#and it was horrible i hate using so many layers but the pants were all one with the body face and shirt

[aroace-shumika]

mika fs2 i love you. why are you so annoying to draw. i’m so tired

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Tell the Truth

Prompts: aaaa the way you write angst is just *chefs kiss* wonderful. I’ve been really enjoying the butterfly project series, it has made me cry multiple times. May I request some fluff to balance the angst? - anon

Excuse me while I sob over Redemption Never Came and politely grabby hand for more angst with a happy ending (Roman angst my beloved) (Also you are an amazing fanfic artist :D) - anon

This is so heartbreaking and whumpy but so soft in the end and I would devour a second part about everyone trying to help undo all the negative patterns they've all instilled in Roman and just showing him affection and everyone's hearts breaking a little more each time he's surprised they actually want to be around him. - LadyofhteWoods

And now a part of me wants to see all those scenarios again, only this time Roman gets loved- walk in the kitchen, get a hug. Sit on the couch? Cuddle pile. Go on a quest? Bring friends, if hurt, patch up and movies. Crying in bed because you had a bad time and your brain is screaming that you suck and a wave of depression has rippled through you and you feel horrible? Have some tea… cry it out…. We’re here. - A_tiny_star_prince

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: self-doubt, self-deprecating thoughts

Pairings: dlampr

Word Count: 7688

Roman lies. A lot. Maybe it's time they did something about it.

Roman’s lies don’t vanish overnight. How could they? When he’s so used to repeating them, over and over, in a horrific little mantra before he goes to sleep, how can he be expected to get rid of them in only one night?

That doesn’t make them less difficult to hear.

Janus is downstairs, helping Virgil fold up one of the blankets strewn about the living room, when he winces and hisses.

“J? You okay?”

Janus nods, jerking his head upward. Virgil follows his gaze and winces too.

“…Princey?”

“I think so.” That’s a lie. He knows it’s Roman.

“I got this,” Virgil says quietly, taking the blanket from Janus, “you go. He seems to let you help more than he lets us.”

He never really had the choice to let me.

Janus swallows heavily as he appears outside Roman’s door. The lies aren’t nearly as poisonous as they were a few days ago, but they’re strong enough to curl his tongue at the bitterness in his throat. He raises a hand to knock on the door.

The lies falter for a moment before another one floats through.

Don’t come in.

He smirks, gently pushing the door open to meet a darkened room.

“Impressive,” he says softly, making his way over to the figure in the bed and perching on the end, “that could’ve been one of mine.”

He’s rewarded with the quietest of huffs before a head shyly peeks out at him from the covers. Janus smiles and tilts his head.

“Hello, sweetie.”

“Hi.” Roman shuffles a little. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was summoning you.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Janus glances around the room. His computer is off and shut. The bathroom light and fan are off. He looks back. “Can I help, sweetie?”

A shuffling of the blankets that’s probably supposed to be a shrug.

“Let me come find you, then,” he murmurs, standing and moving to where the head was a moment ago, “how did you get this many blankets on top of you?”

He slowly starts to move them out of the way, peeling back layer after layer, only briefly wondering whether or not Roman can breathe properly under these. It’s a careful act, one he treats with the same reverence as cleaning his gloves or his scales, creating a little cocoon of blankets as he gets further and further into the covers.

The last one puffs just the slightest amount, up and down.

So you can breathe, good.

Janus doesn’t move this one all the way out of the way, just lifts it up enough to peer inside. Roman’s little face peers back at him, partially covered by another blanket clutched tight to his chest. He looks so…child-like.

The realization makes something warm turn in Janus’s chest.

“Knock knock,” he says softly, “anyone home?”

Roman blinks. “Mm.”

“May I come in, sweetie?”

“Mm.” Roman jerks his chin toward Janus’s clothes. “Lose the sharp bits.”

Janus snaps his fingers, transforming his usual clothes into a soft yellow shirt and sleep pants. “Better?”

“Mm.”

“How did you manage to get so many blankets balanced on your bed,” Janus asks as he slips beside Roman, “mine always fall off after three.”

“Practice.” Roman shifts to make room.

Janus frowns. “Come here, sweetie, let me cuddle you.”

“You don’t have to.”

The frown deepens. “Sweetie?”

Roman buries his face a little deeper into the blanket. “You don’t like cuddling. Virgil an’ Remus said so.”

Oh, Roman…

“Come, sweetie,” he insists, tugging Roman gently into a proper hug, “there.”

“But—but—“

“I may not be as big a fan of cuddling as you and Patton,” Janus says firmly, cupping Roman’s face, “and I’m certainly the type that enjoys being tackled by Remus—“

Roman snorts.

“—but you’re upset,” he finishes gently, “and I want to help.”

Burden.

Needy.

Don’t understand boundaries.

Don’t deserve help.

Janus hisses. Roman sighs.

“Sorry.”

“No need for that,” he assures, still cradling Roman’s face as he pulls him close, “I understand. It’s alright.”

“I know, and I—I don’t want you to leave, but—“ Roman swallows— “I just—I still don’t believe you’re here.”

Janus wraps a pair of arms around Roman’s waist and squeezes. “I’m real, I’m here.”

“I just—“

There’s another lie swirling in Roman’s brain, too nebulous to make it all the way to Janus, but present enough that it makes his mouth tingle. He leans down to kiss Roman’s forehead.

“…you said it was your job to protect the Ego.”

“That’s right, sweetie, it is.”

“I guess I…I just…”

Janus gives Roman another encouraging squeeze. Roman brings the blanket further up his face.

“…I guess I figured that if you—if you could h-hate me that much or h-hurt me that badly and not—not care, then you…maybe you…”

Janus’s heart clenches as the lie finally makes itself known.

Not worth protecting.

He pulls away, shushing the heartbroken whine that Roman makes, taking off his gloves and wrapping every arm around the poor thing. He presses another kiss to his forehead, letting the hiss out into his hair.

“That’s not true, sweetie,” he promises, “and you’ll never know how sorry I am for hurting you and letting it get this far.”

And the poor thing is so tired, so weary that he goes limp in Janus’s arms, save for the blanket clutched tightly to his face. Janus frowns, opening his mouth to say that might be a little uncomfortable, what with Roman’s arms tucked between them, when he starts putting the pieces together.

Roman is still wearing a fair amount of clothing, he’s got something pressed up against his face, under his chin, and he’s got so many blankets piled on top of him that even Janus feels warm.

“And here I thought I couldn’t feel more rotten,” he whispers, carding one hand through Roman’s hair, another scratching gently between his shoulder blades, “but you must be in agony.”

A questioning hum is let out against his throat.

“You’re still touch starved, sweetie,” he says in way of answering, squeezing a little tighter, “are you still cold?”

There’s a soft rush of breath as Janus cups the back of his neck and then a noise is just about torn from his throat as he uses it to pull Roman close.

“Oh, shh, shh, you poor thing,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to his cheek, “I’m right here, sweetie, I won’t leave you.”

They lie there for a while longer, Roman’s arms slowly lowering the blanket until he shyly puts his arms around Janus in return.

“There you go, sweetie,” he encourages, “hold onto me, that’s it.”

“Why—why are you letting me hug you?”

“Because it seems like you’d like to hug me.” Janus squeezes him again. “You don’t need to have a reason, sweetie, if you need a cuddle, you can have one.”

I need a reason. I need an excuse. I need an argument. I have to convince you.

Another hiss. “You can always ask for hugs, sweetie, you don’t need to convince me to hug you.”

“…really?”

Oh, Roman… “Yes, sweetie, you can ask any of us.”

The wave of disbelief that hits him makes him grit his teeth.

“I promise, sweetie. I promise.” Another kiss to his forehead. “You’re not unwanted, you’re not a burden.”

The silence he gets implies that Roman may not want to prove that—or disprove it—for himself right now.

“…can we just stay here for a bit?”

“For as long as you need, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, settling them in for some rest, “for as long as you want.”

——————————

Patton is in the kitchen, the first one downstairs this morning. There’s already a pot of coffee brewing and he sets the kettle up on the counter. He reaches up to pull the mugs for everyone. The plain black one for Logan, the Nightmare Before Christmas one for Virgil, the sparkly one for Remus, and the blue puppy one for himself. He frowns.

Roman used to keep his mug down here too. This really big red one with a golden crown on the side. He hasn’t seen it in ages.

Footsteps on the stairs.

He turns and sees Roman walk into the kitchen, smiling brightly as if there’s nothing wrong in the world, not a seam or stitch of his prince costume out of place. He strides into the room like he owns it, as if he’s just come down the stairs in his resplendent palace to a crown of adoring onlookers.

“Ah! Patton!” Goodness, he speaks like it too. “Good morning!”

“Roman!” Patton rushes forward and wraps him in a hug.

This is where everything goes wrong.

Roman tenses. Not in a way that means he wants out, but out of sheer surprise. Patton waits for Roman’s arms to wrap around him but instead, there’s just a very, very soft touch to his shoulder.

“Patton,” he asks quietly, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m great, kiddo, why?”

“W-well, you’re…you’re hugging me.”

“Sure am.”

“…why?”

Suddenly Patton feels very cold.

He pulls back, not enough to let Roman go completely, but enough to look up and see a truly heartbreaking look of confusion on his face. He can’t help the soft noise that comes out of his mouth as he raises one hand to his face.

“Are you asking why I’m hugging you?” Roman nods. “I want to hug you, kiddo. You’re hug-shaped.”

“I’m…what?”

“Hug-shaped,” Patton repeats, tugging him a little closer with the arm still around his waist, “you’re worth hugging, I like hugging you.”

“O-oh.”

And Patton has to watch as every scrap of confidence falls from Roman’s expression, his shoulders slump, and he looks like he loses some of his height, even. The shift is so drastic that it almost springs tears to his eyes at how much Prince Roman suddenly looks like a lost child, swimming in a costume too big and too heavy for him. Roman face contorts as he looks at a spot on the counter, furrowing his brow as if it’ll explain everything to him if he just glares hard enough.

There’s something fragile about the way Roman leans into Patton’s hand, something breakable about how warm he is right now. Patton shifts his weight to his other leg and there’s a flash of panic in Roman’s eyes, quickly stifled but there.

“Oh, kiddo, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, pulling Roman back in for a proper hug, “I’m right here, it’s okay. You just let it out, okay?”

Roman’s breathe shudders a little into Patton’s shoulder. Then he starts pushing Patton away.

Patton listens, confused, until he watches Roman shake himself and put the mask of the prince right back on.

“Terribly sorry,” he says in the awful, awful cheerful voice as he rakes a hand through his hair, “don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t,” Patton blurts before he can stop himself, “don’t do that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t do what, Padre?”

“Don’t pretend,” he says, reaching out for Roman again, “you don’t have to pretend you’re okay. Or that you don’t want something.”

“I don’t like being needy, Patton,” Roman says in a soft voice that’s just this side of wobbly, “and you don’t like me needy.”

And doesn’t that just feel hot and guilty in Patton’s throat?

“I like you, sweetheart,” he says instead, “and you’re not being needy if you want comfort or even just a touch. You’re allowed to want something, Roman, you are.”

Roman huffs in disbelief and turns.

“No, Roman—“ Patton hurries to get in front of him— “you are.”

Something flickers across Roman’s expression. Patton doesn’t even need Janus to tell him that Roman thinks he’s walking into a trap.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Patton says quietly, “I’ve hurt you so much, haven’t I? I’ve made you think that your job is wrong, that you—that you’re wrong and you’re not, kiddo. You’re not wrong. You’re not awful. I promise.”

Roman’s lip wobbles.

“Oh, come here, sweetheart,” Patton coos, wrapping him back in a hug, and finally, finally Roman’s arms come up to wrap around him too, before he’s being squeezed so tight it borders on painful.

Patton doesn’t care.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart, I promise.” He rocks them back and forth a little as Roman buries his face in his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, I know we will.”

They stay like that until the kettle goes off and Roman startles, jumping back a little bit. Patton soothes away the last of the jitters and smiles, watching Roman look like…Roman. Not the Prince, not the horribly lost child, just…just Roman.

“I think that’s my cue to make you the biggest mug of hot chocolate you’ve had since Christmas,” he says quietly, “now what mug would you like?”

Roman glances at the cabinet. “Anyone is fine.”

“Then why don’t you go grab one while I get the hot chocolate?”

Patton busies himself with the box, purposely letting Roman have his privacy as he picks out a mug, trying not to make his smile too blinding when he turns and sees Roman shyly hold out a big red mug with a sparkly crown.

“Good choice,” he says softly as he takes it from him, “I missed this mug.”

Judging by the way Roman’s mouth curls up in a little smile, he knows what Patton meant.

——————————

Virgil walks into the room and sees Roman sprawled out across the chair. He almost doesn’t see it.

He’s got to give it to Janus; even though he knows he can hear lies, he’s not sure he would’ve believed that they were actually coming from Roman. Because Roman looks the fucking picture of relaxed right now. It looks like he saw Patton and Logan on the couch and decided there wasn’t enough room for him to take up as much space as he wants. It looks like he’s occupying the entire fucking corner and not just the chair. It looks like he’s every bit the arrogant prince they used to think he was.

Then he sees how tight his jaw is and the slight tremble of his hands.

The room isn’t warm, there’s no reason for Princey to be shivering. There’s certainly no reason for him to be so tense as he sits in the chair, tapping a pen against his cheek in a fabulous impression of mindless thinking but is actually a carefully controlled way of preventing himself from moving any further.

He’s gotta hand it to him. Princey’s good.

Virgil walks up to Roman and shoves his hands into his pockets as Roman looks up.

“Dark and Stormy,” he says in a perfected casual lilt, “is there something I can do for you?”

And wow, okay, if this is what Janus hears all the time then Virgil has no idea how he fucking does it.

Janus hears lies, Virgil hears fears.

Please don’t make me leave.

If you want the chair I’l give it to you, I’ll move, I’ll sit on the floor, I’ll be quiet, but please don’t make me go. I want to stay, please, can I—can I stay? Is that okay?

Virgil tilts his head. “Move the book.”

Roman furrows his brow. “What?”

“The book.” Virgil nods to the notebook in Roman’s lap. “Move it. Move your arm.”

Confused, Roman does as he asks only to squeak in surprise when Virgil pronounces it perfect and plonks himself in Roman’s lap.

“Virgil!”

“Yeah?” Virgil pulls out his phone and leans his head against Roman’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

“You—you’re—“ Roman still doesn’t move— “you’re in my lap.”

“Sure am.” Virgil looks up at him and lowers his voice to a whisper. “No?”

Roman’s voice drops too. “What?”

Virgil indicates his weight. “No? This okay?”

“Y-yeah, it’s fine, I just—what?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Virgil reaches behind him to take Roman’s free hand and pull it close, tucking it under his chin and clutching it there. Roman’s hand trembles. He finds himself absentmindedly running his thumb over the knuckles, the palm, the fingers. He keeps his eyes on Roman’s face.

Roman’s other arm lowers, gingerly resting on Virgil’s legs. Virgil smiles and squeezes his hand.

“I’m sorry, Princey,” he whispers, “I’ve been fucking awful to you.”

Roman’s face twitches. “…so have I.”

“What, been awful to me or awful to you?”

For a moment, he thinks Roman’s just going to say that he’s been awful to Virgil. Which, yes, he was in the past, but not like Virgil’s been. But instead, Roman opens his mouth and shakily whispers: ‘both.’

“I know, Princey.” Virgil squeezes his hand again. “You’re all good with me, and we can…if you want, I can help with the second part too.”

Roman’s eyes widen and godfuckingdamnit that hurts.

“I gotcha, Roman,” he says softly, lacing their fingers together, “and ‘m sorry I haven’t been there for you recently.”

Roman swallows, Virgil’s eyes drawn to the roll of his throat. “You…you want to help me?”

Roman, you’re gonna ruin my reputation of not having a heart by smashing it into fucking pieces.

“Yeah, Roman,” he reassures, “I wanna help you. You’re important.”

“I am?”

“Sure are, Princey.” He lightly knocks his head against Roman’s. “And if it ever feels like I don’t believe that, call me out on my bullshit. ‘Cause that’s bullshit.”

“What are you two muttering about over there?” Patton shakes his head fondly when Virgil decides to just turn his head upside down instead of turning around. “Virgil, that’s not good for your spine.”

“We’re metaphysical, Pop-star, who cares?”

“When you start complaining about neck pain,” Logan says wryly, “me.”

He glances up too and Virgil hides a smirk at how his face softens when he spots Roman’s expression.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Roman says hurriedly, “everything’s fine.”

“It’s Hug Roman time,” Virgil says immediately after, “so I’m hugging Roman.”

“I think that’s less of a hug than you sitting on his lap,” Logan says, standing, “but we’ll never fit all of us on that chair.”

Virgil feels more than hears Roman’s inhale as Logan and Patton start moving the couch cushions to the floor. He sits back upright just in time to see Roman’s hopeful face and butts his head against his again.

“Come on, Princey, let’s go.”

“…are you going to stand up, or…?”

“Or you could carry me.”

“Virgil,” he hears Patton chide.

“No, no,” Roman says, “it’s fine, I can carry him if he wants to be carried. I will need my hand back, though.”

Okay, yes, Virgil does enjoy Roman carrying him a bit too much for altruistic purposes but it’s worth it when Roman goes to gently set him down and the other two pull him down instead.

“There,” Logan says softly as Roman’s head comes to rest against the base of the couch, “much better.”

Roman opens his mouth to say something when Logan’s hand tangles in his hair and it turns into a slightly strangled sound. Patton chuckles, wrapping his arms around Roman and sighing softly.

“Hey, who wants to play a game?”

Remus’s head pops up from behind the couch.

“We’re already playing a game,” Virgil says, “it’s called Cuddle Roman, now get your butt down here.”

Remus gasps. “My favorite!”

“Okay good,” Virgil mutters as he moves out of Roman’s lap to make room for Remus, “I totally thought he was talking about butts.”

“I have a feeling, my dear,” Janus sighs, striding from the shadows and totally not making Virgil jump, “that it’s both.”

Remus just cackles. Janus takes a seat, reaching out to take one of Roman’s hands in his. Roman frowns at him slightly, his head still spinning from the amount of people around him.

“What—is there something wrong?”

Janus shakes his head. “It’s Hug Roman hours. So I’m here.”

Vigil chuckles at the blush on Roman’s face. “So this is becoming a regular thing, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Indeed.”

“Yay!”

Remus just holds his brother tighter.

——————————

“…come in.”

“If you’d like to reschedule, Roman, it’s no trouble, I’m happy to…”

Logan trails off as he walks into the room, Roman’s back to him as he hunches over a table near the door to the Imagination. He shuts the door quietly behind him and tucks the notebook under his arm.

“Roman?” He takes a step forward. “Are you alright?”

“Never better, Specs,” Roman says cheerily, too cheerily, “just give me one moment and I’m all yours.”

Logan frowns. “If you’d like to reschedule, Roman,” he repeats, softer this time, “I can assure you, it’s fine.”

“No, no, that’d be rude.” Something crinkles in Roman’s hands. “Just—just one moment.”

There’s a heavy clunk and a barely contained hiss.

“Roman—“ he starts forward— “are you hurt?”

“Not hurt.” Another clunk. “Just…incredibly clumsy, it seems.”

“Can I help?”

If he weren’t paying attention, he would miss the way Roman’s shoulders tense with disbelief.

“N-no, that’s alright,” Roman says, the first time his voice has slipped, “I’m just…no, it’s alright.”

He jerks his head toward the desk, being very careful not to let Logan see his face.

“It’s over there, I’ll be with you in one moment.”

Logan looks, then walks over to the desk and carefully sets down his notebook. He glances up at Roman and can’t stop the soft noise at seeing Roman’s hands shake and fumble with a large bottle.

“Roman,” he calls softly, “Roman, please.”

Roman freezes.

“…please what?”

“Let me help you,” he says, walking over, “let me help you with this.”

Roman shudders and tries to laugh again. “You don’t need to busy yourself with inane and worthless tasks, Logan.”

Oh. Oh, dear.

“You’re not inane or worthless, Roman,” he says firmly, “nor are you a task.”

Roman’s shoulder is cold under his hand. He cups it nonetheless and leans closer, mindful to keep his gaze down and away.

“Please?”

Under his hand, Roman sighs. “…if that’s what you want.”

He’s not prepared for when Roman turns around, a bottle of micellar water in one hand and cotton ovals in the other. His makeup—done so wonderfully this morning—is smeared and wearing away, his nose bright red under the concealer. Logan lets out another soft noise, taking the proffered items and gently pushing Roman to sit on the table.

He takes one of the cotton ovals and gets it damp, cupping Roman’s chin in one hand.

“Let me know if anything starts to sting or hurt,” he instructs softly and starts to clean the smudges from his face. Roman sits perfectly still, his gaze down at Logan’s tie. His hands fold neatly in his lap and he looks every bit the cooperative ideal.

Except for the way he looks terrified every time Logan so much as shifts his hand.

“You are not worthless,” Logan says quietly as he works, swapping out the cotton ovals when needed, “you are not annoying me. You are someone I care about very deeply and someone I enjoy helping.”

Roman’s chin wobbles.

“I am always impressed by the ideas you create,” he continues after quietly bidding Roman to turn slightly, “and you never cease to amaze me with your creativity.”

Roman’s throat works against his hand as he swallows. “Remus—“

“Remus is Remus,” Logan interrupts gently, “turn—yes, there you go—and you are Roman. You are clever, you are kind, and you are wonderful, and I care about you very much.”

He takes a new cotton oval and takes Roman’s chin again, tapping gently until Roman makes eye contact.

“Close your eyes,” he bids, “and let me know if they start to sting at any point.”

Roman closes his eyes and Logan carefully, carefully starts to clean off the eyeshadow. The golden sparkles are stubborn, clinging to the skin, but he works patiently until the last of them come off. He realizes after that the oval is wetter than it was when he began.

“Oh, little star,” he breathes, glancing around and summoning a soft washcloth to clean Roman’s face the rest of the way, “it’s alright, you can cry if you need to. I won’t mind.”

“It’s stupid,” Roman mutters, raising a hand to swipe angrily at the tears, “it’s stupid.”

“If it’s making you upset, it’s not stupid.” Logan gently but firmly places Roman’s hands on his own shoulders and replaces them with the cloth. “Tell me?”

“I—it’s not even a quest.” Roman’s voice cracks horribly on the last word. “It’s just—I was making something and it broke and I—I worked really hard on it and now it’s ruined.”

Logan lets out a soft noise. “I’m sorry.”

His chest aches when the apology makes Roman shake himself. “It’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t want to just dump that on you.”

“I asked you to tell me what was wrong,” Logan chides, patting his cheek dry, “you’re not dumping anything on me.”

He sets the cloth aside and cups Roman’s face with his hands.

“And I am also sorry,” he whispers, “that I have made you believe that I do not worry about you the same way I worry about Thomas.”

Roman’s eyes fly open. “You—you what?”

“I care about you very deeply, Roman,” Logan says, “you’re very important to me. So yes, of course, I worry about you. You’re upset, and I’ve made you feel like you can’t come to me. I…I have not behaved well toward you. And I will remedy that.”

A new wave of tears meets Logan’s thumbs carefully swiping them away.

“Bonk?”

Roman leans forward and lets Logan rest their foreheads together. After a moment, his hands move to give Roman a proper hug, leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead.

“What were you making, if I may ask?”

“…just a house.” Roman sniffles. “It got destroyed in the last brainstorm.”

“Would you like help?”

“…don’t we have to work on the ideas?”

Logan smiles, resting their foreheads together once more. “This feels more important, doesn’t it?”

Roman’s small but warm smile is more than worth the extra hours they’ll have to spend working on the videos.

——————————

Somehow they forgot.

Somehow they forgot that Roman was scared of the dark.

It wasn’t common that thunderstorms plagued the Imagination, simply because—well, Thomas didn’t need literal brainstorms when he’s got Logan working with him. Sure, sometimes Remus decides he’s going to make his entrance extra cliché and arrive in a literal flash of lightning. Or Roman will create a field of flowers larger than the eye can see and soft bruised purple clouds will roll across the sky, quiet thunder and light rain that feels like a cushion.

But it’s never enough to cause a blackout.

For a moment, they’re all just confused. Thomas’s apartment is fine, Thomas is fine, so they don’t understand what’s happened. Then Remus points out that they, uh, maybe didn’t close the door to the Imagination as tightly as they should have.

He gets smacked upside the head for that.

So they’re here, in the middle of the dark, trying frantically to figure out how to not run into everything. Well, three of them are fine. Virgil can see in the dark. Janus can see in the dark. Remus can see in the dark.

“Is that because you’re the Dark Sides,” Patton mumbles as he puts his glasses back on for the fifth time in the past minute, “or do you each have some kind of ability?”

Remus smiles, even if Patton can’t see it. “It’s more fun!”

“That doesn’t—“ Logan pinches the bridge of his nose— “that doesn’t even answer the question, Remus.”

“I think you’ll find that’s his justification for most things,” Janus says wryly, taking Patton carefully by the arm and guiding him to sit on the couch, safely out of harm’s way.

Virgil elbows Remus to get him to put down the Morningstar, please, and sits down next to Patton. “How long is this going to take to go away?”

Remus shrugs. “Dunno. Probably won’t be that long. We all just gotta sit tight.”

Janus raises a hand to his mouth—not that Logan can truly appreciate his expression—and mock gasps. “Remus, suggesting that we don’t do anything?”

“Oh, fuck off, Snakey.”

“Language!”

Remus blows a fat raspberry. “Even I know it’s a bad idea to try and do something right now. I mean ask Roman—“

It takes a moment for them to realize that Roman isn’t sitting there.

“We should go get him,” Logan says after a moment, “just to make sure we’re all in the same place.”

And with that, Remus is off, stomping up the stairs and conveniently forgetting that two Sides can’t see past the little pinpricks of light at the bottom of the windows. Virgil rolls his eyes and makes to stand, only to frown.

“Virgil?” Logan touches his elbow when he notices him pause. “Are you alright?”

“Feels like I’m being summoned.” He rubs his chest absentmindedly. “But not really.”

“Well, let’s just keep an eye on—hey!”

Virgil doesn’t even hear the end of Logan’s sentence before he’s yanked into another room.

He blinks, disoriented, shaking his head to figure out where he is. Only when Remus bursts up the stairs and pouts that how dare Virgil sink out to beat him here does he realize why he’s here.

Judging by the way Remus’s face falls a second later, he does too.

Remus knocks lightly on the door. After a moment, he curses and goes to knock louder.

“Don’t,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Remus’s arm, “you’re gonna freak him out more.”

“Well, I can’t just blow the fucking door open,” he growls, shaking him off, “that’s gonna make it worse.”

He opens his mouth but another sharp tug from his chest makes him wince. “Okay, then don’t bust it down. Just—oh, god, we gotta get in there.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

Remus doesn’t rear back and kick the door open, which says something about how concerned he is. They can’t see much of anything except for—

—oh.

Oh, no.

Roman notices immediately when the blackout happens. How could he not? He’d been in the middle of trying to sort out his journal for the day when suddenly he was drowning.

Oh god.

Oh, god.

Within an instant, his chest seizes. He can’t see. He can’t see. There’s something—

No. No, it’s fine. He’s in his room. Everything is fine. Because he’s safe. He’s in his room, he knows where everything is, he knows what everything is in here, he’s fine.

There’s nothing here to be scared of. There’s nothing here to be scared of.

So why is Roman so scared?

He shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be. He’s a prince, for Disney’s sake, he’s the protector of the Mindscape, he’s—he’s—

He’s Prince Roman. Not some newly minted squire crying because he’s away from home for the first time and it’s all dark and scary and he can’t see anything because he doesn’t know what’s going on and he can’t tell where anything is and he swears he can see things moving in the shadows and—and—and—

Roman shoves his fist in his mouth before he can whimper.

No. No. He’s fine.

He’s fine.

…besides, what would the others say?

He’s a prince. He’s Roman. He’s not some scared weak thing. He’s just—he’s just—it’s—it’s—

They can’t see him like this. He’s supposed to be strong. He’ll never be taken seriously if they don’t see that he can be strong. They don’t take him seriously already, do they? Let alone if they could see him in the dark, alone, hyperventilating, terrified.

But he is.

He’s—he—

Something moves.

Oh, god, something moved.

He freezes, goes absolutely still, tries frantically to still his heaving chest, be small, be unnoticeable, his pride doesn’t matter right now, it doesn’t, he’s not gonna be hurt if he can’t be seen—

“Ro-Bro?”

His next inhale is a whine.

No, no, not Remus—he can’t—not Remus, Remus is strong, Remus will laugh at him, Remus loves the dark, he can’t cry in front of Remus, not for this—

“Oh, Ro-Bro,” he hears through the haze, “Ro-Bro, I’m so fucking sorry, I forgot, hey—hey—“

He won’t cry. He won’t cry. He won’t cry.

“Hey,” Remus calls, tugging carefully at the hand clapped over his mouth, “hey, don’t do that, Roro, you’re gonna hurt yourself, stop it, it’s gonna fucking hurt if you do that, you know that—“

The sob that tears itself out of his throat as Remus pries his hand away hurts his ears.

“Hey, Roro,” Remus soothes, taking his hands and squeezing them firmly, “hey, you gotta just be here for me, you focus on me, okay?”

“Re—“

“Come here, Ro.”

Remus scoops him up into his lap. To hell with whatever is twisting around in the shadows, Remus is holding him in his lap, rocking him back and forth and Remus is of the dark.

A rush of shame through his stomach and the first real sob into Remus’s shoulder hurts.

“Nuh-uh, Ro,” comes the mutter over his head, “don’t hold it in.”

The shame only grows. Then Remus tightens his grip until it’s all he can feel.

“I’m right here, Ro, I’m right here. It’s okay. You can be scared.”

“N-not scared.”

A gentle hiss in his ear as something—someone presses against his back and more arms than he can count wrap around his chest.

“Shh, shh,” Remus murmurs as he starts, “it’s just Janny.”

“Boo,” Janus whispers as he presses a kiss on his shoulder. Why—why is he here—did he—did he lie too much? He’s not scared, he’s not scared—

“Shh, sweetie,” he whispers as Roman starts to flinch, “I’ve got you, you’re okay, sweetie, stop that. We’ve got you.”

“You’re scared, bud.” Is that—is that Virgil? “Hey, hey, buddy, we got you. I’m sorry, Roman, I forgot you were so scared of the dark.”

Can’t be scared, can’t be scared—

“Shh, shh, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “stop that. You’re allowed to be scared, it’s okay. You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

Virgil presses closer, nudging Janus’s head out of the way and replacing it with his own. He leans down to nuzzle into the crook of Roman’s neck, finding the place his collar digs into his neck and loosening it. Curse him. Curse him.

“Hey, bud,” Virgil murmurs, “you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“N-no—“

Janus hisses gently in his ear again.

“No—“ Roman’s breath hitches— “no, no, no—“

“Roman,” comes Logan’s warm voice from somewhere above him, and no—

“Give him to me,” he hears again after a moment, and when he feels Remus’s arms begin to loosen and Janus pulls away he mewls—

“Hush, little one,” Logan says softly, gathering the poor prince into his lap, “you’re safe, you’re right here, it’s just a blackout.”

“You’ll—“ Roman hiccups, his hands still pushing Logan away from him— “you’ll laugh—“

“Never,” comes the chorus, Logan’s arms firmly around his waist. Then another pair of hands covers his and pulls them away.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, gently but firmly placing his arms around Logan’s neck so Logan can cuddle him properly, “sorry it took us a little longer to get here, we had to take it slow up the stairs.”

“Pat—Pat—“

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Patton coos, crouching down to run a hand through his hair as Logan tucks him into the crook of his neck and Virgil rests his head on his shoulder, “we’re all here, it’s okay.”

“Stupid—st—stupid,” Roman mumbles, “I’m stupid—“

Another hiss, followed by a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Stop lying, sweetie,” Janus whispers, “stop it. You’re not stupid.”

“I’m a prince afraid of the dark,” Roman spits out, disgusted, “of course I’m stupid.”

“Falsehood,” Logan murmurs with more tenderness than Roman can remember, “you’re not stupid. You’re not.”

“I’m crying because I’m afraid of the dark,” he spits again, “I’m af-fraid of the dark—I’m afraid of the dark, I’m—I’m afraid—“

He’s afraid of the dark.

Patton presses a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t like the dark either, sweetheart.”

“You’re—you’re not—you’re not crying—“

“No, I’m not.” Another kiss. “But you are, Roman, and that’s okay.”

“Come on, Princey.” Virgil butts his head gently against Roman’s. “You just gotta breathe first, okay? We’re not going anywhere.”

Remus calls from somewhere over his shoulder—what has he been doing? Where’s he been?— “come on, I got all the pillows.”

“Re?”

“Come on, Ro-Bro,” Remus murmurs, appearing at his other shoulder, “close your eyes.”

“It’s already d-dark, Re.”

“I know, but I don’t wanna get the blanket in your eyes.” Suddenly, there’s a swath of fabric hitting him in the face. “It’s just for a moment, Roro.”

“Ready?” Logan scoops him up. “Up we go.”

“H-how can you see?”

“He can’t,” Janus says, suddenly appearing behind him, “but I can. Come now, my prince, we’re just over here, come on…”

Roman lets out a soft noise of surprise when his back hits something soft.

“Snap yourself into something more comfortable, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “we’re all just going to stay here for a while.”

Patton takes his hand and kisses the back of it as Logan helps tug down the t-shirt he’s poofed himself into.

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbles, “I’m sorry I’m so scared.”

“None of that now, sweetheart,” Patton chides, cuddling into his side—oh, Patton’s in soft things too now— “you’re gonna be taken care of now. We’re right here.”

“I’m right here, Ro-Bro,” Remus says, promptly flopping down over Roman’s legs, “and no one else is going anywhere.”

Virgil huffs, curling around his head and ruffling his hair. “He’s right, Princey. Just relax for a little.”

“H-how long is the blackout going to last?”

“I don’t know, sweetie,” Janus says, snuggling into his other side, taking his hand between two of his, “but we’ll be here the whole time. Now please, sweetie, breathe.”

He tries. But it’s still dark and even though he knows the others are here, he can still feel the darkness pressing in on top of him. He can still see things moving in the shadows. He can feel it. He can see it. It hurts.

“Roman,” comes Logan’s voice, warm in the dark, “Roman, listen to me.”

“L-Logan?”

“Yes, dear,” he says, “it’s alright. Virgil is by your head, and he can see in the dark.”

Virgil gives his hair a little tug. “Right here, Princey. I’ve got you.”

“Patton is on your left. He won’t let anything hurt you.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Patton kisses his cheek. “I won’t leave you.”

“Janus is on your right. He can also see in the dark, and it’s his job to protect you.”

Janus leans down to kiss his temple and squeezes his hand. “My prince,” he murmurs tenderly, “my sweetie.”

“And Remus…”

“Nothing’s laying a fucking finger on you, Ro-Bro,” Remus growls from down by his feet, “they’re gonna have to get through me first.”

Logan chuckles. “See?”

“L-Logan?”

“I’m right here, little star,” he says softly, “what do you need?”

“W—where are you?” Roman’s hands tense in Patton’s and Janus’s. “Where—I—I can’t—“

“Hush now,” Logan says, so softly, so softly, as a hand cups his cheek to brush away his tears, “I’m right here, I know you can’t see me. I’m sorry. I know it’s dark. I know you’re afraid. It’s okay, my dear, shh.”

Roman tries to reach out for him only to be thwarted by the grip on his hands.

“Hush, Roman, it’s alright, what can I do?”

“S-stay, please, stay—I want you to stay—“

“I’m right here, can I—“

“Please—“

He almost sobs again with relief when Logan lies down, his head tucked over his shoulder, curling his arms about his waist.

“We’re right here, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “we’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Patton kisses the back of his hand.

“It’s okay to be scared, Princey.”

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Roro.”

It takes another half an hour for the storm to end and the lights to flicker back on. Roman stays tucked up in their arms, their soft words in his ear, gentle hands wiping away his tears, until he can blink up at all of them and murmur ‘thank you.’

“Of course, sweetie.”

“We’re here for you, Roman.”

“It’s no problem, Princey.”

“We’ve got you, kiddo.”

“All you gotta do is ask, Roro.”

——————————

Remus knocks on the door, the present in his hands. Roman opens the door and tilts his head.

“Re?”

“Can I come in, Ro-Bro?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on.” Roman shuts the door. “What’s up?”

“This is for you,” Remus says, holding out the box.

“Oh—Remus, I didn’t—I’m sorry—“

“You didn’t miss anything, Ro,” Remus says quickly, “and I’m not expecting anything in return. Just wanted to give you something.”

He shuffles.

“And I, uh, I also haven’t really apologized for the shit I’ve done to you, so…it’s that too.”

“O-oh.” Roman clutches the box. “Thank you, Remus. Can I open it now?”

“Sure.” He watches as Roman carefully opens the box and pulls out the stuffed octopus.

“Oh, Re, this is so cute!” He holds it up, looking at the little face. “I love it, thank you.”

He turns it over.

“Wait, what’s…”

“It’s a mood toy,” Remus says quietly, “if you flip it this way, it’s happy.”

The cream side of the octopus has a little smiley face.

“And if you turn it inside out—“ Roman flips the plush so that a red face frowns at him— “it’s sad.”

Roman’s eyes widen and he looks up at Remus.

“I know you find it hard to ask for things,” Remus says, edging a bit closer, “so I thought this could…help.”

“Re…”

“And I—oof!” Remus lets out a grunt as Roman tackles him onto the bed. He chuckles, his arms wrapping tightly around his brother. “I’m glad you like it Roro, just promise me you’ll use it?”

He gets his request a few days later.

It’s been quiet, Thomas is taking a break, and they’re all in various corners of the living room. Janus and Virgil are lazing about in the patch of sun by the window, Patton is in the kitchen, Logan is working on something on his laptop, and Remus is toying with the grip on his Morningstar.

Roman walks down the stairs and he’s clutching a little red octopus.

“Hey, Ro,” Remus says quietly, hopping up and scurrying over to meet him as he comes down the stairs, “you wanna go be alone?”

Roman shakes his head, pushing gingerly into the living room. Remus turns to see everyone paying attention to them, including Janus, who’s sat up fully and is reaching out to Roman.

“Come here, sweetie,” he calls, “is your brain being a bastard?”

Distantly, Remus hears Patton huff at the language but no one says a word as Janus gathers Roman into his chest, bending to murmur softly in his ear. Virgil scoots closer, acting as the guardian, letting Roman relax with the knowledge that nothing will surprise him right now. A gentle tap on Remus’s shoulder and he turns to see Logan, who bends closer.

“What do we do to help?”

“Help me make a mattress big enough for all of us?”

Under Logan’s guidance, Remus manages to make a normal mattress with lots of comfy blankets and pillows. Patton comes from the kitchen with a glass of water set on the table near the three on the floor. He pauses as he turns and quickly sets a cup of tea next to it.

Roman’s grip on the octopus doesn’t lighten up, even after he’s been in Janus’s arms for a while, even after Logan’s gone over and helped Virgil walk him through coming out of the spiral. Janus walks over to Remus and Patton and quietly tells them they should try and get them all to eat something. Nothing too straining for Roman’s system, but something.

Patton brings out a few bowls of snack food and sets them at the foot of the mattress. Then he goes and gently cards his hands through Roman’s hair.

“Come on, kiddos,” he says softly, “let’s move to the mattress.”

Logan scoops Roman into his arms, depositing him safely in the center of the mattress, little red octopus in tow. The rest of them cuddle around him, some Disney movie playing on the TV. Roman eats, then lays his head on Remus’s shoulder. Logan takes Roman’s free hand into his lap and cradles it there, stroking it with his thumb.

About halfway through the movie, Roman turns the octopus so that the cream side smiles at the screen too.

General:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist let me know

[deiliamedlini]

Gratitude (Twelve Days of Winterfest)

Part 1/6

Summary: With the upcoming Wintersday and Hylia’s Feast in the midst of the kingdom’s preparation for the Calamity, Princess Zelda leans on her closest friend for support. And no-- to her greatest surprise-- it’s not Urbosa, but rather the Appointed Knight she’d hated until just a few short months ago. Neither had realized how important they’d become to each other. But for that relationship, they were most grateful. 

AKA Their Twelve Days of Winterfest smushed into what I think will probably be 6 chapters with 2 days a piece each day to finish it before December ends because guess who didn’t do a Christmas fic in time  😅

Ao3 Link

Chapter Index | Next 

~

Day 1:

Zelda stood knee-deep in the snow-covered Hyrule Field to inspect the troops in lieu of her father.

It was a respected tradition that often took place during Winterfest, the season leading up to Wintersday, but after a particularly rough blizzard had rendered Hyrule Field un-travelable, a small delay had left the soldiers and the Princess stuck performing their duties in horrible conditions. Her father refused to call off the event, claiming the people needed normalcy in light of the impending Calamity.

In her deceptively not warm white coat (with a flimsy, royal, fine silk shirt underneath), cold white leather gloves (but no hat or snow boots because that would be too sensible to be part of her royal regalia) and… admittedly her own poor choice in light riding pants, Zelda was shivering and struggling to get any of the words to her official speech out.

It had taken everything she’d ever been trained to do, but the words spilled out in a few sharp breaths, ending with the articulate, “—andmayHyliablessyou,” before bolting to her horse just to use him to block some of the bitterly cold air.

“Princess?” Link asked, approaching her. It was something he’d never have done a few months ago, but since he’d saved her from the Yiga in Gerudo Desert, they’d become—dare they say it—friend­s. “Are you okay?”

There were many reasons to hate her Appointed Knight. For one, he was perfect. No one liked perfect people, especially when an entire kingdom was keen on flaunting them in one’s face. He was succeeding in his destiny where she was failing. And unlike their sentiments toward her, the Kingdom loved Link.

But above all, the main reason she hated Link was that he’d had the sense to dress warmly.

He was in a woolen hat that bore the royal family’s embroidered insignia on one side, and the Knight’s of Hyrule on the other. He wore a scarf, layers, fur lined pants, and the little show-off wore a Rito feather in his hair on top of it all.

Yes, she hated him still. But not for the reasons she once had.

“N-no. I’m n-not ok-k-kay. M-my royal w-a-war-ardrobe is trying to k-k-k-k-kill me!”

Link rested his hand on The Master Sword. “Just tell me where to go; I’ll take care of them. You’ll never wear anything too cold again.”

Zelda laughed, but it came out in a burst of air that she wheezed on. Her throat was dry as she shivered. She grabbed Link’s arm and wrapped herself around it, hugging his arm tightly.

“Princess…” Link warned, glancing at the large gathering of troops just a little ways away.

“They c-c-can shut up, or b-b-b-b-bring my f-f-frozen corp-p-p-pse to my f-f-father!”

“Okay,” Link relented, though he kept his eye out for anyone who might be watching them. The occasional glance passed over them, but barely spared a thought for the freezing Princess and her stoic Appointed Knight. They hardly looked snuggled up with the miserable look on Zelda’s face.

There was laughter off to the side, and Zelda turned, dragging Link with her so she could see.

A group of children threw balls of snow at each other, laughing, running, hiding. They dove into the snow, disappearing under the thickness, only to pop up in a flurry of it.

“D-d-did you ever d-d-d-do anything like th-th-th-that?” Zelda asked.

He shook his head slowly. “No. Never had time. You?”

“S-same.”

She turned her face into his arm and closed her eyes. “I’m g-g-g-going to d-die before the C-C-Cala-m-m-mity.”

“Princess?” another guard called to them both. If Link was around, and someone said ‘Princess’, they were often talking to him as well, like now. “We’re going to be leaving soon.”

Link was the one who nodded. As her Appointed Knight, it was more important that he knew so he could be on high alert that they’re about to move. That anyone not moving was suspicious. That Yiga could pop out of the snow for no reason. It was his job to be ready to go, not quite Zelda’s.

The wind whipped hard against their faces for a moment, and Link heard Zelda whimper. “I w-w-want to f-fire p-p-people.”

“A fire might do you good,” Link chuckled, giving her arm a sympathetic rub. But even with all his layers on, he could still feel her shaking. “Come here,” he said, tugging his arm so she’d follow.

He half expected a quip about not giving her orders, but she didn’t have it in her.

Her eyes were heavy, burning and stinging from the cold. But before she could close them, something was being placed on her head.

She flinched, but calmed down when she realized it was Link’s hands sliding along her hair, smoothing it out. And she was… warmer?

He had no hat on.

“Thank you,” she smiled, gratefully accepting.

But when he took her hand and shimmied off her tight leather glove, popping one of the fingers into his mouth so he could get the other off and then dropping it into his hand, she looked at him like he’d gone mad.

“What are you…”

He held up a finger and tucked her gloves into his back pocket before taking his thick gloves off one at a time and sliding them onto her hands.

“You’ll be c-c-cold.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and began popping the clasps off his thick outer gambeson. He still had a tunic underneath, so he was less concerned with indecency.

“Link, s-s-stop. That’s an o-o-order.”

Link smirked but didn’t stop his hands. “My role as your Appointed Knight supersedes your orders in matters regarding your safety, Princess. You’re not freezing to death on my watch.”

“I wa-a-sn’t serious ab-bout f-f-frezing!”

Link paused and stared her down, a challenging look crossing his features. “Tell me that again without your teeth chattering or stuttering.”

��I w—” she cleared her throat and blocked her teeth from banging together with her tongue. “I wasn’t being s-s-serious.” She grimaced, and it grew when his smug smile returned, and he continued undoing the clasps.

Zelda watched over his shoulder at the others. No one was watching them, but still, she felt a slight blush creeping into her cheeks that she could (thankfully) pass off as cold.

He held the gambeson out for her to slide her arms into. She hesitated, and he shook it. “You’re letting the heat escape.”

“Fine!”

Damned if she didn’t admit that Link’s pseudo jacket was big, warm, and entirely too comfortable. Trapped body heat still emanated off the lining, warming her almost immediately. She closed her eyes, breathing it in. It smelled like Link too: clean with the castle’s staple rosewater and soap, fresh with the scent of the pine trees that lined the woods outside the gardens that he liked to frequent in his free time, and perfumed… like her. She spent so much time around him, that she’d essentially rubbed off on him. She almost felt guilty.

She opened her eyes abruptly, remembering that she was, in fact, in public. And she felt more heat rise to her face when she saw that Link was watching her with a strangely intense look on his face, one that only broke when she started to move.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you. Don’t ever do this again.”

“I make no promises I can’t keep, Princess,” he hummed, walking away from her with a shiver. And with any luck, she’d never know how cold the loss of all his layers had made him, or how warm he’d gotten just at the sight of seeing her bundled up in them.

~~~~~~~

Day 2:

It was late in the evening when there was an unexpected knock on Zelda’s bedroom door. Link was on duty, so it was either just him—as he admittedly did on the occasion he was feeling a little chatty—or something important was happening. He’d never let her be disturbed so late otherwise.

She threw her long satin robe on over her silk pajama nightdress. Thank the Goddess for the roaring fire in her room that made it almost unbearably warm; she scoffed as she shivered at the touch of the fabric. Everything deemed ‘regal’ was also freezing cold, as if warm materials were simply not aristocratic enough.

Pulling the door open, she smiled at Link’s appearance, glad it was him and not something boring. “Hello, Link.”

“H—” He trailed off, his eyes roving over her with keen interest. His lips went from an ‘e’ to a ‘w’, and he couldn’t stop the ‘ow’ from silently following.

Zelda burned. If she thought her room was warm before...  

“Link?” she prodded, but selfishly didn’t feel like tying her robe shut. No, she’d do the incredibly mature thing: pretend she’d never seen his reaction and revel in it instead. She glanced at his hand where he held a bag. “What have you got there?”

“Uh…”

He’d seen her in her pajamas several times, but maybe it was the color? Maybe he just really liked seeing her in a soft, pastel green? He did like green, she remembered.

She was not mature.

Covering her face with her hand, she dragged it down her cheek. “Please say something, Link. I’m feeling a little self-conscious.”

“Oh…uh… t-thank you.”

“Thank… um... you’re welcome? For?”

His eyes bounced up to hers, and he was back, like he’d temporarily lost control of a carriage, but managed to turn the wheel just before a collision. “Yes. Thank you. The soup. Chef said it was you.”

“Oh!” Zelda laughed in relief. “Yes. I knew that miso soup is your favorite, so I had them make it for you as thanks for yesterday.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Princess.”

Zelda stepped aside and gestured him into her room. “I want to. Besides, I have to return all of your things you’d lent me. Why don’t you sit and eat here for your break? No one is replacing you during your break tonight, right?”

“Right.”

“Then would you like to?”

He clutched the bag in his hand a little tighter. “I would very much, but I don’t want to disturb you, especially if you were preparing for… bed.”

“Hardly! I was going to read, but you’re much better company than a book.”

Link’s lips twitched up, and he set the bag down at her small tea table. It wasn’t the first time he’d eaten in her room with her, but it was the first time it was so late. He set his things out while she went into her closet to grab his hat, gloves, and coat.

She slung them all over her arm and turned.

He was swallowing down the first mouthful with a perfectly satisfied smile stuck on his face, gone only to take another bite, and then letting it rest there once again.

Zelda bit her lip. He was admittedly cute whenever she could catch him with his guard down completely, and it was often while he was eating. It was how they’d managed to become friends in the first place. She’d found him after the Yiga attack, saw his mood had shifted to one that seemed very relaxed to be her Mr. Stoic Appointed Knight. And she’d apologized.

She tugged her robe as she walked this time, but not for modesty. For comfort, because her hands shook when she got nervous. She took the seat across from him. “How is it?”

“Mmm, delicious! Princess, thank you, but you don’t have to reorganize a menu on my account in the future.”

“I want to, especially to thank you.”

“It’s my job.”

Zelda’s face fell slightly, but she nodded. “Of course.”

Link (though she hadn’t credited him with it at first) was incredibly perceptive to her. Any change in tone, or appearance, and he usually caught it. And he didn’t fail to see that as well. “Princess?”

“Nothing.”

“What did I say?”

Zelda sighed, leaning forward against the table. She could tell Link was serious, because he’d stopped eating. “Is it just your job? Or are we… friends?”

Link nodded, mouthing an ‘oh’. “It’s not just the job, Princess,” he said simply. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“My pleasure.”

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Choose Your Own Whump

Here it is! My first attempt at a choose your own adventure type of whump story. In this story, Villain is kept by the Heroes as a prop for the media-- but what will they do when a rare chance at contacting the outside world presents itself?

CW//Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, implied torture, panic attacks

There was something about a gilded cage that made it worse than any other type of imprisonment.

Sure, it was comfortable. You were well provided for, fed and watered incredibly generously. But that, in and of itself, was one of the worst parts.

Being imprisoned, locked away in a cell somewhere with a big heavy padlock over the door, it meant that someone thought you were dangerous enough to require that kind of security. In the most minuscule way, it was a display of respect.

But a gilded cage of comfort and warmth? It meant that your captor believed you to be domesticated. Docile. Too soft and serenely mannered to even bother chaining up.

Of course, that didn’t make the lock on the door any less real. It just made it that much more humiliating.

Villain groaned as the sound of knocking echoed through the room. They pulled their plush duvet closer to themself, sinking deeper into their unbelievably soft mattress.

“Lunch is ready. Get up. And make yourself look presentable, we have visitors.”

They were too tired to tell which of the Heroes was speaking, but it didn’t matter all too much. Their voices all blended together, after a time. All characterized by overwhelming politeness and platitudes, with a subtle undertone of annoyance.

If anything, the way they spoke was worse than if they had just yelled. They hated Villain, that was clear and that was expected. If only they would just say it out loud, instead of letting their tone speak for them.

Again, Villain grumbled, sitting up in bed and blinking blearily a moment. The bright red digital clock on the wall mechanically informed them that it was almost noon.

They just wanted to go back to sleep.

Of course, that wasn’t an option. They’d tried that. Tried hiding under the blankets and pretending the outside world didn’t exist. But it did, even as they hated it.

They pushed the blankets aside and got up, knowing full well that they would return to a bed made with military precision. Wandering over to their wardrobe, they couldn’t help but wish that they’d been informed earlier that they were expecting visitors. But, of course, when did anyone ever tell them anything.

Eventually, they selected a nice suit top in a dark maroon hue, along with matching pants. A presentable outfit, and hopefully fancy enough for whatever guests were being expected. It was almost certainly a news crew, or a government agent-- they came at least three times a week.

Clothes folded over their arm, they shook their head to clear their vision of sleep and made their way to the bathroom.

As always, the mirror was immaculate, stretching the whole length of one wall and going all the way up to the ceiling. Looking at it made them want to smash it to pieces, but they quelled their own anger quickly. It served no purpose.

They didn’t have to look at it. They could have just as easily closed their eyes, changed their clothes and ran out of the room. But they couldn’t. Though they had no clue as to why, some horrible force compelled them to raise their head, and stare directly into the eyes of their reflection.

Villain wanted to cry. Had this been a few months ago, they would have. But they’d long since mastered the art of choking back tears.

The person in the mirror-- they didn’t recognize them.

Sure, they had the same facial structure as Villain, the same eyes, and the same, well, everything. That was except for the layers of makeup covering them, clearing any imperfection and turning it into a glowing highlight. Not to mention their hair-- every two weeks or so, they’d have it professionally styled. What had once been a head of long, curled locks had been cut short and ironed straight. Apparently, that was the style that was currently “in.” Not that they’d had any choice in the matter.

To look presentable.

They washed the makeup from their face as best they could, knowing that whatever artist the visitors had brought with would do it again, in whatever way they liked it. Putting down the washcloth, they moved to unbutton the front of their nightgown...

But their hand drifted instead to their neck.

It was an instinctive motion, almost. A ritual. They unfolded the collar of their nightgown, pulling down the neckline, until the device was fully visible.

That was what the Heroes always called it. A “control device.” As if it was some kind of scientific advancement, some amazing invention.

It was nothing like that.

The device was a simple loop of metal, going around their neck, tight enough nearly to choke them. To remind them that it was always there. On the outside, the metal was smooth, marred not even by any kind of mechanism that would allow it to be removed. On the inside, however, they could feel the tiny studs, pressing against their flesh.

They didn’t think of it as their collar. They tried not to think of it as their collar. They tried not to think about it at all, in fact. But, every second, every breath they took, they could feel it. Even if it weighed less than a pound in actuality, to them, it felt to be made of the heaviest lead.

Weighing them down, ready to strike at any moment. Each and every one of the Heroes had one of the collar’s remotes. A simple press of a button, a simple click, and Villain would be writhing on the floor in agony. Every time one of the Heroes gave them a side-eyed look, they felt their stomach flip, waiting for the shock. For the horrible, horrible pain.

They tried to fit their finger between the device and their neck, though there was little avail. Still, even if it was only slight, they could feel on the tip of their finger their own charred skin.

Anxiety rose in their throat, twisting their stomach in knots. They shook their head. No. They had to get ready, and they were running out of time. The visitors were probably already waiting. In a practiced motion, they undid their nightgown and dressed in their far fancier outfit.

Even as they reached for the door handle, though, they could see their hand shaking.

It was just lunch. They’d been doing it every day for months. They could do it. They could do lunch.

It was just lunch.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

The dining table was a beast of wood and metal accents, stretching for the whole room, leaving only room for the dozen and a half chairs surrounding it.

Generally, the majority of these chairs would be empty. There were only so many Heroes, and generally their various sidekicks and assistants did not eat with them. Today, however, every last seat was filled.

They wore no identification, but Villain already knew who they were. A news crew. Journalists and cameramen and reporters. They hadn’t seen this particular crew before, but that didn’t mean much of anything. So many came through Headquarters that they all seemed to blend together.

As Villain emerged through the large, mahogany doors, every last one of the newspeople turned their heads. A few even appeared frightened. One among them gasped.

It was how they always reacted, the first time. They opened their mouth without speaking-- they had practiced their script so many times that it came to them as easily as breathing.

“Good afternoon, everyone. It’s nice to meet you.”

At the head of the table, Hero nodded in approval. Villain lowered their gaze and retreated to their seat, among the Heroes.

Even after so much time, it was hard to think of them as anything but hands, ready at any moment to press down on their remotes without so much as thinking.

That was the only good thing about having visitors. None of the Heroes would dare to use the collar when company was around. Each and every shirt that Villain owned was specifically chosen to hide the device-- no one else knew. A shared secret of dominance.

“Well, we’re so glad to have you here.” Hero smiled, looking out over the table. “Our food should be out in a moment. What all are you looking to be filming, today? Or photographing? I’m no expert on this type of thing, I must admit.”

It was a blatant lie. Hero knew everything there was to know about PR. They could wield the media better than they could wield their own powers.

“Well.” The person who seemed to be in charge of the news crew spoke up. “Did you receive the clothing shipment a few days ago?”

“We did, yes. I almost forgot, silly old Hero. Forgetful as ever.”

“No worries. We wanted to get some photos of you wearing them-- they were custom made, by an Italian designer. Supposedly the start of some kind of new line. They call it “Be Your Own Hero.” It’s a little cheesy, but that’s fashion for you.”

“I’m sure it is. Is that all, then?”

“Mostly, yes. Though...” They bit their lip. “In light of recent events, we were wondering if, perhaps to supplement another story, we would be able to interview Villain? If you’re okay with it, of course, Villain.”

“Of course.” Villain smiled. “That would be wonderful.”

Hero nodded their agreement, though their eyes betrayed their tentativeness.

“Just Villain? I don’t believe the rest of us are too busy today, we would have plenty of time to speak to you, as well.”

“I don’t want to be impolite, but I’m sure you understand that this matter concerns them specifically. Maybe we could incorporate some quotes from you?”

“Don’t worry, I understand completely. That should work out just fine.”

Villain couldn’t stop themself from nervously twirling the cuff of their shirt. Whatever this ‘event’ was, they had no clue, and they most certainly didn’t want to give an interview about it. They’d been trained to do interviews, but never alone, and most of the time they just gave a few cursory answers while the Heroes took the spotlight.

Still, they couldn’t refuse. If Hero said they were doing the interview, then they were doing it.

They were a prop. They knew that. At the very least, they could be a good one.

A tinny bell chimed as the door to the kitchen opened, and an array of staff brought out a series of plates. Villain feared that they wouldn’t have much of an appetite.

Their collar was choking them. They could hardly breathe.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

It was amazing just how quickly the news crew had turned the front hall into a full-blown studio. Lights and backdrops and all kinds of equipment that Villain didn’t recognize were set up in dazzlingly bright arrays, making any movement a tripping hazard on account of just how many cables snaked about the wood floor.

The makeup station had been set up against one wall, with five chairs and countless boxes of powders and creams. Villain gripped the arms of their chair, doing their very best not to flinch or sneeze as a stranger dabbed blush onto their cheeks. Even after so much time, it was one thing they could never quite get used to. A stranger touching their face, moving their head about. They hated it.

But they did not protest. They sat as best as they could, muttering desperate apologies any time they lost control and jerked their head away from the invading touch.

Next to them, they could hear as the Heroes, one by one, were finished as got up from their seats. Chatting with different news people, laughing at their stupid jokes. Metal wheels whirred as clothes racks were pushed about.

“There you go.” The makeup artist smiled, speaking in a disgustingly chipper tone. Villain fluttered their eyelids open, at least glad that it was over.

Still talking with the different photographers and the like, the Heroes began drifting away, towards where all the lights and cameras were set up. Villain could already feel themself growing anxious. Sure, they hated the Heroes as much as anything, but at least when they were nearby, they could ensure that Villain was acting right. Feed them their lines. Keep up the facade.

Unsure of just where to go, they waited in the makeup chair. They fought to keep their gaze away from the door, the massive swinging wooden panels that led right out onto the street. To freedom.

Their kept their eyes fixed firmly on their shoes.

They weren’t sure exactly how long they stayed like that. Staring. Listening. The cameras on the other side of the room had already begun to flash.

At some point, after at least 15 minutes of sitting and waiting, obedient and docile, someone came up to them. A simply-dressed reporter, sweater vest and all.

At the very least, they didn’t have that stupid smile on their face. The media smile. The smile of glowing PR.

“Hello.” They were nervous, it was clear. More than just a little nervous, for that matter. “Um- You’re Villain, right?”

They looked up.

“Yep, that’s me!”

It made them feel sick.

“O-Oh. Okay. Um, my name is Journalist. It’s nice to meet you...?”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Journalist!”

“Are you ready for the interview?”

“Sure am.”

“Okay. Uh- Oh, wait.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Your shirt is inside out, I think.”

Villain felt their heart jump to their throat. It was an honest, simple mistake. They hadn’t even noticed. Yet, if the Heroes were here, it was certain that there would be retribution. Would they find out? Were they listening, right now? Ready to shove Villain into some back room to push their stupid buttons? Footsteps- oh god, was that them? Oh god oh god oh god-

“Hey, uh, can you hear me?”

“Sorry. I think I spaced out a little, there.”

“It’s fine. It’s no big deal. There’s a bathroom over there, so we can just fix your shirt quick and get onto the interview.”

“Sounds good.” They shook their head, shaking themself back to wakefulness. Once they were sure that they could, they stood to their feet. “I’ll only be a moment.”

“Um... They told us not to leave you alone.”

“What?” It came out more like a whisper.

“Yeah. It’s okay, um, I won’t look or anything. It’s just a security thing, I think.”

“Oh. Okay.” Villain swallowed.

Their heartbeat firmly moved to their throat, now. They hoped the shaking in their legs could not be seen as they and Journalist moved to the small bathroom, right off the side of the hall.

Villain stood in the corner, with Journalist sitting on a chair that was sitting in the corner opposite.

It was just a simple fix. It was fine. Everything was fine, it was okay.

Hands trembling as though an earthquake raged below their feet, they reached for the hem of their shirt, pulling it up and the sleeves off their arms, slipping it off over their head and working to flip it.

It was only the feeling of being watched that led them to look up at the young journalist, sitting in the corner. Eyes fixed on them.

More specifically, on their neck.

“Um... What is that? Villain, are you okay?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. Alongside each option is a question specifying what exactly will happen. Answering this question is completely optional, but it is great if you have any particular ideas! Otherwise, feel free to just put a letter.

To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes, and will choose whichever answer I find the most interesting to base the next part upon.

The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) Tell the truth - How much should Villain tell Journalist?

B) Lie - How should Villain explain away the collar?

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^

[king-maven-calore]

5,6 or 7. Angst. Mareven

ok ok, so I had to be in the right state of mind to write this, sorry for the delay. This fits as part of a fic/request that I started writing and may never finish bc damn it hurts so much.

This is uhm... marecal fam y'all should keep your distance🚫🚫

Some days were easier than others. Wasn’t that the way of life? Some days Mare’s figure was a mere shadow at the corner of his eye, disappearing whenever he tried to focus on her. Others, she would linger, muttering snide comments at the Cygnet’s handle of political affairs. Needless to say, she had a great deal of disdain for them. Being married to Iris, he had a right to attend the meetings where such matters were discussed. He wasn’t trusted enough to have an opinion though.

Maven was a prisoner in all but name, in a foreign nation, doomed to roam the halls of The Royelle, chased at every minute of every hour by the ghost of the woman he loved. The dead woman he loved... because he had killed her. Tricky how that worked, that her ghost had chased away the echo of his mother’s voice inside his head, and instead made it her task to torture him.

“You know that plan will only get silvers killed and red deserters for the Scarlet Guard,” Mare chirped with a bounce to her step.

‘Task’ wasn’t the right word, when she enjoyed torturing him so thoroughly. If this was his punishment, it was also her paradise.

“Acute observation,” he sneered, keeping his head down until he reached his chambers. “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Word on the Lakelander court was that he was mad. A fallen king who often got caught talking to empty air and gazed at nothing, full of longing and loathing in equal measure.

“Obvious, and still you kept your mouth shut.” Her tone changed to scolding and she materialized right in front of him. “You could’ve stopped this.” Her eyes the color of trees in autumn, dead and cold, drilled holes in his.

He sidestepped her and kept walking at a brisk pace. Days such as these, when he could see her so clearly, he could also touch her. It was never a pleasant sensation. Today she looked the same way she had when he branded her in Harbor Bay; hair in a tight braid that fell over her shoulder the braid had come undone when she’d wriggled in pain on the floor when he used Cal’s torture device on her. She was wearing unassuming jeans and a shirt he’d moved out of the way so easily to burn the M on her skin. The spot was unscarred now. A pity. No matter how many times he re-branded the letter, she would just show up without it the next day.

Taunting him. Daring him to commit his sin all over again. Well, joke was on her. A tiny part of him would always sing at seeing her writhing on the ground beneath his hand, it was proof he could too, make her feel something.

“I couldn’t stop anything. They won’t listen to me.”

Maven closed the door of his chambers behind him and started yanking off the layers of heavy black clothes covering his frame until he was in his pants and shirt. It was getting hard to breathe.

“You can be pretty convincing when you want to be,” Mare spat in his face. “Do something, your highness.”

“Why should I?” He gripped her elbows with enough force to bruise. He hated how real, how warm she felt.

She’s not real. She isn’t here. Two sentences that held no weight by now. Not when his heart missed a beat and his skin prickled at the point of contact.

“I have no interest in my wife’s kingdom, or its citizens,” he gritted out pushing her until her back hit the wall, covered in scorch marks the palace staff didn’t bother to clean anymore. “Red or Silver. Their lives mean nothing to me.”

“Nothing ever mattered to you but your precious crown, right.” Mare laughed darkly; her eyes even darker as she glared at him. He loomed inches above her. “How miserable.”

She made it sound so small and simple. An existence reduced to a circle of iron... but it wasn’t true. Underneath the incomprehensible obsession with the power, there had been other things. Phantoms of things erased and squashed with surgical precision: curiosity for art and theatre, affection toward his father and brother, a taste for certain board games, love for two Reds.

The latter, rather than being squashed like the others, had morphed into this; staring into the fascinating, beautiful, horrible face of a phantom that felt more real than his own. He loved her so much he wanted to kill her all over again.

He didn’t realize his hands were burning until Mare’s shirt caught on fire. She remained unfazed, unharmed by his fire, still glowering.

“Not the only thing.” Maven’s voice was strained. “You mattered to me. I told you that.”

“And yet...” she added dryly, without feeling the need to complete the last part. The evident. The tragedy. His last, unforgivable crime. Ripping her away from the world and attaching her to him in return.

Forgive me, I beg of you. But some words could kill if spoken out loud, and he knew these ones would end him. And he was afraid of the darkness that followed, ironic as that may be for someone who had so comfortably inhabited darkness his entire life. One was a familiar comfort, while the other was the black dot at the end of a final paragraph. He refused to end it like this.

“I love you,” he gritted out through the noose tightening around his throat.

“No,” she whispered easily, without even pausing to consider his words. The flames were up to her collar now, licking at her neck. “You don’t. I believed you did, once, in your own way. But I was wrong because you don’t willingly murder the one you love, Maven.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, reflecting the orange light of the fire. “I loved you. I even chose you before you decided to throw it all away.”

Past tense. His gut recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, even though the ghost had no sparks. The room spun, the air scratched its way down to his lungs, his clothes asphyxiated him.

“Then leave me.” He pressed his face to her temple roughly, pushing her against the wall. “Go with him!” he growled like he was gurgling on venom. “Leave me! Leave me alone like all the rest!”

His screams would surely be heard across the palace but he did not care. Mare was all he had left... but not really. He’d made sure of it.

“LEAVE!” His throat hurt and the wallpaper behind Mare started raining down on them in hot embers that clung to their hair and clothes.

She shook him off and murmured in his ear, sweetly, as warmly as if she was pressing a knife to his neck and drawing out silver blood in rivers. “You thought you were the only one capable of hunting? I’ll haunt you even after your body is buried and left to rot.”

And then she was gone. He was left staring at the burning wall, carpet, and ceiling. Behind him, he heard the chandelier drop on the burning mattress. Maven fell to his knees grasping at the now empty air and screamed his throat raw for the first time, burning it all until the room was nothing but ashes, surrounding himself with fire to fight off the dark and the cold that permeated all things.

He let it all out because he did care, deep down he still cared. It was finally starting to push to the front of his consciousness and it was like a dam breaking, like birthing humanity, or himself, he did not know. The chaos and the pain were too great.

No one came to check on him.

When he woke up on the floor the next day, so tired not even 10 years of sleep could have helped, Mare was standing over him. Arms crossed and a quirked brow.

“Are you done?”

Leave it to the Little Lightning girl to shit on a perfectly good dramatic moment.

“Mare, dear,” he sighed, feeling slightly grateful for her presence. “I’m only getting started.”

[beauvibaby]

The Feeling When...

— • you meet Anthony Beauvillier at your job, and instantly click, but then he sets you up with his best friend, what could go wrong?

word count: 7.8k

a/n: I wrote this whole thing in less than 24 hours, I’m not sure how, but I really put my all into this and I’m proud of it, hopefully I can do it again sometime

The bell above the door chiming made you lift your head, smiling at the guy who just walked in. Basketball shorts and a tight fitting sports top covering his body, a small layer of sweat on his skin, one earbud in and the other hanging around his neck, his phone in his hand. He had yet to see you as you made your way to your spot behind the counter, politely excusing yourself from the lady you had been speaking with. You took in the way his blue eyes lit up when they landed on the muffin in the case, telling you he probably had yet to eat this morning, he ran a hand through his already tousled hair, finally stepping towards the counter as someone walked in behind him. “Good morning.” You spoke softly as he lifted his eyes to meet yours, you could swear his eyes widened slightly before settling into a warm smile. “Good morning.” He had the faintest bit of an accent, you made a mental note of that. You smiled in return, suddenly forgetting your words, “what can I get for you?” You inquired, watching his eyes dart between the muffin and you, he smiled when you laughed softly, grabbing a paper to put the muffin into a bag. “And a coffee, please.” He spoke, pulling his debit card out of his wallet while you whisked around to grab his coffee, a smile graced his face when you glanced back at him. He stepped aside so your coworker could help the next person in line, turning towards him, you took the few short steps, setting the to go cup down in front of him. You typed in his order, allowing the total to come up on the screen for him, “thank you,” he paused, picking up the bag, “Y/N.” He concluded, reading the name off your tag, lifting up the coffee cup. “You’re welcome.” You responded, trying not to seem like you were asking for his name, “Anthony.” He spoke, backing up slowly before turning on his heels, you watched with lingering eyes as he walked out the door.

***

Again, the familiar chime of the bells shook you from your head, except this time you weren’t working, you were huddled up in the corner laptop open in front of you. The internet in your apartment was out, and wouldn’t be fixed for a few days, so you had made the short walk to the cafe, you got an employee discount, and it was free wifi, so at least you had a couple of hours to ponder the internet, catching up on the latest facebook drama, reading gossip about celebrities, the usual. Your eyes landed on a much more put together version of Anthony, you had thought he looked good before, he looked even better now, the grey dress pants leading to the white button up shirt, it was a good look. You awkwardly shifted your gaze down when he started to look towards you. He moved up in the short line, you could feel his eyes landing on you every once in a while, you resisted the urge to look up and meet those blue eyes. When you no longer felt his eyes on you, you glanced up, hearing his voice over the small chatter in the building, he ordered the same as he had the other day. That warm smile on his face, a calm and cool demeanor radiating from him, welcoming even. The type that would have a girl head over heels for him. Surely, he had a girlfriend, the thought ran through your mind, which resulted in getting you caught staring.

The soft chuckle that fell from his lips made a flutter rush through your chest.

“Is this seat taken?” Anthony questioned, voice delicate as he glanced at where you not so gracefully had your feet propped up, you glanced around and saw many open seats, but who were you to turn down a perfectly attractive guy who wanted to sit with you. “Oh, no, go ahead.” You whispered, smiling up at him as you slid your feet off the chair, watching him rest his body against it. You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, silence overcoming the both of you as you stole glances at each other, completely oblivious to the other doing the same. You decided to bite the bullet and closed your laptop, making his eyes shoot up from the muffin he had been picking at, a closed lip smile on his face as you giggled under your breath. “So, Anthony was it?” You teased, feeling comfortable around him, despite him being a total stranger, because if we’re being honest, knowing his coffee order doesn’t make you acquaintances. “Last time I checked, that was my name.” He responded with a slightly raised eyebrow, eyes scanning over the sweater you had on, it was well worn, but looked nice with the v-neck cut into the front. “Mhm,” you hummed, hiding your smile with a sip of your own drink, “well, Anthony. What’s got you so dressed up?” You inquired, he glanced down at his clothes, like he had forgotten what he was even wearing. He shot a playful smile at you, breaking off a piece of the pastry in front of him. “What do you think?” He quipped, tossing the piece of food into his mouth, nearly missing and bouncing it off his chin, but he played it off.

“I would say a date, but I think you know better than to come talk to another girl when you have one waiting.” You mumbled, watching as he nearly choked on his food, a laugh tumbling from his lips. “No, there’s no girl, I just came from work.” The way he said there was no girl, it made your heart flip in your chest. Pushing it aside, you picked up your conversation, “work?” You hummed, looking to the ceiling in thought. “It’s the middle of the day, so if this was a lunch break, you’re clearly not working in the city.” You spoke, watching as he nodded in agreement, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You could be a manager somewhere, I guess.” You trailed off, peeking under the table at his shoes, they looked fairly expensive. “Not even close, Y/N.” He snickered, the ease of which he used your name, once again sending your heart into a skipping rhythm. You racked your brain for ideas, truly wanting to guess what it was that he did. For a brief moment, you wondered, could he possibly be in the limelight, but you pushed it aside, certainly you’d recognize someone as handsome as him.

“Well, this just isn’t fair, you know what I do,” you motioned to the room you were sat in, “but you’re just letting me humiliate myself with horrible guesses.” You laughed light heartedly, he shrugged his shoulders, sipping on his coffee, “hockey.” He mumbled, watching you cutely tilt your head to the side, confusion covering your features. God, what he would do to get to see you look at him like that all the time, a childlike quality in your demeanor that brought him peace. “Hockey, I play hockey.” He repeated, in a stronger voice this time. You nodded slowly, “oh.” You muttered, the realization hitting you, “oh, oh, you mean professionally?” You gasped, sitting up a little straighter at the sudden epiphany. Anthony nodded, eyes crinkling slightly when he laughed at how panicked you must have looked. “Long Island, oh my god, you play for the Islanders.” You spoke sheepishly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks. “Yeah, I do.” He responded, glancing at his phone as it lit up, he quickly shut the screen down again. “Have you ever been to a game?” He inquired, the way his voice raised slightly caught your attention. “No, I haven’t.” You tucked your hair behind your ear, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater again.

“You should come, I can get you tickets-unless, uh you have a boyfriend.” He spoke awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “I don’t.” You answered, watching his eyes widen, his lips seeming to move before his brain could catch up with what he was saying. “Oh, great, I have a friend, Mat. I think you two would really hit it off.” He spoke, hiding the way he wanted to curse himself for spitting those words out. You hid the disappointment on your face, “oh, that’s really nice, Anthony-” “Tito, call me Tito, please.” He cut you off, before motioning to continue. “Ok, Tito. That’s sweet but I don’t think that’s a great idea, I hardly know you, let alone this Mat person.” You sighed softly, expecting him to just give in at your words, but you’d come to find out really quickly that he was stubborn. “Please, it’s the least I could do for taking up your time.” He assured you, looking away as you chewed your lip in thought. Worse comes to worse, you’re getting a free ticket to the game, what’s the worst that could happen? “If you insist.” You gave in, he had to hide his excitement, since he blew his chance by mentioning Mat. “Can I have your number?” He questioned, and you shot your eyebrows up, letting out a surprised, “what?” Before you could stop yourself. Tito smiled at your reaction, “so I can keep in touch about the ticket.” He assured you, he made an observation of the way you let out a soft “oh”, something you did quite often when you were caught off guard. “Right, yeah, of course.” You rattled off, holding your hand out for his phone, hating the way you could feel the heat rushing to your face. He handed you the device, open on a new contact, you typed in your name, and number quickly before handing it back to him. You watched him quickly add something before saving it. “I’ll text you? To find out when you can come.” He spoke, sliding out of the seat, only then did you realize how long you had been talking to each other. “Yeah, that works.” You murmured, “Bye, Tito.” You added as he headed towards the door, “bye, Y/N.”

A text from Tito came a lot sooner than you had expected, that same night he shot you a message.

“Hey, It’s Anthony”

You smiled at the screen, before reminding yourself he was setting you up with his friend and not with himself.

“I was told to call you Tito”

“Sorry, let me start again - Hey, it’s Tito. Is that better for you?”

“It’ll have to do, I guess, but I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

You watched the reaction pop up on your phone, him sending a haha to it before the dots came up showing he was typing.

“So, there’s a game coming up next weekend, Saturday, if you’re free…”

“That works!”

You thought maybe it came off too excited, when he read it but didn’t respond. Then your phone lit up with a text,

“Great, Mat is very excited.”

A sigh fell from your lips as you typed a robotic response,

“I am too!”

And that was that.

****

Saturday came before you knew it, the whole ride to the arena you were nervously chewing your lip, rubbing your sweaty palms on your jean clad legs. You had done some googling, and watching how they could get slammed into the boards had your skin crawling, how anyone could get enjoyment out of that was beyond you.

Once you arrived, you had hoped your nervousness would die down, but it only grew as you walked to your seat, close to the glass, and became surrounded by people in Islanders gear. You made it to your spot, and sighed in relief, at least you were there and you could try to enjoy the game, keyword being try.

The second the guys skated so effortlessly onto the ice, your nerves shot back up, searching for the only two jersey numbers you cared to memorize, eighteen and thirteen. Of course they skated alongside each other, stopping in front of your section, you waved sheepishly, watching them both grin. “Hi” you mouthed, unable to stop the blush rising to your face when Mat waved back. You couldn’t deny, he was attractive, but your mind kept bouncing back to Tito. The way he caught your attention so effortlessly, you watched as they spoke to each other as they turned to truly begin their warm ups, Tito glancing back at you with this look you couldn’t fully decipher, before shaking his head at his friend, your mind wandered with what it was they had spoken about. Surely it couldn’t be about you, what was there to say? Especially to cause Tito to look at you the way he did, almost in a concerning manner. There was a tap to the glass in front of you, Mat holding a puck for you, he motioned for you to stand and you did, easily catching it as he tossed it over to you. A smile on your face as you saw he had signed it with a silver marker,

“Hi - Mat Barzal”

You shook your head with a laugh as he grinned boyishly at you, the enthusiasm he showed encouraged you to be more open minded to this set up, it’s not very often that someone would end up in the situation you found yourself in. “Thank you” you mouthed, feeling the eyes of girls around you, suddenly realizing you’d need to develop thick skin to be around these boys.

The game flew by and before you knew it you were being pulled to the side by some big burly guy, with a security badge, and you began to panic. “Y/N Y/L/N?” He questioned trailing off, and you nodded, “Mr. Barzal asked me to catch you before you left, he wants to bring you down to see him.” He spoke lightly in contrast to his gruff looks. “Oh.” You whispered, “oh, yeah ok.” You came to your senses, awkwardly following the man, feeling eyes following you as he directed you down a hallway and out a large door. “I-uh-can I ask you something,” You paused waiting for his name, “Jeffrey.” He spoke, his voice still shocking you in comparison to his large build and thick beard. “Can I ask you something, Jeffrey?” You completed your earlier question. “Sure, why not.” He humored you, his face aging for a moment when he smiled and his skin crinkled together. “Does Mat do this often? Bring girls down here after games I mean.” You couldn’t help but ask, some minor worries overtaking your conscience. Jeffrey stayed quiet, giving you a sideways glance. “A lot is a stretch, I’d say sometimes.” He finally chose his words, carefully tiptoeing around the subject, not wanting to put himself in a compromising position. You nodded, deciding against saying anything as the elevator slowed to a stop, the doors opened and Jeffrey stepped out, pointing to a row of chairs down the hall. “Wait there, he should be out soon.” He spoke, walking off like he hadn’t just left a complete stranger outside of the locker room, where anyone could find them.

It felt like an eternity, but in actuality it was only ten minutes until Mat walked out, dressed in his pregame suit, hair combed back after his shower. “Y/N.” He smiled, and you shot to your feet, “Hi.” You smiled, allowing him to give you a short hug, but your mind slipped into thinking what it would feel like to be hugging Tito in this moment. “How’d you like the game?” He asked, the two of you slowly walking down the hall, your heeled ankle boots clicking on the cement. You didn’t know where you were walking to, but you followed him. “It was good! I’d never seen one before.” You answered cheerily, keeping pace with him, he smiled down at you. “Really?” He gasped, faking offence, a hand resting over his heart. “Yes, really.” You laughed softly, feeling his eyes scan you over. You didn’t want to admit that you could tell the sparks weren’t really there, for either of you, as far as you could tell. He was kind, definitely, and attractive, but he seemed more like a friend, or a brother if you will, and that isn’t how any girl wants to feel when they’re on a date. “Did you want to go grab something to eat?” He offered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. You nodded, deciding to still humor the scenario, “sure.” You gave him your signature smile. He mirrored it, and you could tell you were both being polite, but it was still a nice night. He was a gentleman, of course, paying for your food despite your protests, offering to drive you home, but caving when you insisted on taking an Uber home was fine.

While you were waiting for your car, Mat stayed beside you, his phone chiming with a text from Tito, which he instantly showed you, and the two of you laughed softly.

“Double date, with me and Kylie?”

“Who’s Kylie?” You asked Mat, after hesitantly agreeing, it would be fun, at least, since you got along well with Mat. “Some girl, I don’t know why he even talks to her, she just wants to hook up but get the perks of nice dates.” Mat scoffed, and you had to hide a laugh. “It is pretty funny.” He commented, causing you both to start laughing hysterically on the side of the street. “I’m glad we agree on that.” You giggled, catching Mat smiling at you.

Maybe, had you not known his best friend, you would kiss him in that moment.

“I’ll text you, to set up this sure to be weird double date.” He spoke, as the Uber pulled up to the curb. “Alright, thanks for tonight, it was fun.” You told him, and he could tell in that moment that you both were on the same page, he thought you were beautiful, and kind, and funny, but he didn’t have that chemistry that he could see between you and Anthony. His mind wandered to the question he asked on the ice,

“Are you sure you aren’t interested in her, you look at her in that way.” Mat sighed, skating beside Tito in warmups, he watched his friend glance back at you in your seat, a pink tint on your cheeks from the earlier interaction. “No, I’m sure, you two would hit it off.” Tito sighed softly shaking his head, pushing his thoughts aside, he had royally screwed up, and there was no way he could fix it himself.

Mat came to his senses when you leaned up and gave him a quick kiss to his cheek, “goodnight, Mat.” You mumbled, slipping into the car, “goodnight.” He replied, shutting the door for you.

****

You smiled as you opened your apartment door, Anthony smiling widely from the other side, “I brought cheetos.” He sang teasingly, for a moment you truly wanted to wrap him in a hug, relieved to see him. “You’re the best.” You sighed, snatching the bag from him, it’s been a couple of weeks since your date with Mat, you’ve kept in touch, but haven’t really seen each other since then, he came into your job a couple times, but that's all. You and Tito have been spending a lot of time together, whenever your schedules allowed, and for a while you had thought maybe this double date wasn’t going to happen, but then of course as he stepped into your apartment—like he had grown accustomed too. “So, I don’t know if Mat asked you yet, but I was thinking Friday night for that double date.” He spoke casually, missing the way your whole body tensed at his words. “Uh, yeah that works.” You answered softly, disguising your sadness by offering him a cheeto from the bag he so graciously brought you. “I bought you a whole bag, and I only get one? Must have been a really bad day.” He teased, you nodded silently, “indeed it was, Beau.” You plopped yourself down on your couch, him following suit like the two of you had begun to do, him on the other end of your couch as you laid, feet beside him. He listened intently as you two catched up on things from the past few days, anyone looking in would assume the two of you were together, if not, close to it, but you two told yourselves that it was nothing. You were being friendly, that's all, friends do this all the time, right? Besides, he did set you up with his friend after all.

***

“You look beautiful.” Mat complimented as you opened the door, he was picking you up for the double date, you had your hair curled lightly, letting it fall behind your shoulders, it was early spring, so there was still a light chill in the air, especially at night. So you had opted for a red sweater dress, throwing a lightweight jean jacket over top. “Thank you.” You smiled, smoothing out the material, “let me just grab my bag.” You held up a finger, rushing quickly to grab it off the counter. “Ready?” He smiled when you came back. “Yeah, I think so.” You made sure you had your keys and phone in the bag before locking the door on your way out.

“This should be interesting.” Mat sighed as he pulled up to the valet, Anthony and this Kylie girl, standing on the curb, you shivered at the sight of her. A barely there dress covering her skin, pin straight bleached hair hanging over her shoulders, and way to dramatic makeup covering her face. “Oh.” You let out softly, laughing at the sight of them, Tito looked way to put together to be beside her, “I agree.” Mat sighed, putting the car in park, climbing out as you followed suit, once again smoothing out the material covering your skin. “Hey guys.” Anthony grinned, all but pulling Kylie along to greet you both. You gave him a quick hug, smiling and waving politely at Kylie, who barely repeated the actions, but you could tell her eyes lingered on Mat’s body a bit longer than it should have. Mat and Anthony made small talk as you were led to the table in the restaurant, leaving you and Kylie in awkward silence. She gave you an odd glance when Mat pulled out your chair, you brushed it off, telling yourself there is no way that this was Tito’s type. “How have you been?” You asked, trying to break the silence as you all looked over the menu. “Good.” Anthony spoke, Mat agreeing as he smiled softly at you.

It continued awkwardly, everyone loosened up after the food arrived, and the wine kept coming. You all quickly learned that Kylie was a lightweight, and a flirty drunk. You grimaced as she ran her hand up the back of Tito’s neck, he shifted slightly, almost as if her touch made him uncomfortable. “So, dessert?” Mat piped up, clearing his throat when he jumped in his spot slightly, “you ok?” You questioned sweetly, he leaned over and whispered in your ear. “She just slid her foot up my leg.” He stayed there for a moment as you processed his words, you stifled back a laugh, hand covering your mouth. Tito raised a brow as the two of you pulled away from each other laughing. “Nothing.” Mat brushed him off, “so Kylie, how long have you and Tito known each other?” You asked, glancing up from the dessert menu that you and Mat were looking over. “Who?” She questioned, looking away from Anthony, eyes hazed over, he held in a sigh. “Anthony.” You trailed off, looking between the two like they were insane. “Oh,” she laughed, hand running down his arm, “a couple months.” She spoke, as if he was the light of her world, where we all could tell she wanted to hook up and get on her way. You nodded, leaning closer to Mat as you let a tiny yawn slip, it was more of a reaction thing, after tonight, you and Mat had mutually decided you would stop trying to pursue anything romantic. He slipped an arm over your shoulder, Anthony’s jaw clenched at the sight for a moment, something Mat definitely noticed. You didn’t as you turned to mutter to Mat about the cheesecake, he nodded in agreement, you shut the menu and placed it by the edge of the table.

“OH! Alright,” Mat slid his chair back abruptly, glaring at Kylie, “that’s enough.” He demanded, and you had to hide your laugh by sipping on your wine, Anthony looked between the two with confused eyes. “What’s going on?” Anthony questioned, you all but choked on your wine as Mat shrunk into his seat. “Shall I?” You teased when Mat stayed silent, he nodded, running a hand over his face as he calmed his blush down. “Your date has been attempting to play footsie with him all night.” You spoke with a straight face, Tito just stared at you, like you were joking. He broke out into laughter, taking you both off guard, Kylie huffed dramatically, standing up, “I’m leaving.” She snapped, the three of you looked at each other and began laughing together. “Goodnight, Kylie.” You called, nearly snorting when she gave you a hair flip, you turned to Mat, hiding your red from laughter face in his neck, again making you miss the way Anthony’s face faltered, although, Mat noticed it and shot his friend and apologetic look. “I think I’m going to call it a night.” Anthony announced and you all but shot up in your seat. “Are you sure?” You questioned solemnly, the alcohol in your veins slowing your reflexes, letting the words slip from your mouth before you could stop it. “Yeah.” He muttered flagging down the waiter so he could pay his part of the check, you glanced at Mat who had an unreadable expression on his face. “Have a good night, Tito.” You spoke when he stood after paying his part. “You too.” He answered shortly, taking you off guard, you sunk into your seat, reaching for your wine glass as you watched him walk away. “And we’re not gonna do that.” Mat took the glass from you, shaking his head when you gave him a pleading look.

“Y/N, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people in this much denial.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, pulling his card out for dinner, you stopped him, putting your own down instead, he didn’t fight you, not wanting to push you tonight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You scoffed, crossing your arms, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “Oh please.” Mat groaned, “I could tell from the second you came to the game, he kept looking for you every chance he got, and the way you light up around him.” He trailed off, and you felt guilty, “Mat, I didn’t mean to lead you on, I wasn’t–“ “it’s ok, I knew it from the beginning, but I figured I’d give it a shot anyways.” He cut you off, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “you two have to figure it out, I’ve never seen him like this before.” Mat explained easily, standing once you got your card back and put it away. “Let’s just get you home.” He laughed under his breath when you shakily stood up, a mix of the alcohol and being seated for so long.

****

“Be right with you!” You called from around the wall, not bothering to look towards the front counter as you lugged the oversized bag of coffee grounds towards the front of the store. You huffed as you rounded the corner, nearly dropping the bag on your feet when you spotted Anthony and Mat standing there. “Oh.” You whispered, setting the bag on the counter, “hey.” You muttered, eyes bouncing between the two. “Hi.” Anthony mumbled, awkwardly shifting on his feet, Mat stayed silent watching the silent exchanges you were sharing. “I saw you moved on from Kylie.” You couldn’t help but speak, Mat nearly died trying to hide his shocked laughter, covering it up with a cough as he turned away. You held in a sigh when Tito only nodded, “yeah, I did.” He decided to speak, not sounding like a guy who was interested in her. You’d seen pictures online of him with this girl, not much better than Kylie, which quite honestly disgusted you. How a guy like him would go for a girl who clearly didn’t want anything real. Pushing those thoughts aside, you grabbed their usual orders, Anthony paid for both, and left a nice tip in the jar for you, which made you feel cheap, you knew he was simply apologizing in his own odd way. You pulled the money out of the jar and gave it back to him, he was astonished. He opened and closed his mouth looking for words, “Anthony, I really have to get back to work.” You sighed, looking to Mat for assistance, he shrugged, sipping on his coffee in amusement. “We’re going out to this bar tonight with some of the other guys, some of their wives will be there… if you want to come?” Mat offered.

Why you said yes was beyond your comprehension.

“I’ll be there.”

And there you were, owning your appearance, figuring, if you had to spend the night with the man you were so clearly falling for, and his best friend, you might as well get some attention from someone who wouldn’t deny their feelings.

The skinny jeans hugged your legs just right, giving your butt just a little boost, that paired with your white lace, off the shoulder top, made you look perfectly tan even this horrible bar lighting. You added a simple pair of strappy black heels, holding your clutch in one hand, hair laying curled behind your shoulders. And, of course, we can’t forget the bright red lipstick that—unknowing to you—was going to drive Anthony absolutely crazy all night.

“Y/N! You’re here!” Mat cheered, clearly a couple beers deep already, you laughed at his excitement, making your way over to him, you gave him a quick hug, his presence welcoming, you quickly came to learn that you could tell Mat anything and he would do his best to help you, he cared about you, even more so because his friend was falling for you, and falling hard. “Hi.” You waved to the two ladies, Sydney and Grace, you found out quickly, that they would also be shocked at Anthony and yours interesting connection. “Hey!” They greeted cheerily, all but whisking you off to their table, leaving the boys to be their slightly rowdy selves. “So, you and Tito.” Sydney wiggled her eyebrows, a smirk falling onto her face. You sighed, but you felt comfortable with them, so you started spilling everything.

From the moment you met, to the feeling when he walks into your apartment, the way your heart always skips a beat at the sight of him expertly making his way around. How his eyes still lit up every time you said you saved him a muffin from work, how he knew that after a long day, you didn’t want ice cream or chocolate, you wanted Cheetos. How you could feel him stealing glances at you right now, all the way up to how you’re beginning to think you’re falling in love with him after only two short months of knowing him.

“Oh my god!” Grace gasped, hands going to her heart, “that’s so sweet, Y/N.” She added, looking to Sydney who was sniffling, “hormones!” She defended, referring to her baby born a few months earlier. You chuckled at their reactions, suddenly searching the bar for Tito. You had been speaking for a while, and you knew how guys could be around each other, so when you saw Mat desperately searching for you, you couldn’t help but shoot to your feet. You excused yourself and weaved your way through the over crowded bar, appearing by his side in record time. “He’s hammered.” He whispered into your ear, chuckling when he himself almost tipped over. You caught Tito’s gaze, and instantly you could tell he was angry, about something, what it was, that you didn’t know. Or didn’t want to admit. “Wow there buddy.” You lightly pushed Mat into the barstool, “can he get a water, please?” You called to the bartender, he shot you a smile, you directed Mat to stay in the chair and drink the water when it came. “Yes mom.” He grumbled, lazily smiling, you sighed and made your way towards a spaced out, angry Anthony.

“Tito?” You spoke, placing a hand on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin, eyes focusing on you, he stepped out of your gentle hold, knuckles white on the handle of the beer glass. “What, Y/N?” He snapped, you hadn’t pegged him as an angry drunk, but maybe you were wrong. “Don’t give me an attitude!” You snapped right back, he was taken back by your force, nodding slowly. “I’m coming over here to check on you, what’s got you in a mood?” You asked, shocked when he ignored you and motioned for another beer, which the bartender hesitantly gave him, shooting you a look that said he was about to be cut off. You sighed, a little too loudly as Anthony picked up the glass and brought it to his lips, he shot you a look. “What is it now?” He retorted, completely ignoring your earlier question, again. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.” You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. He scoffed, rolling his eyes for effect, “as if you would know, you’ve stayed away from me all night!” He muttered with a venomous tone. You’d only had a couple of drinks, so your mind was still fairly clear, but your emotions bubbled to the surface before you could stop them. Your eyes burned, you could feel the water reaching the brim, “I stayed away from you because I was letting you have fun with your friends, you didn’t come to me either, Anthony.” His eyes trained on your cherry red lips as you spoke, but he shook himself from the thoughts of kissing you as you spoke his true name with force. He met your gaze, and his anger faltered, but he was too far gone in alcohol to realize what he should be doing, he should be apologizing, he should already be your boyfriend, he should be telling you he loves you, but of course—that’s not what he did.

He chose to be silent, again.

“Right, nothing to say.” You whispered, and he didn’t miss how your voice broke, you shook your head looking to the ceiling, silently cursing yourself for being so dumb, for thinking he would ever be more than just a friend to you. “I’m going home, Anthony,” this time his name was like a faint whisper falling from your lips, “do you need me to call you an Uber?” You had to ask, you’d hate yourself if he didn’t get home safely. He shook his head, to full of his own drunk ego to do anything else. He watched as you went to say goodbye to Mat, patting him on the shoulder, silently thanking him for inviting you, he watched you wave to the other guys of the group, who had all welcomed you with open arms—you fit right in. Lastly, he watched you say goodbye to the ladies, who kept glancing over at him, muttering words to you that he couldn’t decipher in his hazy vision. Then, just like that, you were gone.

You had to have only been home for an hour, nearly asleep in your bed when you heard a knock on your door, your eyes shot to the time, 1:14am flashing back at you. Hesitantly, you stood to your feet, pulling a sweater on over your pajamas, hugging it tightly to your chest as you walked. You flicked the lights on, holding your phone in your hand as well, just in case. The knocking came again, with a heavy hand, which if we’re being honest, made your heart rate pick up, unsure of who was on the other side. You made it to the door and your breathing stopped for a moment when you looked through the peephole, Anthony standing there with a red face and wobbling stance. “Y/N, I don’t know if you’re there.” He slurred, “I need to talk to you.” He continued, getting cut off by a hiccup, you couldn’t let him go on in this state. You swung the door open, watching as his eyes widened, bloodshot, making them look even more blue. “Tito.” You sighed, helping him inside, his legs shaky as he walked. “I thought you would’ve been home by now.” You added, gasping when he nearly fell over, you held onto him tighter, getting him to your couch just in time for him to fall down. You rushed over to the front door, shutting and locking it before returning to him, you squatted in front of him, to meet his eyes. “I’m an idiot.” He whispered, almost as if he forgot it was you he was talking to. “No you’re not.” You murmured, resting a hand on his knee, his eyes landed on it, before moving to your face, slightly puffy eyes, making his heart wrench in his chest, he made you cry. He flickered his gaze to your lips, they were swollen and pink from you scrubbing the lipstick off, the whole time you had been doing that, you thought what an idiot you were for thinking it would pull him in.

“I am.” He said again, nodding as he blinked slowly, the effects of the alcohol kicking in. He was about to speak but you stopped him. “Anthony,” there it was again, the disappointment in your voice as you spoke, you might as well have stabbed him in the heart, “whatever you want to say, I think it should wait until tomorrow when you’re sober.” You explained, carefully pushing his jacket off his body, he watched in awe of your warm nature as you slipped off his shoes. “You can stay here, I’ll go get a pillow.” You whispered, to which he didn’t respond, the second you were gone, he laid on his stomach, one arm hanging off the couch as the tiredness overcame him. His eyes burned with drunken emotion, but he hadn’t realized as he knocked out in your living room that a single drop fell, staying in a pool under his eye. You rounded the corner, stopping in your tracks at the sight of him spread out on your couch, his soft snores filling the otherwise silent space. You made your way over to him, setting the pillow down on the side table, taking the blanket from the corner and moving to drape it over his back lightly. You tiptoed into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and a couple of Advil, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him, as you were placing them down you looked over and caught the single spot of wetness under his eye, now feeling like someone had stabbed you in the heart. You gently reach over, wiping it off with your thumb, sighing when he smiled softly in his sleep. Bending down, you left a light kiss to his cheek, “goodnight, Tito.”

***

Morning came much sooner than you’d like, after spending the whole night tossing and turning, crying once again, overwhelmed by the not knowing of what he wanted to tell you last night.

You woke when you heard a soft crash in the kitchen, “shit.” Tito whispered, you could tell he was trying to get a pan out, but you had them stacked in such a way that it was impossible to not make noise. You stayed silent in your bed, as if he could see through the wall. You listened as he muttered to himself, words you couldn’t quite decipher, the fridge opened and closed, the sound of your coffee pot being turned on. His feet made their way down the hall, you could tell he stopped outside your door, unsure of what to do, he decided against waking you, and you heard him step into the bathroom instead. A sigh fell from your lips as you climbed out of bed, you were still in your pajamas from last night, and the sweater still hanging over your frame, you decided that was good enough. You brushed out your hair and tied it up sloppily, a messy bun with your leftover curls. You caught a glance in your mirror, sighing for what felt like the hundredth time already, your eyes puffy, cheeks pink. Oh well, you thought as you stepped out into the hall, at the same time as Tito. “I didn’t wake you did I?” Was what he decided on, you shook your head staying silent, making your way into the bathroom, “oh.” He let out softly, a habit of yours he had picked up on, something he had started doing himself.

He was back in the kitchen when you came out, standing in front of the stove, flipping over the eggs in the pan, you slid past him to get to the coffee pot. “How’s your head?” You asked, the silence, for once with him, being awkward. “Not too bad.” He answered, smiling softly at you, you returned the gesture as you poured some creamer into your cup. The silence came back, neither of you speaking as he continued cooking, you pulled out some bread and made toast, trying to calm your mind as you thought of how you wanted to do this with him all the time. Something so domestic as cooking breakfast, but it was just the two of you, it was nice.

You placed two plates beside him, both with toast on them, he slid the eggs equally onto the dishes, staying silent as he slid the pan off the burner to cool off. “Thank you.” You mumbled, taking the plate and going to the small table you had, he only hummed in response, sitting adjacent to you. It stayed silent, the only noise being your forks hitting the plate, or coffee cups being set down.

When you finished, you stood, taking the plates, he didn’t protest as he looked lost in thought. Your mind raced as you turned the water on, squeezing dish soap onto the sponge. Was he ever going to say what he came here for? Could it possibly be what you thought it was? Certainly if it was that, he would’ve said it by now.

You hadn’t realized you had let the tears begin to fall until you heard him stand up from the chair abruptly, he was there, in three large steps. He stood beside you, keeping his eyes on you as he turned the water off, he silently pulled your hands from the dishes, letting them lightly fall into the sink, he grabbed the towel and dried your hands. You cried harder as he pulled you into his chest, one arm tightly around your back, his other hand cradling the back of your head. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry.” He whispered after a while, he had begun to rub shapes into your back, noticing how it made your breathing slow slightly. You shook your head, pulling away from his grip, despite his best efforts to keep you flush against him. “What is this?” You asked, keeping your eyes on his, “I can’t keep doing this, why did you come last night?” You asked in more detail, crossing your arms over your chest. Anthony looked at you, trying to find the right words to say, but deep down he knew none of them would make up for how he treated you last night, or for how he had dragged this on for months now. “I came to apologize.” He muttered.

You went stiff as a board, of course it wasn’t what you had hoped for. “That’s all?” You questioned, looking up at him with desperate eyes. He nodded, “I shouldn’t have been so rude last night, you didn’t deserve it–“ “No, I didn’t.” You cut him off, anger rising in your chest, “Anthony, if that’s all you had to say, I really think you should leave.” You whimpered, voice cracking as you pushed past him.

Idiot, he thought to himself, why couldn’t he just say it.

Finally, his brain came to its senses and directed him towards you, he grabbed your hand, tugging you towards him, grabbing your waist to steady you when you crashed into him. Eyes filled with tears once more, he stayed silent as you stared at you. You let your eyes flutter shut as he leaned forward, his lips ghosting over yours, silently asking if this is what you wanted, when you didn’t pull away, he took that as a yes. He fully connected your lips, sighing into you, relief filling him when you reciprocated the action, your arms going around his neck, desperate to keep him close. He took a few steps forward, pressing you against the wall, his body flush against yours. When he pulled back, a soft whine fell from your lips, you opened your eyes to find him already looking at you. Eyes slightly wide, a smile working its way onto his face, “you need to say it, Tito. Please.” You whispered, resisting the urge to pull him in again. “I love you.” His voice was soft, gentle as he looked down at you. “I have ever since I walked into that cafe.” He added, you tugged him back into you, kissing him again, this time pouring emotion into it. The two of you moved in sync, in perfect time with each other, like you already knew everything about one another. Which in a way, you did.

“I love you.” You repeated back to him, pulling away just enough to speak, he nearly whined at your words, not realizing how badly he had needed to hear them. “I’m so sorry, I was so dumb, I couldn’t admit that I fell for you so quick. It scared me.” He whispered, his breath fanning over your face. “It scared me too.” You sighed, hiding your face in his neck. “You’ll just have to tell me all the time now.” You teased, making the both of you relax.

The feeling when he told you he loved you, that was something you’d never forget.

The feeling when he showed you, in all the little things, in all the physical ways, in all the ways he would look at you… it made it all worth the wait.

taglist: @starkeysdunn​ @kempe​ @mtkachuk​ @wtfkie​ @literarycharleton​ @starkeyseguin​

[thewhumperinwhite]

And Then You Kill Me (part 4)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

if you got the vibe from any of this that i’m touch starved and think vampires are hot. shhhhhhhh

Karim continues to owe his existence to @sweetheartblue

TW for: explicit consensual sex; kissing; biting; Consensual Vampirism/sort of bloodplay I guess; masochism; suicidal thoughts/behavior; Art Thinks He’s Dying (And Is Happy About It); Also Art Gets Dizzy And Then Passes Out From Blood Loss During Sex (consensual but under negotiated); crying during sex; referenced past child abuse.

----

Art yells.

The pain is immediate and sharp—two needle-pricks in the side of his throat. Then the vampire closes his lips around the wound he’s just made, and sucks, and Art can feel the blood rushing out of him.

It’s—ecstatic.

He yanks hard on the vampire’s hair, rolling his hips against the vampire’s. He can feel that the vampire is half-hard inside his overly-expensive trousers, and that’s good, too, in a way it isn’t always—the vampire wants him. The vampire wants him.

People want Art for many reasons, and Art hates almost all of them.

He wishes more of them wanted him for his blood. Right now it feels like the one thing he actually wants to give away.

The vampire pulls off, after a few big swallows from Art’s throat, and runs his tongue over the wound there, and Art moans, and uses his hand in the vampire’s hair to yank his head back up and push him into a wet, messy kiss.

Art can taste his own blood in the vampire’s mouth. He’s already a little light-headed.

God, he feels like he could come from that all by itself.

The vampire laughs at him, more than before, bright and delighted, like he’s as surprised (relieved) at Art’s pleasure as Art is himself.

“Do,” Art pants, too turned on to let embarrassment stop him, “Do that again.”

The vampire pulls back enough to smile at him. His fangs are very obvious. Art wants to devour him whole.

“Alright, alright, you beauty,” the vampire says, his smile warming his soft-velvet voice, which drips down Art’s spine like honey. “No need to rush it.”

“Oh, shut up and bite me,” Art very nearly begs.

The vampire laughs again, and tugs the collar of Art’s hoodie down, to bite him again, between his neck and shoulder. Art gasps (wetly; his mouth is full of vampire saliva and his own blood) at the feeling of the vampire’s tongue over the wound, at the sweet pull of the vampire’s mouth against it, of the hot rush of his life running out through his skin and becoming someone else’s problem.

“Fuck,” Art says passionately.

The vampire hums around the bite marks in Art’s shoulder (Art feels the vibration down to his toes) and puts his hand on Art’s waist and then—up his back, under his hoodie.

The staff at his Father’s house were ordered not to talk to him; no one has touched him in—

He doesn’t even know when the last time was.

(Yes he does. It was his father. But his father doesn’t touch him with his bare skin—he touches him with the soles of his dress shoes and, very occasionally, with gloves.)

Art rolls his hips again, to make himself think of something else.

The vampire’s hand moves up and down his back; his other hand is cupping the side of Art’s face. His mouth is on Art’s shoulder. Art’s blood is pouring down his throat.

Art isn’t sure he’s ever been this hard before.

He rolls his hips again, and suddenly it isn’t enough, none of it is; he pushes hard against the vampire’s chest—his mouth comes away from Art’s shoulder with a wet squelch, and tears the wound there a little further open, and it’s wonderful—and the vampire makes a little noise of protest, more worried than disappointed, but lets Art push him away by the shoulders. (It must be an awkward position, his top half angled back while Art doesn’t move his legs from around the vampire’s waist, holding their hips together, where he can still feel the vampire’s cock against his, only a few layers of fabric between them; the vampire is more than half hard now.) The vampire blinks his big pretty inhuman eyes at him, and then sees Art scrabbling at the hem of his sweatshirt and laughs and helps him shuck it off over his head.

The vampire lifts Art a little higher, like he doesn’t weigh anything at all, and lowers his head, to run his tongue over Art’s left nipple. It’s fine—it’s good, except it doesn’t hurt, and Art whines, and squirms against the vampire’s dick, trying to get him to—

The vampire kisses his way two inches up Art’s chest, and then sinks his teeth in there, halfway between his nipple and his collarbone, and Art moans properly, too turned on—and blessedly, wonderfully light-headed—to be embarrassed.

The vampire’s teeth burn on their way out of his skin and then they’re replaced by his tongue, soft and wet and warmer than it was—because Art is warming him up, because the life that was in him is going to be somewhere else, now; is going to be in this pretty vampire with his sweet mouth and his gentle eyes.

The vampire is still wearing his suit. Art pets the material with clumsy hands; it’s soft, almost slippery, and he hates it; he tugs on the collar, as hard as he can (which isn’t very hard).

The vampire makes a questioning noise, swallows, lifts his head—

His mouth is very red, now, with Art’s blood; it’s so unbearably sexy that Art has to kiss him again before he can do anything else; when he can stand to break the kiss (his own mouth must be red, now, too; he almost wishes he could see) he hisses, “Take—it off,” and his voice comes out more slurred than he expects.

Because you’re dying, his brain helpfully supplies. It’s such a relief he almost wants to cry.

The vampire laughs, grinning at him. It’s an almost painfully sweet grin—it wrinkles the bridge of his nose and the corners of his shiny eyes. Even the fangs and the blood running down his chin can’t make it anything else.

Art kisses the vampire again, softer this time, and can feel the vampire smiling against his mouth. Art fumbles with the buttons of the vampire’s dress shirt while he shucks easily out of his shirt and vest—and then puts his hands gently over Art’s, to help him with the last few buttons.

His hands are noticeably warmer than they were.

Art leans back, then, knocking his head lightly against the door, to get a good look at the vampire. His skin is the same warm gold-touched brown across his broad shoulders, and his arms are bunched with the kind of muscles you get from going to the gym more than once a week. And he’s smiling up at Art, like Art’s giving him everything he could have asked for, instead of the other way around.

Art sighs, and flops forward, until he can bury his face in the vampire’s neck. The vampire lets out a quiet breath, and then—thank god—wraps his arms around Art’s ribs and holds him, almost tight enough.

“I want,” Art says, against the vampire’s throat. The vampire is warmer than he was, and Art is colder, and he’s never felt anything like the vampire’s muscled arms around him, like his arms around the vampire’s tight waist, and no one’s ever touched him like this, like they care at all how it makes him feel, and—

And it’s Art’s last night, and he wants to feel it as much as he can.

“I want you to fuck me,” Art says, barely above a whisper.

The vampire goes still for a moment, and then resumes running his (cool, but warming now) hands up and down Art’s bare back, which is almost making Art’s eyes cross.

“You sure?” the vampire says softly, after a moment.

It’s a silly question; Art is dimly aware that if he were clear-headed he’d probably laugh at it. But he’s at least three pints of blood lighter, so he doesn’t; just nods against the vampire’s throat.

And maybe even more blood than that, because then he says, “Please,” in a small voice, and kisses the vampire’s neck, almost in supplication.

The vampire pulls back—Art’s heart drops into his stomach—and then lift’s Art’s chin with his hand and kisses him. Art melts against his mouth, gasping.

“You’ve got it, my beauty,” the vampire says, his voice honey-warm again. He’s practically glowing with happiness. It makes Art’s eyes prickle with tears, and he doesn’t know why.

The vampire lays Art down, with the utmost gentleness, on the soft white carpet of the living room floor, and kisses him again, slower and deeper. When he reaches for the waistband of Art’s jeans, Art breaks the kiss, tugs the vampire’s head down to his throat again, the side that hasn’t been touched yet.

The vampire gives a little huff of laughter, and bites Art again.

It hurts, in an almost unbearably good way. This time Art whimpers, his arms around the vampire’s neck; he wants so badly to be touched.

“Please,” he says, and the vampire sucks on the wound—Art practically wails—and then slides Art’s jeans and underwear down around his thighs in one practiced movement.

Art lifts his hips—grinds against the vampire’s trousers, desperate for any sort of friction now—and kicks his feet until his jeans disappear in some unknowable direction, and scrabbles for the catch of the vampire’s trousers. The vampire—god bless him—doesn’t stop sucking from Art’s neck while he takes his trousers off. He reaches for Art’s cock, while Art’s life is still pulsing into his mouth, and Art almost screams.

“Oh, god,” Art moans, “oh, please, I need—Please!”

The vampire has to sit up, to rummage around in a bag propped up against the wall for a bottle of lube, and the second his mouth isn’t on Art’s throat anymore Art starts to cry.

The vampire stops when he looks back at him, propping himself up over Art on one hand. He sets the bottle aside, and cups Art’s face, far too gently; Art lets out a horrible wet sob, even though he’s trying to hold it in.

“What—What’s the matter, you beauty,” the vampire says, his bloody mouth smiling but his eyes wide and far too sympathetic. “What’s all this about?” he says, and wipes Art’s tears with his broad warm thumb.

Art wants to say shut up and I don’t need your pity, but what comes out when he opens his mouth is, “Please don’t leave.”

The vampire’s bloody mouth drops open with mild horror at the thought, and that only makes Art’s tears fall even faster. “Beauty,” he says, “my beauty, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please,” Art whispers, and tangles his hair in the vampire’s hair again. “Please—at least—please don’t leave until I—until—”

The vampire lowers his hips, and the feeling of him, hot and warm against Art, takes all the air out of Art’s lungs.

“I won’t,” the vampire says, in the gentlest voice Art has ever heard. “I won’t leave you. That’s a promise.”

Art gasps in a breath—he’s sort of blubbering now—and pulls the vampire’s head back down to his throat, and doesn’t let go until he bites again.

Art is warm and loose and floating when the vampire first slides inside him, pausing there, to let him adjust. The vampire is more than warm, now; he’s hot, from all of Art’s blood inside him, and his weight on Art’s hips and chest and his hand in Art’s hair and his teeth in Art’s throat are a better last sensation than Art could possibly have asked for.

For the first time since Art can remember, he feels warm and safe and wanted when everything goes dark.

[yamithediaperdork]

Eternal Baby of the family (Twilight)

Being treated like a baby by your parents would be hard enough to tolerate for one or two years when you were 17, but for one poor vampire who had been turned at the age of 17 103 ago it had been his daily life for 20 of those years.

Of course after 20 long years of being diapered and dressed like a toddler you'd of thought that Edward Cullen would of adapted to what was his life and learned to stop fighting but Edward wasn't the type to give up the struggle regardless of how many spankings and mouth washing and all that it earned him.

He thought that as long as he proved he didn't want the baby treatment, hated the baby treatment and tried to be a big boy his daddy Carlilse would see the truth and finally let him at least act like a 17 year old.

It never ONE dawned on him that all Carlilse wanted was him to be a good little boy for one whole year and the diapers and baby treatment would go away, like it had for Edwards other siblings in the vampire house hold.

Thus the day started liked any other, with Edward waking up in his crib in his animal print nursery and in a light red sleeper that puffed out at the hips from the many layers of diapers Carlilse and Esme insisted that he wear at all times.

Though despite the thickness of the diapers that forced him to waddle he was greeted to anther morning routine, having to inhale the stench from the massive load he made in them because of all the high fiber meals he was given.

with his vampire body he couldn't put on too much weight so his 'loving' parent made sure he ate lots and lots so he'd be able to make TON'S of presents all throughout the day and night. Combine that with all the fluids he had to drink and was it any wonder he was going though entire packs of diapers a day?!

kicking his Paw patrol blanket off Edward managed to sit up despite the bulk and filth around his hips and groaned, there was a LARGE wet spot on his crib, though they had rubber sheets on the mattress. his groan wasn't born out of shame of his diapers leaky or hating his sleep would have to be cleaned, but rather whenever his pampers leaked it was 'proof' to mommy and daddy dearest that he needed MORE layering and he was already up to 6 diapers at a time!

"great..gonna be bumped up to lucky number 7.." the big baby pouted.

Some of you might be wondering why, If Edward was a vampire that he stayed here and let them treat him like this and well, the fact of the matter was Carlilse and Esme were just too much for him to try and take on and even if he escaped what then?

He had no money, nothing to his name and would of ended up coming back on his own anyways. Till he could get out of diapers and start a part time job he was trapped.

Carlilse hummed softly as he made his way towards the nursery, Esme had taken the other kids out job hunting, feeling they were mature enough now to hold down a job but for the oldest of their vampire kids (and the stinkiest) it would be nothing but anther day of diapers.

After babying Edward for so long Carlilse had come to love it, and while Esme was always hopeful that Edward would figure out good behavior for a year would mean freedom, Carlilse liked to go out of his way to keep his little man grumpy and trapped in baby land.

He could smell Edward's morning glory so to speak before he even opened up the door and smirked, getting ready to ham it up.

"Phew yew! I could smell you from the front lawn! SOMEBODY made daddy a super stinky and super big present huh?" Carlilse asked, holding his nose and waving a hand as Edward glared at him and pouted. "oh I see a certain somebody who's diapies sprung a leak! You know what that means little man."

in truth Edwards diapers SHOULD of held up despite his heavy wetting, but a certain daddy dom MAY of poked holes in all of the diapers with a thumb tact to ensure flooding and leaks would happen.

"I know daddy." Edward sulked and looked away, a blush coming to his face.

"Aww, it's ok buddy, I know you can't help it." Carlilse coo'ed, walking over and tickling Edward under the chin. :Who's ready to a morning bath and then some num num's?" Carlilse asked.

"C-Can I wear more then just my diapers at breakfast? Emmett and the others are soo mean!" Edward whined.

"heh, don't worry about them, they already ate and are looking for summer jobs like big boys and girls." Carlilse said and smirked as a super huffy look crossed over Edwards face. "Awww don't be jealous! you have a job too. Making lots of stinky presents! and instead of a silly pay check you get MORE diapers!" Carlilse coo'ed.

Somehow, this didn't improve Edwards mood.

after getting out of his destroyed diapers and a quick bath, Edward was feeling better even if he was being taped into 7 of his puffy diapers now.

Since he could of been forced to try and eat his breakfast of bloody oatmeal (He was still a vampire after all) in his messy diapers he decided not to push his luck too much.

In his customed highchair and wearing a cookie monster bib he was at least allowed to feed himself though he was expected to get at least SOME of it on his face. It was a unspoken rule,but one he'd figured out when every time he kept his face clean while feeding himself he'd have five days of being fed.

sitting on the tray was a ba-ba of milk that he was expected to finish as well, if there was any milk left when he finished his bowl he'd get get anther bowl of the mostly bland save for the blood sludge.

in the end Edward ended up with two bowls of the high fiber oatmeal in his guts, and his bladder was already crying out in distress as Carlilse wiped the oatmeal from his face while scolding him on being such a messy eater.

with the baby fed, Carlilse led Edward back to his nursery, holding his hand and trying not to snicker at the waddling the massive diapers where making Edward do.

"So I know you likely just wanted to hang around the house today, or maybe go and play in your sandbox but sadly we have to go out first. daddies little muck butt has been making SO many presents we have to go and stock up on diapies!" Carlilse coo'ed and wasn't shocked when Edward froze.

The last time Edward had been out in public had been when he was in triple diapers and even then he'd been teased so much he'd ended up having a fit, there was no way in hell he could hide -7- diapers!

"I know, going out in public is scary to you little, you wanna just stay home where you feel safe but well your wearing the last of the diapers." Carlilse lied, then went on. "So unless you wanna sit in your own poopie and pee pee and risk leaking till mommy and your brothers and sisters get home.."

"I..I could stay here by myself!" Edward whimpered and whined, blushing and just thinking about how horrible going to the mall like THIS was gonna be.

"Stay here by yourself.. what kinda of irresponsible parent do you think I am little man?! Leaving a baby home alone, not gonna happen!" Carlilse tsk'ed and shook his head. "Don't worry buddy, if any bullies make you cry daddy will protect you!"

Somehow this statement DIDN'T reassure Edward and he started to bawl.

the hardest part of getting Edward dressed for his day out (Aside from his fussing and whining of course) was trying to find something to go over the boys massive diaper butt.

A lesser daddy would of given up and just had the diapers on display but Carlilse was no normal daddy, he was a super one!

Originally he was going to take his darling baby boy out in a onesie but the crotch snap's kept popping open. none of his overalls would go quite all the way up and pants were just hopeless.

in the end a old pair of light yellow short with the waist band wore out managed to get mostly over the diaper, the top of the padding was sticking out and Carlilse just used one of Edward's longer shirts to mostly cover up the showing diapers.

of course if Edward reached up for something the diapers were going to show and the shorts could hide his giga diaper ass anyways but at least Carlilse was trying and he almost melted when a blushing and huffy Edward gave him a small hug and thanked him for the effort.

"Awww, your VERY welcome buddy. though i think we better get you some new clothes too. looks like we've got a full day ahead of us!" Carlilse coo'ed then paused. "Speaking of full.."

and he leaned down and sniffed Edward butt, a act that despite how embarrassing it was made Edward giggle like the big baby he was dressed up as.

"Nope! still nice and clean! don't worry buddy, we'll get your diapies first."

Carlilse was quickly realizing he was a victim of his own success as he hadn't counted on just how much one more of the bulky diapers he put Edward in could change things.

Case and point, Edward was having a hard time getting into his car seat, and he was actually trying, not like when he'd have a fit about just going on a drive thought the country side.

"Ummm Daddy, maybe I should lose a few diapers." Edward said, rubbing the back of his head but grinning like a fool.

'oh you think you've won this round huh little man?' Carlilse thought.

never one to give in, Carlilse push and squished Edward till his pamper butt was seated, and then with even more effort got him buckled in.

"Look like we're getting a new car seat for you today too.Somebodies getting all his birthday presents early!" the teasing daddy chuckled.

"W-what!? But I don't want my birthday presents used up on this stuff!" Edward whined and huff.

"Well you should of thought about that before becoming such a helpless giga butt diaper baby." Carlilse said and tapped a finger on Edward nose.

Before the big baby could form a retort Carlilse was gone, the door shut and then behind the wheel.

"No fits little man. if your a good little boy and behave I'll let you walk around with daddy, any fits and you go in the shopping cart." He called back.

Edward huffed, opened his mouth to argue, and then just sighed and nodded.

"Yes daddy."

Adorably Edward conked out in his car seat on the way to the mall, the car ride affecting him like it would most babies and he had to be gently woken up when they reached the mall's parking lot.

wiping the drool from the big babies chin he gently shook him awake.

"Edddddy...eddddddy~ time to get up~" Carlilse coo'ed softly.

"Nggggh.. five more minutes.." Edward whined, more asleep then awake.

"Sorry buddy but we're here. come on, open those big beautiful eyes for dada." Carlilse coo'ed.

Edward yawned and slowly opened his eyes, confusion going across his face for a second as he looked around the car and the parking lot, before his memory kicked in.

"Oh man..I totally zonked out there.." He said blushing.

"Heh, it's perfectly natural." Carlilse said, working on getting the seat belt undo and then Helping Edward out of the car. "Now Hold daddies hand till we're inside, I don't want you running off and getting hurt by a car."

of course any car that ran into Edward, diapered or not, would be the one to be wreaked, but it just helped with the cute image of Edward being a helpless big baby.

Getting into the mall Edward had the naive hope that he'd be able to let go of Carlilse's hand and not look like a total 'daddies little man' but atlas, it wasn't meant to be.

"The mall's a big place Eddy, Hold daddies hand so you don't wander off and get lost. it's that or we go back to using the baby leash." Carlilse said.

Edward, who hated having to hold hands shuddered as he recalled the dreaded harness and leash. it was bad enough he was being treated like a helpless baby, without making him feel like a dog on a leash!

"I'll be good." Edward grumbled as they pasted a group of middle schoolers who burst out laughing and pointing at Edward as they waddled by, one of them making a video.

"Bwhahaha look at the big baby!"

"his diapers are MASSIVE!"

"what a dork!"

"oh look Eddy, you made new friends!" Carlilse said, smirking and tugged Edward over towards the kids. "Say hi to everyone Eddy." Carlilse encouraged, and Edward knew what was expected of him and in a effort to get out of it hammed up some baby behavior.

Turn back and hiding his face in Carlilse's shirt he whimpered out a soft "nooo..scared.." and whimpered every so cutely.

Carlilse knew what he was doing and decided to roll with it, but what Edward didn't know was while he was hiding his face in daddies chest, the back of his shirt was lifted to show off the top of his diapers.

"Shhh shh, It's ok little man. Sorry, he's just super shy. maybe next time." Carlilse said to the cackling teens.

Pulling back from Carlilse Edward went to lisp out a thank you but then his tummy gurgled and a massive poot came out, and while the thickness of the diapers muted it somewhat, there was a good chance the whole mall would of heard it if he hadn't of been padded.

"Gee, such a nice way to thank daddy stinker." Carlilse teased and ruffled Edward's hair as the teens were laughing harder, at least till the smell hit them.

As they walked away Edward could hear them gagging and coughing, one of them claiming his eyes were burning and couldn't help but giggle evilly.

"You enjoyed that a little too much." Carlilse chuckled, though considering how semi evil he could be, he was having a 'i'm so proud of you' moment with Edward.

their destination was twice upon a childhood, a niche shop that catered to little and the like and was third biggest of all the shops in the mall.

Edward had only been there once and still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that some people wanted to be treated like he was when it was a ongoing living hell for him.

He'd actually been told by anther little when he was there how lucky he was and how jealous he was of Edward, who had dryly remarked he'd of swapped with him any day of the week.

As the shop drew close Edward was getting tummy craps and whined a little holding his tummy.

"Um..Daddy. I have go potty." Edward said, trying to use his little guy voice in a effort to butter Carlilse up.

"And?" Carlilse asked, grinning with amusement, and seeing right though the little guys efforts.

"Well, it's gonna be a uh-oh." Edward explained.

"I repeat, And?" Carlilse said, speeding their walk up knowing it would only make Edward lose control even faster.

"C-Come on daddy! I can't..you know.." and Edward blew a raspberry. "In public! L-Let's go back to the car!"

"How would that help? we need to get you more diapers before you can get a bum change."

"I..I could stay in the car and wa-"

"Leave a baby in a car alone?! Never! now stop fusing mister man or your going in a cart seat when we get in there!" Carlilse said in a tone that made it clear that was final.

Edward however wasn't listening and stomped a foot, yank his hand away.

"NO! I wanna go back to the car! Now! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW!" He huffed and jumped up and down making a scene and worse, steering up breakfast and ruining any chance he had of making it back to the car.

"Little man, that is enough!" Carlilse said and started towards Edward who suddenly paled and hunched over, a massive series of wet farts escaping and despite himself he hunched down, one hand on the floor and anther one holding his tummy as he shamefully loaded his diapers.

"-sigh- And you wonder why your still in diapers." Carlilse said, then turned to the crowd. "I'm sorry for little Edward making a scene." he started and then as a horrid stench started to fill the area he added. "And I know he's sorry about the smell. "

Edward who felt like he was pushing out his skeleton as he unloaded grunted and groaned, the occasional cry of "POOPIE" was the only thing anyone could understand as seconds turned into minutes.

the Short's turned they're best but they had already been at their limit before the massive mass of baby fudge pushed out the back and to the surprise of no one but Edward they ripped apart and basically hung around his waist like a loin cloth of sorts.

with his pampers filled to the brim, both front and back, any and all fight was out of Edward who whimpered and slowly stood up, legs forced apart even more and held out his arm's.

"D-Daddy!" he whined and Carlilse came over and picked him up, the big babies legs wrapping around him and arms holding tight as Carlilse got a arm under the boys smelly rear and patted his back.

"Shhh, shh..It's alright. your just a baby Eddy. it's all right. Come on, let's go get you some clean diapers and new outfit. if you're a good boy we'll get you some stuffies too. hows that sound?"

Edward nodded dumbly, and it would be till later in the day when he'd realized with that last display, the last of Edward's big boy mind had ended up in the seat of the diaper that had been tossed out, and that Edward would never be able to be anything more then a helpless big baby.

The end

[derrybyers]

Winter Showers Bring...Tacos and Mike Wheeler?

hey guys! Finally sat down a shat out a 2k fic even though I have 80+ wips to finish...anyways...hope you enjoy! fun fact I coincidentally had tacos the night after I wrote this...

pairing: ryers

summary: Richie and Will share a shower together and Mike finds out, but he’s cool with it. It’s a little awkward, some shenanigans ensue and there’s a lot of talking about relationships (between richie and will and about mike and el)

warnings: swearing, lots of mentions of sex but no actual sex, showering if you consider that a warning?

read it on ao3

“Is this warm enough for you, baby?”

Richie reached his hand behind the shower curtain and felt the stream of water for himself, making sure it wasn’t scalding hot as Will usually enjoyed. “It’s good. I’ll just never understand why you want to feel like you’re burning in hell when you shower,” He paused, “You can’t blame me for not wanting to walk out of here looking like a hot cheeto.”

“You know I hate being cold,” Will reminded him, pulling off his sweater and shirt. They fell onto the floor in a wrinkled pile, followed by his pants, socks, and underwear.

Richie followed in suit, setting his glasses on the sink counter before stripping naked. “I know, I know, princess can’t have the room temperature below seventy…” He watched as Will rolled his eyes and stepped into the shower with him.

Will squirted shampoo into his palm, as Richie soaked his hair under the water, before beginning to scrub his boyfriend’s hair.

“You wanna get tacos after this, baby?” Richie asked, placing his hands in the familiar position of around Will’s waist, massaging his wet skin with his thumbs.

Nodding, Will replied, “Yeah, okay. Then we’ll watch that movie, right? And actually watch it this time?” He raised an eyebrow, expecting the smile that appeared on Richie’s face. It seems like every time they tried to relax together and watch a movie, they get distracted and end up fucking or just fooling around in some way or another.

“Tonight yes, because Mike and El are going to grace us with their wonderful presence, but next time...we’ll hopefully have to save the food for later…” Richie reached and grabbed the shampoo bottle off the shelf and squeezed some directly onto Will’s head. Every time they fought, which was very rare, or especially had sex, Richie always ordered some type of food to eat. Pizza or fast food, never anything healthy. “Well, unless you wanna get back at them, give them a taste of their own med-”

Will furiously shook his head as Richie rubbed into his scalp. Mike having El over all the time was no problem, he could care less, but hearing Mike’s bed begin to creak along with loud grunts and girly moans coming through the wall happened one too many times, and there was no way Will wanted them hearing him and Richie. They’d only recently told their inner circle about them being in a relationship, even though they’ve been together over a year, and Will would rather die than have anybody listen to him having sex.

“I was joking!” Richie laughed, “I know you’re no exhibitionist. Fuck, I mean you’re so shy you have trouble asking for a handjob, such a shy little baby...trying to hide your face from me when you cum even though you look so cute-”

Reaching behind him, Will stared into Richie’s eyes with a squint and his cheeks tinted pink, and turned the shower handle to the right, watching as his boyfriend writhed with pain as the sudden hot water hit his body.

“Ow! Ow! Fuck! Okay, I’m sorry, just-” He yelped, cutting himself off as the water temperature turned back to normal. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, under all those layers of whatever innocence you have left.”

“Well, I wonder who I got it from?” Will scratched his wet hair, pretending to think.  

Richie playfully gasped as he reached for the blue loofah and soap. “That’s not very nice. Ouchie, you hurt my heart…my feelings are so hurt, scrub me squeaky clean or I won’t buy you tacos.”

“You-”

Bang bang bang bang!

“Will? Hello?”

It was Mike, banging on the door with an urgent tone in his booming voice.

Will’s eyes went wide as both he and Richie froze. He blinked a few times before licking his lips and shouting back, “I’m in the shower! What do you want?”

“Okay, stay in there!” Mike told him as the bathroom door swung open. Will flailed his arms around in a panic, dropping the loofah and slapping a hand over Richie’s mouth to prevent him from giving himself away. “Sorry, I really really gotta piss, fuck !” Continued Mike once he was inside, an audible unzipping sound coming afterword, followed by him pissing into the toilet and sighing with relief.

Richie began licking into Will’s palm, for the sole purpose of just being a little shit. Will pointed a warning finger at him with a serious expression on his face. Richie responded by smirking into his hand and raising a challenging eyebrow at him, before letting out a loud and long fart. Putting his face into his hand, Will began to regret life and at the same time contemplate murdering Richie. He knew Mike heard it, and he knew Mike would think it was him since he didn’t know Richie was in the shower with him. Will’s cheeks burned with embarrassment with every silent second that passed and it felt like Mike was taking an eternity to piss.

Almost tripping over all the clothes, Mike turned the sink on, trying to hold back his laughter. If that was him in there, he would have waited until he was alone and then let it rip, but he guessed that Will was just super comfortable around him. But the silence between them was only making it worse.

As he soaped up his hands, Mike noticed the familiar pair of glasses sitting on the counter. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Those were definitely Richie’s, but why would they be here instead of on his face? He was essentially blind without them. Mike’s eyes trailed to the scattered clothes across the floor, which he now realized was a lot for one person. Well, he also now figured out that it wasn’t just Will in the shower because one, there were two towels also on the counter, and two, a Hawaiin printed shirt would never belong to Will, and neither would those pizza socks or PlayStation printed boxers.

“Hi, Richie,” Mike announced.

Richie shoved Will’s hand off of his face. “Hi, Mikey! Wanna join us?”

“I didn’t fart, that wasn’t me I swear , it was Richie!” Will pleaded aloud.

Mike burst into laughter. “Yeah, I was like, shit Will, you couldn’t wait until I left?” He paused, catching his breath and regaining his composure. “Anyway, sorry I had to intrude like that. I, uh, didn’t know you guys were at this stage yet…” It was a little shocking for Mike if he had to be honest. Sure, they only recently told him that they were together, but Mike really hadn’t thought much about what they were doing before they told people. It was a jump, for sure, to see Will doing relationship stuff after all these years of...not.

“Well, it would be nice if we didn’t know what stage you and your missus were at, but we do,” Richie fired back, earning himself a light smack on the chest.

“I--uh--well--sorry--I--we--” Mike stammered, face heating up with embarrassment. Will does such a good job at keeping Richie moderately quiet that he and El just assume nobody is home. Which will always be the wrong move. Richie and Will always make sure to check the entire apartment, sometimes even the cabinets just to be safe, before they get down and dirty.

Reaching down and grabbing the fallen loofah, Will waved his hand to dismiss Mike even though he couldn’t see him. “This totally isn’t awkward at all, but let’s drop it.”

“Right,” Mike replied. “I just came in here to piss, enjoy your shower,” He hurriedly finished before walking out and shutting the bathroom door.

Richie and Will each let out a long breath. At least Mike was cool with it, as he should be because it’s not like he’s had to suffer through hearing them fucking.

As Will began to wash Richie’s body, he said, “Well that was certainly something.”

“I kinda wanted him to come in here. I mean, you would have to leave since there’s barely enough room for two people as it is, but I bet Mike would let me wash his balls.”

Will visibly cringed at what came out of Richie’s mouth. It was like his ears were being poisoned. “I hate that...so much. Never say any of it ever again. And enough about the ball washing thing, you’re so gross!”

Richie raised his arms a little in defence whilst Will ran the soap over his upper thighs. “I’m just saying it would bond us more!”

“Okay, maybe it would, but I’m still not in favour of it. It’s embarrassing, it’s kinda weird, I wouldn’t wanna look at you, and you’d probably scrub too hard on purpose. End of conversation, I’m not letting you wash my balls.” He continued to wash Richie as he turned around to show his backside, before speaking up again, “You know, I’m surprised you’ve stayed soft for this long. You’re usually a huge perv when I shower with you.”

Richie laughed. “Thank you for the compliment, dear, but you’ve forgotten I haven’t washed you yet.” He batted his eyelashes and poked Will’s nose. “Don’t act like you don’t like the attention, shy boy. Or like you haven’t gotten hard from me washing you.”

“That was one fucking time! Fuck, always about sex with you. You’re nasty. It’s so hard to put up with you just so you can pay for my $5.99 taco box, it really is.”

Leaning in close to his face, Richie mocked, “Aw, it’s so horrible isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Will replied, licking his lips and putting his arms loosely around Richie’s neck as he got closer. “You’re a real piece of work. I don’t usually do this stuff for free, but you’re hot and have a big dick, so...”

Richie’s face faltered a little at that. “I feel bad, I’ve corrupted your brain so much since we met, but then again you’re so hot when you say stuff like that…” Will only saw Richie smile for a second before his waist was pulled closer and he pressed his lips against his. Will immediately opened his mouth to let Richie’s tongue inside, letting out a little sigh after he groaned into his mouth. Kissing down his neck and beginning to suck a red mark onto Will’s neck, Richie’s hands roamed his back before sliding down and giving his ass a squeeze.

Bang bang bang!

“You’re going to use up all the hot water, assholes!” Mike yelled from behind the door.

Shit, how long have they been in there?

“Yeah, and I have to pee…” El chimed in.

Will immediately reached behind him and turned the water off. Richie pulled back the curtain and they both quickly stepped out, wrapping a towel around their waist. Grabbing his glasses and putting them on his face, Richie followed Will out the door, neither of them bothering to pick up any of their clothes.

“Sorry,” Will mumbled to El as they passed by her on the way to his room.

“Did you enjoy your shampoo? Because that’s as far as I got with you…” Richie said once they were both standing in Will’s room.

Will giggled, “Shit, you’re right. It was basically your shower and I was just...there.” He dug through his dresser and slipped on a fresh pair of boxers.

Richie grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bed before he sat down. “How about I just Uber Eats the food? Do you wanna pick up where we left off?”

“Mike and El are home…did you already forget that?”

“You and that dirty mind of yours, I swear, Will, all you think about is sex,” Richie playfully huffed. “Such a bad influence. I just meant kisses. Can’t a man just kiss his boyfriend around here?”

Will rolled his eyes with a small smile and pushed Richie back on his bed before climbing on top of him and connecting their lips.

“Are you guys gonna get your clothes?” El shouted.

Richie let out an exasperated sigh as Will stood up. “We really need our own place. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Will whipped his head around to look back at him and flushed. “You really mean it?”

Giving him a small shove with his foot, Richie grinned, “Go get our clothes, buttercup, we can leave the talking for later when we finally get those tacos.”

[kpophoneybunny]

Aurora (Chapter 7) - ATEEZ OT8 Pirate!AU

Genre: Adventure/Romance (Mostly fluff)

Rating: PG-13 (select chapters will have strong language, violence, and suggestive situations)

Disclaimer: Our main girl has a name but feel free to self-insert.

Tag List: (comment to be added or removed from the tag list). @unatempesta-dipensieri @sugarrimajins @masterninjacow

“You’re selfish. You knew you were putting her in danger. You should have stayed away.” Seonghwa muttered. “You care too much about her now! If you had just stayed away-!”

“If it wasn’t her, it would be Wooyoung.” The two stared at each other, as if their gaze alone could take the other down. “The curse takes me and the person closest to me by my twenty-first birthday.”

“That’s in three days.” Seonghwa gulped, looking at the calendar they had next to the map.

“Right. So you can keep antagonizing me or you can help me lift this curse. You used to want to help to save me but now… at least do it for her.”

“Fine. But where the hell do we find the damn amulet?”

“The map’s taking us to a mountain in Qing.” Yeosang kept his gaze straight ahead, grateful that it was a natural excuse to not have to look at Seonghwa. Sharing affections for the same woman was proving to be a much bigger obstacle for teamwork than they would have thought. “We’ll reach the port by sunrise. Hongjoong’s waking the crew. Go tell him.”

“We’ll find it, Yeosang.” Seonghwa sighed, starting to walk away. “We’ll get the amulet of tides. You won’t be cursed for much longer. That’s a promise.” He disappeared through a door to the lower decks.

“Since when did you two start being nice to each other again?” Jongho came up to the main deck with a large pot of stew tucked in one arm and some bowls in his free hand.

“Since Seonghwa realized that my curse will take Jangmi down with me...” Yeosang’s eyes flickered over to Jongho and he cracked a pained smile. “She has no clue what she walked into. Giving up her eye for me… she put herself in the line of fire.”

“What does that mean?” Jangmi was coming through the doors to the main deck, eyebrows furrowing. “Line of fire? Yeosang, do you have something you need to tell me?” She grabbed a bowl of stew and sat on a crate, watching Yeosang cautiously.

“Finish eating. We’ll talk later.” He moved to get a bowl of his own but Jangmi set her bowl down with a notable clatter, forcing him to look at her.

“We’ll talk now. No one’s told me about this curse. I gave my blood, my eye, for the map to that amulet. So tell me what’s the curse and why am I in the line of fire?” She stood, walking right up to Yeosang. Her face was centimeters from his but there wasn’t that sense of romantic tension they usually shared. She was livid, ready to start fighting people.

“I pissed off a witch back in Joseon. I asked too many questions and touched too many things. She said I deserved it since I broke a jar containing the rarest heart, whatever that means.” Yeosang was stalling, trying to think of how to tell her that she’d fall horribly ill and die within the next couple of days. “So she put a curse on me.”

“Great. I know why you’re cursed. But what’s the curse?” Her voice was icy and held a dangerous edge to it. She wasn’t in the mood for his games right now. Waking up to hear that she was in some sort of danger wasn’t what she wanted her day to start like. “Tell me before I twist Wooyoung’s arm to get it out of him. I know he’s your best friend. He probably knows all about-“

“I’m going to get sick - very sick, painfully sick- and then I’m going to die. And the person I care about the most… they’ll suffer the same fate as me. I have three days to lift the curse or we both die.” He couldn’t meet her eye, too afraid to see her reaction to the news that she would die.

But it seemed to go right over her head. She didn’t seem to register that she was going to die yet. “The person you care about the most? Isn’t Wooyoung your best friend? I still don’t see where I come in.”

“Wooyoung is my best friend, you’re right. But I already cared about you a lot and then you gave up your eye to help me, Jangmi. I didn’t hate myself because you went through pain. I see pain all the time. I even cause it when I have to…”

“I don’t understand. What are you saying?” Jangmi’s jaw clenched and she shut her eye, starting to grow dizzy from the information. It was too much.

“I hated myself because seeing you be so selfless made me fall in love with you. Wooyoung’s safe, Jangmi. You put yourself in the line of fire when you made me fall in love with you.”

“You’re not in love with me.” Jangmi’s breath hitched. “No! You’re infatuated. You don’t know me well enough to be in love.”

“But I do. You’re Min Jangmi, the eldest daughter of the Min family of Jeju. You sew, you paint, and you’re great with a sword. You put yourself in harm’s way over and over again to protect the members of this crew.” His eyes searched her face for a reaction, any reaction but she seemed stunned into stoicism. “You’re selfless and reckless and arrogant and incredibly kind. You’re curious and adventurous and you still haven’t figured out how to see with just one eye which is both hilarious and worrisome. You cry in your sleep because you miss home but you love the sea and you never want to go back to Jeju. You don’t care about ever getting to Pyeongyang and you still hate trousers because they aren’t as warm as all those layers of skirts you’re used to.” He held Jangmi by the shoulders,holding her at arm’s length so he could get a good look at her. “Stop me if I’ve gotten anything wrong.”

“You haven’t.” She looked down at their feet, eyebrows knitting together as she tried to put together the pieces and make everything make sense.

“I know you, Jangmi. We’ve been trapped in this ship together for weeks and I know you well enough now. I love you”

“Stop.” She squeezed her eye tighter, starting to squirm away from him.

“And that’s why you’re going to die if we don’t lift this curse. Because I love you.”

“Stop saying that!” She shoved his hands away from her shoulders and took off running, climbing the central mast and sitting in the crow’s nest. She only really sat up there when she needed a break. It was her way of asking to be left alone.

“That was a lot to take in.” Mingi sighed, grabbing a plate of stew and patting Yeosang’s back. “She’s going to need a while to calm down but she’ll come around. You’re a catch.”

“You broke her.” San gave a heavy sigh. “I can hear her crying from down here. Maybe Woo should climb up there and talk to her?”

“No.” Seonghwa shook his head. “Give her space. She just found out she’s going to die. She also just found out that you’re in love with her.” He faced Yeosang, expression stony. He was angry that Yeosang had confessed first. But seeing her reaction made him a bit less angry. “And despite our constant reminders that social class doesn’t exist on our ship, she’s still a noble woman at heart and you’re a navy man.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yeosang muttered, looking down at his stew.

“It means that she has a lot of new information to process. Give her space. Talking to her right now will just make her more upset.” Seonghwa shrugged, looking up towards her. “She doesn’t need our help right now.”

After another hour, they spotted Qing’s harbor, the port filled with life that could be seen from several miles out. “Now might be a good time to get her to come down.” Hongjoong walked over to the railing, polishing his sword. “Yunho, go get her.” Yunho started climbing without saying a word.

“We know it’s at the top of this mountain. It’s the tall one between these two shorter ones. We get the amulet and then what? How do we use it?” San asked, looking up from the map to Yeosang for answers. Surely, he knew how to lift his own curse.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Seonghwa grabbed Yeosang by the shirt collar. “You better find out before time runs out. It’s not just you on the line.”

“Supposedly there’s an inscription next to it that tells you how to use it.” Yeosang pushed Seonghwa off and looked over at Hongjoong. “You don’t get to guilt-trip me anymore. I told her everything. She basically rejected me so if you want to make a move, nothing is stopping you.”

“I’m not going to make a move. Not now. Not until she’s safe. Then I can confess to her and tell her that I love-“

“Don’t finish that sentence. Please don’t finish that sentence.” Jangmi stood behind Seonghwa, face puffy from crying. “One of you thinking you love me is enough for one day. Just… don’t finish that sentence.”

“We’re docking.” Yeosang announced, rushing back over to the helm.

“Drop the anchors!” Hongjoong called. “Everyone, be prepared. This is Qing. Only Seonghwa can speak the language fluently so try not to interact with anyone if you can help it. We don’t need any misunderstandings.”

“Actually, I learned the language too. It’s standard noble education.” Jangmi spoke up.

“Speaking of your old life, go put your dress on. They’re very traditional here and wearing pants could get you hostile attention.” Hongjoong sheathed his sword and looked over at Jangmi. “You know where it is, right?”

“Yes, Captain.” She disappeared into the lower decks.

“Seonghwa.” Hongjoong looked at the first mate apologetically. “Put on your noble clothes too. It’s better to travel with two people of status than one. We’ll be treated better. Especially since you’re a man.”

[salstray]

The Hunt

Only fools looked outside during Hunts.

Children, too young to know better, or the elderly, who’s minds had been lost to time. Or even perhaps the odd person wishing to join in. Whether they would be marked as prey or predator would be put up to the Hunters.

They were dark nights. 

The moon hung steady in the sky throughout the day, watching in silent stillness as the sun made its way through the clouds and the stars flickered out, one by one, leaving the world under the cold gaze of the Lady herself. 

The forests held shadows deeper than all of humanity’s sins and curtains closed quickly, if they had been opened at all. 

Very few went out on those days and it would only ever be in desperation. Perhaps you miscounted your rations, or maybe the nails had gathered rust faster than you’d anticipated. Whatever reason, whatever business you had, you’d get it done well and you’d get it done quick. 

Stores didn’t open their doors, but the kind hearted left their wares unguarded for those that had need to step onto the streets on those long, cold days. 

The wind blew softly the entire time, whispering and singing to those that would listen. Voices of loved ones long dead or the confessions of hearts long broken. If you listened, you were doomed. Doomed to be plagued by their screams and their laughter all through the Hunt. 

And the Hunt is the longest night of the year. 

It marks the turning. The next step on the world’s path. It doesn’t come on the same day each time. There are times where it doesn’t come for generations. Times when a number of Hunts happen each year. 

Usually, it is something to be feared. The next stone thrown by the gods, careless and cruel as they are, to send ripples and waves through our fragile world. It is a culling. A massacre. Many people’s last night alive. 

Though, if you are marked to be Hunted on the night of the Hunt, you were hardly anything close to a person at that point.

There are rare times when we pray for the next Hunt. We beg and we bleed, sending our voices to the gods in hopes that they will send unto us those tamed beasts. The carriers of blades and fire and iron. Those armed with silver bullets and chain whips. The ones that stalk through this world on those long, horrible nights; dressed in the colors of blood and shadow, searching for their marks and fulfilling their dreadful fate. 

There are times where we pray for the Hunters.

~

I remember a time, many decades ago now, where I was young and I was foolish and I dared to brave the sights that fell upon the night of the Hunt. 

That age had been long and it had been hard. I had been born into that time of fear and anger and hate. The time of the Bastard King and his four wicked sons. I had known only of the Hunt through fables and history books, but I’d never seen one with my own eyes. 

My mother had told me stories. Such terrible hours, those were. Where men became beasts, tearing themselves out of their clothes and flesh, their eyes wild and mad with hunger, lust, or pain. She told me of how my father fell to one of those fates and how she’d had to watch as a Hunter barreled its way into our home, tearing through the iron bands and layered wood like it was not but soft butter on a summer’s eve, working through my father with even greater ease. 

The idiotic thing that I was back then, wanted to see one with my own eyes. Mother wouldn’t tell me what the Hunter had looked like; simply that it was like a man, but wrong in every possible way. 

And the night of my first Hunt, when the chill came into the air and frost lined the grass on an early fall evening, I watched true fear pass through my dear Mother and I could do nothing but help as she prepared. 

We covered windows, boarded up the doors, gathered the simplest of foods into one room and all our clothes, blankets, and things into a pile. She told me I was not to look out the window, as there was only one in the room we had chosen, lest I wish to catch the attention of a Hunter searching for their mark. 

And our world fell into darkness.

The Hunt happens over only a single night, but this is a night that lasts for much longer than it should. 

The sun faded and the screams came swiftly after. My Mother clung to me, her arms holding me in warmth as I listened in morbid fascination as claws scraped along the cobbled streets and unnatural glows passed by the windows. I listened to the songs that were sung of blood and bone and dead souls that rose from their graves, searching for new bodies. I listened as our neighbors either fell to their own loved ones or as the beasts they became had fallen to a Hunter. 

At some point, I fell into a frightened sleep beside my Mother, my head filled with the sounds of our old world that now echoed through our small town. 

When I woke, Mother was still asleep, her face twisted into a grimace as she did so, her hands shaking all the while. 

I took it as my chance. 

I stood, my legs shaking. I slipped over to the window, careful to make not a sound against the wood. And I used a single finger to nudge away the heavy curtains that Mother had insisted we nail around the entire frame. 

What I saw still seeps into my dreams, even now, in my twilight years. 

It was no monster. No horror of gore and unreasonable hate. 

What I saw was a man. But wrong in every possible way.

He was tall, his arms long and legs longer. He was thin, his sleeves and pants gripping against his skin as tight as iron. He wore a long coat and he was facing away from me, the hem of it shifting with the whispering wind. 

In one hand, he held a sword, just as long as he was and dripping with a thick, black liquid. In the other, a gun, short, but heavy, with a strip of dirty cloth tying it to his hand. 

Upon his narrow head was a hat with a flat brim. Almost like one you’d see on the brow of a fisherman. His hair was cut short and was stark white against his ash grey skin. 

And when he turned, as if sensing my eyes upon the back of his neck, his gaze met mine, leaving with me the very image that follows me into my resting nights. 

I never saw his entire face. Only the eyes. They were big and round. Not full of anger or rage or whatever emotion I’d expected from a Hunter. They were… tired. I couldn’t tell their color, as the part that would hold color was small, surrounded entirely by bloodshot whites and ringed with dark circles at the lids, if he even had them. 

A breath after he met my gaze, I tore myself away, regretting every possible choice I could have made to bring me to this moment in my life.

Mother was still sleeping. And I thank the heavens even now that she slept through the sound of his footsteps, shifting ever closer to the wall of our home. She slept through the sound of a blade on glass, screaming in my ear of my mistakes and regrets. 

And longer still, she slept through the silence that followed.

The night rolled on after that. I somehow grew accustomed to the sound of screams and terror and when finally the sun rose again, I stepped out onto the street to find not a drop of mess. 

No blood. No gore. Not even an overturned barrel or a broken door. 

People had gone missing, of course. People died that night. They were Hunted. But I learned that it was part of our life. 

We’d also learned that the King and his sons were all dead. All turned beast and monstrous creatures, left to the mercy of the Hunters, which I now knew did not exist. 

After that, life moved on. We adapted to the loss of manpower and we each took up a job that hadn’t existed the day before, learning new trades and preparing still for the next time the age was ready to turn.

[hopeatermeetsgodzilla]

Chapter 7

Ichi shook his head, bits and pieces of ice falling off of him as he dragged himself onto a higher surface. He stood up, looking around him. First order of business: find his brothers. “Ni? San? Where are you?” San needed physical input to situate himself.

[I’m fine, and will be there soon. Just let me warm myself up a bit.] Ichi sent a wave a reassurance to Ni, giving the okay. The weak king wasn’t there (yet) so they could take a second to get their bearings back.

“Uh... look up?” Ichi raised his head in confusion, eyebrows rising up in shock when he saw San, looking down at him from a higher up surface.

“How did you- Get down from here, San!” Ichi yelled, the youngest brother nodding wordlessly and sliding down the slope. He was still giggling to himself when his older brother angrily grabbed his arm and dragged him close.

“Sorry, brother Ichi.” San said with a shrug as Ni came into view. “Hi, Ni! Wow, you look grumpy.”

Indeed, Ni looked even grumpier than usual. [It’s cold and I can barely gather energy and I have a headache from the soundwave and there’s a chunk of ice stuck in my pants-] “I hate it here.” Was what he finally settled on after his psychic tirade. “Can we just go? Maybe sink an island or two with a storm for warmup?”

“We still need to gather enough energy to travel, Ni.” Ichi reminded him, getting a groan from him as he was also dragged close. “Quit complaining, it’ll only take a few hours.”

“We don’t have a few hours.” San suddenly informed his brothers.

Ichi looked at him, looking unimpressed. “And why would that be?”

“Because-” A jet of blue fire suddenly burst out of the ice, startling Ghidorah and making them a few steps back, Ni immediately going to stand before his brothers for defense.

A few seconds later, the weak king emerged, long, wet hair drying in a few seconds from the leftover heat. “Ghidorah.” He hissed.

“... Godzilla.” Ichi answered disdainfully as Ni hissed right back at him and San hid behind his older brother further, shaking.

(Because... the weak king has been patrolling the area since yesterday.) San finally informed them telepathically, an air of resignation hovering over his corner of their telepathic link.

{Why didn’t you say anything earlier!?}

(I tried to yesterday.)

[Brother San.]

(Yeah, what is it?)

[The weak king possibly showing up just after we finally free ourselves is NOT a ‘guess what’ situation!]

(Don’t get angry at me, you’re the one who didn’t want to know anything!)

{Ni, San, now is not the time for bickering.} Ichi cut them off, eyes narrowing at Godzilla. {It looks like we’re gonna have to fight. San: you’re on lookout. Ni: focus on gathering energy while I distract him. The moment it looks like he’s going to attack, I want you to attack right back. Keep him on his toes while I start gathering enough energy to teleport us.}

[How do you know he won’t attack the moment you opens your mouth?] It took Ichi a moment to remember Ni’s psychic powers weren’t nearly as developed as his, but by the time he remembered, San was already half-way through his answer.

(Because he’s tired. Very tired. Quite a bit more than us, actually.)

{Looks like we’re not the only ones who slept while humanity tried to rise above, brothers.} Ichi smiled as he took a step forward, Godzilla growling at him. This should be easy. “Finally came to submit to us?”

“Fuck off with that shit.” Godzilla snapped right back, hair flashing brightly at the outburst. “Here’s your options: you quietly stay here and don’t do shit while I go wake up Scylla and you triple-fucks get frozen again with minimal damage for all parties involved, or I pull out you entrails and skip rope with them.”

[I’m gonna kill him.]

{Patience. Him trying to negotiate proves he’s not in form to fight us right now.} Ichi cackled, making sure all of Godzilla’s attention was on him, and not on Ni who was concentrating, or San who had climbed to a vantage point. “Oh please, you’ve never beaten us on your own before. You’ve always had the help of your little moth, or had slaves following your every orders baiting us.”

None of the Ghidorah were sure Godzilla not jumping them at that was a testament of how tired he was, or of a patience he developed while they were asleep. This said, he did narrow his eyes and bared his teeth, a low growl building up in his throat. “And there’s always three of you trying to fuck everything up.” He noted bitterly. “Doesn’t it get tiring for your brothers to not have free will?” Ichi closed his eyes at that, outrage belonging to his brothers filling his being.

[Did he just-!?]

(That bitch!)

[Alright, how am I killing him? I kind of just want to go for the head.]

(No, draw it out and make him beg for death with how much pain you’re putting him in.) 

[How much pain are we talking about?]

(I’m thinking make lightning run directly through him starting by his gills, and amplify it gradually?)

{Ni, San, while I am loving the both of you indulging in your inner sadists, we have more important things to focus on.}

[At this point, it doesn’t really matter. I’ve gathered enough energy to fight him physically.]

(And he’s on the edge of snapping. You just need to make him a bit angrier.)

{Well, San, we’re standing right in front of him and I’m telling him how weak he is. That used to be enough to make him attack in a blind rage. Do either of you have suggestion?}

[You let me jump him.]

{Very tempting idea, but if you just lunge at him, he’ll be able to counterattack quite easily. San?}

(You either tell him how bad of a king he is, or you tell him how weak his little nap made him.)

{Let’s go with that. Any objections Ni?}

[I’m not going to fight him.]

(Once Ichi is done enraging him, you’ll get your fight.)

[Then, I have no objections.]

Ichi opened his eyes, sneering at Godzilla. “My brothers chose me as our leader. It was an unanimous decision. Which is more than can be said about you.” He tilted his head in mock curiosity. “Tell me, how many of your ‘friends’ follow you out of fear of getting killed like your rivals? And how many would turn against you if they learnt of how weak you had gotten?”

Like always, San could be relied on to tell someone’s weaknesses, Godzilla jumping at them with a furious roar. And like always, Ni could be relief on to defend them, grabbing one of the weak king’s arm and throwing him beyond the ice. Now, to collect energy to get out of here...

-

Godzilla landed on all four, his claws making an horrible sound against the floor. Metal? Humans figured out metal again? Didn’t Battra kill the last ones- He was snapped out of his thought process as Right- because that’s how Godzilla made the difference between them, who stood where when they weren’t fighting- jumped at him, one of it’s legs raised and ready to strike down.

He quickly moved out of the way, Right’s leg leaving a dent in the floor where it struck. He then quickly charged toward Godzilla, lashing out with clawed hands multiple time which his opponent quickly avoided, cackling the entire time. “How the hell have you recovered so fast- ACK!”

Right had changed strategy, raising one of his legs and kicking him in the crotch. He grabbed Godzilla’s face as he started falling forward. Right’s laughter momentarily died out a bit. “I never went to sleep,” Sharp claws started digging into Godzilla’s face, what looked like very thin and very numerous veins lighting up all over Right’s hand, seemingly travelling all the way up to the crescent moon-shaped jewel on his forehead. “So I don’t have anything to recover from.”

Right started laughing again, but his breath was cut short as Godzilla’s kneed him in the stomach, unleashing a pulse of energy right after to get him away before grabbing his braid, dragging him to the ground and trapping him under his foot, a smile appearing on his face for the first time today. “If you think I’m gonna fall for the old energy absorption trick just after you woke up, you’ve got another thing coming!”

But Godzilla was so caught up in the ecstasy of almost killing a Ghidorah… (Uh, Ni? He’s starting to charge his Energy breath. You need to get out from under there.)

[Noted.] … that for a minute, he forgot they were three of them. Right rolled himself onto one of his side as much as he could, only to use the momentum to roll himself onto the other, standing up and barely avoiding Godzilla’s Energy Breath, avoiding it for a few seconds as he ran.

Not because it ended up hitting him, but because Godzilla suddenly stopped, a shocked look on his face. I’m out of energy!?

“Oh...” Right smiled with a mouth full of needle teeth, his hands lighting up. “Out of juice already?” He then raised his arms, and bolts of lightning surged out of his fingers, making Godzilla momentarily blank out out of inexorable pain as he was hit. When it finally stopped, it was because his throat had been grabbed, claws digging painfully into his gills and dragging him at a speed he still couldn’t proceed after the shock. 

And then, Godzilla was thrown into the pool of icy waters in the middle of Ghidorah’s former icy prison, breaking the thin layer of ice that had formed in the meantime and Right cackling the entire time. When he resurfaced, Right was finally calming down, and Middle and Left were floating.

“I thought you wanted to kill him?” Left asked Right as he floated up to join the two others.

He scoffed, giving his hand to Middle for an energy transfer. He was, after all, the one who had been closest to Godzilla’s Energy Breath. “He’s weak and tired. I want a real challenge.”

Godzilla snarled from his position in the water. He didn’t have enough energy left to fire another beam so soon. “You cowards! What are you planning on doing now!?”

Middle cackled, raising one of his arms and releasing a burst of dark energy, the dark hole Godzilla knew they would use to get away starting to form. “Why, resume what we started before you and your slaves trapped us, of course!”

“What you starte- why the hell do you care so much about destroying humans!? They can’t do anything!”

The three of them giggled. “Who do you think freed us, you pathetic reptile!?” Middle asked Godzilla, a cruel smile on his face as the portal behind him grew. “Humans learned how to harvest your voice. Yours and the others who woke up!”

“I must say, your weak little bird friend sure has learned how to project his voice.” Left commented, reminding Godzilla that last time Ghidorah had seen Rodan, he hadn’t moved to Mara, hadn’t become the Voice of Vengeance, hadn’t a massive target painted on his back, hadn’t been beaten down enough by fate that there was a very real chance of him just letting them kill him-

“Humans did not bother with remembering us.” Right continued, the calm and cold and dead tone of his voice contrasting heavily with the shrieking cackles he emitted while fighting him. “And now, they will pay heavily for that mistake. Farewell, soon-to-be former King of Titans.”

And with that, Ghidorah disappeared in the void, leaving Godzilla to wonder just what he had missed for things to spiral out of control like that.

[artificialqueens]

Bad Mood (Trixya) - DenDenMonMon

Of Lovers, Friends and Everything in Between. Part 8.- Oral Sex

Title: Bad Mood Category: M/M Summary: Trixie is about to find out the curative properties of Katya’s oral skills. Notes: On the original challenge there were two number 45 entries, I almost did both, but finally decided to pick this one. Please remember that this is a work of fiction and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. Once again, female pronouns are used when they are in drag. Written: May 16th, 2020 - July 16th, 2020 (Honestly, it took me this long to finish this because stan twitter, and its cancel culture, made it hard for me to enjoy writing Trixya. Someone said it was easier if we thought of them as fictional characters within the fanfiction side of the fandom, and that made it so much easier. So now I’m back, back, back again!)

Bad Mood

I don’t think I have ever been happier in my entire life.

This is it. This is what I was born to do. This is me. This is who I am, Trixie Mattel.

Standing on the center of the stage, I line up with my sisters. We hold hands, lift them up in the air and take a bow. The crowd goes wild, the gays go insane. The yelling, the screaming, the clapping, the loud music, there’s nothing in the world that I like to hear more than that. The sweating, the foot pain, the tight clothes, those are things I could very easily live without; but it’s only a small price to pay.

As soon as we are allowed to leave the stage, I take my wig off. By the time I reach the last step of the ladder, my dress is already unzipped. I stumble with my own feet as I try to walk and undress at the same time. My body bounces between the wall and my friends. It’s fun and it makes me laugh hysterically.

We reach the dressing rooms, and I open mine with a loud scream, a scream filled with joy, laughter and pure happiness. Adrenaline runs through by veins, making my whole body pulse to the rhythm of my bloodstream.

Long fingers wrap around my arms and I recognize the owner right away.

“Bitch!” Maybe it’s out of pure excitement, maybe it’s because her ears are still buzzing, but Katya stops me and yells right to my face. “That was our best show yet!” She screams through bright red lips. Even when I’m halfway through the process of de-dragging, she’s still living her whole woman fantasy, and I’m sure we will leave this venue with her still in full drag.

Both her hands land on my shoulders and she shakes me, trying to physically make me understand her words. I let her. My body goes limp and I allow her to treat me like a rag doll. She laughs, I laugh. We look into each other’s eyes and the laughter turns louder. I can’t stop myself, my arms go around her and I pull her into a tight hug. This is so unlike me. If there’s anything that I can’t stand is physical contact like this and, here I am, breaking all my rules and initiating a hug.

Katya’s energy is contagious, I can feel my inner batteries recharging the longer I hug her. Unfortunately, our moment is interrupted when security knocks on the open door, saying that someone is looking for her. The sparkle in her eye is something that I’m familiar with, and the side smile taking over her entire face is the last confirmation I need.

The bitch is about to have sex.

I see her padded ass swaying as she exits the room, leaving me alone in the poorly lit room. It’s cozy, it’s cute. I like it. I’m even humming to myself as I take my makeup off.

Just when I’m about done, I see people rushing past my door. I go out, trying to see what’s the commotion about, and I crash into Alaska in the hallway. She is really in a hurry.

“Trix, come on!” She says pulling me by the arm.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Remember those guys that met us at the airport?” I nod as she starts walking. “Well, Katya brough one backstage. They are doing it in her dressing room.” A giggle interrupts her every other word, because this whole thing sounds ridiculous. We all know Katya sleeps with fans, why is it such big news now?

We reach a bunch of people, all pushing each other and giggling like little kids. The door is opened just a crack, and they are all trying to look through it.

“Move, move,” Alaska makes way for us to reach the front and my heart stops.

Katya looks beautiful, so beautiful. That’s the first thing that registers in my brain. Her blonde hair falls like a courtine covering part of her face, making everything feel almost mysterious. She’s on her knees, her shoes thrown to the side. The naked guy she’s sucking is the last thing I notice. All I can think of is how sexy she looks. She’s all woman, pleasuring a guy who seems to be fully enjoying it. He is grunting, and breathing heavily. His fingers tangle in her wig and she moans loudly with him deep in her mouth.

This is… wrong. We shouldn’t be watching. We shouldn’t be here. We should be getting ready to go. I look around and see that most of the queens are, either still in drag, or wearing their normal clothes with a full face on. We are never leaving this place. I just wanna go.

“You guys, we should get going,” I try to call their attention, remind them we have a bus to catch. All I get is booing as they shove me away from the door.

Fine.

I don’t even want to see that anyway. They are clearly showing off. There’s no way they don’t know people are watching, they are putting on a show. Nobody makes those noises. Katya can’t possibly be that good, can she?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I just wanna leave here. This dressing room area is hot and dirty, and I want out. My own room is tiny, and overheated. There are no fans or ventilation. The more I look around the place, the less I like it. The chairs have stains and so does the carpet. Gross. The room is dirty, who knows how many people have been here before me. And it’s messy, my stuff is thrown everywhere, picking it all up is gonna take forever.

Before anything, I need to get rid of the rest of these uncomfortable clothes. Being in drag is the absolute worst. Everything hurt. Everything smells. It’s disgusting. Moments like this make me wonder why I even picked this line of work. As I take everything off and throw it in its place, I remember how easy my life used to be working at the MAC counter. Simpler times.

It takes me a few minutes, but I finally get everything in the suitcases and ready to go. My face is still stained but it will go away once I shower. I walk out with my backpack on, ready to leave. Since, clearly, nobody is going to listen to me, I grab all my stuff and wheel the suitcases to the bus. The driver seems surprised to see me here by myself, still he rushes to my side and helps me with my stuff. He doesn’t disturb me as I sit alone, looking at my phone. He lets me be for as long as it takes for everybody else to get here. It feels as if days have passed before the small space is filled with loud laughter, yelling and screaming. Just like I predicted, Katya still looks… like Katya. Her lipstick is perfectly applied on her lips, and I have a million questions running through my head. Did she reapply it? What brand is it? Did it endure the sucking of a dick?

“But you ate his whole ass!” Someone shouts. I don’t register who when my full attention is focused on her flawless lips.

She shrugs a shoulder. “You know I love eating a good ass,” she says so casually, so easily; but then she can’t hold it any longer and burst out laughing. Her cool exterior cracks to let her goofy self be seen.

They are still talking about that guy’s ass when she sits next to me. I don’t wanna deal with that right now, so I close my eyes. Nobody notices I’m pretending and nobody bothers me. It’s hard to sleep on a bus, or a plane, or a hotel. Anywhere that is not my own bed, basically. My back hurts all the time, and the corsets I need for my different outfits just make everything worse. Putting and taking off my makeup, without giving my skin a day to breathe, is making me break out. There’s nothing I hate more than that, than this whole thing. Days and nights have no difference when all you see is the inside of a bus, crowded with the same faces, as it takes you from venue to venue, from airports to the next crappy hotel.

And that’s how the next week passes.

After several cities without a day off, I just feel tired, more than usual. My mood just keeps getting worse the more time I spend on this suspension of reality.

Honestly, I don’t even know where we are right now. All I know is that we have a full day here; then we have to catch a plane and start the Asian leg of the tour. I’m just glad that we get to rest. That’s the reason why I go straight to my hotel room as soon as the show is over.

The shower head has horrible pressure so I take as little time in there as possible, just enough to wash all the sweat away and get rid of the traces of makeup. When I walk out of the bathroom, wearing a pajama set that hasn’t seen a washing machine in weeks, I’m shocked to see Katya sitting on the bed.

“Geez, Brian, don’t they know about knocking in Boston?” I roll my eyes as I walk past her. Her. The whole woman that is Katya Zamolodchikova. The use of her actual name, of the man that lives underneath all the layers of hair and makeup, slips out in pure annoyance.

“Okay, enough.” She stands up, anger is visible in her features.

She kicks her heels off and her shoulders square up. Is she going to hit me? This wouldn’t be the first time a woman kicks my ass. I have never been punched by a drag queen before, though.

“Whip it out,” she orders, a long red nail points in the direction of my pants.

“What?” I ask, confused.

Her shoulders drop, and an exasperated sigh leaves her lips. “Take it out. You have been insufferable since you saw me sucking that guy’s dick, whip it out so I can suck yours.”

Out of instinct, my hands go down to cover my crotch. “Wha- No! You are insane.”

“Trix, okay, listen. Everybody has commented how you have been impossible to be around. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad news, but it is the truth, Mary. Now, they don’t know what caused it, but I know you and, bitch, you gotta get a grip!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My hand waves in front of her, dismissing her whole speech.

I try to walk away, put some distance between us.

“You are jealous.” Just like that, she stops me. Not physically, she’s still standing on the other end of the bed, but her words stop me cold.

“You need to leave.” The sentence, laced with anger, escapes me before I can think.

She walks to me, slowly, padded hips swaying with each step. She throws her synthetic hair back in one swift motion. I’m frozen in place, hypnotized by the femenine moves.

Her hand goes up to my chest, she doesn’t do anything, just rests her hand against my racing heart.

“Let me do it,” she whispers. Her face is so close to mine that I can detect the smell of coffee on her breath. “I want to do it. Do you want me to do it?” Her hand slides down, gently, caressing. “Do you want me to do it?” she repeats, in a serious tone this time. She’s actually asking for my permission.

I look deep into her eyes, those endless pools of emotion, framed by fake lashes. “You are a woman,” I blurt out.

A side smile takes over her face. “You have never been with a girl before?” She’s back to playful, a seductress that knows exactly how to play the game.

“I’m gay.” My mouth expels the words without asking my brain’s approval.

This time she laughs, loudly. “Bitch, I know that. And I also know that you need this. We need to do this so the world can have peace again. Please, God.” She makes a pause. Her free hand reaches the hem of her dress. “If you need a reminder of what I really am, I can show you my dick too.”

Once again, faster than my thoughts, my body reacts. I take hold of her wrist and stop her. “No. Don’t. I want Katya. I want Katya to do it.”

She doesn’t need an explanation, she knows exactly what I need, what I’m asking for. She doesn’t have to be told twice. This is the green light she was waiting for. We are doing this. Finally. No matter how hard I’ve tried to deny it. It doesn’t matter for how long I’ve tried to push the fantasy at the very back of my mind; it has always been exactly that, a fantasy. I have dreamed and daydreamed about being with her for a long time. At first it was about him, about Brian. The idea of being with someone so experienced always made me curious. Katya is so sexy, so sensual, that adding her to the mix just made sense.

Her lips land on the corner of my mouth, it’s quick and tender. My hand immediately goes up, to touch the spot. She’s by now kissing my chin, then my neck. The butterfly kisses continue as she makes her way down. No traces of lipstick are left behind. I seriously need to at least know the brand she’s using, it really is not coming off at all.

My thoughts are brought to a halt when her mouth reaches the waistband of my pants. She looks up, dark eyes piercing mine. She’s asking one more time if this is okay, and I can’t do anything but nod.

What happens after that is a blur. I feel the cool air hitting my legs, then I lift one foot at the time under her command as she removes my pants. The blonde wig gets closer and closer to my crotch. I can feel Katya’s hand on me and my eyes roll back. She takes me into her mouth. Her lips are soft, softer than I remember them. They feel so good around me. My head snaps back when I feel them on my pelvis. Like, even when I don’t like talking about it, I know I’m big, and she just took me all in.

My eyes grow wide, my mouth opens and an inhuman sound comes out from the back of my throat. I look down, my face most likely contorted in shock. The complete opposite to hers. She wiggles her eyebrows with her lips around my dick. The bitch knows what she’s doing, she knows her ability is impressive and will brag about it, even if it’s just through her stare. And I’m about to get the whole experience.

Katya’s moves are easy at first. She takes me in and out of her mouth at a slow pace. Her hand holds me by the base as she relaxes her throat and pushes me all the way in. She sucks me hard, before letting me go with a heavy exhale. Her tongue goes around the head a few times, then she’s licking up and down my length. And I’m feeling all of this since my eyes seem unable to remain open. But I want to see her. I want to get the full picture, a picture that will replace the mental images of her I use to jerk off to.

One of her hands goes between my thighs, opening them a bit wider. Next thing I feel is her head moving between my legs, licking my asshole. She releases me for just a second and, just like that, she’s behind me. Her palms land on each of my buttcheeks. “Oh, God,” she sighs against my skin. “I love to eat a clean ass.” I feel her hot breath first, and her tongue second. My senses are overloaded, making me feel everything at once. Her lips, her tongue, her hot mouth on my ass; the blonde hair tickling my legs, her hand still pumping me. It’s all too much.

It takes only a few seconds before I can’t take it anymore. My knees give out and I feel myself falling forward.

“Woah, there,” she lets out as she catches me. Her hands find my stomach as Katya pushes me back, preventing me from falling but, at the same time, pressing her face against my butt.

Without giving me a moment to recollect myself, she’s already back at eating my ass. “Wa-wait.” I try to stop her, but talking and breathing and feeling at the same time seems impossible. “I need to - just… give me a second.” With shaky legs I walk to an armchair and, more than sitting down, I drop myself on the cushion with a heavy sigh.

In the background, I can hear her laughing and the rustling of fabric as she stands up. “That good, huh?”

Mumbling is all I can do to answer her rhetorical question. Because she’s right, she is simply that good. Only a few minutes with her and I’m already at her mercy. I can’t even see straight, the whole room is spinning. I throw my head back as I feel my chest raising and falling. With one arm over my eyes, I try to calm my breathing unsuccessfully. Then I feel her again, her hands caress my thighs and there’s nothing I can do but grunt.

“Ready to finish what we started?”

Every cell on my body comes together to give me the strength that I need. I look down at her and nod. She’s biting her lower lip, trying to suppress a smile. Her lips are stained with red, the lipstick finally smudged. Surprisingly, it only makes her look even sexier.

She wiggles her eyebrows at me as she moves down, taking my entire length into her mouth. Her mouth is wet, and warm, and it feels oh, so good. I see the blonde wig bobbing up and down as she sucks me off. It’s time to turn one of my fantasies into a reality. My fingers run through her hair, luckily, she remembered to glue the wig this time. That’s the reason why I can actually take a hold of her hair and guide her to the pace that I want. With my fingers tangled in her golden locks, I pull and push her head as I please. She moans around me, enjoying how I’m taking control. The speed suddenly increases, as well as the sounds coming from her.

Katya takes me all in, then releases me, just long enough for her to curse out loud, before sucking me back in. Both of my hands are pushing her down by this point. Her eyes go up to look at me while she still has my entire dick in her mouth. Her eyelashes flutter as she lets me go. Then she smiles as she goes down on me again. This fucking bitch smiles! And that is it for me. My eyes roll back and my mouth falls open. There’s a hot wave taking over me as I cum long and hard.

I’m almost spasming, and she doesn’t even flinch. She drinks me all in, then licks me clean of any remaining.

“Welp,” she says getting up. The back of her hand cleans her own mouth, leaving a harsh trace of red across her cheek. “Now that I have sucked the bad mood out of you, the world can have some peace.” She laughs at her own words, and I chuckle right along with her.

“You know?” I get up with a smile on my face, an actual smile. “I had no idea I needed this. Thank you.” I find my pants and put them on, still feeling like I’m floating on air.

She shrugs a shoulder, proud of herself. “I may not have many talents, but I do know how to suck a dick.”

“And eat ass!” I add after her.

She laughs loudly, a hand gripping my arm as she does.

“No, really,” I assure her, stepping right into her space. “That was… amazing. Bad mood who? What? I don’t know her.”

Her laughter fills the air around us. “Not a problem.”

We share a smile, a knowing smile, a bond was just created. I pull her to me. I’m not going to thank her. A hug will have to do. My body feels so light, not a single drop of tension or stress left. I inhale deeply, she smells like sweat, and sex, and… Katya. It’s hot.

“Wanna stay and watch like a movie or something?” I ask, still smiling. “Maybe I could even return the favor.” The suggestion comes out casually. Deep down, though, I’m dying to experience more of her.

She waves a hand in front of my face. “Nah, no need. I actually have a trick coming over, but thanks! Maybe some other time.” She walks around and finds her shoes, putting them under her arm before she walks to me again. “Glad you feel better,” she says before placing a soft kiss on my cheek.

I watch her walk to the door, open it and then disappear behind her, leaving me alone in my hotel room. Wait, was the room always this ugly?

Ugh! I hate it here.

-End Notes-

Massive shout out to the authors on the AQ discord server, who allowed me to pick their brains and annoy the heck out of them so this story could come to life. Thank you so much for reading! See you again soon. -Monkey.

[sabineelectricheart]

A Quest For Sweets

Summary: Byleth has a craving, and her husband valiantly searches for what could satisfy her wants.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1600

Notes: Two for two in parenthood. I wonder what might be causing this?

“Ferdie…” The young lady poked her sleeping husband. “Ferdie, wake up, please. Ferdinand, please.”

It was much past the last bell of the night, the monastery was completely silent, and the heavily pregnant Byleth was having much trouble staying asleep, as it was often the case these days.

Heading strong towards her fifth moon of her pregnancy, the Archbishop was dreaming vividly of sweets, fully knowing that the heir to the throne was having late night cravings. It was those nights that she missed Sothis the most, the dreams of war and the berating of the Goddess were less tiresome than her journey to a land of whatever food she would be craving as she woke.

Lightly, she shoved her husband’s shoulder, but to no avail. For a man that fought a war and survived so many assassination attempts, the Duke Aegir was a surprisingly heavy sleeper.

“Ferdinand, wake up, now!” Her booming, militaristic voice commanded him awake.

Duke Aegir turned around while still unconscious, then facing his offending former teacher who now had her face a few inches from his own. With a poke of hers, the man gasps awake.

“Wah! Good morning? Good evening? Byleth, what time is it?” He questioned, clearly confused after being awaken from his deep slumber.

“It’s time to raid the kitchen.” The woman declares, turning around to pick up a cover for her night clothes. “Your child urgently demands sweets, so let us get going!”

With no warning, Byleth and her tiny baby bump was climbing over Ferdinand, straddling the nobleman. He did not mind such a position, as it gave him a clear shot of her delectable and round behind, that he gave a playful smack to as it crossed his path.

“Stop trying to distract me, Ferdinand!” The Supreme Leader of the Church of Seiros reprehended her husband. “I am dead serious, this kid wants sweets, and I will not have him born with the face of a tea cake!”

“Of course, dear. It will only be a moment.” Ferdinand chuckled, quickly gathered his pair of pants and a belt, wearing them over his sleeping shirt, so he could escort his duchess to the monastery kitchen.

Luckily for Byleth and their baby’s regal Aegir looks, the Church had offered a banquet that night and the kitchen was stocked with leftover desserts. The servants and knights did their best to distribute as much leftover foods and sweets amongst the children of the fief as they could, but even their best efforts usually came up short in facing the excessive displays the monastery cooks made a point in presenting.

Once in the kitchen, Byleth propped herself on the counter as she excitedly waited while her husband searched the pantries and the jars. After a few moments of debating with himself, he presented her with a large slice of a layered cake and some leaves for a soothing tea.

“Oh, my favourite!” She clapped with enthusiasm.

Despite having eaten it already earlier that evening, Byleth was excited for another slice. Delicate layers of vanilla cake filled with fresh, plump red strawberries and lightly whipped cream filled her taste buds.

No sooner had she put the cake in her mouth, however, she spit it right back out, prompting Ferdinand to pass her a napkin.

“This is absolutely horrible!” The woman bemoaned. “It was so good earlier. Why does it taste so bad? Do you think it is rotten?”

Ferdinand took a sample from her plate and looked at her with his face painted in confusion. “It tastes just fine to me, my love. It is certainly still good.”

The woman’s expression turned despondent. “Oh, Goddess…”

“Do not worry yourself, love.” The man smiled brightly. “Perhaps the little one is merely craving something else. It is just a matter of time until we figure it out.”

As Ferdinand continued taking stock of the many sweets available in the pantry, Byleth attempted a couple more times with the cake, hoping the baby would change its mind.

“Byleth, I can hear you spitting out the cake from in here.” The man called from the other room. “Put the cake down, please, before you make yourself ill. I will find you something, I promise.”

With a groan, the Archbishop tossed the cake out of her reach. When she looked up, she noticed Ferdinand had an arrangement of ice creams and gelatos straight from the ice box laid out on the counter.

“Very well, one of these has to be a winner, and the cold ought to settle your stomach.” He took a small scoop of each from the five tubs, and placed them in a bowl.

Sample after sample, however, Byleth winced as if each taste was stabbing her in the tongue.

“Well, it is now safe to conclude that it was a bad idea.” Ferdinand lamented with a small scowl. “I have no idea what this kid wants. Neither of us are this picky.”

She looked to her husband’s bright amber eyes for the answer, but all he could offer was a soft smile and a kiss of encouragement.

“I have a couple more ideas, just be patient a little while longer.” Ferdinand smiled encouragingly. “If nothing else works, I will go out to the grange and make an eggnog myself if that is what our child wants.”

He kissed her in hopes of assuring the pregnant mother before turning to the pantry once more.

“Please Goddess, do not let that heinous eggnog be the answer.” Byleth begged with her hands clasped to her forehead with the simple recalling of the drink her aide had offered her when she first came down with morning sickness. “It upsets my stomach and I do so hate conceding to the fact that Seteth is right about health issues. Medicine has surely advanced enough in these thousand years so we can do away with those foul concoctions.”

As the woman finishes her lament, and with a wide grin on his face, Ferdinand handed over a plate of baklava while holding another plate just for him in his other hand.

Byleth rolled her eyes as she took a bite. “Is this your reward to yourself for putting up with me right now?”

The long-haired man chuckles, while scooping a generous piece of the dessert with his fork. “It might be. I am also feeling peckish.”

“I love how a thousand years of fine Aegir reputation and civilization go straight out the window when the duke is faced with a simple baklava.” She laughed as her husband shovelled his share into his mouth in defiant response.

“We all have a weakness.” Ferdinand said. “I so happen to have two.”

“So gallant!” The woman comments in a chuckle, before following her husband’s example and eating a generous piece of baklava, and then promptly spiting it out, too. “Ugh, this is not it, either. I am starting to become sick again, Ferdie.”

Annoyed and frustrated at this point, Byleth handed him her plate with a frown.

“My duchess, you are too kind offering me another delightful piece.” He greedily accepted her plate and guided a whole apple pie her way.

“This was terrible early tonight.” The Archbishop commented. “Apples do not grow here and the merchants bring them in from too far away. The servants never pick the right apples and just overcompensate with sugar and cinnamon whipped cream.”

Elbow propped on the table and his attention solely on the baklava in front of him, Ferdinand slid the container of freshly whipped cream she spoke of. Three large scoops of whipped topping on a single slice of pie later, Byleth cautiously took a bite. Ambar eyes wide with anticipation, he waited for his wife’s answer.

She looked up at him with disappointment. “This stupid pie, is stupid delicious.”

Heaving more scoops of whipped cream on top of the whole pie this time, Byleth now propped her legs in a more comfortable eating position while she devoured the pie. Once Ferdinand had finished his wife’s share of baklava, he cleaned up the kitchen while his wife continued to eat to her and the baby’s heart’s content.

After all the desserts were placed back in their respective places, he looked back to see Byleth had finished just about half of the pie and was lying down across the table with one arm covering her eyes and her hand covering her even more swollen belly. She was done.

He placed a small kiss to her temple before picking up her pie plate and storing it for her for another day. Byleth woke to Ferdinand cradling her in his arms as he carried her to their room.

“I feel like a beached whale, and I am absolutely sure I ate like one.” She grumbled.

“We can take a walk in the courtyard tomorrow if that will make you feel better.” He chuckled as she snuggled closer to his chest.

“Oh, Ferdie! Please, do take us on a stroll through the village fair tomorrow morning! We can pick some apples. Then, do ask the cooks for apple strudel, apple blossoms, apple fritters, and apple cobbler! I would so love to have them tomorrow evening.” She looked up at her husband with a sleepy grin.

“That sounds perfect.” He gently placed her in bed and kissed her goodnight, and then kneeled to her bulging stomach. “No more giving your mother a hard time.”

“Sleep well, my duchess. I love you.” Ferdinand murmured into her shoulder as he positioned himself for bed.

Mostly asleep, Byleth managed to reply. “Good night, my sweet hero.”

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

[talesfromthesnogbox]

Stuck Here With you

Rating: M (Rating for explicit conversations about sex) 

Words: 3,586

Summary: Richie and Eddie are stuck quarantining themselves together... what could possibly go wrong? OR based on this tweet: "@cjkasulke: APPARENTLY you have all just been *waiting* for this moment to confess your love to your roommates, so many of you live with people you have been silently in love with for y e a r s"

Notes: This is so stupid. Yes, I wrote a quarantine fic. Yes, this whole thing is a serious matter and I am an adult who's working from home and it all sucks, and there are people dying all over the world, and I do care, but I just thought people needed a little bit of a laugh, ya know? Anyways, this is wildly out of character and not good in general, but drop a comment if you like it, or if you think I'm a horrible person, whateves.

AO3

*~*~*~*~*

Richie woke from his catnap with a startled jump as he heard the front door slam shut.

“Jesus Eds, is it 6:30 already? Did I sleep all day?” He asked with a laugh.

“No asshole, it’s noon.” Eddie slammed his briefcase on the breakfast bar and worked his tie open. “This pandemic bullshit has gotten out of control.”

“Is that why you’re home right now…”

“Yes! Jared that fucking lunatic went off and brought some girl home last weekend and now he’s got a fever, so we were all sent home, and I’m stuck in isolation.”

Eddie was pissed, but Richie could see through his thinly veiled layer of anger; there was fear.

“Oh. Do you hang around Jared a lot at work?”

He sighed. “No, no I don’t, but it’s just a precaution until he can get tested properly.”

“That’s good then, right?”

It was good. After seven full days, Eddie finally emerged from his room with a cheery smile. “Jared’s in the clear, turns out he just picked up some STD, and I get to go back into work tomorrow.” He plopped down on the couch.

“That’s great Eds, but I hate to break it to you…” Richie pointed towards the TV where the headline read “California officially shut down”.

The first few days felt like any weekend would. They had extra groceries delivered, they binged some true crime documentary on Netflix, they had a group Skype session with the Losers, they did pretty much anything that took their minds off the current situation. But then the fifth day hit.

It was only 7am when Richie dragged himself out of bed for a coffee. Sure it was early, and he had nowhere to be, but time meant nothing anymore.

Usually Richie’s clamoring about the kitchen woke Eddie up. The first few nights that Eddie moved in after Derry were rough; turns out, Eddie was a pretty light sleeper, and Richie was loud. But today, there was no Eddie in sight.

He continued on his way, pouring himself a bowl of cereal when he saw it through the window to his backyard… and promptly spilled milk all over the counter.

On the bright side, Richie had found Eddie. The only downfall was he’d found him in a pair of tiny running shorts and a tank top doing squats on his deck.

“Fuck!” Richie swore, grabbing a tea towel to clean up the mess he’d made.

“Richie?” Eddie stopped his squats and ran into the house. “What the fuck happened dickwad?”

“N-nothing, nothing happened, it’s just early and I lost my grip.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“So um… what’s happening in the backyard there, Jillian Michaels?” Richie giggled.

“Fuck off. I usually go to the gym before work, but now that the gym’s closed, I had to improvise.”

“Ahh, I see, trying to pick up the new future Mrs. K with…” with thighs I want to wear as earmuffs and that tight ass? He was glad there was an entire counter between them to hide the fact that he was currently at half-mast.

Eddie gave him a strange look and shook his head. “Shut the fuck up. I’m a divorced 40-year-old living with his best friend, I don’t think I’m going to be picking someone up that easily at the gym. Besides, Santa Monica women aren’t really my type…”

“Oh? Well when this is all over, I know a few places we can go pick up chicks. West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, hell even Studio City. Name your type Eds, we’ll find her.”

“Aren’t you gay? How do you know so much about picking up women?”

“Closet case my boy.” Richie winked and took a bite of his cereal. “I’m as good of an actor as I am a comedian.”

“No wonder there were never any articles about how much of a playboy you were then.” Eddie said straight-faced, walking back out to finish his work out.

“Eds gets off a good one!”

*~*~*~*~*

After that eventful morning, Richie tried his hardest to stay in bed until after Eddie’s morning routine was done. One almost-embarrassing situation in his pants was enough to last a lifetime around his best friend of however-many years, he did not need it to escalate from there.

As the days passed on, the two of them found ways to entertain themselves. Eddie took to reading on the deck in the mild April weather, and Richie decided to pick up his guitar again for the first time in years.

He was a little rusty, but after a few hours of practice, it was like riding a bike, and before he knew it, he was back playing the tune he’d spent hours playing as a teenager.

Richie hummed along to the tune of “Eddie My Love” as his fingers formed the familiar chords with ease. He didn’t even realize Eddie walking in from the backyard, a stunned look on his face.

“Rich?” He jumped, startled at the sound of the other man.

“Hey Eds, sorry was I being loud?”

“N-no.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know you played.”

Richie chuckled. “Yeah, I picked it up in high school after Went agreed to teach me a bit. I was in a band in college, but we kinda sucked.”

Eddie scoffed. “You don’t suck, that tune is lovely. What is it?”

Richie’s face felt hot all the sudden. “Uhh, I can’t really remember the name, just something I used to play a bunch. It’s an oldie my mom really liked.”

“Can you teach me?”

His eyes widened. “Y-yeah, here, come sit.” He moved more away from the body and more towards the neck of his acoustic, allowing Eddie to sit nestled between his folded legs. “Okay, um so you hold it like this, and your fingers go here.” Richie curled Eddie’s fingers around the neck of the guitar, placing them in the correct spots on the frets. “So we start with a G chord.” His other arm snaked around Eddie’s shoulder to show him how to strum the chord.

Eddie shivered, completely engulfed by his best friend, noticing for the first time how much he loved his arms being wrapped around him like this.

“Then we move to an E minor.” Richie shifted Eddie’s fingers again and strummed. “Then A minor, and up to D.”

Eddie moved his fingers, pliant beneath Richie’s big hand. His heart beat fast, and he could feel Richie’s breath warm on his shoulder as he played.

For a moment, Eddie could convince himself that Richie felt the same way about him, but only for a moment. They were best friends, and just because Richie was gay, it didn’t mean he was interested in Eddie, no matter how hard he wished that he was. He would never have Richie, but he’d always have this moment.

*~*~*~*~*

“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting drunk.” Richie pulled out a rather large bottle of vodka and a few other spirits. “I’m mixing you up a quarantini.”

“A what now?”

“Quarantini, Eds. We’re getting shitfaced.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Rich, there’s no way in hell I’d—” he paused. Maybe this was the perfect way to come on to Richie. Lowered inhibitions were a great excuse to do something potentially stupid, and if it all went sour, he could blame it on the alcohol. “You know what, fuck it. Mix me a quarantini.”

“That’s the spirit!” He mixed the drinks and dragged Eddie over to the couch. “Alright, we’re indulging tonight. I want not a peep from you. I never got to do any of this gay shit before, and now is the perfect excuse to start a new series. We’re watching RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

Eddie nodded his head. “Drag racing, okay cool, I like cars.”

Richie burst out laughing. “No asshole, drag race… like drag queens.” He popped on a random season and hit play.

Four episodes and many quarantinis later, both Eddie and Richie were yelling at the TV.

“How could they send April home, she’s like the hottest one there!” Eddie put his hands up.

“Right? Look at how hot he is ugh I just wanna…” Eddie glanced over at Richie with a smirk. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I see it.” He pulled out his phone, April’s instagram profile already loaded. “The scruff is driving me mental.”

Richie chuckled. “Eds, that sounds kinda gay.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” Eddie said, face heating up. “Um, surprise?”

“Oh… shit dude, yeah, um, congratulations. Thanks for telling me.” Richie brought his friend into a tight hug, the alcohol running through his system making him feel a little light headed.

“Thanks for being cool about it.” Eddie mumbled, pulling away a bit, but still resting within Richie’s grasp.

“Hey man, I get it… I’m a closet case too.” He laughed.

The two were silent for a moment, content in each other’s grasp, until Eddie couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “Come on, next episode. I hope Laganja gets booted, I can’t stand her.”

Many episodes and quarantinis later, Eddie was fully shitfaced.

“Come on, bedtime for Eds.”

Eddie giggled. “Yeah Rich, take me to bed.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Richie’s heart stutter.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough from you.” Richie deposited Eddie onto the bed, helping him with his shirt, when Eddie pulled him down hard.

“Oops, sorry Rich.” He giggled. “’s not my fault, you’re trying to get me out of my clothessss.”

“You’re wearing jeans, I can’t let you go to bed in jeans Eddie. What kind of asshole wears jeans in quarantine.” Richie giggles, undoing Eddie’s zip and pulling his jeans down his hairless legs. Fuck, his legs are amazing. “Eds, do you wax?” Richie giggled, rubbing a hand up his thigh.

“Pffftt, we’re in isolation shithead, I haven’t been to my wax girl in weeks.”

A jubilant laugh bubbled from Richie’s chest. “Shit, I’ve learned more about you tonight than I have in all the years I’ve known you. You really are a twunk.”

“A what now?”

Richie planted himself down on the bed beside Eddie. “Twunk, hunky twink.”

A look of realization dawned on Eddie. “Ohhhh, that makes a lot of sense. The dude at the checkout told me I was a twunk when I went to buy those underwear without the butt.”

Richie’s brain went blank. “Eddie, do you wear thongs?”

“No asshole, the other thing without the butt. Jock something, I can’t remember.”

“A jockstrap? Eddie are you trying to kill me right now?”

“Shut the fuck up asshole! They’re good for working out in. And they don’t give me lines in my nice suit pants.” Richie was speechless. “So if I’m a twunk, what are you?”

“I—I—I think it’s time for bed.”

“Oh.” Eddie said sounding dejected. “O-or we could just hang out?”

Richie was at an impasse. He knew they were walking a thin line right now, and he shouldn’t stay, but he wanted to see where this would take him, he didn’t want to leave Eddie’s side.

“I think I could hang out for a bit.”

Their “hanging out” didn’t last very long. Within ten minutes, the two men were out cold.

Richie woke up first the next morning and left the soundly sleeping Eddie to go make a pot of coffee. His head was pounding, and as much as he knew the bright sunlight was going to burn his eyes, the fresh air couldn’t hurt.

He’d never been more thankful for his manager who also happened to be a fantastic decorator. The outdoor couch may have seemed stupid to him when he first bought the place, but at times like this, it was a great choice. He could relax, and look out towards the ocean, and forget everything that happened the night before.

That is until Eddie decided to join him.

Richie’s breath left his lungs once he got a good look at his friend. It was like a blast from the past seeing him in a pair of tiny red running shorts, much like those he wore when he was a kid, but now… now they were so much more. Richie’s mouth watered when his eyes caught a good look at how Eddie’s ass filled out the shorts. A large tank top donned his torso, one that Richie had been gifted, and definitely not been too comfortable wearing himself judging by how low cut the arm holes were. He looked hot, not that he wasn’t always attracted to Eddie, but this felt like something had changed, a sexual awakening of sorts, and Richie would never look at his friend the same way.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungover.” Eddie complained as he sat beside Richie. “That stupid drink went down like water.”

“Yeah man I hear you, I feel like shit.”

“I had fun though, it’s been a long time since I’ve had that much fun.”

Richie looked over to him. “No regrets about spilling your guts then?”

Eddie winced. “Okay, maybe you didn’t have to hear about what kind of underwear I prefer.”

Richie burst out laughing. “No, I definitely appreciated that tidbit of information, Eds. I’m proud that my twunk theory was right.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward.” Richie mumbled to himself.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“N-nothing.” He said, darting inside. “Going to work on my new show, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Richie had to get out of there. Last night was a lot, sure, but something felt different today. Seeing Eddie in his boxer briefs felt almost safer than whatever the hell he was wearing today. It’s almost like… almost like he’d purposely dressed up for Richie, and it was killing him. He didn’t know how much more he could take before he combusted.

Unfortunately for Richie, this new look seemed to be Eddie’s new uniform. Richie could tell that now Eddie was out to him, he felt more comfortable being himself, but Richie hated every second of it.

He dreaded seeing Eddie in the morning, dreaded knowing what fresh hell lay beyond his bedroom door in the form of a 5’9 firey bundle of sex personified.

Nearly a month into their quarantine, it was finally warm enough for Richie to sit out by the pool. He donned the brightest swim trunks he could find and rubbed his pale skin down with sunscreen, soaking up some vitamin D.

He’d been out there for just under an hour when he heard (and felt) a splash from the pool where Eddie jumped in.

“Okay, I take back everything bad I ever said about you having a pool when the ocean is right there. The pool is definitely more relaxing than the beach.”

Richie giggled. “I told you, asshole.”

“Oh, and I totally figured out what you are now. If I’m a twunk, you’re an otter.”

“A what now?” Richie removed his sunglasses and moved to sit on the edge of the pool.

“An otter.” Eddie rested his elbows on Richie’s thighs as his calves framed his torso. “At least that’s what I think. It’s like a softer bear. You’re not quite as big and not enough hair to be a bear, and you’re still too thin to be a cub, so you’re an otter.”

“I understood exactly none of what you said except for ‘bear’. I met a bear on Grindr just before Derry that made me realize I like being the bigger body in bed.” Richie winked saucily.

“So you’re a top then Trashmouth?”

Richie’s brows rose into his hairline. “I—I—we are not talking about this right now, not when you’re this close to my dick.”

“Oh come on, you used to talk about your dick all the time.”

“Yeah, I was a closeted kid who’s balls hadn’t dropped yet, obviously I wanted to come off as heterosexual as I could.”

Eddie laughed. “Okay, good point.”

The two sat in the same position for a few minutes, exchanging no words between them. It felt intimate, it felt like Eddie was flirting with him, but he’d never been good at picking up signs. Could Eddie want this too?

“I am though.” He said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

“You’re what?”

Richie’s heart thudded in his chest. “A top, I guess. I don’t mind bottoming, I like it, but I guess I just…”

Eddie grinned. “You like being in charge?”

“No, fuck no.” Richie laughed.

“Really? Huh, okay.” Eddie nodded, mostly to himself.

“Hey, what the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing at all Tozier.” Eddie pushed off of Richie’s legs and floated on his back towards the inflatable lounger.

*~*~*~*~*

The week that followed was agonizing. All Eddie wore was those stupid shorts and a variation of t-shirt/tank-top/fucking crop top, and it was driving Richie mental. He felt like a teenager again, he’d never had so many hard-ons in one week in his life.

It was only a matter of time before Richie snapped.

Richie was descending the stairs from his room one fateful morning and groaned rather loudly when he saw what was waiting for him.

The shorts seemed shorter, tighter on his ass (damn all those squats he does) and his already short shirt seemed to rise up, showing the lovely dimples on his lower back as he reached for a bowl from a high shelf.

“Hey Rich, can you help me… what’s wrong?”

He huffed out a laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wh—did I do something?”

Richie stared at Eddie in disbelief. “Did you… did you do someth—the shorts man, what’s with the shorts!”

“The shorts? I always wear the shorts.”

“I fucking know you always wear the shorts, that’s the problem!” Richie’s stomach rolled. He thought he was going to throw up, he’d never been this candid about his feelings in his life.

“You have a problem with the way I dress? Fuck you, dude.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward!”

Both men fell silent. The tension could be cut with a knife, it was so thick between them.

“Richie?”

“Fuck man, I’m sorry I freaked out on you like that, I just don’t know if I can take this anymore. We’ve been cooped up for a month and I swear I’ve done more jacking off in the last month than I ever did as a teenager.” As good as it felt to spill his guts, he definitely thought he was going to pass out any second.

“I—I don’t…”

“The worst part is, it’s not even just that I’m horny. It’s you! Shit man, I’ve been dreaming of you since we were fucking teenagers. And now… now here you are looking like a goddamn… a goddamn what’s the word… a goddamn snack, telling me shit about the sexy underwear you buy, and asking me if I’m a top. Eddie, I don’t know if you’re flirting with me or not, but Jesus fucking Christ, it’s taking every single fiber of my willpower to not rip your clothes off right now.”

Eddie held back a smile. “Wait, I’m sorry, what? You couldn’t tell I was flirting with you? Are you fucking blind? Actually don’t answer that, I know you’re fucking blind.”

Richie was sure he was gonna get a nosebleed any second. “S-so you were flirting with me?”

Eddie laughed out loud. “Yes you idiot! Literally since the moment I got here, I have been flirting with you. You didn’t get the hint that I have feelings for you?”

“What the fuck, no man! Like you said, I’m fucking blind. I thought you were straight until a few weeks ago!”

Eddie moved to lean against the island, closer to Richie. “You dumbass, I tried so hard the night I came out to you, why do you think I told you about what fucking underwear I wear?”

“I don’t know man, I’m not good at this shit.”

“Clearly!”

Richie cast his eyes down. “S-so, so you really like me?”

Eddie reached for his hand and interlaced their fingers. He pulled Richie closer to him, so he was pinned between Richie and the island. “I love you, dickwad.”

Richie huffed out a laugh. “I love you too.” He blinked rapidly, looking up towards the light. “Oh god, why am I crying.”

“Get over here you big baby.” Eddie detangled his fingers from Richie’s and brought his hand up to the other man’s cheek, bringing him in for a kiss. It was sweet, it was chaste, it was everything Richie wanted from Eddie when they were younger.

But he wasn’t a teenager, and he wanted more.

He dove forward, tongue clashing with Eddie’s. It was hot, it was toe curling good. He snaked his other hand down Eddie’s side, curling around his hip and moving to squeeze his ass. Eddie groaned and ground himself into Richie’s thigh.

“Fuck.” Richie said pulling away. “Fuck, how are you so hot? We’re fucking forty man.”

“Me? Dude, look at you. Your arms… your chest…” Eddie snaked his hand under Richie’s shirt, scratching at the smattering of hair on his pecs.

“Jesus man, I’m not gonna last… fuck… bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

*~*~*~*~*

The two men finally emerged from Richie’s bedroom for dinner later on with kiss bruised lips and satisfaction plastered on their faces.

“Anything good on?” Eddie asked as Richie turned on the TV. “Rich?”

Richie laughed. “You better come see this.”

“QUARANTINE LIFTED” The headline read as news anchors happily recounted the fall in new cases, and the rise in recoveries.

“You’re fucking joking.”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

While I love all the smut, I crave for drama to happen between Arthur and reader. I loved the jealous Arthur post you've written and the bits of drama in your fanfic but how will he handle if the reader is one who is jealous and it leads into a heated argument, where the reader almost breaks up with him? Or vice versa.

Okay, this was supposed to be short, but I just wrote ten pages for this. God, why couldn’t I have had this motivation in college! Anyways, hope you like it!

You’ve been at this stupid ball in Saint Denis for a little over an hour. The mayor of the city was throwing it for the Italian big suit that kidnapped Jack. You were suspicious about the whole thing immediately. Why in the hell would the man who kidnapped Jack and then returned him invite Dutch and the others to a ball? Definitely strange, but it was above you when it came to information. Dutch and Hosea explained to you and Tilly that they wanted you both to come in order to help them blend in a bit more with the crowd. Easier to pick up on contacts and potential future schemes. 

You’ve always hated balls. Having to dress up, look perfect in order to impress people you’ll never like anyways. You’d take an old, dirty pair of jeans and work shirt anyday over all these damn layers. There couldn’t be a worse torture than this. 

You’re waiting in the courtyard while Dutch and Arthur meet with this Bronte man. Hosea and Bill are mingling in the crowd, Tilly’s getting involved with a group of young men who seem to find her interesting. Dutch told you to go mingle as well, but that isn't your thing. You don’t “mingle”. 

You head over to the banquet tables where fruits, cakes and other delicacies are being offered. You hope Arthur will come down soon. You’ve been involved with him for quite some time now and things couldn’t be going better. He’s the perfect companion. You couldn’t design a better man. His only flaw is his insecurities in himself and it sometimes tends to make him a bit jealous. Not that you mind. You get jealous when passing women eye him hungrily. 

When you’re standing next to the table, you grab a glass of champagne and are about to ask the man behind the table for a piece of cake when you hear your name being called. You turn and see not Arthur, but a man you haven’t seen since you were fairly young. His name immediately springs into your mind. Benjamin Dowel. When you were fourteen, you lived in the same town as him and held a massive crush on him. He never knew this of course. Most of the teen girls in town had a thing for him, you were just another face in the crowd. But your relationship back then had been different. You were close friends through your teens until his father got a job in Saint Denis and his family moved down here. You wonder quietly how he wound his way into such an illustrious event as this. 

“Y/N!” he says again, stopping from you only a few feet away. You smile and then notice his suit. White jacket and shirt, white bow tie and black dress pants. Exactly like all the other waiters. 

“Benjamin!” you say, ignoring his position. “Oh my God, how many years has it been? You look great!” And he does look great. His ears aren’t nearly as large and his skin’s cleared up. It doesn’t help that he’s got a pleasant square shape to his shoulders, though that could be the jacket. He’s still handsome with his dark hair and eyes, plus his smile is still enough to make any woman swoon. It’s no surprise he’s even more attractive now than he was all those years ago. 

“Y/N!” he says, gesturing to you. “You look… wow, you look great!” 

You blush and clasp your hands. “Thanks. So… you’re a waiter here?” 

“Yeah.” He goes on to tell you that when he turned 18, his father demanded he get his own job, so he found a position working as a waiter at the saloon, but would work events like this. He’s been doing it for nearly ten years now as it is good work and pays well enough. 

For the next little while, you and Benjamin continue to talk and reconnect. You’re reminded why you had a crush on him for so long. He’s sweet, observant, funny and has an unwaverable sense of loyalty to his father. You’re constantly aware that Arthur’s around here somewhere and he’d be furious if he saw you flirting with this guy. However, he has no room to talk. You know that if Mary called on him again, he’d be off to see her faster than you could blink. 

You’ve always been jealous of Mary. She treated Arthur horribly and yet he let her keep a hold of him that you’ve never been able to understand. There’s no doubt in your mind that if things went the way Arthur wanted, he’d pick Mary over you. After all, you’d seen her. She’s beautiful, smart and not afraid to voice her opinions. It’s no secret that Arthur views you as just a second choice. He’d rather have you than be alone, but Mary is still his preferred option. That knowledge has always been a sore you’ve worked hard to hide. 

A reasonable amount of time has passed and Arthur hasn’t come to find you. He must be out trying to find the mayor. It’s given you and Benjamin a lot of time to chat. You ask him at one point if he needs to return to work, but he just shrugs and says you’re worth getting fired for. The two of you head off the edge of the courtyard near a nearly empty gazebo. He’s moved much closer to you than you’re almost comfortable with, but you don’t step away. 

“Y/N, can I tell you a secret?” he asks. You nod. “When we were kids, I, uh, I was really sweet on you.” He’s blushing worse than you’ve ever seen and rubbing the back of his head. 

You blush too. “Oh, Benjamin. Why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

“Because I knew there was no way you felt the same. And we were such good friends. I didn’t want to ruin that.” 

“Well, you should have,” you smile. “I was sweet on you too.” 

He smiles again, almost as though he couldn’t believe it. His hands come up and settle just above your elbows. He squeezes lightly and moves even closer. 

“You were always pretty,” he whispers, “but now you’re damn near radiant.” He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips. It’s so sudden that you’ve no time to react, no chance to tell him about you and Arthur. Plus you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t always been curious what his lips feel like. 

You’re waiting for that spark though, now that he’s kissing you. Instead, you feel nothing. Not like when you first kissed Arthur. When that happened, there was definitely something there. But with Benjamin, there’s not even the sense of remorse or guilt. Just nothing. 

You pull away. “Benjamin, I… I can’t. You’re a great guy and my closest friend growing up, but-”

You’re cut off by the sound of breaking glass. The two of you turn and see Arthur stomping away, everyone else watching him, and a broken champagne glass only a few yards from you. Shit, there’s no question he witnessed what just happened. 

“I have to go,” you say, squirming out of Benjamin’s grasp. You chase after Arthur, calling his name, but he doesn’t respond. You see him in the darkness heading off the mayor’s property and towards the swampy pond, its banks dotted in manicured flowers.

“Arthur!” you call again as he stops near the water. He turns to you and his eyes are angry and betrayed. Your stomach drops, but you run up to him anyways. 

“Arthur, let me explain. I didn’t mean-” 

“You didn’t mean for me to see that shit, am I right?” he snarls. 

“No, that’s not what I was going to say. He kissed me, not the other way around.” 

“Who is that feller anyways?” 

You sigh and explain how you know Benjamin. Arthur’s eyes darken further. 

“So he’s your ‘what if’ guy, am I correct?” he demands. 

“I… I guess so. Arthur please, what he did was the last thing I wanted to happen. You know I’d never cheat on you.” 

“Do I?” 

You’re taken back by his response and a little offended. “Yes, Arthur you do. You know I’d never betray your trust and I know, or at least I hope, I have the same courtesy from you.” 

“And what the hell does that mean?” 

“You know exactly what it means, Arthur!” you say, your temper flaring. “Don’t lie to me and say that if that Mary didn’t say ‘Oh Arthur, I need you’ that you wouldn’t go galloping off to her. We both know that’s exactly what you’d do. I ain’t stupid, Arthur.” 

He glowers down at you, his jaw tight. “That ain’t fair, Y/N! You know that ain’t the way it is-” 

“Yes it is, Arthur! I know for a fact that I’m better than you being alone, but if things were different, you’d pick her. A thousand times over and over again! So don’t you dare tell me that it isn’t fair!” 

“You always been jealous of Mary,” he hisses. “You always suspected the worst of me whenever her name is even mentioned.” 

“And have you proven me wrong, Arthur? In Horseshoe Overlook, you went tromping off to her. It didn’t matter we’ve been together for over a year, you still went to her. And then what did you do? You lied to me, said you were just going off to tell her to stop pestering you. But I know for a fact you went in hopes she’d take you back!” 

“And how the hell would you know that?” 

“Because I followed you, Arthur! Forgive me for being suspicious, but I had to know for sure. I know your past with her and so I doubted you were going to tell her goodbye. And guess what? I was right! You went chasing after her brother hoping that she’d see how good of a man you are and want you back again.” 

“You seriously followed me? Well so much for us having a trusting relationship!” he roars.

“Yeah, I know it was a shit move on my part, but like I said, I’ve always known you’d choose her over me. I know if she ended up saying she actually wanted you back, you’d have come back to me and said things were over. I know I’m not a prize, Arthur!” 

You’re crying at this point and you’re hurt and upset. Not once has Arthur said you were wrong, that you were what he wanted. You can tell by the look in his eyes he’s not planning on contradicting you either. 

“It’s not fair,” you go on, more quietly this time, “for you to still be pining for Mary and for me to not have anyone else in case this doesn’t work. You have no idea how much it hurts to know you still love her and to know you’d just toss me aside so easily the moment she says your name.” 

You wipe your cheeks, waiting for him to say something. His face is still dark, his eyes glaring at you. “Yeah, but I don’t go around kissin’ people from my past. Especially in front of you. What you just did hurts too, Y/N.” 

His words are enough to confirm your fears. He loves Mary more than he’ll ever love you. Nothing you can do or say can change that. 

“You know what, Arthur?” you finally say. “We’re done. I’m not going to compete for your affections. Not with some silly woman like Mary who isn’t even around. It’s not fair to me for you to be jealous and for me to just be okay with you wanting Mary. I can’t do it anymore.” 

His eyes widen. “Y/N, no. Ya don’t need to do this.” 

“Yes I do, Arthur. I’m never going to have you the way I want, so I’m not going to try anymore. It’s over. I’ll move my things out of your room back at Shady Belle.” 

Before he has the chance to say anything further, you run off towards the street. You should be going back to Dutch and the others, it’d be the easiest way for you to get back to camp, but Arthur will surely be there too. You can’t bear to be around him anymore, so you wander the streets for a moment until you see the other guests’ horses lined up, waiting for their masters. The boy watching over them is napping, so you pick the horse farthest from him and canter off. You don’t care that the boy is calling and hollering for you to come back. You have to get away. 

When you’re back in camp, you head immediately up to your shared room. Or what was your shared room. There, you strip out of this stupid dress and tear off the jewelry. You leave them on the chair near the table. They were gifts from Arthur; you don’t want them anymore. You change quickly back into your everyday clothes and quickly pack up your belongings. 

You head outside and towards the two wagons where the other girls sleep. When you first joined the gang, there wasn’t really any room for you, so you slept under the wagons. It was actually kind of nice because it was covered from the elements and you didn’t have another person on either side of you. You stuff your belongings under the wagon again and roll out your bedroll. Mary-Beth asks what you’re doing, but you wave her off, not really in the mood to explain what just happened. 

When your things are set out the way you like, you’re not really tired enough to go to bed, plus you’re still hurt and angry. You also know Arthur’s likely to come find you and want to talk, but that’s the last thing you want. You head off to the boathouse behind the manor and sit on a rickety chair you’ve seen Strauss occupying multiple times. 

It’s late in the night when you hear the sounds of the coach rolling back in and Dutch’s loud voice carries over to you, though you can’t really make out what he’s saying. Your stomach tightens almost painfully as you worry about if anyone will tell Arthur where you’ve gone. An hour passes though and he doesn’t. Finally, you feel safe enough to go and try to get some sleep under your wagon. 

A few very awkward days pass and Arthur still has not tried to talk to you. Now that your anger is finally gone, you feel somewhat hurt that he hasn’t. Even though it was you who broke things off, you didn’t want to. You had to in order to protect yourself, but you still love him. He must be satisfied with things being the way they are. Hell, he’s probably daydreaming about Mary, or worse, he’s actively looking for her. A letter from her came to him the day after you broke up and Arthur’s been running off to the city a lot. 

The other girls try to get you to talk about what’s going on, but you still don’t really want to. Dutch has even approached you and tried to smooth things over, but you wonder if Arthur asked him to. You never saw it, but Hosea spoke to Arthur and gave him a few honest opinions, trying to help him straighten things out as far as how he felt about things. 

Part of you wonders if maybe it’s time to leave the gang. Arthur is such a vital part of it, he’s involved with pretty much everything. You won’t be able to do any jobs anymore without him being involved in some way or another. You come to the decision that you’ll just go off on a hunting trip for a few days. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so Dutch won’t think anything of it. And maybe, if you end up preferring the isolation, you’ll just end up not coming back. 

You pack up your bedroll but leave most of your other possessions behind. Most of them are gifts from Arthur anyways. A picture of some wolves he got from a photographer, another photograph of you and Arthur taken from a few weeks back. You feel a pang when you look at it. He looks so happy. You lay it back down and then crawl out from under the wagon, hop up onto your horse and leave. No one stops you, they all know at this point you and Arthur aren’t together anymore. You secretly despise their mixed looks of disappointment and pity. The likelihood that you’ll ever see any of them again is small. 

Once you’re away from Shady Belle, you gallop north towards New Hanover. You have not enjoyed Lemoyne much. Too hot and humid. You prefer the green and blue hues of the Heartlands. The change of scenery is a welcome relief. The vast open landscape feels incredible. You realize now that you’ve been cooped up in that swamp for too long. You’ve needed this. 

Game is plentiful and you do some hunting, catching a few deer and rabbits. You only take what you can carry on your horse in case you end up not going back. Right now, you don’t want to at all. It feels good to be out here on your own, enjoying the warmth and the light. No one’s around to bicker or perform mindless chatter. In fact, no one’s around at all. It’s all wonderful.

When night comes, you pitch your tent in case it rains. You stock your fire and cook some of the meat. Instead of Pearson’s usual stew, you treat yourself to a can of beans, an apple and some fresh cooked venison. Stars twinkle above you, reminding you of your newly acquired freedom. 

While it’s been nice to be out here on your own and take a few steps back from life with the gang, you find yourself missing company. Particularly Arthur’s. You spent many nights with him out in the wilderness and they ended up being some of the best times. It wasn’t just that you could be as loud as you wanted while fooling around with him, but all the walls between you came tumbling down. You could be yourselves. You find yourself crying again at the thought that it would never happen again. 

Somehow, you end up falling asleep. In the morning, you lie inside your tent, feeling slightly miserable. You don’t know what’s going to happen. You don’t really want to abandon the gang and Arthur, but you don’t know if you can manage to live with them and him like this. You don’t want to end up like John and Abigail, barking angrily at each other at every turn. At least you and Arthur didn’t have a kid together. 

The smell of roasting coffee beans wafts into your tent. Did you make some last night and forget about it? No, you couldn’t have. You never have coffee except early in the day since it keeps you up too long. The thought that some stranger might be in your camp going through your stuff sends a jolt down to your stomach and makes you get up quickly. When you get outside, you find not a stranger, but Arthur. 

He’s kneeling down next to the fire, cooking some fresh meat on your grill. From the percolator you can hear water bubbling a little and steam coming from the spout. That explains the coffee smell. Arthur looks up when you come out, his face blank. Your stomach clenches tighter. He’s probably come to finish the fight. 

“Arthur, I-” you begin, feeling defensive. 

“You ain’t gotta be worried, sweetheart,” he says, his eyes hidden beneath his hat. He pours some coffee into a tin cup and hands it to you. “Why don’t you come sit down?” 

You hesitate and then accept his cup, sitting down on the opposite side of the fire. Having no idea what to say, you take a sip of your coffee. An awkward silence passes between you for a few moments before Arthur finally says something. 

“Y/N, I um, I didn’t come here to beg you to take me back. I ain’t gonna put that kinda pressure on ya. But I did want to try and apologize, but you never gave me the chance at that ridiculous party.” 

“I’ve been in camp with you three days, Arthur. You could have come talk any time.” 

“I know, but I wanted to talk with you alone, but you were always with someone. It was like… I don’t know, felt like ya didn’t want me to.” 

“I didn’t,” you admit. “We said our things at the party, Arthur. There isn’t more to say.” 

He looks down at the fire. “Maybe for you. But please, Y/N, give me the chance to talk?” 

You recognize that he’s asking and not demanding, so you nod. He sighs and rubs his eyes for a moment. 

“What you said about me and Mary. Well, you were right. If she said even the tiniest word, I woulda gone to her. But these past few days without you have been tougher than all the years I spent without Mary. When she broke things off, my heart was broken. But when you broke things off. My heart wasn’t broken, it was just gone. I’ve taken ya for granted, Y/N. And you were right. It ain’t fair of me to accuse you of tryin’ to start things with other men when I’ve kept Mary in the wings for so long.”

Arthur stands up and approaches your side of the fire and sits down. He leaves several inches between you out of respect. “Y/N, I said I wasn’t gonna beg ya to take me back, and I’m not. However, if you wanted to reconsider trying again, I just want ya to know I’ll always be waitin’ for you. I’m willing to leave Mary in my past where she belongs. I guess I’m just hoping you’ll be in my future.” 

You’re trying not to cry again. You know when Arthur’s lying and his voice and just his energy says he’s being as authentic as ever. Your logic is telling you to say no, to leave things off. But that’s always been your problem. You’ve always listened to your brain more than your heart, which was why you were automatically suspicious when his first letter for Mary came. Maybe if you listened more to your heart, things would be different now. 

Arthur sighs again, looking away. “Anyways, I just wanted to set the record straight between us. I understand and I’ll respect your decision.” 

Arthur gets up and starts walking towards his horse, forgetting the meat he left on the grill to cook. If you let him leave now, the door to your future with him will close forever. You can’t let that happen and so you launch to your feet. 

“Arthur!” you wail, running up to him. He turns to be almost knocked off his feet by you throwing your weight at him. Before you can control yourself, you’re sobbing into his chest. He says nothing, but he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight and sets his chin on your head. He’s warm and familiar. You’ve buried yourself into him like this many times. His scent envelopes you, only adding to the range of emotions rushing through you. 

After a few moments, he loosens his hold and pulls you away slightly, giving you the grin that shows his wonky tooth. You love when he smiles like that. He dries your cheeks with his fingers before pulling a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” he says softly. You sniff and nod, feeling like you must look like a child. His hands find yours, rubbing them softly. “So… I hope it’s not too soon to ask, but-” 

You shake your head and cut him off. “It’s not, Arthur. And yes, I’m willing to try again.” He smiles again and all you want him to do is hold you again. As if reading your mind, he pulls you back into his arms, letting you rest your head into the crook of his neck. His right hand settles on your lower back and his left wraps around your shoulders. 

“You’re too good for me, darlin’, but I’m grateful you’re giving me a second chance. I love you.”