1K!!!

🎉🎊🎉 1K!!! 🎉🎊🎉

I'm so happy for you!!!!! You deserve all the love and admiration, my dear. Not only is your writing fantastic, you're sweet and I definitely consider you a friend of mine here. I appreciate you 💕

Now... could I request Theo and kissing to prove a point for your 1k celebration? I feel that's very him haha.

A/N: Here you are, @yarnnerdally 💜

Theo x f reader

Prompt: A Kiss to Prove a Point

Word Count: 1203

It has taken days of planning and many sleepless nights, but now you are finally done. The petite art gallery on the west side of Paris is decorated with elegant floral garlands and soft, twinkling fairy lights, all highlighting the theme of the collection: Romance. You’re tired, but it is a satisfied kind of tired, the kind that settles into your muscles and bones like a lioness sinking down onto the soft Savannah earth after a rewarding hunt. The artist behind the collection had been no one, just another street painter trying to sell his offerings to mildly interested tourists when you had noticed him and his work, stopping dead in your tracks to admire a painting of a couple locked in a warm embrace. They lay in a field of green grass and small pink blossoms, wrapped in one another’s arms. They're bathed in soft yellow sunshine, locked together in an eternal summer kiss. Something about the painting had felt so inviting, so real, you had pressed the tips of your fingers against your lips, your heart swelling with a wave of longing to be kissed the same way. By a certain someone.

Theo had agreed with you, once you had managed to drag him away from the mansion and back to the park where the artist was slowly packing up his wares. Buffeted by the man’s potential, you had worked together on putting together a showing of his paintings, drumming up funds from various patrons until you had enough for your showcase.

Now you walk through the small gallery, drinking in the fruits of your labor. 

“There you are.” Theo’s deep voice cuts through your reverie and you turn to see him approaching you, glass of sparkling champagne in hand. He hands you one which you take with an appreciative smile.

“Cheers,” you say, lifting it towards him.

“Proost,” he answers, clinking glasses with you. Your gazes hold (you could swim forever in all that blue) Before the moment stretches into something too long to be insignificant, you both raise the delicate crystal flutes and drink. The cascade of bubbles feels like it's not just rushing down your throat but through your entire body. You blink, turning towards the painting you are closest to. 

It’s the passionate couple, kissing in the summer field. The one that had so immediately caught your attention. You sigh, a light, dreamy sound that pours itself over Theo like silk, sending an unexpected rush of heat through his body. He rubs his face, turning away to hide any color that may have risen to his chiseled cheeks. You don't notice, eyes glued to the figures as you allow yourself another sip of champagne. Now, in the dimmer lighting of the art gallery late at night, there is something even more sensual about the way the couple is holding each other. His hand pressed against the rounded curve of his lover's hip, her fingers curled against the side of his neck, intimate, possessive. 

“This is as satisfying as a real kiss,” you murmur, head tilting as you continue to admire the art. What pulls you out of your rose-colored haze is the decidedly unromantic snort from your right. 

“If you think a painting can replace a real kiss, then you haven’t been kissing the right person, hondje.”

He’s smirking as he takes a sip of his drink, his impossibly blue eyes looking over the painting. The fairy lights are having the same effect on him as they do the artwork: he looks unfathomably beautiful, his golden hair darker than in the daylight, his face a sculptor’s dream of perfectly balanced features.

Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the intimacy of the late hour. Maybe it’s the fact that you have been spinning from one task to another all day long without a chance to spend any time with him. It has to be something because the following words come out of your mouth:

“Prove me wrong.”

Three little words that stop the earth from turning, that grab hold of Theo’s lungs with such force that the next inhale shakes. Three little words that hang in the air between you, vaguely foreboding like flickering neon or distant thunder.

Warning flashes through your mind and you want to kick yourself and your big mouth. Why did you say that? Whatever possessed you to even think that Theodorus van Gogh would be interested in kissing–

Theodorus van Gogh sets his champagne glass down on the edge of a table full of brochures and then turns. He reaches out with both hands, cupping either side of your face and leans down, capturing your mouth with his. You freeze, both arms at your sides, the champagne in your glass sloshing around like a tiny, storm-tossed sea. 

Is he…..

Oh….

…..he is….

He’s kissing you, his lips moving over yours in a shockingly gentle caress, his hands holding you still, not forcefully, but carefully, like you’re something valuable, something he should handle with care. He displays a tenderness you would never have dreamed possible in a man as large as he is. Every movement of his mouth against yours sends a ripple of warmth through your body. One hand shifts, the back of his fingers stroking the softness of your cheek. 

Your surprise slowly melts under his touch, disappearing like water droplets in sunshine,  and your free hand rises to clutch his shoulder. You hold on tightly, reveling in the electricity every brush of his lips sparks. But before you can part your lips in invitation, before you can start truly returning his kiss, he pulls away, the movement causing a short, forlorn gasp to leave your tingling lips.

Quiet descends upon you both and for a long, tense moment, neither one of you speaks. Words seem impossible as you stare into the summer-sky of his eyes. He clears his throat, shaking his head as if trying to wake himself out of a dream. At that moment you feel him pulling away, the warmth of his kiss and the tenderness of his hands fading into memory. Your heart lurches in panic.

“Theo.” 

He grunts, unable to meet your gaze. 

You step towards him, setting your champagne glass down next to his. Your hands are now free to reach out, steadier than you expected them to be, and take his, holding his strong hands tightly in yours.

“I believe…..I am starting to be swayed by your persuasive argument. But I do think I need more proof before I am fully convinced.”

His head snaps up and on his handsome face you see a dazzling array of emotions, starting with surprise and ending with a slow smile that sends your heart spinning. He pulls you towards him, unhurried, a man who now knows he has a delicious treat waiting just for him.

"More proof, huh,” he murmurs, unlocking your hands so he can slide his around you, large palms eagerly learning the curve of your hips, the slope of your waist.

You plunge your hand boldly into the thicket of his golden hair as he bends his body down to kiss you for the second time that night. 

By the night’s end though….you will have lost count entirely.

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

Happy 3rd Anniversary Ikemen Prince!

lucian

(thank you Nadia for the info!)

lucian

(thank you Nadia for the info!)

Falling Ahead - Part 2

Do you ever think Chevalier was just as shy around Yves as Yves was around him? Probably not, but now you're thinking it...

Ages: Yves (4), Clavis (7)

previous part ☆ next part

“Clavis?”

“...And a cinnamon stick, because it smells nice. And a little pickle juice to give it a kick…”

“Clavis…”

“...And a pinch of turmeric for a pop of color. And lots and lots and lots of sugar—”

“Clavis!”

Clavis teetered on the stool, but quickly regained his balance by grabbing the edge of the counter. “What? More sugar?”

Pungent fumes wafted around the kitchen, and Yves peered into the frothing mixing bowl through scrunched up eyes. “Clavis, it looks yucky.”

“That’s because we didn’t bake it yet. You have to bake the batter before it becomes a yummy cake, understand?” Clavis explained, gently patting his brother’s head. Dusty remains of yellow turmeric and white sugar sprinkled over Yves, making the boy sneeze with gusto.

“Goodness! Are you getting cold, Yves? Don’t worry, we’ll light the oven soon. Then we can sit by it and plan the party while we wait for your cake to finish.” Clavis grabbed a wooden spoon and began mixing the dubious ingredients, turning the bowl a more sinister foaming puce with each pass. Yves gulped and covered his mouth and nose.

“No, thank you,” he whispered feebly.

“Nonsense, you’re shaking worse than autumn leaves! Talking will make you forget about the cold, so let’s start with the guest list.” Clavis reached for a jar of crushed scallops and added it to the bowl as he spoke. “Now, who do you want to invite to your birthday party?”

Yves slightly lifted the hand from his mouth. “My brothers.”

“All of them?” asked Clavis. Yves nodded.

“I don’t think there will be enough cake for everyone,” said Clavis, subtly scooping out spoonfuls of batter and dropping them over the far end of the counter. 

“They can have my slice,” Yves offered.

“No no no. The birthday boy has to have birthday cake. That’s the rule,” said Clavis.

“Can I have a different present, please?” Yves asked, turning away from the bowl.

“Silly Yves. This isn’t your present. Presents have to be a surprise, understand? And my real present to you will make you scream with so much joy you’ll say—”

“Aaaah!”

Yves leapt off the stool and buried his face into Clavis’s shirtfront. Clavis grabbed the counter again to steady himself and looked around the kitchen for what could have spooked Yves. But he didn’t have to search for long.

Standing in the dimly lit doorway was Chevalier, a stoic look on his face and a thick leather-bound book in his arms.

“Chevalier, you meanie! You’re scaring my precious little brother!” Clavis whipped the spoon out of the bowl and brandished it like a sword, but Chevalier paid no attention to the impromptu weapon nor the putrid lumps it dripped on the floor as he approached the counter and extended his arms. The book in his hands was sharp and glimmering, a delectable drawing of sweet cakes and pastries printed on its cover, all smartly tied with a soft pink ribbon bow. 

Yves whimpered and slowly poked his face out to look at Chevalier. Too slowly for Clavis to notice. 

“Didn’t you hear me? I said you weren’t invited here!” Clavis shouted, waving the spoon threateningly in the air. Chevalier calmly tilted his head to avoid the “attacks”, but Clavis’s frenzied movements flung globs of batter in all directions. They hit walls, cabinets, pots and pans and plates, and eventually the book with an incredible SPLAT!

It all happened in an instant. Clavis paled. Chevalier darkened. Yves screamed and ran, slipping on the batter Clavis scooped earlier and knocking into the counter. The bags of turmeric and sugar fell over the edge and burst on Yves, leaving him a teeny, weepy, sneezy mess. 

Color returned to Clavis’s cheeks as quickly as it left. “No no Yves, please don’t cry! It’s all Chevalier’s fault! I told you he shouldn’t come to the party!” 

Chevalier set the book down on a clean section of the counter and stepped up on the stool. Clavis blanched once again.

“I mean, ahahaha! It worked! Just according to plan!” Clavis yelled, shakily brandishing the spoon again. “Happy birthday! Now weren’t you surprised by that, Yves? It was a fun little show, wasn’t it? Your big brother won the battle and you’re crying tears of joy, right? Right?”

Yves sobbed harder. Chevalier neatly pulled back his shirtsleeve and seized Clavis by the back of the head.

“I mean! I mean! Lookatallthoseingredientsyougatheredwecanmakeabizillionmorecakesandinviteabizillionmorepeopletoyourpartyisn’tthatjustwonder— NO NO NOOOOOO—!”

Chevalier dunked Clavis’s face into the mixing bowl. It is said that on that day, young prince Yves’s laughter could be heard as far as the throne room on the opposite side of the castle.

Napoleon & Kuromi 😈