#drunk confessions

[sveraia]

blame the damn alcohol (sukuna's ver.) wherein one drunk night turns into chaotic conversations, accidental confessions, jealousy and moments that probably should’ve stayed unsent. tw : alcohol/drunk reader, drunk texting, jealousy, suggestive flirting, emotional denial, mutual pining, chaotic banter, implied romantic tension, messy feelings, reader being a menace. the rest of the men

[human-otp-prompt-generator]

Heya!! It's me again... I have a request: could you suggest "drunk confessions" prompts? The characters can't just be friends; it could be the interaction of a couple where A is already married or dating B... Thank you ♥

Coming right up!

A is the drunk one, B is the sober one.

Drunk Confession Prompts

A, usually reserved and not good at showing affection, becomes extra lovey-dovey to B after drinking.

A lets it slip that they're planning to propose, but they don't remember having said it when they're sober again. B either has to tell them they know or pretend nothing happened.

B is planning to propose but A reveals they've known for a while.

A tells B an embarrassing secret about themself.

A confesses that they think they're inadequate/undeserving of B's love.

A mentions something that causes an argument between them and B when A is sober again.

A first says "I love you" to B when drunk.

It's A's first time being drunk and B gets to see a whole new side of them.

B pours their heart out to A when A is drunk, knowing they won't remember anything when they're sober again.

A tells B a harmless secret about the early days of their relationship.

[gravegoer]

Hello, how about a part 2 of being Sevika's boss maybe when they got together or something like that thankyouuu and i love all of your ficss thank you making them hehe

Sevika's Boss ꩜ part 2

hi anon, sevikas boss fanfic got a lot of love a while ago so im happy to write part 2 !! let me know if you enjoyed i threw in some misunderstandings for fun here..maybe kind of angst?? its okay tho you make up very quickly PART 1 , masterlist

You and Sevika hung around eachother a lot, I mean that was normal right? She is your second in command afterall.

Personally, you didn't see a problem with it, and nor did Sevika.

She had grown accustomed to your presence and didn't mind all your small, loving touches and annoying jokes.

And yes, sometimes she went a little overboard for you, like what kind of subordinate stays at their bosses house to tend to them whilst they are injured? Or goes out for drinks every weekend? But maybe your relationship was starting to exceed the bounds of boss and employee.

She has definitely warmed up to you more than she did with Silco. She thinks it was your charming personality, or cute outfits, your smile...

Some people might say you sitting in Sevikas lap while you fixed up her arm might be indecency in the workplace, but you found it to be a simple and innocent task.

But this begs the question, what exactly is your relationship?

This is also a question Jinx was starting to ask herself.

"So uh...whats with you and Sevika?" Jinx asked in an almost singsongy voice.

She flipped her gun around in her hand haphazardly while she was sprawled out on your (Silcos) desk.

"What do you mean whats with us..?" You shook your head, mimicking her movements with your pen.

"I meaaan, you guys act like a married couple or something!" She threw her two hands in the air with a 'duh' kind of look plastered on her face.

You pushed one of her braids to the side to pull out a paper from under it. One of Sevikas reports from a recent trip. Her handwriting was an imperfect cursive. Sighing, you put your face in your hand while you held the paper, staring at it diligently.

Jinx looked at you quizically at your lack of an answer. She sharply pushes the paper down with the tip of her gun, "Hey, are you— Oh," She let out a nasally laugh at the paper, "Damn, you got it bad, huh, toots?"

"What? I have what bad?" You slid the paper away and tilted your head at her.

The blue-haired girl sat up and rested a spindly arm on her knee, "You're so in L word with her." She snickered at you.

"Im in—" Your face flushed at your realization. "I am not in 'L word' with her." You raised your hands to do finger quotes around 'L word.'

"Hmmmm, are you sure?" She teased, putting her gun to her chin and looking up in mock thought "I mean, you practically cling to her, you always walk home with her, and plus you talk about her all the time– hell! You talk to her all the time."

You stared at Jinx, now zoning out in thought. What were you supposed to tell Sevika? Does Sevika even think the same way about you? Would that relationship even be appropriate?

"You know what?" You stood up and pointed in Jinx' face, "Im going to do it—"

She attempted to cut you off with a meek,

"Sevikas—"

"Im going to tell her I love her," You continued, Jinx' half attempt to save your ass fell on deaf ears.

You looked up, finger still in the girls face to make eye contact with a very familiar set of grey eyes. Fuck.

Sevikas gaze faltered, and she cleared her throat, bringing a fist to her mouth, "Um. I came to ask you if you wanted to grab a drink, but it seems like you have better plans."

Holy shit. She didn't know it was about her. Is that good or bad? You only felt a few seconds of relief before Sevika just turned around and walked out. That was bad.

Jinx whistled, still under the pressure of your pointing finger, "You have some explaining to do."

You fumbled over your words before pushing Jinx' forehead back with your finger. "Ughh.. This is your fault."

You drooped back down into the large chair, putting your head in your hand and heaving a sigh.

"Just go tell her while you still have a chance. She's probably going to be moping around the Last Drop," Jinx got up from her spot on the desk, and some papers fell with her.

"That's my queue to leave, though," She hopped out of the office with a little too much energy, probably on her way to cause more mischief.

You sighed and packed up your stuff, picking up stray papers and shoving them into a random drawer on your desk.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you pushed open the double doors to your office. It was time to go to the last drop.

poor sevika

Your entrance was signified with the ding of a bell atop the door. Music was playing loudly, and people were swarmed around the bar. Your eyes scanned the nearest areas for Sevika, but as you figures she was nowhere in sight.

She was most definitely in her usual gambling spot. You didn't want to approach her while she was in the middle of a game, so you waited at a nearby table, making sure to stay out of her sight.

You could hear the groans of the men at her table, most definitely losing. Chuckling at this, you watched as a waiter came up to your table asking for your order.

You just asked for a simple whiskey sour, hanging your bag on the back of your chair.

Several minutes (and a few drinks later), you felt someone's eyes on the back of your head. Turning around, you, once again, were met with steely grey eyes. Sevika stood near behind you with her arms crossed. The game had finished.

"You get rejected or something." She deadpanned.

"No—well.. not yet." You turned around in your chair to face her, the metal back of the chair was now settled between your legs.

You held what you thought was your sixth whiskey sour in between your fingers, chin resting on the top of the chair back.

She scoffed at this, turning her head to avoid eye contact. You could have sworn a small blush coated her cheeks. But her frown made you think otherwise, her large forearms tensed before she spoke.

"Oh, so you're waiting for her here."

How cruel of you to profess your love to someone in the place you knew Sevika would be. You probably wanted her to see it, right?

"Yeah, shes already here." You said, still staring at her side profile, tracing the scar on her cheek with your eyes.

The neon lights illuminated her face and brought out every curve and angle. But your thoughts were interrupted by her stern and almost angry voice.

"I should leave then," she started to walk away, but you reached out quickly.

(I dont know why you would do that when she wasn't even in arms length to begin with.) You started to fall forward, you let out a small yelp and held onto the chair, your drink falling onto the ground. You awaited impact, but it never came.

Instead, you were met with strong arms holding the back of your chair up. Sevika was bent over slightly, both mechanical arm and human arm on the metal of the chair. And for the third time, you made eye contact with now very close grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed in shock or frustration- you couldn't tell.

Without another thought, you grabbed her by the collar and pulled her lips into yours. At first, she tried to pull away but eventually melted into the heat of the kiss. She sat your chair back up on four legs, and her elbows lean on the top of the chair, encircling you.

Almost as soon and she relented she pulled away, "What the hell are you doing," She rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of a large hand.

Her lips were still puffy from the kiss, but almost more downturned than before. When you didn't respond she offered a question, "Are you drunk?"

Your lopsided grin told her all she needed to know. She knew she needed to take you home, but she was going to do so reluctantly. Afterall you were going to become someone else's girl, couldn't have her hands all over you like she usually did.

She grabbed you (almost roughly) by the arms and pulled you out of the chair, "How are you going to profess your love now?" She scoffed.

"I just did, was that not enough?" Your words were slurred and you helped her by stepping up with heavy legs.

She furrowed her brows until she came to a not-so-shocking realization. Cursing under her breath she smirked at you. You could almost see the relief wash over her face.

Her thick arm held you by your upper torso as she almost carried you to the doors. She sighed at your stupidness, why not just tell her right away, then you wouldn't have to have gone through all the trouble.

She eyed your glossed over eyes, shaking her head at the dumb smirk that held its place on your face. She could feel the quiver of your body against the cold night wind.

At that she lifted you into her arms, covering you with her cloak. You looked up at her with wide eyes, burying your face in the material. God she wanted to kiss you so bad. But she'd save that for the awkward talk in the morning.

thank you for reading ! yes i see your asks all your fics are on the way I swear !!!! much love

[sporadora]

[REPOST] 'all i ask', aka i don't know how to write a fanfic but an au where yang saw ah duo one more time before she leaves the inner palace. had a little too much to drink, releasing decades worth of resentment and self-loathing.

The previous typos on the first page were bothering me so much. i also tweaked some dialogue.

[aventurineswife]

Hi Rinnie! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

A recent idea I had, and I've been saving it for when you open the request inbox!

So, readers are known for being reserved and distant with other people, although with their partners, they are slightly clingy and affectionate. One night to celebrate (anything, like work, etc.), the readers get drunk, causing them to say:

"Crazy, I thought I might have your baby."

With the characters: Aventurine, Sampo, Childe, and Kaeya

This request is based on: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMSY8yqC7/

—–· ☀️🌻 ⟩ Anon.

In Vino Veritas

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Childe x Reader, Kaeya x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Drunk Confessions, Slight Angst (Light Emotional Undercurrents), Emotional Vulnerability, Teasing/Flirting, Established Relationships, Reserved Reader (Affectionate When Drunk), Soft Moments, Bit of Whump (Aventurine especially).

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Mild intoxication, Slight sexual implications (very light and suggestive, not explicit), References to past trauma (Aventurine) (?), Implication of reproductive themes (mentioned humorously), Emotional vulnerability.

The room shimmered under warm lights and crystalline decor, the celebration for a successful IPC acquisition reaching its peak. You weren’t usually the type to indulge, but tonight? Tonight, you drank.

Aventurine stood across the lounge, speaking animatedly with another executive, all charm and cunning smiles. He caught your gaze, eyes glinting, and in a rare move, you walked over and tugged on his sleeve—affectionate, bold. Your usual reserved self was replaced with uninhibited adoration.

"A toast?" you slurred slightly, wrapping your arm around his waist and leaning against him.

“Well now, look who’s affectionate tonight.” Aventurine chuckled, clearly amused.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, your voice soft. “Crazy, I thought I might have your baby.”

The world seemed to still. Aventurine blinked once, twice, a flicker of something unreadable flashing behind his smile.

“Did Lady Luck whisper that in your ear?” he asked smoothly, hiding the way his pulse stuttered. But your earnestness—unguarded and tipsy—hit a fracture in his carefully curated mask.

You buried your face against his shoulder with a quiet hum. “You’re warm.”

He looked down at you, suddenly quieter. For all his games and gambles, he hadn’t planned for you to say something so intimate so… fearlessly.

“A risky bet,” he whispered to himself, then pressed a kiss to your hair. “But perhaps my favorite kind.”

The wine was too good and the celebration too loud for you to keep up your usual walls. You were nestled on a velvety couch in a dimly lit corner, laughing softly at something Sampo had said.

He was sprawled out beside you, gesturing animatedly with a wine glass in hand. “See? I told you. The best deals are the ones you make with a wink and a distraction!”

You leaned into him, draping your arms over his shoulders, much to his surprise. You didn’t usually touch him like this in public.

“Crazy,” you murmured with a dopey smile. “I thought I might have your baby.”

Sampo froze.

His eyes flicked to yours, glinting under the lights. “Whoa there, my dove. You’re drunker than I thought.”

But you only giggled and touched his cheek. “You’ve got good genes. Might as well put them to use.”

His face flushed just a touch. “Flattering. And dangerous. You know, I usually deal in risks, but this one…” He pulled you into his lap, more flustered than he let on. “...might just bankrupt me.”

But his hand rested gently on your hip, lingering, unsure. Maybe—just maybe—he liked the idea more than he was willing to admit.

Liyue’s moonlight bathed the terrace where the celebration was taking place. You weren’t fond of crowds, but Childe had coaxed you into attending—“Just for a bit, honey. Come on, I’ll protect you.”

Several drinks later, you were flushed and leaning heavily on him, fingers loosely curled into his shirt.

He chuckled, brushing your hair from your face. “Didn’t expect you to be a cuddler when drunk.”

You looked up at him, voice slurred but full of conviction. “Crazy, I thought I might have your baby.”

Childe blinked. “Wait. What?”

You giggled, pressing your forehead to his chest. “You’re strong. Handsome. And you look like you'd be a good dad.”

He felt his face heat up—him, the Harbinger who had faced blood and war, now blushing like a schoolboy.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered, arms around you tightly. “But… not the worst idea you’ve had.”

He leaned closer, whispering at your ear with a teasing grin, “Just don’t tell my siblings yet. Teucer would go nuts.”

The Knights had won a key negotiation, and the tavern was full of laughter and clinking mugs. Kaeya kept your glass full, partly to loosen you up, partly because he liked seeing you let go.

“You’re more affectionate than usual,” he mused, as you rested your head on his shoulder and played with the hem of his glove.

You grinned. “You smell good. Like… adventure. And cold wine.”

He laughed, eyes soft. “You’re a poet when you’re tipsy.”

Your hand slipped under his coat, resting over his chest. “Crazy,” you whispered, “I thought I might have your baby.”

Kaeya nearly choked on his wine. “Pardon?”

You didn’t seem to notice his stunned expression. “You’re pretty. And charming. I think I like you too much.”

Kaeya blinked, lips parting—but no words came. For a man of so many smooth lines, he found himself utterly speechless. Then, a slow, tender smile.

“Well now,” he murmured, cupping your cheek. “I’d toast to that... if I weren’t suddenly terrified in the best way.”

He kissed your forehead. “Remind me to get you drunk again—after I recover from that bombshell.”

[theosbabydollx]

Late Night Drunk Confessions

Theo Nott x Reader

It was never easy having Theodore Nott as my best friend. Not because of his serious demeanor or the way he observed everything, but because, from the very first moment, I liked him more than I should have. And, although we shared glances that lasted longer than normal and gestures that seemed to hide something more, he never took the step.

I always thought what I had with Theo was a matter of long looks and stolen smiles, something that lived in the silences and accidental touches. He had been my best friend for years—the one who knew how I liked my coffee, who could guess my mood with just a glance, and who was always one step away from saying something I longed to hear, but never said.

So I convinced myself that he didn’t see me as anything more than a friend. That, to him, I was the shoulder to lean on, but never the lips to kiss.

That was when I met Daniel. Sweet, attentive, always finding ways to make me smile… but, even though he sounded perfect on paper, something didn’t click. The way he looked at me didn’t make my pulse race, and our conversations, while pleasant, lacked the spark I always felt with Theo. Still, I kept seeing him, trying to convince myself that maybe something stable was better than an impossible love.

It had been three weeks since I started dating Daniel, and Theo hardly talked to me like before. There were no fights or obvious gestures… but I could feel it. His messages were shorter, his smiles more measured, and the seat next to me in the coffee shop was now taken by someone else.

One night, after a quiet date with Daniel, I was lying in bed scrolling through messages. It was past midnight when my phone started vibrating. Theo. appeared on the screen. I answered quickly, because Theo never called at that hour.

“Theo?” I whispered.

On the other end, I heard his heavy breathing, like he was walking or trying to coordinate his words.

“You’re with him, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice rough, betraying both alcohol and something else. “With Daniel.”

“Not right now. I just got home. Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not okay. I can’t stand this.” There was a short silence, followed by a bitter laugh. “God, I can’t even see you with him without wanting to wipe that fake smile off his face.”

“Theo, are you drunk?” My voice was soft, almost afraid of breaking something invisible between us.

“Maybe…” His laugh was low, but held no joy. “Doesn’t matter. I just needed to hear your voice.”

I stayed silent, swallowing hard.

The silence stretched for a moment, but I could feel his breathing getting faster on the other end.

“I don’t like it, you know?” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Seeing you with him.” His tone deepened. “I… I can’t stand the idea of him touching you, of him looking at you like he knows you. Because he doesn’t. Not like I do.”

I closed my eyes, pressing the phone harder against my ear. “Theo…”

“It’s just…” his voice cracked, “It’s not fair. I’ve been by your side for years, taking care of you, knowing every gesture, every glance, the way you frown when you’re focused… And now he shows up and takes all of that like… like it’s his.”

I couldn’t breathe. “It’s not his, Theo.”

“I know,” he replied quickly, “but I’m scared that one day it will be.”

His words were clumsy, but full of something he had never let out before.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” I asked, my voice more fragile than I expected.

“Because I’m an idiot. Because I thought if I told you how I felt, I’d ruin everything. And you are…” he took a deep breath, “…you’re the most important thing I have. But now I can’t… I can’t keep pretending we’re just friends.”

His confession hung in the air—dense, warm, dangerous.

“Theo…” I whispered, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.

“Tell me to stop feeling this for you and I’ll try, I swear,” his tone broke. “But don’t ask me to watch you with someone else. I can’t.”

“Theo… we’ve been friends for years. You never said anything.”

“Because I’m an idiot.” He sighed, and I could picture him running his hand through his hair, like he always did when he was frustrated. “Because I thought if I waited, I’d have time. But now seeing him there smiling at you… no. I can’t.”

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to scream that I felt the same, that it had always been him. Another part feared that if we crossed that line, there would be no turning back.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything for me,” he said suddenly, his voice barely a whisper. “Say it, and I’ll shut up forever.”

“Theo…” I took a deep breath, “you’re drunk, you shouldn’t…”

“No, I’m not drunk enough to not know what I’m saying,” he interrupted. “And… I’m near your place.”

My stomach twisted. “What?”

“Don’t hang up,” he said quickly. “I don’t want you to hang up.”

I got out of bed, as if my feet were moving on their own, and looked out the window. The street was empty—until I saw him: leaning against a lamppost, hair slightly messy, hands in his pockets. His eyes found me even from there.

I ran downstairs, not sure if I wanted to yell at him or hug him. When I opened the door, the cold night air wrapped around us. He took a step toward me, slow, as if he was afraid I’d run away.

“I didn’t want another day to pass without telling you,” his voice was lower in person, but his eyes shone in a dangerous way. “I can’t see you with him. I can’t pretend I don’t care.”

I stood still. He looked at me like he was memorizing every detail. “Theo…” I whispered, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just…” he stepped closer, until I could feel his warmth, “tell me you don’t mind that I’m here.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, my fingers brushed against his sleeve, just a touch. He leaned down until his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mixing.

“Tell me to stop falling in love with you,” he murmured, “and I’ll try.”

His hand brushed my cheek, soft, as if unsure whether he had permission. I didn’t push him away. In that moment, the silence was so heavy that I felt if either of us breathed too hard, everything would break.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been to keep quiet about all this,” he whispered. “To pretend I don’t care when I see you smiling at him… when I hear him say your name.”

“Theo…” my voice trembled, but not from the cold.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I could feel his breathing quicken. For a second, I thought he’d pull away—but instead, his hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

“I don’t care if you hate me tomorrow for this…” he said almost against my lips.

And then he kissed me. It wasn’t soft or shy; it was urgent, as if all the time we’d spent in silence had condensed into that instant. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of alcohol, but also of something burning deep inside me.

I grabbed his jacket, pulling him toward me, as if I was afraid he’d leave. He responded by holding me tighter against his chest, his other hand gripping my waist, making it clear he had no intention of letting go.

When we pulled apart, just enough to breathe, he rested his forehead against mine again, breathing heavily. “Tell me you didn’t feel anything…” he murmured, like a challenge.

I couldn’t.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it too. “Theo…” I whispered, my voice breaking, “I’ve been feeling this for years.”

His brows furrowed, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “What?”

“You think you’re just my best friend, but… you’ve always been more than that to me. Always. Since the first day you spoke to me at school, since you stayed late studying with me even though you knew you’d fail your exam the next day. Since you took care of me when I got sick, since… since you became my safe place.”

He looked at me like his whole world had turned upside down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What for?” I shrugged, though tears were starting to fill my eyes. “I was afraid of losing you. And if I told you… if you rejected me… what would I do without you?”

Theo shook his head slowly, but his hands stayed on my face, as if he needed to make sure I was really there. “You wouldn’t have lost me,” he murmured, leaning in again. “The only thing breaking me was thinking you could belong to someone else.”

He kissed me again, this time slower, like he wanted to memorize every second. And I melted into him, feeling that finally, everything fit—that there was no place in the world more right than here, in his arms.

His words hang in the air between us, the cold night wrapping around my shoulders like a silent witness. I can barely breathe, my chest tight, my thoughts tangled in everything I’ve felt for him for years.

“I’m in love with you, Theo,” I finally admit, my voice trembling, my fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I thought you didn’t see me that way, so I tried to move on… but it’s always been you.”

His eyes search mine, his breath visible in the freezing air, and for a moment, the world goes quiet. Then, his hands come up to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing against my skin like I might disappear if he’s not careful.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he murmurs, his lips so close to mine I can feel the warmth radiating from him. “I didn’t want to ruin us, I didn’t want to scare you away, but I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.”

And then he kisses me. It’s not gentle, not at first—it’s desperate, like years of unspoken feelings and stolen glances have finally broken free. My hands clutch his hoodie tighter as if I can pull him even closer, his lips moving against mine like he’s been waiting forever for this moment.

When we finally break apart, breathless, his forehead rests against mine, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re mine now,” he whispers, a promise in his voice. “And I’m never letting you go.”

[inkeddaydream]

Drunk Confession

✦ Chapter One ✦

"You're Drunk, Pedro."

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Alcohol use, jealousy, emotional repression, mutual pining, one very poorly timed kiss with a stranger, angst with a soft landing

Summary:

You and Pedro have been best friends for years - inseparable, untouchable, and firmly in denial about everything unsaid between you. But when a rooftop party brings flirtation, jealousy, and one reckless kiss that wasn't meant to hurt as much as it does, things start to crack. And when he follows you home, drunk and trembling and soft-eyed under the streetlights, neither of you can pretend anymore.

✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦

It starts like it always does - too many people, not enough air, and him.

The rooftop is packed with bodies and blurred voices, the night humming with the kind of slow, sticky warmth that only comes after too many cheap drinks and shared secrets. String lights crisscross overhead, glowing amber against the indigo sky. Someone's dragging a speaker from room to room trying to find the best acoustics, and someone else is already barefoot, dancing like they're the main character in a movie no one's filming.

And in the middle of it all - like some magnetic center of gravity - is Pedro.

Your Pedro.

Not yours, not really. But his laugh - the one that breaks open the air and curls into your lungs - is familiar. So is the way he pushes his hair back with the hand still holding his drink, or how he greets every new person with that same warm-eyed softness, like they've known each other forever.

You're supposed to be mingling. That's what your best friend says. She's behind you somewhere - probably nursing the same drink she's had since you arrived, watching the chaos unfold like she's collecting stories to retell later. She'd told you to be casual, to just hang out, maybe even talk to someone who isn't Pedro for once. That lasted all of five minutes.

Because you saw him across the room - cheeks flushed, mouth parted mid-laugh, the curve of his dimple tugging at something you pretend isn't always aching - and you were gone. Again.

You're sipping something cold and green and far too strong, standing in the corner like a girl with a secret. And you are. You've had the same secret for years.

Pedro Pascal makes you feel like the earth cracked open and you fell through the center of it, all because he looked at you once with sunlight in his eyes and said your name like it meant something.

"Wow," your best friend says from beside you, snapping you out of it. Her voice is teasing, lazy. "You might as well just start making out with your drink if you're gonna stare at him like that."

You blink. "What?"

She nods toward him - and God, he's even closer now. One hand tucked into his back pocket, the other still loosely wrapped around his drink. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing the soft curve of his forearms, and the chain around his neck glints gold every time he turns his head.

"You're looking at him like he hung the goddamn moon," she says, not unkindly.

You exhale a shaky laugh, dragging your eyes away. "I'm not."

"You are." She nudges you. "And it's fine. You should. He's your soulmate."

You roll your eyes and sip your drink. "He's not my soulmate."

"He bought you pads once at midnight and brought snacks to distract you from your cramps. He drives you to the airport and won't let anyone else pick you up. He literally pulled you out of a panic attack at a Whole Foods."

"That was once-"

"That was four times, actually," she says. "And he looked like he wanted to punch the kale section for upsetting you."

You snort.

And then - as if summoned - he turns.

Pedro's eyes sweep the crowd and land on you like it's the most natural thing in the world. He smiles. Not just a casual smile - one of his smiles. The one that softens everything, like he's happy just because you exist.

And then he mouths something at you from across the party.

You good?

You nod. Yeah.

His gaze lingers for a second longer. Two. And then someone else pulls at his arm, and he's gone again.

Your best friend exhales slowly. "See? Soulmates."

You can't stop the warmth crawling up your neck. "We're just friends."

She gives you a look - the one that sees through all the bullshit you wrap around yourself like armor. "You're wearing his flannel."

"It was cold."

She deadpans. "You're literally inside his shirt."

You glance down at the oversized, navy-and-olive flannel draped around your shoulders - sleeves rolled, front open, sleeves slipping over your hands. You hadn't even thought about it. He'd wrapped it around you the second you stepped outside earlier, grumbling something about you being "too precious to freeze to death at a rooftop party full of hipsters." You'd kept it on ever since.

It smells like him. Like bergamot and citrus and the faintest hint of smoke. Like comfort. Like everything you're not supposed to want.

"He does this for all his friends," you say, but it comes out hollow even to your own ears.

She doesn't argue. Just sips her drink, slow and knowing. "If you don't kiss him soon, someone else will."

You look up again - and there he is, across the room, whispering something into a woman's ear. She laughs. His hand grazes her lower back.

Your stomach twists.

You down the rest of your drink in one breath and smile like it doesn't ache.

✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦

You shouldn't look again.

You tell yourself that, over and over.

But your eyes betray you.

He's still across the rooftop, and now the woman he's talking to is touching his chest - soft and casual like she's done it before. She's older, Confident. Her laughter is effortless, her arm brushing his like the moment belongs to them and no one else.

And Pedro - Pedro isn't stopping her.

He's grinning. That lazy, crooked smile that you know by heart. He leans in to say something, and she giggles. Head tilted. Lips glossy. She tucks her hair behind her ear like she wants him to see her better.

You feel something hollow out inside your chest.

He laughs at something she says - really laughs, head thrown back, eyes crinkled - and for a second it feels like the air's been sucked out of the party.

Like you've fallen through the floor and no one noticed.

"Okay," your best friend says, watching you like she's watching someone unravel. "That's the third time you've blinked like you're fighting back tears."

You try to smile. "I'm fine."

"You're so not fine," she says. "I know you've convinced yourself that this whole pining-in-silence thing is noble, but babe, he is not a mind reader."

You shrug. "He doesn't feel that way."

She scoffs. "Are you kidding? He looks at you like you're the whole damn plot."

"Then why is he laughing like that with her?"

You hate how small your voice sounds. Like it cracked on the way out.

Your friend softens. "Because you're not saying anything. And people can only guess for so long before they give up."

You swallow hard and look away.

The pressure builds behind your eyes, a tight ache you try to blink away. The tequila isn't helping anymore - it's turned to heat in your blood, static in your throat, acid in your stomach.

You don't want to be this girl - the one who watches her best friend flirt with someone else while pretending it doesn't matter. But the truth is, it does matter. It matters so much you feel like you might break open from the inside.

You glance back again. The woman's hand is still on Pedro's arm. He's smiling. Not the full one, but the polite one - the one that says I'm trying.

That's it. You turn on your heel.

"Where are you going?" your friend asks.

You scan the crowd, catch a guy's eye. He's tall, decent-looking, buzzed enough to say yes without thinking. You walk straight up to him and smile.

"Dance with me?" He blinks. "Yeah. Sure."

The music shifts into something with a heavier beat - low and pulsing. He places his hands on your waist, and you force yourself to move. To sway. To laugh at something he says. You don't even hear him. You're too busy trying to feel anything other than what's crawling under your skin.

You catch Pedro's eye halfway through the song. He's watching you, Frozen in place. Eyes unreadable. You pretend you don't see him.

Instead, you turn to the stranger and press your lips to his. It's not a real kiss. It's sloppy, forgettable, empty. There's nothing in it but spite and tequila and desperation.

But Pedro sees it.

And your chest caves in a little at the way his jaw tightens before he turns away.

You're trembling by the time you pull back from the guy. He asks you something - you don't answer. Your hands are shaking. The room feels like it's spinning. The alcohol, the music, the ache, him - it all hits you at once, and suddenly you want nothing more than to be gone.

"I'm leaving," you mutter to your best friend as you pass by.

She doesn't argue. Just watches you walk away with too much pain behind her eyes.

The music pulses behind you, muffled now by the closing door. The night air hits your face like a slap - cold and too clear.

You start walking.

✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦

"Didn't think you were gonna leave without me," Pedro says, slightly breathless as he jogs the last few steps to catch up.

You don't turn around.

You keep walking - boots clacking against the damp sidewalk, the cold slapping your cheeks in stinging little bursts. The night's gone silent except for the hum of distant traffic and your heartbeat slamming inside your ears.

"You looked..." you pause, teeth digging into your bottom lip, "busy."

There's a hitch in his breath - soft, but not soft enough. "Are you mad at me?"

His voice is careful. Like he's trying not to make things worse, like he's worried he already did.

"No," you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Just tired."

He exhales hard through his nose. The sound is rough - frustrated. With himself, maybe. With you. With all of it. "I wasn't flirting."

"I didn't say you were."

"You didn't have to."

That stops you for a second. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He looks wrecked in the glow of the streetlamp - curls flattened by sweat, cheeks flushed, shirt collar askew. His chain is twisted, his eyes glassy.

His hand lifts like he might reach for you, then falters. Drops.

"Is that why you kissed him?" he asks. "Because you thought I was flirting with her?"

You turn your face away. "You're drunk."

"So are you."

He steps into your path before you can keep walking, boots scuffing the pavement, eyes searching your face like he's trying to piece something together you've both been too afraid to name.

"You know everyone thinks we're in love," you say. The words tumble out, bitter and aching, like they've been waiting for years to be spoken. You try to laugh after it, but the sound cracks halfway through and dies in your throat.

Pedro doesn't laugh back. He just looks at you. Quiet. Tired.

"Yeah," he says. "They do."

You stop walking completely. The wind rustles past, tugging at the edges of the flannel still wrapped around you. His flannel. You shouldn't still be wearing it, but you are.

He's staring at the sidewalk now, like it'll help him avoid what's coming. His hands sink deep into the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders tense. Then slowly, almost too quietly:

"Because I do."

It sucker-punches you.

You blink once. Twice.

"Why does that make you look like you're about to cry?" you ask, voice small.

He shrugs, but it's the kind that looks like it hurts to do. "Because I mean it."

The silence that follows is unbearable - not because it's empty, but because it's full. Full of every look, every almost, every time your fingers brushed his in a movie theater or every time he leaned a little too close when you were laughing. Full of the nights you slept in his bed and pretended it was normal. Full of the truth you've been dragging behind you like a suitcase you swore you'd never open.

You finally whisper, "Pedro..."

He looks up.

And it's all there in his eyes. No walls, no charm, no tequila-fueled filter. Just him. Just you - the way he sees you, the way he's always seen you.

"I didn't flirt with her," he says. "I couldn't. I was too busy watching you."

The world tips.

He takes a step forward, voice lower now, steadier. "You kissed someone else tonight. And I watched it happen. And I thought - that's it. That's how it ends. That's how I lose her."

Your lips part. The air feels sharp in your lungs.

"I've loved you for so fucking long," he says, like he's confessing a crime. "And I've spent every day convincing myself you didn't feel the same. That you'd never look at me like that."

"I do," you whisper. "Pedro, I do."

He steps in closer - barely an inch between you now. "You do?"

You nod, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. "I think I've been in love with you since the first time you held my hand in public just so I'd feel safe."

His jaw clenches like he's trying not to cry too.

"I didn't kiss him because I wanted to," you add. "I kissed him because I didn't know what to do with this... thing. This thing you make me feel."

And then finally-finally-he moves.

No more pretending. No more half-steps or sidelong glances or silent what-ifs.

Pedro closes the space between you with a kind of urgency that isn't fast-it's inevitable. Like gravity. Like something ancient giving way after years of restraint.

His hand comes up slowly, carefully, like he's giving you the chance to pull away.

You don't.

Fingertips brush your jaw, calloused and warm, and you swear your knees almost give out right there. He cradles your face like you're breakable, like he's terrified this is something he'll wake up from. His thumb ghosts over the corner of your mouth like he's tracing the words you haven't spoken yet.

And then-

He kisses you.

Not the kind of kiss that's fueled by tequila or bravado. No.

This is years of unsaid things pressed into one trembling exhale.

It's soft. Reverent.

Like he's tasting a promise. Like he's trying to memorize you in pieces-your breath, your mouth, the way you melt into his chest without even meaning to.

You can feel how tightly he's holding himself together, even as his other hand slips around your waist and pulls you closer.

And you go willingly.

You go like you've belonged there all along.

He kisses you like you're the secret he's been carrying in his chest for too long, and it's finally safe to let it out.

When he pulls back, it's only far enough to press his forehead to yours. His breath is shaky. Yours is nonexistent.

The world has stopped moving.

"I'm still drunk," he murmurs, voice raw and ragged against your lips. He doesn't let you go.

You let out a laugh, but it breaks halfway out of your throat. "Me too."

Pedro pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you. His eyes are glassy but so, so clear.

"I'll still want you tomorrow," he says.

It knocks the wind out of you.

Because he means it.

You feel it in your chest, in the way his hands won't stop shaking, in the way his voice catches when he says want like it barely scrapes the surface of what he really feels.

You blink back the tears rising in your throat and whisper, "Then stay."

And this time-

He doesn't hesitate.

✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦

[honeycollectswhump]

A Fine Farghean Husband

@gritpyre

The celebrations in Fhirdiad are in full swing. The city prides itself in its heated parties, to spite the cold wind and merciless winters. Alcohol and inhibitions flow freely in the otherwise strict kingdom and boisterous laughter fills the castle halls.

Dimitri has never been one for parties, nor drinking, yet at Sylvain’s continuous insistence for just one more shot, he can’t help but oblige. Out of duty and shame, if anything else.

He had taken so much from his friends, denied them so much joy, brought nothing but hurt. He owed it to them, to spend the party without a single word of complaint, pliable in their hands to make up for the monster he had become.

Though now, more than just a couple shots in, Dimitri finds agreeing to just one more is getting easier by the second.

He hadn’t drunk anything really, since… that one night in the cathedral, when he had not yet regained his mind, that he only remembers snippets of. That ended with a vengeful hangover and him waking up in Byleth‘s lap. Even with his ravaged mind, the embarrassment took over and he had scurried away like a mutt, throwing up somewhere outside, and then never spoke of it again.

Long after, the ghosts still ridiculed him for the unnamed feelings it left him with.

Now, pleasantly buzzing, the faces and voices of his loved ones have retreated into the fog of inebriation. There is no one to criticize him for downing glass after glass of Fhirdiad‘s best liquor.

Amongst the inhuman strength, his crest also grants him a heightened tolerance; a trait he must have shared with his father, if Rodrigue‘s stories were to be believed.

A pang of grief shoots through Dimitri at the thought, and he quickly grasps the closest glass of booze and drinks it. He finds the burning sensation chases any unpleasant thoughts away.

Briefly, he wonders why he hadn’t indulged more before.

Around the foggy buzz, Dimitri still converses with different nobles, never really without his duties as future king. Though, at this point, their conversation could be called senseless.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a slightly swaying Sylvain approach Byleth with another one of his just-one-more-shots. She obliges with a smile and knocks with back the with energy of a true mercenary. Yet, somehow she remains sober. Not even the faintest flush betrays the amount she has drunk.

Dimitri supposes it makes sense. He can take a guess at the rapid speeds of her metabolism, if the massive amount she casually eats are any hint.

Is it appropriate to think about the metabolism of a lady?

The noble besides him laughs loudly and slaps his back. „Your Highness, if that gaze of yours is any sign, we mustn’t worry about a royal marriage much longer.”

Dimitri sputters, chokes or dies. He can feel his face heat up like wildfire, blushing so hopelessly he cannot possibly blame it on the alcohol.

Instead, in a panicked attempt to avoid answering, he grabs the drink he was sipping and downs it in one go, barely breathing between gulps.

The nobles start cheering, as if they were in a bar and not the royal castle. The burning down his throat isn’t enough to distract him.

Instead, the Goddess must have it out for him personally, because he has barely recovered from his drink when one of the nobles loudly declares to the table: „Look at his Highness drinking like a fish. He will make a fine Faerghean husband one day!“

Dimitri grabs the nearest liquor bottle and downs it in its entirety, doing nothing to quell the nobels‘ claims, before excusing himself and hurrying away.

It doesn’t occur to him that this might not have been his wisest decisions.

He seeks out a table where some of the Blue Lions have collected, taking a break from the chaos. Sighing, he sits down, thunking his forehead on the wood.

„Since when is it allowed for nobles to treat the future king this way?“, Dimitri mumbles. „I have barely returned, yet they have become obsessed with finding me a bride.“

He can only speak that last part under the security of hiding his face in his arms. The cool wood does nothing to reduce his ever-burning blush.

Mercedes, a gentle flush on her face too, pats his head in consolation. „They’re eager for any sense of normalcy. I think marriage is the one thing they all agree on, rare as it is.“

Grumbling, Dimitri turns to face her, trying to focus his blurring vision. „When have they ever agreed on one thing? Now, it is like they speak in unison. Did Sylvain put them on this?“

„I suspect they came to that conclusion themselves.“ Mercedes giggles.

His eye widens, sputtering as her words make their way through his foggy mind. Someone, anyone, seeing Byleth as a wife, and quite possibly worse, imagining him as a husband her husband threatens to fry his brain.

Of course, one day Byleth will make a wonderful wife for someone who should thank the Goddess every day. It just couldn’t be him, no matter how much his heart yearns. For someone as dirty and tainted as he is, just being allowed to remain next to her should be more than enough. Never mind that Byleth deserves someone better, someone good, without hands smeared in blood and a fractured mind.

It is a sign of his inadequacy that he can’t stop the craving.

„Reign in your mind, boar.“ Felix sneers, though the softer tones in his voice betray his words. The alcohol has dulled his edges too, as well as the end of the war.

„I- I don’t know what you mean.“ he stutters, unconvincingly.

„At this rate, your pathetic yearning will become the talk of the year.“

„Oh shush!“, Annette leans on Felix‘ shoulders, pushing his head down with a giggle. „He‘s just being stupid, we are all still stressed from the war. What he meant to say was, you should talk to her. You barely have, for the entirety of today‘s festivities.“

Of course he wants to talk to Byleth. Dimitri wants nothing more than to stick by her side from dawn ‘til dusk. But hasn’t he asked enough from her, for she hadn’t left his side for the entire war. And with the alcohol flowing through his veins, holding himself back will be near impossible.

„Let her enjoy the fest, Annette. I don’t doubt she has seen enough of me for a lifetime.“

Annette scoffs in unison with Felix, then bounces up undeterred, her suspicions smirk clear as day even through the fog of inebriation. „Well, forgive me, your Highness, but if you insist on being stubborn, I will simply call her over!“

Before Dimitri can stop her, she disappears into the crowd, too determined to take notice of her own sway. Once again, he will be nothing but a bother to Byleth.

Groaning, he buries his head in his arms. Maybe Annette will forget, maybe she will spare Byleth the humiliation of being bound to the burdensome king once again.

But of course, Fate isn’t so kind to him.

„Oh, there you are, Dimitri!“

It’s embarrassing, the way his ears perk up like a dog.

„Byleth!“, he smiles, though his mouth feels lopsided, for some reason. „Have you been enjoying the fest- festivities?“

She nods, and despite the blur that is his vision Dimitri is sure that the corners of her mouth lift slightly.

„Being around everyone in such high spirits, it’s almost like being back with Father‘s band of mercenaries after a job done well.“

She stands right next to him, laying a hand over his, and it feels like the warmth of the sun has concentrated right above his skin.

„You’ve been drinking like a true mercenary too, your highness.“ she teases and Dimitri flushes helplessly, as if his cheeks have ever stopped burning. Maybe this is the one downside to indulging, because he is even worse at suppressing his feelings than usual.

„You saw?“ he all but squeaks.

„I couldn’t possibly miss y- it. Haven’t seen you stand since.“ It almost sounds like a challenge.

„I‘ll have you know, the strength of the Blaiddyd crest includes inhib- I mean tolerance.“

Bad idea.

The moment he stands, his entire world tilts and crashes to one side, sending him tumbling sideways into Byleth. Dimitri can feel the softness of her breasts press and mold against his chest. With a gasp, he recoils, falling backwards, only just avoiding collapsing entirely by the grace of Byleth catching him around the waist, pulling him close.

Her steadfast touch makes a noise bubble up in his throat that he is just barely able to swallow back down, lest it bring shame to his entire bloodline.

Instead, he slumps into her with shaking legs, shame burning across his face like wildfire. Pathetic. Pathetic pathetic pathetic.

Across from them, his friends can barely stifle their giggles, though Felix might plan regicide after all.

Dimitri doesn’t feel like laughing, all of the sudden.

„I‘m sorry,“ and now he’s stumbling over his words. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have joined. Believing he could be part of this was a mistake, when he’s capable of nothing but being a burden to everyone.

„This- this is unbecoming of a king. I shouldn’t have- this is my fault, I know. I just- I can’t be seen like this. I should be better, I-“

Suddenly, softly, Byleth lays her free hand on his cheek, tilting his head to catch her gaze. Despite himself, he seeks her touch like a starving man.

„Let‘s go outside, there are some benches we could sit on and get some fresh air. A break would be nice.“

Dejectedly, Dimitri nods. It’s a charade for who exactly? Everyone in this hall must know it is him who is a pathetic drunk, too stupid to stand, too prideful to know his limit. He can feel their eyes on him, staring and judging, knowing that this deplorable excuse of a king would be sure to bring them ruin.

Still, Byleth holds both a physical as well as a metaphorical hand out for him, a crutch to rest his failures on.

„I fear I will just fall and shame you“, he admits, turning away, unable to meet her eyes. Hoping his words are not slurring.

„Nonsense“, Byleth responds, ever the professor. „I couldn’t count all the times I had to carry my father when he was far worse off. Take a breath and mirror my steps. You will be fine.“

Her grip around his waist is steady, strong. She doesn’t falter, even when he stumbles and trips like a deer on ice. It’s pitiful. It’s more than he could dream of.

When they finally reach the balcony, Dimitri breathes a sigh of relief. Byleth guides him to sit down and even this he can’t accomplish without swaying.

Some part of him expects her to leave him there. He would deserve it, undoubtedly. But of course, she doesn’t. As if its no question at all, she sits down right next to him, a pillar for him to lean against. Once again.

He doesn’t deserve her, he never has.

Dimitri takes a deep breath. He must pay for his shortcomings, he must redeem himself for yet another long list of mistakes accumulated in a single evening. He must make himself worth Byleth’s time.

„I apologize. It seems I overestimated my condition. It shouldn’t fall on you to save me from myself once again.“

Byleth makes a sort of dismissive gesture. „I hear it’s a Farghean tradition to get humbled by liquor.“

Somehow, despite it all, she draws a giggle from him.

„You should have heard the stories Rodrigue told of his and my father‘s academy years.“

She leans her head against his and the contact alone steals all sense from his mind. Not even the reminder of his loss can pierce the wall of comfort and buzz formed around him like a shield.

„Oh, he did share the occasional tale, in the time I got to know him. Had I heard the stories first, I would have expected both their sons to be partying trouble makers.“

„I fear, at least in part, I have done nothing but create troubles.“

„Oh shush. We can’t change the past, we can only continue moving forward. And besides, seeing you loosen up and enjoy yourself, it was worth it all.“

Huh?

Dimitri freezes, caught between the fondness in her voice and his overactive imagination.

At the same time, Byleth seems to realise what she said, and if he didn’t know better, if his vision was less blurred, he’d think she was blushing.

„I guess we have Sylvain to thank.“

Dimitri sees this for what it is: a weak attempt at distraction. But he is putty in her hands, so he follows obediently.

„Rather to blame, for my current state. And those wicked One-More-Shot‘s.“

Byleth snorts. She actually snorts.

„You don’t think it might have something to do with that entire bottle you downed?“

„I don’t know why I did that…“ Dimitri lies, the scene, —their words— still burning a blush onto his face.

„You‘ve always been a lousy liar, your Highness. Though, of course you don’t have to tell me.“ she adds gently.

He stupidly shakes his head, making the world spin violently, immediately dropping it back onto her shoulder. „Those nobles truly know how to get under my skin, even if on accident. The past… the past five years have only reduced my capabilities and made me much too useless.“

Somehow, like it is the most natural thing in the world, Byleth‘s hand finds his again. She had made a habit of staying on his blind side. Dimitri can’t remember a time since losing that eye, that anyone being close has felt so safe.

„You’re so warm, as always“, he sighs. „I could never see the sun again, and not grow dissatisfied. You are my light, my star, my sun, my-“

Just barely, before ruin can tumble from his lips, Dimitri catches himself. If he thought he was blushing before, he was wrong. His face turns beet red, from his neck to the tips of his ears. In horror, he brings his free hand up to his face, covering as much as he can.

„Goddess, I- I apologize, I don’t know what came over me. The alcohol has me acting like a fool.“

A love-struck fool, his mind supplies, unhelpfully.

Byleth just smiles, in that soft, barely visible way of hers. „This is what I meant. Seeing you be so… so free, drinking too much with your friends and letting the alcohol make you silly. This casual normalcy is what we fought the war for. I… I want this. I want it, again and again.“

Oh, he will never stop blushing. Her words almost sound suspiciously like a confession. Leaning towards her, just a bit closer, turning his head, their lips touching; It would be so easy. But no, Dimitri isn’t that drunk to delude himself with fantasies of his wretched love being reciprocated.

Instead, almost unconsciously, he nuzzles his heavy head further into the crook of her neck. „They said with how I was drinking, I would make a fine Farghean husband.“ He says, giggling to himself. The thought is as dreamy as it is absurd.

„You will.“

He chokes and coughs, his entire body shaking with barely contained laughter, until it bursts from him in a bellowing howl and wheezing breaths.

It doesn’t occur to him that Byleth doesn’t seem to be laughing.

„I mean it.“ she pouts.

Dimitri has barely regained control when she sends him into another round of giggles. „You jest; You can’t possible mean that“, he gets out, once he can finally breathe. „Oh, professor, your humor is as dry as always. You’ve seen the beast I am firsthand. Even these joyous times can’t deny my brutish strength, my broken mind. All the booze in the world can only hide my nature and their voices for so long.“

Byleth averts her gaze, turning towards the clear night sky.

„You‘ve always felt so greatly, Dimitri. You feel so much, I can only imagine the strength with which you love. That is a gift, I think, to whoever will be so lucky to be chosen in love by you.“

The alcohol and laughter begins to turn his ecstasy into fatigue. He doesn’t notice himself slipping down to her breasts, only wonders why he is laying so softly. Maybe he is already dreaming, for her to speak the words he would never dare admit he craves.

„Mmmh, I doubt anyone else woul‘ agree, ‘f they saw me like you have.“

It doesn’t matter to him, not really. There is no need to think about being anyone‘s fine Farghean husband, because his heart is already bound tight to the one person he could never atone enough for.

But, like a dirty sinner, he can bask in her warmth and light, and for a moment feel peace he hasn’t earned yet. And that is enough.

„Forgive me,“ Dimitri yawns, then hiccups. „I‘ll rest my eye, jus’ for a moment. I’ll return to the fest- the fesiv- inside soon enough…“

That is how he drifts off, unaware of his body nestling into her breasts, or her gentle caressing hand carding through his hair.

Neither does he hear Byleth‘s gentle whisper for only the night and Sothis.

„You silly, blind prince.“