#⍚; I tell you again & again forgetting all the words I had prepared / Before this moment I’ll always be by your side ( cassius & beatrix )
Text
Friendly Competition
Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader
Content: Explicit sexual acts, Jackson!AU, no use of y/n, jealousy and angst, mentions of alcohol consumption/intoxication, kissing, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, soft dom Joel (lowkey)
Summary: It was difficult, but Joel had to set a boundary, one he's having trouble adhering to. And back in Jackson, things aren't any easier. When an old friend comes around, it muddies the waters. Joel tries his best to assure you that it's not what it looks like, but you won't be easily swayed.
Word Count: 5.4k +
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The ride back to Jackson was much brighter than your journey out. Fluttering in your chest kept you on edge, buzzing down to your fingertips, coursing through you like small bursts of lightning. All over one simple kiss.
Though it had been anything but.
Twenty minutes ago, Joel had you pinned on the wooden fence, moving his lips in tandem with yours, shattering your plaguing tension. Joel wasn't sure when, or if, he'd have made a move if he didn't seize that opportunity. He would've cursed himself if he hadn't tried.
And to his surprise, you had given him everything in return. You accepted his kiss with a dying thirst, and the passion had been for him. Someone, knowing so little of his sins, of his regrets, would give their love so freely. Someone wanted him.
His hands gripped the reins as the edge of Jackson came into view. He had a thousand things to say but didn't know where to begin.
He detested that it had to start here.
He spoke up finally, breaking the calm silence, "Listen, I think we should talk."
It didn't take you by any surprise. Even still, your heart sank.
You made the daunting choice to face him, inviting the conversation. You were asking for the dagger of newfound love to pierce your chest, for it to carve you open.
"Okay," you replied, coaxing your voice into neutrality.
The effort was in vain. There was a tightness in your throat that couldn't be shaken. Your voice shrank, barely coming out as a squeak. The sudden shift didn't go unnoticed by him. What expression of joy that had been there before had been replaced with worry. Joel's eyes averted to the ground. He hated this. Knowing that he spurred on this whole... situation, and worse, that he'd be the one to shatter the hope.
And fuck, the look on your face.
Joel made himself bear it. This was his punishment.
He sighed, "This... what happened back there.." He gestured between you, his words failing him.
The birds chirped happily around you, the only sound filling stagnant space. His half-dead sentence hung with his head. With aching pain in your chest, you finish it for him. You stilled your expression and resolved yourself to turn away. The words feel distant as you say them. They weren't yours - borrowed from the times you'd been through this before.
"It was a mistake."
He was thankful you weren't able to see him wince. Joel digested the words, but showed no agreement to them. He refused to let that be the truth. His breath came out slowly, exasperated.
"You got a habit of finishin' people's sentences, y'know that?"
The jab would've made you laugh were it not for the hole in your chest. And despite the effort made to lighten the mood, the pang of regret in Joel's chest grew.
He continued, voice terse, "If you think it was a mistake, then we can forget it. But, regardless-" he stopped himself, searching for the gentlest words. A way to make this painless.
"It can't happen again."
Telling yourself it was a mistake had not made it true, and had not prepared you for those final words. They were a death sentence.
You still held the lead, but you no longer feel his stare, the occasional glance. You were thankful for the distance, for the small amount of privacy it gave you to let welling tears fall. Jackson loomed even closer, just minutes away if Belle were to go at full speed. A frantic urge tore at you to race ahead, like breaking away would erase what happened - like it would take back what was already said and done.
There were a million things to say, but you knew it wouldn't change his stance. You mustered a small, simple nod. Joel didn't expect much after a blow this low. He understood the silence, for whatever reason you needed it - he anticipated anger, hoped for it, even. Welcomed it. It would give him closure after the shitshow he created.
If you left, forgot about all this trouble he caused, Joel could shift his focus elsewhere. It had been a futile effort since you came to town. You were a distraction. The worst kind.
It was enough justification, Joel thought, to be okay with this. To let things between you go stale. Untouched.
Dismounting Belle back at the ranch relieved your body, but your mind and heart were different matters. Joel dropped from his horse without a word, already started on the process of unloading his gear. You watched him as he's turned, noting a lower slump to his shoulders.
You shifted your attention back to Belle, mindlessly disassembling her gear. Your fingers fumbled dumbly with the buckles of her saddle, new tears blurring your vision. The silence between you and Joel this morning had been uncomfortable, but this....
Silence like this was far too heavy. It held too many unspoken words, and even more questions.
The quiet was no longer an issue when a new voice rung around the stables, cheery and bright.
"Joel!" It was the voice of a woman, "Oh my gosh, back already?"
You peered around Belle just in time to see her arms wrapping around Joel's neck, giving him a close hug. The stranger let out a delighted giggle before she nestled her face into the crook of his neck. Joel murmured something inaudible that broke the embrace.
Her small talk was empty save for obvious flirtations, her voice turning whiny and playful as she spoke. You couldn't help but cringe at her sickly sweet tone, the incessant pushing. Joel said very little, but that stupid grin never fell from her face. Her wide, green eyes drank him in. As if you weren't even there, ten feet away, privy to it all.
Bitch.
With an undetected sneer, you finish unloading and take Belle's lead in hand. You settle your rage to simmer beneath the surface while you lead Belle out of the stables.
--
This was the last thing he needed right now. But here she was, thrown around his neck unashamedly, as if she'd been waiting so impatiently for his return. A slap in the face, compared to the situation he'd put you in an hour ago. You had truly been waiting for him. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke.
Joel placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a wry smile.
"Wasn't gone that long, Georgia."
Her eyes brighten hearing her name on his lips. The smile she wore was a stab to the gut. It shouldn't be her that was beaming, welcoming him, showing concern for his safety. Hers was not the face he wanted to fantasize about throughout his day. To come home to.
He patted her shoulder, hiding his contempt with a softer, weary smile, "Pretty tired after today, sorry. Not really feelin' it."
This wasn't the first time Georgia had been this doting. But the openness of it irked him, especially with the present company.
"Hmmm.... Sounds like someone needs to unwind," she suggested, lips tugging into a smirk. A serpentine look with her eyes crinkling proudly while a greedy smile formed. She always had a deeper motivation. He saw that spark igniting in her mind.
In the past, they had shared their need for intimacy - they fulfilled that need many times. She was a nice enough girl, he supposed. Joel thought it would be simple. No strings attached.
If he didn't turn her away soon, there was no telling how this evening would go. His need for a distraction almost tempted him into agreeing, but a flare of guilt in his chest instantly washed away the idea. It was unfathomable to think of this woman when you were so close by. And not when he was trying to still the feelings you'd brought about for him.
He stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest, "Tonight's not the best night. Gotta do a raincheck this time."
Even still, her smile didn't falter. If there was one thing she was worst at, it was taking a damn hint.
Georgia's eyes dart to the horse that started to leave the stables. She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, her eyes wide in amusement. She whispered to him, pointing to the horse and who was guiding it outside.
"Uh oh, apparently we had company~"
Joel knew of said 'company'. Glaringly so.
He steeled himself as he joined Georgia in watching you leave. He noted how she watched you go with satisfaction, how her smile grew once you rounded the corner. Her joy was in such stark contrast to the anguish that flooded through him, seeping into his bones.
You didn't look back as you left.
I'm lost in admiration
Could I need you this much?
Oh, you're wasting my time-
"You're just - just- just wastin' time-" you sang out, the lyrics slurring together. You refused to let yourself wallow, so you opted for the best way to forget. Alcohol.
It was better than dealing with stupid Joel and his stupid rules.
Plus, it detached the meaning of the lyrics, the ones about being overwhelmingly in love, being completely enamored with someone, unable to be without them. The cassette tapes you had collected were few, but Tears for Fears were a classic you played the most often.
"Something happens and I'm head over heels-" you sang out, swaying your hips with the beat. A brief fantasy flashed in your mind of Joel joining in from behind, holding you while you danced and sang. You envisioned him singing along, his voice low and gentle, even though you'd never heard him do so.
Yet the lyrics carried you away alone. You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm take you, a cup of mead in hand. Granted, it was probably a poor decision for Pete to give you a whole bottle to yourself, probably worse for you to have downed two glasses. But you felt free right now, blissfully ignorant to the outside world.
Until it came, quite literally, knocking at your door.
The rapping broke you out of your dancing. You panted softly as you paused the cassette player, the room growing uncomfortably still in the silence. Perhaps you kept the neighbors awake with your singing. Frosted glass on the front door revealed a familiar silhouette, making you freeze. Heat coursed through you as you reached for the handle, pulling the door open just enough to see your visitor.
Joel stood at the top of the steps to the house. He wore his usual serious expression, though it eased at the sight of you.
Whatever confidence the mead gave you earlier had vanished - the sudden appearance was sobering enough on its own. Your flushed cheeks were clear evidence of how you were dealing with this afternoon, that you wanted to forget what happened. Joel clenched his jaw, remorseful yet again. He was causing this, but had been desperately searching for a solution, in his own way. Unfortunately, 'his way' hadn't earned him many favors in the past. Joel knew that his abrasiveness would wear you down, your bright spirit, that light in your soul. If that didn't, then learning of his past certainly would - the heinous things he'd done to survive, the lives he'd ruined. They hadn't all been guilty, either, so the validity of 'survival' was in question. Those years held the most regret. Now he stood on your doorstep, carrying this invisible burden. He straightened his spine and squared out his shoulders, shifting nervously on his feet.
Maybe seeing you was the worse option. Maybe he was rubbing salt in the wound.
You straightened, frantically building your composure. Blush crept onto your cheeks as you greeted him in your bedclothes, glass of mead still in hand. Your oversized shirt and sleep shorts did little to help you look presentable and ready for the unexpected company.
"Hi," you greeted softly.
The smile you were longing to see was back. A rare softness had returned to Joel's features. He placed his hands on his hips.
Joel smiled down at you, his gaze tender, "Evening."
His damned voice could get you drunk on its own. That intoxicating Southern accent was as sweet and deep as whiskey.
The hair on the nape of your neck stood on end. This was the exact opposite of what you wanted. You needed the space and freedom to forget about Joel, and he landed at your doorstep.
He'd changed out of his old clothes, his hair tidier than before. Though he wasn't close enough to tell, you swore you caught a brief whiff of cologne. And here you were, in your pajamas, hair loose and unbrushed, completely unprepared.
You stammered, "Do- uhm... do you want to come in?"
Affection shone in his eyes at your flustered state; he gave you a once over, chuckling slightly. Joel prepared himself for this - truly prepared himself, in ways he hadn't done in months. Hell, he even found himself putting on cologne. He'd just gone to change his shirt, but the thought of seeing you after the fiasco from earlier had him fully prepared. Fully presentable.
There was a beat of silence that let Joel's eyes wander over your form. His gaze burned through your thin sleep shirt, roving over your bare legs with a greed that slipped through the cracks in his composure.
You stood in front of him with wide eyes, holding yourself around the waist, a new type of vulnerability you hadn't yet shown. He eyed the way you bit your lip, his focus whisked away by desire. Your outfit didn't help suppress Joel's imagination, either - it was the most exposed you'd been in front of him. He found himself selfishly taking you in, fully and properly.
Those shorts did no favors in hiding the curves of your thighs; your shirt did even more disservice to his willpower. It was thin, too thin. It hung off one shoulder to reveal your collarbone to him, hanging loosely at your chest, displaying your nipples poking against the fabric.
He snapped back to attention, clearing his throat before making his way inside, "Sure, thanks."
The door snapped shut behind you, keeping you and Joel in the new stifling proximity. You motioned generally to the space.
"Make yourself at home," you told him, the awkwardness slowly easing away. You made for the kitchen sink to return your half-downed glass of mead, breathing away your nerves. Joel took the cue in his own way, finding himself leaned comfortably against the kitchen counter, feet away from you.
His stare had hardened. You braced for another lecture.
"What happened back at the stables, I-"
Reintroducing the events erupted jealousy in your chest, and the residual buzz from the mead aired it out. You snapped, though the hurt was still evident in your cracked voice. There was no time for small talk. There could be no casual 'how was your day?' after what happened.
"Who was she?" Your demand struck him. He knew this would come.
Joel pressed his lips into a thin line before answering.
"Her name's Georgia. We've been friends for a while." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, avoiding your stare. He didn't want to confront the reality of his words, how they would pain you.
The words were chosen carefully, cherrypicked to be as vague as possible. He didn't want to explain Georgia when all he wanted was to dissolve her from his memory. Didn't want to see the hurt in your eyes, searching to understand.
It wasn't enough for you. It was a bullshit answer.
"Friends is the right term for it?" You pressed. Joel's eyes dart to yours before he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.
The term was empty as Joel's feelings for the other woman. He didn't spend much casual time with Georgia; he didn't enjoy her company. In truth, she was irritating - her only humor was harsh jokes, she was too invested in drama. But she was available at the time.
He should've waited. He didn't want to believe anyone else would come along, let alone as alluring as you. If Joel knew Georgia would've become such a pain, he wouldn't have entertained her to begin with.
His eyebrows knit together, "Do we really have to do this right now?"
"Yes, Joel," you hissed, "You're not gonna bullshit me - I already know. I know she's not a friend. People who are 'just friends' don't... act like that." You quote the words in the air. The anger had bubbled over the surface, just as Joel had anticipated.
In contrast to your outburst, Joel stood unyielding in his story.
He began, "We have history, alright?"
Your face flashed to frustration, but he continued, raising a hand to stop you. "It's been over a year. She had it out with her fiancé couple weeks back - she's just... dealing with it in her own way."
You scoffed, "So, you're fucking someone else's fiancée. Nice, Joel."
Joel's features hardened. His morals had been perpetually grayscale, so he didn't pay mind to the consequences of his choices. Georgia had been his escape, his secret, and now his biggest mistake.
"Was. Was fucking."
You countered, "Like that makes it better."
Joel doesn't expect his correction to change your feelings, but it's something. You snapped your mouth shut, exhaling deeply as you followed his suit, leaning against the kitchen counter. You took a deep breath before carrying on.
"So, what changed?"
It could've been a one word answer if Joel had the balls to admit it right then. His efforts had been to avoid complication. But he knew what he said next could shape everything.
So he opted for honesty. A vulnerable admission. The slight numbing in his fingers and pounding heart made him feel young again, in a way. He hadn't felt this jittery in decades. Joel wrung his hands together, nodding once. He'd made his choice.
"You came to Jackson."
Joel recalled the day you approached the massive gate, hobbling from a sprained ankle that wouldn't heal properly. He took watch from the wall, observing Jackson's newcomer from the vantage point, watching you depart with Maria. Despite your obvious injury, you kept a smile on your face, being grateful to have found safety.
It wasn't until your first group patrol that he saw you again. That time you were closer, and he was finally able to make out your features. Your wide eyes and a growing blush gave him a warm confidence. None of the other newbies had looked at him like that before. But, that time as well, he turned away.
He would be a fool to do it again.
"Things changed when you showed up, and I've been doing my best to keep things normal. I wanted to think that, at first, it was just some... y'know, mild flirting. And I liked that, I really did," Joel slowly inched closer as he continued. "I tried tellin' myself that it was nothing, but I can't find truth to that anymore."
Your legs turned to lead, unable to move, unable to deny him. Each nearing step heated your stomach, flipped it over itself, and shot your heart to your throat. Joel now stood inches away, pinning you against the counter like he'd done at the fence.
"I tried convincing myself a lot of things. That you wouldn't feel the same, that maybe I was misreading things, or maybe it was all just- just some dumb crush, or whatever." It felt stupid to say it, but that was the feeling. A crush.
It was laughable, an old man like him feeling that young love again. Yet, here was someone who could consume his full attention with a single smile. You had a depth of feeling and care that he couldn't measure up to, not in a lifetime. There was no undoing his damage.
You didn't share that belief.
Your eyes flickered to his as you raised a hand to his cheek. The scruff of his beard itched into your palm, your fingers carding into the salt-and-pepper hair. His skin was weathered and warm, tanned from years under the Texas sun. The crinkles around his eyes displayed both his age and his affection. They tightened a certain way when he smiled - you wondered if he knew that about himself, the simple beauties of him. Subtle details that only one in love would notice.
You lowered your voice to a whisper, "Well, do you think you have it figured out now?"
His stare lingered on your lips too long. As good as his poker face was, Joel's eyes gave his desire away. Your gentle touch thawed out his hardened look. He sighed softly.
Joel knew that his answer would seal his fate. He would have to accept any 'complications' that followed.
Wordlessly, Joel dipped his head lower, brushing his lips tentatively over yours. Your hand slipped behind his head to draw him in, to take those last few millimeters and shove them aside, to take it all.
You released a wanton moan past Joel's parting lips. He took it on with his own low groan - a deep, possessing noise that pooled heat between your legs. It was Joel's body pressing you to the counter that kept you stable, but his adventurous hands did you no favors. He broke his mouth from yours, panting.
"Do you have any idea how hard this's been for me?" His breath was hot against your neck, slowly creeping to your ear. "With all your damn teasin', it's been hard to hold myself back. Shit, I tried."
His words melted your core. You shifted your thighs together to find the evidence of your desire, just how wet you'd gotten.
A warm, open kiss landed under your jaw, making you shudder. A small moan left you involuntarily. Such a bright, mystifying, intoxicating sound that had Joel breathless against your skin. His hands found your waist, gaining purchase on the fabric of your shirt, tugging desperately at its hem.
You bucked your hips forward, only to find a growing bulge in Joel's worn jeans, firm and warm against your belly. Drool pooled in your mouth at the feeling of him, and your hands itched to reach downward.
Joel's hands cupped under your ass, kneading into the soft flesh before he hoisted you up and onto the kitchen counter. The biting cold of it pressed into your legs, quickly replaced with Joel's warmth gliding over skin, each shuddering breath coursing through you.
His mouth worked down to your collarbone, his sentences were broken between kisses laid along your collarbone.
"You knew it, too, didn't you, sweetheart?" Kiss. Joel's hands still idly toyed with the hem of your shirt, slowly inching his fingers under it. You throw your head back against the cabinet, rolling your hips forward as invitation.
"You knew what you were doin', flirting with me like you've been-" He lowered himself down, kissing over the fabric of your shirt, letting it stand between you for now.
Greedy hands crept up your thighs, igniting your skin along the way. Tightness grew in your abdomen while he moved along, planting hot kisses across your chest. Joel worked meticulously to deny you and keep you waiting for more. His mouth landed kisses below a nipple, then on the right, then on the left, before repeating the moves on the other breast.
He didn't leave you unattended. Joel cupped your neglected tit, working it slowly in his hand, reaching for your perk nipple. His fingers work it thoroughly, pinching and twisting, listening to your beautiful noises.
"Joel," you cried out, your hands finding his broad shoulders. His muscles flexed and stretched under your fingers, his chest rising and falling in time with your hurried breaths.
This is what he'd been wanting to hear: you saying his name. Not from Georgia, not from anyone else's lips. And now you laid here beneath him, uttering it like it was holy.
It was music to his ears.
Joel hummed lowly, the sensation reverberating through your entire being. A teasing warmth played with your nipple - Joel's tongue had come out to play. He laid it flat against the sensitive bud, still through your thin shirt, but it gave little barrier. You could still feel his tongue circling your nipple before lapping slowly, drawing out a new shuddering moan. He groaned beneath you with great satisfaction.
"That's it, sweetheart," Joel murmured, "lemme hear you. Tell me how good it feels, baby."
With your senses alight, you couldn't form words. Instead, you let out another cry as Joel caught your nipple between his teeth. He chuckled softly at your noise, replying with a gentle smack on your ass. This was far more tender than how he'd normally be. It would be his biggest lesson with you - restraint. Until you told him otherwise, he'd tread carefully.
Your hips widened to invite him closer, yet Joel left the distance as it was, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your front. His mouth found yours once more with great desperation, as if the only clean air was what you shared. His teeth tugged at your lower lip, pulling away just enough for you to start to whine.
"Joel," you whimpered weakly, "Joel, I need more."
The request lit a fire in him. It was more than just permission, you were just as deprived as he was.
"More?" repeated Joel. You nodded quickly. He leisurely stood with a wide smirk, towering over you, his hand gliding lazily along your inner thigh. Joel mirrored himself on the other side, working his hands up the inside of your legs, so close to finding home. It's hardly enough, and yet too much. Your legs splayed out on either side, quivering, as you look up at Joel.
The neediness of your expression would've had Joel undressed in seconds, but he needed to take his time.
His gaze stripped you bare. He met your eyes as one of his hands meandered up your thigh, securing its spot at the waistband of your shorts.
Joel spoke idly while he hooked his rough, calloused fingers at the band, "Needy lil' thing, aren't ya?"
There was no time or breath to reply. Your breaths began to shudder as Joel used both hands to work your shorts down. The seconds feel like hours, but neither of you are willing to rush this. After holding back and stifling your feelings, this is what you deserved.
Quickly, Joel's lips wander down your neck, just as he helped you shift your legs out of your sleep shorts, slowly but surely. You kicked them off, letting them fall at Joel's feet, baring you before him.
He didn't know how to place it, but keeping your shirt on added to the seduction, still having part of you hidden from him until later. Another surprise would be waiting for him. For now, there was work to do.
"Don't worry, honey, I'll give you watcha need. I'll take good care of you," cooed Joel, who now led his index finger further up your thigh. It wasn't until he broke away that the praise began to flow.
Holding your thighs splayed out, Joel hissed through his teeth. Your pussy was on full display for his viewing, bare and dripping. He dropped to his knees before you, leveling himself at your entrance, his parted lips inches away from your needy hole.
He exhaled, parting your slit with a thumb. You were beyond what he imagined. Your pussy pathetically clenched down on nothing, desperate to be filled.
"Ain't that a pretty sight," Joel teased, suddenly running circles on your clit with his tumb. You whimpered into your palm, trying to stifle your sounds.
Pleasure coiled persistently in your stomach, creeping up your spine. Joel eyed your cunt as it trembled under his touch, smiling in awe - he'd never seen a body so beautiful.
Joel observed your writhing under his touch, memorizing every movement, burning them into his memory. Which touches made you arch your back, which ones made your thighs tremble. Your body, all on its own, ached and throbbed for him. He was the luckiest man alive.
And that desperate, pleading look on your face... God damn him.
This was far beyond what he had anticipated for this visit. If he had a lick of sense in him, Joel would've stayed at his own place. But even as he sat on his couch with his guitar on his knee, you wormed your way into his train of thought. Hell, you were the damn conductor of it. It wasn't until the sixth slip-up that Joel resolved himself to do something. The thought of you infiltrated everything - his work, his hobbies, his sleep.
Sleep had been most difficult, given that Joel pictured you there, too.
He couldn't have predicted this outcome, though. Joel leaned closer to your needy pussy, hovering his mouth over your swollen clit, relishing in the small moans you produced. His hands found your waist and gripped securely, testing the security of your position.
"Joel, please," you begged softly, "I can't take this anymore."
Your whining brought out a low chuckle from him, to add to your frustration. You groaned, bucking your hips forward. If he wasn't going to give you what you needed, you'd do your best to take it.
The grip on your waist tightened. A warning.
You looked down to find his stare intently on yours, his eyes overcast with lust. Speechless at the scene before you it was impossible to move, to look away. Joel kept your stare as he parted his lips to reveal his tongue, dipping lower and pressing it flat against your clit. The warmth was an instant, white-hot pleasure that drew your body into him.
"Oh, fuck-" you gasped. Joel hummed happily against your clit in response, swirling his tongue gingerly. He tested your waters once again, switching directions and rhythm, slipping his tongue around the entrance of your cunt.
He broke away with much protest on your end. Before you could utter a complaint he melted you once more.
"You sound so goddamn beautiful," muttered Joel. "You have no idea how many times I thought about this, pretty girl."
You mewled at the praise as Joel introduced a finger at your entrance, tending to your deprived hole as he showered you again.
"The number of times I pictured this moment... it's almost shameful. But I just couldn't help myself," he inched his finger deeper with each pause, drawing out your hissing breath. "And believe me, I tried to fight it back, but then I'd see you again, and it started all over."
With that, Joel curled his finger to greet your sweet spot. Crying out, you bit into your hand.
"Awh, what's wrong, sweetheart? You feelin' shy?" Joel teased darkly, "Don't want the neighbors to hear how good I'm making you feel?"
He savored the sound that fell from your lips, and he added a second finger. Curling masterfully like before, you were slowly stretched around him, walls fluttering as the coil in your belly tightened. Joel worked his fingers dutifully, angling deeper, he needed to hear you again - fuck the neighbors, let them find out. They'd get a good show, that's for sure.
His fingers' occupied state let Joel stand again, his lips and mustache glossy from your slick. A sly, devilish smile was your only sign to prepare yourself. Joel watched your face contort as he found a quickening pace. There was an obscene harmony filling the room - your sweet noises, and the sound of Joel's fingers plunging into your pussy.
"Hah.... hah... fffuck... Joel-"
"I know, pretty girl, keep it up. You can do it."
"I can't... I think I-I'm gonna... hah... I'm gonna-"
He commanded, "Give it to me, sweetheart. Show me whatcha look like when you fall apart."
You were pushed to the edge, and Joel sent you tumbling over it. Your climax slammed through you with a barrage of stars scattered across your vision. The world around you muffled, and while you couldn't make out what Joel said, you could see the satisfaction on his face.
Slowly, the world came back, and your breath began to slow. A satisfied grin plastered on your face, your body sated and languid. Joel tilted his head, smirking. The question begs an answer.
"Oh, honey, what am I gonna do with you?"
Y'all.
All honesty, this chapter took SO long to finish, my brain is now oatmeal. But the gremlin in my brain has been ITCHING to write smut, and we're FINALLY HERE RAHHHHH
(I'm sorry I stopped it here, but to be fair it's not the first cliffhanger I've done. Nor will it be the last. The next part will be out asap my loves!)
And if you liked this chapter, be sure to read the others! My masterlist is linked in the top of this post :)
xoxo,
Bunny
#bunny writes#tlou#the last of us#tlou2#the last of us 2#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#fanfiction#fic writing#smut writing#tlou smut#pedro pascal joel miller
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Mira congrats on your milestone!! I wish I was good at coming up with requests… hmm… do you ever get more ideas for pomegranate ink? Maybe a scene of them much later in the future? I loved that fic so much ☹️ I hope they’re happy and living a super fluffy adorable life after all they went thru 💔 (can you tell I’m still heartbroken over JJK leaks) - @yutaleks
── CLOUDS
Synopsis: A snapshot of your life with Yuta Okkotsu, some time after the events of Pomegranate Ink.
Event Masterlist
Pairing: Yuta x Reader
Chapter Word Count: 1.9k
Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, kind of angsty, yuta is insecure, yuta is fundamentally different because of what he did for reader, spoilers for the ending of my ultra mega long fic pomegranate ink (which you all should definitely read)
A/N: on this blog we pretend like the jjk manga doesn’t exist and pomegranate ink is canon LMAO 😭 i haven’t thought much about what y/n + yuta’s life after the main story would look like hence why this is so short, but aleks i hope this heals your yuta-loving soul a bit!! ty for requesting and also being like. my first tumblr follower ever i’m pretty sure 🥹🫶🏻
Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.
Yuta was rubbing his eyes again. He did so frequently — it was a new habit he had picked up, ever since that final battle against Sukuna. They itched sometimes, he told you, because they were trying to see something they no longer could.
Ever since he had brought you back to life, Yuta had been a normal human. Like Maki, he couldn’t see curses, but unlike her, he couldn’t even sense them, their presences nor their effects. His movements were dulled and slow, and he was far clumsier than he used to be. You knew it frustrated him, the blindness, the childish tripping over his own feet when he was so used to having a sleek body that possessed the grace of a jungle cat.
It wasn’t just his cursed energy that had been depleted. His strength, too, was all but gone. His hands shook when he tried to hold his katana, and although he once was able to carry you around effortlessly, it was now a struggle for him to lift you even a few inches off of the ground for more than a couple of seconds.
He had given up everything for you. You hadn’t understood the magnitude of it until you saw it in action — he was so prone to downplaying his suffering that you all had dismissed it at first. So what if he couldn’t see curses or use his technique anymore? That only meant he was safer.
But giving up a cursed technique was something unprecedented and new. None of you could have been prepared for what it would do to him. Ieri’s theory was this: because a cursed technique was engraved onto one’s brain and soul, the loss of that energy would immeasurably alter one, had immeasurably altered Yuta, permanently.
Once, his memory had been nearly photographic. Now, he was forgetful, requiring reminders about birthdays and anniversaries and appointments. He no longer seemed so deadly, either — there had always been a malevolent aura following him, a sort of viciousness to his otherwise-kind demeanor that made him so frightening, but now, he was so unassuming and gentle that it was impossible to imagine anyone cowering from him like they all used to.
His eyes bore the most significant shift. They used to be a blue like poison, sharp and dark and predatory in an uncanny way, but now, they were faded and gray, sensitive to the sun and entirely unable to see the world to which they had once belonged. He blinked a lot more, too, and Ieri suspected he might need glasses in the near future — not to see curses in specific, but just to be able to see at all.
“Stop that,” you said, pulling his hands away from his eyes before he could turn them bloodshot. “Ieri said it’s not good for you.”
“Sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut so that the momentary pressure could relieve the discomfort. Resting your palms against his temples, you used your thumbs to soothe over his eyelids, kissing his forehead as you did so. “I’m sorry you have to take care of me. You’re the one who just came back from a mission.”
“It’s okay, Yuta. I don’t mind. It wasn’t a particularly difficult assignment; any curses left have gotten so weak that even an untrained first year could take them on and win. We should finish the clean-up job within the year,” you said.
“I should be out there, too,” he said. “I should be able to help. Maki can do it without a cursed technique, so there’s no reason for me to be like this.”
“Maki has a Heavenly Restriction. It’s a bit different than not having a technique or any cursed energy at all,” you said, as gently as possible. It was difficult for Yuta, who preferred shouldering the world’s burdens on his own, to sit back and watch as the rest of you fought and he stayed behind. Maki, Toge, Yuji…even Noritoshi and Elakshi had returned from their trip abroad to help in your efforts. Every remaining sorcerer had dedicated themselves to the cause, so that you could eradicate the remaining curses and then move on with your lives.
But Yuta Okkotsu was no longer a sorcerer. He was a normal person, and normal people had no place facing off against curses, especially when they could not so much as see them. In this manner, he was weaker than even your mother, who as of late had dedicated herself to running a charity caring for the displaced survivors of the Shibuya and Shinjuku incidents.
“I was the second strongest sorcerer in the world,” he said. “Now I’m nothing. I swore I would always protect you, and I can’t even do that anymore. You’re the one who has to look out for me.”
“You brought me back to life,” you said. “There’s nothing greater that you could do for me than that.”
He wrapped his arms around your midsection, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. It was another new habit of his — now that he could not use cursed signature detection to constantly be aware of your continued existence, he had developed an obsession with feeling your heartbeat, that steady rhythm which reassured him that you were still alive.
“Do you resent me?” he said.
“Why would I resent you?” you said, running your fingers through his silky hair. “Yuta, what could you possibly have done that would make me resent you?”
“When you brought me back to life, you were unchanged. You didn’t become weak; if anything, it made you stronger. It wasn’t like that for me. Don’t you find me pitiful? I couldn’t even resurrect you properly. I had to give up so much to do it. You must find it humorous,” he said. “You must think of me as some half-rate sorcerer.”
“Of course not,” you said. “What you did was ten times as impressive as what I did. I had Rika helping me, and your own natural Reverse Cursed Technique, and of course the heightened emotions which fueled Composition. Beyond that, Composition as a Reverse Cursed Technique was designed for such feats. You had none of those advantages, and yet you still brought me back. That’s not half-rate; that’s the kind of thing that only happens in myths and fairytales.”
Something scalding splashed against your skin, and then you realized that his body was shaking in your embrace. He was sobbing, clinging onto you in a rare display of weakness. Yuta hated falling apart, and he hated falling apart in front of others even more, yet here he was, doing just that. He always told you that he was supposed to be the one that others relied on. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that crumbled, but of course, no one could say strong forever.
“Do you still love me?” he said. If he had held you like this a year ago, then his grip would have crushed you, but now, it was you who had to be careful with your power, with his softer body. “Y/N, do you still love me?”
“Yes, how could you question that?” you said. “I love more than anyone.”
“You loved Yuta Okkotsu,” he whimpered. “Yuta Okkotsu, special-grade sorcerer. Yuta Okkotsu, who was powerful enough to save you from anything. I’m not him anymore. I’m someone else. Someone weak and stupid, who can barely see and whose body always aches.”
“Hey,” you said, holding him at an arm’s length, using the hem of your shirt to dry his tears. “Hey, hey, look at me. Are you looking at me?”
His eyes, the soft color of clouds, settled on you. You weren’t sure what you had done to deserve that kind of trust, that kind of affection or devotion, but you did the best you could with it, holding his face in your hands and squishing his cheeks fondly.
“Yes,” he said.
“I didn’t fall in love with what you have up here,” you said, knocking on his head lightly. “Nor here, nor here.” This was accompanied by pinches on each of his arms. “What I cared about, what I still care about, is this.”
You placed your hand on his heart. He tilted his chin to gaze at it, and you took the moment to flick him, earning you a small whine.
“My heart?” he said.
“Your heart,” you agreed. “In all the world, I don’t think there’s any other that could claim to be its equal, and that’s a fact independent of your cursed technique or your strength. I’ll always love that heart of yours, Yuta. There’s nothing you can do that’ll stop me from doing so. Change your name, change your face, change everything else about you — I’ll recognize it all the same, and I will love it regardless.”
“Do you mean that?” he said.
“I’ve never meant anything more,” you said. “I love you for who you are, not for what you can do.”
“You really, truly are sure of that?” he said.
“How many times do I have to say it? How many words will it take for you to believe me? I love you, Yuta, I love you, I love you, I love you. Is that enough, or is there something else you’d prefer?” you said.
“There is,” he said. “There’s something else I want you to say.”
“What is it?” you said. “You only need to tell me, and I will.”
“I know I’m not strong or capable anymore. I can’t promise to protect you, and it’ll be more work on your part than anything, so I understand if you don’t want to do it,” he said. “It’s a terrible deal for you.”
“Huh?” you said. He avoided your eyes, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, velvet box, opening it and clearing his throat.
“I’m delicate now,” he said. “But if you’ll still have me, even in this condition, then…?”
“Are you proposing?” you said. He nodded shyly.
“I was going to wait to do it until after everything with the curses was resolved, but I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he said. “I guess I kind of got caught up in the moment. I’m sorry.”
I wouldn’t have before, he seemed to be thinking. Before, I would’ve been disciplined enough to deny myself that joy until the perfect moment.
You didn’t want Yuta to ever deny himself anything again, though. He had given you everything so that you could have a second chance at life; it was only fair that you spent the rest of that life with him. It belonged to him already, anyways. Every thump of your heart, every breath in your lungs, every thought in your mind…they were all his.
“Don’t apologize,” you said. “It’s perfect. This is perfect. Everything about it is.”
“Really?” he said dubiously.
“Yes,” you said. “Yes, it’s perfect, and yes, I’ll marry you.”
He swallowed, and then slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger, with all the painstaking care of a surgeon. Then he blinked up at you, frowning when tears of your own welled against your lashes.
“Is everything okay?” he said.
“It’s more than okay. I’m happy,” you said. “I’m so happy that I can’t help but weep. I never thought that I could be so lucky.”
You wished that you could tell your younger versions that the two of you would end up like this, that everything would work itself out in the best way that it could, that eventually, you would again find something like happiness. Maybe it was true that you both were different now — Yuta was missing his cursed technique, and you could never again simultaneously heal and fight — but you had made it. Somehow, despite everything, despite all that you had lost, you had made it.
In the end, what more could either of you ask for?
#yuuta x reader#yuuta x y/n#yuuta x you#yuuta okkotsu#jjk x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#canon au#pomegranate ink#m1ckeyb3rry writes#m1ckeyb3rry milestone#reader insert
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heyyy ur step dad madara hcs were just 🤌 amazing. may i request something similar, like madara as ur dad’s friend or somthing? maybe with some dubcon if possible? itd be so lovely! thx so much!!! ❤️
With Complete Confidence || Dad's!friend!Madara Uchiha x fem!reader
A/n : Heyyy I'm here again for another one of Madara hehehe
Warnings : Dark content, dubcon, erection, humping, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of cokwarming, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it ( Don't forget that consent is hot always ask for it ! )
Masterlist ⚜
I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it
Word count : 1065
He has always been part of your life, he was one of your father’s closest friends after all
You can’t even count how many times your father left you there with him when he has something to do elsewhere when you were younger
Madara or ‘Dara as you used to call him always treated you like the princess he knew you were. He’d sit on you his lap and brush your hair, sometimes even to the point of you falling asleep in his arms
He would even go out of his way and play with your toys ( please don’t dirty mind this it’s coming 😂 ) creating little scenarios that would fill your head with wonder
He would even dismiss his maids from the kitchen so he could be able to, himself, prepare the little threats he knew you liked so much
You were a bit like the daughter he never had… well until you grew up. And to say the less you did grow up quite nicely
You still continued to come at his house like you used to when you were younger, even now that the excuse of coming with your father didn’t make any more sense
At first you didn’t notice that the way Madara looked at you changed. You weren’t aware of the way his gaze lingered on the swell of your breasts whenever he took your jacket off for you, nor the way his fingers would itch at the thought of letting his hand wander on your other curves… just for a second
Something else that changed is the conversation you had. If before it used to be all about the silly stories he imagined for you two to play, now it was more about your hopes for the future, your hobbies… and maybe he was trying to investigate on your single status
and also maybe because he was curious to know if anyone took this virginity of yours he waited so long to take himself
The only thing that actually didn’t change is that you still casually sat on his lap from time to time
It didn’t bothering you at all, and who was he to refuse the delicious friction your ass provided his half-hard length
His arm would - possessively - circle your waist, or his hands would knead the tender flesh of your hips, and to his surprise you never pushed him back. So why should he stop when you felt so good
His hands would wander a little more up to your stomach, and soon enough to the stretched fabric of your shirt where your breasts seemed to try and come through
First caressing the slight curve on the side, which prompted you to lean against his strong torso. You felt his abs flex under your back as his arm stretched to get a hold on the front of your breasts
A low growl escaped his throat feeling your nipples poking behind the thin fabric of your shirt
“No bra today ?” he said on a whisper, sure he was paying attention to which underwear to choose to keep your sweet breasts warm “After all you know you're at home here”
Sometimes he wished his genjutsu had the same ability as the Hyuga's, he'd give a lot to see what you were wearing through your clothes. But something told him that even without that, he was on the right track
Hearing your moaning as he kneaded the soft flesh he couldn't help but grow hard under you
The hand that was always at your waist will be a little stronger then, pulling and pushing you on its growing erection
Short breath escaped your parted lips as you started to squirm on top of him and gosh did he want to plunge his cock right inside your tight cunt at that moment… maybe he could
“Tell me sweet sweet Y/n, do you mind if I do that ?” he said while pinching your nipple, making you moan
You shook your head, unable to get any words out, his hands and he feel of his hard cock pressing against your back rendered you speechless
“And if I do that ?” he inquired and you gasped. You were so caught up in the sensation of his fingers on your nipple that you didn’t feel his hand make its way to your clothed core
Hearing no words from you, he began to make little circles on your clitoris through the fabric
“Gosh you're soaking. If I knew you could get so wet so easily, I wouldn't have waited so long”
In no time the man’s hunger drive him to slips his fingers past the fabric of your panties and then through your wet folds
“Just like this. Fuck yourself on my fingers” he would groaned against your ear as he rutted his cock against your ass
“Yeah just like this, fuck it’s sucking them in”
He wouldn’t be able to hold on for too long after that. He would take your top off and have you right there and then
When he finally had you both undressed like he had fantasized for the past months he couldn't help the violent throbs and twitches of his cock… even more so when he pushed it in your mouth
“Y/n dear relax your throat for me I’m going to try something out” he asked and so you did
“Oh kami… yes ! Just perfect” he groaned pushing it hard rock cock deeper in your throat
And when he couldn't take it anymore he laid you on the couch, he was surprisingly gentle when he nestled himself deeply inside you, as if he had thought about it before you thought
Though when he started moving you could clearly feel that it’s something he had been dying to try out
Now that he got the chance of getting a feel of how tight your walls were constricting around him there was no way someone would get him out of you any time soon
Even after fucking you he planned on cockwarming you, not to break the sensation so soon
Let’s just say that that day he called your father to say that you were playing some “games” and knowing it will last too long it’s preferable you come home next morning instead… maybe even afternoon, who knows if he was up for some morning sex with his favorite little girl
#naruto#naruto imagine#naruto smut#naruto dark content#naruto shippuden#naruto shippuden imagine#naruto shippuden smut#naruto shipppuden dark content#madara uchiha#madara uchiha imagine#madara uchiha x reader#madara uchiha smut#madara uchiha dark content#madara x reader#madara smut#dark content#smut#request#miri's-files
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·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. coming home from university has both stressed and tired you out — causing you to forget about satoru’s birthday. maybe your boyfriend could help you remember.
word count. 4.7k-ish
note. was supposed to come out on his (our) bday but writer’s block was ruthless :p hope you enjoy anyway x
tags. older bf!gojo satoru x sub!female reader. p.orn with plot. fluff to smut. age gap (reader 20 - early 20’s, satoru’s in his early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected, size difference, missionary, creampie, breast play, dirty talk, body worship, hickeys, praise, you f.uck in the kitchen, aftercare-ish, reader gets called ‘princess, sweetheart, baby, pretty.’ i present to you soft dom&older bf!gojo satoru. he’s absolutely smitten with you btw.
“lookin’ tired, sweetheart.” satoru comments with a subtle grin as he welcomes you home. home being his apartment that you had basically moved into. why? because it was close to the university you attend.
and maybe because your lover had coaxed you into it.
you sigh, eyes half closed and glazed over. the stress of exams, assignments and whatnot has been too much for your brain, “yeah, i’m sorry. i probably look like absolute shi—”
a pair of lips were quick to shut your negative remark up. satoru pulls you closer to him by the small of your back. his fluffy bangs brush over his closed eyes, the hairs lightly grazing your forehead as well. he smells and tastes sweet. like those strawberry flavoured candies he always carries with him in his pockets.
a faint string of saliva hanging between your two mouths was all that’s left after the intense kiss. it snaps, causing the small bit of liquid to cling onto your bottom lip.
“what’d i say about apologising when you did absolutely nothing wrong?” satoru asks in a gentle and hushed tone. his thumb presses down on your bottom lip to get rid of the transparent trail of saliva. his gaze is soft and loving — like it always is when he looks at you.
that man had once again rendered you speechless. it’s the small things that make you fall for him over and over, “that—uhm—i shouldn’t apologise for something i don’t have any control over.”
satoru’s dimples show as he looks down at you fondly. a large hand settles on the top of your head, messing up your hair whilst his lips lock yours in for another kiss.
“exactly,” your lover nods in approval before grabbing your bag and placing it aside. he also helps you take off your coat and even bends down to undo your shoes for you.
you wonder how you’ve even managed to land such a man.
satoru’s long fingers work quick to undo the laces on your shoes. your tired eyes can’t help but steal a glance at the veins that run down his slender hands — up his forearms and. . .
“somethin’ on your mind, princess?” his voice calls out as he massages your feet for a split second to ease the accumulated tension from all the walking. you simply shake your head ‘no’, though satoru knows you better than you know yourself.
with a light-hearted chuckle, he raises to his full length and leads you through the hallway. his footsteps were light whilst yours were the exact opposite: heavy and exhausted.
maybe a shower or bath would help you refresh and relax. thus, that’s exactly what the sorcerer recommends;
“why don’t you go take a nice shower whilst i prepare you a hot meal, hm?” satoru comments and stops in his tracks right before the door to the bathroom. his gaze lingers on your pretty face—his hands never leaving your skin.
the idea of taking a shower did seem like the ideal solution to your problems at the moment, “okay i will, but err. . .”
your voice trails off as you look up at satoru. his knuckles run over your cheeks lovingly and his warm gaze tells you that he’s smitten with you. totally. utterly. he makes you so nervous without even realising it in the slightest.
“you don’t have to cook me something. i know work has been hard on you too.” you finish your sentence with an apologetic little smile. one that makes satoru want to squeeze your cheeks together.
you had always been a bit selfless and it’s an admirable trait, but your boyfriend also has this gnawing urge to take care of you in any way he can. maybe it’s because he’s a few years older than you and knows from experience how tough things could get at your age.
satoru smirks and pokes your sides playfully, “don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout that. now let’s get you in that shower.”
a little yelp leaves your throat as you feel yourself get hoisted over his shoulder. the white-haired sorcerer opens the door with one hand, the other protectively placed on your waist to keep you from falling.
he settles you back on your feet in the middle of the room—eyes now filled with a playful glint. you could probably already guess the next words that leave his mouth.
“need help undressing? i’ll gladly do it for you,” satoru laughs. you roll your eyes and teasingly shove him towards the door. he puts his hands in the air to show his surrender, though doesn’t miss the opportunity to look you over one last time.
you’re like the embodiment of beauty even when your eyes have lost their usual spark. even if you barely have any energy left to do anything. he loves every side of you, no matter what.
resisting the urge to pull you into his arms for the nth time, your boyfriend eventually leaves you be and closes the door as he steps out. his mind, however, was still overly full with thoughts of you.
“ah, what a woman.” satoru mutters in pure amazement under his breath after departing from the bathroom. there’s a visible spring in his step as he walks to the kitchen—happy to take care of his girl.
. . .
you finish your much needed bath after about half an hour. you look in the bathroom mirror whilst wrapping a simple white towel around your torso. the bath sure did help to clear your mind, though there’s still one thing bothering you. something you’ve forgotten.
you can’t really put your finger on it, but it must have been something important. there’s an iffy feeling in your chest as you walk out of the bathroom — instantly heading towards the kitchen. surely, satoru could help you remember it.
“toru,” you call out before stepping into the kitchen. your lover is standing at the counter, his back towards you and his hands working fast to chop up some vegetables. the many pans and stoves scattered around the area only further prove his determination to prepare you a nice hot meal.
“yeah, princ— oh.” satoru eventually turns his head, looking over his shoulder to see you standing a few steps behind him. he couldn’t believe his luck; to have his gorgeous, gorgeous girlfriend in his apartment was one thing—but having his girlfriend in front of him with only a towel on was another thing. the remaining waterdroplets running down your skin made you all the more attractive.
he grins as he puts the knife down and quickly dries his hands. he couldn’t wait to put his hands on your body, “c’mere, pretty.”
you grunt the moment satoru envelopes you into a tight hug with your face squished into his chest. he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head—over dramatically acting as if he hasn’t seen you for days.
his hands teasingly find their way under the material of the towel. the tips of his fingers are cold in comparison to your warm and damp skin. he drags the pad of his thumb up and down the curve of your ass; sighing in content as he feels the plush flesh.
“perv.” you mutter under your breath, though can’t deny that the light touch makes you putty in his hands. satoru responds with his usual ‘only when it comes to you’ comment before pulling away to take in your embarrassed expression. he lives for those physical reactions you have to his advances.
you slightly turn your head to the right, purposely avoiding his gaze. you face the door of the fridge that you stood in front of. your eyes fall onto the sticky notes. there’s one standing out from all the others.
you had placed it on there a few weeks ago so you wouldn’t accidentally forget that oh-so-important date.
turns out you did just that.
your face drops and you instantly go into panic mode. how could you fail to recall that today is satoru’s birthday? you don’t even know how to explain yourself. no amount of excuses would ever make this right. or so you thought.
satoru is an attentive lover; he is aware of almost everything that’s going on in your head. perhaps he is good at reading minds. or perhaps it’s just that your body language and facial expressions disclose everything he needs to know about your current mood.
“hey, i’m not upset.” satoru breathes out, eyes closed as he slides ticklish kisses down your neck. it is a sign of reassurance; he doesn’t want you to conclude that he’s angry with you for forgetting such a thing. besides, he understands that being an university student is a struggle by itself, “having you here with me at the end of the day ‘s all that matters to me, okay?”
you sigh, both in frustration and content. you’re frustrated with yourself for being too caught up with your studies, though you’re also appreciative for satoru’s empathy and lenience. he is so kind and mature; always optimistic about everything. your mindset is the opposite of his. your age gap sure did explain those cognitive differences.
despite satoru’s consolation, you still feel like you owe him something. you tilt your head back so you’re able to look him in the eyes. you give him the cutest pout ever and that man is—once again—feeling light-headed. satoru can’t decide whether to continue consoling you or to tease you about forgetting his birthday.
you are adorable when you sulk.
“i’m still.. well, sorry.” you sniffle, cuddling up to your lover to show your genuine remorse, “i know that you wouldn’t ever forget about my birthday - no matter how busy you might. . . .”
blahblahblah. you are babbling on and on about how inappropriate it is of you to forget his birthday, but satoru is hearing none of that.
his coherent thoughts shut down the moment he felt your tits press up against his chest. it is meant as an innocent hug on your part, however apparently couldn’t be interpreted as one.
your visible cleavage and the way the towel is doing a bad job at hiding the volume of your breasts increases the lewd thoughts gathering in his mind. there is no way that he can survive any more physical contact between you two without taking some action.
“..so, i was thinking that i could make it up to you somehow.” you conclude at one point in the conversation. satoru’s body subtly jolts as he snaps out of his dazed state.
he gives you a sheepish smile and tries to play it off by continuing the conversation, “make it up to me, huh?”
you nod in response and give him your best puppy eyes. your lover sighs in defeat; satoru couldn’t keep his emotions and carnal desires in check anymore. his hands are twitching, aching and longing to touch you all over.
the rational part of his mind told him to continue comforting you. to tell you that there was no need to compensate for failing to remember his birthday. the lust-driven part of him craves to take you up on the offer and give a different and more sexual twist to it.
satoru takes a deep breath and puts some distance between you two. not because he is annoyed or irritated by your behaviour, but because he might lose control of himself.
you can’t guess the intentions behind your lover’s actions, thus confusion follows; “satoru? you okay?”
maybe he actually is displeased by your lack of remembrance—deep, deep inside. you bite your lip anxiously, reaching your hand out to hold satoru’s in attempt to try and get him to look at you. his vision is obstructed by his own bangs, a dark shadow casted over his eyes, one that prevents you from gauging his mood.
you feel a light electric shock go through your body the instant your fingers curled around his hand. your boyfriend’s body stiffens and it’s like time stilled.
“fuck, i tried.” satoru mutters under his breath.
then, before you knew what was happening, you’re pinned to the door of the fridge. there are efforts made to articulate proper words, but the shock has overtaken all your senses. it isn’t like you could speak either—your lips are sealed shut by your lover’s.
his hands didn’t waste a single second now that they have free rein. they fondle you everywhere; from cupping your cheeks, to sliding down your neck and lower. his fingers rub up against the area where your nipples would be, sensually stroking them through the towel. his feverish kisses combined with his constant touches make you shiver in exhilaration.
you’re trying to keep up with his sudden burst of lust and that’s adorable to the white-haired sorcerer. he can feel you struggling to keep yourself balanced on your toes, your arms wrap tightly around his neck so you’d be inseparable. you feel him grin against your lips for a split second—the gesture alerting you of what might be coming.
“mmh,” satoru grunts once he frees your bare body from its confines. he finally breaks the kiss—the sole reason being to admire the sight of you.
it feels like he just unveiled a heavenly painting. his eyes don’t know what to focus on. if he is to properly and completely appreciate your nude body, it’d take him days or even weeks, “god, have i ever told you how lucky i am to be yours?”
your heart stutters in your chest as all attention is on you. the gentle yet hungry touch of your lover, his hands caressing everywhere they can reach and his half-lidded eyes that are focused on your most intimate parts—you don’t know how much more you can take.
satoru’s breathing becomes even heavier than it was moments ago. he leans his head down to your level, lips hovering above the space between your neck and shoulder. his mouth latches onto your skin after taking a moment to try and keep himself from rushing into things. but alas, he is a simple man.
his lips work precisely and diligently to leave hickeys on every inch. his teeth gently sink into your flesh here and there, his warm saliva coating the faint markings left. your body is his canvas for tonight and the many other nights that are yet to come — for as long as you give him permission to.
“ngh— t.. toru,” you stammer, almost squealing. the sloppy kisses left on your sensitive skin resulted in you whining for more. satoru feels a rush of satisfaction like no other; the frequency of his touches only increasing with each sound erupting from your throat. his tongue slides over your plump breasts, his fingers flicking the nipple he isn’t sucking on.
he eventually detaches from your tits, leaving them both covered in his saliva. he hums in delight at the erotic view and gives both your breasts a last kiss. satoru looks up into your eyes again—a sense of want in them, “you look like you have somethin’ to say, baby.”
you do, but, don’t know how to bring the message across. it is embarrassing to say all of your thoughts out loud; all that you actually want him to do that you. you know satoru would love it if you do, however you do not have the guts to.
your body does all the talking anyway. there is a pool of slick forming between your thighs, your bodily fluids showing just how aroused you are. you aren’t the only one in that state; satoru has had a raging hard-on the entire time.
“i want you,” there it goes.
you avert your eyes, though not for long. gentle fingers hold your chin up, forcing you to stare at your lover. his face is intensely close and your heart is in your throat. satoru grins at your shy behaviour, finding it all the more endearing.
“awh, my little princess wants me?” he pouts, almost mockingly if you didn’t know better. his gaze flickers downwards, “where d’ya want me? show me, baby.”
if you aren’t embarrassed already, you’d sure be now. satoru’s teasing words and the sultry tone of voice he uses eventually urges you to comply. your shaky fingers wrap around his wrist, bringing his hand down towards your tingling cunt, “here.”
the older man hisses at the direct contact his hand makes with your pussy. it is so wet and ready — he wanted nothing more than to bury his fat cock between your folds and feel your sweet little cunt cling onto it.
he cups your cunt delicately, grazing his thumb against your clit. he traces faint circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves to make you squirm and whimper in pleasure. his other fingers spread your folds apart so he can collect your wetness on them.
“how naughty,” satoru sighs. his index finger prods at your entrance, but your thighs clamp down around his hand before he’s able to push it in.
he snickers in amusement and retracts his hand. he licks your juices off of his long fingers in a painfully slow manner, “well.. who am i to deny you? what the princess says, goes.”
satoru lifts your body up in his arms, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist. he kisses you passionately again—his tongue swirling around yours. you exchange soft moans as your hands lift his shirt up and over his head.
you cut the kiss short to appreciate the sight of your lover’s well-built upper body. that drives him utterly insane. that look you give him.
satoru curses under his breath and pulls you down onto the carpet below. he carefully places you on your back and—once you are settled—instantly rushes to undo his grey sweatpants.
his eyes are darting from his clothes to your naked body under him. god, he wants to fuck you so bad. the view of you spread out and patiently waiting for him to take you had him weak in the knees. it’s a sinful scene, yet the pleading and almost innocent-like look in your eyes is a complete contrast.
“don’t worry, i’ll give it to you in a second, baby.” satoru grins once he pulls his boxers down to his knees—revealing his hardened cock. he strokes it slowly and the pre-cum drips down the shaft, his thumb smearing the droplets all over his pink tip.
after getting a couple strokes in, he grabs the base of his dick and guides it to your wet cunt. satoru rubs his tip up and down your slit. what he didn’t expect is for his cockhead to slide into you so easily. he didn’t even have to put in the slightest of effort.
your back arches due to the feeling and your nails dig into the carpet below you. the mixture of your slick and his pre-cum is all the lubricant you need.
“shit. seems like she doesn’t wanna let go any time soon.” satoru addresses your cunt with a groan whilst he slips his fat cock deeper into you. his eyes roll back as he feels the warmth of your pussy engulfing him, “. . .not like i was planning to leave her empty anyway.”
you moan and shiver at both satoru’s dirty words and his dick that’s currently stuffing your insides full. your mouth hangs open, your eyes remain shut and your brain takes in all the granted sensations. adjusting to his lengthy size takes you a few seconds and when you gave your boyfriend permission to continue— that’s exactly what he does.
his hips thrust in an almost hypnotising rhythm: back and forth, back and forth. every interval between the firm movements is the exact same. the thing that differs and makes the experience all the better, is the difference in strength behind each thrust.
one moment he’s carefully sliding in and out of your sopping cunt and in the next he’s forcefully slamming his cock all the way in and out. satoru stifles his moans by attaching his lips to yours—capturing them in a sloppy, rough kiss.
“satoru—satoru, ah, please.. right there,” you mewl into his mouth. his tongue finds yours and your salivas mix.
your lover answers your pleas by holding onto your hand, your fingers interlocking with his thumb soothingly rubbing your skin. satoru never fails to make you feel loved during intimate acts like these. no matter how filthy, nasty and rough he’s fucking you.
you arch your back and your chest presses against satoru’s, causing him to groan against your lips. a cocky grin appears on his face after he moves his head to the crook of your neck. he leaves a couple hickeys along the area of your throat—his hips not giving you a break. even as you continuously whimper and look like you’re about to lose your mind from pleasure.
that’s what satoru wants; to have you come undone beneath him. it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to him. others may call it perverted, but the older man always aims to make you reach as many orgasms as you can in one night. it fuels his carnal desires to see you convulse and shake after every intense climax.
his baby feeling good is all he wants to achieve.
“mhm, i know, princess. i know.” satoru breathes out and returns his lips to yours. he can’t go on long without tasting you. you’re like a drug he’s addicted to. every reaction—small or big—gets him going, “take it easy—fuck, you can do that f’me."
you reply with incoherent noises of agreement. there’s not a thought going on behind those watery eyes of yours. that much is obvious to your boyfriend.
your legs lock his cock inside of you by wrapping around his hips. your eyes are glazed over; a cockdrunk look. one that would make any man cum on spot.
“princess, wait,” satoru whines. he can’t stop himself, yet he’s telling you to wait. his body refuses to come to a halt as it strives towards a satisfying orgasm. he can feel it, his balls tightening and ready to spill everything they have, “if you continue looking at me like that, ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum.”
he isn’t lying. you’re nearly driving him over the edge with everything you do. your legs that tighten their grip around his hips in fear of him pulling out is his favorite thing to experience. it’s like you’re desperate to continue.
your hands play with his sweaty body, fingers caressing his hard chest to feel his heartbeat. you’re drooling. your head is spinning as you think of your lover claiming you. fucking his precious cum into you, “inside—want it inside. all of it.”
satoru chokes on his spit. you don’t know what you do to him. muttering such erotic words causes the older man to malfunction every time. without fail. his hips are painfully ramming against yours.
“you sure? ah, shit.” satoru curses. his brows are furrowed, his hands holding you by your jaw. the view of you with your head tilted back and your teary eyes looking straight into his is pure perfection, “can’t deny you when you look so hot begging me to cum inside your greedy little pussy.”
the room is spinning. your nails claw into satoru’s back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. you shudder the instant he slides out of you until all that’s left is his pink tip prodding at your entrance.
it’s like he gets off on it. to see you whimper, quiver and struggle to contain your pleas for permission to cum. your boyfriend drags his tip up and down your slit, tapping it against your clit repeatedly.
“cum f’me, baby.” satoru coos. he knows you’re right on the edge. before you can reply, he shoves his cock back inside your spasming cunt—ruthlessly pounding you until you scream his name.
your eyes roll back and all you can do is hold your breath the moment the intense orgasm washes over you. your hips buck, your legs tremble and your pussy gushes all over his cock.
spurts of clear liquid cover satoru’s thighs. you squirting isn’t something he had expected to see, but it is a pleasant surprise regardless. it all gets too much for your lover and it drives him to his own climax as well.
satoru hugs you tightly to him. your chests press together with one of his arms holding your upper body up—his nose buried into your hair. a muffled grunt escapes his mouth and that’s when you know that he's reaching his finish.
“please—take it, take it, take it,” satoru stutters and stammers. he can’t form any proper words the moment his cock twitches and releases a huge load of sperm into your womb. it’s an overwhelming amount; globs of transculent white liquid ooze out from between your folds.
his sticky cum slides down to your asshole and onto the carpet, staining it. satoru bites his bottom lip whilst his body is still recovering, cock going soft once he pulls it out. he doesn’t know what to do or where to look, yet somehow his gaze always darts back to your dripping cunt.
“fuck. . . that’s hot.” the older man takes in a deep breath. it’s too soon to get hard again, he figures. the way you’re still trembling and struggling to catch your breath tells him enough. you need a break. and a well-deserved one it is.
your weak taps against satoru’s shoulder snaps him out of his dazed state. he takes your hand in his and gently squeezes before helping you into a sitting position. his blue eyes flash with worry,
“hey, hey, baby—you okay?” satoru asks. his voice is raspy, though obviously filled with concern. he rubs your back and encourages you to take deep breaths. small kisses to your temples help calm you down too.
your breathing eventually returns to normal. you chuckle tiredly and lean your head against his shoulder. your attentive lover wipes the saliva from the corners of your lips and does the same with the tears around your eyes. you sniff, “y-yeah. just felt amazing, hehe.”
satoru sighs in relief. he was scared that he hurt you somehow. your confession makes him laugh and squeeze your body against his. he cups your face and kisses you twice out of pure adoration.
you’re always ten times more adorable to him after you’ve had sex.
“aw, glad it did.” satoru smiles, his dimples showing. your eyes glisten and you smile back out of reflex. you pucker your lips and your lover takes the hint. he presses his mouth against yours once more; this time playfully swiping his tongue over your bottom lip.
you pull back and teasingly swat his bicep. satoru tickles your side as a response. and that’s how you once again end on the floor, with a heavy weight pressing onto your front.
satoru nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in your scent. you’re the best thing to have happened to him. you, the love of his life.
“the best present i could have ever gotten.” the white-haired sorcerer mumbles to no one in particular. though, you heard it. faintly.
you rub his back. you’re sure you made it up to him. he’s clinging onto you, nearly suffocating you by laying on top of your smaller body, but you don’t mind. you play with his hair and your fingernails graze against his undercut to which satoru reacts with a low purr.
you’re happy. he’s happy. that’s all that matters;
“happy birthday, my love.”
#sttoru writes.#jjk smut#jjk x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru smut#jjk x you#gojo x you#gojo satoru x reader#female reader
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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.”
———————————————————-
More by uhohdad:
HIS - A Stalker!Konig Fic
EXPERIMENTAL - Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology, and Reader sees something they’re not supposed to.
Original Works Masterlist
#konig#konig x reader#konig cod#konig call of duty#konig modern warfare#konig mw2#konig x you#you x konig#reader x konig#call of duty#mw2#mwii#cod#modern warfare 2#modern warfare ii#könig#könig x reader#könig x you#uhohwriting#you x könig#reader x könig#könig cod#könig call of duty#könig modern warfare#x reader#fic#smut#octo!konig#octokonig#tentacles
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"Stop fighting this."
From most, it might sound normal. However, when it happens to be a certain Moondweller who constantly speaks with a nigh robotic drone and he's slamming his hand right beside Beatrix's head; It sounds remarkably like a threat, and will most certainly give any passerby the wrong idea should they see Cassius towering over the former Society agent.
"This is a holiday in which I am meant to return your gift from approximately 30 days prior as per annual Fossildweller tradition. I cannot correctly perform this ritual when you fail to flee on sight at every attempt. Stop resisting."
....
........
................
At the very least, his intentions are good? And the white chocolate filled molten lava cake will surely be delicious given the precision he used when baking it. It's just that, well--Beatrix needs to actually accept the White Day gift is all.
White Day -- Accepting until March 18th -- @pseudomonarkaerenea
"Ah!"
The embarrassingly loud yelp that left the brunette's lips from the sudden slam caused a few heads to peek out from doorways or stop their actions. Much like watching red food coloring mix into the white frosting, Beatrix's face went through different shades of pink until it bloomed red.
She wasn't avoiding him all day! No way! There's totally a different reason for why she was making up reasons and not stopping as he called for her multiple times!!
Hearing him recount the reason for White Day, her chest was thumping so loud in her head she just stared at him. That's with the thoughts running through her mind in tandem.
"I-I'm not!"
C-C'mon! Get it together, Bea! Deep breaths! People are staring y'know! Oh, but why did he-- OK, that's my fault but he didn't have to slam the wall so hard!
She couldn't keep him hanging. He's looking at her so expectedly. There was no way out of this one, and she knew that the moment he moved in front of her to cut her off. Not fully caged by his arms, his body made sure to tell her that he was done chasing her around while holding the box. That's all that she needed.
Swallowing the lump in her throat she looks down at the box in his hands. Once she had calmed down, her hands reach out to receive it. Finally. If it was someone else, she would've asked if this was a prank. But with Cassius? He hasn't given her a present or gifted her anything that could be considered one.
"--Thank you, Cassius."
At least none of the others were around to see this. At least, she thinks so.
#pseudomonarkaerenea#⍚; beatrix: ic#⍚; I tell you again & again forgetting all the words I had prepared / Before this moment I’ll always be by your side ( cassius & beatrix )#∘Question#∘Granblue Fantasy#Bea's just- dying this is fine:tm:#White Day//
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thinking about fellow soldier!reader coming back to ghost after having been mistaken for kia
gn!reader x simon "ghost" riley
-maybe he's back in your shared apartment, holding the last photo he took with you.
-it was taken the day of your birthday, with your arms around simon's waist and a gleeful smile permanently etched on your face.
-you were looking directly at the camera with your eyes crinkled at the corners. simon, however, was looking at you and only you with an expression only a lovestruck fool could manage.
-he had long since stopped crying about what he believed was your death. when price came to him with a somber expression and the news that you were on the wrong end of an explosion, the only thing he could do was cry or be angry.
-now, he felt nothing.
-you could imagine his surprise when he hears the front door open. did he forget to lock it? was someone breaking in? he didn't care enough to prepare himself for a potential attack.
-but, no, you walked in with an ungodly amount of bandaged wounds and a tired look on your face.
-you expected him to stand from his place on the sofa to meet you, but he didn't. he thought he was imagining things, again, so he said nothing.
-"simon," you said softly, not bothering to take off your shoes and throwing you things onto the ground next to you.
-still, he said nothing.
-"i'm sorry. i'm so, so sorry. price said he tried to contact you but that you never answered," you continued. nobody knew where you and ghost lived, and simon's grief took the form of self-isolation.
-he still didn't answer you at this point, and it was becoming unsettling.
-"simon, can you hear me?"
-"you're not real," was all he could muster. he didn't have the heart to tell "fake" you to go away or beg himself to wake up from his supposed dream. "i can't do this again. you're not real."
-you realized just how hard your false death had hit him.
-"i'm real. i promise. i was able to take cover last second and-"
-"no. you're dead with not even a body to recover because i wasn't there to protect you. god, i..." the words got stuck in his throat as he leaned forward on the sofa, holding his head in his hands and near trembling.
-you dropped to your knees in front of him like a follower worshipping their god. taking his hands, you held them tight as you could in a silent attempt at convincing him you were alive.
-there was a moment of silence between the two of you before he drew his hands away from yours. it made your heart hurt.
-"simon..." you were grasping at straws, now, trying to figure out how to convince him of what was true. maybe there was something in your luggage that might help.
-as soon as you turned your body to your bags by the front door, you were pulled right back in by a pair of strong arms.
-he was hugging you like the moment he let go, you'd disappear into thin air (and, in a way, he believed it to be a possibility). after being pulled from your shock, you immediately brought your own arms to reciprocate the embrace.
-"(y/n)," he said, trying to keep his voice stable. there was still a part of him that couldn't believe he had you with him. if he weren't so thankful, he'd be lecturing you about acting wreckless on missions and convincing you to quit your job so nothing like this happened again.
-but, for now, he was content like this.
#call of duty imagine#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#cod imagine#cod mw x reader#simon riley imagine#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost imagine#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x you#cod angst#call of duty angst#simon riley angst#ghost angst#rara writes
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MISSING A DATE . they forget about a big date with you and realize it too late
with deku + bakugou (in their pro-hero era)
one thing about him is that he always tried his absolute best to make time for you amid his busy schedule. you understood that you weren't the only one that demanded his attention due to his work and were okay with that. as long as you still got your 'me-time' with him, where he blocked out the world and focused on you and only you, you couldn't ask for a more perfect relationship.
but this was your last straw. you had forgiven the late nights, the last-minute cancellations—gotten used to being alone in your luxurious apartment, which only reminded you of the one thing you were missing.
you had planned this date for months. a set time where you both blocked off time that night to just be with each other in a word that tried everything to keep you apart.
"remember tonight, baby." you chirped as you kissed him goodbye that morning.
he hummed and gave you a tight hug before leaving.
you felt giddy as you prepared yourself, slipping into your best clothes and fixing yourself in the mirror. you felt as you did on the night of your first date with him. you couldn't be more excited.
then, you waited. and waited. the restaurant happily sat you next to a window, the streetlamps twinkling romantically against the dusky backdrop.
you waited some more. soon your bright posture slouched as your checked your phone. messaged him a couple times, called a few times more. he's probably just running late.
families came and went, and before you knew it, hours had passed.
you burned in embarrassment as you stared at the empty chair across from you, focusing your frustration as if he was sitting there. but even that didn't give you relief. every one of your thoughts and feelings came to the same conclusion—
he hadn't shown up.
IZUKU
you ordered some food to-go. why not get something out of this outing? besides, the food would do good to distract you from the dread swirling in your stomach. you flashed the server a quick smile before dragging your feet out the restaurant.
you threw your bag, coat, and shoes to the ground as you walked into your apartment, uncaring of where they ended up. you needed the couch, a movie, and the food you were carrying.
a few hours later, izuku showed up. you heard the door slide open and the jangle of his keys. his heavy sigh was familiar and it almost made you feel bad for feeling so angry about him missing this date. almost.
you made no move to greet him as he entered the living space, a big grin plastered on his face. "you look pretty."
the compliment was just salt on the wound, ironically. you hummed, remaining laser focused on your show.
he tugged off his white gloves and set them on the table. "what's got you all dressed up tonight, hmm?" he sat next to you, running his hands up and down your arm.
you just handed him one of the takeout boxes. "want some?" you said dryly.
"what's this—? oh, i recognize the name of this restaurant..." he surveyed the box in his hands, his voice becoming quieter as he sunk into his thoughts. "oh."
you got off the couch.
"oh." he repeated, staring at the takeout box incredulously. "baby, don't tell me tonight was—"
"it was." you said simply, walking into the bedroom. you couldn't bear to look at him.
"fuck." you heard him hiss. a light thudding followed as he hurried after you. "y/n, god, i'm so sorry—don't tell me you went there alone—"
"izuku, i don't care anymore." you turned around abruptly, making him skid to a halt before you. his expression read shock. "i don't."
he slumped and inched closer to you. "no, don't say that—"
"you don't give me a reason to care anymore." you laughed wryly though your lips trembled. "i—" your breath hitched and you turned away from him.
his voice sounded watery as he tried to turn your body to face him again. "i'm so sorry, there was a hangout at the agency after work today and... shit, i totally forgot—"
"a fucking party?" you snapped. "you blew off the date you and i planned for months in advance because we never get to spend time together anymore to hang out with the same goddamn people you see every single day?"
he groaned. "i know, i know—"
"you don't know, izuku." your voice quivered. "you don't, okay?" you sobbed.
he was stunned to silence, unsure of how to right something so horribly wrong.
"you don't know what it's like to always be waiting. i'm always waiting for you. you always have something better to do." you sobbed, sitting on the edge of the bed. you really didn't want to have this conversation with him; you knew you'd break down sobbing. you thought it would've been best if he didn't come back home at all.
he knelt beside you, resting his head where your knees hung over the bed. he stared up at your heartbroken face with tears threatening to flow. "there is nothing that deserves my time more than you." he said firmly.
"you say that as if it's true." you said quietly. "but you don't even..." you looked away from him to reign in your emotions.
he frowned deeply. he knew it was all his fault. you reminded him this morning and he still forgot. you had no reason to believe the words coming out of his mouth. that doesn't mean he's going to stop trying to prove them.
he rested his head against your stomach and wrapped his arms around you tightly. "you have every right to hate me right now, y/n. you've been lonely and overlooked and i haven't done anything to make things better."
you refused to look at him.
he tilted his head with hopes of catching your gaze. "y/n, i mean it. there's nothing that deserves my time more than you. anyone else would've left me. you've given me love and understanding with my hero work..." he choked on his words, finally facing the reality of his relationship. "and i've just taken it and left you behind."
you sniffled.
he stood, bending at the waist to kiss your forehead. "i love you. so much. it's time i start proving it, huh?"
your eyes flickered to his, questioning evident on your expression.
he smiled sadly. "japan has many heroes. i'm sure kacchan and todoroki can handle things without me for a while."
you huffed and rolled your eyes. "very funny. you're a hero, izuku, it's in your nature to shoulder everything." you pouted, guilt threatening to inhabit your thoughts.
he shook his head, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "i'm dead serious. the world doesn't need me everyday, you do. and i'll adjust my schedule to suit."
"but..." you groaned. "god, why do i feel guilty now?" you mumbled.
"stop it. you're not keeping me away from anything. this was long overdue. nothing would make me happier," he grinned and kissed you again before tackling you in a hug.
BAKUGOU
you left the restaurant without another word, feeling so sick to the stomach that you couldn't even bear to go home to the empty apartment.
you tried desperately to convince yourself that something important was holding him up. he didn't forget. he just had some life-threatening epic battle that he needed to attend to. he didn't forget.
you crashed at a friend's house for the night, after a very satisfying rant session about your dilemma. they were a great soundboard and didn't try to regulate your emotions. in a lot of cases, just letting your feelings fly free was the best way to cope with a situation out of your hands.
rrrring rrring
you saw the caller ID and was tempted to ignore the call. but your hands moved on their own, accepting it and putting the phone to your ear.
"y/n l/n." bakugou snarled on the other side. "where the fuck are you?"
"a friend's house."
"why?"
you shrugged, hoping your unbothered reaction would be translated across the phone. "wanted to be with someone last night after my boyfriend stood me up."
silence. a very long silence. you heard him cuss under his breath before he replied. "yesterday was our date."
you hummed.
"y/n. come home."
"i'm good here, really."
"i'm serious, come home."
"why? the off-chance of seeing you there?"
his voice grew more desperate. "y/n—" his breath caught in his throat. "i'm home. i'm waiting for you. we can do something today, maybe—"
"katsuki, you can't keep treating me like a test that you can make up whenever you fail the real thing. you're not there when it fucking matters." you snapped, your resolve crumbling as your eyes started to water.
he gave a weighted sigh. "you're right. i've been treating you like shit."
you scoffed.
"but you're always on my mind. every time i see you asleep when you were trying to wait up for me, i—" he inhaled deeply, trying to keep it together. "i'm not the best boyfriend. believe me, i know that. and i'm losing you... i can see that, too."
you waited.
he sniffed. "come home, y/n. please. i—"
you hung up. you tossed your phone aside and stretched. you gently wiped at your cheeks, realizing how many tears streaked them.
after thanking your friend for their hospitality, you decided to go home. you dreaded the conversation that awaited you. uncertainty riddled your thoughts; was this the end?
you opened the door and immediately heard pounding footsteps to meet you. bakugou stood there, looking uncharacteristically stressed and awkward.
you just gave him a passing glance as you slipped off your shoes, hanging your coat up. you walked past him, going to the washroom to refresh yourself with a much needed shower.
as the water ran down your skin, you began to feel guilty. he was a hero. he saved lives. and you were crying over a missed date with him? when his mere presence meant the safety of those around him?
no matter how valid your frustration and sadness was, you couldn't help the creeping guilt from overwriting your feelings.
you stepped out of the shower, then dressed comfortably for a night in. when you opened the bathroom door, he was waiting outside like a puppy.
you sighed. "i'm sorry." you finally said.
his neck snapped to look at you. "why the fuck are you apologizing?"
"you're a hero. i knew what i'd be signing up for when i got into a relationship with you—"
"are you crazy?" he growled, grabbing your cheeks and tilting your face to look at him. he searched your eyes with concern, as if there was something wrong with you. "you don't need to apologize. my being a hero is no excuse for the way i've been treating you."
you frowned. "but—"
"no." he pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your head. "you—" he laughed dryly. "i can't believe you thought to apologize to me. you're really crazy."
you opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off. "i'm so lucky to have you. seriously. i can't live without you and i will do everything to prove that from now on."
you pulled away and looked at him. "you better mean it."
he gave you a lopsided grin. "i do. thanks..." he trailed off.
you cocked your head to the side. "for...?"
he kissed you gently. "staying." he hugged you tightly, his next words barely a whisper, "i'm always gonna be there for you."
amidst a couple of tears, you believed him.
© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3
#bnha#mha#izuku midoriya#izuku x reader#deku#deku x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#mha comfort#mha angst#mha x reader#bnha x reader#bakugo x reader#midoriya izuku
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Memories
𓂅 𓄹 Summary: You are ready to tell Miguel he is going to be a father… but he isn’t.
𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader
Hurt/comfort. Fluff. I teared up writing this and figured I needed someone else to share the pain with me :D
“Miguel.”
You looked on as the man before your eyes paused the video on the hovering screen.
“It’s late,” he said in a low voice, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Did something happen?”
The lump in your throat was hard to swallow at first as you realised he was once again replaying old memories. Miguel O’Hara was stuck in the past while trying to preserve the future.
“I have something to tell you.”
You had considered waiting until he got back home, but you needed to let it all out now.
He turned to fully face you and stepped from the platform. The closer he got to you, the more you felt your anxiety soaring.
“Did something happen?” He repeated, planting a soft kiss to your forehead. “You should be home.”
This is what Miguel did. He took care of others. He couldn’t help it, even if his lifelong concern got in between the two of you.
Or three, you should say.
“I wanted to tell you now,” you smiled briefly as you took his hand in yours while taking a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
His red eyes widened slightly and then… nothing.
He merely stood there as if frozen in time, the grip on your hand slowly faltering.
“You’re not going to say anything?”
“How?”
You arched an eyebrow. “Really? You’re asking me how?”
“No! I mean…” he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “When did you find out?”
“Today.”
Giving your hand a final squeeze he let go, his warmth suddenly vanishing.
“Huh… I thought…” your next words died in your mouth and your heart dropped.
Seeing him walk up the platform steps left you speechless. You thought he wanted this… to rebuild the life that he lost.
Tears began to sting your eyes, but you refused to let a single one stream down your face.
A video of his daughter giggling and running around started playing and you saw him clenching his fists. Her giggles echoed through the room breaking the silence that had settled.
“Miguel O’hara, look at me!”
Had this been a mistake? Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe you two had rushed things.
“Miguel,” you called out again, anger filling you with such intensity you felt like shooting your webs at his back to have him turn around. “I’m carrying your child. Look at me!”
The cheeky giggles stopped at once and nothing could have prepared you for what came next.
Miguel did what you asked and that’s when you saw a single tear running down his hardened face.
In that moment, your anger shattered and the overwhelming need to take care of him took over.
You promptly joined him on the platform, burying your face in his broad chest. His arms circled you in a tight embrace, and you remained silent for a while.
“I’m broken.”
“Miguel… don’t…”
He heaved a deep sigh. “You deserve better.”
It wasn’t easy to go through his insecurities with him. He had built a wall around him that kept people out.
“I can’t forget her…”
Miguel O’hara had once been responsible for the destruction of
“I don’t want to forget her!” he nearly yelled, pulling you away from his embrace as his red eyes flickered with hurt. “I don’t… I don’t want to move on without the memory of her…”
You brought both hands to frame his face. “Miguel, I am not asking that of you… she will always be part of you.”
He refused to look you in the eye, his jaw tensing.
“I thought you wanted this…” you whispered, voice cracking.
“I do.”
You felt like crumbling down inside. “I thought you’d be happy.”
Miguel’s eyes met yours. “I am.”
“Then…”
He shook his head. “You don’t get it. I’ve been telling myself I’m worthy of a second chance for a long time. I tell that to myself every single day,” he paused momentarily to place a large hand on your belly. “But maybe I am wrong. I’ll mess this up, too.”
Your hand came to rest atop his and you offered a kind smile. “You won’t. You’re still healing. You need—”
All of a sudden both hands came to grip your arms and that’s when you saw panic splattered across his face.
“You don’t get it! I can’t lose you,” he said, eyes darting from your face to your belly. “I do all of this, because I owe an unrepayable debt. My mistake cost the lives of so many. And I’m being selfish again…”
“You don’t get it, do you?” You suddenly said, breaking free from his grip. “Why do you think I chose to be with you? To build a family with you? You’re the most honourable person I know,” you added, not able to hold back a few tears. “Yes, you made a mistake,” his face hardened. “But you paid for it. You paid the highest price.”
He was getting ready to interrupt you, but you raised your hand. “You’re going to be a father again and don’t have to forget her. She lives in you and in all that you do.”
“What would I do without you?” he finally spoke.
You chuckled, placing the softed kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’d probably set camp here in this room, and live the rest of your lives as a hermit.”
Miguel silently glared at you and when he got down on one knee, you felt all the love and adoration for him crashing down on you.
“You’re going to have an amazing mother,” he whispered softly before placing a kiss over your shirt.
Your fingers tangled in his thick brown hair before pressing the side if his face flat against your belly. “And you’ll the best father.”
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara fluff#miguel o’hara#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o’hara x y/n#across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman 2099
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Mutual Help | #57
↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help
⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader
⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn
⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, mature content
⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.2k+
⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢
When you truly think about it, you've probably let Jungkook in in more ways than one. Being in his presence is tempting. He is a temptation that messes up with your head. It is one of the reasons why you think the so-called break has been a smart decision. But he's not all that. He is still the same Jungkook whose presence is comforting. It's times like these when you're reminded of how much you love your friends.
Catching up with him and talking about how the day has been for each of you, isn't something new. There's not that much that has changed. You only stopped fucking each others brains out. Though, you hate how much you already miss it. And you shouldn't feel like this. But you also don't want to overthink anything, or keep your mind busy with something that's probably better not to think about.
Your dreams have been wild, the only time where you actually go back to how things were. Not all of them though. Maybe two or three since the camping trip and your decision.
Despite the inner struggles, Jungkook is your comfort person. Oddly enough, even though he's in the center of your thoughts, he brings you the biggest peace and comfort.
Tonight wasn't planned.
Luckily, you're always prepared when it comes to unplanned visits. All three of them love to surprise you (not that you mind), so your cupboard is never without at least one bottle of wine. Not being a much of a drinker yourself on casual evenings, you still suggest having a glass or two.
Jungkook agrees. After reminding you of him having to drive back home, you suggest him staying over. He agrees again. Maybe him staying overnight might not be the best for your hormones, you are forced to believe in yourself. Isn't this the whole purpose of this? To go back to just being friends, the ones you've been two years ago?
When you think about those times, you think of happiness. Surrounded by the greatest friends you could've ever asked for.
“Mind opening it?”
Jungkook looks up, finding you standing in your kitchen with a bottle of wine in your hand, a wine opener in the other. Standing up, he goes to help you without any words but there's a slight amused smirk on his lips when you hand him everything.
You share a look, not forgetting to playfully roll your eyes at him.
“So many bottles of wine and still can't open any of them.” he teases you, hinting at all the wine one of them had to open.
“Listen,” you muse, “You guys always whine about wanting to drink wine.”
“That's not true,” he laughs, knowing that he's bluffing. “We would drink anything.” he adds, which holds some truth to it for sure.
Feigning irritation, you motion for him to hurry. You watch him attentively, leaning yourself against a kitchen counter while he puts those muscles to work. He cuts the foil below the lower lip of the bottle, showing you how easy it is with a teasing tilt to his brow. Trying to hold back your laugh, you purse your lips instead before he inserts the screw in the center of the cork. He rotates it a few times, you're not sure because his eyes are on you.
“You're so cocky.” you comment, his brows shooting up as he lets out an audible laugh.
“What? I am not,” he argues, laughing. “You're just too amusing to look at.”
He levers cork, at least he tries to because it seems to be stuck. It's going harder than usual, which you can tell from all the times you had the opportunity to see a similar scene. His brows furrow and lips press into a thin line.
You cackle, “Maybe you got too cocky, buddy.”
“Shut up.” he mutters, his muscles bulging as a pop sound resounds, signaling the cork is levered successfully.
Maybe not so much, because in a seconds the wine spills around Jungkook, staining his shirt as well. You gasp, a hand over your mouth as you two share a look. Bursting out laughing, you shake your head.
“What did I say, too cocky.”
“Would you do it better?” he challenges, causing your grin to drop as your eyes narrow.
He puts the bottle down, the wine opener already in your sink as you grab a few kitchen paper towels and dry off all the spilled wine. Luckily, it's just a few droplets and no disaster is made. However, Jungkook's shirt has suffered the most. His entire white shirt is filled with dark red spots, turning purple from the wine's color.
He sighs in a slight annoyance, easily grabbing the back of his shirt as he effortlessly pulls it over his head. Almost choking on your spit, you try to not react too much as you quickly throw away the wet paper into the bin. But you straighten yourself too quickly, almost bumping into Jungkook's chest as you stare wide-eyed at him. He looks down on you, confused by your almost panic-struck face.
“What? Already too nervous at the sight of my chest?” he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
You purse your lips, trying to play it cool as you chuckle. “You got naked all of a sudden. You just caught me off guard.”
“Is this me naked?” he laughs, “Come on.”
“You know what I meant.” you say through clenched teeth, poking him in his stomach, ignoring how hard it feels. “Besides,” you start, gulping. “Break, remember?”
“I just took my shirt off,” he laughs, throwing his head back as you're met with his soft dimples and white toothy grin. “You never minded it before.”
“I never fucked you before, did I?” You lean yourself against the counter once again, hand gripping the edge of it tightly.
Jungkook notices it, his amusement not so hidden behind the little twitch of his lips. Eyes back on you, they dance across your soft and slightly panicked features. “Am I that irresistible?”
“Cocky again?” you shoot right back, not giving him that pleasure of confirming his thoughts and feeding his ego. But he knows. One look at you and he seems to know it all.
You make a mistake by allowing your eyes to drop, first at his lips and they disobediently trace down his chest, muscles and then the deep V-line. Oh fuck, you want this man . You mentally scream at yourself and throw hands, definitely disappointed in yourself. He's barely doing anything and you're ready to drop down on your knees.
“What's the point of taking a break, if we can't control ourselves?” you ask out loud, not quite sure if those words are only aimed at Jungkook, or you're letting your consciousness speak out loud.
He watches you for a moment, getting closer and you stumble back, awkwardly getting back to your previous spot as he tries to hold back a laugh. It's not your fault your body is reacting! And your mind panicked.
“Don't know about you, but I can control myself.” he says.
“You can?” you ponder.
“Mhm,” he nods, “Otherwise I would kiss you by now.”
“Kook!” you exclaim, already panting at those words as he gives you a smile. You don't look long enough to detect what kind.
“I would.” He's not ashamed to admit it.
You watch him wet his lips. They look inviting. Automatically, your mind replays many times you've got to taste them, actually more than that. Your entire body feels hot, too hot in this small kitchen and you don't know whether to scream or cry.
“Break, remember?” he reminds you, a smirk dancing all over those damn lips and stunning features. He brushes past you, the stained shirt gripped in his hold as he makes his way to your bathroom.
You don't move. You can't.
All you muster to do is gulp all the saliva that have collected in your mouth, touching your hot cheeks with the back of your hand. Letting out a loud exhale, you ignore your strong heartbeat that feels like it's in your neck.
Quickly grabbing the two glasses for you and him, you ignore the sharp ringing sound. Suddenly, you're desperate for the wine – very happy about your friends insisting to have one at your place at all times.
Perhaps, wine is not what you're desperate for at all.
This is exactly what you were talking about.
Among all the things that are going against the morality of any friendship, thinking of Jungkook a certain way feels forbidden. And it should be. Maybe it is a little dramatic because it's not like you spend every minute of your day, thirsting over your best friend. But you've caught yourself thinking of him a few times a day.
Just a few days after you came back from the trip, Maya visited your place for the first time. In fact, she sat on the exact spot where Jungkook is sitting right now. At first, you never felt like bothering her with your stupid shit, especially when she's in the middle of planning her wedding while working every day like a normal human being.
But you couldn't take it.
You wanted to take things off your mind, undoubtedly connected to only one person who's closest to you. Now in more ways than two years ago.
However, you did want to get things off your chest as well and eventually, you've found your way back to him.
“I think I made a bad decision.” you told her when the topic Jungkook started.
Now, Maya might be the person who absolutely understands the craving and temptation he brings inside you, but she has also become your best friend whom you can share your inner battles with.
“I shouldn't feel this way.”
“First of all, I think it might be a good decision to stop thinking of what should and shouldn't feel right. You're overthinking it.” she told you, ignoring your slightly offended look you sent her way.
“He's my best friend.” you gritted through your teeth, suddenly growing overwhelmed with those thoughts again.
Deep down, you know you made the right decision. You know the reason why you made it in the first place. Yet, here you are, regretting it.
“Y/N, honey,” Maya's silky and comforting voice caught your attention. She angled her body toward you, leaning her head against her palm. “That feeling of… wanting him is not gonna go away with a snap of fingers.”
You frowned. You frowned for a while while she let you ponder in silence.
“I did it so we could focus on being friends. No intimacy.” you almost whispered, nibbling on your bottom lip.
“And it's okay still wanting him to bend you over and fuck you.”
“Maya!”
You both laughed, the girly laugher filling your once quiet and sad place.
“It's okay to have regrets. Just go with the flow.”
That's the last thing she advised you before you asked her about the wedding. She advised you something you and Jungkook did – and look where it brought you.
Luckily for your sake, Jungkook has had a shirt in one of your drawers, the result of him staying at your old place a few times. Actually, you're sure there are a few Taehyung's things in one of your drawers as well.
Gulping down your nerves with your wine, you naturally grow warm and relaxed. You barely pay any attention to the movie, focusing on how Jungkook's shoulder and side of his body feels… nice. You tend to get sleepy and cuddly (among other things) when tipsy. You're on your third glass of wine, nowhere near drunk but the exhaustion of today has caught up to you.
Jungkook's legs are outstretched, resting on your coffee table which you used to scold him for. Even though you often caught yourself doing the very same thing. Is it fair to scold someone for things you do as well?
“Kook?”
“Hm?” The soft, yet husky hum resounds from the man beside you, his hands resting on his stomach.
“What do you think about… the break ?” You cringe at giving it a proper name.
Though, Jungkook understands what you mean. He's quiet for a moment and when you lift your head up, you see his confused expression before his eyes settle down on you.
“Because you never told me what you think.”
Staring at him, you notice his hair is longer than the last time you've seen him. It's not been that long ago, yet you notice the small change. You wonder if he's going to grow it out like last time.
“Why you asking? Already regretting it, hm?” he teases, nudging you a little as your cheeks heat up.
“What? No!” It sounds like a proper lie and your throat tightens.
Whether Jungkook knows it or not, he decides not to tease you any further as his eyes focus on the screen of your television once again.
“I don't know what I think of it,” he responds after a while. “You told me the reason behind it and I respect it.”
“But do you agree with it?”
“Where is this coming from?” he frowns, though it's soft and confusing, just like your little and sudden integration is.
“Can you just answer?” you ask in annoyance.
“Yeah, I agree with it.” He says, “Maybe we got carried away too much.”
He leans forward, causing your head no longer leaning against him as he grabs his glass of wine and takes a few sips of it before getting back to his previous position. This time, you're watching him attentively. Your head leaned against the couch while the movie goes completely ignored. You watch the dark liquid in his glass, swirling it around.
Did you get carried away too much?
The only thing that changed was the fact you were having sex. Okay . Plus the never-ending thirst and temptation. Jungkook has shown you a different side of sex, something you've never experienced before. Perhaps, that's the reason why it felt so hard to let go.
And you panicked. With the events that happened lately, you felt like you wanted to go back to when none of this happened. But were your arguments happening because you were having sex?
“Do you miss it?”
Jungkook's brows lift up as you earn another glance from him. “You asking me if I miss fucking you?”
Your face gets hot all over again. “When you put it like this…”
He chuckles, leaning his head back as he stares at the ceiling. “It's been like a week.” he informs you.
As if you don't know. And what a week it has been!
You're just curious, blaming it on the wine because your thoughts are set free.
“I hope you know that when I look at you, sex isn't what I see.”
You look at him, ears perked up in attention as your heart flutters. “I know.” you whisper.
“I'm not Taehyung. I can go without sex.” he says, a loud snort rippling through your throat as you cover your mouth. He gives you an amused grin.
A silence follows and your thoughts work. Actually, they never stopped and now the alcohol inside you just urges them on.
“I had a sex dream of you.”
Completely oblivious of Jungkook taking another sip, he chokes on the dark liquid as he straightens himself from his position, gulping before coughing. “Jesus, Y/N.”
You give him an amused grin. “It was hazy. It didn't feel like a proper dream, you know what I mean? I feel like I had five dreams that night.”
It's true. You had a dream with him. It was very brief, much to your disappointment it ended too soon.
“This makes me sound like I'm thinking with my dick only.”
“You have no dick, Y/N.” Jungkook reminds you, snickering.
“You know what I mean.” you mutter in response.
Jungkook settles down his wine. He's a little surprised to see you sitting up, watching him attentively as he leans back. “What?”
“Nothing, you look good.”
For the second time tonight, Jungkook almost chokes on his spit. Shaking himself out of the sudden shock, he clears his throat. “Are you flirting with me?”
“No,” you say like it's the clearest thing in the world. “Just saying.”
He frowns, eyeing you suspiciously. As if he can't quite figure out what's going on inside your head. “Are you drunk?”
Jungkook knows you and your limits. You're a little tipsy, so is he but you definitely seem to show it more than he is.
“No.”
You sigh, sitting onto your heels before briefly tracing the veins that adore Jungkook's hands and arms. Is it June night or has it suddenly gotten too warm?
Jungkook catches you eyeing him, trying to hide his subtle smirk. He knows. “Break, remember?”
“Mhm,” you hum, completely ignoring the little reminder. “What a stupid idea.”
“Okay, I think you're drunk.”
“No, I am not.” you argue, frowning at him as he watches you in complete amusement. “I've thought about it a lot.”
“Is the wine making you horny?” Jungkook questions.
No, you do.
Though, you keep your mouth shut. You ignore him. “I know why I made that decision…” you trail off.
Jungkook raises his brow, waiting for you to continue. But? It's written all over his face.
“I miss you.”
He stares, blinking a few times. “You mean you miss my–”
“No, no. Maybe. I mean, no. You're not just that to me–” you quickly hurry to explain.
The problem is, you're not sure how to explain whatever it is you want to say. Whatever you think of pours out of your mouth. Usually you have enough time to think of what you're about to say, but right now you're unhinged. Maybe it's the result of your own frustration.
He is patient.
He's confused as fuck, well probably – at least you think so because his expression is neutral and he simply watches you, not ushering to explain or elaborate more.
He watches your eyes dance across the space around him, until your eyes settle on him. Then wander over his body until you shamelessly eye his wet lips, tainted by wine a little. He knows that look. He has seen it on many occasions.
“I'm not drunk, I promise.” you suddenly tell him. “I know I make no sense right now but…”
“Tell me what you want,” he tells you simply. “What's going on inside that pretty head?”
And you almost fold immediately, cursing that mouth of his.
“Trust me, it's not that pretty right now.” you mutter.
He laughs, “I can imagine.”
Ignoring what's that supposed to mean , you shift on your spot. “I know I wanted a break, but what if we did this one last time?”
You hate how nervous you suddenly feel. Is it embarrassing to admit such a thing? The last time you had a sex it wasn't under great conditions. It was mind-blowing and definitely did the work, but still.
Scooting closer to him, he attentively watches you as you lick your lips. “I mean… There's something I would like to try. And I trust you the most.”
Jungkook pulls his feet off the coffee table, setting them down on the floor as you make your way toward him. He lets you. He even helps you to sit down in his lap. Your hands are sprawled across his chest, slowly caressing the thin material as you feel his muscles under it.
“You're finally gonna let me fuck this ass?” he asks, eyes hooded lazily as he grabs your ass and squeezes the soft flesh.
Excitement floods your lower region, what could be considered as butterflies swirl inside your stomach.
“Fuck no,” you breathe out, “You're not going anywhere near my ass.”
Jungkook pouts, cheeks tinted pink from the wine he has drank. “Shame.”
You giggle, “Just one more time.” you tell softly, inching closer as your lips hover over his.
He breathes out, nose nudging yours. One thing is sure, alcohol sometimes makes both of you horny. You're not the type to go and look for a potential hook-up out there. And neither is Jungkook. At least you think so.
“You agree?”
“You're making this very hard for me, you know that, right?” Jungkook mutters, lips almost touching yours as his hold on your asscheeks tightens.
“Why's that?” you hum, teasingly playing with his hair until your fingers caress the nape of his neck.
“You just do,” he says before adding, “First you want a break and now you're on my lap, giving me those eyes.”
“What eyes?” you play clueless, causing him to chuckle.
“Those fuck me eyes.”
“You said you wanted to kiss me in the kitchen.”
“I did.” he hums, agreeing.
“You want this too, right?”
He looks up, lazily, eyes clouded with need and lust.
Again. He is your comfort place. He is comfortable and being in a position like this – you've got no regrets and you want him. Even if it's for the last time for God knows how long. There's no telling if you're ever going back to hooking-up. Usually, that is the plan when there's a word break involved.
Fuck focusing on your friendship for now. What did Maya say? Go with the flow?
“Yeah, but I don't want you to regret anything.”
“I'm never gonna regret this.”
You're not sure who moves first. Whether it's you or Jungkook, it doesn't matter. Your lips finally meet in a hard kiss, molding together as he deepens it. He kisses you, hard and needy, and you almost cry at that feeling. Fuck, you really did miss this. Before you can think of how wrong this might be, your want for him, you completely ignore it. Any possible morals are out of the window as you gasp into Jungkook's mouth.
He tastes like wine. You both do.
Eventually, you're forced to pull away to catch a breath. Jungkook's crotch underneath you hardens, informing you that he's aroused just as much as you are.
“What you had in mind?” he asks, voice raspy.
Pulling away with a smile, you turn off the television as you stretch your hand toward him. He watches you, slowly taking it as his big hand envelopes yours. He gets to his feet, his lean and hard body touching your side as you grow impatient. You lead him toward your bedroom, closing the door with a loud thud but not before turning off the lights in your living room. The bills are important, right?
Jungkook stands at the edge of your bed before you swiftly push him, causing him to sit down with a tiny smirk. Ignoring the smug face, you stand between his legs.
“Should I be worried?” he asks, hands on your hips as he caresses them. Trying not to swoon too much over that simple action, you pry his hands off you.
“Lay down.”
His brows raise momentarily.
“I see.” he mutters knowingly.
“Now.” you urge him, glaring at his smirk widening. “Wait.”
He cocks his brow at you.
“Take off the damn shirt.”
He chuckles, reaching behind him and tugging the shirt over his head. Fuck . Does he have to look attractive even while taking his shirt? God. Fucking hell. You did miss him.
Tossing the shirt on the floor, he sits there watching you up and down as you just stand there and admire his figure. One he worked hard for, yet it paid off entirely.
Fucking wine.
Before you can demand another thing, he gives you one last look of amusement before he scurries further down your mattress. You watch him lay down, making himself comfortable on your pillows as he leans his upper body against the bed frame. What a sight he is.
He watches you, silently and attentively, the entire time you get to your closet. You slide the door open, rummaging the bottom of it. His eyes are on you. You feel them on your back, watching your every move. While the fire that sits in the pit of your stomach, full of excitement, you pull out the item you've been looking for.
Just as you slide the closet door closed and turn around to face him, you see his smirk drop as he stares genuinely taken back. Now it's your turn to smirk as you swirl the fluffy pink handcuffs Taehyung kindly gifted you around your point finger.
“Fuck no.”
The response is immediate.
You get on the bed, taking the handcuffs with you of course. Jungkook watches you with a frown settled on both his face and lips. You get onto his lap, sitting right on top of his hardening cock.
“Why not?”
“I'm not getting handcuffed.” he states, eyeing you carefully as you place them beside you and start caressing his naked chest.
It's clear to say you want to be in control. It's debatable though. Whenever Jungkook has shown his dominant side when it came to sex, you were just as much in control. And you love and enjoy every second of him being in charge. This time, you want to be on top and play with him. Or maybe that sounds wrong. You want to give him pleasure, focus on him. To try something new.
You get closer to Jungkook, kissing his sharp jaw as he clenches it, watching you carefully but not moving just yet. You're sly. He's reminded of you being a little minx. You continue your path down his neck, kissing his skin as his chest moves, breathing slow and steady. His chest is neck, you pepper the skin with soft kisses just as you stop below the hem of his jeans.
He bites onto his lower lip harshly, meeting your gaze as you look up through your lashes.
“Can I take them off?” you ask, talking about his jeans.
“You don't have to ask.”
You grin, reaching for the belt as you undo it. His button and zipper are next before Jungkook helps you to take off his jeans.
“Just wanna make you feel good,” you tell him, eyeing his hardening and evident erection. “Can I make you feel good?”
“Fuck,” he sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “You wanna be in control, huh?”
“Yeah,” you nod, “What? You think I can't do it?”
His lips twitch. “No, no.” he assures you, though you're not sure if he's telling the truth.
Narrowing your eyes at him, you cup his bulge as you get on your knees, leaning down to his crotch. You palm him, his jaw clenched while you're trying not to moan at the feeling of his hard cock. Just the thought of pulling him out and having him inside you makes you wet.
Giving him one last look, you momentarily stop before you lean down completely and press a kiss to where his tip is, on top of his briefs.
“Fucking hell,” he gasps. “You're already teasing me.”
“What? No. I'm just taking my time.” you assure him cutely, smirking up at him which tells him otherwise.
Before he can react, you lift yourself up and carefully straddle him. You reach for the handcuffs, ignoring the way his cock is almost digging into your own crotch.
“Y/N.” he warns you.
You pout at him. “But why?” you almost whine. “You scared of handcuffs or what?”
“Keep talking and you're gonna be the one handcuffed.”
“I promise I won't do anything bad.”
He watches you, frowning and not totally sold on your idea. It definitely has something to do with his male ego. Jungkook is naturally dominant and while he had you on top multiple times, you never handcuffed him or showed this type of dominance. You reach for your oversized shirt, tugging it over your head as you expose your breasts to him. He gulps, watching the way they bounce from the single movement. Your nipples are already perked up, sensitive like always and perhaps, it's from the arousal as well.
He goes to touch them, mindlessly and automatically. His mouth opens in shock when you slap his hand away, even though you want nothing more than for him to touch you.
“What–”
“I wanna try this, Kook.” You're playing with him already. You pout and give him the puppy eyes, finger trailing down his abs. “You always asked what I want to try and this is one of them.”
He sighs, hand rubbing his forehead. “Fuck, okay.”
“Really?”
Jungkook almost smiles at how excited you sound. What the hell are you planning?
In reality, you're just going with the flow.
You reach for the handcuffs, knowing they're going to work well with your bed frame. You can easily handcuff both of Jungkook's hands. But just as you're about to reach for his hands, he automatically pulls away which causes you to give him a glare. He rolls his eyes, offering you his wrists. You sit on your knees, telling him to lay down completely. He does, with the same frown that makes you giggle under your breath. You take his wrists and bring them up to your bed frame.
Jungkook takes that time to watch you work on the handcuffs from below, feeling them wrapping around his wrists. Wanting to curse, he drifts his attention elsewhere and watches your breasts that are right above him.
You pull back with a successful and triumphal grin, watching him tugs onto them. While he mentally curses Taehyung for giving you such a stupid gift ever, you admire your work. You lean forward again, making sure they hold and Jungkook takes that time enveloping your nipple into his mouth. You gasp and flinch at the sudden feeling, pulling back to find smirking Jungkook.
“Couldn't resist,” he says cheekily.
Despite his current and clearly submissive position, he looks anything like it. He's here, your cheeks hot and heart beating fast. You don't think you'll ever grow tired of him showing his crave for you. You've said it multiple times in your head, but you've never felt wanted as much as you feel with Jungkook.
“Well, then start resisting.” you say smartly, ignoring the smug face. “Stop looking so cocky, you bastard.”
But he doesn't stop. He's smirking, looking at you because despite everything, he's in control. Frowning at that, even though you secretly love it, you stand up and get out of your pajama shorts. Revealing that you aren't wearing any underwear, Jungkook watches you hungrily, his head lifted thanks to the pillows under it. He's got a good view of you at the end of your bed.
You smirk. Men. One look at a naked body and they fold.
“Come here and sit that pussy on my mouth.”
Or not.
You give him a look, seeing him lazily lay there with his arms above his head.
“You don't get to make demands.” you inform him, watching that smug face wipe away slowly.
While you're completely naked, you sit on his calves and lean down to play with the hem of his briefs.
“This is torture,” he informs you back. “This is exactly why I didn't wanna be in these fucking handcuffs.”
“Already complaining?” you throw back.
He presses his lips into a tight line, keeping quiet.
Torturing a little more, you hover him once more with lips dangerously close to his. “That's what I thought.”
He chases your lips but you pull away, giggling when you're met with the usual frown.
Getting back to your position, you pull down his underwear. His cock springs free, shamelessly slapping against his abdomen before it stands upright. Minus the little facade that you have going on of planning to tease him, you're just as desperate to move further if not more.
So you wrap your hand around the base of him, wrapping your lips around the tip as you taste his pre-cum. Jungkook sighs in delight, allowing himself to close his eyes in a sudden relief. You lick the underside of him, knowing what you have to do since you've done it multiple times before. This is nothing new, yet it still feels amazing each time.
The handcuffs make a sound against the wooden frame, just as you let your mouth wrap around him some more, taking him deeper. The clank of them makes you look up, biting back a laugh when you see Jungkook's frustrated face.
“What were you gonna do?”
He growls, warning you not to tease him some more. Well, it surely isn't as much fun for him as it is for you, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy it. It makes sense. This is the first time where Jungkook can't touch you because he's physically unable to. You understand the frustration, you do. With a silent promise, you make it worth it.
Putting his cock inside your mouth, you hollow your cheeks and deliver him pleasure. Your hand and mouth works on him, and not even hair getting into your face stops you. You know if it weren't for Jungkook's hands not being available at the moment, he would wrap his hand around it, making sure it doesn't get in the way and he can see you.
“Mhm, yeah.” He mutters from above you, enjoying your mouth wrapped around him.
It's not enough, you know it isn't but you're not planning to make him cum. You've barely started and in order for him to enjoy this, there's more you want to do. You don't want to make it lame since this is your first time doing this. You're not going to lie. You like having him this… helpless. You enjoy it, it's a nice change from the usual cockiness.
You eventually pull away, making sure to suck him until the last minute. A trail of saliva connects the tip of his cock and your lips, causing you to wipe it with your thumb. He watches you the entire time with dark eyes, not questioning why you stopped.
This time, he lets you be in control because you don't look like you're about to deny his orgasm and make him truly suffer. On the opposite, he stares at you attentively as you simply turn around and throw your leg over his chest, facing him with his back.
“Fuck.” he curses silently from behind you, watching you lean forward to his cock once again.
However this time, your ass and cunt are right in his face. He sees how wet you are, just that alone makes him smirk because he knows you won't be able to withhold your own pleasure for much longer. After all, it does make his ego bigger knowing you're affected. You're clueless to his inner thoughts, even though you do realize how wet you are, it doesn't even cross your mind, not even when the air hits your core.
It's not until you have Jungkook's cock back in your mouth when you suddenly feel his mouth on you. You don't expect the swipe of his tongue, gathering your juices which makes you flinch in surprise. Throwing him a glance across your shoulder, you're met with the same cockiness you've seen a handful of times.
“Lemme eat this pussy out.” he almost begs.
“How am I supposed to focus then?” you question, the remains of wine causing you to speak your thoughts right away.
His lips twitch. You give him no reaction though, letting it up to him as you turn around and arch your back. Jungkook is a menace. He gets what he wants either way, shameless as ever as his mouth envelopes your clit as he sucks.
You gasp, leaning your forehead against his thigh while your hand stops working on his hard cock. For fuck sake. Frustration is what you feel because for a split second, you realize Jungkook is in control. He eats you out, your body and determination practically begging to be touched. Reminding yourself that this is not supposed to be totally about you, you force your hand to get to work. You're realizing you're not doing a half of a good job at delivering pleasure at the moment.
“Focus,” Jungkook says against your leaking cunt. You can imagine his mouth already being soaked in your juices, dripping it down his chest. Even the single imaginary sight of that makes you want to let out the biggest groan. “I thought you're great at multitasking.”
Apparently not when it comes to this , you want to bite back but you can't. You simply cannot. It's like the moment Jungkook touches you, you're already gone.
Somehow, after a moment of realization and determination yet again, you take him into your mouth.
“That's it,” he groans against you, sending vibrations right to your core. The wet sounds coming from behind you create a sinful proof of your doings, ones you don't mind at all.
You're close.
You can't focus.
Not with Jungkook's mouth that skilfully slowly but surely brings you to your end. And then the cocky bastard opens his dirty mouth again, not minding what it's been doing, not even a bit.
“Wanna spread this cunt. Come on, rub yourself against me.”
Ignoring Jungkook's pleas of wanting to be suffocated by your pussy, you shake yourself out of a familiar daze full of desire and lust. This bastard!
You pull away, not only to give him one last taste of your mouth, but also taking the approaching orgasm from yourself. Jungkook's quiet until a noise of both surprise and disappointment fills your bedroom. You get off his lap, facing him while you give him a perfect view of your messy appearance. One he's undoubtedly the reason for.
“Why would you do that?” he whines, tugging onto the handcuffs again. His face grows frustrated at the restraint.
And then it's gone. What was a frustration just a second ago, you watch his entire face morph into a perfect slowly growing smirk.
He's satisfied. Satisfied that once again, he proved you just how much control he has over you even with barely any way of touching you. He can't use his hands, he can barely move as they stay handcuffed above him, secured around your bed headframe. But that hasn't stopped him. No. He was cunning enough that at the first chance of being somewhat close to you, he used his mouth.
“You'll pay for that.” you inform him, trying to keep your features hardening and not to melt when Jungkook's lips stretch into a wide grin.
“For what?” he scoffs, “For almost making you cum?”
Ignoring the obvious and amused jab at you nearly losing it (when he's the one handcuffed), you nibble on your inner cheek.
“Come on, free me now. You had your fun.”
Your eye almost twitches at that.
“Lemme fuck you, you love it from behind, huh?”
Despite his nasty words leaving your stomach fluttering, more than it should, you don't let him get past your walls. You sigh, loud so he can hear it perfectly and maybe make him feel unsure of what's about to come. He stays silent. Watching you as you reach for your nightstand, you feel his eyes appreciating your nudity before they go back to wondering what you're doing.
You pull out the sex-toy he gifted you, the one you both used two or three times. His brows are pinched together, probably wondering what and who you're going to use it for.
Now, since you've never done this with Jungkook before, you being in full control which has proved to be debatable, you've no idea how he will possibly react. You can only assume. From being in an intimate relationship with Jungkook, you've learned a lot. Apart from the physical side of your own sexual preferences and desires, you've come to notice how Jungkook loves to feel you up. He loves to touch you, explore your body each time like he has never done before.
Even without having many sexual partners before, it's safe to say you've never felt more comfortable than being in Jungkook's hands. Quite literally. The way he touches you… he knows what he's doing.
Obviously, this is in a way a punishment for him. Actually, now that you think about it, you're not sure if he's doing it purely because you want to, or because of another reason.
So when you place yourself at the end of your bed, making sure you have enough space to lay down, you do exactly that. With one swift movement, you spread your legs apart, giving him a full on view on the thing he couldn't get enough of.
All cockiness is smeared off his face. And while triumph burns inside you – from this great achievement – a realization hits him.
“No.” he murmurs, watching the way you smirk as you turn on the sex-toy. You bring the fake imitation of cock to your clit, moaning at the vibration as soon as it touches you.
Bottom lip caught between your teeth, there's a clank resounding in front of you as your lips twitch. “I'm definitely having my fun now.”
“I was–I was just teasing. Come back here, baby.”
You should've probably taped his mouth shut. The freaking petname really tests your patience and determination.
“I'm serious.”
But he's ignored by you, at least you act like you can't hear him, enjoying the way he groans in protest. However, you can be just as teasing and you moan loudly, letting the dildo's tip enter you.
“Y/N,” he growls, “This is not funny.”
“Oh, fuck.”
You would have laughed if you weren't so focused. The truth is, you're sensitive down there – something that's caused by Jungkook and his always running mouth. As much as you itch to get to him and toss the sex-toy as far as possible, you don't give him that satisfaction. At least, not now.
“Who's in control now, Jeon?” you hum, opening your eyes clouded by both amusement and lust.
“Okay, I get it.” he grits through his teeth. “Come here.”
“Say it nicely and maybe I'll consider.”
If looks could kill, you're sure you would be six feet under. But one moment of leaning your head down, moaning out loud, you notice his jaw clenching before he clears his throat.
“Come here,” he says softly.
Cracking your eyes, you grin in achievement as you sit up. You're too impatient, you want to touch him. No scratch that. You want to feel him. You want him inside you. But you're playing your part in this act, making it seem as if you have all the time in the world.
You turn off the sex-toy, the one he probably mentally curses for buying, and you come closer to him. The expectation and despair on his face makes you want to laugh. He's cute. And freaking hot too.
His chest heaves, it glistens with a sheer coat of sweat. His cologne and scent that's glued to his skin has filled your bedroom. He watches you carefully, almost as if he expects you to tease him more. But when you sit back down on his thighs, facing him, he sighs in relief. His cock begs for attention and you give him a few pumps, ones that make his eyes flutter shut as he gets what he wants. Partly.
You leave the dildo next to you, planning on using it later as you glance at your nightstand. A look of surprise and then disappointment fills your face, one that Jungkook quickly questions.
“What?”
“I've got no condoms. You have some with you?”
Jungkook snickers, “You mean did I bring condoms with me when you decided to have a break from this ?”
You give him a glare, “I wasn't planning on having sex.”
“Do I look like I was?” he questions with a raise of his brow.
“Don't you have them with you most of the time?”
“Clearly not,” he rolls his eyes, “What's the issue anyways? I haven't had sex with anyone else.”
You're the one who rolls their eyes now, “You would be really quick if you have. It's been like a week since the trip.”
Deep down, you know Jungkook could've gone anywhere and had sex during this week. If he wanted to.
“And you know it's not about that.” you add.
“Let's end this with a bang. Since you know, we're not supposed to have sex then.”
“Are you mocking me?” you frown. He purses his lips to avoid smirking.
“What did you say? One last time?”
“You know, keep talking and I'm gonna finish myself in front of you.”
“Not what I had in mind but,” he acts as if he's thinking hard. “It would still be something. I love that cunt.”
Almost choking on your spit, you quickly recover. You need to wipe that smirk off his face. “Or I could just leave you here, handcuffed and naked.”
“You wouldn't!” he exclaims.
“Try me.”
He shakes his head with a disapproving frown. “We don't have that many options. Either raw or go to sleep.”
What are you even talking about? Your coincidence scolds you.
“You're right,” you say, already hovering. “I love this cock.” you tell him cheekily, watching his eyes widen just as you grab him by the base.
You bring it to your entrance, teasing him a little (and yourself too) but the glare he gives you just prolongs it. He lifts his hips, almost entering you and you gasp, giggling.
“Who's impatient now?”
“You're testing my patience right now.”
“If I were you, I wouldn't talk too much.” you hum, warning him cutely which causes his features to harden. Oh my god, perhaps you're enjoying this way more than you thought you would!
Despite everything, you don't want to deprive him and yourself of the pleasure. It's easier to give him one cheeky grin as you guide him to your entrance. His eyes dance across your exposed breasts, looking down at where you're about to connect. That's enough for you to slowly sink down his length, gritting your teeth from the immediate heat that swallows you whole.
Sex is amazing. But sex with Jungkook has shown you it's more than that.
You would've never thought how addicted you can become to this. Maybe it's a little too dangerous but you don't seem to care. Not at the moment anyway, not when he spreads your folds and stretches your warm and wet walls. Oh god.
It takes you a moment to fully sink down on him, his hard length settled inside of you as you feel every inch of him. Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. Though, he doesn't usher you to move and gives you space to get used to him. You swear you can feel him in your stomach.
Starting to roll your hips, your clit brushes against his pubes as his jaw tightens once again. That's not enough for him, but he doesn't voice the annoyance and frustration just yet. He lays his head down properly, dark eyes watching you and the way your body rolls.
You bite your bottom lip, momentarily closing your eyes just to open them and see him staring. “You like that, baby?” you joke, watching his hardening features turn into amused once as you both giggle.
“Baby?”
“You call me that too.”
“Mhm, I do.” he hums as you spread your palms over his chest and lean forward. “You love it.”
“Maybe a little bit too much.” you confess, laughing at your obvious confession.
And then you lift your hips, his cock rubbing against your wall which quickly wipes away his smirk. You let the head of his cock stay inside you, his entire length coated with your juices.
“Don't play with me,” he says. “This is torture.”
“Then beg.” you propose, watching his features turn into pure shock before they change into devastation.
It's funny. Makes you giggle all over again.
“What?”
“You heard me. Beg,” you grin, “Or what? Is that against your male ego?”
“You're so cruel,” he begs. “If I knew–Hey now!” he exclaims when you let him slide out of you, your lips curving into a smirk.
You get off him entirely, laying on your tummy beside him. Elbow leaned against the soft mattress, you prop up your chin on your palm. Jungkook groans, frustration getting the best out of him as you grab the vibration. Turning it on, you catch his attention as you press the vibrating tip against his hard cock. He flinches, cussing you out immediately.
“Yah!”
You laugh, “What? Does it hurt?”
“I don't know if you noticed, but I'm fucking hard and sensitive.” he grits through his teeth and you pout. “Just do something.”
Rolling your eyes, you turn off the sex-toy, playing into the little facade you created as you toss it away. Lifting yourself, you hoist your leg over his hips and face him with your back. He barely has any chance to react as you sink down on him again. This time, you actually move. He breathes out in relief.
“I knew you were a good girl.” he mutters, causing you to stop. “No, no. Continue.” he reacts immediately which makes you smile.
You hold your balance by gripping his legs, just below his knees as you start riding him. It's hard to focus on other things than just his cock inside you.
“Mhm, fuck.” You hear behind you, a soft moan leaving your own mouth when he hits your good spot.
You pick up your pace, your ass smacking against Jungkook's skin but when you start to feel the familiar heat gathering in your lower religion, you're forced to stop. You don't want to cum too soon. Jungkook whines, cursing under his breath.
“You're so whiny.” you comment, sending him a look of amusement across your shoulder.
He's frowning, mouth pouting without realizing as he tugs onto the handcuffs again. Realization hits him and that makes you laugh again. He forgot he's handcuffed and wanted to touch you.
“Just wait until you're done.” he threatens.
Ignoring the way your stomach tightens in excitement, you don't give him that satisfaction of recognizing his effect that he has on you. Instead, you turn around to face him, sitting back on his thighs as you lean toward him.
“One last time, remember?"
“You also said break and look at us now,” he bites back smartly. “When I asked you if you're gonna let me in, this wasn't what I had in mind. But I'm not complaining.”
You start tracing random patterns on his abs, they flex under your touch and you know he's holding himself back. “That would be awful if you were complaining.” you hum.
“Y/N,” he whines. “Just do something.”
“I told you. Beg… or ask nicely.” you hum, moving your finger up to his chest.
“Please,” he says dryly.
You lift your brow at him, giving him an unimpressed glare. “I said nicely.” you remind him.
He groans, almost ready to throw a tantrum. Oh, this is so much fun!
“Please, wanna fuck that pussy.”
You smile, leaning forward to get close to his face. His breath hitches as your lips hover over his. The faintest touch of them earns the corner of his lips before you pull away. You wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him a little before you put him inside you again. Jungkook hums and nods, obviously too joyful that you've finally listened. You don't waste any time, lifting your hips up and down as you ride him.
“This is what you wanted?”
“Fuck yes.” Jungkook breathes out, muscles tensing. “Fuck, that's it. Yeah, just like that.”
He says, forcing his eyes to stay open as he watches your breasts bouncing.
“Fuck, baby.”
Despite being fully engrossed in chasing your orgasm, you still smile in the midst of it.
You're close to cumming, stopping your movements shortly after which leaves Jungkook whining. Loud and clear.
“You were close, weren't you?” he teases after frustration slowly fades away.
“Shut up,” you bite.
“Come on. Fuck me. Please .” he begs softly.
Nibbling on your bottom lip, you comply and move your hips again. This time, you don't stop. You chase your orgasm while Jungkook coaxes you through it.
“That's right, use me.”
“You like this?” you breathe out, throwing your head back as you feel yourself getting closer and closer.
“I love it,” he corrects you. “I'm gonna miss this cunt so much.”
“Don't say that,” you croak out. “You're making me regret things.”
“No regrets,” he groans. “Fuck, yeah.” He moves his hips up, meeting your thrusts in the middle as you whimper.
A few more thrusts and one big from Jungkook, you come undone above him. The knot snaps inside you and your entire body stills as your walls start clenching and unclenching. Your juices drip down Jungkook's length, undoubtedly staining your sheets as well but that's the least of your worries.
Jungkook watches you come back to reality, eyes clouded with lust.
“You think you can go for round two?” he asks, watching you breathe out an audible chuckle.
You can.
Giving him a nod, you settle onto rubbing his chest softly while trying to catch your breath.
“Uncuff me,” he says, stealing all your attention once again – this time not caused by the usual charms of the man under you. “Just wanna touch you.” he adds, softly and with a pout.
“What if I don't want you to touch me?” you hum, starting to roll your hips again which makes him hiss.
He grunts, closing his eyes. “Don't lie to yourself.”
Regardless of both of you aware of the lie, you keep smiling knowing he's damn right.
“I'm not gonna do anything, I swear.” he promises, whining as your movements deepen.
Feeling like you could chase your second orgasm of the night, you reach behind you and put your hands on his thighs. Jungkook stares, eyes wide despite the evident desire and need.
“Holy fuck, you're gonna be the end of me.”
You giggle. You freaking giggle and Jungkook swears he's done for.
“You little minx,” he grunts. “You wanna make me cum without me touching you? That's fucking cruel.”
“I like to be cruel sometimes.” you tease.
As much as you wish his hands would be on you, touching you everywhere and the way only he can, this is so much fun.
While Jungkook's eyes are the only touch you can feel, the dark irises leave hot traces all over your skin, you enjoy his attention on you. It's no secret he alone brings you more confidence than he can ever imagine. Not to grow sentimental, especially right now and at this dirty moment, but for that you'll be forever grateful to him. You're scared for what's about to come in the future. You're too scared to think about it and you automatically shut down any hints of those thoughts coming up.
You enjoy this while you can.
After this, you want to focus on your friendship with him. It's for the best.
You could easily regret doing this with him right now. Especially after the idea of taking a break. In reality, you don't. There are no regrets as of now and you hope they won't come. You won't allow it.
“Play with your tits, baby. Show me,” Jungkook pants.
Having you slowly start to bounce on his cock again brings a rush of heat to every inch of his body. You obey, grasping your breasts into your palms while you squeeze to soft flesh. Jungkook whines and groans, clearly still frustrated he can't touch them or anything at this point.
“Pinch your nipples.” he orders, not full of dominance like you're perhaps used to, but full of desperation.
You moan as you listen to him, bringing more pleasure to your body as you imagine it's Jungkook's hands instead. Eyes closed yet again, you can't bring yourself to keep them open. Your muscles strain, lungs begging for more air as you feel your heartbeat drumming in your eardrums.
“Fuck,” you pant, “Think I'm gonna cum.” you force yourself to admit, totally clueless to Jungkook obviously seeing and feeling it.
“Rub your clit for me. Fuck.”
Hand reaching between your legs, it's a little tricky to fully obey as you're still bouncing on his cock, close to cumming. You still rub your clit, whimpering and stuttering things you can't remember. Whatever leaves your mouth blends with the sounds of skin slapping. One hand on Jungkook's abdomen, you make sure you stabilize yourself while the other works on your clit.
“Keep going, keep going,” Jungkook whimpers. “Please, please, please.”
You do. Your thighs burn but nothing won't stop you. Orgasm comes crashing down on you for the second time. Your walls clench around Jungkook's cock, sucking him dry as Jungkook warns you of his own approaching orgasm.
“Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming.” he manages to get out.
Just in time, you barely make it and lift yourself as Jungkook's thick cum shoots up. The warm liquid lands on your pussy, some of it getting onto your lower belly trickling down your thighs.
Jungkook curses under his breath, head dropping down onto pillows as his chest heaves. Yours too. Dropping down next to him, there's no care in the world as you both try to come back to your senses.
After a minute of harsh breathing fading, Jungkook comments. “Almost didn't make it.”
Looking at him, you both grin at each other. “I made it.”
He scoffs playfully, amused by your confidence. He's restrained, therefore it would be completely your fault if he came inside you.
“Gonna uncuff me now?”
“Oh shit.” you curse, sitting up as you grab the key off your nightstand, leaning forward to uncuff Jungkook's wrists.
As soon as you do, Jungkook's arms shoot down as the pair of pink fluffy handcuffs land on your floor. You watch him rub his wrists, frowning before looking at you as you shoot him a sheepish grin.
“You enjoyed that?”
“Probably more than I thought I would.” you giggle.
Jungkook's lips twitch. “At least one of us did.”
“You came, didn't you?” you raise your brow at him. “I'm receiving no complaints then.”
He laughs, sitting up as he cracks his neck. Looking down at his crotch and around the bed, he cringes a little. “Made a mess.”
“It's fine, I'm gonna clean that up. Go take a shower.” you point toward the door.
“You sure?” he asks, cocking his brow at his cum sticking to your skin.
“Yeah,” you laugh, reaching for the wipes that are beside your bed. You clean yourself, ushering Jungkook to use your bathroom while you take care of this mess.
Knowing there's no point in arguing, he still with an unsure look starts to get out of your bed. What he doesn't expect though is a slap delivered on his buttcheek. He turns around, shocked with mouth agape as he shoots you a look.
“What does it feel like?” you tease, biting onto your lower lip as he shakes his head, fighting back a grin. Too bad, you catch a good glimpse of it.
“You're lucky this is over.” he tells you, ruffling his raven hair.
You're not sure if lucky is the right word to describe it, though it works for what he has in mind. And god, you're so close to calling this break off. Desperate and foolish.
But since he talks about luck, it seems like it's on your side this time considering he turns around and leaves the room before you can make another rash decision.
You decide to finish the movie after you're both cleaned, and so is your bedroom with fresh sheets. Everything goes back to normal, both of you acting as if you haven't had sex a few minutes ago. Ignoring the way every inch your skin feels like it's been electrified.
Jungkook's body takes most of the space in your bed eventually, the entire bedroom swallowed in darkness as chilly air fans your thin curtains. No scent of sex anymore just like there is no trace of your previous doings. The only proof lives in both of you now.
“Back to best friends?” Jungkook asks behind you, his arm outstretched just above your head.
“Back to best friends.” you confirm, ignoring the sentiment behind your tone.
“Don't tell anyone that I–”
“That I had you handcuffed and you whined?”
“Yah!”
Cackling, you look across your shoulder as if you could see him. “Are you ashamed of it?” you tease.
“Taehyung wouldn't let me live if he knew.”
You both laugh quietly.
“Can you rub my back now?” you say after a while.
Jungkook snickers, sighing as he gets on his side facing your back. His hand is on your back, scratching and rubbing gently as you hum in pleasure.
“Shouldn't you be the one who's rubbing my back? Y'know because of what you've put me through tonight.” he grumbles, causing you to smile into your pillow.
“Didn't you enjoy it?”
“I couldn't touch you.” he says as if that answers everything.
You still keep smiling, not being able to fight it back. “But other than that?”
He doesn't respond for a moment, leaving you to look behind you again. He hears the sheets rustling. “I came, didn't I?”
Somehow, that answers your question and you hum, lullying yourself to sleep – with the help of Jungkook's hands and touch of course. However, with a serious realization of what the fuck are you going to do now.
#networkbangtan#ksmutclub#ficswithluv#btswritingcafe#jungkook x reader#bts smut#bts angst#bts fluff#bts au#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#personasintro
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i need jealous racer geto hes js so whudurieiw and the way u write about himm🤭🤭
LUVRGIRL
a/n: eeuuughh idk whether to like this or not but enjoy nonetheless !!! not so much of racing but the sentiment is there lol. previous part (lloromannic) here / @screampied @kizoken @t4kio @redskyvenus @mysugu @suguruplsr @slttygeto ✶
wc: 6.3k
warnings: racer!geto, soft dom!geto, fem!reader, sprinkle of fluff, pet names, praise, ldr, phone sex, masturbation (both f and m), fantasising, daisuke is being annoying again!!!!, sorta jealousy plot point, brief dry humping, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, unprotected p -> v sex, breeding / creampie kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut
the next six months were torture, indefinitely. it was an endless heap of assignments, of deadlines, of long-distance calls with your love that you both were so close to booking flights of your own. university was brutal, too. on top of tuition fees and getting the materials for your classes, it was heart-wrenching to even look at the prices of the flights from your country to japan, so you bit down your pride and subjected yourself to settling for the long-distance arrangement.
“hey, baby,” geto mumbles sleepily and your frown deepens upon forgetting that tuesdays was where he slept early. you still had to call, though, but you realise it too late when he answers with that groggy, raspy voice of his. there’s some ruffling behind the call, no doubt the sounds of his bedsheets as he gets himself comfortable while you huddle at the small nook of your room that’s next to the window.
from here you can see the sun setting, a totally different story in japan where you can hear geto yawn and down a glass of water next to his bed.
“shit . . sorry su, i forgot—”
he scrambles to reassure you, awake and sat up, “no! no— no, it’s okay . .” you wince when you hear him yawn yet again, but this time he sounds a little more in the realm of consciousness. you’re unaware of the smile forming on his face just from hearing your voice, fidgety fingers squeezing and releasing the duvet over him, “what are you up to, my love?”
you hum into the phone and you’ve never wanted to backpack across the seven seas to see someone so bad before. now on month nine, your excitement’s become even more prominent at wanting to end the semester as soon as possible, willing your lips not to mutter out the arrangement you’ve been planning with his group of friends.
“just needed a break from studying for finals. i’m dying,” you lament over the line and your heart flutters at his chuckle, something you miss against your ears and skin immensely, “just wish you were here . .”
“yeah?” and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rub your thighs together at the soft, rough yeah he mumbles out. you can imagine it too: sitting against his headboard half-naked while the duvet pools around his waist area. he’s sitting there like plaster sculpted by Monti while his hair flows around him. you almost squeal and your boyfriend only catches just the start of it.
“what? what was that?” he asks and your hand is clasped so hard over your mouth like a captor’s got your hostage, but you only let out a breath.
“n-nothing,” you laugh, picking yourself up from the nook and getting yourself comfortable in bed. it’s been a long day of studying, anyway, and your next exam isn’t until five days later. you could afford some downtime, right?
“but,” you sigh, turning on your side and sneakily slipping a hand into your pants, “my day’s boring. it’s all studyin’. why don’t you tell me what you did today, instead?” you can hear your parents already preparing dinner outside, but you press on and try to drain out the intrusive noises of cutlery and porcelain and the incessant calls of your mom to your dad for some help on the stove.
“alright,” he drags the word out and laughs again, getting comfortable in his bed just like you do, but your end goals are entirely different, “but it is pretty boring as well. it was maintenance day today.”
“oh!” you remember him briefly mentioning that the other day — since halloween was approaching, there was bound to be more patrolling policemen around the streets and underground, so races had to be put on hold for the meantime. there was still other more secluded areas to race, but geto didn’t want to risk his Mazda being taken away nor for a stain to appear on his clean academic record.
“changing the crankshaft? i know the old one was giving you loads of trouble,” you mumble, feeling your cunt pulse and throb from the breathing you can hear over the line, “among . . other things.”
“yeah, my baby’s so smart for remembering, huh?” he praises, continuing to go on about his day. while it was merely taking-care-of-his-car day, it was still way more eventful than yours. he had went on a solo day out to your beloved café to relish in the good times, he had hung out with gojo for a while and drank some beer atop the mountain they frequented, even went out for some arcade fun.
“unfortunately—” geto’s low voice spurs you on. you’ve been lazily rubbing at your pussy, just humming into the phone while you only descend more and more into pleasure, “it’s taken a hole out of my allowance, i guess. my dad’s more generous with the parts that he gives me but at the same time i feel like he knows what i’m doing underground.”
he laughs and you fake a giggle, but your breaths are starting to get heavier with each sentence he utters, mind filling with flashbacks of how many ways he’s bent you over to fuck you, drunk on the phantom-like winds upon your ear that sound like he’s whispering all those filthy things to you. “and . . just missin’ my girl.”
“how’ve you been, baby?” he asks with a low voice, like he knows what you’re doing and the term of possession only has you sucking in a breath, fingers slip inside you after possibly a decade of teasing and you find it hard to answer. “darling?”
“y-yeah, ’m still here,” you pant out, afraid of being caught, but your voice quivers enough just for geto to catch on to what you were up to. he didn’t fault you, though (he never blames his girl), but there is a small smirk that forms on his face. he purposely lowers his voice even more, if it was possible, mirroring and mimicking your breathy tone when talking to him.
but with one hand that goes down to his pelvis, he doesn’t have to mimic you at all, hand palming languidly at his bulge. in the dead of the night, there wasn’t much need to keep his voice down in order to hear the pretty moans falling from your mouth; he does anyway.
it’s too shitty of a reception especially with your nokia’s, so he hears the artificial, metallic-like voice coming from his phone, but your sounds are just too lovely, transcending the robotic-ness of a phone call. and it’s like you’re actually there, smiling mischievously at him while stroking his cock and teasing him the way he liked to be teased.
“s-sugu?” you mumble, mind heading into the extremes and confident now that he’s just weirded out and silent, but it’s anything but that.
“yes, baby?” he hums, smiling to himself when he hears rustling over the phone and he can imagine you lifting your hips to remove your panties, tossing it somewhere across the room. “wanna tell me what you’re doin’?”
you suck in a breath — so he knows — but suguru always knows everything so you’re whining into the receiver, pleasantly surprised when he replies with a deep groan that only makes you clench around nothing.
“that’s right . .” he drawls and you hear a soft thud over the line, and now you’re the one quieting your movements just to hear your boyfriend, the faint shlick shlick sounds of his hand along his cock. geto gasps when he squeezes his tip just like how you do it, pre-cum starting to leak. “need you h-here, doll . .”
you mewl softly and start the hand on your clit again, abandoning the tight hold around your phone just so you can use the other to slip your fingers into your warm cunt. it doesn’t even compare to the thickness and length of geto’s dick, but you have to work with what you have. with head turned toward the speaker, your boyfriend has gone non-verbal, too, moaning like a slut into the receiver.
“suguru, i’m— please . .” you whine softly, hips bucking into your hands, “doesn’t feel as g— good.”
geto coos inwardly at your needy voice, mouth falling open at his rock hard cock. it’s so hard that it hurts, left to merely fuck his fleshlight whenever he could and use his hand on other days. he missed your sweet fucking pussy so, so much, just picturing your beautiful arched back that lifts off the sheets and your shaking thighs. he imagines your perfect pout on your face as you finger yourself, unsatisfied, obviously, begging him with tugs to his hands and his eyes flutter close.
“i know, baby, and ’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking the nokia from his ear to put it right up to his relentless pumping and you swallow, the slick, wet sounds more clear now. “but you hear what ya do t’me, don’t you?”
“mhm . .” you trail off, thinking of his fat cock impaling you instead, and you follow his actions to a T, bringing it right to your sopping cunt and geto has to scrunch his already shut eyes just to wish that his hand was your pussy. your hand is getting tired, he’s sure, but you finger yourself so prettily his hand easily speeds up, giving his shaft periodic squeezes.
“so wet, suguu . .” you drag out his name, already feeling your high approach soon, but you want the both of you to cum together. “i miss you stretchin’ me out . .” a hiss from suguru, “i miss your cum spilling out of me.”
that has geto choking out a whine, “f—fuck, sweetheart, don’t say that. i do miss g-giving you all of my cum—”
the filthiness of everything contributes to all your senses, parents omitted from memory, your finals at the back of your mind and only focusing on the envelope that resides on your bedside table containing a plane ticket. in one week you’d be able to see him again — a sweet treat given to you by gojo and nanami with their combined expenses.
you didn’t even know how you could thank them and while nanami waves you off for any payback, gojo did say you could treat him to anything in that café. it was difficult not to be excited, a louder whine drawn from your throat again and he laughs breathlessly, voice down low and distraught.
“any particular reason w-why my girl’s so needy lately—?”
geto basically chokes out his question while you shake your head until you remember that he can’t see you, answering with a broken “no”.
you resist the urge to spill on the exact reason — your mind spiralling from the anticipation of meeting him, the many, many lewd memories you’ve made over six months, his just-woken-up voice — because he’d never let you live it down.
“c-close, suguru—” your thighs are squeezed tight around your tired hand, sensitive from the immense overstimulation, “’m g’nna cum soon—!”
“me too, my love,” geto’s eyes are back open, trained on his cock and watching the sheer neediness shown in his weeping tip and bucking hips. he needs this, he needs you, and once you’re submitting your final paper, he’s sure to look at flights right to your doorstep.
“i’m c—” you’re whining out, body totally turned over and lying on your stomach as you chase your high, fuelled by the deep guttural groans of your boyfriend. your lips and mind are only filled with suguru, suguru, suguru, not even caring that your sheets are soaked and your fingers are cramping.
“baby, baby, baaaby . . s—shit—” geto reaches his release first, mind filled with replenished memories of your tight pussy hugging his cock, spurts of white spilling all over himself with a loud groan and you’re left to listen out for the desperate sounds of your boyfriend miles away, lengthening his climax as he continues to pump himself. “cum all over your fingers, doll . .”
suguru coaxes in that sweet voice of his, mumbling deep into the phone only for you. “doing so, so good, aren’t ya?” the quietness on his end, the slow lazy stroking of his hand again, and you’re cumming all over your fingers, eyes blown wide from the orgasm that he talks you through while you ride it out on your mediocre fingers. your mouth is stained with endless profanities and moans mixed with geto’s name, muffled by the bedsheets you’re so harshly biting into to prevent any loud, unbecoming sounds.
“that good?” he asks with a laugh, yawning yet again and you feel guilty again—
“i’m sorry, s—”
“no. don’t, doll, don’t apologise,” suguru brushes his thumb over his thigh, partially wiping off the cum and partially hoping he can relax the furrow of your brow like he always does. “you’re frowning and your shoulders are up, probably, relax . .”
you sigh, another thing that geto values a lot and has taught to you; deep breaths and untensing all parts of your body.
“good girl, was that good?”
“the phone sex or the deep breaths?”
geto grins. god, he missed you so fucking much — “both.”
“both was very good, thank you very much,” you giggle, not paying much mind to the way you remove your fingers from your cunt, turning over to the bedside table to take some tissues, “although the sex was a little better.”
“aw, no wins for the intense, groundbreaking, spirit-calming deep breaths?”
you shake your head (you’ve got to stop doing that), “ehh . . it was alright.”
geto’s reluctant sleepiness grants you a few more minutes together, his words starting to slur more and more the longer you were on the line, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. with fatigue came the words laced with unhindered affection, murmuring softly about hoping to see you soon, to feel you, to kiss you, and you expressed the same sentiment back to him.
the other switches the output to speaker, wanting to take in the messily taken profile pic he set your contact with. a blurred, blinding smile with his face squished against yours; a little below the two of you, berry and cherry clutched within your palms, doing the same. “can my girl do her best for her finals?”
“i can’t promise the best, but i’ll try . . okay?”
geto hums, a soft smile on his face. he’s cleaned up by now, new sweatpants on and duvet pulled right to his neck while he stares at your face, the pixels of the nokia never diluting your beauty.
“attagirl. have a good dinner, lovergirl.”
that knocks some breath out of you, and you grin like a schoolgirl.
“have a goodnight’s sleep, loverboy.”
you bounce on your heels impatiently when the plane finally lands, waiting for the throngs of people on the flight to leave through the bridge, but it’s taking ages, speed walking once you’re out. you wanted to be the first at the luggage conveyor belt, you needed to be the first passenger of your flight to be out of the arrival doors.
without the rush of the people and the striking colours of your boyfriend’s friends’ hair colours, it wasn’t too difficult to run up to them for a big hug.
“(y/n)~!” gojo drags out your name, waving you over excitedly and bringing the both of you into a group hug. nanami is adamant on being the ever broody racer, but you catch the ghost of a smile when he wraps a careful arm around your shoulders.
“how was the flight, (y/n)?” the blonde’s firm but concerned voice cuts through the chaos of the white-haired man.
“don’t ask lame questions like thaaaat, nanami! you’ll just bore me—” and a resounding smack! is then heard, and gojo’s clutching the back of his head in pain, the other taking the opportunity to lead you away from gojo’s antics and offering to help with your luggages. without words, nanami already feels your nervousness, patting your back in solidarity.
“hey— hey! oi!”
gojo slams the door to his car. “okay, we’ve painstakingly tried to hold suguru back whenever he was about to book flights—” gojo mentions in the car on the ride there, taking way too quick turns for your liking with your luggage going to town in the trunk. its thumps against the roof and sides always seem to interrupt the conversation with the white-haired man, but he seemed too much in a hurry to care. “think it was almost eight separate times!”
“thank you— ah!” you almost lurch forward at the amber light, but gojo decided at the last minute that he was just going to run it — braking then speeding it up all over again.
“you know, for a racer, you’re a terrible civilian driver . .” you groan once you reach the mouth of the familiar car park that you frequented in your six months in japan, but now that gojo’s easily manoeuvres the car to a slow, the adrenaline of the fast drive changes into something of dread, of a dizzying feeling.
what if suguru didn’t want to see you anymore? what if he already booked himself a flight and was nowhere to be found? what if he’s cheat—
your hands are clammy, not even present to how gojo calls out from you from the driver’s seat. cautiously, he’s putting a hand on your shoulder (because god forbid gojo touched anything of suguru’s, both Mazda and girlfriend), and shaking you out of your daze.
you catch glimpses of his sentences: “all . . talks about . . trust . . no girl has . .” but you stop his rambling with frantic slaps to his shoulder. you know you shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions but it’s hard not to when the scene is clear as day. suguru is never one to cheat — from the six months you’ve known him, from the many calls and check-ins the two of you do over the line.
defying time zones, fighting fatigue . . for this?
but you know better to list your lover as the instigator, especially from how this other girl was just hovering all over his Mazda, sticking her ass out and trailing her hand all over his finishing. that was one thing — but geto isn’t making any move to shove her off, only looking at her through hooded lids that could definitely drive anyone off. she wasn’t affected, though.
you’re not listening to gojo even when you step out of the car, already used to the curious eyes that rake over you and your figure — curiosity turns into recognition and then shock when they see how your boyfriend acts, but before you can actually make your way toward them, another man sidles up to you.
oh my god, it’s daisuke. you sigh loudly, knowing how gojo had dealt with him before and how much of an asshole he is, but all he does is look you up and down, not giving one fuck to how the subject of his embarrassment was sitting right in the driver’s seat.
“hey, babygirl.” you want to vomit from that one greeting alone, but you try not to pay him much mind. “what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ out here?”
“don’t your sorry ass have a girlfriend?” daisuke doesn’t even begin to digest the insult, and you think that he’s a masochist with how much he sets himself up for getting insulted, but then the girl’s eyes meet yours — she’s in his pictures, she’s in his wallet, you’ve seen her when this loser beside you blatantly brags about his girl. you’d feel sorry for her but it seems she’s as stupid as him.
they’re exactly that — realising you just walked yourself into one big jealousy scheme planned by the biggest jokers of the underground racing scene, your suspicions are confirmed when his eyes are also locked on his girlfriend with your boyfriend of all people, making sure she sees that he’s all up in your space. she’s doing the same, but when she actually tries to touch him is when geto finally does something, and the jealous burn in your heart quells a bit.
geto’s too smart to be mingling around with her, you hope, when you hear him mutter something to her and you smile to yourself when she cowers under his stare and words.
“you touch my fuckin’ car one more time and i’m sure to drive both you and your loser boyfriend, out of here forever. you can take your clown asses to another parking lot and race there and then i won’t have to see your faces any more,” his hold around his wrist isn’t harsh, but it is firm, and he prevents her from leaving until she gets his message, “plus i have a girl i’m obsessed with. take your lame jealous charade somewhere else and maybe go to couples’ therapy. you two clearly need it.”
and when she looks at you again — you think it’s how your identity settles in her mind — she yelps and finally runs away at the daggers you give, not even sparing a glance to daisuke who’s carefully scooching closer to you. but just as he tries to wrap his arm around your waist, your eyes catch suguru’s.
his eyes soften for just a moment; it was just like the café. his palms turn sweaty and he feels like he could collapse — but now you’re looking just a little different. he wasn’t sure if it was because of your hair or the tiredness from exams, but you’re still as stunning as the day he led you out of the parking lot.
geto cannot resist giving you a big grin, but it quickly fades when his gaze falls on daisuke beside you and a scowl appears. and while your body’s already distancing yourself from the man’s crusty ass lips, you feel a throb go right down to your core when the same annoyed glower forms across his features: eyebrows pulled taut, long strides, muscles bulging in the wifebeater he’s got on.
six months away from your man has clearly done things to you.
with one smooth swoop, geto has you pulled flush against him, not even looking as he uses his free hand to grab at daisuke’s neckline before he leans in to kiss you. it’s admittedly a little embarrassing, cause your body reacts so readily to him, tits pressed against his chest while your fingers tangle themselves in his long hair. he tastes like cigarettes and cherries like always and you moan softly into his mouth when his hands wander right down to your ass to give it a squeeze.
“satoru’s not very good at hiding secrets, unfortunately,” geto spills and you pout, surprise ruined by the loud mouth of his friend, but before he gives you his undivided attention, he tugs daisuke closer, roughly. “but that don’t mean i ain’t happy to see ya, baby.”
geto laughs at your flustered state, until his expression darkens again — “you have a lot of nerve touching my girl.”
“I—i didn’t! she was basically begging for me to touch her.”
“don’t you—”
“p-plus! my girl was all up over you too, so i thought i’d give her a little lovin’—”
geto almost smashes his jaw in. either way, he lands a clean punch to his face that has daisuke writhing on the floor, clutching his mouth in pain but that doesn’t deter daisuke one bit who sits up . . and then is immediately beaten down again with a boot to his chest. your boyfriend leans down and looks him straight in the eye.
“i’m cancelling my race just so i can make my girl scream my name loud enough for you, because you could never fuck her or anyone that good with your shit dick game,” geto scoffs, “and forget girls, you can’t even win enough races to rise up the ranks. you’ve embarrassed yourself enough, don’t you think?”
suguru doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, only ushering you toward his Mazda parked in the familiar corner, easily shooting a text to gojo to cancel the race as he mentioned just so he could . .
with windows down, you relish again in the tokyo night air, the hand that you miss so much on your thigh, the alluring voice he’s speaking to you in, the beauty of geto suguru. everything looked the same since you left, from the photos he’s put up on the dashboard, the berry keychain hanging from the rear view mirror, the outer orange coating of his car.
“i—”
“i’m sorry, my love,” suguru leaps forward to apologise, stopping the car abruptly. you’ve already reached your destination but, it seems he wants to say something first.
“why are you apologising?”
he frowns, bringing his hand to cradle your cheek. easily, you’re leaning into the touch, closing your eyes. “for ruining the surprise, for that stupid fight with daisuke, for letting my emotions take over.”
you mirror him, features also deepening in somberness. “you didn’t do anything — if anything, you were a victim of his girlfriend too. but . . seeing her be all over you, made me think the worst after not seeing you for six months.”
geto’s eyes soften yet again (he simply can’t help it around you), using both hands to hold you, now, and you float into his arms like a feather, like he’s in command. you let him guide you into the driver’s seat, faces so close and just hoping to touch after so many months apart.
“i . . i love you,” he swallows, brushing the hair from your face. you find that he’s shaking and breathing so heavily you’d think he was hyperventilating, but he gathers courage on a deep breath and continues, “i have since you left. right after, i went home to cry.”
“oh . .” your lip juts out, eyebrows downturned and eyes filling just a little, “oh, sugu . .”
“i just have always wanted to say it, i guess,” he chuckles, sniffling to hide his true emotions, “i just didn’t know whether i should say it over the phone where it would sound cheap; b-but, you don’t have to say it back, of course—”
you smile through tears, pressing a peck to his forehead in gratitude, “it wouldn’t sound like it to me, but i appreciate you waiting until i returned,” geto relishes in your lips upon his skin again, and he doesn’t think he could survive another day, another minute, another second without you, “i have, too, but i’m not sure when. it definitely includes the time you set alarms to wake me up for exams, though.”
he laughs freely at the memory now, of alarms interrupting his dinners and his parents asking “another call?”, but they let him do whatever, happy to hear their boy joking and laughing over the call with his mystery partner. you giggle, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears that did fall, letting the interior fluorescent light of the Mazda illuminate the features you love so much, all belonging to the man you pined over from many miles away.
“i love you too, suguru — stumbling into that random car park was the best thing i’ve ever done.”
“well, it might’ve not turned out as well if some other group had gotten to you first,” his thumb plays with your bottom lip and brings you to him, “’m just glad i got to ya in time . .”
“yeah? what if you didn’t at all?”
“then i would’ve made sure i’d find you in any way that i can, even if i had to beat up a thousand daisukes.”
that makes you giggle at little, a sliver of eye contact shared with your lover before he engulfs you in a rough kiss and your moan reaches the heavens, body so sensitive from being away from his touch that you jolt when he wraps an arm around your waist.
“relax, baby,” geto chuckles, speaking against your lips, “take it slow.”
“but i don’t wanna . .” you whine softly, clinging to him in surprise when he pulls a lever next to his seat and the backrest falls all the way down.
“ah!” you grin, “new mod?”
suguru barks out in laughter, “ya caught me. i got it modified yesterday.”
“so you could do dirty things like this?”
he rolls his eyes with a blinding smile, just so, so happy he’s got you back in his arms again, “exactly that.”
the other willingly shows you just what the modification can take, both hands spread out on your ass and pulling you onto his crotch. your core already feels the half-hard bulge under him, using your hips to grind down even more along him. everything feels like too much, after so long away from him that you already feel your high approaching from simply grinding your clit against him and he teases.
“you g’nna cum, already?” he grins slyly, suddenly moving his hips to meet yours that has a broken mewl leaving your throat.
“b—been too long away from you . .” you admit a little sheepishly, using his shirt as an anchor while you continue to grind your cunt into his front, only your panties and his trousers separating the contact of skin. but with how your body jerks in pleasure, you’d think there was nothing between the both of you. “i need you, quick.”
geto says nothing but help you with small pants, the backlighting from the headlines accentuating your figure so nicely that he grunts out your name in between swears, soon stuttering your syllables once he feels you still on his lap with arched back and throbbing cunt. he can feel you, feel you squeezing around him even when he wasn’t in you.
“guess your fingers were pretty crap, h-huh?” massaging your sides, you hum in disapproval at his cheeky smirk, hoping to change that when he lets you do whatever: you pull him up by his shirt and open the door to his car, pushing at him to get out. you don’t day anything and he already knows what you want when you spread your legs, biting his lip at the wet patch on the pretty set you decided to don.
and even with witnessing this sight over and over, you’re never used to the way geto worships you, reveres you, when he kneels down on straight gravel. he doesn’t care if his pants are littered with small specks of dust and dirt, whether he knees start to hurt, but he only has his eyes set on your alluring cunt, finger delicate when he pulls your panties to the side but just brutal when his mouth meets your clit.
“su— s-shit—!” is all you can manage, hearing the other breathe through his nose once his mouth latches on your pussy. it’s something that he hasn’t tasted since long ago, and he’d be damned to let you go again, so he takes the opportunity to savour your arousal, switching between flicking and sucking on your clit like a starved man.
“she tastes so fuckin’ good hmmff—” his eyes meet yours and he feels you squeeze around nothing, making a show of letting you watch how his tongue circles your bud, down to your hole and up again, slurping up your juices sloppily. “i hope this pussy’s missed me as much as i missed her, yeah?”
“y-yeah . .” you moan out softly, legs moving apart more to get more of him, pelvis humping against his face so much that he has to hold it down with a hand. your pre is dripping all over his leather seats and onto the floor, but he makes sure not to spill any more from the way he scoops it up and prods at your entrance.
“let your pussy do the talkin’, baby,” he mumbles drunkenly, pushing in a finger past your walls and the stretch is already so much better than your own. your jaw hangs open in ecstasy, body already bucking and craving for more when he pushes his thicker finger all the way in and it’s no problem for geto to slip the other in, “she’s sucking me in so well, can she do this to my cock too? hm?”
wordlessly, you’re nodding, catching a whisper of good girl before he’s back on your sopping pussy, sucking up and swallowing all of your arousal that it’s downright filthy, the noises echoing throughout the space. geto doesn’t waste any time pumping his digits, moving them in tandem with his tongue.
“s—suguru . .” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes open from the sheer pleasure, and you’re met with the vision that you can never get enough of — your racer boyfriend’s tongue out, hooded lids and soaked chin — and he grants you a little more of euphoria, groaning loudly into your pussy. with each minute, he’s only getting harder, unbelievably so, so your fantasy cut short when he removes his fingers and mouth with a pop! and laughs at your needy whine.
“you’ve been away too long, come,” geto stands to give you a kiss first, letting you taste yourself, “i need to be in you, darlin’.”
and so when he first slips in, it feels like heaven on earth, his leaking tip nudging past your folds and right into your warm cunt that he whines so loudly, long hair falling all about his face and body. you’re not different, nails digging in his skin at the stretch that you’ve missed, cock so much longer and thicker than your fingers.
“t-this is better than any fleshlight, fuuckk . .” he mutters to himself, one hand holding your ankle up and the other holding your bent knee. he’s hoping the modification he made to his car wouldn’t give up on him, because he knows he won’t be able to hold back once you’ve adjusted. but when you start moving earlier than he expects, he doesn’t give you the chance, slamming right up to the hilt until you’re shivering and clenching around him.
“g—god, r-right there, sugu—” you preen, nothing but incoherent and repeated sentences mumbled by you over and over, “feels s’full . .”
“y-yeah? tha’ it?” you don’t need the shitty light of the abandoned parking lot to make you look beautiful, you’re doing it all on your own when your body arches towards him and your legs shiver in his hold, catching glimpses of just how wet you were — juices smeared along your inner thighs, a clear sheen of it along his length, all thanks to the lighting. “so sloppy, huh . . listen to ’er.”
geto emphasises his thrust, in, out, and in, out, just for you to hear your dripping pussy dragging along his shaft, one of the things of yours that makes him go insane.
“all because of you,” you babble mindlessly, fingers expressing your need for him and he listens like he always does, body hovering over yours just to kiss you and because of that he’s thrusting all the more deeper into you as you break the kiss with a loud moan. geto laughs against your lips, hips making quick work to make sure he stays in his new angle, and he’s rewarded with your lewd pleas for him.
he’s ramming into you so perfectly, mushroom tip just barely brushing against your cervix each time that it has your mouth permanently open in pure pleasure.
“well . . you’re the only doll to get me hard and needy like this . .” he chuckles again, kissing down your neck to make sure you get blue and black into your skin, “and i fuckin’ love her for it.”
with a shaky hand you pull on his ruined ponytail, “s-say it again.”
“i love you,” suguru almost whispers, afraid of breaking the silence.
“again . .”
“i love you, sweetheart,” that makes you bend into his hold, undoubtedly.
“again, suguru—”
his hips are relentless, still moving even through his pussydrunk confessions, “i love you— i-i love you, i love you. so, goddamn, much— s-shiiit . .”
“m-me too, su . . i love you— i—” your arms trap him, circling around his neck and making sure he stays close to you and he pushes on your knees more, fat cock fucking into you in a more open mating press, knowing you’re close by how your toes curl and your stomach contracts, by how your pussy flutters around his mouth and soft needy sighs turn into wanton moans. he’s got you mapped out, memorised, all from his devotion to you.
“i know, baby, you’re close, y—yeah?”
he feels you nod, thighs starting to burn from the position but while your pussy keeps sucking him in, he’s sure to continue to slam into you, making sure all four walls of the parking lot hear the obscene sounds of his balls slapping against your ass.
“c’mon, cum with me, princess,” he murmurs, lightheaded with the tightness and warmth of your pussy. it’s a wonder he hasn’t cummed already, sneaking one hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit. your moans are rendered inaudible, only managing pathetic squeaks before you’re tipped over the edge and you’re whimpering so loudly into his car, cum dripping down and out your cunt and right to your ass.
your pussy flutters with geto’s continued thrusts, prompting him to reach his release right after with a deep groan, hips stuttering in your sensitive pussy until he’s spilling his load, white and hot. it’s just so, so goddamn much, stuffing your hole full of his cum that it has no choice to spill and dribble out when he removes his cock, the sight just so mesmerising to him.
“p—please,” your energy is far from used up, turning your body over just so you can present your ass to him. face squished into the driver’s seat, you use both hands to spread your cum-filled pussy, just asking for more and geto only smiles with a certain lilt in his voice. “need more, suguru . .”
“that’s my lovergirl.”
#asks#anon#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#geto x reader#geto smut#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru#geto x you#geto x y/n#geto suguru smut#suguru smut#suguru x reader#suguru geto smut#suguru geto x reader#getou suguru x reader#getou smut#getou suguru smut#jjk geto x reader#jjk geto smut#jujutsu kaisen geto#jujutsu kaisen smut
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Gold chain beneath your shirt, the shirt that you let me wear home
Luke Castellan x reader
word count: little over 1k
summary: no matter how hard you try to forget, there are signs of luke everywhere
a/n: smutty, angsty
He betrayed you, it wasn’t a dream or a stupid vision. He really betrayed you.
When Luke first brought up getting revenge on the gods you thought he was joking. He hadn’t mentioned “kronos’ army” , afraid that would be too much to jump onto you. You realize it far too late, that he was very much serious about his plan.
“You can join me. It’ll be just us again, remember? I can’t protect you,” He says, looking at you lovingly.
Luke had found you before departing camp, for good. He gave you a last chance to join him and the army. All while telling you what he had done to Percy.
“You tried to poison percy!” You yelled at him in the heat of the moment.
“I did what I had to do!” He screamed at you.
You backed up into the corner of your cabin, everyone else from your cabin gone. The few year rounders somewhere else.
“I’m not joining you Luke! That would be betraying everyone I love!” You yell back.
“What about me?! Huh?! You have hated the gods ever since I met you, what happened?” He questions.
“I may hate them, but I could never do this. I’m not a monster,” You quietly say, shaking your head.
“Fine. Make the wrong choice. But I won't be able to save you when the time comes,” He tells you cryptically.
You watch him walk away from you. You debate turning him in, but how? He’s stronger than you, faster, you know you can’t. All you can do is watch him walk away, possibly destroying both your futures. As he opens the door he looks back at you one last time.
——————
You’ve been rather alone at camp since summer ended. Percy and Annabeth return home while Grover goes off on his adventure for Pan. The only friends you have there are small acquaintances and your siblings. You decided you’re not quite ready to return home. You’ve had run-ins with monsters previously outside of camp and you aren’t prepared to deal with them again. Partially because your mind is flooded with Luke.
With the extra amounts of free time you find yourself rearranging your cabin and area. Sorting through your clothes over and over again. This time you find something you hadn’t previously, a thick plaid blue flannel. lukes. You pick it up and hold it in front of you. Memories flood in your head of Luke.
It’s mid June, you and luke’s favorite time for a swim in the lake. You find a lake hidden behind a forest of trees that’s quiet, perfect for you two. You were wandering in the forest together when you first found it. Hand in hand. The glimmering sun makes the water sparkle.
You start taking off your shirt and jean shorts while smiling widely.
“C’mon!” You laugh at Luke.
“You’re crazy,” he laughs at you, taking off his flannel and cargos.
He holds your hand as he pulls you into the crystal clear water. You both smile as the warm water touches your skin. Luke holds strongly onto your waist with one hand. The other acts like a paddle to push you into the middle of the lake. Your hands wrap about his neck, playing with his gold chain which has a feather charm hanging off of it.
He kisses your neck softly, roaming his calloused hands around your waist. You comb your fingers through his brown curls. Your thumb grazed over his scar below his right eye. You press a kiss on his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist.
He drops his right hand underneath the water and pulls your underwear aside. His long fingers teasing you entrance.
“Don’t tease,” you whisper against his lips.
He smiles and plunges one finger into you, letting out a breath of air as you moan. He kisses the sweet spot on your neck. Your mouth hangs open and you grind onto his fingers.
“You’re so fucking beautiful baby,” he mumbles.
“I’m a good girl right?” you moan softly.
“Are you? I don’t think so, baby,” he frowns, slowing his fingers down.
“W-what? no- no i’m a good girl, the best,” you say, eyes furrowing at his response.
“Hmm, maybe you should prove to me how good you are,” He whispers back, smirking.
“I’ll do anything,” you desperately say.
“Make yourself cum on my fingers,” he orders you, moving your hips against his bulge.
You grind your hips against his fingers. “You’re like a fucking dog in heat,” he laughs at you.
“I’m gonna- Luke i’m gonna,” you whine.
“Let go baby, be a good girl,” He smiles.
You cum harshly on his fingers, he slowly pumps in and out riding you out. He continues pressing kisses against you, his over hand roaming your body.
“Good girl, my good girl.”
You both get out of the water tired. Allowing the sun to soak into you, drying you off. You put your shorts back on before realizing your shirt has gotten mud on it.
“Luke! My shirt!” you cry out to him.
“Here, take this,” He laughs at you, throwing his flannel at you.
You smile back at him, putting the flannel over your shoulders. You go up to him and wrap your arms around his tall figure.
“Wish we could stay here forever,” You mumble.
“I think we can work something out.”
——————
You stare at the shirt, smiling. You wonder what it would be like if he never left, if it could be just you forever. You hug the shirt longingly, going to your bunk and wrapping yourself in the flannel. You feel a hard metal in the pocket, his chain. You hold it in your palm; small tears pooling in your eyes.
“Fuck you Luke. Why’d you have to do this?” You look out the window, angry and sad.
You wish for a different ending. You wish he stayed. You wish you had gone with him, maybe it would’ve just been you two. You wish you had stayed in that moment forever. You wish it wasn’t true. You wish he hadn’t left.
You love Luke Castellan, even though you wish you dont. You hate yourself for falling for it. You hate him for making you fall for him.
#percy jackson#pjo series#luke castellan#percy jackson and the olympians#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x you#luke pjo#pjo x reader#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson x reader#luke castellan smut
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I was going through a Charles video that mentioned him blacking out in the car at some point. Since I’m a sucker for angst, I was wondering what it would be like for mentor!Seb if it were the reader in that situation instead. Perhaps the season before the one he retires? And maybe we could see more of the reader’s friendship with Charles? Only if you feel inspired by it, of course.
Either way, thank you for sharing your fics with us. They are my favorites and I’m really grateful for having found your blog.
gif by luchitohamilton
EVERY UNIVERSE.
pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (charles leclerc x teammate! reader)
summary: qatar is a difficult, hot, and taxing track. that along with you having food poisoning, well…that might not end too well for you. thankfully you can always rely on sebastian and charles to be there for you.
word count: 4k
note: can you guys tell i took inspo from mark webber throwing up in his car and the qatar race this year? it was so sad to watch everyone seem so tired especially lance and logan. anyways, the plot kinda got away from me at the end, i do apologize but the seb feels were too intense 😵💫
content warning: car crash, mentions of throwing up, inaccurate depictions of food poisoning
part of this series but can be read without!
“Ready?”
A familiar voice makes you turn around from your pre-race preparations. “Depends on what your definition of ready is.”
Charles smiles, “I know it’s our first race in Qatar but c’mon, it isn’t that bad.”
“Isn’t that bad? I might melt in the car! Doesn’t help that I almost missed this one because of food poisoning.”
“Ah yes, how could I forget that,” he teases. He couldn’t forget it, because you’d been complaining about it endlessly for the past three days. You had food poisoning because Mark Webber invited you to lunch on Thursday, and accidentally gave you something dodgy. You’ve yet to forgive the man. “Well at least you’re starting from P4. Lets you fight for P1, no?”
“Against Lewis and Charles? Please. In my dreams, maybe. Plus, you’re starting P3, asshole.” You retort, turning back around to put your balaclava on. The second it’s on your head, though, it gets pulled off, and you look behind you for the perpetrator. “Charles give it b– SEBASTIAN!”
The Aston Martin driver gives you a grin before hugging you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit. You didn’t expect to see him before the race, but the surprise was definitely welcome.
“Oh but if it was me I would have gotten scolded,” Charles mutters, but his complaints were left unheard.
“Just came to wish you luck before the race starts. P4! You’re going to get a podium, I’m sure of it,” Sebastian beams, letting you go from the hug.
“That’s what Charles said too. He was more delusionally optimistic, though. Said I was gonna win.”
“Because I believe in you! Is that so bad?” Charles complains from the side, his comment ignored once again.
“Well maybe Charles is right— you could win. Meanwhile I’m starting in the midfield, again.” Sebastian complains, groaning a little bit.
“Oh cheer up Seb, you survived Ferrari for 6 years, you’ll live.”
He lights up a bit at your joke, moving to say something before an Aston Martin mechanic shows up outside the Ferrari garage. He wasn’t allowed inside, but it was obvious he was looking for Sebastian– who also wasn’t allowed inside, yet mysteriously got in. Nothing to do with him being friends with your mechanics of course, yeah, totally not.
“Ah shoot, well it looks like they’re looking for me,” Sebastian sighs. He starts to walk away before he pauses and moves back towards you, “Hey, stay safe, okay? New track, it’s dangerous. I know we’ve done practice and quali but you can never be too careful. Plus, it’s sweltering hot. Hydrate.”
You roll your eyes fondly, “Yes, dad.”
His face scrunches up a little, “Don’t ever call me that again, I’m not that old.”
“You could barely work my Instagram the other day! All I asked was for you to open Lewis’ stories!”
“Psh, whatever. I have to go, see you after the race, yeah?” He asks, giving your arm a quick squeeze. You nod, murmuring a goodbye to him. He wishes Charles good luck too, before saving his engineer from the Ferrari mechanics blocking him.
“So he can pull your balaclava off– which you hate, by the way, let me remind you– but if I even try adjusting your helmet straps so it’s safer you slap me off?” Charles speaks up, making you break eye contact from the Ferrari garage doors.
You roll your eyes at him with a smile, “You have got to forget that. It was one time. And it was a soft slap to the shoulder!”
“The point still stands,” he retorts, making you give up on the conversation.
“Whatever, Charlie. Just get ready for the race. Stay safe, okay?” you say, putting your balaclava on again. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, a sign of good luck between the two of you. It makes you smile a little before you hop into your car.
Okay. Qatar. New track, new conditions, but still the same old you. You could do this.
The lights go off one by one, and you grip the steering wheel with anticipation like you always did. Race starts still made you nervous no matter how long you’d been racing. One light goes off…then the next…then the third…the fourth one follows…and then…
“AND IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!”
The first few laps were a breeze, maintaining your position in fourth despite Fernando being on your tail the whole time. You noticed the car was slightly hotter than usual, but decided to ignore it and chalk it up to new changes in the engine.
Around lap 25 you started to feel a bit dizzy and sick during the sharp corners, cursing yourself internally for having such bad timing with the food poisoning. “Charles is 0.200 seconds ahead, feel free to overtake,” your engineer buzzes through the radio.
“Copy,” you reply, not really paying attention, still feeling sick. You overtake Charles with ease around the outside, him not putting up much of a fight because it would have taken both of you out. Now you just had to maintain this position for…dear god, 32 laps.
“Lewis 5 seconds ahead, focus on tire degradation instead.” Your engineer’s warning goes unheard, though, as you noticed the cockpit was getting way too fucking hot.
“The car’s burning up,” you say into your radio, getting only a simple “Copy, we are checking,” back.
“Okay, Y/N there are no problems with your engines, I repeat; no problem.”
What? That’s impossible. You felt like you were melting in there. “Are you sure? Can you ask Charles if his car feels like the sun too?”
“Negative, focus on the race.”
Oh you were going to kill them one day– if they don’t kill you first. A few more laps passed in those horrible conditions before turn 5 rolled around and as you swerved your car, you started to see black spots around your vision.
That can’t be good, you think, having to close your eyes for a second before shaking your head and snapping yourself back into the race. Thankfully Charles had pitted earlier and had a 3 second gap to you. “I don’t feel too well.”
“Copy. Is it the car?”
“Well it’s definitely part of the problem.”
The next few turns were torture, your head bobbing around as you faded in and out of consciousness through the fast corners. Charles was catching up now, and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, he would pass you.
You wanted this podium. You needed it. If you got P3 you would grab P4 on driver standings.
There was a slow corner coming up that was a good overtaking spot, and so you had to defend.
As the turn came around– faster than you expected– the extreme heat of the car, your headache, sweat, food poisoning, and dizziness came together and you suddenly felt light, as if you were flying, before a jolt knocked you out of your consciousness completely.
You were out for less than a minute, but that minute counted for everything. You completely turned into Charles, him having to swerve onto the gravel just so you wouldn’t crash into each other. Your car, however, still had more speed in it, and you were headed towards the wall on the very far side of the gravel.
Thankfully, the rough rocks had shook you awake enough that you were able to swerve away from the wall extremely last minute and only take the tail and back wheel of your car out.
The next few seconds were a blur.
You still felt faint, but could hear a muffled voice headed towards you. You knew the back of your car was completely ruined and you were out of the race, and you put your helmet in your hands in disappointment. You were having such a good run before this happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The muffled voice running towards you was closer now, and you registered it to be Charles. He was saying something but you could barely hear him with how your ears were ringing and how the seat of the car was still hot.
The man quickly realized you weren’t hearing him, and opted to come closer and lift your visor up. “Smoke. Car. Get out!”
He didn’t need to tell you twice. You pushed yourself up but barely, Charles having to lift you up by your shoulders. Once out of the car you completely collapsed on the floor, only having your teammate catch you.
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you say drowsily, still fighting the urge to pass out.
“Safety car is coming, stay with me now,” he replies, tapping your helmet so you stay awake. You were grateful your friend was there with you.
On track, however, Sebastian had just been informed of what went down. “What the fuck? What happened?”
“L/N completely turned into Leclerc. Driver error, push on for P9.”
Sebastian hated how his engineer sounded like a robot reporting a technical statistic. He saw the aftermath of the accident for a split second, and it didn’t look like your car was in good shape. He worries about what shape you were in. “Are they okay?”
“Safety car is coming out for L/N and to crane the car, but other than that they seem fine.”
“Injuries?”
“Please focus on the race, Sebastian.”
“INJURIES!” he shouts into his radio, annoyed. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the race until he knew you were alright.
“Uh…L/N seems to be out of it and on the floor, but they’re okay. They’ll be fine, Seb.” His engineer adds the last statement to reassure the man. He knew you meant a lot to him. Seb nods to himself in the car, carrying on with the race. The faster this finished the faster he could get to you.
The safety car came out and they all slowed down, Sebastian finally being able to take a second long look at the accident. Your car was still there, the smoke coming out of it being extinguished by a personnel. Sebastian thinks he ought to have a word with the Ferrari mechanics after the race. He then notices you, on your knees in the gravel, only being kept up by a driver he can only assume to be Charles. Sebastian thinks that should be him there supporting you, but at the same time he’s glad he wasn’t the one who you nearly crashed into. He couldn’t have it on his consciousness that he could have hit you.
“‘m sorry for ruining your race,” you mumble, still being held up by Charles. The man shakes his head, “It was ruined before that, don’t worry. My engine was acting up.”
You knew he was lying to make you feel better, his engine was completely fine. He was headed for the podium earlier, his first in a while. And you completely botched his chance to get it. The thought makes you sob a little, along with the fact that you ruined your own race.
Crying wasn’t the greatest thing to do, though, as it only made you more lightheaded. Charles notices this and takes your helmet off for you, despite your protests pre-race. You were grateful that he did, though, as the second he took your helmet and balaclava off you felt like you had a breath of fresh air for the first time.
“Better?”
You nod, unable to speak. You still felt dizzy and sick. Charles felt annoyed that the safety personnel were taking so long to get to you, waving them over to walk quicker. Squinting your eyes a little, you find them with some health personnels, and you sink a little lower into the gravel.
“God not again,” you groan, remembering the events that unfolded back in Spa. You did not need to go to the medical tent. As you attempt to get up, however, you fall back down as your vision blurred. Looks like medical tent it is again.
The rest of the race went particularly well. Lewis won the race and Fernando got his first podium since 2014– which you reminded yourself to congratulate him for once you were out of the medical tent– and Seb ended up P9, a position higher than where he started. That would usually be a mediocre result but with his shitty car, you were pretty impressed.
“Water?” A familiar voice makes you look away from the TV screen in the room. Charles sat beside your bed, holding a plastic bottle of water. You nod and take it from him, chugging the cool liquid down.
“Sorry again for ruining your race,” you say as you finish drinking. Charles shakes his head, “Stop apologizing. You passed out, that was no fault of yours.”
“You passed out!?” A loud concerned voice makes both of you snap your head towards the door of the room. Sebastian stood there, still in his race suit like the both of you, a shocked look on his face.
“Is that what happened? You passed out mid race?” He asks again, but this time softer. He walks towards your medical bed– which you insisted you didn’t need– before putting his hand on your forehead to check if you had a fever. The action makes you giggle, but Sebastian had a serious look that shut you up quickly.
He shakes his head with a sigh, “You have a bit of a fever.”
“Any other fun observations?”
Sebastian didn’t seem to be in the mood for your wit, though. “You could have been injured. Just a few meters and you could have fully hit the wall. If you were just a few seconds late waking up you would have–”
He shuts his eyes and stops himself. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened anymore. His voice got wobbly during the end of his statement, making you realize that he was stopping himself from crying. You absentmindedly sit up and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.
“I’m here, Seb. And I’m fine. Look at me.”
The older driver does, slowly opening his eyes. You squeeze his hand a second time, a soft smile on your lips. “I’m here. And look, I’m completely fine. You’re not getting rid of me that quickly old man.”
Seb lets out a chuckle at that, moving to hug you tightly.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles into your hair. “Why did you even pass out?”
“I was already a little dizzy before getting in the car because of the heat but I tried ignoring it. The car was overheating too and it made me dehydrated, I think. My drink pouch wasn’t a lot of help either when the water was steaming hot. Plus…” you trail off, not really wanting to talk ill of Webber.
“Mark gave her food poisoning when he took her to lunch,” Charles butted in, making you give him a look. You forgot he was in the room.
“Mark? As in Webber?” Sebastian asks, Charles nodding in response. “The bastard.”
“Oh c’mon Seb, he just wanted to treat me to lunch. It’s not like he poisoned my food on purpose.”
Seb sighs deeply before agreeing, “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know.”
“I get it. I mean, this is my second time at the medical tent in three months. Makes you think how accident prone I am,” you joke. Sebastian laughs, and you’re glad you got the worried look in his face away.
“The one in Spa was completely your fault, but we may have to pin this one on Mark,” Seb teases. You shoot him a grin, “Yeah, we can say that.”
Before you could talk more, though, a PR person from both Ferrari and Aston Martin came in to fetch Charles and Sebastian.
“What about me?” you ask, getting up from your bed. It wasn’t like you were injured or anything, you were just a little sick and had a bit of a stomach ache. You’d already thrown up earlier, so you felt pretty normal now.
“Sorry, we have orders to keep you here.”
You scoff, “Please. What can they do if I walk out?”
Before the Ferrari PR agent could reply, though, you were already out the room. She stands there helpless, making Sebastian and Charles chuckle to each other before following you. You were always stubborn when you wanted to be.
The second you’re out of the medical tent, camera flashes overwhelm your eyes. You walk past them as you always do, but the contrast of the light to the night sky makes you a bit lightheaded again, having to hold Sebastian’s arm for support. He moves your hand from his arm to his own hand, interlocking it with yours and pull you through the crowd. There were no words needed to be said, he always knew what you needed. You’re starting to think he can read minds.
Once past the annoying lot of cameras, you make it to the media pen where at least they pestered you in a more civil way. The interviewers were all over you and Charles, looking for some inside scoop on ‘Ferrari drama.’ Turns out, the media thought you tried to purposely take Charles out a la brocedes style. Because of this you had to clarify to every person you talked to that, “No, I did not try to take Charles out on purpose. I passed out. We’re good. Yes, we’re still friends.”
Once that was all over, you headed over to the Channel 4 area to give a certain someone a piece of your mind. “Mark Webber.”
The man turns around to the mention of his full name, smiling when he notices who it is. “Y/N! Glad you’ve come and joined us! We’re on in about five minutes, we can do a segment about the crash but if you wanna talk about something else on screen that’s fine too, we can–”
“You gave me food poisoning!” you butt in. “I cannot believe you.” His coworkers give him a look, as if they were holding in a laugh at him being scolded.
Mark stands there with his mouth agape, unsure what to say. “Wasn’t that three days ago? Are you sure it’s me?”
Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Yes, I’m sure it’s you. It started three days ago, and guess who I was with when I ate something unusual three days ago? Oh right, it’s you!”
He pauses for a moment before bursting into laughter, trying to cover his mouth to no avail. “Sorry, it’s not funny that you almost crashed, I’m glad you’re safe, but– ha!– I cannot believe it was because of the dodgy Indian food!”
You gave him a shove, trying to act mad, but the smile on your face betrayed you. His laughter was contagious. “You are such an asshole.”
“Awh cheer up,” he gives you a side hug, ruffling your hair a little. “Sorry for giving you food poisoning, mate. I’ll make it up to you, whaddya think about lunch on me tomorrow?”
You escape his side hug when you hear him say that, “Absolutely not! I’m never trusting you again with food recommendations.”
The statement makes him laugh again, and you chuckle along with him. Hard to be mad at someone who didn’t do it on purpose. Sebastian walked over to the two of you, having watched the interaction from afar.
“Look who’s coming over,” Mark mumbled, making you notice Seb trying to pretend to just ‘bump’ into the two of you. “Still competitive ‘till now, eh? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to out-mentor you,” Mark says out loud, grabbing the attention of the German.
Seb tilts his head with a faux oblivious look, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He grabs you by the arm and ‘discreetly’ pulls you over to his side. ‘No idea’ my ass.
The Australian scoffs with a grin, “Whatever you say mate. Listen, I gotta get back because our feed is going live in a few minutes, but you two take care, alright? Nice to see you again Seb.”
“You too, Mark.” Sebastian replies, this time genuinely. While the media knew the two drivers were now on good terms, they didn’t know just how close they had gotten. The two went bowling at least once every two months just to catch up with each other, you being there for half their competitions– yes, they still competed. Apparently that sense of wanting to beat your former teammate does not go away. So far this year, Mark’s been winning.
Before Mark completely walked away, he looked back at you for a second, “Oh, and, I am happy you got out injury free from that nasty crash. Genuinely glad you’re okay. Sorry that my dodgy food contributed to your sickness.”
You wave him off, “It’s fine, Mark. It’s not like you could’ve known I would get food poisoning. Although, next time maybe check online reviews.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, waving you a goodbye as he ran to his coworkers who were already getting impatient.
You shake your head with a grin, “Well at least that’s over with.”
Sebastian slings his arm around your shoulder, “True. So want to get dinner?”
“Absolutely not. I think I’m done with food for a good while.”
“Well you have to eat something,” he insists, as you both walk through the paddock. “How about we get room service?”
“Eh, it’s late, I don’t really want a repeat of Monaco 2019.”
Monaco 2019 was when you and Seb got room service at 10pm because you didn’t check the time. Safe to say the staff weren’t very happy with that. You both felt so bad while eating that food.
“We can just get McDonalds then,” you suggest.
“McDonalds?” Charles asks, popping out from god knows where.
“Jesus, where the hell were you hiding? The atoms?” You ask.
“I was here the whole time.”
“You were not,” Sebastian comments. Charles simply shrugs, tagging along with the two of you, not caring that he was obviously third wheeling a moment. “So McDonalds?”
You roll your eyes, “Yes, McDonalds. But you’re paying because you’re tagging along.”
“No fair! Sebastian is richer than me!”
You both give Charles a look at the same time. Charles thinks it’s eerie how alike the two of you were.
“Charles,” Sebastian starts, patting the Monegasque’s back with one arm with his other still slung around your shoulders. Your accident made him very clingy, but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Let me phrase this as nicely as I can; you are from Monaco. You are rich.”
Charles lets out a sigh, “Fine. I’ll buy the food.”
You clap, “Fuck yeah! Food on the rich man!”
“We have the same salary in our contracts?”
“Shh, that’s not important,” you say, shushing Charles. “Food on the rich man! Although, we may have to go to the hotel right after and just get take out. I can feel Mark’s Indian food from three days ago still fighting with me.”
Charles is the one to roll his eyes this time, “I’ll get the car so we can get there faster, your highness.”
“Thank you, Lord Perceval.”
“Don’t call me that!” he shouts, already walking away to the parking lot.
That left you and Sebastian alone again, just enjoying the company of one another, walking slowly down the paddocks. There were few people now, most having gone back to their hotels to call it a night.
“You know, I’m glad I found you.”
The words make you look up at the older driver, who you find smiling at you. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean obviously we would find each other, there’s only so many drivers in Formula One. But I mean I’m glad I found you in this life.”
“Do you think we don’t find each other in other lives?”
Sebastian pauses and thinks for a second. He’s thought about the other career paths he could have taken throughout his life– other lives he could have lived. He knows there’s no logical way, but he thinks he still would have found you in those lives. The thought makes him smile to himself.
“No, I think we do.”
“Well then good. Because me too,” you reply, giving him a smile of your own. “Why did you suddenly think about it though?”
Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t know. I just felt suddenly sentimental. Feels like a chapter of my life closed but I’m not sure what or why.”
Little did he know that he would start contemplating retirement a few weeks after that.
“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Whether we find each other in other lifetimes, I mean.”
Seb raises his eyebrow, him now being the one confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re both here now. Enjoying each other’s company. Why bother thinking about versions of ourselves in other universes when we’ve got each other in this one?”
Sebastian gives you the most genuine, softest smile at that. “I love you, I don’t tell you that enough.”
You scrunch your face, “Ew. Sounds like a love confession. Sorry but you’re too old for me.”
“You know what I mean. I love you but not in that way. That’s just gross,” Sebastian says, hitting your shoulder.
“Relax old man, I’m just teasing,” you giggle, trying to avoid his hit. “Love you too. Ew. Sorry, not great with verbal affection. Pretty sure that just made me throw up a bit, and that’s not even with the help of the food poisoning.”
Sebastian just shakes his head, “Okay c’mon now, Charles will be annoyed with how slow we’re walking.”
Later that night, the three of you watched a cheesy romcom while sharing a shit load of fries and chicken nuggets. As you carried on through the night you thought to yourself that despite the hardships of F1, the crashing, the disappointments, the injuries– it brought you a second family you never thought you’d have. And you wouldn’t trade it for any other universe.
Although, maybe a universe where you didn’t get food poisoning.
#sebastian vettel#charles leclerc#sebastian vettel x reader#sebastian vettel x you#sebastian vettel imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc imagine#formula one#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#f1 fanfic#formula 1 x you#f1 imagine
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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏
✧.* CHAPTER 48 || The Drama (part 3)
[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?
[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, semi-angst, & heated tension.
[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5k
[ { A/N } ] ➤ Prepare to drop your jaw a few times and possibly take a TikTok break or two ^.^
[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.
[ [ chapters mlist } ]
——YOUR EYES LOCK WITH Geto’s and his eyebrows immediately rise, the two of you equally surprised to see each other.
Please pretend not to know me, please pretend not to-, “Heyy Gorgeous, what’re you doing here?” Geto greets you, completely forgetting about Yuki who he initially came to meet.
Dammit Suguru, you had one job. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you sigh heavily, “Uh, Hi Suguru…”
Of course, alarms are going off in Choso’s head from the moment he heard a guy’s voice refer to you as gorgeous, quickly turning his head to see just who the fuck you were talking to. He disliked how quickly he got jealous but he couldn’t help himself sometimes, especially when he recognized the face of the man who’d approached the table.
Geto sends a smile to Yuki before taking a seat beside her and across from you. Your heart rate is all over the damn place. How the fuck are you gonna get out of this situation?
Wait no, calm down, Geto wouldn’t say anything crazy right…?
Yuki smacks Geto’s arm playfully as soon as he sits down, “Took ya’ long enough, I was here for like an hour waiting on you!”
Geto rolls his eyes, “You’ll live.”
“Tch,” Yuki scoffs before placing a hand on his shoulder and looking at you, “Well, I would introduce you two but it seems you guys already know each other.”
“Uh,” You’re sweating and you don’t miss how Choso’s staring at the side of your face, “Yeah, we know each other.”
Geto leans back into his seat, comforting himself as he parts his legs and locks eyes with you, “Oh we definitely know each other.”
You grit your teeth. This is going to go so horribly…
Yuki, oblivious to it all, then looks at Choso, “And what about you, Cho? You know this guy too?”
Choso looks at Geto and Geto looks at Choso.
There’s some kinda tension you sense, “Yeah,” Choso scoffs, “I know his shitty ass brother.”
Your brows furrow and you look at Geto, “You didn’t tell me you had a brother.”
Geto chuckles at Choso, “Yours isn’t any better than mine,” He says before returning his sights to you, “And I didn’t tell you because he’s annoying and there was never any reason for me to bring him up.” He explains with a shrug.
You pout, “Still would’ve been nice to know…”
“He’s a weirdo, you wouldn’t like him anyways,” Geto claims.
Choso’s looking at you again, a million thoughts running through his head as you oh so casually talk to Geto. He studies your body language, watching how you sit back and fold your arms under your chest, still pouting.
Do you even realize how you look in the eyes of others? Are you actually aware of how flirtatious your movements come off as? Choso dislikes how blind to your own actions you seem.
Yuki clears her throat, “Anyways guys,” She begins, “Now I’m really curious! Geto, how do you two know each other?” She questions you and the raven-haired man across from you.
Again, the two of you meet eyes and you send him a look. Does he catch this look? Yes and no. Yes, he can tell something’s off but no, that doesn’t stop what comes out of his mouth.
“Hmmm,” He hums in thought before leaning forward to rest his chin in his palm as he refuses to break eye contact with you, “Should I tell our story or should you?” Geto purrs in that pretty tone of his, smiling tauntingly at you.
You hate the way it flusters you too as memory after memory after memory floods your brain, “I mean, t-there’s not much of a story to tell, is there?”
The male tilts his head, completely ignoring the death stare he’s receiving from Choso as his eyes remain on you, “We met through…” He pauses, carefully picking his words, “A friend,” Geto explains.
You nod, your nerves dying down just a little bit, “Right, and then uhm…”
“Then we got close,” Geto continues for you before turning to Yuki, “And became really good friends.”
The sigh of relief you let out doesn’t fail to catch Choso’s ears— he could tell there was more to this story. There was obviously so much sexual tension just oozing from Geto’s eyes every time he looked at you and Choso wasn’t exactly going to let that slip past him.
“Really good friends, huh?” Choso echos.
Your heart jumps and you turn to the man, “Yeah…”
Geto moves his gaze over to Choso and smirks, “Yeah, really good friends.”
The snarky attitude coming from Geto did nothing more than piss Choso off, “That’s it? Just friends?”
The male across from you moves to fold his arms over the table and leans forward a bit, his brows knitting together and a cocky smile spreading across his overly handsome features.
“Just friends…” He repeats, his eyes unwavering as he maintains the visual hold with Choso.
You sigh but your next breath is caught in your throat within seconds.
“…Who fucked from time to time,” Geto added on.
Silence floods the table.
Your face goes hot and your heart sinks past your toes and to hell with how nervous you become. A vein pops out in Choso’s forehead, Yuki’s eyes are wide and she’s got an amused smile on her face, and Geto’s sitting there with a smug expression as he continues to stare Choso down.
“Holy fuck!” Yuki bursts out laughing, breaking the tension completely. She began to wheeze and hit Geto’s arm a few times along with the table because of how hard she was laughing.
She’s cackling and choking on her own laughter before she eventually settles down and looks at you, “So you really do have a type!” She breathes.
Your face is burning in embarrassment, shame, and guilt. “I…”
“Dark-haired depressed-looking men, huh?” Yuki recalls, looking back and forth between Choso and Geto, “Oh this is too good.”
Choso glares for a moment longer before he clicks his tongue, sits back in his seat, and nods. He’s ticked off but, in courtesy of you and knowing he’s not your boyfriend, he tries his best to simmer the emotion.
Well, that was until he looks at you, “Friends who fucked? Seriously?”
You look at him, shame flooding your eyes, “I, uh… I-“
“Is he…” Choso’s eyes narrow and he gives you a look.
You’re unsure of what his look meant but Geto interrupted the moment by speaking yet again, “Is there a problem?”
Choso just barely looks at the guy, “If there was it would’ve been solved by now. Calm yourself.” He voices out in a nonchalant tone.
Geto scoffs, “Oh trust me, I’m calm. Are you?” He questions in return as he quirks a testing brow.
Choso sizes him up and down and then nods, “Yeah.”
You hate yourself for thinking it but the two were kinda hot going back and forth like that.
Yuki is barely holding in her laughter, “Okay so wait-,” She snickers, “Lemme’ get this whole thing straight….” Pointing at Choso, she smiles and looks at you, “He likes you,” She says, moving to point at Geto, “And you’ve fucked him?”
“W-Well, I’ve fucked both of them before, actually,” You correct timidly.
“Slut,” Geto mumbles under his breath playfully. He didn’t mean it in a mean way, of course, he knows the truth behind your situation to some extent.
You look at him, “Pervert.”
“Ha!” Yuki huffs, “Damn, how do I get myself involved in this love triangle?”
Choso drags his gaze over toward the blonde, “You don’t because there is no love triangle.” He explains. Then, Choso moves to toss an arm over your shoulder and pulls you to him, “Whatever they had goin’ on is dead,” He claims.
Your brows furrow and you look at Choso as your body is held against his, “Cho-“
He looks at you, “Is it not?”
You swallow your words down, “Y-Yeah, it is but-“
“Ohhh, I get it now,” Geto chimes in, “Thisss is why you stopped hooking up with me.” He points out, “I thought Satoru told you to stop or something-“
“Suguru, please.” You utter through gritted teeth as you look at him with begging eyes.
He raises a brow and his face twists up in confusion, “Please what? I just never knew why you stopped calling me to have sex.” Geto shrugs, “Didn’t know you went and found yourself a new fucktoy-“
A vein pops out along Choso’s jawline and he’s trying so very hard not to snap, “Say somethin’ else.” He challenges the male sitting across from you suddenly.
Geto’s eyes flick over to Choso in an instant and he tilts his head, “Fuck are you gonna’ do? I haven’t said anything wrong, have I? Calm yourself.”
Choso scoffs, “I am calm.”
“You look like you’re about to pop a blood vessel over there,” Geto points out, chuckling a bit, “And I don’t get why either? Are you two dating?”
Choso’s starting to hate that question more and more because the answer is still ‘no’ no matter what he says or does. Therefore making his anger seem dramatic and unprovoked.
You decide to answer, “Not yet.”
That’s when it clicks for Geto that he may have crossed a line or two, “Oh? Well, sorry if I offended your soon-to-be boyfriend,” He says with a huff, finding the whole thing entertaining if anything.
Choso rolls his eyes and turns his head to the side. He wants to leave so desperately. He hates Geto, hates Yuki at the moment, and he doesn’t know what he’s feeling toward you.
“I-It’s fine,” You murmur, mustering up your confidence again, “After all, Yuki and Choso used to fuck so I don’t exactly see a problem here…”
Choso’s eyes go wide and he turns his head to you, “Well Yuki didn’t just go blurting it out and she also doesn’t look at me like she wants to rip me out of my clothes.”
You look at him with your brows pinched together, “Why’re you saying this to me like I told Suguru to go and blurt everything out.”
“Cause’ maybe if you told me about this before it’d be less awkward.” Choso fires back. For the first time ever, he’s irritated with you.
“I did.” You huff out, “We had this conversation months ago.”
Yuki and Geto are watching the two of you go back and forth— Yuki snickering and Geto acting as though he were watching some kinda TV show as he carefully eats one of the forgotten cookies on the table.
“Did we?” Choso questions, cocking an eyebrow.
“The same time you told me about Yuki, I told you about Suguru.” You recall the memory like it was yesterday, “I just never said his name.”
“Yeah,” Choso scoffs and rolls his eyes, “I wonder why.”
Your face twists up in annoyance, “Didn’t seem necessary.”
“How’s it seem now?” Choso asks.
You fall quiet and so does he, both of you simply glaring at one another. His arm is still around your shoulder and both of you are upset with each other for the first time.
You dislike how he’s acting about this as if you didn’t tell him there were people you slept with before you started talking to him and Choso can’t stand the fact that one of your old flames is at the table openly flirting with you.
“Damn,” Geto purrs, “You guys are in love, aren’t you?”
Both of you snap out of your challenging stares and turn to look at Geto in sync.
He nudges Yuki’s arm, “Look at ‘em arguing like a true couple. Kinda’ cute, no?” He teases. Deep down, Geto was studying the two of you more than he let on.
Yuki nods in agreement, “Hell yeah, even just now I couldn’t tell if they were about to rip each other apart or if they were about to start making out.”
Is that really how the two of you just seemed to others? Are the feelings you both hold of one another that obvious?
“Hah, y’know what…” Choso breathes, turning his attention to you once more, “Is there anyone else I need to know about?”
You freeze up. Every inch of your body just tenses and since Choso’s arm is still over your shoulder, he notices.
“There is, isn’t there?” He hums.
You glance at Yuki and Geto for a split second before meeting Choso’s questioning gaze, “Can we talk about this some other time and not in front of others?”
The male stares at you for a moment, thinking hard about what you just said before nodding, “Fine…”
“Yup,” Geto chimes in, “You two are adorable.” You both look at the man in sync for a second time and he laughs, genuinely admiring your dynamic, “See? Even your movements are synchronized.”
“Anyway,” Yuki cuts in, “Before this gets too drama-induced, let’s change the subject a bit, yeah?”
All four of you collectively agree upon that seeing as it’d only been a few minutes and things were already going to shit.
Yuki focuses those pretty brown eyes of hers on you, “Though, I did want to ask, you seriously didn’t know Geto had a brother? Thought’ everyone knew that…”
You shrug, “I never really know much outside of what I’m told.”
“Uhuh…” She nods, slowly turning to the man beside her and giving him a nudge with her elbow, “And you didn’t tell her about Kenjaku because…?”
“I already said why.” Geto states simply, “He’s weird and no one likes him.” Then, he makes brief eye contact with Choso, “Well, I guess not no one apparently..”
Choso raises a brow, “Hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Geto tips his head to the side, “You hang out with him, no?”
“He hangs out with me.” Choso clarifies in a way that makes him seem like he’s not too fond of the man they’re talking about.
“Same difference, pigtails.” Geto spits back.
You kick Geto’s leg beneath the table and he winces before looking at you, quickly met with a look of warning. To which, he rolls his eyes.
Meanwhile, you’re also wondering how you haven’t crossed paths with the brother these three seem to be talking about… Or, any of Choso’s friends for that matter.
“Enough about my brother though,” Geto’s leaning back into his seat and he huffs out a sigh, “Heard’ yours almost got arrested last week.”
Your brows furrow and you decide to play innocent for only a moment, “What?”
Yuki starts nodding, “Yeah, I think he tried to kill someone this time-“
“Can we stop talking about him.” Choso requests. However, his words come off as a statement instead of a question.
You look at Choso, “Cho, what’re they talking about?”
The hairs on his body begin to stand up and he feels goosebumps surfacing. Choso keeps his head straight ahead, his eyes down at the table as he realizes he’s never told you about Sukuna.
Of course, you already know about the guy but from Choso’s perspective, you’re completely lost.
“Uhm.” Choso swallows, “I-“
“Wait,” Yuki cuts off, “You didn’t even tell her about your older brother?!” She questions loudly, tilting her head in a disappointed manner.
Choso feels himself shrinking in his seat, “You know why and that demon of a person is not my brother.”
You turn to Choso. If not for the list, you actually wouldn’t have known anything about Sukuna so, for some reason, it kinda upsets you as you think about how he didn’t open up to you about that man at all. And it’s even worse that everyone else seems to know except for you…
“Older brother?” You ask, tilting your head at Choso.
He avoids eye contact with you, “Don’t worry about it.”
Yuki scoffs, “Holy shit, your type is becoming scary consistent here. I mean, two dark-haired depressed lookin’ men who both never bothered to open up to ya’ about their family?” She points out to you.
You play off her words, “Yeah and I’d like to know why. You’ve told me about all your other brothers but failed to mention an older one.”
“He’s not my brother,” Choso repeats, almost as though he refuses to say anything else.
You narrow your eyes at him. Why is he lying about it and denying his relation to Sukuna? “You’re clearly lying and I don’t understand..”
“Just drop it, princess.” Choso sighs, softening his tone with you so that he doesn’t reveal how irritated he’s becoming.
You scoff, “You could at least tell me why you haven’t mentioned him before?”
“And you could at least drop the fuckin’ subject,” Choso curses, his eyes meeting yours.
Unlike earlier when you two bickered, it was getting a bit more serious. Something about the topic of Sukuna irked Choso to no end and whatever it is about their relationship, he didn’t want to share with you.
Naturally, knowing you already have one guy who keeps shit from you, you do not want to deal with another. Plus, this is the last thing you expected from Choso, he usually tells you everything so…
“What’s the big deal?” You ask, your face contorting into something both confused and concerned, “If you have an older brother, I feel like I should know who it is.”
“Right, and I feel like I should know all the guys you’ve fucked but it seems like not everyone gets what they want,” He fires back.
Oh something’s clearly off with Choso because in any other situation, he’d never say such a thing like that to you. Hell, even as the words left his lips, he regretted it but he wasn’t going to apologize just yet— he was too aggravated to do so.
And you, being the woman you are who doesn’t exactly take shit like this from anyone, you allow your tongue to slip just as he did, “Ever consider the possibility that he could be one of them and that’s why I want to know who he is?”
Geto lets out a whistle in complete shock, Yuki’s eyes are as wide as ever and her jaw is dropped, while Choso…
His arm comes off you and he instantly shoots up to his feet, taking a step backward and out of the booth with a face that almost seems as though he’s repulsed by what just came out of your mouth.
“The fuck did you just say?!” Choso shouts, anger taking over his expression at the suggestion of what you just told him.
His brows are tightly knit together, his fists have balled up, and his glare is so damn intense that for a moment, and only a moment, you not only felt fear but also as though you were shrinking under his gaze.
Even so, you still won’t allow Choso to yell at you the way he just did, “First off, calm the hell down, I didn’t say I fucked him, I said it’s a possibility.”
“How? How the hell is that even a possibility?!” He yells again.
“Because I’ve slept around before Choso. I’m not saying I had sex with the guy yesterday, I’m saying that at one point I was a freshman in college and explored myself the same way most people do!” You huff out to him, “So how about you sit the hell down and talk to me like you have some fuckin’ sense?”
He tilts his head at you and his eyes narrow. Choso opens his mouth but then he quickly shuts it. Even through his anger, he could only look at you like this for so long before the sight of your equally upset expression got to him.
His glare lasts for a second longer and Yuki leans toward the table to whisper, “Guys, you’re kinda’ causing a scene here…”
Choso looks around the cafe to see the few other people there looking over at the booth. To which, he only gets even more aggravated, “Fuck are you all staring at?” He spat.
Most of them pretended as though they hadn’t been just staring and returned to whatever they were doing. Meanwhile, you reach a hand over and grab Choso’s wrist before pulling him back into his seat.
For someone who you earlier couldn’t move against, he seemed to be moved by your tug rather easily and was quickly sat back down. He then goes as far as smacking your hand away from him in a way that says he didn’t want you touching him.
And that… that right there was what really did it for you, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, Choso, but I swear you have ten seconds to start explaining shit to me or I’m leaving.” You want him, your tone cold.
Choso scoffs and inches his face toward yours, “I fuckin’ dare you,” He challenges, “Leave me. Go ahead. All you’ll be leaving me for is some asshole who’s treated you like shit.”
Oh his words were so true that they were starting to sting. It was starting to get bad and both of you were on the verge of blowing up on the other.
“Excuse me?” You utter in disbelief.
“Did I stutter? You said there was someone else right? And whoever he is he’s an asshole right?” Choso recalls, “So if you wanna leave then do it. Leave.”
You grit your teeth, “I don’t understand why you’re being like this right now when all you have to do is tell me about your-“
“I’m not obligated to tell you shit about my family,” He cuts off, scoffing afterward, “Cause’ uh, I’m not sure if you forgot but you're not my girlfriend, remember?”
You nod and that agitated smile begins to spread across your face, “Right, and I sure as hell won’t ever be if you don’t explain yourself to me.”
Choso hesitates at the sound of that. You had him there completely. No longer could Choso keep it from you, especially not when the prospect of being your boyfriend was on the line.
Damnit, “My ‘older brother’s’ name is Sukuna,” He finally tells you, tipping his head to the side, “There? Happy now?”
“No, actually.” You murmur.
Choso grows confused, “And why’s that? What is it now-“
“Cause’ I've had sex with him.” You blurt out.
Okay. It may be confusing as to why you just told him that. You could have lied. Hell, maybe you should’ve lied. But, given the situation, it was in your best interest to put the information out there from now.
When else would you get such an opportunity to do so? And if you later tell him, he’d only be more hurt if you didn’t tell him sooner.
“You what?” Choso breathes. His heart dropped. Anger hadn’t quite struck him yet because he wasn’t sure he heard correctly just now.
“I said I’ve had sex with him-“
Choso shoots to his feet again. His hands go up to his hair and he pushes some of the stray strands back a bit, trying to process what he just heard. “You… Y-You slept with…” His breathing grows erratic and his eyes just barely meet yours, “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not,” You say, your voice small. You could only hold this in for so long. You’d need to get this out eventually, “I-“
“You slept with that piece of shit?!” Choso yells again, almost like he can’t believe his own ears.
Geto tries to defuse the situation, “Hey, quit yellin’, we’ll get kicked out-“
“Don’t fuckin’ talk to me,” Choso fires his way before settling his anger back to you, “A-And you, you had sex with… You… Sukuna? Itadori Sukuna? The one with the face tats and pink hair? O-Of all f-fuckin’ people…” He stammers out.
“I didn’t know he was your brother,” You lie, “A-And again, it’s not like I did this yesterday-“
“None of that matters,” Choso heaves out, “T-That’s not the point. Do you have any idea who the hell you had sex with? Forget that he’s related to me, I don’t give a shit about that part, it’s the person he is and the shit he’s done t-that just makes me so… s-so fuckin’ angry that you’d ever even...”
His words fall off his tongue and he visibly grows disgusted. Though, you weren’t sure if that was directed toward you.
“Okay, wait.” You breathe out, moving to stand up just as he has, “If you’re not upset because I slept with him and he’s your brother then… what is it?”
“You seriously don’t know?” Choso asks blankly, confused how you could be so out of the loop.
You blink, “Obviously not?” Your reaction held nothing but the truth because, honestly, you never knew why people kept calling Sukuna an asshole when he was rather sweet to you-
“So you mean to tell me you’ve never heard anything about Sukuna before sleeping with him?” Choso questions.
You shake your head, “No. A-And from what I experienced he wasn’t a bad guy like he keeps being painted as-“
“Not a bad guy?!” Choso shouts, “Are you fuckin’ dense?”
You grow frustrated that he’s yelling at you in such a way. Sure he technically isn’t in the wrong here but if he’s coming from the perspective that you knew nothing and he never told you, he’s wrong for his reaction.
Had it not been for the list and you were truly confused, which you still somewhat are, Choso would still be wrong for being so angered like this as if you knew any better.
And sure, it was manipulative of you to pretend not to know but you needed to get the important parts of the truth out there and you needed to know why the hell Choso never opened up to you about this before.
“Dense?” You scoff, “No, I’m not fuckin’ dense, Choso. I’m confused. For someone who just loves their brothers, you not only failed to ever tell me about this one but also seemed to forget that I only know so much about the guy. I didn’t date him, I fucked him, that’s two different things-“
“So?” He scoffs, “How do you even sleep with someone like him? I can’t believe you.”
“Choso, what part of I don’t know what kinda’ guy he really is, do you not understand?” You exclaim, “Maybe if you just tell me what he’s done I can understand.”
Choso nods and then clicks his tongue, glancing off to the side for a moment before moving to take a step toward you, “Tell you what he’s done, yeah? You wanna’ know why no one fuckin’ likes him? Wanna’ know why people fear him? Hm?”
“I want to know something-“
“He’s a criminal,” Choso tells you, his voice low as he nears you, “But that’s just the tip of the damn iceberg, princess.”
You swallow hard and Choso steps even closer, “O-Okay, there are plenty of criminals out there, not to defend him of course but I don’t see how that-“
“He’s hit women before,” He explains further as he gets closer to you.
“Bullshit,” You spit. Why did you say it like that? Was there some secret attachment or need to defend Sukuna inside you that you were unaware of?
“Bullshit?” Choso’s right in front of you at this point, “Baby, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“I-“
“And you wanna know what else?” Choso whispers, leaning down to you, “Wanna know what makes him all the more insufferable?”
You swallow carefully, “W-What is it?”
“Well,” Choso tips his head to the side, “Imagine you had a younger stepbrother who you love more than anything in the world, with that younger brother comes an older asshole who not only bullies everyone he knows but also lays his hands on people…”
“Choso, a-are you saying he-“
“Yes.” He cuts off, “Sukuna doesn’t just fight random people, no. His favorite person to beat up on and fucking abuse is his twelve-year-old little brother.”
That’s when it all hits you. You now understand Choso’s hate for Sukuna.
“So, yeah, that’s the guy you fucked,” Choso says finally before straightening himself up, “Not just my older step-brother but also an abusive piece of shit.”
“Choso, I-“
“Nah,” He scoffs, “Save it. If that’s the kinda’ guys you’re into…” Choso simply trails off, he doesn’t even know what to say so he just shrugs, “I dunno’ baby, just… fuck, leave me out of it.”
He doesn’t mean that, does he?
You wish. You wish he didn’t mean that but as you stand there with wide confused eyes, Choso backs away before turning and just leaving.
The cafe is quiet and you didn’t even know what to do at first.
That was until, Geto leans forward against the table and whispers to you, “Go after him, idiot.”
You whip your head around to the man, “Y-You’re the one who brought this all up, y’know…” You say with a trembling voice.
Your emotions are all over the damn place, from regret to sorrow to annoyance to confusion and then even to just plain sadness.
“Yeah, yeah, I know but the longer you stand there crying, the further he gets and the less time you have to explain yourself.” Geto points out in that soothing tone of his.
Water only wells up further in your eyes and you wish you never told Choso about what you did with Sukuna, “Suguru I c-can’t explain anything to him-“
“Yes you can,” He hums, and based on the look in his eyes, you finally get it.
Geto was acting as though this was all planned out…
“You…” Your eyes narrow, “You did all that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“He’s getting further awayyy,” Geto hums sweetly.
Damnit, you wish you could’ve stayed longer to dissect why the hell he just did all that but, your body moves on its own and you sigh and turn to run after Choso.
“You’ll thank me later!” Geto yells out to you finally.
Would you?
Would you really thank him later?
Or, was this about to be the end of your relationship with Choso?
GOJO SATORU ✔︎
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮
GETO SUGURU ✔︎
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮
TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢
KAMO CHOSO ✔︎
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮
ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮
ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???
NANAMI KENTO ✔︎
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙
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@blognicole @suguruologist @luqueam @ivoryviness @sinaxalui @rxnnie18 @carlacujo @gods-landing @bitchysouljellyfish @miles4hour @sinaxalui @annananamin @heart-snow @kiyomizzx @hanuh @acehyacinth @mccookiemonster @tojis-ball-sack @cartwheel6869 @mariluvsusstuff @addie1010 @slammynics @actualz0mbie @hisbitchhh @kay-xle @cunttee3 @voids-universe @raininglovelyfire @itsbokutosjuicyass @peaceoutbritta @barbielani @gennaray @r3inae @kfmcykdy @camiihutt @tokina @curtin81937 @hopefullydecent @nameless-shade @ureuphoriasworld @forgetfulmachine @legbouk @lilliaannn @clementineee0-0 @divinelseraph @didibxx
#the f*ck list#the fuck list#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo x reader#choso x reader#toji x reader#nanami x reader#sukuna x reader#naoya x reader#geto x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#nanami kento x reader#choso kamo x reader#kamiverse#kamiversee#smut fic#jjk smut#gojo smut#geto smut#choso smut#toji smut
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kinktober day two
titfucking seungmin x fem!reader
summary: seungmin's biggest pet peeve is when you forget plans
warnings: warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, 18+, degradation, humiliation, manhandling, use of color system
0.9k words
“seungmin, i’m sorry! i didn’t mean-”
“ground,” he commands. you comply, not wanting to piss him off more than he already is.
“i’ll make it up to you! i promise! whatever you want-” tears are streaming down your face and your grabbing at his legs, begging him to forgive you.
he grabs your chin in one of his big hands to cut you off. “i want you to shut the fuck up. since you want to act like such a slut, i’ll fucking treat you like one.” he forcefully releases his grip on your face, in a throw-like motion. “take your shirt off to match your fucking cunt.”
you quickly take your shirt off and throw it god knows where. you sit on your knees, hands in your lap, waiting for seungmin to make his next move. you had forgotten that seungmin said he would come over after his schedule today and he caught you playing with yourself. he had previously said that this event would probably stress him out so he wanted to come to your apartment and make love to you before falling asleep.
“i’m already fucking exhausted from today,” he says, walking over to your nightstand and opening one of your drawers. “and i expected to come home to my beautiful lover that i could make sweet, romantic love to. but no.” he turns around, a small bottle of lube in one hand and he’s unbuckling his belt with the other. “i came home to a slut, who couldn’t even wait for me to come home to make her feel good.”
he grabs you by the chin again and lowers himself to eye level with you. “i was going to be so sweet and gentle with you today, i was thinking about it the whole way home. but now i don’t think you deserve it.”
you gulp, too scared to respond, seungmin picks up on this. normally you would have a snarky remark or would continue to beg for forgiveness, but today you’re too disappointed in yourself to do so.
“color?” seungmin whispers, lightening the grip on your jaw.
“g-green,” you whisper back, lowering your head.
“good,” he says, as he stands up fully.
“c-can i say one thing?” you ask meekly.
“yes,” he answers, standing above you looking down at your solemn figure.
“i’m very sorry, i-i had mixed up what days y-you said y-you’d be o-over and i,uh, thought it was ‘morrow.”
“shouldn’t be so forgetful,” he laughs, pulling his belt off and throwing it onto your bed.
“i know. you can do whatever you need to me tonight and i’ll make it up to you in the morning.”
“i intend to,” he spits. he pulls his slacks down just enough for his hard cock to spring free, the sight makes your mouth water. “sit up,” he commands.
you do as he asks and sit up on your knees, you’re face to face with his stomach and you look up to him. he looks so handsome like this, telling you want to do and holding this power above you.
“push ‘em together,” he says, removing the cap from the bottle of lube. he doesn’t have to explicitly say it, you know exactly what he’s talking about.
you knew that seungmin was a tit guy, the way he always groped at them or stared at them no matter what you were doing. a couple months ago, you were having a similar scene but you were allowing him to face fuck you. he stopped suddenly and asked if it would be okay to use your tits to get off. ever since then he had become addicted to it and would do it any time you misbehaved.
you pushed your breasts together and he prepared his cock and placed it between your tits.
“good?” he asks. everytime he checks in, it makes your heart swell. you nod in response.
he slowly begins to move back and forth between your soft breasts. “fuck,” he groans.
you nod. you feel yourself dripping all over your hardwood floors and you adjust yourself to close your legs and stop any further leaking.
“sitting nice and still while i use you is the least you could do right now.” he says through gritted teeth.
you try to move again but seungmin grabs you by the jaw and pulls you to look at him.
“why the fuck are you moving?” seungmin yells.
“d-don’t want to make a mess on my floor,” you whisper.
“speak up slut. you were so loud earlier begging for my forgiveness. where is that now?” he taunts, tightening his grip on your jaw.
“i’m making a mess on my floor, d-don’t want to leave a puddle.”
“oh my god,” seungmin erupts into laughter. “you are such a fucking slut aren’t you? i can just use your tits for my own pleasure and it has you gushing all over the place, hmm?”
your face turns red and tears threaten to spill over.
“gonna cry, hmm? save it.” seungmin grabs both of your shoulders and begins to fuck your tits faster.
“push ‘em together further, slut.”
you push your breasts together as hard as you can and seungmin moans loudly in response.
“gonna come all fucking over you,” he spits before releasing his load. he paints your breasts, neck, and jaw white and you sigh in relief. he takes one of his fingers and slides it over a pile of is cum and holds it to your mouth,
“suck,” he commands and you eagerly take his fingers into your mouth.
once you wipe them clean, he ponders for a moment. “push ‘em back together,” he says, stroking his cock back to its full length. “i’m not finished yet.”
seungmin simps please rise !!
taglist:
@rockstrhanji @hyunjinhoexxx @mixtape-racha @euphoric-univers @haruharu-egypt @shit-why-what @twiggoblin @kookiesbunny @virgohannie @nataliee10 @ihrtlix @aaasia111 @lolli4me @lilcutieana @changbinsrightboob @hanjisunglover @chansducky10 @elissasimp a @boi-bi-ahaha @lilquokka04 @anglerfishiey @sirenscall1031 @might-be-a-rat @jihyun2monster @kpflyn @samsmitty @imwithurmother @meilix @summer3sworld @mysweethannie @kittykattime @linoots @yaorzu-blog @sofiaeli
@alemi-i @cupidsmoons @yoongles2025 @vixensss @chlooooop @lemontried @idkluvutellme @superiorbrownskinn @ana-stasssiaaa @amayaaseees c @ilikecatsanddoritos @alnex05 @esairevmp @greysweaters-blog @sanzusfavgf @jutannies @faraonatojishady @hanniemylovelyquokka @chloeskzboomboom @quinnluvsmoney @burningupp-replies @aisha-md @jo-dinner @jeannie-beannie @httpsimmy @hazneezs @cuffier
@dvbkie099 @il0v3skz @chrishak@quokkaaah @bex90997 @sheeshhhhfelixsworld @leeknowyah @tumadreposts @hyunniebunni @cipher-ipher z @alice630 @jinnies-princess @bangtancultsposts @evrythinghqppened @rebellescauses-blog @juicypebbless @fawnpeaks @the-life-of-stella @lakoya @compersian @seung-mine
#linopls: seungmin#linopls kinktober 23#kinktober#skz kinktober#stray kids kinktober#kinktober 2023#linopls#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids imagine#skz imagine#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#seungmin smut#seungmin x reader#seungmin imagine
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L ─ Lingerie. Do they enjoy wearing it and/or seeing their partner in lingerie ? What kind of lingerie do they find the sexiest ? Any other clothing they love seeing their partner in ( like grey sweater pants, wearing nothing but an apron, really short shorts, etc… ) ? Do they often wear what the other likes, just to please them ? / StevenTess, AdellElvis, PerciDjeeta, CassBea
｡:*• ─ SEXY ABC. › -- Not Accepting -- @pseudomonarkaerenea / @ardensfides
L ─ Lingerie. Do they enjoy wearing it and/or seeing their partner in lingerie ? What kind of lingerie do they find the sexiest ? Any other clothing they love seeing their partner in ( like grey sweater pants, wearing nothing but an apron, really short shorts, etc… ) ? Do they often wear what the other likes, just to please them ?
StevenTess: Steven adores seeing Tessa in lingerie. He's gotten her some expensive collections for her as gifts. Or he noticed how a particular style looked on her (with some nudging from Wallace). for what kind - he doesn't care. All that Tessa puts on is a feast for the eyes. Steven loves seeing her in his clothes, even if it's just his jacket.
AdellElvis: Adelle doesn't own many, but the few that she does she keeps for special occasions. Whether that's to surprise Elvis or tease him, she may never say. Her favorite would either have to be a bra and panty set, or a bodysuit with an open back. She miiight have a virgin killer sweater too. For what she likes seeing Elvis in, she has no preference.
PerciDjeeta: Djeeta's the worst out of all of these ships. She enjoys it, sometimes to bed when she's able to spend the night with Percival. She opts for more intimate and easily coverable styles, just in case there's a battle and she has to throw on her armor. Though in truth she never spends a lot on them. She'll wear them both to please him and to tease him. Truthfully, Djeeta can't decide what she likes seeing him in. He looks good IN anything!
CassBea: Beatrix quietly perishes each time she wears one around Cassius. While he's still getting used to life in the skies, she has to take things slow. There was a time she wore one and killed the mood since it made no "logical sense why a woman would wear something so thin around another person" (in her words). Bea opts for a bra and garter belt set, or will put on a babydoll piece. For what she likes seeing Cassius in, she likes seeing him in shorts and no shirt.
Beatrix to Zeta: I didn't know he was that ripped and--!
Zeta: Bea, shhh!
#pseudomonarkaerenea#ardensfides#NSFWish//#.∘Question#🪨; I'll go walkin' in the twilight countin' down to midnight / Close my eyes and wait for her to shine ( steven & tessa )#⚜; The silence that only heard each other's breath / All the stars of the world are inside you ( djeeta & percival )#ʚɞ; I've always felt this warmth from you no one gives affection like you / You make me invincible when here by my side ( adelle & elvis )#⍚; I tell you again & again forgetting all the words I had prepared / Before this moment I’ll always be by your side ( cassius & beatrix )
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