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violettduchess · 1 year

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A/N: Spring Headcanons with the Ikevamp men who won the polls (and Faust. Just because.)

An entry for @aquagirl1978 and my Spring Showers Spring Flowers CCC 🌷

Suitor x f! reader

Word Count: 2485

Leonardo: Gardens

Everywhere. You’ve checked everywhere for that man of yours and he is nowhere to be found. Not his bedroom. Not the kitchen. Not the sitting room. Not your room. You’re standing, hand on hip, wondering where on earth he could be when your attention is momentarily caught by the bright beam of sunlight streaming in through the window. Sunlight. Blue sky. Light spring breeze. Ah….of course.

He’s just where you thought he might be: asleep under the protective branches of the large oak tree at the far corner of the mansion property. Of course he took advantage of the weather to find a spot to settle in and nap. You kneel onto the soft emerald-green grass, then lean down until you’re right next to his ear. “Leonardo….” you murmur, voice sing-song and warm. “Time to get up.” One golden eye opens and when he sees it’s you, his face is awash in the sunshine of affection.

“Cara mia,” he says sleepily, voice rough with the leftovers of his nap. He reaches out one arm, urging you to lay down against his side. “C’mere,” he purrs and you find yourself yielding to his warm embrace, to the soft grass beneath you, to the faint scent of smoke and parchment that surrounds you as you lay your head against his shoulder.

“We have to get ready,” you sigh even as you snuggle into him, his arm tightening around you, holding you close. “Mm hmm,” he answers, clearly not in any rush to go anywhere. His fingers find the back of your neck and begin stroking the soft skin there, rhythmic and soothing. “Just a few minutes then,” you murmur as your eyes close, your body relaxing as your mind sinks into the simple pleasure of his touch. He turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Relax, tesoro. We have all the time in the world.”

Comte: A Walk in the Park

It’s a breezy spring day in Paris. One hand is pressed to the straw hat resting atop your head, keeping it in place as the wind continues to try and flick it away. The other hand is intertwined with Comte’s as you continue your walk through the park.

He laughs out loud as his tie is flipped up and into his face, the wind brazen as it continues its playful attack on you and all the others adventurous enough to be outside on such a blustery day. Glancing at you, he nods his wind-tousled head towards a copse of trees, stalwart and brave as they stand tall against their elemental counterpart’s mischief.

“Let’s go!” And together, still clutching each other’s hands, you veer off the path and toward the trees, the wind tugging at your skirts, pulling at his jacket and finally, in one gigantic, triumphant burst, snatching your straw hat right off your head just as you duck into the safety of the arboreal protectors.

“Oh no!” But you’re laughing as you push your hair out of your face, patting at the space where your hat once sat. Comte is laughing too, one hand reaching out to cup your pink cheek, his expression bright and tender. “We’ll get you another, ma chérie. Ne t'inquiète pas.” You smile and he can’t help himself as he leans down and presses his lips to yours, knowing you’re well hidden from any prying eyes. You respond immediately, melting into his embrace. The leaves above rustle as the wind sweeps through them, amused. It may have won the battle for your hat but you certainly don’t seem to be suffering for the loss.

Faust: Green Grass

The field stretches out before you, an endless sea of bright green dotted with bursts of colorful meadow flowers. You adjust your grip on your wicker basket before walking toward the next cluster of bright blue blossoms you are supposed to be collecting for Faust. You kneel down, being very careful as you reach out, taking hold of the delicate petals, each one round and veined with pale lavender, and slowly pluck them, one by one and set them in the basket with the others. He had explained how the petals needed to remain whole and be plucked right at their base.

As you concentrate on removing each petal, you can’t help but remember why you are both here: the little boy with the wide eyes at the church who had shown Faust his hands, red and cracked and painfully itchy. He explained they always got this way when the weather turned and wondered if he had maybe done something wrong and God was punishing him and could the Father help him?

Faust had reassured the young boy that he had done nothing wrong and that there may be a more secular solution to his problem. The blue flower you are so fastidiously undressing of its petals is a part of an experiment Faust is conducting on creating a cream that would use the plant’s natural ability to neutralize skin irritants. Hope springs eternal as you add several petals to your basket. If anyone can help the poor little child, it’s Faust. You just know it.

What you don’t notice as you go about your work is how he has finished with his cluster of flowers and has crossed the thickly carpeted grass back to where you are still kneeling. He watches you, sharp eyes missing nothing, noticing the care with which you are following his instructions, the diligence in which you have worked, your basket more than halfway full. Your fingertips are stained peacock-blue but you still keep on working, expression serious and concentrated. He watches you in silence for several minutes as something warm blossoms inside him, his heart unfolding in the sunshine of his feelings for you. He walks over to where you are, leaning down to place a hand on your shoulder.

You turn, breath catching in both surprise at his quiet arrival and at the sight of him, eyes like dusky springtime, soft in a way only you know. He reaches for your hand, pulling you slowly up and then continues to raise your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss into each stained fingertip, all the while holding your gaze captive with his.

You smile slowly, head tilting as you regard him lovingly. You know exactly what he’s doing and so you answer his unspoken words: “You’re welcome, Johann.” You take a step towards him, sliding your free arm around his waist, your hand and his pressed between your bodies like a promise. “You’re welcome.”

Isaac: Rainbows

The rain is lazily slowing down, more and more time lapsing between the small drops which now glisten in the emerging sunlight. You take a step away from Isaac, holding your hand out from the protection of the bookstore’s striped awning where you two took shelter from the sudden downpour.

“It’s stopped,” you say as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. His hair is still damp with rain and his clothing covered in dark, wet patches. But you’re smiling at him and he has to return your smile. It’s a law of nature. One of the many he discovered after he met you.

He takes your outstretched hand and together you step out into the freshly washed world, carefully avoiding larger puddles, as you make your way back home. You’re chatting happily to him as you walk over the wet gray cobblestones, your fingers interlaced endearingly.

Suddenly your flow of chatter stops with a gasp. “Isaac! Look!” Just ahead, arching over the wide stone bridge that stretches across the Seine is a rainbow, a perfect curve of bright, joyful color, stark against the robin-egg blue of the sky. Isaac nods as he takes in a breath of cool air. “It’s always been fascinating how a simple optical phenomenon such as the refraction of light...-“

He’s cut off by your finger pressed against his lips, his cherry blossom eyes widening in surprise. You offer him another smile, this one softer than before, before turning around, snuggling with your back against his chest and pulling his arms around you from behind. He embraces you, although his head is still tilted slightly in confusion. Why did you stop him from speaking?

You sigh contentedly, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “Isaac.....isn’t it simply....beautiful?” And then he understands.

The lens of science drops and he focuses on the feel of you in his arms, your warmth and softness, the sweet smell of your rain-damp hair, the simplicity of just….being. He pulls you a bit closer, his lips curved in a smile, the beauty of the rainbow echoing the happiness in his heart.

Vlad: Fairy Forest

Gripping Vlad’s hand, you step carefully over the uneven ground, listening to the sound of leaves and small twigs crunching under your boots. A blindfold really wasn’t necessary, you think as he leads you down a small incline. It’s dark enough in the woods that you doubt you could see anything without a lantern.

“Just a few more steps, my love.” But then you hear his voice, the smooth, gentle roundness of his accent, and you squeeze his hand, allowing him to continue guiding you. You love him so much, your trust in him is rocksteady. The night air feels cool on your face as you feel the ground even out, the leaves and snapping twigs dispersing to reveal something smooth and flat underfoot. Vlad moves behind you, trailing the back of his fingers over your soft cheek. “Ready?” You nod and he reaches for the bow at the back of your head, undoing the crimson silk binding.

What you see in front of you sends your heart stumbling forward, the air momentarily trapped in your throat as you gasp. You’re standing in a small clearing in the forest. Strands of small twinkling yellow lights have been interwoven through the dark branches, casting a warm glow over the area. In the middle of the clearing Vlad has set up a tent, already alight from the small, pink lanterns carefully placed inside of it. He motions for you to follow as he walks towards the tent and lifts the flap to reveal an oasis of pillows in all sizes and fluffy blankets as well as several piles of books.

And in that moment you remember how you told him, one morning snuggled close together, about the reading nook you used to build when you were a child, a blanket hung over two chairs, you tucked underneath, surrounded by small electric tea light candles. How you’d pretend you were in a magical forest, in the perfect spot to lose yourself in words, the perfect spot to release the magic you always felt when reading.

“Vlad….” You don’t have the words to express how surprised you are, how utterly unexpected all of this is. How shocked you are that he remembered the details of that cold, winter morning conversation. The questions he had asked about what that perfect place would look like today. The details about light color. Tent size. And now it’s here, right before your eyes. Brought to life by the man who fills your heart with magic every day.

He ducks down, holding out his hand which you promptly take and follow him inside the soft rose-colored light of the tent. He leans forward, tying back the flap so you can still see the fairy lights glowing among the tree branches before leaning back, stretching out his long body and propping himself up on his elbow, his smile warm and inviting. “Read to me, beloved?”

Arthur: Spring Fling

The garden party is in full swing. Guests in their spring finery laughing and drinking sparkling drinks out of crystal flutes. You walk among them, your petal-pink skirt swishing pleasingly around your ankles. The sky above is changing her gown from bright afternoon sky to the dusky-hued lavender blues of evening. Sebastian is discreetly lighting the candles you and he had placed around the garden earlier that day.

You make your way back to the table where you had been chatting with Dazai before getting up to refill your champagne. He’s flittered off somewhere by now but you’re about to sit back down anyway and people-watch when you notice your yellow cocktail napkin has been folded into a perfectly-shaped butterfly. The sight of it sends a thrill through you, a cannonball of excitement and expectation. You know what this means.

Lifting your glass, you drain its contents before setting it down, lifting the napkin to wipe your lips before you begin winding your way through guests. Comte and Leonardo are engaged in conversation at the edge of the garden and don’t notice as you pass them, making your way down the path that leads back toward the mansion.

The inside of the manor is darkened. Everyone has everything they need outside after all. But still, you’re careful. No need to attract attention from any wandering guest or resident. Once you step inside, you lean down, undoing the satin bow of each shoe. The wooden floor feels cool through the soft silk of your stockings as you make your way soundlessly through the salon and then up the wide, carpeted stairway, shoes dangling from your fingertips. Your heart is practically jumping up and down in your chest, spinning with the promise of what’s to come.

You pause at the top of the landing, the pale evening light spilling in through the tall windows sectioning the darkened hallway into panels of darkness and light. Which room are you supposed to go to? You can’t remember……

And then the world spins as you’re snatched from behind, your shoes dropping onto the carpet when strong arms wrap around you and hold you prisoner. “Got you.” The voice is low, husky with the soft, rolling thunder of anticipation. Heat explodes inside you as you feel the press of his long, lean body from behind. Your heart pulses, each beat sending a firework of sparks through your veins. His lips are by your ear, his teeth already nipping at the sensitive skin. By now you’re weak with wanting him as you twist around within his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“So what are you going to do with me?” You’re both enveloped in shadows but you can still see enough of his face, the blue fire of his heated gaze, the sharp white of his teeth behind his curved lips. He leans forward, his hands sliding down your sides, over the swell of your hips with practiced familiarity. He begins gathering your skirt, slowly hiking up each side. It whispers as it skims the surface of your skin. “That remains to be seen, luv.” His fingers touch the bare skin of your thighs and you catch your breath expectantly. A single movement and he lifts you, a laugh warm and dark as coalfire escaping his lips as you wrap your legs around him, press your eager lips against the line of his neck.

Somehow, even as you cling to him, even through the fog your impatient kisses and whispers are wrapping him in, Arthur is aware enough to realize your shoes are laying there abandoned and has the wherewithal to kick them inside his bedroom and then with the same foot, swiftly kick the door shut, readily dismissing the world outside in favor of the woman in his arms.

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

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