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parfaitblogs · 3 days

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fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end. word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be.

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all.

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not.

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide.

And then he was free.

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished.

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened.

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break.

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met.

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again.

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit.

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was.

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be.

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry.

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming.

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened.

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped.

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed.

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again.

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more.

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him.

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more.

You couldn't complain.

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch.

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body.

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later.

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind.

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you.

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin.

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered.

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously.

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face.

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up.

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away.

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?"

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again.

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up.

"Lots of people say oral," he defended.

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head."

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping.

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping.

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so.

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?"

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose.

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests.

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter.

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him.

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him.

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have.

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded.

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone.

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat.

He liked to hear you.

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either.

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face.

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest.

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?"

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body.

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time.

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make.

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit.

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin.

"Touch myself?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again.

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head.

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again.

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you.

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you.

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could.

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more.

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it.

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin.

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't.

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling.

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome.

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were.

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to.

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating.

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered.

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after.

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after.

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck.

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter.

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again.

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there.

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips.

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking.

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here.

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more.

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move.

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move).

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second.

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled.

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little.

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again.

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure.

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were.

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots.

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever.

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that.

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever.

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly.

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared.

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely.

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone.

Thankfully, you didn't have to.

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee.

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub.

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt.

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless.

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways.

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach.

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh.

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression.

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face.

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort.

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes.

"Okay."

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bunnyhugs77 · 8 months

Text

High Demand

ꕤ- Pairing: Dealer! Jungkook x Reader

ꕤ- WC: 2.6k

ꕤ- A modern day Romeo and Juliet

Content: college student! reader, grumpy jk, brief texting! au, jk is lowkey whipped, drug use (marijuana), reader is his special customer, vaping, opposites attract, suggestive themes, minor jealousy, idiots in love (but they won't admit it), shot gunning, grinding, fwb?

Other Content: thigh riding, high sex, jk titty appreciation, unprotected sex (no.), hand job, soft dom kook, reader is a little needy, brief switch! koo, hickeys, pet names, spit, biting.

Shaking your head with a small giggle as you looked at your phone before tossing it aside. You're totally his favourite. You know he's stubborn and he would never admit it but deep down he loves delivering to you the most.

Looking around your sad and dimly lit dorm, all the lights were off and your roommate was gone for the weekend doing god knows what with her weird ass biology major boyfriend who would collect rabbit tails in jars for 'science'.

You were looking at one right now actually, it seems they left one behind, on the coffee table. It was just fermenting in... you actually weren't sure and didn't want to know.

Your eyes felt like they were on fire the longer you looked at the stupid philosophy paper you were writing. The bright light from your laptop was beginning to drill into your head. Your head lolled to the side glancing at the time on your phone.

It was almost 11:30, and time for a break. Abandoning the device on the couch for a quick wake-up shower; by the time you'd gotten changed and returned to the living room, you could expect Jungkook any minute now.

Except, this is Jungkook we're talking about. He's always late.

That's why when you heard the familiar rattling of the rusty fire escape you were startled. It was a little past midnight. Climbing through the window in nothing but your basketball shorts and a white tee.

Pleasantly surprised to see Jungkook scaling the platform with a bag of takeout pinned in between his teeth. The sight of you looking down at him from where he climbed made his eyebrows raise but of course he couldn't say anything.

Not until he was finally close enough for you to grab the bag from his mouth and he stands up. You climb back inside first with him following behind with a pained sigh. "I'm so sick of coming here. Got me climbing walls like its fucking subway surfers." He curses while you place the food down on the table.

Completely ignoring him, practically drooling as you slowly peeled open the bag. "And I thought you said you weren't gonna bring me anything." He snatches the bag.

"I didn't."

You let yourself fall onto the couch, arms crossed and unbelieving. "Oh yeah? So you just coincidentally craved Wendy's and decided to haul it up three flights up a ladder from your mouth when you could've just eaten it in the car?"

"Yeah exactly." He shrugs, obviously lying.

"Give me the bag, Jungkook."

"Fine. But I'm charging you extra for the delivery and the labour of bringing it up here." He hands it to you and you roll your eyes knowing it was nothing more than a bluff.

"It's not my fault you're out of shape," you mumble unwrapping the burger. "Oh yeah? Is this what out of shape looks like to you?" He says it almost offended but challenged.

Choking briefly on your food as he lifts up his shirt, revealing the defined abs that you have such lewd memories of. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You try climbing 3 flights up a ladder and tell me it's easy." You shrug,

"Not my fault you're banned from the campus." He drops himself down beside you, reaching for the bag of fries and taking some for himself. "But it is, if you hadn't called me to drop off a stash for Angelica's dorm party maybe I could still take the stairs."

You drop your half-eaten burger with apologetic eyes, "How was I supposed to know they were doing random security checks in the lobby? At least you didn't get arrested." You pout and he scoffs.

"Bare minimum." He says via grumpy mutter under his breath so you offered up the rest of your food to him as a peace offering. A little sad that he actually took it but you were getting full anyway.

As he finished up the rest of your food you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "So do you still do drops with Angelica?" He nods with his mouth full of the last bite, stuffing the wrappers back in the bag.

"How often does she call you?-- for deliveries I mean." He chuckles, licking his lips, "Jealous?" You take the trash off the coffee table and bring it to the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. "You're delusional."

"I can't help it if I'm in high demand." He manspreads, his arms stretched over the back of the couch. "Just shut up. Do you have my pen?" He reaches for the pocket inside his leather jacket, pulling out the slim box.

Already knowing that you were going to use it now, he began to unbox it while you collected the cash you needed. "40 right?" You say handing him the small spread of bills, "Yeah, but for you, I guess I could make it 30." He shrugs conceitedly.

"Because I'm your favourite." You say and he shakes his head, "No. Because I ate your food." Which he paid for but you didn't dare to say that out loud, you were getting cheap weed.

"So who's your favourite then Jungkook?" He hands you the pen, "Listen. I don't climb up the fire escape when I do deliveries for Angelica, I make her come to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Trying to tug the pen out of his grasp but he holds it firm until you respond, "I guess I can work with that." He smiles softly, letting you take the first hit as his arm wraps around your shoulder.

The two of you passed the pen back and forth, with little giggles here and there and wide eyes on the episode of SpongeBob that was playing.

By now the dark living room is illuminated by nothing more than your roommate's lava lamp and a strip of purple LEDs' taped behind the TV. You could see the smoke as it floated past the few sources of light.

"Open." He directs, taking a particularly long hit, leaning into you and blowing the pungent smoke into your mouth, sucking it in from his lips.

The pen is now forgotten as it rolls between the cracks of the couch. Straddling Jungkook's muscular thigh as he flexed it every now and then, taking hits from his blueberry Ice vape and blowing it to the ceiling, giving you a prime view of his sharp jaw under the soft purple lighting.

The sight made you shake, gyrating your hips almost desperately as you chased the feeling of friction on his denim-clad thigh. "You like that? You feel good fucking yourself on my thigh?" The question was rhetorical, you were too dazed to answer him anyway.

Your heavy-lidded gaze slowly rolls up to his pretty face once you feel his hand move from your hips to gently wrap around your neck, not applying any pressure, just there to let you feel the weight of his hand. "Answer me," He says, and you fall forward "Yess, feels so good." You moan, and Jungkook has danced this dance with you enough to see you were close.

But of course, he couldn't let you cum so soon, not yet. His hands flew to your hips and pinned you down on his thigh, restricting your range of motion. "Please," You beg and he wishes he had a little more willpower but he couldn't say no to you, not when you looked so fucked out when he's barely touched you.

"Fuck. Take your shirt off." Leaning back and crossing your arms over the base of the shirt, you pried it off your body desperately. Leaving you in your black lacy bra and it pulled out a guttural groan from Jungkook's chest.

"You little whore." he grits through his clenched teeth, grip tightening on the arm of the couch nearly ripping the fabric.

This position was no longer giving him what he so desperately craved. Shrugging the jacket from off his shoulders and taking off the tank top underneath letting your eyes roam over his built upper body, oh how you wanted to just...

Without thinking your tongue striped up the expanse of his bulky pecs. This was new, but Jungkook was so high out of his mind anything and everything you did felt like he was on cloud 9.

Your mouth dropped down to wrap around his rosy nipples and you could've never anticipated the worked-up reaction you got from him. "Oh shit, shit shit." He gasps, hands gripping your waist tight enough that you're sure there will be bruises by the morning.

Letting your tongue lap around his nipples with pure hunger, an inexplicable flame burning in your core as you were finally the one who got to watch the other be reduced to a moaning mess.

His once soft moans turned a little breathy and high-pitched, His hips bucked causing you to jolt in his lap, he was getting close.

"Didn't think you'd like having your tits played with so much?" You tease him but he didn't find the humour in it. He holds you by the throat once more, this time applying a generous amount of pressure, pushing you off him.

Unbuckling his belt and you knew what that meant. He slides out of his pants, followed by the boxers that were the last barrier between your moistened lips and his throbbing cock. "Let's put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" He hums, watching as you sink to your knees, hand carefully wrapped around his base, starting with slow pumps.

"Spit on it." Doing as told, you let a wad of spit fall from your pretty, plush lips and coat the shaft of his dick, you worked your palm up his length. Already satisfied with the way his head was thrown back.

"Just like that," Reaching for the vape, he takes a few good hits, the head rush mixed with the pleasure had him seeing stars-- the object falling from his hands immediately the moment he felt the warm heat of your mouth wrap around his sensitive tip.

"Y/n-" He breathes out, almost scared, he was so close, too soon. He's never struggled to hold himself back this badly before. What were you doing to him?

The obscene sounds of you choking as you struggled to take all of him in your mouth, letting your nose touch the soft, trimmed hairs near his base. Focusing on breathing through your nose before you felt a heavy hand on the back of your head, pushing you lower.

You were quite literally slobbering on his dick, gagging with every buck of his hips. "That's it, princess. You're doing so well--Shit. Mouth feels like fucking heaven." His praise rushes to your core and has your left hand trailing down to rub yourself through your lace underwear.

The rough friction being more than enough to get you there, "I'm gonna cum, baby. Where-- Shit!-- Where do you want it?" He gasps, his hips snapping, pushing his length down your throat almost erratically. You don't answer, only hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper, making your desires clear.

Your own fingers quickening their pace, your own sounds travelling through his dick in vibrations and pushing him right over the edge with you, filling your mouth with his warm cum.

Swallowing as if it were second nature. "Stick out your tongue," He says softly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to regain his composure from his overwhelming climax. Your tongue was out and cleared of any of his cum and it made him crazy.

He remembers the first time he'd brought an order to you over 6 months ago. He thought you were nothing more than a cute little philosophy major, never did he think he'd have you beneath him like he does right now.

Looking up at him, daring to give you an almost angelic gaze while the two of you ruined each other. Tainting each other with your own touches. "Kiss me?" You ask it so cutely, tempting him with the pout on your lips. You weren't being fair.

His body didn't give him a choice before his lips were on yours, his hips grinding into yours. The feeling of his solid dick rolling against your skin making the butterflies go ramped in your stomach.

The way you licked over his bottom lip with your own made Jungkook weak, stumbling on his elbows as he held himself up over you. Soft groans could be heard the deeper the kiss became.

Messy and intimate. Your hand crept up the back of his neck to tug at the dark locks of hair on his head. There was a loud pop and the two of you paused.

With Jungkook between your legs and with you under him, your heads turned slowly towards the coffee table where the jar was, dedicated to the fermenting rabbit tail. "What the fuck is that?" Jungkook slowly sits up, "My roommate's boyfriend's weird biology shit. I dunno, it freaks me out too." You sit up, now remembering what the two of you were in the middle of doing.

"That shit's not gonna blow up or anything right." You gently peck him on the lips but his brain seems preoccupied by the jar, "who knows," you say, kissing right under his ear and that seemed to get him to zone in on you.

Catching his bottom lip under his teeth as your kisses became more eager, suckling on a certain spot on his neck, his head falling back against his will. "Fuck, Y/n-- Don't you dare." You pull off his soft skin with a soft pop, admiring the burgundy bruise left behind.

"Oops." Your apology was ingenuine and bratty, and Jungkook hated brats.

Tearing you out of your final pieces of clothing before manhandling you into his lap. "Sit on it." He demands and you follow without question. Moaning out loud as his dick spread your lips apart like butter.

Sliding down with ease and a stretch of your velvety walls that were currently squeezing Jungkook for everything he's got and he's got nothing left, everything was yours.

"I-Shit! You feel so good, Kook!" He couldn't bother to correct you on the annoying nickname you were incessant on using. "Yeah? You like that- fuck, you feel so good." He curses, bucking his hips up into you as you raise your hips trying to match his thrusts.

He was fucking you so good, so ruthlessly, your head falls onto his shoulder and you needed more than just the couch to hold on to, your teeth sank into the muscular meat of his shoulder and his pace faltered.

"Shit shit shit! Do that again." He groans, picking up an inhumane pace that had you bouncing all over the place until he stilled you in his arms. His grunts and breathy moans came out right beside your ear only pushing you to your orgasm faster.

"J-jungkook-!" You pant, unable to speak, feeling like your insides are being rearranged, "Me too, baby. Cum with me." You finish first, and with a few more unsynchronized snaps of his hips, you were being filled to the brim with his cum.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of muffled music playing from your neighbour's next door and laboured breaths. Jungkook gently lays you down on the couch beside him, staring into your eyes.

This felt so intimate. You felt his gaze deeper than just behind your eyes, it was as if he was looking into your soul. His eyes were tinted red as he looked at you with an adoring gaze. "You're cute." He says it casually as though he hadn't just fucked you.

Your eyes roll before they close, feeling the sleepiness begin to kick in. "Bet you say that to all your customers." Mumbling the words into his chest while he began to grin a little.

"Nope. Only to my favourite." Your eyes shoot open.

"I knew it."

#jungkook #bts #jungkook fic recs #jungkook ff #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #bts one shot #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook

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loveanddeepthroat · 27 days

Text

Trouble

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - As it turned out, lavish events in the N109 Zone were not quite your thing, and this one did nothing but prove it. You weren’t looking for trouble, but it often had a way of finding you.

Word Count - 6.4k

Warning - MDNI. 18+. Oral sex f!receiving. Fingering. Light bondage. Mention of murder.

You were in trouble.

Not that it was immediately bothering you. You were having a good time—it wasn’t your fault that the rest of your companions were quite clearly not.

And besides, it wasn’t as if you were breaking any rules. Sylus had simply advised that you remain where he and the twins could see you upon your arrival at the lavish event, and that’s exactly what you were doing.

Whilst you watched a delectable cocktail being made for you at the bar as per a stranger's request, the three sets of eyes in various places around the room burned holes in your head as they watched you and the nameless man like a hawk. You only threw a few glances at each of them, catching Luke waving the tips of his fingers against his neck in a warning to get away from the guy.

You did no such thing, however. Listening to people kissing Sylus’s ass to stay out of his warpath had quickly bored you half to death, and some stimulation was very necessary for your withering attention span. You didn’t think much of the man who had approached you at the bar. He was dressed up like every other guy in the room, but he held a familiar air of dominance around him. Just as a certain silver haired man fuming a dozen metres away did.

The man ordered you what he deemed as being the best cocktail you would ever drink, along with an identical one for himself. One sip had led to another, your glass completely drained in a matter of a few seconds. He had another one raring to go before your glass landed back on the mahogany bar.

“Didn’t I tell you? The perfect cocktail.” The slight grin he shot you revealed two golden teeth that replaced his natural canines. You imagined the man would be quite intimidating to look at for most, but you took down Wanderers for a living. He’d need to do a lot more than flash his expensive gold fangs at you to make you feel threatened.

Not that you were getting that impression from him in the first place. He actually seemed rather pleasant.

“It’s delicious,” you agreed, already starting on the second.

He perched himself on the stool beside you, taking a sip of his own as he studied you for a moment. “You came with Sylus, huh?”

You nod, not seeing any harm in answering truthfully. “Is it obvious?”

The man chuckled. “His eyes are like lasers through my skull,” he crooned. He turned his head to wiggle his fingers in greeting to your companion. You didn’t dare turn to look in the same direction. “So, what are you doing on your little lonesome, darling?”

A shiver ran up your spine at the pet name. It was almost as if Sylus had caused it as a warning to you. You could feel his patience thinning by the second.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you responded, starting to feel a bit like a worm in the sights of a crow.

Although you weren’t entirely sure which of the two men were making you feel so much pressure all of a sudden.

A blaringly obvious hand shot in the air a little distance behind the silver-eyed man beside you, catching your attention. Kieran had attracted more than just your attention as he threw his thumb back over his shoulder, eagerly coaxing you away from the man.

It was time to wrap things up.

You finally took the hint and slipped off of the barstool and onto your stilettos, your movement mirrored by the man before you. A large hand landed upon your shoulder, causing you to freeze up. At first, you thought it was his hand clamped there, but the sheer size and strength as it gave you a small squeeze was immediately recognisable.

Sylus.

Putting your face in one of the large fireplaces in the room sounded more appealing than looking up at him at that moment, so you kept your gaze on the sly smirk now spreading across the shorter male’s face.

“Sylus. It’s about time our paths crossed tonight,” he crooned. Gone was the admittedly quite charming face you had been accompanied by, replaced with one that could be compared to that of a viper.

This man was not someone you should have engaged with.

Sylus’s firm grip remained on your tensed shoulder, anchoring you to him. His voice was cool and indifferent, like he was already bored by the idea of conversing with the individual.

“If you fancied my attention, Frank, all you had to do was say,” he drawled.

Frank cocked his head to the side, his silver eyes dropping to your chest. You suddenly felt a little overexposed in the plunged neckline of your fitted black dress.

“I was just on my way to you when I stumbled upon a lonely little stray,” Frank purred, his cold, lingering gaze finally flickering back up to your face.

Hiding the disgust in your expression was difficult, but you had a feeling it would be wise to at least try. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the twins standing together, watching the situation unfold. They were always ready to get involved if required.

Sylus chuckled, not one iota of humour in it. “I didn’t take you for the type of man to take pity on a stray kitten,” he said flatly. “Especially one with its collar on.”

He slipped a long finger into the chain of your ruby encrusted choker, giving it the smallest of tugs. You didn’t hate it, and honestly, you felt it more in the pit of your stomach than you did in your neck. Now didn’t seem like the time to think on that, mind.

The backs of his fingers smoothed over your racing pulse as he pulled the digit back out of the small space in your tight neckpiece. You shivered quite noticeably, the sensation awakening the pulse between your thighs.

“As you can see, this one is already taken care of.”

You didn’t miss the flare of hostility in Frank’s silver eyes as he followed every movement of Sylus’s hand—even as it moved to hang from his trouser pocket with his thumb tucked inside.

“Maybe you should keep her on a shorter leash. Anyone could have gotten their hands on her,” Frank said tightly. It sounded awfully identical to a threat. “This is hardly the room full of people you would want to lose such a precious little thing in.”

Sylus didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed your arms and moved you to the side, away from Frank’s cold glare. Before you could even react, two strong arms either side of you hooked your arms with their elbows.

Luke and Kieran practically dragged you away, your feet struggling to keep up. As soon as you were released from their bone crushing clamps for inner elbows, you turned back to the interaction you were just kidnapped from.

Only to find the space completely empty.

“Okay, either you’re blind or really, really stupid,” Luke scolded.

You frowned back at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?”

“No, we won’t excuse you,” he snapped. “We’ve spent the last ten minutes thinking up different ways to dispose of your body after Frank was done with you.”

“Honestly, woman. Do we have to take you over the basic commands, again? I looked like a tool flapping my arms at you!” Kieran chimed in, looking like he was telling off a toddler.

Unsure whether it was the alcohol or their incessant rambling, you were starting to feel quite overwhelmed. You weren’t sure what they had seen differently while you were sitting with Frank, but you knew that the man had to have had a sinister intention for occupying you.

“Wait, wait,” you cut them off as Luke started to scold you again. “Shouldn’t we go find them?”

They both stared at you for a moment before bursting into obnoxious laughter. You weren’t sure what the joke was, but you were confident you wouldn’t find it funny even if you did.

If Sylus had gone off alone with the unfriendly man, then surely he would need the three of you there, too.

“You’re lucky you still have a tongue in your mouth to be able to make dumbass suggestions like that,” Luke sneered, still shaking from his chuckles.

You clenched your fists at your sides, irritated by their insults. How were you supposed to know that Golden Teeth was an enemy? You weren’t exactly well versed in the good and the bad when it came to attending events in the N109 Zone.

If they were that concerned, they could have remained beside you.

Each minute that passed without a visual on Sylus felt like an eternity, but in reality, only three minuscule minutes went by before he emerged from a door beside the bar.

His facial expression gave away absolutely nothing, but the red split in his lip did. You swallowed as you watched his tongue peak out to run over the small laceration, followed by the pad of his thumb. It disappeared in an instant at his touch.

You began to walk towards him, curious about what the hell had just happened, and if Frank was still breathing. Before you could open your mouth, however, he bent at the waist the second he got close to you, his shoulder connecting with your stomach as he hauled you off of your feet.

“What the—what the fuck are you doing?!”

He did not dignify you with a response as he stormed towards the exit, his solid arm squeezing your knees into his ribs as you started to assault his back.

“Put. Me. Down,” you grit between harsh slaps to his back. You might as well have been flicking his ear for all the difference it was making.

He carried you straight out of the building and towards the matte black saloon car Kieran had driven you all in earlier that evening. You were utterly furious and embarrassed, doing everything in your power to wriggle out of his hold.

“I can walk!”

Sylus snorted. Snorted, like it was funny. No humour lay in his tone as he spoke, though. “Well that’s a little hard to believe.”

You whacked his muscled back again. “Meaning?!”

He yanked open the back door of the car, practically dropping you into it on your back. You felt it again, at the worst possible time.

That flutter of lust in your core.

It was something about the way he stood over you as you panted from the physical exertion of trying to fight his spine. He must’ve been able to see up the short skirt of your dress, and you hoped to god he didn’t spot any indication of your arousal on the cherry red thong you were wearing.

“Meaning, you had plenty of opportunity to use these apparent walking skills when your safety was threatened,” he growled, moving your legs so he could slam the car door, not interested in anything you had to say back.

You huffed as you pushed down on the unfolded mass of clothes in your backpack, trying to fit them all in.

It had been hours since you all got back from the absolute disaster of a night, and you had been holed up in the room you were occupying since then. Part of you expected Sylus to come and explain what the hell his problem had been, but he didn’t.

The longer you sat and dwelled on it, the more you wanted to go home. You only came to stay because he’d asked you to attend the event with him. He hadn’t mentioned that you were expected to stay by his side like an obedient dog. Nor had he bothered to mention the types of people you were to avoid.

Not only were you pissed at him, but you were pissed at the fact that he’d made you feel a certain way. Who in their right mind gets aroused by a man embarrassing you by hauling you out of a room full of people—likely with your bare ass on show.

Scientists would have a field day with your brain.

And although you hated to admit it, it wasn’t the first time you had felt that familiar feeling of lust at his touch. The last time you had stayed, you had to relieve yourself in the shower after training with him in the ring. Every inch of him was sculpted with perfect precision, almost as if an architect had dedicated their life to working on his blueprint.

If you were being honest, you weren’t bothered about the event he wanted you to attend when he’d asked you to join him. You just wanted to see him.

But at the end of the day, you had no idea where you belonged in his world. In Linkon, a friendly face buying you a drink wasn’t something to be feared. It was exhausting having to recluse whenever you accompanied him anywhere.

The clasps of your bag struggled as you tried and failed to clip them together. You had no idea how you were getting back to your apartment, but you were confident in your ability to just suck it up and figure it out. Even if you had to trek there in your most expensive pair of (uncomfortable) stilettos.

You slipped your feet out of them, throwing your barely closed bag over your shoulders before picking the silky, red shoes up. They’re far too noisy against Sylus’s marble floor for you to be able to slip out without being accosted by him or the twins.

Without so much as a squeak, you gently turned the doorknob, pulling the door slowly to peer down the long hallway. Nobody could be seen or heard, so you slipped out and carefully closed the door behind you to not draw suspicion.

You hurried yourself down the hallway to get to the front door, stopping dead in your tracks as you turned the corner.

Mephisto was perched outside of Sylus’s bedroom door, his beady red eyes on you in an instant. Like hell was the glorified magpie going to let you pass him without kicking up a fuss.

“If you keep your scrap-metal beak shut, I’ll be out of your feathers. Got it?” Your voice was a whisper, but you knew he could hear you.

He did not make a sound as you slowly passed him, keeping your eyes on his as he followed your every move across the luxury floors. By the time you had passed him, you were fully convinced that he was willing to let you go. The minute you took your eyes off him, though, he started to screech.

“CAW! CAW!”

“Oh for fuck sake! You couldn’t just work with me for once in your—”

“CAW!”

“I wasn’t finished you squawking little—”

You were cut off by Sylus’s door opening, his unamused expression still ever present on his face. He was freshly showered, silver hair dripping onto the bare expanse of chest showing between the lapels of his bathrobe. You had to swallow a noise that rudely made its way up from your suddenly dry throat.

Eyes as red as the rubies around your neck flickered between Mephisto, you, and the bag over your shoulder. He clicked his fingers, sending his winged companion away.

“I was under the impression that you were above cussing out mechanical crows,” he drawled, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

It wasn’t clear whether or not he was joking, considering the less-than humorous look on his face. Either way, you weren’t in the mood for it.

“I’m going home.”

“I can see that,” he responded immediately, nodding towards your barely closed bag. “And how, exactly, are you planning to get there?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a bit like a teenager who’s just been caught sneaking out to a party. “I’ll figure that out myself.”

Holding his cold stare wasn’t usually a challenge for you, but you found yourself desperate to look away. You had compared Frank’s domineering aura to Sylus’s earlier, but it didn’t actually come close to the man before you.

You had seen men and women strapped with weapons that could swiftly eliminate even the most dangerous of Wanderers cower at the sight of Sylus. He was the true definition of a force to be reckoned with.

He raised a lazy eyebrow at you, his hand slipping into the pocket of his robe. “You’re not leaving without a ride home. You’re over the limit, and if I wanted you to be skinned alive walking through the N109 Zone, I’d open the front door for you.”

“You give me a lift then,” you rebuked, your patience already thinning.

Sylus offered half a shrug. “I could, but I don’t make a habit of going out half naked.” You hoped to the lord that he didn’t see your shiver at the fact that he was only concealed by a thin robe. “You’re welcome to ask Luke and Kieran.”

“And where are they?”

The corner of his lip curled so subtly that you almost didn’t see it. “Out.”

You growled at his relaxed attitude. Why the hell would he even suggest it if they weren’t around?

“They’re cleaning up a mess of mine,” he answered as if you had asked.

A chill ran through you. “Would that mess happen to be Frank’s body?”

Sylus turned away from you, strolling into his room. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you followed him in, suddenly wanting answers.

“Well?”

Dark tendrils coiled around the bag on your back, gently tugging it down your arms and carrying it out of the room, closing the door on the way out. You had a feeling your belongings were heading back to where you just came from.

Sylus fiddled with the sleek black turntable in the corner of the room, carefully setting a vinyl record into place. It was a stark contrast to the way he’d hauled you into the car.

“You’re aware of the saying, right? Curiosity killed…” he trailed off, putting the pin in its place upon the record.

You frowned at his back. “The cat?”

He blew out a short laugh, not an ounce of humour in it. “The crook.”

He turned back towards you, slowly making his way to where you were a little rigid by the door. There was that feeling again. That you were a worm in the sights of a crow.

“Tell me,” he crooned, stopping right where your forehead would connect with his heart if you took half a step forward. “What was it about Frank that had you feeling adventurous, hm?”

You forced yourself to look up at him, feeling your cheeks heat at how close you were. “What do you mean?”

“Kitten, I can read you like the nervous wrecks who attempt to double cross me. Don’t play dumb, it does not suit you.”

His eyes were fierce and serious, but you hadn’t a clue what he was getting at. Your silence only lasted a few seconds before he leaned towards your shoulder.

“What was it that attracted you to him?” He whispered so quietly that you just about heard him over the thrum of your rapid heartbeat.

Attracted to him? In the approximately two minutes you had spent with Frank at the bar, you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him.

You stepped away, your back connecting with the door immediately. Even with the slight gap, his look over your much smaller form was rather harrowing. And yet you felt that unhelpful flutter in your core again, so strong that your knees wobbled in place. What was this man doing to you?

“Did you hit your head this morning?” You bit back, clenching the muscles of your thighs tightly to relieve some of the pressure there. “You think that I had an eye for him because he bought me a drink?”

He closed the gap again, his large palm resting against the door right beside your head. “Why else would you not walk away when you were quite blatantly warned to do so.”

“Maybe because I was tired of—” you cut yourself off before you could finish.

You had told yourself that the reason you hadn’t wanted to remain at his side was because you were tired of watching people practically tremble in his presence.

Now, though, you weren’t sure that was the sole reason.

Every woman in that damn room had an eye on him, and it had made you feel…strange. You weren’t typically a jealous person by nature, but tonight had proved you capable of such emotions. In fact, you were practically tearing the heads off of beautiful women in your mind, wanting to punish them all for having the audacity to look at him like he was a piece of meat.

Maybe you and him weren’t so different after all.

He cleared his throat pointedly. “Tired of…?”

You huffed rather childishly, turning your head away from his hard stare. “Of the attention that certain people were giving you,” you begrudgingly admit.

There was no use lying to him, since falsely having him believe that you were actually interested in Frank seemed like a sure way to get on his bad side—if you weren’t already on it.

With his hand that wasn’t resting beside your head, he took a hold of your jaw, carefully turning your face back to his. “And would these people happen to be women?”

You merely shrugged, having no desire to discuss the matter any further.

Sylus studied you for a moment, contemplating. He looked as if he couldn’t decide between scolding you or shaking some sense into you. You were almost shocked that he didn’t go straight to mocking you, but you had an inclination that he had felt the same thing whilst you sat at the bar with one of his enemies.

He dropped his head beside yours again, murmuring in your ear. “If you wanted my attention, sweetie, I would have given it to you.”

You almost moaned, his breath tickling the sensitive column of your throat. Lifting a hand, you grabbed onto his wrist to steady yourself, only for him to pull out of your grasp immediately.

A flash of fear shot through you at his sudden rejection, but it was almost immediately soothed as he pried your fingers open enough to slip his own between them, pinning your hand to the door.

“Do you have any idea the kind of danger you could have been in tonight?” It was a growling question that didn’t require an answer. You felt your breath pick up in pace, the swollen peaks of your nipples skimming the top of his abs every time your chest heaved. “Frank has been known to have a string of disappearing acquaintances. He wouldn’t hesitate to maim you out of spite to me.”

You shuddered at the thought of being so close to a killer. And yet the proximity between you and Sylus did not give you that same feeling of dread. You know that he has killed many before, and despite not having his death confirmed or denied just yet, you knew that Frank was now somewhere in the afterlife, hopefully being accosted by the people he had killed.

You knew, but you had to ask.

“Did you kill him because I was speaking to him?”

Sylus shook his head, pulling back just enough that he could look you in the eyes. “I killed him because it was long overdue. I’ve had men who have been sent out to keep an eye on that bastard, and many of them did not return,” he explained quietly, a hint of frustration in his tone. “If I had taken my eyes off of you for a second—”

He audibly swallowed, cutting himself off. You could easily guess what he was going to say, and clearly the mere thought of it was haunting him.

A wash of guilt fell over you. If you had just walked away when you were told, he wouldn’t have had to do anything.

“He wasn’t going to take one more person from me,” he finally gritted.

That very thought should have filled you with dread. It should have made you sick to your stomach.

But the mention of his eyes on you for every second you weren’t beside him caused a spreading warmth to grow in your chest. Despite the situation you hadn’t realised you were in, you had been safe that whole time under his watch.

“I would have thought you’d be glad to get me out of your hair,” you said, only half joking to diffuse the tension between you.

He didn’t seem amused by it at all, his grip on your hand tightening. “Like I said, kitten. If I wanted you dead, I’d be seeing you out of the front door instead of standing here, resisting urges I have no right to have.”

Your thighs pressed together again at his whispered confession. His eyes always warned of danger, but they were gleaming with desire.

You were not losing out on him tonight.

With the most tender of touches, you ran the tips of your fingers over his exposed chest with your free hand, feeling his steady breath falter. He swallowed thickly, suffocating your hand in his against the door.

“I apologise,” he whispered gruffly, his head dipping to where your collarbone was visible to him in the neckline of your dress.

You shuddered as his breath danced across your clammy skin, droplets from his wet hair falling against your chest. “For what?”

“Handling you the way I did.” His lips were mere inches away from you, and it took all your strength not to grab the back of his head and slam his face into your chest. “The thought of that bastard doing something—”

“Kiss me.”

Sylus didn’t give you a chance to cringe at your own slip up as every inch of him pressed you into the door, his mouth attacking your pulse with expert precision. You let loose a shaky moan, your nails scratching down his rock hard pectoral.

Every ounce of animosity you had been harbouring since the event dissipated at his touch. He was rough and unrelenting, his indistinguishable power overwhelming you in the most delicious way possible.

“Lower,” you breathed softly, wanting him everywhere.

You weren’t sure how he heard you, but he obeyed your hushed command. In one swift movement, his free arm clutched you around your waist, lifting you up. Both of your legs perched perfectly either side of him, suffocating his waist.

With his newfound access to your already exposed chest, he immediately got to work, sucking and biting at the thin layer of skin over your collarbones. The pain of sharp teeth sinking into flesh married faultlessly with undeniable pleasure, causing you to writhe against him.

A firm bulge pressed against your heat as he ground himself against your cunt. Even with the sensation being drastically muted by the material of your thong and his robe being between you, you appreciated the absolute weapon he was concealing beneath his nightly attire.

“Ah—” you gasped, the soft sound immediately erased by a sharp hiss as he sunk his teeth into your skin again.

His mouth slowly travelled down to the tops of your breasts, where he pressed uncharacteristically tender kisses to each one. You were a wriggling, desperate mess already, but he was still sane enough to take a moment to study your chest.

“I have always appreciated art,” he crooned.

He removed the arm that held you around your waist, purely holding you up with his lower body alone. Your breasts were granted a sweet release as he pulled the thin straps of your dress down, pulling the material out of his way like a man depraved.

It was the look in his eye. A million compliments that didn’t need to be put into words. You could see them. Hell, you could feel the utter captivation radiating from him.

Your free hand smoothed over the delicious muscle of his shoulders before curling around the back of his neck. With a swift yank of his head, his mouth locked onto one of your firm nipples. Back arching off of the door, you cried out as his tongue swirled and flicked the sensitive area, leaving you a little mindless.

He finally let go of your hand, hungry to feel more of you. One hand pushed up your thigh, the skirt of your dress riding up with the movement before he squeezed your hip. The other cupped your neglected breast, thumb brushing over your pert nipple as if it were the joystick on a gaming console. Up, down, left, right, and all over again.

It was almost too much, and yet you still wanted more. He ground himself against you again, your head slamming back against the door with a reverberating thud. You felt it this time. The thickness of his solid shaft, followed by the damp sensation of your arousal.

You needed him there. Now.

“Mm—” you mumbled pathetically, unable to get a word out.

Sylus chuckled against the breast he was feasting on. “What was that, sweetie?”

All you could do was wriggle yourself against his cock, hoping to convey a message to him without the need to trip over your words. You wanted to swallow up every inch of it with your warmth, leaving it glowing like a damn firefly with the glistening sheen of your essence.

“I know that pretty mouth of yours can talk,” he whispered against the column of your throat. “Tell me what you want.”

Your mouth was dry, like the space between your legs had stolen your saliva to lubricate you further.

“More.”

Sylus clicked his tongue. “There are nicer ways to ask.”

You knew he wasn’t being serious, but you would have begged on your knees at this point. He had to have felt your legs trembling against his waist, aching for him to fill you.

“Since you haven’t specified…” he began, pulling his head back completely.

For a second, you thought you had actually irritated him. There was a darkness in his stare, a hunger. You couldn’t figure it out, but it didn’t matter once the dark tendrils of his Evol snaked around your arms, dragging them up above your head. Your eyes widened.

Was he going to leave you tied up here?

“Do you trust me, sweetie?”

Any sane person being restrained against a door by the literal epitome of bad news himself would have frantically shook their head.

But you didn’t. You trusted him with every damn crevice of your soul.

“Y-yes,” you stammered.

He brought up a hand to stroke your side before hooking it under your thigh, along with the other one. One swift lift had you hurtling upwards, as if you weighed no more than a spaniel puppy.

Your legs were quickly on his shoulders, securing him a front row seat to your soaked thong. Getting any wetter had to be impossible, but your position was serving to give it a good try. Wrists tightly secured above your head, your legs wrapped around his neck, and his warm breath fanning over your damp thighs.

No throne in the most lavish palace on earth would be more tempting than this seat of yours.

His crimson eyes flickered up to your face, a flash of uncertainty in his gaze. “Is this where you want me?”

You nodded rapidly before his hand came up to hold your jaw, halting your wordless answer.

“Words please, kitten,” he requested.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Sylus.”

He grinned, an unnerving and yet exciting sight. Wasting no time, he gripped the flimsy material of your cheap thong, tearing it at the seams to grant himself access to your bare cunt.

There was no teasing. No small pecks to your inner thighs. Not even a warning before his hot, balmy tongue lapped up a line of your juices through your folds, slowly dragging over the bundle of nerves nestled within. It took him no time at all to figure out where that heavenly little mound was, as if he knew your body like the back of his veiny hand.

Teeth. Tongue. Lips. All three of them fighting brutally for their moment on your clit, as if he couldn’t figure out which to use first. Your brain could hardly keep up with the flitting between this and that. All you knew was that you didn’t want it to stop.

Your legs tightened around his head in a bone-crushing squeeze. The suffocation only served to push him further, like he was fuelled by the possibility of having his jaw crushed like a damn walnut between your thighs.

“I could think of worse ways to go,” he growled against your hole, nose buried deeply into your folds to inhale your scent.

He pressed further into you, his tongue penetrating you with a greedy lick down your plush walls. Your hips jolted of their own accord at the sensation. He was your puppet master, making you grind and flinch on demand with his calculated actions.

The more his tongue slid in and out of you—the tip of his nose perfectly hitting your clit every time—the more of him you wanted inside of you.

Gone were your soft, airy moans. You were crying out to whoever would listen, announcing to the world beyond the walls that you were being fucking devoured by the most feared mouth in the N109 Zone.

A mouth that could bring grown men to their trembling knees with one mere bark of an order.

You were drunk on it.

He slowly withdrew his tongue, immediately swallowing. “Like candy,” he murmured.

He licked at his lips, eyes trained on the concoction of his saliva and your fluids with awe. His hand shifted from where it had still been gripping your thigh, the soft pads of his fingers tracing circles around your hole for lubrication.

“Can you handle them?” He didn’t look up as he asked, fixated on the patterns he was repeatedly drawing through your folds.

“Mhm,” you mumbled.

He clicked his tongue. “Words.”

“Yes.”

He seemed to make quite the habit of just diving in as soon as he had permission. In one swift push, he impaled you on his lengthy index finger, his knuckles pressing against your pelvic bone.

You cried out towards the ceiling. “Fuck!”

“You must’ve had some pretty disappointing experiences down here, sweetie,” he purred. “You’re so very tight.”

Every muscle in the lower half of your body was quivering with need, your hips unable to still themselves. He wasn’t wrong, nobody had ever truly left you gasping or crying out to the heavens.

You had a feeling he was about to change that.

Slowly, he dragged the digit back out, making sure to scrape down on your walls as he did. He began a steady rhythm, plunging his finger in and out of you lazily. His eyes held a repertoire of fascination, as if he’d been dreaming up this moment for quite some time.

He didn’t rush to add the second digit, but as soon as he did, you lost all sense of reality. The curling and pounding was precise and calculated, every brush of your neglected g-spot extracting a whimpering moan from you.

“Ngh…oh fuck,” you managed through a shuddering breath.

“Good girl,” he praised huskily. “I want to feel you come undone. Can you do that for me, darling?”

If he kept talking to you like that, it was going to happen a lot sooner than he would expect. The mental challenge of holding back was near impossible, and seemed to be displeasing him.

He picked up his pace. Firm, brutal bucks of his hand giving you every push towards that edge that you were trying to keep a distance from. You were yanking at the tendrils gripping your wrists, crying out pathetically at the sheer velocity of his fingers.

“I hope you’re not holding back on me,” he warned quietly.

He wanted you to finish. He was so very desperate to feel your release that he was practically shoving you towards it.

You couldn’t deny him.

The building pressure in your core gave out as you orgasmed, a litany of thuds marrying the sounds of your pleasured cries whilst you writhed against the door. Sylus, at the feeling of your walls contracting around his fingers, became a little breathless himself. He didn’t slow his pace, helping you ride out the waves of pleasure until your very last whimper.

By the time you had caught your breath, the restraints on your hands slowly loosened, and you expected to be put back down onto solid ground.

Instead, Sylus brought his mouth back to your folds, clearing up the aftermath of your first real orgasm. He was slow and gentle, savouring the taste like a vintage bottle of wine.

He was gentle when lowering you back to the floor, your legs trembling beneath you. You kept a hold of his arms, looking up at his hazy eyes. Anyone would think that he’d been the one on the receiving end of oral sex.

You wanted to give back. You wanted to see everything beneath his robe.

And apparently, your need was rather obvious.

“Not tonight, kitten,” he murmured, fixing your dress to cover your exposed body.

You didn’t know if you were more perplexed or hurt. Why not tonight? Did he not see you capable enough of being able to return the favour?

He brushed a strand of your unruly hair behind your ear in a contrasting manner to how he’d been handling you earlier. “I won’t know when to stop.”

You shuddered at the thought. “I’m okay with that.”

It wasn’t a lie. He could bend you over the railing of the balcony for the whole city to see, and you wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

But he wasn’t budging, the corner of his glistening lips curling upwards at your eagerness. “I don’t doubt that.”

He leaned towards your ear, his voice a low whisper.

“But it’s going to take a lot more than my saliva and your sweet fluids to help you take me, sweetie.”

1K notes · View notes

uhohdad · 1 year

Text

Meine Perle

Octo!Konig x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig

“Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.” AO3

Inspired by this fanart by @numelu that I have not been able to stop thinking about since I laid my sinful little eyes on it.

Word Count: 25.7k

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, porn with plot, tentacles, restraints, bondage, orgasm torture, tentacle fucking, light anal, light spanking, dw he uses all of his tentacles, corked like you got the suds, dom!konig, hood stays on, choking, injury, holy trinity of fluff angst and smut, no use of y/n, story and smut kinda read like two different stories, that’s my bad, i’ve never seen the shape of water but i’m assuming this is the exact plot, reader gender is obscured but afab during the sex bits for sure, women in stem

Biowarefare has made incredible strides in the last few decades, unbeknownst to the public. Experimental creatures of nightmarish horrors engineered to inflict both psychological and physical damage to enemies live in the darker shadows of war. You’d been sworn to secrecy, but remain haunted by these creatures. You’d rather not get close to them - you were just a biologist. A consultant really, meant to answer questions about organic matter and DNA. You were to assist in the designing process, but this was not a part of the job description.

“It still needs to eat in the meantime,” Your supervisor had delivered around a cheeky smile, as if he was telling a joke. Your face, however, had not shown amusement.

“Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.”

With only two hours to prepare yourself before dinnertime, you weren’t able to accomplish much work. Nerves escape through bouncing legs and fidgeting fingers.

The fridge smelled putrid. A cesspool of meats and seafood, all untreated and unprocessed, some on the brink of expiration, others completely rotten. You try not to breathe as you remove the top of a crate of fish, your fingers surviving any splinters and unpleasant scents with the protection of thick rubber gloves. The mackerel are large, four to five pounds, you’d guess, just shorter than the length of your arm. You grab two, placing them in the large yellow bucket your supervisor reminded you about. Seawater and fish guts drip from your rubber gloves as you step through the empty sterile hallways.

The involuntary shake of your hands causes the handle of the bucket to rattle against the plastic as you step up to the creature’s holding cell. In front of the large metal door you take a moment to steady yourself with a few deep breaths, but the stench of dead mackerel does little to ease your nerves.

You reach to the lanyard around your neck that secured your badge, trembling fingers hesitant to place it against the reader. The usually stagnant red light flicks green, and a grating alarm sounds followed by the sturdy clunk of the lock. You’re forced to use both hands, setting the bucket down before you grip the heavy metal door. You’re lean your entire weight against it, teeth grit as your heels dig into the tile. Your foot holds the door in place as you reach for the bucket. Once in the containment unit, the big metal door slams closed behind you with a mechanical clunk. The alarm buzzes again, making you flinch, shifting hesitantly in your spot by the door as you take in the sight before you.

It’s huge, bigger than any man you’ve ever seen. It looked like a man. Seven feet tall, you think. Muscles engineered for the purpose of destroying, the purpose of killing. Its arms are bent at the elbows and positioned behind its head, restrained by ropes. The restraints looped thoroughly around massive biceps and forearms, secured to the walls on either of his sides. Another rope had suspended from a mount on the ceiling, securing his wrists in place.

Glowing eyes stare menacingly at you from under a hood that cover its face. The black hood spilled from under a tactical helmet and down his chest, hem brushing up against exposed collarbones.

Slick black tentacles protrude from underneath the hood that hangs over its face, each slithering and curling in their own direction.

Eight larger tentacles resembled that of an octopus. As thick as tree trunks at the bases and gradually thinning towards the ends, four on each side of his spine and spread from its back like wings. Each one moves independently, spread and primed as they writhe in the air.

Mesmerized by the creature before you, you find yourself frozen under its gaze. Taking in such a miraculous sight. Sure, you assist in the design, but you’ve never seen one in person before. Pondering its capabilities, knowing full well without the restraints in place you wouldn’t stand a chance against such a well engineered design. Wondering what horror the hood hides, something so awful it had to be covered. Or perhaps the creature was designed that way, the hood itself intended to further off put its victims.

When you finally break eye contact with it, your eyes find the floor. A red line of tape separates you from the creature, signifying its reach within the cell. Its got a large radius, you’re surprised by how much distance he’s capable of covering even while restrained in place.

You swallow hesitantly, taking a couple steps closer, still leaving a healthy distance between you and the glossy red tape.

“Fresh meat?” It asks, in a harsh and gravely voice that sends a chill up your spine. You weren’t sure if he had been referring to you or the fish.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.” Your voice is broken and hesitant as you eye the tentacles writhing and twisting alluringly in the air.

You carefully get down on one knee and set the bucket on the ground, your hands shaking. With a calculated push you slide the bucket across the concrete floor and into the creature’s reach. The bucket slides over the boundary a few feet before it skids and tips over, rolling in a semi circle on its side as the fish spill out of the rim one after another.

The creature laughs, a loud and wicked laugh that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Your expression is seeped in worry as you stand, watching it eye the mess before it, cruel laugh still echoing in your ears.

“The new ones always forget the bucket.” It says, low and sinful with eyes half-lidded in menace. It coils a larger tentacle around the middle of the container and whips it back in your direction without warning.

You let out a yelp and dive to the floor, just barely missing the bucket that crashed into the cell door behind you. It bounces back, pieces of the plastic rim snapping off and scattering to the ground.

You scramble for the container, your other hand desperately clawing for your badge before slamming it against the receiver and exiting the cell in a panicked scramble.

The creature’s depraved laugh could be heard up until the door slammed shut behind you, the lock securing into place with the grating alarm. Your breaths are shallow, fishy rubber gloves pressed to your beating heart as you quickly distance yourself from the cell.

———————————————————

You had tried to convince your supervisor to give the task to someone else, anyone else, but to no avail.

“It’s your fault for forgetting the bucket!”

You mocked your supervisor’s inflection once out of earshot before burying your face into your palms with a groan.

You thought about putting in your two weeks. No! No two weeks. You’ll just leave and never look back.

You remember that the government doesn’t look very kindly upon disgruntled ex-employees holding classified information, and opt to run a hand through your hair with a huff instead.

You’ll be quick today, in and out, and then it’s done. Once a day for thirty seconds, until they find a replacement. That’s not so bad.

The second time was easier. You knew what to expect, and the spite against your supervisor, against the creature, only fueled your confidence. Features stone cold as you open the door, the grating alarm having stirred the creature. You step into the room assuredly, returning the creature’s harsh stare with one of your own.

You close more of the gap between you and the tape this time, holding the handle of the bucket with one hand and securing the bottom with your other. You wind it up behind you before using your arms to propel it forward with a huff, grip still steady on the bucket as the fish fly. The creature’s eyes follow the trajectory of the fish until they land at its feet. You had wasted no time turning on your heels and leaving, bucket still in hand.

“Someone learned their lesson.” You hear, and you grit your teeth as you let the door slam harshly behind you.

The creature left a lasting impression in your memory. Its taunts echo in your mind, and you can tell he was designed to get under the victim’s skin. To haunt them, inflicting emotional warfare in addition to physical, torturing them without even being in the same room as them.

You dreamt of it last night. You wondered if that was something that it had done to you. If he had the ability to inflict nightmares, or if he was just intimidating enough to let your subconscious run wild after only a few seconds of exposure.

In the dream, you had been caught in a sea of black tentacles, suffocating you as they wrapped around your mouth, robbing you of air while restraining your limbs from fighting back. The tentacles had wriggled until they transformed into the shape of the creature’s hood, glowing eyes staring tauntingly, but your dream had equipped him with a horrific mouth that laid over its hood, filled with sharp carnivorous teeth spread into a sickening smile. With his wicked laugh, blood spilled from the gaps of his endless rows of teeth.

You had woke up covered in sweat, gasping for air as you kicked free from the hold of your blankets.

The dream had stuck with you, the residual unease not allowing you to fall back asleep. You decided to start research on the creature although you weren’t instructed to - your way of controlling the fear of the unknown by making it known.

Detailed sketches and logs of your encounters with him quickly buried your work assignments. You were recording every detail from the number of visual abdominal muscles to his bluff behavior when encountering a threat, branching its tentacles out just like animals to in the wild do to appear bigger.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on it during feedings. To gather data, you told yourself, to understand the creature’s physiology. You’re a biologist, after all. Research is the foundation of your beliefs.

You had been able to refrain from speaking with it, even if he was rather chatty. Arrogant, he loved to push your buttons.

You didn’t let him get to you, at least as far as he was concerned. You never let your irritation show when under his watchful gaze, but grit your teeth once you turned your back.

It’s about a week and a half into your new duty when he finally makes you falter.

“You’re starving me, you know.”

Your stride stills, not yet turning towards him as your hand grips your badge. You consider his words, shed of his usually cocky tone.

He could be lying, who knows what his true intentions actually are. On the other hand, you’ve only been feeding him what you’ve been tasked to.

You slowly turn towards him, your eyes squinted as you stare at him. You’re trying to deduce his weight, but it’s hard since you’re not used to estimating in terms of seven foot creatures with tentacles. He looks like he’s made of pure muscle, and those tentacles look heavy. 300 pounds? 400? You’re trying to decide if you should be feeding him in terms of his body weight percentage in regards to a human, an octopus, or a monster.

You should have kept walking, you think. He has your attention now, and not only that, you’ve revealed from hesitation alone that you possess a moral standard to uphold a basic level of decency for a prisoner of war. Now he knows you’re soft.

He can tell you’re trying to figure out if he’s deceiving you.

“If I had food to spare, I’d have used it as a weapon by now.” His low voice drips off arrogance again, and a tentacle reaches down to grab a mackerel, curling as he brings it to the appendages pouring from beneath his hood. You watch carefully as the fish disappears, and wonder if your dream was accurate about the mouth he hides under his hood.

You take a deep breath and turn from him, gripping your badge tighter and exiting the cell as you latch the door shut with a loud clunk.

The next time you’re in that awful fridge that reeks of postmortem and cheap seafood, you add two extra mackerel into the yellow bucket with the jagged broken edges.

When he counts the fish that land at his feet during your next feeding, his tone is still gruff, but softer, “Thank you.”

He leaves it without a witty remark. He caught you off guard again, shown by the slowing in your steps. You didn’t turn back to him this time, but you wanted to believe that he was genuinely appreciative of your kindness. Even if it was just enough not to make an attempt to get under your skin this time.

Your dreams have only become more vivid. You can hear the clunk of the lock on the heavy metal door, the alarm that blares identical to reality. You’ll be having a typical day at work, fully immersed in dry research and black tentacles will emerge from every entrance, every crevice. Holding you still and swallowing you up.

It’s getting difficult to differentiate the events in the dreams to those in real life. It takes hours to reorient yourself enough to fall back asleep.

Circles develop around your eyes from the lack of rest. Your productivity had come to a halt, your thoughts and research now surrounding the creature you feed.

He refrains from making comments at you, now that you’re feeding him enough. The next few visits he doesn’t say anything, the two of you sharing the silence. You’re not sure, but you think you have come to an understanding. You feed him a little extra, and in return he doesn’t say anything about the long stares. Not even a snide remark as you leave.

“What are you?” You finally ask during a feeding, curiously eyeing the tentacles delivering a fish to his obscured mouth.

He takes a moment to consider it, or maybe he takes a moment to swallow the mackerel.

“I am what I am, same as you.”

You look down, a little ashamed at your question. Maybe you have been too judgmental. He’s displayed his intelligence from the start, he’s obviously much more than just an it or a creature.

He was just a being who never asked to be created, same as you. His potential locked away in enemy care, his conscious trapped between these four walls, restricted from moving.

“I’m sorry.” You say, standing tall with your brows pinched and eyes looking up to meet his intimidating gaze.

“For what?” He asks after considering it for a moment, voice holding a slight edge.

“That you’re here.”

You pause before continuing, “That you were made for what you were made for. That you never got a chance to just be.”

His eyes watch you carefully, narrowing underneath his hood. A tentacle curls in your direction while your eyes are trained carefully on him, and you can’t help the shake of your hands as you get a closer look at his slick tentacle.

“I’m sorry you’re here too.” He says, and you’re not sure how to take it. You nod your head anyway, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Me too.” Your voice is strained with remorse, as if you’re personally responsible for holding him hostage. “I’m not like them.” You say, desperate for him to believe you, “I’m just a biologist, I’m meant to answer questions about DNA and nature. I didn’t- it just got out of hand.”

He studies you carefully, his muscles tensing underneath his restraints. “But you help them.” He says, dangerously and definitive.

“No! I- well, yes.” You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you did, “This is just a job.”

You look back to him. Could you even say it’s just a job anymore? When you’re assisting and encouraging the creation of beings like him? Forced into this world without regard of their wants, made for a purpose to kill and destroy and equipped with consciousness, without given the chance to discover themselves. Destined to a fate of being slain, captured, terrorized, experimented on, or worse.

You close your eyes again, “No, I didn’t mean-“ Your moral compass is spinning now, and you don’t feel capable enough to articulate your feelings on the matter. So instead you just look at him, eyes begging for him to give you a little grace.

He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but watch his chest rise and fall, tentacles wriggling idly behind him. He doesn’t speak, just studies you, those intense eyes boring into you.

“Do you have a name?” You ask gently.

The tentacles on his back curl, his menacing frame shrinking a bit.

He hesitates before speaking.

“Konig.”

“Konig,” You repeat. You give him your name before asking, “Do you need anything?”

He looks down his hood at you, tentacles itching with curiosity. “Water.”

You give a slow nod and gesture to the cell door behind you, “Yeah, I can, yeah.”

You go through the process of opening his cell door, sneaking the bucket into the nearest bathroom and filling it as high as you can with water, but it’s awkward with the sink’s base in the way. The bucket is a lot heavier when it’s filled and you have to waddle on your way back.

Back in the cell, water sloshes out of the bucket as you use your body to hold open the heavy cell door. You hover the bucket a few inches from the ground, the handle straining under the weight as you waddle it up just before the red tape and set it down. You look at him, slightly out of breath with your hands on your hips.

“Now - you can have this, but-“ You take a hand off your hip to point at him, pausing to take a tired breath, “You have to promise me you won’t throw it at me.”

His tentacles curl again, his hood tilting down. “I promise.”

You look hesitantly down at the red tape, kneeling behind the bucket and using your weight to slide it across the floor and over the boundary. He watches you carefully, studying the way your body moved as you kneel before him. As you work for him.

Once the bucket is over the barrier you stand and hesitantly take a step back, bracing yourself in case he launches this one at your head.

Instead he wraps a large tentacle around the jagged edge of the bucket, dragging it closer in order to get a better grip. You watch as two appendages work to bring it to his feet with ease. He takes turns eagerly soaking his tentacles in the water.

You’re not sure if he’s cleaning, drinking, or moisturizing, but you don’t ask. You watch as his tentacles smoothly work, picking up what remains in the bucket and dumping it over himself, letting it drip over his front and staining his pants a shade darker. He heaves a sigh of relief, his eyes closing and his glistening muscles relaxing against the restraints.

“Thank you.” He says, low and quiet. A tentacle grips the empty bucket and extends to its full reach, placing it carefully at the boundary.

After his tentacle retracts you reach for the jagged rim, scraping the bottom of the bucket along the concrete as you pull it back into the safe zone with two fingers. “Thank you.” You give a weak smile and gesture to the empty container in your hands. “I can keep bringing you water, if you continue to refrain from throwing?”

He nods, voice bordering on patronizing as his tentacles curl, “I promise.”

When you return the next day, you’ve got a new bucket and a small hose curled up and hanging off your shoulder.

You figured if he was being held prisoner, he at least deserved a full bucket of water and one that didn’t reek of dead mackerel. Konig watched as your struggle to manage to drag in both buckets while holding the heavy door open. When the door closes behind you with its noisy thud and grating alarm, you toss the fish over first, doubling back to haul the water closer. After getting it near the tape, you have to use your back and dig the heels of your feet against the concrete to slide it the rest of the way across the tape. The water sloshes onto your hair and down the back of your shirt as the bucket slides out from under your weight. You nearly fall back into his radius, but catch yourself with a nervous laugh.

You turn to get a glimpse of his tentacle as it pulls the water bucket closer. From here you get a peek at the suckers on his tentacles, each working independently as it grips around the rim and drags the bucket closer with ease. Just one of his larger appendages was stronger than your whole body. It gave you an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you continued to sit on the ground inches from the boundary, your legs crossed as you watch him eat and bathe.

“Thank you.” He says, and you’re unable to decipher his tone over his harsh voice.

“It’s uh, it’s no problem.” You’re memorized by the way his tentacles move, each working independently. It’s a lot of multi-tasking, you think, but it looks like it’s second nature for him, as natural to you as walking and talking at the same time.

“I’m sorry.” He says, in between bites.

“For what?” You ask, head tilting to the side.

“For throwing the bucket at you.” He keeps his gaze to his meal, “Your first day.”

You’re caught off guard by his apology. You hadn’t expected to see self-reflection and regret from him.

You shrug, “I get it. I mean, imprisoned by enemies of war? Restrained against your will? I think everyone has a right to be a little feisty in that situation.” You give another weak smile, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on your lab coat.

He huffs, wrapping around another mackerel and letting it disappear under his hood.

He lets the silence sit, but the biologist in you can’t help but analyze his diet, “You gettin’ tired of eating the same thing everyday?”

A tentacle reaches up to pick a fish bone from his teeth before flicking it casually to the floor. He considers your question carefully, a habit of his you’ve already logged.

“I’m tired of everything,” he says, and the exhaustion in his voice makes you look to the floor in shame.

Your arm crosses over your chest, thumb anxiously running over your opposing bicep, “How long have you been here?”

“I’ve lost count.” He says.

You wonder if he actually wants to be in conversation with you, or if any stimulation is a better alternative to staring at these four walls, alone with nothing but his own thoughts.

You take another deep breath, accustomed to the overwhelming smell of fish by now.

You’re not sure what to say to him. No words could offer someone in his situation comfort. Instead you watch as he finishes his meal and simultaneously bathes his appendages. It’s oddly alluring, how he moves. You wonder just how many things he’s capable of doing at once. Such a being must be very efficient.

He doesn’t seem to mind your company or curious stares. If he does, he certainly doesn’t voice them. You think he must be used to staring by now, and you wonder if you’re no better than the rest.

When you return the next day, you’ve brought a door jam. You’ve got too many things in your arms to carry in to be able to manage the door all at once. Konig watches from his restrained position as your cluttered silhouette stumbled into the cell. You set the buckets down with a thud, letting the extra bags roll off your shoulders. You have to huff, the trek down the hall weighed down supplies stealing your breath from you. Once you’ve removed the door jammer, silencing the annoying alarm and leaving you both with privacy, you return to his meal.

“I brought you some stuff.” You say as you shake the food bucket before tossing the contents in his direction. Various seafoods you could scrounge up in the fridge scatter to the floor. Shrimp, clams, oysters, a few different species of fish. Whatever seafood hadn’t turned rotten in the walk-in fridge.

His tentacles wriggle and reach out, suckers gripping to the food before him as he brings it to his mouth.

You’re not sure, but by the way his tentacles are wiggling you think you’ve won at least a few brownie points.

You turn from him to walk the bucket of water to the boundary, letting it dangle between your legs in an awkward waddle.

“I brought something else, too.” You say with a hint of hesitance, straining a bit as you set the bucket on the concrete.

His tentacles curl in… anticipation? Curiosity? Hatred? You’re not sure, but you’ve been trying to piece together his body language back in your lab for quite some time.

He doesn’t say anything, so once you’ve got the water bucket over the boundary, you cross back to the discarded bag and rummage through it.

You reveal a small black box, setting your bag down as you extend the antennae.

“A radio.” You say with a sheepish smile. He doesn’t say anything and you look to your gift with uncertainty, “I just thought - well y’know, I wouldn’t want to be trapped with my own thoughts. Everyone deserves some sort of distraction, yeah?” You say, kneeling on the floor as you set the it into his radius.

His glowing eyes stare down the present, and you’re not sure what he’s thinking. “Not a music guy?” You ask tentatively, a hand finding the back of your neck.

A tentacle slowly extends in your direction, carefully wrapping the radio in its grip. He brings it to his face, examining it with his glowing eyes. He sets it down carefully, and while he doesn’t say anything, you’ll take it as a win that he didn’t immediately fling it into the wall, shattering it to a thousand pieces.

You stare down at the floor for awhile, the only sound filling the room is his slick tentacles tending to his meal and bath, clam shells clattering to the ground as he quickly works the meat from them.

“Thank you.” He says, in between bites. It comes out low and vulnerable, as if the words were foreign to him, or possibly held down by the weight of things unsaid. Maybe it’s because he’s having to be kind to a captor, forced to be cordial to someone holding him prisoner here - and for what? Meeting his basic nutritional requirements?

He could be playing the long con, hiding his deep hatred for you so he can lure you into trusting him. You’ll end up like the ones before you, destined to the fate of a sudden and unfortunate accident.

Your stomach turns at your predicament. You could be educating the future about the miracle that is the powerhouse of the cell, but no, you just had to take the government research job, flashy paycheck and hopes of changing the world.

He tenses for a moment, tentacles stilling except for one that loops up underneath his hood, picking something from his teeth. He holds it in front of his eyes to get a better look at his find.

His gaze flicks to you, another undecipherable stare that sends a chill up your spine. You watch with bated breath as his gaze returns to the item in his grip, tentacle moving in your direction before carefully placing it at the boundary. You watch as his appendage curls like a snake to gently nudge it in your direction. Like a marble it rolls to you, over the red tape and bouncing off your shoe. Shaking hands stop its slowing roll before you pick it up between your fingers.

A pearl, from one of the oysters you’d given him. It’s uneven, not a perfect sphere, but its texture is still smooth in your fingers. You wipe the spit and oyster remains on your lab coat before letting the pearl rest in your palm, tilting it in the light to get a better look at it. It’s a purplish gray, iridescent colors shifting as you move it.

“How neat.” You say, tone that of an interested biologist, “Poor guy must of had a splinter.”

Once you get a good look at it, you set the small treasure back across the tape to return it to him, but he stops you.

“For you.” He says, definitively enough that you can’t argue.

You lips part as you look to him, stunned and wide-eyed at his gesture.

Maybe he hadn’t hated you.

You wrap your hands carefully around the pearl, bringing it close to your chest.

“Thank you,” You say, voice breathy in awe.

You unwrap your hand to study it carefully in your hands, your little pearl. Cradling it as if it’s a fragile being if it’s own, not a resilient clump of calcium carbonate that survived both a life in an oyster at the bottom of the ocean and engineered predator teeth capable of cleaning the meat off a skeleton in seconds.

He watches you study your gift, the same way you had studied him with eyes wide in amazement and curiously. You don’t see his muscles relax against his restraints. He continues to eat, slowing his pace as his stare stays on you.

You hadn’t exchanged any other words during that interaction, but you think the silence that encompassed the cell was comfortable. At least on your end, you’re not sure about Konig.

He passes the empty water bucket back you, and before you gather all of your things, you tuck your precious pearl away in a pocket of your lab coat.

Back in the lab, you rolled the pearl in your fingers, wondering if Konig’s gesture had meant the same to you as it had to him.

Humans regard pearls as highly as a precious gem, but maybe to him it was no different than discarding trash, just as he had flung the fish bones that got stuck in his teeth. He may have even been demonstrating his annoyance with you.

How dare you not clean his oysters before you serve him, do you want him to choke?

Does he know the rarity of a pearl? How we string them into necklaces? Adorn ourselves with them to elevate our look? How we gift them to our loved ones?

There was so much you didn’t know about him. His mystique kept you up at night and your mind wondered with the possibilities. You were a researcher at heart, aching to get an understanding of him from the inside out. Endless analyses filled your days and black tentacles swarmed your dreams. In the hours between night and dusk you considered your own morality. You’d never met one of the biowarfare creations up close before. You didn’t realize they were capable of sentient thought. That they are truly beings of their own freewill instead of a programmed organic weapon.

You think you’ve already crossed too far over the line, that there was nothing you could do to make it right.

The next time you visit Konig, the sound of the radio floods the cell between the calls of the grating alarm. Once the door secures behind you, you can make out a talk show. The news or perhaps something educational, judging by the dry voices and even tones you hear before he turns the dial off with a tentacle, his glowing eyes giving you his full attention. You don’t say anything, but it does make your chest fill with a slight warmth to know he’s using your gift.

“I took a trip to the dock this morning,” You start as you drag the bucket of seafood to the tape, “I don’t think I’ll be able to get the smell out of my car, but it’s crab season, so, I got some. Got a tuna, too. Oh, and scallops, you eat those?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes narrow and his tentacles twitch and curl behind him.

“Lobster was a bit steep, but I can keep my eye out.” You say, setting the entire bucket just over the boundary. He had earned his trust with the bucket, and it was too demeaning to force him to eat his food off the filthy concrete floors.

His eager tentacles pull the bucket to his feet, digging into it to uncover your gifts. He wastes no time getting them underneath his hood, you can see his arms tense and steady beneath his restraints as his teeth sink into his meal.

You slide him the bucket of water and then stand back to observe as his slick tentacles take it from you. Simultaneously he’s able to clean multiple crabs at once, expertly working the meat out of its complex exoskeleton and leaving nothing but shell. Much faster than you’ve ever seen any octopus feed.

You think briefly to the feeders before you, wondering if their sudden and unfortunate accidents were just Konig cleaning the meat off a skeleton. You wonder if he was designed to feast on his enemies, if his diet had held space for human.

Another meal.

You look down to the space between you and the red tape. Three paces away. You casually make it four, just for good measure.

“Thank you.” He says, and it’s slowly becoming your language. The words thank you uttered a thousand different ways, each with a different meaning, weight, and inflection, neither of you fluent or able to decipher the other.

You don’t feel comfortable prodding, instead you steady your feet and watch him mesmerizingly tear apart his meal, body restrained but tentacles still fully dexterous. You wondered if he minds you watching him eat, or if he felt like a zoo animal under your watch. Your hand creeps into your pocket to nervously play with the pearl, fingers running over the smooth surface.

After he clears a few more crabs, he looks up from his meal to eye you carefully. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, how disheveled you look.

“Tired?” He asks.

One hand stays with the pearl while the other rubs the back of your neck. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep last night, uh, so I went to the docks early this morning.”

He flicks another shell into his pile, studying you carefully. After a few moments his tentacles outstretch welcomely, some resting against the concrete floor, “You can rest here.”

You tense under his stare, your eyes shifting hesitantly to his tentacles. “Oh, no - I just have a lot of work to do.” You eye his core for a moment before returning to his gaze, “I can sit for a little, though.”

He gives a pleased hum as you do, eyes narrowing as he watches you prop yourself against a wall on his side, leaving about three feet between you and the red tape. His gaze turns back to the seafood as he works. You observe him, resting your head against the cool concrete and staring down your nose. You can’t help but close your heavily eyelids, listening to the sound of shells snapping and being tossed to the floor.

Your fingers continue to smooth over the pearl in your pocket. It became a habit of yours, fingers finding the pearl absentmindedly, rolling it between your touch to soothe yourself.

You’re thinking about all the things you want to ask him. About his physiology, his full capabilities. About how he feels, what thoughts and emotions exist in a brain engineered for warfare. About his opinion of you, if he’s disgusted with you or if he understands that you’re both just products of a horrific environment.

Is he capable of empathy?

You couldn’t ask. Your relationship seemed so fragile and delicate as it was, so you both opt for silence.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you open your eyes again, but he’s done his feeding and bathing, both buckets emptied and placed at the boundary in the center of the room. He’d tidied his cell, the floor cleared and the food bucket now holding his cleaned crabs, various shells, and fish bones.

His tentacles stir when your eyes meet his, and you take a sharp inhale as you rouse. You touch a hand to your heart, the other feeling for the pearl through your pocket. Your eyes find the red tape, and you’re still in your spot, propped up on the wall three feet from the boundary.

“Did I fall asleep?” You say, touching your forehead. If you had, you don’t remember having a nightmare.

His hood tilts up and he shrugs.

“How long’s it been?”

After a moment he shrugs again, tentacles working in rhythm to his movements.

Right, he wouldn’t know. You give a small nervous laugh at your foolish question, leaning forward and resting your arms on your knees.

“I should probably get going.” You say, but you don’t move from your spot, and he doesn’t wish you goodbye.

You stare at the floor on your side of the red tape. You can see his larger tentacles wriggling in the corner of your eyes, along with the glow of his stare.

Your back ached from sitting on concrete for an extended period. It made you wonder how sore Konig was, his arms having been restrained to their position bent behind his head for ages, forced into a standing position every hour of the day.

“I’ve made a huge mistake.” You say with a laugh, one in disbelief of yourself. You lay your palm flat on your forehead again. “I don’t know how it got this far, really.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing at you. He doesn’t say anything, and you continue.

“I’m just in too deep, right?” You huff, throwing your hand back down to your thigh. “I’m all torn up about this. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I’m just thinking about this nightmare of a job I’ve got myself in. You get so caught up in the paperwork and day-to-day, you forget what the end result is. I didn’t realize you were so sentient.” You give another nervous laugh, exasperated.

“Now I don’t know what to do.” A hand moves to your pocket and pulls out your pearl, holding it tightly in a closed palm by your side. “I’d try to make it right, but I don’t know how, okay? I really don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t know if there is a right thing to do, I think that ship has sailed.”

The right thing would have been never getting involved in this line of work, to never have learned of or aided in the creation of beings like him in the first place. But you’re both here, together, and there’s no way out.

You gnaw on your lip, looking to the ground. His eyes don’t leave you. Silence drapes over the cell as your words echo through both of you.

After the long pause he speaks, harsh voice layered with a hint of optimism, and his tentacles twitch and curl with his words.

“It’s not too late.”

You’re not able to meet his gaze, so you solemnly shake your head at the floor. You already know what he’s suggesting.

“You understand why I can’t do that, right?” You ask, soft and defeated.

He tenses under his restraints. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push. You hope that means he understands. That he understands the risks he’s asking you to take. The threat of your employers, the threat of him, fully realized and unrestrained. That you wouldn’t stand a chance against a powerful being like him. That no matter how many gifts and thank yous are exchanged, your actions will always layered with a high probability of deceit. That trust is inherently not possible in a relationship between a prisoner and the keeper. Between a being made for killing and the target he’s designed to kill.

The silence falls over you both again.

When you finally stand to retrieve the buckets, his gaze follows you.

“Perhaps in another life, we’ll get it right.”

Your shoulders tense at his words, your pace slowing. You don’t meet his eyes as you leave to discard his scraps, the harsh alarm and clunk of the door concealing your exhausted sigh.

The next few visits, you wordlessly hand over his meals and water before sitting on your spot against the wall, resting as you wait for him to return the buckets. It feels so nice to close your eyes, and it’s hard for him to haunt your thoughts when you know exactly what he’s doing. Your subconscious has a difficult time running wild when presented face to face with reality. It’s the best rest you’ve gotten in weeks, even if the concrete hurts your back and leaves your neck stiff. You feel oddly comforted being in the presence of the only other being who understands your struggle, even if he was the heart of your conflict.

Konig doesn’t seem to mind when you doze off, at least he doesn’t complain. He may just not want to bite the hand that feeds him anything other than mackerel on the brink of decomposition. Sometimes you’re out for a few minutes, sometimes hours, not waking up until well into the evening, long after you should have left the building.

He never disturbs you, letting you rest as long as you need. Listening to the light snores you make, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of your chest.

He can tell you’re still afraid of him, when the first thing you do as you stir is search with wide eyes for the red tape to ensure you’re still safely outside his radius. You always relax when you meet his stare, though, watching his tentacles curl as you rouse.

You always run your hand over your left coat pocket, usually at the same time you’re searching for the red tape in a panic.

He wonders if you’ve brought something to defend yourself if things go wrong for you. If your hand reaches for the outline of a weapon in your pocket, some feeble defense to soothe your fears of him.

You usually offer an embarrassed laugh or coy smile as you adjust, usually while rubbing out a knot on your back.

Sometimes, especially if you haven’t gotten a lick of sleep the night prior, you’ll readjust from your spot against the wall to the floor, curling up on the concrete and positioning your arm underneath you as a pillow. You’ll rub the sleep from your eyes when you wake, propping yourself up on your elbow to look for a watch that doesn’t exist.

Little words are exchanged. What words could be shared to offer either of you comfort? Anything he says could just be a ploy to gain your trust. Anything you say does little to aid his position as prisoner.

There’s one visit, when you stir, where your back is fully flush to the concrete and you get a view of the ceiling of his cell. Your eyes widen, always with a sharp inhale, as you turn over and prop yourself up to search for the red tape. It takes you too long to find it, having to press your chin to your chest to get it in your view.

You had rolled over in your sleep, bust having crossed over the boundary, forearms propping yourself up in Konig’s radius.

You freeze, eyes wide as you look to him, wondering if he was aware of the easy prey ready for the taking.

He stares at you, tentacles still wriggling, but not outstretched. He keeps them pulled close to him, unlike his usual intimidating posture.

You’re still frozen in your spot, eyes wide and locked onto him as you process.

He could have easily wrapped a tentacle around your neck and ended your life before you had even woken up. Or worse, he could have restrained you, tortured you, and held you hostage as a mean to earn his freedom.

But he didn’t.

He’d left you undisturbed while you rested, as he always does.

Your heartbeat has made its way to your ears, muffling the sounds of hitched breaths escaping your parted lips. You two haven’t broken eye contact as you lay paralyzed on the floor.

He had spared your life, that was clear to you. He had resisted the urge to effortlessly snap your neck or get revenge on you for assisting in holding him prisoner.

You slowly sit up, locked on to his gaze.

Another trick to gain for your trust, you wonder. Spare your life now and stab you in the back later.

You slowly scoot outside his radius, not turning your back on him as you hesitantly stand and clear your throat.

Once you’re outside of his reach, you feel for the pearl through your pocket, but you can’t find the telling bump through the fabric of your lab coat. You reach into your pocket, finally taking your eyes off Konig’s glowing stare. Your fingers come up empty and you look to the floor where you had fallen asleep, and your eyes find it a few paces from the boundary.

When Konig sees what you had been hiding in your pocket all this time, and your hesitance to step back over the red tape, a tentacle carefully reaches to pick up your pearl. Instead of nudging the pearl back over to the tape and letting it roll to you as he did the first time, he flips his tentacles over so it’s sucker-up, unfurling it to his maximum length to present the pearl to you at waist height.

You can’t help the way your brows retract and your mouth parts as you study his slick appendage. You’ve never gotten this close of a look at his tentacles before. Each sucker wriggles independently, just as his tentacles did. You wonder if it’s autonomous to him, or if he has control over each one. Your shoes scrape the concrete as you shuffle nervously to the boundary, toes pressed up on the red tape to take the pearl from him. He could easily wrap his appendage around your wrist and pull you fully into his reach, just as he does with the buckets. Your fingers tremble as you reach for your possession, the involuntary shaking causes you to brush against his tentacle, leaving behind a clear slick on both you and your pearl.

His appendage retracts once you’ve taken it from him. A heat creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed that you’ve been caught hanging onto his gift like this. Carrying it around with you and visibly worried when you lose it.

If he had been simply discarding his trash instead of giving you a gift, unaware of the value of such an item, he probably thinks it’s strange of you to continue carrying it around.

He doesn’t voice his thoughts if he has any, just watched quietly as you tuck the pearl back into your pocket, smoothing over it once it’s secured.

“Thank you.” You say sheepishly, your eyes still wide as you digest his actions and lack there of. You’re not sure if you’re thanking him for returning your belonging or for refraining from killing you.

You have trouble making eye contact with him, eyes glued to the floor.

You’re thinking that maybe there might be some trust between you two after all. You’re thinking about the new details you noticed on his tentacles from your close view that you’ll surely record later. About gifts and thank yous and curious states and defined muscles engineered to kill. About how you can only get rest when you sleep under his watch. About what’s hidden under that hood. About how he didn’t kill you when given the opportunity like you had suspected he would.

You think about what he’s thinking.

Then you look to the buckets, still at his feet and not emptied and placed back at the boundary like your usual routine follows. Your brows furrow as you meet his glowing eyes.

Your chest rises and falls as you study him.

“I should probably get going.” You say, nodding to the buckets in an attempt to get him to pass them back over to you.

His tentacles curl and writhe at your statement, and his head tilts upwards. He lets your words hang in the air before he responds.

“Not finished.” He says evenly.

Your brow quirks at the unusual occurrence. It’s not like him to leave a meal unfinished, to stray from the routine.

You give him the benefit of the doubt, choosing to remain optimistic about your new step in trust, “I’ll come by for it later, then.”

You turn on your feet to leave, hands reaching for the lanyard of your badge like muscle memory. You swipe for it a few times, fingers coming up empty. Your chin meets sternum as you look down to confirm its absence, patting pockets and swiveling on your feet to look to the floor where you had lost your pearl.

You don’t see it, so you eye Konig, stare narrowed.

Time slowed as a tentacle, previously obscured behind his back, unfurls and stretches far above his head. The end of his appendage loops around your lanyard, light reflecting off the lamination of your ID as it rotates in the air. He dangles it above you both tauntingly.

Your gaze switches between Konig’s stare and the badge. It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room. You don’t want to believe it - you’re in denial waiting for him to pass it back to you just as he did the pearl. He doesn’t, keeping your badge far on his side of the boundary a few feet above his head, playing keep-away with your freedom.

You shift in your spot and swallow.

“Yeah?” You ask, voice breathy but with an edge. You need him to verbally confirm he was stabbing you in the back, hoping he says anything to clear up the misunderstanding.

The tentacle holding the badge shakes, and the rest of his appendages outstretch, just as he had when you approached his cell the first time.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says definitively, a few of his tentacles curling inwards with his words.

You rub your lips together and nod your head, digesting your predicament. He must have worked the badge off your neck when you rolled into his reach, delicately enough not to wake you.

You’re not scared, surprisingly, not afraid that you’re locked in here with him, most likely on a path to a sudden and unfortunate accident.

You’re more shocked at his betrayal, though you understand you probably shouldn’t have been. You’d been predicting this outcome from the beginning, that he was just hedging his bets and getting on your good side until you let your guard down. It appears your heart still bleeds regardless of your logical analysis, and you can’t help the lump that forms in your throat. You really had wanted to believe you two had an unspoken friendship, that regardless of the circumstances, you had his trust. You felt naive that some part of you had fallen for it. That you had invested enough of yourself to him to be hurt by his betrayal.

Your face burns as tears well in your eyes. You shift in your spot, sure the pain is obvious on your features.

“Don’t do that.” He pleads, tone a lot softer than his words. A few empty tentacles reach in your direction to offer comfort.

You don’t take it, your hand covering your mouth as you screw your eyes shut, tears escaping down your cheeks. You sink to your knees in defeat, almost perfectly between the middle of the cell door and your side of the red tape. All of the worry and ache and exhaustion you’ve experienced in the last few weeks involuntarily floods out of you in broken sobs.

Konig’s tentacles writhe as he watches you cry.

After a few moments, you sniff, wiping snot and tears from your nose with your coat sleeve, “Just give it back, please.” You plead at a whisper, stare desperate, “We can pretend this never happened, it can go back to how it was before.” You look up at him, face red and eyes brimmed with tears, “Please.”

It takes him a moment to consider your proposition. He lowered the tentacle holding your badge, but keeps it close to him. His words come out strained.

“You understand why I can’t do that, right?”

A loud sob escapes you at having your words thrown back at you. Without much other choice, you bury your face into your knees.

You cry for the better part of an hour, muffling your sobs into your thighs, curled up in a ball on the concrete.

When you’ve finally regained some composure, you wipe your face for the final time with a sniff.

When you speak again, your voice is forceful but nasally from the congestion of crying. Your head cocks back and you put your palm flush to the concrete, leaning back almost casually to support yourself.

“So what’s the plan?”

He tilts his head at you, and you don’t wait for him to answer before you continue.

“I don’t get the badge until I let you out, right? We both wait, you waiting for me to give in to starvation, and me waiting for someone to come to my rescue before it gets to that point - is that it?” It’s obvious you’re angry with him, words dripping with malice.

He huffs, muscles tensing against his restraints. His eyes narrow at you, tentacles outstretching to fill the space of his cell. You’ve grown accustomed to his bluffing behavioral response and it does little to intimidate you now.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” He says, appendages curling inwards. “We can work together.”

You give your own huff, breaking eye contact with him. “It’s a little late for that.”

“I tried.” He said firmly, “I tried to do it the right way.”

You think back to your rebuff of his first proposal and groan.

“What choice did I have?” He asks, leaning against his restraints, ropes digging into his arms as the badge lowered to his side, “You wouldn’t have done the same if you were me?”

Your lips purse as you mull it over. Your eyes are still locked on to the floor and another frustrated groan leaves you. You didn’t want to put yourself in his shoes, you just wanted to be mad.

You do what you can to be spiteful with your limited resources, lying to the floor with your back facing him. Your arm is propped under you and your legs curled up. You stare at the cell door, brows pinched as you fume.

Rationally, you know you won’t last long. That you just cried all the hydration out of your body and haven’t been feeding yourself well in the past few weeks, including today. Meanwhile Konig’s been consistently eating full meals with your help and kept his buckets of food and water unemptied and close for him to ration over the coming days. You’re not in the best shape mentally, either, compared to Konig who has absolutely nothing to lose in his position. Even if soldiers bust down the cell door and filled him with lead, would it really be a worse fate than locked and bound in these four concrete walls?

Regardless of your long lists of disadvantages, you’re too upset with him to even consider giving into his demands at the moment.

You stew for hours.

You’ll occasionally adjust in your spot, sitting up to stretch the ache in your muscles before switching to lay on your other side, never facing Konig or even so much as sneaking a glance in his direction. You’re too upset with him to look at him.

Your mind is swirling, thoughts interject thoughts, throwing you new details to fuss over. You’re angry that he stole from you, that he took advantage of your vulnerability, the restlessness he was responsible for. You’re angry that he trapped you in here, imprisoned you even though he knows how awful it feels to be a prisoner. You’re angry that he can stomach sitting back and watching you starve and dehydrate yourself out of spite. You’re angry that he had plotted against you, made you out to be the fool, even if you’d suspected he had been doing so this whole time.

Mostly you’re just upset that you got your hopes up.

Instead of thank yous, your new shared language becomes silence.

You wonder if he can tell the difference. Between the solemn silence, the seething silence, the desolate silence. The thoughtless silences that come after running your mind in circles enough to physically exhaust yourself. The silence that falls on you when you finally shut your eyes, slipping into the comforting arms of unconsciousness.

You wake with a sharp inhale, desperately searching for your precious red tape. It takes you a moment, when you stir, to remember the events of yesterday. Or today, you’re not sure how long you were asleep and you have no way to tell the time.

You had already locked eyes with Konig. His tentacles wriggled and stretched when you looked at him for the first time since his betrayal, but when you see your damned badge on his side of the boundary it comes flooding back to you. An audible groan leaves you as you roll back over to face the wall.

You try to fall back asleep, desperate to escape from reality, but the dryness in your mouth is impossible to ignore.

Your mouth is begging for moisture and your joints are stiff. A dehydration headache had settled behind your eyebrows.

You need water.

You have two options.

Beg Konig to share his water bucket, or let Konig free and you’re free to get your own.

You decide you’ll just rot on the floor, instead.

You close your eyes and try to ignore the sandpaper feeling in your mouth enough to lull yourself back to sleep. You’re mulling over your options for water, and a detail you can’t believe you’d missed makes you sit up to look at Konig for the first time intentionally. Your head had swiveled around quickly, brows lowered in offense, “How do you expect me to get you out of here without giving me my badge back?”

He lets your question hang as his glowing eyes meet yours. His stare is intense, but yours doesn’t falter.

“I asked you a question, Konig. I don’t have anything to free you with. I know you don’t have anything to free yourself with.”

Your words are sharp and dangerous.

“So what’s the plan? You’ll have to give me my badge back to get something to cut you free.”

He looks to the pocket that held your pearl. His plan had one flaw - that he had not accounted for the outline in your pocket you’d reached for whenever you stirred being anything other than a weapon. He was sure you had brought something to defend yourself with if he had attacked you. Something that you could use to cut his restraints once you gave in to your starvation. He miscalculated the amount of trust you’d placed in him and it should have become obvious to him the moment you had looked to the pearl after finding your pockets empty.

He eyes the mounts that hold his restraints, two on the floor to his left and right and one in the ceiling directly above his head, all out of his reach.

“You’ll untie it at the base.” He says definitively.

Your teeth grit as you look to the ceiling, “How do you expect me to get-“ You cut yourself off when you realize what he’s suggesting, “No! No.”

His head tilts down but his stare says on you.

“No. Too far.”

A few of his tentacles curl, “I don’t want to watch you starve.”

“Then give me my badge back, Konig!”

His body tenses at the way you say his name. Coated in wrath and following a harsh demand. Your aggressive volume and fists clenching by your sides trigger his bluff behavior, tentacles stretching to fill the space of his cell.

He says nothing, and your eyes dart around his features before you let out a huff, turning away from him again.

You regretted saying anything to him. You’d wished you’d just swallowed your realization a little longer to mull it over before your compulsive outburst.

You hadn’t had a chance to consider that he would offer to give you a lift. You had been so focused on avoiding his reach that the thought of him wrapping around you and lifting you up in a tentacle was foreign to you. You’re not sure you would have thought of it even if you had taken time to consider it. The idea of getting close to him once he was cut free from his restraints was nerve wracking enough, let alone trusting him enough to hold you steady a story in the air as you free him.

You manage to sit with your spite and dehydration for a few more hours, even sneaking in short nap before you break.

You sit up slowly, head pounding as you prop yourself up with a palm flush to the concrete. You look at him, eyes pleading.

“Konig,” You say, so much softer than the last time you said his name, “I need water.”

His tentacles twitch, but he says nothing, glowing eyes staring you down.

“Please, Konig.” You say, voice broken.

He doesn’t respond, and you can’t help but sob, no tears escaping your dry tear ducts.

Your voice raises in desperation.

“Konig, don’t do this to me!”

He closes his eyes, the glow of his stare disappearing behind black eyelids. A tentacle reaches down to turn on his radio, and he dials the volume up to drown out your pleads.

A heartbroken expression spreads on your features. How could he do this to you? How could he put you in this position, after everything?

Your eye catches the water bucket by his side.

He doesn’t want to give it to you?

He thinks he can make you beg and plead for your lifeblood?

Fine.

You’ll just get the damn water yourself.

Your brows pinch as you check on Konig, who still has his eyes closed to rid the visual of your crying.

Your palms have already sprung yourself forward before your feet catch up to you, having to straighten your upper half as your shoes scrambled for concrete. After light fumbling you quickly pass over the red tape, beelining for the water bucket. You’re running so fast you overshoot, having to extend your leg to skid the sole of your shoe on the floor to slow yourself. Your body lowers to the ground with your extended leg as fingers wrap around the handle of the bucket. You’d looked to Konig, whose glowing eyes had snapped open and darted straight to you at the sound of your shoe skidding and plastic scraping against the concrete as you struggled with the bucket.

You catch a glimpse of his tentacles writhing furiously before starting your dash back to safety. You’re reminded of the heavy weight of the water bucket, stumbling over yourself as you struggle to manage both its heft and your panic at the same time. You’re inches from safety when a tentacle shoots out and loops around your ankle, pulling your leg out from under you when you go to take your final leap over the red tape. Your palms extend to brace the concrete, and while you manage to narrowly avoid hitting your head, you hear an internal rip that makes your stomach turn and a blinding hot pain bracelets around your wrist, stunning you. The bucket had crashed to the ground on its side, water spilling to the floor and soaking your clothes.

“No!” You grit, but you don’t have time to think about the water or your wrist because Konig starts to drag you backwards through the puddle and into the air with the tentacle wrapped firmly around your ankle.

A gasp escapes you and fingers desperately scratch at wet concrete until you’re fully airborne, hanging upside down and clawing for the ground.

You curl up in an attempt to rip his firm grip off your ankle, but your core isn’t strong enough to reach, so you end up just wriggling in his grasp like a fish out of water.

Another meal.

You hear the radio turn off, and your eyes find the ground, partially curtained by the tail of your lab coat. Your soaked shirt has slipped down, revealing your core. Water drips from your soaked clothes and splash onto the concrete. You can tell the ground is a long fall away and when you give up reaching for your ankle, your hands stretch out towards the ground and preemptively brace your fall, injured wrist pulsing as you follow your instincts. Involuntarily squeals are leaving your parted lips as he stills, dangling you so your body is above both of your heads and you’re eye to eye with him as you hang.

You look at him with fear swelling in your eyes. You’ve never seen him up close before like this, even if upside down. You’re inches from the hood that covers his face, glowing eyes reflecting off yours. You still, free limbs falling in line with gravity as you stare into his narrowed gaze with wide eyes. Your headache is severely exacerbated by hanging upside down, feeling your own pulse in your head as the blood drains to it.

When he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous, and he gives you a slight shake with his tentacle for emphasis.

“I think it’s time for you to let me out.”

His growled yet arrogant words send a chill up your spine. Reminded you the being you’ve come to feel so much for was still a monster.

He’s left no room for argument. He’s given you plenty of chances to let you make the choice yourself, and yet you resisted. You had opted for the hard way, and you had left him no choice.

Release him, or suffer a sudden and unfortunate accident.

“Okay! Okay!” You squeak out with a slight flail, hoping it pleases him enough to prevent him from slamming you as hard as he can into the concrete.

You still again, slowly holding your hands up, palms showing. You calmly let out one more, “Okay.”

His head tilts backwards slightly, silently keeping your stare.

“Can I at least be upside-right? Please?” You squeak out, heart racing intensely enough you can hear it in your ears.

He lets you dangle for a few more moments before a tentacle curls around your waist. Instead of using the end of his tentacle like the one around your ankle, he had secured around your bare waist with the middle part of another appendage, the thicker grip giving him a sturdier hold on you. You think this must what it be like to be in the hold of a boa constrictor, trapping you and reminding you of its strength but not yet squeezing the breath from you.

He slowly flips you upside right, but keeps your flushed face inches from his. Your feet are only a few feet from the floor now, but you don’t bother trying to remove the tentacle on your waist. You’re well aware of his strength and you can feel his grip threatening to tighten around you. You won’t stand a chance against even one of his appendages, let alone all the others at attention behind him.

He takes his time looking you over, watching your eyes flick nervously between him, the tentacle firmly coiled around your waist, and the floor beneath you. Your mouth was stretched in fear and unease, breath hitched. You weren’t flailing anymore, but your feet did still mindlessly search for foundation and your hands had gripped on to his slick tentacle in an attempt to steady yourself.

He gives a huff before moving you through the air again. He goes slow, extending you out to the wall to his right. He has to pass you off to the end of another tentacle in order to use his full reach. You can’t help but feel felt up as he wraps and curls around you to keep you steady in the air.

He has to lay you almost diagonally with your head tilted towards the floor to get you close enough to the mount that tied off his binds. He uses some extra appendages to secure around your lower thighs and hips.

You let out a few breathy expletives as he adjusts you, grabbing and moving you against your will through the air.

You had to reach your arms out in a full extend, and even then the cool metal of the mount is just barely grazing your fingertips.

You wriggle in his grip, swiping at the post, grunting as you do so. He does his best to use the very end of his appendages to hold you in order to get you closer.

“Got it.” You say breathily as your hand grabs the mount. You give a light huff as you try and pull yourself closer, but Konig is extended his full range and instead you yank against his tentacles.

The knot of his ropes are tight around the loops of the metal post. You’re not sure if you’ll even be able to untie them with just your fingernails, but you don’t think Konig will accept an excuse.

He’s not hurting you, but his grip is definitively still tight, putting an uncomfortable pressure on your ribs. Had your clothes not already been soaked with water he would have left stains on your lab coat from the slick of his tentacles.

Your hands shake violently as you fuss with the knot. You’re forced to stretch, already sore muscles aching as you overextend them. Involuntary grunts escape through your gritted teeth as you dig at the knot, feet kicking as if you’re trying to swim closer to it. You try for minutes, but the knot is way too tight for you to even get a fingernail into. It doesn’t help that you’re being suspended, squished, and held at an angle, and your hands are soaked with water and Konig’s slick. You think your wrist is most definitely sprained, possibly broken, judging by the sharp decline in dexterity and searing pain that’s impossible to ignore as you fidget with the ropes.

The panic bubbles quickly, fingers scratching desperately at all of the loops of rope. You’re pleading under your breath for one of them to loosen, loosen just enough you can slip a finger in - but it doesn’t budge. One of your nails snap as you force it against a crease in the taught knot.

You’re guessing every time Konig has ever pulled against or leaned on the restraints it only forced the knot tighter, and with how long he’s been in this cell the rope has fused together with friction and time.

The panic isn’t on your side, causing you to thrash at the ropes and undo whatever insignificant progress you had made. Your whines would be matched with tears of irritation and fear if you had any water left in you.

“Konig?” You sob, “I can’t do it! I’m trying, really - the knot’s too tight!” You give the knot another frustrated claw with your broken nail, “I need a knife, scissors, something!”

You sigh and go limp, arms and top half dangling as his tentacles support you.

“Just kill me,” You whisper through your dry throat, eyes screwed shut and voice cracking.

You pause, and when you speak again your voice is quiet in defeat, but still holds an edge of malice, “Just do it and get it over with, hopefully the next feeder will be smart enough to bring a weapon.”

You’re still facing the wall, but you can feel his tentacles tense around your middle and lower limbs.

You both still, aside from the involuntarily and uneven heaving of your chest as you sob and wait for death.

All the appendages wrapped around you pull you closer to him. Two additional tentacles move to coil around your upper arms, and he tilts you so you’re upright instead of diagonal. You stay limp, feet and sprained wrist dangling. You let him move your body like a marionette, with your head tilted all the way forward and hair obscuring parts of your face.

He stops when you’re right in front of him again, you would be eye to eye if your chin hadn’t been pressed to your chest, feet only a few feet from the ground.

He holds you steady.

Considering how he wants to kill you, probably. Drag it out a little perhaps? Get a little torture in before he does it maybe?

Maybe your kindness will have not been for nothing, maybe he’s thinking about all the food and gifts and thank yous and he’ll repay you by making it quick. One swift snap of the neck or extra hard hit to the concrete, maybe.

He doesn’t do either.

He slowly lowers you to the ground. When your feet touch the floor and they don’t move to support your weight, he lifts you up an inch and comes in a second time at an angle, gently lying you on the ground so you’re flush with the concrete. His tentacles gently release from you and retract to his sides. Your badge gets placed gently on your stomach, and then all of his tentacles are off of you.

You don’t rush for the badge or the exit. You had already given up, and you weren’t about to give up on giving up, too. Your ass backwards way of maintaining some scrap of dignity.

You continue to lay limp on the floor, ignoring the badge he’d returned to you and keeping your eyes closed, tearlessly crying.

You’re not sure how long you lay on the floor, waiting for him to change his mind and kill you.

You think maybe he wants a challenge, maybe he likes a hunt. Or maybe he just wants to look you in the eyes while he does it.

So once your sobs subside you slowly sit up, your red and puffy eyes staring into his glowing eyes. His whole body is tensed, but he keeps all of his appendages close to him as they curl and twist alluringly.

You’re slouched as you stand, arms hung in front of you before you shift sloppily on your shoes, badge hitting the floor as it falls from your stomach.

You cock your head back to look at him and lick your chapped lips before giving a broken hum. You hold your arms out on either of your sides, as if inviting him to a fight, but you’re weak from dehydration, starvation, and your injury, so your movements are slowed.

You don’t speak, but your face reads Come on, kill me! What are you waiting for?!

He just stares at you, a look you’re unable to decipher from under his hood. His tentacles are writhing, but he keeps them close to his body, even if your stance is aggressive.

You let out a huff and roll your eyes, breaking the stare off. You walk over to his food bucket and empty out its contents onto the floor before stepping over to water bucket, shoes splashing in the puddle it sat in. You stack both buckets so you can carry them with one hand, before doubling back and swiping your badge off the floor with your broken nail, not so much as looking at Konig before you exit the cell.

Your first stop is to the bathroom, where you shed your lab coat, its thick fabric still wet.

You bend your aching muscles to awkwardly crane your head underneath the faucet, gulping down the streaming water. The sweet, precious water. Bathroom sink tap water has never tasted so good.

You’re drinking so fast you don’t even stop for breath. When you pull away, chin dripping and face puffy, you’re gasping for air. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind the sink you had drank from.

Your hair was disheveled from being dragged and hung in the air, face puffy and swollen from crying, and skin showing your dehydration. Clothes soaked from the water bucket and Konig’s slick, face still dripping as you breathe deep.

You take a few more sips from the sink for good measure before turning the faucet off with force. You drape your coat over your injured arm and grab the buckets with the other before you march out of the bathroom and straight to your supervisor’s office.

Oh, the speech you were going to give him was going to be therapeutic. You are planning on letting him have it, telling him to post your position because you’re done, and then you’re going to tell him where he can shove his buckets.

You open his door hard enough the doorknob slams into the wall and bounces back with a shake, but his office is empty, and you let out another groan at the discovery through gritted teeth.

You go back to the lab, gather your things and leave, regardless of the time. You’re caught off guard when you get to the nearest window and see the dark sky. Nighttime.

You cry the entire ride home, not yet ready to process the events but stuck with an overwhelming feeling of dread and exhaustion in the pit of your stomach.

Your wrist was red and swollen and the movements of your steering wheel turned the pain to a cruel pulsing throb.

Once back in your home, you think about a list of things to do to take care of yourself, but opt for wrapping your wrist and popping a few over-the-counter pain relief pills while finishing a bottle of water at the same time. You crawl into bed and pass out without even getting under the covers.

—————————————————————-

You hadn’t set an alarm, so you wake to a tentacle-ridden nightmare with a sharp gasp. You jolt to a sit, wincing when you feel the searing hot pain that bracelets around the sprained wrist you’d used to support yourself.

You get your weight off of it, holding your wrapped arm in front of your face. It triggers the memories of Konig tripping you and your wrist hitting the concrete. Of him dragging you across the concrete floor by your ankle. Holding you prisoner. Starving you. Making you cry. Betraying you.

Threatening your life and then sparing it.

Had it all just been another one of his bluffs? Had he known from the beginning he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his plan, or did he change his mind about killing you once you’d pathetically given up, going limp in his tentacles?

When had he changed his mind?

Somewhere between the first day when he threw that bucket at your head and the moment he’d laid your limp body down on the ground he had changed his mind about killing you, that you knew.

He wasn’t just a mindless programmed weapon, he was capable of some amount mercy. Control.

Unless he knew that if he had killed you, he wouldn’t have been able to get his varied meals and water buckets. Maybe he had kept you alive as just another means to an end.

But he had kept you alive, that was understood.

You close your eyes, falling back onto your mattress. You’d been thinking about Konig non-stop these past few weeks. Obsessing, even. It was exhausting, him and you and both of your mortalities and the constant threat haunting you in and out of your dreams.

You decided you weren’t going to think about him now, that for the sake of your own sanity you needed to focus on yourself.

You treat yourself to a full breakfast for the first time in awhile, topping it off with more pain reliever and water. A long shower eases your aching muscles, but the one-handedness makes it awkward to bathe yourself.

You put on loungewear after you towel off and reapply your wrist wrap, in need of the extra comfort. You leave your dirty lab coat at home before you head back to the office, still in your lounge clothes. You won’t be there long, you decide. You’re going to tell your supervisor what happened, chew him out a little bit, and then let him know he’ll need someone to feed Konig while you take time off to heal and process.

You stop by the lab to pick up your buckets before heading straight to your supervisors office.

You open his office door without knocking and when his eyes meet yours his brows furrow as he gives your clothes a scan.

“I’m going to need some time off,” You say firmly, gesturing to your wrapped arm.

“What happened?” He says, brow quirking.

You laugh, “What happened? What happened?” You use your uninjured hand to shove the buckets to the ground forcefully, your tone dangerous, “Is that I accepted this shitty job offer in the first place. What were you thinking?”

He’s sweating now, eyes wide with shock as you raise your voice to him.

You continue, “You saddled me with feeding him. You gambled with my life.” Your tone goes from angry to quiet and stern, “He almost killed me.” Your gaze flicks to between each of his nervous eyes.

He sputters, “What- What do you mean? What happened?”

“He stole my badge and trapped me in that cell with him! He starved me! NONE of you came for me, NONE of you checked on me.” Your animated tone lowers to one of cold malice, “You saddled me with a deadly job and then left me to die. Not a single reinforcement.”

“How did he steal your badge?” He asks, face stretched in confusion.

You hesitate, “I-“ You cut yourself off. You can’t tell him you fell asleep in there. Because then you’d have to tell him about how you had fallen asleep waiting for him to empty his bucket. The bucket he wasn’t supposed to have. The loitering you were instructed not to do. The conversations you were forbidden from having. The unauthorized tape crossing.

“It doesn’t matter! I’m-“ You’re frazzled now, face reddening, “I’m leaving! Just make sure someone feeds him!” You fumble for the doorknob, leaving him with a bewildered expression and two colorful buckets.

“Are you quitting?!” He yells out after you’re already down the hall.

“Yes! No! I mean - maybe! I’ll let you know!”

You take three days off to take it easy, catch up on sleep, and ice your injuries. It’s been awhile since you’ve been able to relax, just getting lost in a mindless TV show and forgetting your worries for awhile. You didn’t want to think about Konig, it was too painful, but your thoughts kept leading you to him and you had to often remind yourself that you were supposed to be taking a break from him.

After three days, you’ve managed to steady yourself enough to get back to your research. The work had piled up during your stint as a feeder and you thought your normal work would be a good distraction.

The first time your supervisor catches a glimpse of you, he does a double take through the circular glass pane of the lab’s swinging doors before he enters.

He says your name, surprised but still cheerful, “It’s good to see you! Lab coat and all.” He lowers his voice, “I, uh, I didn’t think you’d be back.”

You don’t say anything, attention still to your work.

He clears his throat before continuing, “How’s your wrist?”

“Still sprained,” You say dryly, still not turning to him.

He sputters a bit, “Hope you feel better soon, uh.” He clears his throat again, “You’ll be happy to hear that,” he trails off for a moment before continuing, “It’s being put down.”

Your eyes finally find him, darting over quickly as you set down your notes.

“What’s being put down?”

“The creature.” He says with a smile, as if he’s offering his saving grace.

“No!” Leaves you involuntarily. The wrist with the bandage finds your heart as you stand, shaking your head at your supervisor, “You can’t do that!”

His brows pinch, “What do you mean? I thought you’d be happy about this. He tried to kill you.”

“No, if he tried to kill me I’d be dead, he almost killed me, he spared me!”

Your supervisor steps closer you, holding his palms up in a weak attempt to calm you. You back away from him with each step he takes, still shaking your head.

“He hurt you!”

“That was an accident!” You say, angrily. The edge in your tone causes him to still his stride. You don’t usually speak to him like this.

He says your name again, voice soft and eyes full of pity, “He put your replacement in the hospital.”

Your face goes slack as you look at him with wide eyes, shaking your head slowly, “No!”

He says your name again, “Yes. Listen, I see this has left you on edge. Maybe you should take some more time off, no problem. We can even get you in touch with a counselor specialized in war trauma.”

“No, listen to me, you can’t kill him!”

“How many more sudden and unfortunate accidents do you think we can continue reporting before the wrong person starts asking questions?!” His voice has lost his pity, obviously frustrated with your disapproval.

“You can’t be mad at a wasp for stinging when you whack its nest, can you?! He was made for that purpose!”

He raises his voice, stern enough it stuns you, “And what do you expect us to do with a monster made for the purpose of killing? Let it out into the public? Let it rot in a jail cell while we keep feeding him our employees?!”

“He didn’t kill me!” You say exasperatedly, “He didn’t kill me because you guys are starving him! You’re not feeding him enough. That’s enough to make any man kill.”

“Why are you sympathizing with it? It’s a monster!”

You look at him with squinted eyes and mouth parted in disgust, “He’s not a monster! He’s-“ You cut yourself off.

Your supervisor lowers his head in your direction and crosses his arms over his chest. “Go on.” He says.

You put your palms together gently in front of you, careful not to bend your injured wrist. A sigh leaves you.

“Look, I’ve been doing research on him, okay? He’s rather remarkable and he’s surprised me more time than I can count.”

He scoffs, “I’m sure it has.”

Your eyes screw shut for a moment as you groan in frustration, “No! I mean, sure, he is a miraculous biowarfare weapon equipped with superior predator features, that’s a given, but in addition to that he’s an intelligent creature capable of independent thought! He is capable of being kind and showing mercy. You don’t understand!”

He cocks a brow at you and sighs, “I guess I don’t.” He reaches out, as if he’s going to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, but stops himself. “Look, it’s been a rough week for everyone here, okay? Why don’t you take some more time off and we’ll take care of things here.”

You realized there was going to be no getting through to him. That there would be no way to get him to see that Konig was an intelligent being capable of restraint, that he had no say in his creation as a weapon, that he was misunderstood due to the weight of being a prisoner, and that even the worst behaving prisoner deserved not to starve.

“You’re still going to kill him, aren’t you?” You say, more of a statement than a question.

He doesn’t say a word, pity still flooding his stare. He turns slowly, stopping once he’s got the lab door ajar at his finger tips,“I’ll see you when you’re feeling better.” He slips out, and you watch the lab door swing to a still as you swallow his words.

It doesn’t matter how you feel about Konig right now, all of your complex feelings have been pushed to the side. They can’t kill him, he doesn’t deserve that fate, that’s for sure. You can’t hold a being prisoner, underfeed him, and then expect him not to act on his primal urges. Not even a human would pass that test.

That and the idea of him disappearing from your life permanently is enough to make your heart pound and your head spin, having to press your uninjured hand to your forehead to wipe away your sweat.

This is your fault, you’re thinking. That if you hadn’t let a substitute go in there after you left things so messy with him maybe this fate would have been spared.

No, no. You can’t afford to think like that. You can’t afford to blame yourself for his actions.

But your actions could save his life.

“Yes,” you say, out loud frantically to yourself at your own idea, “Yes!”

You’re searching the lab, pulling open cabinets hard enough they slam against their holds, leaving their doors open as you dig out their contents and leave them scattered on the floor.

You find what you’re looking for, the sharpest object you could think of in the lab, a scalpel.

You had grabbed the entire dissecting kit with the firm grip of your uninjured hand, finding a sprint as soon as it’s in your grasp. As you run you lay your injured arm across your chest, setting the pouch on top of it like a makeshift table as you pry the zipper open and dig for the scalpel. Your feet are hitting the tile hard and each step jostles your injured wrist but you’re not sure how much time you have.

You have the horrible thought that it might be too late, that when you get there you’ll find an empty cell and you’ll never have the chance to say goodbye, I’m sorry, or thank you again. The lump in your throat and the prick of tears in your eyes makes you stumble, and you use the opportunity to slow to find the scalpel, pulling it from the hold of the pouch through blurry vision. You let the pouch slide off your bandaged arm and crash to the hall floor, returning to your quick pace, damned be lab rules of running with sharp instruments.

You slam your badge into the receiver in a panic, the tears already threatening to spill over at the thought of never seeing Konig again. The scalpel scratches against your badge and when the alarm sounds, you’re looking frantically down the halls to see if anyone is going to try and stop you. When you pry open the heavy metal door enough you stumble into his cell.

He’s still in there, alive, and your tears quickly turn to that of relief.

You’re don’t hesitate, crossing the red tape and closing the distance between you, scalpel in hand.

His tentacles are at a bluff, writhing and fully extended as you dash at him. You realize that sprinting at him full speed with a weapon after the way you left things was probably not the best way to approach the situation.

“Konig!” You say, out of breath and slowing to turn your direction towards the ropes instead of him. You waste no time scraping the scalpel against the taught restraint with your uninjured hand, “We got'ta get you out of here - they’re going to kill you!” The tears are flowing down your cheeks again. You’re not sure if it’s the panic, your upset feelings of him bubbling up at seeing him, or the thought of him being killed.

“We gotta get out of here, we have to go!”

You struggle through the first rope, handicapped by your injury and fraying it in multiple spots as your hand shakes. The scalpel slices all the way through, and the rope snaps back, the loops around Konig’s bicep releasing in large coils.

You make a dash for the rope restraining his other arm, out of breath and tears blurring your vision. Your hands shake as your uninjured hand slices the ropes, unable to grip the restraint with your other hand. You fumble it for moment, panic slowing you down. Something grazes your hand and you flinch, but relax when you see Konig’s tentacle gently tapping your palm. He flips it sucker up, offering to take the scalpel from you.

“Oh, yeah.” You say, a dizzy heat creeping up your cheeks. You hand him the scalpel, blade facing your chest so the end of his appendage can safely coil around it.

He takes slices precisely through one of the indents you started in the rope with ease.

You can’t help the awe as you watch him, mouth slightly part as your eyes follow the tentacle slice through the rope securing his wrists to the ceiling. You take a step back, hands slightly braced at your sides.

His free tentacles are curling and writhing in excitement as he gets the final swipe through his restraints, the slack releasing and dropping to the ground in loops. Once fully unrestrained, he takes his time stretching his muscles, eyes closed and small grunts leaving his lips as his tentacles move in synchronization with his movements. He rubs out the red and irritated lines the ropes left behind on his arms.

You’re still in awe as you watch him, eyes wide and slack jawed. You hadn’t given yourself time to prepare for being in a the same room as a fully unrestrained superbeing designed for killing.

Had he just been being nice to you for his own benefit, you’re thinking this would be the time for him to kill you.

Once he’s done working out his muscles, he steps over to you slowly, eyes not leaving you as his boots make their commanding presence known on the concrete.

“Oh, I-“ You cut yourself off, looking to the side as you take a few steps back. Your palms are out, and you’re thinking maybe you should have thought this through a bit more.

He says nothing, his glowing gaze boring into you as he closes the gap, leaving only inches between you two.

The nerves are apparent on your face as you stare up at him, having to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. He frame towered over you and his tentacles curled behind him alluringly. You flinched when the end of a tentacle came up to brush your cheek, leaving behind a small line of clear slick.

“Thank you.” He says, and for once you know what he means.

“Thank you.” You respond with a shaky voice, eyes flicking around his features nervously.

“Are you ready?” He says, nodding to your badge.

You’d forgotten he’s being hunted. Your unease of him is overtaken by the panic to save him.

“Yes, yes! We should hurry.” You say, starting a sprint for the door, but a tentacle loops firmly around your waist and lifts you up, your feet still searching for floor. Another tentacles comes underneath you like a swing, allowing you to place to weight on it. You can’t help but let out a few nervous squeaks as you’re adjusted in the air. Once you get your bearings you he puts you close to his back, letting your head sit next to his so you’re looking over his shoulder. You’re in a nest of slick tentacles, securing around you to keep you steady, and you’re reminded of the nightmares you’d experienced with a sea of tentacles swallowing you whole.

One appendage is offered to your injured wrist so you could rest it. He does all of this without looking at you, his focus on carrying your through the cell.

He stills and a tentacle reaches out, sucker up, and it takes you a moment to understand he’s asking for your badge. You give a nervous laugh when you realize, pulling it from your neck and ruffling your hair with the lanyard as you do. His tentacle curls around the badge and it disappears from your view.

You hear the grating alarm and the clunk of the lock. Two tentacles return instead of one, opening the lanyard of the badge to place it gently around your neck so you don’t have to. He simultaneously gets the door you struggled so much with opened with ease, and he’s careful as he gets both of you through the doorway.

“Which way?” He whispers through his harsh voice.

You point over his shoulder so he can see your arm from behind him. “That way, I need to grab my keys.”

As soon as he’s starts moving you realize why he didn’t let you run. He’s scarily fast, moving efficiently through the hallways as his tentacles allow him lengthier strides. You’re mesmerized by the way they shoot out, using the walls, floor, and ceiling to support himself as he moves. It’s like something from a horror movie, you think, and you can’t help imagine the fear a victim would feel being charged at like this.

“In here!” You point to the swinging doors of the lab. He’s got you smoothly inside, careful to make sure the doors don’t hit you on the recoil. His tentacles place you down gently, ensuring your feet are steady on the tile before removing his support.

You’re quick once on your feet, running to one of the undisturbed cabinets and shoving your stuff into your lab coat pockets with your good hand before dashing back to him.

“Okay, let’s go!”

But he doesn’t move, because some papers strewn on the lab table had caught his attention. He picks up a piece of paper with his hands and holds it up. The light shining through the page lets you see ink of a sketch you did of him during your obsessive research.

“Oh, that- yeah, that’s, uhm.” You purse your lips together and squint, trying to find an ending to the sentence you hastily started, “Hard to explain.”

He sets it down gently, using his hands to sift through a few more sketches of himself, anatomy labeled and fully detailed. Separate sketches of just the close details of his tentacles. Theories to what’s under his hood and his skeletal structure. His eyes scan over more pages and he find logs of your interactions, his diet, body language.

You laugh nervously, flush creeping up your neck as your eyes dart to the side.

“We should go.” You say, less urgent and more breathy than you meant it to.

He looks at you, glowing eyes piercing into you and you’re not sure how to decipher his stare.

He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, stacking the papers together and rolling them up in a way not to crease them. He tucks them into the waist band of his pants as he wordlessly returns you to your spot on his shoulder as he takes you from the lab.

“Which way?” He says once you’re both in the hallway, but a screams echoes from behind you, and you both whip around to look.

“Go, go, go!” Your hands frantically tap his shoulders to emphasize your words after meeting the horrified stare of a coworker, who had turned quickly on her heels to flee from you two.

He starts to sprint towards the person running from him and you tap his shoulders more forcefully, “No, the other way! Away from people!”

He gives a single nod, grunting in response as he turns on his heels and heads the opposite direction.

There were workers at the end of this hall, too. Three of them, and you can see your supervisor as he rips his attention away from the conversation he was having and turns to the mass in the corner of his eye.

He stumbled backwards, and the others turn to gawk too, screaming and fleeing from you both in a panic. You supervisor had froze, pressing his body against the wall as his shock and horror melds with confusion when he made eye contact with you, perched on Konig’s shoulder.

He shouts your name in panic, eyes searching frantically for aid.

As you Konig tentacles reach out to the halls to quickly pass him, you put one finger up on your good hand. “Don’t forget this!” You say cheerfully.

The dumbfounded and offended look on his face leaves you with an overjoyed smile as you turn back around to rest your arms back on Konig’s shoulder, lower half still supported by his tentacles.

“The stairs are through that door.” You say, leaning forward on his bare shoulder to point.

You both stop in your tracks at the sound of a blaring alarm, much more shrill than the one of his cell. It’s deafening, shrilling through the entire building. There’s bright emergency lights that reflect off the walls from the lockdown sirens.

He looks to you, and instead of yelling over the loud alarm you just point to the doors to the stairs and tap his shoulder frantically again, hoping your urgency translates.

It does, and he continues through the halls, tentacles clearing his strides and pushing open the door to the stairs. The alarm can still be heard, but you’re farther away from the speakers and it’s easier to hear the chorus of heavy footsteps echoing up the stairwell. You grip tightens on Konig’s shoulder, a nervous squeak escapes you.

You both lean over hand rail to see the commotion below, and you can make out flashes of tactical gear and weapons of dozens of soldiers moving in a group up the stairs.

Your eyes widen and you look to him nervously, unsure of your next move.

You really did not think this through.

It’s hard to tell with his hood, but he seems unnerved. He watches carefully over the stairs, and you’re tapping him quickly, silently pleading with him to keep moving to search for another way out.

A free tentacle reaches out to rest on your palm, leaving behind a slick and letting you know that he’s got this. You swallow and let your hand lay on his shoulder. You can’t help the way your fingers dig in to his firm shoulder.

The soldiers are close enough you can hear their voices below you. You screw your eyes shut, trying to search for your trust in Konig and hoping this hasn’t just turned into a suicide mission.

The soldiers are almost in your view when Konig’s tentacles moves you both to the gap in the middle of the stairwell that drops all the way to the ground floor. He’s got you both suspended in the air, his grip on you tight, with tentacles laced onto either side of the handrails of the floor you’re on.

He releases the rails he had held in his tentacles for support, letting you both free fall past the soldiers and down to the ground floor in a blur, catching you both with his tentacles against the bottom floor hand rails.

Expletives leave you without thought, and he turns his head to you to check on you as he exits the stairwell, now on the ground floor.

The alarm is defeating again, so you resort back to using the taps and points to direct him out of the building.

He freezes when the sun hits him, having to hold a tentacle up to shade his eyes.

Does he even remember the last time he saw the sun?

It takes him a moment to steady himself.

“My car’s over there!” You point once he’s steady.

You can hear yelling from the building behind you, the lockdown drill still blaring.

Once you’re at your car he sets you down, and you race to fling the driver door open, fingers fumbling as you start the engine.

He opts for the backseat, and you think it’s a bit odd before you consider the need for him to have room on both sides of him. He’s forced to hunch over in the middle seat, his head is pressed up against the ceiling. His tentacles had spread to the trunk, the front seats, pressed against the windows and coiled up on the seats next to him to get them all to fit. He’s blocking your view of the rear windshield window but you can make it work, you think.

You throw your car in reverse, using just the side mirrors to guide yourself out of your parking spot. You can see the building doors burst open, soldiers pouring from the building. One points to your car.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You say, pressing on the gas, tires squealing as you exit the parking lot.

You hang a skidding right and shoot for twenty over the speed limit, but get slowed by traffic.

“C’mon…” You say to the car preventing you from speeding as you nervously eye your rear view, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. You drive with just one hand, your bandaged arm resting in your lap.

You get a glimpse of a familiar military vehicle in your sideview and you squeal, “OhfuckOhfuckOhfuck.”

The gas pedal slips out from under you and you slide your knees over to glance down in a panic before your eyes return to the road.

You weren’t going fast enough for Konig’s liking, apparently, because his tentacle had stole the pedal from you, pressing it to its full extend against the floor mats. The engine roars as it struggles to keep up, and you have to used your injured hand to steady the steering wheel as you swerve off the road to desperately navigate the other cars.

Your foot desperatly searches for the break, but another tentacle shoots out from your left, coiling around the metal that held the brake pedal and holds it firmly in place. You tried to push it down with all your might, but you were no match for his strength, as if you were trying to crack a boulder with just one foot.

He doesn’t let you use your arm for long, two tentacles coming in to take the steering wheel from you. Your engine is roaring and your eyes find the odometer, you’re going 40 over and climbing.

He coils a few tentacles around you and your seat for good measure, bracing your head and core in the event of a crash.

The expletives are falling from your lips without thought. You’re going well over 100mph now, never having gone this fast in your car before.

“Konig, slow down!”

He’s navigating with ease but too many close calls makes you screw your eyes shut to brace yourself.

He finally lets up once you two are out sight of the soldiers tailing you, letting off the pedal and offering you back control of the wheel.

It takes a few deep breaths and expletives before you take the wheel from him, leaning forward once his tentacles release you.

“Don’t!” Sharp inhale, “Ever do that again!” You say, heart pounding in your chest as you nervously eye the sideview mirrors for signs of trouble.

“I didn’t want them to catch us.” He says evenly. There’s a pause, and you catch each other’s eyes in the rearview mirror in between checks of the road.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” He says with a flick of his tentacle.

You take a few more deep breaths, wiping away the clear stick Konig had left behind on your forehead, “Well, we didn’t crash.” You’ve regained the wheel and find your groove going twenty over.

“I don’t know where to take us.”

“You don’t have a home?” He asks.

“I do, but they have my address in my employee files. It won’t take long for my place to be flooded with soldiers looking for you.” You say, briefly holding the wheel with your bandaged hand so you can put on your indicator to change lanes, sprained wrist returning to your lap.

Silence falls on you both mull it over. You keep driving, wanting to put as much distance between his capturers as possible.

The tentacle stretched in the passenger seat moves close to your bandages, “What happened?” He asks, voice low.

“Oh, uh,” You keep your eyes on the road. You had assumed he would have been aware of what he did to you. It made sense he didn’t realize it happened when it did, his attention elsewhere at the time.

You debate telling him in your head, but decide it’s best to be honest with him, “My wrist sprained when it hit the concrete. When I uh, tripped.”

You swallow hard, glancing at him in the rearview. He’s leaning forward between the two seats, his head close to yours.

“I did that to you?” He asks with a tense frame.

You look at him again briefly before your eyes find the road. “It happened so fast. Neither of us were thinking properly.”

He leans back in his seat, still having to hunch over to fit under the car’s roof. The tentacle outstretched to you retracts to the back seat with him.

Another silence falls over you both as he digests the new information.

“I’m sorry.” He says, voice strained, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You glance at him in the mirror again, his eyes are turned to his boots. “It’s okay.” You offer a weak smile, even if he can’t see it. “I would have done the same, remember?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he gives a slow shake of the head, and in between checks of the road you can see the fabric of his hood rippling with his movements.

You continue down the highway in silence, keeping your eyes on the stretch of road ahead of you. You drive until the sun sets, making stops for gas only when the station is empty, quickly filling your tank in fear someone will spot the ultimate creation of biowarfare resting in your back seat.

You see a sign for a motel and you decide you’ve covered enough ground today.

“Ready to stop? We can rest for the night here. Give you a chance to stretch out in privacy.”

He hums, but ignores the question, attention directed out the window and over the horizon, “I forgot how beautiful the sunset is.”

It catches you off guard, the sweet words whispered in awe from his intimidating frame.

Your eyes find the clouds reflecting the orange of the sun’s warmth. The bright colors gradually shift to the calm blue of dusk as the sky stretches on. Some of the brighter stars of the night sky are already making an appearance on the other end of the sky.

“It is beautiful tonight.” You say.

A small smile creeps on your features, finally feeling anything other than regret and worry about your impulsive decision to free him. Maybe the hasty ruining of your life and being forced to live on the run was all worth it, because now Konig gets to see the sunset again.

You pull into the parking lot of the motel, pulling out your wallet as you speak, “Stay out here and try to lay low. I’ll get us a room.”

You leave the engine running for him as you handle things at the front desk. The motel was as shady as it looked, not requiring your ID and accepting cash for payment.

Perfect. Untraceable, that’s what you needed. The man in the white stained undershirt doesn’t even give you a second look when he hands over the room key.

You turn your head both ways to scan the parking lot before preemptively unlocking the door to your room. You return to the car with an awkward jog, opening the driver side door to gather anything you’d need.

“We should be good. Just move quick.” You say, closing the driver door behind you.

You watch as he gets out, tentacles pouring out of the car one after another.

He doesn’t seem to be in as much of a rush as you, taking a moment to stretch out his back with a pop.

You’d gotten a head start to the motel room, but he still catches up before you reach the door, opening it for him so he can get all of his appendages inside. You nervously peek out to the parking lot one last time to make sure no one saw you two, closing and locking the door behind you before securing the blinds shut.

“Okay, we should be safe.” You say as you move to pull the sheets up on the mattresses to check for bed bugs.

The room is as dingy as you expected it to be. Peeling wallpaper stained with years of cigarette smoke. Outdated decor and furniture. Stained and faded carpets. An old box television perched on a dresser facing the two queen beds.

“No bugs.” You announce once you’ve thoroughly checked both mattresses. You look to Konig, who’s standing in the doorway of the tiny bathroom, eyeing up what you assume is the shower. You hear the water turn on in a spray against the shower’s porcelain followed by the sound of a belt jiggling.

Your brow quirks as you kick off your shoes and shed your lab coat, stretching your sore back as you settle in on one of the mattresses.

He starts a shower and you can’t help but picture him soaking his tentacles and sore body through the wall of the motel room. He left the door open, and some sinful part of you thinks about peeking.

You don’t, forcing your attention to the TV. You mindlessly flipped through channels with the remote, thoughts lingering on Konig showering. You settle on reruns of a lighthearted show.

You hear the shower turn off with a hearty thud of its noisy pipes. Some more time passes, and you can see flicks of corners of a white motel towel from the doorway.

The jingle of his belt makes an encore, and after a few more moments he reappears, turning the light off for the bathroom with a free tentacle. Another continues to works the towel, dabbing off stray water beads from his skin.

Your cheeks flush, and you catch his wet muscles flexing from the corner of your eye as he makes his way to the other mattress, laying down on his front with a relieved huff. His tentacles relax as well, draping themselves on the duvet and hanging off the sides, the ends lazily flicking and curling as they dangle.

You both sit silently for awhile, forcing your attention towards the TV set while you watch his tentacles curl alluringly in your peripherals. You’ve settled into your spots on your respective beds, trying to find some respite after such a stressful day.

He breaks the silence first.

“I will never forget your kindness.”

“Oh,” You start, heat still flushing your features but keeping your stare towards the television, “It’s nothing.”

“You sacrificed everything to save my life.” He says definitively, “Even after what I did to you.” His eyes linger on your bandages.

“It just seemed like the right thing to do.” You shrug, your eyes finally meeting his. “I was really only at that job for the paycheck.” You pause again, fingers fidgeting with the TV remote, “The guilt was starting to weigh on me anyway. Better to live honestly and on the run than settled-in but trapped, right?”

His glowing eyes stare into yours as he considers your words.

He nods slowly, tentacles twitching and curling.

You give him a cheeky smile and a point, “But no more killing people, okay? I’m responsible for your actions from here on out.”

He huffs in amusement, lifting up one tentacle in the air as if giving an oath, “I promise.”

He stirs suddenly, as if he had remembered something.

“I have something for you,” he says as he sits up, reaching into his pants pocket. You quirk your brow as he stands, closing the gap between your beds and as he presents his fist to you. He towers over you, even more so from your spot sitting slouched on the bed.

You look at him with intrigue, cupping your hand underneath his, “It’s not a bug, is it?”

He laughs, and it’s the first laugh you’ve heard from him aside from the wicked laugh from that first day you met him, the laugh that raised the hairs on your neck and haunted your dreams. This one’s different, softer and playful. It makes your chest warm and you can’t help the goofy smile you give in return.

“No, it’s not a bug.”

He lets the small item drop into your palm and your brows scrunch as you study it.

Your pearl!

You let out a quiet gasp, eyes darting to him once you understand. It must have slipped from your pockets when he had held you upside down during your altercation in his cell. You hadn’t even thought about it, didn’t realize that you had lost your precious pearl. You had been avoiding thinking about Konig up until you heard about his pending execution, and at that point you had bigger things to worry about.

You pick up the uneven pearl with two fingers, moving it in the light, “You had it all this time?”

“I’ve been keeping it safe for you. I was worried I’d never be able to return it to you.”

You purse your lips at the way you had left things. Leaving him without closure in that sterile cell, forcing him to sit with his unresolved feelings and thoughts without an explanation. Never knowing if you’d be back.

“I’m ashamed, at how I treated you. I thought I had ruined the one good thing I had in there.”

Your cheeks flush at his words and you wrap your fist around the pearl. You’re forced to break eye contact with him, hoping he can’t see the heat beneath your skin.

“I’m sorry I left you alone.” You say, eyeing the floor by his feet. “I just needed time.”

He considers your words carefully. “I can’t blame you for that.”

His eyes flick down to the hand that held the pearl and both of you bask in the silence for a moment.

“Maybe tomorrow we can get you a necklace for it, so it doesn’t get lost again.”

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, mouth parted and eyes wide. A tentacle brushes the apple of your cheek, and he looks at you like he had eyed the sunset, in awe and stunned with its beauty.

He had understood the significance of the pearl this whole time, and he returned it to you post-freedom, meaning there was no chance of him attempting to gain your trust for his benefit.

“Konig,” You whisper, voice breathy.

“Yes, meine perle?”

“Thank you.” You hold the pearl in a fist placed over your heart and keep your eyes fixed up at him.

His hand reaches down to your face, tracing a finger on the underside your jaw. Your breath hitches at the chill that shoots down your spine.

“I’ve been watching you.” He says, finger resting just under your chin, keeping your gaze on him. Your eyes flick nervously to his tentacles curling alluringly over his shoulder before returning to his stare.

You’re not sure what he means, but you’re too stunned by his words and the light touch of strong fingers, breath still hitched and heartbeat pulsing in your ears.

He pulls out the rolled up stack of papers he took from the lab and held close. All of the sketches and logs and theories you’d made during your obsessive research, “Looks like you’ve been watching me, too.”

He gestures to the papers in his hand before placing them on the nightstand to his side.

The tentacle that brushed your cheek moves to your hair, curling strands gently between the slick end of his appendage. Another gently takes the pearl from you, setting it down with the papers.

“Am I wrong, meine perle?”

Your jaw slacks open a little further as you stutter out the beginning of a few sentences, each quickly abandoned one after another.

You settle for a shake of your head accompanied by a full flush of your features.

He gives a hum of satisfaction as he leans down close enough that his hood almost brushes up against your skin. His glowing eyes are inches from yours.

“I want to repay you, meine perle.”

His thumb continue to soothingly stroke your jaw, His voice drops, soaked in a sultry tone as his gaze maps your features.

“You worked so hard for me. Went through so much, didn’t you? So good for me.”

You give a sharp inhale at the praise, a warmth suddenly pooling in your lower abdomen. You’re hypnotized by his large frame, his gentle touch, the inflection of his words. You can only stare up at him in anticipation, caught off guard by his change in demeanor.

A tentacle rests on your knee and begins to creep up your thigh. You try to look down but his hand under your chin keeps you steady.

“I want to make you feel so good, meine perle. Will you let me do that?” His voice dropped to a low whisper, and another tentacle creeps up behind you, making you flinch as it slithers down your shoulder and curls around your collarbones, “Will you let me reward your hard work?”

Your thighs spread obediently at the touch of his tentacle and Konig takes the opportunity to stand between your thighs, keeping them open. When you go to answer the only thing that comes out is a nervous squeak, so you opt for nodding your head.

The grip on your face tightens, a few of his fingers indent the soft flesh of your cheeks, “Ah, ah.” He gives a slight shake of his head. “You have to say it, meine perle.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice. “Yes, Konig.” You whisper through shallow breath, eyes wide as you look up at him. “Please.”

He gives another pleased hum, a tentacle eagerly coiling around your waist and picking you up from your spot on the edge of the bed.

A gasp leaves your parted lips, hands finding the slick coiled appendage at your center for leverage. Your socks scraped the duvet as he repositioned you to the middle of the bed.

Two tentacles work the button of your pants, a sharp inhale leaves you as they yank your zipper down and slide the waistband to your thighs. His eyes trace every inch of newly revealed skin as his tentacle placed you down on the bed, removing the appendage looped around your middle. By the time he gets your jeans off and discarded to the floor, two more tentacles have already begun sneaking up the hem of your shirt, slithering up your stomach and lifting your slick stained shirt with it. You obediently, albeit hesitantly, put your hands over your head to let him take your shirt and bra off in one swipe, ruffling your hair as he does.

You’ve got your upper half propped on your good arm, palm sunk in to the mattress. He corrects this by looping a tentacle around your good wrist, giving it a careful but firm yank as another presses to your sternum and guides your back flush with the mattress. Another simultaneously wraps around the forearm above your injured wrist, gently pinning it to the bed and forcing it to rest on the mattress above you. The two tentacles that removed your shirt trace down your exposed core and down each leg, giving you goosebumps behind the trail of slick they leave behind. The tentacles stop at your ankles, wrapping around them and up your calves like a snake coils its prey.

In quick movements your ankles are forced to in the air, extended and spread. He kneels onto the bed at your feet, positioning himself so he’s kneeling in the new space between your thighs.

He stills, tentacles holding you firmly but comfortably. You can feel his suckers against your bare flesh, each having their own independent wriggling grip on you. Your chest rises and falls, trying to swallow your nerves of being undressed and fully restrained at the hands of the powerful being you’d freed.

His eyes are tracing all of the newly exposed flesh, and you can’t help but squirm against his appendages as you fight the urge to cover yourself. He holds you steady, all your limbs extended as he takes his time committing the curves and dips of your delicate body to memory.

His eyes find your panties, already stained with arousal at the way he spoke to you, manhandled you.

“Such a delicate thing you are, meine perle.“ He says, eyes half-lidded as they admire you.

“You knew you wouldn’t stand a chance against me, didn’t you little one?” His voice is low but gentle, and you’re stunned by his words, his forwardness. You can’t help but be intimidated pinned beneath him.

“You knew the risk you were taking. You knew I was deadly.”

One of his tentacles come up to gently smooth the hair he had disheveled when removing your shirt. You flinch at his touch, and he gives a pleased hum once he successfully fixes your hair.

“And yet you couldn’t help but throw yourself at me.” His eyes briefly widen before returning to their half-lidded boring stare, “Time and time again,” He shrugs in casual disbelief of you, “I’ve never seen anything like it, your carelessness.”

A free tentacle sneaks up your leg again, curling to stroke your spread inner thighs.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re self-destructive. Suicidal, even.”

The tentacle at your thigh creeps up, teasing the waist band of your underwear, and you suck in a breath through your teeth.

“But I do know better, though, don’t I?”

The tentacle lets your panties snap back to your hips, and the appendages holding you as restraints tighten on your limbs threateningly, excluding your injured arm.

His eyes narrow and his voice drips of arrogance.

“You’re just a little masochist.”

The tentacle drags down your front, teasing your slit over the fabric of your panties.

“Aren’t you meine perle?”

Your thoughts are clouded with a haze as you cling to his words, hypnotized by his chilling voice, domineering tone, and arousing touches.

He lets you get away with not responding this time, studying your responses to his teases before he continues. He gives another hum, a tentacle tracing down your neck and core, leaving behind a cool trail of his slick.

The tentacles tracing your cunt curls around your waistband again, while the two appendages securing your ankles maneuver your legs as they slide your panties down.

“Do you like that I have so much power over you?”

He has to unravel the appendages on your ankles to remove your underwear, discarding them over his shoulder. The cool breeze on your dripping cunt makes you shiver, tensing your core and arms in his restraint.

“That I’m a predator and you’re just a sweet defenseless little thing?”

His tentacles quickly rewrap around your ankles, but this time he secures the thick middles around you, covering the tops of your feet in his slick suckers as he forces your legs spread. His tentacles slither all the way up your legs from foot to upper thigh like thick black vines, and he leaves the ends of his tentacles with extra slack so the tips can tease the lips of your dripping cunt.

“Does the danger turn you on, meine perle?”

He gives a hum as he eyes your exposed and spread cunt, thoroughly slicked with your own arousal.

“I can see it does.”

You flush under his stare, still mesmerized by his words and the heat pooling in your lower abdomen.

He leans forward, his hands finding the mattress on either side of your core. You shrink under him as he leans down. He presses the front of his pants against your cunt, spread open by the tentacles looped around your legs.

“You were afraid of me.” He says, and you let out a broken sigh as he grazes your clit, your hips giving small involuntary grinds against him, “Yet you still gave yourself to me, so willingly.”

He hovers his face inches from yours, glowing eyes reflecting off your wide eyes. His voice drops low, and the hem of his hood drags across the curve of your breasts. The smaller tentacles that pour from under his hood curl around your tits, and you flinch under his touch when the ends of slick appendages start to tease your nipples to attention.

“I think someone that brave deserves to be thoroughly rewarded.”

He keeps his face close to you, leaving the equivalent of kisses through his hood down your middle as his smaller tentacles trace your skin.

He kisses all the way down to your cunt, spread open by the larger appendages coiled around your legs. You lift your head to watch him, and he keeps his half-lidded stare on you as the tip of a smaller tentacle swirls slowly around your clit. Another traces your dripping entrance.

A breathy sigh leaves you, your thighs tensing under his tentacles, but he holds firm.

“I am curious,” He starts, eyes locked on yours as he lays his chest flush to the mattress between your wrapped legs. He props himself up on his elbows, and brings a hand up to his hood to slowly pull it up halfway. His smaller tentacles part like curtains to reveal his mouth, and your eyes widen at the sight.

Your dreams had been scarily accurate, a taunting smile made up of rows of predator teeth. Razor sharp and killer. Concern and awe melded on your features, eyebrows pinched and eyes wide.

“Are you still afraid?”

He sticks out his tongue, and your face twitches as you watch it extend unnervingly far from his pointed teeth. The length and curl reminded you of another tentacle, but made of the flesh of tongue.

He dives his tongue up the slit of your cunt, a long deep stripe from hole to clit.

You let out a pathetic whine, your thighs begging to clench around him but tentacles forcing you spread. He hums, tongue sending the vibration straight to your pulsing clit.

He starts slow, tracing circles around you with his precise tongue.

Your hips grind into the pleasure, and he huffs in amusement at your eagerness. He lets his tongue unfurl, completely smothering your cunt with his slick tongue. He loosens his grip on your thighs just enough to allow you to get a better range to thrust into his face.

You give another whine when he stops teasing you, but continue to grind your clit against him in a desperate search for pleasure.

You give him a pleading look, mouth slightly parted for breathy exhales. He lets you grind long enough to embarrass you, waiting for the telling flush of your cheeks.

He finally pulls away with a long swipe along your cunt as you let out a sinful moan. The tip of his tongue returns to your aching clit, flicking side to side. He starts teasingly slow but hungrily picks up once he hears the hitched breaths you take.

You have to lay your head back to the mattress, closing your eyes as you give in to the pleasure.

He presses the tip of his tongue to your clit head on, pushing his tongue forward and letting it slither down your cunt. It curls around like a ribbon, the wide part of his tongue rolling down your clit as the tip curls back to your entrance, rimming your dripping hole. He teases you for a few moments before diving the tip of his tongue into your warmth, keeping the middle of his tongue pressed against your clit.

You let out a gasp as he enters you, and he gives a low pleased hum into your dripping cunt in return. His tongue slithers further into your warmth, the thick of his tongue continuing to graze your clit.

You start to grind down on him again but the tentacles around your legs climb further up your thighs, securing your hips as the ends continue spreading your cunt open for him. You give a whine, and he complies by pushing his tongue in and out of you, fucking you while stimulating your clit.

Your toes curl under his suckers and the moans are falling from your lips without thought as he tastes you.

When you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, cheeks flushed and breaths shallow, he’s eyeing you the same way he had eyed the meals you brought him. Free tentacles twitch in excitement as his hungry gaze follows his prey.

The corners of his mouth curl into a smile as he quickens the movement of his tongue, causing you to pull against the tentacles restraining your limbs, desperate moans leaving your parted lips.

He retracts his tongue, an arrogant laugh leaving him as he leaves your dripping cunt rutting into the air.

He licks another deep stripe against your entire cunt one more time, letting his nose swipe against your slit as he drags up. His eyes roll once he retracts his tongue again, a sinful moan leaving him.

“You taste so sweet, meine perle.”

You let out a whimper, rutting your hips in desperation at the sudden lack of touch. He gives another pleased hum as he sits up on the bed, eyeing you from above.

A free tentacle creeps between the mattress and your middle, and when you obediently arch your back he coils an additional appendage around your waist. He hauls you into the air with ease, the four tentacles on your limbs still spreading and supporting you. The tentacle on your injured hand, still less taut than his restraints, slithers up further to keep your wrist in-line with the rest of your arm in absence of the support of the mattress.

He puts you above his head, cunt resting just above his head. He tilts his neck back before burying his tongue back into your cunt while keeping you in the air above him.

A squeak leaves you as you tense against him, unnerved by the sensation of being suspended in the air. Your worry melts to pleasure as he fucks his tongue into you, his tentacle restraints bouncing you up and down in rhythm with his slick tongue.

The jostling and the tentacle coiled firmly around your ribs allows the moans and squeaks to leave you with ease, and he hums in satisfaction at the cute little noises you’re making for him.

He retracts his tongue again, letting his hood drop, and you look to him with pinched brows - as if offended he revoked your pleasure.

“I could eat this cunt everyday and not get tired of it.” He says, and even though you can’t see his mouth you can tell he’s wearing a cocky grin.

You let out a pathetic little whine, giving a weak tug against his restraint.

“Don’t worry,” He says, almost mockingly, before you feel a thick tentacle slither up to tease your cunt, a relieved whimper escaping you.

He uses his thick appendage to swirl around in the slippery mixture of your own arousal, his slick, and spit. He uses the smooth side of his tentacle, curling it against your slit as he moves your restraints, forcing you to grind your dripping cunt on his tentacle. Two more free tentacles slither up your chest, cupping your tits and teasing your nipples with the ends of his slick appendages. He continues grinding you against him as he lays the two tentacles over your tits, a sucker on each covering your nipple and applying suction. The stimulation makes you gasp and pull against his restraints, overwhelmed with him sucking both your nipples and forcing your clit to grind on his thick appendage at the same time. Your squeaky and broken moans echo throughout the motel room.

“I’m just getting started with you.” He says, low and dangerous, “Make sure to save some of those pathetic whines.”

The thick tentacle swirling your cunt teases your entrance before impatiently slipping into you.

You let out a pornographic moan as he plunges into you. You’re sure it was loud enough for the neighboring rooms to hear but being filled up by Konig’s tentacle felt too incredible for you to care. His slick tentacle was thicker than anything a human could offer, and his suckers allowed for a ribbed sensation as he fucked his appendage in and on of you. His dexterity allowed him to find your g-spot with ease, the end of his tentacle massaging it as he fucks in and out of you.

Your eyes close at the overwhelming pleasure, weak and limp as he puppets you up and down on his tentacle.

He’s using all of his tentacles on you now, and you’re helpless to stop him as he removes the appendage that secured your waist and coiled it around your neck, close enough to graze your flesh but not yet applying pressure. Your eyes open at the touch, half-lidded in pleasure as you find his glowing stare. Even through the overwhelming stimulation, it’s an unnerving feeling having him wrap around your neck, reminding you of his power. He could end your life, easily, and there would be nothing you could do to stop him.

He slithers further around your neck, and you can help but shiver under his threatening touch. He sees your brows pinch in worry and his eyes squint. While his hood obscures his mouth you’re guessing it’s twisted into a smile, as if he knows what you’re thinking and had planted the idea on purpose, reigniting your fears before you get too lost in the pleasure.

There’s a sinful glint in his eye, “Do you trust me, meine perle?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, his tentacle tightens around your neck, cutting off your moans with a harsh gasp.

Your eyes widen in fear, your fingers scratching the air instinctively as you wiggle in his grasp.

The tentacle fucking your tight cunt doesn’t let up. You’re left with your mouth open as you ride him, the moans that would be coming out silenced by his tight grip on your airway. The lack of oxygen allows a fuzzy haze to cloud your brain, and suddenly you’re not even thinking about the danger or the tentacles restraining and choking you. All you can think about is the sensation of your cunt being teased and fucked as your nipples are milked by his suckers. You let your body go limp in his grasp, no longer anxious for release. You’re still looking at him, but he’s getting farther and farther away, your vision blurring his bold silhouette.

He waits for your eyelids to unevenly flutter shut before he loosens his grip, keeping his tentacle looped around your neck like a scarf.

Your first sharp inhale is involuntary, followed by desperate sharp gasps for air. He continues pounding your cunt, his tentacle diving further into you, stretching you open as you return from your haze.

His smug snicker progresses to a deep hum of satisfaction.

He gives no warning before he cuts off your air again, watching as you fight against his restraints while managing the overstimulating pleasure.

“I like watching you struggle, meine perle.”

He takes a moment to look you over, watching you tense and feebly wriggle against his strong grip. He soaks in the look of concern and arousal on your features. You fade away quicker this time, eyes going cross as you zero in on the tentacle fucking your soaked cunt, suckers clinging to your walls as he massages your g-spot.

“I’d feel bad about it, but I know you like it too.”

He releases his grip on your neck, tentacle unfurling and leaving behind a necklace of clear slick and imprints of his suckers. You’re sputtering and coughing as he allows you breath, struggling to steady yourself as you’re bounced up and down on his thick tentacle.

Once you catch your breath you’re giving him breathy moans again, tensing beneath the tentacles on your limbs.

“Look how aroused you get when I threaten your life. This tight little cunt is so wet.”

One of the smaller tentacles that extends from under his hood runs circles on your pulsing clit. The tentacle that had retracted from your neck traces a line down your spine, stopping to rim your ass.

Your eyes widen at him as he slicks up the entrance of your hole. You’re nervous about anal, but you don’t find your voice to stop him. He slips a slick tip in, allowing you time to relaxing on just a few inches as he continues working the rest of you.

You were right about him being good at multitasking. It’s a lot to handle a once, your clit being teased, cunt pounded, nipples being sucked, and ass being stretched around the end of his appendage, all while being restrained and unable to relieve the tension building inside your body.

You’re lost to the stimulation, moans and expletives and sweet nothings pouring from your mouth in jumbles.

Konig’s enjoying the show, reveling that he’s made you come undone under his power. The mess he was making over you, covering you in his slick and getting you drunk off his touch.

A white heat steadily builds underneath your skin, pooling to your lower abdomen.

“Konig! It’s too much- it’s too much I’m gonna -"

“Come for me meine perle.”

The waves of pleasure rip through you, convulsing in his grip as you come. Konig doesn’t let up as he fucks you through orgasm. Mercilessly pounding your cunt with his thick tentacle while you clench at the intense euphoria.

“There you go, so good for me.”

You let out a strangled moan, hands searching for something to grab onto for stability but they come up empty, straining against his restraints while powerless to the pleasure.

“Konig - please.” You manage out between your broken moans and meaningless stuttering.

He gives another low hum of approval and he still doesn’t let up, the tentacles still working all your sensitivities.

“Not done with you yet, meine perle.” He warns, and you let out a whine in response.

You’re quivering in his touch now, futilely arching away from him, your pleasure turning to over-sensitivity.

“‘s too much.” You mutter out, shaking in his grip and too weak to escape his touch.

“I know, but you’re going to take it for me, aren’t you meine perle?”

You let out another whine in response, twitching at the stimulation that was turning nearly painful.

He offers some relief by removing the smaller tentacle from your clit, but he keeps the rhythm of both tentacles inside you, filling you up and forcing you to bounce on him. He continues teasing your nipples with his suckers, enjoying watching your back arch desperately as you squirm under the sensitivity.

You keep his gaze, teeth still grit at the overstimulation, eyes pleading.

He removes the tentacle from your cunt as he holds you steady, no longer bouncing you but still teasing your ass as he undoes his belt. He pulls it free with one firm tug, discarding it with the rest of your clothes.

His hands ease his zipper down and he takes his time, amused by your expression seeped in curiosity, desperation, and awe. He inches his pants down enough to expose his genitalia.

A fleshy appendage, a few inches longer than what a standard human male would have, springs to attention from the waistband of his clothes. The entire appendage was a uniform deep pink with no head. The shape reminded you of another tentacle, larger at the base and ending in a slick tip. Slight indents that ran up the sides of his shaft.

He lets you admire him for a few moments before he lines your used cunt with his appendage, plunging into you without mercy.

You let out a loud moan at being filled again, and he rock his hips, letting his appendage grind in you as you sit on his full length.

“Shh,” he whispers teasingly, “Don’t want anyone finding out how much of a desperate slut you are for me, hm?”

He brings the tentacle that had occupied your cunt up to your lips, and you obediently open your mouth to let his tentacle slip in, silencing you as you suck on the end, tasting the mixture of your arousal and his slick.

Your moans and whines are muffled by his tentacle as he pounds into you, his restraints moving you up and down in rhythm with his hips, meeting your hips in the middle as he fills you up.

He lets out a low growl that shoots a tingle of excitement down your spine.

“This pussy feels even better than I thought. So fucking tight, meine perle.” His pace quickens, now pounding ruthlessly into your soaked cunt.

His hands find your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as he guides you on his appendage. The tentacles supporting you allow you to lift almost all the way off him before forcing you down his entire length over and over again.

The moans are pouring from you again, but gagged by the appendage fucking your mouth - slick, arousal, and spit dripping down your chin.

When he pulls his appendage away from your cunt, the rest of thick tentacles still work your ass and nipples as he works to flip you over. He forces you into an all-fours position in front of him, letting you rest your forearms and knees on the duvet, his restraints staying firm on your limbs as he bends them into position as if you’re his doll.

You obediently arch your back and lower you head down on the mattress, sticking your ass into the air. He can see you spread open from behind, and he watches the tentacle work your tight little ass as he shifts to his knees behind you.

He gives you a firm smack on the ass with his hand, huffing in amusement at your shocked gasp around his tentacle gag. He gives you a few more, alternating cheeks as the sound of flesh on flesh echoes throughout the motel room.

He hums in amusement at the squeaks that come from your gagged mouth.

“Such a naughty perle,” He teases in his arrogant tone, “Always putting yourself in danger, hm?”

You whine, fingers clawing at the duvet as you brace yourself, flushing at the idea someone might hear your punishment.

He stops not long after, leaving behind his handprints on your flushed cheeks. He’s getting impatient, so when he lines his appendage back up with you he slides in without warning, hands finding your hips for grip as he slides in and out of you.

He’s too excited, he can’t refrain from letting his hips flush with your pink sore ass.

The tip of his appendage curls forward inside of you, massaging your g-spot as he fills you.

He doesn’t let up, keeping a steady rhythm with his hips and all of the tentacles working you. Your tits groped, nipples sucked by his tentacles, mouth and both holes filled and fucked - it’s overwhelming enough to make you go limp in his hold, not a single thought occupying you as you mindlessly work your tongue around the tentacle gagging your mouth. You’re too focused on the pleasure, how good it feels to be at his mercy.

“Watching you got me so excited, meine perle.” He says though heavy breaths, his grip tightening on your hips, “I’m already getting close.”

His thrusts get more intense, and you think you’d be yelling if you hadn’t been gagged. You probably wouldn’t have been able to warn him about your second finish even if you hadn’t been silenced, too cockdrunk off the overstimulation to properly string together a coherent sentence.

Your cunt clenches around him as another orgasm rips through you, causing your muscles to tense in his restraint.

He lets out a hearty moan, his thrusts becoming slightly uneven as he struggles to keep his composure in your tight walls.

He comes everywhere, his finish not only marking his claim deep in your cunt, but also from each of his tentacles, tips releasing his come into your ass and mouth while coating your tits and spread cunt.

He twitches inside you throughout his finish, fingers digging into your hips as he gives a few light thrusts, milking every drop of his finish into your filled cunt.

You’re still limp when he finally pulls away with a strained moan, his tentacles placing you down gentle on the mattress. You’re on cloud nine, too high from your finishes to be able to support yourself. You let the mattress support you, basking in the warmth of the afterglow, bliss settling over you as you recover.

He gives another hum of satisfaction at the sight, having completely unraveled you and marked you with his seed. He leans down to plant a kiss through his hood on your back, his hands giving a light squeeze on your hips as he props himself up next to you. He runs his fingers up and down your back, swirling through the clear slick his tentacles had left behind.

He lets you rest for a few moments, waiting for your breathing to settle before a tentacle gently drapes across you.

“How about we get you cleaned up, meine perle?”

You let out a dazed hum of approval, letting his tentacles coil around you to carry you to the shower. He presses you to his chest, your head resting against him as he cradles your back and the crease of your knees.

When your eyes flutter open, and you meet his glowing stare, your face stretches into a warm sleepy smile. He unwraps your bandages carefully, and he doesn’t let you lift a finger once you’re both in the cramped bathroom, standing outside of the tub as he scrubs you down. You exchange little words, both of you still basking in the afterglow.

He takes his time wiping the slick and come off your skin, easing around the flushed marks his suckers had left behind on you.

It’s soothing - the warm water embracing you, and Konig smoothing a washcloth over your skin. Intimate, even, how he’s washing your upper arms as he holds your hand with his free hand, watching you while you relax into the water. He’s extra gentle with your injured wrist as he cleans you.

He’s in no hurry as he cleans your middle and legs, enjoying the glisten of the water on your plush breasts and thighs. He thumbs the bubbles on your skin under his soft grip.

He even washes your hair, his large hands massaging your scalp as he runs the suds through. He’s careful not to get soap in your eyes when he rinses the bubbles from your hair, using a tentacle to shield your forehead as he guides your head back under the stream of the shower, disregarding the water spraying all off the motel bathroom floor.

He’s being so careful with you, so sweet and soft, it was a jarring contrast to the Konig that had been ruthlessly pounding you moments before or the Konig you’d come to know trapped in his cell.

Once you were all clean, he shut off the showers with its noisy clunk of old pipes, he was quick to wrap one of the motel towels around your dripping body before he carried you back to the beds. When he stilled you meet his eyes, resting your hand on his chest.

“Guess we’ll have to share a bed.” He says in his cocky tone as you follow his gaze to the mattress, thoroughly soiled and stained from your session.

You roll your eyes at him, giving a soft tap on his chest in your disapproval of his corny flirting, but the smile on your face betrays any hope of hiding your enamor.

His eyes squint from under his hood with a smile, you assume, as he carries you to the bed with his strong arms.

It’s not easy for a being with tentacles shooting from his spine to cuddle. He wasn’t designed for cozy naps and soft embraces, but he does what he can. He presses against the pillows sitting up, at an angle to leave space between the headboard and his back for his tentacles to settle. He nestles you at his side, keeping your head on his chest as your arm rests against over his core. Your leg props up on his as you rest the side of your body on the mattress.

His arm wraps snuggly around your back, fingers making soft circles at your curve.

You’re already halfway to sleeps clutches when you mumble into his chest.

“Thank you, Konig.”

“Thank you, meine perle.”

———————————————————-

If you enjoyed this fic, you may enjoy…

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN - Loser!Konig x Reader - Konig & Reader must compete in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death. (122k word slow burn)

Original Works Masterlist

8K notes · View notes

lymtw · 5 months

Text

Toji who's a huge fan of the long socks and workout shorts combination on you. You don't only wear the outfit to workout. Sometimes, you wear it because it's as comfortable as pajamas but more casual to wear out than pajamas, and because you get impatient while waiting for Toji to come home, you can do anything in it. Cleaning, reading, watching TV, anything.

It's always the same scenario every time you wear the outfit. Toji ravages you—completely ruins you every time. He thought you would've caught on to his routine, by now, but there you were again, wearing those tiny red shorts. Your long white socks that reached just below your knees hugged your legs perfectly, two red stripes adorning the tops of them.

Toji sighs, shutting his eyes before bumping his forehead, lightly, into the doorframe a couple times. He's feral about the way you look, and you don't even realize it.

You gasp, a smile taking over your features at the sight of your man. "Baby!" you squeal, excitedly. You crawl towards the end of the bed, ready to leap into his arms like you usually do, but you only managed to make it to the center before he put a hand up, halting your movements. You sit back, your knees bent. "I didn't notice you were back, already. I... I missed you," you say, a softness in your tone that is attached to your concern for Toji's mood. Normally he looks at you with a boyish grin when you freak out about him being home, but he's looking at you so seriously this time. "Is everything okay?" You ask, as he ambles towards you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Toji, please, say something," you say, your heart starting to race with every step he takes.

He climbs onto the bed, crawling towards you. Silently, be grabs ahold of your ankle, lifting your foot towards his face so he can kiss it from your heel to the tips of your toes. You look at him while stifling a grin, wondering what's going through his mind for him to be acting this way. "That's nasty, Toji," you giggle, not making any sort of attempt to pull away your foot.

"Not as nasty as what I wanna do to you," he says, as he continues to run his kisses along your legs, his hands slowly moving up and down your shins and calves, before stopping where your socks end, an inch below your knees.

"These new?" Toji asks, tracing the red stripes on your right sock.

You nod, beaming with joy. "It came in a pack of five."

He hums, satisfied with the new information. There will be more of this in the future. "You needed every color, huh?" His lips continued their exploration, now feeling your soft thighs against them.

"There were other colors in a different pack, but I thought of you when I chose the pack that I got. It had a pair of socks with blue stripes, and I know you're fond of the color. So... yeah. That was my deciding factor." You laugh, a sound that makes Toji's lips twitch as he reaches your inner thighs.

"Always thinking of me, huh? Even when you're choosing socks." His green eyes focus on you as he continues to kiss your inner thighs, leaving behind a slightly painful memento.

"Kind of, yeah." You wince at the sharpness of his teeth sinking into your thigh for a quick second, before he laps and sucks on the indentation. "What, baby?" You look down at him with a slightly scrunched nose.

"There, there. Just leaving a little something behind on you." Toji's lips form a sly grin as you watch him, intently, even then, you didn't expect his next move. You gasp when he slides his face up between your legs, his sharp nose adding some pressure to the ache growing in your cunt. His tongue peeked out and followed the same path, leaving a damp stripe on the crotch area of your shorts. You shudder at how he doesn't stop there, your cunt throbbing when you feel his hands push up your shirt. He's kissing up your abdomen, starting beneath your bellybutton and ending at your sternum.

Your fingers run through his hair, eliciting a quiet groan from him with every gentle graze of your nails against his scalp. His hair is soft between your fingers and it messily spikes in whichever direction you brush it.

Toji pushes up the elastic band of your lacy bralette over your breasts, immediately burying his face between them. He was ruled by his obsessive desire for you in that moment, the heat of your soft skin against him minimally satiating the hunger he had for you. His mouth latched onto your right nipple while his hands roamed beneath your shorts, feeling up the backs of your thighs before giving your ass a squeeze.

"Baby..." you cooed, a sweet little grin on your lips as Toji rolled your nipple around his tongue. You could feel him subtly grinding his hard on against you, the act making your cunt pulse with need. There were shuddered breaths of desperation coming from him, his quiet groans muffled as he sucked on your nipples. You wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles on his lower back. You used your heels to nudge a little bit of his shirt up, his skin instantly warming the cotton material of your sock.

With a wet pop, he released your nipple and looked at you. In his eyes, you could see how much he wanted you, how badly he wanted to be inside you, already.

"You make my blood boil, you know that?" His face is inches away from yours. "It's like every time I come home with the pure intention of being soft and shit with you, you ruin it by making my dick hard."

You giggle, cupping his face. "I swear, I'm not even trying. I'm just here, waiting for you. Is this your way of saying you miss me?"

Toji chuckles. "What makes you say that?" He brings his hands out of from beneath your shorts, hooking his wrists around your hips to drag you even closer. Your legs readjust around his waist, your ankles locking in place again.

"Nothing in particular," you say, a saccharine tone decorating your voice. You have an inkling that he does miss you when he's gone for longer than intended. You feel more confident in your inkling when he comes home and the first thing he does is weigh your body down with his. This time was a good example.

"Maybe... I just wanna hear you say it." Your lips curl into an enticing smile. One that has Toji admiring how pretty your lips shine with that lipgloss you're wearing. "Just for me?" you whisper to him, tracing his jawline with your thumb.

Without hesitance, Toji responded to your want. "I missed you," he says, quietly, just to you, like you asked. His heart thumps rapidly as he takes in your reaction to the small confession. Your eyes were more brilliant than before, and you're smiling like a girl who's been told her crush likes her back.

"Yeah? Wanna say it again?" you ask, giddily. He looks you dead in the eyes, a deadpan expression lingering on his features. "Just one more time," you beg.

"Where are your manners, doll?" He cracked a grin at the way your body jolted slightly when his voice returned. "Haven't heard a single 'please' slip past those lips."

You giggle, your twinkling eyes apologizing for your rudeness. "Please, Toji," you plead, again, your voice light and airy.

Toji sighs, not having the heart to deny you when you look at him like that. He can physically feel how much you love him. "I missed you, my pretty girl," he repeats, kissing the column of your neck, lightly bruising you with his lips. "So fuckin' much, and I know you can tell."

"Mhm." You giggle as he drags his lips further across your neck, to the side of it

"You feel that?" He says lowly beneath your ear, dragging his clothed hardness between your legs. "You want it?"

"Mhm..." you hum, holding back a moan. "Yes, Toji."

"Good, 'cause i'm gonna give it to you. Gonna give it to you real good, mama," he purrs.

"Toji!" you shriek, kicking lightly at his back when he nibbles on your ear. He chuckles at the little goosebumps that appear on your waist, his rough hands attempting to smooth them down only to make more of them rise up.

"This little getup always gets you into trouble. Always wonder how you breathe when it fits so... tight. It's like another layer of skin, doll."

"I feel pretty in it," you murmur into his ear, your palms rubbing his shoulder blades.

"You are pretty in it. Look like a pretty little cheerleader."

"A cheerleader?" You laugh.

"Mhm, my own personal cheerleader. Always chanting my name, and wearing those pretty skirts and shorts. Those long, striped socks... mmm. Motivating me in the best way, baby."

He pulls back to remove his shirt. The sight of his sculpted muscles never failed to make your pussy wet, even when you've seen him completely naked so many times. You'll never get used to the godlike body beneath his clothes.

"You're staring, princess. What?"

You cover your eyes, a bitten back smile on your face. "Sorry, didn't know you were off limits to my eyes. Won't look at you again. Guess i'll just feel it when you're inside me."

"Aw, come on. I was kidding." He pries your hands off your eyes. "Watch me, and do the same."

You follow his lead and pull off your shirt, your bralette following shortly after. Toji waited for you to catch up to him, his eyes taking in the sight of your exposed upper body for a few seconds before working his pants off. You did the same, pulling down your shorts.

"Baby," you laugh, waiting for him to keep going. His hand goes to your stomach, rubbing your soft skin.

"Just getting a good look at you, doll." His eyes rake up and down your frame, before he clicks his tongue. "You're a real heartbreaker, you know that?"

"Yeah? Whose heart did I break?" You grin, just a little bit amused at the new information.

"Anybody who's ever seen you passing by. Even Shiu has spoken out about how be wants to pounce on you." You catch the way he rolls his eyes at the mention of someone else lusting over you. Someone he knows and works with frequently. "Man practically cries every time I leave work 'cause he knows you're home waiting for me, not him."

You giggle, gently grabbing Toji's hand off your stomach, moving your grip onto his wrist. "Shiu won't ever get to see me this way. All of this..." you splay his hand on your neck, dragging it down your chest, down your abdomen, before hooking his fingers into your underwear and pulling down as you guide his hand lower. "...is a secret between me and you."

Toji swallows the saliva that pools in his mouth, slipping his boxers off so fast.

You giggle at his inability to look away. "Want me to keep the socks on?"

"Whatever..." he says, mindlessly, entranced by your effortless ways of being sultry. He crawls back onto you, quickly revoking your privilege to have any personal space. "Shiu isn't the only one who will never see you like this. No one, but me, will ever see you like this." He cups your jaw, holding your already attentive focus. "Need to hear you say it, ma. I'm so serious, right now."

You pull his hand away from your jaw, bringing it to your mouth. Your tongue comes out to lick a line straight down the middle of his hand, from the bottom of his palm, to the tips of his middle and ring fingers. Your lips went down his hand, again, this time peppering kisses along the line you made with your tongue. "No one will ever see me the way you do. I just sealed my promise into your hand, so if you ever cheat on me, your hand is gonna split in half."

"That right?"

You nod, not a crack of a smile on your face, to show that you're just as serious.

"You're pretty powerful. What happens to all that power when you're under me? Like this."

"It's still there. Just... weakened."

"Yeah?" He says, softly, kissing along your jawline. "I'm your weakness?"

"Mhm," you mumble, relishing in the warmth of his hands as they work up and down your waist, occasionally squeezing.

"That's why we work. 'Cause you're strong enough to irreversibly punish me for committing adultery, but at the same time, you're debilitated by me."

Your breathing becomes a little more noticeable to Toji as he continues to nibble and suck on the skin of your jaw. He's working you up just by reminding you of how easy it would be to put you in your place.

You whimper as he runs his tip through your folds, the messy mixture of your and his arousal making it easy for him to glide through at a teasing pace.

"So soft, and all for me, huh?"

"Mhm..." you hum, sultrily. Your hands go to Toji's shoulders, waiting for the initial stretch of his cock when it prods into you.

Now was the time when Toji's nightly question would be answered. Would you cry or would you hold out when he put it in? Most of the time, you spared a couple tears for him, and Toji would always comfort you by making you giggle or praising you for how well you were doing. This time he was being carried by his possessive feelings. Not to say he wasn't going to comfort you, he just wouldn't be making you laugh.

His tip glided up and down at your entrance, further making you squirm beneath Toji. "Gonna need your eyes on me, mama. Just look at me," he says, still guiding his tip until you make eye contact. The tip nudges its way in, Toji's gaze not wavering from yours.

"Shh... you're fine," he coos at the sound of your whines when he starts thrusting, slowly. "You're okay, it's just the tip," he murmurs. "I know you want more than this, princess. We both know it takes more to satisfy you, huh?" You nod, frantically, in agreement. "Yeah? So, let's give you some more," he says, pushing in another couple inches of his length.

"Hey, eyes on me, look at me." His face is nose length away from yours. He can hear the short little breaths you release from the added inches inside you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for Toji to feel them. "Doll face... I'm working my way into you," he says quietly, like it's only meant for you to hear. Not even the walls were allowed to get in on this secret. "Know you can feel me pretty deep in there, already, but you know how selfish I am about you." He groans, the first sound of pleasure he didn't holding back. "Gonna take up more of you. Gonna be even deeper inside."

Toji was silently proud of you. No tears, so far, just little whimpers and breathy moans. "Always been so good... mmm... so fucking good to me, mama. What's another time, hm?" He purrs, kissing your face more erratically as he withheld himself from thrusting deeper before you were ready. "Gonna be good and let me destroy this pretty pussy?"

"Y-Yes, please, Toji," you whine, the ache in your cunt more prominent when he verbalizes what he wants to do to it.

"First you gotta take the whole thing. Still got a ways to go, mama."

"Faster, please, Toji. Put the rest in. I can take it."

His steady, comfortable pace is tested. He's tempted to ram the rest of his cock into you, and see those pretty eyes well up with tears from how deep he is.

"You sure?" He asks, to which you bite your lip and nod. He looked at you like you had just signed away your soul to him. His green eyes possessed so much lust behind them, but he still had it in him to hold back for one more question of security. "You would tell me if I was hurting you, right? 'Cause, you know, pretending isn't cool, ma."

"Shh... I want you so bad, Toji, it's not even funny. Like we've talked about before, I'll scream 'safe' at the top of my lungs if it doesn't feel right." You smile, caressing his cheek with your right hand. "You know, it's so hot when you take care of me."

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss you. The kiss grew lustful, immediately, egging on the fluidity of his hips against you. With every roll of his hips, he slipped more of his length into you, your wetness appearing further down his cock after every few thrusts. You could feel him driving deeper and deeper inside you, and it was intense. Your nails dragged along his skin, and you couldn't keep up with his kisses anymore, your whimpers sounding through the lock of your lips.

"Feel that? Feel me deep inside you?" Toji murmurs to you, holding your face in his hands. You felt suffocated by him—by his proximity. You felt smothered by his touch—by the hold he had on your jaw. If you moved more than an inch, your face would meet his. It made you feel dizzy, like every breath you took was stolen back by him. All of this to distract you from the rest of his cock being sheathed into you, swiftly, to get it over with.

"Fuck, it's all in, mama. Made it fit, again. We're clicked."

Your eyes are shut, light puffs of air leaving you, and a slight furrow in your brows at the tight feeling in your cunt. You're filled to the brim with Toji, and you can feel the effect it has on him with all the throbbing his cock does inside you. Making his dick fit inside you is something Toji always takes pride in. It shows how much you trust him with your body, and it proves his effort of trying to bring pleasure for not just him, but you as well. He knows it's hard to take his dick without feeling like you're being torn through, if you aren't prepared enough, so you letting him stuff you is a trust exercise every time.

"We're c-clicked?" You ask, slowly opening your eyes.

"That's right." Toji smirks, watching the way you test how far in he is by pushing your hips towards him. "Greedy girl, that's all of it."

"No- I didn't mean-" you groan, flustered by the resting cocky expression on Toji's face.

He pulls his hips back, pushing his cock back into you, quickly. "See? Clicked."

The act makes you gasp, unsettling your breathing.

"That reaction tells me everything, baby. Can't be greedy for more when you can barely handle what you have." His hips start thrusting into you as he grabs at your chest, his hands kneading your breasts. "You can beg for more dick when you can take mine without tearing up. 'Til then, you get me."

You pant, reaching out to grab some part of him, but failing. Instead you twist your claws into the sheets, pulling them into a messy clump in your fists.

You like when Toji fucks you this way. When he's facing you, you get to see his handsome face and the lust that goes into his movements. It does make you nervous, and your heart starts beating faster when he stares into your soul, but it makes your orgasms so much better knowing he's watching your every move.

Toji puts one of your legs over his shoulders, his thrusts picking up their pace as your moans get louder and needier. His hand holds your ankle steady so he can kiss along the red stripes of your socks.

"Fuck..." he hisses. "Fuck, mama, you're squeezing the hell out of me."

"T-Toji, Toji! A-Ah, fuck, Toji!" you moaned, feeling his merciless cock prod every inch of your insides. Your pussy fit around Toji's dick like a snug glove, pulsing and throbbing with short-lived vacancy every time he slid it out before ramming it back in. You could feel your slick start to trickle down from where you and Toji connected.

"Love when you say my name like that, princess. Let me hear you again," he says, grunting as he continues on the brutal pace of his hips. He spots the flush of embarrassment on your face as no sound but your restless breathing and beating hearts, fill the room. "Aw, don't be shy." He chuckles, breathlessly. "Tell me how much you love it, sweetheart. Who makes you feel like this, hm?" Toji knows that's his ticket to getting anything from you. Sweetheart. He slips in that sugary title of endearment, and suddenly you lose your will to deny him of anything.

To wind you up a little more, he thumbed at your clit, instantly spiking your pleasure. You jolted, letting out a choked moan while pushing your hips back into the mattress. "T-Toji..." you called, breathily. "Hold..." you swallowed, high pitched moans leaving you from the swirling pleasure you felt, "...hold on..."

"What? You gonna cum or something?" He teased, not letting up on your clit. "I dare you to cum," he said with dark lidded eyes, that narrowed their focus on your pleasure filled expression. He continued the stimulation, his thumb still rubbing at your buzzing clit while he thrusted into your velvety smooth cunt.

"Feels good, huh?" He asks, grunting as he brings you closer to the edge of your first orgasm. He slides in and out of you, rapidly, hitting all the vital spots within you that turn your body fluid as you cum around him. Your body becomes a wave, starting with the roll of your hips, chasing all the stimulation being given to you so you can ride out that incomparable feeling of sexual satisfaction. The wave then flows to your torso where your back arches off the mattress from all the pleasure coursing through you, before dying at your heaving chest as it rises and falls seemingly endlessly with every passion filled moan and cry you let out.

Toji groans as you pulse around him, clenching and unclenching with newborn sensitivity. It's an unwelcome feeling, one that has you whining for Toji to give you a second to come down, to which he complies. He gives your pussy a rest, but that doesn't stop him from feeling up the rest of your body. He works to stiffen your nipples again, brushing his fingertips lightly against the buds to see how quickly they rise and how puffy they can get. You squirm at the feeling, to which Toji chuckles.

His hands glide over your shoulders, following the slope of your neck, before gently cupping the sides of it. He can feel the bone in your neck beneath his thumbs as he lightly presses into it. Something about this level of control has his cock throbbing inside you, aching to get moving again.

"Toji?" You call, snapping him out of his little daydream.

"Oh, uh... shit, my bad," he mumbles, pulling his hands away. You grab his wrists and put his hands back, allowing him to place them around your neck again.

"Could've just said you wanted to play with my life. I'll let you do it. You know i'm open minded." You smile, too softly for what you're permitting Toji to do.

He wanted to start fucking into you again. The throbbing of his cock was already unbearable, but with the filthiness you just spewed out about letting him play with your life...? It was enough to test his resolve.

"Come on," you pant, as he starts thrusting into you again. "A little harder, daddy... Want you to make me feel lightheaded."

"Oh, fuck... you...," Toji almost moans as he thrusts into your warm, wet heat, again. "...you wanna die?" He groans, his hands twitching with the delicacy of your neck in them. He knew he wouldn't last long with this other side of you coming out to play. The way you mindlessly say the things he never expects, it kills him.

You squeak at the feeling of Toji dragging his hand down to your chest. He roughly paws at your boobs with one hand while the other takes over the entirety of you neck. You giggled, your clouded mind brimming with lustful thoughts. "Anything to make you cum, baby... You choose to not let me walk sometimes, so why not cut my oxygen for a couple seconds?"

Toji's hand was a little heavier on your neck now. Your heart started going into overdrive, your jaw hanging as you let out labored breaths that merged into sweet moans.

"Freak." Toji muttered, panting as he neared his peak.

You scoff. "Acting like you didn't turn me into this." You giggle, gently running your nails down his arms.

He breathes out a chuckle. "Gonna make me cum, mama."

"Already?" You whine, rolling your hips into him in assistance.

"You..." he groans, moving his hands down to your hips so he can pull you into his thrusts. "You can't say that when you came first."

"Joking, joking... Wanna cum on my tits? Think of it as..." you gasp sharply, feeling warm fluid shoot into you.

"Fuck, oh fuck..." Toji groans, heavy breaths released into the air as he rutted short but rapid thrusts into your squelching cunt. He managed to bring you to another orgasm with those rapid little thrusts. Sweat beaded down his temples and dripped down his neck as he found himself just grinding into you, no longer thrusting. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest and in your ears, your moans harmonizing with Toji's as you both stilled in each other's vice-like grip. His hands returned to the sides of your neck, and he got to focus on the effect it had on you, your cunt fluttering around him. You held onto him by dragging your nails across his wrists and digging your heels into his back. You could feel Toji's cum leaking out through whatever sliver of space he left in you. It drooled down your ass and onto the sheets.

You both stared at each other with looks of utter infatuation, no words exchanged, just heavy breathing as you tried to come down from the feeling of mutually delivered ecstasy. Toji wanted to kiss you, you wanted to hold him close, and as if you could communicate telepathically with each other, you got both in one. He laid down on you and pressed kisses all around your lips before finally centering his lips on yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and your hands trailed up to comb through his sweaty locks. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and he kept his hands on your thighs to pin them there.

Toji went flaccid inside you from how long you spent kissing and whispering love drunk nothings to each other. You decided to get cleaned up by taking a bath together. Normally, Toji was more of a shower kind of guy, but you made him reconsider with the promise of soapy boobs.

"You're an animal, baby. A pair of striped socks, some shorts and a t-shirt gets you going?"

Toji chuckles, leaning back against the edge of the tub. "What do you want me to say? It's a you thing."

You giggle at the little squeeze he offers your waist beneath the bubbles that submerged you and him.

"Really, ma. You could be wearing one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes and i'd still wanna fuck you." He leans in close, his lips right against your ear. "But... wear those new blue, striped long socks, put on some blue skin tight shorts, one of those t-shirts, and a little bow in your hair... around me?" He sighs, the light breath grazing the shell of your ear. "I'll make sure you have to depend on me to get around the house for days."

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