PrettyGirlsInc @prettygirlsincorporated - Tumblr Blog

let me, let me, let me

utahbur x reader - 1.2k

warnings: explicit sexual content, dubious relationship, semi-public? sex kinda not really ?, not proofread

notes: this is pure filth from me and @drop-of-void and the discord server brain rot about utah gas station wilbur,,, i want him so bad so this is literally again JUST FLITH nothing else

!!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!!

Your shift today overlapped with Wilbur’s, it usually did but ever since the two of you got together that time changed contexts. You felt butterflies fill your stomach as you looked up at the clock, only thirty minutes until he was set to arrive, if he decided to be on time for once that is. The bell rings with customers here to buy who knows what.

You sigh out, lazily watching through the security cameras beside you as two people look through the aisles. You give a polite smile when one finally comes to the counter.

“Will this be all?” you ask and they nod, fumbling with their wallet. It doesn’t take long until the store is empty again, earning you more time to be spent looking out at the empty road and the almost set sun. You can’t help it but yelp when hands are suddenly on your hips pulling you back away from the counter.

#modkitty #💗#kittysficrecs #wilbursoot #wilbur soot #smut #wilbur soot smut #mcyt #utahbur

starsyoubreaklikesugardust

i’m half doomed (and you’re semi sweet)

reader is unspecified but usage of “mama”

tw: mention of fighting, flashback of fighting,wilbur is kind of a dick, angst if you squint, unspecific fighting, mention of break up

#💗#modkitty #kittysficrecs #wilbur soot x reader #fluff #angst

l0veb0mb1ng

shrike

phantombur x elytrian!reader - 8.3k - AO3

warnings: sexual content, consequences of the omegaverse, biting, blood, pining, use of fem leaning pet names uh (sorry)

notes: is this realistic? no, mind your own business. This is very self indulgent and is mostly for me soooooo hahhahhhahhhh this ALSO is mostly not heavily edited cause <3 anyway i want phantombur to stalk me etc etc that's what this is

!! MINORS ACTUALLY DO NOT INTERACT OR READ !!

taglist: @your-shifting-gurl @lillylvjy @toiletwipes @lotusmisc @mosslovestherain @burification @sweet-soot @subbur-anon

It is a blur of falling through trees, of scratches and a horrible ache in your head. Your wings do nothing to break the fall except for the sickening crack you are blessed to hear and the concentrated searing pain. When you come to you find the soft moss of the forest floor. You let out a weak groan as pain comes up through you, swallows you whole. The world mocks you, moves and shifts, birds sing from above and bugs buzz beside your ear.

It is debilitating, the kind of pain that leaves you without the ability to speak, your mouth open in silent absence.

A nearby mansion creaks with the commotion, something deeper within stirs.

You force yourself to stand, to find more shelter than the simple shade of the trees. You can’t help the moans of pain, even as you cover your mouth to hide the groans pulled out by your movement. It was agony, a prayer that was then subsequently answered by the sight of a slightly dilapidated mansion with dark wooden walls and blessedly unbroken windows. The manor stands grand and imposing, and yet, for a moment it feels like a chance. You use that hope to scurry to a side door and invite yourself in with a sigh of relief as you sink to the floor.

Dirt covers the surfaces of the home and when you finally find the strength to stand again, you wander large empty halls, furniture covered in plastic adorned with the ominous sight of half-burnt candles, dripping wax. You find a relatively unruined room on the second floor. The bed is nice and dusty when you fall back onto it, but at least it isn’t the cold floor. You are quick to give in to your exhaustion, allow the ache of your sore body to place you into a tentative state of rest.

In the house, someone senses your presence, jumps at the sound of a shutting door. He is watching, unseen by any human eye, your sleeping form, a curious new visitor. He can’t help but stare. You are the prettiest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, his tail wagging idly as he studies the long curves of your spread-out white feathered wings, the tattered state of your clothes giving way to bruises forming on your ribs. You are injured, and yet he can’t help but think you look beautiful as you sleep, the slow rise and fall of your chest mesmerizing.

His mind is buzzing with ideas to help, thoughts less than savory, and anything that revolves around his new house guest. He digs through destroyed medicine cabinets before finding the means of wrapping a wound. He leaves antiseptic spray and gauze just outside the door of your picked-out bedroom, the door you had shut when you had fled inside the space, not that a closed door would ever do anything to keep him out. This was his home after all and corporeal walls weren’t much of a problem for the phantom anyhow.

When you wake from your long rest, more than a day has passed. You blink open your eyes, rubbing until the lack of sunlight streaming in through the window becomes apparent. You make out shadows and shapes as your eyes adjust and turn the bedroom into a bedroom again. You whimper as your nerves find the chance to remind you of bodily pain, your wing sending a sharp feeling that makes you cry out. You look at them, the pathetic state of your freedom, your wings, with tears in your eyes. You rise slowly to your feet.

You shouldn’t have fallen asleep, should have set them so long ago if you ever wished to fly again. You panic, about to make your way out the bedroom door. You freeze when you almost trip over the supplies seemingly waiting just for you.

He is watching as dread comes over your face. You can’t see him but yet he still panics, he wanted to help?

“Hello?” you call out into the dark unfamiliar home. It seems like every dark corner is staring at you but no response comes.

He is shaking with the urge to speak but wouldn’t you be frightened? A monster crawling off the chandelier, claws and fangs and devilish wings, he would wait until day, until he must hide in the shadows, but at least then the fear may be less, he wants it to be less.

You shake your head with another pathetic sound and dismiss the random kindness before taking the supplies and closing the door once more.

He moved closer, just beyond the wall where he could watch, even if maybe he should have given you privacy. He didn’t know good boundaries, he just wanted to see how an angel would fix themselves, see an angel accept his gift.

You wince, running careful hands to flatten out feathers as you prepare to check the alignment. You sigh out in relief when you find both wings not injured enough to need to be set at all. You still spray your cuts with the antiseptic your mystery friend had left you, wrapped wounds that were deeper, still bleeding, and then you silently wished you had someone to help. Preening your wings alone made tears well up in your eyes.

You had been stupid to leave home, to leave your family, your friends. You wished for the constant companionship, the lack of the pain of bruised ribs and a never-ending dull headache. You wanted to sob but opted to cry silently, avoid disturbing the silence of the grandiose home left to fall apart without care.

This would be your home, until someone kicked you out, or you could fly again. Your eyelids began to feel heavy and sleep pulled you down, your body beginning to heal. When you woke in the morning some of the aches had lessened, some bruises grew darker, and you still craved company. You thought of hands running down your feathers, smoothing out what you couldn’t. You chirped slightly before standing, going out to find food.

He had already placed an apple and a piece of bread outside the door last night. He had been waiting oh so patiently for you to wake. Your body painted in golden morning was worth any sting he got from the sunlight. He was smitten with the sight of your wings, the soft features of your face, and the perfect curves of your body.

“Hello, is anyone there?” you call out again to nothing.

Days go on like this, food being left at your door, medicine, unripped clothes. It was only slightly unsettling, but mostly it left that want for company to only grow. You wanted to face whoever was being so kind, wanted to say thank you, wanted to speak to anyone at all. The loneliness was driving you more mad than the pain, the pain made less by scavenged painkillers left just outside the doorway.

He obsessed himself with you, relished moments of false proximity when he dared to near you while you slept. He spent every waking moment looking for ways to help you. His life had never been this exciting, he only thought of you and your pretty wings, his own little angel patiently awaiting what he brought you.

That night he found himself beside your chosen bed, he ghosted his fingers just above the curve of your wings. He dreamed of touching, denied himself the action if you did not know his horrible face.

It was a week and some change when you finally couldn’t take it anymore. In the early morning, you were greeted by a steaming bowl of stew, waiting just for you.

He is perched on the chandelier again, watching, wagging his long pointed leathery tail with his own wings folded back loosely. He didn’t expect you to start crying.

“Hello? There has to be someone here with me, please, I just want to say thank you,” you say, tears falling down your cheeks as you search for movement. The house echoes with your words and creaks with the wind in response. The crystal chandelier sways in the draft through the manor and you whimper. “Fine, fine, be like that-” You are quickly silenced when shining dark eyes so suddenly meet yours.

You had not expected this.

You wish the sight didn’t make your blood run cold. He was supernatural? Large sharp bony pointed wings spread out behind him with a matching long pointed tail that swished as he studied your reaction. You watch as his strange large pointed ears twitch. His mouth opens with an intention to speak if he had not lost his words. Your eyes widen further with the sight of his sharp teeth and long clawed hands. He tries to apologize but his voice has failed him, vocal cords unused and scratchy.

You slam the bedroom door shut.

It takes you hours to settle yourself enough to think, then another few of trying to decide what to do when a knock raps at your door. It makes your blood run cold all over again. In the time it’s taken for you to collect yourselves sunlight has come and gone, every dark corner of your room seems to now be crawling with imagined movement.

“I want to apologize,” you hear a raspy voice say “I know I look unseemly, that’s why I didn’t show myself before, I didn’t want you to be scared of me,” he says the last part quieter, a croak in his speech.

“O-oh, so- but you’ve been the one helping me?” you ask shakily, slowly approaching the still-closed door. “Leaving everything outside the door?”

“Yes, you were hurt, and I-” he says, his words stiff. When you squeak open the large door his eyes are wide in surprise to see you so close willingly. He is holding a single candle, hoping the warm light calms you instead of the dark. His gaze seems less scary like this, reflecting back the flickering flame in irises so nearly black. He was enamored with you so present, blinking at him, seeing him.

“W-what are you?” you ask hesitantly.

“A phantom,” he purrs just slightly. “You're an elytrian, yes?” his speech comes out stunted as the word leaves his lips, his tail wags again as you perk up with the question. The phantom knew more than he was letting on, he had read every book in the large library of the manor, had heard many stories of the flighted elytrians. All stories of those white feathered wings, wings so opposite from his own. You were beauty incarnate so close to him, to a monster, and god did you look good in the warmth of the candlelight.

“Yea,” you breathe out.

“I’ve heard stories, read stories,” he says, leaning closer “It’s just so much more mesmerizing in person,” and you want to hope he means good but his attention makes you uneasy. You watch in abject horror as he raises his clawed hand, and runs his fingers carefully over your feathers, straightening them out as if it’s a tactless action. You can’t help the way you melt into it, become relaxed with the craved feeling of touch. “Sorry,”

“No, no, please,” you say to try and stop him from apologizing further, from hiding away again. “Sorry, it’s been so hard being alone and unable to fly, I can’t reach some of the feathers to straighten them, and my wing is still far too injured to even bend in the way I would need to just- please help?” you shake yourself back to the stranger.

He can’t believe this is happening to him, that his pure angel wants him to touch them with his hands. His eyes memorize your pleading face before he nods.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

“Wilbur,” he says as he’s quick to pick up some of the various medicines he’s given you. “This will help it heal,” he whispers, carefully applying one of the things he had left a few days ago. It doesn’t sting and his touch remains featherlight as if to avoid further pain.

“I’m y/n,” you stifle out, the words getting caught as his fingers again ran down your feathers, giving attention to your oversensitive wings. He pretended like the noises from your mouth weren’t hypnotizing as he tried to focus on helping you not getting too caught up with his practically perverted thoughts. When he was done he looked at his work, your perfect wings, perfect again, albeit still broken but healing.

You sigh and catch your breath.

“Thank you, fuck, this has sucked so bad,” you admit and he has a small smile on his lips, his fangs peaking out just slightly. It’s endearing in a strange way.

“Sorry, I just, couldn’t show myself,” he says and you shake your head. He had been so consumed with you, couldn’t live with himself if you had hated him.

“I’m sorry I freaked out, you’ve been so kind,” and he is purring lowly with the apology, with the praise.

“Just wanted to help you, pretty bird,” he says and you can’t hide the way the nickname makes you flush. He’s quickly becoming less sharp fangs and more brown curly hair, less sharp claws and more so careful hands. “A-are you tired? I don’t wanna keep you up when you’ve already had such a long day,” and you go to sit on that large bed but the sight of him leaving has you stirring.

“Wait,” you say, surprised you even could bring yourself to say it, but, fuck, you were desperate and homesick “Elytrians, we, we never sleep alone,” you say and he’s looking at you with confusion “It’s hard for me to sleep alone, I, I’m so used to being surrounded and feeling safe and would-” you look down at your hands, all of it a bit too much.

“You want my company?” he asks and you decide it's good enough when you nod. He thinks the prospect is dizzying. The sight of you crawling further into bed has him walking closer, a moth to your flame. “I can stay,” and he knows the request is innocent but he can’t help but drown in the idea of it being anything but.

He crawls into that bed that was unused for so long before you. Wilbur is careful to keep his distance, to try and remain composed. He wants to touch you again, he wants his dove to want him to touch. His brain is swimming with the way you smell so close, with the body heat radiating off your skin when he is so cold.

“Will you hold me?” you whisper and his hands are shaking as he pulls you to his chest, as he wraps his tattered leathery wings around your body. Wilbur must restrain himself when your hot breath fans up his neck as you exhale in relief. You are so warm in his arms, so perfect. “Thank you,” you mumble as you drift off so easily.

You wake alone, the bed bathed in sunlight. You stretch out your wings, have them span the large room with a sigh. It’s the first day the pain is not too much without those gifted painkillers. You want to thank him again, Wilbur, a name that now eased you even after just under a day of knowing it.

You wander the halls now unburdened, just a slight limp in your step. Your finger runs over the mantle of a large fireplace and collects dust that makes you wince. You only yelp slightly when suddenly Wilbur is standing beside you, eyes so reverently studying your expression.

“Fuck, you scared me,” you huff a bit, wiping your hands off on your pants. He gives a sheepish smile, one that shows off sharp teeth and the crinkle of his eyes. “Can you just- go invisible?” you ask hesitantly and he nods.

“Keeps me from burning in the sun,” he says quietly, then reaching his hand through the wall, “I can do this too,” and he flushes as you look at his arm in wonder, the way it simply slipped through the wall, his body becoming more translucent for a moment. He retracted it back and became fully visible once again.

“Oh, I’ve never seen anything like that,” you say softly. He can’t help the wag of his tail at your attention, at the soft lilt of your voice. He wants your gaze to never leave him and yet it so quickly returns to the dust, to the unkempt state of his manor. “Have you always lived here?” you ask.

“For the most part,” he answers and you chew at your bottom lip.

“I don’t mean to offend you but, it’s quite messy,” you laugh a little in an attempt to lighten the oppressive weight of his gaze.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to say and you shake your head.

“Maybe I can help you? Clean in exchange for healing here? I mean you’ve already done so much for me and I’ve just cooped myself up in that room,”

“You don’t need to, darling” he whispers but you shake your head, ignoring his politeness and the purr of the pet name.

“It’d give me something to do,” you smile.

You spend the next week busying yourself with cleaning. He sleeps in that large bed with you every night, his presence enough to ease your ache for companionship. You ignore the way he holds you impossibly closer each time, you also ignore the inkling you have that he doesn’t sleep at all. You are content to pretend that whatever relationship the two of you share is normal.

He notices when you begin to smell like him, when your own lingering scent of vanilla becomes mixed with his petrichor. It drives him crazy, makes that low desire of mine come again in full force.

“My dove, all mine, please,” one night you stir to him cooing into your hair, to his nose pressed into the crown of your head. It makes dread bubble in your stomach but his hands are carding through your feathers. You whimper into the touch, as claws dig and leave waves of pleasure to cascade down your body. “Did I wake you?” he’s asking softly.

You feign sleep and clench your eyes shut.

You hear him sigh out in relief and then feel the way his tail wraps itself around your leg.

“I’m sorry, birdy, it’s so hard,” and you take in steady breaths as he nuzzles into you again. You fall into a light sleep that doesn’t cease the crawling of your skin.

He just needs to wait, you’ll give in to him eventually. Wilbur can savor the proximity, can let it get him high enough to be sated. You’ll be his pretty bird in time, you’ll be all his, you’ll be begging for him, he just needs to wait.

You notice that after that night he strays closer to you, shows himself more often, and the sinking feeling of being watched almost never leaves.

“Would you ever leave this house?” you ask him one day as you stretch out your wings while sweeping the foyer, the last light of day cutting in and painting you golden. He hides in a dark corner watching, practically drooling at the sight of you.

“It’s all I know, just these walls and what I’ve read in books,” he says and your face screws up as you look at him. Your attention is stifling, burns almost the same way sunlight does.

“You know me,” you say softly “We could leave,” you offer but the dream simply fades into the open space, is swallowed by dust particles that float in the light.

“You would not want to bring me back, dove, not when I look like this and you-” he stops himself but takes in a shuttering breath “You are so beautiful, angel,” and the compliment makes your face hot, your heart race, and your hands holding that broom shake. No one ever spoke of you like that, like something to be revered, to be worshipped.

The moment passes.

He’s read enough about elytrians, can’t stop himself from obsessing further now that he has you, he knows what you will like, knows gifts that are common between those that are courting one another. He sets them outside your door just like before he had shown himself to you at all. Then he hides and watches. He places himself on that familiar crystal chandelier and waits patiently for you to wake.

A wooden bowl of berries greets you when the door swings open, it makes your face flush more than it should.

You don’t understand.

It’s a practice between your kind, the beginning of a courting ritual. One flies down to collect these same red berries to bring them to their object of affection, it’s a show of care, it’s proof that one is capable, it’s not something anyone has ever done for you, and yet you were now holding that small bowl of fruit in your hands, sitting at the edge of that often shared bed.

You thought of his arms wrapped around you, his wings shielding you from anyone’s sight but his own. You thought of those pet names that made your heart flutter and now this?

He watches the tentative way you eat them, he’s never felt so alive.

Wilbur still avoids you the entire day, doesn’t show his face even as the sun has gone and set with an aching finality. You wait restlessly in bed for his company, for the weight of his touch, for his fingers to preen your wings idly. He doesn’t come.

He feels sick with his obsession now to do things right by you. He reads endlessly on courting, on anything elytrian. He collects all the books he can, novels that range from stories of adventures that just so happen to surround an elytrian to factual counts of elytrian life. He hides himself in the corner of the library, knees pressed to his chest, his nose in a book. He would make this perfect for you, leave you no reason to say no, he could be the perfect mate.

The next day there is a silver necklace outside your door. An ornate silver chain with a simple pendant.

Shiny, a part of your brain supplied.

It made you swoon as you picked it up, weighed it in your hand, and looked out to find him. He must be watching. You place it into your pocket and move to clean the house. You would not wear it, yet?

The new courting was overwhelming, his absence in any physical sense left a hole in your life. You wished to hear the rasp of his voice to now run your hands hesitantly over his featherless wings.

You didn’t want to consider the complexities of it all. You didn’t want to think about your nearly healed wings. You didn’t want to even ponder a life where you stayed in this manor and yet he tempted it.

Wilbur saw your longing, soaked in that form of want. It was small proof that you could want him, could desire him the same way he desired you. His head spun with courting and mating and mine. He tried to repress his own instincts, the ones that turned to violence, to possessive acts. This was not about him, not about biting at your neck, marking your perfect skin as his. He shook with the thought of your taste on his tongue, the idea of sounds pulled from your mouth that would taste even sweeter.

Night came quickly again with the distinct lack of Wilbur.

“Wilbur,” you called out into the empty house, you wandered, your wings dragging on the ground hopelessly, collecting dirt you had yet to clean.

“Your wings,” he says, appearing in front of you. You gasp, then you are quick to wrap your arms around his neck, to cling to him. “They are getting dirty,” he states matter of factly but he can’t help the purr deep in his throat as you hold him for a moment before stepping back.

“Don’t leave me like that,” you mumble as you recollect the distance between you two. Your eyes trace his wings, imagine how far they must span if he stretched them out like you do as opposed to almost always having them folded against his back. His tail swishes behind him.

“I-” he begins but closes his mouth, his large ears twitching slightly.

“If you want to court me, y-you can’t just disappear,” you whisper lowly and his tail wags. It’s a recognition of his acts that he hadn’t expected. “and we need to talk about it,” his chest falls out.

“Pretty bird, just-” you shake your head, fluttering and fluffing up your wings.

“I want it to stop,” you say “I need time to think about it okay? and the gifts, they make my head all fuzzy,” you admit, taking another step away from the man.

He feels sick all over again. Wilbur watches the way you step back, create purposeful distance. Was he not good enough? Was he too much of a monster for someone as perfect as you? He was too sharp, too disgusting, not enough. He drowns in the feeling. He compares. You must know others as beautiful as you, with wings that are soft, not sharp. You must be terrified of him. You must think he is everything wrong with the world, and he had tried to court you in some false show of behaviors that were not his.

“Wilbur?” you ask hesitantly because it’s as if he is miles away, not present even when only a few feet ahead of you. “Wilbur?” you say his name again and his gaze meets yours for a split second before the phantom disappears completely. You are alone again and that necklace is burning a hole in your pocket.

You escape to your room and the bed feels empty as you collapse into it. You do not wake to any arms pulling you into them, you sleep alone, and wake with a horrible feeling you can’t shake.

You miss him, have missed him, and yet you can’t bring yourself to call out to him again. You carry around the necklace in your pocket as you head out the front door. You sit down in the soft overgrown grass. You stretch out your wings, really stretch them out for the first time since being injured.

You would go home.

You told yourself.

You would go home and you would not miss the strange ghost. You would find someone good, someone else who would want you. You would go through these same motions and the courting would not ache. A frustrated groan leaves your lips a sound pulled not just from your spiraling thoughts but from the pain of stretching your wings. They extend back far, your full wing span on display.

Wilbur’s amazement haunts you as you run your hands carefully over feathers and imagine the dutiful way he would touch them. You think of his hands preening feathers, you think of the intimacy of it all, and your face is hot.

You just need to breathe for a second, you pad your way into the trees. You listen to birds sing, songs that fill the open air and leave you calm. Pairs call to one another, communicate with the beautiful whistling tones, and flap their wings. It’s another horrible reminder of home, of companionship, of courting.

You think of the shrike, of birds of prey, food left impaled until no longer squirming.

You think of Wilbur, try and decide if you are prey or really an equal in his eyes. His reverence was that of desire and you could only hope his scary appearance really was just scary. That he would never dig his talons into you, that you were his to coddle not cull.

Nevertheless, you return to the manor, it greets you with its silence, and Wilbur doesn’t bother to show his face. You spend the day cleaning still, get more done than you have in weeks as you focus completely on the task at hand. When you step back the living room looks lived in aside from the, now clean, plastic protecting the furniture.

When you are done you mope your way back to your room.

It’s empty.

It’s what you had expected. You crawl under the covers, wrap your own wings around your body, and pretend that it’s him. You take out that necklace, putting it on by carefully undoing and redoing the clasp. You then hold yourself closer until those white feathers hide away any semblance of the world you want to leave behind. You forced yourself to imagine being home, again to imagine an elytrian courting you, that this necklace was theirs, not Wilbur’s.

Yet, it’s still Wilbur in your dreams.

He is holding you close, kissing at your neck, taking the chain of that necklace in between his teeth. You shudder under his attention, and shake as he runs his fangs over the column of your throat. It is so painfully him, achingly so. You can see his large pointed ears, the expanse of his tattered leathery wings, and the curls of his brown hair.

“All mine, my pretty birdy,” he breathes out, his hands on your hips, his wings shielding you from any sight that is not him, caging you against the mattress.

You wake up with tears in your eyes.

Wilbur hears you crying.

Three more days pass before you see him again. It’s an accident when you do, him panicking when you catch him sitting in the middle of the floor in the library surrounded by books. It’s nighttime, past when you would usually be asleep already, but you had been restless, adamant to clean more, be better, escape any possible dream that would be full of him.

He looks at you now and can barely breathe. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten just how much you make his cold heart race.

His wings are outstretched behind him, larger than you ever could have imagined them being. It makes your stomach flip, that necklace burning against your skin. He is supposed to scare you and yet you stumble towards him. You collapse yourself down, rest your head in his lap, and pray silently he won’t shoo you away. It’s a plea for comfort, for his presence.

“Hi, pretty bird,” he says slowly and you nod, pushing yourself further, wrapping your arms around his middle. He is quick to busy himself with your wings, to run his clawed fingers through those feathers making you sigh, melt, crumble into him.

Wilbur couldn’t take his eyes off the dainty chain around your neck. You had accepted the gift, you were his, in a small way, and now this. He was petrified of messing this up as well. You make a pathetic sound as he finds a place where your wing is tense. He resists the urge to properly preen you again, the courting books had said it was quite intimate, but yet you hummed in pleasure when his hands carded further.

“Wil,” you exhale his name before scrambling slightly to your knees, no longer clinging to his body. He saw the way your eyes seemed to be glued to his own wings. “C-can I touch?” you ask and Wilbur doesn’t even think before nodding. He flexes his wing to you as you crawl to his side. Your hands run over the leathery skin carefully and that familiar sound of him purring is welcomed by your waiting ears.

“Dove, you shouldn-'' and he doesn’t continue his sentence as he bites at his lip, muffling his own sounds, an action that was usually your own. Your touch made him feel depraved, made those desires beg to consume him. He flinched away from you. “Lovely, it’s too much,” he says and you move to look at his face. You reach up your hand to his cheek, a hand that is practically burning hot against his skin.

He watches, not daring to breathe, as your finger prods at his lip, then presses against that sharp tip of one of his fangs. Your eyes widen as blood is so easily drawn and Wilbur can’t stop himself from licking at your finger. He whines at the metallic taste and it’s only then do you press back away from him, create the distance required for the two of you to simply talk and not indulge in each other’s company without the presence of sense.

“I accept,” you say, fluttering your wings with an inhale. “The courting,”

Wilbur grins with that familiar crinkle of his eyes.

He wants to bite you, to nip at your skin. He wants to dig his hands into those perfect feathers until all you can do is whine for more. He wants the only word from your mouth to be his name. He wants you. His pretty bird, his angel, his dove, his mate.

“My angel,” he says instead.

“You will finish the courting though, I- please,” you say and he nods quickly, summoning the knowledge again instead of drowning in every single idea of his that revolves around you. “And you’ll come to bed,” you add and the both of you laugh. It feels lighter again, like brief moments the two of you have shared of getting to know one another while you had idly cleaned and he had watched.

He takes your hand gently when you stand, allows you to pull his lanky form to your bedroom, the only one that is clean and made. He can’t help the groan he lets out laying down here again, can’t help the way you can hear his rushed heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, follows the movement, and reflects it in his wings. You stretch to do the same, to shield and cover him in your white pristine feathers.

Wilbur couldn’t contain himself. You returned his affections. You were going to be his mate, were going to be his, all his. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, scents you until that vanilla is mixed with nothing but all that is him. You bask in the attention, sleep soundly knowing you would be wrapped up in his arms, that you would wake smelling of him.

He only leaves once his skin is burning in the intensifying morning light, regrets to let go of you in favor of not dying in your arms so early, before he has had you. He gently moves himself and celebrates when he doesn’t disturb you enough to return you to the waking world.

He has work to do.

He keeps bringing you gifts, more shiny things scavenged from the woods. You decorate yourself in them and proudly flaunt as you busy yourself with continuing your tidying of the manor. He cooks you dinner and watches intently as you eat searching for signs of displeasure. He proves to you he can take care of you, that you will need no one else. When you finally ask him to preen your wings it’s only been another week, and he can’t believe you are saying it so soon.

He finds you in candlelight and you can’t comprehend how you ever found yourself frightened of him. He purrs as you can’t resist the urge to hug and pull him closer with your own pleased chirping sound. It's just the two of you in the living room littered with lit candles sitting on a large fur rug in front of the fireplace.

“Don’t hide from me again,” you mumble with your face pressed into his chest. He smells of fresh rain, honeysuckle, and campfire smoke, he makes your brain all fuzzy. “I can’t live without your curly hair, or dark eyes, or cute teeth, or big ears, or-” you sigh out, holding him tighter before leaning back.

“I’m not good at talking, not like you,” he whispers and you shake your head. Wilbur lights a small fire as you stretch out your wings behind you, the crackling flame warms your back and every feather you are patiently waiting for him to touch. When he finally sits beside you it’s with bated breath. He reaches out silently to your wing and begins that act of preening. It’s quick to make your face red.

“Ahhhaa,” you let out, then cover your mouth with your palm. His touches don’t stop, claws that carefully preen each feather. He does so with reverence, with worship of the purity of each white form under his touch. You try to keep yourself contained but when his hands finally leave you; You are shaking with the lingering effects of pleasure from his careful touches on those oversensitive wings. You take in a labored breath and he looks at you with worry.

“Did I do good?” you hear him ask, his head lowered to allow you to better hear the low rasp of his voice. He had read so much, fantasized about touching you like this, and now you’re trembling under his gaze. You hum and he noses at your neck, innocently moving your head until the both of you make eye contact again.

“You were perfect, Wilbur, you’re perfect,” you sigh out and it’s the word choice that stirs him. That adjective he so often uses for you, for his perfect bird, his angel, his mourning dove. You coo until he comes back to you, his dark eyes unclouded, intense gaze back to being focused so intently on you. “Wilbur,” his name falls heavy from your mouth. Your eyes fall to his lips and he is quick to whine.

When his lips press themselves against yours the action is so quickly drowning in desire, in want, in desperation. He overpowers you, leaves you falling back against the floor, splayed out in front of him, cared-for wings spread out below you.

“Do you want me? Want to be my mate, lovely, my angel, my mate, please?” he rambles as he cages you in and you nod quickly. He licks at your neck, groans at the taste of your skin. It’s disgusting how much he craves all of you, whatever you will give him, whatever he can get his hands on, and now he has your full undivided attention.

“Will you keep me?” you ask and he is nodding, is nipping at your neck, is begging you for permission. “Please,”

“I can be all you need, I’ll keep you safe for the rest of my life, my dove, be yours forever,”

“I know, I know,” you take in a breath “If we do this, Wilbur, you have to promise me you mean it,” and he’s read enough to understand your worry. This would be a bond for life for you, something so rarely working out between elytrians and non-elytrians. You mating with him would mean he would be all you could ever crave, that if he left it would break you. This was what courting would mean, did mean, that you were willing to trust him enough to try, but now-

“I mean it,” he’s quick to say, to lean in again and share with you your oxygen. “You’d be mine and I’d be yours,” he rasps and you nod. For phantoms it was much the same, though less of the formalities of courting, this was still a promise to be with you for life, for him? An eternity. You whine as he presses his thigh between your legs, giving you the much-needed relief of pressure. You grip his sweater, pull him closer again just to kiss, imprinting the feeling of his lips against yours.

His fangs clip on your lip again, that sting of pain and the metallic taste of blood invading your mouth. Your whole body feels wired, extra sensitive. Wilbur brushes your flight feathers, then your cheek, and he is looking at you like you are the whole sky, like you are every star and every faded sunset.

“I can’t believe you fell to me,” he whispers, pressing more chaste kisses against your face. His actions are stiff at times but filled with enough underlying obsession that stiffness is drowned out. The sound of the ripping of your shirt, his clawed hands making quick work of the gifted clothing, makes you look at him with widened eyes. You watch him eye the new skin with hunger, he traces down your stomach carefully, and it’s with the unsaid fact that those same claws could cut just as easily as they pressed.

Wilbur can’t believe his eyes, no bare beneath him. You squeak slightly as he cuts the rest of your clothes off, he can find more, has endless more, and yet so little time at this moment. He lets in a shaky breath as he nuzzles into your neck, savoring the sweet sounds that spill from your mouth. You are everything he’s ever dreamed of, you are a vision, are an angel with those great beautiful wings to match.

“Let me look at you,” you say and he lifts himself from your skin. He watches his own hand intently as it slides up your side, presses until a whine bubbles out from your mouth. His hand is so large on you, so dirty. He looks into your teary eyes and all he sees is that will to wait, to give in.

You would let him do anything and he is awful to think of anything.

“Let me ruin you, please, wanna make you forget your own name,” he’s mumbling, so entranced by your body, by every perfect piece of you.

He snaps back to your face as your hands find the hem of his sweater, pulling it slowly over his head. It’s strange to feel the way your hands find him, touch those parts of him that are strange, that are unseemly. You brush over his raised ribs, discolored skin already in his sea of dullness while you were so full, so lively. You don’t scream when his tail wraps around your leg, you don’t stare in horror as he purrs, you lift yourself on your elbows and kiss at the parts of him usually hidden under that oversized sweater.

He was gonna have his way with you, he was going to hurt you, he was going to worship you, treat you like you are god.

In the end, he would be yours and you would be his.

“Ruin me then,” you say and you don’t know what you’ve promised him.

He kisses you again this time with the intent to starve oxygen. His lips move against yours as his hands carefully delve lower. He sucks his way down your neck, his tongue cold as it licked at your skin. He can hear your heart racing, can practically feel it as he makes his way down to where you oh so need him. He cages you in with his wings and leaves you with nothing to look at but him.

“Wilbur,” you say his name and he looks up at you with dark hooded eyes that make your head spin.

“You smell so sweet, my dove, so desperate,” Wilbur almost growls the last word before his mouth is on you. You cry out, dig your fingers so immediately into his hair. His mouth is cold, the way he sucked and licked at your clit so immediately was absolutely mind-numbing. Your thighs squeeze his head and he’s never been so obsessed with a feeling, your taste on his tongue, the pressure around his head, and the muffled sounds of pleasure from your pretty mouth.

He presses your thighs down then, leaves you unable to buck up into his mouth, but to simply take what he was giving you. You slapped a hand over your mouth in an attempt to save face but he was quick to stop until he could hear you again, those gasps all his.

“Keep on crying, angel,” he breathed before his tongue seemed much longer than you had expected, thrusting within you in a way that really did have tears cascading down your cheeks onto the wooden floor. It felt like heaven, him eating you out with a certain drive. You were his, his dove, his mate. You come undone so quickly with the broken sound of his name.

He crawls to you again, wiping at his mouth before he devours all your attention, kissing you, claiming everything that is his. He was going to ruin you, claim you, and all you could do was beg for it.

“Please, Wil,” you plead.

“Tell me, lovely, tell me what you want,” he coos, inches from your face, flashing those sharp fangs. Your eyes look down to where he is bare, to where his cock is ridged and far too big.

Elytrains didn’t bite and yet it’s all Wilbur wanted. He wanted to sink his teeth into your neck, wanted that sign that you were his to never fade.

“I wanna be yours, make me yours,” you say and it’s easy to please. You cup his cheek, kiss him gently as he pushes his way into you. Your whine escapes past the kiss anyway as he fills you. It’s a foreign feeling, it’s dizzying, it’s him. His presence eases you, ruins you, has you reborn under his touch as so achingly devoted.

“Good birdy,” he sighs out as he attempts to catch his breath, attempting to keep himself restrained when he has someone like you. You were prey in his jaws, the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, something he deemed so much better than any dream. You were his dove, his mated pair. You think of him, all him, his name on your lips as he begins to move his hips, his claws digging into the flesh of your thighs, his eyes never leaving your face. It so quickly devolves into something animalistic, him licking at your neck, his movement rough yet grounding.

“Let me bite you, please,” he says against your skin “You’ll be all mine, ‘ll only hurt for a moment, my love,” and he’s begging you to say yes, is holding his breath as he waits but doesn’t stop moving within you. You nod weakly as your nails dig into his back, he purrs at the pain before you feel his mouth opening, cool breath.

When he finally sinks his teeth into you it’s his own personal heaven, the strangled sound that leaves your mouth and the taste of blood once again on his tongue. You both let out some obscene cacophony in the form of shared moans. You are sweet, so sweet, so his, all Wilbur’s. He digs his teeth in further before pulling away, licking at the wound, soothing the skin. It feels so good, his bite, a claim, a promise. He doesn’t slow, his thrusts get harder as he stares at that claim now so boldly on your skin. He was practically panting, his eyes glowing a faint green, and all you could see was him as he made you get closer and closer to that edge. His hands move to push up your legs, get deeper, fuck you better. You can’t help the return of your tears because it feels like being ripped apart, it feels like being loved, it feels like too much as you near your climax.

“My perfect mate,” he is rumbling as his thrusts lose that timed rhythm. He kisses you, sloppy, the sharing of spit and desperation. His grip stings as he pushes you down, claws that dig into the flesh of your thighs. You clench around him and he can barely breathe with how good you feel. “Gonna breed you, pretty birdy,” and it's a desire that makes you whine and nod. He hits that sweet spot within you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“I’m close,” you say, a breathy sound, your eyes closed in ecstasy and he hums.

“Come with me, my mate,” and you feel his movements sputter, you spasm around him as you come undone. He fills you and it’s a sensation like nothing you’ve experienced before, a cold feeling deep within as he comes. He’s licking at that bite, slipping out of you, and then licking at any cut across your skin, littering your body with nips of his fangs and carefully made hickies that reiterate that sentiment of mine.

The moment leaves you squirming under his touch, a laugh as he finally is kissing your face.

“So perfect, my pretty bird, my angel,” the familiar praises are whispered against your skin as you cup his cheek, stealing the time to look at the phantom. His gaze holds nothing but adoration, love that soaks into you. “Are you tired, my dove?” you hum and Wilbur stands, scooping you up with him. Your whole body aches but in a good way as you groan. There was no one for miles so he leaves you both naked and trails back to your shared room.

“So this is our forever?” you ask him quietly as he wraps you tightly in his wings and you return the favor.

“For as long as I can have you, birdy,” he purrs and hides in the crook of your neck, he breathes you in and you smell like him. That bite mark is scabbing over and bruising. There are cuts from his claws across your skin, purple hickies littered on your neck, your collarbones, and your thighs. You look somehow more beautiful than the first time he saw you, you look like his. He runs his claws through the feathers of your wings carefully. Eases you until all he can hear is the gentle sound of your snoring.

#💗#modkitty #kittysficrecs #wilbur soot #phantombur #fluff #smut #mcyt

waywardcherryblossomtragedy-dea

I Wanna Grab Both Your Shoulders and Shake, Baby (Snap Out Of It!)

c!wilbur x reader, q!wilbur x reader

an alternate timeline AU where reader gets a glimpse of some of the alternative universes with wilbur they have lived through. fate has destined them to cross paths with him in universe. fortunately, they are currently living in the one universe where they are destined to live happily. I wonder how long that lasts for.

warnings: derealization, nightmares, delusion, sleep paralysis (?), established relationship

This is not real.

It’s what I try to tell myself as I see through the visage of someone who should be me but isn’t. It’s not me. This is not me.

#💗#modkitty #kittysficrecs #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt #dsmp

l0veb0mb1ng

dulce et decorum est

lmanbur x reader - 19.1k - AO3

warnings: violence, heavily implied sexual content, major character death, erm war, animal death

notes: this is my lmanbur love letter, i love him, i think i could have done a better job but it is what it is,,,,,, please read this I'm begging on my hands and knees i promise it is good and worth your time i promise

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

taglist: @your-shifting-gurl @lillylvjy @toiletwipes @lotusmisc @mosslovestherain @burification @sweet-soot

It is cold and quiet. The air settles in your body and whittles a wordless warning into your bones of the coming numbness of your limbs. You sit patiently in the snow as flakes still lazily fall down, find themselves in your hair, melting on your gloves, and joining the millions of snowflakes scattered upon the ground. You take in a deep breath and let it sit as you pull back your hand holding an arrow carefully. The string whines in your ear, begs to be let go, unleash pointed violence, calculated pain. Your stomach growls horribly, that deer of big black eyes raising its head, meeting your gaze. No one has eaten a meal in days, people picking on bones, sucking on the white pieces of former life. You will ask for forgiveness later. The deer watches you, not daring to move, and when you clench your eyes shut you know the arrow will meet its mark. It whistles by your head and finds itself lodged in the heart of now-fallen prey.

People celebrate when you return with the animal poorly tied on the back of a horse, you smile, act polite, and try and find who you wanted to impress. He isn’t there, off doing better things, like planning a war soon to be fought again and not entertaining your childish infatuation. You are alone when you are pouring water over your hands, freezing water that runs pink and stains the snow behind your tent riddled with moth holes, imperfections that sing when the wind howls. The blood reminds you of the guilt that killing brings, this blood, for once, is pure and unarmed. You shiver, sigh with breath that catches in the horrible freezing air, and reminds you that you still can in fact breathe.

#WAHHHHH STOP IM IN PAIN #heartbroken #💗#modkitty #kittysficrecs #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #dsmp #mcyt #lmanbur #c!wilbur #angst #fluff

poraphia

First of all, I love your writing! Your style is amazing and your writing is the standard I aim for. Could you do a Wilbur x female reader where Wilbur and y/n are having a long distance relationship and y/n is having a very depressive, unhealthy episode so Wilbur decides to visit her while he’s on tour? You don’t have to do this if there are any problems with my request, thank you :)

"Don’t Tell My Boyfriend"

wilbur x depressed!reader 1355 words • 8.27.23 Decided to combine requests :) @ax-y10 requested something with the lyric "Don't tell my boyfriend, its not what he's made for" and then there's anon! Who was in fact super sweet I remember verbally aww'ing when I saw this in my inbox so thank you so much!! I hope you guys enjoy :) this is super unedited and I'm super sorry! Just trying to get back into writing again Wilbur soot masterlist here <-

"Don't tell my boyfriend. It's not what he's made for. What was I made for?"

#so cute ☹️#modkitty #💗#kittysficrecs #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt #fluff #angst #comfort

zooone

as above, so below

╰┈➤ a grumpy grim reaper falls in love with an optimistic angel.

one sided hatred to lovers; grim reaper!wilbur x angel!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - here it is, my magnum opus. even tho its not done! i had to split this fic in half, so unfortunately there will have to be a part two :( very sorry. but on a lighter note, HUGE HUGEEE thank you to @harbingerofheartbreak. as per usual, she helped me visualized the entire thing and even made some of the plots and ideas that i used. in fact, the original fic was supposed to be a grim reaper x human, but it was florence who thought of the grim reaper x angel prompt and i could not thank her enough. furthermore, she helped keep this fic going and constantly pushed me beyond my limits to do so. the fic was started july 21st and it was supposed to be shelved after a couple weeks, but she made me keep going. she is the best forever and ever go read ynaf. additionally, another big thanks to @starsyoubreaklikesugardust for being another little beta reader for this fic. she always has the greatest ideas known to man and i wanted to run everything by her bcuz it was like having van gogh rate my painting. i had to share this with her earlier than i thought cuz she was threatening me but we dont have to talk about that smile. both of these people helped me so much, and i will forever be in debt to them.

all in all, please please enjoy and give this your love pretty please <3

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - talk of death, religious aspects, and swearing

she had a lot of questions about wilbur.

not the type of, "what's your favorite color?" or "what's your favorite band?" questions. more like, "on a scale of one to ten, how much does being a murderer really affect your mood?"

all of these questions would go unanswered. including "what's your favorite band?" no matter what, she just could not crack the code of wilbur soot.

to say he was intricate would be an understatement, and her ongoing curiosity would surely be the death of her.

unless he had something to do about it.

prettygirlsincorporated

OH MY GOD THIS IS SO GOOD!!! AAAA

#modkitty #💗#kittysficrecs #wilbur soot x reader #dsmp #wilbur soot #mcyt #fluff #angst

sleeby-anon

I've Got a Boring Name

Clinic!Wilbur Soot x AFAB Gender Neutral reader PART 4

CW: for swearing, arguing, mentions of death, mentions of sex, political feelings, and the Author's self-projecting. Also unreliable narrator. Oddly enough no sex but Plot.

#OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD #AAAAAAJSKDKDJSMSJDJJD #modkitty #💗#kittysficrecs #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt #clinic!wilbur #siren #angst

l0veb0mb1ng

waltz

♡ regency!l'manbur x reader ♡

warnings: none! event masterlist

notes: i love war and peace /hj, regency stuff, idk, it was just on the mind, i would be open to making this longer in the future if people want me to <3 arggagga

taglist: @saccharinesunset

The grand hall is filled with the music from the band, the room swaying to the melody, a swirling dance of unison and practiced steps. Pairs of people dance around each other, fingers laced and unlaced, rotating small talk with each partner. It’s exhausting, you’ve always found it that way, a petty dance of look at me and let me lie to you. Men promise you sweetness and riches and you nod along with those falsities. Each ball is like this, another long arduous chance to endure torture at the hands of suitors vying for your hand in marriage.

Your family's name lay heavy in each interaction, touches more desperate when they met you for a dance. You obfuscate and impress if only to stop your mother from arranging an alliance, giving you away without choice, your life severed to a loveless marriage. You decorate yourself in signs of your worth, jewels that sparkle more than your eyes, and fabrics so expensive you can’t imagine how they have come to be laid against your frame. Even now you force a smile, giggle as a man you have not retained anything about spins you around, your feet lifting off the ground for only a moment. He grins as his touch leaves your waist and moves to kiss the back of your gloved hand and pass you to the next waiting dance partner.

#GOT ME KICKIN MY FEET HEHEHE #modkitty #💗#kittysficrecs #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt #wilbur soot #fluff #lmanbur

mangyraccooon

Im entering “I can’t fix him but I can peg him” era

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

#modkitty #💗#wilbur soot x reader #kittysficrecs #wilbur soot #mcyt #smut

shubblelive

— PAGES TURNED

summary : wilbur is a quiet guy, but there’s so much more to him than he shows. over swapped shifts, post it notes and paperback novels, you unravel him bit by bit.

genre : fluff

warnings : mentions of alcohol/drinking

pairing : musicianbur x fem!librarian! reader

pronouns : none (i think) reader is described as a “girl” and using other feminine descriptors

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, musicianbur, college!librarian! wilbur

word count : 2.6k

note : sorry this took. one million years. i had my exams and i turned 17, and then i went out of state to visit family, but i’ve had this in my drafts and i’ve been working on and off for a while. i hope you enjoy this, i’m thinking about maybe making it multi part? if people are into that? @starsyoubreaklikesugardust <333

#love love love this #its so cute wth #modkitty #💗#kittysficrecs #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #fluff

l0veb0mb1ng

i've been twisting to the sun

cc!wilbur x reader - 11.1k - AO3 - FAKE DATING/FRIENDS TO LOVERS

warnings: anxiety attacks, self-esteem issues, miscommunication.

for THIS EVENT !!! fake dating is my enemy now and forever and i hate hate hate hate hate what i wrote here but i procrastinated fixing it (sorry this is my crayon project)

NO SMUT BUT -> MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

taglist: @your-shifting-gurl @lillylvjy @toiletwipes @lotusmisc @mosslovestherain @valleyoh

(tell me if you want off this taglist!!! PLEASE)

There were worse things he could have asked you to do. The all-encompassing favor has weighed heavily on you for a while. You had gotten so embarrassingly drunk, and he had taken care of you. It wasn’t your fault you told him you owed him a favor if only to save yourself the guilt. He had laughed at the time, brushed you off like you hadn’t ruined his night, but then he started teasing you. What about that favor? Something that would make you sigh, push him away playfully, until all of a sudden he’s cashing that favor, asking you to pretend to be dating for his family over the weekend in a text message. He’s asking this the day before he’s begging you to go.

You knew his mom had been nagging him about it lately, he had complained in length about exes and how his online presence made it impossible to just find someone. You had listened to all of his woes like they didn’t make your heart pang, like you hadn’t had a crush on him since year 10. Your feelings towards the man became hopeless a long time ago, sometime between the drunk breakup crying on your shoulder and now. They were impossible to live with, they weren’t something you could allow yourself when he was so often all you had. So you made a pact that it was never going to happen so long ago that this was more than just uncharted territory, it was signing up to drown, willingly, because you owed him.

You sigh looking at his stupid text and at your stupid reply where you had already agreed. You should have said no, made up some elaborate excuse not to be at his beck and call this one time, he would have understood, and surely, found someone else to fill your shoes as his fake partner if he had not also told you he had said he was dating you, not just that he was dating someone. Blinking a few times though didn’t make the conversation disappear nor did it make your own texts of ‘I’m sorry, I can’t’ appear, the favor was this, was going to be this. You fighting to tamp down the version of yourself that didn’t assign themselves to that pact of I am not in love with Wilbur Soot.

#IM LOSING MY MIND??#THIS IS SO GOOD??#BUT ALSO OUCH KINDA #modkitty #💗#kittysficrecs #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt #angst #fluff

toiletwipes

PIECES | vampire! wilbur

Part 1 — I'm here again

Summary: There's a vampire, wandering and mourning for a love that died by his hands. He wanders and drifts along the universe until the love has found him.

In this part, we meet Wilbur, a man turned into a vampire and the love he has for someone.

THIS FIC IS PART OF THIS EVENT! [The Common Fanfiction Trope Writing Event] Mainly mainly for oblivious pining! i bet i could squeeze friends to lovers in this though.

[Warnings: blood, mention of death and killing, the usual vampire stuff]

~2.6k words.

title and chapter title from the song pieces by red

#AAAA love this #💗#modkitty #kittysficrecs #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt #vampire

reveriefawn

Number 34

summary || you go to the lacrosse game to support your boyfriend who’s co-captain of the lacrosse team

a/n || honorary I know nothing about lacrosse. this college au came from a dream I had and got out of hand

warnings || suggestive (no smut), guy makes reader uncomfortable, said guy gets hit, drinking

requests || open

taglist || open

Keep reading

#modkitty #💗#wilbur soot x reader #kittysficrecs #fluff #mcyt

puppy-error

@limirror asked and they have received

#modkitty #💗#stein #stein soul eater #soul eater #franken stein

merakiwi-deactivated20240111

. out of breath

will gold x reader

summary: you never had your first kiss, but a thought comes to your head; what if will gold was your first kiss?

wc: 1.1k

notes: inspired from when a fan held a sign at the 1975 concert asking matty healy to be their first kiss. i feel like this deserves a prt2 but idk LMFAO

it was so silly of you to be so worried about your first kiss. it was kindergarten, and here you were thinking about it like it was the last thing on earth. you felt like a teen again, a hopeless romantic and feeling pathetic when you watched your friends get in relationships. it was all lighthearted fun back then when they called you pure, innocent, or the baby of the group. now you’re 22 without your first kiss in life.

yes, you’ve been in relationships—scratch that—you’ve been in one relationship, and never have you shared a kiss with them. just thinking about it made you overwhelmed, the idea that you’ll stay a hopeless romantic throughout your golden years didn’t sit right. your alarm went off, a reminder set so you could start getting ready for a lovejoy concert and enjoy your own gift to yourself.

two hours before the concert and you’re almost ready to drive yourself, then that’s when it hit you. it was a chance and one in a million alternate universes; but you thought, “what if will gold was my first kiss?”

#modkitty #💗#kittysficrecs #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt #fluff

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