#i think i read a fic with this exact plot once | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uhohdad · 1 year ago

Text

Meine Perle

Octo!Konig x Reader Fic

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

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

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

Word Count: 25.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re starving me, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am what I am, same as you.”

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

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

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

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

“That you’re here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a name?” You ask gently.

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

He hesitates before speaking.

“Konig.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve lost count.” He says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he hadn’t hated you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another meal.

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

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

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

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

“Tired?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is he capable of empathy?

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

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

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

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

His hood tilts up and he shrugs.

“How long’s it been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not too late.”

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

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

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

The silence falls over you both again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

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

You slowly sit up, locked on to his gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think about what he’s thinking.

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

Your chest rises and falls as you study him.

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

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

“Not finished.” He says evenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shift in your spot and swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Konig’s tentacles writhe as he watches you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what’s the plan?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stew for hours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need water.

You have two options.

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

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

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

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

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

Your words are sharp and dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

His head tilts down but his stare says on you.

“No. Too far.”

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

“Then give me my badge back, Konig!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice raises in desperation.

“Konig, don’t do this to me!”

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

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

Your eye catches the water bucket by his side.

He doesn’t want to give it to you?

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

Fine.

You’ll just get the damn water yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another meal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Release him, or suffer a sudden and unfortunate accident.

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

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

His head tilts backwards slightly, silently keeping your stare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He holds you steady.

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

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

He doesn’t do either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————————————————————-

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

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

Threatening your life and then sparing it.

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

When had he changed his mind?

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

He wasn’t just a mindless programmed weapon, he was capable of some amount mercy. Control.

Unless he knew that if he had killed you, he wouldn’t have been able to get his varied meals and water buckets. Maybe he had kept you alive as just another means to an end.

But he had kept you alive, that was understood.

You close your eyes, falling back onto your mattress. You’d been thinking about Konig non-stop these past few weeks. Obsessing, even. It was exhausting, him and you and both of your mortalities and the constant threat haunting you in and out of your dreams.

You decided you weren’t going to think about him now, that for the sake of your own sanity you needed to focus on yourself.

You treat yourself to a full breakfast for the first time in awhile, topping it off with more pain reliever and water. A long shower eases your aching muscles, but the one-handedness makes it awkward to bathe yourself.

You put on loungewear after you towel off and reapply your wrist wrap, in need of the extra comfort. You leave your dirty lab coat at home before you head back to the office, still in your lounge clothes. You won’t be there long, you decide. You’re going to tell your supervisor what happened, chew him out a little bit, and then let him know he’ll need someone to feed Konig while you take time off to heal and process.

You stop by the lab to pick up your buckets before heading straight to your supervisors office.

You open his office door without knocking and when his eyes meet yours his brows furrow as he gives your clothes a scan.

“I’m going to need some time off,” You say firmly, gesturing to your wrapped arm.

“What happened?” He says, brow quirking.

You laugh, “What happened? What happened?” You use your uninjured hand to shove the buckets to the ground forcefully, your tone dangerous, “Is that I accepted this shitty job offer in the first place. What were you thinking?”

He’s sweating now, eyes wide with shock as you raise your voice to him.

You continue, “You saddled me with feeding him. You gambled with my life.” Your tone goes from angry to quiet and stern, “He almost killed me.” Your gaze flicks to between each of his nervous eyes.

He sputters, “What- What do you mean? What happened?”

“He stole my badge and trapped me in that cell with him! He starved me! NONE of you came for me, NONE of you checked on me.” Your animated tone lowers to one of cold malice, “You saddled me with a deadly job and then left me to die. Not a single reinforcement.”

“How did he steal your badge?” He asks, face stretched in confusion.

You hesitate, “I-“ You cut yourself off. You can’t tell him you fell asleep in there. Because then you’d have to tell him about how you had fallen asleep waiting for him to empty his bucket. The bucket he wasn’t supposed to have. The loitering you were instructed not to do. The conversations you were forbidden from having. The unauthorized tape crossing.

“It doesn’t matter! I’m-“ You’re frazzled now, face reddening, “I’m leaving! Just make sure someone feeds him!” You fumble for the doorknob, leaving him with a bewildered expression and two colorful buckets.

“Are you quitting?!” He yells out after you’re already down the hall.

“Yes! No! I mean - maybe! I’ll let you know!”

You take three days off to take it easy, catch up on sleep, and ice your injuries. It’s been awhile since you’ve been able to relax, just getting lost in a mindless TV show and forgetting your worries for awhile. You didn’t want to think about Konig, it was too painful, but your thoughts kept leading you to him and you had to often remind yourself that you were supposed to be taking a break from him.

After three days, you’ve managed to steady yourself enough to get back to your research. The work had piled up during your stint as a feeder and you thought your normal work would be a good distraction.

The first time your supervisor catches a glimpse of you, he does a double take through the circular glass pane of the lab’s swinging doors before he enters.

He says your name, surprised but still cheerful, “It’s good to see you! Lab coat and all.” He lowers his voice, “I, uh, I didn’t think you’d be back.”

You don’t say anything, attention still to your work.

He clears his throat before continuing, “How’s your wrist?”

“Still sprained,” You say dryly, still not turning to him.

He sputters a bit, “Hope you feel better soon, uh.” He clears his throat again, “You’ll be happy to hear that,” he trails off for a moment before continuing, “It’s being put down.”

Your eyes finally find him, darting over quickly as you set down your notes.

“What’s being put down?”

“The creature.” He says with a smile, as if he’s offering his saving grace.

“No!” Leaves you involuntarily. The wrist with the bandage finds your heart as you stand, shaking your head at your supervisor, “You can’t do that!”

His brows pinch, “What do you mean? I thought you’d be happy about this. He tried to kill you.”

“No, if he tried to kill me I’d be dead, he almost killed me, he spared me!”

Your supervisor steps closer you, holding his palms up in a weak attempt to calm you. You back away from him with each step he takes, still shaking your head.

“He hurt you!”

“That was an accident!” You say, angrily. The edge in your tone causes him to still his stride. You don’t usually speak to him like this.

He says your name again, voice soft and eyes full of pity, “He put your replacement in the hospital.”

Your face goes slack as you look at him with wide eyes, shaking your head slowly, “No!”

He says your name again, “Yes. Listen, I see this has left you on edge. Maybe you should take some more time off, no problem. We can even get you in touch with a counselor specialized in war trauma.”

“No, listen to me, you can’t kill him!”

“How many more sudden and unfortunate accidents do you think we can continue reporting before the wrong person starts asking questions?!” His voice has lost his pity, obviously frustrated with your disapproval.

“You can’t be mad at a wasp for stinging when you whack its nest, can you?! He was made for that purpose!”

He raises his voice, stern enough it stuns you, “And what do you expect us to do with a monster made for the purpose of killing? Let it out into the public? Let it rot in a jail cell while we keep feeding him our employees?!”

“He didn’t kill me!” You say exasperatedly, “He didn’t kill me because you guys are starving him! You’re not feeding him enough. That’s enough to make any man kill.”

“Why are you sympathizing with it? It’s a monster!”

You look at him with squinted eyes and mouth parted in disgust, “He’s not a monster! He’s-“ You cut yourself off.

Your supervisor lowers his head in your direction and crosses his arms over his chest. “Go on.” He says.

You put your palms together gently in front of you, careful not to bend your injured wrist. A sigh leaves you.

“Look, I’ve been doing research on him, okay? He’s rather remarkable and he’s surprised me more time than I can count.”

He scoffs, “I’m sure it has.”

Your eyes screw shut for a moment as you groan in frustration, “No! I mean, sure, he is a miraculous biowarfare weapon equipped with superior predator features, that’s a given, but in addition to that he’s an intelligent creature capable of independent thought! He is capable of being kind and showing mercy. You don’t understand!”

He cocks a brow at you and sighs, “I guess I don’t.” He reaches out, as if he’s going to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, but stops himself. “Look, it’s been a rough week for everyone here, okay? Why don’t you take some more time off and we’ll take care of things here.”

You realized there was going to be no getting through to him. That there would be no way to get him to see that Konig was an intelligent being capable of restraint, that he had no say in his creation as a weapon, that he was misunderstood due to the weight of being a prisoner, and that even the worst behaving prisoner deserved not to starve.

“You’re still going to kill him, aren’t you?” You say, more of a statement than a question.

He doesn’t say a word, pity still flooding his stare. He turns slowly, stopping once he’s got the lab door ajar at his finger tips,“I’ll see you when you’re feeling better.” He slips out, and you watch the lab door swing to a still as you swallow his words.

It doesn’t matter how you feel about Konig right now, all of your complex feelings have been pushed to the side. They can’t kill him, he doesn’t deserve that fate, that’s for sure. You can’t hold a being prisoner, underfeed him, and then expect him not to act on his primal urges. Not even a human would pass that test.

That and the idea of him disappearing from your life permanently is enough to make your heart pound and your head spin, having to press your uninjured hand to your forehead to wipe away your sweat.

This is your fault, you’re thinking. That if you hadn’t let a substitute go in there after you left things so messy with him maybe this fate would have been spared.

No, no. You can’t afford to think like that. You can’t afford to blame yourself for his actions.

But your actions could save his life.

“Yes,” you say, out loud frantically to yourself at your own idea, “Yes!”

You’re searching the lab, pulling open cabinets hard enough they slam against their holds, leaving their doors open as you dig out their contents and leave them scattered on the floor.

You find what you’re looking for, the sharpest object you could think of in the lab, a scalpel.

You had grabbed the entire dissecting kit with the firm grip of your uninjured hand, finding a sprint as soon as it’s in your grasp. As you run you lay your injured arm across your chest, setting the pouch on top of it like a makeshift table as you pry the zipper open and dig for the scalpel. Your feet are hitting the tile hard and each step jostles your injured wrist but you’re not sure how much time you have.

You have the horrible thought that it might be too late, that when you get there you’ll find an empty cell and you’ll never have the chance to say goodbye, I’m sorry, or thank you again. The lump in your throat and the prick of tears in your eyes makes you stumble, and you use the opportunity to slow to find the scalpel, pulling it from the hold of the pouch through blurry vision. You let the pouch slide off your bandaged arm and crash to the hall floor, returning to your quick pace, damned be lab rules of running with sharp instruments.

You slam your badge into the receiver in a panic, the tears already threatening to spill over at the thought of never seeing Konig again. The scalpel scratches against your badge and when the alarm sounds, you’re looking frantically down the halls to see if anyone is going to try and stop you. When you pry open the heavy metal door enough you stumble into his cell.

He’s still in there, alive, and your tears quickly turn to that of relief.

You’re don’t hesitate, crossing the red tape and closing the distance between you, scalpel in hand.

His tentacles are at a bluff, writhing and fully extended as you dash at him. You realize that sprinting at him full speed with a weapon after the way you left things was probably not the best way to approach the situation.

“Konig!” You say, out of breath and slowing to turn your direction towards the ropes instead of him. You waste no time scraping the scalpel against the taught restraint with your uninjured hand, “We got'ta get you out of here - they’re going to kill you!” The tears are flowing down your cheeks again. You’re not sure if it’s the panic, your upset feelings of him bubbling up at seeing him, or the thought of him being killed.

“We gotta get out of here, we have to go!”

You struggle through the first rope, handicapped by your injury and fraying it in multiple spots as your hand shakes. The scalpel slices all the way through, and the rope snaps back, the loops around Konig’s bicep releasing in large coils.

You make a dash for the rope restraining his other arm, out of breath and tears blurring your vision. Your hands shake as your uninjured hand slices the ropes, unable to grip the restraint with your other hand. You fumble it for moment, panic slowing you down. Something grazes your hand and you flinch, but relax when you see Konig’s tentacle gently tapping your palm. He flips it sucker up, offering to take the scalpel from you.

“Oh, yeah.” You say, a dizzy heat creeping up your cheeks. You hand him the scalpel, blade facing your chest so the end of his appendage can safely coil around it.

He takes slices precisely through one of the indents you started in the rope with ease.

You can’t help the awe as you watch him, mouth slightly part as your eyes follow the tentacle slice through the rope securing his wrists to the ceiling. You take a step back, hands slightly braced at your sides.

His free tentacles are curling and writhing in excitement as he gets the final swipe through his restraints, the slack releasing and dropping to the ground in loops. Once fully unrestrained, he takes his time stretching his muscles, eyes closed and small grunts leaving his lips as his tentacles move in synchronization with his movements. He rubs out the red and irritated lines the ropes left behind on his arms.

You’re still in awe as you watch him, eyes wide and slack jawed. You hadn’t given yourself time to prepare for being in a the same room as a fully unrestrained superbeing designed for killing.

Had he just been being nice to you for his own benefit, you’re thinking this would be the time for him to kill you.

Once he’s done working out his muscles, he steps over to you slowly, eyes not leaving you as his boots make their commanding presence known on the concrete.

“Oh, I-“ You cut yourself off, looking to the side as you take a few steps back. Your palms are out, and you’re thinking maybe you should have thought this through a bit more.

He says nothing, his glowing gaze boring into you as he closes the gap, leaving only inches between you two.

The nerves are apparent on your face as you stare up at him, having to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. He frame towered over you and his tentacles curled behind him alluringly. You flinched when the end of a tentacle came up to brush your cheek, leaving behind a small line of clear slick.

“Thank you.” He says, and for once you know what he means.

“Thank you.” You respond with a shaky voice, eyes flicking around his features nervously.

“Are you ready?” He says, nodding to your badge.

You’d forgotten he’s being hunted. Your unease of him is overtaken by the panic to save him.

“Yes, yes! We should hurry.” You say, starting a sprint for the door, but a tentacle loops firmly around your waist and lifts you up, your feet still searching for floor. Another tentacles comes underneath you like a swing, allowing you to place to weight on it. You can’t help but let out a few nervous squeaks as you’re adjusted in the air. Once you get your bearings you he puts you close to his back, letting your head sit next to his so you’re looking over his shoulder. You’re in a nest of slick tentacles, securing around you to keep you steady, and you’re reminded of the nightmares you’d experienced with a sea of tentacles swallowing you whole.

One appendage is offered to your injured wrist so you could rest it. He does all of this without looking at you, his focus on carrying your through the cell.

He stills and a tentacle reaches out, sucker up, and it takes you a moment to understand he’s asking for your badge. You give a nervous laugh when you realize, pulling it from your neck and ruffling your hair with the lanyard as you do. His tentacle curls around the badge and it disappears from your view.

You hear the grating alarm and the clunk of the lock. Two tentacles return instead of one, opening the lanyard of the badge to place it gently around your neck so you don’t have to. He simultaneously gets the door you struggled so much with opened with ease, and he’s careful as he gets both of you through the doorway.

“Which way?” He whispers through his harsh voice.

You point over his shoulder so he can see your arm from behind him. “That way, I need to grab my keys.”

As soon as he’s starts moving you realize why he didn’t let you run. He’s scarily fast, moving efficiently through the hallways as his tentacles allow him lengthier strides. You’re mesmerized by the way they shoot out, using the walls, floor, and ceiling to support himself as he moves. It’s like something from a horror movie, you think, and you can’t help imagine the fear a victim would feel being charged at like this.

“In here!” You point to the swinging doors of the lab. He’s got you smoothly inside, careful to make sure the doors don’t hit you on the recoil. His tentacles place you down gently, ensuring your feet are steady on the tile before removing his support.

You’re quick once on your feet, running to one of the undisturbed cabinets and shoving your stuff into your lab coat pockets with your good hand before dashing back to him.

“Okay, let’s go!”

But he doesn’t move, because some papers strewn on the lab table had caught his attention. He picks up a piece of paper with his hands and holds it up. The light shining through the page lets you see ink of a sketch you did of him during your obsessive research.

“Oh, that- yeah, that’s, uhm.” You purse your lips together and squint, trying to find an ending to the sentence you hastily started, “Hard to explain.”

He sets it down gently, using his hands to sift through a few more sketches of himself, anatomy labeled and fully detailed. Separate sketches of just the close details of his tentacles. Theories to what’s under his hood and his skeletal structure. His eyes scan over more pages and he find logs of your interactions, his diet, body language.

You laugh nervously, flush creeping up your neck as your eyes dart to the side.

“We should go.” You say, less urgent and more breathy than you meant it to.

He looks at you, glowing eyes piercing into you and you’re not sure how to decipher his stare.

He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, stacking the papers together and rolling them up in a way not to crease them. He tucks them into the waist band of his pants as he wordlessly returns you to your spot on his shoulder as he takes you from the lab.

“Which way?” He says once you’re both in the hallway, but a screams echoes from behind you, and you both whip around to look.

“Go, go, go!” Your hands frantically tap his shoulders to emphasize your words after meeting the horrified stare of a coworker, who had turned quickly on her heels to flee from you two.

He starts to sprint towards the person running from him and you tap his shoulders more forcefully, “No, the other way! Away from people!”

He gives a single nod, grunting in response as he turns on his heels and heads the opposite direction.

There were workers at the end of this hall, too. Three of them, and you can see your supervisor as he rips his attention away from the conversation he was having and turns to the mass in the corner of his eye.

He stumbled backwards, and the others turn to gawk too, screaming and fleeing from you both in a panic. You supervisor had froze, pressing his body against the wall as his shock and horror melds with confusion when he made eye contact with you, perched on Konig’s shoulder.

He shouts your name in panic, eyes searching frantically for aid.

As you Konig tentacles reach out to the halls to quickly pass him, you put one finger up on your good hand. “Don’t forget this!” You say cheerfully.

The dumbfounded and offended look on his face leaves you with an overjoyed smile as you turn back around to rest your arms back on Konig’s shoulder, lower half still supported by his tentacles.

“The stairs are through that door.” You say, leaning forward on his bare shoulder to point.

You both stop in your tracks at the sound of a blaring alarm, much more shrill than the one of his cell. It’s deafening, shrilling through the entire building. There’s bright emergency lights that reflect off the walls from the lockdown sirens.

He looks to you, and instead of yelling over the loud alarm you just point to the doors to the stairs and tap his shoulder frantically again, hoping your urgency translates.

It does, and he continues through the halls, tentacles clearing his strides and pushing open the door to the stairs. The alarm can still be heard, but you’re farther away from the speakers and it’s easier to hear the chorus of heavy footsteps echoing up the stairwell. You grip tightens on Konig’s shoulder, a nervous squeak escapes you.

You both lean over hand rail to see the commotion below, and you can make out flashes of tactical gear and weapons of dozens of soldiers moving in a group up the stairs.

Your eyes widen and you look to him nervously, unsure of your next move.

You really did not think this through.

It’s hard to tell with his hood, but he seems unnerved. He watches carefully over the stairs, and you’re tapping him quickly, silently pleading with him to keep moving to search for another way out.

A free tentacle reaches out to rest on your palm, leaving behind a slick and letting you know that he’s got this. You swallow and let your hand lay on his shoulder. You can’t help the way your fingers dig in to his firm shoulder.

The soldiers are close enough you can hear their voices below you. You screw your eyes shut, trying to search for your trust in Konig and hoping this hasn’t just turned into a suicide mission.

The soldiers are almost in your view when Konig’s tentacles moves you both to the gap in the middle of the stairwell that drops all the way to the ground floor. He’s got you both suspended in the air, his grip on you tight, with tentacles laced onto either side of the handrails of the floor you’re on.

He releases the rails he had held in his tentacles for support, letting you both free fall past the soldiers and down to the ground floor in a blur, catching you both with his tentacles against the bottom floor hand rails.

Expletives leave you without thought, and he turns his head to you to check on you as he exits the stairwell, now on the ground floor.

The alarm is defeating again, so you resort back to using the taps and points to direct him out of the building.

He freezes when the sun hits him, having to hold a tentacle up to shade his eyes.

Does he even remember the last time he saw the sun?

It takes him a moment to steady himself.

“My car’s over there!” You point once he’s steady.

You can hear yelling from the building behind you, the lockdown drill still blaring.

Once you’re at your car he sets you down, and you race to fling the driver door open, fingers fumbling as you start the engine.

He opts for the backseat, and you think it’s a bit odd before you consider the need for him to have room on both sides of him. He’s forced to hunch over in the middle seat, his head is pressed up against the ceiling. His tentacles had spread to the trunk, the front seats, pressed against the windows and coiled up on the seats next to him to get them all to fit. He’s blocking your view of the rear windshield window but you can make it work, you think.

You throw your car in reverse, using just the side mirrors to guide yourself out of your parking spot. You can see the building doors burst open, soldiers pouring from the building. One points to your car.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You say, pressing on the gas, tires squealing as you exit the parking lot.

You hang a skidding right and shoot for twenty over the speed limit, but get slowed by traffic.

“C’mon…” You say to the car preventing you from speeding as you nervously eye your rear view, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. You drive with just one hand, your bandaged arm resting in your lap.

You get a glimpse of a familiar military vehicle in your sideview and you squeal, “OhfuckOhfuckOhfuck.”

The gas pedal slips out from under you and you slide your knees over to glance down in a panic before your eyes return to the road.

You weren’t going fast enough for Konig’s liking, apparently, because his tentacle had stole the pedal from you, pressing it to its full extend against the floor mats. The engine roars as it struggles to keep up, and you have to used your injured hand to steady the steering wheel as you swerve off the road to desperately navigate the other cars.

Your foot desperatly searches for the break, but another tentacle shoots out from your left, coiling around the metal that held the brake pedal and holds it firmly in place. You tried to push it down with all your might, but you were no match for his strength, as if you were trying to crack a boulder with just one foot.

He doesn’t let you use your arm for long, two tentacles coming in to take the steering wheel from you. Your engine is roaring and your eyes find the odometer, you’re going 40 over and climbing.

He coils a few tentacles around you and your seat for good measure, bracing your head and core in the event of a crash.

The expletives are falling from your lips without thought. You’re going well over 100mph now, never having gone this fast in your car before.

“Konig, slow down!”

He’s navigating with ease but too many close calls makes you screw your eyes shut to brace yourself.

He finally lets up once you two are out sight of the soldiers tailing you, letting off the pedal and offering you back control of the wheel.

It takes a few deep breaths and expletives before you take the wheel from him, leaning forward once his tentacles release you.

“Don’t!” Sharp inhale, “Ever do that again!” You say, heart pounding in your chest as you nervously eye the sideview mirrors for signs of trouble.

“I didn’t want them to catch us.” He says evenly. There’s a pause, and you catch each other’s eyes in the rearview mirror in between checks of the road.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” He says with a flick of his tentacle.

You take a few more deep breaths, wiping away the clear stick Konig had left behind on your forehead, “Well, we didn’t crash.” You’ve regained the wheel and find your groove going twenty over.

“I don’t know where to take us.”

“You don’t have a home?” He asks.

“I do, but they have my address in my employee files. It won’t take long for my place to be flooded with soldiers looking for you.” You say, briefly holding the wheel with your bandaged hand so you can put on your indicator to change lanes, sprained wrist returning to your lap.

Silence falls on you both mull it over. You keep driving, wanting to put as much distance between his capturers as possible.

The tentacle stretched in the passenger seat moves close to your bandages, “What happened?” He asks, voice low.

“Oh, uh,” You keep your eyes on the road. You had assumed he would have been aware of what he did to you. It made sense he didn’t realize it happened when it did, his attention elsewhere at the time.

You debate telling him in your head, but decide it’s best to be honest with him, “My wrist sprained when it hit the concrete. When I uh, tripped.”

You swallow hard, glancing at him in the rearview. He’s leaning forward between the two seats, his head close to yours.

“I did that to you?” He asks with a tense frame.

You look at him again briefly before your eyes find the road. “It happened so fast. Neither of us were thinking properly.”

He leans back in his seat, still having to hunch over to fit under the car’s roof. The tentacle outstretched to you retracts to the back seat with him.

Another silence falls over you both as he digests the new information.

“I’m sorry.” He says, voice strained, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You glance at him in the mirror again, his eyes are turned to his boots. “It’s okay.” You offer a weak smile, even if he can’t see it. “I would have done the same, remember?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he gives a slow shake of the head, and in between checks of the road you can see the fabric of his hood rippling with his movements.

You continue down the highway in silence, keeping your eyes on the stretch of road ahead of you. You drive until the sun sets, making stops for gas only when the station is empty, quickly filling your tank in fear someone will spot the ultimate creation of biowarfare resting in your back seat.

You see a sign for a motel and you decide you’ve covered enough ground today.

“Ready to stop? We can rest for the night here. Give you a chance to stretch out in privacy.”

He hums, but ignores the question, attention directed out the window and over the horizon, “I forgot how beautiful the sunset is.”

It catches you off guard, the sweet words whispered in awe from his intimidating frame.

Your eyes find the clouds reflecting the orange of the sun’s warmth. The bright colors gradually shift to the calm blue of dusk as the sky stretches on. Some of the brighter stars of the night sky are already making an appearance on the other end of the sky.

“It is beautiful tonight.” You say.

A small smile creeps on your features, finally feeling anything other than regret and worry about your impulsive decision to free him. Maybe the hasty ruining of your life and being forced to live on the run was all worth it, because now Konig gets to see the sunset again.

You pull into the parking lot of the motel, pulling out your wallet as you speak, “Stay out here and try to lay low. I’ll get us a room.”

You leave the engine running for him as you handle things at the front desk. The motel was as shady as it looked, not requiring your ID and accepting cash for payment.

Perfect. Untraceable, that’s what you needed. The man in the white stained undershirt doesn’t even give you a second look when he hands over the room key.

You turn your head both ways to scan the parking lot before preemptively unlocking the door to your room. You return to the car with an awkward jog, opening the driver side door to gather anything you’d need.

“We should be good. Just move quick.” You say, closing the driver door behind you.

You watch as he gets out, tentacles pouring out of the car one after another.

He doesn’t seem to be in as much of a rush as you, taking a moment to stretch out his back with a pop.

You’d gotten a head start to the motel room, but he still catches up before you reach the door, opening it for him so he can get all of his appendages inside. You nervously peek out to the parking lot one last time to make sure no one saw you two, closing and locking the door behind you before securing the blinds shut.

“Okay, we should be safe.” You say as you move to pull the sheets up on the mattresses to check for bed bugs.

The room is as dingy as you expected it to be. Peeling wallpaper stained with years of cigarette smoke. Outdated decor and furniture. Stained and faded carpets. An old box television perched on a dresser facing the two queen beds.

“No bugs.” You announce once you’ve thoroughly checked both mattresses. You look to Konig, who’s standing in the doorway of the tiny bathroom, eyeing up what you assume is the shower. You hear the water turn on in a spray against the shower’s porcelain followed by the sound of a belt jiggling.

Your brow quirks as you kick off your shoes and shed your lab coat, stretching your sore back as you settle in on one of the mattresses.

He starts a shower and you can’t help but picture him soaking his tentacles and sore body through the wall of the motel room. He left the door open, and some sinful part of you thinks about peeking.

You don’t, forcing your attention to the TV. You mindlessly flipped through channels with the remote, thoughts lingering on Konig showering. You settle on reruns of a lighthearted show.

You hear the shower turn off with a hearty thud of its noisy pipes. Some more time passes, and you can see flicks of corners of a white motel towel from the doorway.

The jingle of his belt makes an encore, and after a few more moments he reappears, turning the light off for the bathroom with a free tentacle. Another continues to works the towel, dabbing off stray water beads from his skin.

Your cheeks flush, and you catch his wet muscles flexing from the corner of your eye as he makes his way to the other mattress, laying down on his front with a relieved huff. His tentacles relax as well, draping themselves on the duvet and hanging off the sides, the ends lazily flicking and curling as they dangle.

You both sit silently for awhile, forcing your attention towards the TV set while you watch his tentacles curl alluringly in your peripherals. You’ve settled into your spots on your respective beds, trying to find some respite after such a stressful day.

He breaks the silence first.

“I will never forget your kindness.”

“Oh,” You start, heat still flushing your features but keeping your stare towards the television, “It’s nothing.”

“You sacrificed everything to save my life.” He says definitively, “Even after what I did to you.” His eyes linger on your bandages.

“It just seemed like the right thing to do.” You shrug, your eyes finally meeting his. “I was really only at that job for the paycheck.” You pause again, fingers fidgeting with the TV remote, “The guilt was starting to weigh on me anyway. Better to live honestly and on the run than settled-in but trapped, right?”

His glowing eyes stare into yours as he considers your words.

He nods slowly, tentacles twitching and curling.

You give him a cheeky smile and a point, “But no more killing people, okay? I’m responsible for your actions from here on out.”

He huffs in amusement, lifting up one tentacle in the air as if giving an oath, “I promise.”

He stirs suddenly, as if he had remembered something.

“I have something for you,” he says as he sits up, reaching into his pants pocket. You quirk your brow as he stands, closing the gap between your beds and as he presents his fist to you. He towers over you, even more so from your spot sitting slouched on the bed.

You look at him with intrigue, cupping your hand underneath his, “It’s not a bug, is it?”

He laughs, and it’s the first laugh you’ve heard from him aside from the wicked laugh from that first day you met him, the laugh that raised the hairs on your neck and haunted your dreams. This one’s different, softer and playful. It makes your chest warm and you can’t help the goofy smile you give in return.

“No, it’s not a bug.”

He lets the small item drop into your palm and your brows scrunch as you study it.

Your pearl!

You let out a quiet gasp, eyes darting to him once you understand. It must have slipped from your pockets when he had held you upside down during your altercation in his cell. You hadn’t even thought about it, didn’t realize that you had lost your precious pearl. You had been avoiding thinking about Konig up until you heard about his pending execution, and at that point you had bigger things to worry about.

You pick up the uneven pearl with two fingers, moving it in the light, “You had it all this time?”

“I’ve been keeping it safe for you. I was worried I’d never be able to return it to you.”

You purse your lips at the way you had left things. Leaving him without closure in that sterile cell, forcing him to sit with his unresolved feelings and thoughts without an explanation. Never knowing if you’d be back.

“I’m ashamed, at how I treated you. I thought I had ruined the one good thing I had in there.”

Your cheeks flush at his words and you wrap your fist around the pearl. You’re forced to break eye contact with him, hoping he can’t see the heat beneath your skin.

“I’m sorry I left you alone.” You say, eyeing the floor by his feet. “I just needed time.”

He considers your words carefully. “I can’t blame you for that.”

His eyes flick down to the hand that held the pearl and both of you bask in the silence for a moment.

“Maybe tomorrow we can get you a necklace for it, so it doesn’t get lost again.”

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, mouth parted and eyes wide. A tentacle brushes the apple of your cheek, and he looks at you like he had eyed the sunset, in awe and stunned with its beauty.

He had understood the significance of the pearl this whole time, and he returned it to you post-freedom, meaning there was no chance of him attempting to gain your trust for his benefit.

“Konig,” You whisper, voice breathy.

“Yes, meine perle?”

“Thank you.” You hold the pearl in a fist placed over your heart and keep your eyes fixed up at him.

His hand reaches down to your face, tracing a finger on the underside your jaw. Your breath hitches at the chill that shoots down your spine.

“I’ve been watching you.” He says, finger resting just under your chin, keeping your gaze on him. Your eyes flick nervously to his tentacles curling alluringly over his shoulder before returning to his stare.

You’re not sure what he means, but you’re too stunned by his words and the light touch of strong fingers, breath still hitched and heartbeat pulsing in your ears.

He pulls out the rolled up stack of papers he took from the lab and held close. All of the sketches and logs and theories you’d made during your obsessive research, “Looks like you’ve been watching me, too.”

He gestures to the papers in his hand before placing them on the nightstand to his side.

The tentacle that brushed your cheek moves to your hair, curling strands gently between the slick end of his appendage. Another gently takes the pearl from you, setting it down with the papers.

“Am I wrong, meine perle?”

Your jaw slacks open a little further as you stutter out the beginning of a few sentences, each quickly abandoned one after another.

You settle for a shake of your head accompanied by a full flush of your features.

He gives a hum of satisfaction as he leans down close enough that his hood almost brushes up against your skin. His glowing eyes are inches from yours.

“I want to repay you, meine perle.”

His thumb continue to soothingly stroke your jaw, His voice drops, soaked in a sultry tone as his gaze maps your features.

“You worked so hard for me. Went through so much, didn’t you? So good for me.”

You give a sharp inhale at the praise, a warmth suddenly pooling in your lower abdomen. You’re hypnotized by his large frame, his gentle touch, the inflection of his words. You can only stare up at him in anticipation, caught off guard by his change in demeanor.

A tentacle rests on your knee and begins to creep up your thigh. You try to look down but his hand under your chin keeps you steady.

“I want to make you feel so good, meine perle. Will you let me do that?” His voice dropped to a low whisper, and another tentacle creeps up behind you, making you flinch as it slithers down your shoulder and curls around your collarbones, “Will you let me reward your hard work?”

Your thighs spread obediently at the touch of his tentacle and Konig takes the opportunity to stand between your thighs, keeping them open. When you go to answer the only thing that comes out is a nervous squeak, so you opt for nodding your head.

The grip on your face tightens, a few of his fingers indent the soft flesh of your cheeks, “Ah, ah.” He gives a slight shake of his head. “You have to say it, meine perle.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice. “Yes, Konig.” You whisper through shallow breath, eyes wide as you look up at him. “Please.”

He gives another pleased hum, a tentacle eagerly coiling around your waist and picking you up from your spot on the edge of the bed.

A gasp leaves your parted lips, hands finding the slick coiled appendage at your center for leverage. Your socks scraped the duvet as he repositioned you to the middle of the bed.

Two tentacles work the button of your pants, a sharp inhale leaves you as they yank your zipper down and slide the waistband to your thighs. His eyes trace every inch of newly revealed skin as his tentacle placed you down on the bed, removing the appendage looped around your middle. By the time he gets your jeans off and discarded to the floor, two more tentacles have already begun sneaking up the hem of your shirt, slithering up your stomach and lifting your slick stained shirt with it. You obediently, albeit hesitantly, put your hands over your head to let him take your shirt and bra off in one swipe, ruffling your hair as he does.

You’ve got your upper half propped on your good arm, palm sunk in to the mattress. He corrects this by looping a tentacle around your good wrist, giving it a careful but firm yank as another presses to your sternum and guides your back flush with the mattress. Another simultaneously wraps around the forearm above your injured wrist, gently pinning it to the bed and forcing it to rest on the mattress above you. The two tentacles that removed your shirt trace down your exposed core and down each leg, giving you goosebumps behind the trail of slick they leave behind. The tentacles stop at your ankles, wrapping around them and up your calves like a snake coils its prey.

In quick movements your ankles are forced to in the air, extended and spread. He kneels onto the bed at your feet, positioning himself so he’s kneeling in the new space between your thighs.

He stills, tentacles holding you firmly but comfortably. You can feel his suckers against your bare flesh, each having their own independent wriggling grip on you. Your chest rises and falls, trying to swallow your nerves of being undressed and fully restrained at the hands of the powerful being you’d freed.

His eyes are tracing all of the newly exposed flesh, and you can’t help but squirm against his appendages as you fight the urge to cover yourself. He holds you steady, all your limbs extended as he takes his time committing the curves and dips of your delicate body to memory.

His eyes find your panties, already stained with arousal at the way he spoke to you, manhandled you.

“Such a delicate thing you are, meine perle.“ He says, eyes half-lidded as they admire you.

“You knew you wouldn’t stand a chance against me, didn’t you little one?” His voice is low but gentle, and you’re stunned by his words, his forwardness. You can’t help but be intimidated pinned beneath him.

“You knew the risk you were taking. You knew I was deadly.”

One of his tentacles come up to gently smooth the hair he had disheveled when removing your shirt. You flinch at his touch, and he gives a pleased hum once he successfully fixes your hair.

“And yet you couldn’t help but throw yourself at me.” His eyes briefly widen before returning to their half-lidded boring stare, “Time and time again,” He shrugs in casual disbelief of you, “I’ve never seen anything like it, your carelessness.”

A free tentacle sneaks up your leg again, curling to stroke your spread inner thighs.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re self-destructive. Suicidal, even.”

The tentacle at your thigh creeps up, teasing the waist band of your underwear, and you suck in a breath through your teeth.

“But I do know better, though, don’t I?”

The tentacle lets your panties snap back to your hips, and the appendages holding you as restraints tighten on your limbs threateningly, excluding your injured arm.

His eyes narrow and his voice drips of arrogance.

“You’re just a little masochist.”

The tentacle drags down your front, teasing your slit over the fabric of your panties.

“Aren’t you meine perle?”

Your thoughts are clouded with a haze as you cling to his words, hypnotized by his chilling voice, domineering tone, and arousing touches.

He lets you get away with not responding this time, studying your responses to his teases before he continues. He gives another hum, a tentacle tracing down your neck and core, leaving behind a cool trail of his slick.

The tentacles tracing your cunt curls around your waistband again, while the two appendages securing your ankles maneuver your legs as they slide your panties down.

“Do you like that I have so much power over you?”

He has to unravel the appendages on your ankles to remove your underwear, discarding them over his shoulder. The cool breeze on your dripping cunt makes you shiver, tensing your core and arms in his restraint.

“That I’m a predator and you’re just a sweet defenseless little thing?”

His tentacles quickly rewrap around your ankles, but this time he secures the thick middles around you, covering the tops of your feet in his slick suckers as he forces your legs spread. His tentacles slither all the way up your legs from foot to upper thigh like thick black vines, and he leaves the ends of his tentacles with extra slack so the tips can tease the lips of your dripping cunt.

“Does the danger turn you on, meine perle?”

He gives a hum as he eyes your exposed and spread cunt, thoroughly slicked with your own arousal.

“I can see it does.”

You flush under his stare, still mesmerized by his words and the heat pooling in your lower abdomen.

He leans forward, his hands finding the mattress on either side of your core. You shrink under him as he leans down. He presses the front of his pants against your cunt, spread open by the tentacles looped around your legs.

“You were afraid of me.” He says, and you let out a broken sigh as he grazes your clit, your hips giving small involuntary grinds against him, “Yet you still gave yourself to me, so willingly.”

He hovers his face inches from yours, glowing eyes reflecting off your wide eyes. His voice drops low, and the hem of his hood drags across the curve of your breasts. The smaller tentacles that pour from under his hood curl around your tits, and you flinch under his touch when the ends of slick appendages start to tease your nipples to attention.

“I think someone that brave deserves to be thoroughly rewarded.”

He keeps his face close to you, leaving the equivalent of kisses through his hood down your middle as his smaller tentacles trace your skin.

He kisses all the way down to your cunt, spread open by the larger appendages coiled around your legs. You lift your head to watch him, and he keeps his half-lidded stare on you as the tip of a smaller tentacle swirls slowly around your clit. Another traces your dripping entrance.

A breathy sigh leaves you, your thighs tensing under his tentacles, but he holds firm.

“I am curious,” He starts, eyes locked on yours as he lays his chest flush to the mattress between your wrapped legs. He props himself up on his elbows, and brings a hand up to his hood to slowly pull it up halfway. His smaller tentacles part like curtains to reveal his mouth, and your eyes widen at the sight.

Your dreams had been scarily accurate, a taunting smile made up of rows of predator teeth. Razor sharp and killer. Concern and awe melded on your features, eyebrows pinched and eyes wide.

“Are you still afraid?”

He sticks out his tongue, and your face twitches as you watch it extend unnervingly far from his pointed teeth. The length and curl reminded you of another tentacle, but made of the flesh of tongue.

He dives his tongue up the slit of your cunt, a long deep stripe from hole to clit.

You let out a pathetic whine, your thighs begging to clench around him but tentacles forcing you spread. He hums, tongue sending the vibration straight to your pulsing clit.

He starts slow, tracing circles around you with his precise tongue.

Your hips grind into the pleasure, and he huffs in amusement at your eagerness. He lets his tongue unfurl, completely smothering your cunt with his slick tongue. He loosens his grip on your thighs just enough to allow you to get a better range to thrust into his face.

You give another whine when he stops teasing you, but continue to grind your clit against him in a desperate search for pleasure.

You give him a pleading look, mouth slightly parted for breathy exhales. He lets you grind long enough to embarrass you, waiting for the telling flush of your cheeks.

He finally pulls away with a long swipe along your cunt as you let out a sinful moan. The tip of his tongue returns to your aching clit, flicking side to side. He starts teasingly slow but hungrily picks up once he hears the hitched breaths you take.

You have to lay your head back to the mattress, closing your eyes as you give in to the pleasure.

He presses the tip of his tongue to your clit head on, pushing his tongue forward and letting it slither down your cunt. It curls around like a ribbon, the wide part of his tongue rolling down your clit as the tip curls back to your entrance, rimming your dripping hole. He teases you for a few moments before diving the tip of his tongue into your warmth, keeping the middle of his tongue pressed against your clit.

You let out a gasp as he enters you, and he gives a low pleased hum into your dripping cunt in return. His tongue slithers further into your warmth, the thick of his tongue continuing to graze your clit.

You start to grind down on him again but the tentacles around your legs climb further up your thighs, securing your hips as the ends continue spreading your cunt open for him. You give a whine, and he complies by pushing his tongue in and out of you, fucking you while stimulating your clit.

Your toes curl under his suckers and the moans are falling from your lips without thought as he tastes you.

When you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, cheeks flushed and breaths shallow, he’s eyeing you the same way he had eyed the meals you brought him. Free tentacles twitch in excitement as his hungry gaze follows his prey.

The corners of his mouth curl into a smile as he quickens the movement of his tongue, causing you to pull against the tentacles restraining your limbs, desperate moans leaving your parted lips.

He retracts his tongue, an arrogant laugh leaving him as he leaves your dripping cunt rutting into the air.

He licks another deep stripe against your entire cunt one more time, letting his nose swipe against your slit as he drags up. His eyes roll once he retracts his tongue again, a sinful moan leaving him.

“You taste so sweet, meine perle.”

You let out a whimper, rutting your hips in desperation at the sudden lack of touch. He gives another pleased hum as he sits up on the bed, eyeing you from above.

A free tentacle creeps between the mattress and your middle, and when you obediently arch your back he coils an additional appendage around your waist. He hauls you into the air with ease, the four tentacles on your limbs still spreading and supporting you. The tentacle on your injured hand, still less taut than his restraints, slithers up further to keep your wrist in-line with the rest of your arm in absence of the support of the mattress.

He puts you above his head, cunt resting just above his head. He tilts his neck back before burying his tongue back into your cunt while keeping you in the air above him.

A squeak leaves you as you tense against him, unnerved by the sensation of being suspended in the air. Your worry melts to pleasure as he fucks his tongue into you, his tentacle restraints bouncing you up and down in rhythm with his slick tongue.

The jostling and the tentacle coiled firmly around your ribs allows the moans and squeaks to leave you with ease, and he hums in satisfaction at the cute little noises you’re making for him.

He retracts his tongue again, letting his hood drop, and you look to him with pinched brows - as if offended he revoked your pleasure.

“I could eat this cunt everyday and not get tired of it.” He says, and even though you can’t see his mouth you can tell he’s wearing a cocky grin.

You let out a pathetic little whine, giving a weak tug against his restraint.

“Don’t worry,” He says, almost mockingly, before you feel a thick tentacle slither up to tease your cunt, a relieved whimper escaping you.

He uses his thick appendage to swirl around in the slippery mixture of your own arousal, his slick, and spit. He uses the smooth side of his tentacle, curling it against your slit as he moves your restraints, forcing you to grind your dripping cunt on his tentacle. Two more free tentacles slither up your chest, cupping your tits and teasing your nipples with the ends of his slick appendages. He continues grinding you against him as he lays the two tentacles over your tits, a sucker on each covering your nipple and applying suction. The stimulation makes you gasp and pull against his restraints, overwhelmed with him sucking both your nipples and forcing your clit to grind on his thick appendage at the same time. Your squeaky and broken moans echo throughout the motel room.

“I’m just getting started with you.” He says, low and dangerous, “Make sure to save some of those pathetic whines.”

The thick tentacle swirling your cunt teases your entrance before impatiently slipping into you.

You let out a pornographic moan as he plunges into you. You’re sure it was loud enough for the neighboring rooms to hear but being filled up by Konig’s tentacle felt too incredible for you to care. His slick tentacle was thicker than anything a human could offer, and his suckers allowed for a ribbed sensation as he fucked his appendage in and on of you. His dexterity allowed him to find your g-spot with ease, the end of his tentacle massaging it as he fucks in and out of you.

Your eyes close at the overwhelming pleasure, weak and limp as he puppets you up and down on his tentacle.

He’s using all of his tentacles on you now, and you’re helpless to stop him as he removes the appendage that secured your waist and coiled it around your neck, close enough to graze your flesh but not yet applying pressure. Your eyes open at the touch, half-lidded in pleasure as you find his glowing stare. Even through the overwhelming stimulation, it’s an unnerving feeling having him wrap around your neck, reminding you of his power. He could end your life, easily, and there would be nothing you could do to stop him.

He slithers further around your neck, and you can help but shiver under his threatening touch. He sees your brows pinch in worry and his eyes squint. While his hood obscures his mouth you’re guessing it’s twisted into a smile, as if he knows what you’re thinking and had planted the idea on purpose, reigniting your fears before you get too lost in the pleasure.

There’s a sinful glint in his eye, “Do you trust me, meine perle?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, his tentacle tightens around your neck, cutting off your moans with a harsh gasp.

Your eyes widen in fear, your fingers scratching the air instinctively as you wiggle in his grasp.

The tentacle fucking your tight cunt doesn’t let up. You’re left with your mouth open as you ride him, the moans that would be coming out silenced by his tight grip on your airway. The lack of oxygen allows a fuzzy haze to cloud your brain, and suddenly you’re not even thinking about the danger or the tentacles restraining and choking you. All you can think about is the sensation of your cunt being teased and fucked as your nipples are milked by his suckers. You let your body go limp in his grasp, no longer anxious for release. You’re still looking at him, but he’s getting farther and farther away, your vision blurring his bold silhouette.

He waits for your eyelids to unevenly flutter shut before he loosens his grip, keeping his tentacle looped around your neck like a scarf.

Your first sharp inhale is involuntary, followed by desperate sharp gasps for air. He continues pounding your cunt, his tentacle diving further into you, stretching you open as you return from your haze.

His smug snicker progresses to a deep hum of satisfaction.

He gives no warning before he cuts off your air again, watching as you fight against his restraints while managing the overstimulating pleasure.

“I like watching you struggle, meine perle.”

He takes a moment to look you over, watching you tense and feebly wriggle against his strong grip. He soaks in the look of concern and arousal on your features. You fade away quicker this time, eyes going cross as you zero in on the tentacle fucking your soaked cunt, suckers clinging to your walls as he massages your g-spot.

“I’d feel bad about it, but I know you like it too.”

He releases his grip on your neck, tentacle unfurling and leaving behind a necklace of clear slick and imprints of his suckers. You’re sputtering and coughing as he allows you breath, struggling to steady yourself as you’re bounced up and down on his thick tentacle.

Once you catch your breath you’re giving him breathy moans again, tensing beneath the tentacles on your limbs.

“Look how aroused you get when I threaten your life. This tight little cunt is so wet.”

One of the smaller tentacles that extends from under his hood runs circles on your pulsing clit. The tentacle that had retracted from your neck traces a line down your spine, stopping to rim your ass.

Your eyes widen at him as he slicks up the entrance of your hole. You’re nervous about anal, but you don’t find your voice to stop him. He slips a slick tip in, allowing you time to relaxing on just a few inches as he continues working the rest of you.

You were right about him being good at multitasking. It’s a lot to handle a once, your clit being teased, cunt pounded, nipples being sucked, and ass being stretched around the end of his appendage, all while being restrained and unable to relieve the tension building inside your body.

You’re lost to the stimulation, moans and expletives and sweet nothings pouring from your mouth in jumbles.

Konig’s enjoying the show, reveling that he’s made you come undone under his power. The mess he was making over you, covering you in his slick and getting you drunk off his touch.

A white heat steadily builds underneath your skin, pooling to your lower abdomen.

“Konig! It’s too much- it’s too much I’m gonna -"

“Come for me meine perle.”

The waves of pleasure rip through you, convulsing in his grip as you come. Konig doesn’t let up as he fucks you through orgasm. Mercilessly pounding your cunt with his thick tentacle while you clench at the intense euphoria.

“There you go, so good for me.”

You let out a strangled moan, hands searching for something to grab onto for stability but they come up empty, straining against his restraints while powerless to the pleasure.

“Konig - please.” You manage out between your broken moans and meaningless stuttering.

He gives another low hum of approval and he still doesn’t let up, the tentacles still working all your sensitivities.

“Not done with you yet, meine perle.” He warns, and you let out a whine in response.

You’re quivering in his touch now, futilely arching away from him, your pleasure turning to over-sensitivity.

“‘s too much.” You mutter out, shaking in his grip and too weak to escape his touch.

“I know, but you’re going to take it for me, aren’t you meine perle?”

You let out another whine in response, twitching at the stimulation that was turning nearly painful.

He offers some relief by removing the smaller tentacle from your clit, but he keeps the rhythm of both tentacles inside you, filling you up and forcing you to bounce on him. He continues teasing your nipples with his suckers, enjoying watching your back arch desperately as you squirm under the sensitivity.

You keep his gaze, teeth still grit at the overstimulation, eyes pleading.

He removes the tentacle from your cunt as he holds you steady, no longer bouncing you but still teasing your ass as he undoes his belt. He pulls it free with one firm tug, discarding it with the rest of your clothes.

His hands ease his zipper down and he takes his time, amused by your expression seeped in curiosity, desperation, and awe. He inches his pants down enough to expose his genitalia.

A fleshy appendage, a few inches longer than what a standard human male would have, springs to attention from the waistband of his clothes. The entire appendage was a uniform deep pink with no head. The shape reminded you of another tentacle, larger at the base and ending in a slick tip. Slight indents that ran up the sides of his shaft.

He lets you admire him for a few moments before he lines your used cunt with his appendage, plunging into you without mercy.

You let out a loud moan at being filled again, and he rock his hips, letting his appendage grind in you as you sit on his full length.

“Shh,” he whispers teasingly, “Don’t want anyone finding out how much of a desperate slut you are for me, hm?”

He brings the tentacle that had occupied your cunt up to your lips, and you obediently open your mouth to let his tentacle slip in, silencing you as you suck on the end, tasting the mixture of your arousal and his slick.

Your moans and whines are muffled by his tentacle as he pounds into you, his restraints moving you up and down in rhythm with his hips, meeting your hips in the middle as he fills you up.

He lets out a low growl that shoots a tingle of excitement down your spine.

“This pussy feels even better than I thought. So fucking tight, meine perle.” His pace quickens, now pounding ruthlessly into your soaked cunt.

His hands find your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as he guides you on his appendage. The tentacles supporting you allow you to lift almost all the way off him before forcing you down his entire length over and over again.

The moans are pouring from you again, but gagged by the appendage fucking your mouth - slick, arousal, and spit dripping down your chin.

When he pulls his appendage away from your cunt, the rest of thick tentacles still work your ass and nipples as he works to flip you over. He forces you into an all-fours position in front of him, letting you rest your forearms and knees on the duvet, his restraints staying firm on your limbs as he bends them into position as if you’re his doll.

You obediently arch your back and lower you head down on the mattress, sticking your ass into the air. He can see you spread open from behind, and he watches the tentacle work your tight little ass as he shifts to his knees behind you.

He gives you a firm smack on the ass with his hand, huffing in amusement at your shocked gasp around his tentacle gag. He gives you a few more, alternating cheeks as the sound of flesh on flesh echoes throughout the motel room.

He hums in amusement at the squeaks that come from your gagged mouth.

“Such a naughty perle,” He teases in his arrogant tone, “Always putting yourself in danger, hm?”

You whine, fingers clawing at the duvet as you brace yourself, flushing at the idea someone might hear your punishment.

He stops not long after, leaving behind his handprints on your flushed cheeks. He’s getting impatient, so when he lines his appendage back up with you he slides in without warning, hands finding your hips for grip as he slides in and out of you.

He’s too excited, he can’t refrain from letting his hips flush with your pink sore ass.

The tip of his appendage curls forward inside of you, massaging your g-spot as he fills you.

He doesn’t let up, keeping a steady rhythm with his hips and all of the tentacles working you. Your tits groped, nipples sucked by his tentacles, mouth and both holes filled and fucked - it’s overwhelming enough to make you go limp in his hold, not a single thought occupying you as you mindlessly work your tongue around the tentacle gagging your mouth. You’re too focused on the pleasure, how good it feels to be at his mercy.

“Watching you got me so excited, meine perle.” He says though heavy breaths, his grip tightening on your hips, “I’m already getting close.”

His thrusts get more intense, and you think you’d be yelling if you hadn’t been gagged. You probably wouldn’t have been able to warn him about your second finish even if you hadn’t been silenced, too cockdrunk off the overstimulation to properly string together a coherent sentence.

Your cunt clenches around him as another orgasm rips through you, causing your muscles to tense in his restraint.

He lets out a hearty moan, his thrusts becoming slightly uneven as he struggles to keep his composure in your tight walls.

He comes everywhere, his finish not only marking his claim deep in your cunt, but also from each of his tentacles, tips releasing his come into your ass and mouth while coating your tits and spread cunt.

He twitches inside you throughout his finish, fingers digging into your hips as he gives a few light thrusts, milking every drop of his finish into your filled cunt.

You’re still limp when he finally pulls away with a strained moan, his tentacles placing you down gentle on the mattress. You’re on cloud nine, too high from your finishes to be able to support yourself. You let the mattress support you, basking in the warmth of the afterglow, bliss settling over you as you recover.

He gives another hum of satisfaction at the sight, having completely unraveled you and marked you with his seed. He leans down to plant a kiss through his hood on your back, his hands giving a light squeeze on your hips as he props himself up next to you. He runs his fingers up and down your back, swirling through the clear slick his tentacles had left behind.

He lets you rest for a few moments, waiting for your breathing to settle before a tentacle gently drapes across you.

“How about we get you cleaned up, meine perle?”

You let out a dazed hum of approval, letting his tentacles coil around you to carry you to the shower. He presses you to his chest, your head resting against him as he cradles your back and the crease of your knees.

When your eyes flutter open, and you meet his glowing stare, your face stretches into a warm sleepy smile. He unwraps your bandages carefully, and he doesn’t let you lift a finger once you’re both in the cramped bathroom, standing outside of the tub as he scrubs you down. You exchange little words, both of you still basking in the afterglow.

He takes his time wiping the slick and come off your skin, easing around the flushed marks his suckers had left behind on you.

It’s soothing - the warm water embracing you, and Konig smoothing a washcloth over your skin. Intimate, even, how he’s washing your upper arms as he holds your hand with his free hand, watching you while you relax into the water. He’s extra gentle with your injured wrist as he cleans you.

He’s in no hurry as he cleans your middle and legs, enjoying the glisten of the water on your plush breasts and thighs. He thumbs the bubbles on your skin under his soft grip.

He even washes your hair, his large hands massaging your scalp as he runs the suds through. He’s careful not to get soap in your eyes when he rinses the bubbles from your hair, using a tentacle to shield your forehead as he guides your head back under the stream of the shower, disregarding the water spraying all off the motel bathroom floor.

He’s being so careful with you, so sweet and soft, it was a jarring contrast to the Konig that had been ruthlessly pounding you moments before or the Konig you’d come to know trapped in his cell.

Once you were all clean, he shut off the showers with its noisy clunk of old pipes, he was quick to wrap one of the motel towels around your dripping body before he carried you back to the beds. When he stilled you meet his eyes, resting your hand on his chest.

“Guess we’ll have to share a bed.” He says in his cocky tone as you follow his gaze to the mattress, thoroughly soiled and stained from your session.

You roll your eyes at him, giving a soft tap on his chest in your disapproval of his corny flirting, but the smile on your face betrays any hope of hiding your enamor.

His eyes squint from under his hood with a smile, you assume, as he carries you to the bed with his strong arms.

It’s not easy for a being with tentacles shooting from his spine to cuddle. He wasn’t designed for cozy naps and soft embraces, but he does what he can. He presses against the pillows sitting up, at an angle to leave space between the headboard and his back for his tentacles to settle. He nestles you at his side, keeping your head on his chest as your arm rests against over his core. Your leg props up on his as you rest the side of your body on the mattress.

His arm wraps snuggly around your back, fingers making soft circles at your curve.

You’re already halfway to sleeps clutches when you mumble into his chest.

“Thank you, Konig.”

“Thank you, meine perle.”

———————————————————-

If you enjoyed this fic, you may enjoy…

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN - Loser!Konig x Reader - Konig & Reader must compete in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death. (122k word slow burn)

Original Works Masterlist

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omgeto · 1 year ago

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☆ WHEN YOU BREAK UP AND MAKE UP — NANAMI KENTO

summary: fed up with your stagnant marriage, you serve your husband divorce papers as a final cry to show you're tired of his behaviour. but you forget that, although he doesn't always show it, your husband never goes down without a fight.

w/c: 3.5k

cw: angst to fluff, nanami may come across as an asshole but he means it with love, plot with a dash of porn at the end, so mdni!!, semi-public sex (you fuck in an elevator) afab!reader

authors note: first fic on the new blog (wild) but I actually really fw this fic, hope you all do to. not fully proof read so ignore mistakes!!

nanami's footsteps echo through the dimly lit hallway as he approaches your apartment. his heart pounds against his ribs, a mixture of irritation, confusion, and hurt swirling within him. he had seen the divorce papers, his name scrawled across the top in bold letters, and the shock has left him simmering with resentment.

with a determined exhale, he raises his hand and knocks on your door. the door swings open, revealing his surprised expression. his eyes widen as he takes in your clenched jaw and the tension etched into your features.

"kento," your voice wavers, a mix of surprise and something he can't quite place.

"i didn't expect to find divorce papers on my desk at work," he bites out, his tone sharp and impatient.

your cheeks flush slightly, your gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet his stare. "it got your attention, didn't it?" you retort, your voice tinged with exasperation.

"attention?" nanami's voice drips with sarcasm. "you think serving me divorce papers at my job is the way to solve our problems?"

"you've been distant, nanami," your voice holds a trace of weariness. "we've been living separate lives for weeks. i needed you to know that something has to change."

nanami's irritation flares, his patience wearing thin. "dropping divorce papers on my desk is your way of communication now?"

"you've brushed me off every time i've tried to talk," your voice holds a hint of frustration, your eyes betraying a simmering anger. "maybe this is the only language you'll understand."

nanami's annoyance collides with a stubborn resistance, his grip on his emotions hardening. "you know i've been busy," he states curtly.

"busy ignoring me," your voice is edged with bitterness, your expression growing weary.

nanami's frustration deepens, and he steps closer, his gaze unwavering. "you could have talked to me."

you look away, your jaw clenched. "tried that." he reaches out to you but you brush him off, backing out of his space.

you didn’t know what the exact turning point of your marriage was, but once it came it was overwhelming, swept you both up in a whirl of frustration. nanami didn’t feel like yours anymore – he was a shell of the guy you married. there were no more morning kisses, gentle touches, or late-night talks that once filled your lives. the silence in your shared space became a chasm, widening with each passing day. you pleaded for his attention, for a connection, but it was as if he was slipping away, becoming a stranger.

"you’ve taken this game of yours too far," he scoffs, disbelief and a hint of frustration in his voice. nanami had never imagined it would come to this – the thought of you leaving him was a reality he was struggling to accept. he wasn't blind to the shifts in your relationship, the growing distance, but he had convinced himself that it was a phase. a bad period that could be smoothed out with a little time and patience.

when you gathered your belongings and walked away, nearly a month ago now, he allowed you to go, certain that this was just a phase, a moment of frustration that would pass.

"i thought we were just going through a rough patch," he continues, his voice carrying a self-assured edge. "didn't think you'd take it to this extreme. you really tried to embarrass me at work with that shit, everybody saw y’know, my colleagues, my boss.”

your eyes narrow at his response, the frustration that had simmered inside you starting to boil over. "It's not a game, nanami. this isn't some ploy for attention."

“so you’ve given up on me then? on us?” he asks incredulously, stepping closer to you, studying your face.

your gaze holds his, determination mixing with the hurt that still lingers. "i didn't want to give up, but i can't keep holding on to something that's slipping away."

nanami's eyes search yours, a moment of vulnerability flickering across his features before he masks it with his trademark confidence. "you think i'll just let you go that easily?"

you meet his gaze head-on, the tension between you palpable. "it's not about whether you'll 'let' me. it's about whether we're both willing to put in the effort to fix what's broken."

his smirk fades, his gaze intense as he studies you. "and? are you willing?"

nanami didn’t realise how silent his home was without you in it. when he returned, he sat in silence, the weight of your ultimatum sinking in. ‘it’s not a game nanami’ your previous words repeatedly echo through his mind. he had always prided himself on his rationality, on his ability to see things logically, but when it came to you, it was an unfamiliar territory,

he had grown accustomed to the routine of his life, the predictable patterns that had lulled him into a sense of complacency. he had convinced himself that the distance between you two would eventually close on its own. and now, confronted with the reality of your departure, he couldn't deny the truth any longer.

“you’ve really fucked this up nanamin,” gojo lectures over the phone to nanami, “you deserved getting embarrassed at your job.”

“i didn’t call you to be told off,” nanami says, pinching his nose “i called for you to tell me what to do.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” gojo questions, “you know what she wants.”

“If i did, i wouldn’t be on the phone with you, would i?” nanami snaps, frustration brewing.

“she wants the guy she married.” gojo states, ignoring nanami’s tone.

“I am that guy,” there was a pause, as if nanami could see gojo’s pointed look through the phone, “well i thought i was that guy. but i know she doesn’t want to divorce me for real, she loves me.”

“does she though?” gojo questions, “remember nanamin, i was there when you guys got married, the way she looked at you then… isn’t how she looks at you now.”

nanami ends the call abruptly, pacing around his living room. gojo’s words sticking in his mind. he had reached out to his friend seeking guidance, but it’s becoming evident that the answers he’s seeking might not be as straightforward as he had hoped.

gojo’s words struck a nerve, he was right. nanami remembers the early days of your relationship, the excitement, the adoration - the way your eyes would light up when you looked at him. but now, the distance, the hurt, it was evident.

he was going to make things right, he had to. you were his wife - his soulmate. he’s known that from the day he laid eyes on you, and he doesn’t want to let you out of his grasp.

it had been months since you served nanami the divorce papers – he was stalling. you couldn’t deny that he was trying though, the daily flowers that you received, the take out that was delivered to your house without you asking, was a testament to that.

you got daily calls, texts and emails from him asking you about your day, about your wellbeing. he was showing you that he cared, and it was as if he was courting you all over again.

his efforts didn’t go unnoticed, your friends and family could see the subtle smiles you couldn’t suppress and the softening of your eyes when his name was mentioned. they hoped for your sake that nanami would keep consistent.

you felt hopeful, and that made you feel dumb.

but you just needed one more push to feel secure, to feel like this would work – would last. which is why you were standing in the lobby of your lawyers office, your feet tapping nervously against the floor as you wait for your husband to arrive.

“hi, my love,” he greets, the familiar pet name coming out like a whisper, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, “i guess we should head up there.”

“yeah, lead the way,” you say, your tone warmer than you expect as you take in his appearance. he was dressed in one of his signature crisp suits, in fact it was your favourite suit of his, and he was wearing the hell out of it.

you follow him to the elevator, the hallway stretching ahead as you both walk side by side. you haven’t felt like this in a long time, like a pair, a union. nanami’s presence beside you is both familiar and foreign, a reminder of the life you once shared and the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

“we don’t have to go this meeting you know,” nanami forces out, but you ignore him pushing the button of the floor you need to be at.

“love listen, it doesn’t have to be this way,” he persists.

“and what way is it kento?” you argue, “just because you’ve been sending me flowers, and asking me how i am each day, doesn’t mean you’ve magically became husband material again.”

“trust me, i know that.” he scoffs, “you’re a real piece of work bu-”

“and you’re a real piece of sh-” you start, stopping yourself as you realise that you were the one going too far.

“as i was saying,” he continues, “you’re a real piece of work, but you’re worth it. you always have been, from the moment i met you i knew you were going to cause me trouble but i ended up loving you for that.”

“well tell that to your actions for the past–” you pause, feeling the elevator coming to an abrupt stop, “why did the elevator just close… the last thing i need right now is to be trapped.”

nanami's gaze shifts to the control panel, his eyebrows furrowing. "looks like we're stuck."

you glance at him, your heart racing for a different reason now. "stuck?"

nanami's eyes meet yours, his smirk undeniably playful. "Seems like fate has its own plans for us," he remarks, his tone holding a hint of amusement.

you roll your eyes, unable to suppress a small smile despite the circumstances. "great, just what I needed today."

he chuckles, his fingers expertly unbuttoning his cuffs as he begins to roll up his sleeves. "well, at least we have some time to ourselves. might as well make the most of it."

your eyebrows raise at his nonchalant attitude, your surprise momentarily replacing the irritation. "are you serious right now? we're stuck in an elevator, and you're acting like it's a casual evening at home?"

nanami's grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "why not? it's not like we can do much about the situation. might as well enjoy each other's company."

you huff out a breath, torn between annoyance and amusement. as you observe him making himself comfortable on the elevator floor, you can't help but shake your head. "you're unbelievable."

he pats the spot next to him, his inviting gesture a silent challenge. "come on, it's not so bad. we can reminisce about old times, or argue about who's the better cook."

you find yourself hesitating, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. with a resigned sigh, you take a seat beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. "old times, huh? you mean the days when you used to bring me breakfast in bed?"

nanami's smile softens, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. "yeah, and you'd always complain that the eggs were overcooked."

“because they always were.” you retort, with a chuckle. you missed this, being in his space without any of the extra noise.

“i can cook breakfast for you again,” he proposes, “if you just come home.”

“kento i don’t know if i-”

“do you remember our first date,” he interrupts, “my car broke down on the way home from the restaurant, so i put you on my back and carried you for 5 miles.”

“you carried my heels too,” you add, laughing softly to yourself at the memory. your first date with nanami solidified that he was the man for you, the way he shamelessly gave you a piggy back ride, heels and all.

nanami’s gaze locks with yours, his fingers gently grazing your hand “it was worth every step.”

a warmth spreads through your chest, a mix of nostalgia and a newfound vulnerability. "you used to be so sweet," you murmur, your voice laced with a bittersweet longing.

his fingers inch closer, your hands almost brushing against each other. "i can still be sweet, you know," he replies softly, his gaze never leaving yours.

your heart skips a beat, the air around you growing charged with unspoken emotions. "you have a funny way of showing it."

he tilts his head, his lips curving into a genuine smile. "maybe I've been out of practice."

as the silence settles between you, the confined space of the elevator seems to amplify the intensity of your connection. the past rushes back, the moments that you shared, the love that once flourished. but you're both here now, in the present, faced with the choice of whether to rebuild or let go.

nanami's fingers finally find yours, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "i want to make it right, to fix us," he admits, vulnerability lacing his words.

you meet his gaze, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. "It's not that simple, kento. we can't just go back to the way things were."

his thumb traces a soothing pattern on the back of your hand. "i know. but maybe we can start anew. rediscover each other, learn from our mistakes."

you study his face, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart ache. maybe he had changed, maybe he was willing to put in the effort to mend what was broken. maybe, just maybe, there was hope for your relationship after all.

the elevator's walls seem to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment. The past and the present merge, and as you search his eyes for any signs of deceit, you find none. only a genuine desire to make things right.

"i've missed you," he whispers, his voice holding a vulnerability that resonates within you.

“you swallow the lump in your throat, your grip on his hand tightening. "i've missed you too."

nanami's fingers burned with a mixture of yearning and desperation as they reached out to trace the curve of your cheek. his touch was electric, sending a surge of heat through your veins. your breath hitched in response, your heart pounding against your ribs as his thumb brushed over your skin.

his touch was no longer tentative; it was a declaration, a silent proclamation of his desire. the air seemed to crackle with tension as his gaze bore into yours, his eyes dark and smouldering.

"i've wanted to do this for so long," he confesses, his voice a low growl sending a shiver down your spine.

his fingers slide from your cheek to your jawline, his touch igniting a fire within you. the space between you seemed to vanish as he closed in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. your eyes flutter closed as his thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch setting your skin ablaze.

and then, his lips crash onto yours with a fierce hunger that leaves you breathless. it was a kiss that ignites a wildfire, a blaze of emotions that had been suppressed for far too long. his lips moved against yours with a fervour that matched the intensity of his touch, a dance of passion and longing.

his arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepens. his mouth moves over yours with a possessive urgency, his tongue seeking entrance and igniting a fiery tangle of sensations. the taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and nostalgia.

your fingers claw at the fabric of his shirt, needing to feel him, to ground yourself in this moment. his body presses against yours, every contour and ridge igniting a cascade of sensations that pooled between your thighs.

his hands trail down your back, the touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. when he cups your hips and pulls you impossibly closer, a moan escaped your lips, swallowed by the intensity of the kiss.

as the kiss broke, your foreheads rest against each other, your breaths ragged and laboured. the air around you was thick with desire, the space between you charged with an unspoken promise.

"i need you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with desperation.

your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head down for another searing kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of pent-up longing, of a love that refused to be extinguished. your bodies moulded together as if they were meant to fit perfectly, every touch a symphony of need and surrender.

“tell me you need me, love,” he gasps out, and you nod against him, “no i got to hear you say it.”

“i need you, i do,” you whimper against his lips, as his fingers slip below the waistline of your skirt, gently grazing your clit, “k-kento we can’t, have you forgotten where we are?”

“don’t tell me you’ve become shy whilst we’ve been separated,” he chuckles, smirking as he continues to toy with your pussy “you don’t remember all the times i’d have you bent over my desk in my office?”

you bite your lip at the memory, feeling yourself get wetter as nanami’s fingers enter you, his thumb pressing against your clit. nanami knew you inside and out, he knew how exactly where to touch, how to get you whine and writhe against him as you are now.

he took advantage of your exposed neck, biting and sucking against your collarbone as he continues to stroke your cunt. you were gushing over him, repeatedly clenching against his fingers, as he twists and pushes in and out of you.

“you always get so wet for me,” he praises, pulling his fingers out of you, his digits glistening coated with you. you can smell your own arousal from his hand as he grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at his lust filled eyes. “ride me.”

you didn’t need to be asked twice, you discard your skirt off on the elevator floor, as he unzips his pants. he strokes his dick as it gets harder just at the sight of you. he was back was against the wall, his legs sprawled out widely, the perfect opening for you to climb right into his lap.

you slid right onto him, letting out an exhale as he fills you. he presses a sloppy kiss against your lips as your cunt grips onto him. your hands dig into his shoulder as you bounce up and down on him, his hands having your hips in a firm hold to keep you in place.

nanami couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, the way you were taking him in like you needed him, was a sight he could never get tired off. you were so pretty, all fucked out on his dick, your eyes glossed over in a daze, the only thing you were focused on was him.

“d’you see now why i could never let you go?” he teases, thrusting upwards into you as one of his hands trails up to caress your cheek, his thumb parting your lips, “because this pussy’s mine.”

he quickens his pace, eager to get you to come undone all over him, the way your movements became slower, lazier, he could tell you were nearly at your peak. you bite on his thumb, suppressing your moans, as his merciless thrust begin to become too much.

“m’close kento, i-it’s too much,”

“I know my love, you’re taking me so well,” he praises, pushing deeper into you, “just hold out for a bit longer.”

“i-i can’t i-” you couldn’t finish your sentence as you feel yourself release all over him. nanami groans out his head collapsing in your cleavage as he finishes inside of you, your juices mixing with his.

the only sounds that can be heard are you both trying to catch your breath. nanami keeps his head pressed against your tits, still inside of you. you toy with his hair pushing his hair back to leave a gentle kiss against his head, his arms tighten around you and it was as if you could feel him smile against you. you knew from then that you and your husband was going to be okay.

“kento?” your voice wavers, a mixture of uncertainty and hope lacing your words.

“yes? my love,” he responds, his gaze locked onto yours.

your heart flutters as you gather your courage, the weight of the past and the possibilities of the future intertwining in your chest. "I think we can cancel that meeting with my lawyer."

nanami's smile broadens, but it's different this time – it's a smile that carries the weight of understanding and a newfound determination. he holds your gaze, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes, a silent promise of change and rediscovery.

you eventually got out of that elevator and you didn’t go home to your separate apartments, you went home, together.

extra an: so guys what did you think?? first time writing for smut, and for nanami so if it’s shit spare me. but I love him and I’d never divorce him. DIVIDERS FROM @/CAFEKITSUNE !!

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #nanami angst #nanami fluff #jjk smut #nanami smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami x you #nanami kento smut

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eatfishies · 6 months ago

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Black Lace and Trouble All Over Your Face 🔞

summary: A black lace underwear vs a lust-driven Sylus.

He may or may not have seen a peek of what you wore beneath your dress.

word count: 2.5k tags: NSFW, sylus x reader (afab), no plot just filth, oral sex, cunnilingus, clit play, swearing, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, squirting and ejaculation, overstimulation, choking, blowjobs, slight fluff, panty kink (?), deepthroating, pet names, nipple play, established relationship, creampie, degradation fish notes: please and PLEASE heed the tags oki !! only read if ur comfy but yes anyways i decided to share my smutty sylus fic here too ^__^ forgive me if it's a lil rusty, i haven't wrote in awhile T__T ── ao3 link ★ ˙ ̟ song recs: guess by charli xcx

She honestly didn’t know how it even came to this point. From trying on an innocent dress to now, laying and spreading out before the most fearful man in the whole N109 Zone. And yet, Sylus finds her the prettiest like this — flustered and bewildered. The dress she was trying on hiked up a bit, showing off her bare, smooth legs.

Sylus could no longer ignore the gnawing primal hunger he feels towards her. It was torturous, having to hold back his desires and maintain a facade of nonchalance when all he wanted was to ravage her and make her feel like she’s on top of the world.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at him. Red eyes swirling with multitude of thoughts. “W- what are you doing…?” She asked, slightly confused, yet mildly curious. Of course, she knew what he was thinking about it, she’s not entirely dumb.

Sylus traced her jaw ever so softly. “Don’t play coy with me, kitten. You knew what you were doing wearing this dress.”

Well, it wasn’t really a revealing dress per se, it’s just that… she was in the middle of picking up her phone that had dropped to the floor when he walked in on her. Bent down and revealing a peek of what’s underneath her cute little dress. Sylus briefly caught a glimpse of a black lace underwear, but he couldn’t be too sure. He needed to see it for himself to confirm his suspicions.

If only Sylus hadn’t come home at this exact moment, then maybe she wouldn’t have been in this exact predicament. Not that she’s complaining much but she is more or less a little bit surprised that it took Sylus longer than she anticipated to make a move. For someone so bold with his adoration towards her, he is awfully slow when it comes to voicing out his inner desires. Perhaps this train of thought goes way deeper and… dirtier than it seemed.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just trying on a cute dress I had just bought online. It’s not my fault you saw my underwear. You should’ve knocked before you entered anyways.” She spoke, trying to remain casual and calm but only he knows how fast her composure is slipping the more she is pinned beneath him.

He only smirked, as he wasn’t particularly phased or bothered by it. The tent on his pants says otherwise though. He really is curious to know what lies beneath her dress. For once, he’ll let go of his pride and bite the bullet. After all, he couldn’t resist her, no matter how hard he tried. She’s the only one that can conquer the depths of his heart.

“Well then… care to satiate my curiosity then? Or is my kitten too shy to admit that she wears such a pretty little thing underneath her clothes everyday...”

A blush crept on her face even more. “O- of course not everyday!” She looked away, too embarrassed that she may have worn it because she had also bought it along with the dress. It seemed like her wishful thinking came true after all. Now that Sylus has her trapped and nowhere to go, she could only let herself go.

“Why don’t you take a guess then? What do you think I’m wearing, hm?”

Sylus stared at her, amused by her sudden bold question. “You want me to guess, huh, darling?” He leaned down to gently bite her earlobe, sending tingles everywhere down her body. He whispered hotly in her ear, “I think it’s black and lace. Am I right, sweetie?”

At this point, she was still surprised at how she’s even holding up. She merely croaked out a flustered, “yes” before Sylus smirked and went lower to kiss and bite her neck, leaving a trail of hickeys that would be visible to everyone tomorrow. She could only let out whimpers and moans at his ministrations.

“Sy- sylus! Please…” She begged as he continued to tease her. He pulled back slightly, “What do you want baby?”

With no hesitation, she said breathlessly, “I want you.”

Red eyes gleamed dangerously as his usual smirk tugged at his lips. “As you wish, princess.” In a swift motion, he took the dress she was wearing and tossed it somewhere on the floor. Normally, she’d be a little pissed but now, she couldn’t care less.

Not when Sylus is marveling at the underwear she’s wearing. A black lace, almost see-through underwear with pink bows on it. It should be a crime on how it ridiculously made him salivate at the sight before him.

“Like what you see?” She bit her lip shyly, observing his expression carefully.

“Like it is not even a word for it, sweetie.” His fingers went up to expertly take off her bra, leaving her breasts exposed. He grasped both of them before pinching her nipples, eliciting a moan out of her. Sylus closed the distance between them and kissed her hungrily, addicted to the way she tasted as he played with her tits. He pulled away and gazed at her with a wild look in his eyes, “I am going to devour you.” Was what he said before his lips enclosed on the nipple, feeling it hardened as he continued to twirl with the neglected bud.

Pure ecstasy ran through her body. She can feel herself getting even more wet the more Sylus continued to suck and lick her nipples. He watched her carefully as he trailed kisses along her soft skin, igniting all sorts of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

She squirmed beneath his watchful eyes, “Sy… please. Don’t tease me.” She pleaded, her tone was sweet and desperate. A deep chuckle was all she heard before Sylus slowly moved down to stare at her sopping wet panty. He smirked, finding this amusing, “Already so wet for me, kitten?” He prodded at her soaked underwear, pressing down on her clit.

At the sounds of her whimpers, Sylus continued to rub her clit through her underwear. Edging her closer to release but the moment she arched her back and curled her toes, Sylus stops. Unable to control herself any longer, she begged, “Please… I want you. I’ll be good, I swear.”

“Really? Then I shall reward my good girl, hm?” Sylus pulled aside her cute lace underwear, staring in fascination and adoration at her dripping cunt. “Your pretty pink pussy is so eager for me, sweetie.” She blushed, seemingly having a hard time to grasp on his crude, yet blunt words.

Without giving her a chance to dwell on it, Sylus begins to lick her pussy. All she could do was lay back and let out a string of moans– overwhelmed by the pleasure. Ruby eyes gazed at her intensely as he continued to expertly suck on her drooling cunt.

“Haaa..! Ah! Fuck–! It feels so good, Sy…” She moaned out his name and it sounded like heaven to his ears. He hummed, skillfully tonguing her pussy with vigor, aching to witness her orgasm. The tent in his pants is becoming awfully hard, he longed to see her on her knees and choking on his cock. The more she mewls and cries, the faster Sylus laps at her eager cunt.

Her fingers find their way to grasp and pull on Sylus’s soft hair, a plethora of moans and whimpers choked out of her throat as she feels herself reaching her climax. “Ah! Sylus, Sylus! Fuck, I’m so close!” A wave of euphoria washed over her as she came undone on Sylus’s sinful mouth.

“That’s my good girl.” He spoke lowly as he licked his lips, she felt herself flush at the sight of his face wet with her juices. Just when she thought it was over, her underwear was pulled down and tossed to the side, revealing her dripping wet pussy. Her cunt clenched around his digits, sliding in and out of her gummy walls with ease.

“Argh…! Sylus… put it in me. I want it. I want your cock.” She whimpered and who was Sylus to deny his slutty girl what she wanted. “Relax, kitten. Let me see how much you can squirt for me.” She bit her lip, hard as he continued to finger her, casually inserting three fingers at once.

He chuckled, “My… someone’s insatiable. Can’t get enough, hm? Such a dirty whore for me.” She could only moan out in response as Sylus sped up, ramming in her cunt like there’s no tomorrow. The room was surrounded by her cries of pleasure and wet squelching sounds, courtesy of her desperate pussy.

Curses and whimpers elicited out of her throat, her cunt spasming against his skillful fingers. Sylus curled his fingers and that’s when she saw stars, coming once more for him. “So… so… good…” She said breathlessly, seemingly in a daze.

Sylus brushed a strand of hair out of her face, drenched in sweat as she stared back at him. Her eyes are unfocused and filled with desire. “Does my slutty kitten want my cock?” He leaned down and began to litter bite marks at her thighs. Sylus loved this, claiming her as his own. Letting everyone know that she belongs to him and him only.

She whined, her hands reaching out to grip on his shirt. “Want it, Sy… please. I’ve been so good…”

He lets her unbutton his shirt, her fingers are itching to feel his skin against hers, while Sylus removed his pants, speeding up the process. Without wasting any time, Sylus stroked his hardened shaft, letting out breathy moans. His gaze remained on her, laying beneath him. “C’mon sweetie, open up.” He said as he guided his cock to her parted lips.

She lets out a whine, swallowing him whole. Sylus was way too big to even fit in her mouth but the more he trained her, the more she became accustomed to it. “What a good cockslut.” He praised her, his fingers tugging onto her messy hair.

Eager to please, she began to bob her head around his shaft while he roughly throatfucks her. Saliva trickled down her chin but all she could think about was him. Sylus is truly the definition of perfect.

The sight of him in bliss and in pleasure turns her on way more than she’d like to admit. Feeling strangely motivated by the looks of his face, she quickened her pace, wanting, no, she needs his cum.

“Ah… yeah, just like that, kitten. Fuck, you’re so good at this. You like sucking my cock, huh?” He stroked her hair as she gazed up at him, nodding. Unable to resist any longer, Sylus grips her hair, and she lets herself be used just like a toy. “You dirty little whore, so good at pleasing me. Fuck, I’m close!” He thrusted inside her hot mouth before finally reaching his high.

As soon as he came, she hummed in satisfaction. Pulling back, she stuck out her tongue and showed him before swallowing. Sylus’s eyes glowed, he’s hungry for more. In an instant, he grabbed her throat, “You pretty little thing, I’m going to ruin you.”

She braced herself when she felt the tip of his cock slowly push inside her dripping cunt. Once he finally slid all the way in, he let out a moan. “Your pussy is so needy. It’s gripping me so hard, sweetie.” She could only arch her back as her fingers scramble to grab the sheets.

Feeling herself clenching tightly around his shaft, she whimpered, “Move… Sylus, please, I need you hard and fast.”

The usual smirk appeared on his handsome face, “As you wish, my slut.” Was what he said before ruthlessly pounding into her with an inhumane pace. His name falls out of her lips like a prayer – a mantra as she feels her pussy drooling and becoming wetter with each thrust.

“Scream for me. Say my name.” His hand gripped her throat, “Say it, you dumb slut.”

She had no choice but to obey his demands. With a choked voice, she screamed out, “Sylus! Sylus! Fuuuuck! Feels so good– ah! Right there, right there!”

He could only admire her as he thrusted deep into her sweet spot. Watching his lover make such lewd expressions makes him feel a swell of pride, knowing that only he could do that. No one else.

He lets go of her throat, thick fingers coming down to rub and flick at her clit. “Cum on my cock, whore.”

The world turned white as soon as she reached her orgasm. Sylus continued to ram into her before coming deep in her tight cunt. He pulled out, staring in fascination as cum dribbled out of her used pussy.

“You did so well, kitten.” He said softly, caressing her cheek as she nodded dumbly, too out of it. Sylus could only smile, knowing that she is still in a state of euphoria. He leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead, “Let me take care of you, my precious.”

The next morning, she woke up feeling sore and satisfied. To her disappointment, Sylus was nowhere to be seen. She frowned as she sat up in bed, maybe he has work? She thought to herself before getting out and walking to the bathroom.

Bite marks and hickies scattered across her skin as she observed her disheveled state in the mirror. She blushed as she recalled their intense activity last night. After she had finished washing her face and brushing her teeth, she walked out and was surprised to see Sylus in bed with a tray of breakfast.

“Good morning, sweetie.” He said, his eyes softening at her appearance.

Her feet instantly moved to sit beside him, “Sylus, did you make this?” She pointed to the fluffy pancakes and a cup of coffee. A smile crept on her face once she realized that the pancakes were shaped like hearts.

“Of course. I dismissed the chef for today. Wanted to pamper you for being so good to me last night.”

If it wasn’t possible, she felt herself falling for this man more and more. She smiled brightly at him, “Thank you, this is lovely.”

He returned her smile with his own, “Anything for you, my sweet.”

The couple enjoyed their morning with breakfast in bed and cuddles. When Sylus was feeding her, he suddenly asked, “Where did you get that underwear from?”

She raised a brow, “I ordered it online. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Very. Next time you want to buy something, put it on my card.” He said casually.

A hint of surprise etched on her face, “Oh? Okay then.”

Over the course of a few days, she finds new packages arrived at her doorstep. No doubt the work of Sylus when she shook her hand and sighs as she held up the new lace panty that he had ordered for her.

There was a note at the end of the package, it wrote, “Wear this for tonight.”

She could only smile as she knew she would be in for a treat once more.

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #qin che #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deep space #sylus qin #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #l&ds #lnds smut #sylus #sylus smut #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lnds sylus #lnd sylus #l&ds smut

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burrowdarling · 3 months ago

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Rough Sex with Joe (18+)

Summary: Some headcanons about rough sex with Joe

Pairings: Joe Burrow x gf!reader

Warnings: oral (male and female receiving), praise, descriptions of sex, MDNI

Note: Hi! Here's some headcanons based on this anon request. If you're interested I can always incorporate this into an actual fic with some kind of plot. Otherwise, enjoy some smutty brain rot. Love you all!

Word Count: 730

Check out my Masterlist here!

Rough sex with Joe would include:

It could start in a few different ways, whether you pushed his buttons for too long or he’s frustrated and wants to relieve some stress

You’d be a willing candidate, either way, loving how Joe gets when he’s rough

This man would love to be in charge

Joe would demand you strip for him, wanting to have you laid out ready for him

Joe would take his time, knowing you worked him up for this exact reason

He’d leave secret marks on your body that only he could see, like covering your breasts in hickies

Joe would tease you, taking his time to really wind you up before he’d let you have it

You would absolutely hate it in the moment, feeling impatient and desperate for release (but secretly you love it)

Joe would make sure you finish first, his goal is always to please you

Hit might be once, twice, three times, whatever he thinks you can handle in the moment

He loves it when you're vocal, even if he has to remind you all of the time how much he loves it when you don't hold anything back

It just boosts his already big ego of how good he is in bed, your labored breath and moans an indicator of his skill

Your hands would be buried in his hair, seeking any time of grounding for the pleasure he’s giving you

The tugging on his hair only causing him to groan and egg him on more

Joe loves eating you out, he could be down there for so long you’d have to pull him back to reality

Joe would get himself even more worked up watching you cum over and over again, desperately needing his own relief

He’d want your mouth on his cock first before he takes you how he wants you

“Get on your knees for me, mouth open”

You’d take him as well as you could, fisting what you couldn’t fit in your mouth at the same rhythm and pace

He would be so vocal through it, not softening his moans at all and letting you hear him

He’d also be sure to give you praise telling you how good you feel

“Look how well you take me” or “god I love your pretty lips on my cock”

Your hair would be in a makeshift ponytail while he fucks your mouth, not being able to hold back anymore

One of his favorite views is you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, you letting him use you for his own pleasure

When it got down to it, he’d start with missionary so he could see your face and watch how good he’s making you feel

Full. Eye. Contact.

Even when you try to close your eyes from the pleasure, he’s pulling you back in

“Eyes on me sweetheart, want you to look at me when I make you cum”

If you were being especially bratty, he’d wrap his free hand around your throat to make sure you know who’s in charge

Joe would love the feeling of your nails down his back as he fucks you hard, rocking stripes on and off the field

You’d be a mess underneath him between his words and his thrusts, slow but hard making sure you take him all

If he was feeling up to it, he’d flip you around to fuck you from behind

He’d have your hands behind your back while he fucked you, letting him have full control

Joe would take his free hand down to your clit, making that knot snap and pleasure taking over

Joe would follow soon after, succumbing to the feeling of how you clench around him from your own release

By the end of it, he’d be so sweet with the aftercare, making sure he didn’t mark you up too much or hurt you in any way

Joe would clean you both up, being sure to dress you in some panties and one of his shirts before cuddling up

Definitely would have some random pillow talk before drifting off to sleep in his arms

Thank you so much for reading, please send in any requests or comments. I hope you enjoyed!

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow headcanon #smut headcanon #joe burrow fic #joe burrow bengals #joey b #joe shiesty #joey burrow

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httpsserene · 5 months ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒

summary: have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes.

content warning: 18+. mdni. explicit sexual content. plot with porn. summer fling/vacation romance. fluff. light angst. light angst with a happy ending. banter. attempt at humor. explicit language. for extended tags, open in ao3.

pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader

word count: 18k words. (new record!)

from, serene: i am extremely proud of what i created. i hope it was worth waiting for, and i can't wait for the next episode !!! my next upload might be an alex albon smau series, for those that requested it. pls pls pls, send me asks and leave comments on this if you'd like! i'd love to hear your thoughts on sip of sunshine, and how it's building so far xxx thank you so much, my loves :) (50 more followers until 3k :o)

this has also been uploaded on my AO3 for anybody who finds it easier to read a fic of this length on there (looking out for those on mobile x)

Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.

It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June.

It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.

Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest.

Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.

You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.

It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint.

Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.

It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope.

The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.

The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.

“Well, look at you! You stayed!”

You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise.

Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker.

Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful.

Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.

“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.

“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”

You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.”

Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.

You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.

“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]

The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.

“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”

“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.

“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”

“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”

The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle.

He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.

The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired.

Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.

Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.

The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”

Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done.

Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you.

You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]

Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.

“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]

Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”

“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”

“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”

“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”

You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket.

“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]

“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”

“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”

Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”

You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”

“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]

Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.

Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today.

You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back.

The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.

“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”

You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”

“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”

“¿Qué?”

“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”

“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”

Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.

The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint.

Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they’ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.

“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]

“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”

You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”

Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”

Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.

“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.

“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.

“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.

“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.

Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”

You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”

You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”

Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles.

You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”

Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.

Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.

“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]

“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”

“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.

“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.

“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”

Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”

Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.”

You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”

Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]

“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]

Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly.

They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch.

You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform.

Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.

You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”

“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”

The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin.

“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.

“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”

“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.

You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.

“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”

“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”

You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare.

“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”

The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”

You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights.

The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other.

The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.

The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready.

The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”

You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”

The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”

The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.

“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.

“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”

You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.

“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”

You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.

“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.

The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.

“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”

“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”

One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.

“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly.

You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men.

Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass.

Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate.

Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.

The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red.

You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.

“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”

Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break?

“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”

“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.

Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.

“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”

Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?”

Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.

“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.

The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”

“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”

The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”

You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.

Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.

“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”

“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”

They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.

They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible.

They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.

It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.

Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out.

You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak.

“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.

You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”

“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.

You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.

You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.

“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.

“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”

“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.

“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]

They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.

The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”

“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago. “It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.

Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up.

You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.

The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.

With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well.

The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap.

His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss.

Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh.

“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.

You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly.

“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”

“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”

“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.

“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ‘n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”

The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.

“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.

“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”

How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.

The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.

He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway. He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.

You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter.

“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”

“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”

The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.

The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin.

He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”

Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”

Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare.

“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”

Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire.

He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist.

The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.

The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.

“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”

The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.

“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”

You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”

The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.

The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.

Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance.

The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.

“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”

He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.

“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.]

The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.

The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.

“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed.

Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.

The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.

They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”

The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.

You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.

Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.

He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.

Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.

There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips.

A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.

Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.

Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.

The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.

You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal.

It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.

Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead.

“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.

“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.

“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”

“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”

You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.

“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”

The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.

“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin.

Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.

“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”

The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.

“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”

You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.

The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.

A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.

His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”

Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.

Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.

Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.

Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.

The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.

You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.

The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.

The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.

It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.

Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.

“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]

Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.

His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”

Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”

The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.

A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.

Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it.

You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.

Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”

Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”

Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.

Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks.

It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you.

Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.

Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom.

His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.

Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs.

“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”

Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.

Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.

Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?

You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.

“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”

The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.

“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]

“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering.

The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”

The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.

His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.

“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“

Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”

The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.

You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.

He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.

The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck.

Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh.

Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.

“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”

The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.

There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies.

He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.

Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”

“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]

The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.

“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”

Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”

You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.

“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”

You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside.

Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!

A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.

You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while.

Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left.

You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.

With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.

“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]

He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open.

Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.

“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.

“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back.

He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late.

Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.

“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”

“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”

You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”

Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”

You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”

Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”

You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it.

Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”

You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future.

Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.

You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.

You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.

You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.

“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”

Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.

“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”

“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]

“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.

“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]

You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”

You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“

“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“

“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]

“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]

Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”

Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”

Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.

You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”

Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”

“It’ll work.”

He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open.

You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”

Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”

“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”

The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.

“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”

“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]

His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.

You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]

You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie.

“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”

You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”

“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]

Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”

“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”

He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile.

Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]

She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”

“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”

She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”

Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”

The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.

You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.

Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.

The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”

You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”

You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them.

The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.

And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.

You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.

Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture.

“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.

“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.

“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”

“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”

“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”

“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.”

You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will.

“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.

“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.

Incoherent screaming. Isa.

“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.

“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.

Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”

The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.

You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.

The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.

You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.

The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.

Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”

Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy.

When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]

The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes.

The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.

Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero to you outside of sex.

It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning.

You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.

And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.

Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts.

The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered.

Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed.

They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.

Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.

You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”

They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.

“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”

“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.

“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]

You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you.

Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”

The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”

“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”

“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic.

“¡Cabrón!” You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”

Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.

“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”

You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.

“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]

“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.

The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.

“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.

You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”

Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat.

He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes.

“See you next summer.”

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verdantglow · 1 month ago

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So I just watched Etho's Double Life Episode 5 for the first time & I...

Like. My understanding of this session was from watching Grian's Double Life & I think I watched Pearl's video for it & then everything else is what I've absorbed from fandom.

& two things that I hadn't been expecting based on that knowledge that I got out of Etho's video:

First: Etho trying to extinguish the Relation. Like. They come up on its burning remains & Joel is saying that it's okay, it was really more of a metaphor, they'll be alright, & Etho's just. Stumbling over repeated questions of what they'll be & where they'll be without their Relation as he hops around the remaining blocks, picking up decorations not on fire & putting out whatever blocks he can.

Joel lets it go, accepts that the Relation is gone the moment they get to it & see the damage, & reassures Etho while also plotting revenge. & Etho's in shock & still trying to save it, trying to save this ship Joel built for them, by himself, while Etho was off taking huge risks after making Joel promise not to take any, that Etho came home to & was stunned by its beauty. Etho does not want to let it go, to admit that it was gone. Which brings me to...

Second: Once Etho realizes that's it, the Relation is gone, he's so 110% on board with everything burning, & quite frankly, from his point of view, he is very much the more unhinged one here. Joel might be leading them & announcing that everything burns, but Etho is right behind him, taking flint & steel to anything that'll go up, repeating those words like a mantra.

Joel seems focused on taking out everyone else's bases, but Etho is lighting everything on fire. Any hint of wood on a base? On fire. Trees? On fire. Mobs? On fire. Other red name players? On fire. The grass? On fire. The bridge made of deepslate that's not actually going to burn at all? On fire x6.

Also on fire? Etho. He's so desperate to make the whole server burn, he keeps setting himself on fire in the process & taking surprisingly long to actually extinguish himself. He lighting the ground in front of him & then jumping over the flames & they catch him in the process & he does this like six time in a row while trying to light up a burn proof deepslate bridge. & he only actually pulls out the water bucket a couple of times in the process, just letting himself be on fire.

This man is so hellbent on destruction that he seems to forget his own safety, forget that that is also Joel's safety, & is So. God. Damn. Reckless.

I've read a lot of fic about the Relation burning down & based on every single one of them, I expected Joel to be devastated by its loss, to be inconsolable, to be reckless while Etho comforts & follows along & joins in, because Joel needs this, so maybe Etho does too.

But no, from Etho's own point of view, it is the exact opposite. Etho is devastated, Etho is in shocked, Etho needs to be comforted & reassured. Joel suggests everything burning in response, & yeah, he wants revenge too, but gods. It really feels like he suggests it to give Etho a direction for all those feelings, to give Etho an outlet.

Because while Joel might want revenge, Etho needs it.

#boat boys #smalletho #double life smp #etho #joel smallishbeans #traffic smp #yes I have been shipping smalletho for about a year & am only just now watching their Double Life.#I've been this feral over them /without/ any of this in my brain.#Now I'm just.....#**clenches & unclenches fists**#**incoherent screaming**#It's too late right now #but I cannot wait to watch Etho's last episode of DL #(also I know I'm putting this in a ship tag & am discussing this as a ship in tags)#(but I'm not gonna tag it as shipping 'cause most of this is legit just a description of Etho's video)#(& the rest is interpretation that isn't specifically romantic in nature)#verdant rambles

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dearlyd3parted · 9 days ago

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𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖: 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 | 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

🕸️syp: Mark Lee is many things; A 2nd year college student, A stressed Stark Industries intern, Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman, and also your childhood friend. He's also a secret fifth thing, a loser hopeless romantic who's been in love with you for years. Due to his inexperience, it takes him two failed attempts at a confession until the third is finally a charm. 🕸️mark lee x fem!reader - (127 centered) biggest idiots in love u will ever read 🕸️feat: a bit of nct dream, xiaojun from wayv, and yunjin from lsrfm cause mother 🕸️word count: total 26.2k 🕸️warnings: some profanity (mark is very stressed ok), descriptions of injuries (blood, cuts, bruises), light angst, mostly just misunderstandings and such, brief mention of smoking, eventual smut 🕸️authors note: ok i genuinely had so much fun writing this one i love mark so much and i live to push the spidermark agenda. i don't follow any exact mcu plot. just inspired more heavily by tom holland cinmenatic universe! also he has glasses in this fic, i know canonically spiderman has perfect vision but idc i have a nerd agenda to push ;p i've only proofread once, so pls bear with any typos. to my current followers who were waiting on me to post, i spent a lot of time on this one so that is why content is delayed, but i hope it makes up for it! im doing more piwon next! i really like this one and hope u do too. pls reblog and like and follow for more ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ 🕸️chapter index: chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 tags🏷:

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷: 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 - wc: 8.3k

Mark Lee has always been sure of his identity.

It seems that since birth he has had a very firm grasp on himself, what his personality is like, what he wanted in his future, what he wanted in the very moment. Mark has never been a mystery to him.

When he was in the 6th grade, he knew he was a buzzing personality. He knew he was a jokester, always smiling, always laughing, even when the moment didn't call for it. He knew that he loved to talk about anything, really. He could spend hours talking an unsuspecting classmate's ear off about his favorite subjects (math and english, never science), the video game he just played, or some cool new thing one of his favorite superheroes did.

However, because of his...as one would put it in kind terms, passion for life and anything that excited him slightly, he had a hard time making friends. Sure, he had some, the same handful of guys who had been perpetually stuck with each other since elementary school, but making new ones was the problem.

It was at that point that Mark realized he is also a people pleaser from time to time. Especially at 12 years old when everyone is dying to fit in. So, in order to get some of his peers to find him...not annoying, he tried to mimic their personalities.

Mark amped up the snarky-ness and the sassiness, changed his look to what could best replicate what was popular at the time, and started talking about Tony Stark maybe 30% less (That really was the best he could do).

And surprisingly....it worked. For a bit there, he was thinking he might slowly climb his way up from whimsical nerd to just some dude. God, he wanted to be just some dude so badly.

Then one day he saw you.

You sat alone on the end of a lunch table, a pizza lunchable in front of you as you clicked away on your DSI, seemingly playing...Pokémon? Of course, adorned with a Star Wars backpack sat right next to you. He shuddered a bit at the sight, but not negatively. He just really wished that was him instead of what he was currently doing, trailing behind the kids who play basketball after school with an immense 'cool kid' vibe to them.

Mark took immediate note at how they snickered at you, the word nerd being thrown around being most obviously about you. As he gripped onto his tray, a sly smile masking an internal panic on his face, he figured it was a perfect time to prove himself as he followed his pack leaders.

Mark cleared his throat as he approached you, ready to strike. "Nice backpack, Young Jedi." He snickered, his voice as condescending as he could make it out to be when addressing a really cool backpack.

You paused your game with a swiftness, swiveling around to look at him, not an ounce of offense on your face. Without a beat, your deadbeat expression bounced back.

"Nice bowl cut, loser.”

Needless to say, Mark didn’t make the cut for just some dude. He would be staying a talkative and giggly nerd for a while, he was sure of that fact about himself. He knew that was him. It was okay, though, because he didn’t want friends who he couldn't be himself around. After that whole facade, he knew he wasn’t the nonchalant cool guy he tried to resonate with.

He also knew that after a thorough and heavy apology his friend Taeyong had made him give you, he had just met someone who he resonated with a lot more.

He knew he was your new friend.

(To which you only agreed because of his Captain America themed backpack. Besides, your jab at his bowl cut that truly was awful made it even.)

A year later, he was certain that you were his best friend. Maybe it was a bit selfish that he had so many best friends, you including his flock of seven other boys who had just become stuck to each other.

But…there was something different about you. Like you were his ultra best friend, if thats a thing. After the initial awkwardness of your first meeting, the friendship only soared. Helping each other with homework, rewatching ‘Star Wars: Revenge of The Sith’ for the 30th time, fangirling over Tony Stark and the avengers. He never thought he would meet a girl that understood him so well, and in turn who he understood, too.

Until the 7th grade, he couldn’t quite place what it was that was so different. You were integrated into his group of friends, he didn’t treat you any differently and you didn’t with him. Yet, for some reason, he was happier when you were around, and even happier when it was only the two of you.

His heart was a mixture of things every time he made a joke and you laughed because of him. It had also dawned on him that even if you and him had your many similarities, you were still more reserved and cautious when it came to other people. Despite that, you seemed comfortable around him, enough to confide in him and share whatever you wanted to.

So, when you confided in him tearfully that the boy you had wanted to attend the spring formal with was going with another girl, as your best friend he decided to step in and take you himself to cheer you up.

Seeing you a bit happier at the outcome of that night, wearing a navy blue dress he remembers oh so vividly as the colorful lights seemed to be illuminating your smile, his heart sank to his stomach. That was when it had hit him what had been so different about you.

Mark knew that he liked you. He liked you terribly.

He knew he liked you as he danced with you, his hands tenaciously at your shoulders as you thanked him with a smile for not letting you come alone. He knew he liked ever since you started to feel ‘different’ in the best way possible, and he knew he would keep liking you for a long, long time.

And that is exactly what he did.

Middle school passed by in a flash, and he never liked you any less. In fact it was impossible to not like you more. You, who was always on his side through all his phases, who brought an extra sandwich from home to share with him at lunch, who gifted him the missing star wars comic in his collection for his birthday, who defended him against all the snickers and teases of the rest of the friend group, who was the cutest girl he would ever be blessed to see, who joined the academic decathlon in highschool so he wouldn’t be alone. How could he not crush on you harder?

Just because he liked you so much, didn’t mean that he rushed to act on it. Quite honestly, when he first realized all these feelings were heavy to hold and the only way to let go of them was to confess, he had a nervous breakdown. What would he even say? What would you say? How would he even explain this to you? You were always so headstrong and focused, would a measly schoolboy crush even appeal to you? Was this the end of the world?

Once he calmed down, however, he realized that there was no rush to explain the feelings he himself couldn’t even muster to say aloud. All that mattered is that you were in his life, and he was in yours. And he was pretty damn content with that. Maybe in the future, if he still felt so much and he had gotten much more confident, he’ll be able to tell you. At the moment, 15-year-old and sophomore in highschool Mark had no rush at all.

And then, he was bit by a spider.

Of course, it wasn’t a normal spider. Because god forbid anything ever be normal in Mark’s life. One morning, he woke up with body muscle his lanky limbs did not have when he went to sleep and a strength that broke his desk bunk bed in half. If it wasn’t obvious something was off, his glasses stuck on his hand for the better part of an hour sure confirmed it.

Yup, Mark knew it. He had turned into some sort of a Spiderman.

At least, that’s what he called it. It’s what he decided to go by when a very confused passerby asked him who he was as Mark saved his bike from a thief. A quick sew of some blue and red fabric with a poorly stitched on symbol, and he was putting these powers to test.

He had a good run making a name for himself on Youtube under this ‘Spiderman’ pseudonym. It was a blissful first few months, figuring out the basics of his powers, slamming into the wall maybe only a handful of times, fighting neighborhood crime in a heroic way that he used to only be able to gawk at the avengers doing.

However, ignorance is bliss. Mark couldn’t possibly be ignorant to the way that he was making enemies who didn’t like the interference with their crimes all over queens, and fast. He especially couldn’t ignore it when a particular petty group of criminals had hit rookie Spiderman with everything they had, and the bliss ended as he limped away his first gruesome fight he had managed to win with his life.

As he dragged his way across the city, whimpering and crying as the universe decided to make his first terrible day on the job even worse with rain, he was aware of how roughed up he was, he needed help.

He couldn’t just go to his Aunt and tell her her 15 year old nephew had been putting his life in danger for the last few months. He couldn’t go to the hospital and risk exposing the identity he tried so hard to protect. He certainly couldn’t let his rowdy friends know by showing up to Taeyong’s apartment.

So he found himself barely making it up to your fire escape, knocking with the last bit of strength he had to get your attention from your Calculus homework to his figure in the window. He was limp and a mess of “i’m sorry”’s and “i don’t know where to go”’s as you pulled him in, speechless at the sight in front of you.

You didn’t get angry, you weren’t annoyed, you didn’t ask him a million questions. You only bandaged his wounds, and offered open arms as he cried and cried until he couldn’t anymore.

As Spiderman Mark gripped your hoodie, his tears staining it with salt, he knew he felt safe. God, he always did with you.

He knew that he loved you. Because honestly, wasn’t it impossible not to?

The revelation that he was in love with you didn’t come with much shock, if he asked 6th grade Mark if he knew this day would come, the answer would without any doubt be a yes.

It did come at a turning point in his life, however. He met Tony Stark, got suited up with Stark Industry gear that made every nerd crevice in his mind vibrate, fought with the avengers, nearly joined the avengers, accidentally revealed himself to his aunt, and then his other 7 friends, fought against avenger-level-threat villains, and quickly rose as one of the most famous heroes around.

Throughout everything, he never loved you any less. And even through his trials and tribulations as he settled in this neighborhood Spiderman identity, you never strayed from being his best friend. He didn’t need anything else to feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Except, maybe an answer to the dying question he wanted to know for years and years. Was he just your best friend? Or has he always been something more? On the few times you’ve told him something along the lines of, ‘I will never care about anyone like I do about you, Mark’, (And no, he actually didn’t memorize that one word for word) Did it also mean what he has always meant, or was he just dear to you in the friendliest way possible?

Although Mark was older, 18 years old and graduating from highschool, he still had that same mindset he had as an angsty new teenager. His feelings for you only weighed more and more in tons and tons over the years, especially since he was able to name it as love. Yet, he found it hard to explain why he still hadn’t felt any rush to act on them.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, even if anyone who would hear his logic might think it was. As he watched you say goodbye to peers and friends at graduation from a distance, happiest as ever in your cap and gown as you were set to attend MIT with him in the fall, he knew it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He dreamt of it some nights, actually. He hadn’t known you his whole life, but for some reason, it felt like you were always there. When he had that stupid bowl cut, when he tried out for the soccer team and made a fool of himself, when he got his first B on an english paper, when he got bit by that spider and bit off more than he could chew, when he was applying for college and decided to major in computer science and engineering, you were there.

As you pranced back to him as you finished saying your farewells, he couldn’t help but think it would always be this way. You had him, and he had you. The night you both graduated, you both sat on a rooftop, staring at queens under you as you shared a pizza. Naturally, it felt like you would always be there. You were just natural.

Despite that, It had been nearly seven years since he first met you. Nearly seven years since he told himself he would confess when the time was right, when he was more confident and hopefully a little bigger.

He was definitely taller, and involuntarily grew some muscle. Luckily, his hair hadn’t seen the after effects of a bowl cut in years. His voice didn’t squeak when he talked to you or any girl for that matter, and he liked to think he was 10% less of a nerd. At least, enough to be charming when it counted.

So as you both left highschool for your first year at NYU, he decided he checked a sufficient amount of boxes to go for it. However, it was clearly going to be harder said than done. Just seeing you the night after he made up his mind that the time has finally come, his forehead was slick with nervous sweat and somehow he walked right into a pole. Your questioning about why his ‘Mark tingle’ hadn’t worked–which is what you had named his 6th spider-sense–didn’t help not one bit.

Truth is, it was terrifying. He didn’t know why. He had fought against intergalactic villains and catched runaway trains with his bare hands. Yet a simple ‘I’m madly in love with you’ was too much for him to handle.

Mark composed himself, running it through his mind during every late night patrol. He was going to do it, and soon. First, he had to get over the initial fear. After that, love sparks would fly.

Soon turned into weeks later, then months, and then an entire year. Before Mark could blink, it was the 2nd year of university and the ‘initial’ fear seemed to be a perpetual one.

In his defense, the first year of college was very busy. The both of you were buried in the books, biochemical and computer science engineering not being easy majors, and of course trying to maintain extracurriculars. Mark with his Stark Industries internship, that both was still a pseudonym for Spiderman duties, and this time around an actual internship he had begged Mr. Stark for. You, with the school's Debate team and interning wherever it counted and wherever paid.

Mark would be a liar if he said there was absolutely no time, though. A plus to the both of you being the unassuming and socially awkward nerds all throughout the years meant that you didn’t peak in highschool. University could be a time to blossom, be more social, enjoy the journey a little more, maybe attend a party or two.

Watching you in this beaming light as you entered a new chapter of your life, an enigma shining more than ever, it only intimidated Mark even more. Which is why his after-graduation-confession plans had stretched out a whole year later.

Mark never felt like he was losing you, though. Losing his mind? Most definitely, but not you. You were closer than ever, Mark was content.

Telling himself that he had you on his side through everything, and he would continue to have just that is what helped him sleep at night. He would stop being a coward eventually, and just like the movies, the sun would shine a halo around you, his eyes would meet yours, and he could finally confess. Time, there was lots of it, right?

Wrong. Again, it seemed like Mark’s reality was always perpetually shifting or going the opposite direction that he was aiming for.

Today, he found himself standing outside of one of the many NYU buildings, waiting for your cell biology class to be done with. It had become a habit to him to make sure you got back to your apartment safely after classes that ran into the evening, claiming that as the resident neighborhood spiderman, it was his duty to escort you. Even though in reality, you were capable of getting around just fine, and this was just another excuse for Mark to spend even more time with you.

He was wiping down his glasses when he heard the door open and you walked out, tired out from a full day of classes. He wasted no time putting on his glasses back on, making sure he caught every bit of you. Mark always thought you looked best like this, hair down and tousled in comfy clothes, today a cardigan and some baggy jeans, the night making your features even softer.

You smiled despite your weariness, waving at him, and Mark smiled right back. “Hi, Mark.” you said, walking up to him as you clutched onto your bag.

Mark reached for it, slinging it over his shoulders, the heaviness of textbooks and all your other supplies being nothing to him. “Y/n! How was your day?” He asked enthusiastically.

You stared at him with those eyes you get, sighing as you looked down. “It was alright…I got assigned two group projects, though. I mean, two, seriously? In the first month of school?” You complained and talked with your hands like you always did when you were angry, as you both started walking, Mark listening to every word.

Mark inhaled sharply, making a face at the thought. “Yikes. Two on the same day is some luck. My operating systems professor said we would have a group project soon as well, but at least we get to choose our partners.”

You pouted up at him, finding your situation unfair. “We can’t even have that luxury. I don’t know any of the people I was assigned with.” You complained with a frustrated sigh.

Mark sympathized with you, knowing how unfortunate that must be, but when you looked so expressive and adorable as you complained, it was hard for his heart to stay still in its cage. “That really does sound like it sucks. I hope they aren’t rude or some slackers.”

You shook your head looking off at the city in front of you, when all Mark could do was look at you. “I don’t think they will be too bad. The group project for cell bio, I got this one guy…Xiaojun, I think, for a partner. He seems like he’ll be a big help.”

Mark’s head tilted, his glasses tilting in the process. “Mm, really? How so?”

You looked at Mark with a pursed smile, shrugging at the recollection. “He’s very receptive, first to offer to help with research. Gave me his number so I could call him ‘if anything’, so I gave him mine as well. He’s nice, a little too nice maybe, but nice.”

Mark felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat, he hadn’t heard of you and any other guy in ages. He didn’t want to. As he took in what you had said, recognizing the name of a pretty well-known school heartthrob, exchanging numbers with him, and even the whispered fact of him being too nice, he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Surely it couldn’t be that this Xiaojun was…taking an interest in you?

Mark had to make sure as he forced down the lump that prevented him from speaking. “Ah…so sounds like…he’s flirting with you.”

You both came to a stop at an intersection. You pondered your words as Mark stared at you, reading your every visible thought. “It seems like it. He’s a nice guy but I'm not interested if that is the case…because…” You said, your words trailing off as you looked at Mark with a distant look in your eye and shrugged after a moment. “I guess, I don’t have a reason to not be interested. Should at least hear the guy out, I suppose.”

Mark’s heart sank to the floor in record speeds. And he’s jumped off of buildings. As the light turned from the orange hand to the walking man, he stalled a few seconds, shaking off this new dread as he jogged a little to match your pace. “H-hear him out? So you…you like him?”

You giggled a bit, shaking your head with a smile. “I didn’t say that. I just met the guy. All I’m saying is I’ve always said no, no, no, and no. Maybe it’s time to move…Uh, I mean, to stop saying no so quickly.”

All Mark could process in that sentence is that there were others that you had to say no to. As he looked down at the sidewalk he was strolling on, his world view seemed to crack a bit. He had always known how amazing you were. Your eyes an ocean he wanted to sail. Your hair framing you in the most flattering way. Your sarcasm and humor that brightens his day. Your drive. Your kindness. Your intelligence. Your generosity. Should he keep going? He could, he could spend days listing everything that was right in you. It had just never dawned on him that other hormonal and sappy guys like him could do the same and act on it. Worse, that you could entertain it.

“As in…look for someone?” Mark asked, his voice sounding pathetic beyond his control.

You sighed, staring off at the distance, not wanting to look at him. “I don’t know…it’s just…something I've been thinking about. It feels like I'm overdue to try my hand at this whole love thing…”

Overdue. Overdue. Is that really how you felt? Mark supposes you have both gone your whole lives without dating someone. At this point in your lives, that can be considered a while. Mark had never felt like he was lacking in that category, love, because he had so much of it for you. You didn’t know that, though, and now you felt overdue.

Mark’s palms were sweaty as he gripped the straps of both of your bags. “There’s…no rush, though, right...?” He questioned, trying to preach his own stupid, stupid anthem.

You nodded, a bit solemnly if he had to add, looking up at him with a strange mix of a smile and pout. “You’re right. No rush.”

Mark sighed a breath of relief. A relief that didn’t last long as you spoke up again. “But there’s also no reason to push it away anymore.”

Mark had so many questions, such as why were you set on ‘pushing it away’ until now, where the hell did this Xiaojun come from, how it can be possible that a certainty he awoke with this morning can crumble a mere few hours later, and how he could possible be so stupid, stupid, stupid, cowardly, and naive?

Mark inhaled a sharp breath, trying to stabilize himself. He wanted to freak out, he wanted so badly to bring the both of you to a halt and grab your hands, begging for you to not even think about this. However, that would also be stupid, and if he showed that he was anything short of understanding during this conversation, you would never share anything like this with him again. Then, he would be completely in the dark about your apparently beginning love life.

“If…that’s what you want.”

Stupid. Idiot. Buffon.

There it was again, that forced smile that Mark was too busy internally panicking to notice himself. “He hasn’t even said anything that confirms the suspicion. But…I’ll see. I’ll figure out what it is that I want.”

Mark nodded, trying to play it cool as his fingernails dug into his palm. He didn’t even notice that you had arrived at the train station, standing in front of the train that took you home.

You looked up at him, smiling softly as you reached up to flick hair out of his face. It didn’t help the melting pot that was his current emotions. “You texted early that you wanted to get an early patrol. You should go get ready. I’ll be okay from here.”

Mark normally would have shaken his head no immediately, insisting that he take you all the way to your front door. Today however, he felt as if the longer he spent around you, the closer he was to losing it. “You sure? I really don’t mind-” is all he managed to say as you cut him off.

“Positive. I can join you on comms later tonight. Gotta get some homework done first.” You said, looking back as the train started to pull into a stop. “You go get ready. And eat something or you’ll be off your game. Last time you went out hungry you nearly crashed in an office window.”

Mark chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking to himself that of course only you could make him laugh and make him want to yell in such a short span. “Aye-aye captain, I’ll do that. You better go before the train leaves.”

You nodded, taking back your bag from him and waving. “I’ll come to yours tomorrow. We have o-chem in the morning. We can swing there?”

Mark smiled, as best as he could by this point, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll swing there. Text me when you’re home.”

You shot a thumbs up as the train doors opened and you rushed to get in. “I will, bye Mark! Careful!”

His heart warmed, you had always told him to be careful, no matter the hundreds and hundreds of times he must have gone out now. It wasn’t enough to make him unball his fists though. “Bye, Y/n.” He said back, missing its added sense of joy.

He watched as you walked in, taking a seat and looking back at him once. He didn’t even have the guts to stand there and watch you leave, looking back twice before he was sprinting up the subway stairs and running down the street.

The slight chill in the night felt even colder as he ran, wind blowing smack in his face, but he kept running until he found an alleyway, running deep into it until he was out of sight, away from any pedestrian eyes. The cuff Mr. Stark had given him came in handy at times like these, when all he wanted to do was be suited up as soon as he could, His heart wouldn’t stop racing as the press of a button had him in his full spider-suit. He tightened his backpack onto himself, and he was off, shooting himself up in the air, and running across a ledge before throwing himself off.

He didn’t even react as he reached closer to the ground than normal, shooting a web to divert his fall just in time. Even when he was swinging way too fast, weaving through buildings and poles and cars. All he could think about you and your words. When he woke up in the morning, he thought he had time, lots of it. Now as dusk falls over and the cars underneath him couldn’t be as loud as his thoughts, he finds out he doesn’t. Or perhaps he did, and now it had run out on him.

. 　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

“So, the last thing I said was, ‘I’ll figure out what it is that I want,’ and then we got to the train station.” You finished explaining to your roommate, Yunjin, as she sat on the opposite side of the couch.

You had only met Yunjin last year, but she already felt like one of your best friends you had ever made because of how easy it was to tell her all of your problems. Of course, you already had one of those, Mark Lee, who had been wreaking havoc in your life since you had first caused him to become the laughingstock of the popular kids back in 6th grade. But you couldn’t tell him absolutely all of your problems. Especially the biggest one, that you had always had a strange sense of infatuation for him that you expected to go away, yet here you were.

If you had to pinpoint when it began, you would say when he knocked on your window sophomore year of high school, bloodied and in the famous original spiderman costume. Mark had always been loveable, long before he got bit by that spider. It was what you liked most about him, his ability to always see the positive, to always somehow wear a smile and a laugh. In someone like that, it takes the utmost trust for them to allow the most vulnerable parts of themselves to be seen.

So, it wasn’t the suit that made you realize what you had felt. Even if you had been a major Spiderman fan and the revelation was only a little life changing, that was the last thing on your mind. He was hurt, he was scared, and he needed someone, and his first thought was you.

You thought it was a fluke, feeling so much for someone so unexpected. Surely, it was bound to go away. Yet, it didn’t. The feeling was nagging and adamant, just like Mark, and refused to let go.

After some time, you came to terms with the fact that nothing about it was unexpected at all. Since you met Mark, you spent every waking moment with him. Going to your first hero convention, building the Lego death star you got for your birthday, the school trip to Venice, middle school dances, high school dances, all of it was Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark. Every memory, the good and bad, that held a special place in your heart had Mark. How was he not to become special as well?

You thought about coming straight out with it, hoping to get closure or acceptance or anything that would help maim the feeling of overflowing love. However, Mark wasn’t just Mark anymore, he was Spiderman. While the latter didn’t matter much to you, it had become a part of who he was. With his great powers, came great responsibility. Not just that, but it seemed like him almost dying every other weekend had become his new reality. While it was stressful watching Mark go through all of that, even as you became his girl-in-the-chair of sorts to help him on patrols, you couldn’t imagine how stressful it was for Mark for himself. It felt unfair to throw a confession on top of everything he already had to deal with.

So, you decided if anything were to happen between you two, Mark would have to initiate it.

While you may have kept it better under wraps, Mark always wore his emotions on his sleeves. It would take an outstanding idiot to not notice the way he acted around you. The way his ears go pink before his cheeks do, the way on occasion he’ll forget to respond as he stares in a trance, or he’ll fumble with whatever object he has in his hand. Mark had always had those awkward, loser-ish tendencies, but it was undeniable at how they seemed to be at their worst whenever you were around.

He had to have at least entertained the idea. So, therefore it was just a waiting game. When Spiderman was ready to take that leap, so were you.

You waited, and waited, waited, and waited, and waited some more. Suddenly, the second year of university came, and you were still waiting.

Honestly, it had brought you down that no moves were made as you graduated high school. Needless to say, that the fact he was still radio silent when entering university only made you more discouraged and had you wondering if your premonition was wrong after all.

Your new roommate turned friend, however, was quick to catch onto your gloominess, and almost immediately connected the dots that it was about Mark.

Since you caught her up on everything she needed to know, while of course keeping Mark’s secret locked away, she had become a trusted person to confide in. As opposed to your clear inexperience, Yunjin had more experience on her love life resume, and was always at bay with advice.

Her recent advice being something that she believed would speed up the process, to display your availability, and to flaunt that you were planning on using it. In whatever form that may be.

So, when Xiaojun exchanged numbers with you, (and in your defense, was indeed being a little too friendly) it was the perfect opportunity to test the theory.

That is how you found yourself here, playing the conversation back and forth amongst each other to try and decipher if it worked.

Yunjin groaned, hand coming down to smack the pillow in her lap. “‘I’ll figure out what it is that I want.’ You guys are impossible. It is crystal clear what you both want.” She said with a shake of her head. “Is that really all he said? ‘If that’s what you want?’ How did he…I don’t know, was he panicky or shaky or anything?”

You thought about it with a sigh, shrugging. “I mean, I guess he was a little. At the stop walk he…almost forgot to move? But he had just come from that Stark internship, he’s always like that after it. Like a deer in headlights.”

Yunjin sighed as well, biting her bottom lip in thought. “Okay, this is good. This is a good start. We’ll just have to ramp up the Xiaojun thing and eventually, he’ll be forced to crack.”

You smiled, a little bittersweetly, your hands clenched together. “I hope it plays out like that…otherwise all this for nothing.”

Yunjin could read you like a book, a superpower of hers Mark didn’t always have, ironically. “Not for nothing. You know, you could always say something.”

You looked up at her with a knowing look, shaking your head with a sigh. “You know I can’t. He’s got too much to deal with, he’s literally sp…super busy. With school and the stark internship. I just can’t.”

Yunjin nodded as she stood up, taking the memo not to pry any further. “Alright, I hope this works then, for the sake of you both.” She said as she grabbed your face in her hands jokingly. “Seriously. I’m sick of looking at it.”

You swatted her hand away, chuckling. You hoped it worked too. With your whole being.

. 　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

Mark landed on the roof of his apartment that night exhausted from a full day of work followed by an evening patrol. Crime was quiet lately, with his biggest cases today being a measly shoplifter and a cat stuck in a tree. The type of quiet that came before a storm. Mark had too much on his mind to think about that, however. All of which involves you.

He deactivated his suit and found himself back in regular clothes, waltzing his way down the rooftop access stairs, all the way to his apartment on the 6th floor.

He came in fidgety and anything but calm, seemingly too pumped with adrenaline and emotion to be as tired as he usually is after days like this.

Mark had the opportunity to be roommates with two of his friends, Johnny and Doyoung. Luckily for him and unluckily for his friend, Johnny was sitting on the couch, a gaming controller in his hands as he looked up to see the ball of nervousness make its way into the once mellow apartment. “Hey, Mark.” Johnny greeted, not talking his eyes off the TV. “You wanna play overwatch? Doyoung’s out for the night.”

Mark could barely register the question, his backpack slamming on the kitchen table as he plopped down on the couch next to Johnny. “What? No, no. I’m good, don’t wanna play. I have to talk to you, though.”

Johnny sighed, not taking his eyes off the screen. If his hands weren’t so busy, he’d probably grab his head too. The subject was painfully obvious. “What’s up?”

Mark sat back, looking at the ceiling. “Y/n. I messed up. So bad, dude.”

Johnny nodded, trying to feign surprise. “I see. How is she by the way? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Mark ran his hand through his hair, shooting the back of Johnny’s head a look at the inappropriate question during his time of stress. “She’s fine, dude. She told me something today.” Mark said, taking a deep breath to begin his rant. “You know, I told you…I’m confessing soon. Or I’m planning to. When I work up to it. I thought…shit. I’m so stupid. I thought she’d wait for me. She doesn’t even know, but I thought she’d wait. Apparently, there’s this dumb guy she has a group project with. Xiaojun, that’s his name. He’s flirting with her, I’m assuming. They exchanged numbers and everything.”

Johnny listened with his eyes a little narrowed, nodding in understanding. “Ah. I know that guy. He’s pretty cool.”

The look on Mark’s face couldn’t be described as anything less than offended. “He is arguably not. I mean…I know people must try to hit on her and stuff, but she was like…all cryptic. Saying things like ‘maybe it’s time to not say no so quickly’ and ‘I’m overdue at this love thing.’ She says she doesn’t like him but…she’s…she’s looking to date right? It’s gotta mean that.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows, fighting the urge to keep playing his game or turn and start shaking Mark by his shoulders. “Listen, Mark. Y/n’s a nice girl, full package, great person, gorgeous as well, and a single college student. Dating is kinda what you do. Especially with someone like Xiaojun.”

Mark’s world couldn’t crumble any faster. If only Doyoung was there instead, he at least would have broken the news a little nicer. “Oh, God. Shit. What…what do I do? She’s gonna start...dating.” He muttered with his hands on his face, glasses pushing up to his head.

Johnny stifled a groan. “Mark, you do what you should’ve done years ago. You just tell her, man.”

Mark didn’t like that answer. Of course, it was the only one that made sense, but he was hoping that someone would have some sort of miracle solution. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“Shouldn’t it be though?” Johnny retorted. “I mean, you’ve known this girl nearly half of your life. She cares about you a lot. You see it, I see it, we all see it. A confession isn’t going to break a bond like this, it can’t. You’ve got to know by now that what you’ve got is stronger than that.”

In the eyes of Mark, what Johnny said went against what every imagined worst-case scenario told him, even if logically it had made sense. You weren’t the type of person to cause a grand thing or make Mark feel bad about something so small. That was inherently the problem, however. Nothing about this was small. Small is the last word he would use to describe how he feels about you. You wouldn’t consider small something that could fill every ocean on earth's surface and then some. “How do I even tell her? I can’t just say ‘I’m in love with you.’” Mark argued, his voice sounding more and more pathetic.

Johnny used a brief moment to shoot a look at Mark, his eyes going back to the TV as he finally put his controller down and completely discarded the match he was in, leaning on his knees. “At this point, that’s exactly what you say. Your problem is that you’re trying to make it too grand, too perfect. Y/n has never been the type to be a stickler for that. It doesn’t matter how you do it, it won’t affect the outcome. If the feelings are there, which if you ask me, I think they are, then they’re there. Plain and simple.”

Mark felt a lot of things, but at that moment defeat was most prominent. He had been imagining for years how he would confess to you. In one fantasy he would buy a billboard in Times Square and take you to see it, or perhaps he would learn the guitar and write you a song. He could make his own advent calendar, buy you a present everyday each specifically curated to your wants, and on the final day, a beautiful piece of jewelry. You deserved nothing short of perfect, but now he had to ask himself if that was really what you would want, or if he’s trying to pull every string he can for it to work in his favor.

“So, what do I do…?” Mark said quietly, running his hand through dark hair.

“I just told you. Just tell her. Write her a poem, take her to dinner, or just straight up come out with it. Just tell her, as soon as you can, before it’s too late.” Johnny said, a supportive hand patting Mark’s back. “No more waiting. You’ve run out of time. I’ve told you this before, but I promise you it’ll turn out fine.”

It had been a wild afternoon filled with many unwanted revelations and a nasty swirl of emotions, but the quick conversation had brought Mark to the eye of the storm. He was backed into a corner, with only one way out, and that realization had finally dawned on him. “You’re…you’re right. I have to…as soon as I can.”

Johnny ruffled Mark’s hair, reaching for his controller. “That’s the spirit. You wanna play Overwatch now?”

Mark shot up and grabbed his bag from the table. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m beat. I’ll probably just go to sleep, honestly.”

Johnny nodded as he returned his focus back to the TV. “Night, then. Don’t stare at your ceiling all night.”

Mark scoffed as he called from the hallway. “Wasn’t gonna do that. And goodnight!”

He didn’t stare at his ceiling, but he did stare at his desk and lined paper almost all night. Johnny’s first idea of writing a poem was thrown out there randomly, but Mark didn’t think it was half bad. It was a short read on your end, and easy to get the point across without Mark having to do much talking. So, he wrote away, trying various different styles. From haikus to Shakespearean sonnets, to a ballad, each one frustrating him more and more. He even tried to make his usually sloppy writing neater than usual with cursive.

In his last attempt, he decided to ditch all rules of quatrains, lines, and rhyme schemes and instead write whatever he was feeling in a free verse poem. Finally, he felt the poem was right. Enough to say what he needed yet not including the words he needed to tell you himself. With a sigh, he laid out the poem neatly on his desk, ridding all evidence of his struggle the past hour by clearing off all pens and discarding all crumbled up sheets of paper in a trash can.

Mark found himself staring at it over with pride. Was it cheesy? Yeah. Was Mark a hopeless romantic? Certainly. That is just who Mark is, he knows that. After all these years spent with him, surely you know that too by now.

He was drained by this point, his eye lids that have felt stretched open the past few hours feeling too heavy for him to fight against them. Finally, he flopped on his bed, being able to close his eyes and drift to sleep, with plans to give you the poem laid on his desk the next time he saw you.

. 　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

Mark didn’t process that he would be seeing you much sooner than he expected. Soon being the next morning that you had set to head to class together. How could he when he was so out of it? He hadn’t felt as physically and emotionally tired as he did yesterday in a while, which consequently probably caused him to sleep through his alarm the next morning.

So, he slept like a boulder, missing all of your incoming calls and texts saying that you were headed to him, blissfully unaware of the poem laid out on his desk.

Mark still slept like a baby as you arrived at his apartment, and of course Doyoung had let you in without hesitation. It was completely out of his control as you made your way to his room on a mission to wake him up. Mark stirred awake, slowly and whiny, as you shook his shoulder, your voice quiet yet enough to wake him up gently. “Mark…you overslept. Get up now, so we won’t be late.”

Mark groaned, rubbing his eyes as you stepped away from him, your job complete. In Mark’s freshly awoken state, he didn’t see what the problem was as you browsed around his room while he gained consciousness, eventually pulling his desk chair out to sit at. Sitting down, your curious eyes landed on the only thing that was laid out, his poem. Well, your poem.

He sat up, his hands still attacking his eyes, trying to rub the sleep away, and you were already well into reading it. Your face was a scramble of feelings that only grew in perplexion as you read every last word, and even getting the chance to read it twice before Mark realized. After a particularly effective yawn and stretch, his eyes landed on you with your eyes set on the paper. Only then did Mark shoot up on his feet, his limbs stumbling as he decided if he should play it cool or snatch the paper from your hands, his only thought being, “please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it.”

At Mark’s not very subtle reaction, you put the paper down, looking up at Mark from the chair. “That’s…” Is all you managed to say, not being able to choose between the words intense, beautiful, star striking, devoted, or out of place in Mark’s room. So instead, you stayed speechless for a moment, another feeling the poem invoked as you studied his every move. “Did you write that…? For who? Your writing looks different-”

In a split second, Mark was torn between answering your question with a “yes” and several “you, you, you, you, it’s all about you, only about you," ’s which is what he should have done, or lying his head off.

The image in his mind of you sat in front of him, seeking answers to your questions, looking at Mark like you were searching for something, it seemed to move in slow motion. This was the plan, was it not? He would hand you the poem, and then he would just admit it was about you. You were more than smart enough to piece together what that implied.

As he cut you off, he hoped that was what came out, a mere couple of words that would be all he needed to say in the moment. However, when has anything ever gone his way?

“I didn’t write it!”

Mark said a little too desperately, wishing he could exit this sack of meat and bones and punch it across the face. “Not my writing. Too neat. I uh…I found it…on my desk! In my coding class! Must be some kind of secret admirer, I think.” He exclaimed, watching as your face went from something that he couldn’t tell was hope to neutrality, drinking in his lie as fast as he had come up with it.

“Oh…well, that’s…wow. They must really like you,” you pondered as your eyes grazed over the paper.

Somehow, the poem that he had poured his heart into for you, had turned into the sign of affection that a made up secret admirer had written for Mark. If you weren’t right in front of him, he’d fall to his knees, grabbing his head in his hands as his first confession attempt results in a failure down the drain. “Yeah…I guess so…”

Turns out, confessing right away was going to be much harder than he imagined.

. 　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

chap. 2

chap. 3

#mark lee #mark lee x reader #nct 127 #nct dream #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #mark lee fluff #mark lee smut #spidermark #fanfiction #spidermark x reader

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tpwk-formula1 · 19 days ago

Text

2K Special Masterlist

Here is the sneak peak to what you have to look forward to once I hit 2K followers! Before we get into the goodies I want to take a second to thank each of you so much for bringing this blog to life and reading and interacting with my stories! I started this blog because I decided to throw on a race last May… Who knew watching Lando winning his first race would change the entire direction of my life. I have never been chill about my love for F1 and while it has been under a year of me being a fan I have grown up around motorsports my whole life. Anyways enough with the sappiness I am just so thankful!

I am trying to make my blog more interactive and while I love my pizza menu creating an entire fic from plot to porn to aftercare it can become too much so I am starting new AUs so while I am working on requests I can still make sure to keep you fed! Here are the introductions to the new universe here at Lee-Lee’s!

*Means once the first fic is posted they are open for requests to start building the AU! I also wrote in the TW what their hashtag will be so you can find all the requests for each on there! If I haven’t marked one of your favorites let me know and if there is enough of you guys interested I will add them! I want to keep it to only a few at first so I can keep each AU active

Porn Star! Carlos X Innocent! Reader*

Plot: Y/N is your average university student studying abroad in Spain for a few semesters when she stumbles across a Spanish speaking porn star. While her spanish was far from perfect she could understand his dirty talk clear as day. She can’t help her little panties getting soaked. Once she had exhausted his Twitter to it’s fullest she breaks down and buys herself the top subscription to his Only Fans. She’s quiet and lurks in the distance but as she grows more desperate for the beautiful man she grows more bold. Somehow one thing leads to another and she’s on a call with Carlos begging to cum for him.

Sneak Peak:

“You’re not cumming until I get my hands on you”

TW: First Orgasm, CORRUPTION, loss of virginity… #porn star! carlos

Tattoo Artist! Lewis X Piercer! Reader*

Plot: Lewis has trained Y/N to be the perfect piercer but when his thoughts start turning unprofessional he can’t help himself to a new piercing… 8 to be exact. Y/N had completed several genital piercings in her time as a piercer but never has it been on someone she knew so personally so when her boss grows hard under her touch she can’t help but turn the relationship a bit unprofessional.

Sneak Peak:

“Yes 8 each spaced an inch apart”

TW: Body Modifications, oral, pleasure dom! Lewis… #tattoo artist! lewis

Virgin! Oscar X PR! Manager Reader

Plot: Oscar could admit being a 23 year old virgin was a bit insane but in his defense he was to focussed on racing to be thinking about girls, but when he meets his new PR manager who has quickly become like a second mom despite the close age. After a drunk confession Y/N makes it her new mission to teach Oscar all things women and sex!

Sneak Peak:

“Osc, you don’t have to be so gentle”

TW: Sex lessons (all sex basics), Sub! Oscar

Charles X Pay for Sex! Reader

Plot: After his recent break up with his long term girl friend Charles can’t help himself but start looking on some shady websites. When he finds a “pay for sex” site curiosity got the best of him and when he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on he couldn’t not book himself a night. When he realizes he could purchase her for an extended stay he quickly writes her our an email with an attached deposit. After some communication she is fully prepared for her weekend in Monaco

Sneak Peak:

“Cumming already? God you’re never gonna want to leave”

TW: Free Use

Pierre X Tori X Max*

Plot: When Tori finally admits to her boy friend Pierre that their sex life was rather shit what she least expects is for him to come back a few days later with some grand plan. The plan in question is having a threesome… with another man, and not just any man but his teammate Max Verstappen. Y/N is even more shocked walking into Max’s apartment to find out he had a sex dungeon. A room he designed and built with the sole purpose of exploring all kinds of kinks.

Sneak Peak:

“We have a list of kinks we’re going to try tonight”

TW: Bondage, Sex Toys, Double Penetration, Edging, Multiple Orgasms

Lando X Luisha X Reader*

Plot: Lu and Y/N have been childhood best friends and on occasions more than friends. The two girls had shared their first kiss with each other, and some of their other first while they were in their later teens but when Lu started dating Lando it all kind of stopped. But after a nasty fight between Lando and Lu, Lu seeks the affection from her best friend. From then it became sneaky kisses, flirty comments, and far more sleepovers than the average 25 year old girls. When Lando catching them in the act they fear everything is about to crumble, but to their shock his only rule for their new dynamic was he got to join the fun sometimes.

Sneak Peak:

"I'm not mad, just sad I wasn't invited"

TW: wlw, Cheating, threesome… #Poly! Lando

Oscar X Bookwarm! Reader

Plot: Y/N is your typical book worm. She reads all types of books from classics, to thrillers, and even self help books but when she gets a hyper fixation on spicy romance novels she can’t help the dirty thoughts running through her head. On what she thought was a private call she admits to her best friend that a part of her wished Oscar fucked her the way some book boyfriend fuck, but didn’t know how to bring it up to him since she was already satisfied in bed and didn’t want to hurt her longterm boyfriend feelings.

Sneak Peak:

“Go on, read it to me”

TW: Oral, rough sex

Frat Boy! Lando X Sorority President! Reader*

Plot: Y/N and Lando have been friends since their freshman year at the University of Alabama where they met while pledging for their respective house. Their friendship grew quick and while they had their share of intimate moments throughout the year it takes one beginning of the year party for everything to change.

Sneak Peak:

"Fuck, I've been waiting for this"

TW: Cross faded sex… #Frat! Lando

Retired! Sebastian X Eloise! Driver*

Plot: When Eloise Harris was announced as the newest rookie to the 2025 grid after Checo was essentially fired she was completely stunned when her manager called her to let her know that her childhood hero is asking if she had a mentor. As the season is set to begin Sebastian comes up with the bright idea of having a reward and punishment system. While it started with small gifts or extra workouts it eventually started to morph into something more taboo.

Sneak Peak:

“Been such a good girl all weekend”

TW: Dom/Sub, Edging, Spanking

Gabriel X Older! Reader*

Plot: Y/N Norris is Lando’s twin sister and works for Mclaren in their stategry department. When she meets their development driver who will be joining Kick Sauber at the end of the season, she can’t help but notice the blushing cheeks or the wandering eyes of the young boy. When she comes across his Raya account she got curious and ended matching with him. That’s when sneaky meet ups and quickies start to become a regular occurrence.

Sneak Peak:

“Shit! That wasn’t supposed to happen, I’m so sorry”

TW: Quickies, Secretive, Caught… #Rookie! Gabi

Single Dad! Kimi R X Nanny! Reader*

Plot: When the newly divorced Kimi realizes he needs some extra help during race weekends when his ex wife decides to runaway with some French model leaving him to raise their 3 year old twins on his own. When his teammate suggest getting a nanny the two of them search for the perfect nanny who is qualified enough to take care of 2 young toddlers. When they found Y/N they knew she was perfect. It was almost instant that Kimi knew having a woman like Y/N was going to be far harder than he realized. He assumes his quiet demeanor is covering his track but Y/N finds the cameras in her room almost instantly.

Sneak Peak:

“Kimi, I know you’ve been watching me at night”

TW: Stalking… #Single Dad! Kimi

CEO! Toto X Assistant! Reader*

Plot: When Toto hires Y/N he had no idea the lowkey bootcamp she was going to turn the Mercedes garage into. She took over some of Toto’s smaller jobs like making sure the new stylist was picking appropriate clothing for the boys or making sure their nutritionists where feeding them enough food. But when she starts assisting Toto with more personal things a quite unprofessional relationship starts to develop.

Sneak Peak:

"Get on your knees under my desk"

TW: Sensual… #CEO! Toto

Nico H X Ollie’s Older Sister! Olivia*

Plot: Nico first noticed Olivia around the paddock pretty early into the season but when she showed up in the Haas garage with Oliver Bearman it takes him roughly 5 seconds to realize she was the older sister. Nico couldn’t help his wandering eye or the way Y/N is almost always looking in his direction when his eyes find her. When they both end up plastered in Vegas their next actions completely change the direction of their future.

Sneak Peak:

“I’m fucking screwed, Nico!”

TW: Pregnancy, Drunk Sex.... #Dad! Nico

Team Principal! Daniel X Rookie Horner! Reader*

Plot: When Max Verstappen announced his retirement at the end of the 2025 season due to his beautiful daughter being born Red Bull Racing was faced with the challenge of who will replace the 4X World Champion. After a long debate the settled on Y/N Horner the oldest daughter of Christian Horner. Red Bull knew he could no longer be the Team Principal so who better to replace Christian than Daniel Ricciardo, former Red Bull driver. Y/N and Daniel almost instantly start butting heads. He thinks she’s too cocky and was only handed her seat while she was on a mission to prove her boss wrong and keep her seat. She would do anything to keep her seat.

Sneak Peak:

“Oh come on princess, P6 isn’t good enough to cum”

TW: DUB CON! Coercion… #Team Principal! Daniel

2024 F1 Grid X Paddock Bunny! Reader (requests are always open for the Paddock Bunny Series)

Plot: Y/N Brown has been with the majority of the guys on the grid by now but when they get the bright idea of renting out a sex club she gets to bounce from room to room exploring an intimate moment with each driver and their favorite kinks.

Sneak Peak:

"Get ready for a long night, Bunny"

TW: Gang Bang, Toys, Rough, Breeding

138 notes · View notes

diyasgarden · 6 months ago

Note

diya, i need you to write some EX patrick, it's a need, i don't have a plot in mind but he's just DESPERATE

Errand Ex

rating: suggestive

word count: 3.3K

summary: After breaking up with Patrick, you realize there are other ways he can be of use to you.

contains: suggestive language

author's note: I love when you send me requests <3 Ex Patrick is so yummy. Desperate Ex Patrick is even yummier. I feel like there is already a lot of Ex Patrick out there, so I combined couple ideas I had into this and it turned into short fic. I'll be so honest, I did not proof read this.

----

“Why the fuck were you making out with him?” Patrick exclaims the minute he has pulled you outside of the bar. You’re not drunk, but tipsy enough that the fast motion makes you feel dizzy and you have to take a moment to process the fact that Patrick Zweig is once again standing in front of you. It’s a somewhat disorienting sight. No scratch that. It's a very disorienting sight. It feels like a cruel joke that just as you were trying to move on, this was when Patrick decided to make a reappearance in your life.

For the past two weeks, Patrick lingered in the back of your head. He was your boyfriend and suddenly he was nowhere to be seen. No texts. No calls. Nothing. It was exhausting waiting for some sign he was alive, and then finally you decided you had enough. You sent him a message saying it was over and decided to go out with your friends. Some guy bought you drinks, and well you were single now so you thought might as well talk to him. He wasn’t exactly your type, but you needed the distraction. One thing led to another, and in your tipsy state you both ended up kissing. It was just some fun. Up until Patrick came out of nowhere, pulling you away from the man, and dragged you outside. Now where you both stand. Patrick says your name which pulls you out of your thoughts, and you realize he is waiting for some response.

His expression is half confused and half angry. He’s upset? What right does he have to be upset? The more you look at the expression the more ironic this situation feels. If you weren’t so pissed, you'd probably be laughing in his face.

“Because I can?” You snap back without a second thought.

“No you can’t” He snaps right back and he is starting to look more angry than confused.

This just pisses you off more. You want to say something clever or snappy, but nothing comes to mind. “What the fuck” You exclaim. It comes out simultaneously as a question and a statement.

“You’re my girlfriend!” he exclaims back, the confusion returning back to his face once more. There is a beat of silence. Now you look confused too. You take a moment to just process the whole scenario. Patrick Zweig who randomly disappeared for two weeks acting like you’re still his girlfriend. This is when you actually start laughing. “What the fuck,” Patrick says watching you laugh. His brows furrowed in confusion and anger once more.

“We,” you pause and make a motion in between the two of you (dramatic but it felt fitting). “Are not dating,” you finish. Your voice is stern and definitive, like putting your foot down. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. The confusion on his face just grows, which causes your expression to soften just a little bit. “Did you not see my message?” you ask him, slight confusion in your voice now too. He just blankly blinks at you. “The one where I said we’re done?” you ask again, voice slightly trailing off.

“That…” he starts and his eyes dart to the side as he thinks about it. You can see the exact moment in which he realizes, because he immediately looks back at you. “You were serious?” he then asks quickly.

It feels like the stupidest question in the world. “You went MIA for two weeks!” you exclaim back as if it explains everything he needs to know (which in all fairness, it should).

“I was out of town for a tournament!” Patrick says back, and you just scoff. “I was busy!”

“For fucks sake,” you mutter as you turn around and start walking away from him and the bar. After this interaction, you don’t have the energy to go back into the bar. You walk in the direction of your apartment building, ready to get in bed and forget about any of this happening. Patrick follows behind you.

“Can we talk about this?” he asks.

“No.”

“I really was busy!”

You both go back and forth like this until you get back to your apartment building. It’s a short walk, but you think for those five minutes it must have been amusing to anyone who saw you both bickering as you walked. You infront, him a little behind you. You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t find it somewhat endearing that he followed you home like a kicked puppy.

“I think you’re overreacting,” Patrick says, as you open the door. “You know I can be bad at responding to messages.” He wasn’t wrong. He had a habit of taking time to respond to your messages, but usually he responded. Or at least you’d see him.

You scoff and roll your eyes in response, “Leave me alone.” You realize as soon as you say it, you don’t mean it, but you quickly walk inside and start going up the steps to your floor so he can’t see that realization on your face. You feel relieved when you hear the old steps creak behind you as you walk up.

“Please,” he says as you both get to your apartment door. You huff as you take a second to unlock the door. It never opens easily, so you channel all the frustration you have towards him and use it to push the door open. Once you’ve done so, you turn back to look at him. A part of you wants to let him back in and forget about the past two weeks. Then you remember this is the same man who just disappeared for two weeks. That was enough to snap you back into reality.

“Goodbye,” you say as you walk and slam the door in his face.

----

The next morning you woke up on your bed in the same clothes as last night. You realized you must have fallen asleep as soon as you got back. This prompts the realization that you forgot to tell your friends you left, and you grab your phone to send them messages. As expected you see texts from your friends asking if you were okay. What you didn’t expect was the spam of messages from Patrick.

Patrick: I’m sorry

Patrick: We should talk about this.

Patrick: This isn’t a big deal

Patrick: Let’s talk?

Patrick: ?????

Again you found yourself mildly endeared by the messages. Your finger moved to type, but you didn’t know what to say. You’d say yes and fall back into a relationship with him? You’d say no and would he keep sending more messages until you agreed to talk? Both possibilities would have taken you down a path to a location you were trying to avoid. You decided it was just best to ignore them, telling yourself he’d stop sooner or later.

----

Well he didn’t stop. He took a complete 180 turn when it came to texting. You were constantly receiving messages.

Patrick: Please can we talk about this.

Patrick: It was a mistake.

Patrick: Please I miss you.

The content of his messages differed, based on when he was sending them to you. He sent messages throughout the day, but he would spam at night. Couple hours after midnight is when they would be most explicit. .

Patrick: [Image Attachment]

Patrick: [Video Attachment]

Patrick: I can’t get my hand to feel as tight as your cunt.

(He sent a good amount of dick pics and jerking off videos)

After a couple days you also start getting messages like this.

Patrick: Okay fine. You want to be done? We’re done

Patrick: Going to go find someone else to be with.

Couple hours later those messages would be followed up by messages like this.

Patrick: I thought about you the whole time.

Patrick: No one feels as good as you.

Patrick: I only want you.

It was also pretty easy to tell when he was drunk.

Patrick: Plrssw. Cqn I cine ocet?

Sometimes they could be sappy.

Patrick: I want to hold you.

Patrick: I miss holding you.

Sometimes they could be random.

Patrick: I saw those cookies you like at the grocery store earlier today.

And sometimes they managed to be horny, sappy, and random all at the same time.

Patrick: I smelt your perfume in public today and I got hard.

Patrick: It didn’t smell as nice as it smells on you.

Patrick: I miss how you smell.

Everynight he spammed. It was a combination of all of these messages, and you never really knew what to expect besides the fact that you’d be getting spammed in the first place.

Waking up to all of them was a treat. Going through the spam was your version of reading the news. You’d wake up, get ready, grab something to eat, and sit down on your couch while you scrolled through all of them. You wondered how long this would go on, while also hoping it’d never stop.

----

As you sit down on the couch with tea and a bagel, getting ready to do your morning scroll through everything Patrick sent the night before, when you hear a little zap sound. It takes a moment to realize what happened, but when the room suddenly feels a little more dull, you realize one of the light bulbs fizzed out.

You look up at the ceiling and notice that in the four lights in the living room ceiling, only one is still working. “Fuck, did another one go out too?” Cailee, your roommate asks as she walks in, seeing you look up at the ceiling. You nod still looking at it. “One in the hallway went out too,” she adds with a sigh as she looks up at it. “This place is a dump,” she mutters, as she sits down on the couch beside you.

She wasn’t wrong. While the both of you did the most to keep it nice, the apartment building itself was old, and it was clear in all the little repairs neither of you got around to. Whenever you brought it up with the landlord, he simply shrugged you off. Saying he’d get around to it (he never did).

Changing the light bulbs was a small task compared to the other things that needed to be fixed. It was just an annoying one. You’d need to get the mini ladder and it reminded you of all the other things that needed fixing. “Guess one of us should handle that before the last light goes,” Cailee says looking up at the lights. As you looked up at it, a little light bulb went off in your head.

----

You: Can you come over? I need help changing some light bulbs.

Patrick: Seriously?

You: Yes

Patrick: On my way.

----

“So he’s really just came over for that,” Cailee asks as she takes a sip from her coffee. Both of you are standing in the kitchen watching Patrick screw the light bulb in. He’s tall enough that he is standing on a little stool and is able to replace the lights.

You nod in response as you watch him do so. She looks at you with an expression that shows she clearly doesn’t believe in you. “I’m dead serious. He kept texting me, so I asked him to come over for this,” you say with a little head shake.

“And he’s just here to change the lightbulb?” she asks again in a voice that shows she doesn’t believe you.

“Cailee. Just that,” you tell her with a little huff, as you look back at Patrick. He’s nearly done with the light bulb.

Your roommate just sighs with a shrug. “Well if you say so,” she says as she takes another sip of her coffee. You know she doesn’t believe you fully so you just roll your eyes. Patrick steps off the stool now and she must realize he’s done too. “See you later,” she whispers to you as she walks away from the kitchen back to her bedroom in the apartment. You watch her go and when you turn back to look in the direction of the living room, you see Patrick walking towards you.

“Fixed the bulb,” he says, his voice slow as if he is trying to lead into something. You know he is going to apologize or ask about getting back together or something like that. Before he has the chance to say anything you decide to speak.

“Come there are some more you need to replace,” you say quickly as you drag him into the hallway to change more light bulbs.

----

Once the light bulbs were finished, you started to realize how many other things in your apartment needed fixing. Well you already knew that, but now it was glaringly obvious how much they needed to be fixed.

“I just think we can call him over to help with some other things around here,” you say with a shrug looking over from your place on the couch to where Cailee is sitting. She looks at you with a raised eyebrow and then laughs. “What?” you instantly question.

“You just want him around,” she says with a smile.

You roll your eyes in response. “No, of course not.”

“Hmm yeah sure,” she says sarcastically.

You roll your eyes again, “I just think there are a lot of things in the apartment that need to be fixed.” You move your hands around a little bit for dramatic effect. “You agree.” Caillee slowly nods her head as well. “So he could come help us,” you add with a little shrug.

She just sighs with a little laugh, “Yeah okay he can.” It’s clear she doesn’t believe this is not about seeing Patrick again, but her voice is genuine as well. It’s the acknowledgement that he could actually help out, that makes you give her a small smile.

----

You: There are some other things I need help with

Patrick: Okay

Patrick: Are you asking me to help?

You: Yes

----

You knew it was somewhat cruel to keep him coming back for more things. You reasoned that it wasn’t necessarily exploiting his kindness either. You knew Patrick was only saying yes because he wanted to get back with you. So in a way his behavior was self serving too. If anything you were just making the most of the situation.

Over the next couple weeks, Patrick was at your apartment every other day to help with something. He helped patch up that weird dent in the wall that was there when you moved in. He helped fix the front door, which now opens without a struggle. Sometimes he’d come even if you just needed help moving furniture around.

He was still sending you messages, except now he wasn’t spamming as much and the messages were scattered throughout the day. Your text history looked like this:

Patrick: Do you want to get dinner together?

Patrick: ???

[seen by you]

You: Need some help fixing the ball and chain in the toilet.

Patrick: On my way

You were pretty sure that some of the things you asked him to do were things he had no idea how to do either. When you called him to help clean your drain, you caught him looking at a youtube video on how to do it. Somehow more than the help itself, the fact that he was actively learning how to do it for you made it more endearing to you. There was also something very attractive about watching Patrick do these things. The way his muscles flexed. The way his shirt would raise just enough when he raised his arms. The little grunts if something was hard. (Although you’d never admit this to him).

The bad part was that he tried striking a conversation with you after everything he did. While he tried doing this over text as well, it was easier to ignore him there rather than in person. Anytime he finished whatever errand you needed help with, you would suddenly “remember” that you had some work you needed to finish up or that you were late to meet with a friend. Somehow this always worked.

----

Eventually, you ran out of things for him to do around the apartment. He resolved nearly every thing you and Cailee put off and what your landlord ignored. Not that you stopped asking for his help, you just started asking for different things. He was now regularly helping you pick up your groceries and mail.

You: Can you help me take some things to the laundromat tomorrow?

Patrick: Yeah

Patrick: Are we’re back together?

[seen by you]

Patrick wasn’t the only one under the impression all of this meant your relationship was basically repaired. “You do realize he’s basically being your boyfriend now,” Cailee said when you told her about how you and Patrick were both going to the laundromat.

“No, he is just helping.”

“Yeah okay sure,” she said with a little laugh. Most of your other friends assumed you were back together too. It was frustrating. You just needed the help. He was willing to help. It was nothing else.

----

You realized how much of a mistake the laundromat was the minute you put everything in the machine.

“Can we finally talk about it?” Patrick asks.

You sit down on the bench in front of the washing machine and shrug. “There is nothing to talk about,” you say, unable to make eye contact with him.

Patrick scoffs and looks at you. “I made a mistake. I want to be with you.” He pauses and then asks, “Isn’t this enough?” He makes a little motion to the washing machine as he asks, although you know he is referring to everything he has done for you in the past couple weeks. In retrospect, you had him doing things for you for a longer period of time than he actually ghosted you by this point.

“I just needed help,” you say, turning to look at him. “I’m sorry if you’re

“No you wanted to see me,” he snaps back, leaning in a little closer to you as he says it. Now you scoff, but before you can say anything, he goes, “Don’t fucking deny it. You asked me to help you at a laundromat?”

“I couldn’t carry it all by myself,” you say back quickly to depend on yourself. You realize how stupid it sounds the minute it leaves your lips. He scoffs again, but before he can say anything, you snap back, “Well no one forced you to come.”

He just looks at you for a moment with a slight smirk and mutters, “Fuck this.” He then stands up and storms out of the laundromat. You just watch him go.

You end up handling the rest of the laundry by yourself. You spend the entire time at the laundromat, and then walk home thinking about Patrick and the conversation you had before he left. Even when you walk back into the apartment and look around, all you can see are the things Patrick helped you out with around the place.

----

The next day you wake up to no text messages from Patrick, but instead a package delivery. “I think it’s that bookshelf we ordered,” Cailee says as she drags the Ikea box into the living room.

As Cailee begins to open the package to confirm what it is, you can feel your hand pull out your phone without thinking. It was a reflex at this point.

You: Want to help me build something?

It feels a bit silly the moment you realize what you were doing. Even sillier the moment when you click send. The feeling goes away completely the minute you hear the ding of a text notification.

Patrick: On my way.

Well, some things never change.

author's note: Thoughts? This was just a silly idea I had. Hope you enjoyed!

#challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #challengers fic #errand ex au #diya's writing

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pit-and-the-pen · 9 months ago

Text

I'll Crawl Home to Her- Chapter 2

Sorry this update took a little longer, I had some personal stuff going on and my work schedule was pretty packed this week.

Also, this is a fix-it fic. It'll be following the events of the whole series so buckle in y'all. Also also, I shit on Tamlin a lot in these next chapters but it has a purpose I promise!

Chapter warnings: Warnings: Mention of abuse/ trauma, one comment about weight in terms of said said abuse , minor blood

WC: 9.6K

Read the previous parts here

[prologue] [chapter 1]

Next Part [here]

“Rhys is the most handsome High Lord.” I read line after line of similar words. I rolled my eyes at my brother's antics.

“He’s sure laying it on thick.” I say as I sat down next to Feyre. She looks up from her writing and gives me a guarded laugh.

“At least I’m entertaining.” She huffs out.

“I can help you too, if you want. Give you a break from him.” She raises her eyebrow at me, studying me with a look that made me want to sink in on myself.

“Why?” She asks sharply

I willed my temper down. “Because despite what Tamlin might tell you, we’re not evil,” I spit out at her, she doesn’t flinch even slightly at the venom in my voice. “And you’re going to be here once a month for the foreseeable future. I’d like us to at least tolerate each other. Plus, it would piss off my brother.” Her eyes shone with mischief.

“You should have started with that.” And that was that. I pushed Rhys’ papers to the side and picked out a few books that had been my favorite. The plots are interesting enough to make up for the basic words used. Feyre caught on fairly easily. She could recognize almost all of the basic words but struggled to read them out loud. Not fully understanding how the sounds mashed together. We sat and read, and then when that got to be too much for her we just started talking. It was nothing deep, not really gossip either. Just casual words thrown back and forth until she asks out of the blue. “What’s the deal with Tamlin and Rhys?” I froze into stillness only fae possessed. Sensing my discomfort she backtracked. “You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.” Her voice held a little edge of fear. I forced my shoulders to relax.

“No, you have every right to ask. It’s…complicated. You’re walking into centuries old distrust and unfortunately, are caught in the middle.” It wasn’t fair to her to be caught in all of this old shit. That was our baggage and I could see it was affecting her but she pressed on.

“But why do they hate each other so much?”

“I’m not the best person to ask.” She narrowed her eyes at my non-answer. I sighed. “We’ve both done some terrible things to each other's courts, the wounds run deep and that’s all I’ll tell you.”

“Why?” She would not let up.

“Because you love Tamlin. And I don’t want you to think I’m trying to ruin whatever picture you have of him.” That really seemed to pique her curiosity.

“You had a different experience with him?” It felt like she had punched me in the stomach. No. That’s the problem, I had the exact same experience with him and I ended up just as broken as I can see you’re becoming.

“That’s not a story for today.” I tried to keep the shake out of my voice and maybe it was that, or the fear I know I couldn’t keep off of my face that made her drop the subject with a small, “okay”.

It was lunch time before we decided to take a break. “Do you want to eat here or go out with the others?”

“Rhys will just pull me out if I don’t.”

“My brother can fuck off. What do you want to do?” I saw a ghost of a smile twitch across her face. So we ate in the library. I left only long enough to stack up two plates full of food. Rhys took in the amount of food I was grabbing,

“Hungry today?” I only stuck my tongue out at him and walked back out of the room.

Rhys joined us a little after lunch. If he was surprised to still see me in here, he didn’t let it show. I didn’t leave until Feyre told me she was okay with me doing so.

It was probably overkill to be so protective of her, Rhys was the last person who would ever try to hurt her or anything like that but she was still uneasy around him. She hid it well with the sheer disdain she showed him but I could tell from the rigidness of her shoulders and that slight edge in her voice. But there was also something else there that I couldn’t put my finger on.

Feyre had stayed in the library long after their meeting. I found her hunched over another book, finger slowly tracing over the words. She hardly looked up as I placed another plate of food in front of her and went to walk out of the room. She didn’t call after me and I was okay with that. Scared she might start another round of questions.

I didn’t see much of her after that. So I traveled back and forth between Velaris. Spending half my time at the manor and the other half actually doing my job as researcher. I really didn’t have to work but it gave me something to fill up my days. Before Amarantha I spent most of my time helping Cassian manage the Illyrians, from the background of course. Being the High Lords sister did not save me from their views on females. So I only showed up when necessary, Azriel and Cassian always following behind me. They learned fast enough to keep their tongues in check if they wanted to keep them in their mouths.

Currently I was looking at old maps of Prythian. Combining through records for landscapes and t river patterns. Where the boundaries have shifted over time. And then came the daunting task of trying to pick out recountings of the old war. Figuring out who does best with what court. Prepping for the outcome we were all dreading, another war with Hybern.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to get from these books.” Cassian said, absently flipping through the large leather bound book I had just placed to the side.

“Anything. Weakness, strengths, strategies, gods, anything.” I said leaning back. I knew I had to take a break, when I closed my eyes I could still see the words swirling in the blackness behind my eyelids. I took a deep breath and went to look at the giant map I had covered my desk with. Pins and markers to recount every movement during the last war.

“Do you really think that it’s going to help?” I know he wasn’t trying to be rude. His voice was soft when he asked and my shoulders sunk in slightly.

“I don’t know. But if it does…” He nodded in understanding. Azriel knocked lightly on the door, making both Cas and I jump. He had learned to knock now after he had to dodge out of the way of the book I had launched at him last week. I still haven't reaccustomed myself to how quiet his footsteps could be. A skill I had once prided myself on, I had even been able to pick up on those silent footsteps and find him before he wanted to be seen.

“Just wanted to remind you two to eat.” He looked at the books strewn across the table, taking note of the one Cassian was still flipping through, playing with truly. “I know how you can get when you’re focused. Time for food.” He smiled at the shy look I gave him from being called out. Many times he had to drag me out of my office when I really got into something. His smile made me think he was remembering those times too.

“If we go, will you two stop making eyes at each other?” Cassian spoke up, making me break away from Azriel’s stare.

“We were not.” I responded, trying to tame the blush in my cheeks. Get it together. I told myself as I forced myself to turn to Cas. His eye roll was the only answer I got. Azriel had already started walking down the hall and I slapped Cassian on the arm.

“You’re so annoying sometimes Cas.”

“And you love me for it.” He gave me a loud, wet peck on the cheek and gave a full head-thrown-back laugh when I made a big show of wiping it off.

I didn't return to the other house that night. Opting to stay with my friends. One of whom, Cassian, had gone into the wine cellar and returned with his arms almost full of the expensive bottles. I just laughed as he shot me a wink. I blew him a kiss back as I settled down on the couch besides Mor.

We didn’t bother getting glasses, passing the bottles around while we talked about absolutely nothing, acting like we had during our teenage years. It was later in the night before Rhys appeared in the living room. He took one look at all of us and rolled his eyes before he swiped the bottle out of my hand and brought it to his lips.

Mor and I were fully supporting each other's weight on the couch, I couldn’t tell who was leaning against who more but our giggles started to get louder and more frequent. She whispered to me so quietly I had to strain to hear her. “Stop staring at him.” And we fell into another fit of giggles.

She was right though, everytime Azriel talked I could feel how my eyes stayed locked on him. Reminding myself to breathe when he pulled the bottle to his lips. I pushed off of Mor and went to stand up, wobbling slightly as my feet touched the ground. Azriel made a move like he was going to catch me if I took a face first dive on the carpet but when I steadied myself, he moved back. It happened so fast I wonder if I imagined it.

“I think it’s bedtime.” I said, mouth feeling mushy as the words came out. Mor laughed again and I turned to face her and gave her a rude gesture. I offered that same hand to pull her up to her feet and she pouted before taking it. Everyone seemed to get the hint that it was late so all of us in our various drunken states started the climb up the stairs to our rooms. Good nights thrown through the hallways, Cassian all but screaming it to make sure Mor and I heard him. The sound made us flinch before laughing again as I closed the door to my room.

---------------------

Before I knew it Feyre’s week was officially up. She had demanded to be brought back home and I fought down the biting comments I wanted to make as Rhys agreed. I stepped besides the pair and she looked over to me for a brief second before pretending that neither of us existed.

“You don’t have to come with me. Rhys spoke into my mind and replied with a shake of my head. I could do this for Feyre. Despite every part of my body screaming at me for bringing her back to the Spring court, if she could be brave then so could I. He sighed at my stubbornness but knew that there was no changing my mind.

We weren’t going far. Simply dropping her at the border of spring and summer and making sure she got into the manor. I could manage that. Yet as we were getting ready to winnow in, I felt my hands go clammy. I remember me saying I’ll never go back there willingly.

The smell was the first thing that hit me. The overwhelming floral scent. I could smell the roses from the outside of the manor this far away, their sheer number coating the air with a smell that threatened to suffocate me on the spot.

“Goodbye, Feyre.” She had already started walking before he finished speaking, not sparing so much as a glance back to us. So we stood and watched her retreating figure until those wooden doors closed behind her. That was that.

We didn’t return to Hewn city, instead winnowing outside the townhome.

Rhys didn’t stay to greet our friends. Instead, he all but ran up the stairs to either go to his study or his room. Everyone gave me a tentative look before I shrugged and sprawled out on the couch besides Azriel.

He didn’t try to pull away from me. Instead, he lifted his hands from their spot on his lap. His way of telling me I could place my legs up so I didn’t have to sit awkwardly to avoid his wings. I did and I ignored how happy that little gesture made me. Over the last few weeks he seemed to be able to handle being around me again.

Cassian started rapid firing questions at me. What is she like? She threw what at Rhys? Anything for scraps of what their brother's mate was actually like. Sure they had gotten the story of her trials but this was different, getting to know who she actually was. Cassian seemed pleased to know she was still just as head strong. “Maybe someone will finally humble him a little.” He chuckled

Rhys spoke up as he entered the room. “Who’s humbling who?” He picked at an invisible piece of lint on his shoulder. The only sign of how upset sending Feyre back had made him.

Cassian didn’t answer but instead asked “Did she really throw a shoe at you?” He laughed when Rhys shot me a dirty look. Answering the question for him. “I want to meet her.” Cassian said and I swore he was almost pouting.

Rhys sighed, “And have you scare her off.” Cassian looked hurt so Rhys added, “Let her get more adjusted to me before we add all of this into the mix. Besides, she cannot see Velaris. Not when…” not when she came back to Tamlin. Not when she could still spill every little secret of ours to one of our biggest enemies.

Cas looked like he wanted to argue but only said “Princess gets to see her.”

“Because I have a winning personality.” I smiled at him and he launched one of the small pillows from his chair at me. I managed to deflect it but as it bounced off my arm it hit Azriel square in the face. I bit down my laughter at his faux outraged face. He threw it back and before I knew it, they were yelling at each other, well Cas was yelling and Azriel was trying his hardest not to laugh.Sensing a fight was emanate, I pushed off of Azriel and spoke loudly over the two Illyrian males.

“Outside if you’re going to fight.” Even Armen, who had stalked into the room around as Rhys laughed at that.

Cassian turned to me, his temper still flaring. “We’re not dogs.”

“Last time you both fought in the house, I was cleaning up glass for a week.” I raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say otherwise.

Azriel spared Cassian from having to respond. “C’mon.” He said, pulling Cassian to what I could only assume was the training ring.

“I forgot how much you look like Rhys when you get bossy.” Cassian said as he was pulled from the room. And my responding gesture made the rest of the room go up in laughs. Rhys followed them out. Probably needing to get rid of his own tension and Armen had snuck back into the research room.

I didn’t have it in me to just stare at maps all day long, regardless of knowing how much I needed to. So I just stayed in the living room, a random book from the shelf pulled onto my lap.

Rhys came back first, hair only slightly disheveled, wings out proudly. “Once I get out of the bath, it’s time for your training.” I huffed and he could sense I was about to argue with him. “Cassian and Azriel told me you can’t use your powers.” Traitors. “So we’re going to figure out what the hel is wrong.”

Less than an hour later I was sitting in Rhys’ study. A small candle flickering in front of me, taunting me to snuff it out. I pulled and pulled for any of the small dark tendrils to do so but found nothing. Sweat was beginning to form on my brow with how hard I was concentrating.

Rhys huffed in frustration at my lack of progress. “It was easier teaching Feyre to read.”

“Then by all means, go back to that. I’d love to see her throw another shoe at you.” I bit back at him and he just rolled his eyes.

“Try again.” He went right back to business, ignoring my statement. I really did try. I Have been trying. That rich darkness that normally lingered under my skin seemed like it was hidden behind a wall. Just out of my grasp, so close I could almost taste it, almost touch it. I yelped as I reached out towards it. Pain flickering through my body as if it had burned me. Rhys’ hand on my shoulder snapped me out of whatever had happened. Sweat broke across my skin and I flinched as I felt my magic fight against the wall inside my head.

“What’s happening?” I spoke to my brother. He just stared at me before I felt a phantom knock at my mental shields. I forced them open and almost screamed at the pain that flooded through me. I knew the moment he found it. Felt that sickening thread of magic that never released when the spell broke for the other high lords. Rhys’ presence in my head retreated and we could only look at each other. No words to be found between us.

“Fuck.” The first word he uttered and I somehow found it in myself to laugh.

“That bad?”

“Good news is there’s not a physical block. No magic stopping you.” So why did he still look like death froze over? “Bad news, you’re the block.”

“Go on?”

“I don’t fully know but it looks like your magic is being tied up by your own magic.”

“So, you’re saying. I’m the problem?”

“I’ve been saying that your whole life but yes, especially in this case.” He teased, trying to lighten the new tension in the air. I bite

“Well then that simply means you’re going to be stuck with me a lot more. That or I go to Helion.” He rolled his eyes at the mention of the other high lord, one who has been trying for the last few centuries to get me into his bed.

“Maybe.” shit. It must be serious if he’s actually willing to let Helion help. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.” He says solemnly and points back to the candle. I stare at him for a moment before sighing and trying to cover the light again.

We sit as I try again and again and again. Nothing besides a small puff of black smoke to let us know that I’m even trying. Right as I’m about to say something I see Rhys flinch and his eyes flare with anger. Only not at me, his eyes look far away as that anger homes in on whatever must have made his shoulders tense.

I see his eyes come back into focus and I don’t even have to ask before he’s spilling. “He hurt her.” I don’t need him to say who. “I can tell it’s nothing serious but I got nothing but pure fear from her.” Rhys had already explained that the bargain amplified the usual effects of the mating bond. That he could sometimes get whiffs of any strong emotion from Feyre. Fear, anger, mostly fear but as her nightmares have started to fade I haven't heard much about it. My stomach curls and I try to will my hands to not shake as my mind drifts to the endless possibilities of what could have happened.

“It’ll be okay. She’s strong.” The words felt wrong in my mouth and Rhys said the very thing I had been thinking.

“You were strong.”

“Well you can’t very well march in there and get her.” I saw the look on his face. “You can’t, we can’t. And she still doesn’t want us. Unless it feels like that first time…” He shook his head. So not as bad. Still bad, still awful enough for her to send fear down the bond but not bad enough that Rhys could only hear her screaming for someone to get her out of there. So we both let it go, ignored the thoughts that told every part of us to go help this girl from whatever Tamlin was inflicting. But even I knew that Tamlin’s anger comes from his love. That anger so wrapped in fear that something will happen that he almost wills those incidents into existence.

We spend hours trying to break whatever block is in my head until I’m grumpy and all but biting his head off at every little comment he makes. He bites right back at me and I know there's no point in this anymore, both of us too on edge to do anything productive. Throwing his hands up in surrender he doesn’t stop me as I storm out of his study. I run head first into Azriel on my way to my room, his hands resting on my arms so I don’t topple over.

“Training went that well.” He says with a small chuckle. The noise sends a low growl from my throat and he takes his hands off of me. “We’ll figure this out.” He says and I continue my path to my room, not staying long enough to see the concern in his eyes.

I was still grumpy by the time that dinner rolled around but I managed to pull myself out of bed. My head is pounding from the strain and whatever Rhys did inside my mind. I throw on the first thing I find, still in my thin nightgown I pulled on after my bath, and head down to dinner. I don’t say much and not even Cassian tries to cheer me up, all he does is remind me that I’m joining them for training in the morning. I don’t respond with anything other than stabbing the chicken on my plate with extra force.

---------------------

I struck the center of the dummy and looked over for Cassian for any semblance of approval. He gave me a bored look and I stomped over to the stupid thing and pulled all three of the daggers out of it. Cas wanted me to get back up to snuff with long range before he put a sword in my hand again. I had never needed the sword that I kept strapped to my back on the missions I would accompany Azriel on, always having my powers to stop anyone from getting that close in the first place. Between Azriel shadows and my blanket of darkness, very rarely did we ever need anything more than truth teller.

I grunted in frustration as the sharp metal flew through my fingers time after time, all of them hitting the center of the target.

“Fuck this Cas, I did the warm ups, I did the exercises. Let me fight.” I needed to do something more than this. If I couldn’t use my powers, if they never came back, I needed to be useful. In no world would I just sit around and let my friends risk death while I sat around playing with my maps. Cassian must have heard the desperation in my voice because he agreed.

We circled each other and I got a rare glimpse of Cassian with no restraint. This was the war general that scared people just by being on the battlefield. I tried not to let the frision of fear show as he surveyed every inch of me, seemingly reading my body language like I was screaming my next moves at him. I didn’t stand a chance. His fist made contact with my nose before I could turn out of the way and I fell to the ground. My hand went up and when I pulled it back, my fingers were sticky with my blood. Cassian was instantly in front of me, mumbling out apologies. I held up my hand to stop him from talking.

“Cassian.” A stern voice called out as I ran my hand along my nose again, feeling for any breaks. “What did you do to her?” Azriel’s voice was full of concern as he knelt besides Cassian.

“Alright bat brains. I’m not dying,” I started to stand up and they both reached out their hands to help me up, I swatted them away and brushed off the dust on my pants. “It’s not the first time I’ve been too slow before, and it’s not going to be the last.” They both stared at me and I rolled my eyes. “C’mon. I still have to beat you Cas.” He shook his head laughing and Azriel shot him a glare.

Cassian, never one to back down from a challenge, and never one to miss an opportunity to piss off Azriel, agreed to go back into the ring with me. He coached me through it this time, slowing down his punches to explain how to predict them and block them. All things that I knew but just needed more practice. By the end of the hour I was covered in sweat but I was able to block him without his guidance. Azriel didn’t leave either, hanging back to watch, adding his own little tips and tricks to help me get some advantage over Cassian but I still couldn’t get him to budge an inch.

“Do you want to get in with her then?” Cassian shouted to Azriel as he continued to assist me from the side lines. I made a motion for Cassian to stop as I tried to catch my breath. Placing my hands on my knees and sucking in screaming breaths.

“I think I’m done.” I panted out.

“If you wanted me to make you breathless princess, all you had to do was ask.” He winked and tossed a canteen full of water over to me. I drank half of it in one long gulp and forced myself to stand up straight. My muscles were already crying out in protest. Tomorrow was going to suck for sure.

The three of us walked back up to the house, laughing and joking and I felt proud of the progress I was making. Even if the dried blood still on my hands might have suggested otherwise.

---------------------

A month went by so fast, I had to tick off the days to make sure I was right.I woke up to Rhys preparing to collect Feyre from the spring court again. Rhys didn’t ask me to go with him this time, after that last flood of emotions he knew he would have a hard time containing himself let alone both of us.

I was already waiting at the house for when they got back, ready to play mediator if need be. They had barely materialized before my brother was fussing over Feyre. The two bickered back and forth but from the way she looked over herself, I knew even she could hear the worry in his voice. She had lost more weight since the last time she had been here. The shadows under her eyes creeped back onto her pale skin. “Eat breakfast with me.” He said and I shifted from my place in the living room. Mor was somewhere in the house after her visit to the Court of Nightmares yesterday. Probably still decompressing with the bottle of wine she took with her to bed.

I gave Feyre a small smile and she didn’t return it, but she didn’t glare at me either. It’s a step at least. The female in front of me gave a heavy sigh after weighing Rhys offer. The growl I heard come from her stomach seemed to make the decision for her. I didn’t follow them, if she had wanted me to I would have been able to tell. So I stayed close enough that I could swoop in and save her from my brother's overprotectiveness if need be. The glimpses of their conversation I caught weren’t the best but I stilled completely as I caught,

“I was tortured, beaten and fucked until only I could tell myself who I was, what I was protecting. Please- help me keep that from happening again. To Prythian.” My heart ached at the words. He had had it so much worse than I did, regardless of what people might believe. I could see it on his face during some of his bad days, the scars of what Amarantha did to him. I didn’t listen to her response as I walked to my room.

I found Feyre the next day as I had the last time, hunched over the table with more lines from Rhys to read. She was copying them in better handwriting than she had before. When I approached she didn’t so much as look up at me. I called her name gently and still nothing. So I took that as my sign to let her be. Rhys had gotten called to the war camps later that day.

“Just look after her please. I know she’s fine but let me know if either of you need anything.” He blabbered as I all but pushed him out the door.

“We’ll be fine, you overprotective mother hen.” His face fell slightly and I couldn’t stand that look on his face. “I’ll let you know if she needs anything, okay? Now go be a High Lord.” I saw a hint of a smile as he winnowed out of the house.

I tried to stay out of her way. Whatever bit of goodwill she had allowed me last time seemingly disappeared. So I kept bringing her books when she ran out of the ones Rhys had given her, brought her food and left her to her own devices. Today, she didn’t give me a glare as I sat down in the armchair on her left. I opened my own book without giving her a second glance. The small hmph she made was the only indication she had even noticed my presence. She didn’t want to talk and quite frankly, neither did I, perfectly content with getting lost in our own books.

It was around midday and the sun was just starting to peek through the heavy curtains of the library when I felt Rhys appear in the room. In his hands were trays of food which he presented to Feyre. A small thank you left her lips and I wanted to smack that smug look on Rhys face as he teased her. But then I saw his face get serious and I suddenly felt very much like I was intruding on a private moment. “Tell me how I can help you.” His voice was scratchy and I knew he was trying to hold back tears, to keep the conversation casual enough that she wouldn’t shut him out again. I truly did try to tune them out but these were the same things I had been wanting to say to her all week but couldn’t find the strength.

“If you fall apart then the bitch wins. All of that is for nothing and she wins.” Rhys said plainly and Feyre flinched before going back to her book. I could tell that she was talking to him in her mind. My eyes grew wide when I saw that slight layer of frost cover the book cover. Rhys barely had time to dodge said book as it was thrown right at his head. It bounced harmlessly to the floor and I stifled a laugh. The laugh died in my throat when I saw the flicker of flames in her palms and I tried to reach my mind out to Rhys, he all but threw me out.

Feyre and Rhys left later that day. I didn’t offer to come with, didn’t want to come with. Just like last time when Rhys returned to Velaris, he stalked to his office and hid out for the rest of the evening. I only got close enough to the door to leave a plate of food outside before retreating back to my side of the house. His emotions pouring through the door were enough to give me a headache, the way it felt like I was walking into a brick wall. I didn’t try to talk to him for the rest of the day. Instead choosing to pull my attention back to the map in my study.

I had been neglecting it to focus on Feyre and Rhys but I knew it’s just because I wasn’t getting anywhere. No matter how many books I read, I couldn’t think of anything that would help us win this war. Not without all seven courts working together and I knew Hel would freeze over before that ever happened.

So I read until my eyes became blurry and heavy. My head had gotten so heavy like the words were getting stuck and wouldn’t leave. When I felt my eyes starting to close and knocking on the door jostled me awake. I saw the shadows before I saw him, too tired to notice that they had time to take in my current state and report back to Az.

“You should take a break.” He said as he went to pull up a chair at the table I was sitting at.

“I can’t take a break when I haven’t found anything yet.” I whined at him. “I’m supposed to be good at this, I am good at this. Or at least I was.” I slumped in my chair and I saw that familiar look of concern flash through his warm amber eyes. He sat there, I could almost see the gears in his brain turning, his shadows starting to swirl around the floor like soothing waves. I stared at them and felt my mind calm slightly. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, wings flapping behind him.

We just sat there in silence for a few moments and then he stood up suddenly. My eyes tracked the movement, following his arm as he extended a hand to me. It was like my brain short circuited at the gesture. He had to clear his throat before I snapped out of it and I timidly placed my hand in his. He led me out of my office and I felt his shadows on my heels. “Where are we going?” I laughed at how ridiculous this must look, one of the fiercest Illyrian warriors towing someone behind him like an excited kid.

“Just be quiet. You’ll know when we get there.” His own voice full of an almost giddy excitement. So I let him pull me along. All the way outside until it clicked. There was a little patch of grass beside the Sidra that I loved to sit by when the weather was just starting to turn warm. Our little group used to spend free days out on that field, just soaking in the warmth. He gave me a proud smirk when we finally reached that stretch of grass. “Now, you’re going to sit and just enjoy being out here.”

“Is that an order?” I teased and he didn’t miss a beat.

“If that means you’ll actually do it, then yes.” I sat and looked out over the river. The lights and sounds of the city walk could just trickle in, becoming a lovely hum in the back of my mind. I patted the spot next to me and Azriel sat beside me. I curled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on top of them. Just looking at the city I loved so much. We didn’t talk, Azriel was always good for that. He knew when I needed the quiet. The sound of the small waves helped clear my head and after a while I felt my shoulders sink down, the tension lightening. It was still there of course but became more manageable as I could smell the water and Azriel’s pine and fresh air scent. It wrapped its way around me and held me like my favorite blanket.

“Thank you.” I said, breaking the comfortable silence. We didn’t look at each other, still staring out at the city just ahead.

“Of course. Anything for you,” He cleared his throat, “For one of my friends.” I bit down the string at that little word. I fought the urge to put some distance between us at the feeling that flooded me. The cruel reminder of just exactly how he saw me. So I just pulled my legs in tighter and ignored all the thoughts of him that began to take over.

We didn’t head back to the house until sundown. The pair of us walked under the flickering faelights that lined the streets. It still blows my mind how much the city changed while I was gone. I told him that much. And he shrugged off the tiny complement.

“Rhys and I will never be able to thank you enough for how much you all did while we were…gone.” My voice felt tight as I finished, “You kept our home safe when we couldn’t.” He turned to look at me and went to say something but stopped himself. His face looked slightly pained, in that concerned way he always managed. He shook his head slightly.

“You did more than we ever could. You and Rhys gave us a chance to have something to protect in the first place.” In his words, I was pulled back to that night when it had all gone to shit. How Cassian and Azriel were out dealing with the camps and how I couldn’t convince Rhys not to go so I insisted that I come along. I had to beg him to let me come with him and he still wasn’t happy about it. We walked right into a trap and before most of his power had been ripped away from him he wiped the memory of Velaris from everyone who was under the mountain and let our friends know what was happening, how they couldn’t come after us without leaving Velaris unguarded.

Azriel’s small nudge to my shoulder pulled me back to the present and his eyes asked the question before he needed to.

“I’m okay.” But I felt how my arms had wrapped around myself but he didn’t say anything about it, letting me have my space. We reached the house again and I could hear Cassian and Mor’s voices floating down the hallway. The sound alone plastered a smile on my face. Azriel followed behind me as I rounded the corner and Cassian all but cheered when he saw me. “There you are princess, we went to pull you out of your study but it seems someone beat us to it.” He gave me a small wink and I laughed at the joke behind it. I shook my head as I sat down next to Mor who was already pouring me a glass of wine.

Rhys spoke to me across the table, “I peaked in and saw the map, tomorrow if you’re up for it I want all of us to go over it.” I nodded and he smiled at me. And we all ate and joked and I left the love I felt for the people in the room washed over me like the waves in the Sidra.

---------------------

“So if it comes down to war. Who do we have?” Rhys turned to Cassian and myself. We were all sitting around the map I had been working on, face grim as I explained the various markings.

“The Illyrians don’t have a choice. The court of nightmares should. We kept up pretty well with Dawn and Day. Winter…” His voice trailed off. I still remember Kallias’ face as the news broke of the attack on Winter. The thousands of babes dead by Amarantha’s hand. The pure loathing his face held as he looked at Rhys.

“I can talk to them.” I had always liked Kallias. And from the little bit I’ve heard since our return home, he finally married Viviane after being friends since childhood. Viviane was sweet and her, Mor and I had been known to get ourselves in trouble when together. If she would listen, Winter would come around.

“Autumn and Spring are lost causes.” Cassian sighed beside me, slumping down in his chair.

“Tamlin is delusional enough to think it would keep him safe.” And keep Feyre safe. But I didn’t say that outloud. “Beron is…well Beron. Unless we think we can pursue one of the brothers to take him out of the equation, I think it’s better to not plan for them.”

“Summer?” Rhys asked pointedly ignoring Cas’ words on the other seasonal courts.

“Tarquin is new and young. He’ll side with the majority. But I think I could talk to him and at least see where his loyalties lie.” I had only talked to the new high lord a few times during our time under the mountain. He seemed nice enough, one of the few people who was even willing to talk to me at all. No fear of the role I had been forced into and hoped he would side with us. Hoped his newness wouldn’t scare him into the easy choice.”

“I don’t like the idea of having two courts fighting against us.” Azriel finally spoke up. I had almost forgotten he was in the room but his shadow currently sitting at my feet should have been reminder enough. “Hybern has the armies he needs and if he has the cauldron….”

“So what do you suggest?” My brother asked, head in his hands.

“We talk to them. Let them know that we won’t win this if we’re not unified. Remind them that we fought a war once to avoid this very thing and some courts were on the wrong side of history then and would be now.” I spoke plainly, it was the only answer. If it had been anyone else the idea would have been shot down. But Rhys just let out a heavy breath and nodded.

“We’ll wait until we’re sure. Some courts will refuse to believe there will be a war until it’s staring them in the face.” The tone in Rhys’ voice letting us know this meeting was over. We all stayed in the room, the same exhausted look sat on our faces. “Good work.” Rhys said to me as he studied the map again. “You got all of this from books?” I had been too young to remember most of the war, let alone fight in it. But at least someone had thought it smart to recount all of it in very exact detail, I just managed to translate to current day Prythian. Rhys was silently nodding to himself as he really studied the map. The others slowly filter out of the room, leaving Rhys and I alone studying the map.

“And these?” He pointed to the orange marks I had drawn all over.

“Trade agreement routes, the thicker the line, the more movement there is through that path. They would be the most vulnerable areas since people know them so well. They’re also normally the quickest way between courts.” I pointed out more of the lines and pins. I had so much marked off, down to what ways the rivers flowed and where their currents changed. Rhys just drank in all the information I threw at him, only nodding along to the explanations. I was about to start on another part of the map before I saw his face freeze.

Rhys had completely stilled besides me. That all-too-familiar far-away look on his. When I raised my eyebrow at him, “What is it? Is it…” He didn’t wait for me to finish, instead he let me into his mind and I almost flinched at whatever feeling Feyre was sending him. The crushing agony and pure terror. It was a feeling I knew all too well. These weren't the few stray glimpses Feyre had sent him while they were separated. This was the very thing all of us were holding our breath for, hoping it never happened.

“Rhys we can’t just ignore it this time.” I spoke, already leaving the table. His hand wrapped around my wrist, making me pause.

“If you storm in there, Tamlin has every right to declare a war.”

“And we’ll have every right to kill his sorry ass. Something that we could have done decades ago.” I spit back at my brother.

“Please.” His voice shook with fear. Scared for Feyre and maybe for me. I put my hands up in surrender. I couldn’t argue against the tone in his voice.

“So how do you want to do this then?” I asked him and we started planning.

In less than 10 minutes Mor had winnowed right on the border of spring and summer. Rhys had insisted that she come along to help. Her status would help blanket us from any repercussions. Plus her powers would come in handy if any of the guards found us. So her and I snuck into that manor I had sworn I would never see again. Do it for Feyre. Be brave for her. I said to myself as my own terror rose to a fever pitch.

I could see the darkness already pouring out of the house. My anger quickly turned into fear. What did he do to her? The voice in my head screamed. Rhys had already broken the wards and whatever was locking her inside the house. Mor knocked out the guards before they could spot us. When we finally entered the house my blood ran cold. Sitting in a ball of inky darkness was Feyre. Her screams pierced something deep inside of me. I looked around and locked eyes with Alis. Her eyes wide as she took in my face.

“He locked her in the house. I tried to…Please just keep her safe.” Was all the older fae had said to me.

My heart warmed at the concern in her voice. The same concern she had once shown me. I nodded and walked towards Feyre. Whatever darkness she was wielding seemed to only be for her and as I shook her shoulder, gently saying her name they retreated slightly. I looked over to Mor who only gave me a small nod. Taking her cue, I picked up the shaking female and was startled by how light she felt. Mor spoke up from beside me. “Your guards are going to have a hell of a headache when they wake up.”

Alis nodded in understanding and I added. “Don’t tell him where we took her. Please.” And for a second I felt just as broken as the female in my arms. I knew she would tell him, and would have to tell him but a small part of me wished she wouldn’t. But that was unfair to expect of her. It reminded me too much of the same hope I had when I left. Face sunken in and heart broken as I begged her to not tell Tamlin I was leaving. No one was there to help me and I’ll be damned if Feyre ever felt that pain. I didn’t say another word as Mor winnowed us right in front of the border. It felt like I could finally breathe again as the scent shifted to ripe fruit and salt water that marked us as safe. Marked us in summer. Feyre shifted in my arms and mumbled something softly.

Mor soothed a hand through her hair. “You’re free.”

Rhys quickly scoped Feyre from my arms without so much as a word. He looked at Mor and I

“We did everything by the book.” Rhys nodded before I felt the air whoosh around my ears and I knew we had made it home. Rhys deftly climbed the stairs to take Feyre to her room and I just stood staring at my brother back. I blocked out the memories that began to rise to the surface. The scar on my arm prickled and when my other hand raised to scratch at the angry white lines that trailed down my forearm, Mors hand wrapped against mine. Grounding me in the present.

“She’s free.” She repeated to me.

“Thank the mother.” I responded as I started to climb the stairs suddenly bone tired.

Feyre didn’t emerge from her room that night or the next morning. More than once I found myself standing outside her door, hand held up to knock but some part of my brain told me not to. Rhys hasn't left her side the whole time she was asleep. Whatever magic she had used in the house had exhausted her and I felt my heart pang for her. How alone she must have felt, how scared she must have been to be locked in that house. I remember my simple panic the first time I went to the basement of the townhouse. How it transported me back to under the mountain, I couldn’t imagine how it felt to be locked away again.

When I finally did see her, she seemed to have gotten a little color back. Enough so that she was able to argue with Rhys again. I didn’t linger this time to hear the fight, letting them duke it out in private. But as Rhys turned the corner, I knew something that happened. Something important.

”We’re going home.”

If someone had told me two months ago that Feyre would be standing in the living room of our home in Velaris I would have probably keeled over laughing. But here we were, Feyre’s eyes flickering from spot to spot in the house. I couldn’t get a read on her face but before I could even process that, I heard a pounding on the door. Cassian’s voice filtering through the wood, already complaining. Rhys shot me a look that said deal with them please. He tried to hide it but I could tell he was waiting for Feyre’s reaction to her surroundings. A hint of anything to gauge how she was feeling. He needed her to like this place like he needed to breathe. So I excused myself from the room and slipped out the front door.

”Are you serious Cas?”

”I want to meet her. She’s right there, my brothers m-” I cut him off, blocking both him and Azriel from trying to peek into the house. They could easily push right past me but stayed a healthy distance.

”Do not finish that sentence. Do you want all of Velaris to know?” I whispered screamed at him and he rolled his eyes.

”I promise you drama queen, no one’s up this early. I don’t want to be up this early.”

After a few minutes of us bickering back and forth, Rhys opened the door and said to us, “Are you all just going to stand there?”

Cassian all but trampled me trying to get in the house. I laughed when I saw his crestfallen face as he noticed Feyre was no longer in the room. “She was here right?” He spoke to the room.

”Maybe she’s scared of your good looks Cas, can’t have her falling in love with the wrong Illyrian bastard now can we?” I shot Rhys a wink and he growled lightly.

”She’ll meet you when she’s ready.” Was all he said before he rangled all of us into the dining room.

Feyre slept for the rest of the morning. She came down the stairs dressed in Night Court clothes and I felt my breath catch in my throat. The way they seemed to compliment her well enough and I had to bite my tongue to prevent me from pointing that out. Rhys met her at the door and shot me a vulgar gesture at my sugary sweet, “Be safe kids.” That I called out from my spot on the couch. I sat on the couch until the sun started to set. I had just got to the good part and debated even going to the dinner at all but I was dying to see how Feyre would handle our crazy family. If she had any chance at surviving here, she needed to like them or they would drive her crazy. Although from Cassian’s earlier words that might be the case either way. So I groaned and pulled myself off the couch, pulling on the first thing that I saw and winnowed with Mor to the front steps of the house.

Azriel and Cassian were waiting to fly us up. Cassian wrapped his arm around Mor’s waist and Azriel did the same to me. I hardly felt my feet leave the ground before he was already placing me down in front of the door. I had not had the heart to come here since I’ve been home. Too many memories for me to want to come alone and Mor grabbed my hand as she pulled me through the threshold. We had just settled in before I heard the faint trails of Rhys and Feyre voices outside the door. I couldn’t stop the two males from bounding to the door, they flung it open to reveal a very annoyed looking Rhys. I held my breath as she stood in the doorway, eyes searching for something and she landed on me. She squared her shoulders but Cassian was already speaking.

”I promise we won't bite.”

Last I heard, Cassian, no one has taken you up on that offer.” And I laughed as Feyre’s face blanched. I didn’t miss the way the female's eyes raked over the Illyrians as they stepped into the light. I tried not the bristle as her eyes lingered on Azriel just a fraction longer than I would have liked. Rhys introduced the two and it was Feyres response to one of his questions that made me feel a frision of pride.

”How the hell did you manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?” She would fit right in and Cassian’s booming laugh told me that very same thing. Armen had appeared almost out of thin air as we all made our way to the table.

Feyre was slowly filled in about how the three brothers had met. Her eyes flickered to me during the story.

”Where do you fit into all of this, besides being his sister.” She quickly added. Everyone seemed to be waiting for me to answer.

”I mean there's not much else to it besides that. He got stuck with them so I did too. I nearly knocked Cassian's teeth in the first time I met him and I’ve been stuck with them ever since.” I stuck my tongue out at Cassian who rolled his eyes.

”You mean you broke your fist trying to, princess. I had to nurse you back to health and you were helpless but to fall for my charm.” Now it was my turn to roll my eyes and I fought the urge to throw my bread across the table at him. If it wasn't for Feyre I would have. The rest of the stories and tales flowed out and, much to Feyre’s credit, she didn’t falter in the slightest. She interjected at the perfect moments, making jokes that had everyone roaring with laughter. Then the tables were turned onto her and Cassian was asking her about her life. After she had finished she turned to Rhys.

’I accept your offer- to work with you.” And I wanted to scream and cheer. I felt no such joy from Rhys as he started.

”Good because we start tomorrow. Hybern is starting this war and he’s going to bring back Jurian to help him.” I felt a shiver run down my back. Rhys had neglected to tell me that part. In an instant the lighthearted conversation was thrown to the side and Cassian launched into full general mode.

I tried my best to keep up with this new bit of information, how it would throw a wrench into any attempts of a plan. I missed the conversation that followed, mind already trying to figure out the adjustments I would need to make to the map in my office. Armen managed to snap me out of my thinking.

”The Bone Carver might indeed be willing to talk to her.” She pointed a finger at Feyre and I went to argue against the ancient female. Rhy had beaten me to it.

”Your choice, always your choice, Feyre.” and I tried to keep the fear off my face as she answered.

”How bad could it be.” Cassians’ answer had her face pale as a ghost and it was clear dinner was over at that moment. The others reduced to arguing over the semantics and who would be doing what in preparation for their journey to the prison. My eyes suddenly felt very heavy at the sounds of their voices. Azriel’s gentle hand on my shoulder was the sign that the arguing had stopped at all. I didn’t need to be asked a second time and as he flew me back down to the ground below Velaris, I wondered if all of us would make it through the war a second time.

Next Chapter: Here

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