#💕john💕

[frogchiro]

Out of everyone in MWII, who do you think is most likely to get “property of (y/n)” tattooed on their dick?

(For context, I saw a tiktok about someone doing this and I RAN to your blog ❤️)

Jesus christ??😭😭 oh my god I can't imagine the pain💀😭

But hmm...If we're talking across all my aus, I'd say that definitely Sleazy Neighbour!Ghost bc let's be honest he's unhinged😭

♡Dbf!Biker!Graves who is a sleazeball too, has other tattoos, your name over his heart too and now he has that💀

♡Neighbour!Gaz too, he just loves you so much!! You grew up together, you were each others first everything and he's a total simp for you :(( His dick is yours and he wants you to know it♡

♡Colonel!König because he's just nasty like that and loves to bully Hackergirl with his huge, burly body and now this :(( Bullies you with his cock and shows off that raunchy tattoo like the thing is the proudest thing he ever got :(

♡Last but not least, my boy Soap in any au would do it too bc a) he thinks its hilarious and b) he genuinely thinks his fat cock is yours just as much as his body and soul are devoted to you :(

[princessbrunette]

when sarah and john b had decided they wanted to recruit you to join their relationship, there were a few subtle steps they had planned to take.

𐙚₊˚⊹♡

they saw your potential. they knew perhaps you weren’t the most overtly sexual in nature, but they also knew they could change that. sex was like cake, you could never just eat one spoonful of it. all they had to do, was pique your interest — not just in sex, but in sex with them specifically.

baby steps. you ask sarah to send her the videos she took of you guys from the party the night before, and she ‘accidentally’ includes a video of her and john b fucking she’d taken on her phone the same day. of course she acted bashful, apologising profusely for the mistake and acting incredibly grateful when you’d told her there was no problem and that you’d delete it.

‘yk i wouldn’t even really care if you watched it tbh. i trust you. its only me and john b anyway… 🤷🏼‍♀️💕’

— she’d text you after a moments passed. curiosity of course got the better of you, a shaky, clammy finger pressing the play button as you nervously bite your nail, glancing at the door and turning the volume way down as precaution as if someone were to catch you. the focus seemed to be on sarah, grinding her hips to ride the brunette boy, soft tits bouncing as he lazily smacks her ass and encourages her to keep riding. she seemed to be putting in the work, john b merely used as a vessel for pleasure, a dildo with a voice box— and something about that had you shamefully heating up. sure, your knowledge on sex was fairly limited — but what you did know through movies and tv shows was that guys were usually too prideful to let the girl do the work, yet therefore caring less for her pleasure. the two of them seemed… open. different.

the text of apparent permission sarah had sent you only made you feel the slightest bit less guilty when you snuck your hand down the waistband of your panties and humped clumsily at your palm as you hit replay.

the blonde cameron had facetimed you suddenly and out of the blue seven minutes later. you yanked your hand out your pants like there’d be a way for her to see you before you’d accepted the call and you swallow thickly, brain too frazzled to think before hitting the green button. she was smiling, laying on her bed in that white tank top that hugged her tits, the same tits from the video and accentuated her golden, barbie tan. you try and be normal about it. she’s just your friend after all.

“hey, what are you doing right now?”

you blink at her, the way she’s smiling at you — before checking yourself out in the small box in the corner. you look all heated and askew, chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths. fuck.

you told her you were watching a movie and then excused yourself not even two minutes later, overcome with embarrassment and the feeling of being caught. sarah rolls over once the call ends, smirking to john b who was reclined on her bed with a hand behind his head, scrolling through his own phone.

“she was totally getting herself off.” she purs matter-of-factly. the brunette boys eyes light up a little as he glances over, brows shifting upwards.

“yeah? how’d you know?”

“she had it written all over her face.”

the two of them got greedy, with the whole introducing you to the idea of being chronically horny thing. without even really speaking about it, they figured the more they normalised this kind of behaviour in the group dynamic, the more likely you were to feel comfortable enough to let them hit. jj maybank was sexual in nature to the knowledge of anyone who had the pleasure of having a conversation with him longer than five minutes. he was sure to make it easy and perhaps bridge the gap, they just needed their in.

by that point, you’d started to catch on anyway.

the four of you sit in a small uneven circle on the floor of the chateau, drinking on a friday night. at first you’re a little confused — you were so sure sarah had been hinting at something with you, herself and john b for a while now — but as you sat beside jj on the floor, his arm rested casually behind you, rubbing casual circles on your waist you perhaps started to question whether or not you’d made that up, and really they were just trying to be friendly so they could set you up with their friend.

as soon as the words ‘truth or dare’ leave john b’s mouth with a knowing, yet trusting and warm grin — you knew it was bound to take a turn. with this group, it always did. everything was about sex, whether you were doing it or talking about it or pretending to do it infront of eachother, it was some kind of secret obsession that you could feel yourself feeding into without knowing. a lamb being brought in to be sacrificed, a group of secretly perverted individuals itching to get your sweet, cranberry blood on their hands.

sarah speaks your name when you foolishly pick dare, worried if you had picked truth they’d make you recount all the things you’d hadn’t done. she leans across the circle to you on her hands and knees so her face is right in front of yours, breath in your face, ass in john b’s.

“i want you… to show me how you’d ride a dick.”

“what?”

she pushes back, reaching behind her on the couch and fetching the throw pillow, placing it in the centre of the circle with a mischievous grin. the pillow it long, firm and rectangular — the comfiest of its kind to nap on during the day whilst the group discuss whatever mishap they were planning on getting into that week.

“aw now we’re talkin’” jj gets comfortable, sitting back a little with a jokey grin. nothing about their tone was out of the ordinary, which what made you feel so comfortable.

“i don’t understand?” you smile, tilting your head like a lost puppy which only made you appear more delicious as their prey.

“straddle the pillow… and show us what you’d do if you were to ride an actual, real dick.” sarah explains kindly, even pulling your hand so you would shuffle forward on your knees to the centre of the small circle.

“look, we know you haven’t done that before— no shame in it,” john b shrugs one shoulder understandingly with an air of casualness which calmed you. “but a dares a dare and hey, maybe you could learn something right now.”

“i been told i’mma pretty good teacher too, so—” jj starts casually in his amused drawl, but is cut short pretty quickly by the sarah snapping her head towards him, her tone more curt and snappy.

“jj.” she scolds quickly and he shuts up, but as quickly as she changed her tone, she was back to smiling back at you encouragingly. she didn’t want jj to take it too far with the pervy jokes and send you running. their plan was perfectly crafted, and they didn’t need him ruining it. john b’s eyes linger on the blonde. nothing malicious about it, perhaps a warning though — because jj presses his lips together and moves his glance back to you with a thick swallow.

all in this time, you had decided to take another long swig of your drink before straddling the pillow. the group cheer, the fun and jokey atmosphere back in full swing as you cover your face, giggling into your hands.

your skirt stretches over your upper thighs at the position, and you shuffle — ensuring you’re sat comfortable on the throw cushion. perhaps the alcohol had lowered your guard, because without much thought — you wince, the material catching over your clit. you were sensitive, assumably from ovulation and as you try to get into a comfortable position, your face falls, realising you may be too sensitive to partake.

“uhm,” you clear your throat as the playful jeering dies down.

“go ahead. fulfil your dare.” sarah chuckles, leaning back against the couch behind her.

“i can’t.” you whisper, smile slipping off your face. the couples hearts drop a few millimetres in their chest, thinking perhaps they’d made you uncomfortable and soiled the whole thing. the blonde girls eyebrows furrow, leaning forward and scooching to sit directly infront of you.

“why? are you okay? i’m— i’m sorry—”

“no i’m okay,” you let out an airy laugh that relieves everyone. “maybe i’m just drunk but i’m a little sensitive… don’t think i can sit n’hump this pillow without…” you trail off, your shame sending heat to your cheeks and behind your ears. john b raises his eyebrows slowly in expectation.

“without…?”

you clench your thighs around the pillow, mortified, looking down at it before back up at him with puppy dog eyes and your teeth tucked over your bottom lip all sheepish. made him wanna finger you until you cried.

luckily, sarah’s face lights up with slow realisation, mouth forming an ‘o’ and eyes widening.

“without cumming?” she cooes before swivelling around to look at both boys, laughing in adoration. “aww, you’re sensitive! i didn’t even… know that was a thing!” she beams, and the boys follow, teeth glinting in the low light like hungry hyenas in a cave.

you loosen up a little, shoulders visibly relaxing and you giggle. “yeah… s’just quite a… firm pillow. pressing me in all types of places.” you shrug, girlishly.

“are you seeeeeeriously tellin’ me, that you can’t move back and forth just a little?” jj chuckles, dumbfounded from behind you and you peer shyly over your shoulder with a humble shrug. you wasn’t sure if they were to be making fun of you, but for some odd reason — based off vibes alone, your sensitivity felt like something to be proud of amongst the group. jj licks his lips.

when you turn back, sarah’s in your face again, her warm hands on your knees. she seems comfortable, so you relax into her touch. you notice john b watching the interaction before locking eyes with you and sipping out his beer bottle.

“okay well, a dares a dare, but if you really need someone to help you out…” she giggles, hands sliding up to your hips before she begins to forcefully tug you back and forth — leaving you no choice but to let her make you hump this pillow infront of everyone.

your hands fly to her shoulders to stabilise yourself, sucking in a shaky and unsure gasp as the seams in the fabric repeatedly catch over your clit through your thin panties. the music playing out the speaker seems to get louder, or maybe the blood is just pumping in your ears as the boys let out little encouraging cheers as they chuckle and continue to drink.

sarah tilts her head, hot breath on your jaw as she lowers her voice to something quiet and seductive for just you to hear, her hands now grabbing handfuls of your ass to pull you along. “there you go, keep riding it. just like me in that video, right?” she croons, and your brows furrow — unable to stop the pornographic moan from leaving you.

embarrassed at the delighted reactions, you hide your face in sarah’s neck, hot and disorientated from the pleasure, hearing her amused chuckle close up. “its just us, nothing at all to be embarrassed about.” she shrugs against you. “can’t run from the dare, sweetie. jj, you wanna come up behind her and give her a hand?” she asks, and before you can lift your head — her hands have slid up your top, squeezing at your tits.

your hips aren’t left alone for long though, as jj straddles the long pillow right behind you and grips your hips, tugging them back and forth with a boyish roughness that had the fabric scraping against you in a new way. you whimper uncontrollably, feeling the blondes stiff crotch thumping against your backside each time he yanked you back.

“yeah-he-heahh, that’s the stuff. don’t tell me i never do anythin’ for ya babydoll. teachin’ you the valuable lesson of gettin’ off right now.” he drawls in your ear, his body heat making your back arch.

amidst this, john b carries the same cool and collected energy. he leans against the couch as he keeps his eyes on yours, taking another sip of his beer before reaching out and taking your hand in his to gently soothe over your knuckles when you announce in a panic that they were going to make you cum.

“thaaaats it,” he hums, voice bassy and delicious enough to make you hold onto every word, thighs clenching painfully. “riiiiide it out.”

something about his nonchalance made you believe it was perhaps his idea, and not sarah’s like you previously believed.

[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, 144k 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

· THE TRIBUTES I · THE TRIBUTES II · THE GAMES · THE VICTOR I · THE VICTOR II · THE AFTERMATH I · THE AFTERMATH II ·

➤ 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.

· THE TRIBUTES I · THE TRIBUTES II · THE GAMES · THE VICTOR I · THE VICTOR II · THE AFTERMATH I · THE AFTERMATH II ·

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*

[captainfern]

soooo i'm curious, in the cuck!price verse, do you think he and his wife have a love for reader beyond their physical activities? or is it, for now at least, just sex??? (waittt, imagine this: the prices who haven't quite realized they have deeper feelings for you yet. and you, whose been in love and open about it for a while, getting fed up and going on a date with someone else to make them jealous. you succeeding and getting the jealous prices to admit their feelings <333333)

the cuck universe expands lmao but at this point he’s not even cucking he’s just sharing

check out the lovely @bleuu-moon since she started this whole thing 😭

i like to think that they really do like reader and end up becoming quite… territorial

18+ (piv, f!oral (reader giving), fem!reader

you went on a date with someone else. it had been a couple of days since you last saw the price’s, and even then, they seemed to be reclused when it came to their feelings about you. you could feel there was something they wanted to say, but they just didn’t say it. so you ignored their calls, and found romantic attention elsewhere.

they were really nice— the person you went on a date with, that is. kind and charming and funny. they paid for the date, kept steady and comfortable conversation, and the whole thing felt calming and natural. they even offered to pay for your ride home.

so you invited them back to your place. maybe you often did this on first dates, maybe not, but today you felt almost obligated to do so. they were such a good date, and you itched to know whether you could thank them within the privacy of your bedroom.

and your date, rather bashful by this stage, agreed, and the two of you went home together. but when you arrived home, tumbling out of the uber together with their lips on your neck and arms around your waist, you stopped short when you clocked mr. and mrs. price loitering outside your door.

you have them a sceptical look when they turned in your direction, your date’s hands roaming down your sides, their lips blazing a warm trail down the curve of your neck, sucking and biting gently. you would have probably whimpered if it wasn’t for john and his wife watching you with something fiery blazing in their eyes.

“had a nice time, sweetheart?” mrs. price asked, her head cocked to the side, her arms crossed over her chest.

your date pulled their head away from you, their arms still wrapped around your body, head resting on your shoulder now. they felt you stiffen up, hands squeezing your hips soothingly.

“uh…?” your date was confused by this point. two attractive people waiting for you on your doorstep, looking a little more than just annoyed.

you didn’t really have the words to explain who or what they were to you. but you didn’t have too. john grabbed hold of your front door handle and opened it (you mentally asked yourself where he got a key from?) and gestured towards it with his head.

“inside,” he ordered. “now.”

apologetically, you wiggled your way out of your date’s arms and offered them your sincerest apologies. they took it well, and waved goodbye before hopping back into the still-waiting uber and driving off.

nervously, you walked into your home with both prices trailing after you. and you didn’t get far— being bent over your kitchen counter as you deposited your purse and phone there.

“had a nice time, did you?” john muttered, hips pinning you to the counter. his hand came down to the back of your neck, where he could see the subtle outlines of harsh kisses along your skin. teeth indents in the low light of the kitchen.

“what’s all these then?” he asked, but it was rhetorical. he traced his fingers along the marks, hips grinding into the curve of your arse. you whined, feeling trapped beneath him as his wife walked up to your side, placing a hand on the top of your head, petting gently.

“trying to make us jealous, pet?” she all but purred in your ear, stroking your hair. she bent down slightly to place a light kiss against your temple, and you felt your brows furrow when she pulled away. she tutted. “well, it worked.”

“worked a little too well,” john hissed, still grinding his clothed cock into the swell of your arse, his hand still on the back of your neck, big and warm and heavy.

you whined. ��s’just all so confusing. sometimes i don’t even know if you like me anymore. you both get so distant when i tell you i care about you.”

“oh, sweetheart. of course we care about you,” mrs. price whispered, still petting the top of your head like you were some kind of puppy. “we care about you so much, don’t we, john?”

“mhm,” he hummed, hips bucking and pushing your further into the kitchen counter. you steadied yourself with your arms along the cool surface, his hand still pinning your head to the side to look at his wife. he exhaled deeply, pained. “our pretty girl.”

you whined out again and mrs. price shushed you, cooing gently and sliding her soft hand along the curve of your face, petting you soothingly. she kissed your temple again, her lips ghosting along your hairline before she pulled back. “see? we do care about you, sweetheart. you’re ours. got it?”

you nodded, feeling your eyes growing glossy. her tone was so soft and sultry yet you didn’t miss the possession in her words, the territorial nature of it all.

“m’yours,” you reaffirmed with a trembling voice. “and m’sorry.”

“aw, poor baby,” mrs. price cooed, this time trailing a hand along the curve of your back until she reached the hem of your trousers, near where john was still rutting his hardening cock. “you want to make it up to us?”

you were nodding before she had even finished her sentence, which made her smile as she wrapped her fingers around the waistband and tugged your bottoms down, revealing your underwear and the curve of your arse. john groaned, stepping back to help his wife, pulling your trousers down your legs with one hand until they pooled at your ankles.

mrs. price then pulled down your underwear, causing john to groan again as he slotted himself back against you, holding you still. your arse was soft and warm against him, his hard, leaking cock nestled between your cheeks as he continued to slowly grind himself against you.

you moaned loudly, eyes still blurry with emotion when mrs. price leaned down to kiss you— shoving her tongue into your mouth and parting your trembling lips. you kissed her back (tried too) as she grew more and more dominant, her tongue probing and teeth nipping. you whimpered, and she swallowed the sound with one hand holding your jaw.

now, john had shifted his hard cock to rest the ruddy head against your cunt, smearing your arousal around your puffy clit. he moaned beneath his breath, the wet warmth of it forcing him to screw his eyes shut. when he finally notched the head at your entrance, he moaned your name, and you moaned his, breaking out of the kiss and whimpering against his wife’s lips.

“m’sorry for ignoring you,” you babbled as john’s cockhead nestled itself inside you, then stopped. desperation (and the stretch) making you delirious. “and m’so sorry for going on a date. i just wanted your attention.”

“poor girl,” john grunted, pulling his cock out and circling the wet hole with his tip. you moaned loudly and mrs. price continued to pet the side of your head. john looked over at his wife. “darling?”

his wife looked up. “yeah?”

“hop up on the counter,” he told her. “let her say sorry with her mouth on your pussy.”

she did as she was told as you whimpered at his words. still holding the back of your neck, john pulled you away from the counter so his wife could settle herself on top after wriggling her skirt and underwear down. she spread her legs, smiling warmly, and the sight of her soaked core made a whimper bubble out of your throat.

but before you were allowed to press forward, price tightened his hold and straightened your body, pressing your back flat to his chest. his cock, hot and wet between your legs, finally pushed into you. you moaned as he bottomed out, pelvis snug to your bare arse.

“see how wet she is for you?” price whispered in your ear, not moving his cock inside you. dormant and throbbing. “now, you’re gonna make my wife come on your tongue, an’ i’m gonna make you come ‘round my cock. got it?”

you nodded quickly, watching as mrs. price gently spread her folds open with her fingers, revealing her dripping hole. you whimpered again when she whispered your name as a finger encircled her clit.

then, price was bending you over once more, removing the hand on your neck and instead placing two on your hips so he could anchor you to him. he then pulled all the way out, slapped the head of his cock against your clit a couple of times, before thrusting in deeply and setting an even pace of fucking you.

you moaned as the movement pushed you into mrs. price’s awaiting cunt, your mouth sealing over her clit and your hands wrapping around her thighs to hold yourself steady. she moaned, arching against you, a hand shooting down to hold your head against her.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, baby. just like that,” she moaned, bucking her hips against your face as you moved your mouth from her clit down to her hole. you licked through her folds until you were able to curl your tongue into her hole. she moaned your name loudly and price grunted behind you.

his pace was brutal, hips slapping, hands a vice against your pliable flesh. he grunted with each thrust, a subtle “uh, uh, uh” beneath his breath as the tip of his cock hit that perfect spot inside you. he could feel the way your pussy tightened around him, fluttering wet and hot around the girth of his cock.

“that’s a good girl,” he praised, eyes sweeping from where his cock entered you, to where you were eating his wife out. “our good girl. n’ such a perfect fuckin’ pussy…”

you whined into mrs. price’s cunt, tongue swiping in and out, up and down, nose nudging her swollen clit. her thighs tightened around your head as she let out a string of pretty sounds, including high-pitched keens of your name and john’s.

john looked up at his wife, her eyes hooded with pleasure as she watched you, her hips writhing and grinding against your face, thighs flexing around your head.

“how’re you feeling, darling?” john asked his wife as he reached a hand around to roll a couple of fingers over your clit.

his wife moaned, locking eyes with him. “so fuckin’ good, john. she’s so good— making me feel so good.”

below, you keened at the praise, redoubling your efforts and really wanting her to come in your mouth. you shut your eyes and focused on fucking her hole with your tongue as they talked about you, praising you.

“she’s such a good girl for us,” john said. “such a good girl with a pretty little pussy. she’s perfect for us, isn’t she?”

“yessss,” his wife moaned. “perfect.”

“fuckin’ perfect,” john increased the weight of his thrusts, bullying his cock into the tight heat of your cunt faster and harder, drawing more pleasured sounds from you. he grunted with each movement. “fuckin’ perfect and all ours. isn’t that right, darling? she’s all ours.”

“yeah, all ours— oh, fuck, baby, m’gonna come,” she whined down at you, then to her husband, “john, john m’gonna come.”

“yeah? you’re gonna come in her mouth?”

“please,” she replied through a mewl. “want to come in her mouth, john. she’s— ohhh— making me feel so good.”

john chuckled. “go on then, come for her.”

mrs. price moaned your name loudly and, with your tongue fucking her through it, she came into your mouth. you moaned, the vibrations heightening her orgasm, her hand tightening on your head and holding your face hard between her legs.

by now, you weren’t far behind. the combination of john’s heavy thrusts hitting that perfect spot inside you, the taste of his wife, and the way they talked about you, made you tighten up and come around price’s cock.

you moaned, still muffled between mrs. price’s legs, as you came, your entire body trembling, a thin layer of sweat coating your exposed skin. john moaned along with you, feeling your cunt squeeze around his cock, making his pace stutter.

“fuck,” he cursed, balls drawing tight as his thrusts grew sloppy. “oh, fuck, baby.”

“come inside her, john,” his wife pleaded.

happy wife, happy life.

john released inside of you, coming right up against the base of your cervix with a guttural groan and his hands still clamped around your hips. his wife watched her husband fill you, and whimpered softly, pulling your head out from between her thighs and resting it in her lap, stroking you lovingly.

“good girl, baby,” she praised. “did so well for us.”

“she always does,” price affirmed, cock still inside you, but leaning up to place a kiss to the back of your head. he gave his wife a kiss too.

you muttered out something, a sated thank you as your high slowly began to fizzle away. but you closed your eyes, revelling in the way they touched you, kissed you, held you.

“what about i run you a bath and we can sit together for a little while, while john makes us something to eat, hm?” mrs. price asked you, holding your head in both hands now, rubbing your temples gently.

john huffed. “why can’t i go in the bath with her?”

“because i want too, darling. now be a good boy and fetch us something to eat.”

price grumbled, but listened to his wife, pulling out of you reluctantly to begin rifling through your cupboards. mrs. price then shimmied off the counter and wrapped you in her arms, holding your head to her chest.

she kissed the crown of your head. “let us take care of you.”

[ilonacho]

Avo's turn

[ineffable-romantics]

I have admired the work of the amazing @anotherwellkeptsecret for YEARS, following her originally from the height of my Sherlock obsession all the way until now where she has (to my delight!) crossed over into Good Omens as well.

She also just had a baby!!!! So partly as a congratulations, partly as a thank you for being such an artistic inspiration, and partly so I could practice my own digital art techniques and play with Procreate for the first time, I asked if she would allow me the privilege of coloring some of her favorite pages from her comics while she's on maternity leave. And she said yes!

But she asked me to pick my favorites instead. So I took her at her word and chose one favorite page from each of the ten comics I have saved and loved over the years.

Exactly two weeks later (and in no particular order) here is the final result!! I am so grateful to Kelley for letting me do this, and I have discovered so much about my own style and what I like (excessive lights, apparently lol). I hope you guys like them as much as I do, and please please please go support Kelley's tumblr and Patreon, she absolutely deserves the world. 💕

---

One Night in Bangor (And The World's Your Oyster)

(more art below cut)

Oh What A Night

The Losing Side

(Sequel to Oh What A Night)

Points Of Interest

(Sequel to Oh What A Night and The Losing Side)

Who Wants To Live Forever

That Certain Night

A Romantic Affair

(Sequel to That Certain Night)

As Long As We Both Shall Live

(Sequel to That Certain Night and A Romantic Affair)

Change Of Pace

Temptation Accomplished

[felixeis003]

More of my Soapghost Post-Apocalyptic AU 😎

[nunnimushka]

Quick redraw

[carnevol]

for @hogans-heroes 💓

[pfhwrittes]

ripped straight from the dms with @femalefemur (thank u cyn my beloved)

best friend!johnny mactavish x gender neutral!reader thoughts below...

tw: alcohol mention, pining like whoa, little bit of jealousy, johnny being a possessive little shit, allusions to off-screen sex, fluff, "bonnie" used as a pet name.

unedited and written straight into the drafts for a rush of adrenaline. intended to be gender neutral reader but i may have slipped up somewhere!

word count: 777 words

just thinking about how you and johnny are practically attached at the hip.

he's constantly over your place for takeaways and bad telly or he's dragging you out to clamber up some hill or through a national trust park "for the fresh air, bonnie!"

johnny sends you endless voice notes talking about his day, about the mischief he's gotten up to with kyle or how simon had run him ragged at the gym. in return you send him silly memes or links to tiktok trends and your own rambling voice notes complaining about how your favourite contestant had been eliminated from the silly reality show you'd been watching.

your camera roll is filled with shirtless sweaty gym pics from where they'd saved automatically from your messages. his camera roll is full of answering photos of you half awake and mugging for the camera from the comfort of your bed, your hair a mess and pillow creases on your face.

just thinking about how both of you are super tactile with each other. you mindlessly play with his hair when you're sat next to him at the pub, squished up on one side of the booth opposite simon and kyle. johnny slings his arm around your shoulders and watches the way you gesticulate as you bicker with simon. (neither of you notice kyle's glances between the two of you or catch the sneaky fist bump with simon as a wager is placed when you and johhny come back from the bar with a fresh round for everyone)

just thinking about how your stomach sinks a little bit and how your smile feels brittle every time johnny tells you he's met someone. it's a little bit harder than normal to enjoy johnny's presence when you have to share it with the woman he's seeing but you try anyway. you try not to be "that friend", you try to keep the anecdotes about past nights out or silly stories that only you and johnny know to a minimum. you pull away a little bit from all the usual casual touches you'd normally lean into, aware that her eyes are on you. and you don't want to ruin your friend's happiness with someone else, you really don't, even when you feel your lips twitch with a tiny involuntary frown when he kisses her in front of you.

i'm just thinking about how the people johnny date don't seem to stick around for long after they've met you. you ask him about it once when you're slumped together on your sofa, something lighthearted and daft playing on tv in the background. johnny just shrugs and says something about how they wanted different things (because there's no way he's telling you that his latest ex screamed in his face about how it was so fucking obvious that he was in love with you, even as he denied it and said that you were just good friends).

i'm thinking about what would happen if you started to see someone casually and johnny asks to meet them. how unlike you when you meet his dates, he seems to dial up the friendly touches. he dominates the conversation with stories that always end with "remember that, bonnie?" and a wicked grin. he even pulls up a video of him hitting a new personal record for his hip thrusts at the gym and mean mugs the shit out of your date as you watch the video and praise him for his hard work.

i'm thinking about how you'd pop to the bathroom at some point and by the time you come back your date is gone and johnny's shrugging it off like its no big deal. and yeah, you're a little bit disappointed but johnny comes back to your place with you and settles onto the sofa like he belongs there, leaning up against your side all solid and dependable and quintessentially johnny.

(and in the morning when you check your messages you're not surprised that your date has called it off with you, but you can't bring yourself to care as a thick forearm snakes around your waist and pulls you back against a warm naked body. the gravelly voice of your best friend johnny rumbling in your ear and peppering kisses down your neck...)

(the next time you and johnny meet up with simon and kyle for drinks at the pub, you walk in together hand in hand. simon silently holds out an open palm to kyle as kyle rifles through his wallet and complains that if you had just waited one more week he would've won the bet. bloody selfish of the pair of you.)

[redswaberkez]

mmmm johnstantine @ratblazer dtiys original under the cut

[cooliofango]

pocket princess!! if you feel up to it could you pls write something fluffy with price x reader x soap. id love to see something lighthearted with price handling his loves <3!!

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Pairing: Price x Reader x Soap

Word Count: 727

Synopsis: A soft shared moment of peace between the three loved ones on a snowy night 🫶

A/N: Absolutely crying cause I couldn’t think of how to make this one longer 😭😭😭. I hated how long this was taking tho so I did my best, I hope you like it! I will continue to work on your Gaz ask and make it longer I promise 👀

Cw: None! It’s fluffy content between Bun’s favorite boys 🫶

Winter is always one of your favorite seasons. It definitely isn’t because of the snow. You hate having to constantly uncover the white flakes of frozen water from your car and pray that the doors aren’t frozen shut. It isn’t necessarily because of the holidays, even if they are always fun to celebrate with loved ones. It’s not even about the peppermint lattes you love to get on the way to work every morning when it’s being sold at your local cafe. Winter is your favorite season because of the moment you currently find yourself in.

The dim light of the television was the only thing illuminating your shared bedroom. The chatter of the late night show was quiet, just although loud to hear the men gossip about the actor’s movie and their experience on set. “It’s all rubbish, the reviews he’s speakin’ of..” You hear John lazily mumble against the right side of your collarbone, “The movie wasn’t any good.” The brit is against your side with an arm wrapped snugly just under your chest. His head rests on your shoulder, nearly falling asleep on you as the season’s early nights took its toll. The neatly trimmed mutton chops tickle your skin as he settles further against you. It’s a warm weight against you that you’ve grown familiar with, as well as come to love.

“Didn’t know ye watch cheesy rom coms, captain.” The Scottish accent of your other boyfriend fills your senses from your left and you turn to look at him with the same amused smile he’s wearing. Johnny’s eyes are closed, more in a half conscious state than John is. His head rests lower on your body, more against your chest than your collarbone, with an arm around your stomach, leaving you sandwiched in between the two men you loved so dearly. In addition, one of his legs is also laced with yours.

“Occasionally..” John mutters after a moment’s silence, earning a quiet chuckle from the scot.

The lighthearted banter between the two of them was always endearing to you, filling you with more warmth than the heat the two bodies around you did. It was more than welcome with how cold it’s been lately. You take a glance out the window on the left wall of the room, watching as large snowflakes fall down continuously. The hand on John’s shoulder absentmindedly toys with the hem of his sleeve while the other traces gentle patterns onto Johnny’s back.

These moments are scarce, but you cherish them with every fiber of your being. It’s not everyday you get to enjoy the peace and quiet. The worries that plagued your mind everytime the two went out for work are non-existent, even if it's temporarily. It is as if the dangers and horrors of the real world just aren’t there anymore and it was just the three of you.

A heavy sigh of content left Johnny and you could feel his weight against you become heavier as he relaxed. John places a soft kiss against your warm skin. You smiled lovingly at the feeling, tilting your head to rest against the top of his.

A yawn slips past your lips and John smiles against your collarbone at the sound, reaching behind him to pluck the remote from the bedside table. His movements are slow and careful, not wanting to jostle the two of you too much and disturb the peace that’s made its way into the atmosphere. “Get some sleep, sweetheart,” John whispered to you. He hit the power button, sending the room into total darkness before setting the remote back onto the table. His weight shifts back onto you, easily snuggling back into the spot against you. The blanket is pulled back over you before his arm returns back across your torso.

“You, too. G’Night, Johnny,” John said this with a gentle tap to Johnny’s nose with his knuckle. The scot simply huffs, already in the process of dozing off against you.

The room grows silent now, save for the collective breaths of relaxation being shared between the three of you. Your head falls to lean against the pillow under it, eyes falling shut. The warmth of the two men’s physical presence and love helps you to settle in a blanket of comfort. It works wonders lulling you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

Taglist 🏷️

@bunnyreaper @bookobsessedram @numberonetastemakerwhispers @a-very-bored-blogger @hawsx3 @ohworm-writes @tokusho @kitkatscabinet

[yakowo]

few recent commissions that I did :)

[avonne-writes]

Put that guy in a situation... Buck/Bucky Body swap mayhaps?

There's a sweet familiarity to the throbbing ache of a hangover, Bucky thinks as he turns to lie on his back in his cot. He can just sink into the misery of it, then chase it with the hair of the dog, let the poison make it better. That’s what he needs. Something to make getting up only three or four hours after he went to sleep worth it. And Gale. Yeah, Gale would already be there in the mess hall, waiting for him with one of his muted smiles.

Now, that's something that would get Bucky out of bed even if he was dying.

He rolls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed but a sharp, piercing pain slices through his thigh.

"Ugh, Jesus Christ." He hisses through gritted teeth, his hand tearing the thin army-issued blanket away to see what hurt him. "Fuck! What the fuck!"

There's a splotch of red spreading on his boxers. Cursing under his breath, he rucks up the material and finds a sizeable gash with the skin held together by stitches. His careless movements pulled at the edge of it wrong and made it bleed a little.

He can’t remember getting wounded there.

"What..." He blinks, confusion and panic settling in.

Those are not his legs. His muscular thighs have been replaced by ones much slimmer, the thick, dark coils seem to have vanished to give way to sparse blond hair, and where he's usually white as a sheet his skin now sports a pinkish hue. Small moles dot the limbs where there should be none.

Bucky's breathing so fast that he feels lightheaded. He racks his brain for an explanation, but the only plausible one is that the special brew he won off the goddamn Brits last night was spiked with something freaky. Of course, those pricks would pull something like this. He runs a hand through his hair to try calm himself down, but instead of the familiar pattern of his curls, he combs through straighter, silkier strands. He jerks his hand away to look at it and that's when he realizes -

These are Gale's hands. His hair, his skin, his slim legs. Even his voice, the low rumble of it, isn’t because Bucky sang himself hoarse last night. It’s Gale’s voice.

"Jesus Christ." Bucky repeats, whispering from the shock. He looks up and Marge's framed photo stares back at him from Gale’s bedside. And just across from him - "Shit!"

It's surreal to see his own body from the outside. For a moment, he fears that he’s dead, but his body stirs and curls up tighter on his side, his hands tucked under his pillow.

Like Gale's usually are when he's asleep.

Swallowing against the alarm making his head throb, Bucky pushes himself up to pad over to his body - to Gale, his heart knows - despite the pain lancing through his thigh and a stiffness in his back that shouldn't be there. Even through his racing thoughts, one stands out loud and clear. Gale has been hiding his wounds from him.

That hurts more than the physical pain.

With a shaking hand, he touches Gale's - his own - shoulder. Eyes Bucky only ever sees in the mirror snap open, widen, and without any further preamble, a fist swings out and clocks him in the face. The world goes dark again.

When Bucky wakes up again, he’s in the softest, warmest bed known to man, and someone's arm lies limp across his face, right where his nose throbs with a slowly fading pain. He gasps as his mind reconnects to the present and realizes that the war has long been over and he’s lying on the mattress he shares with Gale.

Relieved, he grabs for his own thigh and finds it unmarred under the duvet. It’s just as meaty as it should be, the hair on it familiar as he draws his palm over it. On his upper lip, his mustache covers the skin. He sighs as his heartbeat slows. Only his face hurts, and that's apparently because Gale swung his arm out in his sleep.

Carefully, he folds that arm back over Gale’s torso, then reaches under the covers. Gale moves with him, turning to his side in a way that suggests he thinks Bucky wants to spoon, but he grunts when Bucky’s hand smooths over his thigh to trace the old scar there.

"I had a weird dream." Bucky whispers, molding himself to the curve of Gale's body for comfort. "We were back in Thorpe and I was in your body."

Gale breathes in and out slowly. "'m not in the mood." He mumbles.

"No, I mean, I were you and you were me, Buck. We switched bodies. It was damn scary, let me tell ya. Then you punched me." When he gets no response, Bucky continues. "Imagine seeing yourself from the outside. Can't lie, it left me terrified."

Gale's hum rumbles in his chest where he presses Bucky's hand to his heart. "Sleep, hon."

Taking a deep breath, Bucky closes his eyes and tries to obey. He doubts that Gale will remember any of this conversation in the morning. He’ll tell him again during breakfast. It will earn him a smile, he’s sure.

[maziecrazycloud]

Happy Birthday John Bonham!🥁🐻

-

Your presence is sorely missed in this land of music and the whole world hopes youre rockin’ on high in the lands beyond. Always the Hammer of the Gods!

Heres to you, rip bonzo 🕊️✨

(Making me feel bittersweet 🥹)

[kibagib]

Ghost's thumbs sweep through the buzzed hairs on the sides of his head, and Soap moves closer — so close he can feel the warm breaths passing through Ghost's mask. He curls his fingers tighter into his jacket.

The sirens grow louder.

Fuck. He doesn't want to let go. But he has to.

"Go. Go on," he whispers.

He opens his eyes and finds Ghost watching him. He unclenches his fists and gently pushes Ghost toward the stairs, even as he backs away. Ghost's hands fall away from his face to dangle listlessly at his sides.

"Be safe, Johnny."

Soap nods.

Their gazes hold for another moment.

And then Ghost is gone. 

- You’re my mask, you’re my cover, my shelter, Chapter 2 snippet

READ IT HERE

@starlightvld did it again! 💕

We both hope you like it!!! More Punisher AU in the works 😉