Ikemen Prince Silvio - Tumblr Posts
Kinktober Day 3: Silvio Ricci x (fem.) Reader
AN: Hello everyone! This is for the 3rd day of Kinktober. I hope you enjoy it!
Warnings: Smut, nsfw, jealousy, slight exhibitionism, (bad English), (act 2) ikepri character (be careful of character spoiler), language
Fandom: Ikemen Prince
Character: Silvio Ricci
Silvio’s blue eyes were overflowing with rage, but mostly envy over you. The very moment you woke up, he insisted for you to try on a new dress he bought, which was delivered in your private chambers by the maids. He wanted nothing more than spend the time with you and only you, right after the meeting scheduled by the princes from the countries neighbouring Benitoite.
But the plans quickly changed. Whenever he noticed many pairs of eyes hungrily following your every step, he felt his blood boil, along with other emotions. He was furious but couldn’t blame you, nor them. The dress he picked, the one you were wearing, was form fitting at the top, showing off your curvy chest and beautiful silhouette, while the bottom part was flowy, giving the impression of an angel on earth.
“Bastard.” He angrily muttered when he noticed Gilbert’s slender fingers touching the bodice from the back and lightly playing with the strings that were keeping it together.
With one eye, Gilbert was secretly watching Silvio grit his teeth, as he sensually started undoing the twine and wrapping it around his thumb.
The other man couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up from the wooden chair, having enough of the dark haired prince’s behavior, and marched to where you were standing.
“What is it, are you lonely Silvio?” Gilbert teased him but took the sign to leave you two alone.
Silvio glared after him, before returning his attention on you. You were staring with a soft expression and greeted him like usual, but he didn’t say it back.
Suddenly, you felt the coldness of the wall press against your back, the expensive, silky fabric not helping in protecting you from the cold. The bottom part was lifted up and Silvio’s hand went straight to your flimsy panties. He pushed them to the side, his digits stroking languidly at your velvety folds. He slowly inserted one finger to your slit to loosen you up, quickly followed by a second.
You moaned his name and clutched on his shirt, your leg clasping around his slim waist. You were lifted up and were able to circle his middle fully with the other.
“My name is the only one you can moan like that.” His warm breath blew in your ears as he murmured lowly, his baritone voice giving you a tingling feeling in your wet, dripping cunt. He tugged at your earlobe with his teeth and bit it, hard enough to make you cry out, but not enough to break the skin.
Your tone was enough to give him a solid erection. His cock was staining the front of his pants, yet he didn’t make any move to drop them.
“Silvio, ngh...” His imperious smirk had you clenching and squirming from pleasure.
“Take it off for me and spread your thighs. You know what to do afterwards.” You excitedly did as ordered, with his member in hand, you lined up the tip to your snug entrance. Silvio didn’t lose any time, as he thrusted his dick in you, a growl exiting his perfectly shaped lips.
He tilted his head, capturing your lips in a steamy kiss that screamed jealousy. His teeth were grazing your tongue, which you slipped inside his mouth, while his hips met yours repeatedly, the slapping of skin against skin sounding too loudly in the oddly quiet room.
You pulled away, enjoying the connection between both of you. Your faces were so close, that you could make out the little details of his handsome face.
“Fuck..” The tall prince groaned out and warned you that he’ll cum soon.
You whimpered in pleasure and squirted your juices on him. Silvio came seconds later, his seed filling you up to the brim, until you were dripping on the floor. Silvio could hear your heartbeat and he sighed.
“Don’t let that brute flirt with you again.” Turns out your trick worked and you kept notes for the next time with a giggle.
~The End
AN: Thank you very much for reading!
"𝓐 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾" Silvio Ricci x fem. Reader (smut)
AN: Hello everyone! I want to thank you for your support all this time, I really appreciate it! I decided to write a Silvio Ricci smutfic since the boys are officially in the game! I hope you enjoy it~
Fandom: Ikemen Prince
Character: Silvio Ricci
Warnings: Smut, nsfw, Rubbing, thigh fucking, character eating his cum and the reader's, (probably bad English)
Silvio scowled at nothing, but the quiet of the night, that almost lulled him to sleep. His luscious locks fell on his forehead as he listlessly skimmed over the piles of paperwork that were gathered and sighed deeply. From the outside, he looked calm in a gentlemanly manner, but his heart and body yearned for more. The unearthly silence of the room made him uncomfortable, he didn't want to be alone. Especially now that he got so used to your loving company.
His blue eyes took in his surroundings, trailing from hundreds of study books, maps and candles on the table, and yet, he still found you. They fell on your lovely figure that came from the bath and watched as you sat right on the side of the king sized bed.
You were always able to wake up the fire inside him, a different "beast side" of his, that many didn't know. It was a fire that he couldn't calm down, not like he had any reason to want to. But it made him feel like he belonged to you, as much as you did to him. His heartbeat, like a storming wave in the sea, it only beats fast for you.
He hungrily checked over your body, which was covered only by one of his shirts. The soft looking, exposed skin made his imagination run wild and his cock to harden through his now tight pants.
"Silvio?" Your voice, as sweet and lovely as honey, smoothly reached him and he shut his eyes. You were so enticing, although it wasn't something he would tell you so easily. He always made you work for it.
Silvio hummed deeply and set his quill aside, on a blank parchment sheet, not caring about it getting dirty with ink, since his mind was elsewhere. With a simple move, he motioned you with a long, elegant finger to walk over and you obediently followed.
With a small move, he pushed the armchair and leaned back on the velvet fabric and waited for you. The moment you reached him, he turned you around and pulled you on his lap, each of your thighs widely spread on top of him and your back to his strong, muscular chest.
"What is it?" He hasn't said a word yet, so you questioned in a hushed tone, while nuzzling him and Silvio closed his eyes.
"Shut up." His rude comment made you giggle, since you were used to him.
Silvio leaned forward and let his head on your shoulder, his light colored hair tickling the side of your face and his arms circled around your middle. You took it upon you to calm him down and reassure him by threading your fingers in his strands.
One arm left your waist and the man behind you used it to open a small, nicely decorated wooden box. The inside was a rich, royal blue color and in it, there was a necklace with a delicate design. The prince always said that he preferred smaller jewelry, so he could enjoy more of you.
Your train of thoughts was quickly stopped when he gazed up and with the other hand, he gently clasped the accessory around your neck.
He hummed in satisfaction and delicately kissed your neck, before reaching up and behind your ear. He groaned lowly and moved your body enough for you to feel his dick poking your behind, to which you responded by grinding on him.
"Fuck…." You moaned when he caught your earlobe in his teeth and harshly sucked on it. The hand left your neck snf the other your waist. One went to play with your new necklace's sparkly chain, while the other unbuttoned the shirt and groped your chest and nipples. You moaned and started grinding on him faster.
"What do you want? If you don't tell me, then I won't know." He grunted as you pushed your own hand between your legs and touched his noticeable bulge. You then took it away and thrusted a finger inside your dripping wet pussy.
"Ahh, Silvio!" Your voice was shaky and broken as you fingered yourself on him, you wetness traveling from your thighs to his pants. Silvio wasn't used to you teasing him back and he was already intrigued by your moves.
"Put more in." He ordered and you did as you were told, a second digit joining the first that was already stretching you nicely but it was nowhere close to what your lover could do to you.
"A fee moments of you pleasuring yourself, you regretfully took your fingers out and out them on his now dirty pants, that you unbuttoned and fished his cock out. Silvio sighed in relief and you stroked him before slipping him between the glistening folds of your slit.
You rubbed the head there with one hand and the other went straight to his heavy, cum filled balls. Silvio's breath hitched and he moved his hips upwards, matching your speed and urging you to continue with your 'mischief'. You stood up a bit from his lap to rub his cockhead on your sensitive clit. A bit later, you shouted his name and squirted your juices all over him. Silvio's eyes closed and with your help, he fucked between your thighs before he followed your steps and stained them in hot cum.
He shakily stood up from the armchair and let you sit on it. He kept your legs spread and he fell on his knees in front of you. His eyes found yours and held them there, as he lapped at the cum collected by the two of you.
You affectionately petted his head, asked him to show you his mouth before he swallowed and praised him for the rest of the night.
The End~
Can I request a story about Silvio as a vampire?
Mr. Moneybags is a vampire 😯
He was breathtakingly gorgeous, yet there was an air of arrogance he often held around himself.
Was it due to affluence, or was it due to inferiority?
Yet, icy red eyes kept their gaze locked on her..... Belle.....
A plain, simple, young woman who had slapped him into the walls when he'd said to buy her off. This had caught him off guard, normally women would jump at the idea.....
She was different. While women from prestigious families threw themselves at him, she did not.
And yet.... his mind wandered to places and things he'd normally not think of..... of things only Nokto could do to these women and get away with it....
Her petite frame illuminated in the pale glow of the moonlight....red lips he'd love to get drunk off.
Slipping up behind her, he caressed her soft, silky skin as his hot breath hit her neck.
"Bella Mia....you're tempting me....and I cannot resist...." a rich baritone echoed in her ear, a fang lightly scraping her shoulder.
Husky, gravely voice called her once more. "Your answer, Bella Mia?"
🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂
@chaosangel767 @thewitchofbooks @themysticalbeing @rhodolitesrose @aquagirl1978 @yukina-otome @vvvvavaaaa
HAPPY BIRTHDAY silvio 💝
I almost forgot its his bday
(´。＿。｀)
please don't repost minors/ageless blogs dni
For SILVIO FANS ONLY. Do not look if you're not a Silvio fan, or something bad will happen. Don't say I didn't warn you!!
HA. It was clickbait. I've posted this wip before. But this is the wip I'm trying to finally finish
Violet, I have no words to describe this, yet I'll find as many as possible to speak about my favourite parts (all of it).
For a start, I just adore how you didn't make Silvio a mindless rich man. He is someone who has intelligence over the weather because of what he does as work and it's amazing how it's not overlooked! The glances of the weather and the thunder are also described so beautifully and even if scary, you put them down in a gentle way that flows with the story. Making it all that more realistic and really setting the mood.
I was able to grasp the "fragrance" of the wooden in, the gorgeous yet simple place that sounded like it came straight out of a history. And I was once again reminded of how dangerous, yet amusing everything could be. Silvio's story, it sounded like those urban legends you hear and feel the adrenaline pulsing through you, as the haunted, huge waves pulse through the sea. When he said that it took men with it, I felt a sudden chill.
But not only that. The 'romance' was teasing the readers, creating a tension between both of the characters throughout the whole night they had to spend together. And Silvio lending his shirt was the cherry on top!
As for his companion, he said his harsh words but in the end, he knew how to keep her warm and happy, until the morning cracked.
Now then, how do I know this is the perfect story? It's because you were able to make me, and I'm pretty sure many others if not all, absolutely love the side characters. They were like fresh air, putting their own little touches of understanding towards the lady, but in the end, they also showed their appreciation towards Silvio. Truly a masterpiece, that I will be thinking for a long time😭🥺💖
A/N: @dear-mrs-otome your request has taken me on quite the journey. I hope I've managed to do your Prince right and that you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. 💜
Technically, this is part of my Broken Heartstrings series under the prompt: Only One Bed which I have been dying to write and was really excited to do with Silvio, demanding as he is.
Silvio x f! reader
Word Count: 5093
Of all the people to share a carriage ride back to the palace with, Silvio Ricci is the last one you would have chosen. You glance at him, sitting there across from you in the darkened carriage as it sways over the uneven country roads. His face is currently set to a sharp scowl, his impossibly blue eyes staring out the glass window. Not that he can see much. The world outside is black, streaked with shots of gray as the rain continues to fall, pelting the carriage’s roof and windows with a loud rat-a-tat-tat sound.
Only his occasional annoyed sighs interrupt the steady drumming of the rain. You pull your thin, black silk shawl tighter around your bare shoulders, turning to stare out your own darkened window. You’ll be grateful when you reach the palace and can change out of your tightly corseted ball gown. As enchanting as it is with its ivory-colored satin and black lace trimming, you are looking forward to being able to breathe again. And bend properly.
“Only Rhodolite would have a ball way out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”
Your jaw clenches and the rolling sound of thunder echoes the irritation you feel at his snide tone.
“The Count holds this ball once a year at his country estate which is one of the most elegant–”
The Prince of Benitoite scoffs loudly. “Elegant my ass.”
You are really beginning to question Sariel’s decree that you ride back to the palace with this pompous royal. You’re more likely to lodge your heeled shoe in his temple than make pleasant small talk.
“Prince Silvio, do you have to be so-” You’re interrupted by another boom of thunder, this one loud enough to rattle the carriage. You hear the frightened whine of the horse over the continued sound of heavy rain. Some part of you is not surprised when it rolls to a stop. A moment later there is a rapping at the window and you lean over, opening the carriage door. A rush of wet, cold air invades the dry interior.
“The hell we stopped for?” Silvio yells above the din of the downpour.
The driver, battling the gusting wind to keep his hat on his head and the rain out of his eyes, has to yell back in order to be heard. “‘Storm has gotten too bad, your highness! We can’t keep traveling in this weather!” He glances over his shoulder, blinking against the water pelting his face.. “We passed an inn just a short ways back! We should head there for shelter!”
You expect him to argue and for a half a moment, his lips part and it looks like he might. But then the sky explodes into a sheet of white as lightning bares its teeth. Silvio’s gaze shifts from the sky back to the driver and you’re given a glimpse of a man who understands and respects the power of a storm. He nods once in affirmation.
The driver looks relieved that he won’t have to argue with the haughty prince and closes the carriage door. A moment later you feel it turn, heading back in the direction it came. You wonder whether or not you should comment on the prince’s amenability when he snorts in disgust, moving his expensive leather boots away from a puddle of water that the rain had blown onto the carriage floor.
Nope, still an ass, you think with a sigh and ride the rest of the way to the inn in silence, with only the turbulent sound of the storm echoing through the carriage.
“Whaddaya mean there’s only one room left?” Silvio’s jewelry and the many gold adornments on his ocean-blue jacket gleam in the light of the hearth fire inside the common room of the inn. “You’re talking to a Prince of Benitoite! I could buy this whole place out from under ya in a day.”
The beleaguered innkeeper crosses his burly arms, glaring at the prince from under bushy white eyebrows.
“As I said already, Your Highness, I got one room left. You can take it or leave it.” He turns to the driver who has returned from securing the horse, safe and sound in the barn. “It’s not much, sir, but you can have a spot in front of the hearth. It’ll warm you up, dry you off.”
Silvio’s booted foot hits the wooden planks of the inn’s floor. “And your room? What if I demand to commandeer your bed?”
The innkeeper grins through his full, white beard. “You’d certainly give my wife the thrill of her life, Your Highness.”
You would laugh at the startled look on Silvio’s face but you have another pressing problem. “So I have a choice between the floor and….sharing a room with him?”
Genuinely sorry, the innkeeper nods, his gaze darting to the prince. “I apologize, my lady. Truly.”
You turn to face Silvio and his scowl. With a jangle, he snatches the room key from the counter where the innkeeper left it and marches off toward the narrow, winding staircase that leads to the second story of the inn.
You follow with one last glance at the common room.
Maybe the floor wouldn’t be that bad.
The room is at the very end of the hallway, nestled under the slanted inn roof. You notice several things right away when you step inside: There is one round glass window through which you can watch the way the rain is being flung through the night by a restless, howling wind. A small oil lamp is lit, resting on the nightstand of the lone bed. It is larger than you expected, taking up close to half of the small room. A tiny, worn table and single chair are tucked into a narrow corner. And there is absolutely nothing else in the room except a Prince of Benitoite, whose pale head almost brushes the rafters, standing in the middle with his arms crossed, glowering in disdain.
“What a dump.”
Irritation trumps politeness and you hear yourself snap at him. “You’re welcome to take your royal ass back down to the common room and sleep with the driver. Or perhaps the barn with the horses is more to your liking.”
He turns sharply, his clothing and jewelry jingling softly under the sounds of the storm. His gaze, the blue of a midsummer sky, lingers and you wonder if he’s going to snap at you for speaking to him that way. Or comment on your language. Instead he surprises you by doing neither. His lips curve into a grin and you are utterly unprepared for the way a smile changes his face. What was begrudgingly handsome transforms into blindingly beautiful. Butterflies are born, fluttering their wings in your stomach, sending up a breeze that comes out as a huff of air as you march over to the side of the bed closest to the window and sit, leaning down to undo the straps of your shoes.
He watches you, crossing his arms. “Whatcha doin’?”
You keep your back to him as you pull off one shoe and begin undoing the other. “Getting ready for bed.”
He glances at the bed with its single, quilted blanket and two pillows. Then he begins unbuttoning his dress jacket. “Fine. You can have the blanket. Maybe it’ll make the chair or floor more comfortable.”
Standing, you turn around to face him. He’s carefully removed his jacket and has folded it so all its golden ornaments are wrapped inside of it.
“What do you mean ‘the chair or floor’? The bed is big enough for us both. I refuse to–What on earth are you doing?” You watch, brows raised as he begins tucking his jacket underneath his pillow.
“My clothes are worth more than everything in this room. Hell, one of my rings probably more than this whole fucking inn.” He steps back, satisfied that you can’t see the jacket anymore and then faces his next bothersome obstacle, the one shaking her head with her hands on her hips. Hips, he notices, that are temptingly accented by the flair of her ballgown. His gaze follows the stiff waistline up the strapless bodice where he can’t help but notice other things the gown accents. How had he not noticed your–
Your voice snaps him out of it.
“Prince or not, that’s ridiculous.”
Aaaaaand you’re yappin’ again. He ignores your comment, kicking off his expensive leather boots in a move so casually effortless it stirs those annoying butterflies again and then with a sigh, lays down on the bed. He’s left all of his jewelry on, his golden rings and earrings and necklaces which strikes you as very uncomfortable but he seems right at home, stretching out his long limbs in a way that seems to swallow all that space the bed seemed to have at first glance.
Best to get ready and go to sleep immediately.
With that thought, you realize something-and the raucous storm outside has nothing on the roar of panic flooding your body.
Your ivory and black ball gown is beautiful. And you were laced into this beautiful ivory and black ball gown by a trusted female servant. Laced into it wearing nothing but a pair of soft silken drawers which stop mid-thigh.
You consider trying to sleep in the gown. No. You wouldn’t be able to move. It’s too tight at the waist and chest and too voluminous in the skirt.
Which means…..you turn slowly to see Silvio has rolled over, his back to you. Great. He’s gone to sleep already.
You clear your throat.
No response.
You do it again louder.
He doesn’t move.
“Silvio!”
His name does it. “The fuck you want, lady?!” He’s rolled halfway around, glaring at you over his shoulder.
“I….” This hurts to admit and you wish you were in the room with anyone else. “I can’t undo my gown.”
“So sleep in it,” he says, each word drawn out slowly like he’s talking to a small child. He mutters something in the language of Benitoite you can just tell is rude and insulting.
You grit your teeth. He starts to roll back over.
“I can’t. It’s too tight to sleep in and the skirt is big.”
Outside the thunder rolls, low and foreboding. Silence swallows the room and you know your cheeks are warm. Maybe he won’t notice in the dim light.
He jangles as he pushes himself up now, hair pale as moonlight falling across his forehead and cheek as he tilts his head. And then slowly, oh so slowly, he grins in a way that corkscrews a blaze of heat right through you.
“So lemme make sure I got this. You’re askin’ me to undress you?”
You steel yourself. “And to give me your shirt.”
That wipes the grin right off his face. “Whaddaya mean ‘give you my shirt’? Do you know-”
“I’m sure it’s more expensive than all the buildings in Rhodolite but I am going to sleep in that bed and I am not going to do it in just my undergarment!”
Your tone is firm, much more confident than you actually feel. Again the thunder outside is the only sound as he stares, those cobalt blue eyes fixed on you with the intensity and depth of a storm-tossed ocean.
“Please.” It comes out small, a tiny crack in the wall of confidence you’ve been presenting him with. The word has slipped out, unbidden and the heat in your face feels unbearable. Have you lost your mind, asking him to do this? “N-Nevermind, I’ll-”
Your stammering drops off as he stands, his elegant fingers reaching under soft white ruffles to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He does not meet your gaze and you wonder if that darkness in his face is a blush to match your own. Then the white shirt is off and he’s standing before you, his upper body surprisingly sculpted and shockingly bare. His necklaces lay against his fair skin and there is something so intimate about the sight your breath catches.
“So the lady likes what she sees.” Dragging your gaze away from all the exposed skin and corded muscle, you see that grin has returned to those lips and you draw a quick breath, spinning around and presenting him with your back (which happens to conveniently hide a blush so fierce it must be glowing.)
“Just get on with it.”
The wooden floorboards creak underfoot as he crosses to where you are standing. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this close to him before. You didn’t dance together at the ball and as far as you can remember the only time you’ve ever touched was when you first met and he offered you his hand, a sharp thrust in your direction that felt more like he was going to stab you with an invisible dagger than an introduction.
But now he is so close you can smell his cologne, something unexpectedly soft that vaguely reminds you of the sea on a dark, clear night. Your body is electric with an awareness that ripples across your skin with every inhale and exhale he makes. Outside, the rain is endless, the thunder unflagging. But their sounds are drowned out by the sudden pounding of your heart, by the beat of a thousand butterfly wings sending your blood rushing through your veins like the current of a wild river. He begins pulling on the satin bow of your gown, undoing the careful knot.
“The laces can be tricky,” you say just to say something, anything. Is that really your voice, so breathy and soft?
You realize your mistake instantly because he answers you and his voice is right by your ear, curling around the shell of it.
“I got more than enough experience with knots,” he murmurs.
“Because of all the people you’ve bedded,” you mutter. Why did you say that? And why does the thought of Silvio in bed with anyone make your fingers curl into your palms?
He’s released the knot and begins loosening the stays, tucking those nimble fingers underneath each crisscross and tugging, not roughly as you would have imagined but with precision, loosening each section deliberately, skillfully.
“Because I’m a sailor,” he says matter-of-factly, surprising you yet again. He tugs again and the bodice of your gown suddenly slips, sending you scrambling to keep the whole thing up. He leans closer still, his lips mere centimeters from your ear. “And because of all the people I’ve bedded.” He’s undone your gown but you’re being wrapped up again, this time in his silken, serpentine words..
Your heart leaps in your chest and you stumble away, holding up your dress with both arms, swallowing against the unexplainable tightness in your throat.
“Your shirt.” You hold the ivory satin to your chest with one arm and hold out your free hand, palm up. He practically strolls back to the bed (how he manages to do that in such a small space is a mystery), picks up his shirt and with a shameless grin, throws it at you.
You don’t reach for it with both hands as he may have hoped, instead catching it one-handed and there is a flash of something in his eyes. Disappointment? Admiration? Both?
“Turn around.”
He lifts his hand, jeweled rings on nearly every finger and covers his eyes.
“Silvio.” Consternation swells his name. It looks like he’s peeking.
“What? I ain’t lookin’!”
There is too much running wildly through your mind, too many blurry thoughts twisting in incomprehensible circles to worry about whether or not the man is going to sneak a look at you or not. You turn your back to him and let your gown drop to the floor with a whoosh.
He didn’t plan to look. But the rings on his fingers don’t allow him to hold them together completely and when your dress makes that sound, his eyes open of their own accord and through the narrow space between his fingers he catches a glimpse of your naked back. The curve of your hip and dip of your waist. The shapely line of your legs.
The thunder rumbles a warning and he quickly closes his eyes again, alarmed at the sharp, hot pang of want slicing its way through his body. You? No. He doesn’t want–
One blue eye slowly opens, this time without any excuse. You’re wearing his shirt. It falls to the back of your knees and somehow looks better than any dress ever would. There is a tension slowly winding its way across his neck, his shoulders, a tightening in his gut at the sight. And then you turn, buttoning the final few buttons and his mouth goes dry at the fleeting glimpse of your décolleté. .
What the fuck…..He forces his eyes closed again, his jaw clenched against the swift desire you unknowingly provoked.
You scramble towards the bed and dive under the blanket, pulling it up and over your chest.
“Okay,” you murmur. “You can look now.”
He mumbles something that sounds like “Finally”, his voice oddly hoarse, as he lays back down but on top of the covers.
“You can get under the covers. You’ll get cold if–”
“I’m fine, lady,” he snaps, a dog snarling at the hand offering it a pet.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have no shirt on and it’s not all that warm in here. You’ll get sick.”
“I don’t get sick,” he says haughtily and for a moment, your exasperation overrules the awkwardness.
“Fine. Whatever you say.” You pointedly roll away from him, trying to ignore how soft his shirt is, how good it smells, how comforting it is against your skin as the world outside rages with wind and water.
“This bed sucks.” His voice is rough, irritated. You glance over your shoulder. He’s laying on his back, his hands behind his head, staring at the slanted wooden beams of the ceiling. Despite the bareness of his upper body, it’s his profile that captures your attention. The fall of his pale hair. The slant of his cheekbones. The straight, aristocratic nose. His perfectly sculpted lips. A sudden, wild thought bursts through the chaos of your mind: what would they feel like on your lips? On your skin?
Outside the thunder booms, a furious sound so powerful it shakes the window, like a giant quaking the earth with its powerful steps. A small cry of surprise and trepidation escapes you.
He turns his head. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
You roll onto your back, not wanting to face the window and the darkness outside. An uncontrollable shiver rolls through you and you tug the covers up, closer to your chin.
“Rhodolite doesn’t have storms like this often." Your heart is hammering because of the deafening clap of thunder, right? It has nothing to do with the preposterous thoughts spinning like coins through your head just before.
“Benitoite does.” He returns his gaze to the dark wooden beams above. “Be grateful you’re not on the deck of a ship durin’ a storm like this.”
You glance at the window, illuminated by a burst of lightning and then turn, rolling completely away from it to face him.
“What was it like?”
Silvio glances at you, then quickly back to the ceiling. “This little rain shower’s got nothin’ on a storm that crept up on us while we were out to sea, sailin’ back from Tanzanite…..”
He speaks and you listen, each word a small fairy light blinking into existence, leading you down a path, away from the storm outside the small guesthouse in the middle of the Rhodolite countryside, and into the eye of a hurricane. One that rocks the carrack Silvio is on, homeward bound from far-away Tanzanite.
He paints the picture so well, his voice low, blending in with the unrelenting barrage of rain on the darkened window pane. You can see him in your mind’s eye, soaked through, swallowing salt water and his fear as he clings to wet, stinging ropes, his boots sliding across the slick deck. Men’s shouts fade into the roar of the wind. A body is plucked from the ship and tossed like a ragdoll through the howling wind, lost forever to the churning, briny depths. The ocean is enraged, a wild beast bucking and kicking blindly. The ship groans and tilts, battered by the winds, tossed by the wild waves. Silvio’s vision is blurred as he seeks out the helmsman, valiantly still at the massive wooden wheel and makes his way across the dangerously open deck. A wall of water slams into him and he knows if he doesn’t fight, he will be washed out to sea. Dogged determination fills him. Out here he isn’t a prince, fighting for his father’s approval, fighting to be seen as someone worthy. Out here in the elements he is a man, fighting for his very survival, all his gold and jewels and titles worn down to nothing by the wild storm, like mighty mountains that have been reduced to pebbles by the persistence of rain over centuries. He roars in the face of the wind and the rain, clawing his way up to the petrified helmsman. “Insieme!!” Together.. His ringed fingers wrap around the wooden handles, between those of the helmsman. Their gazes meet and as lightning blanches the sky, they both turn with all their might……
“The sea claimed four men that night. Ain’t small, the price of lovin’ her.” He trails off, the experience slowly fading back into the mist of his memory. His blue eyes, darker and softer than you’ve ever seen them, blink as he returns to the small room at the top of the inn and the woman lying next to him.
You’re still on your side, facing him, your gaze held completely at attention by his face, his voice. His story not only distracted you from the storm outside, but had pulled you in, had you inching closer, heart hammering in your chest as you hung on every word.
But he’s run out of words, that barrier now gone, and there is nothing between you. Just your gaze locked with his, your chest rising and falling as you stare into those azure depths, wondering if the tempest outside will be what causes you to helplessly fall into all that blue, another voyager lost in the ocean of his eyes.
You may be balancing on attraction’s razor-thin edge, but he is no better off. All he can think about is the softness in your expression, the part of your lips, and how he wants nothing more than to capture them and steal the taste of your mouth for himself, hoard it along with the other treasures he already has of you from tonight. The line of your bare back, the light in your eyes, the whisper of your breathing. Just a few centimeters and he would touch you. A few more and he could-
A loud clap of thunder breaks the moment, snapping it in two. You jump, shaken from the hold his gaze had on you, a loud gasp escaping your throat. He jerks back, suddenly aware of just how close the two of you were. There is a faint flush across his cheekbones as he runs a hand through his soft, silvery hair.
“Stop bein’ such a baby. I just told ya how this is nothin’.”
That imperious tone feels like an affront after hearing him speak so softly before. You pull away as if stung and then gather yourself together so he won’t see the glimmer of hurt in your eyes.
“I’m not a baby. I was just startled and–” The way he’s tilting his head, a derisive smirk on his lips sends a flare of annoyance through you. “You know what? Just forget it.” Angrily you roll away from him, yanking the covers up over your shoulder. You don’t see the flash of disappointment in his eyes, the way his fingers reflexively uncurled when you turned away, his body knowing what it wants long before his mind.
You don’t see how long his gaze lingers on you before he finally forces himself to look away.
Sleep does not find you. You lay there as the oil lamp sputters out and the room is filled with dark shadows that scatter briefly when bright bursts of lightning illuminate the sky, a sky that continues to rampage with gusts of wind and cries of thunder.
Every single inch of you is aware of how close he is. You feel when he shifts his body, the movement disturbing the bedding. You’re still wrapped in the softness of his shirt, surrounded by his scent. And now you can hear the even sounds of his breathing.
Taking a chance, you glance over your shoulder.
He’s asleep on his side, still facing you, his pillow tucked between his arm and his head. You should turn away and continue your battle with wakefulness. You should stop staring at the locks of argent hair across his forehead. The curve of his arm. The graceful line of his torso.
Outside the thunder rolls. Your heart echoes its tremor.
You do eventually turn away from him but find yourself very slowly inching your way backwards, moving towards him until your body is touching his, the blanket still between you. Despite the coolness of the room, he has stayed on top of it. There is an almost palpable relief in the feeling of his form, the solidness of his body. The storm feels less angry, less destructive. Being this close to him feels right in a way you don’t want to explore, a nebulous thing on the horizon of your heart that you want to keep at bay.
And then he shifts in his sleep, throwing his arm around you and pulls you even closer against him.
You’re grateful he’s asleep or else the sudden galloping of your heart would surely wake him. It takes several breaths to calm the storm of butterflies in your chest, kicked up by your heart’s sudden racing. They settle down, wings still opening and closing at the feel of his strong arm, the curve of his body around yours. But there is also something warm slowly washing over you. A cocoon, a safe haven where you can finally close your eyes, finally feel the storm’s energy not as an enemy but as a companion, accompanying you as you drift off to sleep at last.
Silvio feels the way your body relaxes, the tension seeping from your muscles as you fall asleep, soft and trusting in his embrace.
If you only knew he has been awake throughout.
He stays awake for a long time, loath to move even a centimeter, feeling the warmth of your body through the blanket and listening to the sound of the rain.
Epilogue:
“Get up, lady. I need my shirt back.”
That voice falls into the still waters of sleep, hooking itself into your consciousness and drags you slowly to the surface.
Sleepily you push yourself up, raising a hand against the bright beam of sunlight spilling into the room.
Pushing your tousled hair out of your face, you find the Prince of Benitoite standing beside the bed, his jacket flung over his bare shoulder, one hand on his hip as he stares down at you. “Let’s go. We’re gettin’ out of this dump. Driver’s already waitin’.”
Irritation rears its little horned head and your eyes narrow.
“Good morning to you too.”
He ignores that and stretches out his hand. “My shirt.”
And we’re back to this. You sigh.
“Go wait outside the door.”
He regards you a moment and then turns on his boot heel and leaves the room. With a grimace you climb out of the warm bed, padding barefoot across the wooden floor until you’re by the entrance. As quickly as you can, you unbutton his white shirt and then stick your hand out the door with it dangling from two fingers.
He mutters something that you cut off with a slam, eyes closing for a moment as you catch your breath.
Did last night really happen? Was he….kind? And….warm? Did you really sleep in his arms?
A bang on the door jerks you out of your thoughts. “Move it or lose it!”
Oh for fuck’s sake. “Go already! I’ll be there!”
Somehow you are able to wrangle yourself back into your ball gown. Tying the back is tricky but you manage to get it closed enough to avoid any indecency. A quick re-pinning of your hair and buckling of your shoes and you're making your way down the wooden staircase. The innkeeper is at the counter, smiling through his fuzzy white beard in greeting.
“Morning, my lady,” he calls cheerfully.
The door to the inn is open and you can see the driver loading a few things back onto the carriage. Silvio is already inside.
“Thank you again for your hospitality, sir. I’m afraid I don’t have any coin for our stay, but I’ll be sure to return as soon as possible to pay-”
The older man shakes his head, waving you to a stop with his hand. “Oh no, no need for that my lady. Your…er…roommate already took care of it.”
You’re unable to hold back the surprise in your voice as you glance at the carriage and then back to the innkeeper. “He did?”
His eyes gleam as he reaches into the pocket of his worn vest and again, shock squeezes a silent gasp from your lips. In his work-worn, calloused hand, he’s holding two of Silvio’s bejeweled rings. His words from last night flash through your mind.
—“My clothes are worth more than everything in this room. Hell one of my rings probably more than this whole fucking inn.” –
The innkeep is oblivious to your stunned expression. “These’ll pay for any damage the storm caused and then some. I told that young man, he's welcome here anytime.”
You finally find your voice. “I….I’m glad to hear that. Thank you again.”
He bids you farewell as you walk outside into the startlingly bright sunlight. The smell of petrichor fills the air, the ground still damp as you walk towards the carriage.
The hazy feeling of something born in the fury of the storm….
Something nameless.
Something undeniable.
Something Silvio has awoken.
….is rising on delicate butterfly wings, inching its way closer to the realm of your heart.
Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly
Dragon!Silvio
maybe not what you were expecting but welcome to the hoard
Deadass rendered coins to use
Keep reading
My queen!
For the Snapshots of Spring, may I please request Silvio with number 8, fluff? ❤️❤️❤️
A/N: Here you are @ikemen-writer 💜
Silvio x f! reader
A part of the Spring Flowers Spring Showers CCC hosted by @aquagirl1978 and myself!
WC: 913
Curled up in a soft, white leather armchair, you sigh happily as you turn the page of one of the books you have discovered in the royal library here in Benitoite. So many books you've never read, so many worlds to discover. And when you raise your gaze, you’re greeted by a sight that remains simply breathtaking: the wide, alabaster expanse of the palace terrace, the bright blue of the twin pools, and further on, the darker navy of the white-capped ocean, eternally waving to you in greeting.
And then you notice something else. The small dark dots breaking out across the white stone of the terrace, the tiny drops of water plucking at the surface of the pools. Somewhere over the course of several chapters, the cornflower blue sky with its peppering of white clouds has darkened to a pale sheet of slate gray. It’s started sprinkling and instead of your heart sinking beneath the rainfall, it’s buoyed, lifting your lips in a smile bright as sunshine. Your book is abandoned as you jump up from the plush armchair.
“Signora.” Silvio’s attendant Carlo suddenly looks concerned as you head toward the wide double doors that lead outside. “Where are you going? His Highness should be back from his meeting any moment.”
You look over your shoulder, still smiling. “I’ve read that the rain in Benitoite is warm. I’ve been looking forward to finding out if it’s true!” Before he can stop you, you slide open the doors and excitedly step outside, into the now steadily-falling rain. A gasp escapes you at the soft feel of the water kissing your skin, dropping and sinking into the cotton of your dress, soaking into the strands of your hair. It isn’t warm exactly, but it certainly feels better than the cold rain that falls across Rhodolite, the kind that nips at your skin with sharp, chilled teeth. You’re so enchanted that you don’t hear the commotion from inside, the shouting delivered in the rapid-fire native language of the land you are currently so admiring. It’s only a few minutes later when you hear your name bellowed like a blast of hot air by an angry prince as he stalks toward you through the rain bearing an oversized, cotton towel.
“Are you fucking stupid? What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Silvio looks like a big, wet, angry feline as he approaches you, all coiled energy and springy steps, his cheeks high with color. He throws the now damp towel over your head. “You could get sick! Anyone with half a brain knows not to go walkin’ ‘round in the goddamn rain!”
You yank the towel off your head, unknowingly musing your hair in a way that looks so artfully disheveled, so complimentary to the face he has grown so unexpectedly fond of. The blush of pink across his cheeks brightens unwillingly.
Ignoring his admonishments, you throw your arms out, tipping your face upwards as the towel falls from your fingers, sad in its sodden uselessness.
“It feels so good!”
His jaw clenches. The woman standing before him, the one stretching herself wide as if embracing the rain and sky, is unaware of how her clothing is now coquettishly clinging to all her soft lines and rounded curves, maddeningly transparent in places, and triggering a wash of heat across his body so overwhelming, he’s surprised the rain doesn’t just evaporate upon touching his skin.
Flustered, he reaches out to take your hand, pulling you toward him with the intention of dragging you back inside. But one touch is all it takes for you to look back to him, through the veil of rain, and recognize the look in his eyes, the blue of the hidden sky, burning with twin meteors of frustration and desire.
“So fucking stupid,” he rasps, the words barely managing to slink past his lips, his throat tight and tangled with emotion because you….Dio, you’re smiling at him, turning the tables as you tighten your grip on his hand, the one he originally grabbed, and pull this beautiful, rain-drenched thornbush of a prince towards you. And then you’re pressing your body, that body that looks like a marbled museum centerpiece, against him, proving you are indeed flesh and blood and heat. Your hands slide over the sharp planes of his cheeks, holding him as you press your lips to his, your mouth alive and eager. He tastes like rainwater and decadence. The tang of the ocean, the richness of expensive chocolate. His hands slide over you, around you, ringed fingers curling possessively into the softness of your hips as he answers your esurient kisses.
You hear the sound that escapes you even over the soft drumbeat of rain, the sensuality of a sigh wrapped in lambent desire, skirting the edge of a wanton moan. And you feel the way he smiles, the cocky curve of his lips still pressed against yours.
“Guess this feels good too, huh?”
You want to throw him headfirst into the ocean.
You want to throw him straight down onto the terrace and ravish him.
You settle for pulling away, blinking against the soft kisses of rain, the caresses it leaves on your skin as the drops slide down your flushed face, your sensitive neck.
“Maybe you're right." Your voice is glowing with how much you want him. "It’d be better if we went inside. And you warmed me up.”
His eyes flash, brighter than lightning, a wolf's hungry, gleaming gaze in the gray of a misty wood.
It's your turn to smile.
Tagging: @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @bellerose-arcana @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 @bubblexly
Inspired by Ubbe (Vikings) being cozy
Che palle! You've got a lot of nerve giving orders to the captain
It’s him, The Jangler. Run!!
Omg how did you know my birthstone! And I guess I’ll be rereading your route before Gilbert comes unless anything else happens to stop my progress.
From the to catch a bunny rabbit event.
Ah yes the gossiping old ladies are at it again. I’m re reading Silvio’s route this time I’m going to read his dramatic route. But with this line I thought of them as the golden girls don’t know why I did but I did and obviously Jin is Blanche for obvious reasons (slut) Clavis would have to be Rose. Cheviler would obviously be Dorothy for multiple reasons and that just leaves Sophia who would probably suit being Sariel as it makes sense.
Re reading Silvio’s route and wow poor Gilbert he mustn’t like running or physical activity at all. Can’t wait for his route. He’s still a little shit though. But looking at that expression he looks like he hates running.
SPOILERS for Silvio’s route.
Forgot how much I hated Silvio and Rio’s dad. Like he’s an asshole and a terrible father to all 3 of his sons. With Silvio and Emildo (I think that’s the 3rd one) he Cleary despises them no matter what great task they do they only get a “You could’ve done better.” Then with Rio well Rio only has to scratch his head and the their father is like “Oh my god my boy I’m so proud! Here have a puppy!” And if you say I’m wrong about that I’m not cause if I remember correctly in Silvio’s birthday thing he said that his father’s never celebrated his birthday but he celebrated Rio’s birthday. Which is so sad. Like my father is bad but at least he calls to say happy birthday to me (regardless of if he gets the day before or after the actual day) obviously The 2 older brothers picked on Rio cause 1 their mother told them to and 2 they just wanted attention if their father. Also their father was probably gonna pick Rio to be the successor which is obviously the wrong choice, no offence to Rio. Silvio is probably the best choice for the role of King out of his sons. The 2nd born is obviously irrelevant as he does not make an appearance. (Always the middle child missing out).
Anyway that’s my take on one of the fathers mentioned in the game. Stayed tuned for the other kings/fathers in future. I’m joking I probs won’t say anything about the others except my Keith’s when I replay his route.
I wouldn’t be surprised if these two (and Licht) were somehow related like their doing the same pose and everything.
Also, wow Silvio’s dramatic route is already dramatic 1 chapter in. And Nokto is smarter than I thought he was. Like I knew he was smart but like like he’s a lot smarter than I thought.
SPOILERS!! For Silvio’s dramatic route.
DAMN! Carlo is so sassy I love him but sweet at the same time. Are all the attendants of all the Princes this good like I like Cyan and I have forgotten the name of Keith’s attendant completely though I know it will come back to me eventually and I think Chevalier’s is Lucien if I remember correctly. Anyway it’s cute Silvio had a friend.
Edit: I remembered Keith’s attendant’s name it Liam. How could I forget the more normal names Prince as a normal named attendant with a very common name.