Comte, I think you just triggered a tsun-explosion?
LMAO HE PLAYED HIMSELF THERE like Sebastian told it was Comte who decided the teams and thought he’d have it easy by pairing with the tsuns lol
Mama Comte is mad, this isn’t what he was expecting so he yeets the tsuns into the library, because yanno… what could possibly go wrong in sending them to the place that might as well be considered Leonardo’s second bedroom?
[⚜️IkeVamp⚜️ Scenario/Headcanon] Reactions to Reader Calling Them Cute
Napoleon
He sort of blinks first.
“Cute? You think I’m cute?”
He then smirks at you and lifts your face by your chin before you can confirm that that is indeed what you think.
“Are you sure you want to begin this game right now?”
Expect an avalanche of kisses.
“There, touché~. Oh and by the way, you’re cute too~”
Mozart
Cue him giving you the side glare.
“Are you saying this because you want something out of me?”
When you say you aren’t, he just makes a “tch” noise and gets back to writing his new music.
But of course you don’t miss the soft pink coloring his cheeks.
Leonardo
He smirks at you.
“Hmm~? Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”
He pulls you in his lap and snuggles you, making you flustered.
“May I remind you how adorable YOU are~?”
He teases you with compliments, making you blush at every word.
Vincent
His eyes widen a bit and he smiles.
“Aww thank you~ So are you! Adorable even~!”
He then gives you a smile that’s brighter than a thousand suns.
You literally feel love and positivity radiate from him.
He also pinches your cheek gently, and chuckles when you blush.
Theo
He raises an eyebrow at you.
“Hm? Cute? I’m not the dog here.”
He follows that up by poking your cheek.
“What do you want from me, a treat? Is that why you’re showering me with flattery?”
He follows that up with a boyish smirk that makes you melt.
Before you can say anything, he sweeps you in his arms and takes you to the bedroom where the cuddles commence.
Arthur
Arthur gives you that somewhat unreadable gaze.
And then makes you practically almost swoon by following that up with a charming smirk.
“My my~ Is the little bird trying to serenade me with her song~?”
Yes, yes you are trying to serenade him with your song.
What happens after this is all up to you~ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Isaac
He almost chokes on his applepie
“W-WhAT?!”
You’re almost scared by his outburst but then begin to laugh, repeating yourself.
He calms down a bit.
“O-Oh. W-Well… thank you I guess.”
He remains red faced for hours and, unfortunately, is the subject of teasing during the entire time.
Dazai
His initial reaction is similar to Napoleon’s where he just blinks at you.
But he follows that up with this adorable playful grin.
“Why, aren’t you a flatterer~?”
He then embraces you.
“But I think you’re the cutest one here~ And I want to prove it to you.”
He proceeds to tickle you mercilessly, enjoying your laughter while chuckling at the cute scene.
⚔️ Jean
His eyes widen in shock at your words.
Like, he actually felt time stop for a split second.
“I’m… what…?”
You repeat yourself and he says, “Mademoiselle… why do you say such things?”
You can sense the disbelief in his tone and explain, insisting that you mean what you say.
It takes some time to convince him, and you feel at ease when, despite the long silence, he nods, a faint blush on his cheeks.
“I… hm. Thank you, (Name).”
⏳ Comte
He has a slight look of surprise at first, but follows it up with a smile.
“Wow, that was slightly unexpected but thank you, (Name)~ You flatter me~”
He proceeds to tell you that you look dazzling today, to which you smile and thank him.
It’s a short and sweet exchange that leaves both of you feeling happy, and it ends with a kiss as a sweet cherry on top.
♂️ Sebastian
His first reaction is to give you a slightly confused glance and then laugh.
“Where’s this coming from?” He asks.
You pout and blush and he chuckles, reassuring you that he’s just kidding and that he appreciates the compliment.
He then suddenly kisses you, leaving you a flustered blushing mess, and Sebastian definitely feels proud after that.
William
“Hm? Cute, you say?”
He chuckles before standing from his desk, making his way towards you.
“But my love, I can never compare to you~ Your large doe eyes, your lush lips, the way your hair frames your lovely face… it makes me want to hold you and never let go~”
His palm caresses your cheek.
Soon, you’re in his warm embrace, listening to his heartbeat.
And as he said, he doesn’t let you go anytime soon.
♥ Giftee: @efie-oshita (It won’t let me tag you! I’m so sorry!)
♥ wc: 1k
♥ a.n: This is my gift for you! Pure fluff with Mozart! There’s a hint of spice in some of their suggestive dialogue but nothing scandalous. I hope you enjoy!
The waves crashed gently against the shore, accompanied by the lovely melody floating through the small house. It was as though you’d awoken in a vivid dream. A dazzling painting come to life. But this was no dream.
You lifted your arms to stretch over your head, letting the satin sheet fall down around your waist. Through the window, the lapping waves and bright sunshine greeted you, along with Mozart replaying the song he wrote for you.
The song he wrote andplayedas you walked down the aisle just yesterday. Some might find it odd to have the groom provide a performance while his bride approached the altar. It was simply an extension of his love for you. His melodies speak soft notes of love.
Summary: If someone had told Mozart three months ago that he would soon experience the greatest sorrow in his life, he would have scoffed and disregarded them immediately.
For three months ago, he had been standing next to his bride at the altar. The image of her smile of her beautiful white gown, her smile, and her bright eyes was ingrained in his mind, a vision that he planned to take into dreams of their future together. She was his muse and melody. All his music belonged to her, forever.
Their first months passed in bliss, but their happiness was not to last.
Pairing & Characters: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart/Main Character (IkeVamp); Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Comte de Saint-Germain, Sebastian, William Shakespeare, Vlad, Faust.
Count: 3,990 words
Rating:Teen & Up
Notes:This work was written for Les Gouttelettes, an Ikemen Vampire Zine centered around writing fairy tales and mythology with the Ikemen Vampire cast! Find it at @ikevampzine!
There was no limit to his power when he played. No one and no thing could resist him.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart never left the piano’s side the entire evening. He insisted on casting a constant, raging spell, captivating any soul lucky enough to be swept up in his musical realm. The songs he performed were spritely and charming, urging all the party’s attendees to participate in at least one dance.
Music had remained a steadfast, constant companion all his life. He cherished the arts like a lover, and was grateful that Le Comte de Saint Germain gave him the support and space to fully embrace his craft. In return, he used his masterful talent for performance at Le Comte’s will, charming any audience he desired. He did this without question.
Le Comte had, after all, given him more than support for his compositions and a roof over his head. He had also granted him the opportunity to meet the love of his life. The image of her lingered in his mind as the party dragged on until the morning hours. Even when the host’s manor was half-empty, those who remained too drunk to listen or dance, he still played.
He did it for the photograph before him. Mozart had memorized the songs beneath his fingers long ago, no longer needing the music before him. All he needed was his wife, smiling at the camera. She was settled in a window seat within the Germain residence, the book in her hands tucked aside in favor of the photographer’s company. Sebastian had taken it for him and allowed Mozart to keep the photo for himself. He typically kept it on his desk.
Now, Mozart took the photograph everywhere.
It was all he had of her right now, anyway.
If someone had told Mozart three months ago that he would soon experience the greatest sorrow in his life, he would have scoffed and disregarded them immediately.
For three months ago, he had been standing next to his bride at the altar. She was dressed in the most beautiful white gown he had ever laid eyes on, yet it paled in comparison to the way her expression lit up when she started walking down the aisle. The image of her smile and bright eyes was ingrained in his mind, a vision that he planned to take into dreams of their future together. She was his muse and melody. All his music belonged to her, forever.
Their first months passed in bliss, but their happiness was not to last.
One night, Mozart had been asked to fill in for a fellow musician who had taken ill. It should have been a simple enough affair, as the venue was well-respected and the guests were polite, but the environment was wholly unfamiliar to him. Despite his hesitations, he performed a spectacular show – ignoring the beer-sticky keys that made his experience positively dreadful. As soon as his last chord had faded into the applause, he begged his host for the location of the nearest washroom and found it without incident.
What mattered was what he chanced upon during his walk back.
He ended up lost in the winding halls of the venue. Wandering feet led him to a partially open door, hushed voices reaching the hallway. Praying that they would be able to help him find the party, Mozart peered through the crack in the door.
What on earth—!
His palms grew sweaty as he laid eyes upon what was happening inside the room. A few men were seated around a low table displaying various guns and other weapons. A pair of easels were set up off to one side, holding some rather beautiful works of art. As Mozart stared, one man clicked open a suitcase on his lap – revealing that it was filled to the brim with cash.
Flinging himself away from the door, Mozart held his breath.
I can’t believe it! There’s something terrible going on here. Something illegal! I have to get away—!
Before Mozart could escape, the door swung open fully. One of the men in the room stood before him, a gun in hand. It clicked in tandem with the closing of the door, leaving Mozart and the man alone in the hallway.
“Surely,” the man began slowly, a faux smile tugging at the edges of his lips, “you aren’t thinking of reportingus, are you?”
“No! I swear! I was just trying to find my way back to the party!” Mozart kept his gaze trained on the gun, watching for any sign of it going off. “I had no intent of reporting you or anybody in that room!”
“How reassuring. The only thing more reassuring would be putting a bullet in your chest. But…” The man lowered his gun. “The patrons would surely be displeased if I killed the musician who played so beautifully tonight. They kept going on and on about your golden performance.”
“Did they really?” Mozart lifted his gaze then, finally taking a proper look at the man before him. Fierce red eyes stared back at him, glittering from beneath stark-white bangs. He was no longer smiling, and Mozart wasn’t sure if he preferred this expression to the other.
The last notable characteristic was a pin on the man’s lapel. The ouroboroswas a familiar sight – one he recognized from some of the tales he had perused in Le Comte’s manor.
“They truly did. But do not think I am letting you go without any consequences.”
Mozart tensed, not daring to respond. He did not drop his guard nor take a single breath until the man turned around and went back inside the room.
When the door clicked shut, Mozart ran. He bid his proper farewells and collected his coat, but did not feel any semblance of relief or safety until he had returned to the manor in one piece. Upon his return, he was greeted by both Sebastian and Le Comte.
“Herr Mozart,” Sebastian said in greeting, bowing before taking his coat. “Might I ask – did you take your wife with you to the party?”
“Hm? No. It was a sordid affair. I would never have wished for her to attend.”
“How curious,” Le Comte said then, his expression growing puzzled. “Then where is she? After all, Sebastian, you only grew worried when she hadn’t come down to help with the dishes. And I just checked the library. She wasn’t in there, either.”
Mozart’s face paled, and he swept past the pair to head right for his shared room. Surely, his wife had to be there. Le Comte and Sebastian simply hadn’t checked, yet. Surely, he would open the door and see his beloved asleep.
Yet when he threw open his door, the image of an ouroborosstared back at him, stamped upon a small calling card that rested atop his pillow.
“No… No! Not her!” He fell back into the hallway, hands clenching at his chest and mouth as Le Comte and Sebastian rushed to his side. “L-Le Comte! Sebastian! It’s—”
Sebastian entered the room first, striding over to the bed and plucking the calling card from the pillow. Le Comte rested a hand on Mozart’s shoulder, turning him so that he could meet his gaze.
“Start from the beginning, Mozart. What happened?”
“It’s— It’s the man I met tonight. But I only met him tonight, Le Comte! How could heknowmy wife? Where your house is?”
“There will be time for those questions later,” Le Comte said. “What matters is what this man looked like. Who was he, Mozart?”
“I don’t know his name. I only know he had white hair. Red eyes. There was a pin on his lapel – an ouroboros, just like that one. I didn’t really notice much more, as I was more focused on his gun—” Mozart did not catch the way Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up at that and continued on— “but he was exchanging something with people. Guns. Art pieces. Money.”
“I can’t believe it,” Sebastian breathed as he came closer. “Monsieur Le Comte, this means…”
Le Comte nodded sharply, taking the card as Sebastian held it out. He examined it for a moment before giving it to Mozart. “It means that our home has been threatened. And they have started with you.”
Mozart’s gaze fell as Le Comte turned the card over, displaying a fine script on the back.
“You will have to come and drag her out of hell yourself.”
──────────── ⋆⋅♠⋅⋆ ────────────
Mozart’s thoughts faded to a numb nothingness as he emerged from inside his own mind. The piano before him was silent and empty. His hands were not gliding across the ivory keys – rather, they were settled on his lap.
When did I stop playing? When did my music die?
Before he could determine the answer, a man sat down on the bench next to him, startling Mozart when he ran his fingers over a few of the keys.
“You and I share a common patron,” he said as Mozart finally looked upon his features. Magenta hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, and his outfit was made up of frills and various patterns, merely highlighting the crux of his rather eccentric appearance – a pair of sparkling two-tone eyes that studied Mozart with fascination.
“You don’t look like anybody who lives in the manor.” Mozart frowned, frustrated at his inability to place this man’s face with a name. “And if you were one of Le Comte’s artists, you would have to live there.”
“Ah! But you see, I am one who lives outside that sanctuary of dreams. One William Shakespeare, at your merry service. Playwright, author, and actor.” Reaching into his breast pocket, he produced a card with a flourish. Mozart accepted it, eyes flickering down to read the name –
And his blood turned to ice when the same twisting, feeding snake showed itself again.
“You’re wrong,” Mozart insisted, extending the card back. “I have nothing to do with the man who owns this card. The only man I work for is Le Comte de Saint-Germain. You should not insult his good name like this.”
“No, no! I do not mean to insult our mutual good patron. I swear upon mine honor and mind, Le Comte has me in his employ. But you see…” Shakespeare reached out, trailing his finger around the image of the ouroboros, “this man does, too.”
“Then what does this man have to do with me?”
“Your beloved is in his clutches, is she not?” Shakespeare smiled wide as Mozart’s features paled. “If you want to rescue her, you merely require your music. Come to the address listed on the back of the card in three days’ time. If you play as beautifully as you played this evening, you might have a chance at seeing your love.”
Mozart gazed once more at those two-tone eyes. They told him no lies.
“Fine. Tell ‘our’ patron I’ll be there.”
──────────── ⋆⋅♠⋅⋆ ────────────
On the appointed evening, Mozart left the manor and gave the chauffeur the address. The ride was quiet, save for when the chauffeur informed him that he was under strict instructions from Le Comte to wait outside for Mozart until he was finished. This news relieved a few worries in the back of his mind.
When they reached the establishment, Mozart peered out the window and read the neon-lit sign.
Nine Circles. He rolled his eyes as he got out of the car, his music tucked under one arm as he strode towards the doorway. I wonder if that name turns people away or draws a more… interesting crowd.
The heavy, gilded door opened as he approached, an attendant pointing him to the other end of a small foyer. A pair of imposing men stood guard at the entrance to the main room, stopping Mozart as he came forward.
“My apologies, sir. You have to leave your weapons at the door.”
“Excuse me!” Mozart gasped, offended. “I don’t have anything of the sort!”
He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The man seized him by the collar, yanking him forward with a growl as the other reached out towards him—
Then another hand tugged at the back of his coat. Mozart breathed a sigh of relief as he was released, noticing the first familiar face of the evening when it appeared at his side.
“His tongue tells no lies like our usual crowd,” Shakespeare announced. “This man is here to enchant the crowd with the ivory keys this evening. We shall pass, now, and not disturb you for the rest of the night.”
Grunting with approval, the guards said nothing more. Mozart allowed Shakespeare to guide him into the main room. Waves of smoke made the décor hazy and unfocused. The clinking of half-filled glasses could be heard across the room, the sound loud compared to the hushed words exchanged across tables and between guests.
“You should perform sooner, rather than later.” Shakespeare insisted as they arrived at the other end of the room. A jet-black piano was nestled in the corner, and Mozart stared at it as Shakespeare removed his coat for him and laid it on the bench. “It will be the simplest way of gaining hisattention.”
“That’s not true. The first thing I should do is search for my wife. She should be somewhere in this room, right?”
“No.” Shoving him down onto the piano bench, Shakespeare glared at Mozart. “The only thing your hands possess is music. You are good for little else, and yet, your talent is the one thing that will rescue you and your wife in one swift stroke. Good luck, my fair friend.”
With that, he was gone.
Mozart stared down at the piano, one hand settling on the keys. As he played the first notes of a simple piece, he noted that the fetchingly beautiful piano was slightly out of tune. Frowning at this realization, he went through his folder and chose appropriate pieces, arranging them on the music rack. Then, after placing the photo of his wife on the side – he began to play.
The room was swept under his spell in mere seconds. Muted conversations became requests to dance, and formerly secluded company began to mingle with the tables next to them. The dancefloor was crowded in minutes, joy and laughter swelling through the darkened room. His music had never failed to charm an audience so completely and utterly before, but to see the dramatic shift happen in so short a time—
Well, Mozart could only wonder if this was part of the test, or if Shakespeare had led him astray.
After he had gone through a few spirited songs and entertained a couple requests, he finally saw his new, unwanted patron. He swept into view with a single lady in his arms. She wasn’t his wife, thank goodness – the woman in question was a blonde – but the man looked just as Mozart remembered him.
He possessed the same stark-white hair, but had slicked it back for the occasion. Deep red eyes that appeared to be completely focused on his partner, yet he glanced elsewhere several times. The ouroboros pin still adorned his lapel, declaring his status and presence to all who laid eyes upon it.
Mozart lost sight of him before long, allowing him to return his complete focus to the music. As the song came to a close, Mozart reached up to adjust the music on his stand – ignoring the man who emerged from the crowd.
“Are you the pianist Shakespeare hired?”
Mozart frowned as the person sat down on his bench uninvited. “I am.”
The man smiled, his glasses glittering in the low light as he reached out to take the photo from the stand. “And is this your wife?”
“It is.”
Nodding, the man tucked it back next to the music. “Excellent. I am Johann Faust. The head of Nine Circles desperately wants to meet you. His only regret is that he will be drawing you away from this enthusiastic crowd.”
“I would rather meet him than continue playing.”
Faust stood from the bench, swinging the fallboard shut as soon as Mozart removed his hands from the keys. “Then there is no need to worry about your remaining duties. Come along. Do not fall too far behind.”
Seizing only his coat and the photo of his wife, Mozart rushed to follow. They wove through the still-dancing crowd towards a doorway concealed by a well-placed folding screen. When Faust pressed a button on the wall, a rumbling sound came from high above them, growing closer before coming to a stop. The door was then opened to reveal an iron gate and small room behind it.
“It’s safe, I assure you,” Faust said as he slid open the gate. “They have refined the elevator to be a much smoother ride.”
Swallowing a nervous gulp, Mozart stepped inside and allowed Faust to close the door and gate before pressing a button for the top floor. They rode up in silence.
When the elevator jerked to a stop, Faust stepped aside to allow Mozart to leave – alone.
“I have something I must attend to first,” he said plainly, answering Mozart’s question before he could ask it. With that, he shut the door once more. Now unattended, he thought it smart to take note of his surroundings.
It was a small sitting room, decorated with a lavish plush carpet. The soft, dark shades of the room complimented the single bright lights that illuminated a few bold works of art. Leather sofas and low tables were scattered around the space, but Mozart ignored them all in favor of heading for the single door opposite the elevator. Thankfully, it was unlocked.
When he stepped inside, Mozart was first aware of how largethe top floor was. The cavernous space nearly expressed a desire to consume him whole. A dark-tile floor reflected the silver moonlight that came through the large window at the other end of the room, where the illuminated city was visible beneath the towering building. Mozart caught glimpses of the art and sculptures that lined the walls around him, lit in a similar fashion to those in the foyer.
“Welcome,” someone called out from the chaise before the window. “Come forward, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. We can only have a proper conversation when neither one of us has to shout.”
Mozart walked forward silently, quietly noting that the black tiling came to an end around the chaise – instead, a white ouroboros circled the seat. It grinned up at Mozart, but he could not tell if it was overjoyed to see him or instead proud of its cannibalistic self-consumption.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you properly. My name is Vlad.” He threw an arm over the back of the chaise, smiling wide as he eyed Mozart carefully. “You were bold to come alone. I surely thought you would bring one of Le Comte’s bodyguards with you.”
“I knew that I had to do this alone.”
“And what have you come here to do?”
“I have come to ask for my wife back. You don’t need to drag her into my affairs, into my mess. I feel as if, because I have lost her, I have lost everything: my muse, my life, and my love.”
“Well, that’s a tad dramatic and droll.” Vlad rolled his eyes. “You clearly haven’t lost your playing, since you brought life back to a room filled with hatred and malice. Even as Saint-Germain’s little musician, you clearly have some talent. Which is good for both me and you.”
Mozart bristled at the tense way Le Comte’s name rolled off Vlad’s tongue. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you can have your wife back – on one condition.”
“Name it.”
Vlad grinned at Mozart’s eager, immediate response. “I want you to come back, once in a while. You perform for my crowds, my parties. And you do not breathe a word of it to Le Comte. If you tell him or anybody else, it’s your neck on the line.”
“Done. You have my word. Now give me my wife back.”
“So hasty.”
The single door opened then, and Mozart turned to see Faust escorting someone into the room – his wife’s shivering figure relaxing when she saw him. Mozart could scarcely breathe until she was close enough to touch, to hold. Without thinking, he threw his coat over his wife’s shoulders.
Before they could speak and rejoice, however – they heard a single, ominousclick.
“Your services for this evening are no longer required,” Vlad said as he held up his gun. “Take your wife, turn your back, and leave. Do not hesitate. Do not turn around. If you have no doubts about your choices, and no doubts about your promises, then all will be well. Show a single shred of doubt, and I’ll shoot her.”
Mozart wrapped his hand tight around his wife’s, squeezing it reassuringly. “Follow my lead, darling,” he whispered. “And don’t look back.” They turned together, and she fell in one step behind as they walked back across the tiles.
A thousand prayers that neither of us will turn our heads.
His ears rang in silent alarm as his vision zeroed in on the door to the sitting room. Their only way out.
A thousand more prayers that Vlad will not sense a shred of doubt within me.
The room smelled of blood, of a scent that he knew could not be real. The gun hadn’t gone off – had it?
I mean to leave. I mean to take her with me.
Part of him wondered if his wife was still with him – or if she had died and was merely imagining the phantom sensation of her grip. He shoved the morbid thought aside, resisting the urge to increase his pace.
My wife is the most important figure in my life. I will do anything to keep her safe.
Only when he reached the exit did he begin to breathe again, still not looking back as he led his wife inside. Blindly, he reached back, shutting the door behind him.
But they were not safe yet.
Now out of sight from Vlad’s gaze, Mozart rushed to the elevator, thankful that it was still on the top floor as he opened the gate. The two of them stepped inside, and he finally dared to turn around in order to close the elevator up.
Nobody had followed them. After pressing the lowest button on the panel, the elevator began to descend – and they both followed it, collapsing to the floor in a tight embrace.
“Meine liebe, meine liebe,” Mozart whispered twice, breathless and overjoyed. She squeezed her arms tighter around him, her tears coming as quick as they always did. They soaked into his jacket and wet his cheek as her mouth brushed against his in a longing, thankful kiss.
“Wolf… you were so brave! I’m so sorry for causing you so much worry. I’m sure the others are just as scared – but I heard through the door what you promised that man! I won’t accept it! We should tell Le Comte, or… or leave the city—!”
Mozart pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her as he shook his head. “None of that matters at this moment. First, let me worry about you. While I am happy to have you back in my arms, I will not feel at ease until we are out of this hellish place.”
With that, he kissed her once more, only pulling away once the elevator came to a stop. Even as they walked out of the building and back to the car, he refused to admit that he was just as doubtful as she was about where this new path might lead them… but so long as she was allowed to remain at his side, he knew he would do anything to keep her there.
This is a repost of a request! I hope you guys and the requester @ifthiswingscouldfly enjoy this ask once again.
Napoleon Bonaparte, there was not a day he could go without kissing you. In the mornings, when you’d wake up later than him, the lazy mornings are filled with slow kisses as he trailed those kisses over your neck and ears, loving the way you curled up to him as he wrapped his larger arm around you. His kisses are longing, slow, but always filled with love for you.
Isaac Newton, his kisses are not without hesitation. His usual affections consist of holding your hand, or leaning on your shoulder once he tires of his research. Isaac’s kisses… are for those moments when he truly desires you. In those moments he wishes to see no one but you, he holds your waist in one hand with another hand drawing you up to lock you in his kiss.
Arthur Conan Doyle, how he loves to kiss you to tease you. His kisses are quick, his soft lips making your skin flutter as you were held in his lap. You’d always feel the warm goosebumps as the coffee scent of Arthur began imprinting onto you, but how could you resist the gentleman when he’d always kiss your hand when he greets you? Or, in his bed, the melting kisses that simply draw you into him…
Dazai Osamu, his kisses favour towards kisses that surprise you, often kissing you before he leaves or when he arrives. The quick pecks on your nose, the breath of his whisper to the kiss on the tips of your ear, the press of his lips to the corner of your mouth… Those feelings would warm you up throughout the day, but his favourites would be the longing lip lock he gives you only in your shared bedroom.
Theodorus Van Gogh, to him, kisses are a form of reassurance. Morning kisses goodbye meant that you were wishing him well. Kisses to the tips of your fingers are promises to return to you. Kisses to your forehead are his way of telling that everything will be alright. Kisses to your neck are promises that he’ll spend the night with you. His most intimate kiss, to your ring finger, is a promise to wed you.
Vincent Van Gogh, he has the urge to kiss you every day. Not so much as a requirement from you, but a need for him. Whether it be a kiss to your forehead, a kiss to your palm or a loving kiss to your lips, it’s a need that he ever so indulges in. In those times where you allow to give him one bite, he’ll compensate you by a thousand fold in kisses instead. It’s locked in his heart, but the kiss he anticipates the most is the one he gets to share with you once you’re married.
Leonardo Da Vinci, how he’s a fan of lazy kisses. His kisses are slow, meaningful, and usually given with much care and thought. On days he’s active, he gives the quick kiss on the cheek as a farewell. However, having you in his arms, your head against his chest as you both drift off into a siesta. Just as you wake up, he bestows a very sleepy kiss as he holds you closer, perhaps for another nap session…
Jean D'Arc, his kisses are only given when he’s alone with you. He’ll do anything else to keep you close, for others to understand that he was yours whether it be holding your hand or standing next to you. How his heart flutters when he has you in his bed, and you grant him a kiss before sleeping. The most honorable of kisses to him would be when he bends the knee, your hand to his lips as he swears to be your knight forever.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, his kisses are secretive yet filled with such passion that it causes you to get dizzy at times. Even when you two are alone, he keeps his kisses for the most intimate of moments, when he’s desperate for your touch, and when he needs to confide in you. His kisses are feverish, as his kiss demands for more of you with his arms wrapped around you.
Sebastian, his kisses are quick throughout the day, as both of you are busy. Often no one notices them, but he’ll peck your forehead instead of flicking it when you do a good job. Kisses that he finds pleasure in giving are when you’re on his lap, and he has your neck tilted to pepper kisses up along your neck to your jaw, smothering you in affection when you two are alone.
Comte Saint Germain, he shamelessly loves to kiss you. In his office, he doesn’t mind whoever walks in when he has you there, loving him so passionately. He often leans to kiss the tips of your ears as a way of teasing, or kissing the edges of your wrists as a way of promising you. The kiss on your lips that leave you breathless however, is a special promise from him to give you even more throughout the night.
William Shakespeare, doesn’t typically initiate kisses. They’re sacred to him, as if you two would only be united by true love’s kiss as the story goes. He’s no stranger to physical affection, but he’d never let anyone see him kiss you. It’s his personal method of devotion, as he’s on his knees to kiss your palm before your bed, finally pressing his own lips against yours.
Vlad, his kisses signify that you’re his and he’s yours. It’s almost as a status symbol, the way he leans to press a kiss to your forehead as his one arm is by your waist. For as much as your relationship was public, he loves to sneak kisses the way he used to when he was courting you, where he’d be on the window sill to sneak a kiss, or in the garden alone, as he uses his large coat to shield you both as he locks lips with you.
Johann Georg Faust, he was a prideful man, a smug one at that. How impressive it was, to see him fall apart at your kisses, to see his arms immediately coddle you as you bestow him a kiss, standing at the ball of your foot to reach him, his large hand cradling your head to deepen the kiss. It’s an action he’d only allow with you saying you want it, he’s not one for surprise kisses for as much as you were his own precious surprise.
Charles-Henri Sanson, he’s utterly shameless with his kiss. Sometimes when Faust demands to talk to him, he’d busy himself buried in the crook of your neck, peppering butterfly kisses up and down before reaching your collarbone, further busying himself with the scent of you. All he wants is to trap you in his arms as he deepens the kiss between you two, his soft hairs tickling your cheek…
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