blood letting (c!wilbur soot x reader)

welcome home

A loud knock resonated throughout my empty home. Insistent and repeating. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, careening my head to look at the neon numbers that illuminated my room from the clock on my bedside table.

"12:23" I muttered, "What kind of psychopath knocks on a door at 12:23?" I pulled myself up from my warm bed, padding down the wooden stairs, I shivered as the cold air of the night swallowed me whole. I didn't hesitate to swing the door open, maybe a foolish choice considering the time. I was met by the sight of a ghost, a walking corpse with a wide smile.

"Wilbur?" I stuttered out as the lanky man stared down at me with a smile. He had been dead for months. I had been without him for months, the rise and fall of his chest made me feel dizzy. I looked him up and down, haunted by the yellow sweater that resembles Ghostbur's.

"Are you not going to invite me in?" he cooed, leaning down closer to my face. "We have some things to discuss, y/n." I blinked at him.

"Wilbur, how are you here?" I rubbed my eyes once again, wondering if sleep had caused me to imagine the charming man stood in front of me. His skin seemed paler, his hands wrapped in tan bandages. He looked like his likeness should have been caught in a painting. Carefully caught with the brushes of an artist. I jumped at the sound of rattling bones and spotted a skeleton behind him. I wasted no time pulling him inside by his jacket, shutting the heavy wooden door behind us. I couldn't lose him again so quick. "You have some explaining to do," I said, my back pressed against the cool wood watching as he sauntered over to my dining table, pulling out a chair with a relieved sigh. He collapsed into the wooden chair, one of his legs extended out further than the other. He stretched his arms up towards the ceiling, groaning at the feeling.

"What is there to explain, my dear? Seeing is believing after all." his smile caused a shiver to run down my spine as he used his hands to gesture towards his present body. His canines seemed unnaturally sharp. I studied the disheveled appearance, one of his arms bandaged and bloody. My eyes jumped up to the snow-white streak that was painted into his hair.

"Holy shit, your hair," I walked over to him, placing an exploratory hand to feel the new white streak. His hair felt soft, the curly auburn locks feeling familiar between my fingers. He laid his freezing hand on my wrist, pulling my hand from his hair and down to his chapped lips, littering kisses on my knuckles with a smirk.

"Do you like the new hair, my love." I eagerly nodded as I fell down into the chair beside him.

"How are you back?" I stared at him with a set expression, his eyes a wine red. "I saw you die, Phil he, he stabbed you. I made your grave, Wilbur."

"Dream," he smiled "he resurrected me." my eyes were wide, struck by disbelief.

"I thought he was in prison, the revival book was his leverage to stay alive?"

"and it still is. Though I owe him now, darling." he rested his chin on his hand with a faraway smile and a predatory look. "He's why I get to see you again. That being said, not all good things are just good." I turned my head as he reached out to caress my cheek with his free hand. It was a freezing weight against my face. "There are new consequences after being dead for so long, ones that Tommy had the pleasure to not be afflicted with" he spoke, maintaining eye contact.

"What are you talking about, Wilbur?" a pit began to form in my stomach as the interaction seemed to grow sour.

"I need something from you, y/n." his eyes seemed to grow darker "Dream, well he told me about something it said in the revive book. If I want to stay here I need to feed on something less than typical."

"What do you mean, Wilbur?" he chuckled as he watched me stare at him in horror, I began to squirm under his gaze. "Are you going to kill me?" my voice wavered as I felt my eyes begin to water at the prospect. A pang of hurt ran through my heart at the idea that he thought so little of our prior relationship, that I had felt so happy to see him again. My head was dizzy as I realized what danger I was in, his hand still placed on my face.

"No, no, my love, I could never hurt you. I need you." he scooted closer to me, now able to feel the way cool air left his parted lips. "In more ways than one," My relief was rapidly overshadowed. "i need your blood....." he trailed off, placing his face into the crook of my neck. I felt frozen in fear as he inhaled my scent then ran his sharp teeth along the length of my neck. "You smell sweet"

"W-Wilbur," I whimpered out as I relished the way the long scratches he left in his wake stung.

"What do you say, y/n?" he asked, pulling away to look me in the eyes.

"Anything for you," I said, watching as his smile grew at my confession. He returned to his place near my neck, sucking a bruise.

"It might hurt, my love." he whispered in my ear, biting at my earlobe. He placed a hand to rest on the back of my neck, a way to ground me. I braced myself, tilting my head to give him better access to the expanse of my neck. I felt as he opened his mouth, focusing on the feeling of the sharp teeth pressing against my soft skin. He swiftly dug the fangs into me, and a small cry escaped past my lips. I winced at the shooting pain that traveled through my body similar to a wave of electricity. The stabbing pain quickly was replaced by an intense tingling. My head began to feel foggy, my vision less sharp around the edges. I looked down at Wilbur's head that was stuffed into the crook of my neck. A wave of affection went over me almost overcoming the fuzz. I connected my hand to the shorter hair at the back of his head.

"Mmhm" I hummed out, my voice feeling tight and stretched. Wilbur pulled away from my neck, heaving. He licked the bite marks, his tongue warm against my neck, lapping up the blood that pooled on the wound.

"You taste so good, darling. Intoxicating." he sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. His features were now soft as I watched him with watery eyes. I reached up to cup the injury on my neck with hesitant fingers. The bite didn't hurt, even when I pressed my fingertips against it.

"Wilbur," I called out, him rushing to hold me up in the chair, something I didn't even know I needed. I realized how instead I felt when his hands came up to hold my face.

"Fuck," he whispered as he looked into my eyes with worry. I watched as he tracked where I watched. "You're okay." he scooped me into his arms carrying me to our formerly shared bedroom. I laid limp in his arms, not strong enough to move my limbs or adjust my head. The swaying motion of Wilbur walking made me feel increasingly disoriented. He gently placed me down on the soft mattress. The feeling of the fur blankets on my skin almost enough to overwhelm my addled brain.

"Wilbur," I whimpered again, grabbing onto his sleeve. The way he seemed to bleed into the rest of the world made me feel like sobbing. "Are you there? Are you real?" I cried out as I watched his face contort into one of confusion.

"Of course I am," he said with his honeyed voice running a rough hand through my hair. "I'm back and I'm not leaving you." He sat down beside me continuing to play with my hair. I felt myself slip away still wondering if what had happened was all real. Desperately trying to see Wilbur's face in focus and commit it to my memory.