Chapter Text
the room was too dark. sickeningly dark. the only light was wilbur’s computer screen- pale and sharp, showing the mess of him. napkins stained with old cum, plates and glasses, dried shit that should’ve been thrown out months ago. a keyboard slick with grease- one that had seen far too much use, and far too little cleaning. the air was dull and stale. it smelled like sweat and takeout and something faintly sour. a silence so heavy it rang in his ears; nearly deafening in its pressure, broken only by the hitch of his breath and the low hum of his computer fan.
he should’ve been asleep. normal people were. normal people with jobs, with friends, with girls who looked at them twice. but what the fuck was wilbur if not different? for better or worse. his eyes dragged to the drawer again. always the drawer. it burned in the corner of his vision, like it wanted to be opened, like it was taunting him. like some sort of sick fucking invitation. you didn’t even know. you never knew. god- how stupid could one girl be? prancing around like you were untouchable, like you were better than him, rolling your eyes whenever he talked, never caring enough to notice when things went missing. just another stuck-up bitch like all the rest.
your fault, really. if you weren’t so cold, if you weren’t such a bitch about everything, if you treated him like he mattered, he wouldn’t be stuck here with nothing but his hand. maybe he wouldn’t have to hide at all.
his hand was already on the drawer. pulling. wood scraping on wood- his movements were slow, like he was scared of anyone even hearing his drawer open.
there they were. soft against his fingers. lighter than they had any right to be. he yanked them out, tossing the cords he had hidden them under aside like trash, and stared. black cotton. flimsy little nothing. you. of course even your panties were slutty.
his stomach knotted- his groin tightened. his cock stirred against filthy denim. filthy- that’s what you’d call him, wasn’t it? freak, creep, pervert, and you’d be right to call him all of that and more. he knew. of course he did. but did he care? fuck no.
his breath came tighter as he shoved his jeans down, cock springing out flushed and leaking. he sneered at himself, then dragged the panties up across his nose and mouth and inhaled like he was drowning, and they were the only source of air. the scent hit him like a punch straight to the jaw. dizzy and raw and far too enticing for a man like him.
your heat was soaked right in. you’d worn these earlier, hadn’t you? stupidly tugging them up between your thighs without knowing he’d have them later, without knowing they’d be wrapped around his cock.
“fuck,” will hissed, hips bucking forward into the air.
he pressed the fabric tighter to his mouth, gasping against it like he could inhale you whole. you thought you were some pure little angel- untouchable, better than him. you weren’t. you were right here. your panties were clutched in his fist. he was jerking off to you, groaning your name like prayer, like you were a goddess he deserved- because who else was gonna worship you this way?
his chair squealed under him, desk rattling. his fist pumped his length, smearing slick over his knuckles until he couldn’t stand it. quick in the way a feral animal is when it goes in for the kill, he shoved the panties down over his cock. wrapping them tight, fucking into the thin, damp cloth as if it was you.
pathetic, maybe. but you’d never know.
he imagined forcing it on you, imagined that blank look on your face cracking as sobs wracked through your entire body, your tone begging. maybe you'd cry and beg for him to stop before realising how much you liked your step-brother's cock shoved deep inside you. maybe then you’d get it. maybe then you’d stop ignoring him, stop treating him like he was invisible. maybe he’d plug you full so deep you couldn’t walk the next day, and you’d remember every step exactly who owned you.
the thought dragged him to the edge. his breathing ragged, moans of your name swallowing up the quiet- until release hit. sharp, hot, blinding. for a moment, wilbur genuinely thought he might collapse at his desk.
he yanked the panties up around the head of his cock just to watch it spurt. thick streaks soaking black fabric, dripping from his fist. then he slumped forward, chest heaving, staring down at the ruined scrap. the sticky mess clinging to his knuckles, dripping into his lap.
he should’ve felt something else- shame, guilt, any of that fake moral shit he pretended to care about. but he didn’t. of course he didn't. he grinned- because he was gonna shove them back later. toss them into your drawer like nothing happened. you’d pull them back up against your cunt- sleepy, thoughtless, none the wiser.
fuck, you deserved it. you really did. this was on you.
will wasn’t the good guy. he wasn’t pretending to be. he never had.
he was just the one always known for taking what he thought he deserved.