#gilbert von obsidian x reader

[janumun]

Obsidian Retribution (IkePri Gilbert von Obsidian - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ 🌶️ Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian/Reader Words: ~4k

Tags: developing/denial of feelings, church desecration/sex, vaginal fingering, minor violence, spoilers for Gilbert’s route (chapter 9), re-telling of canon events, angst 

Summary: What happens when you throw yourself into harm’s way in a bid to protect Gilbert at one of Clavis’ covert anti-monarchy meetings? Unconsciously stirring out the whetted fangs of the Conqueror Beast. 

And you witness, once more, just how scathingly cruel his desire for monopoly over your body truly is.

A/N: I’m currently in the midst of Gilbert’s route but he’s been such a flowing inspiration and need that I had to write this indulgent piece for him, for myself and the five other Gil fans out there who would cry with me LOL.  

Characterization might not be accurate to end route Gil, as I’m at the beginning of his route still, so this is written with my understanding of an early Gilbert. ILOVETHISMANSOMUCH. 

The lethal sweep of the blade engulfs your vision entirely, the noble’s hand poised right above his shoulder — a strike you know you cannot avoid. Your life, as if you view it through the distant barrier of a panorama, right before it’s extinguished.  

The sole knowledge that you do not regret your actions one bit, your one solace, eyes drifting shut, that one moment of death stretching slow and long.  

A glacial whisper, of knelling death curls into your ears, “I do not recall allowing you permission to die by another’s hand,” His only pre-emptive warning, just before Gilbert grips a harsh hand about your neck and hurls you backwards— 

“Belle!” Into Luke’s body as he catches you against himself right before you careen straight into the ground. 

A whimpered groan breaks into the air right after; your whirling head, catching its bearings just enough to catch sight of Gilbert standing above the writhing figure of your would-be assailant, bunched at the ground. The sharp end of the perpetrator’s blade — now within Gilbert’s hand — he brings up in a vicious arc, surely in murderous intent. 

“Prince Gilbert, don’t!” Your voice breaks in terror into the air, before the knife is able to find home within its pitiful target.  

His hand, fortunately, halts just before it slits through the noble’s carotid, the latter long having fainted in mind-numbing fear, unable to bear the single-focused brutality of the conqueror beast.  

Gilbert raises his face as if operated via a puppeteer's strings, cut before it could fulfil its performance. Garnet gaze, sweeping slow, before it finds its next victim, within you. Your breath frosts within your lungs, incapable of function, the vicious weight of his terrifying visage subjecting you to his splintering displeasure, despite the cruel smile that remains even now, firm in place. “What is it, little rabbit? Are you begging me to kill you instead?”  

“Prince Gilbert!” You hear Luke entreat, as if from afar.  

A volatile shiver cascades down your spine at the look he’s giving you, thinly veiled revulsion and rage within that sole scarlet eye.  

Gilbert takes a step toward you; your breaths coming in short, staccato bursts and yet you’re unable to turn away from the hungering violence within that gaze. Scurrying thoughts unable to comprehend why exactly he seemed so incensed at you.  

“Come now, out with it. I know you wish to say something to me.” Gilbert offers you an encouraging smile, even as the murderous intent radiating from him with each step he takes forward, threatens to smother you entirely.  

You know what he wishes to hear in that moment, of no mind to hear your own thoughts on the matter. An apology, for your actions, reckless, they may have been, but you do not hold an ounce of regret for trying to protect the man that continues to disconcert your heart; sink his dark trellises deeper into your soul. 

“Prince Gilbert, I—”  

The stifling pressure in the room, cut through only upon Clavis’ interruption, just as he steps into the room to offer a jaunty congratulations to Gilbert for providing an entertaining show.  

The weight of his gaze flees entirely from you, your body — you did not realize you’d held steadfast by sheer force of will — collapses back against Luke’s comforting presence, just as he hauls you up and into his arms, to carry you back. 

“Aren’t you a lucky one?” Gilbert’s cheery voice drifts, discomfiting against your retreating back. 

“Prince Gilb—” 

 “Take care you don’t let me catch sight of you again, or I might just kill you.” Your heart thrums in confounding pain at his words, the clear line he carves in between the two of you in that moment.  

Your mouth unable to form sufficient words to try and catch his attention just as Gilbert turns away from you entirely, the soft flitter of his cape as he does, the last sight you capture of him, as Luke carries you away from the scene. 

 

The longcase clock at the end of hallway has long struck midnight. You continue to pace, restless, about the corridor. Eyes cemented upon the window, affording you a clear view of the castle gates as you stake your agitated wait for Gilbert’s return.  

Luke and you had returned a few hours back, to the castle in a private carriage. You’d run into Rio as soon as you’d alighted, almost immediately after, being carted in between the two men as they’d fussed you straight into the infirmary. The good part of the hour after, spent in making sure you were truly unhurt save for the minor scrap at your arms.  

It was only multiple reassurances later and holding Rio back from charging deep into the night after Gilbert, did you escape from the fretful affections of your friends and out, to await Gilbert’s return.  

His expression returns to your mind’s eye in vivid detail; the way that cold, scarlet gaze had zoned in on you, the shuttered intensity of violent rage underneath. It was as if you’d been looking upon a stranger.  

Now that you’d had a few quiet moments to compose yourself away from the fright of your earlier situation, bone-deep remorse was beginning to settle within, at having displeased Gilbert the way you did. A forced companionship he may have forged in between you two, but the startling glimpses of his kindness that lurked beneath the serrated edge of his cool blades, had your heart shred asunder between fear, rationale and genuine care. You couldn’t deny it, not after tonight. You had, perhaps, grown to care for Prince Gilbert, far more than was ever appropriate. 

The soft whinnying of horses disturbing the quiet of the night outside drags you out of your reverie just in time to catch sight of Gilbert’s figure descending the carriage.  

You begin your rush towards the main entrance, but instead of making his way into the castle, Gilbert’s steps veered off towards a path leading to what seemed to be, the back of the castle.  

You fly down the winding staircase and into the foyer, heart battering against your chest. Pulling open the great doors to the entrance before you dart after his retreating figure that is a mere speck in the distance, now.  

You do not want to lose sight of him. You must see Gilbert tonight and make him listen to what you have to say. Despite your fears, you do not wish to abandon Gilbert with the notion that you did not care. Even beneath the carving of a beast, he was just a human too. A man who’d come so close to bordering a rapidly diminishing line in between friend and foe.  

Up ahead, Gilbert ducks past belting cobblestone, headed in the direction of what seems to be the structure of an old church. You frown, thoughts wrought with questions you know you’d get no easy answers for.  

The tapering sweep of his cape disappears just past the great, carved wooden doors of the church, and you too follow, on tentative, urgent steps, slipping through the entrance and into the church.  

It sits empty, save for the dark figure of the man standing motionless, close to the pulpit.  

“I didn’t think you were foolish enough to come chasing after me even after I warned you not to.” Gilbert’s voice drifts eerie in its calm, down the long hallway, even as you trudge closer on careful steps. “Tell me, is it that pure kindness of yours which feels for every living being, or an empty head that has dragged you this far into the beast’s den?”  

Gilbert’s words are scathing, deliberately cruel, meant to burn. You have not heard him utilize that tone of voice with you in so long. 

“Well then,” he prods; voice, sweet poison. “Are you going to answer me or shall I make you answer me?” 

You drift further into the church on uneasy steps, the great doors behind sway shut behind you in a creak of finality, as if knelling of an ill-fated decision. Against all wise sense, however — your heart insists you do — you tread towards the man who stands waiting, at the end of the long, carpeted hallway.

A poised form; his head at an easy cant, a crinkled garnet eye fixated upon your foolish movements — you do not miss the incessant, muted tap of gloved digits across the flared bulb of his cane, an uncharacteristic agitation to his visage, you’re not used to witnessing on Gilbert. He stands, all obsidian, against the backdrop of watered twilight that filters in shafts past great, ornate windows on either sides of the quiet hallway — as though he is a devil awaiting the willing scurry of a sacrifice right into its willing maw.  

You grit your teeth against the frightening intimidation he’s settled deep into your bones, a festering cloak he’s had thrown over in between you, warning you to stop prying deeper into his affairs. “I want to speak to you, Prince Gilbert.”  

“Oh? What if I do not wish to listen, little rabbit?”  

“Then, I insist you hear me out.” The cutting streak of his blade is so swift, you only but feel the soft stir of your hair about your face before your breath frosts within your windpipe at the deadly edge of the sword he holds against the careful swallow of your throat.  

“You really do wish to die by my hand tonight. What an utterly insipid way to cut my fun short, Belle.” 

You force yourself to hold your ground, even as the first tremors of fear crumple across your limbs. “I don’t want you to kill me.” Compelling courage to rise in the face of his raw vitriolic anger, you wish to parse the reason for his distress. “I only want to know why you are so angry with me.”  

A serrated smile tugs across his mouth. “Do you ask because you really do not know?” 

“I don’t. And I don’t think I did anything to warrant your unjust ire either.” 

“Unjust...” he murmurs. “You would’ve realized it if you took but a single moment to think.” 

Your mind takes his words and works about them in a million different ways. “I realize my actions were reckless...” 

“That is a good start.” the sardonic amusement of his voice does not reach his eyes.  

“But I do not regret my actions, Prince Gilbert. I...” you swallow around words that are sudden lead within your throat. “I do not think I could bear to see you get hurt.”  

The admission uttered on soft, firm words; stews dense within the space in between you both. Gilbert's lone scarlet gaze, watches you, motionless as the terse silence stretches taut into several excruciating moments.  

Before he gathers his blade back into its secreted scabbard once more, beneath the cloak at his waist — your breath escaping you on a rush of relieved air, you did not even know how tensed you’d held your body, until its released from the grip of Gilbert’s dread, with the withdrawal of his blade. The Obsidianite prince turns on his heel, the flourish of his great, dark cape behind, as he moves to seat himself in the first pew. He does not look back at you as he instructs, “Come.”  

And you follow, without a word of complaint uttered; know that you tread in dangerous waters. A single, wrong move, and you’d miss your window of opportunity with Gilbert entirely. His emotions would be shuttered off to you, once and for all, were you to lose your nerve now and flee from him. Despite how part of your heart still tremored within his presence, how you still couldn’t help doubt each single edge of his kindness so deeply steeped within his malice; hope still sprouted within you regardless. Willing to gamble upon the Gilbert you often times caught glimpse of; one who’s consideration did not come attached with its poisonous strings.  

You shift on anxious steps once you’re in front of him, Gilbert’s gaze, mildly muted of its ire when he fixes it upon you. “Your impulsive actions could’ve cost you dearly tonight.” He begins.  

“Impulsive, yes... but even if I had stopped to think, Prince Gilbert, I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t afford to see me hurt, yes, I heard that silly part the first time you spoke it, little rabbit.” he reiterates.  

You clam up on yourself. 

“You could’ve died. Did you stop to think how much the mere thought of your demise irked me?” He angles the head of his cane, to tap against your hip, gesturing you closer.  

And just as you steal close within arm’s length, Gilbert’s gloved digits are curving about your arm in a vice, hauling you down to topple onto his lap. His murmur’s a warm caress against the shell of your ear. “I would’ve hated it if you’d died.”  

Your mind careens into a rash halt of all thoughts, blanking entirely at the quiet certitude of those words. 

“...What?”  

“Foolish, isn’t it?” His smile is wide, undisturbed across his face. Just as transient as the surface of a pond, subject to be disturbed by the slightest of ripples. “Even when I despise you so, Belle, I cannot let you go.” 

“Prince Gilbert...” 

Your mind cannot parse the meaning of his words. If this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d have understood him to mean he did not wish for his prey to be ‘impaired��� by another. Gilbert had told you so, on several occasions and in no less than explicit terms.  

However, now as you look upon Gilbert; emotions naked, unlike you’ve ever seen before. Jagged enough they could cut you through if you dared try wade in deeper. Into the insinuation barely concealed behind that sole garnet gaze.  

The arch of his cane steers a slow caress over the shirt at your chest, before it dents into a stop right above your heart. Gilbert presses in, insisting the polished head against the give of your left breast — your heart seeming to catch at the hook of it with how it seizes at the motion. “This right here could’ve stopped,” he mulls, almost clinically. The insouciant inflection of his voice disarming at the last careful barriers and inhibitions, thrown up in protection of your heart. “I am human too, you know, mere flesh and bone. I cannot be there to protect you each time that heart of yours decides it wishes to do good to all, regardless of their status as man or beast.”  

“Prince Gil—” Your voice fractures into a pained gasp, just as he seizes the fingers you reach out for him, sinking a sharp bite around a vulnerable digit. You clench back further signs of weakness with the slow, aching sweep of his tongue against your captured fingers; the teeth that worry at tender skin, pinching another warning at your approach. And reach out, again, with your other palm. Succeeding in curving your fingers about his cool cheek in a tentative touch up the line of it. Thumbing gentle right beneath the cusp of a surprised gaze, singular scarlet disarmed by the tender action. Before it crinkles in mild resignation, half rebuke, “You truly are a fool.”  

Gilbert tucks his face against your cradling palm, further allowing you slack, to temper at the beast that has — for the moment — lowered its great head to you. That is all the victory you need from him at the moment, for him to pay heed to you for the words you wish to communicate. “I’m sorry.”  

The apology rings piercing in the quiet space, Gilbert’s gaze unrelenting in the long stretch of time that seems to trudge slow in between you both, the longer he lets those two words stew.  

Pink tongue darting out a nervous path to slick moisture at long dry lips, “I’m sorry for not thinking my actions through and for not treasuring myself more in the moment. I realize that upset you greatly and I apologize for that, Prince Gilbert.”  

He remains silent throughout your confession uttered, red gaze, and a gloved hand, tracing a deliberate path across your chest, right above your heart. You know he can feel the moment it thrums faster, beneath his welcome touch — why, why do you not hate Gilbert touching you? — gliding its exploration across the space. “Will you promise not to do what you have today, again?”  

The thought of uttering a cosy lie, flitters through your mind for a split moment of relapsed judgement. Before fizzling in on itself; you know well how Gilbert despises untruths spoken, no matter how small. Would know, were you to try offer false placations. And so, you opt for the bitter truth — one you too, realize with a jolt of realization, “I... cannot promise you that.”  

His eye rolls up to meet yours, the sharp edge to it, you swallow against, as if he has a phantom blade pressed to your throat once more. “For as much as I deeply regret the trouble I’ve caused you, I know I’d hate it even more were something to happen to you.” 

“Those are dangerous fantasies to harbour for a prince of your enemy nation.” A muted smile graces his features; a dark gloved thumb he brings to trace at your lower lip, delicately disengaging it from the worrying bite of your teeth. As if he, too, hadn’t confessed so, in less clearer words, not too long before. A dangerous game you two play; you don’t wish to disentangle the throttling wad of your emotions tonight.  

“Well, that’s too bad then, I guess, because those are my true feelings, Prince Gilbert.” You stare back, resolute.  

His smile quivers in mild amusement. “I know.”  

“And I’m willing to do anything to show my sincerity, if it gets you to accept my heartfelt apology.” 

That garnet gaze shutters, taking on a hard edge at your words; the burbling shadows of darkness that catch just beneath that smiling veneer before it vanishes entirely. “You’re playing a treacherous game here, little rabbit, one that will unfortunately end in futility, no matter how hard you try.” His smile grows wider, until you’re seeing the flash of teeth in it. “Nothing you do or say can ever change the positions you and I stand in. So, tell me once more.” A firm arm curls about your waist, heaving you flush against the cold, clothed expanse of Gilbert’s chest, a stifled gasp leaving you at the motion. “You’re not silly enough to not understand the true implications of your offer, are you?”  

Your next breath quivers out of you. “...I am not.” Your fingers snag awkwardly at the regal collar of his mantle, sinking into the soft fur lining the edges. “I wholeheartedly wish to make amends.” And you pitch your head forwards, the tentative kiss you touch against Gilbert’s cold lips has you shuddering in his embrace. “I can’t promise you what you want but I can convey my honest remor—”  

His hand slinks into the catch of your hair, hauling you back towards him in a kiss of cool desire, mouth moving against yours in a manner, it leaves you flushed and breathless by the time Gilbert parts from you on a wet, sultry sound. A hand he cups about your jaw, thumb denting at your chin in measured strokes. You tip your mouth, catching the edge of his glove in between your teeth to tug, slow. Deliberate. Curving your hands about his, in aid, before you wrest the glove off his hand entirely. Moving to discard it behind, at your feet.  

Gilbert’s bared hand moves to curve about the flare of your hip; a patient squeeze he applies to the flesh beneath. His other hand he extends in silent instruction for you to de-glove before you comply without question. You tremble above him in need, his simmering gaze more than making up for the cold you feel permeating through the thin cloth of your dress. “Go on,” he encourages. “You’re going to work for it, aren’t you?”  

Your breath heaves with the slow rise of your chest, hand stealing past the stiff collar of his cape to settle your fingers at the side of his neck, tracing hesitant pads down the line of it. “You’re so cold.”  

His lashes sweep shut over his eye at your touch, canting his head further into the warmth of your palm; a figure he paints so lovely, you know this empyrean visage is what you’d always envisioned within your mind’s eye when you used to read about kings and princes within your happy fairytales, long before in a time that seems so far into the past now. “You should warm me, then. Show me you’re capable of it.” 

Sinking a vexed bite into your lip — adamant on proving yourself right — you hoist your knee awkwardly onto the narrow seat. Gilbert’s hands immediately flit to curve their supports against your behind and lift, just as your other knee too, settles by his thigh, effectively straddling him. Your breaths stopper momentarily within your throat with the expectant lift of his gaze, palms squeezing softly against your pliant flesh. Your hands fly towards the flow of your dress before you slip the material up against your thighs, deliberately exposing your bare skin to his gaze.  

Gilbert's eye flashes; molten steel bleeding into the gaze, before one of his hands steal past the edge of your still rising dress and in between your legs to glance a searing touch in between your drenched folds, right above your underwear. You gasp at the euphoric sensation, hips lurching against his hand on instinct, trying to capture it deeper into you.  

He indulges you — perhaps he feels particularly merciful in that one moment of whimsy — the pad of his forefinger re-tracing its path in between your folds. Before his thumb tucks aside the edge of your underwear, to slide index and middle in a slow, torturous path across the bare flesh from hood to base. Teasing the cool tips of them just into your entrance. Your body flares in mortified need to feel your wetness gush onto his fingers at that mere testing touch.  

His eye rolls up to meet yours, the smile that lingers at his lips, immensely pleased. “You’re very warm here.” Propelling his fingers, slow, up into your clenching walls. “It’s almost as if you’re running a fever, little rabbit.” You moan against him, with each deliberate thrust, the pads of his digits finding your weakest spot frighteningly quick, to scrape repetitive, at the soft flesh. “Do you think I’d be just as hot were I to settle deep into your place here?”  

Your hips judder against his fingers at those words, grazing the heel of his palm against the neglected bead at your apex, sending fire soaring through your body at that split moment of contact. Your soft, soughing sound of need breaks into the air, body gyrating down against that searing point of contact, in rhythm with the leisured thrust of his fingers into your spasming walls.  

Before Gilbert, cruelly, siphons the heat from you entirely at the cusp of release, fingers pried out of you to drift up against his mouth. He sweeps his tongue against his drenched digits, copious arousal dripping past his wrist to soak into the pristine cloth at his thigh. “Sweet thing,” he hums, just as you flush further underneath his piercing touch.  

And before you can manoeuvre your weak limbs for much else — mind so hazed in its lust addled state, you’re not sure what’s happening — Gilbert’s free hand is stealing about the curve of your spine. Pressing you down against the firm, hard strength of exposed flesh; the smooth head of him bumping about your nub to have you keening into the touch. Spine arching the rest of the way forwards without the coaxing of his hand, so he slips just past your entrance; fingers spasming into his shoulders at the stretch. You rock against that pleasurable almost burn for several, excruciating moments, in and out — surface thrusts — head falling back against your shoulders.  

Gilbert throws his hand about your body, fingers splaying just beneath the wings of your shoulder-blades, hauling your coasting body to hold firm, against his. “Don’t lose yourself now, little rabbit. You have yet to satisfactorily apologize.” Tempting your body down into his lap until he’s propelled, at last, into your drenched walls, a rapid sigh issued from Gilbert’s lips at the sensation.  

Your body quickly warming his into yours — the shape and stretch of him has you nearly faint with desire. “I’m sorry,” you croon on your first roll upon him. “I-I’m so sorry.” Grinding him up into your walls as deeply as you are able, the unyielding strength of him so numbing within your body. Even inside you, connected this intimately, Gilbert von Obsidian must have his own way with you.  

And you’ve let him do so, for so long; at his beck and call, thrown to his tender mercies. And yet, your mind had gone and coddled unfathomable emotions for him within its bosom. He'd gotten past your defences, just as he’d promised; crawling tendrils underneath your skin, into your frenzied beating heart, deep into your mind, until he occupied every thought along with each waking breath of yours. And your tiny victory lay in the knowledge that perhaps, you too had chipped a small chunk past that obsidian armour and carved a shallow wound at his skin, of your name.  

“I’m sorry for angering you, Gilbert.” You weep upon his length, hips driving fast towards a swift approaching release. 

“You are, aren’t you?” He breathes, hands catching at your waist to aid your movements upon him. “I’ll forgive you. And I’ll forgive you for neglecting to speak my proper title too, Belle, since I’m the one who has ruined you.” His smile is almost sweet, pleasant upon his face as he looks up at you — you drink that saccharine poison down almost fervidly. “You’re allowed to be remiss this once, because we are friends.”  

He’s driving, hard, into you — powerful enough the pew beneath you creaks with the propulsions — at an angle that has him brushing hot against your swollen nub in blinding strokes, just at the cusp of release, threatening to overflow. “So, call me Gil instead, when we are alone. I shall permit it, for you. Say it now.” 

Your body breaks, spasming into a release so violent, your entire body shudders above him. “Gil.” You sob out loud, your arms he coaxes about the strength of his shoulders. Fingers you sink into the soft fur of his mantle to ground yourself, just as Gilbert’s warmth follows soon after into your quivering walls. “I-I’m sorry, Gil.” 

A breathless, flushed grin, Gilbert von Obsidian buries against your mouth before he speaks. “Apology accepted, little rabbit.” 

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here.

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: a handful of insecurities the ikemen guys would adore.

WARNINGS: none!! :D

COMMENTS: happy holidays everyone!! i hope this makes at least one person feel loved by their fav <3 just know that this isnt a decisive list and that no matter your insecurity your favorite suitor would adore you to bits.

you might think that they're silly for adoring your stomach so much, worshiping any extra fat or polished muscle you possess. they revel in your softness, burying their face into your midsection whenever they get the chance, kissing the skin there when they wake up and resting a hand over your belly button when you two go to sleep. if you’re ticklish there, watch out, because they take great joy in poking and prodding you just to hear you giggle.

arthur, dazai, will, charles, luke, silvio, edgar, kyle, seth, loki, masamune, mitsunari, motonari.

they don't understand what’s so embarrassing about your body hair. to them, it adds a sort of human softness to your legs as they run their hands down your calves, feeling the slight prickle of where each strand begins and ends. they think it’s beautiful, smiling so softly as they cup your knee, rubbing their thumbs across your skin. they do the same to your arms, cherishing every inch of your body,  just to remind you that even if you don’t like your body hair, they do because it's you.

leonardo, vincent, faust, clavis, zero, sirius, fenrir, mitsuhide, shingen.

your nose is often where their kisses land, sprinkling the bridge of it with their love and affection. they caress your face so tenderly as they bump their nose against yours, and you can feel the smile on their lips when they lean in to kiss you again. no matter what shape or what size, they will never stop thinking that your nose suits you just perfectly.

isaac, jean, leon, yves, sariel, keith, jonah, luka, dean, oliver, hideyoshi, keiji.

they think your acne and your scars are beautiful, even if you hate the way they look on your body. they insist it could never take away from your beauty, that you will always and forever be radiant, even with the red marks and the dull, faded scars. they’ll help you take care of them so you aren’t hurt, but they will never let you believe that you’re ugly. that word should not be associated with you, not when you have constellations speckled across your face and scars that are on their precious love and their precious love alone.

napoleon, sebastian, licht, nokto, alter keith, ray, dalim, mousse, yukimura, kanetsugu, kicho.

...and along with acne, they know you could never look prettier, especially not without your cellulite or stretch marks or anything in between. they trace the folds and warps in your skin with reverence because you are their love, their light, and their darling, and for as long as they live they want nothing more than to be able to hold you. because you are a human being who is worthy of love, if not for your humanity then because of your humanity.

mozart, theo, comte, vlad, jin, chevalier, rio, gilbert, lancelot, harr, blanc, nobunaga, ieyasu, ranmaru, kenshin, sasuke, yoshimoto, kennyo.

[pistachiofiasco]

bathtubs, haircuts, storms

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: fluff, soft hours Words: 736 Warnings: n/a

Also on AO3!

here's another little thing for my beloved little menace man. fun fact but i wrote this before the forever with you story event but i wasn't sure about the characterisation. I cannot describe the vindication I felt at the discussion Gilbert and MC have about trust lmao

"I should learn how to cut hair, so I can trim yours when you need it." He gave a quiet hum, unresponsive for the most part.

You couldn't see his face from this angle, had expected more of a reaction, maybe one of those delighted smiles for when you showered him with attention. Rinsing his hair, letting hair as black as obsidian (hah) slip between your fingers, you frowned lightly at a sudden thought. "Nevermind actually. You probably wouldn't feel comfortable letting anyone bring anything sharp near your neck."

You'd said it mildly, as lightly as the real un-offended feelings behind it, but as you turned to reach for the next bottle, you felt him shift beneath your fingers. Glancing back, you found him leaning his head back over the rim of the bathtub, mismatched eyes locked on you.

Oh, we're veering into sulking territory.

You raised an eyebrow at him, smiling softly at the pout on his lips.

"Do you think, in this situation, that you're just anyone, little rabbit?"

"I'm not," you agreed, settling back into your seat and cupping the back of his head against the cold porcelain. "But you still don't trust me as much as you love me."

The pout slipped off his lips now. His face had the blank mask on again, the one where you always got a little too close, a little too quickly. His eyes were still locked on your face, and by now it was so easy for you to see the whirlwind behind them. He'd turn the tables soon, re-establish his control over the situation, redirect your attention, lock down the fear with a genial smile, like he has done for so many years.

It didn't bother you most of the time; you knew it for what it was. And you'd already promised to spend the rest of your lives proving he didn't need to with you. In this moment, it felt like as good a time as any to remind him of that.

Before the maelstrom could pick a direction, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his wet forehead. Lingering, you smiled against his skin as your noses bumped lightly.

"Maybe I'll learn anyway." One hand still holding the back of his head, the other brushed back the strands sticking to the sides of his face. Another kiss to his nose, you sat back up. He was still looking at you (he was always looking, always, long before you ever even knew). "So that when I prove I'm right, you'll be comfortable enough to let me."

It was like being in the eye of the storm, a momentary pause in all the chaos and confusion. You'd managed to surprise him (you were quickly becoming hooked on the thrill you got when he looked at you like that, wide eyed and lips parted, especially when what followed it was that boyish grin that you knew hadn't changed from the past, even if you'd never seen it). You smiled, grinned really. Red and blue eyes had settled. This one was your win.

You gently tipped his head back up, fingers lightly working through the soft black to scratch at his scalp, just barely grazing his ears. The slightest flinch and a hand shooting up to grip your fingers. You froze, wondering if you'd pushed just too far so soon. But he simply tugged your hand forward, pressing it against his lips in an approximation of a kiss. You took it for the acquiescence it was, smiling wider. This close, leaning forward, you laid another few kisses on his head, against his cheek, finishing with just the lightest, mildest little nip at his shoulder.

The regret was immediate. You yelped as his teeth sank into your finger, a sharp "Gilbert!" ringing out, and you saw just a flash of his grin over his shoulder, mischief in his eyes, as he pulled you bodily into the tub, clothes and all. Spluttering, spitting soapy bathwater and your own (now very wet) hair, you could hear him laughing, the sound clear as a bell, echoing in the room. Not bothering to bite back your own grin, you splashed him, trying to stand, complaining loudly as he wrapped his arms firmly around you, dragging you back into the warm water, pressing his cold nose against your neck.

And the storm came and went, like it usually did these days.

the man has trust issues and we need to work on them, slowly but surely. I just wanted to give him some pampering, maybe during his recovery period, while he's still having small fits/bouts of weakness

[riveranova]

I've been speedrunning some of Gilberts route to catch up and...

I think this sums it up pretty good so far.

Thank you Gil, you really know how to calm a girl down 😭

[what-the-dark-has-foretold]

Days like This

Gilbert von Obsidian x fem!reader

Navi.

Warnings: smut, mdni, Gilbert bites (not that that's a surprise), implied spy (and/or maid)!reader

Autumn Festival 2024

Wordcount: ~900

Desperate shivers followed each touch; his fingers like ice – cold and unforgiving. The gentle brush disconcerting – too gentle. Too kind. You could feel his gaze on you, forcing your throat and heart to constrict painfully. He was too observant.

A gasp could not be suppressed when the tips of his fingers trailed down your collarbone and towards your chest. Your skin was covered in goosebumps. Finally, his soft hum pierced your hazy mind.

“It suits you.” As he said that, he traced the chain of your necklace, only stopping when he reached the Obsidian stone laying between your breasts. Deliberately ignoring how your breath came out shallow, he picked up the pendant to look at it up close. “What an honour this must be for you.”

Although you knew him well enough to pick up on the hidden sarcasm, behind it, you were sure, you could sense a trace of fondness. It took you a lot of strength to meet his gaze. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he said nothing, waiting for your response.

“It is,” you smiled at him. “I treasure every present you give me.”

His chuckle was sardonic, still, you felt his fingers linger, as if trying to feel your heartbeat. There was something flickering in his eyes for but a moment, still you caught it.

Only you knew that he was desperate himself. Only you knew how much he truly longed for a loving touch. How much he didn´t just want to take, but also be given readily. A decision was made in a split second:

“Come here.” He followed your call as if he had waited for it, followed you as you laid back on his bed, rested his head on your chest. He coughed, but neither of you mentioned it. The colder days would be hard on him. Your fingers carded through his hair and ran down his back. His body relaxed under your gentle caresses.

Like this, he did not seem so threatening anymore. He all but sought out your touch, voice cracking in a suppressed whine whenever you seemed to pull away. Then, his lips would find their way to your throat, mouthing at the sensitive skin. Soon, he would start to bite. His hold on you would tighten.

He was a conqueror once more, and you were but a simple retainer. His most prized possession, his most trusted agent.

Ice cold fingers brushed over exposed skin, untying the laces of your dress to render even more of your body utterly his. Teeth followed his fingers everywhere, your skin soon blooming with stinging red marks. He would only be satisfied, when all of you was evidently his.

The mattress dipped under his movement. He heaved himself up, eyes blazing at the sight of you shy – averting your gaze – with your dress partially undone.

“You look lascivious,” he rasped, darkened eyes roaming your writhing figure.

“Gilbert.” You're pleading eyes met his. He sighed, though a little grin played on his lips.

“Oh, come on,” he hummed. Gently, he brushed a stray strand of your hair back, then leaned down to finally capture your lips in a searing kiss. He couldn't help the groan that escaped him at your taste, and he gripped your hips so tight you were sure he would leave even more marks.

Spit connected you when he pulled away. His breath was hot on your face – a stark contrast to his ice-cold touch.

A single heavy look from him was enough for you to pull off your dress completely.

His fingers dipped between your legs, tracing the tip of your clit, then delving deeper and pressing into you. He watched as your back arched and your mouth opened in a silent cry of pleasure, glad that you were unable to see the furious blush spreading over his cheeks.

Far too soon he retracted his hand.

You were not giving much reprieve before the blunt tip of his cock tapped heavy on your entrance. Gilbert caught your lips when he sunk into you. Groaning against your mouth. His strokes were steady – slow but deep and resolute – making your body jolt every time he plunged into you.

His arms buckled at times, but you did not comment on it, instead let your hand trail down his body. He rested his chin on your shoulder, face hiding in the curve of your neck as he sped up. Under his rhythmic thrusts you played with your clit, keening from all the stimulation.

Carefully, you turned your head. His breath had become heavy, his groans lower, his pace hungrier. The way his eyebrows drew together in a frown told you all you needed to know. Sharp nails dragged up his shoulders and to his neck until you finally reached his cheeks. Gently, you pulled him up. He continued pounding into you while you held his face gingerly. Your moans grew louder and he leaned down to press one last searing kiss to your lips before finally stuffing you with his cum.

This was the only time he lost control, hips stuttering against you in erratic thrusts. You came when you felt him twitch inside of you. Moments later you were crushed by his weight. You laughed, but played with his hair, pretending not to notice the content smile pressed against your skin.

Cold days should always be spend like this.

[thegeekcloud]

Ikepri Instagram Stories

Part 9: Gilbert Von Obsidian

[nightghoul381]

would you be able to do gilbert x reader from his POV? something fluffy? sorry i dont have any kind of prompt, i just like your writing and would be happy with whatever you come up with ;w;

Ooh I got an idea for this one almost right away. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Gilbert POV x Reader Genre: Fluff

You don’t seem to realize how utterly adorable you look, curled up in the chair next to me with your book laying haphazardly to the side. You’d fallen asleep not too long ago, your soft rumbling snores rousing me from my own reading.

You look so peaceful, your hair splayed messily over the arm of the chair, arms hugged tight to your chest. I can’t keep down the affection bubbling inside me… and I hate it. You have no idea how crazy you make me. I want to show you. I need to show you.

I reach over and brush my hand over your cheek, my breath catching as the smallest smile graces your lips at my touch.

My resistance is already wearing thin as you nuzzle into my palm, a pleased sigh drifting up to my ears finally pushing me over the edge.

I want you to feel as crazy as I do.

I grab your chin and pull it up, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead and smirking at the ‘What the hell, Gil?’ that you choke out, voice raspy with sleep.

Keeping my grip on your chin, I pull back and meet your sharp gaze.

“You made me do it.” I mutter, a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders causing your brows to furrow.

“I was asleep…” You sigh, wresting your chin from my hand before sitting up and stretching.

I reach out and poke your exposed side, eliciting a surprised squeak. I can’t help the grin spreading across my face. Your flustered expression is my favorite.

When you see my face, I catch you pursing your lips in order to prevent your own smile from showing.

“C’mere,” I tell you, motioning for you to come sit in my lap. My heart begins to beat faster as you accept the invitation without a second thought, no hesitation whatsoever. You’re doing it again… driving me absolutely crazy.

As you take your seat, I wrap my arms around your waist, pulling you tight against my chest. A warm feeling washes over me when you lean in and press a soft kiss against my cheek.

“I love you, Gil.” You murmur, face still close to mine. “I love you so much. You are my everything.”

My chest starts to hurt at your words. I catch your lower lip between mine and suck, hard.

Your hands come up on either side of my face, smacking my cheeks lightly in an attempt to free yourself. I swipe my tongue over the edge of your lip before letting it go with a satisfying pop.

“What was that for?” You grumble, rubbing your arm over the swollen area.

“You were saying such sweet things, so I had to see if you tasted that sweet too.”

“Well….? Was I sweet?”

“Oh, yes. Too sweet,” I growl, taking your lips with mine again, ready to make you mine until you’re just as crazy as I am.

[aphroditestempleimagines]

The Obsidianite Jewel

A fem!reader x Chevalier Michel Fanfiction

Chapter 11 -> Chapters Masterlist

Words: bit short this time but trust me

Warnings: graphicness, war, wounds, death etc

Summary: It all started when your fiancé, Prince Gilbert, brought you to the palace of Rhodolite. He hoped he would find the secrets of the princes. Instead, he lost your heart to the brutal beast. However, Gilbert is not going to let your heart wander away easily.

"Status report, Sirs!", the knight stood at attention in the Main tent.

"Speak", said Chevalier, his gaze focused on the map in front of him.

"Black Banners were spotted in the north forests. Jadeian troops are said to be among them"

"How many did you count?", said Licht.

"'tis a small group, sir, not over a thousand, we could easily crash them"

"My, that would be a very bad decision indeed", Clavis smiled from the chair he had sank in, "We'd be up for a lovely surprise if we followed them".

"Still, we cannot leave the northern towns to their mercy", Licht was already grabbing his sword, "I'll go"

"No you won't", said Chevalier. He traced the river that run on the map with his index finger. Clavis was correct. No matter how much of a fool he could be, he was always quite perceptive. This was a diversion, meant to draw them away or at least split their army in two. They were lucky Benitoite had remained neutral in the war, but Jade was still a tough foe to handle on top of Obsidian. One could say they did not stand a chance, but it would not be Chevalier, nor any of his brothers.

The northern forests were not so dense near Obsidian and Rhodolite as they were in Jade. The few Jadeian soldiers inside the Obsidianite army could not make up for Jade's true strength. Unless a part of their army was somewhere else, either meant to surround them once they got to the spot or taking its time crossing a more treacherous and hard-to-anticipate path to the kingdom. If Jade hid its soldiers near its border then such an attack would be possible, and they would be caught between the army and the river.

"Destroy the bridge and light the forest on fire", he said.

It was so close to the border that most of the trees were near death anyway, sharing in Obsidian's misfortunes and draught. They should be as flammable as they could ever be.

"But what about-"

There was one village within the forest, as Clavis was probably about to say. "If the enemy is there they either already fled or died", Chevalier responded. His brothers seemed reluctant, but his knight obeyed instantly.

Gilbert's ultimate goal was not simply conquering Rhodolite but Benitoite as well. Chevalier focused his gaze on the borderline between the Kingdom of Roses and the Empire of Death. Gilbert had to find a way to draw Benitoite in a way that he would be justified to destroy them. He could not use the same trick twice so whatever he did it would have to happen during this war.

"I'll be leaving", Clavis pushed back on the wooden pole he leaned on.

"Where are you going?", asked Licht.

Chevalier rolled his eyes. It was obvious like the sun in the morning sky that Clavis was once again being a humanitarian fool.

"To do something stupid, by his account", Clavis smiled at Licht as he pointed at their older brother with his eyes.

Chevalier let out a heavy breath. So utterly predictable.

"The ridge", the white tiger murmured to himself. His finger landed on a passage, lined by high gray cliffs, next to the forests where the enemy hid. Should a fire break out, the opposing army would most likely scatter backward. The forest was framed by tall mountains on Jade's side, full of the vibrant vegetation that characterized the country. Meaning the only escape amid such panic would be through that small passage, towards the banner obsidian.

"Come", Chevalier told Licht, who only responded with a look of confusion.

The brutal beast gathered his knights for what was going to be a slaughter. His steps marched strong; he was used to the weights he himself tied around his legs with his decisions. His duty was to Rhodolite; he could not spare his mercy to those who threatened it.

They had reached the border by daybreak. Chevalier smiled to himself as his men followed him inside a secret maze of underground passages. His idiot brother used these a lot in his spare time. It did not take long until the were standing at the hilltop where the caves led. A great cloud of dark smoke loomed over the horizon. It had already begun.

They descended the hill until they stood at the foot of the small canyon. The archer had taken a different path, led by Licht, and managed to hide among the rocks of the cliffside, aiming the weapons at the passage. Then, they waited.

Waited for the wolves to run right into the hands of the sheep. They waited for their blades to paint the canyon red with the blood of those they thought as beasts.

The battle did not last long. With the fire on their tail, the enemy soldiers decided to take on the foe ahead since, unlike the blazing flames, men could be bled dry. It was a calculated slaughter, and it was over before it had begun. Chevalier was cutting down the last of the soldiers that still raised their blades against them, when Clavis appeared on his grey horse. He marched among the dead, maneuvering his way around the corpses. His steps were quick, his eyes clouded. He made his way to Chevalier. One did not have to be a genius to know he bore bad tidings.

"What", said Chevalier, his expression neutral as ever. He took a look at Clavis' face; it was whiter than a sheet.

"I....ah....", Clavis took one look of Chevalier's face. His brother's hair was dripping with the blood of those he had slain, his hands still wrapped around his dirtied blade. The beast's nature was out in plain sight, yet the man within, resting behind the tiger's tired eyes, counted the empty crimson days of war that had pushed him to the dark depths of a place he could perhaps never return; A place where the numb feeling in his body was all that held the foundations of his reason from collapsing under the pressure of his long-forgotten humanity. Everyone who looked at Chevalier would recognise that numbness, characteristic of his usual appearance. Yet one would wonder how deep into blood the prince could soak in, before even that serious demeanour crumbled. "Nothing", said Clavis, his expression lacking a smile for the first time in a long while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm leaving", Gilbert said as he wore his black gloves. His voice was hesitant, his gaze unsure as he looked at your form. You gazed upon his reflection in your vanity's mirror and continued brushing your hair. He approached. "You've barely said a word since you came back", he let his hand rest on your shoulder. His fingers played with the strands of your hair.

"There is nothing to say", you responded. "You have your war. You got what you wanted"

You averted your eyes. You could not stand the frostiness of his gaze even in a reflection. You felt his breath on your neck as he bowed his head. His black hair tickled your skin as he placed a small kiss on your shoulder. "Y/n-", he began but a cough stopped him. He covered his mouth with a white handkerchief. You turned and reached for him but he backed away. Soon, he was done, and he hid the small piece of fabric back into the pocket of his jacket. "Sorry", he smiled, "Something got caught in my throat". He took a deep breath. He stayed silent for a minute before turning away. "Get dressed", he said, "You should come". And with that, he walked out the door.

Looking back you still do not know why you agreed. It was so easy to follow him because you had simply lost any interest in his schemes anymore. There was no point in trying to prevent a war that was already raging in full strength.

He gave you a simple black cape as you both climbed into an inconspicuous carriage. After a few hours, you finally arrived at your destination. Gilbert gave you his hand as you emerged back into the world, but the world was too gruesome for you to even notice it.

You climbed down into a makeshift camp, where the dead outnumbered the living by a mile, and no soldier was left unscathed. Gilbert dragged his came through the blood and puss-infested mud. A few drops of rain came from the sky to bathe the uncleanable. Gilbert took your hand by himself so you would remember to follow him through the regiment of corpses. You walked and walked until you reached the edge of a cliff. You immediately noticed the forest turned charcoal, the rain putting out the last of the fires that blazed for the previous day.

"What is this?", you asked, already knowing the answer. It was the end of a battle, the remnants of Obsidian's defeat.

"This is what happens to what Chevalier touches", said Gilbert.

You scoffed. He had some nerve when he was the one who started the war, he was the one who dragged Jade into it with his lies, he was the one who...

"Are you insinuating something?", you asked coldly. Your voice came out threatening even if your eyes were drawn away, to the burnt trees stretching until the horizon.

Gilbert came closer until he was standing beside you. "He does not care about people's lives, much less this empire's....or yours". He tried to touch you but you shook him away. "I'll win this war", Gilbert said, "And I'll do so by ending him".

"Ha....", you smiled bitterly, "it was not your lips one would expect this to come out of".

"He's the real threat", Gilbert continued, "He's no better than my father"

"Forgive me for being biased, but he was not the one who poisoned me was he?", you shot a gaze at him. His expression was still as cold as the ice in a glacier. In this regard, he was like Chevalier. In that and nothing else, other than perhaps the same cruel lens they viewed the world from. Their souls were a tempest, more than the river that flew below you.

"That was not me", he said

"Do you really expect me to believe that?", you replied, "Tell me that you didn't get tired of waiting and decided to do it yourself. Why else would you arrive so conveniently after I passed out?"

"Is that the only reason you can think of?", he spat.

The rain was falling heavy from the heavens. By the time you turned to look at him you could barely see the vindictive glint in his eyes.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on", he said, "Would you really blame me if I wanted to kill Chevalier? Would you really hate me so much for taking my vengence after he took everything I ever desired?"

"You're crazy"

"Am I?", he laughed. He covered his eyepatch with his hand and pulled it off of his head. He exposed his bright blue eye, shining under the gloomy sky, the tears falling from it mixing with the rain. It was only then you realized that his heart was too broken to hate. And it was too broken to love. All that was left in him was emptiness, and an unanswerable "why".

"I just showed you who he truly is and you still take his side", his smile was one of despair. His brows furrowed and he cried, "Why would I not want him to DIE?"

He stepped towards you, his cane next to his foot. The muddy cliff gave out. You had just enough time to see the shock in his eyes, an emotion you had never seen nor thought you'd ever see painted in their shine. The world was moving slowly. You reached out to him. His body was already falling downwards. Your fingers curled around the trim of his ebony jacket, but your feet could no longer support both your weights. Your eyes shot wide open as you realized what you had done. The two of you hurled downwards. Time regained its speed, the the cold water pierced your skin like needles.

The current pulled you from every direction, throwing the pair of you from one side of the river to another. Your hand was desperately grasping at Gilbert's jacket. You did not have the strength to do anything else. Suddenly his hand pulled you closer until he wrapped his arms around you. He kept your head above water, even at the cost of his own breath. That was until a wave blasted you onto a rock. He hit the hard surface with his back. His head bled as he weighed on you and you realised he had lost consciousness. You dove under the water and pulled him over your shoulders. He was heavy, but the water was just starting to calm down. You dove in and out of the water as you swam to shore, pushing him up to keep his head above the surface. You changed into pulling him once your feet hit the pebbled bottom of the river. You heaved but you managed to drag the both of you into safety.

Or so you thought.

Your clouded eyes registered the light of lanterns before you surrendered to the hands of your exhaustion.

[clavissionary-position]

You Bring A Rooster Into Gilbert's Bedroom

Gilbert x Reader, 800+ words

C R A C K

(I saw there was a thing omkookie wrote recently about Gilbert and raccoons, and while I haven't really read it, I wanted to acknowledge it! The idea itself sort of inspired this.)

+ + + +

The Rooster had a remarkably cushy life back in Rhodolite. It is unknown how it traveled all the way to Obsidian, or how you were able to recognize it so clearly, so immediately, as it clucked past your window.

Thinking you would figure out a way to send it back, you run out onto your balcony and pick the lady up, dusting the top of her head off. Then you turn on your heel and launch yourself back in through the open window, rolling into a crouch and entering your room.

That you share with Gilbert. And Gilbert rolls over in his sleep and smacks his lips. The sunlight coming in through the curtains cuts a sharp line over his features.

You set The Rooster up with a cushy perch atop one of the bed posts.

"I'll get you some food. Please don't wake Gil."

The Rooster nods and begins roosting on the egg-shaped thingy on top of the bed post. She'll make it hatch, somehow.

You leave the room.

Gilbert wakes up. "You have the goods?"

The Rooster clucks once in the affirmative.

Gilbert holds out his open palm.

The Rooster shimmies its neck as it regurgitates something before depositing it onto Gilbert's hand.

Gilbert holds the object up to the light. "Just the one?"

The Rooster clucks.

"This was not our agreement."

The Rooster clucks.

"Who do you think I am? Getting you back into Rhodolite will be as simple as getting the Little Rabbit to do so for me."

The Rooster clucks twice.

"Chevalier has better things to do than be on chicken-watch."

The Rooster clucks.

"I have a thousand years of dirt on Clavis. He'll stay in his place."

The Rooster makes the shape of a pair of glasses with her wings.

"The Palace Devil is a concern, but I can easily set up a diversion for him to attend to on the day of your arrival."

The Rooster thinks this over. Then it gives a cluck.

Gilbert smiles. "I'm not normally one to give second chances, but I can't trust anyone else with this job. However, you will remember that a third chance from an Obsidian prince is fable."

The Rooster nods.

"Rest-assured that if you do this for me you will enjoy the highest quality of life and want for nothing. Your eggs and offspring will of course be cared for as well."

The Rooster clucks.

"Of course I eat omelettes. Food is food. I'm not going to stop just because one chicken does something for me."

The Rooster clucks defiantly.

Gilbert's smile deepens. "Good, good. I like that fighting spirit. I'll remember it the next time I trample an egg into a bowl."

"Gil? Who are you talking to?"

Gilbert points to The Rooster. "My friend here."

You laugh. "You're so random." You walk over to the bed post and hold up a bowl of make-do chicken feed. "Did you sleep well?"

Gilbert sits up. "You were moving around too much. Perhaps I need to give you something before you sleep?"

"From that bizarro doctor of yours? No thank you. I value my taste-buds." You slide back into the bed and plop your head onto Gilbert's lap.

"So you don't care about how well I sleep?" Gilbert begins running his hand through your hair. "You're so unkind to me, Little Rabbit."

"And you slip too many suspicious things into my drinks."

Gilbert laughs. "I didn't know you preferred to lead a life of suffering. But then again, you are with me."

You wrap your hand around the one Gilbert has on your head. "That I am." Something feels off to you. "Wait, what's..." You bring your hand to your ear. You weren't wearing earrings before but there's clearly something on your ear now. More than that, the shape feels eerily familiar. "I thought I lost these..."

"It doesn't look bad. I wish it were black though." Gilbert pinches your nose. "You'll have to do something for me if you want the other one back."

"You're holding my jewelry hostage now?"

"How is it anything of the sort if you're mine and all your belongings are mine?"

"Because you're mine, and I think that supersedes everything."

Gilbert goes quiet for a moment. Your words float in the quiet of the room as if the recipient is afraid to touch them.

The Rooster clucks.

Gilbert snaps at The Rooster. "Your commentary is unnecessary, thank you very much."

It's quite a sight. You decide to humor his silly make-believe. "And pray tell what did The Rooster say?"

Gilbert sighs. "That I've gone soft." He deflates back against the headboard. "Have I gone soft? I have, haven't I..."

"I don't think it's that." You sit up and cuddle into Gilbert's side. "You're like a boiled egg and-"

The Rooster clucks.

Gilbert laughs. "She doesn't appreciate that analogy."

[yandere-romanticaa]

I'm just imagining how Gilbert von Obsidian would admire the pretty engagement ring he put on your finger as you eat breakfast together.

He has you brought back to him to his kingdom, dressed in the finest midnight black silk, the scent of fresh roses still lingering on your flesh as he indulges in the softness of your neck. Sometimes he just allows his lips to linger, to tease you like the cruel man that he is.

Other times, his patience snaps like a twig and he just bites.

The bites are never gentle. They're rough and sharp, the bruise would stay there for weeks to come and don't you dare cover them up.

You would just upset him if you did that, and that is not something you want to do.

It gets harder and harder to focus on the food in front of you as Gilbert just keeps going at it, his red eye twinkling like a ruby, its sheer redness nearly blinding you with its intensity.

You are at an impasse - do you fight him? Your spirit is still intact and you have no desire to stay stuck in this gilded cage he set up for you. But you just think back to all the blood that was spilled because of you, how many people lost their lives because they helped you, none of which knew that you were engaged to the deranged beast prince of Obsidian.

Gilbert sinks his teeth into you once more and you are brought back down to reality.

There really was no fighting him anymore, was there?

You let out an accidental little yelp, much to Gilbert's pleasure. You feel him grin, his pearly whites tainted with your thick, scarlet blood, just how he liked it. He won, he knew this.

He was just happy that you finally were aware of that fact too.

[venulus-reblogs]

Wonderfuly written 😍 I felt as though I was there, experiencing what they did 💜 Gilbert fluff is always a blessing 🙈

And the art is so beautiful! All the little details on their clothes and the way he's staring at her with that fond gaze *sighs dreamily*

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

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: You and Gilbert make Christmas cookies together!!

WARNINGS: none!! :D

COMMENTS: @vioisgoinginsane & @vivislosingitagain this is for you two ^^ i hope i did him justice i REALLY hope i did him justice. presenting my gilbert content to vio feels like showing a mediocre grilled cheese to a master chef.

“You do know what denying my gracious invitation would mean, don’t you little rabbit? Or have you already forgotten?”

You had not forgotten. And you will no sooner forgive him for putting you in this frilly black apron.

Something about marking you as his? As far as you were concerned, it was typical Gilbert talk and you were far better off not questioning his whims even if you grumbled about them a little bit.

He always lets you get away with a little bit.

At least he seemed happy, helping you tie the little bow on the apron to keep it in place, standing behind you when you rolled out the cookie dough and guiding the rolling pin with his hands, and even when he nearly took a chunk out of your cheek (his biting habit had not taken on the Christmas spirit and shown you mercy, it seems.)

Despite all of his distractions, you managed to successfully roll out the dough and select a few cookie cutters. Gilbert seemed fond of the animal shapes (you tried very hard not to roll your eyes as he pressed a rabbit shaped cookie cutter into the dough.)

“Say, little rabbit...” Gilbert giggles, “Would you mind feeding me some of the cookie dough?”

You turn to him with a raised brow, giving him your most deadpanned look.

“You’re going to get sick.” you say dryly, pressing a snowflake cookie cutter into the dough.

“It would be a shame if anything happened to—”

“I get it, I get it. Open wide.”

Gilbert looks way too satisfied with himself as you grab a nearby spoon, collecting some excess cough dough on its surface before you lift it to the prince’s mouth.

He shuts it.

You raise your eyebrow at him again, but he just tsks.

“With your hands, little rabbit.” he beams, a challenging look in his eye.

He’s so needy.

You don’t say that out loud.

What you do do is scoop the cookie dough onto your finger and hold it out to him.

Sure enough, he takes your fingertip into his mouth and nibbles on it, maintaining eye contact with you throughout the whole exchange.

You feel like your face is hotter than the preheated oven when he pulls away.

“See, that wasn’t that hard, now was it?” he tilts his head, the smuggest grin on his face.

It was very hard. And he knows it. That’s why he looks so smug.

But at the end of the day, you can’t find it in your heart to resent him for it. Even when he asks you to feed him frosting when you’re trying to decorate the cookies or when he puts an absurd amount of sprinkles on the rabbit cookies he decided to make.

If anything, it’s cute. Charming, even. And you know he knows you think that because no matter how hard you try, he always knows what you’re thinking.

It’s infuriating, but you’d like to think you’re coping with it well.

“Open up, little rabbit.” Gilbert beams, his face far too close to yours.

He’s offering you one of his rabbit cookies. This would be perfectly acceptable (if not a little threatening) if it wasn't for his mouth, which he'd wrapped around the rabbit's feet, his casual smile making your heart skip multiple beats.

He’s doing it again.

“You seem to think that cookie is delicious enough. I wouldn’t want to steal it from you.” you reply hastily, turning your back on him.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he whirls around to block your path, eyes narrowed as if he’s cornered you for sure.

Which, to be fair, he definitely has.

You sigh and rub your temples, mentally preparing yourself for what you're about to do. It's for the kingdom, you rationalize, taking a deep breath before you lean in. You recite some silent apologies to the poor rabbit as your teeth bite through its neck.

You chew. You swallow. You hum in satisfaction. Despite the method by which the cookie was delivered to you, it was rather tasty.

Gilbert finishes off the rest of the cookie in one bite, staring straight at you all the while. You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that when he licks his lips clean of frosting.

“Little rabbit...” he croons, dragging out the last syllable of his silly nickname for you, “You’re staring.”

“Gilbert,” you regard him bluntly, “You’re teasing.”

He’s such a nightmare, you think. He’s such a horror and a disaster of a man, he’s so dangerous and cruel but when he made those silly rabbit cookies you didn’t feel like any of those things were true.

And based on the glimmer in Gilbert’s eye, he knows.

[pistachiofiasco]

fevers, medicines, fights

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: fluff, comfort Words: 2832 Warnings: n/a

Also on AO3!

i finally finished this lmfao it ended up so much longer than i thought it would don't mind me everyone, i'm just happy that i'm finally working towards living my best life and it apparently starts with incredibly self-indulgent fanfics for my favourite menace to society

You could tell as the carriage slowed that your plan to maintain at least some level of dignity and grace had already fallen to pieces.

A short but pleasant trip back to Rhodolite, but a difficult journey home to Obsidian. The changeable weather and the days long travel time had left your body sore and tired, compounding into a minor fever and a not so minor headache. Recovery would likely take a few days of solid rest. It would be such an unremarkable occurrence, if the man waiting beyond the comforting dark of the carriage was anyone other than Gilbert Von Obsidian.

The soft jolt as the carriage stopped felt like a (metaphorical) nail in a (metaphorical) coffin, which somehow didn't feel so metaphorical the longer you waited to step out. The outcome was a forgone conclusion, you knew, but still. An attempt (to delay the inevitable) couldn't be held against you.

A nervous "my lady?" from outside the door told you you had to move, dizziness and queasiness be damned. Even through the dark wood of the carriage, you could feel the increasing pressure of Gilbert's presence on everyone present. He had probably already figured something was wrong.

Pushing up the latch, letting the door swing open, teeth grit against the unsteadiness as you pushed and pulled the heavy (and, made with all his (excessively jealous) love or not, currently infuriating) layers of your dress to at least let you avoid stumbling out like a drunken fool. Or worse.

One foot at a time. You can do this. Just one foot at a time.

One foot at the edge. The driver, from his position by the door, seemed to sag in relief. You spared a glance in his direction as you pressed forward, down to the carriage step, wanting to convey at least some sort of "thanks" and "sorry" and "I promise I won't let him kill you". It was too bright though; you couldn't make out his face as you squinted in the sunlight under blue Obsidian skies.

Your foot landed heavy on the metal step and you could feel your weight shift uncertainly. The tremor of it shot up through you, sending another quake through the back of your skull. Panic was curbed by grim determination. You were not going to fall on your face in front of Gilbert and all these people. You were, however, definitely going to break your heel and possibly sprain your ankle.

Momentum carried you forward and even through the heavy pulsing in your head, the rolling in your gut, and the flush of gross sticky sweat dripping down the back of your neck, you could swear you heard a collective sharp breath. A harmony of dread and despair – Gilbert truly had picked people who could read the situation very well.

Eyes on your feet, you watched with bated breath as the ground drew closer. Even the slightly glossy polished stones made you squint in a blurry glare, as you waited for the impact, the snap of the boot heel, the twist and pain of your ankle rolling. It would spare you from the sting of scrapes and cuts and humiliation at least.

The heel hit the paved stones hard and you felt the shock of it jar its way up your leg, your body, in your head. The pounding increased and the sun bore down and you could feel your teeth grit against the urge to empty your guts on the steps of the Obsidian palace.

You heard, more than felt, the snap of you boot heel. Black gloved hands, black cape, black hair were all already there before you could lose balance, before your other foot could come down to brace you. Hands holding you steady, cape blocking the gleam off paved stones, black hair as good a place as any to bury your face until the world stopped tipping and sliding in all manner of directions.

"Little rabbit."

There was a warning there, more than a question. What the point of warning you now was, you had no clue. You had already crossed the line into 'clearly not healthy and not okay', there was no point picking a fight about it now. You found you didn't have the energy to say it though, instead sighing heavily against his neck.

The black shifted, hands moving to grip you tighter, head ducking to brush hair closer. "Little rabbit." There was an edge now; you were on very thin ice. You knew what he wanted, tried to pull forth the energy to respond. You had been telling him so often to communicate when he wasn't feeling well; you couldn't be a hypocrite now. You could do this, just a few quick words, just the bare bone basics. Not feeling well, rough trip and the weather was unkind, I'm okay, I'm not lying, I'll be fine after some rest, just help me get to bed.

Later you'd wonder if you got anything other than "bed" out audibly. As it was, even through the banging of drums in your head, you could tell the air had shifted. The blazing sun felt so far away now, Gilbert's temper chilling against your sweat soaked skin. Words were said over your head, sharp and cutting and clear enough that you could see the image of his daunting smile behind closed eyes in the dark kindness of his neck. Arms moving, shifting under you to lift you like a child even with all the layers of fabric weighing you down. Against the sticky skin of your forehead, you could feel the fast beat of his pulse under his jaw.

Go to Rhodolite for visit with entourage. Write multiple letters saying you're okay. Get sick on return journey. Announce arrival by almost collapsing out of the carriage. Well done me.

Breathing deep, you tried steadying yourself in familiar smells. The medicinal tone was still there, undercutting everything, but it had become increasingly overpowered by something warmer, headier, sweeter, (healthier). Always there was a whiff of vanilla on Gilbert now, as if the delicacies he'd raided from your kitchen clung to him as evidence of his (comparatively petty) crimes.

The thought brought a smile to your lips. He'd been using your vanilla syrup. You could smell it on his breath, despite having hidden it away before you left. Bad man.

As he lifted you, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck. You turned your head to meet his gaze, and finally get a glimpse of his face after almost a month away. You'd missed him too, after all (though he'd never be fully convinced, never fully understand just how much; how often you thought of him, wanting to show him and share with him the things that brought you joy and the things that reminded you of him. He still considered it going back to Rhodolite, after all, not coming home to Obsidian, coming home to him).

That red eye finally entered your line of sight and you felt your chest clench. There was a look there, beyond the anger ("you said you were fine, were you lying to me") and worry ("someone is going to die if this can't be fixed"). There was a panic, wholly unfamiliar to you. To him as well, it seemed. When your mind is clearer, you might be able to follow the thread of his feelings (you were always better at understanding him than himself). And you might consider how long it has been since Gilbert Von Obsidian has loved anyone, and what happened to the people he had loved before. And, most pertinently, where it had happened. But your head was still spinning, such thoughts feeling far beyond you at the moment. But you knew Gil (not The Conqueror Beast, The Worldwide Disaster, The Emperor Gilbert Von Obsidian, but Gil, just your Gil) still needed something from you.

"Gilbert." It was quieter than you intended, breathier too. You weren't aware of how you were breathing before, but the scratchiness of your throat made you realise you might have been panting. Swallowing you tried again, the sound more in focus this time, with more strength behind it. His eye never left you. "Rest with me?"

It was a question, more than a demand. What the point in either was you weren't sure; you (both) knew this man would deny you hardly anything you asked of him.

You were barely moving as he carried you, extra care being taken to not jostle you in the slightest, all the way back to his room.

A gentle kiss pressed against the skin of his neck, the smell of vanilla right under your nose, safe arms wrapped firmly around you. You were asleep before you even made it to the castle doors.

--------------------------------------------------

"You're awake, little rabbit."

Turning your head, you found Gilbert set up on his side of the bed. There was a strange wooden table, L shaped, jutting over from the edge of the bed frame. Reports and paperwork were laid across it and more were stacked on his bedside table, along with an ink pot and pen (vaguely you recalled a comment you had made weeks ago, half asleep, curled into his chest, holding on to him as he made to move to his desk. You had told him to make a table that wouldn't require him to leave the bed and he had laughed ecstatically as he attempted to peal your fingers from his shirt (you both knew he could have easily broken away from you, you both knew that he was exceptionally delighted at your display of clinginess, and you both knew that he would – lovingly – hold it over your head and you would – lovingly – deny any memory of it)).

Looking back at him, you watched as he pushed the table, turning it away from the bed (he had added a rotating hinge to it, of course he had, the show-off). He shifted back to you, leaning over to brush back some of the hair stuck to your face.

He was moving gently, more gently than you'd ever seen him. You smiled at him, calling his name and reaching for him, and watched as he breathed out a deep breath, shoulders relaxing.  The shadows under his eyes were darker than usual. Well, eye. The eyepatch was in place.

"Are you okay?" You reached out to him, hands finding his neck to play with the black strands there. The aching stiffness in your body and the heaviness in your limbs suggested you had been lying here for definitely more than just a day. He looked vaguely unamused at the question; his usual smile had a slight tilt to it that you could tell was fondness, with just a hint of exasperation. Clearly in no rush to answer, he fiddled with the stands of your hair, adjusted your duvet. He didn't seem mad at least and he wasn't throwing out threats of conquering nations so he wasn't sulking either. As he made eye contact with you again, his smile turned somewhat rueful.

"You, little rabbit, are a terrible patient."

"Excuse me?" That hadn't been what you were expecting.

"You sulked every time I asked you to eat something and you refused to take your medicine. You wouldn't listen to me even though I was clearly trying to help you."

Pot meet kettle, anyone?!

You stared at him, trying to parse if this was a joke or jibe, payback for sleeping for too long. He was still brushing your hair back, smile in place. Squinting, you read the lines of his face, his eyes, his lips. He wasn't joking.

Oh, you little...

"Well..." you said, and his one neat eyebrow went up at the sickeningly sweet tone, “now we both know what that's like, don't we?" Your tone was something of a surprise to both of you, with more attitude and more needling than you had intended. Maybe you were slightly offended. Briefly, you wondered if you might have cause to regret this confrontation. He seemed to find it incredibly amusing, lips widening into something more genuine (more childish, like having a spat with his significant other was enough for him to be having the time of his life).

"Are you calling me difficult, little rabbit?" He leaned in further, hovering over you on the bed. He meant to intimidate, certainly, and on another topic you might have backed down. But Gilbert von Obsidian called you a 'difficult patient' and that was not a fight you would run from.

"Well, you're no peach, that's for sure." You tone was dry, nose turned up and, taking a leaf out of his book, you raised one eyebrow back at him.

"That's incredibly hurtful, little rabbit. And after all the effort I went to to help you recover."

You could have caved, softened, and thanked him for clearly watching over you the entire time you were bedridden (there was still a tension, etched in the lines of his neck and shoulders, from worry he wouldn't easily own to – your heart clenched at the idea of what he might have felt sitting and waiting beside you, what memories it might have dragged up). But you were still a bit miffed and his smile was brighter with every word you said, so today you wouldn't give in so easily.

"Oh yes, I'm sure you went through so much looking after little old me."

"Are you mocking my efforts to help you, little rabbit?"

"Are you mocking mine, Your Majesty?"

You stared at each other in silence, eyes narrowed in challenge. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the fever or the still present heaviness across your body and your head. Or maybe you were just having that much fun in this quiet moment with your not-yet-husband(-but-definitely-eventually-going-to-be). There was a quiver on your lips that his eye immediately dropped to and there was no helping the laughter bubbling beneath your next words. "Walter likes me better anyway."

His eye went wide, mouth just slightly open in the Gilbert equivalent of jaw dropped. You had very genuinely surprised him with that one and it was so very rare to see this man speechless. You took in the expression for just a moment, before rolling away, attempting to muffle the snort that you knew you couldn't stop. He would never let you get far though.

As you buried your face in your pillow, you felt the bed shift as Gilbert lunged for you. Deft fingers and evasive hands grasped you, finding that spot on your side that made you shriek with laughter. He was persistent too, half pinning you down as you yelled his name and reached back to try push him away. Tears leaked from your eyes as he pulled you back towards him, turning you in the circle of his arms, still unrelenting, his face a blur of malicious glee. You gripped his fingers, crying for mercy as he finally stopped. You blinked away tears to stare up at him, hovering over you once again, looking exceptionally pleased with himself, with his grin stretched to face splitting proportions.

Reaching up the cup his cheeks gently, you brushed under his eyes, trailing over the new dark circles and creases there. You felt your chest swell once again with how much affection you had for this man, and with the knowledge of just how precious you were to him. You didn't even need to consider everything - just the look on his face was enough. His eye was sparkling, even in his own shadow, and his smile was softer, sweeter; this expression was the most 'truth' that Gilbert could ever offer you. He said nothing, content to watch and rest his face in your palms, enjoying the light pressure of your fingers moving across his face, down his nose, against his lips. He couldn't help take a little nip, quick and sharp enough to hurt surely, but you didn't even flinch.

"...Thank you, Gil, for taking care of me."

Your tone might have been too sincere, too loaded with everything else you wanted to say but didn't have the words for. Perhaps if your feelings weren't so strong, didn't sometimes make it hard to breathe when you so much as thought of him, it might have been easier for the words to leave your mouth. But as it was, you found them, so many thoughts and feelings clambering to get out, stuck in your throat. Gilbert knew you, better than anyone else (though Mr Akatsuki and Rio would strongly disagree). Gilbert recognised everything you wanted to say, all of it culminating in three tiny little words ("I love you I love you I love you") that you pressed against his lips.

He kissed you short and sweet and you kissed him soft and warm. Again and again, until he hummed and pulled back to smile at you again, brilliant and dazzling and radiant.

idk if this makes sense to anyone else but sometimes canon!MC is a little too puppy-coded for me and i need a more cat-coded interactions (but that might just be me who knows)

gilbert taglist: @scummy-writes

[riveranova]

*runs around, a bunch of pictures in hand, trips and falls* AHHH NOOO!

YOU DID NOT SEE A SINGLE THING, THOSE AREN'T MINE AT ALL

[omkookie]

Make You Mine.

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Yandere themes

A scenario in which Yandere!Gilbert thwarts the Reader's wedding. This idea was given to me by a lovely anon quite a long time ago and I just found the draft for it.

He steps onto the venue, his cane loudly hitting the shiny floors beneath it with an audible 'tap' each step he takes. The guests all turn their heads towards the intruder and go pale when they see his face.

Gilbert von Obsidian.

There he stood- The devil of Obsidian himself, with a cane in hand accompanied with a sharp look in his crimson eyes. Despite his smiling face, some of the attendees of your wedding shivered in unease.

"Oho, The villain has come to steal the bride." He announces, looking right at you without sparing a single glance at your fiance.

"Prince Gilbert—" Your fiance says in disbelief, a frown etching itself upon his handsome face. You look at Gilbert with shock, your eyes as wide as saucers. "Gil?" You muttered in disbelief.

"Well, he sure made a bigger impression than any of my pranks could have." Clavis says bitterly, a frown of unease resting upon his face. Clavis studies Gilbert cautiously, not allowing himself to let his guard down for even a moment despite his carefree demeanor. "Hehe, You'd have to try harder. Maybe I'll help you pull some pranks." Gilbert's smile never falters as he replies to Clavis. He steps up to you and takes your hand into his, his black attire the complete opposite of yours.

"Gilbert. What are you doing here? You sure made quite the appearance by scaring most of my guests." You chided him lightly while pushing his hand away and trying to free yourself from his grip.

"I heard my little bunny has decided to marry one of my old friend Chevalier's cousins." He says in an exaggerated manner as he puts on a hurt expression, "You can do better you know. I can't believe you'd settle down for so little." He sighs.

"Especially when I'm here for you. It would bring your kingdom peace to marry me instead." He adds, causing a pit of unease to form in your stomach.

The guests all start whispering in a panic, Clavis glaring sharp daggers at Gilbert while Rio decided to interject since he's both the bridesmaid and best man.

"Excuse me Mister "Better option". Can't you tell you're crushing my dear MC's wedding right now? Such proposals are made before a bride gets married to her groom!!! NOT during the time she's getting married." Rio reprimanded Gilbert even though he looked heartbroken you were getting married.

Gilbert taps his cane, ignoring him.

"Listen here, Rhodolite. I'll make things quick." Gilbert states as he looks over at Chevalier, the new king of Rhodolite.

"Give me the little bunny or I'll destroy your country.", He looks over at you next, his voice sweet but dripping with venom as he looks at your wedding dress and says, "I'd do anything to make you mine"

Gunshots heard in the background further supported his statement as guards fell dead and guests panicked....

M. List for more fiction

<3

[venulus-reblogs]

These are so cute and wholesome! I love these so much 🥺💜

SPENDING NEW YEAR'S DAY TOGETHER - IKEMEN PRINCE HEADCANONS

Happy New Year's to all my followers - this is a few days late, but better late than never, right? May 2023 be your best year yet!

Click HERE to read about spending New Year's Eve with the Princes

Chevalier Michel

"I have your dress ready for you."

Freshly bathed and smelling faintly of roses, you turned to look at the bed and saw his mother's dress - the one he gave you at the Marquis' estate - spread out on the bed. Any hunch you previously had that Chevalier liked you in the dress was now confirmed.

Lying next to the dress was a small black box. "Open it," he urged.

The strand of creamy white pearls was nestled against the dark velvet, the stark contrast highlighting the sheen of the pearls.

Picking up the strand with his long, elegant fingers, Chevalier deftly fastened it around your neck. He smiled, and kissed your cheek.

You quickly slipped into the dress, knowing you didn't have much time left. Glancing in the mirror, you couldn't help but feel regal in the pearls and the former queen's gown.

"Let me do you hair today," Chevalier offered. Handing him your brush, you enjoyed his expert touch, albeit a bit rough and awkward at times.

He insisted on selecting a hairpin for you - of course, he choose one he had previously given you as a gift.

"Thank you," you said, admiring your updo, only now noticing how the gemstones complemented the sunset shade of the dress. In the mirror's reflection, you saw your love standing behind you, his gaze adoring.

"How long were you planning all this?" you asked, the pieces all coming together. He had been planning this day all year it felt.

He kissed the top of your head, careful not to muss your hair. "Not that long," he murmured, pleased you figured out his plan.

You stood there, enjoying the serenity his bedroom provided. "Are you ready?" you asked, tilting your face towards him. Today was the annual New Year's celebration, and this year, Chevalier would be presiding as King.

You gave his hand a tight squeeze. "I'll see you afterwards?"

The king shook his head and smiled at you. "No."

You looked at him confused - you had planned to attend in the audience with Rio and Sariel and had agreed that you would meet up after the ceremony.

"This is the year you become my wife. My queen. Rhodolite's queen." His gaze was gentle, his smile soft as he spoke to you. "By my side is where you belong. Today and all the days after."

Clavis Lelouch

You woke, the sun shining bright in the room, to the most delicious aromas - rose tea, apple pastries, and warm, buttery pancakes.

What you did not smell was the usual strange scents that came with the breakfasts Clavis normally prepared for you.

You opened your eyes to find him standing over you, as if he were waiting for you to wake.

"Happy New Year!" His golden eyes danced with joy as he greeted you, this first New Year's you celebrated together.

"What's all this?" You glanced around the room, searching for his usual strange creations.

It wasn't that you were ungrateful for the sweet treats - and normal ones, judging my their aroma and appearance. But you couldn't help but feel like you were being lured into a trap somehow.

Clavis rubbed his hands together, his golden eyes glimmering with excitement. "I'm so glad you asked. Since it's a new year, I thought, why only create amazing breakfasts for you when there's other meals out there."

Your stomach began to twist into knots as Clavis continued. "Why stop at breakfast, when I can make you lunch as well!"

Your eyes widened as your mind ran through the terrifying possibilities. "This year," Clavis proclaimed, "everything will be bigger! Grander! More meals. More traps. More pitfalls. We have a busy year ahead of us, starting now..."

Clavis took a seat as he prattled on with his master plan to catch each and every one of his brothers in a trap this year - even Chevalier. And he had extra special plans for Sariel involving rats.

You dug into breakfast, enjoying what you feared might be your last normal meal for some time.

"But don't you worry my dear, what's lunch without a little dessert? Every lunch will be complemented by one of my special creations. I like to call them clakes- a Clavis cake. And with this being the year of the rabbit, we have a very special treat for you after lunch!"

Your stomach might have had doubts, but your heart overflowed with love for this mischievous man you were lucky enough to call yours.

Nokto Klein

You woke early, this first day of the new year, the bright sunlight pouring into the room. Yawning, you rolled on your side, your lover still nestled under the covers, a sleepy smile on his lips.

Smiling, you reflected back on the past year you spent with Nokto, watching his blossom before your eyes. His confidence in himself once nearly non-existent, he was now a changed man, a strong man, a capable man. A loved man.

Unable to help yourself, you reached out to touch his face, your fingers ghosting his soft lips. Lips that so often kissed you. Sweetly. Passionately.

Stroking his cheek, you remembered all the nights you shared in each other's arms, telling the other how much they were loved. You planned on spending every day of this new year reminding Nokto of how much he was loved.

Taking his hand in yours, you laced your fingers loosely in his, remembering the times Nokto held your hand as he helped guide you through life in the palace. While the palace was now your home, there was still much for you to learn about living as a royal. Nokto was there, by your side, every step of the way. guiding you, Nudging you. Watching you grow.

You stilled as your beast started to stir; he cracked open an eye. smiling at you.

Without saying a word, he pulled you into his arms. Pressing a gentle kiss on your lips, he asked

Gilbert von Obsidian

"Where is the little rabbit running off to this morning?" Gilbert asked when he spotted you near the palace doors.

Cautious of the conquering prince, you kept your answer short but truthful. "Since it's New Year's, I was on my way to the local orphanage to deliver these baskets of freshly baked treats." Knowing Gilbert's appetite, you kept the basket an arm's length away from him.

Gilbert stared at you silently for a moment before regaining his composure. "An orphanage? You really do have such a pure heart."

You stood under his piercing gaze, eager to be on your way, but also mindful not to be discourteous to him.

"Are you going alone?"

"Yes, I am. The other princes are all busy with New Year's duties so I volunteered for this job."

"Can I accompany you?" he asked softly. This was not the response you had expected from him.

You agreed reluctantly - how could you say no to the visiting prince?

You were silently thankful that the trip was neither long nor eventful. Gilbert proved to be a polite escort while still remaining intimidating. When you reached the orphanage, you were thrilled you arrived in one piece.

What you hadn't expected was how Gilbert would act at the orphanage.

You were initially afraid he would simply scare all the children by his mere presence, but you were shocked when he smiled brightly at the children.

Taking the basket of sweets from you, he soon had a crowd of hungry children surrounding him.

"There's enough for everyone," he said, his laughter sparkling and bright in the dim room.

After each child received a treat, Gilbert performed magic tricks -pulling coins from behind children's ears and making roses appear out of thin air.

The children were in awe of Gilbert, and soon you were too. Part of his now captive audience, you watched as the children laughed at the stories Gilbert told, unable to stop your own laughter.

After many promises to return to the orphanage soon, you returned to the palace, the fear you once had for Gilbert melting into something softer.