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arsenic-simp · 1 year

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HAHSGSGHDD THIS IS SO AMAZING, please give this author more attention, they really deserve it!!!!!

Two Perverts. 18+.

Summary: As you commute to your work and the occasional lunch, you would pass a particularly handsome fellow. Of course, as plain as you believe yourself to be, you could never ask him out or even for his phone number. Yet when you finally meet him, under the pretenses that he's dating your cousin, Kennedy, your heart shatters. Yet, in the space of fantasy and the corners of your mind, you're okay with your fate. Because in your head, you can have a piece of him then. Only then. You're more than okay with this. (Simpbur is not.)

~5k words.

warning: somno, unprotected sex, stalking, gn pronouns + afab body (if i miss something pls let me know)

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You could hardly hold back a grin, biting down on your uplifted lips and hands gripping the edges of your shirt. Headphones plugged inside of your ears streamlined a particular song in your head, and you couldn't help the happiness bubbling inside.

It was an addicting song and you had plans to meet with some family you've missed, making this a good bus ride.

Not to mention, when you got off and headed towards your usual lunch joint, you typically passed a very… nice guy. His face made you want to melt into a puddle, you'll admit but that's because you think it's a general consensus, you think if you asked anybody else they would also say it.

Though, when the bus slows down and you make your way through the slight pouring rain with an umbrella in your hand, you didn't find any good-looking men you passed by on the daily. A little let-down, but nothing you were going to stop your good day, the song continuing to make you giddy.

Easy enough to enter the little diner on the corner, you find yourself stuck in front of the door, heart stopping as you watch your grandmother fret over this devilishly handsome man with your cousin sitting in front of him. You wanted to die a little on the inside. Your cousin, known to be quite the charmer, ran through women and men like they were disposable gloves. If she got her hands on him already, then it was too late for her chance. He would fall in love with her cousin and when she broke his heart, he would be too sad to stick around you.

If she already decided he was the one.

Taking a step towards the table, your grandmother turned her sights onto you, standing to greet you with a hug and kiss to the cheek, kissing her own cheek in return and getting a good squeeze out of her.

"Have you met Wilbur?" She gestures to the man sitting by her with a certain stare, reaching out with a hand and a small smile, a polite greeting. You smile back, shoving the butterflies down at the slightest shock when you shake his hand, relishing in the touch and trying not to eyeball his scruff. He made it look so good on him…

And your cousin goes on to tell the story about how they met in their shared geography class… about how they started dating and it's their three month anniversary. And how he was such a gentleman to your shared grandmother, so kind and so charming.

You think you managed to hide the disappointment, the little heartbreak tucked into your sleeve.

But in your mind, you didn't hold back any tears. So you had no chance? From the beginning, you didn't. He took the bus that he passed you to get to, he took that bus to go see your cousin.

You don't hesitate to greet the waiter that comes by to take your drink order.

You try not to be obvious, in your bitterness, that you were upset. Once your grandmother knew, the lady wouldn't stop until she knew why and only then would she try to make you feel better.

And it's humiliating.

To cry over somebody who was essentially a nobody to you. Just think about it, had he got on the bus for different reasons, would you have ever taken that chance and asked him out?

Just like she did?

You take another long sip, glancing away from the table as he looks at her with that dizzying smile. If only anybody looked at you like that.

Just another person who chose her over you. Another loss, no matter how small, cut deep in your heart. When would they choose you?

The lunch passes by in an excruciatingly slow hour, giving your grandma a squeeze and your cousin a side hug, Wilbur a glance and a wave bye as you hurried to the bus stop, going outside to be greeted with the rain again. You open your umbrella only to jump when Wilbur comes out and apologize, asking if he could join you, if you were heading to the bus stop. Your cousin and grandmother needed to stay to let the rain die down, as your cousin had driven the two here. But he had other things to do today, and needed to get on that bus. Preferably dry.

And because you're not a mean person, you nod, lifting your umbrella till your arm stretches a little to let him in your bubble. And as soon as you started walking, you knew you were in trouble when you inhaled the smell coming from him. A mix of deodorant and cologne, both subtle but such a good mix. So much so, you knew you were in trouble for wanting carpet burn between your thighs.

You berate yourself mentally, he's taken and he's taken by your cousin, your oh-so-beautiful cousin, the one everyone fawns over, adores and admires.

You know you have no claim to him, you were strangers before today, still, the burn in the back of your throat sticks even more so. And so, you keep walking with him, keep the distance as much as you can, until the bus stop arrives and you could stay under the shaded stand.

The bus ride is annoyingly long, and when you reached your stop, your surprise lasts alongside his, and when you explained your apartment was on the same path he was taking, he seemed more shocked than you.

"So is my apartment, what're the odds?" The chances… are in the millions, aren't they? And yet you stand in your apartment after having waved bye to not only your neighbor, but your cousin's boyfriend.

And the walls are so paper thin, your face burns at the thought. You always ignored the nagging thought, the one where you're too loud, the one where you know you've got neighbors and they need sleep as well.

But since you figured you would never meet them, them being your neighbors, it wasn't a problem to you.

However…

Now it is.

Now it is very much a problem, and you scream into your pillow, near tears as you knew you definitely jacked it off to him, thought about his handsome face, brown curly hair to tug on and of course, once he'd bumped into you and handed you your phone back, you had a good look at his long, thin fingers. And they felt cold, grazing them softly.

How good they'd feel pressing on the pad of your tongue, gagging you as he worked your thighs open, pressing himself between them and making it hard to keep your hands to yourself.

God and now that you knew his name? You're ruined.

Because as much as he is hers, you can fantasize as much as you want as long as nothing happens.

In your mind, you can have a piece of him.

But you'd have to be quiet.

It has been a total of two days and you are most definitely screwed.

After making an oath of being quiet, of staying away from Wilbur, you have found yourself bracing for opening this door because you have not been quiet this last hour.

No, you got home and upon hearing nothing in the next apartment, not even the A.C., you think to yourself, it's safe to masterbate, it has to be. He's obviously not home.

And when you undressed yourself, you imagined his hands, his hands pressing themselves into you, his mouth covering yours and then travelling down to-

"Wilbur…" a sigh left you, high and strung-out as your hand moves faster, dying for that tight coil in your tummy to release, to let you cry his name out and imagine he had done this, not yourself.

And that's when you heard footsteps in the wall behind your bed. Your eyes open as your hand stills, mouth wide open, trying to hear for more and that's when they pad away, a distant front door opening and closing. Sitting up and fixing a robe over yourself, you felt panic swell inside of your chest, harder to breathe in and out as you hear it.

A faithful knock on your door and then the soft call of your name. You cover your mouth, eyes prickling with tears but you wipe them away, pulling yourself together as you tie the cords to the robe tighter around yourself and hold a hand above the doorknob. Shaking only a little bit, you try to convey a normal but confused expression.

"Wilbur, what's going on?" A harsh blush dusted his cheeks and the shells of his ears, had he heard?

"I- uh, well I heard you say my name but I'm not sure if you were okay? You sounded like you were hurt?"

He definitely fucking heard you.

But he is an adult, he probably knows that you weren't hurt, that you were only imagining him saying only the filthiest things in your ear, panting and moaning and sounding wrecked as you were. He had to have known that you weren't, quote-unquote, hurt.

You hummed, looking out to the hallway, before looking back and shaking your head, "not hurt, but thanks for checking," you briefly smiled, before moving to close the door when his hand came to push against his, a soff baying noise coming from his throat. You blink several times at him as you widen the door, and he can't look at you straight on, but he does calm down with his flustered face. The red is now softer, more pink than anything.

"I was wondering, since you're not hurt, maybe we could… watch a movie, have dinner? Kennedy is stuck at work for several more hours.." his words kept trailing off, like he didn't know what he was going to say or if he meant to say them. Regardless, you bite your lip. You're already on the edge and being in close quarters with him?

You're pathetic but not this pathetic.

…

Apparently you are, because the next ten minutes were spent getting dressed in reasonably comfortable sweats and an old, oversized t-shirt, and your softest socks covering your feet from the cold floor.

And when you exit your bedroom, you find Wilbur on his phone, ordering food for delivery. His eyes lift, moving from your TV to your eyes, dipping below to look at you.

For the most part, you ignore it, settling into the spot next to him and pulling the throw blanket over yourself, leaning into the old material. Wilbur's phone meets his lap, tossed down unceremoniously, and you try to ignore the weird, unidentifiable look you know he's giving you.

The show he's pulled on is a time period piece, something you lose yourself in easy, only startling out of the trance it had you in when Wilbur stood to greet whoever was at the door. His phone lights up and you take a little glance, a small look as he lingers by the door.

It's your cousin, and she's… asking to know where he's at? What?

Looking away as the door closes, you smile at Wilbur and take hold of the styrofoam boxes, dealing with them accordingly. You'll just have to worry about that later. The food you're about to devour is making you drool, just a little bit at the corners of your mouth.

Annnnnnnnd the food's gone. You lean down to place the takeout box on the ground, turning in your spot on the couch, facing Wilbur as he keeps his eyes on the TV. You don't do anything, just look a little bit as you doze off into a food coma.

And with you knocked out cold, you had no idea that Wilbur turns to look at you, this time with an unabashed stare, he can look at you all he wants.

Look, being the key word.

He hesitates before reaching over, the tips of his fingers tickle on the apple of your cheeks, brushing away a stray eyelash. You hum, before leaning more into the couch, curling in the blanket a little more.

"So darling…" he hums to himself, before leaning over, close to your head and inhales deeply, taking in the soft smell of you. The fresh smell of laundry detergent and then your conditioner. So nice, you smelt so nice.

Because of course you did, of course you smelt nice and trusted him so much for just meeting him as your cousin's boyfriend. And just the thought of Kennedy, the slight obnoxious woman made his skin crawl.

But you…

Well. He is always just a little bit biased towards you, ever since he saw you on the bus, all alone and so quiet, quiet in your life and movements. But you were always breathtaking in everything you did. Made him harder than anyone else. And when you moaned his name so sweetly, he knew, knew that he had to see you then. Knew with a bit of time, you'd let him in and he'd get to taste you. From the sweat on your skin to the spit in your mouth to the cum leaking out of you, he'll taste all of you.

He'll have all of you.

He presses his mouth against the corner of yours, licking the little crumb sitting there off and finding you just as deep in your sleep before he'd gotten close.

You were so good to him, barely knew him but so nice, so good. He'll treat you for it. Soon.

When you woke up, you were tucked away into your bed and you moan just a little bit as your memory returns, Wilbur's quiet presence may have been helpful in your slight nap. Afterall, the voices in the show were low and he was so polite, eating just as quietly as he talked. And then there was the blanket. Covering you and shielding you from the AC's cold air.

And you fell asleep on the couch…

You cover your face as it burns quickly, your thoughts quickly doing the math and figuring out he carried you to bed. How embarrassing! You whine into your hands before falling back into your pillows, staring up at the ceiling before checking the time.

Just enough for a shower and a quick breakfast.

And if you get sidetracked, getting lost in the feel of the warm water and imagining a ghosting touch across your body then that's nobody's business and you grab a few snacks to shove in your bag, panicking when you can't find your keys immediately.

Relief sets in as you lock your door, trying to open it and failing to ease your mind, letting you leave with a bit of peace in your mind. You press the button for the elevator, tapping your foot mindlessly and getting in, leaning against the walls mindlessly. That's when Wilbur exits his apartment and waves you down, and you instinctively hold the elevator doors open.

Close quarters with him? Is that such a good idea? Especially with your budding admiration for his hands? Especially when your most reoccurring fantasy is the one where he chokes you while you ride him?

How you manage eye contact after that thought is beyond you, letting the door close after him and you press for the lobby.

Silence hangs in the air but not uncomfortably so, well, maybe for him. You were definitely stressing whether or not you looked even the slightest horny, hoping to keep your cool in check on the bus. But Wilbur curses besides you as you exit the building, saying he forgot something on his bed. He says goodbye and you're almost sorry to see him go. Almost.

You breathe out in relief, stepping inside the bus and taking a seat, glad you'll have the slightest amount of privacy and get to have your nasty thoughts.

What was it earlier? Getting choked by his hands while you sat on his dick? You sigh, smiling a little as you plug in your headphones, turning on that same addicting song while you think about making Wilbur toss his head back and moan your name.

While Wilbur had left something on his bed, it was just his wallet and then of course, the mold of a key to your apartment.

His heart in his chest as he checks it over, those moans from yesterday and all those days before the previous, he couldn't just sit in his apartment, twiddling his thumbs with his dick in his hand, when he could be hearing it in his ear.

You wanted him, really wanted him, and he wanted to give it to you. Even if he couldn't tell you or do it directly. He'll give it to you.

And when his phone rings from Kennedy, his eyes narrow.

Sure, getting with your cousin was necessary for the perfect meeting, seeing you flustered and turning in on yourself when you realized you were neighbors. You'll realize it's fate soon enough, if not already.

He couldn't wait for you to come back home tonight.

And your keys hit the table, clinking and ringing in the air as you lean down into a stretch, popping your back as your fingers graze the floorboards. And when you lean back into your feet, you come up and feel only a little bit taller, lighter in the spine if you will.

Dropping your bag on the couch, the only thing you take to your bedroom is your phone, turning on your cheap, bluetooth speaker along the way. Somebody's kid barfed on you today and you really, really would prefer going to bed early after scrubbing your skin.

Not that there was anything wrong with vomit, except everything wrong with it.

Made you feel icky, gross, disgusting even on the bus, made you feel like there were eyes on you at all times. (There was, but not because of the vomit.)

The warm water makes you melt, your bones turning to butter and if somebody took a comically large butter knife, they'd be able to split you into two masses of human butter. That is, if such things could happen.

But for now, you felt better, drying your skin off with a towel and laying down a dry one on your pillow. You were going to go to bed early, wake up a few hours before the sun and then enjoy, maybe, a period of intimacy with you and your vibrator. Just maybe.

And when you fall asleep, you don't realize you didn't even lock the door.

Wilbur smiles to himself, pocketing the key and opening the door with his jacket, being careful to close it before hitting the creaky range.

The door closes with a silent click, and he locks it for you.

Walking in, he notices all of the signs you're asleep. The first being your soft snores, the ones he waited for at night to hear before falling asleep himself.

He itches to move your things, move them to a pile where you can find it all, so easy, be there for you especially when your day is a little bit rougher than you're used to. Itches to hold you tight against him, pressing himself into your skin like a living, embedded, weighted blanket.

But that would have to wait, for now, there was the matter of you…

He found you curled like a fetus, and he couldn't help but stroke your cheek, just for a moment. You were so pure in this state. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, chest rumbling with your snores. So alive when you're in between conscious and reality.

If only you'd let him in, closer and closer so he'd know you and only you. He'll get rid of your cousin, maybe not permanently, but he knows now, knows that you're not just going to do anything when he's taken by somebody close to you. (Well maybe not close, but at the very least, related to you.)

Let him in, he begs, in between snores and the silence. Let him in.

He nudges your face with his, remembering how deep of a sleeper you were when he carried you to bed last night. Breathing in your skin. Kissing your face slowly, moving to lean over you as his other hand came up to cradle jaw.

In your dream, you felt an itch at your face, the scratch of an unshaved face, and your dream morphed from the soap drama involving dolphins to Wilbur's face nuzzling yours as he pressed into you, groaning as he swallowed your own moans.

And truth be told, he was so close, so so close to you. Moving down, he gently peeled the blanket off, finding you in even less than what he saw last night. Loose shirt and tinier shorts. His mind latched onto it, repeating phrases and words, tongue sticking itself out to swipe his chapped lips. All for his eyes only, just for him to see. Only for him, all for him.

His hand slips under your shirt, pushing it up as his tongue reaches out, licking a strip from where the shorts begin above your belly button, to the nipples that began to harden from the cold and stimulation. Sucking and swirling on them, he bites just a tiny bit, tugging and pulling with his teeth while the other one tweaks with his forefinger and thumb, you shift in your sleep, snores coming to a stop and whiny, breathy moans escape your mouth, leaning into his touch just a tad.

His mouth only moves to give the same treatment to the other nipple, before his hips twitch against your lower body, bucking slightly as he thought about fucking you and fucking you while you're waking up.

His mouth lets go of your nipple with a small pop, watching as you writhe beneath him and letting out those delicious moans and a tiny, "Wilbur, ahh," oh god, his pants needed to come off, his dick couldn't have possibly gotten harder but it did. It did and he wants to fuck you somewhere. Right between your legs, inside of you or using one of your hands or feet. But as he moved off the bed to take his pants off, something awful happened. You turned over and stretched onto your stomach, face-planting on your pillow, moving to sit up.

What a crazy fucking dream, you think to yourself, turning around and resting your back against the headboard. You glance around and see nothing out of the ordinary, not that you thought you would. It's just… his mouth felt incredibly real.

You slid out of your bed, heading towards the bathroom and barely closed the door.

Wilbur takes his chance and slides your closet door open, running out of your apartment with careful, silent footsteps. His heart beats next to his ear as he unlocks his door and acts like he just got home, laying down his own set of keys and re-placing his coat over the table. Moving to the thermostat, he turns the AC, desperate to feel something than the fire beneath his skin, licking his veins and teasing his erection. So close and yet, he's yet to fuck you.

But the world is not ending, you merely woke up.

Another day, another experience. Another time.

He had time.

The time that passes is relatively short. It'd been a total of two months before he'd attempt again. He'd broken up with Kennedy by then, unable to stand the way you deflated when her name flashed across the screen, hearing her talk about him so differently than what you've experienced.

He's been coming over more often, not that you're complaining. At all. He gets a little touchy, hands on your thigh, sliding up sometimes or even the times you've cuddled close to him, claiming it was all platonic. You may or may not have accidentally humped his leg, in your defense it was in your sleep, but still. The humiliation lasted for a while.

And then of course, the way he stared at you, got closer than before.

You welcomed it all. Especially when you got a call from a sobbing Kennedy that he'd broken up with her, the smile on your face and the giddiness in your heart was criminal. You offered her your shoulder, though you probably wouldn't have contained your smile.

She passed on your offer, determined to find a rebound and make herself forget him.

When you got this call, Wilbur was asleep on your couch, head tilted back with his face relaxed, hands unclenched on his thighs, which were spread out with his crotch so incredibly open. You felt like the worst friend, a pervert like no other. But… you couldn't help yourself, you lifted one leg and then the other, till you straddled his lap and grinded down onto his crotch, feeling him twitch under his pants. And that's when his hands flew to your waist, breath hitching as his nails dug in, eyes opening as he turned to see the person on top of him.

Forgive him for bucking up and grinding back, holding your hips down as he continued to grind, leaning forward to latch his mouth around your neck, your own breath caught in your throat.

Guttural moans left you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he bites and sucks marks into your neck, and that's when one of his hands dip between you two, beneath your waistband and find the elastic of your underwear. He didn't wait a second as his fingers, cold as ever, found your most sensitive spot and abused it, working his fingers in the way that made you see stars.

"Let me," he pants into your neck, pulling back so he could capture your lips into a searing kiss, "please let me fuck you." He moans even louder into your mouth, using his other arm to wrap around you and grind his crotch against yours. And how could you say no?

"Fffuck, please. Please fuck me." You barely finished your sentence when he picks you up off his lap, standing you on your feet when he slides your shorts down, taking you into his mouth and moans at the taste. You cry as you dig your fingers and wrap them around his brown curls, pulling on them to bring his mouth closer where you need him. Bucking into his face, he only takes it, letting you shake in his grasp as you ride out an orgasm like no other, not even when you hooked up with other guys, they never did anything like this to you, for you.

You push at his head when it starts to hurt a little, twitching from the overstimulation, "Will, please, s'too much now," and he hears you cry but he wants to do this for you, make you scream his name while he's at it. Become a regular complaint.

And when your eyes sting from the painful overstimulation, you cry his name, tugging harder and harder on his curls, but he only moans your name louder. Only ever comes off when he feels you start to tremble, and he stares up at you with your slick covering his face. And he feels powerful, licking his lips and pulling you down so you could taste yourself, his tongue snaking inside of your mouth and running over every groove of your mouth, every corner found and accounted for. He pulls away and tugs at the shirt you're still wearing. And only says just a few words. "Take these off," and you're nodding, slipping them off and kicking aside your shorts and underwear, before pulling on his shirt. Eyes pleading with him to do the same.

And how could he say no?

That's a question he'll continue to ask of himself for the rest of the night. Sure as anything, this night would be burned into his internal memory, but some of the best parts…

"Shit shit shit, Wilbur, I'm- fucking shit, I'm close," and he moves his hand away, using both of them to hold your hips down, nestling his cock deep inside of you.

"Not yet, just a little longer," he pleads a little, determined to make you whine even more. And you cry in the air, leaning forward to rest your head against his shoulder and grip them, trembling under his hands before you could breathe slightly easier.

"Okay, I'm go-good now." And his smile, god the way he smiled at you, you had to steal a kiss, the way he can be yours, even if just for one night.

And another moment when he was catching his breath, leaning over your back before sitting on his knees and pulling you up, so you'd be flushed up against him, your back to his chest and his dick nestled inside of your warm walls, twitching ever so slightly as he came down from his high. And you shifted in your position, leaning into his back and your head on his shoulder, you felt him tighten his arms around you, one circling around your waist and another reaching up to hold your throat. And where his fingers didn't cover your neck?

Of course, he had to cover them with marks, let people know, let them see how good he made you feel, let them see how you belong to him and only him.

Squeezing your neck experimentally, he's not that surprised when you grasp his wrist, moaning even more so when it's strained. And he was going to make sure to tease you for this for a long time, hips rocking against yours as he thought about pinning you to the front door by your throat and fucking you against it. Anybody walking by would hear how you'd cry his name, hear how good he fucks you. Everyone would know.

The night ends with you passing out from the sheer amount of times you came, well, your night ended like that. He'd fuck you as many times as he could before you woke up again, loving the way your body moved under him in your sleep, wrapping your legs around his waist and getting the better angles.

You whimper in your sleep but every time he stopped, you would whine even more. "Who knew my quiet neighbor would be such. A. Fucking. Whore?" He enunciates with a thrust between words after such, hands pawing at your chest as he chased his high for the nth time tonight.

When he finishes inside of your mouth and the time rolls around four in the morning, he pulls out and decides that as exhausted as he is… he has to clean you up. After all, he wants this to happen again. And he won't let you go after this, no, you're his. You're completely his and no one was going to take you away.

So, with a clean rag, he gets you clean as best he can, pulling your ass into some shorts and covering you with one of those oversized shirts… actually he used one of his, but you could find out in the morning.

Sliding under the covers next to you, he pulls you close to him, smelling a little like him and covered in his hickeys. He smiles as he presses a kiss into the side of your head, this night has just opened up so many filled with endless amounts of fun.

He couldn't wait.

Literally, he couldn't because you woke up with your legs over his shoulder and him pounding his dick inside of you, hitting your sweet spot over and over, making you cry and dig your nails into his back.

But also metaphorically too, he couldn't wait. You were his. (And he was yours, you'd think to yourself in the morning, watching the scratches on his back as he moved.)

And in the end, your cousin only found out after walking in on the two of you fucking on the kitchen table, she was going to convince him to get back with her, but seeing as he made eye contact with her and continued to fuck into you-

She'll have that talk with you later.

But for now, you're happier than you've been lately. And that's all that matters to you.

...

[a/n]: ayo so this is kinda long so you should give me a big smooch for this 🥴

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