#van gogh f/go

[frozentears01]

im going to kill myself

[tenrose]

In less than a week I'll be in Amsterdam 🤗

[bonnieura]

Literally (almost) every clone high ship ever

not meant to offend anyone btw. all lighthearted i promise

[taesanrot]

[van gogh] sungchan x f!reader | 2.7k words sneaky links/relationship, office romance ish, kind of just a slice of life if that makes sense, smut! (making out, oral f. receiving, tongue fucking .... they get freaky) syn. during the daytime, jung sungchan is nothing but another colleague at your job. to everyone's knowledge, the two of you are pretty much strangers. but in the late hours of the weekends, it's sungchan who meets you at the end of nights filled with parties and clubs. note. im back !!! after 30 million years 💗 uni has been rough sorry guys. anyways here’s another song fic hehe. this was supposed to be my first one actually but i forgot about it for like ever.

now playing: van gogh by aminé

"tell me where to go when the party 'gon close, after party shawty she don't wanna go home"

sungchan waved his drunken friends off as they clambered into the first cab they could hail. anton looked at sungchan once again, asking if he should stay with his eyes. sungchan smiled and shook his head at the younger male, checking the time on his silver plated watch.

it was almost 2 am, you were probably in the same position as him, sending your friends off back to their own apartments. sungchan had just enough luck to catch a glimpse of you in the club you were both at.

he was mesmerized by your shimmery dress, shivering as he remembered how he nearly fainted when he caught the outline of your collarbone under the flickering lights of the nightclub.

the tall male was lighting a cigarette when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

[1:59 a.m.] y/n: wya

[2:00 a.m.] sungchan: 9th and valentina

[2:00 a.m.] y/n: omw

sungchan leaned back against the brick wall behind him, taking a long drag from the cigarette. he knew you'd nag him when you saw the cig, complaining that the smell bothered you. sungchan smiled softly thinking of your protests. he knew you nagged him about it because you cared about him, whether or not you'd admit it.

the clicking of your silver heels caught sungchan's attention, and he whipped his head in your direction. tossing his dart on the ground, the boy gave you and half smile and walked in your direction.

now standing face to face with sungchan, you didn't miss the way he shamelessly eyed you up and down.

"pretty dress." compliments rolled off his tongue whenever he was around you; sometimes sungchan swore you cast a spell on him

he smiled down at you. you rolled your eyes, bringing your hand up to link your arm with his.

"it's new." you replied teasingly, waving an arm in the air the hail a cab. as quick as you linked your arm with his, sungchan retracted his arm from yours, sliding it around your waist so you were flush against his side. you felt his breath fan on your neck as he pressed a light kiss behind your ear.

"missed you." he whispered, smirking as he felt you shiver slightly.

a cab arrived before you could respond, and sungchan opened the car door for you, hand never leaving the small of your back until you were fully seated in the vehicle.

over your dress, sungchans fingers traced the lines of your tattoo, the one on your lower back that almost no one knew about. scooting into the car, he watched you lean forward to give the driver directions to your house. 

sungchan wondered if your roommate, giselle, would be home or if the two of you would be alone. he felt you press into his side and lay your head on his chest once you finished talking to the driver, his arm wrapping around your frame like it was second nature for him. no matter what, he always found his hand settling in the dip in your side, like it was being pulled by a magnet.

looking at your eyes that fluttered shut, sungchan chuckled slightly. you tilted your face up at him, feeling his chest rumble against you.

“tired?” he teased, smoothing down part of your hair. you pouted slightly and shook your head in protest.

“no i’m not” sungchan smiled at you again in the way that made your stomach explode with butterflies as he leaned down to leave a peck on your lips. 

“it’s okay baby, i’ll wake you up when we’re there.” he shrugged off his jacket to drop it around your almost bare shoulders. lacing a hand with yours, he let you adjust yourself slightly to rest against his shoulder.

sungchan thought you looked the prettiest in moments like this, when you weren’t thinking about anything. your lashes laid delicately on your cheeks as your chest rose up and down slowly. he reveled in the sight of his jacket wrapped around you.

even if no one in the office knew about your romance, sungchan knew you were his and he was yours. he secretly loved the sneaking around, feeling like it added a little but of excitement to your boring work days. 

the two of you would act sneaky for no reason, leaving at different times to talk to each other near bathroom or take your coffee breaks together. 

even when you went out, you’d go with your respective friend groups, meeting up after they were done migrating from club to club. 

sungchan looked down at your intertwined fingers. at the end of the night, it was him you’d come back to, it was him who’d take you home.

as the taxi came to a stop, sungchan pinched your cheek slightly. you whined at the contact but moved to get out of the car. sungchan paid the driver and the two of you stepped out together, sungchan’s hand falling back to the small of your back as you kept his jacket wrapped around your shoulders. 

the ride up to your floor was short, the two of you were at your front door within a minute of entering your complex. you shoved your keys into the lock and shoved the door open impatiently, wanting to get your dress and makeup off. 

“aeri?” your voice cut through the silence of the apartment. the lack of response and the empty hook where her keys usually hung told you she wasn’t home.

sungchan smiled and pulled you towards your bedroom, kicking off his shoes lazily. you grinned as he pushed open your bedroom door, throwing his jacket onto the bed.

pushing you against your now closed door, he lowered his face to the curve of your neck, placing open mouthed kisses down to your shoulders. his hand played with the thin straps of your dress, watching how the slid off your shoulders easily. before he could tug it off of you completely, you tapped his shoulder, prompting him to look up at you.

“let me wash my face baby, my makeup.” your boyfriend pouted dramatically but stepped away from you so you could walk over to the bathroom.

as you changed and washed off your makeup, sungchan changed in your room, retrieving clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser -- the one that was reserved just for him.

as you were rinsing off the last of your makeup, sungchan opened the door of the bathroom, grabbing both his and your toothbrushes and squeezing paste onto them. you sat on the counter and sungchan stood between your legs as you brushed your teeth. 

you ran your fingers through his fluffy hair, stomach flipping at the way he lazily leaned into your touch. his free hand came up to rub circles on your upper thigh, making you almost choke on your spit. sungchan smirked at the way you tensed, moving his hand up to play with the hem of your shirt.

you rolled your eyes at his antics, sliding off the counter to rinse your mouth. pushing the bathroom door open, you slipped into bed, sitting up against the headboard and scrolling through your phone. you laughed at some drunk texts from your coworkers. you hadn't drank much, and the lingering buzz from earlier was slowly slipping away.

sungchan walked out of the bathroom soon after, closing the door gently and turning your room lights off. your eyes could barely make out his large frame in the dark room, the only light coming from the streetlights outside and your phone screen.

you were still scrolling through some messages and emails when your boyfriend plucked your phone out of your hands, switching it off and placing it on the nightstand next to you.

he pulled you onto his lap, not giving you a moment to react. you giggled, tilting your head at him as his hooded eyes ran up and down your skin, stopping at the curve of your neck.

"what's up baby?" you asked, grinning. you could read sungchan like a book. he hummed in response, in a daze as his hands toyed with the hem of your shirt once again. you looked down at his fingers as they slipped under the fabric, running over your sides. you involuntarily shivered at how cold they were, and you felt your stomach burn with anticipation.

sungchan's other hand held your face gently, tilting your chin so you were looking at him again. he thumbed your bottom lip slightly, watching as your mouth wrapped around the tip of it delicately.

you enjoyed watching him breathe in shakily, knowing the effect you had on him. moving your legs to straddle him, you felt something poke against your center. sungchan moaned at the sudden pressure, pulling your face so he could meet your lips with his.

you gasped into the kiss, relishing the way his tongue slid into your mouth fervently. your hands landed on his neck, fingers tugging at the hair on his nape. his mouth melted into yours as he tilted his face to deepen the kiss even more.

you whimpered, feeling his hands roam under your shirt lazily. one hand pressed against the bottom of your spine, making your back curve into him slightly. the other massaged the skin of your thigh, moving closer and closer to where your clothed bodies met.

you were already sensitive, the feeling of sungchan shifting slightly underneath you making your breathing shallow.

his fingers danced along the waistband of your shorts, while his other hand stroked up and down your thigh. his light touches and the way he bit your lip were already making your head spin.

painstakingly slow, his hand at your waistband slowly slipped into your shorts, brushing against your clothed clit before applying pressure to your center over your panties. you broke away from his lips in favor of pressing your face into his neck, moaning into his soft skin. he ran his fingertips up and down your covered slit a few times before moving past your panties to feel your slick. noting how wet you were already, he chuckled.

“all this for me, baby?” you couldn’t see the smile on his face but you could hear it in his voice as you weakly nodded against his shoulder. you were aching in anticipation, almost screaming when sungchan pulled his hand out of your shorts. you watched impatiently as he licked his fingers, before bringing a hand up to tuck a strand on your hair back.

“wanna taste more.” he groaned into your ear, making you shudder.

“lay down for me?” you happily obliged, lifting yourself off his lap and laying your head on your pillow.

sungchan moved so he was hovering over you, placing a heavy hand on your hip. the sight of you under him was something straight of out sungchan’s dreams, your hair fanning around your face and small marks decorating your neck and chest.

he lowered his face to your neck, pressing wet kisses down the side as you writhed underneath him. his other hand pushed your flimsy tank up so he could see your boobs, latching his mouth around the right one.

"you always look so pretty when we go out. boosting my ego baby."

you moaned as his hot tongue pressed against your harden bud, back arching up to meet his face. he massaged your other boob, tweaking your nipple with his finger and basking in all of the pretty sounds you were making.

"always the prettiest girl in the room. and you're all mine."

he slowly but surely moved lower, kissing and licking your stomach. his hands hooked around the waistband of your shorts, and he pulled them and your panties off of you gently.

sungchan throbbed in his pants at the sight of you, your cami pushed up and your heat all bare for him. your eyes were screwed shut in anticipation, and he had to bite his lip to keep a laugh from escaping at the sight of you all pent up for him.

you were a mess, head thrown back against the pillow. you lost the ability to think straight a while ago, barely being able to control the noises you were making.

“please.” you whined quietly. you didn’t even realize what you said, and you definitely didn’t hear sungchan chuckling at your frenzied state.

placing his hands on your hips, he leaned in to brush your inner thigh with his lips, nibbling at the soft skin lightly. usually, he’d take his time with you, starting at your knee and kissing up your legs. he’d press kisses on the outside of your folds and the edges of your heat, and watch as your grip tightened on the sheets or in his hair. however, sungchan decided that he was feeling a bit more generous tonight.

before you could even ask him to stop teasing you, he pressed a deep kiss to your clit. a moan ripped through you, thighs twitching slightly. your legs already began to close instinctively, and sungchan looked up at you briefly before hooking his arms around your thighs both to keep them apart and pull you closer to his face. he had a wicked glint in his eyes as he looked up at you, basking in all the sounds and twitches coming from your pretty self.

his lips gingerly wrapped around your clit and you grabbed the closest thing to your hand, crumpling the sheets in your fist. sungchan’s arm looped around your knee and his hand found your heat easily. he pulled the skin above your clit slightly so he could hit the sensitive spot underneath, the spot that made profanities spill from your lips.

you bit your lip and screwed your eyes shut as his mouth and kisses travelled lower, his warm tongue swiping through the wetness of your slit. you couldn’t stop your lower half from jerking upwards, and sungchan’s free hand pinned your hips down to the mattress beneath you.

as his tongue breached your wet hole and his thumb rubbed your clit mercilessly, you cried out, back arching upwards. your head was spinning and stars were dancing on the back of your eyelids, and sungchan glanced up at you, watching as your mouth opened and no sound came out. you wanted to tell him keep going, to tell him how good he was making you feel. but your mind was melting at the way his mouth felt against you, and you were lost in him.

sungchan’s tongue flexed in and out of you, just the way you liked. he flicked it upwards every time he thrusted it into you, brushing your walls with the wet muscle.

"fuck- sungchan i'm gonna-" you could barely choke out words, drowning in the overwhelming stimulation.

you felt the knot in your stomach building at a gradual pace as your legs began to tense. sungchan’s pressure on your clit increased, revolutions only speeding up until you cried out his name, vision going white. your orgasm hit you like a truck, your walls fluttering around sungchan’s tongue and thighs shaking uncontrollably. all you could see was white as sungchan fucked you through your high with his tongue.

as you came back to earth, you looked down to see your boyfriend licking his lips sinfully, eyes hungry as he moved up to hover over you. brushing a finger down your cheek, he traced your lips with his fingertips, breath stolen from his body as you slowly opened your eyes.

your hooded gaze drove him insane, his lips being pulled to yours like a magnet. you sighed into his mouth, hands unlatching from the sheets to card through his soft brown hair. sugnchan's large hand fell onto your side, fingers digging into your soft flesh when he felt you bite his lip.

whining softly, you tugged at the end of sungchan's pajama shirt, making him break away from you for a split second to pull over his head. you didn't see where he tossed it, hands immediately moving to run down the soft skin of his firm chest. sitting up slightly, you pushed him backwards so you were leaning over him, smiling as he made a noise in surprise. you softly palmed him through his pajama pants, watching his eyebrows furrow in satisfaction at the way your palm rolled against his bulge.

as your fingers deftly worked at untying the drawstrings, you smiled at your shaking boyfriend.

"my turn, baby"

[idoiatry]

Can I request an sbg x fem reader one-shot who has the powers of winter from aespa's new Supernova mv in the phantom world, but the drawback is that she gets sick and vomits blood + she has lucky girl syndrome (which means she's lucky asf)

SUPERNOVA...

what was it like when you first arrive?

♪ pairing: sbg kids/f!reader (fem pronouns)

♪ wc: 2,430

♪ notes: sorry if this took quite long! tried giving everyone in the gang equal treatment as well ^__^ scroll down for headcanons... not proofread... also cw for vomiting

WHEN YOU FIRST ENTER THE PHANTOM REALM – you'd awoken to taylor's screams. doors slamming open and footsteps resonating deep within the wooden floors of the place you were staying at. you shot up from your bed, groaning in confusion as you reached out to the window beside you. "weird," you noted to yourself, voice hoarse and heavy with sleep. red lights seeped through the gaps of the curtains. it pooled like blood and darkness, you'd begun to think, but then you quickly shook off your morbid imagination. you couldn't get this strange feeling off your mind that something was wrong. something was off. you rubbed the sleep out of your tired eyes, and soon that sleepiness was replaced by concern creeping up your spine. despite feeling lucid and detached from your body, you managed to make it out of your bed and into taylor and ashlyn's room. you hoped they just saw a spider, or something similar.

every step towards the room felt heavy, like you were forcing yourself to do dull machinations. strangely, you'd found a few of your classmates from the sorrel wood house convening by the door. taylor was huddled in tyler's arms, shaking as she struggled to recount what had happened. "so it wasn't a bug," aiden whispers to you when you make it to the room, grinning ear to ear as he gives you a once-over. you leaned on the doorway, the floors creaking as you do. his little attempts at lightening up the atmosphere made you feel slightly uneasier. not noticing the glare her brother sends over his shoulder, taylor starts talking again. her voice shook and her limbs trembled. "well- there's this, i don't know, but ash managed to kick it and knock it out-" the words die in her throat, and falters before they could reach her lips. logan hadn't even put his foot in the room when ashlyn abruptly puts her hands over her ears, which makes you all cast your glance behind her.

sure, you'd be fascinated by the blood night, but the person – no, thing – lunged at your group too fast for you to notice the crimson sky. all of a sudden, ashlyn is screaming for everyone to go, ben is pulling you by the arm, and everyone is scrambling on their feet get away from the creature. taylor is screaming, shouting, and god it is so loud, everyone is panicking and it was some wild teenager-monster cacophony. you don't know how ashlyn's able to hear something like this everyday and resist the temptation of sawing her ears off van gogh-style. your arm feels bruised, and as you're rubbing it to soothe it, ben shoots you an apologetic look. you pat him on the back, smiling as genuinely as you could. "if it weren't for you, i'd probably be mincemeat," you joke, "don't worry about it." the deck is small, cramped from having seven people squeezing around for safety. it was eerie, and cold, but the air seemed to stay still, as if it was frozen in time.

you'd think that being in the outdoor hallway, away from that thing, you'd be safe. a sudden thud on the door resounds through the atmosphere and ben runs over to grab the wiggling handle. aiden whistles, like some character in a horror movie you'd want to choke the life out of because of how sarcastic they'd be. "that could have been bad," he laughs, and it's almost mocking. tyler, being the hot-headed one of your group, unceremoniously chastises him. as he's scolding the blonde, however, another bang on the door makes you topple over the balcony's ledge. you fall.

you yelp, not able to grab on the half-walls (curse those tiny walls) of the balcony. everyone freezes, and your skin goes pale. logan shrieks and frantically tries to reach you in time, but you brace yourself before hitting the ground. you feel like you've been swept off your feet, but you don't know by what. you shut your eyes tight, praying to whatever god comes to mind, but the ground never comes to you. a gust of wind circles your body, twirling around you and wrapping around your body like a snake. it sends you hurtling across the sky, then allows you to catch your breath as you float around the building. aside from your surroundings turning darker, everything felt light. "what the hell," tyler is the first to speak, after seconds of silence. he's pointing at you, your body casually floating around in the air, and his eyes are wide in what looks like fear to taylor and astonishment to logan. "how is she doing that?"

his twin gasps, and she points downward. "guys, look," she whispers, like if she made a sound a little bit too loud, those things would jump on her. peering down they'd see more of those creatures. you covered your eyes, refusing to look at the ground. "help me!" you cry out, "what if those things could fly too?" your panic sends you flying higher, and even though you tucked your knees to your chest, you're frantically swerving all over the air. now you're shrieking, too. "better not push our luck," tyler says your name through gritted teeth as aiden takes over ben's place at the door. "inconvenient how these doors don't lock from the outside," he murmurs, with ashlyn deep in thought. "logan, ben, you two make sure she lands back here." she orders them, quick to direct, and they're quick on their feet.

ben, arguably the strongest out of your group, holds his arms out towards the edge of the balcony, hoping he'd be able to catch you when you fall. "stop panicking!" logan shouts at you, his voice carrying out through the wind whipping against your ears, "it's making it worse!" the gust of wind surrounding you whips his bangs over his forehead, nearly sending his glasses flying along with you. the air remains defiant as it tosses you around, akin to a child throwing toys far away from themselves. "if i could, i would have already, logan!" you bite back, not able to swallow down the sarcasm you'd been keeping under reigns. he's holding unto the railings, knuckles turning white and tense as ben scrambles around to catch you, making sure that you'll land in his arms. "maybe think of something funny? or cute? i don't know!" he screams back, voice cracking. this is the loudest you've heard him talk.

you take a tentative peek at them through your fingers, and ben resembles a firefighter waiting at the foot of a tall building. you felt like a cat on a tree, about to jump on a rescue cushion. the thought almost makes you laugh. almost immediately, it calms you down. just enough to let you clear your thoughts. logan whispers a thankful prayer under his breath when he sees your shoulders relax, shouting directions for you to be guided down to ben's arms. both you and logan let out a sigh of relief when you feel yourself dropping unto him. with grace, ben manages to carry you like a bride. he tilts his head, eyes wide with fear, and you can feel his heart thumping too fast from the adrenaline. or maybe that's your heartbeat, who cares anyway? you have more pressing matters to worry about!

you hop off his embrace as something rises to your throat, a warm, metallic taste filling your mouth. you swallow it back down for the meantime, feeling nauseous. ben wraps an arm around your shoulder, keeping you close to him. "they're going to climb the stairs," ashlyn frantically pulls at her sweatpants, and aiden throws out a comment about the boys' rooms being near them. logan, tyler, and taylor all take a head start. it would be difficult not to trip over each other's legs if you all were to run together, of course.

she managed to pull the strings off her's and aiden's bottoms, to which he doesn't retaliate. "need to make a break for it." she ties the strings to the pole and the door handle, looking directly at you. you nearly shy away from her sharp gaze, to hide into ben's chest, but she speaks before you can. "can you walk?" you nod, and she casts a furtive look at your body. your legs were trembling, still trying to get accustomed to the feeling of land again. she sighed, she can't have you forcing your body to go beyond its limits. too big of a risk. "we'll need to run," she hastily ties the knot on the door, "this won't hold." before you could say anything, ben scoops you and carries you again. not like you could wriggle out of his grasp anyways, and you weren't going to risk lagging behind.

as soon as she's able to secure the strings together, ashlyn is taking off and commanding the three of you to run. unfortunately for all of you, you don't get very far when the string snaps. "how is it that strong," you wail, and as if on cue, several more things climb up the stairs. aiden lags behind, ushering the rest of you in front of him. his eyes get caught on the bright yellow cleaning cart in front of him, swerving around it and grabbing a spray bottle filled with bleach. the monster opens its mouth in a silent scream, yet ashlyn covers her ears and winces. she groans and curses under her breath. stupidly, aiden's unarmed hand goes for its neck. it makes you scream at him to move away, and his ears perk up at you wailing his name. he presses his body against the wall while the phantom stands like a deer in the headlights in the middle of the narrow hallway.

you puff out your cheeks, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. holding out a hand, you feel something stir inside your gut and you feel like you need to follow that instinct. your palm faces the dazed creature, and aiden looks on in amusement. "yikes," he tries to make himself less of a target, making sure he's out of your trajectory. ashlyn, curious, turns her head to see a flurry of wind circling your fingers and shooting towards the phantom. you huff, feeling your newfound powers take a toll on your body. the sound cracks like a whip, akin to a bullet ripping through the the wind. it pierces the place where the shadow's ribs would be, causing it to sway to the side. it topples over the ones running up the stairs like bowling pins. you don't have enough time to revel in your victories, however, as they start clambering to their feet.

the seconds it takes to run towards the room feel like hours, a dangerous dance where one misstep can cause you the whole performance. except the price to pay is your life - you don't give the metaphors any more thought as the door slams behind you and ben. you're holding unto him, wide-eyed and as bewildered as the phantom you shot earlier. you squint, feeling bile and the taste of iron threatening to spill from your lips again. you clasp a hand over your mouth, catching the attention of everyone else surrounding you. frantically, you tug on ben's sleeve, urging him to let you down.

in the next few seconds, you're hunched over the toilet. you don't know when taylor gets there, but you're all too aware of her palm rubbing circles on your back. her unoccupied hand tucks strands of hair behind your ears, and then she holds it up as you empty your body's contents into the bowl. above the sounds of you hurling, she's whispering words you can't make out. her tone was a mix of concern and encouragement, as far as you could tell. crimson waters swirl around as you flush the toilet, and you grimace. the faucet runs and taylor soaks a towel under it. "feeling better?" she helps you wash your face, wiping the blood away from your lips. "nauseous," you groan, but thankfully, no more bile climbs up your throat. an apologetic smile plays on face, "that was really cool." sweet taylor, always trying to find a way to ease your nerves.

as soon as you step out of the comfort room, aiden hounds you with questions you don't know the answers to. how did you do that? how high can you go? how long have you been able to do that? ben gestures for him to keep quiet, seeing your pale lips. tyler lets you sit next to him as you come to your senses. those are questions you'd have to figure out another time; for now, you'd get some rest.

── ୭˚. ᵎᵎ HEADCANONS:

⭑.ᐟ aiden thinks it's a really cool power and would sometimes ask you to let him fly on your back. you would control the wind around him and make him go up in the air with his body upside down.

⭑.ᐟ more often than not, it's taylor who helps you when you need to... regurgitate blood. it comes as a sort of instinct, after you use your abilities, she's immediately running towards you. she keeps a hair tie around her wrist at all times for times like those.

⭑.ᐟ ben, on the other hand, is always ready to catch you. his arms are outstretched, chasing after your floating form to catch you like he did the first time. he also carries you when your legs are too weak, and he becomes your favorite form of transport when your legs are adapting to the feeling of the ground again.

⭑.ᐟ logan helps you control the drawbacks, and he is your ground control. he also is intrigued by your ability to control wind. you two practice your aims together, whenever possible.

⭑.ᐟ tyler thinks you can be a bit of a menace. you like to mess with him, sometimes kicking up or messing with his hair. at first, he'd scowl and reprimand you. but then he'd find himself expecting another prank or two from you and aiden (optionally, taylor.)

⭑.ᐟ ashlyn is always looking out for your safety. she thinks of ways you can use your abilities to protect the gang, but she'd never force you to do anything you don't want to, lest you feel too much of a weapon and less of a friend. she appreciates when you use the wind to block out any harsh sounds, like when you're fighting some screeching phantoms.

© idoiatry 2024 – do not plagiarize, copy, modify, repost, or feed my work into ai. all writing belongs to me but characters are owned by their creators! please reblog if you liked it, thank you ^_^

[sashi-ya]

東京 NIGHTS mini event

𝑨 𝑫𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑲, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑶 ㅤㅤ 𓂃 ࣪˖ trafalgar law x f! reader

⤹˚ synopsis. would you invite your work colleague Law for ramen after some drinks at the bar?

requested by: @leftladyluminary ➡ May I request Law + A drink after work in a little bar of Shinjuku Golden Gai with a fem reader maybe a little nsfw (or completely lol) tw: MNDI. alcohol usage. nami x vivi heavily implied. abusive coworkers. law saving the night. smut with a "lot" of "plot". mutual pinning that both realized about it just now. oral. nipple play. vag sex. unprotected sex. creampie implied. did they eat the ramen? who knows. The bar does exist! it's the Bar Coo at Shinjuku Golden Gai! same as the train station (Yamanote Line, from Shibuya to Ueno) wc: 4.7k (sowwy) masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI need sleep. I need sleep. I need sleep “(Name), come with us to the izakaya! Let’s have some beers!” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI just want to go home… “Law is coming too, it’s a miracle!” ㅤLaw? Law? I think I can afford yet another night of barely three hours sleep…

ㅤ“I’ll be there in a minute, let me turn off my computer and grab my coat!”

It’s not new information that your jobs are overexploiting you, working for such big company as the Don Quijote chain requires a lot. It is also not new information that once in a while -almost every time- you need to go have some drinks with your colleagues and bosses… because if you don’t, you aren’t engaging enough in that “work family” nobody likes, but everyone pretends to love.

There was a certain colleague, however, who always finds ways to sneak and never get to the bar with you… and that man, precisely, is the man of your dreams. He doesn’t know, and you are sure you shouldn’t tell him, as him is no other than the boss’ nephew.

Trafalgar Law, a tall man with an unfriendly façade but definitely handsome features. Or more than that, you could say. His eyes sometimes shine golden like the earrings he wear, and sometimes silver like the winter lights in Roppongi. He is covered in tattoos, a pretty unique characteristic for being an employee but a lot more logical if you think a little further about his Uncle. Nobody can say it out loud, but all of you know… they are most probably part of the Yakuza.

Despite that, you couldn’t care a less… Law has been your crush since the day you watch him walk into the office so carefree.

It’s a cold night, winter is coming faster than expected. It always does. November ends up quickly, and the first snows begin to tint everything in pristine white. Your long coat covers your body up to your ankles, as well as Law’s black one. You watch him walk, in silence. Most of your coworkers always try to rip words from his mouth, but he is not really interested in engaging in any conversations.

You watch his tattooed fingers scrolling through his phone, as all of you walk the streets of Shinjuku. The Golden Gai awaits for you in their little old Izakayas, all packed within a narrow passage of warm lights, and flickering signs.

“You are staring way too much, (Name)” Nami, one of your coworkers whispers.

You widen your eyes… “Is it that noticeable?”

“It is, but don’t worry… we all think the same, he is hot but also out of reach. I mean, maybe not for you, that is. You are more than beautiful but remember where he is coming from… be careful” she says, being pure honesty with you. She is only trying to protect you. And Nami is completely right, you should be careful with Law.

You smile at her, and both cuddle in each other’s arm grabbing until one of your colleagues chimes and ask the rest if it would be ok to try for nothing a certain bar that looks a little… secret -suspicious, too-.

“Coo bar? It looks weird… but the painting on the door makes it look pretty interesting” you think, waiting for them to knock on that painted wooden door that reminds you somehow to Van Gogh’s style.

A little window slides open, and a pair of black slanted eyes scan you all. They close the little gate and immediately after the door opens welcoming all of you inside.

Law allows everyone to walk pass first, while his eyes scan the surroundings. You, of course, are not the exception.

“Please, girls” he says, paying special attention to your burning cheeks. Nami, who is not really interested in men, simply smile, and walks inside the bar. You, remain a little bit more lost in his golden eyes, but ultimately walk inside too.

You were mostly sure he wouldn’t even put a foot inside, and rather walk away once all of you were unaware. But tonight, it was different, he stayed.

The inside of the tiny bar looks more like an old Japanese living room transformed into a restaurant. The walls are made of wood, and there are many random things hanging from them. Old maps, old posters, photographs, even a big hamster plush that looks as old as you.

The scent of yakiniku fills the ambience, and your stomachs growl with the simple thought of tasting that salty and sweet meat grilled right in front of you.

All of you get into the biggest table you could find, but the tight will be fit nonetheless. You, who always chose to sit last, this time had to move a little to the side. The man of long legs, and tattooed hands decided to sit right next to you.

“Are you comfortable, Law-san?” you ask, trying to make enough room for him to be sitting comfortably.

“Yes, thank you (Name)-ya” he says, kindly than you have ever listened him spoke.

You smile, softly, looking down at your fidgeting fingers.

Soon enough a friendly waitress comes ready to take your order. Of course not before putting the so awaited portable grill in the middle of the table.

The more meat, the better. All of you ask for it, and a beer each… that you are sure it will turn in more than three.

The conversation bases in gossiping about the office, nothing really deep and most of the topics all end up in laughter. Law, however, doesn’t really laugh and you are sure he is not even listening… he is just pretending to.

You take swift looks at him, glancing with the side of your eye at the tattoos of his hands; at how his phone screen shines constantly with more and more notifications. He must be a very required man, and most probably has a lover already if not more than one.

Of course, you are not an unpopular woman either. And most of your male coworkers always try their -non efficient, and pretty cringey- seductive tricks with you the moment a drop of alcohol reaches the tip of their tongues.

“(Name)! here, I grilled this one for you!” one of them say, using the clamps to pass you a piece of meat.

“Oh, thank you…” you murmur, receiving the food in your plate. A thing you shouldn’t have done as that -simple smelly monkey- man, thinks you want everything from him for just accepting a piece of tiny meat. -as tiny as his dick, probably-

Most of them also offer you to serve you more alcohol, as ordering for a glass turned into “bring us the bottle, it’s faster and cheaper”. They were right, it was cheaper. But annoying.

Nami, whose blood began turning into bubbly alcohol, throws to Vivi’s arms. Yet another sweet coworker, who is married, but her eyes-only shine for the redhaired coworker that’s always by your side. The moment they indulge in alcohol, their inhibitions are set free, and what’s meant to be… it’s meant to be.

And that means a sudden trip to the women bathroom, where you were not clearly invited -unless you were into it, in which case they were more than pleased to welcome you in-. But that also means you are sitting all by yourself now. Surrounded by idiots who, as well as the ladies, wanted to end up their night on a love hotel or maybe just the bathroom of the bar with you.

Law seems unfazed, and keeps eating, drinking, and reading something on his phone. Why is he there, after all, you have no idea.

As soon as Nami and Vivi’s spot are free, the guy who offered meat slides right next to you. Thinking he is sleek, only to hit the table and make most of the drinks to spill on top of it. Yet, he is not even worried about it; he is just interested in one thing, you.

“More?” he asks, coming closer and closer, forcing you to consequently graze Law’s arm with yours.

“Uh.. I’m full thanks” you lie. You aren’t even half full, but you don’t want shit from him.

“I meant in your glass, let me serve you…” he whispers, grimacing. The bottle lets its liquids pour into your tiny glass, with the strong intention of getting you as wasted as possible.

You swallow, you won’t drink that up. Not all of it. But he keeps coming closer, and by now, your leg also touches Law’s. And then your back, until it is too noticeable for the tattooed pal to stand up in a violent, quick motion.

“How much are you going to insist on her? She is practically sitting on my lap from how much you are bending over her” Law says, looking at him with eyes on fire and disgust on his voice.

“Traf- Trafalgar-san, I-“ he stutters, he is not worried about you but about his job continuation after this.

“Get the fuck away from here, I don’t want to see you anymore” Law spits, he is not interested in fighting. He has had enough. You are not sure if it was because your body touched him, or because he was trying to defend you… but in any case, you are grateful he did.

You look to the ground, knowing your position wasn’t safe either. This will have consequences, and misogyny always finds the way to win.

Law sits back down, as the rest move away from the long wooden seat to let the bastard go away. But right before he stood up, he whispered at you disgusting words you were already waiting to hear…

“You are a little whore, and you know that. You are probably sucking his dick, aren’t you… slut. Be very careful when you walk home alone tonight”

You chose to keep quiet, as everybody else did. Because nobody would stood up for a woman, not in a men’s world.

You watch him go, drinking almost all the glass in one chug. You needed something to drown the fear and disgust you were feeling right now.

“Are you ok, (Name)-ya? Don’t worry, he has his days counted” Law suddenly says, grabbing his phone again.

“I am… thank you so much, Law-san” you shily and respectfully appreciate his help. “I am sorry for ruining the night…” you whisper, finally.

“It wasn’t your fault, at all. Men like that don’t belong in our organiz- company”

You swallow… and soon you realize what he meant when he mentioned the man had his “days counted”. You try to think of any words to spare the life of the abuser, but soon you chose to stay silent. You didn’t force him to do anything, after all.

Nami and Vivi leave the bar, without saying much. You didn’t want to tell them about the “situation”; you didn’t want to ruin their -lustful- end of the night.

As for the rest of your coworkers, most stood up to smoke outside, while others already took their leaves. Law, remained on his seat until one of the guys invited him to go smoke with them.

There is no point in staying; that drunk bastard won’t probably fulfil his threats against you as he is most probably passed out somewhere else due to the alcohol. Therefore, you pay your share, take your coat, and get outside the bar.

You try to leave without alerting anyone, but it is impossible to do so as one of your coworkers wave goodbye at you.

“Oi, (Name)? are you leaving already?! See you on Monday!” he screams; a scream that catches everyone’s attention, including Law’s.

You wave at them and begin to walk away with your keys in your hands and praying to reach for Shibuya as fast as possible to take the JR towards home… hopefully safe and sound by the end of the night.

A sudden pull in your wrist scares you and wasn’t for his fast reaction one of the keys would have ended carved somewhere on Law’s body.

“Oi, calm down. It’s me. I heard what he said on the bar, let me accompany you”  Law says, putting down your hand slowly so he doesn’t get hurt by your keys.

You sigh, relived. Law is still a stranger, but if you had to die you would prefer doing it by the hand of a hot killer…

“Thank you, Law-san. But do you think is it ok? What are they gonna think? Plus, I live in Ueno” you ask, worried for future -unfortunately fake- rumours.

Law lifts his shoulders. “I personally don’t give a single fuck about that. I do, however, care for your safety”

You scoff sweetly, he doesn’t seem like one… but he is, indeed, a gentleman. A real man.

“If you don’t mind, then let’s go. I will repay the favour with some delicious ramen if you allow me. Right in front of my apartment we have the best convenience store of all Tokyo”  you chime, happily. Perhaps you mistaken this by a date, but at least for some seconds you indulge on the happy thought of it.

Law nods. “The best one? What makes it so special?”

“It’s special because I spent many nights studying there late at night having the best instant ramen” you inform, proud of it.

He scoffs, and a little smirk appears on his lips. “Good, I wanna try the ramen there. As long as it doesn’t contain bread, I’m good”

You notice he can be a lot more interesting than what you thought; despite keeping the mysterious aura, he is a very talkative guy when he feels comfortable. And, apparently, he does with you.

Most of the conversation turns into a nerdy talk about his favourite comic series, that it is surprisingly the same as yours. And you couldn’t be happier, at least a dreadful night ended up better than expected.

Getting to Shibuya was easy; but the last train was about to part. Therefore, both of you, a little dizzy from the drinks -specially you- found the running a lot more challenging than expected. Yet ultimately, grabbed by Law’s hand, you were able to reach the train just in time before doors closed.

“I am so relieved we made it in time!” you sigh, sitting on one of the empty seats. “Same… I mean you could have taken a taxi but…” Law murmured, stopping his words midway. He realized that sending you home in a taxi would be the end of the time together… and he didn’t want that.

Law then proceeds to sit right next to you, crossing his long legs in such way it makes you bite your lower lip. He is a tease by total nature, he doesn’t even try. And he probably knows that too well. As the girls right in front of him gossip and giggle while looking at him.

The train ride is a little long, and the exhaustion suddenly hits you. You remember the fact that sleeping had been rather scarce the last few days of the week, plus the alcohol in your system…

The next station is Ueno. Doors will open on the right

“(Name)-ya… I think this is our station… wake up”  Law’s soft voice whisper in your dreams, and your comfortable pillow suddenly takes the form of what it really was; his shoulder.

“Oh my, sorry! I didn’t mean…” you apologize, quickly brushing off the sleepiness. You notice he is not mad at you, but his façade has relaxed a lot more since the beginning of the night.

“It’s ok, you’ve been working a lot more than the rest lately. You are always the last one to leave the office” he says, helping you stand up and walking to the doors of the train.

You rub your eyes… he knows? That means he’s been watching you… but for how long, and why?

Ueno is as pretty as Shinjuku. The trees that will turn pink in the spring, now hold flowers made of silver flickering lights. There is a considerably less amount of people compared to the big city, though.

The cold air that hits your cheeks wake you up almost instantly, and you are back at having enough energy to eat that instant ramen that you promise Law.

“So, are you still up for the ramen?” you ask, shy and still ashamed for falling asleep on his shoulder. You wonder if snore or even worse… drool on him.

Law nods with a smile on his face and his eyes closed. He is also tired, but he doesn’t want to leave, and you can tell.

You guide him, and after walking a few blocks, the convenience store appears in the corner of a calm neighbourhood’s street.

“Come on, follow me” you chime, pulling from his hand inside the store.

Law follows, and for the first time both grab each other’s hands tightly. Despite gasping, you keep squeezing it… it feels like a dream…

perhaps it is, and I’m still sleeping on the train?

The cashier greets you both, and immediately after recognizing you she informs that the water boiler won’t be working until Monday in case you were there for ramen.

“We can have it in your place if you are ok with it” Law suggests, and your stomach gets full of butterflies… is this like the korean “would you like to come home for ramen?”, is this your “Netflix and chill”?

You nod. After all he did for you, there is no point in letting him go back to Tokyo with at least nothing warm to eat.

Soon he buys two packets of ramen, two sticks of cheese and two cans of sakura edition Monster. And without much conversation you two cross the street to finally reach for your apartment.

The ride on the elevator was as silent as the very beginning, apparently none of you had something further to say… both were absorbed into your own thoughts; what type were the ones inside his head, you begin to wonder.

“Here we are, my room might be in shambles. But the rest I think looks fine” you joke, opening the door and turning on the light.

You were to lie if you said you weren’t lucky; your department is tiny but still has beautiful looks towards the city. Nothing fancy, but decent and exquisitely decorated.

Law smiles, pleased. He enjoys spaces like yours.

“I like you…r place…” he whispers, right behind your back while you walk towards the open kitchen.

“Thanks…” you whisper back, biting your lower lip; sensing the high tension in the air like little zaps of energy, like counter shocks.

You receive the bag with the food from his hands and put a pot of water on the stove. It is necessary for a good instant ramen to boil the water before putting the noodles in. Or so that’s what you always thought. In any case, you needed your mind to be anywhere else but the idea of pleading him to fuck you against the counter.

“(Name)-ya, are you single?” he suddenly asks, after the last crumble of noodles fall from your hands into the bubbly water.

You turn around, slowly. Your ponder whether you should lie to him, or not. Perhaps a taken woman would be a lot more interesting to chase than looking like a lonely girl.

“Because I haven’t seen any man around you…” he continues, sitting on one of the stools and letting his elbows on the counter.

Busted. You can’t lie.

“I am single, yes. What about you, Law-san?” you ask, it is proper -and necessary for you to know-.

Law bends forward, his chin rests on his hand and his golden eyes fix in yours. You realize there has to be a hint of eyeliner on his waterline, and the dark circles intensify under the low light of your kitchen.

“Would you prefer to listen I am?” he asks, straightforwardly and so sexily.

You swallow; what…. the fuck?

“It depends, honestly. I wouldn’t like to be the other woman if you weren’t single” your words sound bigger than yourself, your eyes widen because you don’t even know who is talking right now… but it is definitely not your normal you; this is most likely, your horny you… the “you” that can’t keep hiding how much you are into your boss’ nephew.

Law stands up, walks around the breakfast bar and dominantly -yet, very, very slow- takes his fingers to your chin. You move slightly to the side, allowing your butt to hit the counter behind.

Your fingers clutch to the cold stone surface, your hips feels like magnets being pulled, attracted against the other’s.

“Is that so, (Name)-ya? Well… I am single, indeed” Law whispers, coming closer, so dangerously closer to your lips. His thumb, inked with the letter D, grazes your lower lip ever so softly. And you pout, just enough for him to be able to play with it.

Your sloppy eyelids, your separated lips, your head barely tilted to the side… like feverish, in need of medicine... Law’s lips medicine.

“I’m glad you are…” you moan, opening your mouth just enough to trap with your front teeth his thumb right after. The tip of your tongue follows, wetting his finger. And then, so that there are no more doubts, you suck on it so deliciously lustful.

Law takes a big breath, and sighs right after. He is smirking, so dark. Like you never seen him before. Like you always wish you did.

He lifts you up, helping you sit on top of the counter. Your legs, spread, allow him to come closer.

“You are glad I am gonna fuck you tonight, too?” he asks, leaving you breathless… continuing with the lack of oxygen, as his lips crash on yours.

His tongue, disrespectfully sexual, violates your mouth in pure impetuous need. With gasping and moaning in between, with heavy breathing, with desire for your flesh that seems to be unleashed after being trapped like a beast for so long.

The more he kisses you, the more he wants more. And you do, too.

His playful hands, lift the blouse that seemed to be so enticing to his eyes all through out the night. His delicate fingers crawl from your belly to your chest, squeezing your breasts with no modesty, with no decency.

When he lets your lips free, you feel them swollen, aching for more. You open your eyes, meeting his and a shiver runs through your back. The most handsome man in the earth is right in front of you, wanting to devour you… so desperately.

“So, are you glad… (Name)-ya?” he asks, again. This time with his hand on your neck, squeezing on the right spot to make you dizzy and horny.

“Mhj… yes… please, fuck me” you beg, so weak for his touch.

“Heh” he smirks, ripping your blouse, making the buttons pop and fly away. He doesn’t mind, he doesn’t care… “This damn blouse… you always wear it on Fridays, don’t you? it was making me so hard to see the way your nipples barely peeking through them with the air conditioner… heh…” he moans, with his lips pressed on the commissure of your lips.

For how long have you been watching me in silence, Law? …

Law kisses you one more time before going down to your neck and breasts. The nipples he mentioned were once and for all right before his eyes, hard because of him and not because of the a/c.

Desperately, he cups your right breast, trapping your hard sensitive button with his front teeth. Sucking, twisting, licking. Your body quivering, spasming. Your nails pulling from his messy onyx hair in response to pleasure.

A few more minutes, where you barely reached for the stove to turn it off, are enough for him to want more and more of your body.

“And then, this damn black tight skirt… were you doing it on purpose? Letting your paperwork to fall to the floor, for me to see right when you bent to pick them up, your panties through your pantyhose…? Mh? (Name)-ya?” he asks, kneeling in between your legs, sliding your skirt up, grazing the nylon tights with his teeth.

Why lie? If he was completely right? You did. You did so many times. And yet, never once you thought he could see, he could notice… you remain silent, because silence speaks louder than words…

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” he scoffs, carving with his middle finger a hole on your thighs, ripping violently down to expose your core. The view is pure art to him… to see your dripping wet panties, and the flesh of your thighs protruding from the indentations and ripped places of your panty hose...

He kisses those patches of free skin, and then bites them too. He enjoys the way the nylon material gets wet around with his own saliva; you quiver to the sensation, the cutting sharp edges, the kisses, his teeth grazing, the wetness increasing.

And those kisses, that keep going up and up, reach your core for the first time. “How much I wanted to taste your sex… you got me wanting to do it so bad” he grunts with his lips on your wet panty. The warmth of his breath against your sex, makes you flinch… a sting on your clit that felt like a bullet.

A kiss, a lick. Fine fabric getting drenched. Eyes turning white, his nose buried, inhaling your scent. Curious fingertips, moving lace away. The moment his tongue reached for your folds; your heels carved in between his shoulder blades.

Eating you out, you throw back your head, moaning loud, loudly. But you want even more… And almost like if he could read your mind, he stands up. Law uses his inked, veiny hand to clean -or rather spread- the mess you’ve made on his mouth and chin.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you… you are insatiable, I’ve always knew it” he growls, perhaps ignorant to the fact you are insatiable but only for him.

“I want you” you simply babble, ripping his yellow shirt off to discover his inked chest. The heart on his pecs that goes down until his belly button, pointing to his hardness fighting against his jeans… “I want you so bad…” you whine again.

“Then let me fuck you the way you deserve, (Name)-ya” he moans, biting your lower lip. You help him to get free from his clothes, desperately. You want it now; he wants it more than you.

Soon, his hardness blesses you with his imponent presence in between his fingers. Drippy, slightly veiny, pinkish tip that turns redder the second it passes. He pumps just enough to spread the precum all over, perhaps in an attempt to lubricate… as if it was really needed… you are sure your juices have dripped to your kitchen floor.

With not much, but only pure passion, he lifts one of your legs up until your whole sole is touching the counter. Well spread, enough for him to fit perfectly in, he pulls you closer to the edge.

“I am dying to try your walls clenching around my dick, (Name)-ya” he huffs, with his forehead pressed against yours.

“I want you inside of me, please…” you beg, taking your hips closer to his drippy gland.

Law kisses you brutally, to impale you equally after. He drinks your moans; you breathe off his grunts. His hands land on the small of your back, moving in an out of you with strong pace. While your nails carve on his shoulders, leaving marks of love.

The sound of skin slapping skin flood the kitchen, mixed with the pleasure song of your throats.

Law carries you to the table, and your body lies there until he can bend completely over you to keep fucking you while kissing and biting everything he has in front. You do the same, pulling from his lip, biting his neck, his shoulders… trapping him against you, with no way out, with your legs snaked tightly around his waist.

Nothing matters the most, than him never leaving your insides. Nothing matters the most that being bound to the other, mixed in one and only.

Filled with his release, he keeps on going. Reaching for one, two, three times the maximum climax… more, more and more…

“We can eat the ramen tomorrow… right?” “Y-yes…”

[architect-of-the-last-act]

Part I. The Fire of Winter, the Engulfing Snowfall

or alternatively: No fuel is worse than grief.

authors below (and a surprise jeremy):

Illustrations from A Stepmother's Marchen | Triumph of Achilles, Louise Glück | War of the Foxes, Richard Siken | Nothing's New, Rio Romero | House of the Dragon | I Know the End, Phoebe Bridgers | Vincent Van Gogh | Never Love An Anchor, The Crane Wives | twitter/x post, lostaffections | F. Scott Fitzgerald | #6, AroarA | My Friend, Hayley Williams | yuki, age thirteen by m.h.w | David Levithan | Unknown | Unknown | The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald | Your Best American Girl, Mitski | Requiem [from Dear Evan Hansen, with modified lyrics fit to Pronoun Showdown, where this version was sung] | Foreigner's God, Hozier | Jennifer S. Cheng | Mirror Traps, Hera Lindsay Bird | The Next Time We Talk on Facebook, Clementine von Radics | The Hours, Michael Cunningham | The Burning, Venetta Octavia | Letters to Felice, Franz Kafka | 29 Days (The Morning You Marry Your True Love), Trista Mateer | Unknown | Habits, Genevieve Stokes | Salt, Nayyirah Waheed | Mabel: Matryoshka, Becca De La Rosa and Mabel Martin | tumblr post, hallow-bird | twitter/x post, lostaffections | Until I started choking on our memories, Tina Tran | 100 Love Sonnets, Pablo Neruda | Cynthia Go | Little Lion Man, Mumford & Sons | twitter/x post, sainticide | Two Minutes, The Amazing Devil

+ more jeremy because i love him dearly:

[yeaimsafiya]

CHAPTER ONE back from rehab

SYNOPSIS the beginning of a teenage girl named y/n who is fresh out of rehab but doesn't intend to stay clean.

FROM THE WRITER AHH IM SORRY IM LATE GUYS!! This is the first chapter I'm ever writing, I took some inspo from episode 1 but I'm going to have to cut each episode into fourths because I really don't want to spend a whole week trying to finish a whole episode and school work. But I hope you guys really enjoy this chapter as much as I did - Love you guys, Sapiyah <3

WARNINGS Lots of unnecessary writing, female! reader, mentions of drugs and drinking, strong sexual content, nudity, violence, adult content, adult language, scenes might be uncomfortable for some, some scenes might include mentions of mental illness'

SERIES EUPHORIA

CHARACTERS INCLUDED members of the bakusquad & dekusquad, big three(?), some characters of class 1A

NOTES MDNI! Ageless blogs will be blocked or removed.

Readers discretion is advised

Suddenly, the whole world goes dark and nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You were once happy. Content.

Sloshing and swimming around your own private, primordial pool; Then one day, for reasons beyond your control, you were continuously and repeatedly crushed...

Over..and over.. again by the cervix of your mother, M/n.

You put up a good fight, but eventually lost, for the first time, but not the last.

You were born 3 days after 9/11, your mother and father spent two days in the hospital, holding you under the soft glow of the television, watching those towers fall over and over again, until the feeling of grief gave away to numbness.

And then, without warning, a middle-class childhood in the American suburbs.

|

You were sitting at the dinner table with your mother, M/n, and Father, F/n. But it appeared something else had gotten your attention, a set of numerous lights above the dinner table, in which you wanted to count.

"Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen.."

" What are you looking at y/n?"

"..."

"What are you doing? ..Y-y/n look at me."

"One, two, three, .."

"What are you doing Y/n?"

*cries*

|

"Id say she's suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder..."

Its not like you were physically abused..

"...attention deficit disorder..."

..Or had some type of clean water storage..

"..general anxiety disorder.."

..Or was molested by a family member.

"..and possibly bipolar disorder. But she's a little bit too young to tell."

So, explain this shit to me.

|

"Honey, it's just the way your brain was hardwired; Plenty of great, intelligent, funny, interesting and creative people have struggled with the same things you struggle with."

"Like who?"

"Vincent Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, and even Brittney Spears, your favorite!"

You haven't remembered much from the ages of eight to twelve. Just that the world moved fast, and your mind moved slow.

"Does anyone have an idea of what a perception might be?"

And every now and then, if you focused on the way you breathed...

You'd die.

"Slow down, just breathe"

Until every second of the day, you'd find yourself trying to outrun your anxiety.

"What's wrong Y/n?"

..And quite frankly..

"I'm just fucking exhausted"

|

Coming down to the kitchen, you could hear the small talk between your mother and younger sister, S/N.

"You said the doctor was in our network. How can he suddenly be out of network?"

"I can't afford it."

"Did you see that video of the girl who got acid thrown at her face?"

"What? No.."

"It's pretty fucked up.."

"Mom do you know where the tampons are?"

"In my bathroom, right under the sink."

And at one point, you'd make a choice of who you are and what you want.

"Alright Gia, let's go"

"Why do the co-payments cost $300?"

"Y/n did you eat breakfast?"

".."

"What's with the glasses?"

"What glasses?"

You just happened to show up one day, without a map or a compass..

"Attention students, we need to lockdown."

..Or to be honest, anyone capable of giving on iota of good fucking advice.

And I know it all seems sad but guess what? You did not build this system up, nor fuck it up yourself.

But then it happens. That moment where your breath starts to slow. And every time you breathe, you breathe out all the oxygen you have.

Then everything stops: Your heart, your lungs, then finally, your brain. And everything you feel, you wish, and want to forget, it all just sinks.

And then suddenly... you give it air again, give it life again.

You remember the first time it happened, where you were so scared you wanted to call 911. Go to the hospital and be kept alive by machines and apple juice. But you didn't want to look like an idiot, and you didn't want to fuck up everyone else's night.

And now overtime, that's all you've wanted.. those two seconds of nothingness.

You spent a good portion of summer before junior year in rehab. God granted you the serenity to accept things you cannot change, the courage to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

"Y/N," your sister yelled from afar, greeting you after your long leave. You smiled, and whilst running up to her, tried to continue the conversation with your younger sibling.

"Hey, Come here!"

"How are you?"

"Good, I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Look at you, are you growing?"

"No."

Looking over, you see your mother standing by your family car.

"Hey," you yelled out to her, only to receive a small smile from her.

And with that. you knew it was your time to go.

|

"I'm very happy for you Y/n. You're about to start a brand-new chapter," Your mother says while driving you and your sister to school. You looked at her with a smile, then turned your attention back to the car window.

You had no intentions of staying clean. And yet, Jirou just moved into town.

"There's some new girl in town that I think you'll be friends with," Shoto said, with you standing beside him in his store.

"Who?"

"Shit, I don't know. She came in looking all punk rock and shit; So I'm thinking to myself, like, 'look like somebody Y/n would be friends with'."

Which was sort of a dead-on observation for Shoto, who's not normally revolving in the same direction as planet earth.

"So how long have you been back?" He asked.

"About five days."

"And how are you feeling?"

"I mean, ever since I gave my life over to my lord and savior Jesus Christ, things have been, like, really good."

"Word? That's what's up," You chuckled at his snarky remark, giving him a small smile.

"I'm fucking with you," you said whilst laughing, "It was a joke."

"Shit, hey, I don't judge," he defended, hands raising to just above his chest.

"But for real, is Deku in the back?"

"Are you serious?" Shoto questioned, seeming very disappointed in you.

"What, you think cause' I went to rehab I stayed clean?"

"I mean, ain't that the point?" he asks.

"Yeah, well, the world is coming to an end, and I haven't even graduated high school yet."

You gave Shoto one more smile before going to Deku, whilst Shoto stared at you the entire way there; There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, but since you were too busy looking for Deku, you didn't see.

You opened one of the doors of the refrigerators, leading you right to him with a bowl of fruit loops,"I thought your ass was dead," he said one he saw your appearance.

"And I thought you had Asperger's till I realized your just a prick," you barked back.

"This a fickle industry, y'all come and go. I'm just trying to stack my cash, pay off our mortgage," he said while pulling out a bunch of plastic bags out of a microwave.

"So what the fuck do you want?" You gave him a knowing look before he handed you needed.

"You sure you don't want to try something new?" He asks you.

"Like what?"

"2C-T-2, 2C-T-7, and 5-MeO-DIPT."

"I'm sorry I have no fucking idea of what you just said."

"It doesn't matter," he stated, "but this shit, is fucking lit."

"What is it?"

"N-diisopropyl-5-methoxytryptamine. It's a fast-acting psychedelic."

Got some similarities to LSD, but with, like, key differences. Not as visual as shit, but definitely a sense distorter.

"What's wrong?" That same dark purple hair girl questioned.

"I'm just so happy," you responded back.

"I don't know, this shits been going off in Tampa, and mad people like to fuck with this," Deku continued on with his descriptions with the drug.

"Okay. Yeah, why not."

"That'll be 120."

"Oh uh, Shoto said he'd spot me."

"Shoto doesn't spot nobody."

"Yeah, well, it's a post-rehab discount, so you should ask him."

"I will go ask him, cause' I know your full of shit."

Those were the last words he said before you walked out. Those were the last words you heard before you saw the same two boys in freshman year.

Bakugo and Kirishima.

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Do not steal, use or reupload my work without given permission or my consent. If so, you will either be blocked, removed, or reported.

[thetriumphantpanda]

LOST IN OUR VICES | TWO

Chapter Summary | A proper date has Marcus falling even further into his lie about who he is, but when you're as beautiful as you are, he can't find it in himself to care all that much.

Pairing | Professor!Marcus Pike x Student F!Reader

Word Count | 4.7K

Chapter Warnings | Dubious ethical relationship between a professor & student, Marcus continues to go along with a lie, art gallery date (I know nothing about art so go easy on me), romantic rain kisses, a dinner date featuring food and alcohol, two idiots slowly falling in love. Explicit smut - oral sex (f&m), a smattering of exhibitionism, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, some light somno (Marcus wakes you up eating you out), absolutely filthy talk, finger sucking, cumplay and I think that covers everything!

Authors Note | This..... well, what can I say. It simply fell out of me once I got into the swing of things - I wanted to make Professor Pike filthy and I think I've managed it. I'd love to know your thoughts, so feel free to comment, reblog or send me asks about this! As always, a huge thank you to @undercoverpena for reading this over and to @saradika for the beautiful divider.

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Marcus is stood at the bottom of the steps to the National Gallery, easy to spot in the crowd. He’d not really left your mind for the entire week, your lips still holding the ghost of his, the feel of his palm against your ass still branded onto your skin. You’d talked almost every day, texts back and forth, the usual thing when you were getting to know someone, but when he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, and then flashing that smile at you, he’s even more gorgeous than you’d remembered.

He grasps your hand in his own and leads you up the steps and into the gallery. He picks one of the free maps up and grabs a pen from his back pocket, telling you to circle three rooms. You’ve been here before and know exactly the paintings you want to see so it’s an easy task. He does the same, citing that if you wander aimlessly, you’ll be here all day, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he’s got dinner reservations you have to keep.

Marcus picks Sunflowers by Van Gogh first, the bright yellow flowers bring you joy whenever you see them, especially so in these dark, winter months when life is so scarce. You insist on seeing The Fighting Temeraire because it reminds you of your grandfather, the reason you love art so much.

“I remember coming here with him when I was very small,” You explain, stood in front of the painting, “We stood here for so long, and I just remember thinking I wanted to learn more about it all.”

The rest of the afternoon slips by like that, showing each other paintings until you’ve run out. You’re stood in front of Marcus’ last pick, The Garden of Love. Somewhere along the afternoon, he’s taken hold of your hand, fingers entwined with yours.

“You can see the brush strokes,” He muses, pulling you in front of him, your back dangerously close to his front, his free hand pointing over your shoulder, “Lean forward, you can see them, I promise.”

And he’s right, his back pressed to yours to push you forward so you can see them. His mouth right by your ear as he talks you through what you can see, the stray brush hairs and the way the grass has been painted to give it movement. There are goosebumps flowing across your skin, before he remembers when you are and moves away from you slightly, letting your heartbeat return to normal.

There’s a moment where he checks his watch, then he takes hold of your hand and starts dragging you from the gallery - paintings blurring as you have to run a little to keep up with the pace. When you reach the front entrance, you hear it before you see it, the downpour of rain, fat droplets hitting the ground, forming puddles. You curse the fact you hadn’t properly checked the weather before leaving.

You look to Marcus, who holds up a finger, drops your hand slightly, then steps over to the side where a burly security guard nods his head toward Marcus and takes a step out of the way. There’s a small umbrella stand behind him and you watch as Marcus reaches over and plucks one of the umbrellas from it.

“Thanks, Mike, see you next week buddy.”

Mike tips his hat to Marcus, and then at you when he clutches your hand in his once more, adding a wink and a knowing smirk towards you like he knows exactly what's going to happen for the rest of the day.

You step into the downpour, letting Marcus hover the umbrella over the two of you. He stops, lets you take in the surroundings - Trafalgar Square bathed in darkness and soft light from the streetlamp’s. You crane your neck to look up at Nelson’s column.

“I remember coming here when I was younger, with one of my friends, and trying to take a picture of me touching the top of it from down there,” You point your finger down towards Whitehall, you know exactly where you stood all those years ago, “Hold on,” You say, fishing your phone out of your pocket, opening up the camera roll and scrolling as far back as you can, to find the exact photo you’re talking about, holding it in front of him, Marcus laughs, because the tip of your finger is nowhere near the top of the column, “Not my best attempt, I must say.”

Pocketing your phone, you take a few steps to the left, starting off to your dinner reservation, when you feel the warmth of Marcus’ palm slip around your wrist, turning you around so you’re stood in front of him, toe-to-toe, your face tilted up at him.

He brings his free hand, the one not holding the umbrella, up to your cheek, and you feel his thumb brush over the skin there, ever-so gently, before he’s leaning down, lips across yours in a soft press. You step forward, moving close enough to him to wrap your arms around his neck - droplets of water from the edge of the umbrella dripping onto his jacket as he kisses you.

You can hear the rushing of the traffic around you, splashing through pools of water, and the chatter of people around you, locals and tourists alike, but none of it matters. Not when there’s that low pool of butterflies churning in your stomach, and certainly not when he pulls away, tip of his nose pressed to yours as you bite your lip a little, none of it matters except him.

“So, what does next week have in store for you?” Marcus asks, sipping on his glass of wine.

“Outside of trying to hit my weekly word count, I'm going to a public lecture that professor Pike is giving at UCL on Thursday.”

Marcus is mid-sip, choking slightly on it as he swallows, covering his mouth with his napkin to try and keep whatever this is under control.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concern dripping from your voice.

“Yeah,” He says, holding up a hand, coughing a little to clear his throat, “Sorry, swallowed wrong,” There’s another pause as he sips from his water, “That sounds interesting though, what is he lecturing on?”

“He’s lecturing on counterfeit art,” You explain, knife cutting through your steak, “He used to work for the FBI and I think the lecture supplements the release of his new book.”

“I had no idea he was an ex-agent,” Marcus shrugs, “Sounds interesting though, you’ll have to give me the rundown next time we meet.”

“You could always come with me?” You offer.

He smiles and lets out a little chuckle, “What time is it?”

“It starts at 6:30.”

You watch as he chews on his food, thinking for a moment, “I might be able to make it, I’ll have to let you know how teaching goes that day, but it definitely sounds interesting,” You pick up your wine to sip at it, “But if I can’t make it, we can certainly do something next weekend, okay?”

He politely insists on going back to your place once the meal is over. Apparently not expecting this was to go so well, he hadn’t tidied and didn’t want you to think bad of him when your eyes glanced over the mess. It’s endearing to you, and you’re only more than welcome to have him over. The bed needs christening anyway.

Marcus holds you hand this time on the walk from the station. It’s dark and cold but thankfully the rain has stopped. He pulls you away from the edge of the pavement when a car threatens to splash you as it passes you, then insists that you walk on the inside so you don’t get wet. It’s those small things that make you smile, that make your tummy flutter, makes you realise he knows how to treat someone.

It makes you think about the last person who had been in his position - never getting this far, mainly due to the fact that on the second date he insisted that you made him feel stupid when you spoke about your research. You wanted to tell him that was because he was, but you held your tongue, let him pay for dinner and then told him you didn’t see things working out.

When you let the two of you into your apartment, you flick on some of the lamps instead of the big light and watch as he walks to the long windows that look out onto the garden. You’re a few floors up, looking down on the garden from a height and you can see a few people milling around, illuminated in the dark by the orange glow of the lounge lights from the ground floor.

“Nice place.” Marcus murmurs, hands in his pockets as he looks out of the window.

“Yeah, I can’t deny it,” You smile, “Do you want a drink?”

He turns to face you, “Not really.” He speaks with a smirk.

He holds out a hand, palm upright to the ceiling. You wander over to him and let your own hand slip into this, relishing the feeling of his hand closing over yours, gently dragging you towards him. The way his other arm slips around the small of your back is effortless, as is the way he pulls your entire body to his, mouth slanting over yours in a soft kiss.

It’s over too quickly for your liking, but then he’s bringing both is his hands up to your face, clutching your cheeks in his palms, “You look beautiful in this light.” He murmurs, looking at you, warm. orange glow from your lamps illuminating you perfectly.

“So do you.” You almost whisper, letting your hands grip at the edges of his jacket, smiling as he lets you push it off his body.

“What do you want?” He asks softly, “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Looking up at him, bringing your hands to the collar of his shirt, you undo the first two of his buttons, “What do you think I want?”

“I wouldn’t want to assume,” He speaks back, the zip of your jacket caught between his thumb and pointer finger, slowly dragging it down, inch-by-inch, “I want to hear it.”

You bring your hand up to cover his then, slowly pushing it down until your jacket it fully unzipped, “I want you to take my clothes off,” You say with a flutter of your eyelashes, “And then I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk straight.”

Your hand lets go of his, letting his shove your jacket off your shoulders to fall to the floor. That hand sinks down his chest until your palm runs across the front of his jeans, bulge evident as you press more firmly, biting your lip as he gasps.

“You’ve got a filthy mouth.” He groans, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Marcus.” You wink, slowly falling to your knees in front of him.

He tangles a hand in the hair at the back of your neck and pulls gently, making you look up at him, “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Marcus doesn’t protest again, just looks down at you, sitting pretty on your knees, and raises his eyebrows as if to tell you that if you want it, you can take it. Your fingers work his belt open, pull it through the loops of his trousers, before it’s added to the pile of discarded clothes so far. You work the button open, and slowly drag his zipper down, before you hook your fingers into the waistband, dragging his trousers and his underwear down to his knees in one go.

It takes all of your willpower to ignore the gentle bob of his cock right in front of your face. He’s big, probably the biggest you’ve ever seen. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, pumping your fist slowly, as you bring your lip to every inch of skin around his cock, pressing hot, wet open-mouth kisses all along the small swell of his belly, until you can hear his laboured breathing and his hand is tightly fisted in your hair.

You pull back, finally dragging your hand all the way up the length of his cock, letting your thumb trace gently over the head, swiping the pearly bead of precum that sits there, swirling it over the head. Then, you lean forward, eyes strained to keep them locked on his own, as you press a single kiss to the weeping head of his cock, tongue darting out just a little to taste him.

“Jesus Christ,” You can hear Marcus mutter from above you, “Darling you’ve got to put me out of my misery.”

Looking into his pleading eyes, those brown orbs glossed over with wet, practically begging you to stop teasing him are too much, so you do indeed put him out of his misery. Opening your mouth, letting the head of his cock rest there just a moment, letting your tongue tease the underside of him just a little, before you wrap your lips around him and hollow out your cheeks, letting your mouth slide down his length as much as possible until he hits the back of your throat, the length you cannot fit into your mouth still has your fist working it.

His back is to the window, the streetlights and the glow from the apartment building across the garden is bathing him in an angelic light. He leans back, letting his back rest against the pristine glass as you move your mouth up and down his cock, letting him hit the back of your throat, the free hand that isn’t pumping at the rest of his length coming up to cup his balls, gently massaging them.

You can feel his hands scoop your hair up, gather it at the back of your head so he can look down and see your face as his cock disappears into the wet cavern of your mouth. It’s sloppy, there’s saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, and when you pull off him to catch your breath, running your fist along his length, it’s soaked - line of saliva connecting him to your mouth.

“You getting it nice and wet, baby?” He asks, voice strained, “Getting it nice and wet so it slips into your pussy nice and easy?”

You’re about to put your mouth back on him when he brings one of his hands to clutch at your chin, shaking his head. He pulls you up to your feet, turns himself around so you’re the one in front of the window. His hands on your waist move you so you’re facing outward, looking at the darkness of the garden below.

Marcus reaches around your body, chin resting on your shoulder so he can see what he’s doing as he undoes each of the buttons of your shirt. He pulls it off your shoulders, discards it to be forgotten on the floor.

He trails his hands up the exposed skin of your ribcage, letting his palms rest over the cups of your bra. He squeezes gently once, then again with a tighter grip, then he’s trailing his fingers around your back to the clasp, where he manages to undo it without any trouble, letting that fall to the ground too.

You’re acutely aware that if anyone was to look up from the ground below, they would be able to see exactly what was going on, but when his warm hands come up to cup the weight of your tits in his palms, fingers rolling your nipples into stiff peaks, you can’t find it in yourself to care, you only tip your head back onto his shoulder and sigh in pleasure as his hot mouth starts sucking at the skin of your neck.

One of his hands wanders, skimming down the skin of your belly, past the waistband of your skirt and tights, until his hand is cupping your sex, hot through the cotton of your underwear. His fingers trail down, right to where your aching cunt is leaking for him, wet patch clearly evident on the material.

“Fuck me,” He groans, pushing himself into you, the hardness of his cock grinding against the material covering your ass, “You’re fucking soaked for me baby.”

You can feel him drag his hand back up, just slightly, until it’s slipping under the material this time. Finally his hand is right where you want it. You can feel his fingers slipping between your folds, inching down until they’re mixing in the pool of slick, dragging upwards until his finger finds your clit. He presses gently, circling slowly but it still makes your knees buckle. Marcus steadies you with one hand around your waist.

“Careful, baby,” He whispers into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe, “Don’t want you to fall.”

You’d have a smart retort if his fingers hadn’t rendered you silent. You close your eyes, let yourself focus on those precise circles of his fingers, moving your hips in time to his movements. You bring an arm up, wrap it around his neck and turn your face, feeling his lips find your own, mouth open and tongue melding with yours.

Marcus lets his fingers move from your clit and you let out a whine of protest, until you feel him slip two of them straight into your cunt, as far as he can fit them, curling them gently against that spot inside you that has you falling forward, palms against the glass of the window.

You feel his spare hand grip at the hem of your skirt, shoving it up to bunch at your lower back, that hand then falling to grip your ass through the dark material of your tights. His fingers are tight against your skin, gripping you, spreading you, as his fingers continue to work inside you. He pressed just perfectly into one spot, making you cry out. You can feel the tightening in your core, feel your pussy flutter around his fingers.

“Oh baby,” He coos, “Are you going to come?” You nod your head, “Tell me,” He demands, hand moving up to tear your tights down and over your ass, “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Marcus,” You whine, moving your hips down in time to the upwards movements of his fingers into your cunt, the slick there causing a lewd squelch each time he does it, “Fuck, please, it feels so good.”

“Please?” He chuckles, dragging your body back up from it’s slouched position, “Please what?”

“Make me come.”

And so he does. He curls his fingers, sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and works your body perfectly, until you’re whining and wiggling against him. He drags his fingers from your pussy, drags them back up to your clit, circles it maybe three or four times and then he’s flinging you over the edge, tight coil snapping in your tummy, pleasure blooming everywhere as those fingers work you through every second of your climax.

You’re boneless now, pussy throbbing, sweaty skin sticking to the skin he’s got on show, as he moves you gently towards your bed. He lies you down on your back, strips you of everything else you’re still wearing, and then steps back, taking off each item of his clothing that he still has on. You watch him unwrap himself in front of you, your hand drifting between your legs, spread for him and on show. It doesn’t matter that you’re sensitive, you let your fingers dance lightly across your clit, spreading yourself open for him.

“Like a work of fucking art, baby. ” He murmurs, knees sinking into the bed as he settles between your thighs.

He swats your hand away from your cunt, leans forward to kiss you as he gently slips two of his fingers back inside your pussy. He pulls back, brings his slicked fingers to his mouth and makes a show of sucking them clean, just inches from your face.

“Taste so good baby,” He speaks, letting those two fingers find your aching hole, pressing inside once more, and you think he’s going to do it again, but this time, when he drags those fingers from you, he grips your chin, making your mouth fall ope, “Taste yourself.” He orders, watching you as your tongue slips out, inviting his fingers in.

You make just as much of a show as he did, sucking his two fingers into your mouth, tongue dipping between them to suck them clean. When he’s satisfied, he kisses you again, lets his tongue mix with yours, not just his taste now, but the taste of your cunt on his tongue too - musky but sweet.

“I want to fuck you so bad, baby.” He murmurs into your ear, settling himself into a position where you can feel his cock dragging through your wet folds.

“Please,” You beg, “I want you so badly.”

“Do you have a condom?” He asks, nose nuzzling at the delicate skin behind your ear.

“I do,” You say, “But I take the pill and I’m clean.”

He pushes back, body resting over yours, chest pressed against your tits, “You want me to fuck you bare?”

“I want you to fuck me bare, Marcus,” You whisper, hands cupping his face, “I want you to fill me up.”

“You’re something else.” He speaks softly, one of his hands reaching between you to guide his cock down, head nudging at your aching cunt.

He doesn’t say anything else, he just presses himself into you, feeding you every inch of his cock as slowly as he can manage. With every inch, your head tips back, until he’s fully inside of you, tip of his cock kissing at your cervix, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” He groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck, “You’re tight as a fucking fist baby girl.”

“So big,” Is all you manage to choke out as he starts moving, slowly dragging his cock out of you to push back in, “I’m so full.”

“That’s right baby,” He agrees, pushing himself up onto his palms that are planted on either side of your face, “So full of my cock, right?”

This position allows him a little more freedom to move his hips, which he does, dragging out of you and then pushing his cock back into you with a little more force and it makes you fucking sing. He feels so good, cock brushing at all the right spots inside you as he speeds up a little. You look down between your bodies, watching his length spear into your pussy, watching it disappear inside you with every thrust.

“I won’t…” Marcus sighs, “I’m not gonna last long baby.”

“I don’t care,” You sigh, “I wanna feel you.”

Marcus picks a rhythm - rough thrusts of his hips that have his cock hitting at the depths of you, his head dipping down to take one of your nipples into his mouth - worrying at it with his teeth and then soothing it with his tongue. You’re so close, you can feel another orgasm right there on the cusp, so close that you can feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. When you close them, you feel a trail of tear drip down and settle in pools in your ears.

“No need to cry baby,” Marcus soothes, letting his mouth lick at the trails of tears from your eyes, “I got you, I can feel you, come for me again baby, it’s okay.”

He shifts positions slightly, dragging your legs up to rest on his shoulders, then he presses forward, folding you practically in half and then picks up his pace.

You’ve never felt like this, no-one has ever rendered you into such a wet, squealing mess before. Your nails are digging into his arms, leaving half-moon patterns there. Every punch of his cock inside you is pleasure mixed with a pang of pain. You can’t breathe, but you don’t care, because with each stroke of his cock you’re falling further and further, until you close your eyes, tip your head back and see starts as your second orgasm tears through you. You hear yourself scream for him, mouth dropped open as he loses whatever control he had before. It’s hard and it’s fast, and it’s all fucking worth it when he drops your legs and goes still.

Your name is falling from his lips like a chant, like a prayer at church as you feel his cock throb inside you, white hot cum painting every inch of the inside of you. He manages to keep his weight from collapsing onto you, pushing himself back on his knees instead, letting his cock slip from your tight heat.

You watch him as he holds your legs spread, watching his cum seep out of you. It’s performative and entirely unnecessary, but you dip a hand between your legs, use two of your fingers to spread yourself open and push lightly, letting him watch his cum pool at your hole, dripping down between the cheeks of your ass. You feel one of his fingers follow the trail, scooping it back up to press back inside your pussy, then, that fingers is slipped into your mouth.

“How do we taste baby?”

“Pretty good.”

In the moments that follow, once you’ve used the bathroom, the two of you settle under your sheets. Marcus on his back with you draped over his chest. He’s drawing shapes on your back, pressing kisses to the crown of your head as you slowly drift in and out of sleep.

When you wake, it’s still dark, the moon is high in the sky, and his face his buried between your thighs, leisurely eating at your cunt like he’s got all the time in the world. Your let your fingers tangle in his brown curls as he slowly works you up, tongue lapping at your clit softly until you’re writhing and twisting in the sheets as he makes you come for the third time that night.

He kisses you as he settles back down next to you. He turns you over so he’s pressed against your back, holds on of your legs up so he can push his cock into you again. You’re sore and spend and every muscle in your body aches, but he’s soft this time, rocking his hips into you from behind, slowly fucking you with his arms wrapped around you, both of you looking out into the darkness beyond the windows. He comes inside you for the second time that night, but neither of you make time to move. His cock slotted perfectly inside you, his cum leaking out slowly around him and down your thighs as you both fall asleep again.

In the morning, the storm has cleared and the low winter light wakes you up. The bed is empty, but still warm when you move onto your back, eyes adjusting to the light. Marcus is at the foot of the bed, doing up the last buttons on his shirt.

“I have to go.” He says simply, but with a tone that says he’d rather do nothing more than crawl back into bed with you.

“That’s okay,” You say, pushing yourself up, holding up the sheets to cover yourself, “Will you come back later?”

“Do you want me to come back later?” He asks, sitting on the side of the bed to slip his shoes on.

You shift slightly, moving so you can tuck a particularly unruly curl behind his ear, “I do.”

He turns, smiles at you, then kisses you softly, “Then yes, I’ll come back later.”

[the-victor-brothers]

Two Fanarts (FW and CB) in two different holidays: Independence Day (Fourth of July) and Tanabata (a Japanese holiday). I know both of these two holidays were already passed a month ago - 4th of July and Tanabata (July 7th), but it’s better late than never.

Hope you had a good Independence Day - Mine was good because my family and I went out to stay at my brother’s house for Independence Day/Summer vacation. ;)

1. FW in Independence Day/4th of July theme:

Victor F and Elsa were watching at the fireworks together, while they were both sitting on a picnic blanket outside (Yep, Elsa’s hand placed on Victor F’s hand). The rest of the kids (Bob, Nassor, Toshiaki, Weird Girl, and Edgar) were also watching at the fireworks. The children were amazed to see the fireworks on Independence Day night. (As for the dogs, Sparky and Persephone, they were inside at Victor F’s house together (after all, some dogs can be scared with fireworks)).

Pardon the picnic blanket - I tried my best while I looked up on a pattern for references. I also looked over the 4th of July picnic and fireworks for references from online. As for Elsa and Victor F’s Summer clothings - they were referenced from children’s vintage clothings (mostly 1950’s) that I looked up from online.

2. CB in Tanabata theme:

Victor VD and Victoria were watching the stars together at night - they were at the bridge outside from town. They were so amazed that they saw two big, bright stars together - represent Vega and Altair (Orihime and Hikoboshi).

Tanabata (meaning “Star Festival”) is a Japanese holiday that celebrates every seventh day on a seventh month (July 7). It was originated from a Japanese myth, Orihime and Hikoboshi (Vega and Altair) - about two lovers who were separated by the Milky Way (so, you can say that the couple were “star-crossed” lovers). So, every July 7th, the princess and the cow herder can reunite together by crossing the bridge (made by magpies) once a year. In tradition, people in Japan write their own wishes on colored papers, and then hang them on bamboo trees. The paper wishes were called “tanzaku.”

Even though these CB characters lived in Europe (England), I’m imagining that Victor VD and Victoria both read the tale of “Orihime and Hikoboshi” from the book of Japanese myths and folklores. Then much later on, they both go out at the bridge to look at the stars at night - to see the stars of Vega and Altair (And how about that? A Victorian couple were on a bridge to watch the stars - while the Japanese legend mentioned the bridge for a star-crossed lovers to across the Milky Way. Get the picture when it comes with bridges?).

Originally the background’s stars (in white) were going to be in different shapes and sizes - tiny dots and star shapes (small and large). However, I didn’t wanted the background’s stars to be mistaken as snowflakes. Then, much later on, I upgraded the background into a Starry -Night style (referenced from Vincent Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” - and even the “Cafe Terrace at Night” ) with few different colors (white, light blue, dark blue, and yellow).

Done with drawing pencils, art markers (Prismacolor, Copic, Fabre-Castell), color pencils, ink pens (including ink brush pen), and Posca markers. Enjoy.

[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

[lauraneedstochill]

I was searching but not for you

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader summary: Aemond is eager to catch the thief who keeps stealing his gemstones but the person in question seems to always be one step ahead of him. words: ~ 4000 author’s note: about two months ago, I got the idea to write short stories inspired by the songs I like. this idea may totally flop, but I already wrote a few one-shots so I might as well post them somewhere. you can skip the song but I think it helps with ✨ the vibes ✨ P.S. don’t read the translation from French right away song inspo: Leagues — Walking Backwards (Spotify / YouTube)

>>> The first time it happens, it’s blindsiding — he gets a call in the middle of the night, and the words are rushed and the voice on the other end of the phone is panicking. Aemond sits up against the head of his bed, silky linen softy sliding down his chest, and the sleep is still clinging to his skin, and he can’t quite understand what’s going on. Surely, it sounds like a bad joke — someone broke into his office, someone found his safe. He’s the only one who knows the contents of the locked metal box, and he cherishes it very deeply. He doesn’t easily let go of the things he loves.

In about five minutes, his car roars through the empty streets, his heart is racing, his body fueled by the adrenaline that eats up the remnants of his sleepiness. Aemond all but runs — in the building, in the elevator, on the right floor. The security team looks so baffled, he almost wants to laugh. And then he sees it — his safe, accurately opened and seemingly not emptied. Because the uncut diamond in it didn’t take much space, and now it is, indeed, missing. There’s a note left, written in cursive so perfect, it looks as mocking as the words on it:

“A safe hidden behind a painting? Honestly, that’s just bad taste.”

His shock turns into anger in the blink of an eye.

>>> The fact that someone dared to steal from him is offensive enough, but the stolen gemstone also holds a special meaning — it’s the first one he’s ever bought with his own money, by himself, for himself. It’s not the biggest one he owns, not the rarest color or the most high-priced, but the auction it was sold at dragged for almost two hours, and the very last bidder was too persistent for his liking. Finally winning felt so good, it was addicting. Losing that very thing felt like a punch, and he hadn’t missed a single one before.

>>> He changes the locks and tightens security, but there are no leads — nothing on his cameras, and no one saw a thing. He begrudgingly tells Helaena about it when she finds a moment to check up on him in between hosting countless exhibitions in her gallery. That very gallery also stores one of his gems, so he wants to take precautions, just in case.

His sister brings him croissants and sips on matcha while listening to him, worry sawn onto her face. She reassures him she’ll be alert, she’s empathetic as ever. She then enthusiastically goes to tell him all about the new layout for the Van Gogh collection she’ll put on display next month. Her cheerful babbling gives him an hour-long reprieve from his inner torment.

On her way out, Helaena stops, her brows furrowing:

“Do you know who owned the diamond before you?”

“There were no details on the owner,” Aemond shrugs. “I only know his collection had to be auctioned for debts which definitely drove down the price.”

She gives him a heartfelt smile:

“I’ll ask around, then.”

>>> Someone steals the sapphire from her gallery precisely a week after their conversation. The gem of 150 carats is protected with armored glass and kept in a separate hall, but no alarms are triggered the night it disappears. Helaena only finds out in the morning and sends him a photo of an empty stand. When Aemond arrives at the gallery, police are already at the scene. They all wear the same confused expression.

“There’s no footage on the cameras,” his sister explains, perplexed. Then squints at him: “But they left a note.”

Aemond swallows down an annoyed grunt and spends ten minutes answering a pointless sequence of questions. Only then he gets to see the thing he’s most curious about. The piece of paper says:

“Your taste is better when it comes to gems. The exhibition looks great, by the way!”

He passes it on his way back — it’s a collection of some Swedish artist he’s never heard of. The painting closest to him is called “The Lady with the Veil”, and the woman on the canvas looks at him with a sly smile.

>>> The third time can take the prize for being the most ridiculous one. He made the purchase only two days ago — a pink diamond of exceptional purity, and the transfer is arranged in the strictest secrecy. He gives instructions, he hires two guards for the ride; he’s counting minutes. Aemond has a lurking suspicion that something is off when the delivery is 15 minutes late. But then the courier finally walks in, hands him the box locked with a digital code, and Aemond tenses up in anticipation. The second he opens it, his mouth falls slack.

“Are you kidding me?!” he roars — the box is empty, with only a pink ribbon left inside.

The courier shrivels at the sound and apologizes profusely. And then admits that they made a stop on their way. He says they went down the wrong route — because of some glitch in his GPS — and ended up at the wrong house. It took the man a couple of minutes to realize his mistake and come back to the truck. He has no explanation for why he thought that taking both guards with him was in any way a good idea, but he swears that the driver never left the vehicle.

To add to Aemond’s anguish, the two policemen sent to his place seem to be positively stupid. Not only do they not understand the concept of digital locks, but they also don’t grasp the gravity of the situation. One of them scribbles something in his notebook, then scratches his head with a pen, then asks:

“Are you sure it’s not just a case of miscommunication?”

Aemond is sure that he’s never been this close to strangling a law enforcement officer. He gives the cops a tight-lipped smile and sends them away, and he is still left with no information to get things off the ground. He’s also a little bitter that there was no note this time.

He’s staring at the empty box with a brooding frown when he feels his phone vibrating. It’s a text from his sister:

“There are rumors that the man you’ve got your diamond from was some tech developer. His identity was sealed by court order :( But maybe this will be of use? xx”

Aemond rereads the message, then ponders for a minute. That may explain all the technical malfunctions that he suspects were not accidental. It also gives him an idea.

>>> He orders his security team to look through all the street cameras along the route. Buff guys crash at his office, dragging in every monitor they can find, and strain their eyes to catch anything. Aegon volunteers to help although he mostly spends his time roaming around the room with a bottle of beer, leaving his fingerprints on every glassy surface.

Just as Aemond has hoped, they find the person of interest at the first stop the courier made. Except the video gives them no clue who they are looking at. The men watch as someone — wearing all black, their face covered — quietly sneaks to the truck, opens it and gets in, squirreling through the gap between the back doors. They do that with such ease, Aemond won’t be surprised to see them using a magic wand. The driver spends that time singing along to some rap song blasting in the car.

Aegon notices the strained silence and gets closer, then focuses on the footage. And then he starts cracking with laughter.

“Hey, it’s a woman!” he exclaims. “I know one when I see one!”

All the security guys lean toward the cameras and watch the recording again, following her movements and tilting their heads to the left in unison like some hypnotized owls.

“Well, that does look... like a female body,” one of them mumbles, others humming in agreement, eyes still glued to the screens.

Aemond feels the secondhand embarrassment creeping in and quietly growls, facepalming. He catches Aegon’s gaze, and his brother chuckles, his eyes crinkled.

“Man, you must’ve really fucked up for her to go after you like that,” Aegon whispers with a grin. “Is it bad that I’m kinda rooting for her now?”

Aemond can’t think of a single person who would want to cross him, let alone a woman. He’s not one to fool around or break hearts, and his own stays closed, and no one ever made it flutter. Incomprehension stirs up his thoughts the way a storm does the sea.

“So what’s your plan?” Aegon’s voice brings him back to reality.

“I’ll tell you when I have one,” Aemond sighs. “What I definitely don’t plan on doing is buy another diamond,” he swirls the phone in his hand like he always does when he’s agitated.

Aegon finishes his beer, then looks at the screens again.

“But you still have enough gemstones,” he drawls.

“Enough for what?” Aemond raises a brow at him.

“To get her interest,” his brother smirks. “Don’t you think?”

Aemond lets Aegon’s words sink in until he grasps the meaning behind them, and the suggestion leaves a hint of a smile on his lips. He instantly dials his sister:

“Hel, can you do me a favor? I want to hold an exhibition. It’s gonna be the most expensive one you’ve ever had.”

“Show-off,” Aegon mutters, rolling his eyes.

>>> The gallery is located at the end of the central street, overlooking a small canal with charming tour boats, with blossoming cherry trees planted along the way. Aemond plans everything down to the last detail — every camera’s placement, every guard’s position, he learns all the ins and outs of the building. The day before the event, his nerves are on edge, his mind restless, and he makes an irrational decision to stop by the gallery to take a quick look around. He warps between halls and examines the stands — all while answering countless calls he’s been bombarded with since someone leaked the story of his misfortunes to the press.

He’s looking at the layout of the upper floor, flipping through the pages, his smartphone pressed up against his ear when he rounds the corner — and suddenly crashes into someone. The phone slips out, papers scatter around, and he instinctively puts out a hand, and it rests upon another body, their skin warm against his fingers. He hears a surprised voice:

“Oh, excusez-moi!” and then it gets softer. “Je ne m’attendais pas à ce que tu sois là *.”

When Aemond glances down, he is left speechless.

A woman is looking at him, her parted lips curled up in a light smile, her features gentle, face expression amused. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes, an alluring gleam of mystery he is instantly drawn to solve. She’s only wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, and yet he thinks he’s never seen a sight so pretty. His hand stays on her waist, his thumb sneaked under the white material. He wants to keep it there.

She shamelessly studies his face until her gaze grazes his lips — curiously, intrigued — then she looks up.

“I am horribly clumsy, my apologies,” she finally says, her voice low and dulcet, and hands Aemond his phone and a couple of papers. He completely missed the moment when she somehow managed to catch all that.

“Makes two of us,” he utters, reluctantly removing his palm from the bend of her waistline. The touch of her hand compensates for it — their fingers brush, but it’s fleeting and it leaves him wanting more.

She helps him pick the rest of his papers off the floor, not giving him a chance to protest. She’s nimble and smiley, he is tacit and stunned.

“The preparations for the exhibit seem quite extensive,” she remarks, looking around, standing carelessly close to him but not close enough. “You put in a lot of work,” she casts a glance at him, and Aemond’s cheeks heat up.

“I had a lot of help,” he modestly brushes off the compliment, but his eye never leaves her face, and he doesn’t want to leave, either. There is no explanation for this feeling, for this need, for how flustered and tongue-tied he is.

“I should let you get back to it, then,” she takes a step back, moving out of his reach, and he can’t find a reason to make her stay for a bit longer.

“Do you plan on coming?” Aemond asks, and in any other case, he would’ve found the desperation in his voice to be embarrassing. Right now, he couldn’t care less.

She turns to look at him and holds his gaze for a good few seconds. She isn’t smiling but there’s laughter in her eyes when she says:

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” and then walks out.

His phone buzzes again, a string of unread notifications popping up on the screen. But it’s the girl with a velvety voice that hooks his attention like nothing else. He didn’t think to question what she was doing in the gallery.

>>> The exhibition is a bit too crowded, and Aemond scurries between the halls and watches the gemstones like a hawk, looking out for anyone suspicious. He tries to persuade himself it’s the only reason he peers into the crowd; it’s not. He also can’t help but wait for a certain person, for a very specific face to show up.

But minutes pass by and soon turn into an hour and then into two, and he almost gives up.

He stares blankly at one of the gems — Colombian emerald, a hundred carats of the purest green, — he was ecstatic to get his hands on it, and yet right now it looks dull, and it brings him no joy. He sees a gleam of the same color out of the corner of his eye and disregards it at first, but then he casts his gaze to the side, and his breathing hitches.

She did come, and when he sees her, his heart not only skips a bit but does a full-on salto.

Her dress is brighter than any emerald — the material flows, following every curve of her body, with a coyly slit up to the middle of her thigh. The waves of her hairdo fall to one side, and his eye trails her collarbones, the line of her neck, and moves up to her lips that are blooming red, radiant like rubies. She is so beautiful, all the gemstones pale in comparison, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

She goes straight to Aemond as if there are no other people in the gallery — she maneuvers between them but only looks at him, a familiar smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“It’s safe to say your efforts paid off,” she gestures at the crowd when she’s at arm’s reach. “I think congratulations are in order,” the words flow from her lips like honey.

He blinks a few times, then comes to his senses and finds his voice.

“Thank you,” he musters in response. “I suspect the gems are to blame,” he remarks and tries to put on his usual cold self-restraint. She isn’t having any of it.

“With so many of them, I can’t decide what to look at first,” she comes closer, boldly and unabashed, and he’s enveloped in her perfume, in the warmth of her gaze. He takes the hint.

“I can give you a tour,” he offers, and her smile grows wider. Then her eyes glide over the emerald, and she taps on the protective glass:

“This one seems rather pricey.”

“It was,” Aemond agrees, clasping hands behind his back, very pleased with himself. “Comes from the Muzo mines, a square octagon-cut 100.2-carat emerald.”

“The shape does help to convey the color depth of the stone,” she hums with satisfaction, but her eyes are on Aemond again. Seeing his questioning look, she adds: “The cut of a gem is what determines its value, isn’t it?”

He only manages to nod because her thigh brushes his, and he doesn’t even pretend to pay attention to the gemstone. Neither does she, taking him by the arm:

“So, what’s next on our tour?”

>>> He guides her from one display to the other, and they move further away from the crowd, into smaller halls, less noisy and dimly lit, the gemstones being the only bright spot in each room. She asks questions, and their conversation flows, but he quickly notes that she knows more than she’s letting on.

“You seem well-versed on the topic yourself,” Aemond assumes as they take a stop in front of yet another stand. The yellow diamond on it catches the light and sparkles like a little sun.

“My father held a great appreciation for gemstones of all sorts,” she reveals, with a tinge of sadness in her voice. “I guess I’ve learned a thing or two from him.”

“Are you a collector too?”

She softly laughs, and her gaze turns playful:

“I value the rare beauty of them but... I think I find the buying process more exciting. It’s all about the chase,” she murmurs, leaning into him just a bit.

She’s mesmerizing, she’s a charade, and he’s captivated beyond understanding. But before he can say anything else, a loud noise shatters the silence between them — the fire alarm goes off. А monotone voice on the speaker orders everyone to leave the building.

“That’s odd,” Aemond mumbles, more to himself. He hears people’s voices in the distance and gently takes her by the hand. “We should go too.”

“Maybe it’s a false alarm?” she doesn’t move. “I am sure the security will turn it off in a minute. With how well this place is guarded, you have nothing to worry about, right?”

It dawns on Aemond that he didn’t think once about the safety of the gemstones in the last hour, and it’s just as concerning as the unexpected evacuation. To add to his worry, the overhead lighting goes off.

“We should wait for the emergency generator to kick in,” she suggests, not bothered in the slightest. He should find it weird, but he can only think of how close she is, how the faint light from the display contours her face.

“Um, it will take — ”

“About three minutes,” she finishes up for him. “We just need to find a way to pass the time.”

“I think I’ve told you all there is to know about the collection,” Aemond lightly chuckles. “Unless you got any other ideas?”

“Well, I don’t usually do that but...,” she says quietly, looking up at him as her hand lies on his shoulder, then slowly moves to his neck.

“Do what?” he is caught off guard, he can’t concentrate on anything other than the movement of her palm. “Do you want to —”

“You talk too much,” she interrupts him with a smile, her finger tugging at the collar of his shirt, and then her lips cover his, and the words die down on his tongue, and all the sounds disappear.

Her lips are rubies but they feel like silk, intoxicating like wine, and before he can think it over, he kisses her back, and he can’t think of anything else, and his hands find her waist so easily he wishes to never keep them away. She allows him to lead this time, to set the pace, his fingers tugging her closer, his mouth fervid — and he’s insatiable, and he wants to leave her as breathless as he is. He succeeds in that.

When they part, the light is already on.

“I didn’t mean to take your attention away from your precious stones,” she breathes out.

“I think I got a hold of another one,” Aemond trails for her lips, but she laughs against his mouth.

“I meant actual gems.”

“I can recognize a real gem from a fake one,” he retorts and brushes away a strand of her hair that fell loose.

“Can you?” she throws him a cunning look and bites her lower lip. “Oh, Aemond,” she then gets quiet, almost hesitant, her gaze hinting at something unsaid, something important. “You should’ve let me make the last bid,” she whispers all of a sudden.

He stares at her in confusion, and there’s a ringing concern in the back of his head, a nascent hunch. Simultaneously, another realization kicks in:

“You never told me your name,” Aemond finally grasps.

“And you never told me yours, you just assumed I knew it,” she’s not offended, she is very much enjoying it. “I did,” she traces the contour of his jaw with her index finger.

He’s about to say something else when they hear hurried footsteps approaching.

“Mr. Targaryen, we were hoping you would — Oh,” the guard falls silent upon seeing them. The man reads the room and gets clearly abashed but Aemond doesn’t.

“I would what?” he asks, unfazed, not removing his hand from her waist.

“I just wanted to inform you it was a false alarm, but we are going through the cameras to look for any suspicious activity,” the guard explains, then holds a pause. “Maybe you would want to join us?”

Aemond looks at her, his face expression apologetic, but she doesn’t make an issue out of it.

“You should go,” she encourages. “Make sure that everything is fine.”

He doesn’t want to but he has to, they both know that. What he doesn’t know is why he feels the need to make promises to the woman he’s only met twice.

“It will only be a couple of minutes,” his hand glides down and captures hers.

“Take your time,” her thumb careless his palm, and then she lets him go. He feels her gaze on him on the way out.

>>> Aemond walks through the empty halls and corridors, catching a glimpse of Helaena and Aegon standing outside with all the guests, his brother’s hand draped over her shoulder, both laughing at something. He’s glad that everyone is safe — he is also glad that Aegon won’t get a chance to tease him. Aemond is pretty sure there’s a red hue left on his lips but he only thinks of it when he walks into the security room, and it’s too late to wipe it off.

“Anything caught your attention?” he nonchalantly asks the guards that are watching the security footage.

“Nothing so far,” one of them informs. “The evacuation went without complications, took us about seven minutes — started with the green hall, all according to the plan,” he proudly states. Aemond absentmindedly nods.

“And what was it with the light?”

“Oh, that,” the man frowns. “Something set off the emergency reboot of the system. All our guys were outside, so we sent one of the security men who stayed back at the site to check the generator.”

That string of words bothers Aemond.

“Stayed at the site — you mean, in one of the halls?” he guesses. “Which one was it?”

“The green one, it’s closest to the basement,” the guard tells him without a second thought.

Aemond thinks of the floor plan, then counts the minutes in his head. Then he realizes:

“So the emerald remained unguarded the longest.”

>>> He’s the first one to run out of the room — and the first one to reach the green hall, his heart racing. But, despite his worst fears, the gem is still there. Untouched, big, green, dull.

... Dull.

Aemond watches it silently, and the gears in his head start turning faster. He comes up to the stand, eye fixed on the emerald.

“Take it out,” he asks, his tone commanding. “Now.”

A member of the staff gets the gem from under the glass cover, and Aemond takes the emerald in his hand, then turns his phone’s flashlight on. Under direct light, the jewel radiates a rainbow of colors, bright and iridescent. Just like plain glass. To prove his theory further, he drags the bezel of his platinum watch over the stone’s surface — and it leaves a very evident scratch.

Someone gasps behind his back, and there’s no need to say it out loud. Still, he does:

“It’s fake,” Aemond concludes.

The invited jewelry expert holds a hand to his heart.

“But it’s not possible! Not possible,” he muses. “The cameras were on for the duration of the day, we’ve got the footage right here!”

They were on today, but not the day before, Aemond notes. He drags out all the pieces of information he can think of — coincidences, memories, words:

“The man you’ve got your diamond from was some tech developer,”

“My father held a great appreciation for the gemstones,”

“The preparations seem extensive,”

“It’s all about the chase,”

“You should’ve let me make the last bid,”

— and the puzzle comes together.

“God damn it,” he says under his breath, closing his eye.

And then, while everyone looks clueless, Aemond lets out a laugh. There is no anger in it — if anything, he feels relieved. For him, the chase has gotten quite tiresome. But oh so worth it, he thinks.

“You can put it back and invite everyone in,” Aemond gives the emerald to the expert who seems doubtful.

“But what of its authenticity?”

“Well, just don’t let anyone take it out and put it under a flashlight,” Aemond sneers. Then he turns to the guards: “Can you show me the yellow hall?”

When he sees the place empty, he rushes out without another word.

>>> The sunset spreads over the sky, flooding it with orange and crimson, and Aemond searches for her in the crowd and in the street but to avail at first. His eye roves over the mass of faces, bodies, vehicles passing by — and then falls on the other side of the canal. He recognizes her in a heartbeat.

She changed back into jeans and a t-shirt, with a leather jacket thrown over, a black motorbike parked next to her. The wind ruffles waves of her hair and the hem of her shirt, and Aemond wishes he could sneak his hands under it again. He doesn’t know if she sees him in the side mirror or if she feels his gaze — he hopes it’s the latter — but she turns to him, and their eyes meet.

She flashes him a smile that lits up her whole face and then turns into laughter. Aemond can’t hear her but he remembers the sound of it, and the corners of his mouth tilt up. It feels like there’s no distance separating them, no people, and no channel of water strewn with fallen cherry blossoms. She taps at the pocket of her jacket and points at him — he looks down at his suit and in a second he catches on to what she means. Aemond puts a hand in his pocket and finds a piece of paper inside. It’s small and gently folded, it’s the same cursive he’ll recognize anywhere:

“Didn’t get a chance to tell you last time — you really should invest in a better security system. Makes me wonder how good is the one you have at home. Maybe I should check it out.

Until next time, Y/N.”

When he looks up, she’s already left, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

He doesn’t know if it’s a challenge or a date.

But he can’t wait to see her again. * “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t expect you to be here.”

✧ the original dress in all its glory ✧ “The Lady with the Veil” 💕 another fic where the girl makes the first step 🔞 another fic with a green dress

💚 my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

"Ask me anything" huh? Can I ask you to rant about stuff you love about Doctor Who for a handful of paragraphs, with the additional requirement that you cannot use correct grammar NOR can your statements be fully coherent?

Doctor Who is like 50% fun nonsense and I think commentaries on it should reflect that. No elaborate and precise statements, just pure joy unhindered by foolish concepts such as "making perfect sense".

I was waiting until I was close to going to bed to answer this because this really needs my half-asleep brain to answer properly. (Or improperly, in this case.) Now, onto as grammatically improperly as I can make this (hopefully I pulled this off. like to think I did!):

you know what i love about doctor who? i love that this show covers every single genre in the universe. that it is horror and comedy and historical fiction and sci fi and alternate history and dystopian and myths and steampunk and biopunk and murder mystery and western and fairytale because genre doesn't apply, because the doctor is a mad man in a box telling the story, except that they're not, the doctor's not the one telling the story, because this is really a story about the companions of the doctor, the people who are reflections of them, the people who become the doctor, the people who were doctors all along, the people who were kind and brave and traumatized and curious and above all, wanted to see the stars, because this is a story about the stars, about the grand expanse of space and time, about everything that ever was and ever will be, but the thing is, the mechanics of the show and how seasons are shot and that no actor can ever stay young forever, because the show is made with real people, everyone has to move on, and that's the beauty of it, isn't it? that people have to move on.

writers and actors always have to move on but with doctor who, because some genius (affectionate) in the 60s decided that regeneration would get to be a mechanic in the show we get to have an eternal canon, we get to have renewal, we get to have companions reflect back on the doctor in an infinite number of batshit insane and unhinged ways, we get to see hope and grief and a bottomless fall and an infinite rise because the doctor cannot die even though everyone around them can BUT ALSO because this show is about travelling, about running, about having the entirety of everything that has ever existed or will exist or can't exist or might exist at our fingertips.

as a result you can have episodes like midnight and partners in crime in the same season and no one will bat an eye, you can have the farting calcium invasion-of-the-body-snatchers be the monsters that propel two of the best character pieces i've ever seen in my entire life, you can have capitalism critiques involving fish poop under the thames, you can have them visit the greatest people that will ever live and the worst, you can have them inspire artists and scientists before they die and that's just as important as the aliens or saving the world, you see, because at the end of the day doctor who is about love, it's about the small moments as well as the big saves, it's about wilfred staring at the stars and amy demanding her imaginary friend show up to her wedding and harriet jones worrying about her mother and about danny admiring the fact that a student said please and about ryan and graham learning to ride a bike together and about jackie being the last person that mickey said goodbye to in journey's end, it's about love and character development and charles dickens and vincent van gogh getting to smile and laugh before they die, it's about the love, you see?

doctor who is about running as far and as fast as you can because even though you're more afraid than anyone who has ever existed you have to see them all, you have to love them all, because you have so much love you can't contain it in one heart, that's why you have two hearts, because you love so much, too much, and you will never find peace, you will never find an ending, but right here, right now, you can have this. and that will never be enough, it can't be enough, but it still matters.

because the love was there.

[araekniarchive]

Anna Akhmatova, You Will Hear Thunder

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, I Love You

George R. R. Martin, A Clash of Kings

Jimmiwin, the red painting

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Kaash Paige, Love Songs

Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games

Ocean Vuong, Notebook Fragments

The Rolling Stones, Rainbow

Vincent van Gogh, Still Life with Apples, Pears, Lemons and Grapes

Coldplay, Yellow

Charlotte Gilman Perkins, The Yellow Wallpaper

Great Expectations (1998) dir. Alfonso Cuarón

Albert Camus, A Happy Death

The Green Knight (2021) dir. David Lowery

Gwendolyn Brooks, To the Young Who Want to Die

Franny Choi, How to Let Go of the World

Suzanne Siegel, After Dinner Walk

The Murder Capital, Green and Blue

Jennifer Niven, All the Bright Places

Cath Crowley, Graffiti Moon

Mitski, Blue Light

Maggie Nelson, Bluets

Moonlight (2016) dir. Barry Jenkins

[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

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Misc. Tag Game! ✨

thank you for the tags @ronald-speirs @panzershrike-pretz and @sharkboyandlavalieb !!!

Made by the amazing @ronald-speirs 💖

Favorite place in the world you’ve visited?

Hmmm I’m gonna have to go with when my mom, sister, and I all went to Las Vegas for my 21st birthday! It was so much fun and just an incredible experience 💕

Something you’re proud of yourself for?

Probably continuing my therapy journey! I’ve been in therapy continuously since I graduated in 2020 and I feel like I’ve made some good progress! I’m proud of myself for not giving up when things felt impassable

Favorite books?

Soooo i’m not too big on reading but something I will read over and over again is the fruits basket series!!!! That’s the only book series I’ve read in its entirety and I love every bit of it!!!

Something that makes your heart happy when thinking about it?

It’s not the dart scene at the start of replacements idk what you’re talking about

Favorite thing about your culture?

About being American? I guess just the fact that BoB is American 🤣

When did you join the HBO War fandom? What was the first show you watched?

Umm i think in April ‘23?? @dontirrigateme and I had just watched the x-men first class movies and wanted to watch more James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender, so of course we watched BoB… the world has never been the same

Have you read any of Easy Company’s books? If so, which ones were your favorite?

I’m trying to read Ambrose’s book right now, but I have Winters’ Beyond Band of Brothers, Guarnere and Babe’s book, and a couple others on my shelf!! (if anyone finds Webster’s shark book i promise you my first born for a copy of that)

Favorite HBO War character and your favorite moment with them?

Oh goodness there’re so many!!! Ummm well right now I’m going thru a Liebgott phase oml the man makes me FOAM AT THE MOUTH so I’m gonna go with when he tends to Talbert on the Night of the Bayonet, like Liebgott is known for his temper and fighting but here (and with Tipper) you can see he’s an absolute SWEETHEART AAAA I WOULD DIE FOR JOSEPH DAVID LIEBGOTT

Do you make content for any fandoms, if so; what sort of content?

I’ve just recently started writing for BoB!! I also have some Pokemon x BoB collages that I’ve made 🥰

Favorite actor/actress and your favorite film of theirs?

Johnny Depp hands down, and absolutely pirates of the caribbean, it’s just all-around lovely and whimsical and amazing (fun fact till like middle school i had no idea what Johnny Depp actually looked like because my only references for him were Captain Jack Sparrow and Willy Wonka and they just did not look the same to me 🤣)

Favorite quote/s that you wish to share with others?

I think I’ve said this before, but it’s a quote from my blorbo Vincent Van Gogh, “I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

Random fact your mutuals/followers don’t know about you?

My dad’s retired Navy, so I grew up moving around until he retired when I was about 8!

If you’re a writer, do you need a beta reader (say yes so I can be your beta reader 🤭)?

ASDFDL I WOULDN'T MIND HAVING A BETA READER

Three things that make you smile? (I’m watching BoB rn so this is about to be BoB momes)

“CURRAHEEEEEEE!”

“We salute the rank not the man”

“I’m John Wayne! The costume department set me up with these nice navy whites, what do ya think!?”

Any nicknames you like?

Honestly I just feel warm and fuzzy when given any nickname, I’ve been called Em, Emmy, Ems, my favorite might be “Yellow,” I’ve had three separate best friends give me this nickname just cuz they associate me with the color yellow and sunshine vibes ✨

List some people you love to see around on tumblr!

ASDJ:LKF THERE ARE SO MANY @dontirrigateme @panzershrike-pretz @ithinkabouttzu @executethyself35 @ronsparky @love--persevering @ronald-speirs @sweetxvanixlla @whollyjoly @xxluckystrike @venus-haze @thicccqueyoongimin @joetoyesbrassknuckles101 @neptunes-blue @ewipandora @hanniewinnix @sharkboyandlavalieb @footprintsinthesxnd @mutantmanifesto @jump-wings @malarkgirlypop @mads-nixon @blueberry-ovaries @coco-bean-1218 @b00ks1ut AND SO SO MANY MORE I'M SORRY IF I DIDNT TAG YOU I PROMISE I LOVE YOU

What would you do during a zombie apocalypse?

Cry and die probably

Favorite movie?

Bohemian Rhapsody, the Mummy, and Pirates of the Carribean, and the Blair Witch Project!

Do you like horror movies? YES!! Especially found footage movies!!

No pressure tags!! @dontirrigateme , @ithinkabouttzu , @executethyself35 , @neptunes-blue , @thicccqueyoongimin , @love--persevering , @jump-wings , @blueberry-ovaries and anyone else who wants to do this!!! 💖