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toiletwipes · 1 year

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because we're friends | simpbur

~2.4k words / i tried my best to make it gender neutral reader but if there's any mistakes, feel free to let me know. [after hanging out with a friend and getting caught in the rain, simpbur takes his friend to his apartment to stay for the night. and he can't be normal and his friend knows.] 18+, minors do not interact.

You were just staying the night, for the night only. It’s pouring and you both walked here and both of you are broke idiots, he chants inside of his head, whatever could happen won’t happen. To take advantage of you while you’re helpless and with a dead phone? The temptation is there, his fingers twitch in his lap, the two of you sitting across from each other on his discounted couch.

You were just a friend who was just staying the night. Just that.

And yet, his mind runs from him. Because watching you watch some random movie, the flashing lights on your face only highlights what he likes seeing. Likes the dips and curves of your face, the way your eyelashes bat at him when you beg him to buy you something at the store. The way you pout at him. Fuck. He can’t stop looking at your mouth now. His mind runs from him and he can’t stop imagining you with spit-slick lips, bruised lips, lips wrapped around-

“-rything alright there, Wilby?” And the fucking nickname, his face burns. He lets out a low hum, focusing back on reality, looking you in the eyes. You’re not that concerned, only noticed his staring just now, most likely not aware how long he has been. (The answer being the entire time you’ve been watching your show.)

“Good. Just thinking.” Mhm, thinking he is, alright. But you smile, nodding and looking back to the screen, wiggling in your seat as you get comfortable. You send him a look as you stuff your feet underneath his legs. They’re cold, he notices and he can’t handle the effect you have on him. Fuck’s sake, your feet are only underneath his legs, but you’re touching him. Willingly, and willingly leaving yourself vulnerable. In no less than a second could he pin you down and work his fingers inside you, bruise your lips anyway he’d like. Because you trust him.

Both his fingers and his dick twitches.

And because you trust him, you end up scooting closer to him and his chest heaves with impure thoughts and desires. You don’t notice though. Switching the way you’re seated leaves you leaning against his side, with his arm tucked awkwardly behind you. But even then, you hum to yourself before reaching behind and pulling on his hand, wrapping it around your waist. His fingers graze uncovered skin by your stomach. He nearly jerks back before he forces himself to relax.

And his mind races. This position you’ve put yourself in. Tucking yourself into his side and wrapping yourself in him, letting him touch your bare skin. His heart pounds inside of his chest and he almost hopes you can feel him sporting a boner. He wants to shove his hand down your pants, up your shirt, in your mouth, fuck, the options were endless. More than anything, he wanted to push your face into the couch cushion and fuck you till you begged him to stop. And so again, his fingers twitch and you jerk away, giggling. “Sorry,” he mumbles, already pulling his hand away.

You shake your head, pulling on his hand again and even pushing it onto more uncovered skin, pushing your shirt up a little more. “I’m just ticklish.” And you twist your face a little just to smile at him.

He had so many questions, they’re just threatening to spill out of his mouth and fumble the wording and fuck everything up. But most of them are lewd and unbecoming of the friendship you’ve allowed him. Still, his fingers twitch and this time you relax as he flexes them, flattening them against your skin.

His own skin feels aflame, sensitive to every movement you make and he can’t even tell what the show was about. What they’re saying, who they are, they’re all lost to him.

And he misses a question. “Sorry, I spaced out- what did you say?” He tries to be casual but your next words send a shock through his veins.

“I’m not even surprised, I said, Wilbur- are you gonna keep staring at me or are you going to do something about it?” And his bones turn into stone, everything about him freezes and he can’t move. As if he had ice in his system and not blood.

“What can- what can I do?” His breathing starts again but it’s heavy, his head light from the lack of breathing and blood flow. Unknowingly, his hand presses harder against your skin.

“You mean besides killing me?” You laugh but his mind moves ahead of him, even thinking of that too. His dick jumps at the thought of you, bleeding, staring at him. And he pushes it away, no, no he wouldn’t. Not when you’ve just given him explicit permission to- to-

Fucking hell.

Shifting in his seat, he keeps his hand on your skin, relishes it more now. But his other hand moves to wrap around your middle too, pulling you into his chest. “So I can- you’ll let me-” he cuts himself off as he presses into your back, feeling the full force of your soap hit him. The lotion you’ve told him about. He presses his nose and mouth hard against the skin between your shoulder and neck, breathing and moaning as he breathes out. Months of pining, months of looking at you, months of jerking off to you, months of wet dreams and months of pushing all of that away-

He can stop pushing the thoughts away, indulge in them a little. “Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” He asks, one hand pressing on your stomach and the other slipping up to your chest, the fabric of your shirt hardly holds him back.

“This being?” Your voice hitches as his fingers graze your nipple, pinching, pulling, flicking.

“Touching you.” And his hand comes up to wrap around your throat, not so much squeezing as much as it’s just touching. Your skin is just so fucking soft. And it smells good. He can’t ever imagine being anywhere else anymore. And just as fast as he wrapped his hand around your throat, it slithers back down, both hands coming up to grope your chest, mouth moving as he licks the light sweat on your skin. Why you would wear a sweater to his apartment when there’s no air conditioning, is behind him, but it only serves him. He moans at the taste of salt, of sweat. Licks your skin in small circles, loving the taste of you.

Nudging your head to the side, he loves the way your chest heaves, the way soft whines and pants come out of you, loves to tweak the buds in between his knuckles and sucking at your neck, biting and kissing and moaning at the sounds that come out because of him.

“Are you gonna let me fuck you?” He asks, and he doesn't mean to, almost regrets it because wouldn’t that be a thought, to surprise you when he pulls your shorts down and shoves his cock inside of you. Oh, it’s so good, his dick jumps and he presses his body more into your back, nearly toppling the two of you over, and this way you can feel his dick against your back.

“Can you last that long?” Probably not but the way you tease him, it has him groaning against your wet skin, smelling so much like his spit.

“Don’t need to,” he mumbles, licking his way back up your neck and pressing closer, leans further to lick the skin of your jaw. Your head tilts back into his shoulder so nicely, he just has to suck a bruise into the skin there. And when he shoves his hand into your sweats, your mouth drops open and your eyes blink several times but they stay dilated.

“Wilb- fuck, Wilbur,” you whine as your hand reaches behind you, knocking his beanie off of his head and tugging on his hair. His mouth comes off of your skin as he moans, his hips jerking and rocking into your back. “If you keep touching me like that, I won’t- fuck, fuck, fuck.” He didn't care what the end of that sentence was going to be, he needed to hear what you sound like when you come. When he makes you come.

“Just like that, baby,” he mumbles, unable to close his eyes, pushing past the burning in his wrist as you whine right into his ear, your hips twitching and jerking on their own too as you make a mess over his fingers, his hand. You would’ve fallen face first into the cushion if he wasn’t holding you so close to him. “Just like that.”

The hand with you all over it goes right up to his mouth, licking every groove of his skin that’s covered in come, licking it all away and moaning at the taste. (The sight of which makes your insides burn, however boneless you are.)

In the next minute, he’s wiping the spit off of his hand on his own sweats, tugging at your sweater, which you take off gladly, and he shoves his hand between your body and your sweats, shoving them down. He feels your body shiver, bumps rising on your skin but all he feels is the intense burning of want, of need. He needs to be inside you right now, it drives him crazy.

“I’m so- so fucking close right now, I need you to tell me where I can come.” It’s like pulling teeth, speaking those words. You said anything, and fuck, maybe he might ignore whatever answer you have and come inside. His dick is so hard, he needs to be inside of you. He’s losing his fucking mind.

It’s as if you can hear his thoughts, or maybe he’s just saying them as they come, it doesn’t fucking matter. What matters is the grip tightening around his hair and you breathing out the word inside. The fucking butterflies he just felt. Fuck.

Shoving his pants down enough to pull his dick out, he smears pre-cum between your legs, your thighs, thrusting between them and the both of you moaning, it’s fucking bliss.

The moment he slips inside of you- he curses, you’re squeezing so tight around his cock, his mind blanks and he can only squeeze an arm around your stomach, the other one is squeezing the meat of your thigh, trying anything to hold back from blowing his load so fast when he just got his dick inside. “Fuck, f- I need a second,” and you’re breathlessly agreeing, squeezing his forearm, tugging his hair, whimpering in his ear. It’s almost too much entirely.

The pleasure doesn’t die down, but he manages to breathe through it, focusing on kissing your sweaty skin. And after a brief moment, you let go of his arm to pat it, asking if he’d be able to move now, leaning all of your weight onto him.

The first thrust out blinds him, pushing back in punches the breath out of his lungs. The way you’re breathing, sounds like you’re just as affected as him. He hopes, in a distant thought, that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing. Hopes that by the end of this, when the two of you are spent and exhausted and filthy, you’ll let him touch you again.

Minutes go by after slow jerks of his hips and then you whine, asking if he could go faster and fuck if his hips didn’t snap and the sound of skin smacking against skin, it’s enough to make the both of you groan. Fucking you, on his couch by the way, is the main wet dream. And the fact it’s happening right now? He’d come right then and there if he hadn’t worked so hard to come down from just that. Setting a much faster, a bit brutal pace, he’s hurtling towards his orgasm quickly, he can feel it.

“Let go of my hair,” he gasps, and as soon as you do, accidentally letting go of his forearm, he pushes on your shoulder and back, adjusting as needed as he works up to what he wanted to do earlier. Pressing your face into the cushion and fucking you like he’d die if he stopped. Your moans shift into sobs when he reaches around your front, burning at both ends.

And in a moment, in a flash, he squeezes your hip and leans over you, groaning as he spills come inside of you. He gives a few shallow thrusts, moaning over and over. And he stays there for a second, softening as he pulls out but groans anyways, the sight of his come spilling out of your hole? He acts without thinking, pushing two fingers to keep them in and your cries pull him out of his fuzzy head.

“Are you feeling okay?” He hums your name, pulling out his fingers and rubbing over your skin. Covering it in filth. His heart only pounds harder, he gets up from behind you, letting you lay on the couch. Fuck, seeing your hazy eyes, seeing you in a space he put you in from fucking you alone? He tries his best, grabs the blanket he’d tossed on the back of the couch and wipes you down, stomping the bubbling feeling of something good in his chest as you whine from the touch. “Here, let me take you to bed,” dropping the blanket, he tries his best to help you up before biting his lip and picking you up, hurrying to his room as quickly as possible. He wasn’t the strongest guy out there, and if he dropped you in his attempt to help? When he fucked you- and didn’t that give him butterflies to think about, fucking you hard enough your legs are jelly.

It doesn’t take long for you to come down, wherever you went, and by then, you’re ready to sleep. He thought about tucking you in, because what sight that would be, but the thought of waking up to you in the morning? Maybe fucking you in your sleep if he woke up, hell, you fucking him awake, riding him and using him like he used you? It makes him bite down on his lip to hold back a moan as he slips into bed behind you. And it melts his insides whenever you shift to turn in your sleep, tucking yourself into his chest. Sighing deeply.

He’s so far gone on you.

#simpbur #c: simpbur #eggplicit #c: simpbur smut #simpbur smut #simpbur x reader #simpbur x you #simpbur x y/n #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #minors do not interact #minors dni #k: free use #<- sorta #a: neutral

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