#c!wilbur soot x reader

[straighttohellbuddy]

what you love you devour {c!Wilbur Soot}

Summary: As someone who is chronically honest and the self-appointed court jester of this world, your place in any conflict or situation had always been whichever place to be amused you the most; being on the side of the grown-ass man who put time and effort into waging war against smartass kids over discs? Of course. Immediately switching sides to join the child as he and someone you've never met before start a drug empire? Of course. Except said newcomer seems to know exactly how to keep you entertained; your place becomes by his side, and you quickly come to realise that no-one else will ever compare.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: She/They Reader. Villain!Reader. Past, toxic c!Quackity/Reader, established platonic c!Dream & Reader. Set during the DSMP timeline. 

A/N: 25,323 words. this has been about 2 years in the making, which is why i haven't tagged the few people on the taglist but anyways, i finally came back and reread what i had and was like.... this actually holds up pretty well as is. so yeah, i've added and subtracted a few things here and there in the last few hours to make it all make sense overall, but holy shit im so happy to have it out there. is it possibly the wankiest/dramatic thing ive posted in a while? yes. but its also 25k so eat up. and if you wanna talk to me about it! PLEASE DO!!

Warnings: VILLAIN!READER, discussions/implied suicidal ideation, violence & blood, implied and joked about smut, heavy psychological/emotional manipulation, romantic obsession, betrayal, murder, implied torture. it gets pretty dark at times, just take care.

Citrus Scale: 💚 LIME 💚

{ full playlist }

"You've created capitalism, good job," sarcasm dripped from your words as you leaned against the side of the Camarvan while Sapnap attempted to arrest Tommy and the most recent newcomer, a brunette with a way with words that you found yourself admiring.

"I didn't create capitalism," Wilbur automatically defends himself, turning on you like he had the words on the tip of his tongue, simply waiting for someone to bring it up. Though he was playing at being innocent, you could see he was holding back a smile.

"What do you mean?" Tommy, behind him, frowned, before spluttering, "you know what, who cares- Wilbur, buddy don't listen to her, she'll say anything to get a rise out of people," he grumbled, but you just talked over him, addressing the newcomer.

"I'm not implying that you, new boy -"

"Wilbur," he corrected you automatically.

"- you, Wilbur, were the theological creator of capitalism," you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help your own smile at the situation, "I'm saying that you're trying to have a monopoly on potions and the ability to brew them, so you can inflate the price to whatever you want with no competition that people would be able to buy from, all that artificial supply and demand bullshit."

"Don't know what you're on about," but Wilbur's back was to the others as he said it, lips twisting into a grin, "this is but a humble hotdog van."

"A humble hotdog van!" Tommy added resolutely for emphasis, which you yourself repeated, much quieter, turning the words over in your mind as you narrowed your eyes and looked over all of them, "oh get lost, go run back to Dream," Tommy huffed, before turning on Wilbur, "why are you even giving her the time of day? She's in his guard, she's probably here helping Sapnap."

And that's when your gaze finally flicked to the man himself in full diamond armour, who was glowering at you, bow half raised. He stays quiet.

"He doesn't seem too keen on her," Wilbur points out, looking over his shoulder, giving the faintest smile to the kitted-out guard.

"It could be a ruse!" Tommy insisted.

"I'm simply a court jester -" you tried, hands raised defensively, but Tommy cuts you off.

"You shot me!"

"What's a humble court jester doing at our humble hotdog van?" Wilbur asks, turning back to you. At this prompt, however, your whole face lit up and you stood up straight, frantically digging around your pockets, searching, until you offer a small stack of blaze rods, like it's an offering.

"Playing along," you tell him, eyes alight with mirth and mischief.

"Why?" But he takes the blaze rods and you give a shrug, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"It's the funniest option."

---

"It's not capitalism, it's a drug empire," Tommy grumbled under his breath the moment they bring you into the Camarvan and shut the door behind you, before he added, "and I still don't like that you're here."

"It's not my fault that the concept of a grown-ass man going to war with literal children over two discs is deeply funny," you raised your hands in mock surrender as you sat on the counter in the hotdog van.

"Then why were you on his side?" He demanded, and you schooled your grin into something seriously.

"Thomas, Thomas listen to me -"

"Do not call me Thomas," Tommy told you flatly, and for a moment you couldn't help your sharp smile.

"Listen, Tommy, my boy, I was on the side of the grown-ass man who was waging war over discs; you're a kid, dude, being on your side would make too much sense and would be far less funny."

"One, you're a terrible person," Tommy says flatly, and you can't help but laugh not exactly inclined to disagree with him, "two, I'm not your boy, and three, if it suddenly becomes fucking funny for you to turn on us, I will kill you a lot, okay?"

"Okay," you nod, conceding, and though he's still frowning at you, mistrustful, you can't help but follow it with, "but I think you underestimate how much I appreciate our new friend, whose first thought, after finding his way to us, was 'I'm going to build a drug empire and recruit Tommy-goddamn-Innit as my first ally'; very few things can top that, honestly."

Wilbur, who was kneeling by a chest a few feet away and had been quiet this whole time, snorts a laugh. Good.

"Does Dream trust you?" However, when he spoke, your bright mood evaporated. Then he stands, turns, and leans his hip against the chest he was just rifling through, cocking his head to one side as he regards you, "it's not bait, I'm not asking you if you're a double agent, I trust you -" though there was something behind his eyes that contradicted his words, "- just, does Dream trust you?"

"Dream and I have... an understanding," you said carefully, "I understand that he is incredibly powerful -" Tommy made a derisive noise in the back of his throat at that, "- and he understands that I am simply a court jester."

"I don't remember many jesters with enchanted netherite axes," Tommy mutters under his breath. For the barest moment, when he looks at you he sees you looking right back, something dangerous, something like a warning in your eyes that vanishes so fast he’s half concerned he imagined it. No-one else seemed to have seen it, judging by how Wilbur’s continuing on. You’ve already looked away.

"So he may expect you to turn on him?"

"Eventually," you agree, "but he also knows I'd turn back to his side with the right incentive," you knew no good could come of trying to hide your nature, especially since it could lead to others actively attempting to win your loyalty, which you couldn't deny was pretty nice. Tommy was actively glaring at you after this particular admission, however Wilbur hums thoughtfully, regarding you with an expression you can't quite read, one that makes you feel like he's evaluating you; you sit a little straighter.

"Would you steal his potion supplies for us if he had any?" And suddenly, Wilbur's tone was light, as if he were asking for you to run an errand rather than commit treason. While Tommy was flabbergasted at his bluntness, you nodded emphatically.

"Oh, absolutely."

----

"Could you be more subtle while robbing me?" Dream frowned the moment he saw you up to your elbows in a chest in what he considered to be his base of operations.

"Not my fault you're bad at hiding your stuff and good at finding me," you huffed in return, not even bothering to look up, even as Dream peered over your shoulder to see what he'd left behind that you were currently looting. Tortoise shells and empty bottles, not much, but it's something.

"I don't appreciate you stealing my shit for Tommy," Dream pointed out, and you snorted a laugh, beginning to pocket your findings. He sat beside the chest, watching you, "I'm going to stop him."

"You're going to try."

"I thought you were on my side," but even as he said it, he wore a grin that was all teeth; you both knew he was joking, "you'd tell me where the discs were if you knew, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat," you agree without hesitation, sitting back on your heels and finally looking at your sort-of ally, "but we both know Tommy doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me."

"He's a smart kid," Dream's smile gets tight at the edges for just a moment, and when you look to him, he’s looking back at you with a shallow gaze - you ever take something from me like that again and I’ll fucking kill you; you hear your own voice in your head, and wonder if Dream’s thinking of that same moment, of your violent, possessiveness rearing it’s head, your axe pressed to his chest in the dead of night. Back in the present, his gaze clears and he looks at the chest you’re currently elbow deep in, pointedly, "you are robbing me." The memory passes from your mind.

"You weren't here and I'm not using actual force; this is looting at best," at your indignance, he rolls his eyes, looking away, and you open the chest again, taking the remaining items, despite their meagre value. "I'm not doing this for Tommy; Wilbur's the one who suggested it."

"The new guy?"

"The new guy," you confirmed with a nod, "the first thing he does after getting here is commit crimes; I think I'm in love," you tell Dream flatly, mostly joking.

"Sounds like a man after your own heart," Dream points out, not even trying to hide the teasing edge to his words; how deeply bizarre this interaction would be if anyone else were to walk in.

With all of the chest's contents safely in your pockets and satchel, you sit back, eyes narrowing as you give Dream and his mischievous smile a look as you finally try and figure out what this whole interaction means. However the teasing does well to hide the faint notes of apprehension in his voice.

"'s the reason I sided with you in the first place;" you said slowly, "you know how chaos gets me going," your tone was flat, clearly conveying that you hadn't deciphered the nature of this interaction, but your actual words were enough to have Dream himself laughing despite this, the air clearing. "You here to stop me?"

"Does anyone else know where my base is, and are you going to steal anything else from me?"

"No and yes," you answer bluntly; if you were anyone else that answer would be two death sentences, one right after the other, "blaze rods," you quickly elaborate, wilfully digging yourself deeper as Dream opens his mouth.

"You can't have my blaze rods," he says, though he's smiling faintly at your well-worn antics.

"Agree to disagree," you stood swiftly, trying to step over his legs to get to the next chest. Dream grabs your shin with one hand, stopping you in your track as he's sighing deeply.

"Go away, Y/N," he says firmly, letting go of you to get to his feet, beginning to push you to the entrance of the bunker, even as you whined; the fact that he let you take as much as you already had was not lost on you however, and you let yourself be nudged to the door, only putting on a show of protesting.

The timer that had started ticking the moment he'd found you in his bunker had finally run out.

"Get better security," you told him, and he gave you a wide, toothy smile.

"Love you too," he responded, "and keep me updated if you ever find those discs." At that, you give him a quick salute and head back in the general direction of the Camarvan.

----

"L'Manberg?" You said, not even trying to hide your scepticism.

"L'Manberg," both Tommy and Wilbur reiterated, sounding completely sincere in their dedication to the ridiculous name.

"L'-Man-Berg?" You said, slower, squinting at them, waiting for their sincerity to crack.

"But don't worry, Tommy himself said that 'even women can work here'," Wilbur said, corners of his mouth twitching at Tommy's various irritated exclamations, "like... in the hotdog van... with us; we're not implying that women have to work to be here, this isn't- this isn't communism -"

"You've made that abundantly clear," your scepticism broke in the face of his floundering, "I remember you brought capitalism to the Greater Dream SMP, Mr Soot," you were desperately trying not to laugh, though Tommy was fairing much worse than you at that.

"I mean- I mean- I mean-" Tommy spluttered through his laughter as it died down, trying to get himself back to being something resembling serious, "you also- you can't be on Dream's side if you're with us."

"I'm not," you answer honestly and easily.

"So you're on our side?" He clarified, though you had to hum at that.

"No..." you said carefully, before finally looking him in his eyes, "I'm on my side, I just happen to like," without breaking eye contact with Tommy or your serious facade, you pointed directly at Wilbur, to his left, "him." Tommy's outrage at your answer was predictably hilarious, hence the main reason as to why you gave it, and Wilbur's delighted 'that's good enough for me' and accompanying smile was enough to solidify your loyalty with them, at least for the time being.

----

"I knew it would be you," they've taken no chances with you when they started taking people prisoner; Tommy was the first to go, and you happened to show up right as Fundy was being lead away. Wilbur and Tommy had both sent you messages, letting you know people were being arrested, and while they probably meant for you to stay away, you had other ideas.

So now, here you were, with Sapnap's crossbow bolt between your shoulder blades as you were being unceremoniously shoved to the courthouse.

"Stop talking," he muttered, poking you probably harder than necessary, but it did little to dim your smile.

"I've barely said anything," you shrugged, the nonchalant movement only serving to remind you, as if you could forget, about the weapon at your back, "but I'm flattered, really; I knew it would be you."

"Stop. Talking."

"They've got several people escorting Tommy, and even Fundy has Eret and Tubbo," you kept chattering away, despite your guard's grumbling, "but we've fought together, you know what I'm like, and so does he," you gave a faint laugh, "they knew I'd listen to you; you're the only one besides Dream himself who could get me to go peacefully."

"Why then? If you're going to keep talking, can you explain why? Why are you going peacefully, why with me? Are you actually saying you would have put up a fight if I were anyone else?"

"Would you trust anyone else to bring me to jail on their own?" You asked simply.

"I think you overestimate how challenging you are -"

"So that's a yes, you'd trust... Tubbo to lead me to the courthouse alone?" Your tone was sly and heavy with implications, "or Ponk? Or what about Eret? I don't know him but he seems nice. I'd like to get to know him, if you're saying you'd like to swap -"

"I don't trust you," he cuts you off, words forced out through gritted teeth.

"But you trust you," you hum thoughtfully, "because you know you're the only one up for it. They're sweet kids, but they're still kids, aren't they? If the right person talked for long enough they'd believe anything. This is why I knew it'd be you taking me to court; you're better than that," you're better than them hangs in the air, unspoken but still so loud, and you're glad he can't see the way you're grinning.

Then, you give a self deprecating chuckle, shrugging again.

"Honestly I'm probably giving myself too much credit here, I'm unarmed and unarmoured, you're easily overkill as my escort, but again, I'm flattered," the pressure between your shoulder blades lessens until the sharp bolt is gone, and you hear Sapnap's footsteps fall silent. Intrigued, you turn, and you see him scowling.

"Don't do that, don't be cute, don't be coy;" he frowned at you, at how your expression had been schooled into something tamer than the delight you were feeling, "you won't trick me; I remember Dream in that warroom, you remember, we were all planning and he assured us that you were your most dangerous unarmed and unarmoured -"

"I can't believe you remember that," you huff a disbelieving laugh, hoping the delight in your eyes didn't give you away.

"Yeah, well I do; don't coy, don't be shitty, okay? I was sent here for you for a reason, me, alright Y/N? I'm the one with the crossbow," already your words were working their way into his psyche, the bestowing of compliments, building him up, only to undermine it all. Whether he realised it or not, the praise you hid amongst your teasing and self-aggrandizing felt good to hear; you're just glad he believed it.

And so you walked with a crossbow bolt nestled between your shoulders, in silence for the rest of the way, being shoved into a cell beside Tommy, who'd been sitting on the bed provided, chattering away loudly to the other guards.

"What took you so long?"

----

The jacket you're given doesn't fit quite right; it's close, but maybe the arms are a little too long, and it sits strangely when you button the front with more than one button, but you wear it with pride, grip tight on the lapels as you spin on your heel, waiting for an approval from the others.

"Looks good on you," Wilbur's voice is carefully neutral, though he nods, his slight smile betraying him.

"Now will you finally admit you're on our side?" Tommy asked, brow pinched as he looked you over.

"What do you mean? She's with us, of course she is," Tubbo voices his confusion, and you finally, finally relinquish.

"Yes, Tommy, I'm fighting for L'manburg," you inclined your head towards him, smiling faintly.

"Say it, say you're on my side," Tommy demanded, "because I wanna remember this moment when you inevitably double cross us."

"Tommy," you said carefully, trying not to show how amused you actually were.

"Don't patronise me," he warned.

"Tommy," you shifted your tone to something a touch more respectful, but the boy's mouth remained set in a firm line, "I'm on your side as long as you're on Wilbur's side."

"Of course," Tubbo pipes up brightly, "we're all on the same side, for L'manburg," and he so cheerfully misses the subtle nuance in your words that it seems to convince Tommy. Wilbur's smiling to himself, genuine, whole face scrunched up and pleased.

"Seems like an overreaction," Eret, who you were yet to get a proper read on, looked over the four of you with interest; he hadn't been here long either, "they robbed Dream for us, they got arrested too -"

"Y/N is a trickster spirit at the best of times," Tommy tells him, "you can never be too careful, trust me."

"I'm just a jester," you raised your hands in a placating gesture, gaze dipping if only to hide the spark of mischief that found its way to your eye every time you found yourself underplaying your abilities.

"A revolutionary jester," Wilbur corrects, and your gaze snaps to him, your smile growing a touch wider, a shade sharper.

"A revolutionary jester," you agreed.

----

"You should have a home here," you hear Wilbur musing as he's chopping wood with a distracted energy, "do you have a home?" He quickly follows it with, and you snort loudly.

"Christ dude, of course I have a house," though you take a moment to reconsider, "well I have a bed in the savannah," you paused, "near... near Dream's Mountain." You admitted. There's a hum, and when you look to Wilbur he's regarding you curiously.

"Still?"

"Dream doesn't operate out of there anymore," you told him candidly, "but I like it; lots of sand," you added, and Wilbur actually paused.

"Can I ask you something very frank?" He asked, leaning against the handle of his axe where it was pressing into the dirt. You nodded, "what incentive would it take for you to turn on us, and on L'manburg? If Dream offered any number of weapons or diamonds or armour, would you take it?"

"I have everything I need," you told him honestly, "and I don't think Dream could offer me enough incentive to turn against L'manburg the way it stands right now," you shrugged, but he tipped his head to the side, frowning.

"So what would it take you to turn on us individually?"

Your mouth fell open, unused to being properly listened to, properly understood.

"You listen too much," you muttered, unused to being caught out in the way you would twist words. Wilbur, seemingly surprised at your reaction, grins from ear to ear.

"You know, while you were all being arrested, I heard something; I heard someone say that you're at your most dangerous when you're unarmed and unassuming, and I think I'm starting to get it-"

"If I find Tommy's discs, I have an obligation to give them to Dream," you let the words fall from your lips in an effort to derail that train of thought, gaze on your hands as you pluck blades of grass from the ground, twisting them in your fingers. Wilbur carefully lowers himself to the ground, to your level.

"From what I understand, that seems perfectly reasonable, in your mind at least," he says with a half smile, looking to you, expression somewhat unreadable, his pause harbouring something quietly hungry; "and what about me?"

Mouth opening and closing at a sudden loss for words, you find yourself unable to look him in the eyes.

"I have no pre-existing reason to turn against you," your voice is quiet, is flat, but your forgetting fingers betray how antsy this particular shred of honesty made you.

"So, Tommy's the only one you'd throw under the bus?"

"Its up to you," you shrugged, "and I'd only steal Tommy's disc and hand them over, I wouldn't hurt him."

"Are you lying?"

"I don't lie;" your tone was harsh, looking to him with a fire in your eyes, "I will not betray them, or Tommy in any other way, so long as they are all... aligning... with... you." There's no pretty way to twist your words around it, and you can't help your faint, flustered embarrasent, "my word is my bond." Then, softer, heart in your throat, "stop looking at me, Wilbur."

"That's a lot of power you've given me there," he said with a faint laugh, "so if it's no longer in my best interest to align with them-"

"It depends on if you mean that they're no longer allies, or if they're actively hostile," you point out, "because the ways in which I would betray them if they are not my allies are... varied. If they're my active enemy, then that's more of a straightforward fight, you know?"

"And if I decided it's no longer beneficial to be allies with you?"

"You'd be smart," you tell him, knee-jerk reaction, which startles a laugh from him; you give a faint, self-conscious apology, "honestly I'd respect it, it'd be an incredibly funny move after the things I've said, you know?"

"But, no, if I betrayed you, what would you do?"

"Are you planning on betraying me?"

"Not currently," he shrugged easily, and you blinked slowly at him.

"I don't know what I'd do, not yet, but I can get planning," you said with an almost teasing air, while he splutters in protest, "yeah I know you just said you weren't planning on it, but I'm pretty sure you've lied to every single question I've asked since getting here," you paused, smile growing wider, and strangely fond, "actually I think you've lied more than you've told the truth in general since you arrived."

A second passes, then another, then finally he breaks out into laughter.

"And you accuse me of listening too much!" His expression was frankly delighted.

----

You follow them into the dark, down the stairs, listening to the way they were joking about Eret managing to come up with a nuke. The night is unassuming. Spirits are high. 

But they bring you all to a small room full of  chests. Something is wrong. You stay with Eret by the door, and he's got a hand on your shoulder - you can't run. 

"The chests are empty-" you hear Wilbur's confusion, right before Tommy asks what the button in the middle of the room does, and before he can even press it, his fingertips barely contacting the wood, you step forward -

"Easy now," Eret's voice is a gentle murmur, only for you, grip tight on your pauldron. When you look at her, a moment of silence amongst the others' confusion, his expression is… unreadable. Ice cold now, there's a sword through your chest, you can feel it where you shouldn't, followed by the searing heat of blood filling your lungs and windpipe -

"Y/N?!" Wilbur's eyes land on you as Tommy presses the button, you fall to your knees, choking on a mouthful of blood, and when your gaze locks with his, the reality of the betrayal sets in. There's horror in his eyes, and you see Tommy and Tubbo turning before you're suddenly gasping awake in your bed in L'manburg, shaking, eyes wide and goosebumps rising along your skin as you hear your comrades screaming and shouting for help, horrified at Eret's betrayal, all coming in tinny through the communicator still on your hip. You don't properly know what happened after the button was pushed, and you think that was a conscious decision.

Your first life is taken quietly, not with a bang but with a whimper.

There's something inevitable about it for you, at least in your mind, but the others didn't deserve this, didn't deserve that betrayal. You can still feel the sticky heat of the blood in your lungs, your throat, ice cold sword where it had pierced through your back, slipped between your ribs, and come out the other side. 

"It was never meant to be," Eret sounds like they’re smiling as they say it, as the others are yelling, and you realise that they're probably reviving in their own homes. You want to ask, want to demand answers, but your hands shake, and when you find your voice, all that comes out is a furious growl, low and full of venomous malice the likes of which the others had never heard from you, judging by how your voice cut through the chaotic mess of shouting.

"What the fuck did you do?" 

Eret leaves the communication channel. The silence rings in your ears.

"He betrayed us," Wilbur said, tone flat, thinly veiling his own fury at the situation, "she had us killed by Dream and his men," and then, "he killed you." Like it means something, like he's worried your apathy, or even your connection to Dream, could sway you from your anger. Like he knows betrayal of your nation means little; like he knows you well. Something about this catches in your mind; you knew it was only a matter of time before you were betrayed, but the rest of them cared - Wilbur cared enough about you to know you, and Eret had him killed too. 

Your communicator vibrates for a moment, and you look down to see a message from Wilbur himself; Where are you?

Your life was of little consequence, the same could not be said for your comrades.

"They killed me," you said softly, before you swallowed hard; home. Dig the ground by the corner of the walls near the river, you send back. "You died too; you all died. Who was there?"

"Who do you think?" Tommy cut in, loud and brimming with rage.

"It was all so fast, but I saw George, and Sap, and Dream," Tubbo cut in, voice a little shaky, bring Tommy's fury down somewhat.

"Punz was there too," Wilbur said carefully, "they have our things." And you stay quiet as they rage, as you sit in your bed, unable to get up, mind moving a thousand miles a minute as you try and figure out how to process all of this, what it all means. It doesn't take too long before there's sunlight streaming into your little, cosy hovel, followed by Wilbur climbing down the ladder provided, packing dirt into the hole he'd made to keep your location secret. 

When he gets to the bottom of the ladder, he takes a deep breath - Tommy and Tubbo are chattering away, audible over both your communicators. Making eye contact, finally, he doesn't quiet seem to know what to do, or where to go. You turn off your communicator. Everything tastes like iron. You don't move. He leans against the wall by the ladder, closing his eyes tightly for few moments, and slowly sliding down, sinking to the ground. 

"Wilb- mate are you alright? Where are you?" Tommy's voice rings out from the communicator still on Wilbur's hip, and he sighs deeply.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, just need a few moments, I'll be with you soon," and he turns off the communicator before getting a response. 

Silence. Deafening silence.

"I'm sorry," your voice is a whisper, but it's clearly audible in this little room. 

"What?" Tone immediately defensive and sharp, Wilbur's eyes snap open and he looks to you with a glare.

"No, I- I've had betrayal coming for a long time, but you- you all didn't deserve that," you clarified, hand on your chest, feeling the raised, tender scar tissue where the sword had come out - it had slid through your sternum like fucking butter, it had been so cold, even as the points where it had touched your clothes caught fire, even as it melted through the metal of your armour - your hand starts to shake. Everything tastes like iron. 

"What happened?"

"What did Eret say to you?" His question surprised you, and when you look to him, his gaze is hard and cold.

"Easy now," you remember, "held me back when I went to step forwards, and ran their sword through me before the button had even properly been pressed -"

"I saw," Wilbur's voice was softer.

"I'm sorry, I should have warned you -" your lip was trembling, shake in your words as you drew your knees up to your chest. 

"You didn't know, you couldn't have-"

"I could have done more, I could have done something -" the tears start to fall.

"Dream's guard were laying in wait, and the button was their cue to ambush us," Wilbur explained carefully, "but you…" he swallowed hard, "I watched you die." He sounded furious and disgusted, looking at his own hands, twisted into claw-like shapes, ruminating on his own helplessness at the situation.

"You're the only one who noticed," you said, barely audible, "I don't think you were meant to notice."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"I wasn't meant to see what happened, and it was meant to be assumed that I died in the skirmish," you said, tone flat and bitter, before your tone grows malicious, "because Dream is a coward."

"I wasn't meant to notice?" He asks, voice weak.

"No-one was; dying in the skirmish is less targeted, but if I had glimpsed any of their team killing -" You swallowed hard, dropping your gaze, "any," you push the word to hide that it's not exactly the truth, "of you… Dream knows I am more than capable of exacting revenge." There was a dark truth to your words that Wilbur couldn’t even begin to fathom, a history he was unaware of.

"I do notice you," Wilbur says, and you're brought from your bitterness momentarily, surprised by the earnestness of his words. He stands, "and I've never heard you speak like this before." 

"There are rules," you tell him, watching him cross the room to your bed, to sit by your side, "and I don't expect the same level of honesty that I give, but I expect- I expect- I-" but you can't find the words for what you're trying to say, sitting forward scowling at your hands.

"You would have let him betray us all still if you'd know, wouldn't you? You would have even let her kill you," Wilbur's tone is alight with realisation, and your mouth drops open with surprise; yes, yes of course you would, how did he put it into words like that? He doesn't even sound particularly hurt by that realisation, more fascinated.

"I absolutely would have," you answer.

"But you had no idea," its not accusatory in the slightest, his tone matching yours, alright with bright interest, "which is why- why- why you're so- why you're reacting like this," its like he's trying to piece together how he sees you out loud, "you need to know where all the chess pieces are, what moves are being made, you're not playing as much as you are a spectator delighting in the chaos of it all, with a front row seat." But he's grinning from ear to ear. Your whole body is alight with the instinct to reach out and touch him, to prove he's real and not something you're imagining, because no one else has even cared to figure you out like this, and no one would even come close to reacting so brightly about it. 

"I'm sorry I'm like this," you say with a momentary huff of disbelieving laughter, but he reaches out and puts a hand on your knee. The contact burns. You look down at his hand like you can't quite believe it, head swimming, trying to process this all. 

"Don't be; knowledge is power and you never lie," he pointed out, "you're a good ally to have." Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. Wilbur Soot I'd die for you; the words press against your teeth until it's almost painful, and his hand is still on your knee. You grab it - he's real, he's here, the things he's said are real too!

"I won't betray you," is what you say instead, and Wilbur's expression turns to surprise in the face of your earnestness, your seriousness. You never lie; the thing he's said is playing on both of your minds at this moment, of this you're sure.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he says very carefully.

"Then you understand the full extent of what I'm saying, don't you?" You take his hand now in a handshake, palm to palm, "Wilbur Soot, I will never betray you."

"You have never lied to me," he said, voice low and serious, demanding an answer. You meet his gaze.

"I have never lied to you," you affirm, before adding, "you know me." And you're fairly certain he doesn't quite understand the importance of that, that his understanding of you is the reason for your loyalty. "You don't have to extend the same sentiment, don't worry, like I said I don't expect the same lev of honesty -"

"I will not willingly betray you, Y/N," Wilbur says, matching your earnest seriousness, "and I will attempt to only be honest with you." 

----

“What is it about you?” There was a strange quality to Dream’s voice as he voices a question that had seemingly been weighing on him for a long while. Wilbur, where he was trying to fit all of his friends’ equipment on his person to carry back to them, snaps his attention to Dream, brow furrowed. 

"What?" 

"Loyalty is the one thing Y/N covets above all else, and yet for some reason they’ve given it freely to you -” Dream’s voice was smooth and thoughtful, like he’s not quite aware he’s speaking out loud. 

“Maybe it’s because I respect them -”

“I respected them, but still...” he trailed off; again the idea of a darker shared history between you and Dream makes itself known. Wilbur's scowl deepened, "I don’t think they genuinely respected me... or anyone, before you. They get possessive, like dangerously possessive, but you’re different." 

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know the thing they do, the way they can talk around people and topics without even lying, and make it look, you know, like it’s easy?” And the minute the words leave Dream's mouth, Wilbur's gaze drops; of course he'd noticed.

"They’ve got a way with words," Wilbur's agrees, slowly, eyes narrowed. At the defensive notes in Wilbur’s voice, the smile dropped from Dream’s face. He’s seen this loyalty before, but never before in someone you yourself were loyal to in turn. This is uncharted territory. This suddenly feels like a dangerous conversation to be having. 

“Everything they’ve done is to amuse themselves, so you make no sense to me; what about you is so compelling that they find entertainment in playing revolution?”

“Maybe,” Wilbur says, tone light but clearly well thought out, “someone who is used to listening to everyone else finds a certain novel charm in being heard.” His gaze is icy, but he’s not looking at Dream; he’s standing at the end of the room, gaze hard as he looks at the door, as if focusing intently on something in his mind as he spoke; “I think you assume everyone believes in the ideals that their side stands for, and I also think,” he narrows his eyes, still staring into space. Despite not being the target of his glare, Dream, for the first time in the conversation, feels a strangely familiar powerlessness, “that you underestimate an individual’s loyalty to another individual, rather than to a cause,” he paused, “or a nation.” 

“I’ll fight for you, of course, but I can’t kill any of those kids -” in Dream’s mind, he’s taken back to the moment he’d recruited you to his side after he’d stolen Tommy’s discs. You’re looking up at him from where you’re leaning over a grindstone, sharpening your axe. When he’d asked why, you blinked slowly at him, “I’ve barely spoken to them; I can’t discern if they deserve it.” There’s something cold in your eyes as you look at him, and he hears it clear as day without you needing to say it out loud; I don’t kill people I don’t know.

Something about Wilbur in this moment reminds Dream of you. He feels the faded scar on his collar bone ache faintly; the part of him that had wanted to somehow warn Wilbur of your true nature was quickly growing quiet in the back of his mind.

Then, Wilbur looks at his own hands for a moment, before digging through his bag, through the various belongings he was now carrying. He pulls out your axe, and looks back up at the space by the door. Then, to the button, before finally looking at Dream, your axe still in hand, but it rested by his side, nonthreatening. Dream can’t look away from the weapon.

“You were laying in wait for us in the name of your nation,” Wilbur says, tone strangely neutral; he looks back at the door; “you complain about a lack of respect but won’t warn them when they’re about to die.” This is where he’d watched you die; that, atop the various other insights Wilbur has shared here have Dream’s blood running cold. Dream wants to argue that you would have tipped them off, but his words die on his tongue; he at least knew you better than to interfere in a good plan, an entertaining plan, where you would be able to watch the effects of a major plot twist play out in real time, even if it meant you too had to be sacrified... And Wilbur knew this about you too.

“I see,” Dream muses, trying to hide how shaken he was by the moment that had just passed, “you’re starting to make more sense now.”

“And you know what,” Wilbur said, unsettling tension breaking as he grinned, “I think you’re making more sense too; Y/N’s willingness to still bring up their loyalty to you does at least.”

“Their loyalty to me?”

“They still look out for Tommy’s discs on your behalf,” he said candidly, “we all know, but they’re yet to find them so Tommy’s yet to have a proper go at them.”

“It’s always sunny in L’Manberg then,” Dream says, dryly. 

“It’s... amusing, to try and see the world the way you see it,” Wilbur’s chipper, but there’s something almost malicious in his bright tone, and Dream’s hair stands on end. His own words haunt him, your loyalty called into question; did you simply help him because you found him trivial and amusing? While it doesn’t exactly surprise him, it stings in a way he didn’t expect. Looking back at Wilbur, it’s clear that at least some of Dream’s feelings about this particular revelation showed on his face, despite his best efforts. Wilbur’s grin was cheshire-esque. Even his smugness somehow had an echo of yours. 

He leaves. Dream feels sick, alone in the final control room.

----

"Can I ask you something?" Wilbur asks tentatively, and you look away from the furnace you'd patiently been waiting to smelt your iron ore.

"Of course."

Another long pause; you approached him where he was sitting at the table, watching you with reservation. 

"What happened between you and Dream?"

Surprisingly, your expression dropped to something blank in an instant, gaze going glassy. 

“He’s my friend,” you say flatly, turning back to the furnace, but not before Wilbur caught a glimpse of your grimace.

“I think he was trying to warn me against you,” Wilbur huffs a faint laugh, but it’s more to test your reaction; when you turn back, your expression is wide and innocent, almost pleading.

“What did he say?”

“That I’m the first person you’ve shown actual respect to,” Wilbur says, tone light but words blunt; it surprises you, which he can read on your face, and you hesitate for a moment, not wanting to confirm or deny as much. His smile grows wider, grows endeared, “and he did say you tend to get possessive.” Your gentle, flustered nature turns into something colder at that, and you look to your hands.

“He says a lot of things,” you mutter, with an air of bitterness. It’s interesting interacting with you; half the time you still seem to try and put on an act around him, though the other half you seem to let yourself be as honest as you’re able, “he says a lot of things to the people I like, then they like me less.” Then, suddenly, you look to him, defiance in your eyes, “I don’t care what he said, I’m not using you, Wilb-”

“Hold on, he never said anything like that,” he holds up his hands, defensive, placating. Your eyes go wide and your mouth snaps shut; you can’t look at him, sitting down, hunching in on yourself. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, sighing deeply enough that your shoulders sag, “Dream is my friend, I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I thought... he’s taken things from me like this before, things I, well...” you can’t quite put it into words, but Wilbur sits back, watching you, when something in his mind clicks.

“Covet.” His voice was soft with understanding, gentle as he asks “who was it?”

You blink slowly; there was something visceral and feral burning through your veins. You’d spent so long intricately designing the way the world would see you, this single moment feels like you’re on the knife’s edge trying to figure out if having him understanding you is endearing and heartwarming, or cloying and dangerous. He promised he wouldn’t betray you, but he’s not as honest as you’ve trained yourself to be. 

But you promised not to betray him, and you’ve become someone defined by your word. All you can do is leave, if that’s what you want. You can’t lash out, you must let him live with the way he knows you, with no promise to keep it to himself. Self preservation is the way your fingers flex, aching for your axe.

“I’ve given you too much power over me,” you swallow hard, hands in fists. 

“You won’t hurt me, though.”

“We both know I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“And you do want to,” he says it like it’s a fact, all light and neutral. You keep your mouth shut; you can’t lie if you don’t speak, no matter how sweet you know it would taste to lie. “I have never felt fear or anger like I felt when I watched you die,” he breaks the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter through clenched teeth, staring intently at the floor.

“You’re not to blame,” he says easily, “none of us deserved that; you didn’t deserve that.” 

“You didn’t deserve to see that,” you corrected automatically. 

“I thought you wanted to hurt me.”

“Well I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he says, tone still light. You glance a look at him, only to see him resting his chin in his hand, regarding you with a gentle smile. The distinction stings in your mind, the way he clearly understands your internal conflict, it sets your teeth on edge, “you knew what you were getting into when you offered your loyalty; Dream was confused, you know, about why you’d given it so freely when you covet it -” that word again, your expression twists into something frustrated as you drop your gaze back to your hands, “- but he doesn’t really get you, does he?”

“He likes to think he’s like me,” you mutter, “but then he acts like he’s better, like he’s building a family from this war, but he’s going to be left with people filled with resentments. I was aquiring resources, but he didn’t like my methods...”

“Who?” Softer this time, Wilbur asks.

After a very, very long time, you look to him, gaze shallow.

“I thought Quackity was like you, I thought he’d understand.”

“Understand you?”

“Understand the world, the truth,” you wet your lips for a moment, “but he clung to pretty words without question; I could see he had potential, so I kept him around, and it was easy - it was so fuckin’ easy -” You recount how you’d set your sights on loud-mouthed, brash, desperate for recognition Quackity, and how you’d made him your whole world, bombing him with affection and attention, making him feel understood, like the place he belonged was by your side. Quackity had always looked for somewhere to belong, that hadn’t changed, though you muse that you may have made it harder for him to trust it when he finally found a place where he felt like he belonged. 

“Everything I fed him was a lie I’d laced with something that sounded close enough to love and sincerity that he’d believed it,” you looked down at where you were tracing shapes on the back of Wilbur’s hand as he listened intently, “I gave him nothing, but made him believe he had everything, until... until I wanted to see how far I could go. I wanted to see if he’d die for me... and he would have, until Dream decided to grow some morals.” You stood, sudden fury burning through your veins at the memory, “he had to sew the fuckin’ seeds of doubt in Q’s mind, had to pick holes in my lies -”

“You lied that much?” This seemed to genuinely shock Wilbur, and you stopped your pacing to look to him.

“It’s why I don’t lie; it’s harder to pick holes in the truth, harder to undermine me,” your lip curled, “Q lost faith in me, stopped trusting me, and there was fucking nothing I could do about it; it was my fault, honestly, so I don’t lie anymore. I’m upfront about who I am. I only keep people around if they’re useful, or they’re entertaining, because that’s the other fucking thing I learned; nothing fucking matters more than keeping me happy, because everyone gets too serious for their own good in the end. Dream was fun before he- he- he-”

“So am I useful or entertaining?” Wilbur asks, and you freeze. Then, slowly, you take a deep breath.

“It was novel to feel understood.”

“And now it’s bloody terrifying you,” he says gently, “because as much as you want to, you can’t trust anyone as much as you trust yourself.”

“I understand people, Wilbur, and no-one I’ve ever met has understood the inherent benefit to honesty the way I have.”

“But you still promised me your loyalty.” He says. You swallowed hard, nodding once. You meet his gaze, refusing to break it, refusing to back down, waiting for him to elaborate. “And I promised you mine, as best I could,” he pauses gives you an evaluative look over, “I can’t trust people, obviously, but I know I can trust you.”

“People don’t like me when they realise I can pick them apart, that I can rewire and reprogram them like I’m an engineer,” and Wilbur regards you curiously as you say this, like he’s going to try and counter it, but you square your shoulders, “even you, Wilbur; do you think, when we met, you’d still trust me if I was upfront about this?” And he closes his mouth, thoughtful, “I wanted so desperately to keep around the first person to halfway understand me, you’re impressed rather than fucking terrified like you should be. Because you know it’s true.”

“Are you trying to push me away?”

“We both know you won’t go,” you say with the faintest, self-deprecating smile, “a stalemate of respect, of our own design.” Then, your expression turned serious, “I have never felt fear or anger like I did when I realised you watched me die.”

Then, very slowly, his gaze meets yours, hard-edged and dark.

“Do you trust me as much as I trust you?” It’s a loaded question; he’s never been given any reason to doubt you, mostly thanks to your honesty and loyalty, but you’d never been afforded that same assurance. But in this instance, it didn’t matter, you knew your answer without a shred of doubt.

“Yes, absolutely.”

----

Its said a shark can smell blood in the water from a mile away, and you, you know there's a traitor living a peaceful life up in the castle. It irritates you, sets your teeth on edge; it's not that they killed you that bothers you, it's that they were careless about it, they let the one person you never wanted to hurt watch you die. The event had shaken Wilbur; the taking of your life was not the matter you cared about. 

"You okay?" Others had noticed how distracted you were; in your mind, all you could see was the shocked horror in Wilbur's eyes, and the feeling of the blade in your back. Blinking quickly, back to the present, you smiled brightly at Tubbo, or as brightly as you could manage.

"Of course." 

You watch the others sparring and training together and your hands ball into fists, as if aching for a fight. But you've got an image to keep up; you're not the brawn here, you're a jester, you're meant to keep those who you care about smiling. 

"You ever wanna hold a sword to my neck like that..." you tone is suggestive as you trail off, grinning at Wilbur, who's got his sword poised beneath a training dummy's chin, glaring at it with ferocity. The moment you call out, however, his focus break, and you see him fighting back a smile as a flush works its way up his cheeks.

"Come test your luck then," he calls back, and you blinked quickly.

"I don't want to fight you, Wilbur," you tell him, quieter, hoping it comes off as soft, as something endeared.

"You should know how to fight," he points out, lowering his sword, digging the tip into the dirt as he leans on the pommel a little.

"I know how to fight," you counter, and a long moment of silence follows as he considers that.

"How have I never seen you with a weapon then?"

"You have, you just haven’t seen me use it as a weapon." You tell him rather pointedly, voice low, and though you’re still smiling, there’s something sharp at the edge of your voice that’s unfamiliar to him. It takes him aback, and for a long moment he’s silent as he regards you with a newfound seriousness, “I’m just a jester; what’s a jester want with a sword anyways?” You half laugh, a little louder now, gaze flicking to the others milling around nearby. Nobody outwardly acknowledges you, nobody apart from Wilbur, who just frowns. His gaze is trained on a spot just past your head, where you know the hilt of your axe sits. 

You know you need to act soon, the idea of Eret living in the lap of luxury after everything that happened has your blood boiling. It's getting out of hand. It's getting distracting. 

"You're very observant," you note, tone fond as you come back to the moment. Wilbur surfaces from his memories too, his own smile turning all kinds of fond.

"Out of necessity," he points out, making his way over to you. There's something about his tone that is fond, is knowing, and it melts your heart a little, those hints of understanding that no-one else had bothered to afford you. The person who'd betrayed the only person to understand you had been crowned king; soon, your retribution would come soon. 

"What's bothering you?" Quiet enough that no-one else could hear, Wilbur reaches out, fingertips gentle on your cheek as he tips your face, has you look him in the eyes. You wonder what he sees when he looks in them, because for a brief second, for a flash, again you see the memory of silent horror as he'd watched you lose your first life. You swallow hard, and close your eyes, leaning into his touch for the briefest moment. 

"I keep thinking about what Eret did," your voice is barely more than a whisper, giving only the truth, no attempt made to obfuscate it, like you usually would. Wilbur was quiet. You didn't want to open your eyes, didn't want to witness his reaction, but he's quiet. 

You don’t tell him what you’re going to do, what you’re planning; there’s no need for him to worry unnecessarily. If you survive, you survive, and if you don’t, well you have another life to fall back on. If you wake up in bed with a new scar and one less life, that was your decision to make. No-one should worry on your behalf, but Eret needed to know that their actions would have consequences. 

So you choose a night where the moon is overshadowed by clouds, and take your axe with you. 

You’ve always been one to make an entrance, and even now you don’t disappoint, laying in wait for as long as it takes, hours spent dead silent and idle, simply waiting.

"You should be very careful if things don't go exactly to plan," finally your voice rings out through the throne room, and Eret, all dark hair and pale eyes, stops dead where they'd been passing through. Slowly, so slow its almost painful, they turn to look at you. You, draped in the throne like you own the place, axe leaning carefully against the arm of the seat. Your name escapes her mouth like a curse.

"It did go to plan," she hisses, tone guarded. 

"If it had gone to plan, I wouldn't be here," you say, shifting a little, sitting a little lower, "if your timing had been better," you paused with a shark-like smile, "I may have been the only person in L'manburg to have no issue with your betrayal," and finally you look at him, watching his face as he tries to piece together what you mean, why you're here, "on paper I admire you." You tell them callously. Their lip curls in derision.

"Dream said you'd see my side," they say carefully.

"Dream says a lot of things to a lot of people," for a moment, your expression darkens, "I'm sure he told you to kill me first."

"To avoid…" she trails off, frown deepening. Your smile returns, wide and dangerous.

"You broke something of mine, Eret," you tell him seriously, a mad glint in your eyes, "and part of your plan worked like a charm; I won't go after anyone else because I've got plausible deniability, I didn't see who killed who in that skirmish." 

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

"Because you killed me, and Wilbur watched; it's all he could do. It was a cruel thing that you did, making someone feel helpless like that."

"You're not here because I killed you?"

"Why would I be? I'm a court jester," you huffed a little laugh, smile turning cruel, "but you used me to make Wilbur sad, and someone's got to take the blame for upsetting the thing I like."

"If that's true, why spend all this time talking? Why not just kill me?"

"Because I like to make sure you get my message; Dream's heard my message, he tried to tell you," this is where you stand, finally, rising, gaze shallow, picking up your axe as you go. Slowly, you descend the steps of the throne, and Eret draws his sword. There's uncertainty in his eyes; he's close to where you want him.

"You're stalling."

"The more I talk, the more you try and remember what people have said about me, don't you? But they don't talk about how I fight, it's never been the most impressive thing about me," you give a low, guttural laugh, axe low in your tight grip, "I'm most dangerous when I'm unarmed and unarmoured, right? That's what they say, right? What do you think that means, really think about it?" 

Eret swallows hard.

"It means that you're all talk," he's trying to put up a confident front, but you watch him tighten his grip on his sword. You raise your axe.

"Not quite." 

There's nothing elegant about the way you attack, movement uncharacteristically blunt with speed that surprised the King before you. Teeth bared, you slash and duck and weave, playing dirty, tripping them up. You take hits and lash out, snarling and spitting with anger until there's no mirth, only malice, and you bring your boot down on their hand, knee pressed to their throat. There's fear behind their glasses. There's a cut above your brow, blood trickling down your face, slashes along your arms, certainly a few on your chest, but Eret's on her back on the cold floor of the throne room.

"You have no fucking idea of what I'm fully capable of," you snarl, leaning in close to their face, applying pressure until they drop their sword, hissing in pain, "this is your only warning; if you hurt- if you fucking touch my things again, I'll make it stick-" and leaning back, you use your axe to separate their head from their shoulders, taking their first life. 

And you're alone, breath coming out shakily, gasping as the adrenaline courses through you. Somewhere in the castle, Eret is waking up with your words echoing in their head. You should leave. Standing slowly, you cast a derisive look to the blood stain on the floor, the only proof of the altercation. Someone else's problem. 

You leave through the front doors, still carrying your bloodstained axe. Really, he should have better security. 

At the doors to the castle, you pause, casting a derisive look over your shoulder; this all could have been avoided. You pull out your communicator, flicking through your contacts.

[keep your things on a shorter leash] you send to Dream. He should have chosen more carefully, or been more insistent. But that was his problem; if he kept up like this, you may have to start questioning your friendship with him. 

But there's something cathartic that comes as the adrenaline is depleting. It's said that revenge doesn't provide the cathartic relief that one hopes for, but you weren't looking for revenge as much as you were looking to send a message. And you're fairly certain that message was thoroughly received. Eret had been afraid, deeply and truly afraid; you'd seen it in her eyes. It made up for the fear you had seen in Wilbur's. 

You breathe a deep sigh, letting your shoulders relax for a moment; you head home.

There's static in your ears as you travel back to L'manburg, and you don't quite register that you're back on your nation's soil until you hear shouts. Tommy, Tubbo; the children, they spot you covered in blood that's both yours and not, and they're full of concern. You smile. The wound on your head starts to ache a little, the adrenaline wearing off fully.

"Don't worry about me -" you try, unable to keep the fondness from your voice.

"Wilbur!" Tommy hollers, because he knows. Everyone knows. You've staked your claim enough that even your allies know where to turn when you're acting out of character. It has you laughing, quietly at first - Dream had tried to warn Eret, how stupid must they be to ignore that, to not follow his instructions to the letter? - but your laughter only gets louder as Tubbo takes off, also calling for Wilbur ad Tommy, genuinely concerned, asks what the fuck happened to you.

"I'm a jester," you laugh, eyes a little wild as you look to the child, "I'm just a fucking jester! A messenger! Can't kill the messenger," there's something wild, something feral about you, covered in blood with a grin that's all teeth, bloody and bruised and covering a bloodstained axe. Tommy takes a step back, wary and quiet. His eyes are wide as he looks to your axe. 

"I thought you used a bow," he says quietly. Your smile grows wider.

"I'm a bad shot with a bow," you tell him seriously. He blinks slowly, processes your words.

"You shot me," there's apprehension in his voice. He's getting it. Perhaps you should take more caution here; you don't want to break the illusion of you he sees.

"I didn't know you then," is what you say, and see the confusion and vague horror as he tries to figure out what you mean by that. But he's interrupted.

"What did you do?" Wilbur doesn't see the humour in your appearance, he seems like he's barely containing rage. When all you do is grin, giving a slight shrug, he turns to Tommy, tells him he'll take care of you, that the boy should join Tubbo. Tommy looks between the two of you; he tells Wilbur to be careful. You laugh again, bright and loud, and Tommy and Wilbur both frown at you, but at least Tommy follows Wilbur's directions.

With the kid gone, Wilbur turns on his heel, making a beeline for where he knows you've hidden your living area, and you follow him without question.

In your house, his voice turns softly malevolent;

"Who did this to you?" Oh. Your heart catches in your throat, and the surprise must read on your face; despite his furious expression he's gentle when he takes hold of your wrist, leading you to your basin.

"You don't need to worry about me," you tell him softly, though you obligingly sit on the edge of the basin. You lean your axe up behind you.

"You're covered in blood," he points out, gaze flicking for a moment to meet yours as the water runs, filling the basin up. 

"Only some of its mine," you try, endeared by the care he was showing, "I just had to deliver a message, that's all."

"You look like you had to go through hell for it," he muses.

"You don't need to worry about me, Wilbur," and you reach out to take his hand where he's dousing a washcloth in the water. He goes still. 

"What message?" He asks, finally conceding, tone finally soft. He flips your hand, carefully wiping the blood from it. 

"People need to be more careful who they use me against," you say idly, and Wilbur is quiet as he works diligently away, cleaning the blood from your hands, from your arms when you offer them. 

"I kept seeing the moment you saw me die," you tell him softly, voice barely more than a whisper as he's rinsing the blood from the cloth. He gives pause; you continue, "I expect betrayal, but I can't imagine how it must feel to have to watch that and be unable to do anything; I suppose that's why Dream told them to kill me first. If their timing wasn't perfect, I'd see one of you slaughtered - I could have seen you slaughtered," you muse, looking down at your hands, at the blood beneath your nails. Carefully, Wilbur finally lifts your chin so he can gently dab at the wound on your forehead, looking as though he was holding back a fond smile. "But I think what happened was worse; I never want to be the source of your unhappiness, on purpose or not," then finally, you look to his eyes, to how he's focusing, and your heart beats hard against your ribs, "I don't want you to worry about me." It's barely more than a whisper, far more honest than the candid way you'd said as much earlier. 

"What did you do?" It's fond now, much lighter than the situation at hand called for, and for a moment he meets your gaze, smiling ever so slightly, your face still in his hands.

His eyes are so dark, you never want him to stop looking at you like this; these feelings are already becoming dangerous, on the verge of swallowing you whole. You need him closer. It had been a blood sacrifice to atone for that look in his eyes.

You will never have the words to tell him all you’re willing to do for him. 

"The king is dead," you tell him, "long live the king." 

----

"Surprised you weren't optioned as their VP," Quackity's smile was all teeth as he slid into the booth, across from you. 

"Surprised you were," you fired back, glad for his company; the two of you don't talk like you once did, but you'd always held a fondness for him.

"POG2020 here to drown their sorrows at losing?" He asked, tone edging on something almost mean, but stopping just short.

"Those of them that can drink," you'd grinned, gaze turning to the bar where Wilbur was glaring into a half drunk pint, "he promised me a drink half an hour ago," but you're tone was fond. Quackity makes a noise of sudden understanding.

"That's why you weren't his VP," he says, sitting a little lower in his seat, expression smug, but eyes alight like a tiger with his interest piqued. You make a noise like you have no idea what he's talking about, "poor form, really, looks bad if he's sleeping with his VP."

"You dirty fuckin pervert," but your grin gets wider as your tone gets flustered, "we're not fucking!"

"But you want to," his grin gets wider, "late nights at the office, just the two of you, all alone, its stressful, it's a tough job you know-" his tone is low, teasing in a way that means you can't meet his eyes, but his tone shifts as he seems to hear what he's saying, "hey do you wanna come work with me?" It's mostly a joke, smile turning to something genuine with the way it crinkles by his eyes, and the tension from mere moments ago disappears, and you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand with a sly smile.

"Depends on the benefits," you match his earlier tone, teasing and low, and he mirrors your positioning, face now close to yours, close to the middle of the table.

"I'm sure I could talk Schlatt into something reasonable for the other benefits," he's still smiling, still mostly joking, as were you, though you couldn't deny the thought of being Quackity's assistant and part of the Jschlatt Administration was deeply amusing given your recent history.

"You really in the market for an assistant?" Your tone was brighter, far less joking, and for an instant, Quackity flushed an amusing shade of pink.

"I could be- this was meant to be a bit-" 

"You here to rub my nose in it, Quackity?" Wilbur's voice, when it joined the pair of you, was accusatory, and though you don't move from your surprisingly intimate moment, Quackity's eyes slide to the side, to watch Wilbur side effortlessly into the seat beside you. 

"Former President Soot," Quackity grinned, but instead of watching Wilbur's reaction, he looked back at you, raising a single, almost challenging eyebrow. Wilbur, at the very least, ignores the comment.

"You conspiring against me?" He asks, mostly directed at you, and while Quackity tries to snort and play it off, you can feel Wilbur's hand slide down the length of your back coming to rest at your hip, arm now around you, and you lean out of your moment with Quackity and into his touch.

Something in Quackity’s gaze turns cold, like he’s awash with memories long past, like he’s quietly mad at himself for losing himself in the moment with you, for forgetting any part of what you’d put him through. 

"Not in a technical sense, but I also hadn't agreed to anything," you tell him, finally looking at him. As you settle into the space beside him, his arm moves to wrap around your shoulders, fingers resting gently on your upper arm; it's a clearly possessive gesture. Something in your heart bursts with warmth.

Looking to him, you see he's looking back at you, expression burning, question in his eyes; was I interrupting? Your grin turns sharper. If he had been interrupting, you're more than capable of telling him to fuck off, but just having him around reminds you that this is better than any alternative. 

"Oh," Quackity's voice was alight with realisation, breaking the moment, and you turn to him as Wilbur leans into you a little more, "you would have made the worst VP," he practically crows, tone more mocking than it was light, "you wouldn't have made it a week."

"Don't be a prick," Wilbur scowled, "if they'd wanted the job they of course would have been more than welcome to it -"

"Good old fashioned nepotism," Quackity, sounding especially smug, did little to brighten Wilbur's mood, who was set to mumble something else snide before Quackity's eyes fixed on you, "wait, you didn't want to be VP? I was actually right, wasn't I? You knew exactly what would happen, yet somehow he doesn't?! Have you even seen yourselves? How does he not - Ow!" You kick him in the shins under the table. Hard. 

"What the fuck are you on about?" Wilbur asks, as Quackity brings his leg up to rub at his sore shin. He's still fucking grinning. Asshole.

"Keep your dirty little mouth closed, Q," you warned. 

"Don't worry, I know its not my dirty little mouth you're interested in- fucking ow, Y/N!"

"Good," Wilbur's voice in your ear is warm and pleased and he's leaning on you now, solid and tipsy with his forehead against the side of your head, "he's being a dick, you have terrible friends you know."

"You'd be the worst," you murmur back, voice syrupy and full of affection as Wilbur actually giggles, not even bothering to try and contradict you. Quackity, across from you and still rubbing his shins, mimes gagging. 

"Go be Vice President, Quackity," Wilbur sneers.

"Don't be a salty bitch, Mister Former President," Quackity's lip curls. 

"Kick him in the shins again, my love," the nickname alone, Wilbur in your ear, it has your heart in a vice-like grip, and Quackity must see it in your eyes how eager you are to follow through because he draws his knees up to his chest with gusto, flipping you both off. You laugh.

"Love you, Q," you tell him with sincerity, out of habit. When he tells you to shut up, there’s nothing joking in his tone in that moment, gaze avoiding yours as he’s shimmying from the booth.

"You're so generous with your words," Wilbur's voice is a gentle sigh, something wanting, something almost forlorn. For a moment your breath catches in your throat, but before you can respond, before you can even think of a response, he's already talking again, "what was he on about anyways? Talking shit about you like he has any right to, you would have made a great VP, I asked, you know I asked -" he sits up, as if worried that you think he thinks less of you, but his arm is still around you.

"Will your the only one who wanted me to be VP," which isn't a lie, but in your trademark fashion, it also wasn't the whole truth. 

"They don't trust you with a nation," he sounded so bitter, and for a moment your heart stutters in your chest. 

"They shouldn't," you tell him softly. 

"Do you like Quackity more than me?"

"I think I probably like him more than you like him, yes."

"That wasn't what I was asking and you knew that," then his voice drops, something in his eyes as serious as you've ever seen, "do you like Dream more than me?"

"Wilbur…"

"I know- I know you're close, I know, I just… I need to know, you know?"

"Will…" and as you say his name, voice a hesitant murmur, he cups your face.

"You don't have to- to be worried if you do, I just need to know, for me, it's selfish but I need to know for me; I'd understand, of course of course I'd understand, you two have history-" and his gaze is boring into you, eyes wide and dark and you can't find the words for how much you want him to hold you close, hold you tight and never let go. 

You hesitate. You drop his gaze.

"You do," he sounds heartbroken, his grip on you grows slack.

"I have never lied to you, Wilbur," your tone is nervous and hesitant, "but I'm afraid of answering, I'm afraid of what it means."

"You'd… you'd betray me for him?" Drunk and emotional, he sits back, but your hands are shaking. 

"Wilbur, I'm afraid of answering because… you're wrong. It's you. Over Big Q, over Dream, over everyone… Wilbur I-" your voice caught in your throat, words too honest by half, so you swallow them, choose safer ones, "will choose you," you let out a shaky sigh, "you have my loyalty." 

His eyes were wide as saucers, shiny and overwhelmed and emotional and then he's holding you so tight it's like a vice, face pressed into the crook of your neck.

"You've always had my vote," you tell him faintly, and he holds you tighter still. 

"You," he whispers incredulously, not even your name, just, "its you." And your mind hears them said like a mirror, like he himself can't quite believe your honestly. 

----

“They’re exiling you,” you hear Quackity before you see him; they’ve got you locked away, and probably for good reason, but also probably at his insistence.

“It’s better than the death penalty,” you say, huffing a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” his tone is gentle but reserved, and when you finally look up from your hands, elbows braced on your knees, you see him leaning on the bars of your cage. It’s too dark to read his expression, but you can tell from his voice, “just play nice with Schlatt and you can stay a citizen.”

“Play nice?” You asked with the faintest of smirks, “what does that entail exactly?”

This is where he grows quiet, crouching down and looking at the floor, mouth in a thin line.

“You’re good at playing nice, it shouldn’t be hard,” you can’t mistake the bitterness in his voice, and you give pause, “just say it was an act, your loyalty to that dictator, Wilbur.”

“Lie, so I can swap out one perceived dictator for another?” You asked softly.

“Helping run a campaign for the former president only to admit that you don’t actually give a shit, and stay loyal to the man who won by forming a coalition with the two losing parties, that sounds exactly like something you’d do,” he pointed out, and there’s something in his voice you can’t identify, something akin to faint desperation, though you can’t quite understand why. But still, something catches in your throat. 

“Isn’t it funnier to stay loyal to the former president who lost after the two losing parties formed a secret coalition? To the point of exile?”

“Can’t you just play nice? Can’t you just lie?”

“You wanna keep me around that bad?” You asked, faintly teasing edge to your words, but as soon as he stands, as soon as he speaks, you can hear him growing defensive.

“I’m the Vice President trying to offer an olive branch to a potentially skilled ally,” he sniped, “don’t get it twisted.”

“I’m not going to lie to try and play nice with the dictator who stole the nation from the person I’m loyal to,” you tell him, blunt. Quackity is quiet for a very long moment. 

“Dream ‘ll be heartbroken,” his voice is suddenly strangely rough, “someone’s knocked him out as top fuckin’ dog in your little, black heart -”

“Q,” it’s finally clicked, and you don’t know what else to say. 

----

“I want you to know what I’m capable of,” you say softly, looking up at the stars. Then, slowly, you look at Wilbur, who’s regarding you with interest, “everyone ends up afraid of me,” you tell him, “and it might be self sabotage, but I want you to fear me too. I’m not used to love, I’m not used to understanding.” 

“More honest than usual tonight,” he muses with a gentle smile.

“If I’m not feared I feel like I’m being underestimated.”

“It sounds like self sabotage.”

“I feel violent today,” then, looking up at the stars you take a deep breath, “I love you. I don’t think I’ve said that before; I love you, Wilbur.”

“You love me and you want me to fear you,” he says slowly. His gaze follows the tense set of your shoulders, “not used to loving someone?” You shake your head. 

“I want to cut off your head, just so you know I could,” you tell him, hands behind your back, gaze skyward, “I think I want to fuck you, but I’m not sure, I’m really not used to loving someone, not genuinely. I don’t think I know how to love you in a way that makes sense.” 

Finally, you turn to him, expression neutral, while inside you were alight with nerves. He’s watching you, dark eyes thoughtful. You swallow hard.

“I’m trying to push you away,” you tell him without hesitation, “because I’ve given you too much power over me, and I-” you voice catches, your façade cracking, and finally you drop your gaze, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

Even your honesty was it’s own kind of dishonest mask, and there was nothing more fear inducing than genuinely letting it slip. Your image is a house of cards and you keep handing Wilbur fucking fans. 

“You know at some point I am just going to leave; I don’t want to, but if you keep pushing -” he pauses, as if expecting a rebuttal, but your mouth remains firmly closed, which causes him to frown, “- I’m going to end up leaving. Do you want me to go? I’m just going to ask, because you keep pushing, you keep doing this, I’d rather you were just honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t want you to stay around me out of some sort of moral obligation,” you tell him.

“That’s not an answer.” 

“And I can’t answer because you can’t guarantee you won’t end up fucking fearing me like everyone else! I can’t answer because I am not going to be responsible for someone else’s feelings; if you stop caring about me I don’t want you to feel like you should still be around me, and just go on to resent me!”

Squeezing your eyes closed, face scrunched up, you force the words through your lips, “I would give you the fucking world, Wilbur, but I don’t expect- I don’t want to expect anything in return,” your jaw clenches for a moment, but you relax your face, eyes still closed, “obsession,” you sigh gently, “is safer if I am sure it is not reciprocated. Especially obsession like this...”

“Like this?”

“The things I obsess over... they’re just that; things. And I want to keep them safe, but I don’t... I don’t actually love them like I love you,” your lip curls, and you look at the ground, slowly sinking into a squat as you contemplate, “it’s fucking obscene,” you spit, as if disgusted at yourself. “Love makes me feel fucking filthy; it’s always funnier when I’m the object of desire.”

“You’re still trying to push me away!”

“And yet you’re still here, so who’s the real idiot!?” You snapped, lip curled in a sneer as you shot him a venomous look; the shock of it all was plain as day on his face, but you don’t let the faint guilt you feel show on your face as you look at your hands.

“I love you,” he says faintly, still sounding surprised, like he can’t quite realise what he’s saying, “and I’m just tired to trying to fight you on that, I don’t know how to prove that what I say to you is the truth; you don’t have a patent on honesty, and I just don’t know what to do to get you to believe me.” And then, coming back to himself, anger returning, “it’s not filthy to be in love!”

“It is when it’s obsession,” your answer comes out more like a growl.

“Y/N, my drug empire turned into a nation, I think more people should be obsessed with me,” he says with surprising levity. Something protective, something jealous flares up at that suggestion, but you keep your reaction to yourself, looking up at him as something close to hope flares bright in your chest. “You act like you’re the only one here, like you’re the only one allowed to worry about me, like you’re the only one willing to- to die. You killed the King for me, you have Dream’s respect, if I was going to be afraid of you it would have settled in by now,” then, “the only reason I haven’t killed Eret for what he did to you is because you got there first yourself. Do you believe me when I tell you that I love you?”

The question hangs in the air between you both; you think you can almost see it there, catching starlight. You look at your hands instead.

“I believe there’s something wrong with the type of people who fall in love with me,” you admit, barely louder than a whisper, “and part of me believes you’re better than that.” 

“Listen to yourself,” he gives an exasperated chuckle, “there’s something wrong with you.”

“I know that,” you say almost immediately. Silence lapses out between you, and finally Wilbur sighs, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around you.

“I think it might be why I love you.” 

There’s never been a more dangerous feeling in your chest than in this moment, in his arms. You want to tell him you’d kill for him, you’d die for him, but it’s more than that, more than you could explain or do justice with words alone, so you hug him back, and never want this moment to end.

“There’s something wrong with you, too.”

----

He is silent; cold and unmoving and your hands start to shake. 

"You did what you had to," your tone is flat, no distress, nothing, just flat. Phil is quiet. Neither of you move. You can hear your heart beat in your ears. "We should move his body."

"Yeah…" and then, softer, "actually, no, it won't be around for long… but we can set up a gravestone."

"What do you mean?"

"Bodies here don't stay, they move on-" and as Phil speaks, as you step towards the body on the ground, hand outstretched, it begins to fade to ash, to dust. Only his things were left behind. Your fingers curl into a fist and you lower your hand, "are you okay?" His voice has the barest shake, like he still can't believe what just happened.

"It was never meant to be," you tell him instead of answering truthfully, forcing yourself to smile as you finally look up to the father of your best friend, your- "are you okay, Phil? I'm sorry you had to do that, I'm sorry-"

"You're okay." He sounded deeply concerned by what he'd perceived to be your response. Looking out from the room to the crater, you see Withers flying overhead, and hear shouting and confusion.

"I should go," you say softly, "I'm the only one left who could take the fall for that," you muse, jaw tightening for a moment, though noone can see your expression. When you move past Phil, you pause, and tell him quietly, reassuringly, that he did what had to be done, and that you were sorry. 

"Was he just a means to an end for you, just another joke? You'd gotten better, you'd gotten kinder-" his voice finally betrayed his distress; his son was dead by his own hand and you'd just watched, "what happened?"

It takes you a long time to formulate your response, terrified of letting yourself be vulnerable; you'd been the villain too many times to not expect an opportunist to use your vulnerability against you. Phil may not be that opportunist, but you know better than anyone what dangers may lurk behind a kind face and sincere veneer.

"Whatever I may have felt is no longer relevant, to you, me, or anyone; he's gone, as is L'manburg."

"Did you even care about him?" Phil asks gently, "don't talk your way around me, please, Y/N." Your breath catches for a moment; he's giving you an imploring look, holding your wrist carefully; outside, someone, possibly Tommy, is hollering both yours and Wilbur's names with fury. 

"Care is a very weak word for how I may have felt," you tell him softly, holding his gaze. Your tone is flat, but you see it in his eyes when he catches your meaning, how you can't bring yourself to admit out loud that you loved Wilbur, "not that it matters now… not that anyone would believe you if you told them." You said, tone dismissive. Phil lets you go.

----

"Oh hello, Quackity!" You hear Ghostbur cheerfully greeting someone as he peers out the window, leaning far enough out on the sill, pushed up on his toes, that you're half worried he'll fall. You hear violently loud shushing outside your house and your blood runs cold. Why was he trying to sneak up on your house?

You’re intrigued by it all, and don’t try and put up a fight.

"I suppose the kangaroo court is now in session," you mused, peering up at the precarious contraption above you, "can you at least tell me why you're dropping an anvil on my head?"

"Because you're a threat to society," Quackity grumbles, though he can't bring himself to look at you.

"Because you drove my father to madness, helped him blow up half the land, then you killed him once he'd outlived his purpose," Fundy was unflinching as he levelled a glare at you.

“They didn’t kill me,” it’s Ghostbur’s voice that joins the foray, amid the shouting, while you’re hopping from one foot to the other, looking up at the anvil, the gentle reverb that accompanies his soft speech cuts through the din.

And suddenly the madness stops; all eyes on the Ghost.

“Don’t kill her over me, if that’s your reasoning;” he paused, nervous, “or just don’t kill them…” he trailed off.

“Don’t you get that they’ve already made up their mind?” Quackity’s rolling his eyes, standing by the lever that decides your fate, “if they wanted someone to release them, they could have convinced one of us by now-” and he looks to you, eyes dark and cold, and the moment you’d shared back at Wilbur’s grave surfaces in your mind ‘you’re getting better at hearing the truth’.

"Quackity-" you breathed, alight with intrigue at this development, unable to help yourself. There's an old, familiar flicker of misguided desire, for lack of a better word.

"Keep my fucking name out of your mouth," he muttered, only loud enough for you to hear, "and quit it with that tone." He can't look at you; you delicately wrap press your hands to the glass of your cage.

"Q, what tone, I don't-" but even you could hear the giddy notes that bleed through in your words.

"You're about to die; I'm about to kill you, but you're hear acting- talking like you did when you pretended to care about me-"

"I have cared about you from the moment I met you," you fired back defensively, "I have always cared about you, Quackity."

“God I really fuckin’ preferred it when you lied, then I didn’t have to try and figure out what the fuck you mean when you talk like that,” he snapped, before making his way from the podium, “I’m sick of them, someone else pull the lever.” He called out; he’s taking a stand, trying to block you out, keep your words out of his head. This was the Quackity you’d been so captivated by when you’d met him, the man who intrigued you, who you thought could challenge you, whose very nature excited you. Heart beating in your ears, you press your hands to the glass of the cage, looking out past him, to the others.

“I was not responsible for what happened to Wilbur,” you called, looking to Fundy, who you’re pleased to see looked conflicted, “what happened to L’Manberg wasn’t my fault- I fought with you. I fought with you all,” there’s the faintest notes of desperation in your voice. You had already made peace with your fate, now you were simply intrigued as to whose hands your blood would be on.

“Fine, Fundy if you’re conflicted because they didn’t kill your dad, you can stay out of it,” Quackity’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, but you can see the hard, tense line of his shoulders.

“It feels like our actual execution reasons... aren’t there anymore,” Tubbo points out, “and as a leader, I feel bad killing someone for being a nuisance, and not even a nuisance to me or anyone else.”

“This feels kinda personal,” Ranboo adds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “which is fine, but they don’t seem like a threat to the country.”

“Did you fucking forget she became Wilbur Soot’s right hand?!” Quackity demanded from them, stepping forward again, “ she may not have been responsible for pressing the button, but she had ample opportunity to stop him; hell, she had ample opportunity to not be a dick. How can we even believe what she says?!”

“People do some fucked up things for love,” Ranboo gives a simple shrug.

“And Y/N doesn’t lie,” Tubbo pointed out, looking to you. In this moment, time freezes; his words buzz in the back of your mind as you look to Quackity, trying to decipher how he’s reacting when you can’t see his face. Because he can’t give it away, can’t bring himself to admit the power you once had over him, the sliver of power you still have, can’t make himself look weak, and it’s killing him.

They’ve only known you to be honest, and for that you’re glad... but Quackity knew you before.

Perhaps your begging, your desperation, had worked too well.

----

“You gonna give the people a show?” Your heart is beating in your throat as you find yourself waiting in your cell, hands restrained behind your back as Dream himself paces in irate silence outside your cell.

“I gave you the option to come back, to join me to not go down this road,” he’s seething, hands balling into white-knuckled fists and unballing again and again, “I don’t understand you, I don’t fucking understand you, Y/N,” and he stops, pulls off his mask to run his hand through his hair in irritation. Then he looks to you, and you’re looking back, expression thoughtful, or at least, you hopes it comes across as thoughtful, rather than betraying the way you’re heart is hammering against your ribs.

“It’s not your fault it’s more amusing to be on the side of revolution,” you told him, lips quirking into the faintest smile, “they called it L’manberg,” your smile widens, unable to help your own laugh, and his distress becomes more evident. Then, smile slowly fading, you meet Dream’s gaze, giving a slight frown.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you tell him seriously, “you could have picked anyone else to do this, you didn’t have to volunteer.”

“If I had picked anyone else,” he swallows hard, looking at the ground and taking a deep breath, “you would have talked your way out, and it would have made them look weak, but there would be a target still on your head and you’d be hunted.”

“And you?”

“You’ve never done that thing you do with me, talk circles, trying to get me on your side -”

“You’re already on my side,” you say gently, but his expression turns pained.

“They know - everyone knows I’m the only person on the side of Pogtopia you haven’t attempted to talk your way around, but I’m also the only person who could convince you to go into exile, to not fucking let yourself be killed, and have the others not hunt you furiously when they find out.”

“Dream the Great and Powerful,” you smile, tone fond and frankly adoring, he winces again.

“You’re a pain,” he mutters, mostly to himself, before he lowers himself into a squat, as if to centre himself, gaze lifting to you finally, “you can go; join Tommy in exile, you don’t have to… to… you don’t have to die, dude.”

“If I die, in their eyes I’ve atoned for my crimes,” you try to sit back, settling in a little against the wall, “you and Tommy will never see eye to eye, but like you said, that thing I do, the way I talk my way around people, that has affected more than just you,” you took a deep breath, “the only person I really respected apart from you died, Dream, the only person who truly vouched for me apart from you is dead, Dream.” Your smile grows tight, and suddenly you can’t look him in the eyes; respect, it was so much more than that. Your heart grows warm at his memory, the mere thought of his smile, before growing cold and sad as he demanded that Phil kill him. It must show on your face.

“Wilbur protected you,” Dream said, tone knowing, but you couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that.

“Wilbur was my limiter,” you corrected, and Dream’s eyebrows rose, momentarily broken from his distress, “I respected him, I… anyways, so if he asked me not to fuck with one of our allies, I wouldn’t - except to give you Tommy’s discs,” you clarified, and for the barest moment, Dream’s lips twitched into something almost resembling a smile.

“You’re kind of awful,” he says gently, “you’d fuck with your allies? Just change sides, don’t mess with the people who trust you and expect them to keep trusting you as such.”

“My ally was Wilbur, the rest of them were on his side,” you explained, “I’m on my own side before anyone else's,” you reminded, and he nodded seriously, looking to the floor, bouncing on his toes.

----

"I- I mean I'm not sorry," Quackity muses. You don't look up, but you hear him sit on the other side of Wilbur's Tombstone. 

"I don't know why you would be; you're not responsible for what happened to me."

“Oh,” Quackity frowns, giving pause, “no, I meant about him,” and he slaps the side of the tombstone with one hand.

“Not your fault either,” you shrugged.

"He did it to himself," which is right, but not in the way Quackity means it. He thinks Wilbur blew up. He doesn't know what was asked of Phil. You're quiet, and finally Quackity speaks; "did you actually love him or was it another one of your stunts?"

"Love is a strong word," you respond, tone devoid of inflection. He can't hear how badly you want to confirm, you want to holler how fucking wide the sky has gotten in Wilbur's absence. 

"Can you just teach me how to not fucking care? Because how is it so easy for you? How do you wake up and decide you're going to ruin lives and stand by while the world goes up in flames?" 

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

“It’s just a side effect of who you are as a person,” he says derisively. 

"You find what you love and let it kill you," you tell him, voice quiet. 

"You find who you love and let them kill you," he says, knowingly, "you followed Eret into the control room because of Wilbur," he said knowingly, "and we all saw who gave you that mark on your neck," he laughs humourlessly. "But you can't even entertain the idea that I could hurt you, can you?" He asks.

"Find who you love and let them kill you."

"What then?" 

"Hope your love for them dies too; severing attachments takes great personal sacrifice." 

"You sound like Dream."

"I've known him the longest, you know?"

"He's your best friend, I remember," he tells you derisively, "so did your love die?"

"My attachment to him is situational at best." 

“But does it die?” He asked quietly, “you severed the attachment, but does the love die?” His tone is hollow, and you swallowed hard. 

“You’re getting better at hearing the truth.” You give a humourless laugh, and he responds with a non-committal hum

“I liked you better when you lied," he says quietly.

"I almost got you killed," you tell him flatly, and he huffs a faint laugh.

"Correction, I almost died for you."

"What's the difference?"

"Intention," you can hear his faint smile, "find what you love and let it kill you, after all." Then, quieter, "you should finish the job."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Give me that kind of power over you," you tell him flatly. 

"You should finish what you started," he scoffs, the mood shifting more and more with each word, "you're the one who wanted me to die for you; if you're learning to be all honourable and noble and shit, you should learn to take accountability -" he huffed in frustration, "can I be perfectly fucking honest with you for a moment?"

"I'd appreciate it," you tell him. There's a few moments of silence that follow, and finally you shift, peering at him over your shoulder to where he's leaning against the headstone, legs kicked out in front of him. He looks at you, eyes dark and tired.

"I'm so tired of giving a shit about you."

You know there's something selfish in how you miss seeing his smile in this moment. But then again, did you miss his smile, or did you miss what it represented; his love and loyalty. 

----

"You're getting rained on," Ghostbur said quietly, looking at you with his wide, cloudy eyes as you held an umbrella open and aloft above him.

"I'll live," you said pointedly, and at Ghostbur's smile became faintly strained, but he accept the umbrella. You, however, didn't move, sitting beside him on the log that you'd found him on.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, shuffling a little closer, if only to try and shield you too with the little umbrella. Instead of looking to him, you look at the grey, drizzling clouds looming overhead.

"I saw it was clouding over," you told him, "and no-one I spoke to had seen you for a while..." you trailed off, shrugging, as if that was enough.

"You've always been a lovely friend, I remember that, I remember..." but his own voice trails off, dies in his throat; you look at him with interest, and after a beat he looks back at you, "I remember the good times, the happy times, and you, in the beginning you were a wonderful friend, but I don't... they say I blew up a nation, you know, and I don't remember that, but I don't remember a lot leading up to that either. It -" he hesitates before backtracking, choosing his words carefully, "did something bad happen between us?"

Your understanding of the word, of the time you spent with Wilbur, it was all shattering in your mind at once. His eyes were wide and full of concern when you look back at him, and he reaches out gently, wiping away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen; you hear the hiss of the water against his thumb and move out of his touch.

"Sorry," he says softly, genuine apology in his voice, "was it because of what I did to L'Manberg?" He asks gently. Around you, the rain was getting heavier.

"I thought we were happy," it came out barely louder than a whisper, and you quickly wiped your eyes, despite the rain now coming down hard enough to hide your tears, "I should have... I know I should have said something, but I thought we both just knew, you know? I should have..." and you turn, bottom lip trembling, "I'm sorry, Ghostbur, I know you're not him, you keep saying that, but I never got to tell Alive-You that I... you know," you swallowed hard, "that I love him. You? Him? I never actually got to tell him properly, in a way that makes sense. But I did. I do. And I thought... Fuck," the word comes out in a harsh breath, and you find yourself scowling and looking away, "probably for the best that I didn't say anything if he - you, I guess - weren't - wasn't? - happy."

"I know he cared about you, as much as I can remember, he never stopped caring," Ghostbur's voice is quiet, and finally, you look at him. His face is scrunched up with concentration, but there's small trails of steam -

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," you're genuinely apologetic, and he looks shocked when you look up, as if he hadn't even noticed.

"Just because I don't remember doesn't mean... well a lot of things were not good memories towards the end, but that's because of everything going on up here," he was wiping at his eyes quickly to dispel the tears before he taps his temple with two fingers, "and if what you're saying is true, he wasn't unhappy because of you, he was just unhappy, and it... there are months missing for me, and that's no-one's fault."

Oh... well you supposed you could understand that, still, it was difficult to process this whole conversation and all it's implications.

"How is this the most amusing option, if you don't mind me asking?" He suddenly speaks up, and you look up with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You're upset, I don't think I've ever seen you upset -"

"Well it probably wouldn't be a good memory if you had," you reminded, to which he conceded.

"But I remember clear as day when we met, and you told me and Tommy that you simply did whatever amused you the most, this... this doesn't seem particularly amusing."

"I don't operate like that anymore," you told him frankly, staring at your hands.

"Oh," he muttered softly, before asking, voice tentatively, "why did you think to come find me?"

You take a moment to deliberate, to consider your own reasoning and motivations, still looking at your hands, fingers twisting and curling and locking into inconsistent shapes.

"You used to do this near the end," you said softly, "used to run off and sit near the button and think and think and think but never do anything," you paused, "and I never cared about the land like I cared about you, so I was all for blowing it all up, but it... I could see it was doing something to you. The election, everything that was happening, it did something to you; you were spiralling, and I knew if I didn't know where you were, you were by the button. Awful and fucking beautiful, and dude, I'm- I'm so sorry I didn't tell you but, Christ, I was so in love with you, Wilb-" looking sharply at him, your voice died in your throat, and you corrected yourself, "him. Not... you're different. Right. Ghostbur." He blinked at you, a little taken aback by the sudden passion of your outburst, of your explanation. You cleared your throat. "No-one else had the balls to acknowledge that the land no longer functioned by the ideals it was built for, and I loved your passion; I could listen to you talk down there for hours. Sometimes I did. It was like a prison and a safe space all at once, and I don't know if it made things better or worse, but when he couldn't stand to see what the world had become, we'd sit in that room with the button and talk."

Finally, you looked at him, seeing him and not the man he used to be.

"And today I couldn't find you, and I knew it was going to rain, and... I know rain hurts you. There's no button, but you don't spend time in town anymore, so I looked for Friend." You looked at the little, blue sheep who'd been happily munching on some grass during your conversation. Then a faint, cold pressure in your hands, and you look down to see Ghostbur pressing a vial of a thick, blue liquid into your hands.

"Have some blue," he said softly, "it'll make you feel better." And then, much softer, he thanks you for finding him, he takes your free hand and laces your fingers with his, "thank you for talking to me."

"Thank you for talking to me." You mumble, giving his hand a squeeze, feeling a touch guilty for unloading all of this on him. No-one else would listen, or if they would, they didn't care; people had gone from not trusting you because you refused to be completely loyal to any thing but yourself, now they hated you for staying loyal to what they deemed to be the wrong thing. Allies were few and far between, and Ghostbur may see himself as separate to Wilbur, but you weren't going to stop yourself from caring about him too.

----

"You're in here," Tommy's voice is quiet where he's thumbing through a notebook you half recognise. Making a noise of interest, you look a little closer at the notebook - What I Remember. Ghostbur's notes, you feel yourself growing tongue tied.

"I don't- you shouldn't be reading that."

"You suddenly decided to grow a conscience?"

"Shut up," your lip curled, "and I'm not in it."

"Who else would be the Favourite Jester?" He asked, turning the book around, but you covered your eyes. 

"Don't be a sook," he sneered.

"Does Ghostbur know you have it?" You asked, and he grew a little antsy at that, to which you simply growled at him to give it back. But still, you catch a glimpse of it;

“Its you.” - in the notebook, in Ghostbur's neat scrawl - you chose me when no-one else did.

----

"I think Tommy trusts me," you told Dream, frowning at your brewing stand. Dream, for his part, finds the humour in your statement where he's sitting at your table, leaning back, his feet on the table.

"Tommy, I've changed!" Your tone shifts to a mocking imitation of your earlier conversation with the boy, "death has changed me!" And you dropped the act with a snort, "getting a scar doesn't make me a different person," you rolled your eyes. Dream clears his throat.

"Sorry about that, again," he muttered.

"No hard feelings, dude, obviously," you grinned over your shoulder.

"So you- you're okay with my plan; the two of you fought side by side for your nation -"

"I'll be by your side until -"

"Until something better comes along," Dream nods in resignation.

----

“I’m sorr- Ghostbur I’m so sorry,” you sniffled, angrily rubbing at your eyes, frustrated that he had even seen you get so emotional, “I’m not- you shouldn’t have seen that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, crying’s normal,” he said, voice a gentle echo of the one you loved, “do you want to talk about it?”

“Not with you, Ghostbur,” though you’re shooting for light, it doesn’t land, and instead, he looks to the floor, apologising. You wipe the tears that refuse to stop spilling from your eyes.

“You still miss him so much it moves you to tears?”

“You caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“I didn’t think you were capable of those,” he says with a faint laugh, and you look at him, see his quietly fond smile, and for a moment you see the memory of Wilbur himself, and your expression crumples. Immediately as you bury your face in your hands, you feel him by your side, apologising, trying to lay a comforting hand on your arm. The touch is cold but familiar, and you reach out instinctively and grab his hand.

“Ghostbur, my life is a fucking joke and I’m not laughing anym-” he kisses you quick when he gets the chance, his mouth on yours so close to being familiar, but not quite. It knocks the wind from you, and for a moment you let yourself fall into it, grabbing his sweater and pulling him closer. 

“Does that help?” He asks a little breathless when you part, and you can’t look him in the eyes, only at your shaking hands balled up in his perfect, yellow sweater. 

“You’re not him,” your voice is a shaky whisper.

“I...” his words get caught in his throat, “I think right now I’m close enough. Does this,” and he holds your face with one hand like it’s porcelain, like he’s afraid you’re about to shatter, “does this help?”

“Why?” You can feel how weak you are in this moment, unable to let him go, knowing the truth of the whole situation. 

“I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“It’s not your job to make me happy, give me time and I’ll be alright,” but you don’t let him go, then, “tell me you don’t love me, please.”

“It seems dangerous to even entertain the idea; I’m not Wilbur,” he says gently, and finally you look at him, meeting his gaze, leaning into his touch. 

“Do you even want any of this?” Your voice is barely a whisper, “me, or anything like this moment?” Ghostbur visibly hesitated.

“I don’t want you to be sad,” he said with a surprising firmness, “I want to do whatever makes you happy,” then, his voice goes quiet, “even now, I forget sad things, people tell me sad things and the conversation ends, and I just... lose whatever they said,” he gives a faint smile, “but even in time that aren’t... aren’t the happiest, I haven’t forgotten you; something about being around you makes me happy, happy enough to remember you. All I want is for you to be happy too.”

“Did you lie to me?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, and you can’t look him in the eyes, so you watch his lips twist into something thin and unhappy, before stumbling over his words, trying to deny, “did you lie about not remembering me? About not remembering... not remembering how close we were?”

“I thought...” his expression reads apology, his hands coming to cover yours where you can’t bring yourself to let him go, still holding him close by his sweater, “it would be easier for you to let go, to move on, if you didn’t know.” 

“But you don’t care about me like he did.”

“I care about you,” his eyes go wide and concerned, “but I’m not him. You understood him better than anyone and- and- and- he needed you- uh, your company,” he correct, faint blush rising on his cheeks at his own implicit wording, “more than anything else. You’re the one who stayed.” 

You swallowed hard, huffing a humourless laugh.

“And he’s the one who got away.”

“Y/N...”

“This feels...” you look to your hands still holding him close, then to his mouth, then his eyes, taking a shakey breath, “self destructive, for us both,” and his expression reads shock, reads apology, but in that instance you cave to your need for contact, leaning into him, to find what comfort you could in him. A shiver runs down your spine as you make a snap decision, “I know you’re not him, but I still love you,” you lie; he’s not the one you promised to always be honest with, but for now he’s as close as you’ve got, and you can’t let him go, “please don’t go.” 

----

It’s been a long time, relatively since you’d seen Q when you run into him. You’re not looking for him, you’re merely roaming on an overcast day, but he looks like he’s on a mission. He seems surprised to see you, right before his expression turns dark.

“Figures I’d run into you out here sooner or later,” his words genuinely confuse you, which he seems to pick up on, because at least for a moment, he seems confused himself, before clarifying, “Dream’s in prison.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me.” His audible irritation makes your own smile grow just a touch wider, “you know you should be there too.”

“Cruel, Q, they’ve already killed me for my crimes once,” you practically sing, amused smile stretched from ear to ear, “haven’t I suffered enough?” His smile was thin and mean.

“Not even close.”

“You make me miss being a bad person,” you say with a hint of self deprecation.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Quackity snorted, “you’re still terrible.”

“I like you standing up for yourself; self confidence is a good look on you.”

“You like anyone who actually challenges you,” he rolled his eyes, “which makes me feel fucking stupid for ever caring about you like I did. You don’t give a shit about simps, I get it now.”

“You’re better than that,” you tell him, which is a metaphorical slippery-slope, a half truth, since you only half-believe it, but your tone is low, is sincere, and he blinks quickly, surprised. 

“I- yeah, I know,” he scowls, but turns away. 

“Good, it’s good you know your worth,” you tell him seriously, “you have...” and you huff a faint laugh, tone awed and gentle, “so much potential, Q.” And for the barest moment, his expression softens. Carefully, he steps up to you.

“This is how it started last time,” his tone is low as you feel the feather-light way his fingertips ghost up your arm. He’s in your space, gaze locked with yours, searching for something in you that you can’t begin to guess at, right before he grabs your chin hard enough that it hurts, “you try and  build me up so you can tear me down - I’m not doing this again.” 

God damn it, you can feel your heart beat against your ribs at the sight of the fury in his eyes. 

“Q-” you try, soft and a little helpless. For a moment, both his grip and his gaze softens, and you know that look, that faint gentleness, from a time long passed, “I never spoke poorly of you, you just lost faith in me.” 

The look in his eyes before he storms off gives him away; he hates that in a twisted way, it’s still the truth.

----

“I’ve always appreciated your honesty,” Ghostbur muses; night is falling over the snowy biome you’d decided to call home, the house Dream had built for himself that sat abandoned since he was taken prisoner. Ghostbur is sitting on a bench, looking around, ankles crossed wearing a sunny smile.

“It’s the only thing I’m consistent about,” gave a wry smile, not looking up from where you were crouched in front of you brewing stand; everything started because of these brewing stands, just look how far you’ve come. You try not to dwell on that.

“Consistently inconsistent,” his tone was bright and fond, but then he hums, “you’re consistent in a lot of ways; you’re loyal -” he points out, but you’re so quick to respond it doesn’t even register at first. 

“Only because I love you,” then, silence, and you scrunch up your whole face with regret, “him, Wilbur,” you sigh deeply, “don’t get me wrong, Ghostbur, I care about you, probably too much by my standards, but...” and you trail off, a touch apologetic.

“Everyone keeps telling me that I did, or well, he did, all these terrible things; I just... I just want to know why.”

“Why what? Why he did what he did?”

“Why you still loved him when he did all those things,” Ghostbur clarified. You freeze.

“You want me to be honest?” Your voice is soft, and when you look over, you see he’s drawn his legs up to sit cross-legged on the counter, tearing apart a loaf of bread for something to do with his hands. 

“You’re always honest,” his tone is earnest, but he can’t look at you, before you can speak, however, he goes on, tone softer, “I remember bits and pieces, more and more as time goes on. More of you is always coming back; more of us, and I thought not remembering would be the most painful part about being around you, making you sad because I can’t remember what happened to make you feel so close to me before... before I died, but I think remembering’s worse,” he looked up, “because I’m not him. Like I’m borrowing someone else’s memories even though they’re mine, because I don’t think like he did; I don’t think I understood you the way he does. I don’t...”

“Everyone’s so quick to tell me what terrible things I’ve done - my son, Fundy, I spoke to him, he’s- he’s- he’s not happy with me, you know? Nor is Tommy, I mean most people just need me to know how awful I was, but you... you speak his name with love and honey on your lips and I don’t know how or why, you make all the terrible things sound like miracles and I don’t know why.” 

Slowly, you get to your feet, stretching a little, as your words begin to fall from you and you make your way over to Ghostbur, his pale form golden in the candlelight.

“I don’t know how to put it, but I don’t... I never feel quite real, not - for lack of a better word, given the nature of everyone here - human enough, and I look around and I see Tommy and Tubbo and George and Puffy and -” you rest your hands on his knees, gently, as you watch his hands tearing apart the loaf of bread, “and they’re all effortlessly people, they’re good, they’ve got dirt beneath their nails and a sparkle in their eyes, and I tried being good and noble and honest, and the only part I liked was being honest but being too honest somehow made me the villain; no-one understood. Dream came the closest, he felt like another amalgamation of interactions pretending to be human, but he knew his power and his place and his role, and he didn’t understand that I had no interest in playing the same part over and over again; consistently inconsistent, apart from my honesty and my loyalty. He liked my honesty and loyalty, so he did his best to accept the rest of me that came with it.”

Looking him in the eyes, finally, you could see it dawning on Ghostbur. Your fingers tapped a gentle, inconsistent rhythm on his knees. 

“But Wilbur... you - he - he... he...”

“He loved you,” Ghostbur’s voice was gentle, but after all this time, the confirmation from his returning memories, it was enough for your voice to catch in your throat. Then, he nodded again like it was a confirmation, “he loved you.”

“He loved me,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper, “not despite who I was, but because of it, loved all of me, at least, that’s what it felt like... I’d never felt that before, and I... I never wanted to let it go,” he’s putting the bread to the side, slowly sliding off of the counter and into your space, “he was staying true to himself, and they hated him for it, but I never could, and I never will.” You murmur, as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly in the dimly lit room. 

“It’s you,” you whispered against the fabric of his sweater, echoing your words from what feels like a lifetime ago, “above everyone else, I choose you. You have my loyalty.”

A moment of silence; he swallows hard, presses his face into the crook of your neck.

“It’s you,” he whispers back, just as Wilbur had those months ago; at the time you though they were an incredulous echo of your own thoughts, but now you know it’s an admission, a return of affection, a declaration; you have my loyalty, he’d been trying to tell you. 

You can’t tell Ghostbur you love him, you can’t tell him you love him, you cannot tell him you love him, no matter how much you want to. He’s not Wilbur. He’s not the Wilbur you fell in love with. 

You tell him anyways. Whisper it like it’s a secret. 

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

His answer comes whispered with a kiss at your temple, a small token of comfort.

“I know.”

----

The world had fallen still in a way you had only felt before natural disasters. There was quiet. There was peace. Something was wrong. Your conversation with Dream played on repeat in your mind, over and over and over.

"You will owe me a life." You can't forget the gravitas with which he'd said it, eyes dark and eerie as he sat cross-legged on the floor of his prison; you will owe me a life.

The phrasing had caught you off guard, because what in the hell did that even mean? It could mean anything, hell he could claim your first child if he wanted to, but you'd been desperate enough to not question, to just accept.

"You really do love him, don't you?" He'd said softly as you'd sat opposite him, when he'd jokingly asked if you'd take his place in the prison in exchange for Wilbur back.

"Of course," had been your serious answer to both questions. Dream had laughed, equal parts fond and weary, his gaze drifting up to the impossibly high ceiling.

"Its a nice thought, though I doubt Sam would simply let you switch with me," he mused, adding, "you know Ghostbur won't be around anymore."

"But Wilbur will be alive," you insisted, and finally he looks at you.

"You trust me," its not a question.

"I've always trusted you," its not a lie. Dream blinks at you, surprised by your honesty. He should be, somehow everyone overlooks your defining trait being brutal honestly. Moments like this remind you why you need Wilbur back so desperately; he understood you in a way no-one else did, not even Dream.

"I killed you," he says, almost to himself, like he's just remembered that fact.

"I know," you nodded, "and I trusted you then, and I trust you now. Everything happens-"

"Don't say for a reason," Dream gritted his teeth with irritation at the phrase, but you gave a faint smile.

"No, I was just going to say that everything happens. We live, we die," you shrugged.

"Then why are you asking me to bring him back?"

"I didn't realise your book of necromancy was purely for decoration," there's a slight edge to your words, lip curling in knee-jerk defensiveness. Dream looked back at you suddenly, eyebrows rising at your tone.

"Is that why you trust me?" There's something betrayed in his voice, and he sits back, away from you, something dangerous in his eyes.

"That's..." you tried to find a way to talk your way out of the situation, but your inability to lie was more of a hindrance now than anything else, "so reductive," you settle on. But you're fidgeting.

"Then complicate it for me," he's practically ordering, and if he weren't the only way to bring back Wilbur, you wouldn't be complying so easily. Then, like a bolt of lighting it hits you; you look up, gaze unwaivering as you meet his.

"Kill me."

"What?"

"Kill me. Don't bring me back," you yourself are almost ordering, tone leaving little room for argument.

"What the fuck; why?" He hissed in confusion, and you knew, in that instance, that your point would be clear.

"Why not?" Something amused and sinister curled at the edge of your lips as you regained the upper hand in the conversation, "if you'd prefer, I could kill myself; walk straight into the lava until my lives run out," and with that, you carefully get to your feet as he frowns at you. Sauntering over to the flowing, molten walls, you stick your hands in your pockets, looking pensively at the liquid rock.

"Wouldn't it kill two birds with one stone? If I'm dead, maybe I'll find my way back to Will, and you won't have to revive him. That's what the kids call a win-win, right? I won't ask you for anything, but, you know, I won't owe you anything either."

When you look to him, you get to watch in real time as it dawns on him. The way his face contorts with bitter anger makes your own, imposing, gloating stance soften, even as he looks away, refusing to look at you.

"I don't..." you sighed deeply, "I don't trust you because I know you can revive me, I trust you because you're a pragmatist, Dream, and as long as I'm useful to you, well..." you trail off, coming back to him.

"I don't understand you," he said, finally, voice terse, "you've fucking commodified your existence and sold your allegiance to the highest bidder; how do you stand it? I get it, you think I'm controlling, fucking news flash, so was Wilbur, so was fucking Techno, so is everyone. We're a bunch of cruel, self-canalising, power-hungry assholes masquerading as heroes and villains trying to make ourselves feel better for the atrocities we commit."

"And what currency am I selling myself for?" You snort, despite his serious tone; when he looks at you, as if he can't believe you're laughing at his rant, you tip your head and regard him thoughtfully, "while I appreciate that that seemed to have been weighing on you for a while, I'd advise you to not project your shit onto me; have I ever cared about having power for myself?"

That's actually a good point, he seems to realise, and finally, his expression softens, and he gets to his feet.

"Do you care about anyone other than yourself?" Surprisingly, it's not judgemental, it's intrigued, like he has a sudden understand of you that makes everything else make sense. Your smile is so soft and unguarded as you gently cup his cheek with one hand, fondly rubbing your thumb across his cheek.

"You know, you might be my best friend," you told him instead of answering, "and I trust you." He takes a deep breath, expression going serious as you can almost see the cogs turning in his mind.

"Despite... fucking everything, and who you are as a person," he said with the faintest smile, "I actually trust you too," but he hesitates, the slightest crease forming above his brow, "but I don't think I can still say that if Wilbur comes back -"

"Dude -" you're surprised by Dream's honesty in turn, but you do respect it as he clarifies himself.

"He's the one you care about, the only one besides yourself, I know, I've seen it," he gives a faint smirk, "we're still friends, of course, there's no doubt about that, but if I asked you to kill someone that Wilbur would rather have alive, or if I asked you to, say, join me on an adventure with a low survival rate, if Wilbur asked, you'd choose him, wouldn't you? You'd do whatever it takes to make him happy."

"Dream... I -"

"Your loyalty is absolute, but selective; you put yourself first, then Wilbur, and maybe I'm overestimating my place in your life, but I think I may be below him, but above most others..."

"What are you saying? What do you want?" You asked carefully.

"I'll bring back Wilbur, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I'll bring him back, but you'll owe me a life," and you can't even begin to properly process what he's saying, "not his," Dream clarifies, "I wouldn't do that to you, but in one way or another, you will owe me a life, and when I ask for it, however that may be, you need to uphold your end of the bargain, or I'll send him right back to where he is now."

I'll bring Wilbur back. I'll bring Wilbur back. I'll bring Wilbur back. That's the four words he'd said that you're fixating on, that're playing through your mind on repeat, and you practically crush Dream in a hug as you agree, breathlessly thanking him. He hugs you back, and you can feel his smile against your shoulder, laughing somewhat fondly at the notes of relief in your voice as you mutter that he's your favourite.

"For now," he snorts when you step back, and you give a sheepish smile, ducking your gaze.

"For now," you agree.

----

"Who let you- does Sam know you're in here?" Quackity's voice is dangerously quiet, a strange smile on his face, like having you here is a boon rather than a terrible mistake.

"Q, what the fuck?" You rubbed at your eyes, forcing the sleep from them. Dream is already scrambling as far as he can from the newcomer, anger and fear in his eyes. He tells Quackity to fuck off.

"What are you doing here? You planning an escape for my favourite little war criminal?" He paused, "have you moved on now that your favourite little war criminal is dead?" Everything about him seems sharp, seems cruel and threatening; something about it is thrilling, like a challenge, and you find yourself standing to your full height, refusing to drop his gaze.

“Big Q,” you take some small pride in the fact that your voice doesn’t shake, “you’re looking markedly more malicious today.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been coming here for a while, looking for one simple thing, and your buddy there really hasn’t exactly been helpful,” there’s a faintly manic gleam in his eye, but your blood is hissing and spitting in your veins, conflicted and delighted in equal measure -

“He was your friend you fucking asshole!” The words burst from you, disgusted as you wear a manic grin. 

“I was your friend, you fucking piece of shit!” He hollers back, “I was more than your fr-” but his mouth snaps shut, expression one of seething rage, “don’t fucking talk like you still trust him, like you care about him;” the curl of Quackity’s lip is cruel, the look in his eyes cold as he shifts his grip on his sword; a humourless laugh escapes him, “except, of course it’s you who still cares; first Dream, then Wilbur, the only people you actually care about are just like you,” and there’s so much derision in his voice that it almost stings, almost, if he wasn’t right. How can he not see the way his cruel tone delight you? How can he not see the irony in his words in this very moment; “now fuck off, you’re in my way.” He sneers.

“I’m not letting you hurt him,” you refused to move, and his eyes widened, disbelieving laugh escaping him.

“Look at that! Did the wizard finally give you a fucking heart?” 

“Look at that!” You mirror his tone, though your own is acidic, pushing, you’re pushing him now, the way you know best, “did you finally get over your pathetic feelings? You finally getting smart enough to see me as a real threat?” And you’re in his space, in his face, refusing to back down, waiting for the moment he snaps.

“I never cared about you, I cared about the fact that you paid me attention; note the difference,” he snarled; it’s a lie, you know it’s a lie, can remember the way he’d looked at you, how he’d almost died for you, and it’s fucking intoxicating.

“You’re so good at hearing the truth, but you’re fucking shit at obfuscating it,” you tell him with a cool confidence, “I hung the stars in your sky, Quackity,” his jaw clenched tightly at your change in tone, the look in your eye, “but tell me again about how it was all an act for you, say it in a way I’ll believe this time.” It’s designed to cut him, and you can see it in his eyes when it does. Fight back, damn it! 

“Maybe I’ll give Dream the day off, kill you instead,” he tries, but you can tell his heart’s not in it. 

“This isn’t fun for him like it is for you,” Dream pipes up, and Quackity shoots him a surprisingly confused look, while your look over your shoulder, faint disappointment in your eyes. Dream, however, exhausted and paranoid with Quackity in his cell, still has enough wherewithal to understand you better than almost anyone else.  

“I wish you would,” you don’t look away from Quackity. Your voice is cold in the wake of Dream’s revelation, and when he looks back at you, Quackity looks... uncertain. A dangerous state to be in considering his opposition.

“You’re down to your last life, don’t fucking test me,” Quackity warned, but his heart’s not in it like before. As you approach him, he raises his weapon, but your confidence strides never falter, “Sam wouldn’t give a shit if I killed you, no-one would.” 

“You would,” you tell him snidely, finding yourself growing sick of the sound of his half-baked cruelty. 

“Are you just here to let what you love kill you?” He gives a mean, humourless smile. 

“Bold to assume I love you, Q.”

“Well, seeing as the only bastard you ever knew how to love was so eager to off himself, I figured I might be all you have left to get back to him,” there’s faint triumph in his eyes when he can see his malicious words touched a nerve, but he wasn’t playing your game right, and you were tired of not having fun.

“It’s not my fucking fault you look for a home in everyone who’s halfway nice to you,” something in you snaps, and your tone is cold and unwaivering, “don’t blame me for your fragile sense of self; you were so ready to believe anything I told you, but when I did what people fucking do - when I let you down - you had to go and let it shatter you,” you sneered.

“You being a shitty person is my fault?” He scoffed, and you stepped up to him, emboldened. You barely even feel his sword at your throat.

“Before breaking your cheap, little heart, I hadn’t been honest a day in my life; everyone had told you as much, you chose to ignore them; did you think you could fix me?” You gave a harsh laugh, stepping forward, crowding him into taking a step back, expression irate, trying to keep up his strong front, “Actually, I guess, wow, you did; since you, I haven’t told a lie,” and you gave him a derisive look, “because fucking you up wasn’t a challenge, making you fall in love with me wasn’t a challenge, getting you to the point where you’d die for me? Not a fucking challenge, Quackity. You offered me your life and it fucking bored me.

Talking to me makes you want to be a worse person? Good luck with that; you will always be better than you fear, better than you fucking hope or wish you were, because you couldn’t fucking stomach killing me once, you couldn’t fucking stomach being a truly terrible person.

You want my blood on your hands? Your hands were mine, and I couldn’t have given less of a shit, so no, if I have any say, you’re not gonna hurt Dream, because you’re hurting him to get the thing that’s going to bring back the person I actually fucking fell in love with. I can’t believe I ever wasted my time on you when he was out there.

I’m tired of trying to be amicable with you when you’re still - fucking still - picking up the pieces and trying to figure out who the fuck you are; God, I fucking hope you kill me, I hope it brings you peace, I hope it brings you clarity, but you better make sure it counts, you better make sure it fucking sticks!” 

----

"You do things that hurt you because you don't know what else to do, even if you don't enjoy them," Ranboo's voice is flat, and your expression twists to something derisive, though you attempt to regain your composure.

"Incredibly presumptuous of you," you respond, still alive, if burned.

----

"How many more?" Ghostbur's touch was light on your forearm, tracing the shiny, healed scar of where you'd thrown your hands up to protect your face as Quackity had shoved you into the lava waterfall that surrounded Dream's cell. It hadn’t killed you; he hadn’t been able to go through with it, and the lava curtain parted as the bridge approached the cell at Sam’s command. But it had still left it’s mark.

"What?" You surfaced from your thoughts as his cool hand stilled against the memory of the burn.

"How many more until you see him again?" He asks, and he doesn't look sad often, but he can't look you in the eyes. Then, gently, his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb brushing against the scar that stands out on your neck, a perfect circle, a perfect reminder of what you’d lost the second time you’d died.  

And you meet his gaze, can see the nerves hidden just behind his eyes - is this why you do this? Am I… not enough? What a dangerous thought, dangerous territories; how cruel you were to let him fall for you, even a little, even when both of you knew it was a terrible idea. 

Dream's voice was in your head - Ghostbur won't be around anymore - and you'd answered without flinching - but Wilbur will be alive. 

"One," your voice came out hoarse, "one life and I'll see him again." You can't look him in the eyes, even as he holds your face; he has no idea what to say to that. It's the truth, but not the one he realises. 

"You don't love me, right?" You asked, clearing your throat, moving carefully out of his reach.

"You shouldn't kill yourself for him," Ghostbur tells you with uncompromising sincerity instead of answering, "you're worth more than that."

"I need you to tell me that you don't have feelings for me, Ghostbur -"

"Seems like a very worrying thing to be asking given the circumstances," again he tries to deflect, but there's something close to guilt eating you up inside, and you stand, moving out of his space, Dream's voice in your head.

"Do you love me or not, Ghost of Wilbur Soot?" You demanded, and his expression turned hard, so unlike his usual self.

"I'm not him," he said carefully, but his gaze dropped; he couldn't look you in the eyes, "and I don't think it should matter either way, because you've made it abundantly clear that he's the one you want; I'm not going to say I don't and let you kill yourself."

"I promise I'm not going to fucking kill myself!"

Ghostbur went very quiet. 

“Any answer is dangerous, really, so it doesn’t matter either way,” he’s pulling his sleeves down to cover his hands, to fiddle with, trying to distract himself, “I love Friend,” his tone was aiming for something light-hearted, an attempt to change the topic, and it did it’s job well enough; your lips twisted into a grin.

“First a Salmon, then a Sheep, your tastes are -” but he looks at you, giving a strangely amused little smile.

“Questionable?” He finishes your sentence, and you find yourself less amused with the situation; he brings up a good point, including you all the same, though you’d been meaning to say bestial, but fuck, what does that make you? For a moment, you find yourself in crisis, wondering if you were technically in a polyamorous relationship with a ghost and an actual sheep. But you push it to the side -

“It’s selfish,” you hear his voice in your head, see him looking at you with wide, shiny eyes in the dim light of a pub, but you can’t help but repeat the words that had been said to you, “but I need to know for me -”

Ghostbur could say anything, and you see the realisation dawning on his face; he knows what you’re asking. He could be silent, he could brush you off, he could say anything else -

“It’s you,” just the way you’d said it to Wilbur, confirming what you feared; Ghostbur drops his gaze when he says those words to you, when he means to say I love you, how can you not see that?

Those two words hang in the air between you, like they always have. You should leave. You should go before you develop a conscience. But you can’t... there’s something familiar, something intoxicating about this moment, his loyalty; you’ve seen this before, you’ve craved this before. 

You step up to him, and as if on instinct, he rests his hands on your hips, leaning into your touch when you hold his cheek gently. 

“I love you,” your murmur, and his eyes fall closed, breathing deeply, “I love you.” It’s easy, it’s too easy, to fall back into this, to let him rest his forehead against yours, your arms around his neck, knowing in your heart that his loyalty, his love, was a means to an end; “I love you.”

He trusts your words, even now. 

“Please don’t go,” he whispers, pulling you close now, moving to press his lips to the crook of your neck. So you stay. Your time with him is limited, though only you know that, so you will enjoy it while you can.

----

"This was your plan," Tommy muttered, horrified, as the realisation dawned on him, "you're the one who pointed out that killing Dream in the prison didn't break any of the prison's rules," he whispered, before turning on you, eyes wide, Friend's leash still looped around his wrist, "you're the one who suggested using Ghostbur as a decoy, because no-one would suspect him."

"You set him up," Ranboo was horrified. One by one they were turning on you.

"You knew Ghostbur didn't- he didn't want to be revived!" Tubbo exclaimed, hurt and betrayed, "I thought - Y/N I thought you loved him, how could you -?!"

"Wilbur and Ghostbur are not the same person! How do you all keep forgetting that?!" You snarled in response, expression contorting to one of rage; that was enough to shock them into silence, taking a step back as they regarded you with a new kind of fear.

"We were happier with Wilbur gone, we liked Ghostbur and he liked us!" Tommy exclaimed, before his voice dropped to something soft and betrayed, hurt in his eyes, "Ghostbur didn't fucking deserve that; you're a terrible person," and your expression dropped to a smirk that didn't reach your eyes.

"I'm sorry about Ghostbur, I am, but the ends justifies the means; do you remember what I told you when L'Manburg was first forming? I told you I'm not on Dream's side, but I'm also not on yours," and you paused for a moment, before looking to the heavy remains of the button room, through which you knew Wilbur himself would finally be returning any moments now, "I'm on Wilbur's."

----

Then you see him, and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck this is real and you owe Dream a life and Wilbur is alive. You're frozen in place. He's talking to Tommy, who sounds frankly horrified that Wilbur is back, but you're frozen. Heart beating in your throat, the sunrise that’s coming brings with it a warmth, though to you it feels closer to vindication. 

And there’s yelling and horror from the others who’ve accompanied you, but you can’t hear them, approaching slowly, with measured, even steps.

Then, his eyes meet yours and something in his expression softens. When he smiles at you, every terrible thing you did was worth it for this moment. Having the others there is too much. You don't want an audience, you don't want anyone there to judge you and your choices, the things you've done to get to this moment.

"This," Tommy turns on you, "this is what you bloody well wanted; now you're acting all shy? " His lip curled, and your expression turned flat and unamused.

“Don’t mistake respect for shyness,” you tell him bluntly, with a cool confidence that was unrecognisable to the blonde, who hadn’t known you well enough before he’d begun starting conflict to know the depths to which you could sink. But he was beginning to learn. 

“She’s part of the reason I’m here at all,” Wilbur reprehends him, while Tommy physically recoils at his tone, "Dream himself said as much." And then he's offering you his hand; nothing else matters.

"I can't be here," there's disgust in Tommy's voice, but its enough that the others leave, giving you and Wilbur peace. Finally.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," you tell him, taking his hand with a sharp smile, which he mirrors.

"Thirteen years I was stuck in that train station, and you're just as stunning as when I last saw you," he muses, and you reaches out to run your fingers gently through the unfamiliar white strands of his hair. His eyes study your face, your expression, drinking you in; you'd missed how dark his eyes could be, and when you look back at him, meet his gaze, you see a hunger there.

"Don't leave me," escapes you, but it comes out as a demand, insistent, “don’t ever fucking leave me again,” and you see him swallow hard, then slowly, he smiles.

"Never again," and he's kissing you desperately, mouth on yours with an intensity you relish. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you - you can taste it on his tongue, sticky sweet and somehow sharp and you dig your nails into him, maybe trying to keep him here, keep you both in this moment. When the kiss breaks and you're breathing hard, you don't let him go, though he doesn't either.

"You lied for me," he muttered, something akin to delight on his face, which shocked you enough that you stepped back, or at least tried to, though he held you tight, "no, not-" he tried to clarify, "I won't leave, I don't plan on it, but- I love you." Your heart is beating in your throat, still not quite sure what he means, "I've loved you for a long time," he added, and reaching out, he cupped your face in his hand, "I remember this," he murmured, "Ghostbur - you're scared I didn't love you because he couldn't remember, but I loved you so much, for so long, I just knew... knew what I was going to do. I knew I was going to leave you, I loved you but I was so doomed, so he couldn't remember."

When had your vision gone cloudy, when had tears started to sting your eyes.

"Don't cry, my love," Wilbur murmured, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours as your breath stuttered from your chest as he soothed the biggest fear that had been plaguing you for months.

"Were you worried that I didn't love you because of him?" He asked, like he enjoyed hearing you bare your soul. Of course he did. You remember kissing Ghostbur, his cold lips and soft apologies when you'd pulled away, and you wonder if Wilbur had those memories too.

"He's not you, no point trying to fret about your feelings based on his actions," you huff a watery laugh, finally letting go of him with one hand to wipe at your tears, “he didn’t understand me like you did, but he...” you swallowed hard, “I’m glad to have had him around in the interim.” Wilbur’s lips twist into an amused smile, and his gaze clouds over for the barest moment; you wonder if he can see your resolve cracking in Ghostbur’s memories, taking comfort in his when he’s the closest thing to Wilbur himself that you can find, the lies you’d told to keep him by your side in your moments of selfish desperation.

“I think he loved you, in his own way,” Wilbur said gently. However, as you made a vaguely guilty noise in the back of your throat, he continues thoughtfully, "though, you know, when Dream came to pick me up on that train, when Ghostbur took my place, Dream made sure we both knew, you know; she's the reason you're here, Ghostbur, he'd said, and said that makes you part of the reason that I'm coming back at all," he muses, strange quality to his voice that you couldn't quite place, though when your eyes were dry, you looked at him definitely, challengingly.

"He's not you," you reiterated, firmer this time, "I cared for him for what he was, but he's not the one I want; I love you." You said without hesitation, before you realise what you've said, and you go still, before taking his face in your hands, making sure he's looking you in the eyes, "I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, Wilbur; I love you, I fucking love you -" and he's endeared by your declaration as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face against the crook of his neck, whispering the words like you're hoping they'll find a place on his skin forever.

"I didn't tell you before and I'm never making that mistake again,” you admitted faintly; “it’s you.”

“Above all others, I choose you,” his smile is warm, and something bright lights up in your chest. Grinning, elated in this moment that you’d worked so hard to finally get to.

“You have my loyalty, my love.”

[heartofwritiing]

and you just can’t say goodbye.

paring: (zombur) William Godwinson x fem!reader

summary: Wil gets bitten, and angst ensues.

authors note: HUGE thanks to @ax-y10 for the help because originally this fic was gonna end a lot more agnsty but then they gave me an idea that was more on the happy side! I've never written a zombie apocalypse setting before so please excuse anything I get wrong. I've only watched other people play The Last of Us and I've briefly seen one episode of The Walking Dead so you can see how this will probably go. lol. The Sorry Boys zombie video is brain-rotting in my head rn I've watched it about four times now. yes. I love Zombur, so here's a drive-by of me throwing this fic at you and then skirting off with smoke from my tires. enjoy the brainrot :p (I'm so sorry this took me so long to get out, I've been procrastinating finishing it because I'm having some self-doubt at the minute but I hope you guys like this anyway even though it's a mess lol)

warnings: zombie apocalypse au, angst, death, violence, swearing, lots of kissing, characters use guns, the writer doesn't know anything about how guns work lmao, sort of happy end? super unedited!

"shit! I'm out of ammo!"

You pulled the trigger on the handgun once more, but nothing. It was luck that you had even found one. Even so early on in an apocalypse. A month had gone by since the first day of the outbreak. Though it was likely that you should've died on the first day, you don't know why you've survived this long. you should be dead.

At first, you thought staying in your apartment was the best chance you had of surviving. Big mistake. That strategy turned south when your front door was barged in after four days of no disturbance from any outsiders. Your boyfriend Wil had grabbed everything you could carry, and you hadn't stopped moving ever since.

Now, you and Wil found yourselves trapped in an alley with no escape. A pack of infected had cornered you, slowly closing in while making menacing noises. Wil bravely stood between you and the horde, fighting them off to protect you.

"Climb up the fire escape!" he shouted back at you.

You looked around until you spotted a ladder conveniently placed on the side of the building within reach. Infected were dropping like flies as Wil's shots echoed through the air. The ladder shook as you climbed, heart pounding in your ears. You glimpsed down to check and see if Wil was following, to find he was surrounded on all sides by infected. Your heart dropped when you saw one of their mouths was too close to his wrist. By the time you called out his name, it was already too late.

'Fuck!' Wil screamed as the infected bit through his skin and charred his flesh. Blood gushed down his arm and around the infected's mouth. You cry his name as he reeled back his fist and punched the infected repeatedly until it staggered off of him, but it was too late. Your eyes were fixed on him as he quickly climbed up the ladder, gasping for breath as he did so. He seemed in immense pain as he pulled his body up the ladder, slightly struggling.

Upon reaching the roof, you found a roof access leading to a floor with multiple doors, revealing it to be an apartment complex. Wil was already feeling the effects of the infection. His skin was sticky with sweat, the bitter taste left in his mouth tasting the blood rising in his throat, and the sudden vertigo he got just by rushing down the stairs was enough to make him nauseous.

You came to the floor with all the apartment units and quickly kicked in the door of the closest one. It took a few attempts to kick the door, and then bam! The sound of splitting wood and the door bouncing off the wall made a delirious Wil jump.

You entered the small room, helping Wil through the doorway, and setting him down gently before closing the door. You searched around for something to barricade the door with. Just in case of any infected find you. The only thing that looked heavy enough was the dresser tucked into the corner. Using all your muscles, you pushed the object across the room with the bottom of the dresser scraping against the wood, grimacing at the loud noise.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you knew you were safe for now. You dusted your hands off and turned back to Wil who was slumped against the wall on the floor, clutching his bitten arm. Wincing and squirming from the heat burning through his skin spreading throughout his veins.

The room was dim, and you noticed the sweat beading down his forehead. You quickly took your backpack off your shoulders and strode over to him. Taking out the first-aid kit you had for emergencies, you pulled out the tiny bottle of anti-septic cleaning solution and the roll of bandages.

You gazed down at his wrist, which was curled against his chest, shrouding you from looking at it. The ring of teeth marks oozing out the color of maroon as black vines protruded around the area, extending over his skin. His head lulled to the side as he let out a moan of pain.

"No, baby, keep your eyes open," you tried to lure him back to consciousness. Take his hand and position it palm up in your lap. He whines like a wounded animal in response.

Unscrewing the cap, you quickly prep the cotton pads. Then you quickly realize you should've put on gloves beforehand. Muttering curses under your breath you shake your head at the thought, There was no time.

"What are you doing?" Wil's voice slurs. He sounds groggy, like something is trying to creep up his throat to escape, not him. It scares you. You refuse to look at him.

"I have to clean the wound before it gets infected," you say nonchalantly.

With the little strength he has left, Will reaches out his unbitten hand to catch yours. You stop your movements in disbelief of his actions, tears brimming in your eyes as you try to save his life, but he stops you again. You both know what's inevitable, you just can't accept it.

"Wil-" you try to pull out of his grasp. You reach out to touch his wrist again this time, he is the one who pulls away.

"Look at me," he pleads. You can't bring yourself to shift your eyes to his, knowing this was inevitable. You had to try. He had to let you try.

"just stop."

Wil tries to grab the items from your hands, but you move too quickly for his shrinking reflexes to keep up. Moving beginning to be too strenuous.

"I can't- Wil-" You struggle to fight against him, too scared to hurt him. Though he's already dying.

"Stop, honey..." he quivers.

"Just let me save you!" you cry. It echoes through the room. The air is tense, and you finally meet his eyes. His skin is sickly pale, eyes bright with red veins and glossy. Purple hues outline under his soft doe eyes as they peer into yours. He fists the hem of your shirt, inviting you closer. Your breaths mix together as he presses his forehead to yours.

The words hang between you, but you bite your tongue. You want to tell him how much you want him to stay and not give up. Deep down, you already know it's not enough.

"It's too late for me darling, leave me here.”

“I'm not leaving you,” you say sternly, shaking your head.

You were determined to stay with him, no matter how difficult things got, you were unwilling to abandon him.

“Please, I don’t want you to see me turn into a monster.” his voice wavered. Your heart sank. No matter what, he would always be your Wil. Sweet, caring, and lovable Wil. Whom you adored with every fiber of your being.

You reach up to cup his face with your hands, but they feel cool against your clammy skin. His cheekbones are slowly becoming more prominent. You stare into his eyes, but the urge to tell him to be quiet becomes harder as anger festers in your chest. However, it's not anger towards him, but rather frustration towards the universe.

Instead, you snuggle up next to him to demonstrate your lack of fear and your trust in him. You want to be by his side and provide comfort. You understand that it's unrealistic to expect him to recover from this infection given his history of being sick and having a weakened immune system. It's best to accept the inevitable outcome.

It's unclear how much time has passed while the two of you remain in that position. His arm securely around your shoulder holding you close, with your arm laid across his lap where your fingers provided soft circles against his hip bone. The room grows darker as the sun sets. The air feels eerie yet comforting all at once with Wil by your side. Nothing but the sounds of his raspy breathing and occasional coughing fit to surround you. He whispers through the dark against the crown of your head with horse words. Sweet nothings, promises that make you curl into him further so he can't see the single tear you shed.

He lifts his hand to gently cup your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Selfishly, he leans in for a soft kiss. You whine at the metallic taste in his mouth when he groans to part his lips so his tongue finds yours. It makes your head spin like a top how this man makes you feel. His lips are chapped, rough, and fast as he indulges in you for maybe the last time. You gasp and reach up to tangle your fingers in his locks to reel him closer to you. His hand finds the underside of your thigh, digging into your flesh. The mere touch of his hand sets your body ablaze and sends shivers down your spine.

It's frantic and passionate, your love for him shown physically. When you disconnect, suddenly remember you need to breathe. his eyes are hazy and his pupils are blown. You are sure you look like a flustered mess.

"I love you," he says sincerely, and you believe him.

It stings in your chest, you can't stand it.

"I love you more," you reply.

You tuck yourself into his neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and outdoors, and it's calming. Wil rests his head on the crown of your head. You neglect how his breathing has slowed as you drift off to sleep.

-

The next time you open your eyes, the sun peeks through the window, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. Your bones crack when you sit up to stretch from sleeping in the same position all night. You knew you'd regret it later when you had back pain for days. You turn to Wil, who doesn't stir when you move. Your heart dropped when you noticed something different about him.

Around his eyes were a darker color than the previous night. His cheekbones were completely sunken in where you could almost see the bone. his lips were a blueish color and his chest was rising and falling.

This was your fault. You should have stayed awake.

Tears streamed down your face as you called out his name, gently shaking his body, but he didn't respond.

"Wil!" you wailed, begging for him to come back.

You slumped forward, cradling him against your chest, pressing kisses to his temple, and muttering apologies against his cold skin. You felt your heart break as you realized he was gone, and tears rolled down your face as you held him close to you. You felt a deep emptiness settle in your heart. You knew you would never fill the void his death had left. You sobbed, gripping him tighter, and whispered your final goodbye. You held him close, cherishing holding home one last time. Knowing that you would never be the same again.

You're too distraught to move. You don't want to leave him here, but you don't have any other choice. The urge to keep on and survive was slowly fading now that you had no one left in this cruel world.

Wil felt heavy in your arms to the point where your arms were falling asleep, but you refused to let go. If you were to leave now, you may be tempted to never return to the person you once were. Allow your sorrow to consume you. The one good thing left in your life was gone.

You suddenly felt hands grab your lower back, causing you to yelp in surprise. Fingers gripe harshly at your skin through your clothes. Wil's chilled breath glides up your spine as he lets out a deep groan against your collarbone. He was alive? How?

His lips ghosted across your collarbone, pressing his nose directly into your pulse point. His hot breath fans across your exposed skin, causing goosebumps to rise along your body. Then, you feel his teeth nipping at your skin, and your eyes widen realizing his intentions.

You jerk away and shove him off you roughly. Crawling backward, quickly shuffling away from him, your heart pounding, until your back hits the opposite wall with a thump. You wince in pain from the impact and notice Wil gradually beginning to crawl toward you. A fixed gaze over his sheer white eyes, almost glowing like moonbeams. Chills ran down your spine as you gazed at your former lover, unrecognizable.

You froze as he approached, shrinking in on yourself. His body lazily dragged itself across the wooden floor, scrapping and groaning with every floorboard. Once he was close enough, his hand unexpectedly reached to grasp your ankle, and you screamed in fear. Nails harshly dig into your skin and create recent moon shapes that make you cry out.

He yanked you with a surprising strength until you were laid beneath him, overbearing you. You are powerless as Wil, or not Wil's body leaned over you and cadged you with his arms. Tears flow from the corners of your eyes and into your ears as his face inches towards you.

"Please," you whisper. Again, he tilts his head in curiosity at you.

"William?" Your eyes bore into his, trying to find some trace of life left in them. You observe his eyes returning to their natural color and a look of terror crossing his face as he regains consciousness. He staggers back and moves away from you frantically, clutching his chest and struggling to breathe.

You both sit on opposite sides of the room against the wall, he stares into the floor burning holes into the wood, avoiding your eyes. You just blink blankly at him in shock, knees tucked against your chest again.

Wil cradled his skull, clutching fist fulls of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, and heaving breaths of panic puffed out his mouth. Mumbles of "I'm sorry," repeated like a mantra over, and over out shakily.

You let out an unsteady breath, His eyes quickly flicked over to you and fear flooded your senses once again.

"Darling?" he tries, his voice hoarse. He moves towards the center of the room, positioning himself a safe distance from you. “I'm sorry... I don't know what came over me..." his voice trails off.

He noticed your tense reaction upon watching him inch closer to you, and it broke his heart to see you trembling in fear due to his prior actions. He could never forgive himself for causing you such distress.

"is it really you?" you asked.

"I don't know," he says honestly. "I don't feel like myself, It's like I'm trying to grab hold of a stearing wheel and fight for control right now."

Your heart sank at his words. You let them maul over in your head for a moment. It sounded like your Wil, but you hesitated in reaching out to him. So, was he alive? He didn't look it, his skin was still deathly pale and almost decayed. Nose now dripping with dried blood that ran down his lips.

His head hangs low as he silently sobs. He didn’t want this. Now he was dead and was leaving you to defend yourself. He swore he would always protect you and he’s failed. He knows its selfish to ask you to stay with him, you should just leave him here to rot. Still, he begs you.

“Please, darling dont leave me,” You shake your head and crawl towards him. He might be an undead zombie now, but you still loved him more than anything else is this life. You would do anything for him. You take his face in your hands to tilt his head up but he avoids your eyes. “look at me,” his eyes shift to yours.

“I wanna help you baby, and im sure as hell not gonna leave you, not now, not ever.” you proclaim. “So don’t you dare ever try and push me away, because im staying. No matter how complicated things get.”

You bring yourself to kiss his forehead, your warm lips making him sigh out from the touch. He holds you for what feels like hours. Eventually you both know you’ll have to leave this abandoned apartment, whether you run out of food or more zombies show up. move on, then figure things out. Whatever it takes you would stay together, no matter what.

taglist: @trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @scenefaez @starsyoubreaklikesugardust @drop-of-void

[calmthefuckdownalright]

Hello! It's the swan!reader anon! I learned a thing about rabbits, they flop over onto the floor when they feel safe. Could I have Different Burs reacting to Rabbit hybrid!Reader flopping over next to them?

Greetings again my dear, this is absolutely adorable than you 🤍

I hope you don't mind but I would like you to be my first Anon, perhaps a feather for you given your first request of the swan. These are so creative and educational at the same time. I truly enjoy them

<><><><><><><><><><><>

Pog!Bur

"Ehm...what are you doing?" Wilbur looked down at his feet where you had flopped onto your stomach. The delicate ears of your hybrid trait spread out like a rug beside your head.

"I don't know...it just felt right." You mumbled and shut your eyes.

"I-" Wilbur stared at you, his pickaxe still in his hands. "You're going to get rocks all in your ears darling, let's go back." He sighed and lifted you up from the stony floor. Being a rabbit hybrid also came with the perk of being exceptionally small when curled up and extremely light as well.

L'man!Bur

Wilbur stroked your ear softly, careful to avoid going too far down lest he disturb you from your focus point of the feathery quill in your hands.

"Mmmm..." You hummed and flopped back into his lap, closing your eyes with a smile up at him.

"Darling? Darling what are you doing?" Wilbur chuckled and put his hand on the top of your head.

"It's so nice here, just with you. Its been a while since we were safe." You opened an eye and grinned with a light chuckle.

"Do you feel safe then? With me?" Wilbur smirked mischieviously.

"Of course." You didn't know the irony those words held, or the pain this memory would bring you later on.

Phantom!Bur

It was just him in The Pub(e) and you came in looking weary from the climb up to the parlor. When you came in he smiled absently and continued to sort through the loose loot left in the meeting place.

"Good, its just you." You sighed and fell right to the floor. The words alone had made Wilbur uneasy but then your body thunked agianst the wood and he jumped into his vanish form.

"Y/N?!" He poked his head out from the floor he had phased through and climbed on top the planks till he stood by your laying form.

"Are you alright?" He laughed and sat down by your head, gentle knuckles caressed your fluffy hair.

"So tired..." You huffed and leaned into his careful touch. His cheeks flushed a dark blue and he didn't dare move.

Ghost!Bur

You sighed and huffed and Ghost paused his potion watching in opting to watch you on his sewer floor.

"What's wrong?" He asked slowly and stared confused at you.

"I forget how quiet things can be." You sat up and got to your feet, your usually curled short legs extending to much greater lengths fit for running.

"Would you like me to talk?" Ghostbur was excited. Most people told him to shut up.

"Yes please." Your eyes lit up and you sat back onto the damp floor, patiently awaiting the ghost's story of the day.

"Well, once I had a dream that-" Ghostbur began his ramble of conversations he never got to have, or that he had with himself. Thoughts poured from his mouth and you absorbed it like a sponge.

He finished a story and you flopped into his lap, your soft ears sprawling onto his legs. You smiled and looked up at him like a lost puppy.

"What's wrong?" Ghostbur cupped your face with his blue stained hands. You smiled and relaxed into his palms.

"This is so nice." You said and closed your eyes. He kissed your head with a smile and continued with his stories, but quieter in case you fell to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ugh...i make myself sick with how much i want from my partners because of these kinds of things.

[listenheresweaty]

MASTERLIST

image ain't mine

THIS BLOG WRITES FOR C!WILBUR BUT DOES NOT SUPPORT CC!WILL GOLD OR HIS ACTIONS.

if you want to read my works and avoid Wilbur content, here are your options:

(link to be added)

WHAT I WILL AND WON’T WRITE:

all content is SFW and usually with a gender neutral reader (I can’t think of anything I’ve written without a gn reader but idk there may be one)

*I accept xreader headcanon requests for Mandela Catalogue Characters: Mark, Cesar, Adam, Jonah. If any such are sent to me I’ll make a separate master list for them*

Dsmp:

C!Quackity (romantic or platonic)

c!technoblade (preferably platonic but I can add romantic undertones ig)

C!purpled (PLATONIC!!!!)

c!tommy (PLATONIC!!!!!)

c!wilbur (Lmanbur, Pogbur, limbobur, revivebur, utahbur)

Clinic!bur (supervillain siren)

Sirenbur (literal siren 🧜‍♀️)

Faebur

Passerinebur

vampirebur

Spook!bur (bur that is a ghost, not ghostbur from the DSMP)

cryptidbur

piratebur

wingedbur

if there are any more burs you’d like to add, let me know.

QPR’s for platonic characters are accepted, as long as they have no sexual or explicit romantic themes. I will NOT write: cc!wilbur, simpbur/incelbur, ghostbur, q!wilbur, c!dream, any NSFW content, pregnancy/parenthood (I might make small exceptions but I will be the judge of what I write— keep parenting stuff out of any asks you send me), yandere stuff, ongoing self harm or abuse (allusions to past experiences is okay but let’s be respectful).

ANON ASKS:

Limbobur general headcanons

Revivebur angst

Pogbur Alphabet

MY WORKS:

That one revivebur thing that turned into a series:

Part one

Part two

Part Three

Part four

Part five (coming (?) soon (?))

Revivebur with a magma cube hybrid reader: part one, part two

Siren/Clinicbur x reader: coming soon!(?)

Dead as Disco (Revivebur x reader): here

Revivebur fic from 2021: here

Food For thought/ Chefbur au:

Part One

Part Two (kind of)

credit for the divider goes to @firefly-graphics

[heartofwritiing]

THIS WAS WOWWW

I love the concept of mixing both dsmp and tcfsv together!! its really creative and i loved reading it so much!!

selcouth

[Criminal!Wilbur x Detective!Reader]

Warnings: Gun Violence, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 16.3k

Author's Notes: This might be something you guys remember from an old plan from my last blog. But I recycled it to make it cool and also poggers :)

Endless thanks to my beta team for sticking by and I hope you enjoy!

All of this is written in and is meant to be taken as the Dream SMP characters. There is no reference or inclusion of the streamers/Youtubers.

Summary: As the most well-known detective in the city of Esempee, you're assigned to track down the most dangerous mystery the police department has to offer. However, you may find that there's more to the criminal than what meets the eye.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

“He’s getting away!”

“Stop him!”

“Focus on defusing the bomb!”

“Evacuate the area!”

The man was sneaky, sticking to the shadows and evading any spots he could be exposed to. His breathless pants are labored, reeking of alcohol and the stench of cigars as he hustles down an alleyway, nearly falling on his face as he stumbles over his own feet. He can hear sirens shrieking through the streets.

Footsteps of people pass him by unknowingly and they descend into chaos. An unstable grin creeps onto his features as he dives to crouch behind a dumpster. They’d never catch him. Not when they’d be blown clean off the face of the earth in a bloody display of power.

He doesn’t expect the hand that grips him by the scruff of his collar, lobbing him out of his hiding place and onto the stone path of the alley. He yelps and scrambles for anything to defend himself but goes limp as a blunt force slams into the back of his skull and his vision blurs.

“The fuck?” he growls, struggling as his limbs go weak and he strains to pull himself to his knees.

It starts to rain as he’s hit again in the same spot and a body smothers him this time when he goes down, straddling the hips and handcuffing his wrists behind his back. It renders him about as useful as a flopping beached fish. Panic rises in his throat as he fights for consciousness, flailing for whatever freedom he could obtain.

“The bomb,” a voice rumbles into his ear, “how do we defuse it?”

“I don’t know!” he shouts to whoever’s out there, “please, I had nothing to do with it!”

“I have you immobilized, sir,” the voice spits, full of venom and impatience, “now you can tell me how to defuse the goddamn bomb or I can put a bullet into your head. Your choice.”

“The green wire!” he lies, hoping to stall long enough to run out the timer, “just let me go, please…!”

The rain grows heavier and there’s silence as fat wet drops sink into the man’s clothing, chilling him to the bone. He hears the sound of faint radio static.

“The blue,” the man registers the voice saying lowly. His eyes widened in realization. His plan! His beautifully crafted masterpiece! It would have all been for nothing if he let them continue like this!

“The green!” he yells again desperately, but this time, the blunt force trauma causes his vision to swim before blinking out completely.

You stare at the unmoving body as the rusted pipe falls from your hand, deducing that the man was completely out before swinging off of him and standing upright. The black radio in your palm crackles with the buggy signal from the rain.

“Suspect successfully apprehended in the alley by Twenty-first Street,” you report, keeping a close eye on the man, “has the bomb been defused?”

“Bomb successfully defused and sending backup to retrieve the suspect. Great work, detective.”

You sigh as the signal cuts out and you’re left with the rain that’s now being accompanied by rolls of thunder. The occasional lightning bolt sets the dark clouds in the sky aglow. It’s the perfect storm. Your head tilts upwards towards the rain as it pelts relentlessly at the surface of your skin. Perhaps you could be washed clean if you tried hard enough but, you knew it was all in vain.

No matter how much you tried to find peace of mind, there was always more work to be done, always more bad guys to catch. There was always blood on your hands and an unspoken rule that you carry the goddamn city of Esempee on your shoulders. It’s exhausting and sometimes you think you might be sick of it, but nobody else can fill in your spot. Nobody can even begin to scratch the surface of your skill.

Maybe it was a good thing since it guaranteed good pay and no threats to your position, but sometimes it did feel like a little bit of a curse.

As you soak in the raindrops with a sigh, you get the faint feeling in the recesses of your gut that someone is nearby, watching you closely with the intensity of a predator locating onto its prey.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

It’s so cold.

The sun isn’t even peeking over the horizon when you wake up, the windows dark and missing any hint of light pouring through. Beneath the piles of blankets, you’re reluctant to face the harsh chill that winter brought around these parts. It’ll seep through your clothes, dig beneath the muscle, and wrap around your bones until the heart itself is cold. Nonetheless, you have a job to do and the apartment doesn’t pay itself off just lying around.

The stars are still out when you step out into the chilly air, glistening in the black canvas of the sky. Your shoes tap against the cobblestone path, vaguely illuminated by yellowed streetlamps that still persist in the wake of dawn. Your shadow wobbles beneath your feet in time with the slight flickers of redstone light encapsulated in glass.

The streets are bare, devoid of any people at this hour, and for a fleeting moment in your ever-moving life, things are quiet. It’s peaceful, but the stillness hollows out your chest and floods it with a certain type of melancholy. Something like counting raindrops chasing each other down a windowpane or something like reminiscing on a past life.

It’s lonely.

There hasn’t been a single soul in this city that doesn’t know your name. The citizens revered you as a former experienced officer but even moreso for your skill as a proficient detective. The police department holds you in high regard, entrusting to you the most complicated cases that they had to offer and you’re proud to say there hasn’t been one you weren’t able to solve. Yet.

Most of the time, you merely patrol with colleagues to make sure that the people are safe. It’s a life of surprises and routine, something you’d never thought you’d have when you were a child and dreamed of making it half to where you were now. People respected you, put you on a pedestal to admire from afar.

Yet every day, you walk home alone, enter into an empty house alone, and fall asleep alone.

Huddling into your coat a bit more securely, you exhale gently and watch the puff of air curl from your lips before dissipating. It’s fucking freezing out here so you put some pep into your step and press onwards to the police department, watching carefully for any signs of life.

The cold metal handles of the glass doors bite at your skin when you pull them open. Already, the building is dotted with sleepy secretaries, officers, janitors, detectives, and the like. They all pop yawns, make coffee, and hold amicable conversations that barely top a mumble. It’s much different from the bustling activity it takes during the daytime hours when staff were moving in and out of everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Good morning,” Niki, one of the sweet secretaries that worked in your unit, greets with a kind smile, “I put some coffee on your desk all ready to go for the day.”

“You’re a saint,” you give her a grateful sigh and shuffle over to your desk. Paperwork is stacked neatly in a sizable pile that looks incredibly unenticing right about now. A job is a job, however, and you don't get a paycheck for pouting over some documents. Just as you go to sit, somebody appears in the doorway to your division.

“Detective, he has a new assignment for you.”

You blink, looking up to see that it’s George, your boss’s right-hand man and most trusted advisor. He’s always been on the more quiet side of things, but you don’t really mind. In fact, you’ve shared more than a few pleasant and respectable chats with him. However, he disappears as soon as you acknowledge the message.

The “he” in question could only be one person really, and he’s not very patient. The hallways are empty and unnaturally cold when you walk the route to your boss’s office.

He looks over the whole of the police department in general and is one of the most influential people in the city, but he was also the one who gave you cases to crack whenever the detective unit couldn’t do it themselves. You’ve never failed to break a single one. Your boss’s respect was hard-won but it was an achievement you hold close with pride.

You approach his door and give three solid knocks to the dark oak wood. A muffled, “Come in,” answers, and you slowly push your way in, the hinges creaking as you do so.

“Good morning, Dream,” you greet respectfully.

Dream sits at his desk, expression obscured by the porcelain mask that hides the entirety of his face, though the telltale manila folder in front of him is a clear sign of his intentions. You feel the pit of your stomach roll, a familiar feeling that comes with itching to get a glimpse of the papers inside.

“Detective,” he replies smoothly, “please, have a seat.”

You take a seat on one of the two chairs set before his polished dark oak desk, folding hands in your lap as you sit to attention. God knows how many times you’ve gone through this process, and you don’t expect this time around to be any different. Tension begins building in the air as you take a deep breath and brace for whatever he’s about to ask of you.

“As you know, I only assign you the most complicated and rigorous cases we have to offer. Your skill would be wasted otherwise, “ Dream begins, running a finger along the edge of the folder, “and I think it’s safe to say this will be your most dangerous one yet.”

Your eyebrows raise at the prospect. It’s a challenge. A test of your abilities.

“We’ve had a killer on the loose for far too long,” he says, the beady black eyes of his mask boring into you, “Tell me. Have you ever heard of the Siren?”

Just the name itself plants fear into your system. Not a citizen goes a day in their life not knowing you, but they also don’t go a day without knowing of the city’s ranked number one killer. All the police department had been able to figure out thus far was that he was a man skilled in the art of deception and trickery. His entrance into the criminal records had gone off with a bang, quite literally. One of the factions that made up the city had been blown to ash by his doing, leaving behind a gaping wound in the earth that only left a few buildings and citizens standing in the wake of its destruction.

In the aftermath, the police could not find any traces of the culprit. At most, they only found a tiny cramped room containing a wooden button that must have been linked to the TNT to carry out his plans. On the stone walls, there’d been words and phrases etched in coal and soot.

My L’Manberg.

He has not been captured in the years he’s been active, which in of itself is terrifying and fascinating all at once. Evading the police department was something that nobody else had managed to achieve and there’s no doubt he’d be on the receiving end of a lifetime in prison or even execution if the government really wanted to push it. But if Dream was bringing him up, that could only mean-

“You want me to track him,” you breathe, the wind getting knocked from your lungs as if you’d just been punched in the gut.

Dream holds up a finger. “Not just track him, detective. I want you to track him and put him behind bars for good.”

That’s...a lot of expectation. Surely you weren’t cut out for this sort of mission, especially one that involved such a dangerous individual capable of reducing a whole faction to just ash and dust. But, if you weren’t able to do it, then who would? This man’s been on the run for almost three years. You’d only been a beginning officer then, eyes wide and watery at the prospect of such a monstrosity of a crime, though over time, you’ve numbed yourself to it.

“I understand,” you give a firm nod.

“You know the drill.”

“All information pertaining to this case is strictly confidential and any leakage will have serious consequences,” you recite easily like it’s second nature to your tongue, “I pledge silence and that all records will not be known to anybody outside of the assigned persons, I pledge loyalty so that my actions are for the benefit of my community, and I pledge my life on the safety of the people for the betterment of mankind.”

Dream slides the folder to you.

There isn’t much to go off of if you were being honest. There was the obvious reason for his reputation, photos depicting black smoke billowing into the sky accompanied by fires that somehow persisted to burn even as it rained. There are minor crimes he is to be suspected of, silhouettes that are believed to be him, a few murders in which piles of soot are left behind, believed to be a calling card of sorts.

But, nothing threads together in the way you’re used to. Everything about his physicalities is practically unknown save for the fact that they estimated he’s around 6’5 and in his twenties. That fact gives you a chill down your spine. Someone that close to you in age killing so many innocent civilians all for what? Glory? Pain? Revenge?

You’ll just have to ask him yourself.

‘What’s your angle?’ you ponder, paging through his records. There’s not enough to determine it immediately and it’s exactly what you assumed it to be from the very beginning: a challenge.

“I believe you have work to do,” Dream’s statement pulls you from your thoughts and you blink out of your trance, “I want that son of a bitch brought to justice, detective.”

The aggressiveness that lies beneath his tone prods questions at your lips but you press them together firmly as to not let any disrespectful inquiries slip and settle for a simple, “Yes, sir.”

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand and you flee from the office, clutching the folder to your chest. Something swells in your sternum, a raging mix of excitement and anxiousness, but the feeling of pure unbridled fear trumps over it all. There's no telling what dangers lie in every shadow now or how many spotlights have just illuminated your figure, but you'll be damned if you can't see this case to the very end.

Even if it costs you your life.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Tonight will be the last night you patrol in your precinct before breaking away to take the necessary time to solve your case.

There's no telling how long you'd be working on it, but no matter the time frame you'd be missing from the department, it'd end the same as every one before it. You'd conduct your research, catch the bastard, and slip back into the office like you'd never left, a spare puzzle piece returning to complete the whole. The thought makes you sigh as you check your guns and polish off the spare knife in your back pocket.

A few people are milling about when you move out with your unit. They cast wary looks from your faces to the guns that sit tensely in the holsters on your hips but nonetheless give passive grins. They turn their children away by the shoulders, telling them to not look or pay attention so that the police could do their job of protecting the city. An hour passes and the sky has bruised, the brightest of stars weakly visible. All in the air is still and civilians have disappeared off the streets one by one until your group is the only thing that's left.

You don't like it.

The world stops wheeling.

A streetlight buzzes, its light wavering ever so slightly.

And a scream shatters the silence.

You burst off in a sprint, the rest of the officers trailing closely behind.

"Surround them," the lieutenant commands, "detective, take the confrontation. We'll close them off and give you time to apprehend them if you can. If you can't, signal us."

"Yes, sir," you push ahead, sliding behind a trash can as the rest of the bodies whoosh past you. The atmosphere feels like it's frozen in time and you can taste the silence on your tongue. Creeping out, you steady your breathing and emerge slowly. The road leads to an empty street, a stray newspaper being kicked up by the breeze and skirting down the road.

Taking your time, you slide the pistol from your hip and tighten your hands around it in a firm grip, minding not to rest your finger on the trigger to avoid an accidental shot. It's a form that'd been trained into you from way back in your academy days when the force of the gun's recoil shook your whole body.

Now, you approached an alleyway, cautious of what you'd find.

A figure is in the alley, completely smothered by a dark brown trench coat. It's hard to make out any details about them but it seems to be a man given his physicalities. Any other features are impossible to discern since the whole of him seems to be swallowed in the poor lighting and dark clothing. Whatever he was doing, his actions halted abruptly. You held your breath…and lurch forward when he tries to make an escape.

The man tries to flee up the metal ladder on the side of one of the buildings. A calculated shot from you has him falling to avoid the bullet that aimed for his neck. You note he has fast reflexes as he regains his stance abnormally quickly.

You aim and this time, the bullet digs itself into the metal of a garbage dump with an awful ring as he dives behind it. Your eyes scan the area. A prickling on the back of your neck has you turning and before you can fire, the weapon is knocked from your hand and skids down the pavement. You barely get to block before a fist collides with your eye. Fuck, you're not as good at hand to hand as you are with a ranged weapon.

You reach for your knife, but the wind gets forced out of your lungs when his foot pummels into your stomach. You reel backward, vision steadily clearing as he saunters closer. Your nose is clouded with the stench of the alleyway and the sweat that clings onto your skin, but a new scent now enters the ring.

It smells of gunpowder and death.

You duck with a gasp when he swings at you. You've faced off people with guns, but never someone with experienced melee combat like this. Finding some spare strength, you managed to slip by and buckle the back of his knees. It's a playground tactic, but apparently, it works when he stumbles and gives you a small window of time to land a swift kick to his backside. All it would take is one hit to a pressure point and he'd be out like a light.

For a moment, you think you may have gotten him.

It all goes down the drain when he catches you roughly by the throat in the blink of an eye. Your airflow cuts off abruptly and panic boils over in your chest at the sudden inability to breathe. He launches you into a brick wall, dust crumbling around your impact. Pain starts out dully before fluctuating into a wildfire throughout your whole head and you resist the urge to scream. A signal. You needed a signal-

He's suddenly filling your vision, a black gaiter hiding his nose and mouth along with the hood that covers his hair and shadows his eyes. He holds you down by the neck again and your eyes slip to the pocket knife that’s buried in the pocket of his coat. This is it. This will be your end.

You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the searing burn or any sign of a blade slicing through your flesh.

"Meet me at the L'Manberg bridge at midnight tomorrow."

What?

You open your eyes to find chocolate brown irises staring back at you. They flash in the moonlight and hold your attention so much that you almost forget he's spoken to you.

"Wh-"

"I'll only wait half an hour, detective," he rumbles in a voice that sounds like honey and sugar, "I'm not a very patient man."

And just like that, he's gone.

Oxygen floods through your lungs and you can see his form flitting over the rooftops like a shadow before disappearing. You feel lightheaded, your head throbs from where he had struck you, and your mouth is full with a metallic taste. It takes one hesitant touch to know that there's a bruise forming around your eye. Fuck.

You don’t know what to make of his cryptic invitation or if you should even accept it. Knowing most criminals, it was most definitely a trap, but then again...Perhaps you could get some information out of it. While it was strategically the best move, it was also the riskiest. You vaguely register the sound of the rest of your coworkers returning to your side and demanding to know what happened, but you tune them out with a simple wave of your hand.

You opt for looking up at the moon in the sky instead as if it could give you answers.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

It's nearly midnight when you begin.

You unveil your corkboard and flick on your small desk lamp that shines just bright enough to cover the surface of your desk but doesn't do much for the room in general. With a pen in hand, you flip open the folder and begin annotating whatever details you can find that are even remotely important. You record the body counts and what areas they were found in, separate the causes of death from autopsy reports into categories, circle and make notes on the days he struck, and more.

The days and times bore no correlation (meaning that the Siren did not have a set 'Oop 9 p.m., time to go commit murder!' scheduled time), and the areas the bodies source from are scattered between the multiple factions that make up the city from Las Nevadas to Kinoko. There have been just enough killings in between to pass off as normal, and perhaps even the right amount to fly beneath the other detective's noses.

You chew on your lip nervously when you can't find a pattern, eyebrows pinching closer together. There's no threads to be had, no place to pin him down to, almost seeming like he was doing this all for fun. However, while that may be a possibility, you don't think the guy was just playing around. He must have some sort of motive, a reason for the manslaughter and more importantly, for the L'Manberg tragedy.

You remember the ground vibrating as if being struck by an earthquake followed by the ear-splitting screams and cries. The sky turned black with how much smoke was in the air, tainted red like an angry storm ready to burst. Your naivety led you to be afraid, limbs shaking as you were swept away with the officers to assist the sudden influx of reports from L'Manberg. The faction controlled the weapons and their production. Undoubtedly, there was no question as to where the resources came from, but who was responsible was left unsaid. Those who dug too deep would never be heard from again.

You'll never forget the state of the place when the police arrived on the scene.

Mountains of rubble created dark landscapes, fire licking up whatever flammable items it could find. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, some charred and others bleeding out and twitching with the last remains of their life. Even through the mask you were provided, the smell of smoke weighed on your shoulders so heavily that you could collapse right then and there. And you had been the first to find the room.

A small insignificant pocket of space exposed from beneath the ground. One small innocent button surrounded by the lyrics of L'Manberg's national anthem. Just the flick of a finger had been enough to bring the entire place to its knees.

Now, the fallen faction was watched over by a grieving leader, Philza, and provided shelter to only a select few who couldn't bear to turn their backs on home. Snowchester now handles the war business and weapons. Finding the man responsible for the whole event was for the souls whose lives were brutally taken from them that day. That alone was more than enough motive for you to see this case through.

You think back to the alleyway criminal’s instructions.

It seemed like he knew...something. Perhaps he had knowledge that could help with Siren’s case and wished to tell it to you under the guise of the dark. Then again, a vague invitation to a landmark in the middle of the night was also suspicious as hell and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a mere plot to end your life before you could dig too deep. But what other choice did you have?

You had a duty and you pledged your life to carry it out no matter the risks.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Not a single soul would dare be outside right now.

For good reason too. You never know what lurks in the shadows or when you could be at the wrong place at the wrong time. The winter freeze is already intruding, attempting to break past your layer of jackets and nipping at your cheeks. A gust of wind whips through then quiets down as if beckoning you towards the bridge and checking to see if you were following. Obediently, you follow its current and push towards the edge of Esempee.

The way it's laid out is that there's a center, called the Greater Esempee, that's surrounded by water and bordered by a circle sectioned out into different factions. Every section connects back to the Greater Esempee by a bridge.

L'Manberg was one of the smaller factions but also one of the most important. A shame it fell into the wrong hands. Its bridge is located northwest of the center city, made of sturdy obsidian as a show of power. Whether too powerful or not powerful enough would be an internal debate you’d have to indulge in later.

You almost stop completely when you see that a figure is already there waiting. They don’t acknowledge your presence yet, arms folded on the side of the bridge as they lean against it and look down at the moving water below. Their head raises minimally when you dare step closer.

Your breath stutters, causing the puffs of air from your exhales to be uneven. The sinews in your body scream to run, only sensing danger in this whole scheme. Unfortunately, it’s too late to run now when the person knows you’re there already.

Stepping onto the bridge, the man shifts to stand up straight. The bitch was tall as fuck, but lanky. He wore the same brown trench coat that he wore other night and his eyes turn to meet yours. He wears no face covering now, features illuminated by the moon. Short curly brown hair sweeps just above one eye, round glasses balancing delicately on the bridge of his nose.

Objectively, he was handsome in his own way.

“Detective,” he greets, voice lilting sweetly that sets off over a hundred alarms in your head, “glad to see you took up my invite.”

“I have a suspicion I didn’t have much of a choice,” you reply as evenly as you can, shoving your hands into your pockets and keeping an eye on every move he makes.

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” the man grins easily as if you were just two friends passing each other on the street, “loosen up a little. I just wanted to have a little chat.”

“Depends on what about.”

“Let’s start at square one,” he waves a hand in the air, “my name’s Wilbur Soot. Ah - no need to get into specifics, detective. I know all about you.”

Your lips press together thinly. “That doesn’t give me any peace of mind.”

“Perhaps I could have used better wording,” Wilbur muses, “nobody in Esempee goes without knowing about you, you know.”

“I’m well aware,” you step a little closer, “what were you doing in that alley, Mr. Soot?”

“Just Wilbur’s fine,” he corrects mildly then turns and hops up onto the railing on the bridge easily.

Instinctively, you go tell him to knock it off or to be careful since any commoner would immediately lose their balance and be lost to the depths of the moat that surrounds Greater Esempee. Instead, he merely balances and begins pacing like it was the most natural thing for him to be doing.

“I was merely cleaning up some unfinished business,” he answers your aforementioned question easily, “nothing you have to worry your pretty little head about since I’m assuming you must be loaded with work already. Siren’s a pretty tough case to crack, huh?”

Your body turns colder than it already was.

“How did you-”

“Well,” Wilbur cuts you off, hopping down from the railing to land right in front of you, and your heart skips a beat just noticing how the bastard looms over your figure. His glasses slide a little down his nose as he leans a bit closer, like he’s about to tell you some foolish playground gossip. “I assume I should keep up to date on who’s hunting me down.”

Shit.

His expression has lost its friendly edge and has morphed into a displeased frown. Immediately, you take a step away from him and begin brainstorming on how you’d defend yourself if he chose to turn offensive.

You’d brought along a pistol, wrapped snug beneath your jacket and hidden out of plain sight but you have a feeling that having a ranged weapon in a close combat fight wouldn’t work out in your favor, especially when he’s already proven himself proficient in the form of fighting.

“Don’t think about it, detective,” he warns like he could read your mind, “I invited you here because I’d rather sort this situation out amicably than go on a wild manhunt. Dream’s particularly fond of those, you know.”

“You blew up L’Manberg,” you manage to say weakly.

“Sweetheart, it was my L’Manberg,” he says and laughs, bordering on a giggle full of mocking joy, “my unfinished symphony.”

He steps closer and you feel trapped. Running would do you no good in this predicament so all you could do was stand your ground and hope that you could make it home in one piece.

“Then what do you want from me?” you square your shoulders, trying to gain some semblance of intimidation back.

You swear, his eyes glittered at your inquiry. “Just a conversation or two is all. Get to know each other a little, maybe.”

You blink.

“Just let me take you out to dinner for a night,” Wilbur proposes, “my treat. In the meantime, try not to let any of the government dogs get to me, yeah?”

“This is incredibly dangerous, Wilbur,” you say in half warning and half reluctance. Despite every rational instinct telling you to book it out of there and report his name to the department, you still find something about him undeniably alluring. Perhaps that’s what’s been giving him the ability to avoid being caught after all this time.

“Danger’s my middle name,” he shrugs it off with an easy grin and extends a hand towards you, “so we agree on a truce for now?”

You look between him and his palm. On one hand, he could be genuine (which really wasn’t likely in your opinion) or he was pulling some sort of drawn-out trick where he could kill you now with no chance of witnesses (which was much more likely).

Even if it was the former, entangling yourself in an alliance with the fucker and risking the police department finding out might not even be worth it. But even then...You could always just explain your plan. Unfortunately, your best option might be to play into this little game of Wilbur’s.

You place your hand in his own fully envelopes yours, warmth pulsing from his body onto your skin at the contact

“Truce for now.”

The two of you shake on it and Wilbur grins as if he had just gotten you to sign a contract to sell your soul to him.

“You won’t regret it, detective,” he promises.

“I better not,” you snap, nearly yanking back your hand and stuffing it back into your pocket.

“You won’t,” he repeats and sighs dramatically, looking up at the moon, “I probably shouldn’t hold you more than I need to.”

“I guess not since,” you motion vaguely to him.

“Then I bid you the fondest of adieus until we have the fortune of meeting once more.”

“What are you, a fortune cookie?”

He does the almost-giggle again, throwing his head back causing brown curls to bounce playfully. He stumbles away from you, boots thunking against obsidian as he recomposes himself. Even from where you stand, you can see the light in his eyes.

“Goodnight, detective,” he smiles.

��Goodnight, Wilbur Soot.”

And before you know it, he’s disappeared as if he was never there to begin with and you’re walking through the streets back to the safety of your empty home.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

It's been nearly a week later and you still haven't seen the greasy bastard since you met him at the bridge.

You’ve preoccupied yourself with whatever work you can find, but Dream was already calling for a report on your findings on Si- Wilbur insofar. It was the first time anything like this happened in a case since suspects didn’t normally just...turn themselves in.

Even with all the time you’ve been given to think over your decisions and what Wilbur might be playing at, you still can’t come up with one coherent possibility. The guy was an enigma.

You have to remind yourself to take one problem at a time, choosing to deal with Dream first then go back to tediously attempting to crack Wilbur open. There’s no way of contacting the brunette so it was really on his terms when the two of you would meet next.

You’ve already planned on keeping your new acquaintance under wraps and not telling Dream is going to be the most dangerous chance you’ll take. As much as you respected him, you can’t risk him trying to involve himself in this.

The sun is already attempting to set when you knock on his door.

His office looks different with the fiery lighting spilling through the windows but his focus remains untainted, the painted smile on his mask frozen in depiction as he motions you toward the seat wordlessly. You sit and fiddle with the hem fabric of your shirt as you begin talking.

“You’ve given me a hard case,” is the first thing you say and Dream’s shoulders tense slightly, “Siren’s files do not link together in any way I can find so the most I can do is go down to L’Manberg and see what I can gather.”

“I can arrange for you to meet with Philza,” he offers but you know it’s less out of the kindness of his heart and moreso because he wants this thing to be solved already.

“I’ll do it myself when I think it best suits the time,” you deny politely because you’re perfectly capable of handling it yourself, “if Siren was an integral part to L’Manberg, it’s very likely that what remaining residents there are were somewhat close to him. And if that’s the case-”

“Then they’ll want to avoid leaking his identity,” Dream mumbles, following your line of reasoning, “That seems rational enough. You could always bring them in for a proper interrogation as well.”

“With all due respect, it’s better to take it slow with these sorts of cases. Trying to put them on the spot will only increase flight risks and more obstacles,” you say, thinking back to when a witness managed to off themselves to avoid being questioned.

“Then I’ll follow your lead.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The two of you discuss the plan a bit more, agreeing that poking around the fallen faction was your best bet. The sun is properly setting when Dream allows you to leave and a hefty sigh falls from your lips when you find yourself standing on the cobblestone pathway outside the police department.

It was going to be difficult, leading two lives at once with the option to betray one when the tides turned to whoever would be victorious. Waiting games were boring and painful, but it doesn’t seem like you have much of a say.

You’re about to head home when a sudden voice breaks out.

“I was wondering when you’d get done, detective. Honestly, I have no fucking clue how you can stand that guy, much less work for him.”

Your body goes rigid, words rolling over you as your thoughts beg for it not to be him. The world seems to be against you because the criminal is standing there with an easy smile playing on his lips when you gain enough courage to turn around. He looks good (seriously, what was up with this guy and being so annoyingly pretty?), one hand tucked into the pocket of his pants as he sidles closer.

“What the fuck are you doing out in public?” you hiss quietly, “aren’t you supposed to be undercover or some shit?”

“And hide my natural beauty from the world?” he chuckles, the sound rich and inviting, “relax, nobody’s entitled to my lore like you are.”

“Mhm. The eighth wonder of the world,” you huff, readjusting your jacket to wrap tighter around your form, “and I’m not entitled to anything.”

He laughs, but it’s not the giggling one. It’s softer, breaths of amusement escaping his lips. “Contrary to your belief, you are entitled to something, detective.”

“Which is?”

“I said I’d take you out for dinner, didn’t I?” he asks, mischief gleaming in his eyes beneath the lens of gold-rimmed glasses, “I thought it’d be a bit cruel to not follow up with that. I mean unless you have someone expecting you at home.”

Your lips press into a tight line, debating between running and staying. You have a feeling he wouldn’t do anything if you did decide to flee the situation - trust isn’t earned that way if that’s what he was aiming for - and it gives you whatever semblance of reassurance there was. Well, you weren’t in a hurry to get home and it’s been a hot minute since you actually sat down at a restaurant…

“I can go,” you assure him passively, ignoring the instinct to refuse, “where were you thinking of going?”

“There’s a nice place down in Kinoko,” Wilbur jabs a thumb in the direction of the faction, “I haven’t been there in forever.”

“Alright.”

He motions for you to follow. Together, you walk through the streets of Esempee side by side, opposites in regards to work intentions but oh so similar in solidarity. Occasionally a gust of wind blows and it sinks past your layered defenses, causing you to shiver until it passes. Wilbur gives you a side-eye for it but doesn’t press anything though he looks like he wants to say something.

“The lights are pretty,” you mention as an ice breaker, the streetlamps flickering on as the daylight sensors trigger them.

“Practical too,” Wilbur hums, “keeps all the monsters n’ shit out of Esempee’s borders so we have fewer casualties. I think it’s smart.”

You almost snort when he mentions casualties. It’s ironic, coming from the man who was the cause of so many.

“If only we could do something about the cold. Then it’d really be a utopia," you murmur, struggling not to chatter when another wind blows, "gosh, I haven't been to Kinoko in general for a while."

"They make the best food, objectively," he grins brightly like a kid being told they could get a toy at Targay.

"They better if you're taking me there," the corner of your mouth ticks upwards, testing a smile. You suppress it down, forcing a neutral expression.

The rest of the walk is mostly silent, but it's not suffocation or tense. Wilbur makes it incredibly easy to forget he's technically a war criminal, choosing to watch his exhales clouding the air rather than try to pressure you into talking. Not that it would need much pushing to get you to talk if he really wanted, but you get the suspicion he's merely respecting whatever unsaid boundaries there are. It was nice.

Kinoko's bridge is overgrowing with mushrooms, both brown and red. It's a reflection of the buildings that make up the area, soft and pliable fungi replacing hard red bricks. The faction was known for its peace and lack of crime, mostly because it was where all the nice people congregated. Just as you go to step onto the bridge, it begins to grow colder,

“Kinoko’s a bit chilly,” Wilbur hums, noticing your discomfort. “Not as bad as Snowchester, of course, but it still bends to the will of winter. Can’t wait for spring.”

“I’d like warmth,” you agree lightly, “freezing my ass off out here.”

“Then we should make haste,” he laughs, breath visible, “Let’s get some warmth and food in you, yeah?”

The walking pace is a bit quicker as he leads you through the streets almost as if it were second nature. It’s not as tense as you had expected it to be, which was surprising considering his background and that you only had his word to go off of. Damn the gods for making you so susceptible to charm, though you doubt you’d be the first. He is, after all, a criminal who is walking in broad daylight.

The restaurant is simple, a quaint thing but it still looks well-loved and formal with a large sign at the top that reads “Restaurant italien de Jack Manifold”. You can see customers in the windows, full of families and smiling friends alike who stay blissfully unaware of the threat waltzing through the front doors. Warm air rushes over you with a relief that feels so good that it hurts, and it has you rubbing your cheeks to loosen them up. The hostess smiles upon your entry.

“Just two?” she asks politely and Wilbur nods.

“Just two,” he clarifies, “And tell Jack Manifold that Wilby Scoot’s here if you could be so kind.”

Tell Jack Manifold that who’s here?

You look up at Wilbur, confusion that’s apparently clear riddling your face when he cackles. Teasingly, he taps the tip of his index to your nose and it automatically crinkles when he pulls away. He tells you not to worry about it. In the back of your head, you can’t let it go for some reason. How the hell does one’s name fall from Wilbur Soot to...Wilby Scoot?

Truly, a mystery of a man.

The hostess weaves through the walkways as she leads the two of you to a nice secluded area. With a chipper and practiced smile, she claims that your server will be right with you and disappears to let you get situated. The table isn’t that big in general, but it’s a well size for a party of two set with salt and pepper shakers, sweeteners, napkins, and a small candle encapsulated in glass. Wilbur pulls out your chair graciously and you thank him as you sit down.

“So what would you like to talk about, detective?” he asks once you’re settled, folding his hands and looking at you from beneath his lashes. Your stomach stirs.

There are probably a thousand things in the world you could have questioned him on looking back on it, but in the heat of the moment, you only manage to sputter out, “Wilby Scoot?”

He actually breaks at that, palm suddenly slamming down on the table as his head arcs back to laugh freely. It’s mesmerizing, and you fail to contain your own smile from his infectious fits of laughter. Peals of hilarity bubble one after another from his throat and it’s nearly difficult not to stare. His eyes are glowing with tears that he hastily wipes off as he comes down from his high, struggling to regain his composure.

“Always catching me off guard in some way,” he heaves for breaths, “sorry, sorry. I promise I’m taking you seriously.”

Wilbur almost cracks again when you simply raise a mocking skeptical eyebrow.

“Do you just have no shame in your body?” you tilt your head in the way that usually gets criminals squirming in their seats.

Ever the different breed, he barely bats an eye. “Didn't have it in the first place when my dad fucked a fridge to have me.”

It was like a slap to the face.

Honestly, who could blame you? Sure, hybrids existed in this world in weird and wacky ways, but never in your life would you think you’d meet somebody who was a product of a fucking refrigerator, especially one who seems so nonchalant about it.

“When your dad did what?” you stress, trying to make sure you’d heard him right. Surely-

“Good evening!” a waiter slides up next to your table with sparkling white teeth, a notepad, and a bottle of champagne in hand, “my name’s Jared, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. This is a gift from Mr. Manifold himself ‘for the young couple, especially the old man who needs it’.”

Wilbur scowls as the bottle is placed on the table, looking like he is already gaining a burning hatred for the server. Jared asks if he can start off with some drinks as he flashes a smile your way. You shift subtly before politely asking for some water. Hey, if you were going to be drinking even somewhat tonight, might as well balance it out. Wilbur follows your lead and seems to almost visibly relax when the waiter takes his leave.

“You’re not particularly fond of him,” you murmur as he pours you a glass of champagne. His shoulders have loosened, losing their previous tense state.

“I’m not. We don’t have many happy memories together,” Wilbur smiles bittersweetly, “but of course, Jack Manifold assigned him to our table since the bastard’s never one to pass up a chance of torturing me.”

You hum thoughtfully and pick up your glass, watching the bubbles float upwards with the liquid’s movement. Wilbur holds his cup towards you and your lips quirk up slightly. The rims touch with a satisfying clink.

“So,” you begin carefully, plucking up a menu and scanning the options, “is there anything you wanted to discuss specifically tonight, Wilby?”

“By all means, detective, tonight is about you,” he shoots back with a sharp grin, “Though I do hope you know that calling me Wil is fine too.”

“I’d rather drop dead,” you mumble, eyeing a pasta dish then saying louder, “are you just trying to get intel on me or something?”

He gasps dramatically, lips falling open in mock shock as his eyes widen. “I would never.”

“You’re making it really hard to believe.”

“Why?!”

You have to resist the urge to smile when he pouts childishly, slumping over in his chair and batting eyelashes. Your brain has to strictly remind yourself that he’s still a wanted criminal. Before you can shoot another comeback, a shout breaks the air.

“Wilbur Soot, my man!”

You blink, turning to see a bald man striding towards your table with red and blue glasses perched atop his head. The smug expression he wears lets you know he’s only here to cause chaos and judging by Wilbur’s exasperated sigh, he knows as well.

“Jack Manifold,” he greets, leaning back in his chair and raising an expectant brow.

“Oho, you've finally brought someone over! Wow, you've grown up so much,” Jack teases with a shit-eating grin as he grabs a nearby chair to sit.

“I’m older than you, Manifold.”

“Details.”

Jack looks over at you and after a moment of processing, you can tell he recognizes who’s sitting right in front of him. By the way his body language goes rigid, his enthusiasm takes a sudden drop, and his hands yank Wilbur close to harshly whisper in his ear, you have more than enough evidence that he knows your reputation.

“Dude,” the restaurant owner hisses in a poor attempt to speak quietly, “You know who that fucking is, right?”

“I’m well aware,” Wilbur replies with a frown. If you were a fool, you might have thought he was actually displeased. “That’s my friend.”

“Who said we were friends?” you butt in lightly.

The brunette’s eyes shoot up in surprise at your quip but relax as a smile curls on his lips.

“Always so witty and cold,” Wilbur sighs dramatically, “You’re going to break my heart.”

Jack Manifold stares at the exchange before slowly standing and returning his chair to the table it was previously at. “You’re an odd one, Wilbur,” he says plainly, “but I can work with this.”

“The fuck you mean ‘work with this’?” Wilbur’s brows furrow.

“Dude, you’re fucking hopeless without some help,” Jack snorts, “But if you wanna get with Esempee’s infamous detective then who am I to complain? You’ve got a shot.”

With a salute, Jack Manifold waltzes off with who-knows-what going on in his bald head.

Wilbur’s head falls into the palm of his hands as he groans loudly in shame. With his eyes covered and blind, you let yourself smile amusedly.

“Get whatever you want,” he mentions passively, “I’ll pay.”

“You are not,” you huff out, looking at how much every item on the menu alone costs, “this place is fucking expensive.”

Wilbur lets out a giggle at that.

That night, he steals the bill from right beneath your nose and dangles it tauntingly above your head. That night, he falls into step beside you on the cobblestone path and fills the void of silence with various topics from differentiating bird beaks to how he thinks that snow’s coming to more than just Snowchester. That night, he bids you goodbye right outside your complex with a charming smile and a wink, telling you not to miss him too terribly.

That night, it doesn’t feel as lonely when you close the door softly to the same old empty and dead quiet apartment.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You were making a visit today.

The weather was overcast, threatening to spill over with snow that would soon enough coat the ground. You can almost hear the children of the city tittering about how excited they were to have days off school to coordinate times to build snowmen and have snowball fights. You can’t remember the last time winter held such joy in your life.

Getting to the cemetery would be harder if you waited any longer.

Ironically, the graveyard was stationed in L’Manberg. They needed a place to bury all the bodies of the tragedy after all, and what could be more fitting than digging them down into the soil of their own beloved home?

When you arrive, there’s barely a soul in sight and the air grows shallow in the presence of the dead. Headstones inscribed with poetic epitaphs dot the browning grass in neat rows like they’d all been assigned to lay like sardines. The wind blows, ushering you in the direction of where your destination was in the first place like it was afraid you’d forget as to why you’d come. Unfortunately, you don’t think there’s any scenario in which you’d fail to visit.

Your parents’ graves lie next to each other, refusing to be separated in life and in death.

A numb feeling wraps around your bones and sinks in. You read their names over and over again like just chanting it enough could bring them back. Foolish fantasies died in your imagination long ago when you’d realized they would never be home again.

There’s no more sweet blueberry pancakes in the morning or reading in comfortable silence by the crackling fire in the living room. There’s no more homemade pies in summer afternoons. There’s no more comforting traditions but instead fading memories that you fight to keep. It was like pushing against a tide but their features were already blurring in your mind’s eye.

All good things must come to an end.

They had died in a factory explosion, bodies charred nearly beyond recognition. The first year of your job at the police department was the first year that you’d been forced to grow up too fast too quickly.

You’d eventually find that the explosion had been planned. In a fit of blind justice, you had brought the suspect to court and laid out the evidence for them to see until your parents could rest easy. It was your first case that proved you could be something more than a common officer.

Over the years, you’ve desensitized yourself to the horrors that came with your job. Instead of mourning, you live to make sure nobody had to go through something like you had. But, it seemed passion was never enough because not even a year later came the fall of L’Manberg.

Because of one particular man.

Your eyes slip shut as you let the emotions war in your chest. They’ve been doing that a lot as of late when you think of Wilbur, strung between protecting him and turning him in. All rationality gets thrown out the window when it came to Wilbur, but for your life, you can’t figure out why.

Perhaps it’s because he seemed so genuine (and if he wasn’t, he was pretty damn good at acting like he was) or maybe - maybe it was the way he walked you home after having dinner, talking to you like an equal rather than a glorified bloodhound seeking its next target.

It was the first time you had walked home with somebody in a long while.

Eventually, you’ll have to make a choice and already, you know it’s not going to be an easy one. For years, you’ve aspired to be in the state you are now in your career. Betraying Dream’s trust was a surefire way to lose it all. On the other hand, you’re not sure of the last time you’d felt so alive before Wilbur had wriggled his way into your life.

Giving him up would be burying your emotions down below bedrock, telling them to shush before they ruined everything.

In the end, it chalked up to two choices and one outcome.

Your head perks up upon hearing music, snapping your deep-rooted thoughts in half with the auditory distraction. It’s soft, the sounds of a guitar flooding the area and calming the chill of lingering dead people in the cemetery.

Craning your neck, you whirl around to try and find the source. It’s always silent here, so much so that it feels evil to have the notes cradling the air. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame, your feet begin moving to seek out the mystery musician.

Dried grass crunches underneath foot as you cast a wary look to the gray sky. It’s unclear if it would decide to break any soon, but it’s better than being caught in the rain where fat droplets came seemingly out of nowhere. You’re not even sure why you’re hunting down the tune in the first place. Seems like you’ve been making a lot of impulsive decisions as of late.

You’re almost not surprised when you finally locate where the music was coming from.

Wilbur Soot sits cross-legged beside a grave sculpted like a music disc, strumming expertly as he tunes his instrument. You stop, not exactly sure if you’re welcome. In scenarios such as this, you find that it could be personal, a secret not to be shown to prying eyes and nosy ears. So you turn to walk away.

“Stay for a bit, why don’t you, detective?”

Your movements stop and you turn, finding his eyes are already focused on you as he fiddled with one of the pegs. He blinks and pats a patch of grass in front of him invitingly.

“Who’s this?” you ask softly, making your way back over and reading the inscription on the stone.

Tommy Innit Craft - 20XX - 20XX

Beloved brother, friend, and chaotic little shit

“Just killed a woman! Feeling good!”

“My little brother,” Wilbur says quietly, lips pursing as he looks longingly at the gravestone, “I come down to play for him every once in a while since I know he’ll give me shit in the afterlife if I don’t.”

You nod, taking a seat a little way in front of him, and watch as he finishes up adjusting his strings. The body of the guitar is made of deep rich wood but still looks well-used and well-loved so it didn’t take rocket science to think of how much use it got. Wilbur’s fingers work the neck of his guitar as he warms up, years of experience bleeding through as he hums idly. The melody is lonely, the audio embodiment of solitude itself as the music notes fill the air and suffocate those who take them in. It’s nothing you’ve heard before and just the song itself causes a flush of sadness to boil in your heart.

“My brother loved when I played,” Wil murmurs almost incomprehensibly as his eyes screwed shut as if he could block out the pain, “didn’t matter if I messed up a note or had a voice crack while singing, he’d cheer me on like it was the best thing he’d ever heard in his life.”

Your jaw tightens, a frown pulling at the corners of your mouth that you know he would see from his position if his eyes were open. “I bet he would love to see you now.”

“He-” Wilbur’s words catch in his throat, a fortress of stone preventing his emotions from pouring out, “He would’ve shouted at me to play until he lost his voice and - and he would’ve teased us. Tommy would love you.”

For some reason, you think you’d love him too if he was alive.

“You miss him,” is all you can decide to say, and inwardly cringe because of fucking course he misses his little brother.

“So fucking much,” his whisper breaks, this time and he chokes back a sob. He’s reeling himself in, shying away from making a pathetic show of himself by crying. “I would crawl to hell and back if I could - if I could have him here again.”

His fingers have stopped strumming on the strings of his guitar. Instead, they remain locked into place hovering over them. His expression is one of torture, eyebrows creasing and pulling together with lips pinched to prevent any whines that might emerge.

In a split moment decision, you reach over and wrap your fingers around his.

Wilbur jolts as if the contact shocked him but immediately returns the grasp nonetheless. His hand is warm, a welcome change from the freezing cold from outside, brown eyes shining with unshed tears as he looks up at you. Confusion swims in those woody brown irises.

Right then and there, you make your choice.

“I’m here, Wil,” you declare gently, watching disbelief flicker across his features at the statement and nickname, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something inside him must have broken because his grasp on your hand grows tighter. Wilbur’s head bows and his shoulders shake as he begins to cry quietly, carefully, tactfully.

A broken man with a broken family lies before you, too shattered to be repaired with some duct tape and super glue. But at the very least, you could help pick up the pieces and treasure whatever could be salvaged.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You start seeing him more after that.

Whether it be out in the town or conveniently waiting outside your apartment building, Wilbur begins weaving himself into the threads of your everyday life. In the mornings, he asks what you’re up to today and then if he can come with.

Once, you’d jokingly asked him if he ever had anything better to do with his time only to receive an amused hum in response. Honestly, his company wasn’t terrible and it sated the growing ache of loneliness for the time being. So you weren’t one to complain.

One day, you find him on your apartment balcony reclining on one of the chairs like he owned the place. You’re not particularly angry, just caught off-guard. His expression is settled into deep thought, frozen in a slightly displeased frown. Whatever was bothering him was enough to come to your home for solace so the least you could do is let the poor guy in.

Unlocking the glass doors, you swing one open with a slight creak and raise an eyebrow as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Soot,” you greet, “may I ask why you’re sitting on my balcony looking like a kicked puppy?”

“I do not,” he huffs without any actual malice in his tone, “I was actually waiting on my very rude host.”

“Maybe I would have been a bit better if I knew you were coming,” you shoot back, opening the door wider, “get in here before you catch a cold.”

He doesn’t waste any time and you almost gasp at the chill he lets in. How long had he been sitting out there?

Wilbur politely goes to set up his trenchcoat on the coat rack as you hurry to get some tea running on the stove.

“Be a dear and load the fire, will you?” you call, sifting through tea options, “Don’t burn yourself. I’m almost out of first aid kit stuff.”

“Just for that, I’m sticking my whole head in!” he shouts back and you roll your eyes, smiling. The sound of firewood follows not long after, flame splitting the wood and fueling itself to burn brighter and longer.

When you re-emerge from the kitchen, you find he’s staring around your living room in wonder and bewilderment. You remember he’s never been in your living space before and join his side in whatever he’s looking at.

There was a small picture frame that depicts a younger you in a past life, ready for your first day at the police department. Your grin is so wide that it splits your features in a way that hurts to look at as you hold a joy that’s been lost somewhere among the murder cases and patrollings. Behind the camera would have been your parents.

“You’ve changed,” he says quietly. It wasn’t a statement or an assumption. It was a simple fact.

“Don’t we all?” you reply, trying to think of a time that you would feel that much joy again, “people change.”

“Like the tides in the ocean,” Wilbur muses, finally turning to look down at you, “but I think I like you perfectly the way you are now.”

Your lips part for a witty comeback but instead are left bare. You seal them and mutely nod, looking back at the photograph with a faint wisp of nostalgia. Sometimes, it felt suffocating to live in the present but with another person finally by your side in the dull apartment, it felt like the pain alleviated, even if only for a moment.

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” you invite, shifting away to go check on the tea, “I’m only a holler away.”

The water’s boiling when you reach it and you begin going through the steady motions of preparing the beverages until there's two steaming mugs in your hands. Wilbur waits patiently in the living room, expression complicated once more like he's trying to figure out some murder mystery.

"You look like you're about to implode," you comment, reaching out a mug for him to take which he does gratefully.

"Shut the fuck up," he says, but there's no bite or sting to his words, "I was just thinking."

"About?"

He sighs, staring into the liquid of his cup. "I want you to meet my dad."

You almost drop your mug.

"You - Your dad? As in like the male contributor of birth-giving?"

"That's what a father is," Wilbur chuckles, "of course, there's no rush or anything, but I do think you'll get along nicely with him."

The prospect of meeting Wilbur's dad of all people is terrifying. Did he know about his son's escapades or was he completely blind to them? Was it worth making a good first impression or would his opinion immediately be destroyed the moment he recognized you? He must be somebody great if he could manage Wil as a child. You can't imagine being able to stand that.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," you say slowly, "but what if he knows who I am?"

"I can explain it," he says easily, "he's not one to judge. Especially not with…" Wilbur motions to himself.

"Okay," you take a deep breath and blow it out, "Yeah, I’ll go meet him.”

Wilbur immediately brightens, a grin splitting his lips and his eyes shine. Your breath hitches abruptly, hoping that this wasn't a mistake.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

L'Manberg hasn't changed.

Unfortunately, that's not very positive since it means a majority of the faction is still in ruins. The lethal pieces of debris have been removed but the large chunks of toppled buildings still remain in the streets. It houses homeless people seeking shelter and orphan children who rely on scraps to survive.

Philza does his best to provide what he can and the people adore him for it. In a time where it seemed that leaders didn't care for their citizens, Phil managed to turn that sentiment around and did it with a smile. It's almost hard to believe his son is the one that would bring destruction to the very place he loved. It's even harder to believe that they're on good terms.

Crows dot the entirety of the space, cawing to each other and watching you and Wilbur pick through the streets.

"You know, they say that the birds showed up at the explosion," Wil says casually, "because of all the death. It attracted them all."

"Well, that's a good omen."

"Definitely."

The cabin Phil lived in was sizable, able to hold a whole family. It seemed so out of place in the middle of L'Manberg, kept in good condition. Nerves decide to buzz in the pit of your stomach as you approach the home. Your hands itch for something to hold onto, to ground yourself but they grasp helplessly in the air.

That is until Wilbur quells them with a simple squeeze of his own.

"It's alright," he soothes, halting in walking as he turns fully toward you, "you've faced merciless killers head-on before and this is what scares you?"

"But what if he doesn't like me?" You mumble, eyes finding the ground as your jaw tightens. It feels childish asking the question out loud.

The hand not holding your hand comes up to gently nudge your chin until you're maintaining eye contact with him. His chocolate brown irises swirl with emotion, unreadable but vibrant all the same.

"He'll love you," Wilbur stresses, "I'd be appalled if he doesn't."

"People find it easy not to," the answer slips out so easily and it has his eyebrows knitting together.

Wil's hands slide up your arms, gently coercing you into a hug that gives you an option to opt-out if you wish. But, you don't. In fact, you melt into the touch as he embraces you. How long has it been since someone held you like this? How long has it been since you felt safe wrapped up in someone's arms? Simultaneously, you had become the safest and the most endangered person in the city.

"It's alright," he says just loud enough for you to hear, lips moving against the crown of your head, "I've got you."

I've got you.

It's a promise people make too many times and break all the same. You don't feel obligated to hug back, but you get the sneaking suspicion he gets the idea when you lean into him.

He holds your hand when he eventually breaks away and knocks on the door. The wood swings open, revealing a blond man with shoulder-length hair pulled into a low ponytail with sparkling blue eyes. Philza perks up with a bright greeting, opening the door wider for you to enter.

The inside is cozy, the fireplace crackling amicably as the door closes behind you.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Wilbur says, sweeping his arm out to what you presume is the living room.

"Our humble abode," Phil corrects, patting his son's shoulder as his gaze focuses on you, "It's so lovely to meet the person who's got my son down bad. Wil won't shut up about you, mate."

Your eyebrows shoot up and your neck almost breaks to look at Wilbur. Crimson rapidly flushes his cheeks, neck, and ears as he glares at his father who blinks innocently. Seeing your dumbfounded shock and his son's embarrassment makes it easy to see his mistake.

"Oh shit," Phil snickers before laughing. You can see where Wilbur gets his almost-giggle from. "You didn't tell - I see."

"My illusion of confidence," Wilbur mourns, shoving his face into the palms of his hands, "father, why must you forsake me?"

"You didn't tell me you didn't seal the deal yet!"

Were you supposed to even be here for this conversation?

"Let me talk to my dad one real quick," Wilbur says abruptly, seizing Phil's wrist, "Look at all the family photos over there while I have a chat and we'll be right back."

"O...kay?"

He reaches over and squeezes your shoulder, flashes a reassuring smile, and yanks Phil into the next room. Despite the closed door, he speaks loud enough that you can hear his muffled distress.

"Mate, this is not how you score a significant other."

"Uh-huh. Rich coming from the guy who just needed to hit mom's water dispenser to get her wet."

You decide it's better to just tune them out.

The mantle over the fireplace is crowded with family photos just as Wilbur had mentioned. You can spot younger versions of him in a few, but one catches your eye.

He's in a blue uniform alongside a blonde boy who sports the same wear. Blue eyes that match Phil's gleam with life and he's looking at younger Wilbur with the expression of a younger sibling seeking validation. Connecting two and two, you deduce that this must be Tommy, the boy buried in the graveyard that connected you and Wilbur in a way.

The next picture has three people in it. Wilbur, Tommy, and a man you've never seen or heard Wil mention. Long pink hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, dark eyes dull as he frowns deadpan at the camera. Even through the picture, you can sense the discomfort rolling off him in waves judging by the way his lips pull downward.

"That's my older brother," Wilbur breaks your trance and you flinch away from him from the surprise, "sorry."

"It's okay," you regain your composure, looking back at the photo, "He doesn't look related to you at all. No offense."

"He was always our stranger brother," Wilbur clicks his tongue and moves closer beside you, "We were close when we were young but then Tommy came along. Needed someone to take care of him so I took on the responsibility so I didn't see Tech so much after that. He's off in Hypixel right now."

"The fighting city?" You ask incredulously.

"Yep. He sends home a letter every now and then with a medal for Phil to add to the growing collection."

"Oh."

“Don't sweat it," he reassures after seeing your troubled expression, "It's old history. My mother passed away soon after Tommy was born if you were wondering."

Your eyes drift to what must have been a family portrait. A woman with dark hair and dark eyes like Wilbur sat with a bundle of baby Tommy in her arms. Phil stood to her right and Techno on her left, leaving a young Wilbur to sit cross-legged at her feet. They all smile politely for the camera (even Techno seems to be more lenient with the mother there).

“Where did Phil go?” you ask absentmindedly, hoping to steer the conversation away from dead mothers and missing brothers.

“Went to go make some tea,” he replies, “hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” you look up to give him an easy smile, “then we can just be alone together for now...I’m sorry for your family.”

“It’s alright,” he breathes, “I haven’t been lonely with you around.”

His confession yanks at your chest, pulling your heartstrings to him like a grand puppeteer. “You won’t have to be lonely ever again.”

Wilbur’s expression turns in on itself like he’s internally debating something. The silent pause mindlessly gravitates you to him, peering into his eyes like you can unravel this enigma of a man. His breath faintly fans your face as butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach and his solid dark oak irises lid.

Addicting.

Your lungs fill with air as your brain steels for...something. You can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension of his body nearing yours until-

“Kids! I made a salad!”

A shock zaps in the air and shatters the fragile atmosphere. Wilbur’s heat is torn away as he nearly scrambles to the other side of the room, and you blink while trying to fight off the flood of heat that rushes to your cheeks. Phil rounds the corner, a large metal bowl in his hands with, as he said, salad.

What the fuck.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Things escalate since then.

Wilbur hangs around your place more, choosing to knock on the door like a sensible person rather than magically appearing on your balcony. The snow outside melts and eases up to make way for spring. The weather warms up and so do your emotions.

You weren’t stupid.

You’re already past the initial question of why the criminal made you feel the way you did. There’s no denying the flutter that erupts in your chest when he looks at you or the way you’re so terribly attentive to everything he does.

Wilbur Soot had grown irresistible to you. Somehow, this fucking charming horrible charismatic bastard had wormed his way past your defenses and found a place inside the cardiac muscle that beats solidly in your ribcage.

This poses quite a few problems.

For one, he’s a murderer who’s quite literally killed a whole faction simply because he couldn’t have it all. There’s nothing more conflicting than letting him trace patterns on your skin while knowing that the blood of multiple civilians coats those very fingers. You were instructed to capture him for that very reason. It was for the safety of the people that he be locked away.

But when he makes songs about you, takes you to Tommy’s grave and introduces you as if the boy were there right in front of you instead of six feet underground, lingers his touches like he doesn’t want to let go, it’s hard to stop yourself from falling.

It’s less falling and more plummeting.

It’s so blatantly apparent when he finds you in your kitchen, calling out to you and watching as you respond to his actions like a natural law.

"I think you were lonely, detective," he murmurs, breath ghosting on the back of your neck as he draws closer.

Your muscles coil at his alluring tone, alarmed and ready to spring into action instinctively, but you hold back. Strung between fleeing or melting into his presence, you stand your ground and draw in a shaky breath. "What makes you think that?"

Wil's body looms over your own, fingers nudging the back of your hand before they're threading with your own. His lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers, "Maybe it's because I'm an observant man." His other hand finds itself on your waist, the pad of his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin. "But only for you."

To anybody else, those words might have struck fear into their bones until they fainted from the pressure. Unfortunately for you, the killer's sweet words only dig deep into your heart to make it race under their hold.

It takes everything in you not to break.

You also find out that Wilbur’s particularly favorable towards physical touch. The springtime brings a reason to not need to be so close to each other, but it doesn’t seem to faze him when he begins to basically live at your apartment.

Just friends, you remind yourself as his hand stays on your hip while cooking. Just friends, you insist when he wraps himself around you on the couch as you read. Just friends, you weakly lie when he seems so close to closing the distance between your parted lips.

Just friends, you think just for the sake of thinking when he kisses your temple absentmindedly one morning when he was nearly dead asleep on his feet.

Nothing is said about it. He doesn’t bring it up and you don’t object.

It’s one evening when he’s got you in his hold that things take another spin in your confusing friendship. Your legs are tangled together and he’s got you held protectively to his chest, running fingers through your hair as he simmers in his own thoughts.

“When Tommy passed,” he begins softly, twisting a strand around his index, “Technoblade left immediately to take his rage out in a way that would bring him honor, and Phil shut himself away to mourn the death of his son. I was alone with nothing but an empty shell of a room next to mine and a nation that lost a leader. A boy soldier who just wanted to be free.”

You play with the hem of his sweater (a warm shade of yellow that suited him well) and nod slightly to let him know you were listening. Grief soaked into his every word and it took everything in you to not try and desperately wring it all out.

“Dream took back L’Manberg in his iron fist, rendering Tommy’s sacrifice for nothing. My best friend, my baby brother died for his ideals that would never come to fruition,” Wilbur sighed, slumping into your touch, “I could never lead without him by my side. I couldn’t bear to live in the place that snatched the light from his eyes, that cruelly stole his life with no reward to gain from it. So I got rid of it.”

You can imagine him, flames licking at buildings as debris crashed to the ground around him in his sorrow. A violent display of his wrath, his sadness, his mourning for a boy who only wanted the best for their people. It all clicks into place.

Wilbur Soot was an enigma.

His actions were horrid, unforgivable, but now, at least you could understand why.

“Sometimes I see him in my dreams,” he admits, voice breaking like the day you swore loyalty to him by the boy’s grave, “he’s standing with our mum with the biggest grin on his face and flowers decorate his hair with the vibrant colors of the rainbow. Then he’d point to me excitedly before it all melts away and I’m met with this horrible world. This shithole that only has one good thing left for me.”

“What’s that?” you murmur gently and his hand pauses its rhythm in your hair.

“You, of course,” he answers, hushed like it’s a secret between the two of you, “you’re the only thing the world has to offer that keeps me grounded.”

“Wilbur.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” you breathe out, trying to manage the blood rushing through your ears and the heart that kicks insistently at your chest. Instead, you curl into his warm sweater and bask in his presence, trying to be the foundation he so desperately needed.

After all, he might be the only thing keeping you here too.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

“All officers on deck, now!”

Commotion explodes in the police department as people fling aside their paperwork, hustling on belts and protective wear and weapons. You’re doing the same but completely blind on the premise as to why. It must be a total emergency if all the officers were called to arm and amass at once with no reason other than the command. This hadn’t happened since…

Since L’Manberg.

Through the chaos, you find Dream who’s directing people to lead groups and discussing tactics. You yank him aside and demand to know what’s going on.

“We found him,” is all he says, showing no emotion behind it, “Siren. We found him thanks to the work you managed to piece together.”

Your blood turns to ice and a faint ringing begins clashing in your ears.

“You led him to us, detective,” Dream says and you can finally hear the curling smile forming behind that stupid mask, “and you’ll be rewarded for it.”

You’ll be rewarded loneliness and isolation. You’d be given money and you’ll never feel Wilbur’s warmth or see his kind smiles or hear his rambles in his delicately rich voice again. You’ll visit Tommy’s grave without his brother, you’ll wake up alone in your apartment, you resume your mindless cycle of days at the police department.

Dream turns away and you run.

You’re assigned a team but it barely registers in your head as you move out. Something’s pulling you down, down, down. An anchor to the bottom of an endless sea with nothing but the big blue sea for miles around and water filling your lungs until they’ve pushed out all the oxygen.

They all congregate to L’Manberg with the intent to corner him. You push yourself up to the frontlines walking in line with those who lead the chase. Sirens wail in your ears as citizens clear out of the road to let the makeshift militia by without a complaint.

You cross the obsidian bridge, the very same one that you agreed to meet him at that fateful night, and clench your jaw so hard that it hurts. Tears blur in your eyes as you draw closer and closer to your destination, hating that the reawakening of your emotions has caused this wretched swirling wave of nausea.

‘Not him,’ you think desperately as every step echoes around you, ‘anybody but him.’

He’s in an alleyway, completely trapped and it’s sickeningly reminiscent of when you first met him, first spoke to him, first sealed your fate to let your lives intertwine.

“Turn around, hands up,” Dream commands, drawing his gun and keeping it trained on the man in front of him, “you will surrender without resistance. All attempts at escape will result in being forcefully restrained.”

Wilbur doesn’t even flinch.

He slowly turns, staring hollowly at Dream with a cold gaze. His irises flick then jump to you, gaze softening ever so slightly before resuming back to the masked man. His lips turn down in a frown and you realize that somewhere amongst all the warmth and the honeyed words, you’d forgotten just how intimidating he could be when angered.

“And what about it, Dream?” Wilbur finally challenges, “gonna just trap me in the prison for the rest of my days? Or will you -”

“Enough,” Dream snaps, annoyance seeping into his tone.

Wilbur ignores him. “Or will you kill me right here? You know-”

“Do not.”

“You’re so pathetic,” Wil sneers, fully facing the crowd at the mouth of the alley, “you must think you’re the hero in the grand scheme of things, don’t you? All high and mighty and shit, yeah? Get off your fucking high horse, Dream.”

“Wilbur,” Dream spits out the name, venomous and splitting at the seams with rage.

All the air leaves your lungs as your eyes widen. He’d known all along? Sent you on a wild goose chase when he knew exactly what face, what name, what person he was looking for?

“You wanna explain how you know my name so well?” Wilbur taunts, stepping forward.

Dream takes a minuscule step back.

“You wanna explain how you killed my Tommy in cold blood?”

The world holds its breath. A terrible truth. A condemning fate.

“Do you want to tell them,” Wilbur’s shouting now, echoing off the brick walls, “how you killed my little brother with a bullet from that very same pistol you’re turning against me now?! When we asked for a meeting to solve our issues amicably, you declined!”

“He was a threat to the peace of Esempee-”

“HE WAS A CHILD!”

The silence that followed was overloaded with emotions that clouded the air and suffocated everybody with tension. Wilbur’s expression was thunderous, truly enraged with Dream’s attempts at saving his image.

You weren’t doing too well yourself, knowing that Dream killed the sunshine boy that Wilbur spoke so highly of, told you stories about, made you love like your own little brother. The boy that his older brother destroyed everything they made for when he passed. The boy whose grave you sat in front of as you made your decision.

“I hope XD sends you to hell,” Wilbur spits, “I hope you’re forced to relive the day you shot Tommy in the heart and sealed L’Manberg’s fate.”

“ENOUGH!”

The sound of the gunshot's fire explodes through the air.

The ringing lingers in your ears as everything wheels too slow and too fast.

Wilbur reels back and falls, hands hovering over a patch on his now blood-soaked sweater. No cry emits from him, mouth dropped open in a silent scream. His glasses slide off of his nose and crack on the pavement below.

He might not make a noise but you certainly do.

His name claws out of your throat as you tear away from the crowd, feet pounding the pavement before the weakness causes you to stumble. Your knees explode in pain but you couldn’t care less, hands reaching up to cradle his face, begging, begging, begging.

“Wil,” you croak, eyes finally dripping those unshed tears as the damn breaks and the emotions burst free, “Wilbur, Wilbur, please.”

Your criminal, your enemy, your musician, your love.

Your Wilbur is bleeding out on the ground and holding onto you like a lifeline.

"My y/n," he manages to wheeze out weakly in reply, and the weight of his words falls onto your back. He looks at you like you're everything he's lived for.

My L'Manberg. My Tommy. My y/n.

You shake your head, blinking through tears as his figure wobbles through your vision. Some droplets fall onto his own skin as you silently beg him to stay alive.

A commotion rises up behind you, shouting words and screams of surprise, but you don’t care.

“I love you,” Wilbur whispers, and a sob causes your body to jerk.

The alleyway suddenly blinks out of existence in a flurry of purple particles and hands are suddenly tugging you away, gently coaxing your death grip off him.

“Let us take care of him,” a voice urges softly, breaking through your storm of emotions, “we can save him, but you have to let go”

You finally relent at that, letting your grip slip away as the world goes dark.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

A knock sounds at the door, but you can barely have the energy to respond to it.

Regardless, the hinges creek anyway and Phil walks in, a bowl of something steaming in his hands. He looks at you to the bed where his son lies, but he ultimately focuses on your form hunched over on the chair beside it.

“Hi, mate,” he greets gently, walking closer and setting the bowl on the nightstand, “how’s he doing?”

“Hasn’t moved,” you report like clockwork. They come in, they ask, they receive the same answer every time.

Apparently, you had been teleported out of that alleyway. The faction leader of Snowchester had a husband, Ranboo, who was an enderman hybrid. He was a part of The Syndicate, a group of which Phil was a part of, alongside Technoblade, and Niki.

The last member surprised you.

Niki, the sweet secretary that always seemed to know just how to be the staple in everyone’s day, was associated with the man who destroyed her original home. She had saved his life, extracting the bullet and treating the wound so that he had a good chance of surviving.

She did everything she could and now, all you could do was wait.

“You should eat,” Phil urges gently, tapping the rim of the bowl, “even if a little bit. You know he’d hate to see you like this.”

“I’ll just end up throwing it up.”

“Hence why I got you soup. Light on the stomach.”

You sigh, looking up at Wilbur’s sleeping form on the bed. His breathing has evened out, which was good, but it does little to quell the endless wave of worrying you’d been doing ever since they let you come in to see him.

The Syndicate had brought the two of you to their base set outside of the Esempee borders, a barren land covered in snow they called the Antarctic Empire. Techno was already there and it’s the first time you’d met him in person. Not many words were exchanged between the two of you, but he did stop by the room once.

“He’ll make it through,” Techno had said, ruby-red eyes glinting with a fierce fire, “that bastard’s more stubborn than Tommy when he wanted gapples. And if he knew you were waiting for him? I’m like a hundred and ten percent sure he’d force himself to wake up just to make you happy.”

“How do you know that?” you'd asked and he laughed. It miraculously lightened the mood rather than dampened it.

“He wrote to me about you,” Techno folded his arms, an amused smile crossing his face, “he was so determined to impress you somehow, asking for advice on how to talk to a ‘theoretical detective who may or may not have been assigned to hunt him down’.”

And you laughed at that, albeit weakly, but it was a laugh nonetheless. Laughter seemed rare nowadays, sitting by Wilbur and keeping a constant eye on him.

Phil pats your shoulder, encouraging you to try and eat one more time before walking out and shutting the door with a soft click. Against all odds, you pick up the bowl of his stupid fucking soup and take a tiny sip of the broth.

“You know, you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” you begin out loud, slowly eating, “it’s almost summer. I thought we’d be spending it together, but not like this.”

You’d wanted to take him to the berry patch your parents had taken you to once when you were little. There was a family pie recipe you haven’t had in ages and wanted to try making with the harvested fruits, imagining he’d make the crust while you handled the filling. He’d “accidentally” get flour on you and you’d respond in kind by smearing berry juice onto him.

All happy smiles and giggles to fill the air.

“When I met you, you were the smuggest motherfucker I’ve ever met,” you let your lips tilt upward at the memory, “fucking beat the shit out of me then gave me some sort of cryptid place to meet before running off into the night. And then, you started infiltrating my life until you secured a place right here.”

You motioned to your chest, heart beating steadily like it always was supposed to.

“You’re a bitch,” you chuckle quietly, “making me fall in love like the asshole you are. If it’s any consolation, I’m glad it was you out of everyone in that XD forsaken city. If I’m being honest, I thought if I was ever gonna be in love, it’d be all wrapped up in politics where I’d have to worry about whose lives I endangered just by having emotions. But, you never cared about things like that.”

A warm sweater, a caring touch. Sweet words whispered in the dead of night, a song with lyrics that were full of inside jokes. Making tea together, falling asleep in a mess of tangled limbs. A fire crackling in the middle of winter, the sun coming out after a cold winter day.

“I love you, Wilbur Soot,” you say and it feels like a weight slips off your shoulders. Tension is finally free after all this time. A crystal clear truth. An undeniable statement. Finding a way home.

You sit in the feeling for a little bit, setting the bowl of soup on the nightstand so you don’t have to worry about spilling. You close your eyes.

And words touch your ears.

“Well, it’d be a shame if you didn’t love me after everything I’ve done.”

Your head snaps up and you see brown eyes watching you tiredly, but open and there nonetheless. Wilbur smiles when you make eye contact and your body moves from the seat immediately without even thinking. Carefully, oh so carefully, you hover over him and reach up to cradle his jaw in the palms of your hands.

Warmth, warmth, warmth.

Tears prick your eyes as Wilbur’s grin widens, moving his own hands to cover yours.

“Hi, love,” he murmurs and you let out a disbelieving laugh, allowing the tears to cascade at last. His thumb moves to wipe them away, pulling you closer as his hickory curls press against your forehead.

“Hi,” you weakly say back.

And all he needs to do is gently nudge you before he gently pulls you further down, the space closing.

He kisses you, fitting against your lips like two puzzle pieces always meant to be together. You shudder in his grasp, but he holds you steady even now. A spark erupts in your chest, knowing that this is the ending that you’d been unknowingly waiting for. This is what all those lingering touches, those warm smiles, those lilted tones led up to.

Wilbur gently breathes out through his nose when you part like he’d been holding his breath.

He urges you to lay down beside him, mumbling something about how he just wants you here with him at that moment. The Syndicate could wait until later when his social battery was more charged. For now, you curl into his side in a way that won’t hurt him and sigh contentedly.

“I love you,” you say again for good measure.

“I love you too,” he replies easily, naturally.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

“Dada!”

Your child squirms in your arms and you laugh, setting her down so that she can run into the kitchen where Wilbur is and shifting the basket in your hand to the other. He turns around at the call, a grin splitting his features as he bends down to catch her and scoop her up into his arms, twirling around to make her squeal and giggle at the sensation.

The sight sends a rush of butterflies straight through your stomach as he catches sight of you watching from the doorway.

He motions you over with a crook of his finger, and how could you resist that?

He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips that makes your daughter shriek in disgust, wiggling to be free of her father’s grasp. Quick as a flash, she runs up the stairs to her room in a fit of laughter.

You smile in the direction she disappeared to, looking back up at Wilbur whose got a fond gaze that just screams of nothing but pure unfiltered love. You can’t resist tugging the tall fucker down for another kiss.

“Did you have a good time, love?” he asks when you pull away, and you nod brightly.

“We got a lot,” you lift up the basket in your hands, full of a multitude of berries, “so we’ll be eating well.”

“We always do,” Wil rolls his eyes playfully and sneaks a peck onto your temple, “we should start if we’re gonna get it all done in time for the others.”

You agree, rolling up your sleeves and the two of you remove your wedding bands from your left ring fingers so they won’t get caught up. You carry the jewelry pieces up to your room to put in the jewelry box, knocking on your daughter’s door gently and peeking in.

“Grandpa, Uncle Techno, Niki, and the Beloveds are coming over tonight,” you notify her from where she’s sitting on the floor with her toys. She immediately brightens upon hearing this, cheering loudly and you laugh at her antics, closing the door softly.

Once you deposit the rings into the jewelry box on your dresser, you make your way back downstairs where Wilbur has cleared the kitchen.

He makes the crust, “accidentally” getting flour on your shoulder.

You make the filling, responding in kind by smearing berry juice onto his cheek.

Your faces are split into happy smiles and giggles fill the air.

Warmth.

[lillyspeakz]

hcs on how the bursonas would react to getting/giving oral? :3

Yes yes and yes!

This is female anatomy… I’m sorry :((

-

L’manbur:

-giving: he loves when you ride his face, loves holding you against him by your thighs as you crush his face with your thighs. He loves making you ride his fingers whenever you need him during the day and he’s busy, curling his fingers and thumbing at your clit as you bit into the fabric of his shirt.

-receiving: oml- when you slide under the table during meetings and suck him off, making it hard for him speak and stay focused without letting out a moan. Also loves when you jerk him off, your soft, sweet hands rubbing against his swollen tip and playing with him. Loves when you look intimidated at first and then get confident in your actions, whispering praises and some degrading comments to him.

Pogtopiabur:

- giving: he doesn’t really give you anything, other than the occasional fingering every once in a while whenever he’s too busy to fuck you. He cares more about saving his nation at this point then giving you the pleasure you crave. But when he does end up fingering, he does it in plain sight in the caves, where anyone can and has walked in on Wilbur fingering you or fucking you roughly. He made it known to everyone that you were off limits, even if he didn’t act like it.

- receiving: oh babe, your throat will hurt. He doesn’t want a pity hand job, he wants to fuck your throat until you have drool and cum spilling out of your mouth and coating your throat. He will force your head down and make you take all of him, wanting to feel your throat tight around his cock as you gag and cry for him to stop. But until you tap his thigh, he’s not stopping.

Ghostbur:

-giving: he’s very gentle with you, very hesitant even after he’s done this like thousands of times already. He places sweet kisses on your thighs and stomach, gently rubbing your skin as he finally makes his way down to your clit and places gentle kisses and sucks lightly at the bundle of nerve. His soft touches and soft attacks he leaves on your core, makes your legs shake from the sweet touches you weren’t quite used to from him.

-receiving: he isn’t a big receiver, doesn’t think it’s necessary. He just want to make you feel good and make sure you feel satisfied from it all. Yet, when he does finally allow himself to receive, my man turns into a whiney boy. Feels your mouth around him? Bucking as deep into your throat as he can, apologizing as he heard you gag, yet hips never stopping. Your soft hand around his hard cock? Wants to feel you around him right at the moment. Your hand doesn’t do your sweet, tight hole justice and he whines and moans about how he’ll feel much better inside you then out.

Revivebur:

-giving: oh this man holds you down. Your hips won’t leave the bed once and if they do, you are not going to finish that night. Wil likes to be in control, so when you try to make him go faster or tongue fuck you, he’s not going to take it lightly. Smacking your thighs or ass as he bites as your hip bone, calling you a desperate slut who can’t wait a couple minutes for more. So I advise you, maybe keep your hips down for rev.

-receiving: no mercy. Maybe. Depends on how he feels. If it was a good day with quackity and Tom wasn’t being insufferable, he would let you set the pace yet his hand would still be on your head, making sure you were making him feel good and not you. But if it was a really bad day and he comes home late? Oh I will be praying for yo ur voice the next morning. He will just use your that like a flashlight, no matter what position your in, he will make it work. He doesn’t like handjobs but will receive them if they’re apart of a quickie situation

Simpbur:

-giving: he’s messy. You will be dripping all over his mouth and he won’t stop until he wants too. You just taste so good and he finally has you underneath him, he’s not giving you time to breathe in between orgasms. Loves to tongue fuck you. Why use his fingers when he can use his mouth….

- receiving: WHINEY BITCH ALERT! Cannot stop bucking his hips into your mouth, loving the way it feels around him. You eventually have to hold his hips down and degrade him for being a needy whore. Loves hand jobs! Loves making eye contact with you as you whisper little praises and degrade him for being so whiney. Loves the random make out sessions you guys have when he’s about to cum, moans spilling into your mouth.

Incelbur:

-giving: he will take you to a different dimension. His goal is for you to feel good, only caring about you and how you finish. Wanting you to intense from the stressful day or week and just feel good at his account. He’s really cocky when it comes to eating you out, knowing he’s good at it. But when he fingers you? He’s relentless. Curling his fingers as he hits your g-spot, smirking against your mouth as you let out gasp and small moans, wanting more than anything for you to cum on his fingers and call him yours.

-receiving: like Ghostbur, he isn’t big on receiving. He doesn’t care for it. Doesn’t really like blowjobs because he doesn’t want you to hurt your throat and just thinks being inside you is better. But on the occasion you do, he likes to take it slow, savory the feeling of your warm throat taking his cock (he’s big), getting lost at the feeling. Now he doesn’t like hand jobs…. But thigh fucking you is a MUST! Loves your plush thighs and how they make a perfect flesh light for him to fuck into you, eventually painting you with his cum.

Ghost!wilbur:

-giving: oh my baby. He’s so sweet, yet he gets pussy drink fast, so don’t expect to leave the bed anytime soon. You can have cum 5 times already, drool pooling on the pillow, and wils still going at it, tongue flicking your clit and moving down to your entrance to grab the rest of the cum that he left. Loves how messy it gets, not having done this in forever- actually he’s never really done this. All the girls he’s had only wanting him to fuck them…. So let’s just say he enjoys it.

-receiving: will ask for a blowjob everyday if he can’t fuck you. He’s been deprived for almost 30 years, give him a break. He loves the stimulation, he loves the pleasure, and he loves how it’s at the hands of you. Only you who can make him feel the way he does. And he is a bucker, but not as bad as simp. So sometimes he’ll get too much, prompting you to holding his hips down as he whines.

Phantombur: (can you tell I love my ghost wil)

-giving: lowkey- phantombur gives off asexual vibes so. He does like to finger you, thinks it’s simple and plus he can go invisible to do it if he feels like you’ll be caught. He also goes invisible to tease you…. All the time. He does love to eat you out… loves your moans and your pleads for him to let you cum. Breath heavy as you thrust your hips up closer to his mouth, whiney as he hummed in disappointment against your mouth.

receiving: again, he isn’t a big sex person. But when he does want something, he prefers a hand job. He loves the simplicity of it, loves to kiss you randomly when he knows he’ll be too loud. The little praises you let out when he’s been so good and he gets to cum. Oh he’s a whore for that. If I knew any better I’d call him a sub.

[dsmp-enthusiast]

Imagine:

YANDERE SBI

+ Sibling!reader

It's only the characters, not the content creators!

Like I said in my yandere benchtrio post, Tommy will definetly try to guilt trip you but not as much when you're his sibling.

He'll just annoy you into doing what he wants most of the time.

And I can see Tommy bringing you into his chaotic habits, Philza does not approve most times tho so you gotta stay sneaky.(or Tommy will annoy you the next weeks and cling to you, no matter what.)

Tommy probably doesn't even know how wrong his obsession is, if someone tells him he'll just ignore it and try to forget it.

I can imagine that Philza wants you to belive nothing is wrong, trying to manipulate you into thinking that's normal in a family, but he doesn't want to overdo it.

Philza wants you to stay with the family, he wants you to accept him and your siblings, but he doesn't want any of them to get too obsessed since he knows it wouldn't end well for anyone.

He's self aware, he doesn't want anything bad to happen.

While Philza is self aware and tries to calm his obsession and your brother's obsession, Techno is also aware but he just distances himself from you once he realized what's happening.

He just wants to keep you save, that's what he'll tell himself when he thinks of you and his protectiveness, he knows when to stop.

Or he hopes he knows when he's hould stop.

Techno knows this family is fucked up, he doesn't really do anything to calm the situation nor does he try to feed into the obsession.

He'll try to keep distance from you, try.

But Techno eventually will fail, either because of the voices or because Philza is worried you'll think one of your brothers hate you, or both.

Techno would know it's wrong, but as long as you listen to him and the others, he doesn't have to take any dramatic measures.

There is a high chance Wilbur knows what he does is wrong, depending on the time we're in, but he straight up ignores it, he doesn't care as long as you stay near.

Wilbur probably also will become quite moody when you're not near, but will calm down once he sees you again.

He's only one to actually hurt you, not badly tho, if you're trying to get away once realizing the situation, the others will also judge him and probably take you from him as punishment when he lashes out.

Sorry if I misspelled anything, I accidentally cut part of my finger and it hurts to typne rn.

[toiletwipes]

(i promise you) i will | clinic!wilbur

~1k words. / heyyyy this is all @drop-of-void doing. a little gift for them. and a little gift for you. thank you @sleeby-anon for proofreading <33 [siren trips into your home and makes the switch to be wilbur and lies in your bed, waiting for you to come home. he needs you, desperately. 18+, oral (with him receiving)]

He had slipped in through the window, no doubt covered in bruises all over his torso and he hissed as he took off his Siren clothes- the trench coat, the blue sweater, the voice modulator and the fucking blindfold- and stuffing them under your bed and slipping under the covers. You still didn't know and… it's not that he didn't think you'd understand. Plus, this, being tired and sleepy after a long day, you understand the feeling well.

You'd understand and you wouldn’t kick him out. You always told him to make himself at home, hell, he had a key.

(Whether or not you'd ask for the key back once you find out is another altogether that keeps him from sleeping at night, what keeps him from telling you.)

Not to mention that you'd be home soon too. He's so tired, he shivers in the cold blankets as he waits for you. Aching for your warm touch and attention.

Sure enough, when he woke up, you were sitting on the side of the bed, smoothing his hair out of his face. Smiling down at him. "Was wondering when you'd show up, you up for dinner?" And he shakes his head, unable to form words under the sleepy spell he was under, lifting the blankets so you'd get in. Thankfully you got the hint and he heard the tell-tale sound of shoes hitting the floor before the dip in the bed deepened, warmth spreading over him as your arm draped over his waist. The touch alone at his waist, especially with his shirt riding up so you were touching skin- it sent goosebumps to his arms.

"Wilbur, you're freezing." He sighs in soft hums, not even realizing how close he'd gotten, how he shoved his leg between yours and his face was in the crook of your neck. You're so fucking warm, how was he supposed to just let go and sleep on one side of the bed? By himself? Criminal. "It was that bad?" Flashes of the day behind his closed eyes had him curling around you tighter.

"Do you want to just sleep orrr..?" You trailed off, your fingers come up to tug at his hair and he couldn't help the shiver when you tugged a little too hard.

He didn't say anything about how hard he'd gotten after that, just let you hum as you ran your fingers through his hair, sorting out the tangles. He wanted to be inside of you but his insides were all gooey and he didn't want to move but god he is hard and you are so warm.

It was an accident, moving your hips and legs so that way your front was pressed against his erection. You stifled a laugh while he groaned. "Want me to take care of that for you?" And he didn't say no but he also didn't want to say anything. He wanted you, completely, though.

He nods.

You hum as you untangle yourself from him and telling him to stay up there, to use the safe word if he doesn't want it anymore and then you disappeared under the covers. It was getting warmer by the second but you paid it no mind, pushing his shirt up enough so you could kiss the hair trailing down his stomach. You could feel his cock twitch against your chest and his tummy trembled under your lips.

You kiss him all the way down to the band of his sweatpants, pulling it down to fish his cock out. Hot and heavy in your hand, you press a kiss to his shaft, getting to work in coating it with your spit. You're grateful Wilbur's especially sensitive now, his little gasps and whines make your own stomach burn with need.

At some point, you move to take his head in your mouth, sucking on it as your tongue covers the slit over and over and tasting the bitter pre. You could feel his hand covering his mouth, fishing the sheets and you couldn't go without hearing your boy. So while you took his hand into yours and guiding it to your head, you decided to sink your mouth even lower, hollowing your cheeks. You can feel his breathing heavy under you, can feel the vibration in his covered moans. You can feel him begging without speaking at all.

You come off of him, moving the sheets off of your head and seeing your boy red-faced and looking well and truly gone, his freed hand covering his mouth. You swing your legs over his, straddling him as you continue to stroke him. "Baby, I need you to tell me what you need."

His eyes squeezed shut as you tighten your fist around his cock, picking up the slow pace.

"Need- need you." You hum, slowing down again.

"I'm right here, baby, what do you need from me?"

He couldn't say it immediately so you let go of his cock, letting it smack against his stomach and shirt all wet. You lean down and kiss his temple, "Tell me what you need from me, d you want me to suck you off, want me to… fuck you, or something else?"

(He's so tired but with you so close, and he's so hard, he needs you so bad.) Coming out scratchy and soft, he begs for you to suck him again. You nod, sliding down his body and keeping eye contact when you pull his cock back into your mouth. His hand shakes as he reaches for your head, trying to bite down his moans and failing as you take him farther and farther into your mouth, swallowing around the head of his cock.

He cries your name, repeatedly as you work your hand around what you can't suck, taking your time as you listen to him beg. It's incoherent babbling and whining and it's so hot, it makes you squeeze your thighs together.

A little after your jaw begins hurting, his hips start twitching and your name falls faster off his lips and he tries to get you off but you sink your mouth further and further till your nose is pressed against his pubes. You blink past the tears and swallow again and again, moaning with him as he starts to jerk under you. And then his cock jerks inside of your mouth before spurting his come down your throat. You swallow as much as you can. And even after that, you wanted to keep him in your mouth a bit but with his hand patting your head, you came off. His cheeks, thoroughly red, and his eyes barely open to see you, he welcomes your kiss greedily, soaking in the attention you give him.

"Did so well, love. You did so good for me." You praise him, dusting his cheeks with feather-light brushes of your fingertips, watching himself close his eyes and try to bring you down. You giggle under your breath, "gonna clean you up and then we can sleep for a bit. Then we need to eat after." He nods and sinks further into your bed. It makes your heart swell as you get up and head to the bathroom. Taking care of him- you love doing it. You love him.

And yes, you saw the bruises under his shirt, it scares you. Deeply. You want to know who is hurting him and it kills you not to ask but you trust that whenever he's ready, he'll tell you. You trust him.

[heartofwritiing]

NO BECAUSE LULLAH BEING BORN ON L’MANBERGS INDEPENDENCE DAY IS SO CUTEE I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF READING THIS!

our young nation

wilbur soot x gn! reader (note: pronouns are gn but reader is afab)

TWs: WAR, DEPICTIONS OF WOUNDS, BIRTH, PREGNANCY, ONE LINE ABT PERIODS, TALKS OF ILLNESS, MENTIONS OF DYING, SEMI-REALISTIC APPROACH TO WAR

word count: 10.7k

note: this has not been edited at all. i dont know a lot about war, but i do know hamilton and mockingjay, so. theres that. there's a playlist for this fic as well if you want to listen to what i listened to (also if this formats weirdly lmk and ill post it on ao3). have fun reading :) title is taken from dear theodosia from hamilton fic playlist

taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @core-queen / @zooone / @melunnek

Doing new things was never easy. There were always some hiccups, some strifes, some things that just kept new things from working out just as perfectly as you’d hoped. Not all these hiccups were bad per se, but they were there. Occam’s razor be damned, sometimes things are harder than they are easier. 

Those hiccups might be the death of one Wilbur Soot. Mostly because, in this case, the things occurring lean far more toward the “strife” category than the “hiccup” category. 

Literally. 

The newness of his formed country was refreshing, L’Manburg was already growing to become a beautiful nation, just from the camaraderie seen within its walls. But the beauty of their forming country was contrasted by the growing issues of war and hardships afflicting his citizens. 

So yes, war was hard. New things were hard, but they were often necessary and they often brought new, better things. 

And then, of course, there was the flickering candle light in the middle of the destitute tunnel that categorized war: Love. 

You weren’t originally planning to be involved in the war at all. When Wilbur had come to your door, asking about volunteering for the war, you’d politely turned him down. You made it very clear how much you supported the war efforts, and how, though you couldn’t fight, you’d be willing to help out the war efforts in any way you could. 

Wilbur gave you a charming smile and let you know that your support was greatly appreciated. 

Which was how you became his aid. For the leader of the rebellion, he was rather disorganized, in a literal sense, seen in the numerous papers and half-finished rations littering his desk, as well as a figurative sense, with the desk becoming a mirror image of his own mind. You helped clear the scatter, in both senses. When he’d pass out writing his pages and pages on new injustices committed by the Greater SMP, you’d be there to save his place and clear the desk. 

Eventually, you were able to do far more than just clear the desk; you were able to clear his mind. 

It started in conversations, when he’d ask questions aloud to himself without realizing you were in the room. 

“… and the infractions pushed upon us by the members of the Greater SMP have found my people destitute, destroyed, and… deprived? No, not deprived-“

“Disregarded?” You spoke up from your place standing next to him, where you’d been carefully sorting through old unfinished drafts of his own works. 

“Disregarded?” He looked up at you, giving you a flash of a smile, “Do you feel disregarded by the Greater SMP, Y/N?” 

You flushed a bit under his gaze. You hadn’t actually meant to offer the word, but it had slipped out before you could stop it, “Yes.”

His smile underwent a simple change, one you’d noticed after observing his speeches and public appearances. His smile went from congressional — purely political and for show — to harboring a sense of community. It was the smile he used when he asked for volunteers. It was the smile he used when he asked people for their grievances. It was the smile he used when he listened to his citizens. It was a smile that could make you feel safe, make you feel heard. “How so? In what ways do you feel disregarded by the Greater SMP, Y/N?” He asked. It was subtle, the way he tried to say people’s names as often as possible when he spoke to them. There was something in it you recognized; a urge to get the person on your good side and the need to be liked. 

You honestly couldn’t place the words that escaped you next. You had never been particularly political, but there was something about Wilbur Soot that demanded elegance and intelligence, and you felt yourself falling into line with easy compliance. 

“Well, I feel disregarded in the way they command us. They have hurt our people numerous times without giving a second thought, yet they praise kindness and claim to want a peaceful end to this fighting. I feel disregarded in the fact that they claim to understand us, yet they have never spoken to me, let alone the majority of our citizens. I feel disregarded because they don’t even know my name, yet they have burned down my land. I feel disregarded because they refuse to listen to our grievances,” you took a breath as you continued, setting down the pages you’d been shuffling through. “I feel disregarded because even before the war, they did not respect us. I feel disregarded in the ways that they would bring us into their conflicts while they sat there. And most of all, I feel disregarded in the ways they have hurt my people without a care in the world, as if our lives do not matter.”

There was a moment of silence when you’d finished, and you looked back to see the leader of the rebellion giving you a look that you had never seen before upon his face: adoration. His smile fell into something softer, one that you’d seen only in short bursts, reserved for quiet moments Wilbur shared with himself in dark nights alone when he’d finished a piece he was proud of. 

“Well, then,” he smiled at you genuinely, and it was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen. “Disregarded, it is.”

From there, you went from being his aid to his advisor, helping him hone his perfectly crafted speeches. You helped clear his mind. His air of regality as leader of the rebellion kept people from feeling comfortable reaching him, yet you shared none of that sense of bravado. You didn’t want to. People came to you, told you about how they felt as citizens, and it was the biggest help to Wilbur, who no longer felt like he was grasping at straws to make sure his citizens were being heard. 

Throughout it all, the best thing you offered Wilbur was not your mind, but rather your company. 

There were a lot of long nights that Wilbur was used to braving alone, and yet now, you were there to provide him companionship and cure the thoughts that plagued his mind about the future of the war. Wilbur loved watching your mind work on these nights. He would throw up a question into the air, something simple and philosophical, and he would watch as you’d chip away at the question and his subsequent arguments to your own positions. In any other case, it’d have been annoying, but for the both of you, it was akin to mental exercises, a game the two of you shared to keep sharp. It made for a kind distraction over the sounds of silence that plagued empty battlefields still wet with blood. 

These nights were also some of the only nights you’d be able to get Wilbur to take care of himself. Usually, it was after a glass of wine softened him up enough for you to convince him to finish his rations. He had a habit of leaving half, just in case someone else needed something, and he’d been hungrier before so he was sure he could brave it. These were the nights when he’d finally let his wounds show. 

Every battle, regardless of how bad off he was, he would hide any wounds that he couldn’t personally classify as fatal. And he would continue hiding them until they faded, though they never fully did. He always cared so much about appearances, how he needed to look pristine and confident to keep morales high. 

But he didn’t care about that with you. With you, he cared about wit and vulnerability, despite the two having always fallen on opposite doorsteps in his persona. So he’d take off his uniform, leaving him in a simple white undershirt and the slightly baggy black pants he wore underneath. It was the biggest form of physical vulnerability he’d allowed himself in years, and you never overstepped. You’d ignore the bruises and scars littering his arms and faintly poking out from the collar of his undershirt. 

But veiled ignorance could only last so long, and your own care for the man overtook any sense of social conventions. 

“Wilbur,” you looked at him abruptly. You’d been sharing a bottle of wine like you often ended up doing these nights that neither of you could sleep. With each sip, you feel your mind grow anxious at what you’d noticed. Right when he’d taken this uniform shirt off, you quickly noticed the slash in his bicep, crusted with blood and dirt. And while you planned to ignore it like usual, usually he’d at least have cleaned the wound before, and you couldn’t ignore how clearly unattended this wound was. “Did you visit the medic after today’s battle?” 

Wilbur snorted into his glass of wine as he took another sip, “No. No, I did not.” 

“Why?” 

“Because,” he started simply, “they had far more pressing matters.” 

You didn’t see the battles. You’d be on the sidelines, with prepared speeches for Wilbur to give in case of any major developments. You always had to be ready, but it came at the consequence of never knowing what truly happened on the battlefield. Wilbur never liked to recount it either, only sharing essential information to save you from hearing about the ways your people were injured. 

But tonight, you wanted to know. His safety was something that concerned you, and if it was so bad that he would threaten his safety, you needed to know. “What was it like today?” You asked quietly, standing as you spoke. 

He watched you as you flitted around the room, pacing the floorboards languidly. “I told you. We lost, but we were able to leave a-“

“No, I know what you told me. ‘The battle was lost, but there were effects put into motion that will be able to help us in the long run.’ I know that. I meant- the- the other stuff, those ‘more pressing matters’ that the nurses had. Stuff like that.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word ‘casualties’ so casually, as if it was not one of your neighbor’s lives your were pushing into a single word. 

He frowned, “I don’t- I really don’t think-“

“Tell me, Wilbur. I need to know.” 

Wilbur sighed slowly, nodding, “Everyone was injured. Some of us less so than others. It… it was Eret. Eret betrayed us, so they knew where we were, they knew we’d be unprepared. It’s better that it’s now, so early in the war, that the traitor is gone now, but… it was at a heavy expense. All of my friends, the ones I dragged into this, they- some of them are still there, in the infirmary. Tubbo nearly died. He-“ Wilbur took in a breath, shuddering, “They said he’ll be okay, but if he was hit any higher, they would’ve punctured his rib, and we would’ve lost him. And- I- We almost lost my brother. Tommy, he-“ there were tears in Wilbur’s eyes as he recounted it, “he took a knife straight to the shoulder. For me. He pushed me out of the way. And it was so close, if he’d been a second earlier, it would’ve gone through his heart.” Wilbur was crying now. It was the first time you’d seen him this vulnerable, this affected by what he’d seen. The horrors that plagued his vision every time he’d close his eyes, yet he closes his eyes now, as he speaks, as if he would find some epiphany lying behind them and not the images of his brother and his brother’s best friend clinging to life. 

“I- I couldn’t visit the medic after that. For this?” He gestured to the slash on his arm, “It felt unworthy of their attention when so many had nearly lost it all.” 

He was still crying, his eyes pressed tightly together as if doing so would click some button to erase the memories of what he’d seen on the battlefield. You moved forward, pressing his head into your stomach and wrapping your arms around him gently. He cried against you, soft and shuddering as if his body was still afraid to acknowledge or speak about what he’d seen. 

“I- I watched someone die. Someone on our side, I-“ he sobbed softly, “I held him as his breathing faded. His last words, he-“ Wilbur buried his face further against you, “He told me ‘Wilbur, make it worth it. If this is it for me, do not let it be in vain. Free our country and win.’” Wilbur panted quietly as he let the final words of a fellow solider fade into the quiet of the night. “I just- I can’t let him down. I let a man die for my cause. His blood is on my hands. And Y/N… it doesn’t look good right now. I know I said Eret’s betrayal is good for the future since the traitor is gone, but I- I don’t know what he knows. He could guide them back here tomorrow and slaughter us all in our sleep. So I- I don’t know what to do. I can’t let our people down, they- they didn’t ask for this. I keep- I keep wondering if I just should’ve kept quiet. If we could’ve been happy just living under SMP’s rule.” His admission did not escape him easily, echos of gasping sobs filling the room as he clung onto the fabric of your shirt. Neither of you spoke at first, letting his tears slow to a near stop in order to help him preserve the fragility of his mind. 

“Wilbur,” you spoke softly once you felt the moment was right, “No one was happy before. You cannot fault yourself for giving us a chance. I know you feel responsible for the bloodshed, and I know how it makes you feel like you’re clinging onto some shadow of death that follows you. But if you were the only one who wanted freedom for our country, there would be no rebellion. You’d just be another man standing on the end of a street, searching for someone to listen to you. We support this cause because we not only believe in the importance of our freedom, but because we believe in you, Wilbur. We cannot have our leader be made a martyr because where would that leave us? This cause would fall apart without you. And I know you are afraid, but we are all afraid. You are allowed to be afraid of uncertainty. Your people are putting their lives on the line’s because the believe the end, even their ends, will justify the means. You cannot consider falling back onto your fears now. I’m so sorry for what you saw. I know how horrifying it must’ve been. But that man let you hold him as he died, you brought him comfort in those final moments because you promised a better future for his family, his people. You have inspired people, Wilbur. You inspired me. You took a single thought, an idea, and you turned it into something real, something tangible, a cause that we not only believe in, but one that we fight for, and we will continue to fight for.” You let out a soft sigh, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, “Wilbur, I know you feel like the world is crumbling around you because of how scary everything is right now. But you are not alone. If your world is crumbling, it is crumbling for me too?” you sighed once more, “this is all just a long winded way for me to ask, Wilbur, please, will you let me patch your wound?” 

He didn’t reply to any specific part of your response, just giving a curt nod and lowering his arms. You both knew that you didn’t just mean the wound on his arm, but that you were attempting to reach out and help him patch the rifts in his mind. 

You grabbed the spare first aid kit, returning to your place in front of him as you set down the kit.

“It’s really not that bad,” he sighed, and you rolled your eyes.

“Wilbur, I have always trusted your judgement for everything, but I think we have finally found the exception,” you chuckled softly, gently taking his arm in your hands to inspect the wound. It definitely wasn’t a pretty sight, but it could certainly be worse.

“Really? This marks the exception? Not the hundreds of times I’ve asked you if something sounds right or if people would agree with something I’ve said?”

You nodded, taking a cotton ball and soaking it in alcohol, “Yep, this is it. Uncertainty is not having bad judgement, it’s just the acknowledgement that you can’t do things alone. Which is true, none of us can.” You smiled lightly, pressing the cotton to his arm to clean the wound. 

He hissed softly in pain as you cleaned the wound, speaking only once you’d finished, “I can’t,” he spoke quietly. “I can’t do things alone. I’m very grateful to have you.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you reached for a salve to spread onto his wound. “I’m grateful as well. You keep me stable with all this craziness going on.” 

He watched as you opened the salve, getting a generous amount onto your fingers to lightly spread over the slash, “I can say the same. I would’ve fallen into disarray by now without you.” 

Your flush darkened, and you started to wrap his arm quietly. You didn’t speak until you’d finished wrapping his arm completely. 

“There,” you spoke softly, tying off the bandage, “Now, you won’t get an infection and fall ill. Goodness knows we don’t have the medicine for preventable illness anyways,” you chuckled, trying to make light of things.

Wilbur smiled as well, but he seemed a bit further in thought. You grabbed the kit once more and went to return it to it’s place, but Wilbur’s hand wrapped lightly around your wrist and kept you from turning. 

“Wilbur?” you asked softly.

“I-” he had a flush on his cheek, and there was a beat of waiting before he finally looked up at you. He had a look filled with adoration and appreciation. But there was something else in his gaze, something softer. More warm. Something you would come to know as love. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly, his thumb lightly caressing where it rested on your wrist. 

You had to refrain from gaping at him as you processed his question. You had always found the rebel attractive, but you’d never considered the legitimacy of pursuing a relationship with a man who seemed far out of your league. With bated breath you nodded, and he leaned up to pull you into him.

The kiss felt far more gentle than it should have. For all the desperation and wanting that lived within it, the kiss was soft and slow, familiarizing one another with each crack in our lips. It didn’t develop further, there was no rapid increasing of intensity, the kiss remained as gentle as the glow from the candles around the room until you pulled away slowly. 

You both stared at one another for a long moment, attempting to memorize each freckle and blemish that adored war-torn faces. He was the one to speak up first.

“Y/N? Would you stay with me? Just for tonight?” 

You nodded your agreement, and you both shared a mutual understanding in the lie he allowed spill from his lips.

As the war continued, you found yourself making a permanent residence in Wilbur’s bed and home. The war was taking longer than anyone expected, a double-edged sword in the how our troops still lived, yet so did Greater SMP’s. Morale was low for everyone, but you kept your spirits high in fire-warmed rooms in Wilbur’s arms. 

“Do you think our people need something to boost their spirits?” He’d asked one day, your head resting on his chest and a hand loosely playing with your hair.

“Hm,” you thought, looking up at him, “I think it would be good, yeah. What are you thinking? A festival?”

He hummed, and as you inspected his face, you noticed the nerves lining his expression. It wasn’t an uncommon sight these days, his worries about the war leeching into every moment of the day. But usually, the anxiousness was far more faded by this time of night, even if it never fully left his gaze. 

“Not a festival,” he spoke, shifting and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small black box, speaking softer, “I was thinking a wedding.”

You sat up, gasping softly, “Will-”

“I was going to wait until after the war,” he spoke, sitting up across from you. “But I’m terrified that I won’t get to. I’d rather die knowing you were mine than knowing I never got to at least ask you.”

“Wilbur,” you grabbed onto both of his cheeks, pulling him into a deep and loving kiss. You understood where his fears came from, and you would be lying if you didn’t admit that you shared in the same sentiment. Every day that the troops returned, your heart waited to beat in fear until you saw his face. You didn’t want to wait either. 

You pulled away, wrapping arms tightly around his neck as you rested your forehead against his. 

“Is that a yes, then?” He asked, a grin ghosting over his lips.

You laughed, holding onto him tighter, “Yes, Wilbur, absolutely.” 

He laughed as well, his arms coming to wrap tightly around you. He kissed the side of your head as he spoke, “We- it probably won’t get to be a big wedding because we’re so low on resources, but if you want something big, we can absolutely have a second ceremony after, and-”

“Wilbur, our wedding could be in a mud field in our pajamas with a chicken, and I would still be satisfied. All that matters to me is being able to call you mine forever.”

He gave you a grin like you hung the stars in the sky before pulling you in for a loving kiss and putting a small ring onto your finger.

The wedding planning went over quickly. You weren’t planning anything fancy whatsoever, but it still needed to be enough of an event for your people to have time to relax. Everyone wanted to help out as well. Once you woke up the next morning after Wilbur’s proposal, it seemed as if the whole country knew already, with people coming to congratulate you and Wilbur as you both walked through town. Just the sense of community in everyone’s offering to help out with the wedding seemed to brighten everyone throughout the country. 

You and Wilbur actually had two ceremonies. The first one was for the two of you and your families, a small dinner and ceremony to allow you to have an intimate and private wedding. It was gorgeous, and so incredibly worth it. The second one was the ceremony for the people. It wasn’t a lavish affair, though your wedding attire was some of the most beautiful things either of you had seen in months. It was a subdued wedding, but it was making the most out of what you had. Lots of fresh cut flowers from the countryside, Niki baked a cake, and a real, full meal made for everyone. 

You felt tense in your fancy wedding outfit. Even if it wasn’t the height of luxury, it felt more stiff than anything else you’d worn in months. But there was a point to all of it. It was an event, something for people to care about. Something to get on their minds instead of residual fear about the next battle. You were glad for private affair you’d been able to have the night before, because this felt more like playing the role of the Leader’s Partner rather than actually being his partner. 

“Hey,” you heard softly from behind you, turning as you watched Wilbur sneak in. He paused when he saw you, staring in awe.  “You look so lovely,” he smiled, walking over to you and taking your hands in his.

“I could say the same about you,” you smiled, pulling him forward for a short kiss. “You ready to get betrothed a second time?”

He laughed, holding you a bit closer, “I am. I’d marry you every day if I could.”

You smiled shyly up at him, moving to wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly, “I love you so much.”

He kissed the top of your head, smiling, “I love you too, darling.”

You sighed and relaxed into the hug, letting your eyes slip shut. You moved your hands down to his sides, frowning when you felt a small box in his pocket. 

“Wilbur,” you started, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the small box of cigarettes, “What are you doing with these?”

He frowned, a shameful look on his face, “I haven’t smoked any, don’t worry. I’m just- I’m anxious, so I got them in case.”

You nodded, biting your lip with a frown, “If you’re anxious, you know you can come to me.”

“I know, I know, I just-” he sighed, “I’m anxious about you, is the thing.”

You frowned, setting the cigarettes down on the table behind you, “What do you mean?”

He sighed, sitting down on a small stool across from you, “I’m nervous that when word travels about the marriage, they’ll look down on the legitimacy of our country. I think it’s good, I think they’ll think we’re less concerned than we really are, however… I’m worried I’m placing a target on your back.” 

You nodded softly, “Wilbur, I’ve had a target on my back since I chose to stand with our country,” you moved forward, giving him a gentle kiss, “I understand the concern, and I know the risks. But I’m not letting those risks outweigh the joy of being married to you. If they go for me, I can handle it. I know I’m not much of a fighter, but I can hold my own. Plus, they won’t kill me. If I’m valuable to you, they wouldn’t dare.”

He took your hand in his again, squeezing it gently, “thank you, darling,” he sighed, holding you close. “I won’t let them take you anyways. You’re too precious to me.”

You chuckled softly, lightly pressing your forehead against his. “Let’s go get married, then. The best fuck you we can give them is our love.”

He grinned and chuckled, nodding softly, “Let’s go get married.”

The wedding was a bright affair. The actual marriage part was quick and sweet, vows that you had both prepared together, nothing as genuine as the words spoken the night before. It was sweet regardless, promises of loving each other in the darkest of times that rang true in an audience of war-stricken dreamers. The best part of the wedding was the reception. Everyone was up, dancing and singing along to the music being shared, and the entire tarp over the field was covered in the most beautiful lights and flowers. You had a proper first dance with Wilbur before the dancing became more lively. You spent most of the night sitting with Wilbur and watching your people dance and laugh and drink. 

“It’s gorgeous, don’t you think?” You smiled, looking over at him.

He nodded, “It is. I’m glad to see everyone smiling and happy.” “And drunk.”

He laughed, leaning his head on your shoulder, “Yeah, that too.”

You smiled, holding his hand quietly. You stared at the ring on your finger. It was simple, but it was absolutely gorgeous. A simple gold band with a small chiselled diamond in the centre. The diamond was crafted from a piece that had chipped off of Wilbur’s sword when he taught you the basics of parrying hits. The engagement ring lay below it, a thinner silver ring with a small emerald that you recognized as coming from one of Wilbur’s ventures to a further village. The rings weren’t lavish, but you preferred them more like this. They were far more meaningful like this. Symbols of your love both in their meaning and their crafting. 

“Can I ask you something?” You asked him softly. 

“Of course, darling.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “In our vows, we both mentioned honesty, so I want you to be honest with me right now. I know this isn’t the place to ask, but… what do you think our chances of winning are?” 

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, “I don’t think it matters how big or small our chances are. I think what matters is that we have a chance. If we didn’t, we would’ve failed a long time ago.”

You nodded softly, “You see it, though? The future where we win?”

He looked over at you, a wide smile on his face, “I see it as clearly as I see you now. I see our fields free from the blood they currently harbor. Instead, they’re filled with flowers that grew up from the bloodshed. Crimson turned crimson. The kids run around, free of fear of an incoming bomb. My brother runs with them, and he no longer acts so grown up; he’s allowed to be a kid again. I see a memorial for those we lost, for all that was sacrificed. I see our citizens in parades, every year for our independence, they sing and dance, just like this. It’s like… the war is the night, the cold and harsh conditions that brutalize us and break us down into nothing more than human. But independence? It’s warm. It’s laying in the sun in a field with you. It’s our flag waving high on a summer day. It’s the laughter of children, it’s the joy of the future. It’s us. Our future. A memory garden adorned with flowers and the knowledge that we will never return to the Great War because we not only survived, but we persisted.”

“It’s daylight,” you smiled, and he gave you a grin so bright it felt like basking in it.

“It’s daylight.”

The weeks after the wedding remained lively for the most part. The morale boost helped the troops improve, and the battles didn’t seem as tough. There was an underlying fear that the SMP troops were holding back for some reason, but for the most part, everything seemed to be going good.

Until one morning.

Winter had begun, and with it, hardships improved. Illness was rampant, and while no one had fallen fatally ill yet, everyone was afraid. 

Wilbur didn’t expect you to be next on the list of ill. 

He was in the living room when you woke up that day. You stood slowly, but as you stood, you were hit with a wave of nausea and vertigo. You nearly collapsed before making it to the trash to throw up the contents of your empty stomach. You leaned over the trash and within moments, Wilbur was at your side, keeping your hair out of your face and rubbing your back.

“Darling? Are you alright?”

You coughed weakly, spitting into the trash, “Do I seem okay, Wilbur?” You huffed, before sighing. “Sorry, I just- I hate throwing up.”

He nodded softly, “It’s alright, I get it, here,” he carefully helped you up back into bed before rushing to grab some water. He handed you the glass, and you drank it quickly, sighing softly. 

“Did something happen?” He asked, moving to your side to wrap an arm around you.

“No, I just stood up and- yeah,” you sighed, leaning your head against him, “You shouldn’t be close, I may be sick.”

He frowned, kissing the top of your head, “I’ll be alright. I’m going to call for the doctor, okay?”

You nodded softly, and he was rushing to get the doctor within seconds. They came back a few minutes later, and the doctor was quick to check over you.

“Your temperature is a bit high,” they hummed, “But other than that and the throwing up, I’m not seeing any other major symptoms. It could be stress. I would take it easy for the next few days, see if it improves. If nothing’s changed in a week, we can check for more, alright?”

You nodded softly, sighing quietly. Wilbur grabbed your hand gently before walking the doctor out, sharing hushed words.

When he returned, he got back into bed next to you, “They don’t think it’s anything serious. They said it’s likely just a mild fever, not like the flu going around out there.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, “I’ll be alright.”

“You will be,” he nodded, kissing the top of your head. “I can’t stay to watch you too much this week, but I can get Niki, if you want.”

“Wilbur, I don’t think I need to be watched,” you chuckled.

“I know you don’t need it,” he hummed, “but I want someone to be here with you. I don’t want you to collapse and have no one be here for you.”

You sighed softly, nodding, “Okay. If you don’t need her for anything this week, then I don’t mind. I like spending time with Niki.”

He smiled, squeezing your hand gently, “Alright. I’ll let her know.”

The same thing happened throughout the week. Wilbur would help you in the morning when the nausea hit, and then Niki would swap out with him when he had to go help out his people. The nausea usually lasted the whole day, but the vertigo and lightheadedness only seemed to last in the morning. You managed to eat small meals, and with Niki’s baking, she brought you a lot of small snacks. 

It was one of these days that you had a theory. The final day of the week, there was a major battle, so Niki would spend the whole day with you while Wilbur went out to fight. It was nerve wracking knowing that he would be out there and you were stuck in your bedroom, but you figured it wasn’t that much different from the other days, you supposed.

“Niki,” you spoke up from your place on the bed. She was sat across from you, working on a small knitting project. The troops had just head out for the battle. 

“Yeah, Y/N?” she asked, looking up at you.

“Did a doctor stay behind? Or did all of them head out?”

She thought for a moment, “There’s two here with us. One for the ill, and one preparing things for when the others return.”

You nodded, staying quiet for a moment, “Could you call one of them here for a moment?”

She frowned, concern lacing her brow, “Yeah, of course, but, why? Are you not feeling well again?”

“It’s not that,” you bit your lip quietly, looking away for a moment, “Can you keep a secret, Niki?”

She nodded, “Of course.”

You fiddled with your fingers for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase your next statement, “I… skipped this month.”

She gave you a look of confusion, before her eyes widened as realization hit, “Oh. Oh! Do you think-?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to get my hopes up yet. And I don’t want to get Wilbur’s hopes up either, just in case. But… I think so.”

She gave you a grin, nodding quickly as she stood, “I’ll go grab one of the doctors, I’ll be right back!”

She rushed out, leaving you alone with your thoughts for a moment. You were nervous about the implications. You wanted to start a family with Wilbur, of course, but neither of you were planning for it to happen yet. You’d agreed to wait until after the war. War is no place to raise a child.

The doctor came in, and she gave you a gentle smile. Niki waited outside as you spoke with the doctor, and you did a quick exam. 

“Well,” the doctor gave you a soft smile, “I think your theory may be correct, Y/N.”

“You think?”

“Well, I know. You’re correct. You’re pregnant.”

She had a soft grin on her face as she confirmed your theory, as if it was not news that changed the entire trajectory of your future. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” you gave her a soft smile right back, trying to let your worries ease into the back of your mind until Wilbur returned. 

“Of course. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. For the next few months, just try to relax. I know it’ll be tough given our circumstances, but you have the support of the entire country holding you up, alright?”

You nodded silently. 

“I’ll do another exam in a month to make sure everything is going well, and we can arrange for monthly visits. If you have any questions just let me know, and so other than that, congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly, and she left soon after. 

Niki returned, a subdued smile on her face, “So?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

She grinned, rushing to your side and taking your hand in hers, “Oh, that’s lovely! Wilbur’s going to be so excited, are you going to tell him tonight?”

“I think so,” you smiled softly, “I imagine it’d be hard to keep it from him.”

It was hard to keep it from him. But not through your own admission, rather because news of the doctor visiting your home traveled quick among those who’d stayed behind. That night, Wilbur rushed in to see you.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” He called out, rushing up to see you and hold you in a tight hug. He looked worse for wear, his hair a ruffled mess and his cheeks stained with dirt. 

“Yes, love, I’m alright, why?” You hugged him back tightly, nerves and knowledge filling your chest.

“I- I heard a doctor came in today,” he pulled away to inspect your face, holding your cheeks gently, “Did something happen?”

“No, no,” you smiled softly, “I’m okay, I’m good, actually. We figured everything out, and I’m going to be okay.”

He let out a breath of relief, pressing his forehead to yours gently, “Darling, you scared me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you chuckled softly, “How was the fight?”

He tensed, and you frowned.

“It was… it wasn’t good,” he sighed, and your heart dropped, “We ambushed them like we planned, but they were stronger. We didn’t get to take out as many of them as we wanted to before they noticed us, so we were outnumbered.”

You nodded softly, “Were you successful in stealing supplies, though?”

He nodded, and the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Not as much as we wanted to, but enough to make it hurt.”

“That’s good,” you smiled back at him, “Are you injured? Did you see the medic?”

He shook his head, “a few scratches and a burn from a flaming arrow, but it’s not bad. It’s on my shoulder.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, “Go take a bath, and I’ll wrap it. And then, I have something important to talk to you about.”

He tilted his head, “What is it?”

“Nope, not yet. Go clean up first,” you chuckled softly, “That takes priority.”

He rolled his eyes, grin falling on his face easily, “Alright, alright. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded and watched as he went to go clean up. You could have told him then, but it was more for your sake than his that you wanted to wait. You had to get your mind together first, especially now knowing he was okay. 

He returned not long after, face and hands scrubbed clean of dirt and soot. He was wearing a white tank top with his sleep pants, and he had the med kit in his hand as he sat down next to you.

You hissed softly as you saw the burn, gently taking his arm in your hand, “Wilbur, this is worse than you described.”

He waved it off, sighing, “It just got irritated from the water. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

You gave him a look of disbelief as you stared at the burn. It was bright red and angry, skin slightly charred and bubbled. There was a slight cut in the middle of it from where the arrow must’ve passed through. You sighed sofly, grabbing the disinfectant. 

“Hold onto my arm, this is going to sting,” you told him softly, and he did as you said. Once you passed the disinfectant over the burn, he hissed in pain, squeezing your shoulder. You continued cleaning the wound until it was satisfactory, You grabbed the burn cream and delicately spread it over the wound, and slowly, his pained noises lessened. 

“I’m not going to wrap it just yet, it needs to breathe for a while, okay?”

He nodded, sighing and pulling his hand away, “Will I be able to cover it tomorrow?”

You frowned, “You shouldn’t. But I know you will, so I’ll wrap it tomorrow.”

He nodded again, grabbing the med kit and returning it to its space in your bathroom.

“So,” he said, sitting down in front of you, “You said you have something important to share?”

“Yeah, so,” you sighed softly, taking his hand gently, “It’s about the doctor visit. I had the doctor come over today because I wanted to talk to her about us starting a family.”

He nodded, eyebrows furrowing slightly, “Okay. I thought we were planning to wait, though?”

You nodded, “I know, but… would you… be upset if we didn’t?”

He chuckled, “Not at all, darling,” he smiled, “it wouldn’t be ideal, but that’s more due to my own selfishness. I want to be here for every second of it, and I don’t know if I can right now. But I wouldn’t be upset about it. Do you… want to?”

You bit your lip, taking his hand and placing it over your stomach. “Wilbur,” you looked up at him, “I don’t know if we have much of a choice anymore.”

He gave you a concerned look, frowning, “Why not? Did- did something happen? If you’re not able to, we could always look into adoption, or-”

“No, Will,” you chuckled softly, shaking your head, “It’s not like that. It’s, uh, it’s the opposite, actually.” You gave him a soft grin.

He looked confused for a moment longer before a wide grin crossed his face, “Wait. Do you- do you mean?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I had a theory with all the sickness in the morning. So, I talked to the doctor, and… I think our family will be coming a lot sooner than we’d planned for.”

He grinned, tears springing to his eyes, “You’re serious? You’re-”

“Pregnant. Yeah.” You were grinning as well, and finally getting to tell him felt like the first breath of air after diving into the deep end.

“Oh, darling,” he spoke, pulling you into a tight hug, “Oh, I- we’re going to have a kid.”

You nodded, chuckling through the tears of joy that hit your cheeks. “Yeah, we’re going to have a kid.”

He grinned, holding you tightly, “Fundy’s going to have a sibling! Darling, this is amazing. I know we wanted to wait, but I don’t care. I have so much more to fight for now. So much more to come home for.”

You kissed him, holding onto him like a lifeline, “The war’s not done. But this. This is why we fight. As long as you’re home at the end of the day, that’s all that matters to me.”

He grinned at you, “I love you so much. I am so lucky to have you. We’re so lucky, even if it’s just being alive right now. This is all we need.”

You smiled lovingly at him, “We are so fucking lucky. And I am so excited for this. They’re blessed to have you as their father.”

“They’re blessed to have you as well,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

That night, neither of you went to sleep concerned over a failed fight. Instead, you dreamt of the bright future you’d be bringing your child into. 

Family and close friends were the first to know. You told them two days later, during an impromptu family meeting that Wilbur had called. Everyone was incredibly elated, though Tommy’s excitement probably took the cake, as he was practically screaming his congratulations. 

The rest of country learned fairly soon after. About a month later, even though you’d only slightly began showing and could certain continue to hide it for a while, neither of you wanted to. It was a joy to share with the country, and the celebration that followed was bright and lively, a night-long glimpse into a wonderful future. 

It wasn’t always easy, though. Wilbur hated how he couldn’t stay by your side, taking care of your every need. You hated how lonely some nights were, when the battles lasted longer than usual or they had to prepare for a midnight ambush. The worst part of those nights was the fear, overwhelming and keeping you stationary in Wilbur’s office or your bedroom. Not knowing if your husband would return hurt more than anything else in the world. 

You were six months in when he came home exhausted in early morning light. He didn’t speak to you at first, giving you a kiss before going to wash up. You waited anxiously for him to return, and when he did, he returned shirtless with a med kit in hand. He sat down in front of you with a sigh, turning around so you could see the large gash running down his shoulder. 

“Wilbur,” you gasped softly, “this is really long.”

“It’s not that deep. Didn’t even realize it was there until I went to wash up.” He sighed.

You frowned, starting to patch him up quickly. 

He spoke to distract himself, “Do you think we’re going to have a girl or a boy?”

You shrugged softly, “I’m not sure. They could be nonbinary as well.”

“True,” he hummed, “if they do come out as nonbinary, we’ll let them choose their own name. But we do still need to choose a name.”

“That’s true,” you hummed, carefully disinfecting his wound, “We should prepare for both.”

“I agree,” he responded, though his words came out through a clenched jaw. 

“So what are you thinking, then?” 

“Hm, I’m not sure about for a boy. But I do have a name picked out for a girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” you smiled, starting to carefully apply the salve to the wound, “What is it?”

“Tallulah,” he smiled softly, “What do you think?”

“That’s gorgeous. I love it.” You set the rest of the salve down, picking up the bandages. 

“I’ve always loved it. I’m really glad you like it as well.”

You directed him to hold his arm up so you could wrap his wound, “It’s beautiful. What about a boy?”

He hummed, “I’m not sure.”

“We could always do Wilbur Jr.”

He snorted, shaking his head, “God, no. I’d sooner name them after Tommy.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “I mean, Thomas would be a good middle name.”

“It would, actually,” he smiled softly. “For a boy, though… Julius could be nice. Or maybe Cornelius.”

You hummed, “Those have a good ring to it. Julius Thomas Soot. Cornelius Thomas Soot.”

“They do. We can think more about it, I suppose. We have time.”

“We do have time,” you hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of his shoulder as you finished the bandage. 

He turned, wrapping his arms around you and laying his head on your chest, pressing a kiss to the baby bump. You moved a hand to gently play with his hair. 

“It was bad today?” You asked softly.

He sighed, “Bad would be an understatement.” 

You nodded softly, kissing the top of his head.

“Do you think we’re bad people? For bringing a kid into this?” He asked softly.

You frowned, “No. I don’t.”

He nodded, holding you a bit tighter. After a moment, he spoke softly, “I’m really scared for them.”

You brushed through his hair with your hand, “Why?”

“I’m going to be honest, it… it doesn’t look good right now. They keep getting stronger and smarter, and I don’t know how to fight them. I’m scared we’re bringing our child into a failing country, and I’m scared I can’t protect you or them if worse comes to worse.” 

“I understand. I’m scared too. But, love… we can’t really do anything now. We just have to try to give this child the best life we can, no matter the circumstances. Even if they’re the worst case scenario.”

He sighed, nodding, “I know. I just… I feel like I fucked up with Fundy. I was too young at the time, and I don’t want to make the same mistakes. And if I’m focused on fighting a war, I won’t be able to be there for them, the same way I wasn’t there for Fundy. I’m scared of being a bad father again.”

“I don’t think you will be,”  you spoke softly, “and you’re not alone this time. You have me. They won’t be alone if you’re not there. I’ll be here.”

He nodded softly, looking up at you, “Thank you. I’m sorry, I’m just…” He trailed off.

“I get it. I’m scared too. I’ve never done this before. I have no clue what I’m doing. Not to mention I’m terrified of giving birth. But I’m scared of making mistakes because I didn’t know until I met you if I would ever have a kid. I’m glad I am, don’t get me wrong, but I never expected to be ready for something like this. Honestly, I still don’t know if I’m ready. I’m terrified, Wilbur. But I have you. I’m not alone.”

He smiled, leaning up to kiss you gently, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, darling,” you spoke softly, kissing him back gently, “Let’s get some rest, now, okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded softly. With how exhausted he was, it didn’t take long before he fell asleep, leaving you alone with thoughts of uncertainty until sleep took over.

As you entered the last month of the pregnancy, things were starting to look up. 

Kind of.

While the recent battles had been lost, Wilbur had a plan.

“Darling, I think I’ve figured it out,” he grinned, standing from his desk and walking to the couch you sat on.

“What is it?” You smiled, looking up at him.

“I’ve figured out how we win. Tubbo’s been spying for us, as you know, and he brought me this document yesterday, and I couldn’t see the significance! I was being an idiot, but I knew it didn’t make sense for them to have an entire document detailing how they make their uniforms.” He grinned, and you tilted your head.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a cypher. Darling, it was a code! And I- I figured it out. I know their plans.” He had a manic look in his eye, and you couldn’t help but perk up at the excitement in his tone.

“Love, have you slept?”

“Barely, I couldn’t sleep much because I kept thinking about this stupid fucking document. But darling, we know everything now. We know exactly where they’re going to be and when. We can win, we- we can do this.”

You grinned, but the anxiety still filled your chest at the idea, “You’re sure about this?”

“I- I mean, I think. I figured out the code, and it all makes sense.”

You bit your lip. You didn’t want to think of the most likely possibility. That they knew. That this was a fake document.

“Darling, I thought you’d be more excited,” he frowned, catching onto your anxiety. 

“No, no, I am, just… Wilbur, what if they did it on purpose? What if they let him get a document planted just to feed you incorrect information?”

He nodded, thinking quietly. “I trust in it. And I think it may be a risk we have to take.”

You gaped at him, “Wilbur, you could be marching our troops directly into a trap.”

“I know, I know, but,” he sighed, “I have a good feeling about this, I promise. Honestly, I don’t think we have any other choice. Without this, we have nothing.”

You nodded softly, “... you trust it? That- that this isn’t a plant?”

“Yes.”

“And how certain are you?”

He bit his lip, “Mostly certain. It’s the best chance we’ll have, and we have to move fast, their plans start tomorrow.”

You nodded, pulling him in for a tight hug, “Okay. If-if you’re sure. I trust you.”

He hugged you back tightly, and you tried not to think about the fact that he hugged you like it may be the last time, “I love you so much, darling. Don’t worry, okay? This time tomorrow, we’ll be free people.”

You nodded, closing your eyes to focus on the feeling of his arms around you, “I love you too.” You pulled him in for a loving kiss, sighing softly. 

“Go rally your troops.”

Wilbur did just that. He left shortly and brought the plan to all the generals, all the soldiers, everyone he could. He was buzzing with excitement when he returned that night, holding you close as he lied with you in bed, one hand gently resting over your belly. 

“We’re leaving before the sun is up,” he told you softly.

“Will you be back when I wake up?”

He shook his head, “No. But we’ll be back for dinner for sure.”

You smiled softly, holding him closer, “We’ll have a celebratory dinner. Extra special.”

“Oh?” He chuckled, “Extra special?”

“Absolutely. Because we won’t just be celebrating the win. We’ll be celebrating your new role as President.”

He flushed softly, “You think?”

You nodded, “I’ve heard the people speak. They trust you, Wilbur. And I know you’ll make a great president. You’ll create a great place for our child to grow up in.”

“Thank you,” he smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your belly, then your cheek.

“Plus,” you hummed, “President Soot does have a good ring to it.”

He smirked, blushing once more, “Oh? You think so?”

“I know so, Mr. President,” you grinned as he leaned up, lips hovering above yours. 

“That does sound nice. Though I may be biased,” he pecked your lips gently, a smirk still ghosting on his lips.

“How so?”

“Well, I think any words that escape your lips are just as gorgeous as the lips they escape from,” he spoke softly, pulling you into a languid and loving kiss. You kissed him back just as passionately, letting the intensity quell your fears about his return tomorrow. 

Wilbur was gone when you woke up the next morning, which you expected. What you didn’t expect was for lunchtime to have been such a bleak affair. You expected much more liveliness from your people, especially given how much Wilbur believed in the plan. But the streets were quiet. There were only hushed words as you walked through town to find a meal, and it seemed as if many people were directing those hushed words towards you.

“Did something happen?” You asked the merchant after you finished your meal.

She gave you a frown, a tense look appearing on her brow, “You haven’t heard?” You felt your heart sinking as you shook your head. 

She sighed, looking down for a moment before looking back up at you, “I’m sorry, uh…” she took a deep breath before speaking, “one of the generals was supposed to come back to check in at noon. They haven’t returned.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but you nodded quietly, “Well, that- that doesn’t mean anything specific yet. Have we heard anything at all from the battlefield?”

She shook her head solemnly, and you nodded once more.

“Alright, well, ah, thank- thank you,” you stuttered out, before rushing away to find the basecamp quarters. You started feeling a pain as you walked, but you didn’t allow yourself to focus on it as you ripped open the tarp to the camp, finding the entire place… empty. It felt like a ghosttown.

You swallowed down the bile that rose in your throat, rushing back home. The pain continued as you walked, and your legs shook stubbornly as you trekked home. You couldn’t tell if the pain was even real, or if it was a side effect of the desperation and doom that filled your heart. As you reached your home, you collapsed against the front door, holding onto the door frame as a groan of pain escaped you. Before you knew it, the ground was rushing up to meet you.

When you woke, you weren’t on the ground. You found yourself in an uncomfortable cot, pain wracking through your body as you failed to sit up.

“Hey, take it easy, it’s okay, you’re okay,” the doctor spoke, coming to help you sit up. You were sweating, and she carefully placed a cold wet cloth to the top of your forehead. 

“What’s- what’s going on? Where’s Wilbur?” You stifled a groan as you spoke. 

“He’s not back yet, none of the troops are. And you’re okay, you passed out when your water broke. You’re going into labor.”

“Fuck,” you hissed out, panting softly. You noticed now the dressing gown you wore, your original clothes laying folded in a pile in the corner. 

“Take some deep breaths for me, you’re doing great, okay?” She instructed, and you nodded, taking a moment to just focus on your breathing.

“What- what time is it?” You asked in between breaths.

“It’s about to be seven.” She told you, turning as she sorted through medical supplies. 

Wilbur should’ve been back by now. You didn’t know if you could do this without him. 

“Your contractions are coming in about every five minutes, and they’re lasting about a minute. You’re not quite there yet, so you have time, alright?”

You bit your lip and nodded, placing a hand over your belly as you prayed to any god that would listen that your husband would be returning to you in one piece, in time for him to meet his child. You’d never felt so alone at such a worse time. You had no midwife, no friends, no husband, just your doctor to guide you through this. 

It was another hour before it was time. You didn’t want it to be, you wanted Wilbur. 

“You’re dilated,” the doctor informed you, grim as you shared a thought on the lack of troops returning, “I’m sorry, but you’re going to start pushing.”

You shook your head, “No, I- I need to wait, please.”

“I’m sorry, I know.” She took your hand in hers, “We still have time, but you need to start.”

As much as you wanted to argue, you knew you couldn’t.

The sound of you yelling in pain during the next contraction was masked with another sound.

Yelling, first. 

Then, the singing. 

And finally, cheering.

It was only a minute later when heard the sound grow, of your people, cheering and singing in the streets outside. It was two minutes later when a medic rushed in, a smile on their face.

“They’re back!” They announced, before rushing to tell whoever they could.

You fought through another contraction as your heart lifted, panic filling you.

“Wilbur,” you spoke weakly, “Wilbur, please, please, find- find Wilbur.”

The doctor looked at you in concern, biting her lip for a moment. 

“Okay. Okay, yes, hold on, let me- I’ll go try to find him, just hold on.”

You nodded rapidly as the doctor rushed out, going to find Wilbur. You gripped the sides of the cot as you groaned in pain, trying desperately to focus on your breathing. 

When she returned, she was alone, “I-I couldn’t find him, but they’re saying he’s alive, don’t worry, okay?”

You let out a breath of relief, head falling back for a moment as you relaxed just as much as you could. She guided you through a few more contractions before you heard the most beautiful sound. 

“Darling?!” You heard Wilbur yell, and you heard his voice get closer with each word, “Excuse me, please, hold on, Y/N!” He ripped open the door, gasping in relief once he saw you.

“Darling, oh my god,” he rushed in, coming in quickly to hold your hand tightly and place his other hand on your cheek. You leaned into his touch as he turned to the doctor, “How far along are they?”

“Breached,” the doctor informed, “Should be any minute now.”

He nodded, and you looked at him, “Will, I was so- fuck- I was so worried.”

He cooed, brushing your hair back, “It’s okay, I’m alright, I’m here now. Darling,” he grinned, eyes filled with tears as you squeezed his hand and groaned in pain. 

“Darling,” he spoke again once the moment had passed, “We- we did it. We won. We’re free.”

You gasped, pulling him into you, “Oh, my god,” you couldn’t fight the tears that fell from your cheeks, “We won?”

He nodded quickly, kissing the top of your head, “We won.”

You let out a sob of relief and joy, but it was quickly masked by another yell of pain.

“You’ve got this, darling, I’m here, we’re free, you can do this,” he told you, holding you close. 

“It’s a girl,” the doctor spoke softly. Wilbur was with you on the cot now, and you both were exhausted for different reasons, but both with joyous outcomes. She brought your daughter over to you, the newborn swaddled carefully. 

You gasped quietly when you saw her, taking her gently in your arms as you leaned against Wilbur. You looked up at him, tears in both of your eyes. He kissed you gently before looking back down at your daughter.

“Tallulah Soot,” he spoke softly, “Welcome to the free nation of L’Manburg.”

You chuckled, though it was slightly muffled from your tears. “The first citizen to be born under a free rule,” you spoke softly, a finger gently stroking her cheek, “Because we won.”

“We won,” Wilbur parroted, disbelief clouding his voice. 

She woke both of you up early with her cries. You held her in your arms as the early morning light poured in slowly, and as you rocked her, Wilbur sat next to you, an arm around your shoulder. 

Her cries softened, and as her big eyes stared up at you, you decided to tell her a story.

“Now, Ms. Lulah,” you spoke softly, “You won’t know this for a few years. But you were born during a very special time. Your father was amazing, he commanded a whole army of people.”

Wilbur chuckled softly, kissing your head, “You were born to two amazing people. One a commander, and one his political advisor who won his heart with their wit and brevity behind closed doors.”

You chuckled, smiling warmly, “Yes, even though he was a disorganized wreck when I met him. Every year, Ms. Lulah, there will be a parade on your birthday. Do you know why?”

Wilbur smiled fondly, “I don’t think she does.”

“Well, then I’ll tell her,” you hummed softly. You looked up, staring out in an empty field, filled with beautiful red flowers as the morning light softly reflected on dew drops that slept on grass. “Because, you, Ms. Lulah, were born on the day your father and our people fought to ensure your freedom. More importantly, you were born on the day they won.”

She let out a soft giggle – the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard – and you grinned lovingly, staring out at that field once more, that never again, would harbor the same bloodshed. As the sun poured in, you could see in your mind, her running in that field, picking those red flowers, and never once knowing of the same hardships that allowed crimson blood to pour on your land.

All she would know is the daylight.

[lillylvjy]

Hii

Can you please write a Wilbur x reader from the sorry boys zombie apocalypse video? Thank you ❤️

🎥Anon

Hi! Yes ofc I can!

warnings; reader has low iron deficiency, reader feels guilty about it, all of the boys are so sweet, sweet Tom and reader moments, established relationship, kissing, Wilbur “dies”, mention of reader liking older men, it’s all around silly and like the video just with reader!

wc; 9k….. shhhh

edited…. NOPE

who; Wilbur soot x reader, sorry!wilbur x reader

“Thanks Janet, fuck.” Charlie said opening the video after the brief intro, followed by Tommy crying and leaning over the edge of the wall. “It’s all over man, it’s all over! You gotta pull it together!” Charlie grabbed Toms shoulders as Tommy cried out for his mother. 

“He’s kinda pathetic.” You whispered to Wil, huddling close to his warmth as you watched the interaction. 

“He’s always pathetic.” Wil said back, wrapping an arm around you, bringing you into him. “You should’ve taken the coat I offered.” 

You nuzzles into his neck, loving how he was practically a walking heater. “I’m good, I have you.” You heard Wil give a soft chuckle as he kissed your head. 

Letting go of you, ignoring the whine you let out as the warmth left, Wil walked up to Tom and leant down as he looked him in the eye. “It’s worse than you could ever imagined.”

“I should’ve installed optifine?”

“We’re in Portsmouth.” Wil declared to Tom as Tom yelled in agony. 

“Jesus Christ you’re loud!” You told the blonde as he popped up after the bit was done. 

“It’s my specialty! You should know that by now.” Tom said as he smiled at you. You smiled back as you gently hit his arm. 

——

“Hi, my names William Godwinson and here’s my 8-foot vertical leap.” Wil said as he ran up and barely made the jump as he stood up and looked proud of himself. 

“What’s up I’m Charles Dogman and here’s my 9-foot vertical leap. Jackass!” Charlie said to Wil as he ran up to the wall and tripped, failing miserably. “Ow fuck!” 

“You guys are idiots, we’re gonna die-“ the camera cuts off before your sentence was finished, cutting it off as it cut to Wil frantically asked where to go. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Safety!” You sarcastically said to the brunette as you smiled down at you, and lightly shoved you. 

“Are we going down this way?” Charlie asked pointing down to the pit. 

“I mean, it’s either that or the cliff so-“

“Shit, that makes my life easy.” You said as you started to jokingly get up on the wall following the cliff.

“No! No we are not doing that!” Wil picked you up before you could fully get up, anxiety radiating off of him a bit. 

“I’m fine Wil, I promise. I was joking.” You whispered to him as he set you down. 

“I know but still, you could’ve fell. Just be careful please.” Wil cupped your face as he looked down at you, making sure you understood. 

“Always. I’ll be glued to you anyways. I’m terrified.” You said as Wil laughed and followed where the other boys were going, dragging you with. 

“There’s only one way boys. In!”

“I don’t, I don’t want to.” Wil said as he looked down at the pit yet again. “What’s your name? Weirdo? Freak? Idiot? Fucking cunt?” Wil asked Ran as Tom started to laugh, as you scoffed at him. 

“That’s the full name.” 

“Have you met me?” Ranboo said as the drone zoomed out and showed the whole ground. 

“Listen guys! We’re all, we’re all boys right? We’re all boys.” Charlie said, putting his fist up to Tom. 

“I’m no boy. I’m no man. I am sperm.”

Tom said as groans were heard all around you. 

“Guys…” you said quietly. 

“Alright, Cum. Put it in.” 

“Cum. Nice to meet you cum.” Wil gave Tom a fist bump as well. 

“Guys…” you said a bit louder. 

“Everyone! Okay, everyone. Bring it in, let’s cum on three-“ Charlie said as the boys all huddled together as you stayed at the edge looking down at the mass amounts of actors in the pit now. 

“You sure. It might take me longer than that.” 

“One, two, three- CUM!” They all screamed out. 

“GUYS!” You yelled, finally getting their attention after a bit. 

“Oh my god! That’s just straight zombies guys!” Charlie yelled as he jumped up on the wall.

“Yeah no shit!” You sarcastically said as you waited for all of them at the top of the hill. 

“Get down!” 

“What’s that going to do? They can still hear and smell us?” You said as you walked further down the way. 

“Love, where are you going?” Wil came over and stood next to you. 

“Trying to find a way in. If the walking dead served me any good, it’s to sneak into places. Without making too much noise.” You said as Wil shook his head and smiled at you. 

“Well, lead the way darling.” He put his arm out in front of him as you bowed. 

“Thank you, kind sir.” You joked as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hid his face in your neck as Charlie came up to you all. 

“Guys! I’m gonna kite them!” Charlie yelled at all of us as he started making random noise, attracting all of the zombies while the rest of you found a way in. 

“Guys in here!” Ranboo said as you all climb down, Wil helping you, as Charlie continued to distract the “dead” people. 

“This is kind of the part that I haven’t really figured out!” Charlie yelled as he started panic. 

“There’s no time for baseball now, Phil!” 

“If I don’t make it, take my spork! Take my spork!” Charlie yelled as he threw the utensil, getting it no where. “Everyone over here!” Charlie continued to yell and distract. 

“Where’s the spork?” Tom asked as he and Wil went to check what was happening. 

“Go! Go! We need to go inside!” Wil told you all as he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. 

You all finally made it to this little area that welcomed you with an arched door way and a bunch of random junk. 

“Charles. Did you get your spork? Where’s your spork?” Ranboo asked as he saw him coming down the hallway. 

“I lost my fucking spork, guys.” Charlie said defeated. 

You leant against the wall and closed your eyes as Wil stood in front of you and rubbed your arms and looked at Tom as he put a random ladder in the doorway, doing absolutely nothing. 

“What the fuck is this?” Wil asked, bewildered. 

“There’s no where to go up there!”

“Ok, to be honest, I don’t know your name but what you’re doing right now is pretty fucking dumb and not going to help us in the slightest!” You told Tom, playing into the bit as he laughed and adjusted it. 

“It’ll help slow them down!” Tom said looking at you with wide eyes. 

“…. They may be dead but they aren’t dumb-“ 

“They kind of are-“ 

“Ranboo you’re not helping.” You said as you looked at him with soft eyes as he nodded and turned to talk to Phil. 

“Where are you gonna climb?” Charlie asked, laughing at the stupidity of the situation. 

“I’m a fool!” 

“Are you trying to set up a Looney Tunes trap for the fucking zombies ?” Charlie asked as you searched around for clues, tools, anything to get you out because frankly you were scared and all the survival shows you watched were coming in handy. At least you hoped. 

“I don think we need the spork!” Tom said as you looked at him wide eyed, knowing what was about to go down. 

“Goddamnit! Just imagine your beans! Okay? Imagine your beans! Imagine your a can of beans-“ Charlie started to rant as you tuned all of it out, sitting in the chair that you found, silently giving up on getting out with tweetle dee and tweetle dumb fucking around. 

Wil came around the little corner you hid around and found you sitting in the chair.

“Hey, you alright?” He said as he crouched down, looking up at you as he rested his hands on your knee and lower thigh, rubbing to try and comfort you in anyways he could. 

You smiled down at him as you cupped his face. “I’m ok, promise. Just needed a little break, got overwhelmed with all the yelling and echoing but it’s ok! I’m good!” You said as you rubbed his cheekbones, wanting to give him the same comfort back while silently saying:

‘I’m ok because you’re here.’

He smiled back as he turned his head and kissed your palm. Getting up, he pulled you up with him and hugged you, arms around your neck as he kissed the top of your head. 

“I have an idea..” he whispered to you as he let go of you and picked the chair up. “May I use this?” 

You nodded as he walked out. “We can start a council!” You quickly followed him out as he placed the chair down and sat in it. 

“The rock is our leader.” Tom said, picking up a rock he found and handing it to Wil. “Guys! Wilbur has the talking role. Be very quiet. Wilbur, what do you want to say?” 

“Guys, it’s been hard. The Covid-19 pandemic, and then, whatever the fucks going on now-“ Wil got cut off my a bunch of groans being heard from down the way. 

“Oh fuck-“ you said as you looked wide eyes down the hall. 

“They’re coming.” 

“Oh god!” 

“Tommy! Save the rock!” Wil said as he came up to you and grabbed your hand in his and started to walk down the corridor that led to another hallway. 

All of you scampered down the hall and found a stair case, rushing down it while screaming in fear and panic as the zombie’s groans approached closer. Wilbur gently pushed you in front of him, running close behind you down the hall. 

“Why are there so many halls?!” You yelled out as you ran. 

“Who ducking knows but I can’t do this anymore-“ Wil said, slightly out of breath as you came to a stop. 

“Why’re they fast?!” Charlie screamed.

“These aren’t slow zombies. These aren’t slow zombies!” 

You and Wil found a door, hidden behind a corner. “C’mon! Here.” You said as you popped open the door and stepped in, Wilbur and the rest of them close behind. 

“Shut the door, shut the door!” Tom yelled as he hid in the corner. 

——

“Question for you guys, how do you all feel about spending the rest of our days in this room?” Wil asked all of us as you sat in his lap, slightly lightheaded from running and just wanted to be close to him .

“If I’m with you, I’m good.” You whispered in his ear as he smiled and rubbed your back, softly humming in your ear only loud enough for you to hear.

“Well uh, we’ve got a gun in for day three, so-“ once ranboo mentioned a gun, everyone was all eyes on the object. 

“What the fuck-“ Wil said as he gently got up and placed you back on the seat, squeezing your hand, a silent promise he’d be back. Wil grabbed the gun as he examined it. 

“Yo, wait- does that work?” 

“It doesn’t got a magazine.” Wil said before pointing it at Charlie. 

“Whoa! Whoa!” 

 “No, just give it a- I can take it man. Here I can take it-“ charlie insisted as he went up and set the guns barely to be directly aiming at his mouth. 

“No, I’m doing it, I’m doing it. I promise you-“ 

You rested your head on the back of chair as you watched the men go back and forth, playing with a gun. Like children.

——

“Is there any resources in here we can use?” Wil said as he hopped on the chair you were once sitting in, now sitting on the dusty floor watching them all .

“Uh- I see about 3 metal, 2 screws, 5 paper, a water right there.” Ranboo started listing everything he saw. 

“I’ve got a bit of a tall order here.” Wil said as he looked down at all of us, standing at a good 8-9 feet with the chair. 

“That’s true cause you’re up, yeah, that’s good.” 

“Does anybody know how to craft?”

Wil asked as Charlie started laughing. 

“I was hoping you’d ask-“ Charlie then turned around and started waving his hand around like he was casting some spell close to the ground. 

“What is he doing?” Tom asked confused as you shook your head and smiled at the man. 

“Camouflage.” Charlie presented the packaged camo tarp they bought earlier for the video. 

Wil and Tom came over to you as they asked you to open the material, since they were struggling to break the plastic. 

“Jesus, this is sad-“ you took the package as you ripped it open and handed it to them. 

“Wanna come over here, y/n? We could use some help over here!” Tom said as he held out his hands to you. You nodded as you placed your hand in his, slowly getting up from your sitting position as Tom smiled at you and walked over to the rest of the group, you close behind. 

“Everyone knows golfers are the weakest of the species.” Wil said as you joined his side as Tom and Ran went over and did their own thing.

“Excuse me?” 

“He’s got a point, Phil. Sorry.” You patted his shoulder as Charlie agreed. 

“So what I’m thinking what we do. The creatures, they- they respond to sound, but they can’t see you. He’s invisible.” Wil said to Charlie as he held Phil’s head. 

“Who’s invisible?” 

“Tiger Wattson.” Wilbur said, as you clapped your hands and pointed at them all. 

“So that’s his name! Nice to know-“ you joked as Wil laughed and Phil shook his head. 

Wilbur finished laughing as he looked at Phil again. “Tiger listen. If you go out there, they won’t be able to see you-“ 

“But they can smell you.” 

“Wha-“ Phil said as Wilbur chef kissed.

“They can hear you.” Wilbur said as a honk noise appeared out of no where. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better about the smelling me thing-“ 

“Don’t worry, you’re fine! Go get ‘em!” You said as you pushed him towards the door. 

“Tiger! Come here.” Wil beckoned Phil over as everyone wondered where he went. “I may not get to say this again to you before I throw you to your almost certain demise.” 

“Not helping-“ you told him as he continued. 

“But I’m gonna say it now, go get ‘em Tiger.” Wilbur said as he pushed Phil out the door and closed it. “And now we can share the fort between 4 people instead of 5.” Wil said as he stood in front of everyone, please and cheers came his way. 

“Very inspiring. I could tell you meant it too!” You said as you patted Wil’s chest.

“Thank you, I felt like it was needed-“ 

“Hey I just noticed when I- yeah, so when we high-fived, I just noticed, I feel like I saw just super quick, just like a little-“ 

You saw it as well, grabbing his wrist gently and bring it down to examine it. You knew it was there the whole time, have putting it there earlier before filming, but still going with the bit.

“Oh no.” 

“Wil-“ your force came out hushed and fear laced the word. Wilbur looked down at you concerned but quickly realized that it was for the big and relaxed. 

“It’s a- it’s a little tiny tiny scratch.” Wil said as he hid his arm from staring eyes. You quickly brought his arm back down  and giving the “wound” a kiss and smiling up at him. 

“Better?” You asked as he rested his forehead on yours.

“100%.” Wil whispered to you as he brought his lips to yours in a short thankful kiss as Phil opened the door on the opposite side of the room. 

“Guys I did it! Come on, come on!” Phil whispered to all of us and we all ran out the room. 

“Go! go! Not that way! Wait- yes that way!” Wil yelled, as we all followed and yelled at him for being indecisive at the moment. 

Running a little bit farther, Wil found a door, guiding us all to go through, Charlie going through a little weird hole in the wall. 

After getting him through the wall, Wilbur crouched down and held his arm, looking down at the mark on his skin in worry, making sure no one was watching. Yet forgetting you were behind him. 

“Wil what happened?” You whispered down to him, knowing the cameras were on and wanted to create a bit of a story. 

“I- Nothing I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, what we need to worry about is getting out of here.” Wil said, grabbing your hands and bringing them up to your mouth to give your knuckles a kiss. “You need to get out of here and I’ll make sure you do.” 

You softly smiled up at him as Elodie made a gagging noise as you two stared at each other. 

“Didn’t need to see that.” They said as they turned the camera off briefly and looked at you with an uneasy look .

“Oh c’mon on! It was good, right?” Wil asked out in the open as you swung your hands in his and nodded as Elodie rolled their eyes and nodded as well, silently admitting that the “sickeningly sweet” scene was really cute. 

——

“And now, the end is near-“ 

“And so I face, the final curtain-“ 

“Guys I was wrong, it’s no time for Sinatra.” Wil admitted as he slowly got up from his sitting position as you and Ran came into the cameras view. 

“Those guys know how to sing.” Ranboo told the camera as you nodded. 

“Almost as good as me-“

“I was about to say that!” Ranboo added on as he looked down at you and nodded.

“Guys, I have a fucking idea. Tiger-“ 

“Yeah.”

“Do you carry some of your patented Tiger’s scent cologne?” Wil asked as Phil confirmed he in fact did as you looked at all of them with furrowed eyebrows. 

“If we can make one of the zombies smell like a professional golfing star…” Wil left the sentence open as Phil clicked the idea together. “Whip out the spray.” 

“Why did that sound-“ you started but quickly shit your mouth before anything else came out, Tommy overhearing the little joke you were going to make and laughing. 

Phil pretended to look for it as he then suddenly found it and went to the opening of the room. “This is Tiger’s essence.” 

“Go Phil! Spray!” Tom yelled as Phil started to get attacked by the crawling zombies. Phil made a hissing noise as he moved his hand everywhere, trying to get the “cologne” everywhere he could. 

As he sprayed, all of you figured out a way to get out of them room, having realized you were cornered. You all ran out the room, running as fast as you could up stairs and down some halls to an empty open room. 

“Wait where’s Wil?” You asked as you finally got out of the rush of adrenaline and realized Wil’s hand wasn’t in yours nor was he infront or behind you. 

“Wil?!” Tom yelled as he soon realized too.

Everyone yelled your boyfriends name, worried as to where he was, but decided to continue on if they didn’t want to be eaten. Yet you and Tom both were deciding if pausing and looking for Wil was a good idea. 

“He’s fine, he’s probably following the actors. Plus Elodie’s with him so!” David told you as ease ran through your body, thankful that at least someone was with him. 

“Guys wait! Come back, come back. This is the perfect, circuit! This is it! This is the dark circuit!” Charlie declared as he looked at all of us, yet none of us were buying it. 

“I think this is just a circle-“ 

“Please don’t make me run anymore-“ you whispered out next to Phil as he patted you on the back and gave you a soft smile which you returned. 

“All we have to do, is run around continuously-“ 

“And we’ll go so fast that they explode!” 

“That’s right Tom! Alright! Is everyone ready?”

“I’ll sit out-“ you said as you leant against the wall.

“Here if you sit there in the little cave, I’ll protect you with my club.” Phil offered as you slowly moved to sit in the corner. 

“Thank you Phil.” You smiled appreciatively up at him as Charlie stated that he was absolutely delusional. Once the zombies appeared, they all started running. 

“We’re going to die.” You declared as you rubbed your head. Maybe this wasn’t the best video for your to do. 

“Yup! Are you alright?” Phil agreed as he continued to fight or the zombies. 

“Yeah, I forgot my medicine this morning and I forgot water so. Yay!” You put your fist in the air as a celebration while Phil laughed. 

“We can ask for some water? We can stop real quick.” 

“No it’s ok. I’ll be ok.” You said, more for yourself than anyone else. Phil nodded as the rest of them arrived back and and ran down one of the halls. 

“Guys come on! This way- you alright Y/n?” Ranboo asked as he saw your state. 

“Yeah can I have help up?” You asked as Ran nodded and lifted you up. 

“Want a piggy back ride?” 

“Ranboo you don’t have too-“ 

“Come on! I know you aren’t doing good right now, so please.” Ranboo insisted as he bent down.

“Thank you, I’m sorry.” You said as you hopped on his back and held onto him. 

“Hey no need for apologies, it’s my pleasure!” 

Ranboo jogged until he caught up with the rest of them who were waiting, you giving all of them an apologetic smile as they all gave you an understanding look and small ‘it’s ok, we know’ smile back.

“Guys you go on! This’ll stop them!” Charlie said as you looked behind you and saw him doing the stanky leg, shaking your head and laughing at him. “It’s not working! Oh god!” 

Charlie started to scream for all of us to run and go. You all found a little staircase leading up as Tom and Charlie found tables and object to put in front of it. Ranboo put you down as you went up the stairs, everyone following close behind. 

“Thank you, and I’m sorry again.” You told all of them in general as you slid down the wall, needing some sort of support. 

“Hey, it’s ok. We’ll get you some water soon, promise. You have nothing to apologize for.” All of them agreed with Phil as you smiled up at them and curled up, wanting the pounding in your head to stop, but kept with the video anyways.

“I unlocked a new recipe.” Charlie said as he paced. 

“What do you need, Charlie?” 

“I need wood and I need stone” Charlie declared as ranboo gave him a gun. 

“Here! Here’s a rock!” You said as you lifted the big rock you found next to you and gave it to the man. 

“Oh, thank you!” Charlie said as he nodded down at you in thanks as you saluted back. 

You all heard yelling coming up the stairs as Wil’s silhouette comes into view as he yells and runs into Tom. 

“It’s me! It’s me!” Wil yelled at Tom as he pushed him back and held his fist up. 

“Tom I still need your wood!” Charlie demanded as you shook your head. 

“What the hell is going on?!” You whined out as the stupid situation made no sense. Wil fell to the ground, covering his face as he came too.

“He’s alive! He’s not- wait! Did you get bit?”

“No.” Wil said as he got up and looked around, finally spotting you on the ground, quickly going over to you and crouching down and cupping your cheek, making your eyes flutter open. “Darling…” 

“I’m ok, I just need water.” You confirmed before he could say anything. 

“Hey guys, can we stop real quick and get some water?” Wil asked the group as they all nodded and agreed that they probably needed some water too. 

Charlie walkied down to the rest of the crew, asking if they could get some water, which would be given and brought shortly. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered out to Wil as he held you to his chest. “I shouldn’t have come.” 

“Hey, love. You’re ok, you didn’t know it’d get this bad and we didn’t think we’d do this much running. Which now I’m thinking about it, that’s pretty stupid of us. Besides that,” Wil was cut off by your laughter. “Don’t give yourself a hard time over this. You and the rest of us come before content. Always. And if we have to stop for a little water break, that’s very much needed, so be it.” Wil finished as you smiled against his neck and nodded. 

“Thank you.” You whispered to him as Russ came with an arm full of water bottles, handing you one first. Wil responded to your thanks with a kiss on your head as he squeezed your hand three times. 

Cheesy bastard. 

——

“It’s almost done. It’s almost done!” Charlie declared as he waved his hand around infront of Tommy as he screamed in pain and agony. All of you were watching in pure confusion and terror as the scene played out.

“I crafted your dick into a gun.” 

“Oh fuck this.” You said as you looked at the pair in disgust. As much as you loved both of them, some bits were just- weird. Weirder than weird. 

“Wilbur look at me.” 

“What’s up man?” Wil asked as he stepped forward towards Tom. 

“You’re the only man it trust with my dick-gun…..” Tom said as he gave the gun to Wil. 

“Well yeah, I served in the arm forces for 32 years.” Wil said as he took the gun in his hands, leaving you bewildered at the statement. 

“Wait, hold up-“ you said as you did mental math in your head. 

“Wait how old are you?” Charlie asked the question that you were desperately trying to figure out. 

“I’m 41.” 

“I- ok when I said I liked older men, that’s not what I meant.” You joked as everyone laughed around you. 

“Wait, I gotta make sure the gun is any good, cause I did just craft it. It’s like a make shift so it doesn’t- it’s not like, the stats aren’t super high so just make sure that it- yeah. No just- I can take it. I can take it.” Charlie said, again wanting Wil to shoot him and make sure the equipment worked as he aimed it at the man. 

“Oh, it’s jammed. Hold on.” Wil said as he fixed the gun and pointed it again. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t- ok.” You cut off your sentence as Wil pointed it again and it was yet again jammed. 

“Do you have friendly fire?” Charlie said as Wil shot the ceiling as the gun went off. 

“Oh there we go- oh it’s fucking jammed again!”

“Ok! That’s it! Give me the gun!” You held your hand out to Wil as he held it away from you. 

“Not my dick-gun!” 

“Wil give me the fucking gun!” 

“No frankly I don’t think you should have it since Tommy only trusted me-“ 

 “Yeah well! If you have the gun you’re gonna shoot someone’s eye out so give me the fucking gun.” You said one last time, getting close to his face as his eyes widened and mouth quivered. 

“Ok.” He whispered to you as he handed you the gun. 

“Thank you-“ 

“Can I see it?!” Charlie said as as he tried to grab the gun from you. 

“Wait, no Charlie-“ 

“Is that a light?!”

“Charlie watch out!” Wil said as he grabbed the gun and Charlie pulled the trigger, making air pop out of the object and all of you popping back from it. 

“Ah! I’m blind in one ear! I mean deaf!” 

——

We all followed Wil as he lead us back to the beginning where we started. 

“This was pure goofy Looney Tunes trap!” 

“That didn’t do us any good-“ you whispered under your breath. 

“It was a beautiful creation!” Charlie said to you as you shook your head and patted his back. 

“Sure thing bud. Think that.” You said as you followed behind Phil as Wil led the way. 

“Oh man-“ Charlie said as you all heard groaning behind you.

“Hang on guys, I got this!” Wil said as he pointed his gun at the shadows as the groaning got closer to reveal Ranboo in all his might. 

“Jesus christ-“ 

“That was a good one!” Charlie said as Phil clutched his chest and told Ran that he was seconds away from being dead. 

“It was a funny little prank man! Don’t be so uptight! Grandpa.” Ranboo said as you bursted out laughing and fist bumped them. 

“This is where it began! Sporky!” Charlie yelled as he ran to his spork. 

Coming up behind Wil, you wrapped your arms around his waist as he flinched and turned to see who was holding onto him, relaxing once he saw you. 

“Well hello!” He said with a smile as he wrapped his arm around your neck, pulling you closer. 

“ hello!” You smiled back, nuzzling back into his warmth. You all followed Charlie to where the utensil lie, circling him. 

“I thought I lost you forever! Every utensil, all in one. Together again. Let’s have some fun.” Charlie said as he lifted the object to his lips and kissed it. 

“Did he-“ 

“Did he just kiss it?” Ranboo said, curious of the same thing. 

“He kissed it.” Wil confirmed as he went up to Ranboo. “Look, motherfucker. If you had a part spoon, part fork, part knife, you’d be kissing it too.” Wil said as Charlie moved the spork in the air, silently worshipping it. 

“I’d be more than kissing it, imma be real.” Ranboo confessed. 

“Why don’t you just, eat with it? That’s what it’s for.” You said as they all gasped and Charlie looked at you. 

“This, is much more than a thing you use for food. This is a sacred object.”

“Reach nirvana. Reach your element.” Wilbur said as Charlie lifted the spoon up once again. 

“Guys!” Tom said as Wilbur acknowledged his presence. “The zombies are coming!” 

“No guys, I’ll fend them off.” Charlie said as lifted his spork and the rest of you were sprinting up the stairs and onto the upper land. 

“Wait! Get rad.” Tom said as he took Charlie’s glasses off. 

“Wait- oh shit! Where did everything go?!” Charlie said as Tom ran off. Wilbur started to shoot at random as Ranboo collected Charlie and helped him up the steps. 

“There’s some plants there. It’s plants vs zombies! Hey-“ Ranboo said as continues to help Charlie and defend them both. 

“Guys come on, we gotta go!” You yelled as fear settled back into your bones as you looked at the crowd of zombies appearing. 

“Hang on this guy might be a stair guy.” Charlie said as the boys all gathered around to look at the zombie who they assumed was a “stair guy.” 

“Which ones the stair guy?” You asked Wil as he pointed at the one that started climbing one of the steps. 

“Oh that’s two! If he gets to give we’re in trouble!” Wil said as we all backed up. 

You all started to walk to the opposite of the pit away from the stairs as many of them started climbing the steps and roaming then land. 

“I’m gonna need to go for a scoop! This is a very risky scoop!” Charlie said as he made a scooping motion to the lady that was following us. 

You followed Wil as he went to the edge to get rid of some of the zombies, to find the gun jammed yet again. 

“Shit! It’s not um-“ 

“Wil! This can’t happen right now!” 

“I’m trying! I’m out of ammo!” Wil said as he started to skip over to the group leaving you to follow him. 

“Take the spork and then swing it, okay?” Charlie instructed Tom as you all walked away from the herd that was following you. 

“This is so fucked man.” Charlie said as you looked at him and nodded.

“I’ve been saying that the whole time, thank you!” You said as you saw Phil jump from the ledge and trip as he did. “Phil!” Phil swung the club around and hit the girl in the head as he looked back up to us as we all clapped and praised him for his approach. 

Wil helped you down yet again, noticing the big drop of the ledge. After placing you on the ground, he held your hand and walked over to the rest of the group. 

“What’s he doing?” You asked out in the open as Tom lifted his hand and one of the zombies pretended to choke and die. 

“He has the forces apparently!” Ranboo said as he came back over. 

“Of course he does.” You said as you shook your head with a smile. 

“Guys, I have the force!”

“Are you some fucking side kick?! What?” 

“How did you just do that?!” Phil said as you all watched him use it again and again. 

As you all asked him questions you heard running coming from behind you and saw Wil. “We have to go! Tom. Come! Come!” Wil said as he ran into the building again, all of you following close behind. 

As you went deeper and deeper into the  tunnels and building, you noticed Wil getting paler and slower. 

“Wil, man hey! Dude are you alright?” Charlie asked for you.

“Yeah I’m fine. No it’s cool! It’s cool. Don’t worry about it.” Wil said as he leant against the wall and rubbed his face. You looked up at him with concern but his smile that he gave you drew the worry out of your body a bit. 

As you all continued down the tunnels, making left and rights, going through random rooms, Wil started to limp and fall against the wall. Charlie offered him his shoulder as Wil wrapped his arm around his neck. 

“I feel hot. It’s like in my veins!”

“You are hot! You are so hot man.” Charlie said as he continued to carry Wil with him. 

“Are they flirting?” You asked Phil as you looked at the the two men ahead of you. 

“Who knows.” Phil said as you nodded with him as Charlie and Wil went back and forth about thinking sexy. 

“You’re so damp, man!” Charlie said as Wil groaned in pain and apologized. 

“This is like a shitty gay unrequited love short film…” you said out loud as Phil started to laugh and Wil started to run.

“I’m gonna be so fucking ripped- OH!” He yelled as zombies appeared in the doorway. “Okay and- down to the right!” Wil said as he crouched down and ran away, the rest of us following. 

You and Charlie made sure Wil was staying up right as you roamed and looked through the building for something, anything.

At this point you were pretty sure you were lost. 

“The adrenaline is wearing off-“ 

“You don’t look okay , man!” 

“I’m fine!” Wil said in a shaky tone. 

“Now you just sound like a white girl-“ you admitted to Wil as he turned to look at you with a smile. 

“How?!” 

“‘I’m fine! I just have a zombie bite in my arm but it’s ok!’” You said in a high pitch voice as Wil and Charlie bursted out laughing at the imitation. 

“Ok that was fucking good!” Charlie said as he fist bumped you. 

——

“I can try sucking it out of the wound-“ 

“That’s not gross at all…” you whispered out as you searched around the room. 

“It’s ok, it’s not snake venom. The fucking bear trap!” Wil whined as he held his arm.

“I can try to suck the- suck the bears out.” 

All of you paused and looked at Charlie with a confused look. “What?” 

“I think I might be feverish too.” 

Tom brought it to our attention that zombies were coming both ways, which caused a panic to arise in the group. 

“Boys, if we don’t make it out, just know, you’ve been okay!” Wil told us all as I scoffed at his way of being nice. 

The conversation were all cut off by a gun going off from down the hall. 

“Oh shit, someone’s shooting!” 

You all coward away from the noice but your attention was caught on a women that had camo and darker attire on.

“This is an evac! Follow me, this way, right now! Come on, let’s go!” You all stood around confused as the women screamed and was taken down by the zombies. Hiding away from the scene in terror, Wil brought you into his chest and told you that he’d protect you no matter what. 

“Get the gun! Get the gun!” Wil yelled out as the gun was facing our way and so close.

“I really thought she knew what she was doing.” Charlie said as he held his hands behind his head. “I’m just gonna- I’m just gonna take this if no one else is gonna need this.” 

Charlie grabbed the gun as he went towards the gate hoarded by zombies as Wil told him to say something cool as it makes the gun shoot harder. What ever the fuck that meant.

“Uh uh, CUMZINGA?!” Charlie said as he shot it from between his legs, taking down a good bunch of them. Wil quickly opened the gate as you all started to run down the hall, away from any more zombies. 

——

“Put some wood in me, please?” Wil asked as you all went upstairs to see Wil holding a plank of wood.

“Cheating on me already?!” You said jokingly as you clutched your heart in pain as Wil shook his head and carried the wood over to the steps as zombies crept closer. 

“I’ll show you my wood, alright.” Charlie said as he started shooting at the zombies again. You shook your head as the jokes got worse and worse as they went.

Blocking the stairs, you all gathered back into the middle as Wil asked if this reminds any of us of squid games. 

“Um…. no, because I’d much rather die in this scenario.” You said honestly as you joined Ranboo against the wall. 

“This is so dumb-“ 

“That’s what I’m saying. We’re all going to die….” You told Ran as he looked at you with furrowed brows.

“You’re really on about this death thing.” Ranboo confessed to you as you nodded and looked at him. 

“I watch too many shows.” 

“Fair enough!” 

“Ow! My fucking foot!” You heard Charlie yell as you went over to join Tom and him in whatever they were doing. 

“Here Tom, give me the gun.” You said as he placed the weapon in your hand as you pointed it at his other leg “Charlie if you want to make it bearable, you gotta trust me!” You told the man as he looked at you with fearful eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” 

“Making it better!” You told him as you show his knee. 

“Fuck! That didn’t make it better!”

“He’ll be fine.” You waved it off as you handed the gun back to Tom.

——

After Wil and Charlie spent a good 5 minutes listing off random cheeses they could make and worrying about Charlie, Wil said there was an extraction. 

“There’s a way out! There’s hope. There’s hope for us.” Wil said in a soft tone as he looked around at all of us. 

“Isn’t an extraction when you get the oil and you put it in the pan?”

“No-“

“Yes! Extra virgin!” 

“Ok what is your deal with extra virgin olive oil?!” You asked in a genuine tone as you looked at the man. 

“No, isn’t extraction when you have the lufa and you rub it in a clockwise motion on your skin?” 

“No that’s- that’s exfoliation!” Ranboo clarified to Charlie as they bounced back and forth trying to figure out what extraction was. 

“Guys, shut the fuck up for a second!” Phil harshly yelled at the boys as you silently thanked the older man. “There’s an extraction point. Somewhere. Somewhere there’s an extraction point. Someone came down here, with guns, and ammo, and armour. They are prepped. They are ready, they can help us.” Phil said as you hugged him and thanked him for his wise words. 

“So where do we go?” 

“Out. Where she came from.” 

“What do you mean out?!” Wil asked as you placed your head on the wall from all these stupid questions. 

“We have to go back from where she came from!” 

“Phil what does her mom have to do with this?” A long pause rested over the group as Phil took in the words Charlie just spoke. “She came from her mom Phil!” 

“She came from the tunnels!” That was the last thing you heard before you tuned everything out and placed your body weight against Wil, just wanting to be close to him. 

Wil fell against the wall a few seconds later, worry taking over your body. 

“You ok man? You good? You doing okay?” Ranboo asked as Wil lifted a fist bump up to him. “Pound it.” 

“Can you get my glasses?” Wil asked you as you nodded and reached into his pocket that stored way too much shit in them and pulled out the glasses he barely wears. “Thank you darling.” Wil said as he gave you a peck.

—— 

As Wilbur pulled Charlie aside, and the rest of the boys were doing their own thing, Phil teaching Tom and Ranboo the ways of his club, you decided to listen in on Wilbur and Charlie’s conversation. 

“I need to ask something of you man.” 

“Anything for you, man.” Charlie said as you peaked your head around the corner and saw Wil and Charlie sat on the floor as Charlie held him. 

“Tell me where are you from? How’d you end up here? What’s your story?” Wil asked as you truly believed they were about to break out into song yet again that night. 

 “Well, my mother was a humble hot dog maker-“ 

“Oh Jesus Christ, please no…” you whispered as Wilbur cracked a smile, hearing your not so quiet pleads for Charlie to just stop, hating how that part of the story went for that video. 

“She sat there all day and, plugged those pigs into those casings until the sun went down.” Charlie looked directly into the camera, voice brought up to add dramatic effect. 

“That actually sounds- why’d you make it sound so gruesome??” You asked as you walked up to them, quickly sliding down on the other side of Wilbur.

“Gotta add some storyline-“

“Know what, fair. I respect it.” You fist bumped Charlie as they continued the bit, Ran and Toms yelling slowly seeping into the recording. 

“She slipped those boars up and she sausaged them. And then, she sausaged me, and I was born.” Charlie finished as you looked at him with disgust, yet having the best idea ever. 

“So she pooped you out?” You asked as Charlie and Wil both sputtered and laughed, not being able to respond normally to that.

“What the fuck?!” Wil asked as he looked at you.

“Well he said she sausaged him so-“ you said, trying to help them connect the dots you did. 

“Oh god, that got me.” Charlie said as he wiped his eyes, making you and while laugh a bit more. “And ever since I was born, I’ve had a call. A calling, a calling to dog. A calling to keep dogging, no matter what. To always be raw dogging it and- and I was a hot dog for a bit. I was like a hot dog mascot and I was selling my hot dogs all across the land. I thought I had that dog in me. But the problem was, I put that dog in them. And those dogs, I think that’s what started all of this.” Charlie ranted about his hot dog past as Wil nuzzled into your neck and whined and groaned to add effect as to what was happening to him. 

“You think the hot dogs started it?” Wil asked as he leant back up and looked at Charlie. 

“I think the dogs started this.” Charlie said as a dramatic pause took over. 

“I got the dog in me. I got the dog in me, I got the dog in me-“ you started lightly singing as Wil and Charlie slowly started to join in. 

——

“Sorry dogs?” 

“Yeah, sorry dogs. There was a like a little , a little dog, it was like in a little hot dog bun-“ 

“Oh yeah! I remember that! Good dogs, tasted a little funny, but good. Handsome chef as well-“ you said as Wil smiled in your neck briefly and kissed it lightly. 

“Dog, Charlie. Have you ever had a really good spaghetti bolognese with meatballs?” Wil asked as you looked at him with furrowed brows. 

“What the fuck is that?!”

“No?” You and Charlie said at the same time as you both looked at him with confusion. “I only eat hot dogs.” 

“Can I describe, a really good-“ 

“Lay down, lay down.” Charlie quickly placed Wil against the wall as you went back with him, placing your hand in his hair and gently rubbed as he painted slightly and held his arm. “Is this your favorite food?” Charlie asked as Wil nodded and leant against your shoulder. “Here, tell us about it, ok? Tell us about your favorite food.”

“There was- so- there’s a word they use in a little country you may have heard of called Rome.”

“The word spaghetti?”

“Al dente-“ once the word came out of his mouth, you started laughing, thinking the way he said it and the context of the situation made the word better than it was.

“I’m sorry, proceed-“

“Of the tooth. Now what you do is you cook the spaghetti, until it’s just cooked through enough. That’s is Al dente. You mix in some tomatoes, some onions-“ you and Charlie made some comments and noises at the food being mentioned, all of you being hungry and Wil talking about food not making it better.

“Crunch. Crunch.” 

“Yeah! Caramelized is the best.”

“Oh damn…”

“Oh god!” Both you and Charlie made comments of praise at the mention of good food. 

“Throw on some meatballs. Some purée. Mix it all together… you don’t know what i- I’d kill for some hot dogs and ketchup and bolognese. Bolognese spaghetti, hot dogs-“ 

“No hot dogs, just think of the bolognese, ok?” Charlie told Wil as he started to writhe underneath your arm. 

“Hot dogs do sound kinda good tho-“ you whispered under your breathe, the mic picking it up slightly.

“Are you feeling a radiating in your face?”

“No not even close-“

“Just you babe.” You patted his shoulder as he curled up more against you.

“I’m feeling it’s like up through my my nodes.” 

“You’re what?!” You said while laughing.

——

“I want you to close your eyes, and I want you to picture that bolognese, ok?” 

“Or me, but either works!” You whispered in his ear as he leant back and closed his eyes with a hint of a smile forming, taking your hand in his and squeezing. 

“Did you go to the bolognese?”

“I’m there, I’m there.” 

“You’re at the bolognese. Now I want you to take a bite on three, ok?” Charlie said as he brought his hands up to Wilbur’s head, one on his chin and one on the top of his head. 

“Wait, Charlie-“ you tried to intervene but it didn’t work. Wil opened his mouth as Charlie said the words again. “Charlie don’t.” Your voice turned desperate as you made eye contact with him, which he gave you a determined look back. 

“On three, ok. Ok, one… two…”

“Charlie-“ 

Charlie took more than a few seconds to breathe as Wil held his mouth open. You were waiting for something to happen, but it never came until-

“ three!” Charlie turned Wilbur’s neck as he fell against you, head in your chest as you looked down at him in terror and disbelief.

“No. No no no! Charlie what the fuck did you do?! Wil? Wil wake up.. please!” You said, tears making their way into your eye line as the camera died off. 

“Damn that was good!” Charlie said giving you a fist bump as Wil sat up slightly. 

“Thanks! Drama club helped!” You said as you wiped your eyes from any tears. 

Wil looked up at you and cupped your face as he pulled you down, gently bringing you into a soft kiss full of love, happiness and smiles. “Good job, darling. Made me believe I might actually be dead.” He whispered to you as he caressed your cheek. 

“Thank you, my love. But if you were actually dead I would’ve gone full on psycho and probably murder Charlie.” You joked as you looked up at him with a smile as he quickly rubbed the back of his neck and said something about leaving, making Wil laugh more. 

——

After all the boys argued about feeding him to the zombies, overall deciding to even after you yelled at all of them that they’d leave him here to rest as you rubbed his head and held him, still keeping up the distant and revengeful persona. 

As they carried him out of your arms and down the hall to groaning people, you held the gun in your hands Wil had and followed silently, not wanting to be apart of this dreadful experience, seeing your boyfriend get swarmed with half dead people. 

“Fucking cruel.” You whispered to yourself as Wil watched with you, shaking his head. 

“It’s ok, we’ll get out of here, alright?” Phil said as you nodded and left with the rest of them .

Running down halls and tunnels, all trying to find the extraction point, Charlie cried about turning Wil to pasta.

“Should’ve fucking listen to me before turning my boyfriend into mush yeah?!” You yelled at them, still feeling a little upset they decided to feed him to the herd. 

As you guys came across steps, Charlie pointed out a sign that clearly said “way out.” 

“Well if it’s the way out, get going!” You yelled as you hurriedly pushed past and ran up the steps. Coming out the doors to the night sky and crisp air, you all looked around as you laughed and spun around, letting the fresh air and earth take you in its wake. 

“I smell survival that way.” Tom said as he pointed to the right. 

“I smell goo.” 

You shook your head as you all followed Tommy once the zombies started coming back. As you all got to the gate, all of you realized it was locked. Well, most of you. 

“Here, Tom.” You pointed to a little lock that he turned and opened the gate as you all ran, Charlie staying clung to the metal bars, shaking and yelling to let him out. “Charlie here! Come on!” 

“Charlie!” You all yelled out for the man but realized it was too late once the herd reached him and took him in their grasp.

“Charlie’s gone down. So will I- actually no I’m scared, I’m scared.” 

“Pussy.” You said to him as you all stood there waiting for something to happen. 

“Hey! Actually I’m very much a strong-“ 

“Car! Go to the car!” Ranboo yelled as you all started running again. As you all started to slow down and look for the car, Phil decided it was his turn to stay back and help defend us. 

“You have to go-“ 

“Phil, no!” All of you yelled out as Phil started to get attacked by some zombies, you pulling both of them away, already knowing his fate.

“Come on! There’s no time! He already chose!” You yelled as you all ran a bit more you all saw a car sitting there, on and ready to go. 

You all hoped in, sitting across the back seats as you all slumped and rested as you told the driver where to go. 

“We’re safe, I think we’re ok!” Ranboo said as you leant against Tom in relief. All of you being able to breathe for once after hours in end of agony and pain. 

Hearing groaning, both you and Tom’s eyes popped wide as you both looked back to see a sickly looking Wilbur. 

“Tom?” Ranboo asked worriedly as Wilbur just sat there for a minute before launching at you and Tom, both of you screaming as Wil toppled on top of you both.

Screams turned into laughter as Wil’s hands gently dug into the sides of your and Tom’s side, tickling you both briefly as he retracted back into the trunk.

“Was I scary?” Wil asked as he smiled at you three. 

“Hmm… no but you do look really pretty.” You smiled at him as the car stopped and you all got out.

Going to the back you opened the trunk and let Wil out as he sat on the edge of the car, letting you stand between his legs as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hand resting on your hips. 

“Am I always pretty and handsome to you? Even when I’m trying to be scary or cringey or-“ 

You cut him off with a short kiss as you smiled down at him. 

“Yes. Always. Now let’s get this stuff off of you, it looks itchy.” 

“Oh it is!” 

taglist; @mysticalsoot (wanna be added? Send an ask or dm!)

[denalidear]

Small Bunk

a/n: it’s not even been a full day and i have at least two more fics to post… anyway

summary: will and you share a bunk on the tour bus and the other band members wish you wouldn’t.

word count: 486

warnings: none :)

- - -

It was a hazard at this point. The hall of the tour bus was small, and the beds even smaller. Whatever spark of inspiration that drove you and Wilbur into the same bed was to be blamed. The two of you shared the bottom bunk right in front of the bathroom, so every trip through the hall came with a warning sign.

Ash was the first to fall victim to the trap the two of you had unintentionally set. Limbs hung from behind the short curtain. A Will foot there, a you arm here. He was just trying to pee while the bus drove up the California coast when he tripped over Will’s foot that stuck out just far enough to pose a threat. Both men winced and apologized before Will’s leg slithered back behind the curtain of the bunk.

Mark was next and the poor man ran into a double whammy. Will’s arm stuck out just before his elbow, and your ankle was pinned underneath his legs. As Mark ventured to the hallway closet for an extra blanket, his knee was caught on both extremities. Will’s arm was bent at an unforgiving angle and you were dragged an inch or two down as Mark fell over your foot. Everyone mumbled apologies and mark couldn't help but smile as he heard you whisper to Wilbur, “are you alright?”

Joe was the last to hit the floor in your little perilous passageway. Both other band members had warned him of the limb ridden space, but he needed to get his phone charger from his bunk. He swore he looked as he passed the two of you. But as he passed, two socked feet appeared from behind the curtain and caught his upper shin, sending him to the ground.

Neither of you would admit it, but Joe said it was a coordinated attack. And while you and will had felt bad about the bruised knees and rug burnt hands, you would share a small laugh about how it was only fair all three of them had met their demise in the tour bus hallway.

Bonus: you and will had gone out for a late night snack, sneaking out of the venue to find the nearest open diner with chocolate milkshakes. You tried to keep quiet as you entered the dark bus, sure that everyone else had already gone to sleep.

You ran your hand carefully against the wall, making sure to slide you’re shoe to there you knew there’d be a small step up. As you made you’re way to your back bunk, your legs were caught on either side by feet.

In slow motion you came crashing to the carpeted floor, your tall boyfriend right behind you. A bang shook the bus as your rear end met the ground and Will came crashing down on top of you. Immediately you laughed as the other band members cheered.

[straighttohellbuddy]

Now that I've had like a year's worth of space from it, I actually think the Vilbur/Villain!Reader fic holds together pretty well as it stands as a series of vignettes. I'll need to clear it up once I'm off my flight and train, but yeah, fuck it lets ball. Villain!Reader/Vilbur fic tonight baybee

[heartofwritiing]

Absent in the spring.

paring: q!wilbur x fem!reader (+ platonic q!philza x fem!reader)

summary: a small vacation to Phil’s beach house causes you to finally break down.

authors note: a follow-up to this fic but you don’t really have to read it. some more q!wilbur angst for you guys because I miss wilbur and tullulah content! also i made it so chayanne and tallulah talk in this lets just pretend the eggs are the human-dragon hybrids that are in fanart bc thats how i see them!

warnings: a little angsty sorry, hurt-comfort, happy end, not 100% following qsmp lore, unedited! please ignore any mistakes!

“how are you holding up?”

Phil’s voice pulls you out of your trance from fidgeting with the blades of grass next to your tucked legs.

You bring your gaze up from the lush green and watch on as Chayanne and Tallulah play tag a few feet away in the field behind Phil’s beach house.

The past month had been weary as you waited for your husband to return from his tour. Days stretched on though you kept going despite that dread in your chest of missing him.

Phil had noticed you seemed less like yourself as the month went on. You were sleeping less, and getting stressed. When he came over to help you take care of Tallulah yesterday he saw how defeated you looked while trying to keep a brave face for your daughter.

Being in an empty house wasn’t fun for anyone, especially when it was too dangerous to go outside on the server alone. So, Phil invited you out to escape that empty feeling, just for a while at least. A walk and boat ride later, you were now sat beside the man with his legs crisscrossed while he munched on avocado toast.

You had shrugged plainly to his question. Fine? Okay? you didn’t know…

Squeals and giggles erupted in your ears as you watched Tallulah finally tag a breathless Chayanne, who had gotten tired of running away from his sister and let her have a turn at the one being chased. Her little legs barely kept up with her taller older sibling as he quickly regained energy.

You couldnt help the smile that was brought upon your lips. Happy they were having such a good time together, being normal for once and not sheltered from the horrors of the server that was trying to harm them every moment. They needed this time, to be care free. To be kids.

You and Phil chuckled at their antics. Though It made your heart break thinking about Wilbur being absent. He wasn’t here to hear the sounds of his daughter's sweet giggles as she played blissfully in the tall grass. To see how she was getting along with everyone, making sure they were happy and cared for.

Wilbur hadn’t sent you a letter in a week. You understood he was busy with tour, you didn’t expect him to have much time to sit and write but your worst agitations were coming true.

The disappointment was settling in each time you would go to the mailbox by the door- you and lullah had spent a day painting and decorating to your liking, with splotches of colors and your names painted across in not-so-straight letters- it would be empty with no sign of even being open since the previous morning.

“I miss him,” you say suddenly to Phil, whose gaze shifts away from the kids to you. You keep your eyes locked on them, fearing that meeting his eyes would make you finally break down into the tears you were holding back for so long.

Phil brings his hand onto your shoulder, a simple symbol of comfort.

“Awe mate, I miss him too.” he said warmly. “he’ll be back soon, im sure of it.”

Swallowing the lump building in your throat, you were so glad you had Phil there for you in these moments. Tallulah had done a good part cheering you up but sometimes you needed a real talk.

"I thought I could do this on my own but-" you choke. "I need him, Phil. He's missed so much and I can't help but think he's gonna feel guilty for not being there for her, or for me."

You let yourself break down in-front of your father in-law finally letting go of everything you’d been holding onto the past month and a half.

Phil placed his hand on your back in support as you sobbed into your hands. The aching pain in your forehead with the slight headache building, the chest pangs told you this cry was long over due.

A tap on your shoulder brings your head out from your knees. You lift your eyes to see Chayanne standing over you, his hand stretched out with a simple white flower pinching between his little fingers. His eyes held nothing but innocence as he looked down on you solemnly. He did not understand why you were so distraught, nor did he care, he just wanted to aid you in any way that he could.

"Please don't cry, Tia Y/N," his voice was small but sympathetic, making your heart sink.

Phil looked so proud in that moment, to see his son come over to aid you with comfort made him perceive he was doing something right in raising a child for once.

Taking the flower from Chayanne, he immediately crouched down to give you a tight hug around your shoulders. Surprised but grateful, you began silently crying as another pair of little arms joined the embrace - you knew it was Tallulah. Finally, you allowed yourself to let go and broke down into tears, feeling their tight embrace.

You were so glad you had these kids. Though they didn’t understand your behavior entirely there was no judgement, only care.

“For what it's worth Y/N, you have us and we will always take care of you both.”

Of course, you knew that. Phil had always been there for you since you first met him. He took his role as a father to everyone very seriously.

“thank you for bringing us here Phil, we really needed this.” you breathe as the kids pulled away from you. Phil gives you a smile of understanding.

-

A few hours passed as you all sat on the dock, watching the last glimmer of daylight fade away over the water - casting a golden glow. Phil suggested a campfire to roast marshmallows. Tallulah and Chayanne were already running off excitedly to gather various sticks to help. Once the fire was going, you all sat together on the sand telling stories, laughing, and enjoying each other's company.

The hole in your heart was healing, and the weight on your chest lifted. You realized that even though life was rough and unpredictable, having a supportive family was what mattered, and you felt content and at peace.

You saw the others smiling, knowing the shared bond was enough.

That night you all slept at the beach house, and for the first time in a month, neither you nor Tallulah had a nightmare.

The journey the following day back to Phil’s was thankfully uneventful. Mostly just shenanigans between the two children. Collecting things like leaves for the scrapbook you and Tallulah were making for Wilbur, documenting all your adventures. Chayanne running ahead to deal with any monsters who dare cross your path.

Upon seeing the tiny house with a fenced yard, you all went your separate ways. As you opened the gate to the yard, the tall purple trees and the various flowers made you miss the tiny home.

Tallulah seemed happy to be back and automatically tried dragging you to see her turtles before you could close the gate. You asked her to be patient while you brought your bags inside.

Walking up to the front door, you heard a crash from inside and you froze. You instantly reached for your sword laying on your hip. Tallulah saw this as a warning and she quickly cowered behind your legs. Preparing for the worst, it could be anyone behind the door. Charlie looking for food, (since he was living near your house in a shed last you heard.) Quackity looking to start another fight about parenting. Or worse the code monster could’ve shown up again to take Tallulah from you.

You would die before that would happen.

Tallulah clung to your legs as you quietly unlocked the door and pushed it open. You gazed down at her and saw her worried eyes.

“If something happens I need you to teleport to abuelito and Chayannes to warn them okay?” You spoke to her firmly in hushed tones, being careful. Tallulah showed you the tiny purple stone for a quick getaway and indicated she understood.

The house was exactly as you left it, except for the suitcase and guitar bag resting against the sofa, which made you frown. Then realization settled in and a gasp escapes you.

Was he here?

Or was this another trick?

As you lowered your sword, you heard someone rustling down the ladder. The wood creaked with every step as the person in the yellow sweater came into view. With round glasses leaning down his nose, fluffy hair, and long limbs, you’d know him anywhere.

Wilbur felt relief wash over him as he stopped midway on the ladder and saw you staring at him in disbelief. as if he were a ghost. It pained him slightly. You couldn’t believe it.

Wilbur was back.

Tallulah peeked out from behind your legs and the tiny gasp she let out when she saw Wilbur. She ran into his arms and cried out;

"Papa!"

Wilbur grinned as his tearful daughter ran towards him. He scooped her up in a tight embrace as you watched, tears streaming down your own cheeks. He held her swinging back and forth gently trying to hush her cries. She was so happy to finally see him again. You had never seen such a wonderful sight of the two people you loved the most in this world.

“I missed you so much Tallulah!”

Wilbur rested his head on Tallulah’s and smiled sideways at you and reached out his arm. Without hesitation, you dropped your sword, which clanked loudly on the ground, and you rushed into his embrace.

You bury your face in his neck, holding onto his scent, his body, his everything. Never wanting to forget how he felt and sounded. Tears stream down your face, drenching his sweater, but you don't care. This time, they flow out of love and happiness, not frustration or sadness.

You all cried and held onto each other for dear life.

“I missed you so, so much my love,” he coos in your ear causing you to choke out a laugh. After missing his voice for months you were so elated to hear it again.

Wilbur sniffled as he squeezed you both tightly in his arms, never wanting to let go.

“I’m here my girls, and I am never gonna leave you again,” he whispers.

This was home.

End

[calmthefuckdownalright]

I Think I'm Alive For You

@heartofwritiingiing reblogged my fiction I Think I Died for You and added this amazing tag...and well...this happened yeah.

NOTICE: This is going to take place in an alternate universe where Karl and Sapnap never left Quackity (for plot reasons just read)

(Also those who have requested things I am working on them I promise)

><><><><><><><><><>

"This is L'manberg. Or what's left of it." The man's voice was airy and faint. Rain drizzled down around you and he helped you to your feet.

His hand was warm and it made your blood spark in excitement. You'd been cold for so long...

"You said your name was Y/N?" The stranger kept your hand in his but you hardly minded. You met red eyes with curiosity like a flame dancing in the pools.

"What's yours?" You asked skeptically. There was a white streak in his hair...odd.

"Wilbur. Wilbur Soot." Wilbur said and you let a small smile twitch on your lips.

"Well it's nice to meet you." You said stiffly and smoothed out the thin clothes you wore. Nothing more than a plain green shirt and a blue jacket with some trousers to hide your body from the elements. It reminded you of something of a zombie, though you hardly remembered the things.

"Would you like to see the place?" Wilbur smiled at you and something flickered in his crimson eyes. Something welcoming and vague.

"Yes, yes i suppose i would." You nodded and Wilbur offered his arm. The warmth sparked your blood again and tingled throughout your body like a lightning bolt.

~~~~

Wilbur was interesting...he was a steady hand on your back as you explored the many improved technologies that had emerged in your time 'away' as he had begun to call it.

Things felt better around him, like figuring out how long you'd been gone and how you got where you were didn't matter. At least, that's what Wilbur had told you he planned to make you feel like. So far he succeeded.

"I'll never miss another sunset again." Wilbur sighed and rubbed a half gloved finger over your hand softly. You smiled and rested against his shoulder with you back. In your free hand you twirled a flower, it was dying and the dark blue of its petals reminded you of something. Someone. A memory that seemed so happy you wanted to remember it.

"Hey Wil." You said softly.

"What is it darling?" He asked airily and you could tell he had his eyes closed. A breeze passed by.

"How did you die?"

Wilbur was quiet and his hand ceased to rub against yours. The air felt dangerous and explosive. The faint smell of gunpowder wafted from Wilbur on the quiet breeze and blew off a single petal from your dying blue flower.

"I..." Wilbur stammered and your curiosity grew. Did he remember? Did he not know like you? Was it all fuzzy and blank?

"My father stabbed me. I asked him to." Wilbur didn't look at you and a distant hand came and rubbed his chest.

"Oh..." You were grim in your words and thought it better to just stay quiet.

"Do you know how you died darling?" Wilbur asked and you shook your head. He pulled you close to him, resting your head on his shoulder and his arm around you.

"I don't even remember being alive." You scoffed and curled close to Wilbur.

"Maybe it doesn't matter then." Wilbur shrugged and your brain glitched.

"Your life doesn't matter to me anymore Y/N of-"

Someone had said that to you then it went blank. Then you died.

"I think I was important to someone, and they killed me." Your brow furrowed.

"You shouldn't worry about it, you've got me now." Wilbur kissed your head and lingered there with his nose buried in your hair.

"Yeah..."

~~~~

You tried not to question anything that happened from then on. Wilbur hadn't seemed too happy about you figuring it out and something wrong twisted in your gut about that.

"I don't know what's gotten into him." You sighed and caressed the face of the blue sheep. Tommy had said it was important to someone you knew and they would've liked you to have him.

Of course this had been rather odd but the animal was quite cute, so you supposed you could take care of it for now. It had a collar and on a tag in scrawled writing was 'Friend.'

"He's gone back to Las Nevadas and told me to stay home. Wonder why." You played with the bright blue wool and earned a satisfied baa from the livestock.

"I think he likes you."

There was a face, blank and compassionate. It was familiar and something cold but longing flickered in your chest.

Friend let out an indignant baa and you resumed petting him absent minded.

"Let's go find Wilbur." You decided and hooked the leash onto the sheep's collar, leading him to the desert city of Las Nevadas.

The clouds blocked the sun over the desert and you remembered Wilbur saying something about Quackity being a liar and basically moving every scrap of sand he could to create his capitalist paradise.

"I bet you'd be real hot in that wool if it wasn’t cloudy." You smiled at Friend and tugged the sheep along. Despite what Wilbur had told you about the palace of lies Q had built in his artificial desert, you were awestruck at the infrastructure nonetheless.

"Excuse me, who are you?"

You looked over your shoulder slowly as you stared at a tower of quartz and what looked like a needle at the top. No fear ran in your blood, Wilbur had said that was partially because of how long you'd been away.

"Erm, Y/N." you narrowed your eyes at the creature. A being of green goo with glasses covered in slime and a meshed version of suspenders and a shirt. A rather haggard appearance all together really.

"Where are you from?" The blobby man asked with a dorky smile.

"I-" your brow furrowed. Where were you from?

"This is L'manburg, or what's left of it."

"L'manburg. What's left of it anyways." You said.

"Well Y/N of What's left of L'manburg, Please state your business." The slime stood straight for such an unstable appearance and you cringed. Something fearful sparked in your chest at the familiar way they talked.

"You life doesn't matter to me anymore Y/N of-"

"I'm here for Wil-" You shook away the cold, dying memeory and just about as you got half his name out.

"Y/N? What're you doing here? What's with the sheep?" Wilbur's voice came from behind the slime man and the gooey greeter was quick to vanish away in a gloop of green into the sandy ground.

"I came looking for you. Tommy gave him to me, his name's Friend apparently." You shrugged. Something passed over Wilbur's face as he looked at the sheep before he snapped back to you.

"You really need to go." He let a sly smile split his lips but the smoothness of his words did little to quell the suspicion rising in your gut.

"and why's that?" You crossed your arms, the lead attached to your wrist swinging as Friend sniffed and baaed at the ground.

"Because darling-" Wilbur's words fell short as a new voice cut through the air.

"Y/N?" This voice belonged to a man in a colorful hoodie with a swirl in the middle and shaggy brown hair with a set of oddly colored goggles sitting on top his head.

"What-?" Fog swirled in your head and Wilbur stepped back to your side, his arm wrapping around your waist comfortingly.

"Karl?" You recognized the face now. The loose freckles and curious eyes. Wilbur's hand vanished from your side and you ran into Karl's arms.

"Oh my gosh, where did you go?" His familiar embrace warmed your soul and ignited a smile on your face.

"I-I died!" You pulled away from him and took in his features. The eye bags were new and the love worn wrinkles from ages of laughing and smiling looked good on him.

"You what?" his smile dropped. "What do you mean you died?" His eyes flicked up to your hair where a white streak ran through the locks, matching with Wilbur's.

"I don't remember anything from before or during. Oh gosh Karl, it was just cold and empty. Wilbur's helped a ton." You turned from the single person you could remember and turned to the man who had saved you. He was scowling slightly and had his arms crossed, a cigarette burning on the side of his mouth.

"My little sister got help from the he-devil himself?" Karl quirked a brow and looked at you disbelieving.

"It was meant to be a surprise. If you'd stayed in town like I asked things would've gone right." Wilbur growled a little.

"What're you talking about Wil. Nothing of yours has ever gone right." A man with black hair and white attire came from behind Karl along with a smaller man whose voice had risen. The smaller man was clad in a very...capitalist set of suspenders and a long scar ran down the side of his face and over his eye.

"Hush up Big Q. It was your idea for me to do it in Las Nevadas." Wilbur dabbed his cigarette ash into the sand, crushing an ember with the heel of his boot.

"Hold on," You stepped away from Karl and back to Wilbur's side. "If you're Quackity, and this is Karl." You turned to the last man with dark hair. "Who the fuck are you?" You asked and Friend baaed in agreement.

"Sapnap at your service. For being married to the guy, Karl never mentioned a sister." Sapnap leaned on Karl heavily and your brother's face turned a bright blooming red.

"Married?" Your mouth twitched and Quackity came towards you with an outstretched hand.

"The three of us are in a polyamorous marriage. That makes us family." Quackity smiled charmingly and you grimaced a little. This man did not fit Wilbur's colorful description. It didn't fit.

"Back up Q before you get a matching scar." Wilbur pulled you back by the shoulder.

"Watch your words Wilbur." Sapnap narrowed his eyes daringly and a small flicker of fire glowed on his knuckles with smoke rising from his skin.

"Okay, before a fight breaks out!" You turned to Wilbur. "Mind explaining the 'surprise' I somehow ruined?"

Wilbur sighed and flicked his cigarette away, crushing it under his heel with a flicker of a smirk as the ash and ember died away.

"I was gonna bring you here tonight and introduce you to Karl. I've been trying to find traces of you from your first life experience and I talked to Phil and he said Karl would be the one to know anything. Turns out your family and so I was gonna ask him if I could...." Wilbur's words trailed off into a muttering whisper and he turned away with an arm rubbing his neck.

"Didn't catch that last bit." You cleared your throat and Wilbur's face turned a bright red to match the shades that hung on his shirt collar.

"I was going to-" Wilbur was slow and sheepish. Friend baaed indignantly.

"He was gonna propose to ya if Karl would bless it since you ain't got a parental figure that we know of." Quackity shouted over him and Wilbur brought a stick of dynamite from his pocket.

"WOAH THERE LOVER BOY!" Sapnap stood in front of Karl and Quackity with sparks and flames coming from his fists.

"You were gonna propose?" You looked to Wilbur with a speechless face and his snarling face to Quackity vanished almost immedietly as he turned to you.

"Y-yeah." Wilbur shrugged and put the dynamite away.

"Wilbur!" You darted into his arms and buried yourself in his chest. "Yes." You said excitedly.

"I haven't even asked you yet!" Wilbur chuckled.

"Well hurry the hell up!" You said fiercely and Wilbur let out a booming laugh like an explosion.

Fuck the past, this man was going to be your future.

~~BONUS~~

Charlie stared from the back. You walked to Wilbur of Pogtopia and married him like it was so easy. It confused him, how forgetful humans were. The memory of your cold corpse in his hands was fresh in his mind.

The dull memory of your smile next to his and the guiding lessons of how to love and protect and simply had faded away with the life in your eyes. You hadn't taught him that just because you had taught him everything you knew didn't mean you weren't useful.

Things without use are pointless.

Things without use are not worth having anymore. So he killed you, your purpose fullfilled to him and your ghost never crossed paths with him. Now you could teach Wilbur to love maybe. Or maybe Wilbur will teach you.

"Congratulations Y/N of Dream SMP. Welcome back." He smiled and slimed away, back to the dark.

[listenheresweaty]

OKAY GUYS

This post discusses

Upcoming fic

How to manage if you don’t want to see c!wilbur content but still want to follow me for my non-Wilbur works

Back in late Feb/early March I ran a poll asking my followers what bur variation fic they would like to see next. The majority picked a Revivebur fic I had already written in 2021 but never posted. It’s a little badly written. It touches upon second chances and the demonization of those with mental illness, but I want to make it PERFECTLY CLEAR: I am NOT calling for people to give cc!Wilbur a second chance, NOR reducing this whole situation to people “demonizing him for his mental illness” (even if he is mentally ill, it isn’t an excuse for abuse). The fic is PURELY about c!wilbur, NOT the cc!.

That being said:

If you do not want to see c!wilbur works but still want to follow my blog or content, I will be posting any non-Wilbur works under the tag “sweaty is not talking about c!wilbur” (awkwardly named i know). You can block/follow these tags at your own convenience. Another option is unfollowing me and following the “sweaty is not talking about c!wilbur” tag. However, it’ll only become a tag you can follow once I’ve posted enough works under that tag.

Please plan according to your preferences. I will be DMing mutuals directly.

*I write reader fics, if that wasn’t clear from my pinned post. *The Quackity fic is in the works. Lots of college stuff going on so I’m struggling with procrastination but yk

[justpuppylove]

JEALOUSY PART 2

Dom!quackity x afab reader smut

Kinks/warnings: choking, degrading, spit, daddy kink, breeding

PART 1 -

After you go home for the night you come back to the casino to quackity ignoring you. Not that you gave a fuck after the stunt he pulled the other day. Even though he was trying to make it look likes he was ignoring you it was very obvious he was glancing over at you every change he got. He could feel his blood boiling every-time you got flirty with a customer. Eventually, you went outside for your break and you saw someone following you out of the corner of your eye.

“Y/N.” Quackity says as he grabs your wrist and turns you around to face him. You look in his eyes and he looks pissed. His grip on your wrist is very tight and it slightly stings. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He says as he squeezes your arm tighter. “What?” You say very confused. What is he talking about? What did you do? “You know what I’m talking about. First you fucked Wilbur even though you know how much I hate him, and now you’re flirting with clients directly afterwards? How jealous are you trying to make me.” Quackity responds, pulling you closer to him so his face is only inches away from yours. Now you knew what he meant. “Quackity I can do whatever I want. You don’t own me and you can’t control who I fuck.” You say knowing it’ll make him even more pissed. Quackity grabs your throat and your hands immediately grab his wrist as a reflex. “I’ll show you who you fucking belong to.”

He pushes you onto your knees and shoves his thumb into your mouth making you slide out your tongue for him. He spits onto your face and slaps you. A grin grows on his face as you go to unbutton his pants. “Awe. You really are a whore for me, hm?” He says making you look at him, all you can do is nod. He lets you unbutton his pants and you pull out his dick. Precum is already leaking out of his tip and you can’t help but smile up at him as you kiss his tip. He takes his dick into his hand and slaps his tip onto your face. He pushes his dick into your mouth with a groan. He grabs your hair and immediately begins face fucking you. “Such a nasty slut.” He says while pushing his dick deep into your throat, making you gag. He groans as he pulls out with a ‘pop’.

He sits you down on top of a table and pulls your clothes off. He latches his mouth onto your neck and pushes two fingers inside of you. “Ah~ daddy” you moan out while grabbing onto the back of his head. “Say that again.” He demands while thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “I need you to fuck me daddy.” You say, looking up to him with teary eyes. He pulls his fingers out of you and brings them up to your mouth. You suck on his fingers while he pressed his tip into your entrance, making you moan. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and onto your clit as he bottoms out inside of you. He begins slamming into you while squeezing your throat. “You feel so fucking good baby” he whispers into your ear, sending a shiver through your body. You squeeze around him in response, making him groan. He removes the hand from your clit and grabs your thighs instead, giving him a better grip to fuck into you. He digs his nails into your hips as he slams into you. You can feel your orgasm unraveling as you wrap your arms around him. “So close~ can I cum for you daddy?” You ask. “Cum on my dick like the slut you are.” He says slamming into you even harder. This makes you cum all over him but he doesn’t stop. He continues fucking into you as tears form in your eyes “s-stop” you say as you feel yourself being overstimulated. “Take me like the good slut you are” he says groaning. You both feel the same knot in your stomachs as you edge close to another orgasm. “I’m going to fill you up so good darling, everyone will know you belong to me.” He says right before he cums inside of you. His hot seed spills out inside of you as you cum on his dick.

You both lean on each other as you come down from your orgasms and he cleans you up. You both go back to the casino together and you can tell this will be a regular occurrence from now on.