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⤷ TW: Dark Romance, Yandere Themes, Extreme Obsession/Stalking, Invasion of Privacy, Possessive Behavior, Physical Restraint and Mentions of Sabotage/Academic Ruin.
Everyone at school knew you were completely, hopelessly in love with him. You were the girl who showed up thirty minutes early just to leave a carton of strawberry milk on his desk. You were the one who cheered the loudest from the bleachers, your face lighting up the exact second his tall figure walked into the hallway.
"Good morning, Kenji!" you’d chirp, skipping backward in front of him.
He wouldn't even slow down. He’d keep his hands buried deep in his pockets, staring straight ahead. "Get out of the way. You're annoying," he’d mutter.
But you would just laugh. "Okay! See you at lunch then!"
To everyone else, it was just a daily comedy routine. They pitied you, thinking you were chasing a guy without a heartbeat. They had no idea that behind his sharp words, his chest was actually burning. They didn't know that he kept every single empty carton of milk you ever gave him. He rinsed them, dried them, and kept them locked in his bedroom drawer like sacred relics.
Your obsession wasn't born out of a shallow crush on a handsome, brooding boy. It came from a day you never spoke about, a day that altered the entire trajectory of your life.
Two years ago, during your first term, your older brother had been involved in a devastating motorcycle accident. For weeks, your family lived in a blur of sterile hospital waiting rooms, mounting bills, and the suffocating terror of losing him. The stress had completely broken your mother, and your father was working triple shifts just to keep the lights on. You had to stay strong, putting on a brave face for everyone else, smiling through the agony because if you let a single tear slip, you felt like your entire world would collapse.
One rainy evening, the weight finally became too heavy. You couldn't go home to a silent, empty house, so you hid behind the old equipment shed near the school incinerator. You sank into the damp dirt, pulled your knees to your chest, and sobbed until your ribs ached, tearing at your own uniform out of pure panic. You were entirely alone in the dark.
Or so you thought.
Kenji had been walking past, a heavy trash bin in his hands. He didn't say a word when he saw you. He didn't offer a clumsy apology or ask you what was wrong. Instead, he simply set the bin down, walked over, and sat flat on the wet concrete right next to you. He didn't touch you. He just leaned his broad shoulder firmly against your trembling one, acting as a solid, immovable anchor in the middle of your storm. He stayed there for two hours in the freezing rain, letting you ruin his clean school blazer with your tears, serving as a silent shield between you and the rest of the world. When you finally calmed down, he stood up, wiped the dust off his trousers, and said, "Go home. The rain is stopping."
From that night on, you realized his coldness was just a shell. You promised yourself you’d spend every day filling his quiet world with warmth.
For two years, that was your routine. You became his shadow, and you learned the quiet language of his silence. You knew that when he clicked his pen twice, he was getting bored. You knew that if his shoulders dropped, his severe migraines were kicking in, and you’d secretly slide medicine onto his desk.
There were moments you thought you were actually breaking through the ice. Like the time you stayed late to help him carry heavy papers, and he reached out to adjust the slipping strap of your heavy backpack. Or the time you fell asleep at your desk, and you woke up with his thick school blazer draped over you, smelling like mint.
Whenever you thanked him, he’d look away and tell you to be quiet. But those tiny gestures kept you going. You truly believed that if you just kept smiling and giving him everything, the distance between you would disappear. You were willing to wait forever.
What you didn't know was that your warmth had completely ruined him. Kenji wasn't just tolerating you—he was entirely, dangerously addicted to you.
His real day didn't start at school; it started at his computer screen at 3:00 AM. His bedroom walls weren't normal. They were covered in rows and rows of printed photos of you. Some were screenshots from your social media—photos of you laughing with friends or posing on vacation—but most of them were shots he took himself when you weren't looking. Photos of you adjusting your hair at your locker, tilting your head during exams, or smiling at the sky while waiting for the bus.
Every single night, he drove himself crazy in that room. He would sit in the dark, tracing the lines of your face on the paper, letting his mind spiral into dizzying, heavy fantasies about you. He imagined what it would feel like to finally lock his arms around you, to hear you whisper his name without anyone else around, to make you cry tears that were meant only for him. He would stare at your pictures until his chest ached from a wild, desperate hunger, utterly consumed by the fact that during the day, he had to pretend he didn't want to swallow you whole.
He heavily policed your life from the shadows. Whenever a guy tried to get close to you, Kenji handled it before you could even notice. Last month, a senior from the rugby team had made a crude bet with his friends about asking you out just to see how easily you would smile for him. Kenji had overheard it in the locker room.
The next day, that senior didn't show up to school. When he returned a week later, his arm was in a thick plaster cast, his eyes bloodshot and darting frantically around the corridors. He wouldn't even look at your side of the hallway. Kenji had simply sat at his desk that morning, calmly turning the pages of his English textbook, his knuckles slightly bruised beneath his uniform cuffs. He didn't want you to know about the filth of the world. He wanted you to stay bright, clean, and entirely focused on him.
You went about your days completely oblivious to the violence keeping your world peaceful. To you, life was simple, safe, and filled with the steady hope that Kenji was slowly softening up to you. You were still riding the high of those quiet moments—like waking up with his mint-scented blazer over your shoulders or the rare times his fingers would brush yours when taking the strawberry milk. You truly felt like you were finally standing on stable ground with him, completely unaware that the safety you felt was a carefully manufactured cage. You were so blinded by your own hope that you didn't see the storm brewing.
But a heart can only take so many hits before it breaks.
It happened on a Friday afternoon behind the old music room. You were carrying a stack of papers when you heard voices. Peeking around the brick corner, you saw Kenji. Standing in front of him was Miyoko, the elegant vice president of the student council. She was everything you weren't.
Miyoko held a beautifully bound notebook—their collaborative thesis for a competition. "I want to be the person who stands beside you, Kenji. Academically, and in life. I know I can match your pace."
As you watched, Kenji didn't walk away. He didn't tell her she was annoying. He actually reached out and took the notebook, his eyes locked onto hers in a heavy silence. To your heartbroken mind, it looked like respect. It was a look he had never, not once, given to you and your silly cartons of milk.
A sharp pain bloomed in your chest. I'm just a nuisance to him. She actually matches him. All your efforts over the past two years suddenly felt completely useless.
Your fingers shook, dropping a sheet of paper. The slight rustle made Kenji’s head snap toward the corner, but before he could see you, you turned and ran. You ran until your lungs burned, your bright smile finally shattering into bitter tears.
The change was sudden and absolute.
On Monday morning, Kenji walked his usual twelve paces behind you. He expected you to slow down, to turn around with that loud, bright smile and skip backward in front of him.
You didn't. You kept walking, your head low. When you reached the school gates, you didn't wait. You just slipped into the crowd, deliberately hiding among other students so he couldn't reach you.
When he got to his desk, there was no strawberry milk. The wood was cold and empty. Kenji stared at the bare surface for a full, agonizing minute, his jaw tightening until it clicked. A freezing, empty void opened up in his chest where your warmth used to be.
By Wednesday, you were actively treating him like a ghost.
During lunch, when he purposely walked past your usual spot, you instantly stood up and walked right past him without making eye contact. Your shoulder brushed his arm, but you didn't even flinch. You kept moving as if he were nothing.
The bright, bubbly girl who used to scream his name from the bleachers was completely gone. You still smiled, but only for other people. He had to sit at his desk and watch you laugh warmly with the guy sitting next to you, sharing notes and trading jokes, while treating him like absolute nothing.
It drove him completely, utterly insane.
The quiet control he prided himself on fractured within forty-eight hours. The silence in his head was deafening. He stopped sleeping entirely. He spent his nights standing directly underneath your apartment window, his face pale, his fists clenching until his knuckles bled against the rough brick wall. He even started going through your building's trash at night, frantic to find anything you touched—a discarded note, a wrapper—anything to stop the agonizing withdrawal of your attention. Why weren't you looking at him? What did he do wrong? He had rejected Miyoko the exact second you ran away that Friday, throwing her thesis right into the mud to chase after you, but he had lost you in the dark.
By Thursday morning, he stopped hiding his madness. During the morning lecture, he didn't even pretend to look at the board. He turned his entire chair around, his unblinking, bloodshot eyes locked onto the side of your face for three hours straight. The entire classroom could feel the suffocating, terrifying tension radiating from his desk, but you stubbornly refused to look back.
When the bell rang, you tried to slip out to the restroom. The moment you stood up, Kenji stood up too, his massive frame shadowing your every step down the corridor. When a male classmate tried to hand you a stray pen you dropped, Kenji snatched it out of the boy's hand before it could touch your fingers, snapping the plastic right in half.
"Don't touch her things," Kenji whispered to the terrified boy, his voice a low, animalistic growl that made the entire hallway go dead silent.
You didn't even look back. You just hurried away, your heart pounding with pure exhaustion. You thought he was just angry because his favorite toy had stopped playing with him.
The final snapping point came that evening. The sky was bruising into a dark, stormy purple, and you had stayed late to finish classroom cleaning duties. You had deliberately dragged out the chores, waiting until the school was entirely empty because you wanted to make sure he was gone.
As you stepped out of the empty classroom into the dim corridor, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking your exit entirely.
It was Kenji. But he looked completely unhinged. His tie was missing, his collar was torn open at the throat, and his hair was a tangled ruin from his fingers clawing through it all day. His dark eyes were wide, bloodshot, and burning with a terrifying, predatory desperation.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, gripping the straps of your bag. You forced your voice to stay flat and empty. "Excuse me. I need to go home."
You tried to step past him, but Kenji moved with an explosive speed. He grabbed your shoulders, his massive hands trembling violently as he slammed you backward against the classroom door. The heavy thud echoed loudly down the empty hallway.
"Stop it," he choked out, his voice cracking, completely stripped of his usual icy armor. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving directly against yours as he pinned you to the wood. "Stop looking past me. Stop ignoring me. I'm losing my mind."
"Kenji, let go of me—"
"No!" he roared, his forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder, his long fingers digging into your blazer until the fabric groaned. He was shaking so hard you could feel the raw vibrations in his bones. "I can't breathe. I haven't slept in four days. My chest feels like it’s full of glass. Why are you doing this to me? Where is my milk? Why are you smiling at everyone else but won't even look at my face? I will tear this entire school apart if you don't look at me right now!"
"Why do you care?!" you finally snapped, the heartbreak and exhaustion pouring out of you in a sudden, angry sob. You pushed against his massive chest with all your might, your tears finally spilling over. "Go look at Miyoko! She matches you! She's smart, she's perfect, and she can actually stand beside you! I'm just an annoying nuisance, remember? You told me that every single day! I'm finally letting you go, Kenji! Isn't that what you wanted?!"
Kenji froze, his head snapping up. For a second, he just stared at your tear-stained face, the realization of your pain hitting him like a physical blow.
Then, a dark, completely unhinged laugh escaped his throat. It was a sound of pure, terrifying relief mixed with absolute madness.
"Miyoko?" he whispered, his hands sliding down from your shoulders to lock around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his with a bruising, inescapable grip. His face twisted into something raw, possessive, and entirely desperate. "You think I care about her? I don't even know what color her eyes are."
He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning across your trembling lips, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a suffocating, heavy focus.
"I took that notebook because it had your name on the first page as a reference," he growled, his thumb pressing hard against your jawline, forcing you to look only at him, tilting your head up until you couldn't escape his gaze. "I spent the last three days destroying her family's business connections and ruining her academic standing so she would be forced to transfer schools. She will never come near my desk again. There is no one else, you idiot. There has never been anyone else. If you ever try to erase me from your head again, I will lock you in my room. I will show you the hundreds of photos of you on my walls, and I will make you look at me until you forget how to breathe. You made me like this. You filled my world with your light, and you don't get to leave me in the dark. You belong to me."
SUMMARY: You return home late, which pisses of your husband but when he gets to know the reason things take an unexpected turn and you end up receiving one of the best and most satisfying birthday gifts ever.
CONTENT WARNING: [18+ mdni]: yandere : toxic behaviour and relationship : possesive and obsessive behaviour : established relationship : angst : hurt/comfort : emotional neglect : misogyny : mentions of cheating in the past
WC: 1.7k
an; this is not proofread! Also this is a part 2 of this
“Where the fuck have you been?”
That was the first thing you heard when you finally returned, you were somewhat expecting it considering how late it was and out of your character. But still you had hoped and wished for him to not be at home as he was not most of the time.
He looked at the back of your head as you were heading towards the grand staircase and had stopped frozen hearing his voice.
He had been waiting for you for quite some time now, after knowing you had not returned since evening and he was not used to be waiting for anyone, he was a very impatient man. He wanted and needed everything instantly when he demanded for it, if it crossed his mind it better be in front of him too.
So, imagine his reaction when he returned at evening calling out your name all over the mansion and heard no response from you only to get to know from the staff that you had left for somewhere, and that too without telling him or getting his permission, the rage he had felt was almost murderous.
You were very pliant and always took his permission before going anywhere, as you should. You were not much of a trouble and honestly he loved that, he loved that you always did what he asked for, always asked for his permission, that you were entirely under his control, wrapped around his finger. He even boasted about your obedience in his circle, taking pride in you.
He hated losing control and being wrong about anything, so he better not be wrong about you and you better not start acting out of line and disobeying him.
“I asked you a question,” he said, taking a step towards the staircase where you stood. “Where were you?”
“Out.”
A hint of anger and irritation passed his eyes when he heard that. “I fucking know that, but out where?” He asked through his clenched teeth, stepping closer.
“I was out with my friends” you said with an exhausted sigh, “We went out for dinner.”
“With your friends?” he repeated, seething. “You left this house, without telling me, without taking any of my men with you, looking like a fucking whore, to go to dinner with your friends, and that too this late? Do you have any fucking idea what time it is.”
You felt his hands wrap around your wrist as he towered over you, looking down at you but you only avoided his gaze, looking to your side without any response. “I called you like 50 times, you would know if you cared to check your phone.”
You did know and that was the sole reason you had switched off your phone. “My phone died so I am really sorry I couldn't check it.”
You felt his warm breath against your face, as his hands wandered around your waist and hips, as he touched your hair. “And why did you dress so cheaply? Do I get you expensive stuff to decorate your closet?”
“It was a birthday and they had a theme so–”
“I don't give a fuck it was birthday or whatever” he cut you off, his voice gravelly. “If your friends want to celebrate, they can do it without you. And if you wanted to go out, you should have asked for permission like you always do.”
He knew who your friends were, similar wealthy background girls like you, politicians and businessmen daughters and he had no issues with them, most of the time atleast but if you were going to behave like this just to hang out and meet with them, he was definitely going to have problems with them and you would end up suffering instead.
“You don't leave without my say so. Do you understand me? And if not I will lock you in your room, then keep crying.” He said tilting his face to the side to meet yours at your eye level, only for you to turn to the other side again, nodding.
You hated looking at his eyes, they were really sharp, predatory and cold. In the beginning of your marriage when you used to it made you feel so uneasy and scared, slowly you learnt to avoid his gaze and directly looking at his face.
That way it was easier to deal with him, if not whatever you have learnt and kept yourself out together it would come crashing down in one go and you didn't want that happening.
“There are people out there always trying to put a bullet through my head, get me dead, get something they can use against me. Do you have any idea how easy it would be for someone to take you off the street?”
“You're supposed to be where I can see you–”
He stopped abruptly, turning around as the large front door of the estate opened, flooding in the light from the outside as the driver you had taken for yourself walked in, arms full of and laden with things with different colours, gift wrappings, shopping bags from high end boutiques and brands.
He stared at the bags and the gifts as the driver walked towards you two. Slowly, he turned his head back to you.
“What is this now? You went shopping too?”
“No,” you said, rubbing your arm feeling a wave of anxiousness as you took in a breath before speaking “They're from the birthday party.”
“Whose birthday party?” He asked, picking up a small rectangular shaped gift box from the pile from the driver's arms.
“Mine.”
Happy Birthday, my darling. My sweetest, prettiest baby girl in this whole world, dad loves you alot. — Dad.
He read it simultaneously, the card attached to it as that one word left your mouth and everything came crashing down to him as he felt like he was thrown in a cold lake on a harsh winter night.
Fuck.
He had forgotten.
He had forgotten your birthday.
“Today…. today was your birthday?” He asked as if still in disbelief as he looked at you with this weird look which you had never seen on his face and you didn't know if you wanted to deal with it right now. Why did it matter if it was your special day or not, for him it was like any other day.
“Yes” you said simply, turning back towards the stairs, your hand gripping the banister. “I am going to bed, I am really tired also I am sorry I should have told you beforehand.”
“Wait”
His hand shot out, catching your wrist. But he didn't pull you back with his usual rough force. His grip was loose, his fingers gentle on your skin.
“Wait a second’ he said again, his voice getting heavier.
You stopped, looking down at his hand on your wrist, then up at his face, not really knowing what to do and what to say, honestly it didn't hurt you that he didn't remember it, because you never had that kind of expectation from him.
"Baby," he whispered.
The word “baby” came out clumsy and sounded really weird to your ears. The word felt incredibly strange coming from his mouth.
He was not an affectionate guy or the one to use pet names as that, he usually called you woman or wife when he was angry, when he was pulling your clothes over your head in the dark after returning home late and straight up coming to fuck you.
Even when he used words like that, which was a rare occurrence, it was to mock you or try to get you into bed. Right now the way he spoke that word was completely different, it almost sounded affectionate and intimate, like he loved you, his voice had a hint of desperation, which was not like him at all.
“I am…I am–” he stammered trying to get the word sorry out of his mouth which was stuck in his throat, he felt like he should say it but it was not coming out.
He didn't even remember the last time he had said sorry to someone,that too sincerely but right now his heart and mind both shouted together for him to say out that word to you, he didn't know why, he didn't know why this heavy feeling had settled in his chest when he realised he missed such an important day of yours, was this guilt? Is this how it felt like?
Sorry was like a cuss word to him but still he couldn't help himself as those words left his mouth.
“I…” He swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. “I forgot. I am ... fuck it. I am sorry.”
You stared at him, completely frozen as those words left his mouth, so strange and awkward.
I am sorry?
Had you heard him right?
He had never said those words to you. Not when he stayed out all night with other women, not when he yelled at you for things you didn't do, not when he forced you to stay home when you wanted to see your family. He never apologized for his actions, never.
So, how could you believe him even if he was standing on the bottom step of the stairs, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes, telling you that he was sorry.
“I didn't mean to, I swear to God” he rambled, his voice growing faster, more frantic as he saw the lack of reaction on your face. He stepped up onto the stair, bringing himself closer to you as he kept rambling.
“It's fine you don't need to worry too much.” You whispered not knowing what else to say.
“No, it's not fine!” he said, his voice rising. He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his warm skin touching yours as the breath of you two mixed with each other, the similar way your feelings were tangling with his, messy and unsure.
“It's your birthday. I should have... I should have been there with you the whole day. I should have taken you out. What do you want? Tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you right now.”
“I don't want anything” you said, your eyes slipping shut as you touched his face reassuringly.
“Don't say that” he said as his voice sounded pleading, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones. His touch was so gentle it felt almost foreign.
“Anything you want. Anything, jewellery, bags, anything I mean it, you just name it. Or a trip? We can go to Paris to celebrate your birthday, or anywhere else, wherever you want.”
He was offering you everything he had, trying to buy his way out of the suffocating guilt that was weighing him down in his heart for some god forsaken reason, and because he was feeling like that for the first time he didn't know how to act and what to do or deal with this strange feeling.
But you didn't want anything he was offering to you.
Though you were not going to lie, the word divorce did flash in your mind for a second but even you knew that offer was not on the table.
Summary: You carelessly wish for your crush, Yuta, to be 'madly in love with you' on what you assumed was an occultist scam stick but before you could change your mind— you accidentally snap the willow. Believing it to be a fake, you think nothing of it, but when Yuta's behavior soon turns erratic and demented, you quickly realise you've made a grave mistake.
Warnings: NONCON, DUBCON, MDNI, coercion, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, slight breeding kink, fingering, cunnilingus, forced orgasms, cumming inside, obsessive themes of violence(?), threats against reader, reader tries taking her own life, so much plot with porn, yuta snaps in and out after the wish is made & there's an indicator for real yuta's dialogue sort of like an easter egg? 👀, slight angst maybe(?), DD;DNE. + not proofread. If you're uncomfortable, please feel free to block me or filter the tags.
do not romanticize or normalize dark content irl.
WC: 15k.
A/N: this fic is just merely inspired from the concept of one wish willow since I've been obsessed with obsession tbh, though there are some references to the film in terms of a few dialogues in this fic, and just saying I despise bear with my entire heart so yeah. this also felt like I rushed it but maybe not idk there's 15k words, it was supposed to be short but I uhm got carried away, been working on this since July 6th, sorry for the delay :(.
The distinct chatter of the crowd faded into the background of the party, people socializing and chatting away, which you observed from a distance for a bit before you grabbed the drink that was placed on the bar counter, you took a sip nervously before chugging the entire thing down, feeling the alcohol burn your throat as it goes down.
You cannot bear to be sober right now.
Things weren't the same anymore after you lost your grandma a few months ago, you cherished her deeply— her having been the only one who raised you since you were born. Although she passed away naturally due to old age, it still left a void in you, she was the one that raised you after all.
You miss her especially on nights like these, when you're out and about, knowing you have no one to go back to home to.
“You should really go easy on the drinks.” A smooth and soft voice snaps you out of your thoughts, you blink a few times, recollecting yourself before you look at the source.
In front of you stood Yuta, a really close friend and a co-worker of yours with a concerned expression on his face. He was one person who had been actively helping you cope with the loss of your grandma for the past few months.
“It's my first shot though.” You roll your eyes, placing the shot glass on the bar table.
“Well, that's what you said last time too and ended up throwing up all over me.” Yuta pointed out, his tone teasing you.
“Shut up. Don't remind me.” You grunted, turning away from him and hiding your face in embarrassment, he let out a hearty laugh at your behavior, you stared at him for a moment before returning a chuckle.
“But for real, it's true. This is my first shot.” You affirm, giving him a reassuring smile, he nods, deciding to trust you. You both begin to chat for a bit about life. You felt butterflies in your stomach when he shot you a charming smile. You quickly looked away, not wanting him to catch you staring intently.
He always knew how to make you feel better at times like this.
You mentally scold yourself for feeling this way about him, you both had gotten a lot closer in the past few months, closer than you guys ever were. Such a change in situation caused a few shifts in your perspective about him, especially when he was so kind, you soon found yourself crushing on him.
Your conversation comes to an abrupt end when one of your mutual friends grabs Yuta and drags him to the table in the middle, jokingly asking your permission to borrow him for a game, which you all laugh at.
You think about taking a second shot before deciding you've had enough, concluding that one shot was enough after what Yuta told you. You really shouldn't be developing an alcohol problem over grief, so now you're just watching him from across the room, observing how the game is unfolding.
“So, when are you going to ask him out?” A familiar voice echoed in your ears, you turned to face towards that direction, seeing the familiar dark green hair catch your eye. It was Maki.
“Ask who out?” You blinked, trying to process what she was implying.
“Oh don't play dumb, I'm obviously talking about Yuta.” She rolls her eyes, grabbing her own drink as she chugs it down.
“Uh, I don't know. I'm not sure.” You reply quickly, feeling conflicted about your own feelings. You felt your hands turn moist at the sheer nervousness you were feeling from this conversation alone.
“Just do it, I'm pretty sure he also has some sort of feelings for you.” Maki nudges you, nodding her head to the direction he's in. You felt embarrassed, shaking your head.
“Eh, I don't know. It's probably best not to ruin things we have right now.” You shrug it off, Maki doesn't prod you further, and just backs off.
The conversation soon shifted to Maki talking about her life. You were so deeply invested, until you felt someone bump into your shoulder really hard, causing you to fall back at the sheer force, almost like they purposefully pushed you.
You landed on your butt with a hiss, cursing the man, who didn't bother stopping to apologize, Maki quickly came to your aid, lifting you up and checking if you're okay.
“What the fuck is wrong with some people dude.” She muttered under her breath, glaring at the man disappearing off to the exit in a rush. You felt irritated, huffing in anger as you tried to hold back the rage you felt.
But then something on the floor caught your eye. You bent down, picking it up as you stared at the package with a scowl on your face. It was likely dropped by the man in a rush earlier.
“The hell is this?” You mutter underneath your breath, and Maki looks over your shoulder.
“One wish willow? What's that?” You almost scoff, reading the label and warnings, anyone can tell that this is a scam, but you still analyze it.
“Should I return it back to him?” You ask Maki, genuinely considering going after that man to return it. She quickly takes it away from your hand, reading the label.
“Nah, that asshole knocked you over, you don't owe him that courtesy, besides it's probably just some occult bullshit.” She sighs, tossing it back into your hands. “Maybe you could wish for Yuta's love since you can't bring yourself to confess. You'll need all the luck in the world.” Maki suggests, mocking you in a friendly way all while raising an eyebrow.
“Fuck you. I'm not that desperate.” You scrunch your face at your friend's suggestion before chuckling, you slip the thing into your pocket, reminding yourself to throw it away later as you continue to chat away with Maki.
And soon it was time to go, you booked a taxi to your house until Yuta chimed in, grabbing your phone and cancelling the ride. He asked you if he could drive you home, which you reluctantly agreed to, feeling bad for troubling him like that.
“I hope you're taking care of yourself after you know—, it's been a while since we got some alone time like this.” Yuta broke the silence first.
“I am, but I miss her sometimes but honestly, you all make up for it. Especially you.” You reply, exhaling as you relax in the car, letting your body go loose.
“I'm glad.” Yuta replies shortly, hands gripping the steering wheel as he takes a turn, one of it slides down, grabbing a hold of your thigh which makes you jump slightly as if it was unexpected.
He gently caresses your thigh, drawing soothing circles for a bit before he retreats it back, the absence of his hand was much more noticeable than when he was caressing you, you missed the warmth already.
“You know i—” Yuta begins before quickly shutting himself up. He takes a deep breath.
“Mhm?” You hum in question.
“Nothing, I forgot what I wanted to say.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Thank you for being here, Yuta.” You begin, all of a sudden, as you gaze out of the window, staring at the night sky, feeling really sentimental for some reason. “I really appreciate you.” You turn your head towards him, giving him a smile. Yuta remains quiet for a while, before he nods.
“Of course, I'm always here. We're friends after all.” He replies back, though there was a slight hesitation in his words.
Comfortable silence falls over the two of you, and soon enough, you reach your home. You unlock the car door, opening it and stepping a foot outside before you're yanked inside into the car once again.
You shriek, confused when you see Yuta gripping your wrist tightly.
“What's wrong?” You ask when he loosens his grip, he swallows nervously biting his lip and shaking his head no.
“Sorry, I just wanted you to be here for a little longer. For some reason I feel like something bad is going to happen.” He answers, letting out a deep sigh. “I know it's stupid—”
“It's not. Don't worry, I'll stay here for a bit.” You cut him off, settling down into the car once again, letting the moments pass by in silence.
“What do you think of us?” Yuta asks all of a sudden, making your mind go blank since you did not expect him to be straightforward. You feel your throat closing up as you struggle to answer.
“We're really good friends aren't we?” You let out a nervous chuckle and you swear you see something dark pass by in Yuta's eyes before his expression changes into a smile.
“Right. We're. Friends.” His tone had slightly shifted, leaving a gap between each word when he spoke them. You nodded, wanting to facepalm yourself because what the fuck, why did you miss a great opportunity to profess your love? Gosh you're such a fucking coward.
“Actually I—” You whisper quietly under your breath, trying to get the words out, finally building up your courage.
“Good night.” Yuta cuts you off, most likely because he wasn't able to hear you since he seemed spaced out and occupied with his own thoughts. He shot you a tight lipped smile, the one that didn't reach his eyes.
You blinked, the courage you gathered deflating immediately, you didn't speak up again, and just nodded, shooting him an awkward smile.
You don't waste another second getting out of the car, bending down and sending off Yuta with a good night. You walk back into your house, mentally exhausted from everything. Internally groaning as you open the front door and slamming it shut before you hang your coat, throwing your bag on the couch and plopping face down on it. Letting out a muffled screech at the chance you blew.
Maybe this was for the better.
It's better to move on.
You press your cheek to the seat, staring at the texture of the sofa's fabric, noticing a patchy stitch that was a complete contrast from the rest of the plain design.
It was a spot your grandma stitched up a few months ago before her passing, she didn't want you to waste money on a new sofa. You gently caress the patch, the stitch lines bumping into your fingertips as you trace it.
You wish she was still alive, she probably would be laughing in your face if you had told her what just happened with Yuta.
You let out a bitter chuckle, remembering her playfulness before you take a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears from falling.
You prop yourself up, sitting upright and going to your bathroom to wash this day's exhaustion off. After showering, you grab your dirty clothes and put them in the laundry basket, just when you grab your pants— the triangular shaped box from earlier falls out of it. You pick it up, setting it on the table and not paying it any mind as you put your clothes away.
Now you're on a phone call with Maki, who enthusiastically called you because she looked up information about the one wish willow online, telling you that it's a real deal, you have to break the stick for it to come into reality.
“No way, let me check it myself.” You put her on speaker, quickly going to the search engine to look for it.
“Nah maki, it has mixed reviews, some say it's real, some say it doesn't work. I'm telling you, it's just bullshit.” You argue adamantly, annoyed by this stupid little ordeal.
“Why don't you wish for something then?” She suggests again, and you think for a while.
“I mean, it isn't like anything bad will happen, on one hand, your wish will come true, while then on the other, it just turns out to be a fake.” She adds, which makes you grab the thing off the table and open it.
“Wish for like a billion dollars for something, we'll be rich in no time— oh wait fuck! ugh, fuck off— wait I'll call you right back, my sister made a mess everywhere..” Maki hurriedly hung up before you could get a word in. Though you understood what she meant since you could literally hear her sister throwing up in the background when you both were talking. You set your phone down, now intensely staring at the box before prying it open, a weird melody plays when you open it and take the stick out.
You ponder deeply what you should wish for, because a billion dollars would be too suspicious if this was real, like you could be taxed, and if it did come true— how will you explain it to the authorities? you think hard for a few moments before realising how stupid you look right now, all this effort going into something that has absolutely no chance of coming true. You groan, laying down on your sofa.
You don't put a single thought behind your words, choosing to be really dramatic instead of logical, “I wish Yuta was madly in love with me.” You say out loud before putting pressure onto the willow slowly, though you didn't intend on breaking it.
Yeah no, you weren't that desperate—
BOOM!
The ground ends up rattling, as if an earthquake had hit, making you jump and sit up out of panic before you hear the sound of thunder, it scares the absolute crap out of you. You snap your head to the window at that moment, watching flashes of light reflect off the curtain before you hear a few more roars of thunder follow suit with the noise of rain pouring outside.
You let out an exhale after processing what happened, It was just rain. You shake your head in disbelief before turning your attention back to the willow, mind drifting off again to a wish you wanted to make, a simple one.
Probably something like getting a salary hike at the cafe you were currently working for.
You look down, ready to snap the willow.
But your eyes widen when you realise.
The stick now rested in your hands, broken into two pieces.
You must've snapped it in half out of panic unknowingly.
“Fuck noooo that wasn't what I wanted to wish for.” You whine to yourself, voice grating with annoyance.
You were so fucking careless.
You slowly felt something in your gut churn, a feeling of dread but you decided to ignore it.
Ugh whatever, not like it's real or anything, you're getting way too worked up over it.
You get up off the couch, brushing the weird feeling off you and quickly discard the broken pieces and make your way back to your couch, you text Maki.
‘This shit is not real lmao.’
You put your phone down and turn on the TV, trying to find a good show to watch, you immerse yourself in whatever show that is playing right now for a good few minutes, completely getting into the plot—
Ding Dong!
You hear the door bell ring. You furrow your brows, getting off the couch and walking up to the door, wondering who it could be this late. When you look through the peephole, your eyes widen when you see Yuta standing there.
You quickly open the door, surprised by his sudden presence, he probably should've reached his home by now, what was he doing here? Not to mention, he was completely drenched head to toe and breathing heavily as if he had run a marathon.
Your mind wanders off to the wish from earlier, there is no way right?—
Yuta sneezes, which snaps you out.
“Y-Yuta?! Are you okay?” You quickly ask in a worried tone, pulling him inside, before rushing off to get some towels for him.
“Yeah, I'm fine. My car broke down and it started raining so I rushed here.” He sighed, taking the towel from your hands, his hold lingering for a bit longer than usual. You didn't think much of it.
“I don't have spare clothes for you, so you'll have to make do with this bathrobe.” You hand him the bathrobe, to which he quickly grabs before he grabs the hem of his shirt and takes it off.
You turn around, not wanting to look at him as he undresses.
But why the fuck was he undressing right in front of you in the first place? You felt weirded out, this was something Yuta would've never done.
You furrow your brows, quickly turning around to face him only to find him standing still, staring at you in his bathrobe blankly. He suddenly lunges forward, grabbing you by your arms as he pulls you into a hug.
“I'm so sorry. I'm so scared.” He mutters, dipping his head into the crook of your neck before inhaling your scent.
You freeze when he does that, eyes widening with your hands pushing up against his chest to get him off you.
What fuck is wrong with him?
He notices you trying to push him away and steps back, his eyes widening when he sees you.
“Wait, what the fuck? Are you alright?” He asks genuinely concerned, stepping back, his tone shifted way too eerily for you to not notice as if he snapped out of something, you took a step back, not wanting to be near him.
“Uhm, no. You should probably ride a taxi home, let me book one for you. We can deal with the car later.” You blink, weirded out, before reaching for your phone from the couch. But Yuta grabs a hold of your hand before you can reach for it.
“No, please let me stay, I don't want to be alone right now.” He pleads, staring at you with teary eyes which make you feel bad. He lets go of your hand, before hunching down and burying his face in his hands.
“I've been.. having such a bad day. I don't think I cannot be alone with my thoughts. They're scary.” His voice was cracking, emotion spilling out in between as he drags his hands along his face before slowly clutching his hair as if he was going insane.
“Can I just stay here, for the night? Please.” He drops his hands, stands up straight and looks directly into your eyes, you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to speak.
But, no words would come out, for some reason you felt intimated by him. So you just nodded. He gave you a smile.
“Thank you.” He muttered before he quickly turned and walked towards your bedroom.
“Wait Yuta— that's not the guest room.” You call out, he stops before slowly turning around.
“I know.” He replies before opening your bedroom door and going inside.
Something was genuinely off about him, and it started to scare you. You plop down back on the sofa as you think through what just happened. Yuta is behaving really oddly. You could tell because you're both close enough for you to realise something is wrong with him.
There was no way the wish willow was real, right? If it was, you just practically doomed Yuta's life.
This isn't what you wanted.
But then again, you can't say for sure because Yuta has never once been vulnerable in front of anyone, not even his close friends, not you, no one. What if this odd behavior is just him finally being vulnerable? Just a side that you've never seen before? He did seem pretty desperate and scared. You felt bad, maybe you should give him time to recover until the next morning.
You turn off the TV playing in the living room and quickly move to the guest room, deciding that you'll be the one sleeping in it since Yuta was sleeping in your room. You locked the door before turning off the lights and crawling into the bed.
The soft mattress welcomes you, followed by the warmth under the blankets putting you in a cozy mood. The clock on the wall ticks with every second, the noise echoing through the silent room. Your sense of hearing is heightened as you take in all the noise, the rain, the clock, the soft thuds of droplets hitting the window all lulled you to sleep.
You slowly drift off to sleep as a few minutes pass by, the exhaustion from the day finally kicking in.
All of a sudden, a violent bang rattled through the door, making you snap your eyes open and sit up.
Your heart starts beating quickly, breathing becoming heavy as the banging gets louder and louder.
“Yes?” You call out loudly, your voice shaky, and then the banging stops, you see the door knob twist and turn erratically while the door frame jangles, yet the door doesn't open since you locked it. The relentless banging starts again after the struggle with the door knob stops, which scares you.
“Yuta?” You call out again, and then it stops again, but this time followed by an eerie silence.
The silence is shortly broken.
“[Name], it's me, please open the door.” You hear his voice on the other side. “Please, please, why did you lock it? Please. I can't be alone, why did you leave me alone?” He speaks, you can hear him sniffling loudly as he sounds like he's on the verge of a breakdown.
“Yuta please stop, you're scaring me.” You reply, breathing heavily.
“Why aren't you in bed with me?” He asks, shaking the door.
“Why the fuck would I be in bed the with you? It's not appropriate.” You are taken aback by his question, you could hear your own shock in your reply.
“Please, I keep having nightmares about something bad happening to you. It's scaring me on top of my own thoughts, just be together with me.” He begs, trying to twist the door knob open again. That's when your mind drifts off to the moment in the car, Yuta behaved in a similar manner when he grabbed you to stay with him in the car for a few more minutes, when he told you that he felt like something bad might happen.
“Yuta, I'll be fine.” You affirm, trying to calm him down, but then you hear him sobbing outside your door.
“Please— don't leave me. Please. Please. Please.” He cries out, which makes you feel like the shittiest person alive, but you still hesitate, quickly letting out a deep sigh, you throw the blanket off you and go to the door before unlocking it.
The moment Yuta hears you unlock it, he wastes no time barging in, it makes you back up out of fear and regret your decision of unlocking the door but then he pulls you into a hug, a tight suffocating hug.
His tears soak through your shirt as he cries on your shoulder, body shaking as he sobs really loudly.
“I'm sorry, I don't know what has gotten into me today.” He sniffles, pulling back from the hug. “In the car— I felt like you might be in danger, so I made you stay for a few more minutes, but it never went away even when I started driving back home.” He explains himself.
“So I rushed here pretty quickly to check on you. Yet the feeling hasn't gone away at all. In fact it keeps getting worse every second. I'm so sorry for being paranoid, but please let me stay with you.” He adds, staring into your eyes, you furrow your brows, something wasn't adding up.
“But you said your car broke down.” You mutter and you felt the room go completely silent, Yuta stopped sobbing abruptly, going completely silent.
“I- uh, yeah, it broke down, it was a sign for me to go to you. I think. But it doesn't matter, please just be with me.” He began to sob again, which burdens you with emotion again. You nod.
“Fine, but I'll sleep on the floor.” You agree with a condition. You grab a few spare pillows from the bed before making your way to your bedroom and laying them on the floor. Yuta follows shortly, settling down on the bed as he watches you lay down on the floor.
“You could just share a bed with me. I don't mind.” He proposed, you shook your head, grabbed the blanket and pulled it over your head.
Yuta didn't bother you after that, so you quickly fell asleep.
The morning arrives quickly, you hear your alarm go off, you reach for it blindly to turn it off, face scrunched up is disturbance, before settling into the soft sheets, changing position as you twist on the soft mattress of your bed.
You snap your eyes open.
Soft?
You wake up immediately, examining your surroundings as you find yourself in the middle of your bed. You check to your side, expecting to see Yuta, but he's nowhere to be found. Though, there is a note on the bedside table.
‘Sorry for the trouble I caused :(, I left early cause I needed to get my car fixed as well. Thank you for letting me stay over. Btw, I moved you to the bed since you look uncomfortable on the floor. Don't worry, I didn't do anything. See you at work!
Love Yuta <3’
You chuckled when you read it, finding it cute at the small symbols he used.
Maybe you were just overthinking after all, he was probably just having a bad day yesterday. You felt stupid for being so paranoid and scared.
Quickly, you get off the bed and begin getting ready for work, grabbing the robe Yuta discarded and throwing it in the laundry to wash later. You hoped his clothes were dry by the time he left, cause it rained all through the night.
You wear your outfit for work, and head out.
When you reach the cafe, you already see Yuta clocked in behind the counter, sorting everything out and making sure the machine is working properly. His eyes immediately lock on to you when you walk in.
“Good morning.” He greets you as usual with a bright smile on his face, which you return before clocking in as well.
The cafe bustles with customers immediately after opening, Yuta handles all customers and orders like he usually does while you and Maki prepare the drinks. You spend your entire day like that, working full time before your shift officially concludes.
You stay behind to close the cafe, helping Maki out while Yuta has already left.
“I don't know if you've noticed, but Yuta has been staring at you all day.” She speaks, finishing up her task and washing her hands. “Like, at first I thought it was normal, but then it was so constant, I was starting to get weirded out.”
“I think he's just been going through something,” You say, blinking at her as you untie your apron. “He came over yesterday night and started acting all weird.”
“Did anything happen?” She asks which makes you shake your head. You quickly fill her in on the details about what happened last night.
“That's crazy.” She lets out an exasperated reaction.
“By the way, is the wish truly not real?” She asks, changing topics since she noticed how uncomfortable you felt recalling last night's events.
“Uh, yeah. It's not real, I did as it said and nothing changed.” You fidget with your fingers.
“What did you wish for?” She tilts her head in a questioning manner.
“A salary hike here.” You don't know why you're lying, but it technically wasn't a lie cause you were going to wish for it, keyword: were, but you broke the willow on a separate wish entirely.
“Yeah no, that's never happening in this life at least.” Maki jokes wrapping an arm around your shoulder as she pulls you close, you chuckle awkwardly, feeling guilty.
You both exit through the backdoor, chatting away about different things when you suddenly spot Yuta, who was leaning against his car as if he was waiting for someone.
Didn't he leave like an hour ago? Why is he still here?
Maki is probably questioning the same thing.
His face lights up when he spots you, immediately waving at you to come over.
“Let me drop you home today as well.” He spoke while grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Maki.
“Uh no Yuta, I brought my own car—”
“The tire is flat.” He interrupts you and you furrow your brows, going over to your car to examine it.
The tire was indeed flat, but what was the reason? You check it further and spot a bunch of huge knife slashes on various spots.
“Who could've done this?” Maki asks, confused.
“I don't know. It was like that when I was leaving, I just waited until you both were done to drop her off. But I didn't know it would take an hour.” He answers.
“Anyway, let's go. I'll call someone to come repair it. It's getting late.” He grabs you before dragging you away from further examining it, you follow him into his car, too much on your mind right now to just think straight, you wave a quick goodbye to Maki before Yuta drives away.
You couldn't wrap your brain around the fact why he didn't just come in and tell you if he spotted that your tires were flat. You would've repaired it before it got too late. It felt like he deliberately waited to tell you so he could drive you home.
And the slashes? Who the fuck would do such a thing? They looked clumsy, as if they were done in a hurry and in a fit of insanity.
“There's something I always wanted to tell you.” You tense up when Yuta speaks, his eyes were on the road yet he was speaking to you.
“I— I've been hiding it for too long but I like you. No— I love you. I've been too much of a coward to admit it.” He confesses. “Last night, you've seen the worst of me. I always wanted to look cool from your perspective, you know? But ughhh. I don't give a fuck anymore.” He whispered the last part.
You felt your heart flutter at his confession before a heat rose up your cheeks.
“What?” Is all that you could let out.
“I love you.” He repeats, pulling the car over before halting it. He faces you directly, caressing your cheek, his eyes examining your entire face.
“Yuta— are you sure?” You ask, heart beating loudly in your chest. He nods, thumb grazing over your bottom lip, his finger pad was soft to the touch.
“Do you like me?” His eyes flicker to your lips shortly.
You swallow, nodding.
“I do, I like you.” You finally confess your feelings as well. Yuta gives you a soft smile before he leans in.
You slowly close your eyes, and hold your breath.
And then you feel it, his soft lips against yours, pressing lightly as he kisses you, slowly tilting his face to the side before he swipes your bottom lip with his tongue in between, asking for permission to let him in.
When you do, he wastes no time in pushing his tongue in, hand moving your cheek to the back of your head as he presses your face into his, his kiss turns desperate as he breathes heavily before you both pull away.
He pulls you in for another kiss again, before he stops, inches away from your lips, his eyes widen like he snapped out a trance as he observes your face, your eyes still closed, anticipating another kiss from him.
He slowly pushes his lips against yours, this time it feels different, his earlier kiss was full of confidence, yet now it feels like he is hesitant and unsure, but he continues to kiss you awkwardly anyway, you shoot your eyes open, slightly pulling away, wondering what's wrong with him, but then the hand resting on the back of your head pushes you, his kiss now transitions into like how it was earlier.
It was weird, but you push the thought away to the back of your mind.
❀❀❀❀❀❀
A week passes.
You and Yuta now became official, everything was going so well— or you had assumed.
Yuta has been behaving really oddly, getting weirder and weirder as the time passed.
“Yuta, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You question genuinely, spitting out the coffee he made into the sink before pouring it down the drain. He stares at you like he was heartbroken.
“Why the fuck would you cum in my coffee? How long have you been doing that for? That's fucking disgusting!” You freak out, grabbing your head as you realise what he's been doing since the past week.
He hasn't left your side for the past week and it was beginning to get suffocating. At first you let him stay over, thinking nothing of it, but the next day, he brought his clothes over and started living with you.
Everything was fine for like one whole day initially, but then it got worse. Yuta was extremely possessive, from the second day onwards, he monitored every action of yours, where you went, what you ate, who you were with, how long you've been in the bathroom for. It was obsessive.
You'd caught him sniffing your pillow, or your dirty clothes in the laundry, which you were weirded off by, the relationship felt like it was progressively getting weirder and creepier.
This isn't what you thought it would be like to be in a relationship with him.
And today? you found out that he came in your cup of coffee which he makes everyday for you in the morning before work. You only found that out because it tasted so weird today.
He was the one that admitted to it.
Like it was the most casual and normal thing ever.
You felt like crying and throwing up, why would he ever think of doing this?
But when he started crying, you couldn't help but feel bad, falling to his knees as he apologized, promising that he'll never do it again. You felt awkward and had no choice but to forgive him. You pull up to his feet and give him a hug which he returns, holding you tightly in his grip, inhaling your scent.
You thought that would be the end of the weird things.
But you were wrong.
The very next night, Yuta initiated intimacy like he did in the past week, his hands slid around your waist as you both laid in the bed, tugging your shirt upwards, you quickly shoved his hands away and fixed yourself. You weren't comfortable being intimate that early on into the relationship.
“Yuta, no, I don't want to.” You firmly say, rejecting him once again, pissed off that the cute cuddling moment was ruined by his advances, you didn't want to be pressured into doing that so early into the relationship, you wanted to take your own time opening up, you constantly had to keep on denying him for the past week.
You turn your back to him, laying on your side facing away from him.
Yuta blinks, his face going blank, “Sorry.” He quickly replies before turning away from you.
It was a constant cycle, he'd initiate, you'd say no, he'd say sorry, and everything would go back to normal because you'd forgive him, but it was starting to irritate you now, even though you made it clear multiple times.
“It's oka—” Before you could finish your usual sentence, you hear Yuta scream into his pillow really loudly out of anger, the sound was muffled yet still roaring, the grating screech of his scream scared you. You backed away slightly out of fear, the monstrous cry continued for what felt like an eternity before he abruptly stopped and turned to face you.
Silence occupies the room again, the only noise you could hear was your heavy breathing.
What the fuck was that?
He gives you a sweet smile before he pulls you towards him, cuddling into you, acting as if he didn't just let out a blood-curdling scream just seconds ago. You went still, just letting him cozy up against you.
You couldn't sleep well that night.
Is this how Yuta behaves in a relationship? It couldn't be, right? From your time with him, he was an absolute gentleman, a sweetheart who's always helped you out, so why is he suddenly going insane like this?
Did something trigger this?
Yuta left for work early the next day, you didn't have a shift today, so you were grateful that you could spend some time alone away from him.
Through, he left you a present on the couch, a note sticking to it.
‘To make up for last night.’ You thought it would be an apology gift, maybe he finally understood? It was probably something to cheer you up because of the way he behaved last night— is what you had assumed until you opened the box, but you immediately dropped it, letting it fall to the floor.
In the box were your used panties, torn at the base and covered in fresh cum. It was your favourite pair too. Why was he doing this to you?
You tried to take your mind off it, sleeping the entire day, too frustrated to deal with it. You regret getting into a relationship with Yuta. He was getting progressively worse. You decide to address the elephant in the room immediately after he came back home from his work.
You wake up to a phone call, and immediately pick up.
“Hello?” You speak, voice hoarse.
“Yo, [name], I just found out something insane.” You hear maki speak.
“Do you remember the slashes on your tires? I checked the cctv footage and holy fuck. I shared it with you. But Yuta was the one who slashed them.” You sit up immediately the minute you hear that.
You exit the call, opening the message she sent you and watching the video.
In the footage, Yuta loomed over your tire so scarily still before he started stabbing it like a madman, he made multiple punctures before he threw the knife away and went back to his car, standing there eerily, just waiting.
“This is so fucking crazy, I've never seen him act like that before.” You hear Maki's voice as your mind goes blank.
Just then you hear the front door open.
“I'll call you later, okay?” You tell her before hanging up. Yuta calls out your name before he spots you in your bed. He greets you before sitting down next to you and cuddling against you.
The revelation of the tire thing made you wonder, how he changed into such a deranged person overnight, because it wasn't like him to do so, and besides it was not a weekly progression like you had initially thought when he started behaving off, no, he had been deranged from the day.
The day since you made the wish.
“Yuta,” You call his name, he hums in response, looking at you with a sparkle in his eyes.
You pause for a brief moment, too shaken by this revelation.
You needed a break to figure this shit out.
“I think we need some space—”
“NO!” Yuta yells, screaming on the top of his lungs, recoiling away from you. “Why? Why? Why? What did I do? Did I upset you? I'm sorry I'll never do it again. Please don't say that.” He blabbled wildly, grabbing you by your shoulders. You were taken aback by his outburst, seeing him whine and hearing his voice distort as if he was glitching or recalibrating.
“The things you do— they're weird, it's almost like you're trying to scare me away.” You quickly add, getting it out of your system before he begins to make you feel bad.
“Why would I do that?” He asks, furrowing his brows. “I'm literally madly in love with you, why the fuck would I try to scare you away?” He declared and you went quiet.
“What?” You questioned, breathlessly, “Madly in love with me?” The familiar wording brought a sense of dread over you, as it slowly started clicking to you. That he has indeed been like this since the day you made the wish. You recalled all the moments from the past week, when all of a sudden he would snap out of something, questioning you if he had hurt you before behaving like his unusual self. He would sometimes apologize out of turn. And that one time when he was kissing you?— it felt like you were kissing two different people.
You think you broke him, unknowing of the actual truth on why he's snapping into different personas.
You stare at the man in front of you, his familiar face suddenly becoming unfamiliar as he shoots you a shy smile before he nods.
“Yes, I'm madly in love with you.” You could hear the tone drop in his voice as he gazed at you like he's high, drunk on love.
You slowly feel your surroundings blending together.
This was wrong, very wrong.
What have you done?
The wish was real.
His words just confirmed it, especially the specifics of it.
You just fucked him over.
You take a deep breath, trying to first focus on what to do. He reacted violently at the sheer mention of taking space, so you need to thread carefully. You slowly blink, giving him a smile.
“I'm glad.” You reply, trying to play it safe and he immediately hugs you tightly, forgetting the prior argument.
You cuddle him until he slowly drifts off, watching the man in front of you fall asleep as he takes small breaths, he must've been exhausted.
After making sure he's deep in his sleep, you quickly break free from his grasp, tip-toeing into your living room before searching for the box that the willow stick came in. You were glad you didn't throw it away. You grab your phone from the nightstand as well.
You immediately search for something that can be helpful, like a manufacturing address, customer helpline— which the later one you find, you don't waste any time, locking yourself in the bathroom as you call the number.
The phone rings for a couple of seconds before someone picks it up.
“Hello?” The monotonous voice of a guy on the other line breaks through, you take a deep breath.
“Uh hi, is this the one wish willow?” You ask, voice shaking.
“Yes.” The answer was short, followed by a silence, you purse your lips waiting for them to say anything else but they don't.
“So uh— I have something I'd like to request.”
“What is it?” The uninterested voice inquires you, you could hear their heavy breathing which set you off.
“I uh made a wish on accident, it was a crazy one— I snapped the willow on accident over it. And now there's a person suffering because of me, I think, I don't know if it's still real or not.” You mutter, biting your lip nervously.
“Just because it was an accident, doesn't make it any less real. It's real.” You hear the confirmation that makes your gut drop.
“I want to cancel it. Please, he isn't like himself and is acting very weirdly because of me. I want him to be free. He's suffering because of a wish I made by accident.” You ramble on, panic coating your voice.
“I'm afraid it isn't possible, a wish cannot be reversed once it has been made.” The representative replies, which makes you want to break into sobs.
“So he'll be like this forever?” You tighten the grip on your phone.
“Well… yes, as long as you're alive.”
The bathroom stills for a moment.
Your brain processes what he just said.
The implication was as clear as day.
You need to die for him to be free.
Before you could ask any further questions, the bathroom door slams open, the hinges flying off, and the door opening with a brute force that almost made it break in half, Yuta steps in slowly.
You panic and hang up, immediately getting on guard as he walks in.
“Yuta what the fuck?” You question, horrified at what he had done.
He quickly rushes over to you.
“Who were you talking to? Are you cheating on me?” His face contorts into rage, you shake your head really quickly.
“No, no, it was just Maki.” You lie, which makes him tilt his head in disbelief.
“I heard a man’s voice.” He replies before he dips down, grabbing you by your legs before throwing you over his shoulder and taking you out the bathroom.
Yuta takes you over to your bedroom before throwing you on the bed. He pries the phone away from your hand, you quickly press the home button to turn the screen off before he can access it.
“What's the password?” He asks before he turns the phone towards you, luckily you had face recognition off.
You remain quiet not telling him anything.
“So you are cheating on me.” His voice breaks as he drops your phone to the ground and climbs up the bed, grabbing you by your shoulders.
“Why? Why? Why? Why? Am I not enough?” He chants, gripping your shoulders tight, all while you could only stare at him with a scared expression.
He starts to sob.
“I love you so much, yet you do this to me, is that why you don't let me touch you? Because you're fucking some other guy?” Your mouth slightly parts in shock from the baseless accusations he was throwing at you.
Yuta never left you alone for you to have a secret rendezvous of any sorts, you couldn't even hang out with your friends without him joining, so he isn't making any sense throwing around these claims.
It genuinely offended you when he accused you of cheating on him.
“Yuta— listen to me, no I'm not cheating on you. How can you even assume that? You're always around me 24/7! You know damn well I would never cheat on you.” You argue back.
“Then why won't you let me fuck you?”
What?
His voice went flat as he stopped sobbing when he uttered those words, his expression shifting from a sad one to a blank yet serious one, he looked at you with his sunken eyes, something dark clouding in them.
You're appalled by that question. You blink rapidly and let out a huff of confusion.
“Tell me,” He shakes you “Why can't I fuck you? You always reject my advances. Do you hate me? I love you, I want to do everything couples do, but you don't let me.” His lips tremble slightly.
“Because— it has only been a week, it's too early, I wasn't ready.” You tell him truthfully. “We already talked about this.” You remind him.
“Why does time matter? If you truly loved me you would let me do it. I don't want you think I'm just here for your body— I love all of you, but fuck,” He takes a deep breath “I want to merge my soul with yours.” He whispers that last part.
You wanted to push him off, scream that he doesn't actually love you but were forced by your own accident. You wanted to tell him, but you hesitate, wondering if it will escalate the situation.
“And the only thing closest to the feeling is to be buried inside you, our bodies pressed together, I want access to your deepest parts, because I fucking love you.” He adds.
He drops his face, his head resting on your shoulder as his tight grip loosens.
“You don't love me, Yuta.” You declare, deciding to just say it. “You're forced to. I'm sorry.” He raises his head, letting out a breath of disbelief before shaking his head.
“No, I love you, I love you, I love you so so so much [name]. I really do. Why would you say that? That hurts me.” He insisted, grip tightening in a painful vice.
“I know you do. But Yuta doesn't, Yuta would never do this. Yuta doesn't love me.” Tears well up in your eyes as you feel the guilt in your heart swell up, everything finally crashing onto you know. “I'm a fool. I should've noticed. Why did I just go along without questioning it?” You sniff, tears falling down your cheeks, staring at the man in front of you, who had an expression of confusion plastered across his face.
“What are you talking about? I am Yuta, I love you.” He replies and you shake your head, denying him.
“You are not Yuta.” You affirm.
“Yes I am.” He corrects you.
“No you're not.”
“I am.”
“You are not—”
“I TOLD you I am Yuta!” He screams loudly as his hand suddenly grabs you by your throat, squeezing it. He tightened his grip brutally before you could react. You try prying his hand off your throat since he was choking you so hard to the point you began seeing spots in your vision, slowly becoming unable to breathe.
You land small hits on his arm, struggling to break free. “Y-yuta.. stop.” You choke out, gasping for air as he looks at you, his eyes short wide with a darkness in them that mirrored a void as he continues to squeeze your throat further and tug your face close to his, you swore you saw a psychotic glint in his eyes for a brief moment.
But then it shifts, panic flooding his irises.
“Wait, what the fuck? What the fuck?” He repeated in shock, eyes shooting wide as he withdrew his hand immediately as if he snapped out of something, scrambling back in fear and falling off the bed.
You cough up a few breaths, rubbing your chest as you take in the air.
“Did I hurt you? I'm sorry. Are you okay? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I would never do that. I love you. I really do. I would never hurt you. I just can't get back—” He freaks out, eyeballs shaking as he trembles, rambling off on his own, he's staring at his trembling hands in shock, as if he couldn't believe what he had done— before he blinks, and stops trembling. An eerie calm washes over him again when he lifts his gaze to meet yours. He looks at you for a moment tilting his head sideways.
He climbs back into the bed again. “I love you so much.” He whispers, grabbing your face with his hands gently, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as you stare at him traumatized.
You were seconds away from breaking down.
Yuta pulls you into a hug, caressing the back of your head, you didn't know he would break this badly, you genuinely wonder if there was no other way to bring him back to normal. You were pretty sure the spell was beginning to cloud his logical judgement as well.
Though it was far from the truth, you began believing in it.
Yuta's voice breaks you away from your thoughts.
“I-I feel like you don't love me as much as I do.” He stutters breathlessly. “Am I just some decision you made on a whim? Did you really want to date me? Do you even love me?”
The question causes your brain to recall the words that the one wish willow representative uttered.
‘Just because it was an accident doesn't make it any less real.’
You pull away from the hug, staring into Yuta's eyes, noticing the pain in them. He was the one suffering the consequences of your actions.
This yuta loves you a lot, he was altered just to love you, madly.
You have a moral obligation to be there for him, whether you want it or not.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for saying that you don't love me.” You apologize to him, acknowledging that this Yuta's love is real, and that it definitely hurt him when you uttered the earlier words, he looks at you, expression softening as he caresses your cheeks.
“It's okay.” The corners of his mouth lift up.
He closes the distance between you suddenly, pressing his lips against yours. You were caught off guard by him as you tried to push him away, but he didn't budge, instead his hands snake around you and pull you closer.
He pushes you down on the bed, your back hits the mattress and you're pressed to it by his weight as he gets on top of you. You try to move your head and break away from the kiss, but he refuses to let go and resorts to biting your lip to prevent you from turning your face away.
It hurts so you just let him continue kissing you and hoping he'd be done with just that.
But then you feel his hand tug on your bottoms, making you snap your eyes open.
You grab his wrist trying to prevent him from pulling them down, but he yanks away your hand, breaking free from it and immediately ripping them apart, you whine, trying to wiggle underneath him while he's still kissing you.
You feel the cool hit you down there, as he tears the fabric and throws it to the side, his hand cupping your cunt. You use both your hands to grab him now, yet he still doesn't let go.
He makes some space, plopping onto the side to make it more comfortable and accessible, but you use that to scoot away, only for him to drag you and hold you in place.
He breaks the kiss, “Stop.” He had the audacity to warn you. But before you could say anything, he captures your lips again, preventing you from speaking. He suckles on your bottom lip before licking it and pushing his tongue inside you.
Regardless of his warning, you grip tightly onto his wrist but it isn't enough to stop. You let out an involuntary gasp when you feel his cool finger dip between your pads and into your folds, your grip falters.
Yuta pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against yours as he stares into your eyes. He was panting heavily while looking at you, his fingers slowly rubbing your clit.
“Please, I need this.” He whimpers, his voice shaking like he was recovering from a high. You try to speak but you can only let out a small squeak when you feel his finger prod at your entrance.
He's scooping the wetness that was leaking from down there, bringing it upwards to your clit before rubbing it slowly, he repeated the movements like he was under a spell, coating your folds with your wetness.
“You also need this.” He gently kisses your forehead as if he's trying to hypnotise you, now fully focusing on massaging your bundle of nerves to disrupt your thinking process.
You feel arousal rise in between your legs, you bite your lip, trying to fight the feeling but the stimulation followed by Yuta peppering kisses along your jaw makes your brain melt. You need to push him off, especially when you know he's not in control of his body, what if Yuta doesn't want this? You were about to move away but then you felt Yuta's finger dip downwards, his pauses at your entrance for a second before he slowly pushes his finger in. You let out a sigh at the sensation, his warm digit slipped in and out slowly, stretching you out patiently before he inserted another finger.
Your cunt contracted around his digits as if it's trying to suck him in completely, Yuta's mouth parts open in awe as he stares downwards and feels the way your walls are gripping his fingers. He bites his lip, wondering how tightly you'll cling on to his cock if he was inside you.
He pumps his fingers with precision and technique, fingers pressing to your upper wall, maintaining the pace all while trying to feel the one spot that should elicit a reaction out of you.
All while he's searching for that, he presses his thumb against your clit, applying pressure on it simultaneously. You almost see stars when he does so. You felt yourself burn with desire, mind becoming cloudy as Yuta slowly peeled away the layers of your resistance.
He used his free hand to push up your top, fondling your breasts through the bra before he pulled it down. Your nipples pebbled up naturally when they met the cool air of the night, his soft thumb grazed over them, toying and playing with your nipples as if they were his entertainment.
He tugged on one of your nipples before twisting it gently— causing you to shiver visibly.
Why was his touch so addictive?
You wanted to pull yourself out of it, but you couldn't, not when his fingers were thrusting in and out of you, not when he's toying with your nipples, and especially not when he finally finds your sweet spot, that caused you to let out a choked gasp.
You whined, throwing your head back in pleasure as his fingers repeatedly hit your g-spot. You felt your entire body getting even more hotter than before, hands gripping the sheets below in anticipation.
Yuta observed your reaction with a smirk on his face, loving every second of it as he maintained the steady rhythm, now precisely hitting your sensitive spot with a lot of accuracy.
Your high toppled over unexpectedly due to Yuta's consistent effort, causing your body to convulse as your walls clenched around him, shuddering around his finger while you moaned, arching your back while you almost went blind. You heaved in a heavy breath.
The bliss of your orgasm settled over you, you watched Yuta pull his fingers out before slowly giving them a lick, closing his eyes in pleasure as he tasted your tangy essence, he sucked on his own fingers like his life depended on it.
He lets his fingers go with a wet ‘pop’ before he looks at you.
The cloud of bliss quickly fades when the clarity settles in much harder after your orgasm, the reality of what just happened. You shoot up from the bed, trying to push him away and escape him but he grabs your wrist before you could fully leave and pushes you back down again, pinning you to the bed.
“Where are you escaping to, huh?” He questions, holding you down tightly as you struggle underneath.
“Yuta, We can't do this!” You protest, twisting your wrists to try and escape his grasp.
“Why not? Is having sex with me that disgusting in your perspective?” He grips you tighter.
You don't know how you can ever explain it to him, the outburst from earlier made you fear for your life.
And it's all your fault.
Yuta’s freed your wrists before he's tearing at your bra, trying to get you fully naked in front of him, he grabs it really roughly before yanking it away.
You try to use your legs to kick him off, but Yuta straddles them, using his weight to pin you down and prevent you from escaping him, meanwhile he too undresses. He grabs the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head as he takes it off himself. Leaving him topless in front of you.
He presses you down with one of his hands while he gets off your legs in order to take his pants off before quickly assuming the same position again.
“Always wanted to embrace you like this.” He whispers before he lays on top of you, pulling you flush against him, he buries his face in your neck while he feels every part of him make contact with you. He sighs into your ear.
“You're so warm.”
You struggle beneath his weight.
He pushes one knee between your legs, using it to force your leg to the side as settles himself down between your legs. You go completely still when you feel his bare crotch rub against yours.
You feel his crotch press up against you, squishing against your cunt while his stiff cock twitches at your lower abdomen, and then he begins to move— pressing and rubbing himself against you, his satisfactory sighs feel warm against your ear while he humps you like an animal.
He reels himself to his knees, sitting back as he holds your legs open, admiring the front view before he lifts off slightly, grabbing the underside of your thigh before pushing your leg towards your chest as he lines himself against your entrance.
There is a humming ache in your thighs at the position, sending prickling tingles throughout your entire leg as it stretches uncomfortably. You feel his tip press against your hole before he leans forward, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he places his hands next to your head.
His cock slowly inches in, pushing into you in a controlled manner, your cunt welcomes him, the orgasm from earlier and wetness aiding him with a struggle-free entry.
You see him visibly shiver as he stares at you from above, biting his lip.
“Awh, fuck baby,” He curses, shutting his eyes close as he bottoms out.
You lay there, just staring at him now, the fight has left your body as you just accepted your fate, struggling was futile and only exhausted you out— besides, Yuta already made up his mind.
He opened his eyes again, the corners of his mouth lifted up slightly as he shot you a gentle smile. He withdrew his hips slowly before he thrust with a harsh force that made you wince.
His lips parted in awe at the sensation as he set the pace, ramming his dick in and out of you. He quickly grabbed a hold of your hands once again, intertwining yours with his as he moaned.
“Been wanting to do this— hah, for a while now.” He speaks, panting as he moves from above. “Do you know how many nights I spent beating my cock to the thought of you?” He grunts, staring at you from above.
“Many, I wanted to make a move but I was too fucking scared, but I'm glad you're mine now. I'm so glad I could finally do this to you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.
You furrow your brows in both confusion and pleasure, wondering if it is Yuta's true memories speaking or the deluded ones this version made up.
If it was the actual Yuta you were with right now— you'd be blushing at those words. And that Yuta would never force you to have sex with him and would wait until you were ready to do it. He wouldn't torment you every day by doing creepy things.
But it wasn't him.
The person above you, doing this to you isn't him.
This is why you wanted to avoid it after the phone call, but ultimately failed. Yuta was not the one in control of his own autonomy and by extension, sex with you would also be something he probably wouldn't want at the moment.
“I wanted this so badly, craved it everyday I was with you. I love you so much.” He whispers, casting the air of warm breath.
‘No you don't.’ You wanted to reply.
But then another realisation hit you, that made your gut churn with even more guilt.
The assumption that Yuta did not want this made you realise that he probably doesn't want to force himself on you either. This entire situation is happening because of the wish.
You stare up at Yuta's blissed out expression as you feel him invade your walls, mind spinning when you realise what your actions were making him do to you.
Everything was your fault.
You made him do this to you— even if it was an accident, the consequences were very real.
Your thoughts only spiral further as you continue to stare at him but then they come to an abrupt end when he hits brushes against your sweet spot, it makes you gasp, your body slowly gets hotter and hotter as heat and arousal travels all across it. You shouldn't be feeling this way, especially with the way your emotions are all over the place. But you had no control over any of the reactions.
What made it worse is the fact that your conscious and subconscious are fighting, one accepting it and the other one making you feel guilty.
And the way he's rocking above you, hair all disheveled while he's gasping and letting out soft moans as he's completely losing himself in you made the dilemma worse.
The bed creaks with a rhythm, filling the gap in between Yuta’s moans with a squeak. The headboard slams into the wall, hard thuds echoing in the room.
You were sure it might leave a dent.
You tighten your lips, pressing them into a line to prevent the also lewd noises from escaping you, a form of resistance especially with the way he made you feel.
His tip smooched your cervix with every thrust, and it just dawned on you how big he was.
Yuta narrows his eyes, letting out a disappointed sigh when he catches you holding back your moans, one of his hands comes up to your face, thumb tugging on your chin to free your lips that you pressed together.
And when he does free them, he caresses your lips, pushing a thumb between them, making you open your mouth.
“Let me hear you.” He mutters.
But you only cry, feeling the guilt crashing down on you with immense pressure that suffocated you. The constant voice in the back of your brain telling you that it's your fault, blaming yourself for the wish you made, and the way Yuta was looking at you so lovingly from above was the final straw, especially when you convinced yourself that he didn't want it.
Yuta is taken aback by your cries, but he doesn't stop, but instead only changes his pace into a slower one while hushing you.
“Shh, it's okay. It's too big right? It won't hurt once you get used to me.” He caresses your cheek, believing the cause of your crying to be all because he's too big.
You couldn't respond properly.
“I'll be gentle, okay? See, I've slowed my pace. It won't hurt, baby. I don't want to hurt you.” His gaze softened.
“Just don't deny me okay? It hurts when you do that. I promise it'll get better eventually. I cannot live without you. Please don't tell me you don't want this again.” His voice shakes with emotion, turmoil forming in his eyes at just the thought of you rejecting him. It made you feel like a criminal of some sort.
You had every right to reject him, it's a fundamental right. But the Yuta you wished for doesn't know anything and doesn't care for it cause all he knows is to love you, albeit in his own selfish way. And you can never truly place the blame on one person in this situation, knowing you were just as guilty, if not more guilty than Yuta because you were the cause of this.
Your hand reaches up to him, thumb gently touching his cheek as you trace his cheekbone.
“I'm sorry. It's all my fault.” You apologize.
Yuta looks at you in confusion but leans into your touch.
But he stops.
He stops moving his hips, and the trembling gaze returns again as he stares at you beneath him, taking in the way your hair was splayed all across the pillow and the way tears were streaming down your face as you looked at him with sadness.
He tries to pull out from you in a panic, but your cunt clenches around him at that exact moment that causes him to collapse onto his elbows as he buries his face in your neck.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He chants as he begins to move his hips again, his moans becoming louder than before. “I don't want to do this to you— but I can't pull out— no won't let me pull out.” He croaks.
“Please tell me you want this. Please. I want you too. I want you so bad.” He cries while bucking against you.
You wrap your arounds around his shoulder, embracing him.
Your heart couldn't bear to watch him break like this constantly, overwhelmed by emotions due to your carelessness.
“I want this.” You softly whisper, caressing the back of his head.
You feel him press a soft kiss to your neck.
“I want you to remember, even if I'm like this. I do indeed love you. I want this. I want to fuck you. But I want you to want me too. It might not be me, but I love you.” His shoulders soften as he melts into you.
You pause.
“What? What do you mean it might not be you?” You voiced with concern, which made Yuta pull himself back onto his arms again, looking at you directly. He opens his mouth to speak, but you see his face visibly change. It suddenly became more uncanny.
He doesn't elaborate further and instead leans down and captures your lips in a hungry kiss as if he was mad at something. He moves them with such fervor and hunger that it's hard to keep up. His tongue slips into your mouth easily while his hand roams all over your body, groping your tits really roughly.
His pace changes too, now becoming more rough and faster as you cling onto him, hands placed on his firm shoulders as you try to process what he meant.
But it's difficult to do so when he's rocking you up and down and kissing you really roughly.
“Mhm fuck, I love you.” He rasped against your lips before kissing you again.
You too were letting out noises now, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against one another fills up the room, followed by the way you're both now gasping and moaning, his dick drove you crazy, making you forget any prior thoughts you had.
You felt your lower abdomen tighten as you concentrated on it, the way his cock is hitting every inch inside you, his hands on your tits and his intoxicating kiss and the desire to come undone clouded your judgement.
And then it snapped, the tight knot in your stomach split, sending pleasure signals across your body as the endorphin and serotonin released from your brain, causing you to get lost in the moment as you held Yuta tightly against you.
Yuta grunted at the way he felt your pussy contract around him, he broke the kiss and trailed multiple smooches down your neck as his hips faltered as well, unable to hold himself back anymore.
He almost collapsed on top of you when his orgasm hit him, but he held himself up as he pushed his cock deeper before he went completely still, his hips bucked lightly as his cock released his semen so deep inside you.
It splattered all over inside you and directly against your cervix, drenching it in his spend as he came a lot.
You felt your cunt ache from overstimulation, since you just came back to back.
Yuta slowly pulls out, his cock becoming flaccid all while you feel his cum leak from inside you. He topples over to the side, falling onto the pillow with a satisfied hum as he catches his breath.
“That was amazing.” He says before turning to face you, softly caressing your cheek as his hand travels downwards towards your chest, he passes by it and instead stops at your waist. He wraps his arm around, pulling you closer by it.
He rests his head on your shoulder after giving a kiss to you. Exhaustion overwhelms him and he slowly drifts off.
You, however, are wide awake.
You swallow the lump in your throat as you stare at the ceiling, minutes pass by with thoughts clouding your brain again.
You unwrap his arms from around you, slowly getting up and grabbing clothes from the closet before putting them on, being careful not to make a noise in order to not wake him up.
This is the second time you'd be sneaking out, you hope he doesn't wake up like the last time.
‘As long as you're alive.’
You hear those words again.
You make up your mind, feeling way too guilty after what happened and turn to leave the room.
“[Name].”
You still.
You slowly turn on your feet, facing Yuta, expecting him to be awake and bombard you with questions about where you're going.
But you're taken aback when you see him laying there, still asleep.
Did you mishear him?
“[Name], it's me, Yuta.” Your eyes widened, not knowing if this was just him playing tricks or actually the real Yuta who finally broke through.
You teared up at the realisation that he was probably still in there, just unable to get his body back.
“Yuta? Is it actually you? Yuta? Please, I'm so sorry.” You whisper, voice shaking with emotion.
“Yes, it's me. I don't know what happened to me, I can't get back my control, and I'm putting you through hell.” His voice wavers “I didn't mean to force you into it. I'm sorry.” He apologizes.
“I know, Yuta.” You reply softly. “It's all my fault, I didn't think the wish was real.”
“What do you mean? What wish?” He asks.
You tell him everything that happened, from how you got the one wish willow, to how you accidentally broke it, and how you didn't believe it at first but now fully do, because the situation currently is the proof of it being real.
Yuta went quiet, you panicked, thinking he lost control.
“You didn't know. It's okay.” He answered after a while, you shook your head.
“No, no, it doesn't matter if I didn't know. I should've been more careful. I wished for a cursed thing.”
Yuta goes quiet again after that, he just hummed.
“But I still love you.” He breaks the silence.
“I tried so hard to snap back, I even did it multiple times but I cannot gain full control— maybe if I resist harder, I can break out of it.” He speaks.
“You were able to snap back?” You question, unaware that it was actually happening. But then it made sense, the brief moments where Yuta's expression would be of panic, and how sometimes he behaved way too differently. You thought the split personality was just him being weird due to the wish.
But no, it was the real Yuta snapping in and out.
“Yes, I think I'll gain full control back if i—”
“No you cannot.” You cut him off, swallowing a lump in your throat.
“You're under a spell out by me Yuta, you cannot undo it. Unless…” You trail off, wondering if it's something you should tell him.
“Unless?” His voice asks back.
“You cannot return back as long as I am alive.”
The room goes still, like it was holding its breath at the revelation. Yuta doesn't say anything for a long time, but he could sense something was off.
“Where are you headed off to?” He suddenly questions, too concerned about you than himself.
“I'm going out for a walk.” You lie, quickly turning on your heel and taking steps out of the bedroom.
“No, no, no, [name]. Get back here, no there might be another way. Please don't do that to yourself. Please, please. I cannot lose you. Please.” Yuta pleads, immediately seeing through your lie. He cannot move, because the other version Yuta was still asleep so he can only plead.
You lock the bedroom door, muffling his pleas that made you more guilty before you went inside your bathroom.
You looked at the broken bathroom door for a moment before stepping further inside and searching the cabinets for your grandma's medicine. You grew frustrated each minute, looking at the labels for all the bottles she had, desperately searching for the one you needed.
Then you heard a loud bang against your bedroom door, the door rattling and shaking as you heard Yuta's monstrous screams.
Your hands shook as adrenaline pumped through you, you scanned the shelves quickly before finding what you wanted and grabbing the bottle.
You needed to be quick.
You struggled with opening the cap, wondering why it was tightened so much, and your hands being shaky didn't help in the slightest either.
Just then, the bedroom door breaks open, and at the same time, the bottle pops open. You quickly collect a bunch of them, emptying the bottle into your hand just as Yuta spotted your silhouette in the bathroom and he ran towards you in a frenzy.
You tried to be quicker, to make sure you ingest the pills but Yuta reaches you by then, grabbing your hand before you could put the pills in your mouth and twisting it away from your face cruelly.
You wince in pain, hand reflexively letting go of the pills, they drop to the floor and scatter everywhere. His grip on your wrist was painful, fingers digging into your flesh as he looked at you with what you could describe as sheer disappointment with a touch of insanity.
He tugged you out of the bathroom, dragging you out forcefully as you tried to stay planted, you hissed feeling his nails bite into your skin, tears forming in your eyes at the pain.
He uses force and yanks you to the front before letting you go, you stumble forward and lose your balance, falling to the floor with a thud right in front of him.
He kneels down grabbing you by your face.
“Is being with me that horrible?” He asked. “Tell me, please tell me what I can do to fix it. Just don't resort to this, we'll find another way to fix everything okay?.” He squeezed your face, mushing your cheeks together.
“You cannot leave me like this, not when I finally fucking have you.” He grit his teeth.
“I don't mind being stuck—” He then abruptly stops.
And then,
He yawns all of a sudden, blinking his eyes slowly.
“Baby? What happened? Why are you on the floor?” His pupils became blown out as his eyes widened slowly as if he just woke up, he looked around, assessing the situation and realising you were a complete mess before he quickly picked you up, before taking you back into your bedroom.
What is going on?
“How did we end up on the floor but are you okay? Was I sleep walking?” He asked you, gently placing you down on the bed.
“Yuta?” You question, your mind too confused to understand what was happening, is this the real Yuta currently speaking to you?
“Mhm?” He looked at you, waiting for you to speak.
“Nothing.” You cut the conversation short.
Yuta tucks you into bed, wrapping his arms extremely tightly around you this time, to make sure there is no chance of you leaving. He falls back asleep, as if nothing happened.
As if he couldn't recall anything.
Your eyes close on their own as your body enters a state of tiredness, your fight or flight state calming down but also taking your energy with it. You shut your eyes.
“I don't mind being stuck like this forever if it means I can have you.”
You catch Yuta's voice right before you fall deep into your slumber.
❀❀❀❀❀
You wake up feeling horrible the next day, feeling more tired and exhausted rather than relaxed. Your body felt stiff as you tried to move, muscles aching as they contracted. You stared to the side where Yuta should be, but it was empty, just a dent left behind from where he slept. You quickly get up, recalling everything from last night.
It didn't feel real at all.
The fact that Yuta was still in there?
You needed to break him out and save him.
You get up off your bed, noticing that the broken door of the bedroom had been completely removed, same with the bathroom door.
You sighed, realising you might need to call someone to fix it later.
But for now, your focus is on Yuta.
You take baby steps into the living room, you see Yuta there, sitting on the sofa and watching the TV, he also had two plates on the table in front of it. He spots you and gives you a quick smile.
“Come, I made breakfast.” He urges you, which you awkwardly obey.
You hated this.
The way he pretends everything is normal while you're left with a heavy feeling in your chest.
You sit on the sofa next to him and grab your plate, you scan for weird translucent and sticky stuff before deciding it is safe to eat. Yuta chuckles at your behavior.
“Don't worry, I didn't cum in it. I don't need to anymore.” He blushes, recalling the events of last night. You look away, feeling self conscious for some reason.
You began consuming the said breakfast while trying to watch the show, but you couldn't focus due to Yuta's intense staring in your direction.
You needed to get the original Yuta back, you can't have him suffer like this anymore. You finish your breakfast quickly and get up to put the plates away.
Yuta continues to watch you, not taking his eyes off you as come back from the kitchen and then you go into your bedroom, searching for the phone Yuta discarded. You found it on the floor, you quickly grabbed it, unlocked it, and opened a search engine to try and see where you could get more one wish willows.
You quickly make your way into the living room, Yuta still sitting on the sofa and continuing to stare at you as you approach him.
“Yuta— I'll be going out. I'll be quick okay?” You tell him.
“Let me come with you.” He gets up, stepping forward.
“No. Just stay home okay? Don't go anywhere, or else I'll be really uh— mad.” You cut him off, pushing him back down onto the sofa.
He pouts, eyes glistening with tears as he holds your wrists. “Okay… Please don't be mad at me.” He replies, voice all down and sad. You nod, cupping his face and pressing a kiss to forehead to pass it off as something genuine, so he doesn't go batshit insane like last night.
“I love you, okay? I love you a lot.” You affirm, staring into his eyes, he looks away feeling shy, blood rushing to his cheeks at your affection.
“I love you too.” He murmurs back before looking up at you again, giving you a small smile.
“I'll go now, see ya.” You step back, waving a goodbye to which he returns the gesture.
You quickly step outside, hurrying to your car as you enter the location of the shop the search engine showed you.
The drive there felt like hours even though it was just a few minutes away, your mind was occupied with events of last night and every situation that led to this.
Why did you even say such a thing out loud back then? Especially when you didn't fully know if it would work? You shouldn't have picked the thing the stranger dropped, you should've thrown it away, you shouldn't have gone to the bar that night—
Your mind spirals, scattering everywhere as it comes up with multiple scenarios that could've prevented this, everything seemed like your fault.
You felt a sense of doom when you reached the occult shop, you quickly parked your car and rushed into the shop, going up to the cashier in a panic.
“Uh hey, hi, do you have the one wish willows here? you know? the kind you snap?” You ask in a hurry and he looks confused which makes you panic, thinking they might not have it.
If they don't have it here, you’d have to go to another shop which is an hour drive from where you were, you were scared what Yuta might do if he sees that you're gone for longer than necessary.
“Oh yeah, there's one left. Right over here.” He points to the side, showing the display that had them.
You let out a sigh of relief before grabbing it and paying for it. You quickly open it, a melody breaking through the air, the same one that played on that night, now it seemed more haunting.
“I wish for my previous wish to be undone.” You say out loud before you try to break it.
But it doesn't snap, you use more force, but it still doesn't break.
The cashier looks at you for a moment.
“You can only make one wish.” He says, eyes flickering between the willow and you.
You hand it over to him when you quickly register what he said.
“Can you break it for me? I found myself in such a shitty situation, I think I've ruined a person— just repeat after me please, I need to save him.” You nudge the willow to him, he shakes his head.
“I can't, I already made my wish.” He says regretfully.
Fuck.
You let out an annoyed sigh before you take the willow back and leave the shop in a hurry.
You need to find someone who can undo this wish.
Maki? No, you cannot face her like this.
And then, an idea enters your mind.
You could pay a stranger to do it.
You look around trying to find a stranger who could make the wish for you, before you quickly spot one. You rush up to the lady.
“Hi, excuse me— can you take this and repeat after me and then break it? I'll give you 100 bucks if you do it. Please.” You request, the stranger looks taken aback and distrustful at first but then you mention the money to which her eyes light up, she quickly grabs the stick.
“I don't know what this is, but money is money. You better keep your promise, I hope this isn't some voodoo shit.” She narrows her eyes. “Go ahead, tell me what I'm supposed to repeat.”
Your eyes light up.
“Just say, ‘I wish for [full name]’s wish to be undone and everything to return to normal.’ Okay?” You blink, swallowing a lump in your throat.
She nods, repeating after you and snapping the willow.
You stay there for a few moments, hoping that everything is reversed now, the only way to confirm it is to go home and check.
“Where's the money?” The lady makes you snap out, you nod, quickly sending her 100 bucks digitally. She gives you a satisfied smile before she waves a goodbye.
You get back in your car and drive home, thinking about how you're going to apologize to Yuta for causing all this.
You were so thankful you had the thought of buying another one wish willow and undoing the wish— though you couldn't do it yourself, it still would've undid everything, right?
You reach your house after a few minutes, you lock your car before rushing into your house, only to see Yuta still sitting in the same spot, watching TV. He lights up when he sees you.
“Where did you go?” He asks, tilting his head to the side before he gets up and walks over to you and pulls into a hug.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.
“I missed you.” He whispers, warm breath cascading down your neck.
You are frozen, mind reeling as you question the situation. You pull away from the hug wondering if anything changed.
“Yuta, how do you feel?” You inquire, doubt clouding your mind.
But he lifts you up all of a sudden, throwing you over his shoulder as he takes you to the bedroom.
“Free.” He replies after he settles you down on the bed.
“I-i finally have control of my body now.” He adds, “What did you do?” He questions, climbing up the bed, you back away slowly.
“Well, it doesn't matter now. Sorry you had to see that side of me. It seemed like my restraints completely broke free because of the wish you made, and I couldn't control them enough to not scare you. But don't worry, I'll be in control now.” Your eyes widen when you see the same psychotic smile etched onto his face.
What?
“Don't worry, everything will be okay now, my love. I'm so thankful you made that wish, like I said before— you didn't have to bring me back, I wouldn't mind staying stuck if it means you won't leave me.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.
“But I understand, the side of me without any restraint can be too much to handle. I'll be careful.” He smooches your eyes. “I don't want to hurt you in the process, you know?”
“Anyway I'm glad, it's finally my turn now.” He whispers before pressing his lips against yours and pushing you into the mattress.
“I can't wait to love you like you deserve. You'll forgive me right? Please? I love you, I promise not to hurt you or put you through emotional turmoil this time.” He mutters staring into your eyes with a lot of love pouring from him, you brain could barely form any thought at his words, at the reveal that everything you experienced was a personality of his without any restraints.
What the actual fuck?
Yuta was madly in love with you since the beginning, your wish— was just a mere catalyst.
(Content warning; triggering topics such as violence will be mentioned.)
Yan Bully who’s been harassing you for years, ever since the two of you were children. (Your first meeting was when he knocked your caprisun into the trash and then kicked sand into your lunchbox)
Yan Bully who threatens you anytime you appear in his radar, he threatens you so often it actually caused you to have paranoia.
Yan Bully who becomes irritated anytime you try to avoid him, especially when you’ve become a master of sneaking away. (How’s he suppose to find you if you’re hiding from him?)
Yan Bully who believes that violence is the only way to show your love, after all his mom has always been violent and his father still stays with her.
Yan Bully who gets confused when you reject his love and insist that he’s crazy.
Yan Bully who gets mixed emotions when you lash out, because your anger is expected (his father is always angry), but the way it makes him feel isn’t.
Yan Bully who, because of his confusion, lashes out and engages in a shouting match with you. One that he finds himself replaying when the day is over.
Yan Bully who tries to soften his approach, only to fall back into old habits the moment you start to tolerate him.
Yan Bully who decides to ignore any strange feelings you give him and simply do what he wishes with you.
Yan Bully who actually abducts you and refuses to let you leave, unfortunately his parents are wrapped up in their own drama and haven’t taken notice of their new house guest.
Yan Bully who manages to make your life 200 times worse now that he’s captured you, because now there’s no break from the pin he causes you and now you have no escape to maintain any semblance of sanity.
Dread finds it’s way through your body the moment you hear the basement door open, you know who’s coming and you know what’s ahead. Yet you can do nothing to stop it…
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Your thighs were shaking and your back was arched. You tremble as his movements continue above you. He was everywhere, moaning on your ear, one hand caged yours in a tight grip, thighs spread apart in a filthy way that makes shame crawl up your spine and in your veins.
"So good baby, you're being so good f'me" He whispered in your ear as if they were lover's tune of praise. But it was far from it. Your bully was holding you spread open like a pretzel as he rammed his thick cock in you. He angled his hips in a way that he hit that sweet spongy spot every.single time. Which made your eyes roll back in pleasure, albeit your aversion.
You were sprawled across the sofa in the living room. He came barging in and demanding that you spend some time with him. And after much needed discipline (that's what he convinced himself) he has you folded in half on your bed. Sometime between your making out, he moved you to your room and plopped you on the bed
And now you're here an hour later, with him still rutting in you. Your unwilling walls clamp down on his dick, wetness gushing and pooling around you. At this point you don't even remember how many times the orgasm was forced out of you. By his fingers, with his mouth his dick etc etc he was taking his sweet time thrusting in and out of your, making you feel every single drag of his cock against your walls. It was torturous
Your vision is blurry by your tears that won't stop no matter how much you try. Well being raped doesn't put you in a laughing mood either.
The thing about this whole situation was, he was being so...gentle. His voice was soft and he never talked harshly with you. But even after that you're sure you didn't ask for this.
"Oh wow baby..." Chuckle "look at how your cute cunny is swallowing my dick up...." He reached down to thumb your clit, making you thrash even more. You could feel the dreaded coil forming in your gut. You gripped his shoulders and bit his biceps trying to fight back in every way you can. How cute he thought
There's no way you'd get out of this.
He adjusted your legs on his forearms, your hips elevated slightly above the mattress. This was the perfect angle. His started thrusting again and this time, he wasn't taking his sweet time. His thrusts were strong and his stroked were long. You were screaming, crying and choking all at the same time. You were so overstimulated that it hurted. There was some soreness in your thighs
He looks down at where you guys are connected and groans at the fat of your glistening pussy lips being stretched around his cock, a white ring formed on his base
He looked up at your face to see you're completely out of it. With your eyes rolled back and your fists clenched in the sheets
He loved seeing you like this. All ruined because of him and only him. Your body went taut and the familiar, unwanted feeling of coil being snapped makes your body violently shake. He upped the speed of his thumb on your clit and grinded his hips deep in you, fucking you through the orgasm
All that could leave your lips were whines and cries of "too much!!" "Please no more!!"
He cooed at your expression of unwanted pleasure. He never halted his ministrations and continued fucking you. You were thrashing, trying to get on your hands and knees to crawl away from him but ofc, he won't let that happen. He tuts at you as if you were an disobedient child and places a hand on you abdomen, halting your movements
His thrusts grew erratic while your walls were clenching around him, effectively milking him. Your bouncing tits, crying face, your cunt was the reason that his balls tighten up, flooding and stuffing your cunt with his hot, warm cum. He fucked himself through his orgasm, making sure not even a single drop goes to waste
yandere!bully: he wasn't your bully, not at first. You guys only ever got to know each other because your dad was his dad's employee. Such a circumstance—and a few others—granted you the honor of becoming one of the conglomerate's financial-aid scholars. Another charity case to help polish the company reputation.
You attend the same private academy he does. He tried not to care too much at first; you were just among the few others lucky enough to have the kind of intelligence eyed by his father's company. But that was the thing—you didn't. You were ordinary.
He wondered if his father made a mistake, choosing to sponsor some no-use nobody. Maybe you were a coal in the rough yet to be a diamond. But weeks into the first year of senior high and you showed no signs of blooming. Hell, you even placed at the bottom list in academic standing. You didn't fail; everyone else were just children of the wealthy who afforded private tutors. Maybe an appropriate scholar would have caught up just fine, but you weren't one.
yandere!bully who decides to approach you, frustrated with your mediocrity. Who is he kidding? He doesn't give two shits if his father made a mistake, he was fascinated with your mediocrity. Greatness no longer intrigues him, having been surrounded with it all his life.
Wow, is this a joke? You really aren't good at anything. Not at math, science, Latin, nada. You just do enough to get by.
He speaks to you about it, about that mediocrity. You interpret it as a threat. You can't lose this scholarship now, you just got it. You beg for his mercy that you may continue studying in this prestigious academy. The whole "I'll do anything!" "anything?" conversation ensues. Now he's got you in the palm of his hand.
yandere!bully who starts it small. Makes you his little errand puppy. To him you were like a little dog running around doing what he makes you do. It can't even be called bullying, everyone else interprets it as acts of gratitude for his father granted the scholarship to you.
But then it escalates. Soon he's making you do things that you hesitate to do. Sneaking into faculty to take a picture of the test answer sheet. Smuggling a bag of "stuff" in school (you aren't dumb, you know what these rich kids got their hands on). Forcing you to skip a day of school so you can be his little errand pup while he did golf, playing truant with his friends.
One time you're asked to kneel before him, right between his knees. You ask why. He tells you not to question him. He only wants to see you that way. He watches you for a moment, unfazed, before telling you to stand back up.
Enter his friends, and things turn for the worse. It's like they've been itching their whole lives to get their hands on a human being to torment. They've got their butlers and maids but they're paid workers; you aren't. Clearly, yandere!bully is dangling this scholarship thing above your head like a golden apple. It's enough to keep you in your place, make you go against your own survival instinct to retaliate against a threat. They can do things to you and not suffer the consequences, and they intend to take full advantage of it.
It starts small, too, this torment by his inner circle, but soon it evolves more than just carrying their shopping bags or retrieving the tennis ball whenever they go play.
Soon they laugh when one of them extends a foot to trip you. They steal the math homework you worked hard on even though they've already completed theirs courtesy of their private tutors. Pour water over your head, pinch your skin for fun with their filed, polished nails.
They heard him call you "errand puppy" once, so they had a collar custom-made with his name on it next to the phrase property of, its buckle 18k gold, leather lined on the edge with lab-grown diamonds. Then they made you drink milk like a mutt out of the cafeteria's metal tray.
The boys cornered you in the locker room once, made you pull down your bottoms. You were crying while they took pictures of your underwear, wet snotty face too. They shared it to the girls and it circulated within their friend group for a while. The next time that those specific guys encountered you, though, they seemed to hold back from picking on you. No one ever made a comment about that incident, not about the photos, the crying, the cheap underwear, and they grew quieter when yandere!bully entered the room.
With his friends it's always physically violent; never with him. You would argue, though, that he is the cruelest. Because he's got the power to make them stop and he chooses not to. He just watches. You gather that he likes watching you a lot.
yandere!bully plays soccer; he's a varsity player of your academy. Every after training you're tasked to carry his school and sports bag back to his luxury sedan which he drives to and from campus. Tonight he makes you stand in front of the goal net. His friends are lined up some meters before you, having gathered all the soccer balls the academy owns.
You're nervous. You know what's about to happen and you should run, but you don't, because you think the scholarship is worth all this.
"Don't let them score and I'll extend your scholarship to college," is all the warning you get.
You're hit everywhere. The arms, shoulders legs, torso—everything hurts. One ball after the other to your head, and you feel dizzy. Of course, you try defending yourself; you yell at them to stop, that it hurts, and all you get is: "don't you want that scholarship?"
What made you cease is the blow to your chest. It's a strong hit, delivering a pain so hot you think it shifted your ribs, and you cough and wheeze and they're still throwing balls at you until your form is thrashing on the grass like fish on land.
Your head feels so hot and prickly from the lack of air, you're sure it's bound to explode. Black spots your vision and you literally can't breathe but all you can think of is: did I get that scholarship?
You're hospitalized that night. Bandages on all limbs, tapes to hold the cuts produced from the skin being hit too hard. Nasal cannula around your face.
You wake up slowly. There's a mildly comforting heat on your bandaged hand that vanishes the moment you open your eyes. yandere!bully is seated by your bed, watching you as always.
His hand touches your face. He murmurs something, but it's muffled by the bandages wrapped around your head, ears included. Then his thumb tenderly brushes over your busted lip.
Finally, he leaves the room, and you're left to stare at the ceiling.
Upon discharge, you don't hear anything about dues from the hospital—a big relief for you. No warnings from the academy either for having missed a week of school. You speculate he's got something to do with it for the sake of reputation. No one is supposed to know that the son of the chairman of such a conglomerate beat its scholar to death's door.
School is different after the incident. You're no longer abused as much by his peers, although you still do their various errands. He still makes you do naughty stuff, like skipping classes when he feels like it. Only this time it seems only he's around to do errands for.
These errands are different now, too. It's not the typical labor-heavy tasks like before, fetching for his tennis ball or carrying his bags. You're more like an actual pet puppy at this point; he just brings you around wherever he goes. Almost like he has to keep an eye on you at all times.
yandere!bully who finds himself missing you during the summer. Everyone left for their own respective vacations, out of the country to Maldives or Monaco or Switzerland or whatever. You're back with your relatives in that quaint little downtown neighborhood of yours. He would know, having hired private investigators to stalk your ass. He is going with his family to the countryside estate.
Father, mother, eldest sister, older brother. He's the youngest. It's a quiet family. Sister grew up just to be like father, cold and austere. It seems he's on the way to becoming just like that, too. Only brother inherited mother's benevolence.
Father doesn't care about anyone and anything but mother. yandere!bully only ever talks to Father whenever it's necessary. Otherwise, both of them are content minding one's own business.
yandere!bully asks Father about you. As he suspected, Father makes no mistake. He says you were really meant for the scholarship.
"I had a feeling," Father says, "that you two would make very good friends."
yandere!bully who's touchier now, second and final year of senior high. Or he's become touchy, since he never was back then. He drags you by your wrist at short distances, a palm on your nape whenever he tells you to look at something. A hand on your lower back, sliding dangerously low every time before letting go. He also often fixes your collar, fingers always ending up brushing your neck.
He tells you to strip one time at some high-end clothing store. You stare at him, dumbfounded, before he gives some silly excuse that it's for a cousin with your same build.
He makes you try on different outfits. At first it's various tops and bottoms that complement your shape, colors that go well with your skin tone, all the like. You glance at yourself in the mirror and wonder if this is how you look born into that top 1%. You look nice.
Then he makes you strip back to your underwear, and lets you try on the white [dress/blazer]. There's a moment of silence before he tells you to come over to him, and he stands up, towering over you with his gifted height.
He looks down at you, seemingly lost in thought, like he's visualizing you in a certain light...
"Do you like it?" He asks.
You tell him that you think his cousin will. His expression is undisturbed, but he exhales almost like a huff. Quite suddenly he grabs you by the waist, thumb gliding circles.
"I asked if you like it."
You stutter out a pathetic 'yes.' Honestly you don't give a damn but you fear his negative reaction your comment. Although if you had to, you'd say it's a bit too fancy for your liking.
He only hums before letting you go. You proceed to wear the next attire.
You shiver to think about how he views this certain cousin of his, having you wear a bunch of skimpy outfits. Some that showed your stomach too much, others exposing your legs. One top you're pretty sure can rival a tape going around your chest area, covering only what needs to be covered. He stays aloof the whole time, jaded eyes planted on you.
After that, things start to get kind of disgusting.
The touchiness escalates tenfold, and he isn't as insecure about it as you are, showing off to his friends. It's like the roles have switched: now he's the physical one instead of them. You're still a slave to their torment, of course, but only he gets to touch you like this. His friends don't find anything odd about it, in fact they look as if they enjoy your discomfort. They egg him on.
yandere!bully who brings you with him to a speakeasy, exclusive only for students of this certain private members club. The top one percent of the top one percent, they would say. It's like a den of iniquities, these kids doing all sorts of nefarious stuff: drugs, dealings, gambling, and most dreadful of all: whores.
Man or woman, they aren't obvious. You only know because they're distinguishable from the rich clients of the club who dress minimalistic. You suppose a more professional term for these people are escorts. They're conversing animatedly with their young clients, some linking their arms with them, a few already making their way to private rooms.
yandere!bully sits on the loveseat across his peer who's got two escorts in his arms. You only stand behind him, listening in on their conversation. Something about stocks and real estate. Networking. If he knew this, what he thinks about that.
You drone their voices out. The smell of weed is getting to you, making you feel all woozy.
yandere!bully tells you to sit on his lap. Dumbed down by the smoke, you comply a little too easily, like the puppy you are. His peer whistles lowly, eyeing you with a predatory glint.
He doesn't do anything about it because he knows they all can only afford to look. The truth is you belong to him, and only he gets to touch you this way, his hand now shamelessly gliding down your rear while you stay pliant. As long as you're after that scholarship, you belong to him.
He shifts you on his lap, his mouth feeling dry as he feels you press against him. You're really just asking for it, aren't you?
yandere!bully: he finds you in the library, when everyone else is in the school gym for graduation practice. This serves as your only safe haven from him, from his friends, from this whole aquarium filled with predatory fish. Oftentimes it feels like you're the only herbivore out there. The library happens to be the oldest part of this castle-turned-campus, which means: no CCTVs.
You scream when he pins you against the table, cut off halfway when he slams a palm on your mouth. The other hand encases both your wrists in one secure grip as his leg forces your knees apart, and he starts grinding against you like a dog in heat.
His eyes are half-lidded as he's watching you with his mouth parted, a sick grin forming. He thinks it's hot when you cry, if he knew this before he would have done better to get you to cry more often.
"Dumb puppy," he sneers, "dumb little errand pup, you're no good for anything at all, aren't you? Only at following your master and fetching balls."
Your panic discourages you from registering all the painful words he's saying, the names he's calling you. You try your best to escape his coil that only seems to get tighter the more you move like a boa constrictor. Arousal seems to give him inhumane strength.
Having had enough, he lifts you up momentarily, before slamming your back against the table, hard.
"Stop fucking moving, you stupid mutt!"
That does indeed get you to stop fucking moving. You even stop trying to scream, and stop... breathing? He pauses his ministrations and looks down at you. You're staring back at him, eyes wide, lips trembling. Then you start convulsing for air.
He doesn't know what to do, and for the first time in his life of luxury and wealth he's genuinely terrified. He's always seen you suffering, but this time, this time you're suffering and he can't put a stop to it. He can't control it.
You're grasping the sleeves of his uniform, still spasming. He gets the hint and aids you in sitting back upright on the table. He already has half the mind to pull out his phone and call emergency, but you're already breathing fine, trying to catch your breath.
Your hand moves to deeply rub the center of your chest.
Shit.
Was this... was this the soccer injury? Haven't you already recovered from that? The doctors said you'd heal eventually. The cuts, the deep bruises. Did you turn out to have an unattended rib fracture? Is this... chronic?
It's been almost a year since that incident.
Have you always had this pain, and kept it to yourself?
He's never felt this level of trepidation consume him, shaking him to the core. His heart is in his stomach as he looks at you, really looks at you, and sees the damaged he's done. You're tired. You're scared. You're miserable.
You are readmitted to the the same high-end hospital not long after. This time you're scheduled for surgery. He covers all the expenses, makes sure to get the best of the best of surgeons out there. You don't really have a say in the matter, you're not dumb enough to refuse such an offer just for the sake of your dignity. What left of it is there, anyway?
Father visits him during that period, noting the considerable dent in his son's bank account for that big of a purchase. He meets Father shortly after freshening up, having vomited at the thought of your broken countenance.
yandere!bully tells him everything except the attempted assault. Father only sits and listens, unnervingly silent, like he understands. It's the first time he's ever opened up to his dad. To his surprise, Father does not disappoint.
Likewise, Father also tells him everything. How, in this family, there is the tendency for some members to manifest passionate emotions in various ways. They feel so little they end up feeling so much for very specific things... sometimes persons. And they tend to be violent with it.
You were meant to be the recipient of this violence. Your father owed his father a great deal of debt, and so you were basically sold off, your purpose for him hidden under the ruse of scholarship. Not that you knew.
It all makes sense now, Father's devotion to Mother, and her aversion from him. His sister's fierce attachment to this one specific guy who also just so happens to be a scholar of the company. His feelings for you which he can't seem to make amends with.
"Once you find that someone," Father says, "you sink your claws into them and never let go, even when they bleed."
You're back to school in two weeks. Like back then, you didn't receive any disciplinary actions for your absence. You try not to wonder how you manage to keep your place as a scholar in this prestigious academy despite all the missed assignments on top of your already mediocre grades.
yandere!bully avoids you like the plague, and so do his friends. It seems everything went back to how it once was, how it was supposed to be. Everyone here ostracizes you for your socio-economic standing but it doesn't bother you at all, not when you prefer this over the active bullying.
The next time he interacts with you, it's already graduation. You're wearing the appropriate formal attire under your graduation robes, which you can guess is the cheapest out of everything in this venue where the school-sponsored grad party is being held. There's an afterparty held at some penthouse bar after this, hosted by one of yandere!bully's friends, but you aren't invited.
You exit the venue to begin the 20-minute walk back to your dorm, but someone stops you.
His hand is on your wrist. You get unpleasant flashbacks, but you keep it to yourself. He asks how you're doing, you say you're just fine.
He then asks if you want to celebrate this milestone.
No, you don't. Not with him. But you're not about to lose your diploma when you just got it.
So now you are in his Porsche and he's driving you both to one of his many family estates. It's smaller than most, he describes.
According to him at least. The whole thing is the size of your entire neighborhood. It's a long driveway before he even gets to arrive at the actual building. He parks right in front of the manor.
Inside, you're invited to have dinner with him. It's only the two of you in this large dining hall, where you're seated adjacent to him at the end of the grand table. But the selection of food nearly reaches down to half the long table, as if he had the chef cook every food that could possibly be your favorite.
Still, you end up eating light. He offers you to choose the brand of wine but you refuse, saying that it hasn't been long enough since your operation. A pause, before he nods, instead picking the wine himself.
Instead of alcohol you're served apple juice. It's freshly squeezed, you could tell by the bitter aftertaste.
Glass in hand, he leads you out of the manor and to the rose garden, where you can see the stars so clearly due to the lack of light pollution thanks to the vastness of his estate. There's a small pavilion housing a large couch. He leads you toward it, makes you sit.
You feel yourself deflate instantly on the cushion, exhausted from having your guard up around him at all times. If he noticed he didn't comment a thing about it. He's on his third glass and you're currently nursing the first glass of apple juice you're nearly finished with, when he calls out your name.
"Congratulations."
You congratulate him, too, since he also graduated.
He downs the rest of his wine in one go, sets it on the side table. Then he steps closer to you, fueled with liquid courage, sinking into the space next to you.
You try to sit up and scoot over. You can't.
"I was afraid for a moment," he starts, "that you wouldn't accept my invitation."
Afraid? He put you through hell, and only now has the gall to hesitate on you? A pit begins to form on your stomach.
He turns to you, taking your glass out of your hand and setting it down the ground, before holding that same hand with his own warmer one. He inches closer. You can't move.
You ask, "Would you have forced me to come anyway?"
He smiles at that. "You wouldn't have said no."
He's now hovering over you on the couch, same standoffish eyes tracing your face, your eyes, nose, settling on your mouth. You see his Adam's apple bob up and down.
He has so much to say to you. You look so pretty right now, basked in the moonlight, not fighting him. He's sorry for all the rough treatment, for hurting you and making you cry. He swears it's just his feelings for you manifested in the wrong manner. But now he knows, after his father explained everything it all makes sense. He's just in love with you.
yandere!bully kisses your trembling lips, tenderly. You try to fight it off but it's no use; you realized too late that he's done something to your drink. You're sobbing when he parts from you, terror and anger evident in your eyes. When he begins to pull off your clothes, he speaks.
"I would never do anything to hurt you." Your stomach churns in resentment. "Never again."
He kisses the column of your neck down to your chest, your surgical scars, where his lips stay longer. When he feels you're sort of hyperventilating, he rises and cups your cheek.
"Breathe. Breathe," he says your name. "Okay? Relax. I've got you. I promise I'll take care of you. You just have to breathe."
He rubs your chest. His own aches just at the thought of your distress. It's his fault you ended up like this, so he intends to make up for it for the rest of your lives.
He makes love to you that night. As promised, he did take care of you. It doesn't hurt when he slides it in, having poured a generous amount of lube all you feel is the pressure instead of the sting of his very well-endowed member intruding you. He's got a way with his hands, too, stimulating all the right parts just enough to get you unfolding beneath him within an hour. He would have done it within minutes but he took his sweet time just to get you so wet and ready for him.
He's so damn gentle with you like he was your lover for the last two years and not your bully. Of course, to you this wasn't 'making love.' For the most part you were delirious both from the drink and his expert ministrations, and are only hit with the the graveness of your reality when he finally spills his essence into you. His body quivers, and right then he pulls you for a deep, tongue-heavy kiss. When he pulls away, he mutters something in his frenzy: "I love you."
yandere!bully doesn't bother you after that. When he wakes up on that couch in the pavilion you're already gone. You left in a rush. A butler drove you off back outside of the estate, having received no orders to make you stay.
You've graduated. Your credentials will surely spark competition among universities for you, being a graduate from one of the most prestigious academies in the world. Still, you ask yourself if it was all worth it.
You aren't the same after those two years. You feel as if you've lost all purpose in life after that night. Like something valuable was stolen from you, and could never be returned. You don't want to keep going.
But reality will always dictate what you do. You can't afford to be like this because you're poor. Mental health doesn't exist to the poor, your father would insist. You've got bills to pay, mouths to feed. And you may be mediocre, but you're not dumb enough to seek justice against someone as powerful as your bully. You don't even have the money for that.
So you went on despite grievances to the next stage of your life: college. Countless scholarships from different sponsors. The same conglomerate that covered your senior high scholarship is offering you another full ride—living arrangements and all—to the country's number one university.
You refuse the offer this time. A thousand scholarships from that conglomerate isn't enough to repair the damage that's been done. Besides, you never want to encounter anything associated with him ever again.
Instead you accept to be sponsored by a different company; a smaller one (at least in comparison), but they covered your tuition of four years in the same prestigious university. Sure, no living arrangements, but that's more than what most sponsors give.
You enter the CEO's office, having been invited so she can get to know you more. There are two individuals in the room. She, and...
Your heart drops to your stomach.
The CEO introduces him to you, although there is no need for that. He's standing there in a tux, hair slicked back, jaded eyes glinting with mirth at the sight of you. It seems he's grown taller in the few months you haven't seen each other.
Apparently his dad's conglomerate is the parent company. How could you be so stupid?
Madame CEO excuses herself to take an important call, leaving you alone with him. He doesn't hesitate to walk closer, smiling as fondly as his austere face can manage.
"I missed you." He speaks, voice full of yearning. He takes your hand in his. "How are you after our shared night? Why did you leave so suddenly? Don't do that again, love."
Ripping your hand away, you asked why he was here. If he knew and orchestrated to have you accept this scholarship.
"I don't break my promises. I'd hate to start with you." He explains.
You demanded what he meant by that. He doesn't hide the fact that he's enjoying your turmoil, but you can't even find it in yourself to get it together this time.
"No one scored that night." He shrugs. "They were all so focused on hitting you."
...what?
"I promised you your college scholarship, remember?"
yandere!bully who follows you all the way to college.
Work made me hella sad so now y’all get Corbeau trying very very hard to be hinged (he fails)
Corbeau x Reader | Smut | Unhinged as always
Minors DNI
“Oh, honey.” Corbeau cooed, holding your face between his hands. “I’ll take such good care of you.”
You gasped a little moan, each thrust of his hips feeling almost electric inside you, like it set every nerve on fire and coaxed you closer to coming apart in his hands.
“Such good care.” He pressed a few kisses over your face, watching entranced for every expression you made, every little tilt of your head or flutter of your eyes. Drinking them all in like he’d never seen anything half as beautiful in his life. “You’ll beg me to make you mine forever.”
He punctuated it with a deeper thrust, and you tossed your head back, a whined moan coming out louder than you’d intended. His dick twitched inside you at the sound.
Corbeau leaned closer, biting over your pulse point and aiming his hips at that same spot until you almost screamed, grasping for him, tangling your fingers in his hair.
“I can’t wait for it.” He grunted in a low voice, almost like he was talking only to himself. “I can’t wait for you to let me make you mine.”
You cried out his name, and his pace faltered a little, hips slapping against yours so hard you almost feared it’d bruise.
“You’ll be all mine.” He continued, voice strained. “I’ll make you feel good every day, you’ll have no reason to ever want to leave me. You’ll be mine. All mine.”
Corbeau gasped, biting down on your skin so hard you were almost scared it’d bleed. His hips stilled, you could feel how hard he was trying to keep himself together, to keep himself from coming before you.
“Corbeau-”
“Don’t.” He ordered, voice low and authoritative in a way that made a new wave of heat course through you. “Don’t you dare say my name all pretty and needy like that. Give me a moment.”
He panted against your skin, muttering something to himself. Corbeau braced his arms around the sides of your head, tilting his head to lean his forehead against yours.
“Please tell me you’re close.” He almost whined, eyes shut tightly. “I don’t think I can last much longer.”
“Just use me, then.” You told him, and it was like it shattered something inside him. His eyes opened, fixing you with a look that was almost feral.
Corbeau thrust into you so hard you screamed, grasping for anything you could find. Your hands settled on his shoulders right as he leaned down to bite over the already sore spot on your neck.
“You fucking whore.” He spat. “Saying these things to me when you know the effect you have on me. But that’s how you like it, isn’t it? You just love. Being. Used.”
He punctuated each word with a thrust, the bedframe hitting the wall noisily with each one. Your eyes rolled back, the mix of his words with the rough way he fucked you coming together to make it feel like you were about to lose your mind.
Just as you got close to your release, though, he sank into you with a strangled moan, cock twitching as he spilled deep inside you.
You whimpered, trying to roll your hips to let him know you were close. But his hands quickly moved to pin you down, fixing you with that same hungry look that made your stomach flip in the nicest way.
“Sorry, are you all needy now?” He laughed, leaning closer until his nose was brushing against yours. “Shoulda thought of that before you told me to use you like a slut. Now you wait until I’m hard again, and only then you get to cum.”
if he yearns, he earns chat. more yearning corbeau with a dash of pussy drunk. i hope you all enjoy!
tags: reader has a coochie but there's no other gender defining factors, yearning corbeau, pussy drunk corbeau
word count: wrote with my pussy sorry
header from pintrest, divider from @/cafekitsune!
"b-beau!" corbeau's head was spinning, yellow eyes glancing up at your form above him. you looked so pretty, so beautiful. so downright sexy that all corbeau could do was wrap his lips around your puffy clit and suckle on it, his entire body shivering at the noise you let out. the tent in his pants had been twitching for the past few minutes and god his knees ached from sitting on them. but how could he focus on anything except his pretty little partner sitting in his office chair? skirt hiked up over your hips, panties pushed to the side.
"y-you're beautiful-" corbeau gasps out as he pulls away from your glistening pussy, using two fingers to spread you open. he watches your pussy clench around nothing, awestruck at the sight. "j-just lemme taste you more...c'mon angel-" you barely have time to open your mouth, to argue that he's already pulled two orgasms out of you, before corbeau's lips are on your pussy again. he's messy; panting against your heat with every sharp suckle, tongue lapping at you like a dog. hands squeezing at your thighs, locked around your waist so all you can do is wrap your thighs around his head.
and god he's so vocal; blissed out and eager. nothing like the composed Rust Syndicate boss you've come to adore. it starts off as filthy dirty talk but dissolves into nothing short of worship.
"p-pussy's so good...l-like nothing i've e-ever tasted."
"m' so hard j-just from the taste...c-can't pull away, Arceus please angel don't make me stop-"
"i love you angel, y'know that right?"
"can't believe Arceus sent you to me...got one of his prettiest angels. So sweet n' strong..."
"c-can't let anything happen to you. no one's g-gonna treat you the way you deserve, s' gotta be me-"
and he knows you're an angel, he fucking swears by it when you pull him back gently by his hair. when you cradle your palm against his cheek, when your thumb dips into his mouth and presses softly against his tongue. he's barely aware of what your saying as his head goes fuzzy, yellow eyes fluttering in a moment of absolute weakness. he feels your other hand gently go towards his belt and give it a slight tug, not of impatience or demand, but to gently coax an answer out of him. to part the fuzziness in his head if just for a moment.
"wanna help you beau. wanna make you feel good too."
and god corbeau laughs, a breathless noise as he gently sucks at your thumb because he feels good just like this. the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your thighs around his head. he's right where he needs to be, he thinks off handedly as he shakes his head, pulling your thumb out his mouth with a lewd pop! that echoes in his empty office.
"just gimme one more taste angel please.." you can't argue with corbeau as he doesn't wait for an answer, tongue flicking out in harsh circles and precise movements against your clit that have your hands flying to his hair and tugging. he loves the sharp pain that muddles out into blinding pleasure, loves the way your eyes roll back, loves the way your thighs squeeze at his head.
he can fuck you later, he tells himself as he reaches a hand down to the leaking tent in his pants and adjusting, eyes rolling back at the sensation. his pleasure is secondary compared to yours. its almost like a game to him, how long he could hold out before it all became too much to bear.
you just taste so good and you moan his name so sweetly. how is a man like corbeau supposed to handle it when your thighs lock around his head? when you squirm and gasp out high pitched noises as your orgasm washes over you? as your taste hits his tongue like the sweetest nectar?
he can't. it'd be wrong to deny himself the taste of his angel, of Arceus's gift to a man like him who didn't deserve it. he was greedy, power hungry, a criminal who climbed up the ranks in the shadows and darkest depths of Lumiose and came out successful. so he took advantage of this absolute gift like a starving animal, selfishly begging for more because he knows you'll give it to him.
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You wail as your climax is put at an abrupt halt when Corbeau pulls out his fingers swiftly, other hand pinning you by the throat against the door. You can't help yourself as you crumple to the ground when his hand releases your throat. You feel a wave of confusion and anguish build up in your chest and you look up at him, your eyes as miserably wet as the rest of you, and you do your best not to cry.
Corbeau kneels, pulling out the handkerchief neatly folded in his pocket square, and takes the fingers in his mouth sucking them clean of your juices with an exaggerated pop. It floods you with warmth all over again, but there's still the devastation that weighs heavy in between your shoulder blades, the warmth of it creeping up your neck and threatening to overwhelm you. Your hands grip the fabric of your skirt in a feeble attempt to ground you, to stop you from begging.
"Why?" You quietly mutter, and the rawness in your tone, the thickness that comes out of your throat unintentionally as you speak has Corbeau's face crumpling in a second. You think perhaps he might apologise, reconsider what he's done and let you finish.
He wipes his hands clean with the handkerchief and brings them to cup your face, shushing you.
"I know you must feel devastated right now. Betrayed, even." His voice a mix of indescribably hearth warm and slate cold at the same time. "Remember this the next time you let that man near you. Only good girls get to cum."
His hands are gentle as he caresses your cheek with his thumb wiping away the stray tear that falls from your face at his words.
"Please," you beg quietly. You grip his coat with a desperation that you would cringe at in your right mind, but your mind is so far from right at this moment. You were brought to the brink of the most orgasmic high and then immediately pulled away from it. Your hands are shaky, as is the rest of you, from the confusing whiplash of being about to cum and then not being allowed. You whine and fall into Corbeau, head resting against his shoulder and he brings a hand up against your back, rubbing circles with his palm through the fabric of your shirt. His other hand caresses your hair with a tenderness that directly contrasts the rest of his actions and words.
"Please, Beau. Please let me cum. Corbeau." You plead, hips grinding against him until he stops petting you and brings a hand harshly to your waist, and pinches at your skin. This elicits a yelp and you stop immediately, looking at him with a crease in your forehead, mouth pouting from the hurt and yearning of his depravation.
"Be good for the rest of the event, and I might consider it. Now, we should head inside before the others become suspicious."
He presses a soft peck to your lips and you chase after him in an attempt to deepen it but he chuckles against your mouth, pushing you off as he stands and offers his hand to you.
Word Count: 4507
Pairing: Corbeau x Female Reader
Warnings: nfsw, drug and alcohol use, cursing
Summary: Corbeau will make you behave, one way or another.
Corbeau x Reader Masterlist
I hope this is what y'all wanted. I feel like I need to go to church in the morning and atone.
You weren’t sure what you had expected out of Phillipe’s birthday party, but an all-night rager certainly wasn’t it. It had been a long time since you’d been to a party that had gotten this out of hand. Music blared from some very large and very expensive-looking speakers in the living room. Bottles and cans of various booze were piled on the kitchen island, making a mountain of alcohol, at the center of which was a large bucket full of…something. People had been dunking their cups in it all night and you had been steering clear.
The smell of smoke, both cigarette and pot, drifted in from the open windows. You clutched your cup to your chest, making your way through the crowd. Vibrations from the music pulsed through your body as you bumped into others. You looked around the room, hoping to catch a certain, familiar pair of eyes, but they were nowhere to be found. It was too hot in here, too stuffy, and things were starting to spin just a little in the dim light. You should go outside. Maybe outside would know where Corbeau was.
You pulled open the door clumsily, stepping out into the chilly night air, which felt amazing on your flushed skin. You took another sip of your drink, chewing on your straw a little, and looked around. Cups and cans littered the lawn, and somehow the sofa had made its way out here. A group of people were kicking a ball in circles around it. Then, two people ran across your view, one screaming and laughing, and the other chasing them with a flopping Magikarp in their hands. You watched as they bolted across the yard and disappeared around the side of the house.
And there he was.
At the other end of the long porch, Corbeau was leaning against the railing, cigarette in hand. He was listening to something someone else was saying, and laughing. He had one hand in his pocket, his tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt was undone, though his jacket was still on. He looked happy and relaxed and you couldn’t help but stare. At this late hour, there was a five o’clock shadow beginning to make itself known. You were enthralled by the way it followed the curves of his throat, and you wondered what it would feel like under your lips. Under your tongue.
A movement caught your eye, and you were pulled out of your trance. Corbeau was looking at you with a bemused expression and giving you a wave. You felt a blush explode across your cheeks as you made eye contact, and you bit down on both your lips. You didn’t move, a little unsure of both your footing and what to do with yourself in this moment. Another breeze went by and this time it was a little too cold, picking up the sweat on your body and chilling it, making goosebumps rise on your arms.
Corbeau smiled, excusing himself from who he was talking to and walking over to you. As he approached, you discovered that it hadn’t been a cigarette in his hand, but a joint. You set your drink down on the railing as he offered it to you. You took it, putting it to your lips and inhaling deeply as he shrugged his jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders. It was warm and comforting.
“Hi,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms and smiling softly. You blew the smoke out of your lungs toward the yard as you handed the joint back to him, then you stepped closer.
“Hi,” you said back, letting your fingers slide around his sides, bunching in the fabric of his shirt. You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, only misjudging your balance a little and stepping forward to catch yourself. Corbeau put a hand around your back to steady you.
“Are you having fun?” Corbeau asked when you pulled back. He used the pinky of the hand that held the joint to brush the hair back from your face, and, now that you could see it up close, you were once again distracted by the stubble that was peppered along his jaw.
“Mm hmm,” you hummed, letting your hands slide up his chest until you held his face in both hands, gliding your thumbs across his chin and neck. The texture was both soft and rough and you wanted to spend the next hour just feeling it under your fingers and lips. Then you remembered why you were looking for him. “Lida needs you.”
“What does Lida need?” Corbeau asked, taking another drag from the joint. You watched the muscles in his neck flex as he inhaled. The alcohol and the weed were starting to dance together in your consciousness, making everything feel warm and light and pleasant.
“I…don’t know,” you said. Well, you sort of remembered why you had been looking for him. Corbeau chuckled.
“Is she okay?” he asked. You really wanted to stop talking about Lida.
“She’s fine,” you said, and you leaned in to kiss him again. His hand was warm and wide on your back under his jacket, and you thought you could feel actual sunshine radiating from it. Corbeau kissed you back, but slowly and soberly. He really needed to get on your level.
You let your hands slide down from his neck and over his chest again. Then, further down, you hooked your fingers into his belt loops and tugged him closer to you.
“Okay, handsy,” Corbeau said, breaking the kiss. You pouted. “Go find Lida. If she really needs me, I’ll be right here.”
“What if I need you?” you asked, and Corbeau grinned, hitting the joint again.
“You’ll just have to wait until we get home,” he said, low and dark in a way that made excitement twist in your stomach.
You started to slide your hands back up his stomach but he caught your wrists, pulling them down and behind your back. He held them together there, and your heart began to race in your chest.
“Behave,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to have to tie your hands together.”
That sent a jolt of electricity into the lowest part of your abdomen, and as you looked into his eyes you could see the same dark, hungry spark in them. The tension was thick, surrounding the both of you with a heavy weight that you would have been more than happy to succumb to.
Corbeau let go of your wrists suddenly, stepping back. The sudden cold that replaced the spot where his body had just been was shocking, and you felt dizzy both from your intoxication and the sudden change in his proximity.
“Okay,” you said. Trying to regather yourself. You picked up your drink and took a sip before shrugging off Corbeau’s jacket and handing it back to him. “I’m going to go back inside. I’ll… I’ll see you later.”
You had to go in and get away from him and distract yourself from everything you really wanted to be doing right now. You couldn’t do that here. You’d have to wait until Corbeau took you home and brought you upstairs to his apartment and–
Lida. You had to go find Lida. She would undoubtedly have something else for you to focus on.
You hardly saw Corbeau for the rest of the party, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about him. You could still feel a tingling around your wrists where his fingers had held them. Though the music, chatter, and laughter that filled the house was loud enough to feel in your bones, it did nothing to make you forget the way he’d looked at you.
A few more hours went by before you felt a familiar arm wrap around you from behind, and a pair of lips brushed your ear.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked, pulling your body flush against his. You nodded, tilting your cup up to finish the last of your drink while he placed a few kisses to your neck. “I’ll call the car.”
And then he was gone again, and you wanted to scream.
You made your goodbye rounds, making sure to say one final happy birthday to Phillipe, who was only partially conscious on the sofa in the yard. When the car pulled up, Corbeau held the door for you, sliding in after you. His hand immediately found your thigh, and you delighted in the feeling of his skin against yours.
As soon as the car was moving, Corbeau turned to you, his lips at your ear again as he whispered.
“You have no idea what you’re in for when we get home,” he said, and heat ignited in your blood. “I’ve been watching you in this little skirt all night–” his hand squeezed your thigh a little harder “–and you really thought you could get away with putting your hands all over me like that?”
You turned toward him then, intending to catch his lips in a kiss, but he leaned back, removing his hand from your thigh. You almost whined, and you would have if the driver hadn’t been there to hear you. You reached out to him, desperate to pull him back to you and have him close again, but he just caught your wrist again, looking at you intently as he held it between you. You wanted to pull your hand free, grab him, and climb on top of him in that back seat, but something in the way he looked at you made you want to do as he said even more.
The rest of the car ride was almost unbearable as electricity thrummed between your untouching bodies. In order to prevent yourself from trying to jump Corbeau again, you had to lean against the opposite door. You bit down on your own thumb as you watched the lights go past the window. Eventually, Corbeau’s hand found your thigh again, but when you turned your head, he was looking out the window on his own side.
Pulling up to the apartment building, Corbeau was a complete, infuriating gentleman. He held the door for you as you got out of the car, and walked by your side into and across the lobby with only one hand touching you on the small of your back.
As you approached the elevator you were practically jittery with anticipation. The elevator attendant was a wonderful perk of the building, but for once you wished you could just–
“I’ve got it, thank you Antoine,” Corbeau said. You saw him slip the attendant a tip, and he nodded, stepping out of the elevator without another word.
The moment the door slid shut behind you, Corbeau was sliding his hands into your hair and pulling your lips to his. You gasped a little in surprise and, still a little tipsy and unsteady on your feet, you grasped the front of his jacket to help balance yourself. Corbeau guided you back a few steps until you were pressed against the wall, and he used his grip on your hair to tilt your head to the side so he could slide his lips down your neck, biting and sucking all the way down to your collarbone. He had one leg pressed between yours, and you leaned into him, desperate to relieve some of the sensitivity that had been building for hours.
The elevator came to a stop, and just as suddenly, Corbeau dipped down and grabbed you by the thighs, lifting you up. You couldn’t help the peal of laughter that came out with your surprise, wrapping your arms and legs around him as the sudden movement made the world spin around you. Corbeau carried you out of the elevator and you kicked off your shoes as you entered the foyer, only partially noticing that one ended up back in the elevator as the door closed.
In the hallway, Corbeau pushed you against the wall again, his hands having made their way under your skirt, gripping your ass firmly as you kissed him again. His tongue was hot and heavy in your mouth, and you were glad he was holding you up because you felt like you were melting. You slid your hands around his neck and started to undo his tie, and then he was setting you down and leaning back.
“Go get on the bed,” he said as you tried to focus on remaining upright. You tried to step into his space again.
“But–”
Smack!
Sparks of electricity danced along your skin, reaching all the way to your fingers and toes as his hand made contact with your ass, your skirt having ridden completely up when he set you down. It concentrated between your legs, making you clench desperately around nothing. You looked into Corbeau’s eyes and found that the dark hunger from earlier had returned, his irises molten gold. It stopped you in your tracks and made your heart race.
“I said,” Corbeau said, low and dark. “Go get on the bed.”
This time, you did as he said, stepping the rest of the way down the hall and into his bedroom. You left the door open and climbed onto the bed, settling yourself in the middle. You closed your eyes, letting the scent of Corbeau take over your senses. The bed was soft and warm and you felt like you were sinking into it. You couldn’t help but let one of your hands slide down your body and between your legs. Over your underwear, you pressed down firmly on your clit, rubbing in slow circles. You let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?”
You froze and your eyes flew open, meeting Corbeau’s where he stood in the doorway. You pulled your hand back, letting it rest on your stomach as he stepped into the room. His jacket was gone, but he was otherwise still dressed. With one hand, he undid the knot in his tie and slid it out from the collar of his shirt. You leaned up on your elbows as he climbed over you on the mattress, and Corbeau pulled you to sit up fully, lifting your shirt over your head in one swift motion before leaning you back again and kissing you.
You were starting to grow desperate, what had felt like hours of teasing was making you need his body on yours more than you had ever felt before. Every inch of you craved him. You reached up and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He pulled your hands away, placing them back at your sides, but you ignored him, reaching up again as soon as he let you go.
Corbeau’s hands wrapped around your wrists again, pulling them over your head and pressing you back into the pillows. He held them there as he hovered over you.
“You’re having a hard time listening tonight,” he said, lips brushing against yours. “I told you I was going to tie your hands up if you couldn’t keep them to yourself. Do I need to do that?”
Instead of answering, you lifted your head and kissed him again. He allowed it, kissing you back slowly and firmly. Soon you felt cool silk sliding over your wrists. When the knot was secure, Corbeau sat up, his eyes raking over your body. You couldn’t help but notice that you were mostly naked while he was still fully clothed. Instinctively, you tried to reach out to him to start undressing him, but the tie around your wrists caught on the bedframe, holding your hands in place. Corbeau’s eyes caught the movement and they darkened.
“Corbeau, please,” you whispered, and he leaned over you again, pressing a warm kiss to your lips before beginning to trail his way down your neck. He took his time, pausing to bite and suck at every soft dip in your flesh. You closed your eyes and pressed your head into the pillows, letting yourself enjoy the gentle scraping of his scruff against your skin. He stopped at one of your breasts, pulling the cup of your bra back so he could flick his tongue against your nipple, nipping it gently before sucking it into his mouth. Sparks shot from the nerves there down to your center, making your hips twitch as you sucked in a gasp.
Corbeau moved over to your other breast, giving it the same treatment, before sitting up again, his hand sliding warm and wide down your sides to your hips. The skirt you were wearing zipped all the way down, and he pulled it open, sliding it out from underneath you and tossing it to the floor. His hands found your hips again, and his thumbs traced the waistband of your panties.
“You’re so pretty like this,” Corbeau said quietly. “Completely at my mercy.”
“‘Beau, I can’t–” you started to say, but he cut you off.
“Shhh, I know,” he said. You opened your eyes and watched him as he looked between your legs almost thoughtfully. He pressed one thumb over your clit, over the fabric of your underwear, much like you had before he walked in. You almost sobbed from the combination of pleasure and relief.
Your eyelids fluttered shut again as he rubbed slow circles, the pleasure beginning to twist and tighten low in your belly. After a few minutes he pulled the fabric back, letting the fingers of his other hand trail between your folds. They slid easily through the wetness there, down from your clit to your entrance, which twitched under his touch, and back up again.
“Please, please, please,” you whined, trying to press your hips up into his hand. Corbeau pulled his hand away, and you almost protested before he was using both to grip your painties and quite literally tear them off of you, the scraps of fabric joining your skirt on the floor.
Without another moment of teasing, Corbeau slid one finger into you, and then two. He pumped them in and out of you slowly and purposefully before picking up their pace. It made heat dance along your skin and every exhale became a moan, but it wasn’t enough.You tried to push your hips up again, desperate as your hands pulled against their restraint on their own accord, but Corbeau’s other hand came up to press down on your lower belly, holding you against the mattress.
“Don’t get greedy,” he said, but he moved his thumb down, pressing it firmly to your clit and rubbing it back and forth. The tension was becoming too much to bear, the pleasure searing hot as it shot through your body, and you knew it was going to snap soon.
“Oh my god,” you said, your chest heaving. “I’m going to come, I have to, I can’t–”
Corbeau didn’t stop, and your orgasm hit you like a tsunami, a wave of pleasure that wracked through your whole body, making you squeeze around his fingers and leaving you gasping.
As you came down from your high, Corbeau settled himself down on his stomach, putting your knees over his shoulders as he started placing gentle kisses on your thighs. You looked down at him, your fingernails digging into your palms above your head.
“See what happens when you’re good?” he asked. His lips ghosted over your clit and your hips twitched from the oversensitivity.
Your heart was still thudding in your ears as he peppered soft kisses all around your pussy lips and his hands massaged your shaking thighs. You let out a low moan as one hand slid back around, his fingers spreading you open gently. His tongue was warm and soothing against your entrance, and your head fell to the side as the dizzy, melting sensation began to take over again.
Slowly, the oversensitivity faded and the pleasure started to build in earnest again. When Corbeau slid his tongue up and over your clit, sucking it into his mouth gently, you cried out, wanting nothing more than to slide your hands into his hair and pull him closer to you. Instead, your hands pulled without purchase at the tie attaching your wrists to the headboard.
Corbeau’s hands pressed your thighs up until your knees hit your chest and slid his tongue back down between your folds, then across your entrance, dipping just inside. He stayed there for a few minutes, laving and sucking and tongue-fucking you as his nose bumped into your clit. With his hands holding your legs up, you could hardly move at all anymore, and you had to let go of the last of your control in this moment as you felt your second orgasm approaching. Corbeau moved back up to your clit, his tongue wide as he rubbed over it with steady licks.
This orgasm was softer than the first, dancing warmly across your skin and making your ears ring. Corbeau didn’t move and you whined as the oversensitivity set in again, one of your legs falling across his back. The room was spinning again, the last of your orgasm and the last of the alcohol making its way through your system. You heard a zipper and the thudding of fabric, but you couldn’t tell from which direction.
Then Corbeau was over you again, one hand on the mattress next to you and the other cradling your face. You looked up at him, at his flushed cheeks, his wet, red lips, and his eyes studying your face the way you were his. Your fingers flexed again, wishing you could hold his face in your hands.
“Hi,” you said, unable to think well enough to come up with anything else.
“Hi,” he replied, letting his thumb graze over your lips. Without thinking, you sucked it into your mouth, biting down lightly and running your tongue along the length of it.
Corbeau groaned, pupils blown wide as he watched your mouth. He reached down with his other hand to rub the head of his cock against you, meeting your eyes again as he began to press in slowly. You held his gaze as you moaned around the finger in your mouth, sucking on it a little harder.
Drawing his hips back and pushing them in again, Corbeau grabbed your thigh with his free hand. His fingers squeezed, pressing hard enough into your skin to leave bruises, as he began to fuck you in earnest. Almost reluctantly, he pulled his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, but his hand didn’t stray far. It moved just down to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat and squeezing. He used the leverage to pull your body against his as his thrusts quickened.
The pleasure made your head spin, growing impossibly inside you again. The slide of his cock in and out of you was maddening in the best way, grazing every spot that drove you crazy. His hand around your throat made your heart beat wildly, the rhythm of it almost matching the loud smacking sound where Corbeau’s skin met yours.
You pulled against your restraints again, almost frantic in your need to put your hands on him. Pleasure tightened and flourished inside you, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.
“Corbeau, please,” you begged, breathless and gasping. “Please untie– I need–”
Something hit just right inside you and you whined, throwing your head back as you continued to try to pull your hands down.
Corbeau let go of your throat, reaching up and tugging the tie loose. You ignored the painful rush of blood returning to your fingertips as your hands flew to his back, bunching in the fabric of his shirt, before sliding up to his shoulders and down his arms. Now that you’d regained this freedom you wanted your hands on every inch of him. You slid them up into his hair, gripping tightly and clutching his face to your neck.
He wrapped both arms around your back, holding your body tightly to his as he bit down into the soft skin above your collarbone. Your eyes squeezing shut was a mirror of your core squeezing down around him, your third orgasm creeping up on you.
“‘Beau,” you gasped, barely more than a breath. One of your hands left his hair and slid down to his arm, gripping it and holding onto him in your attempt to hold onto reality. “I’m– I– I don’t–” You couldn’t finish a single thought, the white-hot pleasure in your blood drawing all your attention.
“It’s okay, baby,” Corbeau said into the skin of your neck. “Go ahead, I’ve got you.”
With just a few more pumps of Corbeau’s hips, your orgasm shook through you, hitting every nerve in your body. It took you over completely, and you would have screamed if it hadn’t taken your breath away. Corbeau groaned, pulling your body impossibly closer to his as his hips stuttered, coming inside you and filling you with warmth.
You gasped for breath when your orgasm released you, still clutching Corbeau like a lifeline. Your legs trembled, almost painful as you tried to relax them. Corbeau’s breath was hot against your skin as he, too, came down from his orgasm, kissing gently at whatever skin was closest to his lips. You loosened the fingers in his hair, stroking gently at the nape of his neck as you breathed together.
When he pulled out of you it was gentle and careful, and you felt what he’d left in you rush out, dripping down to the sheets. Corbeau pulled his shirt off and used it to clean you off, one hand gently stroking your thigh as you flinched from the overstimulation.
He laid back down beside you carefully, resting one hand gingerly on your neck. His thumb brushed gingerly over a sore spot– a budding bruise, you assumed. He leaned and kissed you softly before leaning his forehead against yours.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, and you smiled.
“I can’t move,” you said. “But I’m good.”
Corbeau kissed you again slowly, gently, and full of love. You stayed like that for a few minutes, quietly enjoying each other’s presence. You tucked yourself into his side, resting your head on his chest and braiding your legs together. Corbeau’s fingers trailed along your back absentmindedly. Exhaustion began to settle in as you listened to the soft lullaby of his heart under your ear.
“Don’t fall asleep just yet,” Corbeau said softly.
“Why?” you asked, pouting.
“You, my love, are an absolute mess,” he said, stroking your hair. “You’ll be mad at me in the morning if I let you go to sleep without showering.”
“I told you I can’t move,” you grumbled half-heartedly, knowing he was right.
You protested weakly as Corbeau untangled his body from yours before standing up and scooping you into his arms.
“Don’t worry,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”
Word Count: 1.8k
Pairing: Corbeau x Fem Reader
Content: Explicit Sexual Content, NSFW, manhandling, hair pulling
Summary: You interrupt Corbeau 3 different times while he's working, and how he reacts depends on his mood that day.
Comfortable
“Are you almost done?”
Corbeau felt his eye twitch. He lifted his gaze from his laptop, looking over at where you were lying on the couch. You were lying back, staring up at the ceiling with your legs crossed over one another.
At your question, he shook his head, even though you weren’t looking at him. “Asking me again won’t make me work any faster.”
You groaned in annoyance, dragging out your words dramatically. “You said you’d be done hours ago, and I’m tired.”
“You can go home! I’m not keeping you prisoner over here.” He immediately regretted how sharp he sounded. He watched you shift, shoulders stiffening a bit, but you didn’t get up to move. Stubborn. He knew you wouldn’t be going home until he went with you.
He glared down at the laptop and paperwork on his desk - now no longer work, but an annoying obstacle that was preventing him from going home with his partner. He was so, so close to being done, but it couldn’t wait until morning. He sighed quietly and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes under his glasses.
The tense silence stretched in the room until he broke it.
“Hey.” Corbeau’s voice was lower now as he called out to you. More gentle. A tone that you knew needed a response. When you twisted your head to look up from your place on the couch, you saw he was holding an arm out to you, motioning for you to join him at his chair.
Swinging your legs over the edge of the couch, you slowly stood and made your way over to him, taking in his appearance. He looked just as tired as you. His jacket was off and draped over the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his purple shirt were rolled to his elbows. His eyes were a bit droopy, lacking some of the sharpness they usually held. There was a slight slouch in his posture, very much not like his usual demeanor.
When you paused at the edge of his desk, he gave you an even more tired look and waved his hand again, wanting you closer. “What do you think this is? Come here, all the way.”
You did, stopping right at the edge of his chair. Wrapping his right arm around your waist, he guided you in front of him before tugging you down onto his lap. You sucked in a breath when he hooked his left hand around your knees, maneuvering you to sit sideways on him.
His right hand then moved from your waist to rest on your head near your temple, guiding you down to rest on his shoulder. Your brows pinched together, mostly in confusion, but you let him without resistance. He turned his head to press a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips, and then he was then already back to working. You could tell by the sound of his pen moving across the paper and the occasional clicks of the keyboard.
“What brought this on?” you mumbled, looking up at his side profile. The lines under his eyes seemed more prominent than usual.
“My lap was cold.” A decent lie, since he does get cold very easily. It could have been true, if the heater wasn’t blasting and he wasn’t jacketless.
You pressed a soft kiss to his neck. “You can just say you were lonely, too.”
You could have sworn you felt him shudder, but his voice was still even. “I’m doing this for your benefit.”
“Are you? I thought your lap was cold?” You started to lift your head to look at him, amused, but he quickly moved to keep you in place, gently pushing your head back into the crook of his neck.
“Do I really need a reason? You were already falling asleep on the couch,” he explained, in a tired tone that left no more room for debate. “Just fall asleep here instead. Don’t be stubborn.”
Huffing out a little sigh, you conceded and nuzzled yourself further into his shoulder. His shirt collar smelled like his cologne; fresh, slightly spiced, with something deep and warm underneath. There was also a lingering hint of cigarettes, as was the norm for him. You took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent, and felt yourself drifting off, body deflating as you exhaled slowly.
When you finally dozed off, you couldn’t see the soft smile he gave you. His finger tips brushed over your temple, his lips ghosting over your cheek as he whispered out a quiet, “Good girl.”
Playful
“Corbeau?”
“Yes, angel?”
“Are you almost done?”
“Why? You in a hurry or something?” Corbeau’s tone was light and teasing today. It was still early in the afternoon, no sign of the previously overworked syndicate boss from earlier in the week.
You pursed your lips, considering your options, before you slowly made your way around the desk to him. He looked up at you curiously, but didn’t say anything as you wedged yourself between him and his work. He just leaned back to give you space, eyes widening the slightest bit as you brought one of your knees up onto the chair, sliding against the outside of his leg. Your other foot stayed on the ground, leaning over him, but not settling down onto his lap.
“You know…” he started, a smirk creeping up onto his face as one of his hands slid up and over your hip. “...interrupting me isn’t going to make me go any faster.”
“Feel like I’ve heard that before,” you mused, sliding your hands up his arms and settling on his shoulders. You started to lean down, and his eyes immediately flicked to your mouth.
“Something like that,” he teased, leaning up to meet your waiting lips.
Seemingly satisfied, you promptly stood up and started walking away, your lips never reaching his. “Silly me, I know you’re busy. I’ll let you work, Beau.”
He was completely frozen, hand still in the air where it had been on your hip. When you turned around mid-step, his eyes were like fire, watching your every move. He was trying to stop it, but a smile was twitching at the corners of his mouth, and he lifted a hand to curl one finger towards himself. “Get. Your ass. Back here.”
You stopped on the other side of the desk, planting your hands on the wood surface and leaning forward. “Make. Me.”
He was out of his chair in a second, darting around the desk to chase after you as you bolted away.
It wasn’t much of a chase. He caught you by the couches, wrapping his arms around you from behind to keep you from running. Giggles and playful shrieks filled the huge room as he spun you around, his hands eventually finding a hold on both of your wrists together in front of you. Collapsing back onto the couch, he pulled you down with him, making you straddle his lap properly this time.
He was breathing heavily from the unexpected exertion, glasses askew, but a soft laugh still tumbled out as he smiled up at you.“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?”
You leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “Might I remind you that you chased me. Who knew the big bad Rust Syndicate leader had such a playful side.” His face suddenly softened, and you tilted your head, questioning. “What?”
A full smile broke out across his face, and he leaned forward to kiss you. It was chaste and sweet. A bit different from his usual ones, but no less capable of stealing your breath away.
When he pulled away, his voice came out quiet, like a confession he wasn’t quite ready for. “I… didn’t know I had a side like this until you came around.”
Sinful
“A-Are you almost done?”
“Not even close.”
“Beau, let’s be reasonable-”
“I think I’m being perfectly reasonable.” His tone was perfectly mocking. He was resting his chin on your shoulder, looking down at his desk, but he paused to give your jaw a gentle nip. His breath was hot against the side of your neck. “You wanted me, you got me. Is this not good enough?”
His left hand was still busy scribbling away at a paper on his desk. What it said, you had no hope of deciphering in your current state of mind. His right hand was under your shirt, cold palm pressing against your lower stomach.
“This isn’t what I meant and you know it.” Your voice was strained, breath growing ragged and face burning from the situation you were in.
You were sitting on his lap, once again, but facing away from him this time. Your underwear had been pulled to the side under the skirt he had asked you to wear that morning. In fact, the fabric had been pulled aside to make room for his hard cock to be buried inside of you, where it had been for the last twenty minutes.
Twenty. Torturous. Minutes.
At this point, you knew it was a battle of wills. As calm as he was making himself appear, you could feel him twitching inside of you every once in a while, and his shifting had become far more frequent as the minutes had passed. Every shift made him drag against your walls, just barely, sending tiny little sparks through your core that were just not enough.
You couldn’t help but squirm on his lap, feeling an uncomfortable wetness that was surely ruining his slacks. “Beau, come on-!“
His hand curled through your hair, tugging your head to the side to bare your neck to him. You shuddered as his teeth dragged over your skin right where your shoulder met your neck, feather light, and his voice was rough. “You can do better than that, angel.”
You swallowed hard, a whimper escaping your lips as you tried to find the words. He had to be close to losing it, surely. Another twitch of his cock inside of you made you beg. “Please! Please move, Beau, I need it!”
There was a pause. A growl as he exhaled. Then, he was standing, pushing you forward against the desk. Your hands tried to find purchase on the surface, looking for any kind of leverage, but you just found paper. The paperwork slid under your hands, making you unable to hold yourself up as your face pressed into the hard wood.
He remained snug inside of you, pressing one hand against your spine to pin you down. His other hand returned to your hair, twisting into a tight grip near the base of your skull, and tugging while he slowly pulled out of you.
“This is what you get for interrupting me, again.” His hips snapped back into yours once, making you gasp.
Twice, and you whined.
Then, he didn’t stop.
The tops of your thighs would be bruised from pressing into the edge of the desk. Your scalp would be sore from where he was holding you so tightly, pressing your face against the wood. None of it mattered while your legs were shaking, your toes curling as he rutted into you over and over again.
If anything, now you wanted to bother him at work even more.
Corbeau x Fem!Reader (NSFW) because he definitely hits on the MC and I cannot be convinced otherwise. Corbeau comes to stay at Hotel Z after you wipe the floor with him during your promotion match.
Fem reader, she/her pronouns are used but no name, very little body description aside from the jiggly bits, this is 18+, minors DNI
CW: smut!!, oral sex, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, dom Corbeau, mean dirty talk, spanking, should’ve been quieter, Lida and reader are bffs trust me bro
“I don’t think I’m quite done with you yet. I’ll see you at Hotel Z.” What could that possibly mean? His words echo through your head as your heart beats hard with possibility. The tension you always felt around him was like static, as if something would explode if you touched. He’d showed up after every job, teased you at every opportunity, and you’d caught him staring more than once. Your adrenaline had long overstayed its welcome, the curry in front of you growing cold in consequence.
“So, was he hard?” Lida prods, mouth full. You stutter and cough—Urbain’s expression shifting at your discomfort—as Lida’s terribly worded question hangs in the air.
“Oh my god, Lida, why would you say that?” Urbain’s voice was low, portraying the same annoyance as Naveen’s expression. Lida’s not stupid… could she know? You tried your best to hide your fancy for the tiny mob boss, but your cheeks and smile betrayed you at the sound of his name.
“Nah. After we met Philippe at the gate, I thought ‘you know maybe we should be scared of Mr. Corbeau,’” You mockingly drew out the second syllable of his name, “And then he stood up.” You hoped desperately your joke would clear the oppression of Lida’s question. A moment, then she can’t hold it in anymore. Lida’s laugh tears through the meeting room, fist repeatedly slamming on the table. Naveen and Urbain share less-than-knowing glances, surprised by the raucous laughter.
“You can’t say that!” She wails, and both of the boys jump in their seats. Naveen’s hands fly over his ears.
“Why are you screaming?” Urbain asks, more displeased than before. “I am not having a conversation with you about inside voices.” He continues, “AZ is resting and we don’t want to wake Floette. She gets cranky.” His eyes flick off to the side. Lida, who had just survived laughing with her mouth full, waved her hands as an act of peace, still giggling.
“You know, I really dislike it when you do that.” Naveen lifts his head to look at Lida. “Some of us have eardrums.“
“Hello, hello? Anybody here?” A sharp, familiar voice rings through the lobby. Your stomach drops.
“A guest??” Lida starts, now conscious of her volume. Urbain’s voice confirms your fears as he greets Hotel Z’s new visitor.
“Mr. Corbeau! What are you doing here? I mean- what brings you here?” You brace yourself and stand with Naveen and Lida to greet your guest.
He looks… exactly the same. You recalled your promotion match earlier today, a subtle smirk growing from victory.
One down. Who’s next? Gyrados. Shit. Your reaction time was a moment too slow. Corbeau’s Gyrados had bounced your Delphox right back into her ball. Your jaw clenches.
“Don’t piss me off.” You say across the court, tossing out your alpha Gyrados. Yours is bigger. You stare Corbeau down as your fingers grace your mega stone. The battle area shakes as the power races through your Gyrados. She’s even bigger now, Corbeau’s arena too small of a tank for her. His expression falters, but he continues barking orders to his Gyrados. You’ll win this. Easy.
“I’m not quite done with you yet.”
“Well, what do most people visit hotels for? I’d like to rent a room, please.” Corbeau’s eyes stay on Urbain, but his presence fills the entire room. “Unless Hotel Z is too good for the likes of me.” You swear Urbain literally jumps in fear as he leads his guest to the booking sheets. Your heartbeat drowns out the rest of their conversation, and you watch helplessly as Corbeau gets in the elevator. The sound of it moving upwards breaks the tension in the room, and everyone, save AZ, lets out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.
“That is the scariest thing that has ever happened to me. Ever.” Lida wrings her hands in the sleeves of her jacket.
“Things must be pretty nice for you.” Naveen’s comment goes over her head. The four of you return to your curry, visibly shaken. Only your worry lasts though, as your friends happily finish their meal. You poke at a croissant, then a potato, and decide to force it down because Urbain is watching. Your brain is swirling with thoughts and questions. Why was he here? What was his game? He’d rented the suite on the top floor. Could you get up there with no one noticing?
“Are you alright?” Lida asks, they’ve picked up on your hesitation and distraction. You must have been emitting anxious particles into the air.
“You’ve hardly eaten, and now you’ve got a mile-long stare. What’s going on?” Urbain’s stopped eating.
“Ah- nothing. The food is wonderful as always, thank you again for cooking, Urbain.” You cough into your arm, maybe you could convince them you were catching a cold. “My appetite hasn’t been great today.” You give a kind smile, the smile of someone who’s grateful but doesn’t feel well. Perfect.
“Maybe you’re working too hard.” Urbain says after a moment.
“Yeah, when’s the last time you actually relaxed?” Lida chimes in. “Do you want to go rest and we can regroup in the morning?” You thanked Arceus for the compassion and naïvety of your friends. Urbain says he’ll pack up the leftovers for you, and you sweetly dismiss yourself from the table.
You reach your room, shut the door, and then scream silently, hands shaking with tension. Thoughts of what you could be doing run through your head. They heat your body and make you feel dirty. You’ll clean them with a shower! Definitely, a shower would clear your head.
You step in, ulterior motives reddening your face. The hot water only serves to make your thoughts worse, steam tightening your chest. Were you really going to do this?
While drying off, you collect a few of your favorite perfumes, and layer them in all the right places. You brush your hair, and your teeth, and poke at your skin hoping for perfection. The rest of your routine is clouded by thoughts, thoughts of him.
With a final sigh, you open your door and peek into the hallway. The coast is clear. You shut your door as quietly as possible, and step softly to the elevator. You press the button for the top floor, and the doors slowly close. You shut your eyes and breathe deeply. What you don’t see is Lida’s door opening, her curious face poking out. She’s too late to call out to you, but she wishes she could ask where you were going. The elevator goes up. That’s interesting. She holds a puzzled look before returning to her space.
The doors open, and you step out of the elevator. Your legs, your arms, your entire body feels like it may give out. Your heart beats rapidly, and you wonder if it’s audible. You walk down the hall to his suite, and steady your breathing before gently tapping the door with your knuckle.
Beneath the beating in your ears, you hear footsteps padding to the door. It unlocks, opens, and there stands Corbeau. His jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing bold tattoos. You bite the tip of your tongue so he doesn’t see you bite your lip.
“Hello.” He says. Shit, how long has it been? Say something!
“Hey boss,” you start, holding your voice as steady as possible. He doesn’t respond, face unreadable. “You said you had something else for me. If you’re not too tired, I was thinking we could take care of—I mean talk about—that now.” Your confidence is faltering, and your hands subconsciously come together in a nervous motion. “Unless, I misunderstood. Which in that case, I can just head back-“ Your eyes had been anywhere but on him, and when your gaze returned, he was standing to the side of the door, welcoming you in. He looked… smug? “Oh! Ok. Thank you. I mean- how’s your stay?” You stammer hard, stepping into Hotel Z’s finest, albeit only, suite. You hear the door shut and lock behind you. It’s logical, but your heart jumps anyway.
“I thought you wanted to talk business?” Corbeau steps towards you, taking your moment of distraction in the surroundings to rake his eyes over your body. Your stomach drops as you realize you’d gotten as far as you planned. He walks past you, making for an all too small loveseat. You look around for another seat, but conveniently, there isn’t one. Your eyes land on Corbeau. He definitely looks smug now. Fucker. You take your seat next to him, attempting to keep your leg from brushing his.
“Yes, of course. What was it you wanted from me, boss?” You wonder if he can see your hands shaking. He takes his time, golden eyes tracing you: your hair, your clothes, your fidgeting hands, your rosy cheeks. Oh, how cute.
“Well,” he starts, “I hate to ask a favor of you so shortly after dismissing you from duty. However, our battle today taught me something.” He took a pause, studying your expression closely. “I would like more.”
“Oh,” your hearts skips a beat, “you want me to kick your ass again?” His stare is intense.
“I would like more of you.” His voice is low. “I would like all of you.” Corbeau speaks even softer, nearly whispering, “I want to hear your cries, feel you beneath me. I can only imagine how soft you are.” His words are dancing over your lips, you’ve been leaning in, unable to resist. You let out a sharp breath, feeling your internal furnace light at his words.
“You don’t have to imagine anymore.” Your own voice surprises you, and more heat flushes your cheeks. The gap between you is oh so small. He’s right there. You lean in, eyes fluttering shut, waiting for what you could only assume would be the best kiss of your life. Your lips never meet. You open your eyes and see Corbeau comfortably leaning back in the loveseat, a smile gracing his features once again. Your face reddens more as you grow indignant, “Well, if you don’t really want it, I’ll just go back to my room.” You swipe a hand down his thigh. Teasingly, you stand, leg brushing Corbeau’s, acting as if you’ll make for the door.
“Sit down.”
Your gaze lands on his. A moment passes, and you see heat rising in his eyes. “Sit. Down.” His voice, oh, his voice. Internally, a list of Corbeau’s buttons was growing in your mind. You were so going to piss him off. This should be fun. You sit down obediently, keeping your gaze on him.
“Good. Now come a little closer.” He drapes his arm over the back of the loveseat, and you scoot towards him. You can smell his cologne more now, trying hard to keep your agenda straight as his scent intoxicates you. His other hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers ghost along your face, thumb pressing into one cheek, pointer finger in the other. He kisses you. It’s tentative, slow, almost curious. Immediately, you’re lost in it. He takes the lead, gently guiding your lips against his. You sense his body relax slightly. Corbeau lifts your head back and to the side, revealing a wide expanse of your neck. Then, he leans in and presses his lips where your jaw meets your ear. “See what happens when you listen?” He trails down, leaving white-hot anticipation in his wake. You breathe in, just sharp enough for him to hear, and you feel him smile against your neck. Corbeau’s teeth sink into your flesh, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. You’d hoped he was a biter. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, surprisingly sturdy. He continues to bite at your neck, relishing in the soft gasps leaving your mouth. The agenda, remember your agenda. Your eyes close as Corbeau pulls at your skin with his teeth. His lips wrap around that spot and he sucks. You can’t help the soft noise that escapes you. He moves up and does it again. And again. And again. Your stomach churns with arousal, and you begin to think he just likes the way you sound. Unexpectedly, Corbeau pulls back to take in your expression: flushed, eyes glazed over, breathing heavy. You don’t have time to hide how into this you are, and he chuckles.
“Get up.”
You listen, legs shaking.
“Good. Sit on the bed.” He steps towards you, figure standing taller than before. Wait, when did you sit down? He’s on you, pushing you back gently. His hands are all over you in an instant. Your lips meet again, and your hands rise to cup his face. Every so often, he bites your bottom lip. His hand drifts farther and farther until he’s caressing your thighs. He dips between them. You feel a sweet tickle over your clothed pussy. Corbeau rubs back and forth, adding pressure as your body loosens. You sigh, blushing hard. He hums, tracing circles for a while before his touch vanishes. Opening your eyes, you feel his hands grace your waistband. He looks you straight in the eyes as he slides your shorts off. You sit up, hoping to pull him back down, but he stops you. Corbeau’s hands are hot on your thighs, until one slips between your legs again. He traces a finger up and down your crease before pressing his warm palm flat against you. Your hands move to cover your face as your body grew hot. His other hand migrates to your stomach, sliding upwards until it’s between your breasts. The absence of his hand leaves you aching, it’s moved to assist the other in lifting your shirt. Your decision to not wear a bra flashed through your mind. The fabric slipped easily over your head. You reach for him again.
“Not yet. These, too.” Hands at your waist again, his fingertips slip beneath the elastic of your thong, and off it goes. You’re naked, and he’s… fully clothed. Suddenly, the air feels cold, and you sheepishly squeeze your legs shut.
“Ah-ah.” Corbeau tuts, “let me see how beautiful you are.” His hands press the insides of your knees, pushing them apart and putting you on full display. You’re embarrassed, until-
“Oh, fuck.” He breathes. It’s almost silent, but you catch it.
“What’s that?” You’d been waiting to throw his attitude back at him. “Like what you see?” His eyes dart to yours, and his gaze is intense.
“You’re perfect.”
His honesty made your insides flip, and your attitude fizzled, for now. Corbeau’s hands are on you again, caressing your bare sides. His hands slip upwards, cupping your breasts. He dips down and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He swipes with his tongue, sucking gently. You bite your lip and moan, disrupting the otherwise quiet room. Initially, the fear of being heard or getting caught was fairly distressing, but he’s so intoxicating, you melt in his arms. You felt drunk, or high, or both, pulse thrumming through your body. Corbeau’s mouth pulled from your breast with a soft pop, and he then descended upon the other. Your vision is hazy as you rest your head on the bed. The area between your legs ached. Then, as if he’d read your mind, Corbeau slipped a hand downwards, letting a fingertip gently grace between your folds. Your face was hot, you could feel it. His finger presses deeper, moving up and down. Golden eyes met yours with a knowing look.
“I’ve barely touched you.” His teeth visible within his proud smile. You toss your head to the side indignantly, and Corbeau laughs. “What, does just the idea…” His finger slips ever closer, he’s found your entrance, “…of coming to see me…” His fingertip rubs up against your clit. “Turn you on?” He delicately massages your sensitive nub. Your pout is broken by a gasp and a moan. You bite your lip to try and stifle it. His finger moves down, thumb taking its place, back to your entrance.
“Look at me.” Corbeau singsongs while his middle finger traces circles around your entrance. You listen, eyes meeting his, and his eyes are dark in a way that makes your stomach flip. “Oh, that’s a good girl.” His finger pushes inside you. You suck in a jagged breath, fueled by his praise and his hands.
“Kiss me, damn it.” You snap, looking up at him. His finger begins to move slowly, and you barely hold back a moan.
“But you look so beautiful like this.” He curls his finger upward. “I want to savor every moment.” Your eyes roll back in your head. Corbeau hums as a second finger slips in, a breathy noise escaping you. His thumb traces gentle circles over your clit, and you can feel his fingers working inside you. Your face is hot while his eyes are on you. He looks quite proud of himself. All too soon, his hand slips away, and you feel cold at the absence. The two fingers that had been pleasuring you were now at your mouth, pressing to be let in. You obliged, licking yourself off of his hand. Your eyes meet again, and he groans, low in his throat.
“I want to see you on your knees.” Corbeau’s words reach your ears, and you feel your attitude rising again.
“And I want you to fuck me.” His eyebrows raise at your bluntness. He stretches up fully and looks at you for a second, as if giving you a moment to reconsider. When you don’t, his mouth curves into a smile. He grabs you around your calves, and pulls you off the side of the bed. You cry out in shock, landing square on your butt with a loud thud. You give him a particularly angry, pouty look. Corbeau steps in between you and the bed, and his gaze on you is harsh.
“Get on your knees.” His voice indicates his lack of patience. You cross your arms and huff. His eyes darken.
“How bad do you want it?” You ask teasingly. Now he looks furious.
“Don’t piss me off.” He recites your words back to you. “I don’t have to fuck you, you know. I can make you choke and kick you out. I’ve been patient because I know how badly you want it.”
“Ok, Mr. One-Last-Request.” Why did you speak? You were being cruel to yourself now.
“You dirty slut.” His lips pursed briefly, oh, he was mad. “One more word and you’re out in the hallway, naked. You want to run your whore ass back to your room with your wet pussy out for all your little friends to see?” Kneeling on the floor suddenly seems like a great idea, so you obey. Corbeau sighs, brushing hair out of his face, he’s still hard. “I should’ve known you’d be so mouthy, fucking brat.” You start to palm him through his slacks. “I didn’t think you’d be this difficult. I thought you’d gladly accept my cock in your mouth, not force me to shut you up with it.” You tug at his belt, and he flips it open with ease. Down go his slacks, and Corbeau sits on the bed. You scoot on your knees closer, anxious to pull him out of boxers.
Oh lord. Your eyes must have widened, Corbeau let out a laugh at your expression.
“Like what you see?” He taunts, and you nod. He merely smirks back at you and gives a suggesting look towards your assigned task. “Then get to work.”
Dipping your head down, you lick the underside of his tip before taking it into your mouth. Corbeau tilts his head, looking at you fondly. One of his hands brushes through your hair. You swirl your tongue in circles around his tip, and then sink down until as much of him is in your throat as you can stand. He groans, and you feel him twitch in your mouth. A sense of control boosts your confidence. You slowly glide your mouth up and down his shaft, committing every huff and moan and groan to memory. Both of his hands are gripping your hair, tugging with each clench. Your focus is on his sensitive spots, not speed. Pulling back, your hands grasp his length as you focus on his tip. Staring up at him, you slowly rub your tongue on the underside of his head. Corbeau’s breath hitches when you hit a certain spot, and you focus your tongue there. A gorgeous whine leaves his mouth, and you smile, hands working his length. Without warning, he pulls your hands away.
“Take it all again.” His voice is shaky. You place your lips around him, and sink down. His hands leave yours to grip your hair, and he pushes your head down onto him. He makes a noise, something between a groan and a growl, and your pussy throbs. Corbeau’s hands have a tight grip on your hair as he begins to pull your head back and forth. You assist with the motion, realizing his ploy. Corbeau desperately wanted to have full control over you, but he can’t help slowly unraveling at your touch. You wonder just how far you can push him.
He whines again, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“Get- get up.” His breathing is heavy, but it’s not enough, his voice betrays him. You stay where you are, taking as much of him in your mouth as possible. You want him to feel the back of your throat, searing all of your movement into his memory. You speed up, bracing your hands on the insides of his thighs.
“Get up.” Corbeau’s voice is stable now, commanding, maybe even a little angry. One hand grabs a fistful of your hair, roughly pulling your mouth off his cock. “Why is it so hard for you to listen to me? Do you think it’ll make me fuck you harder? Get on the bed. Hands and knees. I will not tell you again.”
Your eyes are heavy-lidded as you crawl onto the bed. His burning stare locks on your cunt, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how wet you are.
“Corbeau,” you whimper, longing for any touch.
“Shut up. Put your face in the pillow.” A plush pillow lands next to your hands, and you drop to your elbows, covering your face in the soft cushion. The bed sinks under his weight as he kneels next to you on the bed. “How dare you give me that attitude?” One hand places itself gently on your back. The other, without warning, smacks down onto your ass, sending a bright shockwave of pain through you. You shake, moaning into the pillow. “Consider yourself lucky.” His hand comes down with force again, and you feel him roughly grasp your sore cheek. “I’m still going to fuck you,” The touch leaves, and you brace yourself. Again that sharp, hot pain. “Until you can’t get a word,” Another, hard. “Out of that pretty fucking mouth.” His hand lands on your ass in another harsh slap. “Now, quit being a brat. Do you understand?” He waits for a few moments, then smacks you again. You’re barely aware that you’ve been crying out at each hit. He was waiting for an answer.
“Yes.” You breathed.
“What’s that?” His voice is low.
“Yes, I- I understand.”
“Good. Flip over.” You feel a touch of approval in his voice, and obey without hesitation. He’s kneeling above you, brows furrowed in frustration. Corbeau’s eyes meet yours, sharp and intense.
“I want you.” You inhale sharply at his words. “But you pissed me off. So I’m going to tease you for a while longer.” A whine of annoyance is your next response, he already knew you were desperate. A lithe hand is between your legs again, delicately pressing at your aching center. Corbeau watches your expression intently as your mouth opens and your brows come together. You lift your head to see him dipping his head between your legs. He steps down, pushing your legs apart, and your heart beats wildly. His presence is so close, and you feel him kiss your folds once, twice, and then he stops. Curious eyes on him, you watch as he takes his glasses off and sets them next to you on the bed. You eye the silk band connecting either side.
Now, his mouth is hot on your cunt. He wastes no time, using his thumbs to hold you open, circling his tongue over your clit. Your breath comes in harsh and fast, and leaves your lungs ragged and mixed with sounds you didn’t know you could make. You pull the pillow out from under your head and place it over your face, trying to drown out the moans you couldn’t stop. Corbeau’s gone briefly, and you think you hear a laugh. The same two fingers enter you, and his mouth latches right back onto your clit. You take another ragged breath and moan helplessly into the pillow. Your arms and legs are shaking, something stirs inside you.
You knew Corbeau was attentive, but you didn’t realize just how quickly he picked up on the nuances of your body. Until, that is, he started curling his fingers up, just enough in the right spot, and his mouth settled with a suction that felt perfect on your clit. Your cries are whiny as you rock against his hand, almost embarrassed of how red-hot your entire body was. You pull the pillow off your face to warn him of your release. His eyes are locked on yours, and he has no intention of stopping. You should’ve put the pillow back, and you’re a moment too late as a loud, desperate cry escapes you. It hits you too hard, and your hands shake as they clench the sheets. You feel immediate regret at how far your moan must have traveled. Still, whines and ragged breaths escape you. He maintains his place, and your back arches from oversensitivity. You’re so soft in his hands, Corbeau wondered if he’d worn you down enough. He situates himself back above you, giving you a gentle kiss, and your abdomen flutters at the taste of yourself on him. Your hands feebly play with the buttons of his shirt. His fingers settle over yours as he helps you undo the buttons. One by one, his lavender shirt reveals his figure. You’re fully entranced by the Scolipede tattoos on his arms. When he turns to set his shirt on the loveseat, you see his back is fully tattooed with a large image of Arbok. Like his arms, the colors are strong and rich, designs swirling with red and purple, heavy black outlines and vivid shading.
“Oh, fuck.” Your voice is barely audible. He turns to look at you, amused. Corbeau drops his slacks and boxers in the same area, then returns to the bed, crawling over you once again. He takes the pillow you’d been screaming into and sets it to the side, then slides an arm underneath the small of your back, lifting your hips to place the pillow beneath them. You feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of another woman teaching him that. He looks at you.
“Something wrong?” Shit, how did he notice? You barely noticed yourself.
“N-no go ahead.” Your voice is shaky. He sits back on his knees with your legs on either side of him. You take a sneaking glance at his cock, growing very impatient, and self-conscious now, too.
“Oh, I get it now,” he pauses and your blood runs cold. “You want me all to yourself, don’t you?” Corbeau’s mouth curved into a smile. Then he laughs, moving closer to you and grabbing the base of his dick with one hand. The other props your thighs up over his, again putting you on full display, and he lines up with your entrance. “Can’t stand the thought of me with someone else, can you? My pretty little whore.” Your head rolls back, but he never moves. “Eyes on me.” His voice is gentle this time. As you make eye contact, he slides the head of his cock back and forth between your folds. His eyes are heavy-lidded but patient, he’s asking you a question. His head tilts to the side as his agonizing motions cause your pussy to clench around nothing.
“Please.” Your voice is weak, and quiet.
“What’s that?” He asks, centering his motion by your clit, rubbing there.
“Please. I need it.” Louder now, your tone was embarrassing. As if your life depended on him putting it in you. He slides his head down to your entrance.
“Need what? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.” Corbeau was still. You groan as desperate words fall from your lips.
“Fuck. I need you, please, fuck me, bite me, anything. Please.” You were on the verge of tears, and a small smile graced his lips.
“Good. Good,” he drew out the word as he slowly pushed into you, never breaking eye contact. “That’s a good girl. That’s all you wanted, see? Tried to pick a fight when all you really wanted was to take all of this inside you.” He bottoms out, pressing and rocking slightly to test just how deep he can get. “Don’t you feel better now? You can be so dramatic,” he leans over you, bracing on his elbows so you’re face to face. “You know how you sound?” He starts moving ever so slightly, not enough that your skin separates from his, but enough that you can feel him shifting inside you. “Pleeeaaase,” he quietly teases you, straining his voice to mimic your moan. It pisses you off, but it’s hot, and your mouth releases a very similar noise. Unfortunately, he’d done a good impression, and he started to laugh. His laughter slowed as his movements increased, he was giving you long, intentional strokes now. Corbeau hummed, enjoying the way you squeezed around him. There was an incredible drag inside you from the ridge at the head of his cock. He was letting you feel it. But his pace was too slow, it only served to drive you mad. Your pleads came out soft, there was no more talking back. Corbeau felt his heart (and dick) swell with pride at seeing you fully submissive. He picked up a steady pace, intense eyes on you, waiting for any indication he’d done something right. When your breath hitched, he hit the same angle. When you moaned, he moved his hips the same. When your begging grew too loud, his mouth fell over yours in a hot, wet kiss. His tongue was in your mouth, one hand on your breast, the other clutching your hair. His body rubbed your mound with every thrust, providing the additional stimulation you needed. The hot coil inside you was building, building… oh, everything felt so sweet. Your nails dig into his shoulders and rake down his back, and you cry into his mouth as your orgasm washes over you. It’s powerful, and your body convulses. You breathe desperately but Corbeau’s mouth stays firmly over yours. He keeps his place, muffling you until your moans weaken. Then, he breaks the kiss without changing his motions, and Corbeau’s mouth is replaced by his hand as he sits up to fuck you harder. He hits that sweet spot inside you in time with every wave of your climax, pushing it farther, and farther, and… oh my god, it’s happening again. You shake as he forces another orgasm out of you. The entirety of your body is engulfed in your release, and you swear there’s stars amongst the static in your brain. Your grip is shakey, and your moans fade to whimpers. Corbeau pulls his hand away and slows his motions slightly, until you tap his chest for him to stop.
“I just— I need… a moment.” You’re out of breath, dizzy, and weak. Your heart thrums hard in your chest, and you can feel it everywhere in your body. You’re hot, sweaty, and your lungs burn.
“I knew you could take it well.” He was still rock-hard inside you. “But we’re not done. Hands and knees again.” His voice flips from sweet to dominating so smoothly, you don’t even think about betraying his words. You’re so tired, your head falls into the cushioned blankets beneath you, arms folded above your head. Corbeau laughs.
“Hey, I was looking forward to pushing your pretty face into the mattress.” He lines up with your entrance again and slides in with ease. A high-pitched moan leaves your throat, muddled by the comforter. His hands slide from your hips over your ass, then up your sides, shoulders, and spine. He lightly presses his nails into your skin and drags them downwards. Your body tremors in response, and his hands reclaim their home on your hips. He pulls back slowly, then bottoms out again. He groans, low in his throat, and twitches inside you. You get the sense that he’s drawing this out as long as possible. Corbeau picks up the pace, his hands pulling your hips back towards him for leverage. As he thrusts deeper into you, a sense of worry for your cervix arises. He’s unrelenting, and there are lewd noises coming from where your bodies meet. He’s panting, then groaning through clenched teeth. Moans are spilling into the plush blankets, peaking when Corbeau is as far in you as possible. His grip tightens, bruises blooming beneath his fingertips. He’s getting close, pushing against you harder than before. Tears well in your eyes as his cock brushes your cervix. There was no way you were stopping him now. You clench around him and he moans, actually moans, leaning forward onto you.
“Don’t tease me.” His voice is so dark and gravelly, but you’d pulled that noise out of him yourself. You feel a hand grip your hair again, smiling at the feeling. Corbeau sets a punishing pace, holding out a bit longer just to wear you out. He needed to leave his mark all over your body. But you feel good, too good, and his hips stutter. His breath catches in his throat, sucking in with a sharp hiss, and releasing with a sound of pleasure and exasperation. He grips your hair tight and pushes as far in as he can, tilting his hips and coming deep inside you. Corbeau lets out a guttural groan, a sound you never want to forget. “Oh, fuck.” He can hardly speak, but he still has the strength to hold you down. He leans forward, and bites harshly at your back. You jump a little at the contact, his cock still twitching inside you. But then, his teeth are gone, he’s leaning back, and pulling out. You can’t help but whine at the emptiness. You’d been fully rearranged, but still wanted him in you. Forever, if possible. You mentally prepare to flip over until you feel a cloth between your legs.
“Sit up.” Corbeau’s voice is soft, he was going to clean you up. You sit up, leaning back against his chest, waiting for the evidence of his release to drip out of you. He kissed your neck patiently, then gave a proper wipe with the cloth, and walked you to the bathroom.
You take in your surroundings while you pee. You peed for a while, which is interesting. You take a couple minutes to finish cleaning up. Motivating your wobbly legs to move, you stand and force your way to the sink to wash your hands. The toilet flushes while you take in your appearance. He fucked you up. Bad. Bruises, hickeys, and bite marks trailed from your jugular all the way to the undersides of your breasts. Heat started to rise in your body again. Most of these you could cover with your usual clothes, but—you leaned towards the mirror—Corbeau’s mark was far higher than the neckline on your usual sweater. Shit. You made for the door and opened it, not bothering to cover yourself. Corbeau, already in a discreet pair of pajama shorts, meets your gaze, takes a pointed glance at your bare breasts, and then back to your eyes again. He’d gathered your clothes and placed them nearby.
“What is this?” You gesture to the various bruises mottling your skin.
“Hmm, let me guess.” He takes a step towards you. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?” Your face flushes a deep scarlet, and you smack his chest.
“No, I mean these!” You swipe your hands over the bite marks, looking down to see one placed ceremoniously on your chest. You tap it, then give him an accusatory look. He looks quite pleased with himself.
“Oh,” he feigns contemplation followed by realization, “If I remember correctly, your words were, ‘Fuck me, bite me, anything. Please.” He’s teasing you again, voice lilting ever so slightly to mock your tone. “My last request was to see you begging for me, which you did perfectly. So, I gave you everything you asked for.” His eyes are so smug, but he sees your expression falter as his words set in. Last request, huh? That’s polite. He closes the distance between you. “Please, tell me I can see you again.” His voice is soft as his hands slide up your arms.
“Whenever you want. I’m yours.” The desperation in his tone when he asked to see you again flooded your senses and numbed any thought that he might be using you. He sounded so genuine, and your chest fluttered.
“How about this, darling,” Your cheeks flushed at the pet name. His fingers touch the underside of your chin, lifting your head to meet his gaze, and he brings his nose right to yours. “I’ll fuck you again when you can walk straight.” Was he really still teasing you? You blush harder and try to pull away.
“Give me my clothes.” Corbeau’s arms tighten around you, one hand dipping to crudely grab your ass. “Stop!” You start to laugh, “Give me my clothes!” He makes a low hum and bites your neck. You moan inadvertently and he pushes against you, he’s hard again. Your knees shake, and his grip on you stays tight. You smack at his shoulders, now that a little fight has returned to you. “Let me go!” Your smile is wide as his grip tightens more. Corbeau lifts you just a little bit off the ground, and carries you right back into the bed. You lay there, compliant, as his shorts come off. You feel a soreness between your legs, but you open them for Corbeau once more.
Your second round is heated, quick, and sloppy. Fueled by pent up tension and a need to possess, he mounts you and fucks you into the mattress. You were all his, he told you with his thrusts, you’ll never forget this. His eyes seared into you saying, I want you, I need you; I own you. With every slap against your hips, you whine from pleasure and overstimulation. Your, now fourth, orgasm has your eyes rolling back into your head. It burns across your whole body, and your fingernails dig into Corbeau’s shoulders. A shaky, embarrassing noise escapes you, almost like you were crying or laughing. He finishes in you again, pushing as deep as he can. The same towel dips between your legs and Corbeau, again, kisses your neck patiently while the remainder of him leaks out of you. Just when you think you’ll fall asleep, Corbeau makes you stand again.
“Bathroom.” He says softly.
“I just went.” You complain with your eyes shut.
“Too bad. Time to go again.” He leads you to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, after a sore redressing, you get to properly rest on Corbeau’s bed. Your entire body aches, but you don’t want to overstay your welcome. Eyeing him, you think of what to say next.
“So uh… do you want me to leave?” He looks at you, stunned.
“Oh, you poor thing.” His hand moves to cup your cheek. “You’re never getting away from me. Just rest.” He kisses you sweetly and pulls you against him. Soft fingertips graze your neck and collarbones, tracing your numerous bites and bruises. Corbeau plants a kiss on the top of your head; never, he says under his breath.
Though the cleanliness of the sheets was debatable, the two of you slept peacefully, aside from shifting to change how your bodies touched.
The sun is barely shining through the curtains when he wakes you. “Hm, good morning.” He leaves a lingering kiss on your temple. His voice is as soft as his touch, so soft you almost forget about the bruising night. “We should get you back to your room before anyone wakes up.” His mouth hovers above yours, and your lips meet in a warm, delicate kiss. Your heart flutters in a way you’ve never felt before. “Try to sleep some more when you get back. You look like you need it.” Bastard. The air is filled with longing as you gather your things and make for the door. Corbeau gives you another sweet kiss, and you leave his room, shutting the door as quietly as you’d arrived.
Quickly, quickly, quickly now. Your friends all stayed on the same floor as you. If someone’s awake, they’ll hear the elevator. Your heart beats hard in your chest and you turn your body sideways to slip out the elevator just a half second sooner, performing some kind of cartoony villain run to your door to make as little noise as possible. You get in, shut the door, and listen carefully. Silence. Your chest heaves a sigh of relief, and you quietly walk to your bed. Your rotom phone is sitting on the bed, you hadn’t thought to bring it with you. You lay down and let the device swing up in front of your eyes. Scrolling through, you have just a few notifications. Oh? Two texts from Lida. You smile to yourself and open your messages:
Lida: Girl did I just see you take the elevator to the top floor?
The hallway had been totally silent, how did she see you? The next came about two hours later.
Lida: OMG YOU ARE NOT SERIOUS ARE YOU
Shit, you hoped she was bluffing. Why was she still awake so late? You begrudgingly set an alarm for your usual wake up time, sleeping in would definitely be suspicious.
Still, it feels all too early as you drag yourself out of bed. Your legs and back are tight and sore, and the area between your legs produced just enough discomfort to affect your stride. You head to the bathroom anyways, maybe the warm water would straighten you out.
There are harsh black, blue, red, and purple reminders all over your neck and chest. You think you can see where his hands were based on the bruises his fingertips left. Shit. You fulfill the bare minimum in the shower to make yourself look fresh, feeling a little regret at having to wash away your night with Corbeau, and then feeling shame after the previous thought. After dressing, you measure how much of your neck is still exposed, feeling nervous at the prospect of being caught. The makeup you apply is helping, you think. You layer on concealer, powder, and spray, desperate for a consistent (and not suspicious) shade.
Barely content with your appearance, you step out of your room and make for the lobby. Urbain is already up, sitting in his usual decorative chair, Floette trilling as if having a conversation.
“Good morning!” He says, bright eyes meeting yours. “You alright?” Shit, you’d spent so much time concealing your neck that you’d forgotten about your under eyes. You feel a twinge of anxiety at the blatantness of your own exhaustion. You hope deeply the light isn’t giving you away.
“Yeah, why?” You tilt your head curiously, even in your current state, you were a great actor.
“Nothing,” Urbain’s expression shifts. “I was going to say you looked a bit tired, but we’re all tired after all these Rogue Mega evolutions. I don’t want you to think you look bad. Or anything.” He’d dug himself a hole. Perfect. You sit down in your usual spot, and Urbain fills your cup with steaming hot tea. Even the smell begins to soothe you. You enjoy a few peaceful minutes sipping as Floette circles you. She makes a curious noise, circling around you closer.
“What’s up, Floette?” You knew exactly what was up, and Floette wanted to know, too. Maybe you smelled like him, or there was intoxication lingering in your veins. She abandons her search of you at AZ’s word.
“Floette, that’s not polite. I’m sorry,” AZ looks at you directly. “I have no idea why she’s so curious. Maybe it has something to do with the Rogue Mega evolutions. Potentially left over energy from the crystals.” He finishes his thoughts pensively, disappearing into the room behind the counter. Oh thank Arceus, he’d pulled the pressure off of you.
“Sounds about right.” Urbain agreed. “Though she hasn’t ever done it to me, and I’m around the crystals just as often.” Damn it, Urbain, let it go!
The elevator chimes, and the doors open. You hear gentle footsteps approaching the lobby, it doesn’t sound like formal shoes. Not yet. Lida rounds the corner and greets you both happily. When her eyes land on you, you can’t help but feel her gaze is knowing.
“Sleep well?” One of Corbeau’s particularly lewd moans plays in your mind, and your stomach clenches. Lida’s looking right at you. There’s a glint in her eyes, like she’s actually searching your face for answers. You still barely believed that she even saw you, she couldn’t possibly know. Speaking of the elevator, it chimed again, and the softest of Team MZ’s footsteps rounded the corner. “Aww, Naveen! I didn’t know you were coming right down, I would’ve waited!” Lida says, looking back over her shoulder.
“That’s quite alright. I needed a few quiet minutes to myself, and the elevator ride is included in that.” Naveen takes his usual seat. The four of you sit in brief silence, and you feel Lida’s eyes on you. Things aren’t tense now, but if she keeps staring, they sure will be. Urbain and Naveen would notice, and the interrogation would begin. Maybe if you broke the silence, her persistence would be less noticeable.
“You guys hungry?” It’s simple enough, get her mind off it. “The café down the street has a new galette I want to try.” Silence. Shit. You take a breath to speak again when Lida interrupts you.
“You barely ate your croissant curry last night, that’s why.” Her chin rests in her palm. You fake a laugh in response.
“Promotion matches always get me worked up. It’s hard to eat when I’m thinking about getting my ass kicked.” Your eyes flick to hers. She’s not buying it.
“Mhm. Even after you’ve won?” You cave just a little, giving her a warning glance. The elevator chimes again. Urbain’s head whips around to do a head count before jumping out of his chair to assist with his guest’s checkout. Their conversation around the corner is audible, but illegible. Your ears perk at the sound of Corbeau’s voice. Lida’s still staring.
“What ever is going on here,” Naveen starts, holding up his hands, “I want absolutely no part in it. And if you’re going to scream about it, let me know so I can leave.” Lida cracks a wide smile, believing Naveen had noticed something was up with you, not her.
The main doors open, and a hulking frame steps in. It’s Philippe, here to pick up the boss. He plainly announces himself and his purpose for arriving, presence cold and intimidating. The Rust Syndicate has to maintain an appearance, after all. Philippe’s harsh eyes land on Urbain, and you hear his deep voice request the money he owes. You see Urbain step forward and hand a thick wad of cash to Philippe. What the fuck? When Philippe turns to leave, you steel your expression, knowing Corbeau would step into view any moment.
There he is. His stride seems a little taller, as if something boosted his confidence. He also looks quite refreshed. Corbeau is smart enough to not spare you a glance, and he exits the hotel at a steady pace. When the doors shut behind him, you feel a familiar emptiness. Your friends, on the other hand, visibly relax.
“Guys.” Urbain finds his way back to his chair and sits, staring off in the distance. “He tipped me enough to cover my entire loan.” Lida’s jaw drops.
“Seriously? All of it??” She sounds relieved. “So we never have to go to that scary building again?”
“Wow, that’s very generous of Mr. Corbeau. Maybe he’s nicer than we think.” A sense of relief is present in Naveen’s words as well.
“Yeah,” Urbain starts. “I didn’t realize you guys did so much work for Mr. Corbeau on the side.” You feel a sharp shift in the energy as Lida’s opportunity arises again.
“It was community service, really. Not tricky at all.” Suspicion laces her words. “I didn’t do much, but our friend here had jobs I never heard about. Maybe Mr. Corbeau’s fond of her.” Lida’s accusatory gaze lands on you again. “So… where’d you go, last night?” Lida asks, as if the tension hadn’t just walked out of the room. You swallow hard.
“What are you talking about?” You lie quicker than you’d like. She caught you.
“Girl, I saw you get in the elevator and go up.”
“I went to the roof for a little bit.” Your mouth is dry.
“Nuh-uh, no you didn’t. You went to the top floor. Also it’s cold and you were wearing shorts and a T-shirt.”
“What, are you spying on me or some shit?” You’re audibly defensive. There’s a long pause.
“What were you doing up there?” An even longer pause. You’ve been backed into a corner, your brain freezing in response. You shake your head side to side as your reddening face betrays you further.
“N-nothing.”
“Lida, leave her be.” Urbain was supporting you, at least, but it sounded more than anything like he didn’t want the answer.
“There’s only one room up there, and it’s the one Mr. Corbeau stayed in.” Lida’s eyes are locked on yours, and she’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.
“He had a job for me.” Your voice is quiet, defeated. There’s another very long, very uncomfortable moment of silence.
“A blowjob?” Your eyes meet hers in shock. Who in the hell was teaching Lida these things?
“Oh my God, Lida, you’re so embarrassing. How- why would you ask that?” Urbain’s head is in his hands, muffling his voice. Naveen’s eyes are open wide.
“Well, now I’m extra suspicious because she lied about it!” Lida sounds indignant now, she wanted answers.
“Quid pro quo.” Naveen’s voice shocked you, no way he was about to side with her.
“What!? Naveen, don’t enable her!” You sound very desperate. There’s a long pause, everyone is looking at you.
“What… what were you doing up there?” Urbain is hesitant, as if he doesn’t want the answer.
“He had a job for me.” Your mouth is beyond dry and your anxiety is growing. “I just wanted to get some info from him.” Lida narrows her eyes at you and then leans in real close. She motions for you to lean in as well.
“Then why did I hear people having sex up there?” Her voice is quiet, but poisonous.
“Oh my god, you ARE spying on me! Stop it, stalker, you’re so weird! You fucking followed me!?” Your cheeks flush hard. She gasps loudly, covering her mouth.
“You fucked the-“ She whispers, until she interrupts herself at full volume. “It was you!” Lida points at you aggressively. “You fucked him!” She’s almost laughing, adding insult to injury.
“What!?” Urbain’s exclamation is drowned out by Lida.
“There’s your loan, bitch!” Her voice is so proud—you’d never seen this side of Lida before—and you may pass away before she leaves. “Talk about interest.”
“Stop! It wasn’t like that!” You whine hopelessly. You’ll have to abandon Lumiose city at this point. However, there was one thing that would keep your feet firmly planted.
—
“So I take it your stay at Hotel Z was satisfactory?” Philippe asks, eyes on the road. Memories of your cries replay in Corbeau’s mind. His breath hitches for just a second, and he coughs, hoping to cover it. His golden eyes met steel when he looked up into the rear view mirror. “You alright, boss?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Corbeau shifts quickly to look out the window. “The amenities were nice, and the room was acceptable. I slept surprisingly well.” His voice is stable, but his larger counterpart knew when his boss’s confidence was failing. Philippe hums to himself, turning off the main road and towards the headquarters.
“And what about that girl?” Philippe asks. Why did he have to be so blunt?
“What about her?” A defensive tone laces his words. “Yes, she was there. She’s staying there, you know.” Maybe sarcasm would get Philippe off his ass.
“So…” A smile crosses his steely features.
“So what?” Corbeau’s voice is rising in both pitch and volume.
“So… Did you get some?” Bluntness. Again. Corbeau actually screams at him in the car, embarrassment coming out in the form of obscenities directed at his bodyguard. Philippe laughs, as loud as Corbeau’s screaming. His boss slams the glass pane between them shut, serving to only slightly deafen his verbal assault.
———————
TEEHEE I HOPE U LIKE IT
I have a very indulgent series going, so there will likely be a part two!
18+ | somno, oral sex, penetrative sex, come eating, light angst, soft wesker, amab!reader version here | Fic Directory
This was hardly an uncommon occurrence anymore. You’d given him permission long ago, but it always came as a surprise regardless. Perhaps it was just… out of character. Wesker’s so damn dignified all the time.
The first time it happened, you woke to his greedy little slurps between your legs, his tongue all but desperately fucking in and out of your pussy until he slipped two fingers inside to coax your nectar free to sate his appetite. He’d let out an amused, victorious hum when your thighs clamped around his head and you mewled the bliss of your release. Wesker took you hard and fast that night, over and over until his eyelids grew heavy and he’d exhausted his inhuman stamina.
You’d talked about it the next day, of course. You both enjoyed yourselves, so why not? Turns out, this was the best thing to ever happen to your sex life. Quality time with Albert was sparse, but time for ‘primitive pleasures,’ as he calls them, were even more so. He’d often come to bed well after you’d fallen asleep, sometimes even leaving before you had the chance to wake in the morning. Such was life.
Now, though? Now he comes home and knows he can have his way with you. He can wake up in the middle of the night and be as mischievous as he could possibly want. Or as desperate.
“Nngh–”
Like tonight.
“H-Hah…”
His breaths fan hot against your neck and each pitiful noise is sung into your ear. He thrusts slowly, each languid stroke just shallow enough to be kind. He must be trying to let you stay asleep. You smirk, weighing your options. You could bring your legs up and around his waist, tug him closer, signal that it was okay to speed up and take what he needs. Or… you could enjoy the show. After all, you’ve never caught him like this.
He’s a sensual lover in every sense of the word, but you’ve never heard him be so vocal before.
“Mm, god…” He mewls, tongue laving at your flesh as he grinds warm and wet in your aching core. He locks his lips at the junction of your shoulder and suckles, teeth nibbling sweetly. It sends shivers down your spine and you have to fight the urge to arch into it. “F-Feels so, mmph…” His speed increases bit by bit as his self control falters. Fuck, you can practically see him even with your eyes shut. Right about now, his eyes are probably glowing redder than ever. Those cat-like pupils are probably blown wide. He’s probably got his teeth bared and his nose scrunched the way he does when he’s holding back.
“M-Mine,” he whispers. Grinding turns to sloppy ruts and fuck, you can’t take it anymore.
You open your eyes and find him exactly as you’d pictured him, but there’s something… different. Something strange. You thumb it away, thinking it to be a sweat drop, but another follows the same path and you realize he’s–
“Al..?”
“Mine. Mine…” He gasps, face falling to your neck once more. You bring your hand to his nape and curl your fingers there. His thrusts grow messier by the second, but your pleasure had all but been eradicated the second you realized those were tears on his cheeks. “You’re– you’re real. Real,” Wesker pants weakly, “and mine!”
Your legs come up around him, guiding his motions, and you rake your fingers through his mussed hair. “Shh, sweetheart.” You coo. You’ve heard this song and dance before. It’s been quite some time since he learned of his manufactured life, but there were still cracks in his seemingly impenetrable walls. He fell apart back then. Swore up and down after that it’d never happen again. But sometimes… “I’ve got you.” Sometimes reality is harsher than even the strongest resolve.
He clings to you, arms wrapped around your midsection as he drives in hard and fast. Squelches and wet slaps ring out in tandem with his whines, and then the telltale circular grinding starts and–
“Oh god!”
His teeth sink into your shoulder and you keen at the sharp sting. His whole body locks like a board against yours, muscles flexed and breath held tight until its staleness overpowers him into a loud exhale and desperate, shuddering gulps of air. You pepper kisses against the side of his head as best you can. His hands grasp your thighs.
Wesker pushes against you slowly, milking the last ebb and flow of bliss from his climax. He falls limp against you and, after some time, you’re almost convinced he’s fallen asleep, but then he lifts himself just enough to press lazy wet kisses to your lips. He suckles your lower lip sweetly, giving it the softest nip before letting off and moving down, littering more affections to every inch. Neck, collarbones, chest, navel– the only complaint you’ve got is that he had to slip out to keep going, but you figure the trade off was perfectly fine when those lips wrap around your clit and–
“Al!” You gasp, incisor sinking into your lower lip, hands coming down to thread in his silky locks, petting and pulling. “You– you don’t have to– mmph!” Your head falls back and you see stars. Fuck, he’d gotten you all stirred up before and he’s got you back there in mere moments. Each drag of his tongue erupts your flesh in goosebumps, and then– “I– oh fuck!” He slurps your cunt loudly and you know exactly what he’s after. The thought alone is enough to make you buck against him, but then those long fingers of his find their way inside and you keen and whine and cry out for him over and over again.
“Mine.” He groans against you.
He coaxes your sweet spot with gentle curling motions, but you know it’s more than that. This isn’t just him seeking to ensure you get yours. No. Right now, he’s eating the proof of your love from between your legs and savoring the salty sweet taste of your combined juices. Each swipe of his fingers draws his seed from deep within and he moans with every tantalizing taste.
The thought alone is enough to put you right on the doorstep of a mind blowing orgasm, but it’s his noises that drive you over the edge entirely. Bucking and whining and mewling, you cry out his name and gasp your love into the air. But he doesn’t stop. His tongue rubs circles to your bud over and over again, switching out to suckle and swirl and slurp more of you until you’re so overstimulated that the only thing you can do is moan and push his face away from your aching cunt.
His lips are back on yours in a flash, tongue licking your own taste into your mouth. His fingers lace with yours and draw your hands up over your head. Wesker pulls away just enough to observe you, but he doesn’t flash that typical smirk of his. There’s no victory plastered on his face. No smugness.
Instead, he smiles sweetly and shifts to lay beside you, tugging your body to fit against his like a puzzle piece. “I do rather like this new rule of ours,” he murmurs against the nape of your neck. “Thank you, my dear…”
You hum and turn in his hold, letting your hand trail up the length of his arm. “You okay?” Sure, it kills the afterglow a bit. And yes, he’s going to deny having been upset earlier. It’s what he does. But you can’t ignore that it happened.
“...yes.” He lies. “My apologies for waking you.”
You sigh and give him your usual look so he knows that you know better. “I love you,” you say, craning your neck to press a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth. “That’s always real… I promise.”
He regards you with a set jaw and pained eyes, but ultimately presses a firm kiss to your forehead. “Sleep,” he huffs. “You talk far too much.”
You giggle and nuzzle his chest, content to do as he commands. Besides, you know that’s how he says it back.
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Tags: Post-Spencer Mansion Incident; No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; Female Reader-Insert; Depression; Disordered Eating; Insomnia; Mental Health Issues; Established Relationship; Secret Relationship; Mentioned Chris Redfield (Resident Evil); Crying; Angst; Grief/Mourning; Betrayal; Hurt/Comfort; Angst with a Happy Ending; Hopeful Ending
Word Count: 3,849
Summary: You've been working as a secretary for the S.T.A.R.S. team since its inception. You've been Captain Wesker's secret girlfriend almost just as long. When what remains of the team return from the Arklay Mountains, having survived the horrors of the Spencer Mansion but still struggling with their Captain's betrayal, Chris thinks you deserve to know the truth about the man who was your boss for two years before he leaves on his 'vacation', even if he doesn't know the real impact that news has on you.
You don't cope well with Albert's betrayal. Frankly, you kind of spiral a little. And when your dear boyfriend decides to finally come for you and reveal himself to you? Well. No one can really blame you for the way you react, can they?
Also on AO3: Here
Requested on Ao3:
a/n: I know it's not exactly the vibe you were aiming for, but I hope this isn't too far off the mark. I truly hope you enjoy it! I really tried to follow the direction the request clearly wanted, but I just can't write Wesker like that. Sorry :/
“I'll see you soon, dear,” he said the day before Alpha Team was to embark on the journey to the Arklay Mountains to investigate whatever was going on there and figure out what happened to Bravo Team.
“I'll see you soon, dear,” he said with a small smile on his lips right before they crashed into yours fiercely, sweeping you off your feet metaphorically as well as physically.
I'll see you soon.
A promise.
A goodbye?
Maybe a lie.
You don't know what to believe anymore. Your eyes and your mind are telling you one thing, but the heart is stubborn; it wants to hope, to have faith, to deny until he can argue his case in front of you personally. But the facts don't lie: Albert has been working for Umbrella for years without anyone's knowledge and ultimately, led his team to their deaths, using their last moments as a test for whatever fucked up report he was tasked with compiling by the very corporation that he was planning to double cross.
You wanted to deny it as soon as Chris knocked on your door and asked to come in. You could see it on his face, the grief, the loss of something precious in his soul that would never recover. You thought the dreaded news had come, the one you'd been preparing for and bracing against since this whole thing with Albert started. And you were right. Just not completely. Because yes, Albert was dead, that was true, but that wasn't the end of it.
Part of you wishes Chris had kept the knowledge of the betrayal to himself and let you grieve Albert in ignorance. That you could remember him as the closed off man who made you feel like the brightest star in his cosmos with just a touch or a look. Not the duplicitous asshole who led an entire group of people to their deaths without a drop of remorse.
For the past month since what remains of S.T.A.R.S. came home, you've been a spectre haunting your own life. There hasn't been much for you to do at work since the team has pretty much disbanded – with the majority of the members dead, Chris off on ‘vacation’, and Jill suspended – and your role as secretary for the S.T.A.R.S. captains has been rendered redundant. You've been helping out around the precinct for something to do and to justify your salary so Irons won't fire you before you find another job, but every day at the RPD has been torture.
Everywhere you look, you see him. The break room reminds you of late nights spent bent over the coffee machine, watching the dark liquid drip into the biggest mug you could find and waiting to bring it up to Albert's office just to see his lips twitch into a barely there smile reserved only for you. Your own desk is a reminder of every stack of paperwork dropped on top of it with an accompanying sticky note that could range from, ‘Dinner at 8? Wear that thing I got you last week.’ to ‘Broom closet in 10 minutes. I need you.’
You can't even get some fresh air behind the precinct without remembering how you'd freeze your ass off in the winter in the beginning of your tenure here just because you were looking for an excuse to talk to him outside of normal working hours. Albert liked his alone time and, come rain, hail, or shine, he would always spend at least half of his lunch hour sitting on a bench, reclining against the backrest with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of nature and disconnecting from the real world for a while. Later, a few months after you started dating, he confessed that he found you immensely irritating the first few times you bothered him in that manner, before he started engaging in conversation with you and realised you weren't the empty-headed sycophant looking for an in with the ‘boss’ that he assumed you were.
The days you spend working are haunted by Albert everywhere you look. But they are nothing compared to the nights you swear are slowly killing you day by day.
Your apartment is a prison. The bedsheets smell like him. His hair gel is tucked between your moisturiser and hairspray. His body wash is still half full and every time you take a shower you open up the bottle and take a whiff of it only to break down and cry because it almost feels like he's right there with you, strong hands rubbing over your back and massaging your tense shoulders at the end of a long day – and you never know if you're crying because he's not there or because you still wish he was, even after everything.
You've barely been eating since that awful day in July when your entire world went tumbling down like a badly built house of cards. If you didn't have to show up for work looking somewhat presentable you doubt you'd even be showering regularly.
And the worst thing about all of this? You have to grieve in silence. Because no one knew you and Albert were a thing and now you don't think you can stand the thought of anyone knowing, not after what he did.
He always said that people knowing would just complicate things. Paperwork to file with Irons, teasing from the team accompanied by irritable nosiness – too much hassle for something that didn't affect your working relationship and should be your private business anyway. You agreed. Besides, you really didn't want to be seen as the classic cliche of ‘secretary who sleeps with the boss’.
But now, in the wake of all this, you have to wonder at the truth of those excuses. Was that really why he kept things with you hidden? Or did he know, even then, that your relationship was on a timer and that it would be pointless to let it see the light of day? That it would be better for it to die in obscurity, private and unacknowledged?
Did it even mean anything to him? Did you mean anything to him?
There's no reliable way you get your answers, but that doesn't stop you from agonising over it and spiralling about the whole thing late at night when the smell of him is suffocating you while the walls of your bedroom seem to be closing in.
It's already September when he shows up. Things aren't improving – if anything, everything seems to be going to shit and you feel worse than ever. Your lack of appetite and insomnia have gotten so bad that you're considering going to see a doctor soon, but something keeps stopping you. Maybe, in a way, you think you deserve this, the suffering, the lost nights, the dizziness. You might be punishing yourself, just a little. After all, how could you not? You dated Albert in secret for more than a year and you had no idea of the kind of man he really was. You slept with him, had sex with him, shared meals with him. You cried in his arms and held him when he opened up about his childhood. You made him smile and he made you laugh. You loved him. More than anyone you've ever loved.
And he betrayed all of that without batting an eye.
So when September rolls around and nothing about your life seems to have any meaning beyond waking up, going to work, and rotting away in your house until the morning, you don't expect much to change. You get back from the station later than usual, having stayed behind to help Marvin out with some paperwork for a new rookie they're expecting towards the end of the month, and you're looking forward to taking off the uncomfortable heels Irons demands as part of your work attire and just collapse on top of the couch and hopefully dissociate for a good few hours before every regret you've ever had in your life comes crashing down on you once more.
The house is quiet when you unlock the door. For a moment, the only sounds you can hear are the ticking of the clock in the kitchen, your jingling keys as you lock the door back up behind you, and your exhausted shuffling as you take off your shoes and dump your bag in their general vicinity in the hallway.
But there is a stillness to your apartment that is instantly familiar. It's hard to describe but you've been living with Albert for months now since he unofficially moved into your place by virtue of always crashing at yours since you live closer to the RPD, and there is a certain atmosphere that always accompanies his presence in your space. Empty apartment stillness is different to Albert Wesker stillness. And this? This is the latter.
Your eyes widen and your heart goes wild in your chest with adrenaline. Fear and excitement battle for dominance in your heart. For a long moment, you are frozen.
Is this real? Are you making it up in your depressed, malnourished, overtired state? He's dead, after all; Chris said so, everyone else confirmed it. But… people can be wrong, can't they? And if anyone could survive impalement by a grotesque monster experiment, it would be Albert.
“Are you going to walk in any time soon, dear heart, or must I come fetch you?”
The sound of his voice breaks you out of your indecision and makes the choice for you. Without your input, your feet start moving and your legs carry you into the living room, following his voice and holding your breath in equal parts anticipation and dread as you round the corner. And there, standing in the middle of the room with his back facing you and his front angled towards the windows overlooking the crowded street below, is Albert.
Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. Something breaks in your chest, the pain so visceral you think you might be dying, and you start crying before you can even think to hide your tears from the ghost haunting your living room.
He turns towards you slowly while you stand there, rooted to the spot and drowning in your tears. He's dressed nicely if somberly – dark trousers, black turtleneck, black coat. His hair is combed away from his face, neatly gelled back the way he prefers, not one strand of hair out of place. And his eyes… His eyes are hidden from you by those dark shades, entirely obscuring any window into his soul you once thought you had the privilege of being able to look into.
He takes in the sight of you the way you do to him. His lips quirk downwards, displeased, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you now. What did he see before? A distraction to indulge in for a little while? A fun toy to play with? Does he see now a disappointment, a waste of time?
“Why are you here?” you ask, gasping between sobs and wiping at your eyes so you can see him behind the blur of tears.
It's not what you want to ask nor what you should be asking, but it is what ends up leaving your lips nonetheless.
Albert takes a step forward, arms crossed behind his back, and tuts at you like you're a misbehaving child he has to discipline.
“That is not the warm welcome I was expecting. I'm disappointed. I've been gone for an entire month and this is how you receive me?”
“Are you here to kill me? Tying up loose ends?” you barrel forward, ignoring his words entirely. Your voice rises as anger overcomes you, rage and indignation and humiliation and heartbreak all rolled up into one giant mess of feelings pushing you to take it all out on him.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Albert spits as he takes another step forward. You can hear his gloves creaking even if you can't see his hand tightening into a fist behind his back. “I'm here to retrieve what's mine.”
That stops you in your tracks. Retrieve what's his? What, did he come here just to take a box of his stuff and fuck off God knows where? Before you can ask the incredulous question, however, he continues speaking, taking one step closer to you, then another, and before you know it he's right in front of you, within touching distance.
“I left you behind because I had no choice. But now I am here to take you with me. You didn't really think I would abandon you, did you?” A gloved hand removes itself from his back and gently touches your cheek, thumb caressing the bruised skin under your eye – evidence of countless sleepless nights since he's been gone – before the touch grows firmer as he angles your face to meet his gaze.
You can see a shadow of his eyes behind the dark shades obscuring them. But it isn't the pale blue you fell in love with that meets your own gaze, but a sickly, unnatural yellow that makes you gasp and want to turn tail and run.
“You… What happened to you, Albert?”
You don't just mean this concerning change to his anatomy only. You mean everything, every little thing that led him down this path, to these choices, that made him into the kind of man who would abuse people's trust and happily sacrifice their lives without remorse.
“I became what I was always destined to be. Fear not, I am still the man you love, my dear. Just… slightly altered,” he answers, tone detached in a way his hold on you isn't.
“You died. Chris said–”
“That fool Chris doesn't know the first thing about any of this!” Albert spits, exploding into a rage so sudden it frightens you badly enough to escape his hold as you stumble away from him.
You're trembling, you vaguely notice, and your mind is foggy with so many conflicting thoughts and feelings, so many opposing reactions that are tugging you in opposite directions and leaving you torn and frozen. You want to run, you want to hug him, you want to hit him over and over again and scream at him for being a lying bastard who broke your heart.
You do nothing.
“You betrayed… everyone,” you say instead and you don't even care that your voice is shaking. “You used me. What was even the point of me in your life if this was the plan all along? Was it amusing to you, to gain my trust and have me baring myself to you completely while you lied to me at every turn?! I LOVED YOU, YOU SELFISH BASTARD!”
Your voice breaks as it rises to a hysterical pitch and then you're crying again, deep, inconsolable sobs that are tearing out of your throat but feel like they're coming from the darkest depths of your soul. Albert crosses the small distance you put between you earlier and wraps his arms around you, a constricting hold that you can't break no matter how much you struggle and how hard you drive your fists into his chest.
“I hate you!” you cry, grief-stricken and betrayed. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”
Albert just holds you tighter, tucking your head beneath his chin, and pets your hair slowly in a soothing motion you remember from countless nights spent just like this.
“No, you don't,” he shushes you confidently. “You can't. If you hated me, it wouldn't hurt this much. You wouldn't be crying like this.”
“I want to hate you,” you retort, pitiful and desperate, but sag against his hard chest and let yourself be held by his strong arms. You hate yourself for it but you take a deep breath just so you can smell him and that familiar blend of his fragrance and the leather of his gloves and holsters makes your head spin and your body relax even further into his embrace. “You've ruined me. You've ruined everything.”
“I know.” Albert brings you even closer to him, somehow, and tightens his hold on you to almost unbearable levels. It's like he's trying to fuse the two of you together. “But you did the same to me. An entire month I've spent away from this place and all I could think about was you. I thought I could leave you behind, spare you the complication of my presence at the very least. But I can't.”
You listen to his words in silence while you try to calm yourself down and stop your tears. Your hands have formed fists between your bodies, clinging to the top he's wearing underneath that coat, and you wonder how you'll have the strength to let go of it and step away.
“I can't come with you. I don't want to.”
“Don't you?” Albert counters arrogantly. Always arrogant. Always the smartest. Would it kill him to let you have this, at least this once?
“It doesn't matter. You shouldn't have come here,” you deny instead.
“You are mine, of course I should have come. Look at you, dear heart. You've been wasting away without me.”
“And whose fault is that?!” you yell, angry once more, and start struggling again. But just like before, your efforts are useless; he might as well be made out of marble for all the effect your squirming has against him.
“I know my actions have hurt you,” Albert says and he sounds like he's reading from a cue card, stiff and robotic the way he always did when he forced himself to be a human being who communicated with his partner as opposed to the icicle he cosplayed as the rest of the time. “But that is why I am here now. To rectify those mistakes.”
“Maybe you should've thought of that before you got more than half the S.T.A.R.S. members killed!”
“That is irrelevant here. We are discussing us, not work,” he rebuffs. God, you want to hit him. He can be so obtuse sometimes.
“And what makes you think I even want to give you a second chance, huh? Why should I?”
At that, Albert finally loosens the unbreakable hold he has on you. He leans back just enough so you can look into each other's eyes comfortably and takes off his sunglasses so there can be no barriers between you at long last. His eyes are even more terrible up close like this, so visibly inhuman and altered, but a part of you can't help but love them anyway. Because they're his. Because you love this man so much even after everything he did and even if you're mourning that pale, icy gaze you found so much comfort in, you cannot bring yourself to hate the new color all that much. Even though you should.
“What is there for you to do here?” he asks instead, combating your questions with his own. “A broken team, a boss you hate, no friends, no family. You're running yourself into the ground mourning someone who's not dead and killing yourself with unnecessary guilt, weighed down by pesky morals that don't serve you. I love you, you stupid, naive, kind-hearted idiot. And I know you love me. Don't put us both through unnecessary pain just because ‘you should’.”
You look up at him with a lump in your throat and wet eyes. You can't help it when your right hand rises and gently falls against his jaw like a flower in spring floating on top of the still surface of a lake. You caress his skin, feeling the barely there rasp of his growing stubble beneath your thumb, and your breath hitches. You love him. You want him. That, you cannot deny.
“I can't,” you protest again but this time you barely believe yourself. Your voice sounds weak to your own ears, a token protest more than anything.
“I won't leave you behind again,” Albert replies firmly, a hint of steel in his tone as well as behind those golden eyes. “Not when I suspect something might be going down here soon. I already failed to convince one person to leave this wretched city behind, I won't accept you doing the same. You may hate me if you wish, but you are coming with me, dear heart, whether you want to or not.”
And you know that he is not lying. You can see the conviction in his eyes, the determination. One way or another, you are leaving Raccoon City behind tonight.
But can you do it willingly? Could you live with yourself if you gave in, slumped back into his arms, and agreed to go with him?
This entire month, you've felt like you've been walking on a tightrope, carefully trying to balance yourself on top of it so you don't fall into the abyss. Everything you felt for Albert was real, regardless of his actions or true nature. And he seems to care about you just as genuinely as you believed he did before all this. Maybe he isn't the man you thought he was but maybe… Maybe that man isn't as much of a fabrication as you’ve been fearing ever since Chris knocked on your door and delivered the news that the superior he didn't know you were in love with was dead and a traitor.
You search Albert's gaze, eyes jumping from one corner of his face to another, and try not to make the biggest mistake of your life. You brush your thumb across his lips, feeling the softness of them and the warmth against your skin, then lean forward and press a short, chaste kiss against them before pulling back once more.
“Okay. Okay, Albert. I'll come with you,” you agree quietly, letting out a soul-weary sigh.
His hands spasm around your waist for a moment before tightening to an almost painful degree. There is relief in every line of his body and happiness shining behind his eyes. That someone so monstrous can look so beautiful, so human, kills you inside and makes you feel like the weakest person on earth. But your lips curl up in an answering smile, albeit a very small and tentative one, and you can't deny that your chest fills up with warmth at the genuine happiness radiating from him as he holds you close once more.
You're betraying everything you are and stand for when you pack your bags and let Albert lead you out of your apartment for the last time, there's no denying that. But maybe you deserve each other – two traitors who love each other more loudly than any rational argument that rises up against your union. It's hard to say. And in the end, it doesn’t matter anyway. You've made your decision and so has he. If it's hell that's waiting for you, at least you'll go there together.
(...) never asked me once about the wrong I did (Albert Wesker x Reader)
Tags: Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert; No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; POV Albert Wesker; POV Third Person; Possessive Albert Wesker; Protective Albert Wesker; Albert Wesker is Bad at Feelings; Soft Albert Wesker; Blood and Gore; Canon-Typical Violence; Torture; Angst; Heavy Angst; Angst with a Happy Ending; Happy Ending; Unhappy Ending; Bad Ending; Good Ending; there are 2 basically; choose your own fate lmao; Hurt/Comfort; Hurt No Comfort; Character Death; Angst with No Happy Ending
Word Count: 5,394
Summary: Albert Wesker is untouchable, invincible, indestructible. His many enemies cannot touch him, not after surviving even Chris Redfield's rocket launchers and the volcano's fire back in Africa.
But there is one thing that will hurt him and a group of his most desperate enemies has just gotten a hold of it: you. Now the question is, can he get there in time to save you or is he doomed to lose the only thing he's ever truly cared about?
Also on AO3: Here
Requested by anon here
If Wesker were to be honest with himself – and a tad less arrogant, in truth – he would admit that this was a long time coming. It really shouldn't come as a surprise, not considering how many enemies he made from that fateful day in the Arklay Mountains when he decided to betray S.T.A.R.S. and Umbrella both and up until this moment. And in a way, it isn't surprising. That someone would have the courage – or the stupidity – and the means to strike back, to come at him in retaliation for once isn't a surprise. But Wesker has always acted unconcerned about this possibility simply because he thought, ‘Well, what could they possibly do to me when I've already surpassed every human threshold for vulnerability and weakness?’
He failed to consider you.
You are a variable that completely blindsided him. An anomaly. An error in the code. But instead of purging you out of his system, instead of correcting that error, he just rewrote everything else around you in order to make room for you and wrap you up in his shield. He doesn't know what this is – fondness? Boredom? Obsession? Love? How could he know – he, who's never been truly loved by another, who's never loved anyone else before?
Maybe it's a little bit of everything, in the end. He finds himself smiling fondly at your silly quirks, things he would usually get annoyed at if they came from anyone else. Doing anything with you or simply sharing space with you even if it's in complete silence has cured his boredom and restlessness more than once, oftentimes staving off what would have been an inevitable migraine in any other circumstance. And when it comes to you – your whereabouts, your current activity, if you're safe, if you're happy, if you've eaten yet, if you're bored – Wesker finds himself turning those thoughts around in his brain on a maddening loop every time he is away from you without fail. Is that love? He thinks it could be.
You came into his life like a whirlwind. You refused to leave. He tried to push you away, swat you aside like a particularly annoying fly, like he does everybody else. But you weren't a fly at all and so you persisted. And you somehow went from infuriating stranger to most precious thing in all creation in the span of a few years, but somehow… Somehow Wesker has remained so blindsided by you, still so awestruck, that he's failed to factor you in for people's retaliation plans against him.
So now here he is.
A thrashed room, a broken keyboard, a mouse ripped from its slot, and above it all, a cracked monitor frozen in that same image that's been lighting up a blazing inferno in his chest and reddening eyes since the video was sent to him twenty minutes ago: you, skin bloody and cut open, tied to a grimy examination table as you gaze into the camera with wide eyes filled with tears. He couldn't even hear your voice, just muffled screams that might have been his name or might have been curses aimed at him for ever having the misfortune to meet him.
Wesker finally stops his rampage when his eyes snag on that grotesque picture taken straight out of his nightmares. He clutches the edge of the desk, knuckles white against the reinforced material of it though he can still hear it creaking in protest against his grip. His teeth are bared in a silent snarl while his eyes jump all over the screen, roving over every visible inch of you and cataloguing your injuries – torture wounds. Meant to inflict pain, as much as possible, for no reason at all.
That's what kills him the most.
These people? They didn't take you because they want to use you as leverage against Wesker for something. Not even to interrogate you and torture secrets out of you. No, they took you as revenge, plain and simple. Wesker killed someone – or a bunch of someones, knowing him – important to them, experimented on them for his plans, leveled their entire city at the end of his usually explosive endeavours – the details aren't important, he wasn't paying attention. But these people… well. They decided an eye for an eye was in store. Simple as that.
The video was more of a taunt than a ransom demand.
“Maybe we'll ship what remains of them to you and let you give them a proper funeral. Though maybe not. None of your victims ever get that, after all.”
“AGH!” The roar that escapes Wesker is a pure animal-in-distress sound. He flips the whole desk entirely this time around then stands there in the middle of all this destruction, chest heaving, eyes stinging, trying to resist the urge to claw at his own skin to get at the bleeding black hole sitting at the core of him that won't let him calm down. It hurts. It hurts in a way that being impaled by the Tyrant in the Spencer Mansion never did. It hurts worse than when he was the only child to never get mail or care packages or visits from family at any and all the boarding schools he frequented as a boy. It hurts worse than when he visited Spencer and got confirmation that his entire life had been a lie, just a careful orchestration of a megalomaniac in need of a reality check. It hurts worse than all of these combined and multiplied by a hundred.
He wants it out. He doesn't want to feel this way, he can't, he won't survive it.
A startling ping breaks the suffocating silence of the destroyed room and pulls Wesker out of his spiral. It came from his phone. He pulls it out of his pocket with hands he won't admit are trembling and unlocks it to see a new encrypted message from the same people who took you. He briefly sees red before he forces his grip on the phone to loosen and wills his thumb to actually tap on the message and open it so he can see what those bastards sent now.
He doesn't want to think about the worst case possibility so he refuses to brace himself against it.
Had enough time for a little breakdown? Is the despair settling in yet? If yes, then congrats! You now know how everyone you've ever hurt felt right before their demise.
You never gave anyone else a choice but because we aren't the monsters you are, here's a gift from us to you: if you actually care about this poor idiot who keeps crying your name as if it'll save them, then why don't you turn yourself over to us? A life for a life. No tricks, no lies, and especially no fancy powers. Once you're dead, they go free. Pinky promise.
Or you can do nothing and we'll keep mailing you body parts over the next few weeks. Choice is yours. Make it soon.
See you here. Or not. We don't care either way.
He hurls the phone at the wall. It hits the surface with a satisfying crack before falling to the floor, but by that time Wesker has already whirled out of the room, footsteps stomping on the ground as he marches like the soldier he used to be once upon a time, in a different life. The people milling about in his latest lab setup jump out of his way like scrambling cockroaches and Wesker hates them all in that moment, hates them with a passion that wants to level this entire facility and watch it crumble into ruins. He hates them for being ignorant of how his entire life, his most precious jewel, is about to be snuffed out if he doesn't get there fast enough. He hates them for being safe in their ignorance, happily oblivious as they continue their work with not a care in the world. He hates them for not being you.
It would be so easy to unleash himself upon them, to say ‘fuck it’ to the entire thing he's been trying to build here and just take it all out on these hapless idiots. The Uroboros under his skin is almost itching to do it. But you appear in his mind's eye like a spectre, your bright eyes and soft smile haunting him, and he knows he can't disappoint you like this. He promised. Less destruction. A bit more kindness, where possible. He knows you dislike senseless cruelty, disapprove of his past methods. You agree with his goal of aiding humanity with a virus that could actually be salvation instead of doom, but you don't like the path he's taken so far to get there.
So he promised to do better, or at least try. When did Albert Wesker change so much and for another person at that? How come he never noticed until now, when his gloves are creaking with the force of his curled fists as he marches through the lab and all the way to the top of the building where a helicopter is waiting, trying not to murder everyone he comes across simply because you would disapprove?
Wesker doesn't bother with ordering a pilot to come assist him. He explodes out the door and onto the helipad like a storm given form then climbs into the pilot's seat and begins the process of preparing for a flight. He has no time to lose and if there is one thing Wesker has learned in all his years of being alive it's that if he truly wants something done right, he has to do it himself.
He spends the journey to the destination given in that last message agonising over thoughts of you. How scared you must be, all alone and at the mercy of those lunatics who would take their anger with him out on you. He didn't let himself linger over those words when he first read them, but now he thinks about that remark – about you crying for him, begging him to come to you, to help you, to save you.
When's the last time he was anyone's salvation? Has he ever even desired to save anyone but himself? He can't remember.
The abandoned building you're being held in rises over the mountains as he nears your location. The wind is frigid and carries a hint of ice in it but Wesker barely feels it as he guides the helicopter to a patch of land ideal for landing and lets the bird touch down none-too-gently. He shuts everything down and climbs out.
All is quiet, almost deafeningly so, in the wake of the helicopter blades’ whirling. There's snow all around him, winter in everything but name so high up on this peak, and the wind is relentless as it lashes at Wesker's skin and makes his coat flap dramatically behind him. He starts to walk and snow crunches underneath his boots with every step he takes. Unbidden, a memory of you surfaces – nose red, lips pulled wide in an infectious grin, dancing in the snow last winter and calling him a Grinch for not joining you in your revelries.
The massive, solid iron doors up ahead start to slowly pull open as he approaches and the memory is banished back to the vault of his brain with the motion of his right hand grasping his glasses and wrenching them away from his face, folded harshly and tucked into the inner pocket of his coat.
Wesker comes to a stop several feet away from the nearly open doors. His body is thrumming with energy and rage, every atom in him screaming to attack and not stop until every last one of these vermin are nothing but lumps of flesh and pathetic bone under his feet. But he cannot risk you. He will not gamble with your life.
The woman who emerges from those doors is tall and scarred all over. She is geared up like a soldier and heavily armed, but doesn't quite carry herself with the discipline of a soldier. There is defiance and insolence in her gaze when she tilts her chin and looks him in the eye.
“You came,” she remarks, toneless, and her eyes flick up and down his form to take him in the way someone might observe a worm squirming under a rock. When Wesker remains silent with nothing but the weight of his crimson glare on her to speak for him, she continues, “I have to admit. I didn't expect you to show. Didn't think you'd care.”
Wesker grits his teeth and tightens his fist in lieu of punching a hole through the woman's chest cavity.
“They keep crying for you, you know?” she continues conversationally, as if they're discussing the weather or politics or a new recipe for casserole. “Personally, I find it a bit pathetic, but I can't judge them too much. They're in a lot of pain, after all. Do they really call you Albert? Really? Not a very scary name, that. But I suppose that tracks. Only a motherfucker with a name like Albert would have the audacity to kill and use and maim as he sees fit and think that there won't be consequences. You–”
“Is there a point to this little speech, dear, or is your plan to simply bore me to death?” Wesker interrupts with affected boredom in his tone. “I did as you asked. Here I am and you're wasting my time prattling on about whatever sob story you're gearing up for. Spare me. Release your hostage then you can have your fun with me all you like.”
The woman's face twists in a glare only for a moment before she visibly composes herself and jerks her head in a signal for her, no doubt, hidden partners skulking in the shadows. Her expression morphs into a smile then, a very cruel and bloodthirsty one.
“I was getting there, you impatient prick. But I guess we can speed things up if you're gonna be like that. Well, here they are, just like we promised.”
The sound of feet scrambling for purchase on metal flooring reaches his ears before two figures come into view. One of them, taller and geared up just like the leader, is standing farther back with a gun aimed at your head and a massive arm wrapped around your shoulders and digging into your neck as he holds you forcibly up. The other one is you.
You're dressed in the same clothes he last saw you in, when you called him on video to say goodnight even if the timezone difference made it late morning for him. He never should have let you travel alone. He should have been there, guarding you, protecting you, making sure no one could lay a single finger on you. Because now? Now you look like you've been through a meat grinder. Your clothes are torn in places or entirely cut off to expose your bruised skin, littered with cuts, puncture wounds and various burns. Your eyes are bloodshot and one of them is so swollen and bruised it's entirely shut while your lips are split from a punch and cracked from dehydration, with painful looking red marks leading from the corner of your mouth all the way to your ears where a gag was most likely placed on you for hours.
You can barely stand and, in fact, the only thing keeping you upright right now is the arm around your throat, digging into your flesh and making you gasp and choke when it tightens its grip.
Wesker feels like he's floating or perhaps drowning. Nothing feels real. Not the snow under his boots nor the wind whipping at him without mercy. Certainly not the sight of you, the only thing that matters, the meaning for his wretched existence, bloodied and bruised and looking so very small in that brute's painful embrace.
Your hazy eyes manage to find him in the span of seconds during which Wesker tries to come to grips with his reality, and they light up, as much as they can, at the sight of him. It makes an entire supernova explode in his chest but similarly, it sours something in his gut to see your faith in him even after he failed you so spectacularly, something that almost feels like guilt.
“I knew you'd come,” you whisper so quietly your voice would be lost to the wind if Wesker's every sense wasn't so attuned to you right now. “I told them.” You sound weak and almost lifeless, on the brink of something that suddenly terrifies Wesker and grips his heart in an icy hold that threatens to shatter him completely. He doesn't want to contemplate such a fate, doesn't want to imagine you dead and inert in his arms, all that love and life suddenly gone from the world.
“I am here, dear heart. I will always come for you,” Wesker answers, loud enough to make sure his voice carries over to you, before his eyes flicker back to the woman he wants to see dead and torn to pieces for putting you in this state. “You had your fun, now release them.”
“Hmm. You know what, Albert? I don't think I like your tone. How about… no?”
“No?” Wesker repeats, tone gone colder than these mountain peaks, body stilling so completely it looks inhuman. It makes the hairs of everyone present stand on end, a fight or flight response activating in everyone's hindbrain.
“Yeah. ‘No’ sounds about right,” she continues without a care in the world, unaware or perhaps uncaring of the danger she is in. “Udo, go ahead.”
BAD ENDING:
Between one blink and the next, somehow too fast for Wesker to realise what is happening and act yet seemingly happening in slow motion right before his eyes, the man behind you uses the hand holding you up to flick open a knife and run it across your throat, slicing it open long and deep. You gasp and gurgle as blood spills down your front, eyes wide and panicked, hands and feet scrambling to get away from something that already happened. The man opens his arm and lets you go and you hit the ground with a thump, thrashing and choking on your rapidly dwindling breaths, desperately clutching at your open throat in vain.
No. This can't be happening. This isn't happening.
But it is.
You were the love of his life. When people say that, they're usually exaggerating – they've loved before, they'll love again. It's nothing truly special, just a really powerful feeling that can fade or be overcome with enough time and will. But when Wesker says it, he means it. He's never loved before, never known the kind, unselfish touch of another. He's never felt like he's enough simply because he is him – not his achievements, not his strength, not his intelligence. Just him, exactly as he is. You were his everything, all that was good and worthy of being saved and preserved in the world. You were his humanity.
In that moment, as your gurgling breaths and dwindling heart beat echo in his ears like a war drum, Wesker knows that he'll never love again. And that he'll never allow himself to be human again either.
“You just made your last mistake,” he growls lowly, a distinctly inhuman sound that makes everybody stand up straight and cock their guns in his direction. He doesn't explode in a rage of fists and pain. All of that, he tucks away the way he used to do before you showed up in his life and taught him how to stop hiding. Instead, he lets his Uroboros unfurl and his eyes glow a demonic yellow-gold, and before that wretched, stupid woman can blink, he impales her clean through. He lifts her up with the force of his strike and watches her dangle in the air for long seconds with impassive but blazing eyes. Her companion starts shooting at him desperately but Wesker dodges the bullets without looking before swatting the man away with a tentacle – he can hear the man's skull crack open upon impact.
“You… are n-nothing… bu-but a… monster,” the woman gasps, stuttering and choking as Wesker drives the Uroboros further into her.
Wesker tuts, yanking her forward harshly, and looks her straight in the eye with murder in his gaze.
“Yes. You made sure of that. And now all of you will experience first hand what it's like to be at the mercy of a monster and receive none,” he intones, baring his teeth at her threateningly, before he tears her apart cleanly in two and throws her away like leftover meat from a hook. “Now. Who's next?”
What unfolds is nothing short of a massacre. Wesker tears through the whole building until he is satisfied that none survived and then he stands there, bathed in the blood and guts of all those people, and feels absolutely hollow. The satisfaction of revenge is nowhere to be found. The Uroboros retreats into his skin and he, alone, remains – solitary, blood-stained, and still so very human despite it all. A keen rises up his throat and escapes him, like a wounded dog calling for salvation, and then he's falling to his knees as he cries, shaking and trembling and feeling so very cold in a world without you.
He finds his way back to you as if navigating through fog but your figure isn't the warm crackling fire he could sit close to and warm himself over the way it used to be. Your fire has been extinguished and all he finds is blackened charcoal crumbling into ash in his palms.
“Dear heart. My heart. Oh, what am I to do without you?” he murmurs in a voice he doesn't recognise, kneeling in front of your cooling corpse and gathering you in his arms like spilled yarn he wishes he could wind around himself and put back together. He runs his bloody, gloved hands over your bloody, matted hair in a desperate caress and cries into the crown of your head, rocking you back and forth and feeling like all light has been snuffed out from the world, all goodness has been sucked out of him. “I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I failed you, my love.”
He cannot bring himself to move for a long time. Wesker sits there, crumpled in the snow with your body dangling in his stiff arms, and tries to find a way to keep going, tries to find a reason for any of it now that you're no longer a part of his world.
He cannot.
Yet still, when the time comes, he rises to his feet with you cradled gently to his chest, and carries you slowly back to the helicopter. He places you in the copilot's seat, buckles you in securely, then rounds the bird so he can get behind the controls and prepare for takeoff. Before he gets in, he turns back towards the bloody mess he left behind, and hopes that if anyone comes across the massacre they'll know who caused it and why and will think twice about making the same mistake these idiots did.
Wesker pulls his glasses out of his pocket and puts them back on with careful precision, then climbs into the helicopter and starts flicking switches. While he waits for the vehicle to be ready for the flight back home, he pulls a spare phone out of his pocket and dials the number for the head scientist at his newest lab, eyes briefly flicking to your slumped form.
“Prepare one of the cryo chambers. Have it ready for me in two hours. And send out a new mission objective for the entire staff: we are working on regeneration from now on. We won't stop until we find a way to bring someone back to life. Good, get it done.”
Wesker's gloves creak around the controls as he pulls the helicopter in the air and starts the flight back to the lab, but when he takes his left hand away to grasp your stiff and cold one in his palm, his touch is gentle as his thumb rubs over the back of your hand. He doesn't say anything, all words having bled out of him on that mountain, but he doesn't let go of you either. Not during the flight, not when he carries you into the facility hosting his labs, and not until he places you gently in the prepared cryo chamber and says goodbye.
“I won't fail you again, dear heart.”
Wesker turns away from you as the device holding your corpse closes up behind him and seals you away, walking away from you with heavy footsteps and a heavy heart. The Albert Wesker you coaxed out and brought back to life in the few short years you were together died that day with you and he makes sure the world knows it, makes sure it feels every last bit of pain he did.
He lost his entire world that day, after all. Why should anyone else's survive?
GOOD ENDING:
Wesker hears the quiet snick of a blade being released. His eyes snap back to you in an instant but more importantly – the man's hand. Before anyone can react, and with an urgency and desperation Wesker never thought himself capable of, he unleashes his Uroboros and runs a spear-like tentacle straight through the man's eye, driving it through his skull all the way to the other side, letting it come out of the back of his head and pin him to the wall.
As the man's arms go limp, your support goes with them so you crash to the ground in a heap of bruised limbs, letting out a cry of pain and curling up to feebly try to protect your head from further injury. The tentacle pulls out with a squelch, spraying filth everywhere when he shakes it to clean it of blood and brains, then he directs it to you without missing a beat. It wraps around your body like a vine, cradling you gently but firmly, and then lifts you up carefully to carry you back to Wesker's side. He shrugs off his coat and lays it out on the snowy ground, then places you so very carefully on top of it before removing the tentacle from you and focusing his attention back on his targets.
“You shouldn't have done that,” Wesker informs the woman who just gave the order for your death in a clinical tone that, nonetheless, is shaking with barely restrained anger. Fear and rage burn an intertwining path through his chest and all it takes is a glimpse at that woman and her companions now coming out of the woodwork like worms after a storm, fingers on their triggers and hatred in their eyes, for Wesker to snarl in their direction and unleash himself upon them.
He is merciless in their destruction. He tears bodies in two, crushes their skulls beneath his boots and rips the eyes out of their sockets with his bare hands. He breaks limbs, tears them off their bodies entirely, runs them through with his Uroboros – he deals as much pain as possible in as gruesome a manner as possible. He roars as he mows them down like the insignificant vermin they are and bathes in their blood, relishing in their screams. For every wound on your body, every scream and cry that escaped your lips, for every drop of fear and desperation he felt at having you out of reach and in danger, Wesker takes it out of them tenfold.
When all is quiet and the world has gone still, all that remains are the two of you – a bloody pair, clinging to each other in the middle of a massacre, the windy mountains hostile and freezing but your bodies warming each other and keeping the other safe. Wesker has protected your body and, in turn, you protect his heart, his soul.
“You got hurt, dear heart. I failed to protect you, I am–”
“Don't apologise,” you croak weakly, lifting up your palm to place it on his face and wipe away some of the blood streaking his skin. “You're here now. You saved me. I'm safe.”
It seems like a mantra meant for him, a reminder, more than anything else. And he realises why as soon as you say it: his shaking stops as your words wash over him and register properly, and he finally slumps against you, tucking your head into his chest and clutching you to his body as tightly as he can without aggravating your wounds. You hold him back as much as your weak arms will allow and he finds himself quietly weeping into your hair for a few moments.
Wesker pulls away much sooner than you both know he needs to hold you for and wipes the tears away with a rough hand that mostly just streaks all the blood around but succeeds in hiding the evidence of his loss of control over his emotions.
“Do you have any wounds that require immediate attention?” he asks gruffly even as he pats you down himself. You shake your head. “Alright. Then let us leave this hellhole and get you proper treatment back home.”
He stands with you in his arms, trembling form wrapped up in his coat, then walks slowly back to the helicopter so as not to jostle you too much. He ends up strapping you in the back because the copilot's seat is too uncomfortable for your wounds and then, before you know it, he's taking off and leaving the mountain behind and all its horrors.
While your wounds aren't life threatening, they are a bitch to recover from and they put you in a lot of pain throughout the entire process of getting better. Wesker is there at every turn, obsessive in his care, but you indulge him no matter how exasperating the behaviour might get. He doesn't know how to tell you that something in him will go wild, like an animal in a cage, if he can't have you near and in his sights. Doesn't know if he is capable of admitting that you are the only thing keeping him somewhat human right now, that that monster you saw unleashed that day was a glimpse of him without you in his life.
Instead, he pulls you closer on the couch so you can recline on him when your hurts are giving you trouble in getting comfortable. He kisses your forehead and gently runs his lips over your swollen eye as it goes down slowly day by day. He rubs your ankles and wrists when phantom pains of rough restraints make your skin itch and joints ache. He shields you from the world with his heavy body when you wake up gasping in the middle of the night from memories you can't bury and whispers promises of safety into the crown of your head, running soothing fingers up and down your bare spine until you unclench and relax back into the mattress.
He doesn't have the right words for what he's feeling. Wesker knows he loves you but he doesn't know how to say it. But he's sure you understand anyway, especially when he cooks you dinner one night, all your favorite dishes laid out on the table, and right before dessert he pulls out a black velvet box and opens it slowly, pushing the open box towards you on the table and leaving it there between you, a question in his eyes and in the way he desperately grips your left hand.
“Yes,” you murmur with wet eyes and a lump in your throat without ever being asked the actual question, at least not out loud. Wesker smiles, full and sweet and genuine, then gently slides the ring onto your finger and kisses the knuckles reverently, promising with his actions if not his words that he will cherish you and keep you for as long as he shall draw breath on this wretched earth. You are his heart, his very dear heart at that, and you belong with him – protected, always, and all his.
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