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Clavis Lelouch x (g.n.) Reader (smut)

AN: Hello everyone! Thank you for all the support and love you are showing to my writing! This is one of the small things (flash fiction/oneshot) i was preparing along with the requests, so i hope you enjoy~

Warnings: smut, oral, (English), flashfic

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Character: Clavis Lelouch

Eyes made from the finest gold, that melted with neediness from the heat of the moment were looking up at you. Tears, like gleaming jewels, streamed down his handsome face, as he opened his rosy, bitten lips to take little gasps and tiny moans that sounded like the sweetest melody to you.

You pushed a hand through his hair, petting him lovingly and it seemed to turn him on more, as he was seeking your touch on every part of his body as much as he could.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction in pleasing him more and simply watched his cock stain his stomach with sticky precum.

You giggled and leaned in to take his dick in your mouth, gently trailing kisses on the skin, that made him struggle to keep still. You smiled happily when you saw him writhe underneath you as he sunk his teeth into the side of his cheek.

It didn’t take long for you to push him completely in your throat and moan with satisfaction at his responsiveness. His hips instantly thrusted to your face, which made you salivate on his already wet cock.

Clavis was clinging on the white sheets very hard, crumbling them under his hands and making them look even more messed up than before. Your hand was massaging his sensitive balls and with a warning shout, he came deep in your throat, his warm release dripping down and dripped from the edges of your mouth.

With soft praises, you went up and wiped at his reddening eyes and soft cheeks prior to kissing his plump lips. The prince couldn’t breathe properly yet but it didn’t stop him from making teasing comments directed to you. You shook your head and pecked him goodnight, to which he responded with a more passionate one.

The End

AN: Thank you again for reading and i hope you have great days/mid-days/evenings/nights! (For this fic, i plan on making a bottom Clavis as part 2).

Kinktober Day 2: Clavis Lelouch x (fem.) Reader

AN: Hello~ This is for the second day of kinktober (even though i’m a bit late). I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Pure smut, nsfw, (bad English), leg worship/oral towards fem. reader.

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Character: Clavis Lelouch

Clavis’s smirk and hunting, golden eyes were the only view you could make out, before your eyelids closed to savor the rough bite and pull of your bottom lip in between his teeth.

The man on top of you chuckled and without missing a beat, he kissed you fervently, as his hands worked themselves up to your smooth legs. He skillfully placed them on his shoulders and moved his body downwards, away from your yearning touch.

“Clavis...” You thought that it would come out as a warning, exactly how you wanted it to, but it sounded more like a wanton whine, making the prince hum in pleasure at your valuable state.

He pretended not to listen to you for a while, and continued feeling you up without giving you what you wanted the most. His fingers touched your thighs and his teeth sunk into them, before he finally spoke and gave in to your pleas.

“Well, i’m a gentleman after all, hahaha!” With that, he leaned down to his left, right to your wet core and sucked greedily on your sensitive clit. His brows furrowed as he hungrily run his tongue all over it and grazed it with a finger.

He pulled away for a second to stare in your eyes, right after impatiently cleaning his finger off of your juices.

“Ahh...more...” You silently begged, too scared to make any loud noises during the night.

Clavis playfully grinned and devoured you in seconds. You were in bliss, your hands leaving from where they were placed and going right to his fluffy hair that covered your privates and tickled your thighs. You tugged lightly and felt the vibrations of his tiny groans go through you, making your body tremble.

Your back arched as two of his digits poked at your slit and slipped inside you, exploring your heat. Your legs were shaking from the extreme pleasure your lover was giving you open handedly.

While you were enjoying the sensations, Clavis whispered quietly and praised your beauty. His free hand that was still on your left leg traced the curves of it and his eyes flickered in your direction.

You whimpered in delight when you felt the first orgasm of the night building up in your stomach.

“It’s okay, let it go.” You exhaled harshly and came forcefully, trapping his fingers and covering everything with your fluids.

“So good for me.” His deep voice reached you and you clenched tightly around his digits from the praise. It was a promise for more to come.

~The End

AN: Thank you very much for reading and supporting!

helloooo ... if i may, can i request gilbert with hard kisses ? 🌶

Why yes, yes you may. Posting this lil thing today before I start with Valentine's Day fics - this one's a bit too dark for that sweet, romantic holiday and you're not getting any of that here.

Beautiful Nightmare - Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian

Prompt: hard kisses

Tags: NSFW, Minors - DNI

The room was dark when you entered, a sliver of moonlight streaking in through the window. There was a chill in the room despite the summer evening; even the air knew, this place was not warm.

“You came...” His voice was but a whisper, breaking the silence of your entrance.

Sucking in your breath, you approached him. He was seated at his desk, shrouded in darkness, his red eye gleaming in the stream of light.

“Yes,” you replied simply and softly.

He stood up and approached you slowly. Clenching your fists, you fought your nervousness; this wasn’t your first time alone with him and you came here willingly. You closed your eyes as he slid a gloved finger along your jaw, his hand finally settling around your neck. His thumb stroking your throat was enough to send shivers down your spine. You were completely on edge, he may as well have had a knife pressed against your delicate skin.

“Your country declared war against mine today.” His voice was quiet and soft, despite the harsh words leaving his lips. “As of today, we are enemies. And yet...” His face was not even inches away from yours, you could feel his breath tickling your skin, you could smell the wine he was drinking earlier before you arrived. His lips were so close to your skin, close enough to kiss you. How desperately you wanted him to kiss you.

“You still came. To see me.” He dropped his hand from your neck, a whimper escaped your lips involuntarily. He smiled at you, a smile that warmed your core despite the deep chill in the room.

“What makes you seek out your enemy?” he asked, as he stepped behind you, his arm snaking around your waist, pulling your closer to him. “Does this excite you? Thrill you?” His body leaned over yours, pushing you over his desk, causing you to place your palms on the desk, bracing yourself against his weight. “Or is it love?”

You turned your head to look at him, you needed to see his face. Those words, why did they stir such emotion in you? That couldn’t be what this is. This man, he.... no. You pushed that thought out of your mind, buried it deep inside your belly.

And still, your body craved his.

He certainly had a power over you, whatever it was you preferred not to give it a name. You gazed into the lone red eye, gleaming in the sliver of moonlight that spilled into the room, as a small smile spread on his lips. You knew that smile. That smile scared you, but also excited you. You felt the heat pooling in your core; the fire in your belly was uncontrollable as an inferno raged inside you.

You sighed softly when his hands began to hike up your skirt, his gloved palm stroking your thighs. His fingertips ghosted your delicate skin, your body now fully aroused and writhing against the desk.

With a flick of his wrist, he ripped your panties from your body. The wet fabric fell to the floor with a soft thud as he pulled your skirt around your waist, exposing your bare bottom to him. He caressed your tender skin before roughly inserting a finger inside you.

Gentle moans escaped your lips, a blissful smile now on your face, as he pumped his finger in and out of you, stretching you by inserting another finger and another. Your back arched, wanting and needing more, your sounds growing louder and louder.

Hearing the unmistakable sound of his belt unbuckling, your hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, as you prepared for the pain, a pain that hurt, but hurt so good. He dipped his face towards yours; again, close enough for a kiss, but none forthcoming. Just a soft whisper in your ear.

“I won’t be gentle.” It was a warning; a promise, one you wanted him to keep.

His cock was large, much larger than the fingers rammed deep inside you; despite being lovers for some time, your body was still not accustomed to his girth. When gentle, which wasn’t often, it was a pleasurable pain. But otherwise, it was pure pain.

He shoved his full length inside you in one swift thrust, your body cried out in pain as he stretched you, breaking you. His movements were hard and fast – this wasn’t about pleasure for you, but rather power. The power he had over you, to make you submit to him this way, and the power you had over him, to make him do this to you, to treat you this way.

Gilbert was right, he was not gentle. His hands pulled your hips closer to him with each excruciating thrust, as he impaled your body onto his cock. Your body, already fully aroused by his earlier ministrations, began to spasm and tremble, your orgasm quickly ripping through your body, leaving you breathless and boneless.

It was only then, after you experienced euphoria that your lover granted you your wish, a kiss. Tilting your head to meet his, his mouth met yours in a hard, desperate kiss. Hungry and lusting with desire, his eager tongue roughly probed your mouth, his tongue twirling in your mouth, as his hard cock remained deep inside you. He left a trail of biting kisses, kisses so hard his teeth almost drew blood, from your neck down your shoulder. Marking you, claiming you as his. His mouth found yours again; he sucked on your lower lip, already swollen from your bruising kisses.

His lips ghosted yours, his mouth barely moving as he spoke. “I want to cum inside you.” You gasped as he brushed a hand over your belly, the one gentle gesture he had made this entire evening. “I want to fill you with my seed.”

Your lips met his in another hard kiss, thoughts of your belly swollen with his child swirled in your head. Yes, you wanted this. You craved this.

He didn’t look for a nod or any form of affirmation from you, your kiss said everything he needed to know. He rocked his hips against yours before returning to his relentless pace from earlier, his grunts louder and more frequent than before. You cried out his name as he impaled you, pain mixing with eventual pleasure coursed through your body.

Your eyelids fluttered, your body listless as you felt yourself drifting in and out of consciousness. Barely aware of your surroundings, your moans breathless as he continued to thrust deep inside you, reaching depths you’d never thought possible.

Your body sore, wracked with pain, it didn’t take much for you to succumb to your lover, the waves crashing over and over until you felt like you were drowning in the ocean. He stiffened inside you before filling you with his seed; you smiled, blissfully aware and enjoying the feeling of being filled.

Once he was fully satisfied, he collapsed on top of you, your bodies still connected. Your body clenched, enjoying the feeling of fullness he provided, the pain now subsiding to a sweet ache.

“When your belly is swollen with my child, what will your princes do? Will they abandon you?” He brushed his thumb across your cheek, his glove rough against your skin. “Or will you finally, truly come be with me?”

Tagging: @gilbertvonobsidian @redheadkittys @alixennial @chaosangel767 @atulier-mururun @rhodolitesrose @queengiuliettafirstlady @devildomwritersposts @talfollowingstuff @queen-dahlia @altairring

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Character: Chevalier Michel

Warnings: Smut, overstimulation, nsfw, fluff, unprotected sex, bad English

AN: This is my gift for @chaosangel767 ! An amazing person and writer that I met through the ikeseries fandoms and it was a pleasure to write this for you🥺 You inspire me a lot and you know how much I love your ocs and their stories 💞. A big thank you for holding the gift exchange to @aquagirl1978 , who is also a great writer! And thank you to everyone who is patient with me! I hope you enjoy~ (also tagging @ikemen-prince-gift-exchange )

"Of Roses and Stars" Chevalier Michel x Fem. Reader

By the time you noticed how late it was, the sky was dressed in its veil of blue and black and its accessories of thin, delicate gold that were designed by the countless stars. The room was quiet, except for the slight breeze that hummed serenades across your ears, and the harsh breathing of your lover, who held you snug to his naked body. The summer's heat was nowhere to be found, as a different kind of warmth erupted in your stomach, as if it was a volcano.

Just for a second, you closed your heavy eyelids, almost missing the light reflected in his deep sea blue eyes that were staring at your face for any detail he might have neglected before. The little things about you that he wanted imprinted in his memory forever, since he cherished you the most. 

You moaned softly as his big hands roughly cupped your breast and his heavy tongue flattened on each of your nipples. You welcomed the hotness and thrashed in his arms, trying to get all the friction you could, but to no avail. His grip was so strong, yet clumsy, that you would call yourself lucky if you could move at all the next morning. 

Everything about the moment was beautiful. His rose scent that lingered on his muscular body, tempting you in places unknown, well hidden from the world. His handsome face, that you could put your hand through fire and swear it was a gift from God and his hard cock, that fitted inside you perfectly, filling you to the brim. His every touch was like a bite of the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden and you couldn't get enough.

".....Thank you, sir" You groaned out and pushed your face between his neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of hickeys that bloomed like the flowers in the garden. Chevalier snorted and thrusted upwards, making you bounce on his lap and open your lips in a silent scream. It wasn't the first time he overstimulated you, but it always left you too sensitive to cross a word.

"........" His silence was comforting and you were luxuriating in it. His hips snapped up again, before he found a rhythm you enjoyed the most and continued in that pace. He was fast and unforgiving, giving you trouble breathing through your nose, but he didn't stop at that. His lips captured yours in an awkward, sloppy kiss, which turned you into a mess of clenching and unclenching on his erection.

"King….Chevalier, ah"

"If you have something to say, just say it already" Your eyes widened when you heard him and right after, you sensed his thick fingers traveling to your slit and rubbing around the edges that covered his dick.

"But you can't speak now, can you?" A haughty smirk adorned his face when he noticed the desperation in yours. His thumb went straight to your clit and he rubbed circles on it, forcing you to climax loudly. His other arm was wrapped around your middle, keeping you in place on his legs, so you won't slide down. 

The smell of sex after many rounds, and the soap you both used during your bath hours ago, sent you into overdrive and you desperately clinged on him, your juices flowing down your thighs and onto his already wet cock. 

Chevalier slowly stood up from the armchair, never letting go of your now weak body, as he made his way to the bed. When your body hit the cloud-like mattress, your breathing slowed down and you fell asleep. The king kissed your forehead awkwardly, letting his love flow through actions instead of words that he didn't usually speak. His love for you was intense and he felt like he could share with you anything. Your hopes, your desire, your fears, anything as long as you stayed by his side. 

".......Imbecile" He smiled gently and let sleep take over him too, at last.

The End~

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

Ahh not sure if I'm allowed to request something else, especially so soon (thank you so much for that amazing Gilbert fic btw). But if it isn't too much trouble, may I request prompt 14 from the gesture prompts ("Pressing tiny kisses against your lover’s shoulder while they’re bent over a desk, trying to focus even though your touch is distracting them.") + Chevalier please? Thank you and take care and don't overwork yourself <3 <3 <3

A/N: Happy Belated Birthday, Chevalier 🎈

This is a really old request (sorry @atelieredux that it took me forever and a day to do it 🙈 )

Chevalier x Reader, fluff

Word Count: 772

Chevalier is bent over his desk, working by pale, yellow lamp light. Outside the sky is painted with swathes of stars and one big, bright full moon, doing its best to compete with all the starshine. He, of course, has no time to admire the view. He is busy, always busy, a mind that works ten steps ahead of everyone else’s and never seems to tire.

Your approach is quiet, footsteps muted by the soft, plush carpet. But of course, he knows you are there. He heard you the moment you entered the room. He could smell the soft scent of your bath soap and hear the whisper of your floor-length nightgown. He even knows by the sound which one it is, a confection of white silk and pale blue lace, a remembrance from the last time you traveled to Benitoite. 

You finally stop behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. He is stripped down to the soft white and gold tunic he wears to sleep and you can feel the way his muscles respond to your touch under the fabric, tightening slightly as if surprised. He does not stop writing, his white feathered quill making neat, copious notes in the margins of the document in front of him. Leaning forward, you glance at what he is doing.

“Why are you bothering with this? Clavis said he finished drafting this yesterday.” It was a letter to the merchant’s guild, something that fell within his brother’s realm of responsibility.

The quill continues to move, light scratching noises flying from the sharpened tip.

“Clavis’s writing requires a second, third and often fourth revision before it is ready for approval.” 

You watch him work another moment, eyes wandering over the orderly, slanted handwriting. And then your lips curve into a slow, almost mischievous smile.

You want his attention.

You have an idea.

You slide your hands across the tops of his shoulders and then down, the corded muscles of his upper arms, tangible through the soft material of his shirt. Bending, you place a gentle kiss on his shoulder.

The quill pauses its tireless writing. “You have eyes. You see I am working.” It resumes its scratching.

“My eyes are closed, my king.” Your voice is the soft, cloying whisper of satin as it slithers to the ground. You drop another kiss onto his right shoulder, this time a few centimeters more to the left. Closer to his neck.

The quill stops again. “Perhaps you should open them, wife.” His words are chiding but you feel the way his body is responding, as if your kisses have started a humming in his muscles, an involuntary purring in his veins. You smile against his shoulder, warmth coiling its way around your heart, meeting the butterfly-wings of excitement you still get whenever you are close to him.

“I’m quite content.” You press another kiss further to the left. The quill is still poised above the parchment, but unmoving. His beautiful, sculpted hand reminds you of marble, strength and elegance in perfect balance. Anyone else, and you would think they are fully immune to your touch. But he is not anyone. He is Chevalier Michel and you have just gotten him to stop writing. 

His resolve is precariously close to the edge. Time for the necessary push.

Your fingers curl into the muscles of his arm and your head turns as you lean even closer, your lower body pressed into the hard wood of his chair as you place a kiss against the exposed skin of his neck. You linger invitingly, your lips traveling the line of his heartbeat, the one whose pace is quickening by virtue of your distraction.

The quill flutters from his fingers to the desk, tiny droplets of ink scattering in its wake.

Edge, meet Chevalier.

He moves with the fluidity of a large feline. One moment you're kissing his neck, the next your feet leave the carpet and the room tilts as you are scooped up into strong arms with such speed that you gasp, half in surprise and half in delight, as he strides towards the bed.

“You have distracted the king from his work, simpleton. That cannot go unpunished.” You hear the heat in his words, see the smile that pulls on his tempting lips.

Unceremoniously you are tossed onto the bed. You scramble to push yourself up on your elbows, watching him with bright eyes and cantering heart as he reaches down, pulling his tunic over his head in a single, graceful movement. And then his long, lean body is covering yours and your hands are winding through the moonlight of his hair.

Triumph flows through you, riding growing waves of want. 

If this is punishment, may you always be guilty.

Tagging 📜: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @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

✨Taglist Clean Up! ✨

Hi to everyone who reads this blog 💜

Before things really get moving with all the end of the year activities, I wanted to do a taglist check.

🌟If you want to remain on my taglist, just respond to this post. It can be a heart or a comment. If there is no response of any kind within a few days, I will remove you, no questions asked.🌟

If you are NOT on my taglist and would like to be added, please leave a comment on this post or DM me 💜

Here's is an unamused Chev Christmas kitten as a thank you for reading:

HELLO INK🥺💖 How are you doing? I hope you are taking care!

I see that requests for ikepri are open👀👌🏻

May I ask for Keith, with a reader/lover who likes making puns about plants? 😌

Good luck on your writing🥺💕

╰┈➤ Aloe you vera much

Character: Keith Howell x reader

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Warnings: Some slight spoilers from his route and the act 2 prologue

Ink's note: If it isn't my favorite Nadi!!! I was so happy when I saw your request in my inbox and I just love this ask because it's so unique haha. I hope I did this justice and that you and the other readers like it even though it's short <3

Keith loved many things about you. Your kind nature, radiant smile, cute laugh, shiny smooth hair-

Okay, he could go on and on about the million things he adored about you. But how could he not? The prince was still in shock that you reciprocated his feelings and even more surprised at the fact that he was in a relationship with such a beautiful and kind person!

The Gods were being very kind to him when they blessed him the chance to meet you that day.

It was that night when he had come to Rhodolite for the meeting. Keith stood outside in the balcony, looking at the stars in the sky. Your footsteps were light as you stood a few feet away from where he was standing.

Idiot, why do you keep staring at her?

He questioned himself, but his eyes were locked on your shining eyes and beautiful smile for a few minutes.

Something like this had never happened to him before and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Hey, are you out here to get some fresh air?" He heard the soft voice call out to him.

Keith wasn't sure how to answer.

Were you talking to this failure of a prince? And how were you so friendly despite meeting him for the first time?

You smiled and took a step closer, leaning against the balcony and looked at him. "It gets really stuffy in such places, I know. I am ___, what's your name?"

That small encounter led to you both becoming friends and also made you both endure a lot of hardships. But you stayed with him, you reassured him that he wasn't a failure and that you loved him.

Love...

The day you confessed your feelings to him, was surely the best day of his entire life.

But something that still caught him off-guard was how you made puns and jokes on the spot. This habit of yours always made him laugh.

.

.

.

"Keith, you make my heart skip a beet. I would never leaf you." He stifled a laugh as he read the note at this desk. He knew you were the one who had done this and such a small thing made flowers blossom in his heart.

The prince neatly folded the piece of paper in his hand and put it in his pocket.

"Really, prince Keith?" Liam asked him, raising a brow.

Keith still had a happy smile on his face. "Don't worry, Liam. You will understand how I feel when you fall in love with someone as wonderful as ___."

Even Liam couldn't help shaking his head slightly at his words. But he still liked this Keith more than the previous one. And it was all because of you, so Liam was very grateful for that.

.

.

.

"Keith, did you get my note?" You asked him, turning around slightly to face him. Keith had his arms around you as he hugged you, and of course...you were sitting on his lap. But hey, how could you say no when he gave you those eyes?

He smiled, "I read it. And thank you, it made me very happy."

Your lips perked up after hearing his words. Keith softly kissed your cheek.

Oh, how much he loved you.

"Keith?"

"Yes?"

"Aloe you vera much."

Once again, you surprised him with your confession of love and the pun...

Yeah, he loved you more now. And Keith was sure that his feelings for you would only grow. The prince surely didn't want it any other way.

Happy, Wholesome Yves Headcanons

Because my week was full of baking sweets and pretty pink flowers, you all deserve some wholesome Evie vibes as well 🌸🌸🌸

Ask any prince to rank his favorite brothers and Yves will consistently appear in the top 3.

Tell Yves this and he’ll turn pinker than his freshly-baked peach berry pie.

Yves started a personal vegetable garden in the palace when he was first learning to cook so that he could have extra ingredients in case his recipes flop. They rarely flop. So he distributes most of his crop among families in his territory.

The palace cats patrol the garden and scare off thieving vermin.

Once, Licht couldn’t attend Yves’s tea party because of a conflict with his training schedule, so Nokto stepped in pretending to be him. Yves immediately figured out the switch, but didn’t mention anything.

Whenever any of the princes falls ill, Yves makes his specialty chicken soup and personally delivers it. His faction members have his nagging “I’m not leaving until you finish the entire bowl!” speech memorized, but Yves typically leaves the tray with a get-well letter and a knock at Chevalier and Clavis’s doors.

Whenever Yves falls ill, Sariel and Licht take turns standing guard at his door to make sure no undesirable pranksters decide to strike. 

There are never any incidents. But the others pitch in to make or purchase Yves’s favorite sweets and stop by to check on him.

When Luke first arrived at the palace, Yves hoped to impress him with homemade honey treats. It only took two days to win him over completely. Two more days and the town was entirely out of honey.

Even though he isn’t a fan of the cold, Yves never misses the first snowfall of the season. He curls up by the window with a thick blanket, a large pot of tea, and a warm crumble cake and watches children pulling their parents into the streets to play in the fresh snow. 

Growing up, Yves used to give apprentice and trainee cooks and tailors advice discretely from behind curtains and columns. Nowadays, artists and specialists travel from across the continent to seek guidance and approval at the hand of the fifth prince.

Requests from these visitors became so numerous that Yves fell behind on his official duties. To control demand, the first of May was designated a national festival for anyone to display their talents, from cooking and fashion to art and music, and Yves would spend the day meeting with each participant and giving reviews and feedback. 

Tagging:@atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @ladyofcrowsx @otomefoxystar

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message.

𝘐𝘯 𝘈𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘮 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 (Yves x GN reader)

↬🌸 A date with Yves in late spring.

Yves Kloss x Gender Neutral Reader • rating: G • tags: Fluff; Dates; Gardens; Tea Parties: Reading; Birds; Tea snacks; Afternoon Naps; Some humor • wordcount: 1, 239 • masterlist

a/n: after 200+ fics, this is my first time fully writing one on my phone 😂 I'm nervous! It didn't come natural to me and it felt different from my usual stuff, but I'm away from home and I had to finish it before the challenge ends 🥺 Inspired by that one time I walked by an apple tree in full bloom in the morning, and the pavement was completely covered in its petals when I returned just a few hours later...I made a poll asking you which character you'd like to see in a spring-themed fic, and here we are, with the winner! Yves + prompts 4. Gardens; 7. Flower Crowns; 14. Birds Chirping (fluff) for Spring Showers, Spring Flowers Challenge by the lovely @aquagirl1978 & @violettduchess 💖 Hope you enjoy!

Spring is too short.

And unlike the endless duties of those who buzz around the palace, much like the busy bees outside, it has an end. A prince with a penchant for all things beautiful and his equally gracious lover would naturally want to make the most of the season.

Too bad they're just like the bees. And when they are to finally catch a break, the gardens are simply calling for them with the promise of an apple blossom-scented date.

Book in one hand and Yves' hand in the other, you shield your gaze from the suddenly dazzling sun, somehow having missed the mundane act of it.

"Make yourself comfortable. Don't stand so stiffly, this is no tea ceremony with officials."

Watching the back of the bulter that served you tea as he walks away, you move your gaze back on Yves and his kind suggestion. Reclining back and enjoying your book, sitting back up just for a small sip... it does seem pleasant.

"But in your presence, Prince Yves..."

"Don't be like that! You deserve a rest. Besides, I'm fine where I am."

Yves' bright smile is a little too much to argue with. A small sigh leaves your tea-warmed lips as you sink further into the settee.

You and Yves have been dating for some time now, the golden middle of feels-like-forever meeting 'every sensation is new like we only became a thing yesterday'... so much to be felt. Being comfortable in his company is swept by a current of bubbling excitement, of fixating on his every little gesture, of hearing the echo of his words in his head for so long after spoken words of love.

As for him? He seems to have it even worse. The crystal-clear oceans in his eyes waver in turbulence as you look up from your book (not a single full sentence yet read...) to meet his gaze, flashing him a content smile. He smiles back, awkwardly, tipping his chin slightly up to match his usual poise. His eyes though, they linger on your form... For a second you stiffen, sure that it has to do with your current posture - legs folded sideways and rested on the settee - and you consider putting them back down. But Yves just cleans his throat and stands up from the tea table.

"I... Have something I need to do. It won't take long so please wait for me here and enjoy your book!"

And then he's gone.

You blink as the pink of his cape camouflages among the magnolias and fully disappears in another second, leaving you wondering what businesses Yves could possibly have further ahead in the garden...

🌸🌸🌸

The book you've acquired puts an old saying to shame as it proves to be as magical as its cover, the further into it you get. In a world of flowers and fairies two people find love, and you wonder with how much the emotion makes your eyes sparkle, if every romance book should be marked as having magical elements. 

When the chirping of birds becomes louder than the narrative in your head, you look up from your book to find two round little sparrows perched on the wrought iron chair Yves was seated in. You figure you've been as still and tranquil as a garden statue, enough for the two little balls of fluff to dauntlessly approach the table. 

'Too bad that not even crumbs are left when Yves' baked treats are brought to the table...', you don't say out loud, seeking their company for longer. It's true, you've already eaten his delicious tea snack... And now you're not immune, and definitely not in this picture perfect afternoon, to getting sleepy.

Suppressing a yawn, you notice how the warm breeze brings a swirl of fallen petals down on you. With the apple blossom standing tall above you, it's no surprise that all nearby surfaces are adorned with the little pinkish white petals. There are some on your clothes, too.

Yes, beauty could be found behind the hard covers of the book too, sometimes. And speaking of it...

'Where did you go, Yves?'

🌸🌸🌸

"-falling asleep in a place like this!"

Something is threatening your sacred nap. It's melodic but carries a hint of panic...

"-or if it has gotten cold?!"

It's familiar, yet it could as well be a part of the ambience and nothing more...

"Wake up already!!"

Eyes blinking into focus, the weight of a good nap is persuading you into resting them for a little longer... But you recognize the pinched face of your lover.

"Prince Yves!! I've fallen asleep..."

You lift yourself from the cozy curled-up position you've been holding for awhile now, limbs begging for that nice after-sleep stretch out. And in the improvising version of doing so in front of a wide-eyed Yves, you discover said limbs - and your whole body, actually - covered in fallen apple blossom petals.

"So much of them..."

"You're BURIED in them! It's like you've been out in the snow!"

Truly, it does resemble a thin layer of snow... you should probably get to your feet and shake them off, but solving the riddle behind Yves' strange demeanor takes priority. Taking a better look at him, the last bits of sleepiness make way for becoming more perceptive, and you can't help but gasp.

"What happened to you?!"

Hair slightly unkempt and a mud stain spoiling the beauty of his visage, the lower your eyes go, the more they're met with striking surprise. His clothes are a mess! Splotches of green stain his trousers and blazer, as well as his cape, likely caused by a close and rough encounter with the grass...but why?

"I... Wanted to make this for you."

Only now you notice the hand hidden behind his back, now brought into sight along with the item it holds. 

"A flower crown?"

Yves meets your gaze with barely hidden embarrassment.

"Y-You looked so pretty earlier, it would've been bad taste not to present you with something! And there are all kinds of flowers blooming now, and I've seen you admire all of them...it was hard to choose, you know! And then there were these stupid traps laid all over the garden...!"

That explains a lot... Poor Yves. There's something laughable in his eagerness to go through all of this despite the obstacles, but it's equally touching.

"it's so pretty! Thank you so much! I don't know what to say..."

The sweet smile is back on Yves' face, but the furrowing of his brow returns as he motions to place the crown on your head.

"I wonder if that's needed at all, with you being practically buried in flowers already!"

A chuckle rises to your lips but you don't want to disrespect his efforts, so you begin to brush the petals away - only to be stopped by Yves' gentle hand landing on yours.

"Let me look at how pretty you are a little longer, okay? I was away all afternoon..."

The heat blooming on your face is reasonable given how unexpectedly sweet his words are, yet you wish your composure was harder to break. You nod and a single petal sticking to your head falls down in a slow dance.

You hold your head lowered though, signaling your desire to have that flower crown finally on your head; choosing to bear even the additional heat that would inevitably come to your face with it.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @aceuuuuu @atelier-the-atelier @tele86 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

Hello Violet🥺💖 This is my first time requesting to you, so I hope this is the right way

May I ask for Cyran + rainy days + 🌧? Thank you very much🥺💕 (feel free to ignore if this has been requested!)

A/N: here you are lovely @thewitchofbooks 💜

Cyran x reader, a continuation from his Kiss fic (Italics are excerpts from this fic)

WC: 682

The rain continues to fall, water droplets sliding down the window pane like fallen teardrops, obscuring the view outside of Cyran’s window. He sits at the wooden desk, in the small room above the armory that serves as his office. His red hair is still damp, despite the vigorous rubbing he gave it, the soft towel still hanging around his broad, bare shoulders. The candle on his desk does its best to fight the gray gloom, soft orange-yellow light falling across the parchment where the names of all new recruits are listed in his own neat handwriting. He should be organizing them into regiments, assigning them to the more experienced officers. It’s a task that should take hours, one that should keep him focused. But the thunderstorm in his mind, the one filled with the bright lightning of your kisses, the thunder of your sighs, will not quiet. Eventually he lays his silver-feathered quill down, his head now in his hands.

And then you’re running back towards him and his long legs are swallowing the distance between you until you meet like a clap of thunder, falling into one another’s arms. 

He should have turned away, he should have torn his gaze away from the sight of you rushing towards him, surrender in your eyes. You are Belle, tasked with the important job of choosing the next ruler. You can afford no distractions. Especially not from the likes of him.

And yet he gave in, as unable to resist your pull as the ocean could the moon, and you fell into his arms like a star loosened from the sky, fit there so perfectly, felt so damn good.

A low groan escapes him as he reaches for the tumbler with its small volume of burnt amber liquid. The whiskey may be cheap but maybe...maybe it will get the job done. It burns as it goes down, but even if he were to walk through hellfire itself, he knows deep down nothing could burn away the memory of your kiss.

His kiss is devouring, determined to leave no part of you untasted. He steals your breath, swallows your gasps, drinks from your lips. Over and over he kisses you until your legs shake and your blood is a river of fire in your veins. Soon your mouth is not enough. He needs more. His lips scavenge your cheeks, your jawline, and then lower, following the line of your neck. Everywhere he kisses you burns and the raindrops that land there in his wake feel cold as ice. 

The rain is forlorn as it continues to tap against the window, whispering at him that he is a fool. A fool for losing himself in your lips, the taste of your hot, slick skin mingled with cold rain. A fool for loving the rough pull of your fingers in his crimson hair, the restless feel of your hands over the wet linen of his tunic, the grip of your hand on his muscled arms. 

A fool for leaving you there, dazed with the force of what just happened, your kiss-swollen lips parting as the word “Wait….” slipped past a throat tight with water-logged emotion. 

That croaked word, that whisper on the wind, has buried itself in his heart, the points of it digging into his heart like barbed wire, tearing at him just a little more every time it replays itself in his mind. 

The tumbler is now empty. The rain endless. Cyran pushes himself away from his desk with a growl, knowing that any attempt to work will be a fruitless endeavor. Best to head back to his quarters where he knows a sleepless night is licking its chops, waiting for him.

He snatches up his sodden tunic, flings open the heavy wooden door with the strength of his frustration……

….only to find you there, cheeks damp with rain or tears or both, your hand raised, hovering in the air as if searching for the courage to actually knock.

His heart lurches in his chest…that foolish, hopeful creature with bloody wings.

Before he can move a muscle, before a word can even form, you have found your mettle.

“We need to talk.”

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @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

Of Conflict and Compromise |

Characters: Leon Dompteur, Chevalier Michel

Genre: Angst, Comfort

Summary: Sometimes, the best way to solve a dispute is to have that dispute first. Leon and Chevalier, while excellent leaders, can't always see the other side unless it's shoved right in front of their faces.

Word Count: 2.1k

Prompt: Birds chirping.

A/N: Here's my entry for @aquagirl1978 and @violettduchess's Spring Showers, Spring Flowers CCC. Thank you both for setting this up! This was originally a story I'd abandoned months ago, but it's nice to revisit these two, even if they are hard-headed.

Content Warnings: References to death, implied Leon route spoilers.

It wasn’t the headache that woke him before dawn. Nor was it his sagging shoulders or the chill of early spring that crept through the tiniest gaps in the window frame. Tossing and turning in the massive multi-blanketed bed, Leon scarcely got any sleep between memories of the previous night and his own intrusive thoughts, and before he knew it, serenades of the morning’s first birds rid him of any hope to rest. Groggy and sore, he disentangled himself from the contorted covers, splashed his face in the wash basin, slipped into yesterday’s outfit, and left his bedroom.

Other than the outside chirps that accompanied him, Leon met no living soul on his descent. He drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword when he reached the base of the steps, wondering how best to kill time until the kingdom awoke. He considered heading to the training grounds for some drills, but as far as Leon was concerned, working out wasn’t as fulfilling when you didn’t have a second. He could pop into the kitchen for an early breakfast, but immediately shut the idea down. It was never worth filling yourself when an Yves menu was slated for lunch. 

Flocks of birds coupled their songs into duets and choruses almost in mockery of Leon’s solitude, and he stalked deeper into the castle to distance himself from them. As the squawks and cheeps faded behind him, he reluctantly resigned to leave early to town for his mission, when new sounds caught his attention. Scratchy-scrawly and flippy-wispy ones. Down the corridor to his right, in the direction of the foreign affairs faction headquarters.

Leon’s first thought was that Clavis was hacking away at some new contraption, undoubtedly for the purpose of some nefarious wakeup call. Concerned for the palace-goers, and marginally curious himself, he silently trekked toward the office, stopping just before the ornate white door. The sounds persisted, uniform and deliberate in their execution, and Leon pressed his ear to the wood in an attempt to decipher their purpose, only to flinch when the perpetrator sharply called from within.

“Enter, Black.”

Leon mentally kicked himself for not recognizing the uninterrupted pattern of quill on paper and pushed open the door. Chevalier did not welcome his brother as he entered, but sat head hung low over his desk, his only movements the lightning-fast scratching of his right hand and the occasional swapping of parchment with his left from two mountains of sheets flanking either side of him.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Leon awkwardly asked Chevalier’s scalp. Accepting the expected silent response, he took in the rare sight of Chevalier working at dawn, the morning rays spilling in from the high windows surrounding him doing little to bring life to his pallid features. The office itself was colorless, pristine, and smelled almost medicinal in its tidiness. Leon hated the smell and the memories it brought up and always avoided the room whenever he could. He crossed to one of the windows, and, after a bit of effort, wrenched it open, gulping in the fresh air like a stream.

“Shut it,” said Chevalier.

“It’s too stuffy in here. Plus, you could use some sun,” Leon said absently, staring out at the blueing sky. A robin soared toward him and perched itself on the windowsill. It chirped and hopped back and forth in the same spot, as though debating whether it should enter. Leon dug into his pants pocket and produced a handful of crushed crackers, which at this point was more crumb than cracker. Grimacing at the resurfacing memory, he spilled the lot in front of the bird and watched it eat.

“I only allow one interloper at a time,” said Chevalier. “And only if they clean up after themselves.”

Leon stuck his arms out and patted his hands free of the crumbs. Then he drew the window down, leaving a tiny sliver the bird could not fit into.

“How’s that?” he asked. In that moment, a strong gust blew outside and through the crack, blasting both the cracker crumbs and the documents on the desk in all directions. Paper and bread swirled around the room before gently floating down as the wind died, and in between the flurry Leon could make out the bird tapping its beak impatiently on the glass and Chevalier slowly rising from his seat. 

The two princes picked up the fallen documents, Leon careful to separate them into piles of “signed” and “unsigned”, without exchanging any words. It was only after Chevalier reseated himself and resumed his work that Leon felt the urge to break the tension.

“Compromises never do work between us, do they?”

“You can’t propose compromise in someone else’s office, you dolt,” said Chevalier.

“Oh yeah? And who’s the dolt who let me in in the first place?”

“Only because it was more distracting not knowing what you were doing behind a door.”

“Hey, my hands are metaphorically clean!” Leon slinked back to the window and brushed residue crumbs through the tiny opening. The bird gave a shrill screech and resumed eating. Chevalier winced, and it was then that Leon noticed the sizable dark circles sagging beneath his eyes.

“Birds kept you up then, huh?” said Leon.

“Must they be so boisterous in the morning?” said Chevalier.

“Come on, Chevalier, they’re birds! Morningsong is in their nature! Are you really going to punish a bird’s natural impulse to want to—”

“I know why they are singing,” interrupted Chevalier.

“I was going to say they’re welcoming in the spring season. Why do you think they’re singing?”

Chevalier grabbed another document and violently slammed it on the desk. 

“Whoa, you must be really tired if you’re this cranky just talking to me,” said Leon.

“And you must be really lonely if you’ve come to me to sing to,” said Chevalier.

Leon frowned and stared out the window. The bird ruffled its feathers in the slight breeze, and Leon wished he could trade places with it.

“I can leave whenever I want,” said Leon.

“And yet, you are glued to my window,” said Chevalier.

“It’s bad manners to leave the table before the guest finishes his meal. Of course, that’s something you never cared for.”

“Useless drivel of dullards. Like dancing and socializing and—”

“Sleeping on time?”

“Sleeping with negligence.”

Images flashed in Leon’s mind. Moles positioned at windows and balconies. Spies leaping between bedroom shadows. Assassins blending in with the night. 

“Clavis will throw a fit when he finds you’re not in your room,” said Leon.

“He will find another victim to sing to,” said Chevalier.

“We’re really stretching the definition of ‘sing’ today, aren’t we?”

“None of which the showoff will be too fond of.”

“His name is Yves.”

“Does that change the fact that he is vulnerable?”

“It changes whether you care about it.”

Chevalier straightened his back and stretched his arms. For a moment, Leon thought he might actually go to warn Yves, until Chevalier pulled out a book from a desk drawer and began to read like their conversation never happened.

“You know what will happen, but you won’t do anything to stop it?” asked Leon.

“I have identified the assailant and victim,” said Chevalier. “Whether you define this as caring or not has no weight on my decision to involve myself further.”

Leon’s fingers clenched on the windowsill like jaws. “You’re a coward, Chevalier. A shameless, plain, unapologetic coward for all the world to see.” The wood splintered beneath his thumbs, making the bird jump and resume its peevish chirping.

“I keep my closet free of skeletons,” Chevalier said calmly.

“Yes, because you’re so much better at digging graves.”

“I can bury them without hiding the shovel.” Chevalier snapped the book shut and stomped over to Leon. The bird silenced immediately and flew away. “Running away? That is the true definition of cowardice.”

Leon’s eyes focused on the bird’s escape, desperate bitterness building in his chest. “What are you implying?”

“I know your secret, fourth prince,” whispered Chevalier. Like a flame, Leon’s anger snuffed out. A prickly stiffness replaced the tautness in his arms, and his blood curdled like ice. Through the glass he could see Chevalier’s frigid expression trained directly on him, trapping him. Like a bird in a cage.

Leon licked his dried lips and cleared his throat. “Which one?” he said jokingly.

Chevalier lifted his eyebrow but maintained his composure. “You couldn’t save him,” he said, pointing at the scattered cracker remains that lined the now-cracked windowsill. Leon shut his eyes and exhaled deeply through his nose. If he had the choice, he’d prefer that Chevalier found out about this secret.

“Were you at the tavern last night?” he asked.

“I had my eyes there for a while,” said Chevalier. “What did you do with the body?”

“Took him home. His family should decide what to do with him.” Leon turned around and leaned against the window, his eyes still closed. “It was his wife who told me. Said he’d fallen in with a bad gang recently and owed a lot of money. He spent all his time working and stopped coming home for lunch and dinner. When he wasn’t working, he was at the tavern with those goons running him dry, like he couldn’t leave. You know she’d find him dangling off a table in the morning with a mug in hand? If I could just — if I could just get something in his stomach…”

“It is ridiculous to blame yourself for his end,” interrupted Chevalier. 

“He needed someone. A friend to pull him out and help him and his family.”

“What he needed was someone to stop that gang. A prince to eliminate threats to and deliver justice.”

“If I went after the gang,” Leon said, opening his eyes and scowling, “who would go after him?”

“Your duty is to the greater good of the kingdom. You cannot hope to save everyone every time,” said Chevalier. “And this time, you failed everyone.”

“Just because you’ve given up doesn’t mean I have,” growled Leon. He pushed off from the window and marched towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Chevalier, his voice condescending. 

“First, I’m going to Yves’s room before Clavis does. You know, something a good brother would do.” He tossed a mocking glare over his shoulder. “Then I’m heading into town to check on the family. Something a good prince would do. I’d offer for you to join, but of course I can’t propose compromise in someone else’s office.”

Leon grabbed the gilded knob, fully prepared to rip the door off his hinges, when Chevalier let out an all-to-familiar sigh.

“Of course you can’t, you imbecile. No one but myself calls the shots in my office, and I have already decided my course of action.” Chevalier was at his desk again, digging through the pile of signed documents. He pulled out a thick sheaf and offered it. “As soon as Clavis is finished playing, we shall depart.”

Curiosity won Leon over again and he found himself returning to Chevalier’s side. The stack of papers was hefty, and the ink so pungent Leon deduced it could barely have been hours since it was written. He scanned the first page of what appeared to be a warrant for the arrest and prosecution of the gang. Flipping through the rest showed detailed records of their involvement in criminal activity across various locations in both Rhodolite and Benitoite, listing dozens of names of victims and their families. Leon ran his splintered fingers over the man and his family’s names at the bottom of the last page, careful not to smear the letters, and finally over Chevalier’s elegant signature just below.

“All these names,” began Leon, “what took you so long to act?”

“They never stay long once a client ‘ceases to be profitable,’” Chevalier explained grimly. “They take whatever remains on the person and disappear until their next crime. That is, except this time someone moved the body.”

The flame reignited in Leon’s core like an inferno. He grabbed the quill off the desk and hurriedly scribbled his name beside Chevalier’s. “I’ll kick Clavis out and meet you in town in twenty minutes,” he said, charging back to the door. “Breakfast is on me!”

“Don’t break my door, I have not forgotten about the window,” called Chevalier as Leon bolted out with a thumbs up. Chevalier straightened the sheets, picked up his book, and followed Leon out the door, albeit at a much more relaxed pace. Behind him, the robin had returned to the crooked windowsill with a friend, and the two happily sang and munched on the crumbs as the sky brightened over the new day.

I say this all the time about Leon, but he needs to hang out with his bros more.

Tagging:@atelier-the-atelier @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @ladyofcrowsx

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message.

Miss 100% of the shots you don't take - so how about Sariel for an afterglow fic, please?

A/N: well @pathogenic anyone who quotes Wayne Gretzky is ok in my book. I hope you enjoy your fic 💜

Sariel x f! Reader

Word Count: 560

The cold water you splash on your face is bracing and at the same time soothing to your sunrise-pink cheeks. Your heart is slowing from its furious pace, a wild bird having chased the clouds, before finally settling back into the nest of your chest. Your lungs measure out your breaths evenly, ironing out the erratic gasps that only a short while ago fell from your lips. You smooth back your disheveled hair as best you can and then with a sigh, a sound of satisfaction twined with exhaustion, you leave the tiled bathroom, closing the door behind you.

He’s waiting for you, a twilight smile on his beautiful lips. Sariel Noir is many things but right now, the only word that comes to mind is beautiful. The pale expanse of his skin, a sharp contrast to the deep indigo pillows he’s leaning against. His hair in wild disarray, evidence of the pleasure your fingers found curling into those soft, onyx strands.

The sight of him has you pause, physically unable to take another step as you lean back against the bathroom door, your hand pressed against the sudden, rapid wingbeat of your heart, that part of you that he owns fully, that he can influence with a whispered word, a touch, a flash of his violet eyes. He is exquisite like this, out of his staid clothing, unwrapped by your own eager hands. His glasses abandoned on the nightstand, barely visible in the dance of shadows conducted by fingers of moonlight that have slipped through the arched window.

Not a word is necessary. All he does is lift his arms and you are drawn to him, happily, joyously. You push off from the door like a ship from the harbor, sailing across the room, swan-diving onto his plush bed, into his waiting embrace. His laughter sparks light within your soul, the sound twinkling across your bare skin. He pulls you against him, making sure to draw the satin sheets across both your unclothed bodies, always taking care of you. Always aware of what you need.

“And? Have you recovered from my appetite for you?”

That voice, deep as midnight, beguiling as starshine. If you could wrap yourself in it, you would be warm forever.

You open your mouth to answer and instead of words, a yawn slips out, both surprising you and answering his question.

He laughs again, the melody of it light with a tenderness no one would believe the palace devil capable of and you smile as you move closer, bringing an arm around his midriff, laying your cheek against his chest. 

“Rest then, my love,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here.”

His hand begins to gently stroke your hair and each caress feels like it's sinking into your body. A satisfied heaviness fills you as your eyes slowly shut, your mind drifting into the peaceful eventide of dreams.

“I love you, Sariel.” Your whisper is almost a dream itself, serenity coloring your words lavender and gray. Did he even hear them?

His hand stills on the back of your head, his body bends as he leans down to place a loving kiss to your forehead. He’s heard you. And he loves you too. More than he can say.

So he doesn’t even try. He simply holds you against him, his love, his soul, and watches through an amethyst gaze soft with emotion as you fall asleep.

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 @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

Yanno what. I think I wanna tease him a lil today. Gilbert. 18.

(Best wishes and congratulations, your grace~💜 pff okay that was cheesy. But i have more. You are a beacon of light in this fandom and an inspiration)

Love, V <3

A/N: here you go @vioisgoinginsane !! I💜 you to the moon and back.

Gilbert x reader; (obviously not canon)

Word Count: 1010

You’re waiting in his study. Surrounded by the dark wooden bookshelves filled to the brim with thick, leather-bound tomes on every subject under the sun, from romantic poetry to geographical histories to religious treatises, you sit comfortably in his heavy wooden chair, its soft, black leather padding reminding you of the gloves he always wears. You recall the feel of them on the slope of your cheek, the way he trailed the back of his fingers down it slowly, a whisper of a touch. His smile never faltered as he told you he had business to take care of and you were to stay put, stay safe within the thick walls of the castle until he returned. He’s come and gone before, leaving you several times since bringing you to Obsidian, but there was something in his eye, a flickering within its scarlet depths, a shadow dancing on the curve of his ever-present smile. Something about this parting was different….and when you asked him where he was going, he merely tapped the tip of your nose and said it wasn’t a concern for tender-hearted rabbits.

But you are no rabbit, content to sit in your hutch and tremble.

You have grown accustomed to Obsidian, and to Gilbert, to living in the castle, to the ways of its staff.

And you have made friends here.

You watched through the high arched window as he took his leave, sitting high atop his midnight-colored destrier, painted in the faded lavender beauty of twilight. You followed him with an unwavering gaze until he disappeared through the castle gates and could be seen no more. And then you turned, light-footed, and made your way to the one person who would know what was truly going on.

And now your gaze is on the study door when its golden handle finally dips and it is opened slowly by a leather-clad hand, now flecked with tiny red dots, imperceptible in the pallid wash of moonlight that falls through the study window. He moves, silent as a shadow, not expecting the soft yellow glow of your oil lamp or the sudden shadow that stretches across the lush carpeting to meet him as you rise to your feet. 

You’ve taken him by surprise, a rare feat. His face betrays him in the momentary parting of his sculpted lips, the rise of his dark brow. It is only temporary, the mask of genteel neutrality sliding back into place as he collects himself but you find a spark of courage in that split-second of the unexpected.

“It is a very late hour indeed for you to be hopping about, Häschen.” He leans his cane against the side of the nearest bookshelf, head tilted as he takes you in. You are in the same clothing as when he left. You have not gone to bed. Why did you wait all these hours? Were you….concerned for him? The very thought sends an unaccustomed warmth rippling through his veins. 

The lateness of the hour, the stillness in his body as he watches you, the uncertainty he is trying to hide. You feel it all, deep in your bones and are bolstered, your heart growing bolder with each passing second. Your steps are silent as you make your way towards him, the sound swallowed by the thick carpeting over the stone floor, by the shadows of the room. You stop in front of Gilbert, tilting your face up in order to look into his eye, now dark as claret. Your hand rises and the back of your fingers touch the cool skin of his cheek. 

He does not move. He barely breathes because this is the first time you are touching him like this, as if he is something precious, something delicate that must be handled with care. It is, in fact, the first time anyone has ever touched him like this at all.

Your fingers reach his neck and shift, turning, your warm palm pressed against his jugular, his heartbeat cupped in the palm of your hand, your fingers wrapping around the curve of his neck. His aide Walter’s words echo in your mind. 

The Prince has gone to exact justice on men who have wronged Obsidian. Rhodolite men who had stolen something invaluable. Not jewels or gold or weapons. No. They had stolen seeds that would grow in Obsidian’s dismal climate, that would feed its hungry people. Rare seeds from a far-away land that had taken Gilbert months of planning to accrue. Seeds that the men had simply destroyed without orders because they believed anything that benefitted Obsidian must be a threat.

And even you, with your gentle heart, could understand the Prince of Obsidian’s need for justice, his rage at the loss of something that could save his people, his fury at their pain. You felt it too, the injustice of it, the scorching anger that swept through you as Walter bowed his curly head and spoke, voice low, words heavy.

And your admiration for Gilbert burst into a flame that still burns as you stare up into a face so beautiful it feels like looking into the face of some celestial creature, a child of blood and moonlight, kissed by the stars. You rise onto the tips of your toes and press your lips to the corner of his mouth where you stay for the span of a heartbeat.

One.

Two. 

When you lower yourself back down to earth, something has changed. The world is not quite what it was mere seconds before. Gilbert is uncharacteristically silent, his eye a glittering gemstone as it searches your face. You feel a sudden heat sting your cheeks and your heart is hammering so loudly in your chest it’s a wonder he doesn’t hear it. Overwhelmed by your sudden boldness, you murmur good night and leave the study with the cool taste of his skin burned into your lips.

Now alone, Gilbert draws a tremulous breath, removing one blood-flecked leather glove and then slowly raises his bare fingers to the corner of his mouth, pressing them there, where the ghost of your kiss still lingers.

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 @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

Happy 1k! 🥳 Could I request nr 9 for Clavis? (Or Napoleon)💖

A/N: It IS nearly his birthday so why not fulfil a Clavis request? Here you go @my-day6 💜 I hope you enjoy it!

Clavis x female reader

First Kiss Prompt: Heat of the Moment

WC: 1551

“Get me out of here!”

Your voice cracks at the strain of maintaining that volume. The dark, damp earth swallows the sound of your foot as you stomp it in frustration. Soon all you’re left with is a mighty glare which you lob at the pit’s edge. Above you is a perfect circle of sky, blue and bright, innocently shining, unaware of the fate that has befallen you.

You press your palms against the cool walls of the pit. They are too smooth, too well-constructed. You would never be able to grasp anything and climb your way out. Not a handhold or foothold in sight. Digging your fingers into the compact earth proves to be an unpleasant, crumbling mess of an idea which you give up immediately.

“Damn it, Clavis,” you mutter under your breath, a hand pressed against your side. The fall wasn’t too far, but it still knocked the wind out of you, surprise lending it a helping hand when it robbed you of breath. “Why?”

Of course there is no answer. Just a few fluffy white clouds that drift into view, stretching themselves lazily across the expanse of blue. With a huff, you lower yourself to the ground, crossing your arms. Your pink blouse is already streaked with earth and the fall ripped the side of your gray skirt wide open, up to the thigh. You yank the material closed as best you can, closing your eyes. Fine. You’ll wait. You’re already stuck at the bottom of one of his stupid hidden pit traps. It can’t get any worse.

The first raindrops are like small, cold kisses, harbingers of a very muddy and possibly dangerous future if you don’t get out of this pit now. You scrabble to your feet, the ground already wet enough to suck at your boots.

“HELP!”

The circle above your head is now gray and foreboding, releasing more and more gleeful raindrops who are happy to be free of their cloudy prison. They freefall towards the royal garden, bringing more and more of their friends along for the ride. Pushing wet strands of hair from your face, you are forced to shut your eyes against the onslaught of steadily falling rain and open your mouth to scream. You’re not sure if it’s a scream for help or frustration or fury but just when you’re about to let go, a voice rings out against the sound of the downpour: “Oh dear, how unfortunate.” A head of twilight hair, dark with rain, and two twinkling golden eyes peer over the pit’s edge.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE CLAVIS LELOUCH!”

He leans down, extending a hand which you grab hold of. With surprising strength, he pulls you easily from the pit and onto the soft, cold green grass of the western corner of the royal gardens. You spring to your feet, full of righteous fire, hands curled into fists as you take a step towards him. The Prince does not move. Instead he regards you, head tilted to one side, a hand raised in a gesture of peace.

“I do apologize, my dear. This trap was intended for a brother who was supposed to be collecting edible blossoms for tomorrow’s tea.”

You shake your head and then grab his hand faster than he can pull away. Fueled by anger, by the cold, damp feel of your clothing as it sticks to you, by the dull ache in your side and the feel of your broken skirt around your legs, you yank him towards the gazebo where you are sheltered from the rain and where he can’t slip away from you.

Clavis shakes his head, water droplets like tiny diamond beads in every direction. He pushes his hair back with one hand, his lips still lifted in a grin.

“Do you really want time alone with me—” His quippy remark is cut short by you clamping a hand over his mouth, eyes bright with anger.

“I was STUCK in a PIT for HOURS!”

You’re close enough to him for him to hear you loudly over the now pouring rain, to notice the rain drops sliding from his wet hair down the planes of his handsome face. Something glitters in those aurelian eyes as they regard you over your merciless hand. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, keeping your hand firmly in place.

“I could have gotten hurt in the fall! I could have drowned in there had you not come along! These pits are a HAZARD!”

How dare he refuse to look away in shame. How dare he keep his gaze on yours, his eyes holding you just as captive as that pit did. What is he thinking?

 ~ Your hand is warm against his mouth, your skin softer than silk.

How dare you smell so good, soaked in rainwater, streaked with dirt. How dare you look so beautiful, tendrils of hair framing your face like a work of art. Your clothes revealing so much and so little. Your skirt parted like the Red Sea, revealing a shapely path to what must be the Holy Land. How dare he want you? You, who is forbidden? You, bright flame that deserves so much more than him…worthless, weak little him.

And yet he can’t help what he feels. 

The thunder of his heart echoes through his veins, the feel of your fingers, the palm of your hand bewitching, conjuring a storm inside him. He is lost in the brilliance of your eyes, a universe he could spend eons exploring. Lost and never wanting a way out, ever again.

But he can’t do this. 

He can’t. 

He must keep this secret locked down in the deepest well of his heart, where the shadows lurk and darkness is a tyrant, towering over a small boy who only wants to be enough for someone. ~

He jerks his head away from your hand, blinking, his muddy boot scuffing the wooden floor of the gazebo as he steps back, away from you. The light in his eyes has dimmed.

“Ah my dear, it was only a joke. All in good fun.”

Something inside you shifts as you feel him pulling away. No. You want to see the fire in his eyes again, that glowing gold in all its intensity. 

You step towards him.

“I see you were offended by my silly trap. I’ll be more mindful of where I place them.”

No, this isn’t what you want. You don’t want him rambling on about his pranks, gaze not on you but the falling rain, his body shivering with cold, his spirit slowly folding inward, closing like a flower bud in reverse. 

No.

You take another step towards him until he bumps up against the curved railing, his hands reaching back to grip the wet, white wood.

“I do apologize for upsetting you, dearie. I— W-What are you...?”

Your body is crackling with frustration. He needs to STOP TALKING about the damn trap. You’re still angry at him for digging it but you’re also angry at the way he is retreating further and further behind that façade of his, that wall of quips and polite distance and controlled flame. You’re practically trembling with the desire to.....

You grab him, fistfuls of his wet coat, and pull him to you, capturing his mouth with yours. He gasps audibly, body going rigid with shock. You will not relent. You want that wall between you gone. So you tear it down with your lips, pressing kiss after kiss against his mouth. You tear it down with your left hand, still curled into the heavy material of his lavender jacket like an iron fist. You tear it down with your right hand, the one that has traveled up to his neck and is holding him there, warm palm against slick, cold skin. You tear it down with your leg, exposed and pressed tightly against his.

Kiss by kiss, touch by touch, you besiege him, vanquishing the cold with the heat of your body, crumbling his hesitation with the strength of your will. What man stands a chance against a perfect storm like this?

You feel when you have triumphed. He snaps as if struck by lightning and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against the long, lean lines of his body, tipping you back so you’re at a better angle for him to taste. You wrap one arm around his neck, holding on as he comes to life, his mouth moving over yours, deepening the kisses, sending your senses reeling. One hand supports your lower back, the other drops to the skin of your thigh and tiny tornados of electricity dance across your skin.

Was this what was hiding behind those quick smiles? Those flashing golden eyes?

You kiss him as the world around you rages, wind and water roaring through the royal gardens, But desire, which has been biding its time, smoldering patiently, now breathes fire into your lungs, blazes white-hot through your veins.

As you both sink to your knees, still wrapped in each other’s arms, as he tears his mouth from yours to hungrily ravish the soft skin of your neck, you don’t wonder what will happen when the storm fades.

Because you know that this? 

This is just the beginning.

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 @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

Heyy can i please ask for clavis/8/comfort/2nd pov?💕

Characters: Clavis Lelouch x F!Reader

POV: 2nd person Genre: Comfort

Prompt #8: “Just once, I want to hear you say it.”

Wordcount: 3021

A/N: Heyy @aceuuuuu! 💜Thank you for the request. It was a journey to get it finished, got some angst sprinkled in to enhance the comfort, but I hope you'll enjoy the direction it takes. This is the second installment of my reverse-comfort mini series in this larger grab-bag event. Big shoutout to @venulus for the help talking through how Clavis might react in this situation 💜

**Note: Reader is bilingual.

Even with all three wicks lit, the candelabra still felt eerily cold in your hand as you pushed open the door. Night bathed the library in an ethereal, otherworldly view, as though this was a parallel Rhodolite filled with books and knowledge uncharted in your reality. Exotic, mystifying, and taboo.

You tiptoed across polished tile, taking extra care to mask your steps as you peered down the aisles. Rows and rows of lifeless bookshelves returned your curious stares, but you pressed forward with your investigation undeterred. Prince Chevalier was never wrong before.

As scrupulous as he is stubborn, he had said, with more contempt than you thought necessary at the time. But the more you listened to his detailed first-hand accounts, the more confused you grew that they existed at all. How could a person, a prince no less, possibly find the time and energy to think and do and be all the things Chevalier claimed of him without going mad? It spun your own head in circles simply trying to make sense of it. 

The bookshelves lining the wall all came up naught, but you had scarcely begun inspecting the rows by the windows when you heard it. Soft and faint yet determined to subsist, like the sizzling candles at your side. You moved slower, the sound growing more alluring the closer you approached, and poked your head just enough to see what was down each successive aisle until you found him.

Perhaps his head was spinning in circles. Or perhaps he was mad.

Perched at the far end of the row was Clavis Lelouch. But like with the library, the darkness altered his appearance into something utterly unrecognizable, and you struggled to keep your heart from beating out of your chest as you took in his mangled form. The space between the bookshelves was narrow, barely enough for two people to stand side by side, but Clavis managed to sit on the floor with his head resting on one of the lower shelves and his legs bent in odd positions to fit against the opposite bookcase. Beside him he had set a single candlestick in a jar, the flame so small the melted wax threatened to extinguish it at any moment. His long white coat draped over his stomach like a blanket, and his jacket and gloves lay neatly folded in the center of the aisle. In his hands he held a large book, though it was only one of many open tomes and papers chaotically piled around him. Ink-blotched sleeves rolled up to the elbows and wrinkled collar limply hanging open, Clavis looked as though he was knocked out cold in a brawl with the books, his normally coiffed hair sticking widely out in all directions and obscuring his typically brilliant shining eyes. But you knew he was awake, because the sounds you were hearing came out of his rapidly moving lips like a man possessed. 

Smoke and mirrors are his favorite toys, Chevalier once said. You pushed his voice away, tiptoeing deeper into the aisle to focus instead on what came out of Clavis’s mouth. Why did his words sound so familiar?

Before you could come up with an answer, your foot caught in the folded clothing and the candelabra slipped from your grasp and fell to the floor with a loud clank! Luckily the flames went out with the whoosh of the fall, but in the dead of night, the sound seemed enough to announce your existence to the entire palace. Clavis flinched in his seat, eyebrows climbing his forehead and hands zipping behind his back like a frightened child caught doing something naughty. But as soon as those brilliant shining eyes found yours, his shoulders relaxed and his face broke out in a brilliant shining smile.

“Dearie me,” he said, wiping the hair from his face and sitting up straight. “And what reason could a darling little one have in a scary library this late at night?” 

“I was about to ask you the same question,” you replied, regaining your footing and crossing your arms. “Minus the darling part.” You wouldn’t let him treat this as a joke. You came here on a mission. 

“Aha,” he mused, stretching his arms like a large cat. “What reason do any of us have to do anything, really, if not for our own enjoyment?” He locked eyes again with you, but you noticed him surreptitiously shutting books and flipping sheets over as he spoke. “Life would be so dull otherwise.”

Even a child has more patience. The only way to progress is to play his game.

“You find enjoyment practicing contortionism in the middle of the night?” you asked. Clavis let out a low, mirthful chuckle. The kind you’d expect from a villain who successfully fooled the hero.

“Would that impress you? To learn your beloved prince is so multi-talented?” he asked, moving in front of the books and spreading his arms. “These limbs will bend and flex at your command! Now, my sweet, why don’t you come and test out a warming embrace?”

The only way to progress is to play his game. 

Chevalier’s voice grimly echoed in your mind as you knelt before the prince and returned his hug. The dim firelight from the jar bounced off his tired face, giving him the waxy, droopy visage of an old candle, but despite his ghastly appearance he was nevertheless gentlemanly in the way he cradled you in his arms and drew small circles on your back.

“Even the bravest of us fear nightmares,” he whispered after some time. “But wandering around in the dark? That’s practically inviting anyone to spook you even more!”

Find his weak points, or he will exploit yours.

You shifted yourself so that your chin rested on his shoulder, giving you access to the mess behind him. Even in the low light you could tell Clavis covered his tracks well in his haste; books were snapped shut and loose sheets were either turned over or tucked away. But all you needed was one clue. You just had to stall until you could find it. 

“You wouldn’t spook a scared, darling little one wandering around in the dark, would you?” you asked innocently, scanning the book spines for any legible titles.

Clavis’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “Well, I suppose that depends. It’s always impressive the more people you can manage to spook, so I might do it on a group. But if it’s only you—” he leaned his head against yours, his soft hair falling in front of your eyes and obscuring your vision “—I don’t know which side of me would win out. The gentleman or the beast.”

The urge to rip his arms off and shove him into the bookcase rose in your gut, but you suppressed it and instead brought your hand to his head and brushed his hair, moving it out of your view as you resumed your search. Of the book spines that faced you, none of the titles contained any letters or symbols you’d seen in the palace, but it was too dark to make out anything more. 

“Now, wasn’t that simply marvelous?” Clavis announced with a content sigh. “I always feel much more relaxed after a warm hug. Don’t you? And now that we’re both relaxed, let’s get you safely back to bed, hmm?” 

Find his weak points. Twist them to your advantage.

“Not yet!” you blurted without thinking, wrapping your arms more firmly around him. “I… uh… I’m still scared.” Though you couldn’t see his face, you could imagine the smug grin he grew.

“How about a lullaby?” he offered. “I recently learned one I just know will make you smile.”

“No, no. Just keep talking,” you said. The light in the jar was almost extinguished, and you frantically razed your eyes across the mess to catch even a sentence. “Tell me what your nightmares are like.”

He let out a breathy wheeze. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear about my nightmares.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll laugh?” you said.

“They wouldn’t be nightmarish then, would they?”

It was no use. Everything on the floor was hidden too well. He was enjoying this.

“Cry then?”

“Closer, but not quite.” 

Squinting in the dark hurt your head, and you shut your eyes to think. You missed your chance. Clavis could end the game whenever he wanted.

The only way to win is to break him when he thinks he’s got you.

Your eyes shot open and bore at the spot he previously sat in. And there it was. The book Clavis was holding when you caught him, hurriedly shoved to the back of the bottom shelf. It was much too far away to read, but the cover was visible enough for you to recognize it instantly; a book of nursery rhymes from your childhood.

You turned your head, your lips hovering inches from his ear. “Afraid I’ll find out what you’ve been studying?” you whispered in your native tongue. 

Clavis stiffened in your hold then rocketed backward. His eyes grew to the size of saucers and his mouth gaped open and closed as he fumbled over his words.

“Wha…. How…. Who—?” 

His expression morphed again and again with each question until finally settling on a bitter scowl. 

“I knew you two were talking about me,” he said darkly, in a voice you had never heard from him before. Not even the bliss of night sky from the windows behind him could soften the atmosphere, and your hands grew clammy as the room took on a macabre tone.

“Clavis.” You fought the worry building in your throat. “It’s not what you think.”

“Did you gather enough intel for your lingui-buddy?” he snarled, standing as he spoke. “Were you planning on heading to his room now or waiting until morning to reveal the latest juicy gossip about his failure of a brother?”

“It’s not like that!” you retorted. But Clavis had already turned away, the pile of books scooped into his arms.

“Isn’t it? Why else talk about a man in the same room as him in a language he can’t understand except to laugh at him?” he asked, slipping into the next aisle of shelves.

“Clavis!” you called, chasing after him. It wasn’t true. Even though you’d lived in Rhodolite most of your life, there always existed that veil of separation between you and the natives you could never remove as hard as you tried. And arriving at the palace as the first non-Rhodolitian Belle filled you with the renewed dread of jumping off the deep end from your first day in the kingdom. But despite his reticent introduction, Prince Chevalier quickly proved to be your most reliable companion in the palace. The conversations you held only served to build respect as he helped you navigate your new role, never to provoke others. Except, of course, when you asked about his eccentric younger brother whom you had grown exceedingly curious of.

So impotent he only shows his true self when he is backed into a corner.

You rounded the corner to the next row of shelves and found Clavis furiously shoving books into their slots, the scowl still present on his face. 

“Listen,” you began, “I talk with Chevalier about all of you because it’s my job.”

“Don’t lie,” he spat, ramming a particularly massive book into the shelf. “We already know who you’re choosing as king.” He turned again and disappeared down the next aisle.

“I still have a few weeks until I decide, and I’d like to get a comprehensive understanding of all the candidates before I choose,” you said. “But as some princes aren’t being fully honest with me, I am forced to consult others to fill in the blanks.” Though hot on his heels, you entered the next row to find it completely empty.

“From the day you arrived at this palace, I have been nothing but honest with you,” his voice called from another aisle, followed by the sounds of books getting shoved back into place.

“You just claimed you only came to the library to bend your limbs until I discovered you!” you argued back, dipping into the next aisle. Again, he was nowhere to be found.

“Correction.” His voice floated from someplace else. “You assumed what I was doing, and I only played along because it was enjoyable to me. I neither confirmed nor denied your theory. It’s your job as Belle to determine truth from fiction. And you have at your disposal the greatest fact-checker ever to set foot upon Rhodolite.”

And deflection is his preferred weapon when others are mentioned. Particularly I.

You huffed as you followed the sounds of his footsteps. Why were those two always at each other’s throats? Why was it so difficult to talk to one about the other? It was as if the castle itself was fueled by their rivalry. So why after all these years could they not settle things face-to-face? Why did you, a complete outsider, have to get roped up in their family feud?

“Why must you both be so pig-headed?” You couldn’t suppress yelling the insult in your language. You briefly pictured the two chasing each other in the library, slinging insults over bookshelves like children. But the image didn’t stick for long; it was far too improbable.

And then it hit you. Chevalier’s excessively detailed accounts of his brother weren’t given out of disdain. They were a plea.

“I may not know what all of those words mean,” Clavis called. “But Chevalier is ten times whatever it is you said. And he’s also a big, ugly, ungracious—Goodness!”

The loud thud instantly revealed his location, and you exited the row you were in and made a beeline for the library entrance. Fallen books lay scattered around Clavis’s collapsed body, and you ignored his protests as you knelt beside him and gently brushed your fingers over the fresh bruise growing on his forehead.

“Do you know what a closed door means?” you said. 

“I wasn’t trying to run away,” he groaned, pushing your hand back and sitting up. Darkness masked him, but you could still make out the distressed lines marking his face and the way his shoulders sagged with each breath.

“Clavis, when was the last time you slept?” you asked.

“This afternoon. I took a nap in the office,” he responded quickly.

“No, I mean really slept. Like a full-night’s worth.”

He didn’t answer, instead busying himself with rolling out his sleeves and fixing his crooked collar. It felt awkward watching him, like you were intruding on him getting dressed, and your eyes wandered to the books surrounding you. From nonfiction to folktales, Clavis had amassed a wonderful collection of works from your home. You picked up a children’s book and studied its cover, the familiar shapes and arrangements of letters bringing joy to the desolate library.

“Why?” you asked, flipping through the pages.

“I already told you,” he said. He clasped the final cuff and turned towards you. “I do things because I enjoy them. Nothing less and nothing more.”

“And I already told you I’m trying to learn more about you. And not just as Belle,” you said, your heart growing heavy. You stopped at a page with an illustration of two figures holding hands, a boy and a girl, and traced their smiles with your finger. “Please, just once, I want to hear you say it.”

Clavis inhaled deeply, then scooted next to you and copied your tracing, his calloused fingers occasionally rubbing against yours. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to learn more about you in turn?”

“Then why go through all this effort when you could just talk to me like a normal person?” you asked.

He tapped his finger on the boy’s head. “I could never talk to you the way Chevalier could. And Chevalier’s not a normal person.”

He was right. Chevalier wasn’t a normal person. He was a prince living arm's length from his people, but behind a veil. Neighbors, and yet a world apart. A world inhabited only by those who have seen the sun rise through his eyes, breathed the air that blew through his skies, and slept underneath the same set of stars. 

No, Chevalier and Clavis weren’t normal people. They were extraordinary. 

Pale light filtered in through the windows as dawn approached, and Clavis discreetly caught a yawn in the crook of his elbow as he stretched his back.

“I wouldn’t call that as relaxing as a warm hug, but now that we’re both sufficiently embarrassed, let’s get you safely back to bed and pretend this night never happened,” he said. But before he could stand, you grabbed his hand and pulled it back to the book. 

“Not yet,” you said. Ignoring his half-bleary-half-astonished expression, you dragged Clavis’s hand to the top of the page and placed his index finger on the first line of the text. “Your pronunciation needs work.” 

It might have been more prudent to take up Clavis’s offer of returning to bed. Your head swam with the discoveries you learned about the royal brothers, and you were sure they would better digested one at a time while lying in your comfy palace bed. Clavis’s weary head tettered concerningly as you guided his finger over each word in the book and sounded them out to him, and you were certain he would prefer to have this reading session at a time when he could keep both his eyes open. And you were positive that the best thing the both of you needed right now was a restful sleep. It was what Chevalier would say was the logical thing to do in the situation. But as night turned to day, the second prince’s name was never brought up again. And as the sun bathed the library in an angelic, auspicious glow, Clavis closed both his eyes and rested his cheek against your shoulder, and you closed the book and used your finger to trace the soft smile that bloomed from his lips.

I believe one of the greatest ways people connect is through language learning, and I have the deepest respect for those who learn the language of the place they live in when it isn't the same as their native tongue. Also, I realize this fic super overshot the wordcount limit, but to make up for it, Jin's comfort fic will be bite-sized, lighthearted, and maybe even a little comedic.

Tagging: @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @ladyofcrowsx @otomefoxystar @my-day6

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message.

A/N: A little fic inspired by @vioisgoinginsane and her delightful Cyran in Pyjamas art

Cyran x Reader

WC: 638

Head librarian of the royal palace is a job that suits you to a tee, but it comes with long hours, especially when arranging the procurement of foreign titles. By the time you are done with all your correspondences, first to the librarian in Jade and then the royal library of Tanzanite, the moon is hanging high in the inky black sky, a perfect crescent of silvery light. You hurry, feet whispering over the tiled floor of the palace, then crunching over the straw and grass along the path to the armory and then scuffling over the coarse gray stone of the armory steps. 

Above the collection of toothy weaponry is Cyran's bedroom: your destination on this warm, breezy night.

The oaken door, scarred and worn, opens on silent, well-oiled hinges. Cyran takes care of his things. One of the many admirable qualities about the Obsidian soldier that made you stumble and then fall for him. 

"Cyran?" 

You step into the room, lit only by the amber glow of the oil lamps. Your eyes need a moment to adjust before you spot him.

He's asleep at his desk, his check pillowed by strong forearms. Around him papers are neatly stacked. Quill and inkwell tidied away. Everything is ordered and structured, except…..

You smile softly. His hair falls messily across his forehead, a curtain of red, deeper than the blaze of the blacksmith's forge. It is the red of the sky on the tipping point of night. The dark crimson of the Scarlatta rose, whose petals have been singed by loving kisses of darkness.

You cross the creaky wooden floor as quietly as you can, soaking in the sight of the man who never shows exhaustion, who handles every challenge, from Clavis's wild whims to military training maneuvers, with a stoic sense of pride. Your touch is gentle, trailing the back of your fingers across his cheek, rough with several days worth of russet stubble. 

The caress reaches him beyond the place where sleep reigns, his mind breaking from the soft cocoon it has woven around him. He stirs, his dark eyes blinking away the last strands of dreaming that cling to his consciousness like cobwebs.

"You're back," he murmurs in a voice sandpaper-rough with sleep. 

"Mm hmm." His hair is one of the most luxurious textures you've ever touched. Soft and fine as spun silk. It flows through your fingers like water over stone. "Come on, Red. Bedtime."

He grumbles as you lean forward, taking his strong hands in yours and urging him up and away from his desk. It's only when he's standing you notice he's already changed for bed.

Running a hand down the soft linen of his sleep shirt, you raise your gaze, your smile curved with curiosity, soft with affection.

"If you already changed, why didn't you get in bed?" You know how long his day was, stretching from the early rosy-fingers of dawn brushing the sky until the first diamond-edged star cut its way through the dark sheet of night.

He yawns, his words slow and honey-thick with sleepiness.

"I didn't want to fall asleep without you so I went to my desk…." He yawns again and your heart feels like it might burst with the swell of affection that floods it. He went to his desk to stay awake, to wait for you.

Gently you lead him to bed where he falls back onto his pillow with a heavy thump. His eyes are already closing as you pull the thin woolen blanket up over his broad chest.

"You're coming?" His voice is foggy with another yawn.

You lean down, anointing his forehead with a petal-soft kiss.

"I'll be right there, my love." Your smile is lambent with affection as you drink in the sight of him, this wonderful man who shelters your heart so tenderly in his calloused hands. "I'll be right there."

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

Ikepri Walter X reader? Pretty please?

A/N: Ah anon....this was such a spark that set off a veritable forest fire of ideas. Thank you for the ask. I hope you enjoy the result!

I also want to thank everyone who voted in all my Walter polls. You guys decided Walter has black hair, gray eyes, is tall and slender and wears glasses 💜

I have not read translations of Gilbert's route so apologies if this diverges from canon.

Walter (the court physician of Obsidian) x Reader

"Der Anfang" is German for: the beginning

WC: ~2k

Everything feels strange here. The dark castle walls waver like shadows in the pale firelight of the sconces. The carpeting underfoot is thinner than in Rhodolite's elegant palace. You can feel the grooves between the stone flooring as you walk, chamberstick in hand. You realize now the meager light of your little flame won’t do much to combat the darkness that seems to linger in the corners of Obsidian but it feels better than being empty-handed.

All you are looking for is a place where you can step outside and breathe freely. Ever since your arrival here, ever since him, you’ve felt like your lungs are being held within an iron grasp, a fist that won’t let you get a breath deep enough to feel steady. And all that shallow breathing has you spinning as you tiptoe down a winding set of stairs, fingertips brushing the cold walls. At the bottom is a wooden door and relief floods you when you press down on the iron handle and it opens easily.

Freedom.

You’ve wandered outside from a smaller side tower that opens onto a narrow earthen path. If memory serves, this will take you to the herb garden. Thankfully, you no longer need your chamberstick. The full moon glows, gilding the world in soft, silver light. Kneeling, you set it down on a small bench at the beginning of the path and continue by moonlight. A glance over your shoulder shows you the castle, dark and imposing as it stretches its pointed towers towards the sky. Is he asleep? He’s said he doesn’t sleep much and the dark circle under his crimson eye attests to that. What would he do, if he knew you were wandering outside the castle alone? Your body contracts in a shudder. Nothing good.

He hasn’t harmed you…..and yet his smiles are sharp, so sharp it feels like they could slice you as easily as a bladed weapon. And his eye…..there is no light there. When you stare into the depth of all that red, it feels like you’re staring into an abyss.

Red like a warning.

Red like danger.

Red like blood.

You reach the iron gate of the herb garden and let yourself in. Maybe you’ll be able to find some chamomile or lavender. Something to help calm the mind, keep your nerves steady. It’s nightfall, yes, but that luminous moon is doing her best to guide you.

It’s when you take a turn down the dirt path that you notice another figure kneeling there. Hearing your approach, the man turns his head and his face is colored by surprise.

“What on earth are you doing out here, Fräulein?” 

Walter, the court physician, wipes the dirt from his hands as he regards you, head tilted to one side. He’s a tall man, taller than Gilbert, with soft black curls which are just the slightest bit too long, brushing the starched collar of his white shirt, and intelligent gray eyes the color of mist when it rolls across hills and fields on a brisk autumn morning. They’re framed by round glasses which he has a habit of adjusting, even if they haven’t slipped down the bridge of his aquiline nose.

“I–I wanted to catch a breath of fresh air.”

“At this hour?”

“I could ask you the same question, doctor.”

He glances past you towards the garden gate, as if looking for something. Or maybe someone. His brow creases slightly and those gray eyes are a fog that obscures his thoughts, storm clouds that block the blue sky. Several seconds pass before he lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing as he turns back to his herb gathering.

“Well, then you can make yourself useful." He gestures towards the plant he is currently kneeling in front of. “I’m gathering Agranise.”

You sink down beside him, looking at the many stalks of leafy green plants dotted with small red-yellow blossoms. The scent hits you now that you are near, something sweet yet bitter, like an orange just going foul.

“If I remember correctly, Agranise is extremely acrid. And poisonous if taken in large doses.” You glance at him and he nods in confirmation. 

“Ja,” he murmurs as he reaches forward, carefully plucking the dark green leaves from their stems. “But in small doses, it is a considerable tool for pain management.” 

You watch him at first, noting how careful his long fingers are, how exact, as he breaks each leaf as far down the stem as possible before putting them into a glass jar you had not noticed at first. It's nestled safely against the small wicker basket he’s brought along. Carefully you mimic his action, reaching for the plant and plucking a leaf free. You work in silence for several minutes, the only sound is the occasional rustle of foliage when the night breeze sweeps through the garden as if checking on you both.

It’s you who breaks the quiet.

“How sick is he?”

Maybe you shouldn’t ask. He may not even answer but there is no denying who you are gathering these potent herbs for. Walter’s hand stills for a moment just as his fingers clasp a leaf stem and you can feel the internal debate he has with himself as he considers your question.

“The care is…..palliative,” he finally answers. “He must drink his tonics and it keeps the worst of it at bay.”

You pause, sitting back on your heels as Walter leans forward. His profile reminds you of ancient busts you’ve encountered in museums, the ones of emperors and distant kings who ruled the lands before they were what they are today. He carries a quiet nobility to him, even if he isn’t titled. In the museums, you would spend a long time studying those sculptures, those faces, wondering what kind of people they really were, off the pages of history and in the flesh. You find yourself wanting to study Walter the same way.

Your gaze, so steady and patient, unnerves him and he clears his throat, turning away from you and your bright, intelligent eyes.

“Can nothing be done?” Your words are hushed, like moonlight filtered through a haze of fog.

He grows still again, his head tilting downwards. Part of him longs to unburden his heart, to scream into the night yes, yes there is but he won’t do it, stubborn man, he will not undergo the surgery that would save his very life. But he also knows his role as a part of the Obsidian court. And he knows Gilbert, knows the ease in which he snaps his fingers and ends a life he deems dishonest. Unworthy. Traitorous.

The doctor rises, a single elegant motion, setting the jar inside the basket and motioning for you to follow him. You do, down the ribboned dirt path until he comes to a corner of the garden that takes your breath away. Hundreds of white flowers, almost pearlescent in the moonlight, stretch up towards the sky. A sigh of wonder escapes you as you walk over, kneeling down to get a better look at them. Their petals are white, veined with glimmering silver, and the round center a soft, glowing lavender. The scent is as haunting as the sight of them, something darkly floral with a hint of a honey-like sweetness.

You look up at Walter as he sinks down next to you.

“I’ve never seen these before. They’re stunning.”

He nods slowly and you notice how his gaze takes in the sight of them. His mouth is curved in a slight smile, his expression relaxed in appreciation.

“It’s called Night Ambrosia. They are incredibly rare. Although native to Obsidian, I believe this garden is the only place in the entire country where they still grow.”

Somehow his face is even more arresting than the flowers laid out before you. 

“What happened to them?”

He sighs. “They are beautiful but they require vigilant care. They have very exacting needs, from soil acidity to light exposure to their water source.” He turns his head to meet your gaze. “It is tiring work to keep them alive. And for flowers that only bloom at night…..it is too much effort for most.”

“But you do it.” Your voice is hushed, something about the night and the garden and Walter’s soft, almost sad expression doesn’t allow you to speak above a whisper. 

“Ja.” And he turns his head to glance at the castle, a dark outline against the quiet night.  “Someone must.”

Gilbert.

Emotion tightens your throat like silken cords. He’s not just talking about the flowers, but about the prince he is so desperately working to keep alive. The one so many fear and would love nothing more than to see crushed underfoot, a flower petal under someone’s unrelenting bootheel. An image of Chevalier’s heavy navy and gold boots appears suddenly in your mind, sending a shudder like ice water down your spine.

“Are they poisonous?”, you ask, wondering just how far the metaphor between flower and prince goes. 

In answer, Walter leans forward and gently plucks one with his bare hand. You notice a thin white scar that cuts across the top of it and wonder what happened. Maybe someday you’ll find the chance to ask.

And then he surprises you, turning and offering you the delicate blossom, the one that looks like moonlight’s kiss made real. For a moment, you are lost in the soft, almost unearthly silver of his eyes, suspended in a space where they are all you can see, a beauty so devastating it feels like it may break your heart.

You take the Night Ambrosia from him, your fingers brushing against his. His skin is warmer than you would have thought and for some reason that knowledge sends a pulse of something unexpected through you, a collision of awareness and sensation. He feels it too. He must. Because you look away at the same time, severing the thread of connection. He clears his throat, rising unsteadily to his feet as he wipes his trembling hands hurriedly on his black jacket. 

Der Wolf beisst das Schaf um Kleinigkeit. The Wolf will find any reason to bite the Sheep.

Tonight has been a risk he should not take again. Not just for him, but for you as well.

“The hour is late, Fräulein. I believe it is best for us both to return to the castle.”

Your heart is rocking like a boat on the water, upheaved by a violent wind, but you manage to mask your fluster with a quick smile.

“Of course.” You start down the path but turn when he isn’t following you. “Doctor? Are you coming?”

He has knelt back down, busying himself by pretending to look through the various glass jars in his basket. “Go on. I need a moment to confirm I have gathered everything necessary.”

“Ah....well...then....good night.” Why is it hard for you to leave?

He waves a hand, not looking up. “Gute Nacht.”

You turn again, heading back to the castle, unaware of how Walter looks up when he loses the sound of your steps, his eyes following your back as you grow more and more distant, a figure shrinking into the darkness of night.

When you finally disappear from sight, he exhales slowly, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes, willing the unsettling feeling of interest to disappear. And somewhere in the back of his rational mind, knowing it won’t.

As for you.....you fall asleep that night with the lunar blossom on your nightstand, its argent petals echoing the afterglow of emotion your meeting with Walter has left across your heart.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

A/N: Cyran and Gilbert tied for second place in my poll. I was originally going to put them together in one headcanon but the styles were too different and it felt very disjointed, so they each get their own little fic.

Suitor: Gilbert, prompt: strawberry

An entry for Aqua and my Summer Days Sultry Nights CCC

WC: 854

Oh how excited you are, running through the dark stone halls of Obsidian, your treasure cupped in your hands. An angel on a mission, flying on invisible wings. Up the winding staircase you go, heart hammering, breathless with anticipation at showing him your miracle.

You burst through the dark Mahogany doors of his study. He’s at his desk, black quill in hand. You can tell by his posture he’s been here for hours: the tired roundness of his shoulders, the lax lay of his left hand beside the parchment he's perusing. The sound of your entrance turns his head and the sight of you is like the warmth of a sunbeam through glass on a cold winter’s day. He sets his quill aside without a second glance, holding out his arms in invitation.

“My Häschen comes bearing gifts,” he murmurs as you slide onto his lap, hands still cupped protectively. He anchors you against his body with one arm, bowing his upper body to rest his forehead against your shoulder, breathing in your scent like it’s as essential to him as oxygen. 

“Look, Gil.” Although he stay curled against you for eternity, he raises his head to look down at what you have brought him. Slowly you open your hands to reveal the riches you’re holding: A single, large, perfect strawberry. It still glistens from the water you washed it with, its size and ruby red color speaking volumes about the abundance of flavor it carries. He also knows the other reason you are smiling so brightly.

“It…..is from here?” You nod eagerly. You have been experimenting with gardening, working hard to try and find a way to get crops to grow in the arid Obsidian climate. How many nights has he come to bed to find you asleep, surrounded by botanical treatises and guides and lexica. Determination drove you and now you have managed to unlock the soil’s secret to provision. At least for strawberries.

“For you.” You hold one up in offering but he tilts his head. “Have you tried any yet?” Your silence confirms his suspicion. He reaches for the precious fruit, plucking it from your palm with deft fingers. “Seeing as how this is the first one, I believe the one who devoted so much time to its care should be the first to taste, oder?” 

His eye is an even richer red than the strawberry and all you can do is smile in sweet defeat, knowing he won’t take no as an answer. Your gaze never leaves him, as if you were nothing but a speck of iron drawn by magnetic force. Not even when he raises the strawberry to your lips. “Open,” he commands, although his voice is practically a purr, soft and near the edge of rough. Your lips part and he holds the fruit to them. He watches, a man hypnotized by the white of your teeth as they sink into the flushed, succulent fruit, pale red juice immediately running from the broken flesh, over the curvature of your lips, across your tongue. 

“Mmmm,” you sigh as you’re hit with the full-bodied taste of the strawberry. It’s  the sweetness of summer, of sunshine, of long days and warm nights. It’s cool wind and cooler water. Shoeless feet tickled by green grass. It's fire-flies and full moons. It's bare skin and sweat. Your eyes close as you savor the sensation. Gilbert watches your face, the euphoria that has your body going lax in his arms, the way your eye-lids drop, stealing your gaze away from him. Your soft exhale of pleasure. Something hot and jagged suddenly bolts through him. He doesn’t want you looking like that, sounding like that, for any reason other than him.

He takes the half-eaten strawberry and sets it on his desk, rising suddenly, with you lifted into his arms. Startled, you cling to his neck as he carries you over to the large black velvet couch. “Gil?” Ever so slowly, he lays you down on your back, his expression alight with sharp intent as he leans over you. “I will have my taste now.” 

You’re about to tell him that he left the strawberry on his desk when his body drops to press you into the softness of the sofa, his hands sliding up to hold your face as he lowers his head, his mouth capturing yours with all the swift resolve of a triumphal conqueror. He licks the leftover juice from your lips languidly, leaving not even a millimeter of them untasted. You gasp as he guides you, tilting your head so he can plunder your mouth, devouring you until he has lapped up every single essence of strawberry that lingered there. He is merciless, chasing that ghost of summer flavor until you are left breathless beneath him. 

He breaks contact for a moment to look down into your face, now painted in shades of want and yearning and red-hot desire. And he smiles, satisfaction riding the blistering current of pleasure that rushes through his body. 

Much better, he thinks. And then your hungry hands are in his hair, pulling him back to you and all thought is abandoned, much like the poor, half-eaten strawberry.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

A/N: This was my contribution to the @flash-exchange content creation challenge over on discord. My "victim" was @olivermorningstar. I had the prompt: Sweet, Sour, Bitter

Sariel x Reader

WC: 373 (We had a limit of about 400 words, which for me was the hardest part of this challenge 😆)

Sweet: the way his amethyst eyes light up when you enter the room; the feel of his fingers brushing yours as he passes you another document to read, another book to learn from; the tilt of his lips when you say something clever (or something sarcastic) that he just can't suppress; the short inhale of breath when you look up and catch him staring at you; the way you feel when your eyes lock and you feel like the tide being drawn by the pull of the luminous moon; the Sariel scent of parchment and musk that lingers in the air like wisps of smoke after a fire; the way your heart is buoyed by the sight of him across a room, dark head bent as he confers with one prince or another; the rich, deep tone of his voice like coalfire embers; the sweet yearning that fills you whenever he’s near.

Sour: the endless lessons, the non-stop drills, the testing testing testing of your mind; have you done enough, have you proven yourself, have you satisfied all his demands; the disappointment in his eyes when you haven’t; the ache of humiliation and remorse when you see the way his gaze drops, his head shakes; the way his hand unconsciously presses against his stomach  whenever a prince (usually Clavis) causes trouble; the sure-footed way he manages to navigate the machinations of court life even when it comes at great cost to him; the dark rings shadowing his beautiful eyes; the sour, forbidden yearning that fills you whenever he is near.

Bitter: the way he must acquiesce to those less intelligent simply because of his station; the ghosts that haunt the violet mansion of his gaze when he hears Licht sigh sadly; the turbulent ocean in his heart when he observes Nokto and his mask of flippant carelessness; the never-ending list of things you still need to know, things you have not yet mastered; the pressure on his shoulders to make sure you make the right decision, the one that will steer the direction of the entire country; the delicate (and at time, indelicate) work he does in the shadows, away from the harsh light of day and its judgements; the bitter yearning that fills you whenever he is near.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly