I always thought it was pretty clear Wilbur thinks he is an abusive person. He’s talked about it in streams and in songs. I don’t necessarily think he’s guilty until either of them say something, but I thought we already knew he had a history of being abusive? I just don’t understand why everyone was so surprised that it might be him.
I'm going to reiterate what I said.
abusers don't blame themselves, they blame others for their actions.
abusers don't say they're abusers. they don't see that it's wrong.
abusers are unwilling to change.
abusers don't call themselves abusers. they don't villianize themselves.
for the moment i will not be leaving wilbur he has given me far too much comfort for me to just up and leave especially with how little time ive had to process this however i will leave if shelby and only shelby at any point confirms its him but until then i see no reason to believe its him
I really like Wilbur Soot and even if he didn't stream for a year I'd probably still be subscribed.
I hope he's having fun exploring all the little oddities of New York City. I hope he gets to hang out in Central Park and enjoys that specifically great experience of sitting outside in chilly weather with the sun warming your face. I hope he's writing silly songs and sad songs and songs I'll sing in my car at a volume level that's probably not healthy for anyone's ears. I hope he eats too much good pizza and bad pizza and overpriced Whole Foods hot bar dinners.
That's enough being parasocial for me. Glad he's taking care of himself.
warnings: miscommunication, explicit sexual content, dubcon for drinking alcohol, gross man
notes: idk when this got to be like long ish? idk idk idk but halloween fic, be safe celebrating my loves
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
taglist: @your-shifting-gurl @lillylvjy @toiletwipes @burification @mosslovestherain @sweet-soot @saccharinesunset (let me know if you want to be added :>)
Halloween was your favorite holiday, the costumes, the scary movies, and even the parties. For most people past trick-or-treating age, it was an excuse to get fucked up, you weren’t much different. After a quite difficult week of exams and projects worth far too much of your grade, you were excited to drown it all out with alcohol and maybe something more.
Anything that took your mind off the real world.
Going to a party with Wilbur was not the best way to achieve this. You had met in college, him a year older than you and now graduated. The both of you had stayed close somehow, probably because you had a tendency to cling, not letting him get rid of you that easy, or maybe he just genuinely enjoyed your company. You sigh out loud at the thought.
He was your closest friend but also the crush you were refusing to acknowledge, he was far out of your league, absolutely gorgeous and smart and fuck. It was his idea to do matching costumes, but yours to do supervillains. You liked the way it spit in the face of the current ridiculous state of the city, supervillains and superheroes fighting while your life remained so painfully boring. He had agreed with only some suspicion, a look of surprise when you called being Siren.
You figured it was the easiest costume of the syndicate to make sexy (it didn’t hurt that you kind of had a thing for Siren anyway). What would you be doing celebrating Halloween if not taking advantage of the fact that no one could call you a whore for fishnets or showing skin for the night. In the end, you were right.
You smile to yourself in the mirror, the large dark trench coat, a lowcut shirt in the color of the villain's usual sweater, a blue blindfold tied around your neck as a choker instead, and a far-too-short skirt accompanied with ripped fishnets. It was the perfect combo, just the right amount of ‘slutty’. You did a little spin for yourself with a giggle before collecting your things to leave. You shove your wallet, keys, and other various things in your bag, and jump when you finally hear the familiar sound of a knock on your front door.
“Hey, Wil,” you greet him with a smile. He stood there looking quite uncomfortable in his own costume, a dress-down version of The Blade with a fake plastic sword to match. “Looking unhappy,” you poke and he seems stunned by your own outfit, his gaze running up and down for the third time. You must desperately attempt to shake off the way the attention is making your heart race. You can’t help the flush that rises to your cheeks when you realize he may really be staring. You distract yourself by quickly locking the door to your apartment, your hand fiddling with your keys.
“Sorry, uh, you did a much better job dressing up than I did,” he says, lifting his arms, gesturing to himself and his costume. You look at him, stifling a laugh. His cape is thin and not quite long enough leaving it to fall awkwardly, not to mention the fur trim shedding. He didn’t bother with any makeup nor did he get a cheap mask.
“S’kinda a pathetic attempt, Wil,” you say as you close the door behind you “Nothing you can do now though, I’ll just be cool and sexy and you can be…” you trail off and shrug. He makes an exasperated sound before walking down the hall ahead of you so he can hold open the door to the stairwell.
“Why did you choose Siren in the first place, I think I could have been an amazing Siren, alas,” he jokes and you push his shoulder, hurrying down some of the stairs so he couldn’t shove you back.
“Oh with your beautiful curly brown hair, you’d look exactly like him,” you make exaggerated quotation marks you roll your eyes “As if,”
“And what do you think about Siren?” he asks as you both continue down.
“I think,” You tap your finger to your chin, pretending to be deep in thought, “I think I'd like it if he used his voice on me in the bedroom and this costume is my cry for help” You wink again at him with the half-joke as both of you finally get to the street, this time you hold the door open for him. You notice the slight flush across his cheeks but decide to ignore it, maybe you had taken the banter too far?
“It’s at Nick’s flat right?” you ask in an attempt to alleviate the silence.
“Yeah, so maybe we be a bit careful tonight?” he says and you think of all the horror stories that have stemmed from Nick's parties. It goes from alcohol poisoning to drug busts, but still, Nick seems to revel in the attention of a party. You decide a couldn’t be me attitude would be much more fun to move forward with. His expression is one of trepidation though as his eyes again seem to scan over you.
“I’ll be as safe as I care to be considering Halloween is only one night a year, Wilbur, besides this is my last Halloween in college,” you whine just slightly, picking up your pace as you look at the other people in costumes with a grin. Your gaze goes up to the Halloween lights hanging from far-up apartments and then up still to the full moon glancing down at you through the high-rise buildings.
“So you want to get wasted?” he asks with a raised brow. Is that even a question?
“Naturally,” you hum “that’s why you’re here,” you poke him jokingly as he once again lets out a sigh. “Don’t start pouting, Wil,”
“It’s not pouting just because I care about your general safety, y/n,”
“Okay, okay, okay,” you stop and turn to him with a serious expression “I will not on purpose put myself in a nightmare party scenario, promise, okay?” you give him your best innocent smile. You really should have just gone alone, braved that horrible mistake by yourself, but now he was here, for better or worse.
“I’d be satisfied if I believed you,” he says and you decide to give him your own frown, a quick fall of your face.
“Again, that’s why I have you,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him along that last block to the designated apartment building. “You also have the added benefit of making me look good when your costume looks like that,” you say as you pull him into the elevator, it’s an attempt to lighten up the atmosphere a little bit, but all he does is grimace.
“Guess I’ll just follow you around and take care of you all night,” he jokes dragging on the sentence.
“Wil,” You whine again, stopping just outside the door, listening to the muffled bass of whatever music was playing. “I’ll be on my best behavior, okay? I don’t wanna tarnish Siren’s good name.” you smile pulling open the door and very quickly disappearing into the moving mass of people. Wilbur was easy to spot, one look behind you gave way to his towering frame. He looked out of place in the moving lights and sea of bodies in costume. You watched as his eyes searched for you and when you saw recognition cross his face you gave him two big thumbs up before disappearing from his sight again.
He would be okay.
It wasn’t with the intent to ruin his night or worry him, in fact, there was no ill intent at all, but you couldn’t let your time at this party be dampened by a crush on your best friend that was going nowhere. There was no way in hell you could flirt with anyone with him by your side and you did not dress like this with no intention of having at least a little fun. He could bear to loosen up anyway, fuck, he could have anyone he wanted here if he just tried. You scanned the horizon, quickly finding yourself a red solo cup filled with punch that smelled almost exclusively of cheap vodka.
“Siren?” someone asks and you turn to find a man dressed as a firefighter, plain but he seems nice enough, his smile warm. He was tall with pushed-back dirty blonde hair, he wasn’t Wilbur. His costume looked cheap, half-haphazardly thrown together but he was nice on the eyes and, god, you weren’t looking for perfect, not tonight.
“In the flesh,” you smile, taking a long drink of the foul-tasting liquid in your cup. “Need to be saved or I guess ruined?” you joke and he chokes just slightly with his own laugh.
“Maybe, if you’d be the one doing it?” he asks and you roll your eyes with a smile.
“Or maybe you can save poor defenseless me from a fire? Quite an unoriginal costume,” you confess and he shrugs.
“Well if we stand next to each other you can make up for my lack hm? You look fucking gorgeous.” his hand sneaks its way around your waist and you giggle even though you aren’t quite impressed by his advances, it’s nice to hear a compliment for once. The punch made it easier to feign interest as the tendrils of mind-numbing drunkenness began to leave you feeling just a bit less grounded. You found yourself on a couch forced to sit way too close to the man who you haven’t even caught the name of yet.
‘What is your name then? I can’t just call you firefighter all night,” You ask as the both of you sit down with his arm slung around your shoulders.
“It’s William,” he says with a smile and you can’t help the wince that crosses your face, it’s just a bit too close when you could get away with calling him Will, Wil being a man that was lost to whatever corner of this party he decided to dedicate himself to.
“William,” you smile “I’m y/n, but you gotta keep calling me Siren, baby,” you give with a wolfish smile “Pretend I’ve compelled you if it helps?” you joke and the both of you laugh together, you don’t know when but at some point that red solo cup became full again with that horrid punch. You continued to sip at the beverage as the man spoke of nothing of interest, what was really interesting was the way his large hand was massaging your leg, moving up and up.
The alcohol did nothing to stop you from imagining it was Wilbur’s hand, nothing to stop you from wishing the blonde touching you was instead brunette.
“Y/n?” You turn at the familiar lilt of your name to see Wilbur with a disappointed expression.
“Oh, did you two come here together, with the matching costumes I mean?” William asks, the words more whispered in your ear than anything. You wince.
“Yeah, he’s just a friend though,” You assured William with a small wink. He nodded, lifting his hand. What you didn’t see is the way the word ‘friend’ made Wilbur stiffen. “I’ll be right back, but next time I’m gonna sit in your lap, okay?” you tease as you stand on shaky legs, Wilbur is quick to stabilize you, his hands on your hips for a fleeting moment and then retreating much to your disappointment.
You let him walk you outside to the small balcony, his hand taking that cup from you. When the cool fall air enters your lungs and leaves your bare legs cold. It all makes you feel just a bit more sober than you had inside. Wilbur had dragged you to this very place before, at parties you barely remember except for what was relayed to you the day after in stories that still embarrass you now. Though you always remembered him, the view of the city from above, and worried questions to make sure you were still having fun.
At least he cared, even if it wasn’t in the way you wished he did.
“So have you seen Nick yet?” you ask him with a sheepish smile but the tension doesn’t alleviate “You have no right to be mad at me, Wil.” you say quietly, feeling like you are getting scolded by a parent. You avoid looking at him and decide to lean on the railing to look down hopelessly at the moving cars and endless traffic. The view is beautiful if not dizzying when you look straight down over the edge.
“You are sitting on some stranger’s lap basically begging him to fuck you when you said you would at least try and be safe, what the fuck, y/n?” and you can’t help the way you freeze at his heightened volume, at the tone of his words. It’s almost like jealousy, but you are too smart to allow yourself to dream that it is.
“You don’t fu-fucking own me?” you say, taking a step back with your arms wrapped around your body, a slight hiccup giving way to just how much alcohol you may or may not have consumed. “You’re being an asshole,”
“Because I don’t want some guy to take advantage of you?” he asks and you shake your head. You wish he didn’t have a point, but you can’t push down your own hurt long enough to listen to it.
“Because you’re acting like you actually fucking care!” maybe you’ve let on to too much; You let out a frustrated huff “God, leave me alone, Wilbur,” you say, spinning on your heel, albeit with a bit of a waver, in the intent to walk away. His hand catches your wrist. “Wilbur,” you turn with his name.
“Don’t you say I don’t care? Do you even listen to me?” he says and all he is doing is fueling the argument, the frustration clouded by the alcohol making your brain just a bit fuzzy. If you look long enough you’ll see he’s not angry but hurt.
“Drop it! Okay, just drop it. I’m gonna go fucking enjoy myself if you want to go mope in a corner be my fucking guest,” you rip your arm away from him, storming back to the man, William, who is still waiting for you on the couch. Frankly, it’s more interest than Wilbur has ever shown you, it makes your stomach turn. He grins when he sees you coming back over.
“Who was that?” he asks as you slink your way into his lap, sitting sideways with your back against the armrest of the couch, his hand quickly finds its place back on your waist, his other returning to your thigh.
“Just a friend who wants to ruin my fun, but I didn’t let him,” you lean in, cupping William’s cheek with a smile before pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s more forward than you were planning on being tonight but you gather Siren would take what he wanted anyway and, you just want to have fun. William hums into the kiss, deepening the action with his hand from your waist sliding up until it’s on the back of your neck. He isn’t the best kisser but he definitely isn’t the worse.
“Seems fun-killer isn’t done with you,” he says as he pulls away. You let out a groan and he laughs.
“Get ready for a show I guess,” you reply with a small chuckle of your own.
“y/n, we’re going home,” you turn to Wilbur, laying back dramatically across William’s lap.
“Have you met William, Wilbur? Both of your names are sooooo alike,” you say and he seems uncomfortable as the two make eye contact. You pluck William’s beer from his hands before taking a swig. You don’t quite know where your own drink went anyway. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to leave yet, but you can be my guest and leave without me,” you offer and you can tell the way you’re pushing his buttons, learned how to do it very well in your two years of friendship through practice and observation. He clenches his jaw ever so slightly, it means you’ve gone too far.
“I’m not doing this,” he says and you sit there for a moment, looking up at him before standing with a frown.
“Sorry,” you whisper into William’s ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You place that beer back into his hands with a shrug. “If I don’t comply he’ll really start a scene,” you joke but still find yourself tugging the taller man back to the balcony by his hand in yours. When you get out there you don’t know what to say. You feel drunk, fuzzy, and he’s looking at you. It makes you want to cry.
“I’m not having this conversation again, we need to just go home,” he says and you shake your head. You don’t want to go home, you wanna enjoy yourself, you want to fix this. You wish there weren’t tears in your eyes, you wish you didn’t feel pathetic.
“No, please, we can have fun,” you promise, taking his hand “I had a fucked week okay?” you watch the way he eyes you, his gaze falling down to that costume again, and you shouldn’t be excusing your behavior but you are.
“Y/n,”
“I won’t go talking to random people anymore, just you,” you say and his face seems to get just slightly pink “No more William,” he looks away from you, taking his own long look at the city so often plagued by chaos when now it is so blissfully normal, honking cars and trailing laughs up from the street. He turns to you again, his jaw less tense. The warm string lights make him handsome even in the shitty costume.
“Fine but-” he relents and a smile breaks onto your face. It’s not like losing William even matters much to you when you get to stay, when you get to keep Wilbur, even if just as a friend.
“I won’t let go of your hand, okay?” and he rolls his eyes, letting you pull him back inside. You smile to yourself, it’s nice, his hand is warm in yours. It’s like living out a dream, seeing the way people look at you and then at your hand in his. You turn to look at him yourself, his expression uneasy. “I hope you know how to dance, big man,” you tease.
The music moves through the room in waves, bass that makes the floor practically vibrate. Dancing is easy, comes like breathing especially when you are drunk. Wilbur is stiff as you grab his other hand, lifting his arms in an attempt to get him to have fun. His brows still furrow.
“I’m not very go-” he starts, his words barely audible.
“Just pretend then,” you smile as people move around you, bumping in and out. It’s like being in the eye of the storm, the way the music fades out, and leaves you with just Wilbur’s face illuminated by the shifting colors. He’s pretty even when he’s out of his element, he’s attractive no matter what in your eyes.
You yelp as hands find their way to your waist, you turn to find William completely ignoring Wilbur’s presence. He grinds up against you in time to the horrible beat of the music and you have half the mind to return the action when Wilbur pulls you away by your wrist until your back is pressed against his chest. It’s weirdly possessive, protective maybe was the better word.
“Fuck off, man,” Wilbur spits.
“Thought you two were just friends?” William asks and you feel like the room is just a bit off-kilter, moving in a way that doesn’t feel quite right.
“You thought wrong now fuck off.” Wilbur replies and it makes heat rise to your cheeks as you look up at him. His expression is sharp, dark eyes seemingly darker as he tells the other Will off.
“Fucking slut, Christ,” You hear William say and it makes you freeze just slightly. It makes you feel sick, makes that alcohol cause the room to really begin to spin.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Wilbur spits and there is something about the words that doesn’t feel quite right, charged in a way that words shouldn’t be. You watch as William’s face screws up and he doesn’t say anything as he retreats with a terrified look on his face, you shiver. There is more attention on the two of you when you look around, eyes that only seek to worsen your growing dizziness. You squeeze Wilbur’s hand with an involuntary whine. He is quick to wordlessly nod and allow you to pull him to the bathroom.
He enters the small room trailing behind you, his face adorned with his ever-present worried expression. The bathroom greets you just as it should, with fluorescent lights that are blinding after the dim ones of the living room. The ache of the overstimulation grounds you away from your own inebriation.
“Darling, are you okay?” he asks as he locks the door behind him. You don’t allow yourself to linger on the pet name.
“A bit dizzy,” you mumble as you steady yourself against the counter. You don’t expect the way he crowds your space, searching your face for any actually worrying signs of your condition “I-I’m okay, that was just, a lot,” he hums, leaning away. You take in a shaky breath.
“You didn’t need to do all that, William-, he’s not horrible,” you say, your words slightly strung together. Your gaze finds his for a brief moment to see something like lingering frustration on his features. Fucking, Slut. You shake your head, try and steady yourself but those words shook you more than you would have liked. Fucking. Slut. and you guess he isn’t wrong, you guess that’s what you are, what you must be.
You think of Wilbur biting back, the way he came to your defense makes your chest feel warm. It doesn’t make sense to you. You don’t understand what stake he has with your time, with anything to do with you. For a brief pause you feel sick again, a horrible wave of nausea that you combat by focusing on the cool bathroom counter pressing into your back.
“He’s a fucking asshole,” Wilbur says and you groan slightly, losing your balance and falling forward just slightly. He’s there like he always is, to ease you, your forehead pressed into his chest. “You don’t need to defend him, okay? He should not have even touched you let alone called you that,” His costume smells like cheap chemicals and spilled beer, under it is how his room smells, how he smells, something so distinctly Wilbur. It calms you more than you should let it but you can’t bring yourself to create distance right now when the only thing your brain is allowing you to crave is this proximity.
Wilbur raises a hesitant hand that finds itself smoothing down your hair; He tries to relax you further. It does nothing to ease the spinning nor the feelings you are trying to push down like bile you hope never comes. You step back, press yourself as far away from him as possible, his confused expression makes your heart ache.
You think then of the moment before, the vibration of his voice? Something was different.
“Your voice,” you start and you see the way Wilbur’s eyes widen, the mention startles him. “What did you do back there? It was like- like Siren-shit,” you giggle slightly at the idea, the concept that the always sweet man in front of you could be a villain, whether The Blade as he is dressed now or Siren.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, taking his own step back until he meets with the beige wall of the bathroom. The word itself is an admission of something, what? You don’t know. You watch as he seems to be going through his own mental battle, the crease of his brow for once not caused solely by worry for you. “Whatever,” he starts and you watch as his shoulders fall. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this or maybe it’s not the best time but, whatever.” you watch with bated breath as he seems to consider his next statement carefully.
“I’m Siren.” he says and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your mouth. It’s the most absurd thing you’ve heard all night. Wilbur is Siren? The idea can’t make you stop laughing.
“No, no you aren’t,” you say, still giggling but his expression remains severe, focused. You cock your head then and the energy shifts.
“Do you want me to prove it to you?” he asks and if this is his idea of a practical joke well you guess you had found it funny just moments ago.
“You can’t be serio-” you start.
“Shhh,” and you find that you can’t speak. First, it’s fear that runs over your body then the realization that he really isn’t lying. You still can’t talk nor freak out until the word leaves him “Speak,”
“What the fuck,” is pulled from you as soon as he utters the command and you can’t help the way your heart is racing. “Shit, I mean seriously what the fuck are you joking right now? Am I like super drunk or like I-”
“Sorry, darling, I forgot you had been drinking,” he laughed himself, stepping forward again. “Really bad timing, I know,”
“Y-you’re Si-” he puts a hand over your mouth.
“Let’s not keep saying it, okay?” and you nod as he lowers his hand again. A strained silence runs between you two.
Your costume and even worse what you had said earlier.
“I think I'd like it if he used his voice on me in the bedroom and this costume is my cry for help”
You flush, hiding your face in your hands as you shake your head. You can’t help the laugh that finds you again, that blooms out of your own embarrassment. He watches as you laugh, keeping your own face hidden. You don’t know how you’ll ever even look him in the eyes again after what you said earlier about Siren and his powers. It’s like all at once so many things are clicking together, his flush after what you had said, the sometimes weeks at a time he would seemingly fall off the face of the earth, and how he always avoided the topic of supervillains in general. It all still feels absurd but in a strange way, it clicks.
“Are you okay?” he asks again and you instinctally shake your head with another nervous laugh.
“I’m embarrassed,” you confess, finally uncovering your face and finding him to be closer than you were expecting. You look from his brown eyes which would be concealed by the blindfold to his brown curly hair that so suddenly is that familiar villain’s. He really is Siren.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed?” he says confused and you huff.
“What I said earlier-” and he lets out his own chuckle, music to your ears. Your heart beats a bit faster with the sound.
“Like I haven’t heard worse from people just as unassuming as you were, besides-” he seems to consider his words for a moment “This time it’s coming from someone I’d actually consider getting with,” and it’s then that your world seems to shatter even further. He seems to be watching you carefully, assessing your reaction to what he has just said.
“Sorry, what?” you ask, your voice almost inaudible.
“Guess it's the day of confessions,” he says and you watch the way he winces, uncomfortable.
“You would sleep with me?” you ask matter of factly and this time he flushes, adamantly shaking his head.
“No, not just that, I-” he looks at you again “Darling, god, I want more than to just sleep with you,” the energy of the small bathroom shifts for the second time that night. You can’t tear your eyes away from him as you feel like you are in absolute disbelief at what he’s just said. The party moves without you both as it feels as though the world has stopped moving altogether except for the low muffled thrum of the music that is a room away.
You step forward, your breath hitching.
When you get on your tiptoes to kiss him he’s quick to cull the distance for you, to plant his hands on your hips and press you back against that counter. It’s so far from soft the way he almost desperately returns the action. He kisses you like you’ve been dreaming of, like you’ve only allowed yourself to imagine as a comfort, a wild fantasy.
“You look so good tonight, fuck, it was so hard to see you practically wearing my clothes in another man’s lap,” and butterflies fill your stomach at his words. You yelp when he bends down to lift you up onto the counter. He places himself between your legs before hesitantly connecting your lips again, taking his time piecing you apart. It’s finally slow, leaving your head swimming as his tongue finds itself moving against yours, and fuck you, of course, he’s good.
“Sorry, I was, uhm, drowning out my feelings for you in someone else,” you confess as you catch your breath and hurt crosses him for only a moment.
“Then I should have got the guts to tell you sooner,” he whispers.
“We both should of,”
“At least now we can make up for lost time,” he rumbles out, kissing at your neck as you stifle a whine from your throat by covering your mouth with your hand.
“Please fucking pick a room that isn’t the only bathroom!” a voice erupts from outside the door accompanied by a loud knocking. You both pull away from one another as your covered mouth muffles the ensuing giggle that bubbles out of you.
“Guess we should get out of here,” you say and he nods, taking your hand and helping you onto your shaky legs. He pulls you through the moving crowd of the party until you are out of Nick’s apartment. It’s then that he takes the time to kiss you again, a chaste kiss to your forehead that lingers because it’s the first time affection like this has been allowed to.
“What now?” he asks you and you can’t help but shrug. You never thought you would get this far.
“We can go to mine?” a pause “Maybe you can use that voice on me a bit more,” and he raises an eyebrow.
“Is that something you want?” he asks and you are quick to nod. “Keep up then, darling,” it’s strange the way the command washes over you, this time you are more aware as your whole body seems to tingle before you are compelled to let him pull you to the elevator. Wilbur doesn’t lose the opportunity to push you against the metallic wall as soon as those doors slide shut and he’s pressed the button for the bottom floor. He attacks your lips before quickly moving down to finish what he was doing before, marking at your neck by sucking and then nipping with his teeth. You don’t resist the moan that escapes you; You can feel the way his lips upturn into a smile against your skin.
“Christ, look at you,” he breathes out as the elevator dings and he steps away after his hand intertwines with yours. You don’t have time to process the absolute whiplash of his affections before he is walking again. Your body is once again pulled to him by whatever force lies behind his voice, it’s a nice thrum through you, a buzz that is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. He looks back at you occasionally and every time it makes your heart swell.
When you finally get inside your apartment he is pressing you against the door.
“I really like you,” you blurt out as finally you regain full control of your limbs, he intertwines your hands where is is holding them above your head against the wooden door.
“Do you?” he hums, eyes raking over you unabashedly. “I can barely believe it,” he eases his lips against yours, his own movements as calculated as yours are desperate. “Tell me about it,” he whispers into your ear, words mixed with the now familiar buzz.
“Thought you were so hot when I met you, so out of my league, didn’t wanna lose you ever but, fuck, I wanted you so bad,” you ramble as he smirks down at you. “Thought about it all the time, Wilbur, how your hands would feel, how you would feel, how your lips on mine would taste or-”
“Good girl,” he says and you sigh as the words no longer are being pulled from your pliant lips. “You’re so fucking perfect, darling, liked you for so long too, I thought you were too good for me,” and you shake your head and he laughs lightly. “I know.”
“Will you kiss me again?” you ask him.
“I’d kiss you til I’m blue in the face, my love,” and his lips are on yours all over again, languid but hot and heavy. His hands find their way to the backs of your thighs before he lifts you just slightly, you instinctually wrap your legs around him and he makes an approving sound. He carries you to your bedroom before gently setting you down on the bed. You look up at him in shaking trepidation, in the live wire of your body, you wait. His eyes are glued to the hickey just barely ghosting on your neck.
“I never want someone to touch you like that fucking asshole again, okay?” and you nod as he gets to his knees, his height leaving him at eye level with you sitting on the bed “You are mine from now on, right?” and you nod again “Use your words.”
“I’m all yours, always have been, was imagining his hands were yours,” and you find yourself covering your mouth for the countless time tonight.
“Were you? Tell me, lovely, what did you imagine me doing?” and your face is burning hot as he watches you carefully with a smug smile. You were mortified at what you were about to say but the words were leaving your mouth without protest.
“Imagine you spreading my thighs, how your warm hands would feel on my skin,” he hums, his hands gently pressing apart your legs in turn. You make a frustrated sound as his charm speak forces you to keep talking “Wanted your fingers in me, imagined your fingers, fuck,” and you whine as he lifts up the hem of your skirt and the space fills with the sound of him ripping your fishnets. You only have half the heart to complain when his fingers begin rubbing you through your underwear. “Wil-,”
“Is this what you wanted, darling?” and you nod, biting at your lip trying to not be so loud when it feels so good. He hums, low and rumbly, a sound that only makes your heart flutter as you try and move against his hand, get more friction. He stops you by moving his hands to hold down your hips against the bed. “Patience, you’ve waited this long you can wait a bit more,” he says and you shake your head.
He’s quick to shut you up, gesturing for you to crawl back onto the bed, making a satisfied sound when your head hits the pillow. He follows you in turn, his hands once again pushing up the hem of your skirt. You can see his cock pressed against his pants, hard and much bigger than you were expecting. His lips meet yours before you can express anything comprehensible to the open air, you meet the action readily, and allow his tongue to slip into your mouth. You give into him, press back with the same passion that has been sitting in you for so long, that you’ve been repressing. It’s cathartic, a release when you can’t help but moan into his mouth when his hand trails down again to rub circles against your clit through the thin layer of fabric. You gasped when he finally pushed your underwear to the side, pushing one of his fingers within you.
“That’s it,” he says watching as your mouth falls open, your face contorting into one of pleasure he’s giving you. You feel as he nips at your neck again while pumping his fingers in and out. You arch your back as the feelings of pleasure and stinging pain make you let out a desperate sound. “Just like that,” he hums against your collarbone adding another digit as he sucks a hickey onto your skin. It’s slow yet overwhelming, soft yet leaving you absolutely breathless as he fingers you. When he moves his thumb to rub against your clit he feels the way it makes you flutter around his large fingers.
“Fuck, Wilbur, Fuck,” you say as you quickly feel as though you are getting close. He continues his movements until he feels you clench around him. When he pulls his fingers out of you all that you can do is whine as he moves to be looking down at you.“Please,” you say looking into his deep brown eyes that only reveal mirth and growing desire
“Don’t you wanna come on my cock, darling?” he asks and you feel far to embarrassed to speak, he can see it in the way your eyes dart from his “Look at me and answer, darling,” and you feel your heart race as your eyes find his. Your whole body feels on fire with your ruined orgasm and the tingling of his control over you.
“Want you so bad, please, wanna cum on your cock, Wil,” he nods as you shakily say the words, begging him for more, the tingle from his powers runs down your spine in a satisfying rush.
“That’s my good girl,” he says moving quickly to kick off his black pants and boxers. You watch as his dick jumps to attention, the tip leaking precum. “Are you ready? Do you want this?” he asks, his expression serious for a moment again, clarity that blooms to you for that brief second and you nod.
“Yes, yes, Wil,” you say, cupping his cheek with your hand. He kisses you for the nth time tonight, a sensation the both of you will never get used to as he presses inside of you. The stretch stings for a moment, leaves you feeling breathless. His lips move against yours still, it cures any pain until you are moving against him just slightly, desperate for friction. He waits longer still.
“Darling, you feel so good” he purrs as he tries to reel himself in. You look at him with teary eyes, wishing he would just move, would just ruin you. He senses your impatience, feeling the way you flutter around him, pulling him in. “Hands above your head and keep them there, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear and you are quick to comply with the command, him holding them thereafter with his own hand.
“You’re gonna behave and take everything I give you, okay?” he says and you nod eagerly, biting your lip in anticipation as slowly he pulls out then presses back in with a force that makes you clench your eyes shut. His pace remains meticulous, mind-numbing as he takes his time filling you fully again, the feeling is overwhelming and indescribable. When he finally roughly thrusted into you it made you practically yelp. He keeps up the pace and you squirm under him.
“Ahhah-” leaves your mouth as your fingernails dig into your palms as you search for more stimulation. You wish you could pull at his hair, run your nails down his back, but all you can do is take what he’s giving you. His hands move down to your hips, use them to thrust into you even harder, your eyes rolling back as he fucks into you his cock hitting every perfect place. He groaned into your ear.
“No one’s ever gonna have you like this again, just me,” he rasps into your ear not slowing.
“Just you, Wil,” You whimper out pathetically relishing in the possessiveness of his words. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax, the moan from your mouth only becoming more needy, unrestrained sounds with each movement of his hips. “Are you close, my love?” he asks, pressing his nose into your neck.
“Yes,” you gasp as he somehow speeds up further while chasing his own release.
“You’re gonna come when I say,” he says and you nod, fluttering around him as you try and hold off, his hand trails down to rub at your clit only making the act harder. You hear as his breath gets caught in his throat, his thrusts losing that perfect rhythm. “Come with me, darling,” and you swear your vision goes white as you moan and clench around his cock. It’s the most earthshattering orgasm you’ve ever had and he takes the liberty to fuck you through it before pulling out and collapsing at your side. It’s hard to catch your breath as finally, you feel as though you can move your arms even as they remain now more loosely above you. The two of you lay in the silence of the both of you breathing, each of you left in strange amounts of undress, everything feels so surprisingly sharp then, fresh, that trenchcoat still worn by you so suddenly heavy.
“Do you really like me?” you ask, words that leave you smaller than before they were uttered from your lips.
“Is that a question you still feel like you need to ask?” he turns over, his hand tilting your face, your eyes going from their place on the ceiling to the heavy gaze of his brown eyes.
“I- I don’-” you start and he softly shushes you, rubbing his thumb gently across your cheek. It’s a tender moment that leaves your heart aching.
“I might love you already if I am being honest,” and it’s words that ease you along with the way his eyes watch for your reaction, run over your face in that worried way they always do, you realize that the action in itself is something like love. You press a chaste kiss to his lips and he smiles into it, humming in a pleased way.
“Can’t believe I copped a supervillain,” you joke, the both of you laughing lightly. It’s easy with him, as easy as it was when the both of you were friends. You still feel fuzzy, slightly out of it, you think he notices when he gently presses back your hair, every action soft. Your eyes fall shut as you breathe in slowly. You groan just slightly when you feel his weight lift from the bed and hear the rustling of clothes as he redresses himself.
“Let’s get you into something more comfortable, sweetheart,” he cradles you, lifting you with strength that you now realize why he has. Wilbur is Siren. You haven’t fully comprehended what it means, what it means for you, or what it means for the both of you together now. He takes you to your bathroom, placing you down on the counter before disappearing. He returns with your pajamas, an oversized shirt and some sleep shorts.
There is something so domestic about the way he is carefully helping you out of your clothes, pulling those ruined fishnets down your legs. He doesn’t linger when you are bare, sensing your own exhaustion, but simply dresses you as promised.
“Alright, I’m gonna let you finish up here and try and find some clothes I’ve left around your house, you just come out when you are ready,” he kisses your cheek before leaving with a small smile. You sigh out when he leaves with the click of the door shutting. You get off the counter, the tile floor cold under your feet. When you turn to the mirror you look at the hickies littered across your neck, your smudged dark makeup, and the disheveled state of your hair. You take your time cleaning yourself up, brushing your teeth, and using the restroom before opening the bathroom door again.
Wilbur is lying on your bed, his face illuminated by his phone screen as he scrolls idly. When he hears the door squeak open though his eyes fall to you with a matching upturn of his lips. You crawl into bed beside him and he is quick to pull you against his chest, to wrap his arms around your hips, and keep you as close as possible.
“That’s my pretty girl,” he hums and you feel heat rise to your cheeks.
“So we are dating now, Mr, Siren?” you ask and he hums.
The More That You Say the Less I Know: Witch!Wilbur Soot x Reader P7
AFAB gender-neutral reader, This fic is a part of the Sleeby Late Night Writing Fest Which will be updating frequently during October 2023.
<-Previous Part 7 Next Part ->
Warnings: Swearing, Anxiety, SFW surprisingly enough, Deep conversations, and it's an enemies-to-lovers arc so take that as you will.
You were not outwardly stressing over that gala as much as you should have been.
You: hey what is the dress code for the gala
Wiblur Scoot: White tie
You: I dont have anything nearly that fancy.
Wiblur Scoot: dont worry we can arrive a few hours sooner so we can get your measurements
You: a few hours? How is that poor designer going to make an outfit that quickly
Wiblur Scoot: magic
Wiblur Scoot: …duh
You: (eye roll emoji)
Currently, you were on the train on the way to the stop where Phil was going to be picking you and Wilbur up. Wilbur was going over as much as he could with you–traditions, rituals, which you should concern yourself with, and general etiquette.
“Okay wait–so–coven leaders are going to have the gold and gemed joined collar pins?”
“Yes–so will their partners/second in command, and close-related heirs.
“And for further related members will have silver?”
“Yes, thats right,”
“Okay, and for the coven-involved rituals, I’m just an observer?”
“Yes.”
“And–” Your brain was wirling with information. “-and the main one I should join in for–”
“--if you want to–”
“If I want to–is the Eclipse manifestation of continued personal growth and all that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “I think I’ve got it.”
“You shouldn’t have to worry about anything else–” Wilbur said quickly. “I’ll be near you the whole time and we can hang out the whole time and make fun of the old people–”
“Wilbur. I know you have big fancy coven heir duties.” You said waving your hand flippantly. “If you need to do them in a separate space or something, don't worry about leaving me behind to get those things done.” He visibly relaxed a little and smiled at you gratefully.
“Thanks for coming with me.” He said quietly. “You really didn't have to–I appreciate it.”
“Sure,” you said. “And it's okay–really, it’s all a part of my elaborate scheme to get some blackmail on you. I’m sure your dad has plenty of adorable baby photo collections of you”
Wilbur’s eyes widened and his face paled. “You wouldn't.”
“Oh, but I would.” You said grinning at him maliciously.
Wilbur took the opportunity to rapidly text something into his phone. You rolled your eyes and nudged him with your elbow. He looked over at you confused, and you blinked at him. He nudged you back and the mini elbow-nudging war would have escalated if you didn't arrive at the station.
As the train made a stop, you stood up and grabbed your bag. And headed towards the exit. As Wilbur joined you, He checked his phone and said something about heading to the fourth platform to meet his dad, the reality of your situation sunk in.
You were staying one night at Wilbur’s place.
With his family.
With his dad–Philza Craft, the Angel of Death.
All for the purpose of going to a fancy gala with him.
Gods the way you got involved in this were your own fault. But here you were, and you were about to meet Wilbur’s family, and the life he lived outside of the acadmey.
Fuck this was some reader insert shit.
You followed WiIlbur and tried not to let your anxiety get the better of you. He glanced over to you and one point and then frowned.
“Hey are you okay?”
“Me?”
Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “No, the other person I’m traveling with–Yes you.”
“I mean-” You started but winced.
Wilbur’s eyes softened. “If you want to go back-I get it its no big deal–” He started pulling out his phone, you stopped him.
“No–no, I just–this is…” you took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.” You tried for a convincing half smile but Wilbur didnt seem to buy it.
“You dont sound sure.”
“I am very much sure.”
“I dont believe you.”
“You should.”
Wilbur furrowed his brow and leaned in close to you. “You are a terrible liar.”
“I–”
“Talk to me.” He found a bench and sat down on it, and patted the spot next to him. You sighed and followed suit. “What is it?”
“I just–Don’t we have to meet your dad?” You asked in an attempt to distract the conversation. It didn’t work.
“My dad is running late. We have ten minutes. Now, tell me what is wrong.” He demanded.
“I–” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “I’m nervous Wilbur.” You said finally.
“Why?”
“I–” you sighed and avoided eye contact. “This is something that is really important to you and your family–not to mention the more powerful coven systems of the world. I dont want to fuck something up for you accidentally because I dont know the proper etiquette or social greetings–and I dont want to make you look bad.” Wilbur grabbed your hand.
“You could never make me look bad.” He said to you quietly. “The fact that i brought you with me says more about how I deem you as a talented enough witch to be in association with the Syndicate, says more then any lack of social grace you could know.”
“Are you sure?” You asked. It felt pitiful and weak.
“Yeah I’m sure.” He squeezed your hand a bit before letting go and standing up. He shot you a mischeivious grin “Now come on my dad has been waiting for eight minutes.”
Your eyes widened and you stood up and followed suit. “I thought you said he was–”
“I lied. You are more important.”
“Wilbur–” You stood up and began almost chasing him through the platform. “Get back here–”
“Wil!” you heard him before you saw him. You saw Wilbur reaching down and hugging a man a head and half shorter then him. The guy had a floppy green and white striped hat with a little beaded black feather chain hanging off the side. His smile was genuine, and his eyes crinkled around the edges, Just like Wilburs.
“Wil–There you are mate. I was worried you had gotten lost.”
“Why would you worry about that?” Wilbur said pouting and frowning a little. The two of them pulled away from the hug and the man you had only seen in textbooks and artist renditions recognized you.
“You have a tendency to get distracted mate. Who is this?”
“This is Y/N, the student who cursed those students a few weeks back?” Philza’s eyes lit up and he held his hand out to greet you
“Oh Hello! I’ve been meaning to make your acquaintance for some time now, Wilbur wil not shut up about you in his texts.”
“Phil–!” you heard Wilbur exclaim.
You shook his hand. “He seems like the type.” you admitted. “Thanks for letting me attend this gathering–I know it was kinda last minute.”
“Oh psh–It’s the least I can do. Especially for the one who gave him a punch into reality–that is one powerful left hook. Wilbur needs someone he can stand being around during these events. Last time–”
“Phil.” Wilbur’s voice interrupted. “I think we should get to the car, should we not?” Philza rolled his eyes and the three of you made your way to the vehicle.
The entire ride to Wilbur’s house, Philza entertained you with stories of Wilbur’s childhood, much to Wilbur’s increasing embarrassment.
By the time you arrived at the house, you nearly smacked Wilbur for claiming it was just a house.
In no way was it actually a just a house. It was a goddamn manor. The architecture style put it somewhere around the early 19th century. Wilbur walked in like it was no big deal and made sure you were following him as he lead you through halls and various places whereas you were glaring at him trying to keep your mouth closed from how regal it was.
“Alright.” Wilbur said after stopping to a room. “So, someone is gonna take your measurements in here, and all that stuff–the gala starts in a few hours, just text me when you are done. And I’ll show you around.”
“Oh–okay–” as you stepped into the room, you tried avoiding how small the ostentatiousness made you feel.
space au where you're travelling with a company ship, just until your contract is up and/or you have money to go back home. Well, the ship docks at a random port, giving you a little free time but when you come across the food vendors, you bump into the most beautiful man amongst the stars, his hair frames a face that beholden eyes that shine and sparkle like the three suns back home. His smile makes your heart race and he tells you to kiss him-
got home from the ren faire confused and alarmed at new followers bc i thought yall were bots jhsdbjhdf anyway hi horny jail nice to meet you sorry i mostly post hermitcraft and empires lately
