thesolferino

[thesolferino]

pillow princess | dreamwastaken.

You're used to your boyfriend making lighthearted jokes about you, but one of the things Dream has never joked about before is your performance in bed – let alone in front of thousands of people. The comment got stuck in your head even though you weren't offended by it, and your petty side was just begging to prove your boyfriend wrong.

Dream, female reader.

WARNINGS: smut, use of Dream’s real name, dirty talk, very little spanking, unprotected sex.

Author’s note: everyone has been so lovely to me in this commuinty, thank you so much for all the love you've been showing my work! hope you enjoy <3

If you weren't this infatuated with Dream you would punch him in the face for wheezing so fucking loud right next to your ear. You were sitting between his thighs on his gaming chair, playing Geoguessr to entertain his audience on Discord Podcast. This was fairly new to both of you – you've been dating for a little over a year but he hasn't started mentioning you on stream until a couple months ago. This was only the third time you were having direct contact with his audience besides other two streams he played Bedwars with you and a couple of his friends. Casually hanging out with his audience like this felt very weirdly intimate for some reason – just the two of you and his thousands of fans. It made you feel like this was his way of showing you this is going to last, he's not letting go of you anytime soon. This is him showing the world you're his.

“Oh, come on. I hate when this happens.” Your camera spawned in the middle of what seemed to be a art gallery, an exhibition of some sort. “How are we supposed to figure out where the hell this is?”

“We gotta figure out what language they speak. Let's look around for a sign or something.” You press your back further into his chest as he replies, relishing on his warmth and the sound of his voice surrounding you. Dream's lap was your favourite seat.

He clicked away through the gallery, giggling when the camera panned quickly past an interesting part of the exhibition.

“Dream, turn around! This stuff is R-rated!” He keeps giggling behind you, not really worrying about TOS since he's streaming on Discord.

The boy scans through most stuff quickly, but zooms in the plaque of a piece that you can't quite understand by the name “Pillow Princess”.

“That's you.” He says, then moves the piece out of the camera view – as if running away from it. You support your palms on his thighs, immediately turning around to his face, finding his cheeks red from how much he's laughing. Your mouth is hanging open, corners of your lips curving against your will. “I'm kidding, I'm just joking!” He laughs again.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You laugh. “Why would you say that on stream?! You're such a fucking asshole, oh my God.” You scoff as you shake your head, turning your gaze back to the computer screen and clicking away, going back to the area where you spawned. Your boyfriend hugged you tightly, hiding his face on your neck. You could feel the vibration of his giggles on your back, his breath tickling your neck.

“It's just a joke! Come on, we're running out of time.” His huge hand comes on top of yours on the mouse, taking over your movements.

The next hour passes by smoothly as you both continue playing, but that joke's still insistent in the back of your head. You weren't really a pillow princess, right? You're pretty sure you're good in bed – Dream definitely never complained about your performance. It's not that you were offended by the joke, it just got you thinking. Flashbacks of all the times you and Dream had sex flooded your brain, waking goosebumps all over your skin. And, funnily enough, you realize you really weren't doing much. He was always the one making the move, suddenly feeling you out, maybe whispering something in your ear, maybe kissing you a bit more eagerly than what the situation called for – it's clear Dream gladly did most of the job most of the time and you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in yourself. Of course he loved taking the lead, and you loved it when your boyfriend used your body however he pleased, but maybe it would be a pleasant surprise for him if you were a bit more initiative.

His podcast comes to an end, Dream settles on his bed and you go to the bathroom with a little plan in mind. Your boyfriend was laying on his back, one arm under his head and the other one holding his phone, scrolling away. You close the door behind you when you get to the bathroom and discard your underwear and bra, spraying a little perfume before undoing the first couple buttons of your – his – oversized dress shirt.

Happiness seems to find it's way to your heart when he smiles up at you from the bed. You excitedly lay on top of your boyfriend, who's waiting for you with open arms, and nuzzles your head onto his chest.

You enjoy the soft touch of his fingertips running through your hair for a brief moment, until you decide to slowly make your move on him. You bring a hand to his face, thumb stroking his cheek lightly as your lips find his neck, nibbling.

The boy doesn't think much of it at first as he's used to you being cuddly, wanting to feel him close. Slowly, with each kiss, your tongue starts tasting his skin, your hands start roaming his sides. You move your legs – which were laying atop his – to now bend on the knee, straddling his hips. The hums of approval your lips felt against your boyfriend's neck was fuel to the fire – suddenly eager to listen to all of his pretty noises, curious of how much neediness you could get out of the big, confident man laying under you.

You sit up straight with newfound hunger and roll your body above your boyfriend, sharply grinding your crotch against his. Dream's hands find your hips, his eyebrows were furrowed and you couldn't comprehend if it was out of confusion or concentration. His hooded eyes were clearly fighting to stay open.

You smirk down at him, one hand finding it's way under his shirt, hiking the cloth up his body. Dream tries sitting up but you place your palm flat on his ribs, stopping him. You would've missed the small whine that escaped his lips if you weren't so hyper focused on every single reaction you get out of him. “Let me kiss you.”

You chuckle and flick your hair behind your shoulders. “Be patient, baby. We'll kiss eventually. I wanna stay like this for now.” Your hips start circling on top of his, both hands coming to his stomach, nails ghosting over his skin as a threat.

Dream's hands leave your hips and tug at the bottom of your shirt. “At least take this off for me.”

Unable to resist the pout on your boyfriend's lips, you maintain your gaze fixated on his as you slowly unbutton your shirt, the lazy movement of your hips hypnotizing him, locking him in a tunnel vision where you're the only thing in the world he can focus on, mind and body completely devoted to you.

His eyes follow your digits, every single movement planting a small seed of anxiety on his chest that blooms when your small fingers finally let the button come undone, only for the tension to start building again when you reach for the next button. Your boyfriend's hands soothe the skin on your thighs, settling on your hips once again to drag your naked core over the growing bulge in his pants.

You let out small moans as the friction of his jeans against your clit makes heat start pooling on your pussy, the pleasure building up making you more sensitive with each grind. The last two buttons of your shirt were long forgotten for you, but not your boyfriend. Dream pulled the cloth apart in one swift, inpatient motion as he watched your body roll on top of him, his neglected cock twitching with every roll of your hips and every faint moan that escaped your open mouth.

Your body starts moving on it's own, hips picking up pace as every other stroke of the harsh fabric made you shudder. Dream was fully hard under you, his hips starting to move against yours. You place both hands to support your weight on his shoulder’s when your body falters so you're able to sit upright. A loud moan rips out of you, head thrown back and back arching, grinding on him with purpose.

Dream's hands grab at your waist as he tries turning his hips to the side to turn both your bodies over and lay you down under him, but your hands shot up to his wrists, pining them both down on either side of his head as your knees forced his hips back to flat on the bed, the friction causing a specially sharp pang to your clit, making you moan loudly. “No- fuck- Clay, stay still.”

Your movements are a desperate mess – hectic grinds dragging your pussy against your boyfriend's crotch trying to reach your orgasm that was just so fucking close, pawing at his shirt, silently begging him to just get you there, you just needed one perfect grind that touched your clit just right, and when your boyfriend brought his hips up to match your movements you finally came undone above him.

Clay easily frees his wrists from your weak hold and laces an arm around your waist to bring your body down on his. He gently holds the back of your head, guiding you into a passionate kiss. His hungry, neglected lips cling onto yours as he forces your limp hips against him, helping you ride down your high. He lays you on your side as you make out, hand caressing your hips and waist as you let him take advantage of your open mouth, tongue insistent on intertwining with yours, your mind to slow from the aftershock of your orgasm to fight for dominance again.

Slowly but surely your pettiness fights it's way through your fucked out state, almost getting caught up in how nice Clay's lips and hands feel on you – but still, you wanted to take the lead. You didn't want to just lay there until your boyfriend came for you – you wanted to make him cum.

You shift your weight so you're laying him flat on the bed again, sneaking a hand down his pants and underwear, immediately jerking him off.

Clay's breathing becomes heavier with each stroke, head thrown on the pillow when you pull down his pants and hover your cunt over his cock, lining up.

Gravity does it's heavenly work of weighing you down on him – Clay always hit so deep inside of you, but this position always made it feel like he was way too big. You loved the overwhelming feeling of being completely stuffed by your boyfriend.

You support your weight on your knees and forefeet and start bouncing, racing both your and Clay's heartbeat – this feeling being completely foreign to both of you. Every time you were on top you'd take things nice and slow, careful not to get tired too soon and have Clay switch positions with you, which would end up happening anyway. But now it was almost like you had something to prove. You wanted to knock the air out of your boyfriend's lungs, and the way he's struggling to keep his eyes open to watch you and his body unable to obey to his commands and throwing his head back, told you you were succeeding.

His breathing was extremely ragged, completely thrown off by your pace and sudden behaviour. Clay had the most perfect view when you reached an arm to support you weight by his head – your bouncing breasts hovering over his face due to the amount of force your hips gained with the new position.

You're both being loud and you hope to God his roommate is distracted with headphones on, because otherwise it'd be impossible not to hear the brutal slap of skin, and the obscene moans coming from both of you. Clay gropes your hips, seemingly trying to help you bounce but clearly couldn't focus enough to actually help. You try to chuckle above him, voice coming out shaky.

“God, Clay. If I knew you'd be this useless I would've just used a dildo.”

You watch your boyfriend slowly catch up to your words, lips turning into a smirk. “You're so fucking arrogant. Ah, fuck, fuck-” He pauses, taking deep, steadying breaths to find his voice again. You laugh above him. “I'll make you cry the next time I get you under me. You're gonna wish you were nicer.”

The way his green eyes lock on yours as he grunts out those words bring goosebumps to your skin – you know your boyfriend. That's a challenge, a promise. Your confidence cracks for a moment, but you're able to get it back with a couple more of his moans. You don't know how your legs have not given out yet – you completely lost track of time of how long you've been keeping this brutal pace, the burning ache in your legs unparalleled to the burning pleasure in your cunt, making every other uncomfortable feeling a mere afterthought.

“But I'm being nice, baby.” You pout, letting your moans become whiny. “I even kissed you at some point.”

“You even kissed me?”

“Yeah. I'm not sure you deserved it.” A millisecond after you're done talking, a huge, heavy hand comes down on your ass, making you yelp. You're so surprised it halts your movements, but Clay gropes your ass with both hands, forcefully moving your hips.

“Yeah? What about this? Think you deserved it?” Your boyfriend speaks through gritted teeth, trying his best to not let his voice crack, breathing heavily. He delivers a second spank to the same spot on your ass, making you moan even louder. Your body shudders above him, the goosebumps rising all over your skin had you to stunned to move again just yet – but he's not showing any signs of mercy.

“Move.” He demands lowly, voice stone cold. You have no time to react as he slaps you on the same spot for the third time. Your skin was starting to burn, heat going straight to your pulsing core.

The fourth slap made the engines in your brain turn again, hips’ movements so rhythmic it was almost robotic. Clay's hands were now grabbing your ass so harshly you think his nails might leave marks, his hips thrusting up to match yours – every single bounce hitting even deeper than before. Your legs start shaking and your moans get breathier – your hands were squeezing the sheets so tight your knuckles hurt. Clay tries to laugh through his moans under you.

“All that talk and you're still gonna cum first.” You whined out of embarrassment, turning your head to the side to avoid the smirk plastered on your boyfriend's face. “Fucking pathetic.”

You try your best to ignore your desperate need to cum, set on getting him to finish first. Clay can clearly notice you're struggling due to your high constant moans, hands pawing at his chest, pretty teary eyes squeezing shut. Your thighs were spasming around him and still, you bounced your hips like you were on autopilot. Clay really wish you had been nicer.

“I can tell you need to cum. Stop being a fucking brat and let it go.” His voice is stern but you know that's his way of letting you know you've done enough. Still, you shake your head no as it falls forward, eyes closed tightly in concentration, unable to mutter a vocal response.

“Come on, love. You've been so good, you can cum for-” You don't let your boyfriend finish and bring a hand to his mouth, holding it shut. You know he knows the effect his voice has on you, and you know he was doing it on purpose. His muffled chuckle lets you know your suspicions were right.

“With me. Want you to cum with me.” You say through ragged breaths, tiredness starting to catch up on you. He nods, moving his hips once again.

Clay's thrusts become sloppier, you could feel his fast breathing on your hand still holding his mouth shut, green eyes fixated on your body. He always looked so pretty, always so effortlessly handsome. It always blew your mind how Clay never had to try to fascinate you, he just always seemed to say and do the right thing at the right time. So fucking perfect for you. You were glad you didn't turn off the lights, otherwise you wouldn't see your boyfriend's sculpted features scrunched in concentration, trying so hard not to cum, waiting for your command. That along with your hand muffling his noises gave you such a power high it almost made you climax as soon as you opened your eyes and looked at him, taking in the sight. Always so perfect for you.

You laid your body on top of his, head landing on his shoulders, whispering right against his ear. “Cum for me, let it go.”

And he did, and so did you. You could feel Clay's cum warming up your cunt as you legs shook beside him, back arching with the intensity of your climax. God, you really hope his roommate had headphones on, because Clay's moans were loud. His hands clung to you for dear life as he squeezed his eyes shut, head thrown back on the pillow as his mouth hung open, a constant stream of moans and curse words leaving his mouth. Your boyfriend hugged your hips, grinding, to help you both down your highs. His breathing was extremely laboured – you've never seen him this fucked out before. Both of you were still moaning as you laid on each other's embrace, a giggle escaping his lips every now and then. You speak when you finally gather enough strength, nuzzling your head on his neck.

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing.” You can hear the smile on his voice. “I'm just happy, that's all.”

Always saying the right thing at the right time. Your perfect boy – he really made your heart melt. You lift your face to look at him, gently running your fingers through his hair.

“Aw, baby. I'm happy too.” You melt when his lips finally meet yours, making you realize how much you've missed them. His hands roam through your back, soothing your skin.

“I love you so much.” You whisper against his lips and he hums, deepening the kiss when your lips meet again.

Even after a couple hours, after you and Clay showered and are heading to bed, he's still randomly chuckling. You stare at him shaking your head, laughing along.

“What the hell have you been laughing at this entire time?”

He smiles for a couple seconds as he looks back at you, unable to contain the laughter anymore as he wheezes when you finally ask.

“I knew calling you pillow princess would annoy the fuck out of you!”

[thesolferino]

this lore stream got me fucked up

well forget whatever the fuck i said cdream daddy breeding degradation dumbification dacryphilia kink fic coming soon god bless

[thesolferino]

you guys are in a crisis… i’m on my way

well forget whatever the fuck i said cdream daddy breeding degradation dumbification dacryphilia kink fic coming soon god bless

[thesolferino]

well forget whatever the fuck i said cdream daddy breeding degradation dumbification dacryphilia kink fic coming soon god bless

[thesolferino]

hope the horny dwt association has missed me

uhhh professor!dream fic coming soon my hyfx is back who cheered

[thesolferino]

uhhh professor!dream fic coming soon my hyfx is back who cheered

[thesolferino]

this was…… SOOOOOO good amazing read god knows i love darkfics to bits and this was just soooo well written it portrays wilbur’s descent into madness sooooo well and the theme of “wilbur always stays” throughout the whole fic…. Chefs kiss LOVED IT ! have so much more to say but by the time i typed this out i forgot half of it so bear w me lol

How to spiral out of control [Simpbur x reader]

Pairing: c!Wilbur Soot x fem!reader (Simpbur x reader)

Summary: How simpbur became simpbur. And how you grew up and lived with him.

Warnings: Obsession, unhealthy obsession, stalking, murder, drugging, unhealthy relationship, and Simpbur being a creep.

Words: 5K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: Listen I had brainrot. And I don't know how to defend this. (Also requests are still open! Click here!) And it's unedited for now it's 5:12 am here I will edit later today

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Wilbur was a pretty insignificant child. The death of his mother being one of the most interesting things about his childhood. While he claimed not to blame his youngest brother for the loss of his mother. He certainly had a funny way of showing his youngest brother affection.

Wilbur is the middle child of three. A charming but quiet and well accomplished older brother, who seems to never have to end to his dedication neither success. And his youngest brother, a loud ball of sunshine that just seems to make everyone in a good mood. Truly good with people, something Wilbur never seemed to grasp.

His whole childhood tainted by that fact. Always living in the shadow of his brothers, the clear favourites of everyone who came near the family of four.

So his grades was just average, never good enough to get acknowledged, never bad enough to need extra attention. Just average, like the rest of him. He grew up lanky, not athletic neither unable to run. Wilbur was grey in a family of golden people. His father raised them alone for most of Wilbur’s life. His father that despite never saying it out loud had clear favourites in his brothers. It was always, oh and Wilbur too!

Never him, never just him.

So, Wilbur spent most of his childhood lonely, disregarded and weird. A pitiful child. A pathetic child.

The thing is there was one thing, that made Wilbur worth anyone’s time. One person. You.

His childhood best friend.

Well, that’s what anyone who only knew Wilbur would say. Because you were the only friend he had. However, it was different for you, although the two of you were good friends, you wouldn’t call him your best friend for years. That didn’t happen till you became teenagers.

You had always tried your best to include the weird kid in playdates, birthday parties, and playground games. But nobody else seemed to find him worth their time, with his weird and morbid comments. But you persisted that he wasn’t that weird, besides his older brother was really cool.

So, you stick around, you stick around as playdates become hangouts, as dolls become makeup, and homework goes from learning to read to writing essays.

While you had many friends, both come and go and stay, Wilbur had been there for as long as you could remember. A playground proposal documented on home video. And a remake of it on the day of your school dance. You had played along, but it was known to everyone that your childhood friend wanted to be more than friends. But you stayed, smiled for the camera and laughed it off.

Then the school dance was over, and the last exam had been taken. That’s when you moved a country over, and slowly you lost contact with the people you used to call friends, but Wilbur stayed. Wilbur always stayed.

He finally got the spot as the best friend in your mind too. A definite win in his book.

Wilbur had always been odd, a bit to the left of normal. But now, with distance and screens in between you, he only started to act more concerning. This was around the time he started talking about feeling depressed and useless.

Of course, you always told him you didn’t believe that, what else were you supposed to say? Your friendship turning more and more into therapy sessions once a week for Wilbur on your end. While for him it was the highlight of his week.

Clicking the call button beside your profile picture, an anime girl from one he had recommended to you himself. One he had stayed up an entire night to shift through different animes to find the perfect one to send your way. One he was guaranteed you would watch.

“Wilbur, I should really get off.”

“C’mon stay on just a bit later, please.”

The silence deafening over the video call, he watches you intensely as you pull your legs into your chest, your shitty webcam standing beside you on your bed.

Wilbur reached out for the energy drink beside him, a new habit he has picked up. The more hours spent on the computer, the more he seemed to consume.

“Fine, just half an hour more. But then it’s the last half hour.”

Wilbur smiles at that, you choosing him over everything else in the world. He likes that, he likes that a lot. You valuing him. Spending time with him, and only him. Your attention is his.

“We could always fall asleep on call, then we could keep talking.”

“Another day Wilbur, another day.”

That. That sentence he on the other hand didn’t like. Not one bit. A promise never kept. A promise left unspoken and unpromised from your side, but a broken and abandoned promise on his side.

Then there was the wall incident.

Wilbur wouldn’t have told you if it weren’t for you noticing the hole in his wall. One that matched his fist quite neatly. His father had taken his PS4 in punishment for Wilbur using so much the WiFi plan to call you. At least that’s what he told you.

In reality, he had gotten into a fight with his older brother, his brother had asked about you, how you were doing, and if he could say hi during a call. There was something about the words that had irked Wilbur, something that set him off, something about him that made his brother seem dangerous to Wilbur. So, he had decked his older brother in the face. Causing a blackeye to occur.

In return, Wilbur now sported a big black and blue spot from where he hit the floor. His brother having immediately tackled him.

And to Wilbur that had confirmed his thoughts. Other guys are dangerous, he’s the only one you should rely on.

The wall had taken the brunt of his rage that night, a screaming match with his dad that ended with his little brother getting sent to his friends' house, and his PS4 getting confiscated until Wilbur had gotten a job and was able to pay back the damages.

And he did get a job, much to your surprise. But you had encouraged him throughout it all. A dead-end cashier job that only seemed to make his world staler and more bothersome than before.

A time where he searched for every distraction possible, gaming, music, you.

You were proud of him when he got the hole in his wall fixed, and even more when he kept his job. And Wilbur doesn’t remember you ever giving him more praise than the day he told you he was starting to investigate going to university.

Naturally, you helped him, and along the way, Wilbur picked up a guitar. A new asset to his den of depression that his room had become, decked in led lights, and overpriced RGB gaming stuff.

The university acceptance came rather quick, and suddenly Wilbur was packing up his life and heading to university. Boxes filled with stuff he barely remembered owning, and kitchen appliances that would never see the light of the day.

And he can feel you starting to drift, already busy with your own life. But he clings to you.

He stays, Wilbur always stays in your life. Even when you drift.

Wilbur knows it’s affecting him. It’s not hidden from anyone. The longer that goes between the two of you talking, the sourer his mood gets. The longer you don’t respond to him, the more messages he sends. The more information he craves to know.

Who are you talking to?

Who are you seeing?

Who is so much more important than him?

Hadn’t he always been there for you?

Hadn’t he always stayed?

You owe him.

Wilbur grows bitter and resentful. But not to you, never to you. But for everyone around you. His biggest joys in life now coming from the ungodly amount of caffeine he drinks, and whenever you reach out first.

This is why the day you call him asking for help is forever a day that will bring him joy.

“Hey Will, you’re really good with tech, and I was wondering if you wanted to help me start streaming.”

He chokes on the energy drink. He chokes on his words. He chokes on the air. He drowns.

His heart aching. His anger festering. His-

“Sure.”

He hears himself respond before he can even process the thought.

It takes him 2 days of absence from university, and what feels like 2 even longer nights, before he’s an expert on how to stream. He reads everything he can find, he watched everything that gets suggested.

You asked him for help, so he will help.

But Wilbur, spends these hours conflicted. You want his help, not someone else’s, someone lesser than him. Him.

But at the same time. His mind keeps wandering, isn’t he enough any longer? Isn’t he good enough for you? Why isn’t he good enough for you? Why? Why?

And thus, he learns you how to use the software, and beings alongside you. He finds comfort in knowing most of your streams whenever possible is spent with him on a call with you.

Although that happens after hours of pestering, that doesn’t matter. He gets to talk to you, while the rest is limited to a measly chat.

You seem to find yourself comfortably in the gaming category, slowly growing. Slowly rising.

Wilbur’s own streams, on the other hand, feels more like incoherent rants interrupted by his guitar plays. And once in a blue moon, you are on call with him.

It doesn’t take long before he gives up, watching you grow. Finding more comfort in watching you, instead of being the watched. Not that anyone really did watch him besides for you.

Wilbur stays out of a camera, as you only seem to grow more comfortable being in front of one.

The first time you have someone on a call with you on stream, who isn’t Wilbur. He just can’t help but break his bedside lamp. It’s a guy nonetheless. A guy from the internet. The type of guy Wilbur has never been shy to tell you horror stories about.

And this is where another bad habit of his started to emerge. He just can’t help himself. But you’re laughing with someone else. You’re smiling for someone else. You’re his. Not anyone else’s. His. His. His.

Wilbur is quick to find the donating button he had helped you set up himself. At that time it had only been used a couple of times. Nothing big. But Wilbur wants big. He wants attention. He wants you.

He fumbles with his credit card as he keys in the numbers, he’s a bit too familiarised with them. Because anything he can get from the internet will be delivered that way.

And then the notification pops up on your screen. A donation number you had never expected. And you start crying. Right there. Right on stream. And Wilbur sucks it up. He sucks it right up that you’re crying for him, whiling praising him, and only him.

The match you were playing ruined, and Wilburs smile only grows as he hears the familiar tone of discord receiving a call.

That night. You had ditched the fellow streamer to thank Wilbur and hang out with him.

Something you never thought you would regret.

But oh, how you did. How you did.

It takes Wilbur around 2 months to get used to a large sum of money means special attention to him, and only him. For everyone to see.

And he can feel you pulling away, so each time he donates, it’s bigger. Larger. Grander.

He’s never on your stream without a donation anymore. Never on call for free. But Wilbur doesn’t mind, because everyone gets to see you’re his.

And he keeps increasing the amount as you keep growing until he hits a stalemate. He’s using half of his paycheck on you, while he doesn’t mind going hungry a couple of days. His bills won’t wait for him. And he has been living away from home for far too long to ever think about calling up his father and ask for money.

Not to mention his oldest brother would never. Then neither will Wilbur. Because Wilbur is better. Better than all of them.

The larger your stream grows, the closer graduation arrives, and then Wilbur is sitting in another apartment. Another dead-end job. Another grey life.

Another dull life passing him by. Your voice constantly on loop his apartment. Constantly filling his life. As it always has. But to you, Wilbur is barely a part of your everyday. Only really showing up when a donation comes in. As you once again tell him not to spend money on you.

But he seems to stay. Wilbur always stays.

He’s the first to like anything you post on social media. Always online never off. Always lurking. Never missing. Never absent. He’s always there.

Wilbur never misses a stream; he schedules his life around yours. Even if you’re a country away.

And then one day you’re not. You’re not a country away, you’re moving back. You’re moving closer. And suddenly you live an hour away by car. Instead of an airplane ride, and shitty trains.

Suddenly Wilbur can see himself get a foot in the door. No longer grasping onto his parasitic parasocial friendship with you. He can see himself being more than the childhood friend who has always been there. He can see himself as the partner that always is there.

Wilbur is giddy the entire car ride. He’s giddy as he feels his bag burn on his shoulder. And he’s giddy until the second you embrace him in a hug and welcome him into your new apartment.

It’s bigger than the one you’ve had since university.

And then his future crumbles. You start talking about a guy named Jared. Fucking Jared. Why did even his name have to leave a sour taste in his mouth? A guy you met over the internet. Not just any guy. No specifically the fucker from the first time Wilbur had donated.

Apparently, he wasn’t a streamer, but a friend you had made during your 2 years you lived at university but never told Wilbur about. Not a single mention of him, and suddenly he’s all you’re talking about.

How could Wilbur have known? You hadn’t even mentioned him on stream. Wilbur always listened so carefully, writing down everyone you mentioned. You had called him attentive once, and he would never want to disappoint you. Maybe if he was attentive enough you would look his way.

Instead, here you are talking about this Jared guy. And Wilbur knows what he has to do. A thought he has been toying with for around 3 years now. Ever since you went to Disneyland together. A trip he paid for, and a trip that was streamed, so everyone could see you were his. You were always his.

That was easily his favourite video.

In the week up to the vacation, Wilbur had done everything he could to learn about cameras so he could help you, and do the most for you. He had even helped you sort through some of the non-streamed videos he filmed too for a YouTube video for you.

Which is where he found the clip of you changing.

The camera had been resting on your hotel bed, the video having a clear Dutch angle, leaving the hotel room slandered. But there you were, right square and centre still. Changing. It takes you a minute to finish before you turn around and pick the camera up again. Mumbling something as you turn it to show off your hotel room, and then the clip cuts to black.

He never told you about it, instead just saving that specific clip on a USB stick. A piece of tech he valued more than his life. Not that his life had ever been worth much in comparison to his.

Wilbur rips his bag open, careful not to make a lot of noise. He removed his clothes, and then the fake bottom. And underneath it reveals small security cameras.

Wilbur has never been more thankful for you being a heavy sleeper and letting him sleep on a mattress on the floor of your bedroom. He quietly sets up two in your bedroom, before moving into the rest of your house. One in your office that has been converted to a streaming room. His own personal angle to your public life.

Two more in the living room, he skips the kitchen and hesitates at the door of your bathroom. For the first time, he hesitates. His hand hovers over the doorknob, the other holding the camera.

“Wilbur?”

You’re standing in the hallway, sleep evident on your face.

“Will why are you making so much noise?”

“No reason darling, go back to bed, just needed some water.”

His breath is stuck in his throat until he hears you close the bedroom door again.

That was the first time he hesitated. And his last. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford to lose you further.

The rest of the trip passes Wilbur by as you introduce him to Jared. The douchebag himself. The asshole. The guy who dares take away what is Wilbur’s. Even on the ride home. All Wilbur can see is Jared’s image etched into his mind. His god-awful fashion sense. The way everything, he wore around you, just seemed to be a size too small. Nobody wants to see that fuckers’ muscles. Wilbur’s knuckles turn white, as he grips the steering wheel.

Jared has to go.

He’s ruining everything. He’s not part of the dream you told Wilbur you had. Jared has never been part of that. Wilbur was supposed to be part of that. Even if the dream changed through the year. Even if the one you’re living now is the unimaginable future the two of you imagined up at seventeen. But one thing was sure. Jared wasn’t part of that. Wilbur was.

Wilbur easily finds himself a new normal at home. The trip giving him a refreshed sense of hope. A plan in the making. His daily routine now including watching you all hours of the day. Not just your streams any longer. Every single second he can wrench out of those cameras.

And suddenly his friendship seems to improve with you too. Because now he can see when you’re sad and in need of a friend. He reaches out at the perfect time. Abusing your vulnerable state. Because it’s the best to do. It’s for the betterment of your future.

The more Wilbur is there for you, the more he resents Jared. He deserved to be in your bed, not that asshole. He deserves to reap the rewards of his hard labour. He is the one that has always been there because Wilbur has always stayed.

A simple click is all it takes for Wilbur and the item has been placed in a cart. Mere keystrokes and it has been paid. A single click and Wilbur has truly gone insane, as a packet is shipped off. A packet containing a bottle of sleeping pills.

The next time you invite Wilbur down, you barely recognise him as you open the door. Eyebags so deep you’ve never seen before. His entire body slightly twitching, and that manic smile on his lips. Wilbur brushes your concerns off, claiming that’s just what happens in real workplaces. Not that you would know anything about that.

Wilbur hates the feeling of insulting you, but you had barely responded the entire week. You deserved to suffer for a moment. Before he caves and apologises for being rude. That’s the moment you can see the resembles of his normal being as he hangs his shoulders.

Jared comes over that night. Just as Wilbur had planned. And this time he won’t hesitate. He even bought a bigger car for this.

Wilbur offers to mix the drinks, claiming to have learnt a new recipe. Which isn’t a lie, he has learned how to perfect just the right cocktail thick enough that covers the chalky residue of the pills. And sweet enough to make the bitter taste disappear.

He serves them, keeping a watchful eye as the night drags on, and Jared never seems to shut up. But Wilbur can deal with it for one night. Just for one. And then he won’t ever have to worry about Jared again.

He serves another.

And then another drink.

And finally. Finally. You’re starting to get tired. Slowly leaning against Wilbur. And he takes pride in that. Great pride. You didn’t choose to lean against Jared, you’re leaning against Wilbur.

Wilbur sits still until Jared too is starting to fall asleep. Wilbur is ecstatic.

He gets up slowly, gently laying you down, a pillow underneath your face. A blanket over you. He kisses your forehead and smells your hair. Taking in the shampoo scent still lingering.

Then Wilbur gets moving, he has stuff to do. Plans to execute after all.

He does his best to get Jared’s left arm over his shoulders. But their awkward height difference makes it difficult, but he can make it work. It has to work. He only gets one shot.

Wilbur gets the front door open before he realises a fatal flaw in his plan. He has to drag Jared down 3 floors worth of stairs. He realises he can’t do it the way he is now. He has to drag him down by his armpits instead.

It takes him the first flight of stairs to realise Jared shoes are making too much noise. He has to abandon them, Wilbur awkwardly gets Jared leaned against the wall before he removes Jared’s polished black shoes. Wilbur leaves them there, making a mental note to remember them when he comes back.

The rest of the stairs, while difficult and definitely breathtaking for someone who has no muscle strength. He makes it work. Wilbur actually makes it work.

He made it work. It worked. Oh god. It’s working.

Wilbur repositions Jared once more, his arm once again over Wilbur’s shoulders. The night sky greeting him as he steps out of the apartment complex. With great difficulty, Wilbur gets the two of them over to his car, where he throws open the trunk. In the proceed shaking the car, setting off the car alarm. Wilbur is quick to drop Jared as he fumbles after his car keys. It takes him nearly a full minute to turn off the car alarm.

Wilbur curses under his breath.

Annoyed with the time loss. He finally gets the knocked-out Jared into his trunk, and he shuts it again. Just as a front door in the apartment complex opens. A man steps out. He raises a hand to Wilbur, before pulling out a smoke.

Wilbur shuffles on his feet before raising a hand. And then awkwardly gets into his car.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

He has a body in his trunk. Now he just has to get to the harbour. Wilbur starts the car and starts the ride to the harbour a town over.

Half an hour has gone past when Wilbur is pulling the handbrake, and taking the keys out. He’s quick to get out, and even quicker to get to Jared. Wilbur keeps thinking about you. Your smile. Your kindness. Your voice. Your beauty. Your grace. As his hands are securing zip ties around the wrists and ankles of an unconscious man.

He has to go.

Wilbur reminds himself.

A cloth is tied around Jared’s filthy mouth, and then Wilbur is back to dragging him. It’s both easier and harder. Easier before he’s just dragging him across the pebbles and over to the brink of the harbour. Both of his arms are under both of Jared’s.

But it’s harder because if someone sees him it’s going to get difficult to explain. But nobody does. As far as Wilbur is aware.

So a splash is made by a body, and Jared is unceremoniously sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Wilbur takes one more breath of fresh air. Before turning around and getting back into his new car.

He’s quick to arrive at your apartment complex. The man was no longer there. Wilbur goes to grip the front door. It doesn’t bulge.

Oh yeah, it’s locked.

He fishes the copy he made of your house key from his keychain and lets himself into the building he doesn’t live in. An invited guest, that has turned out to be an uninvited one.

He can feel the tiredness setting in his bones, as he ascends the stairs. And the realisation that he just killed someone hasn’t dawned on him yet. Instead, all his muscles are aching, and his eyes barely staying open.

He stumbles into your apartment. Another kiss gets left on your forehead as he goes for your bed. The smell is so nice. It’s so obvious to him this is where you sleep. And he’s soaking in each moment until his eyes are giving out.

His night remaining dreamless, instead, he gets awoken rather rudely around noon. You’ve pulled the comforter off him and told him to get up, so the two of you can spend some timeacting together. and Wilbur happily does that.

Not at all acing like a man who purposely took another person’s life mere hours ago. You rush him to get into his clothes. As you have something planned for rest of the day out of the apartment. You’re talking his ears off as you descend the first flight stairs your personal puppy in tow.

When you stop dead in your tracks. Wilbur nearly stumbles into you.

“Will, is that Jared’s shoes?”

And right there is in fact Jared’s shoes. The pair Wilbur had forgotten all about. The pair he had left unintentionally.

“Are you sure about that? Thought he already left.” Wilbur lies, he may be awkward, but he has gotten pretty good at lying to you through the years.

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. Why would he leave his shoes?”

The question gets left unanswered, and the tension is thick until you get outside, and the sun is shining. It seems it knows too of how good this day is for Wilbur, a dawn of a new era. Where you will finally acknowledge him as the perfect one for you.

The man from the nightstand once again with a smoke and raises his hand to greet Wilbur, once again Wilbur shuffles on his feet before he raises a hand back. You look at him weirdly, and Wilbur shrugs it off.

The rest of the day happening without any mishaps or other incidents. But the shoes just can’t seem to leave your mind, despite how hard Wilbur is trying to distract you.

And then the afternoon passes, and the night, and the car ride, and Wilbur is once again home. And as soon as the door closes. He crumbles down on the floor.

Oh god.

He did it.

He actually fucking did it.

He isn’t useless.

He’s fucking Wilbur, and Wilbur stays in your life. Even when you make such stupid mistakes as falling for another person. There’s only one person for you and that’s him.

You’re actually the first one to call him this time, and the smile never leaves his lips. Even if the call is about Jared. And how worried you are about not having heard from him. Wilbur just tells you; you should have listened to him. Guys on the internet are just like that. And that you deserve better. Someone like him.

You laugh at this and thank him for calming you down.

Wilbur suddenly loves phone calls.

This bliss is perfect for Wilbur you’re talking to him more and more. And he watches, god he watches you. Every step you take in that apartment is filmed logged on his computer.

However, all good things must come to an end, and Wilbur has barely pulled off his tie after work when a group of loud knocks sounds at his door. He isn’t expecting guests.

A group of men in blue uniforms greets him.

“Wilbur Soot, you’re under the arrest for the Murder of Jared Yarrow.”

Wilbur barely registers what’s going on, before he’s in a holding cell. A psych evaluation under his belt. A phone call to his father asking him to help him out.

The days bleed together in the unchanging environment, and suddenly a defender is telling him to plead for insanity.

Then the defender comes back again days later with a court date, and all Wilbur can do is count the seconds.

Time for the first time since arriving slows down when the doors to the court open and Wilbur is lead into the courtroom. And there you are, looking beautiful as ever. Tears and despair clearly written on your face. You look away from him, and it makes him stumble for a moment. A quick look to the other side, confirms his fear. His father is here. Alongside his brothers.

The trial goes over what happened that night, the evidence, the sleeping medication, the car. Everything. Yet even when his sentence is received, even when he is told he won’t see the sun again for a long time. There is only one thing on his mind.

They never found the cameras.

And he just can’t help but smile at that as he’s getting lead away to rot.

Because Wilbur has always stayed by your side, Wilbur always stays. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[thesolferino]

not fully back everyone just wanted to check in and say im doing fine, probably wont be answering my asks as much and wont be accepting requests but perhaps i will log on every few weeks and post a oneshot or two ! also c!wilbur gonna be added to the masterlist for sure lol. possibly c!techno too

knock knock…. anyone there?

[thesolferino]

OMG WELCOME BACK IVE MISSED YOU

😭😭😭 i missed u too!!! <33

[thesolferino]

OMG HI

hello my loves

[thesolferino]

knock knock…. anyone there?

[thesolferino]

i want sapnap so bad yall

[thesolferino]

NINA..DREAM SEX PLAYLIST

Right after i speak abt how i cant fuck to music on here.... something srsly wrong w him

[thesolferino]

i love corpse

[thesolferino]

yomama

sucks my dick every night

[thesolferino]

every time dream does something i just wait for you to come back,,,, at this point i’m begging for dream content just to have nina content (/nm/lh)

HAHAHAHAH this is so sad 😭😭😭😭 this ask made my day fr i hope u guys know i miss being on here very very much tooooo but nina busy as always 😞

[thesolferino]

princess

so.... dream’s hands, huh?

⤷ note: my laptop died and i cant put a keep reading cut on my phone so consider this a warning to stop reading now if you’re uncomfortable with smut 😭 thank you! <3

another thing - this can be read as c!dream or cc!dream, whichever one u find hotter tbh

“dream, fuck. please.”

a large hand stays on your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you want him, leaving a burning handprint that you won’t be able to get rid of anytime soon. the ghost of a laugh escapes him, feeling his exhale tickle your ear, as he draws infinite circles with his finger on the soft skin. close, yet so, so far away.

“what’d you want, baby?” he asks, voice low, quiet, teasing. you shift in your place on his lap, fists buried in the sheets, twisting in frustration. you wanna place your hand on his, grip his wrist, force him to hurry up, but his looming figure is too intimidating and constantly reminds you of his cruel no touching rule that you’re not too eager to break.

so you keep your hands to yourself, while he keeps his on you.

“touch me.” you breathe out, quiet, matching his tone, as if you’re afraid of anyone hearing. his hand gets impossibly closer, the pad of his pointer finger lazily on the curve of your inner thigh, right on the place where it goes from the leg into a different territory.

“i’m already touching you, aren’t i?” he whispers in your ear, a tiny yet cruel smile painting his features. you shift again and almost whine, and you feel his grip on your hip right under your (his) hoodie tighten, a warning sign that tells you to stop squirming.

“i- dream, please.”

“i can’t give you what you want if i don’t know what it is that you want.” his hand leaves your hip, and for one scary second you’re afraid he’ll pull you off his lap and leave you there, writhing, but all he does is get another large hand to grip your other thigh, pushing them farther apart until you’re entirely spread open, and then his hand sneaks under your hoodie again, as if nothing happened. you huff in annoyance.

“you know what i want! i want your fingers. inside of me.” you swallow to mend your dry throat as his hand separates from where it was, and you almost wanna cry.

“inside your mouth?” his dry hand grips your chin, and you let out a whine before you can stop it.

“no, you know what i fucking mean! i want your fingers in my pussy, is that what you wanted to hear?” your legs briefly fly forward, as if to add to the already embarrassing act of a whiny toddler, but you realise you fucked up once you feel a harsh tug on your hair and his right hand is back on your inner thigh, gripping.

“watch your fucking mouth, princess.” he says as your scalp stings in pain, his grip harsh and unwavering. all you can do is whine, in pain but needy. “apologise.”

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry, daddy.” you whimper and he lets go, his hand on your inner thigh finally, finally moving as he pulls the fabric of your panties to the side with his ring finger, middle finger dipping down, moving up and down slowly, collecting slick that’s been dripping out of you and dampening your panties for the past twenty minutes. it’s cold against your heat, the contact making you shiver as you let out a breathy whine, desperate for more.

he lets the tip of his finger dip beneath your folds slightly, eliciting another whimper from you as his thumb lands on your clit, painfully sensitive to even the slightest brush, and he keeps it there, the touch light and barely noticeable but you feel every cell of his on you.

“please. god, please, i can’t take it anymore, please...” you whine, legs kicking up again as you try to push yourself forward, trying to get his finger to dip further. you make it nowhere, though, as his right hand stays in the exact place it’s been for a while while his left hand grips your hip almost painfully, pretty hands turning white and leaving finger shaped bruises.

“you can take it, i know you can. or maybe you could if you stopped fucking bratting.” dream spits, fingertip leaving you while his thumb stays in place and you almost want to cry. “i guess i could give in this time, though.”

and with that, his middle finger pushes in, painfully slow considering how much you’ve been leaking, and you rock back on his finger, your hips desperately working up with you having zero control over them. his hand is still flexed, veins popping out slightly as his ring finger pushes the panties further away and gives him more access, the long, slender finger working inside you.

he prods his pointer finger right next to it, slipping in a third of the finger which can’t compare to the middle finger that’s knuckles deep inside of you, but it still feels undeniably good, a drawled out moan escaping you as it sinks further and further. his thumb grazes over your clit slowly, the touch light as a feather but you feel every bit of it from the tips of your fingers to your toes.

“oh my- fuck, daddy.” dream pulls your legs up, letting you place your feet on the bed right by his own thighs that you’re sitting on, and the way his experienced fingers crook just the right way at the new angle makes you let out a strangled cry. he speeds up, holding you firmly in place as his fingers pick up a brutal pace, not letting you move an inch, simply watching you watch his fingers disappear into your dripping heat and reappear again and again, making your mind hazy.

“da-ddy! that feels so good, oh, oh!” you throw your head back as your teeth sink into your bottom lip. he slips in a third finger, ring finger abandoning your panties and now entirely focused on ruining you, scooping out all your juices and letting them drip out with non-stop squelching noises, wet and dirty and unbelievably hot as his thumb speeds up on your clit as well.

“fuck, my filthy little baby. look how much you’re leaking. wish i could lap up all of this right now, you look fucking delicious, princess.” you hear him mutter behind you as his soft lips press on your neck, teeth lightly grazing over the skin before biting down, eliciting a half yelp half moan from you. his fingers don’t falter - if anything, they get faster, thrusting in and out of you at lightning speed as he milks an orgasm out of you quick, the knot in your stomach getting tighter as your hips buck up. you can’t help but yell out when he pulls your legs a bit farther up and hits an entirely different angle that has your head swimming.

“fuck, daddy! don’t stop, please don’t stop!” you whine out, arm blindly searching for his hand to grip onto, searching for any bit of stability as your breathing staggers, unable to see or hear or feel anything except the insane bouts of pleasure.

“my pretty princess,” he mutters, placing another kiss behind your ear. “with a dirty fucking mouth.”