#eggplicit

[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.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #c: wilbur #eggplicit #c: wilbur soot #tw smut #wilbur soot smut

[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.

#simpbur #c: simpbur #eggplicit #c: simpbur smut #simpbur smut #simpbur x reader #simpbur x you #simpbur x y/n #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #minors do not interact #minors dni #k: free use #<- sorta #a: neutral

[toiletwipes]

Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

MOUTH SO SWEETLY TELLING LIES — PART TWO

5k words. / [Two months after the festival you're left in the dust of what to do with yourself when you've been ghosted by a really cute guy. Depression hits and it's not a good mix.] [watch out for self-deprecation, slight suicidal ideation, kind of an unhealthy relationship brewing out of pain]

Part 1 — Masterlist

fic title from Lovesong by The Cure but the chapter title is from Cut by The Cure

thank you @drop-of-void for proof-reading!! and i'm tagging some lovely folks now. @sleeby-anon @loversj0y @struggling-with-delia @l0veb0mb1ng @boiled-onionrings

xxxx

After the first month, it’d been easy to slip into the same old routine. Wake up too early, stare at the wall until your alarm goes off, manage either the longest shower ever or brush your teeth, then go to work and come home exhausted. Maybe eat. Stare at the wall a little more, go to bed. Music was optional.

And Seff wasn’t having it after the second.

“If men do this to you, then they don’t deserve you.” You grunted, listening to him ramble as you sat on the couch, arms feeling like noodles as you fold towels that sat on your bed a little too long, with Seff mopping your floor, the rugs rolled up and against the wall. The room smelt like fabuloso. “I’m serious. They don’t get to have a great night, express that they want to get to know you more, exchange numbers and then do jackshit with it.” He stops mopping, opting to lean against the length of it, eyes staring straight at you. You don’t make contact.

“Well it’s not up to me what they do, remember?” It’s hard not to be mean about this, you’re all too aware that when men do this, it’s not your fault. (...Entirely.)

“Vividly.” He says, before finishing up the last corner and putting the mop back in the bucket and putting it off by the laundry room. When he joins you, you’re halfway done. He helps you with the rest of the towels, getting you off the couch and forcing you to tuck the towels into the cabinets. When you get back almost ten minutes later, you find the living room fan turned on high and the floor drying faster, Seff himself back on the couch with gummy candy. He offers some to you when you join him on the couch. You dig a hand into the bag and pop them into your mouth, chewing on them as you let the cleanliness of the place wash over you.

“Doing anything feels like I’m moving through- through a thick goo, like tar. And I can’t get out of it.” The words come out only a smidge louder than a whisper but it was so loud between the two of you. Seff doesn’t say anything. So you continue. “It wasn’t… just him. It was all of those guys. Like, how could all of them have one night and change their mind so fast, like it wasn’t real for any of them.” But it was him. He was the last straw. He made the choice to come up to you and spend the last of the festival with you, it was him that wanted your number. It was all him and then- and then- tears prick your eyes again.

And it was him again, ghosting you, just like the others. They were so different from each other, how could they all do the same thing? There had to be a reason and the only logical one is that it was you. They regretted what they did, what they said, and they regret you.

You feel the hazy feeling wash over you, the tar-like substance coating your limbs and mind as Seff hums, wrapping an arm around you. He knew you so well, you wondered why he stayed. “They’re jackasses, don’t forget that, no matter how nice they were or how they smiled at you, they decided that being a coward was easier, it had nothing to do with you.” You nod, not really listening… but still, it’s a little nice to hear the words. Even if they didn’t stick like they should’ve.

He rubs your shoulder, offering you more candy and letting it sit in his lap when you decline. “Here, let’s finish up cleaning and then you hop in the shower. Vick wants you over for dinner tonight, she’s making your favorite, okay?” You nod, Vick was always so nice and sweet to you, snarky towards her husband. And on good days it didn’t hurt to be around them, to see them in love like crazy people.

“How’d you do it?” You don’t recognize the words coming out of your mouth, foreign and sickly tasting. He hums, sighing as he breathes out while he looks around the apartment.

“How’d I do what?” He asks.

“How’d you know it was her, I mean, you guys moved so fast, how did you- just- how?” Words failed you and you wanted answers but even on autopilot, you’re unsure of what you want to know. Of what you want to hear.

Silence grows as he mulls over the answer. Then he starts standing, getting you up on your feet with him, speaking as he pushes you to the shower, “I’ll tell you when you’re done, how about that?” He smiles as you reach the middle of the tiled bathroom floor, turning to him helplessly as you shiver.

He’s about to close the door when you stop him, reaching out with a hand. He stands there, unmoving, eyes moving up to meet yours and you gulp.

“Thanks.”

He smiles and he shuts the door with a click.

You undress, making no attempts to look at the mirror as you step into the shower, closing the curtains. The water hits your scalp and you try to picture your ails being washed away with the oils in your hair. You try to follow your old routine as best as you can but when thirty minutes pass and all you have to show for it is clean hair and nothing else, you turn the shower off. You’ll take a win where you can. You don’t entirely know it’s been thirty minutes to be fair, but when the water turns from hot to cold you can take the hint it’s time to get out.

Getting dressed and drying your hair with a shirt, you exit your room to find Seff on the couch, finishing the bag of gummy candy off. The corner of your lips twitch up as you toss the shirt at his head, snorting when he shouts and somehow falls onto the ground. “And after all that I’ve done for you!” He says as he wrenches the shirt off his head, throwing it right back at you. “I’ve rolled the rugs out AND I’ve got your bag and keys, and this is the thanks I get?!” A small smile plays on your face, wrapping your arm around his neck in a limp headlock as he continues to mumble about how unfair it was.

“Come on, you big baby, let’s get you back home to Vick,” and at the mention of his wife, he perks right up, handing your things over as he rushes to the door. You follow after him but as you lock the bottom lock, you hear a banging on your window. Your head snaps to the living room, just barely catching the dimmed blue sky of the night, nothing to be seen in the glass. You’d check it out but then you hear Seff call for your name. Turning away, you finish locking your door, following your best friend down the stairs and breathing in and out as your thoughts try to race ahead of you. Despite the genuine fear of a burglar… you couldn’t be bothered to worry too hard about it. One, there wasn’t a thing you could do now, pulling the seat belt over you as Seff started the engine. Two, and you’re sure it’s a bad thought but your mental health has never been known to be particularly okay, but you almost hope there’s somebody waiting for you. Whether they’d kill you immediately or to kidnap you, you’re clueless to which you want more, both are fine options. Maybe torture. Maybe you’d come out of this haze your mind seems to be stuck in.

You hardly notice the car parking, only when the door unlocks and you, automatically, take your seat belt off, opening the door and watching with blinking eyes as Vick, the beautiful woman she is, finds the two of you and hugs both at the same time. It’s a nice hug. Her soap smells nice. Makes you feel sleepy again.

Dinner is filled with laughs and despite your small fears, she doesn’t bring up Wilbur and she doesn’t bring up anybody and she doesn’t say that you deserve better. She just finds ways to make you laugh, make you gasp with the drama she’s heard, helps you with setting the table as Seff finishes off the toasted bread.

Wine is poured in your glass and Vick’s, juice for Seff. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he raises both in return, “what?” he asks as he lifts the fancy glass to his nose, swirling the liquid and then smelling it, with a satisfied nod.

“Pregnant?” He hangs his head in shame as Vick snorts, getting the salt and pepper from the kitchen.

“We wanted to be sure it was hers,” he sends a wink your way before beaming at Vick, accepting the bowl being passed for bread.

The night passes fast and before you can soak the warmth and happiness in for the long run, Seff is already dropping you off, double-checking that you’ll be okay for the weekend. “We’ll be at her mom’s place and you know her mom, middle of nowhere. No signal and—” you cut him off with a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything else until you let go. Until you’re sure the wine isn’t the only thing warm in your chest and belly. You’re slow to pull away but when you do, you walk backwards into your apartment, hand tight around the doorknob. The fear from before is back and though you know he has to leave, you wished he would stay. But that would mean asking. And you can’t ask that of him, not when he’s done so much for you already.

“See you when you get back.” He nods, tight-lipped.

“See you.” He starts the walk back to his car when you call out to him.

The words choke up in your throat but you manage to force them out, tasting bitter like vomit, “love you, be safe.” He parrots it back and tears blur your vision as you wave, watching as he disappears down the steps and then out of sight when his car drives away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping you wouldn’t throw up on the floor after he mopped it, the fear of a familiar pit in your stomach as the door closes behind you. It’s quiet.

Way too quiet.

You turn your TV on, just loud enough to cover the ringing silence in your ears as you sit on the couch, not daring to check your bedroom or the kitchen for any intruders. You’re not sure what you want to find.

Head falling to your lap, phone open, your hand trembles as you press the icon for Wilbur’s contact. Despite him not answering before, you kept texting him and everyday it would stay on delivered, nothing would change. It felt maddening. Lonely. Desperate. You start typing a message out, speaking as your fingers moved, “Seff came over… helped clean and everything. I don’t know… where I’d be without… him.” Tears dripped onto your cheeks as you felt stupid and pathetic and- and- you couldn’t breathe, not around the sobs that escaped your mouth, covering it with one hand as you sent the message. He was just a guy and he only spent one night with you. It wasn’t even that special- you weren’t that special- why would he ever think-

It’s hard to focus but when the tears stop falling and you can breathe, at least through your mouth, you wipe the snot off with your sleeve.

Burglar be damned, you walk into the kitchen, tearing a paper towel off the roll and blowing your nose. It’s loud and it’s warm when you pull it away, groaning at the sight. “Fucking hell,” you mumble, tossing it into the trash.

The floor is cold beneath your feet walking back to the couch and when you sniff, you catch a whiff of that fabuloso again, pressing a hand to your forehead as you reach down to grab your phone. Your breath catches in your throat.

They’re- the messages- they’re not delivered anymore. He’s opened them. Thousands of emotions run through you in the matter of seconds. Air lodges itself in your throat, leaving you dizzy and unable to breathe as you think about it. Shame, humiliation. He’s seeing this pathetic, sad and lonely person vomit in his messages. Shock. Did he- did he lose his phone? Briefly angry, why couldn’t he just open it that night why did he have to wait till now? Staring down the phone screen, you can hardly recognize your thumb pressing on the call button. Without question, the cold press against your ear brings you to the moment, your mind clears of the haze as you’re forced to think, in milliseconds of a game plan. You thought of one over the last two months, wondered what you’d say to him, given the chance, but with your self-deprecating ass it was hard to think at all right now. Taking him back so quickly definitely was wrong, as was assuming he wanted you at all. Oh what to say?

As the call goes through and rings, hearing a vibrating noise outside the window you stiffen up. The one where you heard a noise from-

And the phone picks up, the vibration stops and all you can hear is the distant city noises, and perhaps the quietest panting you’ve heard. You approach the window, holding both hands at your phone, clutching as you whisper, “Wilbur?” Turning around until your back meets the wall beside it, you try to see if looking out would do anything. It doesn’t. It’s just as dark as it is inside of your living room, the only thing disturbing that inky blanket of darkness is your TV. You’re almost scared to turn it off. “Wilbur, what- are you there?” You didn’t know if you meant in general or right outside your fucking window but you can only imagine the answer when you see a phone drop onto the fire escape, a body falling to its knees, you can barely make out the silhouette. You drop your own phone when a hand smacks against the glass, dragging down as it smacks again and again. The shake in your hands makes it hard for you to flip the locks and you slide it up, just barely asking the question: just what in the hell are you doing??

But the hand falls off and a head of fluffy brown hair sticks in and he falls in with as much grace as a limp noodle, groaning all the way. You move him enough only to reach out and grab his phone, looking around to make sure nobody caught him sneaking in. You hope that in the case they do, they assume you’re only sneaking in a boyfriend— even if the assumption hurts to ache for.

“Fuck, Wilbur, what happened to you?” You hiss as you close the window, crouching as you help him sit against the wall, trying to look over him as his head rolls back. His eyes stare up at the ceiling as you look back at the window, catching sight of the red tint dragging down in the shape of his hand. Picking his wrist up, you do see the drying blood coating his skin. Your chest coils tight, thinking the worst of the worst. You try asking him what happened, where’s he hurt before his eyes drift down and find you, his face softening and a deep sigh rattles out of him, interrupted by a hiss and an attempt to press against his ribs. You need to call the ambulance, hell, take him to the hospital yourself but the way he’s sitting on your floor, already adjusting himself seems a little too… relaxed. As one can be relaxed when, no doubt, pain is at the forefront of your mind. “Wilbur, say something,” you beg with gritted teeth. You need a reason to not kick him out, to not pull him into your arms and kiss the wounds away no matter how tempting and how useless it would be. “Say something before I kill you myself.” And then he passes out.

You groan out in frustration, having caught his head in a panic when his body slumped over again and making a dive for the tile. “I cannot be doing this, Seff will kill me-” and then the sudden reminder, of oh yes, as of right now, you cannot call him. Despite more than likely being in the city together, you didn’t want him worrying over you again. You cannot keep doing that to him, he has a life of his own, Vick needs her husband and they’re going to visit her mom— and in your panic, a minute has passed and his head is still in your hand. You, out of nerves, started carding your free fingers through his hair, finding it… wet. You sniff close to his head and nearly groan again, yeah, his hair is wet with sweat.

You push his head back and reach around him, mumbling to yourself about how you should do it. Picking him up by the waist doesn’t do you any favors, neither does pulling on his arms. Bad idea in the first place. Sighing, you make a note to apologize later if he doesn’t die on you when you drag him to your room. It’s no question that he lies on your bed- after a towel has been laid out for him. If he’s bleeding, you don't want too big of a stain. You had considered leaving him on the floor… but then you couldn’t do it.

You check his arms, pushing his sleeves up and finding none of that. You check his head, nothing bleeding there. You take his shoes off but… that’s about all you do besides getting the first aid kit and setting it next to you, along with water and painkillers. If he was bleeding in the legs or chest or hell, even his feet, you needed him awake for that. And despite him literally being on your fire escape, which raises all sorts of questions mind you, you couldn’t undress him. You couldn’t.

After a few minutes, you shake his shoulder, giving his face a few smacks when he wakes up with a jolt, looking around until he finds you and then he groans, clutching at his side again, eyes shut tight. Then he tries to sit up. “Hey slow down there,” you say, holding onto his shoulder when it seemed he would stand up.

“Please, I should-” he swallows and you despise yourself for looking at his throat move, “I should go.”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all, now where’s the blood?” You speak fast, hoping to hide the shake in your voice if you were mean about it. He tried to fight you on it but when you pushed on his chest, stepping between his legs, he couldn’t move, head flung back as he tried to reel the grunts of pain in, trying to be quiet. “If you needed the hospital- or- or a clinic, you should’ve gone there first. But you didn’t, so you’re gonna tell me what’s hurting so I can help you.” He lays limp on your bed, unable to look at you as his mouth dropped open and snapped shut several times. “If you don’t tell me where it hurts, I’m going to stab you and then stitch you up myself and then throw you out my window so fucking- say something.”

It’s silent. Until it wasn’t. “Everywhere,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It hurts everywhere. I can’t-” he gasps, hand coming up to where your own still processes, in the middle of his chest and over yours“-think.” You retract your hand immediately, backing up as you give him space. Space for yourself.

“Is there anything bleeding?” You ask and when he shakes his head, you think back to the clear blood on his hands, on your window. It doesn’t add up but taking it with a generous fistful of salt, you want to scream. “Okay- okay. Fuck.”

In the end, you have him sit up, half-apologizing for the pain and the other of you lets him have it, he can handle it just this once. He could’ve called, he could’ve texted, anything, but no, he had to wait until he was literally too hurt to move.

“Did you break anything?” You ask, digging through the first-aid kit while you waited for him to take his shirt off, “because with the way you’re bitching about these bruises—”

“—bitching?” He cuts you off, shirt halfway over his head.

“— yes, bitching, you’re not bleeding, if anything was broken you would’ve, surely, gone to a clinic. A healer, just, fucking anybody. No, you had to come to me.” You say, pulling out the self-adherent wrap and opening it up, unable to fault yourself in finding a battered, bare-chested Wilbur on your bed and losing your voice for it. The hair on his chest that leads down his stomach that leads further down into his pants… you breathe in as he himself is quiet. Starting at his ribs, you have him hold it down as you begin wrapping it around his torso, dedicated to ignoring the heat of his skin, how close you are to him. How you have to stand with one leg between his and lean into his space.

With each go-around, you make sure it’s not too tight, just enough to keep pressure and when you tape it down, you have him lay back down, gathering the first-aid kit to put on the nightstand. Heading into the kitchen for an ice-pack. In the middle of making one in a ziploc bag, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You’re patching up a guy who fell into your living room after having ghosted you for two months.

You want to be mad at yourself, you want to punish yourself so badly for letting him in so easily.

“Listen, I just wanted to say—” he says when you walk in and you couldn’t help yourself, you chucked it at the bed and snatched the throw blanket on your dresser, ignoring any other attempts at conversation.

“Get some rest, don’t call for me unless that bag is melted.” You say over your shoulder, closing your bedroom door shut and you can’t help the pathetic slide down against it. Tears try to fall but you wipe them furiously. He does not get to wander in and fuck everything up. For goodness’ sake, you’ve just mopped.

Setting up camp on your couch, you lie down with the knowledge that yeah your neck will be shit in the morning, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It won’t matter in the morning because in the morning, he’ll be okay enough to get up and stand somewhat straight and maybe without help and he’ll insist on leaving. That’s just how it’ll go. He’ll say he never meant to end up on your fire escape and in the morning, he’ll apologize for taking up your bed. Because that’s just how it’ll go. And then he’ll go. And you’ll never see him again.

That’s how it’s going to be. It’ll never be anything more. You sniffle, can’t even stop crying for a night. How fucking useless. You bury your head into the throw pillow and shiver under the thin blanket. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over and he’ll be gone and you can pretend that you never intended on letting someone murder you. You can pretend that you’re normal and pretend everything is okay. Breathing out, you let sleep fall over you.

You rub the ache in your neck, grimacing as you flip another pancake, successfully burning it. It goes onto a stack of burnt pancakes. Turning off the stove, you don’t even pull butter or the syrup out of the fridge. Maybe your bitterness will fade away with time… maybe you’ll be able to look back in time and say, it’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be. For right now, you get to be petty and serve your bruised guest burnt food.

Opening your bedroom door, you halt in your footsteps; finding him fast asleep. The ice-pack is nowhere to be found. A sigh falls out of your mouth, the sound of the plate that knocks against the dresser is almost as loud as your defeat. You take the blanket you’d slept with and drape it over him, tucking the edges under him. The idiot slept on top of the cover. Standing up straight, you look at him. This is the first time you’ve seen him in two months, and you feel hopeless. He looks so peaceful, so handsome, so pretty, so helpless you can’t help but want to stay. But he’s hurt you. No matter what he has to say.

You breathe in deep before turning to leave and you would’ve made it out the door had he not reached out for you, grasping your wrist with cold fingers. You shiver under his touch as his head falls to the side, his hair falling into his closed eyes. “What you do to me is cruel,” you whisper, sliding down to the floor and letting him hold your wrist. You don’t know how much I regret meeting you and you don’t know how much I cherish meeting you at all.

It takes twenty minutes for him to wake up, two minutes after that for him to let go. You stand up, throwing a new shirt at him. This one happened to be completely oversized and old for you, perfect for him. “Get dressed and eat, I’m either taking you to a hospital or a healer you know, fifteen minutes.” You don’t give yourself time to loiter in the room, you don’t give him time to explain himself. (You know that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mean to ghost you but let’s be real, you’re you. And he’s Wilbur. The math isn’t adding up. He just wasn’t that interested.)

About ten minutes after you walk out of your room, he stumbles out, gripping onto the walls and he groans with his mouth closed. You don’t let him see your flustered face at the sound, just walking out and letting him follow you to the stairs. You pull one of his arms over your shoulders and make a point not to talk to him, even when he tries to get you to let go. Saying all about how he can walk on his own and stairs are no problem… you couldn’t resist it though, he was pretty insistent that he’d be okay and maybe you’re still upset. You let go and watch as he falls down one step, catching him before he scraped himself up even more.

“And you said you had it under control.” You mutter and you can see he wants to say more but you send him a look that has him clenching his jaw again.

“Look, you don’t need to take me to a hospital.” He begins after the two of you are settled in your car.

“So you know a healer?” You turn to him, giving him a blank stare.

“Well- maybe- I-” he stumbles over his words as you start the engine.

“You have very limited options right now. Either I take you to someone who will help you or I will dump your ass on the front step of the nearest doctor. Pick one.” His jaw sets and you make it a point to stare ahead as he gives you directions.

In no time, you find yourself in front of an apartment building, helping him get out of the car and into the lobby. You barely helped him into the elevator before turning to leave, watching as he leaned against the elevator doors. He stumbled over his words again.

“I couldn’t text you. I wanted to, so badly.” He says, with the wettest eyes known to man.

“So you’re telling me, you saw I was texting, couldn’t respond  for some mysterious reason and you expect me to tell you it’s okay?”

“I’m not saying it was.”

“Two months, Wilbur, you left me alone for two months.” You say, throwing it out there and he wants to say more, you can see it so clearly. You can see he wants to say why, wants to tell you everything. His big, sad eyes stare you down, tears close to falling. You look behind you, holding onto the elevator doors as you lean closer into the enclosed space. “And we’re only talking because you showed up at my window, bruised to hell and back with someone’s blood on your hands. Talk to me when you’re healed. Because yeah, I have questions. And if you can’t answer them when you’ve healed up, just go back to ignoring me. It worked perfectly fine for the both of us, didn’t it?” You don’t know why you said any of that, bitterness and hurt chokes you up, your words coming out stilted or too fast. Because no way in any version of reality were you okay. You wanted the truth. You wanted to know exactly what went wrong that night for him to ignore you.

And if he’s being honest with you right now, you’re not sure what to make of it.

But you’ve said your piece and the first tear falls down his cheek. So you lean in, palm smacking the button for the doors to close. You don’t wait a second before turning around and heading back to your car. Breaking down right in front of it.

You were so far from being okay, so, so fucking far.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #c: wilbur #c: wilbur soot #eggplicit #<- i go a little nuts at the thought of chest hair my bad #and stomach hair..... a happy.. happy trail sjghsghs #ANYWAYS! #c: clinicbur #au: clinic #c: sirenbur #gender neutral reader

[toiletwipes]

investing dimes (for nobody but you) | ghostface!wilbur

~3.6k words. / well uh. yeah it's actually what it says. GHOSTFACE! remind me to stop writing on my phone because I forget some important details all the time akfjsjfhd. ANYWAYS. [Killing people is a new pastime for him. He planned for his third victim to be extra special. Doesn't goes exactly to plan.]

Warning: talk of murder and gore. It's not too detailed but keep caution. And I wanna say this is heavily romanticized so. Keep it in mind. If someone is trying to kill you, run away not towards.

And also apologies: I forgot the blood and knife kink. Next part I'll add it in. ;-;

title inspired by Happy Together by Slothrust

×

It's warm, underneath the mask and the costume. Makes him sweat and his mouth dry but all he can focus on is your form, slouched over the kitchen table. Books and papers spread out over the table, with you writing over some with a loose grip and droopy eyes. Part of him wants to kiss the side of your head and take you to bed, his hands holding your knees and back while you tuck your face into his shoulder. He also wants to stick the knife he's twirling deep in your guts, twist it until you stop screaming and all you can do is cry and look at him. Look at him and die.

He waits till you look close to passing out, head slowly falling before snapping back up several times, waits till you sigh and continue the attempt at homework.

He dials the phone number. Watches as you startle completely awake, rummaging through the mess of books and assignments until you find the culprit, not even bothering to check the caller ID. And he hears your voice Crack a little in greeting, "he-" and he smiles a little when you yawn in the middle of your sentence, "Hello? Who's this?"

He doesn't know what to say, "sorry, I think I might have called the wrong number." He doesn't make the move to hang up though.

He hears and sees you hum and you look up to the ceiling, scratching at your forehead, "well, I hope you find who you're looking for." And you hang up the phone, sitting up in your seat. He brings the phone down from his ear only to re-dial, swallowing.

He gets to see your shoulders jerk back in surprise when the phone starts ringing again. He can't help the adrenaline building in his chest. He needs to chase you down, taunt you, make you scream his name, carve you as his. His third victim of the night.

"I think you got the wrong number again." You say, looking down at your homework, checking the phone number this time.

"I did, but I was hoping I could talk to you." The knife sits heavy in his grasp, he could almost feel the metal humming with excitement. Maybe that's just him.

"I wouldn't mind talking, I just got a lot of homework to do." You bite down on your bottom lip, scanning the papers. He could just barely make the cover of the book when you close it and make room for another. Biology.

"Maybe I could help." He has before, wasn't even too long ago. You struggled often with the terms, and that'll fuck you up in the long-run.

"I'm not sure that you could, you can't even see what I'm working on." You've abandoned the books and papers now, leaning against the back of your seat. Staring at the ceiling.

"If you'd talk me through it, I could."

"So generous, what, you're gonna tell me how to solve for x?" The way you smile while covering half of your face makes his heart beat faster. He can't wait much longer. He has to have you soon.

"Solving for x isn't going to help you with your evolution paper." Your smile drops, back straightens up while you look around. It's dark outside, so dark, you'd never see him but you look right at him. Even if unknowing, you did and his heart skips a beat. He wants to hear your heart skip like his too. Beating fast and full of fear.

"I'm- I'm not working on an evolution paper- who is this?" He can't help the small laugh that bubbles out of him, he feels high. High on a power trip, high on the genuine fear building inside of you.

"Except you are, have three books open and everything. Think you need help more than I do."

"This isn't funny." Your face scrunched up, he could guess fear or maybe confusion. Frustration.

"I never said it was." He moves out of his spot from the window, making his way to the back of the house. The thing about you is that as a college student, somehow you're the one at home while your parents are out, having fun. If you'd only gone with them.

He makes it to the back door where he can see a light turned on in a bedroom window, opened for the breeze to come in. He smiles to himself. "I just wanted to talk." His eyes glance to the glass door, seeing your figure hunch over the table, arm wrapped around your torso.

"About what?" You ask and he sighs this time.

"Nothing in particular, just wanted to talk." He ends up biting on the blunt part of the knife, hauling himself up to the window by the bricks and the chair he found conveniently placed there. When he makes it into the bedroom, he could see this is definitely yours. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"I-" he could hear you scoff from the phone and downstairs, "yes, actually I do." He moves from your bedroom to what he assumed was your parents.

"Then why don't you have any pictures of him in your room?" He could hear the sharp intake of air, could hear the way you haul yourself out of the chair.

"I'm calling the cops."

"You don't want to do that." He warns, moving around the room and tracing the decor with the tip of his knife.

"Why not?" He could hear your voice break a little and he's not ashamed of the way his cock twitched in his pants. The whole thing made him want to hang up and just chase you down, pin you to the ground and- and-

He could already see it, red spilling out of you and staining the floorboards or the carpet. Your mouth gaping open in a permanent scream. He felt like he could come in his pants right now.

"Would hate to see your parents' guts all over the kitchen. Weren't they getting home in an hour?"

There's silence over the phone.

And when you speak, your voice is small, trembling, "what do you want from me?"

"I just want to talk to you."

For the most part, that is true. He's always wanted to talk to you. Listen to you more, hear what kind of sounds you'd make. How you'd sound writhing beneath him. Saying his name. He wants to hear you. Feel you with his bare hands. You were supposed to be the first victim, actually. But then the big, frat party happened and you held his arm while you kissed his cheek. Thanking him for watching your drink.

"And you can't talk to me, face to face?" You tried to sound tough. He can hear it, the way you pulled every ounce of strength to talk as if this wasn't the scariest thing happening to you as of yet.

It's cute.

"You want to see me?" He asks, flipping the knife in his hand.

"I want to know who I'm talking to." He clicked his tongue and then peeked out of the room, you still haven't checked the upstairs.

"Go to your room then, I'm still looking for that boyfriend you claim to have."

He hangs up the phone this time, shoving it into his pocket beneath the long fabric. You won't find him there, and he wishes he could hear your heart pound inside of your chest, beating so hard because he lied. He could be anywhere in the house and you have no way of knowing. He licks his lips. Is this how a god feels?

He hears each step you take, hears you falter as you reach the door. If he remembered right, the door had been closed before he left. But then he hears the door closing, without any of the footsteps going inside. Seems like you didn't want to see him at all.

He moves quickly then, out of the bedroom where he sees your back turned towards him. Yet, he sees the bumps rising on your skin, sees the hair rising up. Even your body knows how much danger you're in. His little prey to catch. His mouth salivates faster.

You don't even get to turn around fully, fingers already reaching to call the cops when he snatches the phone out. Your surprised gasp turns into a scream when he throws it behind him, brandishing the knife in its place. You don't hesitate to run towards the stairs. He gives you a split-second before he follows after, already feeling the need to sink his knife into your skin, catching your mouth in a gasp. Make you say his name before you die.

He calls your name in a song, singing for you to turn around while you trip on the stairs. You barely make it to your feet in time when he reaches the bottom, his gloved hand barely grazes the skin on your arm. It sparks something inside of him to move faster, running after you. Though it only does so much until you hit the lights, ducking around the corner and flat out disappearing on him. If he remembers right, after this hallway, it's a straight shot to the kitchen and backyard. He smiles under the mask.

"Listen, if you want me to leave you alone, you'll have to talk to me. But I get it, you don't love your parents enough, would rather let them take the fall-" and he hears a grunt, moving forward enough to miss a whole chair. His heart beats faster. You tried to hit him with a chair?

"Leave my parents alone." You hissed, backing away from the now broken chair. Your fists are closed and leaning on either side of the walls. You're already tired. Perfect.

He doesn't say anything, looking from the pile of wood and nails and fabric, to you. He pushes the wood to the side slowly, making a show of how easy it is for him to step over the mess. Watching as you backed away and backed up till you darted for the stairs again. He runs after you, feeling the burn in his lungs and his legs but it's addicting, these feelings. He can't ever get enough.

He reaches for your ankle, finding purchase to pull you down but then you just kick him away, scrambling up the steps. He makes it to the landing, just in time to see you enter your room, striding over to hold the door open when you try to lock it. Trying to run past him, he only catches you, shoving you back. Your legs hit the desk and you can only gasp whenever he has you pinned against your desk, pressing himself fully against you. The tip of his knife just barely touches the skin of your collarbone but it's all the same. All it takes is a second and he can have you bleeding out and dead within the hour.

The both of you breathe heavy, with him holding the back of your head with one hand and the knife in the other. He can feel the burning touch of your fingers latched onto his arm. Just like that night at the party.

In the split second that he thought he would be spilling your blood, he's gasping for air. "Got you." And you swallow.

"Are you gonna kill me?" He can see the tears pooling in your eyes, glittering in the dark as you ask him. To be honest, he did. He wanted to. There was something else that he wanted to do right now.

"Got something better in mind?" He asks, ignoring the very temptations that brought him to this moment.

Your lip trembles, your head moving in his hand as you nod. The tip of your tongue reaches out to wet your mouth and he can't help the trance it puts him in. Call him weak, he doesn't care. There's just about a thousand other ways, thousand other things on his mind.

"Are you going to call the cops?" You shake your head no. He chews on the inside of his cheek, looking through the mask and at you, so quiet, so patient and ready for whatever he had to say. He makes up his mind. "Keep your eyes closed."

Your eyes don't close immediately, but after looking him in the eyes and despite finding nothing, your eyes flutter shut and he could still tell your eyes were darting from side to side. And for a moment, he only admires. How wet your cheeks are with tears, how shiny and pretty they look. How your skin might look so beautiful with a few lines carved in. He breathes in. He'll be here all night. But like he said, your parents come home soon. He doesn't have the time he thought he had.

He slides the mask off, the air much cooler now that it wasn't so trapped under there. He leans in, pressing his hips closer to yours and he groans at the pressure, his nose tracing the skin of your throat. His tongue darting out and tracing the lines there, tasting the sweat he finds. He hums when he hears you gasp at the touch. His eyes are wide open, and he can't help it, the way his hips roll into yours and your fingers drift from his arms to his shoulders, the nails digging into the fabric.

He can't help himself, chasing the pleasure, chasing you. He leaves plenty of hickeys, sucking them into your skin, leaving as much claim he can without yet fucking his cum into you.

He trails his tongue from your exposed collarbone to your throat, soaking up the shudder you couldn't hold back. With him pressing a kiss until he licks over your jaw, he reaches for your mouth and finds you eager to kiss him back, mouths sliding against each other. He swallows the noises you leave out, unsure if you meant for him to hear or anything, but all the same, it makes his cock twitch while it's pressed against your lower half.

He reaches closer and licks into your mouth, itching to get even closer till he can only peel back your skin and crawl inside, till the both of you blend as one and the separation alone would kill you both. He doesn't know this feeling as well. He wants to know more. He wants to keep kissing you.

He pulls away, though, and he finds it surprising he enjoys the aftermath, the way your head is completely resting in his hand and your eyes stare at him, half-lidded. Panting.

"You were supposed to keep your eyes closed," he mumbles, taking a free hand to swipe the drying tears away from your face. "Can't seem to fucking listen, can you?" It's no use, you already saw his face. However, he can't help but pinch your cheeks between two of his fingers, watching as you let him.

"Are you going to kill me?" The repeated question only solidified the answer in his head.

"Depends, how much do you want to live?" And with that, you surged forward, sitting up on the desk and lifting your shirt off your torso, tugging on his costume. It's a tussle of clothes coming off and occasionally you leaned forward to steady yourself, kissing him with a newfound urgency. As if you'd die if you stopped.

Admittedly, he doesn't think he'd kill you now. At least not tonight. He didn't say that though.

While you wrap your arm around his neck, he doesn't notice when your cold fingers slip down his pants until the jarring touch grazes his cock. One of his hands shoots straight to your wrists, his mouth dropping into a moan, singing your praises as you kiss him with more fervor. He doesn't think it could get better until you whisper for him to go sit on your bed.

With his legs spread, the costume gone and his eyes staring at you, you step around the discarded clothing, keeping your stare leveled and pointed even when you kneel before him, unzipping his jeans.

"Have you done this before?" He can't help but ask, wondering how many guys have sat in his spot on your bed with their hickeys dotting your skin.

"Wanna be specific?" You ask, and with more care he'd ever give himself, your hands wrap around his shaft and he can't help the hiss as you lean over to drag your tongue over the head.

"Am I going to be your first?" He grits out, hand reaching out to hold your wrist before you could swallow him down.

You blink at him, then a slight tick upwards from your lips. "Am I yours?" And before he could process that bombshell, you shake his hand off, sliding him into your mouth and he could- he could die.

The warmth of your mouth was almost too- too much. Your tongue bumping alongside the head of his cock as you bobbed your head made him bite his tongue, groaning. But he was hopeless whenever you started to swallow him down. He tried to hold tight on your bed-frame, the sheets anything but his hips still jerked up. Choking you, and making you slide off of him with a cough. "A little warning, next time." And without much else to say, your mouth enveloped him again. He wasn't going to last much longer.

And before he could come, he made you pull off, pulled you up by the throat to make you stand and kissed you, and could just barely taste himself. Kissed you and kissed you until you had to pull away.

"Before we start, where am I coming?" He held onto your chin, leaning close enough to where he could breathe the air you were. Could almost taste your lips again if he twitched.

"Where do you want to?" And just like that, he was grinning and pulling you back to the bed, pressing you into it. Pressed his hands on either side of your head and kissed you deep, kissed you until he couldn't breathe properly. Till he had to breathe through his nose and fumble his way between the two of you.

The gasp he caught in his mouth mirrored yours, the feeling indescribable. Couldn't help the way he took your hand and laced your fingers together, rocking into you as you cried from the intrusion. "I'll make it worth it." He whispered, taking the back of your thighs and lifting them a little more, finding more room to thrust and the way your head tilted back, leaving room to crane his neck, kiss the skin by your ears and whisper filth, sing your praises.

Moment by moment that he was inside of you, he couldn't help but want this all the time, hoping there wasn't a day in his lifetime that there couldn't be this. Where he couldn't have this with you. Hoped and wished he could have you.

Wasn't that the idea in the first place? To make you his?

And when his high neared closer and closer, he tried to help you as much as he could, reaching a hand between you two and listened to the way you sang for him. Until you came first, your walls clenched down around him and caused spots in his vision. He quickly followed suit, pulling out in time to cover your stomach in his cum.

It's silent after, mostly panting between the both of you. He catches you off guard, leaning back to lap at your stomach, leaving it clean and keeping eye contact while he moves up to give you a kiss. He pulls away, listening to you breathe and weakly clinging to him when he moves to get up. "We need to talk about-" he cuts you off with one more chaste kiss, tonight, oh he's more than aware of that. He's more than aware of what happened tonight. He wonders if you'd be up to recreate it in the future. He wasn't planning to leave you alive but he's glad he is now.

"I'll call you." He moves to leave when you reach out, grabbing him by the throat.

"If you call me later without cleaning up the chair downstairs, I will kill you." And to add salt to injury, you look him over and smile. He doesn't mind the kiss on the cheek before you push him off the bed. "Parents will be home in twenty, you better start now."

You don't say anything when he steals one more kiss from you.

He walks out of the house nineteen minutes later, downstairs free from any indication that he tried to kill one of the residents. The costume is stuffed in a grocery bag and one hickey freshly bitten behind his ear. And when he sniffs his shirt, it almost smells like you. He smiles.

The breeze ruffles his shirt and hair, chilling him instantly. Someone runs right into him, hardly apologizing and he recognizes the asshole.

Glancing to the bag in his hand, he turned down the corner of an apartment building, walking all the way down till he reached an opening point, right where the asshole lives. The smile on his face twitches into a grin. The night is still alive and he could still take another prick out.

(You come to a much earlier realization that he forgot the knife on your desk than he does, when he realizes he has to improvise in the moment.)

#c: wilbur soot #c: wilbur #au: ghostface #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #ghostface wilbur x reader #nsft #eggplicit

[toiletwipes]

no thoughts head empty just want to choke simpbur and make him beg

when will it be my turn to make his head empty

-

After talking through it beforehand, you were sure this wouldn't be a negative experience. Hopefully. You liked trying new things with him even he was a little eager than most. (Because at first you thought he wanted to choke you, when surprisingly, it was the other way around.)

So. After some takeout and watching the newest episode of the newest hit show, you pulled on his hand towards the bed, already in your bare skin. All that's left, is your underwear. The sight makes his jaw drop and eyes trace all of your skin. His hands reach forward, one on your hip and one on your shoulder. Its not a surprise when he lunges forward and the both of you moan into a kiss. His hands move from your body to the back of your head, gripping you close.

You're just as desperate, pulling him by his hips as you walk backwards to the mattress. He nearly topples over you but he steadies himself by gripping your shoulders, and you may have let a sputtered laugh loose but his smile is there. And then he's back to kissing you, even as you sit down and pull at him, to come even closer. Tugging at his shirt, he takes it off, flinging it towards the hamper. Your lips twitch as you hear the shirt miss the ground.

He ends up crawling over your lap, knees pressed on either side of your hips. Your hands slithered from his waist to his chest, distracting him from kissing you again by flicking his nipples. Pinching them. Leaning even closer to him, you press a kiss to his collarbone as an apology.

He shivers, cold fingers squeezing at your shoulder. "Please." Your eyes trail over his collarbone, up his neck, past his scruff and to his blown pupils and open mouth panting. You had a feeling you knew what he wanted. However...

A hand slides up his chest, fingers splayed open over his neck before wrapping like his neck was the single most precious thing they've touched. And for you, it is. In this most it is. "What d'ya need Wil?" He groans, head tilting back ever so slightly as his hips rock forward. There's a twitching bulge pressing against your naked stomach, separated only by his pants. "If you need something, baby, you gotta tell me." He whines only for two more minutes, with you teasing his buds again, the other free hand squeezing at his covered thighs.

"Tell me Wil, what do you need?" Your fingers flex as he pants into the air above your head and then as you could feel him breathe so he could talk, you squeeze a little more. Just a little squeeze. Nothing to cream your pants for but the noise he makes? The moan and the whine that come with rolling hips. "You want me to touch you? Is that it?" He nods the tiniest bit, fingers coming up to squeeze at your shoulders again. "Beg for it then. Beg like a whore and maybe I'll consider touching you."

#anon asks #wipes answers #simpbur x reader #c: simpbur smut #hot hot hot #eggplicit #k: choke #i lost steam my bad yall

[toiletwipes]

just being insane over the thought of simpbur with a reader who’s never had sex. never even been touched sexually. mm maybe I’m projecting but good god it’s just so hot I’m sorry

like heated makeout and he's sliding a hand up their shirt and they push on him, going, "give me a second, I've never done this before-" and they keep talking but he's not hearing any of it.

"Like, you're a virgin, kind of 'never done this before' or-" "-yes but also, no one's ever touched me like- like you have. No one's kissed me like you have."

His head is completely empty.

"Would- would you be okay if I." He breathes in, his lungs stuttering as he opens his mouth again, "can I touch you again?" The blush on their face made it maddening but he kept his hands fisted in his jeans till they gave him a verbal yes. Fingers push up more shirts and to think- he's the only one to know what that feels like.To know what their skin feels like.

He leans in close, slow enough for them to lean their head to the side, and he mouthes at the skin, kissing and biting and licking and he can't get enough of the sounds they give him. The swearing and then their fingers flying up to his hair and pulling-

It's so much but he can't get enough. And he hasn't- hasn't even touched them like that yet. "I'm gonna touch you more, stop me if you don't like it, okay?" Their nod is everything to him.

He lifts the shirt over their head. The exposed skin makes his mouth water and he leans in closer, dragging a tongue down from the column of their neck and down their chest to their stomach, pressing kisses along the way. "Can we take your pants off?" The nod they give is shaky but eager. He waits for a verbal cue still.

Once given, he takes. Drags the material from their legs and moans as their thighs reveal first, then the knees and then their calves. The socks go too.

His nose, mouth trails up their legs, tasting the slight salt on their skin and relishing in it. Leaving hickeys splattered over the inside of their thighs. They breathe heavy as he breathes over the band of their underwear. "And you're sure? One hundred percent want to do this?" He gives them time and more time. Yes he wants this more than anything, he'd be stupid to fucking ruin it for them.

"If you don't do something, I'll ride you to death." It'd been a joke but the thought of them riding him- fuck.

There's a wet patch already there, from how excited he got them, and he lays his tongue flat and he hears them curse, tightening the fingers they had in their hair. Its addicting. He shoves their underwear down and makes them sing for his neighbors to hear.

He can't get enough of their hips, bucking forward, twitching, getting trapped between their spit-slick thighs and their fingers. Tugging and yanking on his head. And he's the one doing this to them. If he plays his cards right, he'll be the only one to ever make them like this again.

Getting them shaking and crying from his mouth. Tasting them on his tongue. Tasting their own cum from his mouth and fingers. More than enough for him to come in his pants. He hopes they get to do this again soon.

#anon asks #wipes answers #c: simpbur smut #hot hot hot #eggplicit

[toiletwipes]

MONSTER/PRISONER • DAY ONE OF KINKTOBER

Summary: To heal a murderous beast only for them to execute said beast... these times are not only hard but confusing as well. Good thing you'll be rewarded generously, right? Right?

Word Count: ~14.6k words

Character: Wilbur Soot

Warnings: I romanticized the shit out of this situation, so its probably not realistic. Also I did no research. Take this as you will with like a pinch of salt. Also sex and brief violence. Me thinking I can be funny. friends to strangers to one night stand to the only person you can literally be around. :) (also if i remember right, i do not think we fuck wilbur as a beast so maybe i could post that for the actual first day.)

Kinktober Masterlist

tag list: @oyakuya @ruminationnn @despicablenotions @grrrlsagainsthumanity @wolfie-doggo @boiled-onionrings @struggling-with-time @midnighthasstruck @modx-reborn

Being a child of a nurse did you many favors, born under a watchful eye with medicine as her witness, you were the picture of health. However, being your mother did not pay her, so taking you into a Lord's castle was her only choice, lest she let you out into the filthy world of bacteria and illness.

You worked with her, as best as you could, and though you were but a child, you were introduced to many things.

One, you met the Lord of this castle, the one overseeing the region between two distant rivers. And though in the summer, it was a place of beauty, it's a monster in the harsh winter. The castle was carved into the singular mountain dividing the rivers in the first place. The harsh winters brought sickness into the castle.

Sickness to your boss.

He coughed something ugly into a handkerchief, and your mother, ever the healer, stayed beside him with you behind her, holding the bowl of warm water. You'd watch her dip the water in and squeeze it out, looking her in the eyes as she told you something quiet, your eyes peering around her figure, looking at the man with golden hair splayed around his pillow. Covered in thick, lavish blankets. When she turned around, his eyes opened and you couldn't even think when they caught your gaze. When he grips her wrist weakly, muttering something to her you couldn't hear, she nods and guides you to place all of her things into the bag.

She doesn't explain much, only that it's important that they're quick. She's ushering you through many flights of stairs, and if you had to guess, it was to the top of the tower, the one on the left. The one tucked closer behind the actual castle, between the mountain.

When she opens the door, she tells you to bow, to show respect. Like you'd done with the Lord, except instead of a lord, when you peaked at the lump barely covered in anything, there lay a child. Not much older than you.

His hair sticks to his head with sweat and his limbs are bound to the poles of the bed, his body sporadically thrashing in sleep.

"Child, do what I did with Lord Craft, tend to him." And though you'd been less than eager to tend to a patient that clearly was more than ill, looked as though he'd been cursed by a witch, you walk over to him, patting and smoothing the fabric of your own apron. He didn't look any different than the kids in your town, save for the rope and clear signs of something medically serious. He looked... normal.

Sort of.

You fill your own bowl up, pouring it in with an unsteady hand and painfully aware of your mother's piercing stare. The towel dipped and squeezed, you leaned on your toes to try to reach for his forehead, a gasp left you as his body jerked away, sitting up as best he could restrained, frantic eyes glancing between you and your mother. "Who- who are you people, who sent you?" He asks, his accent unlike his father's, shoulders bunching together as he tugged at his restraints.

"I'm your nurse," you blurted out, and he looked taken aback. His eyes look you over, a small but healthy child, with the older and actual nurse standing against the back wall, and he just barely relaxes. His muscles release tension and his shoulders sag downwards. "Now if you'll lie back down," you press down on his bed, nearly kneeling on it to push one of his shoulders down. His shock makes him easy to move, despite hearing your mother's soft call to stop. To leave the boy be.

"Why are you my nurse, shouldn't it be her?" He asks, clearly as confused as you are. But for you, you weren't allowed the same curiosity.

Yet your mouth opened faster than you could think of the consequences, "why are you my patient?" Making eye contact, you wipe his forehead from the matted hair, cleaning off his face as well. Your mother's stern voice curses, reaching your side and pulling your arm away from him.

"I am so sorry for her lack of manners, sir, Lord Wilbur, we'll excuse ourselves."

And as she turns the two of you, after forcing you to bow once more, her fingers dig into your shoulders, guiding you to the door, when his voice cracks as he calls for you.

"Don't leave!" You instinctively turn to look at him while your mother stills in shock. He doesn't make eye contact but he continues. "Please." His head turns and you recognize the look in his eyes.

He's lonely.

"I'll behave myself, I promise." You try to whisper to your mother but her grip loosens up already, letting you move back to his side.

"I won't leave you until you're cured, I promise." You try to say as quietly as you could to him and though he looked like he was in pain, he smiled. It was an ugly, sad smile. You'd never forget it.

~

Wilbur, the Lord's cursed son, would never be cured as it turned out to be.

You remember being in the room at his request, close to the wall with your head down as you listened to the healing mage explain to both his father and him that whatever he had, it was dormant for now but he was more than likely going to have this illness for the rest of his life.

As everyone trickled out of the room, his father gave you a glance as he closed the door behind him.

"I'm never getting better." His words choke out of his mouth, tears trailing down the sides of his face, and you could feel your heart break.

It'd been several years since you first met him and to see him come this far just to be told it'd never go away, it must've been so terrifying.

Especially since they had no idea what it was. That was probably the second-worst part. He'd always be sick and he'd die never knowing why.

That is if they had kept him.

~

You remember the last night you saw him as a kid, it'd been your fourteenth birthday, right before his fifteenth, and you had brought your favorite book into the castle to share with him. He'd so graciously helped with your reading ability, and not that your mother didn't want you to or couldn't, she found it easier to teach you by ear than by the texts. And soon, when you had the time and money, you borrowed books from your neighbor, Miss Alyssa.

They offered solace for the both of you, with Wilbur reading every book in the castle's library twice and you who'd only cared for the equally new adventure it brought. Reading. With the Lord's son.

Your mother had other patients so she often left you alone and though he'd usually have guards with him in the room, he asked if they'd only stay outside with the ability to check in on the two.

They did, every so often, but it gave the two of you privacy neither had quite appreciated more.

You brought the book in with you, pulling it out from one of your pockets to find Wilbur sitting on his bed, rubbing at his appendages. The ones that no longer had any restraints on them.

Your mouth dropped open, running towards the bed as you dropped the book on top of the covers and gingerly took his wrists in your hands, turning them over. They only had scarring from the usage over the years but... they appeared to be fine.

"Why— why did they take them off?" They never took them off, only loosening the grip to clean the skin underneath but never actually taking off.

He doesn't look at you.

"They said I'm going away to my mother's estate where they have better healers, better clergies, better... everything."

His hair wasn't as soaked in sweat and it was actually somewhat curly, and deep inside of you, you wanted to touch it.

"I can't go with you, can I?" His gaze turns to you and one of his hands removes itself from your grasp, only to hold your own. A lump formed in your throat as he told you that you'd be staying with your mother, to replace her in the future when she either retired or died.

"I'll send letters every day so you can't forget me." He laughed, and it was a beautiful sound, his laugh. You wanted to put it in a bottle and hide it away from everyone else. You wanted it to yourself. The Lord's son's laugh. You'd keep it only in the prettiest of the jars.

"Promise you will too." His laughter ceased slowly, watching you with careful eyes as you didn't laugh, as you cried before him.

"I'll write two letters every day." He squeezes your hand, and you smile through the tears, through the blurred vision. Even with your eyes blinded by the tears, he was still the prettiest boy you'd ever seen.

The rest of the day, you read the book with him. All around his room, by the windows, in front of the door, mostly on his bed. He let you on his bed, just for a few minutes. ("You've taken care of me and stayed, it's the least I can do." As if his friendship wasn't the greatest thing he'd ever handed you. You'd like to think it was friendship, at the very least.

Not every patient kisses their nurse on the back of their wrist when they leave.

"I shall hope to see you in the next life, dear." And after the door closed behind you, your mother was waiting with a handkerchief of her own, dabbing at your face as she guided you home, away from the castle.

"Lord Craft was ever so kind to let us leave our duties early, said something about the rain to come in the night." Hearing about the weather made your heart race with panic, would Wilbur survive the trip to his mother? A hand grasps at the front of your sleep shirt, trying to still your heart, trying to reach in with a clawed hand and beg it to leave you alone, to stop thinking about what could have been and what will be.

What Wilbur would look like in the future and if he'd live long enough to be seen so.

Your mother tells you goodnight just as the first rain droplet hits your roof, belly full of food and eyes heavy with exhaustion, but you couldn't help it. You watched outside of your window as the rain poured and in the distance, the castle. You hope that Wilbur makes it.

~

The next time you saw Wilbur was about ten years after he left.

During the years he was gone, you had made excellent progress with your literacy, scanning books over medical and fantastical texts alike. Lord Craft had deemed you well trained, behaved, and thoroughly educated. He offered you a more permanent position in his staff, your own supplies and even more access to the castle's library. Even a room should you need to stay overnight.

You accepted all of it.

Your mother was less than impressed.

Something about how she wanted more for you, how she wanted you to be able to travel the world and see what it has to offer you. But you didn't need what the world had, you only wanted what was left of the time you had with her. They were numbered and when the days grow longer, she grows weaker. It was her unfortunate truth.

Lord Craft arranged for a comfortable last few days for her, offering her a bed with expensive sheets and soft pillows. Your mother always asked for you to lay with her as often as you could. It took strength to hold in your sobs every night you had with her in that elegant room. The best doctor they found, he offered you much of his sympathy. Nothing else he could do.

And on her last day, you read to her the very same book you read with Wilbur. You read to her as best as you could, but before you reached halfway, she had already moved on.

~

Your mother died a few years before the guards had arrested something quite... strange.

~

Ten years since you last saw Wilbur, three years since you buried your mother, and one week into the new prisoner's stay here at the castle, the Lord summoned you.

~

The discussion took hours, none of it being your fault entirely. You had your concerns but the Lord's advisors had much to say about giving such care to a prisoner. One that was responsible for a village's destruction.

Your concerns being that of course, what if it got too close and you were injured? You wouldn't be able to treat yourself entirely. And then of course, yes, you weren't sure if you wanted to treat a murderer.

Craft was resolved, however. Steadfast that in order for the village to receive true justice, the one responsible must heal and then it would be executed. Justice properly delivered.

You didn't know how to feel about that, but after forcing the rest of the room to leave, he had told you that no matter what, you should never speak to the creature, that you should only treat its wounds and leave as soon as possible. It's possible that whatever it is, it can be passed on. Whether through blood or spit, he didn't want to risk it.

"Just do your job well and be done with it, I will make sure you are paid handsomely. Could even take the trip your mother wanted for you." Hearing the last part, of course, added to it sweetly.

You nodded.

~

When you were being led down to the holding cells, the guards offered no support, no words of empathy. Or even gruesome stories about the wretched beast.

Only silence welcomed you.

No matter. You were more than used to it.

Until you reached the bottom of the stairs and the lamps hanging from the short wall, well, they did very little to hide the monster.

Your breath catches in your throat and though there are bars separating the two of you, the hairs on your skin stand up.

One guard has a hand on your elbow, the other unlocks the door. "If you need to leave, shout for us." They say under their breath before you're nudged rather roughly to enter the cell.

It's damp, it's repulsive, and you find that if there wasn't a giant monster in the way of it all, it still would be a cramped space.

And speaking of Mister Monster, its a big thing of matted fur. It looked to be curled into its side, body heaving with stuttered breathing, and you figure its got a few broken ribs. And depending on how fast it heals, you could be well out of town before the spring rolled around.

That's when it hears you, heart beating something wild, you were sure you could hear the sound of your rushing blood past your ears. It hears you panic and before anything, its head barely lifts up.

You can see the unbothered eyes, the way it barely acknowledged your existence. “Its been sedated, work as fast as you can and you should be fine.” One guard says but decidedly locks you in there with it.

You try to control your breathing, deep inhales and shaky exhales, despite this being your scariest patient yet… its still your patient.

Taking quick steps towards it, you tentatively reach a hand out, wondering if the sedatives were enough to keep it calm for you to be able to look for any wounds.

“One of the guards had nicked it towards the stomach, I would be careful checking around there.” Oh, thank you for your input, guard who’s ten times more likely not to get bit if your hand went digging around the injured stomach area.

You inhale sharply before you reach a hand into its fur, and as you do, it makes eye contact, and there’s a low rumbling vibration emitting from it. You don’t know what the monster means by it but you’re sure if it wanted you dead, it probably would’ve done something by now.

You rake your fingers through the fur, beginning a little hum, trying to distract yourself and hopefully help soothe the beast.

Its head settles down.

“Hello there, erm,” there’d been no name for the murderous thing, however, being kind and slow is a precaution that could only help, and it had turned its head to look at you, its eyes incredibly big and round and… soft. Like a baby’s. Taming that part of you that wanted to soothe this creature, take care of it, shield it from harm. You actually stomped it out. Internally of course.

“I’m here to help you heal, so I’ll need to take a look at your stomach.” Its ears perked up and immediately went to the back of its head.

And at this point, it’s safe to say that whatever it was, it resembled a cross between a bear and a wolf. Dastardly heartbreaking with the big eyes and the whine that singed the air.

“I know, it’s not ideal, but please, if you can, turn onto your back.” You step back a little and its head tilts towards you when you stop combing your fingers through its fur. Reaching into your bag for a pair of glasses, one that was supposed to help you look for injuries better, you wait for it to move.

It doesn’t move.

In fact, the beast curls into itself even more, whining and probably unwilling to bare its stomach to you, probably not helping that there are guards here who remind it of the whole reason for the wound.

“Please, I promise to make it quick!” You whisper, trying not to glance behind, the guards might not only agitate it further, but also endanger you just as quickly and this whole will have to be called off. “Please, turn on your back.” It doesn’t move.

Biting your lip, you turn your head and they’re immediately moving towards the gate but you swing your arm out, shaking your palm. You need to try to move it without the help of them. Sorry boys, not sorry.

You reach into its fur again, using both hands to knead into its skin. Little tension releases but there’s enough. You keep massaging the skin, every now and again reaching downwards, with the way its body is positioned you were almost certain you could take a peak at its stomach, if anything just to confirm if there is an injury there or not.

Its eyes always followed your hands and as they reached the main area, the supposed injured area, its skin tensed and a very low, although lazy, growl rattled inside of your ears. Bells are ringing through your head, saying you should stop, move your hands before you lose them. But you needed to find it. You needed to heal it. You needed to heal it to inadvertently kill it in the end. It’s what that village deserves in the end.

You sent warning glances of your own to the beast, commanding it to take it easy. And just like you, it disregarded the warnings sent its way.

“Alright, that’s enough excitement for today,” the guard closest to the lock started fiddling with the keys but just as the door flung open and they reached for your body, the beast let out something pitiful, akin to a pained scream, as you pressed your hands right into the stab wound. Teeth snap at empty air as you are snatched away from the beast, hands red as you’re unable to process how fast the guards move you. You’re out of the cell and safely away, the door locked and the other guard is gripping you by the shoulders.

The three of you leave the agitated monster to sulk, licking at its wound as you ascend towards the common area of the castle. The guards don’t say anything as you retreat to your room, scraping the bits of already drying blood into one of those tiny jars. After wrapping a cover over the jar, you pick up some extra books that may be helpful and you head over to the mages’ wing, and hopefully, come out of it with a salve.

~

It wasn’t a whole wing, more along the lines that it was two or three bedrooms for the mages and they made it work. And when you presented it to the one who did most of the healing magic in the castle, he had an interesting reaction.

“Fresh? You got this fresh off your hands?” He asked, eyes glancing towards you as he took the flakes of dried blood towards his set up next to his bed. (You once asked if it was safe, sitting on his bed and sharing a bottle of something expensive he had slipped from the Lord’s own personal collection, if it was safe to sleep next to constantly changing chemicals and elements and of course the residue left from magic research. He shrugged.)

“Yeah, that won’t taint the sample, will it?” You ask, more than comfortable with standing against a wall away from the table of open beakers and a variety of scattered ingredients.

“Hardly, but you mean to tell me that you touched the damned thing?” He scrapes about half of the blood into a mix, a cloud of smoke slowly funneling out of the container. You’re hesitant to even be in the same room but his sister comes in and she’s immediately investigating what he’s currently getting up to.

He wasn’t exactly known for reasonable and practical methods of magic. A little bit like those mad scientists in the books you’d read with Wilbur, absolutely out there. But that’s exactly why you went to him instead of staying in your room and freshening up your knowledge about the abnormal beasts in this world and their biological make up.

Well, you brought your books with you so you could do it here while your unpredictable mage worked, heh, his magic.

And after his sister left him be, and you finished one of the two books you brought with you, he presents you his own pretty vial of a glowing liquid. “If you can touch him, maybe you’ll be lucky to get this in him.” He hurries to clean up his station, and by cleaning, he means leaning a hand out of a window with each jar in it, washing it with the rain pouring outside. You’re more so distracted with the vial. Worries bubble inside of you.

“Inside of him, meaning I have to get him to drink it?” And this mage, Ant, doesn't stop moving, shaking his hands from the liquid and you groan as droplets flick into your eyeballs.

“Well, you could always pour it over his open injury, which it would work, but I think you want something all encompassing.” He shrugs off his coat, loosening a tie. Another mage walks in, this time with an arm full of vials and cups and jars full of concerning material, his eyes follow him. “And if you want to feel up the poor bastard a second time, be my guest, want my advice though? Just get him to drink it and get it over with.” He moves to follow the struggling mage and dismisses himself from the conversation.

You sigh, rubbing a palm over your forehead, looking as the liquid glows and sparkles in the dim light. It was pretty at least.

~

“Why don’t you wait for tomorrow? I feel it would be safer then,” Craft says, glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he barely looked up from his novel, and though he was of high importance, he never seemed to run out of free time to read. Lucky man.

You lick your lips, mouth drying as you try to think of a reasonable answer. “Well, my Lord, I fear it might get infected if we wait any longer.” Very meek, will be dismissed in a second.

Then the strangest thing happened, Lord Craft sat up, biting his lips as he took off his glasses. “Infected? And you’re sure about this?” Justice must be very important to Craft, because you haven’t seen him this concerned since Wilbur lived here. You nod. He heaves a heavy sigh, “very well, go on then, make sure you have two guards with you, we need him alive and healthy.” And then he struggled to say the last few words. “For his execution.”

… he?

“Sorry, he, my Lord?” You looked at him, sure, if you had felt the beast up a little more you might’ve found the reproductive organs but you remember your first monster. A monster with none of that. Still, not everyone is like the first.

“Indeed, he’s a man. A murderer and a beast, but a man all the same.”

Nodding, you excuse yourself, brows scrunched in confusion as you head over to where the guards you knew, you knew they’d be in the courtyard.

~

Now they weren’t the same ones before. The ones before had taken part in stopping him before he moved onto the next town over. These guys were your friends growing up, and because your mother had been favored by the Lord over and over again, some of the other kids of the staff didn’t take too kindly to you being there. They were the ones who stepped up and shielded you from any harm.

Though this meant they were more than likely going to stop you from going anywhere near- near…

Near his mouth.

Humanizing him had been a bad idea, because for you, you could pretend that the beast who killed was deranged, out of control and that you could heal it and move on. Maybe avoid the actual execution but regardless.

You didn’t know if you could just move on from him. Curses weren’t your area, far from it, but if you could get with Ant, maybe he had a chance. Though… what good would it do? Being cured? He’d still be executed.

You reach out, palm covering the cold walls as you turn your eyes away from the steps below you, nausea washed over you. The mere thought of his execution is too much. Finding out he was human in the end, did nothing but worsen your situation.

You sigh as Michael turns towards you, about to ask if you were okay but you kept moving. This needed to be done.

~

Would this concoction cure him? Your mind thinks to itself as you take the last step, looking at where you last stood. So close to him… your mind flashes to when he looks at you, eyes wide and big and, gah! You cover your face with a hand for a brief moment, he’s a beast, a murderous one at that and you had a job to do.

A patient to heal.

And though your friends, Michael and Connor, were definitely hesitant to even open up the cell and let you in, you told them at the first sign of danger, they had full permission to yank you out of there. But you had a job to do and you needed to get him to drink what Ant had so kindly concocted up for you.

The faster this was done, the faster you could try to forget about this.

They let you in, any conversation died as they kept their eyes on you. You breathe in just as deep as the first time, watching him sleep had slithered anxiety underneath your skin. You needed him awake and you needed every last drop inside of him.

“Hey big guy,” you say, patting the ground, trying to let him know you were here.

His ears perked up and though his eyes opened and saw you, he didn’t move.

He huffed and turned his head to the side.

“I know, I don’t like this either, but,” you breathe in, trying to reign your nerves in, “I need you to take some medicine, can- can you do that?” You ask, reaching in your apron’s pocket, revealing the exceptionally bright vial. A whine emits from him.

“Here,” you uncorked it for him, leaning down to about your knees where his head was, height-wise. You wave it by his nose, and you can see it flare, but you hummed disappointedly. Well, it’s not like he was about to take both of his opposable thumbs, grab it and say down the hatch. It couldn’t hurt to try though, you think to yourself in a flash of bitterness. But you stomp it down. Breathing in again, you brush a hand over his head.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I promise. I only want you to get better.” Several minutes pass by and you decide that in order to get this glowing stuff inside of him, you’d need a better angle. You cork the vial.

Moving your apron, you take a second to sit down, looking over your shoulder to throw a strained smile as they make eye contact. They do not approve of this at all. Not one bit.

Sucks for them, you think as you turn your attention back to the beast at large. He was tense, even more than before but as you continued to scratch at his head, smoothing down his fur, he relaxed. Bit by bit. Even gave you trouble when you moved your hand under his chin and he let his head drop down and lean all his weight on that one.

“Don’t mind me, sir,” you mumble, scratching at his head and biting down on the cork, pulling it off with your teeth. Using your fingers, which, against his very large head, looked like they belong to a child, you pull down his top lip. You nudge his head to lean on your knee as you scratch behind the ear.

You hear your name called from behind you and it scares you how fast the beast’s head had straightened up, looking at you with such wide eyes, ears flattened against his. “Don’t do anything stupid now, he isn’t a lap dog.” Michael called slowly. You nod.

Reaching for his head now, he backed up but you were determined. Your fingers surged forward, pushing down on his lip and tipping the liquid into his mouth. Flinging the vial somewhere, you hold his mouth closed as he thrashes in your grasp. Not hard enough to throw you across the room, still lying down, but absolutely determined to spit it out. You hear the door open but as soon as you feel him swallow in your grasp, you let go, feeling arms drag you out of there.

But the two guards don’t pull you up the stairs, no, along with you, they stare with their mouths gape open as the large beast coughs, hacking something up. Something is spat on the ground and it’s not pretty.

You have that tiny urge in you to scrape some of it up to give to Ant, but you’re too busy watching as after he had coughed whatever it was out of his system, he stumbled to his feet, crashing against the wall. Wails coming out of his mouth as whatever was in Ant’s vial was working its magic. “We need to go,” Michael said as he tugged on your arm but you shake your head. “Don’t be stupid, come on, we have to go.” But you plant your feet in the ground.

“Alright, let’s go.” Connor didn’t waste any time trying to talk you out of it, ignoring your yelp as he heaved you over his shoulder, ignoring whatever you had to say.

“I need to make sure he stabilizes, assholes!” You cry, pounding on the back of his chest plate as he pauses on the staircase.

“You cannot be serious.” Michael said dryly but Connor ignores.

“I’m not, no, of course not.” Connor says but then he drops you to your feet, letting you rush to the bars, “his Nurse is, though.” The two of them have their hands on their weapons, ready to pull it out and defend you but you’re not worried. You’re worried about your patient dying due to an experimental treatment.

And the justice that would be lost.

You watch as he trips over his feet, crumbling into this big pile of fur while something starts to smoke inside the cell. “What the hell…” you say, telling Michael over your shoulder to unlock the cell, and when he doesn't move fast enough, Connor does it for you, letting you go in and blocking the exit. As soon as you’re in, you could see the smoking coming from the actual beast, the ball of fur actually… shrinking too.

You reach a hand out, face scrunching up in confusion as you touch the fur, and the head, oh the head of the beast turns from its spot on the ground and he moans in pain, turning onto its side and then before your eyes, as the body continues to shrink and morph into something familiar, most of the fur sinks into skin. All except for the head.

What you’re left with is a mop of unruly hair belonging to a tall, gangly body. His face is hauntingly familiar.

“Oh fuck, he is human.” Connor decides his best course of action is to run up and go get help. Michael doesn’t leave.

“He’s just a man? I thought he was just a monster.” Michael mumbles to himself, hand very much on the hilt of his sword.

“He’s cursed,” you say, pulling out a rag and tugging the hair from his face, wiping the skin of dirt and sweat. Ant didn’t cure him, he healed any wounds or injuries he had. The curse is set off from inflammation or pain, maybe. Millions of thoughts run through your head as you take his head into your lap.

“What are you doing?” Michael asks and as you skim over his body, you see nothing of concern. No injuries, not even a scratch. Though there are plenty of scars on his back. You bite your lip.

“Taking care of my patient, Michael.”

“You have his head in your lap as if he was a child, and frankly, he isn’t. He’s a man who made a conscious decision to slaughter an entire village. So if you have any pity for him,” his tone had grown harsh and you couldn’t help the flinch in your body, “get rid of it. He’s not going to get the royal treatment just because he turned into a human.”

Michael hears commotion up the stairs so he is very much hesitant to leave your side, but you shove his leg to the side, returning your hands to cradle the head with the rag over his forehead. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He hurries up the stairs, his curiosity winning over and it’s just you. You do have a slight fear he’ll try to escape but then he’d have to actually get up. And in his current state, although healed, you can’t imagine he didn’t experience any pain during the process. He’s not that much of a threat.

It’s not hard to get lost in his face, so familiar and yet so strange, long brown hair and eyes that flutter open and close constantly, you could barely tell they’re… a nice shade of brown. You could laugh at yourself. A murderer, in your lap, and he has the audacity to have pretty eyes.

Turning your head at the sound of people, you could see Craft rushing towards you and he doesn’t say a word as he lifts the almost limp body up, hands turning him over and finding something awful.

The two of you make eye contact and then he orders for a room to be made. No explanation to anyone else.

Craft asks in a quiet voice if you tell no one what you saw. And you nod, too stunned to think about doing anything else. You wait with him as two other guards lift him up to take the man up the stairs and to a new room.

It’s almost midnight when you find yourself in the room they’d prepared, eyes scanning a book you’d brought with you while you waited for the man to wake up.

You had so many questions. And the stubborn, childish part of you wanted to ask how in the world he had the same birthmark as Wilbur Craft.

~

You waited for two days and towards the later part of the afternoon where you could see Hannah talking to a woman in the gardens below, he started to talk.

“Where am I?” His voice was incredibly hoarse, but you didn’t answer him immediately, only pouring out a cup of water and holding it up to his mouth. His hair had been pushed back from his forehead, and you could see the confusion in his eyes as he drank from the cup.

“You’re in one of the sick rooms, you know, the room we put our sick people in to heal them better.” You lie, you honestly didn’t want to know if this man is who you think him to be, and it wasn’t a complete lie. You did have a shared area in the castle with other nurses and doctors where the staff could get medicinal help. It just wasn’t this room. Biting on your lip, the words tumble out faster than you could help yourself, “do you know your name?”

His eyes left you, only staring at the fireplace on the other side of the wall as you refilled the cup. “My name is Wilbur.” Your hands freeze as you realize what he’s said. His eyes catch your mistake, looking at the outstretched, frozen movement. “You know me, don’t you?” You don’t have a second to answer that before the door opens to the right of Wilbur, revealing a lone Lord Craft.

He says your name, “it’s a lovely day outside, go enjoy yourself.” Wilbur’s head turned from his father’s face to yours in a flash and his hand reached out, catching your wrist and withholding you from leaving.

Wilbur swipes his tongue across his lip before speaking, “actually, I had asked if they could stay here with me, I’m- I’m feeling faint.”

“You’re not in any position to ask for a lot, Wilbur,” he doesn’t make eye contact with his father. “But we will talk before tomorrow.” The door closes behind Craft and you’re alone with Wilbur.

Wilbur who left you and never sent the two letters like he promised. Wilbur, who acquired a curse and slaughtered an entire village.

The same Wilbur who stares at you now.

“I thought I heard your name when I was- you know, but I couldn’t be sure. Not a lot of things were-” your eyes turn to his fingers still wrapped around your wrist. “Clear.”

His eyes didn’t leave your face even after you had stopped staring at his fingers.

“Say something.” His voice, not as hoarse, but it brought you feelings you didn’t want to think about. Guilt. Frustration. Anger. Sadness overridden it all. You missed him so dearly.

“What happened to those letters you promised? Two a day, wasn’t it?” You muttered, eyes darting away as you didn’t want to think about the ones you’d sent. Did he even read them? His fingers squeeze you in his grasp.

“I swear I meant to-” you try to tug on his grasp, but he continues, even trying to sit up to hold your arm with two hands, “but it was out of my control, they took me hostage, they made- they’re the reason I am what I am.” He grounded out as if he was about to be overwhelmed with emotion, tears flowing kind of emotion. You look back for a second and he’s clenching his jaw, tears barely holding their ground in his eyes. “I need you to know it wasn’t my fault.” Your chest aches with the amount of air you’re hardly breathing.

“Wilbur,” you breathe in, eyes darting away as a hand comes to cover his own, not knowing how to react. “I need some air.” Pulling your arm out of his grasp, you don’t hesitate to wipe away from your undereyes, moving around the bed to reach the door but then he begs something of you.

“Promise you’ll come back? Please?” Your breath is caught in the back of your throat and it took everything in you to look back at him, the handle of the door already turned in your hand. But it catches you still. His face. His battered body free from harm and his face that you had loved and dearly missed.

“I… I’m not sure I can.” You wrench the door open and just as swiftly close it behind you, breathing in mouthfuls of air, swallowing as much as you could while walking to your room.

Your vision is blurred as the walls begin spinning and you’re just grateful you made it to the door, even if your hand shook as it unlocked it. And as soon as you’re in, you lock it again, tossing the key onto your desk. Angrily sniffing as your fingers messily undid your apron, taking everything out of your pockets. And when there was nothing to undo, to take away from your person, you toss yourself onto your bed, face buried into your old pillow.

Every part of you trembles as sobs tear through you.

Your patient-turned-best-friend had been kidnapped and tortured and though he probably was conscious for half of the slaughter, he was still himself.

And he would still be executed.

It might even be sped up now, due to the fact Ant’s completely healed him and the beast side of him is gone for now. He would be executed for a crime he could not be blamed for.

It was all so unfair.

~

The next day Craft had found you in the library, reading something from your childhood. You thought it could’ve brought you comfort. It didn’t.

He had reached with a hand and knocked at the table you’ve sat yourself at. Pulling the glasses off from your face, you frown at seeing the Lord, wondering if you had any other tasks to do.

“Will asked where you had been all day, asked if you would have time to change his bandages?” Your lips flatten into a line, he didn’t have any bandages but if somebody had put them on and he doubted the credibility of the person because of who he is… you wouldn’t put it past someone to somehow poison the actual bandages.

And you never did promise him that you’d be back.

But you don’t hesitate to get up, save your place in the book before silently following Craft to Wilbur’s room.

~

He leaves the two of you be, asking that you come by his room later to discuss other topics of interest. No doubt why his son is asking for you.

You’re stiff as you ask about the bandages and just like you thought, he had casted his eyes away and his mouth open, croaking a little bit before returning his intense gaze towards you. “There are no bandages.” You’re tempted to leave the room at that but he has something else to say. “Phil told me that I have a few days before I’m executed.” Vision blurs once again, and you’re not entirely sure why.

“It was an entire village.” You mumble to yourself, turning away from him. You turn to the window and cover your mouth, eyes looking everywhere, unable to stay still as your thoughts run faster than you could process.

It wasn’t hard to feel as if the ground had been ripped from underneath you. You couldn’t even have him back for long. You couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You hear the ruffled movement of covers being moved. And at the last second, you turn and you’re faced with his lanky body overtowering you, arms outstretched. And though your mind screamed to turn away, to push him from you… You missed him too much. You could hardly control the sobs coming out of your mouth as you buried your face into his loose shirt, arms thrown around him and clutch at his skin. His arms don’t hesitate to hold you, arms around your waist and shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Fuck, I missed you every day, wanted to tell them to turn around, wanted to walk all the way back to you.” He kissed the side of your head and your heart ached hearing him spill the words faster than he could keep it in. “Wanted to tell them no one knew how to take care of me better than my nurse, wanted to say- fucking, anything, to get them to go back.”

“It’s not fair, I- I just got you back.” Your voice cracks towards the end of your sentence as you speak into his chest. No matter the circumstances, you couldn’t hate him. You couldn’t stay away from him.

“I know- I know, I’m so sorry.” He then puts pressure on your shoulder, pushing you gently away from his body. Eyes connect and you wonder if he could feel your broken heart and then you can’t think at all, when he ducks his head, slotting his nose against yours, nearly kissing you, lips barely brushing against each other. You suck in a breath before you press into him, arms thrown around his shoulders and pulling him into you.

His arms, again, wrap around your back, and you can feel each of his fingers press into your clothes, digging to feel you. Time doesn’t pass normally as you could barely breathe, kissing him with all you had. Trying to convey what you felt in the time you had lost with him. Both of you had hands moving over skin, his coming up to rest on each side of your face, pulling away briefly.

“We can’t do this,” you say but he shakes his head.

“You tell me you don’t want to and I won’t touch you again.” You breathe in heavy, eyes falling from his gaze to his lips and when he began to move his hands away, you quickly pressed them back into your face, unwilling to let him go.

“It’s not about if I want it, it’s about how wrong this is. You’ve killed people, Wilbur, you’re going to be executed for your crimes.” Fat tears roll down your cheek and he comes in close to kiss them away. He leans his forehead against yours.

“I’ve made my peace with it, you’ll have to as well.” You didn’t want to.

You didn’t want to make peace with the cruel fact.

“I won’t.” You shook your head.

“No? Then do something about it, but I’m not going to taint our last moments together. Let me do something right, darling.” Oh, the pet name, your knees nearly gave out, oh wait, as one of his arms comes around your waist, you realize they actually did. Okay, that’s a little embarrassing.

Regardless, this is a dead man walking. And you can’t help the way you feel about him. He can’t either.

It’d be much harder to walk away than to see what he had in mind. And you wanted as much time as you could have with him, selfishly.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He repeats, angling your head up, cradling it as he rubbed his thumbs under your eyes, making your stomach flutter. You nod, hands squeezing his own. “Okay,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling you closer to him as he walks backwards.

At the last second, he flips you two, letting go of your face to interlace his fingers with yours, and pinning them above your head on his bed. He presses his nose close to yours, breathing your skin in as he teases you with a kiss. “I’ll make it right.” He mumbles to you, and then pressed his lips fully against yours with such fervor that makes your head dizzy.

Then his mouth leaves yours, trailing down your jawline, pressing a kiss into your skin every time he moves down and when he made it against your neck, you wondered if he could hear your pulse beating wildly.

And the way his mouth moves against your skin, it’s criminal. You could barely think, only knowing what you want with him. Legs wrap around his waist and one hand leaves yours to slide down your side, stopping at the meat of your thighs and he squeezes it, holding it there like he couldn’t believe it was there in the first place.

He moves on, pulling at your apron and shirt, desperate to see more of your skin. In an attempt to feel less naked, you tug at the bottom of his shirt, trying to tell him what you need. He gets you to pull it off, and of course, he’s beautiful. You remember getting a brief look at his body the first time you saw it, down in those cells, but that wasn’t for your own perverted gain. It’d been purely medical.

Not this time. No, you reach with your free hands to palm at his uncovered skin, looking close and you could see that he had plenty of scars, all thin and silvery, you traced them all. You wonder why he let you but then after a moment, he didn’t care for it, reaching to kiss you again while he pulled your pants off. Your hands come up to cup his neck, bringing him closer and closer to you.

You felt naked no matter what but ultimately it's this terrifying, vulnerability sitting in your stomach. It’s nauseating, scary. Putting your trust into his hands. Full faith he’d take care of you in this moment because you took care of him as kids. Terrifying because since the many years as his nurse, he’s done horrible things with his hands no doubt.

You don’t notice that he’s taken his own pants off, only feeling his cock against your thighs as your hips roll against his. He moans stiffly in your mouth, hands gripping at the sheets on each side of your head. You aren’t paying attention until he pulls away, pushing two fingers into your mouth. “Suck.” He said, and well, you couldn’t say no to that, your tongue swirling over each groove of his fingers, coating them in your spit and when he couldn’t wait any more, he pulled them out, giving you a brief kiss on your swollen lips.

His fingers prod at your hole, pressing in slowly, until you whine. He groans, pressing them deeper, curling them and it’s a whole new sensation, hands coming up to grip his shoulders as he works at making you see stars with his fingers.

And when your thighs begin shaking, the tightening, delicious sensation of a building orgasm under your skin, he pulls his fingers out. You gasp, the feeling fading and leaving you starving, he doesn’t say much before he presses the head of his cock inside of you, that’s when he steals your air.

It’s safe to say that all thoughts were being fucked out of your head, his hips rocking and fucking into you. Dragging his cock against your walls. Kissing the side of your neck, tongue leaving trails of spit on your skin that lead to nowhere. Hands constantly shifting from fisting the sheets to squeezing your waist, holding your own hands and keeping them above your head.

“Fuck- ‘m gonna, gonna cum.” He curses as he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, missing the way they gape for any source of air. Hearing him like that? Make your toes curl simply to say.

“Inside,” you stumble over your words, “cum inside.” And the way he stares at you, you’d think you hand placed every star in the sky for his gaze.

His pace quickens and yet his hand comes between the two of you, and it’s completely unfair because you’re immediately barreling towards an orgasm. It washes over you before you could comprehend it, thighs definitely shaking around his waist. And as you do, he cums inside, groaning into your neck.

The seconds that come after… you’re breathing heavily and your vision spins. He pulls out, and you can’t move your legs but oh fuck, his mouth touches your hole, sucking his cum out and licking inside. You cry out, reaching with a hand, grabbing a handful of his long hair to hold onto as he tries to make you cum again and it’s just all too much too fast, too sensitive and he just keeps going-

Your vision blurs dangerously into white as he kneads the soft skin around your thighs, kissing it every now and again.

“Are you feeling okay?” He hums, placing your legs down as he moves to hover over you, a finger trailing down the side of your face.

“I feel-” you couldn’t finish your sentence, noticing how he still pants, sweating the same as you, but his cock hangs hard between you two. “Oh my goodness gracious,” you laugh a little and you reach a hand to grasp him, and he only moans into the air, his head dropping and hair tickling your sticky skin. Your limbs feel like jelly but it’s all fine, you’d work through it if it meant pulling those divine noises out of him.

His hand dives between you two, wrapping around yours and speeds your pace up. And watching him fall apart in front of you is better than you could have thought. He curses as his head comes up, his other hand gripping the two sides of your face and kissing your lips, shooting ropes of cum over your stomach. He groans into your mouth, hand leaving your face as he catches your slight huff of disbelief.

“Did I do that?” You ask teasingly, and he smiles. Oh does his smile haunt you in your stomach, in your chest where your heart skips and pounds and begs for him.

“You do a lot of things.” He says, stealing another kiss.

~

The next day you had to be normal.

Yes, there’s a new ache in your lower regions, yes, you could hardly think about how you spent all night with him. How tired you are because of it.

No, you needed to be normal because his words before it started echoed in your ears.

No? Then do something about it.

And it truly is that simple. You cannot let him die. For all his crimes, for his curse, you could not let him die for the life of you.

So…

What are you to do?

~

On the day of his execution, he was told by his father that he’d be placed into the holding cells, he’d been healed and he’d been given too much comfort and luxury for a murderer. He couldn’t even look him in the eyes when he was told he’d be hanged for his crimes.

He didn’t want to die, nobody did, but he had this coming to him.

If he’d fought a little harder, if he escaped faster, maybe if he never left his father’s castle, maybe he’d have a chance. None of that happened. He didn’t have a chance at life.

This is what he deserved.

Clothes already dirtied by the holding cell he was placed in, he heard commotion. Chains rattled and more prisoners came down the stairs, shoved into their own holding cells. He doesn’t look up when they recognize him and start to jab at him with words. His hands had been tied, and he assumed theirs had been too, that is until somebody had grabbed him through the bars of the cell. Turning his head, he sees a guard, and he could recognize them. His beast curse left him with little memories but he’s the one who’d been with you when he turned back human.

Connor, had it been?

With his back against the bars he could only listen if he wanted to keep his neck, “watch for the blue birds, and when you see them, let go,” what? After the short, confusing and quite cryptic message, he assumed it to be Connor, to let go of his neck. He watched out of the corner of his eye, blowing a hair out of his face as the man proceeded to climb up the stairs.

There was no natural light here. No sun or stars. Just dangerously close to blowing out lanterns. He watches them sway to pass the time, he doesn’t know when they’ll take him but they will at some point.

And thinking about Connor’s message left him confused every time he tried to think about it, but in the end, he doesn’t think it matters. They drag him out all the same, making him walk out to the courtyard where people have come to watch. He supposed it’s all the same. He almost wishes they had shot him to death or maybe used the old fashioned big axe to the neck. Quick deaths sure, a little brutal but hanging?

Nobody wants to hang.

And maybe that’s exactly why they chose it, chose the area, the people watching. He assumes relatives and family friends of the village had been let in, unless it's been an open to everyone sort of event. He’s not exactly sure, never got the chance to attend a hanging himself.

What fun it’ll be, his first, and fortunately, yes fortunately if you thought about it for a second, his last hanging.

What he didn’t know is that there is a plan set in motion, one that he’d sort of been privy to, the honors done by correctly guessed Connor. As Craft went on about his crimes, his murders, there’d been somebody behind the person who pulls the lever.

This someone had been expertly arguing with another person, both had been asked to do so and paid to do so by yours truly, Michael. So while the executioner would’ve been on time to pull the lever after expertly tying the noose around Wilbur’s neck, he was so annoyed that he hadn’t even realized that the rope he’d used had been a transfiguration. Someone at the same time had been in the crowd and knocked over a cage.

Holding an incredible, also kind of confusing, amount of blue pigeons that promptly flew to the sky.

Ant was properly paid his dues under short notice and while the floor did disappear from him, the special hatch leading to a drop that, had anyone cut themselves from the rope, they’d surely die from the jagged rocks of the mountain. However, as Wilbur is continually amazed by the turning of events, he is amazed once again when a net catches him right below.

The net hangs and catches him, holding him as the two butchers pull him over the edge, one of them taking a second to tug the rope off. It seems that in the matter of days or years, there’s a little bridge, “right this way, watch your step,” one of the butchers says, mostly singing to himself now but he’s got a grip on his shoulders, making sure he’s steady. For some reason, he is still bound by the wrists. Probably not for some random reason.

“Don’t forget to thank your little friend in high places,” the other butcher tells him, clasping a hand over his shoulder as he helped him into a little corner, past the hole in the wall is a hatch that the first butcher had disappeared down. (They could still hear the crowd’s gasps and shouts being thrown across the court, the bridge being dismantled as fast as they had dropped him.)

“Is this friend a god?” He asks with an almost sarcastic tone, key being almost. The butcher doesn’t like it as much as he had hoped so.

“Should they be?” He throws it back at him.

Wilbur hesitates, “suppose not.” And then he dropped down the hatch.

~

Wilbur finds himself in a different type of cell, it’s not as dark and he does have a bed. But it’s all the same. He could have the same room as a god, and he’d still be a prisoner if he was unable to leave. Which judging by the locked door and still tied hands, he is.

He doesn’t know how long it had been since the two butchers had passed him off to this crude carriage driver, took the scenic route he claimed, perhaps he took the scenic route on top of some lovely mountains and then proceeded to toss the two of them over a cliff.

Once his body stopped puking out whatever they had given him in that cell, the carriage driver dragged him to the cabin where this strange person was. He really didn’t know how to describe him. He might’ve been hallucinating but this person seemed as if he could transform parts of himself into stretchy, vibrant bits of rope. That’s how he probably dragged him into this prison.

The binds on his wrists, they’ve got an irritated rash going on already.

And that’s when he hears a door slam open and shut a minute after. He hears your voice fill the cabin. “Oh it’s so cold, Karl, how have the two of you been holding up? Not too bad I hope?” Not too bad? What the actual fuck? Anger really digs into his skin, flaring up and he’s trying really hard, using those breathing techniques that pig guy had shown him. Fuck, he really had a grip on his own shifting, why can’t he?

“Here, go get Sap and Quackity, they’re going to need help with the move.” And the door opens and closes again. This time he hears your footsteps across the room, moving towards the locked door.

Anger and frustration just keeps building up as the door unlocks and then you enter the room, dressed in head to toe, warm clothes. Whereas he’d been less than ceremoniously wrapped in a blanket.

“Did they treat you okay?” You ask but before he could answer, your eyes darted to his figure, wrapped in a pathetic cloth called a blanket. “Shit, I told them-” you say, moving towards a closet he hadn’t seen before, pulling out piles of clothing and two big lumps of blankets, barely able to see over the stack as you walked towards him.

“I told them to give you something more.” You mutter, biting your lip as you pull out a knife. Cutting the binds from his wrists. “Apparently they’re not as big fans of you as I am.” Hardly the truth. He knew they weren’t exactly his friends but the truth? Getting to live another day is quite a rush. Getting to live another day just to spend it in a prison again is hardly a life he wanted to lead. He almost wished he was left to be hanged.

Then you tend to his rashes, biting your lip and flickering your eyes between his face and his wrists. And when they were done, you started pushing his shirt up and he had to hold your wrists, catching your eye when they looked up, eyes wide and panicking.

“Hey, I think you need to calm down okay, I can dress myself.” Although he may have snapped at you, you didn’t hesitate to give him the space he asked for.

“Course! I- uh-” you clear your throat, wiping your nose for a second as you stand. “I’ll be in the other room whenever you are, um-” patting your thighs, you give him a brief smile, “ready!” And then you close the door behind you. The lock never clicks.

He still feels bitter about the prison part, being toted off to different handlers didn’t make it any easier when they’re only doing it to appease someone, not to save him.

Though, remembering why he’s in this mess, he receives a huge wave of humility and also guilt. He definitely didn’t deserve getting a second chance, and he definitely doesn’t deserve your space and materials. But to turn them down after probably risking your life in helping him, it would probably be a slap to the face as well.

He sighs to himself, slipping his old, torn clothes into the softer, cleaner set you had put out for him. Wrapping a coat around himself, he found it wasn’t necessary to wrap a blanket around himself. Already running on a hotter temperature, more than one coat is just overkill.

In any case, you turn around to see him dressed better for the season and the extra added blanket wrapped. You nearly smile but you keep it to yourself, turning around as you look back at the map. “We still have a long while to travel, but I think if we leave around sunset, we could get a decent amount of ground between us and the castle. The farther the better.” Speaking into the silence is relatively harder, knowing someone is listening but you can’t hear a single thought they have. Especially about your plan. “But with the help we need, they all pretty much have the same requirement.” That’s when you turn around, bracing yourself for a reaction, avoiding his eyes. “That you’re either bound or sedated.”

He doesn’t respond.

He moves sluggishly across the floor. He settles himself by the window. “No.”

You feel your body reacting faster than you could think rationally. “No? Wilbur, it’s just for a few hours at a time, and this time, I will be with you every step of the way-”

“I don’t want to be bound by rope or chains or even by silk, and I refuse to be sedated. I never wake up the same… person.”

You don’t want to do that to him. You didn’t want to but you need him safe, and going through this process is necessary for his survival.

“What if they’re loose or what if I just gave you some lavender and you pretend you’re knocked out?” He says your name after you start rambling, trying to come up with solutions time and time again. “Please, just trust that you’ll be safe, I will make sure of that,” you end up by his window, close to his body. Wanting nothing more than to be far away from any society that’ll hurt him.

Wanting him all to yourself was a nice touch but that’s not the point.

His hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist. This time, his thumb rubs over your veins, nail gently scratching at your skin. “If I’m not completely free, saving me was a wasted effort.” Then he let go. He stands up, pushing the thick blanket off of his shoulders, walking past you and back to the room. “I’ll be gone before it gets too thick outside.” And you’re desperate to fight against that stupid, idiotic plan of his but he nearly slams the door. But he doesn’t slam it. He doesn’t even close it.

Your eyes sting with tears, trying to calm yourself down. All you wanted was for him to be safe, all you did is keep him safe.

Sucking the snot back into your nose, you turn around, looking at an approaching wagon. And a soft call of your name. But because your vision is a little blind and it does look like three guys you knew, you don’t hesitate to open the door. It is now that you can hear the sound of shouting after a particularly hard blow to your forehead, you don’t even comprehend falling to the ground but perhaps that is just how being knocked by a gun works.

~

The next time you are conscious it is surrounded by the dark and the cold. Snow greets you with a particular bite, and when you are completely aware of your surroundings and the increasing headache pounding against your skull, it’s now that you are nowhere near the cabin you’d bought with the money your mother left you. (The very same you were going to give to Karl to pay for his help.)

In fact, you’re alone. Completely and utterly alone. You move to sit up, hissing as you notice your bruised limbs, as if you’d gone through a little hell before waking up.

Hearing the woods surrounding you not be completely silent, though, is a blessing. Surviving five minutes of it is not one of yours. Shivering from the lack of clothing needed for this weather, you bear through it, you look around, finding very little luck until you see a familiar lump of fur. Crawling over to him, you wince and let out little gasps of pain, grinding your teeth to get past it as you finally made it.

Whether he’d be nice like this, you’re not sure if you care, you just need his warmth.

Sinking into his fur, you let out a sigh, feeling a little better. A low rumble vibrates through your body, but even like this, you know it’s him. “Sorry if I woke you…” you mumble, turning against his body to curl even more against him.

You know it's probably not a safe time to fall asleep but he’s so warm, and he keeps vibrating and it’s easy to lose yourself in it.

~

Truth be told, Wilbur wasn’t a total pain in the ass when you woke up, all human and everything and dressed in the same things as before you had been knocked out. Of course you asked him about it, but he didn’t share much, just that the bare minimum.

Three people heard about the two of you through a grapevine and decided they wanted a bit of reward money. Either that or be paid thoroughly for their services underground. He made sure they couldn’t hurt the two of you anymore, and when he came to as a human, feeling better in his skin… he took the two of you away.

No doubt after helping him, you wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms. Chances are you’d receive his sentence. And after everything the two of you went through, he didn’t want that.

So he walked with you on his back, walking until he couldn’t even recognize the smell of the trees. Couldn't smell another person for hours before he finally collapsed. And by then, being a beast was easier on him, energy wise, so that’s where you woke up.

Of course, waking up away from him didn’t make sense whatsoever, but you figured he was holding something back that, should it have been important, he would’ve told you.

So, you didn’t bring it up again. And when you try to stand up, and inevitably fall because of the giant pain in your leg, he’s there to catch you. (And when he pulls you onto his back, saying nothing about your weight, and then loading a bag onto his arm, he begins a trek, he says nothing then. Nothing about anything. You wish you knew why.)

It’s almost noon when he puts you down, setting you on a log when he decided it was enough.

“Why didn’t you escape by yourself?” It would have been easier to ditch you. Especially since your way made him uncomfortable in the worst ways for him.

He drops the firewood into a pile, cracking his neck as a hand comes up to ruffle his hair. Turning around, he doesn’t make eye contact as he moves past you to get more of the wood. And by the looks of it, if he’d been normal, it’d take five men to carry what he did. He’s avoiding the topic at hand, though.

“Is it so hard to believe I didn’t want you to die?” He asks, finally turning to you after you had grabbed his arm, giving him your own specialty begging eyes. “Do you think that little of me, that I’d rather save my own ass than take the time to save yours?” His voice is bitter, and you wonder if you’d made a mistake in asking.

You don’t let go, even using him to pull yourself up, ignoring his silent huffs. Even standing next to him, with his help, you can’t help the way you look at him. “It doesn’t matter what I think, you saved me and I’m alive because of you.” You want to tell him he’s more than what they forced him to be, you want to tell him he’s more than capable of being kind. You just don’t know whether or not he’d listen or ignore you.

“Maybe,” he said, like he was trying to dismiss it, like it didn’t mean anything to him, but you can see, you can see it in his tense muscles, his eyes looking everywhere but you. Shaking your head, you use both hands to squeeze his shoulder.

“I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.” And because he didn’t seem like he could handle anything else, you decided to leave a simple kiss pressed into his clothed shoulder. Moving away to sit down, he pulls you in for a hug, breathing deeply into the side of your head, unwilling to let go.

“Is this how it felt the first day you saw me?” He asks but you don’t answer. You’re not sure what he’s feeling but if he’s comparing it to the day you saw him as a human- you’d have to guess that it’d be a little bit strong for him.

You wonder if the day after will be like that as well for him. Where his emotions ran faster than he could process, where he gave you the idea to get the two of you out of there. (You knew him better than any doctor could in this world. Sort of. You knew how to treat him. You knew how to help. You knew he never liked any of that.)

He didn’t say anything, not that he didn’t want to, but it seemed for the first time, he was at a loss of words. You could hear him open and close his mouth, but every time you heard him begin, there wasn’t a finish. You didn’t need him to say anything. You understood.

Tilting your head back, you watch him with curious eyes until he pressed a shaky hand against your cheek, holding you in his palms. “I genuinely don’t know what I’d do with myself if I let you die.” And then as shaky as he breathed out, he kissed you, hands holding you like he couldn’t quite believe the two of you are okay.

It’s here you collapse in his arms.

~

When you come to a second time, you’re in an actual bed, with a doctor tending to your arms and fever, one you had briefly thought you had as a joke before you had passed out on Wilbur that first night. And like you thought, one superhuman with a regulated body temperature way out of the normal range for most ovens could not keep the two of you warm enough.

Wilbur sat in a chair beside you, listening tentatively. You’re sure he never looked tired before, maybe slightly exhausted but the bags under his eyes betray his cool exterior.

Not that he had one before, but it did show just how much you truly did affect him. Not that you’d put yourself in danger but the reassurance is nice here, smiling at him when you could. Settling his nerves whenever he got concerned over how much you’ve been smiling. Said that you’d never smiled that much, never whenever he was around and only when it was about books. When you were kids.

Well, you remember liking the way he told the stories in the book, how he made them come alive in a way he couldn’t with himself. It always made reality feel that much duller. Still, the doctor said to rest until he dismissed the two of you.

~

It’s on the fourth day of sitting on your bum, reading books to Wilbur with his head in your lap. The relationship between the two of you confused you, no doubt it does the same for him. Just because he gave you one amazing night between you two didn’t mean you had to marry him, despite there being a history already there and the chemistry never faded. Things just take the forefront of your minds, like surviving this trip. And this bedrest.

And this is when you are put into custody when the doctor gets word about Wilbur, shoved into a cell with your hands bound alongside Wilbur. “You can’t just leave them here, they’ll die!” Wilbur shouted so many times at the guard to get a doctor and get them medical attention but no one was listening. Not a single soul. Except you.

You begged him to hold you if you ought to be dead in a cell.

His bound hands lifted straight into the air, wiggling you in his lap as he pulled you in, draping his arms over your shoulder, giving you the perfect place to get warm and a nap.

~

He held you for days, until he could physically not. They dragged you away. By the bandaged arms. He had shouted and screamed until his throat was raw and hot tears poured down his face. He didn’t know what to do with himself at that point. Slumping against the cell wall, he closes his eyes, breathing every now and again to see if he could find you.

You weren’t being held with the other prisoners, but he knew you were in distress.

The burning anger began to build when a metallic scent grew stronger, mixing with your pained screams. Steam came off of his skin as he seamlessly shifted from a man to a beast. The rest is history.

~

“Tell us what you know about the man who can turn into a beast.” 

He asks many questions about Wilbur, about his weaknesses and strengths,but all you can do is weep, letting out a scream that tears up your throat as he shocks you again and again. Then the door literally rips off the hinges.

Something tackles your torturer and though you’re still dealing with the aftershocks of electric torture, you’re on the brink of consciousness. Watching as after a second, the man stopped screaming and the beast stood up, maw dripping with blood. But you could only spit out your own and smile, he was your beastly friend after all. He tears your bindings off, letting you lean on his fur for a second before the fur in your face turns into the clothing you saw him in when they took you away.

“You’re okay,” he says and you have half a mind to wonder if he’s saying it to reassure you or himself, and he keeps repeating it as he bends down for you to lay yourself on your back. And after doing so, he shifts again, fur returning to your hands and face.

You’re not conscious for the rest of the escape but after you come to, you’re in a warm bath, with Wilbur washing you. He pauses as he watches you wake up, and yes of course his face burns a pretty pink but this is the second time he’s seen you naked. And this time, he’s not doing it for his sake, you need to be washed down. All the dirt and grime can do a nasty number on your injuries. You tell him to continue, you’ll lead him in terms of bandages.

And when the water drains and all that’s left is your shivering body, he helps you sit up, draping a towel over your body. He helps pat you down, hoping that his warm palms help in any way before he reaches under your knees and cradles your back, heaving you out of the tub and out of the washroom.

You see the room it’s connected to, a bed with a chest at the foot of it. And really, nothing else, curtains shielding the windows, a rug on the floor. You don’t catch anything else when he sits you down on the bed, reaching for something on the bed you didn’t see.

“Did you really steal medicine, Will?” You ask lightly, hoping to be able to tease him for it. He barely smiles as you guide him through it, rubbing a salve over your burns, he wraps them with great care, apologizing profusely as you’d wince and hiss every so often. When you were done, he helped pull a shirt over your head, bottoms to cover your ass, and though it’s been a rough week, you could still appreciate when a pretty man is on his knees helping you get dressed.

And when he’s done, he stands in front of you, unsure of what to do, but you do. You pull him down to lay with you on the bed, scooting aside so he has room. He’s stiff as a board but you pat his arm, laying your head on his shoulder and trying to go to sleep.

He shifts from under, moving to hover over you, hands at each side of your head. Your eyes open slowly, smiling as you catch him in the act. Knees pressed into either side of the mattress, he had you trapped. Like you could go anywhere to begin with. As if you would leave if you had a chance. “Come on, Wilbur, kiss me.” Your bandaged arms reach up to drape over his shoulders but he’d bitten his lips till they bled. Worried over you. You could see the thoughts turning in his head. You had enough of those thoughts.

“It wasn’t your fault, Wilbur. You know that right?” You ask, watching as one of his hands came close to your face, thumbing over a particular mark on your face, just watching it.

“I could’ve stopped them at any time,” he said, “I could’ve gotten you out earlier.”

“I’m out now.” You say, each word stressed and enunciated. Clear.

He didn't say anything else, under his breath you might’ve heard him agree reluctantly but by then, he had leaned his head down, bumping his nose against yours as he kissed you rather gently, hands moving down to cradle your jaw before you press your mouth harder against his. Wanting something a little more.

That’s when he breathed in through his nose, moving one of his hands to the back of your neck, moving his lips against yours with every intent of stealing your breath.

Your hips buck up against his, moving to wrap your legs around his body, trying to get closer any way you could.  He breathes heavy in your skin, trying to commit every part of you to memory, the way you sighed when he palmed your waist, the way you whined into his mouth when he dipped his fingers beneath your bottoms.

How your head tossed back after he sank his cock inside of you, bandaged hands reaching up to grab at the pillows by your head, eyes lost somewhere before he had to reach up with a hand and pat your face, “still with me?” He murmurs, genuinely scared for the answer, stopping fully before he has the chance to fully bottom out inside. Your eyes reach his and you couldn’t help yourself, rolling your hips.

“Still here,” and you reach up to hold his face as he trembles a little bit, from the pleasure or something else, you’re not exactly sure. You hope it's mostly because of the pleasure. “You?”

He nods, fast and then asking if you were ready, you smile, taking one of his hands and interlacing your fingers together. He smiles this time and when he pulls out of you, leaving just the tip in, you hate the emptiness you felt. You didn’t have time to complain before he, just as slowly, thrusted back inside of you, catching the way you keened when the veins on his cock dragged against your walls.

“F- fuck,” he gasps and your stomach flutters, not just from his cock filling you up that every thought you had leaves your pretty little head, but you loved the way he sounds. Like you had this hold over him, a chain around his neck that only you had the key to. That idea didn’t stay long.

Losing yourself in him, the way he smells, the way your mind spins when his hands roam your body, the way when he reached a certain spot and you keened, soft whimpers pouring out of your mouth as he fucked into you faster, pushing your legs up by the back of your thighs. Your hands placed over your head, gripping onto the metal bars as you could feel yourself come undone by him, that delicious burning feeling overtaking you. Squeezing his cock as you cried his name, Wilbur didn’t last that much longer, pleasure burning in and under his skin, licking at his nerves as he came inside of you.

Breathing is the only thing filling the room, and as he pulls out of you, he kisses you delicately, as if he didn’t want this to end. Neither did you.

He sits up, using the towel you had used to clean you up, taking extra care of your sensitive hole, leaving the room to get water, you shuffled underneath the blanket. You needed some rest.

Though you still had some questions.

So when he came back, hair falling into his eyes as he came back dressed lightly. “Tired already?” He smiles this time and you can’t help the way your heart pounds faster, losing more feeling out of your knees even after having been fucked. You take the glass of water and before you could stop yourself, you ask.

“So who’s house is this then?” You ask and he scratches his face, sipping at his own cup.

“Apparently my father’s, found his name on some documents. Found an old painting of his father. Didn’t even recognize him.” You look at him, watching as he stares at the wall. Dirty liar.

It’s fine though.

“Will anyone find us here?”

He looks back at you, his lips almost curling into a smile immediately when he catches your eye. It dropped when he looked back at his cup, taking another sip while shaking his head. “Nobody should find us here, not for a long while.”

“So we’ll be all alone, then, huh?” And his eyes gain a little bit of that sparkle, smiling at you completely this time.

“Do you not want to be alone with me?” You could hear it though, you could see him withdrawing the tiniest bit. You reach for his hand.

“It’s all I ever wanted,” and his shoulders relax.

“Good,” and from the look on his face, it was the thing he needed to hear.

The two of you have plenty of time together to say the rest of the words you buried deep in your throat, plenty of time to say whatever is left in your heart.

But when the two of you have slipped underneath the covers and you’re pretty sure he’s drifted off to sleep, you say three little words underneath your breath. They weren't a big deal, only a truth you struggled with for a while there. And though as you’re falling asleep, you wonder if you feel him press those same words into your neck.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fic #minors do not interact #mdni #eggplicit #ktober 22 #hot hot hot #k: monster #honestly its pretty vanilla #i've only got feelings in this fic no kink no monsterfucking i am a mess #you guys should still love me though #no i didnt edit this why would i

[toiletwipes]

COCKWARMING/HUMAN • DAY TEN OF KINKTOBER

Summary: A college, Halloween town and you've gone dressed as absolute bare minimum. But all you're wearing is thigh highs and an incredibly long button down. It catches the pretty boy's attention. Nice going, harlot. It's a win for you considering you have a thing for pretty boys.

Word Count: ~1.7k words

Character: George

Warning: its in a public place but george is nice enough not to be a dick and also its consensual but youre both drunk so. keep that in mind.

Kinktober Masterlist

tag list: @oyakuya@ruminationnn@despicablenotions@grrrlsagainsthumanity@wolfie-doggo@boiled-onionrings@struggling-with-time@midnighthasstruck@modx-reborn@dreamwvrld

~

This boy had been too pretty to avoid, your eyes always seeking him out whether you could hold it back or not. Tonight was no different.

Someone popular on campus was friends with someone rich and that’s how you’re sipping on something expensive while sitting by yourself at a party. You still had work to do. But it’s Halloween, so you relented, did as much as you could until your friends had to drag you away from the computer and sat you down at a vanity.

Your friends, all giggly from the pre-game shots, took turns dabbing brushes with products on the bristles onto your face, the sturdiest hand of the four of them drew soft wings on your eyelids. Accentuating the smokey eye bestowed upon you, courtesy of the cosmetology major. And yet, as soon as the party was underway and you had a drink in your hand while trying to get out of the most boring conversation ever with someone who was hardly your type- they all abandoned you.

Then the pretty boy of the campus had walked in. George. Everyone loved George, in spite of his quiet personality, he was all wide smiles and genuine banter. Plus the scruff on his chin and somewhat lean body, he was easy on the eyes.

Definitely a sight for sore ones, too.

You didn’t hold the staring back, taking a sip from your blue solo cup and he turned his head, making direct eye contact. His shoulders roll back as he twists his neck back and forth. Tossing a few words over his shoulder, he kept an eye on you.

It probably didn’t help that you’re wearing somebody’s white button down and hardly anything else. You’re not sure whose idea it had been in the first place but nobody was complaining too much. You certainly didn’t care that much. Might be that much easier.

Squeezing your thighs, you avert your eyes, trying to have some dignity, while half-naked while also at a Halloween party. Trying is the key word.

“I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t remember where-” George comes towards you, having already started the conversation for you, how considerate. You smile behind the lip of the cup.

“I have been told I have one of those faces. I definitely would have remembered your face, though.” You respond, leaning back into your seat and holding it away from your mouth, aware that your oversized shirt slid higher on your thighs. With the way he kept his eyes there, tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his lips tells you all you need to know.

He was also aware.

“But what’s a boy like you doing out here? I’m sure there are better parties happening tonight,” your head tilts, curious to hear his answer. You already had a hunch.

His smile is wide, naturally so with his mouth. His wide mouth. You can’t look away from there. “My friends are throwing the party, thought it would be nice to drop by and grace everyone with my presence.”

“Glad you did.” You smile back, leaning forward a little to put the drink on the table in front of your knees, he leans closer to your personal space, eyes refusing to move from your figure. The way your legs crossed, the way you didn’t care what the shirt showed the world. “It was starting to get boring.”

“You’re confident for someone who’s not wearing underwear,” he comments, taking a sip from his own cup.

Of course, ice filled your veins but you knew better than to give in.

“Don’t I have to be? Keep their eyes on me to make sure they miss the show below?” And yeah, not your best line, you’re cringing at how awful it was inside your head, but his smile gets bigger somehow, reaching past his eyes. A laugh pulled out of him as if he wasn’t trying to suppress it.

“What’s your name by the way?” He asks, an arm coming up on the couch’s edge behind him, leaning his temple on a relaxed palm. Your heart sits in your throat, but you’re floating on a nice high, wanting to shake it right out of George, whatever he’d done to you. You lean closer with a tiny smile of your own and tell him, “whatever you want it to be, baby.”

His smile doesn’t leave, it’s his eyes that dart from your gaze to your lips, seeing the way you’d bitten it, the way your tongue swiped off the mint gloss from the beginning of the night. The way you looked only at him.

“How do you feel about doing something crazy?” He asks, a hand reaching out to mess with the buttons of your shirt. You don’t look away from his face. Smile still wide on his face. Couldn’t even see the pupils in his eyes, but you’re not too caught up in that. You can’t get over the way his stare made you feel.

“What do you have in mind?” And from the way his eyes managed to light up even more, you wanted to know everything about him.

He takes your hand into his warm grasp and he stands up, staring into your eyes the entire time. Squeezing your fingers, he leads you away from the main chaotic crowd.

~

You’re biting gasps down, burying your head into the crook of George’s neck with your legs straddling his waist. Feeling way too hot with the way this blanket had been draped over you. “I know what it’s like to be clingy while drunk but are you sure you’re okay George, I mean-” you heard your friends clamor around him while you pretended to be sleepy and tired and clingy on the prettiest boy you ever seen.

You can also hear the whoops and hollers of the boys playing some game on the new Xbox, feel the vibrations from George’s casual laugh. He waves them off. He doesn’t mind, he tells them. And being pressed up so close against him, chest to chest, you were addicted to the way you could feel him. Loved the way he spoke. Loved hearing him speak too. Adored the way he wrapped an arm around your back over the blanket. Liked the way he told them that he’d make sure I get home safe too.

If you had it your way, you would be going home with him. Hopefully. Maybe.

But you had to get past this.

Past this moment where his cock is buried inside you and you’re completely surrounded and it’s fucking hard to do it when he adjusts you every other second. Where you are completely at his mercy.

He could rip the blanket away, give the guys a show as he forces you to bounce you on his cock, hands pulling your cheeks away so they can all get a look. (Oh the thought makes you clench around him, feeling every curve and vein on him. You can feel the sharp intake he does, feeling both of your hearts race faster and faster.) But he doesn’t do that. Doesn’t even hint that there’s anything wrong with you. Just a sleepy drunk who happened to drape themself on him.

When your friends take the hint and leave, all patting your head and saying goodnight, he wraps his arms tighter, leaning his cheek against the back of yours. You feel so full, he barely stretched you beforehand. Slipping a finger inside of you after you lathered it with your spit, he barely had a moment to think when he heard people approaching. And because the two of you liked crazy, you had to bite into his neck when his head popped inside of you, whining quietly to yourself. And then the guys emerged from the staircase.

And it leads you to now, where he keeps moving his hips every now and then, holding you close and keeping the kind and considerate friend facade up.

It leads to the moment where the group playing the game, they heard some commotion happening outside, a fight maybe, and although you’ve definitely seen George run to watch a fight, he declines their polite offer to carry you with them. None of them give him shit. All of them leave the upper living room.

It’s quiet inside, not a peep from anywhere in the house. Everyone is outside. And if they’re not, then they’re probably doing the same thing as you were.

George is quick to push the blanket from over your shoulders, helping you unbutton the shirt till it opens without fuss. Not wasting a second, his lips are wrapped around the bud of your nipple, lapping at your chest, holding your back close to him as your head tipped back. It’s useless to hold back any noises you made, moving your hips as you fucked yourself on him.

One of his hands comes to your other nipple, pinching it and switching with his mouth. And it builds, the tightening feeling in your lower stomach, the pleasure blinding your senses until all you could say was his name. A hand grips at your chin, holding your face still as the other hand was tight on your waist, his own hips bucking up at a bruising pace. “Look at me,” he said, with his eyes barely open, but he stares, keeping eye contact with you even after you cry his name. Squeezing around him and losing yourself in his eyes, a few tears slip as you ride out your orgasm, feeling boneless everywhere.

He fucks you through it, squeezing your waist with his hands past the point where you had a faint thought of tomorrow. Tomorrow’s bruises that’ll make your stomach flutter at the reason. He fucks you through his own orgasm, even a little past it, when you knew the both of you were extra sensitive. He pants as he speaks, “you just feel too good to leave, like you were made for my cock.” And though most of your thinking abilities are gone, you couldn’t help the moan that slips past your lips. It was small, but for him, it was enough. Enough for him to tease his cock against your skin, rubbing some of the excess cum on there, on your ass. “Think you can go another round?”

Fuck.

#ktober 22 #c: george #k: cockwarming #hot hot hot #eggplicit #not suitable for minors #k: public #au: college

[toiletwipes]

PRED-PREY/FAE • DAY THREE OF KINKTOBER

Summary: Knowing something otherworldly can hurt you but they don't is kind of hot and the exact reason why you're not in a relationship with someone normal.

Word Count: ~1k words

Character: i- i dont think i used a name anywhere here so you can picture whoever you prefer but i was writing this with faebur in mind (unless i am wrong djfjfj)

Warnings: its short :( but there shouldnt be anything to worry about and if there is, let me know

tag list: @oyakuya @ruminationnn @despicablenotions @grrrlsagainsthumanity @wolfie-doggo @boiled-onionrings @struggling-with-time @midnighthasstruck @modx-reborn @cleverjokehaha

Kinktober Masterlist

~

You met him when you were younger and he was angrier, keeping you lost and alone and avoiding you for hours when your grandfather's cabin was at the edge of his grounds. He refuses to tell you what you originally did, claiming the memory is lost on him. Not that that matters, you like teasing him like he does you.

Though, he has a problem with teasing you. It's not like you had anyone waiting for you at the cabin, your grandfather left it to you to chase his dreams and dates that lasted a whole night were infinitely more boring than a single moment with him. But the teasing made you feel like you had something with him.

You tried to ask him about it once, why he teased you and then flirted with a shared future, dancing around you and daring you to say something, and he smiled. Smiled!

To take your mind off things like that, you'd just go home. Shower, maybe. Take all of your sexual frustration and shove it somewhere useful.

Here lies your current problem, though. Your current problem is actually not your fault.

Nothing was done wrong, you hadn’t stepped on anything important, said all the right things and yet. And yet, he still wanted to play with you like you were a new toy that he wanted to sink his teeth in.

(Maybe because he found you too cute to let go.)

Doesn't matter why he did. All that matters now is—

"Shit!" Gasping as you fall first into the ground, nails digging into the dirt as you push yourself off the ground, kicking up leaves as you keep running. He wasn't going to let you leave.ing to let you steal a break, no, you didn’t even want to know what he’d do to you.

What he wanted with you made your heart pound even faster, alongside the adrenaline of running from something so beautiful, so dangerous.

“How long do you intend to run for?” His voice taunts you, tickling behind your ear as if he was right there-! Turning your head in a panic, you find nobody, not even an animal. They, the animals of his grounds, all must know now. Whenever he gets like this, they must be far away.

When he wanted to be, he could be deadly.

Trying to look ahead of yourself, there's a little hill and to the left, a cluster of roots with a hole beneath it. Pushing your burning legs and feet, you're near tears as you slide down the hill, biting down on your bottom lip till you can taste the iron as you gain several scratches on your left leg.

Close to missing the hole, you sprawl underneath the roots, shoving yourself as far back as possible. The smell of the earth grounds you and you force yourself to stop breathing for a second, hearing him through the static air with song.

You see his long legs stride down the hill, as if it wasn't any struggle at all. Truly, he wants you to know how easy this is for him. Or how fun he finds it. How amusing, that a human thinks that they could possibly run away from him.

Covering your mouth, your lungs scream for air watching as he taunts you with slow steps. And as he's almost past your line of vision, you breathe out, forehead tapping against the ground.

"Oh, pet." And your face snaps up, eyes catching his face, noses nearly touching. You choked on your air as he pulled on your hands, dragging you out like you were a feather in the air. One of his arms slink around your waist, pulling you close to him as your knees give out. "What was that thing you said, winner's pick?" His smile sends shivers down your skin and your stomach is weak with butterflies. His free hand slides from under your arm and down your elbow, catching your hand and lacing the fingers.

It would've been romantic if he hadn't moaned at the taste of your blood, grinning against your mouth as he lifts you in the air, twirling the two of you. You could barely see straight but you know the hard bark of a tree too well, air escaping you once more when his hands skim over your entire body.

"Aren't you just so cute?" He's mean in the way he inhales the skin at your shoulder, probably smelling the sweat and the dirt accumulated over the hours. "It's like I told you, pet, you can't hide from me here," and his hot breath fans across your face, kissing you briefly before he bends to his knees, yanking on your bottoms and flinging them elsewhere.

"And for my grand prize," the grin on his face did nothing to hide the red flourish dusted across his cheeks, kissing up your thighs and squeezing your calves. "You can't hide anything from me." That's when he spreads your legs apart and in an instant, your insides are warm and you're full of his cock. Jaw drops open and you're gasping for air as he keeps squeezing skin, lips attaching somewhere and you're lost.

Lewd sounds fill the air and you have to hold onto his shoulders, feeling as though you'll slip through his fingers and sink into the ground. All of you feels like gelatin, pleasure rippling through you in waves and it doesn't help his piercing stare peek up at you every now and then. Watching you. Staring to make sure you gave him everything.

"Do you feel that, d'you feel how good you make me feel?" He whispers to you, mouthing kisses and harsh bruises into the column of your throat, "be a good pet, tell me how you're feeling, tell me I'm the only one who can do this to you, tell me everything."

If only you could, with the way he's fucking you stupid, your brain felt like mush, strangled moans echoing against the trees and feeling so much louder with your head empty.

"That's it, let go, pet, go ahead and cum for me," his words wash over you and you can't hold it together anymore, as if there was anything left before that moment. You're limp, twitching in his arms as he emptied himself inside of you. The last thing in your conscious mind was the overwhelming warmth spreading in your body, and then of course a promise he made.

Though, what he promised, you're not too sure.

#ktober 22 #c: faebur #k: pred/prey #eggplicit #hot hot hot

[toiletwipes]

ghost!wilbur is plaguing my thoughts and I was just thinking about him… and if he can technically possess people… and maybe him possessing reader and getting them off- (consensually) I’m insane.

Oh goddddd, it's another layer of closeness you'd never get anywhere else. using your hand, moving your limbs for you with his thoughts vibrating in your head b u t he's speaking with your voice and telling you all sorts of filthy things.... oh gkdjdjfjdkdj

"Look at yourself, sweetheart, do you like it when I touch you? Like it when I'm inside you like this. I should pull out one of your little toys and... fuck, this feels.. ssssso good."

#anon asks #wipes answers #lilly's ghost au #eggplicit

[toiletwipes]

welcome to the kinktober '22 masterlist!

i would like to say that i sometimes forget to put the right warnings, so i would like to say always take precautions whenever entering one of my kinktober fics. and as always, it is 18+. this is strictly for adult consumption.

IT HAS BEGUN!

DAY ONE. monster/prisoner [Wilbur]

DAY TWO. cum/potioneer [Wilbur]

DAY THREE. pred-prey/fae [Wilbur]

DAY FOUR. shotgunning/thief [Dream]

DAY FIVE. fuck-or-die/coffee shop [Foolish]

DAY SIX. frottage/ghoul [Sapnap]

DAY SEVEN. masturbation/human [Simpbur]

DAY EIGHT. lingerie/incel [Simpbur]

DAY NINE. mirror/mad scientist [Awesamdude]

DAY TEN. cockwarming/human [George]

tag list is open <33

tag list: @oyakuya @ruminationnn @despicablenotions @grrrlsagainsthumanity @wolfie-doggo @boiled-onionrings @struggling-with-time @midnighthasstruck @modx-reborn

#ktober 22 #c: simpbur #eggplicit #not suitable for minors #c: wilbur #c: dream

[toiletwipes]

SHOTGUNNING/THIEF • DAY FOUR OF KINKTOBER

Summary: Listen, walking home after a long shift at work and then getting scolded is not a fun time. So is it wrong of you to fuck somebody who broke into your house?

Word Count: ~1.2k words

Character: Dream

Warning: I do not condone robbery and I definitely don't condone fucking somebody who broke into your house. Personally I would but that's a different thing entirely.

tag list: @oyakuya @ruminationnn @despicablenotions @grrrlsagainsthumanity @wolfie-doggo @boiled-onionrings @struggling-with-time @midnighthasstruck @modx-reborn @cleverjokehaha

Kinktober Masterlist

~

Sighing outwardly, you continue to walk down the dark street, flashlight tucked underneath your chin as you try to manage the pile of shit in your arms, while listening to this phone call with one of your coworker’s.

“I know you’re being careful but I just think you should let me take you home, it’s a straight shot from the diner to your place,” you roll your eyes, shifting the box of stale pastries in your grasp, “and you know Jenny wants you safe as much as I do.”

Jenny is your shared boss and your coworker’s girlfriend. And Jenny could care less about you. Not that you cared about her either, but lying about these kinds of things seems pointless. “One, it’s twenty minutes away from your place, and that’s if you speed like you usually do. Two, Jenny could give less of a shit, okay? Listen, Zee, I’ve walked from and to work like this for years.”

Zee tries to protest but you shake your head, not like he could see you, “stop worrying and drive home safe, okay? I’ll call you when I get home.” And before he could argue some more, you press a button on your phone and you’re cut off from any other living person. Living on the edge of your city left you with few neighbors. You’re lucky because of that, the peace is what you’d been in need of when you moved out of your folks’ house. Peace and very little to bother you.

Though you didn’t have a car, you had legs, and with those you didn’t need anything else. You got to your job just fine. Everything is just fine.

Especially tonight.

You had a night of light reading, light eating, and heavy silence as you slept the night away. Maybe smoke that little going away present your cousin had given you before you had left your hometown.

Finding your house after ten minutes of walking, you drop your things on your porch bench, shuffling through your pockets for your keys when you accidentally lean too much forward. Hands come out to brace yourself on the door but it’s no help, the door swings open and the full moon brightens up the place, flashlight falling onto the porch.

You locked your door before you left, you know that. You know that for a fucking fact.

Getting to your feet, you dig your hand into your pocket, pulling out that pepper spray Zee had shoved into your hand before you left the diner. You had it ready. And after hearing a bump over your head, you whine inside of your head. Of course they’d be in your bedroom. Hopefully the intruder doesn’t see anything embarrassing. Going up the stairs, you avoid the creaky ones and see a small light through the sliver under your door. You swallow the spit in your mouth, rubbing your thumb over the top, steadying your hand.

You open the door with less grace than you’d have liked, but you find the fucker. And of course he fucking is. Of course the bastard inside of your house is hot. Dressed head to toe in attractive, skin-tight black clothing. Hugging his body unfairly.

And of course he’s smoking your shit.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You say and he doesn’t even react too much. His arm thrown behind the couch against the window, his eyes drag across the walls to meet your face.

“Was wondering when you’d get here, you were gone all day, you know.” And that’s when you notice the gift bag in his lap, on top of his crotch. You would have thought twice about letting your hand anywhere near there, considering fucking everything but you were looking forward to that.

“Cause I was fucking working,” you respond out of habit, and as your hand touches the mesh bag, his hand comes from the back of the couch to wrap around your wrist, fingers easily touching each other. You’re caught off guard by the touch, by the yank he does, a blow of smoke in your face and by the time you waved it away with your free hand, trying to get a word in, his face is too close for comfort. Eyes half-lidded and dark. It does you no good, feeling warm in many places too fast.

“If you let me explain, I’ll pay you back for the weed,” explain just what exactly?

Your eyes squint, nearly twitching.

“I meant to rob somebody named Vick King, know anybody like that?” The only neighbor who complained about anything in this place? The one who’s house you passed to get here?

You flatten your mouth into a line, wondering if giving someone directions to your shitty neighbor so they could rob him would be morally wrong. “Do you want a different type of payment then?” It's definitely a crime to break into your house, but the way he pulls down the collar of his shirt and tilts his head back.

“Are you- are you trying to seduce me?” You squint at him, frowning mostly to yourself how you’re not too upset at this outcome.

“Is it working?” He grins at you and drags one out of the joint, turning to you as you watched him closely. Your head is working overtime trying to process what happens next. Cause he pulls at your chin and presses his mouth against yours, moaning at the skin contact and pushing the smoke inside of your mouth.

Okay, fucking okay. You take it, not entirely there as it seems to soak inside of your skull. But you’re there when you breathe the smoke out, pushing at his shoulders and throwing a knee each side of him, straddling him.

He enjoys the way you hold his shoulders, kissing him harshly where he could feel his teeth knocking against yours and the way he could hardly think straight with you grinding down against his cock. And he doesn’t know who starts it, who pulls away and takes another inhale, but he knows you’re pulling away, watching him through the cloud and taking his breath away again.

“He lives down the road, but one, you’re paying me back for the weed,” of course, he wouldn’t have it any other way. “And you’re giving me back my vibrator.” He grins, caught.

“Of course.”

And when he’s gone in the morning, feeling sore in the best places, you find a tiny little note next to a ziploc bag. Written on the note is a little apology, and though you could hardly take that seriously, the edge of your mouth twitches. A phone number and a name.

Dream.

Of course, his name is Dream.

Looking at the baggie, you bite at your lip. At least it wasn’t a total waste, you think to yourself, reaching for your phone. Looking at your phone, you see the latest text from Zee.

Darling. Best friend. Partner in crime. Your neighbor was just robbed blind, you are not walking home anymore.

You blink and remember the vague moment he asked for directions at the end of everything. Guess he wasn’t lying about that. You’d be more concerned if Dream hadn’t scribbled the worst kissy face on the bag. He’s not something you’re too worried about.

You send a text five minutes later before you take another nap.

#ktober 22 #c: dream #k: drugs #tw: drugs #cw: drugs #eggplicit #hot hot hot #mdni

[toiletwipes]

Okay so, you're out with simpbur right? And one of your friends see him and ask if this is the boytoy who's been taking up so much of your time, just light hearted jokes ya know? Cut to you calling him your boy toy in bed while you fuck him; all degradation and shit.

this got a little long gjdghghfjd warning; 18+ smut, slight degradation

"Oh my god!" You hear while looking at the shirts at a Spencer's with Will and when you turn around, it's a pleasant surprise to find your friend there, already reaching for a hug. "Hey, it's nice to see you, even if it was just a few days ago." She says as she's pulling away and then notices the tall, lanky awkward mess behind you. The grin on her face makes you wanna take him away with you. Please don't embarrass you, please don't- "this the boytoy stealing you from me?"

You immediately flounder, shoving her shoulder and not really denying it, because well yeah maybe he is, but in a Spencer's? Really? Turning to him, you try to salvage the situation where you're being laughed at by an old man but he's standing there- a little stiff, red-faced and openly staring at you. It catches you off-guard but you shelve that information for later. After she stops laughing, you and her talk for another minute before she's called away by other people. Leaning into Will's side, you gave him a lazy grin, "wanna get out of here?" He doesn't hesitate to say yes, buying you that cool shirt and then getting out of the Spencer's.

It's not till later in the night, after getting takeout and re-watching an old favorite of yours and heading to your bed when he wraps his arms around you from behind, tugging you into his chest. (Whatever you have with him, you're not sure what it is but you kinda like it.) Leaning your head back onto his shoulder, you let him press kisses into your neck before guiding him to bed. It's not until after you've thrown your clothes off into the dark corners of your room, already bouncing on his cock, pressed chest to chest when you remember the conversation from earlier. Your head tosses back, arms wrapped around his shoulders as you spoke, "god it feels so fucking good," and when your head rolls around on your shoulder before leaning into his neck, licking a stripe to his ear, "my fucking boytoy, aren't you?" And the way you could feel his dick twitch inside of you, and the way his head hangs and lands on your shoulder. Grinning you continue, "such a fucking slut, you'd do anything for me." And he nearly sobs into your skin, with the way he moans and slithers his arms around you, pressing you into him. Biting your lip, "then fuck me good now," and let me tell you. He did.

(Definitely didn't explain to your boss the exact reason you had to call in either. Will watching you with a bitten smile, because he knew. He did exactly what you wanted.) And he gets you all to himself.

#peaches my beloved #wipes answers #c: simpbur #eggplicit #hot hot hot #k: degradation

[toiletwipes]

(juicy rivalbur anon)

ugh yes please add all of the angst i want him in utter turmoil i was listening to I Am Very Smart while i was reading your fic which is what gave me the idea so a healthy sprinkling of bullying is necessary

like maybe you and mr. prodigy are having your usual heated argument about who knows what but he can never admit he’s wrong so he just starts chewing you out and everyone is laughing because you’re obviously both social rejects and you have to run away because you will not give him the satisfaction of watching you cry and now he has won the argument and his peers approval but why doesn’t it feel good ? and why does imaging the tears streaming down your face and you choking back your pathetic sobs make his dick twitch at the same time?

stroking his cock in anguish is what i want

I wasn't gonna say bullying personally as my choice of anguish HOWEVER I will indulge it!

It doesn't last long, his peers' approval of his win, his victory. Soon, they walk away and ignore him again. No one is there to be a friend or talk to him. It wasn't worth making you cry, he knows that now but he can't- he can't let the image go now that he has it. Your face usually composed (only broken whenever Wilbur is near) with tears falling in hot streams and you're on your knees and he feels hot. Burning. Blood flow being redirected. He has to get to his apartment within the hour, thankful that he had no more classes.

Guilt and pleasure run through him when he closes the door and leans against it, stroking his dick. He didn't like the idea of making you cry- but he'd bet you'd look- you'd look-

Semen coats the floorboard as he pictured you crying on his dick. And when he comes to, breathless, and confused to all hell, he'll realize he's fucked. In the worst way.

#jr anon #anon asks #wipes answers #eggplicit #au: academic rivals

[toiletwipes]

Dom simpbur x m!reader I beg on thy knees

I got your other ask about this being in kinktober and because I don't have the list in front of me, I'm not sure I can get to it then. BUT I CAN NOW.

~~~

his stare is unrelenting, hands pressed on either side of you on the table, body so close but there was that little thing. one of those rules he had when you were in trouble. no touching him. kind of cruel since you loved his body, his face, his hair. but you guess that's why it's part of your punishment.

"want to explain what that was back there?" and you know what he's talking about, but you're not sure if you want to go down that route. (though you know you'd love it.) in the end, you bite your tongue to try to hide your smile and of course his eyes locked onto it, eyes narrowing as you answered, "nothing happened, i was being friendly."

"being friendly?" he repeated and you nod. he hums, head turning to the side as he thought to himself. and after several long seconds, he looks back at you through his eyelashes and long strands of his hair. "go get on the bed. be ready." and when he backs away, he moves to your side, arms folded across his chest. curious to what he had in mind, you listen this time, hopping down from the table and walked across the apartment to his bedroom.

you actually met him when you moved in, he needed a new roommate to help with the rent and you guess he didn't look at your picture or something. maybe just glad he found someone. and how could you not sign, when your roommate was hot, in a pathetic way. (that's how your best friend described him after you rambled to her about him for an hour.)

but because things were still settling between the two of you, you still had your separate bedrooms. and you kinda liked his room, not enough to move into it but like sneak under his covers whenever you got cold or lonely. it was just so him.

and slipping your shirt off and tossing it into the hamper you brought in for him, you hear the tell-tale footsteps slowly walking towards the bedroom. your heartbeat races knowing that you'd most definitely be punished tonight, shucking your pants off. feeling a little lightheaded from how fast you got hard, at the thought of him punishing you, you're about to pull your briefs down when you smell him, then feel him against your back.

"times up," he whispers in your ear, reaching out to bite your earlobe while his hands came around to brush down your stomach, one pushing on your tummy and the other slipping underneath your briefs. you try to keep your hands off of him, maybe if you'd follow his rules you'd get rewarded, maybe if you listened you'd finally get to touch him again. but fuck, his hand feels so good your head is sent reeling, spinning in pleasure.

god you needed to touch him and in your wanting to pull on his hair, scratch your nails down his back or bite down on his shoulder, you forget yourself. the hand on your stomach is off in a second, pulling your hand away from his face.

"it's like you don't even listen, baby boy," he sighs into your hair and then his hands are off in a second. you could've cried and that's when your twisted around, meeting his face, his eyes are wide and blown out in the irises, lips are already being bitten.

he was just as affected from this as you. the feeling of course sent shivers down your skin. "no touching," he says slowly and his hands come up to your chest, laying flat and feeling it heave up and down with your fast breathing before he pushes you down. "and you know what?" you could barely think, you didn't know what. "no cumming for tonight, think you can handle that?"

your eyes immediately widen and you move to sit up, already on your elbows when he pushes a single hand down on your chest again. "didn't say you could get up either." and he stares into your eyes, just daring you to do something. anything. he loved punishing you.

"anyone with half a brain could see that you weren't just being friendly, then again, that's what you did to me. wasn't it? weren't you friendly to me?" his hands press on the mattress on either side of you. his head shakes a little, a smile tugging at his lips and fuck, you could kiss him. "trying to replace me?" you shook your head.

"yeah, as if he could fuck you like i do." and he presses his mouth against the skin of your lower stomach, right where a little happy trail began. your stomach is also doing somersaults right now.

"remember, don't hold back any sounds and the safe word?" he says, teeth coming out to bite at the waistband of your briefs, tugging on it as your mouth tried to catch up with your brain.

"ah- fuck, its mango, isn't it?" he nods, letting go of your briefs to come up, lips finding yours in one brief kiss, and you tried to chase it but his hand comes up, sliding from your chest to your throat, pushing you back down.

"let's get started then."

#anon asks #wipes answers #k: dom #c: simpbur #eggplicit #hot hot hot #amab

[toiletwipes]

please more bastard prince wilbur… i love him

old ask BUT BRAIN IS GOING HHRG. ANON I HOPE YOU GET TO SEE THIS.

"Look at how filthy you are," his eyes are impossibly hard to look into, normally and in this strange position. strange being one of the more scandalized princes just sank all of his cock inside of you. one of the many servants that are bound to the royal family, there to help with whatever need arises. it usually never turns out... like this.

"Just look," he groans, one hand letting go of the bruising grip he had on your thigh and reaching up, thumb coming into your mouth to press down on your lip. His hips roll out a thrust, eliciting a moan out of you and you didn't even need to see. (Not like you could in the darkness of his room. But somehow he always could. Figures ) You could feel with every thrust, every time he makes you cry his name, you felt as filthy as he could see you. And part of you enjoyed this. This filthy little thing between you two.

He'd never get the chance to marry you, he'll be shipped out in a year or two for a political, arranged marriage. You didn't need his hand in marriage.

You were more than okay with just being a good lay. Besides, he wasn't such a bad partner. He always made you feel like the only person under the heavens.

Toe curling, brutally slow thrusts will kill you though. "Wi- wilbur, please, i- ah!" Your chest heaves up and down as you pant, he adjusts your legs and its suffocating, how far he fucks into you. How he grins in the darkness, how he asks you if you feel good, if he's the one that did that.

"You gonna hah- you gonna cum on my cock, huh, sweetheart?" And you cry, the smallest of tears coming down your cheeks, the pleasure being too much as you fist the sheets, as he fucks you through your orgasm. "Just a little more, you can take it, though, can't you?" He grips your chin, squeezing your cheeks and puckering your lips to kiss as he gasps, his own orgasm rippling through him.

#c: wilbur #au: royal #eggplicit #hot hot hot #anon asks #wipes answers