Mar 14
pretty much all sbi fic is rpf and they need to admit it. that is not the relationship the characters have it is Loosely Based on the dynamic the ccs have. aka. rpf. it's not a bad thing!
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seen from United Kingdom
seen from Singapore
seen from Italy
seen from Canada
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia
pretty much all sbi fic is rpf and they need to admit it. that is not the relationship the characters have it is Loosely Based on the dynamic the ccs have. aka. rpf. it's not a bad thing!
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Baby, You're A Haunted House
SUMMARY: Wilbur is your business partner and the ghost that roams your sheets. Even if you have customers, he doesn't seem to mind, taking advantage of his invisibility to tease you. Things get a little frisky in your humble potion shop.
or
Phantombur fingers you in front of a blissfully unaware Fragrance Man
pairing: FWB! Phantom! Wilbur x Witch!Reader
word count: 4.6k
warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, unprotected sex, temperature play (if you squint) angsty,
A/N: Sorry it has taken me so long to post anything! I've been busy out of my mind! I just wanted to give you guys something even if it's not a continuation of any of my stories! Happy reading!!!
The scent of his presence gave him away before he could manage to give you a spook. Newly upturned dirt, freshly mown grass, forgotten bouquets lain by the concrete. You inhale, letting his essence surround your lungs with its ephemeral grip.
“Nice try, Wilbur,” You smile, he doesn’t.
A sigh leaves his lips as his figure slowly fades into your vision, his skin is a ghastly shade of teal decorated with deep cobalt veins just where his folded sleeves let show. His clothes are enticingly outdated, high waisted pants with a pretty knitted sweater tucked into his belt.
“How do you always know?”
“A Witch doesn’t share her secrets,” His eyes are glued to your lips as they stretch into a smile. You’re not wearing your usual lipstick today. “Did you bring me my payment?”
Wilbur nods, reaching into his pockets, “Would it hurt to ask me how my day was?”
You roll your eyes, stretching your hand out.
He puts his hand on top of yours, flipping your palm around until the back of your hand is visible. His lips feel strikingly cold against your skin, but they are gentle, gentler than he ever was with you.
Wilbur tips his cap with a gentlemanly, charming smile.
Had it not been for your experience in dealing with your phantom business partner, your body would’ve been carried away with his seductive aura; Letting the heat that travels through your skin show on your cheeks. But you’ve learned well to not show weakness in front of this scoundrel.
“Okay, what about my pay?”
You see his smile falter, some part of you feeling victorious. He sighs, “Look, business just hasn’t been good, can’t you let me through this once? What about customer loyalty?”
You lean against your counter, arms crossed over your chest; He battles with his brain to keep his eyes on your face and not on your decolletage. “I know for a fact you’ve been having a great fiscal year.”
“Is there not another way I can pay?”
Wilbur leans forward, generous height dwarfing your size. You’re intoxicated with his scent, physically holding yourself back from taking a deep breath. His voice is husky and it tickles your cheeks when he grazes his lips along your jaw.
There is something that burns in your chest with the ease he leans to swindle you out of a few gold, you wish not to wonder how Wilbur gathered his fortune. He’s reaching for your waist when you wake from your trance.
Your partnership was rather simple. You liked living in your quiet swamp, away from the bustling village but you also loved selling your wares to those in need. Witchcraft was a generous gift and you wouldn’t shy away from making lives easier.
Wilbur was a businessman at heart, much to the dismay of the ninjologists that littered the village. Potions were scarce in the plains that surrounded the Pube but to his luck, you were brimming with however many helpful bottles he needed.
He was the middleman, allowing you to make potions while he price-gouged them like the capitalist bastard he was. His eloquent ways had him slithered along your business and your sheets. Never a relationship, no. God forbid the glorious Wilbur Soot be shackled to someone like you.
He could go back to his stupid little potion shop, sell his stupid overpriced potions with his stupid smile. You didn’t care.
“Of course!” You yip, “I haven’t been able to tend to my garden, you will find all the tools in the back! Have fun!”
Wilbur’s expression falls, he whines, opening his pretty lips to speak but you stop him with your index. An unnervingly charismatic smile on your red lips.
“Have fun!” (Fuck off)
Before he can curse you off, you’re turning to tend to the shy customer that awaits by the door. Wilbur sighs, facing the backdoor that leads to your cottage.
Your quiet abode by the swamp couldn’t be any more different from his charming estate uphill. If his house could be described with a minimalist antique scholar style then your place could only be described as a maximalist. Not a single surface left untarnished by odd trinkets or crochet throw blankets.
He felt cramped, not only because his height allowed his head to almost graze the ceiling but because it was hard to manoeuvre around your living room with so many decorations haphazardly placed all over your mismatched furniture.
Wilbur always avoided using vicinities in buildings, finding it much easier to phase through walls. But his personality never allowed him to simply gloss over your decor and miss any additions he could criticise. He liked to say that your home was simply misshapen, with rooms that shouldn’t face each other and architecture that didn’t obey the laws of physics.
Your bed stood unmade, brightly coloured duvets wrinkled perfectly thrown around the shape of your body. By the side, lies the terrifying fluffy creature. It lazily stretches with a soft meow; the sight of its deadly claws sending a shiver through Wilbur’s body.
The balcony fits in with your home; Just as cluttered. Broken teapots and mugs holding flourishing plants. He busies himself with tending to your garden; Not that they would benefit from his care, he was clumsier than a newborn foal when it came to living organisms.
From the balcony he can see into your shop, your delightful smile as you walk the customer through your wares, carefully listening to their troubles and suggesting the best solution. Wilbur scoffs when you offer them a discount, with your prices, you were close to bleeding money. How you could keep up your maximalist lifestyle was beyond him.
The customer leans over the counter, a sly smile on his lips as he puts away the newly acquired wares. Heh, what a creep. Wilbur scoffs, leaving his gardening tools as he phases through your walls, falling into your shop. Still invisible, he creeps behind the man, about to give him a heart attack.
But you smile just as Wilbur is set to scare the creepiness out of this dude. And when the man reaches to place a daisy by your ear, you smile, leaning into his touch. Gushing over the silly flower. You had flowers a thousand times prettier growing in your backyard, why were so happy about this crumpled daisy?
Wilbur stands there, unseen as you watch the customer leave. You turn to face the mirror, hands delicately grazing the bitten white petals. You didn’t even like daisies, he scoffs.
You turn around, eyes scanning over your shop.
“Wilbur?”
The way you call his name is unsure, but natural to your tongue. A soft whisper meant only for his ears. He phases into your field of vision, standing out amongst your humble estate in his posh posture.
“Are you finished?” You’re clearly interrupted by his presence, eyes drifting from the daisy to busy themselves with something else.
Wilbur nods, “Nice flower.”
Your smile beams, cheeks rounded in pride. “Thank you”. You run your fingers through your hair, suddenly feeling under the spotlight.
Wilbur wasn’t one to give out compliments, so you would take it. Backhanded or not.
He huffs at your unphased attitude.
You pay him no mind, tending to your counter and making sure everything is in place until the next traveller passes by your swamp. Wilbur busies himself with watching you.
Hearing the ruffling of feathers, you put the flowerpot back on its shelf, running out to the porch.
“Phil!” You wave.
It’s only when he’s closer you notice he has company.
Phil ceases the movement in his wings, gently gliding down to where you stand. He greets you with a sweet smile, adjusting his clothes.
“Fragrance Man!,” You greet with a simple curt.
“Please, call me Mr. Fragrance Man,” He smiles, leaving you confused.
“...Sure!”
“How’ve you been?” Phil asks
“Bored!” You giggle, “There’s not much you can do out here!” Gesturing to your swamp, you sigh.
“You’re always welcome to stay at the Pub or my house if you need,” He pats your shoulder, offering you a lovely smile, “You must be lonely out here… You can always write me if you want some company!”
“Thanks!” You smile. Phil was always willing to go above and beyond for others, you admired his determination to be of aid to those around him, never asking for something in exchange. “Though, I love my little swamp!”
He laughs and you realise there must have been a reason for him to visit, especially with someone else.
“Whaddya need today? I’ve got some fresh Fire resistance!”
“Just some restocking, shouldn’t take too long…”
You idly chit chat as you walk into your shop and he glances around your shelves. Not taking no for an answer, you’re prompt to serve them some afternoon tea and cakes.
“Apologies, were you expecting a visit?” He asks, noticing how fresh your pastries are. “I can leave…”
“Oh, not at all!” Your answer is curt, but his question reminds you of your ghastly guest. He’s nowhere to be seen, but your nose can still detect a faint grasslike scent. “I just enjoy baking!” You say, returning to your conversation.
Fragrance Man has just made a hilarious remark on the viscosity of slimes, making you topple over your counter in a fit of laughter. You’re hit with that strong scent of flowers again when a breeze carries a string of unenthusiastic words to your ears.
“It wasn’t even that funny…”
Your body jumps, shaking the goosebumps away you turn to your guests. “What did you say?”
He seems puzzled, “Sorry, what? Oh- I said slimes–”
“Oh! I thought I heard you say something after that,” You laugh it off,” Must’ve been a pesky mob outside”
There’s a faint scoff by your right ear.
You roll your eyes, biting your lips to hold back a stubborn smile. He hasn’t left.
Phil has his resources on the counter, just a bit of everything to make sure he’s stocked. After double checking his list, he places the paper back in his pocket.
“Well, I’ve been meaning to collect some slime balls, so I’ll be leaving you early. You can put Fragrance Man’s on my tab.”
“So early?” You can’t help but sound disappointed, “Alright, no problem! Have a nice day!” You wave as he gathers his things.
Fragrance man stands up, teacup long forgotten by the centre table.
“So… What have you been doing lately?” You ask as he is busying himself with colourful bottles on the shelves. “Any exciting new things?”
“Oh, we’re making a library…”
The sparkles in your eyes don’t go unnoticed by either men. “Really?! It must look beautiful! Just to think of so many books in one place!”
He chuckles, “There’s not much progress yet”
“I’m sure it will be an amazing build,” He smiles, shaking his head at your enthusiasm.
“I’m not sure about that”
“Come on!”
You’re vehement on listing the architecture on the server and every single one of its features, including his church. That’s when you feel cold breathing on your nape, it sends shivers down your spine, short-circuiting your brain.
You apologise and carry on your monologue, shielding your neck from the hauntings of your business partner. But you feel the weight of his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your waist with a strong yet gentle grip. It takes you a couple of seconds to process the feeling of his embrace, especially around your clothed body. But once you do, you fight back your urge to lean into it.
“Well, I didn’t do much–” Fragrance man opens a bottle, bringing it to nose with a deep sniff before letting it join the clinking bottles around his arm. He doesn’t pay you any mind as he speaks.
Wilbur’s cold digits travel around your body, tracing your figure while you root yourself against the counter, determined to not show any emotions. He is intently watching your face, eyes glued to yours while you’re laser-focused on someone else – To your defence, it’s not like anyone could see him in his ghost form.
The fabric of your long dress bunches nicely around his fingers, the pretty shade of blue makes him want to hold it for longer, but he lets it fall around his wrists.
Not only are his limbs cold, but they have a freezing atmosphere that seems to suck the warmth of anything in its path. Even inches away, you feel that chill run up your legs, raising skin and leaving goosebumps in its path.
”Are you ignoring me?”
No reply.
His lips run through your neck with littered kisses and kitten licks, feeling your loose hair tickle his cheeks, he smiles. While his fingers are dancing circles around your inner thigh, he uses his knee to part your legs.
Always a tease with him. Light scratching following the hem of your underwear, pulling on the elastic and bunching the fabric around his fingers. But never exactly touching you where you need it the most.
Wilbur watches carefully as you suck a breath in, your lips pressing in a flat line, your back unconsciously leaning into his chest. Even if you keep your eyes on Fragrance Man, mimicking his expressions to make sure he wouldn’t suspect a thing.
Wilbur wanted you to stop paying attention to him.
His finger runs through your folds, your skin quivering under his touch.
His touches around your core steals a silent mewl from your lips, surprising all.
“What d’you say?” Fragrance Man asks.
You want to bury yourself six feet under and never return. “Nothing! Thought I saw a bug!” You laugh it off, clamping a hand over your mouth so it wouldn’t happen again.
You’re dripping into his touch, wetness pooling into his fingers with a sinful burning sensation of possession. Because of him, you were breathing in heavily, your chest rising uneven is such a pretty view.
You run your fingers through your neck, feeling the sweat start to form. But he sees it almost as an invitation with your glistening skin, veins pulsating in a fastened heartbeat.
You always felt unattainably warm, especially to a cold-blooded hybrid like him. But the heat that radiates from your cheeks and your neck is caused by his actions.
He lavishes in that warmth, breathing in your nature with insatiable determination to fill his lungs with you. Your skin feels alive against his ghoulish complexion, almost worthy of a mythological tale. Of the undead feeding on the youth of its victims.
But for now, for every living breath and lively heat that spreads through your cheeks; he could live. As if your sharp breaths were an extension of his lungs, your gasps fill him up with warmth blooming in his chest.
When he moves his finger, there’s a quiet wet noise that escapes, that you quickly mask by tapping your fingernails against the marbled counter. Wilbur can’t hold back his smile.
Your hips lean to meet his fingers, brushing against his own. Your choked breath is a sign you felt the volume that stands in his slacks. But you remain seemingly composed if not for your ragged breathing.
Wilbur watches as you lick your lips.
”Fuck”
It’s a mistake that slips past his lips but it finally brings you to face his direction; With your parted lips, deliciously glossy red and your glassy eyes, fluttering eyelashes framing your lustful gaze.
And he watches you realise he’s unseen: Your eyes searching for his figure, a certain hurry, a certain yearn in the way you want to find his eyes. To gaze into them, to watch the way they shine under the artificial lighting of your home.
Wilbur wants to kiss you, to take you apart around his fingers and watch you come undone. Piece by piece. He would spread you like an intricate puzzle and study your curves and edges, finding a place for him to fit and make you complete.
Wants to lie on your smile and the way his name rolls off your tongue with such naturality like it belonged in your lips and in a way, it did.
“I think I got everything,” Fragrance Man looks at his selection, about six or seven bottles he juggles around his chest.
You’re taken back into reality, turning around to face your customer. Wilbur steps away from you and the cold emanating from his body is gone.
“Is that all?” You force a smile, extending your hands to help him check out.
Though, when you bag his items your mind is far away.
Wilbur was rare to show emotions, well, not the emotions you liked. He was an arrogant prick with an immense ego only befitting of someone of his posture; A famed businessman with inexplicable charisma.
“How much do I owe ya?” He is quick to pull his thick wallet, bursting at the sides with money.
“Oh, it’s on Phil’s tab…” You wave him off,
“How generous of him… Not that I’d have any trouble paying, Y’know” He smiles. The earthy scent of freshly mowed grass fades from your nostrils, giving into a pungent vinegary scent.
“Yeah, sure” You scratch at your neck, physically holding yourself back from cringing at the smell. “Let… Let me see you out.”
You walk him outside, bidding him goodbye by the porch. It’s an awkward handshake, made even more awkward when he brings your hand to his nose. You watch as Fragrance Man takes a deep sniff.
“Nice scent. Goodbye.”
It’s such an unexpected gesture any words your brain could formulate are turned into dust. You stand on the porch, watching his weirdly confident stance as he wades fearlessly into the swampy waters.
Wilbur’s there when you come back.
It’s the petrichor, upturned dirt. It’s fresh and blooms in your chest with prickly vines around your beating heart; Not willing to ever separate from you lest you be slashed by its thorns.
His eyes are on you, scanning your figure with such delicacy as if you’d simply vanish from his sight; He’d be a fool to believe so, you weren’t him, after all.
His lips part and you scan his face for a sly smile, for a hint of a jokeful tone in his voice but he looks serious. And for a second, blood drains from your body as your mind is filled with unhappy endings. What if he were to say this was all a mistake from the very beginning? And you were nothing but a gaffe in his notebook, a bit of spilt ink that stains his perfect history…
You couldn’t bring yourself to bear such a destiny, after having a taste of presence how could you return to loneliness?
Wilbur almost flinches when you make your way to him with determined steps, every note of your being is wafted in his direction with a light breeze. You grab his collar, allowing yourself to dwell in his confused gaze.
That’s before your lips are crashing against his and you’re standing on your very tippy-toes to reach his face. He is taken aback but let’s your warmth permeate his skin, rushing fresh oxygen into his lungs.
He’s on you; grabbing, grazing, kneading at every bit of showing skin you offer his greedy touch. You’re stumbling back, emphasis on stumbling; just about everything in your path is taken down with his lanky limbs navigating through your cramped living room.
You quite literally bump into the couch, tumbling over one another as you fall back into your cushions.
When he leans back, beckoning to remove your dress, you note the red stains over his lips and you can only admire its beauty; The bright coloured shiny paint that contrasts his pale complexion: Tarnished.
Your dress is long forgotten across the room along with his sweater and shirt.
He paws at your chest in awe, the pulsating veins flourishing with life under your skin are but an invitation for him to trace every single one of them.
You discard your bra while he undoes his belt and slacks, long past the shyness of a first time naked before Wilbur.
His tongue runs across your clavicles with a trail of kisses, nibbles, hickies and everything his brain entices him to do. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, closer, closer.
Your heart pounds against your ribcage and with every beat he feels his body jump with electricity. Your fingers are playing with the soft curls of his caramel hair, you pick up his cap, putting it on your head with a quiet giggle before throwing it across the room.
His hands fit around your breasts, kneading at the abundant flesh and his brain can’t help but be filled with the word ‘perfect’ all over. Because when he pinches your nipple, you throw your head back, presenting yourself to his lips.
Holding back the moans are futile and it’s not like anyone will be there to hear. Only the two of you in this little cottage.
You’re fully naked before him, and though you should feel cold, especially with his low body temperature; You can’t help but burn in anticipation.
“Come on, Wilbur, I think I’m wet enough…”
He laughs softly.
Eyes scanning from his gorgeous face, lustful eyes go down his chest; He wears a white undershirt you’ve become accustomed to. He never fully took his shirt in front of you and a part of you wished to voice your praise and worship to every bit of his ethereal being but in what position were you to say that?
What say did you have in his life when you were but a fleeting amusement to fill his nights with sweet kisses?
Though you served yourself in full to his mercy, there would always remain a barrier between your chests; Never fully feeling his skin on yours.
Your fingers graze along the front of his pants, his bulge visibly straining the thin fabric. Wilbur has his glued to your face, how you lick your lips, playing with the elastic band; Giving him a taste of his teasing with a mischievous, irresistible smile.
He’s pulsating in your hands, messing with your brain’s perception of temperature. You watch his face contort, his breathing hitches when you run your fingers along his length.
“What a sinful, sinful view…” He smiles, pumping his own cock, eyes feasting on your aroused body; Devouring every inch of you with fervour, burning into his memory that sight.
The daisy lies pretty by your hair, not as pretty as you, of course. It’s an innocent accessory though it seems to match you perfectly. But it gives him a silly idea of having you by a meadow, stretching your body across a field of beautiful flowers, bathing in their scent and feeling the dirt under your naked bodies.
You smile and he sighs, “Who’s at fault for that?”
“Yours truly…” His voice is a husky whisper that dissipates along the curves of your collarbone. You smile proudly, meeting his lips halfway, tasting his confidence and his sly tongue.
Lining up with your entrance, he’s a tease and a half, covered in your slickness and smiling at the disgraceful wet sounds. The disparity of you enveloping his freezing body with your warmth is a sensation neither will ever tire of.
You lay there, relishing in that refreshing coldness creeping your body from the inside sending shivers through your blood. The temperature allows you to feel every inch of him dragging along your walls, every vein and every bump of his shaft.
He allows your warmth to encompass him, letting his body feel warm for once in forever.
Wilbur’s lips are stealing every breath from your open mouth. Drinking every broken moan and every ragged chant of his name. God, his name coming out of you sounds like the most angelic harmony.
A prayer for his ears only dripping in honey desire.
“God, you’re squeezing me–” It’s choked and muffled against your neck, he buries his nose into your skin.
His movements are sluggish, and he finds it hard to bottom out without having to stop and moan. Watching the way you cover him in your juices, glistening under the soft lighting.
You hum, too focused on the swimming pleasure coursing through your body.
Every thrust sends your body jiggling and he can’t help but lick his lips; Entranced by the way your tits bounce up and down, following his sweet rhythm.
“Faster…Fuck!Faster– Goddammit–”
He smiles at your groan.
You cup his face, pulling him into a kiss and the warmth of your palms makes him feel as if blushing. With a lively healthy heat on his cheeks.
“God… I’m close,” Wilbur chokes, “Gonna- Cum with me?”
“Yeah… Yeah-” You nod, closing your eyes, letting your forehead touch his. His hands find yours, intertwining your fingers. “Come on–” You smile and he can’t help but reciprocate with a breathless smirk. “Cum for me, pretty boy”
Wilbur laughs, his pretty eyes crinkling and his cheeks rounded. “I’m a pretty boy? What are you, then?”
You shake your head, “I don’t know”
“My pretty girl?”
You smile, “Yours?” It sounds bittersweet on your tongue.
Wilbur nods and you can’t discern the playful tone in his voice but chuck it out to wishful thinking, “Mine. Always”
“Yeah–” You breathe out, the knot in the pit of your stomach is tighter and tighter and close to bursting, “yours. Always–”
He watches your lips form a pretty ‘O’, his name falls off in a pretty chant, breathless. It’s not long before he reaches his climax, spilling into you with a final thrust.
Wilbur smiles, he feels alive briefly.
It’s refreshing, the cooling feeling that drives up your body.
You remain motionless, coming down from your high as he rides his own. God, a face like his could end wars… Or start them. His eyes are half-lidded when he opens them, scanning your face with a post-orgasm glow you’ve grown to love.
He leans back into your cushioned old-fashioned sofa, his skin holding a sweaty sheen. You giggle, watching him run his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face.
God, his post-sex look was just godly.
You place a cushion under your back and lie down to recover your energy; Wilbur chuckles, patting your entangled legs.
Usually, neither spoke after your rendezvous. You lied in the afterglow, basking in the high endorphins cursing through your veins. It was an untouchable moment where you had no need to acknowledge the outside world.
He uses the hem of his undershirt to wipe down his face, not remembering he has nothing underneath.
And you gasp, holding your breath; He is short of heavenly. His chest falls and rises slowly and you know it matches your breathing. He is lean, not too skinny but not too muscular and you distinctly think how much his physique matches him. A couple inches from his ribcage lies a large diagonal slash across his stomach.
It’s a wide bunched up keloid that shows the growth of skin over an obvious large wound. And you think it looks beautiful; with lines in the same pattern, following a very clear direction it stretches across his abdomen.
Just what would make sure a large gash? It had to be lethal at its size.
When your eyes meet his, your heart crashes to the pit of your stomach. He looks terrified, very obviously shaking with trembling lips and erratic eyes to scan your face desperately.
You weren’t meant to see that.
“Wait! Wilbur!” You stumble from the couch, not caring of your naked form to follow him.
But you can’t feel his presence, nothing that indicates he's still here.
He’s gone.
Fever In Bedtime Covers
Wilbur Soot x Reader
Ao3
Warnings: almost smut. but not. cheating,, toxic relationship, i think that’s it ???
no smut but minors dni pls pls pls plssssss
It’s cold. It’s late. You’re tired. You’re too upset to care. You’re livid. Despite your anger, a rational part of you admits that you should’ve gone to bed, or at least drove instead of storming out of your apartment. You don’t know where you’re going but you don’t stop. It’s not the most dangerous area, but you are still young and alone at almost one in the morning and that adds a layer of uneasiness to the air nipping at your skin.
You give up on storming off before you get lost and you seek solace on a bench at a park nearby, usually lively with families and laughter but is now so quiet. You take a moment to collect yourself, let your breath steady, attempting to find some semblance of peace. You breathe. You want to go home, you want everything to be how it was before. You don’t want to be alone in this park.
The eeriness and uncertainty of the dark decides for you that you should get back home.
You feel stupid. You feel immature. You plan how you will make it up to him, for making accusations and then storming out. You think until you’re in your building and climbing the stairs before you collide into another body. A familiar face- you recognize him as someone from your building. He’s distracted by something on his phone and you don’t know if you should make anything out of this interaction before your thoughts are interrupted by a “Sorry, ‘m just trying to get up to my apartment.”
You knew you recognized him but had never spoken to him. You’ve heard someone with an accent playfully yelling from time to time, you just wouldn’t have guessed to associate those joking vulgarities with the seemingly reserved and warm looking boy in front of you. “I’m Wil, I’ve seen you around but I don’t think we’ve met properly.” You introduce yourself to him, in hopes that a nice chat will ease your anxieties of going back home.
Before you can start any meaningful conversation, he excuses himself to take a phone call and you’re left with a mix of curiosity and relief from the brief interaction.
You go back to the flight of stairs up to your apartment until you’re in front of your door. You’re back in your thoughts again, thinking of how you could possibly make this up to your partner. Again, your thoughts are interrupted but this time by the sound of keys being shoved into a lock to your left. It’s Wil again.
“We just keep running into each other,” you joke. He laughs half heartedly.
“What’re you doing out this late anyway?”
You’re not sure how to respond. You settle on a vague response, not wanting to burden him with your personal troubles. You don’t mention your insecurity and self doubt, unsure if you overreacted or if there’s a genuine cause for concern in your relationship. Despite the turmoil, you simply say, “I just needed some air.”
“Very well. Goodnight then.” And he disappears into his apartment. You feel a yearning to talk to him more. There is something about him that exudes warmth and comfort and in this moment of vulnerability, you want to confide in him.
You retreat into your own apartment, trying to ignore the emotional turbulence and focus on your partner. It’s dark, no sign of anyone. You wonder if he had the same idea as you after the fight- perhaps he decided to clear his head as well, hopefully he was smart enough to take the car. A glimmer of hope wonders if he felt bad and went to go look for you. You feel around the wall to find the light switch while you grab your phone to call and let him know you’re home safe. As light fills the room, your gaze shifts down at your phone, you notice a pair of shoes by the door that you don’t quite recognize. They’re definitely not your partner’s and they’re a bit too expensive to be yours. The pit of anxiety in your stomach weighs heavy like a rock and molds into disappointment.
The hallway seems to go on forever, your heart races with trepidation as you quietly make your way to the bedroom. Hoping against hope that your fears are unfounded, you pray that you’re worrying over nothing. You would rather be insecure and crazy for the rest of your life than any of the other thoughts running through your head be true. The doorknob is cold, the door is cracked already and all that’s left for you to do is push. You do. It’s dark, it’s silent.
There’s a blue hue filling the room and with that small illumination, you make out a small figure in the arms of your lover. There’s no clothes strewn across the room, there’s no sick smell of sweat. It resembles the room you left behind, with the sole difference being the presence of the woman entwined with your partner.
You can’t bring yourself to cry out. You can’t bring yourself to be angry. It’s late. You’re tired. The hallway shrinks in size as you make your way to the front door again. You can’t storm off. You’re not livid, you’re just defeated. You’re standing in the hallway of your apartment complex, unaware of where to go or who to call. It’s too late to burden your family and you left all your friends to focus on the man lying in your bed with another woman.
Your knuckles against wood catches your brain up to your body. “We just keep running into each other don’t we?” Wil says in a playful tone. You wonder how he has so much energy this late at night. “I’m tired,” is all you manage to get out. “Are you locked out?” He asks, because he didn’t see you walk in and he didn’t see you walk out with half of your heart still in that apartment.
He takes your lack of an answer as acceptance, he extends an invitation and welcomes you in. His apartment is warm, not only physically but it’s also comforting, much like his presence. There’s a sense of home that you didn’t know could exist in this building, it’s a nice contrast from the cold and dark of your apartment.
The lights are on and there’s light music coming from another room. Nothing too loud, nothing you could hear from your apartment, it’s gentle.
He breaks the silence, “Is everything alright? It’s pretty late and you seem upset. Did something happen to you?” And he’s right. It is late. And you don’t know this man, who was stumbling up the steps when you met him. And you’re alone in his apartment. You wonder if he lives by himself or if anyone else is here.
“Do you afford this place on your own?” you try to get some information out of him. It’s not the nicest place but you could barely afford your apartment with your partner's income together.
“I do, yes.”
You wonder how he’s able to. It’s decorated nicely, guitar stands in the corner of the living area next to the gaming consoles across from the nice looking sectional couch. It’s nothing too extravagant but it’s comfortable.
He motions you to sit down and make yourself comfortable while he offers you a glass of water. He behaves as if he’s ready to start his morning.
“What’re you doing up this late?” It's your turn to ask questions now.
“Could you just confirm that everything is okay? Do I need to call anyone?” He seems genuinely worried. You think about how you’d react if a stranger just knocked on your door at three in the morning without saying much.
“I’m okay.” You assure. Wil visibly relaxes.
“I’m just up so I can work.” You assume he’s trying to get stuff done before a deadline, “Where’re you working?” “I do online stuff. Some of the people I make things with live across the country. I try to work with their time. I don’t mind it too much though, I prefer being up in the later hours.” You’re too tired to care to pry so you just accept his answer.
“May I ask why you knocked on my door?”
You don’t want to relive it, your heart still aches for the pieces of it that you left by the door. You tell him. You try not to look at him while you do because every word that comes out of your mouth, his eyes soften. Every word of consolation he says is dripping with a care and hospitality that you’ve grown so unfamiliar to. You want to cry because this stranger is being so kind to you and you want more, you feel pathetic. You want to tell him all your troubles so he can lick your wounds. And he does. In a way a stranger can without overstepping, he does. He listens.
You feel bad for burdening him. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He listens like he is truly interested in you and your stories. It’s almost three in the morning now and you wonder if this guy sleeps at all. You’re not tired anymore. Your body is, but your brain is wide awake. Maybe you’re trying to stay awake to be alert or to take in this moment. Your glass is empty. You know you should leave but you don’t know if you could bring yourself to go home. Almost as if he could read your mind, he grabs your glass and takes it over to the kitchen. You prepare to leave and to be alone again. You think of ways to thank him but instead, he’s sat back down with a full cup of water. Almost as a way to say ‘Stay.’ You accept and hope he can see the gratitude in your eyes.
You two talk like old friends catching up with each other. You exchange stories and Wil’s soft and sympathetic eyes have turned to squinty ones accompanied with laugh lines. His personality is just as warm as his eyes are and you wonder if the room is being lit up by the lights or if it’s just that smile he bares. You can’t help but feel a bit guilty taking in his appearance when he listened to you so intently. Your glass is empty again and you can barely keep your head up. You want to stay, you want to be safe here and let him put you back together. You want him to make you whole again. “Here,” he gets up to grab you a blanket and a remote to turn on the tv, “Would you like to watch anything?” You feel like you’ve surely overstayed your welcome, “I should go.” “You don’t have to go back. Stay,” he says it out loud this time and like a well trained dog, you listen.
“Is this okay?” He sits close. “Mhm,” you mumble. He throws the blanket across both your laps. “What do you wanna watch?” He nudges the remote towards you but you just bury your face in his shoulder. “You choose,” you don’t care, you just want to be close, “please hold me.” He obeys. He rests an arm around your shoulder, he’s careful about it but you move yourself closer to him. You crave him, his warmth and his touch. You want to be whole again. He pulls you closer and you hold him harder, you hold him like he will disappear if you let go.
“Thank you for being so kind to me Wil,” you say it just above a whisper, “thank you.” He holds your head against his shoulder. He doesn’t say or do anything other than that small action but you take it and savor it. “Why are you being so kind to me, Wil?” He’s quiet for a second, “I don’t know,” you look at him but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking forward to the tv show he put on before, “you seem like you need someone right now. I want to be here for you.” He’s looking down at you now, you try not to let your eyes water but his expression is honest and it sends you over the edge.
He pulls you onto his lap until your legs are caging him and then his hands are on the back of your head. He pulls you close until the top of your head is met by his lips. He holds you close, he holds you like you are made of porcelain, as if you will shatter into a million pieces if he lets you go.
You know you shouldn’t, god knows how much of a hypocrite you’d be if you did, but you do it anyway. You need this, even if it’s just for tonight. You bring yourself up from your place on his chest to cup his face, you kiss him. You don’t expect him to, but he kisses you back. It’s fluid, it’s natural. Your hands are laced in his hair and his hands have gone from rubbing your back to holding your hips. You’re filled with another spurt of energy, a carnal desire. You’re so drunk on his lips that you cast aside any need for oxygen. His hand goes from your hip to your cheek and he pulls away. “Are you sure about this?” He’s searching your face for any trace of doubt. “Please, Wil,” you need this. You would get down on your knees to prove to him if you needed to.
You kiss him again, it’s short this time as you make your way down to his jaw, his neck, and to the small bit of collarbone exposed from his collared shirt. You move with the rise and fall of his chest as you undo his buttons. The kisses get hungrier with desperation with every button undone until you’re at his jeans. You leave small kisses at his hips before you look up at him one more time for an okay to go ahead. He looks at you at with the same sympathetic look he gave you before.
“I don’t think this is what you need right now, my darling.” You know he’s right, every part of your being wants to fight against it and just have this but you know he’s right.
“I’m sorry,” you take back your place next to him on the couch, “you’ve been nothing but kind to me tonight I don’t mean to use you. I’m so sorry.” Any lingering feeling of confidence and bliss has gone and replaced itself with regret. You want to crawl away and sulk in your deplorable sorrows like a bad dog.
A hand on your knee breaks you from your trance. You don’t move, you hope that maybe if you’re still enough you’ll disappear from this situation.
“Look at me please.”
To no avail you’re still here. Your head feels like boulders upon your shoulders as you bring yourself to look at him. You don’t expect what you see. There’s no trace of pity or discomfort anywhere on his face. Instead, you see the eyes filled with warmth and comfort you were met with before any of this happened which makes it feel all the more heart wrenching.
“I want this,” he keeps his hand on your knee and offers a reassuring squeeze, “just under different circumstances.” You can’t bring yourself to say anything so you just nod.
“Let me take you out tomorrow? Maybe we can try this again.”
“I could settle for that.” You wonder how a person’s company could be so serene.
“You can stay here tonight, okay? I’ll take the couch.”
“Can we both stay here please?”
He hums a yes and excuses himself to his room to wash up and grab some pillows and blankets.
When he comes back his face looks fresh and his hands are full with two pillows, a thick blanket and stuffed whale.
“Whalebur.” Is all he says, in full seriousness. “You can sleep with him tonight.”
He makes the couch into a makeshift bed and turns off the lights, the only thing granting you guys vision is the tv screen that he leaves on. He pulls you into his side in a half sit half laying down position, you lean your head against his shoulder with one arm around his and one arm holding onto his stuffed whale. There’s some album review youtube video playing on the screen that he watches intently and if you’re being honest, you don’t know if it’s his fingers tracing circles on your skin or the video that’s causing you to doze off.
At some point in the video, you fall asleep. You’re awoken shortly after to a light snore above you, where Wil decided to rest his head against yours. His arm is around your waist now and you’re closer to him than you were before. It’s cozy. You want to stay here, in this moment. You want to get used to this warmth, this comfort. You want to get used to the closeness and the tenderness he offers.
You hold the plush, blue whale to yourself tighter and drink in every second of the setting. You want to get used to this. Your head is filled with thoughts of waking up and falling asleep next to someone so unconditionally sweet. You let these ideas saturate your brain and hope they bleed into your dreams before you drift off into sleep for a final time.
I feel like that stream today was supposed to make me think Phil wasn’t a bad father to Wil and it...didn’t? Like I know we were supposed to go away from that with “oh Phil tried his best, but Wilbur lied to him and hid how bad things were” and like??? Even if he didn’t know how bad things got in Pogtopia, Wilbur looked bad enough in the button room, to make it clear that he wasn’t mentally well.
He still showed up and saw his son in the midst of mental breakdown, begging to be killed, and went “yes, that’s the proper solution.” Then blamed an entire town for the death of the suicidal son that he stabbed.
And I don’t like any sort of anything near judgement for Wilbur seeing the guy who saved him from his own literal hell as a hero. Like, Phil my dude, whether you agree with it or not, you have worked with Dream too. Even at the beginning of stream, when you were standing in the ruins of the city you helped blow up, you hesitated at calling Dream a bad guy. Huff.
i like rain duo better as friends Sorry not sorry
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people who ship ccrimeboys should be put down
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If you ship c!rainduo romantically I think less of your interpretation of either of their characters tbhhh
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jack wolfe I’m Alive from Next to Normal with cwilbur, could go hard idk, i told my friend this and she hit me repeatedly but she’s also a hater of my beautiful mind
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