#leonardo da vinci x reader

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: a handful of insecurities the ikemen guys would adore.

WARNINGS: none!! :D

COMMENTS: happy holidays everyone!! i hope this makes at least one person feel loved by their fav <3 just know that this isnt a decisive list and that no matter your insecurity your favorite suitor would adore you to bits.

you might think that they're silly for adoring your stomach so much, worshiping any extra fat or polished muscle you possess. they revel in your softness, burying their face into your midsection whenever they get the chance, kissing the skin there when they wake up and resting a hand over your belly button when you two go to sleep. if you’re ticklish there, watch out, because they take great joy in poking and prodding you just to hear you giggle.

arthur, dazai, will, charles, luke, silvio, edgar, kyle, seth, loki, masamune, mitsunari, motonari.

they don't understand what’s so embarrassing about your body hair. to them, it adds a sort of human softness to your legs as they run their hands down your calves, feeling the slight prickle of where each strand begins and ends. they think it’s beautiful, smiling so softly as they cup your knee, rubbing their thumbs across your skin. they do the same to your arms, cherishing every inch of your body,  just to remind you that even if you don’t like your body hair, they do because it's you.

leonardo, vincent, faust, clavis, zero, sirius, fenrir, mitsuhide, shingen.

your nose is often where their kisses land, sprinkling the bridge of it with their love and affection. they caress your face so tenderly as they bump their nose against yours, and you can feel the smile on their lips when they lean in to kiss you again. no matter what shape or what size, they will never stop thinking that your nose suits you just perfectly.

isaac, jean, leon, yves, sariel, keith, jonah, luka, dean, oliver, hideyoshi, keiji.

they think your acne and your scars are beautiful, even if you hate the way they look on your body. they insist it could never take away from your beauty, that you will always and forever be radiant, even with the red marks and the dull, faded scars. they’ll help you take care of them so you aren’t hurt, but they will never let you believe that you’re ugly. that word should not be associated with you, not when you have constellations speckled across your face and scars that are on their precious love and their precious love alone.

napoleon, sebastian, licht, nokto, alter keith, ray, dalim, mousse, yukimura, kanetsugu, kicho.

...and along with acne, they know you could never look prettier, especially not without your cellulite or stretch marks or anything in between. they trace the folds and warps in your skin with reverence because you are their love, their light, and their darling, and for as long as they live they want nothing more than to be able to hold you. because you are a human being who is worthy of love, if not for your humanity then because of your humanity.

mozart, theo, comte, vlad, jin, chevalier, rio, gilbert, lancelot, harr, blanc, nobunaga, ieyasu, ranmaru, kenshin, sasuke, yoshimoto, kennyo.

#napoleon bonaparte x reader #leonardo da vinci x reader #arthur conan doyle x reader #isaac newton x reader #jean d'arc x reader #vincent van gogh x reader #theo van gogh x reader #ikevamp sebastian x reader #william shakespeare x reader #comte x reader #charles henri sanson x reader #chevalier michel x reader #clavis lelouch x reader #leon dompteur x reader #yves kloss x reader #licht klein x reader #rio ortiz x reader #silvio ricci x reader #keith howell x reader #gilbert von obsidian x reader #lancelot kingsley x reader #jonah clemence x reader #edgar bright x reader #ikerev zero x reader #kyle ash x reader #ray blackwell x reader #sirius oswald x reader #luka clemence x reader #fenrir godspeed x reader #harr silver x reader

[solomons-poison]

Hello!! Aww thank you, I'm glad you liked what I've written 🥰 sure I'd be happy to do that prompt with Leo!

♔ : Finding the other wearing their clothes

Pairing: Leonardo x GN!reader

Leonardo could have sworn he was losing his mind. He'd been busy taking apart, investigating, fixing, then putting back together various old instruments at the mansion. It was a rare day when many of the residents were home, and somehow they all seemed to converge at once asking for his assistance in fixing their things.

And he didn't really mind it. It was nice to know that the residents felt they could come to him for help, not to mention it gave his mind a little exercise and something to keep him busy. His only complaint would be that it kept him from spending time with you. Of course, you were busy working in the mansion, too. Sebastian had you doing all sorts of errands that kept you two apart, so often, you only had a moment to exchange a few words, maybe a quick kiss, before separating.

While doing his work, he'd removed his coat to move more freely and to cool off after starting to sweat. However, he got so involved in a project that time flew by, not noticing the late hour until a clock struck twelve, the chimes pulling him out of his thoughts. He got up to stretch and realized a cup of tea had been placed at his side. He knew it had to be you that left it, but with how cold the cup and liquid had turned, it must have been there for a while. You were always looking after him, and it warmed his heart to see the ways you thought about him.

Leonardo cleaned up, planning to visit you, but as he prepared to leave, he realized that his coat was missing. He was fairly certain he'd taken it off in the current room, hung up on a chair as he sat on the floor to work. But now it was nowhere to be seen. He popped his head into several other rooms, all the last places he'd been, even checking his own room just in case, but no luck.

You'd warned him before about how messy he was, that he'd lose something and not be able to find it, and it was becoming increasingly apparent to him that you were right.

He realized it was getting too late, and finally gave up. The most important thing was getting to see you and spending a little time with you before bed; his coat could wait until tomorrow (even if it did irk him that he lost it). He made his way over to your room and knocked on the door, but there was no response. He knocked one more time, a little louder, but it was still silent.

Of course you'd fallen asleep. Between how hard you had worked today and how long you spent waiting to see him, it was no wonder you'd passed out already. Leonardo opened your door slowly, peeking in and confirming a figure was curled up on your bed, before entering your room. He quietly approached, wanting to get a good look at you and give you a goodnight kiss, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he froze.

There, curled around your sleeping form, was his coat.

Cute.

He felt his heart thump in his chest, immediately overtaken by how adorable you looked in his clothing. You really were bad for his heart. He took a moment to collect himself before continuing to your side, gently sitting on the bed beside you. Your breathing was even, peaceful, and your fingers were clutching the edge of his coat tightly.

He lightly traced a finger along your cheek before leaning down to kiss it, catching the combined scent of his coat, long since filled with the smell of his cigarillos, and your own natural scent, and it immediately made him relaxed. Smelling his scent on you eased his mind, reminded him you were by his side, you were alive and happy and that you were his.

With his kiss, you shifted awake, your eyes fluttering open. As soon as you registered Leonardo's face, a dreamy smile lifted your lips.

"Oh, Leonardo. Are you done now?" you asked, voice husky with sleep. You opened your arms, beckoning your lover closer, and Leonardo obliged as he lay down and wrapped his arms around you and his coat.

"Yeah, got too wrapped up in what I was doing. Sorry for making you wait," he said, kissing your forehead. He was quiet a moment before continuing. "By the way, do you make it a habit to steal people's coats?"

He felt you freeze in his arms, and he could just imagine the look of guilt on your face. You didn't say anything at first, and he worried that he'd been too mean in his teasing, but you finally responded in a quiet voice.

"I only steal yours... and only because it smells like you," you said, your face on fire and thankful the room was too dark for him to see you properly. "I missed you but I knew you were busy, so I thought having your coat with me would help..."

Leonardo felt like an arrow pierced his heart. It took everything in him not to crush you in a hug out of sheer force of love, and slowly, gently, pulled you closer instead.

"You say the cutest things, do you know that?" he grumbled, nuzzling against your temple. "Well, next time you miss me that much, feel free to interrupt me, alright? I'm not going to lose out to my coat if my sweetheart is feeling lonely."

He felt you smile against him, and purposefully kept you close so you couldn't see his face, just in case.

"Okay, I promise."

#leonardo x reader #leonardo da vinci x reader #ikemen vampire #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp fluff #the minx can write ✍️

[art-of-love-and-war]

Hi!!! This is the first time I've EVER requested anything, so I'm super excited to be asking you. Would it be OK if I could have headcannons with some of the ikevamp boys? If you're comfortable with it, could I have Arthur, Comte, Isaac and Leonardo with and mc who has ADHD? I completely understand if you don't, feel free to completely ignore me. Thank youuu 😊😊😊❤❤❤

Characters: Arthur Conan Doyle | Comte De Saint Germain | Isaac Newton | Leonardo Da Vinci x GN!Reader  Rating: General.  Word count: 819 words  Warning/s: Reader has ADHD, mentions of procrastination, hyperfocus, not enough focus. Author note: Hello! Sorry this took so long, I’ve had this on my mind for a very long time, and I even thought about doing Isaac’s route to write him more accurately but work has been killing me so I didn't get to open the DSM-V collecting dust in my shelf for this one :c

[୨୧] — Arthur Conan Doyle

There are quite some things he can understand about your symptoms. The main thing being procrastinating. 

Listen, he is a writer, and he is not perfect, and there are moments where inspiration poofs out and he is forced to stop with his writer's block, or sometimes he feels stuck in a sentence and decides to do everything except finish his next chapter, so he can empathize when you go through periods where you keep pushing certain activities until the last minute.

He still worries about your well-being, even if he is not a doctor anymore; he is curious about the treatment you had back at your time and home. 

He is sweet and understanding, despite having some pet peeves, he does his best to understand how it's something that is part of you and can work with support. And he wants to be that support.

Arthur also finds relatable the moments where you are stuck with your hyper-focus periods, and you happen to do your and Sebastian’s chores for the day on your own, though he is hurt by you mostly ignoring him those awful days when he wants nothing but to pamper you.

[୨୧] — Comte De Saint Germain

He is a wonderful and understanding man.

I can imagine him having a lot of pet peeves with people getting distracted too easily or drifting off and, part of loving you is the imperfections you embrace of each other and, they make you perfect for him as anyone. 

He is careful of the periods where you either procrastinate too much or hyper-focus too much to not exhaust yourself with the chores you take or by making you overwhelmed by taking care of the mansion and its inhabitants. 

He will listen to your weekly obsession without trouble. Do you want to tell him about 30 crow facts you learned? Tell him. Did you find a new way to make Sebas flick your forehead? He frowns. Do you want to tell him about your comfort fanfic you know by heart because you can’t read it anymore? He will listen.

If you fidget too much, and if you ask, he will get someone from his multiple contacts to make a “replica” of the fidget toys you used to have back at home.

[୨୧] — Isaac Newton

I have been seriously thinking of this since I got this ask because it seems too funny even if I haven't read his route: Consider, you don’t shut up.

Isaac strikes me as the type who wants to study in peace and quiet.

So maybe your relationship is quite a bumpy ride at first. 

What amazes him is your capability of telling him about 100 things that interested you in the span of a single week.

Your conversations flow at random, so he would often be working on his stuff to suddenly be whisked away by you to tell him about that one thing you found out about hedgehogs for 3 hours. 

Sometimes you are the cause of some of his frustrations. Last month you started knitting? He found some yarn with a texture you like and bought it as a gift, thinking you could make something for yourself.

He came back to find your knitted sweater half done and forgotten, and now you are learning how to bake. 

And it is an ongoing cycle, but he finds a bit of happiness in you trying new things, as you often drag him along, which means spending more time together.

Maybe your relationship is the answer to what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

[୨୧] — Leonardo Da Vinci

ADHD? 

Avoid tasks? Hyperfocus? Not enough focus? This man is a master at all those (and at dozing off)

He doesn’t mind you procrastinating, he has been avoiding to clean up his room for the last century, so he can’t complain. 

Now, if you forget or get distracted about other things, now that’s a different story. Did you feed Lumiere in the evening and forgot to tell him, and then he fed him that same day, and now you have a chubby cat? 

That’s funny, but no. 

Aside from that, he doesn’t have trouble with your condition; he is still a loving man. He always is and has been when it comes to loving you. 

And he likes your energy and how you keep him awake, in a sense, always making him try new things together, like dancing! Which he is not the best at, but he doesn’t mind trying your interests. 

If you take an interest in one of his multiple areas of expertise he’d definitely teach you and not be bothered if you happen to drop your interest in the activity, in fact, he invites you to try other things.

Beware, he is a strict teacher, so he doesn’t want your attention wandering off too often.

He enjoys…, grounding you, lets say. 

#arthur x reader #arthur conan doyle x reader #ikevamp arthur #comte de saint germain #ikevamp comte #isaac newton x reader #comte x reader #isaac x reader #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp isaac x reader #leonardo da vinci #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp le comte #leonardo x reader #leo x reader #ikevamp leonardo x reader #leonardo da vinci x reader #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp x reader #cybird fanfic #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp

[yasashii-leaf]

Je vous expliquerai un autre jours le contexte de cette histoire mais actuellement je suis juste paresseuses 😘

#my art #ezio auditore #reader #y/n #ezio auditore x reader #hijabi reader #leonard de vinci #leonardo da vinci #salai

[tayovampr]

How Gossip Spreads Through The Mansion.

ikemen vampire headcannons

( warnings? ) none. ( notes? ) THIS HEADCANNON CONTAINS MY OC. just a few thoughts about how these vampires are extremely nosy and love to spread false information unknowingly :0

It all begins in the kitchen. As the coffee brews for the mansions residents, our lovely helpers: Sebastian, Mitsuki (Y/n) and Temi seem to be cooking up some trouble…

Mitsuki would unintentionally reveal something that happened thorough out the day. Maybe it was something she overheard while shopping, on the balcony or watching Napoleon and Jean spar. She always tells Sebastian and Temi what she hears about the residents—since Sebastian has that interesting hobby of his.

“Hey Sebastian, Temi?” Mitsuki calls out to the two as they washed the dishes. Sebastian was scrubbing, Temi was rinsing, and Mitsuki was drying and polishing.

The two turned their heads to look at their friend, wondering what was the matter.

“I was in Comte room earlier helping him open up some letters, and that’s when I came across this one letter. Now mind you, it was scented, had a very prestigious emblem on the wax and included a dried rose in it.” Mitsuki began.

“Le Comte gets letters like that all the time.” Sebastian responded. “Was there something special about it?”

“Well, it clearly came from a girl. And when Comte read it, he was so happy! I mean I never saw him like this before, but it makes me think if he has a secret lover—” Before Mitsuki could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by Temi, who had accidentally dropped a plate into the sink, causing the water to splash up at her.

“Secret lover?!” She exclaimed in disbelief. “What makes it worse is that it’s believable…”

“What if she’s a vampire bombshell who was childhood friends with him and lives in a gothic castle lavished in red and riches? I can’t compete in that race…” Temi grumbled afterwards. Sebastian however looked at the two thoughtfully.

“Well, we’ll do no good sitting here pondering. At dinner let’s go ask Le Comte ourselves.”

Most of the times, it’s something tame. No big deal, and not needing of attention. But as always, if your trying to keep a secret in a mansion full of nosy vampires with supersonic hearing—you better believe this game of telephone will spiral out of control.

Isaac, surprisingly, is the main catalyst for this disaster. Jean coming in a close second. ( I mean, you can see it in some events when it’s almost always these two mishearing something (*´▽`*) )

But it would always be unintentional! Isaac would just walk past an open door and when he heard something shocking, he couldn’t help to stop and get a closer ear. Jean on the other hand wouldn’t stop. He would take the bits and pieces he heard and formulate them in his mind, completing the story for himself.

‘Comte has a lover?’ Isaac thought to himself as he listened in to the conversation. ‘Why has he been hiding it from us all this time? Well—I could understand. I hope he introduces us to her…’

‘That rascal!’ Jean grit his teeth when he heard the news. Although heard would be a stretch. ‘Playing with Temi and Mitsuki’s heart even though he has a women of his own. I will get him to confess…’

And now we have three stories. The truth, an assumption, and a incomplete statement. Which one will travel throughout the mansion quicker?

Jean obviously tells Napoleon and Mozart. It slips out during their sparring lessons, and he tells Mozart on a whim—since they’re friends.

“Wait so—Comte is married?” Napoleon exclaims, as he puts his sword back into its hilt. Jean nods, sitting down of the ground to catch his breathe.

“He has refused to tell us about his secret lover for this long. It makes you wonder what else he has been keeping from us…” Napoleon loosely claims, wiping the sweat that adorned his forehead.

Jean however was thinking in his head, that he was right all along not to trust him. “That shady man…”

With Mozart, he looked a bit confused. “There is just no way Comte is married Jean, did he tell you himself?”

Then for Isaac, the words accidentally slip when he was getting teased by Arthur and Dazai. Of course, these were the worse people to tell out of everyone in the mansion.

Arthur applauded Comte on his fruitfulness. Claiming that it takes skill to hid a lover for so long. While Dazai takes this information with interest. It just so happened when he was scaling the windows, he overheard Mozart and Jean’s discussion.

For Dazai, he didn’t really believe this. As he saw in the music room, Jean wasn’t sure who he heard this information from. But being chaotic as Dazai is, he naturally wanted to be included in the fun. So he often changes up the story.

“How sly of Comte, it seems that he has not only hid his secret wife, but the fact that she will be moving in to live with us soon. Isn’t that great Ai-kun? Lovers reunited at last.” With these words Dazai left, not daring to explain anything.

“Move in with us? By Jove, you would think that old man would tell us before making the decision?” Arthur comments with a sigh.

Dazai doesn’t tell anyone else after that. He is more interested in seeing how this spreads and which one would reach Comte’s ear first. Arthur however tells his best buddy Theo. Theo tells Vincent and Vincent tells Shakespeare. By now the rumor has morphed into something unbelievable.

“Comte is a pathological liar who is hiding his wife from the residents and is planning to make her move in with them because she is expecting soon.” Don’t ask how.

Leonardo hears about this from Temi, who asks if Comte had a lover. Leonardo laughs and answers not anymore—wondering why she was asking.

“Are ya worried about “Comte’s” love life cara mia?” Leonardo jokingly asks.

Although he was joking in that moment, it just confirmed his suspicions that something was spreading in the mansion. Throughout the whole day Leonardo was hearing bits and pieces of a story that including Comte—so it was time he saw the truth for himself.

When he gets to Comte’s room he wastes no time to ask him about it.

“Have you just been in your room all day? Looks like you don’t know what’s happening outside.” Comte looks up from the papers he was sorting at Leonardo, a confused look on his eyes.

“Outside?” He asks, to which Leonardo takes out a cigarillo and begins to light it.

“Yeah…something about you being a compulsive liar who is hiding his pregnant wife from us—it gets a bit tricky because half are saying she’s gonna move in with us, and half are saying your gonna move in with her.”

Comte is just astounded. He just stares blankly at Leonardo…an awkward laugh sounding from his throat. “…Really?” Is all he could muster, as Leonardo begins to laugh.

“See I knew it wasn’t true. But you know might as well confirm before I do damage control right?”

Comte was still shocked. After all he’s done from the residents, was this how easy it was for their views to change—and when did he get a pregnant wife?

“For these being the great men I choose to revive…I wonder how great their intuition really is…” Comte mumbles to himself.

“Well, let’s go straight if things out. I’m fairly certain I know who started this.” Leonardo claims, laughing to himself. “I want to know where the story changed too.”

The residents were all gathered for dinner, the main goal being to clear up the misconceptions. Each person was made to go around and tell what they heard and what they believed, and from there they traced it down to Mitsuki, Isaac and Jean.

Mitsuki explains her thinking to Comte, I’m which he clarifies that he has no secret lover and that the letter was just from an old friend he saved years ago.

Everyone breathes out a sigh of relief. It looked like none of them were ready for a new arrival. And some, specifically Mozart, wasn’t particularly fond on a baby crying and running around…

#tayovampr #ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧˚ #ikemen vampire #ikemen series #ikemen vampire fanfic #cybird ikemen #ikevamp #ikemen vampire headcanons #leonardo da vinci #comte de saint germain #mozart #isaac newton #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikemen vampire comte #ikemen vampire x reader

[violettduchess]

Hello! This is my first time doing this, I hope I'm doing everything right. I'm usually more of a silent visitor... I'm quite nervous, haha... So, for your 1k First Kisses Celebration, how about Leonardo and 1. „An accidental kiss“? Thank you, and I really love your writing!

A/N: Here you go @blackpawprints 💜Thank you for requesting! (No need to be nervous 🤗)

Leonardo x Reader

Word Count: 788

Evening has settled over the land, a soft blanket made of starry-night sky and gentle breeze. Outside, the world is quiet and still. The mansion is at rest, with most of its residents either already in bed or out on the prowl for various reasons. Only a few windows are illuminated, including the arched window of the mansion’s cozy library. The oil lanterns within throw soft, yellow light across the wooden shelves, glinting off the embossed spines of all the books that fill them. You are currently next to Leonardo, a heavy, gilded book bound in soft black leather open on the table in front of you, heads bowed as you both search the pages, on a mission.

Less than twenty minutes ago, you had been sitting comfortably, discussing your travels to Italy when you mentioned visiting the Sistine Chapel. Leonardo, golden eyes alight with amusement, had you dissolving into breathless laughter when he told you that Michaelangelo had painted one very cheeky angel casually making an incredibly rude hand gesture at another figure. You shook your head. “I don’t believe it….” “Cara mia, it’s true! I will prove it” which had lead to you both hurrying toward the library with matching grins on your faces. Luckily, Comte’s interests have a breadth as wide as the sea and with just a short amount of searching, you found the oversized volume that had recently been published: the first-ever photographs of the famous ceiling taken by French photographer Adolphe Braun. An expensive purchase, no doubt, but one you are happy Comte made.

Now you and Leonardo are both leaning forward over the book, searching the black and white photographs as if they were those hidden picture challenges you had enjoyed as a child. Your bowed heads are so close together, your hair brushes his and you can hear the sound of his light breathing. His brow is furrowed in concentration as his long, elegant fingers carefully trace over Michaelangelo's famous figures, his touch feather-like. He smells like crisp parchment underscored by a tantalizing hint of the earthy smoke from his cigarillos. It’s a smell you have come to know and secretly, come to love. One that warms you, though you don't question the source of that sudden heat. He turns the page, murmuring softly in Italian. “Dove sei….” And then his hand stops and he breaks into a smile that could light up the whole mansion. “I found you! Here, cara mia. Look closely.”

Bracing yourself on the edge of the table, you lean down along with him, closer to the page. It’s a section of the ceiling with a depiction of the prophet Zechariah and behind him are two little cherubs, one with his arm slung casually around the other….and then you see it: his little chubby hand is indeed making a snarky, old-fashioned hand gesture, its tiny thumb stick rudely between its pointer and middle finger.

“I can’t believe–” You turn your head, your heart light with twin wings of surprise and delight.

“I told you-” He turns his head, warm with the glow of being right and proven so.

And your lips touch.

Surprise goes from something small and fluttering to a meteor, shooting across your body and bathing you in a shower of radiant sparks, ones that send your blood fizzing through your veins and heat floods your cheeks, your neck, your décolleté. 

Breaking away from him is instinctual even as your body screams at the loss of contact. You stare at one another, the motion of time stopped, suspended like a glistening raindrop on the tip of an unfurled leaf. Your breath is clutched by lungs paralyzed with shock even as your heart rattles the bones of your rib cage excitedly.

His eyes are dark pools of amber, backlit by a golden rush of desire. The longer you gaze into them, the more you feel yourself sinking slowly. They are the most beautiful quicksand, the most decadent morass. 

Your name passes his lips, soft as a prayer, powerful as thunder. 

The quicksand engulfs you.

The raindrop falls.

And you find yourself within the stronghold of his embrace, clinging to him as you both collapse to the carpeted library floor, kissing each other ferociously, like it's the end of world, the calm of the night disrupted by a storm of unexpected desire and booming want. You burn with the white-hot ache to touch, to taste, to feel, all of him. 

He rolls on top of you, pressing the length of his long body against you, his mouth everywhere all at once, his deft fingers finding their way through a tangle of soft fabric and lace, opening buttons and hooks, seeking tantalizing patches of warm skin.

On the wooden table, the art book lays open, forlorn and forgotten. It will be hours before a hand, trembling with the aftershocks of passion, finally closes it.

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 @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

#ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikemen vamp #ikevamp #ikevamp leonardo #leonardo da vinci #ikemen leonardo #leonardo x reader #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #1k first kiss celebration #violettwrites

[letterstoear]

A New Love

Notes: Leonardo x reader, fluff, romantic relationship, Leo goes over his past with you, also new to writing Leonardo, constructive criticism is welcomed!

Purchase the matching jewelry here: A New Love — Letters to Ear (squarespace.com)

To __________

The day I first fell for you, I made sure to mark that day down somewhere. It was a special day for me; I couldn’t forget it. Then came the day you said you would stay with me forever. I didn’t think you understood those words at first, yet I can wholeheartedly see the opposite now.

You understand what it means to stay with me forever now, don’t you?

That day wouldn’t leave my memories even if I try, it’s to forever remain in my memories. When you said you’ll never leave me I was so overcome with happiness I wanted to take you on the spot. Instead, I settled for a deep kiss, one that would burn even after our lips parted. I wanted, no I still do want more of you.

And more did come.

You placed your head onto my shoulder as I felt you relax into my embrace. That simple action was all it took for me to go over the edge. I knew at that moment I would follow you in whatever fate was next. The trust which grew from that day led me to the love we share today. I’ve found my one love and I’m so grateful it’s you. I love you.

To me you're the one. The one who despite feeling inferior to me at times stays. The one who holds my hand when mine is shaking. The one who adores me till the point they cry tears. We’re inseparable, aren’t we?

_____________, at my heart I am but an ordinary man in love. Really, I’m no genius. The day I first met you I don’t think I would have imagined this. To think I would be with you like this almost feels like a dream come to life. Except this is my reality and I’m thrilled to know that unlike a dream you won’t disappear. I love you ___________, really, I do. Don’t forget that.

May this letter reach your heart,

Leonardo

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #leonardo da vinci #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp leonardo x reader #leonardo x reader #fluff #letter #ikemen series #A new love

[s3vag3]

“Os 𝗚énios começam 𝗚randes obras, os trabalhadores 𝗔cabam-nas.”

—Leonardo da Vinci

#yeji icons #itzy icons #itzy #kpop icons #kpop bios #yeji headers #italia #beautiful #yeji smut #yeji x reader #yeji moodboard #itzy packs #itzy yuna #aesthetic bios #art #leonardo da vinci #italian

[lucyw260]

The Mailbox With The Pink Flower - Leonardo

I’ve had this idea since 2021 and finally wrote it out. This is set in the modern day but it isn’t an AU. It’s crazy to think that the guys could see MC in the modern day after already spending a lifetime with her but she’s still got her life with them ahead of her. I often think about stuff like this. Please read and tell me what you thought about it!

Words = 1.3k

Excerpt = He wasn’t necessarily here to look for her but if by a miracle he could chance upon her then he’d take that opportunity to see her again

The year was 20XX, it had been over 50 years since Y/n passed away and left Leonardo. He moved to Japan a few years ago to be closer to Y/n, he knew she had already been born into this world, a younger Y/n that hadn’t yet gone back in time. He wasn’t necessarily here to look for her but if by a miracle he could chance upon her then he’d take that opportunity to see her again.

It was a Wednesday afternoon; Leonardo had just exited a client’s house that had hired him to fix their grandfather clock. He’d been doing this same ‘renaissance man’ job for centuries but it still filled him with the same joy as it had the first time.

He walked the streets of the clean middle-class neighbourhood, now his final job of the day was done, he was intent on going back to the place he called home in this foreign country. Gazing up at the clear blue sky, he idly wondered how the others were doing back at the mansion.

A school bus pulled up on the opposite side of the road and broke his chain of thought, a few young children got off the bus and waved as it drove off. As Leonardo carried on walking, he couldn’t help but think that perhaps somewhere Y/n was also coming home from school.

His gaze drifted back towards the young children skipping down the road. The children were parting ways and only one was left walking on the street next to Leonardo.

To the world, a grown man staring at a young child would look very suspicious but Leonardo couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help but see his beloved Y/n in the honey-coloured locks cascading down the young girls back.

The girl was bouncing a ball as she walked with a smile on her face. It was such a familiar smile, Leonardo thought.

Suddenly the ball bounced off the curb and into the road towards Leonardo’s direction. The child giggled before stepping into the road to retrieve the ball.

Thank the lord that Leonardo was watching her so intently, else he might have been too late to notice the silver car speeding around the corner. The tires of the car squealed against the concrete at the sheer velocity of the vehicle. The girl turned in surprise in the middle of the road, she shrieked and her eyes went wide as the car got closer.

An urgency flared throughout Leonardo’s body and he was moving faster than any human could to pull the child towards him and away from the oncoming car. He bypassed the ball as it bounced harmlessly passed him.

The car whizzed by seemingly not caring about the speed limit. Leonardo looked down at the child that he was holding onto, he scanned her for injuries before letting her go.

Now they were safely on the street, he stepped back from the child and the girl burst into tears. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want to scare the child more when she was still recovering from the shock. He offered her a gentle smile and her sobs turned into quiet sniffles.

He picked up the ball that was behind him and held it out to the young girl. She stared at him warily.

“I’m not going to hurt you; this is your ball, isn’t it?” he informed her kindly and the girl nodded her little head slightly. She held her hands out for the ball and he placed it in her palms gently.

Her expression calmed and she looked up at him. “T…thank you for saving me, mister”. The full force of her eyes hit him then, her eyes were so similar to the eyes of the woman he loved.

“No problem, you be careful on these roads from now on, cara mia” he spoke in a light scolding tone. It was only after he’d finished speaking, that he realized that he’d called the child ‘cara mia’, why did that slip out, he thought.

The little girl nodded at him with a wide smile and looked left and right before crossing the road. Leonardo watched her make it safely across the road. She turned back around and waved goodbye to him before skipping off further down the street.

He was a second too late waving back, she’d already turned around before she’d seen it, since when was I so slow, he thought.

It felt like his brain was trying to connect dots, his heart was beating faster than usual but he brushed it all off and continued on his way. Just before he turned the corner, he heard a distant voice.

“Did you have a good day at school, Y/n?”

Upon hearing that name, Leonardo spun around quickly and his eyes zeroed in on the same child he had just saved, she was at the front of a door step.

“Yes mommy, we learnt there are all sorts of languages in the world, it was so cool”

Leonardo’s heart was beating too fast now. His brain was trying to rationalize with his heart telling him it could just be an incredible coincidence that the child that reminded him so much of his cara mia was also called Y/n.

It was at this moment that Leonardo recalled a memory from his time with Y/n.

“Tell me something about your childhood” he had suggested to her

It was late at night; she was lying on his chest as he carded his fingers through her soft hair.

She pondered for a moment before speaking. “Ah, I thought of something, so when I was about 6 years old, my parents and I painted our mailbox, I painted a pink flower right in the middle and I was so proud of it, the last I saw of it, the paint was all faded and you could hardly see it”

At the time he had hummed at her story and imagined her as a child, laughing with her family with paint on her cheeks.

He snapped out of the memory with a start, his eyes scanning the garden for a mailbox, he wasn’t sure if he was hoping it really was her or not.

Then he saw it, right at the front of the fence, a white mailbox with a freshly painted pink flower in the middle. His breath caught as he stared at it with wide eyes. The girl had long entered her home and the door had long closed.

It was her; he was sure of this now. The young girl he just saved was his cara mia long before she met him. He stared at the house for a few more long minutes before prying his eyes off it and turning around.

It was hard to not turn back around but he continued down the street. He’d been in her life before they even knew each other.

He was never necessarily looking for her but now he’d found her all his morals dissipated and at this moment he knew that there was no doubt he wouldn’t end up walking down this street again one day.

Talking to her again though was out of the question, as much as he might want to. He didn’t want to accidently change history. He’s missed her so much for decades now and when she got older, he could love her in this time instead and get to be with her again but he wouldn’t, it would ruin everything they built together because if he did that then their time together in the 19th century never would have happened.

He'd walked far enough now that the house was no longer in sight. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to carry on living without her for all eternity.

Please don’t repost, edit or steal. Reblogs are more than welcome though!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp fanfic #leonardo x reader #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen vampire leonardo #leonardo fanfic #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire leonardo fanfic #otome fanfic #ikevamp leonardo fanfic #leonardo #leonardo da vinci #ikemen leonardo #otome fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #ikemen series #ikemen cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #cybird #cybird games #ikesen angst #ikemen angst #The Mailbox With The Pink Flower

[mxrecg]

True Love vs Infatuation | Gojo x Reader

Summary: Gojo loves nothing more than spending time with you, even if it only consists of doing the most mundane of things. It wasn't until today, you realized just how much Gojo Satoru loves you.

Pairing: High School Gojo x YN

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 2.4k

A/n: Imma be so honest idk wtf this is but I wrote it a hellaaa long time ago. So bc JJK s2 is out I thought why not post this drabble I wrote a long ass time ago. I also genuinely think this prolly isn't how canon Gojo would act but bruh I tried!! Anyways enjoy

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Incandescent fireflies painted the dark sky with small flakes of light, creating an enriched serene atmosphere for reading. 

So there you sat cross-legged, outside your balcony, fully engrossed by the book you were reading. 

You slowly became hypnotised by the words allocated within the pages of the novel you were reading.

As your eyes further loomed through the pages and comprehended the context, your eyebrows furrowed in irritation and cuss words occasionally left your lips. 

Lost and captivated by the words decorating the interior pages of the book, you paid no mind to the snoring boy who laid down on your lap. 

You continued reading the story. Book in your dominant hand; whereas, the other one gently massaged the scalp of the teenage boy on your lap. 

Page after page began to turn, and soon enough you’ve reached the final page… to say you were disappointed was an understatement. 

Angered at the ending, you immediately slammed the book down on a coffee table and debated on whether or not you should ignite it on fire for illustrating such a realistic yet heartbreaking ending. 

Your sudden outburst lured the teenage boy out of his sleep, and he groaned, carelessly rubbing his eyes during his tired state. 

“Did one of your favourite manga boys die again?” he asked, now fully sitting up and stretching his arms. 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” you aggravatedly muttered. 

“Then tell me what’s aggravating your pretty self and giving you wrinkles,” he stated and you didn’t even bother showing your irritation to the latter comment. 

You took a deep breath, turned your head and he watched as your eyes became livid as you recited the vast difference of each character’s milieu and how their fate perfectly intertwined with one another. 

Your hands doing all sorts of motions, in an attempt to exemplify your extreme dislike and sadness of the poetic story you read. 

A story involving two individuals who unconsciously were ameliorating each other’s lives.

“It’s infuriating Satoru!! Did these two airheads even love each other?? It hasn’t even been like 24 hours and the girl is already marrying the man who was bawling his eyes over another girl- love of my life my ass,”

Satoru listened to your outburst intently, smiling at the sounds of your melodic voice. 

You let out a small huff of frustration, before finally ending your rant and the tears suddenly cascaded down your pale skin, “That being said, the author is able to write damn well.” 

Satoru only laughed quietly, wiping away your stray tears with his right hand, “I thought you hated sad romantic books? Why would you willingly choose to read Shakespere? At least watch the movie instead,” he replied and began playing with your hair. 

His reply caught you off guard and you tilted your head in confusion, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“You know what book I’m talking about?” you asked incredulously.  

“Yes… why do you look so shocked?” he asked, continuing to brush the threads of your h/l h/c hair, “It’s Romeo and Juliet, how could I not know? I swear Shoto was straight up fangirling about the movie actor-Da Vinci!!” 

“Da Vinci?” you replied, flicking his forehead and trying to hide your growing amusement, causing the man to pout his lips, “How the hell would a painter act? A dead painter at that.”

“No- no Leonardo Da Vinci the actor-”

It took every fibre in you to not burst out laughing at the moron in front of you, “My love, listen to me carefully- it's Di Caprio. Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa.” 

The man in front of you scoffed at your reply. 

“Da Vinci. Di Caprio, who cares. They’re both Leo’s involved in the art industry of the world. You must admit though, neither of them compare to me!” he said proudly. 

“I don’t know…. Leonardo Di Caprio does seem to have a lot of fangirls right now…. I mean have you seen him in Romeo and Juliet? Or better yet, Titanic?”

The man only poked the interior of his cheek with his tongue, scowling at you as you laughed. 

“The real question is though- did you read the book?”

“Yes,” he let out, not missing a beat. 

“The Satoru Gojo reads? The world must be ending,” you teased, clasping one of his hands and using your other hand to caress his cheek. 

Satoru didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned into your hand and softly smiled. 

His eyes soon twinkled into amusement, as an idea struck him. 

Noticing the change of his behaviour, you lifted an eyebrow to display your confusion. Satoru remained silent and instead flipped you over, so that your back was pressed against the couch. 

He smirked, straddling your hips and began tickling your sides. 

Squirming under his touch, you burst into fits of laughter, “T-toru…. S-stop….” you tried to breathe out, “Gojo- p-please hahahaha.”

Your pleas only encouraged him to tickle you faster, and you soon began to kick your feet, thrashing beneath the man as if your strength could overpower his. 

“Say Gojo Satoru is the strongest person in the world,” he smiled, continuing his attack. 

“I’d rather die,” you said in between heaps of laughter.

The man poked the interior of his cheek before smirking at you, a playful smile adorning his face as he continued with his attack. 

“Being tickled to death. Hm that seems new, I’ll discard your body so don’t worry, suit yourself,” he replied and grazed his fingers at your newly exposed skin, since your shirt slowly began to ride up above your navel. 

“Ok ok… Gojo… is the… strongest person….” 

“Go on, continue,” he encouraged. 

Despite the laughter escaping your lips, forcing your eyes shut, you already sensed the cockiness behind his words and you immediately laughed harder when you thought of something that would catch him off guard. 

“Gojo- i-is… the… strongest….” you stuttered out. 

“Altogether, now, state the full name,” he stated. Although, it seemed more like a command than a request. 

“OK!! Gojo Y/n is the strongest person in the world,” you spurred out in one quick breath. 

Impressed with the turn of events and his lack of words, you could not help but smirk- considering you made this cocky guy lose his demeanour. 

His tickling immediately ceased, his irises resembling a deer caught in the headlights, and his mouth slowly falling open. 

Gojo was in disbelief, as he tried to ensure his hearing wasn’t deteriorating and the words that escaped your mouth not too long ago were not a part of his mere illusive imagination.

Before he could recover and say some snide snarky remark, you grabbed Satoru’s shirt, pulling him down with you against the cushions of the couch you resided on. 

The action took him by surprise, but he didn't refuse and instead grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him, with his arms eventually caging you beneath him. 

He licked your bottom lip, and you found yourself parting your mouth slightly, both your tongues intertwining with one another. 

Caressing your cheek, he then began to angle your head more towards the left, and did not hesitate to bite your bottom lip shortly after. 

You hissed at the new sensation, and Gojo immediately attempted to alleviate the now burning sensation on your lips by running his lips over the new forming bruise. 

You were the first to pull back to breathe. As the both of you attempted to even out your breathing, one of your hands caressed his dusted pink cheeks, while the other one removed his sunglasses, revealing those piercing icy blue eyes you fell in love with. 

He looked at you with such love and adoration that you could not help but feel butterflies swarming around your stomach. 

Your e/c eyes looked up at his illuminating bright blue ones and you smiled, “I’m the strongest person in the world, Toru.”

“That you are,” he replied, kissing your nose. 

“You’re not even going to rebuttal and be the cocky bastard you usually are?” You questioned him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the strongest… The strongest doesn’t necessarily mean having the most power. It’s your character. Plus you got me… not just anyone could make me fall in love with them. You have my tall ass whipped around your finger.” 

You stared at your boyfriend, in awe and bursted out laughing. “We’re both strong. How about that?” 

“Mhm. We’re the top two strongest special grade sorcerers to exist, and for the next century to come” he muttered and buried himself into your neck, as he was now fully lying down on you. 

You laughed at his reply, “Your best friend might not like that statement so much,” 

“... I mean you’re also my best friend and technically you’re stronger than him, not by a longshot but still stronger nonetheless… and I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he mumbled and kissed your neck. 

You quietly hummed in reply, and began to softly hymn the songs of a soft lullaby.

Satoru was still lying on top of you, and as the melody escaped your lips, your fingers threaded his soft white hair. 

Gojo Satoru was at peace. This cocky bastard was like putty in your hands, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

To others his exterior forecasted a childish, arrogant and conceited individual. One who would blatantly show his dislike to those who he did not give an ounce of care for. 

And to the shaman and other sorcerers who only knew his name, he was a force to be reckoned with and feared. 

But to you, he was only Gojo Satoru. 

“Y/n?” he called out softly. 

“Yeah?” 

“You know, I love you, right?” his face may have been hiding in your neck, but you could feel him smiling. 

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden comment, but even you couldn’t stop the smile threatening to form, “I know. And I love you too, forever and always,” 

“You didn’t lie though earlier,” he randomly stated, “One day, your new name will become Gojo Y/n.”

“Satoru…” you whispered, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. 

“One day, I’ll marry you… and when we’re older you'll become the mother of our children.”

“One day Satoru, one day,” you replied, kissing his temple. “By the way, since when did you even read- romance books?” 

You felt his breathing hitch and he slowly pried himself off of you, aimlessly scratching the back of his head. 

“Uhm… like two years ago?” 

“Why though?”

“About two years ago,  there was a new transfer student. I noticed she was eloquently spoken, especially in English-”

“Eloquently spoken??” You asked, trying to suppress your laughter. 

“Shut up and let me finish,”

You covered your mouth and smiled. 

“Anyways, I was coming back from a mission and stuffing my face with an assortment of sweets. Then I heard you and Shoko talking about romance novels, and how you liked guys that read… so the first book I picked up was some corny romance manga and then I read Romeo and Juliet. Shitty book that I barely understood but happy ending I guess.” 

“So you only started reading because you overheard me talk about it?” you pinched his cheeks, “Aw, first year Gojo Satoru was so whipped and in love, how sweet” 

Satoru only rolled his eyes at your statement, and you bursted out laughing as you remembered his attempts to woo you back in your first year. 

“I thought you barely had any hobbies?” you asked. 

“I don’t. Because I’m good at everything.” 

“Yet you still chose to pick up reading of all things?” you slightly laughed. 

“I would pick up any hobby if you asked me to, honestly.”

“No offence, but if that is where you got your romance from you did a shitty job, love.” you giggled. 

“Ouch,” he replied,  “But hey it went pretty well, you’re mine now anyways.” 

 “That you are,” You replied, kissing his nose. “So if you read the book and I assume you also watched the movie, do you understand my pain?” 

“100% Romeo is an airhead. He was probably just horny and infatuated with the first female he saw,” he bluntly stated and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud, Satoru joining in on your laughter. 

As your laughs began to die down he continued, “On a serious note though… Whether or not it was love, their actions prove that they did love each other. I guess love really does make you blind, their suicide only proved that.”

“Tragic ending?” 

“Not really… in a way, I believe it’s a happy ending- that is, assuming those two airheads were actually in love with each other.”

“Did you not hear me muttering cuss words when reading and slamming the book? If you asked me, that book was nothing but aggravating and sad.” 

“Sad as their death was, it was a happy ending. They claimed to have met their soulmate and the love of their life before they died. Not everyone gets that luxury you know?” 

You looked at your boyfriend with both amazement and confusion, “Since when were you so wise?” 

“I don’t even know, love. But I’m not wrong…. Our story would be much happier though, because neither of us are gonna die.”

“You spoke nothing but the truth,” you quietly replied and the two of you began leaning into each other once again. 

“Who knew Satoru could be such a wise lil baby,” said a voice, laughing. 

The two of you immediately pulled away, and looked up to see no one other than Geto Suguru, the poor third wheeler of your relationship. 

“Suguru… how long have you been there for?” you asked. 

“Enough to know that this man loves you way too much… to the point where he knows his feelings for you aren’t infatuation but solid feelings.” 

While you were a blushing mess, Gojo only smiled and smacked his best friend on his back, “Okay enough chit chat, why don’t we all get something to eat, yeah? I suggest-” 

“Steak. We’re eating steak tonight at that new restaurant. You both are paying. It’s the least you could do for making me witness such crap.” 

“You’re just mad because you’re single, bro”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you agreed. 

“Shut the actual fuck, both of you lovebirds.”

The three of you then laughed and made your way to the restaurant of Suguru’s choice.

A/n: So any thoughts? I hope you all liked it <3 Ngl, this does have another part to it, but idk if I'll ever post it tbh. Follow me on my ao3 account I have other ffs there too @idekmxre

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen #yn #jujutsu sorcerer #fanfic #character x reader #fluff #jjk fluff #established relationship #fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujustu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen season 2

[katiexpunk]

You may have done this before, I haven’t read all your work, but How about Joel and Tommy (or just Joel 😜) take you on a horse ride, out into the woods and end up having a fun time on the grass

Tell Me a Secret | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Non, thank you so much for this request. I hope you enjoy this! I love getting requests from ya'll, makes my heart so happy.xx As a side note, this will be my final fic as an unmarried woman. My wedding is in less than a month (!!!!)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Word Count: 7.8K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: References to canon typical violence. It's hinted that readers father was abusive. Death. Blood. Reader is an artist. Ellie/Sarah/Tommy/Maria and others are referenced in this. Ellie and Reader are friends. Alcohol. Angst. Horses. Pining. Oral (female receiving). Praise kink. Pet names. Emotional sex. Very unprotected sex. They fuck outside, but nobody is around. Joel makes a questionable choice in this one that invades readers privacy. Breeding kink if you squint. Creampie. Fingering. Lots of references to art and poetry. A surprise ending that might mean more later on... Immersibility: Reader has no physical descriptions apart from having hair, breasts, and a uterus. It is noted at one point that there is charcoal visible on her hands. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). Creative Credits: the middle image of the graphic is a drawing by @kamal.classic.art on Instagram. The poem referenced at the end is by Olivia Ann Rose. The opening section is modified poetry from Brianna Pastor. Inspiration was pulled from the lake scene in The Princess Diaries 2. And shout out to our boi Leonardo da Vinci, cuz I reference the Mona Lisa.

It’s really easy to be angry. 

Over the years, anger became so familiar to you that you had a difficult time differentiating between that and your sadness. Both felt equally daunting. 

It’s difficult to work on your sadness with its roots are boiling with anger. Both don’t always look the way one might expect them to. Sometimes, the face of anger is neutral, a quiet rumble you don’t notice because it’s buried so deep. 

That steady stream of anger and hurt seemed to trickle into every single thing that you did. You had become cold and numb to the reality of the world around you; an empty shell of who you once were. 

And then you met Joel Miller.  

He came along and started to nurture what you buried so deep that you eventually forgot what was even planted there. 

And you did the same for him. 

Like the sun, you elevated the ordinary with a simple touch. Your rays warmed the cockles of his heart he thought had gone so cold they could never be revived. 

This is that story. 

++++

It doesn’t take Ellie long to figure it out. 

“Hey, give me that back!” You snap at her, attempting to pull the tattered notebook from her hands, but it’s pointless. Her tiny fingers must have been sumo wrestlers in another life, you wager. Putting space between both of your bodies by quickly walking backward, she locks eyes with you until her back is up against the makeshift bookshelf. 

This is your favorite place in all of the Jackson – the makeshift library Maria started a few months back.  It’s not much, but with your help, the collection is starting to grow. You’re quick to stuff books into your pack on raids and have summoned a handful of the townspeople to aid in this effort. It’s always quiet and peaceful; a stark contrast to the world outside the walls that keep you safe here. 

Well, that was until a rather foul-mouthed 14-year-old named Ellie arrived in town. Despite your age difference, you two have become fast friends, even if she does annoy the shit out of you sometimes. 

“Ellie, I am so serious right now, please give my notebook back,” you plead with her from across the room, your hands on your hips, a serious undertone to your voice. 

“Why? Whatcha trying to hide so bad? Drawing a bunch of dicks or something?” she jokes. 

When you don’t respond, her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit, dude. You are drawing a bunch of dicks, aren’t you!” she teases, resting the pads of her fingers in between the pages of the notebook, slightly parting the paper. All she’d have to do is move them a little and the pages would fall open, revealing your secrets faster than a Catholic at confession. 

She starts to crack the spine of the notebook, but your voice calling out once more causes her pause. “No, wait, Ellie, stop,” you say a tad softer this time. “I’m not drawing a bunch of dicks, and even if I were, that’s not something you should be looking at – it’s…personal,” you respond, hoping the sincerity and softness you’re attempting to frost over the obvious bite of anger behind your voice will encourage her to listen.

She stares back at you, scanning your face up and down for a hint of the truth, thinking for a few moments. 

“Fine,” she says. Your shoulders fall from your ears and the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escapes from your lungs. She walks back over to you and extends her arm out, the notebook in hand, preparing to hand it over to you as if she’s some sort of General accepting a truce deal. 

As you reach out to grab it, she lets it slip from her hands a few seconds too early. A nearly silent oops escapes her lips. The notebook falls to the floor with an audible thud, dropping as fast as a dead body, its pages falling open on both sides, like blood spilling on the floor. 

Before you register what’s even happening, Ellie already has her knees on the floor, hovering over the open pages, a look of astonishment and delight on her face. 

“Whoa – is that,” she asks, but before she can finish her sentence, you’re quickly snatching it up, snapping it closed with an audible thud. You both rise, and she’s looking at you, a smug smile of knowing on her face. Her smile grows like she’s just found some sort of secret treasure. “That was me, wasn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, she already knows the answer. 

You consider lying, but fuck it, you’re in too deep at this point. Plus, she may be only 14, but she’s smart as a whip, and you know she’d be able to call your bullshit from a mile away. Besides, she already saw the damn thing. 

“Yes, okay, Ellie. Fine,” you concede. “It’s you. I – I like to draw,” you admit sheepishly like you’re afraid of what might come if you say it out loud. 

It’s not that you’re not proud of your drawings, you are. The only thing you can attribute to your unwillingness to share your hobby with the world is akin to a trauma response. 

Memories of your father ripping up your first notebook of drawings, the one he found under your pillow when you were a teenager, flash through your mind. Goosebumps litter your body when you swear you can still hear his raspy voice, harsh from the burn of whiskey, telling you that drawing won’t pay the bills and to knock that shit off or he’ll beat it out of you. He wasn’t particularly a man of his word, but somehow, he managed to keep that one. You’re not sure when the anger started to creep in, but you think it might have been then. Watching your hard work darken and crumble in the fire almost hurt worse than the sear his belt left behind. 

“You were reading your comic over there the other day,” you admit, nodding your head toward the little nook by the window. “The light was just right, and well…I don’t know, I just got inspired and figured I’d give drawing you a shot,” you admit, voice soft and shy. 

“Well you’re pretty fucking good at it,” Ellie admits. 

You shove it down, the spark of happiness her words ignite in you, and it works. For now. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond, clutching your not-so-secret secret closer to your chest. You aren’t good at taking compliments; especially now, after everything that’s happened. 

“Can I have it?” Ellie asks. She rolls her eyes for a second, before eventually adding a please to the end of her request. You remember her telling you a few weeks back that Joel has been working with her on manners. You’d only met him once, but as far as you could tell, he was the southern gentleman, wounded dog, not to be fucked with, but still the impossibly polite type of man. The type of man that would punch another guy in the bar for questioning a lady’s honor, or stab him in the kneecap for looking at his girl the wrong way. 

You consider her request for a moment, before eventually deciding that since it is her likeness, she should be the one to have it. You crack open the book, being careful to hide the other pages from her view before the familiar sound of paper ripping fills the room.  You’re careful to tear it in a straight line, close to the spine, so as not to ruin the drawing. 

With her portrait in hand, you bargain, “You can have this under one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.”  Ellie gives a subtle nod as if to agree. You don’t notice her middle and index fingers crossed tightly behind her back when you hand it over. 

“So you’re sure you don’t have anything super naughty in there?” Ellie teases.

“Alright kid, no more dick jokes or Joel is gonna choke me,” you chide, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. Wouldn’t that be quite the piece of jewelry; a Joel Miller hand necklace. The truth is that while you don’t have anything super naughty, you do have more than one drawing of her guardian hiding in your pages. You’re not sure of much anymore, but there is one thing you do know for certain – those drawings are something she can never, ever, see. Those drawings are something nobody can ever see. 

Ellie was quick to discover your secret.

Good thing it was just one of them. 

You drape your arm over her shoulder and walk out of the library together. 

++++

It all happens so quickly from that moment on. 

It’s only spring, yet the Jackson grapevine is in full bloom, carrying the fruits of your talent to pretty much the whole town. You can’t say you’re surprised. What did you expect from a 14-year-old with minimal entertainment options? 

It starts with Ellie letting it slip to Maria while they’re washing the dishes from family dinner with her, Tommy, and Joel. 

Maria lets it slip to Tommy. 

Tommy lets it slip to Samantha, the town’s soapmaker. 

Samantha lets it slip to Joey, the butcher. 

Joey lets it slip to – well – pretty much everyone else. You wouldn’t have guessed the town's butcher would be such a gossip, but dead cattle don’t make great conversationalists. Before you know it, you’re accepting some sort of art deal over porridge in the dining hall like it’s a shady drug deal. 

“Come on, think of how happy it will make people,” Maria pleads with you. “You only have to do as many as you want,” she adds, looking at you with kind eyes, the ones that are nearly impossible to say no to. 

You stare back at her in silence, attempting to piece together a response in your mind, but your words may as well be a 1,000-piece single-color puzzle at this point. 

“So many of us don’t have those memories anymore. Think of how much it will mean to people to be able to put a drawing of their family up on their walls once more, you know?” she says, laying it on thick. Like how it used to be is what she leaves out. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you respond, dropping your spoon on the wooden table next to your half-eaten bowl of breakfast. You feign annoyance, but deep down, you’re excited about the opportunity. Scared shitless, but excited. 

“Yeah? Great. Oh just wait until I tell Tommy, he’s going to be ecstatic,” she says. “Now finish up, can’t have any of that food going to waste,” she quips, before swinging her leg over the bench and adjusting the brim of the cowboy hat on her head as she walks away, a smug look on her face. 

++++

In the following days and weeks, you find yourself immersed in the lives of the residents of Jackson. Setting up your makeshift easel from scrap wood you collected on patrol in living rooms, on front porches, and amidst picturesque landscapes. 

The people, once reserved, slowly begin to open up to you as they share stories and anecdotes of their lives before. It’s sweet, you think – how chatty people get when they have nothing to do but sit there while you try your best to capture their likeness. 

Some conversations are easier than others. Most of the time you just nod your head and let out occasional nods or grunts of agreement, too immersed in your work to listen to what they’re saying, but sometimes you find yourself so engrossed in their stories that the drawings take hours to complete. 

As much as you learn about them, you rarely open up about yourself. Sometimes they ask, sometimes they don’t. Regardless, you feel like the woman you were before no longer exists, she was left to decay with the rest of your family back in Austin. You know she’s in there, buried deep inside, hiding behind a door of anger and tears. Sometimes she cries out, but you buried the key to that lock years ago. No getting out now. 

As the portraits accumulate, so does a sense of connection and unity. You’re no longer an unknown. A threat against resources. When you first arrived in town, you did your best to make yourself useful and show people that you weren’t just dead weight. And it worked, or you think it worked anyway, but the past few weeks have caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Before the apocalypse, you never really saw a place for your artwork or your talent. But now, you can see how it’s becoming a bridge, linking generations and weaving a tapestry of shared histories. Giving people something to cling to, something to hold on to, something to cherish once more.

Of all of the portraits you’ve done so far, your favorite is the one you did of Tommy and Maria. She hasn’t said anything yet, but from the way she placed her hand on her belly, and the way Tommy looked at her, it was pretty easy to guess. You did your best to capture their likeness, knowing it would likely be shown to generations to come. When you showed them the final result, Maria cried and hugged you tighter than you’ve been hugged in years. Their love was obvious – radiant and shiny. If anything were to make you believe in love again, wouldn’t seeing it right in front of your face be it?  You try not to think about it too much when you realize it doesn’t. 

You no longer have to walk the streets of Jackson, bouncing from place to place, alone. There’s always someone to talk to on your journey, or a comfortable silence paired with a subtle wave in the distance, or the occasional sound of a creaky screen door opening for you. Even before things went to shit, you never had this – community. With each finished portrait, you find yourself making a new friend.

You should be happy now. You know that. Your parasympathetic nervous system has had an opportunity to return to its normal state for the first time in years.  You have the warmth of friends, and people like you. Like actually like you. They like what you’re doing, what you’re creating. 

But you aren’t. 

Because while you’re capturing the entire town's attention, you’re starting to realize you only care about attention when it’s from one person.

And unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to give two shits about you or what you create. 

As you lay in bed that night, fidgeting with your necklace, you stare up at the ceiling and think about what started this whole infatuation in the first place. It was a drunken night, hardly anything. Not even a story worth repeating. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It was nothing. 

But as you feel sleep calling you into its abyss, you remember the way his voice called your name that night and the heavy feeling of his gaze on your chest. 

It was nothing. 

Nothing.

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming about him that night. 

++++

Being the town's only artist comes with its price. While most of the time you don’t mind the endless stream of hellos and requests for additional portraits, you’re not up for much conversation this morning. 

You slept like absolute shit last night and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep through the night, you might as well be productive with your time. When your eyes fluttered closed thinking of what, and who, to draw, the image of Joel sipping a cup of coffee in the dining hall, reading an old Western book from your library, played on the screen of your heavy lids. You decided to put your feelings on paper and start a new portrait. After you woke up from your dream, probably around 3 am you guessed, you stayed up late enough to see the sun rise over the horizon, before eventually deciding that it was too late, early for most, to go to bed now. 

Seeking solitude and shielding yourself from prying eyes, you make yourself at home in the stables. You perch on a weathered stool in the corner of the barn, perfectly positioned in the corner so your back is supported, and begin sketching the handsome grump. As if he was right in front of you, his features are regal; sharp jawline decorated with a salt and pepper beard, one of the patches faintly shaped like a heart, dark brown eyes that resemble those of a deer, the crinkled lines around his eyes and forehead that serve as proof of age. Arguably your favorite feature is his nose. Prominent, aquiline, like a bow that perfectly ties all of his facial features together. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man.

Completely immersed in your world, you lose track of time. You could have been sketching for twenty minutes or three hours, who’s to say. Exhaustion envelopes you in an embrace and you doze off in a peaceful slumber. 

When Joel enters the stable for his morning shift, he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye; perched up on a rickety old stool, head slumped over, resting on the wooden edge of the barn. Your arms are wrapped snuggly around your chest as if to keep yourself warm in the dewy morning air. As he approaches closer, treading carefully against the hay as if he were a cat trying to sneak up on its prey, he takes in the finer details of you peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware. 

There’s charcoal on your hands, your lips are slightly parted and there’s a little glisten of drool pooling in the corner of your lips, and your hair slightly covers your face. Jesus, he thinks you’re gorgeous awake, but seeing you asleep – so vulnerable and tender – nearly causes his heart to skip a beat. He tries to ignore what it does to his cock. He knows you’re an artist, but with the way you look right now, hell, you might as well be the artwork, too. 

He thinks he could stare at you for hours, but there’s something more pressing for him to look at first. He’s seen you carry your trusty notebook around, rarely ever setting it down, and certainly being very guarded when you have it cracked open around others – especially him. So when he sees it lying on the ground, he thinks…what could one look hurt? He doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. He’ll be satisfied once he knows what you’re hiding in there. Surely. One look, and he’ll wake you and that will be it. 

After all, it’s just a peek. 

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but this was most definitely not it. As if he were looking into a mirror, his reflection stares back at him from the dull matte of the pages. As he flips from one page to the next, he swears time stops altogether as he takes it in. Your secret. 

As he scans the pages, something burns deep in the marrow of his bones, a fire and heat that exists only for you. Now that he knows your truth, he’s not sure he can stop what he does next. His large palm floats out to caress the underside of your jaw, and the pad of his thumb ghosts over the soft swell of your bottom lip. Before he lets himself get too carried away in his thoughts, he clears his throat. 

“Mornin’,” a husky voice says, startling you. You all but launch into orbit and almost fall over like the stool, but the owner of the intruding voice grabs your elbow before your backside collides with the floor. You’re relieved to see that your saving grace is Joel, yet you’re burning with embarrassment at your clumsiness. 

Joel clears his throat before speaking with his hand still grasping your elbow, “M’pologies, didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.” 

”Oh no, I was just…” you sputter out, still finding your bearings. He reluctantly removes you from his grip but not without letting his fingers trail across your skin as he lets go. The ghost of his touch is a noticeable one. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night, I take it?” Joel asks, a softness to his voice. 

“Afraid not,” you say, kicking your heel into the hay, trying your best to avoid his eyes so as not to spill all of your fucking guts. I was too busy thinking about you.

“You’re in luck, darlin’. I have just the thing to wake you up,” he says, “and ‘m not takin’ no for an answer,” he says with a wink. 

“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Joel Miller? Have you been bitten? Are you feeling alright?” you joke, placing the back of your hand up to his forehead, a giant smile on your face. 

“My reputation of being Jackson’s own Boo Radley precedes me, I see,” he jokes back. 

You shoot him a look that says who the fuck is Boo Radley? Instead of giving you an explanation, he just chuckles like it’s an inside joke. 

“Come on now, we’re goin’ for a ride,” he says with finality. 

You try to ignore the heat that stirs low in your belly at the thought of riding with Joel Miller as he guides you deeper into the stables. 

++++

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape of Jackson. Situated in front of Joel on the horse, you close your eyes and exhale all the air from your lungs. You hold your lack of breath for a moment, before feeling your lower belly rise, taking in the crisp air laced with the scent of wildflowers and fresh blades of grass in through your nostrils. 

Joel is an easy-riding partner. He doesn’t say much, yet you feel secure in his presence with your back nestled up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped around you, his capable hands holding the reigns, guiding the horse through the scenic trail with ease. You rub your eyes for a moment before opening them to take in the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains far off in the distance, and the lush green meadows that surround you. You almost forgot beauty like this could exist. 

Joel turns his head, following your gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his weathered lips as he agrees, "Looks like a good spot to take a break."

Guiding the horse toward the field, you both dismount and allow the horse to graze freely. Joel suddenly remembers he has a blanket tucked away in his saddlebag. He retrieves it and spreads it out in the clearing amidst the vibrant flowers.

Seated on the blanket, you unravel the satchel from over your shoulder and place it on the ground by your side while you simultaneously marvel at the beauty surrounding you. The sun plays hide-and-seek through the branches of nearby trees, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Joel settles beside you, gazing out at the open expanse. 

As you bask in the splendor of the spring day, your attention fully absorbed by the vibrant beauty surrounding you, you inadvertently miss the subtle shift in Joel's focus. His gaze transitions from the scenic view to rest upon you. In a moment of silent admiration, he drinks in the essence of your being. His eyes trace the contours of your profile, lingering on the way the sunlight plays in your hair, transforming it into a golden halo that only seems to make his mouth water more. 

He admires the view of you propped up on your elbows, eyes closed, heart center shining toward the sun, the swell of your breasts painted like a picture before him.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he says. 

As you open your eyes and turn to face him, as swift as the breeze you feel in your hair, you feel all of the air escape your lungs. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man. You’re momentarily lost in your own world as you admire the way he looks like this; relaxed, basking in the sun on a checkered blanket. His dark brown eyes are now a soft shade of amber, the silver streaks are a little more prominent in the sunlight, and the furrow of his brow has lessened. 

“Alright. Tell me a secret” you respond, the corners of your lips threaten to turn up in a smile. You press up off your elbows and roll onto one on your side to face him. 

“Isn’t that the same?” he asks, responding to your movement, mirroring it. 

Now face-to-face, and chest-to-chest with him, inches only separating your bodies, you pause and let your eyes flint to his lips. 

“Anyone can see your desires, no one knows what’s in your heart,” you say. 

“Tell me something,” he says. 

“I still dream of the taste of McDonald’s french fries,” you say, “and I’m not sure I know how to feel happiness anymore,” you say, as a matter a fact. 

Your words reverb through his ears, and he stares at you in silence, unsure of how to respond. 

“I used to be a contractor,” he admits, “and I had a daughter named Sarah.”

You look at him with soft, wide eyes. Pain is visible on your face, taking in what he’s yet to say. When you don’t respond, he adds, “She died in my arms on Outbreak day,” he admits, averting his gaze over your shoulder. His hands have somehow navigated to find a single blade of grass that he toys with in between his fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you pause in silence. Like your words could ever make up for his loss. Everyone had lost someone at this point, but the way he said it, you could tell it still felt fresh to him. 

“It’s alright, Darlin’, next confession,” he says, obviously wanting to change the subject. 

“Ellie,” you chuckle, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She’s such a pain in my ass, but she’s probably one of my best friends right now,” you say. Like it should be embarrassing, you, an adult woman, friends with a 14-year-old. 

“Yeah. Little bugger has her way of working her way under your skin, doesn’t she?” he says, bringing his attention back to the panoramic scene laid out in front of you. You notice the smile that graces his face. “Your turn,” you say, this time paying all of your attention to his profile as he stares out to the horizon. 

“I saw your drawings,” he admits, even though every fiber of his being is telling him not to. Your smile fades from your face and your heart sinks. You swear the sun must have navigated light years closer to Earth from the way you feel your skin heat, your blood hot enough to melt bone. You might as well turn to liquid there, melting into Mother Earth.

“Wh–what? What do you mean?” you ask, your voice mostly a tremble. 

“In the barn, this morning… when you were asleep. Your notebook fell to the ground, and well – I saw them,” he decides to leave out the part where he intentionally decided to take a peek, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing the ethics of it. 

You’re nearly one with the core of the Earth, her heat drawing all of the moisture from your mouth, your tongue dry, briefly incapable of forming a response, before your brain lands on the following.

“You mean – you saw – yo,” you start to say before he interrupts you. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, once again, a soft tone of honesty behind his voice. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not happening. This is not happening. 

Mortified, your whole body goes limp and the back of your head falls to the ground. You scrunch your eyes closed as tight as possible as if that might somehow wake you up from the nightmare that this scenario is. You bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and let yourself absorb all of the nasty and icky feelings of embarrassment that cross your brain. 

When you open your eyes, you start “Joel, I can explai–” he cuts you off with the weight of his body pinning you in place, his lips pressed against yours in an intentional, yet gentle, kiss. It’s stationary at first like he’s just trying to get you to shut up, to save you from the danger that is your thoughts. With your eyes still wide open, you stare back and try to rationalize if this is really fucking happening right now. 

You break the kiss for a moment and look up at him, “Joel, what are you doing?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t overthought it like you’re about to,” he admits, staring back at you, “tell me you don’t want this,” he says, hoping you don’t. As if you could ever. When his question is met with no response, he takes that as a green light, and his soft lips once again find yours. 

Your eyes flutter closed, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your fingers interlacing behind his neck. He deepens the kiss with a moan and grinds his hips into yours, the heavy weight of his center pressing deep against yours ignites a firework display of nerves in your body. You can tell from the package that’s pressed up against you that he’s quite big. The strengthening of your touch is met with a soft mmm from his chest, as his heavy frame pins you tighter to the ground. 

His lips stray from your lips, kissing over the razor edge of your jaw, finding their way to the nape of your neck. His hot breath and the weight of his strong and capable body make you feel weightless, despite the pressure he pushes on you. 

He presses tender kisses to your pulse and trails them down to the hollow of your throat, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. His wide tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your windpipe, and his teeth come together in a little nip on your chin. Fuck. You let out a little cry of unexpected pleasure at the sensation. He pins both of your arms high up above your head, and his mouth continues its relentless pursuit on the bare skin of your neck and exposed collarbones. 

“Joel, please,” you beg, your vision foggy from the thrum of your blood pulsing through your veins at a rapid pace; your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. 

“Gotta use your words for me, pretty girl, tell me what you want,” he responds, a low growl to his words. 

He’s barely managed to touch you, yet, you choke out, “Need you,” you moan, “need you to touch me more, god, please,” you beg, your arms still pinned above your head. Satisfied, he releases his grip on your arms, and both of his palms find purchase on your center frame, just below your ribs. He kisses his way down from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and over your belly, trailing the ghost of his lips to the soft plush below your navel.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of your pants, and deftly pulls them off, alongside your underwear. He continues kissing down the gash between your thighs and pauses once his mouth is centered on your glistening slit. His tongue darts out to lap at some of your slick and you swear all of your senses cross at the sensation of his tongue. 

Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple through your shirt with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and you’re so close. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are fucking primal and filthy.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me have it, soak my face.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my God – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop," you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. As much as he would love to make you come multiple times under his tongue for hours, to savor your sweetness like it was the last strawberry on earth, he’s starving for it. 

He makes quick work of undoing his belt and jeans, before sliding them off his legs to free himself. Gripping his heavy cock in his hand, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes just the tip in, wishing he were less riled up, less desperate for the warmth of your body, but he finds comfort in knowing you’re right at that line with him, begging to be filled. 

“Need you,” you beg, your doe eyes looking up at him. He’s had many people beg for things from him – supplies, food, their life, but you, god, there’s something about you, split open and begging for his cock that he can’t say no to. 

He smiles, and slides all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He buries his cock deep inside you, to the hilt, so deep you can feel the tickle of the dark hairs that outline the base of it against your clit. Your pussy is so wet and tight, and holy – “fuck me, baby,” he moans, thrusting his hips out of you just barely before shoving them forward; the stretch of him is a delicious slow burn. 

“Choking my cock so fucking good, baby. So good,” he moans before he begins to set a slow rhythm with his movements, letting you both adjust to the sensation. He praises your name and his breath catches on your collarbone, and he sucks a small mark there as he fucks in and out of you. When you whine for more, more of this, and more of him, this time he’s the one who’s lost for words. He might not know what to say, but his body responds in kindness, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a slow drag that drives you wild. All he can do is admire the beauty that you are under him, an angel on earth making a sweet, sweet mess, all for him. Just for him. 

“Mmm, God, Joel – ‘m gonna, fuck, Joel, – right there –” you cry up to the sky above you, the clouds in the sky witness to your pleasure. He knows his cock is enough to get you there, but it’s not enough, not to him. Putting all of his body weight into his left arm, being sure not to crush you, he drags his right hand out from under his weight and it lands to cup your pussy; already so wet and so full. His fingers extend and find a home on your clit, and he begins rubbing tight circles on your aching bud in a way that makes you swear it must be nighttime from the stars you’re seeing. 

“Here, baby?” his fingers continue their relentless pursuit of your clit, and he bucks his hips harder. He’s rewarded with the glorious sound of your moans reaching an octave that makes his cock twitch a little harder inside of you, “Jesus, sweetheart – gonna make me come like a teenager if you keep clenching like that, gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, an animalistic sound emanating from his chest. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come –”  

“I can tell, baby – clenchin’ so hard around me, want you to give me your all,” he demands, as he grabs your hair and tells himself not to come with you, too soon.

“No,” you choke out, staving off your orgasm. He stops his thrusts for a brief second, “What?” he asks, a bit bewildered. At this point you’re both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat beading on your foreheads, chests heaving. You intertwine your hands through his hair and gently pull at it as you look him deep in the eyes, “I want to come,” you promise, “I just want to ride you while I do it,” you admit. 

You pulse around his cock at the confession, and with your truth still lingering on your lips, Joel pulls out and flips around so he's on his back. He steadies himself by the base and holds his cock straight up for you. You rise and position yourself over his center; you line yourself up against him while he cups your cheek with the other hand, “take your seat, pretty girl,” he says in a tone that’s just shy of a beg, and you do, feeling yourself slowly sink onto every inch of him. Your action elicits a throaty groan from him. Your eyes once again glaze over at the sensation of him so deep inside of you, so big, so deep. The stretch of him shoves out every other thought you can muster until all that’s left are thoughts of him in your brain.

In an attempt to get a better angle, he shifts his upper body up onto his forearms, as you continue to grind your hips into him. Both of your arms wrap around his neck, and you use the strength of them to pull him closer into your chest as you continue to slowly grind your cunt into him. You swear you can feel him in your lungs, and with the way your clit grinds against his skin, you’re nearly there, nearly gone.

A weird combination of emotions pools in your belly, part pleasure, part something else. You feel it creeping up your throat, clawing up the back of it like it’s manifesting its reality before it manages to surface. Heat pricks in your tear ducts, and before you know it, it’s such a big, bold feeling – a lion in a cage that won’t be tamed. Simultaneously, you feel a familiar tug at your navel, like a rubber band, stretched to its capacity, on the verge of a snap. 

The orgasm that tears through you is so epic it causes your head to fall back, and your eyes to roll to the back of your head, your vision going static white. Your lower body shudders against his thrusts, and your inner muscles clamp hard around his cock as he fucks you through it. You convulse around him, doing your best to ride his thrusts and contribute as your whole body trembles. With tears streaming down your face, you press your lips against him. He wraps both of his arms tight around your chest, pinning you close to his heart, meanwhile spearing you with his cock. His thrusts stop for a moment, and he looks up at you, both hands coming to grip the sides of your face. 

“Why are you crying baby,” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. 

“You’re just – so god damn beautiful, Joel,” you admit, and your sobs come a little harder. If this were pre-apocalypse, you might be mortified by the fact that you were sobbing for a man you hardly know, all while riding his cock, but it’s not. You rest your forehead against his and let the tears continue to fall, a handful of them dropping to his cheeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, and one of his hands leaves your face, trailing down to gently grab at your wrist in comfort. “No, baby. That’s you,” he says, slowly continuing to fuck into you with a slow grind. 

“My perfect girl, I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he says, as he holds you and fucks you with such passion and intentionality. He fucks all of the love you haven’t let yourself feel in decades back into you. His cock fills every gap that has been left unfilled by every wrongdoing, every terrible, bad thing. He holds you like it isn’t the end of the world, but rather the beginning. He fucks you like his cock alone could fix everything, and at this moment, you’re confident it just might. 

Still riding him, a soft “please,” leaves your lips. “Please use me,” you say, sinking your pussy down further onto him, so tight you can feel the tip of him pushing down on your cervix. “Want your come, Joel – need it, need it so much,” you beg, and oh god, he’s so fucked. 

Joel was already on the crest of his release a long time ago, but here you are – utterly fucked out, riding him, and begging for his come. He’s a smart man, he knows he shouldn’t, but – you tug at his hair harder, and ride him for all you’re worth. “Fuck me, baby,” he moans, alongside a long slew of your name and other profanities, he only has so much resolve left, a resolve that’s slowly crumbling with each drag of your wet cunt up and down his cock. 

You press your lips to his once again and he feels his balls tighten. The litany of pleas and the taste of your salty tears is what undoes him. Buried deep inside of you, he comes harder than he has in decades, spilling hot and deep inside of you. He fills you up with all he’s worth, painting your insides with white hot ropes of his seed. Normally you’re the artist, but right now, you’re his canvas, his fucking Mona Lisa. 

Joel grunts and you collectively still your movements. He holds you close as he waits for the aftershocks and twitches to still, still plugging you, keeping all of his spend deep inside of you. He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck and caresses your hair. You stay like this for what could be hours, minutes, days. Time is a construct you have no concept of right now. 

After a few minutes, he groans. Pulling out is always the hardest thing to do. “Gonna get off you now,” you say softly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, as you lift your hips and swing your leg over his body. Your pussy whines at the lack of something to grip around. A rush of his come dribbles out of you onto your inner thigh, but you don’t pay any attention to it. You roll over onto your back, and he does the same. As you both lay there, he grabs your hand and squeezes it tight. You’re not sure what time it is now, but by the color of the sky, you guess it’s late afternoon at this point.

“We should get back,” you say, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds make their creations. 

“Yeah,” he admits, only looking at you. When you avert your gaze from the sky to look at him, you get deja vu as you take in the sight of Joel Miller, his tossed curls and chocolate eyes, and you swear you’ve seen this sight before. Maybe in a dream. 

You commit the sight to memory, promising yourself to draw it later. 

“Will you sit for a portrait with me?” you ask, voice soft, once again turning to face him, but this time it’s different.

“Only if you promise to go for a ride with me again,” he admits, and you smile, a heat creeping up to your cheeks. 

“Deal,” you promise. 

You both lay there for what could be hours or minutes, you’re not sure. But as the sun looks like it’s about to dip below the horizon, you both decide it’s time to head back. You both get dressed, and he helps you onto the horse. You both leave your perfect little meadow, knowing that it will be there for you to discover again and again. 

On the ride back, you reflect on a poem you remember reading years ago.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who see the ending, and those who see the beginning. 

And after years of living in the ending, you’re ready to let the girl who you were before out of her prison. Joel undid the lock, all you had to do was let her see the light of day once more. 

A new beginning. 

You and Joel ride back in blissful silence. 

Once on the outskirts of Jackson, Joel simply says, “Maybe we should invite Tommy next time.” 

But that’s a different notebook. 

END 

Tags: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @meabhogr @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #katiexpunk answers #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[madebycloud]

A Masterpiece

wednesday addams x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you led wednesday through the cavernous halls of the art museum. but for wednesday, there was only one work of art that truly mattered: you. warnings/themes: fluff, art museum date words: 0.8k (it's too short, im sorry) note: this fic is based on a song i listen to while I'm in class, so i hope you enjoy it! (ignore the grammar errors.)

Wednesday should've said no.

Her writing time was too precious to be spent in an art museum. She had plans to brainstorm more ideas for the stories and poems she wanted to publish in the near future. Wednesday had always been a writer at heart, and she felt like her creativity flowed best when she was alone and surrounded by her own thoughts.

But with your bright smiles and enthusiastic jumps, it was hard to say no. She knew that your love for art was endless.

For you, art is more than just a hobby or a passion, it's a way of life. You adore the colors, the details, and the meaning behind every brushstroke.

The prospect of seeing your face light up with excitement was all the motivation she needed to accept the invitation.

You walked through the museum, admiring the art, discussing history and technique, and letting your enthusiasm shine through.

Wednesday followed you, with soft music playing in the background. She could hear the footsteps of other visitors, the rustle of clothes, and the quiet whisper of conversations.

You stop to admire a famous painting, the Mona Lisa, and your eyes light up as you take in the beauty of Leonardo da Vinci's work.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" You pointed out the intricate details, the colors, and the perfection of every stroke. "I'm not sure which word is best, but it's certainly a masterpiece."

She couldn't help but turn to look at you as you stood before a painting, smiling as you admired it.

A masterpiece? Wednesday couldn't understand how you could refer to a painting with nothing but paint on it, just splashes all over, as a masterpiece.

Your hair, your eyes, your nose, your lips— Wednesday was mesmerized by your beauty, feeling as though she were looking at a work of art come to life.

That was the moment she realized that you were the true masterpiece, and no painting, sculpture, or drawing could ever compare to the beauty of you.

You looked at the painting and felt like a true artist. You knew you couldn't recreate the beauty before you, but your hands yearned to try. Your mind was abuzz with ideas, and you wanted to share your thoughts with Wednesday.

She was the masterpiece, your muse, the inspiration for everything you desired to create in this moment.

The way her brown eyes shone like the stars in the sky, her freckles dotting her skin like a constellation— she was the definition of perfection. You wanted to capture her on canvas, to preserve her perfection forever. But for now, you would enjoy her presence and let your imagination run wild.

You looked back at the painting. Feeling the blood rush in your ears.

"But you know, some people don't really appreciate art," you continued, referring to the people in front of you who were taking pictures. "They take pictures just to add to their social media, done. They don't try to understand the essence of the artwork, all the emotions and hard work put into it."

Wednesday nodded in agreement, understanding that some people just don't try to understand the emotions and hard work that artists put into their art. It takes years of practice to perfect their craft, and some people just look at the surface level of it.

You checked your watch and noticed it was time to go back. You asked, "So, which styles of art did you enjoy the most? Did you prefer classical, medieval, romanticism, basque, or could you relate to Leonardo da Vinci's art, maybe even Vincent van Gogh or Claude Monet's works? Tell me, my love." You asked, tilting your head as you walked, trying to make conversation and get a feel for her perspective on the artwork.

Wednesday paused for a moment, considering your question, before her eyes met yours. She finally spoke, her voice low and serious. "Your question is so banal and pointless," she said, rolling her eyes.

She continued, her eyes still locked with yours "Art is a subjective experience, influenced by myriad factors such as one's personal taste, cultural background, and emotional state. But if I had to choose, I would say that, to me, the most beautiful art is the art of life itself. And looking at you, my dear, I can't help but see the most exquisite and breathtaking work of art that I have ever had the privilege of laying my eyes upon."

You can't help but smile as you look down at her. Her slender frame, her pale complexion, her dark hair… everything about her seems to radiate a sense of beauty and mystery.

And as she leans in to loop her arm around yours, you realize that this is not just a moment, but a memory that you will cherish forever.

How did you manage to find someone as wonderful as her? You ask yourself as you look up at the sky.

Knowing that you want to share all of life's beauty and wonder with her makes you want to spend the rest of your days with her.

#wednesday addams imagine #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x you #wednesday imagine #wednesday netflix #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine #wednesday addams fluff #fluff #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader

[fabuloustrash05]

10 Leonardo Headcanons

He has a problem when it comes to candy and other sweets. In short it’s a sugar addiction. If he eats the littlest bit of sugar, Leo becomes obsessed and will got on a sugar high. His brothers always have to hide candy from him when there’s some in the lair because it has gotten bad over the years. His main obsession is with chocolate.

He has a secret journal (his brothers call it his diary) where he writes his inner thoughts and feelings. He keeps it in his room under his mattress. One day, Mikey was nosey curious and wanted to look through Leo’s journal (totally not to learn dirty secrets he could use for new prank ideas) but he discovered that everything is written in Japanese. It’s Leo little way to truly make sure no one can read his personal stuff.

He has a passion and love for gardening. When living at the farmhouse, Leo passed the time by growing herbs and flowers in the O'Neil's mini garden in their backyard. His favorite flower is the lotus blossom.

Despite being named after the great Leonardo Da Vinci, Leo himself is a terrible artist and cannot draw even if his life depended on it.

Though he's a terrible artist, he makes up for it in his writing. He is a talented writer. He enjoys writing and reading poems, haikus, etc.

He also writes Spaceheroes fanfiction. Specifically Captain Ryan x Reader fanfiction, and they are very popular within the fandom.

His favorite form of humor/comedy is dad jokes and bad puns.

He has a secret passion and talent in ballet. He secretly practices in the dojo late at night, it helps him perfect is balance and flexibility.

He's a closeted bisexual. His Bi awakening was Captain Ryan and even had a crush on Casey for a short time (mostly during season 3). The only person who was able to figure out/tell that Leo is bi was Shini, cause she has an excellent gaydar.

However, because Leo’s first shot at romance failed miserably and was even traumatic for him (first woman he ever loved, turned out to be his sister) Leo now has a hard time opening his heart at any opportunity for romance. In his adult life he’ll eventually swear off dating and basically take a vow of celibacy, putting all of his time and focus on running and leading the Hamato Clan instead of socializing and dating.

Michelangelo Headcanons | Donatello Headcanons | Raphael Headcanons

#FabTrash headcanons #tmnt headcanons #tmnt 2012 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #tmnt leo 2012 #leonardo hamato

[queenimmadolla]

listen…Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk x Renaissance!Spider-Woman Reader, whose secret identity is as the young polymath protege of Leonardo Da Vinci and whose nemesis is the Renaissance Vulture (in a dr drakken vs Kim possible sort of way cause those fights gotta be hella outlandish with all that hammer space between them), who was the former pupil of Leonardo—hence his and reader’s beef— and based on Michaelangelo (because that’s who he reminded me of since Michelangelo was an artist with a bad attitude who is now thought to have been autistic and hated interacting with people lol)

the watchmen (police) love Spider-Woman, but the Church (who were at this point pretty much ‘the law’ keepers) on the other hand…

Am I Dreaming and Mona Lisa got me INSPIRED

#across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #hobart brown #spiderpunk #spider punk #spiderpunk x reader #spider-punk x reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #Renaissance!Spider-Woman #Renaissance!Spider-Woman Reader

[wol-fica]

-ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝-

parings - jennaortega x fem!reader

summary - after a long day of hard work, you remind jenna of who she belongs to (r being extra simpish of j)

warnings - strap-on sex, oral, gagging, semi-public sex, possessive behavior, p in v, anal

an - greek, i love you so. Enjoy this masterpiece of a request

————————

Jenna was beautiful, a work of art really.

Whatever higher power that created her, you need to meet and thank them with the upmost respect; you owed them.

She was sculpted to perfection, like a Michelangelo composition that has only been unraveled by you. Her skin was gorgeous, a blank, tanned canvas waiting to be bitten and kissed upon by your lips, and only your lips.

Jenna was yours, your private display of modern art, like a lost Leonardo da Vinci portrait that is stowed away from the public eye. She was all for you; to love, to care for, to enjoy.

She was so easy to ogle at, to drool over. Her complexity was so alluring that you didn’t even care that the paparazzi and her fans have a frenzy over her every waking day; it didn’t matter when you got to witness every inch of her.

Jenna was currently at the Golden Globes, dressed in a nude, Gucci wrap-dress that showed off her defined abs and eye-catching curves. She looked divine, a wonderful Picasso painting that just screamed to be idolized and looked at; she was beautiful, she was yours.

You had stayed home, per her request to keep you out of the camera’s flashes and your anxiety within large crowds; it was better that way. You preferred to watch her on TV, it was a more private way to essentially ‘simp’ over your elusive girlfriend.

You have been dating Jenna for awhile now, almost two and a half years to be exact. The time spent with her was glorious for you, she was the light in your darkness, the smile that made you feel all giddy inside; she was perfect.

“She looks absolutely gorgeous, don’t you think?” The Golden Globes interviewer quipped as the cameras focused on Jenna’s entrance, “I don’t know how she always looks so amazing!”

“Because she is from another world” you would always say. In your mind, she was: she was most likely a fallen angel from heaven, though sometimes her attitude could be picked out of the depths of hell. Either way, she was incredible, and so so divine.

“Her work on Wednesday was wonderful!”

“She really went all out with that dance.”

“Jenna Ortega rose to popularity so quickly, how did she do it?!”

You wanted to yell, to scream at the top of your lungs from your apartment balcony that she was just so damn ethereal and flawless, but that would would wake your grumpy neighbor from two doors over and you do not want to get into an argument with him again.

You checked your watch, squinting to see that the time was 7:30 PM; Jenna would be home very soon, just in time for your surprise.

See, as much as you loved to innocently admire her, you also loved to do it sexually. One of the many few perks of dating her, is that only you get to enact those intimate moments that people only get to dream of doing with her. You had been gazing and getting silently turned on from seeing her on the carpet, her aura always does things to you.

Hence why you had gone out of your way to get the strap-on, wear it, and wait for her to return home so you could relax her in the best possible way; fucking all the stress out of her.

The lock on the front door clicked, causing your head to turn to your open bedroom entrance to wait and see if she would walk in. Jenna’s heels clicked on the hardwood, slowly getting louder as she approached your shared bedroom.

Soon she walked in view, finding your eyes in a few seconds and a small smile making its way onto her face in that time. She came forward, walking around to your side of the bed and greeting you with a gentle hug.

“Hello, my love.” You murmured, pulling back to give her a sweet kiss.

She had changed out of her Globes dress, now wearing an adidas hoodie and sweats set, yet she still looked flawless. One of the greatest things you enjoyed about Jenna, is that she looked beautiful in literally anything; from wearing a mouthwatering dress, to being in lounge clothes, she was gorgeous.

“Hi.” She said, a noticeable etch of tension in her voice.

“You okay?” You asked, already knowing she was going to talk about how tired and overworked she felt.

“I’m feeling a bit insipid, but other than that i’m great.” She stated, stepping in between your legs as you sat on the edge of the bed, “How’re you doing?”

“I’m alright; you looked lovely in that dress.”

Jenna giggled, music to the soul, and her eyes closed as her lips upturned into a smile. A faint blush coated her cheeks at your words, and she leaned in closer to you, resting her head below your chin.

“Thank you, i’m glad you liked it.”

“I was still a tad jealous other people got to see you in it, but woe is me.”

“Oh stop it!” Jenna scolded, pulling back to playfully glare at you, “You know I would never do anything to provoke your insecurities.”

You smirked, standing up and backing her into one of the large windows that decked out in your bedroom. Usually the blinds would be closed, but you wanted the moonlight to shine into your sleeping space and create a wonderful glowing look on your bed, hence why they were open.

“I’m not insecure.” You mumbled, your face pressing into Jenna’s neck as you left little kisses on her skin, “I know who I belong to.”

Jenna hummed, shivering under your touch as your hand slipped under her shirt and traveled up her stomach to feel her ribs. Her skin was soft and warm, buzzing under your fingertips as she got all hot and bothered.

Her hand trailed down, feeling the large strap under your pants. A small smirk came onto her face as she slowly fell to her knees, her hands going to untie your sweats.

“Who do I belong to? Can you tell me?” You asked softly, watching her pull the strap out.

“Me, you’re mine and that is that.” She responded quickly before opening her mouth and taking the toy in. Immediately she began to deep throat the strap, a noticeable bulge appearing in her throat.

You sighed, watching her work for a moment before grabbing the back of her head and thrusting the fake cock deeply into her throat. She gagged, tears appearing as you restricted her airflow.

“I belong to you, I know that.”

You took her by her hair and pulled her off, kissing her forehead as you helped her stand back up.

“Mine.” She murmured, kissing your lips with a passionate force.

“Is that so?”

Suddenly, you gripped her by the hips and turned her around, pressing her against the glass so she couldn’t move. Your hand ran over her clothed bottom, watching as her hot breath spanned out over the cold window.

“Jenna, I think I need to show you, who you below to.” You said, pulling at the hem of her shirt and slowly sliding it up her body.

“W-why’s that?” She questioned, her back arching slightly as you tossed her shirt aside.

“Well after seeing you prance around in that dress, I feel like you just need a little reminder.”

Your thumb slipped into her pants, pulling the sweats down as she lifted her legs to help you get them off of her. She had forgone undergarments and was now completely naked, awaiting your needed touch.

“Wait Y/N.” The small panic in her voice made you pause your own undressing, looking up to see her staring down to the street below, “Babe, what if people see us.”

You chuckled, returning to discard your pants and shirt while adjusting the strap around your waist. Once satisfied, you gripped Jenna by her hips and leaned over her, your mouth by her ear.

“Then they get a lovely show.” You whispered before pushing a few inches inside of her.

A guttural moan escaped from her throat, her head falling forward to rest against the cool surface of the window. Carefully, you worked yourself into her, eliciting small huffs and whines from the both of you. She was tight, very very tight, and the tension in her body was not making it easy for you.

“Oh, you are so stressed baby..” You cooed, pressing your lips to her exposed shoulder, “I’ll fuck all of that tension away.”

She nodded rapidly, sighing in satisfaction when you began to slowly pump into her. It would take a lot of effort for you to get all of the days workload out of her, but you had enough energy and Jenna was tough, you both could do it.

Your hips met hers at a moderate pace, thrusting back and forth as you gently stretched her out enough for her to actually be ready to be fucked properly. Her plush walls gave in, the muscles relaxing and complying with you as she finally was prepared.

“Such a pretty girl.” You hummed before speeding up your pace.

Jenna moaned, a proper sound that was meant to come from her vocal cords. Her body pressed back into yours, her hands pushing her chest back from the glass. You didn’t like that, and gently took her by the back of her neck and guided her to her previous position.

“Stay, I want people to see how well you get fucked.” You stated before continuing your assault on her pussy.

Your hips went forward and back, repeating the motion over and over again while your hand worked on her clit. You pressed and kneaded, attacking the bundle of nerves while Jenna moaned out your name; music to your ears. She was tightening now, her velvety cavern squeezing the strap as she neared her first orgasm of the night.

“Y/N!” She moaned out, her hands clenching as she came hard onto the toy.

You smiled, gently pumping in and out as she relaxed and calmed down. Your hand slid up to her hair, pulling it slightly as you filled her up again.

“You did so good, my love.” You said to her, your hips slowly speeding up again, “Let’s see how long you can last tonight.”

Jenna whimpered, tears coating her eyes as overstimulation washed over her. Her brain was betraying her; she wanted you out but at the same time, she wanted you farther in, deeper inside of her. Coherent thoughts were not proceeding correctly, all she knew is that you were fucking her good.

Her back arched as you pulled on her hair, creating a better angle for you to plunge deeper into her. The strap was a custom order that you and her designed, its length almost 9 inches and its girth relatively big. There were fake veins and bumps on it that made it the perfect toy for you both to enjoy, no matter who was wearing it.

“Honey..” You called out, pressing down harshly on the bulge in her stomach, which elicited a cry from her, “Can I do something special for you?”

She nodded, her head drooping and weak from all the pleasure you were giving her. Your hand left her hand and slid back down to her waist, cupping one of her cheeks. Your thumb slipped in between both, pulling one aside to reveal her tight hole.

You had both done anal all but twice, and both were very odd experiences. The first time was planned, she had suggested it when you two wanted to expand out of your vanilla phase. It was enjoyable, both for her and for you as she had insisted on taking turns of who would be wearing the strap that night.

The second time was on accident, a very funny experience. It was dark, and you two were attempting to get a quick fuck in your closet before your guests arrived for dinner. Jenna was squirming and impatient, which caused her to literally ‘miss’ and instead shove the strap into your ass. Don’t mistake her though, she went along with it almost immediately.

“Relax for me, daring.” You mumbled, pressing your thumb against her hole and pushing it inside.

She groaned, naturally pushing back against you as a known reflex. Her hips rocked left and right, slowly taking your digit inside of her. That’s how you taught her to do it, slow and steady was the safest and easiest option.

“Cum for me Jenna, I know you want to.” You said to her as she clenched down, her juices coating the strap at your request.

“Fuck…” She mumbled, her breathing heavy and hot, “That was-.”

Her sentence was cut off by the strap slowly pushing inside of her, not giving her a second to compose herself. Her hole was being stretched and opened for you to abuse and plow into, and the way her body seemed to reactively let you in told you that it was time to get rid of some of that unwanted stress.

“C’mere love.” You called to her, pulling her backwards with you until you were both sat on the edge of the bed.

The strap was now buried inside of her, hitting all the desired places. She was breathing in a familiar pace to calm herself, letting her body slowly relax into you. Your hands went around to her front, one going down to slip your fingers between her folds and the other reaching up to squeeze one of her nipples.

“Ride me Jenna, you know what to do.”

Carefully, her hips began to rock back and forth, creating a simple rhythm that she followed to please herself. On her forward rocks, you pushed your fingers deeper inside of her until they were knuckle deep, feeling her soft walls encapsulate them.

“Ohh god!” Jenna moaned loudly, now bouncing on your strap as a means to chase her third high.

“Damn you are so irresistible.” You murmured into her neck, now kneading her whole breast with your hand, “I love having you like this.”

She whined, clenching on your fingers as she rode her desires through. Your hips were now gently thrusting up into her, helping her feel more impaled on the fake phallus. Her voice cried out your name, her third orgasm hitting her hard as she squirted on your fingers.

“Atta girl.” You praised, kissing her sweaty shoulder while removing your fingers and popping them into your mouth, “You taste good.”

Jenna laughed weakly, twitching on top of you as a reminder to eventually remove yourself from her. You kissed her skin again before carefully standing up with her and slowly pulling out of her, mumbling praises as she whined in discomfort.

“You good?” You asked softly as she leaned her back against you, her legs shaky.

“Yeah, I’m great.” She replied, turning her head back and up so she could receive a kiss.

You hummed against her lips, a small smile on both of your faces while you held each other. You pulled back for a moment, gazing down at her face in wonder.

“I love you, Jenna Ortega.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes before kissing you again softly.

“I love you, Y/N.”

—————————

taglist:

@efectoangel @crystal-lily-101 @myfturn @aahdiieb @rainbow-love4ever @theafterofnevermore @k1mba @dreaming-of-u @i984 @thenextdawn @alexkolax @tundra1029 @littlegaybutterflysblog @sayaisrotten @fall-08 @simp4thena @deep-fried-egg

#jenna ortega #jenna #ortega #jenna ortega x r #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega fluff #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega smut #wednesday adams imagine #wednesday adams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x reader

[gunraekae]

having an off day 2

Ophelia - Sir John Everett Millais

>ikemen vampire

>mansion residents (+bonus) x reader

>a/n: the second half of your off day. here is how your morning and early afternoon went.

Leonardo da Vinci

While Leonardo isn’t necessarily your responsibility to awaken (he could really be anywhere in or out of the mansion, it’s far too much effort for anyone to find him and urge him to eat. Let’s not forget he’s an immortal vampire, he doesn’t even need to.), a small and guilty part of you tends to seek him out anyway. He’d done a lot for you when you first stumbled into the mansion and has acted as one of the main components of your support system since then. 

It was nearing noon and after you’ve awoken Napoleon, Leonardo was surprisingly awake and in the library. Perched upon one of the oak armchairs by the window, the sunlight streaming through the glass painted him in a glorious light – reminding you of the timeless beauty the purebloods possess. He looked like he was in one of his own paintings, and you would be a villain to disturb that. 

Still, his vampiric senses had a lower threshold than the others and he could sense your presence (or really, smell your blood) before you even opened the library doors. 

“Surprised I’m up so early, cara mia?” The husky rumble of his baritone voice always sent pleasant shivers down anyone’s spine. His golden eyes, brightened by the sunlight, peered above the book he held in one hand straight at yours. 

“I suppose.”

“Hmm… come closer will you?” His wolfish eyes narrowed in disdain at your lethargic response. Reluctantly, you follow his command and sit across from him at the window. He discards his book, leaning on his knees to get a better look at your morose disposition. A displeased hum, then he places a finger under your chin to move your face even closer to his. 

“That won’t do. Such an emotion dims your eyes.” His artist-eye grazes over your face, observing your downturned lips and your swollen, teary eyes. A knowing smirk, and he settles back on the armchair. He leans on the armrest, the slouching figure alluring in his own charm. 

“You’re a smart girl. You can guess what’ll happen next, can’t you?” His handsome smirk grows at your knowing sigh. 

“Just don’t throw me over your shoulder this time.” 

“No promises, cara mia.” He huffs as he rises and moves to your side. With a motion for you to raise your arms, he at least carries you princess-style as he speeds to the mansion’s exit. 

It’s not entirely unpleasant being in Leonardo’s strong arms, and you find the warmth almost soothing to your turbulent thoughts. He takes you to your signature spot: a small dock on one of the more solitary ends of the Seine river. He wants to give you the princess treatment, so he’ll slowly row the two of you down the water. 

On the romantic boat-ride through the Seine, with Leonardo’s golden eyes trained on your face and giving you his full attention, it would be quite difficult to resist confiding in him. In your lowest moments so far, he’d been nothing short of comforting — holding you in his arms when you were afraid during your first night, sleeping outside your door for the following week, and whisking you away from your chores to dispel the unhealthy façade you kept up. 

In fact, a small part of Leonardo is ecstatic that you felt safe and comfortable enough with him and the other residents that you could freely express your more negative emotions with them (but hopefully mostly with him. Forgive him, he can be a bit possessive). 

However long it takes you to quell the darkness in your mind, Leonardo is there to receive anything you throw at him. He can wrap you in a warm embrace and caress your back, offer you wise advice to your problems, or just listen to your thoughts. Whatever you need most, Leonardo will give it to you. 

Leonardo hopes you’ll always run into his arms any time you have problems and allow him to fix it, like he does with machines. That being said, he doesn’t mind seeking you out and literally carrying you away from your responsibilities to ease your torment. Wrapped in his big, strong arms and shielded from your worries, it’d be difficult not to feel at ease with this loveable dork. Anything and everything you ask for he’ll deliver, and if you don’t know what that is, he’ll give you a familiar experience that comforted you in the past. There isn’t much that fazes him with his long years on Earth, but just the teary sheen over your eyes is enough to twist his heart in painful knots. 

Isaac Newton

Lost in his bustling mind and distracted by an equation he couldn’t quite solve last night, he unfortunately only caught Theo’s grumbles of “pouring his own damn coffee,” and your departing figure to the kitchen. He thought nothing of it, believing Theo was just being his usual insufferable self and holed up in his study for the day.

If you weren’t responsible for delivering lunch to him, he’d have never caught wind of your off-character today. So when your voice behind his door lacked its usual lively pitch, he wanted to bash his head open for not noticing it during breakfast. 

When you entered his study you quietly placed the tray on one of his tables, wishing for an easy escape from his calculating rosy eyes. At your quickly retreating figure, the swirling worries in Isaac’s head scolded him for his indifference and how that coldness definitely would break your heart. He grasped at your sleeve and pulled you with more force than he intended, landing your entire upper body on his lap. (You’ll have to forgive his awkward execution, he really means well.)

“I’m terribly sorry mc! I didn’t mean to do that.” He bristles and helps you regain your composure. “Actually, I did intend to pull you closer. I want to apologise as well for not noticing you sooner. I should have been the first to seek you out.” While he does mean what he says, he finds that maintaining eye contact is a bit difficult and from his blushing ears, you can tell he’s just nervous. 

“The first? Isaac, you don’t have to do anything.” Similar to him, you felt ashamed that he felt obligated to comfort you. Isaac, upon noticing that, wildly shook his hands in firm rejection of that implication.

“Not at all! You’ve always been there for me mc; defending, accompanying, encouraging me. Perhaps it’s even a bit selfish, but seeing your smile is the highlight of my day. Without it, I find I’m in a bit of a bind, as you can see.” He gestures for the messy scrawls of that damn equation he can’t seem to solve. 

“I hope you won’t let Theo’s boorish manners bother you. And I hope you won’t mistake my foolishness for indifference either. I want to be here for you, mc. I’m not like Napoleon, so I admit this doesn’t come easy to me, but I want to be close to you.” Isaac rises from his chair to move closer to you. 

Despite his rapid pulse, his trembling hands find yours and squeeze them gently. “Please tell me all that ails you, all your frustrations, and stresses, and allow me to do for you what you’ve always done for me.” 

His sincerity is touching. Isaac sits you down on one of the seats by his table and offers you half the sandwich you made for him. Whatever you indulge Isaac with, he eagerly accepts. He can’t help the fascinated gleam in his eyes at the unfiltered emotions in your expression — in fact, his heart actually warms at being able to do this for you. 

It was inevitable that a few tears escaped your eyes; while it did sink his heart, Isaac seized the opportunity to be closer to you. In a surprising show of boldness, he tucks a strand that obscured your face, behind your ear. “Thank you, darling, for showing me this side of you.” He murmured intimately. 

“Isaac, you’re—”

The confidence that deluded him in that moment quickly dissipated at your surprised face. “I apologise! I’m not sure what came over me then.” Perhaps it was because it was just you and him, and he found your presence far easier to relax in than anyone else, but he found it in him to laugh. 

“You’re really a wolf in sheep’s clothing sometimes.”

“You can blame my teasing on yourself. After all, you’re the reason my new life is more hectic—” Isaac chuckles “but I can’t say that hasn’t made it so much happier.” 

After supper, Isaac timidly approaches you in the kitchen. “I’ve set up my telescope out in the yard tonight… Would you care to join me?” 

Laying on the soft grass with Isaac was incredibly soothing, the picturesque night sky splattered with the many shining stars, unpolluted by the 19th century Paris city. Isaac would focus the lens on specific constellations and allow you to view them through the telescope. While you admired its brightness, he’d excitedly tell you about each one. Eventually, the day’s fatigue would catch up to you, and Isaac, noticing it, would seat himself a little bit closer to you, in hopes you’d lay your head on his ready shoulder. 

Finally, soft peace had settled on your hardened features. It was during moments like these with you that Isaac envied the artists’ talents — they could capture this moment for eternity and he only had his memory to keep the sight in his mind. In spite of that regret though, a part of him was proud that it was him who could witness this adorable sight. 

While extremely awkward in execution, Isaac’s heart breaks in two at the mere thought of you feeling upset. This is worsened when it takes him longer than the others to notice it — couple that with his less-than-stellar social skills, and he’s bound to mess up in the process. But his sweet intentions shine through his small, affectionate gestures and his eagerness to listen to you. It’s quite adorable how happy he feels that he can finally return some semblance of what you’ve done for him. He’d provide his room as a safe space, but he’ll also gladly bring his telescope and stargaze with you in the courtyard. If you doze off, he’ll offer his shoulder and feel blessed that you shared your day with him, the feeling even sweeter knowing that it was him you chose to spend the evening with. 

Jean d’Arc

Part of your evening routine was to meet with Jean in the library after supper and practice writing. Tonight, despite your mood, you felt it would be far too cruel to abandon poor Jean, who found it hard to spend time with others; it was only through these sessions that you could foster a connection with the elusive man. 

Jean was extremely blessed that your radiant presence was in the library for him tonight. Napoleon had informed him earlier of your despondent spirits. Initially, it spurred an almost murderous glint in Jean’s eye at whoever had caused you suffering, but with Napoleon’s clarification, his rage on your behalf settled into a thorny discontent.

Of all people to suffer torment, why did it have to be mc; his radiant angel? The kind soul who ensured that night-after-night, she found time to teach and accompany him? It was because of your beautiful self that his chest was not as heavy with the weight of his sins everyday. And yet, you also had to endure these torturous emotions, despite all that you’d done for him. It truly did not make sense in Jean’s mind. It should be monsters like him that suffer, not angels like you. 

So Jean resolved it within himself that he would do all that he could to alleviate the weight in your heart and fight the shadows that dared to dim the brightness in you. 

Unbeknownst to you, after his work he wrote a letter that communicated his sincere appreciation and sheer affection for you, far better than he could verbally. He wrote of his sadness that a person like you, who cared so much for others and always put themselves last, suffered behind a smile. He longed to one day be as expressive as the writers (he never thought the day would come that he’d envy the likes of Arthur or Dazai) so that he could comfort you directly with words instead of having to convey all his sentiments through a letter. 

Safe to say that when Jean handed you his clumsily penned letter, tears immediately rushed down  your face at his touching sincerity. Jean grew alarmed, blaming himself for causing you further distress. You stopped him from kneeling on the ground for repentance and instead, wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. 

“Thank you Jean. You’re much kinder than you think.” Jean would be a touch flustered, but would wrap an arm around your shoulders to offer you the comforting embrace he only dreamed he could give you. And yet, here he was, finally able to offer you at least a semblance of peace in small payment for all you’ve unknowingly done for him. 

It was absolutely unfathomable to Jean that such a radiant and kind person like you had to suffer some of the torturous thoughts like he had. It felt wrong that God would allow those thoughts to plague your brilliant mind; so Jean, aware of his shortcomings in this department, would absolutely try his best to fight your demons for you. Words were extremely difficult for Jean to convey, but he’d try to make you proud by doing so in a letter. Your brightness prevented him from succumbing to the haunting shadows of his past. His sheer devotion and protectiveness for you would be revealed in that letter, but if you needed him to support you in-person: whether by embracing you in his strong arms, punching out your frustrations on his sturdy chest, or burying your face in his neck to block out the world, Jean would do all of it for you. 

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

The day had stretched on, and while most of your heartache was eased from the residents’ efforts, insomnia purged your rest nonetheless. You knew that remaining under your warm blankets would change nothing of your predicament, so perhaps a short walk (by the mansion’s standards) to the kitchen for a glass of water would arouse drowsiness back in your hazy mind. 

On your way, you passed by Mozart’s studio. Tonight he played a more serene song, the soft notes floating through the air and quelling some of the remaining despair in your head. You didn’t mean to, as you knew that Mozart hated to be disturbed while practising (really only for the men — it was difficult to be upset at you), but you lingered by his ivory doors. 

Suddenly, his song ceased. “Come in, mc.” Startled at the fact that he heard you, and even more at recognising you from what little sound you made, you were compelled to follow his command. 

Mozart was always a vision to look at: the moonlight streaming through the gap in his window was reflected in his alabaster locks. Awaiting for you, his deep purple eyes were unreadable as it scanned your figure. If you looked even closer, there was a discernible trace of worry that twisted his brows. 

“What was with you today?” Not one to mince words, Mozart hit right where it was sensitive. 

“It’s nothing of concern.” Mozart huffed indignantly. To you this resembled his usual shortness with you, but inside, he was deeply envious at the fact that you opened up to everyone except him today. Wanting to remedy that inconsistency, he rose from his seat and advanced towards you. 

“Liebchen.” He insisted as he reached for your hand. 

“You have enough to worry about, Wolf.”

“And I want you to be one of them.” As opposed to his usual rough manners with you, he softly stroked your knuckles. Since he knew that it would be difficult for you to dredge up and unearth your worries once again, he settled for providing you a small piece of comfort for the night. 

Mozart gently guided you by the wrist to sit beside him before his grand piano. 

“Would you like to try a duet I drafted recently? I haven’t been able to complete it because I had no partner—” he trailed his fingers from your wrist to your hands to unclench them “until now.” He delicately intertwined his long fingers around yours and gave your hand a loving squeeze. Then, he carefully guided your hands down to the piano keys. 

He slowly taught you a small part of the song, and within a few tries, you were quick enough to match the tempo he had in mind. Your attempt at the duet together went as well as expected, the discordant notes completely altering the softly romantic song to a playful one instead. 

To your surprise, a loud chuckle burst out of Mozart. “How clumsy,” he said, his eyes squinting in unadulterated affection. 

If you confide in Mozart of your lingering disturbance and your insomnia, Mozart will guide you toward the bedroom connected to his studio. Mozart had to fluff up the unused pillows but urged you under the covers anyway. He’d leave the door open and play the most soothing lullaby on his piano to quell your sleeplessness. 

Mozart is rather brusque and difficult to approach — painfully aware of that, he knew he wasn’t the first you’d approach, as much as it hurts him to admit that fact. Still, when the opportunity arose later that night with just the two of you, Mozart jumped at the chance to ease your pain. He’d try to cheer you up in his own way, but ultimately does what he knows best. He doesn’t play for anyone at all, and while many of his songs are dedicated to important historical figures, he documents a few pieces solely to you and caters to whatever you need most at that moment. Tonight, he plays an improvised song of yearning: he imagines a quiet man, unable to properly express the depth of his love for his dearest one, humming this soothing lullaby to send his suffering love to slumber. 

Bonus: William Shakespeare

Unfortunately, Will is physically and figuratively out of the loop with the happenings in the mansion. Your off day being one of the most regrettable events that he missed out on. 

He longed to have witnessed the harsh colours of despair taint your lovely visage and have been the man to lift that darkness. 

He yearns to have been the loving angel to embrace you while your tears wet the earth. He imagines that black roses and blue violets would grow from your tears that watered the ground. 

He longs to have been the dashing knight that whisked you away from your responsibilities and brought you to a secret place that only the two of you knew about. The intimacy of being the only one to witness your vulnerable side was tragically enticing for him. 

How fortunate the mansion residents were to bear witness to all the mesmerising dimensions you had. Capricious Fate has tricked him yet again in this instance as he can only hear about this event from Vincent. How tragic was he that he had only his imagination to provide him inaccurate images of your tainted beauty that day. 

While he knew this day had long passed, he couldn’t stop his longing fingers from scribing a letter to you, urging a visit as soon as possible so that he may offer a belated gift of comfort and perhaps, selfishly, indulge in your presence. 

He’d deliver a bouquet of those blue violets, carnations, and chrysanthemums to you (thanks in part to his vampiric benefactor), coupled with an expensive gift of several rings (so that you may imagine it was his fingers intertwined with yours) and a floral perfume that matches the flowers. 

Bonus: Vlad

After your boat-ride with Leonardo, the two of you idly strolled about town. Leonardo quickly left to purchase a box of cigarillos from a foreign vendor, the limited stock too alluring for him to pass up on. You insisted on waiting on a nearby bench, a little ways away from the busy stand. 

“A storm is brewing behind those lovely eyes. I wonder what caused it and what incompetent ward has allowed it to continue.” Vlad’s sweet voice sounded right beside your ear. You jumped, much to his amusement, but the underlying protectiveness under that pleasant expression was marked by you nonetheless. 

“Has he been overworking you?” 

You hastily quell the accusation Vlad threw in the air. 

“I wonder what could be the cause of those dark clouds in my darling’s eyes.” Vlad sighs in stark concern, lifting a hand to your temple gently massaging it. 

“I wonder what worries your pretty head.” He moves that same hand to your forehead and smooths the wrinkles there. 

“And I wonder what caused these soft lips to frown.” He trails his fingers from your head down to your cheek, and finally on your lower lip. The delicate way he handled your face felt as if you were a newly bloomed flower that was too sensitive to nature’s forces and required Vlad’s devoted care. 

There was both gentleness and a stark possessiveness with how familiarly and easily he glided his fingers across your face. It seemed he longed to touch even more of you, but found restraint and settled in tucking your hair away from your face instead. 

“If you stayed in my castle instead of his mansion, you won’t know any misery or work.” He longingly stroked the ends of your hair and eventually trailed his fingers to meet with your hands. Upon closer inspection, Vlad laments the dryness from cleaning products on your hands. He lovingly strokes your knuckles before lifting them to his lips kissing each one. 

“Cara mia, I don’t have to beat this guy to get him to back off, do I?” 

A painful expression overtook Vlad’s sweet face, and with great reluctance, he backs off as per Leonardo’s request. 

“Such brutes he houses. No wonder my flower has withered in their company.” 

Before Leonardo could provoke him further, you led him away from Vlad, whose eyes longingly followed you until you were out of his sight. 

Bonus: Charles-Henri Sanson

While waiting for Arthur to pay for his gifts for you, you sat on a bench outside the busy store. A pair of familiar lilac eyes brightened at the sight of your figure. He bounded over to you like a loving puppy reuniting with its owner. This unfortunately startled you as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind. 

“Mc! It’s been way too long since I’ve seen you. I really really really missed you.” He murmured while nuzzling his face into your neck. To your relief, he reluctantly released you from his hold, only to sit right next to you. 

Only when he could take a closer look at your expression does his cheerful face crumble. He tenderly cups your face and mourns the wistful spirit of it. “My poor mc, what happened?” 

You shook your head, unable to meet his worried eyes. This breaks Charles-Henri’s heart even further as he wishes he could take whatever was bothering you and replace it with his love instead. In that thought process an idea springs into his head. 

He takes your hand, and after squeezing it, places it near his heart. “I want you to channel all your sadness into this hand and give it all to me instead.” His silly charade breaks you out of your stupor, and since you don’t have the heart to reject his sweet lilac eyes, you relent and play along. 

“Good girl. Now, I’m going to channel all my love for you in my hand and place it in your heart. Ready?” He places his hand on your chest and playfully scrunches his face as if he was straining. “Mmmm… there! Did you feel my love enter you?” 

Ignoring the suggestive statement and the even more suggestive position you two were in, his hopeful face was too innocent to reject. 

“Yes, I think I felt a little bit of warmth enter me just now.” 

Charles-Henri’s face lit up in adorable joy. 

“Whatever you’re going through, I know you can overcome it. You’ve healed the darkness in me, and many others’ and we owe you for that.”

“Thank you Charles.”

A satisfied hum left his lips as he leaned even closer to you.

“I love you so much mc—”

“You can scamper off now, Sanson.” Arthur’s annoyed voice sounded from behind you. Charles willfully ignored him as he continued to squeeze your hand. 

“I hope you can feel my love whenever you’re sad like this—”

“Leave, old boy! Can’t you see she’s had enough of you?” 

“Come visit me and the others at the church soon!” Almost comically, Arthur drags Charles away by his collar. He turns around and waves at you. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but a small smile reached its way to your lips at Charles' cute antics. 

thank you once again for taking the time to read my writing. there were a few I wasn't too satisfied with, but I hope you liked it nonetheless.

leave a like and/or a reblog if this was a fun read for you. despite its self-indulgence, I hope this comforted you a lil bit.

have a wonderful day my love <3

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