✩✩✩ ego’s echo ✩✩✩
cw: smut ahead
find me on ao3!
he wants to be praised, play it up for a bigger reaction, stroke his ego. he’s big on ‘only him’, only he can make his partner feel this way—they belong to him—not technically a kink, but in short, he’s possessive!
☆ ☆ ☆
the relentless tap of rain against the single-pane window was the only soundtrack in wilbur’s cluttered studio apartment. they were curled in his gaming chair, idly spinning side to side, watching him. he stood by the window, shoulders tense, staring out at the slick, neon-streaked street below. a can of cheap energy drink sat sweating on the sill. he’d been silent since ending his stream thirty minutes ago, the boisterous, performative energy of “wilbur soot” evaporating to leave just william gold, quiet and intense.
“you’re thinking too loud,” they said, their voice soft against the rain’s percussion.
he didn’t turn. “my chat was insufferable tonight. a bunch of backseat gamers telling me how to play.” his tone was flat, but there was a vein of genuine irritation there, a need that hadn’t been met.
they stopped spinning the chair. “they’re just fans. they love you.”
that made him turn. in the gloom, lit only by the rgb glow of his pc and the distant streetlamp, his face was all sharp angles and shadow. the famous charm was absent, stripped bare. this was the man beneath the persona, and his gaze held a possessive heat that no webcam could ever broadcast.
“they love a character,” he corrected, his voice dropping into that intimate, off-stream register that was for them alone. he pushed off from the window and crossed the small room in three strides, coming to a halt in front of them. he placed his hands on the arms of the gaming chair, caging them in, stopping the spin. “they don’t know what i’m like. not really. they don’t get to see this.”
his proximity was electric. they could smell the faint scent of his laundry detergent, the unique warmth of his skin. “see what?” they breathed, playing along, feeding the hunger they saw in his eyes.
a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. he leaned down, his nose brushing theirs. “how good i can be,” he murmured, the words a hot whisper against their mouth. “when i’m not performing for them. when it’s just for you.
his kiss wasn’t gentle. it was a claim. one hand came up to cradle their jaw, tilting their face to his as his lips moved over theirs with a focused intensity. it was different from the playful, distracted kisses during stream breaks. this was total, undivided attention. they melted into it, a soft sigh escaping them, their hands coming up to fist in the soft fabric of his well-worn hoodie.
he pulled back just an inch, his breath mingling with theirs. his eyes searched their face, looking for it—the effect. the proof. “that’s it,” he coaxed, his thumb stroking their cheekbone. “just let go. nobody else gets this. nobody else sees you come apart like this. only me.”
he kissed them again, deeper, his tongue sweeping into their mouth, and they moaned into him, the sound swallowed by his kiss. he drank it in, a low rumble of satisfaction vibrating in his own chest. he broke the kiss to trail his lips down their jaw, to the sensitive spot below their ear.
“say it,” he whispered, his teeth grazing their skin, making them shiver. “tell me who makes you feel like this.”
“you,” they gasped, arching into him as his hands slid down from the chair to their hips, gripping hard.
“louder.”
“you, will…” they whimpered, the duality of his names spilling from them.
he made a sound of pure approval, a dark, happy hum. “that’s right. all mine.” the words were a velvet-wrapped command. “every sigh, every shake, every little fucking noise you make—it’s because of me. i earned that. not them. me.”
he stood up abruptly, pulling them to their feet with him. the world tilted, and then their back was against the cool plaster wall beside his desk, his body pressing the length of theirs. the messy, public domain of his streaming life was just inches away—the mic, the chat still open on a monitor—but his focus was absolute, a laser beam on them.
his hands slid under their shirt, palms warm and slightly rough against their stomach, riding up until his thumbs brushed the sensitive skin just below their chest. they cried out, a short, sharp sound.
“shhh, let me hear it,” he said, his voice thick with want. “i want to hear everything. they,” he jerked his head toward the setup, “get the curated version. the jokes, the songs. but this? this raw, beautiful fucking truth? this is my private stream. my exclusive content.”
he kissed them with a consuming focus, his body pinning theirs to the wall. when he pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide in the low light.
"that's it," he murmured, his voice a rough scrape. "let them have the echo. they get the performance." his hands tightened on their hips, pulling them flush against him, letting them feel the hard, insistent line of his arousal through his jeans. a shudder ran through them. "but this? this reaction? this is my direct feed. no buffering. no delay."
he ducked his head, his lips finding the column of their throat, sucking a mark into their skin that they knew would bloom purple by morning. they gasped, their fingers tangling in his messy brown hair.
"tell me," he breathed against the damp skin, his tongue soothing the sting. "who makes you gasp like that? who makes your heart beat so fast i can feel it?"
"you," they managed, the word trembling.
"who do you belong to when you're falling apart?" his hand slid down, palming them through their pants, a firm, deliberate pressure that made their knees buckle. he held them up easily, his other arm a steel band around their waist.
"you. only you, will."
the sound he made was pure, unadulterated triumph. a deep, possessive growl that vibrated from his chest into theirs. he walked them backwards, never breaking contact, until the backs of their legs hit the edge of his unmade bed. they tumbled onto it, and he followed them down, covering them, his weight a delicious anchor.
he looked down at them, propped on his elbows, his face serious. the playful streamer was utterly gone. in his place was a man obsessed with proof.
"i need to hear you say it again. when it's not just words. when you can't think straight."
he kissed them, deep and languid, as his hands worked open the button of their jeans, slid the zipper down. his touch was unhurried, maddeningly sure. he knew exactly what he was doing, every brush of his fingers calculated to wind them tighter. when he finally slipped his hand inside their underwear, finding them wet and aching for him, a broken moan tore from their throat. his eyes locked onto theirs, watching every flicker of pleasure on their face.
"there it is," he whispered, his own breath coming faster.
"the real thing. no filters. no facecam to hide behind. just you, coming undone because of my hands. because i know exactly how to touch you." he curled his fingers, stroking a particular spot that made them arch off the bed with a sharp cry. "isn't that right? tell me."
"yes! god, yes, only you—" they choked out, their hips rocking against his hand, seeking more, chasing the coil of heat he was tightening with ruthless precision. he lowered his head, his lips beside their ear.
"they'd lose their minds if they knew," he said, a hint of that familiar, wicked humor returning, but darker now, intimate. "if they knew their funny, chaotic wilbur could reduce someone to this. to a begging, shaking mess. but they don't get to know. this is my secret. my prize."
he added a second finger, stretching them, the burn of it exquisite. their cries grew louder, less coherent. he drank in every sound, his own control fraying. they could see it in the tight clench of his jaw, the fevered gleam in his eye.
"look at me," he commanded, his voice guttural.
"i want to see it happen. i want to watch the moment you forget there's anyone else in the world who could ever make you feel this."
they forced their eyes open, drowning in his gaze as he worked them with a steady, devastating rhythm. the pressure built, a cresting wave, their breaths coming in ragged sobs. they were babbling, a stream of please and will and yours.
"that's it," he coaxed, his voice thick with pride and lust, "come on. give it to me. let me see what only i can do."
the orgasm broke over them like a thunderclap, violent and all-consuming. they shattered with a raw, loud cry, their body bowing off the mattress as he held them through it, his fingers gentling but not stopping, milking every last pulse of sensation until they were limp and boneless, gasping for air.
he slowly withdrew his hand, bringing his glistening fingers to his own lips, never breaking eye contact. he sucked them clean, a slow, deliberate act that made heat flood their cheeks anew. "perfect," he stated, the word final. he leaned down, kissing them softly, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. it was a sealing kiss. a branding one.
he settled beside them, pulling them into his side, their head on his chest where they could hear the frantic, triumphant hammer of his heart. he pressed a kiss to their hair.
"nobody gets this," he said quietly, his voice full of a serene, absolute certainty.
"nobody gets you. just me."
