#TOOK ME ALL FUCKING DAY JFC

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

there are people on this earth who wholeheartedly enjoyed all of ted lasso. it's fascinating honestly.

[alilweirddragon]

"we don't follow the main stream media cuz we're Gods children. We aren't sheep." bitch you're still a fucking sheep you just follow someone else.

[mrsmarlasinger]

My manager at the call center isn't gonna be here for the rest of the week. Nor is our office manager. I'm gonna throw up. Like I'm literally nauseous with dread

[billowyy]

.

[seuugyoon]

#rant

[deutsche-bahn]

I took some time and translated one of the anecdotes I'd written on here, since people keep putting my german posts through google translate in the notes and it makes my eyes bleed

It's a small story of a situation I got myself into while I was travelling through Prague. It was winter, I was 19, and completely disoriented on my way through eastern Europe. That day I'd made plans to meet some folks for breakfast at a café. But me being me I had somehow managed to type the wrong café into google maps, which sent me marching into the wrong part of town.

I burst into this unassuming little café somewhere in Prague like I was a Roman looking for the last unoccupied village in Galicia, walked through the rows of tables, couldn't find anybody. Opened google maps and promptly realized my mistake.

Unfortunately, by that point I'd caught the eye of the waiter. Some young, skinny guy with a pastel tshirt and a bow tie, looking vaguely like an overwhelmingly gay youtuber straight out of 2016. Good for him honestly.

He came flying in my direction, asking if there was anything he could help me with.

This is the point where I should briefly mention what I looked like at the time, since that somehow manages to make this story so much worse, yet so much better:

For starters I was dressed in a giant winter parka that I had quasi-borrowed from my ex. It was oversized to the point of making me look like the world's saddest emperor penguin. I'd spent the night on a flixbus (because what's new), was sleep deprived to the point of delyrium and wore giant hiking boots. The fact that I also suffer from a condition called "always looking like a 12yr old" certainly wasn't helping. In short, I looked like you could've cast me as Gavroche then and there.

The waiter proceeded, in czech, to ask me- well, something in czech. My czech skills are... lacking, and even that's a euphemism. I replied with all the wit I could muster: "What?? Sorry"

He repeated, now in english: "Hi, can I help you?"

I decided to opt for the one answer that could possibly make me look even more like a lost child.

"No, I'm just looking for my friends!"

Fantastic, stellar job, you babyfaced lunatic. Why not tell him that you'd now like to call your mum to come pick you up now? Jfc.

The waiter had already entered lost-child-emergency mode and actually offered to let me call someone if I needed to. Ah shit. "I can make you some tea!" he added. I got the vague feeling that he was five minutes and one more concerning remark on my part away from calling the authorities on me, so my reply of "ah, no no, I'm perfectly fine!" came out with a wee bit too much panic in my voice.

At that point he asked me what I was doing in Prague to begin with. In his eyes, there was a child standing in his cafe, unable to speak the local language and without his friends. Goddamn you, google maps.

I had travelled to the czech republic for a larp, and I'd rather have perished than explain the concept of larping to a random gay waiter. "Oh, it's very very complicated" I said instead. Holy shit, can you act less like a potential human trafficking victim, I fucking beg you?? Thanks in advance.

By this point the waiter was even more concerned, if possible. I thanked him several times (I must've seemed so composed and relaxed) and promptly booked it back out onto the street. Average Wednesday

[milky-fixx]

claim

genshin impact | werewolf!childe x reader

prompt: werewolf + knotting/breeding

summary: childe has been acting strange lately. clingy, possessive--not to mention, his insatiable sexual appetite. a sparring match goes wrong and it turns out your fatui lover may have more secrets up his sleeve than you had imagined... 

word count: 5.9k jfc

tw/cw: 18+ only, afab reader, knotting, breeding, impregnation kink, marking, hickeys, masturbation, talk of having children.

--author’s note: sorry this took me an ungodly amount of time to finish! i have been struggling with it for over a month. special thank you to all my friends who i forced to read this and give me feedback on teehee ahem cough y’all know who you are @honey-oak​ @universal-imagines​ @moonsickcafe​

–

The thing is, he’s different.

“Oolong, when subject to a heavy roast, produces an intense, powerful taste, balanced by light floral notes… a complex and balanced flavor. In my days, I’ve sampled many an oolong tea…”

You nod out of respect, even as your mind is wandering. Zhongli was the one who invited you to Heyu Tea House to thank you for your help in introducing several clients to his consulting services. Of course, you didn’t refuse. It seemed a lovely chance to catch up with a friend, and to distract yourself from your ginger-haired companion’s strange behavior.

Yet now instead of relaxing, your thoughts are consumed by him.

You can’t quite put your finger on how. If Tartaglia could be described with one word, it certainly would not be predictable. The man seems open, affable, but it’s all surface-level–he has enough secrets to keep you on your toes, should you get swept into his tides.

Ever since he returned to Liyue after calling off a Fatui mission, though, his behavior’s been... strange. Even for him.

“The boldest taste, however, comes from the leaves found in Jueyun Karst. They have a distinct minerality… almost like Scotch…”

His manner is still jovial, teasing… but his words are sharper now, like the jagged edge of a claw. Like he’s laughing at some kind of joke that only he knows. That same toothy grin he always sports seems more menacing than boyish. It’s like he can’t keep his hands off you. A hand on your back, around your waist–his touches have gotten more outlandish, his hands straying to your ass, your breasts, even in public. You’ve had to smack his hands away more than once.

And the sex, Archon’s above, the sex.

It’s downright animalistic. Him grunting above you, his hips snap snap snapping against yours. He’d left bruises in the shape of his fingertips from how hard he was gripping you, telling you fuck, Tsaritsa above, you’re tight, so fucking wet. And the dirty talk.

You’d never before entertained the thought of children, but the way Tartaglia could spin the most lewd fantasies from his smart mouth (“Wanna be a stay at home mom for me, hm? Want me to just fill you and fuck you till you’re practically begging me to knock you up every second?”)

“One can’t forget the oolong cultivated in Qingce village… They possess a powerful, roasted character… an entirely different flavor from the ones typically seen in Liyue…”

Not to mention, the one time he growled into your neck during sex, sounding less human and more animal,

“You’re mine.”

And the way he laughed it off when you asked him what the fuck that meant. Because even if it was one of the most explosive orgasms you’ve ever had (“Comrade, really! You don’t have to flatter me so,” he said, grinning from ear-to-ear once he noticed your legs wobble as you tried to stand. He caught you  before you fell, of course; he always did), you weren’t an object, a toy.

A possession. His possession. 

You can only assume the way he brushed it off meant he thought otherwise.

Every attempt at getting to the root cause of his behavior left you even more confused, though.

“Whatever are you talking about, comrade?” he would say. “Isn’t it normal to be excited to see my lover after such a long time apart? Aren’t you flattered that I can’t seem to keep my hands off of you?”

“I believe the tea served at Heyu Tea House is sourced directly from Mt. Tiansheng… That would explain the crisp, refreshing quality to the tea we’re tasting now.”

Like the Hydro element he was gifted with, Tartaglia could sway the tides of the convo any way he preferred. Trying to get to the truth of things would only leave you more frustrated.

Your last hope then is patience. Tartaglia after all,  is anything but good at keeping secrets. While he had many, he can’t help but drop hints every now and then, as if enticing you to guess upon the truth of them all.

Zhongli’s keen gaze captures your attention, and it’s then that you realize you’ve been blatantly zoning out in the middle of conversation. You shift, muttering out a quick apology. He clears his throat meaningfully before continuing. “But enough about my extensive knowledge of tea. Tell me, how have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been… fine. Alright.”

He stares at you pointedly. You get the sense that he is treading carefully. “And in regards to your… romantic endeavors?”

You raise a brow at the question, having hardly expected it from Zhongli of all people. “Romantic…?” Then it hits you. “Oh, do you mean Childe?”

Zhongli nods, sipping his tea.

“Wait…” Your brow furrows. “How did you know... ?”

"Ah. Well. Ahem. Word gets around.”

You glance at him suspiciously.

Zhongli glances pointedly at your neck, and that’s when you realize the hickey Tartaglia had left on you last night is visible. You flush, adjusting your collar to hide it.

“I may have been privy to certain… sounds during my last business trip to Wangsheng Inn.”

You stare at him uncomprehendingly until he clears his throat. That’s when you realize. The first night Tartaglia came back, he booked a room at the inn. Then he proceeded to bend you over in various positions on damn near every surface. The two of you ended up breaking more than a few furniture items, to which Childe flashed his not-insignificant collection of Mora to the receptionist.

"Oh... oh no. No. Zhongli, please don’t tell me you heard us.”

He takes a sip of his tea again. His silence is answer enough.

You nearly smack your head on the table. The fact that Zhongli knows you’re fucking the Harbringer… the fact that he heard you two. That others had. You can imagine no less embarrassing situation. Maybe if you fell off the top of Mt. Hulao, no one would be able to whisper behind your back about the shameless harlot traveler…

“He asked about you, as soon as he arrived in town. Childe.”

“He... asks about me?” you say, surprised.

Zhongli’s brows arch. “Yes. Often. Annoyingly so.”

Tartaglia’s mysterious way of showing up exactly where you were at the most inopportune moments is apparently because he had informants around town. “Sorry about that, Zhongli–”

“Ah, Mr. Zhongli! I see you’re getting well-acquainted with my friend here.”

Speak of the devil.

“Childe!”

“Hey there,” he says. He immediately makes his way to you, crossing his arms against your chair. Close. Extremely close. You can feel his gloved hand brush against your shoulder. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

“I told you I was seeing a friend today.”

“A friend, yes. You didn’t mention it was Mr. Zhongli,” he clarifies, and there’s a peculiar note to his voice.

You’re certainly not… imagining the hint of accusation in his words, are you?  

“Ah, Childe. Nice to see you again.”

“Nice seeing you again too, Mr. Zhongli. Hope I’m not crashing the party,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly. You notice Zhongli’s gaze dart to it briefly.

“We were just having some tea. Discussing matters.”

“Really? It looks delicious,” he says good-naturedly. “I’d love to try some.”

“I’ll flag down a waiter for you,” Zhongli offers.

“Nonsense. I have the perfect solution.” Tartaglia reaches for your cup, but you grab it just in time. He frowns, and triumphant, you take a sip. But you miss the devious look in his face.

When you try to set the cup down, he leans in. Surprised, you nearly gag on the tea. But he persists, leaning until his lips are pressed firmly against yours. You gasp, and some of the tea overflows from your mouth, flowing into his. He swallows the tea greedily, until you shove him in the chest. You sit back in your seat, face flushed. Zhongli coughs.

“Too bitter for my taste! Certainly could be sweeter,” Tartaglia concludes.

“Y-You--I--” You  rub your lips furiously.

“Well,” he purses his lips. “I’m sure (Y/N) added some sweetness to it already~”

Zhongli clears his throat meaningfully. “Curious.”

“Childe, I’m going to end you–” you start, before he interrupts by dropping several Mora onto the table.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Zhongli. It’s my treat. Come now,” he says, grasping your arm. “Murderous rage is the perfect motivation for a fine battle. And I think you owe me a spar.”

–

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demand once the two of you are away enough from the tea house. You made sure to duck into an alley to avoid the hoards of passerby, halting him in his tracks.

He shrugs, uncaring.

“Seriously. That was embarrassing! In front of Zhongli too.”

“It’s not like he doesn’t know. He keeps tabs on nearly everything in Liyue,” Tartaglia says airily. Unaffected.

You give him a death glare. “Oh yeah. He knows all right. Says the whole damn country heard us the other night.”

A triumphant grin tugs at his face. Pride rings in his voice. “Yeah? I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”

You jab his chest. “You’re so annoying.”

He grasps your hand, curling the fingers in. His gaze intense, cocky. “But you like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“You enjoy it,” he persists, brow furrowing. “You enjoy me--”

“Debatable.”

“Hah.” He cocks a brow. “Debatable? That’s not what your screaming from last night said--”

"Ahem,” you interrupt, shushing him as someone walks by. He raises a brow, but says nothing. “Didn’t you say I owed you a spar?"

He brightens up instantly, like a child who was just delivered a gift. It’s ridiculous. You have to remind yourself that Tartaglia’s first true love after all, has always been and will always be fighting.

“You did! I’m glad you didn’t forget, comrade. I’ve been looking forward to it. I know a perfect spot in Mingyun Village--”

“Is that why you dragged me away from my date?” you ask even as you follow him.

His laughter dies down. He stops suddenly, glancing at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

“No. I dragged you away from Mr. Zhongli because I don’t like the way he looks at you. You’re mine.”

“I’m not an object, you know that?” you say, frustrated. “Not some kind of weapon you can claim, master.”

“Of course you’re not,” Tartaglia says. “But when I say you’re mine, I mean you belong only to me.”

The certainty in his voice sends you shivers.

He brightens up suddenly though. “Now come! We’re almost there.” He grips your hand tighter, walking quicker now. You notice his hand is hot, the heat seeping through the thin material of his gloves. Almost like you’re touching a furnace. Playing with fire. 

—

Whatever ailment has afflicted Tartaglia, it certainly hasn’t dampened his fighting spirit. In fact, he’s particularly vicious today. There’s a fire in his eyes with every blow that lands against yours. With inhuman speed, he’s quick to strike, catching you by surprise with an underhanded move. One second, you’re upright, and the next you’re lying flat on your back, his knees caging both sides of your body, his Hydro-infused sword pressed against the side of your neck.

“I win.”

“N-Not fair! When did you get so fast?”

“Life isn’t fair, comrade,” he says, grinning. You blink. For a second, you were almost certain his teeth seemed sharper somehow, the tips of his canines glinting in the light.

It must be your imagination.

He helps you up after his victory, but you decide you’ll also play underhanded. You grasp his hand, taking advantage of his lack of balance. Then you’re the one pinning him to the ground, sword inches before his throat.

“Neither is love~”

Tartaglia’s eyes narrow.

You’re certain he’s going to make a move. A counterattack. He is after all, not one to quit until you two are roughed up and dirtied. Until neither of you can put a fight any longer.

You’re hardly expecting his next move.

He tugs you forward by your shirt collar with inhuman strength. You yelp. And then he’s crashing his face against yours, his lips meeting yours in a battle for dominance.

His kiss is rough, demanding. Like he wants to swallow the very fibers of you up. Like he wants to eat you up. Something sharp prods your lower lip and you recoil at the iron tang of blood.

When did his teeth get that sharp?

You frown, but he takes the chance to lap at your lower lip, sucking on it as if soothingly.

He’s fevered.  

Literally. His forehead against yours running hot.

Tartaglia feels like he’s burning up.

You push him away, gasping. His lips are stained with your blood. Despite the sight, your gaze is drawn upwards, where something orange twitches behind his hair.

What the...

Atop Tartaglia’s head are two fuzzy triangular ears. In the shape of a canine’s ears.

“What the fuck?”

--

The thing is, it makes sense.

His lust for fighting, his unruffled manner. The way he likes to bring out his teeth in the bedroom, nipping you in the neck when you said something particularly amusing. (The one time he drew blood and you got pissed.) The gleam of his canines when he grins. (Too sharp to be human.) The feral glint in his eyes that promises nothing but pain--whether in response to someone stealing away your attention, or a worthy opponent.

Tartaglia being a werewolf is the answer you would have never guessed, but in hindsight, the pieces fit together.

His features are sharper, more distinct. His canines pointed, his gaze sharp, his tail--he had a tail, dear god--ramrod straight. Hovering over you, he stares at you wide-eyed.

“You’re a--”

His ears twitch. “Well, I suppose you could call this a… hairy surprise.”

“You’re a furry? Seriously? That’s your big secret?”

“I--” He pauses. “Not… really? I’m a werewolf. You’re…” He cocks his head to the side. “Not surprised like I thought you would be.”

“You could’ve just said you were a furry,” you exclaim. “Not exactly rare around these parts. That would explain a lot!”

He blinks. “Come now, you can’t tell me you’re not even a smidge surprised?”

You raise a brow at him.

“You do act like a dog. So… not really.”

He laughs. You notice movement from the corner of your eye, and see his tail wagging. You gesture him to move off, and he does so reluctantly. Seated across from each other, you scrutinize him.

“So this is why you’re so eager to fight me?”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “When it’s that time of the month, fighting gives me a burst of energy I’m just itching to burn off.”

“Uh-huh.” You nod slowly.

Now that you think about it, you suppose that yes, there is always a certain time of the month where Tartaglia vanishes. You never stopped to question why or how, always assuming he had top secret back-to-back Fatui missions.

Never did you imagine that the cause of his absence would be a monthly transformation.

“Were you…” He perks up. “Were you always a werewolf? Did it happen recently?”

He hums. “Hmm, no. The Abyss is a strange place. You never know how it’ll affect you.”  

You nod. While you saw his Foul Legacy Transformation before, never did you think he had this other transformation as well. “What other changes do you undergo? I see you’re all… furried up.”

“Teeth, claws. I get an insatiable craving for raw meat... fighting… fucking.” You cough at the last word. He glances at you slyly, before letting out a bark of a laugh. “I’m not that different! I’m still me.”

Fucking, huh? That... that makes sense. You feel your cheeks heat up as you remember just how many amorous encounters the two of you had the past few days. He catches the movement, grinning. 

“Truthfully comrade… With you before me, all sweaty like this? I’m not sure I can hold back.”

Before you know it, Tartaglia surges forward. Your hands come out to support yourself from falling. His knees cage you, his face mere inches from yours, his hands planted onto the ground beneath you. Trapping you in place.

He gazes at you slyly, resting his chin on your chest. He inhales deeply, his ears twitching.  

He nips your collarbone, one arm coming back to grasp you, drawing you into him. Your arms are grateful for the relief, clinging to him. Then you’re in his lap, keenly aware of Tartaglia’s hungry expression staring up at you.

“But I,” He laughs. “I don’t even think you want me to hold back.”

His hands come up to cup your breasts through your shirt, squeezing roughly. He seems to grow frustrated with the material in his way though.

He rips through your shirt suddenly with a sharpened claw. You yelp, smacking his shoulder. He laughs heartily, before cupping your breasts with his bare hands.

“You’re s-so obsessed with these,” you mutter.

“Can you blame me? These are perfect. Soft and round.” He sighs. “They’d look even better, full with milk.”

He leans down, his teeth grazing a nipple. You shiver. “W-What the hell, Childe?”

He shrugs. It would be a lie to say you aren’t affected by his smart, dirty mouth. Heat simmers low in your abdomen. The thought of Childe knocking you up… of claiming you as his, of imprinting himself on you.

He laughs again. “I can smell you, you know?” He taps his nose. “Wolf senses. I think you like that idea more than you let on. I’m glad. I like it, too.”

“I…” His voice lowers. “Would love nothing more than to fuck you until you’re heavy with my child.”

The intensity of his gaze, the assurance of his promise, the gravelly quality to his tone–they all have you rubbing your thighs together, hoping vainly to get some kind of relief.

His hand trails down to the hem of your pants. He tugs at them roughly before his claw slices through the thin material of your panties.

“H-Hey! Childe, what the hell. I actually like that pair.”

“Ngh, I’ll buy you new ones later. I just wanna feel you… fuck, you’re soaked.”

Tartaglia is smart enough to not stick his claws inside you, instead using the back of his index and third fingers to rub against your clit. You shudder. While usually it wouldn’t be enough to get you off, combined with his panting against your neck, his hips rutting up into you, his hand rubbing your nipple. It’s all too much. You keel forward, a gasp of his name ripping from your throat as your walls contract around nothing.

Tartaglia continues to rub you through your orgasm, even as pinpricks of sensitivity have you shaking above him, begging him to stop. Finally, mercifully, his hand leaves you. He brings it up to his mouth, inhaling deeply before lapping at the juices smeared on his fingers.  

“Fuck, comrade, that was hot.”

You’re the one who initiates the kiss this time, pressing insistently against him. Wanting to repay him back in some way. Sitting atop his thighs, you grow more and more aware of his burgeoning need pressing up against you, and when you break the kiss, glancing down, you’re not surprised to see his heavy erection straining the front of his pants.

“Here?” you ask, breathless.

Tartaglia cracks a wicked grin. “You minx. Of course we can–”

He stills suddenly. Glancing to his right, the both of you catch sight of an unsuspecting villager, who immediately drops his basket of grains after catching sight of the two of you. You are sure you pose more of an indecent sight, your shirt and pants torn, your skin exposed. Tartaglia holds you to him, attempting to hide you from his gaze.

“I–I’m sorry!”

“Nothing to see here, old man,” Tartaglia says testily. “Keep moving.”

After he leaves, he turns to you. “Now, where were we–”

“Where were we? What do you mean? The mood is ruined!”

Now not only did everyone at Liyue Harbor know you were a harlot, but so did a poor, unsuspecting elderly man from the countryside.

–

It’s not that you consider yourself a prude, per se. It’s that you’re trying to build up your reputation in Liyue, and these risque debacles really are making you look bad. Who can blame you though—you need to unlock those merchant discounts! Groceries nowadays are so expensive.

That’s what you tell yourself anyways, as you make your way back to your teapot, the sun having set in the horizon.

Tartaglia moaned and griped about getting blue-balled, but you told him he could wait until you two had a proper room and bed before getting frisky. You can’t risk any more rumors flying around. You sent him away on so you could finish doing your quests around Liyue.

The sight that you find at your teapot though, is not expected at all.

“Mngh, fuck, comrade. Fuck. So tight.”

“Are you… are you humping my pillows?” you ask, incredulous.

Tartaglia stutters your name out, voice pitching higher at the end. He’s kneeling on your bed, pants and shirt off, rutting into what seems like a pile of your pillows.

Your jaw drops. You take a minute to admire the sight afforded to you; it’s a rare opportunity for you to bask in the view: the hard muscles of his back tensing, the constellation of scars rippling with every thrust of his hips forward.

He’s still fucking your bed.

“Are you humping my pillows while I’m talking to you?” you repeat.

Tartaglia lets out something close to a whine.

“Mmh–yes? N-No? Y-Yes!”

You make your way closer. Sweat beads on his forehead, drips down his chest. Tartaglia’s biting down on his lip, his cheeks flushed. He jerks his hips into the pillows, driving his cock in and out in stilted motions, almost as if he can’t help himself. As if he can’t control his body.

Suddenly, you remember his words from earlier.

“Comrade, please… Are you really going to leave me blue-balled like this?”

An ounce of guilt registers in you.

“Are you okay? You seem kind of out of it.”

He gasps out an unconvincing yes. The closer you look, the more you can see the sheen of something sticky dripping down his abdomen, all over your sheets. With a start you realize it’s coming from him.

You swallow roughly, suddenly aware of just how packed the room is with the smell of his musk.

“How long have you been uh, doing this?” You gesture to him.

He grunts. “Since our last encounter.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously? That was hours ago.”

Tartaglia gives you a shaky smile. “S-Seems I can’t help myself. S-Sorry…”

You stare uncomprehendingly.

Has Childe been jerking it in your room for hours? Is this… was this normal?

“You look like you could use a hand. Or… two.” The words are out of your mouth before you can think twice.

“Yes.” Tartaglia nearly jumps at the suggestion, freeing his cock from the makeshift pillow fucktoy he made.  His cock points stiffly towards his stomach, the tip near purple, twitching and drooling with his spend.

You blink several times. You can’t say for certain, but it seems bigger than last time you remember it. And Tartaglia’s cock was already menacing enough for a human’s.

Your eyes glance upwards at his ears.

Correction. His cock was menacing enough to be a werewolf’s.

Your hand circles his cock tentatively. Tartaglia hisses, bucks into your fist.  To your surprise, you can barely wrap your hand around the width of him. Definitely bigger.

Your hand thumbs the tip, and he gasps, hand fucking into your fist. And more sensitive.

You continue to stroke him, although it would be a stretch to say you’re doing most of the work—Tartaglia seems bent on fucking into anything that he can, thrusting into your fist with intention. It takes only a few pumps for him to hiss loudly, his cum coating your hand. He mutters out an apology, his hips still jerking into your hand.

Certainly, you think, he should be satiated by now. The amount he came not insignificant.

But to your surprise, his cock still throbs in your grasp, as hard as it was when you started.

“Does this–is this like a wolf thing?” you ask him.

“Ngh, comrade, I may have neglected to mention something important.”

You nod, urging him to continue.

“My transformation usually occurs only under the night of a full moon. But this time… it’s not.” He scratches the back of his head. “And the reason why is…”

“Because of my rut.”

You blink uncomprehendingly.

“Uh, like a creative rut?”

Tartaglia’s hand falls. He points at his cock, still hard in your grasp.

“Like a… a horny rut, comrade,” he says drily.

“...Oh.”

“I get an insatiable urge to fuck. Nothing else can make up for it. My hand, your hand, this pillow…”

“Fighting doesn’t help?” you ask, remembering his earlier words.

He chuckles lowly, expression grim. “Fighting, for once, doesn’t help.”

You hum, nodding thoughtfully. A thought occurs to you at the feel of your hand covered in his seed, and you release his cock. Maintaining eye contact with him, you bring your hand to your mouth, before licking his spend on your finger. Tartaglia inhales deeply, his gaze darkening as it hones in on your tongue disappearing back into your mouth.

“What can I do to help?” you ask, looking up at him from your lashes. Knowing full well the answer.

“I need to…” His brows furrow, hesitating on his next words. “I need to breed something, comrade.”

“Something? Or someone?”

Tartaglia arches a brow. “Come now. Don’t be silly, comrade. There’s a chance–a real chance-that I might hurt you this time,” he says, flexing a clawed hand.

He looks away, rubs a hand over his mouth.  “I just–ngh. When it comes to you, I can’t promise I’ll be able to hold back.”

“Then don’t. I’m not made of glass, you know. I’m not going to break every time you reveal some weird secret of yours. Or try to… put some primal, wolfy claim on me.”

He blinks slowly.

“Primal, wolfy claim, huh,” he repeats. A roguish grin stretches across his face, highlighting his canines.

Then before you know it, he’s grasped you by the waist, and thrown you onto the bed. You have barely a chance to catch your breath before Tartaglia’s form looms over you, caging you to the bed.

“And what if I were to claim you, comrade, hm? What then?” he asks, all toothy-smiled. He grasps your hand, brings it up to his lips. A sharp canine pokes through his lip, nicking your wrist. You flinch. Tartaglia makes sure your eyes are on him as his tongue traces over the cut, lapping up the drops of blood.

“Soulmates and bonds for life are a thing of fiction,” he says once he’s finished. “Real wolves though…” He licks his lips, his voice dropping an octave. “We see something we like, we stake our claim.”

“It’s… it’s like peeing on me,” you mutter despondently, glancing away. Trying in vain to ignore how the action had your heart racing, heat collecting between your thighs.

He laughs, a full-chested, booming sound. Clearly seeing through your act. “Oh, no no. Nothing at all like that. It’s more like claiming you fully. Spirit, mind…”

“And body,” he says, flipping you onto your stomach. You yelp. Tartaglia positions his cock at your back entrance.

“Woah woah… we’re not even gonna take off my clothes here?”

He snorts, before yanking at your pants. The buttons go flying, and you squeak. He pulls it down to your knees, not even completely off. Too impatient to be inside you. Then his claws rip through your second pair of panties for the day.

His cock nudges the cleft of your ass cheeks.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod.

His teeth graze your shoulder, and you flinch. You didn’t think he meant ready for the mark. He bites down and you steel yourself. Only to relax. It feels like nothing more than a regular hickey.

“Wha–”

“Ha! Jokes on you. That’s for earlier.”

“What the hell, Childe–”

He enters you in one thrust. The stretch is instant, an intense burn. Tartaglia is big, he always has been. You haven’t been prepped nearly enough. Your nails dig into the bedsheets, threatening to rip the material. His precome helps ease the burn a tad, but you’re still wincing, shifting to adjust to his intrusion.

Tartaglia on the other hand lets out a broken moan. He throbs inside you, his hands falling to either side of your head to brace himself. His claws do in fact dig into the material of your sheets, tearing holes into it.  

“Say when,” he grits out.

You call out his name, and it’s like something snaps inside him. He drags his cock out of you, and you sigh in momentary relief. But then he’s slamming back into you, and you gasp, the breath knocked out of you. Then he’s pummeling into you. Each rough thrust has his balls smacking against the curve of your ass, his hips digging deeper into yours, as if to carve out a space inside you, suited just for his cock. He props himself up on one hand, the other grasping the curve of your hip, anchoring himself to thrust even deeper.

It’s not making love. It’s a claiming.

Tartaglia is loud, more vocal than he’s ever been. He’s gasping and grunting, moaning brokenly about how fucking good you feel, so tight, so warm, so wet, the perfect sleeve for his cock. His hips snapsnapsnapping against yours.

You feel like little more than his cock sleeve, truthfully. A means for him to get off. Yet the thought has you arching your back for him more, clenching around him. You wanna be his personal sex toy, waiting pretty and supple at home for him.

You reach for his free hand digging into the sheets, untangling his hand. Then you bring it to your stomach, where he gets the hint, clutching possessively.

“You want a full litter of my pups?” he grunts. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you. Want you nice and swollen for me, want you—ngh—all round and plump for me.”

You mewl, and Tartaglia’s hand curls around your abdomen, his thrusts increasing in their power. He slams into you, deep enough that you’re sure the sheer force of his hips will leave bruises on your ass, and you moan.

“Gonna fill you up over and over again, right? That’s what you want?”

His hand on your hip squeezes appreciatively, as if imagining his own fantasy come to fruition. Your belly, full with his child. Your hips, filled out.

“You’ll be waiting at home for me.” He chuckles. “With all our kids.”

“Oh, I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he says, noticing your trembling.

“You said you wanted a treat, right?” His breathing is harsher now, his breath coming in pants. He lifts you onto his lap, dropping you onto his cock.  “Then take—this,”  he says, thrusting up into you. His cum pours into you, and you gasp at the feel. Strangely hot, much warmer than it typically is.

He’s still inside you, rutting against you, still not completely soft.

You give him an incredulous look. “You’re not done?”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

Tartaglia grinds his hip against yours purposefully. His cock feels even bigger now, like this. Almost as if it’s engorged. With a start you realizing that isn’this balls slapping against you, but something else. Something–

“Is that–” Your eyes widen. “Is that a knot?”

“Mmf, yes.”

Anxiety creeps into you. “N-No way.” He was already gifted down there. Add in the thick bulbous knot you felt brushing against your asshole? Archons above.

“You better at least use lube, Childe!”

“Now why would I do that, comrade? When I—ngh, have this instead?” he says. His hand steadies your hip as he begins fucking into you again. His cum makes a thick slapping sound every time he thrusts into you, some of it even sloshing out.

“W-Wait–”

He surges forward, burying his cock inside you, knot and all. You gasp, grasping onto his forearms. The stretch is even more intense. You feel as if you might burst apart at the seams. Tartaglia at least is content to grind against you, his breathy moans a clear sign of his enjoyment.  It’s too much though. You need some space, to not feel so hopelessly full. You gasp as you try to move away and find yourself stuck. His knot fully inflated, it catches onto your walls.

He groans. “Mm, not a wise choice, babe”

“You–you jerk. Did I say you could knot me?”

“Come now, comrade,” he laughs, starting up his thrusts again. You squirm as you feel the movement sloshing his  cum around inside you. “I thought you said you wanted it? A litter of my pups. A family of twelve, me and you.”

The idea has you shivering. The image of Tartaglia cradling your swollen belly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, filling you over and over again. You do want it. You want to be nothing more than his.

He’s pumping his hips now, the wet squelch of your combined fluids a symphony to his lewd words. “Gonna fill you up over and over again. Heh. Use you as my own breeding grounds. I bet you’d like that. I’ll have to leave for Fatui missions,” he says, his pause punctuated by his hips digging into yours cruelly. You mewl out his name, and he smirks, digging his teeth into your shoulder as warning. “But you know I’d rather be buried inside you.”

You yelp in pain and he soothes the bite with his tongue. His gaze is trained on the stringy residue of your lovemaking sticking to his thighs.

“Every time you empty out, I  gotta keep filling you back up over and over again.”

He positions you forwards, onto your hands and knees, as he mounts you from behind. He gasps at the new angle, one leg propped up as he jackhammers into you. One hand on your breast, the other clutching the give of your stomach.

“Ngh, you’d really be perfect to carry my kids. So soft, so round. I’ll give you a nice litter of pups to take care of.”

“You and your damn talk about kids…” you gasp out, tightening around him.

“Ngh… c-cumming,” he says. And then he bites down on you, his canines digging into you. Hard. You feel the sting of pain. Blood pools down your shoulder.

“Ouch!”

“S-Sowwy,” he says, teeth muffled against you. “Hab to make sure it’s deep enouph.”

You’re not sure what to focus on more–the pain of the bite, soothed mildly by his tongue, or the feel of his cum oozing out between you two. The latter eventually wins out. You grimace, smacking him.  

“If I get knocked up after this, you’re paying for all the child support.”

He releases your shoulder, laughs. “You know I would!”

“Besides,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. Resting his forehead against yours and sending you a a smile. “We’ll be together forever. And can you imagine a worse fate?”

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 44

chapter 67:

1. jfc remus (how is he that strong)

2. god, can’t our side have one fucking win? all these people captured. including my remus

3. “"She started the war for me, and she'll end it for me, too."” GOD i love lesbians

4. NO NO NOOOO NO NO NOOOOOO NOOOOO NOOOO MARLENE STOP NOOOOO!!! SHE WANTS TO PROPOSE TO DORCAS AFTER THE WAR!!!! SHES GONNA DIE I CANT HANDLE THIS

5. 😦

6. marlene?? i-

7. i’m still in shock

8. okay i have my bearings. this is why the post is two days after the last one lol. anyways, i’m actually pissed that she didn’t get to die a big dramatic or memorable death. she didn’t do anything. it was just a landmine. and she’s dead. and i get it, i really do. war isn’t always big heroic deaths. it’s also this. where one moment, you’re planning to propose to your partner and laughing with your freind, and half a second later, you’re blown to bits. but genuinely, her death fucked me up. i knew it was coming, but not like this. holy shit, not like this

anyways, the first thing i did after i read that bit was text my freind. and first thing they did was call me. i sent in bold “IM CRYING” and i get back “why” “MARLENE” bro immediate call. not well. not well at all

9. i continued and read the rest of her death. and her last words being dorcas will forever fuck me up

10. PANDORA????? PANDORA????

12. anyways all i did was call back the freind and say “PANDORA” and that bitch laughed at me. (love them to death) told them to go suck a lemon (they’d never heard that phrase before) and then they made me hang up to finish reading

my poor roommate has heard me call this freind twice (it’s ten o’clock at night)

13. “Horace would need more than just two hands, many more, to count the amount of people who would have gladly put their guns down for Pandora alone.” yeah, me for one

14. FLEAMONT NOOOOO

15. james will be devestated beyond belief

16. remus? huh??? he was shot in the head. but. he had a pov. i’m not sure now

17. …dorcas? i was so sure she had a pov

no wait she has a pocket. just checked

18. regulus???

19. um actually albus can fucking keel over. wont save all those other people in the lineup, then hears his brothers name and is willing to sacrifice the war for him. i get it, but alberforth knew this would happen to him

20. huh, damn. and alberforth still gets shot

21. 🚨🚨🚨pandora is safe. holy shit pandora is safe. i repeat pandora is safe 🚨🚨🚨

22. and fleamont and suddenly that all made sense

23. “”You forgot to count your bullets."” do i hate snape? yeah. but that’s fucking iconic

24. “Riddle lost the moment those doors burst open and two of Euphemia's someday son-in-laws moved into the room with Dorcas Meadowes one step ahead of them.” lmao freaking iconic. more historically important than trump getting shot

25. effie stopping to mourn barty gave me chills

26. NO FLEAMONT!!!! i’m getting fucking whiplash from this

27. effie having such a short pov but still so much emotion and character is shown in her love for fleamont

28. yall remus, regulus, and dorcas are fucking insane.

and i’m so here for it

29. “For all those years Sirius was taken away from him, Regulus breaks Riddle's fingers. Ten years, ten fingers.

For what Riddle took from James, Regulus takes his eyes. This is a difficult task. Regulus has never removed someone's eyes before. It's messy, and it takes the combined efforts of Remus and Dorcas to keep Riddle from flopping right out of his chair.”

mom pick me up i’m scared

30. “There are no good people in war, and now Dorcas thinks there are no good people out of it—certainly not her, because she would gladly go back into it just to have Marlene again.”

going feral over this actually. i’m unwell. i’m so freaking feral over this omg

31. reading authors notes and finding out that monty was author’s prim is actually making me go fucking insane

32. 😀 hi i’m unwell

(anyways side note, uhhh chapter was fucking insane but also like if y’all are reading this fic or this post, just know that there is no anger or resentment towards the author. he wrote this for himself and shared it with us. it’s a masterpiece and we RESPECT people. so yeah, this is the story he wanted to tell, so he wrote it for himself. just ya know, so yall remember)

[also don’t sell fics 😊 i will hunt you down]

[viburnt]

Takami K. (Hawks) || Public

Type: Reading bites

Genre: NSFW/Suggestive

Notes: Oh, God. Oh, fuck. I still don't know how to write sex, jfc. I'm practicing.

Characters involved: Takami Keigo (Hawks)

Prompt: “You smell so sweet”/ Public indecency

It would be a scandal if the number two pro-hero, Hawks, dated someone in public. It'd backlash, that's for sure; the media is known for its vicious bite once they manage to catch a prey.

Perhaps that's why Keigo is tangled up between your legs this morning, his hips erratically moving as he shoots one last load before getting ready for work.

—Fuck, baby, you have me shooting blanks!— The dirty blond hollers with a slight grunt, allowing himself to rest next to you.

You purr in content, feeling him cuddle against your naked torso in search of warmth.

—I guess it's true that birds are a very horny kind.— Keigo hears you tease as your hand gently moves away the hair from his sweaty forehead. —Now if only you took the boring part of your job as seriously as this.

—I don't wanna go to that fucking meeting.— The hero pouts, throwing a small fit.

—Can't do that, you have an interview. A deal's a deal, remember?

Yes, pro-hero Hawks doesn't date anyone in public, but he certainly plows his personal assistant in secret.

—Now, now, hop in the shower. I have to pick my suit for today.— You instruct, allowing Keigo a couple more seconds of laziness between the cotton sheets of your bed.

Stretching, Takami curses underneath his breath. He hated public interviews, and even though he was a sucker for the camera lenses, he hated having to leave the comfort of your body to go pose for the fans.

—Can you at least wear the blue one? The one that makes your chest pop out more.— He begs, finally leaving the bed to run the shower. —I like it, it's sexy as hell.

You rise a brow, but indulge into his petition.

—Alright, I guess. Anything else?

The blond's golden eyes scan the way your naked body waltzes from one corner of the room to the other, picking up all the necessary items to dress up.

—Say, is underwear really necessary?— Keigo's lips trail, testing the waters. It was common for him to slip a sly comment like that to gauge a reaction from you. —You know, we could always play a little while working.

And for the very first time, you decide to follow the flow.

—Oh, yeah? What kind of game, hmm? Gonna sneak a hand on my pocket?— Takami hears you say with a ribbing tone, his lips curling into a smirk as you continue. —Or perhaps you want to open that little new gadget I saw you buy a few nights before?

The blond raises his hands, much like a thief caught red-handed.

—Guilty as charged but, it's cheating if you peek at my Amazon account.— He blurts with a lazy side smile.

—Not really, specially not if you leave your account open on my laptop.— You laugh.

—Want to shower together? You know, save the planet, be eco-friendly.— Takami says, inviting you.

—We just had sex, though.

—Doesn't mean I can't grope your butt while I get clean.

…

—So, see this little remote here?— The hero says, shaking a black device between his fingertips. —If I feel like it, it'll vibrate just enough for you to cum.— He whispers into your ear.

You feel your heart beating hard inside your chest, biting your lip for a second as your eyes wandered to the many people in the studio.

—Alright, then I must be quiet while you play, huh? Wouldn't want anyone knowing your out here playing with me.

A grin splashed Keigo's face.

—Exactly! You catch on pretty fast, baby. Just sit nearby where my eyes can see you squirm.— He commands, sending a shiver down your spine.

The interview begins normally. You sit next to the cameras in a chair the staff provided. Keigo eye's you, waving his hand briefly.

—I also want to thank my lovely assistant for making this meeting happen, they work real hard every day!—

A camera lens quickly lands on you. The shocking sensation of the toy was, more or less, expected, but it still made you wriggle once it started. You just nodded your head, not wanting to draw much attention.

As the hero starts answering more questions, his fingers quickly shifted between speeds and patterns, edging your body up and down. He could see the way your hand tried to- unsuccessfully -hide the embarrassment on your face.

—Thank you so much for allowing us to interview you, Hawks! That's all for tonight's show, everyone, wonderful night!

The show wraps up.

Keigo waltzes up to you, helping you stand as your knees weaken. He leans closer for a second, taking a deep breath of your perfume.

—You smell so sweet… I wanna push my cock inside you again.— He mutters, earning a needy whimper from you.

—Please, just - take this off, I can't hold it any longer.— Takami hears you whine.

—Walk with me for a second, there must be a bathroom nearby.

Finding a private spot, Keigo leans your body against a wall and allows his hand to cross the limits of your clothing.

—Fuck, look at this, you are a mess.

In a swift movement, he lowered your pants enough to have access to your hole. He rubbed his clothed election against you, making you hiss.

—Say you want it.

—Please, please give it to me. Keigo, I need to cum...— You cry, feeling the toy still going on. —I feel like I'm going crazy, just put - fuck- put it in.

Plunging two fingers inside your drooly mouth and unbuckling his pants with the other, you feel his cock slowly pushing into you.

—Oh my fucking God.— The blond hissed, feeling you clamp around him as your climax was just next door. —You're so tight, Jesus Christ!

His pace is fast, messy, trying to give you as much as he can as quickly as possible. Besides the very slight buzz the toy produced, only his grunts and your heavy breathing could be heard.

—Want me to cum inside you? Just look at you, you're practically swallowing my cock effortlessly.

You roll your eyes behind your back as his free hand grabs your throat. The numbing sensation of your climax soon reaches you, milking the hero on the process.

Keigo likes this part of the job a bit more now.

Like my content? Comment and follow! The feedback encourages me.

[thewolveswolf]

here’s a quick recap of the last few days, bc idk whether to laugh or cry

cw & tw for mentions of narcissistic abuse, domestic abuse & mental health

took my cat to the vet bc her anxiety & overgrooming is still out of control

got home from the vet and she suddenly won’t put weight on her front right leg

take cat back to the vet, no obvious injury but painkillers are prescribed

4 days later mikasa has not improved, most likely a third vet trip tomorrow (also meaning i will have spent over $400 in less than a week on vet appts. worth it 1000% obviously. still a massive financial ouch tho)

while all that is happening, i find out the parent i have no contact with has:

started badmouthing me & my mum to parents of my high school friends (???? narcissists truly know no boundaries sksks)

HANDWRITTEN a letter to my nana (in ENGLAND!!! we live in AUSTRALIA!!!) stating he finds it “very odd” my mum no longer has any contact with him and he “doesn’t understand why” (uhhh maybe cos u threatened to kill her when she left u bro? and also every bit of abuse u levelled at us for the 30+ years before that? just a thought homeslice)

allegedly removed me from his will (inheriting some of ur genetics is enough for me dude, no sweat no sweat)

at the SAME TIME (bc god knows the universe has zero chill) my mother announces her boyf of 6 months is moving in (tbf he is lovely but jfc can everyone just slow down???)

both my siblings mental health are (understandably) collapsing

my anhedonia is now so bad i need to either increase my meds or come off them. pray 4 me either way

i ordered pizza last night and it was TERRIBLE. i’ve never had terrible pizza before, didn’t even know it was possible. fuck u dominos

this is five days worth of happenings. FIVE. DAYS.

anyway if anyone needs me, please look for the person-shaped lump hiding under some sort of blanket

[shehungthemoon]

Just dumping my Ina Paha thoughts here. 🙃

First of all I did NOT know it was the 100th episode going into this, so i was very confused watching the montage at the end lol

I also had to click out and make sure I didn't click the wrong episode when the Pilot started playing at the beginning. When I heard Danny's voice on the phone instead of Hesse's I swear I got whiplash

It's filmed so well (bar where they reshot the pilot where Steve gets Danny on the phone instead of a dead dad, in which they literally forgot to put the same filter over the scene to make the stitching coherent) and I absolutely love the camera work they did with the white-room and the video projections. It felt very much a level above normal network television cinematography, especially the parts where Steve's going in and out of the hallucinations.

Steve finally FINALLY killing Wo-Fat was so cathartic, it should have happened ages ago but I'm willing to look past all the dumb ways he survived just to allow this incredible ending to his story.

Ina Paha gave me Kono doing... this. I owe Grace Park my whole life. Pls costuming department put her in hot pink again 💗

yes, it was a Steve episode. but Danny REALLY shone, first as the only resident Actual Detective figuring out what happened to Steve by the tire-tracks, rampaging through the compound steadily and efficiently and knocking people off without a pause, and then in Steve's mind shooting Hesse's kneecaps off?!?!?! That was CRAZY and probably not suppose to be as hot as it was and definitely made me want an ex-mobster AU immediately. Basically I have a competency kink and really like badass!danny shit 😊

Seeing Chin's long hair again made me swoon

My jaw dropped when I saw Jenna! I think it's really interesting that Steve still thinks of her so much, and I was surprised that she showed up in both the actual dreams and the montage. I definitely underestimated how much she impacted Steve's life, it seems, and I hate that we'll never hear him address that and we'll only know about it inadvertently like this.

(hand over the heart for how lori got like. one team shot. poor girlie.)

⭐I took the montage at the end as being flashbacks and memories that Steve was having as he left the compound. Looking at it through that lens certainly makes one unwell.

Obligatory squeal for Adam appearing just to save the day :))) look below to see the love of my life! :)))))) ⬇⬇⬇

Of course, the obligatory mcdanno bullet(s). It writes itself! The way Danny said Steve's name so small and broken when he found him. The way they look at each other on the ground, the pain their faces. I need an official apology statement from Scott and Alex for it. Can we talk about what flashes by during the montage at the end? (IMO it being Steve's memories.) So much Danny.

The first thing is Danny and Steve's first meeting. Jfc. The showrunners milk it SO MUCH and who's complaining

The big, rocking hug. The hands clasping underground. Gracie of course. And then Danny collapsing from the bioweapon, which to be honest I was NOT expecting to see at all--it felt like a genuinely strange choice to include in there and it really ONLY makes sense if you go along with all that being what Steve's remembering. Even then, I was surprised to see it, so basically this is Hawaii Five-Oh making mcdanno gayer than even I was wanting them to be. Steve still thinks about that? From so long ago? Even with so many other close calls in between then and now? Good fucking lord ok then loverboy that's WILD. Canon accepted ig this show is just pure whump.

Danny goes through all of this just days after losing his brother and killing Reyes. JFC can we please address that. I need a 30k introspection fic to let me into this man's mind rn.

The Wo Fat v.s. Steve fight at the end was INCREDIBLE. I would love to give the choreographer's hand a shake, it's some of the best work I've seen on television in a long time. It was impressive for a procedural like this. It was long and physical and you truly didn't know what the outcome was going to be; it everything that their built-up relationship deserved for a conclusion. It also happening with a Steve coming off of hours of torture and drugging was crazy (guess we finally know who would win a PVP if they were both at full strength!). That being said I was really impressed with Wo Fat's capabilities and physical prowess, I was not expecting it to be so even and close to the line. I actually jumped when Steve LIFTED him up into the lighting fixture. We do not talk about Steve's (Alex's???) raw upper-body strength enough.

Anyway. Electricity in the water play. The physicality hell that this gif below is ⬇. Fire extinguishers and loaded needles. Crazy martial arts. Chair and buckets (holy shit did y'all see the force with which Wo Fat SHOT that bucket?????) flying. All's fair. I loved it.

The shot going right through the forehead, clean. I don't know how to put into words why that's so monumental to me but it is.

The mystery bad lady was SO intriguing, I wish we got more from her... How does she know Wo Fat? Why was she entrusted with all that information on him and Steve and especially Doris? Absolutely where did she come from, what was her name? Why did I have a huge huge hot crush on her? All important questions. (Goes to show that h50 CAN give us some more genuine badass, not just there to date someone women characters, just explicitly choose not to. I'm holding out for Ellie to remain platonic so hard right now.)

Almost forgot Danny in that black Hawaiian shirt. Will be whimpering over that image forever. The whole episode I was trying to focus on the underlining betrayal mystery they were laying out but every time my brain started working too hard Scott with his stupid waist and those flower patterns just started flashing into my head

Again, are you seeing this:

I'm unwell and so so happy.

H50 you're a gem when you want to be.

[carrionhearted]

“homebound” You went to a whole different country for an expo not even a month ago.

Do you even know what you’re talking about

Do you understand how insane this is to say to someone? To go up to a dynamically/ invisibly disabled person and go “well you went to a con once so you’re not really that sick”.

If you are talking about the expo I attended which was 1) in my country, 2) in my province, and 3) near my city… you have no clue how that went. I’ve said it before, I don’t like talking about my health because it is a sore subject and is not fun to recount. When I attended that expo, I went with friends. You can ask any of them about this. I spent half of it sitting on the con floor alone while everyone else perused the booths, because if I tried to get up and go with them, I’d be prone to passing out and destroying merchandise. I struggled through the whole event, and was barely mentally present because the pain/ discomfort was too overwhelming to enjoy what should’ve been a fun experience. The chest pains and tachycardia and the inability to so much as breathe is fucking unbearable, I got home that night and the toll it all took on my body was so bad that my mother thought we should go to the ER. I stayed home and cried because I’d been looking forward to the expo for so long, and I barely skimmed through it before my body started failing on me and I had to leave my friends and sit down. Our group had another stop planned in the area, but I couldn’t walk over to the next place, and we ended up having to just go straight home. Do you know how shameful that feels? To be the reason your friends can’t do fun things? Because you cant walk around a flat convention floor without your heart rate spiking into the 150+ and your body tapping out on you? Because you cant go a DAY without random body pains that make movement hell?

You have no clue. You do not know me.

You are disturbingly ignorant. Get a fucking grip. You cannot say things like this to real people who you do not know, I am a human with feelings. This is beyond triggering, it is disgusting. How is this even a topic of conversation, you have strayed *so far* from your original advocacy campaign that you’re now shooting strays at an uninvolved party and harassing them with revolting ableist bullshit for… entertainment? I hope? If you think this behaviour is genuinely okay, you need help.

Jfc. I can barely get up to make art anymore. I want to so badly, but I can’t. I’ve lost the ability to go on actual hikes, I’m not allowed to anymore, because it is medically dangerous to be out there on my own. Being in the forest is the one thing I live to do, and I’m trapped inside withering alone. Imagine not being able to engage with your special interests because your body just can’t do it anymore. Imagine hearing what you just said in that position. Exercise some human empathy. I do not need this. I deserve to have a fucking life. I deserve to participate in society even if I’m disabled. You need to get off of the internet and go feel shame.

[chilewithcarnage]

hi,

first off, you are awesome and i love following you. amazing taste and an absolute great person all around. want and hope better things for you and your family bc y'all deserve!

i think the past few weeks, but moreso lately, this site is just the blog version of a03 where it centers white gay (maybe lesbian?) fandom weirdos who are freaks for all the wrong reasons.

like i don't remember the circumstance of karp(?) leaving and who was the owner before the current trash rn, but at the very least even if this site was predominately white, i can still find corners of black or other poc blogger's content to enjoy and it's getting harder to do that!!

also bc i'm isolated, i'm obvs horny, but now nsfw blogs are being nuked even though there's an existing mature content filter so like what's the post (besides attacking trans women rmfe). like it feels like the acceptable freaky things are like fucking i*cest, i just want to see black women make out and twerk jfc

(also on larger scale there's an uptick of ~faux~ i*cest p0rn i.e step family shit and like whyyyyyy????) i just want hot women (of color) being all over each other is getting harder to find or filter through or isn't behind a paywall :((

i'm just a wall of anxiety and dread bc of everything going on w/ the genocides, covid denial, yt ppl in general, and this staff so idk where to turn with this anger and frustration

sorry to vent but i don't have anyone to talk to. ilu and wishing your sis a safe work trip and that she gets to have a couple days to enjoy herself at least

hey friend, starting off thank you so much for the kind words and well wishes my sis did manage to have safe trip she's been back for about a week now. now I get where you're coming from completely and I don't mind being a listening ear for you, I'm honestly sorry that took so long for me to respond to you. It is in fact frustrating the way that tides have turned in terms of the culture and populace of tumblr and how it's run and who's running it. I've been on here for 11 years and idk if I can say the current wave of things is the lower point this site has ever been at but it's pretty damn close. I was so confident that yahoo wouldn't have ended up bagging this place but look where we're at now, missing 75% of our original user base, 💖💙🤍💙💖♀️ getting deleted left and right. it's a shit show indeed. don't even get me started on the lack of black and brown oriented nsfw content and the rise of the proshit ppl.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Hot Chocolate, Ice Skates, and Prince Charming

Heya! I’ve just been quietly reading and rereading all your Roman angst and I hope you’re not tired of writing it because I have an idea 😅 How about some christmas Roman angst? I can’t think of anything specific but there’s that XD Keep up the writing and don’t feel pressured to post the fic on Christmas or to even take the request ❤️- lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie

Hello hello! :) Absolutely adore your work, and I hope you're having a wonderful holiday! I have come with a request for whenever you're up to it. If you would, it would be amazing to see your take on a Christmas-y themed fic with a focus on disabled Virgil. I had a hankering for Hallmark styled Christmas movies lately and I was just thinking about how fun it would be in your style. Hope that's ok! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: some ableist language

Pairings: prinxiety (i am ashamed at how long it took me to fucking remember what their ship name is jfc)

Word Count: 10,080

At some point, Virgil will work out the exact science of how much to say 'yes' to friends who desperately want to do holiday-spirit-festive-stuff because they're his friends and he loves being there to watch them love things, but he also does not enjoy dying of either pain or sensory overload. This year doesn't look to be one of those years where he does better than others, though, if being surrounded by screaming children and off-key grainy speakers belting Mariah Carey for the past Too Fucking Long is any indication. He ducks his head to avoid yet another flying something-or-other as he huddles in on himself, making sure his cane doesn't get knocked over for the fourth time in as many minutes. "Excuse me?" He turns, half expecting someone selling cotton candy or those little memorabilia keychains, and— Oh. Hello. *** Virgil, fed up with the holiday spirit, meets Roman, a man who seems far too good to be true for such an auspicious time of year. From apology hot chocolate to late-night Christmas lights, maybe this year the magic will linger just a little bit longer.

 

At some point, Virgil will work out the exact science of how much to say 'yes' to friends who desperately want to do holiday-spirit-festive-stuff because they're his friends and he loves being there to watch them love things, but he also does not enjoy dying of either pain or sensory overload. This year doesn't look to be one of those years where he does better than others, though, if being surrounded by screaming children and off-key grainy speakers belting Mariah Carey for the past Too Fucking Long is any indication. He ducks his head to avoid yet another flying something-or-other as he huddles in on himself, making sure his cane doesn't get knocked over for the fourth time in as many minutes.

May your days be merry and bright indeed.

He sighs, squinting fruitlessly through the crowd to maybe catch sight of one of his friends' coats or something, before realizing that there's absolutely no way he's going to be able to do that when he can't even see the skating rink over the crowd gathered around the outside. And sure, he could stand, but is he going to? No. So he may as well just continue sitting here until one of them remembers that yeah, he's here too, and wades through the horde to his little bench oasis.

"Excuse me?"

He turns, half expecting someone selling cotton candy or those little memorabilia keychains, and—

Oh.

Hello.

"Sorry," the actual fucking model in front of him says, smiling sheepishly, "is the other half of this bench taken?"

"No," Virgil says way too quickly, but can you fucking blame him? The prettiest human that's ever existed just asked if he could sit down next to him. "Bench, uh—bench is very much not taken, you can—you can sit."

"Thanks."

Well, this might have backfired, because now very-pretty-attractive person is sitting right next to Virgil. And he definitely knows how to deal with this. Yeah, this is fine. This is totally fine. He just has to not keep sneaking glances at his perfectly coiffed hair…or his jawline…or the freckle right on the end of his nose…

"Is there something on my face?"

Shit. Fuck. "No, no, you're fine—" really fucking fine, dude— "sorry, I, uh, didn't mean to stare."

He chuckles. Not fair. Not fair at all. "It's okay, honey, no harm done."

Abort fucking mission, abort fucking mission, Very Pretty Person just called me a pet name, shit fuck holy shit what the fuck am I supposed to do?

He's spared the humiliation of verbal floundering when he chuckles again and holds out his hand. "Roman."

"Virgil." Please God, I hope my hand isn't too sweaty. "Nice, uh, nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Roman nods his chin toward the skating rink. "Taking a break?"

"Oh, I, uh, I'm not really big into ice skating."

"You've dragged yourself all the way to the madhouse and you're not going inside?"

"My friends," he says lamely, waving toward the entrance, "they really wanted to come, so I tagged along."

Roman hums, tilting his head. "Not very nice of them to leave you behind, is it?"

Shut up, he hisses at his heart which starts to pulse threateningly towards his throat, it's fine. This is fine. "It's fine. I don't really mind."

"Yes, being surrounded by extremely loud children and sitting right underneath a speaker," Roman says skeptically, "I'm sure."

"Well, I—uh—"

Roman sighs. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. It's none of my business, I know."

It totally could be your business though. Like, I would have exactly zero problems if you decided it was your business.

"I'll go with you if you want."

Virgil shakes himself out of his thoughts in time to see Roman smiling softly at him and he needs to figure out what the fuck he just said real fast before he gets lost in it. "Sorry, what?"

"If you want to go skate," Roman repeats, "I know it's hard if you're by yourself, especially in a crowd this big, so I'd be happy to come with if you wanted."

His heart sinks and the cane at his side grows a little colder. He forces himself to smile and shakes his head. "Sorry, I, uh, really am not into skating."

"Come on," Roman coaxes, holding his hand out, "I promise I'll be nice."

This is torture. This is literal actual torture and Virgil is about to sink into this fucking bench because the most attractive person he's ever fucking laid eyes on is asking him to skate and he can't and he's going to have to say no and then Roman might leave and they won't get a chance to talk anymore or he'll find out why Virgil doesn't want to skate and then it might turn out that he's not actually as sweet and charming as he's acting right now and—

Virgil's eyes slide to his cane and back up to Roman's. Roman follows his gaze, a cute little wrinkle between his brows, before his eyes widen in realization and his mouth drops open.

"O-oh," he stammers, "sorry, I thought—I didn't—"

"It's fine," Virgil mutters, picking up his cane and hunching over it.

"There's—well, I suppose there's no coming back from that." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Roman's cheeks turn a little pinker—so cute—and scratch the back of his head. "Can I buy you a hot chocolate to make up for it?"

Virgil's head snaps around. He stares at Roman. "What?"

"As an apology. I'll even make sure they put extra whipped cream on it."

He vaguely hears himself say something about sprinkles and then Roman's grinning again and sliding from the bench and vanishing into the crowd. Part of Virgil wants to immediately get up and run after him, but his hands are still wrapped around his cane and all he can do is hope to God that Roman wasn't some hallucination or fantasy and there really is a cute guy going to but him apology hot chocolate.

Five minutes pass.

Ten.

Fifteen.

No sign of Roman.

Virgil checks his phone and sees nothing—no text messages from his friends, no alarm, nothing except the battery he really should have charged before leaving the house and he now has to use extremely sparingly. The sinking feeling in his stomach is back; maybe Roman just wanted a quick and easy exit away from the pathetic whelp with the cane, or maybe he realized that there was something better he could be doing. He wouldn't blame him, not really. He might call him an ableist asshole the next time—if they ever saw each other again, but—

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," he hears breathlessly, "the line was miles long and then they couldn't find the sprinkles."

He turns, hardly daring to believe it, when he sees a massive cup of still-steaming hot chocolate with a mountain of whipped cream and red and green sprinkles held out toward him. He pries one of his hands from his cane and takes it, looking between it and Roman with disbelief. Roman smiles at him again and nods to the cup.

"Is that enough whip-cream?"

"Yeah," Virgil says faintly, "that's—I don't think I've ever seen this much before."

"Well, you deserve it," Roman says like an asshole because now Virgil has to down like half of it in one go to prevent him from seeing how fucking red he gets at that one little comment and he nearly burns his tongue off for it. "Whoa, whoa! Slow down, no one's gonna take it away from you, don't burn your mouth!"

"Too late."

Roman just chuckles again, like he's fond, like that's something they do, and he leans back against the bench. "Suit yourself, honey."

And now he has to do it again. Honestly.

You could not pay Virgil to remember what all they talk about. He doesn't know. He's too busy memorizing the crooked half-smile Roman has when he's vaguely amused by something, or the cute wrinkle that forms when he's thinking or concerned, or the way he keeps reaching out to almost touch Virgil's shoulder before changing his mind last-minute and leaning on the bench instead. He wants to reach back for him so bad but he's trying to hold the hot chocolate and his cane at the same time. His cheeks hurt from smiling and blushing and apparently Roman is really good at saying little things to make that worse. Does he remember what they are? No, because he's not paying attention to shit like that.

They're laughing at something—again, who knows what—when Roman checks his phone and sighs.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. But it was really nice to meet you and sit with you."

"You, uh, you too."

Roman grins and stands. "Happy Holidays, Virgil," he says, and disappears into the crowd.

"You too," he says, way too late, just as he realizes that he didn't even ask for Roman's number.

He looks down at the dregs of the hot chocolate and finds himself smiling slightly.

Maybe being dragged out here wasn't the worst thing after all.

2.

He truly doesn't expect to see Roman ever again, and he may have moped around the house for a few hours upon realizing that, so it takes him by surprise when he ends up sitting in the corner of some mall as his friends go last-minute shopping and a familiar voice calls out.

"Virgil?"

He almost breaks his neck with how fast he turns around. "Roman?"

Roman grins at him, a bag over his arm, before nodding to the other chair at the table. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Yes! I mean, no. I mean—please sit down."

"That's on me, I should've asked it in a less-annoying-to-answer way." He sets the bag on the floor and tucks his hands into his pockets. "Can I be really honest with you?"

"Sure."

"I wanted to run back to the bench the second I left because I realized I didn't ask you for your number. So, can I do that now before I forget again?"

"Yes," he says, pulling his phone out before Roman's even finished speaking, "yes, absolutely, go ahead. I wanted to do the same thing."

They exchange numbers and Virgil's in the middle of totally not putting a bunch of cute things after Roman's name because he has standards and a reputation—but come on, his last name is literally 'Prince,' what the fuck is he supposed to do?—when Roman calls his name and he looks up, surprised. Roman laughs and holds up his phone.

"Can I take a photo? For your contact?"

"Uh—um—sure?"

"Not that I'd forget what your pretty face looks like," Roman says as he takes a picture in the middle of Virgil blushing like an idiot, "but in case I want a reminder."

This. This is what he didn't remember. That Roman is apparently really good at being charming—literally Prince Charming, this is fake, this isn't real, people like Roman don't actually exist, where are the camera crews and reality show hosts?

"Alright, now that's out of the way…" Roman trails off when he notices that Virgil's still staring at the table, his cheeks bright red. "Hey, you okay?"

"I—uh—you—"

He chuckles. "Still stunnable, I see? Sorry, honey, am I being mean?"

"Okay, well, it's hard to tell how sincere you're being when you're still doing it, so—"

Roman throws his head back and laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, you got me."

"Rude."

"You're still smiling at me, though."

"Shut up."

"Your smile is cute."

"Shut up," he mumbles again, trying to hide his face in his sleeves. Unfortunately, that means he's not balancing his cane against the table anymore and it falls to the ground with a loud clatter. A few people walking by turn to look. He goes to pick it back up only to realize Roman's already doing it, leaning it back against the table. "Oh, uh, thanks."

"Of course." He inclines his head toward some of the stores nearby. "You here by yourself?"

"No. Friends scrambling for last-minute stuff."

Roman makes a noise. "I'm not getting a fantastic impression of these friends of yours who drag you places and then leave you."

"They're not so bad, they know to pick places with easy seating so I can take breaks when I need them. Besides, they know better than to take me in certain places."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Apparently there's only so many times I can call out fancy soaps for smelling like ass before I get politely asked to leave, but—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Roman says, sitting forward with a grin, "you gotta tell me everything now, you can't just leave it there."

And so, Virgil dutifully recounts the story of the time some of his friends decided a fun way to spend the afternoon was to go into the fancy soap and other scented things shop to 'browse,' when in reality they were just going to see what the most obscure and specific scent was and mock it mercilessly. They managed to find everything from 'Bourbon-soaked Cotton' to 'Miasma,' which of course prompted Virgil to point out that they really didn't think that one through because miasma was the 'bad air' that supposedly caused things like the Black Death and you probably didn't want a candle called 'Miasma' in your house, which logically led to them all pretending to be plague doctors by wrapping up the complimentary cardboard box/bag things and holding them in front of their faces like plague doctor masks and acting like they'd discovered some new herbs to treat the nefarious diseases with.

Needless to say, they were politely asked to never come back ever again, and they definitely kept pretending to be plague doctors as they were 'escorted from the premises.'

Roman's fully collapsed back into the chair, shaking with laughter, by the time Virgil finishes telling the story. He has to stop and just look at him, because of course Prince Charming is really fucking pretty when he's laughing, and then he looks up at Virgil with that soft smile again and he can literally feel himself melting inside his hoodie.

"Well," he says through the last of the laughter, "I can see why they asked you not to come back."

"Yeah, well…" He shrugs. "Plus, if my friends actually want to get any shopping done, they decided it's best if I don't tag along so they can actually, you know, focus."

"Can't say I blame them, then. I'd be distracted by you too."

"Roman!"

"Okay, okay, I'm done, I promise." He grins. "I think your face might explode, it's so damn red."

'Yeah, well, whose fault is that?"

Roman holds a hand over his chest and bows halfway, like he's actually out of some period drama and wearing a fancy knight's costume instead of a button-down coat and scarf. "My deepest apologies, Virgil."

"Yeah, yeah, knock it off," Virgil grumbles as he chuckles.

They sit there in the quiet for a few more moments as a few groups of kids run by. The lights strung up around the pillars and various levels of the mall sparkle with that faux-snow-wet look as Christmas carols play over the speakers, Virgil taps his fingers absentmindedly to the beat, watching an ad play inside one of the stores.

"Okay, I have a potentially rude question that you can totally tell me to shut up for."

Part of Virgil immediately raises its hackles, but he turns to look at him. "Okay?"

Roman nods to his cane. "Where did you get your cane? My great-aunt uses one and she's been complaining about how boring her current one is for like, as long as I can remember, and yours is sick as hell."

It is pretty cool—it has this purple holo body and Virgil's stuck all sorts of stickers to it and the base is really nice and it's got an adjustable length too. "I can text you the name of the place?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, thank you."

He sends it off and puts his phone on the table. "That wasn't a rude question, by the way. That was fine."

Roman's shoulders visibly slump. "Okay, great, I wasn't—I really wasn't sure. I don't—sorry."

Virgil's eyes widen slightly as Roman starts to…fluster?

"I don't know a lot of people who use mobility aids on the regular and so I don't…really know what sort of things are appropriate to ask."

"You're fine," he says, still a little bemused, "you're doing great."

But then Roman smiles at him all soft again and he has to look away and cough before he starts getting all red again.

"Besides, you're right. My cane is sick as hell and it deserves compliments."

"It's definitely the coolest one I've ever seen. How did you get the stickers to stay so well?"

"There's this Etsy seller who specifically made them to go on mobility aids—she has forearm crutches and hers are decked out with cool shit, so I bought a couple for mine just to try them out and then, well, I couldn't stop."

"Could you send me the name of that place too? My aunt might want some."

"Sure, yeah, give me a moment to find it."

As he looks through his phone, he catches sight of Roman watching him. Not in a creepy way, he's just doing that fond thing where he's got his head slightly tilted and he's still smiling like he's just happy to be here with Virgil and he needs to stop thinking about it right now before his ears start going bright red too.

"There. Sent."

"Thanks, Virgil." He checks his phone just to make sure he's gotten it before he stands up. "I'd love to sit here all day with you, but I do have to run."

"Oh. Okay."

"I'll text you, okay? If you're not—I mean, if you don't have plans, I'd really like to see you again."

"Yeah," he says, grinning like an idiot, "I'd like that too."

He's still staring off in the direction Roman went when his friends come to tell him that they may have gotten kicked out of another store.

3.

Prince Charming: I have another potentially rude question.

Virgil tries not to grin when he sees Roman's text. He knows better than that. Absolutely not.

He fails.

Me: what's up

Prince Charming: How far of a walk is too long of a walk before you need a break?

Me: walking is actually fine it's standing that makes me want to die

Me: i mean i'm not trying to hike a mountain

Prince Charming: No, I suppose that makes sense.

Me: why?

Prince Charming: One of my favorite things to do this time of year is go to the Tadford Park Conservatory. They have this really cool thing they do to get all festive and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me? They have places to sit on the way and it's basically a greenhouse so we don't need to lug big heavy coats around.

Virgil quickly looks up 'Tadford Park Conservatory' and scrolls through the pictures of the plants and decorations. Honestly, it looks stunning. He's about to say as much when he gets another text,

Prince Charming: And I have a car so I could pick you up and we could drive.

Me: that sounds really amazing when do you want to go?

Prince Charming: Are you free tomorrow?

Me: sure am

Prince Charming: Can I pick you up at 9?

Me: absolutely see you then

Prince Charming: Perfect :)

Only after Virgil's put the phone down and gone back to what he was doing does he realize he has no idea whether this is supposed to be a date or not.

Is it? No, Roman would've said. Right? That seems like something you'd say. You'd be like: 'hey, I want to do this thing with you as a date.' Or 'hey, I want to take you out and I thought we could do this.' Something like that. Something that puts a big and flashy 'this is a date' sign on it. Roman didn't do that. And Roman seems like the person who would do that. Right? Maybe Virgil should ask. That was reasonable, to ask if something was a dare. But then what if Roman hadn't intended for it to be a date? Then it would get really awkward and Virgil would have to backtrack and then Roman might offer to make it a date out of pity and then it would be even more awkward and Virgil wouldn't actually get to enjoy anything they did because he'd be too busy thinking about how awkward it was and then it would be ruined and—

No. He's just gonna act like he's going to do something fun with a friend. He does that all the time.

Just so happens that Roman's Roman.

It's gonna be fine.

So fine.

He really is so fine—okay, that's enough of that.

He definitely stresses over what he's wearing for way too long before he gets a knock on his door and he just throws a coat over it before he can overthink it and goes to meet Roman. Roman opens his car door for him like he's really some prince that crawled out of a storybook and it doesn't even feel like he's doing it out of pity, like he'd do it even if Virgil didn't have a cane, which is another thing to fret about as Roman drives them to the conservatory. As they walk inside, Virgil goes fumbling for his wallet only for Roman to reveal that he's already gotten their tickets, scanning the code at the front and going over to the coat closet.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Oh, it's on me." Roman hangs up his coat and huffs a laugh when he sees the way Virgil's staring at him. "What's that for?"

"No, really, I saw those ticket prices, there's no way—"

"My mom has a membership, we basically got in for free. It's okay, honey, you don't have to worry about it."

Virgil mumbles something about pet names being unfair as Roman chuckles and they start walking toward the doors. A wave of warm air washes over them as they step through and Virgil's eyes widen as he looks around at the plants and decorations hanging from the ceiling. It's like he's stepped into some alternate reality, trees curling up and over him in a green ceiling as vibrant flowers bloom impossibly bright, catching the glistening light as the giant ornaments overhead twist and turn in the faint breeze. The faint smell of freshly watered plants mixes with the pine and gingerbread from the lobby as they start walking and he can't pay attention to where he's going because every few seconds, he sees something else incredible. Bright blue flowers. A tree with bark like peeling parchment. A crawling vine straight out of a fairytale book. Roman keeps him as much on the path and out of the crowd as possible and he can't even spare the attention to thank him.

"It's beautiful," he manages as they near another door, "it's so pretty, Roman."

"Yes, it is."

"If you're looking at me while you say that, I swear to God—" Roman pushes open another door and they start into a room filled with flowering trees— "holy shit."

Roman chuckles and guides them to a bench underneath one of them. "Do you want to sit for a second or keep going?"

"How close is the next bench after this one?"

"Two rooms down, I think."

"I can make it until there."

They walk through a room of twisting and turning jungle trees, ferns and other smaller plants hiding between the leaves. They pass a pond of koi fish swimming underneath a massive tree. The room with the bench has a long, clear pool in its center, flanked by paths through what look to be walls of moss and other ferns, a waterfall at the far end. Roman walks them carefully over one of the paths to a bench tucked into a little alcove, through which they can see the pool and the bright green foliage on the other side. Virgil sits down, still spellbound at the room.

"I'd ask if you were enjoying yourself," comes Roman's voice, "but I think I know the answer."

"It's like I've been transported to some fantasy realm, this is so cool. How have I never known this existed?"

"A lot of people don't come here. Which is good because I'm selfish and I really like when there's not a lot of crowds." Roman sits back, one leg slung over the other. "But—I don't know why. Maybe it's because they think plants are boring or something."

"They're fucking wrong."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I think so too. I'm glad you like it."

"Okay, it's my turn to ask a potentially rude question."

"Shoot."

"Why here? I mean, it's gorgeous, and the decorations really help, but it's not—a conservatory isn't really what I think of when I think of festive stuff."

Roman sighs. Ripples from the waterfall spread out along the pool's surface. "I don't know, really. I think it's just because holidays are really hectic for me and this place…never really feels like that. It's always sort of like this, calm, serene. Quiet. I think…I think I just really like that."

Virgil turns at the wistful note in Roman's voice, watching him send one of those soft smiles at the pool. The greenery around them almost seems to curve, like the petals of a flower around its center. Roman…fits here, like he really is some prince that even nature itself can't help but adore.

…fuck, he's so far gone.

He loses track of time as they sit there, just enjoying the still quiet of the room. The ferns have their own smell, soft and sweet, that mixes with the crisp dampness of the water as some misters turn on to water the plants. He holds his hand out in front of one, just for a second, watching the droplets catch on his hand and sparkle as he turns them in the light. Roman's side presses against his after a while and he finds himself lost slightly to the solid comfort of it. And then, well, then that's all he thinks about for a while.

At least until his stomach growls and ruins the moment.

"Come on," Roman chuckles, "the food's not far from here."

The cafe bustles with energy after being in that quiet room for so long, and Virgil quickly finds a table to sit at while Roman goes and gets the food. He does have to slightly threaten Roman into letting him pay for their lunch, but Roman concedes after a while and goes to stand in line. He pulls out his phone to send the few pictures he remembered to take to the group chat, when suddenly—

"Shame on you, young man!"

Virgil startles so badly that he almost drops his phone. He looks up to see a stern older woman glaring at him, hands on her hips. "Uh—"

"How dare you?" she says again, wagging her finger at him. "You go and find whoever you stole that from and give it back right this instant!"

"I don't—what—what are you talking about?"

"What do you mean, what am I talking about?" She points at his cane. "That does not belong to you! You're old enough to know better, especially to steal something like that, your parents would be so disappointed in you!"

Oh. Oh, fuck, it's one of these. Disgust and embarrassment crawl up his throat as a few people at the surrounding tables start to look over. He swallows. "Actually, that is mine."

The woman scoffs. "What do you think, I was born yesterday?"

"That is my cane," he says, voice a bit firmer. "I bought it with my money, I use it for my disability. I didn't steal it. It's my cane."

She looks him up and down over the rim of her glasses. "You? You expect me to believe a young person like you uses a cane? What on earth could you possibly need a cane for?"

And really, he should be used to it by now, he's had ableist assholes like this yelling at him for actual years, he shouldn't be this upset over it. But goddamnit, this day was going well. He was having a good time. And now someone is telling him his disability doesn't exist and he should be ashamed for using a mobility aid and he can feel his eyes starting to water even as he struggles for words.

"Excuse me."

Roman. He looks up to see Roman setting a tray with their food on the table, his hand coming to rest on Virgil's shoulder.

"Would you like to explain why you're bothering someone you don't know?"

The woman splutters. "I—well, I—"

"It is none of your business what someone else does to take care of themselves," Roman says, cutting her off firmly, "you do not get to make assumptions about someone else's life and act as though you know the truth. No one would be so rude as to insist you don't need glasses, would they?"

"People your age don't need canes!"

"And people your age should know to treat people better." Roman gives her a look that's so profoundly disappointed that he can see a few people wince in sympathy. "This time of year is supposed to be about sharing compassion and kindness. I hope for your sake you learn that this season."

He turns his back pointedly and the woman shuffles off without another word.

"Are you okay?" Roman asks, his voice so soft and worried that it almost gives Virgil whiplash. "I'm so sorry that happened."

"It's not your fault," he mumbles, "and…thank you."

"You don't need to thank me for being a decent person, honey."

"Yeah, well…" Roman's hand is still on his shoulder and he dares to lean into it a little. "Still. Thanks."

Roman still looks a little worried but he pushes Virgil's food towards him. "Here. Eat."

"Thanks."

Roman doesn't sit across from him. He sits next to him and after a moment, lets his leg rest against Virgil's. Virgil almost chokes on his sandwich but quickly shakes his head when Roman looks up, concerned.

"Is this alright?"

"Yeah, it's…more than alright." Virgil smiles. "You're really great, Roman."

Nice one, asshole.

"So are you." After a moment, his smile widens. "When we're finished, do you want to go see the desert room? There's a bench in there too."

"Cactuses?"

"I think it's technically cacti, but yes."

"Don't make me look up grammar while I'm eating."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

4.

Virgil gets another text the night before he's supposed to get lunch with Roman. He peers at his phone, sitting up from his horrible position on the couch.

Prince Charming: Hey, I'm sorry to do this so last minute, but my boss really wants me to come in in the morning tomorrow. I don't think I'll be able to come pick you up to go to the place.

Me: is there public that can get me there?

Prince Charming: You'd have to walk a fair ways and it's not like it's nice outside right now.

Virgil glances at the snowstorm outside and winces at the thought of all the ice. He's about to figure out a way to propose a rain check—or snow check—without upsetting either of them when his phone buzzes again.

Prince Charming: I mean, if it's not too much of an ask, I could always pick you up before I go into work and you could come with me? I don't think it'd be longer than a few hours at the most and then we could just go straight there afterwards.

Me: what do you mean come to work with you?

Prince Charming: I could pick you up and drive us both to the arena. There are the offices and stuff upstairs where you could sit and work or do something until I'm done then we could go?

Me: would your boss care that there's just some random person with you?

Prince Charming: You're not just some random person, Virgil. And no, he won't care.

Virgil's too caught up in the fact that Roman said he's not just some random person to really think about it when he sends back a 'yes,' nor did he really read the part where Roman mentioned an arena.

But sure enough, that's what they pull up to the next morning and Virgil's left blinking at the giant sign that says 'Stadium Entrance' as they get out of the car. He glances at Roman, who looks truly nonplussed as he leads the way to the door. He waves at the person at the front—Virgil waves too on instinct—and nods toward the elevator.

"I told them I was bringing someone, you can go on up and find somewhere to sit, if you want. I can come with too if you'd rather?"

"You, uh, you can go. I think I can find something."

"If anyone tries to give you shit, just say you're with me, okay?"

He huffs a laugh. "What, are you some kind of famous person?"

Roman laughs too, but it comes out a bit too forced. "Something like that."

And before he can ask what the fuck that means, Roman's walking off down another hallway and Virgil just shrugs and goes to find somewhere to sit. The elevator takes him up to something that looks almost like an office and he wanders into an open room, sitting down and shooting off a text to let Roman know where he is. He gets a quick acknowledgment and that he'll let him know when he's done. He switches over to the thing he'd been looking at in the car and loses himself quickly in the mindless scroll of the Internet.

He's not sure how much time passes before he glances around for an outlet to charge his phone. He drags a chair over to the corner and plugs in the charger, looking around as he waits for the little beep that lets him know it's working. There's a set of screens on the far wall, each showing a different camera, he presumes. One of them looks out at a loading dock, one of them shows a skating rink where someone's training, one of them shows another empty rink, and the last one has another door—probably a secondary exit of some kind. He shrugs and looks back at his phone.

"Excuse me?"

He looks up to see a man with glasses and a big coffee mug with cat whiskers peering through the door. "Uh, hi?"

"Are you supposed to be in here?"

"I, um, I'm with Roman? He said I could find somewhere up here to sit?"

"Oh, you must be Virgil!" Virgil blinks as the man grins and comes over to offer his hand. "I'm Patton, nice to meet you."

"Hi, Patton. Uh—you are? Sorry."

"No, it's fine, you're all good. I'm one of the event coordinators for the arena. Roman talks about you all the time, I was wondering if we'd ever get to meet you."

"Yeah, I, uh…nice to meet you too." Virgil shuffles a bit. "You, uh, have you worked with Roman for long?"

"Sort of—I don't work with Roman directly, but I see him when he's booked here. They've decided to train here this year, which is exciting, but he's so busy all the time." Patton grins, crossing his arms. "But I guess you know that, huh?"

"Yeah, I—wait, you—" he frowns. "What do you mean 'booked here?'"

"For a show or a competition or something." Patton leans down, muttering like they're sharing a secret. "Between you and me, I don't blame you for sitting up here. It gets cold in the rinks, doesn't it?"

"Sorry—can we go back another step?" Virgil shakes his head. "What do you mean, for a show or competition?"

Patton frowns. "For the season."

"What season? Season of what?"

He frowns for another second, before something like exasperation makes him sigh. "Did Roman tell you what he does?"

"No. Not even a little bit."

Patton sighs again and nods to the screens. "That's him, on the camera there."

Virgil turns to look. The only person on the screens is the one skating. Wait—

"That's Roman?"

"Roman Prince, reigning champion," Patton says, coming up behind him as Virgil stares at Roman training on the ice, "I'm not that surprised he didn't tell you, he's surprisingly private about his off-stage life."

Roman skates. Roman is a figure skater. Roman competes at a professional level as a skater. Roman is the fucking reigning champion?

He hears Patton say something about getting back to work but if he needs anything, let him know. He must respond—he hopes it wasn't too rude—but he's too focused on the way Roman is literally fucking dancing on the ice right now. He looks like he's at the Olympics. Shit, has Roman been to the Olympics? Why didn't Roman tell him he skates for a living? Why is he here while Roman is training? And what the fuck did Patton mean about Roman talking about him all the time?

He completely fucking forgets about his phone as he watches Roman skate. Every so often someone else skates up to him—his trainer, probably, even though Roman called him his boss. Shit, Roman really didn't want him to know about this, did he? Is he gonna be mad that Virgil's watching him?

He's really fucking good.

It feels like no time at all before Roman's disappearing from the frame and then he gets a text that he's almost done, coming up to find him, and Virgil's still staring at the screen trying to fit the pieces together that Roman's a professional skater who talks about him to the people he works with.

He doesn't quite manage that by the time Roman's pushing the door open with a breathless smile, his hair slightly messy, and his cheeks glowing from the exercise.

"Hey, sorry about that, but I'm all done, we can…"

He trails off when he notices Virgil staring at the screens, smile fading a bit.

"Right," he says, mostly to himself, "forgot about those."

"You, uh," Virgil mumbles, "so you skate?"

"Yeah. I skate."

There's a moment. Someone down the hall opens a door.

"I'm sure you have questions," Roman says finally, "but can I answer them in the car?"

"Yeah, sure."

Roman's quiet as they go back downstairs, waving to the front desk person again. They get in the car and start driving. Virgil bites his tongue for as long as he can before they finally stop at a red light and he musters his courage.

"Why didn't you tell me you skate?"

He hears Roman sigh. "I didn't mean to keep it a secret from you, it's just…I didn't know how you'd react."

"Did you think I wouldn't think it was a real job, or something?"

"What? No, no, I just—I didn't know if you watched skating or followed it at all or—or if you'd know who I am, or something like that." The light turns green and Roman turns onto the next road. "And then…well, it's not like I know what you do for a living either."

"I'm a systems engineer."

"Oh. That's cool."

"Thanks."

They drive for a few more minutes.

"Patton said you're quiet about your private life," he says, like an asshole, and he wants to take it back as soon as it comes out but Roman's already answering.

"Yeah, well, I'm not famous famous like some people are, but I'm…people know me. And it's not like I want people poking into what I do when I'm not being Roman Prince on the ice. Plus, especially with it being the holidays…" He trails off and sighs again. "Sorry, I don't want to bring the mood down."

"You're not bringing the mood down, you're just talking. You can tell me if you want to."

They stop at another red light and Roman looks at him. Really looks at him, like he's trying to figure out if Virgil's telling the truth. Which he is, he totally is, and he hopes Roman can see that. He must, or at least decide Virgil's not just asking to be nosy, because he looks away again.

"There are people who are into figure skating all year long and that's great, but they're, like, fans. And I love my fans, really, but I don't—sometimes it gets a bit much, you know?"

"Yeah."

"And then there are people who just like it for the holidays because it's 'festive.' Like, 'oh, let's go ice skating, it's Christmas,' or 'oh, let's go see a skating show because it's winter,' that sort of thing. And then they do it, and then it's done, and they go home and have their actual holidays together, and…"

Something terribly sad enters Roman's voice as they sit in the snow at the light, and Virgil suddenly has the image of a performer's smile fading as the lights go out. And it strikes him how terribly lonely what Roman's describing sounds, like he's just something people check off their lists and then move on with those they actually care about. And how much Patton seemed to understand that of course Roman didn't tell him what he did for a living.

"You want people to want to spend time with you for who you are," he says quietly, "not what you are."

"Yeah," Roman says back, equally soft, "that's it."

He looks down at his cane, spinning it in his hand. "I get that."

"I know you do." Roman reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. "I really didn't mean to keep secrets."

"It's fine, I get it. But thank you for telling me."

The light turns green and they start driving again. The silence feels gentler, somehow, Roman even starts humming under his breath. It's that same song that was playing over the speakers when they first met at the park.

Wait a fucking second.

"You asked me to skate."

"Huh?"

"When we met, at the park, you offered to skate with me. Even though you skate for a living and someone might have recognized you."

"What was I supposed to do?" Roman sighs, but this time it's clear he's going for drama. "I was talking to this cute guy and my brain fell out of my ears."

"You—what?"

Roman glances over and chuckles. "You're getting all blushy again, you know."

"I—what—shut up!"

"Did Patton also say I talk about you all the time?"

"Maybe!"

"Well, there you go, cutie. Wha—hey, hey! I'm driving!"

"You'll fucking live, you absolute dick."

But Roman's laughing again and he looks so happy that Virgil can't be mad for very much longer. And, you know, he is driving, and he would like to make it to the restaurant in one piece.

"You're paying for lunch, you know."

"Whatever you say, cutie."

5.

"If you dragged me all the way out here for nothing, I swear to God—"

"We're almost there, I promise, I promise."

Virgil groans, slumping down in the car seat at Roman makes yet another turn. Roman texted him two hours ago asking if he was free and could they go somewhere really quickly, he promises it's worth it, and Virgil had been too caught up in the sappy floaty feeling of Roman's excitement to say no, and now here they are, driving who the fuck knows where, in the dark, up a path that barely has any lights.

"How do you even know we're not getting lost?"

"We're not lost, I know exactly where we are."

"So if I got out a paper map and said 'where are we,' you could point to it and you'd be right?"

"Well, I'd be more impressed that you had a paper map with this exact area that you could be accurate about—"

"What, you don't think I've got maps?"

"I'd never doubt your map capabilities, Virgil."

"You'd better not, the atlas my mom got me for fourth grade would be so disappointed at you when I throw it at your head."

"I'm sorry, you're the one throwing it and it's going to be disappointed at me?"

"Yeah, 'cause you did something so outrageous it's made me need to throw it."

Roman chuckles as he makes another turn—are they going up a hill or something? "My mistake. Really, we are almost there."

"Uh-huh."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"I believe you about as much as I did the last ten times you've said it."

"I have not said it ten times!"

"No, you've said it way more than ten times."

"Well, if you keep asking 'are we there yet,' I'm going to keep answering you."

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there y—" Roman reaches over and pushes his shoulder lightly. "Okay, okay, I'll knock it off."

"Look, see that sign?"

Virgil sits up and peers through the windshield at the sign that reads 'Observation Point.' "Yeah."

"That's where we're going."

"Fine, fine, you're not a liar."

"Thank you."

Sure enough, it really is only a few more moments before Roman's pulling the car out onto a large flat overlook and putting it in park. Virgil looks around, trying to figure out what exactly they're doing all the way out here and why Roman was so insistent that they go tonight, when Roman turns the headlights off. "Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?"

"Relax, I'm keeping the heat on so we don't freeze." He nods out the window. "Look."

"I can't see shit, Roman, look at what?"

"Give your eyes a second to adjust."

He looks, truly not expecting to see anything. It's just blackness, the afterglow of the headlights still burning his retinas out. He squints. There are surprisingly few clouds out tonight, especially considering the winter weather they're supposed to get later this week. He can sort of see something through the gloom, below them, but it's not that clear yet. Slowly, little by little, his eyes adjust and…

"Oh," he says in a rush of breath.

The entire city sprawls out beneath them. Glittering and shimmering houses, buildings, Christmas lights and flashing decorations. The snow sparkles with it, the glow almost a sea of wonder against the inky blue night sky. Reds, greens, blues, purples, far-away inflatables that must be giant but look like nothing more than storybook characters from this high up. Some of the houses closest to them have trees, right out front, others have sleighs and reindeer, even more have snowmen just barely lit by the edges of the shining lights.

It's incredible.

"I didn't think I'd get a chance to see it this year," Roman says, as if he's afraid to break the silence, "but then it cleared up and I knew it'd be perfect."

Virgil can't say anything. He's too spellbound.

"Thank you for coming with me."

"Thank you for asking. This is—holy fuck, Roman, this is so fucking cool."

"I'm glad you like it. I was a bit worried with the roads, sometimes they don't clear them properly, but at least we can sit in the car instead of having to walk or something."

Maybe it's the fact that he's tired, or the surge of sappiness when Roman had said he'd known it'd be perfect and he'd reached out for Virgil, or maybe he's been holding this in since Roman held out that stupid hot chocolate. Whatever it is, Virgil sniffles.

"Whoa, hey, hey," Roman murmurs right away, reaching out for him like the stupidly perfect Prince Charming, "what's wrong, honey? Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Virgil spits through his stupid tears, "no, you did—you did everything right."

"O..kay?"

"You did everything right," he says again, "you—you made sure we could drive so we could just sit in the car and you picked me up so you could drive me instead of making me take the bus and you asked how much walking was too much walking and you stood up for me and you asked me if it was rude before you asked about my cane and you got me hot chocolate and you're—you're—"

An actual sob chokes out of his mouth and he claps a hand over it, only for Roman to let out a noise of dismay and coaxes his hand away, holding it tightly. He leans over the console and tenderly wipes away one of Virgil's tears and it's too soft and gentle and perfect—

"You did everything right," Virgil manages, not daring to look at Roman's concerned face, "you—you're too sweet."

Roman lets out the softest noise and strokes his cheek again. "You're worth being sweet to, honey."

"Shut up, you're gonna make me cry more."

"That's okay, honey, you can cry. That's—it's a good cry, right?"

"Yeah, you bastard, it's a good cry." He sniffles. "Now shut up."

"Can I shut up and hug you?"

"Yes."

And goddamnit, an awkward hug where Roman has to lean halfway out of his seat over the console to get his arms around him should not feel so warm and safe and comforting, but fuck it, Virgil's already crying into his shoulder anyway, he might as well fully commit to it. If Roman has a problem with contorting himself to hug a sobbing mess, he doesn't say anything about it. No, he just keeps humming and shushing Virgil with sweet nonsense, his hand alternating between carding through his hair and stroking his cheek. It's not fair, and Virgil's not giving it up for anything.

Eventually, his tears run dry and he scrubs his nose with his sleeve as Roman sits back down, keeping one hand on the back of his neck. Fingers play with the hair right above his collar. He sniffles.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, honey, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I just cried all over you."

"Oh no," Roman says dryly, "however will I survive such a terrible fate?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

Roman chuckles, fingers still scratching lightly at Virgil's scalp. "Really, Virgil, it's alright. I'm just glad I'm not the only one getting all sappy."

If he were less emotionally drained from crying, or if Roman's fingers were less good at making him melt into a boneless little puddle, he might have had a retort for that. Instead, he just looks out over the lights in all their sparkling glory and sighs, leaning into the touch. Roman starts humming again and there they sit, enjoying the night.

"If I fall asleep," he mumbles, "will you wake me up?"

"If you fall asleep, I'll drive you home and then wake you up so we can get you to bed."

"Fine."

He tries. He tries doggedly to stay awake, to not miss a moment of this, of the lights, the night, of Roman and his stupid Prince-Charming self. But he must fall asleep, or at least get close to it, because the fingers in his hair slow, and stop. Roman chuckles softly, and the car starts, and they drive through the night. And for a moment, as they leave behind the sea of lights, he thinks that Roman lied to him—they can't be in a car, just driving home.

Not when it feels like they're flying.

+1.

It's really a surprise that he managed to hold it back for this long, but it was eventually going to happen.

The swirling mist of a monster that is his anxiety has been biding its time, waiting for him to let his guard down to spring out and warp him up in its stupid fucking mess and make him stop appreciating everything that's going on and make it just the fucking worst.

Roman Prince is too perfect, it decides. There's no way this all gets to happen to him and there's no catch. The image of the hidden cameras and the reality show crew comes back; when do they jump out and say it's all fake? When is the illusion going to shatter?

Maybe he's just biding his time and trying to find a way to exit Virgil's life and never return. Maybe he has a partner, or something, and he really thinks Virgil's just his friend. Maybe he's not even gay. Maybe Virgil's just a fling and he's going to leave as soon as New Year's is over. Maybe he's going to get swept up in his life of professional figure skating again and Virgil will be stuck with chasing down his shows and competitions to even see him ever again. Maybe they're going to become the friends that aren't really friends but they still have each other's number for some reason.

Maybe—

"You're thinking too loudly," Roman murmurs from where his face is tucked near the crook of Virgil's shoulder, reaching out to pause the movie, "are you okay?"

Virgil sighs, leaning back into Roman's embrace. He'd surprised him by coming over—well, no, he'd texted to ask if Virgil would mind if he came over, but that was out of nowhere, so it counted—and then they'd ordered way too much food and put on a Christmas movie, and Virgil had pushed for The Nightmare Before Christmas and Roman hadn't protested. And then Roman had asked if he could cuddle him—"Because it's a crime to leave you sitting there on the couch, in the dark, like you have no one to cuddle you, honey."—and then he'd wrapped his arms around him and it'd been all warm and soft and cozy and Virgil hadn't wanted to move to get his hot chocolate from the coffee table that probably wasn't even hot anymore—

"You're still drifting." Roman sits up, pulling away. "Is everything okay?"

Virgil bites his lip. "It's dumb."

"I like dumb things."

"You'll laugh."

"Only if you say something funny."

"You'll be mad," he says in a very quiet voice, and he feels Roman stutter above him. He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Oh, honey," he hears distantly, before the couch is shifting under him and there are warm hands carefully cupping his face. "Will you look at me, please?"

He doesn't want to. He wants to stay here in the dark with Roman touching him like he's something precious, but then Roman's calling his name and fuck it, he can't disappoint Roman, so he opens his eyes. Roman smiles at him with that same fucking soft smile that's been taking him out at the knees since day one, and he can tell he's pouting before Roman even says anything.

"I'm not going to be mad," he says with all the patience in the world, "if something's bothering you, I want to know about it. Please, tell me?"

"You're not leaving, right?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth and Roman scrunches up his face in confusion, he wants to run away and hide under all his blankets and never speak to anyone again.

"Never mind. Forget it."

"What do you mean, am I leaving?"

"I said forget it. See? Dumb. Never mind."

"Don't do that," Roman chides gently, pulling his focus back, "don't hide from me. What did you mean?"

Virgil sighs, trying to not lose himself in how warm Roman's hands are. "It's just—everyone leaves. Sort of. I know—I mean I get it. I get how these things go. You—it's the holidays, right? You get all the emotions and then New Year's happens and you move on. I know that happens, I know that's how it works sometimes, and it's fine, I get it, but—"

"Slow down." He sits up. "Why do you think I'm leaving?"

Fuck it. "Because you're too perfect, okay? You—you're sweet and kind and you help me with everything and you're fun to be around and you're funny and you're smart and—and you're really fucking attractive, and I don't—" he takes a deep breath— "I don't know what to do about it anymore, okay?"

Roman's quiet. He's quiet for a long moment. Then his hands leave Virgil's face and he cringes, curling up in on himself—he's done it, he's made Roman leave, it's his fault, it's all his fault, they didn't even make it to New Year's—

His eyes fly open in shock when Roman suddenly hugs him tightly. His breath leaves him in a rush as Roman squeezes, holding him with such a fierce strength that he just ends up going limp in his hold.

"I don't know," Roman growls, "what sort of absolute assholes have been so cruel to you that you think everyone is just going to leave, but they'd better fucking hope we never meet."

"Wh—what?"

"You're fucking perfect too, Virgil. You're smart and you make me laugh and you're genuinely kind to people and you—you make me feel safe, okay?" He pulls back but somehow this is worse because now they're just staring into each other's eyes. "You're amazing. Why the hell would I want to leave you?"

"I—um—well—"

"I don't want to leave," Roman confesses, and fuck, Virgil can hear his heart breaking, "do…you don't want me to leave, do you?"

"No," he says in a rush, "no, I don't want you to leave."

"Great, 'cause I wanna be stuck with you until you're sick of me."

"I'm not gonna get sick of you—"

"Well, I'm not gonna get sick of you either—"

"Great!"

"Great!"

And then he's the one leaning forward to knock Roman over with a hug. Roman wraps his arms just as tightly around him and suddenly there's a kiss being pressed to his head.

Everything stops.

"Shit," Roman breathes, and it curls around his ear, "I…I meant to ask if that was okay before I did it, I'm sorry, I—"

But Virgil's already turned and pressed a kiss of his own to Roman's jaw. He feels more than hears Roman's breath stutter, the chest under him jumping as Roman turns to look at him. Like this, their faces are barely a few inches apart, and Roman smells like hot chocolate.

"It's okay," Virgil mumbles into their shared space, "it's…more than okay."

And there Roman goes, curling his mouth up into that fucking soft smile again, and then he's sliding a hand up to cup the back of Virgil's. "So I can kiss you?"

"Yes, you can kiss me."

Fuck, he tastes like hot chocolate too.

"I'm not leaving," Roman whispers against his lips, not bothering to pull away, "I'm not leaving you, baby."

"Fuck."

"No good?"

"Very good," Virgil mumbles, leaning forward again, but then his phone is buzzing and he's pulling back with a curse to make it shut the fuck up. Roman comes up and wraps his arms around him again, hands slowly playing with the hem of his sweater as his chin hooks over his shoulder. "I'm almost done, I promise."

"Am I 'Prince Charming' in your phone?"

"No," Virgil says, like a liar as he throws his phone onto the floor.

"Aww, that's so cute, baby."

"Shut up and kiss me, Princey."

"As you wish," Roman murmurs, and then Virgil doesn't have a chance to think about the fact that he just called Roman 'Princey.'

They don't end up finishing the movie, but Roman says they can watch the rest over breakfast instead.

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[gashotbox]

so i’m like a whore for anything fart related and i honestly have started realizing how i lowkey turn myself on now from my own eruptions. so here’s a little story of one of the times i had myself so turned on from one of my most memorable farts to date.

i was at work and had a eight hour shift that day, literally two hours into my shift an audible noise came from my stomach. it was one of those deep rumbles that really come from the pit of your stomach, and i felt a rush of bubbles go down towards my…ya know, but i clenched like a fucking champ and held that fart in for another six hours. nobody heard my stomach the first time but one of my coworkers heard my stomach at least 3 times and asked if i was hungry (such a sweetie he is) kinda embarrassing, my stomach was making noise from holding in the gas so long and that it started coming out the other end, which had me letting out closed mouth burps a couple times. as soon as my shift ended, i clocked out on the dot and ran to my car. as soon as i sat into my passengers seat my stomach let out some of the pent up gas. it started out like a hissing noise for a bit but i stopped mid way to catch my breath cause i was winded from pushing that one out. soon after i felt the rush of the rest of the gas coming out, and i didn’t even bother pushing since it came out really on its own at that point. the sound…oh lord the sound…it was those rumbling bassy farts that just get louder the longer it goes, full on became a wet fart that sounded like i needed to check my underwear tbh. then after i let that out the smell hit and jesus was it rank. it smelled so eggy and sulfur like that it had me squirming in my seat. even when i got home they didn’t stop, they just got more guttural sounding and slobbish, i didn’t even have to push them out eventually. and to end the night my last fart ended up being a shart that i said fuck it to, so i just kept farting the sharts out till i was done, then i took a shower and had to wash my fucking underwear and pants. the whole night i couldn’t stop thinking about it all and literally got myself hot and bothered from just my own grossness. i’m a gassy girl so it’s nothing new, but it just hit different that day for some reason 😂

sorry this was so long btw i hope it was a good enough story for ya!

from anon…🐝 (i just made this up ngl ����) (also i love your account! been a incognito viewer but never had the balls to say anything!)

oh this might be one of the hottest things i’ve ever read. the gurgling tummy.. getting in the car and not even having to push? just a torrent of gas spilling out of u?? and the brazen, constant sharting bc ur panties were already ruined anyway.. jfc anon🥴

[destinationtrekk]

heya it's me again!

just wanted to add more details to my tyrant! reader x albert wesker idea

tyrant! reader is huge. like around 7-9ft tall. and muscular too. (we need more buff reader)

when wesker finally finds tyrant! reader, they're found wearing either very ill-fitting clothing that they obviously stole or a black hooded cloak

wesker is in awe of how big reader has grown due to the t-virus and the fact that they can pick him up like fucking nothing lol

(wesker deserves to have a monster partner fr)

ok wait because cloaked buff tyant reader goes SO hard. i love this so much but its also hilarious somehow, its making me think of the tsum-tsum wesker art - reader is all dark and scary looming over someone and they reach into their cloak like they have a weapon or something but they pull out tsum-tsum wesker and he's like >:3

also i think wesker is an egomaniac before uroboros brings him back to life after re5, so at this point he absolutely expects you to be frail and pathetic and unable to control the virus in your blood, so when he finally sees you in person for the first time after your mutual manhunt for each other, he's just.... oh. what the fuck.

don't get me wrong, he's caught off guard but he loves it. he had always been slightly weirded out by BOWs before, even though he took pride in his creations, but seeing you in this beastly, powerful form drives him crazy. He's so proud of himself, obvs, but he also admires you - insanely so. the fact that you not only survived the t-virus, but it accepted you, and you kept your sanity and personality (except you're definitely a little bloodthirsty now, kind turns him on ngl) after becoming a tyrant - it's like a dream come true for him.

another note - i can't find a real canon height for wesker, some places say he's like 6'2 but i've seen others say he's like 7ft which i think is ridiculous tbh. I'm absolutely imagining him as lithe but broad and muscular, definitely over 6', but the height difference between him and reader makes him look like a little princess in his leather suit next to you.

jfc keep em coming this is making my day