#Leonardo DiCaprio x reader

[alittlegiraffe]

So I love your stories, I just really wanted to ask if you can do one for Leonardo DiCaprio, like back when he was younger. You don’t have to

Hey!!! Here's the best I could do for this one!

Title: Stolen Moments

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast golden hues across the dimly lit hotel room, a stark contrast to the flashing cameras that had followed you just hours earlier at the premiere. You kicked off your heels, sighing in relief as you flopped onto the bed. A quiet chuckle from the doorway made you smile before you even looked up.

"You looked beautiful tonight," Leo murmured, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. Dressed in a black suit, his blonde hair slightly tousled from running his fingers through it too many times, he looked effortlessly handsome.

You smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows. "And you looked devastatingly good, as always. Women practically threw themselves at you."

He rolled his eyes, crossing the room to sit beside you. "You know none of them matter." His fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch featherlight. "Only you."

Your heart clenched at his words. It had been almost a year of sneaking around—late-night rendezvous in private hotel suites, whispered phone calls at odd hours, stolen glances at industry events. The world knew Leonardo DiCaprio as the heartthrob of Hollywood, but only you knew him like this—barefoot, vulnerable, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your skin.

"You ever get tired of this?" you asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Leo's brows furrowed. "Of what?"

"Hiding."

He exhaled, lying back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "Of course, I do. I hate not being able to take you out to dinner, hold your hand in public, tell the world you’re mine." He turned his head to look at you. "But I hate the thought of them tearing us apart more."

You swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he meant. Hollywood had a way of chewing up relationships and spitting them out, especially when the press got involved. Speculation, rumors, invasive questions—it was exhausting.

"But we can't do this forever, Leo," you whispered, shifting closer until your fingers intertwined with his. "Eventually, someone’s going to find out."

He squeezed your hand, a small, boyish grin playing at his lips. "Then we'll deal with it. Together."

You wanted to believe him. And maybe, for tonight, you could.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss to his lips—slow, unhurried, savoring the moment. Because no matter how fleeting, no matter how hidden, these stolen moments were yours. And that was enough.

For now.

[The End.]

Want me to add more drama or spice?

[mythicalofmoon]

Leonardo DiCarprio of beard !!!!!!!

[thelovelywriteress]

FAVOURITE TYPE OF DEATH

─ Arthur Rimbaud (Leonardo DiCaprio)

────────────────────────────

────────────────────────────

tw - mention of death and attempted muder

────────────────────────────

The room is dark, the only light a faint glow filtering through the curtains. You’re asleep, your body at rest, the silence wrapping around you like a cocoon. But that calm is soon shattered. The door creaks open, a shadow slipping through, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps.

You feel a touch, light and teasing, fingers brushing against your skin. The sensation pulls you from sleep. Your eyes open in a sudden jolt, your heart skipping a beat as you almost scream. But then you see him. Arthur. His smirk plays on his lips as he hovers over you, enjoying your vulnerability, basking in your moment of weakness.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare up at him. "Arthur," you manage to whisper, your voice sharp,"Don't you think your sudden presence can give someone a heart attack." While you were serious, Arthur as always find it humourous and states that you are not the type that can die from heart failures.

"Correct. And it's not my preferred type of death anyways." You state in a monotone tone, thinking Arthur once again might give some sadistic repose but shockingly he was interested in what kind of death you preferred.

You didn't hesitate. "Strangled," you reply, your tone flat, almost detached. "That’s how I’d prefer to go." One might think this lead to a deeper conversation though that wasn't case here.

There’s silence between you, thick with tension. And then, without warning, his shoots out, wrapping his hands around your neck. His grip is firm but not yet suffocating. His eyes lock with yours, a cruel glint flashing in them as he leans in closer, his voice a low growl. "Like this, (Y/N)?"

He envisions you panicking—your nails digging into his skin, your face twisting in terror, begging for breath. He imagines your body writhing beneath him, your life slipping away as you fight to stay alive. But as stated, it was all part of his imagination cause reality doesn’t match his fantasy.

Instead of desperation that all he saw was a calm face. Your hands rest still at your sides, not reaching for him, not fighting back. You just stare at him, your eyes unwavering, your breath slowing under his grip. And in your gaze, there’s something that unsettles him—a quiet, chilling acceptance.

You wait, your eyes locked on his, as if challenging him, daring him to go further. There’s no fear in you, no panic. Only a calm, resolute strength. It unnerves him in ways he didn’t expect.

His fingers tighten for a brief moment, just enough to feel your pulse beneath his touch. But it’s not enough to scare you. Instead, it’s him who feels the tension, the pressure of your gaze weighing down on him. He expected fear, he wanted resistance. Instead, you give him nothing but quiet defiance.

His grip loosens. His hand slips from your throat, retreating in frustration. You don’t move, don’t flinch. You just keep staring, your eyes holding that same unreadable expression, as if you see through him, see past his cruel games and into something far deeper, far more fragile.

He stands, watching you for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest, his control over the situation feels hollow, as though you’ve taken it from him without even trying.

He loosen his grip on your throat as he let out a comment that was supposed to be taunt to you but sounds more like a cover to hide his lack of power in situation.

"Do you really think I will let you die this easily?" A smirk dancing on his charming face.

"I would be a fool to even imagine it."

[indeediagree]

I love pinterest

[thelovelywriteress]

SOUL OR BODY?

─ Arthur Rimbaud (Leonardo DiCaprio)

────────────────────────────

────────────────────────────

Paul had leaned over the table that night, eyes glazed from too much absinthe, his words slurred, but his curiosity sharp as ever.

“So, Arthur,” Paul asked, a wicked grin playing on his lips, “you ever even seen her body? Your finance, I mean.” He chuckled darkly, half-mocking, half-goading, like he always did when he felt Arthur needed to be pushed.

Arthur, in his drunken haze, smiled back. A sadistic gleam flickered in his eyes, a reflection of the reckless man he had become. He tilted his head as if considering Paul’s question seriously.

“Seen her body, Paul?” Arthur mused, his voice low and taunting. “I’ve seen something more. Her true self—something more profound than the physical or sensual."

Paul stared at him, a bit stunned by the reply, and Arthur laughed—a cold, hollow sound—dismissing the moment with a wave of his hand.

But the memory that followed was no laughing matter.

Arthur had been at his desk, papers strewn around him in a mess of incoherent thoughts, words failing him for the first time in what felt like forever. Arthur had been at his desk, papers strewn around him in a mess of incoherent thoughts, words failing him for the first time in what felt like forever.

You noticed his confused rage while most of time you preferred to ignore his tactics, this time it looked he was affected internally.

You were concerned for him.

“Arthur,” you said, your voice steady but with an undercurrent of concern. “Are you okay?”

He snapped. It wasn’t like the other times when he would simply tease her, this was something deeper, more vicious, a reflection of the frustration burning inside him.

"Why do you care?" he snaps, throwing the quill down onto the desk. His voice is laced with irritation, his anger barely concealed. "You wouldn't understand. You never do."

Your eyes narrow slightly, but you didn't back away. "I’m trying to understand, Arthur. If you would just talk to me—"

"Talk?" He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He paces, running a hand through his hair, as if the physical act might untangle the knot in his chest. "I can’t ‘talk.’ That’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t say what I’m feeling, I can’t put it into words!" He gestures to the blank page, his voice rising with every word. "I can write about anything—love, lust, rebellion, chaos—but this—" He stops, his hands curling into fists. "This… whatever it is, this thing I feel, it slips away every time I try to grasp it. To understand materialistic or spiritualistic, what matters to me, what should matter to a human."

"Then find it now." You state as Arthur was suprised at your confidence. What makes you think you can help him to put those mysteriously feelings into words.

Before he could respond, you moved toward the bedroom, your footsteps light but deliberate. Without a word, you walked in, leaving the door slightly open as if daring him to follow.

Arthur, still reeling from his outburst, hesitated for a moment, but curiosity—and perhaps something else—compelled him forward. As he entered the room his eyes fall on the trail of clothes going further into room before they finally stop on your body that was still in the process of removing your tight clothing.

Your dress slipping off your shoulders, revealing the undergarments that still clung to you frame. You untied you hair, letting it fall loose around her as you made a eye contact with him. Your expression neutral, detached, as if this were nothing more than another intellectual exercise. You didn’t fully undress; a mere layer of fabric still clung to your body, enough to cover you, but not enough to hide the intimacy of the moment.

Arthur stood frozen in the doorway, caught off guard by your calm audacity. It looked like you were offering yourself—physically, yes—but there was something more, something deeper in your eyes. Something he had never understood before now.

You moved to the chaise longue, laying on it in a fancy position, your eyes never leaving his. “Write, Arthur,” you said softly. “Write whatever you feel right now.”

For once, Arthur didn’t argue. He didn’t mock or tease. He swallowed his nervousness and walked toward his desk, grabbed a pen, and sat down, staring at your figure in front of him.

Despite the suggestive nature of your actions, despite the vulnerability of your pose, all he could see—really see—was the bravery of your soul. The one who didn't even like breathing same air, was the one laying in front of him, giving him all sorts of freedom.

You had stripped yourself of more than clothes in that moment. You had laid bare your pride, your control, and your fear. And yet, there was no shame in your gaze, no fear of his judgment. You were telling him to see you, not as a body, not even as a muse, but as a human being—someone who stood on equal ground with him.

Arthur’s hand moved across the paper, but his mind wasn’t on your body. His thoughts weren’t on lust or desire. Instead, all he could feel was a deep admiration—admiration for the strength it took for you to reveal yourself to him like this, to offer him her vulnerability in a way that transcended the physical.

He wrote furiously, the words pouring out of him for the first time in days, though not in the way he had expected.

When he finally looked up from the paper, you were still watching him, your expression unreadable, but there was something softer in your eyes now.

"I think I am done." He state in a nervous voice as you just lay in more comfortable postion than previous one.

"So what do you choice right now? Soul or body?" You asked as Arthur feels the weight of both choices. Either way things will be different from now.

"Just that?" Paul questioned as he felt Arthur once again left him on cliffhanger. You both sure shared some physical moment after this, didn't you? Like how can a man let a chance like this go but knowing Arthur he knew conclusion was left for his imagination.

[thelovelywriteress]

WASN'T SATISFIED WITH JUST TEASING THAT NIGHT

─ Arthur Rimbaud (Leonardo DiCaprio)

────────────────────────────

────────────────────────────

Paul Verlaine sits back in his chair, a glass of wine in hand, his eyes scanning Arthur, who lounges with that familiar air of mischief and arrogance. The candlelight flickers across the room, casting soft shadows on the walls. Paul raises an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity crossing his face.

"So, Arthur… has anything actually happened between you and that fiancée of yours? I mean, you don't exactly shy away from… intimate moments." His words are suggestive, the memories of their own history still hanging in the air.

Arthur pauses, his gaze narrowing slightly, but he doesn't brush off the question. Instead, he leans forward, a strange, almost unreadable glint in his eyes as he speaks.

"(Y/N)? That girl behaves like she hate breathing same air as me." He scoffs lightly, but there's something beneath his usual mockery, something lingering.

Arthur mocks her somewhat more before narrating a particular memory. Paul watches him intently, sensing that Arthur is about to reveal something deeper than his usual taunts.

"I have this habit of sneaking into her room whenever she stayed with us." He chuckled for one it may look innocent but Paul knew better than to think it's something innocent.

He then glances at Paul, daring him to comment, but Paul remains silent, intrigued.

"I knew, despite that ice queen facade of hers, that she'd still get flustered when I got too close. So I’d trap her… in her own room, her own bed, she had nowhere to escape." Arthur's voice softens as he recounts the scene, his eyes distant, lost in the memory. Paul leans in slightly, fascinated.

"That night, I did the same. Slipped into her room. Found her half-asleep, but as soon as she saw me—those walls went up. But this time…" His voice lowers "…I wasn’t satisfied with just teasing her like usual." Arthur smirk while narrating the moment. Paul raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. Arthur's smirk fades, his expression becoming more serious as the memory deepens.

"She told me my little games didn’t affect her anymore." He mimicks a female voice and then chuckles darkly. "So I asked her… what about this?" His voice suddenly low.

"I leaned in closer. She tried to move back, but she couldn’t. She was trapped. And I…" He pauses, almost savoring the memory "...I kissed her." Paul wasn't suprised afterall Arthur wasn't the one who to shy away from these things but that hidden tenderness in his voice made him rise a brow.

"She didn’t protest. But she didn’t respond, either. She just… stayed there, staring at me, as if waiting for me to back down." He smirks faintly. "But I didn’t. I kissed her, if we can call a lip on another lip that..." He humour as Paul out of instinct let out a chuckle too. "We just… stared into each other’s eyes." Arthur continue once again,"She was just still. Almost like she didn’t know what to do."

There was brief silence. Paul felt like there was more to this story─an important aspect of how Arthur's feeling, which of course he would never shared.

"Did that kiss made you something for her? Something like love?" Paul ask hopefully, maybe this was the point Arthur would understand why he can't let go of Matilda but Arthur break his slightly hope by laughing at question like some tickled child.

"Love? Me? With her?" He shakes his head, his laughter dying down, though the glint in his eyes remains sharp and dangerous. "As if I could ever. No, Paul, it was just another game. And she… well, she was just another piece on the board."

Paul watches him, the tension between them fading back into familiarity, but a lingering question remains unspoken. Arthur, though deflecting with laughter, seems momentarily lost in thought, the memory of (Y/N) still hovering in the back of his mind.

───────────────────────────

So Leonardo did not play a historical character in a movie and now I am love with it, reading wikipedia and writting the scenario's about him. . . . Really need to be engaged to a toxic artist; writer to be specific.

───────────────────────────

[tomhardystories]

Part 8

Tom stared at his phone for a moment longer than necessary, as if staring at it would somehow prevent Leo DiCaprio from calling Jules. He knew, deep down, that he had absolutely no right to interfere in her life like this, but the mere thought of Leo, with his sultry smile and infamous charm, getting anywhere near Jules made his stomach churn. Maybe it was just the coffee he’d had - who even knew at this point?

He sighed deeply (a dramatic sigh, like a man who's contemplating the meaning of life or his next career move), and finally dialed Jules. The phone rang twice before she picked up, and Tom immediately felt like he was walking into some kind of trap.

"Heeeeeey” he said, trying to sound calm, cool, and collected (but failing miserably). “How’s it going? You know... chill?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old" Jules replied, sounding half-amused and half-bored, like she'd just been through a week-long movie marathon of The Bachelor. "I’m working. Trying to survive.”

Tom cleared his throat. "Well, uh... I wanted to give you a little... warning. It’s probably nothing, but... Leo might, you know, reach out to you."

There was a pause. A very long pause. One that seemed to stretch out for decades.

“Jack Dawson?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.

He needed a moment to understand the joke. “Yeah, that one” Tom said, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m just giving you a heads-up. If he calls or texts or shows up at your door with a puppy in hand or whatever, just, uh, you know, be careful. He’s kind of a flirt.”

Jules snorted loudly, and Tom felt his heart rate increase in a weird mix of dread and annoyance. “Seriously? Is that why you’re calling? To warn me about Leo DiCaprio? He’s not the first guy who’s ever flirted with me, you know.”

“Well... he might be the most dangerous” Tom added with a deep sigh. “Like, world-class level flirtation. Like... one smile and you might just accidentally end up on a yacht in the Caribbean or something. And who needs that, right? You’re a busy woman.”

Jules let out a laugh that made Tom feel a little less ridiculous, but not much. “Thanks for the heads-up, Tom. But I think I can handle it. I’m not some naive damsel waiting for Leo DiCaprio to come sweep me off my feet, okay? I’ve got standards.”

“Oh, I know” Tom said quickly, trying to backpedal. “I mean, you have way better taste than that, obviously. I’m just saying, he’s not the ‘settle down and get a dog’ type. You know?”

Jules paused, then said, “Not exactly looking for that kind of relationship at the moment, Tom, but... thanks for the unsolicited warning. I’m fine. Really.”

“Right. Right. Of course, you are” Tom said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Anything else, or do you need to text me a list of other Hollywood men I should avoid?”

He was about to say something when suddenly he heard the sound of someone entering Jules' office. The soft click of the door opening was followed by a hushed voice speaking to her.

"Hold on a second, Tom" Jules said quickly, her tone shifting to professional mode. "I’ll be with you in a minute."

Tom listened as Jules spoke, her voice crisp and controlled.

"Whoever did this needs to fix it, and I’ll be there to watch over it. Tell them I’ll attend the next meeting and we’ll go through everything, line by line. I don’t tolerate mistakes like this. They’ll learn the hard way if they think I won’t notice."

Tom raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help but be impressed. There was no hesitation in her voice, no second-guessing, just pure authority. It was clear she wasn’t the kind of boss anyone would want to cross. He found himself both a little awed and, if he was honest, more than a little intimidated.

She came back on the line. “Sorry about that. Where were we? Ah, yes. I have to wrap this up now, Tom. I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes, and I need to get a few things in order before I go.”

Tom could hear the efficient way she handled things. “Of course” he replied, his voice a little quieter now, still processing the tone of authority he’d just heard. “I’ll let you go. Catch you later.”

Jules sighed lightly, but there was something almost affectionate in her tone. "Talk soon, Tom."

When Tom hung up, he was almost certain that Jules had already completely forgotten what they’d been talking about.

For the next few nights, Tom couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was hit with a series of increasingly ridiculous and gut-wrenching nightmares about Jules and Leo. What had started as a mild annoyance had now spiraled into a full-blown psychological siege.

First nightmare began in the most disarming way, as dreams often do. He found himself sitting at a candlelit table at some impossibly chic restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wore tuxedos and the menus didn’t have prices. Across from him sat Jules, laughing at something, her smile lighting up the room. It was nice. Comforting. Until Tom realized that she wasn’t laughing at him.

No, sitting beside her, looking infuriatingly dashing in a perfectly tailored suit, was Leo. Tom watched helplessly as Leo leaned in, brushing a strand of Jules’ hair from her face with that infuriating movie-star charm. Jules looked up at him with that sparkle in her eyes and giggled. Jules. Giggled.

Tom opened his mouth to interrupt, to say… something, but no words came out. Instead, the restaurant morphed around them, the soft clink of glasses and murmured conversations dissolving into the sound of cobblestones underfoot.

Now they were walking hand-in-hand down a sun-drenched Parisian street. Paris. Of course. Jules was wearing some effortlessly chic outfit Tom had never seen her wear, and Leo had his arm slung around her shoulders like he owned the place. Tom trailed a few steps behind, inexplicably barefoot, and holding… a baguette? He tried to catch up, but every time he moved closer, they seemed to glide further away, laughing like he wasn’t even there.

And then, things took a sharp turn into the absurd.

They were at one of Leo’s infamous Hollywood parties now, all shimmering lights and clinking champagne glasses. Jules, now wearing a gown that could pay off Tom’s mortgage, was surrounded by impossibly glamorous people. She was laughing at something Leo said, her head thrown back like he was suddenly the funniest man alive. Tom, stuck on the outskirts of the group, awkwardly held a plate of snacks that kept replenishing itself no matter how many crab cakes he tried to eat.

He cleared his throat, trying to join the conversation, but Jules turned to him, her eyes twinkling with something that looked like pity. “Not now, Tom” she said lightly, before turning back to Leo, who draped an arm over her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then came the final, gut-wrenching blow.

Leo leaned down, kissed Jules, and she kissed him back. But it wasn’t just a kiss - it was the kind of kiss that made rom-com audiences swoon, with orchestral music swelling in the background. Tom stood frozen, the plate of crab cakes slipping from his hands.

Then, as if this nightmare couldn’t get any worse, Jules broke the kiss to look straight at him. “Tom” she said sweetly, her voice echoing in that bizarre, distorted way dreams sometimes have. “Don’t look so shocked.”

Leo smirked, raising his champagne flute in a mock toast. “Don’t worry, man. There’s someone out there for you too.”

The crowd around them erupted into laughter - deep, mocking laughter that grew louder and louder until it drowned out everything else. Tom tried to shout, to defend himself, but the sound wouldn’t come.

He woke up with a start, his heart pounding, drenched in sweat.

The room was dark and silent, save for the muffled hum of the city outside his window. For a moment, Tom just sat there, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm his racing thoughts.

The second night of Tom’s nightmares started at a red-carpet event, the kind where everyone looked airbrushed in real life. Jules was there, wearing a gown so stunning it seemed to have been spun from the stars. Tom’s brain immediately short-circuited, but the feeling only worsened when he noticed Leo standing beside her, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh.

A camera flash went off, capturing the perfect moment: Jules, grinning like she’d just been named the new face of luxury toothpaste, and Leo, looking every inch the smug movie star, as though he’d simultaneously won an Oscar, saved a panda, and discovered the cure for world hunger.

Tom, who had been standing somewhere in the background like an underdressed extra, felt a hand on his shoulder. A reporter turned to him, looking vaguely annoyed. “Hey, buddy, could you step aside? You’re blocking the shot.”

The scene morphed without warning, plunging Tom into a sun-dappled garden brunch. Naturally, Jules and Leo were at the center of it, sitting at a rustic table that looked like it had been ripped straight out of an influencer’s Instagram feed.

Jules, now in oversized sunglasses and a breezy linen dress, was laughing at something Leo had said. Leo, with all the swagger of a man who had personally pressed the orange juice they were drinking, poured her a mimosa.

Jules sighed dramatically after a sip. “God, Leo, you’ve ruined regular orange juice for me. It tastes like sadness now.”

“Right?” Leo leaned in closer, as if they were the only two people in the world. “Once you go fresh-squeezed, there’s no going back.”

Tom found himself seated awkwardly at the far end of the table, inexplicably holding a plate of scrambled eggs. He tried to cut in. “So, Jules, remember when we found that diner with pancakes the size of....”

“Oh, Tom” Jules interrupted, not even glancing his way. “Leo and I are gluten-free now. You should try it. It’s life-changing.”

Leo nodded sympathetically, giving Tom the kind of pitying look that only Leo DiCaprio in a nightmare could pull off. “Yeah, man. It might help with the… you know.” He gestured vaguely toward Tom’s midsection.

Tom looked down and, to his horror, saw that in this dream, he was wearing a shirt at least two sizes too small.

The scene dissolved again. Jules and Leo were hosting their dinner party, in their Malibu beach house, which Leo had apparently purchased for them because of course he had.

Jules, seated at the head of the table like the queen of Malibu, was effortlessly charming a group of impossibly attractive people. The breeze wafted through the open windows, candles flickered dramatically, and everyone laughed at exactly the right moments, as if choreographed by a Hollywood director.

Tom, stuck at the far end of the table next to “Guy #4” from The Avengers, tried to contribute. “So, Jules, remember when you accidentally spilled an entire coffee on my....”

“Oh, Tom” Jules said, waving him off with an indulgent laugh. “Nobody’s interested.”

The table erupted into laughter, except for Tom, who stared at his plate like it had personally insulted him.

Leo leaned back in his chair, raising his glass. “To Jules” he said, his smile gleaming. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Everyone cheered, while Tom sank lower and lower in his chair, feeling like a punchline to a joke he didn’t understand.

He jolted awake in his bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. It was 2:19 a.m. He stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding. This was the second night in a row of this madness.

The third night brought with it the most absurd and soul-crushing nightmare yet. It began with Jules and Leo on a yacht. The kind of vessel that made you question whether its owner was a billionaire, a Bond villain, or some unholy combination of both.

Jules was draped in a flowing white sundress, the fabric fluttering in the breeze like it had its own wind machine. Perched on her head was a massive straw hat, the brim so wide it could’ve doubled as a sunshade for the entire deck. She reclined on a deck chair, holding a cocktail that sparkled in a way cocktails had no business sparkling, probably because it was infused with crushed diamonds or some equally ridiculous ingredient.

Leo stood beside her, shirtless, because of course he was, handing her the drink with that casual movie-star charm. “Anything for my muse” he said, flashing his million-dollar smile.

Jules took the glass with an effortless laugh that somehow echoed across the open sea. “Tom who?” she said when one of the impeccably dressed crew members asked about her former friends. “Oh, you mean my old life? I don’t do ‘old life’ anymore. It’s all champagne and sunsets now.”

Cut to Tom, miles away, struggling to paddle a sad little kayak that looked like it had been borrowed from a children’s summer camp. He wore a life vest that seemed too tight, a bucket hat that was too big, and a look of desperation. “Jules!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Jules! It’s me!”

Jules didn’t even flinch, as if his voice was nothing more than the ocean breeze. Meanwhile, Tom’s kayak seemed to have a mind of its own, veering wildly off course no matter how hard he paddled.

And then, the kicker: a massive sea lion surfaced beside him. It stared at him with an unnervingly judgmental expression, let out a bark that sounded suspiciously like laughter, and promptly rammed the kayak with its blubbery body.

Tom toppled into the water with a strangled yelp, surfacing just in time to see Jules clink glasses with Leo as the yacht sailed off into the horizon. The sun set dramatically behind them, casting them in a golden glow as if nature itself was rooting for their happiness.

As Tom splashed helplessly in the waves, the sea lion circled him like it was considering whether to nudge him toward shore or let him figure it out himself.

Tom woke up in a cold sweat. He groaned, pressing a pillow over his face. “This has to stop” he muttered. 

By the fourth night, he was actively avoiding sleep, afraid of what fresh humiliation his subconscious might conjure up. He’d started drinking more coffee than usual, pacing around his apartment at all hours, and muttering to himself.

“This is insane” he said, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “They’re not even dating. You’re making this up.”

But the thought of losing her, of her forgetting about him, of becoming just another story she told at parties with Leo - was unbearable. He didn’t even care if she dated Leo or anyone else (okay, he did care, but he wasn’t ready to admit that). What he cared about was the idea that their bond, their easy friendship, could disappear just like that.

By the time the fifth night rolled around, Tom had reached his breaking point. He had another nightmare, this one involving Jules, Leo, and a tropical island where Tom had been relegated to the role of their personal butler - but instead of waking up in a cold sweat like before, he shot upright in bed and said out loud:

“That’s it. I’m losing my mind.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer. At 3:17 a.m., Tom, teetering on the edge of panic, grabbed his phone and dialed Jules’s number. The phone rang once, twice, three times. No answer. His heart sank. But then....

“Hello?”

Tom nearly jumped out of his skin. Jules sounded groggy, as if he’d dragged her out of the deepest corners of dreamland. Her voice was soft and concerned, not annoyed, and somehow that made him feel both infinitely better and profoundly worse. He hadn’t even thought of an excuse for calling.

“Jules” Tom began, his voice cracking slightly in a way that only made him cringe harder. “Hey, it’s me. Tom.”

“I know it’s you.”

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” He winced. Of course, you woke her, genius.

There was a pause. Tom’s mind raced, bracing for her to sound cold or irritated, like in his recurring nightmare - or worse, like she did when she was talking to her assistant. Instead, she let out a sleepy chuckle.

“What’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

Tom hesitated, scrambling for a safe response. “I couldn’t sleep. Just… had a weird dream.”

Jules yawned audibly. “Was I in it?”

Tom laughed despite himself. “Yeah, you were there.”

“Oh no.” Her voice brightened slightly, amused. “Was it one of those dreams where I’m a serial killer? Because, for the record, I’d make a terrible criminal. Too chatty. I’d spill everything during the monologue.”

Tom chuckled, the tightness in his chest easing a little. “No, not quite that dramatic.”

“Damn. Missed opportunity. So, what’s up?”

He hesitated again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. How could he explain without sounding like a complete lunatic? He couldn’t exactly say, I called because I’m terrified you’re going to run off with Leonardo DiCaprio and leave me to live my days as a rejected kayaker?

“I don’t know, Jules” he finally admitted, “but it felt real, and… I just needed to hear you still… you know, like me. As a friend, I mean. Still friends, right?”

There was a pause long enough for Tom to feel like the dumbest person alive. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she processed his bizarre, unnecessary late-night confession.

“Of course, you dork” she said, her voice light with affection, punctuated by another yawn.

Tom exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Right. Right” he murmured, feeling both embarrassed and relieved. “I just… uh, needed to hear that. And, Jules?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you’ll never move to Malibu?” he blurted suddenly. “Or, like, go live in some tropical place, and I never see you again?”

Jules laughed - a genuine, sleepy laugh that made him grin despite himself. “Why would I move to Malibu?”

“That’s what people do” he argued. “One day you’re just doing laundry and buying groceries, and the next thing you know, you’re on a yacht with some really talented Hollywood actor.”

“With you?”

“What?”

“You’re the first person I think of when I hear ‘really talented Hollywood actor’ at three in the morning.”

“Oh…” For a moment, he forgot that he was an actor. “No, I wasn’t talking about me. Just, you know, in general. Never mind. Just… no Malibu, okay?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jules, sounding both amused and exasperated, said firmly, “Tom, that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And I once dated someone who thought spaghetti grew on trees.”

Tom let out a startled laugh. “I’m serious, Jules.”

“So am I” she replied. “Look, you’re stuck with me. Even if you send me one more playlist titled Melancholy Rain on a Tuesday Afternoon.”

Tom smiled, warmth spreading through his chest as the knot of anxiety loosened. “Hey, those are curated playlists.”

“Sure they are” she teased. Her tone softened. “I can’t even begin to explain how ridiculous you sound right now. But here’s the thing, Tom: I’m definitely not moving to Malibu. So chill.”

“Because if you did, I’d probably just move into your closet and live there until you remembered me.”

“I’ll ask you one last time: are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I am. But at least I’m not calling you in the middle of the night every week to ask if we’re still friends” he said, then quickly added, “Not that I plan to do that. This is a one-time thing.”

“Oh, I know. I’m going to remember this forever” Jules replied, her voice playful now. She chuckled. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m cute?” he repeated, his chest swelling with a mix of disbelief and pride. “You said cute? Not ‘acceptable’ or ‘fine,’ but actually cute?”

Jules laughed again. “Oh, absolutely. Don’t get used to it, though. It’s three in the morning, and I’m half asleep. Tomorrow, I might start calling you ‘average.’ Now, go to bed. No more bad dreams, kid. And don’t call me at three a.m. unless it’s an emergency or you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.”

Tom chuckled. “Got it. Goodnight, Jules.”

“Night.”

He stared at his phone for a moment after she hung up, feeling like he’d just made the most ridiculous call of his life. But at least he had one thing to hold onto: she still liked him.

[misswqrld]

Why the Water Tower?

I have had a not healthy obsession with Leonardo DiCaprio lately, especially Jack Dawson and Arnie Grape. So I'm going to write for Arnie. Also sorry I haven't posted in a bit I was grounded so yeah! 

I push my few strands of my hair as I watch my boyfriend ascend the water tower. He kept turning around and waving. 

"God, will he get down!" 

Ellen stated, obviously ticked off. I slightly smile. 

"He'll come down, I'm just worried if one day, he'll just... well, slip!"

Gilbert snatched the mega phone out of the cops hand and began talking. 

"Match in the gas tank, boom boom."

I could see Arnie mutter a few words to himself before looking back up at the tower. 

"Match in the gas tank boom boom!" 

Gilbert repeated much louder. 

"MATCH IN THE GAS TANK BOOM BOOM!" 

Arnie basically screamed, then he just climbed down the tower. I ran over to the latter. Once he made it all the way down I pulled him into my arms. 

"Hi sunflower!" 

I grabbed his face as he began speaking again and kissed him. He just laughed a bit. 

"Don't do that again Arnie!"

"S-sorry."

Gilbert walks over to his truck and I follow, hopping into the trunk with Arnie. He plopped his head onto my shoulder. 

"Look its the water tower!"

He yelled lifting his head. 

"NO NOT THE WATER TOWER!" 

This was so short but I just had to put something new out so here. I hope you enjoyed it though. 

[estrellawicz]

“Titanic”

Matt sturniolo X reader

(This was requested)

Tw: slow burn, death, fluff, angst

The grand staircase gleamed beneath the soft glow of crystal chandeliers as I stepped aboard the RMS Titanic, heart pounding beneath the weight of my silk gown. The polished brass, the ornate woodwork, the gentle hum of excited voices—all of it was supposed to feel like a dream. Instead, it felt like a gilded cage.

I was Lady Y/L/N engaged to a man whose name meant power but whose presence chilled me more than the North Atlantic air. I was expected to be perfect—smile politely, keep my thoughts to myself, bow to the unspoken rules of a world that valued appearances over truth.

But as I stood there, a quiet storm shifted everything.

I saw him.

Matt Sturniolo.

His hair was tousled by the sea breeze, and his worn jacket did little to hide the strength in his lean frame. He moved through the crowd like he didn’t belong, a wild note in a symphony of polished grace. His eyes, dark and fierce, caught mine for just a moment, and I felt something like breathlessness—an invitation, a challenge.

Later that evening, I found myself retreating to the deck, seeking the solace of the cold night air, the vastness of the ocean stretching out like a promise. There, leaning against the railing, was Matt.

“You look like you don’t belong either,” he said without turning.

I hesitated, then said, “Neither do you.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Maybe that’s why we fit.”

He held out his hand, and without fully understanding why, I took it.

He pulled me down the narrow stairs, away from the first-class opulence to where the third-class passengers laughed and danced under strings of lanterns. The smell of salt and wood smoke mixed with the roughness of their voices. The music was lively, raw, and intoxicating.

Matt spun me into the dance, his grin wild. “Forget the rules for a while,” he whispered.

I laughed, something free and unfamiliar bubbling up inside me.

We danced barefoot on the deck beneath a blanket of stars, and for the first time in my life, I felt alive.

Over the next days, Matt showed me the world beyond my walls—the messy, beautiful world of dreams and struggle. He told me stories of his life, of street corners and stolen sketches, of hope clawing through hardship.

I told him of my loneliness, the suffocating expectation of a future planned and sealed.

“You’re more than your title,” he said, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re alive, and you deserve to live.

We talked until the stars faded, sitting on the bow, watching the sea swallow the night.

But the weight of my world pressed down. My fiancé’s shadow darkened every corner, his promises a chain I wasn’t sure I could break.

One afternoon, Matt took my hand and led me to the prow. “Look,” he said, arms spread wide as if he could hold the ocean itself. “This is freedom.”

I closed my eyes, the wind tearing through my hair, and for a moment, I believed him.

Then the iceberg hit.

The shudder rolled through the ship like thunder, the world tilting in chaos. Panic seized the decks; orders screamed through the air.

I found Matt almost immediately, his hands steady as he pulled me toward the lifeboats. The cold sea air stung my lungs as we waited, the terrified faces around us blurring.

“Stay close,” he whispered.

But the lifeboats filled too quickly.

He pulled me back to the deck, to a piece of wreckage floating amid the freezing sea.

“Hold on,” he urged, gripping my hand as the water rose.

Hours passed like an eternity. The cold crept into my bones, but Matt’s hand in mine was the only warmth I had.

“Promise me you’ll live,” he said, voice barely audible.

“I promise,” I whispered, tears freezing on my cheeks.

He smiled, the last light in a dark sea, before slipping beneath the waves.

Rescued but broken, I carried him in my heart.

The boy who showed me freedom, who taught me to live beyond the cages.

Years later, when the ocean wind whispers and the stars glitter cold above, I still hear his laugh—wild, free, and forever mine.

A/N: idk how i feel abt this one it was so rushed 😭😭

Hope it was what u wanted!!

Tags:

[explosiongamora]

Why does this mf

look like a love child of these mfs

[pleasantglitterflower]

My in-laws' daughter (Joe Burrow x OC)

Many things are difficult to tell your family, making certain decisions is a challenge and you can go from mature to embarrassed very quickly.

Exactly for this reason, Juliana, in her 22 years of life, has always tried to be as careful as possible when it came to revealing something to her parents, whether it was from wanting to cut her hair to her shoulders, making her mother purse her lips, to finding out that she threw away three years of college, because that course was definitely not what she wanted for her future anymore, but rather hair, everything that had hair

But this time it's different, the event she feared the most has arrived, that of introducing her boyfriend to her parents, with a big catch.

-Have you been together for six months?- The woman is surprised, letting her tone of voice overflow in the restaurant, quickly trying to contain herself.

-You didn't have to hide anything from us, you just had to say that you're together, what's the problem anyway?- Her father shrugs.

-Leo, you know it's not like that- Her mother said.

-Let the girl enjoy herself- She said again.

-Yes, of course, I just want to say that we need to make sure that he's a good person, a nice guy who treats her well, there's no problem with that-

-That's exactly why I called you here- She smiled a little embarrassed.

-What do you mean, he's here?- Her mother discreetly looked for any guy lurking around.

-No, I called you to let you know that I want to schedule a dinner with everyone and introduce him- She revealed, earning a big smile from her mother.

-That's incredible, I can't believe it, we need to plan everything and when are you going to introduce him to your father's side?- Gisele already commented, suggesting as if it were going to be a separate event.

-The thing is, I'm just going to schedule one dinner and then we'll all go, that way we'll save time- She explained.

-Oh dear, your father has a lot to do, he has a lot of work and girlfriends and you know, I have a lot of meetings, advertising, trips and the routine with your brothers - She changes the subject, hating the idea of ​​having dinner with him.

-Don't forget Tomtom - She cuts her off with a half smile, knowing that now her mother will be annoyed.

-What Tom? - She looks at her, holding the glass in her hand.

-My ex-stepfather - Juliana and Leo's smiles contrast sharply with Gisele's shock.

-Of course, daughter, no problem, but what's his name? Show me at least a picture - She changes the subject trying to be as attentive as possible.

-But you know him - Ju finished her salad, now getting really nervous, feeling her stomach churn.

-We know him? - Leo looks a little confused, changing his eyes between the two.

- It's Joe Burrow - He revealed.

The two looked at each other in disbelief.

But telling Tomtom would be even stranger.

He took advantage of the best moment to talk to him, when he was playing golf.

-Boyfriend? - He asked intrigued, watching her swing.

-Yeah-

-You're not old enough for that kind of thing - He implied, making her laugh.

-So I'm going to lose my golf buddy on Saturdays? - He lamented, watching the girl sitting on a stool.

-Never- She smiled at him, who smiled back, relieved.

-But show me a picture of him, who are we talking about? - He finally asked, going to the girl in the hope of seeing the picture.

-Do you know him? - He shrugged his shoulders.

- Where do I know him from? - Tom couldn't hide the fact that he found it strange.

- It's Joe Burrow - He gave a half smile to his ex-stepfather, who stamped his foot and ran his hand through his hair.

- That damn guy -

Tom started to remember some things and it was inevitable to ask.

- How did you meet? -

- It was thanks to his barber -

He wouldn't need a single word more than that, and Juliana remembers that day well, when she was spending time at her friend's house, whom she met thanks to her stepfather. Steve didn't have any clients that day, but an emergency came up.

-We need to fix this, the team scheduled a surprise online interview and I had to interrupt my vacation to pretend to be focused on the next season and suddenly, I need to appear on TV and not even my cap can save me anymore- Joe chattered until he got stuck in the doorway, when he saw another person he didn't expect that.

-This is Juliana..- He cut her off.

-It's really hard not to know who she is with this family- He observed her with some curiosity.

-Believe me, if it were up to me it wouldn't be like this- She commented with her discomfort with the subject, she hated all exposure.

-Well, let's get to the haircut then- Steven called Joe again, trying to break the awkward atmosphere in the place.

It wasn't hard not to fall in love with her, in terms of beauty it was undeniable, but she was more than that, she knows and likes golf, his favorite pastime, she started getting haircuts and various hair cream mixtures for free, they were able to talk about everything.

But the silence was always better, when they just looked at each other and realized that they were really by each other's side and enjoying it, the ease she has with the countryside, which surprised him a lot, maybe the hustle and bustle of her parents' lives made her fall in love with the silence and calm of sitting on a deck and just drinking tea.

Even so, one thing in particular impressed him in a bad way and in a good way.

She doesn't understand anything about American football, how was that possible when she lived her whole life with their biggest star? He doesn't know, but it was a fact.

Since that moment, the contact between them became natural, Juliana could no longer stand having to hide how in love she was, even avoiding having her life exposed like her parents, even though he is a player and it was impossible, they were trying their best, before it became a scandal they needed at least her parents to know, since she spent several weekends with his parents and playing with his nephews.

Gisele and Tom have found a way to talk about the subject, without anyone suspecting anything.

-How did she meet him?- Gisele whispers as if it were a big secret.

-She assured me that she didn't go to any of my games and that at that time, she had no interest in him- Tom assures.

-That's good, otherwise it would be really weird- The woman sighs thoughtfully.

-That's what I thought-

-Tell me a little about this guy- She asked, earning a confused look from him.

-Tell me a little about him, I don't know him, we just played against each other sometimes, it's not enough to know him- She shrugged her shoulders.

-Of course it's possible, he must have been mumbling something on the bench?-

-The benches are very far apart and when he was on the bench, I was on the field- Tom explains.

-But during the game, didn't he swear, say anything strange, have any strange habits? - His wife's concern and anxiety are starting to worry him equally.

-Look, not that I remember, he was quiet, not everyone makes a fuss or swears

-And scandals in the media, no, or rather scandals in the locker room, have you ever played with someone who played with him and knew something dirty?

-We both know how it is to deal with that, I don't think it's cool to keep commenting and no, I don't know of any scandals, or dirty things involving him, no player with any gossip, they just said he was polite and a good leader - Tom shrugged his shoulders and Gisele finally had no more questions.

At the hotel, unlike them, Juliana and Joe are simply in different sync.

-We already have couple pajamas, we're wearing our couple shirts, finishing our couple mugs, you know we're missing a couple plate, right - Joe reminds her charmingly, brushing his mug.

-We need paintings too, one for your house, the other for mine-

-What other stupid couple thing should we do?- He leaves his paintbrush under the table, thoughtful, while Juliana takes the opportunity to kiss his cheek. Joe, who was a little surprised, was surprised again by a paintbrush stroke on his face before he could react.

Before he could retaliate, the person in charge of the place arrived, finding the paintbrush stroke on his face strange.

-Joe, you're so clumsy- She grumbles, earning him an intrigued look.

The other woman laughed softly at Josh, gathering some materials on the table.Until finally, the day of dinner arrived.

-I think I can stay calmer for a game than for this- Joe comments still in the car, since they both need to gather the courage to go to the house.

-I'm also pretty nervous- She half-smiled without looking at him.

-Relax, you don't have to meet Gisele Bündchen and Leonardo DiCaprio as in-laws and also see Tom Brady not playing against you, but actually being your girlfriend's ex-stepfather. - He joked, moving his arms restlessly, while she knew exactly what he meant.

-It's an awkward situation, I never thought I'd be in this situation. Promise me we'll eat and leave? - He almost begged.

-Sure, but since you're the first one I'm taking home, I don't think any of them will know how to deal with it. It's horrible being the firstborn. - She lamented, but Joe turned abruptly to face her.

-What do you mean the first one?

-Yeah, I've never introduced anyone to my parents- She sighed.

-Why?- He watched her without answering.

-I've never met anyone I took seriously or that I thought I should do that- She finally looked at him, who couldn't hold back his smile.

-I was even embarrassed- He laughed all silly.

Juliana approached Joe, until she realized something that made her not know how to react, is it better to laugh or cry? She wondered.

-I think my mother and my ex-stepfather were watching us through the curtain- She commented looking towards the window, where the cloth still sways.

-Why do you think that?- Joe laughed, believing it was mainly paranoia.

-Because I saw them both run as soon as I looked at the window and someone pulled the curtain that was swinging- She said, making Joe a little more nervous.

-We better go then- He sighed, observing the house, for a moment wondering what he was getting himself into.

Walking next to a guy towards your mother's house is very strange, especially while holding his hand and feeling your stomach churn and your face burn.

It could all go well, just as it could all go wrong, like she forgot to tell him that Joe was allergic to something or someone made a bad joke.

There are many possibilities.

She put her hand close to the door but to her surprise, it opened before she could even knock.

-Sorry for the delay, I was at the back of the house- Gisele gave her best smile.

-We noticed- Juliana couldn't contain herself.

-Oh my God, you're here, what a surprise- Tom commented, almost lying down in the armchair to see the two of them at the entrance, for some reason refusing to get up from the armchair, making Juliana look at her mother as if asking what was going on.

The two of them just went inside the house, Gisele greeted Joe with a handshake, Leo did the same and Tom just waved without getting up from the armchair.

-We're looking for something on TV, do you like watching football?- Tom asked, earning some confused looks.

-Yeah, you could say I like it, but at this time of year it doesn't go away- Joe reminded him, only then did Tom realize what he had just said.

-Don't be silly, soccer is always on on Sundays- Gisele changes the channel and Joe swallows with all his might the urge to say it was Soccer, since luckily Juliana warned him.

And Gisele knows exactly what she's doing, since she patted Joe on the shoulder twice as she passed by.

-Daughter, I didn't know your type was Marlon Brando- She mumbled, but Joe, since he didn't know him, looked back wondering what that meant.

-He's a hunk Joe, you don't need to worry- she smiled nervously.

-Yes, he is a hunk- Gisele smiled equally trying to hide it.

-Without a shadow of a doubt a hunk- Tom finishes, leaving Joe alone instead of calm, suspicious of that.

The exchange of glances between the rooms was strange, even more so for Leo who was paying more attention talking to a woman on the phone than to them.

-Shall we eat? Each of us made a dish and I think mine is wonderful and will be the highlight of the evening- her mother stuck her nose up in a smug tone, starting a debate with Tom.

-Mine is not better by any means, you know I'm a meat expert- he defended himself.

Leo preferred not to go in, since he had only bought something ready-made and didn't want to be embarrassed by saying so.

Juliana let everyone leave the room, Joe in particular being accompanied by his mother, while Tom remained seated.

-Let's eat- She pointed in the direction everyone was going, receiving an embarrassed smile from him, who stood up all awkwardly, covering the seat with a cushion.

They kept an eye on each other and walked around the armchair, until she was quicker and pulled the cushion away, revealing a pair of binoculars.

-You two are more professional than many paparazzi- she joked, hiding the binoculars in the armchair again.

-I don't know what you're talking about- He shrugged.

-I saw you at the window- She revealed, making his eyes widen.

-Us? You must be excited about the situation and looking for problems in our excellent creative management, how could we be stalking Joe everywhere we can and calling journalists, looking for information? Juliana, these are serious accusations, we trust you in your vast love experiences, your heart, your rationality and your good taste in men, we would never make that mistake of toxic and slightly jealous parents, a child is raised for the world- He says in a serious tone, but clearly joking with her, calling her for a hug.

She can't deny it.

-Come on, before they notice us missing and start thinking I'm trying to get you to turn against him or scold you in some way- He put his arm around her neck and they continued walking to the dining room.

The table was set with great care by Gisele, who made sure to lead Joe to a chair next to hers.

-You can eat as much as you want, there's no need to be shy or think about dieting, I want you to feel at home- She told the boy who gave a shy smile.

-There's no poison in anything, don't worry- Gisele joked, placing a glass in front of the boy, who looked at his girlfriend worriedly.

And in fact, she didn't stop following Tomtom.

-Now everything is explained- He pursed his lips when he saw Juliana and Joe arrive at the course, she with a caddie on her back.

Although Tom didn't like it at first, he saw that it would be very good when Joe's first shot was played.

-Now you'll have to put up with me for the rest of your Saturday, until our dinner at a burger joint of dubious origin- Tom joked with a smile.

-Why dubious origin?- Joe adjusted the ball on the tee to take the next shot.

-Because we never go back to the same ones and that brings some pretty bad consequences

[countrymusiclover]

[mamirhodessxox]

whoever sends me Jay Gatsby requests I’ll love u forever & we will get married and wtach The Great Gatsby every day and night. ANYTHING I WILL WRITE ANYTHING ALL I NEED IS A GATSBY REQUEST AND I’LL DO IT ISTG

🏷️ list: @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @valkyrurx @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf

[firestarwrites]

Hearts Unmasked pt. ii - (Jack Dawson x f!OC)

Fandom: Titanic

Warnings: None

Length: Short (603 words)

Pairing: Jack Dawson x f!OC

Eva made her way across the Titanic's deck, her skirt sweeping from side to side as she walked. Ever since the dance last night, she couldn't get the thought of Jack out of her head. Visions of him walking beside her appeared as if he was there. She brushed them off, thinking there was no way she had a crush on someone she just met.

She stopped in front of a door that read "Gallery". She didn't exactly know what kind of gallery to expect, but she entered anyways. Amongst the sea of people surrounding her, she thought she saw Jack. No, it couldn't be.

The pictures on the walls were of paintings from many famous artists. Eva looked up and saw a boat kind of like the Titanic. She smiled slightly and looked away from it, moving onto the next one. As she was approaching the third painting, she felt someone's hand on her shoulder. She slightly gasped and a pair of blue eyes met her.

"Jack?"

"Yes, I thought I saw you." he said. "I never caught your name last night..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's Eva." She replied, slightly blushing.

"Eva... what a beautiful name." Jack took her hand and led her to a corner of the room away from the people. He took out his sketchbook and flipped through the pages. Eva caught a glimpse of some of his drawings.

"You're a beautiful artist," she said, tapping on the paper.

Jack began to sketch and looked into her eyes. Then he looked back at the paper. "Thank you, I try my best to make a living off of my drawings."

Eva watched as the pencil lines on the paper became a face. Slowly, the face transformed to look very similar to hers.

"You drew me?" Eva asked him, lightly touching the paper.

"I always draw pretty faces," Jack smiled, looking at her. "How about we leave here?"

"Where did you have in mind?"

"I know a place."

Eva and Jack found themselves in Jack's room on the third class deck of the ship. She did not turn her nose up at the sight of his room, rather she found it very cozy. The ornate lamp and bedframe were beautifully crafted. Eva sat down at Jack's desk while he flopped onto his bed.

"So, how are you enjoying the voyage so far?" He asked her.

"It's been quite the experience." She said, laughing.

"I think so as well. Last night was very fun," he laughed with her.

Eva noticed him sit up on the bed as an invitation for her to join him.

"May I...?" she hesitantly asked him.

"Of course," he smiled, patting the bed beside him.

Eva stood up and gingerly walked to the other side of his bed. The third class beds were small in comparison to the second class ones. Eva picked up her skirt and sat down beside Jack. She never dreamed of being this close to him, let alone in this situation.

Jack placed an arm around her shoulders and stared at the wall across from the bed.

"I never thought this would happen, but yet this ship is called 'The Ship of Dreams'." Jack said.

Eva put her hand on his chest and let herself fall into his arm. She felt him put his other arm around her.

"I'm loving it though," she said softly.

Jack held her in a resting position as she breathed steadily. He made sure she was calm while rubbing light circles on her back.

"Good night Eva," he whispered.

"Good night Jack," she replied, drifting into a peaceful sleep.

Questions? Comments? Ask in the submission box!

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[t-marveland]

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 | leonardo dicaprio

Leonardo Dicaprio x Reader

Warning : aucun

Mots : 162

Masterlist

Tu étais tout le temps en retard, c'était plus fort que toi comme si le destin voulait te faire galérer à chaque fois. Et cette fois n'était pas différente des autres. Tu avais pourtant fait exprès de commencer à te préparer en avance mais comme rien ne se passait comme prévus, Léonardo était encore en train d'attendre ton arrivée dans le salon. Heureusement pour toi, ce n'était pas le genre d'homme à être trop impatient et ça ne le dérangeait pas tant que ça de t'attendre, il avait l'habitude depuis le temps que vous vous connaissez.

❝━ C'est bon ! On peut y aller ! T'exclamas-tu en arrivant en courant dans le salon.❞

Il te regarda de haut en bas et ne put empêcher son esprit de penser qu'il était la personne la plus chanceuse du monde.

❝━ Tu es absolument magnifique. Ça valait le coup de t'attendre aussi longtemps. Te sourit-il sincèrement.❞

[muqingswife]

eu adoraria ler uma fic titânica de Levi Ackerman onde o leitor é 'rose' e de fora dos muros enquanto Levi é 'Jack' que descobriu um mundo totalmente novo com o leitor (sem mortes aliás, apenas um final feliz para este pobre homem)