#fic: overture to the sun

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Overture To The Sun sounds really interesting but I would also love to know more about Aldreda and A Fair And Handsome Seal Lord !!

Talked about AFAHSL here, so I'll talk about Overture To The Sun

OTTS is me writing Skyrim fanfic in the year of our lord 2024. I work on it off & on every...6 months probably. I want to sit down & give it a proper outline at some point because I think it has the potential to be really good.

It covers the Dawnguard, Molag Bal, & maybe Hircine quests from the game (altered to fit the narrative as needed) & is very "found family made of some of the worst people you know." But sometimes a family is a fallen Vigilant Of Stendarr grappling with his own faults & trying to find redemption, a vampire hunter with a level 4 tragic backstory who is also a werewolf, & the millennia old 19-year-old vampire who imprinted on them because they were the only two people who were moderately nice to her for the first time in thousands of years.

Including a little snippet of the first chapter below the cut

“So you don’t know anything about this house?”

“No.”

“Have you seen anyone entering or leaving, then? Any strange lights or unusual noise–”

“It’s abandoned. Always has been.”

“Tyranus,” Christían fully turned away from the door to face the two taller men, “leave him be. He obviously doesn’t know anything.” Tyranus sighed through his nose and closed his eyes as he waved the third man off, Yngvar merely grunted and bumped his shoulder against the priest’s as he continued up the steep incline of the stone pathway.

“Christían…”

“The most you were going to get from that man was a punch in the face that the guards excused. We might as well just go in and poke around blind, Divines' sake, we are even in Skyrim because we’re the best that the Wayrest Hall has to offer, some little Reachman cult isn’t going to knock us on our asses.”

[wardenparker]

Hello my love! You DESERVE ALLL THE LOVE!!! Can I request Javi G? And “Wait! Please don’t leave!” For your AWESOME mini fic celebration???

😘😘😘😘

Regency!Javi Gutierrez. 867 words. "Wait! Please don't leave!" Co-written with @absurdthirst

Because we all need a little Darcy moment after the treat we got at the SAG Awards

"We should not be alone." He knows that. Everyone knows it. Even young children learn that being alone together is something only for the grown and married. Or your siblings. But certainly nothing else. So why Mr. Gutierrez is standing in your library now with mud on his boots and no waistcoat is beyond you. You certainly did not send for him, and neither did anyone else in your household.

"The day is early." Javi glances out the windows, almost surprised to see that the sun still has not quite cleared over the horizon. The night has been long, spent pacing his own library as he wrestled with his feelings. Unable to leave things without a resolution, he hadn't even stopped to dress properly, or saddle a horse. Walking across the cleared fields that separated his own estate from your father's. "No matter." He glances back at you and is overwhelmed by your beauty. "I have a matter of importance to speak with you about."

"Then surely we should ring for my mother, so that you may speak to her as well." The great supper at the palace had lasted long into the night but surely your mother would be rested enough by now to be a suitable set of surveying eyes in the room. Goodness only knows what she will say if she wakens to her breakfast tray to find out you have been entertaining a man alone at daybreak. "Please wait here," you instruct him as politely as possible, making for the door. "I will go and fetch her myself."

"Wait! Please don't go!" Javi strides forward only to stop after a few steps, afraid for a split second that if you walk out the door he will never see you again. He cannot wait to tell you. "I love you."

Freezing in place does not stop your heart from leaping into your throat and pushing a distressed sort of squeaking sound out in the process. The fluttering in your belly is nearly violent as your mind races to catch up with the pounding of your blood in your ears. If you were a more delicate woman, you might have swooned where you stand. "You..." Slowly, or just as fast as your body will allow which is a near-glacial pace, you turn again to face him. "I must not have heard you correctly."

“I love you.” He repeats breathlessly, feeling like his heart is about to leap out of his chest. “As inconvenient a truth as that might be, I have found that I cannot spend another moment outside of your presence. I yearn to tell you the mundane things about my day and inquire about yours with little regard to your lack of family fortune or your prospects, I have decided that I cannot live without you.”

"How very generous of you, sir." It is nearly a hiss when it comes out, and all the giddy tension through your body evaporates as quickly as it came. "'With little regard to your lack of family fortune or your prospects'? I cannot think who taught you the syntax of romance, but they did you a hearty disservice if you were attempting to pay me a compliment."

He frowns in confusion and he shakes his head. “I am merely trying to express the lengths that my heart sings when you are near.” He protests. “I have no need of a dowry or a presence in society, merely your heart and hand in marriage are all I hope to have.”

“I may not know much of the world, Mr. Gutierrez, but even a country gentleman’s daughter knows it is impolite to remark on a lack of prospects when making a romantic overture.” The very idea that he is making an overture seems ludicrous, all things considered, but you must admit that in all the ways you have been thrown together lately there has been a…a string connecting you. It seems to be tucked deep inside you. Perhaps tied to a rib and tugging each time he strays a little too far away.

“I—” his mouth is agape as you call out his rude manners and he realizes that all of the jumbled thoughts that have been rambling around in his mind have come out. “My sincerest apologies.” He bows slightly and sighs. “Perhaps such an early audience was not wise.”

“Sleep has a way of soothing the thoughts.” The small touch of advice is kindly meant, although your hands shake with it and your heart pounds. He had not meant to insult. He simply spoke too quickly. “Perhaps you would rather return at teatime? To speak to my father?”

“Perhaps.” Javi sighs softly, aware of his blunder and more than certain you will reject him if he were to return. “Good morrow to you, then.”

“Good morning.” That pounding of your heart is there too fully to ignore, but not a word can be said about it. All you can hope is that he returns — and that when he does, he does not fumble in front of your father. If he does, the poor string tied to your rib may snap, and you would be adrift forever.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[dukeofdelirium]

A Certain Slant of Light

Chapter Two: overture

pairing: L x Light

word count: 6,123

god help me I just uploaded the second chapter to my DN/lawlight fic 🫡 this chapter killed me btw and I cried real tears trying to write it

fic summary: And he felt, in that fraction of a second, that he’d condemned this man. That he had witnessed his savage ascent, and ripped him cruelly back to the dirt by the chain that had bound them before he could belong to the sky.

It wasn’t a punishment any more than it was a salvation. But if L had to clip his wings, keep him in this state of dullness lest he set himself alight trying to reach the rays of sun, he would.

OR

After Light regains his memories of the Death Note, L gathers enough evidence to arrest him. But instead of sending Light to his executioner, L decides to make a wager.

[fayes-fics]

Deserved

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: A memorable first wedding anniversary in Marrakesh...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), facesitting, stripping, vaginal sex. Married couple, romance, teasing, delayed gratification.

Word Count: 8.5k

Authors Note: This is a request fill for the wonderful @broooookiecrisp for her birthday. I hope you enjoy my interpretation of your ask here (request: modern Anthony spends the day seducing his wife). For some reason, I was inspired to set this fic in Marrakesh. Many thanks to @colettebronte for reading through a couple of times, suggesting the title and supporting me when I was close to abandoning this whole concept lol. Enjoy! <3

As soon as your eyes flutter open, your belly flutters too. It's your first wedding anniversary, and you are on a well-deserved break in sun-soaked Marrakesh. You are staying in a beautiful oasis in the midst of town. A riad he has rented that is the picture of Moroccan opulence. So here you lie under pristine soft white cotton; the teal-coloured ceiling studded with gold leaf stars that you stare at is so beautiful you have to sigh. When you stretch your limbs and roll your head to the side, there is one Anthony Bridgerton, your husband of precisely 365 days, lying propped up on his side, already awake, head resting on a casually bent arm, bicep flexed. He greets you with such a handsome stubbled grin that your breath catches.

“Good morning, beautiful wife. Happy anniversary.”

You roll towards him, instinctually wanting him, his skin on yours, perhaps some wonderful slow morning sex to start your anniversary off just right. His chuckle is rich in your ear as you crowd into him and slide an arm around his warm torso, tilting your face up for a kiss, an overture. He hums gently and redirects his lips to your forehead, placing a loving kiss there. Your brow knits slightly, and you are filled with concern about morning breath.

“Your breath is fine,” he laughs, guessing where your thoughts have run. “I just have very special plans for today,” he smiles, cupping your jaw and placing another chaste kiss on your cheek. “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course,” your answer is a reflex; his responding beam makes your heart light. 

“Then I would like to table morning sex, as utterly wonderful as it would be. Today you deserve to be pursued, wooed. I will spend all day earning the right to be with you. To show you how much you mean to me, my beautiful wife.” Warmth spreads under your ribs as he continues. “Now, I have a very special day planned for us, but it starts with breakfast out in the courtyard; how does that sound, hmmm?”

Your tummy rumbling answers for you, and you share a laugh at the timing. With a quick kiss on your other cheek, he pulls away and throws off the covers, stepping out of bed. Utterly naked. Giving you a full view of his very peachy bottom as he leisurely strolls towards the bathroom.

“Tease,” you call after him, your mouth watering at the mere sight of his tanned, toned body.

“Just a little amuse bouche,” he responds lightly over his shoulder, giving a slight wiggle before closing the door.

“Not fair,” you whine, flopping back onto the bed with a grin that feels like it claims your whole face as his responding laugh echoes on the bathroom tile through the wall.

____

Half an hour later, as you emerge from the bathroom fully dressed, he takes your hand, kissing the back of it, his lips lingering and his soft, warm eyes tilted towards you; then he leads you by the hand out to the sunny courtyard. There, right under a perfect riot of date palms, is a table set up for two, gleaming silverware and platters overflowing with fruits, freshly baked bread, olives, sauces and all manner of delights. The enticing aroma of intense Morrorocan spiced coffee fills the air.

“Mmmm, perfect,” he declares and chivalrously pulls out a chair for you to sit, rounding to his only once you are comfortable.

You eat together slowly, lazily, as you reminisce on your wedding day a year ago. The fun, the mishaps, but mostly the love, the love of your family and friends and the joy surrounding you as you pledged yourselves to each other for all to see.

At the end of the meal, as some staff materialise and clear your plates, he places a box in front of you on the table, ruby red against the pristine white.

“What is this?”

“Just the first of many gifts for the day,” he shrugs demurely.

You prise off the lid to find inside an intricately designed paper peony flower encased in a clear Perspex box.

“It's beautiful,” you sigh, carefully taking it out and turning it slowly to see the many, many layers of intricate folding.

“The first anniversary is traditionally paper,” he smiles, “so I had someone take our wedding invitation and order of service booklet and fashion it into a flower for you. There are over 1000 folds and cuts, so it is quite delicate.”

Up close now, you see the print of your names and the design of your invitation, and you inhale sharply. This is hours of painstaking work. And such a thoughtful gift. You swing out of your chair and climb into Anthony’s lap, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

“Thank you, it's wonderful,” you sigh against his lips. He obliges your kisses, your hands looping around his neck as you deepen the kiss running your tongue over his lips. You hear his soft moan and instinctively push your body against him, shifting further into his lap when he pulls back from the kiss. 

“No darling, I have not earned you yet,” he murmurs, moving to your neck, sucking your skin with soft, warm lips in a way that makes you weak and wanting.

“Please, Anthony…” you whine a little, your hand straying down his torso, but he captures your wrist and moves your arm away.

“Don't think I don't want to,” he assures, right in your ear, rich like velvet. “Right now, nothing would give me greater pleasure, my love, but I want to build up to something truly memorable. Earn you. Give you a full day of romance. I am usually so busy with work; I more than owe you this—a year of missed dinners and interrupted plans. Today, in fact, this week is just for us. No work, no meddling Bridgerton family. Just us.”

He’s right, although you’ve never seen it that way or held a grudge. You knew when you accepted his proposal how life would be as the wife of a CEO of a powerful company such as Bridgerton Enterprises. You have your network of friends and your own career to forge. And he always made it home, albeit sometimes late, but with an affectionate greeting and often a mind-blowing orgasm. It’s hardly been a struggle. He’s never left you believing you are anything but what he needs—his safe harbour, his home, where he wants to lay his head, physically and spiritually.

“Please let me do this?” he appeals, nuzzling against you.

The loving, sweet way he asks makes you sigh and capitulate, despite being already ripe and wanton for him. With a theatrical pout that he finds entertaining, you climb out of his lap and retake your seat as he checks his watch.

“We have a car coming to pick us up shortly to take us a little way out of town for our first activity of the day,” he smiles.

“What are we doing?”

“A little camel ride before the heat of the day kicks in,” he smiles. “We can enjoy a little escape from the hustle and bustle of the city with the backdrop of the Atlas Mountains.”

“I've never ridden a camel before,” you confess, a little nervous as he stands up and steps behind your chair, squeezing your shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right with you,” he promises, then leans in, his breath hot on your cheek. “You have the skill to ride any beast; I have no doubt.”

Yep, he's definitely trying to kill you.

____

Sometime later, having been whisked out of the city, you are being helped onto the camel by a tour guide as it kneels next to some steps. Anthony climbs on effortlessly behind you. And with a quick tug of the harness, the camel is standing up, and you squeal lightly, grabbing hold of Anthony’s hands that encircle your waist.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, and you realise you will be spending the next hour with him pressed against your back, the seat very snug.

“Should we not be on separate camels?” you ask quietly.

“Usually yes, but I requested we share,” his voice lilting, his fingers flexing lightly over your tummy, scrunching the soft cotton of your maxi dress. 

You exhale shakily as you feel his muscles flex against your back as the camel starts to move at a leisurely gait. It's a gently rolling motion that is quite relaxing…. Except all you can think about is Anthony, his legs bracketing yours, the hair of his calves tickling yours where your dress is hitched up. He rests his chin on your shoulder, enveloping you, and points to the stunning mountains. It is indeed a wondrous, unforgettable place, and you savour the vista the best you can even as your thoughts are of the man behind you, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear occasionally between when the guide is speaking. The heat of the desert is still building for the day, but there is a refreshing, gentle breeze amongst the cacti—cooling the sun on your skin.

“I told you you would be a natural,” Anthony compliments lowly as you watch the hazy shimmer on the horizon.

“What I believe you said was something about riding a beast,” you shoot back coquettishly, twisting to say it quietly in his ear, revelling as his hands grasp you a fraction tighter as you say it.

“All in good time, my love,” he responds, dropping a kiss onto the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Mmm, you smell of almonds and coconut,” he sighs, running the tip of his nose over your skin.

“It's my suntan lotion,” you hum, basking in the feeling.

“You taste good enough to eat,” he rumbles, and part of your mind pleads with him to bite your skin, to slide a hand under your dress and touch you, uncaring there is a guide with you. The press of his toned frame against yours has you in a low simmer of arousal, his sensual touch almost unbearable.

You want to tell him to stop teasing you like this, but it’s as enthralling as it is exasperating. You lean back into him as the camel sways, savouring the intimacy, even as you crave more, distracted by errant flashes of his hands running heavily down your body as you undulate on him in a manner not dissimilar to the movements of this ride—almost as if he planned this. To have you distracted and thinking of him, even in this mesmerising landscape.

“May we have a photo?” Anthony calls, pulling you from your erotic reverie. 

Your tour guide obliges, taking the proffered phone and stepping back to frame the shot as Anthony wraps his arms tighter around you. Smiling for the camera, you know this will be a picture you will treasure for years to come.

“You look beautiful today, my love,” Anthony flatters, running fingertips over the soft, lightweight fabric of your dress as the camel moves again.

“Thank you,” you demure. 

“Although I must admit, I can’t wait to take it off of you later,” he adds in a dusky tone that makes your breath hitch.

“Are you going to tease me like this all day?” you bemoan under your breath.

“Yes,” he chuckles softly, “and it’s probably going to get much worse.” The glittering promise makes your skin prickle even hotter than the desert sun.

____

An hour or so later, you return to your riad, and he suggests you take a cooling dip in the courtyard pool before heading to the souk for a late afternoon tour and then dinner. It's a beautiful tranquil shaded spot framed with plants and tiled in stunning tourmaline green.

The cold water is a wonderful balm from the rising temperatures, and you sigh indulgently as you slip under the surface up to your shoulders, resting your head on the edge and closing your eyes.

You only stir when the water laps gently around your neck as he joins you. Your eyes open to the delicious view of your husband in swimming shorts slung almost obscenely low on his hips. Acres of tanned, toned torso above them with an inviting line of hair trailing from the patch at his chest, down over his defined abs all the way to those shorts. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, wanting to trace its length.

“My face is up here,” he smirks at your obvious ogling.

“You denied me morning sex,” you lobby back as he wades in slowly down the steps, “besides, I am within my rights to eye up my delicious husband.” 

He laughs and wades closer, dipping under the water and making an almost obscene moan of pleasure, tilting his head back to wet his hair so it is slicked against his head. Then he advances on you with a knowing smile until his arms cage yours against the pool wall, and he pulls in and kisses your cheek.

“Feeling cooler, Viscountess?” he teases lightly.

“I was,” you reply pointedly, and he smirks, pulling you into his arms and wrapping your legs loosely around his hips.

It’s intimate but more sensual than anything else, your arms banding around his neck as you float entwined together, indulging in the cool waters. Wordlessly you cling together and spend many moments in companionable silence, just enjoying each other's embrace and the soothing water.

“Are you enjoying your first wedding anniversary, love?” he asks after a while.

“Very much so; this sets a rather high bar for the future.” You point out.

You feel his smile as your faces are pressed together. “I will bear that in mind,” he replies playfully, kissing your shoulder.

“What is next on this day of dates?” you ask, petting the wet tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck.

“We shall have a private tour guide take us to the best shops in the souk for some more gifts, of course, and then a private dinner cooked for us by a superb chef. And perhaps some dancing?”

“That sounds far too dreamy,” you sigh, turning your head to place a kiss on his neck. The cool water drops over his warmth is tantalising, and you linger, sucking gently, curling your legs around his hips further, pressing into him.

“I know what you are doing, my love,” he chuckles knowingly, “but trust me, it’s better that we wait to indulge,” his voice vibrating the skin against your lips.

“How can you be so sure?” you pout mildly.

He chuckles and pulls back to run a thumb over your lower lip, the slight aroma of chlorine there. “Delayed gratification tastes so much sweeter. Like ageing wine, it is always worth the wait,” he whispers and nuzzles your face, dropping soft kisses on your cheeks that make you feel glowing and jittery inside like fireflies live behind your ribs.

Your hands can’t help but run over his shapely torso underwater as you untangle limbs, wanting the sense memory to tide you over until you can see him without clothing later.

“I shall go get ready for our tour; it will start in half an hour,”

He kisses your knuckles with a smile, then climbs out of the pool, giving you a delectable view of the sweeping, strong line of his back, the curve of the muscle of his bum and legs. It makes you want to trace every contour with your tongue, a viscous throb in your swimwear under the water.

“Damn you, husband,” you mutter to yourself as he grabs a towel and, with a cheeky grin over his shoulder, heads across the courtyard to your bedroom. 

____

A little while later, as the afternoon rolls around, you are changed and ready for a tour. The sights, sounds and smells of the souk are so evocative. As you wander the narrow lanes between merchants, it’s a hubbub and hive of people and activity. Colourful fabrics drape over walls; displays groan with beautiful jewellery, brass lanterns throwing kaleidoscopic swirls of colour, and bright jars filled with earthy spices. The noise of haggling, Arabian music playing from little speakers and the most arrestingly delicious smell of spices, ripe fruits, coffee brewing and delicious foods cooking. It’s an overload of the senses that is delightful as it is intense. All the while, Anthony has an arm snaked around your back as you both wander in awe. 

As you pass one stall, a scarf catches your eye, and you linger, running your fingers over it, amazed at the softness and gauzy quality of the silk. Its varying tones of purple interlaced with silken silver threads. With a handsome grin, Anthony picks it up, wraps it around your shoulders, and nods to the merchant, handing over a bill after a short exchange with the guide. 

“It’s beautiful on you,” he whispers into your hair, bussing the lightest kiss onto your temple. 

“Anthony,” you demure, touching the material and still marvelling at its beauty, “you needn’t buy me so many gifts today. I am just enjoying our quality time together.”

“And I am enjoying giving you everything that makes your eyes light up,” he replies; the sincerity in his eyes has you melting. “Why else would a man work all the hours I do if not to spoil those he loves, hmm?” His lips are warm on your cheekbone. 

You cannot argue with that, so you merely smile and kiss his jaw, slightly rough with stubble. Only when your guide pointedly clears their throat do you break from your romantic cinch and move along.

It’s a delight of an afternoon as you snack on freshly roasted almonds, the most delicious buttery olives you have ever tasted, fresh figs and prickly pears. At one point, Anthony purchases a clay tagine, just about the only kitchen item that wasn’t on your wedding registry and arranges to have it delivered to your riad as you keep wandering.

“This is so memorable,” you sigh as you pause to watch your joint reflection in a mosaic mirror—myriad scattered versions of yourself, each looking as happy as you feel. You watch in the mirror as his eyes meet yours, and then he leans down to kiss your neck, wanting you to watch; so many versions of him kissing do so many versions of you. “So many versions of us,” you chuckle quietly, nodding at the mirror, and he curls a smile against your skin.

“I would love you in every universe,” he murmurs, his breath dusting warm as if he can tell where the mirror has sent your thoughts. “And I think we need to buy this mirror as a reminder,” he smiles. 

You shake your head affectionately but don’t fight his suggestion, and before you know it, there is an arrangement for another item to be sent to your place.

____

After a couple of hours of wandering the souk, you retire back to the oasis of your riad. As late afternoon gives way to early evening, you spend an hour lying under the whitewash veranda on cushioned loungers, reading together in companionable silence as you sip fruit juices.

Your book looked to be a fluffy, lightweight confection of period romance from the cover when you purchased it, but a few chapters into the story, things turn a little spicy when you were reading on the flight. Now a few chapters later, it is happening again; your pulse quickening, a flush creeping over your body at the descriptives. When you bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together on instinct, it catches Anthony’s attention, and he looks over to you intrigued, putting down his book and swinging around to face you.

“Y/n, are you alright?” 

You look up from your book, almost startled, and you watch his face turn intrigued as he catalogues your dilated pupils and the lower lip you are worrying with an incisor tooth. When you don’t answer, he slips the book from your slackened grip and takes it into his hands to read.

“Lady Brook sighed tremulously as his…” he stops reading aloud, and his eyes widen and then cut to you. “Well, that is quite something…” he mutters, his tone dropping lower as his eyes ping from the passage that he doesn’t appear able to stop reading and you. “Darling, this is… quite explicit,” his tone gravelly now.

“Read it to me, Anthony,” you whisper without thought, and his inhale is sharp.

He looks hesitant at first, but then he gets a glint in his eye. “I will do so on one condition,” he offers in low timbre.

“Which is?” you prompt, intrigued.

“You must not touch yourself anywhere as I read,” he simpers. “Just lay there and listen with your eyes closed.”

“Alright,” you concur, wrapping your hands around the arms of the lounger as if to prove a point as your eyes flutter shut.

“Lady Brook sighed tremulously as his hand ran up the inside of her thigh under the table,” his voice is smooth and buttery as you squeeze your legs together tighter, basking in his voice. “The spidering warmth of them making her breath hitch. Just as the King announced the evening’s entertainment, his fingers reached the apex of her thighs, naked, bare and glistening with slick desire just for him.” At this point, Anthony clears his throat and glances around to check no one is within earshot. “Wow, this is…” he breaks from the narrative momentarily, and you sense his shock as he reads ahead silently. “I'm not sure I should read more,” he says quietly, and your eyes open at his change of tone.

“Why not, darling?” the breathy nature of your question is not lost on either of you.

“I think this could derail my plans for the day entirely,” he divulges. “It makes me want to pick you up and take you to bed right now.” There is more than a hint of a growl, and that low simmer of arousal flares inside you at his confession.

“Please, Anthony, do it,” you beseech.

“You temptress,” he lobbies heatedly, and part of you longs for him to lift you, carry you across the courtyard and throw you onto the bed. “But no…” he sounds the most reluctant he has all day. “It will be worth the wait,” he remarks firmly, but it seems as much for himself as you.

You pout but relent as your eye catches the beautiful scarf he bought for you earlier. “Okay, but… later, I want you to do what happens on page 82,” you reply huskily as you rise from the lounger to visit the toilet… and probably splash cold water on your face.

You hear him flipping pages as you walk away and smile as he exclaims, “Bloody hell! Is this what all romance books are like?!? This is utter filth!” 

It’s your turn to shoot a coy smile over your shoulder as you close the door.

____

Within the hour, the sky above your courtyard turns dusky purple and pink as the sun fades. You change into a black halter dress that is simple but elegant—long flowing silk that is almost entirely backless. As a result, you decide to forgo all underwear, the cool silk directly on your skin, a soothing, arousing sensation resting weightlessly on your nipples and grazing the globes of your bare bottom. On your feet, you wear strappy gold leather sandals that complete the look perfectly. 

When you emerge from the dressing room off the bedroom, Anthony has left a hand-scrawled note on the bed to join him when you are ready in the pool courtyard. 

You wander out, and the vista catches your breath. The space is lit softly with up lights amongst the palms and fairy lights wrapped around their trunks. The pool glows invitingly from underwater lighting, and the sky above is now a dusky grey as night falls.

Amongst all this exotic beauty is the sight that truly steals your breath. Your husband in a crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, highlighting his tanned skin. Custom-fitted trousers hang perfectly on his muscular frame. He is barefoot, and his hair is slightly tousled. All you want to do is grab his hand and haul him back to the bedroom and tackle him to the bed. 

He smiles wide as you approach, drinking in the view of you, walking a little taller, knowing the silk flows around your body like a shimmery river.

“Wow,” he breathes, and you can’t help the triumphant little smirk at his reaction. 

“It gets better,” you say quietly as you pull up close and then turn your back and hear the almost strangled noise he makes at the sheer amount of skin on display.

“Good lord, you are trying to kill me?” he stutters, feeling the breath he huffs over your shoulder blades.

“Revenge for a day of teasing,” you shoot back, swishing your head to the side so you can see his heated expression behind you out of the corner of your eye.

“Doesn’t feel like revenge,” he breathes.

You jolt as one knuckle runs softly and slowly down each notch in your spine from your mid-back to the scoop of fabric. Just that touch alone causes goosebumps to break out down your arms and your nipples to pebble hard against the silk. 

“Payback then,” you amend, and he smiles. 

“I have more surprises in store yet,” he vows and rounds beside you, taking your hand and leading you to a table for two surrounded by flickering brass lanterns. 

You savour a memorable and delicious meal freshly prepared by what you later learn is a world-renowned chef. Every bite is a delight, crafted so expertly that it melts into delicious nothingness on your tongue—a true culinary thrill. The food is accompanied by Dom Perignon vintage champagne, almost tasting like fruit dancing on your tongue.

Anthony is quiet at the meal. Not in an uncomfortable way, but more letting the culinary experience dictate your exchanges. But all the while, when you catch each other's eye, he shoots you a look of such devotion it almost seems out of character. 

As the plates are cleared away, you realise he looks a little apprehensive, as if he has something to say but feels nervous to do so.

“What is it, my love?” you check. 

Surprise morphs across his handsome features. “You know me far too well,” he huffs, amused and seems to relax a few notches. “There is something I wish to say, but first… let’s dance,”

“But there’s no music?” you giggle.

Anthony nods to someone behind you, and suddenly from speakers hidden amongst the foliage, music pipes up. Within a few notes, you recognise it as the first dance from your wedding; your heart soaring as he pulls you up from your chair.

“Oh, you…” you shake your head affectionately but let him pull you a few paces onto the exotic mosaic tile square at the centre of the courtyard.

You rest your head against his jaw as he draws you into his arms, swaying to the song, his hand warm on your bare back. You tilt up to see the blanket of stars and have to refrain from becoming too overrun with emotion. It’s been the perfect day, a mix of fun and relaxation, quiet and bustle, nature and city, and all the time him. Anthony. Never leaving your side for long and making so many romantic overtures you wish you had written the day down so they do not blend together too much. Just as you are lost, trying to mentally file away all of the experiences, his voice gently cuts into your thoughts.

“I am not a man of poetry,” he begins, almost hesitant, “and such words of flattery would ring hollow in the face of what we now share.” You can tell from his grip on your hand and the one on your back that this feels like an important speech, so you pull away slightly to look at him, meet his eye, and give his jaw a reassuring touch as he continues. “I may not be able to offer the beautiful words you truly deserve, but I hope today has been a good display of my love for you. I assure you, when it comes to actions, I would never want to be demonstrably lacking. I hope today speaks louder than any pretty words could.”

You know your eyes are misty now, even as he relinquishes your hand and reaches into his pocket. You mutter his name, voice loaded with emotion, just as he raises a thin sparkling band held between his thumb and forefinger. You gasp and cling to him, your gaze pinging between his face, soft with emotion, and the beautiful object he holds between your bodies. 

“This is an eternity ring,” he explains sotto voce, spinning it slowly so the jewels catch fire in the lantern light. “It is a never-ending ring of tiny diamonds that symbolise how I feel. That my love for you never ends; it is a continuous circle—for eternity. I didn’t want to wait another day to offer it to you. In the hope you will always wear it, alongside your wedding and engagement rings,” he nods at the other two you wear proudly on your left hand.

“Please put it on me,” you whisper and tremble as he slips the ring until it nestles with the others—a perfect match.

“Thank you, Anthony, my love, my world,” you know your voice quivers as you rock to your tiptoes and push your lips to his. 

He accepts your advance, your chest bursting with fireflies as he lets you deepen the kiss, hands sliding around each other's bodies. This feels like the pinnacle; you can no longer be teased and denied. Your heart and body are aflame, craving him almost painfully. 

“You’ve earned me,” you state fervently over his lips as you break for air.

“I have?” his emotive gasp knocks the wind from you.

You move your lips to the shell of his ear. “I’m on fire for you, Anthony. Please, please don’t deny me anymore.” 

He pants a little as he gusts warm in your ear. “I could never,” it’s a hushed tone; the spike of euphoria in your veins is the best drug in the universe.

“Are we alone?” 

“We can be if I give the signal,” he murmurs back, fingertips trailing your spine again.

“Give it,” you hiss, almost fevered.

After another fervent kiss and a few moments of swaying as the song fades, he confirms it's just the two of you, and the house staff will not return unless called.

“Take off my shoes?” you request, a swell of desire and emotion as he sinks to his knees before you, glancing up with a loaded expression—the flickering light from the surrounding lanterns dancing on his blackened pupils.

You pull up your hem slightly to reveal your shoes, and, using both hands, he eases the dainty buckle until he can peel off the sandal. You grasp his shoulders as you place your bare foot on the cool tile, and he moves to the other shoe. Soon you are barefoot and gazing down at your husband, staring back up at you devotedly. 

Without breaking eye contact, you reach behind your neck and pull the silken bow until the halter relents. The gossamer material instantly slackens and slips down over your body in a diaphanous flutter—the material soon merely a black circle around your feet. 

The noise he makes is primal, so wanton, that you lock your knees to stay upright. You daren't look away from his face; his breathing turns shallow and rapid, drinking in the view of you, utterly naked and standing above him.

“Fuckkkkk.” 

“Take me,” you implore simply, cupping his strong jaw in both hands, enjoying the rasp of stubble against your palms. 

His eyes flash, and his mouth opens a fraction as he runs his hands slowly up the outside of your calves, his gaze never leaving yours. You can't resist running a thumb over those luscious lips. His lips open wider as you pull gently down on his bottom lip, pliant under your touch, his hands gliding up over the outside of your knees and thighs.

When his hands reach your hips, he tugs you down wordlessly, shifting himself backwards until he is lying on the cooling mosaic tile and pulling your body on top of him with a heated look, your knees landing on either side of his shoulders.

“Anthony,” you gasp as he turns his head to the side and sucks on your inner thigh, enticing you lower.

Your stomach is in a knot, pulsing deep inside as he twists back, his breath hot on the soaked slit between your legs. Your thighs are almost trembling as he unfurls his tongue and takes a decadent swipe pushing apart your lips and ending with a flick with the point over your clit. 

The whole day of simmering desire has led to this moment, your head tilting back to see a blanket of stars in the sky above the courtyard, framed by the palm tree fronds. Your right hand gropes blindly until your fingers sink into his luscious chestnut hair… and you let go. Let your inhibitions fly, groan loudly, decadently, uncaring of anything but chasing pleasure, knowing it must be a striking image; you sat utterly naked upon his face as he lays beneath you, still fully clothed.

He utters encouragements into your flesh as he swipes lewdly, sucking hard on your labia, tugging gently to amplify the sensation around your clit before swirling his tongue deep right around that distended nub. He knows your body so well now, so easily able to take you apart with a few deadly moves. And yet it never grows familiar, old or tired, always a little different, keeping you on the edge of anticipation of what he will do next.

The rich cotton of his shirt brushes your inner knees as he shifts slightly under you, hands gliding over your skin to encircle the dip of your waist and pull you lower so you are bearing down your weight upon him, so he can't breathe unless it’s into your body, his nose buried deep in your pubic hair, resting against the bone there, his mouth hot and heavy as he gasps around you, his mouth drinking from you as if its nectar.

You tilt your head back down and tug on his hair, watching his eyes glitter as he growls deep. You moan, feeling the vibration through your public bone as his mouth opens wide against you, his tongue taking broad strokes, seemingly engulfing the whole area with one dab.

The look as he coaxes you to slide on him is breathtaking; you cannot look away from those pupils, shining in the low romantic light, as you rock your hips gently, his tongue swirling deep with each pass. Your left hand slides over his where they hold your waist, lacing your fingers together so your wedding rings clink. This is pure carnality, and you don't want it to end. You want to spend the night entwined with him. The wait he put you through earlier is more than worth the payoff of this moment. 

“All night,” your comment is a breathy ragged exhale, “I want you to make love to me all night,” you say clearly, unashamed to speak the truth of your desire to your husband.

His mouth is too occupied to reply, but you see the flash in his eye that tells you that is precisely his plan. He shifts lower, and you cry out as he spears his tongue into a point and buries it into your pussy, the rough stubble on his cheeks abrading the soft skin of your inner thigh as he wraps his arms tighter. 

You pant his name and tilt fractionally, letting your swollen clit ride his nose as his tongue lashes deep into your channel. You sense little movements in his body and can tell he is unconsciously bucking his hips up off the floor, simulating thrusting into you; you glance down over your shoulder to see a delicious bulge there, and you can't resist but shift angle, releasing your hold on his hair and bowing back slightly over him so you can grab his crotch as you ride his tongue.

You feel the snarl he makes echo up your pussy as you palm the heated mass that strains against his trousers, grasping your fingers in sync with the lashings of his tongue. So desperate for him to be inside you.

He wrenches his face backwards away from your pussy and takes deep wracking breaths, canting his hips so he surges into your grip.

“Stop, darling,” he urges, but the tone suggests the exact opposite.

“No,” you challenge, raising an eyebrow, ”I want to come on your face as I grip your cock.”

He looks dazzled, awestruck even, by your boldness. Something that has blossomed as you grew in confidence under his guidance, him leading you into new realms of pleasure. Teaching you to demand what you want of him.

“As my Viscountess wishes,” he responds silkily, the tone somehow both submissive and authoritative.

His right hand relinquishes its grip on your waist, and you cry out as two fingers plunge into your cunt, his knuckles pushing open your walls as you cling to them, the invasion just perfect to push you higher, an electric slide down your spine as your scalp tingles. Your grip on his other hand at your waist, almost bruising now, his wedding ring leaving a dent in your skin.

Then his tongue is back, harshly swiping your clit, as his other fingers rock deep inside you. You whimper his name, shamelessly grinding on his face, chasing that addictive high as his tongue lashes right over your swollen bud. Concentrating all his efforts there, swirling, teasing, varying pressure, then sucking it between his lush lips, then using a little edge of his teeth to nip at the tip, a new blinding pleasure hits you. 

You are pleading with him not to stop, your voice delirious, drunk on him, on this—the debauched tableau amongst the beauty of twinking palms, white-washed walls and glowing understated opulence.

The filthy sodden noises he wrenches from your body would have made you feel ashamed before. Now you know better; it's like music to his ears, how utterly gushing and aroused he can make you, leaking over his eager face. His fingers hook a little, and he hits that spot that steals the breath from your lungs. You can see the smirk in his eyes as you shudder bodily, your nipples throbbing, wanting his touch, and he knows it. Releasing your waist and snaking that hand up to tweak them, playing your body like a maestro does an instrument.

The heavy elixir of sensation: his fingers buried in your cunt dragging hard, his lips on your clit, his other hand snagging your nipples, his cock rigid and heated under your palm, his eyes goading you, are what push you over the edge. Every muscle in your body clamping tense, taunt and shaking as the fluttering in your channel fans out flames around your body.

You hear muffled sounds as he makes victorious noises, but the world is narrowing to the rush noise in your ears and the burning pulse as you break. Your body weight slumped onto his strong jaw as you cry out and convulse, him drinking from your body. You take wracking breaths as you tip sideways and roll onto the tile next to him, the cool ceramic a salve to your flushed, heated skin.

He instantly rolls against you as you stare at the stars and try to return to reality, even as you feel yourself floating up amongst the heavens. You don't fight his hold as he scoops you up and athletically moves across the courtyard towards your bedroom, you curling into his body, feeling soft and pliant against his muscular frame. 

As he sweeps in, the room is lit with soft flickering pillar candles nestled in little glass dishes filled with sand. Everything looks so beautiful you burrow further into him and look at him devotedly, knowing this is all something he arranged. The beauty and romance are as breathtaking as the mind-bending orgasm he just gave you. And just like that, your desire flares again, an almost metallic taste in your mouth as your blood runs hot. The fierce want to have him making love to you, sensual, lush, needy, his sinful voice pleading your name into your neck as you move together.

“Please, Anthony,” you whisper as he places you on top of the plush white cotton bedding and backs away from the bed as you stare at him, mesmerised by his sinful expression.

He flicks open a shirt button with an arched brow, giving you a show, letting you fully recover in comfort, but making sure your arousal never slips for a second. You know your pupils are blown wide, and you bite your lip, still tingling and swollen dark pink from your orgasm. You greedily drink in his toned torso being revealed, the dusting of thick chest hair so inviting you want to run your fingertips through it and grip it, making him groan. With a flourish that makes you giggle, he throws aside the shirt and holds your gaze smoulderingly as his hand drops to the zip of his fly. You are almost certain he was not wearing underwear when you palmed him earlier, the heat and insistence too great for him to be sporting anything but the thin fabric he now is parting. And you are right. You don't hesitate to moan as his cock springs free, so familiar but every time tantalising, making you clench at the very sight. 

He shucks his trousers down his toned, downy legs, instantly prowling towards you, naked except for that shiny wedding ring you can't take your eyes off. 365 days of bliss. And hopefully, a lifetime more.

Then he climbs over you, tilting you back onto the bed so all you see is his handsome, smiling, stubbled face framed by curled chestnut locks and beyond, teal and gold stars. It's a view you want to be burned into your retinas, a core memory to recall in your twilight years—the love, the passion, the connection.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he purrs, nuzzling your face with his before kissing you passionately, your arousal musky on his face and tongue. He loves to kiss you like this, so you taste yourself on him, a cocktail of his mouth and the arousal he wrings from your body—a reminder of the passion you share. 

His hand cups your jaw as your tongues lathe together, endless kisses as his hands sweep over your body, grasping behind your knee and pulling your leg up and out wide so he slots between your thighs, his rigid cock sliding over the apex, making you moan into his mouth.

He rocks his cock teasingly, his lips ghosting yours, whispering yeses, and that's it, revelling in your little noises, the sensation against your swollen soaked clit almost too much.

Just as you start to plead with him to stop teasing, he angles lower. “I love you,” his voice deep as he slips inside your waiting, wanton cunt. Stretching you and filling you in that way only he ever can. Your echoed response is a ragged thing as your eyes roll back, and he huffs a bemused noise at your attempted reply.

Your gazes lock as he slides slowly deeper until he is buried entirely in your body, already fluttering around him, the fit so perfect, just the right side of an ache. You hold his face and pull him down for more kisses as he starts to move in slow, deliberate strokes, your whole body rolling with the effort, a gentle wave that already has you floating.

He may not be a man of flamboyant words, but as he said earlier, his actions speak louder than any affirmations ever could. Showing you his devotion, enveloping your body and mind. As his pace increases, he delicately takes your hand and runs his lips over your new sparkling eternity ring, his fathomless umber eyes speaking the words for him. 

Your hands rake down the hair on his chest, loving the soft feel under your fingers, sliding further until you reach his abs, the flex so arousing as he thrusts into your body. You glance down to where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear into you rhythmically, a tantalising glimpse. Your hands circle his sides, staking his skin to grab his shapely bottom, enticing him to take you harder, towards a crescendo. 

“Not yet,” he chuckles, dropping a quick kiss on your lips.

Instead, he pulls out of your body, you keening loudly at the sudden loss. He sits up, crossing his legs into the lotus position and hauls you into his lap. He guides you down onto him, and a shiver runs up your spine as he wraps your legs around his lower back. Locked together with his cock buried deep, the pace turns slow, your eyes staring, sharing kisses, languid, sensual, elongating the experience into something else. His hands run soothing strokes over your spine as yours hold his biceps, using your core strength to circle your hips, loving the feel of his cock dragging different angles as you rise and fall gently. This is the sort of intimacy that songs are composed about, and you feel so profoundly exhilarated and privileged that you get to experience it with this wonderful man. 

You rock together, limbs entwined, for many more moments, your gaze catching the reflection in the arched mirror on the other side of the room. You cannot see all of you, just the top of Anthony's shoulders and his head of hair and yourself, rising and rocking onto his cock. Even just this little snippet is undeniably arousing, and you turn your head to whisper in his ear that you want him to fuck you in front of a mirror before you leave, want to watch you both come. Following your instinct to tell him your desires.

The noise he emits in response makes every hair on your body stand on end, his hands gripping your hips forcefully. It seems to light a fire in him, suddenly rife with need, the mood changing from languorous to passionate. Your world tilts as he throws you down onto your back, your legs still looped around his back, as he unfurls himself and hovers over you, a wild look in his eye. 

“You want me to fuck you, wife?” he growls, and just as rapidly, you need him to take you somewhere utterly feral, savage, ferocious.

“Yes, oh god, yes, please,” you implore raggedly, your hands back on his bum, digging your nails into his flesh, leaving crescent-shaped indents and scratches on the round of his cheeks.

And so he does. Looping your legs over his forearms now, tilting your pelvis up and more open, he thrust into your body, plugging to the hilt in one stroke that makes your toes curl and your lungs scream his name. It spurs him on, and he starts to pound into you in earnest, his brow dampening with the effort, grunting with each spike. Curling his body down to capture your breast in his hot mouth, making you arch your back and push up against his tongue, his teeth, teeming with desperation for him, wanting him to leave his marks on your skin. 

The sturdy king-sized bed begins to protest with the force of his harsh thrusts. All you can do is cling on, feeling so utterly invaded. The brush of his pubic bone catches enticingly against your clit, still so slippery and throbbing but not quite enough to push you over. 

You insinuate a hand between your bodies to touch your clit, but he grasps your wrist when he realises what you are doing, his pace never wavering.

“That's my job, darling,” he scolds, and then a thumb lands heavily on your clit, flicking in time with each thrust. 

You cry out and wrap your arms around his neck; eyes closed, biting his earlobe as he pants into the crook of your neck. The unrelenting pace and his fingers are too much. He doesn't even have to say another thing, just the feel of him engulfing you, taking you so harshly his cock is like a hot spike piercing you open and that thumb circling your nub, and you are calling his name and fracturing around him. Your heartbeat is pounding loud as fireworks dance behind your eyelids, your cunt clenching so hard you can hear him growling to not ever fucking stop and how he wants to die inside you, fucking you. But it's all through a gauzy filter, as you somehow float out of your body as if among the Moroccan stars but also grounded in your body as you convulse, each cell in your body alive and electric. The sensation seems to roll on forever, notching across your skin, as you feel him still over you, then his hips jerking violently as he comes deep inside you, his mouth slack on your throat.

You take deep racking breaths in sync, the frenzy passing, left with nothing but a bone-deep feeling of satisfaction that makes your inside feel molten and your brain pleasantly fuzzy. Anthony rolls next to you and pulls you into a dewy embrace, both of your bodies covered in a sheen from the exertion. His hands swirl delicate patterns on your skin as you nestle into him, your lips over the slowing hammering of his heartbeat in his jugular. 

“Was it worth the wait, Viscountess?” his voice a deep sonorous tease; you can feel his smile against your sticky forehead.

“Oh god, yes,” you confess elatedly, giggling and wrapping your arms tighter around his ribs, shiting to bury your face into the fuzz of hair on his chest.

He chuckles and strokes your hair, dropping a kiss on your hairline.

“The first of many memorable anniversaries, I promise,” he whispers as you start to drift off, the exhaustion of a thrilling, memorable day catching up with you.

You can’t wait.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

[clare-875]

Our Song (Levi x Reader)

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Pairing: Levi x Reader Summary: How does it all end? Loosely inspired by the song, "Our Song" Warnings: angst!! Note: The above image does NOT belong to me, short fic :) [AOT Masterlist]

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You often wonder what it would have been like if the two of you had met in a different lifetime. Maybe you would find yourself somewhere far away, maybe you would find yourself living a long and peaceful life where each moment wasn't shadowed by death's waiting presence. Maybe you would have the luxury of going on dates and owning a house and having a family. You wonder if you would find yourself in a quiet bar somewhere and dance away to slow music, your head on his chest, his arms tight against yours. Most of all, you wondered how it would all sound. Would it be laughter that dominates or would it be silence between the peaceful lingering of your bodies? Would you be able to hear the birds chirp with the rising morning sun and know that another day awaited you, clear of misery and full of peace?

Well, all you could hear now was screaming.

You hear the edge of voices sharply cutting through space. You hear the shouts of comrades as they face it; they face their deaths. It was chaos and your body was full of vexation and ceaseless tension. That's how it had always been. Another day that clings to the same sharp overture before proceeding as it always does. It never changed: the rushing of feet, the shrill sound of a sword, an explosion like thunder. It never stopped: the holler of your muscles beneath your skin, the splatter of blood and the drip of lonely tears. Only when you dug and dug through the chaos that rang through your ears did you hear a faint moment of peace. It was rare, it was buried but you found it only in the depths of his arms. You could only ease the thrumming of your chest under the hold of his hand. Could only escape the headache when he told you of his love.

Our song was always like that; like a scream you could never escape always raw and lingering. It was the quiet that muffled it in the soft touch of the other's embrace. It was always his voice, calling but faint, never clear in your mind. It was tragic, the baseline that always struck heavy, the rumbling of Titans that always gravitate towards you. There were harmonies to the shouting, the echo and a final wail. The melody was soothing, his voice in your ear, his touch on your skin, the dark nights between bed sheets. The soprano was rushed, tense and unceasing, always dominating. It invoked fear, it invoked uncertainty, it invoked premature love. The alto was devastating, heavy in your ears, the grief and the sadness, the weight of your heart in your chest against your lungs. It made you unable to breathe; it made you weep until your sobs were bone dry.

Through it all, you wondered how this song would end.

Surely it would be a mix of the heavy undertones provoking pain and fear and the cold. Surely it would be sharp against your ears, ceaseless until it was not. Surely the lyrics would merely invoke visions of suffering and torment. Never. Never had you thought the ending would be beautiful. Never had you hoped the screaming, always constant behind the composition, would stop, just for a moment. Never had you thought that all else would cease to play a part in the song in the end, and reveal only a slow and dwindling melody as the final notes touched the air. But that was the sound that now reached your ears, and it was accompanied by a beautiful sight. Levi looked down at you and you could feel his tight grip around you. You could taste the palpable fear and you could see desperation swimming in the depths of his eyes. You could see glistening tears pour down his face, eyebrows furrowed, gaze wide and sharp and devastated.

You hear his sobs and his yells. You feel the pressure against your abdomen, but you know it's too late. So you merely stare, you drink in the final glimpses of his form. His grey eyes, always preoccupied but warm and loving just for you. They were now shrouded by grief and fear and loss, but they still enchanted you nonetheless. You let his voice seep deep within you, hear the corners of his words sharp and pleading. You hear the stuttering of his voice, the pace of his dialogue. Then there's the defeat of it all, the tightening of you against his body as he pulls you into his form. His head rests against yours, eyes squeezed shut; he hopes it's all a dream. You want to soothe him and reassure him; to take his pain away. You use the last of your breath to add the final lyrics to the song the two of you have danced to and have embraced in your ears for so long. "Levi..." your words are weak as he looks at you, tears ceaseless. "Thank you, for loving me... promise you'll find me, I promise I'll wait for you." You never hear the encore that proceeds when your form goes limp in his hold. You never hear the depths of his screams and his rage at the cruel word, this cruel tune.

Maybe in another lifetime, you would dance to a different song.

[desceros]

LMAO IT WAS A COMPLIMENT <3

also another question. not sure if youre allowed to answer it. why is it called Symphony No. 4 in Eb Minor, Op. 16 "Of Heliotropium"? Is this a song? I tried to google it before I read the fic but couldn't find it. then i thought it had something to do with the chapter titles being songs; like this love story is its own symphony and each chapter is a small part of it?

-💙🌸

dramatically flourishes on stage. oh my god, finally someone asked. ✨literally sparkles✨

it is not a symphony that exists, no! but here is the breakdown of what it means:

symphony: this is a musical composition for several instruments that are typically arranged into four movements. there are a lot of characters in my fic, and there are four arcs. the first one was chapters 1-11, and the second is going to conclude here at chapter 20.

number four, opus 16: these are just my favorite numbers and aren't particularly relevant to the fic, hehe. i used them to make sure that there Wasn't an actual symphony with these designations though, which worked out excellently.

Eb minor: a spectacularly delicious key. it's quite sad, with six flats, but it has a drama to it that titillates the ear when it shifts to its relative major or its parallel. for a good example of this, you can listen to the 1812 overture. minor keys tend to be sad, and this is an angst fic... but this key in particular has a way of sweetening nicely, which i found appropriate for angst with a happy end (which i swear to god this fic has).

"of heliotropium": so a lot of symphonic pieces will have a name. think 'from the new world' for dvorak 9, or 'eroica' for beethoven 3. they're meant to contextualize the piece for listeners, and provide a framework for what you're listening to. heliotropium is a genus of (mostly) purple flowers that are just. so lovely. they were so named for their tendency to turn towards the sun (the center, the giver of life, the light, the warmth....), which historically came to stand in for the gaze that follows a lover. as such, it came to symbolize eternal love in victorian flower language. they can be a little toxic, but they smell divine, and i... would keep an eye out in later chapters for it to show up. :)

[jazz hands]

[sequinsmile-x]

Overture

It’s only when they get level with the picnic tables Jack had told her about that morning, the Capitol building coming into view in the background, that it clicks, when the discomfort she’d felt since they arrived suddenly makes sense. 

This was where she’d met with Ian.

-x-

Hi friends!

This is based on an anon I got asking for a fic where Emily has a panic attack/PTSD attack and Aaron comforts her. I immediately got an idea for this one, so here we are.

I hope you like this <3

-x-

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attack, PTSD

Words: 3.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Before Aaron and Jack, going to the park would never have been Emily’s ideal way of spending a Saturday. 

If she was honest, it still wasn’t. It wasn’t the park that appealed to her, nor the heat of the midday sun beating down on her, but spending time with them. Her Hotchner boys who had helped pull her back together after she thought it was impossible to do so. Their matching smiles she couldn’t say no to and their unending kindness apparently all she’d needed to feel at home again in a place she’d been torn from, her life left in torn-up pieces around her, frayed edges she would have said, not long ago, were impossible to repair. 

It was slow at the start. The ease she felt around them something she’d put down to chance at first. She’d bumped into them at the mall. She’d been there shopping, exposure therapy she was forcing herself through to get used to crowds again, and she’d found them buying shoes for Jack, the little boy going through a seemingly endless growth spurt. She’d found out since that Aaron had sensed her unease, that he’d seen through her carefully constructed facade and fake smile, and he asked her to stay with them, feigning ignorance on what shoes his son needed as he asked for her advice. It gradually became a regular thing. All of her spare time was spent with them, weekends and evenings that had once been full of nothing but anxiety and silence, her eyes fixed on her front door as if a ghost would burst through it and kill her, the smell of whiskey and cigar smoke never far away, now full of them. 

Soccer games she’d watch intently just to see Jack attempt to score. Evening meals that she’d pretend to help with even though in reality she’d sit there with a glass of wine and gently make fun of Aaron. Low-stakes, gentle, family movies that she knows Aaron would pick for them as well as Jack, both of them at their limit for anything more serious once work was done for the day. 

If she was asked, she’d never be able to explain what made her kiss him one evening, why all of a sudden not kissing him seemed impossible. The magnetic pull he’d had on her for longer than she’d care to admit so strong that she could no longer resist it. He hadn’t hesitated in kissing her back, not even a second of no response before he held her closer, as if he’d been waiting for her to make the first move. 

With anyone else, she’s sure it would terrify her that they had moved so quickly. That she’d be struck with fear that she all but lived with Aaron and Jack only a few months since they officially got together, that the fact she’d told Aaron I love you on their first date, and that he’d repeated it back to her immediately, would fill her with anxiety. But it didn’t. It felt right. Like everything she’d been through, every awful thing she thought she wouldn’t survive, had been leading to this. To them. 

So, even if her choice would have been to stay snuggled up in bed with her boyfriend, Jack tucked up in between them as they slept for a little longer, she dragged herself out of bed because it was what the little boy wanted. She’d slathered her boys in sunscreen, her eyes narrowed at Aaron as he made a joke that he’d never met someone who took sun protection so seriously, and let them pick the park they were going to spend the morning in.

Jack told her that he liked this one. That it had the best swings, and a picnic area with big round tables, a glint in his eyes that Aaron said hadn’t existed before when he mentioned the ice cream truck that was nearby. 

She can’t explain it, but as they get closer to the park she starts to feel uneasy. A familiar tightness builds in her chest that she doesn’t understand as Aaron parks the car. Jack releases himself from his seat and is out of the car only seconds after Aaron turns off the engine. Aaron chuckles, shaking his head at his son as he opens his door.

“Jack, no running off,” he says sternly, and Jack nods, standing perfectly still as he waits for them. Aaron turns back to Emily and frowns, picking up on the tension rolling off his girlfriend like a bitter perfume, “Sweetheart,” he says, placing his hand on her knee, his concern only deepening when she jumps and looks at him, “Are you okay?” 

She nods, because she doesn’t know why she isn’t, doesn’t know how to explain that she feels like her body is remembering something she doesn’t. She smiles and leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m fine,” she says, smiling as she pulls back, “Let’s go get your son before he explodes with excitement.”

Emily climbs out of the car and stands by Jack’s side, offering her hand to him and smiling as he immediately grabs it, his hand warm in hers. Aaron joins them, walking alongside them as Jack talks at her, reciting facts he’d told her a hundred times and that she’d happily listen to a hundred more. 

It’s only when they get level with the picnic tables Jack had told her about that morning, the Capitol building coming into view in the background, that it clicks, when the discomfort she’d felt since they arrived suddenly makes sense. 

This was where she’d met with Ian. Where he’d threatened the team, the man she’d one day love and his son who she loved as her own. 

Suddenly, she can’t feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, or Jack’s clammy hand in hers. She’s cold, chilled to the bone as if winter was on the horizon and not several months away. She’s frozen on the spot, the pull of her arm as Jack continues to move forward barely registering as her eyes remain fixed on the metal round table in front of her, two abandoned to-go coffee cups staring back at her, almost mocking her in the way they tip over in the light summer breeze, as empty as her chest feels as she struggles to breathe. She isn’t aware of anything around her, her body numb as she feels like she’s freezing from the inside out, the phantom of the cold, hard plastic of her glock pressed into her skin, making her palm itch. 

The faint smell of sunscreen that had lingered on Jack’s skin disappears, it’s replaced by whiskey and smoke, something that had long since meant danger and fear to her. She’s stuck there, reliving the moment when her life had changed forever again and again as she’s unable to pull herself out of it, her eyes still fixed on the empty coffee cups on the table where she’d once sat opposite the man who had killed her. 

She’s snapped out of it. Her lungs immediately fill as she gasps, sucking in air as she feels a warm palm on her cheek, her body tense as her eyes lock with Aaron’s. She tries to breathe in again but can’t, her chest aching as she can’t exhale, her lungs so full she thinks they might burst. 

“Emily, sweetheart,” he says, sounding much calmer than he feels, his other hand reaching for one of hers and placing it on his chest, purposely exaggerating his own breathing to try and encourage hers, “I’ve got you. Just try and breathe with me, okay?” He says and she nods, closing her eyes as she rests her forehead on his, “Good, don’t worry about anything else. It’s just you and me.” 

She swallows thickly, the feeling painful and sharp as she tries to push down her fear but she can’t. Instead, she focuses on Aaron. On his hand wrapped tightly around hers as he holds her palm to his chest, the smell of him and his cologne. How warm his skin is even through his polo shirt. Balmy and comforting and safe. She slowly comes back to herself, the sound of the park filtering back in, children’s laughter as they play washing over her, a reminder from the universe that good things still exist. She grasps at Aaron’s polo shirt, fisting it in her palm as she pulls him closer, sinking into his embrace as he pulls her into a hug. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing the top of her head as he gathers her to his chest, “Do you want to go home?”

She pulls back to look at him, “Jack was excited about this,” she croaks out, her voice not sounding like her own, “He was looking forward to this.” 

If she hadn’t just had a panic attack right in front of him, her entire body frozen in spot whilst she saw something he couldn’t, he’d laugh. Her constant need to put others ahead of herself one of the many things he loved about her. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “Jack understands,” he says, looking back at his son who steps closer and nods, a look of concern on his face that matches his father’s which makes her ache. Guild and love mixing in her belly to make her nauseous, “Right, buddy?” 

Jack nods, “If you’re sick Emily we should go home.” 

She grasps at Aaron again, wondering what she’d missed during her panic attack, what conversation between father and son that she hadn’t heard despite being right there. She looks back at the table for a second before she looks back at them, her present and her future so much more important than her past. 

“Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat when her voice shakes, “I’d like to go home please.” 

It didn’t occur to her until much later that home meant wherever the two of them were. 

___

He gives her space. 

It’s the last thing he wants to do, fighting against every instinct in his body as he sends her to bed alone, giving her the space he knows she needs. He tries not to think of how she goes without argument, a sure sign she wasn’t feeling herself, or how she’d shivered in the car all the way home despite the warm weather and the sweater of his he’d pulled from his go-bag in the trunk. 

He spends time with Jack, and explains to him that something, although he didn’t know what, had scared Emily, telling him in terms that the young boy would understand what had happened. He compares it to how loud noises can sometimes still spook Jack, reminding him of what he’d heard as he lay quietly in the trunk in Aaron’s old office all those years ago. 

Aaron swears his heart breaks as Jack gently asks if they can find out what had scared Emily to make sure they protected her from it in the future, his wide eyes concerned as he thought of the woman who was so often the place they found their strength. 

Jessica picks Jack up early in the afternoon, a plan they’d had for weeks so Jack could spend the evening with her and Roy whilst Emily and Aaron had some time alone. Aaron convinces his son to go, assuring him that Emily will be fine, and that he’ll look after her, and he does a few chores once Jack is gone. 

Eventually, he walks towards his bedroom, making sure his steps are slow and steady, announcing his arrival long before he knocks on the door. 

“Sweetheart,” he says gently as he pushes the door open slightly and looks at his girlfriend, his heart aching as he sees her lying on the bed, her arms wrapped around his pillow, his sweater still hanging loose around her shoulders, “Do you need anything? I could cook whatever you want.” 

She shakes her head and smiles at him, feeling the shake to it as she clears her throat, “No, thank you,” she says, the idea of eating anything turning her stomach. She sits up and she looks at him. His hand is tight on the door handle, his shoulders tense as he purposely holds himself back, and she untucks one of her arms from around his pillow, “Come sit with me for a bit?” 

He doesn’t wait for her to change her mind or for her to ask again. He’s across the room in a second, joining her on the bed. He purposely gives her space, not getting too close to her, but she reaches out for him, linking her fingers through his as she squeezes his hand tightly. 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she says, “I…,” she drifts off again, unsure how to put it into words, how to explain to him what happened, so she settles on the thing she can make sense of, “I’m sorry Jack saw me like that.” 

He wraps his arms around her, grateful that she sinks into him, and he presses a kiss to her forehead, “You have nothing to apologise for, baby,” he assures her, kissing her forehead again, “I spoke to him, he understands what happened.” 

She chuckles bitterly as she pulls away, wiping at her cheeks as she pushes away tears that she’s furious at herself for slipping free. 

“Does he?” she says, shaking her head, “Because I don’t,” she blows out a steady breath and presses her lips into a firm line, “We were at the park, we were meant to have fun and pretend we weren’t going to buy Jack ice cream before lunch,” she wipes away another tear, “But then I…I thought I was better.” 

He knows the feeling, the disappointment that would weigh heavily on his chest when he felt like he had a setback. How a nightmare that would tear him from sleep after months of not having one would make him feel like he was right back where he started, his chest aching and barely held together, blood seeping from his freshly stitched wounds as despair filled his lungs. He’d feel like he’d made no progress, like he was still back in the hospital bed where he’d last seen Haley alive, right up until Emily reached for him. Half asleep and blearily reaching out for him as she pulled him into her embrace, offering him a safe space to come back to himself, to remind himself of what he had now. 

He knew he did the same for her, that their pasts meant they could only truly understand each other. 

“You are better,” he says firmly, his voice full of love as he encourages her to look at him, his hand on her cheek as he guides her back a little, “One day like this doesn’t undo everything else, okay?” He asks, and she nods even though she isn’t sure. He’d never lied to her, and she knows he won’t start now, so she trusts him even though right now she couldn’t trust herself. “Do you know what caused it?” 

She swallows thickly as she nods, blowing out a slow breath as she closes her eyes, “You know I told you that I met with Ian before…before everything went to hell? And he threatened you and Jack and everyone else?” 

Aaron nods, remembering the conversation they’d had back when they were kidding themselves that they were just friends, “Yeah, you met him in a park…”

She watches as it clicks in his head, his words fading as his jaw clenches, irritation at himself burning in his gut.

“Aaron-”

“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head at himself, his grip on her tightening, “I should have-”

“You should have what?” She asks, raking her fingers through his hair, smiling softly as it flops back into place, “Known what park I met him in even though I never told you? Scoped out every park to see if my terrorist ex was ever there?” 

He hates that she’s trying to make light of it, as if seeing her frozen in place, so consumed by fear, terrified of a ghost he hadn’t been able to see, hadn’t broken him. 

“Em.”

She smiles sadly and nods and she rests her forehead against his, “I mean it,” she says, softly stamping her lips against his, “You couldn’t have known.” 

He sighs and runs his hand up and down her back, “We’ll never go back there.”

“You and Jack love that park,” she says, kissing his jaw before she pulls back, “You told me that this morning.”

He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “We love you more,” he says, and she smiles in response, her first real one since before they’d left the apartment that morning. It fades as quickly as it blooms, the seeds of it not quite ready to plant or take root yet, the gloom of that morning still in the dark shadows of their eyes, “How can I help?” 

She rests her head on his shoulder and encourages him to wrap his arms around her as tightly as he can.

“Just hold me,” she says, sinking into his embrace as far as she can, letting his warmth replace the chill she still could feel from earlier, “And maybe tell me a story?” 

He chuckles lightly as he lays down and pulls her with him, pulling the covers over them even though he’s slightly too warm for it, “A story?” 

“Distract me,” she says, pressing her face into his neck, “Tell me something good.” 

He runs his hand up and down her arm, thinking for a moment before he smiles, “There was once a prince called Aaron, and a brave knight called Emily-”

She laughs and pulls back to look at him, her eyebrow raised at him, “Seriously?” 

“My son is six,” he says, “Fairytales are the best I can do.” 

She presses her lips together to suppress her smile and lays her head back down, “At least I’m the brave knight, I guess.” 

“You could never be anything else,” he says, kissing her forehead, “Now are you going to listen or are you going to interrupt again?”

“I’m listening,” she promises, closing her eyes, and letting him take over all of her senses. 

“Good,” he says, kissing her one more time, “There was once a prince called Aaron, and a brave knight called Emily…”

She listens as he tells a diluted version of their story. A version where the bad guys never win, not even for a moment, and the good guys always prevail no matter what. 

She falls asleep, content and safe in his arms, happy in the knowledge that her story was nowhere near its end, but just at its beginning. 

-x-

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Join my tag list here!

[rainswept]

possible upcoming fics based on some albums,, if anyone knows these songs and is particularly interested in a certain one, let me know! i’ll be more likely to write it that way. all titles are subject to change.

Mother Falcon’s “Alhambra” (2011).

— OVERTURE lyney, “overture” — WALTZ lyney, “waltz”, part two to “overture” — ALLIGATOR TEETH, CROCODILE TEARS lyney, “alligator teeth” — THESE THINGS scaramouche, “these things” — SERPENT TONGUES lyney, “serpent tongues”

Sea Wolf’s “Old World Romance” (2012)

— WHIRLPOOL lyney, “whirlpool” — OLD FRIEND freminet, “old friend”

Stealing Sheep’s “Into the Diamond Sun” (2012)

— LIVEN UP lyney or aether, “liven up” — WHITE LIES lyney, “white lies” — REARRANGE lyney or aether, “rearrange”

[atiny-piratequeen]

𝑯𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒄-𝑨𝑭𝑨𝑩 𝑽𝒆𝒓 (18+)

𓆩♡𓆪 Pairing: Jung Wooyoung (Ateez) x Seo Changbin (Stray Kids) x Nonbinary! Choi Yeonjun (Tomorrow x Together) x Gender-Neutral AFAB Reader

𓆩♡𓆪Rating: Explicit (18+)

𓆩♡𓆪 Genre: Smut, Humor, Sex Worker Au, Established Relationship, Fluff

𓆩♡𓆪SWs: Sex Work (Pornography, Nude Photos, Consensual Filming, the use of a “Fluffer”), Switch Reader, Switch Idols, Group Sex, Blowjobs, Handjobs, Thigh Grinding, Hair Pulling, Cock Riding, Lingerie, Multiple Orgasms, Bondage/Shibari, Teasing, Finger Sucking, Pussy Grinding, Pussy Slapping, Cock Ring, Sex Toy, Cock Sharing, Aftercare

𓆩♡𓆪 WC: 6.2k 

𓆩♡𓆪A/N: Whew first fic of ‘23! Thank you all for your patience and thank @jacksons-goddess-gaia for commissioning yet another interesting work from me! I hope you like it and I would like folks to know there are TWO versions of this fic (as evidenced by the title.) This version will be with a GN AFAB reader, and the AMAB version will be linked in the bullet point underneath. I hope everyone who reads this enjoys, and if you do please remember to like and reblog~

𓆩♡𓆪 AMAB Ver

𓆩♡𓆪 AO3 | Taglist Form | Commission Sheet

𓆩♡𓆪 ©atiny-piratequeen/nocturne-overtures 2023. do not repost, translate, or use my works. Minors DNI

•❥Network Pings: @kwritersworld | @kdiarynet | @k-vanity

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It all started because of Jung Wooyoung. 

You never expected to get a request for a collaboration any time soon when you’d started camming. As you reread the notification over and over, you feel your leg bounce below you under the table. 

Not only was he another model, but he was also popular, making videos for damn near every demographic under the sun. You stare at his subscriber count, and for much longer than you cared to admit, you wonder if this is some kind of joke. 

‘I don’t mind collabing at all, but I’d like to see you face to face first and talk this out, if possible?’

He responded faster than you expect him to, asking if you’d like to meet up at a well-known family-owned cafe and book chain located in town. 

Up until the very moment you push open the cafe doors, you hold onto a healthy level of skepticism that this was even real. 

Reality sets in the moment you look across the moderately busy cafe and your eyes land on the dark-haired man in question, laughing as he reached over the table to fix the bangs of a buffer gentleman, though he was a bit on the shorter end. 

“Um…Good afternoon, I’m sorry I’m late.” You apologize and give both men a bow. Wooyoung recognized you and perked up immediately, nudging the man beside him. 

“There you are, Y/n! We finally get to meet!” He smiled at you like you were an old friend and you feel a bit of shyness creep into your bones before you clear your throat and wave. 

“Hello. I’m sorry I’m late!” You bow again and look at the man sitting beside Wooyoung curiously. 

“This is Changbin, he’s my boyfriend.” He smiled easily and you feel like the hamster running on the wheel in your brain tripped, fell, and flew clean off the damn thing. 

Clearly, Changbin is used to things like this, waving gently. 

“Don’t be nervous. I’m not here to cause trouble. I actually help Wooyoung with recording. Yeonjun is floating around too but when they get ready, they’ll join us too, if that’s okay. They do makeup and hair for any still photoshoots we may have.” 

You feel like everyone is on a completely different page of a different book while you’re stuck in the revolving doors of the metaphorical library but eventually, your thoughts kickstart back on and you nod slowly. 

“So..you have a little team for your channel? That’s…actually pretty neat. Have you always helped out?” You take a seat across from the couple, grateful for the carefree attitude of Changbin and the literal ball of compressed sunshine that made up Wooyoung’s entire being. 

“He said he wanted to try it out to gain a bit of confidence so I shopped around for a decent camera and we started with amateur-styled things first before we got the hang of it and moved to this platform,” Changbin answered honestly, an arm loosely around the back of Wooyoung’s chair. Wooyoung pressed a kiss to his jaw and smiled. 

“He’s in a bunch of them too but he never shows his face. Well, not fully. The blindfold and mask don’t cover that much…” He trailed off, leg swinging idly as Changbin went a bit red in the face, thinking back to that particular video where he’d let Wooyoung tie him to their bed and ride him while he lay blindfolded and bound. 

You listen and look from Wooyoung to Changbin, arching a brow. 

“So…which one of you thought to bring me in?” You inquire curiously. Wooyoung smiled, his nose scrunching while Changbin glanced behind you. 

“That would be me.” 

You nearly jump out of your skin as a person sits beside you, balancing a platter of powdered croissants on their hand. They look at you with an amused smirk, extending a hand. 

“Name’s Yeonjun.” 

You take their hand, shaking it a few times as you hold your hand to your chest, your heart beating erratically from the startle. They seem amused by it, propping their cheek up in their palm as they look at you with half-lidded eyes. 

“Your eyes are nice.” 

Your blink and clear your throat, ignoring the heat crawling up the back of your neck as Yeonjun seemingly checked you out. 

“Don’t mind them. Let’s talk about why we’re here.” Wooyoung spoke up, drawing your attention back to him. 

“I’ve seen your videos after Jun suggested the collaboration. If it’s okay with you, I’d really like to work with you and do some sets together.” he spoke with a smile on his face, foot swinging to and fro under the table. The heat crawls all the way up to your ears as you cough quietly. 

“I haven’t been with any other um…”actors” before, so I don’t know where to begin. If I’m being quite honest, this is a bit on the sudden end and I don’t know you well enough for me to have confidence and say yes immediately.” You speak honestly, wringing your hands as they sat on the table. None of them speak immediately, and a small chill of uncertainty rolled through you. 

A lot of people would jump at this chance. Free promotion for your own works, Wooyoung was a very attractive man and Changbin seemed to be very supportive of his partner’s endeavors. The more the silence went on, the more anxious you feel until finally; 

“I mean that’s fair. Would you like to hang out some ime or anything like that? Even if you don’t want to collaborate, it’s not like we can’t be friends.” Wooyoung spoke, seemingly sorting out his words in his head first. A wave of relief washed over you as Changbin kissed Wooyoung’s head and then stood. 

“I’m gonna go get some drinks for us all. Anyone want anything?”

“Can I have the new fruit drink on the menu? The wildberry one?” Wooyoung batted his lashes at Changbin and his boyfriend responded with a laugh and a nod, looking at Yeonjun. They cocked a brow at him before he nodded. 

“Right. Neapolitan coffee. And you? What would you like, Y/n? It’s my treat.” He smiled softly. You feel your shoulders relax a bit as you tell him your preferred drink. As he stepped away from the table, you turn your attention back to Yeonjun. 

“How did you come to be the stylist for Wooyoung?” You inquire. Yeonjun let out a chuckle, completely relaxed beside you. 

“Wooyoung and I have been friends for years. I’ve seen him naked more times than I can count. So I figured I’d help him out. I can’t even trust this one to do skincare without beating the hell out of his own cheeks, I don’t trust him to bring out his own features.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with how I do skincare!”

“Boy please, you beat your own cheeks harder than Changbin and I do.” 

You startle a barista walking by with the ungodly snort that left your lips as you burst into laughter, watching as Wooyoung swatted Yeonjun’s shoulder. It took nearly a full minute for you and Yeonjun to stop laughing as Wooyoung, which was made harder as he grew flustered, scolding the two of you.

Changbin came back with a confused look on his face, brow arching as Wooyoung pointed at Yeonjun. 

"THEY’RE FIRED!"

"Yeah, good luck getting that smokey eye perfected, then."

Wooyoung let out a scandalized gasp and Yeonjun smirked. 

"Sure you wanna fire me, bestie?" 

Wooyoung huffed and Yeonjun let out a laugh, seemingly satisfied. Changbin shook his head and placed your drink in front of you, sending you a smile. 

"If you want, you can choose the next place we go on a date at. I think it's best we all get to know each other better regardless of your decision at the end."

You smile and nod. "I'd love to. Thank you."

The rest of the day was comfortable and you'd ended up exchanging numbers with all three of them. 

You head out of the shower later, making sure the trio knew you’d gotten settled in just fine and hadn’t had any issues. As you dry your hair, curiosity nibbled at you and you find yourself taking a look back at Wooyoung’s account. 

Your leg bounced idly as you scroll through some of his photoshoots, admiring the quality and work put into them. 

There was something about meeting the team behind the art that made you appreciate it all the more. As you scroll, you finally find some where Changbin is present, the first being a POV shot of Wooyoung on his knees, lipstick smudged across his lips as he kissed the tip of Changbin’s cock.

“He’s in a bunch of them too but he never shows his face.”

Perhaps Changbin was every bit as versatile as his boyfriend, since the pictures regularly flip flopped between who was the top or bottom. You’re pretty sure you can even see Yeonjun in a few of them, especially the one of Wooyoung riding Chanbin as a different hand wove itself into his hair, tugging back so his body would be on display. 

You feel a telltale ache between your legs and feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you close your laptop. 

“Okay yeah, that’s enough of that.” You mutter quietly, flustered as you get under the covers. 

It took you a full hour of tossing and turning before you toss them back off of your legs, grumbling in annoyance. 

“There’s no way I can fucking sleep like this.” You sigh out in frustration before you move to grab your laptop again. You utter a few flustered lies to yourself, before you start browsing, eventually settling on one with a romantic title. 

Admittedly, no matter how good of an actor he may be, you find yourself giggling a bit at Wooyoung’s acting as he came into frame, romantic lighting in the room. He’d stripped himself slowly, dropping each article of clothing haphazardly onto the floor, smiling with a seductive half-lidded gaze as the lingerie clung to his body in all the right places. 

The humor in you died off as you bite your lip, watching as Wooyoung crawled into Changbin’s lap, kissing him slowly as he rolled his hips downward. Yeonjun would star in these sets, as well, you found out, but undoubtedly it was Changbin Wooyoung was currently seducing, rolling his hips down onto his thick thigh, riding slowly. 

You bite your lip and try to jump ahead a little bit, but end up going a bit too far, landing on the timestamp where Wooyoung had his arms wrapped around Changbin’s shoulders, head thrown back as he rode him like he was his last lifeline. Your eyes drift down Wooyoung’s body, the bra completely absent and the panties to the lingerie ripped enough for Changbin’s thick cock to slide between his cheeks. 

Wooyoung rolled his hips, looking back as he clenched around Changbin’s cock, the lube making a mess of both of them as Changbin reached around to plant both of his hands on Wooyoung’s ass. He let out a delghted purr before he felt Changbin bounce him, making him go at his faster, more desperate pace as he pulled him closer and closer to release. 

Your hand found its way between your legs as you watch, eyes glued on your screen as you finger yourself, thankful for the headphones in your ears, picking up every gasp, moan, and growl as Wooyoung finally came, tightening his grip around Changbin’s shoulders as he rode him, his ass jiggling with every bounce as eventually he achieved his desired goal;

Milking Changbin’s cock. 

You curl your fingers as you watch Changbin’s balls throb and draw up, his cock soon covered with his own cum as Wooyoung never slowed his hips, purring. 

“That’s it, that’s what I want.” He mewed, rolling his hips at a slower pace like he was going to stop before he smiled wickedly and kept going. 

“I’m not done~”

You don’t know how many times you’d restarted and watched that particular video over and over, but by the end of it, as you make your bambi-legged walk of shame to take a(nother) shower, you idly wonder just what kind of videos you’d shoot with Wooyoung if you were to accept. 

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

 “Do you ever feel like you’re third wheeling when you’re with them?” You inquire, watching as Wooyoung and Changbin wander over to a dinosaur exhibit. Yeonjun stood beside you, sipping a drink with circular rimmed glasses on their face as they watched the two point at different plaques and read off fun facts. 

“Not really. They’re practically my boyfriends at this point, both of them just suck dicks at actually initiating.” 

You nearly choke on the pretzel in your hands as a woman passing by gives Yeonjun a scandalized look, hurrying away. They didn’t seem to care, watching the two with a quiet gaze. You watch their side profile before looking towards the two, watching as Wooyoung finally noticed you and Yeonjun had fallen behind. He rushed up to you both and smiled. 

“C’mon, quit daydreaming! They have a T-Rex over there!” He darted off, expecting you two to follow at the same pace. You find yourself laughing and looking over at Yeonjun, matching their pace as they made their way into the exhibit. 

“Is that why it was you who initiated this collab thing?” 

“Yep. Wooyoung thinks you’re cute and mentioned it in passing. Changbin told him to dm you. Both of them are idiots and didn’t do anything about it. So I did.” They hum, looking up at a brachiosaurus. You blink, taking a moment to let the words catch up to you before you look over at Woo and Changbin, finding Woo stealing glances at you and Yeonjun’s general direction. 

“It’s fine if you don’t want anything like that. Plenty of people don’t mix business with pleasure. To be honest, you could tell us you’d like to stay a friend and not do anything of the sort and that’d be fine with any of us.” They send you a smile and a wink before making their way over to Wooyoung. 

You look to the three of them, feeling a smile tug at your lips before following. 

To your (pleasant) surprise, none of them pressed you on the collaboration, as promised. Months had gone by, with Wooyoung posting his content and you posting yours, all while the four of you went on dates in between. 

Museums, art galleries, amusement parks, dinners out under the stars-

You’d honestly felt spoiled by all of this. And it was while you sat leaning against Changbin while Wooyoung and Yeonjun bickered over how to cook dinner right, that you spoke; 

“I think I want to do the collab.”

The chatter died immediately and two heads poked out of the kitchen while Changbin looked down in surprise.

“So suddenly?” 

“Yeah. You said it’s best we get to know each other better…it’s been nearly a year. I want to.” 

Wooyoung leaned over the back of the couch, smiling from ear to ear. 

“Should we talk about it over dinner? I already have something in mind, it’s been in my idea draft folder but if you want in, I think it’d be wonderful-” You laugh as he chattered on, moving aside so he could sit beside you, half of his ass practically in Changbin’s lap as he spoke to you. 

Yeonjun joined after a while, and for the rest of the night, the four of you talked casually about do’s and don’t, each other’s boundaries, things you all wanted to try, and everything in between.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

“Almost done, baby. Good job.”

As you stand beside Yeonjun, you shift from foot to foot, watching as Changbin carefully spoke to Wooyoung through the entire process of him tying him up. The two exchanged sweet nothings and a few kisses here and there, laughing occasionally as they sat in their own world. 

“You look nervous. Are you sure you wanna do it today?” they inquire, looking over at you. You nod, sending them a kind smile. 

“I’m nervous because it’s the first set, but I’m sure I’ll settle into it once its my turn.” You respond. Yeonjun smiled and looked back at the two.

“Ah, he’s finished. Go ahead, love. Changbin will take care of you while I make sure Woo stays fluffed and ready.” They spoke with an exaggerated sigh, though they looked absolutely ecstatic at the idea of teasing Wooyoung’s cock. Wooyoung clearly noticed, sending them a challenging eyebrow raise. 

“Try not to have it end up down your throat like last time.” He sassed. Yeonjun’s lips quirked, a spark of chaos behind them. 

“Have it down my throat? Got it.”

You look up as Changbin came over to you, smiling as he held up a bundle of rope of your favorite color. He excused himself, kneeling. 

“You’re okay with this still, right?” He inquired. You nod, moving your arms behind your back as instructed as Changbin got to work tying the intricate knots. You occasionally feel his fingers brush against your skin, goosebumps rising in their wake. His breath ghosting across your abdomen has the same effect, and without meaning to, you meet his gaze as you look down at him. 

Neither of you say a word as you hold eye contact. 

The moment is broken by a sharp curse coming from Wooyoung as he tried to buck up into Yeonjun’s mouth, only to be foiled by them yanking his hips down thanks to the ropes. A pleased purr rumbled from somewhere at the back of their throat as they popped their mouth off, stroking him with a Chesire grin stretched across their face. 

“You always talk so much shit but then crumble apart the moment I get my mouth on you, I think you like being a brat a bit too much. Remember, Wooyoungie-” Yeonjun’s smile grew wider as they bit into the dip at Wooyoung’s hip, pushing his hips down when he bucked once more.

“-I’m not Changbin, I’ll edge you until you fall apart, you little shit.”

Changbin rolled his eyes and moved you around, setting you on your back and pulling your knee up. 

“With this position, please let me know if you feel any cramping, even if we’re in the middle of a scene, I’ll come and let you stretch them out, okay?” He cooed to you and you nod, letting him move and adjust your body as needed. As your head hit the pillow, you find yourself focusing on the calm thrumming of your own heart. The silk of the rope rubbed pleasantly against your thighs as Changbin bound your ankles. 

Its when his hands brush against your clit that you let out a sharp inhale. He looked to your face for any signs of discomfort, but you simply nod and whisper for him to keep going. He nodded and continued, adjusting the knot so every move of your body would make it rub against your clit, his fingers rubbing against your clit a few times in the process. 

You see his cheeks darken ever so slightly as you moan softly, but neither of you comment on it, and soon you’re ready, your nipples hard as Changbin tested the rope strength and made sure the knots were firm. The sound of sucking and Wooyoung groaning in frustration pop the two of you out of your little bubble as Changbin looked over to Yeonjun and Wooyoung. 

“Yeonjun leave my baby alone before I rope your ass up, too.”

“Oh, please do.”

You turn your head in time to see Changbin place a thunderous ass slap to Yeonjun’s ass. They shot up and Changbin chuckled as he picked Wooyoung up, setting him beside you so both of you were facing each other. Wooyoung stuck his tongue out at Yeonjun before turning to look at you, immediately switching his gaze into a sultry one. 

“Hey there, sexy. Come here often?”

You match his expression, letting Changbin-and a sulking Yeonjun-move the two of you around for the shot. 

“No, but after today, I might like to.”

You miss the way both Yeonjun and Changbin perk above you, exchanging a look with one another and an ecstatic smile. Wooyoung’s eyes lit up as well, before he tilted his head ever so slightly.  

“I’d be really happy if you did come back for more…You look amazing, by the way.” Wooyoung whispered, as if speaking above that level would break the immersion. The goosebumps return to your skin before Changbin cupped both of your chins. 

“We’re going to start. Let me know if anything is too tight or if you feel yourself cramping up at all.” He spoke slowly, making sure to look both of you in the eyes. It made you feel comfortable, that he spoke to you and Wooyoung as if it were both of your first times instead of just yours. It didn’t put you on the spot, and without thinking, you press an appreciative kiss to his palm as he asks again for affirmations. 

“Do you both understand?”

“Yes, Binnie/Yes, Sir.”  

With that, Changbin switched places with Yeonjun and picked up the camera. 

Your focus shifted to Yeonjun immediately as they drag their thumbs over both of your lips. You hear camera clicks behind them, but it doesn’t distract you, your eyes locked onto their face. You can’t help but to find your mind wandering. The three of them really did look so attractive when they were focused. 

Yeonjun’s eyes were hooded and you felt a chill run down your spine as the two of you locked eyes. 

“Open your mouths just a bit.” Changbin instructed and you part your lips, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as Yeonjun’s thumb sat on your bottom lip. You can hardly hear the camera in Changbin’s hands anymore as you flick your tongue over the pad of Yeonjun’s thumb. 

A pleased rumble passes through their lips as Wooyoung does the same, slowly sucking their thumb into his mouth. The two of you slowly curl your tongue over Yeonjun’s thumbs, lips parted slightly so Changbin could get the shots. Yeonjun’s fingers twitch ever so slightly and you feel a sense of pride swell in your chest as you notice their arousal.  

You glance down at the prominent bulge before slowly dragging your gaze up their lean body, tilting your head with a smile as you wrap your lips around their thumb. 

“Y/n.” Yeonjun growled out, and a pleased shiver ran up and down your spine. 

“I’m gonna move you two around.” Changbin informed you both as he grabbed Wooyoung, giving him a slow, gentle kiss before getting him comfy at the center of the bed. He looked towards you, sleeves rolled up as he grabbed your waist, picking you up with ease. You can’t help your eyes gravitating to his muscles, a purr leaving your lips. 

“What, I don’t get a kiss too?” You tease, quirking a brow at him. Changbin’s brow arched before he looked at Wooyoung. The two exchange a small thoughtful hum before Changbin cocked his head. 

“Depends. You want one?” 

You stare at him with slightly widened eyes, looking over at Wooyoung, who was watching you both with interest. Yeonjun had sat beside him, gently running their fingers up and down his abdomen as they rested their chin in their free hand, waiting. 

You look back at Changbin and clear your throat slightly. 

“Maybe I do want one.”

He leaned, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. It took a moment for your brain to catch up and realize this was real and actually happening, but when you do, you press back against him, grateful for his steady grip on your bound body as he balanced you in his arms. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you apologize halfheartedly to Yeonjun for the lipstick that had definitely gotten smudged as Changbin’s tongue finds its way into your mouth. 

“A damn shame we don’t have the mask. This would’ve been a perfect shot of them kissing while you eat pussy, Wooyoung.” Yeonjun sighed, lightly raking their nails over one of Wooyoung’s nipples. Wooyoung groaned and rose his hips uselessly, watching as a pretty clear string of precum fell from between your legs as Changbin broke the kiss. 

Changbin put his forehead to yours, looking into your eyes before he gave you a brief, chaste kiss and set you ontop of Wooyoung. 

You blush the moment you realize how heated both of your bodies are, and once you look up at Wooyoung to ask him if the kiss was really okay, you find the words caught in your mouth as he looked down at you. 

“Yeonjun, I’m gonna fuck up my lipstick, too.” He spoke without his eyes leaving yours. You feel yourself throb in anticipation, aching dully as Yeonjun stands and sighed dramatically. 

“As if you don’t always ruin my hard work anyway. Go on and kiss while I get your baby all ready.” Yeonjun set up the camera, waving a hand and letting a video play as they and Changbin stood just behind in, moving so subtly you could barely hear them as Wooyoung leaned in to kiss you. 

You meet him half way, craning your neck up and humming in delight as your breasts squish against his chest. Whereas Changbin’s kiss tasted of coffee, Wooyoung tasted of something sweet you couldn’t put your finger on. You feel his muscles twitch below you, a small frustrated growl leaving his lips at the reminder he couldn’t wrap his arms around you. 

A small inhale from across the room draws your attention for a moment and you break the kiss with Wooyoung, kissing down to his neck for the camera, while you were actually stealing a peek at what Yeonjun and Changbin had been up to.

You clench on nothing when you find Yeonjun watching the two of you, their hand over Changbin’s mouth and the other wrapped around his cock as they stroked him slowly. You could see every vein on his cock even from here, and it made your mouth water instantly at the thought of it inside of you. 

Yeonjun caught you stealing glances and purred something into Changbin’s ear, stroking faster as they rolled their thumb over the head of his cock, smearing precum along the tip. 

‘Look at them, they’re both practically begging for your cock. 

They nibble at Changbin’s earlobe and mutter something you can’t hear, and you remember you shouldn’t stare for too long, turning your head to kiss Wooyoung once more. He happily responded in kind, lifting his hips to grind his cock against your folds as best he could. 

“Wooyoung-” Your voice came out breathless against his lips as your hips twitch. Both of you did your best to rut against one another, your nipples perked and erect against his chest as he lifted his hips. 

At some point the camera is moved, and you can hear the sound of shutter clicks as Wooyoung rolled his hips up, grinding his cock against your clit. 

“Good boy, I bet it aches so much, doesn’t it? Being sooo~ Close to Y/n’s pussy but not being able to have it. I bet you could slip riiight inside with how wet they are.” Yeonjun purred from behind the both of you. A pathetic and frustrated sound ripped from Wooyoung’s chest as Yeonjun paused in their teasing to grab his cock, stroking it right against your entrance. 

It took everything in you not to just sit down and take every inch, but just as soon as the thought crossed your mind, Yeonjun stopped teasing Wooyoung, taking a few pictures of his cock right against your pussy before they reached to cup your core, rubbing slowly. 

“Fuck!” You curse, pressing against Wooyoung as you raise your hips, chasing Yeonjun’s soft touch against your clit. They chuckle and rub your clit in fast circles, leaning into your ear as you moan and rut against their hand. 

“Look at you, you’re a natural~” They purr, pulling their hand away after a moment. 

“You don’t even need me to keep you interested, both of you are enjoying each other’s company just fine~” They sing, laughing as you subtly raise your hips to try and get them to keep touching you. 

“Oh? For me? You shouldn’t have~” They purr, licking the precum off of their fingers before planting a firm slap to your pussy. A jolt of pleasure shot up from your clit all the way up to your spine and it’s only Wooyoung’s presence that kept you from completely falling face first into the sheets as your body quivered in excitement. 

“We have a shoot to do, darling. Focus on that and maybe I’ll give you more treats later.” They tease, walking away from the two of you to grab the camera. 

You can feel yourself aching for release as Yeonjun took a few more pictures, and a passing comment about how wet you were and how much you’d gotten on Wooyoung’s cock made you clench. 

“You both okay?” Changbin inquired, having rolled a ring down over his cock to keep himself hard as he moved you and Wooyoung around, untying your legs and slowly stretching them for you before he took a step back to think, eyes wandering over both of your bodies. 

You nod, leaning on Wooyoung as you try to keep your head from spinning. He put his head on yours, giving an affirmation that he, too, was okay and Yeonjun whispered something into Changbin’s ear once more. 

His face lit up with inspiration, moving the ropes around with skill, his tongue poking out as he concentrated. 

You find yourself bound to Wooyoung with a hitachi wand settled into the ropes. Changbin had settled you in Wooyoung’s lap, and both of you could feel the head of the wand right against yourselves as Yeonjun came close to admire the work. 

“I know I’m a genius when it comes to ideas, but you really can take most anything and put it into your rope work, huh?” They praised idly, taking a few pictures. You meet Wooyoung’s gaze, and wonder if he can feel the thundering anticipation of your own heart as you wait for the buzzing of the toy. 

Wooyoung looked every bit as excited as you felt, lipstick smudged onto the corner of his lips and even his cheek as he leaned up for another kiss. Changbin’s hands find their way into both of your hair, pulling just hard enough to make you both inhale sharply, tilting your heads back. 

Its then when you come face to face with Changbin’s cock. Thick and throbbing, its right in front of both of you and you’re almost embarrassed by the way you felt your mouth water. You almost go cross-eyed staring. Movement caught your attention, and you can feel Wooyoung’s breath as he leaned closer despite the grip in his hair, kissing the side of his cock. You mirror him, running your lips over the other side. 

Changbin groaned, keeping still with an impressive amount of control for someone having their dick kissed and teased by two people. Wooyoung moved his head down, lapping at Changbin’s balls and you take the opportunity to slide him into your mouth, dragging your tongue along the slit before dipping the tip if it in, purring to yourself as his hips twitched ever so slightly. 

Yeonjun moved somewhere in the room, but you hardly pay it any mind as you bob your head, trying to see how far down on his cock yoy could leave your lipstick mark. Wooyoung noticed and watched with half lidded eyes as you swallow down a little over half of his cock, your eyes watering as you hold yourself down. Wooyoung smiled at you like the cat that ate the canary, moving his lips off of Changbin’s balls to gently nudge your cheek. 

You move and watch Wooyoung slide down slowly, his throat bulged out as he wrapped his lips just short of the base of Changbin’s cock. You watch in wonder, seeing Wooyoung’s throat move as Changbin slowly fucked it, and you take the time to lick at Wooyoung’s bulging adam’s apple. 

He moaned quietly before it turned into a choked gasp, one you shared with him as you suddenly feel the wand situated between the two of you switch on. The two of you squirm and writhe, not realizing every jolt and movement only pressed you both closer to each other, and thus kept the wand firmly in place between you. 

Changbin watched you both with hooded eyes, grabbing his cock at the base and stroking it slowly in front of both of your faces without a word. He looked ready to burst, his cock flushed a lovely shade of dark pink as you and Wooyoung met in the middle, moaning around the head of his cock as you shared a kiss. 

Gradually, the speed and intensity of the vibrations turned up until both you and Wooyoung were incoherently rutting against one another, moaning and kissing each other and Changbin’s cock as you chased your orgasm. 

You feel your muscles tense, sweat rolling down your body as you hump and grind against Wooyoung and the toy, a coil tightening in your stomach. Wooyoung is just as bad, mouth open as swears and pleads for it not to stop cascade out of his mouth. 

Changbin stepped away without you realizing, letting Yeonjun have the full shot with the best lighting as you and Wooyoung finally cum. Your pussy clenches around nothing, tears running down your cheeks as you tried-and failed-to decide if you wanted to rut more into the wand or shy away from the powerful sensations. 

You wouldn’t have been able to in this state, anyway. 

Wooyoung threw his head back, body jolting as he thrusted upwards, sending the head of the toy against your clit as he came all over both of your stomachs, a string of colorful words freefalling from his lips. 

You whine and pant, feeling hand in your hair, and you realize Changbin has moved back into place again, stroking his cock in both of your faces, the ring discarded somewhere. Wooyoung and you both open your mouths, occasionally jolting and trembling as the toy buzzed on between you. 

Changbin bit his lip hard, chest rising and falling quickly as he finally came, thick ropes of cum landing across both your faces and along your tongues. Changbin made sure to milk his cock, stroking and squeezing until every last drop had landed on either you or Wooyoung before he stepped out of the way, letting Yeonjun come close for the final shots. 

You and Wooyoung look up, panting quietly before licking your lips, mirroring Yeonjun behind the camera. You glance at Wooyoung and lean up for a kiss, sharing the last few drops with him as Yeonjun filmed. 

“And we’re done.” Yeonjun called, setting the camera aside and turning the wand off. You let your head thump onto Wooyoung’s shoulder as you try and catch your breath, feeling Changbin untie you both. 

“You okay?” He inquired, helping you out of Wooyoung’s lap. 

“Holy fuck.” You murmur after a moment, hearing all three of them burst into laughter.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

You smile and thank Changbin after he finished helping you stretch, a bottle of lotion situated on the downstairs table. He moved over to Wooyoung to help him with his sore muscles and you can see Yeonjun curled up on the couch, glasses on their face as they edited the videos and pictures. 

“I hope you had fun, Y/n. I know I did.” Wooyoung hummed, smiling and giving Changbin a spiderman kiss after pulling him down to his level. You take a sip of tea as Changbin kissed him back. 

“I meant it. You’re a natural.” Yeonjun praised, voice sounding absent as they cropped certain frames out of the overall video. You feel heat creep to the back of your neck as you nurse your cup of tea. 

“I think…I’ll want to do some more in the future. If that’s alright with everyone here.” You say after a moment. Wooyoung and Changbin look at you in surprise and Yeonjun smiled, tilting their head to the left. 

“I knew you’d be a good edition.”

“Y/n! This is great!” Wooyoung shot up and crawled over to you, setting his chin on your knees like a puppy. You could swear there were stars in his eyes as he looked at you. It made you flustered, and you lightly turn his head to look away from you, only for it to snap back where it originally was. 

“This means you can choose the next set, Y/n. It’s only fair.” Changbin told you, picking Wooyoung up with ease and making him lay down as he rubbed the lotion on his legs and checked the rope marks. 

You bring the cup up to your lips, smiling ever so slightly. 

“I’ll take some time to think about it, then.” 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Taglist

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@kimnamshiks @atiny-dazzlinglight @angel0taiyo @not-majestic-bluenicorn  @daisyhwa @gettin-a-lil-hanse @yunhofingers @xlilehx @skmoonchild @seomisaho @asyamonet22​ @drunk-on-hwa​ @shingisimp​ @dreamyinception-world​ @soluvcore​ @twistedsiren​ @xuxibelle​ 

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

overture to the sun sounds FIRE what is it about??

It's the Skyrim Dawnguard quest line with a very traumatized former Vigilant of Stendarr & an equally traumatized werewolf becoming Serana's new parents because her old ones suck. The title is probably cooler than the actual fic itself will be, but I have had brain worms ever since finding out about Sunforest & I couldn't not take inspiration from one of their songs.

Also this fic actually has some writing instead of just my plot notes so I can post a little! As a treat

She dismounted, one hand lingering on her steed as she took two steps forward; on the third step, her hand fell from the horse to her dagger, her long fingers curling around the leather-wrapped hilt. As she drew ever closer, he still looked on at the ruins of the Hall of the Vigilant. She stopped, now the same distance from the smoking rubble as the man but from the other direction.

“Hey!”

The man startled as she called out to him, his honey brown eyes wide with surprise and some kind of unidentifiable wildness. Ellanin raised her head slightly, looking down at him even more as she sniffed the air. Only horse and man and the lingering smell of burning bodies. Something different made this man look like she did upon her first full moon after the attack.

“What happened here?” He asked, his voice cracking and hoarse from either over or underuse. Ellanin came closer to him, trudging through the powdery snow as her hand slipped from her dagger and into the inner pocket of her green wool cloak. Engaged and identified as merely human, the man didn’t seem like much threat anymore.

“Burned down by vampires. Only one of them escaped to tell us about it.”

“Oh…oh divines.” The man crouched down in the snow, practically curling in on himself. His elbows came to rest on his knees as his hands, fingers spread as if he meant to claw at his own skin and rip out his beard, covered the lower half of his face. The edges of his cloak parted, revealing the sky blue surcoat he wore over a long tunic and mail. His clothes definitely looked foreign, stuffier and more formal than anything she’d purchased from the local Nords, but pendants looked the same everywhere, and she did not need to look at the emblem on the chain hanging about his neck. Even though it was obscured by his arms the man’s reaction told her what it held.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You can see it yourself but…” Ellanin faltered, slightly, bright orange eyes darting from the crumpling Vigilant to the rubble, “hearing it is different. More real, I guess.”

“I was supposed to help them,” he croaked. Ellanin looked back at him, thin lips going tight as her front teeth clamped down over them, keeping them together.

In her silence, he continued. “I wasted so much time. If I’d been here, if I hadn’t…that godsforsaken city. I should have been here in time!”

“Tolan said there were a dozen of them. One extra set of hands wouldn’t have done much, I don’t think.”

He looked up at her, eyes conflicted as his mouth opened and closed over the words that wouldn’t leave his throat. Finally, the man averted his gaze and responded, “no, it wouldn’t have.”

She swallowed, gaze desperately going from the man, to the snowy ground. There were a couple of different things giving up like that could mean, Ellanin wanted to address neither. Not with herself or people she had ever been close to, and certainly not with a stranger. Still, she couldn’t just let him rot here in the snow.

“The survivor, Brother Tolan, he said he would meet me at some cave they’d been scoping out. Dimhollow Crypt. If you come with me, I’m sure he’d–”

“You would do that?” He asked, standing back up, “bring me with you to see…to do what I must?”

“I’ll bring you with me so he can go with you back to Fort Dawnguard…get you taken care of. How long have you been out here?”

[teecupangel]

Opinion/headcannon for Clay/Desmond or Protocreed?

As someone who ships Desmond with anyone, I approve of both of these.

Have some headcanons/opinions, nonny!

Clay/Desmond:

They would understand one another the most in the modern day because they are both Animus Subjects who get fucked by Juno in one way or another

They both see each other as broken but they don’t think they can ‘fix’ them. Instead, they believe they can be there for each other and they’re hoping that would be enough. (That, in turn, is what helps them get through the bad days)

Clay can’t help but be jealous of Desmond because of how easy it is for him to synch with his Bleeds and have a more symbiotic relationship with them

In a full-on Modern AU, they’re likely to be a ‘friends-to-lovers’ sort of couple or what started out as friends with benefits kind of deal.

If Desmond is the one time-traveling, saving Clay would be on his ‘to do’ list and their relationship will deepen over the course of Clay helping this mysterious person who seemed to know more than he’s telling and is really bad at asking for help

If Clay is the one time-traveling, Clay’s main point is to fuck with Juno and the Isu’s plans (and also make Abstergo pay). Desmond is meant to be a means to an end or, at the very least, that’s what Clay would tell himself but that’s not really true.

Clay is definitely the type to go ‘fuck the world’ if it means saving Desmond.

If they did have a relationship during AC Revelations, it would be something fast and passionate, more of a moment of passion brought by loneliness and fear over what would happen if the Synch Nexus didn’t work. Any romantic overtures will be minimal and it’ll be more of a playful friends-with-benefits kind of deal. Although, Desmond would never forget the moments he shared with Clay and any attempts to revive/bring back Clay in this scenario would have a longing that Desmond is unfamiliar with.

ProtoCreed (Alex/Desmond):

(while I’m not sure if it will be Alex/Desmond, here’s a fic idea of mine about a ProtoCreed)

In a world where both Prototype and Assassin’s Creed coexist in harmony in terms of lore and storyline, the OG Alex Mercer will have definitely met Desmond Miles before.

If Bad Weather is a nightclub, it was a one-time deal where Alex just accompanied some officemates when he was just starting out at Gentek to the club because they insisted. If Bad Weather is an upscale bar, he’s one of the regulars who order once and just nurses it for the rest of his stay there. Either way, OG Alex doesn’t even remember Desmond.

When the shit in Manhattan goes down, Alex is attracted to Desmond because of his genes. The abnormally concentrated Isu genes are making the Zeus virus go “Hhmmm. Information? Mutation? Go check???”

Desmond sees Alex shapeshifting and his first thoughts are “… I wanna say Abstergo experimenting with POE gone wrong… let’s see what happens if I touch it?”

They’re two dumbasses who know the other person is dangerous but there’s… a sexual tension to all their interactions.

They’re also reluctant allies who share information and help each other out because they have similar goals (Alex: find out the truth, Desmond: see if Gentek has any POEs or any dealings with Abstergo)

Desmond wouldn’t care about Alex’s true identity. He wouldn’t even care about who the real Alex Mercer is. To him, Alex is just Alex. So he’s an actual virus, he’s the goddamn chosen one of an advanced civilization that got wiped out by the freaking sun. They all have their issues.

Alex is protective of Desmond even if he knows that Desmond can take care of himself. He will level an entire military base if he even smells Desmond’s blood in the air. (even if Desmond is a dumbass who just got a papercut checking the documents while he was 100% sneaking inside)

Desmond, on the other hand, believes Alex can take anything. He’ll worry like hell but, at the same time, he knows that Alex will always come back to him.

This is one couple that an ending of ‘to be completely and wholly one’ is certainly not out of the table but a lot of shit has to happen to get that dark.

Tentacle sex. Tentacle sex. Tentacle sex. Bitey bitey tentacle sex.

These two are kinky and they make use of Alex’s shapeshifting ability to do weird sex stuff.

[PROTOTYPE]2 does not exist. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Alex Mercer’s story ended with one game.

[bylerbigbang]

ai! ai! (fūnestaque littera ducta est)

Fic by @willow-lark | Art by @oushinq

Teen | 25k words

William is what mortals call their most beloved god, the light-bringer and protector of growth. He and his sister, the lady of the night, circle each other eternally, taking turns having domain over the sky. The god bestows his love upon humanity in return, adoring them all, but--as happens every few centuries or so--one particular mortal with dark curls and a sharp expression has lately caught his eye.

William sets out to earn Prince Michael's affection, but as the god's love for him becomes more passionate and they become even more entwined, all it takes is a single collision to the god's delicately human happiness.

Warnings: Major Character Death

Read on Ao3 | View Art

Read an excerpt below:

“William,” the prince says simply. “Here you have come in the flesh.”

He does not do it intentionally, but there does come across a slight edge of exasperation in his tone. To the god, he comes across as unimpressed, and that he would very much rather return to his lazy occupation than spend any more time interacting with the god.

Fortunately for the prince, the god—whether he realizes that the prince did not intend this impression or not—is quite pleased with his greeting. It is always nice when mortals show him their devotion right off the bat, but exasperation means that this prince will need to be won over, that the god will have to work for his conquest. And that is something that the god can always appreciate. Here he is in the flesh, indeed: William, as the mortals have long since taken to calling him, the Sun itself, the resolute protector of growth, his light and warmth constant and expansive across the earth. So he smiles back, beaming. (Indeed, that very adjective, at least as it applies to smiles, was derived from the being of the god himself, and invented the very first time he came down in a mortal form upon the earth, for there is certainly no other way to describe the way that he grins.

Beaming, indeed.)

He waits, and the prince understands that he is very much expected to continue.

“I am Prince Michael of Hawkins,” the prince continues. The very next words that come out of his mouth may very well either seal his destruction or seal his glory, depending on how the god takes them, but based on the clear and shining amusement in the expression of the god before him, the prince decides to take a gamble. “Would you like to be my friend?”

(A mortal human asking a god for friendship! How bizarre, indeed. Usually, such overtures come the other way around, and the mortal who is being asked generally does not have very much choice in the matter. An extraordinary circumstance—the first of its kind, never before having occurred in the world, though the prince has absolutely no concept at all of the unusual nature of his request.)

Even so, the god does not mind it—for he beams impossibly wider, and answers, “Yes.”

Read more on Ao3 >

[therapeutic-dose]

fic authors self rec! when you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love~<333333

Ohhh this is neat! Thanks Wren!

So starting from oldest to most recent:

2012 A Moment More | BBC Merlin | Merthur | G | 3,719 | Complete

It's late, Arthur is drunk, and Guinevere is gone. In the cover of night, Merlin and Arthur share what can never be.

2016 Stepping Forward | Daiya no A | MiSawa | G | 1,499| Complete

The story behind "Just recently, that four-eyes finally went to Sawamura's house and got on his knees. Of course he came back with a beauty of a shiner to show for it." Wherein Kazuya and Sawamura's coming out doesn't go especially smoothly for Kazuya's face. Based on the DnA doujinshi "Last Days" by Yuta, as scanlated by Team Karaage.

2022 Tempered  | MDZS | ZhanChengXian | Explicit | 42,099 | WIP

Jiang Cheng is dying. The insidious spread of hatred's venom has lead to the beginning stages of the dissolution of the greatest gift he never wanted: Wei Wuxian's golden core. In the face of this knowledge, he must finally learn to reconcile that hatred to what it truly is, what it only ever has been... Love. Undying, unrelenting love for the man he once called brother, and the man he once called ally and friend: Wei Wuxian and his husband, Lan Wangji.

2023 The Sun Rose on a Wednesday | KP the Series | Vegas Character Study | M | 4,512 | Complete

Vegas is familiar with the taste of ash in his mouth. There are times when the fire burns out in him, the fuel of the flames exhausted. The blood and bone and skin, cruelty and torture and death, all become ash. Only ash, only dust, only the echo of a beginning and an end, a taunt from a disgruntled audience to just let his story end. He tries not to think, as he eats this meal made with hope, with trembling hands and racing heart and tears gathered at his waterline, refusing to fall until the final curtain call. There will be no encore. --- Vegas, in the aftermath of Pete.

2024 Harmony's Overture | KP the Series | KimChayMacau | M | 44,149 | Complete

When Chay planted the stupid idea for Macau to go get hammered at a sketchy bar and see if it would somehow lure Kim out of his seven years of silence, Macau had rolled his eyes. Like, in what universe would that work? Kim doesn't give a shit about him. But when Macau made one last bid to get Kim's attention, that's exactly what he did - and boy, did he ever get it. And in the aftermath, there is Porchay, his best (only) friend. His only friend, whose feelings might not be exactly friendly... — Part two of this KimChayMacau verse, this time from Macau’s point of view.

Tbh this was tough even though I only have like 21 fics on AO3 lmao. I wanted to put some older fic up so that was fun to comb back through things!

[iantimony]

TRIUMPHANT RETURN OF THE TUESDAY

first tuesday again no problem instead of tuesday again (problem) in a while

listening: twilight mirage! the TM soundtrack was my study music as well so twilight mirage all the way around. i just finished miracle of the mirage and have moved into the transition eps to the new system. my friend told me he listens to shostakovich's festive overture before exams and i thought about trying that but idk if im powerful enough for it. also shostakovich is gym music. to me. and i dont want to ruin that association

reading: this locked tomb fic was ... i think reblogged by someone i follow? it's not bad. i feel like the characterization of camilla is a little strange but also it's a perfect lyctorhood + 700 year time skip au so it's not a huge deal. large portion of it is very horny, for some reason the nsfw sections were not hitting, i did skim most of them, otherwise excellent distraction from studying.

i also found this very charming. i'm not normally a DC superhero person but i think the conceit of a normal ass person who is incapable of being killed and is acting in a believable way about it is very cute and fun.

watching: some misc youtube videos, evan and katelyn etc. nothing substantial otherwise.

making: oh i be making! my pottery stuff is all coming along, i really hope some of it gets fired before i leave sunday...no pictures really of those guys at the moment but rest assured. there will be images when the glaze fires are done

yesterday after my final (well, after the nap after my final) i started working on the print block that i've been rotating in my brain for weeks

might be girlbossing a little close to the sun with the numbers on the dial but we'll see....

i also went to life drawing yesterday, the 5min poses and my first attempt at the long pose were flops but my short gestures and second attempt weren't bad

i wanted to spend more time on the cloth but i was just using. a mechanical pencil with hard lead. and it was a huge pain in the ass.

misc: after weathering a weak of giga-antibiotic (fine) and a steroid treatment (bad), i am reluctantly probably going to get little tubes put in my eardrums like i am a child. it will be. fine. im excited to not feel dizzy and uncomfortable any more. enormous pain in the ass though. basically a full month of bad ear hell has really not made the end of this semester any easier.

on the plus side, my monday final (8am, lmao,) is done! goodbye quantum!!! no promises til i get my grade back tomorrow obviously but my gut feeling is that i probably passed the class. he really asked some ass questions (all semester ive been like "there's no way he asks us to derive clebsch gordan coefficients WELL,) but it's over. so. hurrah. next tuesday again no problem will be at home with a puppy >:D

[qteapie-em]

I posted 6,100 times in 2022

That's 4,822 more posts than 2021!

17 posts created (0%)

6,083 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@/dragoncxv360

@/sabertoothwalrus

@/anangelcalledinquisitor

@/naffeclipse

@/drgnsmile

I tagged 3,449 of my posts in 2022

Only 43% of my posts had no tags

#fnaf sb - 1,936 posts

#fnaf the daycare attendant - 1,868 posts

#the daycare attendant x reader - 983 posts

#video - 318 posts

#fnaf sb au - 197 posts

#art inspo - 137 posts

#solar lunacy - 130 posts

#fnaf detective au - 74 posts

#ccrt - 74 posts

#dcmk - 74 posts

Longest Tag: 68 characters

#😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Tagged by @zaidnovi!

Favorite color: Perry the Platypus teal

Currently Reading: Sun & Moon fanfics, “The Project” by Courtney Summers

Last song: “OK Overture” by AJR

Last movie: How to Train Your Dragon

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet!

Currently Working On: Checking as many animation scenes as I can before the hurricane hits tomorrow, in case we lose power

Tag: anyone who wants to play!

4 notes - Posted September 22, 2022

#4

Today is my birthday! 🥳

13 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

#3

My favorite moment from the amazing fic Time to Bow by @naffeclipse, part of their Sleuth Jesters series! This is from Part 5, so I recommend starting with Part 1!

I love @starlightcloudbaby's Detective AU so much, and I love naffeclipse's interpretation in their fics!!

280 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

#2

My first time drawing Sun or Moon! For @anangelcalledinquisitor and their amazing fic, Holding the World! The Y/N design is theirs as well!

I love this fic so much - this scene is from Chapter 25, where Y/N is recovering in the hospital after having the twins! The Moon cuddles were so soft, they just made my heart melt!

294 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Another bit of silly fanart for @anangelcalledinquisitor's fic "Holding the World" and the sequel, "Raising Starlings"!

These go with the Moon one I did a bit ago!

512 notes - Posted August 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[ekingston]

For the ask game:

Supercorp fic where Lena runs a popular webseries/blog about plants and plant care and Kara (one of her avid subscribers) is absolutely hapless when it comes to keeping plants alive and is constantly asking Lena for help only to fail spectacularly. Lena is *convinced* Kara is fucking with her on purpose, and kinda sorta hates her virtual guts

(Now also on a03.)

Lena isn’t naive.

When she made the decision to set up a discord server for her plant vlog’s followers, she knew there was a possibility things might get messy. After all, even while remaining anonymous — she can practically hear her PR team screaming at the idea of Lena Luthor running her own verified social media account — her comment section has always been 45% earnest compliments and questions from beginner botanists and 55% unabashed thirst over her sexy hands and soothing voice. Lena imagined any possible frustration caused by having to sidestep the occasional untoward overture would be worth the satisfaction she gets from teaching fellow hobbyists to take better care of their plants. It’s nice to feel like she’s being appreciated, for a change, to be allowed to play hero in a small way, different from L-Corp’s high-stakes idealism or Supergirl’s histrionic stunts.

(She still hasn’t managed to set up a meeting with National City’s super-powered alien in residence, but she’s certain it will be any day now.)

Lena couldn’t have predicted that the most aggravating individual on her server wouldn’t turn out to be a persistent suitor, but rather a member of the plant-loving minority.

If the violence this ‘Kvers’ person routinely inflicts on their houseplants can be considered love.

Why are my plant’s leaves yellowing? had been this idiot’s first, innocuous ask. Moments later, they’d followed it up with a picture of the brown, crisp remains of what Lena had only vaguely recognized must at one point have been a vibrant green ZZ plant.

Because it’s fucking dead, Lena had wanted to reply, suggesting instead Is it possible it’s near a window where it gets too much direct light?

My place does get a good amount of sun, Kvers had responded. I kind of prefer it that way. Lena had given her a list of plants that would fare better in those conditions, and hoped that would be that.

But it didn't end there; it’s actually only gotten worse. Kvers is in Lena’s notifications what feels like every other day now with fresh doubts and queries. Why do you even have plants, Lena is tempted to respond half the time, when it’s obvious you’re too much of a moron to even be trusted to take care of yourself?

Are banana plants supposed to tear this easily? comes the next question, combined with a picture of a Dwarf Cavendish that looks to have been ripped to shreds by a wind stronger than the average tornado.

“What the fuck,” Lena mumbles to herself. Some tearing is to be expected, they’re pretty frail, she replies, before snapping and adding I advise placing it a little further away from that jet engine you must have set up in your living room, however in a disgruntled huff.

Kvers sends her only a 😳 in response.

A fresh victim is presented to her a few days later, along with Kvers’s desperate plea of Can this little guy still be saved?

Pictured is the saddest Boston fern Lena has seen in her entire life: it’s bruised grey-brown and beige where it should be a vivid emerald, and when Lena clicks the image to enlarge, she finds herself frowning at what looks like a dusting of frost still clinging to the fronds.

Ferns can recover from freezing conditions but only if their roots weren’t also affected, Lena replies very professionally, her fingers shaking with silent outrage. Though I don’t understand why you’d keep a potted fern outdoors when it’s that cold. She’s beginning to wonder if this Kvers person is a genuine imbecile or an abusive prankster. Where do you live that you’re dealing with these weather conditions in August? she demands.

Oh, um, Kvers replies and then, after a few starts and stops, Southern California.

So Kvers is absolutely fucking with her.

It takes a week before they’re asking for Lena’s input again. This buddy is looking a little rough today, they post, do you think a good soak could help perk it back up?

The miserable money tree pictured is barely clinging to life. Lena peers through the furious red haze descending over her vision and swears it looks like its few remaining leaves are singed.

Lena’s patience has run out. Are you serious? she asks. Did someone burn your building down?

Small kitchen accident Kvers has the audacity to reply.

It’s the final straw in every sense of the word. Lena will not stand for this blatant abuse a moment longer, especially if it’s done exclusively for the purpose of getting her attention. Before she can think too much about it, before her rage recedes, she sends Kvers a direct message announcing she’s coming by for a home consultation.

Where in SoCal are you exactly?

As it turns out, Kvers is right here, in National City.

She’s also a bafflingly attractive — though fidgety — blonde.

Blue eyes widen and pink lips part when she answers the door, her shoulders so broad and her arms so beefy she takes up most of the space in the doorway to her loft. Lena probably wouldn’t be able to see past her, at her endangered plants beyond, if she still wanted to.

But she can tell her loft is well-lit, like she’d mentioned — she’s framed by the sun’s dying rays, her hair and skin golden and shimmering in a way not entirely of this earth.

This explains so much, Lena realizes, relieved. The wind. The frost. The burns.

Her would-be adversary is wearing glasses and her hair is up, and her flustered demeanor seems so awkwardly genuine that Lena wonders if the image this woman projects when she’s dressed in her more familiar reds and blues is the act — if this awestruck, faded-jeans-clad cutie is the real person that’s hiding underneath.

She looks far more human than Lena would have imagined.

“You’re Lena Luthor,” she finally manages to stutter out.

Lena regards her evenly. “Good to finally meet you,” she says, and, dropping her voice a little, “Supergirl.”