#Revivebur!reader

[dearest-painter]

I have lost count of all your wonderful tags for each reader. May we please get a list of all of the tags??

Oooo Okay i can try! There might be a few I’ve forgotten but here’s a post with each AU!Reader I remember! (And if there’s any IVE forgotten and you know it pls tell me). I know there’s definitely more but these are the ones off of the top of my little brain! part 1

Part 2 here!

[hatchetislostpog]

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.

[heartofwritiing]

Reader: *kisses revivebur*

Revivebur: “what is this?”

Reader: “affection.”

Revivebur: “disgusting.”

Revivebur: …

Revivebur: “do it again.”

[deadqueerboys]

Tell me you love me

Tw: drugs, cigarettes burn, masochism, kidnapping, aggression, stalker!Wilbur, (probably yandere!wilbur).

Wilbur Soot (simpbur) x Male! Reader

Plot; Wilbur showing reader how much he likes him.

M/n = reader.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

He asked for one thing, to swear that he's his. Wilbur was aggressive, and he didn't mind hurting someone if he could get what he wanted. He doesn't really believe in love. At all, in his life, he barely had family, friends, or romantic love. But he knew something deeper than emotions, the pain. That's why he is in such an agony. His whole body trembles when he gets closer to M/n. His mind goes blank, and suddenly, he just wants to be kissed. But of course, with teeth and roughly. He bites a lot, making everything even more sick. His feelings are unstable, he doesn't know what to do, and he feels like this would be a good idea.. he kidnapped M/n. Tied in a chair, he could only look up or to the sides. Nothing would make sense. He tries to get away from there until Wilbur turns on a flashlight right on his face. His eyes hurt, but he doesn't say a word. He couldn't speak even if he wanted, there's a tape on his mouth.

"Hello, my love." Will smirks, his teeth sharp as he comes closer to him. "It must be uncomfortable stay in this position." He gets on his knees, laying his head between M/n's legs, nuzzling against his thigh. It was incredibly sexual and painful. His eyes close before he looks up, those big chocolate puppy eyes staring at his face. "You have no idea for how long have you been here, do you?" He giggles, getting up, but his hand never leaves his right thigh. He takes the tape out of his mouth, watching as he tries to scream. He doesn't talk about it. They are in a place where nobody can hear him. Wilbur was smart. He got a cheap house far from everyone and everything so nobody would miss him. He even let a piece of paper written that he would come back in two days. He thought about everything, it's sadistic. M/n doesn't like him, but he couldn’t deny he could feel a growing burn inside of his chest, his heart beating faster and his hands sweaty. It could be love or fear. He couldn't find the difference between the two of them. "Hey, hey.. Shh. Nobody will hear you. And I hate your voice. You should learn how to stay quiet."

His honesty was making he even more frustrated. But he did as he said. He got quiet and spread his legs. Wilbur seemed to like the last act of his, which made his hand go further and touch his dick through his clothes. He was half hard. He didn't want to admit it. he feels good. For the first time in a while, he feels horny for someone's behavior instead of their appearance.. not that Wilbur wasn't hot, because Jesus christ, this guy is hot. He comes closer, slowly putting all of his weight on his leg, and he sits on his lap. His smile disappears. "You don't seem too happy, darling." He caresses his hair, and right after he kisses his forehead. "We should spend some time together. Now, tell me you love me. I'm feeling really needy today." He chuckles, leaning down to nuzzle on his neck. That's his favorite part of being in love with someone who is all tied up. He couldn't deny affection. He could only say yes or no, and if he says no.. unfortunately, Wilbur would have to kill him. He takes a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it in front of him. Will doesn't mind if he has problems with the smoke. He would learn how to deal with it.

"I- I love you." M/n stutters and coughs, trying to take the smoke out of his eyes. He shakes his head, avoiding feeling the smell of his fag. His eyes close, his head leans to the side, allowing he to nuzzle on him again. He feels his dick getting harder, and as he looks down, he notices that Wilbur is hard as well. He frowns, kissing his neck, which he could barely do because his whole body was locked. It's getting cold, and to be fair, Will's weight above him was making he feel warm. It's weird. He barely weighs something, he's really skinny for his height, and appearance. He opens his eyes to face him. That's when Wilbur comes closer and kisses him. His teeth are before his tongue. It's an awful kiss. He was so desperate for this that he might be planning this since the day he met him. He's a fucking psycho. Feeling kind, he gets out of his lap, taking away one of the ties that was around his left arm. He lifts the sleeve of his shirt, using his hand to hold him in place.

"You're such a good boy. I will do something now, but you have to know that I'm making this because I love you." He forces his cigarette against his arm, burning it. He screams with pain, and slowly, it turns into a whimper, he was liking it. Wilbur grinds his hard cock against his hand, almost pretending that he was touching him. "You really like this? Oh, god. You're such a pervert, my love." He knows he's enjoying it. It's clearly on his face. Will laughed. He only finishes doing it when he makes a perfect W on his arm. He taps his chin, kissing him again. "For being such a nice boy, I will give you a reward. I will free you from this painful feeling.." He undoes his belt, wrapping his hand around his hard cock. M/n was a little bit bigger than what he was expecting, which made him gasp. He likes it. His smirk comes back to his face as he touches him.

[mysticalsoot]

someone to live with

part 2 to someone to (not) die with

➸ 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.

taglist; @lcvejoy @lillylvjy @ella-fella-bo-bella @lotusanonymouse @willgoldszn @whos-nicooo @zebonos

honorable tags (asked for part 2); @babybabygrogu @tacomumun3r

[bursonafied]

Vampire simpbur would be most pathetic loser ever I think maybe

-🍡 anon !! :3

OHH MY GOSH YES!! He would be so pathetic and cold all the time… he would just want you to hold him so he could feel warm… and probably some of your blood too

I love him sm :(

ALSOOOO sorry it’s late! I got busy with classes and other things… I’m working on all requests! I have a doc with all of them on it and I’ll do my best to post one at least once a week. :)

Thank you soso much to my friend honey-with-tea for helping me come up with ideas and inpso for my piece :)

Warnings: blood, biting

Pairing: vamp!wilbur x gn!reader

Pronouns: you/yours

*not proofread*

"Please, y/n…” Wilbur begs, following you around the dim flat like a lost puppy. Ever since he’d revealed to you that he was a vampire, (crazy, right?), he would not stop pestering you. “Just a taste!” He would whine, wanting nothing more than a taste of you. your blood would be like liquid rubies to him. Like a fine wine of the highest cost.

The juxtaposition between his height and his intimidating energy was pretty comedic. Standing at a solid 5’4 seemingly made him even more pathetic. He looked like he should be taller, right?

“No! I don’t know how many times I have to say it. I swear to god, Wilbur. I had a long day at work. Someone’s dog threw up on me after waking up from surgery.” You complain, hurrying to your room to change out of your work clothes, putting on a pair of comfy pajama pants and a t-shirt. You shut the door behind you, and Wilbur just whines behind it. “Seriously?” He groans and you can her him stomp away. You step out of your room, running your fingers through your hair. your room was the only place you could get privacy in your shared place.

Wilbur is immediately beside you again.

“You’re.. pathetic.” You mumble to him. He rolls his eyes yet still follows you. He figured that bothering you would be the only way to get you to say yes. You go to the kitchen to start your dinner, and while Wilbur can eat things other than blood, but nothing could satiate his hunger for it. you start up a pot of water, taking out the pasta and sauce, then grab some frozen meatballs from the freezer. It was a simple meal and you were too tired to make something complicated. As you stir in the pasta, you feel Wilbur creep up behind you, his arms snaking around your waist. You freeze for a moment, but sigh loudly as you feel his breath on the side of your neck. He could practically hear the blood flowing through your veins. You shake your head.

“Wilbur.” You say sternly. “Don’t you dare bite me.” He listens to that much. Instead, he leans close and licks a stripe up your neck, stopping up by your ear. You shiver beneath his touch and turn your head.

“What? I listened.” He speaks in a low, snarky tone. You glance down to his mouth. his fangs. If he wasn’t a vampire that wanted to drain you of your life, maybe you’d be attracted to him. Maybe you already were, and just refused to believe it.

“You’re a pain.” “You love me.” You share a short exchange before it falls silent again. “Whatever.” You add before stirring the pasta, allowing it to boil. You cook the rest of your dinner and happily plate it, eager to dig in. You make a plate for Wilbur, just in case. You hear some light chuckles from Will before he turns to sit at the table.

Now, a few minutes later, you two sit silently at the table. You scroll through social media as you eat. Wilbur sort of pushes the food around on the plate and nibbles on a meatball, but his gaze is mostly on you.

He watches your neck, the way it moves when you swallow. The way your collarbones seemed so prominent and bite-able. He scratches at his hands, his nails scratching harshly along his skin to leave red marks. He was hungry, starving! He could barely contain it! He stares at you for a second before he stands up, the chair he sat in flies back and bangs against the wall.

“I’ll be back!” He shouts, hurrying to the bathroom. You watch him for a moment, then hesitantly turn back to your food. Suddenly, you’re not hungry. You dump the plate as well as Wilbur’s, since you know damn well he wouldn’t eat any of that. Meanwhile, Wilbur stares into the sink as his stomach cramps, he turns on the cold water and runs it over his pale hands, then splashes it over his face. He stands up and stares at himself. His hunger only increased. He would grow weaker if he continued to refuse to eat even mortal food. Would he have to resort to his vampiric tendencies and go out during the night, scouring the streets for any poor soul who happened to be alone and were weak and too nervous to fight back? Or, would you finally give in? It wasn't that hard! Was it? No! Wilbur groans. He shuts off the sink and takes a breath before slapping himself lightly to psych himself out. “Come on Wilbur. Be better, fuckin’ creep.” He mutters to himself before going back out to the living room, where you’re sat on the couch.

“Sorry! Had an emergency!” He smiles at you, but you only blink a few times out of confusion and stand up. “What happened…? You were fine five minutes ago.” “Oh! You know. Drank a lot of water today.” He lies, and you easily catch on. Curse you for paying such close attention to him. “You never drink water, you damn liar.” You cross your arms and shift your weight on your feet. Wilbur gulps, shaking his head. “I felt like it today.” “God you think I’m stupid.” You scoff with a disbelieving laugh. “What?? When did I ever say I thought you’re stupid?” Wilbur shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “You didn’t have to say it!” You retort, “You thinking your lie would work said enough.” You cross your arms over your chest and Wilbur puts his hands up in defense. “Okay, whatever. Sorry.” He mumbles. “It’s always sorry with you. Either sorry or, ‘can I please have some of your blood? Can I please have a taste? Just a bit?” Wilbur seems to shrink into himself and his face flushes, if that was even possible for him. Could vampires blush? “It’s pathetic and embarrassing! I don’t get it. Maybe the fact you—“ You pause and take a long breath.

“Wilbur.” You say after a long silence. There was only one way to get him to stop begging, and that was just to give him what he wanted. He looks up from his shameful slump and looks at you. “…yeah?” His voice is as small as his height. What a loser. “Shut the fuck up, and I’ll let you,, um, I’ll let you.. feed.” Wilbur’s eyes instantly light up. He nods rapidly and does his silly little hand-flaps he does when excited. “Yes! Really?? Oh, thank you!I’ll never ask again!!” He says, absolutely elated that you finally agreed. You take a deep breath and approach him, his eyes glimmering. “Just... don’t make it awkward.” You practically beg, not wanting it to be weird as he quite literally feeds of your blood. What am I saying,,, of course it would be weird! Your roommate would be just drinking your blood. “I’ll do my best,” He chuckles nervously and approaches you. “Are you sure this is okay?” He asks, nervously fidgeting with is hands. You shift your weight awkwardly on your feet before nodding. “As long as you leave me alone when you’re done.” “Of course.”

Another moment of awkward silence… it seemed like there were a lot of those lately.

“I…” he pauses, nervously tapping his fingers against your shirt. “Your wrist.” He says after a moment. “What?” You ask, tilting your head. “It— it’ll hurt less. And um, won’t be as much blood. Like, imagine just getting a blood sample at the doctor.” You could tell Wilbur was growing nervous. He never really expected you to say yes to… this. “Oh, right.” You whisper and nod, holding out your wrist. He grabs your arm and guides you to the couch, sitting you down, “Just incase you get.. dizzy.” He runs his thumb over the blue vein that ran along your arm, displaying the precious liquid he’s craved for so long.

His breathing picks up as he lifts your arm to his mouth. He shudders as he can feel the heat radiating off your body, and his mouth waters. He can’t take it anymore. You notice his grip tighten on your arm. “Go ahead.” You whisper after a second. Wilbur nods and then finds the perfect spot, the pulse of your wrist. He opens his mouth and without warning, sinks his fangs right into your vein. Making sure his teeth went deep enough to draw blood. You gasp at the pain, flinching slightly despite expecting it. Wilbur pulls his mouth away for a second and allows some of the blood to pool before sticking out his tongue and lapping up the blood, humming with contentment as he licks up each and every drop. You see the blood, the way it smears over his tongue and lips as he messily drinks it up. your breathing picks up, uneven. He slows down and looks up so his eyes meet yours. You two hold eye contact, Wilbur’s tongue slips out and slides along your skin, stopping the blood that beads up every time he pulls away. Your hand finds it was to his chin, light cupping it as he holds your forearm. “What’re you-“ he whispers, his face lifting from your arm so it was more level with yours. “I— I just..”you shake your head, not so sure what had taken over you. “Is this going to.. change me? You know… like..” You gesture to the bite marks on his neck that were poorly hidden with makeup, and he tilts his head. “Uh- um-“ he stutters out, shrugging. “I don’t know..” He whispers nervously. “I hope you do.” his voice is quiet. “Because I would love to spend the rest of time with you.”

Your eyes widen and your face seem to burn. The stinging in your wrist fades right before Will glances down at it once more. The blood was pooling, threatening to drip over your wrist and right onto the grey couch. You tilt his head back up to meet your gaze again. “You.. want to stay, with me?” Your voice is a bit shaky, head tilting. “Ye— yeah.” Wilbur’s gaze holds yours, he leans closer. And closer, and closer. “I don’t think I would want to spend my life with anyone else.” He adds. Just another inch, he thinks. You swallow the saliva filling your mouth, feeling slightly sick as the blood still spills from your wrist. You have no words for Will. Nothing to say in response to his sudden confession. Not that you had the chance to, because as soon as you went to speak, his lips collide with yours. You momentarily forget the feeling of blood running down toward your fingers as you feel his cold lips on yours. They’re cold, but soft. Softer than you expected. It’s slow at first but soon he scoots himself further, his lips part and his tongue hungrily presses to your lips. He’s practically begging to let him in. So, you do. You part your lips and are instantly met with the metallic taste of your own blood. Your hand moves from his chin to hold his cheek, your blood spreading across his face, in the shape of your hand. The kisses spread, his lips moving down your neck where he simply kisses your skin, but after a moment, his teeth graze your throat. his breath is hot and wet against your skin. You let out a quiet, choked sound at the feeling. Your stomach twists into knots and you can feel the emotions you’ve packed away rushing through your veins, almost at the same speed as your blood pumping through them.

“Do it,” you whisper, tilting your head back a bit. “Please..” You nearly beg, and he nods, smirking against your skin. It’s another second before you feel his fangs sink into your neck. he makes sure it’s higher up on your carotid artery so it bleeds less, hopeful you would turn, joining him in immortality. His teeth remain in your skin and your hands begin to tremble with the pain that’s followed by pleasure. Your eyes pinch shut tightly, ignoring the pain as best you can. He soon pulls away and sweetly licks away the blood before kissing the area.

You aren’t sure how long it’s been since the first bite, nor what time it was now. But Wilbur was fed and happy, so that’s what really mattered.

He comes back with a towel and glass of water for you, wiping up any of the left over blood that began to dry on your skin. You sip the water and lean back against the couch. As soon as he’s done, Wilbur sets down the towel and curls up next to you, looking up at you with loving eyes. “Thank you.” He whispers, running his fingers over the bite marks on your neck. “Hm?” You hum, looking over to him. “For.. letting me bite you and stuff.” You smile and nods, It wasn’t as big of a deal as you initially thought. “Anything to get you to stop whining.” You tease, and he just grins before rolling his eyes. “Whatever, you seemed to like it.” You couldn’t deny that so you remain silent. Wills arms snake around your waist and he pulls himself close to you. “You excited? Get to deal with me for all of eternity now.” He teases with an obnoxious kiss to the cheek. You nod.

“I can’t wait.”

[rookedstranger]

wilburs hands gripped onto the marble sink under his fingers. the cold seeped through his skin, sending shivers up his spine.

staring into the mirror in front of him; wilbur raised a hand to his face, groaning in disgust. quickly grimacing, he ran his fingers over the stitches that held his marred skin together. "jesus, fuck.." he muttered to himself, a frustrated sigh leaving through his mouth. he soon set his hand back down.

"how..." wilbur stopped himself, thinking. "...repulsive." his mind finally settled on, seeming content enough in finding a word to voice his dissatisfaction. his eyes carefully traced over his features through the mirror, sucking in air through his teeth at the sight, before his eyes found themselves focusing on his hands.

were they always so.. unsightly? was he always so unsightly? he didn't want the answer to that question, he quickly figured out.

"well, i think you're pretty." wilburs ears twitched at the soft sound of another voice. he forgot you were still home, too absorbed in his own self-criticism. in a fit of intrigue and disbelief; he squinted his eyes, scanning once more over his features as if to find something valuable, something redeemable. something worthy. something lovable.

he found nothing.

"hm." wilbur let out an abrupt, gruff sound. he wanted to disagree, but that only meant showing vulnerability. announcing he was insecure. even if he knew you knew, it didn't mean he was happy to admit it. he would've rather called his father up to impale him again.

"do you not believe me?" your eyebrow raised as you turned another page of the book that was resting on your thighs. not receiving an answer, you finally lifted your head to stare at the man you called your husband. ".. wil." you called out once more, resting your chin on your palm.

unsure of a worthy answer, wilbur only turned his head to look at you. "i asked you a question." you pushed further.

"i.. i believe you, it's just.." he paused briefly, failing to find the right words. "... hard to believe." he chuckled lightly, glancing his eyes away from you; hoping it would mask the uncomfortable shame he felt beating in his heart. almost like they were intertwined.

"mhm." you hummed in reply, understanding. uncrossing your legs and setting your book down on a nearby table, you made your way over to the bathroom, standing in the doorway in front of your lover.

"but i do mean it." you reassured, lifting your right hand to cup the side of wilburs face. his expression softened at the gesture. "i know." his voice went low, as if he feared talking too loud.

"i know you mean it- i know. it's just..." wilburs voice trailed off before he sighed, closing his eyes. finding frustration looming in himself, he ran a hand through his hair; a self-soothing habit he had picked up in recent months. although, it worked better when you did it in place of him.

"i understand." of course, he internally mused. you always seemed to understand him. letting himself relax, he forced his shoulder down as his arm fell back to his side.

"i'm... sorry." at the quiet apology, he felt your thumb gently brush over his skin. your empathetic expression only continued to tug on his heartstrings. "it's okay." you spoke, matching the softness he had just uttered.

"you're gorgeous, y'know?" your voice lit up, just enough for him to notice. for some reason, it almost made him want to cry. how could something so bright and beautiful spare something like him a glance?

"yeah, yeah- i know, darling. real epitome of beauty, i am." wilbur falsified a cocky grin. it only made you raise an eyebrow as you moved your hand off his face, hovering instead as you flicked your finger against his cheek.

"ow.." wilbur whined. scrunching the side of his face up, he reached to rub his palm against the stinging area. "listen to me." your voice raised slightly, a stubborn pout forming on your lips.

feeling playful, he held his hands up in mock defense. "i'm so sorry, sweet darling angel spouse of mine who i love so very much-" "wil!" you whined, a temperamental huff leaving your airways.

"alright, alright.. i'm sorry, pretty thing." wilbur took a deep breath, easing himself. you took your turn to speak. "i know you don't like being vulnerable, and i just hate to be right..." you rolled your eyes, keeping a teasing manner until it dropped. "but you can't run from it forever. you can't run from your humanity forever."

wilburs prideful expression dropped. "for someone so afraid of being considered anything but human, you really aren't keen on showing human emotions, are you?" wilbur wanted to be angry, he wanted to disagree. do what he would do best in any scenario and get defensive- or perhaps change the subject. but your words, your expression wasn't accusatory. you weren't mad at him. you didn't even look disappointed.

somehow it felt like you understood. he didn't even register how your hands made their way back onto his face. "i-" he attempted to get out, his chance at a final declaration of defense. but he couldn't find anything to say. not a word flooded his brain.

"it's okay. but i hope you know you can't fool me. i can see through your show-man attitude any day." you laughed. his eyebrows furrowed. you laughed? why were you laughing? shouldn't you be upset at him?

a small hum coming from you broke his train of thought. you lowered his head down, standing on the tips of your feet as you kissed his forehead. "i hope you know i've never cared about it. i love you, unconditionally. i wouldn't have married you if that wasn't true."

"you married me before i died, i feel like that doesn't count as much right now, currently." wilbur quietly huffed as his eyes traced over your face. although he felt awkward, he still appreciated the affectionate gestures.

"well.. then let me rephrase." you cleared your throat, patting your chest lightly before you moved the hand to rest on wilburs arm.

"wilbur, i don't regret marrying you. i never have. have you pissed me off sometimes? sure. but have i ever regretted the time and care i have taken in loving you? have i ever regretted the way in how you love me? no. that i have not."

wilbur stayed silent, his heart aching silently. after long seconds, he let his head rest on top of your shoulder; quietly accepting your words. "i love you." he muttered into the crook of your neck, his hands finding solace on your hips.

"i know." you reached a hand to intertwine with the poorly maintained curls on his head. something that warmed his heart. you could feel him smile against your skin. "you are gorgeous, by the way.." you snuck in another comment.

"not as gorgeous as you." his hands travelled up to your waist, sneaking under the fabric of your shirt, yearning for the intimacy of skin against skin. "whatever you say, wil."

﹒﹒﹒

i have a deep love for revivebur, can you tell? although, he's not my favorite i certainly understand him the best! i thought this idea was sweet, i didn't think it'd go on for so long and that'd i write it all in just a few hours..? i usually struggle with longer stories when i can't take a break from writing, haha. but regardless!!! this is sweet and i quite like it myself! :) i love revivebur and his constant fear of judgement. may he find some peace someday...

excuse any errors or typos, please! i haven't reread this over to check for any!! T_T i am just too eager to get something out..

— nov. 13. signed, rookedstranger.

[saccharinesunsetretired]

Yours, Anyway | Revivebur x Reader

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.

[listenheresweaty]

Dead as Disco (Revivebur x Reader)

no proofreading, we die like men

people I’ve tagged: @poraphia, @witheredroseanon, @drop-of-void, @saccharinesunset

Synopsis: Some tough memories arise, so you help Wilbur out by sending Schlatt a final “fuck you” —-

You had a long, complicated relationship with winter. First of all— it wasn’t summer! So you could rest easy in the wonderful absence of mosquitos and nasty, sweaty heat that prevented you from enjoying any potential scenery. On the other hand, it replaced your favorite season (Fall) and brought tidings of stuffy noses and dry skin. 

And your boyfriend never liked the winter, either. Not after his revival. Too cold, too dark— and too quiet, save for when the wind would blow through the open landscape, sounding far too much like the whistle of an oncoming train. 

You both avoided going outside during the winter, choosing to stay curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace— your head on his chest as he muttered about whatever was on his mind, rubbing circles into your scalp. 

But it was unavoidable that you’d end up outside eventually. A good chunk of Wilbur’s family lived in the tundra region and you were bound to end up walking back home late at night, having decided not to inconvenience Phil and Techno any further. 

(In truth, you just wanted to get home before the snowstorm that threatened to keep snowed in for the rest of the week—- and although the Syndicate members were lovely hosts, your anniversary was coming up and you wanted to at least spend it alone together).

“Shit weather.” Wilbur mumbled as you traversed the Prime Path. “Hasn’t even snowed yet.” 

Wilbur kicks at the frosted ground for emphasis, adjusting his grip on your hand and pressing as close as he could without unbalancing you. You felt sufficiently warm in your sweater and jacket, save for the stinging sensation of the wind biting at your knuckles and nose, but Wilbur was still shivering. 

“The frost isn’t that bad. At least it’s crunchy.” You hum. 

“Eugh, there’s so many more terrains that make better crunching sounds than this.” He grumbled. 

“..Such as?” 

“Gravel, for one. Sand— when it’s spread sparsely enough. But technically beaches make crunching sounds too, it’s just— muffled. I guess.” He turned to you. “Why don’t we ever go to the beach?”

“Because last time we went, I couldn’t kiss you for a week without getting sand in my mouth.” 

“That’s why you wouldn’t kiss me??” Wilbur exclaimed, looking scandalized.  “Because you’d get a little sand in your mouth!”

“It’s disgusting!” 

“It’s not!”

“Yes it is— it doesn’t leave your mouth, and then your going about your day and suddenly feel it crunchbetween your molars—“ 

“That’s the best part, the fuck are you talking about?” 

“What—-“ you splutter, at a loss for words. “I can’t with you. I just can’t.” 

“Ouch.” He pouted in mock offense. “You know darling, with how you treat me sometimes, one would think you…”

He trails off. You continue walking, staring at the frozen grass as you wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, you look back up. 

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur tears his eyes away from whatever he was looking at and glances back at you. “—Oh. Yeah. Nothing, we’re… lost my train of thought.”

You peer down into the darkness and spot an array of cobblestone and flags in the distance. 

Oh. You had forgotten that it was visible from this route. 

The banners on Schlatt’s grave, scrawled with graffiti from over the years, flapped silently in the wind. 

It’s no wonder he had gone silent— especially with that incident the last time Tommy visited the Tundra. 

“You ought to be careful around Quackity, Wilbur.” Philza and warned, sitting by the fire as Tommy raided his pantry for more honey bottles. 

“Nah, he’s no threat.” Wilbur said, stretching his limbs. “He’s all bark, no bite. Sure, he acts all tough, but he’s just like his country. All style, no substance.”

You heard Tommy snort. “No bite? Dude literally ate Schlatt’s heart at his funeral.”

Wilbur choked. “He what?” 

“Yeah, and I still have his lungs somewhere. Good times.” Tommy closed the pantry and began stuffing Phil’s belongings into his pockets. 

“I sure hope you didn’t do that at my funeral.” Wilbur snorts. “…How was it, by the way?”

Tommy’s movements freeze, and you avert your eyes. “How was what, again? Sorry, I wasn’t listening. Anyway, the, um, honey—-“

“My funeral.” Wilbur repeated, smile faltering. “Was it— like— how was it?”

“We, um…” Tommy couldn’t look his brother in the eye. “It was a— wiggly time back then. There was so much going on, and—-“

“Oh.” Wilbur’s smile had completely disappeared. 

“With—with— with rebuilding, and threats of further destruction—“

“Yeah.”

“We didn’t— we couldn’t—“

“Yeah. Okay.” Wilbur cleared his throat. “Okay. Alright! I get it.” He stood up, clapping his hands with a strained grin. “So! Phil, you said Technoblade was outside?”

“..Yeah.” Phil said. “He’s outside.”

Phil had barely the time to finish the sentence before Wilbur was gone, leaving a slamming door and a puff of frigid air in his wake. 

Wilbur Soot, the silvertongued General, Founder, Brother, Father, Son, lover—- had never gotten a funeral. 

Schlatt, on the other hand…

To everyone’s credit, Schlatt’s funeral had been more of a celebration, an opportunity for everyone he had wronged to spit, laugh, and dance on his grave. 

Well. Almost everyone. 

You glanced sideways at Wilbur, wondering if you should give it a shot. 

“Hey.” You say and his head snaps to you. “Cmere.” You take his hand and gently pull him off the path, heading to the gravesite. 

“Uh—“ Wilbur hesitates, clearly reluctant to approach the very object of his inner turmoil. “What are we doing?”

“Wait.” You scale the hill and pass by the worn benches, heading straight to where the marble tomb lay. 

“Uh, [Name]?” He repeats, laughing a little incredulously. “I don’t really understand why we’re—-“

“Shush!” You march right up to the coffin— and with two definitive stomp, stomps— climb right on top. Swiveling on the spot, you turn and hold a hand out to a dumbfounded Wilbur. “Cmere.”

He lets you pull him up, awkwardly finding his footing on the rectangular lid. “Uh, alright. Why— woah!”

You tug him closer, guiding his hands to your waist and wrapping yours around the back of his neck. 

Wilbur stares, and you stare back. 

Your confidence begins to falter— crap, this was a dumb idea. “Um. I just— thought we could dance? Yknow.. here?”

“Dance.” He echoed, a light beginning to dawn in his eyes. A smile spreads across his face— a lovestruck, wobbly smile— and he steps closer, pulling you to his chest as he buries his face in your neck, suppressing a laugh. “..Alright.” He murmurs against your skin, grinning like an idiot. 

“I know there’s no music, but—“

“It’s okay.” He says quietly, holding you close as you both sway to an inaudible tune. 

You let yourself melt into it, reaching a hand up to idly pet the back of his neck, playing with his hair. 

It’s less of a dance and more of a prolonged embrace since there isn’t much room for foot movement, but neither of you mind. 

You tilt your head to press a kiss to the stretch of jaw just below his ear, feeling his lips twitch into another smile against the crook of your neck. 

“I don’t deserve you.” He murmurs, so quiet it barely disturbs the silence around you. 

“You deserve the world.” You say. 

Wilbur lets out a puff of laughter, shaking his head against your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you tighter. “Mkay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. I’ll never understand, but I know.” He sighs, turning his head to rest his chin against your shoulder, staring out into the open fields behind you. 

“You’re not a bad person.” You move a hand to scratch at his scalp and he hums contentedly. “You may not have been a good one. ..Although, admittedly, this server hasn’t been the most.. conducive to good morals. You’re a person though, a human being, and all this—-“ you squeeze him tighter, kissing his jaw, “—-you deserve.”

He’s silent for a while. You let him think, rubbing circles into his back and pretend you don’t hear the quiet sniffles he tries to choke down. 

When Wilbur speaks again, his voice is steady, if not a little hoarse. “Do you, uh.. think I could be one?”

“A what? A good person, you mean?” You furrow your brow.

“Yeah. That.” 

Wilbur has always had different views of humanity than you do. He presented the world like a stage, bustling with heroes and villains, characters predestined by fate. Life was a story, and they were in center stage, the protagonists of it all, following a script until met with triumph or tragedy. It’s with these grand, romanticized views of reality that Wilbur had managed to win over so many people. Everyone loves a good story, after all. 

As a rigidly scientific mind, you never shared those sentiments. Humans were merely developed animals, that’s all. Each struggle would be lost and rendered meaningless to the sands of time, and so would the morals on which they stood. 

“I think you could.”  The night is getting colder and your feet are freezing, but neither of you are willing to leave this pocket of warmth you’ve created, heads tucked into necks and hands running through hair. 

“But you don’t believe good and bad people, do you? You never did.” Wilbur said quietly. 

“Maybe not. But I still think you could fit your definition of ‘good person’. You are kind. That’s a start.” You continue rubbing circles into his scalp, carefully twisting and combing the curls with your fingers. 

Wilbur doesn’t respond. He only lifts his head, trailing his lips in a pathway from your shoulder to your jaw, up your cheek to rest against your forehead. He stays like that, eyes closed for one, two, three heartbeats before he pulls away to look you in the eye. 

Wilbur’s  ears, nose, and eyes are tinged red, the first two from the cold and the last from silently crying into your shoulder. 

Both your hands and his cheek are frigid, but when you brush your thumb under his eye he leans into the touch anyway, not looking away from you for even a moment. 

He only closes his eyes when you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. 

It’s the collapsing of a star, pulled magnetically inwards, striving to be as close as physically possible. He’s cradling your face like it’s made of sugarglass and you treat him with equal gentleness, running a hand through his hair, mindlessly stepping backwards as he crowds your space, adjusting to get closer, closer because it’s still cold—-

You take one last step and suddenly there’s no more marble under your heel, and you pitch backwards, toppling off the tomb with a yelp. Wilbur follows suit, sprawling out on the grass next to you with grunt. 

Within seconds, you’re both wheezing with laughter, pulling each other closer and leaning back to rest

After catching his breath, Wilbur speaks. “We should do this more often.”

You don’t miss the tinge of sadness in his voice, and suddenly become very aware about how distant this relationship has gotten. It’s not neglected, by any means, but you can’t remember the last time you did something like this. 

(Actually, you can. The last time you danced like this was November 15th, 2020). 

But you opt for a more lighthearted tone. “What? Dance on this grave more often?”

“No, no— I mean yes, I’d love to make this our designated date spot— yknow?” He looks over at you with a sly grin. 

“Mm-hm. Maybe bring some music next time.” You smile back. 

“And a few blankets. Maybe some wine.” Wilbur leans a bit closer. 

“Picnic?” You whisper. 

“Definitely.” He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours. “But.. also in general. We could… have more dates, in general. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. It has.” You murmur, closing your eyes as well. “…So, next Friday?”

 You feel him laugh softly. “Yeah! Yeah, next Friday sounds great.”

Unable to help yourself, you cup his cheek and pull him into a kiss. It’s a lot softer than the last kiss, lips lingering together as you both pull apart to breathe. 

“…I hope Schlatt’s fuming in hell right now.” Wilbur says quietly, eyes still closed and lips still close. 

“I bet he is.” 

[l0cked0uttt]

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!

Word Count: 1557

[simp-king-noshi]

FLUFFTOBER MASTER LIST ✨💖💞

FLUFFTOBER MASTERLIST

day one first kiss/Wilbur soot

day two love confession/Jack Met

day three sick/injury/Tommyinnit

day four rainy day/Ghostbur

day five dancing together/Dabi

day six playing with hair/Karl Jacobs

day seven sharing clothe/Jschlatt

day eight kid fic/pet fic/Ghostbur

day nine showering/bathing/2-D

day ten gift giving/Dream

day twelve meet cute/Simpbur

day thirteen learning a craft/Ghostbur

day fourteen locked in/trapped in/Simpbur

day fifteen early morning/Russel Hobbs

day sixteen stargazing/Georgenotfounf

day seventeen massage/dream

day eighteen protecting/Revivebur

day nineteen road trip/motel/ Dream Team

day twenty reading together/ Noodle

day twenty one picnic/2-D

day twenty two apologies/Murdoc niccals

day twenty three coffee shop/book store/bbh

twenty four game night/ tommyinnit

twenty five love letters/simpbur

twenty six drunken confessions/sapnap

twenty seven nightmares/pogbur (pogtopia Wilbur)

twenty eight pumpkin patch/Jack Met

twenty nine corn maze/ Argbur

thirty scary movies/2-D

day thirty one Halloween costumes/Murdoc niccals

[dearest-painter]

Since hazbin hotel and helluva boss are linked(there both in hell and all-) ghostbur/revivebur!reader could have met multiple of the helluva boss characters

Ghostbur!Reader is known to be shy yet sociable just ask Alastor or Angel Dust or Husk! Actually…I suggest you don’t as their not so friendly so how about you ask Millie? Or Moxxie? Or how about Vortex? Or Queen B? I personally suggest you ask Millie as she’s the safer option! Yet Ghostbur!Reader is seen hanging out with Queen B and Vortex often but also napping with Moxxie as Millie takes photos.

Now if you wanna know who Revivebur!Reader talks to then it has to be Blitz, Luna, Verosika Mayday, Stolas, Striker, and Asmodeusu…funny ain’t it? How different they are despite being the same person? Revivebur!Reader seems to make friends with so many bad people or people with power while Ghostbur!Reader prefers people who don’t really use their power for bad yet they stay friends with everyone they talk to…….such an odd little thing aren’t they?

[peterrefur]

The days we knew ⅏ Wilbur Soot x GN!Reader

Summary: Wilbur returns from Limbo. Reader reminisces about L'Manberg. Wilbur visits Reader's restaurant, and they recognize each other. Notes: Hey Mate!!! I’m Peter and I say right away that English is not my first language. I’m curious to hear your opinion about this work in the comments! Enjoy!

I am trying to get back to writing after a long break. This story is not the pinnacle of my abilities, but it is the beginning of my return to writing.

𝒲hispers and rumors spread like wildfire about his return from hell. A hell that he referred to as Limbo .

𝒜ccording to tales, this was where every soul must journey after departing from the mortal world, each Limbo tailored to the individual's experiences and memories. Some say his Limbo took the form of an endless underground metro system, with never-ending tunnels and trains that always arrived at the same station no matter how many times he boarded them.

𝐻is screams were said to be so deafeningly loud and relentless that they would echo through the night and linger for weeks, until he inevitably started screaming anew upon waking. Each scream was like a violent eruption from his chest, tearing at his vocal cords until blood filled his throat and spilled from his lips. His cries were like a tortured symphony, haunting and unyielding, they painted a picture of his anguish as a tortured symphony, echoing through the corridors of his mind long after reality had fallen silent.  His knuckles, once sturdy bastions of strength, now lay bare, stripped down to the bone by the unyielding assault against the harsh concrete wall. The bones beneath threatened to breach the surface, a grim testament to his unwavering resolve. Deep furrows marred his palms, etched by the relentless barrage, a stark reminder of his unending battle. Deep grooves crisscrossed his palms from the repeated beatings, leaving behind a permanent reminder of his struggles. His nails, once neat and trimmed, were now jagged and torn off in places from desperate attempts to claw his way out. They bent backwards, painfully pulling away from the fleshy tips of his fingers. 

𝐹or years, he had drifted in and out of sleep, unsure if he was truly awake or trapped in the never-ending purgatory of Limbo. He had grown accustomed to the unchanging landscape of darkness and despair, where hunger and pain were constant companions. But eventually, he came to the realization that this was an eternal torment - a hell without end.  No matter how much he struggled or what he did, death would not release him from this cursed existence. His only escape was to endure and hope for some sort of redemption beyond this bleak realm. 

𝒩o respite, no escape - just an unending abyss of torment. 

𝒜t least that's what they say in town when Reader goes to get groceries from their quaint little restaurant. They fondly remember the days when their establishment was nestled within the borders of L'Manberg, a place where soldiers sought refuge after grueling battles and found comfort in the hearty soups and flavorful dishes they cooked up. Aromas of savory herbs and spices wafted through the air as customers eagerly awaited their meals, their spirits lifted by the warm atmosphere and delicious food. 

The memories flood back to them as they recall the prestigious guests who frequented their restaurant. The elegant President of L'Manburg himself had made special visits for diplomatic meetings, seeking the comfort and privacy of their establishment. And they always made sure to serve him their nationally famous dish - Noodles with meat.  The aroma alone was enough to make mouths water - a rich, savory broth simmered for hours, perfectly cooked hand-prepared noodles that they could tell were ready just by the color and texture, tender pieces of pork carefully placed on top. But it wasn't just about the taste - the presentation was just as important. Carrots, chives, and other fresh garnishes adorned the bowl, along with a sprinkling of sesame seeds and a dollop of fiery chili paste for those who dared.  

𝒯his dish had become synonymous with significant events in the history of this young country, and the Reader couldn't help but feel proud knowing their humble restaurant played a part in shaping its culture and identity. 

A very pleasant past that Reader misses. They remember those times with a smile. 

𝐻owever, amidst the comfortable thoughts in their mind, there are also haunting memories of Pogtopia. They can still feel the weight of poverty and fear that shrouded their daily life like a thick fog. The memories of living in the canyon for what seemed like endless months flood back to them.  Yet, as they try to recall the time frame, it all becomes a blur, the days and years blending together into one hazy period of turmoil. Such is the impact that time had on their memories of that place. 

𝒯he unrelenting grip of poverty, the constant gnawing fear of death, the monotonous routine of preparing potatoes day after day. They had so many potatoes that they ate them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, struggling to find new ways to cook them - boiled, roasted over a fire, mashed into a purée. 

𝐵ut in the end, they always seemed to give up and serve them simply boiled. The bland aroma of boiling water filled their small ravine 'kitchen', as they resigned themselves to yet another meal of plain potatoes. 

𝐼t was a reminder of their meager existence, a symbol of their struggle to survive. 

𝒟espite not having a large customer base, they relish every opportunity to cook for someone and bring joy to their day. The thought of someone not having to worry about food at home and being able to come to them for a satisfying meal fills there with a sense of purpose. For a small fee, they serve up bowls of steaming noodles or simple dishes that they customize to each person's liking.  The aroma of herbs and spices wafts through the air, enticing passersby to stop and sample their cooking. Their humble kitchen is filled with warmth and welcoming energy, creating a haven for anyone in need of a comforting meal. 

As they enter the kitchen, their arms laden with fresh produce, they quickly tie a crisp white apron around their hips. They waste no time in placing the vegetables on the counter and rinsing them under a steady stream of cool water. With practiced efficiency, they pull out a large mixing bowl and various containers to store the ingredients. The cutting board is carefully wiped down, its surface gleaming beneath the bright kitchen lights. They run a hand over its smooth surface before grabbing their sharp knife and getting to work. 

𝒲ith a practiced hand, they reach for their favorite knife, its blade catching the sunlight and gleaming as they slice through the ripe tomato with precise movements. The crisp skin gives way easily and the sweet scent of the fruit fills the air as they carefully carve an even chunk and place it into the container. Moving on to the cucumbers, they expertly cut them into perfect strips, each one identical to the next, before adding them to the growing collection of vegetables in the container. Each ingredient is selected with care, from the vibrant red peppers to the deep green kale leaves and bright orange carrots. Finally, they add to earthy mushrooms their spongy texture completing the colorful array of ingredients that will soon become their customers' daily dishes.  As they work, a sense of pride and satisfaction fills their heart, knowing that these fresh and carefully prepared vegetables will bring joy and nourishment to those who eat them. 

𝒲ith the grace and ease of someone who has spent years perfecting their craft, they carefully wash their sharp knife before deftly cutting into the succulent meat. Every slice is deliberate and precise as they expertly remove any unwanted bones and gristle.  The stray cat that frequents their restaurant in the evening is the only customer who doesn't have to pay, so they always set out a small plate for it in appreciation. It's become a familiar routine, just like the comforting scent of freshly cooked meat that lingers in the air of their cozy establishment.

 

𝒜s the ten o'clock hour strikes, Reader interrupts their preparations and goes to the front door and pulls down the wooden covers that protect their glass window, with a sign that Tommy, one of the former members of L'Manberg, painted a few years ago. Reader opens the door wide and lets fresh air into the small room, which seats less than ten people. 

𝒜s the clock strikes ten, Reader pauses their preparations and strides to the front door with determination. They slide down the wooden covers that protect their glass window, adorned with a hand-painted sign by Tommy, one of the former members of L'Manberg. The aged paint peeling off reveals glimpses of vibrant colors from years past. With a firm grip, Reader pulls open the door, allowing a gust of cool air to sweep inside the small room. A cozy space, barely enough to seat ten people comfortably.  The scent of fresh air intermingles with the comforting aroma of food and freshly brewed tea. 

𝒯heir days pass, every so often consumed by thoughts and doubts of the rumors swirling about the resurrection of L'Manburg's President. Memories flood her mind- of the ravine where he had stood, surrounded by his people, pleading for them to stop calling him President. They remember the look of despair and desperation on his face, a stark contrast to the once hopeful and confident leader he used to be.  The transformation he underwent is etched in their mind, from a man filled with eager ambition and hope to one broken and desolate by the loss of his country. It's a haunting image that lingers in their thoughts, a poignant reminder of what once was and what could have been.  As they reflect on these memories, they can't help but feel a sense of sadness and disillusionment for the fallen leader and his shattered dreams. 

— 

𝒜s the time for cleaning up arrived, Reader moved with swift and precise efficiency. Their movements were like a choreographed dance, each step executed with perfect control and purpose. Without a moment of hesitation or uncertainty, they sorted through the items on the table, placing them carefully on the cat's plate or in the rubbish bin. It was as if they had been programmed for this task, carrying it out flawlessly like a well-oiled machine. The clink of dishes and rustling of paper filled the air as Reader worked, their focused expression never faltering. They were masters at their craft, turning chaos into order with each calculated movement. With a sense of accomplishment, Reader stepped back from the neatly organized items in front of them. Their duties were complete, each task executed with precision and attention to detail. A satisfying feeling of completion washed over there, leaving a smile on their face as they surveyed their flawless work. It was as if each item had found its rightful place, creating a symphony of order and efficiency.

𝒲ith a poised and graceful step, the owners of the charming restaurant emerged from their kitchen, their faces glowing with a warm smile. In one hand, they carried a delicate plate, its contents arranged in an artful display that could rival any high-end eatery. The scent of spices and herbs wafted through the crisp autumn air, drawing in any nearby feline companions. Each carefully selected ingredient had been placed with precision, creating a feast not only for the senses but also for the palate of any fortunate cat. 

As they walked towards their favorite spot outside the restaurant, a small cat curled up under their legs and wrapped its tail around their thighs in grateful contentment.  It was clear that this furry companion held a special place in their heart for providing it with nourishment every evening. 

𝒯he frigid and forbidding darkness of the night hung heavy, engulfing everything in its path. The cold air prickled at their skin, heightening their senses as they gazed upon the lone figure standing in front of their restaurant. His silhouette loomed large against the dimly lit street, casting a daunting shadow that seemed to swallow up everything around it.  The glowing moon above served as a watchful guardian, its silvery light bathing his features in an eerie glow. His intense gaze locked theirs, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as they stood alone in this deserted city. 

𝐻is voice cut through the silence, sharp and forceful. "Are you open?" he demanded, his words like shards of ice in the stillness of the night. 

The man's appearance is strikingly unkempt, emitting an aura of poverty and potential homelessness. His hair, a mass of shoulder-length brown curls, appears tangled and greasy, with strands protruding in all directions. Among the chaos, a solitary white strand stands out conspicuously, almost luminous against the disorder. It's as if he's aged a decade overnight. His eyes, bloodshot and encircled by a rim of red, convey a sense of sleeplessness that spans days. The profound, dark circles beneath his eyes surpass any exhaustion I've witnessed, even among the most fatigued hybrids or humans. 

𝐻e dons a tattered yellow jumper, its fabric worn thin and punctuated by tears. Draping loosely over his shoulders, a patched coat, once a lively brown, now bears the weight of dirt and grime, concealing any semblance of its former vibrancy. Wrapped around his arm, a bandage, tainted with a red hue, poses a mystery—blood or perhaps wine? Despite the neglect evident in his attire, one detail stands out: his trousers, meticulously pressed, hint at a pride in appearance amidst adversity.  Yet, they're juxtaposed with scuffed and grimy shoes, evidence of a journey endured with little regard for appearance. 

"Unfortunately, it has just closed," Reader says with a warm smile, their gesture directed towards the now darkened restaurant front. "But fear not, for I will be open again at 10 tomorrow morning." As they speak, they absent-mindedly pet the purring cat perched on the counter, savoring its meal of freshly prepared food. "The only customer being served now is this cat. You don't look like a cat, I'm sorry," they add, their hands gently stroking the animal as it enjoys its feast. 

At this, the man chuckles and responds, "I may not look like a cat, but I wouldn't mind meowing or snuggling up to your leg if it means getting some of that delicious food," he laughs.  "I wish I could help you," Reader says with a chuckle, "But I'm afraid my only clients after hours are of the feline persuasion." 

𝒯he man's hearty laughter echoed through the street, blending in with the soft purring of the cat. The tension from earlier seemed to dissipate, replaced by an ease that felt strange but also comforting. "Fair enough," he said, smiling at the Reader. "I think I'll have to find another place then."  "Just down the road there's an all-night dinner," they offered. They pointed towards the end of the street where a neon sign flickered intermittently. "They should still have something warm for you."  "Thanks," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. He turned to leave before hesitating and turning back towards Reader "Do you remember cooking noodles with meat in L'Manberg?" 

𝑅eader paused, a flicker of surprise passing across their face. Their eyes, which had been warm and inviting, cooled as they studied the man before there. "Why would you ask me that?" they said, their voices betraying a touch of guarded curiosity. 

The man gave a rueful smile. "It's a memory I've carried for years," he admitted with an odd sort of vulnerability, his gaze never leaving their face. "A chef who cooked the most delicious noodles with meat in L'Manberg."  Their faces softened as they listened to him, their initial wariness fading into curiosity. "That was a long time ago," they finally said, more to themselves than to him.  He nodded slowly. "Yes, it was," he conceded. "But for some reason, those noodles have always stuck with me. I suppose...I've been looking for them ever since." 

𝒜 silence descended upon them then, as they each absorbed what had been said - and perhaps what hadn't been said too. The cat finished its meal and hopped off the counter, brushing against Reader's leg before slipping out into the night.  "Have we met?" Reader said finally. Their voices were soft but resolute.   "Yeah..." he says and puts his hands in his pockets "I'm the one who let you open the restaurant and was the first to eat those noodles." says the man, at which Reader takes two steps backwards and only now in the man does they recognize the former President of L'Manburg. 

"Mr President..." whispers Reader. 

The man's expression softened at their recognition, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his eyes. "Please, just call me Wilbur," he said, his voice carrying a note of sincerity.  Reader's mind raced with memories of their time together in L'Manburg, the moments of camaraderie and hardship they had shared. They couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion at the sight of him standing before them, a stark reminder of the past they had tried so hard to leave behind.  "I never thought I'd see you again," they admitted, their voices barely above a whisper. "Not after everything that happened." 

𝒲ilbur's face took on a serious expression; his eyes seemed to be searching the ground for answers. "I understand," he spoke in a hushed tone. "Being brought back to life is just as shocking for me as it is for others.” 

Reader paused, gazing at their small restaurant with its quaint decor. "If you'd like, Mr. President - Wilbur, I believe I can whip up some delicious noodles with savory meat for you. However, it may take a bit of time."  A small, genuine smile graced Wilbur's lips at Reader's kind offer, the corners of his mouth turning up as if pulled by invisible strings. "I would be delighted," his bright brown eyes shone with gratitude, reflecting the warmth in his voice as he replied, a hint of nostalgia woven into his words. 

𝒲ith a graceful sweep, Reader disappeared into the kitchen to prepare their meal. Wilbur followed, sinking into a plush chair at one of the empty tables. His mind wandered back to the days when L'Manburg was a bustling nation, overflowing with life and possibility. Memories rushed in like a powerful river, each one bringing a flutter of nostalgia and longing as he waited patiently for the mouth-watering aroma of food to permeate the air once more. He could almost taste the rich flavors and feel the warmth radiating from the kitchen as Reader worked their magic. 

𝒯he kitchen was alive with a symphony of sounds, as Reader moved with dancer-like grace and purpose. The clinking of pots and pans echoed through the air, each utensil playing its own instrumental part in the culinary orchestra. The scent of simmering broth, infused with aromatic spices, filled Wilbur's senses, wrapping him in a warm and comforting embrace that made his stomach growl with anticipation. It was like being enveloped in a cloud of savory goodness, beckoning him closer to the source of its alluring aroma.  After spending years in the desolate realm of Limbo without any sustenance, the mere scent of these noodles sent a wave of hunger crashing over him. He could practically taste the savory broth and chewy strands as if they were right in front of him. The aroma was so enticing, he felt like he could devour liters of it without hesitation. 

𝒜s Reader emerged from the warm, bustling kitchen with a steaming bowl of noodles in hand, Wilbur's eyes met theirs with a mixture of admiration and longing. The aroma of savory broth and freshly cooked noodles wafted through the air, enticing his senses. As he took the first bite, the flavors exploded on his palate, each mouthful a symphony of tastes that transported him back to simpler times. With every swallow, he could taste the heart and soul that Reader had poured into the dish.  "You have truly outdone yourself," Wilbur exclaimed between bites, his eyes never leaving Reader's face as if trying to convey his gratitude and appreciation through their locked gaze. 

𝒯he words hung heavy in the air, thick with disbelief and awe. "I was at your funeral," Reader's voice trembled as they took a seat in the chair next to Wilbur. "And now I'm serving you noodles." The steam from the hot meal rose and mingled with their breath, a surreal scene unfolding before them. "You really have been revived," Reader marveled at the miracle of Wilbur's return from death.  "Believe me, you're not the only one having trouble adjusting to this." Wilbur says between mouthfuls of steaming noodles. He pauses to take a deep breath, then continues with a tinge of gratitude in his voice, "But thanks to my hero I am back alive. Dream."  He lifts his bowl up in a gesture of gratitude towards Dream, who is now behind bars in prison. Reader can sense the tension and unease between Wilbur and Dream. 

𝐼t's clear that something has changed between them, something that Reader doesn't quite understand or enjoy witnessing. 

𝒯he word fell from Reader's lips with a bitter tone, carrying with it the weight of past struggles and disappointments. The mere mention of "Dream" conjured up a flood of negative memories - the root cause of L'Manberg's seemingly endless problems.  "Dream? Eh, Wasn't he perhaps enemy number one in L'Manberg?” Reader asks. 

𝒲ilbur's gaze darkened at the mention of Dream's name, a storm brewing in his eyes. "Yes, he was," Wilbur admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and betrayal.  "But he was also the one who brought me back from the Limbo." The conflicting emotions within Wilbur were evident in his tense posture and furrowed brow.  Reader could sense the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface, the unresolved issues and complicated history between Wilbur and Dream hanging heavily in the air. "I know it's hard to understand," Wilbur continued, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of sadness. "But things are never as black and white as they seem, especially in a place like L'Manberg." He took another bite of noodles, the warmth of the broth offering a momentary distraction from the weight of their conversation. 

𝑅eader watched Wilbur closely, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in their minds. Despite the tension between them, Reader couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Wilbur. The weight of expectations and responsibilities had taken its toll on him, leaving behind scars that ran deep. 

𝑅eader smiles and refills the broth in Wilbur's noodles. 

"It's good to have you back." 

[heartofwritiing]

You drew stars around my scars.

paring: revivebur x fem!reader

summary: Wilbur is insecure about his body after coming back from limbo.

authors note: some revivebur reverse-comfort because he deserves some love.🥺 even tho he’s an ass i wanted to write something more vulnerable. I hope you guys like it :)

warnings: reverse-comfort, mentions of death, scars, kissing, body worshiping, praising, a little suggestive, but very soft, super unedited!

Coming back from the dead had its ups and downs.

For one, actually having any emotion besides numb was a perk. Rather it was every emotion coming flooding back into Wilbur's senses, especially the very bad ones. Still he missed feeling.

Before his death, Wilbur was a very complicated man, with a complex ego to prove himself. That still stands true to this day. Always had the drive to strive for greatness and it ultimately led to ruin.

Now he stood in-front of the tall mirror in your shared bedroom looking back at himself. The scar was prominent across his abdomen as his eyes trailed down. It stared back at him like a strike of lighting with how jagged it was. The aftermath of his father stabbing him in the chest with his own sword.

Wilbur hated how he looked like death itself. Bags under his eyes, the thinness of his stomach, and that prominent white streak in his hair that was a constant reminder of how he was a broken shell of a human.

Lately he hadn’t been sleeping well either, barely eating and showering since he’d forgotten about all those things in limbo.

That fucking train station…

Wilbur hadn't even heard you come into the room, too lost in the spiral of his mind when your voice called his name. It's soft but it's loud enough to startle him out of his daze.

Frantically he is pulling down the yellow sweater and fixing his state to greet you.

“Hello darling, I missed you,” he says.

You are confused as to why he's so nervous when you walk in on him inspecting himself in the mirror.

"You okay Wil?" you pull him into a hug. He's tense at the physical contact but welcomes it bringing his arms around you. Still not use to the affection you give him since he's been back, but he still appreciates it.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be," he says dismissively.

You pull back enough to gaze up at him with a concerned expression.

"You looked sad when I came in the room," you point out. "then you got all jumpy when you noticed me."

Wilbur was never good at expressing his insecurities. He never thought he deserved the luxury of being open, thinking that it made him weak. You knew this. It was never easy to get him to open up to you. You saw how his eyes looked scanning over his scar tissue when you walked in on him.

Plunged with a sword to his chest by his own father after destroying his nation.

He believed he deserved his unlawful fate, and all because of how treated the people he cared about. He was still learning to forgive himself for all the damage he caused. Especially towards you.

You had stood by his side since the very start. When he built up from a man with a drug van, to the leader of the small but proud nation dubbed L’manburg. Through it all you never once left him. Not even after Pogtopia, not even after his unplanned resurrection.

“I was just checking something,” he avoided your eyesight.

You didn’t buy his dismissal. You could always tell when he was lying.

“Wilbur,” you chastised. You take his hand in yours, feeling the roughness of his fingertips graze your knuckles as he intertwines your fingers together.“ you can tell me anything, you know that.”

Guilt crawls up his chest. He wants to try so hard to be better at communicating than this, but it’s so difficult sometimes. He takes a deep breath and sighs heavily. You wait patiently for him to collect his thoughts.

"Take your time," you say gently.

Wilbur swears he doesn't deserve you. You were the most understanding person he’s ever met. After everything he’s done. still you showed him the respect of a human being that he thought he didn’t deserve.

"I was looking at my scar," he admits.

There is no flicker of judgment in your eyes, which makes him look down nervously. You put your hand on his cheek to propel him back.

"Don't be embarrassed honey, c'mere," you motion to hug him as he leans over you to bury his face in your shoulder. Your fingers lace through his curls, soothing him to relax in your arms.

You quickly realized why Wilbur had become so shy all of a sudden without him telling you, he was feeling insecure about his body. You could see the judgmental look in his eyes as he scanned his chest with disdain in the mirror. You understood how he felt because you had experienced the same insecurities about your body many times before and he had been there countless times to reassure you that your body was so beautiful, so now it was time for you to return the favor.

“can i see?” you asked, he tensed in your arms and you slowly broke apart.

The look in his eyes were wide with fear. You gave him a smile and a look of reassurance that made him relax and nod his head.

So that's when you took him by the hands and led him to the bed.

Wilbur gazed down at you with a frown on his brow when you stood on your tippy toes to bring his lips into a kiss. Your hands trailed up from his hip bones to his belly.

Disconnecting your lips, you ask him for permission to continue with your movements.

"Can I keep going?" you questioned. playing with the hem of his sweater, motioning you want to remove the fabric.

Hesitantly he nods. "yes."

You kiss the tip of his nose and motion for him to lift his arms. You pull the yellow sweater up his body until his pale chest with freckles, faded stretch marks, and a long tattered scar stare back at you.

Your pupils dilate as you look upon your lover. He was utterly alluring and the most attractive man you’d ever seen, but understanding perfectly why he was so adamant to hide in his sweaters and trench coat. Though his body was beautiful in your eyes.

“You’re so perfect,” you gush, to which he blushes profusely at.

You reach a hand up carefully trace your pointer finger against his abdomen. Sliding downwards, he shudders at the contact. Your eyes flicker to his, doe eyes are fixated on you. Watching your next move carefully.

Your fingers drew patterns around the area, drawing shapes, random, more precise.

Stars around his scars.

Somehow his face reddened a deeper shade. You can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips at his flustered state.

“If it gets too much and you want me to stop, tell me and i will.” you say. Wilbur nods, not trusting his voice.

Your hand trails slowly towards his belly button to circle around it with the tip of your finger. His stomach bobs with an inhale.

Wilbur’s head spins, and his mind clouds at the sensation. Your touch is so intense to his touch-starved and deprived soul. It’s such an overload of emotions coursing through him.

The sudden gentle touch of your lips to his stomach has him choking on air. You pamper him in kisses as loving praises spill like an endless river into his skin.

“perfect.”

“gorgeous..”

“i love every inch of you, baby…”

You say all this and more in between kisses. As you trial up more and more towards the ending of his scar right before his sternum.

“You know what I love about this the most?” you ask curiously, peering up at him.

Wilbur barely registers your words as he makes a small hum. His eyes are shut while a crease forms on his forehead. Complete ecstasy written all of his face. A small part of you was satisfied seeing him in this state knowing you were the reason.

“I love how it shows you’ve overcome that version of you.” a kiss.“you never have to be that person again.”

You move to straddle his waist, nothing about this feels sexual in any way, at least not to him. It didn’t to you either, It was pure adoration and admiration.

Wilbur’s hands hastily fly to your hips, fingertips digging into the flesh to ground himself as his breathing picks up. feeling your lips continue their relentlessness against his burning skin he lets out an exhale trough his nose.

It's so soft and intimate. Pouring all your love into your touches. All the desire, love, and expectance you felt towards him all into one.

You can feel how hot his body suddenly got when you place a kiss over his heart, how it speeds up when you place another kiss and he lets out a shaky breath. It complies a grin to pull at your lips in satisfaction.

You want to show him just how much you didn’t care about what he looked like. Rather than the person he was. You feel his hands trail up your sides, bunching in the fabric of your shirt when you kiss up his neck and jaw.

When your face hovers inches over his, his eyes blink open. Both of you smile at each other, a mix of love and affection between you.

“you’re my whole world, i dosent matter to me who you were or what you’ve done. I love you more than anything. nothing will ever changed that.” you confessed.

Tears brim around his eyes.

“thank you my darling, i love you so much.” he kisses your nose. “m’sorry for everything i’ve done, sorry for being such an arsehole.”

His voice is shaky and on the verge of cracking with every word. “i’m sorry i left you-“

You hush him and bring your foreheads together as you let him cry out all the pent-up emotions. God knows how long he’s been holding this in.

“It’s alright.” you coo. “you don’t have to say anything else.”

He locks his arms around your body, bringing you into a tight hug and rolling you both onto your sides into a spooning position.

You both settle into the bed, running your fingers through his unruly curls, pressing kisses into the skin where you can reach, and whispering sweet nothings in the dark.

Once Wilbur is snoring softly into your neck. You slide your hand down his chest and slowly trace shapes around the scar tissue.

Drawing stars around his scars.

End

-

tagging: @lillyspeakz @horny-p0et @sootwilb @xxvalentinezxx

[deadqueerboys]

Surprise hug!!

Quackity, Revivebur (x fem! Reader, separate)

Quackity;

Quackity was working, so worried about everything going well as he probably screamed at the screen. He was busy, he's always busy. So, at this time, Y/n decided to give him a gift. She walked in with some comfortable clothes, Quackity's clothes, probably her new pajama. She called him, his head quickly turning to see his girlfriend, how he really likes, wearing his clothes and only in her panties.

"Oh, hey babe." He smirks, his eyes looking at her up and down before he gets out of his chair and comes closer to her. When he's close enough, she gets him. Jumping on his lap and wrapped her arms and legs around him. He takes a moment to understand, but when he does, he hugs her back. Quackity nuzzle into her neck, smelling her scent, her perfume. "What's wrong? You can't sleep?"

"I just wanted to make a visit." She smiles, cupping his cheeks and kissing him over and over again, barely breathing, but she wouldn't stop giving him comfort. "You're handsome.." Y/n giggles, putting his hand under her shirt, allowing him to touch her as he pleases.

He could deny, oh, how he could.. but it's his girlfriend. His soft spot. His favorite person. He couldn't say no so easily. Quackity guides his own hand to touch her breast, roughly grabbing it. He could feel himself getting hard and he could see how needy she was too.

Revivebur;

Wilbur was playing busy since he came back, not allowing his own girlfriend to take care of him or make sure he's okay. He would just say "no" or "leave me alone." It was stressful. He can't spend so much time with her as he used to. Even when he was a ghost, he was more present in her life, but not now. So, when the night appears, Y/n runs as fast as possible and hugs him from behind, making his cigarette fall on the floor.

"My love!" Y/n smiles, her arms wrapped around him, and it doesn't seem easy to take her out of him. She can see the frown on his face even before he turns around. Surprisingly, he doesn't slap her or complains about how close she was.

"Yes, sure.. love." Wilbur sighs, rolling his eyes. He turns around and puts his hands on her waist. It's possessive. It almost hurts. He avoids her kisses or affection, only pressuring her against the wall and making his bulge touch her stomach during their height difference. "Do you want a little bit of my attention?"

She nods, and he puts his cold hands inside her panties, he makes circles with his fingers, touching her warm and wet pussy. He makes only one finger come inside, and his hands are too big anyway.

[wither-shadow]

Lmanbur anon ur a genius

anyway, perhaps some general headcanon for eating out the c!wilbur variations?

Of course L'man Anon!

L'manbur

- this man whimpers and moans like a porn star, except it's actually real

- he grabs your hair or whatever is nearest like it is holding him onto the ground in zero gravity

- if you suck on his clit he will cum right then and there

-if you grab his thigh and stroke his side he will melt into your hands immediately he loves it when you do that

- he gets so nervous and blushy if you ask him to sit on your face

Pogbur

- he rarely lets you go down on him he loves to pleasure you

- he is really into going under a table or desk and eating you out and watching you struggle to concentrate while talking to other people

- if you do convince him to let you go down on him, he isn't exactly loud, but he isn't quiet either he will let out little sighs, moans, and groans

- he won't ever say it, but he loves it when you go down on him

-suck on his clit? He will change the position to ride your face

Ghostbur

- he is so blushy when you bring it up and he will just let you

- his moans are a bit loud but also soft

- he covers his face the whole time he is too shy to look at you

- once you are done with him, he wants to help you too

- he needs to cuddle after both of you are done

- he begs you to put hickeys all over his thighs (if you bite, it's even better for him)

Revbur

- he's super cocky at the start and tries to be demanding, but once you look up at him with angry eyes, he falters and blushes

- he has his own goal to not moan once to not give you the satisfaction of pleasuring him, but after a few minutes, you get your way, and he lets out a low whine

- he puts his hand over his eyes and tilts his head back as he arches his back just ever so perfectly

- he feels like a God in your presence just because of how you treat him as if he is your everything

- (he has a secret sacred kink/god kink)

- kinda like L'manbur, he cums so quickly if you suck on his clit