Hello Violet! Im New To Your Blog And I Fell For Your Writing Style , Can I Request Some Fluff Leonardo

Hello Violet! I’m new to your blog and i fell for your writing style 💜, Can I request some fluff Leonardo (ikevamp)? Anything you want to write, just make it fluffy. Thank you! 🫐

A/N: Here you go! I hope you like it 💜

Leonardo x reader

This is.....sort of meta 😉

Word Count: 1024

You’re sitting on Leonardo’s bed, letter in hand. Night has come to the mansion, bringing with it a sky full of glittering, winter stars and a sliver of bright moon visible through the window. You can feel the cold radiating from the glass, icy fingers that have you tug Leonardo’s warm caramel-colored sweater closer to your body. Of course, it’s far too big but you love it for the times when he isn’t with you. It feels a bit like wrapping yourself in the ghost of his embrace. Now, by candlelight, you read the request a few times, frowning as you try to come up with a scenario that could fulfill it. It’s actually nothing you haven’t done before but how to make it interesting? Different?

Leonardo strolls in, Lumiere tucked under one arm like a sack of grains. He’s muttering in Italian and Lumiere is glaring in Cat. The moment he is set down, he dashes as fast as his paws will take him toward his man cave somewhere amongst the papers and books and scrolls under Leonardo's desk. “Monello,” Leo mutters before turning his golden eyes to you. Ah, just the thing to put him in a better mood.

“Cara mia, should I tell you what the little brat did?” He readies himself to tell the story of Lumiere and a flock of extremely aggressive geese, already thinking over the various ways he could begin but you are glued to your letter and murmur a faint “Uh huh” in his direction.

Hmmm. An Italian brow raises in suspicion. What are you reading?

He moves closer to you. You are thinking something over; he can tell by the way you’re drumming your fingers against your thigh, mirroring the whirring cogs of your brain. Maybe he can distract you, win your attention with sensuality, he thinks as he slowly removes his jacket, stepping right into your line of sight.

But no matter how slowly the jacket is peeled away from his broad shoulders and muscular arms or how many buttons he opens on his soft white shirt, you do not look up. The situation is dire indeed. He lowers himself behind you on the bed, admitting defeat as he rests his chin on your shoulder, peering at the paper that has you so entranced.

“What is this? It must be riveting if you can ignore the sight of me removing clothing.”

Sighing, you reach back with one hand and ruffle his soft ombre hair, inhaling his familiar scent of smoke and parchment. “You know Stumbler, the literary magazine I sometimes contribute to.” He nods, chin still resting on your shoulder, on the soft wool of his own sweater. One arm winds its way around your waist, holding you against him, his larger body at your back casting a spell of comfort and protection.

“Well they sometimes dole out requests to the contributors and I’ve been given one that wants a sweet, romantic story.”

He grins slowly, sneaky fingers climbing their way over the woven fabric of his sweater, sliding it off of your shoulder. For good measure he also pulls down the wide strap of your nightgown, leaving your shoulder bare. He nuzzles the skin he has just exposed.

It appears he has a new tactic to capture your attention.

“You know how to write those, yeah? You’ve done it many times before.”

His breath tickles your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms.

“Yes but they are asking for a character who I have written a lot of romantic stories for. The question is,” you pause as your brain momentarily forgets what it is trying to communicate. He’s pressing feather-soft kisses along your bare shoulder, moving toward the sensitive slope of your neck. “The question is,” you repeat, your voice dropping as a shiver runs through you, “what can I do that would be new and interesting?”

“Mmmm,” he practically purrs, his arm tightening around your middle, holding you to him as his mouth reaches the line of your neck. “What about…slow dancing?” He nips at your skin and you gasp, aware of how fast your heart has started pounding, how warm you’re beginning to feel.

“Done that,” you murmur, your head tipping to the side, allowing him more access.

“Cuddling in bed,” he says before leaving a trail of languid, heated kisses along the elegant line of your neck, all the way up to your ear.

“Also done.” The words are more breathy air than anything but you’re amazed you even manage that.

The sweater has somehow been removed and curled up on the floor next to the bed. It doesn’t matter really, since you are warm, heat rippling through your veins at an alarming rate. He traces the shell of your ear with his tongue, the hand holding you against him tightening its grasp.

“Maybe, cara mia, you need some inspiration, yeah? Maybe…” he draws out the word as his teeth catch your earlobe. “…I can help.”

There is only so much brain power left in you before pure lust takes over. A shudder rolls through you. He already has you shaking and he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

“Leonardo.” Why does his name sound more like a moan than a word? You grasp at the last remaining strings of logic dangling in your mind. “It’s supposed to be romantic….not….salacious….”

“Well…,” he whispers, his rich voice soft, inviting. One hand slides across your abdomen and then upward to the buttons of your nightgown, the ones that stand no chance against his nimble fingers. “Cara mia…..” His other hand captures your face, turning it so that he can lower his mouth until it hovers just over yours. “Why not…..” His lips brush strokes of fire against yours. “….both?”

He kisses you intently, stopping you from answering as he claims the full attention of your mouth.

Your last coherent thought is: Both? Both is good. Yes, both is very, very good.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome

A/N: I think like many Gilbert fans, this CG just really struck me. I do not read the Japanese app so I only had the vaguest idea of what is happening but I don't think that matters too much. This is just hoping to capture a feeling, more than plot.

Gilbert x Reader

Word Count: 380

Your arms encircle his waist like the glowing rings of some distant planet. Your cheek presses against the supple darkness of his cloak, above his shoulder blade while your heart burns with the wild yearning to somehow slide right through the material and sink into that intangible coolness of his very essence. The sumptuous black fur of his collar brushes wispy kisses against the skin of your forehead, soft and luxurious. You wonder if his lips would feel as decadent.

He does not move away. His tall, lean body is still, although his blood rushes through his veins with the flare of emotion the press of your arms has ignited.

Is this possible? Are you really embracing him, holding him as close as the protective night sky does its beloved moon? The shadow of a smile crosses his beautiful lips.

He now knows you have missed him.

His expression softens, the sharp lines of his face melting into the radiance of starshine. It is a face schooled at wearing a mask of cutting smiles and one watchful red eye that flickers with a flame of dangerous intelligence, with the diamond glaze of resolve. But as he looks at you over his shoulder, that eye is full of rose-red, petal-soft tenderness. You who reached in, past the thorny brambles of uncertainty, to warm him with the sunshine of your affection, the gently curling tendrils of acceptance and understanding making their way between heavy stones and cracking the carefully constructed walls around his heart.

They crumble with every passing moment he is held in your arms until he finally turns, his fingers in their soft black leather catching your chin, tipping your face up so he can see you, drinking in the sight of you the way a believer would an effigy of the divine. 

Your lips part, his name escaping your heart, riding the soft exhale of breath from your lungs.

He is surrounded by rubble, encircled by the dust of his defenses as they disintegrate. The sound of “Gilbert” whispered so delicately has undone him. He bends, a willow in the wind, enfolding you within the velvet shadows of his arms and captures your mouth with his, giving you a taste of cool, intoxicating ambrosia.

You sink into his arms, a soul chosen to enter Elysium by way of Gilbert’s immaculate kiss.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @joiedecombat @bubblexly @tele86

Catching Belle when she falls~

can you describe your favorite body parts of Chevalier, Clavis, Gilbert and Keith

A/N: Here you are, anon. This was an interesting one to think about.

Word Count: 878

Chevalier: Hands

His hands are beautiful. A perfect balance of elegance and power. Hands that as easily grip the pommel of a sword as a black-feathered quill, and both with the same fierce intensity. His fingers are long and shapely, their form belying the strength and agility they possess. Those fingers touch the delicate pages of ancient tomes as well as modern treatises, meticulously careful, reverent even in. They smooth down the edges of rich parchment as he writes in his neat, slanted lettering, not a drop of ink wasted. Not a word too much or too little. They are the second most important tool in Chevalier’s arsenal behind the majesty of his mind. 

You love those hands because you know another side to them. The side that isn’t perfect or controlled. You know fingers that can be clumsy in their show of affection. Hands that hesitate before touching, uncertainty wrapped around his fingers like rings. But you love them because they are genuine and real. And once they touch your body, they are hands that are unafraid to seek out what makes you tremble. What makes you fall apart in his arms. What makes you shake with his name on your lips. 

Clavis: Eyes

His eyes are pools of gold whose shimmer and shine hide the true depth of his soul. You’ve seen them sparkle like gold dust when he is planning something, a window into the sunshine of his mind. He burns bright when he is truly delighted, when he has come up with a plan he is proud of. That golden gleam has sent many in the palace running, at most afraid, at least uncomfortable. That shine can’t mean anything good, they think. But you would rather see the shine of mischief over the dull, burnished gold of pain that can flash in them when he clashes with his brother, that figure that looms larger than a deity in his life. Chevalier can snuff out the light in Clavis’s eyes with a look, or light the fires of determination with a word, a fire that burns on the edge of control. 

But for you, and only for you, those golden eyes grow soft, tenderness interwoven with vulnerability. With a touch, you can bring back their light, the bright and beautiful Aurelian gaze that looks at you with grace and gratitude, love and disbelief. Yes, Clavis, you are worthy of love and you want nothing more than for him to see all that he offers is reflected back at him in your own gaze. 

And when you want to show him, to prove to him bodily how much he means to you, then those whiskey-colored eyes ignite with a different sort of fire and burn bright with yearning.

Keith: Shoulders

Keith’s shoulders are wide and strong. A sanctuary where you can lay your weary head and forget the day’s burdens. A place of comfort, of protection. They shield you from the wicked, from the things in this world that snarl and claw and hiss. They are your fortress. Curled up against him, they shield you like angels’ wings, a barrier to everything that could hurt. When you stand behind him, they are a wall. When you are wrapped in his arms, they are a shelter. And when they are bare, you skim the palms of your hands across them, enamored of their breadth, the sublime curve of muscle and sinew. Your fingers find every small dip, every indentation. And sometimes they bite, nails sinking into those muscles, marking him with the evidence of your desire for him.

Yes, those shoulders are safety and security. Until they turn cold. Until the line of them is rigid and unyielding with tension. Until they go from shelter to barricade, keeping you away, holding you at a distance from those too-clever, malevolent golden eyes, the ones that now look at you like you are prey instead of partner. The power in them now does not inspire admiration, but apprehension. Uneasiness. Fear. 

Gilbert: Mouth

That mouth. That beautiful, dangerous, talented mouth. The one whose smile is a thousand shades of silver. The one that can be sickle-sharp and glacier-smooth at the same time. The one that can spin lethal poison into nectar, threats into effervescent bubbles, sentencing into a whimsical communiqué. Soft words that carry grievous consequences pass through comely lips that always seem to be on the verge of a sharp smile. Gilbert may possess an armory of smiles, but there is one there that is reserved for you. The one that is softer, gentler. The one that reaches the red of his eye, illuminating the vivid cerise like a votive candle in a cathedral. 

You know the taste of that mouth. The cool bite, the wild storm. Those lips can be soft. They can baptize your warm skin with kisses like snowflakes. They can send your pulse into a flurry and freeze the very air in your lungs, all of you locked in an icy cage of longing. And those lips can part, baring sharp, white teeth that savor the feel of your body and leave a wanton trail of rose-red marks in their wake. 

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart

chevalier and prompt 3 🥺❤️

A/N: My first entry for @voltage-vixen and @xxsycamore 's Tis The Season for Love Content Creation Challenge

Chevalier x Reader

Word Count: 754

“I do not understand the need for a Christmas tree in the salon. Your efforts have resulted in a tree as tall as four men in the palace foyer as well as one in the gardens, not to mention the tree we traditionally provide in the town square.” His royal highness King Chevalier Michel is standing in the doorway of the aforementioned salon, watching as you artfully toss handfuls of shiny gold tinsel across branches bedecked with porcelain bells, golden orbs, shimmery iridescent ornaments that look almost like bubbles, and a massive string of white pearls winding from the top to the bottom of the dark green fir.

“Because,” you say cheerfully as gold tinsel flies from your fingertips, “it gives the room a nice, cozy holiday feeling.”

He snorts, crossing his arms across his chest. Clearly he does not share your opinion. Your tinsel has run out and so you turn toward the wooden box resting on the couch, shooting him a look. “Huff all you like but you put me in charge of decorating because you did not want to bother with something so trivial AND because you did not want Clavis booby-trapping all the decorations again.”

“Black nearly had a heart-attack last year when the tree ornaments started exploding,” Chevalier murmured.

You nod, remembering as you open the wooden box and carefully remove the golden star tree topper. “And Sariel was furious at all the green dye in the fountains.”

“Four Eyes is always furious about something,” Chevalier states as he watches you walk back toward the tree you had placed in the back corner of the salon. He must admit, it does compliment the darker tones of the room and you have done a fine job decorating it in angelic white and gold. Now as you approach the tree, a slow grin pulls on the corner of his mouth.

“You cannot reach the top.”

He sounds far too amused for his own good, you think as you assess the tree. The top is rather high but it isn’t like its giant cousins in the town square or downstairs in the foyer. This one is about as tall as Chevalier and you can reach up and push your fingers through that pale, silken hair without trouble.

“Of course I can.” Think tall thoughts. Pine trees. The palace spires. Luke. Slowly, you raise yourself up onto your toes, stretch out your arm, and will the heavy star-shaped golden tree topper to reach the top. Not.....quite.....your toes are beginning to hurt, screaming at you that they have reached their limit. Your arm is starting to shake, a weary soldier with only a few last gasps of air left before it collapses. Just....ugh....a...half a centimeter.....the topper brushes the tip of Christmas tree in the very faintest of kisses. Come on....argghhh.....

And then something hard is gripping your waist, your aching toes leave the wooden floor and your arm manages one final act of bravery as it sets the topper onto the tree before falling, exhausted, to your side. For a moment you are at height with the golden star, floating in the air like the spirit of Christmas itself, suspended above the tree in all of its now complete glory. You gasp softly as the sight, your eyes trained on the star even as you slowly sink back down to earth, your feet coming to rest on the floor once again.

Chevalier’s hands slide from your waist, forward, wrapping around you and pulling you back against him. You lean back into him, admiring your handiwork. Even in the thin winter light pouring in through the arched window, the tree shines, a celestial wonder with its white and gold ornaments, glistening tinsel and of course, the majestic Christmas star at the very top, twinkling proudly.

“Thank you,” you sigh happily as you hug his arms against you, nestling against the wide, comforting feel of his chest at your back.  He lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your temple before speaking. “I was correct in my assertion that you are too short.”

A smile, soft as snowfall, bright as moonlight, crosses your lips as you turn your head to look up at the man you love.

“I seem to fit here,” you snuggle even closer against him, pulling his arms more tightly around your midsection, “just fine.”

He laughs, a quiet sound as smooth and fine as velvet. “That you do.” Another kiss, this time to your cheek. “That you do.”

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart

A/N: This is a joint effort by myself and @thewitchofbooks who I reached out to after falling for her beautiful art. A gifted creator and a super Gilbert fan? Perfect 💜

The title of this fic comes from the well-known Robert Frost poem

Gilbert x female Reader

Holiday / winter fluff

Word Count: 1068

Obsidian is the opposite of Rhodolite. If your home country is soft, velvet roses and rolling green hills and trees staggering under the weight of the fruit they bear, then Obsidian is bushes with sharp, hungry thorns, dusty, cracked earth and trees that look utilitarian at best and menacing at worst. But Mother Nature has a secret, a way to equalize them both: snow. Snow covers the idyllic hills and small villages and gardens the same way it does stone houses, empty fields and barren trees. Snow brings beauty to even the harshest of places.

When you had stopped at the tall, arched windows and seen the blanket of white laid out before you, gleaming despite a wan sunlight muted by voluminous, gray velvet clouds, there was only one person you wanted to rush outside and experience it with.

He agreed readily, setting aside the day’s papers and letters and worries for something just as important, something vital to giving him the strength to continue with all those papers and letters and worries. Time with you.

Now you walk, arm in arm, over the soft snow, following the path that runs along the meager grain fields behind the palace. To your left looms the forest, black-barked trees with bare, spindly arms reaching for the heavens, bedecked in layers of sparkling white.

Gilbert is quiet, his red eye taking in the landscape, black boots ringed with clingy snow. You tighten your grip on his arm. If you were a snowflake, you would cling to him too, this man born of winter, whose skin is as pale and soft as the world around you. And as cold. However you know that under those layers of heavy black fabric and ornate gold and leather is a winter landscape that has trembled at your touch, melted under the heat of your mouth, and flushed at the movement of skin against skin. 

“This way,” he says, breaking the silence. “There’s something I want to show you.” Your arms unlock but his hand finds you, threading his leather-gloved fingers through yours. He leads you onto a small, narrow path that turns left, weaving its way through the trees. At first sight they loomed ominously, a vague sense of foreboding radiating from their bare branches. But now, walking through them, hand in hand, there is something that feels more akin to safety, as if the forest was sheltering you instead of warning you. 

He stops walking, raising one arm to point upwards. “There. This is what I wanted to show you.” You follow the long line of his arm up until you spot them. Nestled within the bare branches of the trees are bright green bushels of leaves dotted with tiny white berries. There is something almost whimsical about it, the vivid green amongst the dark, empty branches against the gray sky. 

“Do you recognize it?” Gilbert walks around, stopping behind you in order to wrap his arms around your middle, holding you against him. You lean back, tilting your head until it rests against his shoulder, gaze still admiring the view. There is something familiar about those plants. That vibrant green with its small bright white pearls. While you are thinking things over, racking your brain to place them, he lowers his head, his cheek pressed against yours. You can feel the smile on his face. “Really, Häschen? I thought you would know it immediately. After all….” He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “It is one of your favorite holiday traditions.”

Those words suddenly take the vague ideas swimming around in your mind and sharpen them, lock them in place to create something recognizable.

“That’s mistletoe!” Wonder fills you as you look at the beautiful green gifting the gray landscape with vibrant color. “I’ve never seen it in the wild before.”

“Mm hm.” He’s decided your gaze has been up in the trees long enough. He wants those luminous eyes on him. Sliding his hands to your waist, he turns you until you’re facing him, lips curved artfully. “And what did you explain to me one does under mistletoe?”

Something warm blooms inside you, a joy at the sultry, teasing note in his voice, a thrill at the way his hands are holding you tightly against him. You thought the green of the mistletoe leaves was beautiful within the panorama of gray and white surrounding you, but now, the jeweled red of his eye, glinting with the promise of something inciting, is the most exquisite color in sight.

“We are surrounded by an awful lot of mistletoe, my love” you murmur even as his hands leave your side to cup your face, the feel of those soft leather gloves as dear and familiar to you as his skin. The gesture, though gentle, still sings of his possessive nature. You wrap your fingers slowly around his wrists, holding him. You can be possessive too. He leans down slowly, his gaze still on you, your lips only a breath away from his. He smiles and you feel it, the power it has, the way it fills your heart and the space between heart beats. He is as essential to you as air under a bird’s wing or water to the creatures of the deep. 

“Then I suppose,” he says softly, “that one kiss will not be enough.” His voice pours molten gold into your ears and sends a ripple of warmth across your skin. 

“Probably not,” you whisper in answer. And then your lips touch, a metamagnetic force pulling you together, irresistible and inescapable. His lips are soft and cool against the warmth of your kiss. You feel the way he melts under the movement of your mouth, like snowflakes when they fall on flushed skin. Gilbert is cool starlight over a snow-covered field, the glimmer of frost when it kisses the petal’s edge. The air around you may be chilled, but the point of contact where your mouths meet is a warm spring from which love and lust are reborn, over and over again, with each and every kiss.

Wrapped up in each other, neither of you notices the soft fall of snowflakes as they begin tumbling from the smoky clouds, small, cold, feathery flakes that land on your clothes, your hair, adorning you and all that surrounds you in soft, heavenly white. 

A benediction. 

A blessing.

Artwork by the incredible @thewitchofbooks 💜 Thank you for working with me, Nadia. I am so grateful you had the time and so in awe of your talent.

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