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mysticalsoot · 2 years

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This is it, this is what joy feels like, doesn't it?

A/N: this was meant as my gift to my valentine for Grey's Valentine's Exchange but since it has been cancelled I decided to quickly finish it up and dedicate it to not only grey because they need it with how rough the exchange ended up being but also my new found friend on here! I'm really proud of this and Im very surprised at how much I wrote in such little time (5k is a lot okay lol) I hope you all enjoy it and happy early Valentine's! (I'm still gonna post a special Valentine's blurb!)

Pronouns: they/them, uses of y/n

Pairings: Cc!Wilbur x Reader

Summary: Wilbur and Reader have known each other since their early teens, and despite having painfully obvious feelings for the other, they ignore them in the sake of saving their friendship. James concocts an outing for the two and maybe it goes according to plan?

Warnings: swearing, angst but with a ton of fluff at the end! also there is a kiss but not detailed bc I in fact have never been kissed so I'm going off gut feeling lmao. also mentions of alcohol and drinking (I've also never drunk alcohol so I don't know much about that either so another guessing game there too).

Words: 5.3k

Dedicated to: @grey-rambles @loverboy-soot

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James had invited Wilbur, Ash, Tommy, Rue, and you over to his place to hang out. It was mostly Mario Kart and James fucking screaming the Wario sound, but it was fun. There was food and a few rounds of uno with Ash, Tommy, and Rue, but despite all the festivities, Wilbur hadn't joined in any of them. He sat in the farthest corner from you and the rest of the group, the corner of James' loveseat didn't seem very comfortable anyhow. But there he sat, hands folded and rested between his thighs, his eyes darted from the group to the wall, to the TV, and back to his lap. He seemed so dazed like he wasn't fully there in the moment like he was somewhere else.

The absence of his laugh and his smile...and his voice, concerned you. It wasn't like him to isolate himself like this, it was one thing to stop answering messages and hiding in his flat but straight out isolating himself at a social gathering was nothing like him. You wanted to find him in his corner, bring him away from the others and ask him what was wrong, what you did every time he found himself anxious and shutting down. But every time you tried someone would pull you away, ask questions or bring you into banter. Staring at him, contemplating doing something wasn't helpful so maybe engulfing yourself in the festivities around you would help. It was selfish, yes, but there wasn't much you could do. The chances of him brushing it off and saying he was fine and completely ignoring the subject at hand were much more probable than him stepping aside and delving into his anxieties with you. So you pushed it aside and focused on whatever shit James and Tommy were debating about at this point.

“James,” Tommy pauses for emphasis, his hands folded in front of his face and eyes closed, “You are one deaf fucking bastard.”

“I’m hearing you! I’m just saying your point is invalid and ill-informed!” James counters, despite the possible hostility of their bickering, it's known by everyone that it's just light-hearted poking and prodding at each other, nothing substantial to be worried about.

Something you could slip away from easily…

“Says the man who is convinced that the creeper is the elite hostile mob in Minecraft?? It blows shit up and is extremely difficult to kill at the start of the game! The true elite mob is the zombie, they are slow and easy to hit.” Tommy then stands up and his face plastered with a smug smile. He knows he's right even if the topic at hand is trivial and childish at best.

"You're an asshole, Thomas Simons. I'm right, you're wrong." James is quick to poke at him, and you catch a small, soft smile forming on Wilbur's features. He's gazing at the chaos in front of you, no longer on his jeans or the spots on the wall. It's on the people now. His friends.

The thought brings a glimpse of hope to you, maybe it's just a fluke and he's okay. Nothing to worry about, he's not being self-destructive right now. It's okay.

It wouldn't hurt to get him to join the conversation, would it? "What do you think, Wil? Who's the most elite hostile mob?" You pose the question with a smile on your face, eyes locked on his, gauging how he was feeling by the way his eyes went wide and his mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. Anxious, noted, not anything new and revolutionary but something to note when speaking to him.

"Um, Skeletons I guess?" His answer is unsure and it's probably because he wasn't really listening in the first place, just observing his friends having fun and bickering, doing anything he can to keep his mind off the anxiety dwelling in his head.

“Skeletons? That is the most basic bitch answer! Also, it’s invalid because they can shoot you from sixteen blocks away!” Tommy counters his answer and he gets riled up again, rushing to pull up some sort of resource list as if this was a school assignment.

Wilbur’s face drops again, but his eyes are still trained on the group as they begin bickering again. Rur and Ash decided to chime in this time, both with their own very opinionated thoughts on the matter. It began to get tenser, despite the laughs and smiles, the abrupt yells were enough to push anyone already on edge even further.

It was best to get him out of there, even if it was for a moment. So you stood from your spot at the sofa to walk over to where Wilbur placed himself. Pushed into the corner of the loveseat farthest from the group. Now that you're closer, you notice how straight he's sat, his whole body is tense and his face is flushed.

You put your hand out to him, an offering, “Come on, Wil,” It’s muttered as a mere whisper, but he hears it. His head tilts up to look at you, eyes still wide and overflowing with unease.

“Okay,” He whispers, taking your hand in his and standing up from his own spot. His shoulders slouch, making him seem slightly shorter --- he still towers over you, but it makes him seem vulnerable and small.

You tighten your grip on his hand, in a comforting way and lead him out of the living room, through the hall, and into the dark kitchen. No one seems to notice the absence of either of you, they're too busy arguing over a block game to think about much else. He lets your hand go after the door is closed and he goes to sit on the floor in the corner of the room against the kitchen cabinets. Wil pulls his knees up to meet his chin and he wraps his arms around his legs.

“Are you okay?” You slide down the cabinet to sit next to him, your hand resting on his knee drawing circles with your thumb.

“Mmm, ‘m fine.” He mumbles, his head between his knees and his face hidden.

“As your best friend, I do not believe that.” You try to lighten the mood, be playful in hopes he’ll at least crack a smile.

“I’m fine.” He lifts his head and looks to you, despite how hard he tries it's not convincing.

“Yeah, yeah, and the queen’s alive. Come on, Wil.” You laugh, moving to card through the curls atop his head.

"I'm okay." He tries to fake a smile to rid your concerns but it's not that easy anymore.

"You don't have to tell me, but you can admit when you're not okay, love." The pet name was merely a slip for you and when you noticed you used it, you wanted to crawl into yourself. Hideaway and forget everything you said. Surely to others, it's not a big deal but it's not like you can give any hint at your feelings for him, feelings you know aren't reciprocated.

He simply hums in response with his head back between his knees, and you take your hand away from his hair and drop it on your lap. You want to help him, make him feel better but this is making you feel so hopeless. You can't let him wallow but he's stubborn, it's not easy to get through his shell.

"Wanna tell me about the French Revolution?" The question was merely a suggestion, a bribe to get him to speak in more than two words per sentence.

And it worked, his head lifted up almost immediately and his eyes were wide with excitement, "Really? Are you sure?" His voice is soft but you can practically hear the joy in the way he spoke.

"Of course, tell me all about it." As you mutter the last bit, you lean your head against the cabinet and gaze up at him. His smile is wide and he's now let his knees fall to where his legs are stretched out in front of him. Stupid lanky bastard.

"Okay so, the revolution of 1789 had maaany different causes, primarily economical and political," And so he went on for what felt like hours, but you enjoyed the chatter. You liked seeing him so giddy and happy over something he loved like this. He's an absolute history buff and most people don't care to sit still long enough to listen, except for his brother, you, and sometimes Ash. So you let him talk your ear off, you asked questions, and let him tell you all the little details and factoids he's learned over the years.

After a while, your eyes began to droop and feel heavy, and you kept having to pull your head back up to keep yourself awake. So you settled with resting your head on Wilbur's shoulder as he continued telling you about one of the many corrupt French kings. You wrapped your left arm around his middle and your right hand rested on the shoulder you laid on. You were comfortable and he didn't seem to mind the contact.

"Sleepy?" He breaks his info dump and runs his hands through your hair. You were far too drowsy to think twice about the action or to get nervous about it as usual, so you just hummed and nuzzled further into him.

"Keep talking." Your words were muffled by his sweater but he understood, and so he did just that. He continued on about the revolution and everything that came after before he himself began to doze off. His head leaned against yours and before he knew it, he was passed out too.

----

"Hey, has anyone seen Wilbur?" James chimed in, the Lion King plays on the TV, and everyone groans, and Tommy pauses the movie.

"Dude, it was the best part!" Tommy exclaims and dramatically throws his head onto the back of the couch.

"Sorry! Wil just disappeared, so I was just wondering if anyone saw him." James reiterates, hands in the air in surrender before dropping them to the floor on either side of himself.

"I'm sure the guy's fine, he's probably somewhere with his best friend anyways," Rue reassures James, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Those two are inseparable," Ash adds.

"And they are so obvious too! It's annoying." Tommy grunts in that typical little sibling way.

James frowns, clearly not satisfied with how calm and not worried his friends are. Ash notices and pats his friend on the back, and James' shoulders slump.

"Dude if you're so worried about them, go find them." Rue leans against the back of the couch, crossing her ankles and resting them on the coffee table. James growls and shoves her feet off the table, Rue then rolls her eyes. "So mean.."

“Fine, I will.” James groans and lifts himself off the floor where he sat and he as well makes his way out of the living room. He heads through the hall, peaking into the dining room; nothing. He checks the guest bed next, also nothing; and then his office, still nothing. He checks every room before he settles on checking the kitchen- the last spot he expected to look. The moment he peaks his head through the door he catches a glimpse of both you and Wilbur cuddled against each other, sound asleep.

“Aww, cute,” Rue whispers behind James and he jumps, yelling a slew of curses at his friend. She simply laughs in response. James looks back to be sure the interaction didn't wake the two of you, and surely it didn't. He would have never been so thankful for how heavy of sleepers you two were.

James backs away from the door, being sure to close it as slowly and quietly as possible, and then he ushers Rue down the hall and back to the sitting room where the rest of their friends were. He then happily plops down onto his sofa, right next to Tommy.

“So, are they okay?” Ash’s expression is one of concern, but calm still.

“Oh they're fine,” James takes a swig of the drink he left on the coffee table, “But we have some matchmaking to do.”

----

“We’re meeting at the pub around the corner, that's right, James?” The entire situation is confusing and getting a confirmation out of James is the worst hell that you desperately want to crawl out of.

"Yes, yes, that pub. I told you like ten times already." James sighs in a loud obnoxious way and if it weren't for the fact you loved him, he would be dead on sight. Or on sight when you both got to the damn pub.

"It's not my fault you give shitty instructions and clarification!" You do your best to whisper yell through the phone, he may annoy the fuck out of you but you don't hate him, and if he lost his hearing because of you—you couldn't mess with him.

"Oh my god, stop whining and get your ass over here." You're about to snap back at him and then he hangs up just as quickly as the words roll off his tongue.

You groan and drag your feet on the sidewalk, desperate to make your trek longer so you can postpone seeing James a little more. I mean, you love him but fuck can he be an annoying little shit sometimes. He's really good at it too and you don't know how he manages it.

Unfortunately, you're in front of the pub way quicker than you thought you would be. You're quick to open the door, and rush in before you push through the crowd to find any inkling of where your friends have situated themselves. James didn't mention which table the rest of their friends sat at, so you assumed he didn't know either seeing as he was on his way here as well.

You're about to give up when you spot a familiar Pinterest hipster across the pub. Wilbur is sat alone at a booth, holding what seems to be a simple water as he himself eyes the tables and bar as well as the sea of people standing around the place.

You smile and wave your hand at him, signaling that you're there. He smiles too, waving back and then gesturing for you to sit with him. You're quick to shuffle through the people surrounding you, muttering excuse me and I'm sorry's whenever you bump into someone or get just a hair too close to them. By the time you reach the booth, you're out of breath from swimming through the crowd. You plop down on the spot next to Wil and you rest your head face first on the table.

"Why is James so annoying?" You pose the question, all muffled and not really meant to be answered, simply spoken into the void.

"Hell if I know, he told me the rest of the group was here but I couldn't find them." Wilbur speaks in such a nonchalant way that you would think he did this often, wait for his friends to be there and either be late or not come at all. But you know he doesn't do this often, I mean it was more common in middle school and high school, but now he's an adult and you know his current friends wouldn't do that. I mean you're his best friend after all, you notice way more about him than you would care to notice.

"So you think they've ditched us?" You move your head to face him, eyes looking up to him and his own looking down at you. You swear you could see a smile forming on his lips.

"Hah, maybe." He laughs and then switches to gaze at his hands resting in his lap.

You lift your head up, and lean against the back of the booth. You rest a hand on his shoulder and he looks to you, "You're my favorite anyway." You pat his shoulder before removing your hand only for it to find great interest in the sleeves of the jacket you wore out today. One of Wilbur's old jackets his arms were too long for. It's oversized but it's comfortable and a hundred percent smells like him, so it's comforting.

"Ash isn't even your favorite?" He's smirking now and you can tell he's almost completely forgotten about James and the clan.

"He's a close second." You throw a soft smile to him and you can feel your cheeks warm and turn red.

———

"Wow, France is fucking shitty." You let out a soft laugh, taking a sip of whatever alcoholic beverage was the special—you didn't care, it tasted good and didn't burn horribly so it did just fine for you.

"I know!" Wilbur slurs and then laughs, throwing his head back to lean against the back of the booth. He turns to face you, smile wide and face pink from being a bit too tipsy.

"You're smart, Wil. You know that?" You rest your chin in your hand and look in his eyes. You never really noticed how rich and…deep they were. It was endearing to look at.

"Not really, I just know a lot." He shrugs, gaze dropping and face draining from positivity.

"Isn't that the definition of smart?" You reach your hand out to rest against his arm. He doesn't move or flinch. It's like your touch is second nature.

There's a silence, he doesn't say anything, you don't say anything. Your friends still aren't here and it's been an hour and a few drinks in—you're beginning to wonder what James' intentions were.

"They ditched us didn't they?" You lean your own head against the backboard.

"Oh they sure as hell did." Wilbur lets out a soft chuckle and the sight makes your heart flutter.

"Wanna go back to mine?" The question is simple and you play with the idea of looking away from him, to dull the sting if he says no—or rejects you without even admitting anything to him—but you decide to turn your head and gaze upwards at him.

A soft smile, a breathy laugh, he turns his head to face you, "Of course,"

It takes a good twenty minutes to get back to your flat, which is only a ten minute walk from the pub James tricked the two of you to go into, but with both of your slighter drunken states, it was safe to say it took a lot longer. Stumbling, giggling, slurred speech, a hand on the small of your back, your arm around his torso. There was no such thing as a ten minute walk on your minds.

The walk down the cobble path to the door of your flat is a tricky one. Wilbur only had a few shots but he hadn't been drinking in a while so his ability to handle much alcohol was severely lacking at the moment—so he was stumbling a lot. He nearly fell in the bush a few times but you were able to keep your grip on him, keeping him steady. You yourself weren't in the best of shape either, but you managed. Surprisingly neither of you had felt the least bit nauseous yet, which was a tremendous thing.

You struggled a few moments with your keys before Wilbur got off the wall where he leaned and said, "Here, lemme try." He was quick to find the right key and turn it in the keyhole. The door clicked and Wilbur turned the door knob and pushed it open. He stepped aside and bowed, his right arm over his stomach and his left out stretched in a gentlemanly manner. "Royalty first, as always." You smile and are sure your laugh is heard by the man.

"Why, thank you kind sir!" You exclaim, folding your hands like a queen in a ball gown and dramatically walk in the door. He laughs and follows you in, closing the door and locking it behind him.

You lead him to the living room just to the left in the corridor and curl up on the couch and shove your shoes off your feet. Wilbur follows and does the same, his head next to yours and his legs curled up next to him.

"Hi," He whispers to you, smiling softly and gaze set up on you.

"Hi," you pause, readjusting your legs to be held against your chest. "I'll take the couch, you take the bed, that cool?" Your eyelids begin to feel heavy and so you rest them, unable to spot the reaction Wilbur gave you.

"No, not cool." He states plainly, your eyes shoot open. Did you upset him? What did you say wrong? Your mind runs wild and he seems to notice your anxiety bubbling. Your slightly tipsy self, not doing a great job at hiding it. "I take the couch, you take the bed."

"No, you take the bed, I take the couch."

"Darling," He warns and the pet name shocks you both, and it seems as though the alcohol has an effect on both of your filters, his and yours.

"I said what I said and I stand by it!" You cross your arms over your chest and playfully move to look away from him.

He groans in an artificial annoyance and you smile to yourself.

"How about this," He begins and you turn back to face him, he's sat up now, legs pulled up to his chest still. "We both take the bed? That way we both win."

"Mmm, as long as you're okay with it, I am."

Wilbur smiles and nods, "It was my brilliant idea, now wasn't it?" A smirk forms.

"Goddamn, you and your stupid ego." You roll your eyes and Wilbur huffs.

"Oh shut it." He snaps back, going to stand and walk out the door and across the hall to the bedroom. You follow him and quickly go to the cupboard on the left beside the door. Your bed is prepared to warm one person, not two, so you need extra blankets and maybe another pillow or two.

"Dude, when's the last time we shared a bed?" You break the silence, chuckling to yourself as you hear Wilbur shuffle around the bathroom—presumably to find his old toothbrush he left at your place that one time he stayed for a week six months ago.

"Like the last time I stumbled to your door drunk as fuck?" He sighs before exclaiming an Aha presumably because he found the toothbrush he was looking for.

"You really need to stop drinking that much, especially alone. I'm not always gonna be here to be a pick me up for your sorry ass." You throw the blankets you pulled out onto the bed and jumped in face first. "So comfy." It's meant as a whisper, but Wilbur manages to pick it up.

"Save some blankets for me, meanie." He turns on the faucet and he's then silent for a moment before the sound of brushing sounds from the bathroom.

"No, they're mine. I bought them with my money, dickwad." You grunt and turn over, wrapping yourself in a little blanket cacoon.

Wilbur lets out a laugh, and the faucet sounds again before the tapping of the toothbrush on the side of the sink. Before you know it, the other side of the bed dips and you feel a blanket being snatched from you. You don't have the energy to fight it, so you let it go.

"Wow, my best friend being generous to me? What world do we live in.." He mutters, laughing more to himself than anything.

"Too tired to care."

"Not because you love me? Oh my heart!" He dramatically clutches his heart and lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Only because tired." Your words become more slurred and they're muffled by the pillow you have your face in.

"Yeah, yeah." He sighs, and then tosses around a few times, getting comfortable. The bed creaks with his every move and you can hear him groan in annoyance at the sound.

The creaking stops, and Wilbur stops moving. He's situated now, but he's on his back staring at the ceiling.

Many thoughts run through his mind but one in particular stands out; Should I tell them?

The concept is foreign, expressing undiscussed emotion that could be detrimental information if provided at the wrong time—it's scary. What is he meant to do? Lye around and pretend he didn't get nervous at your touch, or your pet names or the way you willingly am letting him sleep next to you—and while the latter wasn't unusual in the past, it was now, given the two of you being in your early 20s and having been avoiding sleepovers since you turned 18. Although there was only so much you could do when Wilbur came stumbling to your door pissed out of his mind.

He bit the bullet. What's the worst that could happen? A Lot actually.

But he figured he should give context first, background.

"Do you know why I was sulking that day at James'?" He breaks the comforting silence that fell between you two. He doesn't mind it but he figured he must act now before he chickens out.

"I figured you were just having a bad day, and once I offered a France info dump you seemed pretty okay. Was there something I missed?" You turn your head back to face him, eyebrows knitted in genuine—sober—concern.

"I was upset," He pauses, beginning to place the pieces in his mind of what to say next and then after that and then after that and so on. "It's kind of stupid, I guess-"

You cut him off, "Nothing, and I mean nothing you say is stupid, Wil. I promise." You're sitting up now, crisscrossing applesauce on the bed, your body facing him but your eyes trained on his own eyes. "What was wrong?"

He closes his eyes, "I guess, I was getting sort of fed up with myself. See, I really really like this person—" He pauses to sit up himself, he gazes down at you as he leans his back against the wall. He reaches for your hand and draws circles on your palm with his thumb, his eyes painfully focused on the lines drawn in your skin. "They're wonderful, and one of my closest friends. I've liked them for a long while, love them even but a part of me knows they don't reciprocate my feelings—so I was feeling sorry for myself. It had been years and no moves had been made and so I felt hopeless. That person was so happy that day, and I was pissed I wasn't the reason for their smile." He sighs, letting go over your hand and leaning against the headboard, eyes closed shut.

Your voice is but a whisper, "Who is this mystery person?"

He hesitates for a moment, but he's this far already, there isn't any going back.

"You." The answer is simple, straightforward and blunt but it hits you hard nonetheless. Handfuls of emotion are thrown at you like confetti and you can't even begin to sift through and identify them all. You're in shock, that's for sure, but everything else? There's no telling.

You smack his shoulder, "William! You should have said sooner, you asshole!" Your tone is playful but your words would say otherwise. Elated.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He rubs the side of his arm, wincing for a split second before meeting your eyes.

"Not telling me." Frustration.

Silence, no more words slip from either of your tongues. It's simply quiet, the humming of the fan you set up hours ago, sirens sounding outside in the city —your breathing, his breathing. Fear.

"I like you too, you know." You look down, despite him already confessing to you, admitting this is still terrifying, and odd to you.

"Oh, I know." He smiles, and you mentally smack yourself for saying something you know would get some stupid snarky comment.

"You and your damn ego, Soot." You shake your head, smiling fondly at him.

"Oh but don't you love my ego, my dear?" The man is still tipsy.

"Hey, why don't you shut up?" He smirks, and you immediately regret your words, well, partially — he reaches his hand up to rest on your cheek, and he brings your face closer to his, lips millimeters apart and breath fanning on each other's faces.

"Can I?" It's a simple request but you nod, smiling whilst your heart warms. He leans in closer, your own lips meeting his in a soft loving exchange.

You smile into the kiss, giggling a few times throughout. You rest your hands on the back of his neck and his own hands fall to rest on your sides.

It's not as dramatic as you imagined, figuring if he felt the same he would have some grand confession —but you like this, you really do. It's calm, private—it's tremendously better than a heated confession in the rain, at least in your opinion.

You both break apart, smiles wide as ever and you're out of breath. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around him and your head hitting his chest, settling into him. It takes him a moment to reciprocate but when he does, his own arms snake around you, pulling you closer to him.

Wilbur's head dips down to rest on top of yours and you hum happily. This is it, this is what joy feels like, doesn't it? Warm arms around you, the sound of his beating heart—he starts to hum, what sounds like one of his songs.

The night goes on like this, the two of you wrapped around each other, Wilbur humming songs he knows or wrote and the occasional comment on how long it took you two, followed by laughter.

This was joy, he was joy.

The next day, you awoke to your phone buzzing like no tomorrow. You were groggy and really didn't want to even bother looking, but the sound managed to send you into a slight panic. Your legs were still wrapped with Wilbur's, and his head was resting on your chest and his stupidly long arms were pulling you into him. You looked over at the end table on your left and snuck your phone into your grip.

You groaned as you pressed answer on the incoming call that created your woken state. It was James.

"What do you want, James? It's 2am." Your tone is that of a very annoyed person, and James winces over the call.

"I hadn't heard from you and Wilbur's not answering his phone or his door, so I figured you two ran off and died." His words all jumbled together and you laugh much to his distaste, "Be serious here!"

"We should've run off, honestly. Maybe we would have gotten some peace and quiet then." You set your gaze down at the man with his arms around you, and you smiles sweetly.

"You're a dick—are you two okay? Do I need to send like a police force or something?" James is still frantic with how he speaks but you can tell he's calming down by the second.

"We're fine James, okay? We're at my place. We drank a little last night and my apartment was the closest." You pause, but before he can get a word in, "Thank you for setting us up." There's a smirk on your face and James can hear it in the way you spoke.

"What—I, I didn't set you up!" He's quick to his defense and you laugh.

"Yeah, no you definitely did."

"Did it work?" He asks, ditching the defensive attitude from the moment prior.

"Yeah, yeah it did. Thank you." You lean your head back, phone still pressed to your ear and your free hand carding through Wilbur's mop of curls.

"Good."

#cc!wilbur #cc!wilbur x reader #dsmp wilbur #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x gn!reader #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x y/n #happy (much early) valentines day!

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