#[ pri's navigation ]

[writingmeraki]

# PRI'S SEVENTEEN MASTERLIST

#INDEX :

⟨✾⟩ : angst .

⟨✦⟩ : romance.

⟨⚘⟩ : fluff.

⟨◇⟩ : crack/humour.

⟨✰⟩ : reader's favourite.

⟨♡⟩ : personal/author's favourite.

✧. ┊SEVENTEEN.

imagines

unsaid,unkept, ugly emotions [ ✾ ]

⮕ hiphop unit | vocal unit | performance unit.

IN WHICH, the uglier side of feeling too much getting more messier than it already is for both parties involved. (or in which for different reasons, it just seems you aren't meant to be.)

texts

3AM SHENANIGANS. [◇]

⮕ hip hop unit | vocal unit | performance unit.

"can you buy me pads?" — OT13 [ ◇ ]

✧. ┊CHOI SEUNGCHEOL.

nothing yet !

✧. ┊YOON JEONGHAN.

nothing yet !

✧. ┊HONG JISOO.

smau

the guide to crushes and how to bag them ft. jock!joshua. [ ✦◇]

✧. ┊WEN JUNHUI.

nothing yet !

✧. ┊KWON SOONYOUNG.

smau

the guide to crushes and how to bag them ft. neighbour!soonyoung. [ ✦◇]

✧. ┊JEON WONWOO.

drabbles

the etiquettes of a true bodyguard [ ✾⚘ ]

✧. ┊LEE JIHOON.

nothing yet !

✧. ┊LEE SEOKMIN.

nothing yet !

✧. ┊KIM MINGYU.

drabbles

the proposition of us [ ⚘ ♡ ]

⮕ secret!agent mingyu drabble series !

[ all the drabbles below are part of the same universe and can be read in any order :) ]

men on a mission [ ⚘ ♡ ]

here and now [ ✾ ⚘ ♡ ]

be there when I wake up [ ⚘ ♡ ]

hurt hearts [ ✾ ⚘ ♡ ]

kiss the shit out of you [ ⚘ ♡ ]

texts

secret!agent mingyu husband texts !

secret!agent mingyu husband texts pt 2 !

✧. ┊XU MINGHAO.

nothing yet !

✧. ┊BOO SEUNGKWAN.

nothing yet !

✧. ┊HANSOL VERNON CHWE.

nothing yet !

✧. ┊LEE CHAN.

nothing yet !

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023-24

[vividstarrynight]

! ♡ welcome to my library ♡ !

writing blog.

here you'll find all sorts of fic recommendations that I have read/ will be reading. I made this blog solely to support ff authors because y'all really are the backbone of the net! but also to keep track of what I have read and want to read ! hope you find what you want to read here and do indulge in these :) - pri ♡ !!

• ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ navigate here !

#[ kpop grps ] : bts , enhypen , txt , ateez , seventeen , twice + many more !

#[ member ] : specific member of a group i.e taehyung, mingyu, san etc !

#[ other ] : dramas , movies , kdramas + anything I obsess over !

#[ pri's rec 💌 ] : will include my favourites.

#[ genre ]: fluff, angst, comedy, horror + anything I feel comfortable reading !

#[ type ] : smau , oneshots , series , full length fics , drabbles , headcannons + more !

#[ author ] :this tag will include the author's username <3

# [ my moots 🫂 ] : works of my moots !

#[ NSFW ! ] : minors pls do not interact with these.

A FEW GUIDELINES :

you can send in your works if you wish :)

please do note if you are submitting something to read to mention any triggering topics/warnings !

any sort of hate/negativeness will be blocked, this is a safe place so please don't.

if it is a NSFW content, do mention it !

do follow the guidelines of the author's that they may have, please be respectful of them !

that is mostly it ! I will write anything/add anything if necessary but that is all for now !

vividstarrynight Ⓒ 2023

[sttoru]

older bf satoru catches you masturbating <3

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. smut, pwp. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). māsturbation. turns into cunnilingus. squirting. reader gets called ‘baby, angel, little girl’

you miss satoru so much. he had left you behind in his apartment after getting a call from a colleague, who needed help defeating a curse nearby. it’s been a few hours since then and you’re bored.

bored and horny.

you’re still riled up from the heated make out session you had with satoru before he departed. the one that got interrupted by that damned phone call. you need him back with you—for his slender fingers to touch you and his mouth to kiss you all over.

all you have of him is his shirt. you’re wearing it whilst laying back in his bed, the fabric seemingly oversized on your body. his scent is making you lightheaded. dizzy, to the point your hand moves down on its own.

“mhhg,” you cover your mouth with your free hand, not wanting to risk anything, even if you’re the only one in this apartment. you waste no time dipping your fingers underneath your panties, circling your clit with your thumb while your index and middle finger rub your moist folds.

all you can do is imagine that it’s satoru pleasuring you. he always does it so well—never once leaving you unsatisfied. you cannot recall the amount of times he’s made you squirt from just rubbing your cunt. you’re so touch deprived and he knows how to take advantage of that.

remembering that one moment where your boyfriend had you seated on his lap on the couch makes you increase the pace of your fingers. how he was so focused on listening to the news whilst gently rubbing your tingly cunt over the material of your panties, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

you recall how your panties were quite literally soaking after three whole orgasms. not once did his fingers directly touch your pussy, and yet he managed to elicit such strong reactions from you.

a frustrated whine in the shape of his name leaves your mouth. you want satoru back, so so badly. you want him to whisper sweet nothings inside of your ears as he makes love to you. that smooth and soothing voice of his makes you weak.

“fuck, angel,” satoru’s voice interrupts your little session. your eyes widen and you immediately pull your fingers out of your aching hole. you stammer and stutter, stumbling over your words as you look at the white-haired man standing at the doorframe of his room.

how do you even explain yourself?

your gaze flickers downwards which grants you the delicious sight of his bulge. his hand is right on top of it, indicating that he’s been touching himself before he decided to make his presence known.

satoru is panting, the sweat already starting to form on his forehead. he walks up to the bed and pries your hands away from your cunt. his cock stirs in his boxer briefs at the sight of you in his shirt. you’re so adorable to the older man. so needy. . .

without a word and like a starved man, satoru spreads your legs and yanks your panties down. your cunt is warm and soppy, the slick trail staining your underwear telling him enough. he doesn’t hesitate before diving his head between your plush thighs.

you feel a rush of warmth go through your body the instant his tongue comes into contact with your pussy. satoru’s nose repeatedly bumps against your clit as he tries to press his entire mouth onto your folds. his tongue lolls out, the tip navigating up and down your slit before pushing through, finding that little hole he can’t wait to devour.

“thank you for preparing my meal f’me while i was away,” satoru hums against your cunt before pulling back to allow his fingers to explore you. he glances up at you with a proud smirk before placing his mouth back where it belongs. he can’t let all the prep you did go to waste after all, “she’s fuckin’ delicious, baby.”

your hands pull at his hair in response, gaining a needy whine from your lover. he nearly chokes on both his spit and your juices. his hands hold onto the back of your knees and he uses that firm grip to push your legs further apart.

you’re nearly seeing stars. you didn’t even have time to register satoru’s sudden appearance. hell, you couldn’t even greet him or welcome him back home. that man wasted zero time in getting between your legs, eating you out like there’s no tomorrow.

you stumble over your own words. no matter how hard you try, not a sentence is able to form. all that leaves your mouth are moans of pure pleasure. your thighs shake and your hips buck against your lover’s mouth. you’re more than desperate for a release.

“c’mon, say my name again,” satoru sighs as he circles his tongue around your wet hole. he prods at it, tongue fucking you to acquire as much of your fluids as possible. your sweet wetness is making him throb in his pants, “mhmmm— my naughty little girl couldn’t wait.”

the older man feels great satisfaction at the thought of you being unable to withstand your pleasures. the sinful sight of you trying to fuck yourself with your little fingers on his bed, with his shirt on, is engraved in his mind forever. the second you moan out his name again, he goes all out.

satoru’s tongue doesn’t stop. even when you squeal and beg him to slow down because you feel like you’re going to cum early. that’s exactly what he wants; having you squirt all over his mouth and face. he needs to be covered with your slick.

you tug at his hair again - thinking that’d make satoru pull away - though the effect is the exact opposite. “nhh, do ‘t again,” he whines and moans against your folds, lapping up all that your pussy gives. the loud slurping noises reverberate throughout the room.

satoru’s eyes are closed, his furrowed brows adding to the concentrated yet content look on his blushing face. his lips, which are usually glossy, glisten even more with the liquid your cunt secretes. his eyes open every now and then to take a peek at you—to see if you’re still enjoying what he does.

“bet your small fingers weren’t enough, hm? y’ need mine?” satoru coos once he finally pulls his head back to breathe. he licks his lips as he stares at you with glazed and half-lidded eyes, totally pussydrunk. you don’t even have to respond to his questions. the answers are obvious by the way you’re trembling and desperately babbling incoherent pleas.

your boyfriend nods in understanding. he pouts at you while his fingers rub up and down your spread pussy lips. the pad of his thumb manoeuvres from your gaping hole to the little bundle of nerves at the top. satoru sticks two fingers in your cunt without warning. your high pitched whimper makes him coo at you, “yeah, i know, baby. let it out.”

the white-haired sorcerer pumps his long fingers in and out of you, a rhythm so addicting that it’s impossible not to give in. your back arches off the mattress. you’re trying your best not to stain satoru’s shirt with your juices, though you have a feeling he’d secretly like that anyway.

“am so close, ‘toruuu—fnngh,” you gasp and instantly feel satoru’s tongue replace his fingers. he wants to taste and feel your tight cunt spasm all around his tongue and mouth while you reach that point of no return. he’s going to try his best not to cum untouched in his pants this time.

satoru holds your hips with his big hands, keeping you down so he could properly eat you out and make you release all that tension. your pussy tingles and throbs, and you truly feel like you’re going to ascend.

it feels way too good. inhumanly good.

“cum on my tongu—“ satoru can’t even finish his sentence. a loud moan slips from between your lips, followed by a grunt from your boyfriend. his eyes roll back as your cunt releases more of its lewd fluids—spraying the liquid all over his mouth and chin.

you’re too busy trying to catch your breath to notice the mess you’ve created on satoru’s face and his sheets; a complete and total mess. the older man doesn’t mind neither. in fact, he enjoys it.

“shitttt, that was fuckin’ hot,” satoru flashes you a wide grin. he’s still somewhat drunk on you, which is visible by the way he’s licking up your mess from both his chin and your body. he cleans your cunt with his tongue—even if it’s overstimulating you.

he’s a greedy man when it comes to you. he wants more, more and more. whatever you’re offering, he will get.

satoru’s hands rub your sides to comfort you. he places soft kisses over your clit and pussy, as if he’s thanking you for the meal he just had the pleasure of devouring. he looks up at you with a cheeky smirk before laying his head against your inner thigh, his tongue peeking out between his glossy lips;

“think you can give me one more?”

[babydollmarauders]

1 + 2 = “NOT AGAIN!”

part of the el!hughes au

summary: in which jack and y/n (lovie) are pretty happy, but are even happier by the end of the day.

my fingers tremble as the back of my knuckles graze over the soft and supple skin on the cheek of my three month old, whom rests in his bassinet.

“what are you three doing today?” my husband lounges on the bed, his own hand sprawled on my sweatpants clad thigh; while i sit on the edge of the bed beside him.

“i think your mom is planning on taking El out to the water,” i reply, voice soft as i stare at our son, “and Leo and i are gonna go shopping.”

“shopping?” Jack inquires. the linen sheet falls down his toned stomach as he sits up to look at Elio in his bassinet, whose eyes crinkle when he sees his father.

“yeah, i need new clothes. don’t i? yes, i do. yes, i do.” my tone is squeaky and high pitched as i direct my sentences toward my baby.

the bedroom door squeaks as tiny toddler feet slap against the floor, running into the room and clambering up onto the bed.

“daddy! uncle winny ‘time to go!’” El stitches together through labored breaths, her chubby cheeks red from the exertion of running.

“uncle quinny says it’s time to go?” Jack deciphers her words, pulling the two year old into his lap as she tries to peer into the bassinet.

“mhm!” she hums, much too distracted by the baby that has scrunched his body up and opened his mouth into a yawn.

setting our daughter aside, Jack rises from the bed, hissing when i poke at a bruise on his hip as he stretches out his limbs.

he received that particular bruise as he was tending to Eleanor last night; running into her dresser as he navigated the darkness of her room after she woke up from a bad dream.

“lovie,” he grunts, batting my hand away and stepping back, “how would you like it if i poked your bruises?”

jaw dropping in disbelief, i scoff, “you do! all the time!”

a mischievous smirk spreads across his lips, accompanied by a chuckle, “i know.”

i scoot up the bed, El clambering into my lap and resting her head on my shoulder as i watch Jack bound around the room. from the closet, to the dresser, to the en-suite, and back to the dresser, until he’s dressed and ready to head off to the rink for training.

walking back to the bed, he dips down to peck a kiss to the top of El’s head before pressing his lips to mine in a goodbye kiss. when he pulls away, he turns and leans down even farther in order to kiss Elio’s chubby cheek.

“call me if you need anything,” he speaks, gathering his gear bag off the top of the dresser, “i love you, girls.”

“and you too, Leo!” he hastily adds as he leaves the room, just in time for his brother to call from the bottom of the lake house steps.

“Jack! let’s go!”

“i’m coming!”

**

a smile twists at my lips as i watch my toddler cuddle up to her grandmother, her eyes trained on the princess movie that plays on the living room tv.

“hey momma,” i start, catching Ellen’s attention as i pass by the couch, “i’m heading to put Elio down for nap.”

“okay, honey.” my husband’s mother nods, “i’ve got Eleanor, why don’t you go ahead and take a nap too?”

“yeah, maybe.” i shrug, “thank you.”

with the three month old in my arms, i climb the stairs, turning into Jack and i’s room at the top of the steps.

in a post-feed haze, Elio’s eyes are struggling to stay open and alert, rather crossing and fluttering shut before he pries them back open. the sight makes me smile softly, gently transferring him to the bassinet by the bed. almost immediately, his eyes fall shut and tiny little snores fill the air as he finally drifts to sleep.

i sit on the edge of the bed, admiring the infant in his little blue onesie as his fingers twitch in his sleep. and in a motherhood haze, i quickly lose track of how long i’ve sat, just watching him sleep.

“you get the snoring from your father.” i whisper, a loving gaze in my eyes as i scan his face.

“he does not! you snore like a freight train!” i hear from the doorway, my head snapping up to look behind me and finding Jack stalking into the room; closing the door behind him.

“okay, we both snore.” i concede, watching as my husband sets his gear bag back in place upon the dresser and strips down to get in the shower, “but i do not sound like a train!”

“no, you’re right.” he remarks, “you sound more like a helicopter.”

“i do not! i snore like the delicate angel that i am.”

“angel? yes. but snorer? also, yes.” Jack chuckles.

“we get it, i snore.” i huff, “how was training?”

“it was fine. i just need a shower and a nap now.”

i suppose he should enjoy naps while he can. it’s easy enough for him to have one right now.

“did you go shopping?” he asks, disappearing into the en-suite before i hear the shower water turn on.

“yeah! lemme show you what i got!” i leap from the bed, swiping the shopping bags off the floor by the bedroom door.

“shower fashion show.” my husband states, “i’m sweaty and i’m not about to listen to you complain about how bad i smell.”

“good idea.”

he hops in the shower as i bring the bags into the bathroom, dumping the contents upon the counter. and for the next fifteen minutes, i’m in a flurry of quick changes and listening to his comments of ‘oooh’ and ‘i like that’ and ‘you look so good in that, lovie’.

“use my conditioner.” i tell him as i step into a new article of clothing, “your hair is getting dry from the lake water and the sun.”

“copy that.” he calls out, and i turn around just in time to see him squirt a dollop of my expensive conditioner into his palm.

“okay, last outfit!” i announce, and he turns his head to look at me as i twirl.

“that’s pretty.” he comments amidst rinsing the product from his hair.

“hey, babe?” i study myself in the mirror as i speak, turning to the side. my heart races, and i’m fairly certain i can feel it knocking around against my ribcage as Jack hums in acknowledgement as he turns off the water, “does this skirt make me look pregnant?”

i watch his reflection in the mirror as he steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as he studies my figure.

his brows furrow, face pinching in confusion as he analyzes my stomach; a small tummy left over from Elio’s birth nearly four months ago, “no?”

“‘cause i am.”

his entire body goes rigid in the mirror, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“say that again?” he chokes out, and i finally turn to face him as an anxiety ridden smile plays at my lips, tears gathering in my eyes.

“i’m pregnant.” i repeat, “again.”

Jack steps forward, wet hands plastering to my hips as his eyes dart between my stomach and my face.

“you’re sure?” he questions, receiving a nod in reply, “but we’ve only- the once- and i-”

“the once is all it took,” i shrug, resisting the urge to gnaw at my lip in worry, “i went to the doctor today before i went shopping, just to confirm what the test said a few days ago…. i’m 10 weeks.”

“three kids,” he breathes out, “oh lovie, how are we gonna do this?”

“with a lot of help from your parents and luke?” i tell him, but it comes out as more of a question than a statement. “how are you feeling?”

he blinks a few times before finally looking me in the eyes, pulling me flush to his dripping chest, “happy? scared? excited.”

“yeah?” my smile widens into a grin as his forehead drops against mine.

“yeah,” he reiterates, “we’re having another baby.”

Jack grins, his hands snaking down my hips until he reaches the crease between my ass and my upper thighs. lifting me up, my legs wrap around his waist as his lips crash against mine.

he steps forward until my ass rests on the counter, his lips trailing away to leave open mouthed kisses down my neck.

my breathing picks up, my heart pounding as my fingers sneak into the hem of the towel around his waist.

it’s at that moment that a faint cry echoes into the bathroom, alerting us that Elio has awoken.

“better get used to that, stud,” i laugh as Jack pulls away, a whine escaping his lips as he throws his head back in complaint, “because we’re gonna be getting interrupted a whole lot for the next eighteen years.”

**

“hey, Quinny,” i call out from the living room couch as he stands from his seat, glancing over as he hears my voice, “are you going upstairs?”

“i wasn’t planning on it, but i can?”

“can you grab Elio’s pacifier? there should be one in his bassinet, but if not then there’s some in my nightstand.”

“yeah, be right back.” Quinn jogs up the stairs, waving his hand up in acknowledgment when i call out a thank you.

the entire household is lounging in the living room, a child friendly movie playing on the tv. Trevor, Cole, and Luke build an intricate castle out of blocks with El, whilst Jim and Ellen sit on the other side of the couch, with Jack sitting beside me, and Alex sitting in an arm chair. Adam, Luca, Mark, Ethan, and Dylan all sit in chairs that they pulled in from the dining area, laughing at the sight of their friend taking building blocks with his niece very seriously.

“Trevor, stop. if you put that block there, it’s gonna fall!” Luke huffs, knocking the red block out of Trevor’s hand and onto the floor.

“you’re gonna teach baby Hughes bad things! stop hitting!” Trevor argues, making Cole roll his eyes as he continues building another wall of the already ginormous castle with El.

“your uncles are silly,” Cole tells El, tone serious and no baby voice in sight, “we don’t argue, do we? you and i, we make a good team.”

“she’s two, of course you get along with her!” Trevor grunts, “but if you were paired with mr. hot hands over here, you’d argue too!”

“i’m only hitting you because you won’t listen!”

the entire living room full of people is practically teeming with laughter at the scene on the floor.

“WHAT THE HELL!”

everyone freezes, the room falling silent as we all turn to watch Quinn bound down the steps.

his face is paler than usual, his eyes wild as he glares at my husband. my eyes dart around, scanning his stiff form. my body tenses as i see what’s clutched in his hand; the ultrasound photos from my doctors appointment just this afternoon.

i forgot i stuck them in my nightstand drawer. fuck.

holding them up, he glares at his brother, “NOT AGAIN!”

“hey! it takes two!” Jack pawns our small son off to Ellen, leaping from the couch and holding his hands out in front of him in attempt to placate his older brother.

“you really cant keep your hands to yourself, can you?” Quinn gruffs, “that’s practically my little sister! the poor girl can’t catch a break!”

“she’s my wife! and that night was her idea!” my cheeks flush as he announces our escapades to the room of our friends and family, “how were we supposed to know that would happen?!”

“well you’ve already had two! i think you should know by now how it works!” Quinn hisses.

“okay, can we just calm down?!” i snap, standing from my seat and facing Quinn.

“you two should be using protection,” Alex mutters from his seat. shaking his head, he looks over at Trevor and Cole, “i swear she gets pregnant every time he breathes on her.”

“shut up,” Jack growls, glaring at his best friends as they all snicker.

“you’re pregnant?!” Ellen shrieks, making Elio twitch in her arms. she looks down at the bundle in her arms, her voice softening “oh sorry, sweetheart.”

“we weren’t planning on telling anyone yet.” Jack sneers, eyes glaring daggers at Quinn.

“but yes,” i smile, looking around the room as i begin rubbing my husband’s shoulder in attempt to calm him, “we’re having another baby.”

“the last one for awhile, i hope?” Trevor questions, an eyebrow raised, but he cowers when i glare at him, “what?! the rest of us can’t keep up!”

“the last one ever.” Jack announces. “we’re not planning on having anymore. we decided a long time ago that we’re a ‘three and done’ kind of family.”

“yeah, alright.” Luke scoffs, “we’ll see how that goes.”

“can’t we all just be happy?!”

everyone’s eyes dart to me as i stomp my foot, tears welling in my eyes as i begin to feel overwhelmed with all the chaos and panic that’s filled the room.

“Jack and i are happy. we’re having another baby. that’s that! there’s no more discussion to be had!” i cross my arms over my chest.

suddenly feeling very immature for my outburst, i plant myself back onto the couch, taking my baby back from Ellen and focusing on his sweet little face to calm myself.

the room is still silent, everyone still staring at me as Jack lowers himself back down onto the couch beside me.

“hey,” he coos, “it’s okay. i’m sure they’re all very happy for us. right, guys?”

a chorus of ‘yeah!’s and ‘congratulations!’ fills the air, and my body relaxes into Jack’s embrace.

“i’m sorry, i overreacted,” Quinn sighs, crouching down beside the couch in order to look into my eyes. his hand splays across my knee, “you guys make some pretty cute kids, i can’t wait to meet the next little one.”

“yeah?” i murmur, looking at my brother-in-law.

“yeah. i just got a bit scared because you just had Elio and i’m worried for your health.” he explains, “but i promise that i am happy for you guys.”

“please don’t worry, Q,” i tell him, “my doctor says it’s completely okay and that i’m healthy. there’s nothing to worry about.”

“okay. as long as your doctor says you’re good.” he amends, and i nod.

“well i’m not good!” Jack huffs, “i’d like an apology!”

Quinn rolls his eyes, “i’m sorry, Jack.”

“not forgiven.”

“are you sure you want another baby with him? he’s acting like a child.” Luke remarks.

looking over at Jack, i smile as he grins innocently at me, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the top of Elio’s head.

“yeah, i’m sure.”

[uhohdad]

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KONIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]

You & Konig have been chosen to participate in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.

18+, NSFW, 183k WORD COUNT, AO3, Virgin!Konig, Outcast!Konig, 18yo!Konig, GentleGiant!Konig, Mentor!JohnPrice, Fem!Reader, Blood & Injury, Graphic Violence, Death, PTSD, Alcohol Use, Slow Burn, Sexual Content, First Time, Smut, Fluff, Angst

CHAPTER ONE | PREV | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

➤ THE VICTOR II

There’s a tense pause as you wait for an explanation. He has nothing, frozen in place with eyes as full as moons.

Your eyes flit down to the knife resting on one of the jacket’s sleeves and the tense pause continues.

You must have had the same thought at the same time, because you both make a lunge for it. You’ve gotten your hand to the handle first, but it doesn’t matter, because Konig’s right behind and more than strong enough to yank it in his direction. He uses the dead weight of his upper half and leans back to support himself solely on the end of the handle. Your body follows in suit, every muscle in your body tensing to keep your clutch on the handle as he pulls you onto his lap. His other hand pries at your trembling, white knuckles, fingers attempting to wedge a gap between your deadly grip and the knife it holds.

You don’t let go - you can’t let go.

“You don’t get to decide this!” You grit in between obscenities, throwing every foul word that comes to mind at him.

He’s got your arms fully extended, heaving sputtered breaths and dawning blown eyes as he claws desperately at your fingers to free it from your grasp.

You suddenly cease your pulling, and with everything you have, grit teeth and a hiss, you launch your body towards him - a technique you picked up from One. Your full weight is thrown right at his vest, knocking him from his lean and back onto the grass, expelling a full breath from him. Every limb scrambles to straddle him at his waist, using your closer proximity to jerk the knife.

“You can’t do it! I won’t let you!” The words tear from the back of your throat while you grapple for the blade, your arms just a blur as you thrash desperately to free it from his powerful hold.

He successfully pries one of your hands off the knife and replaces it with his own. Your hand immediately returns to wrap around his knuckles, but you stop before you can with a better idea. With your now free hand you swing at him, miss, and follow it up by pressing your palm into his face. His eyes pinch shut and he swivels his head to shake from your push with harsh grunts.

You give a stiff yank to the blade, hoping you’ve stunned him, but his hold stays firm even when he bats your hand away. You’ve only managed to pull the knife closer to yourself, forcing his arm and upper half into a stretch as you lean away from him. An unskilled, loose fist swings at his guarded forearms in an attempt to break his grip.

He shoots out to grab your wrist, stopping your blows, and you respond by viciously jerking your entire upper body back to both free yourself from his hold and yank the knife away from him.

Instead of continuing to pull away from him, you aim to catch him off guard with another sudden fling of your body weight square into him. The fist that restrains your wrist comes crashing down, smacking himself in the face with the back of his hand as he’s pushed down and flush with the grass. He finally loses his hold of the blade, and without missing a beat he grabs you by the waist and rolls you off him. He might as well have spit in your face when one hand shoots up to the back of your head, a cushion to prevent you from slamming your head on the dirt. This movement is accompanied by a swing of his leg, pinning you to the ground with powerful thighs on your hips.

You’re pretty useless to do anything about it, no chance of freeing yourself from Konig’s weight on you. You can tell he’s not even using his full strength. You’ve seen him lift weights heavier than you, seen him pick up a boy that was much bigger and much stronger than you, and throw him on the ground with such force he broke his neck. Konig making every effort not to hurt you while you’re fighting him with everything you have ignites a searing heat that boils under the surface of your skin. Your growls are foaming, words engulfed in feral rage.

“You don’t get to have the final say just because you’re bigger than me! Stronger than me!”

Your arms are a blur, one flailing the knife above your head and deflecting his grabbing hands, the other swinging wildly at him. You thrash violently, an accompanying feral grunt with each jerk, spitting out objections and obscenities at him while he carefully times his swipes to avoid cutting himself.

You briefly consider spitefully driving the blade into your chest just to get the last word.

Rationalization returns with a better idea before you can commit, and you give one last whip of your arm. The knife launches over your head, far out of either you or Konig’s reach, just in time for him to restrain your wrists to the grass.

Neither of you are sure of your next move. You pant, swallowing with dry mouths and sharing a stare unlike any other you’ve had. Your brows pinched in rage, teeth bared, nostrils flared. He wears an expression that’s a cocktail of concerned, bewildered, and utterly panicked. Both of you are desperate to out-think the other, but it’s easy to judge by the lack of action that you’ve both drawn blanks.

His wide eyes are frantically flitting over your rage, chest heaving with each of his panting breaths.

“So what?!” You spit at him, ceasing your thrashing and instead projecting your rage at him through a fiery, pointed stare, “You die and I go home? I have to live with the guilt? The memories?! Price’s ‘I told you so?!’”

You’re frothing, animalistic grunts with words stitched into them.

“I have to mentor a pair of kids that I watch die every year?! I have to be haunted by your face every night?!”

At the tail-end of your rant, his eyes pinch closed and all of his muscles tense.

“I have nothing!”

It’s rare for him to raise his voice above a mumble, and he has never, ever yelled at you before.

He notices your wide eyes, the flinch that ends with you freezing. He sucks in a breath, lowering his voice with a stammer before he continues.

“I- I have nothing waiting for me at home. No one cares about me. District Nine doesn’t want me as their victor. I-“

He cuts himself off, and you wait with lowered brows for him to continue.

His eyes pinch shut as the grip on your wrists squeezes you tighter. Not uncomfortably, but enough for you to notice.

“You’re all I have.”

His voice is soft and broken - a plead more than it is a statement.

“I just got you, I can’t go home without you.”

His eyes stay closed, tight shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths as he looms over top of you, blocking out the desert sun and casting a shadow on you.

For a moment your voice is as soft as his.

“So I have to? I have to go home without you?”

Those swollen, hooded blue eyes meet yours again, and he swallows.

He doesn’t have anything to say.

Your brows pinch, the anger creeping back into your voice.

“You’re okay with me living with the aftermath?”

His irises tremble as his gaze switches between either of your eyes.

“I’m okay with you living,” He says gently, a croak in his voice and not a hint of ill will.

For a moment you’re still, your jaw clenching with a nod.

He’s happy to let you deal with the aftermath.

To let you live the rest of your life in District Nine while you’re mentally stuck in this arena.

To let you be haunted by the faces of twenty-three tributes who fell so that you could live.

To let you cry out his name after every nightmare just for your pleas to go unanswered.

Your voice turns raw around the lump forming in your throat, around the tears springing in your eyeline. You begin to thrash again, kicking your legs underneath him as you grunt through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t earn the win and you know it! Everyone knows it! I should have died in that bloodbath - Eleven should have killed me! Titan should have killed me! You should have killed me!”

He keeps his hold on you firm as he frantically searches for the knife. Not with enough force to hurt you, but with just enough to overpower you. This pisses you off even more, so you push up on his hands in rhythmic flails, spitting obscenities at him. He responds by putting a little more weight on you, never enough to cause discomfort or leave evidence of an altercation.

By the look of it the knife has landed somewhere in the fall quadrant, and you can tell he’s deciding if he should make a run for it.

“Don’t you dare,” You order with a tone that carries warning, low and out of breath as you still once more.

It’s an empty threat, because you know that if he took off for the knife he’d make the clearing before you could even stand.

His eyes meet yours again.

You force yourself to be calm, to filter out your rage through the hot air leaving your nose in fear that if you continue to thrash and yell, he will seize his opportunity.

You don’t dare look away, don’t dare give him what little of a lead he might think he needs to make the dash. As if staring into his eyes is the only thing tethering him to you. Like a wild animal, you will remind him that you know of his presence, that he cannot go in for the attack when he thinks you’re vulnerable.

You’re locked onto each other, frozen in this restrained straddle. Glaring at him while he tries to work out his next move.

He’s got nothing, only panicked static for thoughts.

The rise and fall of your chests slow as you both catch your breaths.

Minutes pass, and your brows ease from their pointed position. Your jaw relaxes, and your legs untense as they straighten out in the grass.

Your hostility has fizzled out, and his eyes make a slow transition, each passing moment draining a bit more worry.

As his breaths ease, so do his muscles. He readjusts himself, his legs sliding down in the plush grass so he can rest his forearms as he holds your wrists down. His grip has loosened, no longer concerned about you fighting him, but his hands stay wrapped around you just in case. His face and chest drift closer to you as he relaxes in his position, soft blue eyes studying you in return.

For a moment, though, his face pinches in arrogance, and he takes on a digging and low tone.

“And you don’t think you’re brave.”

“Fuck you,” You say, but it’s clear you don’t mean it.

It comes out breathy, so soft and sweet, as if you’ve just given him a tender compliment. You’re too distracted by features you hadn’t noticed from a distance. You’re lost in colorful, hooded eyes. In jaw stubble and slight creases and freckles that have pulled up in the sun. In painting your memory of his body underneath the canvas of his gear.

Your feelings on the way Konig has always towered over you has seemed to take a shift. No longer do you feel intimidated or feeble in his commanding, superior presence.

You still feel small, but in a good way?

Dainty.

You lift your head from the grass, your eyes trained carefully on his, and his worry returns. That familiar unsure stare that you’ve come to know.

You give him the faintest nod, and he presses his lips to yours so quick you knock your faces together.

Neither of you know what you’re doing.

It shows.

Your noses bump, he misjudges how big his mouth is compared to yours, and you both slobber all over each other.

When a soft laugh slips out of you, he sits up with a start, his hands leaving your wrists with a sheepish, “Sorry.”

You both wipe the spit from your faces with your forearms. He shifts to stand, but your hands shoot down to his outer thighs. You wouldn’t be strong enough to hold him down, but he gives in to your silent plea, planting his knees back into the dirt on either side of you.

“I’ve never done this before,” He reminds you with those unsure eyes.

“Me neither,” you say, through a smile.

His shoulders relax, and he gives a small laugh that’s somehow nervous and relieved at the same time.

“Here,” you say, reaching up to rest your palm on his rough jaw. You guide his face slowly towards yours, staring longingly into those pretty blue eyes on his dissent.

You give him a few closed-mouth kisses.

They’re curious, light, and you can feel the texture of his chapped lips and coarse stubble. It’s not as soft as you thought a kiss with a boy would be.

You begin to part your lips, not yet sticking out your tongue, but kissing him with less reserve.

Your smile returns, eyes fluttering open when your teeth show before you pull away with a start.

“Have you had your eyes open this whole time?!”

He sits up again with a start, his hand pulling to his chest, “I- yeah?”

“That’s weird! Don’t do that,” You say through a laugh.

He smiles back at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of your hair that was displaced by the tussle, “But I want to look at you.”

You give him what’s supposed to be an annoyed roll of your eyes, but your stupid grin and bunched cheeks are betraying you.

“C’mere,” You say, slipping two fingers in his vest and tugging on his gear.

He leans down and positions himself in front of your face. You start again with a few light pecks before you carefully open your mouth, tilting your head to the side. You flick your tongue out for just a second before it’s met with his. He’s eager at first, slipping into your mouth too fast, but he catches himself, slowing down to follow your pace. One hand supports himself in the dirt, the other cupping the side of your face.

You break for just a moment, leaving only inches between you.

“I’ve waited so long to do that,” He whispers through heavy breath.

“How long?” You ask, eyeing his flushed lips before returning his stare.

“Ich-” He looks away, “When you-“

Your brow quirks at his hesitance.

“Since you stood up for me,” he gets out at an embarrassed mumble, turning a shade pinker than he already was.

You nod slow. You don’t say anything, don’t bother feeling stupid for not noticing the obvious, and you tug him closer by his vest.

You plant a long, slow kiss on his lips, your other hand finding the back of his neck to hold him close, fingers threading in his hair as you hum against each other. His head gently rocks back and forth as he deepens the kiss, hungrily tasting you. He tastes like citrus, the orange you shared earlier still lingering on your tongues.

You can feel him on your waist.

It’s strange, how boys work.

How suddenly there is something where normally there is nothing.

It’s impossible to ignore, and you find yourself curiously pressing your hips into it.

He can tell you’ve noticed, and he springs up again so he’s no longer pressing against you. His hands move in front of him, fingers fidgeting and face flushed with embarrassment.

You give a small, reassuring laugh, “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about all of Panem watching?”

Of course they wouldn’t actually display the deed. Brutal slaughter? No problem. Sexual content? Absolutely not.

They’ll cut away. The announcers will make several innocuous jokes to ease the awkward-ness of it all. They’ll replay and analyze either the finale showdown or the intimate words shared at your picnic.

You do refrain from reminding him that at least one gamemaker is going to have to watch to know once you’re decent.

Konig makes a noise that’s a mixture of a scoff and a needy groan, and you can tell by the look on his face you’ve won him over.

“How am I supposed to say no to that face?”

A sly grin creeps on that very same face, “You don’t.”

You kiss again, bumping foreheads before your lips meet, smacking obnoxiously as you taste each other. This is another sloppy, fervorous, wet kiss - but it feels right. His stubble sands against you as his tongue intertwines with yours. The speed quickens, and your hands claw at the front of his gear as you desperately pull him closer.

He presses against you as far as the vest allows, legs straightening to meet you. His free hand finds your hair, pressing it to the side of your head as his thumb strokes the soft flesh of your cheek.

You don’t notice that you’ve been steadily grinding into him throughout the kiss until you pull away, desperate for air.

“Take it off, take it off,” Your voice is more huff than words, but the urgency of them translate with the pulling at his vest.

He’s fumbles for it, unclipping the strap before shedding the vest like it was on fire. His fingers claw for his shirt before he remembers the pads pinning his sleeves to his forearms. He blindly swipes at the straps, eyes glued on your needy eyes and parted lips, watching your back arch off the ground to make steady grinds against him. He swipes at his pads a few times before he takes them off with a swift jerk and the harsh rip of velcro. He doesn’t take care in tossing them, already scrambling to rip his shirt off.

Your hands move from his outer thighs to the hem of your shirt, lifting yourself up so you can free yourself from the cling of fabric, disrupting your hair as you do so.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to his uncovered chest, memorizing each dip in his sculpted torso. Your hands reach out to touch, to press his chest to yours without the barrier of the clunky vest, but you pull away at the last moment.

“No, wait,” He says as he stands, grabbing his jacket, “Here.”

A light hand on your shoulder guides you up from the grass. When you sit up, you watch over your shoulder as Konig delicately spreads out his jacket, smoothing it over it before you lay down on its outstretched fabric.

When he moves to get on top of you, he puts his legs in between yours instead of in a straddle. His hands climb up the grass, and once he’s hovering over you again, he stops to scan all the new skin revealed to him. Following the curves of your shoulders, upper arms. Down your collarbones and lingering on your clothed chest. One hand moves to touch your waist, but he stops himself, planting his hand back on the grass as he thoroughly examines you.

He’s not exactly discreet about his awe, slack-jawed and eyes wide as he drools over you.

A sense of sly confidence wafts over you as you leave him mesmerized with your body, but you’d be lying if you’d said you weren’t guilty of doing the exact same thing. Admiring defined muscles yet too afraid to touch them. It was as if you were both masterwork statutes guarded by velvet rope - to be looked at from afar but never touched by unworthy hands.

He lets out a breathy laugh at himself, closes his mouth, and leans until he’s face to face with you, pressing his lips to yours at his return.

While you kiss, your hands hesitantly find broad, strong shoulders. A light touch with the pads of your fingers followed by the flat of your hand conforming to him. He’s warm and smooth to the touch, his muscles tight and tensed.

Your fingers slide down to his collar bones, palms flush with his chest. You want him closer, though, and your hands snake back around to his shoulder blades, guiding him with a suggestive nudge. He does, happily pressing his skin flush with yours, only separated by the thin fabric of your sports bra. Your other hand finds the crook of his neck and shoulder, feeling the tendons move underneath his skin as he tilts his head for the kiss.

“You’re beautiful,” He whispers on an exhale, pulling away to catch his breath while he further examines you, “I really like kissing you.”

“I really like kissing you, too.”

“You’re so soft,” He says, and then his eyes widen, “Your skin, I mean, äh, your lips.”

His face warps, and you can tell he knows he’s fumbling it.

You laugh at him, one that comes from deep in your chest and blossoms with a silky warmth.

“Sorry,” He says, rubbing the back of his neck, the crook of his elbow pressed to his chest.

“C’mere.”

His eyes linger on you before he leans down again, planting a peck on your lips. He pulls away, just a bit, and brushes his lips against your cheek. His kisses are so gentle, as if the very weight of them would cause you to crumble to dust at the slightest provocation.

“Can I?” He asks softly, brushing your hair away from your neck and tucking it behind your ear.

You give him a hum in approval, and he begins to pepper kisses along your jawline, working his way down to your neck, where you tilt your head to give him room to nestle. It feels different than the lip or cheek kisses. His lips and stubble tickles the sensitive skin of your neck and his warm breath rolling along your flesh raises goosebumps and elicits a shudder.

He quickly pulls himself off you at the slight movement that may suggest discomfort.

“No, no. It felt good,” You reassure him with a squeeze, “Just tickles.”

He relaxes with a nod and lowers himself again. The feeling of him on your neck sends a warmth deep in your gut that has your hip jutting into him without thought. He’s pressed against you now, not just on the front of your hips. An addicting electricity flashes through you with each unintentional grind against him.

You don’t expect the sound that leaves you. It’s an exhale, but laced with something of a relaxing sigh, a pleasurable one even. One you’d might make as you lower yourself into a warm bath after a long day.

A horrified look spreads on your face at the noise, the push of your hips coming to a halt. Konig seems encouraged by it, though. You can feel his smile on your skin before he nuzzles himself further into your neck, the tip of his nose brushing against you while he returns to leave teasing kisses.

His kisses trail lower, carefully down the crook of your neck, veering off to pepper over the healed scars on your shoulder blades, much softer than the others. He moves on to your collarbones, the front of your neck. He nudges your head back with his nose so he can plant three long, lingering kisses where Titan nicked you.

His lips move down to the crest of your chest, where he tilts his head upwards, not interrupting his gentle pecks as he meets your stare.

You know what he’s asking for with those puppy dog eyes.

You prop yourself up on your elbows while he gives you room to pull your sports bra over your head, disrupting your hair as you free it with a half-hearted toss to the side.

When you find his face again, he looks almost scared. The same look he gave the whiskey on reaping day, the same look he wore when you offered him to sit on your bed. Like you were tricking him, like it was too good to be true.

He’s enamored with your chest. His lips part ever so slightly, eyebrows perking up. The only thing that moves is his irises darting around to devour you, the rise and fall of his chest with each heavy breath.

Your hands find strong, warm shoulders, tracing your fingers down biceps and forearms made of lead, slowing to cup his hands. You carefully guide him to your breasts, and he sucks in a hitched breath on contact, his eyes nervously finding yours.

“It’s okay,” You whisper.

After a moment, he accepts your invitation to relax. His warm hands meld to your skin, letting fingers delicately explore your chest. He’s holding you like you’re made of glass. Gentle hands and nervous breaths.

His hands find your ribcage, his thumb brushing curiously over your nipples.

You bite your lip at this. It’s a completely different sensation to touching your own nipples. Unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It makes you twitch underneath him, and he pulls away.

“No,” you object, finding his knuckles to place his palms back on your chest. With his eyes trained on your face, he gives another singular brush across the bud.

You offer him another nod, eyes softening as he begins to massage them delicately.

You give another sharp gasp, and he understands that this is a good thing. He gets a little too excited, rubbing his fingers faster.

“No,” You say with a slight arch into his jacket and a squeeze on his forearms, “Slower, like before.”

He gives a nod, meeting your eyes to make sure you know he understands before he starts his gentle brushes over your nipple again.

You let out another sigh, eyes giving the slightest roll. You arch into his touch again, hips giving a particularly drawn-out grind against him.

He starts to speed up again, but quickly corrects himself.

“Rougher, please.”

He nods eagerly, and tentatively gives your nipple a squeeze.

Another breathy, high-pitched gasp leaves you.

“Konig - It feels so good.”

You whisper this in a tone that suggests he’s missing out, arching into his touch. You can feel the wet warmth of your arousal as it floods the fabric of your underwear.

He lets out a choke from the back of his throat. Your eyes flutter shut and another soft moan leaves you at his squeezes.

“Konig?” You ask with a breathless whine, unclipping the holster on his thigh, “I need you.”

For a moment he locks up, but as soon as it registers what you’re asking for his hands scramble to his belt. His fingers fumble it multiple times, having to rip his stare away from you to watch what he’s doing. You’re not making it easy on him either, grinding against the strain in his pants while he pushes into you. After a frustrated tug, he manages to free his belt and stands to slide his pants off. He fumbles this as well, shaking his ankles free from the bunched fabric and awkwardly hopping to free himself from its hold.

You take the opportunity to slide your pants down, lifting from the grass to strip them off much more gracefully, kicking them to the side.

He lets out another choke at the sight of your thighs, panties on display for him to eye. He meets your stare again, wearing that look that suggests you’re setting out a trap for him.

You slide your feet up on the grass until your knees are bent, spreading your legs with an smug, teasing smile. A hand comes up from the grass to curl your finger in a way that orders him to your presence.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and at once he’s hovering over top of you, descending to meet you in another messy kiss.

One of his hands props himself up, half on the sleeve of his jacket, half on the grass, his other squeezing on your upper shoulder to hold you in place as your tongues intertwine once again.

When he grinds into you, only separated by the two thin fabrics of your underwear, you both simultaneously let out a moan of relief. Half your irises disappear with a light roll of your eyes.

He digs further into you, pressing the fabric of your panties inward as he nestles between your lips. He rocks his hips, the tip of him brushing against your clit, sending a jolt of euphoria down your middle that finishes with a pool of warmth in your lower abdomen. When you let out a breath laced with your pleasure into his mouth, he breaks away from the kiss to get a better look at you, letting his hands rest on your knees.

He towers over your like this, blocking out the sun and casting a shadow over you while he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, soaking in the way you twitch at each of his rocks against you. His huffs to catch his breath cut short with each slide across your panties. Yours aren’t much different as you lean into the touch, choking on breaths with each jolt of pleasure as Konig slides across your clit.

“You’re wet,” He says, as if he’s just made an impossible discovery, sharing his find with you in a tone full of disbelief and wide eyes to match.

A laugh that’s more breath than air leaves you, a glowing warmth on cheeks that bunch when a smile blooms on your face.

Your hands swipe loosely in the air, wordlessly begging for him to come closer. You watch his muscles flex to lower himself down until you can feel the heat of his chest on yours.

Your voice drops to a whisper, dawning a teasing, soothing tone while you look up at him with eyes sparkling with adoration and mischief. Your lashes flutter as you stare him down, drawing out each purred syllable in a decrescendo as you swirl your finger down his chest, your other hand disappearing into the nape of his hair.

“It’s all your fault.”

His breath hitches and his eyes lull with a drawn out a rut against you, a low groan leaving his parted lips. It’s addicting, the sound of his pleasure. His harsh voice and intimidating stature unraveling and melting to your body that moves to conform to his long, steady grinds.

Konig eagerly presses his lips to yours, his hum deep and low, tingling your jaw as he pushes his tongue into yours with ill-advised confidence. You happily let him lead, swinging one leg over his waist to nudge him closer into steady grinds. As you thread your fingers through the base of his hair, your other leg hooks around the back of his thigh to pin him firmly to your front.

He breaks away for air, neither of you bothering to wipe away the generous layer of mixed spit.

Your eyes lock, clouded with drowsy arousal.

Through parted lips, intoxicated off your taste and touch, he mutters three words.

Slurred but unmistakable.

“I love you.”

You suck in a sharp breath, brows raising and eyes sobering. Your hand slowly snakes from the back of his neck to his chest, firm and warm as you stare up at him.

He doesn’t stop at your change in pace, continuing his steady ruts and not displaying a lick of regret for his words. He just stares down at you through those half-lidded eyes, watching your reaction to each movement of his hips.

Your hands slide up to squeeze his biceps, your face relaxing when you say, “I love you too.”

The corners of his lips perk up around his heaving breaths, stifling a mixture of a relieved laugh with a groan that threatens to spill with each brush against your inviting, stained panties.

His eyes devour you as the smile grows on his face, ducking his head to plant a long closed-mouth kiss on your lips. When he pulls away, he nuzzles his head into your neck, showering the skin with kisses. He trails down again, much quicker and eager than last time as he leaves pecks along your neck, your collarbones, and folds his back awkwardly so he can kiss the top of your plush chest while he continues to rock against you.

He shifts himself, sliding his legs further into the grass below you and removing himself from the front of your underwear. He kisses down your chest until he’s bordering your nipple, tilting his head up to look at you, those pretty eyes begging so nicely.

You give him a nod, and lay your head back as he gives the bud of your nipple gentle kisses.

It’s teasing, almost, the way his lips are barely grazing you. They’re wet with spit, cooling in the spring breeze and sending another shiver down your spine.

He trains his eyes carefully on you as he gives a gentle, curious lap with his tongue.

You let out a breathy squeak that makes his face perk up. He goes in again, circling his tongue around your nipple, flicking back and forth over it. Konig’s not pressed against you anymore, but you find yourself still grinding absentmindedly on his core.

While keeping his gaze on you, he draws your nipple into his mouth with a suck.

The gasp that leaves you is nothing short of erotic. Konig’s eyes lull at the noise and he even lets out a small moan that turns to a rousing vibration. He tilts his head down, buries his nose into your chest and eagerly nurses on you.

His tongue strokes the bud curiously as he sucks. Your back arching off the ground does not go ignored as you thread your fingers into his hair and tighten your grip.

His breath hitches, and his free hand comes up to swirl around your other breast as he greedily devours you, honing in on your nipple and giving it a gentle squeezes.

The soft moans and sighs are flowing freely as you squirm underneath him, fingers clinging to him for dear life.

He pulls off your nipple with a pop, the spit cooling in the open air and bringing your nipples to attention. You whine at his absence as he continues to kiss down your stomach.

His tweaking fingers follow shortly after, his hands finding your hips while he makes his descent. When he shifts further down, flat on his front, he loops his strong arms under your legs, placing his hands hesitantly on your outer thighs.

He tilts his head, closing his eyes as he gives gentle pecks on your inner thigh. The tip of his nose brushing against you, his coarse stubble, his kisses - the sensations send another jolt of electricity straight to your lower abdomen.

“So beautiful,” He mumbles in between kisses, the vibration of his voice tickling the sensitive flesh.

His head turns, and he begins to give equal love and care to your other thigh.

His lips trail higher, overlapping his generous kisses up the soft flesh.

He lifts his head to give one gentle kiss at the top of your panties, those begging eyes making an encore.

You give an eager nod, taut breaths escaping parted lips.

He kisses down the fabric of your panties, concentrating his full attention on your flushed face. He stops when he gets to the stain of arousal, his fingers threading through the waistband on either side of your panties.

He asks for permission with a look.

“Yes,” You whisper, “Please.”

He sits up quickly, using his hand to guide your legs up so he can pull your panties off.

He freezes again, eyes fixated on you, already coated in a shiny layer of arousal.

You can’t help but feel a little embarrassed, him examining you like this. He looks shocked, eyes wide and brows raised, mouth slightly parted.

“Okay?” You ask with a quiet voice.

“Yeah,” His reassurance comes out breathy with awe, accompanied by an excited nod, “I’ve just never,” he trails off.

“It’s okay.”

“Okay,” he says with a swallow.

“Can I see you?”

His face perks again, this time with a hint of hesitance. Caught off guard, like he never expected the request.

He sits back with a deep exhale before he slides his underwear down, shifting to peel them from his ankles. He sets them to the side as he returns to his kneel between your legs, his hands resting on your bent knees. He can’t look you in the eye, his face already bracing for rejection.

“I guess uh, I guess they don’t call you The Mountain for no reason,” You say with a nervous laugh.

His face sinks, maybe at the nickname, maybe at the fear that he’s not adequate enough for you. You had just laughed at him, nervous laugh or not, which is something you imagine wouldn’t play over well with any boy who’s just exposed himself to someone for the first time ever.

“No, no, it’s nice. Sorry, I’m just-”

You cut yourself off with another nervous laugh.

You find yourself tilting your head as you stare at it. Boys are strange. Such a silly thing it is, and other than his size, much less intimidating than you thought it would be.

It stands on its own, enraged in color, swaying with his movements. A long, girthy shaft that ends with a flushed tip, accompanied by dangling bits underneath. There’s an alluring glint of arousal leaking from the tip. You almost want to laugh at it - not at Konig’s in particular - but at all of them. All of the appendages out there attached to half the population, swinging freely in their pants.

Your inquisitive stare must burn, because he moves his hands to sheepishly cover himself, looking to the sky that splits in four.

“Sorry,” you say, “I’ve just never, uh,” You trail off, exactly as he did. After a moment you extend your hand, nudging his inner forearm away.

“Can I touch it?” You ask, looking up at him with sloped brows.

He makes a noise like he’s thinking on it while he processes your question, followed by a blurted out, “Ja!”

He quickly realizes his answer came out way too fast and way too eager. He clears his throat, and forces himself to a nonchalant tone that wouldn’t fool anyone, “Yeah.”

Your hands reach out slowly, carefully. You actually hold your breath, both of you do, you think, until your fingertips brush along his tip, your hand trailing down the sides of his shaft.

His whole body, every defined muscle, contracts at your touch. Now you understand how Konig must have felt, pulling those breathy sighs out of you. It’s addicting to make someone feel this way using only your own body.

You notice the skin is thinner and softer than the rest of him as your hand smooths slowly along the shaft, loosely and carefully wrapping your fingers around the base. You just barely graze him as you move your hand up and down his length, letting him slide through your loose grip.

He lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders pulling up and his head lulling forward. His hand squeeze your bent knees, strong, tensed thighs pressed to yours as he kneels between them.

He shudders as you keep your steady pace, and when he whispers your name, so soft and needy, a show of his gratitude and a plead for more, it sends another wave of your arousal to your panties.

You respond by speeding up, your hands almost blur as you generously glide around him.

“Hah- ah,” His eyes roll back before he pinches his eyes shut, sucking in breaths through grit teeth.

You keep your pace, trying to simulate what you can only assume is the feeling of sex with your fingers.

“Your hands,” he whispers through heavy breath, “So pretty and small around me.”

Your face relaxes as you look up to him, awe in your eyes.

His words did something to you, feeding the flame that flickers in your lower abdomen.

You slow for a moment as you process this newfound feeling before speeding up to elicit more from him.

“Feels s’good,” he slurs.

Your hand glides up to brush against his tip with each pump, making him twitch around you. He lets out a few more sinful moans, his eyes lidded in pleasure as he stares down at your amazed blown eyes, parted lips. His eyes hungrily scour your breasts, bouncing hypnotically with each stroke.

“Bitte,” he whimpers, “Hhn-”

His muscles tighten and he squeezes the grip on your knees a little tighter.

He shudders, his whole body folding forward with a choked groan. He puts his weight on one of your knees, his other hand shooting down to rip your hold off him.

“What? What’s wrong?!” You ask frantically, quickly retracting your hands to your chest.

“No, no,” he reassures. He gives a breathless, embarrassed laugh, his muscles tight and body still experiencing tremors, “I didn’t want to- I was-“

He gives another sheepish laugh, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to end.”

Your brow lifts in confusion.

His gaze briefly averts, still fighting off twitches.

“I was going to,” he hesitates, “Finish.”

“Oh,” You say.

“I’m sorry.”

A flattered and pleased grin crosses your face.

“No, it’s okay.”

“I’ll do you?” He asks, staring at your spread lips, drenched in your own arousal.

You let out a nervous, one note hum of approval, and gnaw on your lower lip with a nod.

He lowers himself to sit on his folded legs, a soft tentative grip on your thighs. You feel exposed while he studies you, as he works out a plan.

“I don’t know how,” He says, voice still breathy as his unsure eyes meets yours.

“It’s okay,” You whisper, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, guiding him to you.

You swirl his pliant fingers around your rim, lubing them up with your own slick before you pinch the sides of his index finger and place it on your swollen clit.

“Just be gentle,” you say.

He nods, breaths shallow as he rocks the pad of his finger up and down on your clit.

You suck in a breath, squirming at his touch.

He gets excited by this, his finger rubbing you quicker. Your head throws back in the grass, a breathy, hitched strain leaving you.

“Slower,” You say with an overstimulated twitch, “And do circles, I think.”

He retracts his hand quickly, before giving a hesitant nod. He uses his thumb this time, gently rubbing around the sensitive bud.

You let out a soft moan, and he gets excited again, but quickly corrects himself. He watches you carefully as you squirm underneath him. Mesmerized by your hips pushing into his touch, back arching into him.

“Breathe,” You remind him, and he lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He nods, red in the face as he continues to swirl the pad of his finger around you, chasing the sound of your addicting huffed moans. Your head lulls to the ground, closing your eyes as you focus on his touch.

He’s using your hitched breaths to navigate your pleasure, learning the difference between a twitch of overstimulation and a shudder of satisfaction. He repeats the movements and swipes that elicit your wisps of moans, studying your face carefully with drowsy halflidded eyes.

Your hips grind without thought into his touch, needy whimpers escaping your lips as your back arches off the jacket, eyes rolling until your lids pinch shut.

“Konig?” You whine, “Please.”

He gives you a shaky nod, returning his focus to his fingers.

He slowly pushes his finger into you, and flits his gaze to look at your face, searching for discomfort.

He stops at the first knuckle, his brows sloped with uncertainty.

You let out a deep breath, concentrating on relaxing yourself. It feels strange. Intrusive, almost uncomfortable. Clinical instead of sexual. But you are determined to do this.

You give a sure nod, and he continues to slide deeper inside of you.

You let out a small strained moan, not necessarily in pleasure. You tense around him and he stops at once.

“Should I stop?” He asks.

“No, no,” You say, “I want to do this.”

He nods slow.

“More?” He asks with soft eyes.

You nod, clenching your teeth as his thick finger explores deeper.

You take a few more, somewhat awkward, breaks, and eventually you manage to get his entire finger inside of you. He stills for a while, letting you get used to the feeling.

Your body relaxes, forcing deep breaths as you concentrate on breathing. You feel exposed, spread open like this with him inside you.

“Sorry,” You mutter with closed eyes.

“No,” He reassures softly, “It’s okay. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod, resting an arm over your eyes.

“Should I try to-?” He ends his sentence by swirling his finger as gently as one can, small circles massaging into tight walls.

You let out a hefty sigh, closing your eyes as you focus on his touch. You nuzzle your face into the crook of your own elbow, begging your body to catch up to your excitement.

“Let me know if it hurts,” he says, and you nod assent.

“Move?” You ask, not too sure of yourself.

He takes his time as he slides his finger out of you about an inch before gently gliding back in.

A breathy exhale leaves you, and Konig’s eyebrows pinch as he tries to decipher if it’s in pain or pleasure.

“Is this okay?” He asks, using your arousal to seamlessly, but carefully, slip in and out of you.

You meet his eyes and nod, face flushed and audible breaths falling from your lips.

“Yeah,” you huff, light and warm.

He nods, his gaze falling down to his finger slipping in and out of you. He’s extra careful, not daring to let himself become too eager this time.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, “So wet for me.”

Your brows perk up, a sharp inhale as you clench around him. Konig’s words miss your ears, heading straight for your core where they twist your insides and drain around his finger.

Every breath is threatening to spill from your lips in a moan, the muscles in your core tightening and unraveling with each push.

He eyes you carefully and asks, “Do you see? Come undone with just my index finger?”

Rarely do you find yourself unable to come up with a witty remark, but his words have left you speechless. Stealing the last word you normally stake your claim in.

He notices - he notices the way you respond to his harsh voice, spinning dirty talk in a low, almost patronizing voice. Robbed of your words and wit and reduced to a whimpering mess sitting in a puddle of arousal - he’s got physical proof that he’s turning you on, that he has you literally wrapped around his finger.

It sparks something in him, you can see it, hear it in his tone. An air of superiority, confidence,

No -

Arrogance.

“Imagine what you’ll sound like once I’m inside you,” He says, his face even beside a faint smirk.

His grip on your plush thigh briefly tightens, indenting the soft flesh.

“Don’t worry, mein sieger, I’ll take my time stretching you out.”

“So tight,” he adds, “Such a little girl will have trouble taking such a big cock, ja?”

You choke on a hitched breath, eyes widening not just at his words, but at the tightening in your lower half, the warmth that floods you. Stunned and aroused by his words, a searing heat of excitement flushing your skin - this no longer feels clinical.

“It’s a good thing you’re dripping, I’m sure I’ll slip right in to you.”

“Faster,” you choke out, “Meaner.”

An eyebrow raises, and his stare darts to the side. A moment of uncertainty before he digests his assignment, fumbling his pace before he pumps in and out of you quicker.

“You just needed someone to take you down a peg, hm?”

A hint of worry peeks through, those unsure eyes returning as he gauges whether he’s gone too far. Your moans and pitiful whines encourage him, though, and his chest puffs out as his eyes relax.

“You always act so tough but I know you’re just begging for someone to put you in your place, ja?”

He doesn’t break his quickened pace as the hand on your upper thigh trails upwards, running over the curve of your hips and up your ribcage. His grip on you is rougher, assured - he’s handling you like you’re something he owned.

“Not so tough now,” He punctuates his sentence with a harsh tweak of your nipple, and he lets out a smug hum at your sprung eyes and sharp breath.

“You love to talk such a big game, don’t you? If I knew this is all it took to quiet you up maybe I would have done this a long time ago.”

He flicks your nipple with a bored expression on his face, but for just a moment you catch a wrinkle in his brow - still trying to figure out where the boundary lies.

Your whole body tenses, tightening around his finger as you claw at tufts of grass for leverage.

He face pulls back into a half scowl, “Look at you. Desperate, pathetic little lamb.”

Your face twists, absentmindedly grinding down on his finger.

“Greedy girl,” He purrs, “You want more?”

You nod, looking to his figure, blurred through your own haze of arousal.

“You have to ask nicely,” He tutts, that smug grin making a reappearance.

Your brows pinch in betrayal, in fury - no man belittles you this way.

He takes great pleasure in washing away your scowl with particularly powerful and swift plunges into your sopping cunt. Strings of moans leave you, each one cut off with each bottom out to his knuckle, coated in a sheen of your own arousal.

“Nothing to say, little one?”

You let out a frustrated grunt with grit teeth as you take his thick finger. You’re torn between fighting back or leaning into his whim - it’s hard to ignore how good he’s making you feel, and even harder to think through the fog of your own pleasure.

“Giving you too good of a fucking? Can’t even talk?”

You let out a whine, screwing your eyes shut as you focus on his fingers massaging your walls.

“More, please,” you get out through grit teeth.

“What was that, little one?” He asks, turning his head with a squeeze of your nipple.

You know he heard you.

He’s humiliating you, forcing you to beg and plead for him to continue teasing you, to continue leaving you breathless with his hands and his insolent tongue.

You let out another defeated groan, “More, please! Please, I-“

The second finger slips into you carefully, pausing on each wince you make. On its bottom out, he curiously surveys you again, his thumb pressing into your clit. He rocks the pad of his finger as he patiently waits for you to stretch around him, while his other hand continues to tease your nipple, giving it gentle flicks and massages.

He relishes in your whines as you adjust to feeling full.

“That’s a good girl.”

His praise steals the breath from you, blown eyes and parted lips. A white heat flashes deep in your core, intense enough to stun you, but it doesn’t stop you from arching your hips in his direction, grinding down on his knuckles.

When your grinds turn to needy bounces paired with truly pathetic whines, he starts up at your pace, thrusting his fingers into you.

“Just needed to be put in your place, ja?”

You hate being spoken to this way, but you’re too addicted to the way it’s making you feel. His forceful plunges into your slicked cunt, his firm, careful swirls around your clit, the sickeningly sweet warmth in your core - it's impossible to resist his degrading condescension.

“Look at you,” He tilts his head curiously and sticks out his bottom lip in a display of mockery, “So pouty.”

His curled, unused fingers slam into the crook of your trembling thighs, the sound of your own arousal obscenely wet with each pump into you.

“Are you upset that it feels too good for you to fight? Hm?”

Without breaking his pace, he leans in closer, his face inches from yours.

His eyes darken and narrow, and his voice drops to a dangerous tone.

“You’re no match for me anyway.”

A glint of worry reappears in his eyes as he watches your face soften, your wide, full irises staring up at him with billowing lashes. There’s a hint of fear in your expression - a thrilling, jolt of surprise that shoots down your spine and forces a sharp inhale. You hadn’t realized just how safe you’d felt around him.

No - you had. You knew what his presence did for you. A security blanket to pull up to your neck. There was a sense of protection you’d felt around him, even from the beginning. Just standing next to him, the intimidating figure that towers over you, you felt guarded more than threatened.

Even if he was your opponent the entire time.

Even after you thought he was trying to kill you.

You still took comfort in the distant memory of his protection.

On some level you must have known that he would have never been able to bring himself to hurt you during your fight. If he wanted to, he could have killed you with the same amount of effort it takes to kill a ladybug.

It’s the reminder coming from his mouth that’s so jarring. To be reminded of how powerless you are around him - to reimagine him as an enemy once again, to have him towered over you.

It’s a threat.

It says, ‘It does not matter what you want. If you try and fight, I will get my way, because I am bigger. I am stronger.’

It’s exhilarating, exploring the implications and possibilities as you stare helplessly into eyes that seemingly lack empathy. It makes your heart beat furiously against your ribcage.

You know he’s still in there. Your Konig, the sweetheart who’d never dare hurt you. The boy who cares so much about the girl he’d rather sacrifice himself than live without her. It’s proven in the way his fingers strive for pleasure, not punishment. How he slows at any twitch that shows discomfort. That unsure stare making a reappearance at every step towards the boundary.

But his words, his tone, those hollow, uninterested eyes - it was almost believable. Shocking enough to fill you with just enough unease, just enough doubt. The tightening in your gut makes it easy to play pretend.

When you begin to resume your bounce on his fingers, he slips back into his role.

“The fight you put up earlier was cute, but we both know-” He cuts himself off with a breathy, dangerous laugh, “Ach, what was it you said? At any moment I could snap your spine like a twig?”

Your face falls and you swallow at having your words thrown back at you. Had he been ruminating on that? The way his smile had dropped by the time he finished the sentence made it easy to believe.

His eyes narrow at you.

“Do you like feeling weak? Do you like knowing that you’re helpless against me?”

You manage to answer with a whimper, closing your eyes as you commit to giving yourself to him. Letting him fuck you with his fingers as he degrades you like the pitiful thing you are.

He snickers at you, keeping his pace, “Did you like it when I pinned you down, little one?”

Each word that pours from his mouth makes your insides tighten, that rough voice mocking you and reducing you to a plaything.

His brow quirks, and a sly smile creeps on his face, “I bet that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted to feel my strength?”

You let out a choked moan, your eyes lulling at the reminder of how powerless you are against him.

His lip juts to the side in a cocky smirk.

“If you wanted me to overpower you, all you had to do was ask.”

You shoot him a glare with a snarl, but he quickly unravels your pointed expression with rushed, ruthless plunges into you. He leans in so he’s face to face with you as his free hand pins both of your wrists down in one smooth motion.

He shushes you like you’re a fussy baby, “It’s okay little one, I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.”

You let out a grit moan at a particularly demanding pound into your cunt.

“You look cute when you’re mad, you know that?” His half-lidded eyes are flooded with egotism.

He scoffs at your clenched teeth and pinched brows before his hand turns to a blur. His fingers glide in and out of you without mercy, knuckles slamming into your sore cunt, unraveling your irate expression with trembling sighs and moans that were louder and needier than you wanted them to be.

His voice drops dangerously low, a deep hum pulling down each word.

“But you look cuter getting fucked.”

You let out a cry of pleasure, pinching your eyes shut and lulling your head back in defeat, embarrassing moans falling from your lips as you squirm in his hold.

He silently watches you take him, a smug look plastered on his face that you’d love to wipe off - a wish you can’t afford at the expense of your pleasure.

“You want more, little one?”

Your affirmation is a hiss through grit teeth, but he accepts this.

A third digit slips carefully inside you and waits for your cue to move.

“Such big, thick fingers. You’ve held my hands - Did you ever fantasize about these fingers inside you?”

You let out a breathy, broken sigh. His words are making you feel even smaller than the menacing figure towering over you.

“You wanted to feel my strength, did you?” He puts more pressure on your wrists and closes the gap between your faces, your lips nearly touching as he bores into you with those half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t break his rhythmic thrusts into your cunt, straddling one of your thighs to keep you spread for him. His chest radiates a cozy heat on yours, the plump of your breast brushing against him.

“Do you feel it?”

You look up at him with blown doe eyes, cheeks glowing as you suck in a hitched breath.

When he stares at you expectantly, raising a brow at your silence, you nod.

“Yes,” You hiccup, forced and raw as you take your fucking.

He gives a satisfied hum, nudging your head to the side with his nose before he dives into your neck, slobbering over the sensitive skin. He hungrily licks stripes across your flesh, occasionally sucking strawberry kisses to the surface.

Your lips brush the crest of his ear, pathetic choked whines like whispered secrets as he keeps his pace.

Your eyes go cross, twisting into the position that forces his fingers to pound against the spot that makes your vision blur and your muscles tighten. Arching off his jacket, pushing up against his hold, pressing into his chest as you squirm underneath him. He’s grinding steadily against your thigh, the rim of his tip brushing against your stomach, commanding attention with its silky warmth.

“You want to feel me inside you, hm? You want to really feel my strength?”

Your breath hitches, eyes widening. For a moment you are frozen, flitting your gaze between each of his eyes, and then you give an embarrassingly excited nod.

He doesn’t make you beg this time, not bothering to hide his eagerness as he repositions himself between your knees. He carefully slips his fingers from you, and you can’t help but whine at the absence.

One of his hands rests on your knee, the other lining himself up to your slick rim.

He doesn’t hold back his sigh, his eyes rolling as his sensitive tip swirls around your rimmed entrance. He bites his lip for a moment, his arrogant façade fading.

“So wet,” he says, more amazed than it is condescending.

His gaze flicks to your face, studying you with soft blue eyes, watching your bated breath as your fingers brace on clumps of grass.

He slowly pushes his tip in and immediately shudders, his head lulling forward on his neck.

You wince, and he stops at once. His breath is shaky, hands trembling on your knees.

“You feel so good,” he says, a low hum weighing his voice down.

You nod, features pinched as you focus on adjusting to him.

He’s being patient, but you can tell he’s fighting the urge to rock his hips into you, sputtered breaths and clenched muscles.

“I’m sorry,” You say again, one of your forearms draped over your closed eyes as you focus on taking him.

“It’s okay,” he says reassuringly.

There’s a beat, and his voice drops again, low and taunting.

“Too big for such a little girl?”

Your arm lifts, your bright eyes finding his with a sharp inhale. That feeling returns, the feeling of your lower core dropping, your insides contracting at his words.

His voice is still a bit strained from holding himself back, but his breathy words still convey superiority.

His eyes narrow, “Looks like someone is too weak. Is that right, little one?”

You let out an annoyed grunt, and he scoffs.

“For someone who talks such big game, you’re not very good at handling me, are you?”

The corner of his lip perks up at the way your face relaxes, the nervous swallow bobbing in your throat.

“It’s okay. I know how badly you want to be good for me, made it all this way for me.”

He can’t help but sway his hips the slightest bit, his tip barely lapping at your entrance.

“Do you want to be good for me?” He asks, his lids lowered, lips flushed and teased with each of his shallow breaths.

You let out a twisted noise, somewhere between a squeak and a groan. Briefly you are distracted by the mesmerizing push of his hips, each roll filling you up ever so slightly.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you give a weak nod.

“Yes, Konig.”

“My good girl.”

A sob leaves you, eyes pinching shut as you nod against the hood of his jacket.

“Thank you,” You whisper, the words leaving your lips broken.

He hums contently, boring those half-lidded eyes at you.

When you grind down on him, Konig’s muscles contract, and he lets out a huffy breath, followed by a faint laugh.

You begin to rock steadily underneath him, bouncing just enough to fuck yourself with his tip.

His lower lip catches between his teeth, his exhales cut short on each breath. His fingers dig into your knees as his core doubles over, biceps tight and trembling.

“Ffh-” His hissed mumbles are intelligible, but music to your ears. That deep, harsh voice nothing but whines and audible huffs through clenched teeth.

A light sheen of sweat is steadily building on his forehead, you can tell it’s taking all of his strength to keep from unleashing himself and tearing you in half.

Your hands find his white, trembling knuckles as you rock on him, teasingly, cruelly even, reveling in the pleasure you’re eliciting. You give his hands a soft tug, and he follows your whim, his hands crashing onto the grass on either side of your shoulders, his chest inches from yours. He meets you in a desperate, sloppy kiss, soft moans whispered between your lips.

When he pulls away, both of you short on breath, he keeps his flushed lips close, staring deeply into your eyes as you rhythmically grind underneath him.

“It’s not fair,” He says, “How beautiful you are.”

A hand snakes up his back and finds his hairline. You look up at him with big doe eyes and parted lips, and while your words are harsh, they come out spoken so gentle and sweet. Tender, intimate words between lovers.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“H-ah,” His head lulls, his sweaty forehead pressing to yours for just a moment before he raises to study you.

His arms shake as he uses your slick arousal to push past the tip. When you let out a choked noise, he stops, his lips twisted into worry.

It takes a while, it does. He’s so big, and both lack of experience and his size makes it more than a tight fit around him. It’s not exactly the most arousing thing ever to wait while you adjust to him, but watching him get worked up from just your body is more than enough to keep you flooding around him.

“So - guh, so warm.”

He’s overriding every instinct with grit teeth and a trembling muscles, but he forces himself to be patient, every reassurance spoken through strained breath. He nuzzles himself into the crook of your neck, planting uneven, messy kisses on the sensitive skin. For a moment, once you’ve successfully managed to take half of him, he gets briefly distracted. A gentle, absentminded grind before he stops himself with a whine.

Your hands wrap around his tense, warm biceps, giving him small squeezes as you give him what he desperately needs, what you can manage, by moving your hips again, just barely bobbing up and down on his shaft.

He sputters when you do this, completely unraveled and succumbed to the feeling of your wet, tight warmth.

“Sh,” You coo, giving his shaking biceps another squeeze, “Being so good for me.”

“Ach, f-”

“Waiting so patiently. It’s hard, isn’t it?” You tease, draping your words in arrogance.

Your turn.

“Yes,” His voice wavers and his head lulls, speaking his weak words towards your chest, “You’re worth the wait.”

“Such a good boy,” you say, working him as fast as you comfortably can.

His voice pinches and his shoulders pull up with a nod, “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Mhm,” You hum with a particularly drawn out grind. You’re trying to sound low and sultry, but your own pleasure is throwing a wrench in your confident dirty talk, “Doing so well for me.”

“Thank you, thank you,” The words are pouring from him, quick and desperate, twitching inside you at your praise.

“Fuck me.”

He nods, and as you cease your bouncing he picks up, forcing himself to maintain your gentle pace.

You both let out a pleased sigh, your head resting back on the hood of his jacket as you tighten around his biceps.

“S’okay?” He slurs.

Your eyes are pinched, teeth clenched, and you’re unintentionally digging your fingernails into his flesh - but you nod.

“So big,” You say, and he gives a breathy, one-note laugh.

“Too big for a little girl,” He says, tightening his grip on the grass while he holds back the powerful fucking he wants to give you, instead making soft, gentle rocks into you.

His words miss your ears again, knotting up your insides at once. Your hips wriggle with his, forcing more of him to leave and re-enter you with every grind.

“So small,” he punctuates, his voice strained and his drowsy eyes lulling.

He’s nailing his cues, with every quickening of your hips he jumps to meet your pace, eager to fuck you as much as you’ll allow.

His irises get lost behind his eyelids as he gets up to a pace that scratches his itch. He sits up briefly, his arms picking up from the grass to hook around the back of your knees, lifting your feet into the air and forcing you to spread for him when he plants his weight back on the dirt.

He doesn’t dare push deeper than you’ve managed so far, but his thrusts are unrestrained, and you’ve swallowed enough of him to have him hit that spot that draws squeaky moans from you.

“Breathe,” You remind him through a strain when his face paints red.

He obeys, letting out his held breath, sputtering out consonants that will never get flushed out with vowels in between inhales.

His moans are low, broken grunts leaving parted lips in between short, audible breaths. It’s music to your ears.

“Oh, Konig,” your hands find his tensed, warm shoulders, clawing into him in response to the overwhelming pleasure.

Konig’s drooling over the way your chest bounces against your ribcage with each of his powerful thrusts. He’s still only half inside you, but you feel full to the brim, brute strength brutally robbing you for your delicate sensitivity.

The moans leaving you are nothing less than embarrassing, unrestrained and echoing throughout the four quadrants. Breathy and high-pitched and truly pathetic. You haven’t the mind to stop them, Konig seems to be fucking the very thoughts from your brain, because all you can focus on is him inside you, filling you up and massaging the spot that makes your muscles pinch and your moans cut short - and even that’s hard to wrap your mind around. Konig’s breathy, needy groans intertwine, both of you sounding nothing short of erotic.

Your white knuckles shake around his shoulders, gripping him as if the very act of letting go would stop the fireworks exploding in your core.

“I’m not going anywhere,” He reassures, his words strained and choppy.

You nod furiously, pinching your eyes shut, words warping with every thrust, “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

His forehead presses to yours, your chests flush together.

Every sway of his hips forces a breath into a moan, your entire body forced to jolt against his jacket as you take the brunt of his power, your legs rebounding with each movement.

His sighs steadily turn to truly obscene, husky grunts that seem to intensify your own pleasure.

“Feels - so good,” Your praise comes out squeaky and spiked with each of his fervorous thrusts into your tight warmth.

“I can tell,” He says through a strained purrs, his words stitched with a deep, gritty hum, “You look sinful, mein sieger.”

He punctuates his statement with a particularly obscene grunt. The sound alone is enough to make your eyes flutter.

He’s fucking you with such instensity your vision is blurring, the world shaking once more as he crashes into the plush bottoms of your thighs at the perfect angle to keep himself from going deeper than you can handle.

His breaths are getting heavier, a sheen of sweat building on his skin.

The words begin to pour out of him, riding hefty breaths as his eyes roll.

“Ich liebe dich, Ich liebe dich,” He whispers over and over.

“Ffh-” Every one of his muscles contract, his eyes pinching closed and mouth gaping. His pace slows, uneven, sloppy thrusts into you. Choppy breaths cut themselves off just to be followed by another. He stays buried inside you, his entire body twitching in the aftermath of his pleasure. You can feel him pulsing with each beat of his heart.

His hold wobbles, nearly collapsing on you before he catches himself with weak arms.

He buries his flushed face into your neck, his words made of solely breath, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t-”

“Sh,” You coo into his ear, tracing the pads on your fingers lightly down the curve of his back, glistened with sweat, “It’s okay.”

Your hand glides up to the back of his neck, letting your fingernails soothingly massage the back of his head.

He lets out a heavy exhale, his chest heaving against yours as he catches his breath.

“I love you.”

Your fingers stop playing with his hair for just a moment before you continue your gentle scratches. You nod, mouth dry, both at the confession and having all of the moisture in your body drained from you.

“I love you too.”

He gives you that small laugh of relief again, pulling away from your neck to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips. You can feel him smiling into the kiss that you contently hum into.

He winces as he pulls out of you, a few twitches of oversensitivity.

He can’t seem to hold himself up anymore, leaving his position between your legs to roll over next to you on the grass.

You’re both sweaty and warm, leaving a few inches between your flushed bodies as you wind down. Only your shoulders touch as you both catch your breath.

He brings a hand to his head and lets out a light laugh.

You find his eyes, nestling into the hood of his jacket as he rests his cheek in the grass.

“That was amazing,” He says, a sparkle in his eyes as his face flits around your features in disbelief, “I’ve never-“

He cuts himself off with another laugh and presses his lips to yours in a lingering, closed-mouth kiss.

He pulls away with an obnoxious smack, giggling to himself.

His hand finds this side of his head again, chest heaving with each heavy breath as he looks to the sky that splits in four with stars in his eyes.

You nuzzle your cheek on the hood of his jacket, watching his muscles and ribcage billow as he catches his breath.

“You’re hot,” you say, without much thought and only a sliver of regret.

“Thank you,” He gives a soft laugh, “You too.”

You hum, briefly closing your eyes before you find him again. Watching him ride out his euphoric high, his eyes darting around the sky in disbelief as he smiles around his heavy pants.

“I meant it,” He says.

“I know.”

“I do love you,” he turns his head to meet your eyes, his fingers stroking the grass.

You know he’s not lying. He’s loved you from the start.

And haven’t you done the same? Desperately aching for the boy you thought was playing an act, but refusing to let yourself cave. Rejecting the idea that someone as kind, as gentle, as perfect as him would ever love you without an ulterior motive. He’s better than you, in every way. Not just physically, but as a person - Thoughtful, sweet, respectful, nice, supportive, agreeable. The kind of person you can’t help but fall in love with. The kind of person you can fall in love with without even realizing it, because loving him was as easy as breathing.

“I know,” you say with a nod, “I love you too.”

Once he’s cooled off, breath evened and muscles relaxed, gracefully easing from his high.

“Can I-“ He pauses with a huff, his tone lacking confidence, “Can I try to make you finish?”

“Oh, uh,” your eyes dart away as you think on it, “Sure.”

He gives a breathy laugh, springing forward to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s smiling through it, his afterglow practically radiating onto your skin.

He lingers after he pulls away with a smack, staring into your eyes. His eyes are swelled with awe, looking at you like you’re a goddess who had just descended from the heavens right in front of him. He grabs your jacket and spreads it out on the space under your legs before limbs sling to settle his chest flush with its fabric when he settles between your legs, his arms looping underneath your legs to hook around your thighs.

“Oh,” You say with an air of perky surprise. You weren’t expecting him to offer to go down on you.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly unsure of himself. His gaze flits his between you and your spread cunt, “Do you want me to?”

“No, no, I just wasn’t-,” you abandon your sentence.

“Are you sure?” You ask, as if worried you’re putting him out.

He nods eagerly with a raise of his brows.

You give a shrug and a single nod.

He starts with a long, drawn-out swipe with the flat of his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top, shooting a shudder up your spine at once. He’s not shy in plunging his face into you, his nose brushing along you on his ascent. A slick mixture of your arousal and his finish coats his tongue as he ends on a flick. His eyes roll with a groan at your taste, immediately diving back in for seconds.

It becomes apparent very quickly that Konig devours pussy like its a gourmet Capitol dish.

The grip on the tops of your thighs harshens, not daring to let you squirm away from him before he’s satisfied. He’s moaning into your spread cunt, this flat of his tongue sloppily lapping up your arousal with long stripes.

The sight alone is enough to put a shake in your knees, your head falling back onto the hood of his jacket. Your hand finds his shoulders, the muscles underneath tensing and untensing as he greedily devours you.

When you find him again, he looks drunk off your taste, pussy-drunk pretty blue eyes lulling and cheeks flushed. He’s still groaning into you, each one a rousing vibration.

A breath twists as it leaves you, fingers tightening around him. His head is passionately rolling up and down, side to side, lapping up every inch of your cunt. He’s practically suffocating himself with you, his breaths quickening with each plunge. There’s little skill displayed, but he’s eating you out with more than enough fervor to make up for it.

He’s drawing pitiful squeaks and moans from you, his fingers further indenting your plush thighs as he keeps you from reflexively closing your legs on him. His grip is more than suggestive, forcefully keeping your legs spread for him.

The sound of his tongue savoring you is truly impure, his spit swirling with your drenched, cum-filled cunt, his finish dripping from you only to be gluttonously devoured. His stubble is tough against your sensitive skin, a jarring contrast to his smooth, slick tongue. He’s still moaning into you, each one echoing a vibration through you.

Your breaths are becoming uneven, choking on your own pleasure as your legs squirm and thighs in his hold. He’s staring at the way your core is contracting to his touch, breasts billowing and muscles tightening, but you’re not even sure if he can see what he’s looking at, those eyes so hazed and intoxicated off your taste.

You let out a whine, your head falling back into the grass in defeat. Fully succumb to his ravenous appetite.

The sparks of euphoria are building up in your lower core, forming an intoxicating star of pleasure threatening to collapse in on itself in glorious explosion. Your moans and squeaks are becoming more strained, eyes disappearing behind eyelids. You’re instinctively clenching your legs together, but Konig won’t let you, keeping you spread on the grass while he laps you up.

You shout his name when the star collapses, shooting in spectacular bursts of pleasure throughout your limbs, tightening every muscle in your body, fingers trembling and legs shaking under Konig’s tight hold. You’re practically seeing white, back arching off the ground as you spasm on his tongue.

When your voice returns, husky and raw, Konig’s still ravaging your cunt with his tongue. He’s eager, hands locked onto your thighs in restraint and not letting up in the slightest. Torturing you with the twitch of overstimulation.

You actually have to thread your fingers through his hair and peel him off you with significant force for him to stop.

When he pulls away, his jaw is slick with your arousal, his finish, and spit. His tongue still hangs out of his mouth as he pants into the air, eyes intoxicatingly crossed.

Small strained hums leave you at the bursts of aftershock in response to your pulsing clit.

When you release Konig, he rests his head on the top of your thigh, the coarse stubble pressed against you. His chest is rising and falling in steady, heavy breaths. He begins to shower your thighs in messy, wet kisses.

“You taste so good.”

You give a soft laugh, “Thank you.”

He hums into your thigh, nestling his cheek into you.

Your head sinks to the grass, basking in your high, body suddenly incredibly relaxed as you catch your breaths.

“That felt really good,” you whisper.

He smiles, you can feel the bunch of his cheek on the sensitive flesh of your thigh.

Your fingers reach down to thread into his hair again, soothingly massaging his scalp.

He hums again, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“I love you,” He mumbles.

You give a light laugh and give him a particularly quick stint of scratches, “I know. I love you too.”

You both lay like this for a while, resting your eyes as he cuddles up to your thigh, lightly massaging his hair.

“Better put our clothes on,” You say with a small grin, “Before they get mad.”

He gives something of a whine, and after another round of kisses, he moves to oblige.

He hands you your clothes and you both get dressed before he slides your jacket up the grass so he can lie at your side.

You both intertwine hands as you lay, basking in the blissful quiet as you descend from cloud nine.

It’s about twenty minutes later when you finally break the silence.

“You know I can’t let you do it, right?” You say, forehead wrinkling when your brows raise inquisitively.

His lips pull to the side.

“You know I can’t let you,” He says, that harsh voice soft and delicate.

You heave a heavy sigh, and look back to the sky with a squint, “Then we’re at a stalemate.”

He hums in agreement.

You meet his eyes again, the jacket swooshing into your ear when you tilt your head to face him.

“We could let them decide,” You offer.

“The gamemakers?” He asks.

“Yeah,” You say, “Just wait it out until it gets boring, and then - well, I don’t know. They’ll sick mutts on us, or, I don’t know. Spray us with a gas that makes us rage and go feral on each other, or something.”

He snorts, “Well don’t give them ideas.”

“Just a suggestion,” You shrug with a grin.

“I think I’d rather it be on my own terms,” He says.

“Suicide pact?” You ask, only half joking.

He hums low as he considers it, “We can’t.”

Your brow raises.

“No?”

“The twenty-three,” he reminds you.

“The twenty-three,” you repeat, sucking on your teeth.

You let out a hefty exhale.

“Okay, Twenty-three. What’s to say they even want either of us to win? I have a feeling Eleven, One, and Titan would be alright seeing both of us die.”

“Yes,” He says, “But hate can’t be reasoned with.”

“Neither can love, apparently.”

“Ja,” He agrees through heavy breath.

You let out another sigh, as if all of these preparations for death are just really tuckering you out.

“I think that settles it then,” You say.

“What?”

“I’m willing to bend on the twenty-three front and you’re not. You believe there must be a victor, right?”

It’s not funny, but you still find a smile creeping onto your face.

“So come on, dude, put those muscles where your mouth is.”

He laughs as you nudge his shoulder.

His smile fades, and he asks, “What was it for if neither of us go home?”

Your smile drops, features going stone cold for a moment. Your tone lowers octaves when you speak.

“You know what it was for.”

It’s the closest either of you dare to step to criticism of the Capitol. It’s draped in plausible deniability, but the hatred that points your tongue has a clear target.

There’s a pause before you pick it back up.

“It’ll be different, y’know,” You say.

“Hm?”

“District Nine. You won’t have nothing anymore.”

His chest stills on a particularly heavy breath before he releases it.

“I don’t- I don’t want people to like me just because I won the games. It’s all- it’ll all be fake.”

He’s having trouble putting it into words, but you know what he means. That after years of being treated like an outcast, like you're worth nothing - the sudden praise, adoration, riches - will all be incredibly hollow. He doesn’t want love for being fit and strong and for surviving this nightmare.

For killing.

He wants love because of who he is, not for the heinous things he’s done.

Isn’t the same true for you?

If you go home, only the relationships you already have standing will ever truly be authentic. Every connection you’d make for the rest of your life would be for the wrong reasons.

“I won’t go home unless I can take you with me,” He says.

You sigh again.

“Stalemate,” You say, almost wistfully.

He hums, and there’s a drawn-out pause as you watch his fingers soothingly stroke the grass.

“Konig?”

“Yes?”

He meets your eyes, and you ask him a question you already know the answer to.

“Do you really love me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you need to do this for me. I can’t - I don’t want it, Konig,” You stare deeply into those blue eyes and shake your head, “If you really love me, you’ll let me go.”

Konig swallows, and he has to look away. His eyes dart around the four contrasting skies.

He can’t bring himself to speak, you can practically see the aching lump in his throat.

Tears begin to spring at your eyeline. Your voice is just a choppy whisper.

“You can come with me, if you want. But I can’t leave this arena, Konig. I’m sorry.”

He swallows, his eyes darting around.

He gives a slow, solemn nod.

“Thank you,” You say, more breath than voice.

He nods again, his lips pressing together and rolling between his teeth as he bites back any tears that threaten to spill.

You give his hand a squeeze, and he returns the gesture.

You lay for a while, watching the perfect white clouds in the spring quadrant billow overhead in a peaceful, yet sorrowful silence.

As the sun begins to set behind the desert, you turn your head to him.

“Guess we should, uh,” Your eyes briefly dart away, “Get it over with.”

He lets out a long, slow breath.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod, “Yeah. Better do it now before me and my fearsome biceps chicken out.”

He gives you a sad smile that quickly fades.

“It’ll be easier,” you say, voice cracking from a dry mouth, “In the sunlight.”

You know how it is at night. The world draped in its eerie sadness. The time of day where the hard thoughts and feelings slink from the darkness and suffocate you with their ruthlessness.

Sunset, you want to die at sunset.

“Hey, uhm,” You trail off for a moment before picking your sentence back up, “I wanted to repay you, for the uh, token.”

You clear your throat as you watch his brows lower.

“Uhm, since I won’t be - well, y’know. I thought I’d uh, give you something. To remember me by.”

He blinks a few times, and when he doesn’t speak you add, “If you want it.”

He nods quickly, staring at you expectantly.

You fidget with your ribbon bracelet, swirling it around your wrist before you untie the knot.

You smooth out the length of ribbon and hold an end in each hand.

He stares at the slack in the ribbon between your hold with even features, his eyes only slightly widened.

“It’s, uh, well it’s not much. But it means-“ You let out a two-note nervous laugh before meeting his eyes. A hand comes up to rub the back of your neck, “It means a lot to me.”

There’s a beat, him staring into your eyes before he gently takes the ribbon in his hands.

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyeing it like the priceless treasure you see it as.

He lets the textile slide through his fingers as he studies the intricate pattern. He holds it so gently in those big, strong hands.

“I’ll keep it safe,” He says, “Forever.”

It hits all at once, the sore lump in the back of your throat, the hiccup that leaves you, the tears that well in your eyeline.

It surprises even you, just how fast he ripped these emotions from you.

You let out a sob, a whine, your eyes pinching shut and thrusting tears from your water line.

“Hey, hey,” He says soothingly, moving to your side so he can wrap an arm around your shoulder, “It’s going to be okay, mein sieger.”

You sniff, and give a nod, but the tears don’t stop falling.

“Thank you,” You say, with an unnervingly high pitch. You hiccup, voice resetting to a low whisper, “For the best day.”

He sucks in a sharp inhale. There’s a shake in his fingers, and he opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a choke. His irises flit quickly around your face, tears welling in his eyes.

“Thank you for the best day,” He repeats, and a single tear crests his waterline, trailing slowly down his cheek and catching along the crease of his mouth.

You turn so that you’re facing each him, flinging yourself into his arms. He does not hesitate to wrap those strong arms around you in a tight embrace, letting you sob into his chest and stain his shirt with tears.

He holds you until you’re ready, keeping you steady in his embrace, light fingers tracing up and down your back.

You pull away with a deep inhale, and nod. Your lips fold and your eyes close, tears thrust from your water line.

The sun is halfway set.

“Okay,” You say with a sniff, still nodding, “Okay.”

He nods too, and you both look at each other. Soaking in each other’s red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

An unsure look between two tributes who are just as unsure, just as lost, and just as afraid.

You let out a hefty breath, and stand to retrieve the knife, but unsteady legs fumble, and Konig steadies you by the waist and guides you back to the grass.

“No, no. It’s okay. Rest.”

You go to speak, but it comes out a choke, so you give a nod.

You lay back in the lush grass and close your eyes, moving more tears from your waterline, streaking down your temple as you thread your fingers over your waist.

He leans down and plants a long, soft, closed mouth kiss on your lips. His hand presses to the side of your face and carefully slides down the dip of your neck and lands on your shoulder. You breathe him in deeply, soaking in the sensation of his lips and his coarse stubble.

He pulls away, and while you don’t open your puffy eyes, you can feel him lingering overtop you. His shadow blocking out the light of sunset as he breathes you in, in your last moments alive.

You can hear the swish of his clothes as he rises slowly. He pauses when he’s stood, and you hear him make slow, unsteady steps to the fall quadrant.

There’s another long pause filled by the sound of the spring breeze.

Twisted into a question, he calls your name.

When you open your eyes, lifting up from the grass to find him.

You lock on to each other. His arms are extended, the knife in his clasped hands pointed to the ground in outstretched arms.

He gives you one last look, one last look that’s unsure.

You’re frozen, staring at him with parted lips and puffy, wide eyes.

“I love you,” He sucks in a broken breath, “And I’m sorry.”

His brows pinch in determination, his eyes screwed shut. His muscles relax with a long exhale. He turns his back to you, and you watch from behind as he lifts his arms.

“Konig - No!”

Your feet break into a run, but it’s too late. His shoulder blades pinch as his arms swing down.

He doubles over and his feet stumble on the dirt. His empty hands fall to his side, and a cry leaves you, so broken and raw you don’t even register it as your own voice.

“No!”

He crashes to his knees, lingering there for a moment before collapsing onto his side.

Your shins scrape across dirt, disrupting ginkgo petals as you slide to his side, nudging him until he’s flat on his back. Your first instinct is to pull the blade from the wound but you have the sense to stop yourself, your hands flailing in the space just inches above him, helpless and afraid to exacerbate the injury.

“Konig, no, no, no, what did you do?!”

Your words come out frantic as you look over the wound the knife is buried in, driven fully into his stomach and oozing deep red blood. It soaks into his clothes, down his sides, soaking the ginkgo leaves with a deep crimson.

“Oh, you idiot!”

Your head snaps to the sky, “Help him! Help him!”

He calls out your name, so soft and fragile you almost don’t hear it, “It’s okay.”

His weak hand manages to catch one of your shaking arms, and you still, letting his fingers slowly lace with yours.

“It’s okay,” He whispers again, his words broken with a guttural strain.

You choke on a sob, flicking around his features that slowly drain of color, tears spilling over and landing in droplets on his shirt.

“How could you do this?! How could you?!” You ask in a tone that’s not fit for use for a man on death’s doorstep, “We had a deal!”

“It’s yours.”

It takes all of his strength to muster up the power to speak, to give your hand a faint squeeze, and when you think of all the times he’s had to tone his strength down to hold you it makes you let out another broken sob.

“It was always for you, mein seiger.”

He stares into you with his final breaths, his expression forces a choked noise in the back of your throat.

“No!” You object, but his blood doesn’t stop creeping up his clothes and pooling onto yours.

“I love you,” He says, so quiet, his chapped, ghostly lips barely moving, “Always have. Since that day.”

A sharp inhale gets caught on the lump in your throat, choking on a squeak.

Your tears are spilling relentlessly now, his pale, ghastly face blurry through tears. You hold onto his hand so tight, as if you were the very thing keeping his heart beating.

“I love you too, Konig,” You lay your other hand gently on his twitching chest and give an impossible plead, “Don’t leave me.”

“It’s okay,” He says with another squeeze and the faintest nod, “We’ll be okay.”

As the life drains steadily from his eyes, he gives you one final look.

One final look that’s sure.

Once final look that’s found.

And it hits you.

You know how you can save him.

The Capitol can put any tribute back together, no matter how close to death they are.

But they’ll only do it if you are their victor.

The last one alive.

Without a moment of hesitation, you yank the blade from Konig’s wound with your free hand, your other still intertwined with his. You pinch your entire face and your heart twists at the moan that leaves him - even his cries of unimaginable pain are weak and muted.

When you open your swollen eyes, you can see the horrified look on his face. You’re not sure if it’s because you just hurt him, or because he knows what you’re about to do.

He is powerless to stop you, no longer strong enough to get the final say.

You can only hope that your heart stops beating first.

We’ll see who wakes up tomorrow, Konig.

As soon as you see his wound through his shredded shirt, now oozing blood twice as fast, you grit your teeth and drive the blade through your chest with a grunt. The tip catches on bone before sliding through a gap in your ribcage, stopping only when the handle is flush with your skin and the blade has skewered straight through your heart.

Immediately every muscle in your body contracts painfully, your hand squeezing Konig’s with a shaking, deathly grip. A harrowing, guttural groan escapes from the back of your throat and out of a slack jaw.

In the last few moments before your heart peters out, you share one final stare with Konig. His eyes are almost entirely drained of life, but there is still no mistaking the fleck of betrayal, of horror that could easily be overlooked by the untrained eye.

You lose his gaze as you collapse to the grass next to him, no longer able to support yourself. Wheezing gasps for breath leave your gaped lips as you crush Konig’s feeble hands.

Your vision is fading away, splotches of gray exploding like stars in front of your eyes as you’re dragged away from your body. You can’t fight the instinct to scratch and claw your way back to his side, but it is futile.

The world slips through your fingers as Konig’s hand goes limp in your hold.

NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

Special Thank You to @melancholic-thing for always leaving lovely encouraging comments on my silly stories. Your support and feedback means the world to me and motivates me to keep writing <3 <3 You should absolutely check out her Konig fics if you haven’t she’s a very talented writer and her works are truly beautiful. OBSESSED with her interpretations of Konig. *chef kiss*

[nottswitch]

Could I request for 57 and fifty four (54) on the prompt list with theo smut? But luke it's smut at the end, aka you get hyped when he says the thingy about your hair... please. Thanks! ♡

hi babe, thanks for your request 💘 love this idea so much, theo would definitely be all over you when you’ve got a new hair product (as if he isn’t all over you already lmao). turned out as more of a soft smut kinda thing, hope you don’t mind!

prompt list

54. "that tastes… different."

57. "your hair’s soft."

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; theo m.list ; how to request

18+ soft smut

you heard the door opening and closing through the quiet music, the record player next to your vanity providing a cozy and comforting background to your evening routine. theo’s figure appeared in the reflection of the mirror, met by your warm smile – you’d been waiting for your boyfriend to return from his quidditch practice for a while now.

"well, hello there, pretty girl."

he came up to you from behind, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your hair. you tilted your head back, catching his lips with yours and humming when he made a cheeky move of sliding his tongue along your bottom lip.

"i see you missed me, huh?" he quirked an eyebrow, gracing you with a small smirk. you gave him a shrug in return, not denying his completely true statement, and went back to spreading your newest purchase – a hair cream – through your drying locks.

theo followed your smooth movements with his gaze for a moment, his eyes flicking to the tube resting on the vanity table in front of you. nearly everything you had there was bought by none other than him, so the new addition was a surprise. he took the tube, opening the cap and taking a whiff before squeezing a tiny blob of it onto his finger. the tip of his tongue flicked out, grazing his fingertip, and a thoughtful crease settled between his eyebrows.

"that tastes… different," he murmured, returning the tube back to its place and looking at you with a silent question in his eyes. you giggled and scrunched up your nose, pretending to be disgusted by his antics.

"teddy, ew!" you exclaimed, playfully swatting his arm. "how do you even know how my hair stuff tastes?"

his expression morphed into a smirk when he leaned in again, to press his lips against your ear. "well, tesoro, how do you think?" he murmured, his warm breath tickling your ear and making your face grow hot – the effect he seemed to have on you even after a whole year of being together, though you still tried to keep your demeanor playful. "when you’re on top, your pretty hair ends up in my mouth all the time, no?"

you felt your cheeks sparkling with something akin to electricity from how flushed theo was rendering you. you tried to roll your eyes and go back to the haircare routine, but he didn’t let you. of course, he wouldn’t. instead, he gently pried your hand away and replaced it with his, running his nimble fingers through your tresses. he nuzzled his face into the back of your head, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a satisfied hum.

"your hair’s soft," he murmured, lightly swaying his head back and forth against you. his free hand was now on your stomach, untangling the knot that kept your satin bath robe closed – an expensive barrier theo failed to appreciate. you didn’t try to stop him – you were already a bit lost in him, in his compliments, in his touches, in everything that was him. your hand reached behind you, weaving your fingers through his curls and pulling him closer into you. you wanted him to drown in your hair as much as you were drowning in him.

the pull made theo groan, his arousal already straining against the fabric of his trousers. his lips parted, welcoming the taste of your hair and the skin on the back of your neck. "love the way you taste, amore," he whispered, his voice slightly muffled but obviously hoarse, proof enough of his desire, building up each second spent in the sweetness of your hair.

"yeah? i might know something else you’d like the taste of." your voice was teasing, but not lacking the need mirroring his own. you felt theo’s warm and shaky breath on the back of your head when you spread your legs, making the fabric of your robe slide open to reveal the fact that you were completely naked underneath.

"fuck" was a fleeting whisper before theo was already in front of you, on his knees, his eyes resembling a stormy ocean as he drank in the sight of your glistening core, looking even more delicious under the vanity lights. "you know i love the taste of that, baby."

you bit her bottom lip, your eyebrow twitching up as you looked between theo’s hungry face and the place between your legs he was so desperately craving. "why don’t you try it, then?"

theo didn’t have to be asked twice; hell, he didn’t even have to be asked once – his mouth was already latched onto you before you had time to finish the sentence, making the last words falter into a moan. it was a feast, the best meal he’d ever had – your soft, warm skin surrounding him, the scent of your lotion and shower products mixing with the natural scent of your arousal he was eagerly lapping up made his mind fog with pleasure. theo would willingly stay between your legs until his dying day if he could. and he would gladly get you another hundred tubes of that new hair product, if that meant he could taste you again and again.

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Honest?

Pairing: Dabi x reader

Summary: Lying always seemed to be the best way to navigate your attraction to Dabi. This definitely didn’t aid you after getting hit with a truth quirk

Warnings: slight smut/mentions of smut; a tiny bit of blood at the start; language; teasing;

Word Count: 2k

Your foot slid across the pavement, damp concrete aiding your narrow escape from your opponent's axe.

The weapon slammed into the wall behind you, making a small dent in the stone that had been a few centimeters behind your head moments before.

Glancing up, you watched them grasping the hatchet, the heel stuck within the wreckage. The struggle gave you a chance to sweep your leg under theirs, bringing them to their knees as you jumped up.

However, the force of their weight effectively pried the axe from the wall, it’s edge cutting through the fabric of your shirt and piercing the skin underneath.

“Shit!” You groaned, watching red bloom through the cloth, dripping past your elbow and onto the chest of your fallen combatant.

A bang sounded off from your left and your spun on your heels, watching Twice incapacitate some enemy that had sticks of dynamite for hair.

Maybe the quirkless didn’t actually turn out to be the least fortunate group that society made them out to be.

The distraction was just enough for you to almost miss the haywire explosive shooting straight for another one of your comrades.

“Toga!” Your shout echoed through the alleyway, making the blonde turn her head in question, giving her just enough time to sidestep away from the projectile. She giggled, turning back around to stab her own opponent in the shoulder. He let out a cry of pain as she waved in appreciation for your warning.

Fear shot through your chest as a hand slithered around your ankle, a final attempt to overcome you that was easily squandered with a kick to the nose.

Still, the sensation of your opponent's skin against yours left an icky feeling that trickled up your spine, almost like the area below your knee was tingling with infection. You tried to ignore it, glancing up in relief to see the rest of your team similarly victorious in this fight.

A rigid breath left your lungs, beating heart still hammering away.

The stroke of adrenaline slowly drained from your limbs, leaving a comfortably sound mind that pushed you to remember the scratch just above your elbow.

“Ouch! What happened?” You looked up, quickly shielding your bloodied limb from Toga's view. Her tone seemed falsely sincere, but it greatly clashed against the carnal excitement gleaming in those golden irises.

I’m fine.

“My arm got cut and my ankle feels kinda gross."

You blinked.

That wasn't what you wanted to say.

While this was hardly the worst injury that you had gotten over your time working with the League of Villains, you were never exactly one mention any of your personal problems regardless.

It was just easier to patch yourself up unaccompanied, not to mention your underlying anxiety regarding making yourself seem weak in front of your cohorts.

Of course, most of them weren’t the type to notice, with the minor exception of-

"What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dabi, despite his usually disinterested nature, was quite the perceptive individual.

Actually, it probably would've taken someone with the observation skills of an ice cube to not notice the confusion overtaking your expression.

Nothing, I’m fine.

The lie got caught in your throat, an unwanted truth quickly taking its place and pounding against your vocal cords. “I can’t stop talking."

He cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"I can't stop talking. My mouth isn't doing what my brain is telling is to," you sputtered.

Now you were starting to panic, mind racing in sync to the pounding of the muscle in your chest.

Dabi, however, took a moment to ponder your words before striding over to your previous combatant. He nudged their crumpled form with the toe of his boot, getting nothing but a fractured groan in response.

Sighing, almost like the lack of answers pertaining to your well-being was of common inconvenience, he moved back to you, cerulean irises boring into yours. "What are you scared of?"

The words were almost immediate. "Abandonment and letting people down. But clowns are also pretty-"

Eyes widening, you slapped a palm over your mouth, an amused grin overtaking his. "Truth quirk. You'll probably be fine in a few days."

You exhaled in relief.

Honesty quirks were annoying, sure, but you weren't going to die and your brain wasn't going to melt or anything like that.

Wait...

"Days?" You jogged to catch up with him, Toga and Twice following closely behind.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Hiding something?"

No.

"Yes."

Fuck.

He clicked his tongue, feigned hurt lacing his tone. "Ouch, and here I thought that we were friends."

You were.

Kind of.

At least, in the way that villains could be friends.

He would bug you with teasing comments that border lined flirting on several occasions. In response, you would ignore him, sending a comparable quip back in his direction when you felt like it.

But for the most part, you tried to keep your distance.

Despite your current ally-ship, you would've been stupid not to recognize how dangerous he was.

The fact that you had found yourself vastly attracted to the man for quite some time definitely didn't help.

It was safe to say that you spent the rest of the walk back with your hands over your mouth.

While Dabi had become uncharacteristically quiet, much to your growing concern, your other companions had only seemed to become more talkative.

"Who's your favorite person in the league? It's me, right? It's pretty obvious." A strangled cry came from Twice's direction. "Why do you hate me?"

Toga tugged on the cuff of your jacket. "When we first met and I asked if we could be best friends and you said yes, was that just because I was covered in blood or did you mean it?”

All of those answers were muffled beneath your palms.

It seemed like an eternity before the league's hideout finally came into view.

But just as you were ready to slip past the door and book it upstairs, somebody grabbed your elbow, pulling you towards the bar.

"Come on."

Almost having to jog to keep up with his long stride, you looked up at Dabi in surprise. "Where are we going?"

"To make sure that arm doesn't get infected."

You stopped in your tracks, heels skidding against the worn floor panels as you tried to yank your wrist out of his grip.

Of course, he was stronger than you, annoyingly so, but stronger nonetheless.

He dragged you to a bar stool, forcing you into the seat by your shoulders with a scoff. You watched him trudge behind the counter towards the smart cabinet of medical supplies the League kept around before emerging with a small container of rubbing alcohol and some bandages.

“I’m…” I’m fine, it’s not that big of a deal, is what you wanted to say, but the words stuck to your tongue like peanut butter. You took a minute, attempting to find a happy medium between what you wanted and what was the truth. “I can take care of it.”

You reached for the bottle, fingers grazing the glass as he yanked it out of your grip, completely ignoring your statement. With his free hand, he grabbed your wrist once more with a quick roll of his eyes.

Even as you tried to squirm away, he let a steady stream of the liquid fall onto your arm. He looked almost bored doing so, eyes only flicking up as you hissed through your teeth at the burn.

Dabi let out a mockingly kind pout. "Oh, I'm sorry, princess. Did that hurt?"

Your answer, an undoubted 'yes', was muffled beneath a palm, the action making him grin as he picked up the gauze.

“I can finish.” You muttered quickly, almost like if you spoke less, you may be spared from saying something embarrassing. “Thanks.”

Surprisingly, he relented, but not without another eye roll, and let you fidget with the bandages.

"So quick to get rid of me, doll? Won't you miss this pretty face?" Dabi let out a humorless chuckle before moving to put the bottle back.

The comment was just for show. He was one of the cockiest individuals you’d ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. He was arrogant and awfully flirtatious when it came to you, but it wasn’t very difficult for anyone who looked hard enough to understand that he was internally pessimistic concerning his own appearance.

Those scars littering his skin were clearly a sore spot for him, although he didn’t seem to give a damn about giving anyone who would make a snide comment the satisfaction of a reaction.

Usually, they would just end up as a pile of ash.

Of course, his own secretly insecure views made it quite easy for you to keep up the image of your general dislike of the individual.

Which made it all the more terrible when you immediately responded with-

"Yes."

If it was anatomically possible, you could’ve sworn your stomach turned inside out as you watched him freeze, cerulean eyes lighting up as he slowly turned around to face you.

"Excuse me?"

"I said that I'd miss your pretty face."

He blinked. “You think my face is pretty?"

Run me over

"Yes."

with a freight train

The horrid grin crawling over his features made you queasy.

You leapt off the chair, shoes slipping on the wooden floor as you dashed to the stairs, the sting of embarrassment nipping at your heels.

But he was quicker.

Dabi's hand slipped around yours, yanking your body back and pushing it against the wall. "And where are you going?"

Almost instinctively, your arm shot upward, your palm aching to cover your mouth. The attempt was one that was easily squandered, his fingers wrapping around your wrist and tugging it upward before grasping both of your hands between one of his own. "My room."

"Why?" The smirk gracing his lips seemed to combat with the tension blazing in his eyes, quiet anxiety brewing for your answer, the one you would be forced to give.

"Because I like you and don't want you to know."

The silence that followed made you want to vomit, eyes burning with tears that you willed not to fall.

And then he was kissing you.

Fingers strewn through your hair, he pressed his mouth against yours, swallowing the gasp that followed his actions.

Your eyes flit to a close as you let Dabi take you, his hands slipping from yours to snake around your waist and push your hips together. Warmth sparks between your legs as his touch dipped dangerously beneath your pelvis.

A groan was forced passed your lips as he gave your left thigh a squeeze, smirking as he pulled away, palm still cradling your chin. "If you told me, we could've done this a lot sooner, ya know."

"Bullshit," You scoffed. "If you didn't feel the same, you would've been an asshole. You're always an asshole, actually."

Leaning forward, his breath tickled the side of your neck. You felt him grin, teeth nipping at the top of your ear. "Maybe, but I don't seem to have any issues turning you on. Isn't that right?"

"Yes." You looked down with a huff, shuffling your feet. "Whatever..."

He intertwined his fingers with your own. "Oh, come on, doll. No need to be embarrassed." With a small tug, he dragged you towards the hallway, barely missing the blue haired individual holding a glass of whiskey walking past.

Shigaraki raised his cup. "Where the hell are you two going?"

Dabi glanced down at you, a smile gracing his lips. "I don't know, princess. Where do you think we’re going?"

You were smart enough to know, but you sure as hell didn't want to say it.

Unfortunately, the man standing next to you didn't seem to care in the slightest.

"To fuck, probably."

The sound of your fearless leader choking followed you both up the stairs, your curses of annoyance bouncing off the decrepit walls and into his room, the door slamming shut with a bang.

[yandereshingeki]

The Antithesis of Decay

made for @ficsforgaza’s Kinktober!

⬑ please check them out! ⬏

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x afab!reader

Content Warnings: Stuckage, fingering, dub/noncon, no gendered pronouns, but reader is described to have bigger hips than their waist (no big specifications though). meant to take place between s3 & 4

Summary: An escape through the alleyway ends in a terrifying run-in with a wanted villain.

Managed to write this entirely in a single day 😵‍💫 it gave me a headache doing it that fast but thank god i got it done! It was a lot longer than I intended (stuckage is hard to keep short akhsheja & i originally wanted to go full smut but then wrote too much) and was a little bit difficult to navigate cause I don’t think about shiggy in a sexual way BUT !! I DID IT!

This is also the first time I'm posting something I've written in present tense, I'm just trying to experiment and figure out how I like to write lol

Shiggy lovers i hope this is adequate!!

Another crash. Another roar. Another Nomu.

You're in the thick of it, beside a building, half-destroyed, and another one completely toppled to the ground. There's screaming and panic, citizens running in every which way to escape the crossfire. Another building is about to collapse, and the monsters take no hesitation in using it as leverage to fight.

There are other heroes here, maybe three, or even more now if there were any on patrol nearby; it isn't clear through the fog of dirt and smoke. It isn't enough though. None of you had the strength or stamina to fight against the group of Nomus that appeared. Especially not by yourselves, even if you barely outnumbered them. The rubble is building. The ground is practically shaking under their destructive hands. They have the absolute advantage.

  Your quirk isn't built for such a fight, even as a pro, and your combat skills would prove useless against those monsters. You're meant to be more of a support hero than anything, someone usually waiting on the sidelines to rush in and heal the defending heroes in fights. The limits of your restorative quirk meant it was wise to steer clear from the heart of the battle and avoid being hurt, so the best course of action would be to run. Run and find backup. That's the most you can do for now; the most you can try to save what remains of that small city sector.

You choose your path quickly, remaining observant of the chaos around you. Cracked asphalt and concrete, dust flying everywhere from the destruction, debris from the second half-collapsed building scattered everywhere. The Nomus remain distracted by the other heroes, so despite the obstacles, there's a clear path to the closest alleyway. From there, if you can just reach the other side of the buildings and escape harm's way, you'll be safe to make the call.

You can make it, you believe — as long as you're fast. Confident, you take off, bound for the crack between two untouched office buildings nearby, the spring in your costume's boots allowing you to move more efficiently. With such quick speed, you nearly run face-first into the wall, entering it at an angle that's easy to correct with a simple push off against the brick. From there, the path is a straight shot to the other side, only separated by a feeble chain link fence. There's a hole that looks just big enough for you to crawl through at the bottom of it, the wire pried upward to create a gap. You can make it, you repeat in your head. The coast is clear, you can make it.

  Stumbling to a stop in front of the mesh barrier, you drop to your knees as quickly as your body will allow, planting yourself onto your stomach afterward. The opening is much smaller up close, but it's nothing you can't army-crawl your way through. Your costume was made to be dirtied and protect you in the heat of conflict, so having it scrape across the rocky ground while you drag your way under the fence isn't an issue. Its durability was the least of your problems — until now, that is..

  The elastic fabric snags on the wire once you squeeze your head and arms through the hole. Time is sensitive, you don’t have any to waste on something trivial like this. You try to reach back to untangle it, only to find the wire completely stabbed through. 

  With a heavy sigh and adrenaline crawling in your veins at the delay, you manage to move back a sizable distance before you try again, but it’s useless. The ends of the wires are sharp and stab into your suit with ease, holding you back. You needed to try something else, you needed to be fast.

  Before you can attempt to force your way through the hole, a voice arises behind you. Raspy and hoarse, you don’t even realize he's there until he speaks.

  “Oh, look at what we have here. A hero, is it?”

  His approach is slow, and you only hear his footsteps once he's standing over you. Your entire body goes stiff, your blood running cold as you curve your spine back to look at him.

  "Shigaraki," you whisper, terrified, under your breath. 

  "Oh, you know me already? How nice, I suppose we can skip the introductions then." 

  You can hear your breath hitch in your throat when he speaks and feel his presence as he looms right behind you, bending at the knees to crouch down over your legs.

  "I've seen you on TV," he starts, and you hold back a scream when you feel four rough fingers gently touch the back of your thigh, "You've got quite the impressive quirk, you know. Restoration quirks are hard to come by. And yours…"

  He pauses again, glides them up to where your hip and femur jointed together, and relishes in the way you shiver before he continues, "It's the exact opposite of mine. I guess you can only restore organic things, sure, but — it does make me wonder."

  You're hardly listening to his little ramble, your heartbeat drumming too loud in your ears to process anything — but then, your head goes blank when you feel all five of his fingers cup around your hip. Panic sets in fast, and you find yourself writhing before you can think, trying to force your way through the fence. The metal wires only dig into your skin, causing even more pain as you realize you're hips are too big to fit, and you wouldn't have made it anyway.

  Tomura only chuckles lightly at your reaction, watching the bottom half of your hero suit disintegrate into dust. You don't even realize it until you're already crying, and a cold breeze hits your face and bottom half. His hand is on you. Touching you. Feeling you, and yet.

  You don't feel any pain. His touch is simply normal against your skin. His palm is surprisingly warm, but dry. And you don't disintegrate. You don't disintegrate.

  Tomura laughs again at wide eyes and gaping mouth as if you should have expected his quirk to cancel out with yours. He slides his palm across your bottom, down to the back of your thigh again to caress it up and down slowly. Carefully. His touch lingers far longer than you're comfortable with.

  "Your quirk activates automatically when it's your own body, right? I wonder how long I can keep doing this for, then." He speaks so casually, acting like you weren't trapped and half-bare under him.

  "I've always wanted to be able to touch someone like this again. No gloves, no barriers. Just skin. When I saw you on the news and heard about your quirk, I thought you were perfect. Aside from that pesky hero stuff, that is," he frowned slightly behind the hand on his face, moving his own to grip at the fat of your ass, "You have no idea how frustrating it is to be unable to touch something without it falling apart."

  You let out a loud squeak, feeling his weight on the back of your knees when he sits on them, squeezing and kneading your flesh in his hand. There are tears in your eyes, and you struggle to twist around to look back at him, where he sits proudly like a king on his throne. Seeing such a widely known villain — being face to face, but being stuck and having him touch you like this. It felt humiliating. Humiliating to who you were as a person and a hero. You felt sick to your stomach.

  He frowns a little at the pathetic look you give him, only tightening his hold more, "Come on, don't look like that. I haven't done anything yet."

  As he speaks, he slides another hand underneath you and pulls your hips up slightly, your spine beginning to ache at how it was strained. You can only shake as you watch him, the hand that was gripping your ass moving to slide a single finger down the center of your underwear, sending a large jolt up your spine.

  In an instant, you look forward again, covering your mouth to hold back any noise you'd almost let out. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of making a sound, let it be cries or anything. So you force yourself to silence, even as tears roll down your face.

  Tomura only grins, running the finger up and down the fabric a few more times just to feel you jolt before hooking around the lining to pull it off to the side, stuffing it between your thigh and outer labia to keep you exposed. You clench up at the cold air, another shudder roving through your body as Tomura holds back a chuckle.

  Without another thought or word, he immediately dives in, his two fingers sliding between your folds, feeling whatever you can offer him before moving down to the bud below. You shiver, but are otherwise completely frozen as he does this, not even knowing half of what to do to retaliate.

  "Not too wet yet, I see. That's ok, I can fix that." He says, beginning to prod around for that extra sensitive spot he knew you wouldn't resist. A lightbulb goes off in his head when you jolt suddenly, your hips shaking extra whenever he squishes or pokes at it. With a grin plastered under that embalmed hand, he starts to move his fingers around in slow, gentle circles.

  The coarseness of his fingers doesn't help the sensation they bring on, that feeling of soft ecstasy pulsing through your body slowly like a drum. You hold back your sounds, at least, only your breathing growing heavy as he watches you clench around nothing. 

  It isn't enough for him. He needs more than this, he needs you prepared, and that wouldn’t come from just a few measly touches. 

  His fingers move faster, gaining enough friction that he has you audibly gasping, slick already building up just below. It doesn't take as long as expected, like your body is reacting on primal need. It almost makes him wonder — maybe you're getting off to the position he has you in, even if you don't realize it.

  He gives you a few more minutes of soft touching, allowing a good amount of wetness to accumulate between your shaking thighs before moving his fingers up. He gathers your natural lube on his digits, humming as he slathers it all over your pussy to make it nice and glossy before dipping them back in, finally allowing them to take the plunge.

  As if you weren't already amply humiliated, the way his fingers toy with you before pressing in is distracting enough that he manages to draw a squeak out of you the second he dives in.

  "Ohh, give me more of that. Don't be shy." He says, sliding his digits out slowly, licking his lips at how slick they are before shoving them back in.

  His fingers are so long, soaking knuckle-deep inside of you and reaching parts that your own couldn't. You would rather die at his hands now than ever admit it to anyone, but god, it feels good.

  He's already moving them so fast, curling them all around like he's searching for something. It felt too good to be touched by someone like that. You haven't slept with another person for over a year, so it's like a new foreign feeling and an old friend all at once. You can't stop yourself. Your brain grows foggier with each drag of his fingers, like he's scratching an itch you couldn’t by yourself. You couldn't hold it back anymore.

  You let out a quiet, croaked moan, covering your face with your hands to hide how embarrassing it is to indulge in something so crude with someone like him.

  A wretched smile immediately dawns on Tomura's face, and he moves his hand even faster, trying to milk more sounds out of you before he moves on. He wants you to make more noise, to hear how good a disgusting villain like him is making a great hero like you feel.

  From there, the sounds just spilled out. He’s surprisingly quick to find the smooth spot inside of you, pumping over it repeatedly until you’re a wriggling, gasping mess. The coil inside of you is winding up tight, growing ready to burst at almost any second. 

  It's so degrading, being face down in the concrete while a villain is digging his fingers so deep into you. But you weren’t thinking about that anymore. Your mind is too focused on how good it feels rubbing against your walls, the friction driving you crazy with how fast it builds up.

  Then, like electricity in your veins, it comes crashing through your body all at once. The pleasure, the ecstasy. Your body practically vibrates against his hand, an unforgiving orgasm ripping through your entire system until you’re panting like a dog, still pulsing around him as he slowly removes his fingers and wipes them on your thigh.

  As you return from your high, the quiet chuckling unnerves you. And then you feel sick to your stomach again. You’re still recovering, but you’ve come to your senses enough to look behind you.

  The sight you see has bile rising in your throat. He’s already grabbed onto you again, unzipping his pants with one hand while he speaks.

  “So, what do you think your little hero friends would think if you had sex with a villain?”

[dollwrites]

sʟᴏᴡ ʀɪᴅᴇ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴋʏʟᴇ ʀᴀʏɴᴇʀ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!lantern!reader, reader is also an alien ( improper use of her tail ), kyle’s a little dorky, oral sex ( m!receiving ), kyle whimpers it’s canon bc i said so, praise kink, anal play ( him! ), slight overstimulation, cum swallowing, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act two [ road head ]

Kyle was trying desperately not to bite down on the fleshy webbing between his thumb and forefinger— it was a childish reaction to the way you were making him feel, but the alternative was a sharp whimper that was already dribbling free. “Mn— fffuc—“ he can’t help it. he bites down on his palm, his other hand on the glowing, green steering wheel. it was all for show, of course. the construct Cadillac could drive itself, there was no need for him to navigate through the speckled, black sector of space that was nearly void of any intergalactic traffic. but there was a certain eroticism to this that he couldn’t help but sink into the fantasy. you were splayed across his lap from the passenger seat, your head bobbing at a wickedly slow pace. he would be lying if he said he didn’t consider resting his palm on the top of your head, instead, giving you a light and encouraging spur to suck him faster and harder. you were too skillful, and that was exactly the problem. the slower you moved, the more he could feel the undulations of your long, serpentine tongue as it wallowed against his throbbing length, and the fluttering of the split end as you flicked at his slit.

the way your face is angled, your sparkling eyes that seemed to go on for eons and eons stare up at him, it sparks a wild need for desire in his usually crystalline gaze. his pupils are blown out with lust. with one, fluid motion, you pull yourself back, his engorged tip slipping free from the confines of your warm, wet mouth with a sticky pop, and you purr, amused to see him so flustered. “You said you’ve fantasized about this, Green Lantern Kyle Rayner?”

Kyle sucked in a breath when he could no longer take the pressure of his own teeth against his skin, and pried his hand out from between them, nodding, but his shoulders knit up when he feels the tickle of your long, slender tail snaking up the inside of his thigh. “So many times… since I first got my driver’s license, heh…” he let out a nervous breath of a chuckle. his eyes flit to watch the way it writhes, before coiling where his cock meets his groin.

but you were still staring. with large, unblinking, questioning eyes. you almost looked as if you had no control over the naughty tendril, but he knew that you did. “What’s a driver’s license?” you repeat the term, foreign on your tongue, much unlike the taste of his precum that was now oozing in tight, little pearls from his slit. you wanted to taste it again, licking your lips as your gaze slowly lowers to watch, all the while, your tail wraps and wraps, entangling his shaft and sack in a warm, constricting bundle that had him whining and squirming in his seat, cursing under his breath.

he couldn’t take you staring at his throbbing, eager cock with your couplet parted and shiny, not when he knew the warmth— the nirvana that was just beyond that plushy threshold. the way your tail simultaneously milks his dick and toys with his balls only adds fuel to his already raging flame. “D-doesn’t matter,” he utters, gripping the steering wheel for dear life, until his knuckles ached. “ssshit, baby,” with his free hand coming down on the top of your head, fingers gliding between your tender antennae, he grips one and elicits a startled yelp from you, but he can’t think straight enough to apologize, yet. “Suck me again. Please.” he’s eager and wanton, pushing your head down, needing to feel the sensation of being enveloped in your perfect mouth once more, and you’re all too happy to oblige. you hollow your cheeks, creating a vacuum that sucks him in, and traps him there, and he bellows out a happy moan upon throwing his head back. “Fuck, yes…!” Kyle’s voice was trembling, his thumb rubbing the base of your thin, stalked antenna at the crown of your head, as if soothing the sting of him gripping it before. “Your mouth feels so good, uh…”

was he this desperate because he’d been lacking physical touch for months at a time, patrolling a lonely sector? or did you simply bring this out in him?

you supposed it didn’t matter, not really. pride swells in your chest, causes your heart to thump harder. you want to make him even needier. you wanted to see his face contort, watch his toned body writhe in torturous ecstasy against your ministrations.

the bulbous end of your tail begins to slither underneath his balls, where globs of your spit and his pre coats his taint. with the lightest touch, the very tip of the rounded muscle presses to it, smearing the slick further, worming between his ass cheeks and prodding his puckered hole.

the fleshy rope tightens its hold on his package, and you swirl your tongue in maddening circles around and around his tip, the thin and flicking points of it teasing his sensitive frenulum. he’s on the brink of pure euphoric insanity, pushing at your head with one hand, bracing his feet hard against the glowing floorboard, while his tense body bucks upwards, thrusting his cock deeper and deeper into your obedient mouth. he didn’t even seem to notice that you were teasing his back door, prodding the tight ring until the knob on the end of your tail could stretch it open enough and slide in.

“Oh, fff—!”

the sound Kyle makes is shock, and awe at how good it feels. his head rolls on his shoulders as if not fully attached, and he warbles around, helplessly trapped in your barrage of pleasure. moans spill out of his open mouth, sweat beading and sticking his raven bangs to his tan foreskin as he combats the intensity. “I— I can’t, oh fuck, oh shit, baby, I—“ you take his inability to articulate a coherent sentence as both a compliment and encouragement, and your tail, slick with the cocktail your bodies create, pistons at a shallow, slow pace, punching against the peculiar knot of spongy nerves that you found within him. your hands slide up his thighs, over his abs, and up towards his chest. your destination was his nipples. you pinch and roll them between your svelte, soft fingers, but for only a moment before Kyle shudders, and both hands immediately flee to grab yours. “I’m gonna cum,” he pants, and presses his palms flush to yours, “gonna cum, gonna— cum—“ it’s as if that’s all he could say, because that’s all he could think about. his primal instinct, the base and all-too animalistic drive to release had overtaken his brain. his thick fingers interlace with yours as he holds your hands, his head dropping back and his chest heaving. if he hadn’t been gripping your hands so tightly, his hands might’ve even shook.

with what little control of his muscles he had left, he rocked upwards against your mouth, riding his orgasm until he couldn’t go any further, croaking your name amidst the ragged breath and fervent slick skin colliding. his cock twitches in your mouth, before he empties down your throat. your eyelashes flutter upon feeling and tasting his load filling your mouth for the first time, and you look up at him as rope after rope begins to swell your cheeks, and eventually dribbles out against the sides of his cock, bubbling and frosting what few inches were not stuffed in your mouth. a few splatters even mark the holo floorboard by his feet, and he pants, rolling his head around the head rest. “Mm…nnn…” pursing his lips together, the sound vibrates them.

finally, when you felt he’s had enough, your tail unplugs him, and releases him from the bondage, and you pull yourself up to sit on his thigh. his spunk was still drooling from your lips, but you’d swallowed what you were able to keep in your mouth. the rest, you didn’t mind so much discarded, as it soaked your front and left you painted a sticky, warm white that smelled of him.

“What other ‘fantasies’ have you had, Green Lantern Kyle Rayner?” you inquire, eager to see how much more fun there was to have with him.

[writingmeraki]

# PRI'S KPOP MASTERLIST ❀

here lies all k-pop works ranging from my ults to casual listens, there will be more groups if I decide to write for them !

〈 BTS 〉 ✰ 〈 방탄소년단 〉

BTS (Korean: 방탄소년단; RR: Bangtan Sonyeondan; lit. Bulletproof Boy Scouts), also known as the Bangtan Boys, is a South Korean boy band formed in 2010. The band consists of Jin, Suga, J-Hope, RM, Jimin, V, and Jungkook, who co-write or co-produce much of their material.BTS is from Bangtan Sonyeondan which is Korean for "Bulletproof Boy Scouts" and later revealed on 5th July 2017 to extend the identity as "Beyond The Scene". According to member Jung Hoseok, the name was chosen to show the group's desire "to block out stereotypes, criticisms, and expectations that aim on adolescents like bullets.

〈 ENHYPEN 〉 ✰ 〈 엔하이픈 〉

ENHYPEN (엔하이픈) is the final 7 members of the survival show I-LAND under BE:LIFT Lab, a joint label created by HYBE and CJ E&M Entertainment. The group consists of Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Ni-ki. ENHYPEN is a mix of an en dash and a hyphen that connects different words to create new meaning, members of ENHYPEN will connect, discover each other, and grow together.

〈 SEVENTEEN 〉 ✰ 〈 세븐틴 〉

Seventeen (Korean: 세븐틴; stylized in all caps or as SVT) is a South Korean boy band formed by Pledis Entertainment. The group consists of thirteen members: S.Coups, Jeonghan, Joshua, Jun, Hoshi, Wonwoo, Woozi, DK, Mingyu, The8, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Dino. Seventeen has conquered a large audience since its debut and has grown into an internationally recognized K-Pop group with signature music and performances.

[reobsessed]

Guiding My Heart

Pairing: Tav X Astarion, Reader X Astarion. Gender neutral. Content/Content Warning: Panic attacks, anxiety, fluff, hurt, comfort, kissing, 2200 words. Summary: You'd finally made it to Baldur's Gate, unfortunately the city overwhelmed you in ways you hadn't considered possible. Astarion finds you panic stricken, hiding beneath a bridge. He does his best to comfort you and guide you through the sunset streets back to camp. Author's Note: Hi guys thank you so much for the love on my last fic! Wanted to do a comfort anxiety fic, so please bear in mind panic attacks are depicted in here. Thank you again to Suri for the wonderful reads and edits!

The chance to regain your bearings never came, as you were flushed down the street by a torrent of people. You watched with garbled breaths as your companions navigated them easily, all while you were pushed back further.

Heart pumping, nerve tingling desperation took hold of you; the kind you’d only ever felt during the heat of battle. It was fight or flight, as you ducked into a bricked out dead end.

Were you dying? Your chest pounded and ached as though you were dying. Upon examining yourself, there was scarcely a wound to be seen. Checking yourself over for injuries only heightened your fear. What if it was poison? 

The numbing weakness in your legs grew, you clutched the wall for support. 

“Darling, darling? Whatever is the matter?” The sweet words of your lover filled the hollow of the underpass. 

You could only respond in the form of irregular gasps. Fingers, slender and cold, held steadfast to your waist. You gave up control and allowed them to lower you onto a nearby crate. He crouched down beside you and pried your balled up fist away from your heart, replacing your hand with his own. 

“Did something frighten you, my dear?” His forehead crinkled with concern, before being undercut by an attempt at humour. “I’ve only ever heard it beat that fast for me, but I suspect this time I’m not the cause.” He shot you a reassuring smile, belied by a tremble in his voice.

“Started panicking. Don’t know why,” you choked.

He looked at you sympathetically, before rising to his feet. “Won’t be a moment my dear, stay here.” And with that he ran off, back the way you came. You could hear murmurings outside. Those of your partner’s hurried reassurance and that of your companions, voices raised with concern and inquisition.

The voices began to die down, as did the palpitations in your heart. Astarion rounded the corner back towards you, but slowed his approach upon seeing your distress. He moved gracefully and feline, as if you were prey not to be disturbed.

You looked behind him worriedly, but were relieved when none of your other companions followed behind. They didn’t need to see you like this. You didn’t want them to see you like this. Ideally you didn’t want anybody here, but if it were to be anyone you were glad it was him.

“Now then.” He crouched down beside you, dabbing your forehead with a frilled cloth. Cooling relief washed over you as he held the palm of his hand against your temple.

“Feels good,” you sighed, leaning into his touch.

“Ah yes, I thought that might help. You’re terribly warm.”

His gentle touch and the soothing cadence of his voice were enough to calm you, but the unpleasant tingle of your limbs persisted, as did your erratic breathing.

“Sorry for all of this, Astarion.”

“For what?” he mumbled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. You only just got back, you finally get to see it in daylight and I’m ruining it.”

“Don’t be silly! We’re hardly leaving tomorrow. I’ll have plenty of time to wander the sunlit streets.” 

Despite his reassurance, your eyes began to well. Something about the rise in his tone unsettled you and like a toddler crying over their parent’s temper, you began to sob.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking around desperately; his face an entanglement of hurt and bewilderment. “I didn’t mean to upset you, my darling.” His hands clamped over yours, desperate to provide you with any sort of comfort. “Did I do something wrong?”

You tried to speak, but all that came out were incoherent whimpers. He looked at you with panic stricken eyes, hands still holding firmly onto yours.

This wasn’t fair, he didn't know how to deal with this sort of thing. You were supposed to support him, you-

“My love.” He looked at you sincerely, a slight smile gracing his lips; one of those rare, genuine smiles, few ever got to see. “Let’s stay here a little while longer.” He planted a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth and held you close.

Tears of a new source began to flow and there was no holding them back. His fingers curled around yours; you were drowning and they were your anchor. You tried to wipe away your tears, but he wouldn’t let you.

“Gods, darling, no. Think of all that dirt and those… fluids- from your enemies I mean, not yours.” He pulled another handkerchief from his pocket (did this man just have an endless supply?) and gently, he dabbed at your eyes and cheeks.

“Thank you,” you sniffled.

“There we are.” He looked you up and down, appreciating his work. “All cleaned up! Shame about your makeup, but nothing we can’t fix.”

Red soreness blazed across your cheeks and seared your eyes with swollen intensity. A quick glance into a nearby puddle revealed the inky smear that enveloped your eyes. Gods, what a sight you were and yet he looked at you with such affection.

You lamented his hands detaching from yours, until they returned to your thigh, stroking soothing circles up and down your leg. Lodged deep within the pulsating heart of the city, you'd finally found your pocket of serenity. Unfortunately your respite was short lived as adolescent bellows converged on your hiding spot.

Astarion’s ears twitched in their direction and his face warped from one of contentment to bitter irritation.

“Oi, oi hanging out under a bridge.”

“Like a couple of lovesick trolls.”

You rolled your eyes at their childish remarks. Astarion, however, lacked the patience needed when dealing with youths. He shot them a glare so piercing, it silenced them in an instant. He was a stray cat, territorial and fierce. A non-existent hiss threatened them from the shadows and like a pair of puppies, they whimpered and scurried out of view.

“Was that really necessary?” you laughed hoarsely. 

“What? You can’t honestly expect me to sit here listening to children babbling on.”

You stifled your laughter. “You’re such an old man. You used to be like that too, you know?”

“I’ll have you know, I was never the sort.”

“I sometimes wonder about that myself,” he laughed bitterly, changing the subject. “Are you feeling better now, love?”

“Hmm, I wonder what kind of child you were.”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “We need to get back to the others.” You rose to your feet and Astarion joined you, a supportive hand on your lower back.

“Very well then, I’ll lead the way.” His fingers locked with yours as he led you back into the sunlight. He lit up literally and figuratively, his skin beaming like a pearl in the warm light and his mouth curling into a soft smile. He was truly in his element. “Which route would you prefer? We have the scenic back alleys of Baldur’s Gate and the even more picturesque sewers down below.”

“We can go the normal way. I don’t think I’ll subject you to the sewers just yet.” You smirked knowingly. Your adventure would lead you down into the sewers eventually, why wouldn’t it?

With a guiding hand he led you away from the dark alleyways and into the teeming streets. You did your best to suppress your rising panic. You focused on the prevailing scraps of nature: trickling water, rustling leaves and the painless cry of birds up above. Astarion, on the other hand, had been suspiciously quiet. You noticed how his eyes lit up with delight, as he stared across the street.

“What’s over there?” you asked.

“Huh? Oh, you mean that.” He pulled you in closer; one hand wrapped around your waist, the other still clasped in yours. He pointed across the street. “I’ve always wanted to visit the florist’s over there. The flowers have the most delightful fragrances.”

“How come you’ve never- ah.” You trailed off sadly, already knowing the answer.

“They always close before sundown. It’s rather unfortunate Cazador never let me bring anything home other than victims. A bouquet of flowers could have done wonders for that tacky little entranceway.”

“Well, we could always go together.”

“As much as I’d love to tour the city with you, you’ve had a long day. Let’s get you back to camp first, hm?”

“Okay, we’ll come back some other time.” You said, making a mental note of the store’s exact location.

The sun began to retreat, lost to the shadows of the upper city. There was no quieting of the streets, as the fading light gave way to an influx of people; those departing their homes and businesses, ready for whatever nightly activities they had planned. Astarion held you near to him, skillfully threading you past any who came too close. 

While you had no intention of stopping, a prominent display of cakes and pastries caught your eye. You ground to a halt, dragging Astarion with you. Unnatural hues of reds, pinks, greens and blues peered at you from behind the glass, like rows of infernal eyes. Their construction was intricate and put the very store they were displayed in to shame.

“Quite darling aren’t they?” he said, standing beside you.

“They’re pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something so beautiful.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied fondly, looking through the glass; his reflection non-existent, as he looked between you and the cakes. “A sweet treat for my sweet treat.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, we should really be getting back.”

The sun had almost fully set, your surroundings becoming a drab greyscale of abandonment. As you got further and further away the sounds of the city began to fade, muffled behind crumbling properties and streaming waters. It was peaceful, walking together in comfortable silence, firmly attached to one another.

“I could get used to this, you know? Strolling through derelict back alleys with you by my side,” Astarion mused. 

“I’d like that. Wouldn’t mind a change of scenery though, a bit more greenery perhaps.”

Astarion coughed nervously, turning to face you. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to talk about what happened earlier?”

“I don’t- I don’t really know what there is to say,” you stammered in response.

“It’s alright, we’ll work through it together. We always do.” He flashed you a resolute smile.

“You don’t think it’s a little pathetic freaking out over nothing?” 

“The city can be quite overwhelming, I suppose. Not that I would know, I’ve lived here for hundreds of years.” Just like him to humble brag. “I’ve done my fair share of ‘freaking out’ on our little adventure, far be it for me to judge you.”

You wrapped your arms around him, hiding your face in the fabric of his armour. “Yeah, I guess I’m just not used to it. Sorry, again.”

“Oh stop it.” He returned the gesture and held you in his arms. You stood together silent in the moonlight, rocking against one another, all while steely waters lapped against the canal wall.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere so… populated. I feel trapped, like a rat almost.”

He gave you a once over. “Well you certainly don’t look rodent like. The taste is significantly better, I might add.”

“I wish I was a rat, then I could just run and hide in a nice wall.”

He hummed in contemplation. “I know it might be odd for me to be the one saying this, but perhaps running away isn’t the best option? We’ve faced all our problems head on so far, surely this is no different?”

You buried your face back into his chest, your agreement coming out as a muffled groan. “But what if it happens again? What if it happens while we’re doing something important?”

He rested his chin atop your head, arms still encircling your waist. “I’ll be with you, so you don’t need to worry.” He pulled back to look you in the eyes. “Just don’t stray too far from me, okay?” His tone was steady and confident, but there was a desperate and needy look in his eyes. A far worse person could take advantage of such adoration. You couldn’t let that happen, you’d never let anyone use him ever again.

You cupped his face in your hands, doing your best to look as sincere as possible within the eyes that reflected you. “I’m not going anywhere. Especially not while Cazador’s still alive.”

Satisfied with this answer, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was firm and tender, a silent act to seal the promise between you both.

“Right, we should get back before one of them burns the entire camp down,” you said looking off into the distance concernedly.

“Always a possibility when you’re not around.”

The hearty chatter and crackling fire were a welcoming sight, as you approached camp. None of the others had noticed the two of you yet and you were determined to have one last moment alone with your lover. Feeling at ease, you asked him one final question.

“Astarion?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” You grinned sheepishly, lips brushing against his.

[brucewaynehater101]

When the others inevitably find out about the warped dynamic between Tim and Bruce they decide to completely take advantage of it and tell Tim that they’re planning on going out

And tim sees them as his siblings or distant relatives so he doesn’t really think that he needs to give them permission or that he has any authority over them so he just nods and tells them to be safe

When they get caught by Bruce they just immediately throw Tim under the bus by saying that he said they could go and Tim is realizing that his siblings are exploiting the loophole that is Tim and must work his way out of this blunder

Alright. Brilliant. However, here's how I'm imaging the scene to play out:

~~~

Damian has been glaring at Tim for the last thirteen minutes. Tim has been steadfast in ignoring whatever weird intimidation technique the kid is trying to pull with him. As he's taken to most of the batkids, he sticks to the motto, "it's not my business until it is."

The best part about that motto is how vague it is so Tim can shape it to whatever aim he pleases. It works for him, and it works against everyone else (unless it's Duke. The teen ruthlessly utilizes the loophole of making whatever situation he needs Tim for into Tim's problem).

Regardless, Tim has been clacking away at Neon Knights paperwork while Damian stares at Tim without blinking. An idle thought of Tim's almost makes him navigate to LoA servers to check their training programs (thirteen whole minutes without blinking???), but his willpower is strong enough to ignore it.

"Timothy."

Tim immediately closes his laptop and whips around to Damian.

Did the little gremlin actually refer to Tim by his first name?

Tim's fingers twitch with the urge to perform an injury check on the kid, but he refrains. Damian seems fine.

Well... besides the unblinking stare for thirteen minutes and the first name. Maybe Tim should perform tha-

"Colin and I would like to go to the zoo on Saturday, Timothy."

Tim's thoughts snap back to present at the confusing series of events that are playing out. He clocks the kid's clenched teeth, his hesitancy to even utter any words, the delayed conversation, the first name usage, the way Damian's eyes betray irritation and anticipation, his strict posture, and the way Damian's hands are clasped behind his back. It's a confusing set of clues laid out before Tim, and he can only come to one conclusion.

Damian is reaching out and offering an olive branch. He's offering random information in his socially stunted way of bonding.

Tim allows a soft smile to appear on his face as he nods. "Are there any animals in particular you want to see?"

Damian's eyebrow furrow, but he does answer the question. "Richard has prattled on about the elegance of elephants. Colin is partial to the tigers."

While that didn't necessarily answer the question, Tim offers him a nod. "I particularly enjoy their bird enclosures. They allow you to walk inside some of them as they fly around you."

Damian's eyes gain a concerning gleam to them, but Tim just hopes this bonding exercise brings them closer together. It's been hectic in the Manor ever since the other Bats found out about the true nature of his relationship with Bruce. It's not as huge of a deal as they seem to be making of it.

Tim grabs his laptop, places it on his lap, and pries it open again. "I hope you guys have fun at the zoo."

By the soft and intentional putter of feet, Tim can hear Damian walking away. "Thank you, Timothy."

"You're welcome, Dames."

Tim finds out Saturday night, when the batcave is filled with 3 tigers, 6 elephants, and so many birds, what Damian actual meant by him going to the zoo. Bruce is furious, several of the Batkids are laughing, and Tim is quietly hiding his amusement as well.

Or he was until Damian explained that Tim had given him permission to do it and even told him to grab all the birds.

[srslyblvck]

fractured bonds, kaz brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

synopsis: y/n is captured by pekka's men, kaz goes to rescue her.

warnings: violence, wounds, blood

word count: 1.1k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ KETTERDAM THRIVED IN CHAOS, its streets alive with the cacophony of crime and commerce, where fortunes were made and lost in the blink of an eye. The city was a merciless beast, feeding on the weak and vulnerable, yet it offered endless opportunities to those daring enough to seize them. Shadows lurked in every corner, and danger was a constant companion. The Barrel, in particular, was a cesspool of vice, a playground for criminals and schemers. It was here, amidst the darkened alleys and looming warehouses, that Kaz Brekker ruled, the indomitable leader of the Dregs, a gang as feared as the city itself.

But tonight, Ketterdam's chaos had turned against Kaz. For days, he and the Crows had been searching for Y/N, scouring every corner of the city, but to no avail. She had been taken by Pekka Rollins' men, and the thought of her in their clutches gnawed at him like a festering wound. He moved through the shadows, his cane tapping rhythmically against the cobblestones, his mind a tempest of rage and fear. He couldn't afford to lose her—not Y/N, who had become an indispensable part of the Crows and, though he'd never admit it, to him.

Kaz Brekker's cane tapped against the cobblestone as he manoeuvred through the narrow alleys of Ketterdam. Each step was calculated, and precise, masking the storm brewing inside him.

The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city loomed like a spectre, its windows dark and broken, the stench of decay thick in the air. Kaz moved with purpose, his steps steady despite the limp that had become a part of him. The information had been hard-won, pried from the lips of a desperate informant, but it had led him here. Alone, with no time to gather the rest of the Crows, he pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.

The warehouse loomed before him, a hulking shadow against the night sky. Kaz slipped inside, silent as a ghost. The smell hit him first—damp, decay, and the unmistakable copper tang of blood. He gritted his teeth, his gloved hand tightening on his cane. He moved through the debris-strewn space, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of Y/N.

And then he saw her.

Y/N was crumpled in a corner, her form barely recognizable through the bruises and blood. Kaz's heart lurched, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his cold exterior. He approached her cautiously, his steps careful, as if the very ground could betray him.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. There was no response. He crouched down, his knee protesting the movement, but he ignored the pain. He reached out, his gloved hand hovering above her battered form.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a small, pained moan. Kaz's jaw tightened. He needed to get her out of here. Now. He slid his arm under her shoulders, preparing to lift her.

"No," she whispered, her voice cracked and weak. "Kaz... you don't have to..."

"Be quiet," he snapped, though there was a rare gentleness in his tone. He shifted his cane to his left hand and, with deliberate care, slid his arms beneath her fragile frame. She gasped in pain, but he held her close, his grip firm but as gentle as he could manage.

Kaz moved as quickly as his injury would allow, each step a calculated effort. The warehouse loomed around them, a labyrinth of shadows and decay, but he navigated it with practised ease. Y/N's weight was a reminder of her fragility, of how close they had come to losing her.

Kaz moved swiftly, the warehouse fading into the night as he carried her back to the Slat. Each step was a testament to his determination, the pain in his leg a distant echo compared to the fear of losing her. He burst through the doors, the sudden commotion drawing the attention of the Crows who had gathered in his absence.

"Nina!" Kaz barked, his voice commanding, brooking no argument. The Heartrender appeared, her face a mask of concern as she saw Y/n's condition. Inej and the others followed, their expressions ranging from shock to fury.

"Fix her," Kaz ordered, his eyes hard as steel. He laid Y/n down gently on the nearest table, stepping back to give Nina space. The Heartrender's hands moved with practiced precision, the room falling silent as she worked.

Kaz stood like a sentinel, his gaze never leaving Y/n. "If anything happens to her—" he began, his voice low and dangerous, but Nina cut him off.

"Nothing will happen to her, Kaz," she said firmly, her hands moving over Y/n's wounds with surety. The confidence in her voice was a balm, but it did little to ease the storm raging within him.

He watched Nina work, every second stretching into an eternity. Y/N's breathing grew steadier, her face relaxing as the pain ebbed. When Nina finally stepped back, exhaustion lining her features, Kaz felt a fraction of the tension ease.

"She'll need rest," Nina said, wiping her hands on a cloth. "But she'll recover."

Kaz nodded, the closest he could come to expressing gratitude. He moved to Y/N's side, looking down at her peaceful face. The sight of her, alive and breathing, was a balm to his frayed nerves.

Kaz's cold fury resurfaced. He left the Slat without a word, his destination clear in his mind. Pekka Rollins would pay for this. Breaking into Pekka's base was no easy feat, but Kaz was a master of the impossible. He moved like a ghost, his cane an extension of his will as he dispatched guards and slipped through security measures.

He finally reached the heart of Pekka's lair, where the man himself lounged, surrounded by his most trusted men. Kaz didn't hesitate. With a swift, brutal efficiency, he fought his way through them, his movements precise and lethal. His cane became a weapon, its steel tip striking with deadly accuracy.

Pekka, taken by surprise, found himself on his knees, staring up at Kaz with a mix of fear and fury.

"You think you can take what's mine and get away with it?" Kaz's voice was a deadly whisper. "If you ever lay a hand on any of my Crows again, I will destroy you. And don't think for a second that I won't."

Pekka glared at him, but Kaz's cold, unyielding gaze didn't waver. He turned and left, his message delivered, leaving Pekka to contemplate the consequences of his actions.

Hours passed, the Slat gradually returning to its usual state of organized chaos. Kaz remained by Y/N's side, his mind a whirlwind of plans and strategies. Pekka Rollins would pay for this. He would tear the Barrel apart brick by brick if he had to.

Y/N stirred, her eyes opening slowly. She looked up at him, confusion giving way to relief. "Kaz..."

"You're safe now," he said, his voice as cold and steady as ever. "Rest. We'll talk later."

She nodded, too exhausted to argue. As she drifted back to sleep, Kaz allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. He reached out, his gloved hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. It was a fleeting touch, almost imperceptible, but it spoke volumes.

Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, had his weaknesses. And Y/N was the most dangerous one of all.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Beneath the Bookshelves | BakuDeku 🌶

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Katsuki Bakugo x Izuku Midoriya 💋

Summary: A humble repost of my work b/c I think this one flew a lil under the radar when I posted a few months ago! It's Class A's 3rd year at UA, and Bakugo & Izuku are 18 years old. Katsuki and Izuku have been hot for each other for years, but have never discussed it. Katsuki asks Izuku to accompany him to the library during finals week, and the two do some *studying* amongst the shelves.

Genre: Smut, Romance, S*xual Tension

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, hand jobs, dirty talk, teasing

💕Link to My Master List 💕

Beneath the Bookshelves

“Hey, nerd. I need something from the library – let’s go.”

Katsuki is leaning against the doorframe of Izuku’s dorm room, arms crossed. It’s a Saturday evening towards the end of the semester, so most of their classmates are in their rooms studying or training for the practical exams. Up until this moment, Izuku has had his head buried in his math textbook, trying desperately to wrap his mind around quadratic equations. He was just thinking about texting Ida or YaMomo for help when Katsuki appeared.

“Oh, hey Kacchan.” Izuku says brightly, looking up at his friend. Over the past 3 years of school, Katsuki has really filled out. He’s less wiry, more muscular and solid. His jawline is more defined than ever, and now sports a soft layer of blonde stubble. His mouth is set in its typical hard line, a sure sign that the young hero is in a bad mood. Izuku’s stomach does a summersault as he pries his eyes away from Katsuki’s soft cupids bow. “For sure, I could use a break. What do you need?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get going.” Katsuki jerks his head in the direction of the library and Izuku scrambles up to stow away his math books before following along. They walk through the dorm and out onto the quad in silence, Izuku looking at his friend quizzically.

It’s a nice night out – the stars sparkle up above them and a light breeze dances through Izuku’s recently cut hair. He’s feeling nostalgic as he looks at Katsuki walking ahead of him, watching as his friend angrily stomps towards the UA library building up ahead. How many times have they walked like this – Katsuki marching irritably, Izuku a few paces behind? He smiles softly as they cross the library’s threshold and the warm light of the building bathes them both in gold.

At this hour of night, the library is practically devoid of life. The only soul in the space appears to be the elderly librarian who sits sorting books at the front desk. They nod at her as they make their way towards the stairs and to the upper floors. Izuku pauses at the second floor, looking towards the math section. It’s their first final, so naturally he assumes that’s the sector Katsuki needs to visit. But he’s wrong – Katsuki rolls his eyes at Izuku and continues to stomp up the next flight of stairs. They continue like that – up, up, up until they are at the fifth floor.

The fifth floor of the library is an area Izuku hasn’t spent much time exploring. It’s where all of the oversized books are kept – the art books, the cookbooks, the graphic novels. It’s a space that, unfortunately, the Hero Course students don’t get to frequent. Sure, he’s taken a liberal arts course or two at UA, but the Hero course does not put much emphasis on the arts or culture. So Izuki is surprised when he sees how easily Katsuki navigates the floor and its various rooms, booths and study sections. It’s as if he’s been coming here consistently over the past three years.

The explosion hero leads Izuku to the back of the floor, past a few study rooms and rows of books. Finally, Katsuki looks over his shoulder at Izuku to ensure he is still close behind. The green haired boy is surprised to see a slight blush of embarrassment heating up his friend’s face. Katsuki stops in the architecture section, taking care to push a large shelf slowly to the side. Izuku is surprised when the shelf reveals a small, secret alcove hidden amongst the rows of books. There’s a red cushioned loveseat hidden amongst the shelves. Art and architecture books line the space floor to ceiling. An All Might plush blanket is folded across the side of the couch, and as Izuku enters the space he notices a few pictures and mementos stashed here and there within the shelves. It’s shockingly private and cozy.

“What is this place, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, running a finger along the book spines closest to him. Katsuki rearranges the loose shelving unit, effectively sealing them into the cozy space. Izuku is suddenly hyperaware of how alone they are. He feels Katsuki staring at his back, and a faint flicker of arousal zings up his spine.

“This is where I come to study and get away from all the damn distractions of the dorms.” Katsuki says, deliberately not looking at Izuku as he sits down on one of the loveseat cushions. Izuku looks back over his shoulder and drinks in his friend – Katsuki is sitting comfortably, his long legs crossed casually on the couch. He’s wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a tight fitting black band tee. He looks so casually gorgeous that Izuku feels his heart flutter up to his throat.

“I always wondered where you went off to when we had group study sessions.” Izuku says thoughtfully, peering over to look at a photo of Katsuki and All Might from their first Sports Festival. All Might is grinning and posing – giving the camera two thumbs ups. Katsuki is chained to the podium, the gold metal from the festival clutched in his angry jaws. Izuku reaches out a finger to trace across the photo, touching the photo Katsuki’s harsh jawline. He chuckles before turning back to his friend. “This place is awesome! You deserve a quiet spot with solitude. I know how annoyed you get when everyone is noisy.”

“Yeah. I can dish it out, but I can’t take it.” Katsuki grins, referring to his ability to yell and be a dick around their friend group.

“Thanks for showing me this place.” Izuku sits down next to him on the couch. He’s hyperaware of how his hand is just inches from Katsuki’s. “So what do you need? Did you forget a book here or something?”

Katsuki shifts uncomfortably. “Not exactly. I’ve been really stressed about exams lately. And this being our final year at UA, I’ve been feeling a lot of pressure.”

Izuku nods, he’s definitely been feeling the same way. The pressure and expectations of the future are weighing heavily on all of their shoulders this year. They are Class A – the class that defeated Shigaraki. The class that helped win the war. There are expectations for each of them – they are the new symbols of peace. At times, it feels like the weight of the world is resting upon their young shoulders.

“I understand.” Izuku says empathetically. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, I’ve been having similar feelings lately as we start to wrap up our first semester as third years.”

“There’s just so much happening right now. I wish I could slow everything down. Do some things over.” Katsuki is deliberately avoiding Izuku’s gaze now. He’s shifting uneasily in his seat, his hip accidentally bumping Izuku’s.

“What would you do over?” Izuku asks blankly. Katsuki ignores him.

“I brought you here because I kinda want to blow off some steam, and you’re the only one who I want to do it with.” Katsuki says, a rosy red blooming in his pale cheeks.

Izuku’s not sure if he’s hearing correctly. Katsuki’s voice has dropped a few octaves, and Izuku can’t imagine how they would possibly “blow off steam” in the cramped quarters of Kacchan’s hidden library den. Unless…?

Izuku turns to his friend, confused. “What do you - ?” But he’s cut off when Katsuki grabs him by the collar and pulls him into a searing kiss. Izuku did not anticipate this, and so he’s caught by surprise. He tumbles backwards with the force of Katsuki’s momentum and ends up awkwardly leaning against the arm of the couch. Katsuki is half on top of him and getting as close as humanly possible. His mouth is hot and wet and impossibly soft as it moves against Izuku’s with a ferocity that only Katsuki can dish out.

It doesn’t take long for Izuku to recover and then respond enthusiastically, throwing his arms around Katsuki’s neck and winding fingers into his soft blonde hair. Katsuki is kissing him desperately, mouth moving and sliding fervently against Izuku’s willing mouth.

“I’ve wanted this…for so….long.” Katsuki huffs out between kisses, his hand moving up to ghost along Izuku’s throat.

“Ah! Kacchan…” Izuku moans as Katsuki moves to kiss down his neck, carefully sussing out the most sensitive spots of Izuku’s skin. The green haired hero is in absolute heaven, enjoying each soft kisses and caresess that Katsuki is kind enough to share.

After a few minutes of desperate kissing, Katsuki realizes what an uncomfortable position Izuku is in. He pulls himself off of the One For All wielder and offers out a hand to Izuku. The green haired teen takes it, and allows Katsuki to pull him out of the plush couch until he’s sitting upright again. They both spend a moment catching their breaths before Izuku turns to face his friend.

“W-what was that?” He asks, breathlessly. His eyes zero in on Katsuki’s plush mouth, practically begging the explosion hero to get back to kissing him.

“I just need to do something physical right now to get out all my energy. And I’ve been wanting to kiss you for God knows how long.” Katsuki leans forward and kisses along Izuku’s flushed freckled face. “Let me keep going?”

Izuku nods, for once he’s not babbling. He snakes his hand up to cup Katsuki’s cheek and pulls the blonde towards him. Their lips meet again and he lets out a soft moan of contentment.

Katsuki brings his hand down to rest on Izuku’s chest, appreciating the toned muscle that’s taught even under his friend’s thick All Might t-shirt. He smooths his hand down towards Izuku’s waist, and dips it under the navy blue t-shirt fabric so that he can fully appreciate his friend’s washboard abs.

“Oh!” Izuku pulls away in surprise at the contact, not used to being touched in such a way. Katsuki takes advantage of the break in kissing and moves to suck and bite at the One For All wielder’s smooth neck. He continues to spread his fingers wide across Izuku’s stomach, sliding his fingers up to feel his strong chest. Izuku is absolute putty in his hands, melting into each touch and kiss. As Katsuki kisses down his neck he glances down to see Izuku is hard in his comfy joggers. Izuku’s cock is outlined clear as day in the thin material. Katsuki smirks and lifts his friend’s shirt up to reveal pale, lightly scarred skin.

“Take this off already.” He practically growls, helping Izuku to pull the fabric over his head. Izuku can’t get it off fast enough, he just wants Katsuki’s hands and mouth back on him as soon as possible.

Katsuki has seen Izuku shirtless countless times – in the locker room, in the dorms, in battle. And each time he’s caught a glimpse of his friend’s unclothed body he’s quickly looked away. Not this time. Katsuki just wants to look and look and look until his eyes no longer work.

Despite the criss-cross of scars across Izuku’s torso and arms, Katsuki thinks he looks absolutely goddamn beautiful. He wonders for a moment if he should say so, if that’s something that people do in these kinds of situations.

“You should take off your shirt, too.” Izuku says huskily, shaking Katsuki from his inner thoughts.

“Oh yeah?” Katsuki says challengingly, a bit more harsh than he intended. Izuku meets his gaze with a level stare. He’s gotten so much tougher in the past few years, his quirk lending him a newfound confidence that he had lacked in their childhood.

“It’s only fair.” The green haired man states, moving to pull Katsuki’s tight shirt off by the sleeves. He doesn’t fight back, allowing Izuku to whip the band tee over his fluffy blonde hair. Izuku’s bright green eyes grow wider as he’s faced to face with Katsuki’s rippling muscles. The blonde is a little more built up than Izuku, but not by much. Katsuki is almost ashamed at the way he goes red under Izuku’s thirsty gaze.

“Kacchan…you’re absolutely gorgeous.” Izuku says reverently, reaching out gentle fingers to caress Katsuki’s exposed flesh. He runs a fingertip down from Katsuki’s collar all the way to his bellybutton, and then bravely traces down the fuzzy blonde happy trail that disappears into his waistband. Katsuki shivers at the contact, having never been touched so lovingly. He bites back a smile.

“And what about you? Looking like a goddamn dream over there.” Katsuki pushes his friend into the couch and moves to straddle him, kissing every bit of exposed flesh he can reach. Izuku is laughing now, wrapping his arms around his friend loosely so he an enjoy the closeness.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do to you for a while…” Katsuki whispers as he lightly bites the shell of Izuku’s ear.

“What’s that?” Izuku asks, breathless. His eyes are hazy and he cups his hands around Katsuki’s cheeks and pulls his friend back into a searing kiss. Katsuki all but dissolves into the kiss, sliding his mouth against Izuku’s in the most delicious way.

“You taste so damn good.” He whispers in between kisses, bringing their mouths together again and again. He revels in the feeling of their bare chests pressed flush together. He can feel Izuku’s hardness collide gently with his own through his sweatpants, bringing out a breathy moan from his throat.

He gives Izuku a few more kisses before shifting to sit next to him on the couch once again. He slides his hand down from his friend’s neck, to his chest, and then down his stomach until he reaches the waistband of Izuku’s soft All Might branded joggers.

“I wanna get you off.” Katsuki hisses, sliding his hand on top of Izuku’s hardness and giving him a tantalizing squeeze through his joggers. “Shit, are you not wearing underwear? I can feel you right through these.”

Izuku’s face turns impossibly redder and he splutters out “I had no idea I was going to be whisked away in the middle of studying quadratic equations to hookup with my best friend! Had I known, I would have worn something sexier.”

Katsuki raises his eyebrows. “You own a sexy outfit?”

Izuku looks at him indignantly. “Of course. I own plenty of hot outfits. I exude sexiness at all times.”

Katsuki barks a laugh and slides his hand across Izuku’s clothed cock again, drawing a squeak out of his friend. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“I have, like, 5 other All Might shirts that are considerably sexier than this one.” Izuku manages to say, watching as Katsuki’s hand begins to trace up and down his length. This makes Katsuki belly laugh, he quickly runs through every All Might outfit he’s ever seen Izuku wear in his head.

“The Silver Age shirt is my favorite.” He says, leaning forward to lick a hot stripe up Izuku’s exposed neck.

“Yeah, that is a particularly sensual one.” Izuku grins and then lets out a harsh moan as Katsuki tightens his grip on his dick.

“You okay with this?” Katsuki whispers, all joking aside.

“Y-yeah. Only with you.” Izuku shifts to get more comfortable in the love seat, eyes transfixed on Katsuki’s strong hand. The blonde runs his hand along the edge of Izuku’s joggers again, ghosting a finger beneath the waistband. He brushes his fingers lower and lower, finally caressing the tip of Izuku’s dick with a delicate finger. Izuku makes an embarrassingly high sound in the back of his throat as Katsuki caresses his cock.

“Lose the pants.” He says in a hushed voice, tugging at the joggers with his empty hand. Izuku shifts his hips and makes quick work of discarding the joggers, they land in a heap on the carpeted library floor. Katsuki absentmindedly licks his lips as he takes in the scene - Izuku is now sprawled across the loveseat, stark naked.

The blonde hero can feel his heart beating incessantly as his eyes roam over his friend. In all of his fantasies, he never pictured Izuku looking this goddamn hot. He’s so toned and freckled and lovely. Katsuki sucks in a deep breath as he wraps his hand back around his friend’s heavy cock. Izuku’s biting his lip as he watches his friend start to work at his hard member. Never in his wildest dreams did he think studying would lead to this insane display of intimacy from Katsuki.

Katsuki has never touched someone else’s dick before, so for a moment Izuku’s hardness feels foreign in his callused palm. But as he begins to pump lightly at his friend’s member, he realizes this is really no different from pleasuring himself. He knows his way around his own cock, so of course he can figure out how to work at Izuku’s. He thinks through what he likes when he plays with himself and mimics it on Izuku. He works his way slowly up from base to tip, concentrating on the expanse of skin right below Izuku’s blunt tip.

“Fuuuuuck Kacchan.” Izuku groans out. Katsuki spares him a quick kiss, reveling in the way his friend’s adorable freckles contrast against his blushing skin.

“Yeah, you like that?” Katsuki says smugly, smiling at the way he’s making his friend arch into his touch. He suddenly has a thought. “Oh – hold on.”

Katsuki draws his hand away and Izuku cries out at the loss of contact. “I’ve got somethin’ that’ll make this even better.” Katsuki reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny bottle of hand cream. He grins sheepishly at Izuku, who recognizes the bottle as a specialty item the Support Course cooked up to keep Katsuki’s hands from getting too chapped from his explosion quirk. Izuku has seen his friend use the lotion on many occasions, usually on days when he’s stressed with sweaty palms. The lotion helps sooth the hero’s tough skin.

Izuku watches with wide eyes as Katsuki flips open the lotion cap and pours a small dollop in his open palm.

“I bet this’ll make you lose your mind.” Katsuki says, voice low. He closes the bottle and tosses it so that it lands on top of Izuku’s discarded joggers. “Now let’s see…”

Katsuki brings his hands together and rubs the lotion between them, warming it up before he reaches out to smooth it over Izuku’s hardness. The noise that escapes Izuku’s mouth as Katsuki begins to stroke him is sinful. The explosion hero grins mischievously as he works his friend from base to tip, hand gliding along the velvety expanse of Izuku’s cock.

“Kacchan…faster…” Izuku lets his head fall back onto the back of the couch, his eyes half lidded. Who is Katsuki to deny him? He speeds up the pace, feeling his own boner twinge with need in his sweatpants. This is literally the single hottest thing that has ever happened to the two of them.

Izuku is looking absolutely wrecked, and it’s turning on Katsuki more than he ever thought was possible. Izuku opens his eyes a bit and surveys Katsuki lustfully, his gaze tracing the heavy outline of the explosion hero’s cock in his soft grey sweatpants.

“Take off your pants, Kacchan.” Izuku slurs, punch drunk on the way that Katsuki is pleasuring him.

“Nah, I want to put all my focus on you.” Katsuki says almost sweetly. Even he’s surprised at how syrupy his tone has turned. But he’s so blissed out and fucking pumped that he’s finally getting some that he can’t help but let his happiness radiate into his voice.

“Pants off. Now.” Izuku sits up, authority slipping into his voice. For a moment, Katsuki almost forgot about how strong his friend is. The tone Izuku’s using calls back to his dark phase during the war. It causes a shiver to zigzag its way up Katsuki’s spine. He would never admit this, but he was so incredibly horny for his friend’s “Dark Deku” phase. Of course, Katsuki wants his friend to be healthy and happy. He would never want Izuku to relapse back into the emotionally repressed and exhausted vigilante that he once was. But the energy of Dark Deku was so intimidating, so feral. When Izuku dips into that strange and terrifying well of energy, it leaves Katsuki feeling electrified.

“You think you can boss me around Deku?” Katsuki decides to push his luck, throwing around the childhood nickname that he used to use to bully Izuku a few years ago. This elicits exactly the response he was looking for – Izuku sits up, eyes bright. Small flashes of green energy roll across his body in waves as he holds his quirk at bay. Izuku presses his mouth into a hard line, his brows furrowed. His hair stands on end with electricity.

“I said: Pants. Off.” Izuku intones, an untamed energy crackling around him.

Katsuki’s cock pulses at being bossed around and he quickly complies. He stands up and yanks down his sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion, stepping out of them with practiced skill. His erect dick kisses his abs and leaves a sticky smear of pre-cum across his thick muscles. Izuku takes him in, licking his lips as his eyes all but devour Katsuki’s 7 inch monster of a cock.

The explosion hero shifts nervously under his gaze. Izuku is so turned on he’s not even trying to hide his interest in Katsuki’s fit body.

“You like what you see?” Katsuki asks, sticking out his chin defiantly and placing his hands on his hips.

“Oh, yeah. I definitely do.” Izuku says brightly, eyes shining. He looks like he wants to lick Katsuki up and down. He switches back to his devastatingly sexy vigilante voice as he says: “Fuck. Come here. I need to touch you.”

Katsuki rejoins him on the sofa and Izuku reaches over, hovering his hand above Katsuki’s leaking cock.

“Can I - ?” He asks, eyes flashing up to meet Katsuki’s as he waits for permission. Katsuki grins and reaches down, taking Izuku’s hand and moving to place it around his cock. He lets out a hiss of satisfaction as Izuku starts to jerk him off.

“You know, I’ve thought about touching you like this for what feels like forever. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this now.” Izuku babbles, letting his fingers roam across the expanse of his friend’s testicles. He gives him a light squeeze and Katsuki sees stars. “I’ve always thought you were so goddamn beautiful. Your face is so perfect. I love the way your chin dips into a sharp point, the way your hair shines like starlight when you’re flying through the air and activating your quirk.”

Katsuki’s heart squeezes at the words. “I didn’t know you were a fuckin’ poet.” He says, trying to posture. But it’s Izuku – the person who knows him better than anyone on Earth. There’s no need to keep up appearances. Not when his dick is in one of Izuku’s hands, and his heart is in the other. “That means a lot.” He amends, sighing as Izuku starts to pump at him slowly. They sit like that for a moment, eyes locked as Izuku enjoys the feeling of Katsuki’s hardness in his palm.

Soon, the green haired hero realizes that he needs some lubricant to keep the good vibes going, so he spits cleanly into his free hand before adding it to the mix. Katsuki gasps, his soul almost leaving his body as he watches Izuku slide two hands onto his cock. He twists them lightly in opposite directions, pumping as he goes.

“Have you done this before?” Katsuki groans, almost afraid of the answer.

“No.” Izuku says truthfully. “But I’ve imagined all the things I’d do to you if I had you naked. And this is one of them.”

“God fuckin’ dammit.” Katsuki throws his head back at the comment, letting out an easy moan as Izuku continues to pleasure him. “That’s the single hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Izuku’s smile shines throughout his face, his eyes beaming down at Katsuki.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” He says as he works at Katsuki’s balls again. “I’ve been wanting this for forever.”

“Beats me.” Katsuki groans as his friend tightens his grip. “Move over a little, let me touch you.”

They find a comfortable position that allows them to stroke each other in tandem. They’re both smiling stupidly at each other and kiss lazily. Eventually, the tension and pleasure becomes too great and they can’t concentrate on kissing. Izuku leans forward so that he can touch Katsuki’s forehead with his own in an intimate touch. They’re both gasping and breathless as they bring each other towards completion.

“You gonna cum?” Katsuki intones, speeding up his pace as he jerks off his friend. “I wanna make you cum.”

“K-Kacchan!” Izuku moans out quietly as Katsuki hits a particularly wonderful spot. Katsuki grins and uses his other hand to trace around his balls. He pulses them softly and the green haired hero cries out with pleasure. He tries to keep up a steady pace as he pumps at Katsuki in return, but feels himself getting distracted and sloppy.

“Come on, ‘Zuku.” Katsuki encourages, shortening his friend’s name endearingly. “Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

Izuku is feeling absolutely wrecked and over stimulated, fat tears leaking out of his bright eyes and down across his cheeks.

“Always fuckin’ crying.” Katsuki says huskily as he continues his brutal pace. “I love that about ya.”

At this comment, the build up of pleasure is too great for the One For All wielder.

He loudly cries out “Katsuki!” as he cums hard, thick ropes of cum leaking across Katsuki’s fist and splattering across his pale freckled abs. Katsuki smiles as he continues to pump at Izuku’s cock, pulling him through his orgasm and helping him to come back down again. Izuku’s hand spasms around Katsuki’s dick, bringing the explosion hero to the point of no return as well.

“Ah, shit!” Katsuki sputters as he finishes hard, white sticky cum flowing around Izuku’s hand like a volcanic eruption. He forgets to breathe as his lower body seizes up and then relaxes, pleasure coursing through his veins in a way he’s never felt by jerking off alone. They continue to pump each other’s cocks to completion until they’re both spent, sticky and over stimulated.

They lay there for a moment, naked and trying to catch their breaths.

“Fuckkkk Izuku.” Katsuki finally sighs out, hiding his face behind an arm as he processes what they’ve just done. “That was so fucking hot.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to pick up a math book from the library.” Izuku laughs out weakly. “You tricked me, got me alone, and then seduced me.”

Katsuki laughs at this – lightly at first, and then he’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe. He reaches out and pulls Izuku bodily towards him, interlocking their sweaty limbs and torsos as they both laugh and laugh, entangled in each other. When they finally calm down, Katsuki kisses Izuku’s cheek sweetly.

“You know I wasn’t expecting you to moan my full name there. What a treat.” He teases, noting the way that Izuku avoids eye contact at the comment. “Am I gonna get that treatment every time I make you cum?

“Every time?” Izuku says slowly, as if he can’t believe his ears.

“You didn’t think this was only a one time thing, did you?” Katsuki barks out a harsh laugh, pulling Izuku closer into his embrace. Their both smeared with cum, sweat, lotion and spit – each is desperately in need of a shower. But Katsuki couldn’t care less. “We’re going to need to do this at least ten more times.”

“Right.” Izuku says weakly, he can’t believe his luck. “We’ll need to do this until we truly master it. And that could take weeks.”

“Maybe months.” Katsuki says with a smile, mussing Izuku’s wild green hair.

“Years, even.” Izuku agrees, and he’s beaming. His face is bright and alight with joy as he turns so that he can kiss his friend on the mouth.

“You nerd.” The affection in Katsuki’s voice is so genuine, it makes Izuku’s heart squeeze with fondness. “You know you’re stuck with me now.”

“Always have been.” Izuku says easily, settling into Katsuki’s arms and letting his eyes slide closed as he basks in the afterglow. “Always will be.”

FIN.

[yiichan]

Pove your blog! Pls could you write about yandere woozi and wonu next?

pairings. yandere!woozi x yandere!wonwoo x gn!reader word count. 1k. genre. yandere, request

warnings. obsessive behaviour, violence, rough treatment, mentions of cheating, mentions of polyamory, reader is the cheater, literal ankle breaking, sadism.

writer's notes. thanks for 'poving' my blog haha. you never said anything about whether you want it to be a short story or headcannon or member x member, so i'm just going to go ahead with this. honestly i shocked myself because i think it's the first time i'm writing something like this. once again, i do not condone this kind of behaviour in real life.

mentioning my imperial beta reader, @sousydive

network: @mansaenetwork

masterlist | navigation | main page | kofi | ao3

"Where are you going?"

You froze mid-lace, looking over your shoulder at Jihoon. He stood there, arms crossed, brow raised, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

"Just outside," you replied, feeling his stare heavy on you. You focused on tying your shoes, but before you could stand, his hand landed firmly on your shoulder, pressing you back into place. Startled, you turned slightly, only to see Jihoon looming close behind, his expression shrouded in shadows from the dim light.

"It's late," he said, voice low, his grip unyielding. "It’s not safe for you to be out there alone."

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as you pried his hand away. "Jihoon, please—"

"You're going out to see Wonwoo, aren’t you?" His voice was ice, each word landing like a blow. A chill prickled down your spine. You shook your head, turning fully to face him.

"Jihoon, it's not—"

“I know exactly what’s been going on.” His words were a whisper, but his eyes held a storm. He leaned closer, and for the first time in your three years together, you saw a side of Jihoon you’d never seen before—cold, calculating, a darkness lurking behind his gaze. "Do you even know Wonwoo?"

"I—"

"Save it." His finger pressed against your lips, silencing you. His face inched closer until his breath was warm against your cheek, his grip firm as he lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Enough with the excuses, darling."

Guilt gnawed at you. You had betrayed him, that much was true. Jihoon was always locked away in his studio, composing, chasing his dreams for a future he promised would be for both of you. You had tried to be supportive, to be patient, but the loneliness had become unbearable, and in your moments of weakness, you found comfort in Wonwoo. Wonwoo, who listened, who was present, who made you feel seen. But with Jihoon right in front of you now, the weight of your choices bore down on you.

“I’m just trying to give us a future,” Jihoon murmured, his fingers tracing your jaw, his voice soft yet chilling. "You don’t need to run to him.”

Unable to look him in the eye, you shifted your gaze away, but Jihoon’s hold didn’t waver. He released you after a moment, straightening, his expression unreadable.

“Wonwoo isn’t in his apartment anyway.”

The doorbell rang, breaking the thick silence between you and Jihoon. Relief flooded through you, but it was short-lived. Jihoon scoffed, casting a sideways glance at you before strolling over to the door.

Your breath hitched when you saw who was standing there. Wonwoo leaned against the doorway, a sly smile curving his lips. "I’m not late, am I?"

"Wonwoo? What are you doing h—?"

"Not at all. You’re right on time, hyung." Jihoon’s voice cut through your question as Wonwoo stepped inside, closing the door with a casual flick of his wrist. "Hey, babe," Wonwoo greeted, his eyes sharp as they met yours.

Your stomach twisted in confusion. Hyung? Since when did Jihoon and Wonwoo know each other? Your mind scrambled for answers, but before you could speak, Wonwoo knelt down in front of you, a dark glint in his eyes as he reached for your shoelaces.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice smooth and deceptively warm as he slowly untied your shoes, “I thought Jihoon was kidding when he asked me to keep an eye on you. But I understand why now. You certainly have a way of keeping us both on our toes.”

His tone was soft, almost tender, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it—a veiled hostility that made your skin prickle. You pressed your hands to the floor for support, shifting back as he removed your shoes, fingers brushing a little too slowly over your ankles.

“But I never expected you’d try to seduce me like that, babe.” Wonwoo’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes not leaving yours even as Jihoon stood over him, watching with an unnerving calm.

Trapped between their gazes, a shiver ran down your spine.

Wonwoo’s grip tightened around your ankle, and you let out a yelp of pain, instinctively trying to pull yourself away. “Wo—”

“Don’t struggle, darling,” Jihoon murmured, a disturbing calm in his voice as he watched Wonwoo hoist you up, dragging you effortlessly with him. You kicked out with your free leg, desperate to break away, but Jihoon caught it with ease, his fingers wrapping around your ankle like a vice. He ran his nails over your skin, a soft graze that sent a jolt of fear through you, before his gaze flicked up, dark and unfeeling.

"I’ve known Wonwoo hyung for a long time,” Jihoon continued. “If you’d only asked, maybe I would’ve agreed to share.” His words sent a chill through you, and you thrashed against their hold, heart pounding, but the two of them remained unfazed.

Suddenly, you felt yourself yanked forward with force, your body skidding across the floor as Wonwoo took control, gripping both ankles now as he dragged you unceremoniously toward the bedroom. Your hands clawed at the ground, panic surging through you, but Wonwoo’s hold was unbreakable, his smirk mocking your futile resistance.

“And yet,” Jihoon’s voice drifted from behind, cold and scornful, “just the other night, I heard you were out clubbing—with some other guy who wasn’t hyung.”

A shiver tore through you, and you realized that the Jihoon and Wonwoo you thought you knew were gone, replaced by something far darker and more dangerous. You opened your mouth, desperate to scream for help, but a sinking realization hit you—it was useless. Wonwoo dragged you into Jihoon’s recording studio, the soundproof walls swallowing any chance of your cries reaching the outside world. The door clicked shut behind you, Jihoon blocking the only escape.

“Shall we begin your punishment, babe?” Wonwoo’s voice was smooth, dripping with malice, his grip unrelenting as he held you in place. Jihoon leaned against the closed door, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes watched you with a disturbing calm.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through your ankles, and you screamed, the sound ringing in your ears yet muffled by the padded walls. Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision as your legs fell to the floor weakly. A gentle finger wiped them away, as you were slowly lifted and embraced by someone behind you. "Now you'll never leave any one of us, darling."

© yiichan, 2024 origin of divider

[minispidey]

Hey doll, walk with me…you and Oscar (any of his characters really) get into an argument, haven’t spoken for a few weeks (he’s away on business), when he gets home, you start arguing again…next thing you know you’re in bed, begging to cum.

PETTY ARGUMENTS.

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader.

Word count: 750

Warnings: orgasm denial, implied penetration but mostly just him rubbing the hell out of your clit 💅 fluff and aftercare

In a nutshell: You're mad Miguel threw your ugly ass coat, you two didn't even finish the argument when he gets called for work. A week later, he comes back and you rip his coat as revenge 🤌 aanddd yeah

mdni

MIGUEL O'HARA oh lord

"That's fucking bullshit and we both know that! It's just a fucking coat, Miguel." You yelled at him, covering your face with both of your hands in frustration.

"Exactly. It's just a fucking coat! You can buy another one. That one barely suits you!"

"What the fuck did you just say?!" Your blood boiled. It was like you were seeing red. Your hands curled into fists, crescent marks forming on the palms of your hands because of your nails.

"Cariño, I'm sorry. I worded that wrong." Miguel walks closer to you "I'm sorry. I just mean that it's a hideous coat, alright?"

"Fucking— there's a thing called sentimental value, Miguel!"

"I'll buy you a new one, I promise-"

"Fuck you!" You slammed your bedroom door closed. He really fucked up.

Acting like an absolute brat tbh he just wants to fuck the tantrum out of you but uh-oh, work is calling 🤸‍♀️

You spent hours in your bedroom, the comforter wrapped around your body. You waited for him to come apologize but it looks like he wasn't going to any time soon.

It was until you left the room when you realized Miguel left.

You feel your blood boil but you waited for until he came back... which is a week later.

You played a drinking game. A glass of wine for every thought you had of you strangling Miguel. You end up drunk each day.

As the front door opens, Miguel steps in. He takes off his coat, hanging it before walking to the kitchen to you with a glass of wine.

You stared at him, still disappointed in him. You chugged the remaining wine before pouring another. But you stop, looking at coat on the hooks.

You got off the bar stool, sprinting towards his coat and grabbing it. Miguel saw what you were doing and pried the coat away from your grasp "Are you seriously still pissed off about that dumb coat?"

"You fucking left for a week! How do you expect me to react?"

"I gave you space and time to cool off."

"It doesn't change the fact you threw my coat!"

"I'm sorry, okay? Honey, come on-"

"Fuck you!" You pulled on his coat, ripping the sleeve. We both stopped. Miguel looked at his coat and his eyes turned red "Are you happy?"

"Very."

Next thing you know, you're bent over the kitchen island. His bulge pressed against your ass. He leans in close, his voice a seductive whisper against your ear "I'm going to take my time with you, darling," he murmurs, his words dripping with desire "You wanna be a brat? I'll fuck it out of you."

Miguel's touch on your clit maddeningly slow, each caress driving you to the edge and back. He skillfully navigates your body, his fingers and lips expertly exploring every sensitive spot. His voice is a velvety rasp as he murmurs words of praise and encouragement, his breath hot against your skin.

"Miggy!" you moaned out as he continues to push you to the brink, his touch becoming more intense with each passing moment. His voice guides you through the sensations, his words a mix of praise and playful taunting.

As you reach the edge, Miguel's voice fills the room, his words a seductive command "Hold on, Cariño..." he murmurs, his voice filled with authority "No cumming."

He brings you to the precipice time and time again, his touch relentless yet tender. Each denial only intensifies the desire, the need for release becoming a burning ache within you "Miggy.... 'm sorry..." you whimpered "Wanna cum..."

Miguel grinds his hard-on against your ass as he continued his continuous torture on your clit "You're sorry? I doubt it."

"Miggy, please. I'm really sorry, honey... I c-can't take it anymore please let me cum."

"You gonna bitch out over your coat again? Hm?"

"No, Miggy... I won't... please let me cum..."

Eventually yk he fucks the shit out of you with his cock, and at the end of it he grabs something from his bag and hands it to you.

"I washed it myself."

It was your coat.

"Miggy, why didn't you tell me earlier before I ripped your coat? Now I feel bad."

"I deserved it for throwing your coat away. I'm sorry, mi vida. I never wanted to upset you." Miguel kisses your forehead, placing your body in a warm bubble bath "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise you that."