Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilbur didn't like the heat of Las Nevadas. Wilbur hated the sand that for some reason— I can never get it out of my clothes! And the humidity caused his skin to feel rather sticky. It was a disgusting feeling that would crawl up his arms. Quackity is a bloody fool for living in such a place. Nonetheless that same dusty old brown trench coat remained hanging off his body as he stood by the lit sign.

Wilbur's teeth clenched down on his cigarette. Too fuckin' hot out here. Do I even need a lighter? The match clicked as he held the flame to the cigar before it lit as he took a puff. Las Navadas was crowded even in the evening, people rushing by the roads filled with traffic as Wilbur walked. A classic summer night— just like when the ac would break down in L'manburg. Or when my desk fan would break down in Pogtopia. 

When Quackity would work under Schlatt and do his best to keep him away from Tubbo. Poor boy. And Wilbur closes that line of thought there because he'd rather not think of Tommy because he knows he's wronged him and failed him as a brother and he had to watch his own brother beg to die. His footsteps are heavy and the sidewalks have beads of sand scattered from where desert meets city. 

There's a breath of smoke where Wilbur's lips meet the humid night air. His lungs welcome the familiar feeling despite being stitched back together like the rest of his corpse by XD themself. A walking zombie am I? Wilbur sucks in another breath as he watches the orange skies fade purple. Quackity you are one strange fellow.

Wilbur has no business in his city. He was a tick in his side, one that dug deep and that you couldn't rip out. An annoyance. An enemy really— he was a fugitive in most places. It's fun to press his buttons. How long until a wanted poster shows up here next? Probably a matter of days.

  Wilbur's clothes smelt like nicotine and Wilbur didn't even flinch as he put out the cigarette and it met skin simply staring ahead before dropping it to the sidewalk and crushing it under his boot. He silently wonders how many circular burns coat that arm. 

Wilbur's scarlet eyes stare ahead at the tall building before shifting to the burger restaurant beside him. How many people have you killed? And silently his eyes squeeze shut because Ranboo deserved better. L'manburg deserved better. Wilbur didn't deserve to be standing here today just because XD tugged on the strings of life and brought back a man who's a lost cause and doesn't need a fourth chance at living.

When Wilbur sweats he's not sure if it's from the heat of this godforsaken desert or if it's his nerves. Because his fingers jitter tapping against his coat pocket as he walks. But Wilbur smiles because he's out in public and doesn't need to scare off the locals who don't know— I've killed hundreds of L'manburgians. Who doesn't know— I killed myself once. Who doesn't know— that I’m just a roach that keeps standing back up when he should be in limbo. 

Wilburs smiles and keeps walking. Maybe if he were still president he'd wave too. But that's not his place anymore is it? He's just a battered up British man walking in places he shouldn't be; Not at this hour, not at this time, not ever actually. 

Quackity likes to claim he hates him. Because the line between hate and love is a thin one. Both are passionate and obsessive. Lust was the blurred line between the two.

Wilbur thinks Quackity looks angelic when he climaxes. With the way Quackity’s breath hitches and those soft whines pouring from his lips. 

Wilbur had parked his Food Truck just outside of Las Nevadas solely to piss off Quackity. Well more so grab Quackity’s attention. After several complaints WIlbur moved it but it didn’t change the fact Wilbur loves how Quackity flared up. Wilbur was just outside the building about to inform the man that he moved the truck. After a long hike up the stairs Wilbur finds himself pushing open the door to his rival’s office. 

Quackity looks up from his papers and finds his old sworn enemy sitting atop his desk he scowls. "Get the fuck out of here— w-what the actual hell Wilbur?!" There's that lovely smile. 

"What happened to 'Good evening'?" He chuckles as Quackity's face hardens into a glare. "Good— What do you want anyways? I already told you to pack up your pathetic excuse of a—" Wilbur cuts him off. "If you actually cared you'd know I moved it last week. God do you ever look at anything outside of this office?" Rhetorical question. Of course I don't actually care for the answer. 

"Oh… well about time. It was parked illegally." His yellow wings flare up. "I suppose since you've moved it I can pardon your infraction. Now get off my desk, did 13 years make you forget basic manners Wilbur?" His golden feathers look ethereal with the sunset behind him. "Right well your nose is buried so far in your paperwork I thought you'd ignore me." Sometimes he does. Wilbur sits in the arm chair with a cheeky grin.

 "Yeah because you wouldn't move your stupid arse van." Quackity retorts.   "Food truck." He corrects. But he doesn't hide the way the word 'die' makes him feel like the scum of the earth. 

 "It took someone to die to get you to see my point—"  All I do is hurt people. Am I hurting you yet? Are you a masochist? Quackity are you a masochist? Why do you even entertain me? "Wilbur I don't even know what to—" Quackity doesn't even want to think about the way Tubbo looks at his husband's grave. "Shut up, this isn't about them." His voice is cold, almost unemphatic because it's too much to unpack and Wilbur is already hurting. 

Quackity's wings flare up in anger with the way Wilbur dismisses it and before he can spit back something twice as harsh. "Your feathers are out of place" he quips. When was the last time he left the office? Quackity freezes up slightly and his mouth goes dry as his head turns and Wilbur is right, they're a few sticking out of place and uncomfortably lodged into each other. 

"You're changing the subject." He tries to smooth out the yellow feathers fruitlessly. "And you're more of a subject than a president." And the words were sharp but Wilbur didn't mean to say it. Because old habits die hard .

"And yet I lead better than you ever did." And there's that same energy returned to him and it stings. It stings so hard but the masochism of it all makes him chuckle and reach his hand out to fix the feather. And at first Quackity looks almost livid but his expression softens as Wilbur gently nudges the golden feather back into place. 

The beginning of an angry growl softens into more of a purring mumbled "Thanks." But the second those words were uttered, Quackity tenses as smacks his hand away because it was too intimate of a gesture and they weren't lovers. 

"Sorry!" He yelps and now his hand is tinted red from the slap.

"You left me to rot with Schlatt, that man was so drunk I was practically running the country myself you asshole!" Wilbur stays rather silent because he knows Quackity is right. "Well I'll admit you never followed Schlatt, Tubbo did." Right in his footsteps with that poorly hidden flask and those unkempt horns that grew so long they began to squirl. Angry alone and widowed with a bottle in hand. Just like Schlatt. 

"Leave Tubbo out of this! He was just a kid." A 'kid' yet he's legally an adult and has been for years. Quackity lives in the past.

"Of course you and fucking Sally were too busy to care! Don't think I never saw you sneaking off by the Manburg borders to see her— You could have seen me !" His voice cracks and when he backtracks he feels his wings close because he didn't misspeak but he acts like he does.

" And Tubbo! If you really cared about your country…" He corrects. 

"I'm seeing you now, am I not?" His voice is quiet.

 And Wilbur noticed the way Quackity stops bringing up Tubbo because the truth is they are both assholes.They don't really care about the widowed man who was forced by Schlatt to drink. They don't care that Wilbur's the reason Tubbo’s husband is six feet under. They're both terrible people and they hate each other for it. 

"A little fucking late for that isn't it?" And he's right. It is a little late. Maybe 14 years later. Because it took a year to reclaim Marburg and it took 13 for Wilbur to be brought back to life. The sun finished setting 6 minutes ago and Quackity's wings are soft gold in front of the windows that show a dark night sky. "Better late than never." Wilbur mumbles. 

Wilbur leans down further on Quackity’s desk. “Still hate me?” Wilbur whispers huskily. “Get off my fucking desk.” Quackity says firmly. “Answer the question dear.”

“Definitely” Quackity says with a hard glare. 

"When was the last time you took a break, big Q?" Quackity grumbles. "I don't have time for a break, have you seen all these goddamn papers!?" Wilbur pouts. "Well that's bloody stupid isn't it?" He jokes because he used to be president and he knows the workload and yet he still tries to pull Quackity away from his job. "Now I have to trash the complaint I was busy filing— over your van." 

Wilbur rolls his eyes. "Food truck!" He says breathlessly.  "Just give me the fucking papers— don't be all boring Quackity, your boring me." He groans. And a small packet is crumpled between his fingers and he shoves it in the bin. "See? No more work!"

“Off my desk.” Quackity hisses. Wilbur rolls his eyes and his fingers trail over Quackity’s collar bones. “just as much?” Wilbur’s voice is light and teasing. “My… my… what’s this now?” Wilbur’s fingers drop over the hard area. “I think you rather like my impromptu visits.” Wilbur says seductively. “…maybe” Quackity’s breath hitches as he leans into the office chair. 

 “This changes nothing . I still hate you”  Wilbur smiles snidely. “sure you do darling.” Wilbur’s eyes flicker up to the window behind them. Whatever it takes to be closer to Quackity. To be closer to power .  Wilbur’s eyes linger on Quackity’s erection for a moment. “Don’t get all fucking sarcastic with me.” Wilbur sits on top of Quackity as Wilbur’s fingers card through his hair. Wilbur’s lips hover over Quackity’s jaw as Wilburs fingers move. Quackity’s eyes slip shut. "lying doesn't suit you, sweetheart." Wilbur laughs gently before kissing down Quackity’s neck.

So much for Quackity’s beloved paperwork.

Quackity’s wings fluff up. “Let me just make this clear: I like you for what you do to me, not for you.” Wilbur removes his hand with a soft laugh. “Mm, okay. Keep convincing yourself with that bullshit. maybe it’ll work one day.” Quackity rolls his eyes. 

I like you for what you could do for me. Your potential Q. The fact i could get just a taste of power along with that pretty cock of yours. 

Wilbur’s lips meet Quackity as they kiss passionately. Wilbur feels Quackity’s hand fidget with the zipper on Wilbur’s pants. It unzips and Wilbur’s boner presses against the rim of his boxers. “Shut it.” Quackity’s fingers hook around his waist band. “Oh is Quackity in charge now? Whatever shall I do at the president’s mercy?” Wilbur laughs mockingly. 

“Sir to you.” Quackity looks up at him. Bossy today aren't we? “Mmm… Your a funny one Q.” Wilbur licks his lips.

“And here I thought last time was a one time thing. One, one, one~ How can something be a one time thing three times over love?” Wilbur questions. “Tell anyone about us and I’ll tell them about what a loud slut you are.” Wilbur feels a chill go down his spine. “What am i? Your 4th lover now— I think if anyone is a slut it’d be you Quackity.” Wilbur feels Quackity take off his boxers. “Your silence is how i know im right…”

“Ugh i just want to shut you up already.” Quackity murmurs seductively. “Be my guest Q, because i think half the Essmpi already knows your a fuckin’ bottom.” Wilbur smirks as he looks down at Quackity. “I think you oughta be handing me more respect actually. I could run this shit show of a nation better than you.” Quackity snorts. “Bullshit.” 

Quackity takes the condom and puts it on. Wilbur whispers in Quackity’s ear.  “You don’t know what the people want… but I do.” Wilbur can feel Quackity’s cock grinding against his hole. “Who cares about the people? You never cared about your people. You just wanted power. ” 

He’s seeing through me… Pitiful. 

Quackity’s hands lock around Wilbur’s waist. “Are you sure your not talking about yourself ‘sir’” Wilbur’s hands rest on Quackity’s shoulders as Quackity pushes him down.  “God just shut the fuck up…” Quackity’s hands lock on Wilbur’s hips and Wilbur lets out a long drawn out moan when he’s slammed onto Quackity’s thick hard cock.

“A-Ah, oh… m’kay ill shut up…” Wilbur warbles as his eyes roll back. “I’ll shut up sir…” He whines as his cock strains aganst his stomach. Wilbur slowly moves up and down on Quackity’s cock riding him. “That’s more fucking like it.” Wilbur nods breathlessly. Political debates could wait for later. Right now all Wilbur wanted to do was ride. 

Wilbur moves quickly and eagerly as Quackity guides his hips. “A-Ah… Are you close Q?” Wilbur’s nails dig into Quackity’s back. “Y-Yeah” Quackity moans softly as Wilbur slides on and off of him. The office chair squeaks in complaint. “Good…” Wilbur’s breath is hot against Quackity’s neck. 

“F-fuck… fuck your so much easier to listen to when you talk like this sir…” Wilbur’s skin is flushed with sweat. “It’s nice to see you loose that sarcasm.” Quackity snickers before inhaling sharply. Wilbur’s eyes roll back feeling Quackity hit his prostate. “Oh— Oh god!” He moans.”I’m gonna– i’m gonna cum…” Wilbur repeats breathlessly. “Cum then.” Quackity sees stars as Wilbur clenched around him. 

Wilbur’s whiny little moans fall into soft steady breathing as he lays atop of Quackity. The chair creaks struggling to hold both their weight. Quackity’s fingers run through Wilbur’s hair. “Now stop being a needy so i can actually do my fucking paper work.” Quackity’s voice is low and commanding. “Of course…”

Chapter Text

"You think your so fucking funny." Quackity's knuckles are white because he's clenching them a little too hard "I'm not your fucking songbird ! I am not a fucking—" Wilbur cut’s Quackity off. "I never called you that." Wilbur notices the way his eyes soften because they refocus and his gaze drops to the counter. "D-Did Schlatt ever—" And Quackity tenses "Don't! Drop it— just fucking drop it."

Wilbur and Quackity are arguing again. Quackity didn’t like Wilbur’s karaoke invitation. Wilbur thought it was harmless but clearly he’d pushed a button that he didn’t know existed. "Nothing happened!" Quackity's voice is weak and his voice quivers. Wilbur just stares at the long scar driven down Quackity's eye. He stares at the out of place feathers— the out of place hairs. The way he looks so tired. 

Half empty wine glasses were on the countertops. Both drank down to the last drop. Wilbur thought maybe a few drinks would get Quackity a bit more chatty. Now Quackity was chatty in the wrong way: Argumentative.

"I shouldn't have left you in Manburg— I- I mean, I never meant to let that happen. Or this happened. I..  What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry." He hates the way he stumbles over his words. “I didn’t say shit about him!”

“But you have that look in your eye when you think about him.”

Quackity's wings are pressed together, pressed shut almost hiding behind his back. Wilbur wonders what Schlatt had done and he almost feels sick. Wilbur feels bad for Quackity, the man he's supposed to hate. It’s rather difficult trying to use someone for power if you feel bad for them. 

A wine date that was supposed to get Quackity tipsy enough to reveal a few cabinet secrets has now turned into a discussion of personal ones. "Are you okay? Like okay okay?" His voice is soft and it makes Quackity angry because of course now he cares. Of course now Wilbur cares and it pisses him off. "Just get out." His wings flare.

"No— Answer my goddamn question! Are you okay Quackity?" 

Wilbur is sat on a stool by the counter. Quackity’s fingers hover between the neck of the wine bottle and the knives. Wilbur finds a kitchen knife pointed at his throat. It hovers inches from his jugular. Pity. "...I see." Wilbur mumbles. 

The blade inches from his throat makes the blood rush to his cock. Wilbur has to keep his breath steady as he keeps talking. 

"Are you ok—" 

"Shut up!" 

"Why!?" 

"Because you're just like Schlatt !" 

"Don't compare me to that man ever again." Wilbur's voice is bitter. ”You're trying to manipulate me!” Wilbur’s thighs rub against his growing erection. Wilbur bites his lip. “Darling no…” He lies.  Quackity's face scrunches up. "That's all you ever do! Manipulate people—" He accuses. Wilbur knows he has to lie through his teeth for this one. Wilbur will do whatever it takes to fix his family. His ex-wife hates him and his son is dead. It doesn’t matter what it takes Wilbur was going to bring them back and fix his mistake. 

Wilbur wants the taste of power. Wilbur swears he feels blood dribble down his neck. "How am I supposedly manipulating you?" This feels rather familiar.

Quackity's hand presses against his chest and Wilbur tastes iron. "What am I to you? Some fucking golden goose ? Some plaything ? What's your game Wilbur! You don't actually care so stop act- acting— asking if I'm okay! You don't mean it." His hand trembles holding the knife. "You mean Schlatt didn't mean it?" Wilbur's eyes flutter shut as he sighs. 

"If you're a golden goose then I'm Frankistain." 

He mumbles half jokingly. " Frankenstein !" He scoffs.

"Put the knife down, you don't want to do this…" Wilbur rolls his eyes. Don’t put it down… threaten to cut me up darling… fuck… Wilbur’s cock throbs painfully as he ignores it through the course of the conversation.

Wilbur grabs Quackity's wrist pulling the knife away. "I'm not Schlatt." He mumbles. "You still want to hurt me!" The blade trembles as they fight for control. "No I don't." Wilbur eyes run over Quackity's face. Stray raven hairs, overgrown, fall into his face and his expression is so petrified. "Yes– yes you do! You hurt people Wilbur." His voice is quiet and cracked and broken like the scar running through his bad eye. "I've changed! We're not in Marburg anymore— Schlatt's dead! No one can hurt you.” Tell him what he wants to hear. 

“Your untouchable Quackity." 

"Schlatt made me untouchable." 

“I fucking hate karoke! I’ll never sing alot to those shitty love songs you wrote Sally .” Quackity growls lowly as the trip of the blade presses to Wilbur’s throat. Wilbur’s mouth feels dry as he sits there his thumb rubbing against the empty wine glass. “You sound almost jealous.” Wilbur chuckles. “I am not jealous of that woman!” Quackity’s voice slurs slightly as Wilbur looks down at his reflection in the glass. “Sure your not.” Wilbur laughs quietly. 

“Call me jealous one more time and i’ll slit that pretty little throat of yours.” Wilbur feels a chill run up his spine. He can’t tell if the warmth pooling at his abdomen is from the drinking or arousal. “I’d rather you’d choke me.” Wilbur’s red eyes lazily shift up to meet Quackity’s. “Leave before i do something i’ll regret.” Quackity says through gritted teeth. 

“Of course you like that…” 

Wilburs eye traces the wings on his back. Golden feathers worth a fortune. Wilbur's thumb runs over the scarred eye. Manberg. Butchers. Piglins with an axe. Wilbur never left any physical scars. Except maybe a few hickeys in the past but those always faded— and Wilbur would be lying if he said he didn't miss those marks on Quackity's neck. 

“Schlatt liked choking me.” Quackity slowly lowers the knife. It rests on the counter as he brings his hand to run through his hair. "I'm not going to hurt you or do that… unless you ask me to dear." Wilbur purrs as he refills his glass. Wilbur’s lips meet the bittersweet liquid in a satisfied sigh. "Then what the hell are you going to do?" Quackity's expression is pained. 

“ Not plan a karaoke night?” Wilbur says sarcastically. “What we do need to plan however, is to do something about those wings of yours. They look unkempt.” Quackity looks at him irritated. “And who’s going to do that ?” Wilbur smiles and leans forward. “I could.”

Quackity’s wings seem to furrow, almost hiding themselves. “Like im letting you touch them! You’ll just fuck them up like he did.” Wilbur’s eyes widen in curiosity."I just want to fix your wings Quackity. Nothing more— I know what I'm doing, I had to…" his voice falters slightly. "I had to help Tommy when he was growing up." They used to be a bright red… and now they look more like a dusty children’s slide. That's particularly Wilbur's fault because he's not the best older brother. Tommy has every right to feel abandoned. But hey let bygones be bygones right? Failure.

"...You don't mean pluck right?" Quackity says it like it's happened before.“Only the loose ones that would fall out anyway. I won't keep them, unless you want me to of course." Wilbur mumbles. Quackity doesn't want to trust him but he finds himself sighing before becokening Wilbur over to the couch.  "Be gentle." Is all Quackity says as he fans out the small yellow wings. "I will." 

Wilbur sits down behind him and begins fixing the feathers. Quackity remains silent. Wilbur's fingers weave through the amber feathers clicking them back into place. Quackity tries not to make a sound, he hates how this relaxes him. Quackity hates realizing how uncomfortable his wings were before. Wilbur grows uncomfortable seeing a few missing patches and he can't help but wonder if this has anything to do with Manburg's president. But Quackity is sensitive so he doesn't mention it. 

"They're dusty." Is what he says Instead. "Shut it." Quackity grumbles half-heartedly. This provokes a soft laugh from Wilbur as he brushes his hand through the soft fanned out wings dusting off the sand. 

"That coat of yours is dusty as hell." He says after a while. Quackity leans into Wilbur's touch as he feels his shoulders begin to slouch, going into something of a much less stiff posture. "Well of course you live in a bloody desert! And mind you it is hot as balls outside. I could wash it every time I came to this city and it would still be dusty by the time I get here."

 Wilbur adjusts another feather. It's a soft gold and it brushes against his scarred knuckles. "I think you just don't wash it at all." Quackity smells cigarettes on Wilbur. "I do too!" Wilbur protests. “I just happened to smoke before I got here. Is that such a crime?” There's a lighter in that pocket. He knows because when Wilbur's sleeve shifts down to fix the top layer of feathers Quackity can see there are circular burns down Wilbur’s arms. "Do not." Quackity laughs. 

 A part of Quackity needs a nicotine fix right now but he doesn’t even smoke.

 He tenses feeling knuckles brush over the empty patches on his wings. "Relax." Wilbur whispers and Quackity just looks down, almost ashamed of the way his blood ran cold for a moment. "Gold feathers sell for alot." Is all Quackity says before flapping the wings slightly and closing them. "I think… I think you're done." Quackity is scared of poachers and ex-presidents. 

"Okay…" Wilbur pulls away but Quackity remains seated on the floor. "I needed that— actually, thanks." Quackity admits.

“Well its hard not to want to help someone when they so clearly were holding me at knife point!” Wilbur says sarcastically. “You literally had a boner.” Quackity retorts.

“Shut up.” 

Wilbur can only finch when he feels Quackity's teeth ram against his in a unexpected kiss. "Mphm!?" Wilburs lips taste like smoke and regrets. Wilbur's tongue tastes like nicotine and Quackity silently wonders if this is how Schlatt felt after a few days without the bottle. And the nicotine is fresh. That craving for nicotine dies down just a little because Quackity kissed Wilbur before and he’s grown a little addicted. He can tell the difference when its old and fresh just like he can tell that burn on Wilbur's arm is new. 

Quackity pulls away with a soft pant and a rather pathetic " please don't leave me alone tonight" Wilbur can hear a slightly needy tone to Quackity’s voice. “I think you liked holding that knife to my throat…” Wilbur whispers. “Just take off that stupid coat.” Wilbur rolls his eyes. “No.”Wilbur’s heart races when he remembers their teeth clicking only 7 minutes ago. His knees weak when he tastes Quackity on his tongue. Wilbur finally takes off his trench coat. And he almost finds himself thinking about pulling off that ratty yellow sweater. 

Wilbur stops for a moment before he goes back to that old habit of thinking with his dick. 

"Do you… want to talk? About— About earlier I mean." Wilbur asks softly. "Fuck no." He spits. Because it hurts. It hurts to have your wings plucked and not preened. It hurts to remember how Schlatt treated him. It hurts to remember all the red hand prints on his body and it hurts when he sees Wilbur's soft red eyes staring down at him. 

"I…" Quackity's throat is dry. "I can't explain… I— I fucking hate him." It's true because Quackity ripped the heart out of Schlatt's grave and ate it raw at his funeral as a final token of disrespect. "Q." Quackity leans onto him. "He used me Wilbur." And suddenly Wilbur is perfect and Quackity is the most disgusting creature that has walked the Essempi. I feel so sorry for him.

  "I have scars from the past too." Wilbur hopes he said the right thing.

"You don't have a fucking ugly stripe down your face— I can't even see out of this eye anymore!" And just like Tubbo— the only other person who worked under Schlatt he has a similar issue. A rouge bloodthirsty piglin robbing him too of an eye and a beautiful unscarred symmetrical face. Maybe those who work for Schlatt just have bad luck. They carry it like an involuntary bage of honor. I survived Schlatt and all the horrors of Manburg.

 "I still think your beautiful." And Quackity's heart flutters. But he doesn't show it. "I… well I only have one visible scar that you haven't had a good look at." Wilbur laughs softly. "You do?" And Wilburs fingers hook under the ratty yellow sweater as he pulls it up. His torso is thin and lean with a bit of muscle definition. Quackity’s eyes trail down Wilbur’s sharp v-line with an aljmost carnel look.But Quackity's main focus was the scar in the center of his stomach. A stab wound and it looked fatal— it looked intentional .

Quackity slowly moves his hand down, over the scar. His hands are gentle but their calloused from years of work. "Who? What happened to Wilbur?" For the first time Quackity’s voice isn't shrill and angry when speaking to the other man. "I didn't die in the explosion although I was on the verge of it." Quackity members that day— rows of TNT under the nation, a manic laugh, a button room and a slightly ashen face rising out of the crater. 

"It wasn't my fault!" I hate raising my voice. "You killed yourself!" Quackity's voice is louder. And at some point Quackity is gripping Wilbur's face. "Phil did it! I- I begged him to!" Wilbur hates how he could feel Quackity's weight pressing down on his lap. "Same thing asshole!" And Wilbur can feel Quackity's spit hit his face because he's talking too loud and too fast.

 "No— not the same thing! If I didn't the scar wouldn't be so fucking even and neat and done skillfully. " Quackity's nails dig into Wilbur's brown wavy locks. "You didn't need skill to blow up L'manburg!" He hisses. His wings fluff slightly because he's angry and the adrenaline is killing him. 

Wilbur was a danger hazard to himself and that scar running down his stomach proves it. "You're such an idiot…" Quackity mumbles a bit softer into the kiss and it's muffled and soft and loving because tonight feels more soft and less edgy than usual. . 

“ Schatt was the idoit… stupid fucking satyr didn’t know what he was doing. Didn’t know how to run Manburg… Didn’t know how to treat you…” Wilbur’s hands card over Quackity’s ear. “He only knew how to drink…”  Quackity has half a mind to add an entire list of other things he’s done wrong but he doesn’t. “I could treat you right.” 

Quackity rests his head on Wilbur’s shoulder. “We threaten each other every 5 seconds.” He snorts. “ Could Quackity. I could.” Quackity’s teeth nibble on Wilbur’s collar bones, his fingers pulling the yellow sweater aside it feels like Wilbur's skin is on fire in the best way possible. Wilbur’s already painfully hard from having a knife pointed at him and Quackity’s teeth only add to the excitement. 

“But will you?”

“ Tonight I'll pamper you beyond belief. I’ll have you spoiled rotten dear… Just let us be something nice for a night, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

Chapter Text

Wilbur stares at the sunrise as smoke trails out of his lips. Another day . He leans against the tree. Another drama. The cigar is perched between his finger tips. I've always had a flare for the dramatics. At least… that's what Quackity told me last night. Unlike Niki he wasn't dramatic enough to start a wildfire. Repeat the flames surrounding L'manburg while a fire around Las Nevadas silently whispers "me too" in agreement. 

His skin burns as he stubs the cigarette. Not my nation. He feels the phantom of Quackity's lips on his wrist as he watches the flame die on his pale skin. Red circles.The cigar fell from his fingers into the overgrown grass.  

Sally didn't like my sonnets. It seems Quackity doesn’t either. 

The red haired siren was rather unamused and hard to please. I miss that woman. Wilbur blinks slowly as he sighs. I bet she's still swimming around in that fucking crater. His shoulders tense and maybe he needs another cigarette before his throat closes up. Filling it with smoke before his emotions overwhelm him. 

A golden feather sticks out in his coat pocket. He wants to return it. Lungs filling with smoke and too many fucking flings— that was Wilbur. He still has too many of Sally's clothes in his old van. His new one is the same model as the one from L'manburg and he’s repeating history. 

Instead of a siren by the docks it's an avian by the desert. Instead of lipstick covering his collarbones it's dark bite marks because Quackity was like a bird of prey. Quackity played for keeps and Wilbur was the returning loser rather than champion. And instead of using pink scales as guitar picks he finds himself dotting golden feathers in-between the vase of flowers on the desk of his van. 

What did Wilbur have to give? Other than the flesh that was too fragile and that should be rotting six feet under. Because he's a goddamned zombie who shouldn't have clawed his way out of hell's depths. He left cigarettes and grey hairs. Well actually more of a silvery white from the streaks going through that soft brown because he was too old for this.

He left a trail of destruction.

 He doesn't want to remember when he watched his son jump after reuniting with him because he'd rather die than see his own father. And of course Wilbur begged his own father to stab him and of course he never knew Fundy was watching and— and like father like son.

Wilbur wants another cigarette but he doesn't reach for it. Instead he twirls the golden feather between his fingertips.

The feather truly looked golden in the sunlight and he wonders how Schlatt could sell such a treasure? Wilbur hated the L word. Love. Because last night maybe he was a little out of it and he was an adrenaline junkie. Loathe . Would be a good save.

 It was a better L word in Wilbur's opinion. Saved him the humiliation of saying "I love you." He couldn't save himself from saying the L word to Sally. The first one that is. Love . So maybe if he says loathe three times fast he can practice for what he says when Quackity goes back to hating him.

 Loathe—Lothe—Love? Wilbur can't because his tongue trips even with his mouth pressed shut his internal monologue is incompetent. Quackity wasn't in his right mind when he said that. The L word. He meant loathe. 

Maybe he mistook me for Karl and ol' Sap for a moment. Quackity would never get over their memory loss, firecracker of a personality. Maybe Quackity wasn't built for polyamory. He wasn't built for Jschatt either. Of course Quackity was built for no one. XD didn't pick favorites— even if XD brought back the most vile man he could have on the Esempi. Me .

Wilbur probably opened old wounds yesterday. With the way he fixed Quackity's elytra with such grace. People hunted avains for sport. Humans with wings, Avians, Elytrans, Hybrids all the same— as long as they could rip the wings out of their back and manufacture them for their own use. Greedy humans who couldn't find natural Elytras from the fallen Avians and Elytrans, they hunted the living ones down or ripped out their feathers to fry to craft it.

 Of course only XD could make those— or Enders, with their advanced technology. I reckon Schlatt was jealous. Wilbur couldn't be sure because Quackity was vague and only made rather— shitty hints. Whenever Wilbur tries to inquire. 

hen Quackity pulled out the L word, he had to be thinking of Karl and Sapnap. Because love was a word for lovers. Wilbur and Quackity were nothing like lovers. Even if they did what lovers do occasionally. 

It was just stress relief. Like WIlbur’s cigarettes. Or the bottle of vodka under Quackity's desk. For when work was too hard and other things were too. The feather from the avian was a parting gift. Although he never gave Wilbur anything when he was in the Pogtopian caves doing things they shouldn't while everyone else slept. Maybe that's why Sally left Wilbur. All the thinly veiled cheating with the man he was running against in office. 

Wilbur left his beanie on Quackity's bedside table because it was too hot to put on the morning after and Wilbur was absent-minded. Quackity owns so many beanies he probably wouldn't notice one more. One more placed right next to the familiar ashtray that Wilbur gave  to a non-smoker. Because he found himself crawling back there every few months anyway.

Last night was fun for Wilbur. Slow gentle sex, after using death threats as foreplay.

Wilbur wishes it were the old days. Where he'd lean against the trees of L'manburg jotting down poetry for that Mermaid— before the word Merfolk sounded like Siren and Siren sounded like Shapeshifter and Shapeshifter sounded like "Get the fuck away from me you succubus !" 

Suddenly the grass wasn't caressing his ankles. It was itching. And the cold wind made his breath look like smoke because back then he wasn't a smoker. I needed a pack after the breakup. Wilbur misses that torn up old journal with yellowed pages and sloppy ink to match his sloppy sonnets that he'd sing by the nation's tall obsidian walls.

Wilbur hopes he gets a littering complaint with all these cigarettes wedged in-between the blades of grass just barely outside of Las Navadas. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur finds himself in his van. Wilbur shrugs off his coat, setting it on the hanger. His eyes linger on where Ranboo's urn should have been. Tubbo stole it. Wilbur can't be bothered to get mad because that was Tubbo’s dead husband after all. 

Wilbur just cranks up the ac because it's too hot in here. The humid air hits him as he opens the window. He wants to take another smoke break. But he's already bad enough for parking outside of Las Nevadas again . He swears he'll move it again when he's done before Quackity chews him out again. 

He just idly cooks burgers and serves it to whoever buys. The spatula is rusting and Wilbur's not even there. He's just going through the motions as he looks at the feather perched between the buttercups in his flower vase. An ashtray sat next to it. It was empty. His arms hurt. Wilbur can't tell if it's from working the grill and the oil popping up or the stubbed cigarette burns on his arms. Either way his eyes are half lidded as he assembles burgers. 

He hands a burger to another customer as he sighs. He'd love another excuse to see Quackity. Birds chirped softly as they toured the skies with Avains and Elytrans. Quackity doesn't go flying much anymore. Wilbur can't help but chuckle at his thoughts as he watches the winged people follow behind the birds as the sun ticked down signaling it was just past noon.

Boring, boring Quackity. He doesn't know how to have a little fun anymore. Only office work— which he's sure Quackity is running behind on due to Wilbur's intrusion a few days ago. 

Wilbur hummed as he tapped his fingers against the desk awaiting another customer. 

Wilbur flinches feeling the wired phone in the back start ringing. I'm so dead. He closes the window flipping the sign to close before picking up the red phone. It was old-fashioned. Because it was more common in Wilbur's time and he hasn't caught up with the technology of the past 13 years. 

" Wilburger-Ranvan how may I take your—" 

"What the fuck have I told you about parking outside my goddamn restaurant!" W

Wilbur purses his lips looking at the blue themed restaurant in the distance. "That is uh… Rather bad for business?" He squeezes his eyes shut hearing Quackity's shrill voice through the phone. "Fuck you." Quackity hisses and the line goes dead.

Wilbur purses his lips as he places the phone back down "Odd fellow…" Should I pack it up and leave?

  The phone rings again a second later and Wilbur stifles back an amused chuckle. He leans against the counter twirling the curly red wire. "What now Quackity?" His voice is a bit lighter and more playful. "Going to elaborate on your previous statement?" Wilbur's lips curve into a smile. Quackity stammers for a moment before Wilbur cuts him off. "My, my and from your work phone too?"

"Last night I cried while thinking of having sex with you." Wilbur's expression faulted as Quackity's voice crackled through the receiver. Cried or Cried was the question. "What do you mean?" Wilbur stops twirling the wire because it sounded like the latter— the literal meaning. "Was I… that good or do you need a shoulder to cry on?" To flirt or show empathy? 

Quackity's voice was hushed. It was hushed because he hated this, he hated Wilbur and he hated the memories surging through him right now. "Just shut up! shut the fuck up and let me talk you asshole." His voice cracked slightly and maybe Wilbur crossed a line. Wilbur frowns hearing his voice raise. However he doesn't say anything. Quackity realizes this and he goes silent as well. 

Didn't he want to talk? He has the floor tall all you want. Wilbur's nails drum against the back of the phone. He's back to hating me as I thought. Never trust the L word.

  His grip on his phone tightens. "What's wrong with you?" Wilbur blinks dully. 

"You asked me to be quiet here. I am being quiet. What do you want Quackity? Staying closed is 'bad for business'." He mocks. "Don't play with me." Wilbur says coldly. "I don't know." Quackity mumbles. "Start with why you were just bawling your eyes out, yeah? I don't have all day." Talking with Quackity is like talking to a brick wall. "You weren't— I… I wasn't. Never mind." Quackity stops.

Quackity doesn't do conversation. Neither does Wilbur frankly, but Wilbur's head tilts as he presses the phone closer. He looks through the blinds. "No, go on. What's wrong? What could be troubling the most powerful man on the Essempi? Because surely this is deeper than little old me " Wilbur monologues. 

"You're right your not like Schlatt at all." Quackity mumbles. "Oh? And you begged me not to be." Wilbur challenges. "Is this a complaint ? Are you filing a bloody complaint now? Because I did what you asked." Wilbur talks too much. Schlatt yelled and screamed. Quackity knew the difference. "Because you didn't want to keep your hands off of me for one second—" Wilbur continues rather annoyed. "I wasn't trying to complain!" Quackity interrupts. 

"Oh? Do tell then to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?" His eyes shift to the phone in his hand. "I- I've just… What happened to you? Old Wilbur was never that gentle with me when we…" Quackity says slowly. "Old Wilbur is dead ." He spits. 

So what if Wilbur was a little more gentle and tender last night than he should have been. It doesn’t mean anything. 

"Have you ever considered I don't want to hurt you —"

"i-i mean! I mean people . Have you ever considered I don't want to hurt people anymore Q? Or is your bird brain so puny you can't fathom the idea of me having a heart !?" 

This strikes a nerve. "I still have my humanity!" Quackity hisses. Wilbur's heart races at his angry tone. And if Wilbur's eyes slipped shut he could picture the way Quackity's wings would flutter in irritation.

"And I have a heart!" He yells into the phone.

"And I want you to be—" Quackity cuts himself off before he finishes the sentence. His voice was raspy from talking or rather yelling so much. "Be what?" Quackity doesn't answer. "You're an idiot." Wilbur spells it out for him. "An idiot who can't even answer my own question, such a simple one too!" Wilbur taunts as his eyes narrow. 

He glares into the closed sign on the van. Quackity wasn't sore, he wasn't full of regrets and he hates that fact. He hates how his medicine cabinet remains fully stocked. It wasn't like Manburg at all. History wasn't repeating entirely. Some things change and others don't. Wilbur changed in some ways. Quackity hangs up on him.  Wilbur looks at the phone in mild disgust hearing the line beep. 

Quackity takes a deep breath staring out of the glass window in his office seeing the van in the distance. The sign flickered back to 'Open' shortly after Quackity hung up. Quackity stared at his desk for a moment; it was empty, void of any work. Only the phone sat on his desk. Quackity had little company after Charlie died— his assistant. Unpaid intern . Is what Wilbur called him. "Quackity from Las Nevadas?" Charlie's voice echoed in his memory. Quackity set down the old photograph by his phone.

Quackity stared out the window before shaking his head seeing Wilbur continue to steal the customers from the burger joint near the edge of the desert. Instead they flicked to the van in the forest. If Quackity didn't like Wilbur to a degree he would have picked up the phone and gone back to chewing him out. But of course, after their last conversation— Quackity found himself too flustered and breathless to speak. Of course with Wilbur talking over him half the time with that condensing tone. 

He was completely ashamed. Rather humiliated from how it seemed Wilbur was the one chewing him out not the other way around. Quackity's breath hitched as he took one last look at the window. There was something wrong with him. With both of them, but right now more so with Quackity. Bird brain? His mind echoed. Haven't heard that one in awhile. 

Quackity closed up the office for that day and left. The tie on his neck felt like it was strangling him half to death. If Wilbur were there Quackity knows he'd say something poetic like "that presidential tie is a noose if you wear it long enough!" 

First Wilbur. A mountain of TNT and apparently a sword. then Schlatt. His liver was bad and he had a heart attack while downing his favorite drink. then Tubbo. A firework to his eye and then TNT falling from the heavens—  Quackity’s fate was undecided. 

Quackity doesn't know what his fate entails so he takes off the tie before he follows in every president's footsteps. A tradition of death. I'm a leader now. I lead people. I don't follow. Not whatever shitty tradition Wilbur started.

 it's ironic because Quackity and Wilbur's chemistry is quite explosive. They're both like firecrackers, their flames bounce off each other and everything they do is heated and passionate in one way or another. They are passionate people after all. Quackity shoves the red tie in his pocket and locks the door behind him before trailing down the staircase. 

A wave of heat hits him as he leaves the building. It smacks him, right in the face and Quackity is reminded he needs a haircut. But he doesn't because Wilbur thinks the overgrown raven hair is cute. He doesn't cut it off. Just like Quackity told Wilbur the grey hairs suit him and not to dye it back to its natural brown— free from aging. Maybe that's because Quackity lives in the past. 

Maybe that's why he wants a haircut. To cut off all those past memories and pretend he's still in Manburg and that bottle of vodka is Schatts and that evenings with Wilbur we're evenings with Schlatt.and pretend Wilbur hasn't changed from the time of Manburg. Manburg, when Quackity's hair was cropped and when Wilbur was young enough that all of it was brown. 13 years ago. Sometimes Quackity sees grey hairs of his own and his heart just about jumpstarts as he plucks it out, like Schlatt would pluck Quackity's feathers for a spare coin. Quackity lives in the past.

When Quackity arrives home and all he can see when he opens his room is himself sobbing. Except no one is there and only the creaking of the floorboards is there as he sits on the bed. He runs his hand through his sleek black hair as he groans in exhaustion. Wilbur always knew how to tire him out. The man was impossible to talk to. Like a brick wall. Quackity swears Wilbur is rather— emotionally unavailable. Which is ironic because Wilbur thinks it's the other way around. Maybe they're both the problem. 

Quackity stares at the mirror and for a moment he wonders if he's in the past. Tears, sobbing— opening a bottle like Schlatt would. When really— he was thinking of Wilbur. Wilbur never wants anything serious. Says the man with 3 exes to date. Quackity doesn't bother to put away the broken frames on the photograph of his ex-fiances. He knows Wilbur keeps a photo of Sally in his wallet. Really it should be someone more important. Quackity pretends he doesn't wish for the photo to be of himself.

Quackity had a photo of Wilbur. Actually no— has. He never threw away the photo. Quackity digs it out from his drawer. We were younger then. There was no silver intertwined with the brown in Wilbur's hair. He was all dressed up in the standard L'manburgain soldier uniform. Quackity's eyes trailed down the image tastefully.

  I couldn't get a single word in earlier. Quackity's eyes fell shut for a moment. He just kept talking over me… Quackity's fingers tightened on the photo. It's so belittling when he treats me like that. Quackity unbutton the white collared shirt. His wings fluffed slightly as he set down the photograph. Like I don't even know what I'm talking about. 

His tan fingers undo each button one by one. He was sweating from the heat from the desert. Quackity exhales sharply as he shrugs off the shirt, his bare chest  exposed. The photograph is discarded somewhere on the rumpled blankets. I really oughta put Wilbur in his place again. 

Quackity's eyes flutter as he gets up tossing the discarded shirt in the laundry basket. The man flexes his wings and arms for a moment, yawning. Maybe Wilbur was just "that good." As he said on the phone earlier. There's some truth to that statement. Quackity hates how gentle Wilbur was and of course now he wants Wilbur under his thumb— Sobbing, begging and whimpering. 

Wilbur's right, in a sense I am an idiot. Quackity sits down and the bed creaks in complaint. Wilbur was awfully submissive when he had a knife pointed to his throat. Of course Wilbur was into that. Kinky bastard. Quackity wondered if he waved around that knife again if Wilbur would get angry enough to rough him up properly. Something disgustingly carnal that would leave him limping the morning after. Something Schlatt used to do often.

Quackity leans against the bedframe feeling his blood buzz. He hated those nights and yet now he has the nerve to miss them. Hypocrite. Quackity sets the photograph of Wilbur on his desk. He ignores the way the photo of Wilbur makes his blood rush downwards. Quackity's tongue runs over his teeth. I don't have any paperwork. Quackity's eyes flicker to the old photo of his ex-fiance's. Your single… it's not wrong. Just like there was nothing wrong with what me and Wilbur did a few days ago. 

Yet now all the sweet talk was gone. Only traces of pity from Quackity's vague breakdown the other day. Sometimes it's hotter when he doesn't sweet talk me. His fingers hook around the belt loop. Quackity's wings twitch slightly as he shifts his weight and his hands undo the loop. It hits the floor with a soft thud. He looks at Wilbur's ashtray and beanie on the desk. The photograph sat atop of it brushing against the lamp. 

What was I even trying to tell him over the phone? Quackity's mind goes blank for a moment. That Wilbur was too gentle? That Wilbur treated him so kindly it sent Quackity into some sort of breakdown a few nights later? Quackity needed something rough and fast . Because Quackity wasn't looking to heal and he wanted something comforting . Something familiar. So when his fingers slip below the waistband of his boxers he grips his cock just a little too tight, he feels happier. Because it’s Familiar.

Not easy and gentle like Wilbur was trying to act as if late. That wasn't the real Wilbur. Quackity ignores the way his eyes water slightly at the pressure. It hurts a little. It's familiar. It's safe because it's familiar. Except something safe isn't supposed to hurt. But it feels good right? It feels good. As he strokes the stiff area. His other hand brushes up against his lips. 

"Fuck…"

"Fucking hell!" Quackity breathes as his eyes flutter shut. His shoulders tense as his etyra contracts. He bites his lip as he shutters out a quiet moan. His hand didn't squeeze gently. Quackity couldn't handle being gentle today. He liked how Wilbur wasn't gentle when he verbally obliterated Quackity. "Oh— oh fuck! W-will…" he pants as his fingers move. 

It was rather ironic how Quackity uses his hand like Schlatt would— Rough and careless, borderline hurting him; and yet he whimpers out the president before Schlatt's name. "Wilbur!" Quackity cries and it's quite literal . Tears bud in his eyes because Quackity knows he's being way too rough with himself when his nails dig in slightly. He enjoys it though— his eyes are rolling back slightly and all he's seeing is stars despite it being in the afternoon.

 The way he strokes is something old Wilbur would do. Presidential Wilbur who ran his country with an iron fist. Just like Jschatt ruled with an iron fist. Maybe I have a thing for people with iron fists. Or maybe he's conditioned to like people like that. 

"Augh! Ah— i- I- I can't! F-fuck… I can't breathe." Quackity feels the way tears trickle down his face as he grows closer. He wants to beat Wilbur into submission and yet here was fantasizing about the exact opposite. 

Quackity's lips are a soft wet red as they part. "Ah!" He struggles to breathe because he's thinking of that smoker again. Who left his ashtray in his room with a beanie. And what he wouldn't give to have Wilbur on top of him right now. Marking up his collarbones to the point they ached and Quackity would need health potions afterward.  Quackity whined as he stroked his cock a bit faster, a bit eager rather desperate at the thought. He climaxes with a loud whine as he struggles to catch his breath.

Quackity wishes to be the photo in WIlbur’s wallet. Quackity feels the hot white liquid cascading over his bare stomach. His knuckles brush against the old photo of Wilbur. Quackity decides to keep that photo of WIlbur in his own wallet instead.

Chapter Text

Quackity's voice grated against Wilbur's ears. "What I can't even have this?! This one singular small victory. Are you feeling outshone now Wilbur!? Because my country has real justice for criminals" Quackity's laugh makes Wilbur's eye twitch in anger. "It's as I said before your in my shadow— And Tommy is no criminal!" He snarks and Quackity slams him against the wall. "Get the fuck out of my country Wilbur. You and your brother." Wilbur's eyes roll back as his vision blacks for a moment.  His head throbs when it hits the brick wall.

 Tommy watches in fear, his blue pupils are splinters. “N-No! No get the fuck away from him big Q!” The boy stammers as his red wings twitch in fear. Wilbur’s brown hair is a mess as he looks up at Quackity dazed. Tommy’s breath quickens as Wilbur mouths the words ‘run.’ Tommy feels frozen with the sack of golden apples in hand. 

“Thomas, your older brother isn’t a good man.” And the way Quackity says it makes Tommy feel like he’s just some dumb child. Really, he’s 19 and he’s never had a childhood. But that doesn’t stop the anger rising in his fists. Of course his brother— Wilbur, was more of a loud mouth than Tommy. 

"Feeling threatened now Q? Afraid of a little competition? Afraid that Las Nevadas will never measure up to L'manburg!?" Wilbur laughs. Tommy makes a ‘cut it out’ motion with his hands. He can barely see what he’s doing as his blonde hair is long overgrown. 

“Mirroring ol’ Schlatt  now? Kicking us two lads out.” His voice is humorless and it strikes a nerve within Quackity. “Don’t talk about that man!” He grits his teeth. 

“Go Tommy.” Wilbur says a bit firmer before he cries out in pain. A few of Tommy’s feather’s fall out as he’s startled by the sight before him. “Go— Good god Tommy are you fucking deaf!?” 

Wilbur inhales sharply as he gasps feeling a fist collide with his stomach. His brother flies away clutching the stolen apples in fear.  L'manburg … rigged elections, Manburg, the vice president acting as the ruler. "You rigged that shitty event! And your such a sore loser that you went and fucking bombed everyone!" Quackity’s fist most definitely left a bruise. Wilbur would be black and blue next time Tommy saw him. 

"Fuck!" He hisses in pain. "You asshole!" Wilbur pushes Quackity away clutching his side. "This is a free country, remember Q?” Not exile. Never exile. Not after what happened to Tommy— Tall buildings, ideals like his older brother, the wind in his hair as he debates whether or not his avain instincts will force him to fly.   "Not for a war criminal and his petty thief of a brother." Quackity says coldly. 

"Oh? Oh! You weren't saying that a few days ago— 'Oh Wilbur please don't leave me alone! Oh Wilbur please come home with me tonight! Oh Wilbur fuck my brains out—'* He mimics Quackity's voice. Each hit feels like it’s sending a wave of desire singing through Wilbur’s body. He feels pain shoot through his jaw as Quackity hits him. Wilbur is grateful he doesn’t pass out but his teeth are numb and he tastes metal. “I do not sound like that you piece of shit!” Its been awhile since Wilbur’s tasted iron. 

Quackity’s nails dig into Wilbur’s shoulder. Wilbur suppresses a low shuddering whine. He hates how the pain turns him on. Quackity is too busy seeing red right now to notice. Wilbur’s face isn’t as peachy with that familiar blue bruise making a comeback.

“Why are you so bothered over Tommy he’s just a kid" Wilbur yells and he feels like he's grinding his teeth. Wilbur forgets Tommy isn’t some 3 year old wandering L’manburg’s streets. Wilbur forgets he’s not an 18 year old signing up for war. “He’s an adult. he’s been an adult for awhile! He knows what he’s doing and those are fucking golden apples .” And Wilbur’s mouth is agape for a moment.

 ”…right.”

Wilbur grabs Quackity's chin. "Well he’s the only family I have left! The fuck happened to that? Sticking up for your brothers— protecting those you love." Wilbur says slowly. “You made him fight a war he never signed up for! He lied about his age.” And Wilbur knows Quackity’s right about this one. "I remembered why I hate every fucking fiber of your being." Quackity slaps his hand away. 

Passion is a two way street.

“Oh do tell oh great and powerful Quackity.” Wilbur spits. Red feathers fell from the skies, his brother was long gone by now. Was this even about Tommy anymore? “Because you think you can do no wrong!” Wilbur's nails dig into Quackity's wings as his eyes widen in pain. “Fuck!” He hisses. Wilbur’s nails were rough and clumsy. Quackity can feel a soft whine fighting its way out of his lips. 

 "This is why no one likes you, Quackity. Sure you may be loved by thousands but does anyone even like you?" He splits. Quackity's eyes narrow as his wings thrash in complaint. "Plenty like me! Karl did!" Wilbur laughs. Quackity would need his wings preened again."He doesn't even fucking remember you Q! And that's fair— maybe you're not worth remembering!" His laugh makes Quackity's blood boil .

 It makes Quackity see red . "And maybe you weren't worth reviving. " Red, red, red, red, red— "Maybe I should put you back six feet under!" 

Quackity knocks Wilbur off of him. Quackity doesn't fly, not often . Not like he used to— Across the skies of L’manburg before his wings ached so regularly that he stopped. So Wilbur grits his teeth with the feathers thrash and hits him as Quackity takes off.

 "I don't think XD would like that Q." Wilbur taunts because it's all Wilbur can do at this point.

Quackity doesn’t fly often but he's six feet above Wilbur with a bow and arrow in hand. The arrow isn't enchanted with love. Quackity and Cupid are not synopsis. But Wilbur swears Quackity looks like an angel when he shoots him. A Cupid.

The sun shines between Quackity's golden feathers as the arrow twists through the air. Wilbur is enraged with this man above him and yet he finds it poetic when the arrow digs through his bleeding heart. "Oi you fucker!" Wilbur swears as he falls onto the brick wall behind him clutching his yellow sweater. 

"I don't give a flying fuck what XD thinks! He can bring you back and I'll kill you again for all I care!" Quackity is a sadist at heart.

Wilbur sees red . Wilbur's heart beats and it beats fast because he tastes iron. And his chest— it feels sticky and hot and wet and Wilbur realizes he's bleeding. Cupid shot me. And Wilbur swears and curses because he meant Quackity not Cupid. This was no love arrow. It was not laced with potion. It was not laced with love.

So what was this blossoming feeling along with the red rivers pouring down from the wound in his chest? 

A part of Wilbur is scared. He's scared because he's heard what Quackity does to people he doesn't like and he knows what happened in the main cell in Pandora's box. Sam turns a blind eye but his ears will forever remember the screams of the prisoner. Sam let the torture sessions continue because Quackity was a sadist.

Quackity was a sadist and yet Wilbur swears Quackity holding Cupid's bow.

Wilbur finds himself interested in Quackity for more than just the idea of using his power to get Wilbur’s family life back in order. Wilbur tries not to get distracted, but the straining erection in his pants when he sees Quackity is happening far too often for it to be considered casual sex. Wilbur’s heartaches, so bad.

This is why I told Tom to run. Wilbur's heart hurts. He can’t handle this— he’s just a boy. He’s been an adult for years. And he’s hungry and golden apples are his favorite. They were always his favorite.  

"XD will damn you! And I'm sure your limbo is far worse than mine!". Wilbur's fingers curl around the wooden rod of the arrow as he groans in pain. Yet his heart flutters because he's a masochist when it comes to Quackity.

 "I may have killed hundreds of thousands but at least I don't torture people!" Wilbur's eyes lock onto the axe on Quackity's back, stowed away in place of the arrows. *He deserves it. You and I both know that!" 

He's right.

Wilbur pretends he doesn’t feel afraid and aroused when Quackity forgets to polish his netherite axe. He pretends the layers upon layers of dried blood don’t make him pale. Red, red, red, red, red— Wilbur sees red . Quackity sees red . But Quackity doesn’t want to make a mess and he doesn’t aim to kill. My mouth tastes red. Quackity pulls another arrow past the string as he prepares to shoot. Red tastes like iron.  

"Choose your next words very carefully " Because Quackity doesn’t aim to kill but on the Essmpi there’s a killer in everyone. Quackity says his words lowly. And Wilbur— he feels alive . Wilbur’s body leans against the side of the supermarket. Wilbur can't help but grin. He can't help but smile as the adrenaline pumps through his veins. His body is in agony but god he feels alive. He hasn't felt this alive since he killed himself. 

Quackity makes Wilbur feel alive again. Quackity makes Wilbur feel like he’s young and invincible when he tries to hurt him. Wilbur loves the rivalhood and the challenge Quackity brings as much as the danger. The danger was too sexy to resist. 

"You're an odd fellow Quackity." He coughs as his fingers brush over his lips. Red splatters between his knuckles. Hot and warm and red and metallic. He loves the adrenaline. 

His other hand tightens around the arrow as he rips it out his eyes watering as he bites back an agonizing scream. "Fuck you." Wilbur says lowly as red trickles out of his chest. A new scar to add to the collection. One of what felt like hundreds. Of course another arrow pierced his skin. It hurts like hell. 

Fuck I need a health potion. And his eye lashes flutter as he chuckles because no matter how bad it hurt he can’t deny the way he wishes Quackity would injure him further. Wilbur wanted Quackity to bend him over and fuck him raw and hard under this masochistic heat he’s fallen into. 

"I fucking hate you Quackity" He chuckles as he tries to stand. And he reached in his coat pocket— the trenchcoat that Quackity thinks is rather disgusting. And Wilbur downs a regeneration potion. 

All of this and over what? Just a little trespassing ? Just a little breaking and entering . 

From his brother’s hunger running on E as always? Wilbur feels his heart stitch itself shut. He pushes aside the desire for Quackity in that moment.  "Just leave Tom alone, he's just a kid he's already been through enough! Don’t go after him— I can pay for the apples" Wilbur didn’t know when Tommy started stealing or when Tommy started getting so thin but he knew Tommy was a good man.

 “Their gold. ” And I am mortal. Wilbur sits up hastily wiping the blood from his lips and fingers. The bruises faded away slowly as Wilbur rubs his cheek with a pained expression. “And i’ll fucking pay now get off my ass.” Quackity’s boots hit the ground with a soft click. His golden wings fluttered. 

He still held that bow and Wilbur still thinks he looks angelic when he shot him earlier.

Quackity is Cupid.

“You could have done that in the first place you fucking— How dumb are you!?” Quackity’s fingers tighten around the bow. “Now that's no fun is it?” Wilbur raises a brow as he puts his hand over Quackity’s to lower the bow. “Now play nice next time— Some of us don’t have many lives left.” 

Tommy, Myself. 

“I’ll pry the revive book from XD’s cold dead hands if i have to.” Quackity hisses as he puts the bow away. “Now write me a check before Tommy is missing more than just one middle finger.” Wilbur grimaces at the thought. 

“You like your gold Q.” Is what he says instead. “I like my country’s economy to stay afloat.” Quackity says firmly. “You don’t like being a sitting duck , just letting it take care of itself?” Wilbur tilts his head as he looks down at Quackity. “I’m not you Wilbur.” Quackity ignores the way the old photo of Wilbur in his wallet weighs heavy. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Wilbur chuckles. 

Wilbur’s skill is reverberating as he takes out a cigar. This oughta make me feel better. His tongue tastes like ash and blood. “Means you were a shit president, now quit stalling— i might as well reposses that van of yours.” Wilbur glares. “Food truck!” He corrects. 

“And I don't carry checks, just take some gems yeah?” Wilbur digs through his pockets. “Just don’t bloody hit me again….” He groans. If he smacks me one more time I think I might bust… 10 diamonds rest in Quackity’s palm. Quackity inspects them for a moment. “I suppose that's enough.” 

“Is Tom still outlawed?” Wilbur jokes as Quackity pockets the jewels. “Yes— until he can keep those grubby little hands off the local products.” Ah so never. “Sch–” Wilbur hisses in pain at the slap. “Don’t you even dare say his fucking name in my presence.” Quackity growls, it feels like the feathers on his wings are standing on their ends. 

“Do you really want to put me six feet under?” Wilbur asks softly. “Allways.” Quackity snaps without a second thought. 

Quackity is worth remembering but god i don’t want to remember this tomorrow.  I don’t want to remember that I like Quackity and every venomous one-liner I shoot is akin to Cupid’s bow. But alas— my wings are long gone and I don't carry arrows. Quackity struck my heart with that arrow. I didn’t strike him. 

“Me too.” Wilbur says grimly.

Wilbur lost his wings in that explosion— the one in L’manburg, all the feathers charred black. He couldn’t feel his nerves and yet he was manic begging his father to take his last life— his third life. Of course XD had other plans granting Wilbur a fourth chance. 

Wilbur is no angel, and it would be a sick joke to call himself an avian or an elytran because his wings were just skeletons. Just long thin bones cascading from his back bones where the burn scars meet where his wings used to be.

“You too?” Quackity’s heart stops for a moment.

“Me too.” Wilbur echoes. 

Chapter Text

Quackity finds himself in his office a couple hours later. His pen glides over the papers as he blinks slowly. He's got eyebags again . He doesn't dwell on Wilbur's words earlier but the pain in his wings lingers. Wilbur has tough nails. Bastard. The pain is almost familiar. Like feathers being plucked out for the selling.hat wasn't Wilbur's intention. But the pain was all the same. Quackity grits his teeth as his wings fold shut.

  Focus. Quackity's struggling to pay attention. He finds himself thinking of Schlatt. He did his paperwork drunk. And as much as Quackity found that rather disgustingly pathetic he found himself wanting to do the same thing. Maybe the familiar burn of alcohol would take away from the ache in my wings. But Quackity doesn't reach for the bottle because he is no fool.

 Quackity sets the papers aside. He would buy a golden apple but of course, that overgrown brat Thomas stole them all. It would be at least another week until the market restocks. Quackity hates wasting health potions, especially on something as small as this. 

Although by that definition Quackity was happy to 'waste' them on Wilbur in the few moments Quackity did regret hurting the man.Schlatt never gave Quackity health potions. Blood would trickle in-between his feathers tainting the gold color. Staining it. Quackity would come to work the next day with no complaints. He saw how Tubbo got smacked around and Quackity decided being Schlatt's 'plaything' was a less cruel fate. Of course both were unpleasant and who was Quackity to compare trauma?

 Quackity extended his wing as he set down the ink pen. He gently grabbed the wing pulling it over, careful not to twist it. Scratches, slightly indented. The marks glew red. Quackity let go of his wing as it fluttered back shut with the other wing. He could tough it out. Quackity finished up his paperwork and stood idle looking out the window.  

I wonder how hell is treating Schlatt? According to Wilbur while he was dead, Schlatt's grown fond of card games while in limbo. Quackity watches the clouds overhead. He deserves to rot. 

Tommy was probably out by SnowChester sharing those golden apples with Tubbo. If Wilbur didn't pay Quackity off and if Quackity didn't pity Tubbo then he would have been stuck in Pandora's vault. Tommy had already been trapped there once— he'd already been revived once too; in that sense he was like his brother. Quackity found Tommy rather irritating like a thorn in his side. 

Wilbur would really kill me if I went after him. That was one of Wilbur's few good traits— he would stick up for those he cared about. Even if what they did was fundamentally wrong. 

Quackity looks out the window. He wishes he just downed a health potion because he does miss flying. Instead he leaves his wings be and just takes off his tie before leaving the building. I don't need to be relying on potions or painkillers. Unlike Wilbur, Quackity just grit his teeth and toughs things out. Just like in Manburg. 

The hot sun beats down on him as makes his way to the Stables and mounts his horse. I should pay that bitch a visit. The skeleton horse neighs as it gallops down the paved dirt road away from the busy streets with bustling cars. It's hooves pounded against the roads leaving a trail of dust and a few civilians turned their heads before going back to their day. It was not unusual to see the president riding his horse down the secondary roads— there was the sidewalk, a cemented road and then a dirt one. Typically for bikers or people who'd rather ride a horse than purchase a car. 

The wind in his hair was comforting as he held onto the horse's neck as it groped towards the L'manburg ruins. He was going to visit the grave yard.

Just like Phil did when Wilbur died. And just like Tubbo did when Tommy died. Although XD ended up resurrecting both later— Schlatt remained dead. Quackity was grateful for that. He had mixed feelings about the other two's new lease on life. 

Soon the sandy desert faded into a forest full of rich green trees. Wilbur looked up from the open window in his van seeing the horse run by. He had a amused expression and watched as Quackity and the horse passed by his van. Quackity was too wrapped up in his own head to acknowledge the other. 

\ The mid length black locks pushed back as he moved. The horse weaved through the trees. Quackity took care to keep his wings closed during this as not to injure them further. He could just take a health potion but Quackity was above that. He didn't need it. Wilbur didn't shoot him in the heart. It would be unnecessary .

After an hour or so Quackity finds himself outside the ruins. It's not the same as it was. A large crater sat with a pond in the bottom of it. A broken L'manburgain flag rested in the murky water. He can almost see when the land was full of oak buildings and cobblestone structures. Walkways and pathways made of wood extended across the crater and vines hung off of them. There was fencing around the bridges except for one ledge.

 It leaves a bitter taste in Quackity's mouth and he pretends Fundy's corpse isn't rotting underwater right now. Of course he wasn't here to look for Wilbur's son's grave— he couldn't care less for the man's family. Phil was no clean whistle, Tommy was a thief and Technoblade left a nasty scar crawling down Quackity's eye. He hated Wilbur's family and Wilbur by extension. 

I'm rather lucky my vision isn't completely fucked. 

Quackity steers the horse along the sides of the cliff carefully as a few rocks fall off. The graveyard wasn't far from here. It was just on the outskirts of L'manburg. Mostly for soldiers that died in one of the three wars. Schlatt died of a heart attack not war, although there was already a coup against him.

Quackity stops outside the graveyard. It was the same as he remembers. He ties the horse back to one of the iron fences after stepping off the skeleton horse. It neighs as he does so. "Don't move Bones." He mumbles, giving it a soft pat on the head. Quackity turns away before opening the gates, it creaks open. He walks into the graveyard.

Last time he was here Schlatt had just died. It was Manburg back then, not New L'manburg. Quackity swears he can taste blood because last time he was here he'd eaten Schlatt's heart whole. 

Quackity flexes his wings for a moment before closing them and approaching Jschatt's grave. There are no flowers. Quackity's eyes harden as he spits on it. Schlatt did not deserve flowers. No daisy's rested there because he was not a pure man. He was an alcoholic Saytar. Tubbo was too, being his son and all— but Tubbo wasn't a violent drunk so Quackity excused that. Quackity grinds his spit into the dirt as he curses out the grave in front of him.

There was no person Quackity hated more than Jschatt and he had a good reason for it— screaming, red hand prints, the stench of alcohol, hair pulling, feather plucking, ruthless sex. Schlatt didn't deserve a grave. He was a pathetic excuse of a man. 

Wilbur was a tragedy but Jschatt was a horror story. 

Quackity said a lot of things in that half hour by the grave and all of which were rather vulgar. Quackity's fingers brush over the scratches Wilbur left on his wings over that brat Tommy. Wings were a sensitive subject for Quackity. He reckons if he looked close enough at the golden feathers in-between them would filt with dotted scars. 

He pities Tommy for being born with wings as well— but at least he's never had the displeasure of being treated like some chicken . Quackity doesn't know what to think of the skeletal wing frame dangling off of Wilbur's back. 

All he knows is that he prefers Avains over Saytars anyday. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur has that same arrogant grin with a cigarette clutched between his teeth as he plays blackjack. There's bags of gems behind him but all Quackity sees is the fool In front of the money. He's not thinking about last night. Wilbur is careful to hide his hand as he blows out a puff of smoke taking the cigar between his fingers. 

Quackity walks in silently taking a seat at the bar watching Wilbur gamble from the corner of his eye. Idiota. Quackity thinks to himself because he's so tired his brain is defaulting to it's mother tongue. His eyes are baggy and he thinks he needs another coffee.

There was no way Wilbur would win— and yet, Wilbur is heard cheering as he pulls the bags of money over to his side. Quackity just blinks because he's seeing double. Quackity rubs his eyes. Wilbur did win and he had a stupid smirk on his face as he collected his winnings. 

Quackity rests his head on the bar countertop ignoring the way the bartender wipes down the counters going around him. His eyes click shut until he hears a loud clicking of gems dropped next to him. His eyes snap open. "Get this man a shot!" Quackity sees a blurry brunette between his eyelashes. 

"carajo…?" Quackity's voice is gravely with exhaustion as he looks up at Wilbur. "Quackity! This place rules— What should I order?" He turns back to the bar. Wilbur is sitting up on the barstool. "¿No acabas de pedirte un trago, sabelotodo?" Quackity grumbles sitting up. "No me preguntes estúpido—" Wilbur tilts his head in confusion. Quackity pauses realizing. "S-Stupid question!" He finishes in English. Wilbur chuckles, "You're awfully tired if you don't even realize what language you're speaking." Quackity rolls his eyes. "Take a class." 

Wilbur smiles at Quackity's response. "What did you say earlier? If you don't mind me asking" The bartender sets a shot down in front of Quackity. "didn't you just order a drink, smartass?" His voice grows rather irritated as he pushes the shot to Wilbur.  "Oh! It's for you… you look like you need it." Wilbur pushes it back to Quackity. Quackity's wings fluff as he looks down at the carmel liquid. 

Quackity's fingers wrap around it and he downs it. A familiar borderline painful burn going down his throat. "Fuck…" he mumbles. Wilbur throws a few gems on the counter. "So, what should I think? I'm thinking Pina coladas!" Quackity sighs to himself. "Sure, get that tropical flavor you adore." Wilbur smiles as he orders one.

 Quackity can feel the alcohol going through him as he feels the familiar relaxation wash over him. "te estas poniendo—" Quackity's eyes are half lidded as he speaks. "Hm?" Wilbur's eyes flicker over to him as the bartender makes his drink.

 "I-i meant, your getting more than one ?" He asks quietly. "Well a man's gotta celebrate his success yeah?" Wilbur reasons as the drink is placed in front of him. "Don't fly too close to the sun Icarus." Quackity watches him sip the drink. "Ah rather amusing coming from someone who wasn't born with wings." Quackity frowns. "It's not my fault I'm an Elyran." 

Wilbur wasn't wrong exactly. It took at least a year before the Elytra fully merged with Quackity's back, before the nerves were connected— before he'd cry out in pain when the feathers were plucked because now the wings were truly his.  

He doesn’t want to remember who he got the elytra from.

Wilbur sips the drink from the straw. “Why so worried about me ?” He chuckles. ¡Odio su culo coqueto! Is all Quackity can think. 

Wilbur can smell the alcohol on his breath. “People lose everything here!” Wilbur’s crimson eyes stay resting on the orange beverage in front of him. “And?” Quackity’s wings flare up as he tenses. “Don’t gamble away this blessed life! Your not even supposed to be alive right now and yet you are— don't fuck up.” He grabs Wilbur's shoulders and maybe it's the alcohol talking. “I already see enough filed reports about fights in this damn place. I don't need your names on the Las Nevadas headlines!” Wilbur’s grip around the glass loosens. 

“Awh so you do care about me?” Quackity’s eyes widened. “No, I do— no I don't, I do not care.” His tired eyes narrow as he lies.“You're just some guilty sadist!” And this time his words are a little too specific for Wilbur not to take note of. Quackity’s face is slightly tinted red from the drink.

“What do you mean by that? …Is— is this about yesterday ?” His expression softens. “Stop gambling idiot.” Quackity dodges Wilbur’s question. He eyes the bags upon bags of jewels. Wilbur was clever and it looks like he won by a landslide. “Quackity.” He says a bit firmer. Although he has a slight slur in his voice from the alcohol.

 “No vine aquí a beber gilipollas.” Quackity curses at Wilbur. “ Quackity .” Quackity looks at Wilbur. “¿¡qué!?” Wilbur sighs. “¡no te juegues!” Quackity’s grip on him tightens as he looks at Wilbur with something between anger and concern. “Quackity, I can't understand you…” Wilbur says softly.

“Suena como un problema tuyo, Wilbur.” He huffs turning away. “You sound… mad ? Q, are you mad at me — is that it?” Wilbur tries to understand despite the language barrier. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Quackity remains silent. Wilbur sighs because he knows this time Quackity is only speaking Spanish on purpose, not just because he’s too tired to speak English. The lighting is dim in the Casino people can be heard shouting in the distance but Wilbur pays it no mind. 

Estúpido.

  Wilbur thinks this is deeper than winning a game of blackjack. “Don’t tell me you were up all night…” Wilbur says softly. “tal vez.” Wilbur hates it when Quackity is all vague like that. ‘Maybe’ wasn’t a real answer. 

“You know I don't know a thing you're saying…” Quackity lets go of him. “You're so cocky.” He says in English. 

“Do you play cards often or some shit?” Wilbur’s eyes light up understanding his words. “Schlatt awfully loved cards in limbo— no one else would play with him and, well— I had nothing better to do.” Interesting. “But that's not what we were talking about Quackity.” Wilbur’s eyes narrow as he finishes his drink. The shot is making Quackity’s head spin

“I haven’t slept since the day before last.” Quackity mumbles as Wilbur orders another shot— he won more than enough to cover a round for the whole casino. 

“I don’t sleep much either.” He stays up smoking and watching the stars by the old Crater. If not that, running the Willburger & Ranvan; His food truck. “Was it scary?” Quackity asks all of a sudden. He's light headed— he’s not thinking straight. 

“Pardon?’ And there’s that prominent British accent again. 

“My arrow– are you alright?” Quackity’s hand pushes over Wilbur’s chest. Wilbur chuckles as his face heats up. “You're a bit… handsy this afternoon.” He jokes. “We said so many things to each other…” Quackity mumbles. 

“Did you mean it?” The bartender sets down another shot. “Mean what exactly? And yeah— I suppose my chest is fine, the healing pot took care of it.” He pushes Quackity’s hand away. Quackity takes another shot. 

‘This is why no one likes you, Quackity. Sure you may be loved by thousands but does anyone even like you?’ It rings in his ears every time he looks in the mirror. It was more degrading than anything WIlbur has ever said to him during sex— and it stings way more. 

It stings because Quackity has begun to grow fond of Wilbur’s company.

“Loved by thousands, liked by no one.” Quackity’s throat hurts from the shot. His stomach is warm from all the drinking— although the effects go straight to his head. “Yeah, yeah I did mean that.” Quackity’s heart sinks. “You're always on me about how I'm not a good person— but you use people for power, do you not?”  Wilbur’s words are blunt and almost cold. “I highly doubt those Elytras were a gift from XD. Everyone knows he’s sweet on George not you.” 

Wilbur is too clever. “callarse la boca.” Quackity hisses at him. “No, I will not be ‘shutting up’ Quackity.” Wilbur finds himself ordering himself another drink— just one more, just one more, it's the last one he swears! They’re both day drinking. What is wrong with them. 

Chapter Text

As the night goes on their conversation continues. Though the aggression is dropped and takes on a more seductive tone. Quackity is a flirty drunk. “You like pineapples don’t you? Your one fruity fucker.” Quackity says as his voice slurs a bit as he giggles. He’s tired, and under the influence. Intoxicado . He doesn’t let a word of his episode this morning slip— not any further. “Are you calling me gay?” Wilbur laughs as he grabs the pina colada. 

“pina colada? More like penis colada. Dick liker.”

 Quackity slurs as Wilbur drinks it— he struggles not to spit it out due to the half-choked laugh that takes him. “What?” Quackity talks over Wilbur. “Colada’s are thick and creamy and you're a—” Wilbur snickers at Quacktiy’s wording. “I’m guessing that was a yes then?” Wilbur interrupts.

“Homo.” Quackity mumbles. 

“Actually im bisexual.” Wilbur corrects with a soft grin. 

“You have such a filthy mind Q— is this what kept you up last night?” Wilbur sips the drink as his body seems to relax. Quackity’s eyes were a bit red, the little red vessels crawling around his iris due to the lack of sleep. “Something like that.” Quackity was vague because he liked it rough; No matter how bad it hurt him psychologically every time he refused to set limits with Wilbur. So he took his feelings and stomped it down. 

It’s not like Wilbur even likes domming. 

“Your hair is so pretty I just wanna pull it.” Wilbur’s finger’s reach out to curl around Quackity black hair. It was getting rather long now. “I bet you keep it long just for that... I'd love to see that expression of yours if I just gave it a gentle tug.“ Wilbur’s words go straight down. 

Quackity finds his face burning as Wilbur’s lips hover over his ear. “i do wonder if I could fuck you so hard you forget english completely and go back to your mother tounge” His voice was oh so seductive— and the idea of what he said was even more appealing.“It’s cute how you default to it when your so tired.” He chuckles, like he wasn’t insulting this man half an hour ago.

“I have work today, you know that.” Quackity slurs in complaint. ¿Querría esto si no tuviera trabajo? Wilbur’s fingers play with his hair. No… I wouldn't want that even if I had work. Not right now. “Then why are you still here?” 

I can’t go to work drunk! I– I’m not— no Jschlatt, solo él hace eso! I’m not Schlatt!

  “I thought you couldn’t understand when I spoke Spanish.” He avoids the question. “Doesn’t make it any less sexy.” Wilbur murmurs, placing a kiss against Quackity’s lower jaw. 

Intoxicado, intoxicado, intoxicado.

Neither of them are thinking clearly. Quackity is missing work/“You think it's sexy?” Quackity whispers, a chill runs down his spine. Surely they're causing some sort of scene in this casino. 

“The sexeist.” Wilbur chuckles. 

Wilbur’s just doing what Quackity asked after all; Something rougher, something more dommering, something more like Schlatt. “You were up because you wanted another round yeah? If you want, we can have a little fun in the back of the Casino.” Quackity wouldn’t get in trouble— he owns the nation. 

“por supuesto.” Of course.

Quackity is questioning his choices when he finds himself in a private casino room with Wilbur. There's plush leather chairs surrounding a poker table. Flat screen Tv’s on some walls for those VIP customers that wished to watch the game in between rounds. It was completely empty.

I can’t fucking walk straight… 

The alcohol is getting to Quackity— it's in the way he stumbles forward while Wilbur closes the door behind him. Wilbur has a higher tolerance so his movements seem more clean and swift. “Oh Quackity!” He says in that bubbly cheery tone. Quackity knows it's just the alcohol twisting Wilbur’s tongue. “This would be a darling place to gamble… though it works even better to play with you rather than a few cards.” 

His crimson eyes locked on Quackity. He’s leaning against the poker table, his head feels airy. I’m not thinking straight. “no quieres decir eso.” Is all he mumbles bitterly. ‘You don’t mean that.’ Because it's the Pina coladas talking— not Wilbur.

Drunk words are sober thoughts. Even if it was the drinks talking. 

“What Q? You know I can't understand you.” So Quackity changes his answer. 

“I meant hurry up.” 

“Aren’t we needy today? Begging already?” Wilbur’s voice is light and teasing as he approaches Quackity after double checking the door is locked. 

I suppose I could say anything in Spanish and tell Wilbur it means something else and he’d buy it.

  “I am above begging.” Quackity’s wings fluff up as Wilbur’s hand pulls Quackity’s chin up. “Oh are you now?” Wilbur chuckles as Quackity’s eyes harden into a glare. “Now and always.” He states firmly as Wilbur’s hand snakes past Quackity’s neck. “You sure? You said that last time too.” Wilbur’s eyes are half lidded as he chuckles. “Your feisty as always Q.” 

A soft jazz song plays over the speakers. Wilbur gently pushes Quackity onto the table. His body sways, warm with alcohol as he leans back. I want this— or does the alcohol want this? Do the shots I take make me want this? I do not know. Wilbur brushes the hair out of Quackity’s eyes.

 “Are you here? Or is my little birdie spacing off again?” Quackity’s eyes refocus on the nickname. Schlatt used to call me things like that too.

Quackity’s fingers brush over Wilbur’s wrist, it sends chills down his spine. “Hard to focus on words when you look so delicious .” Quackity’s voice drops a bit lower, almost sultry as his pretty red tinted lips part to speak. Wilbur feels like he can’t bear to look away from them. So… plump and kissable. 

“Awh you want something to eat now Quackity?” Wilbur’s hand drops from Quackity’s hair and his fingers begin to tug at the buttons of Quackity’s white shirt. “I thought birds weren’t supposed to be carnivorous.” That's ironic coming from someone who was born with wings. “You tell me.” Quackity’s fingers trace the lifeless bones and yet Wilbur can feel every hair stand on end when his wings are touched— even if it is only bone.

“Tu sensible.” Quackity chuckles at Wilbur’s expression. “S–Sh… Shut up.” He stumbles over his words as he gets the last button undone. “I am not sensitive.” Wilbur seems to recognize the word structure of Quackity’s sentence and responds correctly for once.

Quackity pulls off his shirt slowly as if intoxicated— which he still very much is. They both are. Wilbur’s face is red in a drunken tint and Quackity’s eyes are unfocused as if he’s really elsewhere. “¿En realidad?” Quackity’s shoe brushes up against Wilbur’s pants, his breath stifles. “Yes really.” Wilbur lies as Quackity moves the shoe teasingly as if messing with him while Quackity pulls off his own white button up shirt.

 “Mentiroso… mentiroso…” He whispers with a soft smile. “What a liar you are.” He continues. Wilbur’s face heats up as Quackity makes fun of him. A few golden feathers drop onto the table as Quackity discards his shirt. 

Now I want it. Because now both alcohol and lust cloud his vision— though the clouds… They will clear with heavy rain once he sobers up and the tears start flowing again. But right now the blood was flowing straight to his cock.

Wilbur looks away rather embarrassed as he leans forward feeling Quackity’s shoe grind through the fabric. “Realmente muy sensible…” Quackity smiles as his fingers pull Wilbur’s face to look at him directly. “How cute.” Quackity taunts as Wilbur’s eyes begin to flutter shut. Quackity strokes Wilbur’s cheek softly before stopping the movement— Wilbur, only just barely able to stop himself as a pathetic whine leaves his mouth. 

“Now you're the beggar.” Wilbur looks up at him red faced. Wilbur’s fingers curl inwards as he feels his erection strain against his boxers. If not for his pride he’d whine out a little “p-please?” Asking Quackity not to quit it. “I’ll have you begging by the time this is over!” His eyes narrow as he speaks. Only because I let you. 

Wilbur climbs onto the poker table sitting on Quackity’s lap. “Oh ho ho, big words coming from you .” Quackity’s breath smells of alcohol just like Wilbur’s as their faces meet for a deep and passionate kiss. Wilbur’s fingers dig into the back of Quackity’s black hair as they kiss. Intoxicado. Quackity makes a soft noise but it's muffled by the kiss. 

I’m missing work. 

Wilbur’s eyes gaze into Quackity’s as he tries to read him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He whispers huskily. Wilbur was good at reading people, wonderful even, but these days Quackity was so guarded he couldn’t see through him. He’s been hurt one too many times. He’s hurt people himself one too many times. He’s hurt himself so many times— Quackity thinks this is one of those times. Because every nerve is on its end— and it's not just in a sexual way.

 He’s anxious under all those smooth spanish words and his heart still stammers even with the jazz playing from the speakers as his tongue meets Wilburs. It's wet and warm and tastes of alcohol and ash. Something of nicotine. I missed the taste of nicotine. Maybe Wilbur will turn him into a smoker one of these days, because Quackity kisses back a little too eagerly. 

Quackity is starting to enjoy these little hook ups too much.

Wilburs nails dig into Quackity’s waist and it makes Quackity whimper a little into the kiss. Or maybe it’s from the way Wilbur rocks his hips against Quackity’s waist that provokes the noise. “Así.” Quackity praises as his breath hitches. Just like that.

  Wilbur pulls away for a moment before his lips press to Quackity’s tan jaw. “You like that?” Wilbur’s teeth dig in slightly as he sucks on the skin. “O-oh fuck… ¡Sí! Sí.” Quackity moans as Wilbur leaves a dark hickey. This will look unprofessional tomorrow. 

Wilbur is starting to get to him. Wilbur can tell by the way Quackity’s words slip into the Spanish equivalent again— even though now he’s more awake than ever. He feels so alive with the way his heart beats. A part of Wilbur is scared to even double cross him. He knows what Quackity does to people he doesn’t like. Wilbur leaves wet kisses down Quackity’s neck as the sounds begin to pour out of him. Quackity would eat him alive if Wilbur messed up badly enough

Bad like Jschlatt.

Wilbur plays Quackity carefully— never revealing his full hand, as he gambles by playing with he who owns the house. 

“What a pretty sound you make…” He murmurs against Quackity’s ear as his face begins to burn up. Quackity’s wings twitch expanding as he’s unraveled in this VIP room. He knows the warmth building in his stomach isn’t from all the alcohol anymore. It’s a mixture now. something between sheer arousal and alcohol. Something between drinking and wanting to be dicked down. 

“I’ll sing a little song for you if you stuff me like a goddamn turkey.” Quackity’s eyes flutter as his nails dig into his palms. ‘

I'm not your fucking songbird! I am not a fucking—’ He said that once. 

“I’ll be your little songbird just— oh please, just fill me already.” He whimpers, or sings rather because it sounds like a beautiful melody to Wilbur’s ears. A song he could keep on repeating. Wilbur’s head hooks around the crook of Quackity’s neck as Wilbur’s hands trail down Quackity’s stomach. It was smooth and flat, rather muscular.

 Quackity was choosing to be weak right now and Wilbur is perplexed as to why. “Well that's rather descriptive… I thought I was the writer here.” He chuckles as his fingers trace over the waistband of Quackity’s pants.

No matter how perplexing Quackity is it’s clear he wants Wilbur to take the lead. At least that's what he wanted last time. “I’d be happy to write your will.” Quackity mutters darkly. Fear washes over Wilbur though he laughs it off as a sick joke— but deep down he knows Quackity isn’t kidding. Wilbur pretends this is just a play on words as he rocks against the tent in Quackity’s pants. 

“Wil?”

 Awh… you’ve finally given me a nickname back Q.” He smiles as he grinds against the stiff area, noticing how Quackity’s breath grows shallow. 

“un día te mataré.” He threatens— ‘One day I will kill you.’

“C’mon sit still now…” He chuckles as Quackity struggles not to move. “Your a fucking tease– Quit that!” He whines desperately as his cock twitches underneath the fabric. “No… I don’t think I will— You're just too cute with that little look on your face.” Wilbur’s lips press against Quackity’s collarbones.

Quackity chooses to be weak and it scares Wilbur. It scares him because he knows what Quackity is capable of— even drunk and clouded with lust. Playing with Quackity is gambling with all your money on the table— Wilbur has a life on the table. 

Quackity gasps softly as Wilbur leaves another hickey. Wilbur lets out a soft groan as he grinds against Quackity. His fingers slide under the waistband before fidgeting with the button. He undoes the button quickly— eagerly; Because Wilbur was eager to make Quackity sing.

 “I can’t fuck you just yet can i?” Wilbur whispers teasingly as his fingers slip down under Quackity’s boxers. Quackity’s carnel gaze follows Wilbur’s scarred wrist. Quackity’s eyes slip down to the hand wrapping around his cock. Red from the teasing, with a soft white shine over the tip. Wilbur’s tongue slides over the head as he gently strokes it. “Oh--- ¡Oh Dios!” Quackity swears softly as his legs go weak from the touch.

 “I think your the sensitive one honey…” Wilbur whispers as his fingers dance over it. Just enough to keep it from going soft but not enough to truly satisfy the man in front of him. “Such a perfect reaction.” He praises. 

Quackity’s heart flutters at the praise. Wilbur moves off of Quackity to unzip Quackity’s pants further as the other hand moves slowly. Painfully slowly. “Me voy a volver loco'' Quackity whimpers as the fingers brush over his cock. “You will not go crazy dear.” Wilburs hand moves away temporarily to pull down Quackity’s pants further along with his boxers. 

“You don’t speak Spanish.” Quackity says breathlessly. “I’m around you so often i pick up on certain words.” Wilbur leans down placing his palm on Quackity’s thigh as Wilbur’s nose bumps against the stiff area. Quackity’s heart skips a beat feeling that painfully slow lick drags up the underside of his cock.

 “Oh fuck…” His fingers brush over his lips. Feels like heaven physically. Wilbur’s eyes lock with Quackity’s as Wilbur’s lips wrap around it. Emotionally I'm lost. Wilbur’s eyes flutter shut as Quackity makes a soft whine.

Wilbur’s mouth slowly slides down on Quackity’s sensitive cock, it’s thick and Wilbur knows his jaw is going to ache tomorrow. Wilbur’s hand grips Quackity’s waist for support while the other presses down on his thigh as Wilbur begins to suck on it. For the first time in forever Quackity’s head is completely empty as he makes soft labored breaths. 

“gracias, mi amor.” He lets out a small moan. And yet again that L word slips out, though this time its in his mother tongue. Love. The “You don’t mean that.” is muffled by the cock hitting the back of Wilbur’s throat. Quacktiy’s fingers knot through Wilbur’s wavy brown hair pushing his head down. Wilbur sucks gently as his head bobs on Quackity’s stiff cock.

 Maybe if this were 13 years ago the positions and people would be different— Quackity lowering his head onto the new president of Manberg, rough scratches in Quackity’s scalp, an ache in the back of his throat that would never leave him. 

“Fuck— fuck, your good at this… Oh Wilbur…” His eyes roll back slightly. 

Wilbur’s lips curve into a smile as he bobs his head. His tongue swirls around it brushing against the veins as Quackity swears softly. Quackity’s lips are parted as he pants heavily, his face feels like it's burning as it tilts back his gaze to the colorful ceiling lights of the casino. “si solo asi” He breathes as his eyes flutter shut. “Just like that— Ah! Tan intenso, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He bites his lips as Wilbur’s hair brushes against his stomach. 

It was so soft; Quackity’s fingers guided his head a bit more. Wilbur’s red eyes look up at him, Quackity’s expression is unraveled with an expression of ecstasy. Of course it stroked Wilbur’s ego knowing he could make Quackity act like this. Wilbur feels Quackity begin to tense underneath him. “¡Mierda! Estoy cerca…” He whines as Wilbur sucks relentlessly. 

“¿Por favor? Por favor—-¡Joder!” Quiet begging pours from Quackity’s lips as Wilbur’s mouth slides on and off of him. He tries to quiet the loud moan that pours from his lips as he feels the coil snap. It was hot and white and Wilbur’s eye lashes flutter shut as it feels it pour down his throat. His lips slide off of Quackity’s cock as a little drips down Wilbur’s mouth

Swallow.” Wilbur’s eyes flicker up to Quackity. “Yes sir.” He says jokingly as he does so. It's salty, a familiar taste to Wilbur.

Wilbur licks his lips as he leans onto Quackity. “Why don’t you bend over for me?” He whispers, his hot breath tickles Quackity’s neck and the words almost make him grow rather stiff again. “Do you have lube?” His eyes flickered over to Wilbur. Wilbur’s eyes shifted to the bag he’d set on the table. “Should be in there with my wallet and car keys.” He mumbles thoughtfully. Wilbur gets off of the table standing up to dig through his bag.

 “You keep it on you?” Quackity moves himself to lean over the table rather than sit on it. His legs are still wobbly. “Course, I'm a gentleman after all.”

Do gentlemen bomb their own nations?

Wilbur takes out a small bottle and a condom while Quackity removes his pants and boxers completely. I think he’s just a manwhore. Which is ironic because Quackity has more exes than Wilbur does. Quackity stretches his golden wings for a moment letting out a soft noise. Wilbur thinks Quackity looks like an angel— undressed with such pretty wings. But Quackity would never wear a halo due to the things he’s done to people.

Wilbur’s cock strained against his pants at the sight. “Nice ass.” He chuckles. “persona pervertida.”  slurs as he rolls his eyes as he places a hand against his jaw. He takes care not to lean on a poker chip. Quackity’s eyes shift hearing something unzip.His head pounds slightly from all the alcohol running through his system but his mouth? It drools seeing the long hard cock as Wilbur pulls down his pants.

 Quackity can feel his own cock brush against his stomach as it grows harder again. Maybe Quackity was the perverted one—- All he knows is suddenly he’s acutely aware of how empty he feels and how girthy Wilbur’s cock looks. “Hurry up!” Quackity complains as his nails drum into the table. 

“So impatient Mr.Presidant…” He taunts as he rolls on a condom. Wilbur’s voice is playful as he squeezes the bottle of lube onto his palm. Quackity tenses feeling the hand on him, Wilbur’s slick fingers rub against the slit slowly. Quackity can feel his face heating up at the gentle touch as his wings contract to get out of Wilbur’s way. 

“Look at you… So riled up again.” He mumbles, placing his other hand on Quackity’s back pushing him down a bit more. “It's cute, really.” Wilbur chuckles.

A part of Quackity feels nervous because he’s doing this again— Wilbur is being gentle. Quackity silently hopes it will be as rough as the night before. Because physically it felt like heaven. Heaven on earth. But Quackity was far from an angel. And Wilbur should know Quackity Isn't cupid either. Even if there is a slight scar where Quackity shot him a while back. Schlatt wouldn’t be gentle. Schlatt did worse than shooting Quackity.

Quackity’s eyes widen feeling the cock brush against his slick hole, pushing in a little. Ever so slightly as if Wilbur was teasing him. Wilbur grips Quackity’s waist. “Just shove it in me already!” He hisses as Wilbur laughs a soft smile on his face. “No dear I'm afraid that would… well, hurt.” Hurt me— Do it, you always hurt people Wilbur! Maybe I'm a masochist. Quackity doesn’t realize he’s a sadist too.

 Quackity groans softly, feeling himself open up as Wilbur pushes into him. “Deja de hablar.” Quackity complains as Wilbur speaks. Wilbur lets out a soft shudder feeling Quackity squeeze around him. “Fuck your just as tight as yesterday…” He says breathlessly. “eres igual de hablador.” Quackity remarks before feeling it push deeper. Quackity’s eyes roll back as he feels his legs grow shaky and weak. “Oh… Oh .” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Oh that's deep…” He murmurs. “

Speak up Q.”  Wilbur says as his hips press against him. “Its good good… fuck i love your cock!” Quackity warbles drunkenly. “I fucking love it.” He swears as his back arches from the slight movements Wilbur makes.

“See all you had to do was be patient…” His hips rock as he moves slowly at first. Quackity can’t think straight. What even are we? …I'm not supposed to be here. Quackity feels his erection pressed against his stomach as Wilbur slowly moves in and out of him. When he hits a certain spot Quackity swears he sees stars as he begins to moan. “Oh— oh god…” He whimpers as his hands grip the table harder.

 “Haz eso de nuevo.” He begs as Wilbur moves. “Hm?” Wilbur’s eyes flicker down to Quackity. “Do it again!” He requests in English. I hope tomorrow morning never comes. “Oh Fuck! Q-Quackity you're practically strangling me here…” Wilbur’s breath sputters as he goes a bit faster. “Feels so fucking nice…” He pants as his eyes flutter. His nails dig into Quackity’s waist as he moves.

 “Ah! Oh— Wilbur, fuck!” Quackity’s nose brushes against a few poker chips as his head drops, unable to focus as Wilbur thrusts into him. “Awh… can’t focus when you're all stuffed up now?” Quackity just moans as Wilbur moves. “No, no puedo…” Quackity gasps, he feels like every nerve is on its end. 

Fuck im so senstive… it feels like my cock is gonna break if he keeps moving like that. Quackity’s lips part as another low moan slips out from the speed. Even just feeling the stretch was enough to practically send him over the edge. “I could never get tired of that expression on your face— ah, ah Quackity oh– fuck, don’t clamp down on me like that fucking hell…” Wilbur moans as his face grows a deep crimson shade. 

“I guess you just like my dirty talk that much huh?” Wilbur bites his lip trying to stop the quiet whimpers pouring from his lips. “Wilbur!” Quackity whines softly. “Fuck— Ah! You know I can't help it… no puedo.” He moans as Wilbur’s hips slam against him. So fucking fast! Quackity cries out in pleasure as Wilbur’s cock pumps in and out of him. “I’m trying to last— But your just so fucking tight !” Wilbur moans as Quackity’s back arches.

 “Oh– Fuck m-my cock Wilbur!” He whimpers. “It feels like it's gonna bust.” He cries as Wilbur pounds into him. “Ah! Ah— is it now?” Wilbur breathes. “It's too intense! Ah! Ah— fuck, fuck! Wilbur oh— fuck i can’t, i fucking can’t!” White splatters against the leg of the table. Their moans drown out the music over the speakers. Quackity’s cock twitches as it pours out, his eyes squeezed shut as Wilbur fucks him. “Oh fuck you look so fucking sexy like that Q…” He whispers lowly as he grows closer.

 “Oh Quackity— Fuck!” He groans, feeling it pour out of him. Quackity catches his breath breathing heavily as he lifts his head off the table to see Wilbur moaning quietly. Wilbur pulls out after a moment. Quackity’s legs feel weak and shaky. “That was good…” He mumbles while Wilbur takes off the condom. Wilbur throws it in a nearby trash bin but he struggles to aim properly with all the alcohol in his system.

“Yeah?” Wilbur slurs as he pulls up his pants. “Fuck im covered in hickey’s!” Quackiy complains  as he struggles to bend down to grab his discarded clothes. “Is that really so bad Q?” Wilbur grabs it for him and hands it to Quackity. “Sí” He grumbles as his head spins. “I think it makes you look dashing.” Wilbur zips up his pants while Quackity puts back on his boxers. 

“Makes me look like a damn whore.” 

Wilbur laughs softly “Are you charging me now?” He jokes. Sweet moments like these make me wonder what we really are. “C’mon I already bought us drinks with my winnings.” Quackity puts on his pants and adjusts his belt. 

“I still think you cheated to win that.” he slurs as he wobbles towards the door. “I did not.” Wilbur insists as he grabs his bag leaving the private room with Quackity.

“Fuck… its 3 pm!?” Quackity swears he hasn’t been here that long. Of course drinking made the clock spin a lot faster than usual. “Yes it is indeed, what an astounding observation Q.” He says sarcastically as Quackity’s wings begin to flap a bit as if distressed. 

“I have somewhere to be— Don’t call me.” And you’d think the line would be “Call me” but of course things are never that simple with the two of them.

Chapter Text

Wilbur often thought about the skeletal wings on his back. Maybe that's why he was so fixated on Quackity’s wings. They weren’t always there. Wilbur swears he loves Quackity since he’s long discarded that old hate he has— But his “love” is off.

I love the way he snarls at me— I love the way he smacks me! How he curses me out in Spanish. 

Wilbur’s eyes flutter shut. 

Love. 

Wilbur finds himself sitting in the sandy shore of the L’manburg crater picking the petals off the rose.There was a nearby rose bush, thorny and long overgrown. The waves crashed softly. The broken flag flowed back and forth as he looked up at the mossy cliff. 

Last time he was here Fundy took a swan dive. He was no swan. Quackity is like a swan. He can be graceful and eloquent. He can be absolutely divine looking in a suit— he just chooses to be rude. Wilbur watched the water crawl up the sand. 

The L’manruins were a lot cooler than Las Navadas. Quackity is probably glad I'm out of his hair for a bit. Wilbur remembers when he’d fly down to this lake to wash his ruby Avian feathers— Red, just like Tommy’s. Thomas probably didn’t like the fact his wings were red like his brother’s. Of course I have there now is bones. 

He picks a flower petal— He hates me. He picks another. He hates me not. A stupid grin crawls across his face as he plays this stupid childish game. It lands on “He hates me.” at the last petal. His fingers tense. Wilbur splits the rose petal open as his eye twitches. “He hates me not.” He relaxes throwing the cheated half of the flower petal into the lake. 

He wonders what it would be like to run Las Nevadas with Quackity. The familiar presidential power— “Kill me Phil, please kill me!” He’d begged after bombing his own country with a deranged look in his eye.

What if Quackity is heaven itself? What if he’s an angel sent by XD? Willbur placed a hand on his cheek sighing contentedly. “Oh Quackity… your such a bloody ‘orrible person and yet there's something so hypnotizing about you.” His eyes flutter shut. 

Screaming, begging, weapons, degrading words, disgust, familiarity, sex— 

Wilbur was talking to himself in front of a goddamn lake. Wilbur’s said he’s changed but has he? 

He picked a flower petal at the same place 13 years ago— She loves me. He has no grey hairs and there's a siren singing as he plays a guitar. He picked another, and her teeth were beautiful daggers. Sally’s smile was a sight he could never forget. She loves me not. A stupid grin crawls across his face as he plays this stupid childish game. 

Sally tans on a rock while Fundy sleeps on her lap peacefully. It lands on “She loves me not.” at the last petal. Wilbur pretends that's not when his brown eyes started looking more maroon and he pretends that's not when he notices the way she doesn’t look at him anymore. His fingers tense, his son stirs awake. 

“Mama? Why does Wilby look like that…” His voice is so small. “Oh he just gets frustrated when he can’t find a better muse .” Wilbur splits the rose petal open as his eye twitches. Maybe Quackity was the real muse all along. “She loves me.” He relaxes by throwing the cheated half of the flower petal into the lake. In the lake's reflection he sees a yellow winged Avain pass by— and his own feathers ruffle slightly.

Quackity doesn’t remember when Wilbur had wings. Wilbur never really showed them off like Tommy did. Wilbur knew of poachers and hid them when he could, even around friends. Clearly Quackity was more tormented by the idea of that— Clearly he had some sort of past trauma. Wilbur was damaged too. The rattling of the skeletal wings proved that. 

They would be perfect for eachother. Perfect in the sense of a lighter over TNT. A burning string that leads to a bomb going off. Beautifully destructive.

  Quackity is vile— maybe he’s worse than Schlatt in some ways. Quackity tortures people at the prison and bribes Sam to keep quiet. Samual knows if he doesn’t Quackity won’t be the only one with the scar of an axe digging through his eye. Quackity gained some sort of sadistic pleasure from what he does there. 

Maybe it helps him feel in control. Or maybe he was practicing for when he next saw Wilbur. A part of me grows excited at that thought. Red, red, red hot blood… pouring out of Wilbur while Quackity spits on him. A dream came true.

Maybe Wilbur is so insistent he be gentle with Quackity because really Wilbur is the one that wants to feel powerless . The thought makes him bite his lip slightly as he exhales and looks at the skies. 

Wilbur doesn’t really care about Quackity— they just have history. Thats what Wilbur keeps telling himself every time he starts that sick pining when he’s alone at night. When it’s just his legs wrapped around his pillow and he just wants Quackity to spoon him. 

Wilbur doesn’t love him, he thinks he does but he doesn’t even know what love is. He abandoned his own son. His ex hates him. His brother doesn’t talk to him half the time. He has never met his mother other than in death— and his father was too busy out with friend’s to stick around. Maybe in a sick way a dynamic like this was familiar to Wilbur too. 

Just as disgustingly comforting. 

Wilbur is scared of Quackity because talking with him is like playing russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. Quackity points, he aims and he shoots. Right on the bullseye—- the target's skull; Wilbur’s skull. Right now Quackity keeps firing blanks but Wilbur knows that one day it won’t be a blank.

I hope he won't fire a blank. 

Wilbur’s hands rest on his face as he sits by the lake as he spaces off. Wilbur flinches when he feels a tail smack him. “You have some nerve showing your face ‘round here after what happened to our son!” Her voice was loud; angry. Sally syntompsis with anger and the color red and the beating of a heart full with young love. “

S-Sally i–” Wilbur starts. 

“Save it. If I wanted to hear your pathetic excuses I would have stayed with you.” Sally’s red hair stuck to the sides of her face. Her tail was just as beautiful as Wilbur remembered; She’d give him scales to play the guitar with—- Once upon a time when he was just a shitty guitarist who played when he was supposed to be guarding the post by the river. “Right madam.” He mumbles getting up. Her teeth still look as shark-y as ever… I should leave before I get an up close look again. 

Wilbur’s eyes linger out on the petals on the water. His skeletal wings clang a little as he walks taking out a cigarette. Home is a cigarette. Is what Wilbur has come to learn after war upon war. He clicks open the lighter. “God— Thats fucking disgusting ! You still smoke!?” Sally stares at him from the waters. “Mind your own.” He hisses with the cigarette between his teeth. 

She hated it when I did this all those years ago. “Go on then smoke ‘till your entire body is ash with that bloody nicotine filt toothpick! It's not like you have anyone left to stop you.” Wilbur feels his body grow tense. It feels like a knife is twisting in his gut as the smoke rises from the flame. No one left to stop me. Wilbur blows out a large cloud as his fingers wrap around the ladder.

No one is left to stop me— She’s right.

His red eyes pause on Sally looking down at her for a moment before he climbs the ladder. His teeth clench down on the cigarette as he takes care not to fall. It wouldn’t be so hard if I let go. His fingers loosen for a moment. But I wouldn't be able to toy with Quackity if I did. He climbs a bit higher.  I used to be powerful— I could be powerful again. As long as i dont fall in love with the enemy. 

It's not the same person who’d linger by the pogtopian caves in hopes of finding Wilbur during a smoke break. Or the same person who’d call his voice beautiful when Sally said it was too shrill. Wilbur steps up on the bridge over the L’manburg creator. Quackity keeps his friends close and enemies closer. Wilbur knows he’s an enemy.

Wilbur is a spider and Quackity is a web. Wilbur belongs there on top of Quackity. But Quackity can snap and break; he's fine and delicate and easily angered. Quackity is the web that holds the prize of Las Nevadas, a mere bug in this whole situation. 

Quackity holds it tight like he’s supposed to and Wilbur is a spider poking its head in a web that isn’t his own. Wilbur just wants to sink his teeth into Las Nevadas to get a taste of Quackity’s power. And sinking his teeth down into Quackity’s delicate hickey filt neck is a fast way there. What's a little flirting along the way? A little manipulation—- a little fun.

Although a part of Wilbur does feel something for Quackity. Something less twisted. Wilbur tries to push down that feeling for the sake of saving his failed marriage with Sally. If Wilbur could bring back his son maybe his wife would take him back. As long as Quackity toutures that prisoner and as long as Wilbur keeps Quackity close, Wilbur could fix this. 

He blows out a puff of smoke. No one left to stop me from smoking… Oh Sally… His eyes flutter shut as his expression grows pained. She blames me for our son’s death… and she has every right to. His eyes grow teary as he takes another puff of his cigar. Not because of the smoke but because he has regrets and his hairs are greying.

 A pitiful tear rolls down his cheek. Wilbur walks along the path idly. His eyes stop at the hillside home; Tommy’s house. Wilbur hears rambunctious laughter and sees a saytar and avain in the window. Tubbo and Tommy… Those two idiot lads. Wilbur pauses, seeing two glasses clink. Drinking, yeah? Wilbur hopes Tubbo’s issues don’t bleed over into Tommy like Schlatt’s bled into Tubbo. His eyes stop on the urn sitting on the table in front of him and his heart sinks a little.

I never drink with my mates anymore. 

Wilbur stubs the cigar on his wrist and keeps walking as he sighs out a final puff of smoke. Well— i, I technically drank with Quackity a few days ago. Wilbur drops the cigarette. What is it now—Sunday? …Yeah it’s Sunday. Wilbur runs a hand through his hair. His eyes are tired as he makes a long walk home.

  I feel like a shitty loner. When did alone start becoming lonely? He wonders silently.

His skin feels untouchable. He wonders if this is how Quackity felt after that relationship with Schlatt. His skin feels like it's crawling when he walks home alone as the skies begin to fade. He’s painfully aware of every sensation brushing against his body. Everything touching his skin— or the lack thereof. It fills him with a sense of emptiness.

He stops in front of his home— why didn’t I sleep in my van tonight? Wilbur fidgets with his keys, he fidgets but he doesn't do anything. He doesn’t unlock the door or even step on the porch. He just stands there with that melancholy look on his face. 

“It's not like you have anyone left to stop you.” and I don't. 

Yet he stands idle. He misses her warm embrace and it hurts like crazy. He doesn’t want to go in. It's so empty; His son is gone, Sally divorced him. He’s alone. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. Sally probably saw him as an enemy… of course he destroyed her home. 

He destroyed the whole nation for that matter. There was no one left around him. Except Quackity whose last words were “Call me never.” After a hookup at a bar.

 Wilbur sits on the porch shoving his keys in his pocket and just watches the sunset. Does Quackity ever get lonely? The most powerful man on the Esempi— Does he get lonely, without his ex-fiances? Wilbur blinks slowly as the sun sets. It's getting rather cold outside. Just go in the house—- its not that fucking hard! But his legs won’t move. 

I wonder if I will wave these useless bones if I can take flight like I used to?

  Wilbur knows the answer is it won’t work but he dreams. As power crazed as Wilbur is, he finds himself waiting to just hold Quackity now. To just hold him as he falls asleep. He knows it’s a pipedream. Quackity probably just wants someone to fuck him and to scream at. Wilbur just wants Quackity’s power and maybe— just maybe to hold Quackity outside of that. Even if Wilbur finds himself love bombing again and stringing Quackity along he’s happy to pretend he’s Karl and Sapnap if it means Quackity will look at him with that adoration.

I really wish I wasn't Wilbur. Because “Wilbur” abandoned Quackity and let Schlatt have his way with him. Wilbur still feels guilty about that and a softer side of him just wants to cuddle the Avian and ask if he’s okay. He really did want to know if Quackity was okay. He really did want to repreen Quackity’s wing again. 

Wilbur wanted to fly again but his wings are skeletons.

Wilbur hates it because love is not war. He needs power back— He needs something to hold over people. He needs a sense of safety . But maybe safety is laying under Quackity’s wing and holding him until dawn. Quackity pushes him away though— Quackity doesn’t seem to do soft anymore. Not since he lost his eye and not since he lost his fiances. 

It's cold outside and all he can think about is the warm embrace of those angelic golden wings. It makes his heart squeeze painfully. Wilbur doesn’t want to care about Quackity like that. I don’t care about him like that— I need the nation, the people! The eyes on me, the presidential tie around my neck… and yet ever since Ranboo passed that's been so hard to do. 

Ranboo’s untimely demise made a trauma bond. Wibur can’t manipulate like he used to and he finds himself falling for Quackity with every blue bruise that hits his body, With every cut that marks him and. every arrow that penetrates his skin. Wilbur finds himself falling deeper as Quackity screams and hits and if he’s lucky Quackity tosses him a health potion after. 

Why is it that he allways begs me not to act like Schlattt and then gets all fucked up when he begs me to and i cave? What does he want from me? Sometimes I try to have something real— a real conversation… he just freezes up on me— or hits me or hurts me. I

t's like talking to a wall. Why is he so scared of a little conversation? He didn’t want to tell me why he’s crying over sex with me on the phone. He didn’t want to tell me what happened between him and Schlatt, I'm running on half-arsed guesses here. He’ll only have raw emotional conversation

The only time its raw and vulnerable is if its about me— me and my fucked up past. My family, my history— my suicide. He never wants to talk about himself. And— I don't even intend to use it against him like I originally planned. I… this is so tiring… I'm bloody exhausted… What the fuck do i even do? O–Oh fuck… my eyes are slipping shut again…. 

Wilbur’s head leans against the fencing as he shivvers. He pulls his trench coat closer dreaming of a day he can feel the warm embrace of Quackity’s wings.

Chapter Text

Wilbur has a crook in his neck when he next wakes. He sees his younger brother, who is currently kicking his shin. “Ow… Tommy what the bloody hell?” His eyes blink up at a dirty blonde. “The fuck you doin’ out here?” Wilbur sits up. “This is m… my house?” Wilbur stretches, groaning in pain from the uncomfortable position. “Why aren’t you in it? Is it filled with half naked women!? if so please—-” Wilbur rolls his eyes and cuts him off. “I assure you it is not .” 

Tommy is still Tommy I see. 

“Bold claims coming from a ladies man.” Tommy shakes his head in disbelief. “And you don‘t even want them!” Tommy complains as if jealous. “I don't want them? What do you mean…” Wilbur blinks up at him. 

“Your chagin’ the subject! Now Wil, i don't think you should be seen sleeping on your porch— this is frankly a new low for you.” Wilbur’s eyes flicker to the skies, it's noon. I overslept. “A new low?” He mumbles. “The hell do you want? You came to my place for a reason— what is it? A new diamond sword? Old enchanting books?” Wilbur scratches his hair as he stands up.

“Me and Tubbo invented the best damn burger in all of Esempi!” He cheers leading Wilbur away. Wilbur can only hastily follow as his wings drag behind him. Tommy’s on the other hand stays neatly closed. “What drugs did you put in it?” Wilbur says firmly. “W—What, Wil! Willbur— Come on, it's the best ‘ucking burger you’ll ever taste. A man doesn’t reveal his secret ingredient.” Tommy laughs as he runs his hand locked onto his brother’s wrist forcing the man to run with him. Wilbur is far too old for this— he’s coughing his lungs out like a true smoker.

 “It’s bloody regen isn’t it?” Wilbur says in between coughs. “Maybe!” Tommy grins. “Just don’t put your old man out of business!” Wilbur catches his breath as he stands in front of the Las Nevadas sign. There's the old Tommy. The Tommy before exile. Wilbur can’t help but stare at the missing middle finger on Tommy’s hand— and a part of him misses when his brother flips people off with that hand.

“Oh Wilbur! You're not going out of business— besides I thought you liked hot dogs better.” Tommy lets go and paces forward as sand meets the sidewalk. “ Hot dogs!? ” Tommy looks back at him. “Yeah, remember the ‘Hto Dog’ van in L’manburg— you were proper shit at spelling.” Wilbur shakes his head and sighs. “Oh– Oh, that's what you meant.” Wilbur walks forward.

 The streets were less crowded today. “No shite man.” 

They walk to the left entering the light blue burger restaurant. There's a few customers here and there. “Tubbo says we can go in the back— Bee boy gave me keys yeah!?” He grins. ‘Bee boy’? They're still close but I don't know if Tubbo still likes bees. 

Wilbur watches Tommy unlock the door. The kitchen was rather short staffed at the moment. Wilbur’s eyes flicker over the recipe cards. “So you are drugging the civilians.” Well… of course Tommy thinks this is normal because he grew up in L’manburg. “You say drugging, I say DIY pharmacy!” He huffs, placing a hand on his chest. 

“Does Quackity know of this?” Wilbur ponders.

 “Big Q?” Tommy asks softly. “Q…” Wilbur mumbles as if lost in thought for a moment. “Why does his opinion matter?” Tommy says flatly. “You two hate each other right ?” Wilbur can’t meet Tommy’s big blue eyes because they're wide with something of a look of fear. 

Instead Wilbur watches the workers mix potion into the sauce. “Tom–” Wilbur starts. “Right!?” He says a bit louder, almost angry at the soft look on Wilbur’s face. “You–You're not old enough to get it.” Is the excuse Wilbur settles on. “I’ve been an adult for two bloody years. What is there not to get— What is it with you and Quackity? One minute you're plotting against him in that shitty base of yours and the next I see you two all over each other like damn bunnies.” 

Wilbur’s mouth goes dry. “He hurts you Wil… I’ve seen it. D-Don’t do this…” Tommy looks away. “He does not hurt me.” Wilbur quips irritated. 

“Wilbur! D-Dont you fucking lie to me.” His breathing is shaky. “Even now you're covered in bruises and for what!? I saw him shoot you— Wilbur, are you trying to leave me alone again?” Wilbur’s eyes widened. “W-What? Leave you… Alone? Tom, you can’t live with your big brother forever you know this…” Tommy shakes his head. The workers are staring and they can both feel it. 

“I meant die . Are you trying to die Wilbur?” 

Am I trying to die? Or does Quackity make me feel alive? 

“I’m trying— i dont know what the fuck im trying to do!” Wilbur throws his hands up. “Just tell me about your drug burgers or whatever. Rather, Tubbo’s potion burgers since this place is owned by him.” Just change the subject. Just drop the topic. 

“Well different potions do different things— We– We put in a mix of hunger inducing potions and regen.” Tommy chuckles. “Tommy, that's morally questionable and probably illegal.” Wilbur deadpans looking at the potions in the fridge.

“Is it much next to your record?” 

“No— No it's… It’s not.”

Wilbur finds himself tired of his little brother’s antics and leaves the restaurant as he combs his hand through his hair. He hears galping but his eyes are closed as his feet take him onto the dirt path next to the sidewalk. 

“Wilbur— Wlbur get the fuck out of the way!” A familiar shrill voice— Quackity. Wilbur’s eyes snap open as he sees a skeletal horse charging toward him. Its bones are yellowed like Wilbur’s skeletal wings. His eyes dart up to the man on the horse— Who is shockingly trying to get it to halt. Saving me from my own idiocy now Q? Wilbur’s eyes flicker down as the dust cloud flares up to this face.

Quackity swears as the horse just barely stops in time. The way he curses makes Wilbur’s heart flutter a little— and he knows it’s sick. Wilbur looks up at Quackity with something between amusement and sadness. What does the word ‘love’ even mean? 

Tommy’s face is pressed in the glass window, Wilbur knows it's Tommy from the obnoxious way he watches while his wings flap nervously. Because all he can hear is the last encounter where Quackity said “Thomas, your older brother isn’t a good man.” And Quackity was right Wilbur was not a good person. But Quackity wasn’t a good person either . 

That's what Quackity forgot to acknowledge and what Wilbur forgot to spit back. At least that's what Thomas hopes Wilbur forgot to do. He knows Wilbur didn't forget—- He just chose not to say it. Quackity could kill him in an instant and Wilbur was quick to realize this after a few months in Las Nevadas. 

He said that Quackity would grow bored and dispose of Wilbur and his brother. Wilbur is the only reason Tommy hasn’t been killed. A part of Quackity shows mercy like that.

“Hello dearest Quackity.” Wilbur smiles as the sun beats down on the two of them. “Greetings Wilbur.” Quackity looks down at Wilbur. Quackity felt a bit odd being the one looking down on him for once. Quackity’s horse gave him a height like no other. “The fuck is wrong with you standing on a road! You heard me coming—” Quackity pinches his temple.

 “Maybe i wanted to see what’d you do…” A sly smile purses on Wilbur’s lips.Playing a dangerous game. “See what I'd— What is wrong with you!?” I shouldn't play a game with Quackity, it's a game I'll always lose. He tells me not to gamble because I'll bite off more than I can chew. “Where are you rushing off too on such a lovely day?” The skies were clear and the sticky summer air wasn’t as horrid this afternoon. 

There's an axe on Quackity’s back and it's polished to perfection. Fuck. Wilbur’s smile falters and the look in his eyes grows nervous. “Checking on Pandora’s box” Quackity’s expression is rather frustrated as if Wilbur seems to just be messing with him. He awaits Wilbur’s response.

Wilburs eyes flicker shut. There's a million ways to play this and he doesn’t know what card to pull. Play the wrong one and there will be an axe digging into his undead flesh. Killing a Walking Zombie . A freak of nature— Frankenstein . 

Wilbur’s mouth is dry and apparently he doesn’t answer fast enough because Quackity ends up speaking again. 

“Are you going to move or what?” His eyes are narrow—- their full of lust , but not lust for Wilbur ; Lust for blood . Bloodlust. “Pardon me mister president…” Wilbur steps aside with a shaky sigh. Just step aside— better the prisoner than me right? 

“Gracias.” The horse neighs as it picks back up a swift run. Dust trailing behind Quackity and his horse. Wilbur scratches the back of his neck. I froze up again… The fuck is wrong with me? He glances back to the restaurant and sighs seeing Tommy still watching. His eyes follow the horse and dart to Wilbur. Wilbur just stands there in the road paved for horses idle— Like an idiot.

The sun feels like it's baking him. He wants to fly away but he can't fly like he used to. He can’t fly anymore. Wilbur just has useless bones extending from his back.

Chapter Text

A few hours later he finds himself working in a familiar burger van. Picking up the phone for online orders. Shoving food in a bag for those who were there in person. A thoughtless motion— muscle memory. And in his spare time he keeps a thin sheet of paper by the ‘Order Up’ bell. He finds himself writing in his spare time again.

Sonnets.

Wilbur was a war criminal on the surface but a writer at heart. His pencil drawing words between orders. Wilbur has a new muse and it's accidental because he just wanted to tug at Quackity’s heartstrings to get a little power. Now he’s losing a game he should have never started to play. Wilbur is gambling with every word that scrawls on the paper between handing people orders.

You're an angel, my angel— a Savior sent from the heavens above.

#1 combo, time: 12:34PM, total: 13.87$

With those wide golden wings of yours. You're my holy grail.

Small fries, time: 12:38PM, total: 2.34$.

You're more like a devil in disguise and I'm just a clarovioent.

I'm seeing red flags but under my rose tinted glasses I find that maybe red is just our color.

Large drink 1 Cheeseburger, time: 12:46PM, total: 11.99$.

Our color is blood and flushed flesh.

Medium drink hot dog, time: 12:52PM, total: 7.54$.

Maybe with blue undertones as that envioguring touch of yours leaves a darling bruise after every kiss.

Maybe one day I'll give you my glasses and you’ll see me in that rosey light too.

#1 combo, discount coupon, time: 1:11PM, total: 1.11$. 111

I was brought back to life just to kiss the scars stretching down to your lips.

111 new beginnings and new love.

Are you cupid?

Or just an incubus posing as one my love?

I think I love every new scar that caresses my skin from you.

I think I'm a muse for your fists but the blood split saves me from spilling my own.

My angelic savior.

An idolized muse that I hope will give me a sign.

Just one sign.

One, one. one.

Wilbur closes shop at 1:11. He wants to believe the last ticket means something. His poem is covered in grease stains and he has half a mind to crumple it and throw it in the trash. 111. Maybe a hundred and eleven tosses in the bin to manifest something pure.

Quackity’s golden feather still rests in the vase. An angelic feather from someone as sadistic as the devil himself. Someone who is covered in another's blood in search of the revive book. Someone who only enterians Wilbur because he was back from the dead. Someone who just uses Wilbur as a way to hurt himself further because he knows Wilbur just wants a new presidential tie for himself.

Yet Quackity keeps him around for some masochistic pleasure. It wasn’t pure love. It was disgusting bloodlust. It was Wilbur idolizing and love bombing those he shouldn’t. This wasn’t love. It was a concept and idolitisc delusion that 111 means something.

Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. He can't ask God themself. If he could he’d ask them why they brought him back and if 111 means something and if maybe he could have his wings back and he and Quackity could be fallen angels together.

Two sinners that are a bomb and a lighter. A cupid-like angel and a resurrected zombie who didn’t belong among the living. A zombie who used to be as pure as an angel but blew his own wings off because oh how the mighty have fallen. Wilbur was a fallen angel. Would Quackity fall with him?

111? One, one, one. Maybe they could be one, one pure love untainted by bloodlust— maybe this wasn’t borderline abuse and threats of murder. Maybe this is what love really is. Getting beat up and shot through the heart. Being called names and degrading words outside of bed. Using each other for power and pleasure— is that love? It doesn’t sound like hate to Wilbur anymore. It sounds like love— even if his first intent was to take Quackity’s nation out from under him.

Is that love? Is this love? Is it 111?

Chapter Text

Screaming— Loud screaming as Quackity’s axe digs into the prisoners shoulder blade. Dark red oozing from the open gash. The neitherite digs deeper as Quackity swigs it again. “There is no physical revive book! I swear— I swear on my life! I swear on XD…” The man whose name shall not be uttered cried. Tears streaming down from his bright green eyes. “I dont fucking belive you. I’ll get you to talk, i dont care how fucking long it takes. Talk.” 

This was a nightmare for the prisoner, quite the opposite of his name. Quackity’s axe pulled back as blood sputtered out of the open wound. The man was already covered in cuts and bruises across his pearly white skin. Almost like marble; Except it was cracked open with blood pouring from the seams and more bruised areas than ivory ones. 

“Eres tan jodidamente afortunado que necesito basura como tú para seguir con vida. Si pudiera, te arrancaría el corazón y me lo comería crudo como hice con mi ex.” Quackity whispers seething between his teeth. “Please! Mercy sir— I don’t want my heart eaten…” His voice shakes. “Just like dumb ‘ol Jschlatt your pal.” Quackity’s voice shakes with raw anger as his nails dig into the back of the man’s neck. 

Quackity’s wings spread as if to intimate him. Of course the man breathed heavily, scared for his very life. While Quackity did not care for Thomas he knows what this man put him through. Quackity knows how Wilbur became disdainful towards him after finding out what the man did to his younger brother. Most of all Quackity knows that this man holds the key to revival

 “I like it rare.” Quackity’s hands wrap around his axe again. “Raw meat with blood still oozing out from the flesh.” He chuckles as he drives it into the man under him. 

The man’s voice was horse and he was in agony but he was full of resolve. “Fucking hell!” He screams but it’s all music to Quackity’s ears as the man whimpers in pain. His ashen blonde hair rising against the obsidian walls. His horns were jadgly decapitated and his tail was cut to pieces. Scars from Quackity littering his body. Quackity plays for keeps after all. The letters of Quackity’s name carved into his body deep. 

“You know the Warden won’t care. Sigue gritando... me agrada mucho.” He slowly pulls the axe out of the demon’s chest. “You best have an answer next time— I tire of this exchange as pleasurable as it is to see someone like you wither.” He whispers, grabbing his neck. “¿comprendido?” He squeezes the man’s neck as he coughs choking up. “Y-Yes sir!” 

Quackity lets go. “Good.” Quackity looks over at his axe. “Ugh… your disgusting ass blood is all over my weapon.” He holds a look of utter disgust before he kicks the man on the floor. “Next time bleed less!” Quackity yells as he digs his foot into the open wound in his stomach. “Disgusting piece of shit.” He swears as the man cries before picking up his axe and leaving the cell. Quackity feels a rush of sadism watch over him

The sadistic enjoyment fills him with arousal. .

He’s not even worth being the scum under my boot. Quackity closes the cell and locks it with the keys he bought off Samuel. The prisoner stares back as he holds his stomach. Quackity doesn’t flinch at the blood puddle on the dusty floors. 

Quackity leaves a bloody footprint as he walks away. His shoulders are tense as he walks, his feathers are a mess. He wants Wilbur to fix them again but that’s vulnerability. To part his wings revealing a spot perfect to stab in his back. He can’t fix it himself and he doesn’t trust people enough to hire someone to do it. He’d rather die than ask Karl or Sapnap, to see them both after the break up would hurt too deep. So he walks with frayed feathers and messy hair. 

Blood is sprayed across the golden wings as he holds his axe. Quackity’s hair is a bit messy and his eyes are bloodshot like he hasn’t slept the past few days. He’s been in the sun, he’s tanner than usual as the peak of summer reaches. He needs a vacation. But he’ll relax once he gets his hands on the revive book.

Quackity knows he won’t truly be the most powerful man on the esempi until he has that book. A gift from God themself. Sure Quackity has the most riches, the most fame, and the most control— but without the power to bring back the dead what made Quackity special? Just a dumb duck chasing after bread crumbs. Quackity gives a slight nod to the warden as he steps through the portal. 

Sam looks rather sickened by the sight of the Eyltran but he keeps quiet even as Sam finds his instincts telling him to hiss. Quackity walks through the jagged obsidian portal. The thin purple filter stretches as he walks through it. Samuel hopes that each time he comes through the portal it's the last but he knows it won’t. Quackity doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants. 

Chapter Text

When he leaves the prison it's dark outside. He’s been in there since noon and now its dusk. His eyes meet the thick forests as he unfurrows his wings. Quackity has found himself flying more as if late. His yellow wings were shadowed against the setting sun. The skies were orange and pink as the cool night air took over. His raven hair blew in the wing as his wings flapped. 

The blood is drying on my wings. The feeling disgusted him but he’d wash it off as soon as he got home. Run some warm water over it. His eyes fluttered shut, the weight of the axe on his back was barely there. He was as light as a feather.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, the desert was approaching. Quackity slows as he sees a brunette head in between the trees. Wilbur. He was standing there with his fingers carding over the skeletal wings on his back with a broken expression. 

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. The clattering of bones as they flap uselessly. Keep moving. Quackity’s eyes shift up to the Las Nevadas sign. 

"Are you okay? Like okay okay?" The words echo in his skull like a matra. The words echo so loud he’s acting like a damn fool. 

He finds himself diving down into the forest. His feet hit the grass with a soft thud. He sees Wilbur in the distance crying softly. Quackity’s fingers brush over the bark of the tree. Wilbur is leaning onto his van, a crumpled greasy paper in hand with a forlorn look. Is he trying to fly? 

“Oh dear…” Quackity mumbles under his breath as he walks toward him. “I told you about parking out here.” Quackity jokes half-heartedly as he rubs the back of his neck. Wilbur freezes and his eyes are puffy and red. “O-Oh, silly me… I just happened to park here again.”

 Wilbur clears his throat. “Am i getting an official fine this time?” A sad smile plays across his lips. “It’s more of a tab than a fine at this point.” Quackity sighs, Wilbur’s eyes are glued to his feathers. 

For a moment Quackity is scared that Wilbur wants to pluck him and then he remembers that his wings are splattered with blood. “What happened to– to- to, your– your wings…” Wilbur backs up as a twig cracks. “I— I won’t park here anymore, I swear just— just please… Don’t hurt me.” Wilbur whispers as his own wings hit the tree. 

“What were you doing earlier?” Quackity’s eyes follow the paper shoved in Wilbur’s trench coat. “Why!? You just came to make fun of me.” Wilbur spits as he takes out a cigar. “Or— Or fuck with me. Wich is it?” The lighter clicks open. 

You're more than that to me. So much fucking more than that.

“What?” Quackity mumbles as Wilbur lights the cigarette. “...Nevermind.” Wilbur says loudly before taking a puff. I never know what goes through his head. Quackity’s eyes rest on the skeletal wings. They weren’t always like that now that he thinks about it. Wilbur’s clothes carry that scent now with how often he smokes.

Quackity reaches his hand out and then pulls back. 

What am I doing? What are we doing? You're not using him right now— am i? He’s too fucked up to be manpulating you right now… What are we doing? 

“I— I just, i wanted to see why you were out so late is all. In the forest no less, don[‘t you close shop around noon?” Quackity asks quietly. “I- I  was just passing by and thought…” Wilbur blows out a puff of smoke. “You thought what? I already told you i don’t like your presence Quackity.” Wilbur lies through his teeth. “Then why the fuck are you still here?” 

His voice breaks a little. “Is that a threat?” Wilbur’s eyes linger on the axe. Smoke pours between the cavities in his teeth. “You think everything is a threat— You're a chronic overthinker! Take it at face value. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I may be a monster but i'm not heartless !” Wilbur’s eyes widened and then dropped to the floor. 

“Right… im a proper dick aren’t i?” He mumbles sarcastically as he stubs the cigarette on his burn covered wrist. The sight makes Quackity a little sick. “Sorry mate.” Wilbur drops the cigarette onto the grass before stepping on it. 

“Is that all you wanted?” He asks. “What?” Quackity watches as Wilbur leans back as he watches the stars. “To check on me?” The ‘to keep tabs, and you have eyes everywhere’ went unspoken. His voice is deep and husky from the exhaustion digging deep into his bones. “You say your a caged songbird and yet i feel like i'm just a mouse and your this big bad cat chasin’ me around.” Wilbur ponders as the tree bark brushes against his back.

 “I— How, how am i chasing you?” 

How are you not a pretious poacher?  

“Fining my food truck, Callin’ my line, following me into bars…” Wilburs eyes flicker in remembrance. “Begging me to do unspeakable things to you.” Quackity rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “That's just maintaining a relationship! One person talks to another and they—” WIlbur cuts him off. “Is beating eachother up apart of the relationship too?” Crickets chirp softly as Quackity’s face falls. 

“You always say sorry but i know your lying arse doesn’t mean it.” Wilbur says coldly. A knife to the throat, an arrow through the heart, fists in his stomach— “It doesn’t matter, I can afford all the health potions in the Esempi!” An excuse, a rushed one. “Does it make this right?” He asks. 

“Yes it does.” Quackity spits angrily.

“Your masochist ass probably looks forward to it!” 

Quackity stares him down. “Mhmm…” Quackity runs a hand through his hair. What are we doing? What are we doing— “Funny how you render me nearly broken and yet whine when I can't do the same to you. I think you're the masochist here Alexis.” Wilbur’s eyes sting with tears as the man slaps him. “Don’t you ever fucking call me that again.” Quackity seethes , a red hand print is left on Wilbur’s cheek. His heart pounds in fear. 

“Quackity… Quackity, got it.” He mumbles to himself. Only Schlatt would use my first name… Quackity stares at his own reddening palm. “Fuck— fuck i’m sorry, i– i, i just!” He trips over his own words. “Going to tell me it was instinct, birdbrain ?” The insult cuts deep. Wilbur is just trying to drive him away at this point. “Don’t call me that, you hypocrite.”

Wilbur is trying to drive Quackity away and Quackity isn’t sure why. He approached with neutral intent and Wilbur just kept pressing his buttons— On purpose. He’s trying to get a reaction out of Quackity. I– I don't understand my hand, it just— it moved on its own. 

Maybe it was muscle memory from the prisoner. Maybe it’s Wilbur trying to get under his skin on purpose. Either way he hurt Wilbur again. Wilbur is just pushing Quackity away—- He’s hiding something from him. 

“How am i of all people a hypocrite?” Wilbur laughs. “You have wings like me.” Wilbur’s expression drops going rather grim. “Y-Yeah… I suppose your right, you got me there.” That’s not what’s really bothering him, is it? 

“What is it with you and the word ‘songbird’?” He’s changing the subject— Shit! Quackiy shifts uncomfortably. “What do you mean?” Why am I the one getting interrogated? Wilbur looks up at him. “Something to do with Schlatt yeah?” Wilbur was prescriptive and Quackity found it unnerving. “Well… he’d like to compare my… noises to a song.” 

A face buried in a pillow, a hand shoving me down, a painful stretch.

”A song?” Singing. “It was more like screaming actually.” 

“...What?” Wilbur’s voice trembles in fear. Quackity finds himself backing into the tree's shadow.

 “T—--That's besides the point! Don’t ask idotic questions. Why the hell are you crying out here in the middle of nowhere. Did old man Phil finally kick you out?” Quackity snarks at the man. “What no! I– I just got caught up in my head is all.” Wilbur stammers as Quackity grows tense.

 “Fuck. You did this last time .” Wilbur’s voice is low as he glares at the man. “Did what?” Quackity looks at Wilbur. “I ask you a serious question and you give me some vague arse answer before trying to ask me something unnecessarily detailed! You're trying to distract me…” Why does he care? 

“I thought you didn't like me.” Quackity’s wings fold shut. “Yeah jeez you ever wonder why ? Talking with you is like— a bloody brick wall! You don’t ever open up.” Wilbur’s voice raises. 

“That's not true!” Quackity’s nails dig into his palms. “Then please do continue about what i asked earlier instead of being a fucking coward.” Quackity feels Wilbur’s eyes burning into him. It’s ironic because when Quackity came down here a part of him wanted to comfort Wilbur and yet now he finds the roles are reversed.

“Wilbur soot wants a fucking story.” Quackity’s voice is rather low and snarky as he runs a hand through his hair. “What are you!? some child in need of a bedtime story!?” He mocks as his wings flare up. “Because it is not pretty or silly or whatever magical tale you think you wanna hear!” Quackity heaves.

 “I’m no fool.” Wilbur responds. “No, your just a fan of literature and all i am to you is some fucking autobiography.” Quackity’s finger jabs at Wilbur’s chest. It’s not an arrow this time and Wilbur is thankful. “Can’t I ask frenemy to frenemy?” He says a bit softer. 

He says frenemy because he’s not sure what the two of them are at this point.

“I… I’m not trying to mislead you or make you do anything—- i'm not using anything against you right now…” Wilbur mumbles. “You don’t like me.” Quackity says flatly. “And you shouldn’t like me.” He continues as Wilbur stares down at him. “

I– your, you're taking what I said too literal. I meant, well I'm sure your people love you and everyone swarms you for your attention. But, no one really knows you. The real Alexis Quackity, buried under all those scars and walls.” Wilbur whispers. 

“I don't like who you are now. But I know somewhere— deep down, the old Quackity is in there.” He finishes softly. “Because i liked you, and this— this isn’t you Q.” Quackity listens, his mouth twitches, he has an urge to talk over the man. 

“You blowing up L’manburg wasn’t you.” 

“That wasn’t the real me, no.”

Wilbur sighs and looks away. “Was you kissing me the real you?” Quackity’s eyes widened. “W-What?” Wilbur looks at him. “That day, in your house— When you grabbed my collar. Was that the real you?” He repeats. “I get lonely sometimes.” 

And there’s that vagueness again. Crickets chirp as the conversation goes silent.

 “Do you want to come back to my place?” Wilbur looks at Quackity. He has an unreadable expression. “Am i… just– Just meat to you?” His voice breaks slightly towards the end. Wilbur’s throat runs dry. “Pardon?” His brows furrowed in confusion. 

Y-You asked if i… If I wanted to come back to your place.” Quackity stares at the grassy floor. “I was hoping I could make us a spot of tea. You look like you need it…” Quackity’s eyes water. “Just tea?” he asks as if unsure. “Just tea… Relax Q.” 

Wilbur wishes to hug Quackity but he looks so fragile right now he thinks even just a tap on the shoulder would break him. “Just tea.” Quackity repeats over and over, softly like a matra.

“...And if you want you can tell me what happened in Manburg.” Wilbur suggests softly. Just tea, Just tea, Just tea, Just tea, Just tea. “O-Okay Wil…” Wilbur’s heart melts a little at the nickname. “My home is over by the ruins, it’s a far walk so i understand if you don't really wanna…” Quackity shakes his head. “No! No!” He yells. Wilbur looks at him. “Please don’t… don’t leave.” Quackity mumbles.

 “Okay.”

 Wilbur nods as they begin to walk away from Las Nevadas. The branches crack as they walk.  Just tea, Just tea, Just tea. Quackity is so out of it he doesn’t realize when  the cracks of tree branches become the creaks of the floorboard in Wilbur’s home. Or when the smell of pine is replaced by London Fog. Earl grey… His eyes slowly raise to Wilbur’s. He can barely see the red tint in the dull ceiling light of the kitchen. 

“You’ve got the thousand yard stare.” Wilbur reaches his hand out to touch him but pulls away realizing it might frighten him. Quackity stares down at the tea and stirs it. “I know.”

Wilbur sips his own tea before leaning back in the chair. “Is– is it something you're remembering? Now— that is. This moment.” Don’t play therapist, it never ends well. “I…” Quackity’s wings retract. Don’t hate me. 

Wilbur sits quietly, he’s not even paying attention to his own wings anymore. Quackity’s wings— They’re one closed pair. “ One moment please.” Quackity raises one finger as he lets out a shaky sigh. Wilbur stares for a moment and he pretends his thoughts aren’t on superstition and waits for Quackity to speak. 

“Mate?” Quackity looks up again to find Wilbur’s eyes boring into his. “...That's it, you— you don’t trust me. That's why you're not…” Wilbur mumbles sighing. “I’ll tell you just— patience okay!” Quackity takes a sip of his drink.

Quackity closes his eyes. “I… Where do I start?” He mumbles. “Manburg.” Wilbur reminds him. Quackity stares down into the tea cup. He feels bile crawl up his throat. “Well… at first it— it was just a few comments here and there.” Wilbur’s eyes refocused hearing the person in front of him start to talk. 

“Comments?” Wilbur hesitates to ask as Quackity begins to sweat. “C-Comments…” he mumbles. “What kind Q?” It feels like my mouth is taped shut. “The kind… The kind where you feel a little sick after.” Wilbur stares for a moment waiting for Quackity to elaborate. 

“S-Schlatt liked to drink… he— he was a flirty drunk.” Wilbur shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes he’d slap my ass in the middle of work.” Quackity’s voice shook as he went on. “Other times it was… comments— Like I said before.” Quackity sips the tea.

 “That's disgusting.” Quackity bit his tongue. 

“Me?”

“No— fuckin’ Schlatt. If I were still dead I'd strangle whatever possibility of revival that's left out of him!” Wilbur’s eyes narrowed as his fists began to clench.

“I wasn’t finished.” Quackity says quietly.

 He looks up at Wilbur’s angry red eyes and suddenly Wilbur’s glare softens upon meeting Quackity’s soft black eyes. “It— it got worse… after— after Tubbo began stealing Schlatt’s whisky. Without another person around… it–” His eyes water. “Without his son around there was no reason to stop at just a few comments.”

 Quackity’s nails dig into his palms as he sniffles quietly. Wilbur’s heart stops. “What do you mean it went farther?” His voice quietly shakes with anger. The anger wasn’t directed towards Quackity but it scares him all the same. “I, umm…” Quackity takes a sip of his tea. “I got used to leaving the office sore.” Wilbur freezes as Quackity says that. 

“N-No, no tell me— Tell me you're joking!” Wilbur says desperately as he begins to feel a wave of nausea wash over him. “I-It wasn’t so bad. If—If Schlatt was in a better mood he wouldn’t scream at Tubbo as much.”

”Or want to drink… one small sacrifice for the greater good .”

“Right?” He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.  “Never utter those words again.” Wilbur’s voice is stern. “What?” Wilbur shakes his head. “Your suffering should have never been for some ‘greater good’ ; you shouldn’t have acted as some sort of sacrifice.” Wilbur continues softly. 

“B-But, it— it wasn’t all bad… I mean— sometimes I agree to it.” Quackity’s voice breaks as he stares down at the mug. “Sometimes is not all the time.” Quackity doesn’t meet Wilbur’s eyes. 

“And I'm guessing ‘sometimes’ you weren’t exactly sober were you?” Wilbur asks. “You said he’d drink less? I know him, he wouldn’t do that intentionally. It just means the alcohol was going somewhere else and Tubbo is proper shit at stealing— lying too.” Quackity’s stomach feels like it's in knots. “Maybe Schlatt got more sober sometimes when he was with you, but the real question is were you sober?” Quackity’s throat feels dry so he takes another sip. He doesn’t answer the question.

“W–Well we werent sober the other night…” Wilbur stays silent for a moment. “But we both weren’t. It's not the same if only one person is drunk… it's even less moral.” 

Quackity’s fingers wrap around the hot mug. “Were you the only one intoxicated most of the time?” Wilbur presses on. “Sometimes he was the only one intoxicated. Other times it was just me.” Quackity mumbles.

 Wilbur grits his teeth. “If he weren’t in limbo I'd publicly hang him.” Quackity feels a chill go down his spine at Wilbur’s threat towards the ex-president. It's hard to remember Wilbur is a literal war criminal and has technically killed thousands with such a soft sweet face. 

“Of course it was drinking that killed him first. Even so…” Wilbur’s posture grows tense as he mumbles. He’s not sweet! He’s cunning and a manipulator. “He drinked himself to death.” 

  “He did, didn't he? I remember that day.” You were there. But you weren’t there enough. Not for me anyway. For that wretched siren. “You killed them all that same day.” Wilbur’s eyes meet Quackitys with an unempathetic glance. “I did.”

Quackity finishes his tea. 

There is no taking back my words now.

  “What does that matter?” Wilbur says it like it doesn’t keep him up at night. Really though, it does keep him up at night. “You're no better. Torturing that man routinely— I can't tell if you want the revive book that bad or if it just gets you off to see someone wither beneath your feet.” Wilbur states flatly before collecting the dishes. “We’re both fucked up.” 

Quackity scratches the back of his head. He’s on the verge of tears but he refuses to let there be a moment of weakness in front of Wilbur. It was just a story of Quackity’s past no need to get all worked up over it. “Do you have nightmares?” 

The sink turns on as Wilbur runs the mugs under the steaming hot water. “About Schlatt?” Quackity asks. “Most of the time I don't dream. Sometimes I do dream, but it's not very pleasant when I dream.” Wilbur dries off the mugs. “Will you be okay tonight?” He asks softly. “No, no I won't be okay…” tears stream down Quackity’s face.  

They don’t talk about how their relationship is equally fucked up too. That was another issue for another day. Wilbur dries his hands off. 

Chapter Text

When Wilbur is done washing the dishes all he can think to point out is the blood on Quackity’s wings. “You’ve still got blood on your wings.” Quackity nods. It feels disgusting. “Go wash up. I’ll sleep on the couch.” Wilbur takes off his coat and sets it on the hanger. Quackity gets up and goes to the bathroom. His eyes are red and he feels a sense of deja vu. 

  Quackity locks the door and sits on the floor. He extends his wings and turns on the water in the bathtub. The water is warm and his feathers look more mustard than gold when wet. The dried red flakes peel off. Quackity just sits there— it would be easier if someone could help. If Wilbur could help. But Quackity is fragile. Fragile like a bomb not a flower. And Quackity thinks if someone were to lay a finger on his wings he’d tear their head right from their shoulders.

Quackity didn’t tell Wilbur everything he wanted to stop before he became a pathetic crying mess. Before he tried to push Wilbur away again. Before the idea of hitting him became a ‘good idea’ to get Wilbur to leave him alone. Quackity turns off the water and stands up. He fluffs his wings but they still leave a trail of reddish water on the floor. No matter how much Quackity has gone through it doesn’t justify the way he hurts people.

Wilbur is curled up on the couch. His skeletal wings give him no warmth so he pulls a blanket over himself. His hair brushes against the arm of the chair. He can hear the water running in the distance. His fingers twitch— Wilbur wants a cigarette. 

He can hear Sally making fun of him again but god Wilbur just needs it. Why sleep when I oughta just have a smoke outside? He hears the water shut off. Wilbur pushes down the nicotine craving and sits up for a moment to see the door opening. I need a cigarette. His mind repeats. Of course, who wouldn’t after hearing all of that. Anyone in their right mind would want a smoke after hearing a story like that. 

He has half a mind to offer Quackity a smoke but he doesn’t want to drag Quackity down to his level. 

He hopes Quackity doesn’t mind the smoke because Wilbur is too lazy to get up and go outside. The couch creaks as Wilbur stands up and goes to the coat rack. He digs around in it for a moment— a paper ball falls out; He grabs his pack of cigars and his lighter before laying back on the couch. The box opens after Wilbur fidgets with it for a moment sliding his thin pale fingers into the box. They gently grasp a cigarette before pulling it out and setting the rest of the box on the table. 

I don’t think I even care for Las Nevadas anymore. He places the cigar between his teeth. I’m too old to run a nation anyway. The lighter clicks on. I’m not getting any younger. 

Smoke rises in the house. Wilbur has no fire alarms. Then what am I doing?

Wilbur sucks in a breath of smoke.  Running a food truck. He exhales smoke. Entertaining Quackity. Wilbur tastes ash in his mouth. I don’t ever see Phil. Tommy is in his own world. Wilbur takes another puff. My kid is dead and Sally hates me. 

Wilbur stares at the ceiling. 

And now I have some man in my house and I don't even know what we’re supposed to be— and I may have fallen in love. 

He blinks slowly, his gaze unmoving. I don’t know how to love. Neither does he. Grey clouds waft through the house and WIlbur can hear coughing in the distance. Sorry Q. Wilbur smokes for another moment before stubbing the flame on his wrist. He has an urge to hiss in pain but the circular burn just joins the hundreds of others. 

I don’t think this is love, all the fighting and screaming and violence. But all the kissing and intimacy isn’t hate either. It’s an oxymoron. Lovers who beat each other; Haters who kiss each other. What the fuck is this charade? 

He drops the remainder of the cigarette on the couch. He tastes ash and nicotine. He hasn’t kissed Quackity in what he thinks is a month. It feels like a month. He’s gone way beyond kissing three times this month though. That's not love. But preening his wings and kissing him and offering him tea— that's not exactly hate. 

Wilbur’s fingers curl around his cheek, where Quackity had slapped him. It still stings. But it's no worse than the healing bruises in between the curtain calls. Or the shakiness of his legs during halftime. The coughing in the distance stops. 

Wilbur doesn’t know what to think. All I've got left is Quackity and I think— I think he wants to be rid of me. Quackity could kill him at any moment. Wilbur knows he wouldn’t even bother fighting back. He’s killing himself with these cancer sticks anyway. Might as well die to someone as darling as an angel.

Maybe I could meet Schlatt in hell and give him a piece of my mind. Wilbur’s fingers run over his own throat. I could meet him now if I wanted to. “Hey Wilbur i–” Wilbur sees Quackity looking down at him from the other side of the couch. Wilbur pretends he’s coughing for a moment. 

He pretends suicide isn’t enticing him again.

“Y-Yes Quackity?” He gasps as he blinks back tears from the coughing. “God— How many did you smoke? You sound like a fucking dying whale.” Quackity shakes his head. “‘Enough to make me feel better.”

Wilbur steadys his breath as he looks up at Quackity. His dark hair brushes over his tan shoulders. Right… His shirt was bloody too– Figures he took it off. “Theres an AC just press the fuckin’ button thingy and the smoke will clear.” Wilbur waves his hand dismissively. Wilbur looks at Quackity’s eyes and he’s not sure if they're looking at the same thing with Quackity struggling to see with the greyed out one by the scar.

  Maybe that's why he came to ask. He can’t see it properly– yet his aim is still impeccable. Or… Maybe he just wanted an excuse to talk to me. 

Wilbur gets up and stretches. “I– I wish you’d just have a glass of wine instead.” Quackity mumbles. As Wilbur stretches he makes a soft noise. Quackity’s eyes shift to the bottles of alcohol in the corner. “Take a moment to reevaluate what you just said.” Wilbur turns on the air conditioner. “You should drink…” Quackity squints. “Instead of smoking?”  Wilbur groans and runs a hand through his hair. “I don't— I’m not him , okay? I'm not going to do that.” Wilbur sits back down on the couch.

“I– I, sorry… I forgot I even said anything.” Quackity mumbles. He stands there shirtless, he doesn’t think that blood stain will ever come out fully. He’s beautiful. But Wilbur takes care to only look and not touch. Wilbur isn’t Schlatt. “You're not going to rifle through my kitchen while I'm asleep right?” Wilbur says half-heartedly.

 “No.” Quackity shakes his head. “Was the smoke the only problem or was there something else?” Quackity purses his lips. “That is all.” He lies before walking away. His wings droop behind him. Wilbur hears Quackity walk away. 

Wilbur’s eyes flutter shut— he doesn’t even bother changing out of his clothes. He’s too busy thinking of limbo and strangling people.

Wilbur doesn’t dream a lot but when he does it always throws him off the next morning. Tonight his dreams were haunted by a red haired woman. It’s an old memory. But it's less pictures and more feelings. 

A light headed sensation when he recites his poems. Only back then he compared himself to a sailor and Sally to a lost siren at sea. Just a man touring the the rivers and stopping by a mass of land; The esempi. And of course he only stops because he sees a crying mermaid in the center of it all. He stops and says. “What's a gorgeous girl like you doing crying on a day like this?” and in that moment she says. “Gorgeous? How so stranger… My people have abandoned me and my hair is a wreck.” She’d cry. Wilbur’s heart faltered for her and he took a seat with his guitar. “Those people were blind to leave someone as lovely as you— I could write as many songs as there are stars about you. What’s your name dear?” He’d whisper. “Sally.” She mumbled as she combed her fingers through her messy maroon hair. “Sally, my muse.” Love at first sight; It was never a real thing. 

Wilbur’s eyes lit up— but it all went downhill from there. The fluttering of his heart was like the flying of arrows twisting through the air as he protected the merfolk land. Of course Sally was the only one left, the only one crazy enough to stay. 

Wilbur was the only one crazy enough to fight for this person he barely knew. Then came along his son and then Wilbur was trapped. Trapped with the constant tension in his shoulders, the way his heart raced with anxiety, and there were no butterflies in his stomach, only nausea.

 Only nausea because he should have never been out at sea all those years ago. There was a ring on his finger and “Until death do us part'' became literal. So Wilbur wakes with a cold sweat when he hears the familiar humn of a coffee machine and the smell of breakfast, because Sally isn’t here and Fundy isn’t a hungry growing boy. 

He sees Quackity in the kitchen for the first time. It feels wrong. Impossibly off. The way the light leaks through the blinds and shines onto him. Or the way the bacon sounds as it sizzles and pops. I’ve never seen him stay until the morning after.

  Of course there's a first time for everything. Normally it’s Wilbur who’s in Quackity’s house but, Wilbur is ushered out the minutes between midnight becoming 1:00am. 

Quackity’s wings are dry, most of the blood is off them but a few dots still remain where he couldn’t reach it himself. He flips a pancake. The cough creaks as Wilbur sits up groggly and a little shaken from the unsettling dream. “Morning Al…Quackity.” He corrects himself because no one refers to Quackity by first name. 

And no matter how hard I try he’ll never let his guard down enough to just be Alexis around me. And he has every right to do that. I leave my takeover plans everywhere and I just look like an asshole who just wants to use him for power. “

Morning.” Quackity mumbles as he sets the pancakes on a plate.

And that's all I really am. An asshole who wants to use a broken man for power. Now I'm too much of a bloody coward to go through with it. And for what? Pity? Lust? Or is it love— because I swear to god I hate that word! Things would be so much easier if I wasn't a hopeless romantic and I could just confidently say I hate him. But I don't hate him… I haven't since he said he loved me and it’s shit because I know he doesn’t mean it and yet how I fall. How pathetic I fell. 

A plate is set on the coffee table with a mug of warm coffee. There's two pancakes and a slice of bacon. Sally used to make this all the time. “Thanks mate.” Wilbur mumbles while taking a bite. Quackity sits down next to him with his own plate. “How’d you sleep?” He asks— and his voice is so deep and gravely when he’s tired Wilbur can’t help but feel his heart race. His throat goes dry as he twittle’s his thumbs.

“Terribly.” He chuckles. “What about you?” Quackity’s fork pokes the pancake. “Your bed is nicer than I thought it would be.” And Wilbur just snorts. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” And Quackity doesn’t answer for a moment.

His face just heats up, because all he’s thinking about is the smell of Wilbur’s collonge permanently engraved on his silk bed sheets. Or the smokey scent by the pillows and ashtray. And how Wilbur’s bedroom was just so Wilbur. With vinyals and a record player and a crimson bedspread. The only thing missing was the man himself.

 “I slept well.” Quackity’s eyes dart away as he takes another bite of his food. He slept with his wings wrapped around himself craving the warmth of another body— Oh why did he lie last night? The smoke wasn’t the only thing bothering him.

Quackity missed the warmth of his imp lover Sapnap and the soft skin of his beloved human Karl. He misses the loving cuddles every night before bed. Wilbur sleeping on the couch felt like a knife to the gut. Quackity knows Wilbur was trying to be respectful and polite but god Quackity was touch starved and every second without a soft platonic hold was driving him crazy. 

Wilbur doesn’t notice the missing balled up paper by the coat hanger or the way Quackity is looking at him a bit differently this morning. Almost a look of longing. Something that they both know they can never have. It's a pipedream and I'm delusional. 

Wilbur wants a monopoly on Las Nevadas and Quackity wants to know how Wilbur came back to life. They are both chasing power, not a domestic life together. Quackity know’s he's getting distracted and Wilbur has given up on undermining Quackity. All he wants is to be under him instead but not just for a night but for all of eternity. Eternity won't happen. Not without a revive book– Because Quackity is unpredictable and the second he gets angry it's all over with the slash of an enchanted weapon. 

They both want a domestic life.

“I’m glad you slept well… um thank you— for breakfast that is, you didn’t have to do all this.” Wilbur says quickly. “You didn’t have to let me stay here. I don’t like oweing people.” Quackity’s eyes narrow. The longing look is gone. “I am debtless and I will remain so.” 

Business Quackity is back. Not Alexis who just wants to be held by his lovers. 

“Well it was out of the kindness of my heart not a loan.” Wilbur assures him, his fingers trace over Quackity’s golden wings. “There's no such thing as favors. Only equal exchanges and this is one of them.” Quackity’s voice is firm as he gets up. “Good day Soot.” Quackity fluffs his wings before exiting through the front door. And the way he addresses me by last name hurts like bloody hell. The door slams shut. “...Good day Quackity.” Wilbur mumbles meekly long after the door is shut.

Chapter Text

For a week straight all that's on Quackity’s mind is the silky bed sheets on Wilbur’s bed. It drives him crazy and keeps him a little flustered on the job. Wilbur stayed far away from Quackity that night last week out of respect and Quackity hated it. He hated it and wished— That I never opened my goddamn mouth. Because now it's so hard to get Wilbur to just touch him. Wilbur the guilty sadist. Quackity is pent up beyond belief. 

There are poles on the stage and the buzz of alcohol comforts him. The music vibrates through his bones as the strippers dance. Their movements are hypnotizing and Quackity’s eyes follow their hips as he watches. He’s a little intoxicated and a little too willing to empty his wallets tonight. He has cash to blow and nowhere else to be. And if he wanted to be anywhere else right now it would be in WIlbur’s bed underneath him— but that's not happening so Quackity is at a stripclub. 

The lust clouding his judgment so he doesn’t have time to judge the contents of Wilbur’s poetry. He doesn’t want to think about the man’s gift of the pen or the romance behind his words. The music echoes and reverberates through his skull as he sips his wine. It's sweet and dark red. Just like Wilbur’s bedsheets. But Wilbur isn’t the only reason why he’s here— of course he misses the touch of his other ex lovers too.

 He’s grateful Las Navadas is a diverse nation because he can see features in the dancers' faces that remind him of them in a bittersweet feeling. Karls pastel nails— or Sapnaps dark red horns. Then there was a dusty brunette and he hated the way his heart squeezes as they dance. Probably because he left so abruptly that morning. 

Now a week later it's a saturday night and he sees pieces of his lovers in the dancers on the poles. But maybe that was just the wine talking. 

Quackity’s mind spaces he can’t register when the song changes and when he’s found someone on top of him. All he knows is his hands are hooked around their waist. Quackity’s eyes flicker up feeling the grinding to the beat of the music. He swears he can’t see their face— everything is distorted from the drinking. 

Quackity leans into the chair as he shudders softly. His eyes slip shut as they move skillfully. “Tu encantador…” Quackity mumbles feeling them press against the hard area. At some point he’s moved from drinking wine to taking shots. He wonders if he’ll get a hangover but it’s hard to think with them moving like this. It feels like heaven and my cock throbbing. And maybe if he closes his eyes and believes hard enough it’s an ex lover on top of him and not a dancer at a club.

He bites his lip as his nails dig into the chair. That poem had him fucked up, and the drinking had him spacing off as their hips rocked against his. I  knew Wilbur was an idiot but he didn’t know he was this much of a fool. “Ah— Ah…”

  Wilbur is a fool for me. 

That much was clear. Quackity covers his mouth as a quiet moan slips out. It feels good but he doesn’t know them at all. Quackity is so in his head he can’t even bother to ask their name or look at their face.  

How could Wilbur fall so hard? Was it a trauma bond or was he that much of a masochist? 

Quackity guides their hips, his grip tightening. Quackity thinks it's both. He can feel the alcohol burning the back of his throat as he lets out another soft whine at their movements. The movements are clean and eloquent and remind him too much of Wilbur. Because really it’s Wilbur that Quackity wants right now but a stripper will suffice.

Quackity was so cold at the end of their last encounter. “O-Oh fuck, yes… Just like that.”

  I don’t stick around to see Wilbur the next morning. Wilbur doesn’t write poems about angelic Avains. And yet both of those statements were proven false. 

“Keep going.” The poem had Quackity’s heart twisting in ways he’d thought he’d never feel again. It was dangerous— it was too similar to the feeling of his ex fiances’ bringing me a bouquet of flowers and wrapping me in a loving embrace. Quackity can’t breathe. 

The crumpled paper is on his desk and a part of him wants to set it with that old photo of Wilbur. Don’t get attached. Why did I start doing these things with Wilbur anyway? “Ah…” 

Why can’t Wilbur scream at me properly anymore? What's wrong with him? Quackity’s lips part slightly as he meets someone else's. I don’t taste smoke on their tongue. It’s not the same. no mi amante. But Wilbur was never his lover to begin with. And that's the catch. Quackity finds himself wishing Willbur was his lover.

When Quackity gets home he lays on the bed on his side. He feels alone. He feels sick— almost ill. What am I doing? Quackity stares at the stolen paper on the bedside table. What is he doing? Quackity’s wings unfold as they wrap around him in a makeshift blanket. 

It was a depressing sight. His eyes drooped as his head rested against the cool pillow. If Quackity moves too much he thinks he’ll be nauseous. I don’t know if it’s from the drinking or what I paid that dancer to do to me. Either way he hugs the pillow in a pathetic manner and sobs quietly. I have work tomorrow what the fuck am i doing? 

Wet tears trail down his tan face. He can feel his hair sticking to his cheeks, clinging to the dampness. Quackity sniffles as he squeezes his eyes shut. The alcohol is still coursing through his veins. And regret is too. Why did I do that? What the fuck is wrong with me? Oh god… Maybe I am disgusting… 

It 's 1:14am and he finds himself in a familiar spiral. He hates how damp the pillow gets from his tears. Overthinking again. Quackity grips the pillow a bit tighter as his eyes linger on the empty ashtray. 

It’s been too long since Wilbur has met him here at this time of night. Yet I bought a hooker’s time and I feel utterly terrible for my actions. I’m dirty and disgusting… 

Chapter Text

Quackity was good at speeches but in the face of something he had no time to prepare for it was less than stellar. Quackity’s face was broadcasted across the nation on every screen available. He hadn’t eaten, he hadn’t had a good sleep and he was facing a hangover.

Torturing the prisoner was getting him nowhere so he spent the next week going through every library he could. However no book there had an answer. Quackity was so caught up in trying to uncover what feels like another headache— He didn’t notice Wilbur’s sudden lack of interest in Quackity. While Quackity was spending days and nights in libraries Wilbur had not once bothered him or tried to get under his skin. 

Even as Quackity’s wings began to molt—- whether it was the stress or just that time of year again Quackity couldn't tell. His feathers began to fall out leaving trails on the floor as he went through bookshelf after bookshelf.

Whenever Quackity did see Wilbur he had a smug look on his face. Normally Quackity would have pressed on but under the pressure of his nation he didn’t have time for Wilbur’s mindgames. There was a reason Quackity didn’t like opening up to Wilbur and that is because Wilbur likes to play with people. String them along like puppets. Quackity never knew Wilbur’s next move. 

Quackity mostly looked at enderian history books if they could make Eyltra maybe they could preform revivals. ]He tried not to think of Ranboo. Or talk to Tubbo. Sometimes Tubbo made Quackity feel rather threatened to be frank. Maybe it was the way Tubbo kept buying restaurant chains in his nation like some sort of monopoly or maybe it was the way Tubbo looked at him but Quackity felt threatened. Tubbo was the same way to Wilbur though. Quackity thinks it's because of Ranboo’s death.

Quackity had eyebags as though he hadn’t slept in awhile. He was reading day and night. Not that anyone can tell the difference anymore. It's always cold and pitch black outside when he leaves. Everything he read was not helpful. Just how chorus fruit turns humans ender and how wealthy enderians are in their home dimension. Quackity didn’t need to know the inner workings of an ender pearl— or ender eye. He just wanted to know what they were doing here. 

Quackity eventually gave up on Libraries after a week and returned to Pandora's vault. If any book could answer this it had to be the revive book. Except when he got there something was different. Maybe it was the broken portal or the blaring alarms— But Quackity knew the prisoner had either escaped or someone had broken in. 

For the first time in years Quackity was scared . Fear crawled up his body as Samuel told him someone had killed the prisoner within the last 48 hours. Someone else had the revivebook. They stole it right under Quackity’s nose. Even if Quackity was originally going to steal it himself. No one would kill the prisoner if he hadn’t given up the reivie book.

Quackity has half a mind to march down to Kinko Kingdom and grab king Geroge by the throat. George always had a soft spot for that prisoner— and if anyone had the reive book it had to be him right ? There was no one else the prisoner would open up to.

Instead of making a formal meeting, Quackity just flew over and took a dive into the castle’s nearest balcony. It proved difficult to steer with the feathers falling from his wings. Not to mention the fact Quackity could barely see where he was going in the eternal night skies. He nearly crashed on the marble railing and found himself stumbling into a wall. 

“¡Mierda!” Quackity’s head smacked against the bricks. His wings flapped uselessly as he tried to regain his balance. A few feathers drifted onto the floor. It wouldn’t take long to find George as some fool had left the doors to the balcony unlocked. And Geroge is known for being the living sleeping beauty. So when Quackity entered the elegant bedroom and found the mooshroom-hybrid asleep it was no surprise. Quackity loomed over the man. 

“What the fuck did you do with it!?” Quackity shook the brunette awake. “...Huh?” George said groggily. “Do— What?” His voice was deep from exhaustion. “Don’t be coy asshole!” Quackity swore as George sat up. He stratched at the base of his white horns.

 “Pardon? I– i don't… Quackity? What are you doing here… It's the middle of the night.” A chandelier dangled over him. “Its day— God, it's been like this outside for going on two weeks now!” George’s eyes flickered over towards the window. “Oh.” Quackity grit his teeth. 

“Is this an assastion?” George’s voice took on a more fearful tone. “S-Secur—” Quackity’s hand gripped George's throat as the king gasped for air. “This is a conversion between you and me— Got it?” Quackity growled as George nodded. Quackity’s grip loosened slightly. “Where did you put the revive book?” Quackity said carefully. “I don’t fuckin’ have it mate.” The words tumbled out quickly. 

“I don’t have all day. Where the fuck is it? I know that shit ex of yours gave it to you!” Geroge could feel his heart hammering against his chest. “I haven’t spoken to Clayton in months, I swear!” George stammers as he struggles to breathe. 

“I don’t believe you.” Quackity hisses. “It's the truth i– i don’t have it please! I—If you kill me you’ll look bad…” George tries to reason with him. “There will be— AH!” George gasps for air. “A– A target on your back.” Quackity just chuckles. “Really now?” He taunts. 

“Poor sleeping Geroge won’t wake up. Just the usual behavior from our king.” 

George feels a chill go down his spine. “You're bluffing anyways. You can bring yourself back anytime with that book.” Quackity rolls his eyes.

“You can give me the book or I could see the book in action once you're gone! This is your final life isn’t it George?” Quackity stares at him coldly. George’s throat feels like it's being crushed as he gaps for air. Only a few incoherent half sentences fall from Geroge’s lips before his body goes limp. 

Quackity slowly lets go, noticing the light fading from his eyes. Dramatic. Is what he brushes it off as. But soon he notices the everdropping body temperature. Quackity stands there for a moment watching— Waiting for his eyes to shoot back open and to see God stitch him back together with a holy thread. For Geroge to look like Wilbur .

 But the moment never comes. Whats taking so fucking long? Quackity stares at the fallen king as an unsetting realization crept in. George was being truthful. And I just killed Kinko’s king. Quackity swears under his breath before grabbing all the molted feathers off the floor and shoving them in his pocket. 

God fucking dammit. 

Quackity reposistions George’s body and he stands there for a moment. Because he notices a wedding ring on Geroge’s finger. The gem is Sapnap’s favorite and Quackity feels a bit nauseous as he rushes out of the room.  People move on. George really hadn’t spoken to the prisoner, not if he’s married! Quackity clenches his jaw as he opens the door to the balcony. 

Only a few feathers falling into the kingdom below are evidence of Quackity’s unintended declaration of war. Just a bump in the road in his quest for power. Quackity would do anything for power. While Geroge’s death was not intended it didn’t necessarily bother Quackity too much. But it was sure to bother the general public. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur had decided the best thing he could do at the moment was protect Tommy. He didn’t want Tommy wandering around alot and he didn’t want to see his younger brother hurt. Especially after that stunt he pulled back at the market. Tommy had started to just linger in Wilbur’s house. Phil was off kicking it with Techno and those two adventures were simply too good to stay home and protect their family. Leaving the responsibility to fall on Wilbur’s shoulders as per usual. 

“No weird pets, no being loud, no throwing around potions.” Those were the ground rules. “But Shroud wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Wilbur took a deep breath. “Tom, Shroud eats flies. He’s a bloody spider !” Wilbur points out. “He’s a nice boy. Isn’t that right Shroud?” Tommy giggles at the spider in his palm.

 “Fine! Fine— Your stupid arse spider can stay just keep it out of my room.” Wilbur relents. “Oh Wilbur, you are simply the best and only man ever.” Tommy grins and Wilbur rolls his eyes. 

Wilbur sighs and grabs himself a drink. Of course it's not a glass of water, it's an actual shot of alcohol. “Doin’ a bit of boozin’ without me Wil?” Wilbur feels the burning go down his throat. “Oh shut it, you're not old enough to drink.” Wilbur sets the shot glass in the sink. 

“I’m an adult!” Tommy says defensively. “You're 18.”

  Not to mention I need this drink more right now.

  “I’m a big man.” Tommy insists as Wilbur sinks into the couch feeling the familiar buzz take over. “Big men are over 21 Toms, I'm sorry.” Wilbur mumbles closing his eyes. 

“But— But Tubbo!” Wilbur looks over at Tommy. “Tubbo has fuckin’ issues … and he knows he’s not supposed to be doing that.” Is all Wilbur says before dismissing Tommy. Thomas frowns before putting Shroud back in his terrarium. “I worry about him sometimes.” Tommy comments. 

I think everyone that knows Tubbo worries about him, Tommy.

Tommy carries the terrarium to the guest room along with Ranboo’s urn. Tubbo told him looking at it hurt too much. So Tommy took the urn from Tubbo’s calloused palms and now the urn sits in the guest room. Wilbur sees the urn and he feels a compulsive urge to take another shot. 

You're a killer, remember? 

Of hundreds of thousands of lives that don’t matter. And one that actually does. 

Willbur buries his face in his palms before he lets out a deep sigh. The alcohol makes Wilbur feel warm and tired. A book sticks out of the pocket of his trenchcoat. 

Wilbur misses Quackity. He finds himself wanting to kiss him at the moment. Quackity hasn’t paid attention to me in a while. That's fine. I don’t need him anymore. “

Yo Wil.” Wilbur looks over. “What Tommy?” He says in an annoyed manner. “I’m gonna head out– get more shit back at the base to grab. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Thomas says loudly. Oh jeez. “It’s dangerous… you can borrow my dagger. Don’t make eye contact with enderians its rude.” Tommy nods, grabbing it off the counter. 

“You act like we’ve never met Ranboo.” Wilbur freezes up. “Ah… Ranbus— i- I don’t like remembering… Just– Just go okay?” Wilbur says softly. Tommy nods and grabs a sack before leaving. Wilbur watches as Tommy leaves and only relaxes once Tommy closes the door. Wilbur felt like time was slowing down and the alcohol took effect. He spent the rest of the evening tipsy before eventually falling asleep reading through a book in a foreign language. 

The next day Wilbur takes care to notice power is limited and only public televisions and billboards are allowed to be on. The day of Quackity’s speech Wilbur cared not to listen. The announcement of Kinko kingdom being kingless was a shock to everyone but Wilbur. 

Quackity spares no time. Shoot first, ask questions later. 

Wilbur sucks in a puff of smoke standing in front of the screen on the building. “Figures.” Wilbur chuckles, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “What a fucking idoit.” 

Wilbur walks towards the tallest building in Las Nevadas, the needle. Wilbur bets Quackity has rather interesting files in there. Files that could be of use to Wilbur.  Wilbur is in the dimly lit office alone going through the flies. He makes haste skimming through stacks of papers for headlines, for anything really.

“¡¿Qué diablos estás hablando?!” Quackity says as he opens the door. His phone is pressed to his ear as he steps into the office. “"No— Eso es jodidamente estúpido. ¿Por qué Sapnap sería el próximo en la línea para gobernar el reino de Kinko?" Wilbur freezes, his eyes flickering over to him. "¡Ese imbécil!" Quackity hangs up before making eye contact with Wilbur. 

“¡¿Qué carajo?!”

 Quackity’s eyes dart to the axe in his off hand. “Shit— Shit you fucking idoit you weren’t supposed to hear that!” Quackity shoves the phone in his pocket. “I–I don’t speak Spanish, you know that Quackity…” Wilbur laughs awkwardly as his eyes frantically move through the papers on the desk. 

Revival, Revival, Revival. 

“I don’t believe that.” Quackity grips the axe as his wings flare slightly. “Don’t kill me you're so sexy aha…” Wilbur sweats as he spots the stack of papers he was looking for. Although i know i'm incapable of death now. 

“I dont give a flying fuck how sexy you are.” Quackity shoves Wilbur against the wall.“You are nothing but a fucking thorn in my side Wilbur! Is that clear!?” Quackity refuses to tell the truth. Quackity holds the tip of his axe to Wilbur’s throat. “Oh… Q” Wilbur chuckles softly. “Your fucking delusional! I don’t want you.” Quackity swears loudly.

“I hate you! I hate you— Do you hear me are, are you fucking stupid!” 

Wilbur feels the blade pressing to his throat. His head leans into the wall as his face heats up. “Is this how Clayton felt?” Wilbur quips with a broad grin. Quackity had Wilbur cornered and was just about fed up with all of Wilbur’s mind games. “Unlike you he’s in touch with reality!” 

Wilbur stares down at him. “And do tell, what do you know about reality?” Wilbur challenges. “This world is falling apart darling.” Wilbur’s fingers trail down Quackity’s hand. “Don’t test me i’ll kill you here and fucking now! I’m done with your shit— I’m done with everyone’s shit!”

“Are you scared of being happy?” Wilbur asks softly. “I hate you!” Wilbur stares back at him unamused. “I think you have a fear of intimacy. I’ve seen the way you look at me. What is this ridiculous front you're putting back up again?” Wilbur asks teasingly.

 “Don’t tell me you fell in love dearie.”

 Quackity drops the axe backing away. “It’s not a fucking front! And don’t call me that.” Quackity’s voice shakes. “Then what do you call this? Hmm?” Wilbur picks up the axe tracing the edge of it. “You want me so bad you hate it.” Wilbur chuckles, setting the axe against the wall. 

He grabs all the papers off the desk. “I–I want nothing to do with you get out of my office” Wilbur’s eyes scan over the papers with a slight smile. All of Quackity’s documentation on the revive book. All the answers he got out of the tortured soul. “Shut up you liar. You don’t want this life and we both know it.” Wilbur’s fingers turn through the pages. Quackity’s hand grips Wilbur’s wrist. “Put it down!” Quackity hisses. 

“I’m afraid i’ll be needing these honey.” He turns away from the shorter man. “What is with you!  Last week you were all lovey dovey and now you're acting as if nothing matters.” Most of it is a transcript. Good enough I suppose. “Last week I was scared of you. Last month I was scared of you. Are you getting the picture Quackity? I’m not afraid anymore.” Wilbur waves the papers over Quackity’s head. 

“So I'll come and go as I please. So thank you Quackity for making this oh so easy for me.” 

Quackity’s expression drops. 

“What?’ He says quickly as Wilbur begins to walk off. “For doing all my dirty work .” Wilbur’s red eyes lock with his brown ones.

  I never needed Las Navadas anyway. This is so much better than a petty nation. This is the string of fate and I'm the puppeteer! And Quackity is simply a fool who fails to realize theres lines between the lines he reads. 

“You have it! You have the fucking book don’t you!?”

“So the bird does have a brain.” Wilbur laughs as the door clicks shut. 

Chapter Text

Fundy has seen nothing but darkness in the months of his death. He sits alone in limbo with his tail wrapped around his feet. His ears twitch at every sound. Fundy’s nails dig into his ginger hair and the silence drives him crazy. He was like his mother; She hated very few things, the first being Fundy’s father and the second being lonesome silences. So when he was already dealing with the first hate— The lonely silence of limbo; And the second hate, Wilbur, who appears in his field of vision he’s dumbstruck.

Fundy clutches his chest as he struggles to breath as he falls on the wooden floor. Wilbur is looking down at him with a book in hand. “My boy!” Wilbur knees down to help Fundy up. But Fundy just growls and slaps his father’s hand away.

He struggles to stand— and breathe for that manner, as though the water in his lungs were still there. He’s drowned from suicide and he still tastes salt water in his throat. “Get the hell away from me!” Fundy coughs and lake water from L’manberg is spat out from the depths of his throat. The book in Wilbur’s hands glows softly but it was nothing next to the soft and caring look on Wilbur’s face. Of course that look didn’t last long hearing his son’s cruel words.

“Son— Son, it's me… Your father!” Wilbur trips over his words. “I know it’s you. What the fuck am i doing here— i wanted to get away from you and you won’t even let me have peace in death!?” Fundy snarls and the way his teeth look remind Wilbur of Sally. Fundy is just like his mother, a shapeshifter with teeth too sharp to be considered not carnivorous.

And well— You know what they say about carnivores.

Fundy’s breath catches in his throat when he makes eye contact with the starry skies in the closed windows.

“Why the hell would you bring me back— How did you… Oh! You stole that thing, stop playing with the strings of fate!” Fundy runs his hands through his hair and he feels a plethora of emotions wash over him. “Is it so wrong to want a second chance at being a father!?”

Wilbur’s voice cracks. “I went through hell and back to get my hands on this thing just to see you again— please… Just give me one more chance. Just one more, that's all I ask of you son!” Wilbur sobs quietly as he holds the revive book close to his chest. His dark eyelashes are wet with tears. “I don’t even want to know what you did to get your hands on that thing.” Fundy’s eyes shift away in mild disgust

“ I need peace! Closure, at the very least. Just let me have this.” Wilbur whispers as tears fall down his cheeks.

“Answer the fucking question!”

“I stole it— alright!”

Wilbur shouts as irritated. “I kept track of Quackity’s schemes until I knew I had a good percentile of success and I took it before the the prisoner killed himself!” Fundy stares at him.

“You used him is what you did.” He scoffs. “Don’t try to beat around the bush with all that unnecessarily detailed descriptions– you used him, no wait— manipulate is a better word. You manipulated him. You know reviving people doesn’t make you less of a murderer right? Blood is still on your hands and it always— and I mean always will be.” Fundy says with a disgusted expression.

“Do you know how it feels knowing your own father has killed thousands!?” And Wilbur just shuts up because clearly there was nothing he could say to fix this.

“Well at least your mother can rest easy.” He grumbles. “‘Course it was never about me was it? You're just trying to get her to take you back— well news flash! She doesn’t want to be around you and neither do i!” And just like that Wilbur finds himself alone again with the revive book in hand. Painfully alone.

I don't think this was worth hurting Quackity over.

Chapter Text

“My son fucking hates me.” Wilbur warbles to the bartender in the casino. “You’d think he’d be–” Wilbur hiccups. “A little more grateful to someone who brought him back from the dead!” His voice slurs. “Ungrateful little shit.” He curses. “Why doesn’t he— I'm his dad, we’re family! I just wanted a second chance…” He downs the amber liquid.

“Sir, I'm going to have to kindly ask you to leave.” The bartender stares down at him. Wilbur’s face is flushed from all the drinking. The casino isn’t very lively anymore, not since the start of the apocalypse. “No! No fuck you, i need this.” Wilbur’s voice grows angry. “Give me anotha’ pint!” He’s probably off with Sally by now. He liked her better from the beginning.

“It’s closing in 5 minutes… im sure the owner of the ca— Oh Mister president your back already!” Wilbur freezes upon hearing Quackity enter the casino. Shit. “Of course im back, do you know how fucking hard it is to keep staff when theres a literal dragon terrozing the general population!?” Quackity’s wings flare as he grabs the bartender by the collar before his eyes soften seeing a all too familiar drunk brunette sitting in the red stool.

“Wilbur?” He says shakily. “Quackity?” Wilbur looks down at him with doe eyes. “The fuck are you doing here?” Quackity sounds more confused if anything. “Broodin’” He mumbles. “Go away.” He says after a moment. “Over what? You’ve already stripped me of what dignity i have left!” Quackity lets go of the bartender turning his focus to Wilbur. “Dignity, shicnity… fuck…” Wilbur lays his head against the counter.

“The hell is wrong with you? What happened to all the gloating? All the arrogance? This isn’t Wilbur.” Quackitys nails dig into Wilbur’s shoulders as he shakes him. Wilbur dully lets him with a empty gaze. Quackity knew that look. Empty red eyes. The kind of look where his pupils reflect on tnt. The kind of look when Wilbur stares at puddles of blood forming on his wrists. The kind of look where he has nothing to lose or gain.

And it scares Quackity, it scares him deeper than the fact Wilbur is in possession of the revive book. Wilbur could destroy it. “Nothin’ matters fuck you bitch.” He mumbles. “Go choke on dick or something. Whatever the hell you do in your free time.” Wilbur’s looking through Quackity. “Hate you.” This one gets to Quackity. “No you don’t.” His voice trembles as if scared. This man manipulated him and betrayed him and love bombed him but him saying “hate” was far worse in Quackity’s eyes.

God they hadn’t “hated” each other in so long.

“What is this then?” Quackity mumbles sadly. Quackity’s fingers run over Wilbur’s shoulder. “Stop!” Wilbur hisses. “Stop that.” Wilbur… Quackity flinches at his tone. “Your fucking with me again and i hate it so just stop.” His voice is bitter as the two share warmth. “You said that two weeks ago too.” Wilbur squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh how smart Quackity, what an astounding observation! I didn’t know that— Almost as if I wasn't there when that happened.” Wilbur mocked.

“B-But you were…” Quackity starts. “Exactly! Now shut up.” Quackity’s heart pangs as Wilbur refuses to look at him. Wilbur was trying to talk. Quackity was too but it was hard to rest in good conscious knowing Wilbur was genuinely mad at him. So mad that maybe the word Love really was Loathe again. Quackity loathed this whole situation.

“What?” Quackity sighs. “Just a moment to talk— Please Wilbur?” Quackity begs. “What’s there to talk about? You played with my heart and have made it clear you don’t want me. All you care for is bodies. Not souls.” Wilbur’s jaw clenches. “Thomas was right— I should have just stopped. You are no angel.” Quackity feels his throat close. “Please! Please im sorry— I didnt know— I didn’t fucking know okay? Lo lamento, Lo lamento!” He stumbles over his words. “You knew fully.” Wilbur states. “I don't care for your apologies Q.”

Quackity feels like he’s losing Wilbur. “Please just calm down Wilbur!” He begs. “I—I can’t lose you too…” He says softer. “Oh fuck off.” Wilbur says flatly.

“You don’t mean it— it's all flowery words and bullshit and we both know it. Don’t act like a poet in the face of one.” Quackity’s heart hammers against his chest.

“¡No estoy bromeando!—No estoy bromeando… Escúchame.” Wilbur feels Quackity’s tears drip down his collar bones. “¡Escúchame!” Wilbur can hear the desperation as Quackity sobs quietly. “I’m listening to you and it’s all bullshit.” Wilbur snarks.

“Please!” Quackity shakes his head. “We’re not even together—Why are you so fucking mad!” Wilbur can feel Quackity’s wings tense. “Doesn’t change the fact it hurt me.” Wilbur says coldly.

“You say all i do is hurt people? Why don’t you take a look at yourself?”

“I hate you.” Wilbur mumbles feeling Quackity pulls him closer. Quackity’s warm golden feathers pressed against Wilbur’s waist. “You know what this does to me and yet you—” Wilbur feels his eye twitch in annoyance. Quackity’s face is buried in Wilbur’s neck.

“This is just unnecessary!” Wilbur complains “You're getting unnecessarily close to me mister president. I'm sure some poor other civilian will pity you enough to give you head. Now get off of me you bitch.” Wilbur says coldly. He’s still… hung up on everything. “I don’t want you like that right now, I swear.” Quackity’s voice shakes.

Wilbur notices the tears and feels a pang to slight regret. Wilbur mumbles as his fingers knot through Quackity’s hair. Quackity’s body pressed against his. “Why are you so scared?” Wilbur asks softly. “¿qué?” Wilbur looks down at Quackity.

“You— You have a habit of speaking Spanish when you're nervous. At least around me. Overwhelmed rather.” Wilbur mumbles. “It’s because I can’t think straight— I just think of the first words that come to mind… i'm sorry if its annoying— or if you can’t understand me.” Quackity whispers. “No— No it's not annoying! It's not annoying your voice is pretty when you speak it.” Wilbur holds him a bit tighter.

“I’m still mad at you though for what you did.” Wilbur strokes Quackity’s feathers. “You were supposed to fix everything you asshole!” Wilbur’s eyes bud with tears. “You didn’t fix jack shit. You dont know jackshit, you're just a stupidly pretty bird.” Quackity hears Wilbur's voice break. “Fix shit!? What are you going on about— are you fucking crazy?” He asks in a condescending manner. “Oh we both know the answer to that.” Wilbur says slowly.

Quackity feels like his heart is going to snap in two. It’s going to snap in two because Wilbur looks beautiful when he cries and he wants to wipe those tears away. He’s crying and Quackity finds something holy within the very sight. “Don't say things like that…” He whispers as Wilbur sobs quietly.

“Might as well kill myself again.” He lets out a dry laugh. Quackity’s grip tightens. “No! No— dont… Don’t do that.” What was the point of sticking around, he’d failed again as a father what more could he do? Sally hates him, Fundy hates him, he’s wanted in most places— and he’s sure he’s made Quackity hate him too. Hate hate him. Not the muddled down hate they use in place of the word love. But hate like the way Quackity tortures people and gets a sadistic pleasure out of it. Hate hate.

“Why would you say that! Don’t fucking— do i have to restain you from hurting yourself?”

“I think that's rather sexy.”

Quackity suppresses an irritated groan at Wilbur’s avoidance of the question. “And here i thought you hated being controlled.” Quackity mutters before continuing. “Don’t change the fucking subject Wil.” Wil, oh it's been so long since he’s called me Wil. It sends butterflies into his alcohol infested stomach. “I dont fucking care… tie me up, cuff me, put me in a beheading board whatever you want ducky!” His voice slurs as he laughs looking down at Quackity.

“Preferably the last…” He bites his lip.

“Kill me,you know you want to Q— just get my nusincsed self out of the way, grab your shit book and publicly execute me.” Wilbur says ecstatically. “Wouldn’t that be fun?” Wilbur purrs against Quackity’s ear. “Punish me like the sinner i am, my dearest angel.” And if Wilbur wasn’t literally threatening suicide those words would have turned Quackity on beyond belief. “Oh i’d love to punish you… but not if it involves you dying.”

“Kill me! My ex-wife wants me dead, my son wants me dead— You want me dead!” He rambles on drunkenly. “Who said I want you dead?” Quackity asks in a shaky tone. “...i- i don't know.” Wilbur says weakly. Wilbur’s face presses into Quackity’s chest and for once Quackity welcomes the touch and just wraps his arm around him and pulls him closer. Wilbur quietly cries and if he weren’t drunk he’d be smacking himself atop the head for being so weak around the man he just stabbed in the back. For being so stupid.

“I like you alive. I like you staying resurrected, okay te amo?” Quackity mumbles and Wilbur’s heart just melts. “Let's get you out of here…” Quackity says softly. Quackity pushes down any feeling of betrayal and resentment and it feels like that day in the forest. It feels like earl gray is pursed on his lips. It feels like he wants to take care of Wilbur.

“I don't wanna go home!” Wilbur’s eyes are red, a few veins crawl up circling the red iris. “...I won't make you go home, but i will make you drink water sober up my friend…” Quackity says quietly. “No! No! I don't wanna!”

Wilbur’s voice cracks and the wiff of alcoholic breath makes Quackity wonder if this is Manberg. He simply looks up at Wilbur. “Your— …fine. Fine, if you want to leave Tommy all alone be my guest.” Wilbur shakes his head. “No, no dont fucking say that i already feel shit enough about my son dont bring Tom into this!’ Quackity’s eyes widened.

“...Your son? But— but he’s… wait. You— You, for him?”

Quackity feels all words die in his throat as a realization washes over him. Wilbur wasn’t a manipulative asshole, he was just a father trying his hardest to spend time with his kid. Quackity could have sworn he couldn't look at Wilbur now. The way he was crying with bloodshot eyes over his son— it invoked an almost unnatural Empathy in Quackity. Something in his expression that hadn’t surfaced since Quackity was with Karl and Sapnap.

“Punish me angel.” Wilbur sulks through his tears in a drunken manner. “I’ve fucked you over completely, i— i’ve betrayed you, i’ve used you im fucking nothing. I’m your shadow… n-not the other way around.” Tears stream down Wilburs face.

“You… you just wanted your son back.” Quackity says softly.

“I’m selfish.” Wilbur chokes out. “Was… was preening my wings selfish too?” Quackity asks. “...No.” Wilbur says after a moment. “I– I knew it would make you trust me Q— I’m a manipulator! A gaslighting manipulation. A wrongun a fucking wanker— you name it and ill wear the title…” Wilbur’s red eyes go wide as his voice shakes.

“You're a parent. You just— just wanted what's best for your kid…” Quackity says softly with a melancholy look.

“That's not selfish.” Quackity pulls Wilbur closer. “That's parenting…” Wilbur brokenly sobs against Quackity’s shirt. It's wrinkled and tearstained but Quackity can’t be bothered to care. He simply stroked Wilbur’s back as Wilbur cried. “I don't want Tom to see me like this…” Wilbur’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I don't want to go home.” He repeats.

“Then come home with me.” Quackity offers in a gentle loving tone. “To tie me up?” Wilbur says with a half joking smile. “No idiot… well i mean later—- Just, listen you need to stop drinking and you don’t want to go home. I’m… I’m trying to be nice— okay?” Wilbur’s nails dig into Quackity’s back. “M’kay…” He says in a broken tone.

“Does this mean anything? …or— or is this another—”

“No… it— it’s always meant something. I think... It does now anyway.”

Wilbur bites his lip softly. “Was the first— the first ‘Love you’ real?” He asks in a shaky tone. He can't help himself. Maybe it's the alcohol making him ask something so bold right now but he needs an answer. “No… no it wasn’t im sorry.” Quackity says honestly. “Maybe now I do?” He offers. “...Okay.” His eyes squeeze shut. Quackity’s wings lift up as Wilbur moves before settling back down on his waist.

Wilbur wraps his arms around Quackity in a warm embrace— but ‘comforting’ and ‘loving’ wouldn’t be accurate to describe it. Wilbur wants to believe it's out of necessity and that holding Quackity like that isn’t something he’s been dreaming of forever. But it’s hard to stay mad at him and it's a even harder to lie to himself.

Thank god… Quackity feels Wilbur’s warmth spread through his body as Wilbur got closer to him. “Gracias.” Quackity mumbles, his face presses into the crook of Wilbur’s neck. I haven’t been held like this in years… Quackity feels the tears drying off his face.

Quackity picks Wilbur up. Normally Wilbur would resist but he finds himself too drunk and tired to move. After they leave the sign to the casino flips to closed. “He hates me! Fundy hates me…” Wilbur warbles. “No he doesn’t…” Quackity mumbles in response. “Yes he does…”
Quackity’s wings have to work a bit harder than normal with Wilbur’s added weight. Soon enough Quackity sets Wilbur down on the couch.

Quackity looks down at the broken man with a soft sigh and goes to the kitchen to get Wilbur a glass of water. Wilbur leans against the couch and he swears he tastes a health potion and feels a parking violation in his hand. Quackity hands it to Wilbur who just groans rolling his eyes before taking a sip. “This is proper shit.” He mutters. “Because it’s not intoxicating?” Quackity asks rhetorically. “You're intoxicating.” Wilbur’s eyes are half lidded as soft chuckles pour from his lips. “Now that's just the alcohol talking.” Wilbur finishes the glass reluctantly.

Wilbur then pulls Quackity closer. “Is it darling?” Because Wilbur was a flirty drunk and alcohol took his inhibitions. “Wilbur stop it.” Quackity mumbles. “This isn’t you… Your— You're not getting anything out of me tonight. Not while you're drunk.” Quackity says after a moment of silence. “Why not?” Wilbur complains. “Because I don't want to hurt you.” Quackity’s eyes squeeze shut. “You're too precious to me…” Quackity sits down next to Wilbur. “Precious? …we’ve tried to kill each other so many times now.” Wilbur lets out a dry laugh. “Not anymore.” Quackity says firmly.

“I can think of a better way to ‘kill’ you.” His voice is low and sultry. “‘Kill me another time Will, I'm serious. You need to rest— your eyes are so deep… I've never seen your eyebags this bad.” Quackity wraps his wing around Wilburs side. “I’ve never seen you so reluctant to play. Are you okay Q? Did something happen?” Wilbur’s voice takes on a more genuine tone. “...I– not, not really.” Quackity lies before feeling a tinge of guilt. Quackity continues in a more honest manner. “I just want to focus on helping you.”

Sex wouldn’t fix anything here, or in their relationship. What they needed was something more soft and intimate. Something between platonic and romantic in this moment where Wilbur is too drunk to say ‘yes’ and Quackity is too moral and keeps telling Wilbur ‘No’.

Wilbur relents and lets himself be taken care of. Quackity’s wing is warm and soft against Wilbur’s side. Wilbur snuggles into Quackity in a vulnerable manner. Wilbur’s arms wrap around Quackity’s waist and Wilbur snuggles into his shoulder. Quackity relaxes and gently pets Wilbur’s soft chestnut hair.

“Just relax okay? I’m not going anywhere.” Quackity whispers against Wilburs forehead. “...You better not.” Wilbur mutters in a forceful tone. That's rather cute… All Quackity can think as Wilbur pouts at the very idea.

Chapter Text

Wilbur sips at the warm coffee placed in front of him. His head hung low in shame at everything he said when he was drunk. “I’m… im really sorry…”  He says in a quiet manner. He bites his lip before looking up at Quackity who’s looking for a painkiller seeing as Wilbur had a hangover. “You’ve said that for the millionth time this morning i swear.” Quackity gives him a painkiller. Wilbur takes it. “Because it's true .”

 Wilbur says defensively. “...I– I'm just mnn… I want to make it up to you for being such an arse.” Wilbur says in a softer manner. The coffee is warm and sweet as Wilbur lifts the mug to his lips. “Please let me make it up Q…” Wilbur begs as Quackity puts away the medicine. 

“How?” Quackity says flatly. “I– i don't think you can exactly take back months of lies and manipulation. Or betrayal…” Quackity’s teeth grit at the last one. Mostly because it reminds him too much of his ex-fiances. “I– I can make you feel good. Really good.” Wilbur stammers as the coffee clinks against the table. “Wilbur… i– i don't really want to bottom.” Quackity takes the empty cup. “Then i’ll do it!” Wilbur says quickly.

 Wilbur notices the way Quackity seems to falter for a moment before going back to washing the dishes. “...You? A bottom? …i don't think i believe you to be honest.” Quackity says with a laugh. “Your way too bratty for that…” He adds on. Wilbur bites his lip. Quackity was right in a sense Wilbur always had a way with that silver tongue of his. 

“C’mon you know you want to…” Wilbur says playfully. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be in control for once?” And something about that word sends chills down his spine. Control— something Quackity felt like he always lacked in these situations, so when Wilbur presents the word to him it lingers in his mind. “Aha! You do, i was right— as always .” Wilbur smirks.

 “I…” Quackity starts but he pauses before setting the dish to dry. “Are you sure you want to do that for me? You— You don't have to… you don't have to make yourself vulnerable like that. What if i accidentally hurt you?” Quackity whispers. “You know how sadistic i can get— you always comment on it and…” Quackity trails off. 

“Why do you make yourself vulnerable then?” Wilbur asks. “You, you just… jam yourself under my thumb like it's some sort of instinct.” Quackity’s throat goes dry. “More like… muscle memory…” His voice breaks a little. “He— I… He never let me be dominant… i guess is what i'm trying to say.” Quackity’s face pressed against his hand as he stares down. 

“Of course he didn’t you—- you didn't exactly want it or have a say in it. You have a say now. I’m not him.” Wilbur looks over at Quackity with a sympathetic expression. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Quackity repeats. “Shoot me, stab me, and beat me up but for once letting me sub is where you draw the line?” Wilbur asks quizzically.

 “...It's different. Its worse if i— if im too rough with you and don’t realize… and… and what if you never tell me to stop— or…what if i ruin you?” 

“That's why safewords exist.”

“What's that?”

And when Quackity asks that with such a doe eyed expression it makes Wilbur’s heart break. “...You don’t know?” Wilbur says shakily. “No… am i supposed to?” Wilbur squeezes his eyes shut. “Its… its a word to use to stop completely. No matter what is going on when that word is said everyone stops.” Quackity just listens with an empty expression. 

“No matter what?” Quackity repeats in a tone that makes Wilbur question if Quackity has ever been treated properly. “No matter what… there's also a color code system too. Green, yellow, red.” Quackity listens quietly. “It's like a way to make sure the other person is okay during all of this… Green is keep going, yellow is slow down, red is pause and stop for a minute or stop completely if asked during the pause.”

“H–Has no one explained this to you?” Wilbur asks quietly. “...No” Quackity whispers as his eyes water. “Oh… Oh Q…” Wilbur says in a broken tone. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you hated subbing?” Wilbur says quietly. “I didn’t want to anger you…” Quackity’s eyes are far away. “Doesn’t matter! You need to tell me these things… especially since— since we’ve been doing this for awhile…” Wilbur amends. “Do you want to do anything today? Yes or no, to be honest I won't get mad.” Quackity bites his lip nervously. “I— I want to try… I want to try doming you then… I have a few hours before im needed at the office” 

“...and I've— I've really missed you…” Wilbur’s heart flutters hearing how the other missed his intimacy. “You’ve missed me?” Quackity’s eyes flicker through the memories of masterbation and overpriced clubs. “I— I tried… I tried doing things on my own but it's not the same… I've tried others and it's not the same… i— i just want you . But i feel sick if i’m submissive i don’t know how to explain it.” 

“You're traumatized.”

“ Oh.”

Quackity goes silent for a moment. Quackity then looks up at Wilbur who's staring at him with a worried expression. “...Is this okay?” Wilbur asks. “Yeah it's fine—” Quackity brushes off Wilbur who just looks at him with a firm expression. “ Color? ” Wilbur says sternly. “...” Quackity stays quiet for a moment before saying “Green.” In a less dismissive manner. 

“Get in the habit of doing that for me okay?” Wilbur asks in a pleading tone. “I– I’ll try to.” Wilbur smiles. “Never force yourself to do anything you don't want to do.” Wilbur countries and all Quackity can think about is all the times he has and how sometimes his own hands don’t feel like they belong to him. 

“Your lawfully in charge for someone who kept asking to sub.” Quackity comments. “I’ll do it, i just need to make sure this is safe sane and consensual since— since well you don’t know how to make sure it is.” Quackity notes that Wilbur does have a point there. Quackity could lead in the bedroom sure but he couldn’t lead a vulnerable conversation to save his life.

Quackity nods in agreement. “Is— is that everything then?” He asks. “No… not exactly… we, we should go over limits and such which is really for your benefit, less so mine.” Quackity’s fingers drum against the table. “I… I  guess technically most of the time subbing would be a limit until I feel more… comfortable in my own skin… N–Not to say you weren’t a good dom last time, it's just, not ideal is all.”

 Wilbur purses his lips for a moment. “Okay, that's fine. I just don’t like being called a toy, but degrading is encouraged.” Wilbur licks his lips. “That explains why you always let me insult you like that…” Quackity mutters. “You were getting off on it.” Wilbur smiles with a broad grin. “Clever one you are…” Wilbur says teasingly. 

“Color?” Quackity asks nervously.  “Green.” Quackity sighs in relief seeing Wilbur’s still comfortable right now. “Are you… Are you ready?” Quackity asks heistently. “Yep!”

A few minutes later Wilbur finds himself sitting on the bed. Quackity is seated in front of him and Quackity’s fingers rub over Wilbur’s hips tenderly. “Is this… is this okay?” He asks. “Painfully gentle Q.” Wilbur says with a curt laugh. “Take out all your frustrations on me.” Wilbur whispers against Quackity’s ear. “I know I've been a frustrating one lately haven’t i?” Wilbur’s fingers wrap around Quackity’s wrist guiding his hand down to Wilbur’s erection. 

“You have…” Quackity mumbles feeling his fingers brush over the hard area. “There you go again trying to take the lead… I told you you're too bratty to sub.” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Then iron the brat out of me hmm?” Wilbur feels Quackity push him down. “Maybe I will…”

Wilbur’s wings bad back press against the mattress as Quackity’s thumb slips under Wilbur’s yellow sweater. “...So perfect.” Quackity whispers, his touch sends shivers down Wilbur’s spine. Wilbur can’t help but feel his heart racing at the compliment. Wilburs pale slender hands brush against Quackity’s wrists as he tries to push them lower again. “

You keep your hands where they are or I'll tie them up.” Wilbur’s hand doesn’t cease its movement, as though Wilbur was banking on Quackity making good on that threat. It’s been ages since he’s been bound. Sally was no fun. Maybe that's why he started chasing Quackity in the first place. Even during a failed marriage.

 “Typical Wilbur not listening to a damn thing i say…” Quackity breathes as the man under him grins with a mischievous look.  “Oh no… how terrible that is…” Wilbur’s voice drips with sarcasm and Quackity knows Wilbur’s masochism runs deeper than the cigarette burns on his arm. 

Quackity pulls away and opens his drawer, he brushes aside a photograph and grabs some rope. Wilbur can feel his blood pumping then. “Stay still.” Quackity commands before grabbing Wilbur’s wrists. Quackity pushes them up to the headboard away from Wilbur. “Okay Quackity~” Wilbur says in a taunting manner as Quackity binds Wilbur’s wrist with a firm, but loose enough to take out a knot in the rope. 

Quackity looks up at Wilbur’s crimson eyes hesitantly before Wilbur utters out “ Green .” And the hesitation fades again. “So green darling…” And when Wilbur calls him darling Quackity believes maybe, just maybe they can make this relationship work. With enough time and communication maybe it was possible. 

Quackity slowly lets go of Wilbur’s hands and the bound wrists set over Wilbur’s waist. “Are you done squirming?” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Are you done asking stupid questions?” Wilbur sticks his tongue out. He’s trying to get under Quackity’s skin, but not in the same way as before. He’s getting under Quackity’s skin in a playful sensual way as opposed to the irritating undermining of their past interactions. 

“You really like to run that mouth of yours.” Quackity’s fingers tug at the brunette hair and Wilbur can’t help but let out a soft groan. “Tch… all that talk about pulling my hair back in that bar last month— i think really you wanted your hair pulled that night.” Quackity’s voice tickles Wilbur’s ear. Wilbur can’t help but look away as a soft blush crept across his face. “M-My how observant… aha…”

“I can see you enjoy having the upper hand for once.” Wilbur can feel as Quackity’s other hand finally goes a smidge lower to stroke against the stiff area. Wilbur’s lips part to let out a low whine. “It's… refreshing I suppose.” Wilbur’s thighs tremble slightly at the pressure. “You can say that again… I hated doing all the work…” He mumbles.

“What do you mean?” Quackity presses a soft kiss to Wilbur’s neck. “...Sally made fun of me alot, when we were together— not, not in the fun way either. She said I wasn't a real man for acting like this…” Wilbur says softly. “You're a real man.” Quackity affirms. “You don’t need to take charge all the time if you don't want to… Just like you said i dont… i dont need to lay down like a doormat with you just because my ex was like that…” Quackity sighs shakily.

“You still… good?”

“Yeah, keep going.”

Quackity’s fingers gently press down on him. “I’ve barely done a thing to you…” The dent stains against Quackity’s fingers. The way Wilbur’s soft red lips part as they take a deep breath makes Quackity go crazy. “God… are you that pent up?” Quackity says teasingly. “Drunk words are sober thoughts.” Wilbur quotes as his wrists struggle against the binding, he wanted to push Quackity’s hand down harder but it proved difficult being bound like that.

“And your sober thoughts are of this?” Quackity asks. “...Yes.” Quackity’s fingers rise up to Wilbur’s belt before slowly undoing it. “Hurry up!” Wilbur complains as Quackity tugs down Wilbur’s pants. “do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” Wilbur bites his lip. “...Sorry sir.”

The word ‘Sir’ just slips out like butter, Wilbur doesn’t even mean to say it but it doesn’t change the fact that suddenly Quackity’s breath is a lot more shallow. He undoes the zipper. “Sir?” Wilbur’s eyes widen realizing what he just said and his face burns so he just looks away. “Look at me while i'm talking to you.” Wilbur’s eyes snap back over to Quackity.

 “You like calling me that?” Quackity purrs as his finger’s brush against Wilbur’s stomach. He can feel the smooth and firm muscles leading downward, and he can feel the amount of butterflies he’s giving Wilbur when Quackity’s fingers trace shapes into his stomach. “M-Maybe…” Wilbur utters as he feels his head spin from all the teasing. 

“Maybe? It's a yes or no answer Wilbur.” Quackity’s fingers go a bit higher and his fingers brush over Wilbur’s nipples. “Y-yes.” Wilbur stutters out breathlessly. “Yes what ?” Wilbur bites his tongue as he feels a soft pinch. “Yes sir.” Wilbur can feel his hard cock pressing against his stomach as Quackity utters out a praise. “Good boy.” 

“What a cute expression… I wish you weren’t so feisty all the time, you look so much better under me.” Quackity whispers as Wilbur makes a soft noise, feeling Quackity’s grip on his chest loosen before stroking his pecs. “I am not feisty.” Wilbur says loudly. “Mhmm… taking so long to admit I really wasn’t a game to you anymore? That's pretty feisty. Or maybe the way that silver tongue of yours slips out every few moments here… i could think of a much better use for those pretty little lips of yours.” Quackity’s hand slips down to grasp Wilbur’s hard cock. 

“Maybe I just have commitment issues.” Wilbur mumbles before feeling a wave of pleasure wash over him. “A-Ah…What a firm grip you have…” Wilbur’s breath catches in his throat as Quackity slowly strokes his cock. Wilbur’s wrists strain against the rope as his back begins to arch.

“Color?” Quackity’s eyes flicker up to Wilbur’s tied eyes. “Green.” He whimpers feeling Quackity’s thumb run up and down the stiffness. “...Mnmp…” Wilbur tries to suppress his noises as Quackity’s hand grows a bit swiffer. “Don’t tell me you're close already. ” Wilbur feels like he’s seeing stars when he whines out a quiet. “Yes.”

Quackity chuckles as he looks down at Wilbur. “Well… that's a shame because i think i'm going to play a little game with you.” Wilbur lets out a quiet moan. “Game?” He asks in between breaths.

 “I think I'd rather edge you for a little bit…” Wilbur’s hips buckle as Quackity brings his free hand to hold Wilbur still. “A-Ah fuck sir, please dont!” Wilbur’s eyes roll back slightly to meet the view of the ceiling. “I think you're forgetting who’s in charge here.” Quackity’s hand moves a bit faster as Wilbur pants. “S-Sir don’t be so cruel— please just let me cum! Don’t play that game!’

“A–Ah fuck, fuck!” Wilbur hisses, feeling Quackity’s hand pull away a little too soon. Wilbur’s hand’s fight the binding as his hard cock throbs. Glossy white precum leaks out while Wilbur pants begin to feel overstimulated in all the right ways. “Such a tease —- you're such a bloody tease !” Wilbur grits his teeth as Quackity smiles amused at Wilbur’s antics. 

“Frustrated are we?” Quackity mocks dragging his finger up Wilbur’s sensitive cock. “It's only fair that frustrating men get put in frustrating situations, yes?” Wilbur sharply inhales as Quackity’s fingers dance around the area. “Fuck you…” Wilbur curses as his eyes flutter shut. “ Green .” He mutters. 

Quackity begins to stroke the hard area again. “So vulgar and rude…” Quackity chuckles as Wilbur withers underneath him. “Is this all it takes to get you to beg?” Wilbur moans a bit louder as Quackity taunts him. “ Please— oh fuck please! Oh god… Mas —Quackity I'll do anything!” Quackity can’t help but notice the way Wilbur’s tongue slips. “God your so fucking kinky… Master ? I didn’t expect that from someone like you… I suppose I learn something new about you every day.”

“S-Shut up— it's not, it's not like you ever asked…” Wilbur mumbles. “Sorry te amo…” Quackity presses a kiss to Wilbur’s knee as Quackity’s hand strokes Wilbur. “A-Ah fuck~” Wilbur shutters as he feels it begining to build again. “C’mon you can take it Wilbur… Entertain me for just a little longer?” Quackity watches as Wilbur begins cursing again. “N-Not again sir, fuck not again! Please, please i'll stop frustrating you— i promise.” Wilbur’s words begin to devolve into mindless begging again.

Quackity pulls his hand away just before Wilbur is able to release.

“A-Ah! Ah!— please? Please sir it hurts …” Tears bud at Wilbur’s thick dark lashes. The candle light shines against Wilbur’s wet flushed face. “It hurts so fucking bad.” He whimpers as a tear splashes onto his collarbone. Quackity’s eyes soften at the crying. “You can take a bit more can’t you honey?” Quackity wipes Wilbur's tears. “Please! Please… ” WIlbur’s voice drops into a pathetic sob. 

“Its so fucking senstive im going crazy sir! Please… ” The way Wilbur cries and begs makes Quackity realize just how much he enjoys this position. The power makes Quackity rock hard but he chooses to focus on Wilbur’s pleasure rather than his own.

“Why should i?” Quackity breathes down his neck. “I–I’ve been so obedient so far haven’t i? I-I’ve been a good boy—” Wilbur’s eyes look into Quackiy’s pleadingly. “You told me to take out all of my stress on you. I know you can handle one more edge okay?” Quackity strokes Wilbur’s cheek as he sniffles. “O-Okay…” Quackity presses another soft loving kiss against Wilbur’s jaw. “Thank you for trusting me.” He murmurs.

Wilbur can feel hot wet tears rolling down his cheeks as Quackity begins to torture his cock again. “A-Ah fuck, fucking fuck…” Wilbur hisses through his teeth as his thighs shake all weak from the strokes. “You can take it…” Quackity whispers in a soothing manner. “It’s too much I don–don’t think I can!” Wilbur’s thighs press shut as if trying to desperately get more friction. 

“Your starting to worry me a little…” Wilbur bites down on his lip. “I’m… I’m comfortable , don't doubt my word.” His voice is genuine even through the quakes and Quackity feels himself begin to just simply trust in Wilbur’s honesty.

“Okay, well it's just one more okay? And then I'll let you cum… You can do that for me right?” Quackity says in a soft sweet tone, and Wilbur can just feel his heart melting away. “I can do that… just, just one more…” He moans as Quackity’s pace increases. “Mmm… it's so sensitive after toying with it…” Wilbur whines. “That's a good thing… i wanna make sure you really feel it when i do let you cum okay?” Wilbur nods as he blinked back tears. 

It feels like he’s going to burst any second now. His cock is all glossy from the smeared precum and his breaths are shallow. “A-AH—” Quackity lets go of Wilbur’s cock and Wilbur can feel tears dripping off his chin. His fingers dig into his palms as he suppresses a frustrated hiss. “Such a good boy taking that last edge…”

“I’m a good boy, i’m a good boy!” Wilbur whimpers in a matra because it feels like his body is breaking. “I know you are, taking it so wonderfully for me…”

Quackity’s fingers run over the head of Wilbur’s cock. “A-Ah- ah fuck…” Wilbur says in ragged breath as Quackity takes him back into his hands. “Thank you sir— thank you!” He moans as Quackity begins to stroke him faster. “I’ve made you wait long enough I suppose…” Wilbur’s lips part as he lets out a long slow moan of pleasure. “God it feels so fucking good…” 

Wilbur’s expression shifts to one of ecstasy even with all the half dried tears on his face. The candles in the room flicker. “Quackity! A–Ah fuck, sir…” Wilbur has half a mind to beg but the words never leave his mouth as his body is so overstimulated all he can make are mindless noises mixed in with his partner's name. 

“Awhh you can’t even speak…” Quackity’s hands move faster. “‘M close!” Wilbur’s thighs shake as Quackity chuckles at Wilbur’s desperation. “Go ahead… cum for me.” Wilbur’s fingers press to his mouth in a quiet whimper as the bed creaks. “A-ah oh god it's so much… fuck, fuck no one does this to me like you do.” Wilbur praises and between moans. Hot white splatters against his toned stomach. 

Wilbur can barely catch his breath and his cock still feels like it's throbbing from all the prior edging. “I knew you could handle it…” Quackity leans down and kisses Wilbur’s parted lips. It’s been so long since they’ve kissed and they both are just so starved for affection it turns into a greedy one. Wilbur’s mind feels foggy as Quackity peppered him in kisses lovingly for a minute before pulling away.

“You did such a good job…” Quackity murmurs softly. Wilbur’s cheeks flush red and his eyes drift away. “T-Thank you…” Wilbur warbles as Quackity smiles. “Do you want to keep going?” Quackity asks as he strokes Wilbur’s cheek, his eyes are rather tired looking. “Red.” He says quickly. “...Sorry.” Wilbur says just as fast. “I need a break after that. I loved it though! Y–You're a good dom.” Wilbur says kindly.

“I am?” Quackity’s expression looks hesitant as he undoes the binding on Wilbur’s wrists. “Your wrists okay?” Quackity’s thumb rubs over the red area as he sets the rope in the drawer. “They're a little… raw, but they're okay for the most part.” Wilbur sighs. “I’ll get you a health potion but for now i think a bath would be better first.” Quackity closes the drawer and gets off of the bed.

Wilbur flexes his hands carefully, readjusting to being able to use them. Wilbur sits up, his eyes flicker to the discarded pants and boxers on the other side of the bed. Quackity opens the bathroom door and then looks back at Wilbur. “You can walk right?” he asks. “I can, I'm just a bit… weak, per se.” Wilbur gets up. His yellow sweater loosely hangs off of him as he walks over just barely covering his thighs. 

Quackity wraps his arm around Wilbur’s side to support him. “...Thanks dear.” He mumbles before sitting on the edge of the tub. He quickly pulls off his sweater and collared shirt before setting them on the counter. Wilbur sits down in the tub. Quackity turns on the warm water and it feels like heaven against Wilbur’s body. Wilbur relaxes into the water as it begins to fill the tub. Quackity watches as Wilburs hair brushes against the walls as he lays down.

“Are you… are you sure I was a good dom?” Quackity asks softly. Quackity leans against the edge of the bathtub as he pours soap into the water. “Schlatt said—” Quackity starts. “I don’t give a damn what he says, you're the sweetest one there is.” Schlatt said I always did it wrong. That it's better if I just stop fighting and lay down and die. That's better if I just accept my place is at his feet. 

“I… you, you were crying…” Quackity hears the water sloshing. “But I was still okay, trust me, this— this is one of my lesser kinks. It’s nothing to flinch at.” Wilbur assures him. Wilbur begins to wash the dried liquid off his stomach. “Can I help wash you off?” Quackity’s voice cracks and the way he says it makes Wilbur wonder if maybe Quackity was just projecting when he constantly asks if Wilbur is okay.  Quackity’s fingers hover over Wilburs soft messy hair, his eyes locking on a shampoo bottle. No one washed me off afterward… god i felt so disgusting and dirty inside…

“I… I’d love that.” Wilbur guides Quackity’s hand to his hair. Quackity can’t tell if helping Wilbur wash up was an act of love towards Wilbur or an act of selfishness for Quackity’s own sanity. Wilbur leans into the touch as Quackity gently massages shampoo into Wilbur’s hair. Wilbur sighs contently as Quackity washes his hair. His fingers work skillfully as he rinses out the soap.

“...This doesn’t make up for everything that's happened between us.” Quackity says after a moment. Wilbur can feel his heart sinking. “But, it's a good as place to any to start .” Quackity consoles him. “I want to fix things between us.” Wilbur says almost desperately, and it almost rivels the desperation in his voice from the hour prior. “I know, I know, it will be tough but we can make this work… somehow…” Quackity mutters.

“Can you turn around for me?” Quackity asks. “Yeah.” Wilbur turns so that his back is facing Quackity. He feels vulnerable, even more vulnerable than when his wrists were bound and tears were in his eyes and he put his trust in a man that could have crushed it in an instant. But again Quackity doesn’t betray it. There's no knife digging deep between his shoulder blades. Instead there's warm soapy water and gentle hands washing his back.

Wilbur’s skeletal wings twitch as Quackity’s fingers work around them. “When do you have to go?” Wilbur asks. “Two hours.” Quackity replies quickly before running clean water over Wilbur. Wilbur just feels selfish because he wants to cuddle up to Quackity for the rest of the day. Wilbur doesn’t know if that's sub drop or just from the fact he’s spent so long only plotting to win Quackity’s possessions that now that since something so sweet and loving was in his grasp he just feels like he needs it. 

Quackity gets Wilbur a towel and helps Wilbur stand up, water glistens on his body as Quackity wraps Wilbur up in a towel. He knows Wilbur can very well dry himself off yet Quackity just wants to pamper him. Probably because Schlatt never pampered me. He… He…. The word never comes out even in his thoughts because it's too dirty and disgusting of a word and it makes his skin crawl. He tries not to think about it because he’s supposed to be taking care of Wilbur right now.

Wilbur grabs his old clothes off the counter and walks to the bed. It creaks as Wilbur sits down. Wilbur absentmindedly begins to put the old ones on before Quackity stops him. “You can borrow mine!” Wilbur looks up. “Pardon?” Quackity takes the dirty clothes from Wilbur’s hands. “You… you can borrow my clothes, i'll wash these before i leave.” 

Quackity sets it in the laundry basket before going to open his closet. Wilbur sits on the bed naked unmoving. There's a few ties in the closet and formal shirts but on the other side is cozy beanies, sweaters and hoodies. When Quackity tosses a hoodie and boxers at him it feels like Wilbur remembers what the word love is. What the word love means. How the word love feels. It feels like heaven and like Quackity is a guardian angel. 

Wilbur puts on the boxers. “If you steal my clothes I'll kill you.” And maybe once upon a time Quackity would have been serious when saying that, but now it's in a joking manner and now Wilbur knows he will steal those clothes. “Don’t be a buzzkill dearie you can always just buy more…” He says teasingly before sliding the hoodie over his thin frame. “Looks like I'll have to just simply kill you then.” Quackity pounces on Wilbur pinning him down in a joking manner. “I think I will simply not die.” Wilbur smirks. 

Quackity playfully punches him in a manner so soft that it makes Wilbur forget all the real bruising ones. Wilbur smiles and rolls his eyes before pushing Quackity off of him. “How are your wrists?” Quackity asks. “The burns? Oh, shit right the rope… um, I suppose a health pot could prove nice?” Wilbur rambles as Quackity gets up to go grab one. 

Wilbur bites his lip. “But you don't have to! I know— I know their scarcer now with all the burning villages. “I have all the money in the fucking world… relax and let me take care of you.” Wilbur’s words die on his tongue as he simply nods in acceptance. Wilbur follows Quackity out of the bedroom. 

Quackity rummages around grabbing a health potion and some snacks. He sits down on the couch next to Wilbur. Quackity pulls Wilbur into his lap to hold him before giving him the health potion. Wilbur sits on Quackity and stares down at his wrists. He’s got a health potion in his hand and they just had sex. Wilbur is getting deja vu .

Chapter Text

Tommy got home late and if Wilbur wasn’t so exhausted he’d have lectured him. So Wilbur let Tommy pass with his spider, Shroud wordlessly with a stupid grin and rambling about god knows what, Wilbur sure didn’t know everything was white noise to him. Last night with Quackity was magical, it was something Wilbur wanted to happen again.

While Tommy babbled on and on about his adventure Wilbur was lost in thought not listening to a thing he said. “My bloody house is all crumblin’ n’ shit, Shroud was like under 20 blocks of dirt I swear—” Wilbur sat on the outside of the porch smoking a cigar. The smoke wafted up through the skies. Along with thinking of Quackity, his thoughts drifted back to Fundy.

Fundy was gone. After he stormed out Wilbur had not seen him. He could have killed himself again, out of pure spite for his father. Or gone to find Sally and choose to live with his mother by those ruins. Fundy was born in L’manburg, he’d died in L’manburg and now that he was reborn he’d go back to L’manburg. 

“And i’m all like ‘Shroud the fuck are you doin’ you silly lad?’” Wilbur takes another drag as his gaze raises up to Tommy. “Spiders can’t talk.” Wilbur says flatly. “Well you don’t fucking know that! Shroud can— He’s a smart boy! Right Shroud?” Tommy looks down at the spider in his palm.

Shroud pokes Tommy’s thumb twice. “It’s sign language! You're just too dumb to understand Wilbur.” Tommy proclaims loudly. “Right… I’m an idiot. That's not how sign language looks Tommy.” Wilbur relents, stubbing out the cigar. “You use hands not legs.” He groans, seeming rather tired of his younger brother’s shenanigans. 

“Ranboo used sign language, mostly on days they couldn’t do anything but vwoop at me.” Wilbur recalls. “You were just too busy bein’ a jealous prick to be around them enough to see it happen.” Tommy’s eyes shift into a cold look. “At least I didn't use them for some shit rivalry.” Wilbur’s mouth feels dry. “Yeah… yeah you got me there Tom.” He mumbles.

Tommy goes back inside the house. Wilbur doesn’t care to follow him, the boy and his spider closing the door just a little too hard. Wilbur shouldn’t have brought up Ranboo again. That was a mistake. Just like thinking Fundy would accept him coming back to life and letting Wilbur be a father was a mistake. Wilbur was a mistake in general, a continuous chain of relentless fuck ups, at least he was self-aware. 

He didn’t deserve Quackity’s kindness. He didn’t deserve the stolen book that sits on his shelf. He didn’t deserve Tommy’s forgiveness for what happened to Ranboo, although Wilbur can clearly see it's a sore subject. Wilbur did deserve every time Sally chewed him out. He still hears her voice when he looks at the stubbed cigarette. Wilbur doesn’t think he’s quitting any time soon.

Wilbur buries his face in his hands as he sits alone on the porch, he tastes ash in his mouth and his bones are deep with exhaustion. He doesn’t think he’s ready to heal, he doesn’t think Quackity is ready to heal but they walk the road hand in hand regardless. Crouching under every judged branch of their relationship, and keeping their ankles away from the poison ivy words that drip from their tongues when they meet. There's still rocks to trip over and they can’t see the end in sight with all the kicked up dirt but they're at least halfway there.

Halfway was good enough.

It was better than nothing, it was progress, it was movement like a current going through a river fast and refreshing. The current was change. Things were changing. Not just for Wilbur and Quackity but for the whole essmpei. Tensions were rising between nations, Tubbo was learning to move on from Ranboo, Tommy wasn’t avoiding people anymore, and Quackity was letting his guard down with Wilbur.

Has Wilbur changed? He still smokes cigars, he still drinks a little too much, he’s still snarky and flirtatious. Refuses to open up too. Except on those evenings with Quackity. Those were the exceptions. The holes in the idea that Wilbur is stagnant.

When he doesn’t instantly light a new cigarette he thinks maybe he is healing. His fingers don’t itch to grab the pack of smokes when he thinks of the regret with Fundy. His mind crawls back to Quackity’s comforting words and he feels like he doesn’t need the nicotine to calm his soul. When Wilbur stubbed the cigarette on the porch and not his wrist he thinks he’s healing. 

Is Quackity healing too? Is he still chasing a dopamine high that only comes with self-gratification? Is he still going to flinch every time Wilbur asks to preen his wings? Wilbur can’t tell but he thinks that Quackity is getting better.

No one heals completely. Wilbur will still stub the cigarette on his arm out of habit and Quackity will still force himself to keep going until he throws up, but it’s not all the time anymore and thats whats important. It’s progress, and halfway is better than nothing, and maybe one day Wilbur will forgive himself for contributing to Ranboo’s death, and maybe one day Quackity will forget Schlatt ever touched him. But for now all they can do is try.

Try to listen to the sweet songs of the morning birds as they walk the path of healing, try to stay warm together even on cold rainy days where both their voices are thunderous and argumentative leaving the path to decay and grow harder to follow. Healing isn’t linear and neither is the path. It’s got twists and curves just like their mortal fleshy bodies. All they have to do is try not to wander. Don’t pick those apples off the tree, don’t listen to the soft feminine voice coming from the waters. Don’t fly away and don’t see saytars in the reflection of every bottle of alcohol. It’s alot of ‘Do nots’ they have to follow on the path but it's a necessary evil.

Wilbur and Quackity hold each other's hand tightly, facing the mortal horrors of the world and looking to the revivebook should anything go wrong. The lines stitching Wilbur back together are holy , that's what Quackity whispered before he left that night. Then Wilbur said “Your wings are angelic .” And they kissed for a moment as the world fell apart.

Chapter Text

"Stop smirking! We’re in the middle of an argument!" Quackity glared at Wilbur’s smug expression. “Oh boohoo ducky.” Wilbur says lowly, his crimson eyes stared down at him. “I’m right, you know.” Wilbur says flatly, rolling his eyes. “I’m not your fucking redemption arc. Leave me alone.” He mumbles as the amused expression drops. “You know I'm not giving up the book to you and I'm not letting you ‘atone’ by wasting it on every ghost that haunts this place.” 

Quackity sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. “Your so fucking stubborn! I just want to see if maybe he’s changed !” His voice drops. “Don’t lie to yourself, its not a good look on you.” Wilbur sighs. “I just don’t understand why you donated it to Church Prime, it's not an ancient relic– it's still usable!” Quackity stares up at him. “It's an artifact darling and it serves me no more use. You can ‘see it’ behind some nice thick glass.”  

Wilbur leans against the wall crossing his arms. “But go on insult me, you do know I love it.” He chuckles. Quackity grits his teeth as his wings flare. “You're insufferable. Tommy goes to that place every single day, that's like trusting Tommy himself with the book!” Quackity argues. “And the general population from all kingdoms, and nations and whomever would wish to see it.” Wilbur explains. The dim lighting of the bedroom is cast upon his face.

As a botched apology Wilbur had sent his younger brother on a quest to fix up the revive book a place in Church Prime. He also told Tommy that if he wanted to he could try to bring back Ranboo, but that was up to Tommy and Tubbo to decide. It had been over an hour since Tommy left the house and in that time Quackity so easily caught wind of the news and was over not even a second after spotting Tommy in the skies.

“…just please don’t be mad at me.” Wilbur looks away with a softer expression. “I don’t want to go back to how we were.” He mumbles. “At least you finally put down that terrible van like I told you to years ago.” Quackity sighs glancing over at him. “To dig the old truck out of the ruins and then paint a burger theme over it? God… Sometimes you can be so cheap, Wilbur. That place was crawling with disease.” Wilbur laughs at that. “You mean delicious delicacies from yours truly, staring old L’manburgian rations!”

Quackity just shakes his head. “Get over here.” He mumbles weakly. The bed creaks as Wilbur gets onto it. He looks at Quackity who’s wings were splayed across the pillows. His chin was tilted up as he stares at the ceiling with a tired expression. Wilbur’s eyes light up with a mischief and he goes to sit on top of him. Wilbur nuzzles his face into the crook of Quackity’s neck. “Your pretty when you get angry.” Wilbur whispers.

“Very pretty.”

Quackity’s fingers run up Wilbur’s waist. “Now you're just trying to distract me.” Wilbur can feel the warmth from Quackity’s body. “Old Quackity would have threatened me about now.” His laughter is soft and rings out across the room. “I think current Wilbur is still into that.” Quackity’s fingers stroke Wilbur’s chestnut brown hair. “Mhm… You’d be right about that.” Wilbur’s lips curve into a small smile. 

“I think it’s better we don’t tamper with fate. We’re only mortals.”  Wilbur’s breath hits Quackity’s neck. The stitches lining Wilbur’s body, and the skeletal wings mock his words. “I don’t want to see more Zombies and Skeletons, although they make good target practice.” Wilbur rambles. 

“If we’re only mortal, why do you act like you want to worship every inch of my body?” Quackity’s voice is soft and inquiring. “Because you were made for me.” Wilbur’s lips slowly kiss down his tan neck. “You're beautiful, inside and out… You like to act all irritable and put up fronts but deep down all you ever wanted was someone to take care of you.” Quackity feels the slight nip of Wilburs teeth. “You don’t need to be tough… but that doesn’t mean I want to control you. I’m not better than you, and you're no better than me. We’re all cosmic dust.”

Wilbur’s thumb rubs against the skin shown by Quackity’s hiked up shirt. “I want you to see stars love. If you’ll let me.” Wilbur adds, his face is slightly flushed stopping the soft wet kisses by Quackity’s collarbone. The man grows silent, taking a slow sharp breath. “How… How does this work? I told you i— I dont like…” He trails off. “You don’t like subbing, I understand. But what i’d like is to be of service to you, to take care of you, I do all the work but you're still dominating me. I want to be your service top right now.” Wilbur begs softly.

“Please.” He murmurs, staring into Quackity’s onyx eyes. “I could make you feel so good right now, and— and you're all stressed from work too—” Wilbur trips over his words as he continues. He sits in Quackity’s lap comfortably. “You sound like you’ve thought about this before.” Quackity cuts him off and suddenly Wilbur looks very shy. “A-Ah… um… Only a few times.” He mutters. “Last time, last time was so nice i… I couldn't help but think about next time.” Wilbur fidgets with the hem of the shirt. “Sorry Quackity.” He adds.

“Alexis.” 

Wilbur looks up. “What?” He whispers. “You can… You can call me Alexis.” Quackity says a bit louder. It had been so long since he let anyone use his first name. It felt like it would never happen again. Like Alexis didn’t exist anymore, the naive lover who failed to notice when his fiances liked each other more than him, or the vice president who felt uneasy every time the president drove him home and made perverted comments. Yet here Alexis was vulnerable in front of a man he once called his worst enemy. “Alexis.” Wilbur sounds out the name hesitantly. “I love you.” He kisses Quackity softly. 

This feels like home. I’m me again, It’s been so long. 

“Don’t tell me that.” Quackity mumbles looking towards the ceiling. “Why?” Wilbur echoes. “I’ll start to believe it.” Quackity answers as Wilbur softly grinds down onto him. Quackity’s breath catches in his throat feeling the movement and he lets out a soft, yet arousing shudder. “May I?” Wilbur asks with a thoughtful expression.  “You may.” Quackity nods leaning back into the pillow. 

Quackity’s fingers curl around Wilbur’s waist guiding his hips. “Color?” I’m safe. He’s safe. This is okay. “Green.” Quackity squeezes Wilburs hips. “Is it okay that I’m on top of you? I can… I can get on my knees and serve you like that instead.” Wilbur can feel Quackity’s erection straining against his pants. 

“No, no I want you to ride me like a depraved slut.” Quackity’s voice drops lowly and Wilbur lets out a quiet whine, feeling his own hard cock press against Quackity’s stomach. His words sent chills down Wilburs spine and it flipped a switch in his brain when all of a sudden all Wilbur could say was “As you wish sir.” Wilbur bites his tongue as his face flushes red. His breathing is slow as he moves, bumping and grinding through the barrier of clothing. 

This time it's Quackity checking on Wilbur with the echoed words of “Color?” and Wilbur nods. “Green, green, green.” He stammers as he bites his lips. They’re wet and rosy, like spilt blood. He looks perfect in the candle light. Quackity’s fingers stroke Wilbur’s thigh. “Good.” He looks away after a moment. “I know you're a masochist but I seriously don’t want to hurt you.”

“God… God you have no idea how bad I wanted you to say that to me. Fuck.” Wilbur buries his face in the pillows, hooking his chin on Quackity’s shoulder. “When did you tell Tommy to come back?” Quackity asks carefully. “He’ll be home in half an hour.” Wilbur’s voice is muffled against the bedding. “Then let's make this half hour last.” Quackity whispers in his ear. “Your words are so filthy, i fucking love it.” Wilbur’s eyes light up.

Wilbur’s fingers crawl towards his own belt but Quackity stops him. “Ah, ah, ah, your job is to please me remember?”” Wilburs hand halts as he nods trying to banish the urge to wrap his palm around his hard long cock. He was a service top today, he needed to remember that. No matter how bad his cock ached he wasn’t going to focus on that, he wanted to pleasure Quackity until he forgot all of his exes names.

“I’ll ride you.” Wilbur mumbles undoing Quackity’s belt first. “Oh, I know you will. You’ve got that look in your eye again. That needy little expression that tells me every single dirty thought coursing through your gutter of a mind.” Quackity’s voice is firm and commanding and it makes Wilbur’s heart thump out of his chest. “I-i’m, i’m not needy…” Wilbur protests as he unzips Quackity’s pants. “Then why are you so eager to get started hmm?”

Wilbur’s eyes trail over the erection straining against Quackity’s boxers. “You're lying and making it sound bad on purpose . The real Wilbur is charismatic.” He chuckles. “Maybe I just want you to humiliate me.” Wilbur’s fingers slip underneath the barrier, softly grasping Quackity’s erection. “Maybe I get off on it.” He whispers as he slowly strokes his fingers up and down the cock. Quackity’s breathing slows as he fights back a quiet whimper. “All you have to do is ask Wilbur.” He says in between breaths. 

Wilbur pulls his hands away to pull off his pants. He lowers them revealing a lacy black thong and Quackity had to just about stop himself from ribbing the thin fabric off of him. “You were planning this.” Quackity mutters. “I am always one step ahead.” Wilbur looks down at him. Quackity’s fingers run over the smooth black fabric. “No, no today is about you remeber?” Wilbur pushes Quackity’s hand away. Wilbur slowly pulls it off of himself, it clings to his thick soft thighs and Quackity can’t help but drool a little at the sight. 

Wilbur discards it on the bed before reaching into one of the drawers. Inside theres a small bottle and a lengthy silicone phallic. The lube container is half empty, Wilbur grabs the bottle and closes the drawer. He opens it and pours a bit on his fingers and it drips slow and long like honey from a comb. He runs his fingers over the head of Quackity’s cock, and the clear coat glistens as it drips down the girth. Quackity’s eyes flutter shut as his dark lashes rest against his rosy cheeks unopening.

“Color?” Wilbur’s ass rubs against the slick cock teasing Quackity with the entrance of his tight damp hole. “Green, fuck your so good at this…” Quackity murmurs as his breath quickens. “Takes practice.” Wilbur chuckles as he slowly wraps his long elegant fingers around the base of Quackity’s cock posistioning it to line with his own opening. “You practiced?” Quackity groans softly feeling Wilbur’s tight warmth envelope him. “Wanted to give you a good time if you ever asked me to do this… And here we are.” 

Wilbur’s eyes roll back slightly as he feels the cock peirce his ass. His nails dig into the soft skin just under Quackity’s golden wings. Wilbur lets out a quiet moan feeling his hole consume the base. “Such a good boy, practicing without me even having to tell you to.” Wilbur’s face grows red as Quackity’s thumb rubs over his cheek. “Your still tight too.” He whispers. “Get to work or i’ll plow you myself.” He commands. “A-Ah… of course Alexis!” He whimpers feeling the other man’s hips buck upward. 

Wilbur slowly buries his face in Quackity’s chest holding onto his shoulders as he slowly lifts himself off of the cock before slamming his hips back down in a steady rhythm. A pace thats only achieved from muscle memory and too many nights alone. A learned skill that makes Quackity’s thighs tremble weakly as Wilbur rides his cock with such vigor.

“O-Oh fuck, that’s good Wilbur, a-ah…” Quackity’s head tilts back onto the pillow as he moans. His voice echoes through the room along with the slapping of skin. “Y-Yeah you like that? Mhm…” Wilbur’s thighs ache from the movement but he paces himself regardless, greedy for the pleasureful feeling coursing though his body right now. It’s selfish and carnel but they both indulge themselves. 

“God i love how you clench around me when i praise you!” Hearing Quackity’s affectionate words made his back arch. “Oh! Oh, fuck, um… fuck please, oh god please keep doing that sir!” Wilbur’s voice warbles feeling the cock slide in and out of the wet hole. Quackity’s fingers tilt Wilbur’s face up to meet his eyes, his thumb and index finger gripping onto Wilbur’s chin. “Such a good sub.” Wilbur moans helplessly as his hole twitches around Quackity’s hot phallic. “Riding my cock like its the last thing on this essmpei”

Wilbur’s cock strains aganst his stomach flushed with arousal and painfully hard. White just barely peaks from the small slit of the head. Wilbur pants as he slides on and off of Quackity. After a moment Quackity’s fingers lock onto Wilbur’s hips aiding him in the needy thrusts. “Not such a smartass when your stuffed full of my cock are you?” Quackity’s voice is low in Wilbur ear. “N-No sir.” He whines as his legs begin to fail him.

Wilbur’s face plants in Quackity’s collarbones as he lets the other begin to do the rest of the work. “O-Oh please, please faster!” Wilbur whimpers. “Please, please sir, oh fuck just a bit more im so fucking close i need it.” Wilbur’s words devolve into mindless begging. “I know i sound like a pathetic slut but please, please oh fuck rail me harder Alexis!” 

Wibur bites his lips trying to suppress the moans slipping from his mouth as Quackity slams Wilbur’s hips down into his over and over and over until a hot white breaks all over Quackity’s stomach. Wilbur’s breathing is shaky as he busts with a low whine. Quackity pulls out as the thick creamy liquid drips out of his own cock. Their breathing is slow but synched as they come down from the heat of the moment.

Wilbur nuzzles his face into Quackity’s chest tiredly as his hand softly strokes the others back, his fingers perched inbetween the boney wings. “H…How was that?” Wilbur says after a moment. “Lovely.” Quackity kisses Wilbur’s forehead. Wilbur’s heart flutters at the gesture. “You were perfect.” Quackity praises as Wilbur smiles in a giddy excitement.

But the smile only lasted for but a moment as it dropped with the words “But, i… I couldn’t… you had to help me, you were supposed to relax.” Wilbur stammers sadly. “Hey, hey now thats okay you tried your best and i’m still proud you managed to do it on your own for that long.” Quackity murmurs quietly. “I know i couldn’t do that.” He whispers. 

Wilbur slowly gets off of Quackity in a sleepy manner. “Shower?” He askes. “Shower.” Quackity nods getting up. Wilbur grabs a towel and discards his dirty clothes on the crimson bedspread. Quackity joins him in the hot shower and they take turns washing eachother off. 

Afterwards they change into clean clothes and Wilbur goes to prepare some tea, although it proves difficult with the shakyness in his legs. It’s earl grey, and the calming scent follows him as he sits on the couch. He places the drink on the coffee table and Quackity wraps his wing around Wilbur’s side. It feels warm and safe. Wilbur takes a soft long sip of his tea.

“No smokes?” Quackity tilts his head. “What happened to cigarettes after sex?” The taste of the hot sweet tea fills his mouth. “I’m trying to quit.” Wilbur mumbles after he swallows. Wilbur doesn’t miss the lovestruck look on Quackity’s face. Thats new. 

‘Eugh! You two are disgusting. ” Tommy makes a retching noise as he opens the front door seeing the two cuddled up on the couch. “Wilbur stop being a manwhore, your tearing this family apart— think of Fundy!” Tommy stammers. “Shut up Thomas.” Wilbur groans rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did you pray today?” He askes in a joking tone.  “No.” Wilbur chuckles. “The blasphemy!” Tommy walks off to his room.

“Your trying to stop smoking?” Quackity asks picking back up the conversation once Wilbur’s brother was out of ear shot. “Yeah… I– I think, i think i dont want to die again.” Wilbur says softly as he stirrs the tea. “We’re mortal Quackity.” He whispers.

“I’m mortal and im on a life that isn’t even mine. I don’t want to— I don’t want to leave you alone. I don’t want to be another number. Another ex.” The stress rolling down Wilbur’’s shoulders makes his brain itch for nicotine but he doesn’t think about the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Or how good it would feel to slide the length between his lips and take a sharp deep suck on the object. 

“Right… We’ll see how long that lasts.” Quackity mutters under his breath. “You mean you don’t want to kill yourself?” He corrects. “I… i don’t think so.” Wilbur whispers but the way his voice wavers tells Quackity its a half truth at best. Quackity just holds Wilbur tighter and cuddles him as they talk. “I’ll be very sad if your lying to me right now, after all we’ve been through.” Quackity mumbles coaxing Wilbur into his lap. Wilbur curls up resting his body against Quackity’s in a tired gentle motion. 

“I, I try not to lie to you anymore darling.” Wilbur assures Quackity. “I’m going to trust you, and your going to trust me.” Wilbur feels the soft gold feathers hug his frame along with Quackity’s arms pressing the two people together. “I don’t trust your being truthful right now.” He sighs quietly. “Thats… Thats okay.” Wilbur relents. 

Chapter Text

Quackity's voice was horse as he held the phone to his ear. "I told you I never and I mean, never wanted to hear from you ever again! I don't care that your shit king is dead, I don't care about Karl's amnesia. Hear my warning: You come anywhere near Las Navedas and it's on sight." He growled as his fingers curled around the large clumsy phone. "Hey, let's leave our past… affairs , out of this. This is strictly business. Politics nothing more." Quackity leans back into the rest of the office chair. 

"Sure, sure it is. That's what it always is right? Not you begging to 'help jog Karl's memory' or anything." He sneers. "Quackity, you're being difficult, I'm just trying to ask you some questions about gero—" Quackity hangs up as he scowls at the phone. Hopefully I mentioned old shit enough they won't bother trying to contact me again. Although those feathers at the crime scene aren't going to magically disappear. It's durable. 

His shoulders are tense as he stares off into the windows. Sapnap was going to be an issue if he kept trying to claw his way back into the fragile corners of Quackity's mind. Already broken down by Schlatt, and with just a few bandages from Wilbur. Bandages don't fix what needs stitches, Wilbur's efforts were not a cure all thread. He's not the red string of fate even if he calls himself that.

Even with the ropes tucked in his bottom drawer and his words towards it a constant double entree. Quackity screws his eyes shut. Does Wilbur want to be bound or hung? With such a charming smile and sarcastic voice the answer was never clear. He danced around the words gracefully. The conversation was a dangerous tango, one that would either lead to another lost lover or a night of passion.

Although Quackity couldn't be bothered with questions like that at work. Not with his advisors telling him to make more speeches, apologetic ones. Along with the people of Las Nevadas needing calming. Riots were bad. L'manburg had riots before it fell apart. Before the carefully tucked TNT made the land sink in on itself. 

I can’t avoid Sapnap forever. I'll have to have an actual conversation with him eventually. Not a conversation with angry words or depraved ones not reminiscing over the old marriage plans, not his gentle warm touch that soon burned more than soothed. Karl too I suppose, Sapnap doesn't let him out of his sight these days.

He'd sort this out over at some place neutral. Not Kinko Kingdom nor Las Nevadas. It had to be neutral territory not belonging or really having any symbolic meaning to either of them. A place like Church Prime where it was forbidden to fight on its grounds. It was the longest standing symbol of peace. Anyone looking for safety can simply walk in it's gardens or take a step inside the pearly white elegant building.

He'd send an assistant to deliver the message because Quackity knows if he went himself He'd just make fresh bad blood. It was hard for him to stay cool when it comes to past lovers. He couldn't remain composed, cold and calculating around someone who knew the deepest parts of him. Not in such an intimate and vulnerable way. That wasn't something Quackity could just forget. He needed to be professional. He couldn't let old feelings get mixed up in this.

Especially not with him and Wilbur having something. There was no name on it yet but it's clear as day. It shows in the way Quackity yearns for his comforting embrace. Or the way he's missing those sweet soft kisses. He holds his head in his hands and sighs. 

After a moment, Quackity's assistant set out to make the proposal to the new standing king of Kinko Kingdom. It would take at least a business day to get an answer, but Quackity was okay with that. It's preferred actually. I'd like to avoid that conversation as long as possible. Quackity had been in office for about 5 hours now. At least 1 of those hours was spent bickering with Sapnap over the phone. So Quackity was thankful when it was time for his break. He'd been growing stressed spending all that time at work again. It was reoccurring unfortunately. Lately all he's been thinking about is Wilbur, politics and the long list of exes behind him.

Wilbur said Fundy was in Kinko Kingdom now, along with Sally. He'd gotten a small mushroom shaped house by the lake outside of Kinko, Sally stayed near there and shifted her form to be able to walk, only if it was necessary though. She did not have as much energy as she used to. Sally was getting stuck in one form as she aged. Fundy wanted to take care of her, and stay far away from Wilbur. Quackity never heard the end of Wilbur's rambling about his ex and his son. Mostly when he's drunk which wasn't too often. Schlatt drank more than Wilbur does now. Tommy still had mixed feelings about the whole thing and stayed out of it. Still though it does concern Quackity, the family feud that is.

It was yet another reason to avoid the Kinko Kingdom. Quackity has exes there. Wilbur has an ex there. His son was the only positive. Even that wasn't that big of a plus. Especially considering he wanted nothing 5o do with his father. It was generally a bad place for either of them to visit.

As Quackity exited the office the dim autumn sun fell over him. The clouds hovered in the skies blocking the sun however it was still warm. The crowded streets of Las Nevadas welcomed him. There were neon signs everywhere even in the broad daylight.

Wilbur took walks to clear his head, although most of those 'walks' were trespassing on private property. Quackity didn't plan on doing that part, but to be fair nothing counts as trespassing when he owns the nation. He could go anywhere and it wouldn't be a violation. Wilbur liked violating the rules at least before Quackity kinda-sorta forgave him and kinda-sorta entered some sort of relationship with him. 

Quackity decided to walk around one of the parks. Faux cactus littering the sand. A few with pink blossoms. It was getting around the time Quackity would have to activate the underground heating vents to keep Las Navadas looking like a real desert again. He made most of his money off of its tourists, usually. Which means as long as Kinko Kingdom backs off it will be a profitable year as usual and Quackity can take a step back and relax. Quackity didn't need to work as hard to advertise his vacation spot in winter which meant less office hours and more alone time. Quackity needed more alone time.

Sand was spotted in between the cracks of the sidewalk and they crunched under his heel. He was pacing except I stead of circles in his office it was a fake park. Since Wilbur relinquished his van he had more time to himself than usual. He said he didn't feel right running that place with Ranboo gone and he couldn't take it anymore. He let Tubburger gain the burger monopoly in the area. Quackity would be lying if he said this didn't concern him. Wilbur and free time do not mix well. They never mix well.

I hope he doesn't try to fix things with Fundy. He'll only make things worse. The harder he tries to stitch things back together the more the string rips. Until there's nothing connecting the two anymore.

Quackity runs a hand through his hair sighing. At least the scenery was calming. Easy on the eyes, unlike the way Wilburs lips purse and how his voice locks up when he over thinks. He's been overthinking since he quit smoking. Wilburs fingers tapping against his side or some surface while his voice shakes. The way his tongue curls to form words spells 'I need nicotine' and Quackity is too good at reading lips. The paranoia sitting in those red eyes made his pupils splintered. They begged for a smoke even if his voice wouldn't admit it just yet.

Quackity leans against the fencing. He watches a scorpion crawl by. This next meeting with Sapnap would surely be a long augmentative one.

Chapter Text

Wilbur’s shoulders were tense as he tapped his fingers against the wooden fence of the porch. Who did Sally think she was taking Fundy from him and most likely filling his mind with lies about Wilbur? It was unjust. He hadn't even gotten 5 minutes in with his son to just explain. 

Wilbur clenched the cigarette between his fingers as he took a long drag. The cigarette could only numb the feeling so much. He was trying so hard to just quit but he couldn't deal with this raw anger. 

It blossomed from his knuckles every time he punched the wall wondering where he went wrong. Of course there was no singular answer; he went wrong in many areas.

He hated anger. It was his least favorite emotion by far. It was raw, it was wild and it wasn't something he could control easily. Anger was difficult to suppress; he couldn't compartmentalize it like sadness or pining.

It would always slip out of the container no matter how many metaphorical chains he wrapped around it. Speaking of chains, anger was more chain-like actually. It was a ball and chain weighing him down. Locking him into the feeling. The metal was digging into his skin making his wrists feel raw and achy.He hated emotions. He hated his nails feeling more like daggers and he hated how he got stuck on things and raged. 

His sleeves loosely hung just over his knuckles with the way he tugged it slightly. Wilbur’s eyes snap shut as he tries to breathe. Just calm down. You're overreacting. He tells himself. 

He doesn't want to slip into the mindset of old Wilbur. The version of Wilbur that clutched TNT in his dirty palms as he decorated L'manburg’s landfills with bombs. The Wilbur that laughed in the face of danger and was so angry he didn't care—No actually, he wanted to take out himself along with the nation. That is what anger turns him into. A self-destructive monster.

Wilbur was pacing around with the cigar pinched between his yellow teeth as he clenched his fists. Wilbur’s hair was a mess, and his eyes were dead tired. He runs a hand through his tangled chestnut hair. “Oi Wilbur the house smells like proper shit.” Tommy peaks his head through the door. “Live with Phil then asshat.” Wilbur blows out a cloud of smoke. “So rude.” Tommy shakes his head. “You know I can't do that.” He mumbles. “Fuck off then!” Wilbur turns to him exasperated. 

Tommy takes a deep breath. “Wil what's wrong?” He keeps a flat, even voice. “I told you Quackity would make a shit boyfriend—” Wilbur cuts his brother off. “Leave him out of this, it has nothing to do with him, it's Sally!” Wilbur pauses and after a moment he adds “ …And Fundy.” In a softer tone. Wilbur grimaces before shaking his head and sucking in another puff. “But i’m sure a smart kid like you would have figured that out by your second guess.” He mumbles.

“Wilbur… I’ll be 20 next April, who are you calling a kid?” Tommy stares at him. 

Wilbur stares back at his younger brother. He looks down at the long ash blonde hair and the level height. Wilbur covers his mouth feeling a bit sick. He doesn’t look at Tommy’s eyes, they're not wide with childlike wonder. Their dark blue pools, with oceans of memories. “But—” Wilbur stutters. “No… no that can’t be right.” He mutters. “Your 16.” He whispers. “I’m 19.” Tommy says flatly.

 “How old am i?” Wilbur’s fingers knot through his hair. Limbo messed up his sense of time. “26.” Wilbur drops the cigarette. “Fuck.” He grits his teeth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He hits his hand against the wooden railing. Tommy flinches backing away as the wood splitters. His heart picks up as a bead of sweat runs down his face. “God! I’m wasting my fucking time—"

"Wilbur don't!" Tommy grabs his hand with a fearful look in his eye. The cigarette burns out and Tommy can feel the matching wounds on his brother's wrists. The raw intentions he grabbed so that Wilbur's hand wouldn't bruise made his shoulders tense up. "...Wilbur." he repeated, almost disappointed.

"Oh shut up! Just shut up I don't want to hear it!" Wilbur rips his hand away. "Your no better I don't want to hear it!" Wilbur yells and he doesn’t look like himself anymore. He looks like he's in the Pogtopian caves and the scent of gunpowder is overlapped with cigarette smoke. Tommy sighs and stares for a moment before going silent looking a bit hurt.

"Yours are vertical, mine are horizontal. We are not the same." Wilbur just scoffs but he can't argue with that because Tommy was right. He wasn't some little kid making things up, he was an adult making a reasonable point. Wilbur needs to remember that. 

Wilbur needs to remember a lot of things. Like Sally doesn't want him back, and Fundy will never see Wilbur as a father figure. Not that he wants her back. He has Quackity now. Though it's not the same. It will never be the same.  It's a different love. But the wound of your first love will always ache even when you find yourself in the arms of someone you know. You'll crave that familiar toxic dynamic and not the healthier love that you have now . Wilbur wants to go bother Quackity but he's busy at his job. Wilbur can't be depending on people like that. It's pathetic. 

"No we aren't the same." Wilbur responds after a moment. "Go feed your spider or something. I want to be alone." He mumbles softly. "No. Go buy me air spray or actually live up to your claim of quitting." Wilbur stares at him glaring. "There's gems in the kitchen cabinet, buy it yourself." He spits. "Fine." Tommy hisses walking away. 

After Tommy left Wilbur heard silence. It was deafening and it left him to his thoughts once more. The floorboards creaked as he leaned against the railing. Wilbur's chestnut brown hair was buried in his crossed arms. Things were getting bad again. Old Wilbur screamed at Tommy, not new Wilbur. He didn't let his emotions get the best of him. He didn't scream at people to give him a good bargain for creeper ashes. 

The world was dark. It was dark in his arms, it was dark when he closed his eyes. Wilbur was a blackhole, he sucked the life out of everything and everyone around him. He wasn't the good guy, he was a victim of circumstance. This victim just happened to drain others of their energy without realizing. Wilbur was oblivious in that sense. 

Maybe he should do something instead of sitting there bawling his eyes out like a tall child. He shouldn't crave the comfort of his kinda-sorta-not-really boyfriend. In fact, he should just cut him off along with the rest of the world. Before Wilbur hurts Quackity too. Although he has already hurt him, several times in several ways. Wilbur doesn't deserve him. Quackity should never witnessed the appearance of old Wilbur, Quackity hated that man because the old Wilbur left him to rot in Manburg. 

The sound of choked sobs breaking the silence scared a few crows away. Raising their feathers in offense at the display of the disgusting emotion and soaring through the skies. If Wilbur wasn't too busy crying he'd have wondered, Is Phil watching now? I hope he doesn't see what a disgrace I am to the family.

There were red rings around his eyes just peeking behind the clump of brown hair. They glistened wet with tears, and vessels crawled around his eye iris from lack of sleep. Quackity is busy, he can't push this on him. So he cries uselessly leaning on the porch in broad daylight. He tries not to annoy Tommy so he doesn't take back up what he was doing to cope before his younger brother yelled at him. 

Wilbur is trying so hard to be a good person but he's just simply not good at it. He cries too much, he gets angry too much, his vices aren't smart, and he has no sense of self-preservation. He's trying heal but god is he just so bad at it. Maybe I wasn't meant to heal? Maybe I'm supposed to get worse, and worse, and worse until I just drop dead by my own hands? It sounds right. It feels like hell.

It's like every tear is a flame licking against the skin. It burns, and it itches and it makes you want to rip your skin off. It's the kind of feeling where you want to dig your flimsy nails right into your pores and deconstruct yourself from the outside to figure out just what is wrong with you. Because surely it's right there at the core, your heart. You just have to disconnect it from the valves and dissect it with all the bloody emotions and broken heartstrings screaming at you until you know what your problem is. Except your heartless now so instead you keel over and die with a scalpel in your blood smeared hands and pray the next time you'll be built normal. 

Wilbur has lived 4 lives and not in a single one was he built normal like he prayed. Like he begged and begged over and over again as he cried at night wanting so bad to just be normal. Why were his emotions so astray? Why couldn't he be stable and sane? How long until his lover hates him again? Everything hurts now. 

His body was so heavy and tired but he had work to do, on himself and his relationships. There was not a single moment for rest because he had too much to do. He was overwhelmed easily now. Old Wilbur would mock him without flinching and current Wilbur respected that. He missed his stone heart counterparty self because now he feels too deeply, he feels everything too deeply. If a crow landed in front of him right now he would scream until his throat ran raw and the breaking of the vocal cords made him choke on his own blood until he suffocated.

He'd been breaking down so long that the old tears were dry and sticky on his skin. Yet fresh ones trickled replacing it, rewetting his cheeks because Wilbur can't move on from this. He's stuck there because he can't handle emotion.

He doesn't even look Tommy in the eye when he's back with air spray and cleaning supplies, a back hooked in the crook of his arm. He stared at his older brother for a moment before walking past presumably to pick up Wilbur's slack. To do what he couldn't and fix the house up. Wilbur just left him too exhausted to start spewing out half-assed apologies and promises ( lies ) that he'd do better. That he'd get better. 

He already proved he wasn't getting better today with his relapse and breakdowns. It hurt, it was even humiliating the way Tommy was doing better than Wilbur and even was going as far as to help him. Wilbur doesn't even work at his burger van anymore, he closed it because he doesn't have the mental capacity to do it anymore. Wilbur feels like a black hole and the rest of the universe is crumbling around him. Every single thing that could have gone wrong today went wrong. 

Wilbur is the problem. 

Chapter Text

Quackity’s meeting with Sapnap does not go well. It consists of arguing to the point Quackity doesn’t even register when the white hot angry words flying off his tounge shift back into spanish because he’s so livid he cannot think of the english equivalent. Nothing was done, or achieved. When the work day was over Quackity feels generally terrible. 

He calls Wilbur up but Wilbur doesn’t answer. His stomach turns. After a moment Wilbur calls back. “...What is it?” His voice sounds almost harsh. So after a moment he tacks a sweet quiet “love” onto the edge of the sentence. It does nothing to help the level of sincerity that is conveyed in that sentence. 

“I… I want to see you today.” Quackity whispers. “Tell me your not out by the Ruins.” He begs softly. “I’m not out by the Ruins.” Wilbur says horsely. “Oh thank god.” Quackity mumbles his voice breaking slightly. “Alexis? What’s wrong… You sound… Off?” Wilbur’s voice crackles through the phone. “He— He brought up Schlatt and I—”

“He what now?” Wilbur growled on the other end. His tone was completely different going from a mildly annoyed demoner to livid within the blink of an eye. Although this time the irritation didn’t seem directed toward Quackity. Some shuffling could be heard on the other end. “Where are you anyway?” Wilbur asks.

“The needle.” An easy to pinpoint landmark in Las Navadas. “Right, just— I’m sorry now is not a good time to be around me but… Get over here. Please, i need to see your okay.” Wilbur whispers quietly, his voice slightly shaking. He knows all too well that man Sapnap brought up was a sore subject. 

20 minutes later Quackity was in the dusty old house. The smell of smoke poorly hidden by Thomas’ cheap airspray, which sat on top the fireplace. He knew better than to point it out to Wilbur, that was a discussion to have later. Wilbur wrapped Quackity in a warm embrace while the other quietly sobs. Wilbur found it funny his own tears had just dried and he hopes he can play the redness off his eyes off as finding something new to smoke rather than being exposed for the emotional wreck he is. 

For the first time Tommy doesn't make a comment about how 'gross' this PDA is. He allways did that even if it was Sally or just Wilbur messing around with strangers during the time of Manburg. He'd call it 'winning over allys' though. He just sort of stands there awkwardly cleaning out Shroud's terrium while the other two converse. 

Wilbur doesn't miss the clear tension in Quackity’s shoulders. Or how he struggles with words. Wilbur pushes down his own deep rooted issues in this moment. He stands tall holding the shorter man with a completely blank expression. Wilbur strokes Quackity’s feathered wings absentmindedly while he feels his own tears dry. They stick to his cheeks uncomfortably leaving a certain shine to them in the light of the room. No one would see it though. Not behind his red lenses frames and not with how he towers over everyone. Allways forced to be the bigger person. His eyelashes still burn from crying. They allways burn when he cries. 

There's a lump in his throat when he tries to comfort his boyfriend. His words are stiff but he tries to make them sincere. He tries so hard to sound like he cares—And he does care of course, it's just hard to be there for someone when you were in a breakdown yourself only moments prior. His boyfriend doesn't know that. Wilbur hopes the poorly covered smoke smell that's stuck in his clothes again doesn't tip anything off. 

Quackity doesn't say anything either he just tries to steady his breathing. All he can hear is the rapid beating of Wilbur’s heart. A wounded thing that's faced many heartbreaks and backstabbing. "Why is your heart beating so fast?" He askes softly as he listens, his voice is fragile. "I don't know how to love you." Wilbur's response was short and too the point and it feels like he'll die in that moment. Because has he ever truly loved? He doesn't think so anymore. He's never felt loved. How can you love when you don't even know what it feels like? Wilbur doesn't know. Quackity just stays silent because he doesn't know what to say to that. 

Wilbur wants to tell Quackity to leave him before its too late. Before he falls Into a deeper heartbreak and a fresh wound blossoms on Quackity’s heart from another failed relationship. To leave before he finds out Wilbur is not worth loving. Wilbur is not worth the effort. And that he should just be left to rot with the stench of pechoir and cigarettes out by the Ruins of his greatest mistake. It's like when he begged his father to kill him. Except now it's his partner and now he just wants to spare Quackity the heartache.

Wilbur can't heal can he? He's too broken. He's been broken so long he's lost some of the fragments in the process of picking them up. He's terrible. Wilburs eyes are just wide and empty. The red of his iris matching the crimson vessels crawling around the whites of his eye. It feels like he hasn't slept in weeks. It's like the rest of the room fades away. It's just him and the prisonesque corners of his mind. What the hell am I doing?

Quackity keeps talking between the quiet breaks in his voice but Wilbur hears static. Just plain white noise as he stares at the wall. Every word Quackity says leaves Wilbur’s mind thinking in spirals. Each sentence he wants to say twisting clockwise trapped in his mind. A hypnotizing trail of turning paragraphs that never leave his mouth that convince him that he's the scum of the earth and his boyfriend would be right to dump him right now. It's getting harder to breath. It feels like there's more of an anvil on his chest that a crying person. It's too heavy. 

This is too much. Way too much. I'm head over heals and about to trip and fall off. Once I do there will be no coming back from it either. He hates me he just doesn't know it yet. He used to know it and I did too but now he's found a way to love every scarred crevice of my body and I hate it.

"¡Él estás un puta!' Quackity rambles, and Wilbur can feel the way Quackity’s tanned fingers dig into the shirt hugging his waist. "¡Yo quiero gritar! El sentimiento estàs sofocante…" Wilbur just lets the shorter man speak even as Wilbur tries to lull himself out of a panic attack. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry." Wilbur whispers raking his fingers through Quackity’s hair. "¡Yo odiar a él y Karl también!" Anger seeps into Quackity’s voice and Wilbur struggles to understand but attempts to comfort him anyway. "You dont… hate? Karl, or Sapnap. They just said some very wrong things. Sapnap just attacked a sore spot, he's just an asshole." Wilbur tries to soothe him to no avail. 

I suppose trying to calm Quackity at this point is useless. Or maybe I'm just useless.

"Is he okay?" Tommy asks softly carrying the clean terrium across the room. "No. No he's not." Wilbur says in a hushed voice. "¡Yo soy bien!" Quackity's voice cracks as he yells. Tommy’s eyes snap over to Quackity. "I do not think I belive that my friend." Tommy states shaking his head. 

"Your a wreck too Wilbur, what the fuck are you doing?" Tommy furrows his wings. "Actin' like you were having an episode ealier!" Quackity's breathing quickens. "¿Wilbur tenía un episodio?" He asks Tommy. "Yeah?" Wilbur tenses and glares at his younger brother. "¡¿Tú tenía un episodio!?" Wilburs mouth goes dry as Quackity yells at him. "¡¿Por qué no me lo dijiste?!" As if there was no trust between them. "Tu está supuesto dime…" He mumbles.

Quackity pulls away from Wilbur who just stands there unmoving. Like a statue. Like the old ones by the ruins of his nation. There's no color in Wilburs face and the way he acts feels almost stone cold, but he doesn't mean to come off that way. Quackity wipes his face and he wishes he could just put on a joking tone and laugh with Wilbur like before L'manburg even existed but it was never that simple. Maybe both of them need a break. Life's stresses were getting to them again. It felt more like that every day. Every day was a bad day for both of them. 

Tommy puts Shroud back in his cage and the small spider stares up at him seemingly happy. Tommy watches the spider for a moment. He wants to go to SnowChester again. SnowChester isn't so loud and issue riddled. Minus the grief of Ranboo. And of course the lack of life in the frozen plains. Tommy doesn't do well in cold weather. Most avians don't. Wilbur didn't. His feathers fell out during his time in the Pogtopian caves. The drafty weather making him shiver so hard the stems would loosen. 

Quackity takes a few deep breaths and sits on the couch. His fingers knotting through the black strands of hair as he holds his head. “Ignore Wilbur, he’s being fucking crazy again .” Tommy pats Quackity on the back. It takes Quackity a long moment to respond. A very long moment. “...Don’t say that about my love.” Quackity whispers looking up at him. 

Tommy doesn’t respond, he simply stares for a moment and shakes his head. “I’m going to the Prime Path and find Chruch Prime, only it can comfort me— Let’s go Shroud.” Tommy takes Shroud from his cage, holding the spider in his palm. “I’m going to go pray for a beautiful woman to rescue me from this dumpster fire.” Tommy announces grabbing his blue carigian from the coat rack. “Yeah you go do that…” Wilbur snarks. “See how well it went for me.” The name Sally went unspoken, but the silence told Quackity who the two were referring to. When Tommy is gone the house feels quieter.

“Come on…” Wilbur sighs knotting his fingers in Quackity’s. “Lets go lover boy.” Wilbur smiles softly, though it holds a melancholic undertone. “Go where ?” Quackity’s voice is a low rumble. “Theres no where to go. There is only ruins by Prime, i am a failure to XD, and my country is on the verge of war.” Quackity’s eye brows furrow as if annoyed. “...I meant to my room.” Wilbur clarifies sadly. “Im not in the mood for that. ” Quackity doesn’t look up. “Neither am i, i just want to rest with you for a bit. Is that okay?” Wilbur asks quietly. “...Thats okay.” He nods.

Quackity gets up and follows Wilbur into his bedroom. It’s just as comforting as the first night he stayed over. The crimson duvet was soft and inviting, it welcomed the weight of the couple as they sat. “...Can we talk ?” Quackity looks up at him. “What about?” Wilbur says as the bed creaks. Wilbur’s thumb runs over the TV remote. “I was hoping to relax.” Wilbur sighs setting the controller down. “Don’t you trust me?” Quackity grabs Wilbur’s wrist. “Pardon?” Wilbur says in a confused manner. His eyes dart away.

“Why don’t you trust me enough to tell me when you struggle?” Wilbur freezes when Quackity says this. “It’s not a manner of trust. I just don’t want to bother you.” He mumbles as he pulls the covers over his waist. “You’re supposed to be my boyfriend.” Quackity grumbles. “What?” Quackity stares at the bedsheets. “Your supposed to tell me if your not okay. You know i worry. You made me care about you.” Wilbur leans into the soft pillows. “I knew you had a big business meeting today.” He swears holding Quackity’s hand. “I did not want to interfere with something far more important than my livelihood.”

“There is nothing in this world more important to me than you.” Quackity leans on Wilbur’s shoulder. “Fuck that meeting you should have called me. I wouldn’t have had listened to Sapnap’s yapping anyway. I wouldn’t have had to hear what he—” Quackity’s voice breaks as his eyes dart down. “what he… said…” he finishes sadly. “Pay him no mind. He’s just a prick.” Wilbur says dismissively. “He doesn’t deserve a single inch of space in that beautiful mind of yours.” He carasses Quackity’s cheek slowly. 

Quackity groans “You know it’s not that simple.” Wilbur pulls away for a moment flicking on his lighter. “I wish it were darling.” Wilbur lights a candle on the bedside table. Quackity pretends that Wilbur just forgets that his ashtray looks a bit fuller even after ‘quitting’. The flame crackles to life letting the sweet calming scent of lavender fill the room. 

“Come here.” Wilbur requests. “For what?” The other mumbles. “I want to hold you—Properly this time.” Quackity’s expression falters and he finds himself shifting from Wilbur’s shoulder to his chest.  Quackity’s noise pressing into Wilbur’s collar bone. 

“I’m sorry i’m not good enough for you.” Wilbur mumbles holding him tight. “It’s not that your not good enough your just too reclusive. Open up more. Please?” Wilbur stares at the ceiling. “So there is something wrong with me? I knew it.” Quackity bites his tounge. “I didn’t say that. Please don’t fucking turn this into another spiral.” He says bitterly. “Please don’t swear at me.” Wilbur begs looking rather hurt. “Can we both just agree today has been shit and move on? I  don’t want to fight. We’re not rivals anymore my love… We’re not enemies.”

“Then why do you hide information from me like I’m some sort of spy?” Quackity combats glaring. “Your not a spy. I love you!” Wilbur shouts. Except then he realizes he’s said it again. The ‘L’ word, love. He loves Quackity. “You do?” He says softly. 

Quackity’s eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the room. “Tell me you do…” He closes his eyes. “Tell me you mean it. Every word letter and syllable.” Quackity commands. “I am madly in love with you. Now kiss me you idoit.” Quackity’s lips meet Wilbur’s in a sweet yet despreate exchange. They pull away after a moment. “I really do love you.” Wilbur buries his face in Quackity’s neck. 

Quackity’s hair was getting longer now, the onyx strands now cascading past his back. Wilbur plays with the raven hair as he cuddles into him. “I love you too.” He says back feeling Wilbur press a sweet kiss to his neck. “What do you say we take tomorrow off and have a small vacation?” He asks fidgeting with the hem of the blanket. “Sounds delightful.”

Chapter Text

Wilburs been close to dying 3 times. This is his 4th. He's in a SnowChesteren lodge and there's a there's knife pressed against his wrist. His throat, It feels dry from stale cigarettes and alcohol. It was a miracle Tubbo let him and Quackity rent the place for the weekend. Quackity left Wilbur alone for a moment . Just one sweet moment. 

And a smile washed over Wilburs face as he held the blade. Blood trickling down his V-line as his arm lays aganst his bare abdomen. Right below the scar stretching across his stomach from last time. He wanted to meet God again  and ask them why the fuck was he born in the first place? Was i put here just to suffer? What's the point of this? The joy boiling within Wilbur is unnatural. He's smiling and it's too wide of a smile. With a cigarette pertchrd between his teeth and a gleeful expression.

Like the look he had when his contuntry gained freedom, the look he had in the button room and the look he had as a ghost. Snorting blue in hopes of remaining sane as a spirit because he hated playing cards with Jschlatt during his time in limbo. God he hated that man now. He didn't like him before but after loving Quackity, he wanted to rip out Schlatts jugular with his bare fingertips. Snatch out that vocal box before he uttered any words trying to defind himself. Because Quackity was an angel who's never done anything wrong in Wilburs eyes. And Quackity deserved justice. Except Wilbur was selfish, that's why he held a kitchen knife in a cottage he knows he can't pay for staying in and grins as pain floods his nerves. 

Wilbur was a man, a sinful man of substance he'd take anything he could get his grubby little hands on. Cigarettes, Drinks, Blue, if it existed Wilbur had done it. Several times. 

His son hated watching that growing up in the middle of L'manburgs war zone. Finding his dad's face chalked up in powder. The stench of smoke embedded in the houses walls. Sally’s taste for margaritas in the lake just outside, sharing a glass with what would have been her forever love. First and allways. But things didn't work like that. They never did. Wilbur was a lost cause. He was such a lost cause, he was worse than Quackity, he who tortures people for fun and is a chronic sadist. 

Wilbur was getting worse and he couldn't show it. So he covered all the fresh cigarettes burns. All the smoke smell with clolone. At least Tommy wouldn't complain, he had the house to himself for the weekend and forevermore if Wilbur was successful. The blade dug in, it dragged down experimentally. 

How long until I die? How long until I fall again? 

It was like a game to Wilbur. How long can he tango with life? Stepping on her shoes every time they waltz. Singing off chorus as violens scream at him, screeching in a horrific melody. He never met his mother but his dad called her Lady Death. The one someone sees in passing before only their soul remains. He'd ask her what she ever saw in Phil and curse her for bringing him into this world. He'll take himself right back out.

Smoke wafted up in the bathroom as he sat on the tilted floor. There was a grey haze near the ceiling and the smoke only added to the manic induced euphoria Wilbur held. He held it tight like the butcher knife making a long deep line into his arm. 

How much deeper before I hit bone? How much farther can I push myself? 

And he relishes in the agony, his fingers trembling trying to keep his grip steady as he cut to kill . He wasn't like Tommy with those small horizontal scratches, no, no he cut vertical and deep. He cut with intention. Especially because his boyfriend would be back any minute now and would try to stop him. Wilbur didn't want to be saved. He begged people to save him but he doesn't ever mean it. Really he smiles as crimson leaks from his flesh— the color of his skin draining with the blood into a pale white.

“Oh Wilbur! Guess what i got for you my dear?” Quackity’s voice echoed down the hall. Wilbur just froze in his tracks. The knife already 2 inches deep into his wrist. A few droplets splattered the floor, as the smell of iron joined the stale cigarettes. His eyes shifted over to the half opened door lazily, as if debating wether or not he even cared to hide what he was doing. 

“Wilbur? You better fucking answer me.” Wilbur just smiled when he heard that familiar irritated hiss in Quackity’s voice. God he missed hearing that. “I swear to God—” Wilbur can see Quackity walking past the crack of the door, only stopping at the smell of cigs. “You told me you were done smoking!” Quackity pushes the door open, a velvety box hidden behind his knuckles. ”Wilbur why do you—” 

Wilbur just looks up at him breathlessly as the wound deepened. Quackity’s eyes changed in that moment. It wasn’t fear nor worry, it was just anger . Some hurt as well. 

Quackity yanked the knife out of Wilburs hand. “Oi give it back i wasn’t done you prick!” Wilbur’s mind felt hazey with blood loss as Quackity held the splattered knife in his hand. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You said you wouldn’t leave me.” Quackity stares down at the knife in his hands. “You said you wouldn’t fucking leave me!” His voice strains as he yells. 

Quackity’s wings flare as his fingers grip the knife almost disgustedly. “Do you ever think about how I feel!?” Wilbur’s sly smirk just pissed him off further. 

Wilbur relishes in that bad attention. The sweet yelling degrading words from his partner. “Gonna kick me love? Maybe throw a few punches at my wrecked body?” Wilbur bats his eyes. “You know i’d love that. Finish me off. Finish what i started darling.” His words drip like honey. “I’m already almost gone. Just… Just a few more minutes.” He whispers.

“Oh you motherfucker.” Quackity growls. “Your not leaving me.” Blood pools on the bathroom floor. “You can try to hurt yourself all you fucking want. You can smoke your lungs out, you can cut whatever snort whatever i dont fucking care because it wont kill you. You die when i decide i dont want you anymore!” Quackity grabs Wilbur by the collar in a cold glare. 

“Your not allowed to die yet you fucking hear me!?” Wilbur coughs, blood dribbling down his chin. “Oh whatever you say dearest Quackity~” He whispers. “You don’t own me. I bet you wish you did though huh?” Wilbur taunts. “God your crazy. I love it.” Wilbur adds smiling after a moment of silence.

“Your right it would be so much easier if you’d just act like a loyal dog at my feet.” Quackity scoffs letting go of the dying man. “No wonder you were just so eager to get the revivebook away from me. You planned this you fucking smartass.” Wilbur rolls his eyes at the acusations. “Touche… Red handed, you caught me darling.” 

Wilbur feels a pressure on his arm, Quackity’s hand bloodided as he forcefully closes the wound. Wilbur whimpers quietly in pain. “Oh stop your moaning.” Quackity stays crouched on the floor as Wilbur’s blood trickles down the cracks of Quackity’s tan palm. He holds it for a long moment. 

Wilbur can see a small box out of the corner of his eye. “You know marriages are just funerals with cakes.” He whispers. “What do you want from me matching headstones?” Wilbur jokes as the bleeding stops, although the lightheadedness remains. “To be placed in the same coffin.” Quackity mutters looking at him. “What a romantic you are.” Wilbur taunts playfully.

“W…Why do you bother saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved?” Wilbur mumbles hoarsly. His voice takes on a lower more serious tone. “Your fucking mine you hear me? And i don’t let my precious hurt like that.” Wilbur loves the way Quackity says it. So intoxicating like a fine wine that Wilbur could drink up every word from.

It’s just a perfect scene. Like a renaissance painting. Wilbur sat there bleeding out while Quackity boasts about controlling him. Quackity the control freak and Wilbur a fucking masocist with no sense of self preservation. What kind of twisted love story even was this?

“What are you my guardian angel now? Because in this light you sure are acting like one. All holier than thou. Although you are hoiler than someone like me. Defying death over and over. What am i but a parasitic demon to leach onto this earth? To leach off you until i taint you too and that halo falls. Like my crown to my country. A king with no honor. I’m ruining you. I’ve ruined you my love. I’m the epitome of a fallen star, a black hole colasped in on itself who just goes around taking the shine from those who are still just as bright— Those like you . Those who are as bright as the sun and as radiant as a freshly bloomed rose.” 

“You’ve not ruined me, you fixed me.”

“I made you worse. Your worse love. I’m worse . Everything is falling apart. Please just let me go. Let me die love. Let my spirt wander these planes aimlessly.”

“I dont want to hear it. Your shaky breathes and manic eyes tell me enough. Your having an episode and your not fucking dying.”

"Then get me a bottle of liquor to drown my sorrows I don't wanna fucking be here. I don't wanna deal with this or myself. Find someone better to propose to." Wilbur just growls looking down at his arms, littered with the stitches of revivals, cigarette burns and now a long slit yet another scar to add to the collection. 

"Find someone who's not a basket case that'll get you killed one day. Or maybe kill you and then myself. I'm the type of person to make a suicide pact Alexis you must know that!" Wilburs voice strains as he yells. "And you don't want to go down with me! Deep down to the furthest depths of hell ." Wilburs bloody fingers knot through his hair. "I'll drag you down to my level and God your so far above me." Wilbur grips Quackity’s shoulders as he shakes him slightly. "Your so far above me it looks like I'm the scum of the earth and you've done nothing wrong ever!" Wilbur rambles. "Why the fuck do you get to be so perfect while I decay!? Buying that ring for me when I'm so clearly stuck on Sally. I'm just horrible. I can't even commit to myself. How could I ever commit to you!?"

Quackity goes silent. "...I don't know." He says weakly. "Exactly! You don't so don't act like you do. You do everything for me and I hate it because I can't help you like that! I'm torn at the seems and your the thread that keeps stiching me back together, I'm this ugly quilt you insist on repairing when really you just need to pick up a blanket that isn't old and broken." Wilbur blinks back tears, barely able to see the other man's face. Wilbur is lightheaded from all the blood loss and he feels even worse when Quackity just catches him when Wilbur can't stand up straight. "I don't hate you." Quackity states. Wilbur just stares into the cracks of the bathroom door. The bedroom just barely visible. "I ruined the vacation." Wilbur sobs. "It's just barely started, we have all of tomorrow to do more… normal weekend getaway things."

Quackity just sighs and looks away. "I was hoping we could have gone and rented a boat out by the water. I know you miss the sea. It was allways so close in L'manburg but the desert doesn't welcome water all that well." Wilbur's eye lashes burn with tears as he hugs Quackity. "Why do you remember?" He says in a shaky breath. "Why must you be so thoughtful?" Wilbur asks aimlessly. "Don't answer that." He adds in a hushed whisper. 

"I'll have to get some gauze for your arm, to wrap it but I can't trust you alone right now Wilbur." Quackity leans onto him with a distrustful gaze. Wilbur just speaks quickly ignoring his words. "Promise me if you die you won't be mad when I follow you." Wilbur's grip tightens. "Wil, I'm not—" Wilbur interrupts him. "I don't give a fuck promise me!" Wilbur screams, and it's agonizing and hysterical the way he attaches himself to Quackity. Wilburs throat is so raw and Quackity’s become Wilbur’s favorite person. Quackity’s a slice of heaven. An angel who does no wrong. The perfect person to die with . 

"Your trying to make a suicide pact." Wilbur already knows this but he still just hisses in anger at the comment. He's being selfish again. He knows it but Quackity is the only good thing in his life. Quackity is his favorite thing in this life. His reason for breathing and existing. Wilbur doesn't care about everything Quackity has done to wrong others. Wilbur is in love with him. And he's loving a little too hard. "We're not dying together or alone. We're not dying period."

Chapter Text

Quackity is sat on the bed watching a TV show. His eyes glued to the luminescent screen in front of him. Wilbur’s fingers gently sift through Quackity’s feathers. The diamond and silver ring contrasting aganst the soft yellow wings. There's a slightly stained bandage going up his wrist. The left one. Wilbur does everything with his right hand, including cut. 

Quackity’s eyes are tired. Barely flickering open in-between blinks as the sound of some romcom fills the room. Wilbur isn't even paying attention to the show, he's in his head as allways. Although it's not as bad as the hour before. He's calmed down from the manic high, somewhat at least. 

Quackity hadn't had his feathered preened in months. In some ways it was like Wilbur forgetting he can't survive off smoke and liquor. Schlatt did that too. 

Wilburs fingers carefully sifted through the feathers adjusting the out of place one's and gently removing the loose ones after asking Quackity it it was alright. As if trying not to over step a boundary. It was nice to preen a fellow Avain's feathers. The hybrid instincts within both of them relishing in the bonding activity.

Wilbur's heart panged knowing Quackity couldn't return the favor. All Wilbur had on his back were just bones, a frame where feathers should have stayed gone from explosives and pre existingly damaged by all the blue Wilbur did. Weakening those muscles for just a few minutes of ecstacy. If he could he'd love to go flying with Quackity but that would never be an option now. Maybe a decade and a half ago it would have been a struggle, but at least that was something. 

"Are you sleepy?" Wilbur teased looking down at Quackity. "What? No. " He responded jokingly glancing towards the other man. "I can't be sleepy. I've got plans for tonight." Quackity turned down the volume of the TV. The sound only their voices and the faintest drabble of a rerunning drama. "Oh?" Wilbur looked over with an amused expression. 

"Whatever could that be?" Wilbur purrs placing his head onto Quackity’s shoulder. 

"The docks close at midnight, I thought it would be nice to get out… But you better not try anything again. You can't fly if you fall out of the boat." Wilbur's fingers pause as he instead envolps Quackity in a warm embrace. "How delightful love." Wilbur smiles softly. "You heard me right? Don't try anything." Quackity says firmly. "I know, I know." Wilbur groans. 

"Hey…" Quackity starts softly glancing at Wilbur. "Thanks for fixing my wings." Wilbur lets go of him smiling. "Of course, no problem darling." He mumbles. Although his tone is low as though he's distracted. Wilburs wrist still aches like hell after his botched suicide attempt. It was annoying but no health potion is going to fix that ache not for a week minimum. "Do you want to go now?" Wilbur inquired. "If you do." Quackity turned off the TV. "Sounds good then."

The skies were pitch black outside. Apart from the stars littering the skies. It was hard to see in the thick blanket of white snow around them. Wilbur stood looking down at the water, or reflection rather. Distorted beyond belief by the ripples of the water. "An awfully beautiful view is it not?" Wilbur asked as Quackity stood behind him. "Your self? Yeah I'd say so." Quackity chuckles in amusement.

"No, the water in general, I wish I could see past my reflection because all I see is my ghost wandering these planes a decade ago." He clarifies. "If it wasn't just the sea I'd be flirting with you about now. It's just the view from halfway down. Halfway down this here dock into the bottomless ocean, that I find endearing in some twisted nostalgia."

It was chilly outside of course, but if it wasn't he'd love to go for a summer swim. Instead he stands in a warm fur coat glancing over to the canoe. "You remember being a ghost?" Quackity asks stepping inside, the water splashes up a little. "Of course, I could never forget. I don't know if you noticed but I was fucked out of my mind high every day." Wilbur runs a hand through his hair. "Just brings back memories is all." He laments. Wilbur glances down at Quackity as he began to row the boat. "Nevermind." Wilbur says bitterly.

The sound of crashing waves filled the silence. Quackity doesn't comment on whatever Wilbur was going on about moments before. Quackity just watches as Wilbur rows the boat away from the docks. Quackity just sits there staring at the matching rings on their fingers. Promises, whether or not it would be empty promises only time would tell.

The moon was in the center of the skies by the time it was 11:11pm. It shone down on the two of them as SnowChester grew farther away. Nothing but the ocean with them. A tranquil scene, starkly contrasting to Wilbur and Quackity’s previous insanity. It felt like time had slowed in that time frame. Out by the seas alone with nothing but eachother. Wilburs dull red eyes unfocused as he rows. 

Quackity staring at the rings intently. Silver—Just like those second place medals Wilbur’s was allways talking about. Or at least he used to.Not pure gold like those wiry rims of Wilburs glasses. Not gold like his younger brothers hair. Wilbur told Quackity to act like the walking second place medal he is and even though now their on better terms Quackity buys the engagement rings in silver. Because in Wilburs eyes Sally was a gold medal and no one ever plays to win second place. 

Maybe this was Wilbur’s way of saying Sally liked it out here too. The whole twisted nostalgia speech makes Quackity wonder. Makes jealousy flare a bit too. But that was something to unpack later.

Instead they sat in a canoe in the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold. Each with their mind on something else because God forbid they look at eachother and just love normally for a second. This was supposed to be romantic but that was easier said than done when all Quackity can hear is the echo of Wilbur begging to make a suicide pact hours ago and the fact that they could both die here together if the boat tipped over. 

"Look at me." Quackity asked softly. Suddenly Wilburs eyes refocused and looked down at the man in front of him. "Yes?" Wilbur asked, his voice just a deep rumble tired from the events of today. Quackity’s thumb runs across Wilbur’s cheek. Quackity pushes down every urge to say something about earlier. About everything. Every drink, every smoke, every self harm scar, every time Wilbur killed someone, every time he killed himself, and Wilbur's family let him down. 

"I love you." Quackity mumbles kissing Wilbur softly. Their lips locking in the moonlight. Wilbur’s eyes widen in surprise but soon enough he finds himself pulling Quackity closer. Hungry, desperate even for the affection. Like he was a touch starved man. Wilbur smiles coyly. The kiss tastes like cigarettes and bloody iron. The two pull away a moment later. 

"It's nice out here isn't it?" Wilbur mutters after a deep breath. "All I can smell is sea salt and that lovely colone of yours." Wilbur glances down at Quackity. "I wanted it to be nice." Quackity responded. "Something both of us could appreciate." He adds. Wilbur sighs quietly "You deserve to relax."

The water was a deep indigo. Quackity trailed his fingers through it for a moment. It was cold, freezing even but that was to be expected considering it was on the outskirts of SnowChester. "What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" Wilbur asks as he stops rowing. "...If things were different I'd love to go flying with you." Quackity laments quietly. His fingers brush over the bare bones extending from Wilburs back. "Sightseeing… Maybe fly to a land no one has ever heard of and leave this wretched place behind us." Wilbur's eye brows furrow as Quackity monologues. 

"Find a cottage off in some forest. Just us… no one else. Unless your son wants to forgive you. Spend the rest of our lives baking cookies and watching sunsets together. Maybe rest by a fireplace and read those philosophy books you love." Wilbur's shoulders tense. Suddenly the ring on his finger feels like a ball and chain. 

"The rest of the world doesn't exist. We could just forget it all." Quackity's words feel like a dream. The way he speaks is hypnotic and slow. Lulling Wilbur into some sort of commitment and it scares him. 

Like the walls of this reality were melting away and for a moment Wilbur was there. The ocean dripping and molding into a forest. And they were in a small cozy house and planting roses in a garden, Quackity's scars were gone and the immortal stitches on Wilbur were never sewn. His wings were full and crimson, he never bought a lighter for cigarettes and he doesn't have gunpowder in the bottom of his pockets. 

Quackity doesn't get scared every time Wilbur wants to take the lead in the bedroom. Everything is glowing with life and perfect. Fundy was still small and Wilbur isn't as neglectful and glory seeking. That cabinet has no liquor, the one in the kitchen. 

Quackity’s eyes aren't cold and calculating all the time. He’s not on edge all the time. Waiting for people to fuck up. Wanting to enact violence upon others he deems deserving. It's so peaceful and simplistic. A unproblematic existence.

 Wilbur’s a good dad to Fundy. Sally was sctratched out of the picture. Instead Fundy was adopted. Quackity didn’t have a long line of exes. No old rings hugging his knuckles on the days Quackity misses them. Tommy didn't resent his older brother. Wilbur never had to think about Tommy’s self harm along with his own. Phil's disappointment in both of them. Or Techo's death which they all silently agreed to never speak of. 

It's a perfect word but it shatters like glass when he whispers "Oh Alexis…"

Chapter Text

Wilbur’s second day on vacation was exponentially better than the first day. It felt like the pillows in the bedroom were softer. Quackity’s smile was brighter too. More mischievous. How Wilbur could feel the smug grin of Quackity’s lips as tufts of black hair brushed up aganst Wilbur’s stomach. Every movement of Quackity’s tongue felt like schockwaves going through Wilbur’s body as he let out quiet whimpers.

Quackity’s thumb’s holding Wilbur’s hips in place. The sun was just barely rising through the elegant open curtains. Sunlight from the Window hitting Wilbur’s disheaveld bedhead. The sleep from his eyes just barely fading away. “Ah–Ah, fuck… yes, yes, just like that.” The words spill from Wilbur’s lips as Quackity’s head bobs up and down on Wilbur’s cock.

It felt hard in Quackity’s warm wet mouth. His teeth careful not to graze too roughly as his head moved rhythmically. Wilbur’s head was tilted up, eyes rolling back slightly as his fiance sucked him off. Quackity’s eyes bored into his looking at him playfully, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on Wilbur. 

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” Quackity murmurs licking the slit of Wilbur’s dick. Precum leaking out slightly. Without waiting for a response, he takes the head of Wilbur’s cock pushing his mouth back down onto it sucking gently. “A-Ah fuck, yeah- yeah its enjoyable… more than that Q.” Wilbur bites back a moan. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

“Your so pretty when you make that face my love.” Quackity’s tongue licks a bit rougher as his nails dig into Wilbur’s pale thighs. Wilbur’s eyes are screwed shut as he pants softly, his eyebrows knit upwards into a pleading expression. “God, oh fuck… don’t stop.” He whines as Quackity speeds up. “Wouldn’t dream of it baby.”

Wilbur lets out another string of curses, mostly pleasure inducted at the sweet petname. “Oh… oh fucking hell…” It feels like he’s going to bust any second. Every sensation is overwhelming his senses. The way Wilbur fills Quackity’s throat feels perfect. His long hard cock deep into the other man’s mouth. “A-Ah fuck, if you keep that up i’m gonna cum!” Wilbur’s thighs shake slightly, but Quackity’s firm grip holds him in place.

The way Quackity speeds up is almost instinctive. Just like the way Wilbur finds himself holding Quackity by the hair trying to get him to go faster. His thin long fingers knotted in silky raven hair. “Oh god!” Wilbur curses feeling the rope snap.The white liquid dribbling down Quackity’s plush lips and onto his chin. His tongue slides over the spilled substance licking it off with a devious look.Wilbur slowly catches his breath.

“I wish i could wake up like that every morning.” Wilbur jokes halfheartedly as Quackity rubs his aching throat. Slightly sore from taking it all in. “Me too man… thats the dream.” He laughs hoarsely. Quackity sctretches yawning for a moment.

“Mn… i’m still kinda tired.” He mumbles before planting his face into Wilburs pecs. Wilbur strokes Quackity’s hair. “Me too ducky… it’s only 6:42am.” Wilbur looks down at Quackity who’s cuddling into him.

“Mhm…” Quackity murmurs, his thighs slotted between Wilbur’s thigh. Wilbur would be lying if he said Quackity’s slight grinding against him wasn’t making him hard again. But of course they had to get up eventually and Wilbur’s raging boner could wait. Hopefully not too long though, because he could tell Quackity was still needy too even with the half-assed grinding and tired rambles. 

“Do you want to go shower? Or coffee first?” Wilbur asks quietly. His voice is deep and husky from all the panting earlier. But Quackity’s voice is rougher from sucking cock when he says “Yeah… i’ll start brewing it now, you can draw us a bath.” Quackity gets off of Wilbur. The floorboards creaking as Quackity got up. 

Quackity lazily opened the door to the kitchen feeling fatigue as he presses a few buttons on the coffee machine. It stirs to life after a second. He takes out 2 mugs and some sugar and creamer. His fingers drumming against the counter before filling the cups up a second later. 

After putting in the condiments he brings the steaming mugs over to the bathroom, setting them on the counter. Quackity gingerly drinks his own as he watches as Wilbur’s fingers dip into the water. It’s warm, more on the hot side, just how he likes it. “Coffee?” Wilbur’s eyes flicker over to Quackity. “Coffee.” he hands Wilbur a mug. ”Thanks dear.” He whispers, taking a sip. Bubbles foam up from the tub below as the taste of strong coffee filt his mouth. A comfortable silence filled the air. 

Life with Quackity was like no other. It was so perfect. He was perfect. He was perfect with his bloodstained hands from torturing people and perfect with that mouth that could anilate people with just a few cut throat words. Wilbur’s eye lashes fluttered as he looked up at Quackity. He looked like he was glowing, like a halo above that which is holy. Even with the the smell of iron that allways seems to linger around him. He was wonderful. Some one to look up to. No, idolize even.

Wilbur could barely hear a thing around him while Quackity bathed with him. It was holy water as far as he was concerned. It felt like being baptized. All the weight of their sins washing off their back. It was cleansing, that word couldn't even begin to describe it. Wilbur’s red eyes were dreamy as he looked at Quackity. Full of an illusion he'd crafted over reality. 

Quackity’s fingers dotted over the skeletal wings on Wilbur's back. Most of the crimson feathers were lost but a chunk spurted from his back. It left a mangled appearance. Not like the gold feathers that crowned the others wings, abit smaller with the wingspan. Wilbur’s wings were larger, although mostly bones and stray red streaks that barely qualified as feathers. "You really should take care of these better, maybe the feathers will come back completely?" He murmurs but Wilbur says nothing in response.

If the warmth of the water has long faded Wilbur hasn't noticed. He just cups Quackity’s face as their noses brush. "I'd do anything for you." But the way he says it makes Quackity feel like Wilbur isn't responding to his question. He isn't answering the question at all. He's just speaking from the heart. Especially with that tone that tone that borders on the one of a devoted believer of a church. It's happening again.

It's happened with Sally and it's happening with Quackity too. 

Later that morning the two find themselves in the kitchen. Wilbur’s hands are shaky as he handles a knife, slicing strawberries into thin sections. The cutting board has red seeping into its pale wood. Quackity was busy rinsing off a baking pan. Although checking on Wilbur every half minute, not verbally but with his eyes. A distrustful glance. "Are you almost done with the prep?" Quackity asks softly setting the metal pan next to the taller avian. "Yep. Ah just a few more to go through." Wilbur chuckles as he throws away the strawberry stems. 

They were making muffins. A very sweet activity to end off their weekend getaway. Before Quackity has to go back to the political unrest rising in Las Nevadas with the aggression from Kinko Kingdom. A interlude of sorts. Or a prelude rather to what's to become of the two nations. Wilbur doesn’t like it. It feels like L'manburg. Quackity would agree. 

Quackity grabs the bowl of batter and pushes it towards Wilbur. He throws the cut up strawberries in the mix. Wilbur takes a spon and stirs it as Quackity watches. His expression was more at ease than ever. "Did you preheat the oven?" Wilbur stops mixing it for a moment. "Yeah it's been preheating don't worry." Quackity assures him. 

"Should I pour it? Or do you want to?" Wilbur looks down at the mix as he grabs some of the cupcake holders. The thin paper sliding into the metal socket. "We can do it together love." Quackity rests his chin on Wilbur's shoulder as he hugs him from behind. Wilbur's face heats up. "I-ah um okay Alexis." He stammers feeling Quackity’s erection pressing aganst his ass. Wilbur’s hands gently grasp the bowl of batter. 

He tries to focus on anything but the feeling of Quackity’s boner as he tries to pour some of it into one of the molds in the pan. Quackity’s hands slide over Wilbur’s hands stabalizing the tremble. “Distracted?” Quackity whispers teasingly. “Your fault.” Wilbur rolls his eyes as the cup cake molds fill. 

“They’ll take at least half an hour to cook.” Wilbur says after a moment. A perfect time to smoke outside. Except he’s stupposed to quit. 

Either way Wilbur finds all ideas of a smoke break thrown out the window when he finds himself grappling onto the countertop as Quackity grinds through Wilbur’s clothes. “G-God damnit we’re supposed to making breakfast…” Wilbur’s breath hitches. “You look nice in a apron.” Is all Quackity says in response. 

Wilbur’s eyes flutter shut as he exhales. Quackity lets go of him reaching over Wilbur to grab the tray and place it into the oven. “Alexis we just cleaned up!” Wilbur looks down as his face heats up. “Mhm… are you complaining?” Quackity closes the oven before looking up at Wilbur. “Not at all darling.”

Sunlight streams in through the windows. Yet theres soft speckled snow raining from the skies. The beam hits Quackity’s carmel skin. Wilbur kisses Quackity, his fingers knotting through the jet black hair. Theres a certian warmth that comes with the moment, weather it be the sunshine or the heat of the kiss it was there.

“Do we really have time for this?” Wilbur asks pulling away with a sultry gaze. “We can make time.” Quackity pushes Wilbur towards the counter again. “After all, i’d make time for anything my lover wants.” Quackity’s fingers draw up Wilbur’s spine, stopping between the space between his shoulder blades.

“And what do i want?” Wilbur challenges with a playful glint in his eyes. “Use your words.” Quackity’s fingers slip down wards. “A-ah, and what if it’s a seceret hmm?” Quackity’s palm cups Wilbur’s ass, giving it a slight squeeze. “You know better than to keep secrets from me.” Wilbur feels a devious smile crawl up his face. 

“Oh so we really are doing this right now?”

“Color?” 

“Green.”

“I’ll spank your ass untill its nothing but a pretty rosey patch if thats what it takes to get you to talk Wilbur.” Wilbur feels a surge of heat go straight to his cock. Quackity’s low dominant tone made Wilbur’s knees buckle and they weren’t even doing anything yet. “You make it sound like more of a treat than a punishment.” Wilbur whispers watching the timer on the oven.

“Of course you’d like it, your my pretty little masochistic slut aren’t you Wilbur?” His breath tickles Wilbur’s ear, and it feels like Wilbur’s breath just caught in his throat with how hot his face burns. “Oh most definitely…” Wilbur murmurs as Quackity pushes his face onto the counter bending him over. 

Wilbur’s eyes rest on the half empty strawberry carten he was fiddling with only ten minutes ago. His cock aches painfully hard from the filthy words dripping off his fiance’s tounge. “You look so sexy at this angle… bent over that counter.” Quackity’s hand lets go of Wilbur’s hair, and fall back to Wilbur’s waist. 

“I- I feel so…” Wilbur trips over his words. “So what? So good under my thumb like this?” Quackity’s fingers rub over the bulge pressing against Wilbur’s apron. “I–I don’t know… Like putty.” He whimpers as Quackity’s fingers press down onto the hard spot. “You are putty.”

“No, fuck no, i’m not putty im cock hungry…” Wilbur wirthes as Quackity unzips his pants. “Aww you miss being stuffed full of me? It’s only been a few weeks honey…” Wilbur shakes his head as Quackity taunts him. “Two insuffarably long weeks!”

Quackity’s fingers wrap around Wilbur’s hard cock. It was flushed and roesy, “Mhn… Yes, right there…” Wilbur nods as his pants fall to his thighs, Quackity palming him through his boxers for a moment. “I love that look on you, the one where your face is all hot but your lips are parted and all your words are about to be reduced to broken moans that rival a pornstar’s.” Wilbur gasps quietly as Quackity strokes Wilbur’s cock, pumping it slowly.

“Ple…Please Alexis o-oh god…”

“Please what?”

Wilbur’s eyes squeeze shut. “I want you to fuck me here and now!” He pleades as another wave of arousal washes over him. “Oh don’t worry there will be plenty of time for me to stretch that pretty little ass of yours.” Quackity’s eyes lock with Wilbur’s in that moment. “You like that?” He chastes. “I love that.”

Wilbur groans in complaint as Quackity lets go of his throbbing cock to pull down Wilbur’s boxers, only a loose shirt and apron left on him. Wilbur leans onto the counter top arms crossed. “Looks like he does know how to talk then.” Quackity snickers. “And here i was looking forward to smacking your ass for a bit… Maybe next time.”

“Oh god i hope so, yes please next time.” Wilbur rambles with a gleeful smile. “Mn… maybe when we’re home i can show you some gear i think you’ll really like… but for now, i think we have more important manners at hand. Like taking this lovely ass of yours.” Wilbur grinds aganist Quackity needily. “Hold on… i still have to get my pants off.” Quackity’s grip on Wilbur’s hip tightens holding him in place while Wilbur pouts. 

Quackity undoes his belt. And soon enough his erection presses aganst Wilbur’s tight hole. Wilbur’s eye lashes flutter as he feels the head of Quackity’s cock push in. “Oh fuckin’ hell…” Wilbur bites his tounge trying not to moan. 

The smell of sweet pastries lingered in the air. The baked goods would be done any minute now

Yet Quackity was taking his sweet old time sinking into Wilbur as the other let out a quiet whimper. Wilbur’s head rested against the counter top as he lets out a deep low moan. “A-Ah goddamn it Q.” He feels the other’s hand press into his back keeping him there. “Don’t bring god into this, focus on me.” Quackity purrs as he thrusts into Wilbur. 

“I’m, nymph…” The words die on his tounge. “Nympho is a word that describes someone like you perfectly.” Quackity’s grip on him tightens as Wilbur’s cock presses aganst the cabinets. Painfully aroused from Quackity’s filthy words. “Allways eager to take my cock, and begging for more comepletly fucking shameless.”

Wilbur whines at his fiances words. “A-Ah oh, fuck! Right there, right there please—I’m a good boy i swear!” Wilbur’s words were broken falling out rapidly, beg after beg each word more pathetic than his last. “Mm, fuck your tight…” Quackity whispers as his breath hitches. “You always tighten up like that when you bring praise into this don’t you? It’s cute…” Quackity comments. “Your a good boy.” Quackity affirms.

Wilbur’s eyes roll back feeling Quackity’s hard cock brush against his prosate over and over, just driving him crazy. “A-Ah, nm… fuck i can’t help it! I can’t help it and i don’t know why !” He babbles mindlessly as he clentches around his lover. “Really does bring out the more slutty side of you doesn’t?” Quackity’s breath tickles Wilbur’s ear, and Wilbur swears he saw stars in that exact moment as he busted all over the counter in a loud moan.

Quackity’s fingers running through the soft brown curls of Wilbur’s hair as he lets out a dazed quiet whimper when Quackity continues to fuck him. “Pretty boy.” Quackity whispers. “You look so darling with that expression.” Wilbur makes a mock annoyed look with a playful taunt of “Stealing my words are we now Alexis?” Quackity just gives him a sly smile. “Allways.”

“Go on then, hurry up before our food burns.” Wilbur chuckles. “Although im sure you’d just love to fuck my ass all day if it were up to you, wouldn’t you? Can’t get enough of me…” Wilbur whispers to himself, half hoping Quackity would hear him. “If it were up to me i’d fuck you so often your body is imprinted to the shape of my cock.” 

“A–Ah mn…” Wilbur whines as Quackity speeds up. “You like that huh? Maybe you shouldn’t make such bratty comments in the future.” Quackity’s eyes flutter as the feeling of pleasure begins to grow overwhelming. “An’ what if i wan’t you to punish me?” Wilbur bites back a moan. “Then so be it.” 

Quackity grabs Wilburs hips holding him down in place as he fucks him greedily chasing his own orgasm. Quackity moans softly, a mewl of pure escasity as he finishes letting out a line of pleased shudders and shallow breaths. 

Quackity pulls out of Wilbur, his cock dripping with thick ropes of white as he catches his breath. Wilbur’s legs tremble weakly as he grasps the counter for support without Quackity holding him up. “Ah… that was pretty great.” Wilbur says after a moment. “Yeah…”

Quackity quickly turns off the oven and places a arm over Wilbur’s shoulder. The baked goods would have to wait. ”Lets go get cleaned up again … Te amo.” 

Chapter Text

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