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butterbabyflapjack · 11 months ago

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[ PAIRING ] Messmer the Impaler x hornsent princess!reader

[ SUMMARY ] Messmer is feared throughout the land. Your world, his flame has razed; your family gone, yourself his prisoner. He’s given you every reason to hate him. So why does heat flood your veins at his touch? Doth your wretched heart crave his to come and claim you?

[ RATING ] explicit, 18+

[ WARNINGS ] enemies to lovers as an extreme sport, mutual pining, snake bites, light bondage, monsterfucker, inhuman anatomy, size difference, hurt and comfort, passionate sex, hate sex, dark romance, slow burn, minor character death, attempted rape (not by Messmer), canon typical violence and warfare, more tags to come

✧˖° read here or ao3

CHAPTER 1

[ AUTHORS NOTE ] Soooo I did not mean for this to be so long. I got carried away–I can't help myself. And I’m sure there's parts which are messy since editing chapters this long melts my brain so I hope you’ll forgive me <3 Enjoy!

This land was not always weighed by death. Not always wrought by ash and ruin.

The Impaler, Messmer, changed that. Inked his name to its cause. Proud, it seemed, to wear the flame-soaked flag his crusade waved in the broken halls of your people.

He changed a lot of things in what would become his land of shadows, and always in manners most cruel.

The people feared him.

You feared him.

Ear craned to whispers of his name.

You lived a sheltered, privileged life, despite your lust for ungilded freedom, and your father wouldn’t tell you the state of things, how close this war had gotten. He often told you nothing at all, in truth, beyond the length of your duties as a woman and sole daughter of his house. But you feared the worst–for yourself, for those around you. Feared that death was fast approaching, for something of it shivered in the air, made its mountain calm taste ashen. And what is calm, if not what veils the savage storm which lies beyond it?

Something was coming. Of this your nightmare’s warned, though it seemed no one would voice their shared concerns. Playing fool to the obvious, as though to hide from truth would keep it from ever finding you.

You needed your brother; your only and cherished sibling. Your kin and closest friend. Needed to speak with him about your worries, needed to salve them, but he’d been garrisoned near Rivermouth for nearly two moons, a sentry against the threat of Messmer’s men–but no longer.

Today was the day he finally came home.

Your heart swims with warmth at the notion, as for days and nights you’ve fretted he may never return.

He was practically your twin, your brother Sven. People often believed such was true, though you were younger. And his imminent arrival was your first thought upon waking. To embrace him safely your sole intention when throwing yourself from your dusky blue bed at the silver of dawn, wrestling inside the arms of your emerald overcoat. Slipping on dirtied shoes your father would be ashamed of with all the clumsy, stumbled excitement of an eager child.

Sven is home…!

You were anxious to see him, even if your intentions of doing so well before your father ineluctably found him were far from merely greeting him home.

With this in mind, you rushed from your private chambers. Down through the broad, stone-floored hallways of your family’s hold, and knew not how you knew his procession arrived, only that you knew. Perhaps it was the song of the field birds, or those of the surrounding pines; that small forest which surrounds your sprawling, mountainous city. Or perhaps it was merely his presence in the air, something clung to the leaves like dappled dew, but you knew; Sven was home. He was safe, and you meant to keep it so.

The chill of the outer courtyard couldn’t receive you fast enough as you rushed past servants and guardsmen out into the dawn. The courtyard filled with horned mounts and war carts, brimming with the sounds of armor and hooves, as inside the gates amasses your brother’s wearied men at arms. And when you see Sven slipping off his steed alongside them, you fail even to call his name. Something catching in your throat as you merely bolt toward his presence, with him too distracted loosing his horned steed’s bridle to see you bounding there. Informed with a breathless grunt upon you tightly seizing him that you’ve come to greet him, swarmed by a hug that might seek to wring him of his very life.

After tensing in bewilderment, he laughed; his exhales shaking you. “Someone’s eager to greet the dawn.”

“I’d be eager to see you no matter what time it is,” comes your mumbling in his chest.

He clasps one solid arm around your far more fragile form, bronze armor twisting leather joints as he brings you to his ochre-draped chest. Holding you there for warm moments, before shifting his hold somewhat in effectively prying you off him.

He surmises you a moment, as though confused by such fierceness of emotion. Eventually smiling softly. “Good morrow to you as well, dear sister.”

“You’re home,” is all you can muster, like you can’t quite believe it still, and a chuckle harbors once more in his throat.

“I’m home,” he agrees, quite simply. “Had you room for doubt I would be?”

To this, you withhold response.

He lacks the helm of his fellow horned warriors, of whom it seems what remains of his regiment’s traveled here. Donning instead a fabric mask he now pulls from his nose and face; dark, shoulder-length hair spilling past his crown of two goat-like horns, their curves spiraling toward the sunlight.

He seems to decipher your worries as you eye his men, as you eye him ; giving your chin a small pinch in the effort to snatch you from them.

“I’m well,” he assures you. “You worry far too much.” Glancing at the vine-twisted keep far behind you, he wonders, “Have you told father of my arrival?”

Your expression’s wry. “Has it been so long you’ve forgotten I’m not entirely witless?”

One corner of his lips quirks as his hand shifts to your hair, ruffling it up a bit despite your instant protests. “Happily, it has not. And I’m glad of it. I’d prolong his inevitable criticisms for as long as possible.”

“I’m rather offended you hadn’t told me of your arrival, however,” you point out whilst slapping his giant, armored hand away, to which his dark brows pinch incredulously.

“I only just arrived! I hardly know how you knew it.”

Pressing back your responding grin, you shed the skin of levity in favor of matters more severe; ones you’ve rushed here to find him for in the first place.

“Come,” you tell him, in the guise of welcoming him home. “You must be tired. And before our unfortunate father finds you, I have questions of your time at the blockade.”

And though Sven sighs, he doesn’t stop you–allowing himself to be pulled by one hand toward the keep whilst his soldiers behind him toil with horses and armament; some greeting family, others guiding their horses back home.

“Of course you do,” he mutters, unenthused. “Though I assure you father’s relayed the state of things well enough.”

He hasn’t, and Sven must know that. Your father confides in you nothing. He loves not your gender, preferring you’d been yet another son, and nor does he love you were born without horns. He thinks less of you. Sven can’t deny this unfortunate truth. And he won’t worm his way from your questions by playing fool to it.

“I’d rather hear it from you,” you state, forcing tension from your tone.

Past chamber after chamber, you drag him searching for one vacant of any eyes that might spot you. And though Sven’s much taller than you, it’s like he’s dragging his feet in some useless attempt to dissuade you.

“My, you’re slow,” you chastise, leaning more weight toward your aims, more or less lugging the tall man forward. “Have you suffered so greatly on your journey that you now walk as a feeble old man?”

He rolls his hazel eyes, though at your taunting, his pace rises to meet yours all the same. “I’ve only just arrived,” he complains. “Have we not time to tarry?”

No, you bite back from saying. Instead steering him inside a broad, open storeroom where you two can be alone. We don’t.

The room is quite barren, many of its supplies shifted elsewhere in support of the war. And after glancing about in ensuring your privacy, you turn and stare up at your brother hard.

He looks at you with subtle perplexion. Meeting your solemn gaze as all lightness is slowly bled of him.

“What troubles you, sister?”

You’re not sure what to say. Knowing the words, yet somehow sure he will resist them.

In your troubled silence, he takes your arm in reclaiming your wandering gaze again, guiding your worry more toward his.

“What is it?”

Your mouth presses flat before you manage to force the words out.

“We have to get out of here.”

A crease weighs his brow. “What do you mean, get out of here?”

“I mean it isn’t safe here,” you tell him with more insistence in every second drawn on.

You steal another glance at the opened doorway beside you, before taking his hand to steer him deeper into the room, away from what prying ears might hear you.

“I’ve heard whispers,” you state, in a whisper all your own. Staring up with desperation, attempting to wring the truth from his dodging hold. “The Impaler…”

Sven’s forearm tenses, though you press on.

“He’s reduced Moorth to naught but ruin, has he not?”

Jawline growing tight, some faint darkness glints his eye in a way suggestive that he did not want you to know this.

“We’ll take the city back,” he says, but you won’t have his dodging.

“Father insists our paths of trade aren’t broken, but I’m not the ignorant simpleton he thinks I am,” you say, fearful and sullen. Determined for whatever ugly truth. “He’s incinerating everything, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“You know who!” your voice now raises. “Stop treating me like some blissful, ignorant child!”

In his reluctance, silence follows, though you read him well enough. Know your brother better than anyone. And you see something beyond the stone-wall of him splinter.

“That’s why you’re here, then… Isn’t it?” you press him, as your nervous heart still trembles. “To defend these halls… Belurat far beyond them… There’s nowhere else to fall back to. He’s ransacked everything else.”

He doesn’t immediately respond. Instead studying you with the hesitance of not knowing what to say, how honest to be with you.

You demand full honesty. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

Through his tension, he says not anything.

Biting the inside of your lip so harshly it stings, you take both his hands in yours, squeezing harder than you mean to.

“We have to go,” you insist in one breath, unblinking. Hushed enough to hide such treason from any walls that may have ears. “We have to leave the city. Now. We’d be fools to wait any longer.”

The line of his jaw turns to stone as he studies you.

“And go where?” he wonders at last, voice bladed against you. “There’s nowhere in reach where Messmer’s flames cannot find us.”

You’re left without answers, for there are none for such an impossible thing.

“We’ll find a way through the shadow veil,” you insist in desperation; disheartened to hear his weary scoff. Gripping his hands still tighter to win his ear. “I’ll tear the bloody thing apart myself if I have to,” you persist, not knowing if you even can, if such a thing is possible. “I’ll–”

“Enough,” your brother halts you, with such uncharacteristic firmness it stills your tongue at once.

A flicker on his brow seems to regret his harshness of it, though he carries on unyielding even so. “There’s nowhere more safe than inside these walls. And even were there not, who are we to abandon our people here? While we ourselves flee for spurious safety in the night?”

Our people…

The notion ties labyrinthine cords inside you. For though you care for your people–our people–don’t want them to suffer Messmer’s wrath…

Some of your people’s practices are those of pure horror. Traditions and rituals with shamans–with people–you’ve always found barbarous. Beyond what one can bear. Impossibly cruel.

Still. Even with the bad, there is good here. Hundreds of innocent lives that might be snuffed out.

But when it comes to their lives, or your brothers…

You choose your brother’s every time, without question. Over every single soul that elsewise exists.

You hold Sven’s gaze as obstinately as he holds yours. “I’m leaving,” you say. “Tonight. And you’re coming with me.”

He regards you still more discontentedly, as some thread inside him fails in tearing through. And when he pulls his hands from the unyielding strangle of yours, there’s the smallest smile forced to his lips that might’ve convinced anyone other than you.

“I understand your disquiet,” he says. “Truly, I do.” He brushes back some hair behind your ear, as if this alone might cease this war inside you. “But such depth of concern is unfounded. Worry not, dear sister... Messmer’s forces will not reach our city. Nor will the Tower Settlement fall.”

As you frown, his thumb swipes your chin as though to swipe the shape of it from you.

“You underestimate me,” he says, with a glisten to crinkling eyes. “I’ll protect you, as I always have. As you know I always will. In this, you can be certain. And with it allow this matter to rest.”

You merely scowl at him. “You’re… You’re being stubborn… pigheaded… I–”

He laughs before frustration lets you finish. Drawing you to him. Hugging your scowling close whilst he strokes the back of your hornless head with playful fingers.

“I’ve heard tell of my being such,” he agrees, lightly. “Enough that I fear it must be true. The pigheaded prince, they call me.”

His embrace is comfort enough that your fears are near forgotten. Though it slips through your grasping fingers all too swiftly as he lets you go, with guidance toward the doorway where the two of you both entered.

It’s obvious that he would see this conversation’s end, while you consider it hardly started.

“I also fear our father’s already loathe to’ve not addressed me,” he says, with this in mind, though with little relish. “I’m sure I’ll be his unwilling captive in the war room at least till dusk. After which…”

He pauses just before the doorway, turning you toward him with gentle hands.

“I expect you to sit with me at whatever feast he’s surely hosting.”

Your attempt at jest’s still murky with clouds of doubt. “A feast… I suppose your presence warrants as much...”

His eyes, even now, cast a sparkle. “Is that doubt on your tongue?” he ribs you. “My presence warrants several feasts, at least. Lavish ones, where the whole of the city stumbles home drunk from them.”

You look away, in no mood for his usual liveliness. And his fingers grace your upper arms in catching your gaze once more. Eyes passing between your worried ones.

“Be at peace, dear sister,” he says, with firmness reassuring, even now. “Leave worry with me. I won’t let ill befall you.” He gives your arms a squeeze. “Save me a spot at the table tonight, will you? Near some comely friend of yours. I could use a lovely distraction.”

You fight back the smallest smile in response. “I’ll have no part in you breaking some poor girl’s heart again.”

“Then I’ll take care not to break it this time,” he teases.

As he’d guessed, you did not see your brother again till the world became swallowed by night.

Your father’s great hall is thunderous. Partiers laughing, people jeering, as though the only one worried is you.

How can they all be so ignorant of what death approaches?

You wish you could shrink from it; this jovial place. But you’re not one to cast aside a more pleasant reunion with your brother than the short one you shared this morning, so you stay, beside his and your father’s empty seats at the longtable as instructed.

As a man slick with sweat reaches toward you across the table for yet another leg of lamb, a darkened presence hovers just behind where you sit.

“Is this seat taken?”

The boldness, to ask such a thing of your brothers chair. Only a nitwit would speak such stupidity, and you turn to see said nitwit standing there.

He’s older, with a tangle of horns on his brow. A thin smile and small eyes, with teeth greased with the ale which surely prompted this.

Yet another, it would seem, after your affluent hand. As if your father hadn’t plans to sell you to whoever’s hand flattered his own most.

“Yes,” you say brusquely, turning away more rudely than you mean, though you find it hard in that moment to care.

You grab the flask of ale before you and suck it down as though you mean to drown in it.

Wherever is your damnable brother?

Wiping amber from your lips with an unladylike hand, you endeavor to breathe some fresh air. Standing up far too quickly, to the effect of nearly toppling over, and it’s no wonder you don’t often drink liquor.

Wavering your way from the hall, you make your way out into night. Out, through the courtyard, knowing not where you wander, only that you’d rid yourself of all raucous and smell of that festivous hell.

Ale warms your veins, yet you still rub gooseflesh from your arms as you wander in your long-sleeved gown up the stairway of the keep’s curtain wall, thinking to look out at the darkness beyond the sprawling city’s light.

The breeze is stronger up here, on the wall’s utmost walkway. Curling the length of your skirts in about you, tugged to and fro with the wind's invisible hands. And you stare outward, full of worry, not aware that you aren’t alone.

“Didn’t know I’d have such fine company.”

It’s a gruff voice which greets you, and you turn with a start, though it’s only a grizzled guard who addresses you. A graying old man with kind eyes and a knobby head of horns. Is your father so wanting of forces he’d pluck some greybeard from his bed to man the bailey?

“Apologies,” you say, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your watch.” Vacillating a moment, before adding, “I’d stay a while, if you’d allow it.”

His eyes crease as he smiles, pushing himself up off the half-wall he’d previously leaned upon.

“Stay as long as you like,” he says. “There’s naught much to look at. Boredom’s making me numb.”

Your attempt to return his smile falls short. “I fear I may fail to salve boredom, if that’s what you hope. I’m not presently much for conversation.”

He quirks a grandfatherly brow. “Long night?”

If he wasn’t so kindly, you might be aggrieved he’s still insistent on chatting away through the night. But as it were, you just sigh. Staring out into the darkness beyond the city.

“One longer has yet to grace me.”

“Say no more,” he says, understanding. “The quiet’s a balm for such things.”

Relieved, you take him up on such advice.

You stay on the wall with this stranger who feels somehow a friend for some time. Likely longer than you ought to. And it thaws you, inch by inch, of that worry which clings; enough till you finally clear your throat to speak, to somehow return this man's kindness. Though as you turn to say a word, a flicker of light in the distance instead captures your focus.

Standing straighter, you're drawn like a moth to that faraway glisten. Watching as one glimmer turns to four. Then a dozen. Then more. Unable to turn away from whatever those pinprick lights are as they loom so far across the horizon, like stars dragged over ground. Asking the graybeard, “Do you see that…?”

You hear the old man’s armor shifting as he seems to adjust his gaze.

“...Aye,” he says at last. “I see it.”

You cannot look away. And how some flickers of light can distress you, you fail fully to grasp or name why. “What is it?”

Silence, as the graybeard beside you stares.

“...M’not sure,” he utters at length. Perturbed, a touch, it seems. “Though whatever they are… They're getting closer.”

Reaching one grizzled hand toward his neck, the old man grasps a silver looking-glass from where it dangles upon his chest, raising it in scanning outward. And with a glance at him, you wait with bated breath for word of what's seen.

“...Too dark to see for certain,” he murmurs, his tone more weighed than before. His eye staying glued to his contraption. “...There’s perhaps two dozen… N’whatever they are, they’re too large to rightly be torches…”

For stretching moments, he stares outward, as do you. Until finally he offers you his looking-glass, slipping its delicate chain off from round his neck.

“Take a look,” he offers, and in disquietude you do, not so much as thinking to decline him. Something raising every fine hair on your skin, though the reason eludes.

You see…

…Flames.

The distance holds them small, in the palm of its night-drenched hand, though with every second passed they grow larger. Wavering midst the shadows, as if lumbering side to side; as though flame itself's somehow walking.

You peer past the lens to stare with the naked eye again. And it's then you first feel it. The ground come so slowly to life. A sensation so subtle at first you cannot hear the distant thuds which crescendo each minute vibration, more and more, til you cannot deny them. A sort of hum. A twisting of earth. More rhythmic with each second dragged on.

Despite how vague and far those groans of earth, whatever could be their cause flashes images of horror inside your mind. Of something you’ve only heard tell of; a wickedness only since dreamed. Of machines, gnarled and vast, designed with the fuel of bodies. Tall as any tower. Barred as any gael. Fashioned for death and the installation of fear in any soul hapless enough to look upon them.

Just its image painted in your mind inscribes fear in you now, as was its architects intention.

You stumble back a step, eyes growing wide in the darkness as you stare at those ever-growing flames. And though you lack any proof of their purpose, some piece inside you knows what they are. Why they’re here.

The looking-glass tumbles with a delicate plink from your grasp, while the man beside you’s expression draws confusion.

“What is it?” he asks, but you’re already running. Down the bailey’s length, down stairs, through the courtyard's growing dim.

Sven.

You hear the graybeard’s horn sound behind you, and though you should find relief in what little solace its call to your father’s forces might bring you, you cannot care. It matters little. For surely those golems grow nearer with every lumbering step, and there’s nothing you or your father’s dwindling men can do to stop them, not if all tell you've heard about Messmer is true.

The ground further shakes, undeniable in what it might bring you, as you enter the sconce-scattered castle. Fighting the length of your damnable skirts as you bound in through the hallways as fast as you can, as already panic clouds your vision.

Messmer will feed your bodies to his golems one by one. Impale all others. Leave your ashes to rot on a graveyard of spears, your tombs like a forest. Your corpses charred black, with faces frozen in whatever terror his flames found you in; whatever anguish his spear brought before the mercy of death.

You run still faster; in past the broad, opened doorways of the dining hall, where merriment’s paused in favor of scattered, flummoxed eyes and panicked questioning, though even that you find hard to hear.

You need to find Sven. Need to drag him to any place far from here. You have to protect him, as he always has you–even from himself if you must, and such is his dauntless, stubborn pride that you likely will.

There’s no stopping what may come, you should have dragged him from this place far sooner, you–

You're too late.

You were too late–dammit, you–!

Reeling as you turn one hallway’s bend, you're forced to shove your way past those filing into the corridors; servants, guardsmen, guests, all traveling with purpose or else questioning if you're under attack. And it's nothing short of a blessing catching eye of Sven's height lingering above the masses, as he likewise spots you; gaze alight with relief as he fights his way toward you.

Lodged within the crowds of mismanaged havoc, he takes your arm and drags you further into the keep, beyond the rising panic of those behind you.

The ground further quakes. Iron chandeliers overhead further quivering.

How close must they be now? Those colossal, wandering flames?

“I saw them,” you tremble as Sven further leads you, knowing not where he guides, too dazed to question. “I saw them, Sven. The furnaces. I–I couldn’t–they were so far away, but they–”

“I should have sent you away this morning,” he says, almost to himself, which does nothing to allay that viperous terror twisting through you. Sounding to wrest up whatever hope he has left whilst adding, “Though it’s not too late.”

It’s then that you realize he’s leading you in the direction of the stables.

You seize his wrist; stopping him in his tracks as his impatient, worried expression turns across one shoulder, his gaze alone questioning whether you’ve succumbed to sudden madness.

“I won’t leave without you,” you tell him, knowing already his intent. That he’d send you off and remain behind here. As of course he would, seeing reason to fight, though you won’t allow it.

This stubborn, stubborn man.

He doesn’t answer. Instead attempting to drag you on again, though you dig your heels in as sediment trembles from the rumbling walls all around you.

“I’m not leaving without you!”

You don’t mean to shout, but you do.

He looks at you as though you’re a war he’s already lost.

“I can’t leave while the city needs defended,” he argues, resolve fused to his every sinew.

His valor is nothing short of infuriating.

“Then I’m staying with you.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Should you put me on a mount I’ll simply ride right back,” you protest, gaze growing wild. “You can’t make me go anywhere unless you ride by my side in ensuring it!”

His look is of utter frustration. But as horns blare and some distant, bone-deep tremor once more shakes the earth, inspiring a ripple of far away screams in the castle, there isn’t time to dissuade you. And with an agitated breath, he diverts course in leading up a set of winding stairs–those leading toward the hallway of your bedroom, where he guides you with swiftness.

“Stay here,” he says, ushering you inside your chambers. Seeming barely to accept such a compromise. “Bar the door. Remain hidden. I’ll return for you.”

The rapid beating of hooves and heels sounds far below your bedroom's balcony window, and too soon Sven's turned to leave, with you grabbing his wrist before he is able. “Don’t go! Don’t… Don’t go out there, Sven…!”

Tears burn your eyes, their threat overwhelming your lashes, and the resolve of Sven's own expression crumbles somewhat to see it.

He takes your face gently in his both hands while you plead with him once more, “Don’t go…” Steering you just a touch closer in placing a kiss upon your brow.

“Do as I’ve told you,” he bids, resolutely. “Allow no other entrance. I’ll return here as soon as I’m able. You have my word of this.”

And with this, he is gone. His warmth left on your cheeks as tears spill where his touch had been.

You staunchly refuse the cruel suggestion of your heart; that this may be the last time you see him. Uncertain how you’ll barricade your door with no lock on its innermost side, though you’re desperate to keep your mind busy, to heed Sven’s instructions. So with great effort, you squeeze yourself in behind your bed’s massive headboard, barely managing to shove it inch by awkward inch away from the stone-hewn wall. Shoving with all your strength until the mass of it blockades the doorway.

Time is as much a weapon as any sword. And as you wait for your brother's return, heart tangled by vines in your chest, you seek to pry yourself from terror enough to stumble out onto your balcony, where night wraps you up in its arms.

The song of steel and iron grows ever louder from down below. Your view half-concealed by the edge of the castle. Horns sounding more in the darkness. The rumble of beasts and mounts and men shaking into the ground. And your strained eyes grow wider upon seeing a haze of flame glowing just outside the city, bewitching the air to a blistering hellscape of dancing cinder and molten fog.

Such a harrowing sight overwhelms you.

Whatever has come, it is here.

Your hands grip desperately to the terrace’s balustrade as the world around you abruptly lurches in place, and with a vicious crack one section of walls round the city erupts into pieces, struck by some mammoth blow beyond what your vision can see. Stones tumbling like naught more than ash as a behemoth lumbers in through the wreckage. A mountainous cage of a being, weighed slow by its body of metal; stomach burning with the piled corpses of past feasts. Its silhouette singed against darkness, twisted by hundreds of arms reaching out through the bars of its belly; burned slow enough to long to be free.

You long to look away, yet can scarcely remember to breathe. The cities outmost towers growing brighter with ashes and flame in a nauseating dance of destruction that would see all before it laid waste, as behind the crushed path of each furnace, Messmer's forces are free to bleed in.

The city you've known all your life slowly transforms beyond all recognition. Your sense of time broken, sands scattered to the wind, as you watch the growing onslaught in horror. Your pupils shrinking from a vicious, sudden trail of horrid brightness as tendrils of flame lick the air, weaving through it, met soon by a chorus of screams that grow shrill before melting. Lungs scorched in a firestorm that sets the very sky on fire, and you've never seen anything like it. Like a dragon assaults your city, though even they cannot wield such a vicious flame.

You can do nothing but watch as fire tangles through buildings and streets. Your fingernails digging into your palms till the marks left behind may soon bleed.

Sven…

You… You can’t just stay here, sequestered in your room like this-!

You have to find him,

You have to help him–!

But if you leave, how might he find you amidst the chaos?

You have to stay here. He needs to know where you are when he surely comes back, for he will. He’ll come back. His word was given.

Villagers run through the streets as flame leaks its way its alleys; into the very reaches of your father’s keep, as its bailey comes crashing at the slam of a furnace golem’s gnarled excuse for a fist. And as your world shakes you hear Messmer’s men storming in through the courtyard. Hear the clashing of metal grow near. The screams of terror in hallways, all while fear tears through your bosom like an animal clawing to get out.

Where is your brother?!

It feels as though an eternity has held you breathless in its clutches, and as the sounds of war draw nearer, your walls feel to close in.

Footsteps soon sound within the corridor behind your shuttered doorway. Soldiers grunting, weapons clattering to the ground beside a distant woman’s shriek. And then the handle of your door’s taken hold of. The wood of it shuddered by what seems an impatient hand; rattled against how your bed keeps it fully from opening.

Your attention hones tightly toward it.

Sven…?

It remains as a thought, your throat’s tautness not letting you speak it. As you watch in a silence that would strip all reason raw while the door falls eerily still.

You’ve no time to react before your chamber’s entrance blasts violently open in a hailstorm of splintered wood and flame, whipping the room with embers as you stumble back and scream from the ruined blockade of your doorway.

Snowflake cinders hang loosely in the air as your eyes strain through the rubble, and you know not the man who stands there in the wreckage, whose outline swirls amidst wisping smoke, though he’s wearing Messmer’s red. A pointed helm adorns his looming outline, its steeple skyward, and from his breadth a dripping crimson cowl falls lapping at his heels. Armored head to toe in blackened steel save the shape of his slowly smiling lips as he beholds you. And though you can’t see his gaze through the intricate, beak-like visor he wears, you you can feel his curious eyes scanning over your shape.

“Well… What have we here,” he croons above the distant hymn of bloodshed; that war below now muted by growing unease. “A hornless trollop all alone in her chambers… Tucked away, it would seem, just for me…”

His cruel lips curve as you instinctively falter from him, recoiling further toward the terrace at your back, even when its height would further trap you.

The man steps in through your doorway's ruin, unperturbed by anxious lack of welcoming him in.

“You aren’t quite as foul as the rest of them,” he observes, almost to himself. In no real hurry to approach you, as instead he makes a game of dread. Bits of broken wood twisting beneath his heavy, prowling footsteps as he draws ever closer, and though you glance to the ravaged doorway behind him, with him its gate its passage feels to shrink.

“Not the talkative sort?” he wonders, idly, with a falsely exhaustive sigh. “What a pity… I'd hear your tearful pleas, were it up to me.”

His drawing nearness springs a trap in you, and unthinkingly you try to flee. Though as you bolt in sprinting past him you find he’s far faster than you could have believed.

He’s snatched your wrist in his harshly armored grip before you can even flinch, his every finger steel and pointed. Flinging you without mercy onto the rubble of your bed as a cry tears from your chest, your body shaken as you tumble.

“Such a morsel I’ve found myself,” he breathes, becoming feverish as a predator above prey. “You do look hornless… Though I’d be sure of it. Let us see if you have any defilements in places I haven’t yet seen, hm?”

Terror wraps fists around you, and though you scramble to get up, to run, he’s on you in an instant. The weight of him shackling you down against your ruined mattress on the floor. The snakelike scales of his ruby tabbard scraping up your kicking legs as he roughly straddles down your writhing form, and though you strike his half-masked face in desperation it does naught but scrape your fingers raw.

He laughs at the attempts to dissuade him. Snatching your wrists and squeezing until you fear your bones might crack.

“There’s that flame,” he croons, tone gleefully debased. “I thought for a moment you’d bore me. How long might that tiny flame flicker before tamping out, I wonder?”

With hungry hands, he grips and tears the flowing fabric of your gown at the seams, ripping it from your thighs as alarm makes you mindless, has you kicking out wildly in the attempt to be free.

“Let me go!” you scream, voice stripped by panic. “Let me go! Get off of me–!”

His breathy laughter’s a horrible thing. But all at once it’s frozen in his throat; locked away as his muscles all seize. Its cruelty marred instead to a painful choke, something congealed, as a swing of metal shears the air behind him, slashing through what seems his severed spine.

His form grows rigid with the realization of death. Wavering in how he pins you, before slumping down like a lifeless tree whilst your lungs are crushed beneath him. And though you fight to claw him off, his weight of steel proves too much for your waning strength.

Some hand seizes the cowl which drapes the dead man’s neck, tearing his body from you. And with a gasp of needed breath you’re overcome to see Sven, like a beacon above you; his red-slicked sword in hand.

Blood and ash fill the lines of his handsome face. Concern whiting his brow as he reaches down to take your shell-shocked hand.

There’s little time to coddle you.

“Are you hurt?”

Tension cleaves to every inch of you, though as you struggle to swallow, you also strive to nod your head.

“I’m… I’m fine.”

The need to thank him once again for saving you, as it seems he always does, trembles past your mind with you too overwhelmed to fully grasp it. And Sven’s jaw is hard as he holds your trembling hand, his fingers weaving through your own.

“Come,” he says, not wasting words. Towing your stumbling fragility with him from the horror of your chambers.

You haven’t made it far at all before the clamor of many footsteps resounding in these hallways soon assails you. And round the corridor's bend, just several yards before you, comes a cluster of soldiers in regalia you don’t recognize, so they must be Messmer’s men. Led by a knight in red like that of your bedroom.

Their party pauses upon sighting you, as does yourself and a stiffening Sven. His giant hand gripping yours more fiercely.

Silence, as time strips thin and the lot of you warily eye one another.

“You there,” the red knight says, his voice like brass. “You are the son of the false, impure king, unjustly throned in these lands, I presume?”

Shifting slowly forward, Sven secures himself one step before where you stand, stricken beside him.

“Would that I were,” he says, ever defiant. “What difference does it make?”

The knight before you slowly smiles, though its quick to fade away.

“We’d make a sigil of your broken body in the courtyard,” he says. “I’d hoped to fell you outside. Alas, we must now drag you there, instead.”

The line of Sven's shoulders grows taut, before abruptly he shoves you from him, your hand stripped from his–pushing you further behind him.

“Go,” he orders, not glancing back. “Run.”

You tremble, and cannot move but to shake your head. Salt soon stinging your vision. Unwilling to obey him.

“No–”

“Go!” he shouts, yet still you cannot heed him. Will not heed him.

The red knight tilts his chin, gesturing three soldiers carry on before him. And already your brother’s sword is raised; knocking back one spear that would see him dead, and then the another. Repelling blows as each comes raining in, trading strikes through the bedlam.

He holds them off for much longer than any man rightly should, such is your brother, such is his mastery of sword. Sweat soaks his brow, blood spilling through his armor with every blow he fails to break. Felling two of Messmer's men as two more are sent by the man in red to take their place, and you're terrified he’ll tire before the end of them.

You scarcely notice, at first, how beneath his steps bubbles forth a glowing pool of red.

You watch in pure horror as flames like vines slowly leak up through the cracks of the floorboards, tendrils of searching crimson, while Sven’s too caught by battle to heed them. And the moment you cry out for him to run is already a cry too late, as those flames burst forth with sudden violence. Flinging from their center a massive spear, pierced up from the very ground he stands on, as though formed from the shadow of his feet.

The spear flings forth with impossible strength, goring high into the ceiling like the shoot of a savage, crooked tree. It’s hilt still buried in the ground as its speartip thucks up high in the timber above you; piercing through Sven's middle, metal lifting through his ribs.

His body's rigid where he hangs, high above where once he'd stood fighting. And you forget what feeling even is as his body gradually falls limp. Sword slipped from wilting fingers. Clattering to the ground so far below his hanging feet.

All you can see is him and that spear he hangs on. An awful monument to a moment that will live with you forever. And you stare at this nightmare of him; balking backward. Stare, as your heart crumbles into pieces, and you can do nothing else.

Sven…

You can’t find breath enough to even cry his name, though it trembles in the pit carved where your heart and lungs once lived.

Those soldiers still alive before you part within the haze that strangles your breath, making way as someone else approaches, though you hardly notice as you stand there. Defeated. Tears blurring your vision to a melted, burning thing.

….Sven…!

He cannot hear those cries you fail to utter. And even should you scrape them from your chest, he’ll never hear your words again. Nor your larks. Nor your laughter.

Just this once, you might've protected him. Just this once. Yet here you've failed him.

“Do not prolong the inevitable,” a low, serrated voice condemns from midst your shrouded torment, and you blink away what tears you can, straining through grief to see a dreadfully towering man, so tall no common hallway could ever hope to hold him.

You’ve only heard tell of Messmer. That his hair is red as bloodied fire. That his eye, his only eye, is as gold as Marika’s sins. That two winged snakes adorn him, with agile minds and bodies it seemeth all their own. And yet even those two snakes now watch you, along with their wretched master. Their emerald eyes trained to your every movement, though you shift none.

You bite back your tears; anguish giving way to anger. Your jawline like glass, so hard and close to splintering, but still you’ll grit your jaw up at this red-maned savage as though on his neck you were clamping down, tearing the very life from him.

His captain steps forward, but Messmer’s lengthy, muscled arm raises scarcely enough to halt him in place, though his order's immediately heeded. And though his captain’s face lay hidden behind a snake-like helm so similar to Messmer’s own, you can sense the confusion which braces through him.

“Not her,” says Messmer, so low you scarcely hear him. And you stare, at this monstrous man, while he meets your gaze with what seems not an ounce of pity.

His eye, you admit, is a strangely beguiling thing. Like a spell that might dissect the furthest reaches of you. Its gold so strangely brilliant, like a pinprick of flame, gnawing through the darkness.

“...Take her,” his deep voice at length breaks through the enchantment of his gaze, and you at once feel panic swell at such an order. “We couldst use another specimen for the storehouse.”

And then, he is gone; turned without another word said, as though he matters of much more import to attend to than whatever in any hell his decreed fate as ‘specimen’ might bring you.

You far prefer death.

When Messmer’s captain comes for you, obedient dog that he is, you immediately try to run only for your gown to snag you back within his clutches. And as he lifts you beneath one arm like a satchel of wheat, you snarl and you fight with every bit of strength remained in you; transformed into a hopeless, feral thing. Clawing at his legs, biting at his wrist despite his armor blunting every blow at him, until he slaps you so hard your vision blurs and all sound’s replaced by the ringing of your skull, your body hanging momentarily limp.

It does no good, your fighting, though you scream and writhe and fail to stave back tears as you’re carried from your father’s ruined castle.

The world outside is smoldering waste.

All is fire and ash.

You see no one else left living.

You have nothing.

Nothing.

This demigod of flame has taken everything from you. Has burned away your heart to an ashen pit. And while you are still living, you will do everything within your power to gift him the very same.

[ AUTHORS NOTE ] f’s in chat for Sven, rip gone too soon 😔 I actually felt really bad killing him, but I wanted to give you a legitimate, visceral reason to hate Messmer so he had to go. Anyway thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts 💕

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring #soulsborne #chaos hearts

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lurkingshan · 1 year ago

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Japanese QL Corner

Another fantastic week to be a JQL fan. The first three of these are on Gaga, and I highly recommend jumping into the weekly watch!

Takara's Treasure

This show is exactly the low stress vibe I need for a Sunday evening. My child Taishin continues to be cute as a button, and Takara is clearly charmed, if still a bit wary. I was very into all the cute content this episode with the marbles and the glass earrings. Honestly, this show doesn't inspire much deep thought because it's just so straightforward and pleasant, and I am digging that.

I Hear the Sunspot

After getting Kohei’s backstory last week, this week we got to see a bit more of what makes Taichi tick and remember that below his sunshine exterior is a deeper well of feelings, and not all of them happy. This is the guy who opened the show by punching someone, and today we learned one source of his inner turmoil: parental rejection. My favorite scene in the episode was the one where he confessed this wound to an unwitting Kohei, who, when he realized Taichi was saying things to him he couldn’t hear, demanded Taichi keep his commitment to always communicate with him clearly. I loved this bit of nuance and how it tied back to Taichi's lecture of the girl earlier, because even though there was clearly no malicious intent here, Taichi knew Kohei couldn’t hear him and tried to take advantage of that to avoid vulnerability. He’s not perfect, and I loved that Kohei felt safe to call him on that. A fantastic scene and I am loving this.

Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko

The hilarity continues as Hiroko bends herself into pretzels to find ways to interpret Ayaka's love confessions as anything other than what they clearly are. Ayaka continues to escalate with some help from Kumi and her otome gaming tips, but Hiroko latches onto her friendly relationship with Yuya to continue believing she's straight. Speaking of, I love that Yuya is just a good coworker with no ulterior motives. A lot of dramas would make him a rival or a villain, but here he is a decent guy, and I appreciate it and the way he and Risa are clearly picking up on Ayaka's feelings and keeping it to themselves. Highlights of this ep include the escalating group massage and Ayaka's chaotic attempts to cook for her beloved, and I am dying to know what misunderstanding in the past damaged Hiroko so much. I just love every character in this story and I'm having a great time.

Bonus: Zettai BL 3

The Bs are back to L again, and it is every bit as fun as I expected. Mobu continues to be a treasure and a delight, and at this point, methinks the lady doth protest too much about not wanting his own love story. I was delighted with the way his story went after last season's cliffhanger, and also pretty excited to see this show kick up the heat levels on all the background mini bls. There were so many highlights of this new season that I don't want to list in detail because I just want you to go watch. It's an incredibly pleasant way to spend a couple hours! Major shoutout to @ikeoji-subs for creating English subs so all of us international fans could watch and enjoy; the last of the episodes was posted last night, so go ahead and dive in!

Tagging @bengiyo for anime update.

#japanese ql corner #takara no vidro #takara's treasure #i hear the sunspot #hidamari ga kikoeru #ayaka is in love with hiroko #zettai bl 3 #japanese bl #japanese gl #shan shouts into the void

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heyidkyay · 2 years ago

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Five

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE. THEY MEET. AH IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY. But I have just finished writing part 6! So I figured why not post 5? SO here it is, hope you enjoy? X

>Just a note! So there's no confusion, this first section of 5 coincides at the same time as the last part of 4, as in where heading into the studio it was seen from Matty's POV, this starts with Mouse's and then goes onto them actually meeting one another! Okay? ta:)

Warnings: um, moody matty, lil bit of self-consciousness, mentions of scarring

Masterlist

I was running a bit behind schedule. Which wasn't too unusual for me, what with being the single parent to a rambunctious four year old, but this time around I’d somehow managed to allow myself to be waylaid by Adi's antics.

Apparently upon entering the studio this morning, everything had just felt a little 'off'.

And after having announced that, I’d had to sit back and watch on whilst Adi had trudged out of the room in her heavy black boots, only to come back a few moments later with a stub of sage in one hand and a lighter in the other.

Honestly, I was pretty sure that I could still taste the thick plume of smoke that I’d been forced to inhale each time I breathed in, even after having quickly made my escape. But yet it clung to the back of my throat uncomfortably and I couldn't avoid the grimace that wrinkled my face as I tried to rid myself of the sooty tang which coated my tongue.

But that was just Adi, I supposed. And it was one of the many things I loved most about her, how she was so unapologetically herself- even if it meant that I was forced to cough up a lung-full of herbs every once in a while.

See, it was actually Adi’s grandmother that had gotten her into performing all of the rites and cleanses she did so often. The woman was a real spiritualist and had taken Ads in at a very young age, so Adi had practically grown up around it all. She often spoke about how her grandmother had wanted her to follow down the same path and show a deeper interest, but Adi had always been much more fascinated by music, fashion and all things that revolved around tech.

She was a proper whiz with a computer, but that didn't mean she didn't have an appreciation for her grandmother’s beliefs, nor a knack.

"Are you still coughing up a storm, you drama queen?"

Speak of the devil, and he doth appear, I thought dryly, as Adi reemerged from out of the hazy recording booth. The sage now nowhere to be seen.

I rolled my eyes at her and continued to fiddle with the wires I had wound in my hand.

"I can't fucking stand the stuff, Ads."

Adi merely smirked at me as she bypassed, practically skipping.

"I know, but it's always good to be prepared! Who knows what we'll have to deal with when the infamous diva finally arrives!"

I snorted at Adi's mocking tone and couldn't quite hide the quirk of my lip.

"Fair enough. Just leave that door wide open, will you? And grab the fan while you're at it, as well. Don't need him, and whoever's tagging along, catching on."

I watched Adi laugh in amusement as she wandered over towards the sofa, the sweet sound echoing around the open space.

"On it, Captain!"

The two of us worked quickly after that, whirling around the loft, and one another, in an attempt to get things sorted before our guest's imminent arrival.

It wasn't long before we both recognised the telltale sign of a car pulling up outside though, and upon hearing the engines rumble die out I immediately caught Adi's eye from across the room.

It was a silent challenge and with it there was a frenzied rush to see who could get to the nearest window first. Adi had promptly tossed her notes towards my desk and taken to skidding across the hardwood floors, whilst I had all but thrown myself over the back of the settee.

Adi made it there first, even in her heavy docs, and claimed the windowsill with an unnecessary amount of arrogance. She grinned primly at me as I reluctantly slowed my approach, leaving me to lean in close so that we could both try and get a good look in.

But from this angle, there was practically no use. I craned my neck as far as my torso would willingly allow me and could only just make out the tail-end of a sleek car parked up on the curb. I assumed that meant Healy had arrived.

"Can you see anything?" Came Adi's impatient voice, a hushed whisper even though we were three flights up.

"No." I grunted back, "Your fat head's in the way."

Ads scoffed at me and I didn't have to look at her to know that she was now glaring up at me. I grinned.

"My head is perfectly sized, thank you! But seeing as we’re on the topic of abnormalities, you're practically half giraf-”

Adi immediately cut her snide comment short when a loud voice suddenly trumped the usual roaring noise that went hand in hand with the large city that was London.

"Right my!" We heard.

The voice was sharp and irritated, fuelled by an obvious anger, and soon trailed off into a muffled grit.

Adi's head snapped back to the window at the very sound of it, whilst I couldn't help but question just how exactly she’d managed to contort her body in the way she had, long legs tucked up beside her as she pressed her torso against the glass to listen closer.

The voice rang out again, sharper this time, and my eyes shot down to meet Adi’s own.

In return, she gifted me a catty side eye- obviously enraptured by the sudden drama that had seemingly been handed to us- and I could do nothing but shrug at her in response, somewhat baffled.

I pulled away slowly when the voices didn't seem ready to rise again, and silently wished that I could've been a fly on the wall during a conversation like that.

Clasping Adi's wrist, I gently tugged her away. "Come on, you best get down there before things go sideways and we end up on the backend of it all."

"Me?!" Adi crowed back, her eyes wide in alarm as she let me drag her back from the windowsill. "Why not you?"

My face scrunched up at the very thought.

"Ah go on, Ads. Please! You're so good with shit like this, can charm your way out of practically anything."

She narrowed her eyes in response. "I know what you're doing."

I pursed my lips together in an attempt to keep up the innocent act, already feeling a grin cropping up. “Is it working? ‘Cause we both know you’re the sweetest talker around, Wells. Could talk your way out of police custody, you like.”

Adi clucked her tongue but moved to cross the loft. “Yeah, yeah. But we both know you’re just being a coward! What, you really aren't ready to face him yet?”

I was swift to spin around on my heel to hide the truth my expression conveyed, and ignored the question altogether as I headed back towards the booth. I also pretended not to hear the cow’s delighted cackles as she began to descend the staircase.

"Just make sure the camera's are rolling before I get back! And wish me luck!"

"Luck!" I called out loudly over my shoulder before unplugging the fan and then storing it away. She was definitely going to need it.

I busied myself with the last of my tasks afterwards, an odd feeling of anxiety welling in my chest as I went through the usual motions.

It was strange for me to linger too long on thoughts of nervousness, because I usually had too much going on in other aspects of my life. Making things a little too difficult to concentrate on the many things that could possibly go wrong.

This time around though, we weren’t dealing with the usual up and coming artist, new to the industry and overwhelmingly pleased to be invited on. No, this time we’d practically been fed to the sharks.

Because, of all the possible people, we’d just had to have landed Matty Healy.

I started to question it all again. How exactly I'd gotten myself wrapped up in a mess this big in the first place and only hoped that Adi fared alright with dealing with Healy on her own for a while.

Maybe it had been cowardly of me to send her in first but I really didn’t think I could face him just yet, seeing as it had been me that had set off the pyramid of fireworks that had seemingly burned a hole in his life.

A dull vibration pulsed in my back pocket, breaking me from my train of thought, and I found that I was very much thankful for the sudden distraction it offered.

Messages now Finnleyyy Just got back to the gallery, Teds was fine when I dropped him off! If the show goes on any later feel free to message me and I'll pick him up x

I smiled down at the message.

At least that was one less thing I had to worry about, Teddy was safe and well, already settled in at the local nursery and in all honesty, I truly didn't know where I'd be without Finn, especially on days like these.

I was quick to fire back a text full of appreciation before I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

It was just as I had finished clearing up the rest of the studio that I heard a sudden rush of voices trail up the stairwell, and stilled at the very sound.

It was Adi’s voice which carried the furthest and so I ran my teeth along my bottom lip before ultimately deciding that running and hiding was my best bet. So I shot across the loft floor and into the recording booth to stow myself away.

Adi didn’t give me the chance to worry excessively over every little detail that could go wrong as the group of visitors grew marginally closer. So to keep myself busy for a minute or two, or to rather calm my erratic heart, I chose to fiddle with the last of the cameras that had been set up.

I felt, more than heard, the moment they passed the top of the stairwell as the wooden floorboards of the studio tended to creak beneath added weight.

It was pretty much impossible to hear what was being said on the other side of the recording booth though, due to its soundproof walls, but that tiny fact didn’t stop me from practically sealing myself against the door in an attempt to decipher the perfect moment for me to intervene on the situation outside.

For days I’d been practically driving myself stir crazy over all of this, I knew that I just needed to get it over and done with, save myself the stress before I brought another headache on. Because I could do this, he was just some guy. Famous or not.

So with a final albeit shaky breath, I braced myself and opened up the door.

Thankfully, I was almost instantly met by the comforting sound of Adi's voice.

“Ah, there she is! Was wondering when you’d show your mug. Fancy a cuppa, babe? Fixing up a few.”

“Please.” I breathed out a sigh and dragged a hand through my hair as I wandered towards the kitchenette, catching sight of the two bodies currently commandeering our tiny seating area.

I focused on the man sitting closest and the first thing I noticed about him was the sleek haircut he’d styled, it was clipped closely at the sides but left long on top to keep the thinning hairs going in one direction. He was different from what I’d expected, but not just because he was older, he also wore this brilliant smile when he moved to peer up at me, sincere enough that I felt my doubts ebb as I smiled back, taking in the rest of him and his fine fitting clothes which seemed to suit him well.

I dipped my head in a silent hello before my gaze flickered over towards our remaining guest.

It shouldn’t have felt as shocking as it did to finally set eyes on Matty Healy in person, not after all of the thorough planning I’d put into his very visit. But it was strangely surprising to bare witness to the way his lithe body was currently perched on the edge of our shabby armchair, the very same Adi, Finn and I had dragged back from the secondhand shop further up the main road. It felt wrong almost, having someone so obviously used to a certain luxury sat in the tatty thing.

I pulled my mind away from that last thought and focused on how I couldn't quite seem to tear my eyes away from the way Healy’s frame folded in on itself slightly, legs jutted out wide, elbows pressed against knees, and his chin cocked high. The guy’s overall stance was oddly domineering for someone so wraithlike, with hollowed cheeks and an aristocratic smile. It made him that much harder to read.

Healy’s own eyes were also hidden, so I couldn't make out the line of his gaze. Disguised behind a dark pair of glasses that I could only supposed cost more than what I’d make in two, maybe three months.

The question of what Healy might've first thought upon seeing me and the way I’d drowned myself in the oversized band tee I’d chosen that morning crossed my mind. But I was simply just thankful for the fact that I’d forgotten my knitted cardi somewhere behind me in the recording booth. Silently wishing that I had the balls, as well as the body, to pull off the outfits Adi liked to wear.

"Hiya." I finally greeted them, forcing myself to smile as I extended a polite hand outwards. "It's great to meet you both."

Even with the dark shades on, I easily spotted the way Healy's brows lifted in reply before he- rather reluctantly- clasped his own hand in mine.

I swallowed back the strained smile I wanted to give him in return and focused instead on the shake. Healy’s hands were apt, fingers long and slender, skin much softer than it should’ve been for any musician, and his knuckles prominent but wrist almost dainty. He was a juxtaposition if I’d ever seen one.

He was the first to pull away.

“Likewise.”

My jaw ticked at Healy’s sarky tone but I didn’t let it deter me. Staying professional, I turned to offer the same sentiment to his accomplice.

“I’m Mouse, by the way. It’s lovely to have you both. Hope you got here okay.”

The other man was much merrier than Healy, practically a total contrast actually, and he showed it in the joyful way he shook my hand, still smiling away.

“You know London traffic.” He replied around a low chuckle and let our hands fall, “Lovely to be here though. I’m Matty’s manager, Jamie.”

I smiled as I nodded in remembrance.

“Got to say, I really love what you two have done with this place. Skylight’s incredible.” Jamie added and I grinned before settling into the adjacent sofa, leaving plenty of space for Adi to take.

“You saw that? But yeah, I honestly think it’s the only reason we were so sold on this particular building- ‘cause the stairs are killer.”

“I can see why! I’m dying to have something like that back at mine, but the conservatory will have to do for now.” Jamie enthused and stood up when Adi strode on over.

Skillfully, the man helped guide the wooden tray Ads had been carrying towards the coffee table and smiled when she thanked him for his efforts, the image of a perfect gentleman.

“Thanks, Ads.” I breathed out in appreciation when the girl handed me my usual milky brew, then took a quick sip.

Someone snorted as I did and my eyes instantly flew over to discover that the sound had been made by Healy, because of course.

He seemed all too amused by something and, from the way his body was still angled towards me, I could only assume that it was down to something I'd done.

I blinked in confusion before I moved to raise my mug high above my head, reading the large, industrialised font that covered the bottom of the cup. Cunt.

The studio was probably the furthest thing from a professional setting, we’d always wanted the entire space to feel comfortable, safe even. But this was supposed to be our big break and so we had been trying to convey it as though it was. But here Adi was dishing out the gag gifts Finn had bestowed upon the loft last Christmas like it was a regular Tuesday.

Still, with a shake of my head, I couldn’t quite bring myself to dim my grudging grin as I shot a narrow eyed glare Adi’s way.

"Ta for that." I voiced with a light chortle and tipped the mug at her in false cheers, before my eyes then flittered over towards Jamie, who had since stifled his own amusement in favour of taking a slow sip of his own brew. And ah, yeah, there was the matching mug.

Healy laughed to himself in the little corner he’d created and I caught the way he subtly surveyed his own cup, out of the corner of my eye, just in case Adi had got him too.

Somehow he’d managed to avoid that particular jest and I knew that the only thing Healy really had to worry about now was if there was a secret dirty message waiting for him once he’d finally polished off his drink.

"What can I say? The mugs, they do not lie." Adi jeered, a mischievous glint in her eye before she turned her head back towards the two visitors. "See you've met our wonderful Mouse then! Ain't she a looker?"

I grimaced away from the hand that reached out to grab at my chin and silently questioned what I'd done to suddenly be on the deserving end of all her taunts.

Jamie laughed at the pair of us, but even with it, I didn't miss Healy's quiet hum or the way he was now seemingly more interested in the contents of his cup than the current conversation.

"Quite. We were actually just talking about you on the way up here, mate." Jamie divulged and I dragged my attention back towards the man, eyebrows lifting.

"Only good things, I hope." I replied, somewhat uncomfortably, but smiling lightly at Jamie before I managed to catch Adi's eye.

Ads simply waved me off. "Of course! They were interested in the show- how it started and what not." She told me and I nodded, mostly to myself as I relaxed further into the settee.

"Oh, well yeah, we've been around a while now."

"Adi mentioned that you were just a kid when you started out, sounds mad putting it like that." Jamie pondered, appearing quite intrigued by the topic. "How did this all come about then?"

Usually, I liked to skirt around this particular subject, wanting to dive straight into the work and forgo most of the small talk, but I caught the way Jamie’s eyes darted around our quaint little studio. He wasn’t just asking for the sake of it.

"If I'm being truly honest, a lot of stuff happened all at once." I revealed with a soft chuckle, but it lacked any of the mirth I was aiming for as I thought back to my second year of university, the year everything had quite literally turned on its head.

"I was in between jobs and my best mate suggested that I take the Twitter account I already had and turn it into something with a bigger presence. At the time, I had nothing left to lose so I just went for it."

At least, that was the shortened version of it. I’d skipped the mental breakdown, the almost losing my flat, and the birth of my child for the sake of not looking like a total psycho.

Jamie looked impressed or, at the very least, understanding as he nodded along to my words.

"Can't say I regret it now though." I had to tack on and smiled before attempting to trail my way onto a more formal topic. "I got your list by the way- what not to ask and all that. Think one of your lot emailed it to me earlier in the week. But I just wanted to let you both know-”

I let my eyes flit over towards Healy for a brief moment before they settled back on Jamie.

"That you don't have to worry about any of that whilst you're here. We want things to be relaxed, comfortable. I know your team was adamant on everything being a bit more structured, following the lines of an actual interview, but we don't do much of that around here. So I hope you're happy with just having a simple sit down."

"Like this?" Came a reply and I had to pause for a second before realising where the question had come from. Or who, rather.

I settled my mug down on my thigh, loosely supporting it with my hand, and looked over in the direction of Healy.

"A bit, yeah." I confirmed with an incline of my head, "That alright with you?"

The singer was silent for a long second and I couldn't help but take the opportune moment he gave to simply admire the way his fingers had wrapped themselves around his mug, mindlessly tapping away to a hollow tune.

Just when it appeared as though the silence had stretched on a beat too long, and Jamie had begun to shuffle forward ever so slightly in his seat, did Healy finally reply.

"If it's just you, then yes."

I tried not to let the reaction of how I really felt flash across my face then as I stared back at the man opposite.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the way Adi's lips had pursed unhappily in retort and how Jamie’s expression had hardened into a somewhat steely glare, desperate for Matty to spare a glance his way. Probably to scold him for being so painfully rude. But Healy, to my utter disbelief, kept his head firmly fixed towards me, even as he pushed the dark sunglasses he wore up into his curly hair.

It almost felt like we were in a stare off with the way I watched him for any tell that would surely give him away, slowly considering the proposition and not caring to cover up the way I could now stare into the other man’s dark brown eyes unabashedly.

From where I was sat, I could only just make out the darkened circles that rested beneath Healy’s pupils, as well as the red line that rimmed them. Their colour was far from unusual, brown, but his were not something you saw very often, they drew you in, kept you trapped. They harboured a multitude of other colours that blended ruthlessly into an array of raw umber.

As magnetising as they may have felt though, I found that I was mostly grateful to see that Healy’s pupils were of a normal size. The only thing I wanted to question were the walls that were so obviously barricaded behind them, giving me absolutely nothing in return.

"Just me?"

Healy simply stared back.

I couldn’t look Adi’s way when I finally answered the request, simply hoping that she would somehow understand. This felt too much like a test to say anything other than, “Alright. If that’s what you’d prefer.”

I moved to push my mug onto the corner of the coffee table, allowing myself a seconds release from his stare.

“But Adi often controls what goes on behind the scenes when we record, so it’ll be harder without her there, especially with all the cameras.” I explained carefully.

"Look, just hang on a second-" Jamie tried, obviously wanting to defuse the situation, but was ultimately cut off by Healy. It honestly felt as though the man believed neither Jamie nor Adi were a part of the conversation any longer.

"Can you do it?"

His tone was almost challenging, the four words fell from his wicked tongue like a dare.

"Not the type to back down." Was all I could think to retort, my hardened gaze once again zeroed in on Healy's own.

***

The recording booth was smaller than he’d expected. A table sat in the very centre, surrounded by a swarm of cameras and microphones, all of which seemed to be connected to a variety of wires Matty could hardly even bring himself to be cautious of as he stepped past.

The table hosted an array of tech though, from computers and mixing boards to monitors and speakers. None of which Matty was the least bit interested in either.

Three of the four walls were lined with acoustic foam panels, one’s you’d typically find in booths, while the last had been turned into a mural of sorts.

The mural was dark and edgy, a string of trees sprouted up from the ground and swept across the expanse of it, its branches winding upwards only to entangle in one another. A common field mouse sat crouched in between the trunks of the trees, its big eyes shining as it met Matty’s stare head-on. The walls centre held the name of the radio show and at first glance it looked as though it had been printed on one of those acrylic neon signs, but it was actually just extremely detailed.

Matty had to blink once or twice before he was finally able to look away.

"Who's work?" He found himself asking, filling the silence that had settled upon the closing of the booth's door. He jutted his chin out towards the far wall, sparing the art one last glance before he gave the girl his full focus.

Her eyes flitted up to meet his own before they sailed across to the mural.

"A friend." Was all she replied, but her voice had softened a touch now that it was just the two of them, Matty noted.

She offered nothing more than that and so Matty took it for what it was, nodding his quiet assent.

"Do you have anything in particular you'd like to talk about whilst you're here?" Mouse asked him as she clicked away at the computer, he felt strange using the name, even if it was just in his own head. "We've got a good hour or so before Adi comes snooping."

"I've got a million things I'd like to say," Matty let slip as he trailed on closer to the table, then forced a sardonic smile. "But I'm not particularly in the mood for a good tongue lashing today."

She looked slightly startled by his dry joke and Matty found himself having to hold back a smirk as he rounded the desk, fingertips gliding across the table's smooth surface.

"What about you, then?" He posed, not wanting to stunt their talk just as it had begun. Somewhat intrigued now. "Got anything you'd like to get off your chest for millions of people to hear?"

It was sarky, but when was he not? Though if he was being honest, Matty just found that he wanted to hear the girl talk, because for some reason he enjoyed listening to her. Her gentle accent had obviously been weakened during the time she'd spent in London but Matty enjoyed its easy lilt. It was almost soothing. He wondered where she was from, but didn't ask.

Mouse snorted, shaking her head. "Wouldn't quite say millions, a couple thousand at best."

Matty felt his eyebrows raise as he spared another glance over at her, thinking back to those eyes that had held his so solemnly. "What, even with me here?"

He was teasing, but her eyes widened briefly as though she feared she had offended him, but as mentioned, it was only a brief flicker before a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see how loyal your fans truly are, Healy."

"Guess so." Matty mocked.

***

The show had gotten off to a rocky start. I had been all too aware of the surrounding cameras and the way the menacing rockstar, sat centimetres away from me, liked to keep his stare fixed firmly on me at all times, following my each and every movement.

I couldn't quite help the way I shifted uncomfortably every time I looked up and caught Healy's eye either, or the way I’d chosen to angle my face away from the cameras to avoid looking directly into any lenses.

I was dead crap when it came down to things like this. It all became too much, the pressure to entertain, to pretend that I was fine, that I was comfortable in my own skin, to chat away like there weren't already a thousand eyes studying my every flaw.

Look, give me a microphone and any sodding topic that either pissed me off or positively enthralled me and I'd be happy to rant the ears off of any nutter willing to listen. But in scenarios such as these, I always felt slightly on edge. Teetering on the verge of falling right on over it.

‘Cause I knew what people saw when they looked at me. I was all too familiar with the pitying glance I often got spared, as well as the grimaces people couldn’t seem to hide when they walked by.

I’d had to deal with it for years. Ever since I was a kid.

And upon hearing that, anyone would probably figure that I might’ve gotten used to all the gawking by now, especially with a toddler constantly keeping me on my toes. But ultimately my son’s presence often appeared to exaggerate the mixed reactions I received.

In truth, I’d never really been given the time to come to terms with the scars that marred my body, my face. The white lines that spoiled the features underneath.

So claiming it to be a rocky start, would only put a dent about the size of a pea into the way I was currently feeling!

Healy was rather unhelpful too, just as I’d predicted. He seemed to almost get off on watching me writhe under his leer and his answers to the questions or topics brought up were half-hearted at best.

Really, I was beginning to doubt the way in which I’d figured this entire mess would end.

It was only supposed to be a quick and easy chat, the two of us sat there gossiping like old mates, proving to the rest of the world that there really was no animosity or underlying conspiracies to this whole setup. When in actuality, that really wasn't the case.

Time and time again I found myself questioning why exactly Healy had even bothered to come, why he had even agreed to the whole ordeal in the first place. Especially when he was so apathetic with his replies.

"So," I trailed off, somewhat desperate to save what was left of the segment- for my sake at the very least. I didn't even want to think of what sort of issues this would cause for the show. "Music! I mean, from an outsider's point of view, we never really got the whole backstory on how you and the rest of the band really met. I mean, you’ve said you started it in secondary school, but you yourself were kind of pushed into the limelight at a really young age, so how did you and the guys connect?”

Healy tensed at that particular question, his shoulders forming a more rigid line as his gaze flickered away from me for only the briefest of seconds before it returned, but it was enough to alert me to the fact that I was treading into murky waters. I tried to backtrack.

"But in all honesty, what I really want to know about are all the sordid details, life after all that crap, the answers to the things people never think to ask. Like, I've seen pictures of your clearly extensive guitar collection all over your Instagram feed, you must have a favourite!"

Matty's lips curled into something which almost resembled a smile then and it honest to God threw me through a loop. A metaphorical loop, of course, I wasn't quite sure if we could fit any sort of loop-like shape into a space this small.

But I was letting myself get sidetracked and couldn't help but question whether that was the sort of thing Healy typically thrived off of. He’d smiled, and nothing wicked or sarky had tinged it, it’d been a genuine smile. And I had to blink just to make sure my eyes hadn't been playing tricks on me as Healy edged forward in his seat, a coy grin now dancing at the corners of his muted pink lips.

"A favourite? Now that's the question to ask! Honestly? It'll have to be the '63 Jazzmaster I've got. It’s wicked, used by the Ramones on their debut album and then by David Byrne on early Syre demos. So it’s seen quite a bit."

After that, I just sat there. Stunned as Healy continued to rant about this poxy guitar he was so obviously smitten with and couldn't help but be utterly captivated by each and every word that slipped from his mouth.

Apparently all I had ever needed to get past the games and ginormous walls Healy had defensively built around himself was to simply be myself. Ask the questions that maybe only I wanted to know the answers to.

See, I wasn't the biggest people person but I figured myself to be somewhat of a skilful conversationalist. What with my past, I’d kind of had to force myself to be. But I was glad to have finally been given an in with Healy, no matter how small. It helped the interview pass by a lot easier.

Although the new spirit Healy adopted after that only seemed to last until nearing the very end of the show.

In truth, I had all but forgotten about the cameras and microphones set up, the fact that people were still listening in, were watching us converse, whilst I simply lost myself in listening to Healy prattle away. Positively enraptured by the way the musician's mind worked as he explained the complexity of a certain riff he adored, or the time he'd pretended to get off in Madison Square Garden- much to the dismay of his PR Team.

"They went absolutely mental when I first proposed it. I'm telling you! Yapping about time and effort, and it being too much for the younger viewers, then the plans that would have to be put into place- all that merry shite. And I’d just been sitting there in these, these skimpy leather trousers, quietly debating over when, or if I'd ever, get the feeling back in my legs. And don't even get me started on my knob. I mean, it must've shrivelled up and die- hang on, I can say knob, right? On air?"

Looking at him in that moment, forgetting everything I already knew, it was like I was seeing this whole other person. Someone who wasn't so confrontational, so quick to defend, or easy to recoil.

It was clear, to me at least, that Healy wasn't the image the media painted of him, he was simply human. A troubled man who truly loved music, in every sort of variety, and wanted to vocalise and share that love with everyone else. He was eccentric for sure, but sincere.

I could see that, even if it only felt like I'd only been given the tiniest bit of insight into the person Healy so obviously tried to keep concealed.

It wasn't long later when I startled somewhat upon seeing the flashing red light of one of our cameras go off to my left and immediately, I jolted upright in my seat.

"God- crap!" I blurted out stupidly as I grabbed at the headset that had threatened to fall off my head in my sudden haste. "Hold on. Sorry, got really sidetracked there- one of the camera's is telling me it's on its last legs, so we'd best start wrapping this up."

Healy deflated ever so visibly, shrinking back in his seat as he huffed a soundless chuckle.

"Can't seem to stop me once I get going." Healy widened his eyes to emphasise his point and I observed how he had hastily retreated back into himself to haul his guard up again.

I was quick to shake my head. "No, truthfully I can't remember the last time I just got to sit here and listen. It was nice not having to do all the work for once."

Matty licked at his top lip upon hearing that and rewarded me with another mirthful smirk. I realised I'd properly put my foot in it there, stressing over why I’d even worded it like that.

Whilst he chuckled to himself at the picture I must’ve made, I decided my best bet was to hurry on and end the show, reciting what needed to be said before I finally signed off, clicking a button.

It was just as the 'ON AIR' sign above the door went off that Adi barged straight through the entrance, gracing us with her wonderful presence. Jamie was just behind her, peeking his head around the doorframe.

"Well I think I can say that that went as well as it could’ve!" He announced, coming to a standstill by Matty as he clapped his client heartily on the back. "Well done, Matt. You as well, Mouse."

"Appreciate it." I smiled up at him before tugging off my headphones and pushing away the mic.

With all four of us now crowded into the makeshift room, the booth suddenly felt a lot smaller than it usually did, and so I tried my best to disguise the way my body immediately reacted to the realisation.

"I'm in dire need of a fag though. Will you be alright tidying up in here, Ads?" I announced as I pulled myself up onto my feet, already beginning to shuffle towards the exit. I picked up the cardigan I'd left on the back of one of the chairs as I went, using it as a shield almost.

"Yeah, of course. Glasses here wanted to discuss one more thing before they made a move anyway."

I shot an arched brow at the man in question but Jamie waved my curiosity off. "Nothing too detailed. Just some forms that need signing."

I didn't much like the part of the arrangement that came after recording, but with an understanding ‘Ah’, I forced myself to ask, "Erm, don't suppose you need me to stick around for any of that do you?"

"Nah," Jamie laughed lightly, "Go on, you're all good."

I smiled, silently praising the stars above as I nodded once and resumed my exit, tugging the cardi on as I hastily made my way over to the fire escape.

Praying that our luck hadn’t run out just yet, I hoped that no one else was up on the roof waiting for me when I pulled my feet up the rickety metal staircase. It was just about the last thing I needed at that moment.

I already had my lighter in hand by the time I'd made it over to our little makeshift patio we’d created, which consisted of a few wooden pallets and a couple of large cushions that overlooked the neighbouring buildings.

It wasn't much, Islington. It was inner London sure, and had its fair few classier joints to show off, but I much preferred what else it had to offer. Like how the hustle and bustle of the city quietened just as you lost yourself down the backroads. And all the parks that had been scattered in and around the main developments and the dozens and dozens of buildings that were constantly cropping up. How there was a pub on almost every street corner and a Sainsbury's never too far away. I even enjoyed the gentle rattle of the overground, it was all too familiar now. Felt more like home than the Isles ever had.

Looking out across the surrounding rooftops, I wondered again just why my mum had yet to leave our tiny town as I lit a cigarette and lifted the filter to my lips.

The first chance my father ever got he’d gone running for the hills and then me, myself, had upped and left the confines of our small cottage as soon as the offer had presented itself.

It wasn't that the harbour town I'd grown up in had nothing to offer. It had a sense of community, a beautiful shoreline (even in the colder months), and of course, the local rugby team.

But speaking in a manner of careers, well, unless you were breaking out on your own and had the cash to open up a shop on the high-street, then you were probably destined to either work in the local greengrocers, serve behind the village bar, or get a shift down by the docks.

You were lucky if you had a bit more meat on your bones though, because then you also had the added opportunity of getting an offer to start laying bricks for one of the few building companies. Most of which were family based.

We had the main school too which housed both primary and secondary kids, and the local college was available if you wanted to further your education. But the closest University campus was a good hundred miles away.

I had applied, but only to lessen the guilt I'd felt towards my mother when I'd started looking for courses available in just about any place apart from home whilst filling out uni apps.

I could still recall the day I’d finally told her I'd be leaving for London. Felt like a lifetime ago now really.

I'd definitely have to call her up again soon, to make sure that she was doing okay, even if it meant that I'd be forced to listen to her rattle on about coming home for Christmas. Again.

I sighed contently to myself and it was just as I flicked away a stump of ash that I heard someone approach.

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teh-nos · 3 months ago

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re: ao3 warnings poll

as seen here, it is clear that many ao3 users do not understand how to use ao3. i am going to help!

here is a screenshot from the AO3 posting page:

Up top we have the rating. You will see it defaults to Not Rated, which means if you just forget to pick a rating it won't mark your fic as General Audiences when it's full of filth and gore. If a fic has an obviously wrong rating you can report it to AO3. They will change it to Not Rated and inform the author of this. If it is already Not Rated then you can't complain as the author has not put the wrong or indeed any rating on it.

Below that are the Archive Warnings. These are a big deal! These are the only content warnings AO3's abuse team gives a fuck about, by which I mean only these are enforced - that fic you read that didn't tag Major Character Death broke the rules and you can complain about that! UNLESS! See that option up top? Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings? This means the author opted out and correctly tagged the fic to let you know that, so you can't complain to AO3 about this. If you are avoiding any of the archive warnings you should treat CNTW as fics that may include the thing you don't want to read. The reasons for using CNTW vary but if you are trying not to 'spoiler the fic' by giving away the shocking last line death of Blorbo Blorbington then this is what you'd use.

An author has to use (or explicitly opt out of) the Archive Warnings. They are not optional. However, since there is a degree of subjectivity involved AO3 will tend to assume good faith on the part of the author - maybe they really didn't think that Character was a Major one, or they weren't sure if a temporary death would count.

I shall now use some Examples, for which I took screenshots of my own fics so that I am the only person being shamed :)

(Click to embiggen) In this one No Archive Warnings Apply. But look at the last few lines: there are Additional Tags! I can put anything I want in these and it's where I would put a warning I wanted to give that isn't one of the Big 4 (the Archive Warnings). It is also where I would not put them if I didn't want to, or didn't realise I had hit a thing people violently dislike, or if i just plain forgot! I cannot get into shit for missing out a 'warning' here! Well, not with AO3 anyway. It is entirely the author's choice what they include or exlude here. It is usual to tag for 'common triggers' but it is not required by the archive itself.

(In case anyone brings it up: no, this fic does not contain incest as it's an AU where Thor and Loki are not related, but even if it did that's not on the little list at the top of the post so it's my own choice whether or not to add it in the Additional Tags (see below). Though if you clicked on an E-rated fic with a Loki/Thor pairing tag then what were you expecting to find?! The outraged reader doth protest their AO3 browsing history too much, methinks!)

And here is some slightly more fucked up shit. As you can see with this one I Chose Not To Warn. The reason was that I wasn't 100% sure if it needed a non-con warning, and I so I used Additional Tags to clarify what is going on here: non-consensual touching and non-con somnophilia. I did not have to do this with the Additional Tags as the CNTW covers my arse if it does tip over into non-con for some readers, but I wanted to. Not being sure if I needed one or more of the Archive Warnings is one of my main reasons for using CNTW, along with spoiler avoidance.

You, as the reader, should here be paying most attention to Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings because you don't know why I picked that and there might be stuff in here that hits one (or more) of the Archive Warnings that I didn't mention in other tags. If you don't want to risk that, don't click on CNTW fics. Better safe than "oh my god what the fuck did I just read?" And if you do find yourself saying that and clicking to report me for what the fuck you just read, AO3 will ignore your complaint because as far as they're concerned I did correctly warn by making it clear that I wasn't going to.

#ao3 #i realise this is just fansplaining for many of you but the comments/reblogs on that poll made it clear it won't be for everyone.#i do not judge those who don't know! i am always happy to overexplain things to people! but it is useful information!#and may help AO3's support folk not have to deal with so many 'wrongly reported' content issues!#or it may help you to submit some correctly reported ones!

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badhabitnun · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, Green!!! I noticed in your bio you said you're a post-hiatus phannie and I'm curious, what got you to start watching them? Do you remember your first impressions?

(Sorry if this has been asked before! I hope you're having a wonderful day and also just wanted to add I lovedddd your phasquerade art, it's hilarious and adorable 💚)

-Ser :)

hi ser!! this is actually my first ask on this blog, so i was really excited to see something in my inbox 🥹 and thank you!! posting art is SCARY but everyone is being so nice… thank you so much for organizing the phasquerade!!!

i am incredibly sorry for the Length of what is to come now. my feelings aren’t easy to sum up + i doth yap

the main reason i started watching them is probably the dapg revival itself, since my friends started watching their new videos together in our server, and i got curious and asked to tag along. before then though i’d also heard of dnp from them, and as a long-time (12 years) tumblr user i have felt their influence without realizing they were the source? i now know where the whiskers and “protip” come from…

before starting to watch dnp myself i remember seeing my friends react to the phouse reveal (i remember i was like “huh wait at their age that might actually be gay”), basically i’m gay, why i quit youtube, and dan and phil tell the truth (i didn’t know what a girl in prague was and i WAS afraid to ask). those made me curious! but not curious enough to sit through the videos themselves. i felt really bad for dan from all that though! he really sounded like he suffered more than jesus from the contents of both BIG and WIQYT 😭 i remember feeling parasocially protective of him. this is all to say my impressions weren’t COMPLETELY fresh when i started watching and especially for dan i already had one

now back to late 2023! i’d made some really massive changes in my life, like actual leap of faith, the course of my life has been altered kinda massive, so youtube become a comfort space for me. enter these two nerds! the first impression i had of both of them together kind of related to where i was in life at the moment: the realization that you can just live with a fellow nerd who loves you and you don’t have to follow the path the adult world expects from you. seeing them act silly and embrace everything they love and be so carefree and happy to be themselves, sharing a domestic life that doesn’t follow what heteronormative society demands… i know this is all obvious to so many people, but i really needed it at the time.

they became a reminder that i could have this life, that i have something to look forward to and my life isn’t over or doomed to be what society wants it yo be. their chemistry is something very pure and very real and especially now that they’re both open about their sexualities you can really feel how connected they are and how much fun they have together. it just makes me so happy to see two people adore each other so much after all these years!! god!!!

as i’ve said before i knew about dan from his yearly videos in the hiatus era, but i knew almost nothing about phil! the first thing that stood out to me was his accent, since i am very bad at recognizing accents BUT i watch plumbella so i was like whoa is he northern!! and that was kind of an instant comfort factor.

phil is an underrated comfort video genius like seriously... i was facing the horrors of being stuck at home for christmas with a thousand thoughts on my mind and his silly videos were like a nice patch of sunshine. i absolutely agree with dan on phil’s kind energy; he is like those nice people who come talk to you and actually try to make you laugh and feel more at ease if they notice you’re feeling shy. he kept me a LOT of company and i genuinely owe him for that. i can also tell he’s incredibly smart and creative even though his videos now are more casual; he definitely does a lot behind the scenes and he’s an excellent storyteller. i’ve later come to learn that he has also repressed a lot of things for the sake of his audience and probably dan as well, he really has a good heart. also, he resonates a lot with the autistic experience, and regardless of the reason that does make me feel happy and seen

as for dan. well! once i actually started watching his videos firsthand, dan felt like looking at a mirror, which has Impacted Me psychologically. a lot. BUT let’s get the silly stuff out of the way first i immediately understood why my friend has a crush on him 😭😭😭 like i get it!!! i can never bully them for having a crush again because i fucking get it he’s hot he knows it he carries it well! fuck!

but more than that… he immediately made me reflect on myself. i can’t get into my impressions on dan from dapg without saying first that i have had a similar journey with depression and homophobia and repressing everything and he forced me to face that i still have a lot of work to do. i didn’t realize that just knowing i’m queer and acting on it doesn’t automatically mean that i accept myself being queer. that is something that only BIG and hearing dan talk about queerness and mental health made me realize. so right after the omg funny hot nun, i had to kind of reconsider my whole life for a bit… and i’m still in the process of doing that…

more than anything, i think what i’ve felt and keep feeling watching both his older and newer videos is “god i’m so glad he’s out” and “god i’m so glad he can make art”. i just feel so proud of him, so happy he can experience life as himself, so happy that he can laugh and joke about being gay so freely, so happy he can make the art he wants and feel accepted, and so happy that he can proudly smile at his audience now, after i first heard of him as someone who was isolated and scared. again, i projected on him a lot, and i knew about his struggles beforehand, so my impressions are mostly sentimental 😭

all in all they’ve helped me immensely and made my life so much better, both as themselves with their comment and through the community they created over the years. i’ve been a lurker for the past couple of months and what made me come forward and make my own blog is the way their kindness and acceptance extends to their audience and vice versa :)

hopefully that answers your questions and i hope this wasn’t too much oversharing!! i feel like my current place in life influences how i see them and relate to them, and they also influenced me a lot and that contributes to how i perceive them, and so on. putting all these thoughts into words in one place and realizing things about myself bit by bit was really interesting; hopefully the formatting won’t kill those who try to read it. i’m sorry. i wrote this in my notes app 🫡

#answered #dan and phil #phan #< has anyone seen phandometrics. where are they. still gonna help tho

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rjthirsty · 9 months ago

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A Future For My Love

Gilbert/Dahlia (OC) Roderic/Dahlia Gilbert/Roderic

Words: 9.5k (Yes, for serious)

Tags: Gilbert Route Spoilers, Threesome, The Dicks Doth Touch, Smut, Smut, Smut, Porn With Feelings

“I know you were here the other night, you know.” Gilbert's quill continued to scratch against the parchment. The words were written in an eloquent hand with staining black ink, just like the words Gilbert eloquently spoke, stained with the blackness of his heart.

Roderic froze, aware those words were for him. Gil always knew when he showed up, despite Roderic being one of the best spies that Gilbert had trained. His teeth worried his lower lip, chewing on it as his mind unintentionally replayed that night’s events. Gilbert and Dahlia’s moans, their bodies moving against each other– he tried to push them from his thoughts and drew in a calming breath.

“... It wasn’t my intention to intrude.” Roderic answered, moving through the large room made even larger with the high ceilings and oversized, ornamental windows lining the majority of it.

“What was your intention?” Gil continued his writing, not even glancing in Roderic’s direction as the other man approached his desk and kneeled.

“... I… apologize for lingering.” He was aware at the time that he shouldn’t have stayed. He knew there would be consequences for it. Gilbert was an incredibly jealous and possessive man when it came to Dahlia, issuing a statement that no one else was to lay a hand on her else they would be punished severely.

Gilbert’s hand stopped, and the Conqueror Beast turned his single red eye in Roderic’s direction, his friendly smile on his face. “Roderic~, that is not what I asked.”

Roderic glanced away, guiltily. Even though Gilbert had a playful tone to his voice, and even though he had a pleasant smile on his face, Roderic didn’t want to tread too close to this topic with how dangerous it could become. How would Gil handle hearing that his replacement had developed feelings for his wife? This was territory they had never navigated before. Territory Roderic would never venture into, not until the time came to do so– a time he hoped he’d never have to see.

Gil heaved a dramatic sigh. “It hurts me when you don’t answer, Roderic. Haven’t we known each other long enough?” His eye returned to his paper, and the gentle scratching of his quill resumed. “I’m not surprised the Little Rabbit has drawn you in as well. If you were anyone else, I can’t say you’d be standing here, right now. I think I might have killed you that very night. Not even Walter would escape unscathed.”

Roderic wanted to thank him, but knew that bringing attention to Gil’s kindness would prod the sleeping tiger and incite his wrath. Instead, Roderic knelt there silently, waiting for Gil to change the subject.

“I contemplated what to do about it, I really did put some thought into how to handle things from here.” Gilbert continued to talk, continued to work, continued the topic against Roderic’s silent wishing not to. “Dahlia would be distressed to learn you were spying on her engaged in that behavior. We’d have to inform her that she has been observed during other indecent times as well - that will not do. I can’t have her scampering away out of embarrassment. Not when she did so well to become comfortable while I was recovering.”

“She would be less inclined to be present in my company.” Roderic admitted. “Whether I was acting as you or not.”

“And yet I want the Little Rabbit to live a long and happy life no matter which of us is her husband. It’s vexing.” Gilbert let out a disgruntled sigh.

He truly meant what he said about Dahlia’s happiness, but he also knew his heart was tainted and those thoughts sometimes invaded his more logical reasoning, especially when it came to her. There were times he would fight internally with himself and his desire to keep Dahlia all to himself. To never let another lay eyes on her, or touch the things she would then touch. It wouldn’t make her happy, he would remind himself. What would it all be for if her shine was dulled by him?

He was aware, however, that his time was still limited. Although he was better, better may not be better forever, and while his health had improved after the surgery, he wasn’t “fixed.” He would never be whole. He might have a few years, he might have longer. And it was entirely possible that he could have less time than that. Roderic was capable of fulfilling his role in running the kingdom, he was sure of that, but was Roderic capable of fulfilling his role as Dahlia’s husband? Could he make her happy? Did he want Roderic to make her happy?

Allowing his displeasure to show without concern for Roderic’s presence, Gilbert knitted his brow and glared at the paper in front of him as if that were the reason for his current foul mood. Knowing fully that it was his own dark thoughts that scratched at the back of his mind, attempting to claw their way into his decisions for Dahlia and her future, and shred any chance of her having something beyond his cruel and twisted love.

“Have someone fetch the Empress,” Gilbert ordered coldly, his face smoothing out as he set his quill aside. “It seems some training will be required.”

“Understood.” Roderic bowed and left Gil’s room, hailing the first soldier he saw to call on Dahlia. When he returned, Gilbert had already dressed down to his dark buttoned shirt and slacks.

“Another set is laid out.” Gilbert indicated with a slight nod in the direction of the second set of clothes. “Change.”

Roderic followed the directions he was given, noticing that his clothing was the same as Gil’s current attire. Gilbert had said there was training to be had. His thoughts went to several months ago when Dahlia and he had practiced being closer to continue the charade of him posing as Gil. To keep up appearances for her safety. She had done well in schooling her actions and initial impulse to pull away from him, knowing he wasn’t Gilbert.

Those weeks had been difficult for her. They had barely known each other at that point, and yet she had to deceive everyone into thinking that she adored Gilbert’s stand-in as much as she adored Gilbert himself. Now, Dahlia and him were closer - friends even. At least that’s how she viewed him, Roderic was sure, but his feelings on the other hand had only grown from there.

Roderic pulled the eyepatch over his eye, covering the one feature that easily allowed anyone to tell Gilbert and him apart. He didn’t require a mirror to adjust his hair to mimic the same pattern Gil wore. The both of them were near thirty, and this had long ago become second nature - to dress, look, and live the same as Gilbert. He was Gilbert when Gil needed him to be. Roderic was merely a name given to him, just as Gilbert was a name given to him.

Gil sat on his large bed, his dark red eye moving to Roderic as he approached. With an appraising gaze, Gil looked over his copy, scrutinizing the details. “It’ll have to do,” he sighed, knowing full well that Dahlia could see the differences beyond their clothes and physical appearances. “You understand what is expected?”

Roderic nodded. Gil waited, silently watching for the last vestiges of Roderic to fall away from his other self. The changes were subtle, but Gil had known Roderic for a long time, and trained him for just as long on how to reenact his behavior and presence almost identically. It wasn’t hard for him to catch the shift in posture, or the growth in self-confidence as Roderic came together to be as much of him as he could manage.

“The Little Rabbit takes a little more coaxing than others to come around.” Roderic spoke with Gilbert’s voice. He was putting together Gil’s plan in his own mind, piece by piece. It helped to think like the man when he was imitating him.

“She’s the only one who can get me to go to these lengths, you know.” Gil answered with a smile.

“She needs to be handled gently when it comes to her heart. Other times she’s incredibly tenacious to an alarming degree.” Roderic could see the kindness in Gilbert’s plan, as cruel as it seemed to be from the outside. Gil wasn’t playing a prank by having his double appear, it was an attempt to make the ‘training’ easier on her.

The thought of her sitting on his lap and the way she felt in his arms flashed through his head and his heart fluttered. He hadn’t touched her since Gil recovered, and a part of him longed to feel her warmth again. He wanted to exist in the same world as she did, but she was also Gil’s wife. For him to be part of her life, Gilbert would have to… That wasn’t something Roderic wished for, even if it meant being able to finally be a person out of the shadows.

“Heehee.” Gilbert chuckled, noticing the realization in Roderic’s single red eye. “I don’t share my prey with anyone. She. Is. Mine. Even after death, she will be mine.”

Roderic forgot himself, letting the mask fall as he finally understood what it was Gilbert was planning. Gil already knew. He knew he had feelings for Dahlia. He knew why he had not left immediately when he discovered the two of them together. He knew , and he was facilitating a way to include Roderic in the relationship. It made sense in the long-term. When Gilbert passed, Roderic would take over, and by that time there was nowhere for Dahlia to go that would be free from Gil’s enemies. It was already too late, and it had only been six months.

Dahlia would be shackled to the throne in Obsidian. She would be without her love, and yet Roderic would be there, still posing as Gil, and the only person she could rely on. It would be easier on all of them if she found she could love him as well. And it was clear to him– to Gil and him both, that he already had feelings for her. He would protect her not only because Gilbert would have, but because he wanted to.

A knock sounded from the door, and a moment later Dahlia entered, announcing herself. Gil stood from his seat on the bed, his eye going to the door, and Roderic followed suit, pulling himself back together to be the Conquering Beast. It was clear from Dahlia’s face that she was wary at seeing the both of them together, but she quickly closed the door behind her. Pausing to take a breath, she turned towards them, her eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Heehee,” Roderic chuckled in the same manner that Gil did. “We’re not playing a game with you, Little Rabbit. Come closer. I won’t bite.”

“Ahaha. I can’t say the same. Did you miss me, Little Rabbit?” Gilbert held out his arms as if he was expecting a hug.

“Breakfast wasn’t more than two hours ago.” Dahlia answered as she went straight to Gilbert - the real Gilbert - wrapping her arms around him and leaning against his chest as he engulfed her in a hug.

He continued to hold her, pressed against her for heat as he started speaking. “You didn’t miss me at all? I’m heartbroken.”

Dahlia huffed a small laugh and looked up at him. “I didn’t say that.” Bringing a hand to his cheek to suffuse him with warmth, she brushed her thumb against it. “I missed you as much as I always do. More than words will ever be able to express.”

A gentle touch of her lips to his, and Dahlia’s eyes darted towards Roderic. Gilbert smiled and leaned in, nipping at her bottom lip, trying to catch the attention of his beloved.

“Gil.” Dahlia warned.

Gilbert's tongue flicked on her lip and soon another soft kiss was pressed to the corner of her mouth. “If you keep staring, I'll think you're interested in company.” Gil breathed his whispered response into her mouth before his teeth found her lip again, nipping harder.

Roderic was also staring. With Gilbert’s signature smile plastered on his face, his visible eye was locked on Dahlia and Gil. It wouldn’t do to turn away– it wouldn’t be Gilbert if he turned away. He knew it was making Dahlia uncomfortable, and he silently apologized in the back of his mind, but he also understood that there was a reason Gil had him take up his persona before she arrived. There was always a reason.

Dahlia pulled her gaze away from Roderic, and attempted to pull back from Gil, but he held her tighter, squeezing her closer. Her feet shuffled towards him, rather than away, and Gil met her with a bruising kiss that nearly claimed her sense of reason. She fell into it, enjoying the taste of him and the feel of his cold lips on hers, but as soon as Gil broke it Dahlia turned her face away.

“What has gotten into you?” She breathlessly gasped, her eyes wandering towards Roderic, hyper aware of his presence.

Gil didn't answer. Instead, he nuzzled into her neck and as his lips parted to bare teeth, so did hers. He sank his teeth into her flesh, Dahlia sucked in a sharp breath at the pain. But after the sting of his bite came the soft caress of his tongue soothing the ache, and Dahlia's gentle moan escaped her throat unbidden.

Slowly, Gil ghosted his lips over Dahlia’s neck, trailing towards her ear. His warm breath gusted in her ear, causing a shiver to tremble down her spine. Gil paused there, leaning his forehead against Dahlia’s temple. “Do you love me, Little Rabbit?” His voice came out in a murmur, sounding strangely strained to Dahlia.

She attempted to turn to look at him, but he kept his face hidden, pressed to the side of her head. Her brow knit and she glanced back to Roderic as if he’d have some sort of answer for her. Roderic, who looked so much like her lover at the moment, quirked a smile and tilted his head to the side with a small shrug. “Of course I love you, Gil. You have my entire heart.”

It almost sounded like he let out a relieved sigh with the way his breath gushed past her ear, only further causing her brow to knit.

“You’re worrying the Little Rabbit.” Roderic informed Gilbert in Gil’s own voice. Dahlia’s mouth cracked open, her chin dropping as she gave Roderic an incredulous look. He just tattled on her! How would that help anything at the moment?

Suddenly, Gilbert chuckled against her ear as if he could see her expression himself. At the same time, Roderic let out an amused chuckle, causing a strange dissonance as Dahlia could hear both of them at different volumes, and the both of them sounding strikingly similar.

Gil slid his hands up Dahlia’s sides to set them on her shoulders. He pulled away, and directed her to turn from him by pushing and guiding her with his hands, never letting her get too far from him, until she was standing with her back to his chest, and he could wrap her in his arms again. His lips were near her ear, once more, delicately brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. “I love you. So very much that I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

His fingers dug into her waist, squeezing her tighter to him. It felt like he was desperately clinging to her. She understood that Gil didn’t share his inner thoughts often, but at times like these when he was clearly fighting with something internally, she wished he was more open about it. There were times before that she had asked, but he never answered. He would distract her with an overabundance of affection, until she stopped prying.

Gil’s mouth moved to her shoulder, and she leaned against him, finding comfort in the familiar location he liked to take up when they were out and about in the castle. She still hadn’t figured out why she was called, or what Roderic was doing posing as Gil in his casual clothing - those thoughts continued to circle her mind, though they were growing quieter the longer she went without an answer from him. With the way Gilbert was acting, she was less concerned about those reasons, and more about him and his wellbeing.

“We’ve realized there is some training that needs to take place.” Roderic spoke. Dahlia still wasn’t used to him sounding so much like Gilbert, even though for several weeks he posed as Gil while he recovered, it was rarely when he was in the same room as Gilbert himself. Every time that happened, in those rare instances, it felt disorientating to have Gil typically next to her and yet an identical man several feet away from her. Today was no different.

“What sort of training?” Dahlia inquired without directing the question at anyone in particular. It didn’t matter who answered. It would be Gilbert’s voice in either case. It would be Gilbert’s wishes. She knew how he functioned by now, she had learned a lot in the several months she had lived in Obsidian, and a lot about the man who ran the country.

The question hung pregnant in the air. No one answered. The room was quiet enough that Dahlia could hear Gil breathing near her ear. She could hear her own heartbeat thumping uneasily in her chest. The silence made her heart stutter and squeeze, pumping faster. More questions that Gil didn’t want to answer.

Clearly this involved her.

Clearly this was something that even Gilbert was reluctant to address with her.

Dahlia let out a soft sigh. “Tell me, please?” She overlaid her hands on top of Gilbert’s that were wrapped around her waist, attempting to comfort him.

“Your future happiness.” The voice by her ear spoke so candidly, it almost seemed like a joke. But it wasn’t a joke.

Dahlia’s heart lurched, her fingers curled between Gilbert’s to hold onto him tightly. He was making arrangements for when he was no longer part of her life. She understood now. He didn’t want to address it because he was worried she would crumple under the weight of imagining a life without him. But she had spent every day knowing that time was always an unknown looming over their future, and even though it terrified her to think about it, she had accepted the possibility when she fell in love with Gil.

She took a long, slow breath, trying to calm herself down. She stood a little taller, pulling her shoulders back with determination to show she was strong enough to not hide from the threat that was always present in their lives.

“Okay.” Dahlia nodded once to herself. “I’m ready.”

She could manage anything if Gilbert believed she could. The fact that they were talking about it, that he had planned some sort of training proved to her that he believed she was ready to conquer this. Her eyes trailed to Roderic. She pressed her lips together slightly, finally understanding why he was acting like Gil. “I have a request, first.”

“Oh?” Roderic answered with a tilt to his head.

Gilbert’s mouth on her shoulder twitched into a smirk.

“You will not be so obtuse in the future. I’m not a wilting flower. I am a part of this relationship, and I have accepted all the responsibilities and conditions that come with it.”

“My Little Rabbit bites back rather hard.” Gilbert amusedly noted behind her.

“Heehee, she does. She’s baring her teeth at you, I hope you know.” Roderic’s visible red eye shifted from her to Gilbert.

“Oh, I am aware.” Gil lifted his head from Dahlia’s shoulder. “She has the makings of being an extraordinary Empress, daring to make demands of the Supreme Emperor.”

“It was a request,” Dahlia quickly corrected, eliciting a laugh from Gil. The oppressive mood dissipated with their banter, allowing Dahlia to breathe a little easier.

Dahlia gave Gil’s hands a single squeeze, and she set her gaze on Roderic since she couldn’t see Gilbert behind her. “What am I meant to do here?”

Roderic’s eye shifted to Gilbert again. It seemed he didn’t know what was about to take place. Or perhaps he had an idea, but was waiting for the word from Gil.

“Your presence and participation is required for today’s training. Roderic will be the one tested. Just try to enjoy yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Dahlia twisted, this time she was granted enough room to lean away to be able to see Gil’s face. His red eye slid down to look back at her, but he made no move to let her get a better look at him. Instead, he turned his head in Roderic’s direction, addressing his mirrored image.

“Roderic, have you ever kissed a woman?”

“Nope.” The answer sounded just like Gilbert, including the casual way he responded.

“Do you think you’d be able to satisfy her physically?”

“I can’t say I would.”

Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat, refusing to fill her lungs. Her face fell with realization and she stared wide-eyed first at Gil, then at Roderic.

“I wouldn’t be much of a husband if I left my Little Rabbit in the hands of someone lacking in experience.”

“You’re suggesting I become experienced.” Roderic stated the conclusion. “There are other ways to manage this without the need to include Dahlia.”

“You will be me in the future. It would be more appropriate to learn from me, and we don’t want others catching on.”

Dahlia gasped, air rushing into her. “Gilbert, you want… me to– but you threaten to kill anyone who so much as touches me. Even looking at me when we’re kissing…”

“Exceptions have been made before, Little Rabbit.” Roderic answered.

Dahlia blinked, her mind taking a moment before she considered how Roderic was permitted to embrace her when Gil was recovering from surgery. There were no consequences for that, but that was to keep up appearances. She couldn’t imagine anyone would care if they were sexually active or not, or even being allowed to know that information.

She hadn’t even considered what her relationship would be like with Roderic if Gilbert passed. She didn’t want to think about things of that sort, but clearly Gil had put some thought into it and it seemed like he just expected them to… continue like nothing had changed?

Her eyes welled up with tears. Her heart ached. It was all so terribly sad. Not only that Gil had so little consideration for himself that he thought she’d just replace him, but that Roderic would be forced to fill a role with her that he had never agreed to. It was different than being his replacement for the kingdom, she could understand that. Roderic was proud to fulfill Gilbert’s legacy and carry out his ambition. But he would be saddled with her safety, and now her happiness as well?

It was too much. Her tears spilled over when she blinked, but she choked down her sobs, refusing to make their pain about her. Dahlia swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat, then cleared it to try to keep her voice even, attempting to lessen the thickness she felt from her emotions.

“Roderic, you don’t have to. I don’t care if you’ll be the Supreme Emperor or not in the future. If that comes to pass…” She shook her head and brushed at her face to dry it of her rebellious tears. “I wasn’t part of the plan.”

“A wife was always a consideration.” Roderic’s answer made Dahlia’s head swim. It was difficult to keep the man she knew as Roderic in mind when he looked the way he did now, and spoke the way he did now. He wasn’t Gil, but her head told her every visual and audio clue pointed to him being the same person. She couldn’t argue with him when he looked like this - she was not arguing with Roderic , she was arguing with Gilbert.

“Still.” Dahlia looked up at Gilbert. “Gil, don’t make this– don’t make me his problem.”

“I want to.” Roderic quickly interrupted before Gil could so much as utter a word.

“What?” Dahlia blinked, surprised at the declaration.

“He said he wants to, Little Rabbit.” Gil repeated, his eye back on her. “You are not a problem.”

“You will never be a problem.” Roderic added. He knew his act was slipping, that less of Gil was coming out and more of his own words, but he wanted to assure Dahlia that she wasn’t something foisted onto him. He wanted to admit that he honestly cared about her in a way she clearly hadn’t considered. In a way that Gilbert had noticed, but been kind enough not to point out.

He knew it was too much to expect her to reciprocate his feelings. He knew that if she ever did, it would be for who he becomes, rather than who he is. But he was okay with that. He was okay being loved if she thought of him as Gilbert. Roderic doesn’t truly exist, anyways. He’ll disappear one day. He was just a shadow, waiting in the wings to play his part if the time ever came for it.

“Oh.” Dahlia’s eyes flitted away from his gaze, moving towards the ground. She seemed embarrassed, but not upset, at least.

“Come here, Roderic.” Gilbert let his hands drift away from Dahlia’s body as he turned fully towards Roderic.

Roderic watched Dahlia for a moment longer before he strolled towards Gil, stopping in front of him. It was almost as if looking in the mirror, except the eyepatch they both wore was on the same eye, and a reflection would leave it on the opposite. The way they stood, too, was the same, which had them backwards to a reflection as well - their dominant side, the slight shift of the weight in their hips, none of it lined up when they were face to face, but side to side was a different story.

“Follow along.” Gil instructed. Roderic gave a nod.

Gil’s right hand cupped around the back of Roderic’s head. Roderic felt Gil’s fingers weave through his hair as he was pulled closer to Gil. His hands were only slightly cooler than Roderic’s body temperature, likely from being wrapped around Dahlia. With his eye open, he was soon looking at Gilbert’s eyepatch, as Gil brought their mouths together. He felt Gil’s tongue flick against his bottom lip - he’d have to remember that. A scratch of teeth dragged against his lip, almost like it was pulling his mouth open for Gil’s tongue to slide into his mouth.

It was a lot of information to take in. Roderic tried to mimic the movements, feeling awkward and clumsy as Gilbert caressed his tongue, plunging into his mouth and rolling around in there. There was the jaw movement too to consider, when their mouths moved it was at the jaw rather than opening and closing his lips. And how was he supposed to breathe? He could hold his breath for a decent amount of time, but surely that wasn’t the ideal solution in this activity.

Just when he thought it was too much to learn at once, Gil broke their kiss, leaning back to look at Roderic in an attempt to judge if one time was sufficient for him. Roderic licked his lips, pressing them together. Gil’s lips were cold, and he had a taste that was left in his mouth by the amount of saliva they had shared. He rolled his tongue around his mouth, replaying the sensations he had just experienced, then he gave a short nod.

Gilbert pulled his hand away from Roderic’s neck, and the two of them turned to Dahlia who was staring wide-eyed at them. Her eyes darted from one to the other, and belatedly she looked away. “I’m so sorry!”

“Ahahaha!” Both of the men laughed, and while not exactly identical, it was close enough to imagine they really were the same person.

“Don’t be shy, Little Rabbit.” Dahlia heard one of them say - she wasn’t sure which with her eyes closed and her head turned so they both were in the same direction. “It’s your turn next.”

“Ee– Ah! Wait!” Warm fingers held her chin, turning her towards Gil(?), but his face was too close, and soon his mouth was on hers, and her eyes fluttered shut. He licked her bottom lip and she opened her mouth, already used to Gil’s demands and not needing to be coaxed with nips and teeth. His tongue slipped inside her, plunging deeper as his fingers carded through her hair, nestling against the back of her head.

She tangled her tongue with his, feeling herself heat up and her eyes roll back behind her closed lids. A small moan leaked out of her throat, which led to his fingers on the back of her skull to flex against her and drove him deeper into her mouth. Her hands found his chest, and she clutched at his shirt to keep her standing, her knees starting to grow weak.

“You have to hold her against you. She won’t be standing on her own much longer.” Gilbert’s voice lanced through the haze of pleasure that had taken over her, and she realized the lips on her were hot. The fingers on the back of her head were warm. The person she was clinging to was the same temperature as she was.

Roderic hooked his other arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She stumbled forward the shuffling half-steps that had separated their bodies and leaned heavily against him. Her heart was pounding, thumping wildly behind her ribs. Another noise came from her, something between a sigh and choked moan, the air rushing out of her nose while her mouth was still overtaken by Roderic’s.

The sounds Dahlia was making sent a thrilling shiver to the back of Roderic’s skull. It vibrated through him, making his whole body tingle. The way she clutched at his shirt, and the way he held her pressed against him - the dependence she had on him keeping her upright and he was causing that - it coursed through him. It was titillating and arousing and he felt himself getting lost in the euphoric lust of it all.

Gilbert repositioned Roderic’s hand onto Dahlia’s rear, giving him a better grasp of her than hugging her waist. He saw the shudder that ran through her as Roderic’s fingers squeezed her ass. The lewd sounds of their lips smacking, their erratic breathing, and Dahlia’s small mewls filled the room, and the possessive beast inside of him flared to life. The darkness whispering that he should punish their behavior, that she shouldn’t be enjoying this so much.

Gil dipped down to catch the hem of Dahlia’s skirt, lifting the back of it like a shutter until it was high enough he could reach her panties. He tucked his hand between her legs and pushed his body against her back, his other hand moving around to squeeze at her breast. She squealed when he fondled her, finally pulling away from the kisses Roderic and her had been sharing. It wasn’t enough to just interrupt the two, Gil chomped down on her shoulder roughly and was rewarded with a small yelp of pain that quickly turned into a moan as his fingers between her legs pet her soft sex.

“Wait–nngh! Gil– haah.” He still hadn’t released her shoulder from between his teeth, and he refused to relent between her legs, rubbing her harder through the thin cloth that covered her. “I’m–nnh! I’m sorry!”

Roderic’s thoughts felt fuzzy. He had felt Gil adjust his hand on Dahlia’s rear, and then he felt Gil’s knuckles against his chest as he groped Dahlia. It had taken him a few seconds to understand he was biting her when she pulled away, but he could see him behind her, sandwiching Dahlia between the two of them. He flexed his fingers outward, his knuckles running over the fabric of Gilbert’s trousers. He trailed his hand towards Gil’s crotch, purposefully stroking the bulge he found there.

The burning pressure on Dahlia’s shoulder eased, letting blood rush to the deep grooves in her skin from Gilbert’s teeth, causing it to flame hotter. The sweet apologies that Gil usually made with his tongue afterwards were not rewarded to her this time. She hissed through her teeth and whimpered– at least she intended to whimper, but her whine rolled into another moan as Gil’s fingers rubbed her through her underwear.

Roderic layered soft kisses on Dahlia - on her lips which didn’t kiss him back, on her cheek, her temple, even her head when she buried her face into his shirt in an attempt to quiet herself. He continued to stroke Gil, very much aware Gil’s hand was also busy between Dahlia’s legs. Gil’s cheek was nestled on the side of Dahlia’s head, and from their opposite diagonal angle, Roderic couldn’t tell if his eye was open or closed, their covered eyes closest to each other.

He could feel Gilbert’s presence, though. He could feel the way his anger boiled and came off him in waves. He was in a foul mood, one he wasn’t in just minutes earlier. Usually when he was like this, Roderic would lean against him, holding on to him as if he could smother the anger simmering inside Gil. But while he was holding up Dahlia, he couldn’t move without letting her fall; Gil had pinned him to the spot, likely on purpose.

With Dahlia’s face buried in his shirt, however, this put Gil’s crown within reach, and Roderic touched him with his lips, pressing a kiss to his head. Gilbert snapped his attention to Roderic instantly, his red eye was narrowed, his eyebrow pinched towards his nose. Roderic knew he had lost his composure and no longer resembled the man opposite him in anything besides physical traits. Perhaps that was for the best, because as the two stared at each other, Gil’s gaze softened.

Just like that, the malice that could be felt evaporated, leaving the room to be filled with Dahlia’s muffled moans and the shifting of fabric under fingers that stroked and rubbed.

Gilbert side-stepped, moving to Dahlia’s opposite shoulder, putting him in line with Roderic. He descended with tongue and teeth, crashing his mouth into Roderic’s. Before today, he had never kissed Roderic like that. When they had fucked, sometimes a touch of lips was traded, but Roderic was mainly the one pressing affections onto him. It wasn’t until Dahlia that he had wanted to have his teeth and tongue on every part of her. Now, though… it felt good to kiss Roderic in the same manner.

He could taste Roderic. He could also taste Dahlia on Roderic’s lips. With Roderic stroking him, and their tongues embracing one another, and the way Dahlia’s arousal was wetting her panties, and the way she was muffling her wanton moans, need grew in his groin. His cock strained the crotch of his pants.

They weren't far from the bed. A few feet. Two shuffling steps. Dahlia was already being held, practically carried by the two of them. It wouldn't take much to relocate everyone, even if the Little Rabbit couldn't stand on her own.

Gil broke from Roderic, and pulled away from Dahlia, leaving her to the man she was clutching. He caught her blinking in the daylight, having uncovered her face to whimper at him as he passed by her. Gil loosened his pants, adjusted his erection so it was no longer squished against his leg, then reconsidered and removed his pants altogether before sliding onto the bed.

“You've yet to be fully punished, my Little Rabbit.” Gilbert's voice was sweet and teasing. Dahlia trembled in Roderic’s arms, excitement running through her. Gil's punishments were always overwhelming in the most pleasurable way. “Leave the panties and come here.”

Dahlia nodded, slowly untangling herself from Roderic, who continued to offer a steady arm for her support. At the side of the bed, she ruched up her skirt and slipped her underwear down her thighs until they fell to the floor, gravity helping to rid her of them. Still holding her skirt above her knees, she crawled onto the bed and took up a seat on Gil's lap facing him.

“Very good,” Gil purred. Collecting her hands, he brought them to his head and placed them on his eyepatch. “Take it off.”

Dahlia's fingers glided through Gilbert's hair, hooking under the thick fabric that covered his discolored eye. She edged it off of him, dropping it behind him as her hands continued to comb his dark tresses until they could lock behind his neck. Both of them leaned towards the other, and Dahlia kissed Gil's eyelid like she was welcoming his hidden eye home.

It looked to be a ritual they did, and Roderic suddenly felt like it was more intimate than anything else he had witnessed, quickly looking away. The soft smile on Gilbert's face was genuine and full of adoration for his wife. Roderic’s personal feelings and thoughts came rushing back to him, and he considered slipping away without a word.

“Roderic.” Gil's voice was not soft. It cut sharp with a warning as if he had known what Roderic was thinking. “The Little Rabbit needs assistance disrobing.”

Roderic’s uncovered eye wandered towards Dahlia sitting on Gil’s lap. Her gaze was downcast, refusing to look at him, nor at Gilbert. Despite her reluctance, she wasn’t issuing a rejection. Roderic had observed her long enough that he knew she didn’t shy from telling Gil no, or anyone else for that matter. If she wasn’t refusing… Once again, his heart fluttered. He sucked in a quick breath to calm himself and approached the bed, aiming to climb behind Dahlia to help her with the ties on her dress.

“Uhn-uhn,” Gilbert interrupted Roderic as his knee touched the mattress. “Up here first.”

Gilbert brushed his fingers over Dahlia’s shoulders and down her arms, stopping at her forearms that were on either side of his neck. She had laced her fingers behind his head, and that’s where he wanted them to stay for the moment. Roderic did as he was told and came to sit by him and Dahlia with one leg bent and the other angled and hanging off the bed. Gil tilted his head to try to catch Dahlia’s eyes that were aimed downward.

Dahlia saw Gil drop his head as if to look at her and she blinked her gaze back on him. “Take the eyepatch off.” He said with a smile on his lips. But his hands were holding her arms, and he was entirely aware that he was leaving her with no options to easily slide the eyepatch off Roderic. She glanced at the man who still resembled her husband, then back at Gil, who, without his eyepatch, appeared so very differently with his bright blue iris visible.

“Roderic…” Dahlia said his name in a way he had never heard from her. It was suggestive, but carried a hint of an apology with the pause before she continued. “Could you… lean a bit closer?”

Roderic complied, gingerly leaning towards Dahlia. She came towards him as well, leaning close - oh so very close to him, as if coming in for a kiss. He felt her tongue on his cheek below the eyepatch, and it pushed stiffly against him and under the fabric covering his eye. Next her bottom lip dragged against him and her teeth gently raked for only a moment as she bit the eyepatch.

Understanding what she was now doing, Roderic dipped and tilted his head to help her dislodge the material with her teeth as Dahlia lifted as high as she could. Gilbert laughed next to him, likely amused at how Dahlia handled the situation. Roderic blinked a few times, the eyepatch was sturdy and had blacked out the midday light, suddenly the world was coming back into focus and it was a blur as his pupil contracted.

Dahlia turned her head and dropped the patch onto the mattress, smiling triumphantly at Gil. She felt Roderic moving around her, his weight on the mattress caused her and Gil to lean slightly every time he found a new spot. Eventually he was out of her peripheral and she could tell he was working on her corset from the way the fabric that hugged her loosened.

Gilbert had designed the dress, and it was a complicated piece to put together, at least to her. Gil had to help her dress every morning, which was likely why he made it the way he did. But Roderic worked at a frightening speed, her bust soon only supported from the sleeves that clung to her arms. The air felt chill on her back and she shivered from the change in temperature.

Gil moved his hands from Dahlia’s arms to scoop below her folded skirt. His hands, warmer now that he had been constantly touching her, skimmed up her legs, latching onto her hips and he tugged her hips into his. She only shifted a few inches on the bed, but with the way they were sitting, his cock was now pressed solidly to her own sex. He leaned back, half-sitting up with pillows that hadn’t yet been distributed around the bed for their sleeping needs.

Dahlia slipped her arms out of her sleeves, the dress fell into a puddle around her waist.

“Go on, Roderic.” Gilbert directed.

Roderic’s eyes circled Dahlia’s waist where the dress pooled. Gil’s hands gripped her hips, pale fingers on warm tones. She had more meat on her than he had previously thought, with the way Gil’s fingers created small indents and didn’t discolor the skin from too much pressure, he counted a few more inches to her figure.

Trying not to think too much about how much of her he was seeing, Roderic gathered Dahlia’s dress and brought it over her head, letting her hook her arms through the opening to wiggle her shoulders through. Unsure of what to do now, he held the dress, his red eyes tracing the curves of her bare shoulders and back. The way he was clutching her dress obscured anything below the small of her back where it dimpled before her ass rounded out.

Dahlia shifted, squirming under his appreciative stare. He could tell her nerves were getting to her, he could feel the way she was shrinking away inwardly. “I can’t see anything.” Roderic assured her.

Gil laughed.

Dahlia tucked her chin and muttered, “It’s okay.”

“Come here, Little Rabbit.” Gilbert purred, his dichromatic eyes shined like jewels. They were set on her, interested only in her. “Drop the dress, Roderic.”

Dahlia leaned forward, sinking into the man that had so much control over her. Her eyes drifted closed and their lips met. Playful pecks and nips began between the two of them. Dahlia’s thoughts about Roderic behind her floated away, too filled with Gil in front of her. She was drowning in him The way he tasted. The way his teeth scraped and nibbled. The way his tongue tantalized and toyed with her. He overwhelmed her, and she liked that.

Gil snaked a hand between Dahlia’s legs, finding her wet folds easily. She was so slick that two of his fingers slipped right into her entrance. She gasped into his mouth when he pushed his fingers inside her, hooking to rub the spongy part of her front wall that was two knuckles deep. She almost always moaned right away when he went for that spot. Sure enough, Dahlia squeaked out a small moan within seconds.

“Aw, Little Rabbit. Are you holding your voice back because you’re embarrassed?” Gil sounded sympathetic. Dahlia bit her lip. Gilbert licked it, prompting her to open her mouth so he could kiss her, but instead he caught her lip and tugged it. It was a silent order to keep her mouth open. Dahlia whimpered a sigh in protest, but she knew she was already going to give into his demand.

Roderic crumpled the dress into a pile on the side of the mattress. He couldn’t see exactly what was happening between Gil and Dahlia, but he could see Gil’s arm between the two of them where their bodies pressed together, and he could hear them well enough. He hadn’t been given any instructions since the training seemed to have ended, but he also wasn’t permitted to leave so he had to assume he was meant to watch.

Gil snuggled his palm against Dahlia’s sensitive bud while his fingers wiggled inside her, effectively stimulating the same area from both sides. He continued to nip and lick at her parted lips, sometimes pulling her by the back of her head to bring her in for a deep kiss. He’d swirl his tongue around hers, pushing further into her mouth to taste her moans. He wanted every part of her, wanted to claim every noise she made and revel in every beautiful face she showed him. She was addicting, and he was nothing more than hopelessly starving for her every day.

Dahlia’s skin looked so soft and warm - the urge to touch her was niggling in Roderic’s mind with every caress his eyes made over her. She had begun to let out small, soft moans, and he wondered what it was Gil was actually doing with his hand that prompted her to do that. Would he learn how to make her moan like that? Would he get the chance to be the one to have her naked body flush against him? Would she enjoy it? He wanted her to enjoy it.

He bit on his lower lip, chewing it as his eyes slid away from the two lovers. He was circling that dangerous territory again. Prowling around the thought that he could be something to Dahlia. That maybe she could look at him the way she looks at Gilbert. That maybe he could be loved in any capacity. Even if it was as Gil. And that’s where his heart would protest, because he never wanted to see the day that they would lose Gil.

Gil pushed on Dahlia’s pelvis, lifting her with his palm from where she rested on him. She moved along with him, understanding that there was some distance needed before he could get his cock inside her. She cut their kisses short, coming back again and again to Gil’s ruddy, warm lips until she pulled away completely to sit upright, kneeling over him and ready to lower onto him.

Gilbert coated his dick with her arousal that clung to his fingers. A thought crossed his mind as he rubbed Dahlia’s lubricant between his finger and thumb, and he thrust his fingers back inside her, swirling them around in an attempt to gather more of her slick juices. She squeezed his fingers with her cunt, and despite him wanting to get her to climax with his fingers alone, he regrettably eased them out of her pussy, slathering her pilfered nectar onto his anus.

“You’re so wet, Little Rabbit.” Gilbert teased as he took the base of his dick and angled himself towards her hole. “Wet enough that you have plenty to share. Roderic, if you need some lubricant, Dahlia is offering.”

“Huh? What do you–hnnngh.” Dahlia didn’t have a chance to get the full thought out before the head of Gil’s cock was pushed into her folds, bringing his hips up enough to nudge inside her. She forgot what she was even saying as he filled her, and she sank down, rocking her hips to help fit him in her. She could feel herself flexing and throbbing around him, and she hadn’t even dropped all the way to bottom him out.

Roderic quickly worked the buttons on his shirt open, throwing it off at Gil’s offer. His pants took less time, only needing to be loosened enough to be tugged to his thighs, letting his erection spring free. He spit onto his fingers, stroking his cock to help lubricate it, mixing his precum with it. His fingers traced around Gil’s hole, slipping inside with Dahlia’s slick arousal.

He and Gilbert hadn’t been intimate in some time. It wasn’t something they engaged in regularly, but some nights were shared between the two of them for varying reasons. His was a desire for companionship, and Gilbert’s was… his own reasons. Since Dahlia had come - before that even - Gilbert hadn’t called him in months, his failing health likely the reason.

Dahlia rocked on Gil’s cock, angling her hips on every bounce she performed. Dragging him against her pleasurable spots as she pulled away from him, and forcing him to rub other spots when she pushed him back inside her. Every few strokes, she’d nestle their pelvises together, churning his dick as deep as he’d reach in her pussy. Every now and then, she’d be rewarded with his cock throbbing inside her, and her cunt would clench in response, squeezing him.

Roderic had to figure out how to gain access with Dahlia on top of Gilbert. He tucked his knees under Gil’s hips, which seemed to push Dahlia forward, though she didn’t complain. But now he was looking down her crack and realizing there was no way to manage without touching her as well. Not with his cock, of course, but he’d be pressed up right against her backside if he were to bury himself deep enough in Gil.

He worked slowly, stretching Gil out before inserting himself. Getting his dick inside turned out to be another problem with the way Dahlia was riding Gil. Once again, he reconsidered his part in this, worried that his hands on her would ruin the experience for her. His desire to be part of whatever this was won out, and timidly, in his usually lower and halting speech, he called out. “... Dahlia?”

“Hunh?” Her hips grinded against Gil, but she didn’t stop.

Roderic’s lips moved, but he was having trouble figuring out how to put the words together. “... Would you… I don’t mean to interfere but…”

Gil’s hands clamped onto Dahlia’s hips, locking her in place and preventing her from lifting herself from him again. Dahlia blinked in confusion, looking down at Gil. “He needs a moment, Little Rabbit.”

Dahlia hazily nodded, panting as she rolled her hips, not needing to pull away from Gil to still stroke him in her cunt.

Now that Gil had been prepped, Roderic guided his dick into the other man, working in small thrusts to enter without causing harm. Remembering what Gil had said about Dahlia’s fluids, Roderic sucked in a breath and whispered his apology before digging his fingers between her and Gil to find her slick lubricant. He felt her tense, surprised at his touch. But Gilbert was right, she was slippery enough that there was plenty to use, and with her help, Roderic finally fit his full length inside.

Gilbert moaned, relaxing around Roderic. His dick bounced, throbbing inside Dahlia, and she let out a moan similar to Gilbert’s. Roderic felt a shock run through him at how amazing the two of them together sounded, spurring him on to start pumping into Gil. “Okay.” He huffed, trying to keep his excitement in check. “Dahlia– haaah… You’re fine.”

Gilbert’s hold on Dahlia’s hips laxed, still clutching her, but not keeping her in place anymore. Dahlia rocked and rose from Gil’s lap, now tilted so she didn’t have to undulate as much to have his cock drag against her inner walls. When Roderic pumped into Gil, she’d feel Gil’s hips collide with hers, forcing her to try to match Roderic’s pace. It wasn’t hard to manage since he was moving slowly himself, giving her time to maneuver Gil’s dick.

Gil’s heart was pumping so furiously, he thought he might break into a coughing fit because of the way it constricted his lungs and made it hard to breathe. He hadn’t anticipated the way his pulse would have quickened with both of them fucking him at the same time. He wasn’t the one exerting himself, yet their loping pace somehow had him breathing hard enough that he might as well have been thrusting into Dahlia.

He dug his fingers into Dahlia’s hips, trying to hold onto the present and focus on the pleasure of it all rather than the way his chest felt, or how ragged his breathing sounded to him. A strangled moan forced its way out of him as Roderic thrust into him. The pressure in his groin built, and for a moment he worried he might come too early. It just felt so good. Buried as deep as he could be in Dahlia, and Roderic so far inside of him - he was succumbing to the numbness that clouded his thoughts when lust made him feel intoxicated.

Gil gasped another moan, and Roderic responded with his own small grunt. Dahlia keened and Roderic’s cock throbbed. The lewd wet sounds Dahlia’s pussy made as she rode Gil turned him on even more than the moans she made. His hands held Gil’s hips, helping to hold him at the angle without sliding away from him as he pumped faster into the other man. He wanted his lips on something, on someone, to feel the skin touching his mouth. To taste someone else.

Roderic cracked his eyes, Dahlia’s back taking up his entire view. She was gorgeous, and looked so soft and he couldn’t help himself as he leaned to drop a kiss onto her skin. She tensed and trembled, releasing another moan, and Roderic’s desire spurred him on. He kissed her back again. Soft touches of affection that he often saved for Gil. He lapped at her skin, tasting the salt on her– tasting her. She shuddered, and he felt her weight shift on Gil, bouncing faster and rougher.

Roderic’s heat on Dahlia’s back sent shivers up her spine that danced around the base of her skull. The pooling tension in her belly wound tighter with every delicate kiss he laid on her. Gil’s moans came more often, and so did hers. Just hearing him layered the euphoria that swamped her mind, dragging her deeper into the carnal need to fuck and feel good. She dropped her weight harder onto Gil’s hips, shifting to pump him in and out of her faster.

Skin clapped as hips and pelvises thrust and smacked against each other. The room filled with noise not just from their sexes and motions, but also their moans and grunts and labored breathing. By the time the first of them climaxed, it was a chain reaction of muscles spasming, and hips pumping, sexes quivering, and cries of bliss that the noisier of them couldn’t hold down.

Spent, glistening with sweat, and every single one of them panting in a tangle of limbs, the three of them all pressed against each other, the room lulled into quiet inhales and pleased sounds as their bodies calmed down.

Dahlia had collapsed onto Gil’s chest, snuggled against him to keep him warm. Roderic continued to drop lazy kisses onto Dahlia’s back, his chest flush to her, and his fingers lining her smooth contours. Gilbert tucked his hands behind Dahlia, with Roderic laying on them they stayed toasty between the layers of bodies that blanketed him.

Roderic was the first to withdraw, he practically had to be in order for anyone else to move. He rolled off the bed and set about gathering the blankets to wrap around Gilbert while Dahlia groggily climbed off Gil, flopping over on her side and refusing to move more than her limbs. Gil tucked Dahlia in, and nuzzled close to her, liking the way she felt on his skin. Roderic slipped under the blankets as well, wrapping his arms around Gil and spooning him.

No one spoke about what had just taken place. No one could say if something like that would happen again. Roderic, however, hoped that this wasn’t the first time he would be privy to moments of physical intimacy between them. Gilbert’s orders for him to be trained in the ways of pleasuring Dahlia hadn’t been fulfilled, and that thought alone had his heart beating a little faster and his smile a little more genuine.

#ikepri fanfic #ikepri gilbert #ikepri roderic #smutty smut smut #gilbert von obsidian #smut #ikemen prince #spoilers #rjthirsty fanfic #repost from ao3 #rjthirsty on ao3

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