Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

George smiled, admiring himself in his long mirror.

His fingertips padded over the silky fabric that adorned his waist, and he twirled slightly, appreciating how the clothing twirled with his gentle movements.

He remembered exactly when he saw Eret walking down the path in a long, flowing dress, and without thinking he immediately asked where they got it.

Eret was a saint, she helped George find his measurements, gave clothing that fit him, and never told anyone about it. He was immensely grateful for her.

He absolutely loved how he felt in skirts, but the thought of anyone else seeing him in them made his cheeks burn.

It was something he did in the comfort of his own home, by himself. And he never planned on changing that. He was content with keeping his secret for as long as he lived.

He twirled one more time, a slight smile creeping onto his face when the fabric moved around him. It made him feel comfortable, free, and most of all - pretty.

Being called a pretty boy was something he was used to, had been since he was a child. His delicate features and short stature automatically painted him in an effeminate light.

It used to be an insult, something bigger kids would use against him. But it didn’t bother him, not anymore. He was pretty, he knew it. He knew he was heavily sought after, he didn’t need to feel ‘masculine’ to feel desired.

That still didn’t mean he was comfortable enough going out in public, though. He may not have been bothered by his childhood bullies, but he didn’t want to risk his friends saying anything or giving him weird looks.

He knew logically they would be supportive, and more likely than not, no one would say anything. But it was terrifying. He didn’t want to be the talk of the Dream SMP. Dream was the Leo, not him. He didn’t crave being in the spotlight like his friend did.

He moved to his small kitchen, filling a kettle with water and placing it onto his wood-burning stove.

Despite Sapnap teasing him about it, George loved his mushroom house. It felt safe, cozy even, especially with the colder winter months approaching.

He sat down at his kitchen table and picked up his quill and notepad, starting a to-do list of things he needed to complete before the snow came. It consisted of minor things like getting a new snow shovel, bringing in his fish, chopping wood and storing it, etcetera.

A soft knock at his door broke him out of his thoughts. He gasped slightly and dropped his quill, the ink pooling onto the page. He looked down at his attire, did he have time to change?

He wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight, and his anxiety spiked. Did something happen? Did someone get hurt? Was there another war?

“One second!” He called, standing up and rushing to his closet. He pulled out various items of clothing when his kettle started whistling loudly.

He cursed under his breath, running to the stove to pull it off when he accidentally spilled some water on his hand, causing him to yelp loudly.

“Gogy? He heard from outside his door. It was Wilbur, and his cheeks grew even hotter with that realization, “Are you okay?”

He chewed the flesh of his cheek, and set down the kettle, “I’m fine!”

“What’s going on in there?”

“Uh-nothing!” He responded, running his hand under cool water, “Just give me one more minute!”

“I’m coming in, Gogy.” the other man yelled, either not hearing him or not caring.

“No-Wait, stop!” He tried to say before the door creaked open, the taller man stepped through with little trepidation.

They both froze in their spots.

George kept his gaze on the ground as he fidgeted with the skirt. His complexion rivaled that of cherry wine as he waited for the inevitable teasing or backhanded remark.

Wilbur stood in shock, his mouth agape and eyes wide. He blinked a couple of times and shook his head, half expecting this to be a hallucination. His cheeks were dusted with an array of pinks and reds, and he sucks in a harsh breath. George looked GOOD.

The shorter man was situated in front of him in an oversized, cropped white tee showing off his abdomen, and a long blue skirt that reached his ankles. His goggles laid gently in his messy hair, and Wilbur had to stop himself from running his hands through it. He admired his pretty flushed face. He found it absolutely adorable and he wanted to make him blush like that more.

George slowly raised his head from the floor, eyelashes fluttering, and Wilbur almost collapsed. The shorter man bit his lip, drawing Wilbur’s attention to them. They were rosy, plump, perfect. He craved feeling them against him; against his lips, his neck, his skin.

His neck, collarbones, and abdomen peaked through the shirt, looking as if they had been sculpted out of clay. Wilbur had never wanted anything more than to leave deliciously contrasting marks on the smooth skin.

The taller man cleared his throat, focusing back on George’s eyes. George definitely knew Wilbur had been checking him out, but he didn’t care.

“Hey, Gogy.” He greeted normally, finally closing the door behind him and sitting down at the table. He eyed the kettle on the counter and the mug lying next to it, “Making tea?”

George was still frozen in place, his mind suffering from whiplash. One second Wilbur looked ready to devour him, and the next he sat down and was talking to him about tea.

He finally nodded, also clearing his throat, “Uh, yeah. Would you like some?”

Wilbur smiled and nodded, leaning back in the kitchen chair. He watched in appreciation as George moved around the kitchen, the skirt flowing as he walked, then focused on the table in front of him.

The shorter man sat a steaming mug in front of him and then placed some sugar beside it, before setting down his own and taking a seat.

“Are you not going to say anything?” George asked, anxiously tapping the side of the mug as he waited for it to cool.

Wilbur hummed, a small smirk playing on his lips as he stirred sweetener into his tea, “About what, Gogy?”

George scoffed and rolled his eyes, “You know what, Wilbur.”

“I don’t care that you wear skirts if that’s what you’re asking.” he replied, taking a sip and enjoying the warm liquid that coated his tongue, “You look good.”

George’s fading blush returned full force, and Wilbur licked his lips at the sight. He was right, making the other blush was extremely satisfying.

“Thank you.” He finally answered, timidly. An attribute Wilbur had rarely seen from the other man.

**
Wilbur couldn’t get the image of George in the blue skirt out of his mind. The way the soft fabric showed off his curves and the way it made his legs look impossibly long.

He groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair.

He wondered how long George had been keeping this little secret from him. How many other dresses and skirts was he hiding? It made his stomach twist with the need to see them himself, up and close.

He stood outside the little mushroom cottage once again, this time, clutching a box adorned with a silver ribbon tied into a dainty bow.

He readjusted the gift in his hands and knocked, biting the inside of his cheek.

After a long minute in the biting cold, George finally answered.

“Wilbur, hello.”

Wilbur frowned when he realized George was wearing his normal outfit of a hoodie and jeans and stepped inside.

“I have something for you,” Wilbur said, handing the smaller man the box and taking his now regular place at the kitchen table.

George pursed his lips and placed the box on the table, delicately unwrapping the silver ribbon and sliding the lid off of the package.

Wilbur watched carefully as the other man’s face flushed and bit his lip. He gently moved the tissue paper inside and took in the contents of the box.

“Wilbur-” He said, carefully pulling out a long chiffon dress, the striking navy blue contrasting against his pale skin.

Wilbur’s head tilted, and he wetted his lips, keeping his gaze steady on his friend, “Aren’t you going to try it on?”

George cleared his throat, running his hands over the soft fabric, “right now?”

Wilbur nodded, placing a gentle hand on the other man’s wrist, gathering his attention. They made eye contact, and he could see George take in a shaky breath.

“If you want to. I’m not going to pressure you into anything.” He replied, making sure George knew he was genuine. The encounter felt incredibly intimate, and the most important thing to him at that moment was that his friend felt comfortable.

George exhaled, and broke eye contact, looking back at the dress with admiration. “I’ll be right back.”

He proceeded into his bathroom, taking the dress with him.

Wilbur waited patiently for the other man to change, his mind busy with the images of how small George’s wrists looked beneath his own. He wondered how tiny his hands would look in his own, how easy it would be to completely encompass them.

The bathroom door opened slowly and he refocused his eyes, observing George’s timid walk into the room. The fabric flowed over his body magnificently, making him look like a painting. The royal blue fabric was striking against his body, and the deep neckline showed off more pale skin for Wilbur to admire.

He looked stunning.

“Can you help me with the zipper?” George asked, feet padding delicately against the floor as he moved towards him.

Wilbur’s heart raced, and his own cheeks began to warm. He nodded, and stood from his spot on the chair, taking in a shaky breath as George stood impossibly close and turned around.

He placed one hand above his hip, and the other to the middle of his back where George couldn’t reach. Slowly he pulled the zipper up, tightening his grip on his side and breath spilling onto the other’s neck. He was so close he could smell his shampoo, and he took in a deep breath. Blueberries, he thought. It weirdly made sense to him.

Although he couldn’t see the pretty way he knew George was blushing right then, he could feel his breathing quicken underneath his touch.

When the zipper reached the end of the track, both hands let go. He could hear the quiet whine of disapproval escape the smaller’s throat and he smirked.

George turned to face him, and let Wilbur examine the dress up close.

“So pretty.” He said, bringing his hand to the younger’s shoulder and lightly rubbing the fabric, causing the smaller man to shiver and close his eyes, mouth agape.

Wilbur traced the hem of the neckline, humming appreciatively, “absolutely stunning.”

The younger man let out a small breath, opening his eyes and gazing bravely into Wilbur’s own.

Wilbur’s gaze flitted down onto George’s rosy lips, then back to his eyes. He licked his own lips and cleared his throat.

“Let’s go get dinner, yeah?”

George took a second to catch his breath, then nodded, “Let me change, then we can.”

Wilbur frowned, grabbing onto the other’s wrist when he tried to move away, “Why would you do that?”

“No one but you and Eret knows about this Wilbur,” George replied, like it was obvious, “I don’t want everyone to stare at me.”

“Of course people are going to stare, Gogy, you’re incredibly attractive.” Wilbur told him, not seeming to be the slightest bit anxious as he talked, “Embrace it.”

George still looked hesitant, so Wilbur raised one of his hands to his jaw, stroking the skin with adoration. His palm was so large compared to George’s gentle features, and he wanted to spend a lot of time exploring that.

“No one will say anything,” He continued, smiling when George leaned into his touch. “I’ll be by your side the entire time. Besides, I want you to look good on our first date.”

He laughed when George’s eyes widened, the relaxed expression immediately leaving and an awe-stricken one taking its place.

“D-date?” He asked, staring up at Wilbur with doe eyes. The sight almost made the taller man melt.

“If you want - then yes, date.”

He smiled hesitantly, leaning back into Wilbur’s touch, “I want.”

“Then let’s go.”

**

They strolled down the path, and George’s heart was racing. They hadn’t passed anyone yet, and he dreaded the anticipation. He should have changed.

Wilbur seemed to notice his anxiety, and offered his hand, giving him a comforting smile. George couldn’t lie, his presence made him feel a lot more comfortable. He took his hand and pulled himself closer to the taller man’s body.

The first person they saw was Niki. She was carrying a basket of flowers, probably picking them for her shop. When she noticed the dress, and then their interlocked hands, a bright smile took her face and she jogged to them.

“George, oh my god!” She giggled, “You look incredible!”

He blushed and moved behind Wilbur’s arm, “Thank you, Niki. What are you doing?”

“Picking some flowers, I wanted to get some of the last ones before the snow came.” She replied, showing off her collection, “Would you like one?”

“Oh, yes.” Wilbur immediately replied, plucking a small cornflower from her basket before turning towards George and carefully sliding it behind his ear.

George’s heart was beating faster than he thought was possible, and fully expected to pass out at any second. The way Wilbur looked at him and touched him made him feel incredibly flushed, and he wanted more.

“Well we have a date to get to, but I will see you later,” Wilbur said to Niki, whose smile had gotten even brighter.

“Right, of course. It was nice to see you, George.”

He nodded, offering her a smile before continuing with Wilbur.

“See, George, everything is fine.”

“It was only Niki,” George deadpanned, “I don’t think she’s capable of being mean.”

Wilbur laughed, and the sound sent a kaleidoscope of butterflies into his stomach.

“Gogy!” He heard someone yell, and both he and Wilbur groaned. Only two people called him Gogy, and one was standing right next to him.

Tommy ran up to them, face flushed from running and slightly out of breath, “I thought that was you!”

“What do you want, gremlin child?” Wilbur asked, scowling at the blonde, though George knew it was lighthearted.

“First of all, why are you holding hands? Second of all, why are you wearing that?” The tall blonde asked, no malignancy in his voice, only genuine curiosity. Still, George couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“We’re going on a date, if we could stop being interrupted,” Wilbur explained, glaring at the teenager, “and why is it any of your business what George wears?”

Tommy frowned, looking at the shorter man, “I didn’t mean to be mean, I was just going to say, it looks good. The color suits you, Gogy.”

George’s mouth dropped open in shock of how genuine the teenager was being, having to take a second to regain his bearings, “Thank you, Tomathy.”

Wilbur let out a deep laugh, and Tommy scowled.

“I want a dress, Wilbur!” He whined, “I want to look pretty, too!”

It took a second for Wilbur to stop laughing, but when he did, he answered genuinely, “We can get you a dress, you’ll be very pretty.”

Tommy’s face broke out into a large grin and he bounced on the balls of his feet, “We’ll get one for Tubbo, too!”

George couldn’t help but laugh with Wilbur, the teenager looked so excited, and he was swimming in relief of everyone being kind so far.

“Can you please go away, we’re trying to go to dinner, gremlin boy,” Wilbur said, fondness warming his harsh words.

“I’m not a gremlin boy! I’m a gremlin MAN.” Tommy emphasized, “But yeah go on your date.”

They finally started walking again, and George prayed they wouldn’t be stopped another time. He didn’t like sharing Wilbur’s attention and focus and wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. He internally laughed at himself for calling Dream an attention whore, he clearly could be too.

“I’m really glad you said yes to me Gogy,” Wilbur said, rubbing circles on the other side of George’s hand. He was looking into the horizon, the warm colors of the sunset reflecting in his eyes, and a content smile shown on his face.

George mirrored his smile, and tightened his hold on his hand, moving his other to grab higher up on Wilbur’s arm, effectively latching onto him.

“I am too.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, so what kind of skirt were you thinking?” George asked, digging through piles of clothes to find something that stuck out to him, “Long, short, flowy?” He added, before facing towards Tommy, who looked like a kid in a candy store, eyes flicking around the room with interest.

 “Tommy?” 

The teenager finally looked to George, and a large smile took his lips, “Sorry, sorry, I’m just so excited.” He spoke quickly, moving to stand by George’s side, looking through the clothes, “I think flowy. They look fun to move in.” 

George smiled, biting his lip to keep from laughing. He didn’t know how excited Tommy had been till they walked into the small clothing shop and he immediately started running from display to display. The owner of the shop eyed them, making a snide comment about how men’s clothing was elsewhere, but they paid them no mind. 

 “They are fun to move in,” George agreed, digging a long chiffon skirt out of the pile and tossing it at Tommy, whose nose curled up in distaste. 

 “Green? Really?” 

Rolling his eyes, he turned to glare at the blonde, who sported a large smile, “We’re seeing if you like the fabric, go try it on, if you like it we’ll find a different color.” 

“So grumpy, Gogs, how does Wilbur deal with you?” He joked, dodging George’s smack, and headed towards the dressing room. 

Once he was alone, George let the chuckle he was holding in escape his throat, making sure to keep quiet. He didn’t want to give Tommy the satisfaction of making him laugh. 

His heart raced thinking about Wilbur. The way that his laugh lit up any room, the way that he fits perfectly in his chest. They had only been dating for a month, but George felt like they had known each other their whole lives. 

Almost like he sensed how much George missed him, he felt two long arms wrap around his waist. He practically jumped out of his skin and turned around, glaring at his boyfriend, who only laughed and pulled him in tighter. 

 “What are you doing here?” George asked, a large grin tugging his lips. He resigned to let Wilbur hold him while he dug through piles of clothes, Wilbur setting his chin on top of George's shoulder and giving hums of approval when he saw one he liked. 

 “I missed you,” Wilbur answered simply, nuzzling his face into George's neck. “I didn't want to wait.” 

 George rolled his eyes, but his fond smile showed his lack of hostility. He turned his head to face Wilbur, giggling when Wilbur planted small kisses all over his neck, sending shivers down his spine. 

Wilbur nipped his teeth on George's earlobe, before moving back to kiss his neck, making him blush and his stomach flutter. He tried to keep his focus on the variety of skirts on display around them but lost all concentration. 

 “I think you should try that one,” Wilbur whispered, motioning to a white skirt, with pleats around the bottom. George turned to give him a weird look, all traces of butterflies gone.

“What?” Wilbur asked, releasing his hold on George to pick it up, raising an eyebrow as he held it up for both of them to see. He hummed appreciatively, “I think it would look good.” 

Huffing, George took the piece of clothing from Wilbur, eyeing it carefully, before caving, “Fine, but no promises.” 

“AYY Wilbur!” Tommy interrupted, making both adults jump. He waved his hands down to his skirt, twirling back and forth with a large grin and bright eyes, “Whaddaya think?” 

 George smiled, nodding enthusiastically, but Wilbur groaned, “Green? Really?” Unknowingly parroting Tommy’s earlier complaints. 

 Tommy doubled over in laughter, practically wheezing when George glared up at Wilbur, who looked confused. 

 “It's so he can try the style,” George pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, “If he likes it we can try different colors,” He focused back onto Tommy, who was slowly recovering from his laughing fit, “Do you like that material, Tommy?” 

 The blonde perked back up, looking in the mirror and swinging his hips from side to side, giggling when the material swooshed around him, “I was right, it is fun.” He turned back to the other two, tilting his head, “Wilbur are you getting a skirt too?” 

Smirking, George faced Wilbur, raising his eyebrows suggestively, “Yeah, Wilbur. Are you getting one too?” 

“What do you think?” Wilbur laughed, picking up a bright, patterned skirt from the shelf and holding it to his waist, “Do you think I could pull it off, Gogy?” 

George curled his nose in distaste, looking up at him like he was insane, “Not that one, no one can make that look good. However,” He said, pointing out a long silk dress, gold in color, “That you could make work.” 

Tommy fake gagged in the background, displeased, “You two are disgusting. You're making me miss Tubbo, you're making me the clingy one.” He whined, “Now can we get back to me? I want a red one of these.”

“Wilbur, you find him one, I'm going to go try this on,” George said, shoving the armful of clothes in his arms into Wilbur’s chest, keeping the white skirt, “Tommy look through the ones I just handed him, you might like one.”

Wilbur handed off the pile of clothing to Tommy, impatiently waiting for George to come out of the changing room. His eyes flickered to the gold dress, and he bit his lip. It was nice, he had to give it George, he had a good eye. 

 Not very long after, Tommy popped by his side, smugly looking between Wilbur and the dress, “You should get it. Could you imagine how cool we'd all look? Matching and shit?” 

“I don't think so, Toms.” He said, though a large part of him nagged him to at least try it on. 

Tommy hummed mischievously, gathering Wilbur’s attention, “I'm sure it would make Gogy really happy to see you wear the dress he chose.” 

Before Wilbur could answer, Tommy turned to face the dressing room, yelling as loud as he possibly could, or at least it seemed, “Gogy!!!” 

The door opened, revealing an annoyed George who raised his eyebrow, waiting for Tommy to continue. Wilbur’s throat went dry when his eyes scanned George's body, the white skirt hugging his hips perfectly like it was made for him.

 He cleared his throat, ignoring Tommy’s evil grin, “You, you look really good George.” He stuttered, heat pooling in his cheeks.

 “Simp.” Tommy but in, “I ain’t no simp for no one, except myself-” 

“Why did you call for me, Tommy?” George interrupted, stopping his rant before it could spiral too far. He shifted his weight between his feet, face heating up from Wilbur’s intense gaze. 

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed, his mouth open while he tried to remember what he was going to say, audibly gasping when he thought of it, “Oh yeah! Wilbur said he wants to get the dress you showed him!” 

 Wilbur’s head snapped towards Tommy, who was trying his best to look innocent. He looked at George and opened his mouth, but the explanation died on his tongue when he saw his expression. 

George was looking up at him with wide eyes, filled to the brim with hope. His lips were parted, in a way that made Wilbur’s brain short-circuit. The pretty pink complexion taking his cheeks highlighted his freckles and sunspots and making him look like a work of art. 

After a minute, he finally replied, “I-Uh, I was thinking about it.” He stuttered, fighting the urge to punt Tommy when he whispered ‘simp’ under his breath. 

 George nodded his head vigorously, seemingly out of breath, “you should, you'd look fucking hot.” 

Both Wilbur and Tommy froze in shock, Tommy eventually bursting out in laughter, while Wilbur’s blush deepened and his eyes widened. He had never heard George talk like that before, and it caught him off guard. Usually, he was the flirt. 

“Holy shit, George,” Tommy laughed, so hard his eyes began to water, “I think you broke him.” 

George giggled, slowly making his way to Wilbur, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning into him, talking low and leaning up at him with smug eyes, “Is that true, Wilbur? Did I break you?”

“Fuck, okay, I'll get the dress.” He caved, holding George as close as he could, “But you're getting that skirt.” 

 “Ugh, guys!” Tommy whined, stomping his foot, “this was supposed to be me getting skirts! Pay attention! I still need a red one!” 

George laughed lightly, pulling away from Wilbur and moving back to the shelves, “Start looking then, Tommy.” 

With a final huff, the teenager came to his side, helping him search the clothes, Wilbur watched with pure and unbridled happiness, before helping them look. 

The sound of laughter filled George’s house, the idea of silence feeling far and foreign to the occupants. 

Tommy was showing off his new skirts to Tubbo, who was just as excited as the blonde, clapping his hands and whooping for every new piece of clothing. George watched the scene unfold fondly from his kitchen, pouring mugs of chamomile tea for him and Wilbur. 

It was crazy to him how quickly the two teens grew on him, how they went from slightly annoying strangers to a family in a little more than a month, the two staying late at his house and falling asleep at least once a week. George always complained and would tell them that the next time it happened he would put them outside and leave them to the elements, but every time they fell asleep on his couch he laid a blanket over them and stoked the fire, making sure they were warm.

He looked back to the bedroom door, fighting the urge to smirk, as he heard a couple of frustrated groans escape from the thin walls. 

 “Is everything alright, Wilbur?” He called, walking over to the door and knocking a couple of times, “Do you need help?” 

Something crashed from inside the room, gathering the attention of both teenagers, who burst out laughing, George had to bite his lip to keep himself from doing the same thing. 

A loud series of curses filled the air, getting closer as Wilbur moved towards the door, eventually cracking it open, “Gogy! I’m stuck.” 

George barely had time to react before Wilbur grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, slamming the door behind them. 

“How the hell do you get into these things?!” Wilbur whined, twisting in a manner that was anything but graceful. 

That’s when George allowed himself to see exactly the situation his boyfriend got himself in, this time not able to hold back his laughter, which made Wilbur pout even harder. 

Wilbur’s silk gold dress, which shimmered in the warm lighting from the torches, wrapped around his body in a way the mannequin definitely did not. Straps were wrapped around his neck, it was crooked, and there were ruffles and crinkles in places that it was supposed to be smooth. 

Laughter bubbled from George’s throat, and eventually, Wilbur caved and joined in, “How the hell did you do that?” George asked, his eyes wide as he saw just how bad Wilbur had gotten tangled in the fabric. 

“I- I don’t know, honestly,” Wilbur replied, out of breath. He no longer seemed frustrated, seemingly embracing his misfortune, “help me please.” 

George walked closer to him, placing his hands on his chest to try to tug the fabric and give it some leeway. The fabric was nice against his fingertips, and even when messed up it accentuated the natural dips and curves of Wilbur’s mussels in his chest and shoulders. 

He pulled at one of the hems, trying to unwrap it from around Wilbur’s neck, his fingers delicately padding against his throat, causing Wilbur to inhale, and his muscles to tense. 

“Relax... “ George whispered, leaning in further to get a better angle on the fabric, “I've almost got this part undone.” 

Wilbur did as he said, relaxing his muscles, then lowering his hands to wrap around George, who rolled his eyes, but was still smiling fondly, “I don’t understand how you put these things on, Gogs.” 

“Common sense.” George answered simply, smiling widely when a portion of the fabric gave way, “Though apparently, it’s not that common, did you put the armholes over your head? How did you get this stuck?”

“That’s not nice,” Wilbur huffed, “And it wasn’t that bad at first, but then the more I tried to get out the worse it got.” 

George feigned pity, sticking out his bottom lip and looking up at Wilbur through his eyelids, making his voice sickly-sweet, “Aww, poor baby.” 

Going along with George’s bit, Wilbur mirrored his expression, making himself look as sad as possible, “I know. I think you should kiss me to cheer me up.” 

Laughing, George tilted his head up, holding his lips centimeters from Wilbur’s own. Wilbur’s eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned closer, but as soon as George felt Wilbur’s breath on his lips he backed away, smirking. 

When Wilbur noticed there was nothing on the receiving end of his kiss, he let out a low whine and his eyes opened. He looked down accusatory at George, lips curled into a frown. 

George only looked back at him with love, smiling as wide as he could, the corner of his eyes crinkling with mirth, “I’m going to go check on Tommy and Tubbo, I can guarantee they’ve broken something by now.” He said quietly, pretending as if he hadn’t just teased Wilbur moments before, “Come join us when you’re ready.” He ignored Wilbur’s protests, hands still carefully unwrapping fabric. He pecked the taller's lips, quickly and pulled away before Wilbur could deepen the kiss. 

As he pulled back, the fabric went slack, George’s forgotten hands seemingly fixing the problem, as the dress relaxed around his waist. Wilbur let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling significantly less constricted. 

“Hurry up,” George said, pulling away from him and walking to the door, smirking when Wilbur complained, hands reaching out for him as he walked away. 

“You’re evil, Gogs.” 

George laughed, loudly, as he opened the door and stepped back through to the main area, shutting the door behind him. Tommy and Tubbo were sitting at the dining room table, digging through the cookies that George had baked earlier that morning. 

As he walked closer, he lightly smacked Tommy’s shoulder, the blonde turning to glare at him and yell, “Hey! What the shit?!” 

George motioned down at the table, where a large pile of crumbs had accumulated on the wood, he returned Tommy’s glare, “You’re making a mess.” 

“So what bitch?” The teen shot back but immediately started wiping the crumbs from the table, Tubbo laughing as he did so. 

The door of the bedroom finally opened, and Wilbur stepped through, his cheeks flushed a bright red. The gold dress fell over his chest and waist, the once long length reaching his mid-calves. It didn’t fit him completely, some places looking a little loose, while others were tight. Yet still, George found him captivating. 

Tommy and Tubbo however, clearly did not. Both boys burst out laughing, slamming the table and gasping for breath. George tried to stop himself, but soon small giggles escaped his throat. 

Wilbur rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning, “Don’t laugh at me, Gogy, it’s your fault I’m in this thing.” 

George wiped his eyes, where small tears had gathered at the corner of his eyes, before approaching Wilbur, leaning his head against his chest, “You look good.” George said, between giggles, Wilbur huffing indignantly above him, “No, no really you do. I just don’t think it’s the right fit, that’s all.” 

 “Yeah, Wilbur, leave the skirts and shit to me and Gogs, we clearly make them look way better.” Tommy interrupted, out of breath from laughter. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Wilbur replied, looking down at George with soft eyes and a small, genuine smile. 

Tubbo faked a gag, but it got lost in the background as Wilbur’s eyes met George’s, instantly feeling like they were the only two people in the world, Wilbur cringed at how cliche that sounded, before pulling George to him. 

They both shared a look of mutual understanding, leaning in, and closing their eyes. This time George didn’t pull away and let his lips meet Wilburs. They poured in every ounce of affection, of adoration, of love, into the kiss, and when they pulled away, they were breathless. 

“That was disgusting,” Tommy said. 

“Agreed.”