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pistachiofiasco · 2 months

Text

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

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pistachiofiasco · 2 months

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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

#gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen prince x reader #ikepri gilbert x reader #gilbert von obsidian x reader #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #2024 #fanfiction

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pistachiofiasco · 3 months

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just a silly little thing based off @pawnkyyy's post and the unanimous 'gilbert can't swim' headcanon, the image was just it was too funny to let go

also here's a half dead gilbert for all your drowned emperor needs

tagging fellow gilbert fans

@scummy-writes

#gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #cybird ikemen #ikemen prince #ikepri #2024 #digital #sketch #fanart

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pistachiofiasco · 3 months

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@myusuchaa

i think i struggle more w his facial features? his eyes look half closed to me but then also seem very large on his face, so i can never manage to get his features/expression right - if you have any tips, please share!! he's in my top 3 and i'm sad i can never quite get him right

will.... forgive me but his hair is Stupid

#conversation #myusuchaa #like why is will's hair like that #milord please get a proper haircut #elbert greetia #william rex

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pistachiofiasco · 3 months

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@goustmilk

hello! i wasn't sure how serious a response you were expecting, but just in case:

the red lines are strands i try to consistently draw in every time - lines that felt like they make sure his hair silhouette looks like Jude; the blue lines are where i get a little loosy-goosy and just draw what feels right depending

the dark tones i usually keep to the lower layers of his hair, save for one in the middle of the face strands, and a couple on the upper left (his right) - just don't overdo it!

and then add a displeased face and an insult (bc it's jude) and there he is!

hope this helps?? good luck

#conversation #goustmilk #don't ask me about drawing him in profile tho i'm not brave enough for that yet lol #jude jazza

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pistachiofiasco · 3 months

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was doing character studies for ikevil, these two seemed like they'd be the easiest so I started with them. spoiler: they were definitely the easiest to draw lol

(i got elbert, alfons, harrison and liam sketches done before i gave up lol)

#jude jazza #ellis twilight #ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #ikevil #ikevil jude #ikevil ellis #2024 #digital #drawing #fanart #liam broke me i hate drawing him lmfao #poor william victor and roger i didn't even get to their sketches #ellis looks more mad than vaguely apathetic hmmm

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pistachiofiasco · 3 months

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@scummy-writes

thank you so much!!!! Gil occupies most of my brain space nowadays so there's plenty more to come!

also your headcanons are constantly putting ideas in my head lmao

#conversation #scummy-writes #gosh this got me grinning like a fool first thing in the morning

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pistachiofiasco · 3 months

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this????? from @scummy-writes????? i'll be on the floor thanks everyone by eb y e

#conversation #i'm gonna cryyyyyyyyy #this was everything i was going for #scratch that i AM crying lmfao #was not expecting a scummy response but it means a lot 🙏

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pistachiofiasco · 3 months

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fear, hallways, decrees

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: fluff/comfort Words: 1460 Warnings: implied fem!reader (periods)

Also on AO3!

it's been many years since I wrote anything and it's been even longer since I posted anything I wrote. So, yknow, play nice lol

He had heard the guard. Knew the words that were said were "seems unwell", not "is injured". And yet it did nothing to stop him from storming out of his meeting, cane thumping resoundingly (his expression must have been more terrifying than usual, no one had dared to make a single sound in protest, and some were likely to still be sitting there until he got back).

He had made such an effort to ensure your safety since your arrival in Obsidian. No one knew the dangers better than he did after all, and he knew he’d never recover if something happened to you whilst in his care. The cogs in his mind were turning, his brain trying to make the usual connections and leaps that he was renowned and feared for, but every idea came at him in such a rush that he found he couldn’t settle on a logical conclusion. First, he had to establish the facts, with his own eye, preferably. The repetition of the words he actually heard, not the ones he feared, did nothing to curb the feeling of dread in his chest, the need to see you with his own eye, the worry, the fear, the old memories--

Turning the corner, he found you, to the side of the corridor, slumped against the wall. For a moment he almost faltered (were you conscious?), felt his chest beat out of rhythm (had you passed out?). Two more guards were hovering over you, clearly wanting to help but also aware they were not permitted to. In the last twenty steps it took to reach you, he could hear your chiding tone in his mind, a conversation you had shared multiple times ("Gilbert, the decree is ridiculous, what if I need help when you're not around?" "And where exactly would you be going without me, little rabbit?"), and if he felt just a little chagrined at the situation playing out exactly as you said, only you might be able to figure it out (later). And that would be fine.

For now, the worry overpowered everything. You had looked up when you heard him approaching (not unconscious, awake and aware), had known it was him before he could even call for you (had you recognised the sound of his footsteps? It would be delightful if you did, though it was more likely his cane that gave him away). You smiled at him, leaning against the wall as you were, and you seemed fine, bar sitting against the wall in a random corridor. Your voice didn't waver when you called his name and you seemed more embarrassed at the attention than in pain. Your face was paler than usual though.

She seems unwell sir.

He knew from the look on your face that you'd be apologizing for interrupting his work the second he was close enough (as if it mattered, as if anything mattered more to him than you, but you still didn't quite believe that, no matter how many times he insisted it was true). You were pushing yourself up before he could reach you, support reaching out from well-meaning but unacceptable hands. They stopped short and their owners seemed to leap away in response to his presence and you acknowledged it all with a huff and a pointed look in his direction. He could hear your voice as clearly as if you had shouted the words down the hall at him ("what did I tell you? This is silly Gilbert").

It didn't matter though. In the next moment, he was beside you, arms out to catch you, legs braced to support your weight. Your hands landed on his arms, holding gently, not clutching (not in need of support). As he looked you over, confirming for once and for all that there was no injury (though you were definitely pale and your temperature was higher than usual and he had ultimately found you sitting in the corridor so something was clearly wrong; if not physically then--). Your hand on his cheek brought him back and you smiled ruefully as his eye locked with yours. You truly did seem fine and he felt some of the tension give way.

"I'm okay, I promise Gil, it's nothing serious-"

Which means there was Something. The tension was back. He could feel his smile become sharper, his eye narrowing, and you stroked his cheek, thumb brushing softly under his one eye, in response. There was a look on your face asking him to not go overboard - though you expecting him to control himself when Something was an issue now hovering between you asking for a bit much considering who he was, in his opinion. The thought must have shown on his face because you made a small noise in your throat, your smile exasperated but affectionate. It eased him down again; he knew what you were like when you were actually unwell - you had little energy for joking and your smile never conveyed as many feelings at once (in his heart of hearts, he considered that maybe that was one of the scariest things he had ever witnessed. Your eyes glazed over with fever, your smile so hollow in comparison to what he knew of you and so brief, fading after barely a moment as the pain and discomfort took you again. He had decided to do everything he could to prevent you from getting so sick again, Walter's professional bewilderment at his "advancing medical technology by another hundred years" meaning barely anything in the face of you waking up, fever finally broken, and reaching for him, calling his name so gently, so affectionately).

You did seem fine. Perhaps it was a momentary thing, with you pushing yourself to help around the castle. He might have believed it, if you hadn't taken a step towards him and he hadn't watched your eyes lose focus as you tilted and half stumbled into him. His arms were already around you, bearing most of your weight, as you breathed sharply against his neck. There was the smallest groan on discomfort at the back of your throat, though it was loud enough in his ears to drown out the worried exclamations from beside him. You were unwell then. There was Something.

Almost like you knew what was about to happen, your hands clamped down on his before he could reach low and lift you. There was a panicked look on your face as you locked eyes with him, minutely but frantically shaking your head. His patience was fraying; the lack of explanation was aggravating him. He could almost feel the pieces of the puzzle coming together, but somehow couldn’t quite grasp what the look on your face meant. But you knew him so well, better than anyone ever could. One hand smoothing over his chest, you glanced at the two guards still standing nearby.

"Could you get me a painkiller from Walter? And maybe some hot water and a towel? Please."

Their responses were immediate, a quick and sharp salute at both of you before they immediately rushed down the hallway. Gilbert watched them go, feeling the threads in his mind finally pull taunt with understanding. A glance at you as you turned back to him and your expression tied the knot, the answer settling, the picture crystal clear.

"Help me to bed please?" Your smile was small and apologetic (and still undercut with embarrassment – teasing you now would be exceptionally mean, especially with your legs still shaky), soft fingers reaching up to his face again to brush through black strands. You almost definitely knew how far you had pushed him in the past few minutes, though now he understood why you were trying to avoid providing any explanations (you had expected him to figure it out, clearly, though he suspects a part of you might have hoped he wouldn’t – loving relationship or no, appearing vulnerable in front of him was like asking him to play with you and you both knew it, and while you knew it was all in good fun and with all his affection, perhaps you wanted to spare yourself the embarrassment of the current circumstances). He doubts he would have taken well to you announcing the issue either, considering his possessiveness over you and your body. The decree was not winning him any points in this argument.

Still, as he wrapped an arm around your waist and you both turned towards the bedrooms, he couldn't quite let you get away unscathed. You had scared him after all.

"At least the sheets are all black; you’ll have nothing to worry about little rabbit."

Your groan sounded down the hallway, mixing with the unfamiliar echoing sound of his genuine laughter.

idk I had very bad cramps and I needed some kind of comfort lol

The line about Walter + advancing medicine 100 years comes from this post which has some of my favourite tidbits about this silly little affection starved man.

#gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen prince x reader #ikepri gilbert x reader #gilbert von obsidian x reader #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #2024 #fanfiction #this is more nerve wracking than posting fanart lmfao oh it makes me feel sick #sometimes I read this and I really like it and sometimes I read and it feels very ooc and I hate it lol

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