Clavis: Touch Prompt # 3, Hiding Face In Neck (f!reader Please)

Clavis: touch prompt # 3, hiding face in neck (f!reader please)

A/N: Dusting off some (very) old requests before all that heartache gets rolling

Clavis x reader, fluff

Word Count: 1337

The sound of a key unlocking the front door of your cottage interrupts the satisfying scratch of your pencil on the cream-colored paper of your notebook. One glance out the window and the pale, rose-colored sky tells you who is entering your home, explains the smile slowly spreading across your face.

You hear the click of the door closing, the muffled sound of clothing as a coat is removed and hung up. And then he walks through the doorway, golden eyes bringing the last rays of the day’s sunshine with him. Your pencil drops, abandoned as you nearly sprint over, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him soundly before he can even say a word, relishing the feel of his surprised smile against your lips. He does not however pull you into his arms as usual and you step back, one brow arched in question.

You didn’t notice the way he had his hands behind his back at first. Excitement had sent you flying straight to him without a care for anything else. But now you see it along with the twinkling glint in his eyes.

“Clavis…..”

Unable to keep it to himself any longer, you find yourself suddenly in possession of something square-shaped and heavy, wrapped in a velvet cloth the color of wisteria. 

“The holidays are over,” you say slowly, head tilted in question.

“This came later. It had a long journey to make, after all.” He sounds eager and smug at the same time. Curious you pull on the silver silk ribbon and then open the marvelously soft cloth to reveal something that makes you gasp.

“I don’t believe it…..”

Unable to play it cool any longer, he gleefully sweeps you and your treasure up into his arms and carries you over to the blush-colored armchair you love to curl up in to read. He drops down into it, with you across his lap, your legs hanging over the plush, rounded armrest.

“How did you even…..Iolite is so far away and I only mentioned this to you a few days before Christmas.” Your fingertips trace the cover of the book. It’s made of rich green leather, the color of a summer forest at dusk, with orchids in glimmering pinks and golds embossed around the edges. The lettering is a language you don’t understand, but it doesn’t matter. This treasure right here? You’ve heard this is one of the most beautifully illustrated books in the world.

“I’m a marvel. Haven’t I told you how wonderful I am? Don’t you just love me?” He tightens his arms around you, his smile sharpening to a grin when you laugh.

“As if I could love you any more than I already do,” you murmur, still engrossed in the beauty of the book. You miss the way your words bring color to his face, the sudden, wild thump of his heart. He swallows, unused to such casual declarations of love. 

“I do have, ah, one question, my love.” He settles you more comfortably against him, his arms locked around you like a dragon hoarding its most precious treasure. “Since it has not been translated and, while you can do a great many things, I don’t believe you can read Iolitian….so why did you want this particular book?”

You smile, almost starry-eyed in your enchantment. “Because it is supposed to be one of the most exquisitely drawn books ever created.” Breathing in, you lift the satisfyingly heavy cover and open to the first pages. What you find is enough to cause the breath you were holding to rush out in a gasp.

“Look….” you whisper. Clavis tries to see what you do. It is an illustration of a garden, full of lush, vivid flowers and leaves in myriad shades of green. On one page is a man, mostly hidden behind bushes, longingly looking to the other page, where a woman is peering at him from around the trunk of a tree, her expression as full of yearning as his.

“Are they playing hide and seek?”

He’s teasing you and you tear your gaze away long enough to shoot him a Look. 

“They are drawn to each other. Look at the details.” Your voice is hushed, soft with reverence. “Look at her eyes, the eyelashes, the shadow across her face. You see how much she wants to go to him in every single line of it. And the plants…look at the veins in the different flower petals. The ground is so detailed you can see each blade of grass.” The tips of your fingers skim the page, admiringly. The beauty of it is almost overwhelming. “And to think, Jin of all people told me about this book.”

You feel Clavis tense underneath you. “Wait, this was a recommendation from Jin?”

“Mm hm.” You carefully turn the page and then blink. The man and the woman have left the protective shadows of the trees and are crossing the clearing to meet one another. And they are both completely naked. Your lips part but no sound comes out. Clavis’s eyes light up like solar flares, delightfully surprised.

“Dearie me, that is definitely exquisite detail.” 

You remove your hand from the page, clearing your throat. “It….certainly is….accurate.”

Clavis reaches around you, poking at the naked woman with his finger. “Just look at those–” You swat his hand away from her, eyes narrowing slightly.

“It is a rare book. You shouldn’t be touching it.”

His grin could light up your entire cottage in the midst of the darkest winter.

“You were just touching all those leaves and flowers on the previous page.”

You ignore that and quickly turn the page. What greets you is not the man and woman embracing. Or perhaps that is in there. Somewhere. Somewhere among the many illustrations of the man and the woman in the clearing. Still naked. But now in various positions. Still in incredibly realistic detail.

You catch a glimpse of raised legs and bent knees and open mouths and tongues and fingers and body parts that usually would not be so readily and merrily exposed to the world.

A squeak leaps from your throat. You turn, the book falling to the floor as you grab hold of Clavis and bury your face in his neck, your cheeks burning. His arms tighten around you, one hand coming up to hold the back of your head against him.

“Oh, darling. That was a bit much. All at once like that. It’s ok. It’s ok.” You hear the laughter winding its way through his words but you don’t care. You simply hold on to him, eyes squeezed shut as if that would remove the images now burned into your mind.

He strokes your hair soothingly, voice still bubbling with amusement. “You didn’t stop to wonder why Jin of all people would recommend a book?”

Clutching his neck with one hand, face still pressed against him, you slowly shake your head, your heart finally coming down from its burst of fluttering.

“I thought….I thought he was being nice.”

Clavis glances down at the book now laying face down on the wooden floor. “Perhaps he was? Didn’t any of that look-”

“NO!”

He laughs again, squeezing you against him in pure delight. “Oh, my sweet little bunny.” With a tenderness most would not think him capable of, he pries your warm face away from his neck, his fingers lovingly holding your chin. “Look at you. Speechless and flustered. All from some drawings in a book.”

You huff out a breath of air, unable to stop the slight pout now on your lips.

“Wouldn’t it be so much more fun,” he murmurs as he leans forward, brushing his lips against your still flushed cheek, the sensitive line of your jaw, “if you were speechless and flustered,” he is now the one with his face against your neck, his lips leaving a line of small, atomic kisses down its slope, “because of me?”

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

Hello there Can I request a kiss fir Comte ? Thank you so much Have a nice day :D

A/N: Here you are, lovely Julie!

Word Count: 435

A kiss doesn't always end in fire and flames. It doesn’t always end in a body lit up by fireworks, then falling back to earth in a soft rain of fading sparks. Sometimes, a kiss is the careful touch of the ocean’s white foam on the sand or the sound of gentle rain against a window pane. You thrill for the moments when Comte reaches for you, full of golden fire. But the kisses that stay with you the longest are the ones that glow, not burn.

He notices when your mind is gray, clouded with sadness. He always notices and it shifts his priorities. You rise to the top of his mind like warm air, expanding until your happiness fills every corner of his thoughts.

Somehow, he is there. He slides his strong arms around you, pulling you toward the shelter of his body where you bend, leaning into his strength. One hand begins a soothing, rhythmic stroking of your back. You feel the way your breath steadies, the way the tension in your body unspools for him, as if he were reaching in and wrapping it around his hands like Clotho spinning the thread of human fate. His other hand cups your face, warm and tender. He does not demand you meet his gaze. He demands nothing of you.

The first kiss is placed on your forehead, a gesture of protection, of empathy. It can feel more intimate than if you were standing bare before him. It can feel as comforting as sinking into a warm bath. Without so much as a word he assures you that he is there for you. Your bastille against the slings and arrows of an outrageous world. Your oasis in the drought of uncertainty. You accept his kiss and, like a flower to the sun, tilt your face upwards towards him, silently asking for more.

The second kiss is his lips on yours in a gesture so tender it reverberates throughout the chambers of your heart like the deep resonance of church bells. It is the raindrop that clings to the petal. The gleam of sunshine off a hummingbird’s bright feathers. The press of his lips speaks so loudly of his love for you, his devotion to you now and forever. He loves you through the moments of high summer and the moments of darkest winter. He presses this promise against your lips again and again and again until you are breathless with understanding, with acceptance. 

He is here, right now. 

And he always will be.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bubblexly

My first art this year aaand...its him, the love of my life 😩💜

Don't steal/repost. Otherwise Clavis will come after you 🐆🙂.

Ikemen Villains Incorrect Quote:

William:"The sad one here, who is also clever is Elbert—"

Elbert:"Why does that always hap—"

William:"—Elbert Einstein"

Mc:".....Do you ever wonder why he is sad?"

Headcanons: a kiss in each season with 4 different princes!

A/N: So after talking a bit to the lovely @bellerose-arcana I added 4 vamp suitors too!

Word Count: 872

Spring: Clavis / Mozart

Clavis kisses you with all the vibrancy of spring. You feel alive like a riotous blossom proclaiming its return from a long season of sleep. Wild and full of abandonment, you throw your arms around him the way Mother Nature haphazardly throws color back into the world. Every shade of green from pale jade to deep forest colors your heart. Petals practically vibrating with the force of their colors, the pinks and reds and blues and yellows, bloom within its chambers. It is the season of rebirth, of hope, of emergence. This is what you feel when you kiss him. A fountain of love that springs between your hearts, whose refreshing taste is on your lips every time you kiss.

Kissing Mozart feels like the thaw of winter as it slowly melts away, giving up its hold on the world so that spring can be born. You are Persephone, rising from the Underworld to breathe life into his wintery form. Your fingers run through pale, snowy hair, curl into its softness. Cool amethyst eyes slowly warm, ignited by the feel of you pressed against him. Color stains his cheeks like sunlight breaking through the gloom. His embrace shifts, muscles going lax, his body warming under your touch, softening and opening like a bud reaching for the sun.

Summer: Keith / Leonardo

Keith is like a summer’s day that sneaks up on you with its intensity. He wraps his strong arms around you and you are warm and safe and the world is bright. His embrace is the brilliant blue sky wrapping itself around you. It feels expansive yet welcoming. You could lose yourself in it and be happy forever. And then he kisses you, pure and joyful, and you taste sunshine on your lips. He is the brightness of red strawberries and the sweetness of peaches. You tighten your arms around him, wanting more. As you linger in his embrace, as you chase the taste of him, heat builds inside you, waves of it slowly rolling through your veins. This is no longer a soft summer morning, but midday in all of its sweltering glory.

Summer has its halcyon days that seem to stretch on forever, where the sun lounges in the sky like a lion on the Savannah, sprawling across the day it knows it owns. Leonardo pulls you to him, almost lazily. Definitely possessively. As the sun greedily clutches the sky, he holds you against his body, his kiss a paradox: slow and heated, unhurried, the languor of the day conveyed through lips and tongue....yet these slow, decadent kisses spark a thundering through your veins, loud and wild as a sudden summer storm.

Autumn: Leon/ Comte

Leon cups your face in his strong hands, his eyes as gold as the turning leaves, bright as a brilliant autumn sun when he looks at you, the anticipation of your kiss akin to the trees bracing themselves, whispering of the coming winter. But there is nothing cold about the feel of his mouth on yours. His lips move over yours, soft as cashmere, sweet as apple cider. His fingers trace the curve of your jaw. You melt against him, your heart soaring like a kite on the wind, a tail of soft, glowing sparks trailing across your skin. 

Comte’s touch is gentle, sure and velvet with desire. His lips brush the lightest of kisses across your collarbone, a cool autumn mist rolling across trembling fields of gold. You plunge your fingers into the silk of his hair, baring your neck to his wandering mouth. The long line of your throat echoes the wolf, head thrown back to howl its love for the beauty of a harvest moon. And when Comte raises his head, his eyes amber on fire, lupine in ferocity, you know his restraint has been pushed to its limit....and desire, with all the force of an October storm, is about to break free.

Winter: Gilbert / Vlad

Kissing Gilbert is wrapping your arms around the chilled air, pressing your lips to the smooth, slate gray clouds and tasting the sweet shock of cold on your tongue right before it melts. His fingers trace a frosted filigree against the nape of your neck, an invisible tattoo marking you as his. Teeth, white as snow, are winter’s bite when they nip your sensitive, flushed skin. The sting leaves you red, red with the evidence of his desire, red with a bonfire growing within. His hunger consumes you, a blizzard of craving and voracity that you willingly yield to, that you blissfully allow to swallow you whole.

Vlad holds you in his arms, the soft black satin of a winter sky embracing its precious diamond stars. His beauty is the softness of snow as it floats down to earth. And just as snow covers all in a blanket of glistening white, so does he enfold his beloved in his arms, wrapping you in an embrace as soft and tender as the light in his rose-red eyes. He lowers his head, his lips brushing yours. You feel beautiful, treasured, as if the white winter moon has chosen to bathe you in its soft, argent light. You wrap your arms around him, closing your eyes, knowing he will always be your way through the darkness, your warmth in the cold. 

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

hi there talented writer. I would love to request headcanons (3 or 4?) for the princes and them doing something with a small child (their son or daughter)

I'd love for it to be Leon, Luke, Gilbert, Silvio or Chevalier but I will leave the choices up to you!

Thank you!!!

A/N: Alright anon....here you go!! Sorry this took so long! I did them all 😉

Word Count: 1878

Leon 

She has his hair. Wild locks the color of dark walnut that spill down her small back in a wavy cascade. You braid it every morning but by the end of the day, it has escaped its braided prison and curls with abandon. And so it is up to you or Leon to tame the wild beast with the best weaponry you have: a silver hairbrush and a dollop of oil.

It's his turn tonight. You walk into your bedroom, the night's book selection in hand, to find them on the bed. She sits cross-legged in front of him, telling a very detailed story about an adventurous ladybug she found crawling on the window of her room. Leon is carefully brushing her hair, fingers gentle as he works the brush through her dark tresses. 

You pause, watching them. Her small hands gesture to punctuate her story, a perfect imitation of her father. He listens, nodding intently even though she can't see him. Her story is taken seriously and you love him so much for it. 

He sets down the hair brush, running his hand over the soft fall of her hair. Knowing they are done, she spins around with the type of energy only young children can have, throwing her short arms around his neck. He embraces her, hugging her tightly before pressing a kiss on her dimpled cheek. She giggles and so he does it again, growling like a lion.

Her laughter fills the bedroom, bright and clear as wind chimes. "Papa!" Her voice is bubbly with glee. He kisses her and tickles her and she howls with joy. He tosses her onto the bed, still growling playfully, continuing his loving onslaught.

As she wiggles and giggles at her lion Papa, you sigh through your smile. Her hair is getting tangled and he'll have to brush it again.

Somehow you know neither of them will mind.

Luke 

Your son, with his shock of bright red hair and wide green eyes, is the spitting image of his father. He has inherited Luke’s gentle nature, his easy-going smile and not surprisingly, his love for honey. You set the freshly baked bread down onto the kitchen table, watching the way two sets of moss green eyes light up with anticipation.

Setting a generous slice of thick, dark bread down on his plate, you push the honey jar toward your little guy. Enthusiasm fills him as he reaches for the prized jar and the little metal spoon nestled in it, when Luke’s large hand covers his gently. 

“Let’s do this together, ok? Just like last time.” His son nods and with Luke’s help, carefully scoops out a spoonful of honey and then plops it onto his bread. His gaze darts to you and you nod approvingly, rewarded with a cherubic smile. Luke hands him the smaller, child-sized butter knife. “Like we practiced," he reminds his son gently.

The little boy nods, taking the knife and then very, very carefully begins spreading the honey across his bread. Luke watches, reaching out to help him with the rounded corners, words of encouragement and praise murmured whenever he lets go. The knife at times digs into the bread. Sometimes the honey is spread right off of it. But the bright light of pride shines in your son's eyes as he looks up, challenge conquered. “I did it!”

Luke smiles,  pride mirrored in his expression as he nods, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s head with a large hand. “You certainly did. Now let’s eat!”

Gilbert 

“Papa! Ich brauche Hilfe!” (Papa, I need help!) She races across the thick carpeting of your bedroom, dark hair flying behind her like a wayward banner. Gilbert has just finished pulling on his black leather boots, readying himself for a family excursion while you rifle through your drawers looking for a scarf. 

“Slow down, Mäuschen,” he says gently, an undercurrent of laughter discernible to you in his words. He kneels with a grin as she skids to a stop in front of him, catching her breath long enough to point at her coat. It’s made of rich black wool with large, round, gold buttons, a perfect size for her little hands. “I need help. It’s not working!” She is a perfect, flustered combination of eager to get outside and frustrated that she needs to ask him for help. 

“First of all,” he says, reaching for her hands. “It’s much easier to close the buttons if you are not wearing these.” He carefully pulls on the tips of her small black leather gloves, removing them from both hands and laying them on the edge of the bed. “Now, try again.” At first she looks at the gloves in dismay and you know from experience how proud she is of them and how long it probably took her to get them on. But she blinks her bright ruby-colored eyes and turns her attention back to the coat. Reaching up, she takes hold of one shiny button and holds the flap of the coat with the other hand. Several attempts later, the button isn’t through and she looks up, brow furrowed in annoyance. “It’s still not working.” 

Gilbert reaches out, straightening her coat. “Try again. I’ll hold it still for you.” He keeps hold of the bottom of her coat, pulling so the material is now stiffer, less bendable. Again she takes the button between her small fingers….and this time slides it right through the buttonhole. She doesn’t celebrate yet. The job isn’t done. Determination shadows her young face as she does the same for the entire row of gold buttons. It’s only when the last one slides into place that she looks up with a smile ablaze with pride. “Geschafft!” (Done!)

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the cool skin of her round cheek. “Toll gemacht, Mäuschen.” (Well done, little mouse) He stands, a loving hand lingering on her shoulder as she happily grabs her gloves and begins the process of pulling them on. His gaze finds yours, his smile warm with happiness. This could take a while.

Silvio 

Your son is sitting outside on the terrace, the cobalt blue-tiled floor warm from the sun's rays. In front of him are several pots of paint which he is enthusiastically dipping his chubby fingers into before smearing them across the pages of white paper. You're sitting on the wicker chair nearby, one eye on him and one on the book you are reading.

This is the peaceful scene Silvio comes upon after returning from a meeting in the city. The familiar jangling noise of his clothing and jewelry alerts you both to his presence. Your son leaps up in a hurry, excitement thrumming through his body.

"Papa!" Silvio catches his colorful little hands by the wrists, a wry smile on his face. “Ah topolino, what happened to these?” He makes the little boy's hands wiggle back and forth to an eruption of giggles. “I’m painting, Papa. Come, paint with me!” Silvio releases his son who scurries back to his art. The child glances over his shoulder, eyes as bright as the sea in summer. “Papa?”

Silvio slides off the light, white coat he is wearing and then comes to where you are reading. He pretends to seriously inspect his son’s paintings as he slowly removes the golden rings from his fingers, one by one. You reach up, taking them from him and he flashes you a grin. “Keep a good eye on my treasure, tesoro.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the bad word play but you cannot resist the smile that curves your lips as Silvio lowers his long body onto the tiles, leaning close to the boy with hair pale as dolomite and eyes blue as summer skies. “Now maestro, tell me, where do we need to paint?” 

Chevalier 

Together they stand in front of the white bookshelf in her room, the one with pink painted roses climbing up the sides. He holds her small hand in his as they consider the many, many books she has managed to collect thus far in her rather short lifetime. His pale head nods towards a dark blue book with gold lettering. “We’ve only read this particular story twice.” She turns, her long pale braids swinging as she shakes her head. Her small fingers wiggle, adjusting her grip on him. “That story is about pirates and we read the story about mermaids yesterday. I would rather not have another nautical adventure.”

His inflection is echoed in her young voice, his influence in her vocabulary. He nods, eyes scanning the shelves for another, more suitable choice. “Perhaps the desert instead of the sea.” He taps a finger against a beige book with the title in darkest brown along the spine. Her head tilts to one side, brow furrowed in consideration. “Whenever we read this story and it talks about how hot the desert is, it makes me thirsty and I’ve already had-” She glances over her shoulder at where you are laying out her clothes for the next day. “How many glasses of water did I have at dinner, Mama?”

“Three,” you answer as you lay a pale blue sweater over the sunflower yellow dress you’ve chosen. She turns back to her father. “I’ve already had three.” He tears his gaze away from the bookshelf, regarding her with a shadow of a smile on his lips. “That is very pragmatic of you.” She nods solemnly, squeezing his hand before examining her books once again. Her eyes light upon a book bound in deep green leather, embossed with a tall tower made of gold. “This one!” She slips her hand from him to take the book off the shelf. Though excited, she is careful. Books are treasures and her collection is more pristine than some libraries. Chevalier looks down at her choice and you see how his expression softens. “You’ve made this selection twelve times in three weeks.” 

“I like how you say all the new words!” The book is a story of a princess who travels the world and learns how to say hello in a multitude of languages, all of which Chevalier can speak. She takes his hand in hers again, the book cradled against her chest as she leads him to the large, velvet armchair, the one whose pink perfectly matches the dusty roses adorning her bookshelf. He settles into the chair and she climbs onto his lap, scooting back until she is comfortable. Reaching around her, his arms encircling her, he holds the book upright. “Shall we begin?” She nestles against his chest, azure eyes already eagerly on the book. “Yes, Papa!” 

A split second is all it is. Just a breath of time before he opens the book, but in that space the length of a heartbeat, you see how Chevalier allows the moment in: his daughter curled up on his lap, safe in the soft, warm light of her room, eyes bright with excitement as she waits for the magic of a book to begin, for her father to create that magic for her. His expression is the tenderness the dawn has for the sky, love painted in soft hues across his noble features. And then he clears his throat, opening the book to her delighted, already sleepy smile, and begins.

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