Tumgik
#(or tall women through jokes about them stepping on you)
genderkoolaid · 1 year
Text
This article talks a lot about men & height dysphoria, and the general culture around short men being mocked or otherwise viewed as lesser than taller men. It focuses entirely on cis men but obviously its very relevant to trans men.
In popular culture, Alex added, short men can wind up being a punchline for jokes. “Body shaming is wrong, but there’s like a little asterisk of like, ‘unless you’re short,’” he said. “It seems like almost the one unchangeable trait that is just accepted as a societal punching bag.” Even references to “short kings” — a term used in modern dating for men of short stature who are confident and attractive but might otherwise be overlooked due to their height — seem mocking and backhanded, Alex said. Dr. David Frederick, an associate professor of psychology at Chapman University in Southern California, studies body image satisfaction. In a 2006 study, he found that whereas just 26% of shorter men were satisfied with their height, 87% of tall men were happy with their height. “When it’s such an intense, persistent feeling that it impacts your daily functioning in daily life, it becomes an issue,” he said. A study published last year examined the relationship between height and dating preferences among heterosexual people in the U.S., Canada, Cuba, and Norway. The results suggested that men preferred shorter women and women preferred taller men relative to both their own heights and the averages in their countries. Some research also suggests there are economic benefits to being tall. A 6-foot person was predicted to earn $166,000 more than a 5'5" person over a 30-year career, a 2004 study found. Writer Malcolm Gladwell polled half the companies on the Fortune 500 list about the height of their CEOs in 2005 and found that 58% were taller than 6 feet, even though just 14% of American men are that tall. A combination of factors likely explains the CEO trend, Frederick said: Taller stature is sometimes associated with dominance, but it's also indicative that someone grew up with "more resources and wealth." [...] But Alex added that he is wary of recommending the surgery to others, since that would imply that shorter men should change. Instead, he said, the societal pressures to be taller are the problem. “No one should feel the need to do this,” he said.
231 notes · View notes
uhohdad · 1 year
Text
Meine Perle
Octo!Konig x Reader Fic
Tumblr media
Summary: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig
“Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.” AO3
Inspired by this fanart by @numelu that I have not been able to stop thinking about since I laid my sinful little eyes on it.
Word Count: 25.7k
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, porn with plot, tentacles, restraints, bondage, orgasm torture, tentacle fucking, light anal, light spanking, dw he uses all of his tentacles, corked like you got the suds, dom!konig, hood stays on, choking, injury, holy trinity of fluff angst and smut, no use of y/n, story and smut kinda read like two different stories, that’s my bad, i’ve never seen the shape of water but i’m assuming this is the exact plot, reader gender is obscured but afab during the sex bits for sure, women in stem
Biowarefare has made incredible strides in the last few decades, unbeknownst to the public. Experimental creatures of nightmarish horrors engineered to inflict both psychological and physical damage to enemies live in the darker shadows of war. You’d been sworn to secrecy, but remain haunted by these creatures. You’d rather not get close to them - you were just a biologist. A consultant really, meant to answer questions about organic matter and DNA. You were to assist in the designing process, but this was not a part of the job description.
“It still needs to eat in the meantime,” Your supervisor had delivered around a cheeky smile, as if he was telling a joke. Your face, however, had not shown amusement.
“Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.”
With only two hours to prepare yourself before dinnertime, you weren’t able to accomplish much work. Nerves escape through bouncing legs and fidgeting fingers.
The fridge smelled putrid. A cesspool of meats and seafood, all untreated and unprocessed, some on the brink of expiration, others completely rotten. You try not to breathe as you remove the top of a crate of fish, your fingers surviving any splinters and unpleasant scents with the protection of thick rubber gloves. The mackerel are large, four to five pounds, you’d guess, just shorter than the length of your arm. You grab two, placing them in the large yellow bucket your supervisor reminded you about. Seawater and fish guts drip from your rubber gloves as you step through the empty sterile hallways.
The involuntary shake of your hands causes the handle of the bucket to rattle against the plastic as you step up to the creature’s holding cell. In front of the large metal door you take a moment to steady yourself with a few deep breaths, but the stench of dead mackerel does little to ease your nerves.
You reach to the lanyard around your neck that secured your badge, trembling fingers hesitant to place it against the reader. The usually stagnant red light flicks green, and a grating alarm sounds followed by the sturdy clunk of the lock. You’re forced to use both hands, setting the bucket down before you grip the heavy metal door. You’re lean your entire weight against it, teeth grit as your heels dig into the tile. Your foot holds the door in place as you reach for the bucket. Once in the containment unit, the big metal door slams closed behind you with a mechanical clunk. The alarm buzzes again, making you flinch, shifting hesitantly in your spot by the door as you take in the sight before you.
It’s huge, bigger than any man you’ve ever seen. It looked like a man. Seven feet tall, you think. Muscles engineered for the purpose of destroying, the purpose of killing. Its arms are bent at the elbows and positioned behind its head, restrained by ropes. The restraints looped thoroughly around massive biceps and forearms, secured to the walls on either of his sides. Another rope had suspended from a mount on the ceiling, securing his wrists in place.
Glowing eyes stare menacingly at you from under a hood that cover its face. The black hood spilled from under a tactical helmet and down his chest, hem brushing up against exposed collarbones.
Slick black tentacles protrude from underneath the hood that hangs over its face, each slithering and curling in their own direction.
Eight larger tentacles resembled that of an octopus. As thick as tree trunks at the bases and gradually thinning towards the ends, four on each side of his spine and spread from its back like wings. Each one moves independently, spread and primed as they writhe in the air.
Mesmerized by the creature before you, you find yourself frozen under its gaze. Taking in such a miraculous sight. Sure, you assist in the design, but you’ve never seen one in person before. Pondering its capabilities, knowing full well without the restraints in place you wouldn’t stand a chance against such a well engineered design. Wondering what horror the hood hides, something so awful it had to be covered. Or perhaps the creature was designed that way, the hood itself intended to further off put its victims.
When you finally break eye contact with it, your eyes find the floor. A red line of tape separates you from the creature, signifying its reach within the cell. Its got a large radius, you’re surprised by how much distance he’s capable of covering even while restrained in place.
You swallow hesitantly, taking a couple steps closer, still leaving a healthy distance between you and the glossy red tape.
“Fresh meat?” It asks, in a harsh and gravely voice that sends a chill up your spine. You weren’t sure if he had been referring to you or the fish.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you.” Your voice is broken and hesitant as you eye the tentacles writhing and twisting alluringly in the air.
You carefully get down on one knee and set the bucket on the ground, your hands shaking. With a calculated push you slide the bucket across the concrete floor and into the creature’s reach. The bucket slides over the boundary a few feet before it skids and tips over, rolling in a semi circle on its side as the fish spill out of the rim one after another.
The creature laughs, a loud and wicked laugh that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Your expression is seeped in worry as you stand, watching it eye the mess before it, cruel laugh still echoing in your ears.
“The new ones always forget the bucket.” It says, low and sinful with eyes half-lidded in menace. It coils a larger tentacle around the middle of the container and whips it back in your direction without warning.
You let out a yelp and dive to the floor, just barely missing the bucket that crashed into the cell door behind you. It bounces back, pieces of the plastic rim snapping off and scattering to the ground.
You scramble for the container, your other hand desperately clawing for your badge before slamming it against the receiver and exiting the cell in a panicked scramble.
The creature’s depraved laugh could be heard up until the door slammed shut behind you, the lock securing into place with the grating alarm. Your breaths are shallow, fishy rubber gloves pressed to your beating heart as you quickly distance yourself from the cell.
———————————————————
You had tried to convince your supervisor to give the task to someone else, anyone else, but to no avail.
“It’s your fault for forgetting the bucket!”
You mocked your supervisor’s inflection once out of earshot before burying your face into your palms with a groan.
You thought about putting in your two weeks. No! No two weeks. You’ll just leave and never look back.
You remember that the government doesn’t look very kindly upon disgruntled ex-employees holding classified information, and opt to run a hand through your hair with a huff instead.
You’ll be quick today, in and out, and then it’s done. Once a day for thirty seconds, until they find a replacement. That’s not so bad.
The second time was easier. You knew what to expect, and the spite against your supervisor, against the creature, only fueled your confidence. Features stone cold as you open the door, the grating alarm having stirred the creature. You step into the room assuredly, returning the creature’s harsh stare with one of your own.
You close more of the gap between you and the tape this time, holding the handle of the bucket with one hand and securing the bottom with your other. You wind it up behind you before using your arms to propel it forward with a huff, grip still steady on the bucket as the fish fly. The creature’s eyes follow the trajectory of the fish until they land at its feet. You had wasted no time turning on your heels and leaving, bucket still in hand.
“Someone learned their lesson.” You hear, and you grit your teeth as you let the door slam harshly behind you.
The creature left a lasting impression in your memory. Its taunts echo in your mind, and you can tell he was designed to get under the victim’s skin. To haunt them, inflicting emotional warfare in addition to physical, torturing them without even being in the same room as them.
You dreamt of it last night. You wondered if that was something that it had done to you. If he had the ability to inflict nightmares, or if he was just intimidating enough to let your subconscious run wild after only a few seconds of exposure.
In the dream, you had been caught in a sea of black tentacles, suffocating you as they wrapped around your mouth, robbing you of air while restraining your limbs from fighting back. The tentacles had wriggled until they transformed into the shape of the creature’s hood, glowing eyes staring tauntingly, but your dream had equipped him with a horrific mouth that laid over its hood, filled with sharp carnivorous teeth spread into a sickening smile. With his wicked laugh, blood spilled from the gaps of his endless rows of teeth.
You had woke up covered in sweat, gasping for air as you kicked free from the hold of your blankets.
The dream had stuck with you, the residual unease not allowing you to fall back asleep. You decided to start research on the creature although you weren’t instructed to - your way of controlling the fear of the unknown by making it known.
Detailed sketches and logs of your encounters with him quickly buried your work assignments. You were recording every detail from the number of visual abdominal muscles to his bluff behavior when encountering a threat, branching its tentacles out just like animals to in the wild do to appear bigger.
You couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on it during feedings. To gather data, you told yourself, to understand the creature’s physiology. You’re a biologist, after all. Research is the foundation of your beliefs.
You had been able to refrain from speaking with it, even if he was rather chatty. Arrogant, he loved to push your buttons.
You didn’t let him get to you, at least as far as he was concerned. You never let your irritation show when under his watchful gaze, but grit your teeth once you turned your back.
It’s about a week and a half into your new duty when he finally makes you falter.
“You’re starving me, you know.”
Your stride stills, not yet turning towards him as your hand grips your badge. You consider his words, shed of his usually cocky tone.
He could be lying, who knows what his true intentions actually are. On the other hand, you’ve only been feeding him what you’ve been tasked to.
You slowly turn towards him, your eyes squinted as you stare at him. You’re trying to deduce his weight, but it’s hard since you’re not used to estimating in terms of seven foot creatures with tentacles. He looks like he’s made of pure muscle, and those tentacles look heavy. 300 pounds? 400? You’re trying to decide if you should be feeding him in terms of his body weight percentage in regards to a human, an octopus, or a monster.
You should have kept walking, you think. He has your attention now, and not only that, you’ve revealed from hesitation alone that you possess a moral standard to uphold a basic level of decency for a prisoner of war. Now he knows you’re soft.
He can tell you’re trying to figure out if he’s deceiving you.
“If I had food to spare, I’d have used it as a weapon by now.” His low voice drips off arrogance again, and a tentacle reaches down to grab a mackerel, curling as he brings it to the appendages pouring from beneath his hood. You watch carefully as the fish disappears, and wonder if your dream was accurate about the mouth he hides under his hood.
You take a deep breath and turn from him, gripping your badge tighter and exiting the cell as you latch the door shut with a loud clunk.
The next time you’re in that awful fridge that reeks of postmortem and cheap seafood, you add two extra mackerel into the yellow bucket with the jagged broken edges.
When he counts the fish that land at his feet during your next feeding, his tone is still gruff, but softer, “Thank you.”
He leaves it without a witty remark. He caught you off guard again, shown by the slowing in your steps. You didn’t turn back to him this time, but you wanted to believe that he was genuinely appreciative of your kindness. Even if it was just enough not to make an attempt to get under your skin this time.
Your dreams have only become more vivid. You can hear the clunk of the lock on the heavy metal door, the alarm that blares identical to reality. You’ll be having a typical day at work, fully immersed in dry research and black tentacles will emerge from every entrance, every crevice. Holding you still and swallowing you up.
It’s getting difficult to differentiate the events in the dreams to those in real life. It takes hours to reorient yourself enough to fall back asleep.
Circles develop around your eyes from the lack of rest. Your productivity had come to a halt, your thoughts and research now surrounding the creature you feed.
He refrains from making comments at you, now that you’re feeding him enough. The next few visits he doesn’t say anything, the two of you sharing the silence. You’re not sure, but you think you have come to an understanding. You feed him a little extra, and in return he doesn’t say anything about the long stares. Not even a snide remark as you leave.
“What are you?” You finally ask during a feeding, curiously eyeing the tentacles delivering a fish to his obscured mouth.
He takes a moment to consider it, or maybe he takes a moment to swallow the mackerel.
“I am what I am, same as you.”
You look down, a little ashamed at your question. Maybe you have been too judgmental. He’s displayed his intelligence from the start, he’s obviously much more than just an it or a creature.
He was just a being who never asked to be created, same as you. His potential locked away in enemy care, his conscious trapped between these four walls, restricted from moving.
“I’m sorry.” You say, standing tall with your brows pinched and eyes looking up to meet his intimidating gaze.
“For what?” He asks after considering it for a moment, voice holding a slight edge.
“That you’re here.”
You pause before continuing, “That you were made for what you were made for. That you never got a chance to just be.”
His eyes watch you carefully, narrowing underneath his hood. A tentacle curls in your direction while your eyes are trained carefully on him, and you can’t help the shake of your hands as you get a closer look at his slick tentacle.
“I’m sorry you’re here too.” He says, and you’re not sure how to take it. You nod your head anyway, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“Me too.” Your voice is strained with remorse, as if you’re personally responsible for holding him hostage. “I’m not like them.” You say, desperate for him to believe you, “I’m just a biologist, I’m meant to answer questions about DNA and nature. I didn’t- it just got out of hand.”
He studies you carefully, his muscles tensing underneath his restraints. “But you help them.” He says, dangerously and definitive.
“No! I- well, yes.” You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you did, “This is just a job.”
You look back to him. Could you even say it’s just a job anymore? When you’re assisting and encouraging the creation of beings like him? Forced into this world without regard of their wants, made for a purpose to kill and destroy and equipped with consciousness, without given the chance to discover themselves. Destined to a fate of being slain, captured, terrorized, experimented on, or worse.
You close your eyes again, “No, I didn’t mean-“ Your moral compass is spinning now, and you don’t feel capable enough to articulate your feelings on the matter. So instead you just look at him, eyes begging for him to give you a little grace.
He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but watch his chest rise and fall, tentacles wriggling idly behind him. He doesn’t speak, just studies you, those intense eyes boring into you.
“Do you have a name?” You ask gently.
The tentacles on his back curl, his menacing frame shrinking a bit.
He hesitates before speaking.
“Konig.”
“Konig,” You repeat. You give him your name before asking, “Do you need anything?”
He looks down his hood at you, tentacles itching with curiosity. “Water.”
You give a slow nod and gesture to the cell door behind you, “Yeah, I can, yeah.”
You go through the process of opening his cell door, sneaking the bucket into the nearest bathroom and filling it as high as you can with water, but it’s awkward with the sink’s base in the way. The bucket is a lot heavier when it’s filled and you have to waddle on your way back.
Back in the cell, water sloshes out of the bucket as you use your body to hold open the heavy cell door. You hover the bucket a few inches from the ground, the handle straining under the weight as you waddle it up just before the red tape and set it down. You look at him, slightly out of breath with your hands on your hips.
“Now - you can have this, but-“ You take a hand off your hip to point at him, pausing to take a tired breath, “You have to promise me you won’t throw it at me.”
His tentacles curl again, his hood tilting down. “I promise.”
You look hesitantly down at the red tape, kneeling behind the bucket and using your weight to slide it across the floor and over the boundary. He watches you carefully, studying the way your body moved as you kneel before him. As you work for him.
Once the bucket is over the barrier you stand and hesitantly take a step back, bracing yourself in case he launches this one at your head.
Instead he wraps a large tentacle around the jagged edge of the bucket, dragging it closer in order to get a better grip. You watch as two appendages work to bring it to his feet with ease. He takes turns eagerly soaking his tentacles in the water.
You’re not sure if he’s cleaning, drinking, or moisturizing, but you don’t ask. You watch as his tentacles smoothly work, picking up what remains in the bucket and dumping it over himself, letting it drip over his front and staining his pants a shade darker. He heaves a sigh of relief, his eyes closing and his glistening muscles relaxing against the restraints.
“Thank you.” He says, low and quiet. A tentacle grips the empty bucket and extends to its full reach, placing it carefully at the boundary.
After his tentacle retracts you reach for the jagged rim, scraping the bottom of the bucket along the concrete as you pull it back into the safe zone with two fingers. “Thank you.” You give a weak smile and gesture to the empty container in your hands. “I can keep bringing you water, if you continue to refrain from throwing?”
He nods, voice bordering on patronizing as his tentacles curl, “I promise.”
When you return the next day, you’ve got a new bucket and a small hose curled up and hanging off your shoulder.
You figured if he was being held prisoner, he at least deserved a full bucket of water and one that didn’t reek of dead mackerel. Konig watched as your struggle to manage to drag in both buckets while holding the heavy door open. When the door closes behind you with its noisy thud and grating alarm, you toss the fish over first, doubling back to haul the water closer. After getting it near the tape, you have to use your back and dig the heels of your feet against the concrete to slide it the rest of the way across the tape. The water sloshes onto your hair and down the back of your shirt as the bucket slides out from under your weight. You nearly fall back into his radius, but catch yourself with a nervous laugh.
You turn to get a glimpse of his tentacle as it pulls the water bucket closer. From here you get a peek at the suckers on his tentacles, each working independently as it grips around the rim and drags the bucket closer with ease. Just one of his larger appendages was stronger than your whole body. It gave you an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you continued to sit on the ground inches from the boundary, your legs crossed as you watch him eat and bathe.
“Thank you.” He says, and you’re unable to decipher his tone over his harsh voice.
“It’s uh, it’s no problem.” You’re memorized by the way his tentacles move, each working independently. It’s a lot of multi-tasking, you think, but it looks like it’s second nature for him, as natural to you as walking and talking at the same time.
“I’m sorry.” He says, in between bites.
“For what?” You ask, head tilting to the side.
“For throwing the bucket at you.” He keeps his gaze to his meal, “Your first day.”
You’re caught off guard by his apology. You hadn’t expected to see self-reflection and regret from him.
You shrug, “I get it. I mean, imprisoned by enemies of war? Restrained against your will? I think everyone has a right to be a little feisty in that situation.” You give another weak smile, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on your lab coat.
He huffs, wrapping around another mackerel and letting it disappear under his hood.
He lets the silence sit, but the biologist in you can’t help but analyze his diet, “You gettin’ tired of eating the same thing everyday?”
A tentacle reaches up to pick a fish bone from his teeth before flicking it casually to the floor. He considers your question carefully, a habit of his you’ve already logged.
“I’m tired of everything,” he says, and the exhaustion in his voice makes you look to the floor in shame.
Your arm crosses over your chest, thumb anxiously running over your opposing bicep, “How long have you been here?”
“I’ve lost count.” He says.
You wonder if he actually wants to be in conversation with you, or if any stimulation is a better alternative to staring at these four walls, alone with nothing but his own thoughts.
You take another deep breath, accustomed to the overwhelming smell of fish by now.
You’re not sure what to say to him. No words could offer someone in his situation comfort. Instead you watch as he finishes his meal and simultaneously bathes his appendages. It’s oddly alluring, how he moves. You wonder just how many things he’s capable of doing at once. Such a being must be very efficient.
He doesn’t seem to mind your company or curious stares. If he does, he certainly doesn’t voice them. You think he must be used to staring by now, and you wonder if you’re no better than the rest.
When you return the next day, you’ve brought a door jam. You’ve got too many things in your arms to carry in to be able to manage the door all at once. Konig watches from his restrained position as your cluttered silhouette stumbled into the cell. You set the buckets down with a thud, letting the extra bags roll off your shoulders. You have to huff, the trek down the hall weighed down supplies stealing your breath from you. Once you’ve removed the door jammer, silencing the annoying alarm and leaving you both with privacy, you return to his meal.
“I brought you some stuff.” You say as you shake the food bucket before tossing the contents in his direction. Various seafoods you could scrounge up in the fridge scatter to the floor. Shrimp, clams, oysters, a few different species of fish. Whatever seafood hadn’t turned rotten in the walk-in fridge.
His tentacles wriggle and reach out, suckers gripping to the food before him as he brings it to his mouth.
You’re not sure, but by the way his tentacles are wiggling you think you’ve won at least a few brownie points.
You turn from him to walk the bucket of water to the boundary, letting it dangle between your legs in an awkward waddle.
“I brought something else, too.” You say with a hint of hesitance, straining a bit as you set the bucket on the concrete.
His tentacles curl in… anticipation? Curiosity? Hatred? You’re not sure, but you’ve been trying to piece together his body language back in your lab for quite some time.
He doesn’t say anything, so once you’ve got the water bucket over the boundary, you cross back to the discarded bag and rummage through it.
You reveal a small black box, setting your bag down as you extend the antennae.
“A radio.” You say with a sheepish smile. He doesn’t say anything and you look to your gift with uncertainty, “I just thought - well y’know, I wouldn’t want to be trapped with my own thoughts. Everyone deserves some sort of distraction, yeah?” You say, kneeling on the floor as you set the it into his radius.
His glowing eyes stare down the present, and you’re not sure what he’s thinking. “Not a music guy?” You ask tentatively, a hand finding the back of your neck.
A tentacle slowly extends in your direction, carefully wrapping the radio in its grip. He brings it to his face, examining it with his glowing eyes. He sets it down carefully, and while he doesn’t say anything, you’ll take it as a win that he didn’t immediately fling it into the wall, shattering it to a thousand pieces.
You stare down at the floor for awhile, the only sound filling the room is his slick tentacles tending to his meal and bath, clam shells clattering to the ground as he quickly works the meat from them.
“Thank you.” He says, in between bites. It comes out low and vulnerable, as if the words were foreign to him, or possibly held down by the weight of things unsaid. Maybe it’s because he’s having to be kind to a captor, forced to be cordial to someone holding him prisoner here - and for what? Meeting his basic nutritional requirements?
He could be playing the long con, hiding his deep hatred for you so he can lure you into trusting him. You’ll end up like the ones before you, destined to the fate of a sudden and unfortunate accident.
Your stomach turns at your predicament. You could be educating the future about the miracle that is the powerhouse of the cell, but no, you just had to take the government research job, flashy paycheck and hopes of changing the world.
He tenses for a moment, tentacles stilling except for one that loops up underneath his hood, picking something from his teeth. He holds it in front of his eyes to get a better look at his find.
His gaze flicks to you, another undecipherable stare that sends a chill up your spine. You watch with bated breath as his gaze returns to the item in his grip, tentacle moving in your direction before carefully placing it at the boundary. You watch as his appendage curls like a snake to gently nudge it in your direction. Like a marble it rolls to you, over the red tape and bouncing off your shoe. Shaking hands stop its slowing roll before you pick it up between your fingers.
A pearl, from one of the oysters you’d given him. It’s uneven, not a perfect sphere, but its texture is still smooth in your fingers. You wipe the spit and oyster remains on your lab coat before letting the pearl rest in your palm, tilting it in the light to get a better look at it. It’s a purplish gray, iridescent colors shifting as you move it.
“How neat.” You say, tone that of an interested biologist, “Poor guy must of had a splinter.”
Once you get a good look at it, you set the small treasure back across the tape to return it to him, but he stops you.
“For you.” He says, definitively enough that you can’t argue.
You lips part as you look to him, stunned and wide-eyed at his gesture.
Maybe he hadn’t hated you.
You wrap your hands carefully around the pearl, bringing it close to your chest.
“Thank you,” You say, voice breathy in awe.
You unwrap your hand to study it carefully in your hands, your little pearl. Cradling it as if it’s a fragile being if it’s own, not a resilient clump of calcium carbonate that survived both a life in an oyster at the bottom of the ocean and engineered predator teeth capable of cleaning the meat off a skeleton in seconds.
He watches you study your gift, the same way you had studied him with eyes wide in amazement and curiously. You don’t see his muscles relax against his restraints. He continues to eat, slowing his pace as his stare stays on you.
You hadn’t exchanged any other words during that interaction, but you think the silence that encompassed the cell was comfortable. At least on your end, you’re not sure about Konig.
He passes the empty water bucket back you, and before you gather all of your things, you tuck your precious pearl away in a pocket of your lab coat.
Back in the lab, you rolled the pearl in your fingers, wondering if Konig’s gesture had meant the same to you as it had to him.
Humans regard pearls as highly as a precious gem, but maybe to him it was no different than discarding trash, just as he had flung the fish bones that got stuck in his teeth. He may have even been demonstrating his annoyance with you.
How dare you not clean his oysters before you serve him, do you want him to choke?
Does he know the rarity of a pearl? How we string them into necklaces? Adorn ourselves with them to elevate our look? How we gift them to our loved ones?
There was so much you didn’t know about him. His mystique kept you up at night and your mind wondered with the possibilities. You were a researcher at heart, aching to get an understanding of him from the inside out. Endless analyses filled your days and black tentacles swarmed your dreams. In the hours between night and dusk you considered your own morality. You’d never met one of the biowarfare creations up close before. You didn’t realize they were capable of sentient thought. That they are truly beings of their own freewill instead of a programmed organic weapon.
You think you’ve already crossed too far over the line, that there was nothing you could do to make it right.
The next time you visit Konig, the sound of the radio floods the cell between the calls of the grating alarm. Once the door secures behind you, you can make out a talk show. The news or perhaps something educational, judging by the dry voices and even tones you hear before he turns the dial off with a tentacle, his glowing eyes giving you his full attention. You don’t say anything, but it does make your chest fill with a slight warmth to know he’s using your gift.
“I took a trip to the dock this morning,” You start as you drag the bucket of seafood to the tape, “I don’t think I’ll be able to get the smell out of my car, but it’s crab season, so, I got some. Got a tuna, too. Oh, and scallops, you eat those?”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes narrow and his tentacles twitch and curl behind him.
“Lobster was a bit steep, but I can keep my eye out.” You say, setting the entire bucket just over the boundary. He had earned his trust with the bucket, and it was too demeaning to force him to eat his food off the filthy concrete floors.
His eager tentacles pull the bucket to his feet, digging into it to uncover your gifts. He wastes no time getting them underneath his hood, you can see his arms tense and steady beneath his restraints as his teeth sink into his meal.
You slide him the bucket of water and then stand back to observe as his slick tentacles take it from you. Simultaneously he’s able to clean multiple crabs at once, expertly working the meat out of its complex exoskeleton and leaving nothing but shell. Much faster than you’ve ever seen any octopus feed.
You think briefly to the feeders before you, wondering if their sudden and unfortunate accidents were just Konig cleaning the meat off a skeleton. You wonder if he was designed to feast on his enemies, if his diet had held space for human.
Another meal.
You look down to the space between you and the red tape. Three paces away. You casually make it four, just for good measure.
“Thank you.” He says, and it’s slowly becoming your language. The words thank you uttered a thousand different ways, each with a different meaning, weight, and inflection, neither of you fluent or able to decipher the other.
You don’t feel comfortable prodding, instead you steady your feet and watch him mesmerizingly tear apart his meal, body restrained but tentacles still fully dexterous. You wondered if he minds you watching him eat, or if he felt like a zoo animal under your watch. Your hand creeps into your pocket to nervously play with the pearl, fingers running over the smooth surface.
After he clears a few more crabs, he looks up from his meal to eye you carefully. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, how disheveled you look.
“Tired?” He asks.
One hand stays with the pearl while the other rubs the back of your neck. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep last night, uh, so I went to the docks early this morning.”
He flicks another shell into his pile, studying you carefully. After a few moments his tentacles outstretch welcomely, some resting against the concrete floor, “You can rest here.”
You tense under his stare, your eyes shifting hesitantly to his tentacles. “Oh, no - I just have a lot of work to do.” You eye his core for a moment before returning to his gaze, “I can sit for a little, though.”
He gives a pleased hum as you do, eyes narrowing as he watches you prop yourself against a wall on his side, leaving about three feet between you and the red tape. His gaze turns back to the seafood as he works. You observe him, resting your head against the cool concrete and staring down your nose. You can’t help but close your heavily eyelids, listening to the sound of shells snapping and being tossed to the floor.
Your fingers continue to smooth over the pearl in your pocket. It became a habit of yours, fingers finding the pearl absentmindedly, rolling it between your touch to soothe yourself.
You’re thinking about all the things you want to ask him. About his physiology, his full capabilities. About how he feels, what thoughts and emotions exist in a brain engineered for warfare. About his opinion of you, if he’s disgusted with you or if he understands that you’re both just products of a horrific environment.
Is he capable of empathy?
You couldn’t ask. Your relationship seemed so fragile and delicate as it was, so you both opt for silence.
You’re not sure how much time has passed when you open your eyes again, but he’s done his feeding and bathing, both buckets emptied and placed at the boundary in the center of the room. He’d tidied his cell, the floor cleared and the food bucket now holding his cleaned crabs, various shells, and fish bones.
His tentacles stir when your eyes meet his, and you take a sharp inhale as you rouse. You touch a hand to your heart, the other feeling for the pearl through your pocket. Your eyes find the red tape, and you’re still in your spot, propped up on the wall three feet from the boundary.
“Did I fall asleep?” You say, touching your forehead. If you had, you don’t remember having a nightmare.
His hood tilts up and he shrugs.
“How long’s it been?”
After a moment he shrugs again, tentacles working in rhythm to his movements.
Right, he wouldn’t know. You give a small nervous laugh at your foolish question, leaning forward and resting your arms on your knees.
“I should probably get going.” You say, but you don’t move from your spot, and he doesn’t wish you goodbye.
You stare at the floor on your side of the red tape. You can see his larger tentacles wriggling in the corner of your eyes, along with the glow of his stare.
Your back ached from sitting on concrete for an extended period. It made you wonder how sore Konig was, his arms having been restrained to their position bent behind his head for ages, forced into a standing position every hour of the day.
“I’ve made a huge mistake.” You say with a laugh, one in disbelief of yourself. You lay your palm flat on your forehead again. “I don’t know how it got this far, really.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing at you. He doesn’t say anything, and you continue.
“I’m just in too deep, right?” You huff, throwing your hand back down to your thigh. “I’m all torn up about this. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I’m just thinking about this nightmare of a job I’ve got myself in. You get so caught up in the paperwork and day-to-day, you forget what the end result is. I didn’t realize you were so sentient.” You give another nervous laugh, exasperated.
“Now I don’t know what to do.” A hand moves to your pocket and pulls out your pearl, holding it tightly in a closed palm by your side. “I’d try to make it right, but I don’t know how, okay? I really don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t know if there is a right thing to do, I think that ship has sailed.”
The right thing would have been never getting involved in this line of work, to never have learned of or aided in the creation of beings like him in the first place. But you’re both here, together, and there’s no way out.
You gnaw on your lip, looking to the ground. His eyes don’t leave you. Silence drapes over the cell as your words echo through both of you.
After the long pause he speaks, harsh voice layered with a hint of optimism, and his tentacles twitch and curl with his words.
“It’s not too late.”
You’re not able to meet his gaze, so you solemnly shake your head at the floor. You already know what he’s suggesting.
“You understand why I can’t do that, right?” You ask, soft and defeated.
He tenses under his restraints. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push. You hope that means he understands. That he understands the risks he’s asking you to take. The threat of your employers, the threat of him, fully realized and unrestrained. That you wouldn’t stand a chance against a powerful being like him. That no matter how many gifts and thank yous are exchanged, your actions will always layered with a high probability of deceit. That trust is inherently not possible in a relationship between a prisoner and the keeper. Between a being made for killing and the target he’s designed to kill.
The silence falls over you both again.
When you finally stand to retrieve the buckets, his gaze follows you.
“Perhaps in another life, we’ll get it right.”
Your shoulders tense at his words, your pace slowing. You don’t meet his eyes as you leave to discard his scraps, the harsh alarm and clunk of the door concealing your exhausted sigh.
The next few visits, you wordlessly hand over his meals and water before sitting on your spot against the wall, resting as you wait for him to return the buckets. It feels so nice to close your eyes, and it’s hard for him to haunt your thoughts when you know exactly what he’s doing. Your subconscious has a difficult time running wild when presented face to face with reality. It’s the best rest you’ve gotten in weeks, even if the concrete hurts your back and leaves your neck stiff. You feel oddly comforted being in the presence of the only other being who understands your struggle, even if he was the heart of your conflict.
Konig doesn’t seem to mind when you doze off, at least he doesn’t complain. He may just not want to bite the hand that feeds him anything other than mackerel on the brink of decomposition. Sometimes you’re out for a few minutes, sometimes hours, not waking up until well into the evening, long after you should have left the building.
He never disturbs you, letting you rest as long as you need. Listening to the light snores you make, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of your chest.
He can tell you’re still afraid of him, when the first thing you do as you stir is search with wide eyes for the red tape to ensure you’re still safely outside his radius. You always relax when you meet his stare, though, watching his tentacles curl as you rouse.
You always run your hand over your left coat pocket, usually at the same time you’re searching for the red tape in a panic.
He wonders if you’ve brought something to defend yourself if things go wrong for you. If your hand reaches for the outline of a weapon in your pocket, some feeble defense to soothe your fears of him.
You usually offer an embarrassed laugh or coy smile as you adjust, usually while rubbing out a knot on your back.
Sometimes, especially if you haven’t gotten a lick of sleep the night prior, you’ll readjust from your spot against the wall to the floor, curling up on the concrete and positioning your arm underneath you as a pillow. You’ll rub the sleep from your eyes when you wake, propping yourself up on your elbow to look for a watch that doesn’t exist.
Little words are exchanged. What words could be shared to offer either of you comfort? Anything he says could just be a ploy to gain your trust. Anything you say does little to aid his position as prisoner.
There’s one visit, when you stir, where your back is fully flush to the concrete and you get a view of the ceiling of his cell. Your eyes widen, always with a sharp inhale, as you turn over and prop yourself up to search for the red tape. It takes you too long to find it, having to press your chin to your chest to get it in your view.
You had rolled over in your sleep, bust having crossed over the boundary, forearms propping yourself up in Konig’s radius.
You freeze, eyes wide as you look to him, wondering if he was aware of the easy prey ready for the taking.
He stares at you, tentacles still wriggling, but not outstretched. He keeps them pulled close to him, unlike his usual intimidating posture.
You’re still frozen in your spot, eyes wide and locked onto him as you process.
He could have easily wrapped a tentacle around your neck and ended your life before you had even woken up. Or worse, he could have restrained you, tortured you, and held you hostage as a mean to earn his freedom.
But he didn’t.
He’d left you undisturbed while you rested, as he always does.
Your heartbeat has made its way to your ears, muffling the sounds of hitched breaths escaping your parted lips. You two haven’t broken eye contact as you lay paralyzed on the floor.
He had spared your life, that was clear to you. He had resisted the urge to effortlessly snap your neck or get revenge on you for assisting in holding him prisoner.
You slowly sit up, locked on to his gaze.
Another trick to gain for your trust, you wonder. Spare your life now and stab you in the back later.
You slowly scoot outside his radius, not turning your back on him as you hesitantly stand and clear your throat.
Once you’re outside of his reach, you feel for the pearl through your pocket, but you can’t find the telling bump through the fabric of your lab coat. You reach into your pocket, finally taking your eyes off Konig’s glowing stare. Your fingers come up empty and you look to the floor where you had fallen asleep, and your eyes find it a few paces from the boundary.
When Konig sees what you had been hiding in your pocket all this time, and your hesitance to step back over the red tape, a tentacle carefully reaches to pick up your pearl. Instead of nudging the pearl back over to the tape and letting it roll to you as he did the first time, he flips his tentacles over so it’s sucker-up, unfurling it to his maximum length to present the pearl to you at waist height.
You can’t help the way your brows retract and your mouth parts as you study his slick appendage. You’ve never gotten this close of a look at his tentacles before. Each sucker wriggles independently, just as his tentacles did. You wonder if it’s autonomous to him, or if he has control over each one. Your shoes scrape the concrete as you shuffle nervously to the boundary, toes pressed up on the red tape to take the pearl from him. He could easily wrap his appendage around your wrist and pull you fully into his reach, just as he does with the buckets. Your fingers tremble as you reach for your possession, the involuntary shaking causes you to brush against his tentacle, leaving behind a clear slick on both you and your pearl.
His appendage retracts once you’ve taken it from him. A heat creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed that you’ve been caught hanging onto his gift like this. Carrying it around with you and visibly worried when you lose it.
If he had been simply discarding his trash instead of giving you a gift, unaware of the value of such an item, he probably thinks it’s strange of you to continue carrying it around.
He doesn’t voice his thoughts if he has any, just watched quietly as you tuck the pearl back into your pocket, smoothing over it once it’s secured.
“Thank you.” You say sheepishly, your eyes still wide as you digest his actions and lack there of. You’re not sure if you’re thanking him for returning your belonging or for refraining from killing you.
You have trouble making eye contact with him, eyes glued to the floor.
You’re thinking that maybe there might be some trust between you two after all. You’re thinking about the new details you noticed on his tentacles from your close view that you’ll surely record later. About gifts and thank yous and curious states and defined muscles engineered to kill. About how you can only get rest when you sleep under his watch. About what’s hidden under that hood. About how he didn’t kill you when given the opportunity like you had suspected he would.
You think about what he’s thinking.
Then you look to the buckets, still at his feet and not emptied and placed back at the boundary like your usual routine follows. Your brows furrow as you meet his glowing eyes.
Your chest rises and falls as you study him.
“I should probably get going.” You say, nodding to the buckets in an attempt to get him to pass them back over to you.
His tentacles curl and writhe at your statement, and his head tilts upwards. He lets your words hang in the air before he responds.
“Not finished.” He says evenly.
Your brow quirks at the unusual occurrence. It’s not like him to leave a meal unfinished, to stray from the routine.
You give him the benefit of the doubt, choosing to remain optimistic about your new step in trust, “I’ll come by for it later, then.”
You turn on your feet to leave, hands reaching for the lanyard of your badge like muscle memory. You swipe for it a few times, fingers coming up empty. Your chin meets sternum as you look down to confirm its absence, patting pockets and swiveling on your feet to look to the floor where you had lost your pearl.
You don’t see it, so you eye Konig, stare narrowed.
Time slowed as a tentacle, previously obscured behind his back, unfurls and stretches far above his head. The end of his appendage loops around your lanyard, light reflecting off the lamination of your ID as it rotates in the air. He dangles it above you both tauntingly.
Your gaze switches between Konig’s stare and the badge. It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room. You don’t want to believe it - you’re in denial waiting for him to pass it back to you just as he did the pearl. He doesn’t, keeping your badge far on his side of the boundary a few feet above his head, playing keep-away with your freedom.
You shift in your spot and swallow.
“Yeah?” You ask, voice breathy but with an edge. You need him to verbally confirm he was stabbing you in the back, hoping he says anything to clear up the misunderstanding.
The tentacle holding the badge shakes, and the rest of his appendages outstretch, just as he had when you approached his cell the first time.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says definitively, a few of his tentacles curling inwards with his words.
You rub your lips together and nod your head, digesting your predicament. He must have worked the badge off your neck when you rolled into his reach, delicately enough not to wake you.
You’re not scared, surprisingly, not afraid that you’re locked in here with him, most likely on a path to a sudden and unfortunate accident.
You’re more shocked at his betrayal, though you understand you probably shouldn’t have been. You’d been predicting this outcome from the beginning, that he was just hedging his bets and getting on your good side until you let your guard down. It appears your heart still bleeds regardless of your logical analysis, and you can’t help the lump that forms in your throat. You really had wanted to believe you two had an unspoken friendship, that regardless of the circumstances, you had his trust. You felt naive that some part of you had fallen for it. That you had invested enough of yourself to him to be hurt by his betrayal.
Your face burns as tears well in your eyes. You shift in your spot, sure the pain is obvious on your features.
“Don’t do that.” He pleads, tone a lot softer than his words. A few empty tentacles reach in your direction to offer comfort.
You don’t take it, your hand covering your mouth as you screw your eyes shut, tears escaping down your cheeks. You sink to your knees in defeat, almost perfectly between the middle of the cell door and your side of the red tape. All of the worry and ache and exhaustion you’ve experienced in the last few weeks involuntarily floods out of you in broken sobs.
Konig’s tentacles writhe as he watches you cry.
After a few moments, you sniff, wiping snot and tears from your nose with your coat sleeve, “Just give it back, please.” You plead at a whisper, stare desperate, “We can pretend this never happened, it can go back to how it was before.” You look up at him, face red and eyes brimmed with tears, “Please.”
It takes him a moment to consider your proposition. He lowered the tentacle holding your badge, but keeps it close to him. His words come out strained.
“You understand why I can’t do that, right?”
A loud sob escapes you at having your words thrown back at you. Without much other choice, you bury your face into your knees.
You cry for the better part of an hour, muffling your sobs into your thighs, curled up in a ball on the concrete.
When you’ve finally regained some composure, you wipe your face for the final time with a sniff.
When you speak again, your voice is forceful but nasally from the congestion of crying. Your head cocks back and you put your palm flush to the concrete, leaning back almost casually to support yourself.
“So what’s the plan?”
He tilts his head at you, and you don’t wait for him to answer before you continue.
“I don’t get the badge until I let you out, right? We both wait, you waiting for me to give in to starvation, and me waiting for someone to come to my rescue before it gets to that point - is that it?” It’s obvious you’re angry with him, words dripping with malice.
He huffs, muscles tensing against his restraints. His eyes narrow at you, tentacles outstretching to fill the space of his cell. You’ve grown accustomed to his bluffing behavioral response and it does little to intimidate you now.
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” He says, appendages curling inwards. “We can work together.”
You give your own huff, breaking eye contact with him. “It’s a little late for that.”
“I tried.” He said firmly, “I tried to do it the right way.”
You think back to your rebuff of his first proposal and groan.
“What choice did I have?” He asks, leaning against his restraints, ropes digging into his arms as the badge lowered to his side, “You wouldn’t have done the same if you were me?”
Your lips purse as you mull it over. Your eyes are still locked on to the floor and another frustrated groan leaves you. You didn’t want to put yourself in his shoes, you just wanted to be mad.
You do what you can to be spiteful with your limited resources, lying to the floor with your back facing him. Your arm is propped under you and your legs curled up. You stare at the cell door, brows pinched as you fume.
Rationally, you know you won’t last long. That you just cried all the hydration out of your body and haven’t been feeding yourself well in the past few weeks, including today. Meanwhile Konig’s been consistently eating full meals with your help and kept his buckets of food and water unemptied and close for him to ration over the coming days. You’re not in the best shape mentally, either, compared to Konig who has absolutely nothing to lose in his position. Even if soldiers bust down the cell door and filled him with lead, would it really be a worse fate than locked and bound in these four concrete walls?
Regardless of your long lists of disadvantages, you’re too upset with him to even consider giving into his demands at the moment.
You stew for hours.
You’ll occasionally adjust in your spot, sitting up to stretch the ache in your muscles before switching to lay on your other side, never facing Konig or even so much as sneaking a glance in his direction. You’re too upset with him to look at him.
Your mind is swirling, thoughts interject thoughts, throwing you new details to fuss over. You’re angry that he stole from you, that he took advantage of your vulnerability, the restlessness he was responsible for. You’re angry that he trapped you in here, imprisoned you even though he knows how awful it feels to be a prisoner. You’re angry that he can stomach sitting back and watching you starve and dehydrate yourself out of spite. You’re angry that he had plotted against you, made you out to be the fool, even if you’d suspected he had been doing so this whole time.
Mostly you’re just upset that you got your hopes up.
Instead of thank yous, your new shared language becomes silence.
You wonder if he can tell the difference. Between the solemn silence, the seething silence, the desolate silence. The thoughtless silences that come after running your mind in circles enough to physically exhaust yourself. The silence that falls on you when you finally shut your eyes, slipping into the comforting arms of unconsciousness.
You wake with a sharp inhale, desperately searching for your precious red tape. It takes you a moment, when you stir, to remember the events of yesterday. Or today, you’re not sure how long you were asleep and you have no way to tell the time.
You had already locked eyes with Konig. His tentacles wriggled and stretched when you looked at him for the first time since his betrayal, but when you see your damned badge on his side of the boundary it comes flooding back to you. An audible groan leaves you as you roll back over to face the wall.
You try to fall back asleep, desperate to escape from reality, but the dryness in your mouth is impossible to ignore.
Your mouth is begging for moisture and your joints are stiff. A dehydration headache had settled behind your eyebrows.
You need water.
You have two options.
Beg Konig to share his water bucket, or let Konig free and you’re free to get your own.
You decide you’ll just rot on the floor, instead.
You close your eyes and try to ignore the sandpaper feeling in your mouth enough to lull yourself back to sleep. You’re mulling over your options for water, and a detail you can’t believe you’d missed makes you sit up to look at Konig for the first time intentionally. Your head had swiveled around quickly, brows lowered in offense, “How do you expect me to get you out of here without giving me my badge back?”
He lets your question hang as his glowing eyes meet yours. His stare is intense, but yours doesn’t falter.
“I asked you a question, Konig. I don’t have anything to free you with. I know you don’t have anything to free yourself with.”
Your words are sharp and dangerous.
“So what’s the plan? You’ll have to give me my badge back to get something to cut you free.”
He looks to the pocket that held your pearl. His plan had one flaw - that he had not accounted for the outline in your pocket you’d reached for whenever you stirred being anything other than a weapon. He was sure you had brought something to defend yourself with if he had attacked you. Something that you could use to cut his restraints once you gave in to your starvation. He miscalculated the amount of trust you’d placed in him and it should have become obvious to him the moment you had looked to the pearl after finding your pockets empty.
He eyes the mounts that hold his restraints, two on the floor to his left and right and one in the ceiling directly above his head, all out of his reach.
“You’ll untie it at the base.” He says definitively.
Your teeth grit as you look to the ceiling, “How do you expect me to get-“ You cut yourself off when you realize what he’s suggesting, “No! No.”
His head tilts down but his stare says on you.
“No. Too far.”
A few of his tentacles curl, “I don’t want to watch you starve.”
“Then give me my badge back, Konig!”
His body tenses at the way you say his name. Coated in wrath and following a harsh demand. Your aggressive volume and fists clenching by your sides trigger his bluff behavior, tentacles stretching to fill the space of his cell.
He says nothing, and your eyes dart around his features before you let out a huff, turning away from him again.
You regretted saying anything to him. You’d wished you’d just swallowed your realization a little longer to mull it over before your compulsive outburst.
You hadn’t had a chance to consider that he would offer to give you a lift. You had been so focused on avoiding his reach that the thought of him wrapping around you and lifting you up in a tentacle was foreign to you. You’re not sure you would have thought of it even if you had taken time to consider it. The idea of getting close to him once he was cut free from his restraints was nerve wracking enough, let alone trusting him enough to hold you steady a story in the air as you free him.
You manage to sit with your spite and dehydration for a few more hours, even sneaking in short nap before you break.
You sit up slowly, head pounding as you prop yourself up with a palm flush to the concrete. You look at him, eyes pleading.
“Konig,” You say, so much softer than the last time you said his name, “I need water.”
His tentacles twitch, but he says nothing, glowing eyes staring you down.
“Please, Konig.” You say, voice broken.
He doesn’t respond, and you can’t help but sob, no tears escaping your dry tear ducts.
Your voice raises in desperation.
“Konig, don’t do this to me!”
He closes his eyes, the glow of his stare disappearing behind black eyelids. A tentacle reaches down to turn on his radio, and he dials the volume up to drown out your pleads.
A heartbroken expression spreads on your features. How could he do this to you? How could he put you in this position, after everything?
Your eye catches the water bucket by his side.
He doesn’t want to give it to you?
He thinks he can make you beg and plead for your lifeblood?
Fine.
You’ll just get the damn water yourself.
Your brows pinch as you check on Konig, who still has his eyes closed to rid the visual of your crying.
Your palms have already sprung yourself forward before your feet catch up to you, having to straighten your upper half as your shoes scrambled for concrete. After light fumbling you quickly pass over the red tape, beelining for the water bucket. You’re running so fast you overshoot, having to extend your leg to skid the sole of your shoe on the floor to slow yourself. Your body lowers to the ground with your extended leg as fingers wrap around the handle of the bucket. You’d looked to Konig, whose glowing eyes had snapped open and darted straight to you at the sound of your shoe skidding and plastic scraping against the concrete as you struggled with the bucket.
You catch a glimpse of his tentacles writhing furiously before starting your dash back to safety. You’re reminded of the heavy weight of the water bucket, stumbling over yourself as you struggle to manage both its heft and your panic at the same time. You’re inches from safety when a tentacle shoots out and loops around your ankle, pulling your leg out from under you when you go to take your final leap over the red tape. Your palms extend to brace the concrete, and while you manage to narrowly avoid hitting your head, you hear an internal rip that makes your stomach turn and a blinding hot pain bracelets around your wrist, stunning you. The bucket had crashed to the ground on its side, water spilling to the floor and soaking your clothes.
“No!” You grit, but you don’t have time to think about the water or your wrist because Konig starts to drag you backwards through the puddle and into the air with the tentacle wrapped firmly around your ankle.
A gasp escapes you and fingers desperately scratch at wet concrete until you’re fully airborne, hanging upside down and clawing for the ground.
You curl up in an attempt to rip his firm grip off your ankle, but your core isn’t strong enough to reach, so you end up just wriggling in his grasp like a fish out of water.
Another meal.
You hear the radio turn off, and your eyes find the ground, partially curtained by the tail of your lab coat. Your soaked shirt has slipped down, revealing your core. Water drips from your soaked clothes and splash onto the concrete. You can tell the ground is a long fall away and when you give up reaching for your ankle, your hands stretch out towards the ground and preemptively brace your fall, injured wrist pulsing as you follow your instincts. Involuntarily squeals are leaving your parted lips as he stills, dangling you so your body is above both of your heads and you’re eye to eye with him as you hang.
You look at him with fear swelling in your eyes. You’ve never seen him up close before like this, even if upside down. You’re inches from the hood that covers his face, glowing eyes reflecting off yours. You still, free limbs falling in line with gravity as you stare into his narrowed gaze with wide eyes. Your headache is severely exacerbated by hanging upside down, feeling your own pulse in your head as the blood drains to it.
When he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous, and he gives you a slight shake with his tentacle for emphasis.
“I think it’s time for you to let me out.”
His growled yet arrogant words send a chill up your spine. Reminded you the being you’ve come to feel so much for was still a monster.
He’s left no room for argument. He’s given you plenty of chances to let you make the choice yourself, and yet you resisted. You had opted for the hard way, and you had left him no choice.
Release him, or suffer a sudden and unfortunate accident.
“Okay! Okay!” You squeak out with a slight flail, hoping it pleases him enough to prevent him from slamming you as hard as he can into the concrete.
You still again, slowly holding your hands up, palms showing. You calmly let out one more, “Okay.”
His head tilts backwards slightly, silently keeping your stare.
“Can I at least be upside-right? Please?” You squeak out, heart racing intensely enough you can hear it in your ears.
He lets you dangle for a few more moments before a tentacle curls around your waist. Instead of using the end of his tentacle like the one around your ankle, he had secured around your bare waist with the middle part of another appendage, the thicker grip giving him a sturdier hold on you. You think this must what it be like to be in the hold of a boa constrictor, trapping you and reminding you of its strength but not yet squeezing the breath from you.
He slowly flips you upside right, but keeps your flushed face inches from his. Your feet are only a few feet from the floor now, but you don’t bother trying to remove the tentacle on your waist. You’re well aware of his strength and you can feel his grip threatening to tighten around you. You won’t stand a chance against even one of his appendages, let alone all the others at attention behind him.
He takes his time looking you over, watching your eyes flick nervously between him, the tentacle firmly coiled around your waist, and the floor beneath you. Your mouth was stretched in fear and unease, breath hitched. You weren’t flailing anymore, but your feet did still mindlessly search for foundation and your hands had gripped on to his slick tentacle in an attempt to steady yourself.
He gives a huff before moving you through the air again. He goes slow, extending you out to the wall to his right. He has to pass you off to the end of another tentacle in order to use his full reach. You can’t help but feel felt up as he wraps and curls around you to keep you steady in the air.
He has to lay you almost diagonally with your head tilted towards the floor to get you close enough to the mount that tied off his binds. He uses some extra appendages to secure around your lower thighs and hips.
You let out a few breathy expletives as he adjusts you, grabbing and moving you against your will through the air.
You had to reach your arms out in a full extend, and even then the cool metal of the mount is just barely grazing your fingertips.
You wriggle in his grip, swiping at the post, grunting as you do so. He does his best to use the very end of his appendages to hold you in order to get you closer.
“Got it.” You say breathily as your hand grabs the mount. You give a light huff as you try and pull yourself closer, but Konig is extended his full range and instead you yank against his tentacles.
The knot of his ropes are tight around the loops of the metal post. You’re not sure if you’ll even be able to untie them with just your fingernails, but you don’t think Konig will accept an excuse.
He’s not hurting you, but his grip is definitively still tight, putting an uncomfortable pressure on your ribs. Had your clothes not already been soaked with water he would have left stains on your lab coat from the slick of his tentacles.
Your hands shake violently as you fuss with the knot. You’re forced to stretch, already sore muscles aching as you overextend them. Involuntary grunts escape through your gritted teeth as you dig at the knot, feet kicking as if you’re trying to swim closer to it. You try for minutes, but the knot is way too tight for you to even get a fingernail into. It doesn’t help that you’re being suspended, squished, and held at an angle, and your hands are soaked with water and Konig’s slick. You think your wrist is most definitely sprained, possibly broken, judging by the sharp decline in dexterity and searing pain that’s impossible to ignore as you fidget with the ropes.
The panic bubbles quickly, fingers scratching desperately at all of the loops of rope. You’re pleading under your breath for one of them to loosen, loosen just enough you can slip a finger in - but it doesn’t budge. One of your nails snap as you force it against a crease in the taught knot.
You’re guessing every time Konig has ever pulled against or leaned on the restraints it only forced the knot tighter, and with how long he’s been in this cell the rope has fused together with friction and time.
The panic isn’t on your side, causing you to thrash at the ropes and undo whatever insignificant progress you had made. Your whines would be matched with tears of irritation and fear if you had any water left in you.
“Konig?” You sob, “I can’t do it! I’m trying, really - the knot’s too tight!” You give the knot another frustrated claw with your broken nail, “I need a knife, scissors, something!”
You sigh and go limp, arms and top half dangling as his tentacles support you.
“Just kill me,” You whisper through your dry throat, eyes screwed shut and voice cracking.
You pause, and when you speak again your voice is quiet in defeat, but still holds an edge of malice, “Just do it and get it over with, hopefully the next feeder will be smart enough to bring a weapon.”
You’re still facing the wall, but you can feel his tentacles tense around your middle and lower limbs.
You both still, aside from the involuntarily and uneven heaving of your chest as you sob and wait for death.
All the appendages wrapped around you pull you closer to him. Two additional tentacles move to coil around your upper arms, and he tilts you so you’re upright instead of diagonal. You stay limp, feet and sprained wrist dangling. You let him move your body like a marionette, with your head tilted all the way forward and hair obscuring parts of your face.
He stops when you’re right in front of him again, you would be eye to eye if your chin hadn’t been pressed to your chest, feet only a few feet from the ground.
He holds you steady.
Considering how he wants to kill you, probably. Drag it out a little perhaps? Get a little torture in before he does it maybe?
Maybe your kindness will have not been for nothing, maybe he’s thinking about all the food and gifts and thank yous and he’ll repay you by making it quick. One swift snap of the neck or extra hard hit to the concrete, maybe.
He doesn’t do either.
He slowly lowers you to the ground. When your feet touch the floor and they don’t move to support your weight, he lifts you up an inch and comes in a second time at an angle, gently lying you on the ground so you’re flush with the concrete. His tentacles gently release from you and retract to his sides. Your badge gets placed gently on your stomach, and then all of his tentacles are off of you.
You don’t rush for the badge or the exit. You had already given up, and you weren’t about to give up on giving up, too. Your ass backwards way of maintaining some scrap of dignity.
You continue to lay limp on the floor, ignoring the badge he’d returned to you and keeping your eyes closed, tearlessly crying.
You’re not sure how long you lay on the floor, waiting for him to change his mind and kill you.
You think maybe he wants a challenge, maybe he likes a hunt. Or maybe he just wants to look you in the eyes while he does it.
So once your sobs subside you slowly sit up, your red and puffy eyes staring into his glowing eyes. His whole body is tensed, but he keeps all of his appendages close to him as they curl and twist alluringly.
You’re slouched as you stand, arms hung in front of you before you shift sloppily on your shoes, badge hitting the floor as it falls from your stomach.
You cock your head back to look at him and lick your chapped lips before giving a broken hum. You hold your arms out on either of your sides, as if inviting him to a fight, but you’re weak from dehydration, starvation, and your injury, so your movements are slowed.
You don’t speak, but your face reads Come on, kill me! What are you waiting for?!
He just stares at you, a look you’re unable to decipher from under his hood. His tentacles are writhing, but he keeps them close to his body, even if your stance is aggressive.
You let out a huff and roll your eyes, breaking the stare off. You walk over to his food bucket and empty out its contents onto the floor before stepping over to water bucket, shoes splashing in the puddle it sat in. You stack both buckets so you can carry them with one hand, before doubling back and swiping your badge off the floor with your broken nail, not so much as looking at Konig before you exit the cell.
Your first stop is to the bathroom, where you shed your lab coat, its thick fabric still wet.
You bend your aching muscles to awkwardly crane your head underneath the faucet, gulping down the streaming water. The sweet, precious water. Bathroom sink tap water has never tasted so good.
You’re drinking so fast you don’t even stop for breath. When you pull away, chin dripping and face puffy, you’re gasping for air. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind the sink you had drank from.
Your hair was disheveled from being dragged and hung in the air, face puffy and swollen from crying, and skin showing your dehydration. Clothes soaked from the water bucket and Konig’s slick, face still dripping as you breathe deep.
You take a few more sips from the sink for good measure before turning the faucet off with force. You drape your coat over your injured arm and grab the buckets with the other before you march out of the bathroom and straight to your supervisor’s office.
Oh, the speech you were going to give him was going to be therapeutic. You are planning on letting him have it, telling him to post your position because you’re done, and then you’re going to tell him where he can shove his buckets.
You open his door hard enough the doorknob slams into the wall and bounces back with a shake, but his office is empty, and you let out another groan at the discovery through gritted teeth.
You go back to the lab, gather your things and leave, regardless of the time. You’re caught off guard when you get to the nearest window and see the dark sky. Nighttime.
You cry the entire ride home, not yet ready to process the events but stuck with an overwhelming feeling of dread and exhaustion in the pit of your stomach.
Your wrist was red and swollen and the movements of your steering wheel turned the pain to a cruel pulsing throb.
Once back in your home, you think about a list of things to do to take care of yourself, but opt for wrapping your wrist and popping a few over-the-counter pain relief pills while finishing a bottle of water at the same time. You crawl into bed and pass out without even getting under the covers.
—————————————————————-
You hadn’t set an alarm, so you wake to a tentacle-ridden nightmare with a sharp gasp. You jolt to a sit, wincing when you feel the searing hot pain that bracelets around the sprained wrist you’d used to support yourself.
You get your weight off of it, holding your wrapped arm in front of your face. It triggers the memories of Konig tripping you and your wrist hitting the concrete. Of him dragging you across the concrete floor by your ankle. Holding you prisoner. Starving you. Making you cry. Betraying you.
Threatening your life and then sparing it.
Had it all just been another one of his bluffs? Had he known from the beginning he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his plan, or did he change his mind about killing you once you’d pathetically given up, going limp in his tentacles?
When had he changed his mind?
Somewhere between the first day when he threw that bucket at your head and the moment he’d laid your limp body down on the ground he had changed his mind about killing you, that you knew.
He wasn’t just a mindless programmed weapon, he was capable of some amount mercy. Control.
Unless he knew that if he had killed you, he wouldn’t have been able to get his varied meals and water buckets. Maybe he had kept you alive as just another means to an end.
But he had kept you alive, that was understood.
You close your eyes, falling back onto your mattress. You’d been thinking about Konig non-stop these past few weeks. Obsessing, even. It was exhausting, him and you and both of your mortalities and the constant threat haunting you in and out of your dreams.
You decided you weren’t going to think about him now, that for the sake of your own sanity you needed to focus on yourself.
You treat yourself to a full breakfast for the first time in awhile, topping it off with more pain reliever and water. A long shower eases your aching muscles, but the one-handedness makes it awkward to bathe yourself.
You put on loungewear after you towel off and reapply your wrist wrap, in need of the extra comfort. You leave your dirty lab coat at home before you head back to the office, still in your lounge clothes. You won’t be there long, you decide. You’re going to tell your supervisor what happened, chew him out a little bit, and then let him know he’ll need someone to feed Konig while you take time off to heal and process.
You stop by the lab to pick up your buckets before heading straight to your supervisors office.
You open his office door without knocking and when his eyes meet yours his brows furrow as he gives your clothes a scan.
“I’m going to need some time off,” You say firmly, gesturing to your wrapped arm.
“What happened?” He says, brow quirking.
You laugh, “What happened? What happened?” You use your uninjured hand to shove the buckets to the ground forcefully, your tone dangerous, “Is that I accepted this shitty job offer in the first place. What were you thinking?”
He’s sweating now, eyes wide with shock as you raise your voice to him.
You continue, “You saddled me with feeding him. You gambled with my life.” Your tone goes from angry to quiet and stern, “He almost killed me.” Your gaze flicks to between each of his nervous eyes.
He sputters, “What- What do you mean? What happened?”
“He stole my badge and trapped me in that cell with him! He starved me! NONE of you came for me, NONE of you checked on me.” Your animated tone lowers to one of cold malice, “You saddled me with a deadly job and then left me to die. Not a single reinforcement.”
“How did he steal your badge?” He asks, face stretched in confusion.
You hesitate, “I-“ You cut yourself off. You can’t tell him you fell asleep in there. Because then you’d have to tell him about how you had fallen asleep waiting for him to empty his bucket. The bucket he wasn’t supposed to have. The loitering you were instructed not to do. The conversations you were forbidden from having. The unauthorized tape crossing.
“It doesn’t matter! I’m-“ You’re frazzled now, face reddening, “I’m leaving! Just make sure someone feeds him!” You fumble for the doorknob, leaving him with a bewildered expression and two colorful buckets.
“Are you quitting?!” He yells out after you’re already down the hall.
“Yes! No! I mean - maybe! I’ll let you know!”
You take three days off to take it easy, catch up on sleep, and ice your injuries. It’s been awhile since you’ve been able to relax, just getting lost in a mindless TV show and forgetting your worries for awhile. You didn’t want to think about Konig, it was too painful, but your thoughts kept leading you to him and you had to often remind yourself that you were supposed to be taking a break from him.
After three days, you’ve managed to steady yourself enough to get back to your research. The work had piled up during your stint as a feeder and you thought your normal work would be a good distraction.
The first time your supervisor catches a glimpse of you, he does a double take through the circular glass pane of the lab’s swinging doors before he enters.
He says your name, surprised but still cheerful, “It’s good to see you! Lab coat and all.” He lowers his voice, “I, uh, I didn’t think you’d be back.”
You don’t say anything, attention still to your work.
He clears his throat before continuing, “How’s your wrist?”
“Still sprained,” You say dryly, still not turning to him.
He sputters a bit, “Hope you feel better soon, uh.” He clears his throat again, “You’ll be happy to hear that,” he trails off for a moment before continuing, “It’s being put down.”
Your eyes finally find him, darting over quickly as you set down your notes.
“What’s being put down?”
“The creature.” He says with a smile, as if he’s offering his saving grace.
“No!” Leaves you involuntarily. The wrist with the bandage finds your heart as you stand, shaking your head at your supervisor, “You can’t do that!”
His brows pinch, “What do you mean? I thought you’d be happy about this. He tried to kill you.”
“No, if he tried to kill me I’d be dead, he almost killed me, he spared me!”
Your supervisor steps closer you, holding his palms up in a weak attempt to calm you. You back away from him with each step he takes, still shaking your head.
“He hurt you!”
“That was an accident!” You say, angrily. The edge in your tone causes him to still his stride. You don’t usually speak to him like this.
He says your name again, voice soft and eyes full of pity, “He put your replacement in the hospital.”
Your face goes slack as you look at him with wide eyes, shaking your head slowly, “No!”
He says your name again, “Yes. Listen, I see this has left you on edge. Maybe you should take some more time off, no problem. We can even get you in touch with a counselor specialized in war trauma.”
“No, listen to me, you can’t kill him!”
“How many more sudden and unfortunate accidents do you think we can continue reporting before the wrong person starts asking questions?!” His voice has lost his pity, obviously frustrated with your disapproval.
“You can’t be mad at a wasp for stinging when you whack its nest, can you?! He was made for that purpose!”
He raises his voice, stern enough it stuns you, “And what do you expect us to do with a monster made for the purpose of killing? Let it out into the public? Let it rot in a jail cell while we keep feeding him our employees?!”
“He didn’t kill me!” You say exasperatedly, “He didn’t kill me because you guys are starving him! You’re not feeding him enough. That’s enough to make any man kill.”
“Why are you sympathizing with it? It’s a monster!”
You look at him with squinted eyes and mouth parted in disgust, “He’s not a monster! He’s-“ You cut yourself off.
Your supervisor lowers his head in your direction and crosses his arms over his chest. “Go on.” He says.
You put your palms together gently in front of you, careful not to bend your injured wrist. A sigh leaves you.
“Look, I’ve been doing research on him, okay? He’s rather remarkable and he’s surprised me more time than I can count.”
He scoffs, “I’m sure it has.”
Your eyes screw shut for a moment as you groan in frustration, “No! I mean, sure, he is a miraculous biowarfare weapon equipped with superior predator features, that’s a given, but in addition to that he’s an intelligent creature capable of independent thought! He is capable of being kind and showing mercy. You don’t understand!”
He cocks a brow at you and sighs, “I guess I don’t.” He reaches out, as if he’s going to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, but stops himself. “Look, it’s been a rough week for everyone here, okay? Why don’t you take some more time off and we’ll take care of things here.”
You realized there was going to be no getting through to him. That there would be no way to get him to see that Konig was an intelligent being capable of restraint, that he had no say in his creation as a weapon, that he was misunderstood due to the weight of being a prisoner, and that even the worst behaving prisoner deserved not to starve.
“You’re still going to kill him, aren’t you?” You say, more of a statement than a question.
He doesn’t say a word, pity still flooding his stare. He turns slowly, stopping once he’s got the lab door ajar at his finger tips,“I’ll see you when you’re feeling better.” He slips out, and you watch the lab door swing to a still as you swallow his words.
It doesn’t matter how you feel about Konig right now, all of your complex feelings have been pushed to the side. They can’t kill him, he doesn’t deserve that fate, that’s for sure. You can’t hold a being prisoner, underfeed him, and then expect him not to act on his primal urges. Not even a human would pass that test.
That and the idea of him disappearing from your life permanently is enough to make your heart pound and your head spin, having to press your uninjured hand to your forehead to wipe away your sweat.
This is your fault, you’re thinking. That if you hadn’t let a substitute go in there after you left things so messy with him maybe this fate would have been spared.
No, no. You can’t afford to think like that. You can’t afford to blame yourself for his actions.
But your actions could save his life.
“Yes,” you say, out loud frantically to yourself at your own idea, “Yes!”
You’re searching the lab, pulling open cabinets hard enough they slam against their holds, leaving their doors open as you dig out their contents and leave them scattered on the floor.
You find what you’re looking for, the sharpest object you could think of in the lab, a scalpel.
You had grabbed the entire dissecting kit with the firm grip of your uninjured hand, finding a sprint as soon as it’s in your grasp. As you run you lay your injured arm across your chest, setting the pouch on top of it like a makeshift table as you pry the zipper open and dig for the scalpel. Your feet are hitting the tile hard and each step jostles your injured wrist but you’re not sure how much time you have.
You have the horrible thought that it might be too late, that when you get there you’ll find an empty cell and you’ll never have the chance to say goodbye, I’m sorry, or thank you again. The lump in your throat and the prick of tears in your eyes makes you stumble, and you use the opportunity to slow to find the scalpel, pulling it from the hold of the pouch through blurry vision. You let the pouch slide off your bandaged arm and crash to the hall floor, returning to your quick pace, damned be lab rules of running with sharp instruments.
You slam your badge into the receiver in a panic, the tears already threatening to spill over at the thought of never seeing Konig again. The scalpel scratches against your badge and when the alarm sounds, you’re looking frantically down the halls to see if anyone is going to try and stop you. When you pry open the heavy metal door enough you stumble into his cell.
He’s still in there, alive, and your tears quickly turn to that of relief.
You’re don’t hesitate, crossing the red tape and closing the distance between you, scalpel in hand.
His tentacles are at a bluff, writhing and fully extended as you dash at him. You realize that sprinting at him full speed with a weapon after the way you left things was probably not the best way to approach the situation.
“Konig!” You say, out of breath and slowing to turn your direction towards the ropes instead of him. You waste no time scraping the scalpel against the taught restraint with your uninjured hand, “We got'ta get you out of here - they’re going to kill you!” The tears are flowing down your cheeks again. You’re not sure if it’s the panic, your upset feelings of him bubbling up at seeing him, or the thought of him being killed.
“We gotta get out of here, we have to go!”
You struggle through the first rope, handicapped by your injury and fraying it in multiple spots as your hand shakes. The scalpel slices all the way through, and the rope snaps back, the loops around Konig’s bicep releasing in large coils.
You make a dash for the rope restraining his other arm, out of breath and tears blurring your vision. Your hands shake as your uninjured hand slices the ropes, unable to grip the restraint with your other hand. You fumble it for moment, panic slowing you down. Something grazes your hand and you flinch, but relax when you see Konig’s tentacle gently tapping your palm. He flips it sucker up, offering to take the scalpel from you.
“Oh, yeah.” You say, a dizzy heat creeping up your cheeks. You hand him the scalpel, blade facing your chest so the end of his appendage can safely coil around it.
He takes slices precisely through one of the indents you started in the rope with ease.
You can’t help the awe as you watch him, mouth slightly part as your eyes follow the tentacle slice through the rope securing his wrists to the ceiling. You take a step back, hands slightly braced at your sides.
His free tentacles are curling and writhing in excitement as he gets the final swipe through his restraints, the slack releasing and dropping to the ground in loops. Once fully unrestrained, he takes his time stretching his muscles, eyes closed and small grunts leaving his lips as his tentacles move in synchronization with his movements. He rubs out the red and irritated lines the ropes left behind on his arms.
You’re still in awe as you watch him, eyes wide and slack jawed. You hadn’t given yourself time to prepare for being in a the same room as a fully unrestrained superbeing designed for killing.
Had he just been being nice to you for his own benefit, you’re thinking this would be the time for him to kill you.
Once he’s done working out his muscles, he steps over to you slowly, eyes not leaving you as his boots make their commanding presence known on the concrete.
“Oh, I-“ You cut yourself off, looking to the side as you take a few steps back. Your palms are out, and you’re thinking maybe you should have thought this through a bit more.
He says nothing, his glowing gaze boring into you as he closes the gap, leaving only inches between you two.
The nerves are apparent on your face as you stare up at him, having to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. He frame towered over you and his tentacles curled behind him alluringly. You flinched when the end of a tentacle came up to brush your cheek, leaving behind a small line of clear slick.
“Thank you.” He says, and for once you know what he means.
“Thank you.” You respond with a shaky voice, eyes flicking around his features nervously.
“Are you ready?” He says, nodding to your badge.
You’d forgotten he’s being hunted. Your unease of him is overtaken by the panic to save him.
“Yes, yes! We should hurry.” You say, starting a sprint for the door, but a tentacle loops firmly around your waist and lifts you up, your feet still searching for floor. Another tentacles comes underneath you like a swing, allowing you to place to weight on it. You can’t help but let out a few nervous squeaks as you’re adjusted in the air. Once you get your bearings you he puts you close to his back, letting your head sit next to his so you’re looking over his shoulder. You’re in a nest of slick tentacles, securing around you to keep you steady, and you’re reminded of the nightmares you’d experienced with a sea of tentacles swallowing you whole.
One appendage is offered to your injured wrist so you could rest it. He does all of this without looking at you, his focus on carrying your through the cell.
He stills and a tentacle reaches out, sucker up, and it takes you a moment to understand he’s asking for your badge. You give a nervous laugh when you realize, pulling it from your neck and ruffling your hair with the lanyard as you do. His tentacle curls around the badge and it disappears from your view.
You hear the grating alarm and the clunk of the lock. Two tentacles return instead of one, opening the lanyard of the badge to place it gently around your neck so you don’t have to. He simultaneously gets the door you struggled so much with opened with ease, and he’s careful as he gets both of you through the doorway.
“Which way?” He whispers through his harsh voice.
You point over his shoulder so he can see your arm from behind him. “That way, I need to grab my keys.”
As soon as he’s starts moving you realize why he didn’t let you run. He’s scarily fast, moving efficiently through the hallways as his tentacles allow him lengthier strides. You’re mesmerized by the way they shoot out, using the walls, floor, and ceiling to support himself as he moves. It’s like something from a horror movie, you think, and you can’t help imagine the fear a victim would feel being charged at like this.
“In here!” You point to the swinging doors of the lab. He’s got you smoothly inside, careful to make sure the doors don’t hit you on the recoil. His tentacles place you down gently, ensuring your feet are steady on the tile before removing his support.
You’re quick once on your feet, running to one of the undisturbed cabinets and shoving your stuff into your lab coat pockets with your good hand before dashing back to him.
“Okay, let’s go!”
But he doesn’t move, because some papers strewn on the lab table had caught his attention. He picks up a piece of paper with his hands and holds it up. The light shining through the page lets you see ink of a sketch you did of him during your obsessive research.
“Oh, that- yeah, that’s, uhm.” You purse your lips together and squint, trying to find an ending to the sentence you hastily started, “Hard to explain.”
He sets it down gently, using his hands to sift through a few more sketches of himself, anatomy labeled and fully detailed. Separate sketches of just the close details of his tentacles. Theories to what’s under his hood and his skeletal structure. His eyes scan over more pages and he find logs of your interactions, his diet, body language.
You laugh nervously, flush creeping up your neck as your eyes dart to the side.
“We should go.” You say, less urgent and more breathy than you meant it to.
He looks at you, glowing eyes piercing into you and you’re not sure how to decipher his stare.
He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, stacking the papers together and rolling them up in a way not to crease them. He tucks them into the waist band of his pants as he wordlessly returns you to your spot on his shoulder as he takes you from the lab.
“Which way?” He says once you’re both in the hallway, but a screams echoes from behind you, and you both whip around to look.
“Go, go, go!” Your hands frantically tap his shoulders to emphasize your words after meeting the horrified stare of a coworker, who had turned quickly on her heels to flee from you two.
He starts to sprint towards the person running from him and you tap his shoulders more forcefully, “No, the other way! Away from people!”
He gives a single nod, grunting in response as he turns on his heels and heads the opposite direction.
There were workers at the end of this hall, too. Three of them, and you can see your supervisor as he rips his attention away from the conversation he was having and turns to the mass in the corner of his eye.
He stumbled backwards, and the others turn to gawk too, screaming and fleeing from you both in a panic. You supervisor had froze, pressing his body against the wall as his shock and horror melds with confusion when he made eye contact with you, perched on Konig’s shoulder.
He shouts your name in panic, eyes searching frantically for aid.
As you Konig tentacles reach out to the halls to quickly pass him, you put one finger up on your good hand. “Don’t forget this!” You say cheerfully.
The dumbfounded and offended look on his face leaves you with an overjoyed smile as you turn back around to rest your arms back on Konig’s shoulder, lower half still supported by his tentacles.
“The stairs are through that door.” You say, leaning forward on his bare shoulder to point.
You both stop in your tracks at the sound of a blaring alarm, much more shrill than the one of his cell. It’s deafening, shrilling through the entire building. There’s bright emergency lights that reflect off the walls from the lockdown sirens.
He looks to you, and instead of yelling over the loud alarm you just point to the doors to the stairs and tap his shoulder frantically again, hoping your urgency translates.
It does, and he continues through the halls, tentacles clearing his strides and pushing open the door to the stairs. The alarm can still be heard, but you’re farther away from the speakers and it’s easier to hear the chorus of heavy footsteps echoing up the stairwell. You grip tightens on Konig’s shoulder, a nervous squeak escapes you.
You both lean over hand rail to see the commotion below, and you can make out flashes of tactical gear and weapons of dozens of soldiers moving in a group up the stairs.
Your eyes widen and you look to him nervously, unsure of your next move.
You really did not think this through.
It’s hard to tell with his hood, but he seems unnerved. He watches carefully over the stairs, and you’re tapping him quickly, silently pleading with him to keep moving to search for another way out.
A free tentacle reaches out to rest on your palm, leaving behind a slick and letting you know that he’s got this. You swallow and let your hand lay on his shoulder. You can’t help the way your fingers dig in to his firm shoulder.
The soldiers are close enough you can hear their voices below you. You screw your eyes shut, trying to search for your trust in Konig and hoping this hasn’t just turned into a suicide mission.
The soldiers are almost in your view when Konig’s tentacles moves you both to the gap in the middle of the stairwell that drops all the way to the ground floor. He’s got you both suspended in the air, his grip on you tight, with tentacles laced onto either side of the handrails of the floor you’re on.
He releases the rails he had held in his tentacles for support, letting you both free fall past the soldiers and down to the ground floor in a blur, catching you both with his tentacles against the bottom floor hand rails.
Expletives leave you without thought, and he turns his head to you to check on you as he exits the stairwell, now on the ground floor.
The alarm is defeating again, so you resort back to using the taps and points to direct him out of the building.
He freezes when the sun hits him, having to hold a tentacle up to shade his eyes.
Does he even remember the last time he saw the sun?
It takes him a moment to steady himself.
“My car’s over there!” You point once he’s steady.
You can hear yelling from the building behind you, the lockdown drill still blaring.
Once you’re at your car he sets you down, and you race to fling the driver door open, fingers fumbling as you start the engine.
He opts for the backseat, and you think it’s a bit odd before you consider the need for him to have room on both sides of him. He’s forced to hunch over in the middle seat, his head is pressed up against the ceiling. His tentacles had spread to the trunk, the front seats, pressed against the windows and coiled up on the seats next to him to get them all to fit. He’s blocking your view of the rear windshield window but you can make it work, you think.
You throw your car in reverse, using just the side mirrors to guide yourself out of your parking spot. You can see the building doors burst open, soldiers pouring from the building. One points to your car.
“Shit, shit, shit!” You say, pressing on the gas, tires squealing as you exit the parking lot.
You hang a skidding right and shoot for twenty over the speed limit, but get slowed by traffic.
“C’mon…” You say to the car preventing you from speeding as you nervously eye your rear view, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. You drive with just one hand, your bandaged arm resting in your lap.
You get a glimpse of a familiar military vehicle in your sideview and you squeal, “OhfuckOhfuckOhfuck.”
The gas pedal slips out from under you and you slide your knees over to glance down in a panic before your eyes return to the road.
You weren’t going fast enough for Konig’s liking, apparently, because his tentacle had stole the pedal from you, pressing it to its full extend against the floor mats. The engine roars as it struggles to keep up, and you have to used your injured hand to steady the steering wheel as you swerve off the road to desperately navigate the other cars.
Your foot desperatly searches for the break, but another tentacle shoots out from your left, coiling around the metal that held the brake pedal and holds it firmly in place. You tried to push it down with all your might, but you were no match for his strength, as if you were trying to crack a boulder with just one foot.
He doesn’t let you use your arm for long, two tentacles coming in to take the steering wheel from you. Your engine is roaring and your eyes find the odometer, you’re going 40 over and climbing.
He coils a few tentacles around you and your seat for good measure, bracing your head and core in the event of a crash.
The expletives are falling from your lips without thought. You’re going well over 100mph now, never having gone this fast in your car before.
“Konig, slow down!”
He’s navigating with ease but too many close calls makes you screw your eyes shut to brace yourself.
He finally lets up once you two are out sight of the soldiers tailing you, letting off the pedal and offering you back control of the wheel.
It takes a few deep breaths and expletives before you take the wheel from him, leaning forward once his tentacles release you.
“Don’t!” Sharp inhale, “Ever do that again!” You say, heart pounding in your chest as you nervously eye the sideview mirrors for signs of trouble.
“I didn’t want them to catch us.” He says evenly. There’s a pause, and you catch each other’s eyes in the rearview mirror in between checks of the road.
“I’m sorry if I scared you.” He says with a flick of his tentacle.
You take a few more deep breaths, wiping away the clear stick Konig had left behind on your forehead, “Well, we didn’t crash.” You’ve regained the wheel and find your groove going twenty over.
“I don’t know where to take us.”
“You don’t have a home?” He asks.
“I do, but they have my address in my employee files. It won’t take long for my place to be flooded with soldiers looking for you.” You say, briefly holding the wheel with your bandaged hand so you can put on your indicator to change lanes, sprained wrist returning to your lap.
Silence falls on you both mull it over. You keep driving, wanting to put as much distance between his capturers as possible.
The tentacle stretched in the passenger seat moves close to your bandages, “What happened?” He asks, voice low.
“Oh, uh,” You keep your eyes on the road. You had assumed he would have been aware of what he did to you. It made sense he didn’t realize it happened when it did, his attention elsewhere at the time.
You debate telling him in your head, but decide it’s best to be honest with him, “My wrist sprained when it hit the concrete. When I uh, tripped.”
You swallow hard, glancing at him in the rearview. He’s leaning forward between the two seats, his head close to yours.
“I did that to you?” He asks with a tense frame.
You look at him again briefly before your eyes find the road. “It happened so fast. Neither of us were thinking properly.”
He leans back in his seat, still having to hunch over to fit under the car’s roof. The tentacle outstretched to you retracts to the back seat with him.
Another silence falls over you both as he digests the new information.
“I’m sorry.” He says, voice strained, “I never wanted to hurt you.”
You glance at him in the mirror again, his eyes are turned to his boots. “It’s okay.” You offer a weak smile, even if he can’t see it. “I would have done the same, remember?”
He doesn’t say anything, but he gives a slow shake of the head, and in between checks of the road you can see the fabric of his hood rippling with his movements.
You continue down the highway in silence, keeping your eyes on the stretch of road ahead of you. You drive until the sun sets, making stops for gas only when the station is empty, quickly filling your tank in fear someone will spot the ultimate creation of biowarfare resting in your back seat.
You see a sign for a motel and you decide you’ve covered enough ground today.
“Ready to stop? We can rest for the night here. Give you a chance to stretch out in privacy.”
He hums, but ignores the question, attention directed out the window and over the horizon, “I forgot how beautiful the sunset is.”
It catches you off guard, the sweet words whispered in awe from his intimidating frame.
Your eyes find the clouds reflecting the orange of the sun’s warmth. The bright colors gradually shift to the calm blue of dusk as the sky stretches on. Some of the brighter stars of the night sky are already making an appearance on the other end of the sky.
“It is beautiful tonight.” You say.
A small smile creeps on your features, finally feeling anything other than regret and worry about your impulsive decision to free him. Maybe the hasty ruining of your life and being forced to live on the run was all worth it, because now Konig gets to see the sunset again.
You pull into the parking lot of the motel, pulling out your wallet as you speak, “Stay out here and try to lay low. I’ll get us a room.”
You leave the engine running for him as you handle things at the front desk. The motel was as shady as it looked, not requiring your ID and accepting cash for payment.
Perfect. Untraceable, that’s what you needed. The man in the white stained undershirt doesn’t even give you a second look when he hands over the room key.
You turn your head both ways to scan the parking lot before preemptively unlocking the door to your room. You return to the car with an awkward jog, opening the driver side door to gather anything you’d need.
“We should be good. Just move quick.” You say, closing the driver door behind you.
You watch as he gets out, tentacles pouring out of the car one after another.
He doesn’t seem to be in as much of a rush as you, taking a moment to stretch out his back with a pop.
You’d gotten a head start to the motel room, but he still catches up before you reach the door, opening it for him so he can get all of his appendages inside. You nervously peek out to the parking lot one last time to make sure no one saw you two, closing and locking the door behind you before securing the blinds shut.
“Okay, we should be safe.” You say as you move to pull the sheets up on the mattresses to check for bed bugs.
The room is as dingy as you expected it to be. Peeling wallpaper stained with years of cigarette smoke. Outdated decor and furniture. Stained and faded carpets. An old box television perched on a dresser facing the two queen beds.
“No bugs.” You announce once you’ve thoroughly checked both mattresses. You look to Konig, who’s standing in the doorway of the tiny bathroom, eyeing up what you assume is the shower. You hear the water turn on in a spray against the shower’s porcelain followed by the sound of a belt jiggling.
Your brow quirks as you kick off your shoes and shed your lab coat, stretching your sore back as you settle in on one of the mattresses.
He starts a shower and you can’t help but picture him soaking his tentacles and sore body through the wall of the motel room. He left the door open, and some sinful part of you thinks about peeking.
You don’t, forcing your attention to the TV. You mindlessly flipped through channels with the remote, thoughts lingering on Konig showering. You settle on reruns of a lighthearted show.
You hear the shower turn off with a hearty thud of its noisy pipes. Some more time passes, and you can see flicks of corners of a white motel towel from the doorway.
The jingle of his belt makes an encore, and after a few more moments he reappears, turning the light off for the bathroom with a free tentacle. Another continues to works the towel, dabbing off stray water beads from his skin.
Your cheeks flush, and you catch his wet muscles flexing from the corner of your eye as he makes his way to the other mattress, laying down on his front with a relieved huff. His tentacles relax as well, draping themselves on the duvet and hanging off the sides, the ends lazily flicking and curling as they dangle.
You both sit silently for awhile, forcing your attention towards the TV set while you watch his tentacles curl alluringly in your peripherals. You’ve settled into your spots on your respective beds, trying to find some respite after such a stressful day.
He breaks the silence first.
“I will never forget your kindness.”
“Oh,” You start, heat still flushing your features but keeping your stare towards the television, “It’s nothing.”
“You sacrificed everything to save my life.” He says definitively, “Even after what I did to you.” His eyes linger on your bandages.
“It just seemed like the right thing to do.” You shrug, your eyes finally meeting his. “I was really only at that job for the paycheck.” You pause again, fingers fidgeting with the TV remote, “The guilt was starting to weigh on me anyway. Better to live honestly and on the run than settled-in but trapped, right?”
His glowing eyes stare into yours as he considers your words.
He nods slowly, tentacles twitching and curling.
You give him a cheeky smile and a point, “But no more killing people, okay? I’m responsible for your actions from here on out.”
He huffs in amusement, lifting up one tentacle in the air as if giving an oath, “I promise.”
He stirs suddenly, as if he had remembered something.
“I have something for you,” he says as he sits up, reaching into his pants pocket. You quirk your brow as he stands, closing the gap between your beds and as he presents his fist to you. He towers over you, even more so from your spot sitting slouched on the bed.
You look at him with intrigue, cupping your hand underneath his, “It’s not a bug, is it?”
He laughs, and it’s the first laugh you’ve heard from him aside from the wicked laugh from that first day you met him, the laugh that raised the hairs on your neck and haunted your dreams. This one’s different, softer and playful. It makes your chest warm and you can’t help the goofy smile you give in return.
“No, it’s not a bug.”
He lets the small item drop into your palm and your brows scrunch as you study it.
Your pearl!
You let out a quiet gasp, eyes darting to him once you understand. It must have slipped from your pockets when he had held you upside down during your altercation in his cell. You hadn’t even thought about it, didn’t realize that you had lost your precious pearl. You had been avoiding thinking about Konig up until you heard about his pending execution, and at that point you had bigger things to worry about.
You pick up the uneven pearl with two fingers, moving it in the light, “You had it all this time?”
“I’ve been keeping it safe for you. I was worried I’d never be able to return it to you.”
You purse your lips at the way you had left things. Leaving him without closure in that sterile cell, forcing him to sit with his unresolved feelings and thoughts without an explanation. Never knowing if you’d be back.
“I’m ashamed, at how I treated you. I thought I had ruined the one good thing I had in there.”
Your cheeks flush at his words and you wrap your fist around the pearl. You’re forced to break eye contact with him, hoping he can’t see the heat beneath your skin.
“I’m sorry I left you alone.” You say, eyeing the floor by his feet. “I just needed time.”
He considers your words carefully. “I can’t blame you for that.”
His eyes flick down to the hand that held the pearl and both of you bask in the silence for a moment.
“Maybe tomorrow we can get you a necklace for it, so it doesn’t get lost again.”
You tilt your head to meet his gaze, mouth parted and eyes wide. A tentacle brushes the apple of your cheek, and he looks at you like he had eyed the sunset, in awe and stunned with its beauty.
He had understood the significance of the pearl this whole time, and he returned it to you post-freedom, meaning there was no chance of him attempting to gain your trust for his benefit.
“Konig,” You whisper, voice breathy.
“Yes, meine perle?”
“Thank you.” You hold the pearl in a fist placed over your heart and keep your eyes fixed up at him.
His hand reaches down to your face, tracing a finger on the underside your jaw. Your breath hitches at the chill that shoots down your spine.
“I’ve been watching you.” He says, finger resting just under your chin, keeping your gaze on him. Your eyes flick nervously to his tentacles curling alluringly over his shoulder before returning to his stare.
You’re not sure what he means, but you’re too stunned by his words and the light touch of strong fingers, breath still hitched and heartbeat pulsing in your ears.
He pulls out the rolled up stack of papers he took from the lab and held close. All of the sketches and logs and theories you’d made during your obsessive research, “Looks like you’ve been watching me, too.”
He gestures to the papers in his hand before placing them on the nightstand to his side.
The tentacle that brushed your cheek moves to your hair, curling strands gently between the slick end of his appendage. Another gently takes the pearl from you, setting it down with the papers.
“Am I wrong, meine perle?”
Your jaw slacks open a little further as you stutter out the beginning of a few sentences, each quickly abandoned one after another.
You settle for a shake of your head accompanied by a full flush of your features.
He gives a hum of satisfaction as he leans down close enough that his hood almost brushes up against your skin. His glowing eyes are inches from yours.
“I want to repay you, meine perle.”
His thumb continue to soothingly stroke your jaw, His voice drops, soaked in a sultry tone as his gaze maps your features.
“You worked so hard for me. Went through so much, didn’t you? So good for me.”
You give a sharp inhale at the praise, a warmth suddenly pooling in your lower abdomen. You’re hypnotized by his large frame, his gentle touch, the inflection of his words. You can only stare up at him in anticipation, caught off guard by his change in demeanor.
A tentacle rests on your knee and begins to creep up your thigh. You try to look down but his hand under your chin keeps you steady.
“I want to make you feel so good, meine perle. Will you let me do that?” His voice dropped to a low whisper, and another tentacle creeps up behind you, making you flinch as it slithers down your shoulder and curls around your collarbones, “Will you let me reward your hard work?”
Your thighs spread obediently at the touch of his tentacle and Konig takes the opportunity to stand between your thighs, keeping them open. When you go to answer the only thing that comes out is a nervous squeak, so you opt for nodding your head.
The grip on your face tightens, a few of his fingers indent the soft flesh of your cheeks, “Ah, ah.” He gives a slight shake of his head. “You have to say it, meine perle.”
It takes you a moment to find your voice. “Yes, Konig.” You whisper through shallow breath, eyes wide as you look up at him. “Please.”
He gives another pleased hum, a tentacle eagerly coiling around your waist and picking you up from your spot on the edge of the bed.
A gasp leaves your parted lips, hands finding the slick coiled appendage at your center for leverage. Your socks scraped the duvet as he repositioned you to the middle of the bed.
Two tentacles work the button of your pants, a sharp inhale leaves you as they yank your zipper down and slide the waistband to your thighs. His eyes trace every inch of newly revealed skin as his tentacle placed you down on the bed, removing the appendage looped around your middle. By the time he gets your jeans off and discarded to the floor, two more tentacles have already begun sneaking up the hem of your shirt, slithering up your stomach and lifting your slick stained shirt with it. You obediently, albeit hesitantly, put your hands over your head to let him take your shirt and bra off in one swipe, ruffling your hair as he does.
You’ve got your upper half propped on your good arm, palm sunk in to the mattress. He corrects this by looping a tentacle around your good wrist, giving it a careful but firm yank as another presses to your sternum and guides your back flush with the mattress. Another simultaneously wraps around the forearm above your injured wrist, gently pinning it to the bed and forcing it to rest on the mattress above you. The two tentacles that removed your shirt trace down your exposed core and down each leg, giving you goosebumps behind the trail of slick they leave behind. The tentacles stop at your ankles, wrapping around them and up your calves like a snake coils its prey.
In quick movements your ankles are forced to in the air, extended and spread. He kneels onto the bed at your feet, positioning himself so he’s kneeling in the new space between your thighs.
He stills, tentacles holding you firmly but comfortably. You can feel his suckers against your bare flesh, each having their own independent wriggling grip on you. Your chest rises and falls, trying to swallow your nerves of being undressed and fully restrained at the hands of the powerful being you’d freed.
His eyes are tracing all of the newly exposed flesh, and you can’t help but squirm against his appendages as you fight the urge to cover yourself. He holds you steady, all your limbs extended as he takes his time committing the curves and dips of your delicate body to memory.
His eyes find your panties, already stained with arousal at the way he spoke to you, manhandled you.
“Such a delicate thing you are, meine perle.“ He says, eyes half-lidded as they admire you.
“You knew you wouldn’t stand a chance against me, didn’t you little one?” His voice is low but gentle, and you’re stunned by his words, his forwardness. You can’t help but be intimidated pinned beneath him.
“You knew the risk you were taking. You knew I was deadly.”
One of his tentacles come up to gently smooth the hair he had disheveled when removing your shirt. You flinch at his touch, and he gives a pleased hum once he successfully fixes your hair.
“And yet you couldn’t help but throw yourself at me.” His eyes briefly widen before returning to their half-lidded boring stare, “Time and time again,” He shrugs in casual disbelief of you, “I’ve never seen anything like it, your carelessness.”
A free tentacle sneaks up your leg again, curling to stroke your spread inner thighs.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re self-destructive. Suicidal, even.”
The tentacle at your thigh creeps up, teasing the waist band of your underwear, and you suck in a breath through your teeth.
“But I do know better, though, don’t I?”
The tentacle lets your panties snap back to your hips, and the appendages holding you as restraints tighten on your limbs threateningly, excluding your injured arm.
His eyes narrow and his voice drips of arrogance.
“You’re just a little masochist.”
The tentacle drags down your front, teasing your slit over the fabric of your panties.
“Aren’t you meine perle?”
Your thoughts are clouded with a haze as you cling to his words, hypnotized by his chilling voice, domineering tone, and arousing touches.
He lets you get away with not responding this time, studying your responses to his teases before he continues. He gives another hum, a tentacle tracing down your neck and core, leaving behind a cool trail of his slick.
The tentacles tracing your cunt curls around your waistband again, while the two appendages securing your ankles maneuver your legs as they slide your panties down.
“Do you like that I have so much power over you?”
He has to unravel the appendages on your ankles to remove your underwear, discarding them over his shoulder. The cool breeze on your dripping cunt makes you shiver, tensing your core and arms in his restraint.
“That I’m a predator and you’re just a sweet defenseless little thing?”
His tentacles quickly rewrap around your ankles, but this time he secures the thick middles around you, covering the tops of your feet in his slick suckers as he forces your legs spread. His tentacles slither all the way up your legs from foot to upper thigh like thick black vines, and he leaves the ends of his tentacles with extra slack so the tips can tease the lips of your dripping cunt.
“Does the danger turn you on, meine perle?”
He gives a hum as he eyes your exposed and spread cunt, thoroughly slicked with your own arousal.
“I can see it does.”
You flush under his stare, still mesmerized by his words and the heat pooling in your lower abdomen.
He leans forward, his hands finding the mattress on either side of your core. You shrink under him as he leans down. He presses the front of his pants against your cunt, spread open by the tentacles looped around your legs.
“You were afraid of me.” He says, and you let out a broken sigh as he grazes your clit, your hips giving small involuntary grinds against him, “Yet you still gave yourself to me, so willingly.”
He hovers his face inches from yours, glowing eyes reflecting off your wide eyes. His voice drops low, and the hem of his hood drags across the curve of your breasts. The smaller tentacles that pour from under his hood curl around your tits, and you flinch under his touch when the ends of slick appendages start to tease your nipples to attention.
“I think someone that brave deserves to be thoroughly rewarded.”
He keeps his face close to you, leaving the equivalent of kisses through his hood down your middle as his smaller tentacles trace your skin.
He kisses all the way down to your cunt, spread open by the larger appendages coiled around your legs. You lift your head to watch him, and he keeps his half-lidded stare on you as the tip of a smaller tentacle swirls slowly around your clit. Another traces your dripping entrance.
A breathy sigh leaves you, your thighs tensing under his tentacles, but he holds firm.
“I am curious,” He starts, eyes locked on yours as he lays his chest flush to the mattress between your wrapped legs. He props himself up on his elbows, and brings a hand up to his hood to slowly pull it up halfway. His smaller tentacles part like curtains to reveal his mouth, and your eyes widen at the sight.
Your dreams had been scarily accurate, a taunting smile made up of rows of predator teeth. Razor sharp and killer. Concern and awe melded on your features, eyebrows pinched and eyes wide.
“Are you still afraid?”
He sticks out his tongue, and your face twitches as you watch it extend unnervingly far from his pointed teeth. The length and curl reminded you of another tentacle, but made of the flesh of tongue.
He dives his tongue up the slit of your cunt, a long deep stripe from hole to clit.
You let out a pathetic whine, your thighs begging to clench around him but tentacles forcing you spread. He hums, tongue sending the vibration straight to your pulsing clit.
He starts slow, tracing circles around you with his precise tongue.
Your hips grind into the pleasure, and he huffs in amusement at your eagerness. He lets his tongue unfurl, completely smothering your cunt with his slick tongue. He loosens his grip on your thighs just enough to allow you to get a better range to thrust into his face.
You give another whine when he stops teasing you, but continue to grind your clit against him in a desperate search for pleasure.
You give him a pleading look, mouth slightly parted for breathy exhales. He lets you grind long enough to embarrass you, waiting for the telling flush of your cheeks.
He finally pulls away with a long swipe along your cunt as you let out a sinful moan. The tip of his tongue returns to your aching clit, flicking side to side. He starts teasingly slow but hungrily picks up once he hears the hitched breaths you take.
You have to lay your head back to the mattress, closing your eyes as you give in to the pleasure.
He presses the tip of his tongue to your clit head on, pushing his tongue forward and letting it slither down your cunt. It curls around like a ribbon, the wide part of his tongue rolling down your clit as the tip curls back to your entrance, rimming your dripping hole. He teases you for a few moments before diving the tip of his tongue into your warmth, keeping the middle of his tongue pressed against your clit.
You let out a gasp as he enters you, and he gives a low pleased hum into your dripping cunt in return. His tongue slithers further into your warmth, the thick of his tongue continuing to graze your clit.
You start to grind down on him again but the tentacles around your legs climb further up your thighs, securing your hips as the ends continue spreading your cunt open for him. You give a whine, and he complies by pushing his tongue in and out of you, fucking you while stimulating your clit.
Your toes curl under his suckers and the moans are falling from your lips without thought as he tastes you.
When you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, cheeks flushed and breaths shallow, he’s eyeing you the same way he had eyed the meals you brought him. Free tentacles twitch in excitement as his hungry gaze follows his prey.
The corners of his mouth curl into a smile as he quickens the movement of his tongue, causing you to pull against the tentacles restraining your limbs, desperate moans leaving your parted lips.
He retracts his tongue, an arrogant laugh leaving him as he leaves your dripping cunt rutting into the air.
He licks another deep stripe against your entire cunt one more time, letting his nose swipe against your slit as he drags up. His eyes roll once he retracts his tongue again, a sinful moan leaving him.
“You taste so sweet, meine perle.”
You let out a whimper, rutting your hips in desperation at the sudden lack of touch. He gives another pleased hum as he sits up on the bed, eyeing you from above.
A free tentacle creeps between the mattress and your middle, and when you obediently arch your back he coils an additional appendage around your waist. He hauls you into the air with ease, the four tentacles on your limbs still spreading and supporting you. The tentacle on your injured hand, still less taut than his restraints, slithers up further to keep your wrist in-line with the rest of your arm in absence of the support of the mattress.
He puts you above his head, cunt resting just above his head. He tilts his neck back before burying his tongue back into your cunt while keeping you in the air above him.
A squeak leaves you as you tense against him, unnerved by the sensation of being suspended in the air. Your worry melts to pleasure as he fucks his tongue into you, his tentacle restraints bouncing you up and down in rhythm with his slick tongue.
The jostling and the tentacle coiled firmly around your ribs allows the moans and squeaks to leave you with ease, and he hums in satisfaction at the cute little noises you’re making for him.
He retracts his tongue again, letting his hood drop, and you look to him with pinched brows - as if offended he revoked your pleasure.
“I could eat this cunt everyday and not get tired of it.” He says, and even though you can’t see his mouth you can tell he’s wearing a cocky grin.
You let out a pathetic little whine, giving a weak tug against his restraint.
“Don’t worry,” He says, almost mockingly, before you feel a thick tentacle slither up to tease your cunt, a relieved whimper escaping you.
He uses his thick appendage to swirl around in the slippery mixture of your own arousal, his slick, and spit. He uses the smooth side of his tentacle, curling it against your slit as he moves your restraints, forcing you to grind your dripping cunt on his tentacle. Two more free tentacles slither up your chest, cupping your tits and teasing your nipples with the ends of his slick appendages. He continues grinding you against him as he lays the two tentacles over your tits, a sucker on each covering your nipple and applying suction. The stimulation makes you gasp and pull against his restraints, overwhelmed with him sucking both your nipples and forcing your clit to grind on his thick appendage at the same time. Your squeaky and broken moans echo throughout the motel room.
“I’m just getting started with you.” He says, low and dangerous, “Make sure to save some of those pathetic whines.”
The thick tentacle swirling your cunt teases your entrance before impatiently slipping into you.
You let out a pornographic moan as he plunges into you. You’re sure it was loud enough for the neighboring rooms to hear but being filled up by Konig’s tentacle felt too incredible for you to care. His slick tentacle was thicker than anything a human could offer, and his suckers allowed for a ribbed sensation as he fucked his appendage in and on of you. His dexterity allowed him to find your g-spot with ease, the end of his tentacle massaging it as he fucks in and out of you.
Your eyes close at the overwhelming pleasure, weak and limp as he puppets you up and down on his tentacle.
He’s using all of his tentacles on you now, and you’re helpless to stop him as he removes the appendage that secured your waist and coiled it around your neck, close enough to graze your flesh but not yet applying pressure. Your eyes open at the touch, half-lidded in pleasure as you find his glowing stare. Even through the overwhelming stimulation, it’s an unnerving feeling having him wrap around your neck, reminding you of his power. He could end your life, easily, and there would be nothing you could do to stop him.
He slithers further around your neck, and you can help but shiver under his threatening touch. He sees your brows pinch in worry and his eyes squint. While his hood obscures his mouth you’re guessing it’s twisted into a smile, as if he knows what you’re thinking and had planted the idea on purpose, reigniting your fears before you get too lost in the pleasure.
There’s a sinful glint in his eye, “Do you trust me, meine perle?”
He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, his tentacle tightens around your neck, cutting off your moans with a harsh gasp.
Your eyes widen in fear, your fingers scratching the air instinctively as you wiggle in his grasp.
The tentacle fucking your tight cunt doesn’t let up. You’re left with your mouth open as you ride him, the moans that would be coming out silenced by his tight grip on your airway. The lack of oxygen allows a fuzzy haze to cloud your brain, and suddenly you’re not even thinking about the danger or the tentacles restraining and choking you. All you can think about is the sensation of your cunt being teased and fucked as your nipples are milked by his suckers. You let your body go limp in his grasp, no longer anxious for release. You’re still looking at him, but he’s getting farther and farther away, your vision blurring his bold silhouette.
He waits for your eyelids to unevenly flutter shut before he loosens his grip, keeping his tentacle looped around your neck like a scarf.
Your first sharp inhale is involuntary, followed by desperate sharp gasps for air. He continues pounding your cunt, his tentacle diving further into you, stretching you open as you return from your haze.
His smug snicker progresses to a deep hum of satisfaction.
He gives no warning before he cuts off your air again, watching as you fight against his restraints while managing the overstimulating pleasure.
“I like watching you struggle, meine perle.”
He takes a moment to look you over, watching you tense and feebly wriggle against his strong grip. He soaks in the look of concern and arousal on your features. You fade away quicker this time, eyes going cross as you zero in on the tentacle fucking your soaked cunt, suckers clinging to your walls as he massages your g-spot.
“I’d feel bad about it, but I know you like it too.”
He releases his grip on your neck, tentacle unfurling and leaving behind a necklace of clear slick and imprints of his suckers. You’re sputtering and coughing as he allows you breath, struggling to steady yourself as you’re bounced up and down on his thick tentacle.
Once you catch your breath you’re giving him breathy moans again, tensing beneath the tentacles on your limbs.
“Look how aroused you get when I threaten your life. This tight little cunt is so wet.”
One of the smaller tentacles that extends from under his hood runs circles on your pulsing clit. The tentacle that had retracted from your neck traces a line down your spine, stopping to rim your ass.
Your eyes widen at him as he slicks up the entrance of your hole. You’re nervous about anal, but you don’t find your voice to stop him. He slips a slick tip in, allowing you time to relaxing on just a few inches as he continues working the rest of you.
You were right about him being good at multitasking. It’s a lot to handle a once, your clit being teased, cunt pounded, nipples being sucked, and ass being stretched around the end of his appendage, all while being restrained and unable to relieve the tension building inside your body.
You’re lost to the stimulation, moans and expletives and sweet nothings pouring from your mouth in jumbles.
Konig’s enjoying the show, reveling that he’s made you come undone under his power. The mess he was making over you, covering you in his slick and getting you drunk off his touch.
A white heat steadily builds underneath your skin, pooling to your lower abdomen.
“Konig! It’s too much- it’s too much I’m gonna -"
“Come for me meine perle.”
The waves of pleasure rip through you, convulsing in his grip as you come. Konig doesn’t let up as he fucks you through orgasm. Mercilessly pounding your cunt with his thick tentacle while you clench at the intense euphoria.
“There you go, so good for me.”
You let out a strangled moan, hands searching for something to grab onto for stability but they come up empty, straining against his restraints while powerless to the pleasure.
“Konig - please.” You manage out between your broken moans and meaningless stuttering.
He gives another low hum of approval and he still doesn’t let up, the tentacles still working all your sensitivities.
“Not done with you yet, meine perle.” He warns, and you let out a whine in response.
You’re quivering in his touch now, futilely arching away from him, your pleasure turning to over-sensitivity.
“‘s too much.” You mutter out, shaking in his grip and too weak to escape his touch.
“I know, but you’re going to take it for me, aren’t you meine perle?”
You let out another whine in response, twitching at the stimulation that was turning nearly painful.
He offers some relief by removing the smaller tentacle from your clit, but he keeps the rhythm of both tentacles inside you, filling you up and forcing you to bounce on him. He continues teasing your nipples with his suckers, enjoying watching your back arch desperately as you squirm under the sensitivity.
You keep his gaze, teeth still grit at the overstimulation, eyes pleading.
He removes the tentacle from your cunt as he holds you steady, no longer bouncing you but still teasing your ass as he undoes his belt. He pulls it free with one firm tug, discarding it with the rest of your clothes.
His hands ease his zipper down and he takes his time, amused by your expression seeped in curiosity, desperation, and awe. He inches his pants down enough to expose his genitalia.
A fleshy appendage, a few inches longer than what a standard human male would have, springs to attention from the waistband of his clothes. The entire appendage was a uniform deep pink with no head. The shape reminded you of another tentacle, larger at the base and ending in a slick tip. Slight indents that ran up the sides of his shaft.
He lets you admire him for a few moments before he lines your used cunt with his appendage, plunging into you without mercy.
You let out a loud moan at being filled again, and he rock his hips, letting his appendage grind in you as you sit on his full length.
“Shh,” he whispers teasingly, “Don’t want anyone finding out how much of a desperate slut you are for me, hm?”
He brings the tentacle that had occupied your cunt up to your lips, and you obediently open your mouth to let his tentacle slip in, silencing you as you suck on the end, tasting the mixture of your arousal and his slick.
Your moans and whines are muffled by his tentacle as he pounds into you, his restraints moving you up and down in rhythm with his hips, meeting your hips in the middle as he fills you up.
He lets out a low growl that shoots a tingle of excitement down your spine.
“This pussy feels even better than I thought. So fucking tight, meine perle.” His pace quickens, now pounding ruthlessly into your soaked cunt.
His hands find your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as he guides you on his appendage. The tentacles supporting you allow you to lift almost all the way off him before forcing you down his entire length over and over again.
The moans are pouring from you again, but gagged by the appendage fucking your mouth - slick, arousal, and spit dripping down your chin.
When he pulls his appendage away from your cunt, the rest of thick tentacles still work your ass and nipples as he works to flip you over. He forces you into an all-fours position in front of him, letting you rest your forearms and knees on the duvet, his restraints staying firm on your limbs as he bends them into position as if you’re his doll.
You obediently arch your back and lower you head down on the mattress, sticking your ass into the air. He can see you spread open from behind, and he watches the tentacle work your tight little ass as he shifts to his knees behind you.
He gives you a firm smack on the ass with his hand, huffing in amusement at your shocked gasp around his tentacle gag. He gives you a few more, alternating cheeks as the sound of flesh on flesh echoes throughout the motel room.
He hums in amusement at the squeaks that come from your gagged mouth.
“Such a naughty perle,” He teases in his arrogant tone, “Always putting yourself in danger, hm?”
You whine, fingers clawing at the duvet as you brace yourself, flushing at the idea someone might hear your punishment.
He stops not long after, leaving behind his handprints on your flushed cheeks. He’s getting impatient, so when he lines his appendage back up with you he slides in without warning, hands finding your hips for grip as he slides in and out of you.
He’s too excited, he can’t refrain from letting his hips flush with your pink sore ass.
The tip of his appendage curls forward inside of you, massaging your g-spot as he fills you.
He doesn’t let up, keeping a steady rhythm with his hips and all of the tentacles working you. Your tits groped, nipples sucked by his tentacles, mouth and both holes filled and fucked - it’s overwhelming enough to make you go limp in his hold, not a single thought occupying you as you mindlessly work your tongue around the tentacle gagging your mouth. You’re too focused on the pleasure, how good it feels to be at his mercy.
“Watching you got me so excited, meine perle.” He says though heavy breaths, his grip tightening on your hips, “I’m already getting close.”
His thrusts get more intense, and you think you’d be yelling if you hadn’t been gagged. You probably wouldn’t have been able to warn him about your second finish even if you hadn’t been silenced, too cockdrunk off the overstimulation to properly string together a coherent sentence.
Your cunt clenches around him as another orgasm rips through you, causing your muscles to tense in his restraint.
He lets out a hearty moan, his thrusts becoming slightly uneven as he struggles to keep his composure in your tight walls.
He comes everywhere, his finish not only marking his claim deep in your cunt, but also from each of his tentacles, tips releasing his come into your ass and mouth while coating your tits and spread cunt.
He twitches inside you throughout his finish, fingers digging into your hips as he gives a few light thrusts, milking every drop of his finish into your filled cunt.
You’re still limp when he finally pulls away with a strained moan, his tentacles placing you down gentle on the mattress. You’re on cloud nine, too high from your finishes to be able to support yourself. You let the mattress support you, basking in the warmth of the afterglow, bliss settling over you as you recover.
He gives another hum of satisfaction at the sight, having completely unraveled you and marked you with his seed. He leans down to plant a kiss through his hood on your back, his hands giving a light squeeze on your hips as he props himself up next to you. He runs his fingers up and down your back, swirling through the clear slick his tentacles had left behind.
He lets you rest for a few moments, waiting for your breathing to settle before a tentacle gently drapes across you.
“How about we get you cleaned up, meine perle?”
You let out a dazed hum of approval, letting his tentacles coil around you to carry you to the shower. He presses you to his chest, your head resting against him as he cradles your back and the crease of your knees.
When your eyes flutter open, and you meet his glowing stare, your face stretches into a warm sleepy smile. He unwraps your bandages carefully, and he doesn’t let you lift a finger once you’re both in the cramped bathroom, standing outside of the tub as he scrubs you down. You exchange little words, both of you still basking in the afterglow.
He takes his time wiping the slick and come off your skin, easing around the flushed marks his suckers had left behind on you.
It’s soothing - the warm water embracing you, and Konig smoothing a washcloth over your skin. Intimate, even, how he’s washing your upper arms as he holds your hand with his free hand, watching you while you relax into the water. He’s extra gentle with your injured wrist as he cleans you.
He’s in no hurry as he cleans your middle and legs, enjoying the glisten of the water on your plush breasts and thighs. He thumbs the bubbles on your skin under his soft grip.
He even washes your hair, his large hands massaging your scalp as he runs the suds through. He’s careful not to get soap in your eyes when he rinses the bubbles from your hair, using a tentacle to shield your forehead as he guides your head back under the stream of the shower, disregarding the water spraying all off the motel bathroom floor.
He’s being so careful with you, so sweet and soft, it was a jarring contrast to the Konig that had been ruthlessly pounding you moments before or the Konig you’d come to know trapped in his cell.
Once you were all clean, he shut off the showers with its noisy clunk of old pipes, he was quick to wrap one of the motel towels around your dripping body before he carried you back to the beds. When he stilled you meet his eyes, resting your hand on his chest.
“Guess we’ll have to share a bed.” He says in his cocky tone as you follow his gaze to the mattress, thoroughly soiled and stained from your session.
You roll your eyes at him, giving a soft tap on his chest in your disapproval of his corny flirting, but the smile on your face betrays any hope of hiding your enamor.
His eyes squint from under his hood with a smile, you assume, as he carries you to the bed with his strong arms.
It’s not easy for a being with tentacles shooting from his spine to cuddle. He wasn’t designed for cozy naps and soft embraces, but he does what he can. He presses against the pillows sitting up, at an angle to leave space between the headboard and his back for his tentacles to settle. He nestles you at his side, keeping your head on his chest as your arm rests against over his core. Your leg props up on his as you rest the side of your body on the mattress.
His arm wraps snuggly around your back, fingers making soft circles at your curve.
You’re already halfway to sleeps clutches when you mumble into his chest.
“Thank you, Konig.”
“Thank you, meine perle.”
———————————————————-
If you enjoyed this fic, you may enjoy…
THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN - Loser!Konig x Reader - Konig & Reader must compete in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death. (122k word slow burn)
Original Works Masterlist
8K notes · View notes
margotw10bis · 2 months
Text
The Place Before the Darkness.JJK TEASER
Tumblr media
husband!Jungkook x female reader
Genre: angst; fluff; smut; attempt of a thriller
Words: ?
Synopsis: It was love at first sight with your husband but when you find a secret phone in Jungkook's office, everything shatters as you suspect him to have an affair. However, maybe he has deeper secrets...
Warnings: none for the teaser
4 Years Ago
You've decided to relax at the hotel while the others went scuba diving.The bar of the hotel is great, just like the rest of the facilities, especially to forget how awfully lonely you are while your friend is getting married.
Yet, the relaxing time you were expecting is fading away when a man takes the seat next to yours at the bar. Your breath hitches because damn! He looks good. You are not sure you’ve ever seen a man this handsome. He is tall and his black hair is shining. He looks casual with his Hawaiian shirt and his shorts.
You’re having a hard time not staring at him but what can you say? It’s not easy taking your eyes off of him. He is attractive, too attractive.
"No scuba diving?" He asks you
You are surprised — it’s an understatement — because how the hell does he know that?! But you can’t say anything when you meet his eyes. They are so black, it’s intimidating but there is a sparkle of playfulness in them. This man is a paradox: all seems mysterious and comfortable at the same time; cold and warm; distant and kind. However, a weird feeling embraces you, just like you’ve known him all your life. Is it… love at first sight? You’ve read about it, you’ve seen it in movies but experiencing it… Wow, it’s an all other level. 
"I saw you and your group of friends yesterday at the restaurant, and this morning, I spotted them heading to the boats" He explains — your shock must have been well visible 
"You have a great memory to remember so much about strangers" You joke 
“Selective memory in fact”  He corrects with a oh-so-charming smile and you literally feel your heart melt and your cheeks burn “And I’m particularly attentive to beautiful women"
This sentence could make you ill-at-ease, it’s such a playboy thing. But the way he is sipping on his fresh beer so casually and his eyes… So honest.
"Can I invite you for diner?" He asks and you have to pinch your arm to make sure you are not dreaming 
.𖥔 ݁ ˖
“Can I call you back?” You ask through the phone but actually don’t wait for any answer and just hang up
You were searching some documents for the assurance in your husband’s office when you found it. A phone. At first, you tried to look for some rational explanations of why your husband would hide a phone in his desk.
The latest text, from yesterday, was an address. A hotel address. It was an appointment for tomorrow. Your heart sunk as you went through the convo: over and over again, the same hotel room with different dates and hours. For four months. 
So this is it. Your husband is cheating on you. You can’t stop your crying because the pain in your chest is just unbearable. You thought that Jungkook was the love of your life when you married him three years ago. And even now, with your broken heart, you still believe he is. You haven’t thought about living without him, it can’t be possible. 
When you hear the front door and your husband asking if you’re home, your sobbing gets lourder and  you have to put your hand on your mouth to mutter it. The steps you know so well — just like you thought you knew your husband so well — are getting closer and closer. When he pushed the door, he didn’t think he would find you crying in his leather chair. The biggest tears he has seen since he knows you.
“What’s going on?" He hastily asks you, panicked that you might be hurt 
And you are indeed. You are feeling so much pain that you wonder how your heart hasn’t stop beating of how squeezed it has become. 
Once again, your husband frowns but only a second. Because his big does eyes widen at the sight of his secret device in your shaky hand. All his blood is drained from his face, making his skin look pale. He gulps but his throat feels as dry as a desert. 
“Y/N, I swear, it’s not what you think” He starts but his voice is already broken 
“So you don’t go to those rendezvous in that hotel?” You ask
Your voice has some hope in it, like you still think there is a tiny chance that your husband is not cheating on you. But a single glance at him and at his guilty face is enough to definitely break this hope.
636 notes · View notes
mmurderhousewrites · 6 months
Note
Modern au sukuna and reader+ one bed trope+ fluff or smut you can choose
i love the ideaaa i did my best, i hope you like it. <3
Summary: You and Sukuna are forced to share a bed together.
Warnings: Smutttt! like real nasty. Fingering, friends to lovers kinda? unedited
wordcount: 1947
Tumblr media
It was late march when your boss had given you a mission out in the states. You were a detective in Tokyo but one of your men had gone missing, making your boss send his best men.
Unfortunately that meant you and your coworker Sukuna. You didn't exactly have a problem with him but he was a flirt. And sometimes you couldn't help but feel butterflies in your stomach when he would compliment you or make a joke. Perhaps it was because he only seemed to flirt with you? He was quit rude to everyone, even you but you seem to like his sarcastic attitude.
After arriving to the hotel, you tip your taxi driver. Sukuna was silent almost the whole way here, on his phone. You wondered if he didn't want to be on this mission. After all it was a long way from home.
"thank you" You say to your driver before stepping out. Looking up you could tell this was a nice hotel. It looked to be at least 50 floors high.
Sukuna steps out the car as well and follows you to the trunk, popping it open and taking out your guys' luggage. You grab your f/c suitcase from him and giving him a quick thanks.
"no problem, sweetheart." he flashes a smile down at you and closes the trunk, tapping it to let the driver now he could pull off.
The two of you make your way to the big entrance, A black archway above you and clear glass doors. Plants and flowers hung from the ceiling and down the sides, as well is littering the lower part of the wall.
Walking through you're greeted by the hostess, a fairly tall women in uniform. She was quit pretty with brunette curled hair.
"Welcome to Midas Hotel! The front desk is to your right. I can take your bags for you" she smiles. You notice the whole time she's looking at sukuna not acknowledging you.
"No we've got them." you say, continuing your way to the front desk.
As the two of you approach you notice the receptionist fidgeting in her seat, but still smiling as she notices the two of you. What's her problem you wonder to yourself.
"Hey were under Satoru" Sukuna says to the Woman. She pulls it up on her computer and smiles.
"Alright you booked the King bed suite, correct?" She asks smiling, looking at the two of you. You raise an eyebrow.
"King bed? I'm almost positive we booked a two bed" you protest, getting quite annoyed.
"Well it says here that originally it was booked as a two bed but someone called a few days later requesting to change it to a king bed. If that's a problem I can see if there are any two beds available." She says.
The only person you could think would do that is your friends getou, considering he has been pestering both you and sukuna about how you feel about each other. And you doubt Sukuna would make a big move like that. Sure he was a ladies man but he's definitely not the type to force that type of situation.
"I'd appreciate if you did that." You respond, looking over at sukuna who is leaning against the wall with his eyes shut. He was more then likely too tired to pay attention.
The receptionist sits there in silence for a few seconds before making a disappointed face. "unfortunately we don't have any available. I'm sorry about that." She says.
Just as you were about to respond Sukuna cuts in, "It's fine just give us the damn key." He says, You could tell by his tone he was getting frustrated just like you.
Quickly the woman nods her head, turning around and grabbing a key. Checking everything out, She hands it to Sukuna. "Room 4001 on the 40th floor, the elevator is to you left."
Sukuna nods his head and you mutter thank you before following him over to the elevator. You guys put your stuff on and you click the button for floor 40.
Once you get to your room, Sukuna opens the door and you cant but sigh in awe. It was huge. Walking in to your right a full kitchen and a small dining table, to your left was a full bathroom and a jacuzzi tub. Ahead was a living space with a tv on the left side of the wall and a couch across from it. There was a wall in the middle of the giant room, separating the bedroom and living room, in the bedroom was a king size bed and a tv mounted on the wall across from it.
You put your suit case down in the bedroom.
"Well i can sleep on the couch" Sukuna suggests, "or we can swap"
You ponder for a moment in awkward silence. Would it really be so bad to share a bed with the man you had a small crush on? I mean that's like a big step forward but it's not like you guys would do anything right?
"I'm sure it wouldn't kill us to share a bed for a few days. We're not gonna do anything so it doesn't matter" You say making him chuckle.
"I guess that's true. But I wouldn't mind doing something" He smirks. Yup Here he goes. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Sukuna sets his suit case down on the right side of the bed. "If I'm being honest i think I'm gonna crash for a little bit, I'm exhausted."
"Yeah i think i might do the same." After a 14 and a half hour flight you could definitely use some sleep on an actual bed. You open your suitcase up, retrieving your laptop and setting it on the side table. Looking through your suitcase, you pull out a black tank top.
Sukuna takes his shirt off as well as his shoes and flops down onto the bed, laying on his stomach. You turn away and change out of your shirt, putting your tank top on and stripping out of your pants. You never were one to wear pants to bed and you weren't going to start now. And what could you say you weren't gonna miss out on an opportunity like this.
turning back around, Sukuna lets out a low whistle while looking up at you. Now he was laying on his side leaning on his elbow. "I don't wear pants to sleep i hope you don't mind" You say crawling into bed and under the covers.
"I do not mind at all sweetheart" he winks at you.
You roll your eyes, " good because i honestly didn't care" You laugh.
"well i hope you don't mind either because i don't sleep with pants on either." He says hoping up. You can't help but pay close attention as he unbuttons his belt and slides it off, following it with unzipping his pants and sliding them down his muscular thighs. This man was like a god. How the hell did you end up in bed with him.
You watch as his black pants fall down, revealing his grey boxers which looked tight and hugged his lower waist. not only that but hugged a thick cock. You could literally see the outline of it.
You turned the other way, facing away from him blushing like crazy. Perhaps your dreams should stay dreams. There was no way you would ever be able to take him. You could only imagine what he would look like hard. The thought made your toes curl and your pussy clench.
You feel Sukuna climb into the bed. He gets under the covers and you could feel that he was facing your back. You guys lay in silence for what seems to be forever before he breaks it.
"do you mind if i?" He says while putting arm around your waist, pulling you and him closer together, your back now pressed against his. You hoped he wouldn't turn you around because you were blushing like crazy.
Sighing and relaxing into his arms to reply, "this is fine" You feel Sukuna's breath against your neck and you move back a bit to get more comfortable, making it so your butt is against his dick.
Sukuna lets out a grunt before going silent again.
"sorry" you say hoping you didn't hurt him.
"you're fine" he says quickly. If Sukuna was being honest, as much as he wanted to he couldn't sleep. Not with your plump ass against his cock. The only thing blocking the two of you was your flimsy underwear and his boxers.
He couldn't help himself, bringing his hand that was round your waist down to grip your ass cheek making you inhale sharply. "Is this okay?" he questions, he knows he's pushing his limits but he couldn't help it. He knows he made it painfully obvious to you that he wanted more then friendship, at least he always thought he did. Especially with he excessive flirting at work and always trying to protect you on missions knowing you are fully capable of taking care of your self. So yeah Sukuna definitely wasn't going to let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers.
Sukuna's big hand gripped basically your whole butt cheek, moving it around and playing with it like it was a boob. You could feel him getting hard against you, poking your ass. You can't help but giggle.
"hm?" he questions. taking his hand away
"That tickles" You mutter. You turn around, facing him. He smirks down at you.
Sukuna leans towards you and places a small soft kiss on your forehead. With a sudden burst of confidence, You take your opportunity and push him on his back, climbing on top of him. He raises a eye brow but smirks at your little game.
You lean towards him going for his lips and as he leans towards you move your head to his neck, blowing a raspberry.
"ugh!" he shouts before flipping you over so the roles are reversed. He captures your hands into his left hand and hold them above your head. "you know you shouldn't start battles you can't finish" he chuckles before kissing you for real. His lips meet yours and you kiss him back, allowing him entrance into your mouth when his tongue brushed your lips.
As your tongues battle each other for dominance his right hand slips between your thighs. middle finger playing against the damp slit on your panties. He smiles into this kiss, sliding your panties to the side and running a finger lightly over your clit, making your body twitch into him at the contact. he runs his finger repeatedly over your sensitive bud, making you moan into his mouth.
Pulling his lips away from yours he looks into your e/c eyes as he slides his middle finger into your wet hole. You open your mouth letting out a small whine. Sukuna runs his thumb over your clit while fingering you, making you moan and lean into him, not able to do much with your hands bound.
"what a pretty girl" he smiles, giving you a small kiss. Your pussy clenches around his finger, you moan loudly knowing this was the end. You were gonna cum all over his fingers.
"sukuna!" you moan as your body shakes, pussy convulsing around sukuna's finger. you sigh as you try to get your breathing regulated again.
Sukuna pulls away and shakes his head, "I don't remember telling you to cum sweetheart." he says, looking at you disappointed.
"what" you question, raising an eyebrow at him.
"I've got a lot to teach obviously, and were only getting started." he lets out a dark chuckle before leaning over you.
The week you had ahead of yourself was sure going to be interesting.
392 notes · View notes
ozzgin · 11 months
Text
Yandere! Edward Scissorhands x Reader
On her quest to make at least one sale for the day, Avon lady Peg cautiously steps into the eerie mansion of a known inventor. She soon learns that it has long been devoid of life, with the exception of Edward, a synthetic human creation left unfinished. She returns to the bright suburbs accompanied by the poor young man, earning the curious stares of the bystanders. Among the colorful houses, however, Edward spots a gloomy dwelling that the neighbors seem to avoid. Who is the mysterious occupant?
Winner of the Halloween Poll! A short gothic romance in the style of Tim Burton, where two outsiders find solace in each other.
[Horror Masterlist]
Tumblr media
The light yellow car slows down as it reaches the driveway and the engine stops. Peg makes her way out and hurries over to the passenger side, keys dangling between her fingers. She helps Edward out once she sees him awkwardly shuffling in the seat, unsure of his next step.
"You'll love it here. I just know it."
The woman hastily closes the door behind the tall, peculiar visitor. She places a gentle hand on his back and guides him down the asphalted path. 
Edward's gaze briefly wanders further into the street. The houses are slithering along neatly, their vivid colors somewhat tiring to his unaccustomed eyes. Yet one of them sticks out. Strangely enough, it reminds him of home. A rusty iron fence surrounds the property, and patches of lush, unkempt vegetation creep through the bars. The walls are dark and crooked and the black tiled roof casts a shadow over the entire abode.  
"Who lives there?" The question escapes his lips almost unconsciously. 
Peg follows his gaze, eager to introduce the area to him. Once she settles on the source of his inquiry, her smile falters for a second.
"Oh, my. That's, well..." she lets out a forced laugh and encourages him to continue walking. "I'm glad you're already so curious, Edward dear. You'll get to know everyone soon, don't worry about it."
One more push and the guest has securely entered the house. As she prepares to twist the knob into a lock, she peeks out for the last time, surveying the surroundings with mild worry. A neighbor is walking their dog, whistling in the distance. As they approach the mysterious building, the animal begins to bark and the owner scurries to the other side of the street. 
"He's so...strange!" one housewife exclaims, sipping on her lemonade.
Joyce is biting the temple tips of her sunglasses as she carefully inspects the dark haired man, currently using his sharp, spear fingers as barbecue skewers. She's batting her long eyelashes, entranced. She does like her men on the enigmatic side. In fact, she might just have a word with him. She folds the sunglasses and hangs them by the collar of her low-cut blouse. Of course, she doesn't forget her famous ambrosia salad as she departs from the rest of the fidgeting women. 
"Ed, darling. You must try out my signature dish!" she daintily holds up a spoon and attempts to feed the pale newcomer. 
He cautiously opens his mouth, unsure of how else to respond to the gesture. He tries to find Peg within the crowd, hoping she'll give him a new task away from this uncomfortably touchy person. And as luck would have it, his savior has come to the rescue. Peg doesn't hesitate to pull Edward away, cheerfully mumbling a domestic excuse. 
Once freed from the shackles of awkward social interactions, the man tiptoes his way out of the yard and down the street. He doesn't like the constant murmur of people talking. He doesn't understand the jokes, the loud laughs, the complicit slaps on the back. He feels as if he's on the other side of a glass window, separated from an audience demanding cooperation despite him only being able to discern muffled, discontinued meaning. 
None of this was mentioned in the Etiquette book. Or perhaps it has always been there, and the Inventor never got to the specific chapter. Died lamentably before he could explain how one navigates neighborhood BBQ parties.
Edward's step is clumsy and he doesn't have a particular direction in mind. In his scattered daze he nearly trips over something and turns around apologetically. You're sitting on the ground, resting against the fence. The book you were reading is now thrown aside, as you're too busy massaging the ankle that just got kicked by the sudden intruder. You look up, ready to scold the responsible airhead, but your eyes stop on an eccentric feature that catches your attention. 
"What happened to your hands?"
You're a little embarrassed by your unexpected, tactless curiosity. The man seems entirely unfazed, however.
"They weren't finished. I'm incomplete."
"Hmm. Isn't everyone?" 
Edward considers the question and recalls the people he's met so far. Peg and her husband. Joyce. The children. 
"But they don't look unfinished. They have all the body parts."
You chuckle slightly at the literal observation. 
"Well, you can't check them on the inside, can you? Most people have missing parts. Or broken ones."
"Where would you get it fixed, then?" Edward is startled by this new discovery. 
"You learn to fix it yourself. Otherwise it just stays like that, maybe forever."
He lifts his hands and stares at them. Is he going to be like this forever, too? He hasn't pondered the concept of time much before Peg had found him. Yet now, 'forever' feels unsettling. 
"Do your hands bother you that much?"
Edward doesn't know how to reply. He wishes he could resemble everyone else, that much is true. Then people wouldn't stare. And they wouldn't be afraid. As he mulls over the right words, he suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings. It's the house he noticed earlier, when he first arrived here. Which means...
He examines the person before him. They, too, look complete. So why?
"Why does everyone avoid this place?" He remembers the gathering he just left. "You weren't at the neighborhood party either. I thought all neighbors will show up."
"I was never invited."
"Why?"
You shrug.
"You're also not currently attending, are you? Otherwise you wouldn't be here."
"I took a break. It's too loud. Can I sit here?"
Before you can answer, he drops himself next to you with a thud. His fingers swish together as he adjusts his posture. 
"Oh, sorry, I forgot. What is your name? I'm Edward."
"Uhh... (Y/N)." You mutter, taken aback by his direct approach. What an odd fellow, you think to yourself.
"Nice to meet you, (Y/N)." As he scans your features again, he feels compelled to add, "You look rather pretty."
A faint blush takes over your face and you twirl your hair in an attempt to hide it. Is he mocking you? You genuinely can't read his intentions. 
"You don't look too bad yourself, Edward. I think the hands add to your charm." You eventually find the confidence to blurt it out, quickly following up with a laugh.
His heart tightens and he almost forgets about his hazardous extremities, having to stop himself from touching his now throbbing chest. He's never malfunctioned before. It doesn't feel like anything is wrong, either. Your comment, for some reason, made him very happy. 
(Y/N). Looking back to everything that happened, he's glad. Maybe he should thank Joyce next time he sees her. He wouldn't have met you otherwise. 
As the sun begins to set, you remind Edward that it's impolite to leave a party for too long. He protests, stating he prefers your company. As flattered as you are, you rephrase it as Peg being worried about his sudden disappearance and he feels bad enough to agree on his early retirement. On the condition he can hang out with you again. Once you guarantee a reunion, he makes his way back home. 
As he lays on Kim's bizarrely fluid mattress, tucked into the layered pastel sheets, Edward is overwhelmed by a strange, unfamiliar warmth. A wide, childish smile is plastered on his face and won't go away. Each time he closes his eyes to fall asleep, he pictures the encounter. (Y/N). It's a nice name, isn't it? He finds it particularly charming. He whispers it out loud in the dark room, as if making sure it's real. Reminding himself you're real. 
He can't properly explain it. It's the same thick window that stands between him and the world, but you're next to him. An outsider. A rejection. The idea that someone else out there shares his struggle has cleansed him of any longing for acceptance. Why bother with a sea of foreign, smudged faces? Peg becomes Joyce, and Joyce fades into Marge, and they all become a generic crowd of smiling pleasantries. It's a funny thing, being among humans. Once he left his old mansion behind, he realized how truly alone he had been. Still, being surrounded by people he could not comprehend made him feel even more lonely. That is the tragedy; sitting at the grand table, empty handed, unseen, unheard. Misunderstood. No one's fault, really. It just happens. But every now and then, if fate so allows, one might just find another starved attendant. With the same glint in their eyes, of someone not belonging. 
Oh, he can't wait to see you again.
It's unusually noisy outside for a late evening and you can't help but glance out the window. That's when you notice the roaring crowd, trampling in a hysterical march of unknown purpose. You have a bad feeling about it. The horned moon leers down at you like a bad omen and you quickly throw a jacket on, sprinting into the street. 
"What's this all about?" you shyly ask the nearest group. 
"Witch!" Esmeralda scowls at you with a pointing finger. 
Peg notices the commotion and runs towards you, completely disregarding the prophetic warnings of the woman. 
"Oh, (Y/N). It's Edward. They..." she sighs, frustrated. "I know I don't have the right to ask you this, but you're his friend. Could you please make sure he's alright?" Her voice is pleading and regretful. 
You nod without saying anything else. Before you turn to leave, you swiftly gesture to Esmeralda, raising your index fingers up and mimicking a devilish look. She gasps and throws her hands together in prayer.
It had to be done. 
Meanwhile, Edward has reached his old mansion and just now stopped in the entrance hall, panting anxiously. He feels nauseous and helpless. It's not that he's being chased by the enraged members of the neighborhood that alarms him. He cannot stand the possibility of not being in your presence ever again. How frightful, how agonizing! He claws at a nearby column in turmoil. 
It can't be, it won't happen. He'll tear his way through the masses if he has to. Oh, what a terrible thought. His Inventor would roll in the grave if he knew the violent ruminations that plague him right now. But if he has no other choice...Would he go as far as taking someone's life if it was for your sake? Well, technically speaking, his sake, really. He wants to see you. He needs to.
Panic slowly creeps through his body. The thoughts are piling up in an erratic hum and he can't find his focus again. He paces back and forth, attempting to recollect himself, but there's an urgency that drowns him in cold sweat. 
"Edward?"
The ringing stops. A switch has been flipped and he snaps his head in the direction of the voice. It's you. Completely spellbound, he extends his hand to touch your face, verifying whether you might be an illusion of his feverish desires instead. The blade pierces your skin, leaving a bright red trail behind. 
"I'm so sorry-" he cries out, realizing his act. 
You softly lower his hand with a reassuring smile. 
"It's just a small cut. Don't worry about it. I think we have more important matters at hand, won't you agree?" you joke as you nudge your head towards the window. 
"I spoke to the police officer on the way here, so we shouldn't have any surprise guests." 
You remove your jacket and throw it over some dusty furniture before climbing up the stairs. Halfway through you briefly stop and urge Edward to join you. He simply nods.
When the issue is settled and everything has been said and done, will you return to your miserable exile? Won't the neighbors become suspicious if you're frequently seen sneaking up the hill? Perhaps even the utmost secrecy won't prolong the visits much. 
And then what?
As he considers the potential scenarios, he becomes increasingly impatient. The joy of your return has been tainted by the impending doom of abandonment. He wishes you'd just stay with him here, forever. 
Once the conclusion has been reached, he lets out a quiet apology. Maybe to you, maybe to the beloved Inventor, maybe even to himself. He inserts a finger into the entrance lock and silently twists it. 
You must forgive him. Or at least try to understand him. He just loves you too much, (Y/N). Is it truly such a hideous crime? To want to keep you safe? If so, he will live with the guilt. But not without you. 
You're home. 
630 notes · View notes
famemonsterrr · 1 year
Text
Astrology observations part 8 🪽
(Disclaimer: this post is just some observations not facts. If you can’t relate to any of those that’s okay we all have different experiences)
- Pisces with fire placements make someone that is aggressive than usual. Especially if they have Aries in the personal placements but the good about it is that they are passionate about their loved ones
- Gemini’s are either really honest or the most sneaky bitches ever
- Capricorn are either really loud or hate loud people and even if they are on the loud side as they grow older they will calm down a lot.
- I have noticed that anyone who has Leo placements or 5th house makes them really happy,smiley or positive people.
- libra women smile a lot for now reason sometimes or they are the type of women who will laugh at ur joke even if it isn’t funny at all. (fake it till u make it girly pops)
- 8th house,Scorpio,Taurus and Leo placements they don’t forgive and don’t forget. (Be aware they can turn you into a stranger)
- believe it or not Gemini are really romantic people and they always looking for love. That’s why they getting married a lot of times or have a lot of lovers through their lives (especially women)
- earth signs are ruthless when they are angry.
- you can’t lie to Scorpio,Leo,Capricorn and Virgo placements. They are always 1 step ahead of you.
- 6th house mercury will talk about health,being organised and work.
- I have noticed that air placements are so good with technology (my mom is 56 and has a lot of Gemini placements and when I show her something then she gets it and uses the phone like a pro)
- I’m talking from personal experience but as a Pisces I always get Deja vu. Like I’m sitting with my bestie and then I stop and say “why I feel we have been said that before" I’m a delusional baddie 💅🏻 so Siri play Deja vu by Beyoncé
- Scorpio sun with Scorpio mercury and Scorpio rising is something with one look it’s scarryyy but actually they might be goal oriented and very closed people but once u are in their circle they will treat you like you are the most special human being.
- why air mercuries have to be soo sarcastic…? Like y’all funny I love it so much tho.
- mutable signs can do 100 things at once. (Me who writes this blogs,eats,watches a show and play a game between thoughts).
- Pisces mercury are sooo creative and sweet. Like I can’t even tell u have much of good listeners they are.
- I have noticed that Leo or fire signs tend to share a story by adding a lot of sauces to make it sound more dramatic. Definitely the best story tellers
- Aquarius placements are funnyyy because something serious is happening and they don’t react at all they just act like everything is fine. They might cry and still go the things they have to do
- water signs + Taurus love to sleep a lot. (Lazy girly pops 💅🏻)
- I don’t know why but I have noticed all the Capricorn people I have met or seen in my life they are TALL. Like idk why that happens.
- earth signs want things to be done…fast as possible . Time is money 🤌🏻
- Sagittarius and Aquarius love to travel A LOT
- cancers are amazing in anything that has to do painting or drawing.
That’s all🪽
Thank u for reading until the end. I’m greatful about it 🥰 again these aren’t facts and I’m not native American so I’m trying my best.
Stay healthy and hydrated 🫶🏻🥰
738 notes · View notes
notthecutesttrash · 1 month
Text
Stop One
Content: On Halloween night you decide to meet up with your friends. Only to be stopped at the train station by a horrible sight.
Warnings: Drabble! Mahito, dark, blood, death, yandere.
Word count: 1151
Tumblr media
There’s blood leaking towards your feet. You’re stuck in place, wide-eyed. Quivering helplessly as you grasp the scene.
Abnormally shaped figures that were once normal people scatter on the ground. All sickening sizes and colors range from purple to blue.
Your lips are pursed tight, watching as three- no five figures casually huddle around one another. One man has stitches all over his body, another with spiky hair, and the last wore a purple robe. The other two... aren’t remotely even human.
Where did this all go wrong? 
Just a few moments ago you were getting prepared to go out for Halloween. You just got off a call with your friends who invited you to a party, and you got yourself all dolled up, costume on, ready to go to the train station. Everyone around you had the same idea. Occasionally you’d get a nice conversation out of some funny cosplayers or women wearing catsuits. Hands wrapping around the metal bar, you were so captured in your talk you didn’t notice the train skidding to a stop. 
Your eyes are still caught on a lady beside you who is dressed in a bunny one-piece, adorned with matching ears. “I love your costume,” was the compliment you gave her, and she grinned, making a joke about how it was tight enough to rush off to the ER.
She then waved and you reciprocated kindly, mimicking the focus on the sliding doors. A little ding echoed as they opened and you waited patiently for everyone to begin strolling.
However a few seconds passed, and no one was still moving.
You blinked when everyone appeared rigid. Soon after sounds of shock exited people's mouths. Curiously, you had gathered onto the tips of your toes to see past the tall men in front of you.
You weren't able to see much, but your vision managed to catch a small flicker of red before your feet fell. A scream rushed out of someone nearby and you covered your ears at the sound. Ow, sheesh, did they have to do that now? 
Suddenly a figure pushed you to the ground by shoving your shoulders back. With that, the crowd followed, almost trampling you as they ran through the other door. A clear pathway to the scene was revealed, and you gasped in horror.
Blood was dripping down the sides of the pavement, spreading into a puddle that decorated the train tracks. A blue-haired man turned to the panicked crowd. He had a terribly unsettling ear-to-ear grin, and you rushed to your feet, sprinting the opposite way
A slurred mumbled voice erupted behind you. “Kill me, please, kill me.”
A weight slapped your back and you nearly tripped again. Turning, you saw a teal-morphed monster with mismatched uneven lids that were dripping with tears. Its hanging wide mouth opens to repeat the phrase, and you let out a screech as it neared you.
Your palms met the mush and drove it as far back as you could, dashing to the station's stairs. Others were desperately trying to achieve the same goal, and because of the mutual rush, you were pushed to the side.
Mustering a few steps through the mass, a pair of boots eventually slapped you in the ankle. You tumbled down the stairs and your head smacked against the pavement.
Your vision blurred, and the grunts that made their way out eased into nothing as your head lulled to the side. 
“Ugh, why do they always look the same before they die?” 
“Because they’re human.” 
“Yeah, and this is why I hate them.” 
Blinking groggily, you take a moment before managing to notice the ceiling lights blaring into your retinas. There’s an aching throb in your head and the voices that talk nearby have you wincing. Raising slowly to the sight, a small hiss escapes.
The figures ahead of you are too caught in their conversation to notice you.
At the stairs, there are dozens of bodies cascading against each other. All the people you saw shove you out of the way were lying dead in pools of their own blood. Because of the slipperiness, you're not likely to make a prompt escape there. There is a chance you might be able to dart past the group, but to where? The end of the station? And besides, there are 3 men, and 2... who knows what just standing there like nothing happened. That wasn't a good chance. Might even be worse than possibly tripping.
Steadily your palms press against the floor, readying yourself to stand. The movement of your arm shifts something to your side. Something heavy and slimy. You hold your breath as you observe a slain corpse poking your waist. Their neck is twisted horribly, and their eyes are rolled back, only white revealing. The thud of the head falls near you, echoing loudly. Gagging, you stuff your hand to your mouth, the horrified whimper escaping too quickly.
The room has an instantaneous heavy silence, and the group turns to you, a horrifying scowl accompanying their motion.
“Looks like you left one Mahito," one speaks.
“Aw really? I was sure I got them all.” The one with the rampant stitches glances your way. Sighing, he walks towards you. A gasp escapes as he nears.
You rush to crawl back, but you’re promptly halted by a wet squelch against your neck. Squealing out, the man laughs, pausing to watch the pitifulness. It's quiet as your gaze meets his and he smirks. Your pulse stammers and your mouth opens to plea.
He crouches in front of you, features a few inches from yours. It's then you can see the different colored eyes and the stitches clearly that adorn him. He hums, tilting his head.
"I think I like you. I'll keep you."
You're taken aback, completely frozen, yet he grins almost politely.
A scoff sounds from the group. “Don’t be ridiculous, we have no time for playthings.” 
The one with the spiky hair shrugs, “As long as I don’t have to deal with it."
Then another. The robed one beams nicely, though you struggled to find the sweetness in that one. “I don’t mind. Now, as long as you take responsibility and deal with it when she tries to escape.” 
The man in front of you scoffs. "That not's going to happen."
He smiles and leans closer to you, his fingers curling around your stained hair. “Because you’re going to be my pet now. Won't that be so fun?” He chuckles and you're on the verge of tears.
He pets your locks, almost loving the way it feels beneath his fingers and the way you flinch at the action. The tug at his lips stretches wider as he thinks of all the things he’s going to do to you.
And when you stared into those shameless eyes, you knew this was a fate worse than death. 
77 notes · View notes
n3ptoonz · 10 months
Note
WOULD U BE DOWN TO WRITE BI-HAN IN AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE WITH THE DAUGHTER OF A GRANDMASTER FROM ANOTHER CLAN?
absolutely not are you cra- gunshots
'That Can Be Arranged'
Pairing: Bi Han/F!Reader
Fandom: Mortal Kombat 1 (2023)
Warnings/tags: None, angst if you squint, Bi Han sucks at feelings but it's all good, reader has an older brother, reader's father is a cryomancer, reader got jokes, Bi Han in love, sphinx has to stop writing after midnight, 3/4 proofread might be some typos in this mf
Word count: 2.5k+
Tumblr media
Bi Han was to accept an arranged marriage to bring peace to the centuries long clan war between the Lin Kuei and Gwanji clan; both have Grandmasters that wield the power of cryomancy. Overwhelmed with stress and self doubt, he ran away to his favorite place to train and meditate and has been going there ever since before time ran out.
You were to be the one to get married in order to bring peace to the two clans. You didn't even know the name of the enemy clan due to your father favoring your older brother more your whole life. Overwhelmed with stress and being fed up with both of them constantly in your ear, you ran away to wander around and see what or who you could find.
You were the rebel between you and your brother. There's no surprise he's favored more, but it's mostly because he's older and has to carry on the title once your father passes. You kept questioning your father, asking why not just find him a wife? And it was always the same old "but war" "but this" "but that", and tried to instill you with fake confidence to believe you were the only way peace could be achieved.
It was a beautiful night with clear skies and shining stars. The world was quiet. The more you walked through the woods, the more you appreciated the outside before you had to be bound to the enemy clan's temple. You stopped in your tracks at the sound of what sounded like someone exercising. There were grunts and shouts only a fighter would have between each move. You quietly got closer, peeking behind a tree to see a tall, handsome man with a defined body under the traditional fighting attire he wore.
You just sat and watched him channel his energy into his punches and kicks. The way his muscles tensed when he wasn't getting a move right was fascinating. You were always sheltered since childhood, so finding another person on without your father's influence was the absolute highlight of your night.
He stopped for a moment, standing straight up and looking in your direction. He saw your shadow move right as you hid behind the tree.
"Can I help you?" he said. His voice was deep and raspy, and he asked that question like you just bothered him. He figured you weren't initially a threat due to the fact that he's usually just attacked by his enemies, while you hid. Also he could see a bit of your flared sleeve.
You peeked from behind the tree before fully stepping out, a sheepish smile on your face.
"Didn't mean to interrupt, I was just admiring the view. Looks like you could use a sparring partner."
You saw his brows furrow at your suggestion. Just who did you think you were? Thinking you could take on the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei?!
"I am not some entertainment for you to watch. And I don't 'spar' with women-"
"-who could whoop your ass? I wouldn't either." you cut him off mid sentence and crossed your arms with a smirk. The only person you've ever sparred with was your brother, otherwise with one guard that you've been close with since a kid. So to take on an outsider was like a rush.
Whatever you were doing worked, cause now he was offended and wanted to put your pride in check.
"Alright," he said, taking a small weapon out his shirt when you put a hand up to decline. You took out your own blade and flipped it in between your fingers.
"May the best one win."
-
You two had been meeting up and sparring for about three weeks now, and with every encounter, you both had just talked more and more about yourselves. You talked about your life as a daughter of a stubborn father who favored your brother all your life, while Bi Han talked about his rift with his brother and the stresses of filling in his late father's position as head of his clan. Neither of you really thought to reveal your roles in your clans, afraid the other would be put off.
"I get married off next month." you said bluntly after you sat in silence. You both had been sitting together and stargazing in the grass. Honestly, you never thought he'd be down for something like this, but you certainly weren't going to complain. "So...I won't be able to come here anymore. I am to prepare to be bound to the enemy's temple and probably bear his children. Ugh, it's probably some old fuck--who I won't be fucking."
Bi Han wore a slight bit of a smile at how crass you were. You laughed it off, but you were dead serious. You looked over at him already looking at the side of your face.
"How our fates aligned like this, I am getting married tomorrow. Also an arranged marriage. I guess we both won't be coming out here anymore." he said, his voice slightly disappointed as he turned his eyes back to the sky.
"Really? I thought the men were still able to do as they please. It's what my brother says."
"He's not entirely wrong, but I am not that kind of man. I wouldn't be that kind of husband. Even though I don't know this woman and I don't know how long it'll be before I actually love her, I would still respect her in some way."
You could tell he was genuine in his response. He couldn't even look you in the eyes upon saying what he really felt. When you first met, he was cold but an odd hint of welcoming, even if you did come off as immature. He didn't want to admit it to you, but he was slowly falling for you. It was wrong, as he's literally about to get married to somebody else, but it's what his heart says.
"Wow..." you muttered, unable to stop looking at him even though he was focused on the stars. "Didn't think you'd be into that sort of thing."
"Marriage?"
"Love."
He looked down at the ground, resting his elbows on his elevated knees and sighing. "I may be cold and reserved, but I am also human. How I choose to express affection is usually the problem. It's why I don't focus on things like that."
You then looked up at the stars, fidgeting with your hands before speaking.
"...Is it wrong to fall in love before an arranged marriage?"
Bi Han's head raised, but he still didn't look at you. He then stood up and dusted off his clothes, choosing not to acknowledge your question.
"It's getting late."
Your heart sank a little as he said that, going back to his cold demeanor. You wanted to apologize if you made him uncomfortable, but like he said, he didn't focus on things like that. You just nodded stood next to him, extending your hand as a farewell.
"This is goodbye." you said, fighting back the urge to shed a single tear. These last three weeks had been the best time of your life, and it was all to dissipate all over again. As he looked at your hand, knowing this was a farewell, he too wanted to shed a tear. He just couldn't do it. He can't shake your hand. He's too afraid he'll end up vulnerable in front of someone he's only known for three weeks, and he hasn't cried since he was a child.
"You should get home." he promptly said, walking past you as he gathered his things and left. Feeling the wind hit the side of your face from how fast he took off made you want to sob and throw a fit. How could he be like this? Ah...remember, he just doesn't focus on things like this. You stood there as your hand just fell to your side, holding back a flood of tears that could flow at any moment.
After five seconds had passed, you turned around just to see that...he was gone.
-
"What?!" you exclaimed. It was 9 in the fucking morning and your father just let you know out of the blue that you were actually getting married today. You stood in his office now fully awake in your sleep attire and angry. Why would he decide now to tell you such a thing? Your brother tried to make sense of it while you just ignored him.
"Father, I am not ready!"
"Sure you are. It's just a 3 week difference, why are you so worked up at this hour?" he sat back in his chair so casually as your brother stood next to him. You got so worked up you stormed towards the door and knocked over some important looking books on a shelf.
"I'm running away!" you shouted, slamming the door behind you. This was beyond belief. He really loved keeping you out of the loop. Right before you were on your way, you saw a pair of gauntlets that your father was going to give to your brother...and they grant the power of cryomancy. Hell, what do you have to lose?
Unfortunately, the guards kept getting to you before you could escape a few times, locking you in your room until it was time. For a few hours all you could do was throw a tantrum and emptily threaten the guards lives.
Eventually, there came a knock at your door. You didn't answer, just sitting in the corner of your room with your face buried in your pillow. It was the same guard you grew up with. You thought aw damn, you couldn't lash out at him.
He simply offered you words of comfort and sat on the edge of your bed, letting you know your father wants you to be ready in 15 minutes. He even offered to help you pick your best outfit.
A long 15 minutes later, you cleaned yourself up and made yourself look presentable. Though, you still stepped out of your room with a scowl, glaring at the guards that were on standby. You slyly hid the braces under your flared sleeves. If you needed to use it, you wouldn't hesitate to. Who cares if you weren't trained to use them? You'll figure it out.
"You look lovely, miss. I know you don't think you're ready, but I trust that the Grandmaster didn't choose someone twice your age. Your mother was actually younger than him by 2 years, if that helps." he said, trying to cheer you up. The corner of your mouth lifted into a half smile, appreciating his efforts.
You escorted yourself to sit with your father and brother before the gates that opened up to the temple. The usual traditional practice had started, and you looked the most uninterested among the rest--even resting your head into your palm.
It was a rather nice day. How convenient that it wasn't snowing to all hell on a day you were pissed off.
The gates finally opened, and here came your supposed future husband. You rolled your eyes and looked away for a moment. As you refused to look at the man walking up to the throne, your father stood up and greeted him.
"Bi Han, Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. My now...former rival. I welcome you to the Gwanji temple."
You froze in place. Did- Did you hear him right?
"Excuse my daughter, she is a little shy. I offer her to you as a gift of peace. We mustn't fight any longer, two cryomancy clans should stick together, not separate."
As your father rambled, you slowly looked over at the man. It was...really Bi Han. He is the man you were arranged to marry...and you were the woman he was arranged to marry today. No wonder your marriage was pushed back.
You quickly stood up and just stared at him. As his eyes fixed onto you, his gaze went from a slight shock to softening. He couldn't believe it himself. It was really you. He was arranged to marry the same woman he fell in love with in a span of 21 days.
"...but, to make this interesting, what do you say to a duel? You and my eldest son, for my daughter's hand?"
It's like you got water splashed into your face after a dream sequence. Did you hear him correctly? A duel?!
Your brother was the fiercest fighter you knew. You never could stand sparring or generally physically fighting him, he would always go low when he thought he was going to lose. Just what is he going to do with a cold Grandmaster who usually only has regard for himself?
"Seriously? For my hand? That's unnecessary, it was neither of our choi-"
"I accept."
Your eyes snapped to Bi Han, whose look of determination was back onto his face.
'I will not lose' he thought, chanting over and over in his head. He will earn your hand to prove he's worthy, even though he didn't need to. He couldn't lose this fight or you.
"Splendid. May the best one win." your father said, sitting back down and gesturing for you to follow. But you just stood there in awe. He was actually doing this.
"Sweetheart, I know you're excited, but let's sit for this. Who knows how long this'll go on for?" he motioned for a guard to push your chair in behind your knees. You decide to comply, truly curious as well.
It's been an hour. Both parties evenly matched and no telling who had the upper hand. However, you watched your brother with close attention. He hadn't done anything suspicious just yet...
...Spoke too soon.
As soon as Bi Han was gaining on him, he pulled a hidden weapon from his pocket, slicing Bi Han's cheek. You just sunk into your chair, in utter disbelief at the sight.
He did another sequence of dirty moves, and the next one was bound to be fatal. You knew this because he has already told you before, this wasn't going to end well for either side. At the next slash before his big move, you got up in fit of rage and used the braces to create a large wall between them two made completely of ice.
"Must you be so damn cowardice?!" you yelled. You turned to your father who had a look of pure confusion. "You raised a fool. And it wasn't me."
You ran down the stairs and over to Bi Han, who had a bunch of cuts on his face and arms.
"Are you alright?" you kneeled in front of him, who was on the ground in pain, but didn't want to make a big deal about it. He looked up at you with such love and respect in his eyes.
"I'm in love with you." he said, shocked at how blunt he was with his own feelings, but he didn't care.
"Thought you'd say that." you smiled. Standing up and looking through the ice, you helped him stand and held his face, mindful of the cuts splayed across his cheek and nose bridge.
"I do. You do. Boom, we're married." you said, kissing him without an ounce shame. Once you heard the clamoring on the other side of the wall, you quickly backed away and took his hand to make a run for it out of the gates. Now this, was now the most fun you've ever had in your life.
As you kept running, Bi Han caught up with you and couldn't help but process everything that just happened in the last two hours.
"Are we going to have a proper wedding?" he asked.
"That can be arranged."
333 notes · View notes
ivestas · 2 years
Text
the lady of crime alley
Tumblr media
Summary: Jason had heard rumors of a woman who ruled Crime Alley and all of its underworld connections, so he pursues her for a favor. 
Tags: jason todd x fem!reader, canon typical violence, unedited
Word count: 1.2k
Notes: i’ve been on a red hood comic binge and i always thought his narration was corny in the best way, so i hope i was able to emulate that through this fic hehejejjejehe (also i use ‘tugging at your pigtails’ as a metaphorical descriptor, not an actual physical attribute of reader!) alsoo, please send some batfam requests! 
Jason had heard murmurs of the woman who was the true ruler of Crime Alley and all of its underworld connections. 
At first, he dubbed it a win for feminism, because women too can be major players in crime worlds! 
But then it got annoying real fast, because for some reason, you were real good at hiding your trail; every turn he went, the moment he thought he caught a glimpse of you, you were gone moments later like ash in the wind. 
It took him five of your men and his a few hours of continuous beating to get the vaguest clue of where exactly you resided; he spent the rest of the week nosing his way through that misty trail, his irritation growing by every second he had to march down Gotham’s shittiest streets, and it didn’t help that his red hood hardly had any breathing holes. 
He was trying to keep his cool—he really was!—but the more you seemed to toss at him your half-starved homeless men at him, the more brutal the remnants of them became. 
“God fuckin’—jesus, just tell me where the lady is!” He spat. “I just have some questions, that’s all, why does she keep sending you guys—“
“We’re telling you nuthin’, that woman’s an angel and you ain’t gettin’ yer dirty mitts on ‘er!” The man—a ragged, gaunt-looking guy—heaved, blood pooling out his mouth. "You’ll never see ‘er—!” 
“You just wanna talk?” 
Jason’s head snapped up, hand still wrapped around the man’s throat. 
In the warehouse which he had 'accidentally’ beat everyone half to death, a woman stood at the entrance. Though it was night, the moon was bright enough for Jason to make out some of her features. 
She’s easy on the eyes.
Suddenly, all the pent up irritation that had been writhing under his skin dissipated. 
He’s a sucker for hot women. 
“Hey,” He rose from the man’s body, standing tall. “You must be the ‘true ruler of Crime Alley’ or whatever—it’s a bit of a dumb name, don’t you think?” 
You were silent, face scrunched. 
“Jeez, tough crowd—”
“What do you want, Red Hood?” You sounded mildly annoyed, as if he’s just some pesky kid tugging at your pigtails or something. 
You took a step forward into the warehouse, arms crossed. “Talk. You have my attention now.” 
“Oooo-kay, great! So, I kind of need help with something—a favor, if you will,” he raised his sword. It was busted and dull, practically just a dented piece of iron than an actual blade. “I need a replacement for this—” he grinned. “—And all the information you have about Black Mask and his connections with Joker.” 
“...are you dumb?” 
“What?” 
“Do you actually think I’m some ruler of Crime Alley? You weren’t joking?” You laughed, eyes wide. 
“You’re not?” 
“No! I’m not the fucking ruler of anything! Come on Red Hood, is critical thinking not your strong suit?!” 
“Hey, hey, c’mon lady, go easy on me—“
“I’m just the woman who gives the people here a place to stay! That’s it! Is this the reason you’ve been up my ass?!” You scowled at him. Were you a model, because you even made pissed look delicious. “Beating up a bunch of homeless guys ’cause you thought I was a fuckin’ mob boss or something?—yeah, mob boss of the homeless? Seriously?"
He raised his hands. “Okay, when you word it like that, I feel dumb.” 
“You are dumb—anyway, do me a favor and stop beating up the guys here? Please!?” You hissed, your hands balled into fists. “Because I’m the one that fixes up their wounds and I don’t have the money to keep buying gauze and shit.” 
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll lay off—though you coulda just have talked to me earlier?” He muttered the last part but you somehow still heard.
“You think I’m gonna go talk to the ‘Red Hood’? The guy that kills on his free time?” 
He sighed dramatically. “Touche—and it’s for a good cause! I only kill people that—“
“Yeah, yeah, don’t list me your commandments to be on your fuckin’ hit list, God you’re annoying.” 
He laughed. “I have a feeling I’ve pissed you off—”
“You beat a bunch of guys I take care of half dead. Pissed is hardly covering it.”
“—and you know what? I don’t like pissing off pretty women—I said it! I don’t like it. So, I humbly apologize.” He swept his leg and arm in unison into a grandiose bow. 
You scoffed, going to one of the unconscious men and pressing your fingers to his pulse. “I only accept apologies in cash.” 
“Oh, okay, that’s much easier,” making his way to you, he tugged off one of his blood-soaked gloves and rummaged his pocket. A couple hundred dollar bills were in there. 
He extended them to you. “These enough to soothe any hiccups?”
You carefully moved the unconscious man to the ground. From the pockets of your giant jacket came a small bag with a bottle of antiseptic, bandages, and a bunch of other shit. 
You then looked at him, brows furrowed. “That’s... a lot of money.”
“Is it?” 
“Yeah? Do you have enough money for yourself?” 
Jason stared at you for a moment before barking out a harsh laugh. That earned him a frown. “You’re worried? About me?” 
“No, I just don’t want you to beat some person up for their money if this is all you have—“
“Baby, I’m rich, I shit gold bars, just take it.” 
You glared at him for a second before snatching the money, shoving it into your pocket before tending to the man. Pushing up his shirt, Jason saw his body was covered in lacerations and bruises. 
Jason whistled. “Damn, didn’t think I was that strong.” 
“Fuck off.” You sprayed some antiseptic. The man groaned. 
Jason sat. He should be going off and looking for more trails of Black Mask, but he didn’t really want to—not right now, anyway. 
Even if you’re not some mob boss or whatever, you were still intriguing, and he’s a curious guy, he can’t help but want to watch you some more. 
However, he was quick to notice how stiff you were under his gaze.
His head tipped to the side. “Hey, do I scare you?” 
You ignored him, running a rag along the guy’s body. Blood stained the white cloth instantly. You lifted the cloth and looked at Jason. 
“This is the worst you could do. Beat someone. Maybe flay them. Then they die.” 
He hummed. 
“So when you say ‘scare’, I assume you mean the idea of you beating me or whatever—killing me, or torturing, your shit.” Your eyes went back to the beaten guy, continuing with the cleaning. “You don’t.”
“If that’s the case, then why’d you avoid me?” 
“Because I had shit to do, that’s why.” You unraveled a gauze. “Not everything’s about you—eugh, I can’t lift him, hey, since you’re just sitting here, help me a little—yeah, just like that, thank you,” you swept the gauze under the man’s back then brought it back up. You repeated that motion. “But yeah, not really scary. Death is just—well, death.”
Jason nodded along. You were weird. 
He liked weird. 
When you were done, Jason put the man back down.
“Well, I gotta go now, duty calls and all.”
“Okay.” You got up, moving to the next guy. 
“Bye?” 
“Just leave.”
Tumblr media
AO3
Masterlist
Requests are open
664 notes · View notes
sweetiebean00 · 4 months
Text
Hey Bartender
I love my angsty boys as much as the next guy, but I feel like it's Dick Grayson's time in the moonlight! Hope you enjoy!
Dick didn't tell anyone what he did when he wasn't patrolling, when he wasn't in uniform. When being Richard "Dick" Grayson got to be too much. His family didn't need to know, Bruce and Alfred had dealt with a literal demon. Not that anyone else knew it. He pretended far too well at that, he was used to it. To pretending. To playing up the smiles, and the bad jokes. The care that was real for his family, but none quite understood why Nightwing was feared in Bludhaven, in any of the cities they went to. Not that they noticed, not if Dick could help it.
Still, as he walked through the doors of the same old club that hadn't quite been shut down yet. No evidence of any illicit dealings, he did check before arriving. Especially in case he was recognized by being Bruce Wayne's adopted son, his ward. He's been coming to this place for months, wanting to be lost. To be forgotten. It was easy too, gave them his name, his last name as his first. He hated lying, it was part of the job but he hated it at times. Made it easy when everyone who saw him, who got used to the twenty something year old looking like a child soldier (because that's what he was) coming in and sitting at the counter. 
Avoiding looking in the mirror behind the bar, the club danced and pulsed with light. With energy. Men and women, teenagers and adults, and everything in between was allowed in and they danced. Had fun in a safe space to forget. Those who didn't take no, received a shot in the head. At least that was the first thing Dick encountered. The girl behind the counter, her hair pinned up and eyes narrowed as she put the gun on the bar. The warning was silent to the man who had been reaching for an abandoned drink. Her threat was clear, and when the gun was fired off at someone who had been trying something fishy, a butcher's knife slammed into the counter. Inches from the hand trying to tamper with the drink inside. 
She had looked to Dick, looked at him through the lenses of her glasses that hung on the end of her nose. She nodded once, as if understanding something Dick himself hadn't understood. Only poured him a baby shot, with a half-smile. A silent taunt, a test to see if he could handle the liquor properly and not like the morons about the club. After the next five, she had given him a proper glass, and three more in she looked at him. His hands clasped on the top, his fingers interlocked and told him the rules. Had him sign a contract that was legitimate and he wondered if she drew it up herself. When asked for a name, he gave her his full name and she didn't bat an eye. 
That night he woke up slumped on the counter, and the bartender, who he learned was Angel, was shaking him awake. Asking if he wanted her to call someone because they were closing up. He didn't have the conscious thought to respond, and when he woke again he was on a couch. A blanket thrown over him and a bucket by his head, a glass of water and an unopened bottle of ibuprofen next to him on the floor. What was important was that his clothes were still on, there was nothing arrayed with him, his senses. His phone was plugged in, and a sticky note was taped telling him to turn the sound off next time he wanted to pass out else he'd find it broken by a bullet. 
"Watch yourself tonight Grayson," The bouncer, Brutus, broke him from his thoughts. He blinked, turning to look at him. He was tall, large. Bald and sporting tattoos from the eyebrows down over every inch of his skin but his back. "Angel's in a mood tonight."
Angel's in a mood? Dick swallowed, brows furrowed as he side stepped those entering the club next. It was a little out of the way place, nothing fancy and apparently the only way people find it is by needing an escape, a safety net to catch them in life. Angel called it Haven for a reason, after all. Brutus nodded his head at the sign by the door, easily missed but Dick knew what it was. There was a tally mark for every scumbag that entered and didn't leave the way they came. In a body bag, missing a finger, etc. His eyes widened, it must be a bad night for it to be hitting ten marks. The sound of a gunshot rang, and he watched as Brutus sighed. Adding another mark to the chalkboard.
Dick turned, turned into the crowd and part of him so badly wanted to fix it. To help. But that's not why he came here, and when old habits kicked. When he tried being the hero once, he had been stopped right in his tracks by Angel. She handled the situation, and when he woke up on that shitty couch she was at the bar. Head in her hands, and he had seen just her back. Seen silvery blonde hair that fell about her shoulders messily, had seen that her skin was sunkissed and golden. That she was covered in ink, with an entire sleeve on her right arm that ended at her elbow on the left. She had what looked like wings on the nape of her neck, and she spoke without her voice being hidden by the base drum. She spoke soft, cool, and calm. There wasn't an edge, there wasn't anger, or anything. Just quiet facts in a soft, but raspy voice. Probably from all the yelling she needed to do in the club at night, but it was.. it shocked him. She didn't look at him once that morning, and when he saw himself out he saw her face hidden by a cup of coffee and fogged up glasses.
This time, he took a deep breath. Side stepping the regulars and the new ones, teenagers and adults wanting to forget. He swears he saw Roy Harper in here once, but like Angel had said. This was the club people came to be forgotten, to forget. To get lost. He promised himself to never approach anyone he recognized in the club outside of it, never bring it up. And despite the detective inside being curious, he didn't investigate it. Didn't even put it in the search engine, didn't look up a blonde woman named Angel. Not even when his fingers twitched, and he burned with wonder. 
His shot was waiting for him when he looked down, and he looked up to see a fire in her eyes. She watched the crowd like a hawk, her glasses pushed up her nose and he wondered if they were for show. Babs hated it when her glasses hung too low, got in the way. He didn't ask, instead knocking it back like he had been for months, weeks, days now. A knife left her fingertips in a split second, and he watched it soar through the crowd. Her aim was never off, never wrong, and he wondered how she did that every time. 
"Gray." She greeted with a nod, the music was changing to something slower. More somber, but still a rapid beat. He listened to it for a moment, before knocking back the shot again. Sometimes he wondered if this was magic, if it was magic that kept the glasses refilling. If he was in some fevered dream. If Angel was a meta, or a magic user that Batman hadn't sniffed out.
"Angel." 
"Why do you come here, Gray?" Angel questioned, taking the glass from him and adding another one next to it. He blinked, she grabbed a bottle from the back pouring it without breaking her gaze from the dancing and the drinking. "To forget, to be forgotten? Maybe both? Maybe neither?"
He swallowed, hands twitching. He caught the glass that slid along the bar top, watching her people watch. What was her aim? What was to gain by breaking her own number one rule? Never address the elephants in the room. She sighed, knocking her glass lightly against his. He heard her muttering, heard the voice blend with the music and he noted it was low enough he could make out the solemn tone of her voice. Was it on purpose or was the music just rigged to some playlist and shuffling?
Dick cleared his throat, mind scrambling for an answer besides 'um'. He didn't know if he wanted to share with her the truth, the reason for his hiding. The way his mind was getting too loud, the eternal battle for Gotham's people growing heavy on his shoulders. He swallowed as she filled her glass again, as she tapped it with her finger until he downed his own and then refilled it.
"I- I want to forget, and not be remembered." He finally admitted, quietly. In the same notes she had spoken in, as if they were sharing their dark secrets. His skin itched and it took him everything to not start clawing at his arm to scratch the itch inside his bones. He downed the shot and then swiped hers, downing it too. "I-"
"Grayson, stop." She said, softly, no room for argument but it wasn't firm. She reached her hand out, palm up to him on the table. "I'm not asking for the story, not even sure I know why I was asking. It's just, you've been coming here for months now. Late, like two in the morning late, you stay until you can barely think straight, talk even. I just, I've seen that kind of thing before. I know how it ends."
He didn't know how to respond, a lump forming in his throat and now he understood what Brutus meant. She was in a mood, a mood for the deep gritty pain of others. Not to cause it, not to revel in it. He's seen her approach customers before, seen her offer her hand and a way to help. Watching those that took it seem as if they became... lighter. Lighter than the traumas and stress, watched as she fixed them with another kind of drink. Watched as one of the people, her helpers, put a blanket over their shoulders and led them outside. He didn't see them again, but he'd notice that she would seem more tired. More run down, and out of it. Like the weight of the world was on her shoulders now... Dick swallowed the lump.
"You need help, Gray, and not the kind of help the glass can provide." 
"I-" His voice cracked, and he couldn't bring his gaze from the table. Not as she slowly retracted her hand, offering him another glass. "Thanks, Angel, but-"
"I'm not offering you the help, I've offered others." She said quickly, and he looked up. Ignoring the sting in his eyes as she ran a hand through her hair. "I was just stating, have you considered therapy?"
He laughed. The sound wet, watery, but it was a laugh better than the fake one that has been grating on his nerves. On his ears. He took the shot slower this round, savoring the bitterness that coated his tongue. The burn that followed the drink down his throat. She smiled, it wasn't the same smirk she gave everyone else. It wasn't the same half-smile he's seen her sport when she's snickering at one of his shitty jokes, or Brutus’ begrudging groans. The smile is soft, gentle and almost sad. As if she knows what he's feeling, as if she can feel it, understand it. He didn't know how to feel about that, what to think, or even what to say. Instead, just kept drinking from the glass that kept refilling as the music changed, the dancers returning to their wild carefree behavior as she kept an eye on the crowd and on him. As if worried he would break if she looked away.
He wanted to tell her not to worry, that everything would be fine. That she could do what she did best, make drinks and help her patrons. He wouldn't break if she looked away, if she stopped filling his glass or paying attention. He smiled bitterly; Richard "Dick" Grayson was already broken. She just didn't know it yet. It's okay, his family didn't know either.
He doesn't know how long he spent there, sitting at that countertop. On that old barstool with a cushion jimmy rigged to stay in place. He wonders if it was Angel or Brutus that had the idea to staple it on, and he snickered at the idea of Angel getting pissed and just taking a stapler to the thing. It wouldn't be out of character, not even close to it. He rested his head on the counter, the cold wood soothing to his heated skin. The music, the sounds, all drowning into one as colors merged and swirled into a mosaic. Angel's face, lit by strobe lights, was in his line of vision. A hand gently shaking his shoulder, and he watched her brows furrow. Lips pursed and eyes roll, before the world went dark. 
Dick woke to a mild headache, the world far too bright. He groaned, rolling over into his pillow and pulling the blanket over his head. He loved drinks from Angel, the hangover was always mild. He breathed, only to freeze as his brain caught up with his surroundings. He was in his room, in his apartment. He jerked up, hands grasping at his clothes and... he was still dressed. Still fully dressed, even his shoes were still on his feet. There was no glass of water next to him, no unopened bottle of ibuprofen or Tylenol. His phone was plugged into his charger next to his bed, and there was no sticky note reminding him of certain death if he didn't silence the phone, mute the calls, or stop whoever or whatever was pinging his phone despite the silent mode activated.
He frowned, swallowing at the lump forming in his throat as he climbed warily out of bed. Everything was how he left it the night before, his suit on the floor that he very quickly shoved under his bed with his foot. Hoping whoever brought him here, didn't see it. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to ease his racing heart; and failing. Slipping from the room, he froze. 
There passed out on his couch, is Angel. Silvery blonde hair was all over the place, some hanging into her face. The rest pushed back, he saw freckles dusting her cheeks. This is the first time he has seen her properly, in the light no less. He looked away, avoiding the way her noted her lips were pink and pouty. She didn't want others to see her face in the light, in the dark of the club with nothing but neon strobe lights her hair was hidden. Her skin tone, her eyes. There was enough light to see others, to see the faces around him, see the clothing people wore. But the colors were so strong it was hard to tell if someone's hair was black or blonde, freckles, dimples, and moles were gone. Designs on clothes faded, only silver catching light, only the metal of piercings shined clearly. 
Dick moved to his kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck and combing through messy black hair. This is fine, he is fully dressed. Everything is intact, he could question how the hell she knew where he lived later. Question how they got in also, much later. Along with if she managed to carry him herself, or drag him, or did Brutus take care of it. He shook the thought off, he'll find out later. Probably when she woke up. 
In the meantime, breakfast. For two. Maybe some coffee as well. He could do this, he knows how to cook... ish. Okay, so he had received a ban from Alfred's kitchen, but he can cook! He sighed, really wishing he had asked Alfred for lessons now. It's fine. Scooping the grounds into the filter, he started the pot. Letting the warm smell heat his apartment and hoping it wouldn't attract a coffee addicted brother of his today. Not yet anyway. He loved his siblings, his family, and he normally didn't mind (too much) them crashing into his place whenever (especially when Bruce became too much for them). However, Dick had no idea how to go about explaining Angel, about why she was on the couch, not even how he met her. While he could try and play off another hook-up, her being on the couch bespeaks another story alone.
He took a deep breath, this was fine. This is fine. Everything is going to make sense. Dick heard a groan, heard a soft grunt and could see as the head of silver pushed up from behind the back of the couch. Angel shifted, stretching her arms over her head with a whine that had this mouth growing dry. He swallowed thickly, forcing his focus on the coffee pot still brewing. He could hear her getting up, could hear her moving. Her footsteps barely made a sound on the floorboards beneath her, and if he hadn't been trained by the Bat he was sure he wouldn't have even heard her. As it were, he heard her get closer. Felt her eyes as she shuffled her feet and sighed near silently. 
"Good morning," She greeted with a yawn. 
He glanced at her slowly. Waiting for her to either hide her face or something, but she did neither. Instead meeting his gaze head on, with a sleepy smile-grimace on her face. She had freckles dusting her nose and the apples of her cheeks. A scar ran from the center of her chin down and another was on the corner of her lips, she blinked green eyes slowly up at him. Running slender fingers through pale hair and waiting until he was done.
"Morning Angel..." There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to say and so little time. What to say first, how did he get here. How did she? What happened? Why were they here and not in her club with him waking on that shitty faded green couch with patches sewn into it where holes formed. "Coffee?"
She hummed, "Yes please, I'd have made some when I first got here but... that was an intrusion I refuse to make."
His lips twitched at the corner, nothing changed. Angel was still Angel, even if he now knew her eyes were framed with dark lashes. If he knew her eyes sparkled at the sight of caffeine. He poured some into a cup, one he was pretty sure had been left by Tim. But it was clean and it would do, even if it was covered in a skull and crossbones saying 'Death before Decaf'. He slid the sugar her way, watched as she dumped several packets into the black liquid. Watched as she gestured at the fridge and didn't open until receiving a nod, and watching as she grabbed his milk carton out to pour some in. He sipped his, long and slow as she stirred hers quietly. The only sound was the metal spoon clinking against the glass.
"So..."
"I know you have questions, but I need to say this first, Gray." She cut off, hand raised as she slowly brought the cup to her face and inhaled. "You are going to drown yourself in whatever sorrows and thoughts are inside your head? Fine, but if you do not deign to talk to a therapist, a friend, family, anyone even, for every shot you get from me? You have to talk."
He frowned, "Excuse me?"
"Did I stutter?" She raised a brow, meeting his narrow stare with another one back. He noticed her glasses missing, could see dark bags beneath her eyes. "Look, the club is there for a reason, and you are welcomed. But if you want help to forget, to be forgotten, I ask that you share it for every shot. Or you won't be drinking a shot, I'll give you shitty ass tap water."
He mock-gasped, hand clutched to his chest as if he had some fancy pearls on. Internally, his stomach was rolling. Twisting and knotting as ice started to build inside his fingertips, and he ignored the way his hands had started shaking. Downing a gulp like it was a shot of the coffee, feeling a different kind of burn. She didn't roll her eyes, like he expected. Didn't even bat one. He sighed, he didn't want to talk about himself. Not.... not like this, not like that to anyone. They didn't need the worry, the stress... the burden was his to carry.
"Grayson." 
She crossed her arms, brows furrowed now. Yet her tone never became demanding, never scolding. She was giving him choices, options, and yet... he didn't detect the threat. The warning of anger, the promise of demand. He didn't know how to feel about that. 
"I'm not saying you need to go walk out there and do it, to pick up a phone and jump the gun, and I don't know what your life is like outside the club. What I do know is you can't keep drinking yourself into a stupor, I can't help you with that."
He licked his lips, breaking from the intensity of her stare to look at the dark liquid sloshing in his glass cup. It was ceramic, a milk white color with flash symbols dancing all over it. A housewarming gift from Wally, and he knew there was a matching Robin one in there, another to match was Superboy, was Aquaman (they pretended it was Aqualad), and Artemis, and Miss Martian (technically Martian Manhunter). For their morning brunches, they had said when they brought it over. Even if Wally's was the most used. 
"What do you want me to do?" He hated how his voice sounded like a broken sound, just barely louder than a whisper. He saw her frown out of the corner of his eye, but not once did pity cross her features. Not once did she show a sign of being disappointed or anything. 
"All I ask is this, talk to someone. Maybe someone more licensed than some random bartender you met in a club for people who want to get lost." 
For the first time since he's met her, Dick heard the steady, even cool notes of her voice waver. They went higher, a lighter note that sounded... almost nervous, dare he say? He found himself breathing a short chuckle at her joke, her lips twitching at the sound. 
"Either you can talk to one of them, and if you do -I will know if you don't, keep that in mind- I won't bug you again. Otherwise, for every shot you get from my bar, from my club, from me? You need to spill something for me to keep spilling that liquor in your cup."
"Why do you care?" Dick blurted out after she had finished speaking, her brow raised. "It's not like me drowning myself is costing you anything."
"Oh, Mister Grayson, don't you get it?” She laughed, a short and bitter sound more akin to nails going down a chalkboard. “You will cost me everything."
He blinked, once, twice. Unsure how to respond to such a bold declaration. She didn't break, her eyes never wavering. Focus never splitting even as she blindly reaches for the cup of coffee on the island counter and brings it to her lips. He swallowed the lump in his throat, it wouldn't be hard to spin her some tall tales. To lie, to try and get out of this entire arrangement. 
Except, he knows he's never been the best when it comes to expressing himself. To share his inner bits, the vulnerabilities, insecurities, the fears and memories that plague him. He had unfortunately, after a month of being cooped up in his shitty apartment in Bludhaven, had learned to mask it. The face of Dick Grayson becoming a mask as strong as the domino he wore at night, it... it sucked. Feeling too much and too little all at once. There were times he considered calling up Dinah, asking if she was willing... but then the demons in his head would get to him. Too loud, too nasty, and he'd wind up bottling it all up. Caging everything in once again come sunrise. 
"You don't have to give me names, give me details." She said softly, back to that somber tone of voice. To the softness and lowness of an alto with a slight rasp. "Give me anything that can clue me in to who you are when you just want to forget. But, I think you need someone to listen. And if you're going to drown yourself in my establishment, I ask that you let me listen."
"I..." He cleared his throat, tipping back his cup. "I'll think about it."
She smiled, it wasn't like the half-smiles or the smirks, not like that rare grin that lightly curled her lips. It was... It almost looked sad, accepting. As if she knew his answer before it even came to his lips, as if she knew how this would end. As if she could see the train coming off its tracks heading right her way. Or is it his way? He didn't know, and a glance at the microwave showed it’s far too early for that line of thoughts. It's only ten in the morning, way too early for that. Far far earlier for an awkward silence by his standard.
"Do you like cereal?"
She blinked at him, and her smile twitched. In five minutes, they were sporting two bowls of cereal. Her apple jacks floating atop the milk, while lucky charms filled his to the brim. She was seated on a barstool, her eyes crinkling with mirth at the corners as he sat atop the island itself ("You fucking heathen!"). The talk was quiet, the awkward silence having disrupted a debate on what cereal is obviously the best. On whether sitting on the counter is in fact something sophisticated adults did ("I'm not a hoodlum, Grayson!"). 
She explained that Brutus is the one that helped her get him home, that he had signed the legal document with his address for any tab problems that would arise if he walked out without paying. Apparently, it happened enough times for her to make it a legal thing, and he wants to say he's surprised. Honestly, he's not. This is Gotham for crying out loud. 
As time began to near noon, their bowls, cups, and silverware washed in the sink. He snickered at the way her eye twitched at the way he left them to dry on a towel, her glasses being plucked off the coffee table and shoved up her nose with a finger. She stretched, the black leather tank-top-corset thing riding high on her stomach to show off a glittering purple-blue gemstone on her belly button. He ignored the heat that burned at his cheeks when he saw it, immediately directing his eyes to the ceiling. She wore hip hugging blue jeans, the knees worn enough to show her knees and he noticed she was wearing heels. Raising her to his chin, he had to resist making a short joke as rustled her hands through her hair. 
The silence returned, suffocating and awkward. It made him want to make a joke, say something or another to make her green eyes roll. To make her snort again. Instead, she beat him to the punch, tugging a tie from her jeans and throwing her hair into a messy bun.
"Hey Grayson, have you considered dancing?"
30 notes · View notes
klwrites · 1 year
Text
Born To Die.1 (Jason Todd x reader)
Requests!!
The reader and Jason were friends for a long time before Batman took him in. You and him only had each other and the streets of Gotham.
(TW drug use)
Tumblr media
Cold nights were the worst. You weren’t sleeping outside or anything but the kitchen floor of your job wasn’t the coziest. Speaking of warm, there was more warm next to you last night, where did Jason go? It wasn’t abnormal to wake up without him. Hell, you’ve spent more mornings without him then with, but no matter what you always ended up sharing the day by lunch time. You took a few steps outside before the familiar smell of smoke ran through your nose and you let your nose guide the way. There was a long path that trailed behind the buildings your job was in, heading to the usual spot you whistled to calmly grab his attention.
“It’s not even 8 am is it? Already at it?”
You joked, what better way to warm up? He passed it over to you while you mumbled a thanks.
The crisp air was awakening.
“You working today?”
“No,” you paused, taking a hit. “I know what we should do today though.”
“And what’s that?”
“Holy shit, Firefly… you’re insane.” Jason chuckled, looking around at the empty green house.
He questioned you robbing a magical treehouse,
“I’ve seen the women who owns them she doesn’t need all of them… and shes a criminal.”
“These won’t hurt you will they? You don’t know what she could have in these plants.”
You laughed,
“Yes, this tired women laced her beloved plants.”
Stretching your hand forward touching the large flower bud planted in the middle of the greenhouse. Your finger tips felt warm as the plant shared its energy to you.
“This is one way to make it through the winter.” Said Jason, taking stems and roots of various plants and throwing them into his bag.
If I get sick this winter I’ll die.
You let go of the plant, feeling full of life again. You excitedly let out a shout of energy.
“Her plants have something to them, man.”
“You’ve been here before? Without me? That’s dangerous.”
Not really, you replied.
You shivered, weak against the wind. Gotham city’s pollution was out of control and non frozen greenery was impossible to find. You curled up closer to yourself while sitting on the floor. Homelessness as a plant being who needs the sun and warmth to thrive has some ugly moments. Taking one last weak sad breath, you shriveled down into your unconscious.
After a while of freezing, a tall being with fiery red had come across your inhuman rotten looking body. Don’t ask how you knew, but you knew she knew you needed her help.
“Finally awake are you?” A deep gorgeous voice questioned from the shadows. You sat up from wherever you had been laid down and looked around. A green house, full of the craziest plants you’ve ever seen. The strongest energy you’ve felt.
“Who are you?”
“Don’t worry about it. You were dead on the streets of Gotham before I took you here. You should be thankful.”
“Why do I feel so strong?” You honestly asked. Her green skin was a give away that you could be honest with her.
“Because, darling, there’s no plants like my own. Where are your plants, hm? How did you let yourself freeze and die like that?”
“I’m stronger then her. It wouldn’t matter.” You said shortly.
“Uh” he said doubtfully, “alright”.
This women can survive winter and, well, you can’t. So you need her plants. As many as you can get. Prop lifting is the act of stealing plants by taking a piece of their stems, and planting the stem to grow your own plant; ‘propagation’ is the act of making one plant multiple.
“I need a Greenhouse.” You sighed
“If I could give you a greenhouse I would.”
“Means a lot,” you laughed, “Thanks.”
Even though you rolled your eyes, you can’t lie and say Jason isn’t a sweetheart at the whole plant thing, because he’s the best, most thoughtful, best friend anyone could ask for. Continuing picking the stems of colorful, glowing, exotic plants, when next thing you knew a plant reached out and grabbed your wrists and ankles holding you in place. Firstly, you looked towards Jason to see he was caught too.
Here we go. Your eyes glowed white, and skin glowed a fluorescent green and light pink. Connecting to the plants to calm them, freeing you and Jason instantly. Jason ran in-front of you as protection, but, no offense, you didn’t need it in this situation. Pulling Jason away you faced the one behind the attack. Poison Ivy. You didn’t know much of her criminal history, just that she saved you once. Even though that ended up meaning nothing.
What separates you and The Poison Ivy is that you’re an empath in a way. You survive on the energy of other life, just by living in it. (Or living in a perfect world at least) You can manipulate the energy from others into whatever energy you want, with practice. You don’t have that much practice. You did the one thing you’re good at. Sleep. Poison Ivy fell forward with her plants.
“We gotta go.”
84 notes · View notes
thatonefemmelesbian · 3 months
Note
Hi! Would you do like a friends to lovers with jb? Ofc no rush!! Thank you!
Hii! Thank you so much for the suggestion! I hope you enjoy it 💕
Tumblr media
Description: youre close friends with Julien, but you both develop feelings for each other. Julien decides to confess her feelings to you one night. This one is quite long, I got a bit carried away, I apologise.
THE FIRST TIME MEETING
You were staying with Phoebe, your friend, while you in the process of finding a new apartment since your rent keeps going up but your income from your job does not. You had always heard her talk about her best friends, Julien and Lucy, and tonight she decided to invite them over, although you were slightly hesitant. “Come on, it’ll be fine! They’ll love you, i promise!” She tried to convince you. You’ve always been quite anxious in social situations, so the idea meeting of two people made you a little uneasy, but seeing how much they mean to Phoebe, you thought it would be mean to say no. “Ok I gue-” you were cut off by a very excited cheer, causing you to laugh. “they’re coming over at around 5, so you still have a couple hours to psyche yourself up” she joked, but really you did need those couple of hours to convince yourself not to back out. You went back to the room you were staying in, and decided to take a ‘short’ nap since you were feeling quite tired.
You heard laughter coming from the living room, pulling you out of your sleep. You slowly open your eyes, trying to read the time on your phone. 5:45. Shit. You swear you were only asleep for like an hour. You start getting up, giving your hair a quick brush through and making sure your makeup didn’t smudge while you slept, but every second you were growing more and more nervous about leaving your room. You eventually made it to the door, opening it and beginning to walk out, but seeing the three of them sat in the living room made your anxiety deepen, quickly retreating back to the comfort of your room. “Get your ass out here! I was starting to think you died from how long you were asleep!” You heard Phoebe yell out to you. You started to slowly come out again, pulse quickening with each step you took, nearing closer and closer to the living room. “There she is! We were starting to think Phoebe made you up” laughed one of the women sitting on the couch, arms covered in tattoos. You admired the ink on her arms for a second before she reached her hand out, shaking yours
“I’m Julien” she smiled. You nervously shook her hand, introducing yourself to her. The tall woman beside her then reached her hand out too, “I’m Lucy, it’s nice to know you’re a real person” she joked. You laughed shyly, feeling bad about oversleeping and taking too long to come out of your room. You sat down next to Phoebe, listening to the three of them talking about their music and making inside jokes with each other. You had absolutely nothing to contribute to the conversation, making you feel very excluded and frankly, unwanted. You started zoning out, staring at the floor for a few minutes, before Lucy then directed the conversation to you. This is even worse you thought to yourself. She asked you simple questions, making small talk, but you hated being the topic of discussion. Just as you were about to come up with some lame excuse to leave the room, you heard Julien start talking about one of your favourite books, immediately grabbing your attention. You talked about the book for what seemed like hours, discussing your favourite parts, characters and quotes from it. You fully understand why Phoebe was such good friends with her.
It started getting late and Lucy and Julien were heading out. You hugged them goodbye and as you were about to walk back to your room, you heard your name being called
“Hey, can I get your phone number? We can trade book suggestions” Julien said. You happily put your number in your phone, looking forward to the friendship that would come. You were already making a mental note of books you think she would like
A FEW MONTHS LATER
You and Julien would spend hours on the phone, seeing as she lived in Tennesse, and you were in in LA, the only way to see each other was through a screen or when she came to visit down to visit Phoebe. You had found a new apartment now, but still spent just as much time with Phoebe. Your daily routine consisted of going to work, coming home, and texting Julien all night. You’d obviously had best friends before, but something about your friendship with Julien felt much more real than with anyone else. You would FaceTime for hours, talking about anything that came to mind, having deep, philosophical conversations, her telling you about some songs she’s working on, you ranting about your job, anything and everything you guys talked about.
One day, she came back to LA for a couple of weeks to work on the new album with Phoebe and Lucy, but when they weren’t in the studio, the three of you would be hanging out at Phoebes. You had also brown quite close with Lucy, and they joked they’d have to add you into the band- despite you not having any musical talent. When they had the day off one day, you and julien decided to go check out an old bookstore and go thrift shopping, stopping at dunkin on the way of course. You were enjoying your time together, and everything was going well until you ran into some fans. They asked for a pic with Julien, but when they posted it on social media, it had you still slightly in frame, causing the internet to speculate about who you are. People made assumptions that you two were together, which you laughed about and mocked the people calling you a couple. You thought nothing of it, until Phoebe and Lucy decided to start teasing the two of you, jokingly calling you a couple and Julien eventually joined in on the joke, calling you ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ with an obvious tone of sarcasm. But a part of you secretly wished it wasn’t sarcasm. You never thought of her in a romantic way before, but suddenly that was all you could think about. But you know she wouldn’t feel the same way, so you decided to try to suppress those thoughts and never mention them to anyone.
A FEW MORE MONTHS LATER
Julien and Lucy were back in LA once again, and as excited as you were, you were also holding back a bit. Those feelings you tried to desperately suppress, only grew stronger as your friendship with Julien became stronger. And it didn’t help that she still called you sweetheart and baby, and the sarcastic tone of hers has started to fade. The boys were finally finished with the album and decided to go out to a bar to celebrate, and invited you to thank you for the support throughout the whole thing. You put on your makeup and styled your hair half up, half down, with a bow added in. You slipped on a white mini dress, and a pair of heels, grabbing your phone and purse before heading out to meet the three of them at the bar
“Didn’t I tell you this was just a casual thing” Phoebe said as she greeted you, spinning you around to see your outfit, your skirt lightly lifting up and floating as she twirled you. “Shut up, you’re just jealous she looks better than you” Lucy said as she came over to hug you. You walked over with them to their table, seeing Julien walking back with plates of food for the table. “Hey sweetheart” she greeted you, sitting down beside you and putting her arm over your shoulder as an attempt at a hug. You felt butterflies in your stomach and suddenly became very nervous around her. “H-hey, uh, congratulations on finishing the album” you replied, looking everywhere but at her. “Couldn’t have done it without your support” Phoebe joked. You all lifted up your glasses and toasted to finishing the album, clinking your drinks together. Your drink splashed out of the glass and onto your dress. Of all days to wear white. You quickly picked up a napkin, but it only spread the stain on your dress. Julien quickly took off her jacket, putting it over you so the stain was hidden. The smell of her cigarettes mixed with her cologne made your mind go straight back to those thoughts of her. Thinking about how easy it would be to just lean over and kiss her right there. Or how easy it would be to reach over and hold her hand. And how safe it would feel to be held in her arms. You felt her staring at you, causing you to feel uneasy. There was a moment’s silence at the table when she quietly whispered,
“God you look really beautiful”. You felt your heart skip a beat and cheeks growing hot and without a mirror present you knew you were flushed pink. “You look really good too, and thanks for giving me your jacket” you responded, causing her eyes to widen as if she didn’t mean for you to hear her comment. “Well it looks better on you than me” your heart rate quickened with each word she spoke. You were totally infatuated with her. The sound of her voice. Her gorgeous brown eyes. Her tattoos. Everything. You couldn’t pull your eyes away from her. You two rejoined the conversation that Phoebe and Lucy were having, until a song started playing, causing Phoebe to start singing along. “We should get up and dance!” Lucy suggested, looking around at the other people dancing around, although some were probably too drunk to be able to stand up much longer. You were hesitant, knowing you weren’t the best dancer, but everyone else got up so you felt obligated to join in too.
You and Lucy started dancing together, her hands on your hips, yours on her waist, swaying slowly back and forth together. You could feel eyes on you, making you slightly uncomfortable as you assumed it was probably some drunk old man. “I think someone’s getting jealous” Lucy laughed, looking over at Julien, a serious expression painted on her face, staring daggers at the two of you. “Yeah right, she doesn’t even like me like that” you responded, certain that she had no feelings for you. “You’re all she ever talks about, you know? She doesn’t even know how to have a conversation without mentioning you anymore.” Lucy confessed. You started feel slightly hopeful that maybe there was something more than friendship between the two of you. You slowed down your movements as you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning around to see Julien, not looking happy. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute” she said, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to the table. You turned around and looked at Lucy over shoulder, who was now joined by Phoebe, the both of them winking and making kissy faces and hand hearts as they watched the two of you walk back to your seat.
“What did you wanna talk about? Is everything okay?” You asked, a sense of anxiety creeping upon you once again. Julien didn’t say anything for a couple of moments, just sat there playing with the rings on her fingers and avoiding eye contact. You started to really worry. Did I do something wrong? Is she okay? A thousand thoughts raced around your head, the anxiety getting stronger. Julien finally lifted her eyes off the table, staring at you for a moment before reaching down to take your hand in hers, deciding to finally speak. “I uh, I really appreciate all the time I’ve spent with you, you’re really a great person. I’m so grateful I have you in my life, but I want you in it more. It’s not enough to just be your friend and only see you through a phone or every couple of months in between working on music and being busy at the studio all day. I need to be more than just another one of your friends. I can never stop thinking about you, or talking about you, and I think it’s really starting to drive everyone around me crazy. And it’s driving me crazy too, to not have you in my arms, to not be able to just grab your gorgeous face and kiss you whenever I want, to not be able to spent every waking moment with you. Living without oxygen would be easier than living without you.” You’re taken aback by everything she’s said. Of course that was everything you ever wanted to hear, but you never expected her to feel the same way about you. She searches your face looking for any hint of how you’re feeling. You squeeze her hand tightly and blurt out “Julien, please kiss me”. She’s stunned for a second, in disbelief that the girl of her dreams wants her just as much, but she wastes no time attaching her lips to yours. Lucy and Phoebe start clapping and loudly cheering, causing Julien to give them the middle finger behind your head.
You pull apart, and are rejoined by Lucy and Phoebe, both with smug expressions on their faces, as if they were the ones who just got together. “I totally called it! I fucking told you!” Lucy brags to you. You spend the rest of the time at the bar dancing with Julien and with her arms all over you, until it’s getting too late and the bar is closing up. You walk back to your car, Juliens arm still draped around your waist as she walks you back. She opens your door for you but before you get in you can’t help but kiss her again. “Do you wanna come back to my place for night?” You offer. “I would love to” she smiles smugly.
You arrive back at your apartment, collapsing onto the couch together and turning on whatever’s on the tv. You rest your head on her chest and she runs her fingers through your hair, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your forehead. She looks down at you with a wide smile spread across her face. God her smile is so beautiful. “You’re so beautiful sweetheart” she says. You realise that this time when she calls you sweetheart, she actually means it, and it’s no longer some sarcastic joke that started from a couple instagram comments. She notices you don’t respond for a couple seconds and gets worried she did something wrong. You mean too much to her for her to mess this up. “Can I call you that? Sweetheart?” She asks, her voice laced with concern. You smile and nod your head. “Of course you can call me that”. “What about baby?” She presses a kiss to your head as you nod. “Princess?” You hide your face in her neck, butterflies filling your stomach and she presses another kiss to your head. “what about my love?” Each pet name she calls makes your heart beam and you wrap your arms tighter around her. She pulls your head out of her neck and lifts up your chin with her index finger and thumb. “What about my girlfriend” Your heart melts and you press a kiss to her lips as a yes.
28 notes · View notes
hamsterclaw · 2 years
Text
Heartbeat
Your colleague Namjoon's infuriating. He's intelligent but he's also smug, competitive and cold. You hate him until you realise you don't.
Pairing: Namjoon x F! reader, ft Jimin x F! reader and Seokjin
Rating: 18+
Genre: Medical AU, smut, angst
Word count: 8.5k
Warnings: Snark, sex, swearing, ex boyfriend Seokjin, fuckboy with a heart of gold Jimin, Namjoon biceps
Tumblr media
You’re fumbling with your bag, trying to find the key to your new office when a shadow falls over you.
You turn, nearly spilling your coffee.
There’s a tall man who’s come up behind you, wrapped up against the winter chill in a beanie and scarf and a coat that looks like you could use it as a parachute if you decided to jump off the top of the hospital.
‘Hey, are you the new cardiac fellow?’ he asks. His voice is deep, mellow. He nudges his glasses up his nose bridge like it’ll help him see you better and peers at you, a little like an owl.
‘Yeah,’ you say. You hold out a hand. ‘Y/N. You must be Namjoon.’
‘Yeah. I’m the current fellow.’ 
He reaches up to the top of the door frame, barely even having to stretch to do so, and comes back with a key.
He unlocks the door and nudges it open. ‘After you.’
Is he joking? 
The office he’s just unlocked is barely the size of a storage cupboard. There’s a shared desk, two computers and a bookshelf loaded with crusty old medical textbooks from before women were allowed into med school.
You scoot around to the half of the desk that looks less populated. 
‘It’s kind of a squeeze,’ he says. ‘We won’t spend a lot of time here, anyway.’
You put your coffee down. 
‘I would’ve texted you to ask if you wanted coffee if I knew your number,’ you say, trying to make conversation. ‘There’s a good place I pass on the way.’
‘Oh I don’t drink coffee,’ he says.
You blink. 
‘Yeah? What’s your drug of choice?’ you ask, trying for levity.
‘I don’t do drugs,’ he says, straightfaced.
‘Yeah sorry. Bad joke,’ you say. 
There’s a pause where you look at the poster behind him, a schematic of a bronchial tree.
‘We should exchange numbers though, if we’re gonna be working together,’ you suggest. You type the digits he reels off into your phone and call him so he has yours.
His profile pic flashes up as you call him.
It’s kind of cute. It’s him with his arm around a pretty girl. They’re both dressed down, there’s a backdrop of autumn leaves, a clear sky.
It’s cuddly and warm and reminds you of Seokjin.
Fuck Seokjin.
You shove your phone in your coat pocket. 
‘Hey where do we get changed?’
‘I’ll show you,’ Namjoon says. He acts like he’s going to let you squeeze past him but with his puffy coat you’re not sure if you’ll fit. 
Oh shit. 
His coat isn’t that puffy, he’s just that big.
He looks down at you inquiringly as you stop, pressed against his front.
‘Stuck?’
‘Yeah,’ you squeak.
You wriggle away, feeling vaguely obscene about it. 
‘Sorry,’ he says, nudging his glasses up again. 
You follow him down a series of corridors to the locker room. 
‘It’s communal,’ he says, shrugging.
You quickly look away from the bare male ass that caught your attention when you walked in.
‘Got it.’
You grab scrubs, step away from Namjoon and get changed quickly, a little off balance.
You’re shoving your feet back into your sneakers when Namjoon approaches. 
He’s looking carefully away from you, up at the clock on the wall.
‘Ready? We have an MR list this morning.’ 
‘Sure,’ you say. You look at your clothes uncertainly.
‘You can put them in my locker if you want?’ he offers.
‘Thanks.’
By the time you reach the MRI suite you’re vibrating with nerves, but the familiar setup has you letting out a sigh of relief.
Everything in this new place where you’re going to be working for a year is new and daunting, but this at least is familiar.
You snap on gloves and get started.
It’s a full list through the day but the cases are interesting, and you’re concentrating so hard the day passes quickly. 
You’re surprised to learn it’s past six by the time you finish.
‘I’m gonna stop by the library before I go home,’ Namjoon tells you at the same time as you ask, ‘do you want to grab dinner?’
You laugh, awkwardly. ‘Yeah. See you tomorrow Namjoon.’
You back out of the MR suite quickly, and are halfway back to the office when you realise your clothes are in Namjoon’s locker still.
You debate going to find him, but you have no idea where the library is.
The truth is, it’s been a fucking long day, and you live five minutes walk from the hospital.
You shoulder your backpack and walk home in the cold.
Your new apartment is large, spacious. The area around the hospital is a dive which is how you can afford the space.
You look, determinedly, at the stacked cardboard boxes of your packed things. You moved in a week ago. You should unpack.
You slice through the masking tape of the first box and pull the flaps apart, only to be greeted by a fluffy alpaca and a searing memory of Seokjin on your first date.
Ah. This is why you put off unpacking. 
Your tears surprise you. 
You fold the flaps back over, gently, and just go to bed instead.
***
You’re standing in front of the hot counter in the hospital cafeteria, trying to decide between carbs or carbs. 
The morning’s been pretty dull, you’ve been doing some follow up calls and catching up on emails. 
When you get back to the office, Namjoon’s standing just outside the door with your boss, Dr Lam.
‘We missed you at the M&M,’ Dr Lam says pleasantly.
You flick your gaze to Namjoon. 
‘Namjoon did an excellent presentation on ACD,’ Dr Lam continues.
‘Ah I’m sorry,’ you say, ‘I wasn’t aware there was an M&M scheduled.’
Namjoon hadn’t mentioned a thing when you saw him this morning.
‘It’s on the calendar on the wall,’ Namjoon points out. 
Is he trying to make you look bad?
You unclench your jaw and force yourself to apologise again to Dr Lam.
As soon as she’s walked away, you suck in a breath. 
‘You didn’t mention an M&M this morning when I saw you,’ you say, trying to keep it civil.
He looks at you like you’re the unreasonable one.
‘It’s on the wall calendar. It’s not a secret,’ he says. 
You resist the very strong urge to rip his glasses off his face.
‘Thanks,’ you say, dry, brittle.
Pointedly, you stare at the wall calendar. It’s ridiculous, you can’t see anyway through the waves of rage coursing through you, but that’s not the point.
It’s your second day. Wouldn’t it have been the nice thing to do to just mention it to you? 
‘Also your clothes,’ Namjoon says. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s aware he’s on thin ice. 
He pushes his locker keys across the table at you. 
‘Do you want them back?’
You stand so quickly the rickety desk rocks up. 
‘I’ll get them right now,’ you say, snatching up the keys.
You don’t say anything else because you’re still so annoyed you could burst.
Instead, you get turned around on your way to the locker room and end up in a random stairwell, lost.
Why is hospital signage always so bad?
You sit on the stairs and burst into tears. 
You never cry, it’s unlike you. 
You never fucking cry because life is stupid and people are stupid and fucking hell Kim Seokjin is stupid for letting you go.
It still hurts so much that he let you go. That he chose to be without you when he was a big part of your life for so long.
And now here you are crying in a stairwell because of some cutthroat colleague. 
You’re better than this, aren’t you? You’ve had your shit together for so long you can’t even remember what it feels like to spiral. 
You swipe at your tears and exit the stairwell. 
You give up on trying to find the locker room.
You toss the keys back on Namjoon’s desk with a murmured ‘thanks.’
You can feel his eyes on your tearstained face, so you stare back at him, challenging him to say something.
He looks away first, and you take that as a win.
You’ve not really won at anything lately, so this counts.
***
It’s Friday, you’ve made it through the first week of your fellowship relatively unscathed.
You’ve cried twice, once that first night and then in the stairwell.
You’ve had three hospital cafeteria lunches and that’s all you’re going to subject your digestive system to.
You’ve drunk more coffee than you care to recall. 
It’s not the best start to your fellowship, but it’s not the worst either.
You’re gathering your things to leave when Namjoon enters the office.
He puts your clothes on the desk.
‘Why didn’t you take them back?’ he asks.
‘Got lost on the way to the locker room,’ you say, truthfully.
‘Why didn’t you ask me for directions?’ he asks. His jaw tightens as you raise your eyebrows at him.
You shrug. ‘Not your problem. Like reminding me of the schedule on my first fucking week isn’t your problem.’
You take a fierce, childish pleasure in the way he stares at you, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
Your partner is a big man, but you’ve made a lifetime out of taking on male assholes and cutting them down to size.
Figuratively speaking, of course. 
You brush past him on your way out. 
***
Your med school friend Hana who you’re reconnecting with now that you’ve moved into the area always was a social butterfly.
She’s throwing a party at her place, a luxe apartment by the quay with stunning views and a penthouse terrace.
You knew you should have gone into ophthalmology. 
Hana greets you at the door with an excited hug. 
She presses a drink into your hand and pushes you onto the terrace with a vague wave of her hand and an instruction to ‘go mingle’. 
You head to the edge of the terrace overlooking the water.
It’s beautiful out, cold but clear. The lights from the boats light the water like stars.
The drink in your hand’s disappearing fast, but it’s ok. You’re easy. 
You’re sick of feeling sorry for yourself.
You sense someone approaching you before you hear their voice.
‘Do you sail?’ 
‘No.’
You turn to see a good looking guy smiling at you. 
He’s a shade taller than you, with plush lips and skin that looks like it’s been airbrushed. 
He says, ‘me neither. I’ve always wanted to.’
‘I like swimming,’ you offer.
His eyes are still crinkled at the corners. 
Gosh, he’s pretty.
‘I dive,’ he tells you. ‘Park Jimin.’
‘Y/N L/N,’ you reply, shaking the hand he holds out. 
His grasp is firm, skin cool. The silver hoops dangling from his ears glint in the floodlights over the terrace. 
Park Jimin gets you another drink, and you find out he works with Hana. 
Damn. Now you really wish you’d gone into ophthalmology.
He’s a flirt, and that’s ok because you can flirt too. You’re rusty though, it’s been a while since you were single.
All the friends you’ve had in the last few years knew how committed you and Seokjin were to each other.
You push away the unwanted intrusion of his name.
Jimin’s leaning back over the glass balustrade, his arms braced, the position making his shirt gape open.
He catches you looking and flicks his tongue out over his full bottom lip.
The gesture makes your cunt clench, mainly because of the intent in his eyes.
‘Up for a refill?’ he asks. His voice is silvery, with a husky undertone that’s steadily making you dampen your panties.
He flicks his tongue out again, and your thighs tighten.
Your face feels so warm.
You realise he’s still waiting for an answer.
‘I don’t want to be too tipsy,’ you say, looking at him steadily.
Jimin sees something in your eyes that makes him lean close. 
‘Are you just tipsy enough now?’ he asks. He’s so close his hard chest brushes yours.
‘Yeah,’ you reply. ‘Just enough.’
It turns out Jimin’s apartment is next to Hana’s, which in practical terms means it’s barely ten minutes before you’re unrolling a condom onto him and lowering yourself down into his lap.
You’re so wet already the slide is easy, so turned on by his beautiful body and the pretty sounds he’s making that he barely has to touch you to make you cum the first time.
Jimin turns out to be the best kind of overachiever, fucking you into your second orgasm whilst also gleaming sweat all over his sculpted torso.
After he cums he ties off the condom neatly and goes to get you a drink.
You’re looking for your clothes when he comes back. 
He hands you a glass of water. 
‘Going so soon?’ he asks.
There’s a naughty gleam in his eye. 
‘I have to work tomorrow,’ you say, regretfully.
‘Shame. I wanted to eat your pussy,’ he says. 
He hasn’t bothered to put his shirt back on, and standing like this, you can follow his v line straight into the waistband of the black boxer briefs he pulled back on.
‘I thought you’d want me out,’ you say lightly.
He smiles charmingly at you. ‘This isn’t college,’ he says. ‘Stay as long as you like. I can make you breakfast in the morning.’
The last time you had sex with someone you barely knew was in college, and his name was Kim Seokjin.
Look how that turned out.
‘Ah but how will I leave you wanting more if I stay?’ you say, half joking.
Jimin, the perfect gentleman despite how he’d defiled you in his bed, insists on walking you down to your taxi.
When you get home you drop him a text.
Y/n: Hey thanks for a lovely evening.
Jimin: Anytime. You know where I live, door’s always open.
You don’t know what else to say, so you leave it at that.
***
You’re finishing up some notes when Namjoon walks into the office.
‘Saw you’d written up the case from last month - the alveolar proteinosis,’ he says.
‘Yep,’ you reply, shooting him a look. . 
Things have barely been civil between you but you don’t need him to do your job so there’s that.
He looks like he’s about to say something when there’s a knock on the door.
It’s Dr Lam. ‘Good paper,’ she says, nodding approvingly at you.
‘Thank you,’ you say. 
‘I think it’d be a good one to present at the next regional meeting,’ she says. ‘I’ll email you the details.’
‘Sounds great. Thank you,’ you reply.
When she leaves the office you bask in the glow of Dr Lam’s praise and the barely disguised envy Namjoon’s emanating.
‘Hey, did you hear that?’ you ask, cocking your head. 
Namjoon looks at you, brow furrowed. ‘What?’ 
‘That’s a slam dunk on your head,’ you say, deadly serious. 
Namjoon stares at you for a moment. His lips quiver. 
Then he laughs. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asks. 
‘What’s wrong with you? Apart from too much protein powder?’ you mutter. 
Namjoon laughs again. 
You’re part-way through reading a paper when he says, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t remind you about M&M.’ 
You search his eyes. 
‘It’s fine, I know you’re competitive.’ 
‘I’m not — competitive like that,’ he protests. 
You roll your eyes. 
‘Ok, I am competitive. We all are. You wouldn’t be in this job if you weren’t,’ Namjoon says, finally. 
He leans forward over the desk, holding out his hand. ‘But I’m not going to try to sabotage you or screw you over, ok? I’m not like that.’ 
You look at his big hand. ‘Why do you want me to touch you?’ 
‘Jesus, it’s a handshake,’ Namjoon says, exasperated. 
‘Fine.’ 
You shake his hand, firmly. ‘No sneaky shit,’ you say, warningly. 
‘No sneaky shit,’ Namjoon echoes.
‘I swapped out your office key for the store cupboard key,’ you confess. 
‘Shit that was you? I thought I was going crazy.’ 
‘I also put gum in your ethernet port,’ you say, since you might as well come out with it. 
‘God damn it, IT spent an hour trying to fix it! My new computer’s arriving tomorrow.’ 
‘Just saying, you don’t want to get on my bad side again.’ 
‘Noted,’ Namjoon says. He smiles at you, and for the first time you notice the dimples bracketing his lips. 
You want to smile back but you give him a stern look instead. 
He gets up. ‘I’m gonna go stretch my legs. Want a coffee?’ 
‘You don’t drink coffee,’ you say. 
‘I’m going to get myself tea. I’ll get you a coffee.’ 
You watch him leave the office. You hadn’t realised his shoulders were so broad. 
***
You’re trying to retrieve a pen you dropped from under the table when the office door opens. 
You crawl out from under the table and are confronted with Namjoon’s lycra clad thighs. 
‘Shit,’ you say, hitting your head on the bottom of the table. 
In a moment he’s crouching next to you. ‘Are you ok?’ 
Like this, his thighs are splayed, giving you a direct and clear line of vision to the bulge of his —
‘It’s too early for lycra-covered cock,’ you complain, and he gets up so quickly the table rocks. 
‘Stop staring at it,’ he says. 
‘It’s right in my eyeline!’ you protest. ‘Put it away.’ 
Namjoon waits until you’re standing next to him. 
‘Why are you dressed like a slut?’ you ask, averting your eyes. 
‘I’m wearing my cycling gear. I cycle to work,’ he answers. 
‘Ok, I’ve heard enough. I know we said we wouldn’t backstab each other but we can’t possibly be friends.’ 
You look up and notice how sweaty he is. 
A droplet of sweat streaks down his neck, disappearing into the neck of his tight top. 
You have a sudden unexplainable urge to lick it away. 
You realise he’s looking down at you. 
A dimple flashes. ‘Are you checking me out?’ 
‘I would never,’ you vow. ‘It’s just – why are you dressed like a whore if you don’t want me to look?’ 
‘That’s problematic,’ he chides. 
‘That’s problematic,’ you mimic. 
He tosses his (rain-proof) jacket at you. ‘You know, if I said the same thing to you, HR would rain down on my ass so quick.’ 
‘Yeah, turn, I want to see your ass too. Also, where are your glasses? I love a sexy nerd.’ 
‘I can’t cycle with them on,’ he mutters. 
‘Can I take a photo? I’m sure that nurse in IR who likes you would flip if she saw you in this getup.’ 
‘Stop objectifying me,’ he whines. 
You laugh him out of the office. 
***
There’s a knock on the door. 
You look up, ready to torment Namjoon, and stop with your mouth slightly open. 
Wow. 
There’s a very hot guy in glasses looking at you, a computer screen tucked under one arm. 
‘Hey, I’m here with a new computer for Dr Kim,’ he says. His voice is gravelly, low. 
You close your mouth. ‘Sure.’ 
You watch him set up for a few minutes, then decide to confess. 
‘I stuck gum in the ethernet port. His computer’s probably fine.’ 
He looks at you, expression unreadable. 
You think he’s not going to answer you until finally, he says, ‘One, I already carried this all the way from IT on sixth. Two, I really don’t get paid enough to care.’ 
‘Fair,’ you say, nodding. 
He looks at you for a moment longer, then says, casually, ‘That’s a pretty smart way to sabotage someone.’ 
‘He wears cycling lycra to work,’ you reply, not looking up from your computer. 
‘What kind of asshole does that,’ he says. 
‘Right?’ 
You look up to find he’s smiling at you. 
Wow. He’s got a gorgeous smile, all perfect teeth and gums. 
‘Min Yoongi,’ he says, holding out a hand. 
‘Y/N L/N,’ you reply, giving him a firm shake. ‘Can I get you a coffee while you set up?’ 
‘I’m done,’ he says, logging out of Namjoon’s new computer. ‘But we can get coffee. I told my boss I was rebooting all 50 of the computers on ICU.’ 
‘Done. Let’s go,’ you say, getting up. 
‘Wait,’ he says, ‘are you getting me a coffee to get extra IT privileges?’ 
‘Well, I could use a new headset,’ you say, feigning seriousness. 
He looks at you seriously, mouth in a line. ‘If you want the extra comfy set for all day use you’ll need to get me a muffin too.’ 
‘Done.’ 
***
Dr Lam enters your office unceremoniously. 
‘All hands on deck folks, there’s been a multi-casualty incident. You’re needed on the ICU.’ 
You and Namjoon enter the ICU to a cacophony of beeping monitors, terse conversations and the incessant whine of the drug fridge, left ajar.
You close the fridge and look up as Delia, the head nurse approaches.
‘Thank god,’ she says, brisk. ‘Bed 11 needs intubating, bed 15’s bleeding out on the floor and there’s a fucking hot orthopaedic surgeon wandering around distracting my nurses but not otherwise helping. Get to it, chaps.’
She walks away, and you turn to Namjoon. ‘I’ll sort the bleeder if you take the tube and the orthopod,’ you suggest.
‘If you see him send him my way,’ Namjoon replies. He flashes you a grin that you stare at a beat too long.
‘Goddamn it put those dimples away Namjoon. It’s a serious situation here.’
You’re putting in a line to pour blood in when Namjoon turns up by the bed.
‘We called it,’ he tells you. 
‘Shit,’ you say, commiserating.
Namjoon picks up the bag of blood hanging by your head. ‘Squeeze this in?’ he asks.
His forearms flex beautifully as he runs the blood.
You have to tear your eyes away, and the nurse beside you lets out an audible sigh.
You roll your eyes and snap off your gloves. 
‘I’m gonna call for some cryo,’ you say. 
You’re taking a quick drink break amongst the carnage, standing next to the water cooler when a shadow falls across you.
‘Mind if I —-‘
You turn to see beautiful dark brows raised over intense eyes, wavy hair swept back from the most beautiful male profile you’ve ever seen.
You step back to let him get some water.
You take in the scrubs, the clogs, the faint line from a scrubs hat marring the perfection of his forehead.
Holy fuck. This must be —-
Your entire field of view is obscured by the broad back of Kim Namjoon as he steps between you and the fucking distractingly gorgeous orthopaedic surgeon.
He’s so close his back is in your face.
He smells nice.
Namjoon puts a hand behind him to steady you. 
He turns, briefly. ‘Stop sniffing me,’ he says, stern.
He turns back to the surgeon. ‘Taehyung, you’re needed down in the ED.’
‘Sure,’ Taehyung says. Christ. The timbre of his voice is as gorgeous as he is.
Namjoon turns to you as Taehyung saunters away. 
‘I wasn’t sniffing you,’ you say, lying through your teeth.
He looks down at you and brushes a lock of hair that’s escaped your ponytail out of your face. His touch is warm, firm. 
‘You ok?’ he asks. 
‘Yeah,’ you say. .
His eyes on your face feel oddly penetrating. He pours you another glass of water and watches as you gulp it down. 
‘There’s a new patient in 17. Shall we?’
You try not to stare at his ass and thighs as he walks away.
***
The moon’s high in the sky by the time the hospital’s been stepped down from red to amber alert. 
You’re getting changed alongside Namjoon in the locker room, grimacing at the bodily fluids splattered on your top.
Namjoon shoulders his backpack. ‘I might just crash in the mess,’ he says, running a hand over his face. ‘I don’t feel like cycling home.’
‘You can sleep at mine,’ you offer. ‘I’ve got an extra room.’
‘Yeah?’ he asks. 
‘Sure. I’ve got a spare bathroom and everything. But there’s one condition,’ you say. 
Namjoon cocks a brow at you. 
‘Can you put your little lycra number on again?’
He rolls his eyes and pulls you under his arm.
Your face is squished against his hard chest, his pec firm under your cheek.
‘Nice tits,’ you say, muffled.
He lets you go. ‘I don’t even have the energy to tell you off,’ he tells you. 
‘Yeah,’ you agree. ‘Should I order us a pizza?’
***
Namjoon’s in your living room by the time you get out of the shower. 
‘Love what you’ve done with the place,’ he says, dry.
He’s being sarcastic, of course.
The boxes, and the past you can’t bear to face, are all still scattered around the place.
‘It’s industrial chic,’ you tell him. 
You put the pizza on the coffee table and gesture to the couch. 
‘Mi casa es su casa,’ you tell him. 
Namjoon tears into the pizza and you flick on the TV. 
You eat in companionable silence. 
It’s when you’re in your kitchenette cleaning up that Namjoon asks about the picture of you and Seokjin on your fridge.
It’s a magnet, a photo of you and Seokjin after some wedding you went to. He’d been in his long-haired phase, sexy in his suit, and you’d been….
Happy.
‘It’s my ex,’ you tell him. ‘We were together a long time.’
‘It’s hard learning to be single again,’ Namjoon says. There’s no inflection in his voice, he says it like it’s a fact.
It’s kind of everything you’ve wanted to hear since the breakup. Seven words. Enough to make you bite hard on the inside of your cheek.
Your eyes blur with tears anyway.
You want to wipe them away but your hands are in the soapy water and you still think you can hide the tears from Namjoon even though he’s right next to you.
You sniffle, too loud. 
Namjoon says. ‘I’m sorry.’
He pulls your hands out of the water, dries them off with a dishcloth, gentle. 
You want to pull your hands away but he’s still got them clasped in his.
‘Forget the dishes,’ he tells you.
He’s walking you into your bedroom, laying you on the bed.
He lays on his side next to you, pulls you into his arms. 
‘Shh,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone you actually have a heart.’
You manage a watery grin into his chest. 
His arms are solid around you. 
It’s been a long time since you’ve been held like this, and it’s been a tough fucking day. 
He wants to hold you, so you let him. His steady heartbeat against your cheek lulls you to sleep.
***
When you wake, he’s still beside you, rolled onto his back, arm across chest.
He’s beautiful, face relaxed. His glasses are on your bedside table, he must have taken them off at some point.
The clock tells you that you’ve got an hour before work to get ready.
You could watch him sleeping for hours.
His voice, low and husky from sleep, startles you.
‘Sleep ok?’
‘Yes,’ you tell him. 
You watch as he fumbles for his glasses. 
You lean over him and pluck them from the table, slipping them onto his face.
‘I’m sorry you had to deal with all that emotion,’ you tell him. 
He sits up a little, braces himself on his arm. 
You try not to think about how good he looks in your sheets.
‘It’s human to have emotions,’ he says. ‘It was a hell of a day yesterday.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I know what it’s like when a relationship falls apart,’ he tells you, serious. ‘For whatever reason.’
He turns over and lays back onto your bed.
‘We broke up because he got an amazing opportunity abroad,’ you say. You smile at the memory of how excited he was when he heard.
‘He deserved it.’
Namjoon reaches over and squeezes your hand.
You exchange a smile. 
‘This bed is comfy,’ Namjoon says. 
‘Don’t get used to it.’
‘Baby I haven’t even had a chance to show you my skills yet,’ he says, goofy.
You’re still laughing when you get into the shower.
***
Namjoon’s leaning against the wall of the radiology seminar room when you get there.
The room’s packed, it’s standing room only. 
Namjoon shifts over obligingly when you reach him, making a space for you between him and the wall. 
‘I knew we were friends for a reason,’ you say, patting him on the shoulder.
He flexes a bicep and you work hard to keep your mouth from falling open.
‘That’s quite enough,’ you say, recovering enough to give him a quelling look.
‘You seem to like it though, you’re always staring at my arms,’ Namjoon says. 
He ignores your half-hearted attempts at defending yourself.
‘It’s fine, I know what I look like,’ he says. 
You punch him in the shoulder and he laughs like he’s amused. He doesn’t even flinch. 
‘No one likes a cocky nerd,’ you mutter.
The lights dim and CT images start flashing up on the screen. 
Namjoon frowns as the person in front of you shuffles back a little, nearly bumping you. 
He moves a bit closer to you, like he’s trying to shield you with his own body. 
You barely take anything in during the meeting, you can’t when he’s this close to you. 
He’s distracting, the smell of him, the warmth emanating from his skin, the size of him. His goddamn shoulders.
Namjoon glances over at you, the screen reflected in the lenses of his glasses.
‘You ok?’
‘Fine,’ you whisper back.
He leans down, lips so close they almost brush your ear, and asks again, ‘you ok?’
You nod quickly.
You spend the rest of the meeting hoping your face will cool down before the lights come back on.
***
Namjoon gets up from his desk. ‘I’m gonna head out. See you tomorrow.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
You’re packing up your own things when he comes back. 
‘Left my phone,’ he tells you.
You take in his soft looking black turtleneck, the crocodile belt, the smart trousers.
‘Hot date?’ you ask, casual.
‘My sister set me up with someone she works with. We’re on a double date with her and her husband,’ he tells you.
‘You look great,’ you tell him. ‘Don’t forget to flex.’
‘Thighs or chest?’ he asks, quirking his lips at you.
‘You’re not a goddamn chicken meal,’ you say, laughing. 
He’s still waiting, the asshole, so you say, ‘thighs obviously.’ 
‘Like this?’ he asks, innocent, perching on the desk, flexing in a way that makes you want to ride his thigh immediately.
‘Yeah, you tease.’
‘Just checking,’ he laughs. He grins at you and you resist the urge to poke your finger in his dimples.
‘Have fun,’ you say. 
You shoulder your backpack and head home.
You’re getting ready for bed when your phone lights up.
Jimin: Hey, I’m out for drinks near the hospital. Are you up?
Y/n: I’m up.
Jimin: I’ve been told I look good in this shirt. Wanna see?
Y/n: Love to.
You text him your address and wait by the door.
He doesn’t keep you waiting long, appearing on your doorstep with a smirk on his face and his shirt already more than half unbuttoned.
He looks even better than he said.
You greet him with a kiss. 
***
Namjoon’s sprawled on your couch, so big you wonder if you should have got a bigger one.
He’s on his laptop, scrolling through the articles you sent him as you work on your literature review together.
‘If we publish, who gets first author?’ you ask.
He lifts a brow. ‘Arm wrestle you for it?’
‘Sure,’ you say, elbow down on your coffee table. 
Namjoon gives you a doubtful look as he lines up with you. He clasps your hand, and his biceps jump. 
Fuck it. 
You reach out, grab a fold of his t-shirt and tug. 
He comes willingly, stops an inch or so away. 
Your faces are so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. 
‘Namjoon,’ you breathe. 
His eyes flutter closed at your voice. 
‘Mmh?’ he asks. 
He’s a big man, but his voice is controlled, quiet. 
‘What are we doing?’ he asks. 
‘You have a lot of questions,’ you say. 
Your hand trails a path from his shoulder, down the front of him. His stomach muscles jerk as you tuck three fingers into the waistband of his sweats. 
‘Can I suck your dick?’
‘Fuck,’ he utters. 
His eyes are open now. Stupidly, your arms are still braced against each other. 
You push, and he lets you flatten the back of his hand on the coffee table. 
‘I’m first author,’ you say. ‘Come on, let’s fuck.’ 
Namjoon lets you take him to bed. 
***
Namjoon likes kissing, you find out. He likes it when you kiss along his face, dimple to jaw, down his neck, trailing a path to his collarbones. 
‘Off,’ you murmur, tugging at his t-shirt. 
He pulls it off so quickly he almost hits you in the face with an elbow. 
You take a moment to admire his chest, the pecs outlined so well by his scrubs tops, dusky nipples, the silver chain hanging between his collarbones. 
You slip off your top, and his gaze drops to your body with flattering speed. He gives you as thorough an inspection as you did to him. 
He reaches out, tucks a finger under the tiny bow separating your breasts, tugs a little. 
‘I’ve thought about this,’ he tells you. 
You pause in the middle of sliding down his body. You bury your face in his groin, and his hips jump. The hardness of him thrills you. 
‘Yeah?’ you ask, fingers all tucked into his waistband. 
He lifts his hips, and you slide everything off. 
His cock lays against the warm skin of his stomach. 
You wrap your fingers around him, and he wraps his hand around yours, grip firm. He pumps himself a few times, even though he looks and feels plenty hard already. 
Your pussy’s tightening just at the sight of him, your underwear sticking between your legs. 
‘Let me,’ you say. His grip loosens, and you smirk at him as you lower your head. 
You gather your hair in a pony so he can see you worshipping his cock. 
Namjoon’s hand splays in your hair, holding it back so you can free your hand. 
He’s warm, full, filling your mouth so beautifully you could cry. You lick up the underside of him, and he jerks, hand tightening in your hair. 
‘Fuck,’ he utters. ‘I don’t want you to stop.’ 
You take more of him in with every dip, until your nose hits his groin. 
The stretch of him is unbelievable, and you want more. 
Namjoon’s fisting the sheets now, face contorted with pleasure. 
‘I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop, love,’ he tells you. 
You swallow around his cock, tongue working, and he grunts, loud. ‘Gonna –’ 
You don’t know why he’s still trying to warn you, like you haven’t made it clear enough you want him to. 
You swallow again, and he grabs your shoulder, groaning. He’s so deep you can’t feel him but you swallow him down anyway, flicking your tongue on him, gently until he loosens his grip on you and you feel his cock softening in your mouth. 
He moans again as you pull off his cock. He’s beautiful like this, flushed, sweaty, wrecked. 
He pulls you up to him, engulfs you in his arms. ‘I’m gonna reciprocate, just give me a sec,’ he tells you, voice hoarse. 
‘Reciprocate? God damn, I was trying to make you cum your brains out,’ you say.
He laughs, sounding more like himself. ‘What do you like, baby? I’d love to eat you out.’ 
‘I’m good, I’m fine,’ you tell him. 
He’s sitting up then, face creased. ‘No, shit, let me –’
‘Hey, you can get me next time,’ you say. 
You have no idea why, you’re still so wet and you’ve seen what he can do with his hands. 
Namjoon’s pulling his sweats back up, sitting up to pull you into his lap. ‘You’ve just given me the best orgasm I’ve had all year,’ he tells you, ‘and I haven’t even had a chance to touch you.’ 
‘I like blowing you, I’ll do it anytime,’ you tell him. 
His hand splays on your back. ‘I can go slow, baby, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.’ 
‘You’re gonna need to go slow, the size of you,’ you tease. 
He laughs, hand brushing over his cock. ‘I’ll make sure you’re ready to take me, don’t worry.’ 
‘Come on, we should get back to work,’ you say. ‘I’ll make us tea.’ 
***
You’re ensconsed in Namjoon’s lap, and he’s kissing the back of your neck, light, teasing. 
He’s worked out that you love the sound of his voice when it’s husky and low, and he’s been using it to his advantage. 
Your breath hitches as he reaches under your loose tee to palm your breasts, tweaking your nipples. 
You wriggle your hips in his lap, against the erection you’re pretty sure he’s been sporting for a while. 
‘Is cockwarming a thing?’ you wonder out loud. 
Namjoon chuckles in your ear, making you shiver. ‘I’m up for it if you are.’ 
He groans at the sight of your ass, bared for him. 
‘I wish you could see this,’ he tells you. 
You turn your head to watch as you lower yourself onto his cock. 
Namjoon hisses as your ass lands on him, his hand coming up to fix your hip against him. 
‘I think you need to stay still,’ he tells you. 
‘Yeah? I don’t like being told what to do,’ you retort. 
He pushes up, dick nudging up into you, snug.
‘Joon,’ you say, trying but failing to sound mad. ‘You said we had to be still.’
His cock jerks inside you. 
‘Damn, it’s pretty hot when you’re mad at me.’
‘Is that why you’re so annoying the whole time?’ you ask.
Namjoon curls his arms around you.
You’re getting wetter even though he isn’t moving, you can feel it.
A soft sound very like a whine escapes your lips.
Namjoon hums. ‘That was pretty, do it again.’
The presence of his dick in you, hard and throbbing, is maddening in the best way. 
‘Shit,’ you say, low. ‘I want to come, Namjoon.’
‘Yeah?’ he asks, lips moving against the back of your neck. 
His hand is up under your t-shirt again, cupping your breast, fingers plucking at your nipple. 
He bites at the neck of your t-shirt, and you lift your arms up so he can pull it off you.
His cock’s still lodged inside you, he’s still so hard.
Your cunt flutters around him as you shift your hips.
You both groan at the change in position.
‘Joon,’ you plead.
‘Look at your tits,’ he says. 
You look down at yourself.
He’s been steadily squeezing your breasts, making your nipples puffy and full and so tender you almost can’t bear it.
As you watch, his hand delves down between your legs. 
He moans your name into your ear as he pets your clit.
He’s wearing rings today, the silver ring on his middle finger gleams in the dim light.
Seokjin used to wear a ring like that, you think to yourself.
The thought jars you out of the pleasured haze you were in.
Namjoon’s still whispering filth to you, but you can help feeling this is wrong in a way that it wasn’t with Jimin.
Because Jimin is a great guy, but he means nothing to you.
Whereas Namjoon —- 
You’re worried that Namjoon could mean everything to you.
Namjoon, perceptive as ever, says, very gently, ‘are you ok?’
He sounds totally calm, you’d never know about his raging boner if he wasn’t inside you. 
‘Yeah,’ you say, trying to salvage things, ‘I’m fine.’
‘I said we could go as slow as you want,’ Namjoon says. 
He lifts you off his cock. 
‘We can finish,’ you say, ‘I was enjoying it.’
Namjoon presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
You put your hand on his cock, and he covers it with his own.
‘Stop,’ he says, and there’s sadness in his eyes now. ‘I’ll still be here when you’re ready.’
There’s not a lot for you to say after that.
***
‘Hey,’ says Dr Lam, poking her head into the office. ‘Congratulations on the new job, Professor Han’s an old friend of mine, she called to let me know.’
Namjoon shoots you a look. ‘Thank you, I’m excited,’ he says, politely.
‘What job?’ you ask.
‘I’ve accepted an attending post at Mercy,’ Namjoon says. ‘I’ll be running their cardiac service.’
The news hits you like a blow. You work hard to not let it show on your face.
‘Wow,’ you say, hoping your smile is as bright as the effort you’re putting into it. ‘Congratulations, that’s incredible!’
Namjoon’s expression is a mix of emotions that you can’t read. 
Dr Lam says, ‘actually, Namjoon, do you have a minute now? I wanted to discuss the case last week with you.’
As soon as Namjoon leaves you get up. You can’t stay sitting, you need to move so that the outside of you matches up with how jumbled up you feel on the inside.
Why hadn’t Namjoon told you he was applying for other jobs?
Did he think you wouldn’t encourage him because of what happened with Seokjin?
Like you’d ever be so much of an asshole you’d ask someone not to take an amazing job opportunity just so they could keep fucking you.
You would never. 
Is that the kind of person Namjoon thought you were?
A gust of wind chills you, and you realise you’ve paced out of the main hospital entrance.
You should go back inside, get your things.
You go home instead.
You hurry through the slippery icy street, head down, arms crossed.
By the time you’re in your front door you’re shivering.
You look at the piles of stacked boxes, the reflection of your emotional stiltedness, and wonder if Seokjin’s coping better than you.
You hope he is, and with a start, realise that you’ve just thought of Seokjin, and the sadness hasn’t crippled you or your fissured heart.
You miss him, of course you do, but for the first time you think you can see your way through the gloom. 
You grab the Swiss army knife from your kitchen and cut open the first box. 
It’s time to move on.
***
‘I’d do the opposite, actually,’ you say, loud and clear, in the team meeting.
You ignore the way Namjoon’s staring at you.
‘I think Namjoon’s plan would be fine if we weren’t a specialist centre. However, we’ve got the resources to run the test, therefore we should plan a semi-elective procedure instead of waiting.’
You flick your gaze to Namjoon, watching as his jaw tightens, cheeks hollowing.
You haven’t spoken to him since you found out about his job, but even worse, he hasn’t tried to speak to you.
Like there’s no reason for you to feel affronted.
Like he hadn’t promised you he’d be there when you were ready.
Asshole.
Back in the office, Namjoon taps a series of keys into his computer in an increasingly frustrated manner. 
‘Fuck! Why can’t I log in?’
You look up, bored. ‘Oh, did IT reset all your passwords?’ you ask, feigning innocence.
Min Yoongi, to your delight, was a man who understood revenge, but also, more importantly, a man who was easily bought. You considered the coffee and croissant from this morning money well spent.
Namjoon glowers at you.
‘Do we need to talk about something?’ he asks.
You study your nails. ‘Do we?’
‘That’s it,’ Namjoon snaps. 
Namjoon grabs your arm, hard enough to hurt, and hauls you into the equipment room.
He crowds you into the door he’s just slammed, hard chest pressing into you.
‘What the —‘
Your furious protest is cut off by his lips on yours. He kisses you hard, demanding, totally unlike how he was in your apartment.
He spreads his legs so he can lower himself enough to grind into you.
‘See the thing is,’ he says, voice soft and dangerous, ‘you’re a fucking brat.’
Your eyes flash at him, and he laughs, humourlessly.
‘You’re not just a brat though,’ he says, fingers working deftly to unbutton your blouse. He gets halfway down and slips his hand under to palm your breast.
Your moan slips out before you can hold it back.
‘You’re a smart brat,’ he informs you, thumb working your nipple. He tugs the cup of your bra edown, and for a moment he stares at your exposed breast.
‘A body like this is wasted on a brat like you,’ he tells you. He pinches your nipple, and a mewl escapes you.
‘Why do you look like this?’ he asks you, shaking his head like he’s genuinely stupefied.
He leans down to lick your nipple, tongue laving, hand coming up to caress your other breast.
You’re breathing hard now, bucking against him.
‘Still,’ he commands. 
You move again, and he hoicks your skirt up. 
‘Stay still or I’ll slap you.’ 
You stare at him, shocked. 
He realises you’ve stilled completely and pulls off your breast.
‘Never in the face, baby,’ he says, voice gentle. 
He unfastens your skirt and lets it fall to the floor. 
You’re still trying to process when he kneels at your feet, lifts your leg over his shoulder and buries his face in your cunt.
Your hands flutter to keep your balance, and he reaches up to grab you. 
‘Put them on my shoulders, baby. Or in my hair, if you want.’
He flashes a dimple at you, then kisses your cunt like he kissed your mouth.
Hard, demanding and so fucking sloppy you don’t know if the wetness between your legs is from you or him.
He flattens his tongue and delves into your folds, nose nudging your clit.
You grab his hair, and he groans into you. 
You cry out breathlessly as he presses his lips to your clit and sucks. 
‘You feel so good, I’m so fucking hard,’ he tells you. 
You look down between his legs as he palms his cock over his trousers. The outline of his hardness sends a spike of arousal through you.
Your clit throbs as he licks you, one big hand on your ass pushing your core into his face.
He unbuckles his belt, tugs his trousers down one handed.
The wet spot on his grey boxer briefs makes you clench. His tongue and lips, his whole face is buried in your cunt.
He pulls back a little, lips and cheeks gleaming with your slick. 
‘Cum on my face,’ he says, fisting himself, ‘and you get this cock.’ 
You moan. 
‘You want it?’ he taunts. ‘Brats like you never ask nicely do you? You just push and push and push until you get shoved in a closet and taught a lesson.’
‘Joon,’ you plead.
He ignores you and goes back to licking you out.
‘C’mon ride my face. I’m a big guy, I can take it.’
Your fingers tighten in his hair as you grind into his face, pussy pulsing, clit throbbing. 
‘Joon,’ you cry.
He squeezes your ass, hard, helping you ride him.
You press a hand to your mouth to muffle your cry of pleasure as you cum.
‘Fuck, fuck, that’s my girl,’ Namjoon says.
He turns you around, cock nudging against your folds.
You moan senselessly as he pushes in.
‘Never fucking tell me you can’t cum for me, my love,’ he tells you.
He slaps your ass so hard you squeal.
‘Not when I can get you crying on my cock like this.’
His first thrust pushes you against the door.
He turns your head to kiss you as he fucks you. He angles your hips so he can hit the spot that has you gasping with every thrust.
‘Joon,’ you sob.
‘I’ve got you,’ he promises. 
He wraps an arm around your chest, the other reaching down between your legs to thumb at your clit.
‘Fuck. I’m gonna fill you up,’ he tells you, breath warm against your ear.
‘Do it,’ you moan.
Your whole body tightens, thighs quivering. 
God, he feels so good, so good.
He strokes your clit hard, pressing, and he swallows your scream as you cum again, hard.
You’re vaguely aware of his deep groan, the hot cum he’s spilling into your cunt, but it’s his hold on you that keeps you anchored.
His arms are curled around you so tightly you can barely breathe.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, muffled. He nudges your chin with his nose, tilting your face up. 
You use the pretense of getting your breath back to wait.
The silence between you stretches.
‘I should have told you I was applying for other jobs.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ you ask, quiet.
‘I didn’t want to change things between us,’ he says.
‘I’m happy for you,’ you tell him. 
It’s the truth.
Namjoon says, arms still tight around you, ‘Mercy’s two hours on the train away.’
You’re not sure what he wants you to say.
You get re-dressed in silence.
***
You walk into the office and stare blindly at the empty desk opposite yours.
You haven’t spoken to Namjoon since the storage room, but you hadn’t known he’d be leaving this soon.
You pull out your phone to call him.
He answers on the first ring.
‘Where are you?’ you ask.
‘I’m outside your apartment,’ he says.
‘I’m on my way.’
You run most of the way home, stumbling into the hallway leading to your apartment, cold, breathless.
At first you don’t see him.
Then he pushes off your door that he’s been leaning on, and the expression on his face would make you cry if you weren’t already tearing up.
‘I came to drop off a letter,’ he says. His throat works as he presses a hand to your cheek, thumbing away the tears.
‘Just tell me instead,’ you say.
‘I meant what I said. I’ll be here when you’re ready.’
‘I’m ready now,’ you tell him.
‘I’m here.’
His lips meet yours, sweet, like a promise. 
Later, much later, he’s on your couch because you never made it to the bed, looking around your living room, not a box in sight.
‘I like what you’ve done to the place,’ he says.
You look up, still hazy from your orgasm. ‘I thought I should move on,’ you say, shrugging.
There are so many things Namjoon wants to say, but you’re kissing him again, and he decides it can wait.
He’s got all the time in the world for you.
©hamsterclaw 2022
391 notes · View notes
algea · 2 years
Text
A Little Ghoulin'.
Tumblr media
Prompt: You go to a highly aggressive location with Zak and the GAC and you get attacked by a malicious ghost.
Pairing: Zak Bagans x !female Reader
Warnings: girl idk, the GAC being themselves? also vomit
You were at another investigation with Zak and the crew. Everyone knew that you and Zak had something for each other, but the both of you were oblivious to it. This particular location had highly aggressive entities towards women. There were even accounts of demons attacking the women that’ve entered the building. Zak was already nervous bringing you as it was, but with this information, he was not having it. But of course, you insisted on going, even if it meant going against him.
“Are you SURE you’re alright going in there by yourself, Y/N?” Zak asked, gazing down at your face with a very worried look. 
You rested a hand on Zak’s chest and sighed,
“I’m fine Zak, really, I’ll call for you immediately if I run into trouble.” 
He sucked in a deep breath and muttered something too low for you to hear, probably irrelevant to you anyway. You drew your hand from his chest and rested on his cheek, softly stroking it with your thumb. His hazy, blue eyes met yours and the both of you shared and unknown contract, one that you would soon find out.
“I…You know I’m really against you going in there, right? I can’t let you get hurt like I would myself.” Zak sighed, his captive gaze holding yours. You only gave him a soft smile and ran your thumb slowly over his bottom lip. Zak’s lips ghosted a smile, but only before you heard a camera click and various noises of happy cheering.
“Dude! I knew it was gonna be here! Pay up, Billy!” Aaron exclaimed, still holding his phone in the position he took the picture in. Both you and Zak’s heads snapped over to him, only to see Aaron holding out his hand as Billy handed him a 20 dollar bill, and Jay snickering in the background.
“Shut up, Aaron.” Billy sighed, looking over at you and winking knowingly. You rolled your eyes at your best friend and dropped your hand from Zak’s face. 
“You two BETTED on when something like this would happen?” Zak questioned, his eyebrows raised and his head tilting towards them angrily. 
“Oh I am SO beating your ass after we get done here.” He added. All Aaron, Billy, and Jay did was laugh and crack jokes about you two. You snatched your personal camera up and turned it on before saying,
“Well fuckers, I’m heading inside.” 
You started to the door, which was on the opposite side of the large building. Zak followed you to make sure that you got in ok, as well as to be close by if you get in any danger. You stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. Zak placed his hand on your shoulder, leaned down and said,
“Don’t have too much fun without me.”
You smiled and reached up to place a kiss on his cheek. You then opened the door of the building and entered.
—————
The energy in there was like a hurricane, you felt so off every time you took a step.
“Whoa guys, I feel really off. Like every step I take man. Shit’s weird as hell.” You say as you walk further.
“You’re doing good, Y/N, just keep it up.” Zak’s voice said through the walkie-talkie. You went and sat down on a chair. You pulled out a spirit box and flicked it on, letting the static fill the electrified air. 
“Is there anyone with me right now?” You asked, looking around the almost pitch black room. You thought you could make out a tall black figure standing in the doorway of a room.
“Evil.” A woman’s voice came through, startling you.
“Zak, just as I said ‘is there anyone with me’ I saw a very tall black figure in the doorway of a room, then the voice came in and said ‘evil!’” You yelled, eyes looking at the X camera watching you. 
“Holy shit! We thought it said ‘evil’ too!” Aaron came in.
Just then, a voice came in and said,
“Demon…LEAVE!…”
But before you could say anything, something grabbed your hair and lifted you up off the ground. You shrieked and kicked, but to no avail because your feet were no longer touching the ground.
“ZAK! ZAK! IT’S FUCKING HOLDING ME IN THE AIR! HELP! HELP! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” You screaming, tears streaking down your face. 
You felt like your limbs were getting pulled apart from all directions.
“FUCKING HURRY ZAK, PLEASE!” You shrieked, choking on the vomit that was bubbling up through your chest. The vomit spewed out of your mouth. Zak slammed through the door and sprinted towards you. 
You crumpled to the floor in a crying heap. He didn’t care about the vomit on the floor, or the ugly crying that continued to come from you, he only cared about YOU. Zak’s hands grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into him, his muscular arms clinging to you like a small child to its mother. 
“I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shhhh…” Zak muttered into your ear softly, rocking you back and forth in an attempt to calm you down.
“Holy shit, Y/N!” Billy yelled, sliding onto the floor and grabbing your shoulders from behind.
You shook from your sobs, and Billy did his best to calm you down. Zak was silent, his mind at work. 
“Cmon Bill, let’s pick her up and carry her outside.” Zak suddenly said, wrapping an arm around the small of your back. Billy did the same, and they carried you outside. Aaron and Jay rushed over to you, giving you a warm embrace. 
“Dude that was insane! The evidence we just captured was awesome!!!” Aaron exclaimed, withdrawing from the hug.
“Aaron, shut the hell up, it’s not about the evidence right now, it’s about Y/N.” Zak snapped, turning his head and glaring at him. Aaron sighed and nodded his head in agreement after a moment of thinking.
“Aaron, you and Billy go back in there and take some Full Spectrum Camera photos. Jay, you watch them in case something else happens, I’m going to help Y/N clean up.” Zak said, handing the Full Spectrum Camera to Billy. All three reluctantly trudged to their destinations, knowing that leaving you two alone could be very dangerous. Zak took you over to a couple steps and sat you down, holding you worriedly.
“Are you ok?” Zak asked, one of his hands traveling up to cup your face. The tears that rolled down your face slithered down his thumb, which was gently brushing over your cheekbone. You didn’t say anything, you just let the tears keep falling as he examined you further. Zak was muttering something, but you paid no attention to him, you were so mesmerized by him. As he was talking, you just couldn’t stop the urge to lean in and kiss him. 
“Do you need anything? I can get you something if you want, we’ve got plenty of stuff and it’s no-“ Zak rambled, but was cut short by you leaning in and softly pressing your lips against his. Zak’s eyes widened and his other hand flew up to cup your other cheek. He leaned into the kiss, letting himself do all the work, he just couldn’t resist you. Your hand rested on his shoulder, and the other trailing down to the small of Zak’s back. 
It was like the world stopped as you kissed him, everything freezing in place for a moment. Everything felt right, like this was the way it was supposed to be. You were the first to lean away, gasping for air as you rested your forehead against his. You heard the familiar click of a camera and snapped your head to Jay, who was grinning like an idiot. 
“Just wait until the boys see this, this’ll be GOLD.” Jay exclaimed, scurrying away after Zak lunged at him, trying to snatch the photo.
“Oh. Shit.” Is all Zak said, but you only smiled at him, knowing that it’d be fine, just like your spirit guides told you.
242 notes · View notes
kisha-myers · 2 years
Text
Fem!reader - Ghost x König x reader fanfiction titled 'My Anxious Mouse'
Disclaimer: I do NOT own call of duty nor its characters/operators - I only own the plot.
If you want to be on the tag list for this series PLEASE comment on either chapter 1 or chapter 4 and let me know!
TW: DEPICTIONS OF TRAFFICKING, BLOOD AND GORE, VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!
Chapter Six: Nightmare from Hell
Warmth, that's what you felt against your bare skin as you awoke. The sun beamed down on you, it's rays of light coaxing your skin to deepen in coloration slightly. You sat up slowly, head foggy as you tried to remember where you were - this wasn't the military base you'd passed out in. You were nestled under a swaying date palm tree, the sweltering heat curved slightly from the miniscule shade it provided you. There was no wind to aid in cooling you down, you noted, climbing to your feet and wincing at the biting burn of the sand against your skin. You never liked the feeling of it, the way the little granules settle themselves into every available orifice of your body - bothered you immensely. It reminded you of the time you had to help you mom make churros, the cinnamon sugar mixture coating your little fingers, grating against your skin causing it to redden slightly from irritation. You wished you had shoes, even socks, to protect your feet from not only the blistering heat the sand absorbed, but from its grating texture.
Your right hand fanned your face as your eyes scanned your surroundings, sweat already coating your skin, the small droplets slithering down your back causing your shirt to stick uncomfortably. A few scattered date palms stood tall over ruined houses, smoke still rising in the distance from a few of them. Rapid pops in the distance off to the right captured your attention, the resounding reverberating booms that followed shook the ground, making your already precarious knees even weaker. Iraq, your mind realized, you were left to your own devices in Iraq - a hostile territory for Americans, even more so for women such as yourself. Your eyes watered as you frantically searched your memory for anything that would explain why you were here of all places, hands shaking tremendously as you came up blank for an answer.
A joke you had hoped, but quickly that notion was washed away as shouts in arabic filtered into your consciousness. Hide, that little voice in your mind screamed at you, demanding you remove the dark colored sweater and abandon the offending material somewhere amongst the sand before the terrorists could see you. You fought with yourself for only a moment, coming to the conclusion that it would be smarter to remove the material but keep it with you as you knew the nights here in the desert dropped in temperature rather quickly. You could also use it as a shield for your eyes during sandstorm should that ever happen to you - you hoped it didn't, but you weren't stupid by any means.
You removed Königs sweater quickly, wadding it up into a ball and tucking it under your arm like a quarterback does with a football, and took off towards the first set of ruined homes located to your left. Running in sand, you realized, was about as easy as walking a straight line for the police whilst heavily intoxicated. Your feet burned viciously, it was as if you were scrambling through smoldering coals - they slipped more often then not, causing you to stumble with damn near every step. Your tears fell freely now, cascading down your flushed sun kissed skin with ease as panic nestled its wicked claws inside your chest. The shouting was getting louder, the cracking of rifles firing off shot after shot and sub machine guns popping off overwhelming your ears. Sweat dripped off your nose as you slipped again, your hands instinctively thrusting forwards to catch yourself as your knees buckled and crashed against the blazing sand. A sob ripped from your chest, the little voice inside your head roaring in agonized screams, demanding you get up and continue forwards - now was most certainly not the time to feel pity for yourself and these rather unfortunate circumstances. Your muscles tensed as you pushed yourself onto unsteady legs, eyes bleary from the never ending torrent of tears that practically drowned you. Your teeth bit mercilessly into your inner cheek, jaw clenching tightly to keep the sobs that wrecked through your chest silenced lest the enemy find you. Blood pooled in your mouth, making your stomach heave, rejecting the iron infused viscous liquid as soon as you choked it down. Your jaw popped audibly as you gagged, fighting to keep down the bile that coated the back of your throat.
Your feet thankfully carried you inside the ruined remnants of what looked to be a family home, eyes constantly swiveling in search for the ultimate hiding spot where you could remain undetected and protected. The roof was practically blown all the way off, ash and soot covering the floor as stone and pieces of debris sliced into the bottoms of your feet. The pain wasn't registered by your conscious, your brain fully in survival mode pushing your pain receptors to remain off until you were out of immediate danger. You stumbled through what you'd declare the living room, body buzzing on pure adrenaline as you searched the rubble for anything useful. You were an ignorant American for the most part, having been taught at a young age that middle easterners were savages, it was inaccurate now that you were older.
Bloodied footprints followed you wherever you went mixing in with the ash that covered the ground - in the far recess of your mind you knew you would have to tend to your wounds soon to keep away an infection, but that wasn't a priority at this moment. Just as your trembling hands were about to lift up a splintered beam, jumbled shouting reached your ears just outside of where you were currently. Your eyes widened in fear and trepidation, mind scrounging up the most ghastly of images to play out in your mind of victims you'd seen - all their faces however, replaced with yours instead. Your mind screamed once more, declaring that if you didn't leave now, they'd find you and most certainly would carve your flesh like a turkey on Thanksgiving day.
With deft fingers you tied the overly large sweater around your waist securely, tucking the ends into your shorts and grimacing at the uncomfortably coarser texture against your sensitive flesh. Once finished, you turned and ran with all your might towards the other end of the home, leaping over fallen walls and dodging low hanging pieces of the ceiling. You scrambled faster, scurrying like a rabbit, zigzagging your way about the destroyed home looking for a safe exit. Step after excruciating step you went, your chest heaving from the exertion, heart pounding so hard you were afraid it would simply give out. You were their prey, a small mouse being lured into a trap by the ferocious feline, ready to be feasted upon in the worst of ways. You'd never felt such intense fear before, if you had had a full bladder, you were sure you'd have urinated on yourself by now.
More shouting behind you kicked your body into overdrive, eyes locking onto a demolished glass surrounded window off in the room to your right. You couldn't hesitate, 'hesitation gets you killed', you father had drilled into you over and over again, 'observe, think, react - survive at all costs' his gravely voice reminded you. You did just that, running with everything you had and practically throwing yourself out of the window. Pain lacerated it's way through your right shoulder as you landed hard onto the shards of broken glass on the other side, an anguished yelp released itself from your lips as you forced yourself up. Blood glided down your arm, thick crimson drops bathing the beige silica sand with their vibrancy. You couldn't stay there, you were still being hunted - running was your only option left and you knew, just from Dantes letters alone that if there were scouts on foot, there would be snipers in the ridges watching everything.
Perhaps that was how they knew where you were, watching your every move and waiting to close in on you. You were a small female, ripe for the taking - perfect to clean up and sell to the highest bidder or simply be used and abused by the men that would ultimately capture you. Your fate, you surmised, was already sealed though your tiny voice inside refused to accept that. It coaxed you onward, taking control over your wayward limbs and pushing you onward. Shots rang out, and this time you didn't remain silent. A scream filed with so much terror ripped through your chest, stealing the breath within your lungs as you went. One after another tumbled consecutively, until a body slammed into you from behind.
You felt time slow down significantly, almost as if someone had changed the setting on the television to slow motion. You felt thick arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up and turning you so whomever was behind you could take the brunt of the impact against the sand. You felt rather than heard the grunt your attack released as they landed, your limbs flailing about as you struggled to free yourself from their grasp. Hands reached out to restrain you, a heavily accented though familiar voice shouting over your agonized screams, trying desperately to gather your attention.
It wasn't until cold water doused your raging inferno of panic that you finally came to, eyes shooting open as you flew forwards sputter and choking on the offending liquid. Your eyelids blinked rapidly, the blurriness slowly fading as you took in your surroundings. Johnny knelt beside you on the bed, his arms securely around your trembling form, eyes a swirling mess of worry and panic. König stood at the foot of the bed, his hands clenched tightly into fists by his sides as his muscles tensed visibly. Ghost stood just behind Johnny, an empty glass in his hand as he gave you a quick once over. Your chest heaved rapidly, your mind trying to calm the frantic erratic beating of your heart as you chanted 'I'm safe' just under your breath.
"Aye lass, y'alright now, I've gotcha. I'not goin' nowhere." Johnny's calmed Scottish brogue filtered into your right ear. You leaned into his warmth, unaware of how viciously you were shivering.
"J-just a b-bad d-dre-dre-am." You stuttered out with a sniffle, your hands desperately rubbing against the thin military issued blanket that lay crumbled in your lap, "I-i w-as th-the-re J-joh-johnny, i-i-i-in ir-raq." You cried, turning to look up at him, "I wa-was a-al-all alo-lone, and the-they fou-ound m-me." You sobbed, burrowing your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around his thick waist. Ghost and König shared a look, opting to go wait outside the door to allow you two to have some privacy.
The Scot rubbed soothing circles into your back, whispering comforting words into your ear until you were calm. His cologne, you noted, was different. Notes of pine and spearmint filling your nostrils as you inhaled deeply, undertones of the earth just after it rains and freshly cut spruce helped ease your discomfort.
You weren't okay by any means, but at least nestled within Johnny's arms you knew you were safe... and in a moment like this, that's all you could ask for.
Author's Note: I'm so sorry it's so short! It's late and I'm exhausted and wanted some angst - I promise to do better with tomorrow's chapter! I hope you'll comment your thoughts, constructive criticism is very much welcomed and appreciated!
Tag List:
@lianyanhongcheng
@treehuggingzealot
@kdkj122920
@grizzersmamma
@ofmenanduhhhwellmen
@lovefallingtopieces
@scaredknight
139 notes · View notes
saficswrites · 5 months
Text
Perfect
I’m really sad about missing the FE Aspec Week event, especially since I ended up getting this done like right after it ended, but it's here now!
”Plumeria doesn’t want what most others do, the arduous mixing of fluids and friction as some repulsing tax to love or be loved made her want to retch.
Her work inflicting those desires she despised so deeply onto others was torturous, seeming to be little more than a cruel joke to remind her that she was different.
That is until one night the owner of the dream she’s infiltrated seems to feel the same, and they stare through the fog with a smile to tell her that she is perfect.”
663 words. Tagged Asexual Character, Dreams, Self-Acceptance, and Sex-Repulsed Asexual character.
Link and Fic below the cut, I really hope you enjoy!
(and also that I did a good job realizing this, fingers crossed)
“Tell me Faery… do you think yourself perfect?” A smooth voice whispered from so close Plumeria could feel their breath warm against her ear.
She whipped around, how had they managed to sneak up on her, to lean in so close without brushing against her sensitive wings or even upsetting the still air in which she stood?!
A tall woman dressed in dark clothing stared back.
“Ursula?” Plumeria gasped, pressing a fist to her rapidly beating heart as though that would slow it.
“The one and only…” Ursula chuckled, reaching out to brush two fingers against Plumeria’s pulse-point before flashing a twisted smile. “I saw you in my dreams, precious Dökkálfr… to think I’d find a kindred spirit in that land of falsehoods.”
Plumeria froze, she had penetrated the fabric of Ursula’s dream recently. Loathe it as she did, doing so was still part of her duties, she had expected no shortage of things that would simply disgust her in that assassin’s head, lewd phantoms of the women Ursala so clearly leered at puppeted by shameful desires the likes of which even Dökkálfr magic couldn’t inflict…
Instead she found none of that, for all the ways Ursula flaunted herself to try and gain the affections of those few she chased, her fantasies revolving around them had been comparatively… tame, almost benign.
Sonia looking her way, acknowledging the depths of Ursula’s loyalty, the sheer quantity of emotion the woman held for her. Kiran engaging her in games of wit, playing chess in between courses of a candlelit dinner.
Plumeria had stayed watching far longer than she should have ever remained in a single dream, silent and still as she watched fantasy after fantasy never devolve into a mashing frenzy of the base instincts that disgusted her so.
Her presence never caused any effect, her only actions were entering and leaving, how had Ursula managed to perceive her?
“Tell me, did you expect an assassin’s mind to be… *undisciplined*?” Ursula giggled, the sounds harsh as she leaned in just a bit. “You succeeded in catching my eye Faery, now answer my question.”
*Do I… think myself perfect?* Plumeria forced her eyes shut, trying to rationalize an answer. She was long past the painful stage of considering herself broken for being different, there was a time where she thought of her feelings as an affliction, a curse so severe that her Aesir given duties were sign from above she had to be fixed.
Those pained times had passed, even if she was left wanting for the love she truly desired, unconditional and without the repulsing caveat of a physical bond, she carried more love for herself;
More acceptance for herself;
That… had to mean something, was self-love and by extension actualization not a form of striving for perfection?
“I think you are, Faery.” Ursula murmured, leaning even closer and interrupting her thoughts. 
She… did?
“I… um, thank you.” Plumeria muttered, suddenly feeling the urge to take a step back…
But for whatever reason she didn’t
“At what level does a bond of flesh begin to repulse you? When my skin brushes against yours, if our lips were to come into contact, or perhaps not until my hand slid between your legs?” Ursula whispered.
“Anything past casual skinship.” Plumeria admitted, her heart speeding up again as Ursula nodded, seemingly in approval.
“My body is a tool, little more, pursuits of the flesh are nothing in my view of perfection, much less what I desire from intimacy.” She whispered, pulling back to a comfortable distance. “Few ever catch my eye, even fewer still can I be so confident in, comfortable that their perfection will never falter.” 
“Those dreams… they were your truth, not the result of a mask you put on after noticing me?” Plumeria asked, still not fully daring to hope.
“They were, Plumeria.” Ursula murmured, flashing her a much more gentle smile. “I’ll have my eye on you, precious Dökkálfr, so do consider looking my way.
2 notes · View notes