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nereidprinc3ss · 5 months

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hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied.

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details.

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name.

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror.

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause.

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it.

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort.

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is.

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably.

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing.

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—”

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face.

Oh. He was fucking with you.

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer.

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you.

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies.

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic.

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you.

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room.

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder.

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back.

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately.

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin.

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are.

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer.

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach.

Something resembling jealousy.

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid.

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you.

You swallow and try to act like yourself.

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see.

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in.

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively.

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place.

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable.

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job.

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it.

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown.

She makes a good point.

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail.

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut.

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer.

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl.

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen.

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny.

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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dekuneho · 24 days

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let me ☆ ( prohero!katsuki x fem!prohero!reader ) — you underestimate how gentle katsuki can be, if you needed it | smut

( warnings. ) minors and ageless blogs dni ! fingering, praise, soft gentle sex iktr, reader is going thru tough times & katsuki takes care of you, timeskip!katsuki — 18+

You underestimate just how gentle Katsuki can be.

The instant your fingers click on the lock, Katsuki is already a step behind, his presence a looming force over you like an unshaken shadow. There must be something on your face; Katsuki frowns as he studies it intently, fingers ghosting over your arms, like he’s trying to read between lines that you haven’t even drawn in yet.

"Something happened." He doesn't phrase it as a question, sounding sure of himself. “What?”

"I'm safe," you swear to him, pulling your coat off. "No bruises or anything. See?"

He ignores your extended arms, pinning your gaze with his own. "What," Katsuki demands.

"Katsuki—” You sigh and attempt to push past him. He just rears back and keeps his eyes trained on your face searchingly. "Katsuki, I'm too tired to deal with this."

His brows dip downward further. "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

You falter, struggling to maintain this flimsy display of strength — he knows you too well for that.

He waits. Patient, gentle, like he’s so sure that he can carry this burden with you. You know he can. It’s that fact that makes you think, Of course not. Of course you could never be too tired of him. He never tires of me, too.

“I don't—” you say, looking away, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this anymore. Am I even doing anything right?”

There must be some other reason — Katsuki is evidently fumbling at the threads to tie it all together in his head, but as of the moment, that is all you’re feeling. You don’t know if you can keep doing this. Your limbs want to sag to the ground, knowing it has to prepare again to face the brunt of tomorrow — but you have to care for it, too, or else you’ll wake up dead. Katsuki doesn't deserve that, even if you’re falling apart.

"Everything is just so hard," you continue, the surge of emotions you'd been desperately keeping a tight leash on bursting at the seams; "None of it makes any sense. I don't know if I'm doing anything right."

Katsuki's frown eases. "C'mere."

The next breath you take comes out wet and shaky. The next step you take gravitates to him.

Katsuki pulls you to his chest as you sob. He buries his nose into your hair, rubbing shapes into the small of your back. It almost feels like he’s coaxing it out of you with every touch. You cry violently, lungs spasming, everything pouring out finally — and throughout it all, Katsuki doesn’t split away, even as your tears and snot leave a disgusting patch on his shoulder. If anything, he keeps you enveloped in his warmth, as if he can tell that it helps even without being told.

“N-nothing happened,” you sniffle, trembling, and Katsuki pushes off just enough to see your face; “But it was so overwhelming. I just — I dunno.”

“Baby,” Katsuki starts. You’ve never heard him speak so softly before, low and rough and embodying gentleness that you don't know if you deserve. “Let me take care of you tonight, yeah?”

That sounds good. God, you want him to do that so bad. But looking so weak in front of someone so remarkably strong like Katsuki is embarrassing. You're not some child needing to be told that you're doing good and everything will be all right — needing to be coddled because you had a bad day.

“I want to,” Katsuki says; you feel as though he can read your mind. "Let me."

"…okay." You nod, averting your gaze. "Please take care of me."

And so Katsuki helps you bathe, kisses your knuckles, pulls one of his shirts down that reaches to your mid-thigh, brushes your hair out of your eyes, feeds you dinner he's cooked, and kisses you again. All the while, it's silent. Peaceful. It should unnerve you that Katsuki hasn't spoken a single word since, but you revel in the comfort of hearing his measured breaths instead.

It’s like you can hear him think: You’ll be okay. So let me take care of you. Let me help you be okay.

You feel like you're melting out of your own body, sinking into the comforter's embrace on your shared bed, losing tension in Katsuki's scent and affection.

“Pretty,” Katsuki mumbles, his hand crawling down.

Then you go still when Katsuki watches your expression as he glides a finger in between your legs.

Your cheeks burn. "I — w-what—"

Katsuki hums, thoughtful. "You're already…"

Well, it happens that today is a day of many discoveries. It turns out, Katsuki's hands can be so soft as he works shampoo through your head, and you get horny seeing how attuned your boyfriend is to your needs.

Katsuki can be so gentle with his hands. Of course you’d been thinking of how gentle he can be elsewhere.

"You want me to?" Katsuki asks, slipping a hand under your shirt. His heated fingers caress your waist, his thumb rubbing circles that trickle hotness down elsewhere.

You aren't sure why you feel so shy. You've done worse with each other. "You don't have to. If you just feel like you have to—"

Katsuki lifts an impatient brow. "You think I wouldn't want to?"

You squirm, suddenly aware of the empty ache that is longing for Katsuki. "W-well—"

Katsuki kisses under your right ear before he tugs on your underwear and flings them off to the side. He pulls back to devour your lips in a kiss, swallowing your noise of surprise. Your hands find home in his hair and he thumbs on the source of your heat.

You jolt and choke on a moan as he increases the mind-numbing friction. "Let me take care of you," Katsuki says; "let me, say yes."

"Yes," you cry out in his mouth. You feel floaty with the surge of lust shuddering through your entire body. "Please."

When you break away, you see his pupils wholly overtaking his iris, not even a hint of red. Katsuki licks over his teeth as he stares like he hasn't already eaten dinner. Like he’s doing himself a favor. You wrap tentative fingers around his wrist to guide his hand to your cunt, twitching because it knows it's going to be filled so well with Katsuki here.

Katsuki would make it so good; you know it. You know it so well. He’d know how you want it — need it.

He groans as you feel yourself get wetter. "Baby, shit — you needed this, yeah?"

"Katsuki—"

"I know." Katsuki rubs on the sensitive bud of your clit, kissing your jaw. "I know. Relax, baby, relax for me. Make it feel good. Just like that. Yeah, fuck, like that."

You feel dizzy. Katsuki teases one finger in, watching your face with rapt attention. You're so wet that he slides in easily; he could slip in two more just like that. But Katsuki is focused on making you feel the sensations instead, taking it slow, one by one, leaving you a fluttering, whining putty under him.

Katsuki’s heavy breathing makes you tighten around him involuntarily. He curses, patience rescinded. "One more?"

"Yes, please please — more — ah—"

He curls his fingers, and you tremble and whine, white-knuckled, gripping him, trying to meld yourself into him. Katsuki echoes your sound in a rasp, "Mm. You hear yourself? Fuckin' gorgeous."

It should be embarrassing that you're close already, yet who can blame you with Katsuki overwhelming your senses with every inch of his body — all over and inside you? His fingers are hot, and you're burning up, a coil in your stomach begging to be released.

Your legs shake as your back arches. "Kats — Katsuki — ah, please, please. Please, I'm—"

Katsuki kisses you through all of it. "I know. I know, baby. Don’t gotta beg. I gotcha — give it to me."

You thought you'd already exhausted all your tears, but Katsuki whispering in your ear and coaxing an orgasm out of you so tenderly pulls heat into your eyes. You forget about the weight on your shoulders. Right now, you can only think of how you could fall and Katsuki would catch you. You cry as you break, pulse jumpstarting, and Katsuki takes care of you all over again.

#ᥫ᭡ dekuneho #&katsuki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #bnha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut

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lore-smaus · 10 days

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«I DON'T SPEAK TACO BELL» FT. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Shoko, Choso, Toji, Sukuna.

Summary: You so casually yell at them in Spanish and they have no clue how to act.

Tags: crackhead energy, cursing duh, translation for the one who can't understand duh!, freaky characters, this one is slightly connected to some smau lore lmao

A/N: Im done here. I had too much fun making this @saintkaylaa

Gojo Satoru:

“A ver, pendejito, tu te crees que soy una de tus amiguitas o que? A mi no me vengas con eso otra vez o te voy a dar un cantaso que vas a ver a Geto!" (lets see, dumbass. You think im one of your little friends? Dont come at me with that ever again or ill hit you so hard you'll see Geto!)

To say he was shocked was an understatement. He was beyond that point.

He knew you spoke Spanish, hell, he's seen you speak it. However, no matter how many times he listens to it, it will never not surprise him how fluently and easy you spoke it.

He apologized, even though he didn't understand anything, and made sure to not get on your nerves ever again. He was scared shitless.

Geto Suguru

Logically, he wasn't afraid of anything! Truly. Well, that was until you heard the girls referring to your non sorcerer family as monkeys. You sat them down, belt in hand and started shouting at them.

"Es que como se te ocurre! Monos?! A MI familia?! No no, es que tu eres imbécil! Y enfrente de las nenas!?" (What were you thinking! Monkeys?! MY family?! No no, you're an asshole! In front of the girls too!?)

The girls looked sheepishly at Geto, however, Geto had his eyes closed, almost praying, barely making noises. It wasn't his first time being shouted at in Spanish, however, it was the first time actually looking at you grabbing a belt. And with the way you talked about how your parents hit you when you were young with it? Oh yeah, he didn't even wanna move. So the girls, following the example, stayed still.

Rest assured, that day, Geto discovered he had ONE fear: you.

Nanami Kento

"Ruega a Dios que ese imbécil no se cruce en mi camino porque es que lo exorciso yo misma" (Pray to God so that imbecil don't cross paths with me because I'll exorcise him myself)

Truly, while Shoko attended Nanami, she could almost hear his heart palpitations because the way you fumed and complained, even pointing at him to reprimand him for his carelessness he was rather excited.

He knew you spoke and he tried his best to learn spanish however, he noticed that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to understand it. So he stayed silent during your 'lecture'. However, in his mind, he was trying to figure out what were you saying.

Shoko Ieiri

“Me importa un carajo que te ayude a quitar estrés, o sueltas el jodio cigarrillo o yo te voy a dar una razón para estresarte." (I don't give a fuck if it helps you destress, you either let go of the god-damned cigarette or ill give you a reason to be stressed)

She didn't know if she should be turned on or scared. Maybe both.

"yo... Umm? No hablar?" She tried to speak the very little spanish she knew, however, that only helped to confuse you. When she finally let go (and stopped on the cigarette) you sighed heavily.

"Your spanish is shit"

"Pardon?!"

Choso Kamo

Poor guy. He doesn't even know what you're saying. You weren't mad, just... Disappointed.

"Es que como se te ocurre? Es que de verdad, amor, no puedes hacer eso!" (What were you thinking. Truly, love, you can't do that!)

Not long ago, he had learned he was lactose intolerant and you were behind the bathroom door lecturing him, plugging your nose while doing so. He was struggling, both physically and mentally. You sounded funny but the ache on his stomach didn't let him laugh.

"Y es que si hubiera sido un poco. Pero nooooo, tu jartaste un tazon mantecado entero!" (And if it was just a little bit. But nooooo, you ate a whole bowl of ice cream!)

Its alright tho, he learned his lesson:(

Toji Fushiguro

"O te mueves o te muevo. Avanza y largate antes que yo misma decida romperte la cara" (move or ill move you. Hurry up and scatter before i break your face myself)

If you guys weren't bloody, sweaty and tired, he'd kiss you and fuck you full of his cock. But his tiredness told him he didn't have the strength to even get hard.

You'll just have to wait when he gets his rest and shower to show you how turn on he gets when you threaten him in a language he doesn't even understand.

Sukuna Ryomen

"Si te lo tengo que decir una vez más te voy a cortar los huevos. Si dejas que otra zorra se te acerque quedas soltero" (if i need to repeat this again I'll cut your dick off. You let another whore get close to you you'll be single)

You ever seen a cat widening his eyes? Yep, that's him. Looking around with a scowl on his face and looking straight and Urame for a translation, quickly. Not getting any, since they didn't know either.

However, the fire in your tone, the sass on your movements and the way you sounded threatening and serious makes him think that you truly are fit to be the queen of curses.

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gremlingottoosilly · 9 months

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Under the Christmas tree [dark!141 x fem!Reader] (Secret Santa fic)

Secret Santa gift for @crash-and-live 141 had a wonderful time taking their combat medic to be their captive barracks bunny instead. Now, the Sergeants have decided you will make a wonderful gift for their COs. CW and Tags: Dub-con, poly!141, inappropriate celebration of Christmas, power imbalance, bondage, slight BDSM.

Gaz was always an expert on knots.

Fancy little ribbons and bows – not so much. He prides himself on being suspiciously quick to adapt to the changing environment, yes, but learning how to tie bows when your little captive is acting just a tad bit dismissive towards the whole idea is…hard. Not as hard as hanging down the rope on a moving helicopter, but…

— Come, luv. Stop strugglin’

He smiles, all teeth and no lies, when you – his favorite medic, the best thing ever happening to this bloody team – started meowling something about the circulation and cutting off the bloodstream and how you don’t exactly like not only being held in the basement of the base but also being tied up…he looks at you and just knows he can’t resist booping you on the nose, kissing your perfect fuckin cheeks while Soap already has his hands in your hair, gently brushing it to put even more ribbons and bows. Red, just like on a Christmax gift.

You’re a bloody gift.

— I ken ye don’t like sittin’ like this, but Lt needs pick me up, aye?

Soap smiles when you struggle just a bit more, your tied hands brushing against his stomach as you slowly buck your hips back. Trying to get just a tiny bit of stimulation, sneaky little lass – this is why he loves you, so smart and so adorably dumb at the same time. The best thing that ever happened to them is that you still act like you don’t enjoy being their shared chewing toy. They can agree it’s just a bit of a stretch from your previous working environment but hell, at least you’re not being shot at. Johnny’s hand gently moves from your head to your neck, adjusting the little red bow he made from the ribbons. They tried so hard to find the softest ever ribbons without a sharp edge and material that could cut off the circulation – even though Kyle was still doing his favorite knots that rendered you absolutely defenseless. You lick your lips and try to rock from side to side, making the ribbons a bit more loose – it doesn’t work, of course. Not like your team ever wanted you to have a say in their perverse desires, right?

You fell into the Stockholm syndrome quite easily, especially since they were so stuck on always respecting your wishes(except for letting you out, of course) and never forcing anything too harsh…up until now, apparently. Making sure you’re on your best behavior because it’s Christmas, they have a small table set up – beer, whiskey, some snacks that you naively put on because you’re still not allowed to cook, and they don’t really care for home-cooked meals – and your shaking form, twisted in a somewhat sexy pose all because they needed a little Christmas present for their CO’s.

Gaz brushes his hand on your tummy, gently pushing it down – you were prepared, of course, so much lube was out in your glossy folds, with Soap’s mouth buried deep between your legs, until you felt you’re going to pass out from the sheer amount of orgasm he was edging out of you. There is a reason why Johnny isn’t allowed to eat you out when Ghost isn’t around – his self-control is non-existent when push comes to your cunt and the tongue he can shove in.

You feel like you’re going to burst when you finally hear the door opening. When you finally hear Captain – his tired, gruff voice, the way Ghost’s jacket silently hits the ground as they start to undress. Usually, you’re made to greet them with kisses and your soft lips on their cocks if they feel particularly tired. Usually, you’re made to wait for them in the bedroom, with their sergeants gently playing with you because, of course, you’re the property of all four of them, no matter the power dynamic.

Nothing is usual now – you’re laying under a Christmas tree, naked and aroused, your pussy is all puffy and swollen from Soap’s tongue, your body is tied up with red ribbons Gaz was using. You want to be good for them, and so you lay here, hoping your obedience will be enough for a few more climaxes. Ghost is the first to put his hands on you.

Kneading your breasts, gently forcing his rough fingers on your exposed nipples, you’re so sweet for him, so perfect, laid out like a beautiful gift – he can only groan in arousal as he slowly pushes the ribbons from your chest, taking in the view of your hardened buds and bite marks – evidence of Kyle taking his mark while he was tying you up. You might have been apprehensive about the whole idea, but you’re playing the role of a gift perfectly – just like you should.

— Bloody hell, love. So pretty for us.

— She was such a good girl for us, Lt. Didnae even resisted much. ~ — Is that right, sweetheart?

You can only nod, your mouth stuffed with a pretty gag – you’re drooling all around it, looking fucking adorable as you try and look as harmless as possible. No reason to provoke them now when they already made it clear just how many orgasms they are going to take from you tonight.

Ghost smiles under his mask, his hands moving to play with your lower tummy, squeezing the soft flesh and teasing your folds – you’re soft and pliable for them, spread out like a perfect toy. The most desirable thing they could ever find under a Christmas tree.

Price caresses your face with a softness you didn’t know a man of his position could have. He kisses you, and his whiskers tickle your soft skin – you aren’t sure if you can even handle him being so damn gentle about everything. He laughs as you try to wiggle out of Ghost’s grasp, their hands laying on your body – bruises and marks are scattered across your skin, making you the perfect canvas. Gosh, you’re beautiful – John doesn’t even know what they did to deserve such a little treat. — Such a pretty display for us, eh?

— Sergeants outdid themselves this time.

— You bet they did. Are you goin’ to behave for us, love?

Price smiles when you whimper, spreading your legs like a pretty toy. Ghost already pushing you to the ground, forcing his way in between your thighs – you’re so open for them, vulnerable to the tip of his cock pressing in your folds already. Soap did a good job eating you out, even Simon’s cock won’t be too much – not after the way Gaz was spreading you on three of his fingers, smiling with each of your little attempts at moans. You know the night is going to be long.

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #captain john price #soap #soap x reader #soap mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #dark ghost #dark 141 #141 x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick

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sweets3rial · 3 months

Text

the tutor in dorm 24B (II)

part I here

meantutor!re2!leon x fem!reader

summary: friends. sure, friends. only if it was that easy. he was only supposed to be a tutor. but you went too far and you fell for his charming blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. he put you in a trance and now you're struggling to escape from it.

tags: college!au, ooc leon, leon is an asshole, leon & reader have attitudes, tension, miscommunication, arguments (?), dom!leon, slightly possessive leon, degrading kink, praise kink, multiple orgasms, creampie, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (use safety guys!), vaginal fingering, masturbation, cuddles, etc.

word count: 9.3k

he didn’t understand. he couldn’t understand. were you avoiding him?

your text messages were short to each other, he tried reaching out; asking about your day, asking if you wanted to hang out, and for some reason, you were always busy. you had plans with friends, you had to work, you had to study, you had to go out of town.

he couldn’t help but question who was taking up all of your time? who were you going out with? what class were you studying for?

this led to him not seeing you for weeks. you didn’t read his texts until late at night or you didn’t respond at all. he rarely sees you in class and when you do come to class, you shoot him a smile and walk back to the same seat you’ve sat at all semester.

it was tense between you two he could feel it. though he thought you two were something. as ridiculous as it sounds, he thought you two had something. a connection, a bond, but he probably was wrong. you only needed him for one thing, to get your grade up and now that you achieved that. he figured that tutoring wouldn’t happen anymore.

especially after what happened. he could still feel your skin against his, the sensation and the burn. he could still hear the sweet noises you made, the whines of his name, and the sting of your nails dragging down the skin of his back. he could still smell you on his sheets and as he turned over in his sleep at night, he could feel your ghost laying beside him.

as much as you drove him crazy, he still found himself missing your presence, surprisingly. you made him smile, even if he tried so hard to hide it. you matched him, you could read him so easily. he was going insane. he needed to see you. even if it was just for a second, he needed to feel your presence, he needed to look into your eyes … he needed to touch you.

maybe you two could become friends.

he thinks he’d be okay with that. as long as it meant he could have you.

of course that isn’t okay, you couldn’t be friends. god, he’s seen more of you than most of your friends have in all the years they’ve known you. you don’t have sex with your friends. you don’t daydream about their lips on your bare skin. you don’t writhe and whine at the memories of them touching you. friends don’t kiss and make love.

so no, you couldn’t be friends with Leon. you couldn’t be anything with him. it might be cold, but you couldn’t let yourself get attached. so yes, you’re avoiding him. you sent an email to your professor lying about having to take up multiple jobs, you picked up more shifts at work so that way you wouldn’t run into him around campus, and the days you don’t work you’re volunteering.

and when you weren’t volunteering you were walking around downtown, daydreaming like a girl in love. daydreaming about his smile and his laugh, his long blonde strands and the mark his glasses left on his nose bridge, the color of his eyes, his broad frame, and how he felt on top of you.

how his kisses felt — warm lush lips leaving wet trails down your stomach and at your inner thigh. his gasps of pleasure, so close to your ear, and the way he held you. you groaned to yourself, slapping your book down and bringing your face into your hands.

maybe, it was more than one night. it could be the many nights and days all put together in one. all the tension, all the longing gazes, and taunting and teasing. maybe it was more.

you tried. you tried to push down the burn in your stomach when you saw him, you tried to ignore the way your heart would skip a beat and your eyes would search every room for him. you tried but you never won.

“you’re distracted again,”

“huh? oh shit,” you looked down to see you had put way too much fudge into this little girl’s mocha frappuccino, an entire layer of fudge sat at the bottom while the sides were completely coated. you threw the cup into the trash, knowing you’d have to start all over again.

“if you don’t mind me asking,” your coworker spoke up from beside you. he inched closer, keeping his voice low since customers were standing around, “are you okay?” he placed a hand on your shoulder and slightly pulled you to turn towards him.

he could see the weight on your shoulders, how you dragged yourself around, and how you were always in your own world. sometimes, you wouldn’t even acknowledge him walking into the room. you were either drowning everyone out or deafening yourself by blasting music into your ears.

you weren’t as bubbly with customers and you were quiet. you were always quiet but this is a different type of silence. it was saddening and concerning. you were quiet in a way you kept to yourself and you kept yourself professional, but right now you were quiet in a way anyone could look at you and see right through you.

“i’m fine, Jet,” you sighed, rolling your shoulders — not noticing how sore they were. “i’m just tired,”

“i’ve heard that excuse a million times now,” you stayed silent, grabbing another cup and picking back up the fudge. Jet has been your coworker for a few months now, he was hired around the time you met Leon.

you had only worked with him a few times before taking up extra shifts, now you’re always with him. you’ve gotten to know each other in that time, he’s kind and a gentle giant. dark hair, eyebrow piercing, broad shoulders, and a deep voice. he smelt nice too.

“how about this? you go home and i’ll cover for you,” he placed both of his hands on your shoulder now, turning you towards him while shaking you a little to wake you up.

“no, i should really stay-“

“you’re scaring customers away,” he cut you off.

“wow, thanks,”

a smile grew on his lips and you were practically blinded by his perfect teeth. Jet was a charming man, customers loved him and he attracted more and more people. you believe people solely came in just to watch him work his barista magic.

“i mean it, go and get some rest,”

you nodded your head slowly, for some reason him saying those words made you sleepy. you let your head fall with a small groan.

“i owe you,”

he gave your shoulders one last shake, “you sure do,”

life has been on repeat for you lately. you kept yourself busy to distract your thoughts. though, over the past few weeks, it was starting to become worse. you wake up, you go to class, and then work and home. the days you didn’t have class it was studying and then work.

it was a constant cycle, you were running in circles with nothing to do and no one to see. you couldn’t muster up the energy to hang out with friends like you usually would, you’ve never been a social person anyway.

laundry was beginning to pile up, friends were slowly slipping away, and grades were gradually dropping — the only good grade you had was in stats and that was all thanks to Leon. but you knew in a matter of time your grade in that class would probably drop as well.

you miss him.

he was a little light in your life. he wasn’t someone who drained your social battery or tired you out. he was someone who brought a smile onto your face and brought color to your plain canvas. even though it was a short time it was a good time.

he was so much more than just a tutor.

the music in your car was interrupted by a notification, it was an email. you looked from your phone and back towards the road. the email was from your professor, it was most likely about your absences and his concern. only your stats professor was this worried about his students, it was endearing really.

a part of you wanted to just drop out of the class. you knew you had an exam coming up, one you hadn’t studied for. everything seemed to just crash down on you right there and then. this is all because you decided to listen to your heart and because you weren’t strong enough to deal with the consequences.

you couldn’t spring back like a rubber band. you couldn’t just-

again your music was interrupted by a notification. you could laugh, “speaking of the devil,”

—

he was waiting for you like an angry father. he was leaning up against the doorframe to his room, his legs kicked over one another and his arms crossed over his chest. he hasn’t changed a bit. his hair was still the same length, albeit a shade darker from it being damp.

he wore an olive green sweater and grey sweats. you never knew how good the color looked on him until now. he still had that glare, though it was chillier than you remembered. you felt like you were doing a walk of shame. it felt like you were in trouble.

he watched you walk down the hall until you were standing in front of him. he took a moment to take you in, scanning you up and down. you were still in your work uniform, black pants, and a simple top. you smelt heavy of coffee and sweets, your name tag still attached to your shirt.

your eyes were puffy as if you’d been crying and they were bloodshot red. your shoulders were slumped and you were dragging your feet. your mascara was smudged, giving you somewhat of a smoky eye. you were drained.

your skin was dull along with the look in your eyes. you didn’t greet him with a smile or a small comment like you usually did. instead, you stood there, waiting for him to speak. it was obvious something was wrong but he didn’t know how to ask.

suddenly, you stop replying to his texts and showing up for class. it was a miracle he got you to come over.

“you know we have an exam in like three days?” he spat, scanning you up and down.

“i know,” you grumbled, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

“have you studied at all?” he drawled out, bending down a bit to meet you.

you rolled your head away from him, unable to look him in the eye. after not seeing you in weeks or speaking to you this is the first thing he cares about. not a ‘hi’ or a ‘how are you?’, that’s right. you two aren’t friends. he is your tutor, he is your classmate, and he relies on your performance because that is what makes him look good.

he has no reason to greet you or ask how you’ve been, even though he was in between your thighs just a month ago.

“are you listening to me?”

“i can take care of myself, Leon,”

his eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened a bit, he was taken aback by your sudden burst of attitude. his glare was heavy and you felt so small, you felt helpless as if you could break in any second and he was picking at the cracks.

your head was pounding, the smell of coffee on your clothes overthrown by the smell of his cologne. he smelt as if he had just taken a shower, you could smell his shampoo and it only took you back to the night you slept in his arms coaxed to sleep with that smell alone.

“what’s wrong with you?” he asked, almost offended.

“i shouldn’t have come,” you grumbled to yourself, turning on your heel to leave but he caught you before you could. he grabbed your wrist and dragged you into his dorm. it was odd, you’ve been in this room so many times yet it feels foreign being in here.

the floors are cleaner than you remembered and it didn’t smell like old instant noodles and dirty laundry. the only thing was all of his clothes were piled on his bed, clothes he’d let wrinkle and sit there until he found the energy to hang them up.

a memory of you folding his clothes flashed into your mind. he was sitting at his desk in the middle of an important meeting with his conselour and you had come in for another session. you were bothered by all the clothes on his bed, the space was already small enough, so why make it smaller with a bunch of clothes?

cleaning was your way to destress, especially if you were bored. so sometimes cleaning his room was therapeutic and it was also a way of saying thank you to him.

“we need to study,”

“we?” you scoffed, “i don’t need your help anymore, Leon,”

“i doubt that,” he shrugged leaning back against his room door. it was silent after that.

you weren’t sure what to say, rather, you weren’t sure if there was anything to say. you two were back to square one; awkward silence and thick tension.

except, this tension was different. it wasn’t the uncomfortable tension that sat between strangers it was hungry. two people waiting for the other to say or do something.

you opened your mouth to speak but all that left was a weak breath.

your entire body was taut and you felt like you were spiraling out of control. the tips of your fingers burned and every nerve in your body was on edge.

“he pulled me to the side after class today,” Leon spoke up, ‘he’ being your stats professor. “he thinks that i didn’t do well with you,”

you licked over your dry lips, crossing your arms over your chest to somehow tune out the sound of your beating heart.

“yeah, he uh emailed me,”

“why haven’t you been in class?”

“busy,” you ran a hand over your head, slicking back any flyaway hairs into the bun on the back of your head.

“you always say that,” he scoffed, dropping his head down to stare at his feet.

“it’s true, i have work-“

“yeah, at a dingy cafe that pays you way too little,” he cut you off. he wasn’t wrong but he had no idea.

it didn’t take you long to realize that Leon never really knew you. sure, he has his moments he reads you like an open book but he has no idea what is wrong.

or he’s too afraid to admit that it was him. it’s him that is making you feel and act this way. it’s how you feel for him, it’s what he does to you and it’s what your heart desires that’s driving you insane.

it’s him.

“if you wanted another tutor, you could’ve just said that,”

“i don’t need another tutor,” you laughed almost comically.

“then what is wrong with you?” he practically shouted. his sudden tone of voice caught you off guard, you finally looked up at him — his eyes ablaze.

he almost looked as if he regretted shouting at you but at the same time, he looked relieved.

“i know you’re not an idiot, Leon,” you barked, “why can’t you figure it out yourself?”

“don’t do that,”

“do what?”

“avoid me! you’ve avoided me enough,” he took a step closer to you prompting you to step away. you were doing it again, avoiding him.

you were afraid. afraid that if he touched you or even was a few inches away from you, you’d break. you were scared that he didn’t feel the same way and you were scared that once he knew he’d throw you away.

you didn’t want this. to feel this way about yourself and him. you didn’t want to feel confused and conflicted. but… he has a way of bringing out the best and the worst in you.

“why do you care?”

“because one night you’re underneath me and the next you don’t even look my way,” he heaved. Leon didn’t know how to tell you he was worried beyond belief. he can’t sleep, he can’t focus, he can’t function. he has so many more things to worry about than you but somehow you’re at the top of his list.

you rubbed your lips together, spreading your chapstick even more. the way he is so straightforward sends you into a spiral, it is like whiplash.

“why did you call me, Leon?” you sighed, changing the topic. you were hurting him more than he thought. all he wanted to do was talk, he wanted to know what was wrong. he isn’t dumb, he figures that you were avoiding him because you slept together. he was the dumb one for thinking you two had a connection.

“we have an exam and you haven’t studied at all, so…”

“i don’t need your help anymore,”

he swallowed a lump in his throat, trying to keep himself from lashing out at you. he isn’t angry, he just wishes you’d talk to him.

“fine,” his tone was harsher than he intended, “let’s make a bet, hm?” he hummed.

this seemed to catch your attention. you looked over at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and a stern look on your face. you couldn’t help but feel intrigued.

“if you pass the exam, without my help, then i will leave you alone,,” you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart. is that what you wanted? for him to leave you alone? part of you says no but another part of you says it’s for the best. this is the last exam before finals, so you won’t be seeing him after this anyway.

“what do you consider passing?” you inquired, tilting your head to the side.

“a C or higher. not a C minus, a solid C,”

you nodded your head slowly, looking down at your feet as you kicked away some debris on the floor. Leon was never neat, it kind of hurt to see his room in such a disheveled state. then again, the only reason he ever cleaned was if you were coming over and today he didn’t have time. he sent you that text on pure impulse.

“okay and if i don’t pass?”

“you have to open up to me,”

this is the first time you’ve seen Leon be sweet and maybe slightly considerate. even though he was technically forcing you, he could’ve asked for anything else. he could’ve asked you to sleep with him again or to report back to your professor how much of a good tutor he is. instead, he wishes to know how you feel.

closure perhaps?

you went over the pros and cons. if you passed, he would leave you alone. though you hate it, you knew you’d get over him one day. if you don’t pass, you’ll have to come clean. you’ll have to tell him how you can’t get over that night because you not only felt so good, but it was the first time something was mutual.

you didn’t fuck him for shits and giggles or because you felt like you needed to. rather, it was because you wanted to and because you yearned for it. there was feeling and passion behind it, it wasn’t just dull and unenjoyable. it was good and raw. it was hot and deep.

but if you told him how you felt, would he accept it?

“fine,”

“good,” he hummed, “but you have to show me your score, don’t think you can just disappear on me again?”

—

three harsh knocks on his door woke him up. he practically shot up from his bed, his vision blurry and dry. he blinked a few times, adjusting his vision to his surroundings and his hands searched for his glasses. he must’ve fallen asleep after class, another class you did not attend.

you two haven’t talked since that day. the only thing close to communicating was the grin you gave him when you finished your exam. he tried his hardest to ignore the way his cock jumped in his pants and the way his heart fluttered.

you were confident that you passed, but he couldn’t wait to see your face when you realized you didn’t pass.

another three pounds, “coming! damn!” he shouted out, combing his fingers through his hair as he slipped on his glasses. he was still heavy with sleep and he trudged over to his door. rubbing his eyes, he opened the door and to his surprise, he was shoved in the chest — so harsh that the air in his lungs was almost knocked away.

he coughed with surprise, his eyes shooting open, “what the hell?”

“look at it,” you simpered, crossing your arms and jutting your chin at the paper you shoved in his chest. he sighed heavily, fixing his glasses as he brought the paper away from his chest and into his field of vision. he thought you were being a bit too hubristic but to his surprise, in bright red lettering; ’89%’.

fuck. he swallowed thickly, he underestimated you. he’s proud, you didn’t need his help and passed all on your own but now he’ll never see you again. of course, you came to boast and shove that in his face and you have every right. but you won the bet, now he has to leave you alone.

he shouldn’t have underestimated you. he was wrong to introduce the bet in the first place. he thought you’d fail and that you’d come to him and spill your guts. he knows you’re a person who doesn’t show their vulnerability to anyone. he knows you hate feeling like a burden for relying on others but he hoped that maybe that would change.

no. he doesn’t matter if it’s not fair or if karma gets him in the future. he won’t leave you alone. he can’t.

“seems like i don’t need your help after all,” you heaved, giving him two firm pats on his chest.

he gripped your wrist, holding your hand against his chest. he wasn’t letting you go again, no. it was going to drive him crazy. you may be fine but he won’t be. you could call him selfish, you could call him a cheater, you could punch him and yell but if it meant you’d stay — he’d take it all.

“Leon?” you couldn’t see his eyes. the glint in his glasses and his blonde strands covering his baby blues. his jaw was clenched and he stood there with your test crushed in his fist. his silence was scaring you.

he tugged you by your wrist until you were stumbling forward into his chest. he was silent as he slammed the door behind you and locked it. you could feel the pounding of his heart, fast-paced and violent. the grip he had on you was tight, almost demanding.

“Leon-“

your words were interrupted when his lips collided with yours. taken aback at first, you didn’t kiss back, you were trying to push him away but you couldn’t find any strength. you were on fire, butterflies fluttered in your stomach — causing you to tense up. your palms felt clammy and your heart hiccuped.

you won. so what is he doing?

you pushed him away, his lips leaving yours in a wet smack. you took a few steps back, cornered by his broad frame and the door behind you.

“what are you doing?” you heaved, but your breath was taken away again when his body pressed against yours, pining you to the door. his arms wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso close to him.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled as his lips found yours again. this time in a more gentle manner, yet he was still firm. his kiss was filled with fire and passion, one that you two have never recovered from before. this is true and palpable. it didn’t take much convincing for you to kiss back.

he won, his body heat was numbing you, he was so hot it was almost impossible to withstand. his lips were so soft, slightly chapped and rough but still so plump and warm. you could feel his muscles rippling underneath his shirt as he moved his body with yours.

you shut your eyes and pressed yourself against him even harder. he pulled away for a quick moment, taking his crooked glasses off and tossing them somewhere beside you. your arms flew up and around his shoulders, tugging him closer.

his lips met yours again, this time his tongue finding your bottom lip. he hummed at the taste of your chapstick, sweet and smooth.

he was sucking the air out of you, it was hard to focus when his rough hands were so harshly trying to find your skin and his lips were molding with yours. sloppy and filled with pure lust. you didn’t want him to pull away, you wanted to suffocate against him. so your fingers traveled into his gorgeous hair and pulled him even closer.

it wasn’t possible to be any more closer than you already were but you couldn’t get enough.

he moaned into your mouth, and one of his hands came up from your hip and to your chin. he used his fingers to pry your mouth open that way he could taste more of you. the sweet cherry chapstick on your lips and the minty taste of gum on your tongue.

he pulled away, keeping his hand on your chin to tilt your head up to look at him. he was met with that cloudy glaze of your eyes and your swollen lips, shiny with saliva and agape to suck in short breaths. he placed his forehead against yours and swiped his thumb along your bottom lip.

you were trying to stand on the tip of your toes to meet his lips again but he only pulled back further every time you did.

“call me an asshole,” kiss. “but i don’t think i can leave you alone,”

you tugged at his hair causing him to wince, “i know,”

he could feel the way your heart was pounding against his chest, the way your legs were shaking, and the impatience grasping at him through your fingers. he was enraptured in the sight of you like this, the way he was the only one that could light the fire inside of you, and how that fire only burned for him.

he was the only one who could do this to you and both of you knew it.

he dipped down for another deep kiss, this time it wasn’t fast or sloppy. it was firm and slow. this time, you had time to catch up with his pace. slow and deep, you took time to taste him and he took time to taste you. wet smacks filled the room, along with the sound of heaving breaths.

he finally reached underneath your sweatshirt, slowly creeping up your stomach and then grabbing at your waist. he wanted to be slow. he wanted this to last. he wanted to show you just how much you meant to him.

“jump,”

and you did, wrapping your legs around his torso and locking your ankles. his hand reached out of the neck of your sweatshirt, splaying across the back of your head to keep your lips against his as he moved you across the room.

he kicked his chair out of the way and then leaned down to swipe all of his paperwork, including his computer, off of his desk. you winced at the sound of cups clattering and the way his computer hit the corner of his bed before falling to the ground.

he plopped you down onto the edge of his table, keeping one hand behind your head and one positioned beside you.

“you don’t know,” he breathed between kisses, “how bad i wanted to fuck you on this desk,”

his words sent a wave of pleasure through you, which only stimulated you further. you could feel the way your panties were sticking to your cunt and how every time he spoke your stomach burned. you were aching all over. you’ve been aching for a while.

“i need to see you,”

he was trying to be altruistic, he was trying to be patient but he wasn’t thinking. he could smell the arousal dripping off of you, the scent of your salty sweat mixed with your tangy-sweet perfume was making him drool.

you leaned away from him, grabbing at the hem of your sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. you were slow and deliberate, watching his eyes dart between your face and your bare skin. before you could even get the sweatshirt off your neck, you could feel his hands traveling up your sides and toward your breasts.

“no bra,” he pointed out, his breath wavering. you shivered as his fingers ghosted around your areolas. “you’re such a tease,”

the tips of his fingers were cold and you were sensitive, you dug your heels into his lower back, your whole body begging him for more. no matter if you won the bet or not, this was a much better outcome anyway. skin to skin. heavy breaths and passionate gazes.

you probably looked helpless. you were so turned on just by a guy groping at your chest. his thumbs rolled over your pebbled nipples, the sensation sending spikes of pleasure towards your core. you arched into him begging for more.

he placed a kiss on your collarbone, the kiss was soft and gentle but suddenly he opened his mouth and clamped down. he bit you and he bit you hard, hard enough to have you cry out his name in surprise. your fingers tangled in his hair, massaging at his scalp with the pads of your fingers.

his lips found your erect nipples, his hot tongue lapping over the sensitive tongue as a groan ripped from his throat. you shivered underneath him, a small whine leaving your lips as his other fingers rolled your other nipple between them.

his lips left your nipple with a pop and he blew cold air over the saliva he left on your skin. your nails dug into his scalp and he winced.

“i want you to take off your shorts and get yourself ready for me, ‘kay?” he whispered against your wound, his hot breath stinging where he had just bit you.

“why should i, hm?” you said even if you were going to play his game anyways.

you pushed away from him, moving further up the desk with your heels at the edge. he stepped back so that way he could see you and you could see him. he watched your chest rise and fall as you reached for the hem of your shorts.

you shimmied them off of your hips, leaving your panties on. pretty lavender panties, a bow right in the middle, and all lace except for the gusset.

a small laugh left his lips, “look how wet you are for me, slut,”

“asshole,” you spat as you kicked your shorts at him. the fabric slapped him in the cheek, and then fell to his feet. you couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips as you spread your legs for him.

you reached forward, grabbing Leon by the collar or his shirt before tugging him forward. you brought two fingers to his swollen lips to pry his mouth open. he gripped at the edge of the table while his other hand reached for your wrist.

“you’re testing me,” he crooned, tilting his head to the side before allowing you to slot two fingers into his mouth. his mouth was hot and wet, his strong tongue swirling around your fingers to get them as wet as possible.

he was so hard. all the blood that was supposed to be pumping to his brain was now pumping south, there wasn’t anything pure about him. his thoughts, his words, especially that look in his eyes. he released his grip from the table and reached for your free hand. he tugged you forward, guiding you to palm him through his pajama pants.

he groaned onto your fingers, “see what you do to me?” he hummed, craning his head to the side.

“mhmm,” you nodded.

he pulled your fingers out of his mouth and then guided them to the gusset of your panties.

“touch yourself, baby, let me see you,” he whispered and you were happy to oblige. he watched as you moved your panties to the side and he swears he’s never seen such a pretty pussy. plump lips and swollen clit, your hole dripping for him and glistening in the low light of his room.

“Leon,” you whined, squeezing at his girth as your wet fingers circled your clit. he moved your hand away from his cock, intertwining his fingers with yours and trapping your hand with his.

“i know, be patient baby and it’s all yours,” his voice was low and husky.

he watched you play with your clit, nimble fingers moving in small circles as your cunt clenched around absolutely nothing. he was just as impatient as you and as much as he wanted to pin you down and taste you for himself, he had to wait. he wanted to see you come undone right in front of him, he wanted to see how far he could push you before you break.

just like you broke him.

you traced circles around your cunt before you sunk your middle finger into you. the small stretch wasn’t enough but for some reason, it felt so good. it wasn’t enough to suffice your insatiable lust but it was what you’d been waiting for. your back arched and your hips bucked, a small gasp left your lips and you quickly shut yourself up by biting down on your bottom.

Leon’s glare wasn’t anything but predatory. the shadows on his face made the blue in his eyes almost indiscernible but you could see the hungry glint in them. his hand gripped yours tightly and his other hand coaxed at your outer thigh, rubbing and gripping at the fat to make sure your legs stayed open.

“good, good,” he said slowly, watching as you sunk another finger into your cunt. the stretch was so good but it wasn’t enough. you let out a heavy breath, your eyes squinting shut and your head rolling back.

“oh god, Leon,” you whined as you curled your fingers inside of you, the tips of your fingers barely reaching your g-spot, it wasn’t enough. you needed more. your fingers were too thin and too short, they couldn’t give you the amount of pleasure you were looking for.

Leon leaned forward, kissing at your skin and nipping at your collarbone. he knew how much you loved to wear those low-cut tops, he couldn’t wait to see you walk into class with hickeys and bites all over your chest that were from him.

“do you touch yourself like this when you think of me?” he heaved in your ear, his hand joining yours between your legs. you opened your lips to reply but only a small moan left when his two fingers pressed against your clit as your own were curling inside of you.

your hips bucked forward and you keened beneath him, trying to wriggle away from the overstimulation.

“answer me, baby,” he moaned, biting at your earlobe. you wanted to say no, you wanted to deny the fact that he was right. how you’d wake up in the middle of the night with your cunt aching to be touched. how you’d moan his name into your pillow as you ground down onto your fingers. how your dreams were filled with his touch and his voice. how the pleasure you gave yourself wasn’t anything compared to him.

“no, i don’t- agh!” he bit down on your earlobe as a warning.

“don’t lie,” he placed a kiss on your ear before moving down your neck. you shook your head as both his fingers and yours moved faster.

“okay yes, i do! so please…”

“good,”

you wanted to kill him, you wanted to kill him. he was driving you so crazy to the point every inch of your skin burned. his touch was so good, almost like a drug that numbed your entire body.

your jaw dropped open into a silent moan as one of his fingers moved from your clit and toward your hole. he pressed into your cunt, joining your two fingers, and the stretch burned.

“Leon!” you cried out, reaching up to grip his shoulder. he shushed you quietly, sweetly kissing the top of your head. you were quivering, adjusting to the way the sting burned but also reveling in the pleasure.

he worked his finger with yours, his finger was thicker and much longer and was able to reach that spot easily. you tried to clamp your legs shut, feeling overstimulated and hot but he was much stronger — only prying them open more every time.

“you can’t deny it,” he pressed a second finger into you, “you can’t get enough of me,” stars danced behind your eyes and a tear slipped down your cheek. it hurts to be stretched by not only your fingers but also his but it hurt so good.

the burn was slowly subsiding with each thrust of your fingers and the wet squelches only got louder. your lungs burned, you were finding it hard to breathe and every breath felt like you were sucking in fire. each thrust of his fingers and yours sent waves of pleasure through you.

he curled his fingers up against your g-spot and another cry left your lips. you were gripping at the collar of his shirt for your life, scratching at his neck and moaning his name over and over. he knew this feeling all too well, the trembling of your legs and the way you were clenching around your fingers.

“cum for me,”

he watched as your eyebrows furrowed as you bit down on your bottom lip. your toes curled and your thighs clamped together, a hot wave flashed through you as your knot snapped. you cried out a few expletives and came hard. your nails dug into his shoulder and your body curled into him.

you’ve never experienced such an orgasm unless it was with him. how easily he could make you drip and tremble, how hot he made you with just a glance, how easily he made you cum without even trying.

you looked so beautiful, coming undone on his fingers like that. you slumped against him, your cunt twitching around his fingers and small whines leaving your lips. your panties were soaked and you were spent, but he wasn’t done. he was far from done.

he slammed you down against the cold wood of the desk. the force knocked you awake and you arched your back away from the cold. his hands traveled under your thighs until he was holding the back of your knees. he spread your legs again until your glistening cunt was revealed to him once more.

your pussy was swollen, dripping from your previous orgasm and twitching with overstimulation.

“so proud of you,” he smiled, kissing your ankle. “don’t you think you deserve a reward?” he hummed.

he worked your panties off your legs, bunching them up into his fist before shoving them into the pocket of his pants. even though his pants were coming off soon, he couldn’t wait to reach back into them later and find your panties soaked with your essence.

it’s a little souvenir. one he’d stroke his cock to later on.

he continued kissing your ankle, absolutely enamored by every inch of you. your plump breasts that fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, your pretty cunt that responded so well to him, the juicy fat of your thighs, the way your ribs pocked out whenever you sucked in a deep breath.

he reached for the hem of his shirt, peeling it off of his sweaty skin and throwing it somewhere in the room. your hands reached to caress at his muscles, toned abs, and a sharp v-line. he was glistening with sweat, each vein popping out of his skin and his fair skin was as smooth as silk. he was beautiful, even if the words that he spat were sinful.

he had the face of an angel and the soul of a devil.

your feet worked at the hem of his pants, you were aching to feel his weight on top of you again. the heat of his body, the girth of his cock, and the stickiness of his skin and he must’ve seen it all painted across your visage. the hunger. the need. the desperation. it was all so raw and palpable.

“you act like you’ve never seen me before,” he grinned, tracing circles on your ankle with his thumb.

“i can say the same for you,” you smiled, finally getting his pants off the bones of his hips. you didn’t oversee the way he was watching you earlier, in a drunken state as he watched you delve into your desires — in a complete trance at the way your fingers moved in your cunt.

he worked the rest off, watching your hungry eyes follow his dropping pants. his cock sprung out and a small wince left his barred teeth as it slapped up against his stomach. he reached down and squeezed at the base of his cock, you watched as it twitched in his hold — slightly nervous. even though you’ve felt it before, his size will always intimidate you.

just like you’ll never get used to his beauty, you’ll also never get used to the size of him. veins wrapped around his girth and pre cum dripped from his hot red tip.

“like what you see?” he smiled, slapping the tip of his cock against your clit. you jolted with a small gasp leaving your lips. he moved the tip of his cock between your wet folds, spreading his precum over your labia and the hood of your clit.

your eyes stayed on his as his face came to hover over yours. he pressed a kiss to your lips, a deep and slow kiss. you wrapped your arms around him, trailing your fingers up and down his back. you opened your mouth allowing him to swipe his tongue against yours.

he wrapped an arm underneath your back, bringing you closer to him as his other hand guided his shaft through your wet, sticky lips. you shuddered at his tip nudging against your clit and you pulled away from the kiss, pressing your forehead against his.

his hair stuck to his forehead and his breath was heavy. he kept his face close to yours though he refused to kiss you, he wanted to watch your face as he fucked you. he wanted to see you, he wanted to memorize every way your face contorted, every noise you made, and every way you moaned his name.

“tell me if it hurts,”

you nodded, pressing your fingers into the muscles of his back to brace yourself. as one of his hands gripped the back of your knee, bringing your leg up higher, the other guided the tip of his cock into your dripping hole. both of your mouths dropped open, the feeling of your pussy swallowing his cock had his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

you sucked in a deep breath as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“so fucking tight,” he gasped out, his hand reaching up for yours. “i’ll treat you so good,” he breathed, opening his eyes to meet yours.

“i’ll treat you so good, so don’t ever leave me again,” with that, he thrust his way in, your whole body jolted and a sharp gasp left your lips. he buried himself to a tilt, making sure you were adjusted to his size before he moved any further.

“you never lost me, Leon,” your nails sunk into his back as his grip got tighter. you pressed your lips to his, swallowing every one of his labored breaths.

he slowly pulled out, until the tip of his cock almost left your cunt, before thrusting in hard. he continued this process, slow and deep thrusts, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix each time. the pressure of him pressing to your cervix pushed a small moan from your lips.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” you moaned out, each word growing an octave higher. “faster, Leon, i’m begging you,”

“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he sighed. his thrusts grew faster, the table underneath you squeaking and shaking. you arched up into him, moaning out his name with your teeth clenched. with each thrust of his cock, a small whine left your lips. his lips wrapped around one of your bouncing tits, sucking harshly at your perked nipples and savoring the taste of the sweat on your skin.

his rhythmic pace was almost punishing, you couldn’t catch a break or your breath but you loved it. you reached up into his hair, tangling your finger into his blonde strands as his teeth dragged and nipped at your sensitive nipple. you clenched down on him, dragging a wince out of his mouth.

the sound of skin slapping and wood creaking filled the room, his heavy grunts and your whiny moans were loud and the sounds tangled together like a lustful song. your mind was in mush, you couldn’t think of anything but him. Leon. Leon. Leon.

from the moment you met, it was all about him.

face. voice. body. and touch.

“it’s so good,” you cried, as a few tears slipped from the corner of your eyes. you could feel him in the pits of your stomach, that’s how deep he was. the slight curve of his cock was pressing up against your g-spot just right, it was enough to blur your vision and rip the air out of your chest.

you called out his name, wrapping one of your legs around his waist and your walls clenched down around him like a vice.

“don’t do that, baby,” he warned. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your skin. “god, you’re so beautiful it hurts,” he groaned.

you were left breathless, you weren’t sure what to say or do. but your heart skips a beat every time he calls you beautiful in such a way. did he really mean it or was he just playing with you?

you were too caught up in the pure ecstasy and the pleasure to care about what your heart thinks. you were too busy soaking in each second that way you’ll never forget this feeling. this feeling of pure bliss and passion. it wasn’t only the sex but it was a deep connection that ran through the two of you.

“Leon, i’m- i can’t,” you cried. he placed a kiss on your cheek and then on your lips, his pace only increasing. the sound of creaking wood matched with the sound of slapping skin, a ring of white coated the base of his cock — pre cum mixed with the essence dripping from you.

“cum for me, please,”

he swallowed your mouth in a kiss, sucking on your bottom lip to the point it bruised. you held onto him for dear life, the familiar knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter. he was the only one who was able to bring you from ashes to a grand flame, almost like a phoenix.

your desire for him ran deep and he knew every inch of your body like it was his own. he studied you and was able to figure out your puzzle. he could put you together and break you apart. that was the scary thing.

your body jolted as a wave of raw pleasure rushed through you, your toes curled and your thighs clamped around his torso. his name rolls off your tongue and onto his as you come undone, unraveling around him with his name on your lips. sweet as honey and thick as syrup.

he leaned over you, kissing your chin, and then at the corner of your lips. finally, his lips met yours. his cock was still pulsing inside of you, hard and hot. he continued to slowly roll his hips into you, easing you down from your high.

“you did so good, beautiful,” his praise did nothing but get you excited all over again. he wrapped your other leg around him and then his arms underneath you.

he carried you up off the table and then into his bed, you kept your legs wrapped around him until he laid you down into his sheets. you both were laid on your sides, arms wrapped around each other and legs entangled. he brought your leg around his waist, sinking his fingers into the fat of your thigh as he slowly began rolling his hips into yours again.

both of your mouths fell open into breathy moans, this new position allowed him to be so much deeper, the tip of his cock pressing to your cervix with each roll of his hips.

“you like that?” he heaved against your lips.

you nodded your head eagerly, his pace was slow but so good. he moved down, peppering your chest with kisses as one of his hands moved to massage the skin of your breasts with your nipple slotted between two of his fingers.

“you’re taking me so well, look at you,” he cooed, looking down at where your bodies intertwined. he watched his cock appear and disappear into your cunt, the juiced from your previous causing the skin of his cock to gleam. his balls were heavy with cum, every time he bottomed out into you they’d pressed against the round of your ass.

“Leon,” you moaned out, your voice breathless and low. you were so hot, your gummy walls clenching down on him with each small thrust.

you threw your head back, allowing him perfect access to your throat. he leaned up, away from your chest, kissing up the column of your throat before biting down hard into your skin. the feeling of his teeth sinking into your skin felt so good, it didn’t matter if it’d leave a mark or not.

you could stay like this forever, tangled in the sheets with him using your body for whatever he pleased, laying in the comfort of his arms as he coaxed you into your sweet dreams, surrendering your body to him in every way possible.

you were his, body, mind, heart, and soul.

he cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him. the blue hues of his eyes were beguiling, pulling you deeper and deeper into this trance where the only thing that existed was him. he was the puppeteer in charge of all your strings.

he wanted to possess you then he got what he wanted.

he rolled on top of you, using his knee to spread your legs even further. he cupped your jaw, bringing your lips to his once again. he could get drunk on the feeling and the taste of your warm lips on his. his thrusts were deep and languidly slow, to the point it was almost torture.

“it feels so good,” you gasped out against his lips.

he reached down between the two of your bodies, finding your swollen clit. he pinched down on the small nub earning him a cry of his name against his lips. you clenched down around him, gyrating your hips up to meet his thrusts.

“fuck, you’re going to make me cum,”

“inside,” you begged, intertwining your fingers with his.

you wanted to feel it. the raw feeling of him marking you as his and painting your walls with his burning seed was enough to have you keening. you bit down on his shoulder as your third orgasm washed over you. this one was stronger than the others, your vision went white and your body shook with vigor. tears of bliss rolled down into your hair and your body was on fire.

your moans were muffled from you biting down on his shoulder and you could vaguely taste the iron of blood spilling onto your tongue. as much as it hurt, the sting felt so good, just like the red lines down his back.

he wasn’t far behind you, his hand reaching up for his pillow as a low moan left his lips. he buried himself to a tilt, spilling his hot seed inside of you. thick ropes spilled into you, milky white and heavy. he shuddered on top of you, sent over the edge from the feeling.

he’s never cum like this before, instantly all the energy and adrenaline in his body were depleted. his taut muscles relaxed, his shoulders slumping and his forehead coming to press against yours.

you both lay there, soaking in the bliss as you sunk into each other slowly. your chest pressed to his with every breath you took, your arms draping around his shoulders lazily and your legs dropping from around his waist.

his lips found yours as he softened inside of you. his kiss was slow and deep, his hand cupping your jaw as you both moved in sync.

you weren’t good with words. neither of you were. but he hoped that he could convey a message to you through this. he wanted to know that he didn’t want to say goodbye, he didn’t care whether you were friends or lovers. as long as you were beside him, it didn’t matter.

you smiled into the kiss, “i won the bet but you got what you wanted,”

“well aren’t you glad you passed your exam? plus, i know you wanted this as much as i did,” he chuckled, bringing his hand up to your sweaty strands. he tucked your frizzy hair behind your ears, slowly so he could see you in all your glory. you were glowing and the apple of his eye.

“fine, you win, but i passed all on my own,”

he rolled to his side, bringing you along with him. he brought the covers over your hot bodies as you situated yourself onto his arm, using his firm muscle as a pillow. he brought your leg over his waist again, wanting to be as close as possible.

“you really wanted to get rid of me, huh?” he sighed, letting his eyes drop close just a bit. his other arm wrapped around your torso, tucking you close to him.

“not really, just wanted to prove myself to you,” he opened one of his eyes, squinting at you.

“so you admit that you didn’t want to get rid of me?”

your fingers were busy walking up his shoulder as the other was tucked close between your sweaty bodies. you pursed your lips, watching your fingers work as legs against his skin.

“yeah, i guess i’ve taken a liking to you,” you hummed, adjusting your head.

he opened both of his eyes and he was met with the same face he’s seen all this time. though, every time it’s a little different. at first, he thought you were a hindrance. you were a student who signed up for a stats course and didn’t bother to learn anything. then you were a friend that he could poke at and laugh at. now you’re a girl lying in his arms, a beautiful girl.

a beautiful girl, naked and underneath the sheets with him. your limbs are tangled together and with sticky skin pressed against one another.

he smiled, “yeah, i like you too,”

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

notes: if you wanna be on my tag list pls message me or fill out the form below (just to make it easier on me :D)

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a/n : everyone cheered, V finally posted part two to her tutor fic. LOL,, the long awaited is here, sorry it took me 3 months lol but it's finally here. i want to thank all of you for all the love you showed part 1, i really hope this second part is up to your expectations :D!!

also, i'm pretty sure the photo i used of Leon for this fic is him and krauser ... that's all imma say

tags :

@xoxoloveless @luvrgreyy @ynsvnte @satinwithsilk

@childchomper1 @porcelainseashore @stefoooo @spfoah @chesue00

@daervannafia @puppyina @prettyntxhee @leonkennedygvrl

@altissia-09 @leqonsluv3r @yuiopiklmn @folksriddle @squazmine

@its0214-am @xqlenkdy @belovedcloud

@beafart @admirxation @neverg0nnagivey0uup @fancyyme @marymustdie

@bloodstainedbandaid @jeonmochi99-blog @zizouu23 @d3adp00ls

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #leon kennedy re2 #college!au #resident evil 2

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charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

Part 5

(Told y'all I was back!!!)

Content: Established BDSM Dynamics, Attempted Intimidation, Threats, Mild Violence and Injury

You suspect Konig gets off on watching you interact with others.

He’s an insecure man, there’s no doubt about that. He gets twitchy about other men interacting with you beyond brief, bland exchanges. A sleepy cashier at the grocery store? That’s fine. The waiter complimenting your choice of meal for some reason? Konig’s eyeing the steak knife.

That said, something about the way you are in a public setting has him constantly shifting. Practically squirming. And it’s not just social anxiety.

You smile at the employee that showed you where the towels are and Konig adjusts himself as soon as their back is turned. You politely brush off a mistake in your food order, his pupils spread like an oil spill.

You ask him about it one night, ever curious about this strange, obsessive creature clinging like remora.

“You are… very nice to people,” he explains slowly.

The two of you are doing a puzzle. You watch his big, calloused fingers fidget with a border piece. He’s forgotten to hand it to you while thinking, but you’re not in any rush.

“You are good at being… normal. No one knows that you are a killer. They can’t tell.”

You snort softly. “I am normal.”

He shoots you a skeptical look and you laugh. (Don’t miss how he flusters either.)

“Am I that different here than out there?” you wonder.

“Yes.”

You hum. Have never really considered that, but it makes sense. In privacy, you have nothing to react to. No faces to make or scripts to follow. You have Konig now but he’s different, there was never a reason to treat him like everyone else.

“So what about it arouses you?” you finally ask.

“That they don’t know.”

You don’t understand. You hardly ever do. You’re extra nice to the poor teenager that prepares your coffee next time you two go out. (You make Konig edge himself on the drive back home, then overstimulate him to near unconsciousness on the dining table.)

It’s not surprising, then, when he shyly asks if you’ll come meet some of his KorTac teammates.

He asks with his face smooshed between your thighs, nose crushed against your pubic mound. Just getting started, the taste of you already clouding his thoughts. The toe of your boot is nestled beneath his heavy balls; his voice pitches up proportional to the bend of your ankle.

“Why?” you ask, flat and emotionless. It makes him drool when you bleach the inflection from your voice, stripping it down to phonetics and fricatives. A drop of saliva trickles down your thigh. You twist your fingers in his hair, making him lick it up. (“Keep it tidy,” you’d told him. So far he’s barely managing, but he gets off on the struggle to please you.)

He mumbles something you can’t make out, so you force his head up and watch him blink. His swallows thickly, chin already glistening with slick, pink tongue lolling out across swollen lips.

“Again,” you command. Calm, even.

“I w-want them to meet you… if they can tell…”

You tilt your head. “If they can tell I’m a murderer?”

He whimpers, teeth sinking into his lip hard. You hitch your boot up, watch the tears collect in the corners of his eyes. Precum drip, drip, drips down his stomach from the vivid, weeping head of his straining cock.

“Is that all? You want me to meet your little friends with blood on my hands?” you coo.

He tries to nod, but your grip is far too tight. You click your tongue off the roof of your mouth. His hips jerk with the derisive sound.

“Or is it that you want to show off your owner?” you wonder. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. You huff in amusement as the pieces click into place.

“I see now.”

You cram his flushed face between your thighs again, grinding your pussy on the flat tongue he instantly presents.

“You want me to be a pretty, sweet thing. You want to show me off in some frilly sundress and play helpless civilian. I’ll shake their hands and they won’t know I’ve ripped a man’s guts out. I’ll smile pretending I haven’t bit someone’s finger off.”

He’s whining high and needy, rocking himself on the laces of your boots. You continue, rambling in a way you never do outside these moments.

“And you want me to do all that with my collar around your throat.” You press his face in tighter and close your thighs. “Maybe I should stab someone, huh? I’m sure I can find someone worth the effort.”

You feel the hot pinpricks of tears on your skin, his voice uncontrolled and breaking with desperation. He’s now arching his hips away and you know it’s because he’s trying not to cum. It’s a new rule you just recently established - that if he’s allowed access to your cunt, he gives it his full attention. Treats it like the rare and fleeting privilege it is.

All that just from your little tease.

The image is an intriguing one. You’ve never taken any pleasure from hiding your actions from others. But there is something almost… quaint, you suppose, about meeting men who kill for a living as a killer yourself. They’ll look at you and see Konig’s quiet civilian girlfriend. This will be a secret just for you and Konig. You’ve never had someone else know while you play a part.

An unexpected wave of pleasure knocks the breath out of you. You didn’t expect to find the prospect so…

“Fuck,” you whisper, blinking through stars. “I’ll meet your friends if you make me cum in the next thirty seconds.”

It takes him thirty-two, but considering the intensity of it, you decide to be generous.

You show up to base in a floral-print dress and pretty sandals. The key to Konig’s collar shines in the hollow of your throat on a dainty chain, prominently displayed. (His eyes keep skipping down to it. You pinch his thigh when he nearly misses a red light, chastising to be more careful. That only results in a plump outline down the thigh of his pants. Your mistake.) Hair done, a bit of makeup, you make for a nice character.

The head of Konig’s squad meets you first. Declan O’Conor, a shorter man who introduces himself with a wide smile, a rough Irish accent, and - most favorably - no appreciative glances at your body. Off to a surprisingly commendable start. You smile back and let Konig introduce you, eyes roaming the private KorTac compound.

Sleek black vehicles, modern-looking buildings. Distant pods of joggers on what looks like a training field. Even more distant sounds of guns. Passing personnel. Some of the men doing double takes, a couple of nudge-nudges. There’s not much of interest to you.

Declan shoos the two of you off after some pleasantries and an idea of where to find other members of Konig’s main squad.

You meet Aksel, Roze, Horangi, and Stiletto playing cards in one of the rec rooms. Roze teases Konig about finally bringing you ‘round. Aksel takes the initiative to stand to greet you - unnecessary, but not offensive. While his back is turned, Horangi peeks at his cards. You make eye contact with Stiletto when she notices as well and twitch your lips in a tiny, knowing smirk. Neither of you say a word.

Only two of them (Horangi and Roze) are on Konig’s usual team, but he’s worked with the other two before. You’re more interested in watching Konig interact with them. Like you, he tends to let others lead conversation in public - though the reasoning is different. At home, though, he usually initiates and you enjoy letting him talk and talk, only chiming in when asked for your opinion or reaction (or lack thereof).

Though you’re not left completely unincluded - the other KorTac members ask polite surface questions that you respond to automatically. It’s all habit, a performance you’ve given a thousand times, a veteran actor. You’ve perfected volume, pitch, inflection, spaces, down to the shape of your mouth as you speak. Your face is easier. People are good at expressions - too good. You hardly have to do anything to express easy-calm-friendly. Relaxed brows, a slight curve at the corners of your mouth, loose jaw. There: Konig’s normal, if shy, girlfriend.

When the two of you leave the rec room, Konig pulls you down a little side hallway and kisses desperately along your jaw.

“You are so good…” he mumbles breathlessly, “...so good at pretending.”

You snort, bemused. “Is that what it is?”

This is just being a person, out in the world. No one is their true selves around strangers, you thought. Is it so different when it’s you doing it?

He groans softly into your throat, mouthing at your necklace. “This will be harder than I thought.”

“We’re not fucking here,” you say.

“Yes, miss.”

You let him hide there for a moment longer, then usher him along to the next thing. He does manage to give you a decent tour of the facilities, telling you stories and explaining how KorTac does things.

You meet Hutch along the way, just a brief greeting in one of the halls. Again, not a usual member of Konig’s team but they’ve worked together before and Konig is full of pride and enthusiasm to show you off. (Maybe you’d be annoyed if his presentation was more “look what I bagged” rather than “look at who found me worthy”.)

It’s as he’s showing you one of the briefing rooms that you meet Krueger.

And you know, instantly. From the slow, exaggerated twice-over, to the obvious way he shifts his lower half, eyes lidded. You feel the mask of the day slip.

“Is this the tail you’ve been chasing instead of your own, Bruder?” he asks, sauntering closer. He could say it in German - but he wanted you to hear it.

You blink once, slow.

Konig, at your side, hisses an embarrassed correction. Even with that ridiculous hood on, you know his face must be burning. You take a single, small step forward, meeting Krueger as he sidles up too close to be appropriate. You introduce yourself without offering a hand.

“Do you know what it is we do here, little girl?” he taunts. “What your boyfriend does?”

“Yes,” you answer.

“You know he is a sadistic fuck, eh? Can break a man’s spine over his knee.”

“It’s impressive,” you admit, shrugging.

He narrows his eyes, but it seems more mocking than challenging. He doesn’t think you are anything to take seriously. An interesting bauble to bat at and toy with, to see if you’ll jump or squeak for his entertainment. He cracks his neck and takes another step, the netting that hides his face playing shadows across what little skin is visible.

“Has he told you about me?” he asks, voice dipping.

He has. “Only some.”

He looms in closer, radiating menace. He’s a broad man, makes up for height with presence alone. Objectively intimidating, you suppose.

“Trying not to frighten you,” he coos, “what a sweet boyfriend.”

You hum, noncommittal. Not even sure if you can feel fear while conscious. In your nightmares, it’s visceral enough to taste - but it only ever lingers on the back of your tongue once you wake. After all, there’s nothing to fear among the living. Not anymore.

“Is there something to be frightened of?” you ask.

“I could tell you such tales,” he croons, bending his head to speak low and intimate. “Maybe even a demonstration… of the things they accuse me of…”

You see the flicker of his hand in the corner of your eye.

“Don’t touch me,” you warn.

He laughs, rust and dried blood. “Or what, little mouse?”

“You’ll regret it.”

You hear Konig shift behind you, though you can’t tell if it’s in preparation to intervene or out of pure arousal. Perhaps both.

“Is that a threat?” Krueger mocks.

You are under no delusions that you’re better equipped for a fight than him. He has more experience and training, he’ll win in an altercation, that’s just a fact. But you don’t have to win, that’s not what you’ve promised. You’ll just make him regret starting it in the first place.

You look him in the eye.

“Yes.”

His fingertips skim the strap of your dress. You lunge, slamming your forehead into his nose. It crunches. He jerks his hand back, instinctively reaching for his face, folding a bit. Point made, step back, adjusting your necklace into place again.

And then Konig reaches past you, snatching the shoulder of Krueger’s shirt and shaking him hard. He snarls out something in German, sending Krueger to his knees.

“I am sorry, miss,” he says to you fervently, “I am so sorry. I did not think - he is an asshole. I am sorry.”

You pat his arm, lean past his hulking form, still gripping Krueger now on his knees. You curl your fingers in the netted mask and jerk his head forward.

“This is the best way to stop the bleeding,” you say. “Don’t be rude again.”

He gurgles something out, you can’t even tell if it’s English or German. You release him and turn on your heel.

“The range is next, right?”

Konig is at your side instantly. “Yes, miss.”

You meet the last of Konig’s regular teammates outside the range. (You had to cut that little excursion short. Even seeing you with a gun in your hands had his knees shaky. You got through one magazine before he was making noises in the back of his throat. It took fifteen minutes for his erection to deflate a reasonable amount.)

He’s a big man, covered from head to toe in black tactical gear - again, with a mask. Coming in with a sniper rifle over his shoulder as you and Konig are leaving. His name is Nikto. You meet his eyes as you smile and nod in greeting, Konig introducing you like before.

Maybe you haven’t quite sunk back into your Normalness yet, or perhaps Not Quite People recognize each other. But he takes one look at you and knows. You know too.

Apropos nothing, he offers you a wicked knife, hilt first. Your fingers don’t touch as you take it.

“For your next hunt,” he rumbles. “Konig is lucky.”

You blink as he walks off, glance at the blade in your hand. “It’s nice.”

Konig fidgets, staring after Nikto. “How did he know?”

You shrug.

Konig turns back to you, nervousness swirling. “Are you worried?”

You snort. “No.”

Why would a bear bother a mountain lion?

That night, you lay Konig down and grind your dripping pussy along the rigid length of his cock. He twists his fingers tight in the bed sheets (you already hear them tearing; you have spares for this) and cries while you recount every part of the day as if he wasn’t there with you. He’s stark naked, vulnerable, trembling while your dress drapes over your thighs, obscuring the obscene view of his cockhead rubbing your puffy clit.

He begs in intervals but you just keep speaking over him, recounting needless details like building names and the food served in the cafeteria. When you reach the end of the visit, you lean down. Propping yourself on his chest, you speak soft and syrupy warm into his ear.

“You did so well handling Krueger today. Such a good boy, keeping him down for me. I’m proud of you for knowing to wait. My good guard dog.”

He dissolves into a puddle in seconds, weakly asking permission to please, please, please let him cum early just this once.

You let him.

In gratitude, he eats you out until you fall asleep.

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #konig #cod konig #konig x reader #pathetic stalker konig #rabid reader #in love with a fever fic #heavy kink

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vixensp1ce · 5 months

Text

fem!reader, uni au

There's a stranger in your bed, and he's fucking you better than any of your boyfriends have before.

Veritas Ratio pistons into your abused cunt, puffy and raw from his tongue, fingers, and cock. It's slender but long, almost elegant in shape, reaching so deep into you that you're nearly satisfied by him bottoming out alone.

But you're not so easily filled. And it's part of the reason why you're out on town, having finally freed yourself of your previous boyfriend, looking for a good dick to get fucked by.

But no one told you a stranger's dick would be this insane.

"Giving up already?" Everything Veritas says manages to sound judgemental and disappointed. You squeeze tighter around him, whimpering as your pussy protests, but he doesn't even crack an inch. "Slut."

He has you crumpled, exhausted, every muscle twitching from your past orgasms, and still he shows no sign of stopping.

"Can't even cum for me." Those long, deft fingers release their grip on your hair. You lurch forward with a whine of relief - at least until his hand creeps down to your cunt.

"Don't- please- ah, ah, ah~"

He rubs harsh circles into your clit. Sparks rush up into your belly, slamming you shut on his hard, hard dick, the knot ready to snap.

He groans, one of a limited range of sounds you've heard from him this night, and if it was even possible, his strokes get even faster. "Don't, my ass. Make me cum, you little bi- hrrrrrrph."

The knot unravels. "Veri, Veri, please, ah, please-"

A syrupy warmth spills out over your back, and his scent fills your nose again. You whimper, legs trembling, flashing hot and cold as your pussy spasms emptily from your orgasm.

Finally, he lets go. You collapse shakily, turning over.

He's hunched over you, purple strands concealing his expression as he ducks his head to catch his breath. There's a full moon high in the sky, and even the streets have gone quiet on this Friday evening. Or Saturday morning.

Veritas lowers himself slowly onto the mattress next to you, the only indication that he'd ever exerted himself the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His amber eyes pass impersonally over you, roving over your room as if it were his.

That was how he typically was, you'd learnt. Veritas Ratio was indifferent, coldly analytical towards the softer parts of humanity. Even in the club, he hadn't had much to say about anything except "It's too loud in here."

He was an architecture major something-or-other, handsome in the same way his blueprints were - all flat planes and sharp angles. Veritas had been eyed by a number of girls all over campus (and professors too, so it was rumoured), but his chilling attitude toward each and every one of them had spoken its own message.

Then you'd gone out with some course friends to a club. His liquid amber eyes flashed blue, green, pink under the club lights, digging into the flesh visible just above your thigh-high boots, and you'd decided, hey, why not?

His phone buzzes insistently somewhere in the room. Veritas sighs impatiently, climbing over you to rummage for his possessions. You're too sore to move much and the sudden loss of warmth stirs up an unwelcome hint of disappointment.

You listen to him move around your room for a moment. Warm breath on your ear gives you reason to turn over.

"I have to go now," he says, face inches from yours. You jump in surprise, clutching your blankets to your chest.

"Already?" Maybe you should have expected it. "Do you need a shower first?"

He hesitates. "...That would be nice, thank you."

You wave a hand lazily in the direction of the bathroom, watching him go. "And raise the door up before you latch it!" you call after him.

You hear the brief sounds of struggle, then Veritas manages. The sound of running water starts shortly after.

You let yourself lie for a moment longer, then groan and get up. The sheets and laundry would need to be washed, the house cleaned, and your work for school still needed to be tackled.

You're in the kitchen, doing the dishes, when you hear the front door open and shut.

#hsr x reader smut #hsr x reader #x reader smut #honkai star rail #star rail #ratio smut #honkai star rail x reader #dr ratio smut #hsr dr ratio #veritas ratio #dr ratio #hsr ratio

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osarina · 5 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: seven months after his defection, you run into dazai osamu by sheer chance. you know in your heart what you should do—traitors are to be disposed of, regardless of any previous relationship you might've had with them... but can you bring yourself to do what must be done? or will you be more driven by the questions you desperately need answered?

(wordcount: 7.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, angsty (i promiseeeee i have some happier ones coming up with pm!reader and pmzai), alcoholism, dazai is in a particularly bad mental state)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: this one was suchhhh a doozy. the third installment of my pm!reader & pm!dazai universe, this is why i had to retcon he's my collar because originally pm!reader didn't see him at all during the 4 years but i got the idea for this fic like 2 ?? weeks ago and it was too good to not use - tomorrow i think i'll put up the masterlist for it so you guys can see the chronology and planned installments

Against all odds, you run into Dazai Osamu seven months after his defection.

You should put a bullet in his skull. You watch absently from the mouth of the alley as the ex-Port Mafia executive groans, trying to push himself to his feet only to crash back onto the pavement, blood smeared across his face from a crooked nose and split lip, bile pooled on the ground where he’d landed.

Gross, you think, lip curling up in disgust as his lithe fingers smear through the vomit, blunt nails scraping against the pavement as he attempts to push himself up again but fails. His shoulders are heaving, breath slow and labored as he lets out another wretched sound, crumpling back to the ground.

You click the safety off of your gun, pulling it out of your pocket as you quietly make your way deeper into the alley, over to where he’s still struggling to get off the ground. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence until he hits the ground hard again after nearly making it to his feet. This time, he falls onto his shoulder and gasps in pain as he rolls onto his back, blinking up blearily through glazed-over eyes that can hardly focus on you or the gun pointed at his head.

You should just get it over with, pull the trigger, and leave the body for cleanup to handle. It’d be a better fate than he deserves, cleaner and quicker than he’d ever give himself, and not even half as painful as it’ll be when the Port Mafia inevitably get their hands back on him.

You’d be sparing him, really; it would be a mercy.

And it’s what is expected of you. Letting a traitor as high profile as Dazai Osamu go free when you have a clear chance to execute him would be more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the torture chambers, body dumped in the river when the Port Mafia is done punishing you.

But still, for some reason, your finger hesitates as you move to pull the trigger.

“You…” His voice is so slurred that you can hardly make out coherent words, but you use his words as an excuse to bide even more time, curious to see what he’s going to say. You can smell the whiskey on him from where you’re standing, his skin is paler than it usually is, and you notice, idly, that the bandages on his right eye are gone and you wonder when he chose to shed them. “You’re not real.”

Your eye twitches in irritation.

You pull the trigger.

If he was sober, he would have expected the reaction from you and dodged the bullet, but he’s not sober, so his eyes fly open in shock as the bullet grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pavement next to his head. He doesn’t look any more sobered up by the pain, which you suppose is a testament to how drunk he really is, but he does look significantly more confused.

“You shot me,” he says, pale lips parted as he stares up at you—too pale, you notice absently, brows furrowing a bit as you try to consider what to do.

“Yeah,” you say, voice rough with irritation. “Real enough for you?”

Dazai blinks, you don’t even think your words are registering and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.

Get it over with, you tell yourself again, this time positioning your gun over his forehead. A clean kill. You won’t move it to the side at the last minute again. You remind yourself that this is what he deserves—he’s a traitor to the Port Mafia, to you. Killing him now would be a mercy compared to what the Port Mafia would do to him, compared to what he’d do to himself.

He stares up at you, brown eyes wide and glassy. He parts his lips to speak but you can’t give yourself the same excuse; you don’t wait for his words this time.

You pull the trigger again.

But Dazai is moving. He rolls over onto his side trying to push himself back to his feet and the bullet lodges right into the ground where his head had once been lying. You stare down at it in disbelief, gun falling to your side as your fingers start to feel a bit numb and clunky, breath catching as you realize what you’d almost just done—what you tried to do.

Dazai makes it to his knees and he tries to reach out for you but you step back out of reach. His brows furrow before he keels over again, dry heaving now—there’s enough bile around him for you to realize he’s probably thrown up everything in his stomach and then some. He leans against the wall, the glassiness of his eyes spilling over his cheeks as he continues to dry heave but your gaze is still trained down on the ground where the bullet is embedded in the ground where his head had just been laying.

You just tried to-

You think you’re the one who feels sick now. The dinner you’d had out with Chuuya and Kouyou rises to the back of your throat as you take another step away from Dazai. Your vision blurs as your gaze turns to him again, but instead of the tattered and vomit-stained clothes he’s wearing now, he’s back in the dark suit you’re accustomed to, crumpled on the ground still, but not because he’s drunk because he’s been wounded on a mission that he took on so you wouldn’t have to.

You just tried to kill Dazai.

Dazai, who’s been your closest friend since the two of you were sixteen and at the center of the most violent conflict to rock Yokohama’s foundations. Entirely inseparable, forever entwined since the moment the two of you met; the type of instant click that most people could only ever dream of experiencing in their lives.

You almost killed Dazai.

Dazai, who promised to put a bullet in Ace’s head if the man ever came near you again after he found out the newly promoted executive had insinuated putting one of his collars on you during a confrontation between the two of you. He knew that even he would face consequences for threatening another executive, that he would face even more if he dared to follow through with his threat, but he didn’t care and he had every intention of following through if it meant keeping you safe.

You would have killed Dazai if not for sheer luck.

Dazai, who used to kiss you with trembling fingers and quivering lips, because for as much as his reputation as the Demon Prodigy had spread throughout the country, he was still just a teenage boy who’d never had his first kiss until the two of you got drunk on champagne after a successful mission when he made the mistake of admitting to you that he’s never kissed anyone before. The two of you’d spent the entire night giggling between chaste kisses, getting through just about two bottles of champagne before you started throwing up.

He held back your hair and laughed at you as you leaned over the toilet, miserable. But he was gentle with you in a way that Dazai Osamu is never gentle with anyone, fingers carding through your hair, rubbing absent circles on your back to soothe you as you choked over sobs and gags.

Then there’s you. You, who not only a moment ago, looked down at him with your lip curling up in disgust, unable to hold your grimace at the way he laid in his own vomit. You lifted the barrel of your gun in his direction not once, but twice, and you pulled the trigger not once, but twice.

When you showed vulnerability to him, he showed you a type of tenderness that everyone thought was long lost to the notorious Demon Prodigy.

When he finally shows vulnerability to you, you only show him cruelty in response.

You try to convince yourself that it’s different, that the circumstances are different now but the words ring hollow in your head, taking no root, because you think the circumstances shouldn't matter. This is Dazai. Dazai. There are no circumstances that justify executing him.

Your head spins and you take another step away, you don’t know where you dropped your gun and you don’t want to know. You don’t want to look at it. You don’t want to touch it. You’ll send someone else after it later. You blink, and for a moment, you can visualize what almost happened: you can see Dazai motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head and a bullet wound piercing through his forehead. You gag, pressing your hand to your mouth as you force back the bile that nearly comes up.

“Wait,” Dazai garbles out, pushing off the wall toward you but he propels himself right into the ground again, face first, scraping his cheek on the concrete. “Don’t leave again.”

Again? The word nearly pulls you out of your daze, the bitterness that’s poisoned you for seven months returning with a vengeance as your eyes focus on him.

Dazai, who left you without a word or a warning. Not even the slightest goodbye. He abandoned you like you meant nothing to him.

“I need to-” he gags again as he pushes himself to his knees. He tries to reach forward again but his whole body sways, eyes half-rolling back as he tries to steady himself, on the verge of passing out. “I need to tell you this time. I need to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, slumping back over onto the ground unconscious—in a puddle of his own blood and vomit, naturally. The logical part of you knows you should just leave him there. You’re already playing with fire by not executing him on the spot, but you also know if you leave him here, it’ll be as good as a death sentence. If he doesn’t die on his own from alcohol poisoning, then he’ll certainly be found by the Port Mafia patrols. You think Dazai is a fool for drinking so much so deep in Port Mafia territory, for not being careful enough to make sure he didn’t wander out in the open.

He should know better.

He does know better.

A part of you wonders if it was intentional, if he thought that he’d stumble into Port Mafia territory and he’d run into someone eager to lay claim to the fame of being Dazai Osamu’s executioner.

If that’s the case, he nearly got his wish—that thought alone almost sends you spiraling over the edge again, having to shove away more nausea. You force all thoughts of the Port Mafia and betrayal to the back of your mind as you fall to your knees next to him, gathering him up into your arms and pushing yourself back to your feet. He curls into you instinctively, even while unconscious, smaller than you remember, smearing blood and bile all over your suit. Your grip on him tightens, a shaky breath escaping your lips when you realize that this is the first time you’ve touched him since the night he left.

You shake your head to clear your mind, desperately trying to focus. You can’t stay out in the open with him for long otherwise you’ll risk someone seeing you with him, and that’ll open a can of worms you’re not prepared to deal with.

You’ll drop him off somewhere safe, and then you’ll get back to base.

That’s all.

That is not all.

The safehouse in Sakae that the two of you would run to whenever you wanted to avoid Mori is just how you left it the last time you spent the night with him there over half a year ago. One of his jackets is still draped over the couch, one of your ties thrown haphazardly on the ground—you remember the night vividly, the way he smiled against your lips as he lead you into the back bedroom, stumbling over each other and fumbling with buttons as you tried to undress the other while walking to the room, high off the success of a mission that everyone had said would fail because the odds were so stacked against the two of you. Even Chuuya had laughed in your face when you said you’d take the mission, but you knew so long as Dazai had your back on it, it would work out in your favor.

He’s woken up several times, you don’t even know what he’s saying in his incoherent babbles. Every time he wakes back up, he’s calling for you, stumbling out of the bed you laid him in after getting him cleaned up and crashing to the ground before he reaches the hall. It’s irritating, you have to go back to help him back into the bed every time and he starts babbling again, passing out before you can figure out what he’s saying. You finally had to move yourself into the back bedroom with him so he didn’t try to get up again.

You don’t know why you’re still here.

You lean your forehead against your hand as you sit on the bed next to where he’s lying, one leg tucked beneath you while the other hangs over the side. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want him to get up drunk trying to look for you and then crack his head open, but it’s a weak excuse because Dazai Osamu is not your issue anymore. It’s not your job to watch over him when he gets shit-faced drunk, it’s not your job to patch him up when he gets hurt, it’s not your job to look out for him.

He left you, not vice versa, You don’t owe him anything. He lost that privilege when he betrayed you. Fuck the Port Mafia, he betrayed you when he left without a word. You deserved better than that. You deserved a goodbye. You don’t owe him shit. You should leave him here to rot in his own vomit and blood but-

But you won’t.

Your gaze drifts back over to him. He’s still out cold—cleaner now, because it had never just been ‘get him somewhere safe and then go back to the base,’ as soon as you got him into the safehouse you wrangled him into the bathroom to clean him up. He was uncharacteristically pliant as you manhandled him into the shower. You suppose it was because he was unconscious for half of it but even for the moments where he was awake and blearily blinking the water out of his eyes, looking up at you through wet bangs with those stupid big eyes of his, as if he was still unsure if you were actually there.

Instinctively, you reach out to brush the back of your knuckles against his swollen, split lip, wondering if it was just from him being clumsy while drunk or if he’d managed to piss someone off at a bar. Both are equally likely—Dazai is a rather cantankerous drunk when he’s alone and drunk on whiskey, and even after cleaning him up and dousing him in soap to get out the reeking scent of his vomit out from where it’d sunken into his skin, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth to brush his teeth and scrubbing so they don’t rot from the bile, you can still smell the whiskey on his breath.

You wonder how much he drank. His skin is still pale, his breath shuddered, and he’s shivering even though you wrapped him in three thick blankets. Some degree of alcohol poisoning, that’s for sure. You tell yourself that’s why you’re not leaving—you don’t want to leave before you’re sure he’s pulled through the worst of it. You’re not going to admit to yourself that you don’t want to leave because you’re worried it’ll be the last time you see him for real this time.

You hesitate right before your knuckles brush his skin, swallowing thickly before you withdraw your hand back into your lap, eyes sliding shut as you sigh.

What the hell are you doing?

If anyone from the Port Mafia knew what you were doing right now, you’d be hunted down right alongside him, branded as a traitor and sentenced to death. Chuuya would kill you if he knew what you were doing right now—and not because you betrayed the Port Mafia by helping Dazai, instead because you’re a fucking idiot. You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but this might take the cake for the stupidest, sticking your neck out for someone who didn’t even care enough to tell you goodbye.

You rub your forehead, tired. You try to summon the anger you felt when you first found out he betrayed the Port Mafia from Mori and Chuuya—from the hot fury you felt in the direct aftermath, screaming and breaking everything you could get your hands on as you cursed his name and burned everything he left in your apartment to the cold rage you felt when you finally calmed down, bitter and lonely and betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray you—but you can’t. And you think it’s pathetic because what use is all of that anger if you can’t utilize it when the reason for it is lying right before you?

If Chuuya were here right now, he’d drag you out by the hair and leave Dazai to suffer on his own. You left your phone in the kitchen after turning off your location, because he was already buzzing incessantly wondering where you are. You’d told him that you wanted to stop by one of the fishing ports in Kanazawa to check on a small weapons shipment that should’ve arrived earlier in the night before heading back to your shared apartment—you’d moved in with him after Dazai’s betrayal. He made the executive decision himself, not giving you a choice in the matter because he realized that you living on your own in the apartment that Dazai had practically moved into with you was not conducive to you healing from his betrayal.

Plus, you think he was lonely too without Dazai around anymore, but he’d never admit that.

You should’ve been back an hour ago. You’re sure that he’s getting suspicious and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to track you down. You don’t think he knows about this safe house in particular, Dazai had threatened you with piling up mission reports onto you if you told him about this one, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Chuuya learned about it through other means—somehow, he always seems to know everything.

You sigh again, heavier this time as you try to figure out what to do. You know what you should do, but you also know you’re not going to do that. Your gaze drags back over to him and your breath catches when you realize he’s awake again, bleary brown eyes trained on you, brows furrowed.

His lips part to speak again and you tense, waiting for whatever he has to say, unsure if you’ll even understand it.

“You… came with me. You never come with me. Are you… really here?”

Even though his eyes are still glazed over and muddled, his voice is less garbled than it was before. You think that’s a good sign, but even so, you let out an even heavier sigh, this one more irritated, and a bit confused because you don’t even know what that means: you never come with me.

“Yes, Dazai,” you say sharply, but then you let out a puff of air. The same memories that hit you before coming right back to you, remembering all of the nights Dazai would stay up having to take care of you, patient in a way that he never was with anybody. You soften your voice a bit as you say, “Yes. I’m here.”

Dazai looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. He blinks once slowly, then his brows furrow deeper and his lips turn downward.

“You don’t call me Dazai.” He speaks the accusation slowly, as if to make himself sound more coherent, but you can still hear the clear slur in his voice. “You never-”

You turn away because if you don’t, you think you might lose your temper. He’s drunk, you remind yourself, but he’s still ripping open wounds that never properly healed, because how dare he expect you to still call him by his given name after everything. It had taken months for you to get used to calling him Dazai again and-

You feel your chest start to cave in again and your throat spasms. Your eyes flutter shut and god, you want to hate him. You thought you did hate him, you convinced yourself of it in all of the bitter rage and acidic betrayal you’ve felt the past seven months but now that you’re confronted with him again, you know that it was never hate. You could never hate Dazai Osamu. You'd just missed him so terribly that the pain was easy to mistake as hate; love and hate has always been a treacherously thin line, and Dazai more than anyone else wavers on either side of it.

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap from your chest and crawl right back to him, you have to physically place your hand over your chest as if to hold it in place, to make sure the traitorous thing can’t go back to the very man that tore it shreds. You force yourself to breathe, in and out, steady, trying to settle down.

This was a mistake, you realize, this was a mistake.

Just as you’re about to push yourself up, you feel lithe fingers curl around your arm. You freeze, not even daring to glance back at Dazai. You can hear him pushing the covers off of him as he crawls closer to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His movements are unsteady, and you can’t bring yourself to push him off of you when you feel him slump against your back.

His weight is familiar, comforting in a way that it shouldn’t be. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that you’re back at the Port Mafia base seven months ago and Dazai is draping himself across your back, complaining about being overworked by Mori and trying to convince you to take over his paperwork. You’d have to drag him halfway across the base trying to get to your office with his dead weight hanging onto you, you remember all of the wary stares from your subordinates as they try not to let their gaze linger on the two of you but let their curiosity get the best of them regardless.

You hate that you don’t push him off right away, that you’re letting yourself indulge in his touch again. You’ve moved on from this—from him. It’s been seven months. You’re over all of this.

“You… understand, don’t you?”

You barely hear the words muffled against your back, but you do and you can’t help but stiffen at them. He shifts against you, fingers biting into your skin as he pulls himself up a bit more to bury his face in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he leans all of his weight onto your back. You can feel his breath warm and shuddered against your neck, making your hair stand on end, and his hands are limp in your lap now, fingers brushing against the material of the clean slacks you’d pulled on after getting Dazai showered.

It’s all so familiar that it could make you sick.

“How could I?” you ask bitterly, even though you know you shouldn’t take out your resentment on him while he’s so drunk; he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. There’s no point, you’ll just be wasting your energy.

His arms tighten around you, breath hitching against your skin. “I had to, Odasaku-”

The noise you let out is such a sharp scoff that you can feel Dazai flinch behind you. You almost shove him off of you but you refrain, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. You never really had any feelings about Odasaku—he was always just there, you heard about him from Dazai occasionally and he seemed pleasant enough the few times you encountered him—but after all of this, you can’t help but hold a grudge against him, irrationally blaming him for Dazai leaving you.

“Odasaku wasn’t your only friend,” you say tightly. “You had me. Chuuya. You-”

“It’s not the same,” Dazai protests, clinging to you as if he hadn’t just driven a knife right through your back into your heart.

This time you do shove him off, barely sparing him a glance as he lets out a surprised yelp, sprawling back onto the bed. You push away the mistiness that threatens your eyes, breathing in and out slowly to try to keep yourself calm. It’s not the same, you repeat his words, bitterness poisoning your blood and clouding your head. What the fuck does that even mean? You know logically you should take his words with a grain of salt, that he’s so drunk he probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but you just feel so angry that it’s hard for you to keep that in mind.

You hear him scrambling behind you: a thump as he hits the floor hard and then a rush of movement as he pushes himself to his knees. His fingers curl around your ankle before you can get further away and you have a half a mind to kick him off of you and leave.

You don’t.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads. He drags himself to his knees, pulling at your pants and it takes all of your self-control to not look back down at him. “I didn’t-it came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?” you ask him, even though you by all means should not even bother to hear his shitty explanation.

“I just-I didn’t mean it like that.” You’ve never heard Dazai’s voice crack before, but it does now. “Don’t leave. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” you spit out, and you finally turn to look down at him—a mistake, of course, because he’s on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those stupid, big brown eyes and you almost let your anger fizzle away at the sight of it. He’s drunk, you remind yourself again, but it doesn’t stop you from snapping at him. “You left me, Dazai. You have no right to miss me.”

“But I do.” His fingers fumble for your hand, grabbing one of yours with both of his. “I miss you so much, I think about you all the time.”

His lashes flutter, fingers brushing along your forearm as he presses his lips to your knuckles and then to your pulse point before leaning forward to rest his forehead on your thigh. You can’t even look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall, because your lashes feel wet and heavy and you know that you’ll give into him if you look at him now and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I couldn’t go to you before I left,” Dazai whispers and he sounds oddly coherent now even though you know he’s not. “I would’ve asked you to come with me.”

For some reason, that hurts worse than if he’d just admitted he didn’t care enough to say goodbye. Because what does that even mean, I would’ve asked you to come with me, would that have been so bad? He didn’t want you with him? Why wouldn’t he have wanted you with him? If you had left, he would’ve been the first person you ran to, begging him to come with you.

“How terrible that would’ve been,” you say, and you’re proud that your voice remains cold and steady, not betraying the hurt ripping through your chest.

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle it,” he says, voice breaking over a hiccup. “Odasaku had just died and-”

He cuts himself, and you dare to look down at him when you feel him lift his face from your thigh. You regret it immediately. Glassy, glazed-over eyes beg for you to understand, and you scare yourself because you want to understand when he shouldn’t even matter to you anymore. You’ve moved on. You have. It’s been seven months. He left you without a word. So why do you care so much for what he has to say right now?

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” he says, shaking his head. “You would’ve said no. You never would have chosen me over the Mafia.”

Your lips part to deny the allegations, to say that of course, you would have come with him, but the words fizzle out before they even form on your tongue because-

“You can’t even bring yourself to deny it, can you?” Dazai asks, and although he sounds more cogent now, you can’t help but notice that he’s starting to look sick again, the back of his throat making that faint clicking sound it always makes when he’s about to throw up. “You never would have chosen me.”

You would choose Dazai Osamu over a lot of things. You would choose to save his life before yours if put in the position, and you would choose to trust him over anyone else in the whole world. You’d follow him to the depths of hell and deep into the shadows, until your blood is black and corrupted and you’re entirely irredeemable, but you can’t follow him into the light.

You can’t choose him if it means betraying the Port Mafia. With his defection, the two have become mutually exclusive: Dazai or the Port Mafia, there’s no way of having both anymore. The boy you’ve come to love or the only home you’ve ever known. The only family you’ve ever had. A shitty family maybe, but a family nonetheless. If you don’t belong with the Port Mafia, you don’t belong anywhere on this earth, and as someone who’s always had a desperate fear of alienation, the thought makes you sick.

You stare at him, throat tight, and then you say, colder than you intend for it to come across, “... If that’s really why you didn’t say goodbye, then I’m glad you didn’t put me in that position.”

The expression that crosses Dazai’s face is something caught between ruin and shock—and you can’t help but wonder if he held out hope, thinking maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. That there had been a chance that you might’ve chosen him if he’d given you the option. That he’s been living his life in the what-ifs for the past seven months and now that he’s finally gotten the chance to bare his heart to you, you’ve crushed it.

Your chest tightens, your throat spasms and it takes all your self-control to not immediately take back the words, regret flooding you so intensely that it nearly makes you physically stumble. Because it’s true, you never would have picked Dazai over the Mafia, but he didn’t have to know that—especially not now, when he’s drunk and vulnerable in a way that he’s never allowed himself to be before.

You hope, for his sake and your conscience, that he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning.

His lips part to respond again but his hand is flying to his mouth instantly, doubling over, and you’re cursing, reaching for the trash bin you’d brought into the bedroom and falling to your knees next to him, helping him kneel upright and holding the trash bin in front of him as he starts gagging again.

“I would’ve-” He’s still trying to talk through the bouts of nausea, gasping over air, body trembling as he leans into you for balance.

You don’t want to hear what he has to say.

“Dazai-”

“I would’ve chosen you,” he finally forced out, voice breaking over the words and you’re not sure if it’s a sob or another heave that escapes his lips as he continues. “If the positions were reversed, I would’ve chosen you.”

Oh.

The words echo in your head so loudly that it makes you want to cover your ears even though you know it won’t do anything. You want to accuse him of lying, tell him that he’s full of shit and just trying to make you feel guilty, but you don’t think he’s capable of lying right now and you don’t think this is anything Dazai would have ever admitted to you if he was sober. He guards his heart more carefully than anyone you’ve ever met—in the two and a half years you’d known him, he never admitted he cared about you. You knew it just from how he treated you, but you think he might’ve ripped his own tongue out before actually admitting it.

You wrap an arm around him as his whole body shudders through another gag and he tries to push you off—angry, upset, you don’t know what he might be feeling because you’ve never seen him like this before—but your arm only tightens around him and Dazai crumbles.

He heaves again, clutching the small garbage can to his face as he throws up all of the water you’d managed to get in him before he passed out earlier. Tears spill over his cheeks, his face is pale and his lashes are fluttering again, on the verge of passing back out. You swallow thickly as he leans into you, letting him collapse into your chest after he’s finished vomiting.

“Will-” he tries to say, but his voice is slurred and weak. He’s desperately trying to stay conscious, you can tell, but he’s fighting a losing battle. “Will you be here in the morning?”

No.

You don’t want to say it, you think you’ve done enough damage for the night, but there’s no need. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dazai is slumping over unconscious, head laying limp on your arm, lashes brushing his cheek. You sigh as your grip around him tightens before you adjust him in his arms to carry him back into the bed, laying him comfortably beneath the covers.

You don’t linger for long after that. After another hour or two passes and Dazai doesn’t wake up again, you make your way back into the bedroom, raising your hand to his face to brush away the dark locks in his eyes before cupping his cheek. Even in his sleep, he leans into your touch, and it makes your chest feel so agonizingly tight that you think you might be having a heart attack.

You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, to his nose, and then to his lips, indulging yourself one last time. Your forehead rests against his as you consider your words—there are a million things you’d like to say to him before you leave, but you don’t have nearly enough time to get them all off of your chest.

Instead, you tell him softly, “I hope you don’t remember any of this in the morning.” You don’t move your hand from where it’s caressing his cheek as you stand straight again, thumb drawing absent circles on his skin. Your voice is thick with emotion, eyes welling with tears that don’t spill over. “We’ll meet again one day.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a hangover so bad that he thinks he might die.

He sits up in bed and is instantly groaning, hand flying to his forehead as his brain throbs inside of his skull. He needs to figure out where he is—the last thing he remembers is…

The bar?

His eyes slide shut as he tries to think, but it only makes his head hurt more. He flops back onto the bed, arms splayed out. He still feels nauseous, he can feel it rising to his throat and he desperately does not want to throw up again—it’s one thing vomiting when he’s too drunk to remember, it’s an entirely different thing to vomit while he’s sober and conscious.

Dazai thinks he might rather die.

He lets out a heavy sigh as he begs the nausea to go away, breathing in and out deeply. He lifts his hand to brush a lock of hair away from where it’s tickling his ear and-

Ouch.

Dazai’s eyes fly open again, confused now, as he rips his hand away from where he’d touched his ear to stare up at the ceiling. He’s used to waking up with odd injuries after a night of blacking out at whatever bar will still have him, but his ear is a particularly strange place to be wounded, isn’t it?

Driven by curiosity now, he forces himself into a sitting position, and it’s only when he pushes himself out of bed, does he finally start to recognize the room he’s in. His lips part in a distinct mixture of shock and confusion as he looks around the room slowly, making his way over to the mirror.

The safehouse in Sakae?

His chest feels heavier instantly, and a tight feeling rises to his throat as he catches sight of an old jacket of yours draped on the desk chair, the one that had ripped during the last mission you went on together—just the way you left it the last time the two of you were here. A pair of his old dress shoes are lying haphazardly outside the closet door, he’s sure that if he peeks into the closet, all of your suits will be hanging there because you refused to share the closet with him so all of his spares are stuffed in the dresser. Dazai suddenly feels sick again and he doubts it’s from the hangover this time.

How did he get here?

He needs another drink desperately.

But first… Dazai leans over the dresser to look into the mirror—a bit dusty after so many months with no one stopping in—he lifts his hand to brush his hair behind and then-

What?

His jaw drops and his brows furrow, his fingers graze over where the top of his ear used to be, only to find the whole upper quarter of it missing.

What the fuck? He mouths as he stares at the missing cartilage, and then he looks back around the room, and just as his eyes catch a trash bin that should be in the bathroom, his vision blurs, and his head is aching. He’s suddenly stumbling down an alley, he’s lying in a puddle of his own vomit, unable to stand up straight. He can hear someone approaching and he knows he should get up, find some dumpster or crevice to wait out the night until he’s sober enough to get the fuck out of the heart of the Mafia’s territory in Yokohama, but he can hardly move.

He can lift his head from the pavement just enough to-

Just enough to see you.

Dazai can hardly cope with the emotions that rattle his chest. Longing, because he’s missed you so terribly the past seven months. Disbelief, because you shot his fucking ear off. And… and Dazai isn’t quite sure what the other emotions are. They’re heavy and light at the same time, his chest feels bubbly but his ankles feel chained—it’s a weird mixture of hope and dread, he thinks, because the safehouse is eerily quiet, seemingly void of any life other than Dazai himself, but the chance that you might still be here…

“Will you be here in the morning?”

The faint memory of the last words he spoke before he passed out the last time rings through his head, and his feet drag against the ground as he forces himself to move from the bedroom into the main room of the safe house. His fingers hesitate against the wood of the door—scared that he’s going to open it and you won't be there, scared that he’s going to open it and you will be there. He doesn’t remember the things he said to you last night, but he knows that he’d been staring at old pictures the two of you took before he blacked out. He can hardly imagine the things he might’ve said to you when given the chance.

It takes all of his strength and all of his willpower to push open the door.

It takes even more to actually step out of the bedroom.

The safe house is empty.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Dazai’s feet are moving before he’s fully even registered what’s happening.

He makes his way into the kitchen to rummage around for another bottle for him to drown away his sorrows, but he doesn’t pull out the untouched bottle of his favorite whiskey he knows is sitting in the cabinet—he goes straight for the wine fridge. He nearly shatters three bottles of whites before he finally gets his hands on your favorite red, the one you’d asked him to stock up in there for you three days before he left, knowing that the two of you had a mission coming up and you’d be celebrating here, as always. Not knowing that he’d have betrayed you by then.

He struggles to uncork it, the frustration causing his headache to return with a vengeance. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to finally get the bottle open, but when he does, he brings it to his lips immediately, eyes sliding shut as he downs a few generous gulps.

The taste is familiar. Pleasant. It makes his heart ache with such an intense longing for you that it nearly makes him throw up.

He can almost imagine that he’s tasting it off of your lips instead.

He leans over the counter, elbows digging into the marble as he tries to push away the ugly feelings ripping apart his chest. He can’t. He never can. He hasn’t been able to since the day he left you behind seven months ago. He can only numb it.

With a hand closed around the neck of the bottle, Dazai slides down the cabinet to sit on the ground. His cheeks feel wet, but he doesn’t dare lift his hand to acknowledge the tears sliding down them.

Instead, he lifts the bottle to his lips again and drowns himself in the memories of you for another night.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #dazai angst #bsd angst #bungo stray dogs angst

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papercorgiworld · 7 months

Text

Can you forgive what he forgot?

Mattheo, Theodore and Enzo

You two break up, but then he takes a bad hit in a fight and forgets you two broke up. When he wakes up he immediately asks for you.

I loved this request, but for some reason it was a struggle to write. I battled words and phrases, but I got it written down! I must apologize. I hoped to write this for all Slytherin boys, but it was quite a big project so in the end I decided to stick with Mattheo, Theodore and Lorenzo. I hope it’s good… happy readings my sweet readers!

I. The break up

“How dare you pick a fight with my friends? How many times have I told you to just stay away from them if you don’t like them.” Your boyfriend groans and rolls his eyes. In his book you were being irrational, again. “Maybe you should hang out with better people. Maybe friends that don’t want to break us up.” He says with a stern voice, while getting off of the couch and towering over you. “What?” You yell and run a frustrated hand over your face. “Break us up? In Merlin’s name, have you been drinking? Or are you really this delusional?” He grabs your arm and drags you to his room, so the rest of the common room doesn’t get to enjoy the little show.

“I’m delusional? You’re the one believing everyone wants to be your friend and support your relationship and let’s all have hugs for breakfast and sing happy songs by a bonfire.” You lose it at his empty argument and grab a pillow throwing it at him. “I don’t know why I keep putting up with your shit!” You yell and you can feel tears welling up. He stares at you with a stern look. “Oh don’t worry about it anymore, because this ridiculous relationship is over!” You take a step back at his loud voice and there is a long silence as you both tremble in anger. Just before your boyfriend wants to speak up you swallow and bravely look up to him. “Fine.” His eyes widen as you turn around and open the door with a shaky hand. Say anything! Make her stay! Move! Don’t let her leave! Say something! His mind rages as he feels like all air has been ripped away, but no words come. The door closes behind you and you two are no longer together, just like that. Tears roll down your cheeks as you speed walk to your dorm and by the time you get there, your now ex-boyfriend still stands in the exact same spot: silent, frozen but in just as much pain as you are.

II. The fight

Mattheo

Walking through the hallway Cedric laughs loudly with his friends, before lowering his voice a little. “Did you hear (y/n) finally broke up with that moron.” Mattheo grits his teeth as he overhears the hufflepuff, why couldn’t people just mind their own business. “How long do you guys think I should wait before I, you know, can ask her out.” His friends chuckle, before responding. “A week.” “The girl needs time, you don’t want to come off too strong.” “Nah, she’s been done with him for a long time, she just didn’t dare break up with the psycho. Really, just ask her.” Cedric nods, taking in all the different opinions. “Yeah, she was probably terrified of him. I bet he treated her like crap. She deserves so much better.” Cedric’s words hurt Mattheo, because part of him feared that you really hated being with him.

Mattheo turns and heads for the opposite direction in an attempt to avoid the confrontation, but after two steps he grits his teeth and balls up his fists. Nope. You’re not asking her out. In one sudden move Mattheo turns around, eyes dead focused on the hufflepuff who was still chatting away with his friends. With one easy spell Mattheo pulls Cedric towards him. “You should be the one terrified of me.” Cedric can barely register Mattheo’s word before a fist hits him hard, making him stumble back and reach for his bleeding nose. Mattheo grabs Mattheo’s color, but before he can throw his second punch he feels himself fly across the hallway.

Theodore

Walking through the hallway Cedric laughs loudly with his friends, before lowering his voice a little. “Did you hear (y/n) finally broke up with that moron.” Theodore's eyes go dark as they move to find Cedric in the hallway. “Oh, they broke up? Good for her. That prick was underneath her.” Cedric nods at his friend. “I’m thinking of asking her out.” At Cedric’s words Theodore’s eyes go from dark to dead. Normally he would’ve kept his cool longer, but Theo knew you had had a crush on Cedric until third year. “You should. She looked happy this morning.” “Totally, she’s not missing his toxic ass at all.” Theodore clenches his jaw. Sure he had his issues, he was aware of that, but he never manipulated you in any way.

Before Theo’s fully aware of it he feels himself move towards the group of friends. With dead eyes and big steps he radiates anger. His large hand lands on one guy’s shoulder firmly pulling him back so Theo now stands in front of Cedric. “I’m thinking you should start minding your own business and keep your mouth shut about my relationship.” Any other day the hufflepuff would have chosen a peaceful way out but not today. “Your relationship? There is no relationship, you broke her heart.” In a split second, Theodore’s fist meets Cedric’s jaw, making the latter fall. As Cedric scrambles up Theo pushes away the ones trying to keep him at bay and throws another punch to which Cedric quickly reacts by pulling out his wand, sending Theodore crashing into a wall.

Enzo

Lorenzo was frustrated, frustrated with you for walking out and frustrated himself for letting you. Instead of being his usual happy self he was a stormy cloud drifting around Hogwarts scowling at everyone that so much as breathed in his direction. So when an already cranky Enzo hears the laughter of Cedric and his friends he’s eyes turn furious watching the happy lot carelessly banter. However, with his focus on the hufflepuff he overhears your name. “Cedric, did you hear (y/n) is single?” Cedric’s grins. “Yeah, I plan on asking her out sometime soon. I mean I’m not that surprised that it didn’t work out, they just weren’t a good fit.” Suddenly dropping his bag, Lorenzo struts in the directions of the group. “Hey, Diggory! You know what's a good fit?” The Hufflepuff was given zero time to calculate what was coming. “Your nose and my fist!” Enzo’s words are filled with hatred as Enzo’s fist breaks Cedric’s nose, making him stumble several steps back.

Mattheo grins, liking this Enzo way more than the happy guy he usually was, but as he watches Lorenzo ball up his fist again he sees Cedric reach for his wand, before he can warn Enzo, he’s already flying several feet up to then crash harshly onto the stone castle floors. Everyone gasps hearing the loud tut and seeing Enzo’s body laying still.

III. The hospital wing

You had heard from Blaise what had happened and how bad it was, but even though your heart ached to be with him you were his ex and thus had lost every right to be by his side. With your head resting in your hand you picked at your food. Your friends stared at you, searching for the right thing to say. You’re about to snap at them and tell them that staring is impolite, but you catch Draco approaching you and signaling you to get up. Hesitant you walk over to him. “He’s asking for you.” He looks a bit awkward, but you nod calmly and try to act composed. As soon as you walk through the doors of the great hall and you’re out of sight, you speed walk to the hospital wing. Once in front of the door you feel yourself get shaky, fearing an uncomfortable reunion after the fight. Why did he even ask for me? Does he regret breaking up with me?

Mattheo

You walk in and Dumbledore looks up at you. “Ah, miss (y/l/n). Here to check up on mister Riddle?” You nod and he smiles. “I must warn you, when he fell he hit the floor pretty hard and his memory seems to be a little foggy.” At his words the need to be by Mattheo’s side becomes urgent and your eyes search for him. The headmaster gives you a sympathetic smile and moves to the side so you see Mattheo. As Dumbledore walks by you, he turns to you one last time. “Funny things, aren’t they, memories?” Your eyebrows knit together as you watch him leave, before quickly turning towards Mattheo whose eyes were already on you.

“Princess.” Mattheo mutters with a groggy voice and a half smile, when you get closer he opens his arms. You are hesitant for a moment, but allow him to embrace you. When he lets go a little you immediately take a step back, making him frown at your distant behavior. With gentle fingers move through his curls so you can study the bruise on the side of his face. Never liking the idea of you seeing him hurt and maybe thinking he’s weak Mattheo reaches for your hand, pulling it towards his chest to rest there. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” You shake your head at his stupid tough act. “Why did you ask for me, Matt?” His eyebrows knit together and he chuckles. “Please don’t be mad because I got in another stupid fight.” He snakes a hand to rest on your hips, gently squeezing you as a way to get you closer to him. He wants you close to him, like you always were, but you don’t budge and just frown at him.

“Please, princes. I made a bad fall, I don’t need any more attitude from you.” You cross your arms getting angry at how he pretended like everything was fine. “Please, (y/n), I promise no fights for a week.” You huff. A week, seriously, that's not even an achievement. But also not the point, Riddle. “I don’t care that you got your ass kicked. You dumped me, you can’t just expect me to come cuddle you because you’re hurt.” Mattheo looked horrified at your words. He was utterly confused. “Dumped? What are you talking about?” He moves to properly sit up on the bed and grabs your free hand, while keeping a firm grip on the hand on his chest. Something in the back of his mind was screaming at him to hold onto you tightly and make sure you didn’t leave the room. “Princess, I love you, I would never dump you.” Mattheo whispers and as he leans in to kiss you, you remember what Dumbledore had said. He doesn’t remember that we broke up! His soft lips tenderly lock with yours, finally putting his mind at ease.

Theodore

You walk in and Dumbledore looks up at you. “Ah, miss (y/l/n). Here to check up on mister Nott?” You nod and he smiles. “I must warn you, when he fell he hit the floor pretty hard and his memory seems to be a little foggy.” At his words the need to be by Theodore’s side becomes urgent and your eyes search for him. The headmaster gives you a sympathetic smile and moves to the side so you see Theo. As Dumbledore walks by you, he turns to you one last time. “Funny things, aren’t they, memories?” Your eyebrows knit together as you watch him leave, before quickly turning towards Theodore who’s eyes were already on you.

When he notices how hesitant you are to walk towards him Theo sighs. Ever since he woke up he had this intense need to have you close to him. “(y/n), love. Don’t be mad at me. I don’t remember any of it, but I’m pretty sure Cedric deserved it.” You slowly approach him, studying the bruise near his temple. Blaise had told you how after being slammed into the wall Theodore brutally fell down, face smacking against the cold floor and the image horrified you, but seeing how painful colors covered his face made your heart squeeze in agony. “Why? Why always get into stupid fights?” You murmur and Theo stretches, almost falling out of the bed, so he can grab your hand and pull you closer. “I honestly don’t remember.” He whispers, chuckling softly, and pats on an open spot next to him, urging you to take a seat next to him. “Theo-” You sigh and look down at his hand, holding yours. “What’s wrong?” Theodore asks, fingers gently brushing your jaw as he begs for you to look at him. You snort at his stupid question. “We’re over remember, you said so. So why did you ask for me? Did you expect me to fall back into your arms just because you got into another stupid fight?”

Theo pulls away from you and studies your face. “What are you saying? We’re over? When did I say something like that?” A heavy sigh leaves his lips and he moves the sheets aside, wanting to get out of bed and hug you. He needed to hold you. None of the things were making any sense and he kept feeling this urgent need to hold you. Your mouth drops a little at his words, but as soon as you see him try to get out of bed you stop him. “You need to rest.” You say pushing him gently. “No, I need to hold my girlfriend.” He counters and you’re sure you hear a little panic in his voice, like he really needed to hold you. “You don’t remember?” You whisper under your breath and Theo tries to make out the words you’re saying, but it was too silent so he just stares at you guessing at what’s going on inside your head. “Move aside.” You whisper and Theo complies, laying back down in the bed and relaxing when you join him. You quietly rest your head on his shoulder as your mind struggles to grasp the bizarre situation.

Enzo

You walk in and Dumbledore looks up at you. “Ah, miss (y/l/n). Here to check up on mister Berkshire?” You nod and he smiles. “I must warn you, when he fell he hit the floor pretty hard and his memory seems to be a little foggy.” At his words the need to be by Enzo’s side becomes urgent and your eyes search for him. The headmaster gives you a sympathetic smile and moves to the side so you see Lorenzo. As Dumbledore walks by you, he turns to you one last time. “Funny things, aren’t they, memories?” Your eyebrows knit together as you watch him leave, before quickly turning towards Enzo who’s eyes were already on you.

“(y/n)! Thank Salazar, you’re finally here. Please tell them that I’m fine. They want me to stay the night for supervision, but that’s just crazy.” You take a deep breath and walk towards him. “Is that why you asked me to come?” You question dryly, making Enzo frown. “No, I just missed you. I found it weird that you weren’t here by my side when I woke up. I know you’re a busy bee, but I thought at least your boyfriend deserved a little visit and maybe a massage.” Lorenzo wiggles his eyebrows at the last bid and you cross your arms giving him a stern look. “Boyfriend? Did you really think I would come back running into your arms because your dumbass got into a fight.” Enzo pushes himself off of the pillow, clearly not pleased with your words. “Yeah, boyfriend.” He grabs your arm, pulling you against the hospital bed. “What’s gotten into you? Please don’t tell me you’re picking Cedric’s side?”

You huff and narrow your eyes at him. “Gotten into me? You told me you were done with me and-” Enzo shakes his head in confusion, while you talk, before interrupting you. “What? I’m not done with you, you’re my girl, you’ve always been the love of my life, why would you think any different?” Enzo swings his arm around your shoulder pulling you against his chest. As he places a soft kiss on your forehead you realize what Dumbledore tried to tell you. Enzo didn’t remember your break up. He still thinks we’re dating.

IV. Like it never happened

You had tried to tell him about the fight, but his brain just couldn’t remember and neither did he believe that he would actually let you leave. After a while you just gave up on trying to convince him it really happened and gave in to his begging for affection. Cuddled up against him, you both fell asleep in the small hospital bed. The next morning you wake up first and stare at him for several minutes debating on what to do with the situation. He had broken your heart, but now he was back and you judged yourself for it, but in truth you were happy to have him back.

When he woke up he pulled you closer and kissed you. "Good morning." He sang and in that moment you decided that you were suffering from memory loss as well. The break up did not happen.

***

Mattheo

“Can you believe that on my first day back Snape tells me to write a three page essay?” You nod, before joining your boyfriend on his bed and brushing your fingers through his hair. “It’s Snape, I think he was being nice.” You joke and he smiles, eyes admiring your every feature. “Are you here to help me or distract me?” Mattheo smirks as you again comb his hair with your fingers. “Help.” You state before pulling away from him and reaching for some of the books scattered around on his bed. However, now that you are this close to him, Snape’s essay is the last thing on the slytherin’s mind. He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, and you shake your head. “No, Matt, I know what you’re thinking about, but you need to finish your essay first.” You try to pull away, but he just tightens his grip and his smirk turns into a playful grin. “What am I thinking about exactly, princess?” You force your lips into a line, not giving him the satisfaction of a smile.

“I’m not going to entertain your little game, Mattheo.” You resist his charm, but he’s persistent and pulls you into his lap. His lips brush your ear and you can’t see his smirk, but you know it’s there. Your cheeks heat up as you feel his warm breath on your skin. “Tell me, princess, what exactly am I thinking?” Your answer is censored.

Theodore

A very frustrated Theo drops two books onto the library table loud enough to make some people throw him a look, but he just ignores it falling in one of the chairs and sighing. You ruffle his hair in an attempt to calm him. “It’s only three pages.” Theodore lets his head fall to the side as he watches you sit down next to him. “He’s punishing me for missing class, but it’s not like it was my intention to lose consciousness and miss class.” You ignore his complaint and reach for the books. “Let's just get started. The sooner you’re done, the sooner we can do something fun.” Theodore watches you as you focus on the books, feeling drawn to you he leans in. “How about we do something fun first and then I’ll do this stupid essay.” A flustered smile tugs on your lips at his seductive voice. “You might’ve hit your head pretty hard, but you’re still the same boy as before.” You mutter trying to keep your cool and focus on the books in front of you.

“Boy?” Theodore’s voice is playful, but there’s also something twisted about it. You had struck a nerve by belittling him like that. Without warning he gets up, gently wrapping his hand around your arm. You look up at him with a confused look. “Before I start on this essay there’s something more important I need to do.” You get up and follow in his step. “What’s this urgent thing you suddenly need to do?” You whisper still clueless. “You.” Thedore answers sternly before pushing you into a nearby broom closet. “Boy? Really?” He snaps at you before harshly crashing his lips onto yours in the dark confined space.

Enzo

“Will you read my essay and check for mistakes?” Enzo asks while you watch the water of the black lake. You look over at him as he reaches in his bag for the parchment. “Essay?” You question. “Yeah, Snape made me write a three page essay because I missed class yesterday. Like it was my fault, if anything Cedric should write a three page essay.” You snort, knowing full well that Enzo was the one that started the fight. He hands you the essay and you immediately dig in, scanning the words carefully. Your boyfriend can’t help but stare as you underline a few words. You looked drop dead gorgeous in the sunlight, intensly focussed on the paper in front of you. Gods, my girlfriend’s a sexy nerd.

“On second thought.” Enzo whispers in your ear, leaning closer. “Maybe that essay isn’t that important after all.” You bite your lip, feeling your face heat up at Enzo’s closeness. “How about we go for a swim?” Enzo reaches for the paper, but you don’t let go, trying to resist him. However, your boyfriend knows exactly how to get your attention and he places tender kisses under your ear, tracing down your neck before his nose brushes your cheek. “Or we could just go to my room.” His husky whisper and his soft touch turn you into a willing victim for whatever he has planned.

V. Morning memories

Your boyfriend shoots up from a nasty dream. With his heart racing he immediately looks next to him to check if you’re with him. You are. You are peacefully sleeping and he feels his body relax. His hand runs over his face and through his hair as he tries to wrap his head around what he had just dreamed or remembered. Slowly he realizes that it wasn’t just a dream, it was something that had actually happened.

You two had a fight. You left. He felt so empty. Then there was Cedric. Next the fall.

He can’t get his heart rate down and his brain is running wild as well, so he decides to quietly get up, careful to not wake you up. He slips into his sweatpants and leaves the room, sighing once he’s finally away from your sleeping figure. He scans the common room in search of his friends. When doesn’t spot a single one of the usual suspects he frowns and Pansy patiently waits for him to meet her eyes. Finally his eyes land on Pansy. “The rest of your boy band is out.” A smirk on her face as she shamelessly scans his bare chest. She wasn’t going to deny that you had great physical taste in men. “You look distressed.” She adds after a few seconds. The wise thing for him was to turn around, but your boyfriend is in need of a distraction as he feels himself panic, worried about the whole break up situation.

“No stress.” He says, obviously stressed and crosses his arms. “Afraid she’ll figure out.” Pansy tilts her head slowly, eyes dangerous like she’s settling on a prey. He clenches his jaw. How does she know I suddenly remember? “She won’t. We’re back together and all is fine. There’s no need for her to know that I remember.” Pansy smirks. “Would it hurt that bad to admit you made a mistake and want her back?”

Mattheo

“We’re happy. So why waste time on pointless arguments and apologies, she’s obviously already forgiven me.” Mattheo argues, slightly raising his voice, annoyed with Pansy. “I don’t know if she’s forgiven you for the fight, but if I were I would come clean, because if she finds out you remember you’ll have to apologize twice and big time.” Mattheo grits his teeth. “She won’t find out if you don’t tell.” Pansy licks her lips and her eyes wander over Mattheo’s shoulder. “Oh, Matt, don’t you know that things are never that simple.”

It only takes Mattheo a second to realize that Pansy’s looking over his shoulder in the direction of his room. You had woken up and come to search for him. You had heard everything he had said. Slowly his eyes roll to the back of his head, throwing his head back a little in frustration with himself. Apologize twice and big time. He turns around, but your eyes only meet for a moment as you instantly turn around to head back to his room to get your stuff and get out.

But this time Mattheo wasn’t going to let you go. He follows you and shuts the door behind you, locking you in his room as he rests against the door watching you grather your stuff. “I’m sorry.” He whispers with his head hanging low. “Oh, now you apologize.” You huff and Mattheo groans, pushing himself off of the door and into your direction. “Princess.” He whines and you turn around to face him with teary eyes. “Were you really going to continue lying?” You ask with a shaky voice and Mattheo sighs, reaching for your hands. “Probably.” You want to turn away from him, but he holds on tightly to your hands, squeezing them to ask you to look at him. “I’ll do anything to keep you with me. I don’t want to lose you.” You pull your hands back and try to push him away. “Everything, except being honest and apologizing?” You snap and he bites his tongue, while shutting his eyes for a second. “I let you walk away! I called our relationship ridiculous! How can an apology make up for that?! (y/n), I don’t just want you to forgive me I want you to forget just like I did, because I hate what I said, I hate that I let you walk through this door.”

His loud voice has you shaking a bit, but you stay in place in front of him and he sighs, looking at you with soft eyes. “I don’t- I honestly don’t know how you can put up with my shit? I can’t forgive myself- I really don’t get why you came back to me? So yeah, I wanted to continue pretending like none of it happened. I’m sorry.” You sigh and shake your head, eyes wandering around as you struggle with his stupid explanation. “I want you back. I love you.” Mattheo whispers with a pleading voice as he takes a small step towards you, he wants to reach for your hands but doesn’t dare to, so his fingers just softly brush yours. With an angry huff you turn away from him and his heart breaks, but then he sees you drop your stuff on his bed and turn back around to face him. “I love you too, Mattheo Riddle, and you should know by now that I love you so much that I can forgive the stupid stuff you do.” In an instant Mattheo’s smiling, almost grinning, he closes the distance between you two and his arms snake around you. A gentle hand brushes your hair as he adores your pretty face and drowns in your eyes. “You’re staying?” You nod and he cups your face kissing you intensely.

Theodore

“Yeah, it would, Pansy.” Theodore snaps and Pansy grins looking back to him. A hard noise makes Theodore turn around to face the door of his room. “Oh, Theodore, you screwed up big time.” He turns around looking at Pansy for confirmation. “She heard everything.” Theodore hurries back to his room where you are quickly gathering your uniform so you can leave. As soon as you spot him you throw the first item at hand in his direction, but he gracefully catches it. “Twat!” You yell and Theodore sighs, dropping his head. “Why can’t you just apologize like a normal person, Theo?” Theodore walks over to you and grabs your arm forcing you to look at me. “You had already forgiven me so I thought, done is done.” You frown at his cheap argument. “Really? You wanted to take the easy way out?” Theo huffs at the accusation. “So did you by just coming back to me.” Your mouth drops, was he really turning this on you. “Well, I’m sorry for that, but your bruised dumb ass just wouldn’t believe that we broke up!” You angrily pull your arm back out of Theodore’s grasp, stumbling back a few steps.

When you try to walk past him he takes a step to block you. You try to give him a shove, but it’s to no avail, he won’t budge. Quietly he waits for you to meet his eyes. When you do you notice how soft his eyes are. “I’m sorry, (y/n). I’m sorry I wanted to continue pretending like it didn’t happen, but I was so afraid that if you knew I remembered you would leave. If my memories were back there was no need for you to babysit me anymore and I can’t watch you leave a second time.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Theodore Nott you can be such an- an- urgh!” You were so annoyed with him you couldn’t find the words. “I’m an urgh?” Theo questions and now you're seriously considering punishing him in the face. When he sees you get angrier he grimaces at his own comment. “I know, I know, I’m a total urgh.” This seems to calm you down. “I’m sorry. I just want to forget about the break up again and I want you to forget as well, because I need you, I love you so much that I need you. I plan to grow old with you so yeah I thought pretending like the break up didn’t happen was a good idea.” You cross your arms. “It was a stupid idea.” You say with a stern voice and Theodore nods with sheepish eyes. “I know.”

You sigh and now that you’re both calm, Theo wraps his arms around you pulling you against his chest. “Please tell me you can forgive me?” You listen to his heartbeat for a moment, before pulling away. “You’re lucky I love you. This was a total urgh move and I’m still a bit angry, but I forgive you.” Your boyfriend smiles and places a soft kiss on your forehead, before pulling your chin up with a gentle finger. “Thanks for putting up with me.” He whispers before leaning in for a passionate kiss.

Enzo

“Why would I apologize? I got her back didn’t I?” Enzo states, rather proud of himself and Pansy gives him a funny look. “That’s a bit cheap, don’t you think? Breaking up with a girl, breaking her heart and then not even apologizing for it.” Pansy offers Enzo one last chance to decide to do the right thing as you listen, quietly standing near the door of his room. “Pans, she’s never going to figure it out, this way is just easier.” Pansy facepalms. “Enz, you’re about to get your ass dumped.” Pansy sighs and points to the door of his room open. Panic fills Enzo’s face as he realizes you might have heard something and he hurries to his room. When he notices you’re switching from your pajamas into your uniform he closes the door and chuckles awkwardly. “In a hurry?” He asks and you throw him a dark scowl. Okay, she heard. I’m such an idiot. “Thinking back about what I just said, I realize that maybe it wasn’t the best approach.” You roll your eyes at his attempt at an apology, before searching his room for your shirt, which Enzo spots before you and hides behind his back.

“Lorenzo Berkshire! Give me back my shirt!” You say with a loud and stern voice, making Enzo nervous. “Please, sweetheart give me a chance to apologize.” You cross your arms and judge him. “I thought you didn’t want to apologize?” Your voice is dripping with irony and Enzo makes an apologetic face. “Yeah, but on second thought I think I should apologize, big time.” You tilt your head and stare him right in the eyes. “I’m sorry, (y/n). I so so so am.” Enzo pleads as he walks closer to you. “I’m just so happy we’re back together and I just wanted things to stay this way. You don’t get how much I love you. I’m miserable without you and I was afraid that if I would bring up the fight- if you knew I got my memories back then maybe we would be over again and- and- I love you, please don’t leave me.”

You open your hand, urging him to give your shirt back and Enzo drops his shoulders, but with an aching heart he does give it back. “I’m sorry for forcing you to stay.” You take your shirt and look at Lorenzo’s sad eyes. “You’re an idiot, Berkshire.” He nods. “I know. I told the love of my life that our relationship was ridiculous and then I let her leave.” You smile at him as he looks at the floor. “But I can’t help but love you.” At those words Enzo looks up at you with hopeful eyes. “Are you forgiving me?” You chuckle. “I guess so. I love you too much.” You take a step closer to him. “Too much to stay angry at you.” A bright smile forms on Enzo’s lips, while he picks you up and twirls you around. You can’t help but laugh at how silly he is and when he sets you down again he kisses you. “We’re never breaking up again, ever.” He whispers and you nod.

Dear readers, feedback is always welcome. Sending you lots of love.

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