Work Text:
you do not know how long you’ve been digging for. months? days? weeks? it feels like fucking forever, your hands are bloody from the scratches you have earned from digging ore out of the walls and you don’t have the means to clean them. any team morale that you and your fellow players had is gone. not that there is many of them left anyway.
you look down at what has become of you. you have been living off fucking potatoes, for christ’s sake. you are skin and bones. when you signed up for this challenge, experiment, experience, whatever the hell it is, you thought it would be fun. the dirt and scum under your fingernails tells a completely different story.
it would be so easy just to… give up. you do not even care at this point. you know your other teammates who rebelled or gave in were met with terrible punishments, like being isolated or sent way into the sky to fall to their deaths, but at this point, you think a grave would be warmer than whatever this is. you have had more than enough of being underground for so long— any more of this and your eyes will close up like a mole.
you let yourself go limp against the walls of the strip mine tunnel you have built, letting the bundle of coal and iron and gold ore flop to the ground as well. you have not seen anyone in so long. you just want to win. you don’t even really have a good idea of what the prize is. is this all for naught? the dehydration, the starvation, the labour, the tears? oh, god. you’ve learnt to weld weapons of death just to see the light at the end of the tunnel but you haven’t even gotten a glimpse yet. you have wrestled and strangled and stabbed your friends and the rogues just to feel like you were in control. people have died. was that for nothing?
your torches, finely placed in order start to die out, catching up to you one by one. warnings of what was about to happen, harbingers of darkness. you are left, eventually, with nothing but yourself and the caliginous nothingness— you wish it would swallow you up.
the wooshing of him, in the walls, wakes you up. you hear him talking. to the spectators that watch from his point of view only. your first instinct, despite the doomed mood you had earlier, is to get up and work. but you can barely will your body to move. you’ve got no wooden signs, no way of talking to him rather than desperately shaking your head and wordlessly pleading. you lost your ability to speak when you first entered the game, just like the 99 other players.
the rushing of air comes to a sudden halt as you see him— phasing through the stone walls like a phantom. his face lights up with intrigue when he sees you.
“ah! chat! we have… we have a little, a little worker here! what— what are you slacking on the job for? what are you so sad for, little— little… freak?”
you gulp, watching him chuckle to his “chat”, the mystery spectators you’ve only heard rumours of. only seen from afar. you sometimes hear them speak to him, but it’s never about you players. you don’t quite understand it, but sometimes they talk about numbers of months and their words have a sense of… gratitude to them? or they ask questions, mediocre ones like how he is feeling today. you do not quite understand. but they are not important.
you try and convey your feelings of sadness and guilt and tiredness, but he just doesn’t understand it.
wilbur never understands.
“well… you know how we feel about slacking on the job. don’t we, chat?”
he grins, finally grounding himself rather than floating just above the floor. his surprisingly pristine lab coat finally spooling around his ankles on the floor.
“what do we think, guys? what do we do to this… this filthy slacker?”
he says to his spectators once more, all his degrading comments having an edge of humour to them, like he finds his own insults funny. you are trembling at this point, hands together in a pleading motion, tracks of salt running down your face. the only water it’s felt for weeks as all your bottled up emotions flood out of you. it can’t end like this. you don’t even know how many other living, breathing people are left.
wilbur is entirely unfazed by your pleas, and by the seems of it, his chat are too. he ignores you as he appears to read something invisible, at least to you, mumbling to himself all the while.
“no, i think we’ve overdone the drowning thing. we should punish this little nerd with something better,” he says, deep in thought.
this whole prospect is terrifying. he’s discussing the way you’re going to be tortured or killed. this is pure evil. and it is for people’s entertainment? what kind of sick play have you gotten yourself into?
“hm. how about… how about a good old fashioned bedrock cube?”
what?
“yeah! i think we can all get behind that.” he looks back to you, a thoughtful expression on his face. much too happy for what’s about to happen. “stay put, you,”
he moves upwards again, out of your view, phasing through the cobble ceiling, gone as quick as he came.
and you are finally alone again.
it’s not hard to break down as soon as your fate sets in. your mind is going one hundred miles an hour. what’s a bedrock cube? it sounds like a medieval torture device. your body is wracked with sobs and nerves as you attempt to force your body to crawl away before he returns. you worry you’ll just be plucked from your current place and right into another at wilbur’s will— you’ve seen other people teleport and never return after he’s been dissatisfied with their work— but you want to see at least one other human face before whatever happens happens. the stone and debris digs into your already battered palms as you drag yourself towards the entrance of your tunnel. discarding your pickaxe from your back, it’ll only weigh you down.
then, a sound. metal crashing against rock, rhythmic. you crawl faster, desperate to find it’s origin, before it’s too late. hands bleeding, leaving a small crimson trail behind you, ignoring the searing pain in every last one of your joints.
your eyes are met with a light, the light of a fire— man made… a torch. the further you crawl the more the individual’s body is lit up, swinging their pickaxe into the grey stone. you would cry out, but you cannot. you can only make as much noise as you can and move as fast as possible, sluggishly nearing the player.
when it feels like you’re falling for a second, before the dusty rock beneath your hands disappears, and is replaced by a lumpy, black, dusty rock… it’s rugged, and dull, tiny spikes of grey dig into your hands from it. despite the harshness of the stone, it’s still relatively untouched. this prison of isolation is newly birthed… did it happen? this can’t be real. you were so close. you look up, as your bloody hands stain the jagged bedrock you’re kneeled on.
he— wilbur— stands there, smug and interested in your worn body, somehow worse than when he last saw you.
“say hello to your new home from now on!” he says joyfully, clapping his hands together as you take in the cube— no, the cage that surrounds your being. walls, ceiling and floors of thick bedrock. you regret shedding your pickaxe. but you don’t think you would’ve ever been able to carve through this anyway. “don’t even think about trying to escape, by the way, you’re miles above land, you’ll only fall and die.” he shrugs that off as if it’s no big deal.
your breaths quicken as the pit of anxiety in you stomach deepens. it wraps it’s metaphorical, gnarled claws into you, leaving you crumbling in on yourself in despair as it breaks you and elicits tears. you can’t believe this is really happening to you. as you drink in wilbur’s humoured face and fleeting glances, and the unbreakable rock that surrounds you, you have a hope there is surely a way out of this. surely you aren’t doomed to certain insanity in here forever? perhaps all the other contestants— once your friends through a shared experience turned enemies through hardship— will slowly, one by one, die far below you. maybe then you will outlast them, and you will win, even if by a truly insidious method. or perhaps you will be left to rot. maybe wilbur will forget you now. your moment of wicked limelight has ceased. they won’t find joy in you much longer. then, wilbur won’t come to feed you. you will starve. you will dehydrate. you will die. alone and hurting.
you have never been religious, but you are praying to every god to free you from this otherworldly devil now.
as you scramble to your feet, mild white scratches forming on your hands and knees as the rock drags against you in your frenzy, you search in every corner for anything to free you. any chance of freedom. you rush erratically to every wall and your bloodshot eyes dart over every inch of rock. but there’s nothing. the moment of desperation ends as quick as it came. there is no light here and no flow of oxygen. you look up to wilbur again. your bottom lip trembles and you shake your head in disbelief of what’s happening around you. he’s laughing at your dismay.
“look at it!” he says, hovering a couple feet above you, suspended in the air. “like a little vermin, aren’t they, chat? a little rat. and we… are the exterminators… hee hee,” he laughs like a child, pleased by your crying. “i’ll come back for you.” he says matter of factly. “shall we go see what…” his voice becomes muffled when he slips through the rock, and quickly fades away. and now you’re alone. you don’t know if he’ll really come back, but… ah. you keep the faith close to your heart, as you lay yourself uncomfortably on the rocky floor. you’re crying weakly, snot dripping from your nose. you can do nothing but think and sleep and claw at the walls. and of course, sob. you figure maybe if you appease wilbur whenever you can, like a humble disciple, he might be kinder. he might free you or keep you close by his side. maybe things will improve. yes, that is what you will do. you shed your past thoughts of hatred towards the man and repaint him in a more optimistic light in an attempt at staying positive. he has power. you will be the best player there is. none of them respect him like you do, now, because they do not know what’s at stake. but you do. and you are glad for it.
your idea of time is skewered. it’s been days, but you don’t know that. you stopped trying to count. and with how much you sleep in here, it only makes things worse. you were quickly acquainted with the all consuming darkness that you lived in— you could barely see your hand in front of your face. not only that, but there was no sound at all. you could not even talk to yourself for comfort or through craziness, and you tried not to move your body too much. so there was constantly nothing. for a length of days, there was nothing. you were starving and insane and dehydrated, on the brink of death.
one night, or day, you were not sure— a quick gust of wind against your face would stir you, your body twitching as you rose from your slumber. when you blinked— once, twice, thrice— the sleep shedding from your eyes… you were graced with a sight you had been dreaming of since your hands first married the frigid bedrock. through the inky blackness, you could just make out a silhouette, the subdued features of a person. your vision had adhered to the dark lately. you had an almost perfect painting of him here. but something felt off. he watched you with an intensity. there was no awed speech to his “chat” as he approached you like a parent and their children at a zoo. he was not looking off to some place other as he observed invisible words and messages. his eyes were trained on only you. your inane actions of joy dulled as you shrivelled in fear of annoying the man. your eyes were sunken and your heart was in your throat.
finally, footsteps broke the dense atmosphere and all encompassing silence. the brittler, tinier tips of the bedrock crunched and crumbled under the fine and fancy shoe of wilbur soot. you flinched backward for a moment, like a wounded animal in a bear trap. he was the predator. he held the gun to your head… metaphorically. (though, you wouldn’t be surprised if he conjured one up right now.)
“i forgot about you.” he murmured flatly. it was a cutting truth. your fears were confirmed. you were just a means to an end. a quick fix for wilbur and his crooked crowd’s never ending hunger for cruelty. your face must have shattered under the words when they were uttered, as he spoke next. “don’t look so upset, you knew i would, don’t feel bad about it. everyone gets forgotten about. because, really, not many people that i trap like this stay in the realm of the living. at least, not for long.” his gaze finally detached from your face, looking just over your shoulder. “i often kill them out of pity when we’re done. but you… i wanted to keep you so i could check back in another time. and we could all see… how you were doing. and laugh for a minute. then leave you again.” there was no soul to his speech. no discernible emotion. it shook you right to your core, goosebumps forming on your skin. you felt scrutinised under his empty gaze. you wanted nothing more than to just curl up into a corner and shrink away into nothing but dust forever. but he would never let you go like that.
he sighed, returning to look upon you. he seemed even more intense now. he took another step towards you. you flinched again. he almost smiled.
“but they aren’t here now. i don’t know what happened. i’m trying to get it back up and running again, but i guess something just… crashed.” his breath shook with anticipation after his sentence. he chewed on his lip, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides akin to the wet pulse of a heartbeat. something you wondered if he lacked. “and most of that, is a… a… a downer on me. nobody to talk to. share things with. this is all for them. do you think i would do all of this for myself?” he scoffed. “of course not. god. i would be a normal person if i didn’t have all of this power put into my hands.” a chill ran down wilbur’s spine at his admission. why was he even telling you all of this, he thought? what was so special and different about you? he’s done hundreds of these different experiments. maybe he was getting tired of the repetition as he ran out of ideas, he thought. maybe his chat’s laughter had become hollow and meaningless. maybe he had become naked and vulnerable with all the pain he had inflicted. “it’s all the same. i only do it now to see how they exert themselves for me, i… fuck. why am i giving you all of this information?”
it’s because you are the chosen one, you think. he doesn’t know it, but you are the perfect one for him. the diamond in the rough. if he chooses to keep you at his side you could do wonderful things, you think. you tremble now under his watchful eye. your heart beats with a newfound hope and love. no other player in any experiment has surely ever shown as much devotion as you. he must choose you. a mortal and an ineffable god… how gorgeous a duo. but you are too stricken with fear to convey your feelings properly. you stay frozen to not risk rattling him.
“let’s get some light in here. i never really got to look at you.” he huffs, his tone and disposition becoming weak and frail. he pauses and looks blankly away, before a torch is conjured in his hand after the beat of silence. it is untouched but still looks authentic, the wooden stick weathered in the middle from hands that have never held it. the flame glowed and lashed just a breadth away from his face as he stared longingly into it’s core— you were a little unnerved by it, but in your heart knew that it could not hurt him. “almost everyone down there is dead, you know. it’s not as fun to watch them when i don’t have chat with me. i still don’t know what happened. they’re probably so confused. fuck. there must be a maximum of ten people alive below us.” he slowly fell to his knees, before assuming a cross legged position, so close to you now that if you leant forwards you might feel his breath. there was something so intimate about what you were sharing right now. it made you swallow thickly with a muted excitement. “but, probably not for much longer. last i heard some disease broke out down there. i should really run a command to give them all some food.” he thought for a moment, before his eyes settled on you with a kinder edge to them. “what do you want? what you want, i… i’ll get.” he felt a curious sense of warmth in his depths that he couldn’t understand. in a way, it scared him. it was not that it was foreign to him, he knew what this was, and maybe that was the worst of it all. to an extent the players were inhuman to him.
could he fall in love with something inhuman?
or maybe he was the alien one, and he was subjecting all of these poor, simple creatures to a wolf in sheep’s clothing so disgustingly evil, they could not fathom it.
could you fall in love with something inhuman?
he wanted to know. he wanted to know so that he did not start to dream. he had never brought happiness so raw and pure to one of his subjects like this. he had given treasures beyond comprehension, but they had always come with something bitter. a sense of greed to his players, fear they might be targeted by their companions, or a feeling of specialness turned to a feeling of guilt that they had too much wealth compared to the other impoverished contestants. this was a true and honest gift he was giving, now. his time and affection. he looked deeply into your sullen eyes and tear stained, gaunt cheeks, your sickly pale skin from lack of sunlight. yet you still sat and looked so pretty. so eager to impress him, still so adoring of him even if he was an evil beast.
he reached a hesitant hand out. he stopped for a moment. your eyes stalked the thing, hovering just between the two of you. his finger twitched. and then it was in motion again, and the lifeless, cold hand was settling on your leg. and it was such a small gesture, but so grand. your face felt hotter than it had in weeks against your flusteredness and the torchlight, now stuck into the wall behind your head. you never even noticed him place it there.
“let me… um, you need a sign…” he fumbled in the air with things you could not see, until a single wooden sign was brought to existence. with shaking, relieved hands, you retrieve it from him. the wood and what it entails feels so good in your hands. finally, you can tell wilbur everything you feel about him. “so just… tell me what you’d like to eat, okay? it’s what everyone else will get too, but, that’s not… relevant, aha…” wilbur’s voice trails away as his eyes set upon the words you’ve etched into the wood.
i love you
his eyebrows furrowed as he slipped into thought somewhere else. so his suspicions were confirmed. how was he to confront this? this wasn’t something that had ever happened to him with any player before. he supposed there was a first for everything— this was what experimenting was all about. what an intriguing result. when he looked into your eyes, he felt a profound sense of guilt. and he worried that, if he denied you the love you so craved from him now, your will to go on may just wither. besides, you were a cute thing to look at. he saw many unique characters throughout his many experiments. you were a memorable one before, and now, you were to be most certainly ingrained in his mind for the rest of time. very, very special indeed.
“i… i’m not sure if i…”
he watched as your face sunk in despair. your eyes went wide, eyebrows downturned in a visceral display of a deep seated betrayal. you opened and closed your mouth for a moment much like a goldfish, before rushing to dig more messages into your only means of communication. all the things you want to desperately profess remain lodged in your throat, almost choking you. your hands want nothing more than to latch onto wilbur’s body and belong to him, but you wouldn’t want to push your luck.
“i— i— i didn’t mean that i don’t… i… i just, this is kind of new, and— i—“
you shoved the sign into his hands, a little more aggressively than you’d have liked, causing you to feel a harsh anxiousness considering if you’ve accidentally harmed him. but of course, you have not, because he isn’t hurt by anything. his eyes graze over your crazed carvings. half of it is intelligible from your hurry to explain yourself, and he regrets causing you this grief. from what he can make, the sign reads,
Do whatever you want with me
wilbur chews the inside of his cheek. it was a vaguely explicit message, but maybe he was reading it incorrectly. the more he dwells on it, the more he figures he wouldn’t entirely mind having a devoted follower to keep by his side at all times. it might make him feel less… hollow— not because he might develop some kind of true love for you, he knows that’s way beyond his capabilities by now, but because he would like having someone to numb the awful things he does. when he watches a player burn, it would be nice to have a pure, naive soul so mindlessly attached to him to fuel his ego and make him feel less like a monster. he’s between two decisions. to love you, or use you?
“… how about salmon.” wilbur offers plainly, but it isn’t a question. it’s a statement to distract from the mind-breaking internal battle inside his body right now. he fumbles more than he usually may with the items, misspelling words under the knowing of the fact your eyes were boring into him. a little deprived creature, you, so achingly desperate for his approval and touch. just as you were about to scrawl another devoted message down, a bounty of rather enticing cooked salmon found itself in your possession. your desperate hunger overpowered your desire for wilbur. briefly. you paused for a beat— looking between the food, then wilbur, then the food. you hadn’t felt something so warm and enticing in so long. you barely considered it before the food was consumed by you, pleasant and filling. you were never one for fish, in honesty, but you were not to be picky now. you swallowed it eagerly, instantly feeling rejuvenated from having something in your stomach.
perhaps the meal fuelled you with a once lost determination, as your joints, your mind, felt much more awakened than they were before when you were starving on your deathbed. oh, this amazing feeling— it was only made possible thanks to wilbur— your lord. however could you repay him for your renewal? a surge of something foreign to you swelled in your stomach— almost like a folly nervousness or excitement. you felt so alive. maybe it was an overreaction, but who could blame you? this was the greatest you’d felt in weeks. when you looked up to wilbur, something compelled you. it compelled you to make love to him.
it wasn’t that there was some sinister reason you were acting so rashly so suddenly— such as wilbur lacing the food with a potion which would cause you to have such carnal feelings. no, this was all stemming from the appreciation you felt towards wilbur. the liveliness he’d bestowed upon you. he came back because he loved you— he didn’t let you die. there was nobody to watch. nobody to pry. best of all, you had nothing left to lose. you were high on life; and all you had was the bedrock box.
your next movements were truly foolish. but you did not care.
the previous excitement nestled in your gut had travelled embarrassingly to your loins, that was obvious, but it seemed to have clouded your brain, too. everything inside your body was telling you to stop what you were doing the moment the seed of thought planted in your brain, but you couldn’t keep waiting anymore. the weeks of nothing but black walls and complete inhumane isolation had driven you to the farthest ends of insanity and now you had the one you craved most at arm’s length… could you help yourself?
no, you could not.
you crawled towards him abruptly like a dying animal, reaching out nimble fingers that curled into the pristine white of the laboratory coat and pulled taut the fabric. you saw wilbur flinch back, his eyes widening in surprise at your depraved actions, but seemingly made no attempt to push you away or deny your advances. seeing the way you latched onto him with such a bizarre, hungry gleam in your eyes, it stirred something inside him. he had never interacted with such a fearlessly passionate subject before. and, the more he entertained the thought… he too experienced a long untapped feeling of lust. he hadn’t been intimate in years since being blessed with the curse of godhood. it felt like a worthless act. how wrong he was…
he thought briefly— it would be truly cruel of him to decline you of what you clearly sought. and it would do wonders for him, too. perhaps place him in a better state of mind. so, he didn’t refrain from letting a featherlight touch of his hand grace your cheek, a humorous contradiction from your animalistic greed. you were so very funny. he decided right then, right there— yes, he was to keep you. and he was to take care of you. how better to take care of you than to attend to your base needs?
he let out a calm breath, rubbing a thumb against your vaguely dusty cheeks. your ravenous desire for him was silly. if only he could crack your skull open and analyse your brain so he could figure out what had made you so stupid as to submit yourself to him.
“shh, be quiet,” wilbur hushed, though there was no reason for this command as you were so high in the air besides the rush that telling you what to do gave him. his tone maintained it’s gentle manner, but an edge of salaciousness tainted it. he watched with a pleased expression as your teeth clicked against each other, your jaw closed promptly upon his request. “now, now… gosh, for once, i really hope the stream doesn’t begin right now,” the thought of all of his adoring fans viewing this shameless act of self indulgence would probably disgust them. they had strange boundaries. they’d watch him maim the players with utmost delight, but when he wanted to have sex with them, he was the bad guy? what did a guy have to do to have some fun around here?! “you’ll have to forgive me, i… i haven’t done this in a long time.” he apologised meekly, cocking his head to the side as your head sat dangerously close to his crotch. it was only now he really registered that, and the sight elicited a rush of arousal through him. his knees twitched, corners of his mouth curving into a perverse smile.
you couldn’t stand his inexperienced stalling anymore. he was so incredibly awkward, and in a way, it further propelled your ardour. without asking— because, in fairness, you could not— you guided your hands toward wilbur’s zipper, where he was clearly becoming hard. the control you were beginning to gain over the god was very freeing. you couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip, relishing the vulgarity.
“okay, well— ah— hey, let’s not… uhm… forget who’s in control… h— here…” he stuttered, but no amount of stumbling over his words could compel you to quit. your mouth hung naturally a little slack when you pulled his jeans down finally, his boxers following thereafter. he moved his body in a way that helped you, you noticed. the thrill you both felt when his cock finally sprung out was indescribable. you never got much in the way of sexual affairs before all this, because honestly, you were kind of a freak. but now… oh, this was beautiful. “do you— i think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you, ah, want to do a little…” your breath was hot and heavy against his dick, his eyes blown wide. he had lost the upper hand here in a most interesting manner. he wasn’t sure if it really bothered him all that much, though. you seemed to know what you were doing. he liked that about you.
your eyes lingered on his cock for a little moment. you had to admit, as nervous as the man inexplicably was about this, he was very much well endowed. you focused on it lewdly, in some kind of inappropriate trance, while he could only sit and watch you with bated breath. he struggled to think of the last time he’d had sex with anyone. he knew he had, he just didn’t know who, or when. well, whoever it was, they certainly can’t have been as eager and ready as you.
you thought briefly about his words. maybe he was right. maybe you were ought to take it a little slower. only a little, though. you were excited to get to the main event.
“so, what is it exactly that you are going to—“ wilbur was quickly cut off by your mouth smashing into his, plump lips pressing softly against yours after gaining your metaphorical footing. this was a much tamer act for wilbur, and allowed him to take back a little of the power he previously had lost. you both slipped into a sloppy, passionate rhythm quickly, tongues each exploring each other longingly. wilbur’s hands slowly found their place around you, locking you into his grasp, chests flush. neither of you had ever felt so whole. a heavy sense of mutual possessiveness floated around the hot air, wrapping both parties up like a silky, lecherous blanket. you had moved up from where you lay on your stomach to your knees now, and wilbur’s once (vaguely) crossed legs had lost their formality and were now also kneeled like you, albeit a lot more pathetically and weakly. his still exposed member rubbed against your still clothed legs, the friction causing wilbur to spasm and quiver.
at some point the kiss became even more intense and concupiscent, so much so it wasn’t fit for being upright anymore, seemingly. it devolved disgustingly to where you both lay on the floor, interlocked together. you were shaking with anticipation. you were playing with such fire right now, such a powerful, grim beast, and you adored every second of it. you couldn’t help it. he was just so attractive. so charming. you adored the feeling of belonging he provided you.
“oh, god,” he pulled away wetly, mind murky with carnality. his heart felt so full— you were beautiful laid there, and a genuine passion washed over him. he wasn’t having sex with you now just to get off, but because you were truly special and he adored you and wanted to be with you forevermore. maybe he did get a little kick out of fucking a mortal, yes— but that was besides the point. he’d never felt so alive in years and years of his cold, emotionless living. “i can’t even… i… you…”
you had become very tired of this foreplay. sure, it was gorgeous, and incredibly enjoyable… but… you remained acutely aware of wilbur’s exposed dick, just kind of Hanging Around, and your restraint was worn incredibly thin. thinner than any metaphor for thin-ness could possibly describe! you were crying out for him internally. you needed to feel the farthest, most graphic and loving reaches of his warmth. you had no way of telling him you needed him vocally. you could only whine needily and point to your crotch, hands clawing and raking down his sides. you felt so pathetic and stupid, but at the same time, you could care less. you writhed with impatience on the bedrock floor, watching the glint of understanding grow in wilbur’s eyes. the sign was discarded a little ways away— though it would be too inconvenient to grab now. what was the point? it looked like he understood.
“ah… i… i see.” he chewed his lip, an anxious realisation settling in the forefront of his mind that this was really happening. he couldn’t wait to finally confirm his ownership over you. but it had been so long. he wanted to make you happy. he hoped he could properly satisfy the sexual hunger inside of you. his heady gaze settled upon you, wanton and full of lust. for a moment there was a pause, to give room for the feeling that rested between you. the way his eyebrows twitched in thought, his lips slightly parted and gleaming with spit from where you’d been kissing. you were both entranced by one another. until— wilbur’s eyes broke away from you as he came back to his senses. he had been neglecting himself this whole time, his cock begging for attention. it was just that he wanted to make sure you were alright first. was that so much a crime? no matter.
his fingers, still as soft and smooth as they were in his youth despite all his work, grazed along your body. he could thank his immortality for that. your stomach sucked in with the touch, a shaky gasp slipping past your lips. every graze of the fingertips was lacing you with impurity, tainting you forever. you didn’t mind. you were alright with losing yourself for him. eventually, his slim, nimble fingers came to a stop at the top of your jeans. you go stiff. your knees are shaking, were they doing that before? everything is frozen and stopped, and you can only watch and feel as the fabric slides down your legs. the underwear goes with it. at some point you tipped your head back, the bedrock digging cruelly into the back of your head. you could only watch the flames dance above you, their light playing on the ceiling. your throat felt tighter than before. you were so overcome by a paralysing excitement. you owed your body to him. now you could confirm it. yes.
“oh, god, yes,”
yes.
you’d been so enchanted by thought of belonging to wilbur you hardly registered the wet, hard cock rubbing against you, as if requesting entry. your back arched dramatically off the floor as he grasped your hips, burying himself to the hilt. you were so thin, he was clearly visible. a haze encompassed you, shuddering— you could feel every inch. the heady breaths that he expelled, so intimate… your back pressed against the rough bedrock, little spikes pressing into it, keeping you alert. you could hardly fathom what was happening around you. wilbur’s hands slithered up your chest, fingertips lightly hovering over your nipples. you already felt plenty dizzy. paired with the little tingles of pain from the bedrock, the feeling of being so full and exhausted— you were already seeing stars, and it had not even really started yet.
your warmth encapsulated wilbur— and seeing you laid there, so pliable, he could little restrain himself any longer. something about your weak, languid body called for his use— he wanted to take it slow, but this was just too much.
“‘m sorry, i just,”
using your hips as leverage, wilbur began. he pulled back, watching your cadaverous face shift with a wavering anticipation. he could not control himself, quickly thrusting in and out of your slick body. it felt as though you had lost your breath— there was nothing for your hands to grasp against the flat rock, you were trapped in the dark room, nothing but wilbur to focus on. it heightened everything about the sinful act— the lewd sounds emitted from you both echoed around the room, the only noise at all. wilbur thought you were truly beautiful, so subservient. he soon realised what he had been missing in all his years of immortality. against your own mortality, he felt so powerful— a thing like you, he could do whatever he wanted to. maybe that caused a surge of energy to power through him. he gripped you tighter, your legs locking around the small of his back. he was almost growling, it felt like, to you. how cliche.
“i love you so much,” wilbur whined. you were silent, but purely because the act of speech was too much to ask of you right now. (and also, you could not even talk if you wanted to. It was easy to forget that part.) a hand came to your sweaty forehead, as you panted and moaned. wilbur continued to pump in and out of you, fingernails around your hips leaving little red crescents in the flesh. he was so much bigger than you had ever considered. you were completely overwhelmed, and you damned yourself when you caught yourself even drooling. how could you have been rendered so mindless and drunken? well, maybe you were alright with that. maybe you were okay with never having to think about a thing with wilbur around— he would take care of everything for you. life is bliss.
wilbur bent downwards as he took you, bringing his own face close to yours— you could feel one another’s hot, lustrous breaths on each other’s skin— so wanting and caring. you know he adores you as much as you adore him. you love the fucking monster in your guts right now. wilbur grinds his teeth together looking at your exasperated, delighted face. the flesh of your neck— he knows it’s a banality, but he wants to dig his teeth into it’s supple flesh. he tries to refrain. it’s such an aggressive thing— but he would adore to see little marks upon your skin that he knows originate from him. so he simply buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent— it’s all so animalistic. he quite likes it. his mouth opens a little, nibbling at the sensitive skin. he can hear you suck in a short breath. he slows his thrusting for a moment, intensifying the moment. long, deep drives into your body.
“you’re very beautiful, you know that?” wilbur huffed. you could only nod lazily— there was a burning brewing in your abdomen, and you whimpered. you were close. such a long gone feeling, you had missed it so much. “are you— ah,” he cut himself off with a whine, your insides rubbing against his cock in a way that elicited his pleasure. he was beginning to feel as though he felt the same way as you. he could almost cum at the mere thought of finishing inside of you. your breaths rattled. wilbur picked up his pace again— that burning feeling increased, and a wanton, high pitched moan escaped him.
How much time had passed since this all began? You hardly knew, making a weak attempt to wipe the dribble trickling thickly from the corner of your mouth. You failed. A cloying smell of sex filled the little bedrock box. Rough hands brought themselves to your clavicle and you looked up from where your head had been limp against the floor. To your pleasure Wilbur was staring lusciously down at you, body jerking as he pumped himself into you. You could feel him, so deep. As you stared dumbly, he opened his mouth to perhaps say something, but instead only whined. It made another hot, needy rush course through your veins. It was obvious the crescendo was coming. His thrusts became sloppier and his thumbs rubbed against your skin.
“I’m,” he panted, but got no further than that. Like the crashing of a train, Wilbur slid a hand that was firmly gripping your hip up to your shoulder, squeezing. His mouth came violently towards yours and lips locked together messily, all tongue. It all preceded the truly beautiful feeling of him coming inside of you, shooting hot ropes of cum into your wanting body. Again, your back arches off of the rock, and you moan lewdly. It bounced off of the walls, a little croaky due to your lack of an ability to speak, and you could not help but bite your lip down hard as you reached your own climax. Your legs quivered and you locked them around Wilbur’s waist, pulling him as close to you as possible. “...Oh, my God.”
Wilbur pulled away wetly after a little while. Your mind had been melted completely. All the memories of this challenge, whatever and whomever waited far beneath you. No hard feelings were felt toward Wilbur for the terrible things he had done to you and the others. Never could you repay him for what he gave you here today. All of the grief was worth it, for your new life. The way Wilbur was looking at you now, it was worth it for this.
Spent, Wilbur pulled himself out of you. It alarmed you- you had been hoping for some more time together, and the feeling of being empty made you whine weakly. Yet he shushed you delicately, fingertips a hairsbreadth from your cheeks, nearly caressing you. Nearly.
“I need to go and check on everybody down on the ground,” Wilbur informed you softly, his tone filling you with another bout of warmth. With a pout, you nodded. The idea of being alone in here scared you. “Don’t worry. You’re the winner.”
The winner.
First place.
Against all odds, you had succeeded. Everybody had worked so hard and betrayed and killed. But still, you won. Not for a moment did you consider it was unfair. Not a moment did you consider your home. That was all irrelevant. You were his now, and you cared not. As Wilbur vanished in front of you, faster than a blink, you brought thin hands to your chest and breathed a shaky, exhilarated breath. Every corner of the room remained shrouded in darkness, and you could not wait to be free again. You were numb to the tragedies that had taken place during this experiment. You closed your legs, your groin still warm and pulsing, dripping with Wilbur’s seed.
The winner truly took it all.