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flowerwrites06 · 9 months

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l'amour de ma vie — myg

L'AMOUR DE MA VIE | Love of my Life | Requested by anon.

Plot: Insecurities pile up in Yoongi's marriage after months of distance and neglect. Pairing: Pianist!Yoongi x Ballet Teacher!OC (Name: Kiku) Genre: Music & Ballet | Marriage on the Rocks Type: One-shot Rating: 18+ Word Count: 4.6k+ Warnings: marital insecurities, unintentional neglect, jealousy, mentions of divorce, mild mentions of injury from ballet, explicit sexual content (rough sex, unprotected sex, squirting). Author’s Note: new one-shot, friends! i really hope you enjoy this one, I loved writing it! be sure to let me know what you think!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Send your ideas in by August 1st before it closes!

Yoongi was a serious man. Kiku knew this well in the years she knew him. Their marriage didn’t flourish like fresh romances with many kisses and open affection but quiet trust helped their relationship stand strong.

When the doors closed, Yoongi often made up for his silence with soft kisses on her skin, calloused finger pads running down her neck and sneaking in between her core until she soaked the sheets.

However, things changed as the concerts began to pile up. When they were touring together as equal performers, Yoongi was active in ensuring that she heard compliments whispered in her ear. That he stared her way when she was on stage and she would sneak a look back whenever able.

Now Kiku wasn’t an equal performer and Yoongi’s attention on her was. . .low. Though Kiku understood why. It was concert season. Of course. That’s the only reason.

Of course, Yoongi was active and his face brightened like stars when he performed but lost the light in his eyes when he looked at her. It was exhaustion. It must’ve been. He would tell her if something was wrong.

Tonight was the same as the previous nights for. . .how long had it been? Two months, maybe three. Yoongi thrilled the audience with his performance, fingers dancing over the ivory keys like they were an extension of his own digits. Like the music was the air he breathed, exuding out of him. Kiku found it deliciously mesmerizing.

The audience roared with applause as the performance ended.

Yoongi bowed to the crowd, roses thrown his way before he walked backstage. Sweat slick on his forehead, pearling at the jawline. His grin disappeared immediately when he reached here. Kiku felt the weight of the lost smile but she leaned in and kissed his cheek anyway to congratulate him.

Yoongi barely leaned into it and rushed to change his clothes.

It was just exhaustion. Just exhaustion. Nothing more.

***

Today turned for the better. At least Kiku hoped as Yoongi received his first free day away from practices or concerts so he can enjoy the Italian sights for a while. The day was beautiful indeed, sun blazing gold amongst the sandstone buildings and flowers beds at the cafes burst in vibrant colour.

Kiku even wore her favourite silk corset dress with a thin cardigan over top for the spring breeze. Her black waves reached down to the small of her back and her enthusiasm thrumming to excitement. She felt as if she was waiting for a first date.

Yoongi finally entered the living room, wearing a white shirt and trousers.

“Did you want to go out to a café today?” Kiku asked, her voice kept soft and sweet. “It’s a beautiful day.”

Yoongi barely looked her way. “I have a small meeting with the producer. He wants some changes to the later performances,” he said. His tone was rushed and serious. As always. Everytime he began thinking of work, that was his tone.

Kiku knew this and she told herself this the moment her heart started squeezing unbearably. “When will you be back? Maybe we can go later.”

“I’m not sure. You can go by yourself and enjoy,” Yoongi said before rushing out without waiting for a response.

Breathing through the aches in her chest, Kiku did pick herself up and enjoy Italy. It was concert season. It was concert season. Everything will be back to normal once they’re home. It’ll be fine.

***

France was the next destination. This time, Kiku was invited to a ballet studio in Paris to teach some classes and have a studio room of her own to practice if she needed. It kept her distracted. Italy emptied Kiku and even the plane ride to France was Yoongi discussing things with his producer, Minho while she sat alone in her corner.

The dance studio brought her full of life again, the golden vines consuming the marble building like a living organism. The varnished wood floors, silk shoes and flowing dresses that returned Kiku to past days. To. . .happier days, she thought with a pain inside her.

Kiku and Yoongi fell in love during a different France tour years ago. Kiku was a prima ballerina in her early twenties. Lovely and enchanting, they called her. Yoongi played all her songs for her, watching her every move as if catering to her own movements and not the choreography itself. There was an intimacy behind that cohesion, that connection that not even six years of marriage managed to create. Perhaps that was a bad thought to have. To romanticise the first year of love as opposed to the commitment they were in now.

She should be happier now. She was happy. Happy, yes.

Was Yoongi happy? Was he happy that he watched her perform? Was it okay that Kiku was no longer that prima ballerina? She was no longer quite as lovely or enchanting.

Kiku danced every now and then but after an injury, her doctor encouraged her not to do performances like she used to. Otherwise it may lead to permanent damage. Yoongi supported her through her strained muscles, helping her through her exercises and reassuring her. But perhaps Yoongi didn’t plan on needing to take care of her. Perhaps the thought of her never being that ballerina again dawned on him and he grew distant.

No, it was silly. Silly to think it so. They were happy. Happy. Happy.

***

Kiku made her way to the stadium where Yoongi had his practice and performance later in the night. She brought fresh food from a nearby café with a small spring in her step. Sweet notes of the piano echoed in her ears. Even the tonality and energy of the notes made her know that it was Yoongi. It gave her both this nostalgia and fresh nuance of something new, like a first kiss or a sneaky touch on the back of her hand.

Kiku smiled at the people backstage, placing the food on the table.

“This’ll be good for the newer performances,” she heard Minho say as they looked out to the stage.

Kiku followed their gaze and saw the new addition. The reason why Minho wanted to have so many meetings. A young ballerina was on the stage, dancing freely to the notes played by Yoongi.

Her grin was bright and energetic, understanding completely the importance of her performance carried out. Lovely and enchanting.

Kiku knew it was normal for pianists to do this. To have different performances showcase creativity and enthusiasm. But the sight of it felt like stones crushing her slowly. It was normal for this to happen, she told herself. Yet Kiku felt it deep in her heart, deep in her gut, this unbearable pain when the reality sank in.

Kiku didn’t belong to his world anymore.

She was a wife who tried to be part of his world but not in his world.

Perhaps Yoongi knew this and stayed silent to protect her feelings. He never liked confrontation. Or it just didn’t matter and he would get rid of her after the tour.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Minho asked. “Back to his roots?”

Kiku attempted a smile as she always did. Attempting a smile. Maintaining an energy to make sure everyone else felt good. To make sure Yoongi felt good, without burden.

“I’m feeling a bit unwell,” Kiku said. “I’ll be going home.”

“Don’t you want to wait until he finishes?” Minho asked, confused. Kiku never left once she got to Yoongi’s practice, not even when she was sick.

How silly she was. Constantly leering at the edges of a place she didn’t belong to anymore. Trying to squeeze into a place in Yoongi’s heart that was probably getting smaller and smaller. He had no time for her. Kiku couldn’t force him.

Oh, the thought of it burned her eyes. Her stomach felt like it was singed.

Frustration pricked at her. “I’ll talk to him when he gets home.” She lied. He’ll be fine without me.

***

Yoongi adored having more performances linked to his piano pieces. While he enjoyed having his solo acts, it was nice to be in the background for a moment and allow for his music to be interconnected with dance or a story. The exhaustion and boredom that begun to linger in the past performances rejuvenated back into a sense of excitement. At least the final shows of the tour were something of energy and new light.

The ballerina bowed elegantly after the practice performance. Yoongi returned backstage with his heart pumping through his ribcages at asking Kiku whether she liked the new addition. She had grown a bit quiet towards the end of the Italy leg. Perhaps seeing some of her own art showcased on stage would bring her spirits up.

Except Kiku wasn’t there.

“Did Kiku not come yet?” Yoongi asked before gulping a bottle of water.

Minho, his producer, shrugged. “She said she felt unwell. But you have food.” He gestured to the apricot pastry, sandwich and coffee on the table.

Yoongi was used to having Kiku sit there with him as he ate or eat with him. Having the chair next to him empty felt cold and unwelcoming. She must’ve been really sick. “I can go early to check on her.”

Minho hummed. “I mean you can but it’d be safe to do another practice run.”

Yoongi stared at the empty chair for a while. Maybe she was asleep and he would only be disturbing. Besides, he had a few shows left. Might as well get it all out of the way.

***

Night already fell into a deep dark abyss by the time Yoongi was done with practice. He wanted to come back home in the afternoon but he got distracted at work. It was a habit of his, long rotting inside him yet hard to rip away. Moonlight painted their hotel room in a pale silver before Yoongi turned the light on for a splash of warm apricot light against the crème couches and opulent lamps.

“Kiku?” Yoongi asked.

There was no response for longer than Yoongi was comfortable.

But then Kiku walked through the bedroom door, wearing a soft cotton lace nightdress with her hair, a little messy from a nap. Her eyes were soft and glossed, her cheeks sweet and a little puffed. Kiku didn’t move from her spot, looking at him carefully.

A small part of Yoongi’s body had gotten prepared for her to walk to him and kiss him on the cheek. A more selfish part of him expected her to wait for him because she always did, even when she was sniffling from sickness. “You weren’t feeling well?”

Kiku stared at him, as if confused by Yoongi’s concern like it was foreign to her. Yoongi hadn’t seen that look on her face and something about it hurt her. “I’m feeling better,” she said softly.

“Is it your legs?” Yoongi asked, a little more careful this time.

Kiku still looked at him like that. Like Yoongi hadn’t spoken to her of such intimacy in a long time.

Well. . .he didn’t, did he? When was the last time Yoongi asked her if she ate well? Or slept well? Or even how she was? Yoongi tried his best to remember. He must’ve had asked her how she was this morning. Or kissed her. But he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember the last time he had any conversation with her.

“I’m alright, Yoongi,” Kiku said. “Get some rest, it’s okay.”

Yoongi wanted to argue that he could give her a massage or help her get better but Kiku already walked back into the room. Without a smile or a kiss. The air grew cold again and Yoongi worried that his habits may have touched a nerve too delicate for his own good.

***

“An extension?” Yoongi had a single finger tapping softly on a D note, not pressing it for sound but thinking as Minho announced that he wanted to have a few more weeks of shows. “The tour has already gone on for months. We all need rest.”

Minho hummed, waving his hand. “You can rest later. This’ll be good for your career.”

It would be. Especially with ballet studios from France wishing to administer their own ballerinas into the mix, it would be so good for his career. But a shadow loomed over him. Kiku’s distance wasn’t going unnoticed by Yoongi. She hadn’t been to any of his practices since that day and it had been a week already.

Kiku wasn’t sick anymore. Something else was wrong.

“Kiku and I’s anniversary is in two weeks. I don’t want to be busy in a concert during that time, we’ve never worked on anniversaries.” Yoongi shook his head. He remembered how she worked around her training schedules to ensure that their anniversary was always free. Something was already wrong and for Yoongi to break a tradition along with it was stupid.

“Well, Kiku can come along with you.” Minho smiled. “She can even train the ballerinas herself, she’s a qualified teacher. Spend your anniversary in Paris.”

Yoongi could try to get a free day during the tour again. He had a free day in Italy, which he used to have a work meeting. Maybe this time, they could explore France. “Alright, I’ll talk to her.”

***

Kiku was at a ballet studio, Yoongi was told. Not by Kiku but the hotel receptionist who was asked to send a message if Yoongi tried to look for her. Kiku always texted him directly if she wanted to communicate something but they’ve resorted to this now, he supposed. Yoongi made his way to the ballet studio, the smell of wood and perfume wafting in the air as he walked up the stairs to the top level practice area.

Kiku was there, wearing a flowy white skirt, transparent, crème with a black top. Her hair was open as she always kept it when practicing dances on her own. Even after the injury, her every move was precise, the pointe of her toes like an ethereal being and her form like a swan.

Yoongi remembered watching her all day. He had become so used to her presence, close to him like his own extension. After all this distance, he was once again the humble pianist watching a prima ballerina conjuring magic with her dance.

Dark, pretty eyes flickered to him then and Kiku stopped, her expression neutral again.

Yoongi tried to push down the squeeze in his chest. He wanted her to smile at him again, to rush to him and kiss him. But she stood there, distant and unmoving. “I—Minho wants to extend the tour.” He wanted to make a more personal introduction but the room turned cold so quickly, he couldn’t muster the right tender words.

Kiku stared at him, a twitch in her eye. So she was uncomfortable. “It’s alright. It’s good for your career.”

Now she was keeping her feelings hidden from him.

Hurt turned to a flash of frustration. “You weren’t at the practice.”

“I figured you didn’t need me hovering over you all the time,” Kiku said plainly.

“You’re my wife, I want you there.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been doing a good job at showing it.”

Ah. His bad habit. Still rotting inside him and now it was rotting at the seams of his marriage. Kiku’s neutral expression flashed with truth now, making Yoongi wish she was hiding it again. It wasn’t anger. Not really. It was deep hurt and helplessness. “Kiku.” His voice was meek. It made him feel stupider that he realized it immediately yet too late.

The hurt solidified behind Kiku’s expression.

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose, I was—”

“Busy, I know. Believe me, it was the only word I’ve hinged on to. . .gain strength.” Kiku let out a long sigh, soft and weary and slow.

Yoongi knew it was to hide her voice shaking as her eyes turned glossier. He hated it. Hated that he was the reason. Hated that he didn’t even know it because he never felt he had to. Kiku always had herself put together, always a sturdy foundation. So much so that Yoongi grew too lax. Too careless. And now it was coming back to haunt him in the flesh.

“You can continue the tour without me,” Kiku said.

“No.”

“It’s stupid to cancel the tour on my accord. You’ve come this far.” She shook her head.

“I am not leaving you.” Yoongi’s voice raised a little, desperate and pleading. “Kiku. I wanted you to be with me, spend our anniversary in France.”

“I don’t want to be in France.” Kiku’s throat bobbed up and down. “It reminds me too much of what I’m not anymore. Of what I can’t be.”

“What do you mean?” Yoongi asked.

“I’m not the wonderful ballerina I used to be,” Kiku whispered. “People look straight through me and it never bothered me but now. . .you do too.”

Yoongi’s heart dropped. “Kiku, I never. . .I don’t care if you’re a ballerina or not, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“It doesn’t matter to you because you can always put a new one on stage.” Her voice cracked then, unable to hold herself together. “I can’t find some other person who will think I’m worth keeping.”

“I’m keeping you,” Yoongi argued. “I know I’ve been wrong to distance myself from you but that will never change the fact that you’re mine. And I’m yours. All of it, always.”

Kiku stayed silent, finally letting out a shaky sigh. It was that slightest glimpse of vulnerability that gave Yoongi hope. The wall wasn’t cement, it was a curtain still, giving him to room to walk closer so he could catch the faint waft of a tea and jasmine in her aura.

Yoongi held onto her fingers gently at first. He waited for her to slowly curl and clasp back, giving him another chance to walk even closer. His hand reached up her arm, cupping her cheeks and kissed her. A fire roared inside him, feeling her warm kiss back again. It had been too long. Feeling the soft strands of her hair through his fingers, the taste of her and her warmth pressed against him soared through him with sweetness.

Yoongi leaned Kiku against the barre, lifting her enough to rest against her back against the mirror. Yoongi kissed her neck, suckled on the softest part of her skin and bit into it. The slight ache on her skin awakened her nerves.

Kiku ran her fingers through his hair, tugged at the scalp to ground her to reality. That this wasn’t a dream but her own beloved husband, tasting her skin after so long. Her hips desperately rubbed against the bulge forming on his pants, the weight of her body already pressing down against the barre but she didn’t care.

Kiku snuck her hand in between them, rubbing his hardened bulge before unbuttoning his pants. Her fingers wrapped gently around his thick member, twitching against the soft skin of her palm. Her index traced up the angry vein, teasing the slick tip until he let out a moan against her collarbone.

Yoongi lifted to look at her. Kiku smiled and sucked his arousal off her index, keeping her dark lust-blown eyes fixed on him. Yoongi gripped onto her jaw, pushing her cheeks in until her lips protruded. He kissed her again, harder this time as he reached under her skirt and ripped her thin panties, the delicate cloth soaked in her own arousal.

Kiku laughed, drunk with lust as she grabbed onto Yoongis length and aimed it at her sodden cunt. Time showed in the way Kiku felt so snug. She let out a small shaky whimper as if Yoongi entered her for the first time. Kiku gripped onto the barre as Yoongi gently pushed through the tightness, letting her adjust to him again.

Kiku grazed her nails against the fabric of his shirt, yanking off the buttons so her fingertips could trace his skin. She let out a pleased sigh as his entire length sunk inside her, his body flush against hers until they were one.

“I love you,” Yoongi whispered.

Kiku let out a small whimper, forehead pressed against his as tears burned in her eyes. Both an overwhelming flash of love and pleasure soared through her deliciously. “I love you too.”

As the declaration left her sweet lips, Yoongi began to thrust into her. Slow at first, ensuring that she felt the tip of him at her cervix and every ridge inside her remembered him sliding out. She dripped with arousal, making the wooden barre glisten. Yoongis hips moved faster, pistoning in a pattern that maddened Kiku.

Yoongi pulled at the sleeves of her top, sneaking it down until her nipples popped from their covering. The cold air of the ballet studio made them erect. Yoongi leaned and wrapped his lips around one of them, lapping his tongue on the tip until he felt her clench around his cock.

Kiku threw her head back against the mirror before kissing his temple. Yoongi was patient in his attention, moving to her right nipple and giving it the same love. Such affection. His pace quickened as her pleasure began to swell to its limit.

Yoongi gripped onto the back of her thighs, locking her against the wall and pounding into her. Without mercy and with the most delicious desperation that forced a string of moans out of Kiku. Never had she felt so free to let out all the noises she wanted.

His thrusts got harsher, her wet cunt slammed over and over again until even the barre began to squeak under the pressure. Then he paused suddenly with a pant. Kiku let out a choked scream as Yoongi buried himself deep, shaping himself inside her and carrying her off the barre. Kiku spewed another whimper, muffled against his shirt.

Yoongi let out an excited breath as he placed her shaking feet on the floor. Turned Kiku around and had her face her flushed, tear-stained and pleased expression in the mirror. Her hair had turned dishevelled, the front strand matted to her forehead. Yoongi gently placed his fingers over her neck, nose buried in her hair, the lovely scent of jasmine and her sweet arousal suffusing the air. “You’re mine. My love.” He whispered.

Kiku smiled, swaying her hips before he started pushing himself in again. This time much easier, wet and welcoming. “I’m yours.” She caressed his sweat slick cheek. “Yours. All yours.”

Yoongi hummed, thrusting into her again. Deep and hard. Each thrust felt like a shake through her whole body, making the memory of him linger until she dreamt about it days later. “Am I yours?”

Kiku let out a soft chuckle. “You’re mine.” Another rough thrust had her nearly sobbing as it hit her sensitive spot. He still knew where it was.

Yoongi panted, using her noise to thrust in that same position. Kiku bent over against the barre with a whimper, her knees nearly buckling but still wanting more. “Does it feel good, baby?”

Kiku stammered a response as he fucked into her again, her lower belly felt full, ready to roll over the edge. Yoongi pistoned into her ensuring that the same spot touched again and again. “Feels good, baby, don’t stop.” She cried out.

Yoongi groaned, leaning in and sneaking one of his hands between her legs. His calloused fingers rubbed her clit as his own orgasm rushed to the edge. “I’m gonna cum.”

Kiku let out a trembling breath, gripping on his forearm as her lower belly. Begging to release. “Cum inside me.” She turned her head and kissed his cheek. Then the coil sprung. Spurts of sweet nectar had her whimpering, a light choked scream as a light gush splashed on the floor.

Yoongi panted as his orgasm burst into madness, thick and warm as it filled Kiku’s womb. Messy and beautiful. Their thighs slick with the most wonderful arousal as he held his love in his hands, most of her weight rested on his grip as she trembled through her high. “Fuck, I missed you.”

Kiku chuckled, the tingles of ecstasy flooding through her like a blind bliss. “I missed you too,” she whispered, touching his cheek again. “Don’t be away from me.”

“Never. Never again.” And Yoongi held to that promise just as he held her. He would never let this go again.

***

Minho never hid his disappointments when it came to him. Except Yoongi wasn’t quite the same as all his other rookie musicians, who would fall back in line once they saw the displeased purse of his lips. “It would’ve been good for your career. Your wife should understand that much, she’s done the same with her career.’

“Kiku made her career without sacrificing time in our marriage,” Yoongi said. “I should be held to that same standard.”

Minho hummed, raising his hands in defense. “I mean if that’s what you want.”

“You did want to go to Greece for another tour so if that’s in the cards.” Yoongi already expected the sudden brightness in Minho’s face. He didn’t like disappointment but he did like something to do. Perhaps preparing for a future tour in Greece would allow for Yoongi to spend more time with Kiku.

Minho clapped his hands. “Greece and a few more dates in Japan as well. Kiku’s home country, that could make her happy.” He waved his hands, smiling to himself as if he wasn’t just ready to have a tantrum a few minutes ago. “Enjoy your anniversary.”

Yoongi smiled, feeling a wave of relief that he was appeased. No more tour dates anytime soon. Which meant he could go home when the sun was high in the sky and he had comfort waiting for him at home.

***

They took a plane back to their apartment in Korea the next day. The familiar dark wood, ferns and home-grown lettuce were well-tended to by their friends while they were gone. Kiku recognized the smell was different after a few months. Sadness pricked at her but it was bittersweet, not all bad. She was home again.

Kiku and Yoongi made dinner together to revive the smell of home. Warm rice soup, spinach salad, fresh steamed rice and spiced mapo tofu to fill their bellies.

“I’m thinking of opening a ballet studio,” Kiku said.

Yoongi’s brows raised mid-chew. “You want to teach?”

Kiku nodded with a smile. “I still want to dance and the doctor said just not to do performances. So teaching.”

“If you want a part-time piano player, I’m free.” Yoongi grinned.

“Without an interview?” Kiku frowned playfully. “My ballet studio would have more standards than that.”

“I mean I am sleeping with the owner, you could pull a few strings.” Yoongi shrugged.

Kiku’s lips parted in slight shock. “That’s highly inappropriate. You would have to show me your talents.”

As they put away the dishes for their lunch, Yoongi walked over to the grand piano perched on the space between the kitchen and living room. He reached out to his work bag and pulled out a few pieces of paper with hand-written music notes.

Yoongi played with the ease of breathing as he always did, except this music was the softest it had ever sounded. Delicate and sweet. Even the way his fingers moved on the keys were floating like a swan. A ballerina.

Kiku padded over to the piano, stood behind him and leaned her chin against his shoulder. She peered over the title and saw L’amour de me Vie. Love of my Life. Her heart burst with joy as she rested against the crook of his neck. “Who’s it about?”

Yoongi laughed, playing softer. “Depends, do I get the job?”

Kiku smiled and kissed his cheek. “Fine. You’re hired.”

“Then it’s you,” Yoongi said, smirking. It will always be you.

masterlist

#yoongi #suga #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #marriage au #pianist au #yoongi fic #yoongi x oc

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years

Text

a broken prince.

pairing: ezra x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, hurt/comfort

word count: 5.2k

summary: Coming to Venice was a one time opportunity, which was why you accepted the invite to join a work party of self assured academics. You meet a former pianist that's angry at the world and himself.

warnings: anger issues, drug use (weed), a very messy handjob, dirty talking, creampie, piv, riding, mentions of a car crash, talk of how he lost his arm, ptsd, outdoor s.ex, high s.ex

a/n: this idea has been plaguing me for the absolute LONGEST time. I think it's been like 2 months since I thought of it and it's finally done! this was actually supposed to be a simply thing where ezra and reader gets high but it turned into something more, hope you all enjoy it!

a special thanks to @fuckyeahdindjarin who beta'd this for me, I'm forever grateful 💜 also tagging the dearest @frannyzooey because way back you told me to tag you if I ever wrote ezra getting high and here it is, hope you like it 💕💕

MLISTS . LIBRARY. TAGLIST

Gatherings were already not your thing, but a party thrown by self assured academics is much worse than anything you can think of. You would much rather continue writing your thesis in the comfort of your hotel room, but in the end, this party is the reason why you’re here.

Cutting through the crowd, your skin crawls at the sound of fake laughter and the sight of fake smiles. Offended looks follow your steps when you accidentally brush upon them. You ignore the stares, and hold your breath until you reach the balcony. Luckily it’s somewhat less crowded. Only a couple holding each other as they embrace the sunset and a group of friends making a toast to their achievements.

You look ahead. The view is breathtaking. The blue fading into the orange, the sun slowly dipping behind the small buildings, sunbeams reflecting off of the tiny windows, the warm summer breeze caressing your skin and lulling you into a sense of a movie like beauty. This right here. This is why you accepted to come, this is why when Cee asked you to attend, you said yes in a heartbeat. Venice is deserving of every poem, every film and art showcasing its elegance. The soft waves of water echo from the canals, Italian vocals reaching your ears. You focus on the song. Music is such a beautiful thing. You don’t understand a word, yet your body reacts to it. Goosebumps coat your skin as the tune envelopes you in the form of a soft wind becoming colder. With a smile, you gently start to sway from side to side but as you move, you hear something that didn’t come from the streets. Another song being played by someone above.

Your body stills, ears perking up. The tune stops, then begins again and stops once more. Your eyes trail up, ghosting over the closed windows that show nothing but the fading light of orange sunbeams.

Curiosity gets the better of you and you slip back inside. With the corner of your eye you notice Cee chatting with the bartender, a glass of red wine nestled between her fingers. She seems happy. Unlike you, she actually knew some Italian so it was easier for her to mingle with whomever she pleased.

Her gaze flickers to meet yours, her smile widens upon seeing you and she waves, calling you over. You shake your head and motion that you’re heading up, despite seemingly confused, she doesn’t pry and shrugs, returning to her conversation.

The chatter soon fades into the background, music of the band dwindles leaving only the sound of your steps and the soft tunes of what you can now clearly identify as a piano being played. The soft light of the setting sun seems to evade the walls you pass by, leaving them untouched. Every artwork your eyes lay upon seems darker, sorrowful, almost. Or maybe you feel like that because of the music. It’s louder now and you can tell that the notes come from a place of bitterness. The sharp stops after each press of a key becomes more prominent. Angry. You wonder what kind of person is behind the composition. You try to imagine but you can’t quite make up a face to go along with the song, you can only vision emotions.

When you’re done climbing the stairs, you come across a wide hall. The floor is made of checkered marble, leading all the way to a door slightly cracked open for anyone to sneak a peek. The sound of your steps bounce off of the walls. Every other door is shut tight. It’s as if life itself is leading you to a moment of no return. You read about moments like these. An inevitable moment of fate. You never felt so strongly about anything before, you don’t believe in fate, yet you’re positive that if you turn around right now, you’ll be climbing up those stairs again. Gently, you press your finger against the white wooden door with a touch so gentle that it doesn’t move. Your pulse quickens, mouth suddenly feeling dry with the thought of who might me on the other side.

It’s wrong. You know better than to sneak up on people, but you can’t help it. The devil whispers in your ear; it’s charming, impossible to say no to.

Holding your breath, you lean closer. The sun peering from the balcony of the room illuminates your eyes. The first thing to catch your gaze is the white tulle fluttering with the summer breeze, you follow the dance of the fabric. The cruel melody begins again. You see a man sitting on the piano stool. He’s tense. Jaw locked tight and muscles popping beneath the toned skin. His right leg bounces up and down, fingers hovering above the keys as if he’s trying to feel their soul. He swallows. His nostrils flare with a deep breath and he plays.

His finger tentatively presses a key, then another one. You expect a third to follow but it doesn’t. Instead a string of curse words follows. His hand abruptly comes down onto the piano. A collaboration of notes rings into the air with the impact. You jump at the loud, curt sound. The door creaks wider. More light hits your face.

The man gets up, his jacket following him like a tail. For a brief moment you get a decent enough glance at his face; He’s handsome, much to your surprise. He has a jaw that can cut diamonds and a piercing dark gaze that screams hatred for the world. Before he turns to face the balcony, you notice a patch of blond in his otherwise short dark hair.

Stuffing a cigarette between his lips, he sighs. You really should go.

Your legs take root in the marble.

“I know you’re there, you can come out now. The shows over,”

For a moment you contemplate whether you should run or not, but given the fact that you’re not a child and a grown-ass woman, you hold your breath and push the door fully open. Knees shaking (you might be a grown-ass woman but that doesn’t mean you don’t get nervous), you step inside, his back is still turned to you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to– I just heard–”

When he turns, you feel the air being knocked out of your lungs. He’s gorgeous. The unlit cigarette is still between his lips, a shadow falling over his face due to the light warming his back. He looks you up and down. The air between you two crackles with electricity. His gaze reaches the utmost depths of your soul, he raises a sole eyebrow, a glint of curiosity visible. You want to take a step back. Want to hide. But your mind screams at you to hold your ground. It’s just a man. A man looking at a nosy woman.

“Curious little thing aren’t you?” there’s a hint of an accent beneath his words. A southern drawl. He’s not from here either. “You an archeologist like the rest down there?”

You nod. He looks away, you sense a hint of sadness.

“You should go downstairs, have a good time,”

“What’s your name?” you ask, ignoring what he just said.

Your legs take you to him. Before you know it, you’re standing next to him, both of you staring outside the balcony, yet still within the building, admiring the darkening view.

“Ezra,”

Silence follows but it’s not actually silent. If you know how to listen, you can hear the sound of summer; the sound of glass clinking, toasts being made, drunks laughing too hard, the voice of the party still going on downstairs– Summers are never silent, so it’s easier not to speak. You tear your gaze away from the view. He’s still tense. His black coat draped over his shoulders, his arms hidden.

“Why are you alone?”

He licks his lips, refusing to look at you.

“What makes you think that little bird?”

Your cheeks heat up at the nickname, heart slowly spreading from your gut towards your skin. The cigarette now loosely hangs between his lips, you wonder how it’s not falling.

“I’m here with my goddaughter, she insisted that I come,” he chuckles. “She convinced me that this city might make me feel better about myself, that I might find my muse and get my mind off of things. I believed her, at the time– She’s quite convincing– but it seems all my muses have already fled, leaving me all alone,”

“Being an artist must be hard,” you chew on your bottom lip, why are you anxious? “But maybe you’ll find your muse soon, going out might help? It’s a truly beautiful city,”

“Just because something is beautiful doesn’t mean it always inspires– Art is born from pain, a smallest of light within the darkest of times. But sometimes it’s so dark that the muses refuse to entertain you, they fade with the light, burying you in complete bitterness,”

His sentence had begun soft, but ended in a hiss, his tone venomous.

For some reason, you want to understand him. He’s only a stranger with a name, nothing more. Yet, you can’t help but be drawn to him.

Suddenly Ezra turns to you, his mood completely shifting. There’s light in his eyes.

He pulls the cigarette away from his lips and holds it to you. You shake your head which is accompanied by the wave of your hand.

“I don’t smoke,”

He raises an eyebrow, eyes full of condescending humor.

“It’s a blunt birdie. You smoke that?”

You blink heavily, mind seemingly scattered.

“Weed?” you ask.

“Indeed,”

You shrug, “Sure,”

The two of you finally step onto the balcony. It’s been long since the sun had disappeared, the blue night conquering the yellow. It smells fresh out, like frshly cut grass and wine, the stars wink down at you both.

When he places it back between his lips, you expect him to pull out a lighter with his left hand. But he doesn’t. Your brain whirs in your skull, his situation slowly starting to sink in. You’ve only seen him use his right hand, never his left.

Ezra lights it between his lips, takes two quick puffs. The end turns red, a crackle reaching your ears. When he’s convinced that it’s lit properly, he extends the rolled up blunt to your lips. Heartbeat ringing in your ears, you lean down and wrap your lips around the end of it, it burns your lungs when you inhale. A pleasant thrum ringing in your veins as you take another deep breath, your body melting.

He pulls it back, bringing it to his own lips. You notice the shade of your lipstick encircling the butt of it, he doesn’t mind. He dutifully wraps his lips around the mark and takes a deep breath, he closes his eyes, brows relaxing as a puff of enticing smoke curls out from between his lips. His head falls back, exposing more of his neck and the veins that trail across the column, you swallow, heat building between your legs.

Ezra turns and gestures towards the wall behind you.

“Wanna take a seat, birdie?”

Your shoulder presses into his when you sit. He’s warm, muscles firm. After taking another puff, the smell of cannabis encircling your both, he offers it to you and shrugs off the jacket.

Despite the pleasant haze of your mind, your eyes widen. His arm. It’s not there.

Fuck– you shouldn’t be staring but your body is slow. You blink, it feels as if seconds stretch out into hours till your lashes touch the skin underneath. When your gaze gains focus, he’s staring at you. Eyes misty, dazed, but yet he’s watching you so clearly, like you’re the only thing in the world. You just met this man. Your heart shouldn’t be beating this fast.

“It happened two years ago,” minutes pass between each word. “It’s cliche really, a car accident. And I don’t even have anyone to blame. ‘Drank the whole damned bar and drove myself into a wall of a church– I was either gonna die or lose an arm, fucking paramadic decided to save me, cut my arm clean off,”

It’s jarring to hear him swear. The back of your neck tingles as he reaches forward to pull out the joint from between your lips. His own puckers around it for a long pull, he blows out the smoke in one long breath. Tongue feeling swollen in your mouth, you lazily watch as the gray swirls up into the night sky.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” you stutter out. “I can’t even imagine how that must’ve been like,”

He grins, extending the joint back to you. Before smoking, you hold it between your fingers, waiting for him to finish.

“It’s shit,” he lays his head against the cold bricks. “Every morning I’m in pain. I go to rub it away but there’s nothing, just air, but it still hurts. An imaginary feeling I’m forced to live everyday again and again, like Prometheus– You know who that is?”

“Of course I do,” you didn’t intend it, but you sound offended, you’re talking too fast. “He was cursed to get his liver eaten out every morning by an eagle. It absolutely sucks,”

“It does,” he laughs, chest trembling with the sound. “Sometimes I feel like I’m him reincarnated,”

“You believe in that kind of stuff?”

“Hmm, sometimes. You don’t?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, the but of the cigarette finds your lips and you take two quick puffs. The tips of your fingers heat up. “If I had a life before I feel like I should be able to remember it at one point. In a dream, in a sudden flashback or some crap like that– Brains are powerful, it should send me a signal or something,”

“What makes you think that it's not?”

His head is on your shoulder. Ezra looks up to you with doe eyes, he parts his lips and you place the blunt in between. You feel like jello but sparks fly across your body when the soft skin brushes against the length of your fingers. He inhales, long and deep, you can see his lungs expanding. You pull it back, immediately placing it between your lips. The heat of his mouth still surrounds it. His eyes follow the movement, your own flutter closed, relishing in the feeling of the smoke going down your throat. You’re numb.

Your eyes slowly open when you feel his thumb at the corner of your lips. He smiles, chin pressing into the curve of your shoulder.

“Or maybe you don’t feel like you’ve lived a life before because you’re brand new, darlin’” his words slur, he laughs again. You smile back. “Or you’re just shit at reading the signals, one of the two,”

“What signals have you received?”

“Many– but the one most memorable one is that it didn’t surprise me when I woke up with a limb short. I was in pain, I was sad, bitter, angry. But not surprised. It felt like it had already happened before. It felt–” you take another drag and blow the smoke towards his face, he sighs. “It felt like fate. Destiny. I was meant to lose an arm, but I ain’t happy about it.”

“Who would be?” you’re buzzing, a smile tugs at your lips without actually feeling joy. “I doubt your destiny was to lose an arm. You think too much,”

His smile is tender.

“Perhaps I do. But when the worst has happened you tend to think about it,”

“That’s not the worst,”

“What do you reckon the worst would be then?”

“Dying,”

“Death would be a blessing,” his hand extends to the sky, an attempt to touch the stars. You won’t be surprised if he actually does. Again, you place the joint between his lips. He inhales and when you’re about to pull away, he grabs your wrist and keeps it there. He takes another drag, then let’s go. You feel a searing circle around your wrist, his fingertips engraved into your skin. “You’re forgetting that I’m Prometheus. Would you say that to him? Along with my arm, I lost everything. I foolishly believed I was meant for greatness– To take my place between the stars and be a part of something great. Now I can’t even play two notes,”

He’s a pianist.

“You’re a pianist,”

“I’m a pianist,” he chuckles, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t figure that one out while you were spying on me?”

You’re dumbfounded. It shouldn’t have taken you so long to put the pieces together, you kind of just assumed he might be playing as a hobby. He peels himself away from your shoulder, leaning against the bricks once more. Your shoulder feels unbearably cold now, with the feeling, a shudder climbs up your spine. You want him close. You want him to hold you. When he licks his lips, dried from the smoke, heat builds between your legs. By the time you place the cigarette back between your lips, you notice that there isn’t anything left to smoke. Sticking your bottom lip out, you pout. He grins, eyes skimming across your lips and bare neck.

“I have another one if you want to,” he hums.

You shake your head, all you can think about is how wet you feel.

You want to kiss him. It feels like one of those moments where you get the urge to jump on the tracks or dip your finger into boiling water. In those moments your brain tells you to stop. But the same mechanics of your mind don't work with him. You want to jump into the fire and feel the burn of his cock deep inside of you. You want him to make you scream and for the whole world to hear.

“Can I kiss you?”

Normally, you would be embarrassed about being so forward. But with the pleasant hum still ringing in your ears, and the buzz within your head, you only smile and lean closer. His grin is wide, dark eyes full of amusement. He inches closer and slowly brushes your lips together, the sound of your heart joins the hum that’s already loud in your eardrums.

“You want to kiss me?” he asks, already knowing the answer. “If you want to you can,”

You want to, so you do.

He tastes like cannabis and bitter coffee. He inhales you like smoke, hand making its way into your hair, he pulls you closer, the curve of his nose pressed snug against your cheek. You melt into him. Everything you feel, you feel tenfold. His tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, you open wide, the soft muscle sneaking into your mouth to have a taste. His fingernails gently scratches your scalp, you would purr if you could, the same hand travels down and cups you from above your dress, thumb pressing into your nipple. You moan into his mouth, not a care in the world as another cool summer breeze blows over you both.

You lick his bottom lip as you pull away, Ezra’s mouth skims down to your throat, nibbling the sensitive skin.

Desire bubbles inside you. His lips are pure sin. Enticing like the stars above. Your hand finds his clothed erection, you squeeze playfully, grinning wide as he groans. His thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“You wanna suck my cock pretty bird?”

Another gush of arousal drips from your thighs. Your lips find his, pressing against them briefly before traveling down his body. You press a soft kiss into the juncture of his neck, a swipe of your tongue following while you unbutton his pants. Your breathing quickens. Slowly, your fingers wrap around the length of his cock, he feels hot and heavy within your hand. He hisses out a breath, the veins in his neck popping. You suck on the skin, you could stay buried in his neck for hours if you had the time. It smells and feels like something more, something you can’t bear to move away from.

Your hand moves quickly. Sliding up and down his length, the heel of your hand briefly swipes against the head, the precum making it easier for you to move. The sounds that come off of you both are lewd, dirty. He must’ve been just as worked up as you were. His cock is drooling all over your fingers, making everything messy and wet. Your hand glides up and down with ease, little whimpers leaving his lips whenever you suck on his neck. You don’t want to leave the comfort of his skin but you know it’s inevitable.

When you take him between your lips, heat scalds your skin. He feels glorious on top of your tongue. So wet. A thick layer of precum coats the inside of your mouth, you suck at the tip and take him in deeper. His hand gingerly pushes you down.

“That’s it,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “Take it all, little bird…I know you can– Such a good girl for me,”

You moan at his praise, dark curls tickling your nose. Before taking him deep into your throat, you hadn’t realized how thick this man was. Your chin strains with the pressure but you still manage to swirl your tongue around his cock, swallowing around him. Ezra continues to spit out filth as you begin to move your head up and down.

“You’re quite a sight to behold, lips barely wrapped around my cock– You’re making a mess, look at you…so dirty for me, don’t you care at all that anyone might see you?”

His cock throbs, gushing out precum, you swallow; your own hands slid up his thighs, fingers digging into the flesh.

With an idea shaping in your mind, you pull away from his cock. Your gaze never leaves his as you stick your tongue out, a string of saliva dripping down and sliding down his length. He takes a sharp breath, you can almost hear his heart beating fast in his chest. You stroke him before wrapping your lips around him again, taking him in whole with a swift slide down. His fingers tighten in your hair, a groan follows.

“Shit– Birdie– I need to fuck you– ‘ need to fuck you right now,”

You’re head spins, however you’re sure it’s caused by him and him only. He tugs at your hair but instead of pulling away, you keep the tip of his cock between your lips and suck as you flutter your eyelashes at him. With a small smile, you tilt your head and slide your mouth sideways down his length. He’s so warm.

“You want me?” you whisper, the air ghosting across his sensitive, wet skin him shiver.

“I do– I do, I do– It’s been so long– Need to bury myself in the heat of your pussy right now or I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours,”

He sounds desperate, you believe him when he says it’s been a while. You lay a kiss at the head, grinning as you look up to him.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you say, crawling into his lap. You roll the skirt of your dress all the way up to your waist, his hand grips your ass, squeezing anxiously. “I like the idea of you making a mess of me,”

“You really shouldn’t say stuff like that to me, birdie,” Ezra breathes out through his nostrils. It feels like it takes him forever to speak again. “I’m not one to just fuck you full of my cum to turn around and fall asleep– If it’s a mess you want I’ll give it to you. I’ll cum deep inside this cunt, I’ll cum all over your face, tits, ass– Do you really think I’ll be satisfied by only coming once?”

You might cum from his words alone. Without even realizing, you began to touch yourself, rubbing your aching clit from over your panties. His eyes follow, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips. He pushes himself off of the wall, crashing his lips into you as he forces you down to his cock with one hand. He guides the sloppy roll of your hips, swallows your moans as the damp patch grows across the cloth. He smiles into the kiss.

“Where on earth did you come from?” he whispers against your lips. “Am I imagining this? Are you actually here?”

“I am,” your voice is silent, all the confidence sucked out of you. You lay your hands on both sides of his face, holding his head tenderly between your palms. “But are you?”

There’s something freeing about fucking outiside. You feel hot and cold at the same time. The wind that caresses your skin forcing out goosebumps. Ezra draws a stiff nipple into his mouth, sucking eagerly as he slams his cock deeper inside. You look up to the sky, relishing in the feeling of him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing more of your abused tit into his mouth, he growls, eyes fluttering closed; he opens his mouth wider, teeth nipping the sensitive skin.

You’re not sure how loud your moans are, or if the party downstairs is over or not– The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want this to end. The pleasure, the sadness, the conversations that don't make a lick of sense. You don’t want to give up the buzz in your veins, the pleasant feeling of relaxation tickling your muscles– But you know you have to. The night will end and morning will come, taking him with it.

Tears bite the corner of your eyes. Your chest feels tight and heavy. It’s going to end–

“Hey hey,”

Ezra looks up to you, eyes moving across your face and lingering on where you’re biting into your bottom lip. It’s already swollen. He hooks his thumb into your mouth, pulling you down so that his lips meet yours. He cups your cheek, grinding his hips up deep into your cunt. Your insides squeezes him tight, fluttering around the girth of him. He moves away, chest heaving, Ezra lays his forehead against yours, it’s damp with sweat.

“Focus on me. Don’t think. You said that before, right? That I think too much– Don’t be like me, birdie– Just feel– Not everything needs to be a story with a start and finish,”

You don’t remember saying that but you trust him. It’s eerie how he can see right through you.

His thumb draws rough circles around your clit, your head falls back at the pleasure. You’re slicker. The sound of the way your bodies connect bleeds into the foreign city. Somewhere in your mind you take notice how silent it became, you soon forget it. Ezra’s head lays between your breasts, kissing every patch of skin his mouth finds, hips canting up into yours at a brutal pace. You feel as if you’re free falling. Scared, yet twitching with excitement. Your chest swells, desire building, forcibly tensing your lower abdomen. Absent-mindedly, you realize that he’s muttering into your skin, the words barely reaching your ears.

“That’s it…you’re taking my cock so well out in the open like this, letting people know who you belong to– fuck– FUCK– how are you here– how are you–”

Ezra grunts when you tighten around his cock, his balls feel tight and heavy, ready to burst. He’s ignoring the ghost of an ache his missing arm causes. He only wants you. He doesn’t want to think about how his dreams are buried seven feet under, how he’s been all alone with only Cee checking in on him– How he can’t even play fucking twinkle twinkle little star– He only wants to think of you. He only sees you. The way your back arches so beautifully, the way your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts, they way small hairs spread across the softness of your stomach– Ezra reaches out and squeezes the tender muscle, your lips part with a gasp, the way you move on top of his cock is uncoordinated, luckily he’s there to help. He crowds your personal space, whatever was left of it anyway, and mouths the underside of your jaw.

“You wanted me to make a mess–” he says between pants, voice trembling. “Did you actually mean that little bird? If you didn’t you need to tell me now before I fill this tight pussy up,”

“I-I meant it,” your thighs tremble, a needy moan escaping your lips. “Cum inside– I need you Ezra,”

He’s not sure how many thrusts it took, might’ve been one might’ve been a hundred, but before he knows it he’s spilling into you, pelvis flush against the curve of your ass. Ezra starts to play with your clit again, murmuring how he wants to feel you cum around his cock. You do as you’re told while he continues to pour into you. Your moans collide, making the most beautiful symphony he’s ever heard. Your body tenses, then coils down into him; your bodies pressed against one another as you both try to capture your breaths.

The ache he always feels in his arm is back. He wants to hold you properly, press your head into the crook of his neck as his other arms snakes around your waist, but he can’t. Instead he compromises by just doing the first one, you purse your lips against his skin, kissing it gently while the harsh waves of your orgasm slowly fades. He softens inside of you, but both of you refuse to move away from the other.

“I don’t want to go back down there,” you finally break the silence, murmuring into his neck. “I like it here.”

“Hmm, sadly, little bird, I don’t think we can stay in this balcony half naked forever. However tempting that might be,” he feels you smile, an airy chuckle leaves his own chapped lips. “Besides, I’m sure your friends are wondering about you,”

You pull away to shake your head, he raises an eyebrow.

“It’s kind of like a work party. If that makes sense. I have one friend here but she’s used to me wandering away from crowded places so she won’t be worried. She’ll be fine as long as I shoot her a quick text,”

Ezra grins at the way you, for some reason, sound so proud of your friend. He wonders what kind of people you’re friends with, wonders about your life outside of this balcony. He imagines that it’s beautiful, just like you.

He parts his lips to speak but you beat him to it.

“You want to walk around?” your body feels heated, you begin to stammer, the loose tongue the weed provided must be wearing off. “I-I know it’s kinda late so I understand if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be fun to walk around the streets when it’s not super hot and empty,”

“That sounds great, birdie,”

Ezra closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. This time you both melt into each other, emotions running high as he swipes his tongue across your lips.

Even if it's only for a night, it feels good not to be alone.

#ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect/you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pianist ezra au #pianist ezra #pianist au

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dianneking · 1 year

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First of all, the video is not mine but it belongs to the amazing Dasha Shpringer (here you can find her Instagram, her YouTube and her Tiktok pages)

Second of all, this is the best wlw fanfiction prompt I have ever seen in a short video! Look at the change in the expression of the spectator - so tired and completely zoned out at the beginning and then slowly but surely more and more captivated and the - THE MAGIC- the tiniest, cutest smile.

#Random prompts #Everything is a prompt #Wlw #Fanfiction author #AU prompts #Larissa weems #Larissa weems AU?#wednesday fandom #Pianist #Pianist AU #So many ideas so little time

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3nigm4art · 2 years

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"Missing chances of love, who's more unfortunate than me?"

Mr Q's Series of Misfortunes

Pianist!Q inspired by E先生連環不幸事件 by Edan Lui, a very good song with an insane piano solo

#quartermaster #q #james bond #007 #Pianist AU #Ben Whishaw #watercolor #art #fan art #Bond fandom #00Q #artists on tumblr

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sillyfairygarden · 5 months

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jazzy lounge club singer cleo for @hermitzine !! closeup under da cut >>>

PUKES i’m so delighted that my silly jazz au got to be apart of an incredible collection of works for this project waaaah

in all honesty, the idea for this au started when i applied to this zine months before i even knew i was accepted. so in a way, it was sort of manifested :^) this was the most self indulgent, opulent thing i could create for this zine, cleo in a beautiful red dress with lots of jewelry, glitz and glam, and of course a little sparkley eye makeup /swoons

#hermitzine #thellos art corner #jazz au #zombiecleo fanart #hermitcraft fanart #mcyt fanart #hermitcraft #mcyt #jazz au lovers rejoice!#the first draft had joe hills as the pianist but i . cannot draw joe hills. orz

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lorillee · 9 months

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sorry i cant stop thinking about the virtuoso classical pianist au this is wildly target audience: ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but whatever

#ace attorney #franziska von karma #miles edgeworth #lorillee.png #the von karma-edgeworth family soap opera #aa pianist au #later i promise i will make actual content but for the moment it appears my artistic inspiration well has dried up #and nothing is working 😔😔😔 oh well c'est la vie

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lobotomy-jpeg · 1 year

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And I know I'm not a bad man. I know because I see me in you.

[id: Digital sketch of Izzy and Roach from OFMD. This is a modern AU. Izzy is sitting on a piano stool and Roach is sitting between his legs. Izzy rests his face on Roach's shoulders, a little smile on his face and his hands are on the keyboard, playing. Roach rests his hand on Izzy's knee. The sheet music for Kiss of Fire is visible on the piano stand. /end id]

Please read Lounge Singer AU here. It has my entire heart.

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bad-lobcorp-aus · 11 months

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AU where the Mili music is diegetic. If someone Distorts or manifests EGO near you, expect to be subjected to a beautifully sung and orchestrated description of their mental state, regardless of whether you want to be hearing this, and in fact regardless of whether they want you to be hearing this.

The real reason the Pianist was so powerful is that he provided his own musical accompaniment to the song. Imagine how much destruction he could have caused if he'd actually been good at piano.

#library of ruina #limbus company #the pianist lor #bad lobcorp aus #submitter: cryptologicalmystic

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purplephloxpress · 1 year

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总有一天 a place to hide (can't find one near) - yiqie

That’s just the thing, isn’t it? Wei Ying feels nothing. He doesn’t feel anything, and this emptiness should scare him. He knows he should be scared. He wants to be scared. He isn’t. Fear itself is never scary; fear is just a response. It means that your body wants you alive. It’s the absence of terror that scares him.

I had SO MUCH FUN with this bind! This one had a lot of firsts for me, and is one that I really poured my heart into due to its particular emotional impact on me (tl;dr - I was a piano major in college, burned out, this fic helped me fall in love with music again). It's an Untamed WangXian Pianists AU (TW for anyone interested that it deals with attempted suicide and life following that) and I tried to tie that into the design details literally everywhere I could think of. Black and white cover paper, music note scene breaks, and my absolute favorite part to create: sheet music title pages. The particular song used for that is a recurring motif in the fic and one that means a lot to me personally, and I knew I wanted to include it somehow. Unfortunately I couldn't find an existing image of the sheet music that was high enough quality to use how I wanted, so I used a sheet music program to input it myself!

This book was my first time doing any sort of edge decoration, and I had fun figuring out how to splatter paint with a toothbrush (Spouse: is that supposed to be blood? Me: no but also... kind of?) and it was also my first time doing endbands! (Shout out to the friends who walked me through it over voice chat one evening, and then rolled their eyes when I announced that I'd torn them out and done them over again. Twice.) I went with red and black for both of those parts to match the main characters canonical color scheme, and also because I liked the dramatic pop of color against the black and white cover.

Spine titling was done once again with a foil quill, and I decided to paint the Chinese title of the fic on the cover. I couldn't find a paintbrush that let me get as fine tipped and detailed as I wanted so I may or may not have used a toothpick to paint it on.

I prevailed over: somehow deleted half of my page numbers and had to reprint the WHOLE THING! Forgot to measure the boards as part of my spine width and had to do surgery with 2mm strips of paper! (Thankfully had allowed plenty of hinge because I didn't realize until I'd finished ALL of the titling and I would have cried if I couldn't salvage it) Truly this is my child and I adore how it turned out. Is it perfect? No. Are there things I would change? Sure. But I learned and I did and I'm so goddamn proud of it!

(See below the cut if you want specific details on the binding)

What pieces went into making it:

Fandom: The Untamed

Pairing: Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji

Bookcloth: black Brillianta

Cover paper: black and silver marbled lokta

Endpapers: red cardstock

Titling: foil quill, acrylic paint, acrylic paint pen

Endbands: leather cording for the core, DMC embroidery thread for the bands

Body font: Adobe Garamond Pro

Title fonts: Long Cang and Canva Holiday

Text message font: Nirmala UI

Scene breaks created in Canva

Title page sheet music created using MuseScore

#purplephloxpress #ficbinding #wangxian #the untamed #pianists au #yiqie #fanbinding #renegade bindery #adventures in bookbinding

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only10th · 28 days

Text

Been thinking about Pianist!wwx and violinist!lwj playing together at a mall. Wei Wuxian likes to go to the mall to play for people, he loves taking requests, or plays some well known musical pieces and sometimes he’ll play one of this original compositions.

One day he’s playing “Rain” by Ed Carlsen, which is one of his favorite pieces to play when he's out and about. He’s just so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t notice a man standing next to him, pulling out his violin and just joining him on the piece with so much ease. His eyes grow wide but soon that sparkle he has shines brighter at how easy and harmonic both of them sound. He laughs, he smiles, he shows off while the mysterious violinist stays focused and composed, yet the passion drips into every note they play.

Their duet attracts a lot of attention, multiple people taking videos and pictures (plus wwx is recording the whole thing himself since he sometimes uploads the videos of himself playing online) this is the first time anyone has joined him in a duet. After they’re done, they look at each other breathless, a bright smile on wwx’s face while there’s the smallest curve on the mysterious violinist’s lip. Before Wei Wuxian could even ask for his name, he had already put away his violin and walked away. Wei Wuxian groans, annoyed he didn’t even get to know the handsome violinist’s name. Maybe they’ll meet up again.

He hopes they do. He had never felt such a connection with another musician before.

A few weeks later, Wei Wuxian is playing at a restaurant. This time he’s getting paid to do so, which is great! He can’t just let opportunities like that pass by!

So, he’s playing something classical to fit the mood. It is rather fancy, your food, of the size of a quarter, costing you an arm and a leg type of place. Wei Wuxian will never understand why people want to spend their money like that, but it’s because of places like this that he has a place to work. Well, if playing here during the weekends is even considered work. He enjoys it nonetheless.

Once he’s done with a piece there’s scattered claps through the restaurant. This won’t do, the people need to be entertained! Wei Wuxian sets his phone against the piano, already recording. There’s a smirk on his face, cause he already has the perfect piece in mind. Fingers hovered giddily over the ivory keys, an exhale leaving his lips and soon began to play.

The melody startles some of the clients, which makes Wei Wuxian chuckle under his breath. The tune is fun, like a little dance around the calm waters of the lotus lakes of his old home. It’s one of his original compositions, but he’s played it a few times before, so he wouldn’t be surprised if people knew it. Wei Wuxian lets himself get lost in the song, silver eyes fluttering close. A sense of pride fills his chest, noticing how the restaurant had become quiet. He could sense all eyes on him, which sent a chill up his spine. What he didn’t expect was to hear a violin joining his now gentle melody.

His eyes snap open with a gasp, and right next to him he sees the same violinist from a few weeks back. His mouth hangs slightly agape, and for a moment he loses his focus which causes him to play a few sour notes. Yet, he smiles brightly, impressed that, despite this not being composed as a duet, the mysterious violinist was even able to join and keep up. Wei Wuxian can’t help but huff a laugh, and just as he does he is met with a piercing golden gaze. His breath stutters, he had never seen such beautiful eyes, especially ones that looked at him with such intensity.

Wei Wuxian has to stop playing, knowing there’s a solo coming up. He’d usually play it through, but he wanted to see if this violinist had also come up with his own solo, and he delivers as expected. He lets his eyes close and he plays his piece, swaying with the music he produces with much passion and Wei Wuxian can’t help but be completely mesmerized by such beauty. Not just him, but the crowd around him! At some point he has to join back, continue their little dance as both their melodies become one.

A round of applause erupts once they’re done, both of them looking at each other as if nothing else mattered in the world other than this moment. For the first time since their first encounter, Wei Wuxian could take a better look at the violinist. He was only a few inches taller, dark, ebony hair like the keys of a piano cascaded over his shoulder, a white ribbon braided and intertwined in it. A wide smile paints on Wei Wuxian’s face as he stand from the small bench to offer a small bow.

“We finally meet again, mysterious violinist.” Wei Wuxian says, quirking an eyebrow upward, “You know my song.” It was more a statement than a question.

The man nods in response, “Wei Wuxian is very talented.” Oh, his voice. The low timber sends a shiver down his spine. Wait, how does he know his name?

“How do you…?” Wei Wuxian starts, narrowing his eyes if trying to recall someone or something. “You follow my page. You’ve seen my videos.” He says with realization, which is followed by a laugh.

The man nods again before offering a courtly bow. He doesn’t say anything else as he turns to leave. No, not this time. Wei Wuxian manages to grab his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “Hey, hey, don’t leave like that! Will you at least tell me your name?”

The violinist seems to consider shaking the grip off or telling Wei Wuxian his name. Golden gaze seems to stay glued on the other’s hand for quite some time before exhaling softly. “Lan Zhan.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Lan Zhan. Though, I’ll miss calling you my mysterious violinist.” Wei Wuxian chuckles. His fingers slip from the other’s wrist, now tucking them into his inner coat pocket to take out a piece of paper and scribbling a series of numbers. “I really, really like playing with you. Maybe… maybe we could…?”

“Yes.” Lan Zhan is quick to answer before Wei Wuxian can even finish his sentence, as if he’s been waiting for him to ask all evening. “I would like to play with you, Wei Wuxian.”

“Wei Ying. Call me Wei Ying.” Handing him the piece of paper with his phone number, a broad smile on his face. “Maybe we can grab some coffee? You took my song and modified it into a duet, I’ll forgive you only if we can play it again.”

There’s the tiniest curve at the corner of Lan Zhan’s lips. Golden eyes melting like honey as they gaze at silver ones. “Mn” he agrees. After that, you’d see them playing anywhere they could: malls, airports, restaurants, out in the streets when it was warm enough. They’d perform the most beautiful duets anyone has ever heard.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #wangxian #modern au #pianist!wwx #violinist!lwj #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #my writing

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