“So good baby- fuck you’re so tight around me, what a good little slut.” Wilbur groans out as he grips your hips in his hands, squeezing them tightly as he sinks deeper into you.
Your back archers further for him, face against the pillows as his pelvis meets your ass, his cock resting heavily inside of you. He was big, no point in lying about that. But when you’re lying on your stomach, weightless for him to use anyway he wanted, he felt huge inside you, and you loved it.
Which that seemed to be why you chose the position for the current moment. As he sat there, legs straddling your hips as he waited for your go ahead, you reached your hand down underneath you, resting it on your stomach where you found a decent sized bulge. Pressing down on it, you and Wilbur moaned out in unison, his tip pushing against your cervix as you tightened around him even more.
Wilbur braced himself against the headboard, pushing himself somewhat deeper into you, if it was possible. It was all too much, you needed more. Both of you did.
“I swear Wilbur, if you don’t move right now, I’m not helping you get you- oh fuck!” You screamed out into the pillow as he brought his cock all the way out and slammed it back into you, grabbing the back of your head and lifting it up as he did.
“Huh? What was that? Was the little slut trying to tell me what to do? You’re so cute-“ Wilbur leant down, lips brushing against yours as your eyes closing, awaiting for his warm lips on yours.
Not even a second later, the man thrusted hard inside of you, hitting your g-spot with his tip as your eyes opened in shock, only to roll back into your head. You let out a pornagraphic moan as Wilbur laughed at you, and continued his thrust, his pace slow yet thrust deep.
“That’s it baby, be a good slut and take all I give yo- holy fuck!” Wilbur’s cocky attitude tumbling in seconds as you met his thrust and tightened around his cock.
“Aw did big, strong Wilbur fall for my little game?! Maybe you’re not as good at this that you claim to be! Maybe you’re just as pathetic as D-“ Wilbur placed his hand on your head, shoving your face in the pillow as he thrusted faster inside of you.
“Shut the fuck up. You do not get to compare me to that fucked up asshole! And we both know I’m as good as I claim to be. Hell- you admitted it to Q the other day!” Your eyes widened up at Wilbur as he laughed manically at your expression.
How the fuck did he know about that?!
“Aw don’t look so scared baby, I’m not mad! I’m actually quite flattered, talking to other guys about how good I am to you, how I can make you cum just from my words, how my fingers work magical things on you. How my cock makes you go dumb after one thrust. Fuck- I knew you loved this, but not that much.” Wilbur said to you as you adjusted himself.
He lied his upper body down on top of your back, kicking his legs out from beside you, putting his full weight on you as he did. “You doing ok, my love?” He whispered in your ear, the words soft and caring, a complete turn around from his previous words.
Wilbur always made sure you were doing ok when things got a bit rough or a sudden shift had changed. You guys might not be on the best of terms, but hell, if you weren’t enjoying any of this… there’s no benefit for him either.
He gains pleasure from your pleasure.
You nodded your head at him, hands squeezing the pillow beneath you as you did. Apparently that wasn’t enough for Wilbur, earning a hum of disapproval as he lifted up off of you, bringing his cock out of you, yet leaving the tip. The sudden sensation earned a whine from him, making him softly laugh.
“Words. Are you ok?” Wilbur sternly asked you, his words still soft.
“Yes. I’m ok. Brillant. Amazing even!” You got out softly, a smile coming over your face as Wilbur placed himself back on top of you, his tip still teasing you. “Please. Please Wilbur.”
“I know, darling. Doing so good for me..” Wilbur whispered to you, his arm coming around your neck to hold you in a headlock sort of position, while his hand grabbed yours in his own, squeezing the limb as you reciprocated the affection.
“Now be a good slut and let me ruin you-“ Wilbur’s sweet attitude quickly being shoved out the window as he thrusted inside you quickly, his pace going as fast as he could in this position.
His arm around your neck held your face up from the pillow, holding onto the limb with your free hand as empty screams left your mouth. Your nails clawing and scratching at his skin as he continuously hit your cervix head on, broken cries leaving your mouth as he whispered small comments about you, degrading or praise.
“So good for me baby, taking me so well.”
“Such a slutty hole, always wants more- fucking greedy.”
“Come on baby, just a little more- you can take it, I know you can. Good girl!”
“Leaking all over the place baby, so messy for me-“
Every comment led to another moan or cry of pleasure.
And Wilbur took them all in with delight.
“Wil! Wil please- I’m gonna cum, please let me cum!” You whined out to the man, hips meeting his thrust, hand squeezing his more tightly than before.
Wilbur could feel your orgasm approaching, your hole tightening around his member in a tight grip, making him moan in your ear.
“I know baby, hold on.” Wilbur spread your legs a bit wider, bringing your hips up with him as he knelt behind you. Your back arched deep, the bulge stretching your stomach out even more than before, making you moan at the feeling. “So good for me, feel how deep I am inside baby, I’m the only one allowed to make you feel this way, got that? I’m the only one allowed to stretch this hole to its limit, the only one allowed to make you go dumb from my cock, the only name you scream. You’re my slut to use, and my baby to hold when needed, ok?” Wilbur whispered into your ear, earning a whine from you as you nodded.
“Yes yes. All yours. Always have been, Wil… please use me, please please-“ your words were cut off by his thrust, your mouth agape as he thrusted hard and fast into you.
“Fuck- you drive me crazy, you know that? You have me wrapped around your finger and I love it.” Wilbur groaned out as you squeezed once more around him, your nails digging into his arms once more.
“gon’ cum! Let me cum! Please- baby please!” You begged the man above you as his thrust became sloppy and miscalculated.
Slipping his free hand underneath you, his fingers met your clit, rubbing small, tight circles around your bud. “C’mon baby, cum for me. Cum for me and show me how good I make you feel.”
You were gone after the first sentence. His sweet voice melting your body as you let go of the pressure in your stomach. Your hips met his once more as your back arched deeper into the mattress, a delayed scream making its way out of your mouth as his thrust continued, riding out your high.
Your body shook as his thrust got faster and faster, not caring about precision or anything else besides the way your walls squeeze around him.
“Cum inside me… please! Please I’m begging you-“ you whimpered to him as his thrust slowed inside of you.
Your words made him cum on the spot, never imagining them to come out of your mouth but nevertheless happy about it.
Wilbur groaned out in your ear, as he fell on top of you, hips still stuttering inside of you as his orgasm hit him and he filled you up. He hid his face in your neck, mind still reeling from the orgasm, holding you tightly against him.
“Did so good for me, so good for me my angel…” Wilbur whispered out to you as he started to get off of you.
Before he could pull out, you quickly grabbed the back of his leg, stopping him from making any more advances.
“Stay inside me, please. Wanna feel you still.” You muttered out, sleep creeping up on you as you lied there, the weight of his cock inside you making it even harder to stay awake.
Wilbur could feel his dick stir again from they request but didn’t do anything about it, just wanting to lay with you for as long as he can before you both would go back to your ordinary ways and pretend there was nothing going on between you two.
Rolling over, Wilbur’s chest was pressed against your back as he shuffled closer to you, pressing himself deeper inside of you while he did. You both hummed at the sensation, the warmth and the first at he fit inside you as asking you both into an easy rest.
“Hmm I love you..” you whispered to the man behind you, falling asleep after the words were uttered, leaving the man shocked behind you.
The words struck him with hope and fear. What if you didn’t mean it? But why would say it if you didn’t? He had so many questions that would have to wait, but with you, he could wait a lifetime and be alright.
Ok! So! Its a lil diff from my usual requests bc this has infected my brain and brain worms go BRR
Revivedbur (If you write for bursonas) x NB!Reader, 46, 18, 14 and maybe 16 and or 73? Reader works at Quackitys casino in Las Navadas, and had been talking to Quackity. Yk, work stuff all that boring stuff. And we all know our boy Rev is one jealous boi! So, he got jealous, and MAN when he is jealous! Once you two get back to your apartment in Las Navadas, OH BOY! Maybe a lil degrading, edging (on Reader), and just Rev absolutely destroying Reader's mind.
Plz oh plz great Wren, I need this in my life-
- Anon-☆
YESSSSSS I DO WRITE FOR THE BURSONA’s
Title: Odds Are In My Favor (gonna add these now 😈)
Pairing: Revivedbur x NB!Reader
Setting: Las Nevadas
TW/CW: 18+ smut, dom!Revivedbur, sub!NB!Reader, jealousy, degradation, marking (hickeys/bruises), edging, possessive behavior, slight breathplay, rough sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, canon-typical toxicity, soft but intense aftercare, emotional undercurrents from past trauma and grief.
Summary(??): ex-lovers to “I never stopped loving you”, possessive reunion sex, reader works at Quackity’s casino, Wilbur is unhinged (but hot)
Pre-revival backstory: Reader and Wilbur were romantically involved before his death, but never got closure. Reader grieved deeply after Pogtopia and moved to Las Nevadas. His revival upended everything.
SMUT BELOW THE CUT! I’m not responsible for anyone under 18+ reading my 18+ content.
The casino’s gold-and-crimson lights flickered behind you as you unlocked the apartment door. You barely stepped inside before the click of it shutting echoed like a gunshot—and Wilbur was on you.
“Really?” His voice was low, acidic, trembling with restraint. “Laughing with him? Letting him touch you like that?”
You blinked, breath catching. “Quackity? Wil—it wasn’t like that, we were talking about—”
“Don’t lie to me.” He backed you up against the door, his hand flat beside your head, pinning you in place without touching you. But his eyes—dark, sunken, obsessive—burned right through you.
You swallowed hard. “You’re not even supposed to care. Not anymore.”
“Not supposed to?” he echoed, scoffing bitterly. “I spent years rotting in the void thinking about you. About how I left you. About how I died with your name in my throat and no fucking time to say goodbye.”
The silence between you buzzed louder than any neon light.
“I mourned you,” you whispered. “You think I didn’t? I wore your goddamn scarf until it unraveled. I couldn’t breathe for weeks. And now you’re here, and—”
“—and you’re smiling at him like I was never here at all?” he snapped, that wounded anger overtaking his voice.
You saw it then. Not just the jealousy. The grief in it. The way he never healed. Neither of you had.
“You want to know what happens when you misbehave?” he growled, his voice sinking low, dangerous.
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when he grabbed your jaw and kissed you like a man starving.
Clothes came off in a blur. His hands were rough, hungry, reclaiming. Every touch screamed mine, mine, mine. You ended up bent over the bed, breath caught in your throat as his fingers toyed with your slick heat—but never gave you enough.
“I should make you beg,” he whispered into your ear. “After everything. After what you did to me in that fucking casino.” His palm ghosted up your throat, curling lightly. “You look so good with my hands around your neck.”
A soft, choked moan left your lips. “Please…”
But Wilbur didn’t relent. He edged you—fingers curling inside you only to pull away, tongue flicking against your pulse just to stop before you broke. Your thighs were shaking, overstimulated and denied, pleasure a knife pressed to your skin.
“Please what?” he taunted. “Want me to fuck you like the whore you acted like tonight?”
You whimpered. His smirk widened.
“You can take it. You’ve done it before.”
And then—he gave it to you. Brutal. Fast. Deep. Every thrust shoved you up the bed, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He pushed you flat, keeping you trapped there like prey under paw.
“Let everyone in this goddamn city hear you. Let Quackity hear who you really fucking belong to.”
Your body writhed under him, pleasure unraveling fast and brutal. And still, he kept going.
“You want marks?” he snarled. “Fine.” His teeth sank into your shoulder, neck, chest—claiming you, over and over. “I won’t apologise for marking you up. Everyone should know you’re taken.”
You gasped, hoarse. “Wil—!”
“You love this, don’t you?” he whispered, voice rough with both emotion and control barely held. “God, you love it like this.”
He didn’t stop until you were sobbing from overstimulation, mindless and trembling beneath him, babbling his name.
•
Your skin stung with the echo of his grip.
Your thighs trembled as Wilbur pressed your face into the mattress, hips snapping against yours one final time. You choked on your moan as you came—hard—wrung out past the point of exhaustion, body clenching around him like you were afraid to let go.
Wilbur groaned low in your ear, sinking in deep and stilling.
For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing. Heavy. Shaky. His hand splayed over your back, keeping you pressed down, like if he let go now, you'd vanish again.
You flinched as he slowly pulled out. Your body ached—raw, stretched, used. But not unloved. Never that. Not with him.
You felt the shift in him almost immediately.
His hand drifted from your back to your waist, then slid around to your front, fingertips brushing your sweat-slick skin like he was afraid he broke something. He helped ease you onto your side, limbs jelly and overstimulated.
"Hey," he said softly, voice gravel from all the snarling and moaning he'd done. "Hey. Come back to me."
You blinked up at him, vision a little hazy. His face hovered close—messy hair, flushed skin, eyes wide with something like panic.
"Did I push too far?" he asked. The anger was gone now. It had burned itself out inside you.
You reached for him. Pulled his wrist toward your chest. "I'm okay."
He sank beside you, pulling you into his chest so fast it startled you. You were cradled now, surrounded by the same hands that had bruised your hips and held your throat moments ago. Only now, they were gentle. Tentative.
You buried your face in his shoulder, breath still unsteady.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just… seeing you with him—”
“I wasn’t flirting,” you said into his skin. “I was trying to get more shifts.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know that now. It’s just—god. You don’t get it. I spent so long dead, and the whole time all I could think about was how we never got a goodbye. You were the one thing that kept clawing at the back of my mind.”
He kissed your temple. Soft. Lingering.
“Then I came back,” he continued, voice low. “And you weren’t wearing my scarf anymore. You were working for him.Like you’d moved on. And maybe you should’ve. I wouldn’t blame you. But it made me—fuck. It made me feel like I never even existed to you.”
You looked up at him, eyes glassy from pleasure and tenderness and something bigger than either.
“I wore that scarf until it fell apart in my hands,” you whispered. “I slept with it. I cried into it. I couldn’t breathe when you were gone.”
His expression shattered.
And then he kissed you—not rough, not claiming, just real. Honest. Like a man touching something he thought he’d lost forever.
"I won’t apologize for marking you up,” he said against your lips. “Everyone should know you’re taken.”
“Then hold me like I am,” you whispered. “For real this time.”
Y/n: What makes you think I give a single shit about you?
Revivebur: You hallucinating my ghost for the past half a year is a pretty big clue. C'mon, what's the harm in admitting you love me? It's not like I can die again.
I gave you my coat, you chose to lean on me instead.
paring: revivebur x fem!reader
summary: based on wilburs last lore stream, he takes you to Techno's cabin to talk to Philza, and you finally break down. (also based around that line from ‘oh distant you’ that makes me sob.)
authors note: fuck i totally forgot about this fic. been sitting in the drafts for about two years oops. i really miss dsmp. anyone else? ive been rewatching old streams and reminiscing, and i wanted to finish it. this is 100% inspired by that last lore stream he did and i imagine when this fic ends he takes reader on the boat with him back to utah! hope you guys enjoy the bittersweet angst! don’t like it scroll past babes 💕
warnings: mentions of wilbur’s limbo, mood swings, angsty, emotional abuse, argument, mentions of trauma, I made revivebur more emotional (than he already is since he’s a tragedy within himself) , happy end, super unedited!
The soft freshly fallen snow crunches under your boots, your arms instinctively cross over your chest to keep yourself warm in the winter air. You should’ve worn something warmer.
Maybe he had forgotten to mention how cold it would be this far out, in a whole other biome. Why would he, he was already dawning a long trench coat and comfy sweater that hadn’t been washed in quiet sometime.
Wilbur could be forgetful like that.
Maybe he had forgotten about you for a moment.
His footprints carve a pathway for you to follow, his boots made lareger imprints in the snow than yours did. Since he was double your size, everything about him seemed bigger than you.
Your head hung low and shoulders shrugged inwards as shivers ran up your body. The burning pain in your fingertips caused them to turn red from the exposure to the air. it made you wonder if following him out here was a wise choice.
He hadn’t said exactly where he was going, only that he needed to speak with someone and you opted to join him.
Tommy had drawn him a poor map, and Wilbur turned it over several times to understand better as he led you through the path. Wherever he was leading you, you hoped it would be warm.
Maybe that was the issue, always following him blindly into situations, because you trusted him. You had forgotten, but he wasn’t the same man you knew. He hasn’t been in a long time.
That’s when you came upon a clearing. A cabin was settled right in the middle of the snowy terrain. The warm light of the torches placed outside along the fence and smoke pouring from the chimney filled you with comfort.
Wilbur stopped in front of you for a moment, hesitant to walk further for a moment. Staring at the sight before him for what reason you didn’t know. You stood beside him and frowned, teeth chattering.
He glanced down at you before inhaling deeply and letting out a sigh through his nose. He had lazily rolled the map and stuffed it into his pant pocket with a sigh.
“c’mon.” he motioned with his hand and began walking towards the cabin.
You followed silently.
When you came upon the fence that surrounded the open area, you watched as Wilbur effortlessly stepped over the three inches of wood. He had offered out his hand to help you over and you swung your legs over shakily.
You had lost your balance, but before you could try and catch yourself from falling you felt Wilburs hands grab your elbows. You griped his forearms for stability and regained your balance.
“woah, you good?” he asks.
You nod, feeling somewhat embarrassed and your cheeks heat. A gust of wind picks up brushing the back of your neck, causing you to shiver again.
Wilbur frowns and brings his hands to rub up and down along your upper arms to create friction.
“You cold?” he asks, headed tilted to the side like a puppy in confusion.
He hadn’t realized how cold you must’ve been. It had been so long since he last remembered the feeling of warmth. but seeing the tip of your nose a light pink and shaking frame made him guilt-ridden.
It was always cold on that train platform. So cold. Over time he had grown accustomed to it. Now that he was back in the world he never noticed when temperatures changed, it was all the same to him. That was a side effect from being dead for so long.
Wilbur felt remorse for making you walk in such conditions. He hadn’t thought about how different things are for you.
You watch silently as Wilbur disrobes his long coat, It swishes in the breeze as he hold it out to you.
“Here.” he mumbled, you blink and want to reach out for the piece of clothing but you’re shaking frame made you hesitant.
With a quick movement, Wilbur whips it around your body and places it along your shoulders. You gratefully put your arms through the sleeves and already you start to feel you body heat up, and not just from the material engulfing your small frame.
Wilbur steps closer until his lips are mere inches away from your forehead, his warm breath fanning your skin and you’re suddenly aware of the proximity between you. He takes both sides of the lapels in his hands, brings them closer before buttoning the front up. It was his attempt at being a little more kinder towards you.
Your arms wrap around yourself once he’s finished and fluffed the collar out around your neck. You thank him.
“thanks,” you smile.
“better?” he asks, an almost apologetic look on his expression. He really was trying.
You nod briefly.
He gives a quick nod in return.
okay.
When he turns around to walk up the steps of the porch to the front door of the cabin, his feet thud with every climb and the wood creaks out a groan. you bring your sleeve covered hands up to your nose in hopes of getting it warmer.
Cupping around the bottom half of your face and blowing hot air around the small pocket, the faint cigarette smell floods your senses. You scrunch up your nose at the stench. You’d remind yourself to wash this for him when you got back home.
Wilbur’s knuckles rap against the door four times, to the rythme of your heart pounding in your ears.
The click of the door to swing open never comes.
No answer.
Wilbur knocks again. Sounds of shuffling comes from the other side of the door. It swings open seconds later to reveal a shorter figure than Wilbur who stands in the doorway.
The man’s wings dropped behind him when he saw his son standing in the doorway of his home.
Phil.
“Wil? what are you doing here?“ Phil’s forehead creases in confusion. He looks past Wilbur’s shoulder and meets eyes with you, offering a warm smile. The wise crow had always been kind to you. Always there to offer his advice and wisdom for your problems. You never knew why Wilbur had talked about him with resentment for so long.
“I need your help, I have a problem and I’m not sure what I should do to fix it.” Wilbur says, his body is straight and voice sounding vague.
Phil gives him a look of understanding, doesn’t even hesitate to stand aside and offer you both sanctuary from the snow.
You eagerly step up the stairs and into the cabin following Wilbur, wanting to get to warmth as soon as possible. The cabin has a nice rustic feel to it. It's cozy and welcoming, with weapons tossed in the corner by the door, and you notice Techno's cape hanging against the wall. But the warrior was nowhere in sight.
Wilbur stops midway through the middle of the room and is staring at something on the fireplace mantel. A single picture frame is placed in the middle of two objects. Wilbur stares at it like it's foreign, almost as if he's seen it in a past life.
"Would you both like some tea?" Phil asks, treading to the kitchen, with his wings tucked behind him.
Tea sounded absolutely incredible right now. Even though you were finally starting to get feeling back into your fingers, a nice cup of Phil's tea would warm you up much quicker.
You go to open your mouth but Wilbur is already speaking for you.
"Just for y/n, she's freezing." he doesn't take his eyes away from what he's starting at in the living room.
Phil nods and gives you a smile before turning into the kitchen. You can hear Phill rummaging around the cupboards while you stride up to Wilbur, with your arms still crossed over yourself to keep warm. He blinks a few times when he feels you standing next to him to pull himself out of his thoughts.
"What's wrong?" you ask, worry lacing your voice as your brows knit together.
Then Wilbur is lost in his thoughts again, running a million miles per second. He wanted to spill his guts to you completely, to tell you everything that's been bothering him lately, but he can't find the right words. He hates himself for making you worried when he spaced out. For making you come all the way out here so that he could talk to his father. To resolve his own issues. He should just leave.
"I'm fine," he said in an apathetic tone.
You’re not convinced of his answer. He can see in your eyes and the crease in your forehead that you are still worried. Before you can speak again, Phil is coming back into the room with two mugs of tea in his hands.
There’s an awkward beat of you taking the mug from Phil when he offers it to you with another smile and you’re silently moving away from Wilbur to give some space to approach his son. Handing him the mug, Wilbur takes it gradually and there’s a silence that hangs in the air.
“So, what can I do you for?” Phil chimes.
Wilbur clears his throat, pushing up his glasses.
“I need your advice on something.”
Phil seems surprised his eldest son was here to ask for guidance. He couldn’t remember the last time that had occurred.
“okay…” phil says slowly. “what’s up mate?”
Wilbur glaces between you and phil panicked, forgotten you were standing here awkwardly sipping the mug of tea in your hands watching the interaction. Phil having caught on, an understanding gaze in his eyes when he realizes.
“Could we go somewhere else?”
Phil nods without another word and motions for him to follow. They walk to the kitchen and before Phil shuts the connecting door he gives you one last smile.
“make yourself at home y/n” and then you’re left alone in the strange house.
Confused, you make your way around the sofa and over to the fire that was settling in the fireplace. You don’t understand why you followed Wilbur here if he just wanted to have a conversation with his dad. It made no sense why you aimlessly followed him blindly. But you were the fool who cared about him.
You thought Phill might appreciate if you kept the fire going so you placed your mug down on the mantle and picked up a log on the wood rack by the fireplace and placed it on the embers. The wood was slowly catching fire, you dusted off your hands and hummed when it produced much needed heat in the room.
When you went to grab your mug your eyes met with the framed picture that sat behind it and you froze. It was the one Wilbur was looking at when you entered the cabin. It was an old picture. Phil was in it sitting in the grass with two young boys around the same age, twins, you guessed. One with pink hair holding a play sword, Techno. The other; brown curly hair and round glasses looking over his dad’s shoulder at the baby in his arms. Tommy.
It was bittersweet. All of his sons had grown up since then. The only memory of their innocence trapped in a single photo.
Now they were men who had fought in wars, died, come back to life and gone through many traumas.
You can hear low voices coming from the kitchen, but you can't make out the words. You're unsure if he's talking about you and whether he regrets bringing you here. The constant feeling of being a shadow that clings to your undead lover weighs heavily on you. Lately, Wilbur has been on edge; he seems fidgety around you and lost in his own thoughts. What stands out the most are his mood swings—they give you whiplash. One moment, he is stoic and somewhat dismissive, and the next, he acts as if he’s trying to make up for his behavior with kindness. It feels backhanded and forced.
Why did you come?
You keep asking yourself that. Why do you keep chasing after someone who keeps pulling away... Trying to reach him through the thick fog that he refuses to clear. Hoping that he'll reach out for your hand. But he never does.
Maybe it's because you remember everything.
Pogtopia.
A name that stands out in your memories like a burn. Like a bad dream.
You remember the frantic desperation in his voice. The fire that burned in his eyes when he spoke, on the edge of becoming a madman. The sharpness in his mind, the conviction in his actions- and how all of it felt like it could turn on you in an instant. Like he could love you and destroy you in the same breath. The way he would look at you, like you were the last bit of hope he had left in the crumbling world around him. In the end, it wasn't enough.
You watched as he dove over the edge. Sucumbing to the darkness. Thinking that maybe you could've saved him if you tried harder. Maybe if you voiced your concerns with his late nights pouring over papers, hatching his schemes while covered in ash, with his wide eyes and outbursts of anger. It hurt watching him care more about wars and a doomed country than the people who stood beside him. It hurt that you weren't enough to ground him.
The day he died. Witnessing his own father plunging a sword into his chest, you couldnt even scream. Your heart felt heavy and lost that day. If only you tried.
Then Ghostbur.
Ghostbur was soft and gentle, everything Wilbur hadn't been in the past few months. It felt like a punch in the gut when you asked him what he remembered. When he told you he could only recall your laugh, your smile, and the more intimate moments you shared with your lover, it felt like a fresh start.
You thought maybe this was easier to try and forget. Push the pain down. You've held that ache in your chest ever since. The anger. You never gave yourself permission to feel it. Not with Ghostbur, and certainly not now that he was back. You didn't want to be another person who made him feel like he had to apologize just for existing now. But god, did it fucking hurt.
Every time he'd push you away, and then come back, you would always give in. He never apologized and still hasn't for the mistreatment towards you.
Walking in circles, you try to avoid looking at the photos on the walls. The images of a man with his family, reminders of what used to be, make your stomach churn. You’re not sure how long you remain in that spot until the sound of the door creaking open catches your attention.
A tear slips down your cheek, and you quickly whip it away. Wilbur struts back in, hands stuffed in his pockets. Gaze flicks towards you, then away. Not noticing that you have been crying seconds before.
Standing still halfway between the coach and the fireplace. The silence cuts deeper in the air than you expected it to. He strides towards you, feet heavy with every step
"I-" the word dies in his throat. Caught between wanting to say something and then stopping himself. "C'mon, I've got something to show you."
"What?" Your heart tightens. You know by the tone of his voice that's not what he wants to say.
Wilbur exhales hard through his nose. "We're going." his voice is hard, and he stomps over to the front door, frustration sinking into your chest.
You stay planted in the middle of the room. "No."
Startled with his hand hovering over the doorknob as he slowly turns to you at your sharp word.
He takes a step towards you. Then another.
“I—” he starts, but you cut him off before he can finish.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Wilbur freezes mid-step. His brows furrow, more stunned. “What?”
You stand up, mug trembling in your grip, and place it down on the mantle with more force than necessary. “You heard me.”
“Y/n, I—”
You snap.
“You dragged me all the way out here without saying a word about where we were going, or why, or how long, or how cold it would be—just to have a conversation with your father that I wasn’t even allowed to be a part of?”
Your voice cracks slightly but you push through it.
“I followed you, like always. And you didn’t even look at me. Didn’t ask how I was. Didn’t notice how cold I was until I was shivering so hard I couldn’t speak.”
Wilbur opens his mouth again, but you don’t let him get a word in.
“You act like nothing happened. Like you didn’t blow up everything. Like you didn’t come back from the dead and decide to walk around acting like none of it matters. Like I don’t matter.”
He flinches, his face falling.
“That’s not true,” he says quickly, his voice soft.
“No? Because it sure as hell feels true.” You step toward him now, anger and hurt twisting in your chest. “Do you have any idea what it was like watching you spiral? Watching you die? Watching you come back and not even look at me?” Your throat is raw, and tears stream down your face. "It fucking hurts. Im tired of it."
His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Y/n…”
“I waited for you,” you say, voice shaking now. “I grieved you. And then Ghostbur came, and I tried to believe that was enough, that it was something, even though I knew it wasn’t really you. And then you came back and you looked right through me like I was just another ghost of what you left behind.”
Wilbur’s mouth parts like he’s going to speak, but no sound comes out.
You keep going, voice louder now. “You never apologized. Not once. Not to me. Not to Tommy. You acted like you could just… show up again and it would all be fine.”
"I didn't know what to say!" he steps closer. "I still don't."
"That's bullshit," you snap. "You could've tried. Instead, you made me feel like I was nothing to you."
"I didn't know how!" he says, louder now, voice raw. "I came back wrong, y/n. Everything feels wrong." his voice is rough. "I was in that fucking train station for thirteen and a half years, feeling numb. Nothing but remorse for what I had done to everyone. To you. I regretted everything!-"
"Then why did you never apologize?!" you cry.
"BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW IF YOU'D EVER FORGIVE ME!" he shouts.
You blink, and for a moment, time feels suspended. Both your chests are rising and falling quickly, the weight of the moment hanging between you. In that stillness, you notice it—he is scared. Of what he's admitted. It softens you for a moment. Wilbur takes a deep, shaky sigh, looking away from you. You move toward him carefully. A moment of silence falls between you. Until he talks again.
"I was scared that if I did apologize, you wouldn't want me in your life anymore,” he pauses. voice low. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
Tears prick in your eyes again. You don't speak as you take another step closer.
"I was selfish, scared, and angry. I kept pushing you away because I thought you'd be better off without me. Now I realize I was wrong. I need you. But you don't need me. And it was selfish of me to shut you out." he chokes out a sob, and you're heart feels heavy as you're now practically invading his space.
You lift your hands to gently cup his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you, but he refuses to meet your gaze. He stares down in shame, trembling against your touch, as if he doesn’t welcome it at first. It’s almost as if he feels he doesn’t deserve such softness after all this time. You softly brush away the tears as they fall with your thumbs.
"Will, please look at me." he looks up, and he completely shatters under your saddened gaze.
I'm so, so sorry," he sobs, words thick in his throat. Shaking, you pull him into a hug, his arms curling around your waist beneath his trench coat, which you're still wearing. As you both cry against each other, your fingers run through his hair, trying to soothe him. You recall how your touch in his curls always calmed him. He tucks his face into your shoulder, inhaling your scent and clinging tightly.
"Im sorry," he recites. "Im so sorry y/n. For Pogtopia. For shutting you out. For coming back and pretending like everything was fine. Even if you never forgive me, I'll try for the rest of my life to make it right by you."
As you took a moment to steady your breath, the emotions swirling within you began to settle. The fire of anger faded away, leaving behind a deep sense of grief. It wrapped around your heart, mingling with the bittersweet warmth of love. No matter the circumstances or the hurt that had happened, your love for him remained an unwavering constant, a silent promise that had never ceased, etched deep within your soul.
Wilbur holds you as though he’s terrified to let go. He fears that if he releases you, even for a moment, you might slip away for good this time. Eventually, you ease back just enough to look up at him, and your eyes meet. His gaze is glassy, and his glasses are slightly crooked. Without thinking, you reach up to adjust them. He lets you, his fingers lingering on the side of his face as you brush a wayward curl from his forehead. You smile through your tears. The gentle touch causes him to shake his head in disbelief.
"I don't deserve you," he whispers.
"Yes, you do."
He doesn't argue.
Your hands glide down his chest, coming to a stop just above his heart, where you can feel the pulse beneath the soft fabric of his sweater. It feels both foreign and familiar at the same time. As the weight of the shouting and resentment begins to fade, he places his hand over yours and gives it a gentle squeeze.
"I meant what I said."
You nod. "I know."
"Do you believe me?"
You hesitate, then breathe. "I want to."
That's enough for him. He nods slowly, pulling in a shaky breath, then leans down until his lips brush your cheek in a tender kiss.
"Then I'll prove to you every day how much I mean it," he vows.
You find yourself believing him, despite a nagging feeling in the back of your mind warning you not to get caught up in it. The tension in your gut urges you to run, yet you remain here, standing in his arms once again in the warm cabin.
"Don't do it again. Don't shut me out. Don't leave me behind," you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. He looks at you with guilt and remorse in his eyes. This time, he is the one to reach out and cradle your face in his palms.
"I promise you I won't ever again."
You inhale slowly and then say it.
"I forgive you..." you croak.
Although you shouldn't, you can't help it. You love him too much. You watch as the words hit him. His body stills, eyes wide, and something like hope fills them again. He just stares at you, as if he can't believe what you've said. Then he surges forward, hands still cradling your face, his lips find your forehead first, then your cheeks, your jaw, nose, brow, everywhere. His kisses are soft and frantic all at once. Like he's memorizing every part of you and trying to apologise with every brush of his mouth. You don't stop him.
His voice cracks on a whisper as he presses a kiss to your lips, mummbling. "Thank you for forgiving me," he breaths, eyes shut. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
Your heart twists, and you're pulling him close again.
"I love you too.'" You murmur into his chest.
In that fleeting moment, it’s just the two of you, enveloped in the flickering glow of the firelight that dances around you like a warm embrace. The air is thick with every word you’ve longed to share. As time seems to stand still in this intimate cocoon of longing and hope.
As he gently pulls you from the warmth of the cabin, the crisp cold air envelops you once more, sending shivers down your spine. This time, his hand instinctively finds yours. Fingers intertwining as he guides you forward. Together, you step into the dark, with home on the horizon. Soon, the cold is taking over your bones again, causing you to shiver. He notices, and you move closer to lean against his arm, head pressed to his shoulder. He doesn't flinch away, as you trek side by side through the snow.
Filled with both uncertainty and possibility, he leads, and you follow.
End.
taglist: @lillyspeakz @horny-p0et @sootwilb
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➸ note; i know i said id post this at 8- but I was watching heartland with my mom and like.. sobbed like a baby anyways, hope you enjoy!!
➸ pairing; revivebur x gn!reader // c!wilbur x gn!reader
➸ summary; after wilbur's death and a too long to think, you ask your sister to help you. she does but maybe her methods work a bit too well.
➸ warning; slight hurt/big comfort, suicide mentions, kissing, easily forgiving reader, ghostbur goes to a happy limbo, probably swearing
➸ age-rating; 15+
➸ wordcount; 3.1k
main masterlist // part 1
wilbur's funeral was quicker than most, and not many people showed up. if anything, it was mostly you and his father and brothers. Niki came by, your sister Grace did too. but in all honesty, not many people bothered to pay their respects.
you also kept it quiet, taking a few days before the funeral to really let everything sink in, to let the fact he left the bouquet you gave him on the spot he wanted to be buried. it was just by the hill he used to sit on, the one he took you to and told you all about his dreams for the future. for lmanburg and for the future you both hoped to share.
you wouldn't be sharing that future now.
despite that; the time since wilbur's death went by slowly, and was utterly agonizing. your home felt colder, although it could've been winter slowly creeping up, you chalked it up to the lack of your partner. or maybe it was his ghost that wandered your halls that emanated that cold. or maybe he just contributed to it. whatever it was, you found yourself spending more time out in the snow sitting by his grave than sitting by the fire in your living room.
you'd talk to him, or rather the corpse of his that was buried a few feet down in a hand built coffin that his older brother forged through anger. Techno wasn't known for tears.
but you were. you wouldn't be surprised if your tears eventually froze over whenever you spoke to his grave, as the days were getting colder and the chill of the wind started to burn your cheeks.
ghostbur was nice, you thought. a nice distraction. he was kind and sweet and he was all the good of Wilbur and more. he wasn't Wilbur, he made that clear, but you knew that the moment you met him. he caught you on a less than good day, wandering around your house, mindlessly walking the halls and dissociating to the point you weren't sure what was going on or where you were.
but he came knocking on your doorstep, friend behind him. you took him in, since he had nowhere else to go. you helped him stable up friend, put him in the pen and set him up in the fields while you brought ghost in and helped him warm up. you kept him away from the snow and cold, helping him become afloat again. he stayed back with you, keeping an eye on you and giving you blue any time he could. he loved spending time with you, caring for you.
he was a good friend, and he hoped that's what he always would be.
no matter how many times you'd tell him how wonderful of a friend he was, he wouldn't believe it. even when you brought up the time he saved you a week after he walked into your life. you were so close to ending it all, jumping off the edge and joining your wilbur. but he stopped you, he managed to talk you down and he held you and promised to protect you, and that he did. he protected you, he cared for you and even if your relationship was platonic at best, he was a wonderful partner.
meanwhile, wilbur was pent up in limbo. pacing the platform, listening to the sounds of the train passing by not once stopping for him. he was going crazy, mind you he already was, but this was a whole new level.
there wasn't much to do up there, time passed so much more slowly. there weren't any books to busy him with, all he could do was sit and listen to the screeching and taunting of the train. the sounds drove him mad, a constant reminder of what he can never reach, what he can't get back. what he destroyed with his selfish ways.
he nearly ripped his hair out, with the way regret and stress was eating at his dead form. he was tired, lost and he couldn't get it out of his mind what mistakes he'd made. the long list of things he'd ruined with his own presence.
sometimes he'd wonder if it's better that he's dead. maybe he shouldn't bother with troubling thoughts of how to get back. you must be thriving, he hopes you're thriving.
you weren't. it's crawling up to the two month anniversary, and to say the least, you were losing it. you were good at pretending, pretending that you were okay and healing but in reality; you weren't. you were staying up at night, clinging to his old trench coat and shutting your eyes in hopes you could pretend he was there and would materialize into his coat at any moment. it felt stupid to do this, but it kept you from being pushed onto the ledge.
"Grace?" you whisper, holding your cup of tea close to your chest, sitting behind her counter at her flower shop. your sister was always a safe place for you, especially when you couldn't sift through your thoughts on your own. she helped.
"mm?" she hums, turning to face you with a smile before returning to the flowers she was working on. a small winter themed display for the Christmas festival she was preparing for. as for every other shop owner in L'manburg.
"have you.. have you learnt anything about revival?" you managed to mumble out, eyes casted down on the floor as you set aside your tea.
"I've done some research," you didn't catch the way she froze for a moment, as if she was buffering. and you especially didn't know that her research pertained to reviving the same person you wished to.
"how much?"
"enough." she sighs out, tying a ribbon around the bunch of stems, placing the bouquet on display before cleaning up her workstation.
"how hard is it? to revive someone, I mean." you bit your lip, nearly drawing blood before you quit, looking away again but this time outside the front windows.
"is this about wilbur?"
she didn't need to ask, she already knew. it's always about wilbur. you fidget with your fingers, wringing your hands together as you shrug, "maybe."
"if.. and I mean, if. if you revive him, he may not be the same," Grace frowns, walking over to you and bringing you into a hug. for a younger sister, she acted like an older, doting sister occasionally.
"at least I'll have him back, y'know?" you shrug again, raising your shoulders before dropping them in defeat, leaning deeper into her hug.
"I'll help," she draws in a breath, calculating her next words as she steps back to look at you, "if you promise to not blame anyone but him if he comes back an ass, okay?" she cracks a smile, chuckling softly at her own words as your own lips curl up and you roll your eyes.
"fine-" you pause, mind reeling as you remember ghostbur. how could you hurt him?
"what will happen to ghostbur?"
Grace shrugs, pulling away and turning to grab some more flowers to put together, "he'll be sent to limbo."
"so he'll die?" regret bubbles up in your throat like bile, and your eyes widen at the thought.
"no, no," she starts before stopping, biting her bottom lip, "he'll go to his own limbo."
"is that good?"
her shoulders lift, mouth curled in a frown and uncertainty paints on her face, "in theory, yes. I'm sure he'll be fine. it's- he'll be okay."
"if.. if getting back wil hurts ghost- i- I can't do that to him, Grace," your lips curl downwards and you step into the main area of the shop, grabbing some baby's breath and setting it on the counter by your sister.
"it won't hurt him. i promise," she rests her hand on yours, shooting you a soft and sympathetic gaze.
you take in a breath and nod, "okay, when can we start?"
you were sure that the rivival process was long and tedious, and maybe it was but-- grace liked to work alone. she'd update you when you showed up at her shop every morning, reassuring you that everything was fine.
it was a few days before ghostbur disappeared, which grace warned you about. you just hoped he was okay. despite the lack of the beloved ghost, you still hadn't found wilbur, and Grace was becoming more suspicious.
she avoided your questions, choosing short answers and it seemed like she was pulling herself at both ends, spreading herself thin. you were worried but Tom didn't know anything, and Grace wasn't letting you in on it anytime soon.
"why can't I see them, grace?" wilbur pried, sitting on the bench in the back of Grace's shop.
"I don't trust you yet. you haven't proved to me that you won't hurt them," she toyed with the ribbon she held, melting the ends to keep it from freying.
"you've threatened me enough, I think that's plenty of reason-"
"no, wilbur, you killed yourself and left them off on their own. threatening isn't enough for you to get it through your head that your fucking existence could hurt them! sometimes that's all you do," she scoffs, placing down the ribbon and picking up the next one, sealing the ends again. she takes a moment, listening to the silence of the room, the silence that's fallen on wilbur. she rolls her eyes, huffing before she continues, "I'm sorry, okay? but I've had to watch my sibling suffer because of your decisions, and they suffered longer than you've been dead," she pauses, shutting her eyes and taking a breath before continuing, "I'm not trying to be hard on you, I promise but- just, please understand, wil."
"I know, I know I've hurt them but I promise, I can make it better. weren't they the one that asked to revive me?" he counters, standing up and making his way to stand beside grace, towering over her and resting his hand on her shoulder.
"yes, they were but- I warned them and I just don't want them hurt."
"I won't hurt them," he starts, resting his hands on both her shoulders, "I promise."
she pulls back, "fine, but remember the second I catch wind that you've hurt them, say goodbye to living. and your reproductive organs."
"I think killing me is good enough," he laughs softly, pulling grace into a hug and mumbling, "thank you, so much,"
"yeah, sure."
"I'll see you later, yeah?" wilbur's lips curl into a smile as he practically bounces towards the door. he hurries out of the flower shop, determination taking over and hope filling his veins.
all the while you're out by his grave, again. maybe you should build something in honor of ghostbur, you think. he's not here anymore, hopefully in a better place so surely you should do something to honor his memory. just like you did with wilbur. like you always did.
you sifted your fingers through the grass, tugging at it gently, trying not to fully rip it but just mess with it. your mind runs miles an hour, wandering through thoughts and feelings that haven't quite healed yet.
moss has begun to grow on his headstone, flowers grace planted around it now blooming up around the stone. it's heavily weathered, the words.
'wilbur soot. beloved son, friend, partner, brother and president. 1996-2020.'
they're painted on and the snow and sleet has worn it down, its barely visible. the words ghost on the stone. but you have it memorized, by reading it over before you had it made, and then reading it over and over again for hours every day since his death. like a mantra, even if it has no purpose other than to hurt you.
you'd been sitting there for who knows how long, your fingers felt like icicles but you barely noticed the pricking cold. you weren't sure what you were hoping for, praying for by sitting alone but it was something.
the sound of fabric waving in the wind, and footsteps crunching on the grass, and then the scent hits you; cigarettes and cologne. mixed together and hitting your nose sharply. you bite your lip, letting your breath catch in your throat, not bothering to look behind you.
"wilbur?" you mumble, and then you hear his smile form, a little puff of air let out with it.
"hello, my love," he stands beside you, waiting for you to invite him to sit with you. you glance up at him, mouth slightly agape.
"you're alive."
"yeah, I am. thank god grace let me go. finally-" he chuckles, and for the first time in a while, you smile. a genuine smile.
"what? she kept you cooped up?" you pat the spot beside you, keeping your eyes up on you.
"yes, she did. and she threatened my livelihood," he follows your guide, sitting beside you and letting his legs stretch out before him. you finally catch a glance at the discoloration on his face, the bruises and patches of skin too pale or too tan.
"oh? so she threatened to neuter you?" you meet his eyes finally, smile soft but clear on your face.
"that's her favorite threat," he chuckles softly, fingers twitching as if he was going to reach for you. he takes a sharp breath, looking forward and out on the horizon over the hill. he takes a moment before pulling something out of his trench coat pocket, but you stop him short.
"you grabbed the coat?" you frown, fingers reaching out to play with the fabric, rubbing it between your fingertips. you glance up at him and he finally reaches forward, hand on your cheek and thumb rubbing your skin.
"it wasn't the only thing I grabbed," he sucks in a breath, pulling his hand away and taking out two rings, the rings he left for you, "i found them, on the mantle and i- I wanted to do what I didn't before."
"so you've been in our house?"
"is that what you take from this?" he chuckles, leaning forward and kissing your forehead. to his surprise, you don't flinch away but rather lean into it and sigh.
"maybe, but- are you.."
"proposing? if you're okay with it," he starts, pulling the rings off the string and putting his hand out for yours. you nod and give him your hand. he slips the ring on and begins again, "will you marry me?"
"mmm.. I don't know- will I?" you crack a smile before chuckling softly, "yes, yes I will. idiot."
he pulls you into a hug, your right leg tossed over his lap as you both pull one another closer. and then you pull back and reach your hand out, palm up.
"what?"
"the ring, it's only fair."
"oh?" wilbur smiles, handing you the wedding band he intended on wearing. you slip it on his ring finger before kissing each of his finger tips.
"I missed you,"
"I missed you too," he leans closer, resting his hand on your cheek again and stroking the skin.
"mm, I'm sure you've had plenty of time to miss me," the corner of your mouth twitches upwards into a smirk. you stand up, reaching your hand down for him to take as you help him up to stand. he rests his hands on your hips, squeezing gently before leaving a kiss on your cheek.
"too much time," he mumbles, holding you close and hugging you, "I'm sorry, for all I've done. I know that no words can account for all that I've put you through but I- I hope you can find a way to put up with me."
"don't worry, I forgave you a while ago. you were stupid but, dream is dead and it's because of what you pulled. we have you to thank for that."
"I'm still sorry," he winces, and you grab his hand, leading him back to the cabin as you shrug.
"I know, and you're going to have to do a lot more than say sorry for other people. but for me, you're lucky I missed you so much. otherwise, I probably wouldn't have asked to have you revived."
"I know but-" you shoot him a warning look, silently telling him to shut his trap before he starts whining again, "okay, okay, I get it."
"good, now- let's go enjoy ourselves yeah? get you a shower and go to bed. because, love you, darling but you reek." you chuckle, tugging him by his hand up the stairs of your porch, hurrying in and shutting the door behind you.
he pulls you to him by your hips, swaying you gently before he leans down to pull you into a kiss, lips licking together in a way they haven't in over six months, you think. much longer than he's been dead.
you reach your arms up, wrapping them around his neck as you both tug one another together, your bodies now pressed up. the warmth he spreads wraps around you and you've never felt more at home.
the kiss doesn't end until you both have to gasp for air, and you drop your head to press against his chest. he rubs your back with his hands, gentle circles spun over your shirt.
"do I really reek?" he croons, looking up at the ceiling as your fingers grasp at his shirt.
"yes you do,"
he attempts to get out of it, poking out a gentle pout and you pull back. folding your arms over your chest as you shake your head, smirking at the way he tries to beg like a puppy.
"wilbur- you do realize I was going to make brownies while you showered, right?" you knew the moment you mentioned baked goods, he'd do whatever you asked. he'd do whatever you asked anyway, but a little bribe never hurt anyone.
"wait really?" his eyes light up and his pout falls off and is replaced with an excited grin. you nod and he lunges down to press thankful kisses all over your face, giggling happily as he holds you by your sides, fingers curling over your waist.
"yes- god, you only love me for my baking?"
"no, but it is a plus," he pulls back, placing a quick peck to your lips before sprinting up the stairs for him to shower. you shake your head, smile clear as day on your lips as you venture into the kitchen to begin baking.
despite everything, the pain and turmoil and living without him, you're glad you asked to have him revived, even if it meant some sacrifice. yet the more you think of it, you're gonna have to thank grace for holding your fiance hostage tomorrow.
Fun little piece I did for this event using one bed, forced proximity and a tiny bit of enemies to lovers as my trope prompts :) I don't know how good this is but I will cut myself some slack
Summary: Wilbur gets lost in a snowstorm after the destruction of the burger van. With frostbite, exhaustion, and desperation setting in, he ends up on your doorstep despite believing that you despise him. After all, what other choice does he have?
Warnings: Brief mentions of vomit, unhealthy eating habits and weight loss (Revivebur is not the healthiest guy)
Word Count: 4.6k
Minors DNI
The last thing Wilbur had wanted was to get caught in a snowstorm. After days of no sleep and hardly eating, it was the last thing he needed. Yet, there he was, knee-deep in the snow as wind whipped his face. His ears were nearly numb, (he cursed himself for not owning a hat) and his fingers were aching, the first sign of potential frostbite.
The plan had been to make it to Phil’s house. After the…incident at the burger van—now a pile of rubble—Wilbur needed a place to stay, to lick his wounds and relax while attempting to assuage his guilt. The weather had other plans.
He braced himself against the wind, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. He would have buttoned it, except all the buttons were slightly loose and would probably have popped off had he tried. Considering this was his only coat, he couldn't afford to ruin it. With the combination of the wind blowing his hair into his eyes and the snow hitting the side of his face, he could hardly see ten feet in front of him.
However, he could see a light in the snowstorm, the warm glow of a fireplace through a cabin window. “Finally,” he murmured under his breath, his words immediately carried away by the harsh winds. As he approached, however, he realized this wasn’t Phil’s cabin at all. It was yours.
Wilbur’s relationship with you was…tense, to say the least. You had struck up a friendship with Phil and Technoblade after Wilbur’s death, becoming a member of the Syndicate and training under their guidance. You’d heard about Wilbur, of course, the man who betrayed his friends and reduced his own country to rubble. The man who, in your eyes, repeatedly took advantage of his father’s kindness and resources, only to squander any opportunity at bettering himself. You had become protective of Phil, viewing Wilbur as a threat to his father’s well-being. While he couldn’t always disagree, Wilbur’s bitterness toward you hadn’t faded in the slightest. After all, what did you know about his relationship with his father? Who were you to judge him?
When he recognized that the cabin was yours, he nearly kept walking. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make heads or tails of where he was. He knew Phil and Techno’s cabin couldn’t be far, but he didn’t know which direction he was looking in. He had no compass and no map, and even if he did, it would be nearly impossible to use them in this weather.
Despite his reservations, he found himself knocking on your door. With any luck, you wouldn’t toss him out the second you saw him.
The door opened. Wilbur could feel the warmth radiating from inside, and it was tempting to shove his way in despite any protest you might have. However, he refrained, meeting your eyes instead.
“What are you doing here?” you asked. Despite the harshness of your tone, Wilbur couldn’t help but be mesmerized. You were far from being friends with him, but despite that, he found himself drawn to you. You were tough, principled, independent. Unlike him, you didn’t need to rely solely on the kindness and leniency of others to keep yourself afloat. He envied you for that. Ever since his revival, it seemed that all he did was survive off other’s pity.
But you didn’t pity him. You treated him as a person. And even though the two of you didn’t like each other, he was drawn to you. It wasn’t surprising to Wilbur. He’d always been attracted to things that were bad for him.
“Was trying to get to Phil’s,” Wilbur said. “Got lost.”
“I can see that.” Your eyes narrowed at him. “What do you want?”
“Shelter. Obviously.” Wilbur motioned to the flurry of wind and snow behind him. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a storm going on. A pretty significant one. And I don’t exactly have proper winter gear.”
“And whose fault is that?” you asked sarcastically. “Maybe, instead of mooching off your father, you should’ve gotten yourself a place. Somewhere that you won’t get caught in a snowstorm by yourself.”
“Yeah,” Wilbur replied tersely. “I get it. Look, can I please come inside? Just for a bit, to warm up until the storm is over, or at least has died down.” He shivered, a little more than he actually felt the need to, just to show you how cold he was. Wilbur had become good at evoking pity.
There was no pity in your expression, however. “Are you armed?” you asked. Wilbur shook his head. “Good.”
To his relief, you stepped aside, allowing him to enter the cabin. He was hit with a wave of warmth. He closed his eyes, standing just inside your cabin and soaking it in. He heard the soft click of the front door being closed, and he opened his eyes as you walked past him further into the cabin.
Once his eyes were open, he took a moment to absorb his surroundings. The cabin was simple, only two rooms. He could see the fireplace in the center of the room, made of stones cobbled neatly together. A small pile of firewood sat to the left of the fireplace, logs ready to be burned in order to keep the place blissfully warm. There was a window beside the front door, the one he’d seen while stuck out in the snow. You had a bookshelf as well, full of neatly placed books and some random objects that you’d found on your travels. A cushioned loveseat sat in front of the fireplace, and beside that sat a comfortable-looking chair. To his left was a small room—most likely a bathroom—and tucked against the wall was a bed. On the opposite end of the room was a kitchen, stocked with the bare necessities. A table sat in the corner, only big enough for three people, perhaps four if you tried hard enough.
It wasn’t a large, luxurious place, but it was comfortable. It reminded him of his childhood, spent in small homes and cabins similar to this one. “Nice place,” Wilbur said. “I’ve seen it from the outside, but I’ve never gone in.”
“You’re right,” you said. “And there’s a reason for that.” You turned your back to him, walking over to the kitchen. Wilbur watched as you filled a glass of water and handed it to him.
Wilbur took the glass, confused. “Then why let me in? Why help me?”
“As much as I dislike you,” you replied, “I think Phil would be pretty upset with me if I left his son to die in a snowstorm.”
“You dislike me? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Then you’re even dumber than I thought.” You looked Wilbur up and down. “You look like shit.”
It was true. He still had ash clinging to his coat from the burger van incident. The bags under his eyes had become more pronounced, and he hadn’t eaten in ages, which he figured must be evident based on the way you were looking at him. “Thanks,” he replied simply. He took a sip of the water you gave him. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he took a sip, and the glass was emptied in less than thirty seconds.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” you asked.
“A while. Why?”
“You’re just going to throw up all that water if you don’t eat,” you said. “Your body won’t absorb it.”
Wilbur didn’t mention that eating often went poorly for him since he came back from the dead. It was as if his body knew he wasn’t supposed to be alive, that his time was supposed to be up. If he ate too much or too quickly, he often felt nauseous. He’d thrown up more than once by not being careful and eating too fast. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. “I don’t exactly carry a meal on me at all times,” he said.
“Sit down,” you said. “I’ll make you something.” He looked at you in disbelief. “Are you going to sit, or you going to stand there and stare at me?”
“I’ll sit.” Wilbur glanced around the room. “Do you want me to take my boots off?”
“Just set them by the door,” you said. Your back was already turned to him again, gathering ingredients to make him something to eat. “You can hang your coat up as well.”
“Thanks.” He did as you said, removing his worn, leather boots as well as his coat. He cringed at the sight of it, the coat that had carried him through Pogtopia, through the afterlife, and all the way to your front door. It had seen better days.
Actually, he supposed it hadn’t. He’d only started wearing it when he was cast into exile from his own nation. The only version of himself that wore that coat was the version that was broken, fractured into a million pieces. The coat had only ever belonged to a man who felt like the shell of his former self. The man who hurt everyone he loved.
He shook the thoughts away and hung up the coat next to one of yours before walking into the kitchen area, trying not to let the guilt consume him. He sat at the table, perching himself on one of the wooden chairs. “The chairs look handmade,” Wilbur pointed out. “Reminds me of the ones my dad made for the house I lived in as a kid.”
“He taught me how to build,” you replied. Your eyes were focused on your work. “Helped me assemble the chairs. And the table, for that matter.”
“So you’re my dear old dad’s new kid then, huh?” Wilbur asked. “His new project.”
You rolled your eyes. “Your jealousy is showing, Wilbur. It’s not a good look on you.”
“How would you know? You’re not even looking.”
You turned toward him. His breath caught in his throat. In the dim light of the kerosene lamps that lit your cozy cabin, you looked practically ethereal. At first, he thought you were going to say something, but you faltered and turned back to your work.
Moments passed in silence. Wilbur tapped his fingertips lightly on your kitchen table, a nervous habit. Before long, a bowl was placed in front of him.
It was oatmeal, sprinkled with some brown sugar. There were fresh berries in it as well, berries that he figured you’d likely picked yourself. “Thank you,” he said. He hadn’t had oatmeal since L’Manberg. The thought made his throat feel like it was closing up.
“You’re welcome.” To his surprise, you sat at the table with him. He felt unnerved by your proximity. If he scooted a few more inches to the left, his elbow would brush against yours.
He feared that one touch from you would be his undoing.
He ate a few bites of oatmeal, resisting the urge to devour it. Instead, he ate slowly and carefully, trying to appease his sensitive, post-revival stomach. He could feel your eyes on him even when he wasn’t looking at you, and he tried to ignore it. You, unfortunately, were very hard for him to ignore.
It didn’t take long for him to finish the oatmeal, despite him trying his best to eat slowly. The second he was finished, the bowl was lifted and carried to the sink by you. His eyes followed your movements, then looked away as you turned back toward him.
“Better?” you asked.
Wilbur nodded. “Much better. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome again.” To his surprise, you smiled at him. He’d seen you smile, but never due to something he’d said or done. The sight was a pleasant one. “I didn’t know if you were capable of being polite,” you said. Your tone was more teasing than malicious.
“What can I say? I’m a regular gentleman.” Wilbur returned your smile with one of his own. He felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Multiple times, you had scolded him for taking advantage of Phil’s resources and generosity, and here he was, proving you right by doing the same thing to you. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, attempting to assuage his guilt by asking if he could help you in some way to return the favor.
“Yeah, actually,” you said. “You can go take a shower. You’re stinking up my cabin.” Once again, the words were said in a way that were more indicative of banter rather than malice. Wilbur wasn’t sure what to make of your kindness.
“Can do,” Wilbur said. “A shower sounds…wonderful, actually.” He’d washed himself off recently, of course, but hadn’t had a proper shower. He didn’t have access to one. “Except I don’t have any other clothes with me.”
“Phil lent me some of your old ones once,” you said. “Mine got dirty.”
“How did you manage to get so dirty that Phil needed to lend you my clothes?” Wilbur asked, amused.
“Sparring practice,” you replied. “Technoblade kicked my ass, and I ended up in the mud.”
Wilbur snorted. “Sounds like Technoblade.”
“Don’t worry, I got him back for it later.” You walked over to your dresser and shuffled through the drawers before pulling out some clothes. Wilbur recognized them—an old, gray sweater, a pair of sweatpants. He hadn’t seen those clothes in ages. He wasn’t even aware that Phil had kept any of his old clothes. “Bring these with you into the bathroom,” you said. “There’s a blue towel hung up in there that hasn’t been used. The shower water takes a minute to warm up, and you can’t stay in there too long. Waste of water.”
“Got it.” Wilbur stood up and gently took the clothes from your hands. “Thanks.”
“Enjoy your shower,” you said.
“I will.” The notion of warm water on his skin sounded heavenly to Wilbur. He was still chilled from being outside in the storm. The second the bathroom door was closed behind him, he was stripping himself of his clothing and turning on the water. Just as you’d warned him, it took a moment for the water to warm up, but as soon as it did, he stepped into the shower.
The water felt so good that he could cry. He scrubbed every inch of his body, lathering himself in more soap than was probably necessary just because he could. He washed his hair, working his fingers through all the knots and tangles. By the time he was done, he felt brand-new. Plus, he smelled like you, now, like lavender and honey.
He got dressed and exited the bathroom. When he stepped out, you were sitting in bed, dressed in your pajamas, flipping through a book. You looked up from your book at Wilbur, still damp from the shower. “You look better when you’re clean,” you said.
“I feel better when I’m clean.” Truthfully, Wilbur dreaded having to leave, having to carry his dirty clothes, to put on his boots that were nearly worn through and his coat with loose seams. He dreaded the walk to Phil’s house, and he dreaded the moment he would have to tell Phil that he’d ruined everything. Again.
One day, you would hear about it, and once again, your scorn would be tossed in his direction. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind. Right now, things were peaceful. Surely, he deserved a bit of peace for a while longer.
“I bet you do.” You watched Wilbur, who looked unsure, not quite knowing where to sit or what to do. To his surprise, you scooted over. “Sit.”
He obeyed, sitting on the bed and crossing his legs. His eyes drifted toward the window. The snow was still coming down hard, flakes of it hitting the window. “Do you think this will let up before morning?” he asked. You were so close to him that the two of you were nearly touching. He could almost feel your warmth, so close and yet so very unattainable.
“It’s not likely. My guess is you won’t be able to leave until the sun comes up.” You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I would suggest that you take the couch, but it’s just a loveseat, and considering how freakishly tall you are I doubt you’d fit on it.”
Wilbur couldn't help but laugh a little. “I could take it anyway. It’s just one night.” At least he’d be warm, he figured.
“One more problem,” you said. “I don’t have extra blankets.”
Wilbur blinked a few times. “You live in the arctic. How do you not have extra blankets?”
You shrugged. “Never needed them. It’s not every day some guy shows up asking for a place to sleep.”
Wilbur, despite trying to shove his pride away, couldn’t help but say something. “‘Some guy’, huh?” Despite intending to joke, his tone came out sounding needlessly defensive. He cringed at his own words.
“Ah, right,” you replied. “You’re the infamous ex-president of L’Manberg turned burger van owner. That’s quite the name you’ve built for yourself.” Your tone wasn’t teasing anymore. It was back to reprimands.
“If you dislike me so much, why are you letting me stay here? I feel like one second, you don’t hate me, and the next, you want me gone again. Why?” Wilbur watched you intently, trying to read every shift in your expression.
“Because one second,” you retorted, “you’re pleasant to be around, and the next, I remember what a self-important dick you are.”
“I’m self-important?” Wilbur laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. He watched as you got off the bed, clearly not wanting to sit next to him any more. Even as he spoke, he could tell that he was about to take it too far. As usual, though, he just couldn’t stop himself. “Have you seen yourself? You show up out of nowhere, make friends with Technoblade and my father, and now you think you’re so special because they let you join their book club. It’s pathetic.”
“Oh, look who’s talking,” you snap. “Poor, poor Wilbur Soot, showing up on people’s doorsteps in the snow reeking of ash and body odor, relying on other people’s generosity. Do you not realize how pathetic you look to everyone else? Everyone is either scared because you’re a ticking time bomb or sad because you’re so pitiful.” You crossed your arms. “Like I said, I helped you because I can’t in good conscience turn you away after Phil has been so kind to me. That’s it. It’s not because I like you. It’s not because I care. It’s because of who you’re related to. So maybe, just maybe, you should grow the fuck up and realize that you only get so many second chances.”
Wilbur stared at you for a moment, your words slowly sinking in. He’d had the same revelation himself the moment the adrenaline from the burger van incident wore off. All he had done since he was revived was fuel a petty rivalry and get people hurt. And for what? For a desperate power grab that was doomed to fail. For a sense of control that he’d lost long before his death, a sense of control he may never have possessed in the first place.
“You’re right,” he said slowly. His eyes met yours. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.” He should have known that he wouldn’t be able to outrun the guilt forever. It always came back, like a dog on a lead that he wished he could just let go of. And there I am being selfish again he thought to himself. Wishing I didn’t feel guilty for the things I deserve to feel guilty for.
You shook your head. “It’s not me you need to apologize to. I’m not one of the people you’ve hurt.”
Wilbur nodded and looked away. He felt the bed shift as you sat back down, arms still folded, eyes fixed on him. “Yeah, I know.” He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. “I know that I’ve been selfish. Selfish and prideful and careless. And I know that…that you have good reason to not like me. I’ve hurt and taken advantage of people that you care about. I doubt I would like me much either if I were you.”
A moment of silence passed, and Wilbur’s eyes reopened to look at you and gauge your reaction. “How do I know you’re not saying this because you know it’s what I want to hear?” you asked.
Wilbur shook his head. “You don’t. I guess you have to trust me. And I know how stupid that sounds, but it’s the truth.”
“…So what are you going to do?” You asked.
“I’m going to apologize,” Wilbur replied. “I’m going to try and make things right, to make amends as best I can.” He hesitated before speaking again, unsure how much he should say to you. “I apologized to a few people when I first got revived, but it wasn’t…earnest. I wanted to be forgiven. I wanted people to forgive and forget and move on.”
“And what do you want now?” Your tone became softer, quieter. You looked at him with a look of curiosity, sympathy, even.
“Closure,” Wilbur replied. “For the people I hurt. And maybe, one day, for me.” He gazed at you, you, who was so much stronger than he had ever been or ever would be. “Are my answers to your satisfaction?”
“Are they to yours?” Your shoulder brushed against his, and Wilbur hadn’t realized how much he craved someone’s touch—anyone’s touch—until this very moment.
“I think so.” Wilbur went quiet, deep in thought. “For what it’s worth, I admire you. You came here, joined the Syndicate, made a name for yourself. I’ve seen you spar with Technoblade, and it’s impressive. And Phil speaks highly of you.” He paused. “You're doing well for yourself."
The silence that filled the room was long. Just as Wilbur was about to speak again, you spoke for him. “The storm stopped.” You tilted your head toward the window, motioning for Wilbur to look. Sure enough, the storm was over. Snow was no longer falling, and the world outside the cabin looked still and calm.
“Looks like it.” Wilbur made no move to get up, not wanting to move from his spot on your warm bed. He knew he had to at some point, that you were bound to kick him out, so he soaked up every second he could get.
“For what it’s worth,” you said suddenly, “I don’t think you’re a bad person.” He turned around to look at you. “And…and I don’t think Phil is blameless in all of this. You may have asked him to kill you, but he shouldn't have done it.”
“I deserved it,” Wilbur said. He tried to focus on the crackle of the logs in the fireplace rather than the soft sounds of your breathing beside him. “You may not have been there, but you know all about it. You know what I did. And now Ranboo got hurt because of me, and I…” He realized that his fists were clenched, and before he could un-clench them, he felt the soft weight of a hand over his own. He looked at you in surprise.
“What happened to Ranboo?” you asked softly, your hand gently holding his.
Wilbur swallowed. It was hard enough to talk about this, but confessing this to you while you were being gentle with him felt impossible. He never wanted that touch to go away. “He, uh, lost a life,” Wilbur says quietly. “We set up this—this stupid trap for Quackity, and everything went wrong, and Tubbo was going to get hurt, so Ranboo sacrificed himself.” Wilbur squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the reprimand.
You sighed. “Wilbur, I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“It’s a lot. I know.” To his surprise, your hand was still there, resting atop his.
“Whatever else happens, you need to apologize to him for dragging him into your shit,” you said. “And you should definitely apologize to Tommy. From what I’ve heard, the kid has gone through hell for you.”
Wilbur felt his heart squeeze in his chest, felt the guilt weighing him down. “I know.” He laughed, but the sound was empty and self-pitying. “Still think I’m a good person?”
“I never said you were a good person. I just said you’re not a bad one. And I stand by that.”
“You also said that I only get so many second chances.”
“I did.” You squeezed his hand gently, and he un-clenched it, properly taking your hand in his. He reopened his eyes, finally having the courage to look at you. “I don’t think you’re out of second chances yet. I think you have time.”
Wilbur faltered. “What if I don’t deserve that?”
You shrugged. “Whether you deserve it or not, you have it anyway.”
Wilbur felt his throat close up, tears threatening to build up in his eyes. He was so tired, so tired and so ashamed that it felt like it could kill him. And there you were, someone who didn’t even like him, showing him kindness anyway. He wanted to say thank you, but he feared that he’d sob the minute he opened his mouth.
“Stay,” you said softly. “You’re not dressed to go back outside in this. I’ll take you to Phil’s tomorrow.”
Wilbur didn’t have it in him to fight you, nor did he want to. He managed a nod and watched as you let go of his hand and slid under the covers. The second your hand left his, he felt the absence of it. “Not tired yet?” you asked, looking up at him.
“Very tired,” he replied.
“Under the covers, then.” Wilbur complied despite his nerves. The nerves disappeared, however, as soon as he was warm under the blankets. He sighed with relief, happy to be in a proper bed instead of a ratty mattress in the corner of the now-destroyed burger van.
Once he was comfortable, he became hyper aware of each of your movements, every small shift and breath. “You didn’t do all of this just because I’m Phil’s son, did you?” he asked quietly.
“Unfortunately for me, I have a bit of a soft spot for you,” you confessed. “Despite you being a careless idiot.”
“Thanks…I guess.” He stared at the ceiling for a few moments before turning on his side. You were on your side as well, facing away from him. “I’ll try to be less of a careless idiot in the future.”
“And I will believe it when I see it.” He couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at your words.
“Fair enough.” Wilbur relaxed even more, unable to stop looking at you, even if all he could see was the back of your head. “Thank you, by the way. Genuinely. For everything.”
“You’re welcome.” Slowly, you reached a hand back, tugging gently at the front of his shirt.
Wilbur laid there, confused. “Wait, do you want me to-“
“Yeah. Get over here.” Wilbur hesitantly scooted closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “See? Cozy.”
“Yeah.” Wilbur was grateful you couldn’t see his face. He was willing to bet that he looked just as flustered as he felt. He wanted to question you, ask why you wanted him like this, but he felt he already knew the answer.
He wasn’t sure that he deserved your affection, but he had it anyway. And that was enough.
If I'm Taking Care Of Your Ass Then I Sure As Hell Ain't Doing It Sober.
Revivebur x Las Navadas!Male Reader (Romantic)
Fluff, slight suggestive stuff, no smut
Prompt: Reveivebur comes to Las Navadas hurt, he's already here so why not take pity on the poor man and help him out, not without a couple of drinks first though.
CW/TW: Drinking, mentions of blood, mentions of stitching, smoking, cursing
M/N is also a bartender for Quackity
M/N is used (meaning male name)
S/C is used (meaning skin color)
M/N was sitting in his living room, bored out of his goddamn mind. Normally when he was this bored, he'd break into his liquor cabinet, open a bottle of some kind of liquor or cheap wine, and drink till he was shit faced. And he would, unless he wanted to go to work with the worst hangover known to man. You see, Quackity was oh so kind enough to stick M/N on one of the earlier shifts (early being 12) which didn't sit well with the man who stays up till 3 am and sleeps till 3 pm to go to his more normal shifts at 5 pm.
So he was stuck, he could go for a walk, but that would mean he had to leave his house. He could read a book except that it wasn't good enough. Living in Las Navadas was great, he had a great boss and a nice house and a good paying job but that doesn't mean that the slowly growing city had more to do than gamble and drink, which was fun until it got repetitive.
M/N was on the verge of entering the existential crisis talk until a knock came from his door. Which was definitely new. It probably wouldn't be Quackity, that man just spams your communicator with calls and messages till you reply, and Slime had no reason to be at your house at this hour. So who the hell was bothering your mental turmoil? M/N reluctantly got up to answer the door.
"Okay who are you and why the hell- " M/N looked up at the man standing at his doorstep.
"Wilbur fucking Soot." M/N said through his teeth, he crossed his arms and leaned against his door frame.
"In the flesh, literally considering I'm revived, courtesy of Dream may I add." Wilbur had an shit eating grin on his face as he stared at the male in front of him.
M/N did a small face laugh, "Why the hell are you here?" his demeanor quickly changed back to serious.
"What? Can I not come back and see an old friend?"
"You have to be friends in the first place to do that Wilbur, now tell me what you want or I'll just leave you here."
Wilbur straightened his posture and M/N finally noticed that he was holding his arm. His eye traveled down to his hand, where he saw blood start to drip.
M/N quickly grabbed Wilbur's hand, his eyes widening at the sight of the dripping blood. "Asshole, you're gonna get blood on my front porch!" M/N pulled Wilbur inside, closing the door.
"My, my, M/N if you wanted to hold my hand you should've just asked I would've said yes." Wilbur smirked while M/N rolled his eyes.
"Go sit on the couch and don't get blood anywhere, if you do I'll behead you." M/N let go of his hand and walked into his bathroom to find a first aid kit.
After he grabbed one he set it on the coffee table before walking over to his liquor cabinet.
Wilbur laughed lightly as he watched the male rummage through the various bottles, who turned around with an annoyed glare on his face.
"What are laughing about smart ass?"
"Does Quackity not pay you enough to afford proper rubbing alcohol?"
"No, he pays me plenty." The male grabbed a glass and filled it with a couple cubes of ice. "This is for me."
M/N slowly sipped the liquor as he walked back to the couch, sitting next to Wilbur.
"Take off your jacket so I can see what you did." M/N set the cup down and opened the first aid kid while Wilbur took off his jack and folded it neatly behind him.
M/N looked at his arm, slowly pulling the torn fabric away from the wound. "It doesn't look terrible, maybe a few stitches, but you'll live. Now take off your shirt."
"Don't you think you should ask me out first? It's a little rude to ask me to undress seeing as we haven't spoken in so long." That same smirk dawned Wilbur's face.
"Not like that idiot! I meant it as in, let me see the wound better."
Wilbur chuckled to himself, seemingly pleased with getting a rise out of him and removed his shirt placing it on top of his jacket.
M/N grabbed a few rubbing alcohol pads and started slowly cleaning the wound on Wilbur's arm, taking a "small sip" from the glass on the coffee table. After a few times of getting up to throw away blooded gaze pads and rubbing alcohol pads and filling up his glass on the way, he decided to grab the whole bottle of liquor, as well as a bottle of wine and two glasses. M/N filled up the two glasses handing one to Wilbur.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of being granted the pleasure of drinking with you?"
"Stop speaking so poshly, I get it you're fancy, now shut up while I finish wrapping your arm."
Wilbur backed off the male but kept a smile on his face as he watched him wrap his arm in bandages.
When he was done, M/N snipped off the extra and put it back in the first aid kit. He quickly downed the rest of his wine and went to put the first aid kit away.
When he got back, his body was facing forward and his head was tilted upwards toward the ceiling. "I hate you." M/N mumbled.
"How come? All I did was ask for your help, which you could've denied, might I add." Wilbur's tone was somewhat mocking and he put an arm around M/N, playing with the hair on his head.
"I told myself I wasn't going to drink tonight and look where I'm at."
"Well, it's not like I told you to drink."
"If I'm taking care of your ass I'm sure as hell not doing it sober." M/N turned his head to look at the male beside him, he brought a hand up to his face and began to trace down his jawline, stopping at the corner of his lips. M/N slowly climbed over to Wilbur's lap, neither of them breaking eye contact. Wilbur's arms rested at M/N's waist while M/N's other hand rested in Wilbur's crest feeling the soft skin on his fingertips.
M/N leaned in closer to Wilbur, lips slightly parted as they each waited for the other to make a move.
"You do realize the consequences that this can have if you go through with this." Wilbur's voice was barely above a whisper.
"And what's 'this'" M/N giggled as one of his hands slowly moved to the base of Wilbur's hair, lightly playing with the strands.
"I don't think Quackity will like it very much if you kiss his enemy."
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."
The two got even closer, lips brushing against each other.
"You willing to make that bet?" Wilbur's lips curled into a small smile.
"I'll bet everything I got, pretty boy."
Wilbur laughed lightly before pulling M/N in by his waist, kissing his lips. M/N's hands further tangled themselves in Wilbur's hair while Wilbur's hands were untucking M/N's neat dress shirt, almost desperate to feel his S/C skin.
The two broke apart for air, breathing heavily for a moment before Wilbur began kissing down his jaw and neck.
"God I hate you so much." M/N said, half out of breath
Wilbur hummed on his skin, lightly nipping at it before answering the male.
"If you hate me so much then tell me to stop and I will." Wil looked at M/N, still leaving a trail of kisses on his neck, none of them deep enough to create a hickey though, Wilbur was smarter than that.
M/N let out an airy chuckle, pulling at Wilbur's hair. "No, you're too hot to stop."
Wilbur kissed his cheek, looking M/N in the eyes. "And You're too drunk for me to continue."
M/N groaned, tilting head back. "Why must you do this to me?"
Wilbur chuckled, "Maybe another time darling."
M/N got off his lap, stumbling before regaining his balance, but he was still swaying back and forth.
Wilbur went to grab his jumper before M/N put a hand on Wilbur's cheek making him look back at him.
"Please don't leave." He looked at him with pleading eyes that not even Wilbur could say no to.
"Alright, I'll stay." He stood up and gave M/N a quick kiss before picking him up bridal style and then walked down the hall, M/N's arm was stretched out to one of the doors and Wilbur assumed it was his room.
Once Wilbur sat him down on the bed, M/N quickly began to take off the uncomfortable suspenders and dress shirt before laying down and making grabby hands at Wilbur, who laid next to him.
After a few minutes of cuddling, M/N spoke up.
"I hate you so much." He said holding on tighter to Wilbur and burying his face in his chest.
"I love you too darling."
********
Another one in the bags. I got this idea from reading another story on Wattpad, it's called MidNight Walks by mannequins_inafeild, despite only having two chapters I really liked it so I would consider checking it out!
Also who knew writing kissing scenes was so hard? I literally took a break to work on another story (the one that came out before this one actually) because I didn't know where to go or how to do it. I hope it wasn't too awkward. I don't know how many more scenes I'm gonna do like that in the future but give me some feedback, I'd like to hear your thoughts!
