#c!wilbur soot x reader

[heartofwritiing]

I guess this time there’s just no hiding, (fighting you make me restless.)

parings: hockeyplayer!wilbur soot x figureskater!fem!reader (+ c!philza & c!kristen they own the ice rink!) (mentions of platonic!c!tommy x fem!reader)

summary: you and wilbur meet for the first time after your schedules get mixed up.

authors note: OKAY SO I started writing this back in April and never finished it, but I recently read Icebreaker by hannah grace and I had the urge to finish it! the idea was an au of what if sbi were a hockey team! (pretty sure I saw fanart once of dsmp like that but it could’ve been american football or soccer??) I've literarily been editing and re-writing this for three days straight and I think it's okay, but I hope you guys like it! I'm excited to post it anyways!! Let me know if I should do a part two!!

*title is lyrics from set me free by michelle branch from the ice princess soundtrack!

Warnings: Hockey AU!, first meetings, flirting,annoyance-lovers, swearing, beardbur. YES. unedited! (If there is anything I forgot let me know!!)

Ice skates glided across the smooth ice, freshly resurfaced only a few minutes ago. The blades cut with every movement, leaving lines in your wake.

It felt so freeing, so weightless in a way. You always loved being out on the ice. It felt like another world permitting your feet to take control and letting your mind be free of your thoughts.

Warm-ups were always a great excuse to not practice your triple lutzes. You had been trying to get it down for weeks, and your coach told you to just take it one day at a time but, of course, you still pushed yourself until you got it perfectly.

You were glad your scheduled preparation was when no one was at the rink, so you wouldn't get distracted while practicing for regionals. The only people in the building were the Zamboni driver, Sam, and the owners of the building.

Once you completed your warm-up, you felt fully prepared to begin your routine. You took a deep breath and focused all your energy to your feet, taking a deep breath, tuning out the world. At that moment, it was just you and the ice.

Following your whole set flawlessly, It came time to go for the triple lutz, you moved faster but more immersed, and you push off the ground sailing through the air and spinning. When you landed on your opposite foot, you failed to gain your balance and collided with a thud. A sharp pain shot through your body from the impact, but you brushed it off quickly collecting yourself. You got up to try again.

The cold air hit your face as you staked back to your starting point in the middle. You concentrated again and went for an attempt at the triple lutz again. You lifted into the air and suddenly felt something hard crashing into you. A groan and another thud, this time from the person you had slammed into.

You landed hard on your ass and groaned. Thinking to yourself why the hell was someone else on the ice while you were. Annoyed you’d have to start once again You quickly looked up only to find yourself face-to-face with a handsome stranger. He was also on the ground having slipped from the impact of your body colliding into his.

"oh shit,” he mumbled. “are you okay?" he quickly picked himself up and offered his hand out. Your heart raced, and you felt warmth spread throughout your body.

Effortlessly he helped you to your feet. You realized how tall he actually was since he towered over you. You begin to feel a bit dizzy staring up at the tall man. You guessed it was from the numerous times you had hit the floor hard. It certainly wasn’t the butterflies punching in your stomach from the painfully attractive male.

“I'm fine,” you replied shakily. “ I wasn’t paying attention,”

He smirked down at you as you stood up. You were able to observe his features more closely the closer you stood to him. The stubble around his jaw and under his chin adds a rugged charm, while his curly and slightly disheveled hair partially covers his eyes. You swear you catch a little glint in that soft brown gaze.

Likely from catching the tremble in your voice only moments ago, inadvertently revealing your nerves. You silently scolded yourself for behaving like a teenager around this attractive stranger.

“It's okay sweetheart, I wasn’t paying attention either," The stranger's voice crooned and sounded like honey. Your knees slightly buckled at the sound of his accent dropping a few octaves lower.

What was happening?

You nodded silently, fiddling with your skating attire between your fingers in an attempt to steady your thumping heart. Your gaze involuntarily drifted downwards, taking in his attire.

He wore a hockey uniform with a distinct green stripe at the top and a white base. The jersey's padding accentuated his broad shoulders, and the prominent pine green number 14 drew attention. Overall, the uniform made his complexion appear less pale somehow.

The realization hit you. He was a hockey player who played for the team that practiced in this rink. Hell, you knew Coach Phil, who owned the rink with his wife Kristen your skating coach. They were like your parents, taking you under their wings at a young age.

The hockey team he coached was dubbed "The Crows." appropriately after his favorite bird. Phil told you the story of how crows were loyal to those who treat them with kindness and how they repay it back to you. It never bore you in the slightest the number of times he told you over the years.

Although you have never attended a game yourself. You weren't a fan of the sport. You didn't even know the basic rules. Since Kristen has informed you about the rowdiness and occasional violence that can occur, you never opted to go to an actual game.

Sometimes, when you finished your practice, you could hear the disruptive noise coming from the men's locker room down the hall. You would often roll your eyes and walk past the doorway with disgust over how loud they were.

The dislike of them wasn't personal you never had met any of the boys before. But something about broad-shouldered men doing nothing but finding some way to ooze testosterone poisoning every chance they got annoyed you for no particular reason. So you purposely avoided them at all costs.

There was only one person from The Crows you had spoken with until now - Tom, who preferred to be called Tommy, as he told you shyly. Although younger than the others, he possessed a charming yet bold personality. Strangely, you felt a protective instinct towards him, like an older sibling though you couldn't define why.

Since meeting Tommy, you had only talked with him in passing, but you knew he was a good kid and liked him.

You were lost in thought for nearly a minute and didn't speak to the hockey player standing close to you. He smiled and lowered his head as if he had spoken though you didn't hear him.

"Huh?" you blink.

He chuckles, and the sound echoes in your ears, causing your heart to pound again.

"I asked for your name, darling," he mused.

Oh...

And that nickname. It seemed as though he was intentionally trying to make you feel flustered.

You realized that you didn't even know his name you quickly abandoned any preconceptions about him and answered him politely.

"Y/N,"

When he heard how your name sounded falling off your lips he smiled genuinely. As if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It seemed to have a significant impact on him. His reaction stirred something within you. Like a strange connection between the two of you was forming from this one interaction.

"Im Wilbur- or Wil, that's what my friends call me,”

It was becoming increasingly difficult to dislike this man by the minute. You decided to have a little fun, thinking it couldn't hurt.

“Oh? So we're friends now?” You raised an eyebrow.

He playfully teased, "If that's what you want."

Cheeky bastard. You thought while smiling.

“Now if you don't mind darling, I have to practice."

Feeling a sudden shift in your head made you glare at the back of his head. Pushing off your stakes to circle around him and put a hand on his chest. Wilbur looks at you with a stunned expression, as if he's surprised that you dared to stop him. a

"I've only been here for twenty minutes. You are not going to take advantage of my practice time," you scoff. “I have at least another half hour left."

You didn't mean to come off in a snooty way, but the stress you were under was so overwhelming. Winning regionals was so important to you, and you weren't going to let this jerk interrupt your training, no matter how handsome he was.

Wilbur just shrugged.

“Sorry sweetheart but playoffs are coming up, and I need to work on my shots,”

Your eyes narrowed and you faced off in a staring contest. Stubborn as you were you didn't move an inch.

“Well, I am not leaving.” you crossed your arms over your chest.

The only thing to pull your gaze away from his was the sound of Phil coming down the stairs in the stands asking what was wrong.

You skated over to the open space where Phil was walking down the steps, ignoring the fact that Wilbur was trailing right behind you.

"Phil, I was here first, and my time is nowhere near done. However, Wilbur insists that it's his practice time that I am intruding on it."

"Listen, ice princess," Wilbur said with a hint of frustration. You reluctantly turn to face him, wearing a scowl on your face. "We're just a week away from one of our biggest games of the season, and we need to focus on practice. I can't waste time dealing with any of your bullshit."

The tone of his voice caught you off guard for a second. Which caused you to put your lips in a thin line. You weren't expecting him to get this intense over the situation. Then you knew nothing about him.

"Wil," Phil gives him a warning glare. This promptly shuts Wilbur up.

"Both of you calm down. We will get this figured out," he tries to reason. He yells for Kristen as she comes sprinting out of the office that posed in the corner of the rink with the glass windows looking out to the entire stadium. You watch on as there are hushed tones between the pair as they look at the clipboard in Phil's hands.

You hear Phil mumble out a string of curses. This causes concern to cross your and Wilbur's faces, but you don't say anything. Phil rubs his forehead as his wife turns to you with a remorseful expression.

"I'm sorry guys, We must've gotten the schedules mixed up.” Phil looks at you sheepishly.

Kristen starts by saying that the problem is currently unfixable. She explains that they have numerous prior booked events for the rink, making it impossible to alter the schedule.

Great. You thought.

Not only was it two weeks before nationals, but you also needed the space to practice. This was the only skating rink around. And you had a suspicion that the hockey team was bearing to be more stubborn than you were about this new situation.

Then you heard the words that made your stomach drop.

"you're gonna have to share the space on the ice."

After Kristen spoke, chaos broke out. Both you and Wilbur bombarded the married couple with injunctions and protests. This wasn't fair in the slightest.

They managed to convince both of you to settle down and come to an understanding. The consequences of not doing so would result in Wilbur being benched and you being unable to skate in the regionals this year. Losing the opportunity to compete was not an option for either of you, especially after putting in so much effort since last year's competition.

Reluctantly you agreed to get along with Wilbur and the rest of the team when the time came, no matter how much you hated it.

Upon Kristen's return to the office and Phil informing the rest of the boys about the situation in the lockers, you opted to skate to the far end of the rink, away from others, choosing a spot with brighter lighting.

"Well, looks like we're gonna be seeing a lot of each other, darling." Wilbur wandered up to you while you got into position to start your program.

You huffed. Yep, this was your life now. Anticipating Wilbur's continuous comments every day for the next two weeks.

"Don't get too used to it, pretty boy," You sniped. "I only agreed to share for Phil and Kristen's sanity."

He snickered and hummed.

"Whatever you say," he mumbled. "Just don't let my pretty face distract you from your skating," he winked and skated backward.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks and tried to convince yourself that it was from how aggravated you were over a minute ago.

"I wouldn't let it get to your head," you voiced. "I could still easily beat your ass in staking any day,"

He smirked at you, seemingly challenging you to prove your capabilities. Even though you had nothing to prove, you just wanted the satisfaction of making a fool out of him. However, you know that the time for retaliation was not now. Eventually, you will wipe that arrogant grin off his face.

"I'm looking forward to it, darling," He said before he turned to join his team.

As the rest of his team gathered in a huddle, you watched as they greeted Wilbur in a brotherly way. Tommy had slid up to him enthusiastically, rabbling about whatever was on his mind today. Most likely hockey related.

Wilbur had brought a hand up to the top of Tommy’s head to playfully ruffle his hair before moving over to where Phil was getting the team settled, but not before flicking the blonde on the forehead. A whiney “ouch!” escaped the younger one’s mouth as he followed behind his teammate, causing an amused smile to tug on your lips at their antics.

Taking one final glance at Wilbur wrapping his hands in tape before pushing into the first move. A simple glide and you went into your own world.

Wilbur glimpsed over to your side of the rink and watched as you began your routine. He was absolutely enthralled with watching how flawlessly you moved. Definitely thinking about how beautiful you looked in your attire, even if it was a simple zip-up jacket and yoga pants.

He definitely wasn’t looking. He was.

It wasn’t until one of his teammates pulled him out of his trance with a smack to the back of the head with a glove that he reluctantly pulled his eyes away from you and fell into his own practice as Phil blew the whistle to signal them all to fall into their positions.

The next two weeks were going to be quite interesting, to say the least.

tagging @merakiwi ! since you liked my previous stuff! if you don't want me to tag you in anything in the future let me know!

[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.

[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!)

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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

[mysticalsoot]

someone to live with

part 2 to someone to (not) die with

➸ note; i know i said id post this at 8- but I was watching heartland with my mom and like.. sobbed like a baby anyways, hope you enjoy!!

➸ pairing; revivebur x gn!reader // c!wilbur x gn!reader

➸ summary; after wilbur's death and a too long to think, you ask your sister to help you. she does but maybe her methods work a bit too well.

➸ warning; slight hurt/big comfort, suicide mentions, kissing, easily forgiving reader, ghostbur goes to a happy limbo, probably swearing

➸ age-rating; 15+

➸ wordcount; 3.1k

main masterlist // part 1

wilbur's funeral was quicker than most, and not many people showed up. if anything, it was mostly you and his father and brothers. Niki came by, your sister Grace did too. but in all honesty, not many people bothered to pay their respects.

you also kept it quiet, taking a few days before the funeral to really let everything sink in, to let the fact he left the bouquet you gave him on the spot he wanted to be buried. it was just by the hill he used to sit on, the one he took you to and told you all about his dreams for the future. for lmanburg and for the future you both hoped to share.

you wouldn't be sharing that future now.

despite that; the time since wilbur's death went by slowly, and was utterly agonizing. your home felt colder, although it could've been winter slowly creeping up, you chalked it up to the lack of your partner. or maybe it was his ghost that wandered your halls that emanated that cold. or maybe he just contributed to it. whatever it was, you found yourself spending more time out in the snow sitting by his grave than sitting by the fire in your living room.

you'd talk to him, or rather the corpse of his that was buried a few feet down in a hand built coffin that his older brother forged through anger. Techno wasn't known for tears.

but you were. you wouldn't be surprised if your tears eventually froze over whenever you spoke to his grave, as the days were getting colder and the chill of the wind started to burn your cheeks.

ghostbur was nice, you thought. a nice distraction. he was kind and sweet and he was all the good of Wilbur and more. he wasn't Wilbur, he made that clear, but you knew that the moment you met him. he caught you on a less than good day, wandering around your house, mindlessly walking the halls and dissociating to the point you weren't sure what was going on or where you were.

but he came knocking on your doorstep, friend behind him. you took him in, since he had nowhere else to go. you helped him stable up friend, put him in the pen and set him up in the fields while you brought ghost in and helped him warm up. you kept him away from the snow and cold, helping him become afloat again. he stayed back with you, keeping an eye on you and giving you blue any time he could. he loved spending time with you, caring for you.

he was a good friend, and he hoped that's what he always would be.

no matter how many times you'd tell him how wonderful of a friend he was, he wouldn't believe it. even when you brought up the time he saved you a week after he walked into your life. you were so close to ending it all, jumping off the edge and joining your wilbur. but he stopped you, he managed to talk you down and he held you and promised to protect you, and that he did. he protected you, he cared for you and even if your relationship was platonic at best, he was a wonderful partner.

meanwhile, wilbur was pent up in limbo. pacing the platform, listening to the sounds of the train passing by not once stopping for him. he was going crazy, mind you he already was, but this was a whole new level.

there wasn't much to do up there, time passed so much more slowly. there weren't any books to busy him with, all he could do was sit and listen to the screeching and taunting of the train. the sounds drove him mad, a constant reminder of what he can never reach, what he can't get back. what he destroyed with his selfish ways.

he nearly ripped his hair out, with the way regret and stress was eating at his dead form. he was tired, lost and he couldn't get it out of his mind what mistakes he'd made. the long list of things he'd ruined with his own presence.

sometimes he'd wonder if it's better that he's dead. maybe he shouldn't bother with troubling thoughts of how to get back. you must be thriving, he hopes you're thriving.

you weren't. it's crawling up to the two month anniversary, and to say the least, you were losing it. you were good at pretending, pretending that you were okay and healing but in reality; you weren't. you were staying up at night, clinging to his old trench coat and shutting your eyes in hopes you could pretend he was there and would materialize into his coat at any moment. it felt stupid to do this, but it kept you from being pushed onto the ledge.

"Grace?" you whisper, holding your cup of tea close to your chest, sitting behind her counter at her flower shop. your sister was always a safe place for you, especially when you couldn't sift through your thoughts on your own. she helped.

"mm?" she hums, turning to face you with a smile before returning to the flowers she was working on. a small winter themed display for the Christmas festival she was preparing for. as for every other shop owner in L'manburg.

"have you.. have you learnt anything about revival?" you managed to mumble out, eyes casted down on the floor as you set aside your tea.

"I've done some research," you didn't catch the way she froze for a moment, as if she was buffering. and you especially didn't know that her research pertained to reviving the same person you wished to.

"how much?"

"enough." she sighs out, tying a ribbon around the bunch of stems, placing the bouquet on display before cleaning up her workstation.

"how hard is it? to revive someone, I mean." you bit your lip, nearly drawing blood before you quit, looking away again but this time outside the front windows.

"is this about wilbur?"

she didn't need to ask, she already knew. it's always about wilbur. you fidget with your fingers, wringing your hands together as you shrug, "maybe."

"if.. and I mean, if. if you revive him, he may not be the same," Grace frowns, walking over to you and bringing you into a hug. for a younger sister, she acted like an older, doting sister occasionally.

"at least I'll have him back, y'know?" you shrug again, raising your shoulders before dropping them in defeat, leaning deeper into her hug.

"I'll help," she draws in a breath, calculating her next words as she steps back to look at you, "if you promise to not blame anyone but him if he comes back an ass, okay?" she cracks a smile, chuckling softly at her own words as your own lips curl up and you roll your eyes.

"fine-" you pause, mind reeling as you remember ghostbur. how could you hurt him?

"what will happen to ghostbur?"

Grace shrugs, pulling away and turning to grab some more flowers to put together, "he'll be sent to limbo."

"so he'll die?" regret bubbles up in your throat like bile, and your eyes widen at the thought.

"no, no," she starts before stopping, biting her bottom lip, "he'll go to his own limbo."

"is that good?"

her shoulders lift, mouth curled in a frown and uncertainty paints on her face, "in theory, yes. I'm sure he'll be fine. it's- he'll be okay."

"if.. if getting back wil hurts ghost- i- I can't do that to him, Grace," your lips curl downwards and you step into the main area of the shop, grabbing some baby's breath and setting it on the counter by your sister.

"it won't hurt him. i promise," she rests her hand on yours, shooting you a soft and sympathetic gaze.

you take in a breath and nod, "okay, when can we start?"

you were sure that the rivival process was long and tedious, and maybe it was but-- grace liked to work alone. she'd update you when you showed up at her shop every morning, reassuring you that everything was fine.

it was a few days before ghostbur disappeared, which grace warned you about. you just hoped he was okay. despite the lack of the beloved ghost, you still hadn't found wilbur, and Grace was becoming more suspicious.

she avoided your questions, choosing short answers and it seemed like she was pulling herself at both ends, spreading herself thin. you were worried but Tom didn't know anything, and Grace wasn't letting you in on it anytime soon.

"why can't I see them, grace?" wilbur pried, sitting on the bench in the back of Grace's shop.

"I don't trust you yet. you haven't proved to me that you won't hurt them," she toyed with the ribbon she held, melting the ends to keep it from freying.

"you've threatened me enough, I think that's plenty of reason-"

"no, wilbur, you killed yourself and left them off on their own. threatening isn't enough for you to get it through your head that your fucking existence could hurt them! sometimes that's all you do," she scoffs, placing down the ribbon and picking up the next one, sealing the ends again. she takes a moment, listening to the silence of the room, the silence that's fallen on wilbur. she rolls her eyes, huffing before she continues, "I'm sorry, okay? but I've had to watch my sibling suffer because of your decisions, and they suffered longer than you've been dead," she pauses, shutting her eyes and taking a breath before continuing, "I'm not trying to be hard on you, I promise but- just, please understand, wil."

"I know, I know I've hurt them but I promise, I can make it better. weren't they the one that asked to revive me?" he counters, standing up and making his way to stand beside grace, towering over her and resting his hand on her shoulder.

"yes, they were but- I warned them and I just don't want them hurt."

"I won't hurt them," he starts, resting his hands on both her shoulders, "I promise."

she pulls back, "fine, but remember the second I catch wind that you've hurt them, say goodbye to living. and your reproductive organs."

"I think killing me is good enough," he laughs softly, pulling grace into a hug and mumbling, "thank you, so much,"

"yeah, sure."

"I'll see you later, yeah?" wilbur's lips curl into a smile as he practically bounces towards the door. he hurries out of the flower shop, determination taking over and hope filling his veins.

all the while you're out by his grave, again. maybe you should build something in honor of ghostbur, you think. he's not here anymore, hopefully in a better place so surely you should do something to honor his memory. just like you did with wilbur. like you always did.

you sifted your fingers through the grass, tugging at it gently, trying not to fully rip it but just mess with it. your mind runs miles an hour, wandering through thoughts and feelings that haven't quite healed yet.

moss has begun to grow on his headstone, flowers grace planted around it now blooming up around the stone. it's heavily weathered, the words.

'wilbur soot. beloved son, friend, partner, brother and president. 1996-2020.'

they're painted on and the snow and sleet has worn it down, its barely visible. the words ghost on the stone. but you have it memorized, by reading it over before you had it made, and then reading it over and over again for hours every day since his death. like a mantra, even if it has no purpose other than to hurt you.

you'd been sitting there for who knows how long, your fingers felt like icicles but you barely noticed the pricking cold. you weren't sure what you were hoping for, praying for by sitting alone but it was something.

the sound of fabric waving in the wind, and footsteps crunching on the grass, and then the scent hits you; cigarettes and cologne. mixed together and hitting your nose sharply. you bite your lip, letting your breath catch in your throat, not bothering to look behind you.

"wilbur?" you mumble, and then you hear his smile form, a little puff of air let out with it.

"hello, my love," he stands beside you, waiting for you to invite him to sit with you. you glance up at him, mouth slightly agape.

"you're alive."

"yeah, I am. thank god grace let me go. finally-" he chuckles, and for the first time in a while, you smile. a genuine smile.

"what? she kept you cooped up?" you pat the spot beside you, keeping your eyes up on you.

"yes, she did. and she threatened my livelihood," he follows your guide, sitting beside you and letting his legs stretch out before him. you finally catch a glance at the discoloration on his face, the bruises and patches of skin too pale or too tan.

"oh? so she threatened to neuter you?" you meet his eyes finally, smile soft but clear on your face.

"that's her favorite threat," he chuckles softly, fingers twitching as if he was going to reach for you. he takes a sharp breath, looking forward and out on the horizon over the hill. he takes a moment before pulling something out of his trench coat pocket, but you stop him short.

"you grabbed the coat?" you frown, fingers reaching out to play with the fabric, rubbing it between your fingertips. you glance up at him and he finally reaches forward, hand on your cheek and thumb rubbing your skin.

"it wasn't the only thing I grabbed," he sucks in a breath, pulling his hand away and taking out two rings, the rings he left for you, "i found them, on the mantle and i- I wanted to do what I didn't before."

"so you've been in our house?"

"is that what you take from this?" he chuckles, leaning forward and kissing your forehead. to his surprise, you don't flinch away but rather lean into it and sigh.

"maybe, but- are you.."

"proposing? if you're okay with it," he starts, pulling the rings off the string and putting his hand out for yours. you nod and give him your hand. he slips the ring on and begins again, "will you marry me?"

"mmm.. I don't know- will I?" you crack a smile before chuckling softly, "yes, yes I will. idiot."

he pulls you into a hug, your right leg tossed over his lap as you both pull one another closer. and then you pull back and reach your hand out, palm up.

"what?"

"the ring, it's only fair."

"oh?" wilbur smiles, handing you the wedding band he intended on wearing. you slip it on his ring finger before kissing each of his finger tips.

"I missed you,"

"I missed you too," he leans closer, resting his hand on your cheek again and stroking the skin.

"mm, I'm sure you've had plenty of time to miss me," the corner of your mouth twitches upwards into a smirk. you stand up, reaching your hand down for him to take as you help him up to stand. he rests his hands on your hips, squeezing gently before leaving a kiss on your cheek.

"too much time," he mumbles, holding you close and hugging you, "I'm sorry, for all I've done. I know that no words can account for all that I've put you through but I- I hope you can find a way to put up with me."

"don't worry, I forgave you a while ago. you were stupid but, dream is dead and it's because of what you pulled. we have you to thank for that."

"I'm still sorry," he winces, and you grab his hand, leading him back to the cabin as you shrug.

"I know, and you're going to have to do a lot more than say sorry for other people. but for me, you're lucky I missed you so much. otherwise, I probably wouldn't have asked to have you revived."

"I know but-" you shoot him a warning look, silently telling him to shut his trap before he starts whining again, "okay, okay, I get it."

"good, now- let's go enjoy ourselves yeah? get you a shower and go to bed. because, love you, darling but you reek." you chuckle, tugging him by his hand up the stairs of your porch, hurrying in and shutting the door behind you.

he pulls you to him by your hips, swaying you gently before he leans down to pull you into a kiss, lips licking together in a way they haven't in over six months, you think. much longer than he's been dead.

you reach your arms up, wrapping them around his neck as you both tug one another together, your bodies now pressed up. the warmth he spreads wraps around you and you've never felt more at home.

the kiss doesn't end until you both have to gasp for air, and you drop your head to press against his chest. he rubs your back with his hands, gentle circles spun over your shirt.

"do I really reek?" he croons, looking up at the ceiling as your fingers grasp at his shirt.

"yes you do,"

he attempts to get out of it, poking out a gentle pout and you pull back. folding your arms over your chest as you shake your head, smirking at the way he tries to beg like a puppy.

"wilbur- you do realize I was going to make brownies while you showered, right?" you knew the moment you mentioned baked goods, he'd do whatever you asked. he'd do whatever you asked anyway, but a little bribe never hurt anyone.

"wait really?" his eyes light up and his pout falls off and is replaced with an excited grin. you nod and he lunges down to press thankful kisses all over your face, giggling happily as he holds you by your sides, fingers curling over your waist.

"yes- god, you only love me for my baking?"

"no, but it is a plus," he pulls back, placing a quick peck to your lips before sprinting up the stairs for him to shower. you shake your head, smile clear as day on your lips as you venture into the kitchen to begin baking.

despite everything, the pain and turmoil and living without him, you're glad you asked to have him revived, even if it meant some sacrifice. yet the more you think of it, you're gonna have to thank grace for holding your fiance hostage tomorrow.

taglist; @lcvejoy @lillylvjy @ella-fella-bo-bella @lotusanonymouse @willgoldszn @whos-nicooo @zebonos

honorable tags (asked for part 2); @babybabygrogu @tacomumun3r

[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

Period comfort

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

[lillyspeakz]

Wilbur using your mouth as a cockwarm, I don’t know how this would work l thought it might be a good prompt

UNDER THE DESK SUPPORT!

-

“Just like that love. Now stay there and don’t make a sound yeah? And if you need a break, tap my thigh so I can mute, ok? Good baby.” Wilbur praises you as you nodded up at him from under his desk. His legs were spread open for you to sit in between, pants barely pulled down as his cock sat comfortably in your throat.

He was streaming today, ‘just some origins’ he stated as he started streaming, joining a call in the group chat and talking with the chat as you sat and watched him. Wilbur tried his hardest not to look down, knowing what he’d see, yet he couldn’t resist.

Your eyes were looking up at him through your lashes as you swallowed around his length, throat tightening around him. Wilbur placed his hand against his mouth and swallowed a groan as he finally looked back up to see Tom and Sneeg in front of him.

Your throat started to get tired as it had been a good half hour now, swallowing around him once again as you started to pull of, forgetting what he told you.

“Oh fuck- hold on chat.” Wil caught himself as he turned his mic and camera off, throwing his head back as your lips were still wrapped around his head. “Baby, you have to listen to my directions and if you don’t, it won’t be good for you.” Wil hissed at you as he placed a hand behind your head, furrowing his eyes as you nodded at him.

Shoving your head back down, you relaxed your throat as you hummed against him, loving the weight and length he was giving you. Wils hips thrusted against your mouth as a warning to stop as he turned his camera back on.

Getting an idea, you smiled against him as you scrapped your teeth lightly against the vein on the underside of his member, a groan being heard yet no one asked. Wil didn’t say anything, thinking it was an accident but if only he saw your devious little smile…

“Fucking- oh my god!” Wil moaned out as you started to move up and down, sucking him as hard as you could. Chat was a little bit concerned since he did just die but it was a late reaction… it any at all.

Wilbur placed a hand behind your head and shoved you down fully, a gag being heard from you, Wilbur thanking the mic for not picking it up as he said goodbye to the boys and the chat as he ended stream, claiming he was tired and needed sleep, even though he slept the whole afternoon.

As he ended the stream and shit his pc down, he lifted your head up by your hair and pulled you fully off of him. The look on your face was a pornos dream, spit all over your mouth and chin as your eyes were hooded with desire and want for him.

“Fucking- you couldn’t wait five seconds for me stream and got needy? Oh baby, I’m so sorry- you’re gonna regret fucking doing that.”

[lillylvjy]

Be my (be my baby)

notes; hey! So this is long over due- was supposed to be part of Halloween but never got to it. Also this fic is a bit fucked up but, recently I’ve been doing research over horror movies and how they’re created and written. I’ve also done some analyzation over serial killers and criminals in college so I used all my knowledge to write this and- I hope you like it! And I know there is some plot holes and details missed, if people like this I’ll do another fic like this, it was super fun to write and yeah! Yes this is very inspired by Carrie and scream. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!!! If it’s not for you, don’t read it.

warnings; DEAD DOVE: do not eat!, murder, massacre?, blood, bleeding out, choking on blood, insanity, feeling good about killing someone, Simpbur low key manipulates reader a bit, someone tied up, reader stabs someone but doesn’t kill anyone, simp kills a shit ton of people, simp and you go insane at the end ngl, kissing, cheating?, bets, trying to sleep with someone, suggestive, and if I missed anything please tell me! This fic is already fucked up as it is so please tell me!

ALSO!!! I suggest 16+ for this! But I don’t control what you guys read so read with caution. And please for god sake, READ THE WARNINGS!

wc; 2.5k

who; Simpbur x reader

edited: yes. (As much as I could)

It all happened in a blur. One second you were laughing and dancing, and the next you were screaming and crying as random people started dropping to the floor, blood slowly seeping out of them.

Soon random people became almost the whole student body that attended. People scurrying to get out, none made it, the doors were locked.

Quickly running to the next close exit, you tried to push it open. And again. And one more time.

Locked.

You quickly looked around to see more people on the floor, gasping for air as the blood painted the gym floor, walls, bleachers. Looking across the gym from you, another exit, leading to the hallways. You quickly took off your shoes and ran like hell.

‘Why didn’t they come after you yet? What was this for?!’ Your mind screamed over the loud music still playing on the speakers. Of course the dance had to be Oldies but Goodies themed, with various fifty and sixty love and dance songs playing.

Running at the door with full impact, taking notice that you were the only one left really alive, busting the door open and looking both ways, one leading to the cafeteria and one leading to the back of the school. You took your chances.

You took a right to the back of the school, thinking it’d be an easier way out and hiding from whoever the fuck was doing this. As you ran, the music transferred to the speakers all over the school.

Be my baby by The Ronettes blasted as you heard an ear piercing scream be cut short by gasping and gurgling a couple feet away. Halting your run, panting but being as silent as you can, you slowly turn around and see a girl lying limp on the ground, blood pooling all around her as she stared blankly at the ceiling , life seeping out of her every second.

You placed a hand over your mouth to hold back sobs as you lean down and closed her eyelids, not wanting to look into the plain eyes anymore. The music felt like it got louder as your head pounded at everything going on. Where were the teachers? Where was all the trusted adults you were supposed to have? Or did they-

No. You needed to stop thinking and start running and finding an exit. Quickly getting up you, turned around and started jogging before turning right again and running into something, or someone.

You screamed as you hide yourself, getting ready for the sharp impact of a knife or something.

“Y/n? Oh my god-“ you heard the person say and arms engulf you into a hug. You quickly opened your eyes and pushed the person away so you could see them.

Wilbur.

Pulling him back into you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and hid your face in his neck, wanting to hide from whatever the fuck was happening.

Wil has been your best friend since you were babies, both of your moms being best friends as well and wanting to have you both grow up with each other. That worked out as to see you both were inseparable since day 1, him being a couple months older than you. Now you didn’t know whether this would be your last time holding him or not.

“Wil, what’s happening?” You asked the tall man in front of you as he cupped your face.

“I don’t know but we better start going if we want to get out alive, I have a place we can go and hide, trust me?” Wil held his hand out for you to take as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Always.” You placed your hand in his as he nodded and started to run with you, side by side, desperately trying to get out of any situation that’d lead to be face to face with the person doing this.

As you ran, you saw each teacher attending the dance in their classroom, lying limp on their desk or sitting in their desk chairs with blood soaking their clothes and eyes still open. A shiver tan down your spine as you placed a hand over your mouth, holding back a sob.

Wilbur took a quick left turn up the stairs and dragged you to the last classroom in the hallway. The science lab.

As he turned and got into the classroom, he quickly stopped. You followed in shortly looking at him questionably.

“Wil what- oh my god, Luke!” You quickly rushed over once you saw him in the chair, a rag towel in his mouth and rope binding him to the chair. Luke was the guy you were going out with as to recent and the lead quarterback of the football team. Nothing romantic yet just some dates here and there to get to know each other more. He was your date to homecoming that you thought ditched you for some cheerleader but apparently he’d been kidnapped by god knows who.

You quickly pulled the towel out of his mouth and cupped his cheek as he slowly came too. “Luke? Luke, hey can you hear me? Wil I need help! Luke who did this to you?” You asked as he slowly opened his eyes and looked relieved to see you.

“I don’t know, I think I blacked out.” He said, his voice hoarse and gone. You quickly sighed as you examined the ties in the rope.

“Ok, Wil can I please get som- Wil?” Your voice lowered as you saw Wil looking at the two of you, eyes full of dread, anger and revenge. You quickly stood up as you slowly walked towards him but stopped once he slowly started laughing and a smile appeared on his once blank face.

Wilbur reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a knife, one that was still ridden with blood. He looked at it before point it at you. “You know, this all happened because of you darling. You did this. You decided to ignore all my affections and admirations for this prick who doesn’t even care about you! I care! Not him! I did this for you.” Wil got close enough to you that you could feel his breath against your face. He brought the knife closer to your face and gently ran it down your cheek one as you stood there stone faced. “And you’re going to finish it, isn’t that right darling?”

Your cold, unfazed face quickly turned into one of excitement and joy as a smile adorned your face and you bit your bottom lip to contain it. You quickly grabbed his tie and pulled him down to your level and pushed your lips onto his, not minding the gasp they both heard from the unwanted guest.

You quickly reached into Wil’s jacket and pulled out the extra knife you placed in there earlier that night as you tugged him closer to you, one arm around your waist and one hand around your neck.

Wil pushed you away slightly. “Hmm not now, we still have business to take care of love.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to do this in front of him? Make him suffer even more?” You asked the man in front of you as you fixed his tie. Wilbur smirked as he looked down at you, amused at your sudden demeanor change. He loved it.

“Yes I did, but let’s do it after we deal with this fucking cunt.” Wil whispered in your ear as he pecked your neck and turned you around. “Now darling, what do we do with people who think they can just come in here and expect us to just forget all the shit they’ve put us through with their charm?” Wil asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder.

You pretended to think as you brought the knife up to your lips and tapped lightly. “Um… oh! You make their life a living hell.”

“Exactly, good job darling! So, wanna do the honors?” Wil asked as he placed his hands on your hips and stepped away from you.

“Can I say something to him quickly?” You asked your partner as he hummed, agreeing with what you wanted. He let go of your waist as you started walking forward.

“Don’t you dare come near me.” Luke hissed out as you walked up to him. You smiled at him as you meant down, face to face with him as you tapped his cheek with the blunt side of the knife.

“Oh but I thought you wanted me near you all the time? That’s why you started going on dates with me yeah?” Luke looked away from your eyes as you brought the knife to his forehead and moves pieces of his hair back. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I heard what you did. Made a little bet with your friends to see if you could get in my pants? Think I’m worth it now? After everything you did to me and called me? Think I would just accept something like that from you so quickly?!” You started to tear up as thoughts ran through your head. Frustration and sadness ran through your whole body. He didn’t understand that what he did still had an effect on you. It will always have an effect on you. He humiliated you throughout he school years and thinks he can just come in here and get some? Hell no.

Wil came up with this plan after you came to him crying about the whole situation. You knew the second he asked you out something was up, and your suspicions were right when you over heard the stupid cheerleaders making a fuzz about it in the back of class. Making fun of how small you were and how you were “easier”.

Wil was just as, maybe even more, angry than you were. That was when Wil told you he liked you and begged you not to say yes. You weren’t going to in the first place and after all that happened, you definitely weren’t. After that Wil came up with the idea for you to go out with him, play with him and drag it out as much as you could. Wil didn’t like hearing you shared a kiss with the bastard once or twice on the dates, but he let it slide when he saw you after and rid of the scent of his nasty cologne and disgusting kiss on your lips.

But after Wil over heard Luke in class with his gang of idiot, taking in the information, he was fuming. Texting you immediately after, telling you to meet him at his car immediately. He told you all of it. Luke’s plan to finally get some and leave you after. It disgusted him knowing that he wanted to do that to you. His darling. He told you to avoid all forms of contact at all cost, not to let him to close but close enough not to be suspicious.

The plan was working. Get him to tired so he leaves you alone. But Wil wanted more, something else.

Revenge. For all of it. So he sat you down and told you the plan he had, and to say that you were terrified at first was an understatement. You were scared of Wilbur. But after you continued hearing things and going on dates and hearing all the stupid lies coming out of his mouth, you started to understand the plan. The reason behind it. So after Luke asked you to go with him to homecoming, you immediately went to Wil after a couple days of no contact or conversation and told him you were in. And to say that he was happy was an understatement. He was ecstatic. He had his partner in crime back.

Which leads you here, in this moment on the verge of seeing red and snapping this mans neck.

“You ruined my years in school since I was a kid because you convinced everyone that I should be a loner and i deserved it, since my dad never loved me and my moms a drunk. I was the weird kid yeah? Remember those words? I do. They’re engraved in my fucking mind because of you!” You screamed in his face as he flinch back. You quickly stood up and looked down at him with a flat expression. “And I believed it. Until I met Wil. He actually cared enough to get to know me. He cared enough to be my friend. And that’s more than I could ask for. But you, you can’t get enough of seeing me suffer yeah? Seeing me crumple into a little ball and ruining my life. Well buddy boy-“ you lightly pat his face as Wilbur comes behind you and smiles at the boy. “That’s exactly what we’re going to be doing to you but in a more… painful way.”

You finished off as you plunged your knife into his stomach, feeling a rush adrenaline run through you. You didn’t want to do this, but he deserved it, for all the pain he put you through. And you guys already did enough damages so why not a little more.

You took the knife out as you heard him gasp and hiss in pain and uncomfortable.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Luke said as curled in on himself, trying to stop the pain at any cost.

Wil scoffed as he pulled the man’s head back by his hair and leant down close to him. “Go to hell.” He hissed in his face as he shoved the knife into the blondes chest and stepped back as he yelled and the gasping started.

The scene wasn’t pretty. The boy had blood running out of his mouth and down his tux, not that it wasn’t already ruined by the wounds he sported. Yet the adrenaline kept rushing through you like a wave that never stopped. It almost brought you joy to see him like this . To see him slowly dying as all the tension and heartache from the past years slowly drain out of you.

You didn’t know you were crying until Wil cupped your face and cooed at you, wiping your tears away as he put your head in his chest, running his hands through your hair.

“We did the right thing love. These people were not kind to us. They deserved it. You’ll realize that soon, I promise. But now we have to leave, ok? We can get food and crash at my house and talk about this all. Ok? Trust me?” Wil told you as the music over the speakers continued but you weren’t focused on them. Only on the man in front of you and what he was saying. You trusted him with your whole life and if you had to do whatever he said, you would. Always.

You took his hands and pulled him out of the room, making sure everything that you guys brought and used was in hand. “Always. Now where are we eating?”

Wil smiled as tightened his grip on your hand and walked in line with you. “What about burgers?”

“Yeah, I could go for a burger.” You said with a smile on your face.

A smile that had nothing but pure joy and insanity as you tucked the knife away in Wil’s coat.

lowkey forgot who was on my taglist; if you wanna be added feel free to ask or dm me!

[toiletwipes]

because we're friends | simpbur

~2.4k words / i tried my best to make it gender neutral reader but if there's any mistakes, feel free to let me know. [after hanging out with a friend and getting caught in the rain, simpbur takes his friend to his apartment to stay for the night. and he can't be normal and his friend knows.] 18+, minors do not interact.

You were just staying the night, for the night only. It’s pouring and you both walked here and both of you are broke idiots, he chants inside of his head, whatever could happen won’t happen. To take advantage of you while you’re helpless and with a dead phone? The temptation is there, his fingers twitch in his lap, the two of you sitting across from each other on his discounted couch.

You were just a friend who was just staying the night. Just that.

And yet, his mind runs from him. Because watching you watch some random movie, the flashing lights on your face only highlights what he likes seeing. Likes the dips and curves of your face, the way your eyelashes bat at him when you beg him to buy you something at the store. The way you pout at him. Fuck. He can’t stop looking at your mouth now. His mind runs from him and he can’t stop imagining you with spit-slick lips, bruised lips, lips wrapped around-

“-rything alright there, Wilby?” And the fucking nickname, his face burns. He lets out a low hum, focusing back on reality, looking you in the eyes. You’re not that concerned, only noticed his staring just now, most likely not aware how long he has been. (The answer being the entire time you’ve been watching your show.)

“Good. Just thinking.” Mhm, thinking he is, alright. But you smile, nodding and looking back to the screen, wiggling in your seat as you get comfortable. You send him a look as you stuff your feet underneath his legs. They’re cold, he notices and he can’t handle the effect you have on him. Fuck’s sake, your feet are only underneath his legs, but you’re touching him. Willingly, and willingly leaving yourself vulnerable. In no less than a second could he pin you down and work his fingers inside you, bruise your lips anyway he’d like. Because you trust him.

Both his fingers and his dick twitches.

And because you trust him, you end up scooting closer to him and his chest heaves with impure thoughts and desires. You don’t notice though. Switching the way you’re seated leaves you leaning against his side, with his arm tucked awkwardly behind you. But even then, you hum to yourself before reaching behind and pulling on his hand, wrapping it around your waist. His fingers graze uncovered skin by your stomach. He nearly jerks back before he forces himself to relax.

And his mind races. This position you’ve put yourself in. Tucking yourself into his side and wrapping yourself in him, letting him touch your bare skin. His heart pounds inside of his chest and he almost hopes you can feel him sporting a boner. He wants to shove his hand down your pants, up your shirt, in your mouth, fuck, the options were endless. More than anything, he wanted to push your face into the couch cushion and fuck you till you begged him to stop. And so again, his fingers twitch and you jerk away, giggling. “Sorry,” he mumbles, already pulling his hand away.

You shake your head, pulling on his hand again and even pushing it onto more uncovered skin, pushing your shirt up a little more. “I’m just ticklish.” And you twist your face a little just to smile at him.

He had so many questions, they’re just threatening to spill out of his mouth and fumble the wording and fuck everything up. But most of them are lewd and unbecoming of the friendship you’ve allowed him. Still, his fingers twitch and this time you relax as he flexes them, flattening them against your skin.

His own skin feels aflame, sensitive to every movement you make and he can’t even tell what the show was about. What they’re saying, who they are, they’re all lost to him.

And he misses a question. “Sorry, I spaced out- what did you say?” He tries to be casual but your next words send a shock through his veins.

“I’m not even surprised, I said, Wilbur- are you gonna keep staring at me or are you going to do something about it?” And his bones turn into stone, everything about him freezes and he can’t move. As if he had ice in his system and not blood.

“What can- what can I do?” His breathing starts again but it’s heavy, his head light from the lack of breathing and blood flow. Unknowingly, his hand presses harder against your skin.

“You mean besides killing me?” You laugh but his mind moves ahead of him, even thinking of that too. His dick jumps at the thought of you, bleeding, staring at him. And he pushes it away, no, no he wouldn’t. Not when you’ve just given him explicit permission to- to-

Fucking hell.

Shifting in his seat, he keeps his hand on your skin, relishes it more now. But his other hand moves to wrap around your middle too, pulling you into his chest. “So I can- you’ll let me-” he cuts himself off as he presses into your back, feeling the full force of your soap hit him. The lotion you’ve told him about. He presses his nose and mouth hard against the skin between your shoulder and neck, breathing and moaning as he breathes out. Months of pining, months of looking at you, months of jerking off to you, months of wet dreams and months of pushing all of that away-

He can stop pushing the thoughts away, indulge in them a little. “Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” He asks, one hand pressing on your stomach and the other slipping up to your chest, the fabric of your shirt hardly holds him back.

“This being?” Your voice hitches as his fingers graze your nipple, pinching, pulling, flicking.

“Touching you.” And his hand comes up to wrap around your throat, not so much squeezing as much as it’s just touching. Your skin is just so fucking soft. And it smells good. He can’t ever imagine being anywhere else anymore. And just as fast as he wrapped his hand around your throat, it slithers back down, both hands coming up to grope your chest, mouth moving as he licks the light sweat on your skin. Why you would wear a sweater to his apartment when there’s no air conditioning, is behind him, but it only serves him. He moans at the taste of salt, of sweat. Licks your skin in small circles, loving the taste of you.

Nudging your head to the side, he loves the way your chest heaves, the way soft whines and pants come out of you, loves to tweak the buds in between his knuckles and sucking at your neck, biting and kissing and moaning at the sounds that come out because of him.

“Are you gonna let me fuck you?” He asks, and he doesn't mean to, almost regrets it because wouldn’t that be a thought, to surprise you when he pulls your shorts down and shoves his cock inside of you. Oh, it’s so good, his dick jumps and he presses his body more into your back, nearly toppling the two of you over, and this way you can feel his dick against your back.

“Can you last that long?” Probably not but the way you tease him, it has him groaning against your wet skin, smelling so much like his spit.

“Don’t need to,” he mumbles, licking his way back up your neck and pressing closer, leans further to lick the skin of your jaw. Your head tilts back into his shoulder so nicely, he just has to suck a bruise into the skin there. And when he shoves his hand into your sweats, your mouth drops open and your eyes blink several times but they stay dilated.

“Wilb- fuck, Wilbur,” you whine as your hand reaches behind you, knocking his beanie off of his head and tugging on his hair. His mouth comes off of your skin as he moans, his hips jerking and rocking into your back. “If you keep touching me like that, I won’t- fuck, fuck, fuck.” He didn't care what the end of that sentence was going to be, he needed to hear what you sound like when you come. When he makes you come.

“Just like that, baby,” he mumbles, unable to close his eyes, pushing past the burning in his wrist as you whine right into his ear, your hips twitching and jerking on their own too as you make a mess over his fingers, his hand. You would’ve fallen face first into the cushion if he wasn’t holding you so close to him. “Just like that.”

The hand with you all over it goes right up to his mouth, licking every groove of his skin that’s covered in come, licking it all away and moaning at the taste. (The sight of which makes your insides burn, however boneless you are.)

In the next minute, he’s wiping the spit off of his hand on his own sweats, tugging at your sweater, which you take off gladly, and he shoves his hand between your body and your sweats, shoving them down. He feels your body shiver, bumps rising on your skin but all he feels is the intense burning of want, of need. He needs to be inside you right now, it drives him crazy.

“I’m so- so fucking close right now, I need you to tell me where I can come.” It’s like pulling teeth, speaking those words. You said anything, and fuck, maybe he might ignore whatever answer you have and come inside. His dick is so hard, he needs to be inside of you. He’s losing his fucking mind.

It’s as if you can hear his thoughts, or maybe he’s just saying them as they come, it doesn’t fucking matter. What matters is the grip tightening around his hair and you breathing out the word inside. The fucking butterflies he just felt. Fuck.

Shoving his pants down enough to pull his dick out, he smears pre-cum between your legs, your thighs, thrusting between them and the both of you moaning, it’s fucking bliss.

The moment he slips inside of you- he curses, you’re squeezing so tight around his cock, his mind blanks and he can only squeeze an arm around your stomach, the other one is squeezing the meat of your thigh, trying anything to hold back from blowing his load so fast when he just got his dick inside. “Fuck, f- I need a second,” and you’re breathlessly agreeing, squeezing his forearm, tugging his hair, whimpering in his ear. It’s almost too much entirely.

The pleasure doesn’t die down, but he manages to breathe through it, focusing on kissing your sweaty skin. And after a brief moment, you let go of his arm to pat it, asking if he’d be able to move now, leaning all of your weight onto him.

The first thrust out blinds him, pushing back in punches the breath out of his lungs. The way you’re breathing, sounds like you’re just as affected as him. He hopes, in a distant thought, that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing. Hopes that by the end of this, when the two of you are spent and exhausted and filthy, you’ll let him touch you again.

Minutes go by after slow jerks of his hips and then you whine, asking if he could go faster and fuck if his hips didn’t snap and the sound of skin smacking against skin, it’s enough to make the both of you groan. Fucking you, on his couch by the way, is the main wet dream. And the fact it’s happening right now? He’d come right then and there if he hadn’t worked so hard to come down from just that. Setting a much faster, a bit brutal pace, he’s hurtling towards his orgasm quickly, he can feel it.

“Let go of my hair,” he gasps, and as soon as you do, accidentally letting go of his forearm, he pushes on your shoulder and back, adjusting as needed as he works up to what he wanted to do earlier. Pressing your face into the cushion and fucking you like he’d die if he stopped. Your moans shift into sobs when he reaches around your front, burning at both ends.

And in a moment, in a flash, he squeezes your hip and leans over you, groaning as he spills come inside of you. He gives a few shallow thrusts, moaning over and over. And he stays there for a second, softening as he pulls out but groans anyways, the sight of his come spilling out of your hole? He acts without thinking, pushing two fingers to keep them in and your cries pull him out of his fuzzy head.

“Are you feeling okay?” He hums your name, pulling out his fingers and rubbing over your skin. Covering it in filth. His heart only pounds harder, he gets up from behind you, letting you lay on the couch. Fuck, seeing your hazy eyes, seeing you in a space he put you in from fucking you alone? He tries his best, grabs the blanket he’d tossed on the back of the couch and wipes you down, stomping the bubbling feeling of something good in his chest as you whine from the touch. “Here, let me take you to bed,” dropping the blanket, he tries his best to help you up before biting his lip and picking you up, hurrying to his room as quickly as possible. He wasn’t the strongest guy out there, and if he dropped you in his attempt to help? When he fucked you- and didn’t that give him butterflies to think about, fucking you hard enough your legs are jelly.

It doesn’t take long for you to come down, wherever you went, and by then, you’re ready to sleep. He thought about tucking you in, because what sight that would be, but the thought of waking up to you in the morning? Maybe fucking you in your sleep if he woke up, hell, you fucking him awake, riding him and using him like he used you? It makes him bite down on his lip to hold back a moan as he slips into bed behind you. And it melts his insides whenever you shift to turn in your sleep, tucking yourself into his chest. Sighing deeply.

He’s so far gone on you.

[colorfull-cord]

Sadness

Ships: Wilbur x Y/N (female)

!WARNINGS!: crying, cussing

Summary: you start to cry on your birthday because no one has even talked to you and you start to break down but luckily your boyfriend was there to save the day

”RING RING” you hear your phone go off for the third time but alas it’s not for the reasons you thought it was for spam. After hours of waiting and waiting and waiting still nothing. You had lost all hope thinking that no one liked you. Later that night you couldn’t help but curl up into a ball on the floor of your bedroom. As tears were streaming down your face, your eyes pink and your face stained with your tears and the redness of your nose you hear a door open. As you hear it close you immediately get up and try to look presentable by wiping away your tears and trying to look happy. After a minute you walk out of the bedroom to see your boyfriend back from one of his blogging adventures with Tommy and George. “Hey love! I’m so sorry I wasn’t here! But I did bring something for you.” After that sentence he pulled out a bunch of flowers neatly wrapped in plastic with a little card on the side that read, “For my princess, I hope you had the most wonderful birthday ever and I’m sorry that I wasn’t here for it. But as always I love you so so so so sooo much baby. love, your best boyfriend ever, Wilbur” as you got done reading it you couldn’t help but go up and give him a big hug burying your head in his chest and start to cry. “Hey hey what’s wrong did you not like them?” Wilbur said as he got down on his knees. “No no they’re amazing it’s just- oh it’s nothing it’s stupid anyways..” you say looking down at your feet playing with your ring. “No it’s not nothing I can tell that you have been crying what’s wrong love?” He says as he walks you over to the couch and sits down with you. When you get situated you start to cry even more before you even start talking. “Well… you know it’s my birthday and everything *sniff* well… no one’s text *sniff* or even called me today. I just feel… left out. I mean there’s something’s on twitter but that doesn’t change anything.” You say as you start to sob even more. Wilbur cradles you in his arms putting you in his lap. “I’m so sorry about that love that’s terrible but hey at least you had your awesome boyfriend here and hey, I brought you flowers so that’s a bonus.” You giggle a little. “Hey how about we watch a movie together to get your mind off things, ok?” He says looking at you with the sweetest eyes ever. “Ok, that sounds great.” After picking out a movie and cuddling up together you fall asleep beside your boyfriend with his arm around your shoulder. After he notices your asleep he quickly pulled out his phone and tweeted out to all of yours and his friends about feeling left out on your birthday.

When you woke up you were laying on Wilbur’s lap with a blanket over you. After fully waking up you go to check your phone and see so many notifications from friends and twitter saying how they are so sorry for how they forgot and that it’s now marked in their calendar. You knew Wilbur had something to do with this and you felt great full to have such an amazing boyfriend, as he always says.

*heyyyy I made this on the 27th of April (my birthday) and I made this just because I felt left out and wanted someone to be there but no one was. Sorry I didn’t post it earlier I just got caught up with stuff.*

❤️💕🧚‍♂️

[justpuppylove]

thinking about Ghostbur being a little painslut & he’s just begging his partner to hurt him, squirming on the bed and he’s begging them to bite him, scratch him, fuck him harder, and he’s so sweet and innocent normally that even like this, his partner’s reluctant to hurt him, bc they’d be hurting Ghostbur.

but fuck bc the way he’s begging for it is addictive, and the way he gasps and whimpers and begs for more after they slap him— fuck. & he’s such a little fucking painslut too, they almost wonder how much pain he can take and enjoy.

bc every time they bite him, he begs them to bite harder, and he looks so fucking blissed out like this right now, teeth sinking into his skin, neck straining with how hard his hair is getting pulled, and nipples getting pinched.

tears are rolling down his face even as he begs for more, his voice high pitched and shaky between his sobs, and fuck the way he begs “please, more” is just so fucking pretty they can’t resist

Ghostbur smut

Sub!Ghostbur with g/n Dom!reader

Kinks: pain kink, spit, slight degrading/praising

Ghostbur is such a sweet boy, the complete opposite of Alivebur. Ghostbur is so gentle with you and he loves bottoming for you, he’s just such a wholesome soul that it’s hard to see yourself being too rough with him.

You’re sat reading a book as ghostbur approaches you, looking down at you and your book. He sits down beside you and you move over onto his lap and continue reading. He places his chin onto your neck and you can feel his heavy breath on your skin, he kisses your neck which sends shivers up your body. “What do you think you’re doing?” You say turning around to face the taller boy. “Nothing..” the curly haired boy responds avoiding eye contact. “If you needed me you just had to say so pretty boy” you say as you guide your hand up his thigh and unbutton his pants, making him whine. You take his pants off but keep his underwear on as you grind on his lap fully clothed. You could feel his length through your clothes as you leave hickeys on his neck. Although the boy was much taller than you, you could feel him shrink under you as he whined your name. “What’s wrong baby?” You say in a teasing tone while continuing to grind on him, “please be rough with me” he said whimpering. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t shock you, Ghostbur wanted you to be rough with him? Your ghostbur? “I don’t want to hurt you darling” you said genuinely concerned, until he started begging. “Please~ I need it so bad, please make me feel good” he whined, looking in your eyes. Of course you’d make your boy feel good.

You bit into his neck while bouncing up and down on his length. You barely bit down, “harder please~” he moaned out. “Is this really what you want?” You asked to make sure, he violently nods his head yes. You bite into his neck just enough to draw blood and you feel him buck his hips into you while letting out a load moan. “Fuck darling” he says as he fucks into you. You pull on his hair, “open your mouth slut”. He immediately does as he’s told and opens his mouth for you. You spit into his mouth and watch as he swallows, you could feel him speed up his pace and this was your signal he was going to cum soon. You slap his face before continuing to bite and suck at his neck. “Such a good boy for me” you whisper into his ear before pulling roughly at his hair, that was the last thing he needed “Can I please cum for you baby” he begs while holding onto your waist. “Mmm~~” you say teasingly like your thinking about his question, this was clearly not the reaction he wanted because he immediately started begging for you to let him cum. “Please, please, please, I’ve been so good” he says with tears swelling up in his eyes. “Okay love, cum with me.” You say finally giving in, he did not waste any time to do as he was told. He slammed into you a few more times before he came inside of you. You pulled his hair roughly as you reached your climax as well.

You both were panting for a while, trying to catch your breath while coming down from your highs. Afterwards, you cleaned each other up and you littered soft kisses over all of the marks you made. You both whispered ‘I love you’s into each other’s ears as you both continued reading your book together.

[may be a bit different than the request but I hope it’s still good :D ]