#swann arlaud x reader

[bethecliche]

my love mine all mine l vincent renzi x f!reader

summary: after seeing her for the first time, he just fell (deeply) in love word count: 3.7k content: female reader (no description of genitalia), mention of sex, mention of stretch marks, description of hair and eye color (but not texture or skin color), french laws and locations being misinterpreted, use of tv shows and books I didn't watch or read, non canon note: english is not my first langague! I wrote this in portuguese and then translated to english myself, there's a chance you'll find an error or something. I'm sorry sorry! I highly recommend you to listen to the song while reading.

you can check the aesthetic references for this oneshot here but take note that none of the people actual faces on this reflects on the character identity that I wrote, so don't base all of the details on the references for the characters in story.

The first time he noticed her, she was sitting on one of the wooden benches outside the courtrooms. She seemed nervous, shaking her legs and glancing restlessly between the watch on her wrist and the clock on the hallway wall, as if it made much difference. Regardless of her worried expression and furrowed brow, Vincent felt that he had never seen such an attractive woman in his life. From her brown hair to her brown boots, looked like she stepped out of one of those '70s fashion advertisements he'd seen in vintage magazines as a kid. He didn't had time to notice much more than that, as he crossed the hallway and headed to his session. At the end of the day, of course, she was no longer there.

What seemed to have been one of those street crushes that you see when crossing an avenue and never think about again, stayed in Vincent's head for a few days. Every time he passed by the corridor, he waited to see if the brunette would be there. He tried to guess what she was doing there that day and whether there was a possibility of bumping into her again, a question to which the universe answered “yes”.

Two weeks later, this time leaving work, he looked down buttoning his blue coat, distracted in his thoughts when he noticed the same brown boots a few steps in front of him. The stranger held a cigarette between her fingers and had her arms pressed against her body. Although it was snowing lightly, it was extremely cold for an autumn day. Her look was different, probably due to the weather, with a coat with a puffed collar and puffed sleeves, once again looking like she belonged to a previous decade. The wind ruffled her hair a little and the moonlight illuminated her posture, a scene Vincent believed could have come from a movie.

All his past relationships were comfortable. Someone he knew in high school, someone he knew in college, someone who was introduced by friends or someone his friends encouraged him to talk during an outing. He didn't consider himself an introvert, but he never needed to pursue someone who was interested. Things just happened for him. It wasn't his comfort zone just to approach a stranger like that, much less at the door of his work, but something that day said it was the right thing to do.

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and approached the girl asking to borrow a lighter. His sudden plan only went so far.

As soon as she turned to face him, she gave a friendly and inviting smile, taking the object out of her pocket and activating the flame in front of his face. Vincent stood still, staring into her eyes throughout the action, mesmerized by her and her sparkling brown eyes.

“Will I ever meet a lawyer who doesn’t smoke?” She asked as she extinguished the flame, placing the lighter and her free hand back in her pocket. Too cold to let it out.

His response took a few agonizing seconds, as his mind was far away and still lost in her gaze. He composed himself, running a hand through his hair and looking away.

“The day this happens, let me know. I want to be there.” Vincent laughed awkwardly, causing the girl to laugh as well. At that moment, he felt that he wanted to provoke more of this reaction, he wanted to see more of her smile and so the conversation flowed.

His first question was how she guessed he was a lawyer and not a passerby to which she replied, "You stand like a lawyer." He shared how being a lawyer was boring and tedious, but it did have its dramatic moments in court when she asked if the career was challenging like its portrait on TV. He also discovered that she was there to pay a car ticket caused by her younger brother, hence the great nervousness when he first saw her a few weeks ago.

“When my parents told me that my 20th birthday present was a baby brother, I already felt within myself that I would be the best sister in the world. That I would try to make his life as easy as possible. 18 years later, he asks to borrow my car to visit his girlfriend - which I don't hesitate to do, after all I support young love. And the little shit-head makes sure on parking in front of a fire hydrant.” The girl blew smoke to her right side, not taking her eyes off him. “Would you be my lawyer if I try to choke him?”

Vincent could only laugh at her spontaneity, easy way of talking about life and easy way of making conversation.

“Just threaten him, it will be an easier case for me to win.”

They talked about Metz and how her family decided to move to Paris when she was a teenager because they knew the city needed more beautiful people, a fact Vincent agreed with. In order not to dismiss him, in a very charming way, she praised his Parisian accent and said that such a comment did not apply to him and only God knows how Vincent felt inside after that.

The two shared their tastes, such as reading romances and watching Dix pour cent every night before bed. It was as if they knew each other much more than the 1 hour they spent together under the snow. They shared maybe two more cigarettes before realizing it was getting a little too late to chat like that on the street.

He doesn't even know how he got out of that situation alive and managed to get home with her number.

Their first date was at a local cinema on a Friday night for a re-showing of Buffet Froid, a film Anne had never seen.

He didn't remember the last time he felt butterflies in his stomach, although it was guaranteed that nothing could compare to this time. As he got ready and tried to match his best t-shirts with his beige pants (which he eventually changed out of, finding them too tacky), Vincent remained nervous thinking that she might not show up or that this would be the first and last time they would meet in this circumstance.

In the end, all the “first time” flutter went out the window when he saw her smiling and waving on the other side of the street, already with the tickets in her hand. “I'm glad you came.” She said, holding his arm as they walked through the door of the establishment.

“I wouldn't miss it.” he replied.

The two took watching films very seriously, so it was only during the ending credits, after a lot of laughter, small comments and bumping hands on the popcorn bucket, that the two kissed.

He felt the softness of her skin on his hand and her sweet scent of perfume, in addition, of course, to the hot and saccharine kiss. It was slow, serene, just as they both wanted, being able to feel each other in that moment. It was also Anne's desire to slowly run her fingers through his hair and she didn't hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity.

After throwing their trash away, the two walked out of the cinema, now closer to each other, hand in hand. The weather wasn't as cold as when they first met and they were free to enjoy the warmth of their bodies without so many layers covering them.

“For a great 70's mind, you never having watched Buffet Froid is an insult.” He pointed at her with his free hand, wanting to tease her.

Anne rolled her eyes. Even though she liked the film, she didn't want to give a taste. “Obviously you would like action movies like that. It suits you.”

“I’ll make you like it too.” He stated, trying to imply that he wanted them to meet again, to which she responded by kissing his cheek and saying, “Next time, let's watch a romcom.”

Once, twice, three, four and a few more times, all being unusual dates. Sometimes she would call during his workday and say she would pick him up for an adventure. She drove aimlessly, just the two of them talking about their days and observing the city lights. These were Vincent's favorite “dates”, as they all ended with the two of them making out like two teenagers parked in the driveway of his apartment.

The more he got to know about her, the more he wanted to constantly be a part of her life. Anne owned a clothing store downtown, something he never tired of saying was the “most suitable job her”. On the last date they had, she took him to the closed store and put on a fashion montage for him, with improvised note cards on paper left on the counter and all. But she knew that the judge had been bought when he only gave her 10s. She also took the opportunity to get Vincent to do the same, putting him once again out of his comfort zone to find out that bell bottom jeans don't really suit him.

They even got to watch a car race - something that not even Anne had done, she had just decided that it was an experience they needed to have. They both entended up hating it, but the important thing was that the company was great.

That was one of the nights Anne slept at his house.

They ate some junk food from the fridge and watched a silly but captivating show on TV while they chatted more. When she realized she could sleep at any moment, Anne got up to brush her teeth and change her clothes, putting on her uniform for whenever she was there: a Vincent t-shirt.

Vincent found it charming how she captivated his gaze regardless of what she was doing. He loved her unique and sophisticated style, but he also loved seeing her like this, casually wearing his clothes, in his home, as if she were his. And lastly, he loved seeing her with nothing on.

Every detail of her body, her birthmarks on her shoulder and that one next to her beautiful eyes or her stretch marks on her back, everything about her seemed to have been chosen down to the millimeter. When they made love, his hands went everywhere, trying to reach as much of her as he could, to feel the warmth she exuded.

And the best way to love her was by looking into her eyes, admiring her beauty, running his lips up and down her body, being grateful for the privileged position it was to be able to love her.

Mornings were like nights, with him waking up earlier and being able, once again, to admire the woman beside her.

“You are even more beautiful in the morning.”

The two walked through the streets of Paris, both tipsy, looking for an available taxi in the dead of night. With their relationship now more established and their schedules aligned, they made it a challenge to come up with these unusual date only once a month so it wouldn't lose its fun. Today had been the day to go to the opera and due to their lack of sobriety, they didn't seem to have left anywhere other than the shabbiest bar on the corner.

The event was boring as fuck and they left halfway through to drink somewhere more enjoyable. They found an open bar showing a PSG versus Marseille match. Neither of them supported the teams or understood about football rules, but this seemed like a new opportunity for them to have another different experience that day.

One laughter after another, some passionate kisses between drinks and the two were celebrating PSG's victory at the bar with some strangers whom they befriended.

“My mother wants to meet you. My brother too. I said I might have a lawyer for the next time he's up to no good. Do you think it’s too early?”

When drunk, Anne tended to speak fast and slurred, but Vincent understood perfectly. He smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the tip of her nose. “I will love meeting your family.”

They never actually asked each other to go steady, but it was clear that they already belonged to each other at that point.

Vincent was on his cell phone writing a text to his mother about the shopping list for Christmas dinner and their desire to participate in decorating the tree (Anne's request to spend more time with her mother-in-law) while his girlfriend was lying on his lap reading his copy of Around the World in 80 Days (and she was loving it, for sure).

It was a lazy day for both of them at Vincent's place. A year into their relationship, the two of them loved sharing these moments together doing different activities.

“She said she misses you a lot and looks forward to seeing you on Christmas, but that you're banned from being near the kitchen when it is time to prepare desserts. Everything you touch that’s sweet ends up burning for some reason.”

Her smile, excited by her mother-in-law's affection, turned into a face indignant at the rule she imposed. "What?" She looked up from the book and pulled Vincent's hand to check if the message was real and it was. “This is so unfair!”

“Sorry, Anne, you’re just really bad at this.”

She lightly pushed his arm and pretended to be uncomfortable, although she knew it was true and wasn't really upset. Before she could return to her book, Vincent placed his cell phone on the table and began talking.

“One more thing, huh,” he cleared his throat, “I made one more space on the rack for you. I don't want certain clothes to get wrinkled in the drawer. I’ll make room in one more drawer too.”

Anne put the book aside and knelt on the sofa, facing her boyfriend. “Won’t it bother you? I already have space in my bedroom drawer, bathroom… In fact, there are a lot of my things scattered around the house. I don’t want to impose my space here.”

This was a subject that she had also been waiting to comment on for some time. By working her own hours at the store and having an employee to take her place wherever needed, Anne had a more flexible schedule than Vincent and it was easier to stay at his house, helping to keep everything on track and cooking for both of them. He would arrive just before dinner time and they could enjoy together without rushing to do the chores.

Because of this, the few clothes she wore just to sleep there became a drawer full, her makeup in the bathroom sink and her shoes near the door.

The gray-haired man hugged her around the waist, kissing her forehead and assuring her of his action. “You are not imposing anything, mon chéri. I want you to use this space. I want to have more and more of you here.”

For him, having her scent permeate the rooms was a gift wrapped in the best bow. Knowing that every day he would come home to see her welcoming smile and welcome kiss was the biggest work incentive.

“It feels like my home.” She whined.

“It’s your home. Our home.” He insisted.

In his favorite action, he cupped her face and looked warmly into her eyes, admiring her features trying to associate with what he was trying to say. They both smiled at each other realizing where the topic was going.

“Are you…”

“I want you to move in with me.”

The beautiful smile that filled his heart appeared on her face and Vincent, who was sure of her choice, but a little afraid of her accepting it, smiled too at her positive reaction.

In conclusion, he ended up needing to make more closet space for her countless boots, but he was happy that she could call the space her own (and she looks great in those boots, he would never complain about making room for them).

The snack table was almost empty and that made Anne happy. She might not be good at desserts, but her food was always praised and she almost never had leftovers when she cooked for her friends.

“This sandwich is delicious, aunt Anne!” Daniel stated, taking another one from the table and sitting on the sofa next to her. “Can I take some home?”

“Of course you can! There’s more stored in the kitchen, I’ll put it on the side for you to take.” She continued, now coming closer to whisper. “You can give Snoop a bite, I won’t tell your mom.”

“Hey, I’m watching you two!” Sandra said towards the back of the sofa, pointing at the two jokingly. She was talking to Vincent leaning against the wall in the hallway, looking anxious.

There was approximately 10 people spread throughout the room at this gathering. The couple chose to host a celebration for the launch of Sandra's new book, a dear friend of both, and tried to make room for everyone present. She was very delighted with the honor, although unaccustomed to the positive attention she was receiving.

Even though they weren't glued to each other at the party, Anne and Vincent always stopped for a moment to exchange a kiss and ask if everything was okay. He, even more so, couldn't stop admiring his girlfriend from afar. Parties like this always made him happy to be able to share the love he had for her and also show others that this was his girl.

It was around 6pm that they said their goodbyes and thanked their friends for being there. After closing the door, Anne took a deep breath and leaned against it with Vincent kissing her neck and hugging her waist.

“Had fun today?” He asked against her neck, kissing slowly until he reached her face. Hugging him back, she just nodded yes, pulling him into a longing and passionate kiss.

Vincent pressed his body against hers and tightened his grip, placing his free hand against the wall for support. Everything was going well, until Vincent suddenly stopped, as if he couldn't give in to temptation yet.

He also took a deep breath, with a shy smile as he looked at her.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, still leaning against the door and resting her hands on his shoulder.

"What?" He retorted.

“During the party, you kept looking at me like that, with those heart-eyes, that fool in love face of yours. And now you're doing it again. It seems... different.”

Vincent laughed awkwardly, as if he was unprepared to respond that quickly. “In my defense, I always look like a fool in love when I’m with you.”

Before anything else, Vincent took a red velvet box out of his pocket and opened it, showing a silver ring made especially for her. With the hand that was on her waist, he slipped into her hand and intertwined their fingers.

“Kneeling isn’t your style, nor are long speeches in front of our friends, but I can’t just leave the ring in your hand without saying anything. The day I saw you for the first time, I was intrigued. The second time, that feeling I had of needing to talk to you urgently, of not letting the opportunity pass, I think, somehow, I knew we were going to get to this moment right now. By the third time - I was already in love. Head over heels, worshiping the ground you pass, heart-eyes, whatever you want to call it. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't feel those butterflies in my stomach before seeing you, that I don't feel the eager to be by your side. If you do me the honor of marrying me, I can promise that you will have a man who wakes up in love with you every day. Forever.”

Anne's eyes were already full of tears as soon as she saw the box and she couldn't help but shed them when she heard the proposal.

The last 4 years of their lives were instinctive, passionate, in a way she never thought she would experience. All her last lovers didn't last long, they couldn't handle her personality or couldn't love her right, so she was left with no hope that it would change. But Vincent's speech was something that she not only believed, she felt. Every day, she felt his love, his affection and his care. Wave of action speaks louder than words and she trusted her man.

There was no other answer than yes.

The same word was repeated by the two of them at the registry office a few months later. The idea was never a big party, it didn't suit either of their personalities, but Anne always wanted a dress and a veil, so they were both there, in their wedding clothes just before lunch time in the registry office next to Vincent's work place.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

With that sentence, the two shared a classic wedding kiss, with Vincent holding her around the waist and Anne throwing her leg up. They could live that moment over and over again, but they needed to go out for a little celebration party with their friends before they left for their honeymoon (and Anne was more than eager to have her friends around so she could toss the bouquet).

Outside, in another snowy day, Anne reached through the car window and took a black bag from the glove compartment, handing it to her now husband.

“What is it?” He held on, swinging by the loop to feel the weight so he could find out what it could be.

“It's your wedding gift.” She cheerfully replied.

He stole one more kiss from his wife before opening the bag, already imagining what could be inside.

“It has our initials and today’s date on it,” she pointed to the bottom where the details were, “so no other girl coming out of court will need to offer you the lighter.”

Vincent took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it with his newest gift, but without inhaling, just lighting it for the sake of it.

“No one will have my love. Only you, mon chéri."

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader #anatomy of a fall #fluff #i scrobbled this song 102 times to write this #my love mine all mine

[coryosbaby]

Sour Switchblade … Priest! Vincent Renzi x fem! Reader

Synopsis: She tempts him, just like she did before.

Content Warning . 18, MDNI Age Gap, blasphemy, religious themes & references, a plot with no context, demonic reader? Mutual masturbation, degradation, dom! Vincent

Author’s Notes: what I mean when I say that I need him biblically.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

It starts with the simple art of a short dress and a prayer.

Vincent’s eyes roam to her from across the church pew, blue orbs peeking out through a see of browns, greens, and other blues. His hand adjusts his priests collar as she moves towards the center of the room. Another priest settles a wafer into her mouth, which she takes with a soft tongue. Vincent’s eyes can’t help but wonder down her body after that, as she takes a sip of communion wine.

Her dress, a lacey white thing with puff sleeves, adorned with white tights and thigh high stockings, will surely be the talk of the church going women later. Especially with the way her breasts seem to spill out of the fabric, the red bra that is already showing through threatening to make itself fully known.

Vincent almost can’t breathe.

He knows it’s wrong to look at her like this. He’s a priest, and on top of that, she’s significantly younger— not underage, obviously. Maybe in her early twenties or so. But it still makes the man confess his sins almost every night.

And even with how taboo his stares are, she seem to look at him right back, everytime, exactly the same. Her lashes seem to flutter, her eyes seem to have a glint to them whenever he nervously mumbles a prayer or greeting to her. Even now, as she takes a sip of the red wine, her eyes meet his.

He smiles. She smiles back. The communion is over.

And now, the confession begins.

Vincent sits in the compartment a mere hour later, waiting for her to show up. She always seems to have something to confess when he’s the one in charge and it’s his last shift. Vincent twirls the cross necklace around his neck in anticipation.

It’s a few seconds before he hears the cluttering of the confessional door. Her scent evades his nostrils— sweet vanilla, chocolate, and something earthy underneath. Something that makes Vincent’s eyes want to roll to the back of his head.

“I’m here to confess.”

Her voice is a soft lilt, something tinted with mischief. She’s trouble.

“And what would you like to confess, my child?” Vincent asks. He can hardly see through the film between the two of them, but he sees a flash of white, then red.

“I’ve been bad,” she replies. And then, in almost a whine, “I’ve sinned, father.”

His lips part. His cock kicks underneath his robe, but he’ll have to wait for that— wait for later, when he’s alone in his chambers and can touch his cock freely, in secrecy. Priests are supposed to sustain abstinence— Vincent is no virgin, but since his training and initiation as a priest he hasn’t had sex since. Masturbation is forbidden, but it isn’t something he can control in himself. It plagues him every day.

It’s a lot harder for him than the others, he thinks, to contain his urges when he’s already felt the warmth of a woman’s touch. But he’ll try this time. He won’t make another mistake. By God, he won’t.

“What have you done?”

“I’ve been…” she pauses, sighing, and he hears the rustling of fabric. He wonders what she’s doing on the other side of that barrier. “I’ve been having these… dreams, father. Dreams where…”

Vincent clenches his jaw, his palm gripping his cock through his confines. By God, he’s a sick, perverted man.

“We all have dreams,” Vincent says gently. “Dreams that may help us along our path. What have you dreamt about, child?”

He’s shaky as he says the last line, hopes of her lying to him furrowing in his chest. Hopes of her leaving it alone, this entire thing. This entire game.

God does not come through for him. Perhaps he doesn’t want to, or perhaps he can’t. Perhaps she is the one to stop him.

“I’ve dreamt of you, Father Renzi.”

Vincent’s head tilts back, a small gasp leaving his throat. His hips buck against his hand. No no no no..

“What do these dreams entail?” He asks, breathless. He can hear the amused tone in her voice.

“You start out by giving me communion,” she explains. “You hold the wafer out so I can put it into my mouth, but instead it’s your tongue that lands against mine.”

Vincent’s eyes clench shut. His hand moves against its own accord. God help him. She continues with a drawn out, airy lilt.

“You touch me in a special place. It feels so good that I cry out your name like a praise. It makes me tingle all over, makes me lose all control,” and then, with a pause as she hears Vincent’s robes lifting, “Do you have dreams like that, Father?”

His cock is straining against his dress pants when the robe’s hem is pulled to the top of his thighs.

“I do,” he admits, popping the button on his pants. He’s hypnotized, her smell and the image of her body in his mind making him lose it. “I have them often, little one.”

And it’s true. He dreams of her painted in red and white, dreams of her, a she demon, on top of his body, writhing. Him, hands curling against her skin, under her spell. She is his temptation, and Vincent is sure that she will be his destruction.

She’s just as desperate as him now. He can tell because she lets out a sweet, sultry whine, a wet sound reverberating throughout the small compartment.

“Vincent,” she lets out, keening. He doesn’t remember if he told her his first name, but he has a feeling she figured it out either way. He groans, thankful that the church is nearly empty now since the service had just ended.

“espèce de petite prostituée. What would your parents think?” You little harlot.

“Are you touching yourself?” she asks, ignoring him. And then, after a wet sound and a cry, “I’m.. I’m touching myself too, Vince. I’m so wet.”

His hand slips past the waistband of his pants and he dips it inside. Wet, warm flesh and pleasure behind his eyelids emerges as he strokes himself up and down and catches a whiff of her natural scent.

“Fuck,” he grunts, arousal pooling in his lower abdomen. “Cheríe, what are you doing to me?” Sweetheart.

She lets out a tiny giggle, scissoring her fingers inside herself as she hears the man beside her fall apart. Vincent is her favorite— he gives her the most fun she’s ever had.

“My fingers are inside, Father,” she whimpers. “Fuck, I’m so warm.”

Vincent’s cock, red and tip dripping pearls of sweet arousal, slaps against his stomach when he finally gathers the nerve to pull his pants and underwear down past his thighs. He spits into his palm before stroking himself again.

“You are unholy,” Vincent states, though his mouth falls open when he hears the increasing sound of her wetness. “Fucking yourself like this, like a dirty whore… your cunt is drenched, isn’t it, chérie?” Sweetheart.

She grasps the side of the confessional, heat spreading up her neck and down to her toes. None of them have ever made her feel like this.

“Yes,” she says, rubbing the bundle of nerves in between her cunt lips. She’s close. “Father… sir. I want your cock.”

Visions come to Vincent’s mind, plagued thoughts of her kneeling down and taking him into her mouth, of him choking all words out of her. His cock thrusting into her roughly, stretching out her tiny hole and bringing her to her peak over and over. That would be her punishment for teasing him, for being such a godless creature. He would ruin her, just as she’s ruined him.

“You want it, yes? You want me to stretch your little cunt and leave your legs shaking,” he chuckles, almost darkly. She brings out the worst in him. “You want my seed dripping down your thighs, putain de salope.” You fucking slut.

She cries out, legs spreading further as she nears closer and closer to her peak. Vincent continues to speak, almost as close as she is.

“Your cunt in my mouth. Licking you, tasting you..” and then, with a delicious whisper, “Chérie, how do you taste?” Sweetheart.

That last sentence has the girl seizing up, her pussy spasming as her orgasm overtakes her. Sweet arousal gushes around her fingers, thighs, and underneath the seat below her. Her eyes roll back and she cries, “Vincent!” like a prayer.

This has the man on the other side whining, his teeth biting into his wrist as he spills over his fist with a loud grunt. He fucks himself through his orgasm, hearing her precious sounds overcoming him like a heavenly sin.

When the man comes down, his spend is drying on his hand and pants.

He sighs, satisfied and spent. He’ll have to confess this later, won’t he?

Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t.

Her voice rings out, smooth and teasing.

“Until next time, Father Renzi.”

He hears the open and closing of the confessional door, and out she goes like Lilith with her wings.

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy

#bunny writes ͟͟͞☆ #Vincent renzi #Vincent renzi x reader #Vincent renzi x fem! reader #Swann arlaud #Swann Arlaud x reader #Vincent renzi smut #Vincent renzi oneshot #Vincent renzi fanfic #priest! Vincent renzi #dom! Vincent renzi #Vincent anatomy of a fall #Vincent Renzi anatomy of a fall #anatomy of a fall #anatomy of a fall fanfic #Swann Arlaud fanfic #Vincent Renzi Drabble #Vincent renzi blurb

[euphoriaslux]

we can’t be friends

summary: you hate vincent. vincent hates you. and yet somehow you end up in his bedroom.

word count: 4262( i… am so sorry.)

warnings: fem reader, smut(f oral receiving) vincent being a meanie, drinking and smoking, disrespect of the french justice system (désolé) me making head canons about vincent’s family life, some mischaracterization of sandra (ily sandra huller)

a/n: folks i was locked in when i was writing this, can you tell because it’s autocapitalized? i was Serious! this was supposed to be like a thousand words and ended up being 4k… i apologize i have to spread my illness (being my obsession with swann). i had SO much fun writing this i hope yall enjoy, all the reblogs on my first post make me all warm and fuzzy. drop some requests if you’d like, and im going to make a masterpost of all the fictional characters im obsessed with bc i’m chronically online. i’ve reread this like a million times so if there are any spelling errors i simply do not see. enjoy!!! <3

You cannot fucking believe you’re going to be late to trial.

Well, actually, you can believe it. Somehow, during the two hours of sleep you got last night, you managed to unplug both your alarm clock and your phone charger, leaving you to blissfully sleep through the multiple alarms you had set the night before. It was only when your cat sprawled across your face, her paws tickling your eyelashes as she eagerly awaited her breakfast, that your body decided to wake you up. An hour after you were supposed to.

Your methodically planned out morning routine for the indictment today was quickly replaced by you sprinting around your apartment muttering curse words under your breath and trying not to trip over the copious amounts of documents on your floor. You nearly cried when your tangled hair would not cooperate with you, but somehow managed to make yourself look halfway presentable. You didn’t have the time to be stressed today, especially because of the attention you know this case is going to get.

And because you knew you were going to see him.

After driving like a bat out of hell in the Parisian rain, violating multiple traffic laws, you somehow make it to the courthouse only one minute late. Jogging up the steps, you push the door open and yell out apologies to the bewildered lawyers and judges in the courthouse as you sprint against the browned hardwood floor, your briefcase thumping against your side in tandem with your heartbeat. Your eyes scan the chamber numbers and you breathe a sigh of relief once you find the one that matched the summons notice, pausing to smooth down your pantsuit set and pat the beads of sweat off of your forehead.

You push open the chamber doors as gently as you can, but you quickly realize there is no use as every head in the room turns towards you, gawking at you. Some have a slight frown on their face, looking at you with thinly veiled pity, but most have a clear show of annoyance. With your head down you speedwalk over to your team’s side of the chambers, pulling out a few labeled folders before you place your briefcase next to your seat. You take a deep breath and force yourself to look up, and right across from you is the defendant’s lawyer.

Vincent is wearing a black turtleneck and a matching black blazer, with effortlessly swooped gray hair and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks perfect, too perfect, in a way that pisses you off. He’s already staring at you when you glance at him, his mouth slightly turned upward as he leans over to talk to his client Sandra, maintining eye contact with you as his whispers in her ear.

“Glad you made time to join us Mademoiselle,” the judge says as she shuffles some papers around, using a few fingers to wave over a magistrate to her right, ostensibly for the indictment sheets.

“I am so, so sorry I-” you start before the judge moves her hand to wave you off, finally sparing you a sharp glance.

“Enough time has been wasted. Let us proceed, yes?” she asks, and you almost start to answer before you realize it was rhetorical. There are a few quiet laughs in the courtroom and you fix your eyes on your folder, feeling like a child who was just scolded in class for sneaking a cookie from the lunchroom. You feel Vincent’s eyes on you but you don’t dare to look up. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Sandra was indicted, of course. This case was going to be a media circus because of her literary career, and you knew this was not going to be an open-and-shut case. Part of you hated trials like these - when the media would decide an angle that they found the most titillating and not leave a single person involved alone until they got a headline that matched their narrative. Another part of you, a massive part of you, hated working with Vincent. You could just constantly feel the smugness dripping off of him, and with every snarky comment and reply you could sense the anger just drilling deeper and deeper into you. Each interaction you had with him managed to make you even more and more mad. At least you’d hopefully only see him for another couple of months.

five months later

Like clockwork, you stepped out of your taxi to be bombarded by reporters with an endless sea of microphones and cameras, a cacophony of aggressive voices yelling your way. You keep your head down and try to push through the crowd, noticing Vincent talking to a reporter with Sandra to his side. You hear a few words, noticeably about Sandra’s innocence and the ignorance of the defense, and that word makes you stop in your tracks. Reporters are asking you questions but you look for the first microphone you can find and start to talk, making sure to project your voice.

“Judicial integrity is what’s most important to me. Not a narrative, not a story. I took an oath to protect this country. Some people don’t take that seriously, but I do, and that’s what I am focused on.”

There is a sea of follow-up questions but you weave through the hoard of people to the top steps of the courtroom, making your way inside. You arrived a bit early to trial today because you knew Daniel, Sandra’s son, was testifying today. You couldn’t shake the unease you’d had all week knowing you had to cross-examine him, seeing his grief-stricken face as he heard the prosecution and defense make a myriad of accusations about the one parent he had left.

“Were you talking about me?”

Vincent’s voice makes you jump, and you turn around to see him staring at you from behind the court pew. You must’ve had a look of confusion on your face because he then clarifies:

“Outside, when you were talking to the reporter from Euronews. Are you implying that I don’t have judicial integrity?” he cocks his head at you, his eyebrows slightly raised. You shrug, grabbing the manila folders with notes from your bag and putting them in front of your seat.

“If the shoe fits, I suppose,” you say with a tight smile as you sling your bag from your shoulder to under your chair. Vincent scoffs, lightly brushing his hair out of his face.

“Right, I should have looked to the attorney who walks in late smelling like cheap wine for… integrity,” he emphasizes that last word, each letter feeling incredibly loud in the silent courtroom. You feel the heat rise from the back of your neck, both in embarrassment and fury. You take a step towards him and he doesn’t move, your faces only a few inches apart.

“Do you think you’re any better? You took this case because you are plagued with this superiority complex that you have to subject everyone to.”

“Hm, so being a good lawyer makes you think I have a superiority complex, good to know,” Vincent says, touching his chin in mock curiosity. Jesus Christ, this guy irritates you.

“No actually, I think I figured it out,” you say with a laugh, poking your finger at his chest.

“Is it because you used to fuck Sandra, and this is some weird fucked up sort of foreplay that you’re forcing us to watch? I wonder if there’s a tape in evidence, of Sandra telling her now-dead husband how many times you two had shitty sex.”

Your sentence sits in the air as the smirk falls from Vincent’s face.

“Do not project whatever bullshit you’ve created in your mind onto me,” he says, staring at you with an intensity that makes you start to squirm.

“You don’t know me, Vincent,” you turn to end the conversation but Vincent grabs your arm, turning you back around to look at him.

“But I think I do,” he says, and you are so close that you can make out the pack of cigarettes in his jean pocket through his cloak is what’s pressing against your thigh.

“I think you put on this show, that you are meek and timid, but it is all an act. Every movement of yours is calculated. Nothing you do has any underpinning of integrity.”

You feel tears well in your eyes and you quickly wipe them away, opening your mouth to speak as the chamber doors open and members of the jury begin to walk in.

“Fuck you,” you tear your arm away from his grip and walk back to your seat.

four months later

It’s been two weeks since the trial ended. The chaotic hustle and attention has died and reporters are gone, with no more requests for comment or interviews on morning TV filling up your inbox. You were called to the courthouse to go over some documentation that the court needed to provide a final report on the case, arriving late on a Saturday night. You shudder as you get out of the taxi, the chill of Paris air sparing no part of your body. You wrap your jacket around yourself and sit on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath as you prepare to go into that same courtroom. You put your head in your hands and sit in silence for what feels like forever until a familiar voice breaks the stillness.

“Hey.”

You don’t move a muscle when you hear Vincent’s voice, hoping that somehow if you stayed completely still he’d believe you were a figment of his imagination and he’d leave you alone. Instead, he takes a seat next to you, the corduroy fabric of his trousers very gently grazing your skirt.

“If you’ve come to gloat, I’m truly not in the mood,” your say, your voice muffled by your hands over your mouth. Vincent says nothing but you hear him rustling through his pants and then the familiar click of a lighter, and you bring your face up to see Vincent taking a drag of a cigarette. He breathes out wafts of smoke, and after a beat, extends his hand towards you. You glance down at the cigarette and then back at him, and he is still looking forward at the architecture across from you. Plucking the cigarette from between his fingers you inhale deeply, tilting your head up to blow the smoke into the sky. You both sit in the quiet for a few moments as you smoke about half of the cigarette. He doesn’t seem to mind, or at least doesn’t say anything.

“How do you feel?” he finally asks, and you chuckle as you take another inhale.

“How do you think I feel?” you look to him and he nods, taking the cigarette from you. You try and ignore the tingly feeling in your stomach when his lips touch the same part of the cigarette that yours did, with no hesitation.

“Did you genuinely believe she was guilty?”

The question throws you off guard.

“I don’t know.” you answer honestly, bringing your knees up to rest your hands on top of them.

“I don’t often think anything is too personal in a court of law, but that phone call with Sandra and Samuel felt, invasive?”

“It didn’t seem like you had any qualms when you were questioning about it,” he questions.

“Well of course not. I wanted to win.”

Vincent laughs, a real deep laugh, and you can’t help but crack a small smile at the noise. You realize you hadn’t heard it before, at least not before it preceded an insult hurled your way.

“What do you mean, invasive?”

It’s hard to collect your thoughts on his question, and you are suddenly transported back into that courtroom, listening to that call.

“It was like I felt every molecule of anger, resentment, disappointment. I just felt like I was right there in the middle, taking both of their punches. Like,” you take a beat, trying to formulate your words.

“Like I was their son, with no vision of what was happening but so desperately aware of the anger in the air. And feeling guilty that I caused it, somehow.”

Vincent hums.

“I’m sorry with how often I pried, about you and Sandra,” your voice is quiet, and you pick at the straps of your heels.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. The feelings I have for her have changed.”

This time you hum, unsure of what to say. For the first time in your years of knowing him, you feel bad about possibly making Vincent uncomfortable. You’re not sure why. You sit in awkward silence for a couple of minutes before you stand up, brushing the stray tufts of cigarette ash that stuck to your skirt.

“Well, I won’t keep you, I have to go turn in evidence of my defeat” you gesture towards the papers in your hands. “And you have to go celebrate, I presume.”

Vincent stands up as well, flicking the cigarette onto the floor and stomping it out with his boot.

“No celebrating for me,” he says with his hands raised. You smile, and he does the same.

“How will you be … coping?” he asks and you roll your eyes.

“Not sure, probably at home with a really cheap bottle of wine.”

His lips purse as he puts his hands into his pockets. “I guess I deserve that.”

You rock slightly on your balls and feet, not sure if you should walk away from him or not. You’re just about to step out of his way when he starts talking.

“I have a nice Pinot Grigio I’ve been waiting to open, if you’d, you know, like to … join,” Vincent’s voice gets quieter as he keeps talking, and you swear you can see a soft pink hue on his cheeks, but perhaps that was the night playing tricks on you.

“I don’t want to impose-”

“You wouldn’t be,” he cuts you off. “I’ll wait for you out here?”

-

Vincent’s house - not apartment - was somehow exactly and nothing like what you would have imagined. It’s a one-story Victorian-style home with a dark exterior, but the inside is painted a warm yellow with tons of books littering the floors and walls and miscellanous trinkets and birthday cards tucked in between. There’s empty pizza boxes and wine bottles on the kitchen floor, and through his tall back window you can see a mini garden in his backyard, with vines of tomatoes and bushels of leafy greens sprawled amongst the grass. It looks very lived in - you can imagine Vincent waltzing around in the morning, reading his big law books with big glasses of wine, like the one you have in your hand right now.

The two of you are currently halfway deep into a bottle, talking about nothing and everything. The case, bad clients you’ve had before, your favorite pastry shops in Paris, the funny face that one of the Magistrates makes every time the Judge looked at him.

“Thank you for the wine monsieur,” you say with a dip of your head and an exaggerated bow.

Vincent shakes his head before taking a sip of wine, and you notice how the soft pink you thought you had noticed before has turned into a deep red from his forehead to his chest. Vincent being tipsy was such an odd thought to you that you couldn’t control your laughter, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you started to giggle incessantly.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Vincent giggles alongside you, and you shake your head no.

“The serious, smart lawyer is wine-drunk with the person he probably hates the most. I could not have imagined ever being in this situation,” you manage to collect yourself, putting your hand over your chest as you take the final sip in your glass and wave off Vincent as he motions to pour you another one.

“I don’t hate you,” Vincent mutters as he pours himself another glass of wine.

“You’re pretty good at acting like you do.”

He just nods. Suddenly the air in the room has changed, and it feels constricting. Like all of the arguments and venomous insults you’ve thrown at each other has coagulated in this massive living room

“I actually, um, envy you a lot of the time.”

“Envy me?” you can’t help your incredulous tone after his sentence. “You don’t have to say things to pity me, you know,” you laugh, but Vincent’s face is still serious.

“You are just naturally someone people want to spend time with. Even when you annoy me beyond belief, some part of me is always, drawn to you, I suppose. And I envy that. I don’t really know who I am without doing things for others.

You furrow your brows at his sentence. “What do you mean?” you lean over your chair to be a bit closer to him. He plays with the silver ring on his index finger.

“Sometimes I feel like the people I’ve loved, only want me when I can do something for them, you know? I mean, even my own mother, I remember- ” he stops to take a large sip of wine.

“I was almost done with primary school, and my Dad was gone on some inane business trip. I told her I wanted to go to a birthday party downtown, and that I wouldn’t be able to make dinner that night. She got so mad at me that she threw the bottle of wine she’d nearly finished at my head.” He swirls his wine glass around staring into it.

You put your hand on top of his, and he looks up at you, staring into your eyes before clasping his hand arond yours.

“I’m really sorry,” you whisper. He shrugs, and before you can stop yourself, you bring his hand up to your mouth and press a featherlike kiss against his skin. Vincent’s eyes are glassy, and he separates his fingers from yours to place his hand against your face, his thumb gently caressing your jaw.

“Do you have more cigarettes?” you ask, softening into his touch.

“In my bedroom.”

His statement - his ask - reverberates through your head as you both stare at each other, trying to discern what will happen next. Your thoughts are so loud that you’ve afraid that somehow they’ll extend out into the room.

is he saying what i think he is?

And normally, you would say a snarky remark about how he wishes he could get you in his bedroom, and how you’d rather die than see where he sleeps, but the wine has made you slightly woozy and all you can think about is how good he looks with his hair gently sticking to his face and his t-shirt tight around his arms, and what it would feel like to fuck him.

So you say “okay”, and leave your phone on the dining room table.

Vincent opens his bedroom door, moving to let you walk in first before closing the door behind him. He opens his mouth to speak and before you can think your mouth is on his, and he’s shocked for a moment before he kisses you back, your lips melding together. You push your body into his as Vincent wraps his arms around your waist, his hands digging into your skin as he quietly moans into your mouth. Your intertwined bodies make it to the bed and he hovers on top of you, his hard cock pressing against your thigh and you reach down to touch him over his jeans, feeling him shudder against you. You pull away from him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” his voice is a little hoarser than it was before. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” you pull your shirt over your head and tug at the bottom of his and he laughs he does the same, and you admire his shirtless body as he reaches back down to kiss you again, but he’s not as gentle this time. He’s aggressive, dipping his tongue into your mouth and holding your face in his hands.

“So beautiful”, he murmurs, tilting your head so he can suck on your neck and graze his teeth against the bruises spot he left. “So much more beautiful than I imagined”.

Your head falls back on the pillow as you feel his hands reach behind your back and unclip the hooks on your bra, his mouth moving to your breasts and licking your nipples.

“You’ve imagined me?” you pretend to be bashful as your mouth falls into an o-shape, feeling Vincent’s mouth on your chest and his hands on . He moans and you can feel it throughout your whole body as you lean down to shimmy out of your skirt and underwear in one move.

“In every way possible,” he says as he dips a finger down, past your belly button and into your cunt. You’d feel embarrassed at how wet you are already if his hand didn’t feel so good inside of you.

“I’ve thought about what you would taste like, how you would sound when I first fuck you for the first time,” his mouth moves down from your chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your abdomen before he’s just above your heat and you sigh, involuntarily jerking your hips up. He puts his free hand around your lower stomach to hold you in place.

“But nothing,” he nips at the spot right in the crease of your hip, licking a long stripe just next to your heat.

“Could’ve come close to how pretty you really are.”

“Christ,” your hands grab fistfuls of Vincent’s sheets as his tongue finally swirls around your clit, pressing just a bit harder as he puts another finger inside of you. You can feel the pressure building in your lower stomach as you and Vincent’s grip on your stomach get firmer as you wriggle under his touch. He groans into your mouth as you start to grind your hips into him, fucking you faster with his fingers as he rolls his hips into the bed.

“Vincent,” you say with a gasp and grip his hair, pulling as you come around his mouth, your head dizzy with the feeling of Vincent’s tongue on you as he stares up at you from between your legs. He pulls his hand out of your cunt and licks his fingers before putting his mouth back on your clit, making you jump at the contact. You hiss as he licks the sensitive area, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you tug so hard on Vincent’s hair that you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but if you are, he doesn’t stop you. He interlocks his fingers across your stomach and holds you into place, groaning into your clit.

“Okayokayokay,” you move your hands from his hair to head to pull him up, your breathing labored as you try to get yourself together. He leans over to kiss you, his lips softly molding against yours as you wrap your arms around his back.

Breathless, you move your hand down to touch Vincent but he quickly stops you.

“It’s- um-”

You look down and notice the wet spot on Vincent’s boxers, and your eyebrows raise to the top of your forehead as you come to the realization that he came while he was eating you out.

“Did you-”

Vincent groans, hiding his face in your neck as you giggle, coming down from your high.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you thread your fingers through his now disheveled hair. “It’s kind of hot if I’m being honest.” Vincent looks at you with a questioning look but you just smile.

“Plus, we have all night to try again.”

-

You wake up in Vincent’s bedroom, with a few strips of sunlight peeking through Vincent’s closed blinds. You haphazardly reach over to his side of the bed to grab his arm, but find it empty, raising your head from the pillow to see that you’re completely alone. Vincent’s clothes that he had taken off during the night and tossed onto the floor were gone. You waited to see if you could hear Vincent in his kitchen, or in the garden, but you were in complete silence.

To be fair, he didn’t say anything last night to insinuate that he wanted a relationship with you, or even liked you. Maybe this was secretly a win for him - he could beat you in a courtroom, and now he got you in your most vulnerable state to declare that you actually felt something other than hatred for him. And maybe that’s all he wanted. You’re not sure why you expected anything differently.

You throw the blankets off of you and find your clothes neatly folded on his desk, and his courteousness manages to upset you even more. You put your clothes on and try to collect yourself, taking a few deep breaths as you walk out of his bedroom and out towards his kitchen. You scan the room for your phone, which you swear you left on the dining room table, only to finally see it on top of a note on the kitchen counter written in messy cursive.

“Went out for cigarettes and coffee.

Bringing back croissants and a capuc- cappuccino.

Will be back in ten.

Go back to bed.

V”

-

taglist: @ghostlytide

graphic credits: @glasvera

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi fanfiction #swann arlaud fanfiction #swann arlaud #vincent renzi x reader #swann arlaud x reader #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d'une chute #vincent renzi smut #swann arlaud smut #smut #fanfic

[gepardings]

HIIII can I request for a vincent renzi fic where vincent as a lawyer is of course VERY busy and reader rarely sees Vincent and when reader texts him he barely answers so reader gets moody af :o then one night, unexpectedly, when reader is eating dinner or something and sitting alone in her apartment, Vincent surprises her and it gets so fluffy after..... hope everything goes well for u, thank you!

Oh my god, anon!!! This is such a good prompt. I took the angstier approach with it near the beginning, but you do get your fluff at the end. Thank you for the ask! I hope you like it <3.

genre: angst with comforting ending word count: 1081. warnings: none!

It took awhile for the lawyer to agree to make it official with you. Vincent Renzi was a man who fell in love easily, but seldom did he act on these desires. He was focused, meticulous, determined. Between law school and building a career, he had come to terms with being alone for the foreseeable future. In all fairness, he believed that no one would put up with him because of it. His relationships didn’t last very long as a result and he’d convinced himself that he was content with that.

However, he did not anticipate you in this. Suddenly, he was no longer content leading this lonely life of his. Suddenly, he was going out of his way to get your attention. Suddenly, the world was just you. It was wonderful. 

When the honeymoon phase wore off, however, reality would hit you both. He was a busy man in a competitive field, and he had to get his head back in the game. Vincent back at work, you desperately trying to adjust to his absence. He really tried at the beginning— he’d squeeze in dates no matter how busy he was. During harder cases, even those dates would disappear. 

This one particular case fell as an example of that. You hadn’t seen him in weeks! He’d head from the office straight to his apartment where he’d collapse and the cycle would repeat. You’d considered asking him to move in, but he wasn’t answering any texts except for the ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ ones (to prove he wasn’t ghosting you, just busy) and there was no time to bring it up. 

At some point, you tried showing up to the law firm to drop him off some lunch you’d made him. Showing up unannounced was your first mistake however, Vincent was visiting a client who lived two hours away by car! He wouldn’t be back until the deep hours of the night. You’d gone home— defeated. It wasn’t just defeat, but a misplaced anger. In the heat of the moment, you’d angrily texted him to have the decency to at least text you his schedule, and that this was driving you insane. When the text remained on delivered for the next few hours, you’d felt humiliated and hurt. 

Maybe you just weren’t cut out for this. Vincent needed someone who could keep up with his pace, but oh you loved him desperately. It wasn’t an issue of insecurity or feeling unfulfilled. You just … missed your boyfriend. Yeah, you just missed your boyfriend. You missed his hands running through your hair as you cuddled on your couch, his other hand scrolling through his laptop as he went over the details of another case while yours scrolled through your phone. You sat in the same position on the couch, scrolling through your phone, but there was no hand to run through your hair. 

You must’ve been in that position for hours, because when you looked up at the sound of your door unlocking, you could see that it was dark outside. You frowned deeply. You knew it was Vincent who had come on— he was the only person with a key to your apartment after all. He called out for you, and when you gave him no response, he made his way to the living room, looking at you with a sheepish expression. 

He looked tired. Deep-set eyes looking at you with apology etched in. In his right hand was a bouquet of your favorite flowers, in his left was your favorite take-out. However, he did not speak, only watched you. 

“Do you think this makes up for this?”, you spoke, and you were surprised at how you immediately choked up. You looked to the side, not wanting him to see how truly worked up you were over this. You heard him put down the gifts and in seconds, he was crouching in front of you. 

“Chérie..”, he pleaded. “Sweetness.”

“It’s not fair, Vincent”, you mumbled, still not looking at him. The comfort his presence brought you was unmatched. Just speaking to him could bring you to tears when you’ve been repressing them for weeks on end. “There has to be a different way”, you finally turned to him, the tears freely falling down your cheeks.

“Please, don’t cry”, he whispered, hand wiping at your cheek, his other hand holding your own, squeezing. “I’m so sorry.” When the tears didn’t stop, he pulled you in by the back of your neck, letting you bury your face in the crook of his as he kissed your forehead. “I never wanted you to feel like this. It’s just not something I can control”, he promised. “Look at me?”

You finally did, your eyes finding his blue-grey ones. He smiled down at you, and you couldn’t help the ache in your heart. “We have to figure something out, okay? I love you, but it’s like I’m dating a ghost.” He nodded, kissing you softly. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.” 

You stayed like that for a while, staring at one another, unspoken words of love exchanged. “I heard you came by.. the law firm today?” You nodded, laughing softly and wiping away your tears. Your laugh was a sound that always made his heart swell with affection. Vincent Renzi was a man who fell in love easily, and when he did, that love encompassed his entire being. To him, your smile, your laugh was his entire being. 

“I thought that if I wasn’t going to see you at home or on dates, I could bring the dates to you. I wanted to have lunch together, but you weren’t there.” 

He watched you, a smile on his face.  “What?”, you asked. He reached over and planted another kiss on your lips. “Je suis fou de toi.” (I’m head over heels for you).

You blushed, giggling into the kiss. It was not easy being with someone as driven and determined as Vincent Renzi, but you had once heard that when you love someone, truly, then there is nothing to keep you away from that person. You were never much of a believer in such cliches, but he made you one. He had turned you into someone who believed in cliches, and you had turned him into a man willing to throw all the efforts he had made to protect himself from heartbreak out the window just for the chance to love and be loved by you.

#anatomy of a fall #vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader

[lichenes]

do you have plans to write fics for Swann Arlaud himself and not only his caracters? Because that would be fire!

I just got permission from to use the idea from this post so yes, moreover, here it is :D Send some love to the original poster cuz this work wouldn't be here without them!! (This gif... my god...) Hope you like it!!

CW: readers first language is implied to be not english, fluff, SFW

wc: 437

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He tsked. "Not quite." He gave you a patient look saying the phrase once more and then gesturing for you to attempt to pronounce it. "Uhhh... son chat... chante saaa- chanson." He beamed at that. "Très bien!"

You and Swann were sitting at your desk for your weekly study session of his native language. You both decided to try and not end up like Sandra and Samuel in his newest movie so you started giving eachother lessons in your respective languages. Today was your turn to be the, dare I say, l'élève.

"Okay and did you study any of the vocabulary I've prepared for you last week?" You nodded and handed him the piece of paper with the words. "Commençons." You knew the answer to almost all his questions, afterall you put your heart and sould into learning his language as he did yours.

The room was heating up quickly with how much you had to strain your brain matter. "Good job!" He called you a pet name in your language demonstrating his equal engagement in your endeavours.

"Okay and what is 'heart'?" You hesitated for a moment. "Cœur?" He nodded contently. Then, an idea popped into your head. "Swann? Don't you think I deserve a reward?" He wasn't puzzled by any means, knowing exactly what you meant. "Oh..." he scooted closer to you, your noses almost touching. "What kind of reward were you thinking of?"

Swann gave you a peck on the lips as if to tease you. "Something like this?" You pulled him by his silver locks, crashing your lips into his, craving to invade as much of his personal space as you could in the moment. "Ma- chérie." He choked out in between kisses.

This is what your study sessions turned into, with every phrase, vocab piece and pronouciation done correctly he would give you the reward you craved so badly. You yearned for his approval like a parched man yearns for a drink.

Now on the sofa, one of his hands was supporting your back as his other was holding the piece of paper with the words you were supposed to study for that week. You were facing him, your hands locked in a tight embrace around his neck. "And uh... 'to see?" "Entendre." "Non, that's to listen." Swann said with a quieter voice, sensing your tiredness.

You were drifting off to sleep bit by bit and he could feel your breath slowing down. "Are you tired amour?" You hummed confirming his suspicions. "Let's get you to bed then." You shook your head, burrowing your head into his chest. "I'd rather stay here..."

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masterlist

#swann arlaud #x reader #swann arlaud x reader #fluff

[modernimpressionism]

a higher power compelled me to write this

Swann Arlaud x Reader Fluff

(First meetings, art museums, slight awkwardness)

1285 Words

• ───── ୨୧ ───── •

Like the work of art she was, he first saw her at a museum.

More specifically, at the Musée d'Orsay. Standing in front of Olympia. He had wandered in on a walk home from a meeting with his manager, feeling a little stressed and pretty annoyed. He assumed a walk around an air-conditioned maze would calm his mind a bit, and this one was just the closest when he googled 'museum'. He recalls visiting it as a boy because being a child in Paris meant field trips to insane historical monuments and world-famous museums.

She stared at the painting as if trying to memorize every brush stroke, occasionally adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder or tucking her hair behind her ear, but not moving onto another piece. The relaxed nude figure seemed to entrance her like the woman was communicating something secret and sensual and womanly through 150 years of dried pigment.

This gave him plenty of time to memorize her as well, to notice the hair falling gently on her back. Her fingers, the nails neatly painted but the skin around them picked and chewed to bits. She wore a watch on her left wrist, a real watch that ticked silently with the seconds, he thought higher of her because of this but couldn't place why. Her clothes looked nice, but not excessive. He imagined her being picky with what she wore, and not caring about brands or fashion houses, which felt rare in Paris. The tote bag on her shoulder was obviously full, and he yearned to hold it for her, to take the weight off if only for a moment. She obviously carried it every day and thought little of the weight anymore, but he was willing to take it.

He paused his study for a moment to look around the gallery. He noticed the similarity between all of the paintings, and with how long she was staring at the one, he assumed she must be a fan.

Shit

He leaned over to check the name of the artist on a few of the paintings, Manet, Manet, Manet, ok. He pulls his phone out and quickly searches for him. If he's going to talk to this woman, he should at least pretend to have a reason to.

He was starting to regret not paying attention during those field trips.

He slipped his phone back into his back pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. It seemed like he was eternally trying to fix it, and if there was ever a time for it to behave, it was right now.

He took one confident step before she started moving and he lost all of his nerve. He snapped his head around before finding a random painting to pretend to stare at, hoping she didn't notice his extended and possibly creepy staring. He shoved his hands in his front pockets to try to look calmer than he was.

He heard the slight tap of her shoes against the stone floor but didn't dare to look where she was going. This is disastrous, he thought, deciding to leave as soon as she stopped moving. He was counting down the seconds when he felt a slight shade move on his left side and heard her movements more closely.

She stood right next to them, looking at the same painting.

His plan to abandon ship quickly dissipated, knowing this was the only opportunity he had to talk to her. If he ignored her now and followed her around the museum to talk to her later, he would look mental.

He scanned the painting in a panic, trying to understand 150 years of art history before opening his mouth. To him, it just looked like a couple of people standing on a balcony but he felt like it meant much more to her. He thought that if he waited any more, he would lose his nerve, so he opened his mouth and...

"J'aime le chien"

"Oh, I. I'm sorry but I'm still learning French, I'm not sure-"

"You're American!"

Shit!

In his anxiety-ridden brain, he forgot to shut his mouth and his words bypassed any filter he possessed. It's over, this was a total failure, he thought as he felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

But instead he heard her giggle gently, before responding,

"I am! All of my life actually"

Oh god, and she's funny...

He smiled back at her with his signature goofy lopsided smile, too engrossed by her face, her mouth, her eyes to actually respond to anything.

"I like the dog too", she replies after a few silent seconds.

They both stared at the small animal painted in the bottom left corner, tucked into the petticoat of a figure. His eyes weren't visible beneath his fur, permanently hidden from the world. Looking at the animal and hearing her approval gave him the confidence to keep their conversation going a bit longer.

"So is he your favorite?"

"He's one of my favorites, i just love the choice of subjects, how average they were."

He's entranced by her voice. By the way her lips move to make the words, by the way her eyes light up as she speaks about art. He realizes that he must look silly, staring at her speak with a dumb smile, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Have you ever seen where he painted? In Giverny?"

She tilts her head slightly at that question, slightly confused.

Shit.

"Do you mean Monet? With the lilies? He painted in Giverny. This is Manet."

SHIT!

His mouth opens and closes like a fish, feeling like a deer in headlights, he can't possibly save this now.

So he just starts laughing. A genuine belly laugh, full of joy at his own stupidity. And then she starts laughing just as hard.

"Did you just google him a minute ago?", she asks, in between giggles.

"I did, it must have been uh... vérification orthographique.. spellcheck"

They look at each other earnestly, both admiring the other.

"I'm Y/N", she says, reaching out her hand.

He grabs it and is astounded by how comfortable he feels in hers

"Swann"

*One Year Later*

"Love I told you, I didn't want anything for our anniversary, just to do things together"

"Well this is a together present, sort of, it's for uh.. l'appartement"

He pulls a large, flat, wrapped present from the back of his closet, lifting it and placing it in front of Y/N, who's sat on their bed. He sits down next to her, leaning one hand on the bed behind her, subconsciously wanting to be close to her.

Her hands reach for the paper and start tearing, she makes a mental note of his gift-wrapping skills, assigning him that job in the future. Her were always horribly crumpled, but he was neat and untarnished, and she almost felt bad destroying it.

She quickly uncovered a gold frame with a glass pane, something familiar peeking out from inside.

"It's the Manet painting, The Balcony. A print of it, I mean. I thought it would be nice to hang out here since it's ours." he says, almost shyly... No matter how confident he was, he always felt the risk of gift-giving.

"Swann, I love it, It's perfect"

She places the framed print on the bed behind her, safely, before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him with as much love as she could muster. It was such a quick transition that he was almost surprised, but he soon caught up and reached his arm around her and grabbed her waist, pulling her tighter. After a while, he placed a hand on her cheek to pull her away and leaned in to kiss her lips gently and with love.

"Joyeux anniversaire chérie, I would get you the real painting if I could.

#swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader #fluff

[ghostlytide]

For Business Only | One

I hope you like it ^^

Vincent Renzi x Fem! Reader----1.6K

MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

After the whirlwind affair Vincent and you shared years ago, he was sure his goodbye was definitive. A fleeting memory filled with both regret and a peculiar ache that he can’t quite place. But life wishes to scorn him once again when his newest case obliges him to seek out your help. Though this case isn’t the only complicated thing in this strictly professional relationship—not with the way his heart seems to jump at your proximity, or the already familiar tune of your voice. For all the things that had changed, would this mean your story could have a different ending now?

General Tags: Second Chance/Exes to Lovers; Slow Burn; |They were Coworkers; Denial of Feelings; Pining & Longing; Idiots in Love; Eventual Friends (?) with Benefits (?); English isn't my first language so watch out for typos;

It was a late spring night when Vincent said his goodbye to you, so it was only fair that your reencounter would occur in another.

Life played both hommage and karma at him, remembering his words: You may forever hate me, but I promise you that you'll never see me ever again. I've bothered you enough.

That night, he had regained the common sense that had slipped out his grasp since you entered the law firm as an intern; eager to learn from whoever would spare you a glance for something more than to request their thousandth cup of coffee.

Of course, he did.

And how could he not to? When you were so bright and cheerful, all the opposite from those seniors who had seen the worst, to experience who knows how many times the balanced and blind justice's weight to tip at the wrong side. To have to face the client's hopeless expression.

Of course, you'd probably be sheltered from such a dark world at your station once you reached juniorship. But that wasn't the point right now.

Just as it wasn't the point to reminisce. He felt as ashamed as it could be possible while climbing the stairs of the skyscraper, which on the inside was decorated with pieces of steel, glass, and contemporary art that combined perfectly against the simple columns and the frescoes painted in the dome of the main hall.

Vincent shouldn't be overwhelmed by the sight, but he'd never been inside the Building of the Société Générale, white marble walls against a dark mosaic creating a cube to showcase the colorful paintings hung on the walls.

The secretary at the front desk showed him the way to the elevator behind the reception, polished black walls against the metal door as Vincent felt a pull in the pit of his stomach—either for the sudden upward movement or for nervousness, he didn't wish to dwell much on it.

Walking much faster than he wanted to, the secretary passed through an empty, quiet hallway in which Vincent could read a myriad of plaques varying from Accounting Department, all the way to Human Resources.

Finally, she stopped at a door labeled as Banking Associate: Cultural Department. Calling your name, she said: "Monsieur Favrè has sent his lawyer impromptu to meet you."

A muffled voice—your muffled voice echoed in the still hallway, stirring old memories inside of him he wasn't aware of keeping in the first place. "Alright. Let him come in."

A simple nod and the woman was gone. It was only the two of you now.

He took his time, a skipping beat. At the same time, you finished writing away at your keyboard. Then the door was closed with a gentle click.

"Monsieur Delaroux, what can I do for y—" A tentative pause, your bright, smart eyes locked into his. "Vincent?"

This hadn't been the deal planned out in his mind; he was almost hoping you'd ask, with a puzzled voice, who he was as if memory could morph at will rather than being one's source of torture.

So many years passed since he heard his name coming out of your soft lips, that if he remembered quite well, would taste like mocca and vanilla. But why was he remembering that now, from all times?

"Hello," he said, an awkward smile shining in the well-lit office. He put one of his hands inside the pocket of his dress pants, suppressing the childish urge to wave.

You blinked. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I know this isn't what we agreed on," he started, using small steps to get closer to the desk, as if you were a deer likely to run off, or a lion ready to pounce. Vincent had no idea which of the two could be worse. "But I need your assistance for a case. You're the most capable person I can think of, so I had to come and ask for your help."

Reclining from your seat, he let the words simmer into you, using the little time he had to look around your office, part of him was curious to see if he could still recognize a glimpse of the old you, and what he could learn from the present.

"How did you find me?" you asked, hands gesturing from him to sit in front of your desk.

"There are not many art lawyers with your name," he said, slightly flustered he had to admit about searching your name among colleagues, prying into your life when his promise was all the contrary. It wasn't the first time he felt like a fool, yet prideful because he was here for work.

And solely for work.

"I have a case linked with a small private art collection." His voice was plain, devoid of any emotion. He wasn't Vincent right now, the man that tried not to break your heart but failed terribly; he was Maître Renzi one of the talented lawyers from the before small law firm that now was rising like smoke after every case taken. "A murder. Probably linked to the growing art stock. I need an expert in the subject to conduct the required procedures."

"Since when do you take cases about private art collectors?" you hummed, eyes almost twinkling with amusement from all those times he had shit on the upper class and their slippery ways around the judicial system.

It was a good sign that you weren't bringing up his words last spoken, the past that at this moment felt too much aflush despite the time trying to bury it.

"This one is an exception." He couldn't help but get defensive, feeling like a stupid teenage boy being teased despite you being quite some years younger than him. "The owner of the law firm assigned me this case directly. We need to win so the firm can have an expansion." Which meant more law specialties, and more hired lawyers. And then it was… "They're even considering putting an Art Law department."

You could join, he almost said foolishly. Why would you like to be coworkers with him again, when that exact professional relationship prompted all the rest?

You seemed to be thinking the same. "It'll pay well," he added before you could say anything that derailed from his sketched conversation. "And it can help with your curriculum." Vincent signaled to the plaque in front of your computer, reading Junior Consultant. "It could be the case that turns you into a Senior."

There it was the ghost of you, biting your bottom lip in a pondering manner while your gaze was glued to the empty seat next to him.

"What makes you think you're going to win?"

"Have some faith in me, will you?" He chuckled, though deep inside he knew what you meant. It was a question that always lingered at the bottom of his mind, the one that stole his sleep some nights.

"Vincent—"

"Trust me. This is a high-profile case, very important for all people involved. I need your help. I know you're the only person that can help me." He couldn't make another empty promise. To never see you again? Vincent just broke it, and the opposite of that, to be partnered with you as colleagues didn't sound appropriate either. "You're the only one I can trust to remain on my side even if everything goes to shit," Vincent muttered after a while, blue eyes searching for yours as he tried to convince you with pity, even. Because you could never say no to him, and because this case was obliged to use all the desperate, creative measures he could think of.

Though Vincent wasn't lying about said statement. And you knew it.

You looked at him in a long, silent gaze that felt strangely, annoyingly charged inside the medium-sized office, silent so thick he heard the moment you chortled, a breathy, contained laugh that blessed him with the tiniest of smiles.

"Send me the generalities of the case so I can give it a glance tomorrow and write the protocol to follow."

"If tomorrow is one of your free days, we can discuss it over lunch," Vincent found himself saying before his brain could tell him to do better. "I'll give you a printed copy of everything so you can revise it easier. I apologize, but due to the nature of this case, I don't find myself comfortable with sharing this information via remote."

You put away the pencil you were playing with, settling it against the wooden desk with a thunk. "Breakfast. Tomorrow at 9 AM meet me at the Fontaine Saint-Sulpice. We can go to a nearby café once there." Looking from your computer to him, you arched an eyebrow. "Something else you need? You should go before the receptionist notices that you aren't Monsieur Favrè's lawyer."

He shrugged. "I showed her my card, she didn't say anything."

"Well, I'm not allowed to take private clients while on my shift."

"I'm not a client, we're colleagues."

You gestured away. "Wording. You know what I mean."

"You're a lawyer, Mademoiselle, wording matters."

"I write contracts and track art exhibits, Vincent," you told him in a familiar tone he recognized from when you two engaged in a well-needed, unwinding banter. "The one asked to give speeches is you, not me."

"Well, then you better prepare for an exception, because you will have to declare at court about your findings." Vincent heard your sigh and took in the sight of your angry pout, one you dedicated at him when it was time to get out of his office and help other junior lawyers while on your time as an intern. He was surprised to find it as charming as it once was. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He stood up, torn between walking facing you or just striding toward the door. He did the last one, turning to smile at you while his hand tapped to feel the door's handle.

It was his time to call your name. "Thank you. Truly."

You nodded, one of the locks of your hair falling toward your brow, obscuring your view. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vincent."

#vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi #vincent renzi fanfiction #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #swann arlaud x reader

[romanroycoo]

After The Fall - Vincent Renzi x Reader

Swann Arlaud in Anatomy of a Fall, similar plotline, son doesn't exist neither does Snoop (sadly).

Summary: After the trial of the death of your husband, you struggle to come to terms with this new life and the trauma of what has happened before. Vincent Renzi, however, becomes your comfort, staying beside you the whole time. A friends to lovers fanfiction

CW: Angst, fluff, obvious flirting, reader is depressed, grief, hurt and comfort, mentions of death, ex-husband was abusive - no mentions of it in this chapter.

Chapter one - Bathroom floor.

It had only been a few days since the trial had ended and you were freed from the question of murder. However, mentally, things had not seemed to get any brighter, your mind was in pieces, a sadness plagued your body day in and day out. And you had no one to call. 

Except Vincent.

You know you could depend on him for anything, hell, he saved your life technically. You needed him, not only as a lawyer, but as a friend. So when you were sitting on the floor of your bathroom, in this awfully empty house, crying desperately from the weight of the last few weeks of your life, you decided to call him.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” Curiosity was clear in his voice. You realise you missed this voice.

“Vincent..Hi, uhm i'm sorry to call you but uh..” Tears were still heavy on your cheeks and you struggled to get the words out. Asking for help wasn't your forte.

“No, no its fine dont worry. Is there something wrong? You sound-”

“Upset? Yeah. I can't seem to stop. I should be happy now the trial is over.” You laugh. “But, i just cant seem to be that.”

“You've been through so much, Y/n.” His voice is soft and warming.

There was a silence on the line through a few seconds, sad but not uncomfortable. You didnt know what to say, it was always like that around him. You were weirdly nervous, probably just the long time of not seeing each other, right?

“Could you co-���

“Yeah, i'll be there soon.” He says before you can even finish the question.

*****************************

It was late afternoon when he got there, letting himself in, it was a familiar arrangement by now.

You watched as the door glides open and he peers down at you, sat with your knees to your chest, leaning against the bath wall. 

“Hey.” You made a sad smile at him before he sat next to you automatically.

His head turned and his saddened gaze met yours. “Hey.”

Your eyes were already welling with tears again before you placed your head onto his shoulder, leaning into him. He shifted to make it more comfortable before wrapping his arm around you and placing his hand on your knee. You needed this hug so much, it had been so long since you felt the warmth of someone else near you like this. 

It felt like you could truly cry forever, and you hoped that he would stay, through it all, holding you like this and you didnt know why.

“Ive lost everything. Everyone. I dont know what to do or where to start again. Im such a mess.” You muffle into his side. “Ive never felt like this before.”

He stares for a while, understanding and listening to your pain. He hated seeing you like this and he wish he could take it away in an instant.

“You havent lost me, okay? And you just need some time. Ease back into things. Dont force yourself Y/n.”

You nod before sitting back up and looking at him, smiling assuringly and sorrowfully. Then as if nothing, you felt the pad of his thumb grace against your cheek, softly wiping away the tears staining your face. This house didn't feel so empty anymore.

#fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ff #swann arlaud #justine triet #sandra huller #anatomy of a fall #messi the dog #Vincent Renzi #vincent #hot lawyer #anatomyofafall #vincentrenzifanfiction #swannarlaudfanfiction #swannarlaud #fluffandangst #fluff and angst #hurt/comfort #wattpad #wattpad fanfiction #hot lawyer from anatomy of a fall #y/n #Swann Arlaud x reader #Vincent Renzi x Reader

[softieekayy]

Mon cœur

Vincent Renzi x reader

Word count: 1.9k

The bright sunlight filtered through the curtains, resting itself on the young woman sprawled in the bed, limbs twisting at an odd position. Vincent watched from the doorway as his beautiful lover slept peacefully, letting the sun highlight her features.

He admired her, a hot cup of coffee warming his hands and body, the only source of warmth really.

His wife liked keeping the house cold in even the coldest of weather and who was he to argue with that. Well, he was a lawyer, a good one but he was nothing compared to the wonderful woman he called his dear heart. His silver hair fell delicately over his face, framing it nicely as he walked quietly towards the sleeping woman.

Vincent set the coffee down on the bedside and made himself comfortable beside her, trailing his fingers up her back. “ mon cœur, time to wake up.” Vincent whispers, his lips near her ear as he delicately kisses her cheek. The woman stirs, eyes opening up slowly, like a cat. He grins, running his hand down her back, letting it rest there.

“There you are. It’s time to get up.” Vincent whispers as the young woman looks up at him, deciding that it’s not the time to wake up, she pulls the covers up to her chin, trying to fall into a dreamless state. Her husband laughs and scoots closer to her, fingers twirling a strand of hair.

“Vincent, it’s too early.” A muffled voice comes from the bundled figure and he grins. She’s bringing out the full name. “Not early, chérie. It’s 10am.” He tells her and the woman groans, knowing that this battle is lost, she throws the covers off her body, shooting a glare at the silver haired man.

“You are a menace, Vincent.” She tells him, pulling him down by the collar of his sweater into a loving kiss. The taste of cigarettes and coffee lingers on his tongue, a taste that she’s quite familiar with. Vincent pulls away first, knowing that if he didn’t, they wouldn’t get anything done for the day.

“Mon coeur, you have to get up. We have errands to run.” Vincent reminds her, eyes closed in content as she runs her hands through his hair.

“Hmm,” his wife hums, “We can leave them for another day.” She whispers, intent on staying in bed. Vincent laughs and pulls away fully from her, making the woman pout. She extends her hand out to him and he pulls her up, ushering her towards the washroom to shower. She listens, but not without stealing a kiss from him first.

Vincent loved his wife. She was the one person who truly held his heart and while he once loved Sandra, she was a woman of the past. His wife however, she is his present and future. The silver haired man makes his way down from their bedroom to the kitchen, starting on breakfast. His breakfast was a cigarette and a cup of coffee, his wife would not enjoy the same breakfast he did. Not this morning at least. On his way down he turns the heat up, letting the house warm up while he cooks and she showers. Vincent knows very well that while (y/n) prefers a cold house to sleep in, she does not like a cold house to stay awake in.

About half an hour later, his waist is encapsulated in a hug, face resting between his shoulder blades. Vincent turns around, throwing his arm over his wife, placing a delicate kiss on her forehead while serving her breakfast.

She frowns when she sees his lack of breakfast. “You know very well that I don’t like you eating cigarettes and coffee for breakfast.” The younger woman scolds him, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a scowl. Vincent laughs, “ You my love, are one funny woman. You do the same when you think I won’t notice.” He tells her, brushing his finger along the bridge of her nose as she feels warmth rush into her cheeks. Caught in the spider web. Vincent kisses her cheek hand, encouraging her to eat while she talks nonsensically. He doesn’t listen, not really. He likes the sound of her voice, it feels like music to his ears.

After breakfast, (Y/n) goes to do the dishes but is stopped by her husband, a delicate grasp on her wrist telling her to not go any farther than just putting them in the sink. She turns to him and frowns, “You don’t let me do much, Vince.” He turns around and puts a delicate hand on her shoulder, bending down to whisper in her ear, “Let me take care of you, my love. As you do me.” She sighs, even after 3 years of marriage, he never fails to fluster her. She looks up at him, patting his chest and kissing his jaw before making her way upstairs and grabbing their coats.

Today was a busy day ahead of them. They had to run to the store, grab groceries and other necessities and while there, a visit to the flower shop wouldn’t hurt and of course, the most important part. Stocking up on wine and cigarettes. Their idea of a good evening was far too many glasses of wine and a cigarette while they danced to classical music. Well, dance was an overstatement, Vincent would grab her and sway her around the living room, cheek resting on her head while her own rested on his shoulder. She remembers this one night, Vincent had just one yet another case and they got drunk on wine, stupidly drunk. Her memory of most of the night was hazy except this. They ate cheese and talked about everything under the stars. It was before they got married and she knew at that moment she would never spend a lifetime without him.

Their relationship raised questions at first but only due to their large age gap. Many people didn’t seem to realize that the two didn’t care when it came to their age because together, they were still silly teenagers at heart laughing and giggling at stupid jokes and pictures. It was nothing illegal, she was a good 25 years old and he was 36 when they met. Dated for two years and now they were here, married and very much in love still.

“Cherie!?” Vincent’s distant voice from the bottom of the staircase pulled the young woman back from her memories as she rushed to put on red lipsticks and grab their coats. Vincent smiled at seeing her, hands in his pockets and spine curled up, like he was a cat. He is a cat, she thought, seeing him standing like that. The young woman handed him his coat while she shrugged on her own, it was cold outside and she grimaced. She liked it when the house was cold at night but she hated when it was cold outside and there were errands that needed to be run.

“Ready?” Vincent asks her, placing a cigarette between his lips as he turns to lock their door. (Y/n) shakes her head and sighs, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and placing it in her own.

“No. It’s cold, we should’ve stayed home.” The young woman whines, grabbing onto Vincent’s hand tightly and resting her forehead against his arm, cigarette dangling from her other hand. He plucks it back from her, inhaling before exhaling slowly.

“Come on, mon cœur, we have things that need to be done.” His accent thick as the words roll easily from his mouth. The drive to the grocery store was short and quiet. Music filled through the air as (Y/n) looked out the window, admiring the snow covered trees, one hand still in Vincent’s gentle hold.

He parked the car before getting out, his wife following behind him, they made their way into the store. It wasn’t large by any means but it had everything they needed. Their hands still held together as Vincent placed a small kiss on her cheek. His affection was always so soft, like a warm blanket wrapping her up.

“Let’s get the things and leave soon please.” She huffs out, crossing her arms over her chest while her husband examines the ingredients.

“Hm, do you have any plans that you’re in such a rush?” Vincent teases her, looking at her from the side of his eye. His wife rolls her eyes at his teasing.

“I know a couple things we could do.” She whispers, running a hand through his hair, a pleasant shudder going up his spine.

“Mhm.” He mumbles, at a loss of words. Only his wife was able to manage to leave the man speechless. His entire job was about talking yet as soon as she says anything suggestive, his mind goes into overdrive and the only thing that comes out is a mumble.

She notices it and walks closer, finger trailing up chest before stopping to caress his cheek, “Cat got your tongue, Vince?” She asks, a teasing smile on her face. He sighs and lets out a small, shy laugh. Putting the items in their cart, he throws an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into him, even closer than she was before.

“You, my love, manage to catch my tongue.” He tells her, gripping her neck lightly, angling her face to kiss her. It was a small kiss, nothing too intimate, no. That was saved for the privacy of their own home. They made their way down the isles, filling the cart with necessities and other things that they just felt like getting. It took them a good hour but that’s only because Vincent insisted on finding the best of the best.

“Come on, old man. I’m tired and hungry.” She grumbles, grabbing onto his arm to pull him forward and he lets her.

“Well chérie, it is time for lunch.” The older man states in an obvious tone. She looks at him for a moment before throwing her head back and letting out a small laugh. Vincent laughs with her. He loves the sound of her laugh, it reminds him of home. She is his home.

The two made their way to the car, filling the trunk up with groceries before heading to their respective spots. Vincent pauses for a minute, pulling her in by her waist and kissing her fervently. Hands on her waist as her back digs into the car, her hands wander to his neck, tugging the hair at the base of it. He pulls away, letting his forehead rest against hers.

“Where did that come from?” She asks him, doe eyes peering up into his own, making him smile.

“Je t’aime.” Vincent whispers, pulling back from her, she stares at him, hands on his face,

“Je t’aime aussi.” She replies as the older man leans into her touch.

“Come on, my love, let’s go home.” She pats his chest, making her way over to the passenger side.

Home wasn’t a building for Vincent. It was her. She’s his home. The scent of her perfume lingering in the air is home. The lipstick marks on their shared cigarette is home. Her warm body pressed up against his in bed is home. She’s his home and where she goes, he goes with her. Their souls make home in each other. If soulmates existed then she was his. He would seek for her in death and find her in each lifetime simply because his heart belongs to her and without her, Vincent is just a man without a home and heart.

A/n: I wrote this in like an hour and if there’s any mistakes or if something doesn’t make sense, let me know pls 🩷

Tagging: @weird-civilian @caramel-hufflepuff

#Vincent renzi x reader #Vincent renzi #Vincent renzi x reader fluff #Vincent renzi Drabble #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d'une chute #swann arlaud #swann Arlaud x reader #sandra hüller

[imaginespalace]

⋰˚☆ 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙘. 𝙫𝙤𝙡. 𝟮

𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘳: 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 ♡

♡ — 𝗌: 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 | 𝖺: 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 | 𝖿: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿

♡ — 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

♡ — 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖼. 𝗏𝗈𝗅. 𝟣

╰ ⌗ 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 

the xx file (jonathan byers; s)

alexei surprising you (alexei; s)

breeding kink (alexei; s)

hi, pretty (steve harrington; s)

neglected husband (steve harrington; s)

single dad/dilf!steve and the babysitter (steve harrington; s)

it happened one night in detention (abo!universe; eddie munson; s)

take the edge off (eddie munson; s)

who’s to say (older!eddie munson; s)

trailer park babydoll (wayne munson; s)

╰ ⌗ 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗸

an interrupted nap (montgomery scott; s)

of oil and antiseptic (a/b/o universe; alpha!montgomery scott; s)

the natural order (a/b/o universe; alpha!leonard “bones” mccoy; s)

the seduction of scotty (montgomery scott; f)

hold my hand (montgomery scott; f)

worrying about scotty when he’s on a mission (montgomery scott; f)

red (montgomery scott; a, f)

being held hostage and bones worrying sick (leonard “bones” mccoy; a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘂𝗹𝗮 𝟭

braids (max verstappen; f)

rings (lance stroll; f)

obsessed (lance stroll; f)

green suits you (lance stroll; f)

biggest champion (lance stroll; f)

lover (oscar piastri; married!au; f)

wildflowers and fruits (series; lance stroll; s, a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘇𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗼

love to lay (s)

“i’m not wearing underwear, thought you’d like to know.” (s)

shivers (s)

dirty mouth (s)

nights like this (s, f)

chef’s kiss (s, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝘀𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗱

squirm (vincent renzi; s)

home movie (s)

sometimes, love isn’t enough (vincent renzi; a)

a gloomy december morning (vincent renzi; f)

soft, early morning (vincent renzi; s, f)

touch starved (vincent renzi; s, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗺 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 

the delinquent (marriage!au; flip zimmerman; s)

lemonade (marriage!au; flip zimmerman; s)

love on me (ancient emperor!au; kylo ren; s)

bedding (medieval!au; kylo ren; s)

paris pregnancy (mob!kylo ren; s)

╰ ⌗ 𝗾 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗷𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝗻𝗱 

sadness is fixed with coffee cake and cuddles (f)

late night’s and tea (f)

birthday cuddles (f)

every breath we drew (a, f)

logical fallacy (series; a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗴𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲 𝗸𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗺

a personal experiment (s)

daylight (f)

sleeping buddies (f)

death and doughnuts (f)

nightmares (a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝗷𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝗰𝗸 

indulge (s)

alone together (s)

an even exchange (series; s)

╰ ⌗ 𝗻𝗲𝘄𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝘇𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿

letters addressed to you (a)

you heart i will choose (f)

tired (a, f)

╰ ⌗ 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗼𝗹𝗳 

dominance (theo raeken & scott mcall; s)

sex tape (stiles stilinski; s)

riders on the storm (stiles stilinski; s)

#masterlist #fics recommendation #fics recs #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #flip zimmerman x reader #kylo ren x reader #q x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #teen wolf imagine #john wick x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #newt imagines #star trek imagine #star trek imagines #star trek x reader #george karim x reader #f1 x reader #vincent renzi x reader #swann arlaud x reader

[bibistatic]

lovely writers

we need more swann arlaud with a mustache stories

thank you

#swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader #swann arlaud fanfic

[mywritingonlyfans]

omg HI!!! i'd actually die to read a esteban kukuriczka from u 🫣🫣

also, so happy to know u made progress with the best fic ever (teacher's pet) miss uuu!!!

HI!! 😭 I'd love to write to him, it would be nice , he's such a bean (lol) 🤏 I'm not having ideas for new fics in general tbh, I'll add tags to this post in case anyone wants to send something ❤️ (I got my star for Swann, he got me badly 🥹)

And I'm glad you're still excited, even though I'm not as committed to writing to Alex lately ❤️‍🩹

#esteban kukuriczka #esteban kukuriczka x reader #swann arlaud x reader #swann arlaud

[euphoriaslux]

a gloomy december morning

word count: 1196

warnings: suggestive sexual content, very slight jealousy, mentions of smoking and drinking. vincent being a dreamboat

a/n: i have never written before but i watched anatomy of a fall and knew what i had to do. i am so scared and think this is garbage but i hope u guys like it :))

*

vincent is fast asleep, a true rarity for your household. he’s naked, bar the thin linen blanket draped over his hips that his mother tossed in a bag when you two first moved into this home. you brush your fingers through his silver hair, shifting to give him a soft peck on his forehead. he shifts but ultimately stays in the same position.

smiling, you gently move your duvet off of your body, shivering at the lost warmth. you scan your shared bedroom, littered with strewn clothes, empty wine bottles and folders filled with documents and find a chair with an old tee shirt on it that hits just above your underwear.

you made a mental note to at least try to clean the house sometime soon, but you just couldn’t leave your vincent alone now that you finally had him for more than two hours at a time. after a year of only seeing him at night, or when you could visit his office during your lunch break, or over facetime in the early hours of the morning, something as simple as waking up with him felt sacred. you didn’t know how much of this you had.

you brace as you push the door close as quietly as possible, hissing as your feet hit the cold tile of the linoleum of your kitchen floor. it still smells vaguely of the cake you two shared last night, picking at pieces of tiramisu between gulps of white wine and sneaky kisses even though no one was watching. you grab some ground coffee and start to heat up your stovetop espresso maker, which you got at the insistence of your very stubborn husband.

-

“love, can’t we just get an instant coffee maker? it will be so much faster” you ask from behind your laptop, tucked into your velvet sofa as the december rain gently pattered onto your roof.

vincent chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the drawer.

“you have not had a real cappuccino if it comes from a machine, chérie,” he says as he rummages through the kitchen drawers while swearing under his breath.

you rise from the couch with a soft sigh, shutting your laptop and placing it on the glass table in front of you and grabbing vincent’s lighter that’s pressed in between the couch cushions. his head whips around when he hears you click the lighter, and your cheeks widen as you walk over to him. vincent smiles back, his cigarette loosely hanging between his lips and his hair slightly disheveled from his search. he leans down ever so slightly, looking into your eyes as the flame lights the cigarette, taking a long drag before leaning against the kitchen counter.

“the coffee is more, how do you say bien équilibrée in english, darling?”

“well rounded,” you toss the lighter behind him, crossing your arms over your chest. he hums, nodding as he breathes out wafts of smoke.

“the coffee is more well-rounded,” the word sounds a little funny coming out of his mouth as if you could see his brain forming each letter in real-time. you can’t help but giggle, reaching behind him to open the kitchen window.

“i’m sure it is”

before you can fully stand up again his hand is on your lower back, softly bringing your body against his. he smells like tobacco and the slightly too minty toothpaste you buy from the convenience store down the road. he looks so beautiful in the dim winter light.

“tu me fais confiance, n'est-ce pas? (you trust me, don’t you?)” he asks, pressing his fingers into your side. he moves to hover just above your neck, and you can’t help but melt into his touch as he nibbles ever so gently on your neck, just below your ear. your eyes flutter closed and you feel the warmth pool in your lower stomach.

“vincent-”

“ you do, right?” he cuts you off as his hand wanders to the front of your body, playing with the waistband of your panties. his fingers ghost just above your cunt, and you sigh.

“of course, my love. always.”

you whine from the loss of contact as he steps away from you, taking a drag with a slight smile on his face.

“bon,” he says, his free hand caressing the side of your face.

“so we’ll go get our moka pot - not machine - tonight”.

-

you grin at the memory as you pour two shots of espresso into vincent’s favorite mug, along with a splash of whole milk, and turn on the burner to make another for yourself. you rock on your feet as you think of what to make for breakfast - maybe eggs? but vincent forgot to run to the farmers market, maybe jam on toast. there might be some leftover brioche-

you jump when you feel a pair of hands wrap around your chest smiling as you feel your husbands face nuzzle into your shoulder, pressing a few faint kisses on your skin while his hair tickles your neck.

“i thought you’d sleep for a few more hours honey,” you say, turning around to hand him his cup of coffee and laughing as his eyes brighten. he takes a sip, closing his eyes as he drinks.

“couldn’t sleep,” he says after a few moments, opening his eyes to stare into yours. his voice is deeper than normal, and you can tell he just woke up because there’s still a gravelly edge to it.

“i sleep poorly without you, honey.”

you raise your eyebrows as you let your fingers graze his chest and down his stomach.

“that’s a good one, do you tell all your girlfriends that?”

he rolls his eyes, taking a big sip before setting his mug on the counter.

“i’m being serious. i swear, every time it would get late and i’d try to sleep on sandra’s couch, i just couldn’t.”

your body goes rigid at the sound of her name but you try and ignore it, tracing circles onto his stomach. your mouth feels a little drier than it was a few minutes before.

vincent notices, of course he does. there’s nothing you could do that would get past him, the stellar lawyer.

“don’t be like that,” he whispers, cupping your hand in his face. you try to keep your gaze down but he tilts your head up.

you roll your eyes.

“every day while i was gone, all i wanted was to be home with you. you were all i could think about. you are all i ever think about.”

you feel lightheaded at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him deeply, sighing as your hand wanders down to the waistband of his boxers. you feel him smile into the kiss, putting out the cigarette so he has both hands free to touch you.

“take me to bed?”

you feel vincent’s stomach tense as your hand dips into his boxers. he gives you a soft kiss on the side of your face.

“how can i say no when you ask so nicely”.

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi fanfiction #swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader #swann arlaud fanfiction #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d’une chute #anatomy of a fall fanfiction

[imninahchan]

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐙚 ⌜ 𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐒: 3some, swann!namoradinho, enzo!fotógrafo, fetiche por foto como chama não sei, bebida alcoólica, cigarro (não fumem!), dirty talk (elogios, dumbification e degradação tudo junto) oral e masturbação fem, tapinhas, masturbação masc, sexo sem proteção (proibido entre as sócias desse blog). Termos em francês ou espanhol — petit poète (pequeno poeta), merci (obrigada), pour la muse (para a musa), Sé que más tarde suplicarás por mí, nena, tan lejos que tu gringo no oye (sei que vai implorar por mim mais tarde, nena, tão longe que o seu gringo não ouve), Eres una perra, lo sé (você é uma cadela, eu sei)⁞ ♡ ̆̈ ꒰ 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑨 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑨 ꒱ colidindo dois mundos diferentes das girls ─ Ꮺ !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ───── 𓍢ִ໋🀦

VOCÊ NUNCA DUVIDOU DO TALENTO DE ENZO nem por um segundo. Aqui, finalmente apreciando a exposição, seus olhos se enchem ao ver o resultado de tantas horas frente às lentes dele naquele estúdio. Se vê maravilhada com a perspectiva artística do uruguaio, na forma sensível com que te captou. Os seus pezinhos no chão de madeira do apartamento dele. Os seus joelhos manchados de tinta esgueirando por baixo da barra do vestido. O seu olhar perdido, sentada na otomana vintage ao piano, os fios de cabelo bagunçados, na sala da sua casa mesmo. É de uma satisfação enorme se enxergar pelos olhos dele quando a visão é fascinante o suficiente pra beijar o seu ego. É como ler poesia, e não ser o poeta enfim, mas o poema.

“Para o nosso petit poète!”, Swann saúda, servindo a taça do Vogrincic. Champanhe escorre pela garrafa de marca chique, recém-aberta. Já é a segunda rodada de espumante e comemorações, se contar o festejo de taças e elogios cordiais durante a exibição mais cedo. Agora, um pouco mais intimista, só vocês três no conforto da decoração boho maximalista da casa. Merci, Enzo arrisca na língua local, espalmando a mão no peito, por cima da camisa social, e com aquele olhar agradecido. “Pour la muse”, Swann te serve, com um sorriso, e você faz charme, balançando os ombros.

A garrafa retorna para o balde com gelo. O francês puxa do bolso do blazer o maço de cigarro e saca um, guardando o resto. Risca o isqueiro, acende. Depois do primeiro trago, prossegue, “Foi um sucesso. Definitivamente.”, embora o artista latino pareça mais humilde. “Amanhã você vai estar no Le Monde, no Le Parisien, todos os jornais… Todos aqueles críticos de nariz empinadinho pareciam maravilhados.”

Enzo faz que não, com certeza ainda incrédulo após um dia inteirinho nas nuvens. “Obrigada pela oportunidade, é a minha primeira exposição assim, numa galeria fora do Uruguai”, explica, “e mostrar o meu trabalho junto com artistas incríveis é… Uma honra. De verdade.”, os olhinhos castanhos brilham. 

Swann não quer levar as flores sozinho, te oferece um olhar de canto de olho, “Tem é que agradecer a ela”, lembra, “está apaixonada pelas suas lentes.”

O uruguaio te mira com doçura, “claro”, diz. Pega na sua mão, trazendo à meia altura, “não poderia deixar de agradecer à minha musa”, e beija, “a maior arte dessa noite era você, nena.”

Você se exibe mais diante o elogio, pomposa. Já sente as bochechas queimando de tanto sorrisos fáceis, tanto regozijo, mas mantém a pose de diva, o que não falha em fazê-los rir. “Sempre quis ser musa”, conta, ajeitando os cabelos, de queixo erguido, “quando eu conheci o Swann, ele já estava trabalhando na galeria, não pintava mais”, os beicinhos crispam, numa adorável tristeza teatral, “ainda bem que a sua câmera me encontrou, Enzo.”

“Impossível não te encontrar quando se destaca tanto”, o tom dele se torna ainda mais terno, “não precisei de muito esforço, só tive olhos pra ti desde o começo”. Leva a taça à boca, prova um gole, “Acho que morreria de ciúmes se você fosse minha”, os dedos correm pelos lábios recolhendo a umidade, enquanto os olhos retornam para a figura grisalha no ambiente. 

Não, ele não sente ciúmes, é você que rebate primeiro, com bom humor, ele é francês. Swann ri, sopra a fumaça na direção do quintal, a porta de vidro aberta. Descansa o braço nos seus ombros, “E não posso ser tão egoísta ao ponto de ficar com uma obra-prima dessa só pra mim, não é?”

Você toma nos dedos o cigarro da boca dele, oui, mon amour, e traga. Enzo te observa puxando a fumaça, o seu batom vermelho marcando o pito. Nota, também, a maneira com que o Arlaud te contempla — os olhos azuis banhados a afeto, cintilantes. Tão rendido, tão vassalo. Não o julga, entretanto. Enquanto te eternizava nas imagens, com certeza deve ter te mirado com a mesma significância. 

“Não acha, Enzo?”, o eco da voz caramelada do outro homem desperta o fotógrafo, ao que murmura hm?, molhando a garganta mais uma vez para escutá-lo. “Quer dizer, olha só pra ela… me apaixonei na primeira vez em que a vi”, Swann confessa. Vai chegando com o rosto mais perto de ti, revelando, “...tão bonita, saindo do mar. Pele salgada. Parecia o nascimento de Vênus, ali na minha frente”, até recostar a ponta do nariz na sua bochecha, rindo quando você ri também, vaidosa. “Não dá vontade de beijá-la?”, a pergunta tem ouvinte certo. Os olhos claros voltando-se para os castanhos. “Eu sei que teve vontade de beijá-la em algum momento durante as sessões. Não precisa mentir.”

Em outro momento, talvez com pessoas diferentes, Enzo não se sentiria tão à vontade feito está agora. É que a energia entre vocês três é singular, entenda. Desde o primeiro momento que conheceu o uruguaio, a sua atração física e pelo cérebro de artista dele foi perceptível — além de mútua. E Swann, ele é francês, e são um casal que foge o tradicional, que experimentam. Não é uma ameaça pra ele saber que um homem te deseja. Na verdade, dá ainda mais tesão. 

Enzo pega o cigarro dentre os seus dedos, leva à própria boca. Traga. A fumaça escapa, nubla a face de traços fortes de uma forma cativante, quase que sensual. “É”, admite em voz alta, “tive vontade de beijá-la… tocá-la… diversas vezes desde que a conheci”, está com o foco das íris castanhas nos seus lábios, “aliás, tô sentindo agora.”

O sorrisinho de satisfação estampado na sua cara é inevitável. 

Swann recolhe o pito de volta para si, das mãos de um latino totalmente indiferente ao tabaco, preso à sua figura. Enquanto traga, a voz do francês soa como um demoniozinho nos ombros do outro homem, encorajando, então, beija, como se a solução fosse a mais simplória do mundo. 

O Vogrincic assiste a sua mão espalmar no peito dele; os anéis dourados, as unhas num tom terroso. Você mergulha os dedos entre os botões defeitos da camisa social dele para capturar pingente da correntinha. O olha. Aquela carinha de quem tá querendo muito ser tomada nos braços, devorada. Uma ânsia à qual ele não te nega. 

Pega na sua nuca, a palma quente conquistando espaço. Firme. Fica mais fácil te conduzir para mais perto, trazer o seu corpo pra colar no dele. Encaixar, invadir, sorver. Sente o gosto do espumante, o pontinho amargo do cigarro na sua língua. Um ósculo intenso, diferente do que está acostumada. É puramente carnal, desejoso. Parece que quer te engolir, verga a sua coluna um bocadinho, sobrepondo o próprio corpo por cima. Estalado, e profundo. Cheio de apetite. A taça por pouco não cai dos seus dedos. 

Quando se aparta, é porque o peito queima de vontade de respirar. Ofegam, ambos. A visão dos lábios dele até inchadinhos, avermelhados pelo seu batom, é alucinante. O uruguaio nem se dá ao trabalho de limpar as manchinhas rubras, como quem sabe que a bagunça ainda vai ser maior.

Swann apanha a taça da sua mão para entornar um gole. Ri, soprado. Bom, não é? A pergunta faz o Vogrincic se perder, outra vez, no deslumbre da sua figura. Um olhar de fome, daqueles que precedem o próximo bote. Vê o francês estalar um beijo na sua bochecha, bem humorado, e depois ir descendo pelo seu pescoço. A forma com que segura na sua nuca, guia a sua boca até a dele. Faz o uruguaio sentir um tiquinho de ciúmes, sabe? Mesmo que tenha plena consciência de que não teria justificativas pra esse tipo de sentimento. Já era de se esperar um nível aflorado de intimidade entre você e o seu homem. O roçar da pontinha dos narizes, o mordiscar implicante que ele deixa nos seus lábios, rindo, feito um menino apaixonado, não deveria surpreender o fotógrafo. Mas surpreende. Instiga. Esquenta. 

Enzo traga o pito pela última vez antes de se apressar pra apagá-lo no cinzeiro da mesinha de centro e soprar a fumaça no ar. Ávido, as mãos viajando em direção ao seu corpo — uma firme na sua cintura, e a outra ameaçando tomar o posto na nuca. Swann o interrompe, um toque contendo o ombro e a proximidade de um certo latino com muita sede ao pote. “Aprecia, mas não se acostuma”, avisa, com um sorriso, “tem que tratá-la muito bem pra fazê-la te querer de novo.”

Enzo te olha, analisa. Parece que as palavras estão paradinhas na ponta da língua, porém as engole, prefere te beijar novamente, te tocar novamente. Afinco. Te domina, mostra soberania com o corpo pesando sobre o teu. Você cambaleia, abalada por tamanha intensidade, as costas se apoiam no peito do Arlaud. 

Os beijos escorregam pelo seu pescoço, desenham o decote da sua blusa, por cima do tecido, descendo até a barriga. É crível que vai se ajoelhar, porém acaba tomando outro rumo, retornando com o foco pro seu rosto. “Vou deixar o seu homem te chupar”, diz, com uma marra tão palpável que um sorriso não deixa aparecer nos seus lábios, “porque eu sempre morri de vontade de saber como era meter em ti”, e oferece um olhar ao francês, “deixa a sua mulher molhadinha pra mim?”

Tipo, a construção da frase, a entonação, os trejeitos do uruguaio; tudo faz soar como uma provocação. E, de fato, é. Um homem como Enzo não sabe amar mais de uma vez e muito menos partilhar esse amor. Mas Swann leva tudo com o bom humor de sempre. Faz um aceno com a cabeça, ajeitando-te para que possa encará-lo. Aquele sorrisinho de dentes pequeninos que você tanto acha um charme. O assiste retirar o blazer, fazendo um suspensezinho, além de dar a entender que vai literalmente ‘colocar a mão na massa’. É engraçado como o seu corpo não abandona o estado de calmaria. Poderia estar com o coração acelerado, o sangue correndo nas veias, por diversos motivos, porém tem tanta certeza de que vai sentir prazer ao máximo que não anseia por acelerar nada. 

Swann te conhece muito bem. Cada detalhezinho na sua pele, cada região erógena, cada fio de cabelo que nasce por mais fininho e imperceptível. É um artista que aperfeiçoa a sua arte — dedica tempo, esforço, e não se importa com a bagunça molhada ou com a língua dormente. Antes de se ajoelhar, pede, com ternura, “um beijinho?”, para selar a boca na sua, rapidinho. E afrouxa as mangas da blusa, uma das suas mãos apoiando-se na mesa enquanto a outra mergulha os dedos entre os fios grisalhos à medida que a cabeça dele está na altura da sua virilha. Te liberta da saia longa, da peça íntima, apoia aqui, colocando a sua perna pra repousar sobre o ombro dele. 

Corre as mãos pelo interior das suas coxas, sem pressa. A boca deixa um chupãozinho no seu joelho, mordisca. É louco como ele sabe até o quão forte tem que ser o tapa na sua buceta pra te fazer vibrar e quase perder o equilíbrio. Sorri, sacana, calminha, meu bem, e ainda tem a pachorra de murmurar, é só um tapinha. 

Você até cerra os olhos, prende o lábio inferior entre os dentes praticamente sem notar. O seu corpo se contorce sob o toque, é natural. Swann percorre o dedo de cima a baixo, se mela todinho na umidade que ali já tem, e não vai desistir até que exista muito mais. 

Contorna o seu pontinho doce, te arrancando um suspiro dengoso. Leva o olhar pra ti, “vai gemer manhosinha pra ele ouvir, vai?”, quer saber, “Tem que manter a pose, divina. Não pode mostrar que derrete todinha nas minhas mãos”. Você apenas escuta a conversa suja, já perdida demais no deleite do carinho que recebe, e pior, na visão de acompanhar Enzo se sentando no sofá, com os botões da camisa social desfeitos, e a mão dentro da calça. Aham, é tudo que murmura, alheia. A carícia concentra no clitóris, o dedo circulando mais rápido, mais forte, que a onda de prazer te faz arrepiar dos pés à cabeça. Boquiaberta, por pouco sem babar pelo canto. Swann, você chama, manhosa, me chupa. E ele sorri mais, a língua beira nos dentes de baixo, brincando com a sua sanidade quando só mostra o que tem pra oferecer e demora a te dar o que quer. 

Mas quando te mama, de fato, porra… Chega a ver estrelas, os olhinhos revirando. Ainda bem que aperta os fios dos cabelos dele nas palmas, pois, aí, tem algo pra descontar o nó delicioso que sente no ventre. Quer fechar as pernas, involuntária, no entanto o homem te mantém, faminto, sugando a carne inchadinha. Passa os dentes pelo seu monte de vênus, dois dedos nadando por entre as dobrinhas quentes, ensaiando, parece, até afundar lá dentro e fundo, fundo. Você chia, preenchida na hora certa, na medida certa, pra se sentir conquistada, excitada. Encara Enzo, pornográfica com as expressões faciais, como se quisesse instigar uma prévia do que ele vai provar posteriormente. 

Os lábios de Swann até estalam, tudo tão ensopadinho que escutar a umidade do ato contribui ainda mais pro seu regozijo. O francês bate a palma da mão na sua bucetinha, esquenta a região, antes de voltar a chupar o seu pontinho. A língua dança pra cá e pra lá, também, tão rapidinha, habilidosa. Ai, você chega a sentir uma inquietação, balança os ombros, se contrai, espreguiça. Mas ele quer estar olhando nos seus olhos quando te fizer gozar, porque deixa só os dedos lá e ergue o queixo pra encontrar os seus olhos. As íris azuis brilham, um marzinho cheio e cintilante no qual é fácil querer se afogar. Os cabelos grisalhos estão bagunçadinhos, os lábios finos reluzindo de babadinhos. “Goza pra mim, meu amor”, a voz ecoa numa doçura tamanha, caramelada e derretida feito o seu doce preferido, “quero te beber, você é tão gostosa. Quero chupar você até não sobrar uma gotinha, hm? Vem pra mim, vem. Ver esse seu rostinho de choro quando goza, bobinha, docinha… Daria um quadro e tanto essa sua carinha de puta. Hm?”, e fica difícil resistir. Quer dizer, se entrega sem nem mesmo tentar resistir. É possuída pela ondinha elétrica que percorre seu corpo todinho, eriça os pelinhos e te faz gemer igualzinho uma puta. 

Tremendo, frágil. Quanto mais a boca suga a buceta dolorida, mais você se contorce, mais choraminga. Os olhinhos até marejam, o peito queima, ofegante. 

Quando satisfeito, o homem se põe de pé. Nem se dá ao trabalho pra limpar o rosto melado, sorrindo largo, mas sem mostrar os dentes. Você envolve o braço ao redor do pescoço dele, só pra se escorar enquanto recupera-se, os olhos ardendo sobre a figura do latino masturbando-se no sofá. “Vai lá nele”, Swann encoraja, tocando o canto do seu rosto. Beija a sua bochecha, ganha os seus lábios assim que você mesma vira a face pra alcançá-lo. A saliva misturando com o seu melzinho, um gostinho obsceno. A língua dele empurrando a sua, ao passo que o maldito sorriso canalha não abandona o rosto estrangeiro. 

Ao caminhar sobre os próprios pés, dona de si outra vez, Enzo está com a mão erguida na sua direção. Os dedinhos inquietos até que possam apertar a sua coxa. Vou montar você, é o que diz, num fiozinho de voz, se acomodando sentadinha no colo do fotógrafo. Sustenta-se nos ombros masculinos, alinha-se pra engolir tudo — está babadinha o suficiente pra ser um deslize só. 

O uruguaio suspira, completamente no seu interior, até o talo. Embaladinho lá, no calor divino, delirante. As mãos cravam nas suas nádegas, está pulsando dentro de ti, domado. “Acabou de tirar a buceta da boca dele pra vir sentar no meu pau…”, observa o seu rebolar lento, a maneira jeitosa com que se equilibra bem, não perde nem por um centímetro que seja, “jamais deixaria a minha garota sentar em outro pau senão o meu.”

Então, ainda bem que eu não sou sua, é o que você sussurra. Chega com o rosto perto do dele, a pontinha do nariz resvalando no nariz grande. Enzo aperta o olhar, mascara um sorrisinho. Você sente as unhas dele machucando nas suas nádegas, ele te encara com uma vontade louca de rancar pedaço. Daí, começa a quicar no colo dele, jogando a bunda pra cima no compasso ritmado. Pega nos cabelos negros que se somam, espessos, na nuca alheia, vai me avisar quando for gozar, ordena. É fria com as palavras, mas tentadora, carrega no tom um certo nível de erotismo, que parece deixar Swann orgulhoso, recostado na mesa. Não vou guardar a sua porra porque você não tá merecendo. E o Vogrincic ri na cara do perigo, cheio de si. Abusa da língua materna pra murmurar, “Sé que más tarde suplicarás por mí, nena, tan lejos que tu gringo no oye.”, porque sabe que o francês não vai nem sacar uma palavra que seja, mas você sim, “Não me engana. Eres una perra, lo sé.”

Você maltrata os fios dele entre a mão, como um sinal para que ele pare de falar em espanhol, soltando essas frases riscosas, sujas. Mas Enzo não te compra, não engole essa marra toda. “Faz o que quiser, musa”, fala só por falar, pois o outro escuta, quando quer dizer exatamente o contrário. A rebeldia te excita, faz acelerar os movimentos, torturá-lo com mais intensidade. Lê no jeitinho que ele retesa os músculos da coxa, no ar se prendendo nos pulmões que está logo na beirada, próximo de jorrar. Não o perdoa, não permite que o desejo mais lascivo dele se torne realidade hoje. Finaliza o homem nas palmas das suas mãos, ordenhando o pau duro, meladinho, até que a porra morna atinja as suas coxas, respingue na sua blusa. 

Enzo respira com dificuldade, pela boca. Cerra os olhos com força, parece irritadinho, indignado — uma reação que te deixa com água na boca. Se inclina pra pertinho do ouvido dele, adocica a voz, perigosa, se quer brincar, tem que aprender a respeitar as regras do jogo, okay, bonitinho? 

#imninahchan #enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic fanfic #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic smut #swann arlaud #swann arlaud smut #la sociedad de la nieve #the society of the snow #anatomia de uma queda #anatomie d'une chute #anatomy of a fall #a sociedade da neve #lsdln cast #lsdln

[lichenes]

hiiiii you’re doing gods work by making these fanfics truly so grateful do you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 could you please do more Swann fics oh just himself pls🥺 nafw or sfw whichever you like!!

Thank you anon<33 Thought I'd give you a domestic moment of you nd Swann :3c

CW: established relationship, kissin, inconsistent french pronouns

wc: 358

_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿_____

You entered your house incredibly exhausted from the day you've had. The scent filling your nose almost knocked you off your feet with how good it was. "Swann?" You called out into the ether, earning a response in the form of a hum. You took off your shoes and shrugged off your coat, guiding your steps towards the kitchen where the smell was coming from.

"What are you cooking, love?" He turned his head, stirring the contents of the pan constantly. "Could you hand me the lid?" You did, and he turned down the heat. "I have to let it simmer for a bit." He put the wooden spoon on the brink of the sink as to not dirty the counter.

"How was your day, ma chérie?" Swann asked, wiping his hands on the apron you got him for Christmas. "Tiring, but I'm glad to be home." You smiled at him, and he extended his arms, inviting you into a hug. While you were hugging, he kissed the top of your head, making butterflies spread through your stomach.

"Lovely, I think it's burning." You said, pulling back from him. He quickly retrieved the spoon and started stirring furiously, cursing in French under his breath, which earned a laugh out of you.

When dinner was ready, he plated two portions. The meal was lovely, and you offered to do the washing up as he was the one cooking. While you were cleaning the plates, he put leftovers into a container and put them into the fridge. "How are you doing, lovely?" You asked him, drying the plates.

"Mhm, fine." Swann smiled at you. That ice-melting smile was something that got you every single time. What you weren't fully aware of was him being totally lost in your gorgeous eyes. "Mon ange…" He put his hands on your cheeks. "Mon cœur…" He said, putting his forehead to yours.

You chuckled, your cheeks heating up. He gave you a careful kiss, making you melt in his grasp. He disarmed you with romantic remarks and dodged all your barriers, going straight for your heart, which was truly all his.

"Let's go to bed."

#swann arlaud #x reader #swann arlaud x reader #writing

[modernimpressionism]

are... are any of y'all interested in me taking requests? I'm highly considering it.

#swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader