Composer/pianist Kathleen Ryan is a Whisperings Solo Piano artist. She was the Professional Music Teachers of New Mexico commissioned composer in 2008, for which she composed a set of 24 piano left-hand-alone preludes titled Verbs. Several of her piano solo pieces were featured in the Emmy Award-winning Iowa Public TV special, The Seasons. Ryan lives near Mountainair with her husband and two quirky but inspiring cats.

Program: Composer/pianist Kathleen Ryan's piano solo performance will illustrate aspects of her composer’s life: being inspired, becoming ambitious, recovering from writer’s block, making money, and recycling teenage angst songs into piano solos. She will finish with some premieres, including music that’s not quite composed just yet! The full range of her 21st century impressionist style will be heard, from silly to soothing, from complex to simply serene.

#mmac #visitmountainair #art #music #live music #NovemberMusicSeries #JamesYeager #MichaelHays #BasementDancing #KathleenRyan #ArtOpening #MasksAndMetal

[lizzybeth1986]

Hana Lee: Music Headcanons

Note: Wherever I've placed numbers before a word, it means I've placed additional notes to explain it at the end of the hc.

These hcs are closely related to the universe of my Eleanor's Kitchen series, as well as to the series I hope to write in the future for Hana and Kiara's romance - Petals and Thornes

Childhood

• Xīnghǎi initially had an old piano left behind by his younger sister, Xīngxià, who played a number of both Western and Chinese instruments (piano, acoustic guitar, bawu flute, guzheng, erhu). She wasn't exactly very welcome in the family (seen as a bit of a black sheep), but she did visit more regularly once Hana was born.

• Hana's name among her paternal relatives is Méihuā Her gū gu Xīngxià admits that she and Lorelai used to listen to a lot of shídàiqǔ music (1) around the time of Lorelai's pregnancy, and a favourite song of theirs was Li Xianglan's "Méi huā" (Plum Blossom).

• Hana herself loved old Shanghai jazz as a child and smuggled casettes from cousins whenever she could manage (it was the 90s!). By this point, Lorelai couldn't stand listening to any of those songs and attributed her temporary fascination for them to pregnancy hormones.

• Lorelai was far more invested in getting Hana to listen to more Western classical music. Thankfully for her, little Hana had an appetite for that too. In her early years she was more fond of tunes that had a tinge of humour (like Chopin's Valse du Petit-Chien) or a touch of fantasy (like the compositions from Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker). As she grew older and lonelier, her tastes began to veer towards more melancholy compositions (Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and Symphony No 7 in A Major, Op.92, and Weber's Clarinet Concerto No. 2, 2nd movement, being her favourites)

• Her parents were interested in getting Hana a good musical education, but were far more invested in her dancing, since in Lorelai's opinion that was the one skill she couldn't do without in a noble court. Gū gu (2), on the other hand, understood Hana's love for music right away and privately nurtured it.

• Xīngxià wouldn't start on piano lessons straightaway...to whet Hana's appetite a little she would start her on finger exercises and the basics but not on any actual sheet music for a week. This ensured not only that Hana's interest was piqued to the point where she didn't want to wait, but also that she got a strong base knowledge that would remain with her for the rest of her life.

• The lessons were kept a secret precisely because of how Lorelai and Xīnghâi typically handled teaching Hana any skill. They expected and sometimes demanded perfection, and Hana was often so scared of making mistakes she would freeze in the middle of whatever she was doing. Of course, by the time Lorelai did find out, at age 8, Hana had progressed far beyond even her aunt's expectations and was now showing interest in composing her own music.

• After a few years of public performances on the piano, Hana begged her aunt to teach her to play the guzheng. She desparately wanted to branch out into traditional Chinese instruments by then.

• Public performances started out with family gatherings first - which Hana enjoyed coz her relatives were warm and boisterous when they heard music - then to guests at her mother's parties, then full pledged performances at more formal occasions.

• The more performances Hana was made to do, the less time she got to spend on exploring the music for herself or branching out to other instruments or styles, and the more Xīngxià and her parents clashed. When her aunt finally left Lorelai yelled at her retreating figure, Thank God you're leaving, I can get my daughter a real music teacher this time.

• Hana always knew that her parents didn't understand her love for musical composition. She never begrudged them that. But seeing her mother speak so cruelly to her aunt - the only person who truly made the effort - with her father not saying a word, made her understand that they didn't care. Music wasn't something they respected, it was just a way to get extra social currency. And she could never allow for her music to be reduced to that.

• Barely a year after that, Hana stopped enjoying her public performances. 6 months after that year, her parents, humiliated by her worst performance at a luncheon, finally stopped asking.

• Hana never lost touch with her passion for composition. She had a small notebook where she wrote down her ideas. If there was one regret she had as an adult, it was that she couldn't branch out more, especially to instruments from her natal home.

• When she was 6 she joked to her grandmother that she wanted to write a series of compositions one day, all based on the desserts Nǎinai (3) would make her. "Mooncake Minuet", "Sachima Sonata" and "The Egg Tart Symphony", just to name a few.

• Hana's reward for a good lesson was often a trip to one of the teahouses in the area (her favourite being the open-air one that we see in canon). This gave her exposure to the Jiāngnán Sīzhú (4) folk style of music, as that was what she most commonly heard during her visits. The delicate yet lush notes of the dizi flute, the erhu and other instruments she couldn't name, stayed with her for a long, long time.

Secret Composer Headcanon:

• Hana's first foray into film composition came at the most inconvenient time - she was pregnant with her first child and just bursting with ideas, but had no intention of ever being put in the spotlight for her music again.

• Not like composing for film would necessarily do that, but Hana was nervous nonetheless.

• A friend of a friend of a friend of Joëlle's needed music for their film at short notice, as the composer they'd arranged bailed at the nth moment before the project hit the floors. Seeing the urgency of the situation Hana agreed, on the condition that she be kept completely anonymous, with only her mother-in-law and her wife Kiara to vouch for her credibility. It was a risk, but the producer trusted Joëlle, and Kiara clearly knew what she was doing.

• The spotting session (where the composer and team jointly see the film and discuss the score) was pretty tricky to arrange, but they managed it without being identified, and Hana got several excellent ideas in the course of watching, along with detailed notes on what they needed. She spent two months on research (most of the movie was situated in an enchanted garden), and three on actually composing.

• The final compositions were delicate, ethereal, and many critics later claimed they felt transported into the world of the enchanted garden on the strength of the music and cinematography alone. The film was a blockbuster, and the music recieved all sorts of awards addressed to the very elusive "Azahur Aelia", who always had a Cordonian from a different part of the country represent her on stage each time.

• While she had to rest a few months after that was over, having just given birth, there were a small number of producers who remembered her music and wanted her for projects. That was how, once her daughter Chaima turned three, she was able to get back to doing compositions.

• A distant cousin of hers from her mother's native province Bethulia, Bahar (5), is a programmer who helps her with the more technological aspects of her work. Her contributions greatly ensure she's kept largely anonymous except to very few.

• Hana's "stage name" is a tribute to both Kiara and Xīngxià: the first name was a reference to orange blossoms, Kiara's favourite flower, and the second to summer, her Gū gu's most beloved season.

• Kiara had long arranged for a secret alcove behind the library at Castelserraillan, so Hana could play whatever she wanted, jot down ideas, get more instruments - basically spend time just doing music her way, at her own relaxed pace. It had worked, because Hana was more ready to create than she had been at any time in her life. For a long time no one, not even close family, knows of it.

• She once roped in the equally mysterious "Cordonian Quartet" (6) for an album in honour of that year's Five Kingdom's Festival. It was a sellout and not a soul suspected that royalty was involved, because that's how good Hana and her team got at working undercover 😎

• Wanting to celebrate Cordonia's cultural diversity, she once produced an album of lullabies from every province in Cordonia in all their regional languages. Whether it was Lythikos' (less violent - "I'm not putting breastfeeding mothers through your more aggressive compositions, Olivia!") blood hymns, Fydelia's pastoral songs, the Portavira's coastal folk, or the more earthy melodies of the Fire Tribe descendants: the album was celebrated for its soothing feel and its seamless enmeshing of different musical styles. (7) Many parents recommended it overseas too.

• Hana tries not to take on too much work, as along with her familial and ducal responsibilities, she also wants to dedicate a little time to learning instruments and musical genres from other cultures. These interests seep into "Azahur Aelia"'s compositions, which are often praised for being eclectic and exciting, always promising a new experience each time.

• Her favourite instrument outside of the piano remains the guzheng. The first time she successfully plays a song, she sends a video of it first to her Gū gu, then to her father and mother. She often tells her children that the sounds remind her of flowing water.

--

Notes:

1. Shídàiqǔ is a type of Chinese folk/European jazz fusion music that originated in Shanghai, China, in the 1920s. Learn more about this genre here.

2. Gū gu - Mandarin for father's sister

3. Nǎinai - Mandarin for paternal grandmother

4. Jiāngnán sīzhú is a genre of chamber music played indoors in refined, small ensembles. Learn more about this music form here and here.

5. Bahar is the daughter of Italian statesman Francesco de Rosa (readers of Eleanor's Kitchen may be familiar with him 😁) and his wife Perizaad Dastur, who is Lorelai's cousin.

6. For those who don't remember, Liam, Maxwell and Drake spoke in TRR2 Ch10 of having a quartet in their younger years with Bertrand.

7. The inspiration for this hc came from an Indian album of lullabies called Vatsalyam by Bombay Jayashri. This collection features lullabies in Tamil, Bengali, Malayalam, Brajbhasha, and Kannada (and was a personal favourite of mine when I had my daughter 😁).

#long post #hana lee #hanaleeappreciationweek #HLAW #the royal romance #the royal heir #the royal finale #HLAW Day 1 #HLAW Day 1: Music #lizzybeth1986 #content: headcanon

[bluntfish]

Mind over Matter, Jazz for the Soul

Leon takes a break from being a sight for sore eyes, goes to a music festival for a sax gig, and runs into some familiar faces...

The idea being: how funny it would be if Leon was at Bootleg cochella? I shared the thought with a friend and that sealed the deal for this fic. Took me two days writing this lmao shoutout to my homie who suggested Stewart should play triangle. Such a pro gamer move lolol.

Happening only in a span of a weekend, Nochella is an annual music festival that sparks joy in the hearts of people. Anyone across the continent, esper or not, joins together to the power of music at the intersection of Gyrate and Utgard. All genres were accepted, along with competitions from various bands and brands. Some big names like Ahmed, a sensational pop star, have made their start by performing at the event. Many hope they will make it big in the music industry or support their favorite artists. One man, in particular, decided to take a week off for this occasion.

A good handful of people in Gyrate, if heard of his name, may scowl or detest the sins he committed. For him, it’s just a job. A thankless job because of the promise he made to his brother. Bestowed by the Norse god of vengeance, Vali overtakes this man till he has no meaning of the word. Patrolling or killing targets, whatever he was asked to do, he will succeed with inhuman proficiency. Leon is his name.

Leon has a particular hobby few know about: his interest in jazz music. He often practices late at night in his enclosure, unknown to his colleagues in the Shadow Decree. In another lifetime, he could see himself following his younger brother’s footsteps as a musician. Maybe as a duo. But there’s no point thinking about alternatives. His current objective now isn’t given by his current employer. It is from a personal matter pursued by his late brother’s wishes. 

Other than staying alive for his sake, another thing his brother asked him to do is to find a musician. A musician so profound Joseph regrets not going to his concerts upon his untimely demise. Blessed by the god Pan, whoever listens to this esper has an urge to break into dance throughout the night. Multitudes flock wherever his concert tours lead him. He is also an accomplished Jazz pianist and flute player. The elusive Ben Dyson or Benny D for short. Leon is tasked to find him, and ask him to sign his late brother’s CD case. A menial request for a dead man, but doable. Anything to honor his brother’s desire.

Leon found out about Nochella from an ad given by Melanie in Evening Sounds, a club he frequents. She gives him a heads up: a bunch of the Esper Union will be participating if he plans on attending. Scanning the flyer, Benny D is the main headliner out of the featured musicians present at the fest. He takes the name into thought till he was hit with a cold sweat and a wry smile. The gears of his head slowly churn into an idea. He immediately gets up.

“I don’t think I’ll be taking another job in a while,” Leon remarks.

“Going?” Melanie asks, taking Leon’s finished glass of milk.

“Thinking about it. Thanks.”

Leon leaves the club as he fades into the darkness, taking the flyer home with him. He thought if he could get with a Jazz troupe, he could avoid any suspicion from the Esper Union and the Shadow Decree. So he comes up with a plan so meticulous he sees no fault other than his hubris. First, secure a position for Nochella. On one of his usual patrols, he views a bunch of job postings for a sax player. Luckily it's from a group from Benny D’s opening act, The Sunders. Perfect. He was able to secure a gig a day after a late session, and from that, made arrangements for his hotel room. Travel was covered by one of the band members driving from Gyrate and he’ll partially pay for gas. Once all of his expenses were completed, it was a waiting game before the start of the festival the week after.

Lastly, he makes a notice to Sander. He’ll take vacation time for the weekend. The first time he asked since he joined. Leon mentions no details of his break, other than “to have a piece of mind”. It shocked the military veteran along with Hyde and some of the researchers. But Sander gave him the okay. No more could be discussed. Leon left the meeting room nonchalantly. Other members gossiped about Leon’s departure.

“I thought he’s a stickler for his schedule?”

“That’s so unlike him!”

“What could be so important for him to leave for a few days?”

“None of your business,” is often the response. 

Upon hearing about his break, Hall and Jeanne approached him in the cafeteria during his down times. The day before he covertly leaves the base before putting on his gig hat.

“Don’t want to be nosy, but got an anniversary coming up Leon?” Jeanne asked.

“Actually,” Hall interjected, “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with Nochella. We’re going to see Death Spirals and other heavy metal bands.”

“And Screaming Cider. Don’t forget,” Jeanne added. 

“Do you want to come? We’ll be dressing up.”

Leon, not outwardly expressing, is content that Hall has an interest in music. Reminds him of his little brother, and it nearly warmed his heart. But he doesn’t want his plan to falter. He declines their invitation, while not giving much information about where he’s heading.

“Like I told everyone else, it’s my personal business. Alone. Maybe next year.”

“Is that so? We’ll think of you in spirit,” Hall responded sadly.

Little that they know, Leon already hitched a ride to the same destination. He’s sitting on a bus among fellow musicians he quickly became acquainted with. They were conversing about the festival and the opportunity to share the spotlight with Benny D. Leon’s not much of a talker, but he observes and listens. His eyes glaze outside of the moving landscape. Waiting for his destination amid the excitement of his bandmates. The plan is 70% successful. The rest of the 30% will depend on his performance, and if he can survive the crowds. That is up to chance.

The van makes a stop at its venue. Leon slowly walks out of a caravan with the three members. His hair is tied back in a ponytail. Aviator shades obscure his face as he’s lugging a black case containing his shape-shifting weapon. Can become a sniper rifle immediately if he wills but for now is just his mere musical instrument. And his overall outfit is a formal get-up: a button-up shirt, dress shoes, ironed pants, and a classic black vest. Black gloves complete the wardrobe. If he’s in his usual attire, the Esper Union or his other enemies will try to take him out in the open. A bad idea for Leon the saxophonist.

Tonight is the main event for his gig. Performing in front of a crowd is no big deal, but he’s resisting the urge to scratch his arms. He’s anxious. Leon glances up to the clear afternoon sky among the bustling sounds of people moving about.

“Joseph, is this what you also wanted?” he thought to himself.

“We’ll meet back here at five o’clock. If you got places to go, do it before ya regret.”

“Will do. See you all in a bit,” Leon responded.

He carries his case around his shoulder as he strolls near the plaza. Children and adults alike are gleaming with excitement. Some were carrying treats, others with souvenirs. For Leon, his eyes saw a sight he hasn’t seen in months. He immediately averts away behind an alley, observing three people.

“What is she doing here?” his thoughts rang to the back of his skull.

Across from him, a member of the Esper Union was carrying her guitar in her arms. Her wings flap with some excitement from a conversation she’s having with a man radiating like a sun. Brynn and Lucas. The two of them teamed up for a show on the other side of the festival with Ahmed, who happened to be in their company in civilian clothes. Leon understands the need to hide from the public and takes pity on seeing Ahmed avoiding any passersby or fans.

“Thanks again for letting us tag along with you, Ahmed.”

“It’s not a problem. Let’s do our best when we get backstage,” he gently says.

Brynn frowns slightly as the group walks with the crowd.

“If only Seig was here, he could be able to see us play. To play for my first, major gig being solo…”

“Not to worry Brynn!” Lucas beamed, “I’m sure your guy would be happy. Let’s give him the greatest show no rockstar has ever known!”

The three made a fistbump. A sign of their new hope. Leon is not taking this sapfest any longer as he snakes around them. He peeks over, checking if they notice his cover. Sigh of relief. In the need of substance, Leon walks to a hot dog vendor and orders one dog covered in ketchup and mustard. He has no preference for what he eats, as long it fulfills his needs. 

“Hey, can I get the classic chili dog? Easy on the onions and the pickles.”

Leon stares at the middle-aged man next to him, completely relaxed and carefree stuffing his face. His patterned shirt is hanging loose, clasped by a belt. His purple hair flows like wine swirls in a chalice. The fizz bubbles radiating from his head nearly popped near Leon’s shirt, which he overtly avoids. The sudden appearance of this man gives Leon a big ol’ red flag.

“An esper probably,” he thought.

“Ah~ That was pretty good! Thanks man!” he exclaims to the vendor bumping into Leon.

“Watch the shirt,” Leon seethes.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you performing?”

“I am.”

“Me too! Name’s Stewart. Yours?”

Leon suddenly feels choked up. He remembers this man from a mission debriefing from Catherine four years prior. He happens to remember Stewart’s photo. He worked as an educator within the Esper Union’s orphanage, the same one where a few adults were slaughtered in the crossfire among the screaming kids. Leon is unsure why the flashbacks of his childhood flooded his brain but he shuts it off immediately before he starts to scratch his forearms with a partly-eaten hotdog.

Stewart takes a notice of Leon’s sudden twitch and attempts to get his attention once more.

“Got a frog in your throat?” he says with a raised eyebrow.

Leon was able to stop his urges. For now.

“It’s Leo,” Leon claimed, “I play sax. Have an instrument you’re playing? ”

Stewart puts his thumbs up against Leon’s face. 

“The triangle!”

Leon sees this goof of a man proclaiming this, out loud with so much passion in public. He’s not sure to mock or to take second-hand embarrassment with the hot dog vendor. Utter disbelief. 

“The triangle?” Leon repeated in his deadpan delivery.

Seeing his expression, Stewart laughs full heartily.

“I asked a colleague of mine if I could come with her as part of her classical unit. She plays the French horn, and another acquaintance of hers is very slick on the cello.”

“Sally and Fabrice,” Leon deduced in his mind. “They’re here too.”

“There are a few others, but that’s all I know. She wouldn’t let me go unless I play, so I suggested playing the triangle. Silently playing the triangle behind the curtains,” Stewart stresses.

“...I see.”

He checks his watch and sees it's 4:52 PM. Leon is ready to leave the conversation into a metaphorical ditch. 

“It’s nice talking to you. But I have a gig to catch.”

“Is it for Benny D?”

“Yeah? Did the outfit sell it to you?”

“Nah, you act like one of those Jazz bar fellows I met back in a club. I hope to catch you playing some time. See ya later, Leo!”

Leon walks off quickly after throwing out his meal to the nearest trashcan. Stewart lingers at the stand a bit, scratching his chin and watching Leon leave.

“...Have I seen that guy before? Must be not that important,” he ponders.

“What an annoying man,” Leon remarks on his return to the caravan. He checks his watch. It’s 5 PM. Good.

“You’re back, Leon,” one of his bandmates exclaimed, “Benny wants us on set. Let’s go.”

“Alright.”

The moment arrives. Leon walks behind the curtain backstage and peeks out to the audience pit. It’s huge. Could cover two football fields. He glances at one of the musicians practicing his trumpet, while the other preparing his bass guitar frets with a lick. From there, Leon puts down his case. He grabs his saxophone and attaches the leash around his neck. He walks to the front of the stage, imagining a swarm of people surging in. 

“This is it,” Leon said to himself, “I don’t have to do this again. Joseph, if you’re watching me right now, I hope this suffices.”

His lips rest on the reed of his instrument and start playing a somber melody. Out of the blue, a man with hooved feet starts walking on the stage, wondering where the song coming from. The musicians point to Leon, occupied in his own groove.

“Young man,” the older man called out, “keep playing like that, or I’ll be flooding in tears!”

Leon suddenly stops and turns his head.

“Benny D?”

“The one and only. You play a mean sax, kid.”

Leon smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

“Is he part of your opening act, James? You got a perfect guy to play your parts. He’s gonna be the next Coltrane, I guarantee.”

Leon hasn’t been showered in compliments since his stunt in Evening Sounds, taking over a sax solo in the middle of a bar and abruptly left in a hush. It gives him a kind of high. A high that nearly made him nauseous over. Is this vengeance? Vengeance for success? His rational side comes out, remembering the promise he made.

“Excuse me, Benny. Can you sign this?” 

Leon pulls out his late brother’s CD case from his pockets. It’s Benny D’s Mind over Matter.

“Oh, you’re a long-time fan huh?”

“No, my brother was. Can you sign this for him?”

Benny D smirks.

“If you can show me a performance I won’t forget, then yes.”

“I’ll accept,” Leon says.

Night time approaches. People start filling the pit. Leon and The Sunders do their last-minute exercises before showtime. Pressing the keys on his sax, Leon looks out on the stage and sees a familiar purple-haired acquaintance standing in the middle of the audience.

“He finally came,” Leon affirms.

He gets up with the rest of the bandmates to their positions on stage. Leon stares out to the night sky, imagining himself back in his room. In his own solace, he starts the countdown till his sax starts blaring and the lights are scattered throughout the floor. People start to scream in excitement as Leon moves along the grove of the band’s energetic vibes. He paces to the side and then back to his mates playing the drums, the bass, and a keyboard at hand. They finish the song with a flourish, Leon belting the last few notes before pulling away from his mouthpiece.

The massive crowd applauds. Leon rarely has anything to claim, but for once he felt like he was made for this moment and bows in gratitude. 

“Thank you, thank you! Have a good night!” the lead musician shouts from the mic.

Leon returns with the rest of the bandmates as Benny D appears from the bottom of the floor. Watching the spectacle, the red-haired sax player observes the older gentleman with his piano. His hands rest against his arms. For once, he’s calm. The urge to scrape his skin subsided. The feeling is still there, but he is able to control it for just tonight.

After the performance, Leon approaches Benny D one last time with the CD case in hand.

“How did I do?” he asks.

Benny D smirks once more, then boasts into laughter.

“One of the best I’ve seen this night. Alright kid, who I write to?” Benny D inquires with a silver marker in hand.

“To Joseph,” the sax player requested, “... and Leon,” he added abruptly. Even Leon, realizing what he has done, gets in touch with his emotions. Albeit rarely. He silently asks for his late brother’s forgiveness for this selfish moment. But what is done is done. Mission accomplished. Leon looks over the signed CD case and smiles to himself.

“You sticking around? Or are you looking for another gig? I would love to have you on tour with me.”

Leon shakes his head. 

“No can do, sir. I have other things to attend to,” he lamented.

“Shucks, I get that. Well, if you’re in the area, let me know.”

Benny D brushes beside Leon, leaving an echo of his hooves behind his wake. Leon stands in awe looking at the relic.

“I think I understand why you choose this man, Joseph. He’s pretty good.”

A week after Nochella, Leon resumes his position as a hit man. Some of the members mentioned there was a man similar to Leon who, at the festival, played for a Jazz opener. Leon denies this fact and carries on with a smile. A secret to himself and no one else. After completing his patrol and duties, he returns to his own private quarters. This time, with a CD player. Anyone who happens to hear the songs playing from his room, Leon hopes someone out there appreciates the musical tastes of his late brother. As much as he has.

A bonus thing I added about Stewart lol:

Before their main event, Stewart somberly plays the triangle in a corner at his recital practice.

“I’m such a fool,” he shuttered.

Sally walks up to him and asks, “What’s the matter, Stewart? You don’t want to play?”

“Not that, Sally. I think I talked to a killer. I think,” he pauses, “the one who took out Drew’s former boss.”

Fabrice suddenly stops playing his cello from Sally’s gasp.

“Did he give you his name?” Sally prodded.

“Leo, he called himself Leo,” Stewart reported.

The look on her face, similar to the red-haired saxophonist he met, contorts into annoyance.

“Maybe you can sit out for this one and you can watch backstage,” she says with a jaded expression. 

Sally walks back to her spot and picks up her french horn, resuming her practice while Stewart slaps himself in the face. He’ll never know.

#dislyte leon #dislyte #dislyte fanfiction #dislyte fanfic #dislyte stewart #written by bluntfish

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 1: Dance

WIP: Partners Pairing: Ben x Reagan Timeline: what is this...1954 I think? god I don't know. it's between installments 1 & 2 of the "trilogy" CW: none Rating: T Words: 1,257

***

Reagan paced on the flagstone patio of the venue, cigarette in hand and humming along with the soft, slow jazz bleeding through the glass door. The three flutes of champagne he'd imbibed were making a noticeable dent in his focus, and he lost himself within the peaceful thrum of the world outside, in the cool night air, as wedding guests and bride and groom danced inside.

He started to sing, knocking ashes to the floor and tipping his face toward the sky. The song didn't have words, but he invented them, deciding subconsciously that it was about a lonely traveler on the way to a destination that existed only in his dreams.

"That's gotta be a superstition, right?" a voice said from the door. "Singin' something like that at a wedding's gotta be a bad omen."

Reagan smiled and turned on his heel, taking a drag simultaneous to sweeping his eyes over his best friend's face, his neatly-pressed tux, the slight stiffness in his shoulders. "Hey, boy," Reagan said softly.

Ben closed the door behind him, shrugging out of his tux jacket and loosening his bowtie once he discarded the outer layer onto one of the tables. "Why do you look better in a yarmulke than I do? Never mind, don't answer that."

"What're you doing out here?"

"Should ask you the same thing," Ben said, stuffing the tie in his pocket. "...I had too much wine."

"You didn't bring your beautiful bride?"

"I just needed a minute."

"You look a little nervous."

Ben took his own cigarette out of his pocket, waiting as he always did on complete instinct for Reagan to light it with his shamrock lighter. Reagan watched him through the small flame, then glanced back through the glass door as Faye stood among the throng of guests, laughing with Ben's mother, Shoshana, and one of his aunts.

"I don't think I've ever been around this much family at once," Ben muttered, exhaling smoke as Reagan put the lighter away. He rolled up his sleeves. "It's bad enough I can't think over the music."

Reagan didn't feel the need to point out that as far as live bands went, that one was particularly quiet. Instead, he reached up to secure Ben's yarmulke better to his head.

"Somethin' on my mind, Reggie," Ben said after a patient silence and Reagan had finished his task. "That toast you made earlier..."

"Wasn't much of a toast, was it?" Reagan said.

"I'm gonna need you to come up with a better one."

"Stop the band and gather everyone back to the tables, then, you absolute idiot."

Ben wouldn't meet his eyes, Reagan just realized. His gaze darted all around the patio and across the woods behind the building, taking in nothing but darkness and the deep, solid blue sky. "...I just thought there would've been more to it."

"I said that no one deserves happiness more than you." Reagan stepped a bit closer. "And I meant it."

Taking another drag of the cigarette, Ben nodded. He didn't appear to want to participate in any sort of levity whatsoever at the moment, which provided mild discomfort. "I guess I expected more."

"I couldn't say anything else, Benny," Reagan said, dropping his own cigarette and squishing it out into the flagstone with his shoe. "It wouldn't have been new to you, anyway."

"Still would've been nice to hear."

Reagan tilted his head and plucked Ben's cigarette from his mouth, putting it out on the stone beneath his feet as well. The band started up another song, slow and warm. "Dance with me."

Ben blinked, finally looking at Reagan's face. "What?"

Reagan took his hand and pulled him close, curling an arm around his waist. He delighted in the feeling of Ben fully melting into him, lacing their fingers together and moving in easy circles across the patio.

"Here we go," Reagan said happily, sighing as Ben's other hand absently found his spine. "Nothin' wrong with the groom dancing with the best man."

"There's quite a bit wrong with this, actually," Ben said, though he made no move whatsoever to stop the shenanigans. He smoothed his hand down Reagan's back—very casually, but Reagan inwardly shivered. "Very clever, though."

"I thought so."

"Just don't try to bring me to your car. I think my wife might have somethin' to say about it."

"I've been swimming in champagne for the last half hour," Reagan joked. "I don't even know who you are right now."

Ben pulled his head back and made deliberate eye contact. "I think you do."

Reagan held Ben's hand closer to his chest, and the comforting din of the party behind them faded away. He smiled. "I like when you're close to me." They made their leisurely way to the other side of the patio. "...Nothin' wrong with that."

"What's your limit?"

Instead of responding to that directly, Reagan's smile widened, what was once feigned innocence becoming deep and private mischief. "This makin' you uncomfortable?"

Ben assessed the question, eyes roving over Reagan's face. "No. Have any words of wisdom to impart on the newlywed?"

The warmth began to leech from Reagan and the light chill of the night took only some responsibility for that. "...You should rethink marriage."

"That's fuckin' fantastic, Reggie," Ben exclaimed, though he had yet to stop dancing.

"I don't think I was cut out for it," Reagan explained. "I think maybe I'm askin' too much of Carolyn to stay with me when I've expected her to tolerate my sleepin' around so much."

"We'll chalk this up to the booze."

"You're right," Reagan said suddenly. "I can't be sayin' shit like that at your wedding; it's not fair."

They watched one another as they danced, wordless for a few minutes, forgetting—for better or worse—that anything else was going on, that anyone else could've ruined their moment at any time. Ben seemed to soften in Reagan's arms, to let an unseen barrier fall with each gentle step they took, and Reagan fought every instinct to coax that further along.

"You know I'd do anything for you, right?" Reagan murmured.

Ben screwed his eyes shut, his hold on Reagan's hand tightening. "Reagan..."

"Ben, all you have to do is ask, and—" His brows pinched. "...You called me Reagan."

"Oh, is that your name?"

Reagan grinned once Ben looked at him again. "That's the first time in the nearly thirty years we've known each other that you've ever called me by my actual name."

"Well don't make a big fuckin' to-do about it, Rían," Ben scolded, invoking Reagan's true given name to hammer it home. Then, more timidly, "...We ain't children anymore."

As abruptly as it had started, the mood shifted. They'd come to a halt and Ben leaned into Reagan's chest, fully anticipating Reagan holding him close, holding his head to him as they embraced in silence only broken by the festivities.

"Mazel tov," Reagan said softly into Ben's ear, pressing his lips to his temple. "...Love you."

There was a pause, and Ben held onto Reagan's waist for support as he leaned in to plant a firm, quick kiss to his mouth. Reagan brushed a thumb over his cheekbone before Ben stepped back, almost unwilling to look away until he was forced to, eventually rejoining his own celebration.

Reagan stood alone, hands in his pockets, willing himself to criticize the choice of flowers within the landscaping until he was no longer wracked with the urge to flee into the forest, never to be seen again.

#ockiss23 #Partners #PI #this is actually a complete rewrite of part of a piece I wrote in 2011 #part 3 of a miniseries I'd started called Within Ten Years #chronicling milestone events that take place between the first and second insallments etc #...actually I think it's part 5. damn I should've numbered them lmao #at some point I'll rewrite the others

[camxle]

status: closed - @theaxharris​​

location: jazz & art festival

After hiding out in her home for nearly a month, Cam finally had enough. She was tired of keeping herself locked away, fearful of what might be waiting for her on the outside. Her life was not about to stop because of Douglas Bentley and his father. Her face had finally healed and Nathan was working on a plan to help with her situation. The festival was perfectly timed for her return back to the life she lived before that ill-fated night. Thea and Cam had came up the idea for the festival not long after the The Blue Wolf opened. They put their business savvy minds together and managed to pull off a successful event. One the people could enjoy, and put money into the bar owners pockets.

Joining Thea backstage, Cam handed the other woman a glass of champagne. “A little bubbly to celebrate?” She grinned, raising her glass. “To success. You and I would be out of work without it.” Cam chuckled, clinking their flutes together.

#closed interaction : theaxharris #providence.event #tw drinking

[theloniousbach]

BACK TO THE FOCAL POINT!

SERGEY TSUKHAI, 13 APRIL 2024

Once THE outlet for my thirst for live music and a family focus when Sam did sound and we volunteered, THE FOCAL POINT remains a sentimental favorite. E joins the Morris Dance teams there enthusiastically most weeks, but between my jazz turn and lockdown, we broke the habit. Now they video the concerts and have a YouTube channel, but we don’t stream even the several Celtic or flashy guitar players that I’m curious about even if I wouldn’t go. So that we went to see Ukranian accordionist SERGEY TSUKHAI is something.

Okay, we like accordions and went with a dear friend who is the Morris team’s stalwart on the instrument. Dear friend’s wife helped organize a concert that I went to featuring Martynas Levickis, a prodigy from Lithuania, that I went to and enjoyed. I knew from that show that there would be a stunning eclecticism and that in hands like that, the instrument could do remarkable things.

Sergey Tsukhai has just such hands and he applied them variously to The Girl from Ipanema (the opener), Bach (THE Tocatta and Fugue and a little bit of a flute suite, a Russian folk tune with his wife on a four string small balalaika like instrument, later a Csardas with a Japanese violinist, Vivaldi (Winter which was a bit slushy), various waltzes often from films, other film music, some Roma music, and one Ukranian folk song all done in one long set. He certainly can evoke a full church pipe organ for THE T and F, but also Paris cafes and, best, the village. It’s a huge (35 pounds, we were told) instrument and extremely versatile with layers of sound at once.

Having seen the earlier Martynas Levickis performance, I was somewhat prepared for the eclecticism (Levickis played some very modern European Tradition Art Music composed for the instrument which we didn’t get last night) which has an Eastern European programmatic feel. Of course the focus was on Tsukhai’s virtuosity as it should and genres be damned because it’s all folk music by folks. But Focal Point is a Traditional Arts Center (and Jazz St Louis “upholds the uniquely American art form of jazz” and if, rarely, I go to Powell Hall, I want to see the repertoire and not the Symphony playing film music), so, much as I like virtuosity, this one felt unfocused, the virtuosity an end in itself and not in the service of a tradition. I would have enjoyed being immersed in Ukrainian music, say.

But it was in the service of the tradition of all music. Maybe that’s right. Certainly I am glad to have gotten back to the Focal Point.

There was a cloud over the evening as we tried to eat before hand at a restaurant whose half hour wait to be seated was an hour and who hadn’t served us after another hour despite being told that our food was coming up next a half an hour before we gave up and stormed out. We got protein bars, green drinks, and mixed nuts to tide us over, but that wasn’t the pleasant meal we deserved.

The music did help raise my sugar levels and stem my hanger.

#concert review #2024 #focal point

[marinabays]

[M/M/M] [Roaring 20's] [Crossdressing/Genderbending] [Threesome]

Scott ought to be in bed. He ought to be asleep in his parent’s house upstate, surrounded by his piles of luggage. There’s a boat leaving for Lisbon the next day, and if he’s not on it then he will be surrendering himself to a summer vacation spent in suffocating bucolic isolation. It’s not his fault that Alex pulled into the drive in his father’s car without calling first. It’s a magnificent machine, sleek and loud and fast, and driving fast is always better when you’ve got a destination in mind, which is how Scott ends up standing in the foyer of this richly decorated New York townhome in the middle of a roaring party.

The house is larger than Scott’s parents’ own place in the city, nearly cavernous in its magnitude. Fashionably-dressed students congregate in every available space. The host must have put out the invite to the women’s colleges as well, because the crowd isn’t the usual boys’ club Scott associates with Yale parties. High-tempo jazz comes from the back of the house, barely audible over the din of conversation and clinking glasses.

“How’d you get an invite to this? Wait, scratch that, how come I didn’t get an invite? It looks like half of the eastern seaboard is here.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You get invited to parties when you don’t spend the entire semester in the library.”

“You know I didn’t spend the entire semester—” Alex cuts him off by pulling him down the hallway by his shirtsleeve, with the insistence that there’s champagne to be found somewhere.

They find champagne—a tower of glasses, he can imagine his mother cringing at the gaudiness of it—in the dining room. Alex snags one and throws it back immediately, before reaching for two more and handing one to Scott. “You know Callum, right? Everyone does.”

“Callum Barnes? Isn’t he the one who wrote a rude message into the quad with a motorbike?” Scott tries his best to sound casual, but Alex has always been too perceptive for his own good. He slugs back his glass as well, then grabs himself another.

“Don’t sound so starstruck, Scotty. He’s not actually that cool. Anyway, his parents are in England for the summer, and you know he’s got more money than sense, so all of us lucky bastards get treated to this.” Alex holds up his flute. “Here’s to a year of putting up with you in class.”

“Right back at you,” Scott says, and taps his glass against Alex’s. It sloshes a bit over the rim, soaking the cuff of his shirt. “Christ, sorry.” The outfit is all Alex’s, picked up from his family’s house on their way here.

“I think we passed a bathroom off the hall, come on.” Alex grabs his clean hand and hauls him back through the house. They find the bathroom pretty easily, mostly because the door is open, throwing bright light into the darkened hall. One person is passed out in the empty bathtub while another retches over the toilet. They spot Scott and Alex in the doorframe, offer a weak wave, and promptly return to vomiting.

“Maybe we can try upstairs?” Scott asks, turning on his heel.

It feels a bit like trespassing, stepping onto the upstairs landing, but there are also unmistakable sounds coming from behind some of the closed doors. They’re clearly not the only ones making themselves at home here. The first unlocked bathroom they find is all marble except for an immense, heavy mirror that spans one wall. As they wash off their sticky hands, Scott has to admire the pair of them in the mirror. He’s lucky that Alex’s clothes fit him so well, even though Alex stuck him with the older getup. Alex himself looks slim but solid, handsome even as he makes silly faces at his reflection. He’s wearing one of those fashionable tight-fitting waistcoats that hugs his ribs. Maybe it’s the champagne going to Scott’s head already, but he can’t help imagining how soft the fabric is, how it might be warm from Alex’s body heat, under the jacket—

A knock on the doorframe startles them both. “Sorry gentlemen, are you lost?”

Scott quickly wipes off his hands on his trouser legs and turns to apologize, but he stops cold. Callum Barnes himself is leaning casually against the doorframe, but it’s not being discovered by their host that shocks Scott into silence. No, it’s that Callum’s wearing a straight-cut emerald dress, his eyes ringed in dark kohl. Beaded fringe sways around his knees as he rocks on his heels. He’s not wearing any shoes, just a pair of sheer stockings marred by runs.

Scott shouldn’t stare. His parents taught him better than that. But Callum’s mouth is pursed and someone’s smeared it with pink lipstick and this is the closest Scott has ever seen him and there’s a lot to take in, alright?

Callum looks between the two of them, frowning, before he breaks and bursts out into laughter. “You should see your faces.”

Alex does not seem as dumbstruck by it, playing along without missing a beat. “I’m sorry miss, have we met? Do you need to powder your nose?” he asks, bowing in a caricature of chivalry.

Callum scoffs and bats him on the shoulder which, ow, might hurt a little more considering the size of the ring he’s wearing. “How long have you been here? You should have found me straight away, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Callum, it’s been less than a month. Anyway, we just got here, but you’ve clearly been keeping yourself busy.”

“Lost a bet. If you see a girl down there wearing my suit try not to spill anything on her. It’s bespoke Italian. Anyway, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Scott has to stop himself staring, again. There’s no denying that Callum is girlish, almost pretty. “I’m Scott.” He puts out his hand for a handshake, which immediately feels stupidly formal. He needs another glass of champagne. He is clearly not drunk enough to be involved in this world yet.

Callum still smiles sweetly and shakes his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Scott. Thanks for coming.” The sound of smashing glass comes from downstairs. Callum looks over his shoulder but doesn’t move. “It’s all gotten a bit out of hand. You two are the smart ones for coming up here— less likely to get vomited on. Or arrested. Both are possible.” There are a handful of moles dotting Callum’s cheek and jaw. Scott can’t tell if they’re natural or if they’ve been applied by whoever did his makeup.

“Sounds like there are a lot of other people up here, uh, enjoying themselves too,” Alex says. It’s perfectly timed with a loud moan from down the hall. Alcohol and nerves and an unwelcome edge of arousal are all conspiring to turn Scott pink, no matter how hard he fights it.

Callum just shrugs. “‘s long as it’s not in my room.” He reaches down and retrieves a key from a concealed pocket in the dress. “Come on then.”

He leads them further into the house, stocking feet padding on the long Persian rug. The dress makes him gently rattle and glitter as he walks. Scott finds it hard to keep his eyes off him. From behind, Callum might be a broad, sturdy girl. His haircut isn’t that different from a few of the more stylish girls downstairs, cropped and curly. Callum unlocks a door near the end of the hall and slips inside without a word. Alex raises his eyebrows at Scott but follows Callum into his room. Scott has no clue what they’re doing. He’s heard so much about this guy, he expected him to be a bit of an ass, aloof and untouchable. Instead, he’s turned up dressed like a damn Hollywood starlet and invited the two of them into his room with barely a bat of a lacquered eyelash. Scott straightens the damp cuffs of his shirt and jacket as he goes in.

Callum’s sitting cross legged on the bed, a large tray in front of him. The pose makes the hem of his dress ride up a bit onto his thigh, showing the tops of the ill-fitting stockings. They’re loose around his thighs, held up by utilitarian garters. Scott forces himself to look at anything else. For example, Callum’s hands, which are making quick work of a packet of cigarette paper and a couple piles of what looks like loose-leaf tobacco. Alex is leaning over the tray, poking at one of the piles.

“Where’d you get it?” he asks, crumbling it between his fingers.

“I dunno, a friend brought it back from some trip and ended up not liking it as much as he thought he would.” Callum rolls the cigarette between his fingers before finishing it with a decisive lick on the seam. He looks over at Scott, who’s still standing near the door. “D’you smoke reefers?”

Scott hasn’t smoked since he was twelve, when he stole a cigarette from his father’s pack and gave himself the mother of all headaches. “Yeah, of course,” he says. Alex knows it’s a lie, but for once he doesn’t take the opportunity to give him grief. He just gives Scott a pointed look and beckons him towards the bed.

Callum strikes an incense match, the perfumey smell quickly spreading throughout the room. It’s quickly layered over with the peculiar smell of the cigarette— tobacco mixed with something earthy and herbal. Callum furrows his eyebrows as he takes the first puffs. He coughs a little, then goes again, more confident this time.

There are lipstick stains on the end of the cigarette. It’s a dainty little thing, pinched between two of Callum’s broad fingers. Smoke swirls between the three of them and stings Scott’s eyes. He reaches for the cigarette.

Holding in the coughs hurts, but he thinks he does an admirable job. His throat feels scorched and his tongue goes dry but Callum is looking up at him with big admiring eyes and Scott can’t stop himself taking another drag. “Save some for the rest of us, jesus,” Alex mutters and plucks the cigarette from his grasp.

Scott’s head swims a bit, but not enough to stop him watching Alex take long draws of smoke, all grace and practiced ease. It makes him weirdly jealous. It makes him feel warm and uncomfortably aware of his own skin. Alex catches him looking and fucking winks, the cocky bastard, finally lowering the cigarette from his mouth.

Alex holds the butt out between them in silent offering, holding the smoke in his lungs a second longer. Ash falls off the end, missing the tray and singeing the duvet. Scott shakes his head and sits on the edge of the mattress; the warmth is already running down his limbs. Callum reaches up to take it, stealing one last drag from the smouldering remains before stubbing it out in the ashtray.

“Thanks for not making fun of my outfit,” Callum says, twirling the ring around his finger. “I’m glad I ran into you guys. I didn’t really want to go back downstairs.”

Alex cuffs him on the shoulder. “I’m sure they all want to see you.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? A party is great and all, it just stops being so fun when people expect it from you. Sometimes you just want to have fun for yourself, not be a host.” Callum folds his arms over his chest, clearly more bothered by it than he’s letting on.

Scott has to think hard to make sure his words fit together right. “I mean, I’m fine to stay up here then. If that’s what you want.”

Alex seems less affected by the drug, leaning back on one hand and cocking his head at Callum. “Yeah, you can tell us about that bet you lost.”

Callum opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, thinking. He shrugs a little. “Well, there actually wasn’t any bet. One of the girls suggested it and her friends egged me on and it felt nice when they did my makeup and well—” He gestures vaguely to himself by way of explanation. His awkwardness should preclude him from looking graceful, but it doesn’t stop Scott from thinking it anyway.

“Oh,” Scott says, not wanting to say the wrong thing and push Callum away.

“And then I didn’t really want to take it off, you know? The guys downstairs would make a laughing stock of me.” Callum’s gone a bit quieter. It’s disarming— everything Scott has heard about him gave the impression that he would be larger than life.

“I think you look really nice,” Alex breathes, his hand covering Callum’s. It could be just a small gesture of comfort. Seeing it still makes something spark hot in Scott’s stomach, envy and the fear of somehow being excluded from this smallest of touches.

“Me too,” Scott spits out, shuffling closer. The space between the three of them is subtle and weirdly intimate and so unlike the raucous party downstairs that it feels like a different planet. The effects of the cigarette means his mouth is uncooperative, but he manages to pull together the words despite it. “It, uh, it suits you.”

Callum smiles at that, a smile that feels oddly private, even though anyone else could walk in and see the three of them sat on the bed together. This is unknown territory. Scott should be at home in bed, not admiring the pleasant curve of the lip of the university’s best known troublemaker. It’s so easy to let his eyes follow the line of his collarbone from the neckline of his dress all the way to the hollow of his throat. He should go back downstairs. If Alex catches him looking he’ll never hear the end of it.

“I’ve heard about you, you know,” Callum says, leaning in closer toward Scott, as though he’s revealing a secret. “You’re one of those guys who races their cars around when they think they can’t get into trouble.”

Scott has fought to keep that a secret for the past two years. All anyone is supposed to think he does is kill himself for his studies so he can become a lawyer, like he was always supposed to be. The only person who really knows what he gets up to on those odd weekends is— “Alex, I can’t believe you told him.”

By all accounts Scott should really be freaking out right now, but for some reason he can only laugh. Callum Barnes, the guy who had masterminded the placing of two bicycles on the spire of the chapel last term, was looking at him with wide, awed eyes all caked in kohl.

Alex holds up his hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean to, I swear! It was just there was one night you won and there was too much gin and—”

“What’s it like, going that fast?” Callum cuts Alex off with a hand on his thigh.

Scott swallows hard. “It’s, uh, hard to describe. Scary, sometimes.” Callum keeps looking at him eagerly, clearly wanting more. “I could take you for a drive sometime, if you want.” What the hell is he saying? He’s going to be in Europe for the next two months, and Callum’s going to forget his name in the next two hours, he’s sure of it. Except— well, Callum keeps his hand on Alex’s leg while he leans in towards Scott. He must be wearing the girls’ perfume as well, he smells strangely sweet, like a bakery.

“I’d like that,” Callum says, and oh, he’s close now, close enough that Scott can count those moles on his cheek. Between smoking the cigarette and biting his lip, Callum’s lipstick has mostly smudged off, leaving the center of his mouth looking pink and soft. Scott feels clumsy leaning in to kiss him, but he’s reassured when Callum pushes back against him. Callum tastes like bitter smoke and sweet champagne. The sequins on his dress dig into Scott’s palms where they’ve come up to rest on Callum’s hips.

“Oh, wow. Scott—” Alex’s voice breaks the spell. He sounds breathy, a little in awe. It doesn’t stop Scott from blushing harder and looking towards the door, drawing up an escape plan in his head. Callum is looking between him and Alex, waiting for someone to say something/

“Sorry, I don’t really know what got into me,” Scott says, extricating himself from the bed. “I’ll go.”

Alex stops him with a hand on the collar of his jacket. Scott looks at him for a second, frozen, before Alex hauls him forward and kisses him as well. Alex is all brash confidence and grand gestures, like always. He licks into Scott’s mouth without any warning, giggling into the kiss when Scott jumps in surprise.

“You can’t just copy me like that,” Callum complains, but there’s no real bite to it. He sounds as breathless as Scott feels. Scott pulls away from the kiss, panting.

He’s fixed in place by the two of them, caught between Alex’s firm front and Callum’s wide, greedy stare. He can feel himself trying to rationalize his way out of this, or construct an argument elaborate enough to justify what he’s doing here, but it’s all useless. If driving cars on the limit has contributed to his academic training at all, it’s taught him that sometimes you have to operate on instinct alone. And every instinct in his body is telling him to stay, to do it again, to get closer, hotter, now. It’s an electric impulse, running down his spine as Callum sits up onto his knees to kiss Alex, completing the circle. They’re all so close that they must feel Scott’s breath on their cheeks. It’s his turn to watch in stunned silence, drinking in the sight of the two of them, as beautiful as angels but not nearly as chaste.

There’s no reason to keep denying himself what he’s been wanting. Scott runs his hands under Alex’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Alex helps him along, shrugging it off and throwing it over the side of the bed. His broad shoulders strain the fabric of his shirt. Scott had noticed it before, sure, during tutorials and over drinks in each other’s rooms and across library tables, but he’d never considered what it would be like to touch. He touches now, hands skimming over Alex’s arms and chest, kissing the back of his neck as his hands come up to undo the first few buttons of his shirt.

Alex stops kissing Callum to look down at Scott’s handiwork. “Let me,” he mumbles, batting Scott’s hands out of the way and making quick work of the rest of the buttons. His skin looks warm, glowing in the dim light. Callum leans in to kiss it without hesitation. Alex flinches a little, leaning back further so Callum can kiss down his chest and stomach. He stops when his lips reach Alex’s belt, but just barely.

“I think I’m ready to take the dress off now. Help a girl out?” Callum’s leaned over Alex, almost pornographic even though he’s fully clothed. His ass is stuck in the air, his face pressed close to the growing bulge in Alex’s slacks.

The silk-covered buttons slip under Scott’s fingers, but eventually they give way. The back of the dress parts like a velvet curtain, revealing the soft planes of Callum’s back behind them. It’s heavy enough that it falls under its own weight, slipping down Callum’s arms, hanging loosely from his front. However, it still clings to the curve of Callum’s hips. Scott runs his hands up Callum’s thigh and under the hem, digs his fingers into the muscle of his ass. No undergarments, but then, the dress never would have allowed for anything like that.

“I like how you look in this dress,” Scott admits, looking down into Callum’s eyes. He’d said as much earlier, but he wants to say it again, wants Callum to hear how much this is turning his world upside down. “I like your makeup. You’re as pretty as most of the girls downstairs.” Callum nods along like he knows, like this was all some sort of plan to rob Scott of his self control and drag him down into unapologetic temptation. He pushes his ass back into Scott’s palm, shameless.

Scott clears his throat. “I want to fuck you.” It’s good rhetoric to be clear about your aims.

“I want it— want you both,” Callum replies, half-muffled with how he’s speaking directly into the front of Alex’s trousers. Alex groans at that, the deep sound Scott associates with when he makes a particularly good or a particularly bad joke. It just seems to spur Callum on. He undoes Alex’s belt and pushes his clothes down just enough to get his half-hard cock out of his underwear. Alex looks shy for maybe the first time since Scott met him, his face half-turned and pressed into the duvet.

Callum has no such reservations, licking and sucking at Alex’s cock like he needs it to breathe. They’re fucking doing this. Or they would be, if Scott wasn’t just staring slack-mouthed at the sight of Callum’s lips stretched all shiny and tight around the head of Alex’s dick. He shakes himself out of it and pushes the skirt of Callum’s dress up around his hips, exposing his ass to the warm air of the room. Callum’s skin is so, so hot under Scott’s fingertips. Scott is sweating through Alex’s shirt. This could be the circles of hell, each progressively hotter than the next, except Callum looks like an angel, and so does Alex, and Scott thinks this is as close to heavenly as he’s felt in a long time.

Alex looks down his body at Callum and moans again, biting his knuckle in a piss-poor attempt to stifle it. “You’re so good at that. Fuck, why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Callum pulls off Alex’s cock with a pop, stroking it in his hand as he looks between Alex and Scott. “You two, you never—?”

Alex shakes his head. “No, never.”

Alex is right, of course. They should have done this sooner. Alex has always been deeply familiar and deeply off-limits, except now all the rules have been turned on their heads. Scott squeezes Callum’s hips a little tighter. He’ll have to properly thank him later. For now he doesn’t have the words, and besides, he has more urgent needs, for example, “D’you have any Vaseline?”

Callum tosses his head towards the chest of drawers across the room. “Top left, with the socks.”

Scott strips off his coat and shirt as he goes, his limbs more uncoordinated than he realized. The soft sucking sounds pick up again from the bed, loud enough to be heard even as Scott rummages around in the drawer until his fingers close around the jar. He loses his trousers and underwear on the way back, crawling back onto the mattress totally naked. When he slots himself behind Callum again he can feel Callum’s heat down his whole front. Callum’s back is a soft, graceful line connecting the three of them. Scott follows it from the back of Callum’s bobbing head to the small of his back.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Scott whispers, slicking up his fingers. He rubs over Callum’s hole softly at first, not wanting to push too quickly, but Callum’s enthusiastic whines having him sliding two fingers in soon enough. Callum is velvet soft, all tight, impossible heat. Scott’s dick throbs sympathetically.

“Does he look good, Scotty?” Alex murmurs, not taking his eyes off Callum’s face for a second.

It feels wrong, talking about Callum like he’s some kind of pretty object, but it’s also so hot Scott needs to bite his lip and breathe. His mouth is so, so dry. When he responds his voice sounds shredded, barely there. “He looks really good. You should see him spread out on my fingers.”

Callum twists his head to look at Scott. “You should see me spread out on your cock,” he says, shameless, with a rude thrust backwards. His ass is so firm, inviting. Scott wants to haul him back until they’re as close as they can possibly be, linked together like the elements of a steel chain. Alex is watching them with amused eyes, replacing his cock in Callum’s mouth with his thumb, watching Callum suck it with just as much enthusiasm.

“Alright, alright, you’re a needy one, aren’t you?” Scott asks, all bravado that he doesn’t feel. He slips a third finger in along the first two, marveling at how easily Callum takes it. There must be a whole other side to him that the gossip doesn’t even capture. How else can he do this, take cock like it’s easy? The way Callum had looked at him, those starstruck eyes— maybe it’s stupid but it made him feel special, like this is more than a quick, tipsy fuck during a party.

“Shut up and fuck me already,” Callum groans, and Scott does, his fingers grasping for purchase in the folds of Callum’s dress as the head of his cock slips into Callum, millimeters turned into miles by the slow, steady pressure. Callum moans senselessly into Alex’s thigh, arching his back in a tight, sharp curve. Scott fits his hands to Callum’s shoulders and pulls him backwards, until his back is flush against Scott’s front and his head can lean back to rest on Scott’s shoulder. Like this, his breath is hot on Scott’s cheek, coming out in sharp little puffs. “‘S fucking good,” Callum breathes. It makes Scott fuck into him a little further. It’s mesmerizing, watching the effect his smallest actions have on Callum’s body.

The most obvious effect is Callum’s cock, which is curving out from his body, under the bunched-up dress. It bounces with Scott’s thrusts, hard and pink. Almost pretty, Scott’s brain supplies. Callum would be pretty, even without the dress and the makeup. Scott feels lucky he never saw Callum up close before now. He would have been totally fucked a long time ago. How is he supposed to spend long nights in the library when he knows he could be doing this, so overwhelmed by Callum and Alex and the possibilities between them, all of it narrowed down to slick pressure on his cock and the chorus of little sounds he’s drawing out of Callum with each thrust.

Alex sits up, finally tossing his jacket and shirt to the side. He looks obscene, his dick shiny and wet, peeking out from between the open fly of his trousers, his hair all mussed up. From the waist up, he might have just had a long night out. But Scott can’t stop staring at his cock, wishing he could be everywhere at once, touching everyone at once.

It’s maddening, wanting to be as close to both Callum and Alex as possible. Alex stays just out of reach, shuffling forward just enough to hold Callum’s face between his hands and kiss him deeply. Callum pants into the kiss, his eyes screwed up tight almost like he’s in pain. He only tenses up further when Alex circles him in a tight fist, the sharp rhythm of Scott’s thrusts pushing Callum to fuck into Alex’s hand. He’s tight—so fucking tight—and Scott won’t last very long like this.

He opens his mouth to say something, a warning, but it draws Alex’s attention enough that he leans over Callum’s shoulder to kiss Scott instead. The surprise sends heat surging between his legs, the hypnotic, unpredictable slide of two bodies against his own slowly shutting down his higher thought processes.

“Don’t stop,” Callum whispers, a desperate little plea. One of his hands is gripping Scott’s hip so hard it almost hurts, as though that could keep him as close as he wants.

Scott turns his head until Alex’s lips find his jaw. “I can’t— I’m going to—” His eyes close involuntarily, but the last thing he sees is Alex’s arm moving in quick, jerking motions, frantic enough to match Scott’s pace and reduce Callum to a shivering mess between them.

“Come on, come on, I want to see you—” Scott’s brain is too far gone to decipher whether Alex is saying it to him or to Callum and he doesn’t care, because the encouragement is enough to push him over the edge and then some. His world narrows to the ribbons of heat that tighten around his body until they finally snap, leaving him hunched over Callum’s back and panting like he’s just run a marathon. Callum lasts a few seconds longer, trembling beneath Scott’s weight before he jerks once, twice, then collapses into Alex. The smell of sex just gets stronger, mingling with the last whispers of smoke.

Scott feels a bit wrung out afterwards, still a bit floaty from the endorphins and the drugs but also clean, his worries about tomorrow and the boat and the trip somehow expunged in this bed. Maybe it’s just catharsis, or just the layers of intoxication, but he can’t imagine doing anything else than laying down in this bed for the foreseeable future. He slips out of Callum and lands somewhere to the side, his arm thrown over his face. He distantly recognizes someone pawing at his thigh and the sound of wet kisses nearby, but he waits for the blood in his ears to quiet before he turns to look.

Alex and Callum are kissing maybe three centimeters from his face, Alex half on top of Callum with his cock in his hand and his trousers pushed down to his knees. The hand on Scott’s thigh is Callum’s. Scott watches it tense and relax as Callum rides out the aftershocks.

Scott is tempted just to watch— they both look a bit messed up and wild, Callum’s curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, cock still slick with come, Alex’s body shaking with the effort of holding himself up on one arm and desperately chasing orgasm with his other. Scott wants to catalogue every millimeter of the sight and save it for later. He wants to see it play behind his eyelids when he lays in his bed next week, inevitably kept awake by the memory of this night.

But it just seems unfair to leave Alex to his own devices. Callum looks too boneless to do anything but lie there and open himself up for Alex’s kisses. And if Scott leaves tomorrow without knowing what it’s like to having Alex react to Scott’s hands on him, Scott might end up jumping off a cliff on the Costa Brava. He pushes Alex’s hand away. “Let me—”

Alex whines higher than Scott ever thought he could, still kissing Callum like his life depends on it. His reaction snaps Scott out of his daze a little, gives him a new goal. He wants to see Alex’s face when he comes, wants it with every hazy, fucked-out cell in his body. He shuffles down the bed until he can take Alex into his mouth the way he’s always liked when girls do. The position is awkward—Callum’s knee digs into Scott’s sternum— but it’s worth it for the feeling of Alex’s hand in his hair, urging him forward as much as his good manners will let him. Scott closes his eyes and listens to the moans coming from Alex’s chest and tries not to gag too much.

“Scotty—” Alex bites out his name as a warning. Scott nearly misses it, the way Alex’s face transforms, so he goes from placid to looking nearly in pain, every muscle tense and his teeth looking close to tearing through his bottom lip as he comes. The skin between his collarbones is golden and glistening in the light, his chest heaving with exertion that slowly turns to laughter. Alex sits up, still out of breath and fighting down giggles, looking down at the two of them like he’s the luckiest man on earth. Yeah, there’s no way Scott will be forgetting this. Fuck the cathedrals of France, this is the finest sight he’s going to see over these holidays.

⁂

Scott catches the boat with a few minutes to spare. He’s out of breath on the gangway and his luggage is a mess and he’s sure he’s forgotten something important, but he makes it, and that’s what matters. He leans on the railing and watches the shoreline slip away, feeling the pleasant stretch in his sore muscles. Sleeping three to a bed wasn’t the most restful, but it was worth it. His hand goes to the chunky costume ring in his pocket.

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” Alex had muttered, still half-asleep under the sheets in Callum’s bed. “You’d better write.”

Callum had pulled him in for one last kiss before he ran out to the taxi idling outside. He slipped the ring into Scott’s hand before he pulled away. Callum looked soft, somehow, in the cool morning light, no longer the force of nature Scott assumed him to be. “You can give it back to me when you guys take me on that drive.”Scott had nodded and left the house before he could change his mind. He slips his pinky finger through the band and imagines that it’s still warm from Callum’s body heat. Una promesa, he practices, looking out over the edge of the deck and across the sea, the infinite and unknown expanse, bookended by a destination.

[ifishouldvanish]

Resonance: Chapter 2

FIC TAGS: Thanzag, College AU, Musicians AU, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Autistic Thanatos, Trans Zagreus, Nonbinary Thanatos, ADHD Zagreus, Mutual Pining, Classmates to Practice Partners to Lovers

FIC SUMMARY: Thanatos doesn't understand why the last chair trumpet player is always staring at him during orchestra rehearsals. It's getting to be distracting—so much so that he might just have to confront him about it. (Or, the college music majors AU where Thanatos is a classical flute prodigy and Zagreus is an improv jazz trumpet virtuoso who never learned how to read music.)

---

Thanatos watched as the hands on the clock in the practice room crept to 7:12, anxiously rubbing his palms over his thighs. For all he knew, Zagreus had no intention of actually showing up.

It wouldn't be the first time someone had played such a 'prank' on him, after all. He'd lost count of how many times classmates had dangled promises of acceptance and friendship in front of him, only to laugh at how readily he took the bait. The punchline was always clear: no one wants to be friends with you, and it's hilarious that you would ever think otherwise.

Thanatos had given himself a pass for not making any friends last semester. After all, college life was a lot of new to adjust to–especially after having spent the last four years at home as a hermit. But a few weeks into this semester and it seemed everyone had already settled into their own friendships, and he was left on the sidelines once again.

It wasn't that he hated people. He didn't go out of his way to avoid everyone, and he wasn't rude–at least not in any way he was aware of. He just didn't understand how everyone else seemed to find each other and fit together so naturally. How everyone seemed to be able to build something meaningful upon the foundations of polite introductions, discussions about their courseloads and what they did over the break. Able to connect.

It left him feeling broken. Like all those people in school had been correct. Like maybe Zagreus was one of them–toying with him to see how far he'd fall for it.

No, Thanatos told himself. Zagreus wouldn't do that. From what he could tell, Zagreus was a good, kind, genuine person. By now his standards for such–the wall he’d built around himself– had become impossibly high.

Thanatos was adjusting his stand for the umpteenth time, trying to get it just right, when the door behind him cracked open. He jumped in his seat and looked over his shoulder, only partially relieved to see Zagreus coming in. The waiting had been hard, but the next few minutes of small talk would be even worse.

"Hey, Thanatos," he smiled, and gently closed the door behind him with a soft click. "Sorry I'm late."

CONTINUE ON AO3 ➡️

#thanzag #thanzag fic

[2022-mmac]

Sundays at 2pm at MMAC Center

Three Sunday concerts of original music composed and performed by local musicians.

November 5: James Yeager

James Albert Yeager moved to New Mexico in 2009. He has performed regularly as conductor, organist, harpsichordist, and choral accompanist. He retired as Professor of Sacred Music at the Josephinum College in Columbus, Ohio (1984-2009). James has done numerous compositions and arrangements, including music for two short films. His orchestral works have been performed in Albuquerque and Santa Fe. At present, his primary musical interest remains as a composer

Program: The program will center on James’ three recent compositions: Passacaglia for Organ & Orchestra (2022), Fugue for Piano and Chamber Orchestra ”Mystical Desert”(2023), and Sonata for Piano Quintet (2023). Since the Passacaglia and the Fugue require large ensembles, they will be performed using recordings from Ravel Virtual Studios (NYC) . The Sonata will be played by New Mexico musicians - Flutist Ms. Hyorim Kim, a string quartet of Eric Sewell, Grant Hanner and Lisa Donald, and pianist Natalia Tikhovidova. - as a premiere performance. James will also play short pieces from his film scores. The program will last one hour and is free to the public.

November 12: Michael Hays

Mike Hays is a retired English teacher who has been playing music, especially on bass, since he was a young teen. In the last ten years, he has taken his interest in songwriting more seriously and has been creating jazz-based both vocal and instrumental compositions for the group he is working with. The current group (to whom Mike is deeply grateful) is more classically based, and the audience of the November Concert Series will notice his current compositions reflect this.

Program: Basement Dancing is a group that performs music written by Michael Hays. The group comprises Luis Delgado on clarinet and flute, Juli Palidino on viola and violin, Katie Harlow on cello, mandolin and accordion, Joseph Sabella on drums, and Michael Hays on bass and vocals. . Vocal songs at this concert will include musical portraits of the lonely soul waiting for his lost love in the Plaza de los Arboles Muertos, of the longing that hapless Señor Sapo feels as he watches a lovely circus acrobat, and of the nocturnal activities of Groany Bones, a skeleton who leads a danse macabre.

November 17: Kathleen Ryan + Exhibit Opening of "Masks & Metal"

Composer/pianist Kathleen Ryan is a Whisperings Solo Piano artist. She was the Professional Music Teachers of New Mexico commissioned composer in 2008, for which she composed a set of 24 piano left-hand-alone preludes titled Verbs. Several of her piano solo pieces were featured in the Emmy Award-winning Iowa Public TV special, The Seasons. Ryan lives near Mountainair with her husband and two quirky but inspiring cats.

Program: Composer/pianist Kathleen Ryan's piano solo performance will illustrate aspects of her composer’s life: being inspired, becoming ambitious, recovering from writer’s block, making money, and recycling teenage angst songs into piano solos. She will finish with some premieres, including music that’s not quite composed just yet! The full range of her 21st century impressionist style will be heard, from silly to soothing, from complex to simply serene.

#mmac #visitmountainair #art #music #artopening #JamesYeager #MichaelHays #BasementDancing #KathleenRyan #MasksAndMetals

[bubblyqueer000]

📚Byakuya Togami x Ultimate Violinist!Fem!Reader (NSFW)🔏

Another cross-post from AO3 of this butt face!! He makes me so mad!! GRRRRR へ(⚈益⚈)へ

TW: Mild degradation

"Yes, I know how to play a few basic instruments. Piano, flute, violin-" Byakuya listed prior to quickly being interrupted.

"Really!? You know how to play the violin!?" You said, getting maybe a little too close to him, causing him to scowl. After a few moments of this, you realized what you had done, backed up, and nervously fingered the scroll of the violin that sat upon your lap, careful not to mess with the finely tuned pegs. Byakuya rolled his eyes and looked back at the novel in his hands. It goes without saying that you are the ultimate violinist at hope's peak academy. It had been five days since you were trapped in the place where he had originally gone to perfect your already keen fiddling skills, surrounded by various other prodigies.

After the execution of their classmate, Leon Kuwata, the library the two were currently sitting in had opened up, and since it had, Byakuya spent all of his time there to read mystery novels. While most of the others found this silly considering the circumstances, you understood that he would most likely be hungry, having skipped breakfast to get there early, so you decided to bring him some french toast and civet coffee that you had gotten out of the monomono machine. After giving him the food and stumbling through some small talk, there you stood, embarrassed and trying to find a way to continue the now extremely awkward conversation.

"Sorry... But I didn't know that you liked the violin! I've been playing since I was little. That's where I got this scar on my finger. What's your favorite type of music? I've been playing a lot of jazz recently-"

"Are you finished, woman? I'm trying to read." Byakuya snarled and glared up at you. You paused for a moment before a dejected look found your face.

"I'm sorry for being so annoying. I'll leave you alone." You said quietly, grabbing the neck of your violin, and starting to exit when you heard him speak again.

"Frankly, I prefer classical music over jazz but I can tolerate either," Byakuya said matter of factly as you reach for the knob of the exit door.

And that was all that it took to commence an unlikely friendship - if you could even call it that. Every morning you would go into the library with a piping hot cup of black coffee and meet Byakuya who would usually have something interesting to talk about, whether it be an interesting book that he had been reading or something about the violin, and they both would try to ignore Toko watching jealously from behind a bookshelf. It was a routine that you had gotten quite used to, which made it all the more surprising the day it was finally broken.

"Y/N, come with me for a moment, I have something I'd like to discuss with you," Byakuya told you, and before you could say anything in response, he stood up and left you sitting there, alone at a reading desk. "Well, are you coming?" He asked, now in the hallway.

"Oh! Yes of course!" You shouted, hastily stood up, and ran over to join him on his trek through the red-lit corridor, down a staircase, and finally to his dorm. A part of you began to panic. Why was Byakuya trying to get you alone? What would be so important that he couldn't have just told you in the library? Was he going to hurt you? Or worse... Kill you? He almost certainly had the intelligence necessary to get away with such a crime. The thought alone made your heart skip a beat. Could his companionship all have been a farce to lure you into a trap?

"Don't keep me waiting any longer than you already have." He said, now inside of his room, making you shudder.

"S-sorry..." You blushed and slowly walked into his frigid room, shivering as you did so. The room was relatively normal for Byakuya. It was basically empty except for his bed, a few drawers, some other accessories that came with the room. The only thing that seemed out of the ordinary was a desk and a few shelves covered with books, most of which were probably taken from the library.

"So... What did you want to-" At this point, you should have been used to Byakuya interrupting you but nothing could have prepared you for what was to come. He pinned you against the wall and roughly clashed his lips into yours, his tall figure blocking the room's light and casting a shadow onto your face. A rush of surprise shot through you as you pressed your hands into his shoulders, not entirely sure whether to push him away or pull him deeper into the kiss. Finally, you choose the ladder and pull him closer by his upper arms, with perfect timing as he begins to nibble lightly at your lower lip. You open your mouth, allowing Byakuya to slip his tongue inside of it, and tightly grab your waist with his right hand, while the other leaned against the wall upon which you were pinned. Moments pass and at last, he pulls away, you gaze up at his muscular face making your eyes meet, the dimness of the room accentuating his perfect jawline.

"I shouldn't have expected anything less," Byakuya says snidely, causing your head to tilt and your expression to contort into pure confusion. Without warning, you're lifted off of the ground and thrown onto his bed. "I wouldn't look so surprised if I were you. You didn't think this would all stop after that, did you?" Byakuya questions while taking it a step further and climbing over top of you.

"I- Well n-no... But this is all still really surprising..."

"And for what reason might that be?"

"I guess I just didn't think that you... Liked me... Like at all... We can keep going... If you want." He stares down at you, face devoid of expression until finally, he smirks.

"Good answer."

"I... What?" You say, almost stupidly. Byakuya chuckles and continues to kiss you, this time more intensely than the last, his tongue slipping further into your mouth than before. He stood up and began to pick you up with him. Despite not knowing quite why he was making you do it, you stood, out of an attempt to not upset Byakuya, who now stood tall in front of you.

"Strip for me." He demanded, still sans any emotion. Your eyes shoot open, full of surprise and shyness. Regardless of this, subsequent to a quick sigh, you grab your sleeves, pull your arms through them, and slide your torso out of your shirt, not without your face flushing a deep red from the unbearable humiliation. After this, you pull off your pants and look away trying not to shiver, half out of the low temperature of the room and half out of fear for what was to come. The only thing leaving you unexposed was your cutesy-looking panties and bra. "I don't recall telling you to stop." Byakuya cruelly remarks.

"I-I'm sorry I'm just... Embarrassed." You admit and look away, prompting him to grab your chin between his forefinger and thumb and tilt your head until your gaze meets his, and he inches closer to you.

"I apologize if this is too much for you... Is it?" He asked, his cool breath tickling your bare skin. You hesitate for a moment.

"No... It's okay I'm just not used to this." Byakuya's lips curl into a mischievous, sort of serpentine smirk. Hearing him speak so sweetly was a nice break from his usual bitter attitude, but much to your dismay it didn't last long.

"Well then, hurry this along, I don't have all day."

Your small, shaking hands reach behind you and begin to slowly unhook your bra, slide your arms through, and allow it to fall to the ground. The same is done with your panties and finally, you are totally nude, all of your clothing discarded on the floor.

"Good girl," He took a moment to look you up and down, drinking in every curve on your beautiful body and every humiliated look that your face had to offer. It was all becoming too much for him, which became abundantly clear as his pants grew tighter. Byakuya unbuttoned his pants and removed his shirt until he was simply wearing a tight pair of black underwear with a yellow trim.

"Well?" You gaze down at his massive bulge, entranced by its huge size, stopping when you finally hear his commanding voice.

"Sorry! I'll do it!" You exclaimed and rushed to crouch before him as if you were bowing down to a king. With one hand you massage his large, clothed member and with the other, you tug lightly at his waistband and pull down his underclothing revealing his enormous cock. For an instant, you just stare at it, even more surprised than before when it was covered, but it wasn't long before you remembered the task at hand. Your hand gripped onto Byakuya, making him wince from the contact alone. You take his loud gasps as encouragement to continue and stroke his shaft in your petite hands. "Am I doing this okay?" Byakuya continues to let out small moans and then nods. "Should I..." He stared down at you with half-lidded eyes, glaring.

"What?" Byakuya snapped, his voice full of annoyance.

"... Please don't make me say it."

"Do it." He said, as he finally understood what you meant, causing him to regain his sneer. You look back down at his dick, intimidated, and open your mouth to allow the precum-coated tip to enter. Byakuya's grunts become more plentiful as you begin to bob your head forward and backward along his shaft. He grabs your hair tightly and forces his member further into your throat, making you gag loudly out of surprise. You gaze up at him, tears pricking the edges of your eyes. "What? Can you not breathe with my length in your throat? That's quite unfortunate. You had better finish me off quickly then." He said with mock concern and continued thrusting forward into your throat. Your right hand wrapped around the end of his large shaft that your mouth couldn't reach and your left held his balls, making your lover huff.

His hands grasped your hair tighter, pulling you faster as he chased his orgasm. The bobbing of your head continued growing at the same pace as Byakuya's quick intakes of breath, as did the moving of your hands until finally, you felt him release deep in your mouth. He pulled his cock from your throat, a wispy line of saliva and cum still connecting them.

"Swallow it all." He commanded, tilting your chin up so you were looking directly at him. Scared to deny him, you swallow it all at lookup afterward. "Good girl," Byakuya praised while picking you up bridal style and dropping you gently onto his bed. "But we're not done yet."

#crosspost #danganronpa #fanfic #trigger happy havoc #danganronpa x reader #ao3 #anime #byakuya x reader #byakuya x you #danganronpa byakuya #byakuya smut