#ikevamp Vincent x reader

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you leave a lipstick mark on him, how scandalous!!!

CHARACTERS: mozart, arthur, vincent, & isaac.

WARNINGS: None!! :D

COMMENTS: i wanted to practice writing these guys more!!

mozart doesn’t realize your lipstick has transferred at first, but he knows your giggling never means anything good. his inquisitive “what?” comes out snappier than he intends it to be, but when your eyes dart to the spot you kissed he connects the dots. rolling his eyes, he takes out his handkerchief and attempts to wipe your kiss away. although it's funny to watch him struggle to get the kiss mark off of his face, you eventually step in to help. (and by that, of course i mean you kissed him stupid.)

arthur knows what you’re up to immediately. it’s almost like he has a special sense for your mischief. he lets you pull him in by his lapels and fails to hide his disappointment when you plant a smooch on his cheek instead of his lips. he pouts, pointing to his lips with a pleading gaze. you make a big show of sighing before you smirk, pulling him again and showering his face in kisses. no, he doesn’t wipe a single mark off. yes, he parades around the mansion like that the whole day. yes, he’s grumpy at night when he has to wash them off. oh well, you can always give him more later, can’t you?

vincent blushes when your lips brush against his skin. he touches where you kissed and smiles softly, eyes shifting to you. you’re as beautiful a sight as always, and your smile could not look more radiant. “sunflower...what was that for?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand tenderly along your cheek. you whisper that it wasn’t for anything in particular, he just looks so darling and handsome that you couldn’t resist. his cheeks turn pinker and he hides his laughter behind his hand. oh, you charmer! his face may as well be your canvas, no?

isaac jumps up in his chair, startled by your surprise attack. he reminds you hastily that he’s working, but not without stumbling over his words like a fool in love. you can snicker at the mark on his cheek, but isaac assumes you’re just laughing at “how adorable he looks when flustered” again. it's quite mean of you, you know this, but you’d never be so mean as you let him walk around with your lipstick mark on his cheek. you know arthur would tease him relentlessly. “wanted to leave you a little gift.” you say, poking the mark on his burning cheek, “i hope it motivates you, darling.”

[natimiles]

Lazy morning with Vincent

Words: 456

Tags: scenario; morning cuddles; fluffy; no pronouns specified for reader; established relationship.

As a shiver runs up your spine, your body trembles. It’s not unpleasant, but it causes you to drift between wakefulness and sleep. Feeling it once more, you flutter your eyes open, attempting to make your sleepy mind grasp what’s happening.

And once more, the pleasant feeling, the gentle touch on your back.

Ah!

Realization dawns upon you, and you stir your body. You’d always recognize the touch of those fingertips; you just needed to be sufficiently awake.

“... Did I wake you?” you hear Vincent’s soft voice behind you, barely audible. Knowing him, he wanted to make sure that you were still asleep, but he didn’t want to risk actually waking you up with the question.

You roll onto your stomach and glance at him sideways, with half of your face resting on the pillow.

“Don’t worry,” you smile, and he returns it. “Were you drawing on my back?”

“I was,” he giggles softly. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you, though. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it felt nice,” you reply affectionately. Your smile widens as an idea crosses your mind. “I can show you.”

“Oh? I think I might like it,” he says, his sky-blue eyes gleaming even in the darkness, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Then turn your back to me.”

He shifts into the same position as you, lying on his stomach, with the side of his face pressed against the pillow.

“Is it okay if I stay like this? This way I can look at you,” Vincent says, his eyes filled with such intense adoration that you feel like you could melt.

“Of course,” you hum in agreement, trying to fight the blush that threatens to spread across your face. Ah, the feelings he stirs inside you with only a glance…

You bring your hand to his back and lightly brush your fingertips across it. He squirms and giggles, and you pause, your hand hovering in the air above him.

“It tickles, but it feels nice. Please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” you murmur with a soft smile.

You bring your body closer and rest your arm on his back, moving only your fingertips to draw random shapes and scenarios. A few minutes are enough to make Vincent’s eyes feel heavy, and he yawns.

“I’m so sorry, I woke you up and now I’m sleepy.”

“Shh, don’t worry,” you yawn too and peck his lips gently. “We can sleep more.”

Vincent smiles and throws his arm over you. It doesn’t seem to be the most comfortable position, but he doesn’t care. He lets his eyes close, and you do the same; your fingertips lulling him back to sleep, while his steady breaths lull you.

Taglist: @bicayaya @silverbladexyz @koco-coko @yamarireads @judejazza @echoes-in-the-forest @chevcore @fang-and-feather

Masterlists

[worldsofarchive]

Him On The Bottom

This Book Contains:

Pairing: Gn!Reader x Vincent Van Gogh

Key Notes: Established Relationship, Reader Is Dominant In This Senario

Rating: 18+ / Those younger or unstated will be banned from the library!

Word Count: 0.4k

Vincent was a bit shy when it came to your relationship; you told everyone about it while Vincent blushed and flushed. He could be outgoing when he needed to, but most of the time he preferred to be reserved. Even in bed.

Even as your fingers trailed over his toned, pale body. Tracing his collarbone, running your fingers over his pecks, rubbing his soft abs, and teasing the waistband of his underwear. His soft voice shaky as he begs, eyes glossy. "P-Please, touch me more, please, Sunflower." 

His hands holding onto one another, hovering over his mouth as he lays on the couch. Moonlight beaming on him as his blue eyes glow bright. The ache in his underwear was unbearable—too tight, too suffocating.

His breath is breaking into unsteady pants when you pull down his underwear and free his achy cock. Red and leaky, he almost hiccups from the need. Tears slowly spilling out. "More! P-Please!" He stumbles over his words.

You stroke his hair, and he looks at you like a lost puppy. Eyes wide and needy as you climb on top of him. Lining him up with your entrance before slowly sitting down on him. It nearly breaks him as he feels relief. His high pitched moans and stuttered groans fill the painting room.

Hands gripping his hair as if he is losing his mind; it does something to you; you want to ruin him; make him dependent on you for his relief. Your hips begin rocking back and forth, even bouncing a bit. It wasn't enough; his back needed to arch more.

You speed up, bouncing a bit harder, hitting your own pleasurable spots that made you lightheaded. Whimpers left his mouth as his back arched more, eyes searching the ceiling and walls for something. He grabbed onto your thighs to hold onto some of his sanity, but his head still floated in the clouds.

The knot in his stomach frayed, threatening to snap the longer you rode him. A knot formed in your own stomach, and your thoughts became fuzzy. Thread after thread, snapping with every bounce of your hips.

Tears overflowed in his eyes as he muttered, 'I love you's under his shaky breath; the last thread snapped and he released inside you. Warm and sticky. The sensation triggered your own knot to rip apart, and your orgasm hit you.

Soft pants filled the room as you gently wiped Vincent's tears away. You gently brush his bangs off his face, some stubborn hair strands stuck to his sweaty forehead. Soft mumbles and sniffles came from him. 

You wrapped up the night with quick cleaning and a nice cuddle.

[niphredil-14]

I’m reentering my Ikevamp phase. Send me the links to your favorite ikevamp fics!!

[alby-rei]

The Astral Artist and His Haughty Hound (IkeVamp; Luigi's Mansion AU, Part 5)

a/n: It's been a while since the last update. Since then, I've graduated master's! Wee! What do you do when you fall head-first into a world inside a painting? Happy reading~ ✨

Series: Comte's Ghost Mansion Tags: Humor, Crack treated seriously, Luigi’s Mansion AU, Spooky scary spectral vampires, Ghostbuster MC Word Count: ~1900 words Characters: You, Vincent, Theo, [Surprise] Previous: Part 4 Next: Part 6

~*~

After dealing with the frivolous phantom named Arthur, you weaved through the winding halls in search of your next target.

Sebastian had marked for you the rooms of the remaining residents and their favorite spots.

A painting studio next? Wow, this mansion has everything!

You wondered how different the manor looked in the daytime. If Sebastian does not find you a way home, would they let you stay with them? Did you want to? Shaking your head, you brushed those thoughts aside.

This is all just one long lucid dream anyway, you thought as you trekked up a flight of stairs.

"Open sesame!" You jammed the master key in. "Woah!"

As soon as you stepped inside, your foot met with air, and you plunged down a starry night cityscape. Time slowed down as the wind picked up in swirls of cobalt blue, trailing across the sky like migrating birds. Stars twinkled in zinc yellow sparks guided by the vibrant orange of a cartoonish crescent moon.

More like a croissant moon, said your stomach while growling.

You stretched your limbs out like a flying squirrel, taking in the sights of a bustling city below. Couples strolled across tiles of spotty ultramarine and red ocher. A farmer pushed a cart of straw. A waiter balanced a tray of glass drinks as he weaved between busy tables. Trees danced to the tune of the wind, each branch shimmering in shades of emerald green. In fact, every inch of the city appeared in constant motion.   

How does such a world exist within a single painter's studio?

Gravity decided you had enough time to enjoy the scenery. You swam in the air towards the farmer's cart. If there was any hope in landing safely, that was your best bet. You held your breath as you hurled down towards your impending doom.

.

.

.

Just kidding!  

You landed in the cart of straw with the grace of a cat. The straw poked into your clothes and scratched against your skin. You climb out of the cart, weighed down by the Poltergust 1899. Thankfully, it did not break on the way down. Otherwise, you would have a bigger problem on your hands.

Brushing yourself off, you looked around for any signs of the artist behind this painterly world. Upon inspection, you found that the city dwellers did not carry distinct facial features. Some had none at all, more like impressions of a face. You wondered if this was how prosopagnosia felt.

You also wondered where you heard that word before.

"Excuse me, miss," said a gentle voice. "If I may trouble you to hold that pose."

Your head darted back and forth to find the source. A blond man peeked his head behind an easel stand. Unlike the rest of the population, his features were crystal clear; cerulean blue eyes and a sheepish smile on creamy skin. Little stars shimmered and swirled onto his features like those of the night sky overhead. An astral artist as beautiful as the world he had brought to life with his brush.

This must be Vincent,*you deduced.

Refusing his request felt like a crime against humanity. Unaccustomed to this sort of attention, you fidgeted in your spot. When you stood still, the colors around you became static. When you moved, the city followed suit. The only one unaffected by this was the painter, who remained engrossed in his work. Your attempts at light conversation were fruitless. He spoke mostly with his eyes with the way they stole glances at you every now and then, studying you. Heat rose to your cheeks as your gaze traveled elsewhere. You blamed the warmth on the bright lights of the coffee shop.

Be still my beating heart, you thought. This is not the time for casual crushes on ghosts.

You were jolted when you heard a loud smack of the paintbrush against wood. Vincent was cleaning his brush from the excess paint. The astral artist's arm shook with the speed of a rubber band. You'd think that brush was possessed, given the force he used to exorcise the spirits within. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, raising the canvas to face the light. His angelic smile was disarming. 

"Can I move now?" You asked, craning your stiff neck.

"Oh, yes! Thank you for your time. You must be a guest at the mansion. My name is Vincent."

"Nice to meet you, Vincent. And what a wonderful city you've created."

He shook his head. "I just paint what I see. The real wonder is the world around us." Stars twinkled excitedly across his cheeks.

You clutched the vacuum tube, explaining to Vincent the real cause of your arrival: to return their spirits to their bodies. You almost felt bad for what you had to do.

Vincent nodded. "In that case, you should find my brother Theo here, too. But, hmm..." He pursed his lips. After rummaging through his briefcase, he scribbled on a piece of paper, then handed it to you in an envelope. "This should help convince him. Please don't be alarmed by his...fiery spirit. Deep down, he is a kind soul."

His words left you skeptical, but you hadn't the heart to voice those concerns. A fiery spirit could mean many things. Given Vincent's gentle nature, *how bad could his brother be?*

"Where would I find him?"

"He usually stays at the pub just around the corner. It's the only one on the block. I'll meet you both in front of the river Rhone."

Waving goodbye to the astral artist, you rounded the corner and found a wooden sign with a beer keg on it. Just as you made your way up some wooden steps, a bloodhound stood in your path.

Similar to Vincent, he stood out from his surroundings. His chestnut-brown fur shimmered with a spectral outline. A silver ear cuff shone on his right floppy ear. His short tail stood on end.

"Intruder! Intruder!" barked the hound. "You're not from one of my dear brother's paintings. How did you get here?"

"Woah, woah. Settle down, boy." You backed up slowly as he drew closer. "Just visiting. I'm looking for—"

He sniffed around your ankles, then your clothes. You shielded the pocket that held Vincent's envelope. The bloodhound's maw pulled back in a snarl.

"An art thief?! Not on my watch!"

"What, no!"

"You stole something of his. It’s in that pocket, I can smell it."

Unable to reason with the haughty hound, you were forced to run in hopes of losing him. He proceeded to chase you around the painted city for a solid thirty minutes.

Huffing and puffing, you looked around frantically for any sign of the river that Vincent mentioned. *Surely he would know how to pacify his guard dog, if that is what he is.*

Your legs grew heavy and rigid like planks of wood. The bloodhound leapt onto your back, sending you tumbling forward.

"Get...off...me!" You struggled against his incessant pawing at your pocket. "I NEED TO FIND THEO."

He stiffened. "For me?"

"For...huh." Still dazed, words eluded you. You revealed the envelope in your pocket, waving it.

A weight was lifted off your chest, and a hand—a human hand—swiped the letter from yours. In front of you stood a tall man with brunet hair swooped left like sharp blades of grass. His cobalt blue eyes scanned the contents of the letter.  

"Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"You wouldn't let me finish!"

He offered you a hand to get up. "Come on, then. We shouldn't keep Vincent waiting."

You got up and brushed yourself off with more insults swirling in your head. Theo was already walking away, cool as a cucumber, as you let out all your frustrations. 

After a short walk, the loud and busy cityscape gave way to tranquil waters and soft sand. A handful of rowboats were docked. The warm yellow light of the buildings reflected onto the river, extending from shore to shore. The shimmering lights above brightened. The crescent moon was out of sight. The astral artist waved and the river swayed in tandem with his sweeping arcs.      

"I hope my little brother didn't trouble you much," Vincent said with a gentle smile.

"Well..." You rolled your eyes at Theo, who whistled loudly while avoiding eye contact.

Though you didn't say more, Vincent's smile fell. "Oh no."

Theo flinched when Vincent pinched his cheek. "Theo... What did we say about reacting impulsively?"

"Urk... I was just trying to keep your work safe."

Vincent sighed. "I understand you meant no harm." His voice trailed off, flicking his head towards you.

Theo inhaled sharply and turned to you. "I'm...sorry. For the way I reacted." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away.

Vincent pat his head. "You can make up for it with a generous plate of your delicious pancakes."

Your stomach growled approvingly.

"But first, how do we get out of here?" you asked.

"Your device should do the trick," said Vincent with open arms. "Ready when you are."

"Wait!!" shouted Theo. "Me first. I don't...think I can handle seeing Vincent vacuumed like that again."

He has memories of previous nights? you thought. A brotherly bond stronger than paranormal curses, how sweet.

Fulfilling his wish, you captured Theo first, then Vincent. As you did, the world around you swirled in on itself. Blues and oranges blended together, and your sense of direction distorted along with it. The buildings compressed like clay, and the river washed over the stars.

Everything faded to black.

When you opened your eyes, you stood on solid wooden ground in the center of a regular studio.

Moonlight shone through a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. You recognized the paintings on display as the city you ran through. No museum experience could ever live up to what you have seen here. Maybe you should propose the idea of a walk-in painting when—if—you get back home.

Beside your feet, both ghosts had dropped something behind; a paintbrush and magnifying glass. Two more for the count. You were getting good at this.

"Into the pouch you go," you declared, exiting the room with a rejuvenated sense of purpose.

You opened the map to your next destination. The longer you remained here, the harder it was to convince yourself it was just a dream. You touched the furniture you passed by, as a means of testing that theory. The man you met at the Louvre came to mind. Sebastian’s master. The subject of the painting at the entrance hallway.

"Ah," said a velvety voice. "Sebastian didn't tell me we were expecting guests."

You clutched your vacuum tube, aimed at the source. The shadow of a figure came into view. "And you are?"

Expensive leather shoes clicked as a man walked into the light. A large beige coat framed a lithe figure of aristocratic air. Blond hair swept over molten golden irises faintly glow in the dark.

The cause of your arrival in this strange world. He raised a hand to his chest, tipping forward in a noble bow. "I am the head of this mansion. Better known as le Comte de Saint-Germain. Enchanté."

~*~

Tagging: @starlitmanor-network

Back to Masterlist

[ikewhores]

☆.｡.:* welcome to our blog! here are the rules and our self intos, this blog is run by 3 people. by reading our work and interacting with us we assume you’re aware of this and have read our rules/introduction <3

@ajaxsbeloved (navy) name; lee pronouns; any favorite characters; shakespeare, napoleon, mozart etc; dms are always open <3!!

@scarasweetheart (purple) name; aurelius (lius) pronouns; he/it/moon favorites; mozart, comte, vincent etc; literary genius but god nerfed me w all kinds of creative blocks

@riviifetish (icey blue) name; stanford (ford) pronouns; they/he/vex/mx.  favorites; leonardo, dazai, vlad, napoleon etc; surprisingly a lesbian

rules; - all ikevamp suitors are available for requests! we write them all but some more than others due to personal bias and/or lack of knowledge on characters - character x reader only  - smut + nsfw 100% allowed and encouraged - angst + fluff also allowed - no pedophillia, necrophillia, incest, lolitcon/shotacon, etc - no vore or extremely violent acts (especially in nsfw work) - please let us know if you want a specific author to write your request! - nonrequest in inbox is welcomed and encouraged

before you follow; - we will 100% be inconsistent with our writing and may even leave the blog untouched for numerous days/weeks/months -because there are 3 of us, our writing styles WILL be different but you will be able to see who has written what based on our signature colors :)  - lee is the blog owner so lius and ford may not get to your ask/request right away! if lee sees your ask/request in the inbox they’ll inform the others so that there’s no cross-answering 

*･῾ ᵎ⌇✧.* thank you for taking the time to read our introduction and rules! please dm us or send us an ask if you have any questions <3

[nuttytani]

Would you love me if I were a worm? Featuring ikemen vampire cast. (With gender neutral reader)

(a/n: when you have too much free time and need your hands to be occupied. Some random bullshit begins to form on your notes)

Napoleon

He finds it funny, why would you turn into a worm?

After seeing your frown tho, he says ok ok yes I will love you

Mozart

Makes a disgusted face and turns you down

First of all, you won't turn into a worm. So why should he answer?

"if people can turn into vampires, why can't I turn into a worm?"

He kicks you out of his piano room

Dude has some thoughts to organise

Leonardo

Laughs at you and says, "what will you do if I say no?"

Pretends to forget about it but after some hours, he comes back to you

"no matter how and what you are or will turn into, I'll still love you"

Arthur

"is this some sort of trick question? Well the answer is obviously yes, my love!"

Vincent

Thinks deeply about it and smiles at you

"of course, I'll still love you. I think you'd make a cute worm too."

Theodorus

Scoffs at you and calls you an idiot

Why would you turn into a worm?

And by chance, you DID turn into one, how was he going to take care of you? There's so many worms out there in the world. What if you get lost and he gets some random worm instead and you, are lost and out in the cold, ready to be squashed by big feet.

Dazai

Uno reverses you instead

Now you're trapped

Would you love him if he was a worm?

Gets sad if you don't answer quickly enough

Sebastian

"I am not doing this right now. If you're free, wash those potatoes instead. I'm already busy as it is"

Stays silent for a while and then sighs

"no matter what, I'd love you always and forever"

Comte

Chuckles a bit at the thought and immediately replies yes

He'd give you a good environment to live in. Some really nutritious soil and compost. Maybe a tiny rock for you to play with

"Comte, you just need to say yes... No need to.... Elaborate on what else you'd do"

"Alright. Well, would you love me if I were a worm?"

Shakespeare

Is fascinated that you even came up with such a question

His answer is yes

But at the same time, he's coming up with scripts that include a dramatic romance between worms. For his own pleasure

Vlad

Says yes immediately.

Thinks you'd look like a cute worm

Maybe he'd put roses next to your habitat or in it.

Charles

"of course! In fact, we can both be worms together! We'll be a happy worm couple"

He's actually taking the idea too seriously and goes ahead making worm habitats and gets a book on "how to raise a worm"

Faust

"I'm not sure. Though I suppose researching on a worm wouldn't be that bad"

Seeing you look unimpressed, he just chuckles while patting your head

"I'm only joking. Of course I'd love you"

[fang-and-feather]

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Rating: G

Category: F/M, M/M, Multi

Relationship: Jean D'arc x Vincent Van Gogh x Reader

Tags: Jean's POV, Fluff, Relationship Milestones Jean being very emotional over it

Words: 459

Summary: Jean found it hard to sleep the first time he agreed to sleep with both his partners. Instead he finds himself thinking about their relationship and reveling on their warmth.

Written for August's Polyam Shipping Day Prompt: Warmth from @polyamships

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Jean found it hard to sleep the first time he agreed to sleep with both his partners.

You and Vincent had fallen asleep rather quickly, each on one side of him, snuggling close.

He had agreed to this arrangement, not thinking much of it. It was normal for lovers to sleep together, besides you were only sleeping, and he had already slept alone with you, although not with Vincent yet.

But now, between the two of you, he couldn’t help but think.

That you loved him was still a surprise. How could such angels like you care so much for a monster like him? How could you feel so safe and comfortable in his arms like this?

Not that he could say anything. He had allowed you to get close. To sneak your way into his heart.

Your love for him still filled him with such warmth that sometimes it burned. His heart felt so full whenever he was with you that it ached, almost as if it could burst.

He still wished to hide sometimes, but you were there when he did. You dragged him into your radiant light, enveloped him with your warmth. You were like the sun, chasing away the night, until he was warm himself.

This was the happiness he had long ago given up on having.

His eyes burned as he gently pulled you even closer.

All his life, he never realized how much he longed for this warmth. This was like a dream, but it was real. He was loved.

He looked at Vincent on one side, then at you on the other, feeling his cheeks starting to become wet. To his surprise, you reached out, whipping away a tear.

“Are you okay? If it’s too much, we can go back to our rooms.”

Your worry and consideration only warmed his heart further. But these were tears of happiness.

Jean couldn’t find his words, overwhelmed with happiness. He shook his head, smiling at you.

“We will be happy to be here as long as you allow us.” Vincent leaned closer, caressing his cheek, and Jean hugged both of you. “Whenever you need us.”

“Je t’aime, mes anges.” Was the first words he managed to whisper, kissing each of you.

You had tears in your eyes too, and the two of you hugged him back.

It was the first time he had managed to tell you he loved you, wasn’t it? He had struggled with his feelings, even after you confessed yours. After he started to let you get closer.

But saying these words made him feel like he was finally free of doubt and fear.

“Thank you for bringing light and warmth into my life.” He whispered.

“Always. Because we love you too.”

Tag List:

@tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya,

@eventinelysplayground, @queengiuliettafirstlady

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

[vcodenv]

ೃ Ikevamp Suitors Playing Uno ⁀ 🏹

pt 2

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Vincent & Jean.

warnings : none

I’m back after not posting for almost a month ‼️

˗ˏˋ Vincent ´ˎ˗

⋆ ★ He’s literally an angel as always, which is extremely rare in a game of Uno.

⋆ ★ Always mutters a sorry whenever he puts down a +2 or +4.

⋆ ★ The suitors also feel bad whenever they make him pick up cards.

⋆ ★ Always congratulates the winner.

⋆ ★ Constantly has to calm down his guard dog Theo.

“Now, now, Theo. You’ll win next time.”

˗ˏˋJean ´ˎ˗

⋆ ★ Give him time to process because this boy has no clue what he’s doing.

⋆ ★ Literally, “If Johnny has two apples…”

⋆ ★ Forgets to yell out “UNO.” whenever he has one card left and ends up having to pick up.

⋆ ★ Makes the rest of the suitors wait so long for him to find a card in his hand to put down, just for him to draw from the deck instead 30 minutes later.

⋆ ★ Shows everyone his cards and asks, “can I use this one?” before he puts it down.

⋆ ★ Secretly has it out for Comté the entire game. He saves up all his +2 cards and then immediately uses them once Comté calls Uno.

[y4h3l1n]

Amigo, no puedo parar de imaginarme a Mozart escuchando la música de la actualidad, o Napoleón enterándose sobre la reliquia de su pene 💀 Digamos (En el Universo de Ikemen) que al final alguien hizo pasar el miembro de alguien como si fuera de Napoleón, yo lo nombraría la gran estafa...

Puedo oír las voces de Arthur, Dazai y los demás residentes riendose de esto, también me uno a la causa. Principalmente Arthur y Dazai, Sebastian estaría contando sobre eso alegremente, mientras atras de él se estan cagando de la risa.

Le Comte lo sabía antes definitivamente. Se esta riendo detras de su taza de té.

De seguro le hacen burla a Napoleón por una semana. Isaac se siente aliviado por que deja de ser el foco de atención de las burlas, pero también se siente un poco mal al ver que se burlan de Napoleón como el con las manzanas. Recurre a Sebastián para sacar datos vergonzosos de Arthur o Dazai, no sabe por qué no se le ocurrió antes...

Después de eso dejaron las bromas a parte no solo por los datos vergonzosos, si no mas bien por qué estamos hablando de Napoleón Bonaparte, el tipo que lleva una espada con él a todas partes, el ex emperador de Francia, blabla, le temen como también lo respetan de alguna manera.

Ahora nos vamos a enfocar en Mozart escuchando la música de la actualidad, reggaeton, metal, Hip Hop, etcétera.

Hay dos versiones de él, hechando espumarajo por la boca, o neutral.

Imagina el nació en el 1756 y murió en el 1791, y fue revivido por finales del 1886 por ahí (Creo, no recuerdo muy bien su ruta) me baso en la exposición Universal de Paris en los 1900 del 15 de abril hasta el 12 de noviembre que aparece en la historia de Interlude. (Cumpleaños de Leonardo el 15 jiji) Así que ambientado a la música de los 1900 debe estar.

Me esta dando ganas de hacer un fanfic, Ikemen Vampire x reader, pero que todas las rutas esten en una sola, Reader se quede un año en la mansión, y sería tan entretenido, los cumpleaños, eventos importantes, etcétera en uno solo, los pretendientes compartiendo Mc, conviviendo juntos. Me imagino que el Mc llega a comienzos de Enero o Febrero en los 1900.

Avise si hay algún tipo de error ortográfico, o comenté sobre esto, apreciaría mucho su opinión. 💕

[malachiexists13]

Requests Temporarily Closed.

[SMUT] W.I.P (Johann Georg Faust) - Coming Soon [SMUT] ??? || "Comte" (?) [SMUT] ??? || "Faust" (?) [SMUT] ??? || "Sebastian" (?) [SMUT] ??? || "Mozart" (?) [SMUT] ??? || "Faust" (?)

[Opinions] Gay or Nay?: Ikemen Series Edition [Opinions] Would I Punch This Character?: Ikevamp Edition

Nothing to be seen here yet...

Nothing to be seen here yet...

Nothing to be seen here yet...

[FLUFF] Almost Perfect || AO3 Link (OC - F)

Nothing to be seen here yet...

Nothing to be seen here yet...

[SMUT] A Single Taste || AO3 Link (OC - M)

Nothing to be seen here yet...

-------------------------------------

Back to Main Masterlist ~

All works found in these masterlists are only posted to Tumblr and Archive of Our Own under the name "Malachi Exists" or another variation with the number "13". If they are found elsewhere, that means it is a stolen work and should be reported as such.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: vincent sees a masterpiece in you.

WARNINGS: None!! :D

COMMENTS: GAHHH SHUT UP OKAY SHUT UP. HE'S SO KIND. i havent played hsi route yet but i am brainrotting a little. also i was inspired by myself because i realized how animated i am and i was immediately like "omg an artists muse" bc WOW all my facial expressions and body language could give an artist a career I MOVE TOO MUCH!!!!

anyway yes he's sweet but i don't really know a lot about him. do vincent kissers even exist!??!?!?!

An artist at heart, he’s accustomed to noticing the beauty of everything around him. From the way your eyes widen when you’re surprised to the way they crinkle when you’re happy, from the way your lips stretch across your face when you smile at him to the way they purse when you pout, from the way you drag your hands down your arms when you’re cold and trail them down your legs when you’re stretching, to the way your fingers position themselves around a pen when you’re scribbling out annotations in a cookbook.

Or maybe, he’s just become accustomed to noticing your beauty.

“Vincent.” you call, “You’re staring.”

He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment and flashes you an awkward smile. His eyes fall to the notepad in front of him, and he ignores the way his cheeks flush a tender pink. It’s a lovely feeling, the pitter-patter of his heart in his chest and the shaky breaths that come with knowing you.

He’s in awe of the artist that sketched you out and brought you to life. He's envious of the paints that colored you in. Vincent wishes there was a part of you for him in your masterpiece, a blank space that only he could fill. He would fill you with blues and yellows and browns, he would paint the night sky in your eyes and sunflowers along your legs. Each petal would be delicately sketched out along the flesh of your thigh, and his paintbrush would travel down your calves as he sculpted the stems. He would worship you like you deserve, treat you with reverence, and treasure you like nobody else could.

“Sunflower.” you whisper, right next to his ear, “Are you alright?”

Vincent snaps out of his trance once again, an easy smile falling across his lips. His chair groans against the floor as he pushes away from the table, staring up at you as you stand in front of him.

“Of course. I’m sorry for worrying you.” he says softly, looking up at you through his lashes, “Did you say something?”

“Nothing important.” you smile, like you know exactly what he’s been thinking.

You probably do. Vincent blushes, ducking his head to the side so you can’t see his face.

“Can you come to my room later? After you’re done here?” he asks, reaching out to touch you.

His hands rest on your hips, and you let him pull you closer. Your eyes are full of intrigue, and he knows you'll say yes, but he needs to hear the words from your lips.

“Of course.” you hum, leaning down to his level, “I wouldn’t go anywhere else.”

You kiss his forehead, and his heart stumbles in his chest. Right there, he sees it. He sees you. You’re made up of so many shades of color that belong to everyone you’ve ever met and loved, but right there, on your lips, are swirls of gold and blue.

And as you pull away, he sees sunflowers in your heart.

[natimiles]

What is that? (a tattooed reader)

Summary: You tied your hair in a high ponytail that morning, and it was enough for the tip of your tattoo to be visible. You've had it for so long that you're used to it, and sometimes you forget it's there — plus, you forgot that they've never seen it before.

Words: 1716

Tags: reader have tattoos; platonic relationships; more like friendships; no pronouns for reader, but you wear a dress and have sort of long hair.

Can you tell I have favorites? Only Isaac, Mozart, Jean, Arhur, Vincent, Theo, Napoleon and Sebastian show up. Le Comte is vaguely mentioned.

If you're curious to see the tattoos, I linked their images in their respective descriptions throughout the fanfic.

“What is that, mademoiselle?” 

You're helping Sebastian with breakfast, moving around the dining room, but you’ve been feeling a strong stare for a while. You're already accustomed to everyone, so you don't mind. You knew that if it was Isaac trying to muster the courage to ask you something, he would eventually do it. But it’s Jean’s voice, and it catches your attention because he usually eats in silence; and he sounds unsure and curious.

You set Arthur’s coffee in front of him while you glance at the table and everything you and Sebastian made. Perhaps there's something he doesn't know, like when you baked him macarons, but today's menu is the same as usual.

“What is what?”

“That thing,” he points in your direction. 

Isaac, Mozart, Vincent, and Theo are already having breakfast too, but they pause to glance at you, curious about what Jean is talking about. You feel a bit self-conscious and briefly inspect your clothes. Did you spill something? Fortunately, no. 

“I don’t follow, Jean.”

“That thing you have here,” he points at his own back. “I’ve seen it since I sat here to eat, but I can’t understand.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and look over your shoulder, Arthur takes advantage that you’re still by his side to lean backwards on his chair and measure you up and down — and definitely stare at your ass.

“Stop it, perv,” you playfully spat the writer’s arm, earning a chuckle from him. 

“Ah, I think Master Jean is talking about your tattoo,” Sebastian tries to help, pointing at his own nape.

Realization finally hits you. Since arriving at the mansion, you've been exclusively wearing long clothes that cover almost your entire body. However, summer started a few weeks ago, and you've been feeling the full force of the heat. It's scorching every day, and at times, you wake up covered in sweat. You've been yearning for an air conditioner or even just a simple fan. So you bought lighter clothes recently — aka Comte bought you a whole summer wardrobe as a gift. What you're wearing today is just an off-the-shoulder dress, so the front and back necklines are a bit lower than usual, but not by much. However, you tied your hair in a high ponytail that morning, and it was enough for the tip of your tattoo to be visible. You've had it for so long that you're used to it, and sometimes you forget it's there — plus, you forgot that they've never seen it before.

“What is that?” Jean is even more curious now, evident from the way he furrows his brow.

“It's a drawing on my body, made with a special kind of paint that never fades. It's a form of art.”

“Really?” You've piqued Theo's interest in art. “And what is it?”

“Music,” and now you’ve piqued Mozart’s interest in music. He doesn’t really show it, but you know him well enough to see when he’s curious. “Well, kinda. It goes a little down my spine, but it’s safe to show. Sebastian, can you help me, please?”

The butler nods and approaches you. You turn your back and move your ponytail to the side for a better view, while Sebastian lowers your neckline slightly so the others can satisfy their curiosity and see it.

It starts just at the end of your nape and goes 5 inches down. It’s an all-black DNA drawing with musical notes on the middle lines, a representation of a metronome pendulum on top, and a treble clef at the bottom. The middle actually has the same number of lines as a music sheet, and the notes can be read as the first five notes of your favorite song.

There’s only silence for a few moments, and as you turn around, you see that they're still staring at you. You think Theo hadn't even blinked until now because he suddenly blinks a lot, and his eyes meet yours.

“It’s pretty!” Vicent smiles like the angel he is. “Is it a real song?”

“It is,” Mozart hums the notes, his eyes conveying that he knows it’s your favorite song.

You've told him once, when you went to the music room to give him an afternoon snack. You were already friends (kind of), so when you saw he wasn't there at the moment, you knew he wouldn't mind if you sat down and softly played it; so you did. The next thing you knew, he was barging into the music room to scold whoever had the audacity to touch his piano, but he stopped when he saw you. He may have asked you to write down the notes so he could play it with you.

“Oh, yeah, you played it for us in the last banquet,” Isaac remembers.

“Does it hurt?” Jean asked, curious again. 

“No, not anymore. It hurt when I was getting it done. Boy, that was one hell of a ride,” you laugh. “But it’s been years, so it’s all healed and okay now.”

“It suits you, hondje. Do you have more?”

“I do!” You beam at them, feeling all bubbly inside. It's lovely how they always show interest in anything about you and remember what you like. “It’s on my thigh.” You use the tip of your toes to put more leverage on your right leg, grabbing a fistful of the skirt of your dress. You lift it to show them your tattoo, but a hand stops you when it's reaching your knee.

“Nunuche, what the hell?” 

Napoleon had just woken up and was joining you in the dining room. Did you say something about your thigh? He was still a little sleepy, so he thought he heard you wrong. But then you grabbed your dress… What the fuck do you think you’re doing? He was at your side in the blink of an eye, gripping your wrists tightly and looking at you with a panic expression. It’d certainly be red in a second, if the loud slap sound was any indication. 

And that’s how you make vampires choke on their foods and drinks. You look at them, a confused expression on your face. Isaac spat his tea all over his plate and is now coughing to clear his throat. Jean dropped his fork, frozen in his chair. Mozart is blinking in a frenzy, his mug in such a tight grip on his hand that his knuckles are white. Vincent is blushing furiously, his mouth agape. Theo is actually amused, and you clearly heard Arthur complaining to Napoleon that it was just getting good. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, startled. 

“MC, just remember we’re not in the 21st century,” Sebastian says, clearly holding a smirk. 

You feel your entire face heat up. Oh my God! That was certainly an uncomfortable situation. But you were so used to them; they made you feel at home, so you didn’t really think about what you were doing.

“Oh, right, sorry,” You chuckle and blush under the intensity of their stares. “But it’s no big deal, really. Sebastian and le Comte have already seen it.”

“Say that again?” Theo asks as his gaze drifts to the butler, just like everyone else's. 

“It’s nothing weird!” You can almost feel the emperor’s grip tightening. Sometimes he was so overprotective — they all were, and it was both endearing and funny. You huff. “We were talking about the 21st century, and I told Sebas that I have tattoos and showed him. Simple as that. Lots of people wear clothes that show a lot of skin in modern days. Do you think I would lift my dress to show the tattoo when I’m right next to Arthur if it wasn’t okay?” You deadpan Napoleon.

“Hey!” The writer complains, but everybody ignores him. You do have a point.

Napoleon frowns, but slowly releases you. You look at the others and just from a look they know you’ll be mad if they freak out again, so they try to act cool. Keyword: try. They’re staring so much you think they’ll open a hole in your thigh, but at least they’re quiet. You lift the dress just a little more and your tattoo is finally showing. It’s colorful and about the same size as the other. There’s white fine lines connecting dots, forming the Leo constellation, with a blue-purple watercolor background.

“Yes, luv! Now that’s a good breakfast,” Arthur smirks and places his elbow on the table to support his head as he looks at you. He’s so glad that Jean started this conversation while you were still beside him. Napoleon purses his lips and glares at the writer, but he knows better than to start a fight. His nunuche wouldn't let him live it down. 

“What the fuck is that?” Theo raises an eyebrow. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the art, but he just doesn’t understand what it’s supposed to be.

“Theo, language,” Vincent scolds his brother. He doesn’t want you to think they don’t like it.

“Is it upside down?” Jean frowns and tilts his head, trying to get a different angle, but it doesn’t make a difference.

"It's the Leo constellation," you chuckle and glance at Isaac, knowing he would understand. He enjoyed stargazing and always invited you to join him, especially after discovering your shared interest — then he started rambling about physics and astronomy, and you were lost.

“Oh, the stars,” Vincent says.

"So," Theo begins, and you can tell from his amused tone that he's about to say something to make you blush, "you have one that resembles Mozart and another that resembles Isaac."

“No, no. It’d have to be an apple for Newt,” Arthur grins when the poor physicist blushes as red as… the mentioned fruit.

“You’re the worst,” Isaac mumbles under his breath.

You chuckle at their banter. “So that’s it,” you say, releasing your dress. “We have a lot of things to do. So finish your breakfasts quickly.” You clap your hands twice.

“Indeed,” Sebastian nods in agreement.

You have moments of silence after that and you go back to work, but you feel the stares the whole day. You know they still have so much to say and ask, but they stay quiet.

You have some “not-so-permanent tattoos” now — and they might have helped do some.

I don't have tattoos yet, but I really want it. I'd make the first one, but with colors.

Crossposted on AO3.

Masterlists

[robin-the-enby]

So heart touching and tender...I loved it. And the next part, oh...it was just beautiful amd exactly what I needed, even ifthough I didn't know that. Thank you <3

having an off day

Ophelia by Friedrich Heyser

>ikemen vampire

>mansion residents x reader

>a/n: so sorry for the weird formatting in advance. i hope it makes sense. enjoy! 

>part 2: how your evening and night went

You woke up with the weight of an oppressive dread. A black hole in you seemed to suck the vitality out of you. Usually your spirit was at least alive and willing to get you out of bed, but this morning, it was only dead static in your chest. You could chalk it up to feeling homesick or hopelessness with your predicament, but nonetheless, you were not up to it at all today. 

Still, you willed yourself out of bed, afraid to let Sebastian and the residents down (though you knew they wouldn’t fault you for being off, you still felt the obligation because Le Comte is letting you stay for free, after all.)

On that note, the residents would fs feel a disturbance in the force if you weren’t out in the mansion today. You not being there would set off a chain reaction and have them be grumpy and having off days too. 

While setting up breakfast with Sebastian, you asked for the cleaning tasks for the rest of the day. You loved the residents but unfortunately could muster up no energy to talk to anyone today. Sebastian's obviously the first to catch on, and as the mansion’s biggest gossip, will spread this notion to any and every vampire he encounters. Thankfully, he didn't question it and hesitantly granted you permission. He usually doesn’t give you the heavier tasks like cleaning, but seeing your dour mood, he caught on that you wanted the solitude. 

While passing out breakfast for the morning vampires (Arthur, Vincent, Theo, Dazai, Isaac, Mozart, Comte) you were unusually quiet. Usually, you would bashfully respond to Arthur’s flirty remarks or retaliate to Theo’s teasing, but today you only acknowledged everyone with a slight (and very forced) smile.

Dazai Osamu

I'm of the belief that Dazai has a sadness antenna that catches on to everyone’s emotions as soon as they feel them. So best believe that as soon as you woke up, he could already sense a disturbance in the force. 

So when you very quietly poured tea for him, he placed a gentle hand on your arm and gave you a silent “are you ok?” look. He could tell that you didn’t want to bring attention to yourself, but also didn’t want to leave you like this. 

The deal he made with you when you first arrived came to mind. He proposed that whenever you felt even the slightest inclination of sadness, that you came to him to confide in (because you know he gets it fs). 

You acknowledged it with a solemn nod, wanting to communicate that you remembered the promise but couldn’t do it just yet. Dazai pursed his lips in quiet uncertainty, but allowed you to continue your chores. 

Later in the afternoon, while tending to the gardens outside, Dazai nonchalantly sat by your working figure. He settled for watching you work before piping up, “how fortunate the flowers are to be cared for by you.” You may have jumped a little bit, having been lost in your thoughts. 

Dazai’s gentle smile seemed more genuine this time; not quite the clownish mask he usually wore. “Unfortunately for you, I may be the only one who understands your predicament the most.” He walked next to you, a serene silence in the air.  

You confess as much of your melancholy as you could put into words while Dazai remained contemplative and respectfully quiet. Whether it was your mental wellness being disturbed, thoughts of home, or even just a broad exhaustion, Dazai will listen and understand. Sometime during your tirade, tears seeped out from your eyes unnoticed, except by his golden eyes. He softly cupped your cheek and wiped your tears away; his touch never more than gentle. 

At that moment, Dazai touched your face as if it was a delicate flower petal about to fall to its demise. His heart clenched in both tender affection at your vulnerability around him, and deep anguish that it was you who suffered and he couldn’t take that burden instead. How was it that a beautiful angel like you was tormented at this moment and not him, the sinful monster who was deserving of your burden and more. Still, he kept those demeaning thoughts quiet and yearned that his love could be felt in his gentle touches to your cheek. 

Dazai is the most sensitive to others’ emotions and will be the first to catch on to any of your mood changes. He'd rather die than leave you toiling in your own sadness, so he’ll follow you around until you confide in him. As tragic as it is, it’s his responsibility to make sure no one else, and especially not someone he cares about so deeply like you, feels the same torture he does. 

Arthur Conan Doyle

The writers are perceptive and sensitive to people’s emotions and characters, and usually you love them for that. Today, it made you the slightest bit frustrated. With only a meek “thank you” to Arthur’s compliment of, “your beautiful face is the perfect start to this day, love” he knew something was wrong. 

You poured his coffee quietly, hoping no one would pay attention to you. Arthur placed a soft hand against your back and asked lowly, “are you alright? Did something happen?” you shook your head and gave him an appreciative smile. 

You moved to pour Theo’s drink next, but Arthur’s arm wrapped around your waist. He motioned for you to come closer and so you leaned down.

“I've got to run errands in town today, but I'll find you once I get back. Do you think you can talk to me then?” he whispered. 

“I'm not sure.”

“I hate to leave you like this, love, really. At least promise me you can hold out until later and you can take all your frustration out on me, yes?” you find yourself laughing a little at his suggestion. He smiled in victory and gave your waist a small squeeze before letting you go.

Once Arthur returns from his errands, it’s just nearing lunch. True to his word, he finds you in the mansion (good luck evading his genius mind) and vows to take you out for a meal. You can refuse all you want, but it truly does wound him seeing you the slightest bit upset. Maybe his past influences that, but nonetheless, he wants to make you happy. 

He’ll do everything in his power to make you laugh, and if that doesn’t work, he’ll try and pester you so that you take your anger out on him. 

He treats you like a princess during the date, hooking his arm under yours, pushing your chair in, paying for everything, and if you were up to it, taking you shopping afterwards. 

He’ll try and seek out a case nearby as those tend to cheer you up and serve as a welcome distraction. 

Whether you choose to confide in him or not, he might have already caught on to what made you upset and will subtly offer a word of advice or comfort, depending on whichever you needed. And he’s perceptive enough to catch on to what you need. 

Nevertheless, the author’s darling attempts of alleviating your mood will likely be a success. Arthur is one of the tragic ones who would rather suffer than even endure the thought of his cared ones being upset. And you’re the one who brought new light into his revived life, so admittedly, he enjoys being there for you. If you allow him past your walls, Arthur would do just about everything to prove it was worth doing so. His care may be hidden under layers of deceptive and cliché flirtation, but a little unravelling shows just how tenderly he cares for you. So while his attempts do reflect that playboy life, the warm hand on your back proves there is no one in this new life he treasures more than yourself. 

Theodorus van Gogh

Still feeling Arthur’s and Dazai’s worried looks on your back, you moved on to Theo, who was unfortunately, less perceptive than the two. 

“Took you long enough, hondje. Dogs aren’t known to be so slow.” he huffed, having already placed a generous amount of sugar in his cup. You could barely register the small, “sche uit, Theo,” from Vincent. Still, his comment served to sour your mood even further, a sinking feeling in your heart suddenly blurring your eyes. 

Your spatial awareness being off, you almost overfilled Theo’s cup. This time, he took notice of your shaky and meek manner. He was about to complain, but when you turned to him to apologise, he saw your teary eyes.

“You hurt? What happened? Who hurt you?” Theo immediately asked in concern. You shook your head in alarm. His handsome face scrunched in concern, and he reached out to seize your arm to steady its shaking. He set down the coffee pot and checked if your arm got burnt. 

he gruffly passed the coffee pot to his brother, and when he was faced with questioning looks from the rest of the table he simply said, “you pour your own damn coffee.” He motioned for you to leave, wanting to relieve you of your duties for this morning as a small mercy. 

Theo is unfortunately one of the busier men of the mansion, so he can’t do much until the evening when he returns. So despite the tense morning, there’s no resolution until after supper. what his words can’t deliver though, his actions do. 

Regardless of how many residents have comforted you, you remained silent and thoughtful. Their efforts were greatly appreciated, but your energy was still depleted. 

Theo catches you right after cleaning up with Sebastian. He hid a large box behind his broad back, strangely timid from his usual bold character. He cleared his throat, “hondje, I brought you something home from work. you told me you liked this last time I took you out for a walk.” 

He stepped aside to show you the large and very sweetly decorated cake in the box. you knew how expensive it was, and for a man like Theo, who was quite savvy with money, you felt a tinge of guilt for making him waste money on you. 

“Theo, thank you. I don't know what to say, you really didn’t have to.”

“Hush hondje. A master’s supposed to take care of his puppy. And you’ve been working hard lately—you deserve a little treat.” 

Of course, Theo indulges in the dessert with you, he may have bought it partly for himself too. But when he saw you enjoying something he gave you, it warmed his heart. Perhaps your smile is sweeter than any dessert he’s had before—and he’s got quite a sweet tooth. 

Theo can be brash, and not nearly as emotionally perceptive as the others. So initially, he’ll be his usual gruff and teasing self. But he’s a good man (savannah), and will always serve you, regardless of the master-puppy dynamic he’s got going on. He’s weak to you, and would hand you the world just to get a glimpse of your sweet smile again. He can’t have his pretty girl sad, that makes him a terrible master. 

Vincent van Gogh

You shook your head, insisting that you stay to help Sebastian. Theo disapprovingly shook his head and tried to stop you from doing more work, but you’d already moved to Vincent’s side. 

Vincent already caught on as soon as Theo asked if you were okay. He poured his coffee himself, so you passed him the small bowl of butter and served a plate of sliced fruit to help. Vincent gently stroked your back, “Schatje, we’re just fine here, you can sit down. Have you had breakfast yourself yet?” knowing you never liked to put yourself first. 

“I'm just fine, Vincent. thank you.” you stuttered out. He hummed in concern, “Sebas told me you were doing laundry outside today. I'll come help you, if that’s alright?” you shook your head, touched at his kind offer, but dreadful over having a companion. As sweet as Vincent was, you were afraid of being too brash with him, with how short your patience was today. 

“We don't have to talk or anything, I'm offering because I want to, mc. please?” Vincent’s pleading eyes were too precious, so you gave him a hesitant nod. 

Vincent brightened up, his angelic smile lifting your spirits up slightly. with a warm day like today, he usually painted outside anyway. at least you wouldn’t have to be with him the whole time. 

He gave your arm an appreciative squeeze before you left. you weren’t sure how to thank him exactly. 

True to his word, the moment you stepped foot outside, you were greeted with his “could heal any and every problem in the world” smile. He was extra handsome wearing his simple, white, button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up. 

You gave him an appreciative nod, a bit flustered with having someone help you with such a simple task. Still, Vincent pleasantly hummed with no complaints, hanging the clothes you washed. 

It’s true that his hands were blessed by god, but his somewhat clumsy work with clipping the clothes on the line was a contrast to his paintings. Still, his determined expression dispelled any frustration you had, with how hardworking and adorable he was. 

With Vincent’s help (and the soft melody of Mozart's distant piano playing), the laundry was hung in sufficient time. other than having tea with Comte, you really didn’t have much left to do this early afternoon. Vincent cutely tilted his head in curiosity at your zoned out face. 

When he giggled, you snapped out of your stupor and glanced questioningly at him. “sorry! you’re just so cute staring into space like that.” Flustered, you faced away from him. 

“Don’t just say things like that Vincent. you’ll give me the wrong idea.”

“I mean it though. you’re adorable even just breathing.” He was doing that thing where he innocently compliments you, but just like his brother, actually wants to see you flustered. 

“Vincent!”

“and now you’re even lovelier when you’re all embarrassed!” Vincent chuckled, finally relenting when your hands fully covered your burning face. 

“Sorry for teasing you. I was just hoping I could make you smile. I know I'm not nearly as funny as Napoleon, or as dependable as Leonardo, but it hurts me to see you in pain, mc.” Vincent gently pried your hands away, holding them in his bigger and warmer ones. He stroked your palms in gentle circles. 

Really, he wanted to just wrap you in an embrace and hoped that you would let out your emotions to him. But he knew you needed time and patience before confiding in him. If you allowed it, he would stay all-day with you, just comforting and listening to any of your vulnerable confessions you chose to indulge him to. 

Eventually, you did relent to receiving a warm hug from him. you couldn’t see his face, but he was overjoyed you felt safe enough with him to do so. 

Angelic Vincent wishes he could take any and every pain you feel and take it all himself. It truly breaks his heart seeing your usually bright spirit so down, so he’ll do everything he can to comfort you. He’s patient and gentle; never crossing any of your boundaries and allowing you to take whatever you need and however long it takes you to find that out. He’ll help you with your work, sing you to sleep, feed you treats (that you hope he didn’t make), and give you as much or as little as you need. He cares about you deeply and only hopes he can be enough to cure at least a little bit of the pain you feel. 

Comte de Saint-Germain

Comte's face was already scrunched in worry from the moment you entered the dining hall. his calm and elegant demeanour belied it, but he was eager to finally talk to you. Once you reached his side, you swore you could almost hear the sigh of relief. 

“I speak for everyone when I say that no one can start their day right without seeing your face, chérie.” Ever the romantic, Comte wants to reassure you that you’re wanted (needed actually), and that he appreciates your being there. 

You’d be hard-pressed not to feel flustered by his words. “You’re exaggerating, Comte, but thank you.” Your usual routine consisted of having tea with Comte in the early afternoon, but you weren’t sure you’d make good company. “about later today comte—“

“I'll have the tea and desserts set up. i’ve found this new patisserie in the city—“

“comte, i’m really sorry—“

“You don’t have to do any work, mc. I want you to take a break.” He was clearly well-intentioned and the break did sound tempting. so with much hesitation, you relented to comte’s demands. 

Perhaps a little part of you dreaded it, knowing how protective Comte was over you. He’ll pry, and if he found out that it was another person’s doing that caused your mood, he’ll cause a riot (gracefully and elegantly, mind you). He was already waiting at the garden’s gazebo, a spread of various sweet pastries and steaming tea set up for you. 

He perked up upon seeing you, pushing your chair in as you sat down. He poured you tea and placed one of each pastry on your plate while you hopelessly tried to stop him. 

“I'm simply ecstatic you could join me today, ma chérie.” he hummed, sipping his tea. 

“It's not anyone’s fault, it’s just me.” You wanted to clear up what you knew he was itching to find out. his shoulders sagged down in relief for a brief moment before settling back into his perfect posture. 

“That's a relief, but I still want to make sure you’re okay, mc. Come, have some tea.” 

You could feel Comte’s golden eyes watching your every move, but otherwise, the tea was excellent and he was certainly generous with all the pastries. 

The real surprise was later in the night, after dinner, when comte asked you to meet him in his office. He was on the balcony, gazing out to the Parisian landscape (he would have been smoking then, but he tries not to). 

“You called for me, comte?” 

“Ah yes. mc.” The way he said your name was admittedly a bit seductive when accompanied by his golden eyes. he had this excited air about him, unknown if it was for innocent or more sinful reasons. He motioned towards a concerningly large box on his table. you opened it, and to your surprise (not really let’s bfr), there was a beautiful silk dress in your favourite colour. 

Comte moved close from behind you, and with a quiet “may i?” he delicately  put a necklace on your neck, the light brush of his fingers dizzying. 

He trailed his hands down to your shoulders and squeezed them, before descending to your arms. “ma chérie, i want to make you feel better. how can i do that for you?” he rubbed your arms up and down before wrapping around your body altogether. 

In this position, you could cry in peace, ramble in frustration, or be silent and enjoy his embrace without fear of judgement. He couldn’t see your expression, to save any embarrassment on your end, but he’s still there. 

Comte will definitely be protective and try and figure out if it was anyone made you upset. He would commit a murder to whoever did, but if there wasn’t anyone, he’d focus on making you feel better. His love language is gifts, quite obviously, but I also like to believe that he’s an acts of service guy who’d want to make things at least a little easier for you, like giving you a break. He'd want to reward you with gifts, expensive, but the kind that he knows you like. and if that doesn’t show you he cares about you, he’ll stay long enough to help you recover; in a way, he feels proudly possessive, knowing you could show your vulnerability to only him. 

Napoleon Bonaparte

As one of the late risers, you were tasked with waking him up in the morning. you did your usual routine of ripping the blankets off him and blocking his kiss with your hand. this time though, you left the former emperor be, once you caught sight of his half-opened eyes. 

He took a minute to catch on to your disappearance (forgive him, he’s half-awake) but as soon as it registered in his sleepy brain, he zoomed out of his room to catch your retreating figure. 

You knew he was one of the persistent men of the mansion, unable to leave you alone even when you weren’t upset. so this time around, he was hellbent on following you until you’d answer his inquiries. 

“Nunuche? what’s gotten into you?” he would quickly catch up to you and grip your arm until you show him your teary face. And only then would he relent and hold your hand instead.

You could confide in him and tell him about all your problems, because after all, he was the man who saved you and vowed to protect you all this time. However, even if you didn’t at that moment, nothing would stop Napoleon from making you feel better. 

He would briefly venture into town to absolve him of any of his guard duties so he could remain at your side the entire day. Perhaps a bit of an overreaction on his part, but owing his new life to you, he wanted to prioritise you above all else. 

Unlike a certain lazy Italian, this Italian will politely request that you be relieved of your tasks, and though you insisted on at least completing the laundry with Vincent and having tea with Comte, you relented to his demands. 

His usual routine was to take you to the stables and run as far as you can on his horse. It was often what helped him dispel the ghosts from his past; the coolness of the afternoon wind was a soothing balm to your face that was drenched with hot tears. He would childishly ignite a race between the two of you through the vast woods surrounding Comte’s mansion, if only to ease your heavy mind with a far less laborious task. 

He’d lead you to a small meadow on the outskirts of the fields, far from prying eyes and ears. There you can let any emotion out: whether that was a yell of frustration, a scream of rage, or harsh sobs, Napoleon will do it first, if it removes any embarrassment on your end. 

Whether you choose to confide in him or not, (which you likely would, considering how unyieldingly supportive and protective Napoleon had been for you thus far) Napoleon will willingly listen to anything you say. You could wax cheesy poetry, ponder about the origins of the universe, or just recall mundane moments in the mansion, but Napoleon will respond in kind to any silly statement you make. 

Napoleon of all people wouldn’t be opposed to having a nap on the soft, dewy grass, under the blanket of the warm setting sun. Once it gets cold though, he’d take you back to the mansion. 

If you still felt overwhelmed, he would bring you up to the attic that overlooked the Paris skyline. 

Napoleon, as he hopes that you consider him one of your closest companions, would do everything in his power to ease your pain. He’d begin by alleviating your work for the day, and whether that entailed him undertaking those chores or simply helping you with them, he’d do anything. Then, he might try what works best for him when he has his off days, usually in regard to the past, but allow you to dictate what he can or can’t do. Really, he hopes that whatever he does dispels those clouds of anguish and replaces it with some good old Napoleon humour. As the evening closes in, he’d take you to the attic. With only the stars and the moon as your witness, Napoleon would do everything in his power to bring you comfort. 

sorry that i wasn't able to write for everyone in this post, but I'll feature the rest (Leonardo, Isaac, Mozart, Jean, and a few bonus characters) on the next post. i just wanted to get some content out now.

if you made it this far, thank you so much for spending your time on my writing. lmk if you enjoyed it (or didn't, but pls be nice abt it I'm sensitive). have a great day, my dear <3

[xxsycamore]

❝ The Benefits of Having a Scientist Boyfriend ❞ (ISAAC X READER)

╰┈➤ 💝 Isaac surprises you with a loving gesture that will also greatly relieve your pain.

Isaac Newton x Menstruating!Reader • rating: G • tags: Menstruation; Period Cramps; Established Relationship; Fluff • wordcount: 965 • masterlist

a/n: The author is very bad at every field of science mentioned in this fic and still stubbornly made all of the needed research (plus historical research to see how possible it is for our Isaac to put this together in his current time era) while fighting cramps of her own..... Hope you enjoy and also I hope I didn't get my facts (too) wrong! If you happen to suffer from cramps and you want your favorite ikevamp suitor comforting you in their own unique way, may I also offer: Napoleon, Comte, Mozart, Theo, Leonardo, Sebastian, Arthur (NSFW), Vincent 💕(All fics in this series share the same opening scene!)

It’s another beautiful day at the mansion, and the sun is continuing to shine brightly outside as afternoon settles in. Your list of chores is more than halfway done now, the morning was a productive one and you pat yourself on the back for pushing through at your usual pace, even if your period surprised you early this morning. Sleeves rolled up and armed with a feather duster, you march towards the lounge room to take care of another chore.

Specks of dust dance in the afternoon sun, windows wide open, as you complete your task little by little. Soon the sections left to dust decrease and you start to tire - a minor pain in your tummy appears as well, as if to persuade you into taking a short break. You throw a look at the grandfather clock. You’ve been a busy bee; not even the distraction of dusting off some of Comte’s highly intriguing antiques couldn’t get you late on your own schedule.

You sit down at the spacious couch area, grab a throw pillow to hug, and fall on your side - shoe-covered feet juust hanging off the couch because it won’t be worth the effort of taking them off for just a minute or two of rest.

Uh-oh! The pain doesn’t go away and only gets worse instead. Suddenly, moving as much as a millimeter equals signing a death warrant.

“Help” You whisper to yourself, clutching onto the throw pillow.

***

You weren't aware that your inner cry for help was able to send telepathic signals to your boyfriend, but you witness the miracle of him entering through the door in the very next second.

"Isaac!" You rise to a seating position as the sight of him briefly distracts you from your pain - a big mistake on your part, but before you can ask him what brings him here, the next cramp stabs you in the guts and only a painted sound leaves your lips. "Oww…"

"Are you alright? You were curled up on the couch too."

You've already instinctively placed your hand on your lower belly and it doesn't escape Isaac's gaze, but you still pretend to be brave about it and refuse to bother him with such a minor inconvenience of yours…

"Maybe I just ate something funny at lunch? You know how it is with Sebas and his fusion cuisine, always trying to live up to everyone's taste, haha…"

Isaac stares blankly at you for a couple of seconds, then he averts his eyes.

"You can just tell me if your period came, you know…"

Was it that obvious?! Maybe Isaac just knows you well enough by now - the thought brings forth a certain warmth within you… no, that's just another cramp.

"Oww owww… fine, you guessed it… Don't scold me, I'll go look for some herbal tea in the kitchen or-"

"No, lie back down." Isaac's unexpected touch changes the focus of your sensory receptors again and your heart flutters by the simple action of him beckoning you to lie down. You oblige, looking at him with large eyes full of curiosity.

"I was just about to go out for today's école lessons but let me bring you something first. Just lie here and be patient, okay? It's going to feel better soon."

Your curiosity only grows as you watch Isaac's back until he fully disappears from sight.

***

When your boyfriend returns you're overcome with the need to sit up and see what he's carrying in his hands, but you follow his advice and remain patient.

"Some time ago when your cramps were bad like that I asked you how you dealt with them back in your era. Since then I have been, uh, working on something. I figured now would be a good time to try it out."

You blink in disbelief when Isaac hands you what looks like a… heating pad, the ones that are typically used as handwarmers in your time.

"You'll have to massage it in order for it to radiate heat, but I hope that still works for you."

"Isaac you- but how-"

"It's nothing too complex. When I heard your explanation I figured it must be caused by an exothermic reaction… I happen to be knowledgeable in thermodynamics too, you know. I just had to put a supersaturated solution of sodium acetate in water together with notched ferrous metal… Simply put, it crystalizes and radiates heat. I'm still catching up with chemistry after beginning my second life here but fortunately, it was easy enough."

Easy enough, he says…

You can't just lie still anymore, so you raise your upper half enough to wrap your arms around Isaac's shoulders… you didn't plan it out exactly like that, but the physicist ends up being dragged down on the couch with you, barely able to prop himself up on one elbow at the very last second. You keep sobbing into his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so touched by your gesture! I've read about so many invitations that came out of love and-"

Isaac blushes, and he blushes badly. You see the color spreading on his cheeks when he withdraws just a tad more to leave you space to breathe, but he doesn't stand to his feet just yet.

"I guess you can call it that. I'll just be happy as long as it works for you."

Isaac punctuates his words with a chaste caress on the back of your hand which still holds the innovative heating pad. His own warmth leaves you too soon but the artificial one remains - and you find yourself wondering if you can treat it as a reminder of him, when you miss him. Maybe you should tell him that, next time you want to see his cheeks reddening like that again.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @judejazza @natimiles @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @groovylita Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[violettduchess]

Heya Violet! I'm going to request an ikevamp fic for the first time, so how about either of the Day 4 prompts for Leonardo? I'm excited to see what you come up with 👍

A/N: Hi @scorchieart 💜 Thank you for your request! This is for the Different Universe Same Love CCC hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

This combines scorchie's request with an anon request for Soulmates AU with Leonardo 💜

Leonardo x f reader

WC: 5254

"There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." -Vincent Van Gogh 

“I hate this,” you grumble as you check your phone for the hundredth time. Where the hell is this place? It feels like it's been hours of California coastline rolling past your window. Beautiful, yes. But also so inconvenient. You lean forward towards the front of the town car.

“Abel, how much longer?”

Your driver glances at you in the rear-view mirror, smiling good-naturedly. 

“Another 15 minutes, chérie.”

You flop back into the cushioned leather, sighing. If you had known this would be a part of it, you would not have taken the role. 

Maybe. 

Ok, fine. You probably would have taken it anyway. 

The story of a woman who breaks all tradition to become a famous 19th century painter? You can practically hear Theo’s words in your ear all over again: “You want to be stuck in rom-coms forever or do you want to be taken seriously? Make art that matters?” The Dutchman is a tough agent, too direct for most actors’ fragile egos to handle but that’s why you like him. He is always honest with you.

Outside the town car window, the ocean continues to roll by, a blur of slate-gray and white. Picking up your phone for the hundredth time, you type in the name of the artist you’re on your way to see. 

Just like every time you’ve done it before, all you get is his Instagram page which is entirely too sparse and full of only half-finished paintings, close ups of brushes, a few small, charcoal sketches. Nothing about the man himself. 

You swipe Instagram away and tap on Spotify, closing your eyes and allowing a podcast about the Golden Age of Hollywood to help pass the remaining time.

“Love the vibe,” you murmur as you step out of the Mercedes, pushing up your tortoise-shell sunglasses in order to better take in the picturesque brown and white wooden house. It really does seem like something out of a Kinkade painting. It's perched on the edge of a plateau, facing a slope of green hillside that disappears into a smattering of gray rock. The rocks give way to a stretch of dark brown sand which leads you right to the blue-gray beauty of the Pacific Ocean. It's here the warm vibes end though. This beach is nothing like the sandy beaches of Southern California. This is something wilder, something sharper. There is no manicured, processed beach feeling here. This is nature allowing you into her world, the crashing of the waves onto the shore not an invitation but a reminder. You’re here with her permission.

Abel comes around, carrying your luggage and pauses, taking in the house. “It’s lovely,” he murmurs. 

You shoot him a Look. “It’s miles from just about anything. I hope Vlad knows what he’s doing.”

Vlad is the director of the film you are going to star in. The one who said you needed to spend some time with a real-life artist in order to understand the lifestyle, the thought process, the way of viewing the world. And he knew just the person. A friend of a friend, an artist of some small renown, who made money on the side by working as a consultant for various productions. He had invited you to stay with him for a few days, to teach you basic painting and drawing techniques so it would look realistic on film, and to answer any questions you had. Vlad vouched for him, claiming he was a good man, one he would trust his star with. 

You turn to Abel. “Only leave if I give you the sign.”

He smiles indulgently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. But I will wait until I see it.”

Steeling yourself, you gather your bags and make your way down the short driveway and up the dark wooden steps. There’s no doorbell so you knock loudly.

You aren’t sure what you expected. A man named Leonardo made you think he would be older with flowing white locks and a long wizard-like beard. What you did not expect was the door to be opened by a golden-eyed Adonis with ombre hair and one of the friendliest, most open smiles you’ve ever seen. 

“Benvenuta, cara mia. Welcome.”

That voice. Your heart is doing tiny backflips inside your chest as a horde of butterflies excitedly flutter their wings inside your stomach. It takes you a moment before you figure out the way words work again.

“Thank you.”

Behind your back, you wiggle two fingers at Abel furiously. 

The driver covers his grin with the back of his hand, nodding once to Leonardo in greeting before sliding back into the vehicle. He watches through the car window as Leo takes your bags and you follow him inside, the white wooden door closing behind you.

“Good luck, chérie,” he chuckles softly. Somehow, he is certain you will be just fine.

You are utterly charmed. The main house is small, and the guest house just behind it even smaller, but they are both unique, beautiful in their own ways. Everything is simple, clean. Wide windows keep the ocean in view at all times. In every room there is something to look at. A miniature painting of sunset over the water on the living room table. An antique nautical map hanging on the wall of the dining room. An oversized forest green couch that looks like it's just waiting for you to snuggle into it.

Leonardo has just brought your bags to the guest house, a one room structure with a brass bed, rustic homemade dresser, a small desk and a tiny en-suite bathroom.

“I know you are probably used to more luxurious accommodations.”

“No, this is lovely. Really.” You glance down at your phone, considering whether to post a picture to your socials and hear him laugh softly at the expression on your face. The sound settles itself into your bones, warm and welcoming.

“Reception is a bit shoddy out here. You have the best chance when you go to the living room.”

Tucking your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, you flash him a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

He holds your gaze a moment and you feel like sand, being pulled towards an irresistible ocean. 

“You must be starving. Let’s eat before I show you my studio.”

With a pleasantly full stomach and a glass of red wine in hand, you step inside the studio and gasp. Gone are the clean lines, the simplistic beauty of the rest of the house. Here is a world of color and chaos, paint and pandemonium, art and anarchy. Canvases are everywhere, paint pots and brushes, charcoal and sketchbooks. And while it may look like mayhem, there is a truth about it that stirs something inside you. This is the man behind the easy-going smile. This is his heart and soul made tangible, made material. 

He notices the way you’re looking around, sees the look in your bright eyes and he knows that you see it, the love he has for his craft. You're not some Hollywood actress looking down her nose at a mess. You're one artist taking in another artist’s medium and appreciating it. His heart unexpectedly shifts, sliding closer to some unseen edge. 

“This is…incredible.” You walk slowly through the space, stopping in front of whatever catches your eye. A half-finished sketch of a whale breaching the surface of the water. An anatomically correct drawing of the underside of a starfish. A canvas of yellows and oranges and reds, a practice in blending.

“How come I’ve never seen you post a finished painting on your social media?” You stop when you come to a whole row of them, leaning casually against the back wall of his studio. Crouching down, you inspect a painting of a man from behind, his arms spread out wide towards a turbulent, white-capped ocean, daring it maybe. Or welcoming it.

He shrugs, running his hand through his hair, a tick you’ll come to recognize as something he does when he is uncomfortable.

“I sell a few here and there. Not enough to earn a living but that’s what jobs like this are for, yeah?”

You rise slowly back to full height, taking a sip of the rich wine.

“Have you ever showcased your work?”

He scoffs as he lifts a paint-stained rag from one corner of his supply table and toys with it before tossing it right back.

“To what end? I paint for me. That is enough.”

That sounds like someone who is too scared to try. But you keep the words locked in your mind, aware enough to know that might be reaching a bit too deeply into his psyche for comfort.

“So….when do we begin?”

He smiles slowly and it burns through your body, warming you more than the alcohol.

“Tomorrow. Sunrise.”

All those hours you could still be sleeping. Instead of being warm and snug in your very cozy guesthouse, you are shivering on a beach, sitting on a blanket next to Leonardo as he flips open the sketchbook in front of you. He’s in an oversized brown knit sweater and jeans, looking like a model for some outdoor clothing company whereas you, trying to pull your fitted sweater down over your exposed lower back, look like some Hollywood wanna-be who wasn’t prepared for the cold California morning.

He places several small gray pebbles in front of you on the blanket.

“Sketch these.”

You tilt your head. “They’re rocks.”

“There is challenge in even the simplest of forms. Please try.”

You’re skeptical as you yank down once more on your sweater, sitting cross-legged and staring down at the pebbles. It can’t be that hard. Picking up the pencil, you begin trying to capture their form. 

It proves to be much harder than it looks. 

Your brow furrows as you look from your sketch, which is doing a fantastic job of being horrible, to the smooth stones in front of you.

“You must relax,” he murmurs as he scoots closer. “You’re gripping that poor pencil like you wish to strangle it.” He reaches over, covering your hand with his. You’re immediately hit with the faint smell of tobacco. Does he smoke? And something else….something earthy and rich and entirely too appealing for this early in the morning. His fingers, graceful and strong, carefully manipulate yours, sliding over your skin and leaving small ripples of heat in their wake. He touches your wrist, over the place where your heart is beating so quickly, tilting it just so. 

He holds you there, moving your hand like a puppeteer might the wooden cross of marionette. You watch as the pebbles slowly come to life, flowing from the tip of your pencil.

“Let go,” his voice, gentle as the morning breeze, deep as the sea, whispers in your ear. “You must let go and allow the pencil to do its job.”

Slowly he removes his hand and the sudden lack of contact spurs a tiny whimper from your throat. Luckily, he mistakes it for dismay at his lack of coaching and chuckles.

“You continue on your own, cara mia.”

You’ve been called many things: The Girl Next Door, America’s Sweetheart but somehow, that nickname rolling so casually off his tongue suddenly means more than any of that. You’re smiling despite the cold, despite the wind, despite your stupid, impractical sweater.

Inhaling, you try again, the pencil less a tool in your hand as an extension of it. And while your pebbles don’t look amazing, they do look much closer to what you are trying to accomplish. 

“Well done,” he says, looking over your shoulder. “You're a quick learner.”

You smile at him, his words washing over you, warm as sunshine.

“Can I try something else? Maybe try the sand and the ocean?”

He nods, reaching for the hem of his sweater. The next thing you know he’s removed it and wrapped it around your shoulders, leaving you surrounded by soft wool that smells like Leonardo. Your heart stumbles.

“Si. Let’s try.”

My life has never been this disconnected from work and yet, so full, you think as you wrap the beige blanket tighter around your body, watching Leonardo paint. You’re sitting outside on the large porch, the breathtaking view of the sand dunes, the boulders, the sand and the endless sea stretched out before you like a slice of paradise.

You’ve been here almost a week and the world has changed. The bright lights of Hollywood seem so far away. Now you’re concerned with daylight and sunrises, the way light falls across an object or a person, how to capture its essence with charcoal and acrylics, watercolor and wax. You haven't even touched your phone other than to reassure Theo you are fine, doing well and learning a lot, soaking in the experience of being an artist so that you can find it again when the cameras are on you. You’ve abandoned your socials, only leaving a message saying something about the life of an actor and secret prep work that you can’t talk about. It’s technically not a lie.

You watch as Leonardo dips his brush into a red that looks far too bright and finds a way to make it exactly the right shade of sunset, adding an element to his painted sky that you didn’t even know was missing until he put it there. He’s relaxed, his body loose, movements like flowing water as he almost lovingly drags the brush along the canvas. He showed you how, a few mornings ago. You’ve been haunted ever since by the feel of his larger body behind you, the way he reached around, gently taking hold of your wrist, and showed you how to hold yourself, teaching your body the dance of a painter. He is patient, always answering any question of yours the best he can. And so intelligent. The other night you curled up on his overstuffed green couch to look through several of his notebooks, filled with sketches and half-finished designs for contraptions that looked more sci-fi than present day. One entire page was devoted entirely to drawing various animal wings. The next was an excruciatingly detailed drawing of his own hand.

He talks about art the way you talk about acting: a way to conduct emotion, to spark a connection between people. You feel like he understands when you explain how acting is a form of devotion to humanity, an expression of love. Most people roll their eyes when an actor begins talking about their craft. His smile tells you all you need to know about how well he truly does understand. 

He shakes you from your reverie when he joins you on the bench, wiping his hands on a towel and reaching for his glass of wine.

“And? What do you think?”

You tilt your head, pretending to study the easel with its beautiful interpretation of the actual sunset that is happening behind it. He has not replicated it exactly, but captured the symphony of colors, the dramatic brass of the oranges and romantic woodwinds of the pinks, the clouds with their warmly colored underbellies and of course, the ever present sea, gilded in gold.

“It’s beautiful, Leo.” 

“You like it, which means I’m pleased.” He takes another sip. “Consider it a gift, yeah?. It is, after all, our last weekend together.”

Those words carve themself into the moment, slicing away the peace you’ve been feeling. Dismay bleeds from your heart. You were going to have to face it, the fact that your time with him, magical as it has been, is coming to an end. But you had hoped, irrationally, that maybe if no one said it, you could just stay here, in this beautiful house with this beautiful man as long as you wanted.

Your face, the tool of your trade that you can usually control so well, betrays your thoughts.

“Cara mia.” He reaches out, his fingers curling inwards for a moment, hesitant. The man who never has a problem touching you when correcting your hand or positioning your arm now needs a moment of courage. Because this isn’t a teaching moment. Maybe none of them ever really were. He only knows that from the second he opened the front door and you were there, with your smile like sunshine and eyes bright with intelligence and excitement, he felt drawn to you like he's never been toward anyone before.

You turn your face into his touch, reaching up to cup your hand over his. You press a kiss into his palm. The lull of the waves is drowned out by the roaring of your heartbeat. And then he leans towards you, taking your face in his beautiful hands, and he kisses you. 

Your heart cracks open and oceans of desire and want and something else, something nameless underneath those wild waves of emotion flood you. He feels so good. This feels so right.

You kiss with the exhilaration of new lovers, wildly and without a care for anything else in the world. The sunset and her majestic colors be damned. There is nothing as beautiful as the wildfire of gold in his eyes, the melody of his breathing. You’re on his lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pressed as closely as you can be and it isn’t enough. He slides his hands under your blouse, pressing the palms of his hands to your bare back. It isn’t enough.

You manage to tear your mouth away from him long enough to get out one word: “Inside.”

He stands up and you wrap your legs around him, his strong arms supporting your weight as he carries you inside the wooden house on the plateau, impatiently stealing every kiss he can before laying you down on the oversized green couch, covering your body with his. He softly growls your name in a way that sends fire cascading through your veins.

The sky outside darkens as the last rays of sunset disappear. Her show is over. You both belong now to the night.

Heart, say good-bye because you are no longer mine. You lay on your side, facing the open window of Leonardo’s bedroom. The ocean breeze, cool with night’s kiss, waves the pale curtains and skims over your skin, raising goosebumps along your bare arm and shoulder. 

You close your eyes, reveling in the heavy feeling of your body, tempest-tossed and satisfied, peppered with the light marks of your lovemaking. You're a goner. You’ve fallen overboard, heading further and further down into the churning depths of your feelings for Leonardo. And you’re not sinking. Not at all. You’re kicking your legs and diving, excited to explore the deep and all its mysteries.

He stirs in his sleep and you roll back to face him, watching as he slowly surfaces from whatever dream he was lost in. His warm eyes, framed by such dark lashes, flutter open. When he sees you, laying on your side, facing him, he smiles slowly and reaches out a hand.

“Come here, cara mia.”

The thought of resisting doesn’t even cross your mind. You slide over into his arms, marveling at the feel of his body against yours, strong muscles, long legs. He presses a kiss to your temple, then nuzzles your neck affectionately.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You smile, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. Now may not be the right time to tell him everything you’re thinking. You don’t want to scare him away.

“No thoughts. Just....” You slide your hand over his chest, over the lean muscles of his abdomen, and then lower. His golden eyes flare bright with immediate hunger. His lips part as he exhales.

With a groan he pulls you to him and you close your eyes, letting his greedy mouth and wandering hands take you away.

This is only the beginning after all. You have plenty of time to figure out what's next. 

A Year Later

“Now that’s just one review! The rest are all like it!”

You listen to Theo’s exuberant voice as he names all the various publications that are writing rave reviews about the film. Funny, everything you thought you ever wanted is coming true. You made a movie that is earning positive reviews across the board, with your performance hailed as a stand out, a tour de force unlike anything you’ve ever done. There’s already talk about awards and other dramatic parts and are you interested in endorsements?

And yet, you’re miserable.

Leaning back into the plush seat of the town car, you stop Theo’s voice message and tap on Instagram and, like a lemming drawn to a cliff, go to his page.

All comments are turned off and there is only one picture posted: a short message thanking people for their interest but he is on hiatus.

The post is six months old.

How did it all go so wrong? You had been so happy.

Your eyes fall closed and memories play themselves out in front of you, like a flickering movie reel from yesteryear.

You and Leonardo on his porch, cuddled together under a blanket as you watch the sunrise. He can’t stop touching you and you him.

Driving with him back to Southern California, his eyes widening when you pull into the driveway of your home, modest by Hollywood standards, a palace compared to his small wooden dwelling.

Your pool. Cold water. Hot mouths. His hand pressed against your lips, stifling your sounds even as he continues moving.

The paparazzi finding you after a few days of blissful privacy, snapping a shot of you two leaving Starbucks, his hand casually resting on your hip, thumb stroking the stripe of bare skin between your jeans and the hem of your shirt.

Your names splashed across gossip sites and social media. He gains thousands of followers in a matter of hours, people hoping he’ll post an image of the two of you together. An older picture of him from several years ago at an art gallery opening in SoHo is all they have and it is everywhere. And it is not enough. They want more.

They follow you home. They follow you to work. They follow you when you go out to eat. They follow you to appointments, to meetings, across town and back. They yell your name, they ask about him. They are relentless.

And then they start to follow him. To your home. To the restaurant where you’re meeting. To his home. They wait by the wooden house on the plateau, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and him. They yell your name, they ask about rumors, they demand to know when the wedding is.

They swarm you both like locusts blocking out the sun, sucking up all your air.

And then his paintings begin to sell. Never has there been such a demand. He can’t keep up. And he isn’t happy.

Because he says he did nothing to deserve it aside from being with you. No one cared before. He has not earned this success. It’s the side-effect of loving you. Side-effect, you repeat one night, staring at him across your marble kitchen island, that makes it sound like loving me is some kind of disease.

He cures himself by leaving. You wake up one morning and all his things are gone. He is a ghost who has vanished back into the nether of sea-spray and morning fog from whence he came.

All he leaves you with is a note, the paper torn from one of his notepads, in his messy, slanted writing: “I’m sorry.”

A note, and all the splinters of your broken heart.

And now you’re almost at your destination. The tiny bed-and-breakfast tucked away in a remote corner of the California coast. Your refuge from the rest of the world. The place you come to heal.

You’ve been here a few times since he left. The owners, Wolf and Jean, are like family. They took care of you before you became successful, when you were a starving artist looking for your big break, and have continued to do so even now, when you could easily stay at any five-star hotel across the globe but always come back here, to warmth and comfort.

The first time you came here after he left, they filled your room with macaroons, your favorite dessert. They must have heard the news from some entertainment program or maybe some celebrity news ticker. You could have killed the Starbucks barista who spoke to the press, saying how you suddenly were coming alone to pick up your coffee and how pale you were, your eyes red from crying.

Another time they subtly laid a newspaper on your bed. At first you weren’t sure why but then you saw the tiny article about Leonardo having a small but successful showing in Denmark, worlds away from the bright lights of Hollywood. Like a 1950’s schoolgirl, you had cut out the small black and white picture of him and folded it, hiding it in your wallet. Doing so felt both pathetic and comforting at the same time.

Another winding road, dipping between tree and rocky coast and then one final turn. The familiar blue and white building comes into sight and you can feel yourself breathing easier already.  The car slows to a stop and a moment later, Abel opens the door for you.

“We’re here, chérie.” His champagne-colored eyes have a twinkle to them which leaves you wondering if he knows something you don't.

Forever ago, this place used to scare you with its pointed roof and close proximity to the edge of a very steep cliff. But it’s become your home away from home and you’re soothed by the sight of it.

“I’ll just get my—” Your weekend bag is already on the ground next to you and the town car is halfway down the drive. You frown slightly before hoisting up your bag. Well, he was sure in a hurry.

You bound up the familiar steps, opening the friendly blue door and step into the foyer.

“Jean? Wolf?”

Odd, they would normally be here to meet you, food and drink in hand.

You glance around, taking out your phone to make sure that you had sent them the correct date and time when you spot something hanging on the wall. Your fingers go numb and your phone falls, landing with a harmless thud on the thick carpeting.

Hanging on the wall is a new painting. It’s a woman, sitting on a beach at sunrise, wrapped up in an oversized, cozy brown sweater. Her head is tipped back, eyes closed, a serene expression on her face. It’s soft and romantic. Not a brushstroke wasted nor a color excessive. 

The sea is a deep gray-blue. 

The sky is a garden of pinks and lavenders and orange. 

The woman is you.

You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out. 

How....

“Cara mia.”

Like an apparition he is suddenly standing there, in the doorway. Not some memory or picture or dream, but Leonardo, flesh and blood, right there in the same room as you. The sight of him hits you like the full force of a typhoon, draining all the color from your face and sending you back a step.

As you recover from your shock, you notice now how nervous he is. His hands, normally so strong and steady, whether creating art or touching you, are shaking. He has dark circles under his golden eyes, shadows of what has been haunting him.

“Leonardo.” His name is twisted upon itself, hollow and aching when it passes your lips. 

“May I speak? I have something to say to you. Please."

You nod, your breath held prisoner in your lungs, your wounded heart limps in circles in your chest, aching at the sight of him.

He draws a deep breath.

“I was a fool. I pushed you away because I was afraid. Your world is so much bigger than mine and instead of joining you, proud to be by your side, learning how to navigate new waters, I ran.” He pushes a hand through his hair, an inhale needed to steady his nerves. “That was wrong. I hurt you. I’m so sorry, cara mia. So deeply sorry for how stupid I was. I…I regretted it immediately but it was too late...Dio, sono un idiota.” 

He shakes his head, defeated. The failure of words in the face of what he did is stark and he finds himself unable to go on. Nothing can begin to explain the festering regret he's lived with from the moment he walked out your door. He isn't good enough with words to explain how the minute he was heading away from you all he wanted to do was to turn back. How without you the world was drained of its vivacity, its color. He trapped himself in a gray existence of his own making and now his escape lies solely in your hands.

You breathe in and out, taking a moment before you respond.

"You did hurt me. Badly. But…." You take a second, searching for the right words. "I could have helped prepare you for what it means to be with someone like me. It was so much to ask of you to just be ok with your life suddenly being turned upside down. For that, I'm sorry."

Silence grows between you, thick as brambles and just as thorny.  Neither of you can meet the other's gaze. It hurts, every second that ticks by without a word. Neither of you knows what to say, neither wants to leave. It is Leonardo who finally clears his throat, a throat where so many words are bottlenecking in their fury to get out.

"I'll leave you in peace then." 

The words are clipped, his accent thick as emotion chokes him. The final, tenuous connection between you is close to crumbling. He's about to turn away when one word shoots straight from your heart like a rocket.

"Wait!!"

He freezes, his sunrise gaze locking with yours. Dare he have hope…..

The minute you start towards him he rushes to meet you.

And then you're in his arms and your cheeks are wet and he's holding you so tightly your ribs feel crushed but it doesn't matter because he's turning and turning, the world is spinning, your heart is rising light as a feather, and then your feet touch the ground again and he's showering your face with kisses, painting you in his love, holding the back of your head, whispering your name breathlessly over and over and over, a song, a declaration, a prayer.

You hold on to his neck, your laughter as bright as sunlight across the waves, returning his kisses with ones of your own, all over his beautiful face, kisses pulsing with hope, with desire, with promise.

He leans back, lowering his mouth to your ear and whispers. His words engrave themselves onto your heart and you pull away to answer him the only way you can answer something like that: with a kiss deep as the sea, tender as the night.

You've found each other again. And you'll never again be parted.

(What did he whisper? This fic is acrostic so check out the first bold word of every section) 💜

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight