#the sound I made was completely involuntary

[renaiswriting]

Shadows of desire (part 15)

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan/Reader

Summary:

You always thought the only romance you would experiment with in your life was the one between pages under the flames at midnight. That was until you found him, because the feel of his fangs digging into your neck was more than addictive.

Word count: +2.4k words

Warnings: mentions of blood, burning and pain. I think that's all.

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An icy finger was moving the hair that was falling over your closed eyes, and it wasn't until you felt the digit of his finger gently rubbing between your eyebrows that you realized you were frowning.

 

The cold finger was only part of the reason you felt like you had goosebumps covering all of your body.

 

It felt like your whole body was resting on a large chunk of ice; it was firm and held you tightly, as if it were afraid that if it loosened its grip on your waist a little, your whole body would start to melt.

 

Your teeth chattered loudly. You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying to stop the trembling a little, and it partially worked.

 

The original finger had been joined by four others, sliding delicately across the creases of your face. Outlining the contours of your lips and the bridge of your nose.

 

You tried to pull away, wanting to find some warmth outside of the icy grip, but a sharp pain in your neck forced you to abandon such a mission.

 

"Shhh," a thick voice whispered. Even feeling the warm breath close to your ear, the voice sounded distant, almost as if it were speaking from across the room. It sounded weak, almost without energy.

 

"Mmh?" You were able to ask, but your throat made it hard to speak, and even making sounds took much of your effort.

 

Your eyes were heavy, but with what little you had been able to see through the coarse line that had been created between your eyelids, you were in complete darkness.

 

You wanted to cry, but you didn't even have the strength for that.

 

"Does anything hurt?" The voice asked, and fingers quickly came to rest on your chin, moving slightly in the direction of what you suspected was his face. You let out an involuntary moan of pain.

 

Fingers rested on your aching neck, and for the first time, the coldness emanating from that body was welcomed by your own.

 

You tried to speak, but your dry throat could only emit a sound as wrenching as the pain you were feeling. Almost as much as the throbbing headache you had begun to notice was present every time you moved your head in the slightest.

 

"Don't speak," the voice hastened to instruct you. "Point it out to me."

 

Your eyes slowly opened, blurry figures welcoming you into a completely dark place except for a small window that could be no bigger than the palm of your hand, which was almost at the end of the wall, touching the ceiling.

You could witness a dark light, so you determined that it was soon to get dark.

 

How long had you been there? You had no idea.

 

A pair of thin, icy lips touched your forehead, placing a small kiss there. "You're alive." The voice sighed, sounding relieved.

 

Your eyes finally focused on Jeonghan's long blond hair; it looked much more unkempt than the last time you had seen it, and you wondered if this was also a creation of your mind, if you had finally gone without return to no sanity, and if, as many of the other children had told you as a child, you were going to follow the same fate as your mother.

 

But it felt so real.

 

So beautiful.

 

That for a few moments you didn't see what the problem with it would be.

 

You wanted to cry.

 

Maybe this shrinky moment would allow you to see your mother too? You didn't need much time; if that was an impediment, you just wanted a hug from her.

 

You missed her.

 

Very much.

 

The expression on Jeonghan's face slumped a little, and his shoulders slumped as if all the pressure in the world was there, resting on his back.

 

"What's wrong?" He whispered, his arms squeezed tighter around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest very carefully as he heard the first sob.

 

You wanted to open your mouth and tell him that nothing was happening, that the whole world was decaying in front of your very eyes, that you were afraid it was going to happen, that you wanted to run to your parents' bed like when you were a child and be held tight as you went back to sleep to protect yourself from the monsters, that you wanted him to promise you that it was real, that everything would be okay... But instead, hide your face in your hands with what little strength you had.

 

"(Y/N), it's okay, everything's okay, I'm here." Jeonghan whispered, stroking your hair, pulling it away from the wound on your neck. "Are you in any pain?"

 

You shook your head, pulling away from him after allowing yourself a few minutes of silence to compose yourself.

 

Your throat was so dry that even breathing made you ache. "Water," you asked as best you could. "Water, please." You repeated, afraid he couldn't hear you. You felt such desperation as if your life depended on every word and every second, and maybe, in a way, it did.

 

"I don't have any," Jeonghan swore, moving gently out of the place where you both were laying together. Your body shook when the icy feeling left your skin, but your heart ached for the feeling to come quickly back to you. "I have searched day by day and I couldn't find anything; they didn't give us anything. The little I could find in an old glass, I used it to try and clean your wound; it was kinda—er, it didn't look the best, and it was hard for me to be in this place with you like that." Jeonghan jumped really high, reaching the window and looking outside. You wanted to warn him that was dangerous but couldn't do more than a weak sound of protest. "I don't hear them here; I haven't heard anyone in a while now. They usually go to haunt at this hour since it is darker, but..." Jeonghan clicked his tongue, coming back to you. "Is your throat alright?"

 

"Just dry." You replied, sitting down.

 

"Slowly," Jeonghan mumbled, helping you. "Hi." He said with the same low and intimate voice, looking into your eyes. Even though the situation was awful and you were probably looking as bad as you were feeling, there was a small smile on his face.

 

"Hi." You mumbled back; the scene was so real that you were amazed by how well your mind worked. Even the wounds on his face couldn't take away his beauty. His hair fell on his eyes as if it were a curtain, and when your fingers reached out to touch it, you gasped at how real it felt. "How long are you going to be here before you disappear? I missed you so much."

 

"What are you talking about, love?" Jeonghan frowned, finally sitting down with you.

 

"I guess I finally lost my mind." You laughed, "It's okay. I guess this is better than nothing. I would rather be with an imaginary version of you than with not you at all."

 

"(Y/n), what are you talking about?" Jeonghan asked softly, "You're starting to scare me, love."

 

"Nothing," you reassured him, moving closer. "How long have we been here?"

 

"Around a week together, now you have been way longer on your own, and I got here a day or two later. I tried to find you and rescue you, but we'll, I guess that didn't work out as well as I expected." Jeonghan laughed with no humor at all.

 

"What happened when I left?"

 

"I got worried; I turned around, and you suddenly were nowhere to be found." Jeonghan started; his voice was chilling cold. "I started calling your name out loud, screaming so loud that I annoyed Soonyoung enough for him to start looking for you as well, we couldn't find anything but a slight scent of your perfume."

"I wanted to follow it, but it was almost morning and the sun was starting to make its way, so Soonyoung dragged me inside. He said I should wait until next night to follow it, that I couldn't go there on my own, but I couldn't help it; I was worried sick. Each minute inside my room meant a minute too late from rescue you, and I just couldn't stop thinking on the worst-case scenarios... So I waited until Soonyoung was busy enough to not pay me any attention to get outside the house and deep into the forest. Unfortunately, I didn't make it that far away before the burns on my skin were so bad that I was screaming. Soonyoung came in a second and dragged me back inside. He even told Vernon to keep an eye on me. I tried—trust me, I tried to come here quickly, to come back to you faster, but I just couldn't. Seungcheol apparently had already made it to their last stop before coming home and had managed to talk some vamoires into helping us, but it would take around another week for them to come back, and that was way too long. You could have been dead by the time they were back, so I took things into my own hands, and as soon as the sun was away, I escaped."

"I reached the house within hours, but in all that time I wasn't feeding well and my skin was still with pretty ugly burn spots; I was weaker than I thought; I put on a fight; don't take me wrong, but I found myself in this room way quicker than what I thought. That vampire, Mark I heard they called him and had your brother by his side. I tried to talk with him to warn him about what Mark was because, well, he was in danger, and so we're you, but your brother just stood there... It took me longer than I would love to admit it, but once I saw the dark eyes and the way there was dry blood in his lips, I knew we were dumbed. I thought maybe he was forced into drinking it—you know, some vamoires can be a little too—but then the night was coming to an end and suddenly he was being rushed inside the house."

 

"No." You shook your head. "Luke would never..."

 

"So I stayed here day and night, attempting to get out. But as the days passed, I wasn't feeding on anything; I still was starving and getting weaker and weaker. A vampire can't technically die by not feeding, but I felt as if I was dying. I was reaching the dying phase... And then I heard you screaming. I don't know where the strength came, but suddenly I was able to fight... Me, the one that minutes before couldn't even stand up. Anyways, once I got you out of here, you passed out, and I just kept taking care of you. I had to make sure you kept breathing at night because the temperature drops."

"No one came here; I did hear someone having a discussion downstairs, but I couldn't really make out what they were saying. I think someone left the house because after that, the whole place became so silent that it creeps me out." Jeonghan finished his story; his eyes were on the window, and for a fraction of a second you saw two birds flying freely. You never wished to be a bird as much as you did right there.

 

"What are we going to do?" You asked after a terrific thought had made its way into your mind, "Are we going to die in here? Am I going to die?"

 

"No." Jeonghan growled, "I will never let you die. Never. I kept you alive all these days, bearing with the burns that come from the sunlight through that window to let you die just like that. There's no way. We will get out of here somehow, even if it is the last thing I do."

 

"Then how are we going to get out of here? Not even the house; how are we going to escape this room?" You asked, feeling like the walls were closing. "How many of them are here?"

 

"Last time I checked around ten." Jeonghan sighed, throwing his hair out of his face frustrated. "Now there could be less, but I couldn't be sure."

 

"How many of them can we beat?"

 

"In our current situation? One, if he's weaker than me and we're lucky enough that he's a vegetarian."

 

"We can't beat them." You realized.

 

"Not alone." Jeonghan nodded.

 

"Seungcheol and the others," you remembered, "could come here and..."

 

"My scent would be gone by the time they got home; I doubt they would know where I went." Jeonghan punched his head. "I should have listened to Soonyoung; maybe I should have brought him or even written a note. I don't know; I was so stupid. I wasn't thinking."

 

"You're not stupid; this is my fault; I should never put a foot outside."

 

"It isn't." Jeonghan reassured, searching for your hand in the darkness of the room; you could barely make out his factions with the lack of light. His fingers interluded with yours, and the gesture was so comforting that for a second you thought you could make it out of this prison. "I should have kept an eye on you. I would have been out of your life; if anything, this is my fault, but I promise you, I will save you."

 

"If we want to make it out alive," you mumbled, almost as if it were a secret for you both and the moon to keep, "you need to drink."

 

Jeonghan stayed silent, and if it wasn't for his hand holding tightly your own, you would think that he had vanished.

 

You held it as tight as you could; you didn't care if it was hurting his fingers or yours; you were scared that your kind would give up on you for real and the ghost of Jeonghan would disappear forever.

 

"You're real, right?"

 

You felt two thin lips coming into gentle contact with your own. A hand caressed your right chin, and without knowing it, your lips were moving in a slow dance that you both seemed to know for lives before this one.

 

He was real.

 

He was going to save you.

 

You would be alright.

 

"I trust you." You mumbled against his lips. Moving the fabric that was covering your neck.

 

"You sure?" Jeonghan asked, moving his hand to the side of your neck that wasn't hurting.

 

"We need to get out of here, and you can't do it if you're weak."

 

Jeonghan took a deep breath before moving his mouth to the skin there, and you felt how your lungs were fighting for more air when you felt his fangs breaking the skin.

 

You both would be fine.

There was no coming back now.

[snow-dragon-rider]

The stormtroopers chanting?

That music?

That stroll?

My lands. That man.

[uhohdad]

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

[dark-moonlust]

Hi there, this is my first time sending an ask.

I was wondering if could you do a bear hybrid x fem reader. I really love the concept of a bear hybrid but there's not really a lot of stuff on that.

Thank you, your avid reader

Sure thing anon! I hope this is to your liking! 🖤🥂 Happy reading!

Claimed by the Bear Hybrid

Pairing: bear hybrid x f!human reader

Summary: you are strolling the woods when you meet a bear hybrid who claims you as his.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18++!!!, slightly non-con, oral (f!receiving), big 🍆, p in v, lots of 💦.

“You’re mine now,” the creature rumbled, deep and commanding. 

You forgot how to breathe, your heart stuttering at the sight of the bear hybrid before you. Standing on his two back feet, the massive hybrid towered over you, making it impossible for you to escape. The creature had the build of a very big and muscled man, but his dark fur, size and strength were unmistakably bear-like. 

Not to mention that between his legs hung the most glorious cock you’d ever seen. It was as thick as your forearms and long, longer than seven inches—with the angry red head leaking moisture. Two heavy, hairy balls hung from between his thighs, throbbing visibly. An involuntary shiver traveled through you, not at all fearful. He grunted and shifted, his nose smelling the air. Then his eyes, they were completely dark, fixed on you with a hunger that brought back the fear inside you.

Oh, how foolish you had been thinking that a stroll in the woods would be harmless. You were alone with an apex predator in his own habitat, and he was about to devour you, oh the irony… the forest was dense and filled with the sounds of nature and the chirping of birds. It was such a beautiful morning, so unlike your fate.  

“Pl—please… I won’t hurt you,” you uttered, terrified out of your wits. “Let me go and—”

“Never!” he rasped powerfully. “You. Are. Mine.”

You barely had time to react before he closed in on you, his huge body dwarfing yours. He was three heads taller than you and that much heavier. A strong hand grasped you as he scooped you up, hanging you over his shoulder. Paralyzed, you shouted and writhed, but no help came as he carried you effortlessly toward his cave. 

Once inside his lair, cool air welcomed you to a bed of soft furs. His eyes never left yours as he climbed on the massive bed beside you, his hands gripping your ankles, strong enough but careful not to bruise you. You couldn’t escape. Tears flew down your cheeks as he ripped your clothes apart, his sharp claws removing every layer until you lay completely exposed before him. 

“Shhhh…” his voice was soothing. “I will not harm you, little human. You are my mate.”

“Nnn…no.” Embarrassed, you crossed your hands in front of your breasts. “This can’t be! We can’t—”

“You are mine,” he repeated stubbornly. “You tremble and leak nectar for me.”

To prove his point, he spread open your legs, exposing the soaked slit of your pussy. Your plump folds glistened with arousal, and you flushed at the sight. You’d refused to accept what your instinct was telling you, but there was no mistaking it now; the hybrid didn’t want to kill you; he wanted to fuck you. And for some strange reason that made you ever wetter, your heart beating frantically.

Your breath hitched when you felt his callused fingers brushing along your chest. You protested, but his strength was great, and he drew your arms apart, exposing your breasts to him. Big hands cradled each breast, thumbs skimming over your nipples until they turned into hard little buds. You whimpered, tears in your eyes, because each stroke felt good, awakening a mix of fear and arousal. You could feel his strength, his raw power, and it both thrilled and scared you. 

“Pretty and soft,” the hybrid muttered as he massaged your mounds and caressed your nipples. “Such roundness.”

It was at that moment that you realized you had arched your back to offer more of yourself to him. He took this chance eagerly and bent down to engulf the entirety of one tit in his mouth. The suction was warm and wet, his tongue rough and textured as it circled your nipple. Lips quivering, you shivered as he stroked and suckled, crying out softly when he alternated to the other mound. 

Strong hands moved to your hips, gripping them firmly as he lowered his head between your thighs. He inhaled your pussy, then breathed over it. You shivered all over, especially when his tongue flicked out, licking up and down your folds before delving inside. You jolted at the electric sensation, long moans escaping you as his rough tongue fucked you with primal thrusts. He ate you out, his growls vibrating against your pussy. Hands gripping the sheets, you rocked against him, hips arching toward his mouth. 

“Such a soft little cunt; it tastes so sweet, better than honey,” he murmured, tongue spearing your pussy. 

“Pl-please,” you whispered, barely able to form the words and unsure of what you were begging for. To stop? To keep going? You were so pleasure-hazed that you had no idea what to do. 

He chuckled. “You’ll get more, mate.”

Hands gripping your ass, he brought you closer to his face, spreading your folds as he continued his sweet torment. His snout caressed your clit and you bucked against him, your moans filling the cave and echoing off the walls. Your orgasm tore through you, strong and blissful, surging from your head to your toes, and despite your violent thrashing, his tongue still drove inside you, devouring every drop of your release.

Head falling back against the bed, you opened your legs obscenely, offering your pussy to him. He licked you fiercely, then your inner thighs, then up your belly and your breasts. You whined when you felt the heavy weight of something warm and leaky against your fluttering cunt. You looked down and gasped; your ankles were hooked over his broad shoulders and he was rubbing his cock against your slit, his thick girth looking inhumanly big in contrast to your small pussy.  

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” he growled, his hands caressing your inner thighs. “You’re my mate, and I will claim you.”

“Stop— you’re too big—”

But it was too late. A soft hitch of breath left you when he pushed the cockhead inside. It parted your moist pussy lips and drove inside, inch by inch. You whimpered at the stretch, yet his fullness invaded you without discomfort, bottoming out inside you as his balls squeezed against your bum.

You’d done it. You’d taken him. Wow… 

Your thoughts faded when he started moving inside you. Holding your tiny waist in his big hairy hands, he pumped powerfully inside you, watching as his dick spread your lips, then came out covered with your juices. You gripped his arms for dear life, your nails digging into his thick skin. He liked it because he fucked you faster and deeper, each thrust driving you higher and higher. 

“Yes, only my mate can take me,” he growled, his cock making your belly bulge. “I’m going to fill you up, claim you, make you mine.”

The bed creaked from his thrusts, your tits bouncing. He licked them up, suckled them in his mouth as he pounded into you, the plap-plap of skin slapping against skin obscenely wet and lewd. Your cries mingled with his grunts of pleasure, your walls clenching and unclenching around his cock as a second orgasm overwhelmed you. He kept fucking you and followed right after with a feral roar, filling you up with buckets of his cum. He pumped for minutes, over and over, until he had marked you with his seed. 

Breathless and spent, you couldn’t help but collapse into the sheets that smelled like musk and earth. Your body still tingled from the intensity of your union, your legs weak. You couldn’t believe what had happened. You’d heard of many cases of interspecies mating, and now it had happened to you as well. This bear hybrid was your mate. Your soulmate. He’d claimed you, bathed you in his seed. And even if your bond was unusual and fresh, you felt like being truly home.

“You’re mine, all mine,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck, his breath warm against your skin. 

[spacedace]

Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

-

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.

[kunaigirl]

Happy Disability Pride and awareness month! Let's talk about Epilepsy!

Hi there! I got tired of seeing my condition (that impacts my literal every day life) being left out or forgotten about during discussions about disabilities, so I made my own post about it! Let's go!

First Off! What the heck is epilepsy? Epilepsy is the fourth most common neurological disorder in the world, and it's a chronic medical condition. Epilepsy is a brain disorder that causes recurring, frequent, triggered, and unprovoked seizures to occur.

The official Epilepsy Foundation describes seizures as follows: "Seizures are sudden surges of abnormal and excessive electrical activity in your brain, and can affect how you appear or act. Where and how the seizure presents itself can have profound effects...Seizures involve sudden, temporary, bursts of electrical activity in the brain that change or disrupt the way messages are sent between brain cells. These electrical bursts can cause involuntary changes in body movement or function, sensation, behavior or awareness." (Source link)

Sounds like a lot of fun right? This is our life. Even with medication, we can be VERY limited to what can be safe for us. Seizure medications are NOT a cure, they only exist (at least as of now) as a tool to help have your seizures less often, or be triggered less intensely. Even on medication, seizures can still happen.

If you have epilepsy as a child like I did, it impacts your entire growing and developing experience. I spent MANY times as a child in and out of hospitals, neurologist and specialist offices, an getting so many EEG tests done. The pain of scrubbing the glue out of your hair for DAYS is horrible.

At a young age my seizures were so frequent and serious, it impacted my brain's ability to retain information. I had to re-learn the names of things at age 8 and 9. I had to re-learn HOW TO READ at age 10. I had to be home schooled because the public school system of my state at the time refused to work with me. I have VERY distinct and vivid memories of crying over my little baby ABC's book that I needed as a 4th and 5th grader. I knew I should've known this by this age. I knew that at one point I already did, and it was TAKEN FROM ME.

As an adult, I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DRIVE A CAR. And I can NEVER go to see a movie in theaters or go to see concerts or live music. There are entire TV shows I don't get to see. I can't go to clubs, arcades, dances, or raves. I miss out on A LOT of fun things. I always do, and I'm WELL AWARE of the fun I'm missing out on. The social, casual, and fun life experiences I'll never get to have. That WE'LL never get to have. And oh yeah! Seizures can KILL SOME OF US. Yep.

And the list goes on, and every person with epilepsy experiences it differently. There are multiple different types of seizures you can have, they're NOT always convulsing on the floor. For example, I have complex-partial-myoclonic-seizures. Meaning my muscles DO twitch when I have seizures, but I'm not always completely unconscious and sometimes I'm even able to stay sitting up. However, I'm still very "off" and can't focus or remember much for a good while after the fact. I can't talk or communicate during one, even with my slight bit of consciousness.

My experiences are not universal, I just wanted to talk about it and bring it up. It helps to talk about it even a little bit. Here's more about different kinds of seizures. Here's more about common seizure triggers. Here's more about CORRECT seizure first aid. And here's more general information/resources.

Please stop leaving us out of disability awareness. Please stop ignoring us or saying we're "not really disabled" or anything else like that. Please. Why does it always feel like the only people who care about epilepsy, are people WITH epilepsy? We're so tired of being ignored by others who don't have our condition.

If you're an epileptic person reading this, I see you. I love you. You're so strong, we all are. I believe in you, I believe in us. We're so much stronger than we get credit for, and it's going to be ok. Your anger and frustration are valid. Your emotions and struggles are real. You're valid, and I see you. Hang in there, we got this.

[ellecdc]

broken bowls & hearts

🩷's request: i just had the most horrid day. I was at a bookstore with my friends to buy a gift for our mutual and she was gushing over the books and i just... well my heart was breaking. because I couldn't read, and i used to love to read when i could see properly. I have my kindle but the feeling of a paperback and not being able to read just made me so upset and my friends don't even consider they were all like "just open ur eyes and see" i wanted to cry. & to make things worse, i broke a glass bowl in the kitchen and I couldn't even see it. I stepped on a shard and basically had to wait for my roommate to cancel some plans to come help me out i get so useless it's unbelievable. can I request a moonwater or wolfstar with a visually impaired reader who is in either of the situations? really sorry to ruin the vibes but oh i couldn't stop crying

poly!wolfstar x visually impaired!reader who breaks a bowl and calls the boys for help [2.3k words]

CW: fem!reader, mention of injury/blood, questionable friends... Sirius contemplating violence

Sirius had just pulled his phone from his pocket to see what you were up to (and if you felt like hanging out) when Remus’ phone started to ring.

“Are we officially at that point in our relationship that we can predict each other’s thoughts?” Sirius asked as he melted further into Remus’ side on the sofa while Remus answered his phone.

“Hey dovey! We were just about to call you.” He greeted with a wide smile as if you could see it.

Sirius sat up straighter when that smile fell slightly. “No, we’re never too busy for you…” He explained as Sirius poked him in the arm which translated to put her on speaker phone you sod!

Thankfully, Remus was well versed in Sirius-ese and did just that.

“-you guys doing something right now? I don’t want to interrupt.” Sirius heard you finish around what he assumed was your thumb as you no doubt chewed on your cuticles. 

“Doll, I was just pulling my phone out to see if you wanted to do something; we’re sitting on the couch rotting away.” Sirius called likely louder than necessary now that you were on speaker phone.

You hummed in acknowledgement before taking in a quick breath as if stealing yourself. “Do you think you guys could maybe come over? I uhm, I need some help.”

“Sure, dovey.” Remus offered quickly, Sirius also speaking overtop of him to say “of course.” 

“Is everything okay?” Remus continued then, a worried kind of divot appearing between his brows. 

“Yeah I, uhm, I broke a bowl and can’t…see the pieces now. I can wait until my roommate gets home but-”

“No!” Sirius shouted, a similar yet much more gracious objection slipping from Remus, too. 

“No dove, don’t worry about it at all. Just sit tight and we’ll be over soon, alright?”

You offered them a simple alright and thank you before Remus ended the call. 

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆

No sooner had Remus pushed open the door to your flat were you calling out to advise them to keep their shoes on.

They moved through your flat with ease and familiarity (and Sirius following the sound of your voice like a scent detection dog) to find you in your kitchen. 

Sirius’ smile was completely involuntary when he spotted you perched on the edge of the counter in an attempt to avoid the ceramic shards on the kitchen tile, but the smile was quick to fall when he noticed a few spots of blood on the floor.

“Baby.” Sirius exclaimed as Remus took careful, shoed steps towards you. 

“You didn’t tell us you were hurt, dove.” Remus chided gently; glass crunching beneath his feet as he stood in front of you. 

“Where are you bleeding from?” Sirius asked as he scanned your person for any sign of blood.

“My foot.” You murmured, kicking out said foot slightly and letting it fall back against the lower cabinets with a thud.

“Why didn’t you tell us on the phone?” Remus queried as he rubbed the leg of your injured foot.

You simply offered him a shrug. “It doesn’t hurt and I don’t think it’s that bad.” You responded quietly. 

Remus and Sirius shared a concerned glance before Sirius looked back towards you.

“I’ll clean all this up while Rem tends to your foot, okay gorgeous?” Sirius explained without waiting for your agreement, moving to the pantry where he knew your broom and dustpan were stored as Remus went to fetch the first aid kit from your washroom. 

Sirius had cleared the glass from directly below you by the time Remus returned to the kitchen so that he could kneel in front of you. 

“Awe, our poor sweet girl; the bowl bit back, hm?” He murmured as he examined your bloody foot.

He grabbed a pair of tweezers and held your leg stretched out completely so your foot fell flat. “I’m gonna pull the piece out, okay?”

You nodded and looked casual for all intents and purposes, but even from across the kitchen Sirius could see the whites of your knuckles where you were clutching the countertop. 

You winced only slightly when Remus pulled the tweezers away from your foot, pressing a placating kiss to your knee as he stood to dispose of the bloody shard of glass. 

Sirius finished up the sweeping and shone the light from his phone across the floor to ensure he hadn’t missed any pieces before grabbing some disinfectant wipes for the blood. 

“What were you making?” Remus asked - likely both in an attempt to make conversation which you seemed disinclined to do as well as get to the bottom of what happened here - as he wiped some antiseptic cream on your foot before securing a plaster over it.

“What do you mean?” You asked quietly; and though your staunch refusal to look in Remus’ direction as you spoke to him may appear to some as rude, Sirius could see telltale signs of shame permeating your being. 

“When you broke the bowl; were you making yourself something to eat?”

You let out a short breath from your nose as you stared resolutely away from either boy. “I was trying to put away the clean dishes.” You muttered somewhat harshly. 

“Do you need more help? We could-”

“No.” You insisted, finally turning to face them allowing Sirius to notice a shine in your eyes that he couldn’t before. “No, I-” you took a steadying breath that was bordering shaky and closed your eyes. “I just needed help cleaning it up, and with my foot, thank you.”

And though Sirius could tell that you really did mean that ‘thank you’, he could also tell that the words tasted bitter in your mouth. 

“We’d come and help you with anything, you know that, right?” Remus asked softly from his place by your feet, thumb swiping tenderly over your knee where his hand was resting. 

“I know.” You whispered back; your thumb back at your lips as you chewed at your cuticles much like you’d been when you first called them. 

“Did something else happen today?” Remus continued gently. “I get the sense that this might be about more than just a broken bowl.”

You sucked in a loud breath from your nose as you screwed your eyes shut, and Sirius could finally see evidence of the tightly wound tension he’d been sensing from you since he first entered your flat. 

“I can’t read.” You finally let out with a sob, and both boys had to fight the urge to let out a nervous laugh because…yes you could?

“What do you mean, gorgeous?” Sirius tried carefully.

You shook your head, hiding your face behind your hands as you tried to control your breathing. “I- I miss holding a fucking book; I miss breaking the spine and letting the pages fan my face as I close it. I miss going to the bookstore and running my fingers along the rows of books in search of the one with the prettiest cover to see if the plot is worth such an exquisite jacket. I can’t… I can’t even re- read!” You wailed at the end of your sentence, Remus straightening up from his crouched position in record time to pull you into his chest as he shot Sirius a bewildered look. 

“Baby… You can still read; you do read, all of the time. That’s what your kindle is for, yeah?” Sirius tried, but from Remus’ grimace and the pitiful sound that emanated from the back of your throat, Sirius could tell he’d gotten it wrong.

“It’s not the same, hm?” Remus offered for your sake, rubbing broad strokes against your back as you sobbed into his chest. 

“Is this because of your shopping trip earlier? Did something happen at the bookstore?” Sirius queried then, and you straightened slowly from Remus’ chest before wiping angrily at your face; sorrow seeping swiftly into ire.

“What happened, dove?” Remus pressed, and Sirius could hear the careful caution in his voice as he considered you. 

“I just…” You tried, letting your feet thunk against the cabinet again in agitation. “I just felt so sorry for myself when we were there, alright? It was my fault because I got all caught up in my own head but,”

Sirius and Remus waited after you tried taking a calming breath, but you didn’t seem particularly inclined to continue your thought.

“But what, doll?” Sirius encouraged, perhaps not as gently as he should have but he was starting to smell trouble and he couldn’t help that his protective hackles were rising. 

“But Steph was gushing about the book we had found for April’s birthday present which is good but, I don’t know, I just… I commented about how I wish I could still read a book, and all Steph had to say was ‘you’ve got eyes, don’t ya? Open ‘em up and look.’”

You ended the sentence with a pained breath and Remus had you curled up into his chest again as fresh tears started to fall. 

“And you drop kicked her, right?” Sirius spat darkly; red hot fury emanating from his chest as he pictured his sweet girl standing distressed in a bookstore when he wasn’t there for her.

“No!” You whined back as Remus murmured a warning ‘Sirius…’. 

“Okay, so you told her to go to hell?” Sirius continued, earning him a firmer ‘Sirius, stop’ from Remus following a wail from you. 

“That’s fine, gorgeous, I’ll do it. Where’s your phone?” He started as he began his search for your phone, no sooner did he turn his body was his arm grabbed roughly by Remus as he was dragged back towards you.

“Hug your girlfriend, Sirius.” Remus hissed at him severely as he stationed him between your legs before exiting the kitchen quickly.

Every sob that shook your body seemed to dislodge something hard and heavy in Sirius’ chest and replace it with wet, cold sadness as he held you tightly against him, as if the pressure of his embrace could somehow fix this for you. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetness; you didn’t deserve that at all.” He mumbled into your hair, gently swaying the two of you back and forth and pressing a few kisses where his lips met your head. 

“It’s, ugh, it’s not even just that.” You moaned. “It was fine, I’m fine. You know? I was just feeling sorry for myself, and I’m always cracking jokes anyway so she probably thought it was fine to do the same but then I come home and I can’t even put my fucking dishes away without having to call for help like it’s an emergency. I’m so useless.”

Sirius felt some of that fury seep back into his chest as he ripped himself away from you and grabbed each side of your face none-too-gently.

“Hey, look at me.” He demanded, forcing your face towards his and holding it close so that you had no choice but to look at him.

“You are not useless.” He pressed, spitting your phrase back at you like it was a dirty word.

“Well I certainly feel it!” You shot back; obstinance colouring your eyes that Sirius loved so much, even when you didn’t, even when you felt betrayed by them. 

“That’s fine.” He allowed simply, still not releasing your face from his grasp. “You’re allowed to feel any which way, but that does not make it true. I do not appreciate you speaking about my girlfriend that way, got it?” 

You seemed surprised by his scolding for a brief moment before you closed your eyes and new tears fell from the corners. 

Sirius pulled you back into his chest when he noticed Remus standing in the threshold of the room, eyebrows pinched in commiseration. 

After a few moments of gentle rocking with Sirius, Remus broke the silence. “Dove, I can see perfectly well and I’ve broken dishes; I’ve also tried cleaning it up myself only to end up bleeding, as well.” 

“I once called Remus home from work because I had a splinter, babe.” Sirius added, causing Remus to smile when he heard a wet sort of chuckle muffled by Sirius’ chest.  

“We all need help sometimes. That does not make us useless.” Remus concluded, moving to stand beside Sirius and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Now come on, I need your help with something.” Remus said as he began to walk into your living room. 

“How come you don’t need my help, Rem?” Sirius called after him as you sat up and used your sleeve to wipe away the last of your tears. 

“Because I need help reading and you hate that.”

Sirius groaned theatrically and turned to look at you with a grimace. “Sorry gorgeous, I can’t help you with this one.”

You giggled again with a sniffle and then shrieked when Sirius lifted you off the counter because you ‘absolutely cannot walk on that injured foot of yours, doll; you’ll just have to let me carry you everywhere from now on’.

Remus situated himself comfortably on your sofa and Sirius placed you in between his legs so that your back was against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you and placed a paperback book in your hands. 

“Think you can hold this for me, my love?” Remus murmured as he hooked his chin on your shoulder, watching as you let out a sigh and allowed him to open it to the first page. “Thank you.” He whispered when you didn’t decline, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before replacing his chin and beginning to read from… Well, Sirius didn’t really know, nor did he care.

He was too busy signing up your ‘friend’s’ email and social media accounts for spam contests and chainmail. 

And if he stole her number from your phone to sign her up for telemarketing calls? Well…could he really be blamed? She made his perfect girl cry, for god’s sake.

[hellsslibrary]

sub...Michael Kaiser...with male reader...please...I'm begging...

Just saw the latest chapter and him saying "please" made me simultaneously combust.

What if he says that word but on a completely different context, iykwim 👀👀👀👀

"In an ideal relationship, pure love and dirty sex complement each other, not exclude each other."

#a.n. : You can't imagine how much fun it was to write this, different sides of the dominant were fighting inside me, it was wild.

MASTERLIST is here.

!!Warnings: top!dom!male!reader, sub!bottom!Michael, brat taming, humiliation, light strangulation, dry orgasm, you dig Kaiser to the point of half death, reader breaks the bed and unironically fights Alexis for a place in the hotel with Michael by playing tic-tac-toe (mention, I thought it was funny), Kaiser is literally folded in half, one bite to his ankle and a slight mention of blood, three phrases in German (my half-German roots take over), riding.

It was obviously not a revelation to Kaiser why this had started. He had started to understand it the moment you almost fought Ness to share a hotel room with him. After all, you, as adults and completely mentally ill people, played tic-tac-toe and you beat Alexis. After all, he could survive a couple of nights not in a room with Michael, but you? Oh no, you had too big of a plan for him.

He had figured it out himself, as soon as he saw that you were actually focused on winning this stupid game and not playing for fun... But I guess he didn't understand what exactly was waiting for him. Although that's the best part.

"G-gott! Y/n, slow d-down! This is, oh shit, this is too mu-much!" came out unintelligibly from his lips, while he grabbed the sheets beneath him with all his might, his graceful fingers almost tearing apart the poor fabric that was holding on with all its might.

"Are you sure?" you clarify, knowing he won’t answer because he doesn’t want to, but he also doesn’t want to seem too needy.

And so he does. He stays silent, burying his face in the pillows and pushing his ass back a little more to somehow meet your ruthless thrusts that didn’t allow him to breathe properly.

You squeeze his hips, pressing lightly on his stomach under your fingers, causing him to whine loudly, even muffled by the cotton pillowcases. His toned ass jiggles slightly with each thrust, making you want to bite one of his cheeks right now, but oh, what a shame the human body can’t bend like that, huh?

Kaiser felt too good as you admired his ass and his bulging back without any other thought. He felt like his whole being was melting, turning into nothing more than obedient plasticine in your hands, which you could bend as you wish.

He bites his lip to hold back another moan. It seems like he can hear his heartbeat in every part of his body, no matter how unimportant or far from his head. It seems like his blood is so hot that he is about to melt... Not that it is not true, considering how sweaty you both have been for the last few dozen minutes.

"Aren't you going to answer me, handsome? Or do you want me to stop and leave you empty and thirsty, hm?" your whisper sends involuntary goosebumps down his body when he realizes that your chest is rubbing against his back and he makes some kind of sound similar to hiccups, turning his head to the side.

"Shut up."

The phrase made your hips freeze almost immediately, your eyebrow involuntarily crawling up at the fact that he had the strength to speak clearly, and also to act like a complete brat, when you were obviously lifting him to Heaven and back with your actions.

"Move, idiot. Why the hell did you stop?"

Your eye twitched and you took a deep breath, looking down at his frowning, flushed face. There were traces of moisture all over his face from tears and sweat mixed together, his lips were slightly swollen from holding back moans, but most importantly, his eyes. The shine in them. He knew what he was doing, or rather, what he was saying.

Before he could come to his senses, your lips spread into an almost animalistic smile and your cock completely slipped out of him. Kaiser was about to complain, but you abruptly flip him over onto his back, and then immediately, without warning, you penetrate inside.

His next moan was probably heard by everyone in the hotel, or at least on your floor. And all the following ones, too. He was no longer holding back, moaning at the top of his lungs. His hands were looking for something to grab onto and wanted to close around your shoulders, but you would not allow him such luxury, so you squeezed his palms above his head.

"What a pity. If you want to act like a little slut, then I will have to treat you like one," you lean right over his face, sliding out so that only your tip remains inside him, and then penetrate in the roughest way you can.

"Ohhh, ple-please... Ple-please, fuck, s-sir, I b-beg yo-you... P-please!"

He himself did not understand what he was begging for, while you just let out a chuckle from this. Michael could barely form any coherent words, he was just mumbling obvious nonsense now.

Your fingers squeezed the blond's leg at his knee, throwing one of his legs over your shoulder, practically folding him in half. He muttered something unintelligible, tears starting to flow from his closed eyes while his hands clenched into fists helplessly in your grip.

"What? You decided to fix yourself in a couple of seconds, handsome? That's not like you. My dick makes you drunk?" he would never admit that it did, but his head shook in agreement too convulsively.

You bite his ankle, digging into the white skin, causing him to cry out in pain, but he doesn't complain. He just stares excitedly at the small trickle of blood rolling down his leg. Your free hand, not holding his hand, falls on his neck.

And God, something clicks inside him. He cums, but nothing comes out, in that same second, although your hand did not have time to settle down and squeeze properly. You only look at the pathetic state of the German while he experiences a dry orgasm and how his cock twitches.

"What a pity... Although you are a smart boy. Even without realizing anything, you do not dare to cum for real without my permission..." Michael only moans in response, not being able to say anything anymore, especially now that you are blocking part of his air.

"Please, Y-y/n," he manages to mumble somehow, looking at you with empty, smoky eyes, hazed with a haze of lust, and you feel how he squeezes around your cock. Probably on purpose, but now you do not care.

"Please what, baby? You have to speak clearly," he frowns, looking away and staring at some tasteless painting on the wall, trying to pull some kind of speech out of his brain.

"Let me cum... Bitte, mein schatz," Kaiser whines, managing to somehow rise up, although it is clearly uncomfortable and even painful for him, given the position he is in, and kissing the corner of your lips, missing the main target. "Bitte lass mich abspritzen, lass mich auf deinen Schwanz abspritzen..."

You feel something break inside you. He looked beautiful and didn't even seem embarrassed as usual by his obvious vulnerability and the state of some kind of toy in your hands. In the end, he even found the strength to kiss you and didn't even wince at the fact that he literally bent in half for a couple of seconds. Well, how can you not spoil such a boy, right?

His head falls back, he sighs raggedly when you begin to pound him with the maximum speed and roughness you can muster right now. The bed beneath you creaks pitifully, as does Kaiser himself, not expecting such pressure.

"Dann komm, Hübscher," your words send him over the edge immediately, squeezing your cock as if in a vice.

He paints your and his stomach white, cumming surprisingly much. And he doesn't react at all when you continue your thrusts with a same force, only small sighs escaping from his lips.

But then he screams and something cracks under you. You manage to catch him and throw his leg aside carefully but quickly, and press him to your chest.

"You... Managed to break the bed? Wow, new even for you," Michael mutters, watching the mattress and sheets sag in the hole in the bed, chuckling hoarsely and weakly hugging your shoulders now that he has this opportunity.

"I'll ask to change the room and pay for the bed... I don't even want to imagine the face of the girl at the reception, but..." You look up at the blond, who is now sitting on your lap and thoughtfully narrow your gaze.

"Ride you? Good," he understands what is needed, feeling that you have not yet finished and managed to twitch inside him even at such a moment. "You can't be trusted with the pace anymore, you're too wild... Next time we're in hotels, I'll ride you."

"Fair and sweet, I'm more than willing," he starts moving his hips, moaning with every movement, still sensitive from his orgasm, trying not to go too fast so you both don't fall off the bed... Until the broken part of the bed falls to the floor, causing a huge noise, but hey, you're facing the ace of German youth football, who cares? Especially one so rarely vulnerable and caring like this.

[distantdarlings]

WEIGHT OF PLEASURE // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.9K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You and Theo have been friends with benefits for a few months. There was no certain beginning to it, it just kind of happened. It seems, though, that there is something else that may just happen without any reason. Theo has a confession to make. (Smut, Fluff, slight Angst)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (Just at the beginning), Dom!Theo, fwb!Theo, piv - no protection, language, fem reader (let me know if I’ve missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Sure Thing - Miguel (don’t judge me :,))

Your back hit the mattress behind you with a type of gentle force only belonging to Theodore Nott. A soft moan pushed against his lips at the sensation. His hands carefully held your face against his, never wanting to allow you to part from him. Your fingers curled in his darkened hair and in the lapel of his white uniform shirt. 

As his hands strayed down your body, letting every finger touch you so delicately, your heart rate increased dramatically. You were half sure he could feel it against his chest. His breath fanned across your face in short, cool waves. 

“I want you now,” he breathed against your swollen lips, waiting for you to nod fervently. Your hands worked at the buttons down his shirt while he yanked your uniform skirt down to your knees. Where he was not removing articles of clothing, he was pressing rapid, wettened kisses to your shoulders, neck, lips, anything he could reach.

Once the two of you had voided each other of clothing completely, Theo wasted no time pushing you back against his pillows and urging himself between your soft thighs. His fingers held them apart with a sweet but firm hold. The warmth of his flesh contrasted with the cold metal of the rings lining his knuckles had chills running down your legs. This position felt so perfectly comfortable that you immediately assumed the same form you always had. With your calves balanced gently across his hips, your arms scattered around your head, gripping the fabric of the pillow beneath your head, and your head thrown back in ecstasy. 

As he pushed himself into you, he sighed lovingly as your lips parted and your eyes clenched. The feeling of him filling you to your limit always made you shudder in delight. As he began to fuck himself toward his pleasure, your eyes would slide open every once and a while, wanting to see his sweet face. He always looked so beautiful when the two of you had sex. His head was always tilted slightly back, beads of sweat sliding down his defined throat. His eyes would be rolled back or shut tight. His lips would be parted as deep, huffing breaths—and occasionally rather innocent moans—slipped out. He was gorgeous.

You could hardly form any other thoughts than ones composed of the boy above you—in his panting, moaning glory. Any thought, word, or plead was lost on your lips with each deep thrust he pushed into you, his hips snapping sharply against your ass.

“So perfect, darling,” he moaned, his words breathy and slurred. The words sent shocks of heat down to your core. His fingers tightened into your flesh as he drew closer to his finish. He worked himself towards his goal, pitiful whimpers slipping from between his lips at every stroke. As he pushed you closer to your own end, you began clenching around him, the emotion entirely involuntary. The gorgeous sounds falling from his lips began to increase in volume. Repeated chants of your name left his mouth, his voice rasping beneath the weight of his pleasure.

“‘m close, baby,” you whined. He glanced down at you with lidded, sultry eyes. A faded, half-smile appeared on his lips, pride surging through him at the sight of you falling to pieces around him. 

“Yeah, baby?” he groaned. “Cum on me, sweetheart, please, please, please…” His begging pushed on and on and on until your back was arching against him, and your orgasm was flowing through you like a wave. Your fingers clenched around the fabric surrounding you, desperate to find any purchase on anything. As your finish pulsed around him and your muscles tightened around him, you could feel his hips stutter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned out as his hips staggered more and more until he was releasing his pleasure into you with a rasping moan. He fucked himself through his orgasm, his breath panting and cheeks reddening. 

“Fuck, I love this cunt, I love this fucking body, I fucking love you,” he grunted out as the final spurts of his spend painted your entrance. 

A strange feeling, like ice water poured into your veins, flowed through your body. Your eyes widened as you came down off your high. You tried to find Theo’s eyes but failed as he gently pulled himself from you and collapsed onto the bed next to you. In less than five minutes, soft snores were exiting his mouth. Your mouth was agape, and your eyes still flared at the words that had left him only moments ago. How could he just be sleeping right now? Did you mishear him? Maybe he didn’t really say that…or maybe he did and he didn’t really mean it. You didn’t know. But hearing those words come from Theo, directed toward you, had a miniature panic attack being thrown at you. 

No matter how hard you tried and how long you laid there, you could not force yourself to go to sleep. Your mind reeled with questions that, if put on paper, could stretch around the globe twice. Those four words were circling in around in your head constantly. Theo said he’d loved you. He had never said that to you before—nobody who wasn’t family had ever said that to you. Your stomach churned with anxiety. You made the silent decision to head back to your dorm and give the boy some space. Maybe he thought he was catching feelings because of how often you sought physical solace in each other. 

As you slowly slipped yourself out of his bed, careful not to elicit any noisy creaks from the bed springs or floorboards, you gathered your clothing and headed out. You were fully aware of every flash of light or sound as you let yourself out of his dorm. There were very few occupants inhabiting the common room as you passed through to reach the girl’s dorm. 

With classes starting back from the weekend tomorrow morning, you figured it was best for you to get to sleep as quickly as you could despite the millions of thoughts roiling through your mind. Perhaps you were completely overthinking everything, and Theo would go about his every day tomorrow just like normally. And perhaps you should, too. 

You slipped out of your uniform and pulled your nightgown around you. The sight of your own empty bed settled a wave of disappointment around you as you pushed yourself beneath the covers. You’d much rather be sleeping beside Theo, but you knew you just wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in there. The tension that you had created had become suffocating.

You pulled the comforter over your head and tucked your hands comfortably beneath your chin. A quick glance at the clock before you had laid down told you you only had a few hours to rest before class, but you still couldn’t regret your midnight activities. The way Theo made you feel was just too addicting. 

In order to fall asleep, you forced yourself to think of all of the things he’d done for your body and every delicious second the two of you had spent together. And you fell asleep, prompting dreams of explicit material rather than romance. 

xxx

By the time morning rolled around, you’d had a row of fitful sleep, constantly falling in and out of strange dreams. You felt exhausted and anything but well-rested. Your head was pounding, and so were…other things. A blush fell over your cheeks as you remembered the experience from last night and your constant urge to try to forget that it had happened. 

You swiped the sleep out of your eyes before getting to your feet and heading toward the joint bathroom. Nothing, it seemed, could successfully push the constant replay of Theo saying he loved you out of your head. You wondered if it would stick around the rest of the day. Between it and your lack of sleep, you’d barely be able to pay attention in class. 

A deep sigh left you as you brushed your teeth, ran a brush through your hair, and did everything else needed to get you going for the day. You genuinely didn’t feel like going down to breakfast this morning, knowing you’d likely run into Theo. A thought from last night popped into your head. Maybe you were the only one making such a big deal about this. It was possible he hadn’t even known he’d said it, his mind having been swayed by pleasure. A pit of shame blossomed in your stomach at the thought. You were embarrassed.

But with a small sigh and acceptance that you couldn’t avoid him forever, you gathered your things for class and headed toward the door.

Classes didn’t start for another twenty minutes or so, but you figured you’d just wander a bit beforehand. No matter how long you stayed in the castle, you could never fully learn its entirety. Even now, you were certain there was no complete map of Hogwarts, with every classroom, secret passage, and dormitory.  

With your bag strapped over your shoulder, you exited the Slytherin common room and headed for the Grand Staircase, which should lead you further up into the castle. You fondly recalled your first year at Hogwarts when you had used the Grand Staircase as a sort of landmark to find your way back to the common room and to your classes. A small smile found its way onto your face at the glimpse of nostalgia.

Though your knowledge of the castle had grown vastly since you’d first taken a step within it, you still found yourself getting lost occasionally. Too many times had you found yourself trying to reason with the snobby portraits for directions. You couldn’t blame them much as you were sure you’d tire of constantly giving out directions to clueless first years. But still, you wish they’d grant you a bit of patience. 

Your fingertips traced along the stone railings as you waltzed up the steps, intending to hit the courtyard that lingered on the edge of the midway of the staircase. You’d found yourself studying, watching the stars, whatever you could, just to be out there. You weren’t sure what it was that was so much more charming than the other courtyard in Hogwarts—perhaps the statues, the fountain, the view, its proximity—you weren’t sure. All you knew was you especially enjoyed it. 

Once you had reached the exit doorways that led out into the courtyard, you gave a brief glance to your watch. You had a couple more minutes before you needed to head to your first period. But for a few of those minutes, you’d enjoy being outside, surrounded by the early autumn winds and the occasional passing student. 

You pushed your way through one of the doors and, to your surprise, noticed that there were no other students out there. There was only the sound of the breeze and the fountain set in the center of the courtyard. With a moment of confusion and an eventual shrug, you headed to the bench where you usually found yourself sitting. One that was made of a cool, carved stone that bit into your bare skin in the freezing winter months. Thankfully, the world was not yet there.

You took a deep breath, letting the fresh air puncture your lungs and fill your bloodstream. You set yourself down on the bench and stared out over the edge at the sharp mountains that framed Hogwarts. No matter how long you were here, you’d never tire of the incredible view and all its familiar characteristics. You felt as though you’d be able to recognize the jagged precipices anywhere. Your eyes slipped close.

Behind you, you thought you could hear a few scuffs of a shoe against the stone ground, but you could not be bothered to see who they belonged to. The air around you was much too comforting. You wished you could stay like this forever—eyes closed, breaths quiet, imagination eased. It was quite nice. 

You weren’t at all concerned about the person behind you. Not until they decided to sit right next to you, that was. When you felt their clothed thigh brush against your bare one, you jolted in surprise, your eyes flying open. Sitting next to you, with gentle eyes and parted lips, was Theo. You sucked in a shuddering breath at his presence. 

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you replied, nearly choking on the word. How was it you always ran into him when trying to avoid him? Yet when you needed him, you felt as if he was nowhere to be found.

“Where’d you go last night?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper now. His eyes bounced from yours to your lips, never letting up, hardly blinking. You struggled to hold the contact. “You usually stay over with me.”

“Yeah, I had to, uh, get some homework done, you know?” you swallowed, eyes disconnecting from his and finding your hands. 

“No,” he replied bluntly. “You said you were done with all of your work—” your eyes found his again—“last night after we got to my dorm.”

“Yeah, I did,” you chuckled nervously. You swiped a strand of hair behind your ear and attempted to devise a better reason for having left, though you had none. He spoke your name.

“Why did you really leave?” he asked. In all seriousness, you didn’t have much of a true answer. At least, not a good one. In all seriousness, you’d become frightened after he’d said he loved you. You had no idea how to respond and still didn’t. It was embarrassing, but you‘d never really dealt with this sort of thing before. Theo had always been physically beneficial toward you rather than romantically. Honestly, you’d never had anyone you’d cared for in such a way as that. If anyone came close, it was Theo. 

“I…” you sighed and closed your eyes, pressing your face into your hands. 

A hand came to slip beneath your chin. It gently brought your face up to resume the same eye contact as before. The same eye contact Theo always gave you, with unwavering confidence and such prolonged adoration. You’d always mistook the intentions as lustful, but now you weren’t so sure. 

“I meant what I said last night.”

“What?” you breathed, your eyes widening.

“I meant what I said,” he repeated. “I’m in love with you. Your body has been my heaven for months now, constantly coaxing me in and allowing me to rest there. I’d never felt anything like it before. But, as this relationship of ours has continued, I’ve come to realize that, with every touch, you’ve drawn in my heart tenfold in comparison to my body.”

“You’re just saying that, Theo,” you sigh, tears gently welling in your eyes. You hadn’t been prepared for a confession such as this. “You’re just saying that so you’ll always have someone to let your frustrations out on. Saying you love me is just one more way to keep me hooked on you—”

“No, that is not why I’m saying that. You could tell me that you never want me to touch you again, and I’d offer but one request.”

“What is that?”

“To let me love you from afar,” he breathed. “I’d never touch you again, though I could not promise my eyes would not caress you. You remain one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen. Allow me that one thing, and I promise my love will never waver.”

“Fuck, Theo,” you sobbed. Perhaps it had been unwise for you to have accused him of such a thing, but you’d never have expected his feelings to have extended this far. You didn’t know much about love, but you knew that his words, if said to anyone else, would have struck you as love.

“Please say you feel the same,” he said, a single hand raising to brush some hair from your face. You laughed through your tears at the sweet gesture. 

“You sure this isn’t a joke?” you laugh once more. 

“Positive,” he replied with a similar laugh. “If you think I could have come up with all of that for someone I didn’t love with my entire being, you’re just wrong.”

The two of you laughed silently, small tears exchanging between your bodies. If you had been told that Theo would confess his love to you yesterday, you would have laughed. But now it seemed that it made perfect sense. It felt as though you’d never lived without having known he loved you. It seemed now that it was stupid of you to think you’d never loved Theo with your whole soul. It felt shameful. If anyone was worthy of love and obsession and worship, it was Theo. Your Theo. The one who had held your body so gently and lovingly and confessed his love to you countless nights. Maybe you hadn’t heard it then, but you hear it now. And if it isn’t the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to, you know, go on a date sometime?” he chuckled. “Might do us some good to be together in the daytime as well as the nighttime.”

“Well, I mean… we have been together in the daytime…” you trailed off. He rolled his eyes, a familiar crooked smile appearing across his lips. You found yourself seeing all of his special quirks in a new light. One of love rather than lust. And you found yourself loving every minute of it. He slipped his hand into yours, your heart rattling against your ribcage at the feeling, and led you back to the doors. Classes were going to start soon. 

You supposed it just went to show that the true weight of pleasure was the love which resulted from it.

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03 @mypolicemanharryyy @angelfrombeneth @clairesjointshurt @bunbunbl0gs @acornacreacure (if you would like to be added to the tag list, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗢𝗥

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Y/N and Matt are in a complicated relationship, where Matt is still stuck in the past with his ex. In an angsty pathway, Y/N suffers when she realizes that Matt will never love her as she wants.

WARNING: Crying, panic attack, comparison, ANGST.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N adjusted her stunning dress in front of the mirror. The bright red silk fabric hugged her curves in a way she knew would make heads turn that night. Her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, meticulously styled by her curling iron, and her makeup highlighted her features impeccably.

There was a palpable excitement in the air, an expectation of Matt's reaction; she always expected to receive showers of praise from her boy, just as she did for him. The party they were about to go to - a fancy one that celebrated the launch of the new Space Camp line - would be the perfect opportunity to show everyone, and especially him, how hard she worked to be perfect.

The low sound of the bedroom door's handle turning sounded through the silence, Matt's figure appearing through the wooden frame, and all Y/N could feel as she watched him through the mirror's reflection was her racing heart. He looked stunning in his black suit, the crooked tie relaxing the seriousness of his attire.

She waited for the compliment, for the spark in his eyes that would confirm that all the effort had been worth it.

"You look beautiful, Y/N." Blue eyes traveled over her body for some seconds, but before she could absorb the joy of that moment, he finished. "Did you know that Amanda has a dress similar to yours?"

Y/N felt her stomach tighten painfully as her heart felt like it was being broken by a hammer three times its size. Amanda. Always Amanda. Matt's ex-girlfriend was a constant shadow between them, a specter that Y/N could never completely dispel.

She forced a smile, swallowing the anguish rising in her throat.

"Oh, really?" Was all she could say, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands shaking slightly at the side of her hips.

Later that day, the party continued with Y/N ​​by Matt's side, but her mind was far away. Every time someone praised her, she remembered Matt's comment. Even surrounded by people and with Matt by her side, she felt incredibly alone.

Her thoughts revolved around a single question: Why couldn't he see her for who she was instead of always comparing her to Amanda?

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A few weeks later, a new day brought a new blow. Matt was in his shared room with Y/N, sitting in his gaming chair with his upper body resting on the wooden surface, his hands on his Macbook, busy answering emails sent to the triplets' mail.

Y/N entered quietly, carrying two glasses full of fresh watermelon juice, knowing that Matt would definitely be thirsty and hungry after hours of sitting there. But as she got closer, she saw his computer screen. The messaging app was open, and the open window wasn't just any texts — it was old conversations between Matt and Amanda.

He read them with a melancholic smile, his eyes shining with a longing that Y/N knew all too well.

"Matt..." Her voice came out in an involuntary whisper, the broken tone sounding louder than it was expected.

The boy startled, closing the laptop quickly.

"Babe, hey, you scared me!" The boy turned around suddenly, clearing his throat and laughing awkwardly, trying to look casual. "I was just... clearing out some old stuff."

Y/N just nodded, the pain growing inside her chest.

"It's fine. Here, I made this for you." She raised her hand that held the fullest glass, smiling brokenly and keeping her eyes open, taking note on how Matt didn't notice the tears shining in her orbs or pretended not to.

She knew he was lying. She knew he was stuck in the past, that Amanda still dominated his thoughts and his heart. But once again, she chose to ignore it, to stifle her own suffering out of love for him.

Because losing Matt was a fear that outweighed any pain she might feel.

Right?

Right! Until things reached an unbearable point.

Y/N had an appointment at the beauty salon, something she did to feel a little more in control, a little more beautiful in a reality where she always felt insufficient. Matt said he couldn't accompany her, claiming he had videos to film with his brothers. She understood, or at least she tried.

It was Saturday, they didn't film on Saturday.

Sitting in the salon chair, while her nails were being done and her hair was treated, Y/N took out her phone to pass the time, holding the device awkwardly for fear of smudging her sparkling nail polish.

Scrolling through Instagram while her ears caught some conversations around the salon, her heart almost flew out of its place and up her mouth when she saw a photo that one of the celebrity gossip pages had just posted.

Matt was in a coffee shop with Amanda.

His smile was radiant, a kind of joy Y/N hadn't seen on his face in a long time. He looked so… complete, so genuinely happy.

Y/N felt the world come crashing down around her. Tears burned her eyes, but she held them back, looking around at all the other radiant women before turning her attention back to the news, clutching her cell between her left fingers, a low "sorry" scaping her lips when her right hand trembled against the manicurist ones.

She didn't give a shit that they were talking in a cafe, she didn't mind if they wanted to be friends again - even though she had destroyed Matt, and Y/N was the one to put him together again -, it was something else that bothered her.

Matt had lied to her. He said he was going to film. What the fuck was he doing out with Amanda?

But the truth was right there, raw and painful: Matt would never be fully hers. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she sacrificed, he would always be stuck in the past in the love he had for Amanda. He would always go back to her.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a smile as the manicurist applied red nail polish to her nails on her left hand. The color perfectly matched the feelings she felt at that moment; dark.

Every move by the salon professionals seemed like a desperate attempt to beautify her for someone who would never see her true beauty. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop her mind from going back to that image of Matt smiling with Amanda. It was a smile she could never get out of him.

"You look amazing, Y/N!" Cintia, the girl's hairdresser for years now, praised excitedly, straightening the last strands of hair just finished and turning the chair so that Y/N could see herself in the mirror. "Matt will love it."

Y/N looked at her reflection, but all she saw was an improved version of herself that, despite all her effort, would never be enough for Matt. She would always be just a shadow, a pale substitute.

"Thank you..." The girl tried to say, but her voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

The room around her seemed like a golden prison, full of mirrors that only reflected her internal pain. Every compliment, every word of encouragement, sounded hollow, meaningless, because the person whose opinion mattered most was, at that very moment, laughing and smiling with another woman; the woman he truly loved.

When Y/N finally left the salon, she felt exhausted, as if she had run an emotional marathon. She walked slowly to her home, opting not to call an Uber.

Her hands fished her phone out of her half-open purse, and, with trembling fingers decorated in red, she sent a text to Diana, her best friend.

"Diana, are you home? Can I sleep there tonight?"

As she waited for the answer, her mind wandered through a whirlwind of thoughts. The pain was constant but mixed with a new resolve.

She needed to get out of there. She needed space to breathe, to think.

"Of course, babes!"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Getting home was an automatic process. The house she shared with the triplets seemed colder and more hostile than ever.

Y/N walked past the living room where Chris and Nick were sprawled awkwardly on the gray couch playing video games, their excited laughter, and screams a cruel contrast to the pain she felt.

"Y/N!" Nick smiled brightly when he saw his best friend out of the corner of his eye. "Want to play a round with us?"

"No thanks, Nick. I'm tired." She murmured, smiling wide and fake - even though he wasn't looking at her directly -, trying to appear normal.

She walked slowly down the path between the living room and kitchen, each step a reminder of what she was about to do.

Her hands worked automatically on the door, entering her shared room with Matt, closing it behind her, the sound of the lock clicking echoing like a period in her mind. She looked around, taking in the details that made the space a home - the photos on the wall, the personal items, the memories. But now, it all felt empty.

She grabbed a suitcase stored at the back of their shared closet and began filling it with her necessities. The simple act of opening the suitcase caused a wave of despair to hit her.

Every piece of clothing and every object that her hands roughly touched and threw blindly into the suitcase was a small stab in her heart. The tears finally started to stream down her face, and she didn't try to stop them. Reality was imposing itself in a cruel way.

Her movements became slower and slower, while her thoughts became more chaotic.

"I'll never be enough for him."

"I'll never be her."

"He'll never love me the way I love him."

"I'm destroying myself for someone who cares little about me."

"What did I do wrong?"

These thoughts repeated like a cruel mantra in her mind. She felt her breathing quicken. Her lungs seemed unable to take in enough air. The room, which had always been a refuge, now felt like an oppressive cell. Panic began to set in. Her chest felt tight, her hands shook, and the air seemed to escape.

The tears flowed like hot, relentless waterfalls. The suitcase was open in front of her, half full, but it seemed like an insurmountable abyss. Y/N tried to take a deep breath, but each attempt only resulted in more despair.

The sobs came strong and uncontrollable. The girl stopped in front of the bed, standing, after throwing the last piece taken by her hands, bending her upper body over the suitcase, gripping the edge of the thick fabric with such strength that it made her fingers take on a whitish color, fully throwing her weight on her arms as if they were a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

"Why am I not good enough?"

"What is wrong with me?"

"Why can’t he love me?"

She felt completely alone, drowning in her own pain. The panic attack took over, stealing any trace of control she still had.

The walls of the room seemed to close in on Y/N, the contours of the furniture becoming indistinct and threatening as her breathing became increasingly rapid and shallow. Her heart hammered in her chest with an almost painful force, each beat ringing in her ears like deafening thunder. The air felt thick, sticky, and impossible to inhale properly.

"Am I really that hard to be loved?"

"I wish I was her."

"He was never mine, right?"

Her hands shook uncontrollably, her fingers tingling over her suitcase as a feeling of numbness spread through her arms. Sweat dripped down her forehead, leaving her feeling sticky and uncomfortable, while the cold began to spread throughout her body, generating incessant chills.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the room distorting into restless shadows that danced and pulsed, transforming the room into a place strangely familiar and frighteningly alien at the same time. Each sound seemed amplified and distant, the ones of laughter and the clicks of long and simple kisses played in memories in her head like a record player at its highest volume, creating a surreal echo that only intensified the feeling of isolation and despair.

Exhausted, Y/N let herself sink to the floor, her sobs echoing in the empty room, an expression of the pain and loneliness that she felt suffocating herself relentlessly. Her legs folded in front of her body, the front of her thighs sticking firmly against her stomach as her arms served as a shield for her head, her hands involuntarily going up to her own hair, gripping the strands tightly, trying to ground herself.

Meanwhile, Nick ran towards her and Matt's room with quick, excited steps. He had just finished the last round of his video game with Chris and was looking forward to seeing the outcome of Y/N's salon day, hoping it would make her happier after noticing the inconsistency in her voice when she got home.

His closed fist lightly knocked on the door before opening it, the smile on his face instantly disappearing as his eyes met the scene before him.

Y/N was on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, her hands now grabbing her arms in a desperate hug. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes wide and fixed on a distant, indistinct point. Her breathing was ragged, labored, as if she were trying to pull air through a narrow, clogged straw. The sound of her panting was interspersed with heavy sobs, creating a symphony of anguish that made Nick's heart tighten in his chest.

"Y/N!" Nick called, his voice thick with panic. But to Y/N, his words were like distant whispers, drowned out by the deafening noise of her own frantically beating heart.

Her mind was in a whirlwind of chaotic, disorganized thoughts, each competing for attention and increasing the feeling of panic. She felt trapped in an endless cycle of terror, unable to escape the downward spiral that consumed her.

The feeling of suffocation was overwhelming, as if an invisible weight was pressing down on her chest, making every desperate attempt to breathe difficult. The seconds seemed to stretch into a torturous eternity, each second carrying a new wave of fear and despair.

Nick ran up to her, the panic on his face intensifying by the second. He knelt beside Y/N, trying to find a way to reach her, to bring her back from that abyss of despair. His hands shook as he gently pulled her close, enveloping her in a tight, protective hug.

"I’m here, Y/N, I’m here." He repeated, his voice choked with emotion, praying to whatever was watching them to make her listen to him. But she didn't seem to be able to do it, lost in her own spiral of panic.

Nick closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to stay calm. He knew he needed to be strong for her, and he needed to find a way to calm her.

"Y/N, look at me, please." He pleaded, voice softer, trying to break the invisible barrier that kept her trapped in her own fear. The brunette held her face with his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Breathe with me, okay? Breathe slowly."

He began to breathe deeply, exaggerating his movements so she could follow. He breathed in slowly and deeply through his nose, holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling through his mouth. He felt Y/N tremble in his arms, but he kept pace, trying to convey calmness through each breath.

"That's it, keep going, you can do it." Nick encouraged, feeling a small change in her breathing. Her panting began to synchronize with his, although it was still irregular. He continued to whisper words of comfort, repeating that he was there, that she wasn't alone.

Slowly, very slowly, he felt the stiffness in her body begin to ease. Y/N's breathing became a little steadier, although she was still shaking. Nick kept the hug tight, feeling her heart beat against his own chest. He knew she was still scared, still trapped in her mind, but she was starting to come back.

"You're safe, Y/N. I'm here." Nick said once again, his voice firm and reassuring. He didn't let go of her face, maintaining eye contact, grounding her to reality. "Let's get through this together, okay?"

Finally, after several minutes that felt like hours, Y/N began to breathe in a more controlled manner. Her sobs subsided, and her eyes, once wide with terror, began to focus on Nick's. Her blurred vision cleared a little, the walls of the room seeming less threatening.

Nick sighed in relief, still holding her tightly, feeling the tension gradually ease in her muscles.

His own heart was still beating fast, but now, for a different reason. He looked around, trying to understand the situation better, when his blue orbs stopped on the open suitcase above the bed. The sight of the packed suitcase made his heart sink. Confusion and fear settled in his chest. What was happening? Why was she packing her things? The thought of Y/N leaving caused him his own panic, an intense worry that he tried to suppress, deciding that the questions could wait.

With a conscious effort, he looked away from the suitcase and focused on the immediate task of taking care of Y/N. He stood up slowly, maintaining eye contact to ensure she didn't feel abandoned for even a moment. The boy grabbed the pink bottle of water from the bedside table on her side of the bed and quickly returned, sitting next to her on the cold floor again. The hard ground beneath him was a sharp contrast to the softness of concern he felt for Y/N.

"Here, drink some water." He asked softly, handing Y/N the bottle.

The fragile girl took the bottle with hands that were still shaking but managed to open the cap and take a few small sips, each one firmer than the last. Nick watched her every move, his mind still spinning around the suitcase. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unasked questions. He waited patiently, without pressing, standing by her side like a pillar of support.

After long seconds of silence, Y/N took a deep breath, her gaze shifting from the bottle to the suitcase on the bed. She knew she needed to explain. Nick deserved to know what was going on, especially after helping her get through that panic attack. She straightened up a little, trying to find the strength to speak.

"Nick..." She began, her voice still trembling. "I... I'm packing because I need to get out of here for a while. I can't stay here any longer, the way things are between me and..." Her voice trailed off into the air before she could mention the name of the boy she loved most in the world.

Nick felt a lump form in his throat, but he remained calm, waiting for her to continue. Y/N took another sip of water before continuing, her words coming out in a halting, painful stream.

"I saw Matt with Amanda today, you know? They were together, and he looked so happy… happier than I've ever seen him with me." Her voice cracked again, but she took a deep breath and continued. "It made me realize that no matter how much I love him, he will never love me the same way. And I can't keep destroying myself like this. So, I'm going to spend the night at Diana's house. I need some time to think, to calm down. Get away from here. Get away from him. And maybe make him miss me... Or finally notice that I'm not what he wants." The last part came out in a broken whisper, her gaze lowering to her crossed legs.

Nick felt a wave of relief upon hearing that she wasn't leaving his life forever, but the worry and sadness over her situation still weighed heavily on him. He wanted to say something, anything to ease her pain, but the words seemed inadequate. Instead, he just nodded, offering silent support.

"And please, Nick, don't tell Matt anything yet." Y/N asked, her eyes pleading. "I need a little time to understand what I'm going to do. He really hurt me, but I can't act on impulse."

Nick held her hand firmly, offering her an expression of understanding and support.

"Of course, Y/N. I won't tell him. I promise." He murmured sincerely. "You can have all the time you need. And I'm here for you, no matter what. I love my little brother, but I won't defend him when he's in the wrong end. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, Y/N. Someone who loves you completely, without shadows of the past."

They sat there for a few more minutes, sharing that moment of stillness and understanding. The cold of the ground seemed less intense with each other's comforting presence.

Eventually, Y/N stood up, with Nick helping her place her suitcase on the floor. She took one last look at the room she had shared with Matt, pain visible in her eyes but also a growing determination. She knew she needed to step away to heal, to find her own strength again.

"Let's go." Nick's voice woke her from her reverie, his hands picking up her suitcase and walking it to the door. "I'll uber you to Diana's house."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt returned home with a beaming smile on his face, his heart still racing with the joy of the friendly encounter he had had. He had spent the afternoon with Amanda, talking and laughing like old times, and the feeling of familiarity and happiness was undeniable.

The boy climbed the stairs of the house with quick steps, eager to see Y/N and share his good mood with her. He wanted to hold her close on their bed, bury his nose in the curve of her neck, and smell her soft and natural perfume as he told her about his day.

But when he opened the bedroom door, a strange feeling of tension in the air made him stop. The environment felt different, as if something had changed, but he couldn't identify what it was. He entered the space, leaving the door open behind him, turning his body and letting his eyes roam the four walls, trying to find what was wrong. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance: the bed was made, his clothes were in the same place, the books were on the shelf, and the computer was on the computer desk. But there was an absence he still couldn't understand.

It was when he opened the closet that reality began to form in his mind. Y/N's side was almost empty. Where her dresses, skirts, and t-shirts once hung, now there were just a few lonely hangers. The empty space where her suitcase sat now felt like a black hole, sucking in all the light and joy he had felt moments before.

Matt felt his heart stop for a second, a feeling of panic starting to take over his chest.

"Y/N? Hey, baby? Are you cleaning out the closet by any chance?" Matt's broken voice sounded through the room in an echo, seeming to escape out the door and travel the entire floor of the house, his blue eyes still fixed on the empty hangers as his mind created the expectation of hearing the sweet, melodious voice back.

But nothing came.

Nick appeared silently in the doorway, watching his younger brother with a serious expression. Matt was so absorbed in his desperate search for answers that he didn't notice Nick's presence until he heard his voice.

"She left."

Matt turned abruptly, his wide, confused eyes meeting Nick's. The older triplet's expression was one of deep sadness, mixed with calm determination. Matt felt a wave of despair rise up inside him, like an overwhelming tide ready to swallow him.

"What do you mean 'she left'?" Matt asked, his voice trembling accompanied by an expression of terror. "Where- Where did she go?"

Nick sighed, taking a step forward, eyes shining with suppressed anger.

"That doesn't matter now. What matters is that you need to decide what you really want, Matt. She saw you with Amanda today, you know?"

Matt felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. He looked around the room again, this time with a clear understanding of what was missing. Y/N, the constant, loving presence in his life, was gone.

"I don't understand..." Matt muttered almost to himself. "I thought we were fine."

"Only you saw this. Seeing you with Amanda was the last straw for her. She loves you, she really does, but she can't keep living like this, Matt, not when she knows that you still have feelings for your ex." Nick scoffed, a disgusted tone echoing with his words, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in suppressed anger. "And you can't continue like this, dividing your attention between Y/N and Amanda. This is destroying Y/N, and you don't even realize it."

"But I... I was just trying to be friends with Amanda again. I don't have feelings for her anymore." Matt spluttered, confusion and guilt beginning to mix in his chest.

"Then why do you keep seeing her?" Nick countered, with no softness in his words. "Y/N loves you, Matt. She loves you so much that she is destroying herself because you don't treat her like you should. She needs you, and you're here, acting like nothing's wrong. And if you continue like this, you will permanently lose the only girl who has truly stuck by your side through thick and thin."

Matt felt a lump tighten in his throat. He tried to speak, but words failed him. The image of Y/N, the woman he loved, suffering in silence because of her insensitivity, was unbearable.

He felt foolish and insensitive. How had he not realized how much Y/N ​​was suffering? All he wanted was to be able to hug her now, tell her that he loved her, and that she was the only person that mattered. But at that moment, he realized how late those words could be.

"I didn't cheat on her, Nick. I really was with Amanda, but I didn't… I didn't do anything wrong." Matt's voice sounded choked, tears beginning to well up in his eyes as anxiety rose through his body like rafters.

"You think you didn't, Matt. But sometimes, it's not about what you do but about how you make the other person feel. And honestly? Giving priority to your ex, the girl who broke you and made you suffer for days on end, over Y/N, who you say you love oh so much, is low blow. Right now, Y/N needs space to breathe to understand her own feelings. And you need to truly analyze what you did and recant with her when she is ready."

Matt walked with shaky steps towards the double bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress, burying his face in his hands. The weight of guilt and regret was crushing. All he could think about was how he wanted to turn back in time, do things differently, show Y/N that she was the center of his world. Never have lunch with Amanda.

"I need to talk to her." Matt tightened his fingers around the brown strands of her hair, sniffling. "I need to tell her that I'm sorry, that I love her. I really do, Nick."

"I know. But give her a little time, Matt. Forcing a conversation now might make things worse. Let her process everything, and then you can try talking to her." Nick advised, watching him closely before he turned, walking towards the door. "And next time, treat her like the wonderful woman she is, not like a replacement."

Matt nodded slowly, begrudgingly, knowing his brother was right, the despair turning into a silent, constant pain. The room around him, which had once been a haven of love and shared memories, now seemed like an empty, desolate space. The mattress beneath his body, where both of their bodies lay together just the day before, now felt like an icy surface, sending horrible shivers through his body.

His mind betrayed him by making him remember the moments when he had treated Y/N with indifference and neglect, moments that he now saw with painful clarity. Each memory was like a stab to the heart, revealing the depth of his callousness. Y/N's smiles that he had taken for granted, the nights she waited up for him while he lost himself in thoughts of the past, the comparisons...

He could now see the small changes in her expression, the way her eyes sparkled less, how her smile became rarer with each passing day. She was withdrawing, and he was blindly contributing to that withdrawal.

Sitting there, now alone in the room, Matt felt the weight of his own guilt and regret. He realized that he had never made Y/N feel like the most important woman in her life. Instead, he had relegated her to the background, allowing the shadows of his former relationship to contaminate the present. Y/N's love and dedication towards him contrasted painfully with his own indifference.

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[forzalando]

hi! can you do "kisses. on. the. tip. of. the. nose." + charles please please please 🙏 tysm <3

hi hi hi! i hope you like it😊💛 thank you so much for your request, i had so much fun writing this one!!! charles + kisses on the tip of the nose 631 words, no tw!

Adopting Leo was the most wonderful decision that you and Charles had ever made – he was the sweetest puppy, even if he could be a menace at times, and had so much love in his tiny little body for the two of you.

He was exceptionally clingy, especially with you since he spent more time with you, which prompted Charles to overcompensate a bit for his absence.

It wasn’t that you were jealous of your dog, per se, but as you sat on the couch and watched Charles give his undivided attention to Leo while completely ignoring your existence, you felt a bit slighted.

His puppy voice and the sound of him leaving kisses all over Leo’s face, particularly his adorable nose, had your frown growing deeper. You’d never been great at controlling your facial expressions but Charles had yet to notice until you sighed involuntary.

“Mon amour, what’s wrong?” Charles asked sweetly, cradling Leo delicately to his chest in order to move closer to you.

“Nothing,” you pouted, stealing Leo from his arms to hopefully quell the loneliness in your chest.

“It’s not nothing, you are sad. Talk to me, my love.”

“I just – gosh, it’s so stupid.”

“Your feelings are not stupid, I promise. Did something happen while I was away? If someone hurt you I will – ”

“No, Charles,” you interrupted, debating the best way to tell him. “I…I know you miss Leo a lot and you feel guilty because you’re away so often but you’ve been home for four hours and after a quick ‘hello, I love you, I missed you”, you haven’t paid attention to me at all. I’m just feeling a little left out.”

It was silent for a moment except for Leo’s soft pants and the sound of him licking your chin – you couldn’t help but smile at the affection from him, the affection you were craving from your partner as well.

“Mon amour,” Charles cooed. “Are you jealous of little Leo?”

“I’m not jealous, but you’ve kissed him 81 times and I’m feeling neglected.”

Charles smiled softly at you, “I’m sorry, Leo is new to me being gone so often, I’ve been so wrapped up in making sure he knows I love him that I forgot for a moment it never gets any easier for you.”

“I understand, Charlie, it’s ok. I’ve just missed you a lot,” you whispered shyly. He moved even closer to you, cupping your face with his hands, leaning in. You closed your eyes and waited patiently, eager to lose yourself in Charles.

Your eyes flew open in shock when you felt his lips upon the tip of your nose repeatedly – over and over again while Charles giggled and pressed himself as close as he could without crushing your fur child.

“Charles!” you squealed, laughing along with him as his kisses moved to your cheek, chin, and right back to your nose.

“You said you were jealous of Leo’s nose kisses!”

“I said kisses in general,” you gasped between laughs. “And it looks and sounds like I’m not the only jealous one in this family.”

Leo was yapping away in your arms – his little paws trying and failing to push Charles away while he snuggled closer to you. “Leo, let me love on your Mama, no?” Charles lightly scolded, ruffling the fur on his head. As if Leo understood, he huffed out a sigh and relaxed in your arms, quickly falling asleep.

Charles leaned back against the edge of the couch and beckoned you to sit between his legs, cocooning his arms around you as you leaned back into him.

Your head nestled in the crook of his neck and Leo snoring softly in your arms – you wouldn’t trade your perfect, little family for anything in the world.

if you'd like to request a short drabble/blurb, please see this post!!

[animeyanderelover]

Yandere Gojo Satoru Prompts with a civilian petite reader

234. “Isn’t just the thought of a mini version of us unbelievably cute?”

133. “I know the restraints must hurt you. Don’t worry, I’ll untie you as soon as I’m sure you won’t run away again from me.”

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, toxic relationship, obsession, clinginess, delusional behavior, abduction, ropes, Nsfw, non-con, baby trapping, female reader, petite reader (very specific body type)

Words: 1.9k

Prompt 133 + 234

The taste of salty tears burnt on your tongue, involuntary moans and groans tumbling from your lips like a broken record as your small body was dwarfed even more by Satoru's taller frame. Rough and large hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs, your legs aching as they were pressed towards your body, restricting your movements and leaving you to helplessly lay there as the white-haired man kept on thrusting inside of you.

Your pussy was soaked, leaking with your own juices as well as his previous loads that he had spilled inside of you, his member coated in the mixed fluid of your releases as his hips slammed against your own. The air felt too hot and suffocating, beads of sweat dripping down your temples as your whole body twitched and quivered in overstimulation. Every shift on your body made the skin on your wrists spark in burning pain, scraping against the restraints that kept your arms pinned above your head.

You could feel your heart drumming against your ribcage, could hear its sound pounding inside your head. You could even detect the rhythm of Satoru's frantic heartbeat whenever he pressed his bodyweight against you, his chiseled chest smushed against your breasts as you could feel his own heart jumping against his ribcage.

His heartbeat could even be sensed in his hard shaft that glided in and out of you in a fast pace that almost bordered on desperation, rubbing against every sensitive spot inside of you that forced constant sparks of pleasure to tighten the coil inside of your stomach, threatening to push you over the edge once again. You could feel him reaching deep inside of you, his length completely disappearing inside of your hot and sensitive hole before pulling out until only his tip was kissing your insides before ramming himself back entirely. If you were to glance down, you could have even seen the bulge on your tummy that appeared whenever he thrust inside of you yet you only squeezed your eyes to cut out at least one of your senses from the constant overstimulation.

A string of curses left Satoru as he felt his balls throbbing and tightening up, the tension growing within him as his muscles started tensing up. You were tired, he could tell from your lack of protests and cries as you had been reduced to a whimpering mess beneath him.

"One last time...O-One last time, I promise..." he panted out, his lips pressing against your burning skin as his hips picked up speed whilst rutting against you, "I-I'll let you rest afterwards...f-fuck..."

His hips stuttered as he felt a tingling spreading from his balls to his groin to his spine, his grip on your thighs faltering as his limbs lost their strength and his mind went shortly blank. A familiar thick and hot load of sticky semen coated your soiled insides, the sensation triggering your final orgasm. A fresh set of tears fell down your eyes as a high-pitched scream left your mouth, your body convulsing as every thought in your head was silenced for a few seconds, your mind submerged into waves of euphoria. Your legs were flailing around and your wrists were twisting around as your body tried to handle the mind-numbing pleasure you had just entered.

You slumped into the mattress beneath you as soon as you were pulled out of the bright sensation, a new wave of tiredness washing over you as the pleasure slowly left your muscles. There was a fresh trail of drool that had dripped out of your mouth, one that you wished you could wipe away if your hands weren't tied. You dared to open your eyes again only to be met with half-lidded orbs of brilliant blue staring right back at you.

A post-orgasmic smile of bliss appeared on his face when you looked at him, staring at you with hazy eyes as he rocked his hips against you for a few more moments, letting your tight walls embrace his cock and take in everything he had to give before he slowly pulled his softened member out of you.

His hands finally released their hold on your thighs fully, the sore limbs instantly dropping down and sinking into the mattress, the occasional twitch still going through them. Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, pulling you against his body as he laid down next to you, his face nuzzling against the crook of your neck. Neither of you spoke up for the next few minutes, only the sound of soft pants audible as both of you recovered for a while from the last-what was it-two hours?

You swallowed dryly when you felt his lips pressing tiny kisses against your neck and your shoulder, your eyes landing on his white hair before you decided to speak up.

"Satoru," you called out his name carefully, earning a hum from him as he shifted his face so that his blue eyes could look up at your face, "Can you untie me, please?"

Your wrists turned slightly within the restraints, the material squeezing tightly against your skin as a result as you continued looking at him. Bright eyes darted to your wrists when you moved them around to emphasise your request before landing on your face again. He shook his head softly, his eyes only holding some mild pity.

“I know the restraints must hurt you," he spoke in a soothing tone, one of his hands easily reaching up to your pinned hands and rubbing your palm with his thumb gently, "Don’t worry, I’ll untie you as soon as I’m sure you won’t run away again from me.”

You pursed your lips, biting the inside of your cheeks with the last bit of frustration you could summon up in your exhausted state.

"Can I at least have a sip of water then?" you opted to ask for instead, your throat tightening as you swallowed again, your mouth dry. This was a request he seemed to be willing to fulfill you instantly as he grabbed a bottle of water he had kept on the nightstand.

"Here ya go..." he uttered in a hushed tone as he guided the bottle to your lips. Fewer times could you remember enjoying the taste of bland water more than in that moment, taking big gulps to quench your thirst and to soothe your pounding headache. Blue eyes never left your face, the adoration in this gaze something you were quite familiar with by now which was precisely why you could spot the new something that had been part of every look he had given you ever since that day. You still did not know what it was but it had been the single reason why you had been stuck in this predicament ever since. You didn't know if that something would ever subside, you could only hope it did.

"Feeling any better?" he asked as soon as you had practically emptied the bottle, one of his hands going up to caress your head. You nodded weakly, the headache still prevalent though at least it felt like the hydration had partially weakened the pounding ache. You shut your eyes for a moment as you took a few breaths, noticing all the different aches your body was making you aware of now that the last bit of ecstasy had left your body to deal with the consequences.

"M'sorry. I should have been a bit more careful." you heard him whisper against your skin as his fingers traced over your sore and used body though you didn't believe his words. He'd told you the same thing yesterday and the day before that yet nothing really changed.

You stiffled a pained groan when he shifted positions, crawling on top of you before laying down carefully, his forehead pressed against your stomach. Remaining in that position for a while, you couldn't help but watch him with growing dread. There were still so many things you didn't understand yet you knew that those blue eyes of his could perceive far more than you or anyone else in this city could ever hope to detect.

"If it doesn't work, we'll try again tomorrow..."

His words brought you brief relief yet it was as short-lived as a flash of lightning when your mind reminded you that Satoru would try as long as it took until it finally took. Until you were pregnant with his child.

His intentions were obvious to you, they had been since the very first night after your attempt to escape had gone so horribly wrong. The words had just tumbled out of his mouth on that day, chaotic and desperate as the betrayal and paranoia had been just freshly engraved on his mind. Baby trapping you was by far one of the most messed up things Gojo Satoru was currently doing yet you knew best that he was too deluded to ever realise this.

"I wonder if they'll resemble me or will take more after you... Perhaps a mix of the both of us," he mused to himself, his lips showering your flat stomach with light kisses, "Isn’t just the thought of a mini version of us unbelievably cute?”

You could pick up on the giddiness in his tone, the obvious joy that the thought of having a baby with you brought him. In another situation you would have perhaps been able to reciprocate the excitement but this wasn't another situation. You could only remain silent, the lack of an answer from your side breaking him out of his happy thoughts as he looked up. His adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed as if your face stained with drying tears and snot as well as the silent yet grieving look in your eyes threatened to confront him with the reality.

"I-I understand that the thought of having a baby may be a bit overwhelming," he started, his eyes pinning your gaze, "But I promise that you'll change your mind once you'll feel those first kicks or at the latest when it'll be born and you'll hold our baby for the first time. He or she will be the sweetest thing you'll ever lay your eyes on."

You did not believe his words. How could you when it sounded like he was making excuses to uphold his own images he was breeding inside his head.

There were words crawling up your throat, words you desperately wished to speak. Satoru sensed it too and almost seemed to brace himself for what you were about to possibly say to him. You could taste the scorching words on your tongue, their bitter taste spreading inside your mouth only for you to hesitate for too long, causing everything to collapse.

"Am I supposed to believe that? I don't even know who you really are..." you muttered, your voice quiet yet tinged with bitterness.

"That's not true, "Satoru quickly answered back, crawling closer to you until he could cup your face and hover his face right above yours, "You're the only one who knows me. The real me..."

There was pain in his voice as well as his eyes and you wished that you could understand why it was stuck in his heart in the first place instead of constantly being left in the dark.

"Then why are you not telling me anything?"

For a brief moment you could see the agony taking over, a glazed look appearing in his eyes as his mind took him to a place only he could see before his gaze cleared up.

"You don't need to know. Not for now at least," he whispered, his voice heavy with regret and fear, "You only need to know that nothing will happen to you or our future child because both of you are mine."

[baelabong]

ʟᴜɴᴄʜ (ɢ!ᴘ ᴋᴀʀɪɴᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

rq: yessir

Pairing: sub!g!p rina x dom!fem reader

Plot: Rina doesnt get nervous but why does her best friend make her sweat so hard

Wc; 2391 words

The bell rang to signal lunch, and Karina hurriedly gathered her things, spotting you waiting at the front of her classroom with a grin on your face. As classmates called out their goodbyes to Karina, she radiated confidence, making her way over to you.

Before Karina could leave, a girl approached her, asking, “Hey, do you want to eat lunch with me today?”

Karina hesitated, about to respond, “Oh, the thing is—”

“Karina!” you called out, waving her over. “The lunch I packed you won’t eat itself!” Your playful smirk was aimed directly at the girl talking to Karina, clearly marking your territory.

With an apologetic smile, Karina excused herself and walked over to you. You greeted her with a playful nudge and an arm draped casually over her shoulders, holding the lunch pack in your other hand.

Karina's cheeks flushed a light pink, and she looked away shyly, making you frown slightly but deciding not to push her.

Lunch passed in a comfortable rhythm, the two of you sharing the meal you had prepared. As you reached the final bite, Karina offered it to you, “You should take the last bite.”

You shook your head with a teasing smile, “Absolutely not,” while gently shoving the last spoonful into her mouth.

Throughout your friendship, you had always taken the lead, steering the two of you through decisions big and small. Whether it was deciding on plans or steering her away from unwanted advances, you were always there, guiding her.

After lunch, you both headed to the restroom to freshen up, reapplying lip gloss and fixing your hair. As you finished, you caught Karina staring at your lips, her gaze lingering longer than usual.

You leaned in closer, your face just inches from Karina’s, watching as she took an involuntary step back. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her usually confident demeanor crumbled. Despite being a whole foot taller than you, she seemed smaller in that moment, her composure slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Something wrong, Rina?” you asked, your voice soft, almost a whisper, yet laced with a playful edge. The way you were looking at her—your eyes locked onto hers, unwavering—made her heart race. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out, just a shallow breath that did nothing to steady her nerves.

Her gaze darted downward, unable to hold yours any longer. But as her eyes dropped, they landed directly on your cleavage, partially exposed by the low neckline of your shirt. Karina’s face flushed a deep red, her embarrassment turning into something else—something more intense, more primal.

“Oh?” you said, your voice dropping lower, a teasing lilt curling at the edges of your words. “Did I just catch you staring at what I thought you were?”

Karina’s breath hitched, her mind racing as she struggled to pull herself together. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound almost deafening in the otherwise silent bathroom. She tried to say something, anything, but the words got tangled on her tongue, coming out as nothing more than a soft stammer.

“I—I wasn’t—” she started, but her voice faltered, the denial weak even to her own ears.

You took another step closer, closing the gap between you. Your body was so close to hers now that she could feel the heat radiating from you, your presence overwhelming her senses. Her back pressed against the cool tile wall, and she realized she had nowhere else to go.

“You weren’t what?” you pressed, your tone gentle yet insistent, pushing her to admit what you both knew. The proximity, the way your eyes bore into hers—it was intoxicating, and Karina could feel her resolve slipping away.

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, you lifted a finger and placed it gently against her lips. The touch was soft, almost tender, yet it silenced her completely, the words dying in her throat.

“Shh,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving hers. The moment stretched out between you, thick with tension, every second feeling like an eternity. Karina could hardly breathe, her body reacting to the closeness, the intimacy of the situation.

Your finger lingered against her lips, a silent command that she couldn’t disobey. Her eyes were locked on yours, unable to look away, the intensity of your gaze holding her captive. Her heart raced faster, and she could feel a flush spreading across her cheeks, down her neck, and to places she couldn’t control.

You smiled, a small, knowing curve of your lips, as if you could read every thought running through her mind. The bathroom seemed to shrink around you both, the air charged with an electric tension that made every breath feel heavy, loaded with anticipation.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips like a promise, a secret shared just between the two of you.

Karina’s eyes widened, but she nodded, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. You took her hand, leading her to a nearby janitor's closet, closing and locking the door behind you.

You guided Karina into the small, dimly lit janitor’s closet, the faint scent of cleaning supplies hanging in the air. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet space. Karina stood there, her breath coming in short, nervous bursts, her eyes wide as she watched you move.

“Pull down your pants, baby,” you commanded softly, your voice carrying an edge of authority that made Karina’s heart skip a beat. There was affection in your tone, but it was clear that you were in control.

Karina’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for the waistband of her pants, her fingers fumbling with the button. She hesitated for a split second, a flash of uncertainty crossing her face, but your steady gaze gave her the reassurance she needed. With a deep breath, she undid the button and pulled her pants down, letting them fall to her ankles.

You stepped closer, your hand gently brushing against her thigh as you knelt in front of her. The contact sent a shiver down Karina’s spine, her body reacting to your touch with a mixture of anticipation and fear. She watched as you looked up at her, your eyes dark with intent.

“Good girl,” you murmured, the words sending a flush of warmth through Karina’s body. Her hands gripped the edges of the shelf behind her, holding on for support as you leaned in closer.

The moment your mouth made contact, Karina’s body tensed, a sharp gasp escaping her lips before she bit down on them to keep from making too much noise. The sensation was overwhelming, your tongue skillfully working its way around her most sensitive parts.

Karina’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to keep herself composed. Every touch, every movement from you sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, her legs trembling with the effort to stay upright.

You took your time, savoring each reaction, each twitch of her body as you teased her, bringing her close to the edge before pulling back just enough to keep her hanging on. The frustration was evident in her soft whimpers, the way her hips subtly moved toward you, seeking more of the pleasure you were so expertly denying her.

“P-please…” Karina finally managed to whisper, her voice trembling with need. Her hands tightened their grip on the shelf, her knuckles turning white. “Please, I need…”

“What do you need, Rina?” you asked, your voice a low, seductive purr that sent another shiver down her spine. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at her, watching the way her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.

“I… I need you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, but the vulnerability in her words was clear. Her eyes met yours, pleading silently for you to end the sweet torment you were putting her through.

A smile played at the corners of your lips, a mixture of pride and satisfaction at how you had her completely under your control. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” you teased, your breath warm against her skin.

Karina’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the need was too strong to ignore. “I need you to… to make me come,” she finally confessed, her voice shaking with the effort it took to say the words out loud.

Your smile widened at her admission, and you leaned back in, your mouth once again working her over with deliberate, calculated movements. Karina’s body responded immediately, her back arching slightly as the pleasure built up inside her, hotter and more intense with each passing second.

But just as she was about to tip over the edge, you pulled back again, leaving her on the brink of release. Karina let out a frustrated whine, her hips bucking slightly toward you, desperate for the release you were denying her.

“Not yet,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. You placed a gentle hand on her thigh, holding her in place. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

Karina’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling with the effort to hold back. She looked down at you, her eyes wide and pleading, her voice breaking as she whispered, “Please, please let me come. I can’t take it anymore…”

The desperation in her voice was enough to satisfy you, and you resumed your movements, this time with a relentless pace that left Karina with no chance of holding back. Her hands gripped the shelf tighter, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as the pleasure built up to an unbearable level.

And then, with a final, expert flick of your tongue, you pushed her over the edge. Karina’s body tensed, her back arching as a wave of pleasure crashed over her, her moans barely contained as she rode out her climax. Her legs shook, barely able to hold her up as she came down from the high, her body spent and trembling.

You pulled back, watching with satisfaction as she struggled to catch her breath, her face flushed and her eyes half-lidded with the afterglow of pleasure.

“Good,” you whispered again, your voice soft and full of praise as you gently kissed the inside of her thigh, letting her bask in the warmth of your affection.

But you weren’t done yet. You took Karina’s hand, guiding her to a spare chair in the room. With a fluid motion, you straddled her lap, your bodies aligning perfectly. You could feel her length, still hard and eager beneath you, pressing against you through the fabric.

You leaned in close, your breath warm against her ear. “Put your hands here,” you whispered, placing her trembling hands on your waist. Karina’s touch was hesitant, her fingers curling slightly as she tried to find her footing in the overwhelming situation.

As you began to grind against her, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through both of you, Karina’s breath hitched. The sensation was intense, the heat between your bodies growing with each subtle movement. You didn’t bother removing your panties, just slid them to the side, guiding her into you. The feeling of her entering you, the way she filled you, made you gasp softly, your body instinctively pressing closer to hers.

Her girthy length stretched you out so good, making you let out a guttural moan while you clenched on her veiny cock. Moaning with you, she threw her head back with a hiss, not knowing what to do. The tip of her mushroom hesd kissed your insides so perfectly you bounced up and down on her.

Her thighs going red from the weight you were putting on her as you left scratches tgat left red marks on her shouldersbecause of how good she was making you feel. You koved as if she was your own toy that you could use.

“You like me using you like this?” You said in between ragged moans. “You like just sitting down while I use your cock to pound on my pussy?”

Just whining in response, you grab her hand and place it on the your tummy where a clear bulge comes and goes as you move up and down. At this feeling alone, Karina felt ecstatic that filled you up this good, resulting in her shooting just a few small ropes of cum but her cock still rock hard.

Karina’s hands hovered uncertainly, unsure of where to go, what to do, but you quickly took control, moving her hands to guide your hips. “Move me like this,” you instructed softly, your voice a mixture of command and gentle encouragement.

Karina’s grip tightened on your waist as she followed your lead, her movements becoming more confident as the pleasure built between you. The rhythm you set was slow at first, each thrust deep and deliberate, but soon the pace quickened, the urgency between you growing.

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel,” you murmured, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. The closeness, the intimate contact, made your voice seem like it was coming from inside her mind, wrapping around her thoughts and desires.

Karina’s voice was shaky, breathless as she tried to find the words. “So good… you’re making me feel so good,” she managed, her voice trembling with the effort it took to speak. Her hands held onto you tightly, grounding herself as the sensation threatened to overwhelm her.

You could feel her head starting to fall, her body surrendering to the intense pleasure, but you weren’t going to let her escape that easily. You grabbed her face gently but firmly, tilting her chin up so her eyes met yours.

“Look at me when I fuck you,” you ordered, your voice low and commanding, but still laced with the tenderness you always showed her.

Karina’s eyes locked onto yours, her gaze filled with a mixture of vulnerability and desire. The connection between you deepened, the intensity of the moment heightened by the shared intimacy. Each thrust, each movement, was a silent conversation between your bodies, expressing everything words couldn’t capture.

As you rode her, your own pleasure building to a peak, you leaned in closer, your forehead resting against hers. The intimacy of the gesture, the closeness, made the experience even more intense. You could feel her trembling beneath you, her breath mingling with yours as you both moved closer to the edge.

“Don’t look away,” you whispered, your voice gentle now, almost a plea. You wanted her to be fully present with you, to share every second of this moment.

Karina nodded slightly, her eyes still locked on yours, even as the pleasure threatened to pull her under. She could feel herself getting closer, the pressure building inside her until it was almost unbearable.

When you finally reached your peak, the release was almost simultaneous, a shared explosion of pleasure that left both of you breathless, clinging to each other as the waves of sensation washed over you. You stayed like that for a moment, your bodies still connected, your breaths mingling as you slowly came down from the high.

“Good girl,” you whispered, smiling down at her as she caught her breath. The two of you stayed there, wrapped in each other, letting the world outside fade away

[quizzicalwriter]

cola is one of the most well written fics i’ve ever read😭 i love the way you write ellie please please write more older ellie!! u are so talented <333

Haunted

Pairing: Older Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Summary: Follow-up of “Cola.” Ellie likes you, maybe a bit too much.

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Perv!Ellie, Older Ellie, kissing, touching, oral, car sex. Some darker thoughts on Ellie’s part.

A/N: Thank you for the request! And for the kind words! Part three here!

Word Count: 2.6k

It was perverse, Ellie knew that, but as she held your bundled-up panties in her left hand as her right swirled her fingers around her clit she couldn’t bring herself to care. After the incident where you’d accidentally flashed her you’d put up white curtains in your bedroom, white curtains that were noticeably sheer. Ellie was sure you didn’t know that they were, either way, she thanked God whenever you’d strip down in the middle of your bedroom.

An involuntary groan pulled itself from her throat as you dropped your towel, wet hair splayed to your body, lips moving as though you were humming or speaking about something. All Ellie could focus on was the look of your breasts through the curtains, and how your hands moved over them as you looked around your room for something. She plunged her middle and ring finger into her cunt, palm bumping into her clit with each push of her fingers. The lewd sound of her wetness echoed through the room whenever she’d jerk her fingers up into her cunt, paired with the grunts of your name as she let her head fall back against the bed frame.

She brought your panties to her face, breathing in your earthy scent, almost as though she could taste you on her tongue. Her eyes all but rolled back at the scent, fingers clutching against the white fabric as her hips jerked up into her hand. If you’d been paying attention you might’ve been able to see her through her bedroom window, she wasn’t exactly being secretive about what she was doing - yet you continued getting dressed, blind to what she was doing a mere distance away.

With a strangled cry of your name, she came around her fingers, cunt spasming down against the digits as she clutched onto your underwear. She’d hardly had a moment to catch her breath before she heard her front door open, followed by a loud call of her name. She cursed under her breath, ripping her hand from her boxers as she scrambled to her feet, quickly shoving your underwear back into her bedside table as she stumbled over her feet pulling on her jeans.

“Ellie?” Her wife called again, her voice agitated and growing closer. Ellie turned to their floor-length mirror, straightening herself out before turning to the door, just as her wife walked in.

“You’re home,” Ellie stated, motioning to the bag her wife held in her left hand. “Thought you’d be out longer.”

“Don’t act too excited.” She responded, rolling her eyes as she tossed her bag down to the floor. “Missed you is all.”

Ellie feigned a smile, taking in a breath before moving to her wife, placing a kiss on her temple.

“Missed you too.”

Two weeks, that’s how long it’s been since you’d last seen Ellie. Spring break was long over, yet it somehow seemed fresh in your mind. The way her hands held your hips, her fingers circling your clit, her lips against your body. The thoughts swallowed you whole, causing you to completely doze off, rereading the same passage of your schoolbook over and over as you thought about that night.

It wasn’t until everyone started moving from their seats to leave for the day that you realized you’d wasted a whole hour daydreaming about Ellie. It was stupid, she was your parent's neighbor and it’d been a fling, she made that much apparent by how she refused to meet your gaze the following days, not bothering to return your wave when you’d pulled out of your parent's driveway on your way back to campus.

You’d thought of her at night, fingers pumping into your cunt, desperately trying to mimic the rhythm she’d used as she’d pounded you into her mattress. It never worked, never felt as good as she did and that only added to your frustration. It’d have been one thing if she was hot and ignored you, but she was hot and impossibly good in bed - it was rude.

After you’d made it back to your dorm you were pleasantly surprised to find it empty - not that you didn’t like your roommate, she was sweet, but it was nice to have the room to yourself from time to time. With you having nothing better to do you decided to get on your phone, hopping onto Facebook to see what all your family had been up to, seeing as none of them knew how to use anything other than that godforsaken app.

Worst decision possible.

As soon as the feed loaded, you were greeted with the sight of your parents and everyone who’d been in attendance at the neighborhood block party, including Ellie. That same damn outfit she’d worn when she’d ordered you to strip in her kitchen. It was almost as though you could feel her, how the back of her hand trailed along your inner thighs. You’d wasted nearly five minutes staring at the photo before you locked your phone, letting it fall to the floor as you stared at the ceiling with an almost childish frown.

You were going to get drunk.

Luckily for you the nearest gas station was less than a five-minute walk from your dormitory, you’d gone there on more than one occasion with your friends - usually to mix liquor into your Slurpees, but what else were you going to do in a quiet town?

The gas station was empty when you entered, save for an intoxicated employee who blasted horrible music from his phone - intoxicated on what? You couldn’t say, but whatever it was, he seemed to be soaring. You laughed silently to yourself as you weaved through the isles, picking up a bag of chips before making your way over to their limited selection of alcohol. You weren’t one to drink on the best of days, but today felt like a day worthy of a hangover.

You picked out something cheap that promised to taste like fruit, you had no idea if the claim on the bottle was true or not, but in truth, you didn’t care. It wasn’t until you had everything bagged and were outside the store that you realized the cashier didn’t even bother to card you, you’d had your ID on you, but he didn’t ask.

“Fuckin’ weird.” You murmured to yourself, moving down the sidewalk and onto the curb, propping yourself up on the concrete as you rifled through your bag.

“You know how late it is?” A voice asked, making you instinctually scream, your body freezing up in terror until your mind registered the voice.

Ellie.

You looked up, catching her gaze fixated on you, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. Surely from having scared the absolute Christ out of you. You nodded, lips parting as you grabbed your phone from your back pocket, clicking the screen on only to realize it was much later than you’d originally thought. You looked back up to her then, clearly confused.

“Why are you out? Especially out here, I mean it’s like a twenty-minute drive. That and there’s a 7/11 way closer than this one near our neighborhood.”

Ellie didn’t seem phased by your questioning, simply moving to sit beside you on the curb with a soft sigh, resting her forearms on her knees. “They have better Slurpees.”

You snorted, twisting the cap off of your drink. The words seemed like bullshit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the real reason why Ellie found herself where you were. You tossed the bottle back, eyes immediately screwing shut as the acrid taste coated your tongue - whatever it was, it was not fruit.

“You could’ve told me you didn’t want to see me again.” You replied through a groan, passing her the bottle without so much as a second thought. She took it, inspecting the label before taking a sip herself, having virtually the same reaction you’d had.

“I’m married.” She responded, eyes flickering over to you for a moment before looking back to the bottle, taking a second sip a moment later. “I can’t do this with you.”

The words hurt more than you thought they would, making you look down to the wet asphalt as you choked back a hurt laugh. You took the bottle from her then, chugging a decent amount before your body all but rejected the next sip. Maybe it was the liquor, or maybe it was the hurt feelings swelling within your chest, whatever it was it dampened any want to hold back.

“Should’ve thought of that before you fucked me.”

Ellie looked over to you then, grabbing the bottle from your hands to place it on the ground before her. Her gaze felt suffocating at times, almost as though you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. She brushed her thumb along your jaw, a languid smile on her lips as she trailed her thumb across your bottom lip.

“You don’t want me.” She whispered, as though she were trying to convince herself of the words rather than you. “I won’t be good for you, I’m twice your age.”

Her warning wasn’t registering in your mind, hidden pleas for you not to fall for her - it was too late for that. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to hers in a kiss harsh enough that you were sure you’d cut your bottom lip on your teeth. Your hands snaked behind her head, threading through her hair as you deepened the kiss. She let you, lips parting as her tongue met yours. You could taste the cheap liquor on her tongue combined with your lip balm.

You only pulled away when your lungs ached for air, eyes fluttering open as you caught your breath. Ellie stared at you, a mixture of arousal and bewilderment clear in her eyes.

“Let me think for myself.”

Ellie nodded with a short-lived laugh, pushing herself up by her knees before extending a hand down to you, which you quickly took. Her grasp on your hand was tight, borderline possessive. It reminded you of the way her hand had held both of yours by your wrists, the way her fingerprints had left bruises behind on your skin.

Normally you’d have been weirded out at the prospect of going into a nearby deserted parking lot with someone you hardly knew, but you trusted Ellie for some reason you didn’t quite understand. She unlocked her car with her free hand, movements illuminated by the overhead streetlights. Instead of moving to the front of the car, she moved to the back, popping open the back door before turning to you.

“Need me to help you in?” She asked, tone cocky as she slid into the backseat. You shook your head, following in after her. The car wasn’t cramped, if anything it was pretty damn nice. Had to be a 70s make, something she took pride in with the way everything glowed and smelled divine.

You’d hardly had a moment to take in the appearance of the car before she jerked you toward her by your hips, causing you to fall back against the car door, hands shooting down beneath you to hold your upper half upright.

“Ellie?” You laughed out in disbelief. “The fuck?”

Your skirt had moved up at the motion, exposing your lace underwear to her eyes, she couldn’t help the groan that passed her lips. She moved back against the seat, enough room for her to lean forward, bringing her level with your cunt. She didn’t bother to respond, wrapping her arms around your upper thighs, hands squeezing at the flesh there as she kissed your cunt through your underwear, earning her a whine from your lips.

“Thought about you all week.” She murmured, moving back an inch to remove your underwear, pocketing them just as she’d done before. “Thought about how good you’d taste.”

You whimpered, the noise nearly pathetic as she pressed open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. She seemed territorial over you, her motions desperate and rough, as though she’d been deprived of you for years. You had no objections, instead scooting down farther to bring yourself closer to her, clenching around nothing at the feeling of her breath against your soaked cunt.

“Such a pretty cunt.” She whispered before licking a stripe up your folds, grunting at the saccharine taste. Your head fell back, all but smacking against the car door as you moaned out her name, hands instinctively flying to her hair. She loved it, loved feeling you lose yourself because of her actions.

She swirled her tongue around your clit, chuckling inwardly at the way your hips would twitch whenever a sensation became too much for you to bear, only spurring her on further. She swiped her tongue side to side, wanting nothing more than to see you come undone just from her tongue alone.

Your hands tangled themselves in her auburn hair, hips rutting in tandem with her tongue as it laved at your cunt, every moan that left your lips making her ache. The fact that Ellie was eating you out in a desolate parking lot was not lost on you, the worry of being caught occasionally made you look away from her and out the car windows, ensuring nobody was around. Yet all you could care about was the way Ellie sucked at your clit, practically drinking your juices as her arms hooked around your thighs, green eyes trained on you.

Her gaze was near paralyzing, something hidden within it that made your heart still. Instead of frightening you, it aroused you. Whenever she noticed your eyes moving anywhere but hers she’d tighten her grasp on your thighs, nails digging into the soft skin.

“Focus on me.” She ordered, wiping her thumb along her bottom lip before dipping it into her mouth, sucking your juices off of the digit. “Just me.”

You nodded, unable to say anything as she moved back between your legs, sucking your clit into her mouth before letting off with a lewd pop. She brought one of her hands down, spreading your folds to lick up your cunt, causing your hips to jerk down against her face, earning you an amused chuckle from her as she continued her movements.

“Fuck, Els-“ You whined, feeling yourself clench around her tongue as she brought you closer to your orgasm. She hummed in response, fingers digging into your upper thighs as she swirled her tongue around your clit, drinking you up as much as she could. Your head fell back, wanton moans pouring from you as your grasp on her hair tightened.

“Cum on my tongue, baby.”

That was all you needed, cumming with a strangled cry as your hips jerked in her hold, riding out your orgasm against her perfectly skilled tongue. You could hear her sucking along your folds, the pleasure overriding itself into near-blinding overstimulation in less than a second. You whined, pushing at her hands that rested on your lower stomach. She pulled away after a moment, lips and chin glistening in your juices.

She sat back against the backseat, wiping at her face with the bottom of her shirt. You were completely fucked out, your skirt pushed up to your stomach, underwear missing - again. You looked utterly spent, the sight causing Ellie to let out a chuckle as she pulled down your skirt, giving you some semblance of modesty back.

“How’d you find me?” You asked, moving to rest up on your elbows. “I didn’t even tell you what college I go to.”

Ellie shrugged, smile never faltering as she rested her arm against the headrest of the backseat. “You’re easy to find.” Was all she said, watching with amused eyes as you moved to sit up, cheeks still flushed a beautiful crimson color, one she wanted to see every day for the rest of her damn life if she could help it.

“That’s creepy.” You laughed out half-heartedly, smoothing back your hair. “You watching me, Ellie?”

“Maybe.”

A/N: I may make this into a series, I love older and somewhat unhinged Ellie way too much. Anyways, thank you all for the interactions with my work! I greatly appreciate it. Any requests you may have feel free to leave in my inbox! As always, you can find my work over on my AO3 as well under the user, “Unscriptural.” Thank you again!

Taglist: @fairyysoiree @slutforelliewilliamz @p4ison1vy @caitlynsslut

[narcissistshandler]

𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘, 𝗕𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗧

and here we go again in more smuts I write in 40 minutes randomly overnight. the choso part in the trailer keeps popping up for me all over my social media, so that's for everyone who has this man as husband! top!amab! reader and bottom!choso below. this was written to be read as gn, so if anything is wrong please let me know!

Choso always made the cutest sounds during sex. He was a very domestic and simple man, most of the time he would ask you in a soft voice to turn off the lights before continuing what you were doing, (even though you two knew the darkness of the room did little to hide the flush in his face, his open mouth in an involuntary movement or how his cock twitched at the smallest of compliments). He usually liked looking at your face during sex and blushed like a virgin when you tried anything in daylight. And after one of the neighbors complained about the noise, Choso not only started to avoid them, he also started to have a habit that you hated:

He started trying to be as quiet as possible in bed.

You weren't happy about it. It was hard to actually hear any of the moans or whimpers your husband made when you fucked him exactly like he had wanted all day during which he tried to show you with the eyes - it was never a difficult task, considering you were always itching to have him under you, anytime.

What sounded like a snarl reached your ears, muffled by the pillow Choso was hugging to his face, your pillow.

Your fingers dug into his lean hips, ring sunk into his skin in a way that should hurt and thumbs pressing hard over the knobby bones you pulled him back against you with each thrust, so hard that every time your thighs and his ass met, the twinge of pain shot through your senses.

In the low light, his long hair blended into the darkness and your shadow fell over his torso. You two were completely naked, skin to skin, and even condom use had been discarded when you entered into a relationship.

You liked having him like this, with no barriers between you, raw and messy and wet. Choso liked it too, as much as he never said it out loud, you knew.

He also liked it when you came inside him. It left him feeling used and dirty and belonging to you. It was another one of those things that would be hard to get him to admit, but that was okay too.

"I am close." Your voice filled the stuffy air in the room.

All the windows were closed and the curtains drawn, both the front door and the bedroom door were locked, making it difficult for air to circulate. The idea of getting caught during sex by anyone was mortifying to Choso to the point where he didn't even like you using the scenario as dirty talk.

Big brother thing, you concluded, even if today only you and choso were home.

Choso's knuckles turned white where he gripped the pillow, so hard that the ripping sound rang out, the golden band of the wedding ring shining even in the dark on his finger. His hole tightened around you, helping the boiling sensation of pleasure just build in your stomach.

Your hips reacted on their own, shooting forward, back into your husband's relaxed, wet hole.

"Where should I come?" you questioned, wheezing occasionally interrupting your speech. "Should I take it off?"

It was a mere tease, as you knew how possessive Choso was when it came to your cum, he hated it being wasted, but in his delusional pleasure mind, that should have sounded more like an threat.

He seemed to mutter an irritated reply that was once again muffled by the pillow.

"I can't understand what you're talking, darling," you said as you started to back away, leaving Choso's warmth. You had to fight the immediate urge to just shove back in him and fuck him until you came.

The response was immediate, Choso's hole tightening so hard it looked like it wanted to suck your cock. He pushed the pillow away, allowing you to see the trace of tears on his face and the mess of saliva on his chin.

Beautiful.

"D-don't take it off," he pleaded sweetly. Maybe because he'd been fucked for so long his voice sounded loud, almost like a scream he didn't seem aware of. "In-inside... C-come in me." He repeated, sounding desperate: "Come in me."

And who were you to deny him anything?

Using your grip on his hips, you began to fuck him, eagerly, almost violently. Your cock eased in and out of him, being engulfed by the heat of his tight walls.

Choso's lips were trembling, his whole body was trembling - you noticed right away - and you wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him. But you forced yourself to just watch as his eyes rolled back, his arms hugging the pillow to his chest as the husky, sweet moans you loved most fell from his mouth.

Your nails pressed into his skin and you came, hard, hips swaying in erratic thrusts to enjoy the pleasure coursing through you. Your cock twitched and spurted inside him, marking his entrails with your belongings.

Choso gasped for air, body writhing on the sheets and you saw the exact moment he came all over his stomach and your pillow. Coming into him was enough to send him into his own orgasm.

Now you kissed him, grabbing the pillow between your chests and throwing it towards the floor. You swallowed each of his sighs; sweat and semen forming a mess between your bodies and before the memory of the inconvenient neighbor and the anxiety of being heard by strangers during sex returned, you rotated your hips in slow circles still inside him, extracting every reaction and every ounce of pleasure from him and gently led him on for a second round, then a third...

Then, you made Choso so loud that none of the neighbors had the nerve to come and complain the next day. Inflamed by it, after being fucked to the point he limped the next day and his throat got hoarse, he never tried to hide his moans from you ever again, even at the risk of being heard by his younger brothers.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis. 

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit content, reader is in Hell for a reason, Valentino, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Author's note: This is now a complete series! Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument.

“What the fuck, Val? You can’t just come in here and dump a fucking body on my fucking floor. Christ.” The first voice was a man’s, the intonation weary rather than angry. He walked towards you, each footstep reverberating through the floor and through your tender skull. “Look, I don’t want to be in the same room with you right now.”

“This isn’t a body.” The second man spoke from behind you, and you could practically hear him rolling his eyes. Dimly, you took stock of your situation. You were on the floor. Your head hurt. Your body felt weird.

“One of your sluts, then. I don’t fucking care, just get it out of here.”

“No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.”

No, your body wasn’t just painful, but really weird, like all of your joints weren’t quite where you remembered them. You were pretty sure your ears were in the wrong place. What had happened?

“Oh, fuck you, Val. I don’t have a-” The man in front of you stopped mid sentence, an audible intake of breath. “Oh. Oh, fuck. What the fuck, Val?”

The second man made a pleased noise deep in his throat, and laughed. “See? I know what you really want.”

“Fuck me, that’s, uh, some resemblance.” The first man’s voice slowed, tone shifting from annoyance to something closer to awe. He moved closer, and you felt the air shift as he crouched next to you, getting a closer look. “Where did you get them?”

“We had some idiots posted near the east side boundary who were meant to look out for Alastor. This one was just lying in the street. Wrong color, but you know the saying- life gives you lemons, you see how many you can insert into one slut.”

“Fucking hell.” The first man leaned in closer, and you squinted open your eyes. Blue was most of what you could see. Glowing blue. He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you gave an involuntary sound, a static crackle and a whine like a capacitor with a faulty mount. “Oh fuck, they even sound like him! Val!”

“Whatever you say, snookums.” Val exhaled again, the air moving as he walked away. “Pheremones on the cabinet if you need them, you can thank me when you’re done with your new toy.”

“Where am I?” you asked, your voice feeling deeply unfamiliar, a coarse, crackling edge to it. Groggily, you lifted your head, still squinting. The man who had stayed was glowing blue, and you squinted at him uneasily, your eyes not quite working as you expected. Where were your glasses? “Who are you?”

“Oh, fuck, that voice is so fucking close. This is so great. Hey, can you look at me real quick?” A blue hand caught the bottom of your chin, guiding your head, and you found yourself staring into a rectangle of blue. “Can you say I’m sorry Vox?”

“Who’s Vox?” you asked, genuinely puzzled. “Why are you a television?”

“Ohh fuck.” The man let your chin drop, withdrawing his touch. “You really are new here, aren’t you? Fucking Val.” He sighed, and as your eyes adjusted further, you could see his face was digital, a pattern dancing across the screen. “Alright, first off, I’m Vox. Let’s get you up.”

His hand around your forearm, Vox helped you to your feet. Which you didn’t have. You had hooves. You looked away, feeling faintly nauseous, and nearly tripped as soon as you were standing, only Vox’s arm holding you up. You made another sound of distress, a static whine.

“Hey, hey.” Vox’s tone shifted again, from his previous intense interest in you to something softer. “You’ll be okay. Let’s get you to the bed.”

Stumbling, you made it to the bed, and Vox lowered you carefully onto the sheets. They were a dark blue, the thread count so high they were almost silky to the touch.

You pulled your legs up onto the bed and started feeling the length of them with your fingers, the familiar knee to the unfamiliar cleft of the hoof, your panic continuing to rise. “What’s happening to me? Is this even real?”

“Fuck me that’s hot,” breathed Vox, his gaze on your hooves for a moment before he tore it away. He sat beside you, hesitating before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Yes, this is real. Everyone goes through this, y’know. I’m a fuckin-” he gestured to his face. “You get used to it.”

Alarm flooded your body. Used to this? With your legs too long, and your ears- and whatever the fuck was growing out of the top of your head- you didn’t even want to think about that. Tears welled up hot in your eyes, and you swallowed down a sob, something that came out sounding like the pop of a small capacitor bursting.

Vox watched you with a hungry fascination. “Hey,” he said, reaching across to brush the wetness from your cheeks. “It’s hard. Fuck, I know it’s hard. Let me take care of you, okay? I can take care of you.” His arm snaked around your shoulders, and you found yourself pressed against Vox’s chest, his other hand a gentle pressure at the small of your back. Vox smelled faintly of hot plastic and windex, but his body was warm, and welcoming, and you nuzzled into his collar as the tears came, half static sobs that shook from your diaphragm up through your shoulders.

“Hey, baby deer, it’ll be okay.” Vox’s palm smoothed your back, rubbing slow circles over your shoulderblades as you cried. “I’ll take good care of you, you’ll see.” His claws went to your collar, undoing the top button of your shirt with thumb and forefinger.

You looked down, surprised, as Vox undid the second button. “What are you-”

You paused, staring into his eyes as you considered your situation. The other guy had dragged you here as a gift. Vox clearly wanted sex. He was warm and his hands were deft, and you were all alone in a strange new place. You had one piece of leverage, and that was your resemblance to whoever this Alastor guy was. Your best bet, realistically, was to play dumb, spread your legs, and negotiate once you had a better grasp of the situation. Or murder him in his sleep, either worked. If you started asking too many questions you risked Vox realizing you had a brain.

“What are you thinking?” Vox asked, hands paused over the third button of your shirt.

What was the dumbest, sluttiest answer you could give to that? You thought fast, improvising. “How do I kiss you?” you asked, blinking away tears. “I mean, can you kiss-”

Vox gave a toothy, slightly superior grin. “Oh, that? C’mere.” Saying that, he put his hand on the back of your head, and pulled you close. Your nose nearly touching the screen, you could feel the heat of him. He was bright so you closed your eyes, your lips pressing against the flatness. And then. Lips. A curve in the glass, and an opening. He probed his tongue against your lips, and you opened your mouth for him, letting him inside. The feel of his tongue was like the surface of the screen but more intense, a throbbing electrical signal as it twined against yours. His tongue was also huge, large enough to fill your mouth and extend down your throat, though Vox didn’t push, letting it instead extend between you, the length dripping with saliva. He kept one hand in your hair, the other on your back, and you found yourself crawling into his lap, sitting astride his thighs as you kissed. Your whole body was unfamiliar, but arousal took the edge off, a pulse that ran through your core and-

“Oh-” you breathed, breaking the kiss, becoming aware of the unfamiliar sensation in your own pants. An aching tightness and a pulsing slickness.

Vox withdrew his tongue, his expression one of concern. His gaze followed yours down to your pants, and a triumphant look returned. “Yeah, I have that effect on people.”

“I- I think I have more parts than I used to.” You swallowed, the static in your voice crackling. “Is that normal? Does everyone-”

“Show me.” Vox’s response was instant, and when you hesitated, his hand went to your waist, encouraging. A little shimmying later and you were on your back, naked from the waist down, cock engorged, cunt dripping.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck me. Fucking hell.” Vox’s screen glitched slightly as he knelt between your knees, his stare frank and hungry. “That is. Oh, man.”

You closed your eyes, feeling yourself heat under his gaze, tears threatening to well in your eyes again. “Does it… it’s not weird?”

“You are perfect,” said Vox, with the absolute conviction of a man about to ruin his own pants. He crawled up over your body, pushing your unbuttoned shirt open, his touches on your skin almost reverent, the static field from his screen making the fine hairs on your chest stand on end. He kissed you again, giving a groan of satisfaction as his clothed erection pressed against yours. But being exposed like this, even under worshipful eyes, was hard, and you felt the telltale ache in your throat, your face wet with tears as Vox pulled back a little.

He didn’t scold you but hushed you, hand gentle on your damp cheek. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take such good care of you, you’ve got no idea. So you just relax and leave it to me.”

Slowly, you nodded, looking up at him. Crying hadn’t been your plan, but it seemed to be helping.

“Fuck, man, those eyes.” Vox made a noise, continuing under his breath as he undid his belt. “I didn’t know those eyes could look so trusting, fuck me. You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

The tip of his cock was the same luminescent blue as his tongue, the shaft darker. He held your knees under his arms and pushed into you, his stare for you as greedy as it had been from the moment he first saw you, and as good as his word he was gentle with your body, the strokes sweet and slow. You knew intellectually that his gaze was for some guy who happened to look like you, but even so, it was hard not to get caught up in the moment, not with the attention he paid to you, optimizing the slow roll of his hips to hit the good spots inside you as his fist closed over your cock, pumping in time.

A soft mewl escaped you, the first sound you had made without the static filter, and Vox grinned. “See? I’m taking good care of you, aren’t I?”

“Y-yes,” you managed. The way he was fucking you made it difficult to form a coherent sentence.

“Say my name. Say Yes, Vox.”

“Y-ye-” you gave a whimper mid word as he hit the good spot inside you again, palm tightening around your shaft. You swallowed, and tried again. “Yes, Vox- ah!” You felt a twitch from his cock as you said his name, a line of broken pixels down his screen.

“Oh, fuck me, that’s the good stuff.” Vox made a staccato groan, fingers briefly tighter around your shaft. “Tell me you’re sorry, and you should have joined my team.”

“I’m s-s-” Sorry vanished into white noise as Vox set a harsher pace for the two of you, the roll of his hips becoming a snap, making your breath catch as your pleasure built. “I’m sorry Vox, it was a mistake, I should have joined you-”

“You’ve joined me now though, haven’t you? Gonna cum on my cock,” said Vox, with the absolute conviction of a man who could already feel the twitch of your cunt around him.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, feeling sensation crest. You hadn’t expected to cum, not in this unfamiliar body with this unfamiliar man, but the combination of his intensity and the dexterity with which he fucked you proved your undoing, sensation pulled tight through the core of you.

Vox’s expression was an indulgent leer. “That’s right, baby, let go,” he said, and you could only give soft animal and radio interference noises in response as he tipped you over your edge. Your orgasm was a hot white second of nothing but bliss that left your new body trembling and twitching. You came over your own stomach and chest, Vox giving a groan of his own when he saw it. “Fuck me that’s a fucking work of art.”

With you spent he worked on his own end, both hands on your hips, fucking a brisk rhythm into you that had you whimpering through your aftershocks.

“Alastor,” Vox groaned as he came, his eyes glazed as he looked down at you. His spasm into you was another new sensation, a staticky sort of frisson run through you, a shiver through your core and up your spine as his cock pulsed inside you.

You stayed in that position for a few moments, both of you still and panting, Vox not yet soft inside you, still holding your legs under his arms. Tentatively, your reached out and touched his forearm, and this stirred him out of his fugue. “Shit,” he said, blinking. “Right, uh, don’t move.” Gingerly, he withdrew from you, your cunt giving one last echo of a spasm in protest, and you watched him from the bed as he retreated into the bathroom, returning with a damp towel and tissues. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said.

Vox lay alongside you, wiping your cum from your chest with an attentiveness that was equal to any he had shown while fucking you. His strange, rectangular head was warm when the sides brushed against your skin, and you found yourself scooting a little closer to his body. You caught a glimpse of a pleased expression on his face before he pushed a finger under your chin and you tilted your head back so that he could clean the last of the cum from your collarbones and neck. True to his word, he was taking good care of you. Maybe you wouldn’t have to murder him in his sleep after all.

“So, who is Alastor, anyway?” you asked. Vox froze, but you pushed a little further. “I mean, if I’m pretending to be him, it’s better if I know, right?”

“Oh, man.” Vox gave a deep sigh. “Fuck, where do I even start?”

You nestled closer to him, tucking your head against his shoulder, and after a little awkward adjustment, he settled with his arms around you. He radiated heat, and you felt yourself relaxing at the physical contact, your heart rate and your breathing slowing. Tilting your head back, you brushed your nose against the outer frame of Vox’s head, and he gave a soft sigh of contentment. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you said, playing the ingénue.

“No, no, you’re right.” Vox tilted his head, his strange lips brushing against the tips of your ears and making you shiver. “It’s a long story, but I guess you should know.”