Beautiful Like Always - Tumblr Posts
Violet, that was so beautiful and poetic!! In Silvio's, you didn't only describe a kiss, but a whole tales and legends of the darkness that lurks in the depths of Benitoite. Silvio hesitation was so accurate and him not knowing what to do first thing when he is woken up feels so real!
Keith's was so sweet! His lover anticipating his return for so long (or that was how she saw it), to the point of hoping (it sounds like an adorable rabbit🥺) towards the entrance of the castle! Their need for each other just makes it saccharine sweet!
Gilbert's is very precious, yet bittersweet🥺 The feelings of his lover much have been on his mind and him making something for her, to remember her hometown, to make sure she doesn't regret it even? Is splendid 🥺! Your writing puts a charm to the imagination, the images are so clear and vivid (even in the dull Obsidian). The candied kiss shared between the two is definitely enchanting! Thank you very much for writing this! I'm looking forward to your works🥺💖
please may i ask for 3 different types of kisses with the 3 new princes
A/N: This is an older request. Sorry anon that it took so long! Thank you for your patience 💜
all the princes are with a f!reader
Word Count: 1618
These are long so the writing is posted below 💋
Silvio: Comforting Kiss
A dream of drowning in rushing black water has you waking with a strangled gasp. You swallow lungfuls of air too quickly, your heart racing like a swimmer stretching for the choppy surface. Your muscles ache and your forehead is damp, not with ocean water, but sweat. A shudder shakes you further and you whimper, the sound soft and sad.
He sits up slowly, pushing his seafoam hair out of his face, your gasping breaths having cut through his sleep like a burning blade. In the dim light of the bedroom, he can see the way your knees are hugged up against your chest, the tremble in your body as you struggle to regain control, to shake the last clinging drops of the horrific dream off. His hand rises and hovers just a moment above your back, split-second uncertainty paralyzing it. Then, slowly, he lowers it, pushing through the haze of leftover sleep and hesitation, and begins rubbing the space between your shoulders. The small, comforting circles his palm makes are gentle for a man often associated with brusqueness. He waits until he feels your breath entering and exiting steadily, then asks you what happened.
He is quiet, his hand now still as he listens to you recount your nightmare. He may be impatient but not with you. And he understands the fear you felt because Silvio is a man of Benitoite. He respects the sea. He knows its power. It is woven through the fabric of every folk song, every cautioning fairy tale.
Your words run out and you sigh heavily as you turn your face away from him, now embarrassed at the visceral reaction you had to something born of your own mind. A frown crosses his face and his other hand is on your chin, turning you back to him, his body knowing what to do even if his mind is a few steps behind.
He leans down, gathering you to him and kisses you gently, a kiss that grounds you, reminds you that you are safe with him, in your own bed, in the solid castle of his arms. He may not be good with words, your Silvio, but in his kiss you can feel them. I love you. I am here for you. I always will be.
Keith: Heated Kiss
He has been away for days on diplomatic business. And even though you weren’t moping around, wilting across seating furniture like some lovestruck lady in a bad romance novel, you did miss him fiercely. So much so that when you heard the servants calling that the Prince was home, you let the heavy, beaded gown you were trying on fall to the carpet with a breathy whoosh.
In your rush out the door, you grab your dressing robe which is haphazardly tied over your shift as you fly down the hallway, wings on your stockinged feet, heart buzzing with excitement. Several servants leap out of the way, then smile at the genuine but hurried apology you toss over your shoulder. You hop around a corner and then reach the white wooden banister from which you can see the large palace foyer.
Keith is standing there, speaking with his butler, still in the stately white and gold of his travel cloak. Your heart stumbles onwards, thumping against your breastbone, willing you to move. He glances up, as if sensing you there, and he smiles, his face lighting up with joy.
You grab the hem of your robe and continue your flight down the wide stairs, rushing ever faster as he moves towards you and you leap from the bottom step straight into his arms. The butler discreetly steps to the side, motioning for the others to leave you. You barely notice the servants dispersing like dust as you hug him with all your strength, your face buried in the side of his neck. He smells like sunshine and travel and the faint scent of the tea he loves so much, black flavored with oil of bergamot.
He sets you down, your feet dropping slowly to the cold tiled floor. But before he can straighten up, you throw your arms around his neck again, holding him in place and surge up to kiss him.
He hesitates. You are in the foyer of the palace after all and there are curious eyes everywhere. But you are insistent, whispering between kisses how much you missed him, how often you dreamt of his return, of feeling him in your arms again, how much you need him right now. And while he is a gentleman, Keith is also simply a man. And the woman he loves and has missed desperately and desires more than anything has her mouth pressed to his while she whispers sweet, ardent nothings to him. Your voice is low, only for his ears, and the words you are brushing against his lips are sinking in, stoking a fire that began smoldering the moment he saw you at the top of the stairs.
The gentleman concedes.
Without hesitation, he lifts you into the cradle of his arms and walks with purposeful steps down a hallway to the right. Your body feels warm, feverish with anticipation as he kicks open the door to one of the downstairs guest chambers, the closest possible bed.
Any curious gaze following you both sees the way he lowers you the moment he crosses the threshold, his white-gloved hands immediately pulling on the ties of your robe as his own cloak falls to the carpet. Curious ears hear the low, almost impatient growl that escapes the usually gentle prince as he captures your mouth in a heated, hungry kiss. And then every intriguing bit of it is blocked by the heavy slam of the guest chamber door, courtesy of the prince’s booted kick.
Gilbert: Romantic Kiss
You will always love the feel of Gilbert’s leather gloves. They are soft, supple and black enough that they seem to drink light in by the mouthful. Right now that dark, soft leather is gripping your hand tightly as he leads you down a narrow dirt path that runs along the back of the residence you are staying in. Puffs of dust are brought to life by your footsteps, dirtying the hem of your skirt and dulling the shine of his boots. This is a path not used often.
He’s leading you to the small greenhouse on his property, a small, derelict glass building in desperate need of repair. When you had first arrived and asked him about restoring it, he had shrugged, one shoulder lifting in a gesture that seemed to say “perhaps”. And then other matters had risen, the drums of war thundering in the distance, overshadowing the tiny, neglected greenhouse and it was never mentioned again. You had assumed he had simply decided it was not important.
He stops walking, turning to face you, his eye bright with excitement. “Allow me.” He reaches up and that soft leather now covers your eyes, shutting out the world. One strong hand on your lower back guides you forward, slower now. He warns you to tread carefully.
The first thing that hits you is the scent. It smells the way you imagine the color green would: like petrichor, like dirt, like something faintly floral and sweet. He walks you a few more steps and then removes his hand. You’re greeted by rows of young potted plants, hanging ivy as far as the eye can see, and a greenhouse without panels of broken glass, jagged and unwelcoming. It is a small green paradise within the dusty land that is Obsidian. You had mentioned once, shortly after leaving your home country to be with him, how you missed the gardens of Rhodolite. He had simply smiled and said nothing in response. You thought he did not want to hear about the things you had given up to be here. And so you never mentioned them again.
You’re taking it all in….And then you notice it. On the metal table in front of you, a black pot with a small, thorny shrub covered in miniature red roses, tiny replicas of the ones you had loved in the palace gardens. You turn to him, lips parted in surprise. “You hate roses,” you say, your voice soft and questioning.
“You don’t,” he answers. Those words settle into the center of your heart, warmth blossoming from them. He understood the Heimweh, the homesickness you felt, and that it could live alongside the love you had for him, neither one overshadowing the other.
You can’t help the way your eyes fill with tears. Your gaze drops as you try to stop them but then you feel the cool touch of his bare hand on your cheek. He’s removed his gloves to touch you, laying them on the table as he steps closer. His expression is full of tenderness and your last thought as he closes the distance between you is how his eye is your favorite shade of red.
His hands cradle your face and his lips find yours. His kiss is soft, cool as a misty morning before the world wakes, when shadows and the last vestiges of moonlight still reign. His mouth moves over yours, speaking without words of love and devotion. Of understanding and acceptance. You sigh into his kiss and he drinks it in, sweeter than mana.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your lips still touching his. You feel his smile and it sends another wave of warmth through you.
His head tilts to one side, his lips never losing contact with yours. “Bitteschön, meine Liebe,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours with every word. “Bitteschön.”
▪
Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @ariamichel @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart
Hello Mo!💖🥺
May I request 😘 with Jude (ikevil), but looking at an open book at the side immediately after? Thank you very much!
[😘] 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝙹𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔。。。
JUDE:
Spending some quality time with Jude is a rarity you want to appreciate for as long as possible, having a lover that gets bored easily when he's not chasing after his favorite, twisted brand of entertainment. To be calmly reading a book in his presence, rested snugly against his frame... it's not half bad. It's cozy.
Gods. You give up and turn your face to him, placing a quick smooch on his cheek. As per your plan, you're immediately returning to your book, pretending that you didn't lose your line or your whole composure just now.
"Oh? Someone's craving my attention?"
The feeling of relief is short-lived as you feel Jude's breath graze over your skin. He settles his hand on your chin, turning it to make you face him again, and in the very next second he's kissing you full-on the lips. Just like that.
"If you wanted a kiss, just say so."
The soft thud of your book falling closed seems distant as the shuffle of Jude's body moving closer dominates over the sound.
"Reading time is over."
∎ For You, My Valentine‼️- xxsycamore’s 1000 followers celebration party | 💌 event masterlist
