#and I have a meeting with her in like half an hour

[irndad]

i wish i knew you wanted me - s.r.

a/n: okay this ended up being so so long forgive me!!! i hope you like<3 summary: based loosely on 'bad habit'. spencer got asked out by reader 5 years ago, when he was recovering from his dilaudid addiction, and turned her down. now, he's in love with her, and pining for her. also, jealous!spencer. she fell first, he fell harder. wc: ~2k

She’s very pretty. It’s distracting. Right now, she’s staring intently at his hands, and he feels hot under her gaze. It’s been a while since he’s done this, the little rocket trick, but she’s visiting the office, and Garcia had mentioned he’s a magician. 

“That’s incredible!” She exclaims, a giggle in her laugh, and he feels the swoop of his stomach, the butterflies of it all, “You got them so high up!”

“It’s just physics,” he laughs, meeting her warm gaze. Her smile is one for the ages. 

She’s here dropping off a file. They’ve known eachother a really long time, actually. She was an expert witness for them, once, years ago. She spoke with ease, both on the stand and in person. Equal measure kind and measured, and Spencer had adored her on first glance. They’d met when he was just getting clean from Dilaudid, and Spencer’s been in love with her since not long after than first meeting. That’s pretty much the only thing about her he wishes he could take back. 

He still has a hard time thinking about it, the fact that he met her when he was barely himself. Still, she’d been kind, listened to him talk and let the others tell her that he was…going through something. It was on his two month sobriety date (which she’d had no way of knowing) that she’d asked him out. 

Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he replays the memory in his head. How she works just south of their office, and how they’d meet at the café nearest, and chat for an hour before calling a cab home. 

On the other side of the veil, he can picture that night, years ago now. How she’d looked with the snow kissing her nose, dotting the edges of her faux-fur hood. She’d stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and he’d almost combusted and the adorability of it. 

“You look nice,” she’d said, although at the time he’s pretty sure he looked gaunt. He’d only recently started to gain the weight back- but still, her praise felt like stardust. 

“You look nicer,” he’d said back, gently bumping her shoulder as a fond gesture. Her little grin is well-worth how awkward they both look on the street.

“Listen,” she had said, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the size of the coat causing her hands to disapear from sight entirely, “I asked JJ and Morgan, and they said you’re not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. They love reminding me of that. Not everyone can be like Morgan and have dated half the western hemsiphere.”

He felt embarrassed, her watching him. It’s nice, but sometimes feels like staring into the sun. 

Her chuckle was nervous, not fully reaching her eyes. 

“You okay? 

“Yeah,” she swallowed again, before speaking, “I was wondering, um, if you might want to grab a drink with me?”

“Sure,” he’d replied back, amenably. He couldn’t tell why she looked so nervous, “I can’t really do hard liquor, though. Maybe we can invite the team.”

“No, Spence, I was wondering if you and I could go on a um, a date.”

And he’s frozen. Because this might be the second time he’d ever been asked out, and second, this might be his dream girl. She’s gorgeous and kind and she’s in front of him, asking him out. 

“I um,” his mouth was dry. He’d be a bad boyfriend. He was a recovering drug addict who already was bad at talking to people, and she lit up a room whenever she walked in. She finds him easy to be with, easy to care for and he’s bound to fuck it up. He couldn’t imagine giving that up because he was too greedy to take what he got. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He almost took it back with incredible speed, with that flash of disapointment on her lovely face, and the knowledge that it’s because she wanted him, before she quickly regained her speech.

“That’s totally alright! We’ll just be good friends, yeah?”

In the here and now, they are friends. Best of, really. And he made the right choice. He’d lashed out at Emily a month later in a withdrawl, and he knows that he’d have done the same to her, and now, she’s still in his life. 

The drawbacks of course, to being her friend, means she has dates. Boyfriends, as well, and he’s been a…friend, through it all. Good friend. She’s never suspeced him of anything more, of course, after he’d categorically rejected it. 

(Even though this rejection plays in his head all the fucking time, like a torturous groundhog day.)

She’s beautiful today, a blue blouse with a scarf lazily around her neck, and the way she’s leaning over his desk to see the  trick before she drops off her analysis. 

“Alright, Spence,” she says, her rose perfume wafting in the air prior to her hopping off the corner, “Did you need anything else? Today is my half-day, and Harry wanted to take me to Art Insititute.”

Harry, is the boy on rotation at the moment. Spencer has no impulse control and a super-computer expert best friend, so Spencer knows that Harry is 6’0 on his Driver’s License, and is a Financial Analyst. Spencer knows from her own mouth that this will be the third date, and that he’s a little boring but she’s attracted to the fact that he was direct and wanted to go out again. 

Low bar, but one Spencer couldn’t even clear. He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“That sounds fun,” he says, instead of saying that he’d love to walk her through the inscriptions on each art piece, love to kiss her in front of something thats’ beauty does not come close to her’s. “Are you thinking it might run long, or are we still doing the bookstore and TV at mine after?”

He’s been looking forward to this all week. He bought special marshmallows for her cocoa. He also htes to imagine her date running long. 

“Nah,” she smiles, “besides, he’s just some guy. You’re Spencer.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything when he looks down at his. paperwork, and scribbles instead of thinking, the best he can. 

________________________________

Don’t think about the fact she was on a date. Don’t think about how Harry might have got to kiss her. Just don’t bring it up. 

“How was the date?”

She shrugged, pulling at the spine of a hardcover novel. 

“It was fine. Like I said, he was kind of boring.”

“So why’d you go out with him again?”

“I dunno, Spence, I just… I want a boyfriend, you know? I want someone to want to be with me.”

She is so beautiful. She laughs with her whole chest, and she listens to his stories and chimes in with her own expertise. She has a voice that seems like it’s spun gold thread, and he’d give anything to kiss her. 

“I get that,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking. She’s wearing brown lipstick, transfer proof. He’s in love with her. “There’s got to be guys lining up for a girl like you.”

“That’s a nice thought, Spence. Not the ones I’d like.”

___________________________

This thought haunts his evening, and when he parks and they start the walk-up to his apartment, a confession hammering at his throat, a physical urge. She’s giggling at some long physics joke he’d made, and he’s addicted to the soft bell of her laughter.

His apartment is small and lovely, and he enjoys having her in the small and dark of the night, the sun set over what he wishes were two lovers. 

“You are really pretty, you know,” he says, once she’s settled into his chest, a sick satisfaction of knowing Harry got a quick thank you text before she darted over to Spencer’s arms. 

“Thanks, Spencer. You’re a good friend.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“That you’re a good friend?”

“I’m not saying you’re pretty because I’m a good friend. I’m saying it because it’s true, and I enjoy saying true things.” 

“You don’t…I don’t know why you’re saying that, Spencer. We’re friends and I adore you and I’m here right now, but you don’t need to make it harder on me.”

She looks nervous, and a little disapointed. He wants her to know, that even if he’s missed his shot, she’s not going to be alone. He’s gonna spend the rest of his life hating whoever knew to take the best thing offered to him, but Spencer- he knows he is not going to be the last to love her. He grabs her hand without thinking, her doe eyes peering into his with some emotion he can’t pin down. 

“Hey, I’m not trying…to make anything hard for you. I don’t ever want to do that. I just… some day someone’s gonna see you and want to be with you and I’m going to watch it and know it was inevitable.” 

The words taste like barbed wire. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg, I’m ready now. I’ll do it right. 

Is that even true? Is it just that he wants her bad enough he’s willing to risk not doing it right?

“You’re so sweet,” she sobs, and oh, she’s crying. Just a little, but tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You make it so hard to be your friend. And I know that’s my problem, that you’ve always been straight up with me. I asked you out and you said no, and I know that-“

“I know that I was too late, and freaked out about being with someone like you when I was still so fucked up.” they’re so close to eachother, he can smell her chapstick. His chest aches. “Sweetheart, that had nothing to do with you. It was all me. It’s a train I missed that I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wishing I’d caught.”

He feels uncomfortably bare, even in the oversized sweater that she’d gotten him last Christmas, and that he’d pretended had been from his lover all of that week. But it’s important that she knows.

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Her voice is small, so quiet he barely hears it. She threads her nimble fingers into his slender ones, and his heart is hammering. 

“I-I was on Dilaudid, or just barely off, you know- you wouldn’t want to be with someone like me. You asked me out when you didn’t even know that.”

“I know you now. Years worth of knowing.”

“And you haven’t asked me since.” 

“Spencer,” her voice is warm, rich like silk and grainy old music, and he wants to drink this image in, her fingers stroking the side of his face like he’s holy. He wonders if he’s dreaming, with how good she feels to be so close to. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg. I’m ready, now. 

“Spencer Walter Reid,” she says, properly holding his hand, bringing her soft lips to his hand, kissing his knuckle. He feels anointed, blessed by a higher power. “Could I take you out on a date?”

“Yes,” he says, finally. Five years of waiting melts away as he kisses her, warmth and light seeping into existence, a dream brought to tangible life, to touch and reality, “Actually, wait,” he says, and finishes before her face can fall, “Would you be my girlfriend?”

It’s maybe playing his cards too much, but her wide, ear to ear splitting grin is everything he needs to see, everything he might need to see for the rest of his life. 

“Took you long enough, boy-genius.”

“All you had to do was ask again!”

If she has a complaint about that, it certainly couldn’t be heard by the many, many kisses that would follow. 

[mandarinmoons]

hi! i have an idea ive been thinking about for a while. spencer and the team (plus reader) are at a bar and reader goes off to get a drink/dance/talk to someone and either a girl or a group of girls come up to spencer and start flirting with him. the first thing she/they ask ofc is "do you have a girlfriend?" and spencer (not realizing they are flirting) is like yes!!! her name is _____ and she is amazing and i love her so much.... and he goes on like a 20 minute rant about reader. reader finally finds him talking to these girls/girl and has to recuse them/her from his ranting about herself and explain what they actually meant.

sorry that was a lot but i wanted to make sure understood what i was envisioning. thank you so much!!!

“Spence, please!”

Spencer kept pulling you closer as he tried to nuzzle his way into your neck and leave a few kisses behind your ear. He wasn’t one for PDA, but after a few shots he was puddy in your hands and everyone had to witness what a mess you made of him in this state.

“I just wanna be close to you,” you could feel him pout as his lips were pressed against your neck, his thumbs rubbing over your waist.

“Looks like you’re not getting out of here anytime soon, huh pretty girl?”

Derek chuckled as he took pleasure seeing his younger brother of a coworker finally have a girlfriend, especially with how clingy he was being at the moment. It was as if Spencer would follow you if you were to leave for only a minute, which he had done approximately half an hour ago when you excused yourself to go to the bathroom and somehow he still had enough brainpower to talk about how hand-dryers could actually spread more germs and not remove them. He’d even taken it upon himself to take some paper towels and dry your hands for you, making sure to even dry the spaces between your fingers.

You had had only one drink and you were not going home unless you had a second one. Spencer had already downed three in that time, and looking at the state that he was in, it was obvious that he wasn’t going to get served any more tonight.

“Spence, I'm going to get a quick drink, okay? Stay here.”

Prying his hands off of you, you quickly slipped out of Spencer’s grasp before he managed to put his hands on your waist again.

A few minutes later, Penelope pulls Derek to the dance floor while Emily comes across an old friend and excuses herself to have a word with her, leaving Spencer all by himself at the booth, his tongue sticking out from the side of his mouth while fidgeting with his fingers. He was too deep in thought that he didn’t notice a group of girls come over and sit next to him, their intentions clearly not innocent.

“Hi! You’re here all alone?”

“Oh, I’m not! I’m here with my girlfriend and team mates!”

“I don’t see any girlfriend around.”

“She went to get a drink. Oh, she loves an aperol spritz, she’s got great taste, in general not just in drinks.”

The girls watched in amazement as Spencer kept talking about every small thing he could come up with about you, from your favorite color and the psychological meaning behind it to your Myers Briggs personality type and how you’re both compatible.

As the endless line at the bar finally came to an end and you managed to get your drink, walking back to the team’s spot you noticed the unfamiliar girls surrounding Spencer and your stomach churned in nerves. The closer you got however you noticed their bored and confused faces and that’s all you needed to know that Spencer had most probably pulled his book smarts out on them and left them speechless.

“Oh and this one time- Y/N, you’re back!”

Spencer pulled you in for a hug, nearly knocking the drink out of your hands. Managing to put it down on the table, you rested your hand on his back as you turned your attention to the strangers, them clearly on the edges of their seats and ready to bolt at any moment.

“We’re gonna go, nice to meet you both.”

Your eyes followed them as they quickly got up and made their way to the other side of the bar, even from a distance you could see the red hue on their cheeks, embarrassment written all over their faces.

“Spence, what did they want?”

“They came over and asked if I had a girlfriend.”

“That’s it?”

Spencer nodded as he nuzzled into your stomach, “And I talked about how great you are and how I’m going to marry you one day.”

Laughter erupted from your mouth as you heard the answer, also because of Spencer’s fingers practically digging into your sides that it was tickling you.

“Sweetie, I don’t think that’s what they meant by that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Usually when someone asks “Do you have a girlfriend/boyfriend?”, it’s their way of asking “Are you single?”

Spencer blinked his eyes, your words not yet registering in his head.

“They were flirting with you.”

“Oh… really?”

Nodding along, the conversation was put on halt as everyone made their way back to the table.

“You guys had to leave him alone, huh?”

“Why? What happened?”

“Some girls came up to Spencer and tried to hit on him.”

“Oh, pretty boy’s got game now, huh?”

The team chuckled, but Spencer kept burrowing his head more into your embrace. It was clear that no matter how many girls tried their luck with him it would inevitably fail, as you were his home that he would come back to every time.

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[squinch-depraved]

I was watching a chuckle sammy episode today and there was a part where Schlatt said he would hire a hot secretary just to keep him company. I'd love a story about that if you're willing.

The episode is the zodiac one the part I'm referring to is exactly 1 hour in.

this is reallllly yummy i hope i did it justice for you

it was supposed to be just a joke. just a bit for the podcast, a few sentences about hiring an attractive secretary and nothing more. but they stuck in schlatt's mind and hung heavy over him for the rest of that night. he really was lonely. and ted had a point, hiring someone to just be around (and look pretty) was looking like a better and better idea every second. so he finished off his bottle of benedictine, not that there was much left, and tossed it to the side, stretching out further on the couch while he pulled out his phone and set to work searching for an assistant.

it wasn't long before ted heard about his search, and the two men bantered in a call for a few minutes about it before the older of the two stopped his jokes to suggest, "no, but for real though, i have a friend who just moved back to new york, you might remember her, she was on the set for this past chuckle week helping in the background. y/n?"

schlatt's pupils dilated and he took in a breath. "yeah, i remember her," he replied coolly. "thought she was in school though?" he played with something on his desk.

ted lit up. "yeah, she's studying, but i'm sure she'd be willing to work something out with you." his voice was laced with knowing. he had seen the way schlatt sized you up the first time he laid eyes on you, the way he could never meet your gaze and how he always looked to you first when he made a joke. "i'll send you her info, you should reach out, man. she'll be happy to hear from you."

that last line was the only reason schlatt did it. he cursed himself for letting ted convince him now that you were here in front of him. you had been invited to a coffee shop to discuss the job details, and when you finally showed up, he looked incredibly uncomfortable sitting at a small table. but you sat down in front of him, smiling up at him and pushing your glasses up on your nose.

"hi schlatt!" you greeted him, reaching out to shake his hand. he gripped you a bit too hard and grimaced when you made a small noise, shaking your hand out when he let go. "thank you so much for the opportunity, i was really worried i wouldn't be able to find a good job for a while with my school going on and everything."

he nodded hastily and pushed a pastry he ordered for you towards you on the table. you smiled and yanked it towards you, beginning to eat as he spoke. "basically, i just need you to get any random tasks i need done, done. just, paperwork, if there ever is any, usually it's all digital, uhh, anything that slips through the cracks. i just need someone to be there and make sure my shit is taken care of."

you raised a brow. "sounds like you need more than an assistant," you responded with a smirk. his face reddened and he looked away, trying to shove down the thoughts of why you were really here. you were making a joke, but it wasn't funny to him. not when you didn't know you were right.

"shit, i'm sorry schlatt, i didn't mean to insult you-"

"'s fine. not insulted. i need you in the office whenever i'm there, sometimes i get work done at my apartment, so here's a key to both. feel free to get your own shit done whenever you're working unless i need you doing something. pay's fifty an hour. can you start today?" he slaps two keys down onto the table as well as two addresses written down on a half-crumpled napkin. you stare up at him in shock before snatching the keys and paper.

"fifty bucks an hour???" you whisper-screamed at him before the startled look on his face pulled you back into reality. "what about this job is worth paying me that much? i'm accepting it, no takesies backsies, but why so much, schlatt?" you tilted your head at him as you asked.

he scrambled for an answer to your question that wasn't "i want to spoil you until you can't think of anything else in the world you want," but when he opened his mouth to talk, nothing came out. you sighed and answered his previous question instead.

"yeah, i can start today. let's go ahead and get to work, boss," you said, standing up and collecting all your school stuff you brought in with you. "take me somewhere i can dump my stuff!"

weeks passed, you fell into rhythm with his fucked up schedule easily, quickly learning when to fetch him more caffeine and when to take away his alcohol. you kept him organized, boosting his productivity and helping him with almost anything he needed. you learned a few days in the fifty an hour was for no good reason other than maybe ted had told him you were struggling to pay for school (he hadn't) because most of your job was sitting at another desk, sometimes in the same room, sometimes separated by walls, parallel playing with schlatt as he filmed or streamed or edited or did whatever he needed to do while you worked on schoolwork or a fun hobby you were into. you were being paid to do minimal office work, study and relax, and best of all, care for your hot boss. he loved when you called him that, boss, it always made his cock twitch and his brain flood with thoughts of you under him.

the worst part of the job was how attracted you were to him. it made doting on him inevitable when your whole source of income was reliant on you making sure he was "taken care of." he noticed you acting more lovingly for the first time when you brought a water bottle to his desk while he was editing and massaged the back of his shoulders before mumbling, "you need to take a break and stretch soon," and leaving the room. he was stunned, skin burning under his sweater where you touched him. secretaries don't do that. he quickly opened up his messages with ted and began typing.

"dude. i fucked up. shouldn't have hired y/n. help." every sentence was a different message. moment later, ted eased the pounding of schlatt's heart a bit by replying.

"what happened??"

schlatt typed quickly. "she massaged my shoulders idk man i can't think around her"

"oh dear heavens, the damn harlot massaged you?"

schlatt didn't dignify that with a response. a few moment later, ted typed again.

"she's really into you dude, you should go for it. i promise she's not the type to sue you if it doesn't work out"

his main fear erased, he closed the chat and got off the computer, heading to find you in his apartment kitchen, going over the schedule for the days to come. music played from a speaker on the counter, and you paused it when you saw him come out.

"sorry, was it too loud?" you asked, looking up at him.

"nah," he shook his head. "you've been workin' for me for a few months now, y/n," he began.

you started shaking your head, backing up into his fridge. "schlatt, please, no, i need this job," you started to babble.

"shhh, nonono, not that at all, doll," he assured you, gliding across the floor to caress your cheek. the pet name made your stomach turn as you let him cup your face. "was gonna say somethin' else."

"what is it, then, boss?" you batted your lashes at him. he inhaled sharply and kissed you, absorbing the high pitched moan you let out. when he pulled away, you flicked your eyes down from his to his mouth and back up to meet his gaze before pulling him back in.

he tasted like whiskey, and he growled against your neck when you slid your hands under his shirt. "hired you just to keep me company but i can't keep my hands off you, doll." the nickname made you nervous for the second time that night.

"then don't keep 'em off me," you panted, puling your shirt off over your head and adjusting your skewed glasses. he drinks you in, inhaling the scent of your perfume (that you recently had to buy another of because he stole your first bottle to smell while he pumped his thick cock in his hand whenever you were gone). after a moment, he peeled your leggings off and picked you up, setting you down on the counter before he kneeled between your legs and looked up at you for permission to begin tasting you. you nodded, running your fingers through his brown curls while he started to lick and kiss at your cunt. much to his enjoyment, you didn't hold back your noises, letting your moans and cries bounce off the echoey walls of his apartment.

he slid a finger in you as he sang praises about how good you tasted for him, working his way up to two, and eventually three. you were crooning about how amazing he felt, knotting your fingers deeper into his hair and pulling it when you felt your high getting close, which made him moan directly onto your clit. you clenched your thighs around his head and ground down onto his face as he drew an orgasm from you.

once his face was thoroughly soaked with your juices, he pulled away and came up to kiss you for a bit before pulling you off the counter and spinning you around.

"i promise i'll fuck you properly, in a bed, next time, i just gotta have you now, toots." he bent you over the counter and slid his pants down, stroking his length a few times before slowly pushing into you. you both moaned, adjusting to each other, and he started thrusting, gripping your hips fiercely as you shrieked and adjusted your glasses again, to no avail because you were being shaken and throttled like a toy.

"god, you're so good!!" you screeched, moaning further when he smacked your ass in response.

"fuck, you look so cute, bent over on my counter like that, lettin' me use you like the good little assistant you are," he snarled. you let out a guttural whine at how hot he sounded. "you're so good at assisting me, baby."

your knees began to buckle and he grabbed you tighter to help hold you up.

"almost there, toots, c'mon. doin' so good."

you cried out one more time and his pace quickened, growing unsteady as he got closer to finishing. he thrust forcefully a few more times before pulling out to come all over your back and ass.

quiet settled over the kitchen as you both panted, and you heard him quietly snap a picture of you with his seed all over you before he grabbed a paper towel and began to clean you up.

"sorry," he mumbled.

you shook you head and turned around to kiss him. "can i stay the night?" you asked him.

he nodded, relieved, and slipped his pants back on.

"can i get paid for it?" you looked at him with a sly expression, glasses smudged.

he laughed. "absolutely."

[uhohdad]

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KÖNIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]

You & König have been chosen as unwilling participants in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.

18+, NSFW, 144k WORD COUNT, AO3, Virgin!Konig, Outcast!Konig, 18yo!Konig, Protective!Konig, Mentor!JohnPrice, Fem!Reader, Blood & Injury, Graphic Violence, Death, PTSD, Alcohol Use, Slow Burn, Konig Pines Hard, Sexual Content, Porn with Too Much Plot, First Time, Dirty Talk, Size Kink, Smut, Fluff, Angst

CHAPTER ONE | PREV | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

➤ THE WARNING II

First Part of This Chapter Here

You blink to get your blurry vision to focus, studying Price’s face to try to figure out if he’s serious.

His expression stays even, and the moisture is sucked from your mouth at once.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Price crosses his arms over his chest, his stare unwavering. The stone look he gives you makes your heartbeat twice as fast, your stomach already twisted into knots.

“I think you know that’s not going to happen.”

You’re trying to sound tough, but the words ride a nervous laugh and your nails are digging into Konig’s arm hard enough it’s surely painful.

“It’s not up to me,” Price says.

Konig makes a few slow steps forward, taking your hands and subsequently your body with him. The sound of Konig’s dress shoes fill the spaces between tense beats until he’s nearly chest to chest with Price, forcing him to crane his neck to hold Konig’s stare.

The air in this hallway squeezes around your ribcage, seemingly impossible to pull air into your lungs.

Price holds his ground, refusing to take a step back and not so much as blinking at Konig through his squint.

“Boy, I suggest you don’t do anything stupid.”

Konig is silent, dawning that half-lidded, icy stare, and the seconds stretch into what feels like hours. You tug Konig’s arm, urging him to pull away before this gets ugly, but he ignores you.

“You both told me you’d do exactly as I say. You promised me you wouldn’t make this any harder on me,” Price warns.

“I didn’t realize that meant I was agreeing to leave her side,” Konig shoots back, his tone just as cautionary.

Your stomach is already bubbling at both the thought of being separated from Konig and his threat of confrontation. Your breath is stuck in your throat, suffocating on the idea of two men you love -

Oh, ew. You love Price?

Gross.

“Okay, okay,” You say, aiming for a casual tone to wave away the tension, but the panic in your slurred, drunken voice rings true. You sidestep to wedge between them both, but neither of them fold, so you just end up smushed between their chests.

“Why do we have to sleep in our own rooms?” You ask.

You’re forcing yourself to not jump to the defensive for once, forcing your fear out through your nostrils in short puffs of breath. Testing out the taste of being the voice of reason for once.

“Capitol orders,” Price says sternly, his fingers tightening around his biceps, not taking his eyes off Konig.

“But why?” You try, your back still pressed firmly to Konig’s chest with a consistent, but ultimately useless nudge. You might as well be trying to push a boulder uphill.

“Doesn’t matter,” Price says, “What I say goes.”

You get the feeling if Konig wasn’t sizing him up, he’d be more willing to tell you why.

After a few more agonizingly slow beats, Price huffs, finally taking his eyes off Konig to meet your stare. Your sloped brows and lopsided lips softens both Price’s features and his tone, and he finally takes a step back.

“Have I ever led you astray?” He asks.

You swallow, your eyes darting to the side.

“Do you trust me?” He adds.

“I can’t do it,” You squeak with a shake of your head, “I can’t do it, I’m sorry.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, got it?”

His eyes harden again when he looks to Konig, still standing tall and proud behind you. Price tilts his head, with a raise of a brow.

“I won’t let anything happen to either of you.”

His gaze bores into Konig for a few more seconds before he looks back to you.

“Oh, kid,” He tutts, and shoos away his stare for a moment, “Don’t look at me like that.”

His request has the opposite intended effect, your lips pinching further together and your eyes swelling a little more.

Price sighs, and closes his eyes, a slight contemplative sway in his feet.

“You think I like doing this?” Price huffs, “It’s not up to me. But you both need to trust me when I say doing what you’re told will keep you out of trouble.”

The final word is paired with a raise of his brow and a slow nod of his head.

You’re still trying to figure out why.

To make sure you and Konig don’t stay up all night?

To make sure you and Konig don’t put on another show for the suite that’s definitely being taped?

… To keep you from planning a rebellion?

“Just suck it up for a little longer, and then we’ll be home, and you’ll be free to handcuff yourselves together.”

Price rolls his eyes and waves his hand.

“Now get to bed.”

“No.”

A sharp breath is sucked through your teeth, head whipping to Konig as you give a tug on his arm.

“It’s not up to you,” Price says, his voice icy once again.

“Yes, it is.”

When Konig takes another step towards Price, you try to hold him back, but Konig’s arm shoots out in front of you in a familiar fashion.

“If you want us to be apart, you’ll have to make us.”

Price licks his lips, his forehead creasing when he raises a brow and gives a set of slow nods.

“That what you want?”

Konig doesn’t say anything, his jaw tightening and his fists clenching at his sides.

“Alright,” Price says.

Price stares at Konig for a little longer until he turns on his heels and walks off.

Konig closes his eyes and lets out a long exhale once Price is out of earshot. He faces you, his strong hands squeezing your shoulders. They slide down your arms before clasping both your hands tightly in his.

“I won’t let them,” He says insistently, “I won’t let them.”

All you have for him is a shaky nod before gently prompting an embrace. Your body is limp in his tight hold, breathing in his scent in remedy to the heart slamming against your ribcage.

You’re truly torn.

Every instinct and ounce of fear in your weak body wants to dig your claws into Konig and never let go. What’s left of your rationality wants to listen to Price, because he had a point, he’s never once steered you wrong and you know that you and Konig are on more than thin ice as it is.

Leaning into your instinct is making you feel dirty, like you’re an addict fighting to keep the morphling flowing through your veins. Going against Price feels wrong, but anything other than keeping Konig at your side is heart-wrenching. Every instinct in your body begs you to keep a minimum one hand on him at all times, and the idea of letting him out of your sight seems entirely impossible. Just the thought oozes dread that swallows your body head to toe, condensing into a powerful sickening feeling in your stomach.

When Konig pulls away, he keeps a hand intertwined with yours, and wordlessly leads you to your bedroom, clicking the lock behind him. He faces you, meeting your stare with those soft blue eyes, a faint relieved laugh leaves his lips. He pulls you snug into his front, strong arms wrapping around your shoulders and holding you tight against this core.

Your limbs still feel as sturdy as jam, your grip on his waist light. It feels so wrong to be out of his sight, but for some reason being alone with him is making you nervous again.

When he pulls away, he keeps his hands on your shoulders, the skin underneath his touch inflamed.

He moves a gentle palm to your jaw, his fingers sliding up the side of your face and getting lost in your hair. He gives you a smile, a grin with crinkled, shimmering eyes, and you can‘t help but smile back, suddenly relieved he chose to defy Price.

He presses his lips to yours, and bends at his knees to meet your level, picking you up by your sides, carrying you to the bed without breaking the kiss. He plants his legs on either side of you when he sets you down on the silken covers.

He’s looming inches from you, you’re attached to him, but you still feel miles away.

Out of it.

In your head.

“Konig?”

“Ja?”

His breaths are shallow when he pulls away, dreamy eyes trained carefully on yours.

Your lips twist, brows pinching.

You have something to tell him, but you don’t know what it is. Your brain is trying to come up with the thing you’re supposed to say in a situation like this, but you’ve got nothing. There’s never been a situation like this.

What do you say to the boy who has killed for you, what do you say about the suffering you both have wrought and endured, about the twenty-two dead tributes and the star-crossed lovers that killed themselves to be together?

And now you are together, finally. Together and alone, and you can’t find the words.

You do your best.

“I’m… not okay.”

His smile fades, and he nods, looking away with a harsh swallow.

“Me neither.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He leans down and presses his lips to yours. A single, tender, lingering kiss before he lays at your side with a sigh. A heavy forearm drapes over your waist, his firm chest pressed to your shoulder.

“I love you,” He mumbles.

“I love you, too,” You whisper, so soft it almost gets lost to the air.

He gives you a few kisses on the top of your hair before he rests his chin on the crown of your head, a content hum behind his lips.

There is no knock, there is no bang, only the quiet ting of metal on metal before the door is swung open and slams into the wall. Both you and Konig shoot to a sit to see a band of peacekeepers, dressed head to toe in their standard white uniforms, pouring into your room and rushing straight for you.

You’re already pleading, but it does little to stop their gloved hands from reaching out to swallow you both.

“No, no!”

You cling to Konig, your arms locked around his waist with a deathly grip as you bury your head into his stomach. He jostles you with each swing of his arm, a grunt tearing from him with his powerful shoves.

Your voice is nothing short of desperate, wails and pleas to keep him at your side.

“No, no, no, please! Please!”

A peacekeeper wraps their arms just under your stomach, tugging on you as they try to peel you off him. You’re fighting with everything you have to keep yourself locked around Konig’s waist, your feet kicking blindly at your opponent and colliding with the durable plastic of their uniforms.

“Stop! Stop it!”

Konig is yanked to his feet and you go with him, the peacekeeper’s grabbing, cruel hands on your waist keeping you from finding a stand. Tears are already streaming down your face, the panic a white heat that engulfs your entire being.

“No, stop, please!”

When they finally tear you from him, you take shreds of Konig’s shirt with you.

The peacekeepers part, a majority forcing Konig towards the door while fending off his blows. Two hang back to hold you, their harsh grip indenting the soft flesh of your arms as you uselessly thrash in their hold.

Konig manages to knock down four of them, but more peacekeepers are pouring into the room until he’s truly outmatched, restraining hands and a blur of white.

“Konig! Konig!”

“I won’t let them!” He grunts in between calls of your name, flashes of his thrown limbs peek through the gaps of peacekeeper uniforms.

“No! No!” Your objections tear your raw throat, tugging as far as your restraint will allow, “Where are you taking him?!”

You kick and scream as Konig is dragged out of sight and down the hall, but you’re useless to do anything about it. You feel so weak - you have since you died, your body sluggish and your mind exhausted.

The peacekeepers don’t acknowledge your demands or objections, keeping your arms held firmly behind your back with harsh grips on your elbows.

A door slams shut down the hall and Konig’s shouts are muffled at once.

You let out a cry of pure frustration, and if you weren’t being held up you’d have collapsed to your knees in a heap. Instead your head lulls limp on your neck, your hair falling in front of your face and clinging to trails of tears and snot, heaving in the peacekeeper’s hold.

Your muttered objections are unintelligible, warbled through sobs and whines.

Price’s shoes announce his presence before he does, his voice gentle and low.

“Hey, hey, s’okay. He’s gonna be fine.”

He must have given the peacekeepers some look or gesture, because they release you. You make no effort to steady yourself, falling face first into his chest, sturdy arms catching you. Your tears and snot smear over his shirt when you shake your head, hiccuping on each hitched breath.

“I can’t do it! I can’t do it anymore!”

“Sh, sh, s’okay,” He says, his words more a vibration against your cheek then they are a coo in your ear.

“No! I can’t do it anymore! I can’t do this!”

He guides your limp body to sit side-by-side on the edge of the bed, his arm slung over your shoulders.

“Yeah you can, yeah you can,” Price says, his reassurances firm but gentle.

His hand strokes your bicep, your shoulders stuttering against his forearm with each hiccuped breath.

“I can’t! I can’t! I didn’t want this! I never wanted this!”

“S’okay, s’okay.”

“I should have died in that arena!”

Your sentence bleeds into a high-pitched whine that tapers out in a fit of sobs.

“No, no,” Price coos.

He loosens his grip, trying to get you to look at him, but you refuse, keeping your face planted in his chest as if to hide from the world, to hide from him.

“I can’t do it anymore!”

“Hey,” He says, “You made it so far.”

Your sniff is muffled by his shirt.

“This is the worst part.”

You can feel his chest expand with the deep inhale he prepared for a heavy sigh.

“You’ll feel better after you get some sleep,” He says with a squeeze, “I promise.”

When you don’t respond, he adds, “It was a big day. One of the toughest. It gets easier.”

Your voice is just a low whine, barely audible.

“Please don’t make me sleep alone.”

He gives a long sigh, his body shifting on the edge mattress.

“Okay, kid. How ‘bout I stay with you ‘til you fall asleep?”

You take a few breaths before you nod, the fabric of his shirt scratching in your ear.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up, yeah? A shower will do you good.”

You give another nod.

“I’ll wait in the sitting room, okay? Come get me when you’re done.”

He gives a few more strokes over your hair until you pull away, wiping your face with your forearm.

“Hey,” He says, “Everything is going to be okay.”

You want to believe him, but you don’t.

It’s hard to believe him when you watched him tell Summer that she was going to be okay with an axe to her side and her blood oozing from a fatal wound.

You understand the sentiment. He’s just trying to quell you, to keep the emotions from bubbling up and taking over.

You don’t refute the statement. You give a nod instead.

“Atta girl,” He says.

He waits patiently for you to get your bearings, until you rise from the bed and move with slow steps toward the bathroom before he leaves you be.

You’re hasty to peel the dress off. You forget about Konig’s token, the little golden locket flinging from your bust and skirting across the heated tile. When you look down, you catch the tail end of Mabel’s card fluttering to the floor.

You close your eyes with a deep breath before you pick up your things.

Mabel’s card is torn into tiny shreds at your hand before being flushed down the toilet.

Just in case.

Most people take baths in Nine. Showers are a luxury almost none could afford, so the shower you take is quite literally the longest shower you’ve ever taken in your life.

Even if you were a shower regular, you’re sure it would still take the record.

There’s not a thought that runs through your mind while you soak, staring at the glittery gold shower walls through the steam of the hot water with blown, unfocused eyes.

It feels like you’re on autopilot. Your mind has entirely checked out, your movements slow and mechanical as you dry off, brush your teeth, and get dressed. You can hardly lift your feet off the ground as you make your way to the sitting room.

The sight of two peacekeepers guarding Konig’s door makes you start with a sharp inhale and a flinch.

As intimidating as they are, there’s a tiny part of you that’s relieved.

You can’t hear him, but the peacekeeper’s presence is at least a confirmation that he’s in there, that he’s well enough to need to be guarded.

They say nothing as you pass them as carefully as you would a pack of wild dogs, no sudden movements and smushing yourself against the wall to keep as far away from them as possible.

Price sits on the end of the couch, his elbow propped up on the arm. He’s not doing anything but staring off at a wall, absentmindedly stroking his facial hair with one hand and swirling a glass of whiskey with the other.

You don’t approach right away, lingering at the end of the dim hall and trying to decide whether or not you should even bother to announce your presence.

You feel like a child, looking for the comfort of their parent’s arms after waking up from a bad dream.

It’s not too late to go to bed.

It’s the silver tray resting next to him on the end table that keeps you. The decanter, and more specifically, the second glass already topped off and surely meant for you.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hey.”

You shuffle over and curl up on the other end of the couch, using the arm as a pillow, and Price silently hands you your glass.

The whiskey seems much more bearable, somehow. Maybe you’re getting used to alcohol, or maybe the whiskey just tastes that much sweeter after the longest day of your life.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” You ask.

You sound like a child, too.

Price sighs and smushes his cheeks a little tighter on one of the strokes on his beard.

He can’t seem to look at you.

“It’s not for you to worry about,” He says evenly.

He raises his glass back to his lips, his other hand releasing his jaw and dropping to his lap.

You don’t have it in you to push.

You fall back into another silence, nursing your drinks and staring off at nothing.

You do find yourself sneaking glances at his face, though.

Trying to find the young Price underneath the facial hair, the hardened eyes, the wrinkles in his forehead. Trying to imagine the man before you as just a kid, participating in his games and losing the girl he loved.

You know how life-altering these games are, and yet you haven’t once stopped to consider what Price went through or the heavy baggage that have hung off his shoulders since, all while dumping your own misdirected anger and frustration onto him. Making it harder than it needed to be, as per usual.

Price just always seems so stoic. Rational and sturdy and always has the answer. It’s hard to imagine him buckling under the pressure, to imagine what it must be like for him to go on after his victory.

He volunteered with the intention of keeping her alive, and he failed. And now he is strapped with the life of a mentor, watching his kids die year after year, without her, knowing that he chose this life.

“Would you quit looking at me like that?”

Your fingers curl tighter around your glass.

“I just- I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Yeah, but-“

You cut yourself off, looking down at the carpet.

“I just didn’t want to bring up any bad memories for you.”

Liar.

“I’m sorry,” You finish, brows sloped and a frown tugging the corner of your lips down.

You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for Summer, or for making it so hard on him all this time. Every interaction you’ve had with him has been recontextualized, and your heart is heavy with guilt.

Price shrugs, “Was a long time ago.”

“She seemed, uhm-”

Your eyes dart to the side.

“I like her,” you finish after a stiff pause.

Price grins at his drink.

“I do too.”

There’s a pause, and you catch the fondness softening his features as he thinks something over.

“We, uh,” He gives a small chuckle, swirling his drink, “A friend of mine took me to one of the old card-dealing rings in Nine way been when.”

He flicks his wrist to the side, as if to say, ‘You had to be there to understand.’

“I hated it,” he says, his brows furrowing, “I was always the more straight-laced type, and I hated the people there. Everyone at home looks worn, yeah? But the Ringers-“

He trails off with a nod, and licks his lips before a scoff leaves him.

“And we’re just two kids as fresh as daisies, obviously not where we’re suppos’d to be. I hated how I always felt like we stuck out.”

He clears his throat, and leans back against the couch.

“But I worried about him. I knew he was going to go either way, and if I didn’t go with him, he’d get himself into more trouble than he would if I didn’t.”

A brow raises mischievously, and the corners of his lips pull back as he stares at the carpet.

“If I'm being honest?”

He scoffs.

“Some part of me craved it.”

He sucks on his teeth, and nods before continuing.

“My parents were as straight as arrows, yeah? They expected what they expected, and everything else was out of the question. So it was thrilling for me, being somewhere and someone I wasn’t supposed to be. Doing something that wasn’t expected.”

You wonder if he forgot you were even here.

It doesn’t even seem as if he’s talking to you. He still hasn’t made eye contact with you, and the gestures that go along with his story, the shrugs of his shoulders, the tilts of his head, the finger tracing circles into the side of his glass - Price isn’t talking to you. He can’t be, he’s talking to himself, the room, he’s just retelling old stories to himself that’ve been sitting on his tongue and circling his mind for decades.

You feel like you’ve walked in on something private.

And while it all feels… off, uncharted territory, his story is soothing. You feel like you’re melting into this couch, your swollen, heavy eyelids can’t help but flutter shut as you listen.

“On every off-harvest Sunday, we’d tell our parents we were going down to the stream to catch rock-dwellers, but we’d really be at the ring.”

“I got pretty good at it, too. Ringers got to know me pretty fast. Either by name or ‘That-No-Good-Cheatin’-Johnny.’”

“All in good fun, though,” He says after a mindful pause, “I never had it in me to cheat. Just played as good as one.”

“Anyway,” He says with a wave of his hand, dismissing his own ramblings.

“I won a big hand, and Timber bet more than was in his pockets. Told me to come by Wednesday to pick up what I earned.”

“So after school on Wednesday I swing by the ring. Timb’s not there yet, so I have a seat, and there she was.”

He hums.

“Slinging her daddy’s moonshine. She didn’t look like much. Disheveled, but as fresh as I was, looked just as out of place in that ragged hole.”

“Now I knew how the Ringer’s must have felt, looking at her face and thinking, ‘Oh, kid, you don’t belong here.’”

Price chuckles.

“‘Til she opened her mouth. Could put a grown man in his place with just her tongue.”

“She walked up to me like we’d been friends for a lifetime. I’d never met her before, but she knew me by name, knew what I was there for. Sat on my table, looked down at me, and said -

‘Let’s make a deal, Johnny. Full deck Trust, I win, and you let me have what Timb owes you.’

‘And if I win?’

‘Two jars moonshine. But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.’”

Price snorts.

“I hated moonshine. And I’d never played Trust, the Ringers mostly played Seven Card. It was an old game, a bluffing game, more complicated than it needed to be. Played with two decks.”

He lazily throws up two fingers, and nods.

“But I knew just by looking at her that she was everything she wasn’t expected to be.”

‘Deal.’

“She beat me, of course. N’ by the end of the game, the two decks are all shuffled together. So I go to sort ‘em, but she stood up before I could.”

‘Well, Johnny, it’s been fun. I’ll see you next Wednesday. Don’t forget my deck.’

He hums.

“Stuck a two of hearts between my teeth before she packed up my money and left.”

His eyes flick down, and he smiles.

“I got in trouble that night, for coming home late. But you better bet I was at the ring every Wednesday night. Making foolish deals with a girl that knew how to hustle.”

There’s a long silence, his grin fading away. His voice is low and gruff when he speaks again.

“You remind me of her.”

You can’t seem to bring yourself to speak, not nearly in the right mind to think of the right thing to say. You try to lift your head from the arm of the couch, but find it weighs a thousand pounds.

His words linger in the heavy air during another long pause.

“Y’know,” He says, his head lifting, but still avoiding eye contact, “I always wanted kids, but uh- well, y’know.”

Half his face pinches, and his glass flicks to the side, as if to suggest he’s not going to get into the never-ending list of tragic reasons he will never have kids.

He clears his throat, but his words end there.

You barely manage to keep your eyes open. Drowsy doesn’t even begin to cover it, the world is so fuzzy, you can’t get your eyes to focus no matter how hard you try. You have no choice but to succumb to your droopy eyelids.

The half-drained glass in your hand is weighing down your wrist, the whiskey threatening to slosh over the rim and onto the couch.

Price reaches over and gently plucks the glass from your hand, as if he had known your arm was just about to roll limply on the cushion.

There’s one last thought, barely coherent, foggy beyond the haze.

Your words are a slur, no differential between the end of one word and the beginning of the next.

“P’ Some’ in m’drin’?”

Price gives a long, heavy sigh.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

————————

You most certainly do not sleep tight.

You sleep in the hedge maze.

Trapped by both barbed hedge walls, and more pressingly, Titan’s brute arms.

Pinned in his harsh hold, his chest pressed to your back, holding your jaw in place. The echoes of his laughter in your ears as he starts from the top. Forcing the vivid image and harrowing sound of a sword piercing through a neck into your line of sight. A series of punctures through the soft flesh of a gut, of a girl in shock, repeatedly forced to stab herself in her own stomach. The start of a canvas of stains on a spear that end with the blood of its owner’s life.

You can’t move, you can’t even scream, paralyzed in Titan’s hold and unable to look away from the gory slaughter and the corpses that pile up in the plush grass.

Titan lifts your arm, his hand cupped around yours and threatening to crush your bones to dust.

He winds your arm back, and by time he forces it forward, a dart lies in the center of your tightly clasped hands and Willow’s body hangs limply in front of you, her exposed, bloody muscles and fat inches from your face. Her pained moans linger in your ears long after she takes her final three breaths.

Titan puppets you, your limp arms entirely at his mercy as he gouges out Sapphire’s eye and puts her stained spear straight through her middle.

Titan’s sardonic laugh pushes his chest further into you with each hitch of his breath. His fingers find your jaw, his nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks to keep you from looking away.

There he is, in all his glory.

The love of your life, sweeping Eleven off his feet and throwing him at the ground. Breaking his neck against the platform settled in the lush grass.

Smashing One’s skull against a ginkgo tree suddenly sprouted in the center of the plush grass, and discarding him heartlessly on the ground.

Beating Four unconscious, paralyzing him and stealing the clothes off his back, leaving him to dry up in the heat of a brutal desert sun in a patch of boiling sand.

Slicing Sage’s neck while promising her he’ll add to his already lengthy kill count.

Titan’s fingernails are digging into your cheeks hard enough to draw blood, pressing his lips to your ear, his laughs deafening you.

Konig’s eyes lock onto you from beneath his hood, ravenous and devoid of any emotion other than hatred. He breaks into a full sprint, his menacing stare never leaving you. The impact steals your breath, and forces a thousand blades through the flesh of your back.

You can’t even beg for mercy, on the receiving end of his full strength behind every punch as he beats you to a pulp. The deafening shatter of your cheek bone reverberates through your entire body, momentarily interrupting the howl of Titan’s cackle behind you. Impossibly, Konig’s figure morphs into Titan’s face with each strike, becoming more swollen and pulpy with each hit he lands.

Konig doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, rhythmic punches breaking your nose, knocking your teeth loose, blinding you with your own blood.

The final strike shoots you up from the mattress, screaming before you have even opened your eyes.

Immediately your head snaps to your door. The heavy thuds echoing throughout your bedroom makes you jump out of your skin, each one a hammer to your chest. The sheets ensnare your limbs as you frantically scramble away from threat.

Your door splinters into a thousand shards, rubble falling on Konig’s shoulders and crunching under his feet as he smashes through your door.

“No, please no, Konig, no!”

“Was ist los?! Was ist los?!”

You’re still transitioning back to reality, thrashing to break free from the blankets as you struggle backwards.

Your wide eyes dart over him, his chest heaving and brows pinched as he approaches.

It’s the hurt in those sad, tear-welled blue eyes and the slump of his shoulders that snaps you out of it. A crushing guilt that drops on your ribcage and steals all the breath from your lungs.

“Are you okay?” He asks through huffed breaths, his palms still displayed in surrender.

You try to swallow the dryness in your mouth, looking down to the mattress.

“Yeah,” You croak, “Just a nightmare.”

He takes a baby step forward, his question hesitant.

“Can I lay with you?” He asks.

Your eyes flit to the limp, uniformed arm splayed out in the hall, the splintered door, the torn, thick restraints cuffing his wrists and ankles before finding the mattress again.

You nod.

The tangled blankets warp under his weight when he crawls onto the bed with you. Carefully, gently, trying to befriend a trembling fawn.

He lays himself down on the edge of the bed, and tentatively offers his side with a raise of his arm.

After a pause, you take his offer. Crawling over to him, nuzzling your cheek into his chest and curling your body into his warm side. He lets you get settled before his arm wraps snug around you.

Your gaze lingers on his knuckles, freshly split and smeared with blood.

You lay a loose fist on his chest, running the nail of your thumb along your bottom lip.

“I think Price drugged me,” You mumble.

“They gave me something too,” He says.

There’s a brief pause, the sound of Konig’s heartbeat in your ear as your fingers trace a wrinkle in his shirt.

“Is it just me, or is this the worst?”

Konig scoffs, an amused hum following.

“Yes, it is the worst.”

Your smile quickly fades.

“Do you think it would have been better if we both died?”

Your head follows the billow of his chest on a slow, deep breath.

The silence that follows his exhale speaks volumes.

He catches this, and goes to remedy it, but the hitch in his voice betrays him.

“It’ll get easier.”

You sigh, closing your eyes as his chest rocks you, breathing in a deep breath of his soothing scent.

“You were right,” You say.

“Hm?”

“About death. About it - being like sleeping.”

He hums again, his fingers lost in your hair, absentmindedly playing with the locks.

“It wasn’t too bad,” He says, letting a strand of your hair slide through the gaps in his fingers, “I missed you, though.”

You give a soft laugh, and rub his chest.

“I missed you too.”

You sigh.

“I want to go home.”

Konig gives you a kiss on the top of your head, a few strokes over your hair.

“I know,” He says, “Soon.”

He rests his cheek on your head.

“You are my home,” He mumbles, “You always were.”

You roll your eyes with a huff.

“Would it kill you not to be so disgustingly in love with me for two minutes?”

“Oof,” You add with a wince, “Don’t answer that.”

You can feel the vibration of his amused hum on your cheek, another kiss on the top of your head.

There’s another lull as he plays with your hair, the tingle on your scalp drawing a content hum from you in return.

Your question is asked through a cozy grin.

“You know we’re fucked, right?”

“I had my suspicions.”

“What are we going to do?”

Konig kisses the crown of your head again.

“If you don’t know, I certainly don’t.”

Your lips rub together as you think on it.

“Suicide pact?”

Konig’s chest lifts your head when he scoffs.

He kisses your head again.

“I would miss you too much,” He says.

“What the hell happened?!”

You and Konig both suck in a breath through your teeth.

Busted.

Konig’s strong arms snake around you and tighten, as if he knows you’re about to be taken away again, and he vowed to never let it happen twice.

“Are you two out of your fucking minds?!”

Price’s rage is unlike anything you've ever seen from him.

You’ve never heard him raise his voice this loud before, so unrestrained. Normally his anger is filtered through grumbles and grit teeth and slick comments, but he’s got actual veins bulging out of his forehead, his voice booming throughout the suite.

“Why is it always so difficult with you two?! How many times do I have to say it?!”

“You drugged me! Trying to cop a feel, pervert?!”

The redirective accusation stuns him, his face twisting into a grimace and his rage dissolving into disgusted confusion at once.

“What? No!”

“I’ll guess I’ll have to take your word for it!” You say with a flare in your voice, “How convenient I don’t have memory of it!”

“It was just,” Price rolls his wrist and tosses his words nonchalantly, “Look, I knew you were going to have trouble getting to rest after everything, so-”

“Bullshit, pervert!”

“Alright!”

He grunts and lowers his voice to a grit.

“I did it because the only time you two don’t cause trouble for me is when you’re tied up or unconscious - I can hardly clean up one of your messes without you making another one for me! And to be honest with you, I wasn’t crazy about being forced to listen to you both cry and scream because you lost your fucking teddy bear.”

He shrugs with a smug squint.

“So I drugged you.”

His eyes crinkle and his lips pinch in a challenging smile.

There’s a tense beat, your lips folding in.

You could cut him so fucking deep right now.

It’s on the tip of your tongue, sharp, serrated, dangerously intoxicating, just begging to be spit in his direction.

If you can’t handle that, maybe it’s best you never got the chance to be a father.

But you swallow it.

With clenched teeth, snarled lips, and narrowed eyes, you swallow it, and settle on the next best thing.

“You old fuck.”

“I’m not even that -“

Price’s head tilts to the side, cutting himself off with a deep breath and a close of his eyes. When he speaks, his tone is reset - urgent, but not harsh.

“Do you have any idea what’s at stake?”

Yeah, actually, you do. You know exactly what’s at stake, and he’s standing tall and annoyed at your side.

But you’re both still in the arena, and it’s a bit hard to worry about behaving when your bodies are still coursing with adrenaline, when you’re still fighting and killing and dying, every decision based on animalistic instinct without room for thought.

And you know deep down it’s already too far gone. You don’t inspire the rebels and get away scot-free. You don’t get to make the Capitol look foolish and get granted leniency.

Price must know this on some level too.

But of course he’s not going to throw in the towel. He’s just doing what he’s supposed to be doing, what he needs to do for himself, because he’d never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t do everything he could.

Maintaining some semblance of control in a world where he has none.

But frankly, it’s getting fucking annoying, because if the shitstorm is approaching, what could any of you do to stop it, and what use is stifling yourself if it’s all going to go sideways anyway?

“I know about District Eight.”

Price studies you. He swallows through a slow nod, his words picked deliberately and his voice suddenly grave.

“So you know how serious this is.”

“District Eight?” Konig asks.

His question goes ignored.

“I know how fucked I am. And I know there’s not much you can do to change my fate.”

Price takes a step closer, and jams his forefinger towards the floor.

“I’ve pulled miracles this past week, sweetheart. And all you two have done is make it harder on me.”

Price’s brows raise, the wrinkles in his forehead deepening and his finger jabbing in your direction.

“Your actions do not just affect you. Do you understand me? This isn’t self-destruction anymore, Juliet. The potential casualties lie in the thousands.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and your confidence is draining through your shoes at an alarming speed.

“And there is still a chance to fix it - but I can only do that if you behave. So if you two could play by the rules for a couple more days, that’d be fucking fantastic. And at this point, I’m one smart-ass comment away from drugging you both until we’re back in District Nine. So, go on, what do you have to say?”

You click your tongue, jaw cocked and glaring at the ceiling with such intensity you wouldn’t be surprised if it spontaneously combusted under the heat of your stare.

“That’s what I thought.”

Price snaps his fingers.

“I want both of you cleaned up and sat for breakfast in ten minutes. Ruby’s going over the agenda - you will listen to her and you will be respectful.”

He waves over his shoulder before brushing away loose rubble from the doorframe, stepping over sprawled limbs and disappearing down the hall.

You and Konig share a look.

He doesn’t look as nervous as you’d expected him to be.

His lips are warped, and his brow creased, but he looks more concerned about you than he does about himself.

You snatch an outfit for yourself from the complicated closet, both of you moving to Konig’s room to get ready, side-stepping limp and groggy peacekeepers. The weight of your scolding hangs heavy, following you both wherever you go.

After Konig spits out his toothpaste, he mumbles to the sink.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

The bristles on your teeth stop their scrubs as you meet eyes.

When you go to garble the words through a mouthful of toothpaste, you can’t seem to get them out.

How do you confess to the love of your life that his head is on the chopping block because of you?

He huffs before he looks away, cleaning his toothbrush under the faucet stream. He wipes his mouth off with a towel, and tosses it just a little too roughly back on the counter.

“I’m sorry,” You gurgle.

You spit your mouthful into the sink.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

All of it.

He sighs at the following silence.

“I’m not as stupid as you both think I am,” He mumbles.

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“I can’t protect you unless I know what’s going on.”

Your voice picks up a hopeful waver, a cautious smile on your lips.

“I - I don’t know. I think it’s your strong suit.”

He huffs, and you know you won him over when the corner of his lip twitches up, but it fades quickly.

He looks to you again.

He’s giving you another chance.

You don’t take it, and he doesn’t push.

The energy is off at breakfast, the air as heavy and as cold as steel, even though Price is radiating a wordless, frustrated heat that sears your skin.

Cheerful as always, Ruby doesn’t seem to notice or care. She also doesn’t look like she’s hungover in the slightest, either she’s incredibly resilient when it comes to her liquor, or incredibly skilled at hiding her hangovers.

You consider shortly after that maybe you and Konig have been unconscious for longer than one night. You stifle this thought as soon as you can, but it doesn’t stop the unease that’s lapping up the walls of your guts.

Ruby waits for plates to be loaded and for Konig to finish dragging his chair next to yours before she chimes today’s schedule.

“Victory Tour! Busy, busy few days! Not a moment to waste!”

You and Konig do as you're told, listening respectfully as Ruby outlines the Victory Tour, silently picking over your breakfasts.

This is going to be like pulling teeth.

For the next few days, you’ll be living on the train. Shipped from district to district, standing in front of every last citizen, forced to look the families and friends of the tributes you killed in the eye as you accept your ingenuine praises and distasteful plaques from people who secretly despise you.

They’ll start with District Twelve, and you’ll work your way through all the way to District One. They’ll skip District Nine, where The Capitol will spring for a huge party upon your eventual arrival back home.

Twelve is an okay start, you think.

You don’t even remember what the kids from Twelve looked like, not even their names, and you and Konig had absolutely no part in their deaths.

Eleven will not be as bearable.

The trip to Twelve will be more than a day’s journey, it’s one of the farthest districts from The Capitol. It’s somewhat relieving, since you’d really like to put this off as long as you can.

There isn’t even time to digest, almost as soon as breakfast is cleared Ruby pushes the three of you to the elevator.

Little words are exchanged as the team makes their way to the train station, herded onto the extravagant train once more.

It’s weird, but you almost feel nostalgic for the train ride you took before the games. Your heart aches and longs to be the girl you once were, before games and kills and suicides and threats and unrest.

You and Konig still aren’t allowed to be alone in your rooms, so you both opt for the lounge car instead. You spend most of the ride with your head in Konig’s chest, his arm slung around your shoulders and keeping you flush to his side.

Basking in silence or listening to Ruby as she chatters on while you both offer little input.

You switch between having your eyes closed and staring blankly out the window, watching the landscape whiz by.

You’re not sure, but you think you even doze off a few times. It never lasts long, your eyes snapping open at every intrusive, vivid sound that tears through you. The snap of a neck, the moans of the maimed, the squelch of an eye, the pierce of an abdomen, the shatter of a cheekbone.

There’s still a weird, stale air between you and Konig that won’t go away. You refuse to let each other out of your sight, but you can’t seem to find anything to say to him, and he doesn’t have much to say to you.

It doesn’t feel necessarily malicious - at least it’s hard to interpret it that way when his arm is locked around you and pressing you flush to his side with such strength you’re afraid he might leave bruises on your hips. He always squeezes you a little tighter when you flinch in his strong arms.

You wonder if he sees the twenty-two extra passengers, too. If he feels their lifeless eyes and knows of their listening ears.

Meals are eaten, more interrupted naps take place, and eventually the sun sets.

It hasn’t been explicitly said, and you’re still having trouble pin-pointing why, but it’s obvious Ruby and Price are taking shifts babysitting, switching off to make sure you and Konig aren’t left to your own devices.

“You know, you two are going to have to get some rest eventually. We can’t have you exhausted during the tour debut!”

Ruby sings her gentle nudge with a cheeky grin, entirely oblivious to the fact that the mere suggestion of separating yourself from Konig makes your heart beat at triple its normal speed, forces sweat to bubble up from your pores, and fills your insides with dread.

“Soon, Ruby,” You mumble.

Liar.

Konig gives you an extra tight squeeze with a kiss on your head, and you bury your face back into his chest with the full intention of sleeping here tonight.

As bedtime creeps up on you both, Konig turns on the bench so his back is to the train wall, and repositions his legs so you’re nestled between them. You rest your head on his shoulder, your side flush to the front of his torso. His strong arms wrap around your waist, his clasped hands resting on your hips and keeping you close.

Protected by his strong arms, soothed by his scent and the rise and fall of his chest - you actually manage to get a few hours of sleep in.

It’s still not enough, and your muscles aren’t crazy about the whole ‘not sleeping entirely horizontally’ of it all, so when breakfast rolls around, you’re both exhausted and sore.

Your movements are slow as you pick at your meal, taking plenty of breaks to bump your arms against Konig when you stretch out your sore limbs.

“First stop today!” Ruby says, “After breakfast we’ll get the prep team on you and get you to the Justice Building. The speech will take place on the verandah, super simple, the Mayor will read a speech in your honor, and you’ll give a speech in return! Oh, yes, and don’t forget to thank them when they hand over your plaques, too!”

The speech you’ll read is scripted by The Capitol, some flimsy thank you to the districts for giving up their children in sacrifice and thanks to The Capitol for the honor and valor and blah blah blah.

It’s all bullshit, and everyone knows it.

It’s just a way to rub the salt further into the gaping wound the games leave behind, to parade around The Capitol’s fresh set of lap dogs to the overworked and underfed. Incentivizing division and tension in the districts while also reminding everyone of The Capitol’s unwavering grip.

They might as well hang banners that say, ‘Your Children Died So These Two Ungrateful Idiots Could Survive!’

“Romeo’s reading the cards,” Price says once plates are nearly cleared, jamming a fork in Konig’s direction.

You’re next up to be held at fork-point.

“And you will not say a word. Understand me?”

“What? Why?”

Price’s face pinches and his fork clatters across his plate when his arms throw down.

“Does everything I say have to be questioned? Just do it.”

He huffs, picking up his fork and stabbing into his ham.

“Well!” Ruby says, “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning!”

“The bench,” Price corrects gruffly.

He shoots an annoyed glance at you and Konig.

You roll your eyes, but you do feel bad. It’s embarrassing that you can’t seem to handle a night alone without Konig, and that Price has to sacrifice a good night’s rest just to keep you from throwing a tantrum.

The ungrateful brat from District Nine.

Making it harder than it needs to be, as per usual.

The prep team collects you once you and Konig have had time to digest. You both are dressed in modest black outfits, as is customary for the Victory Tour, before being handed back off to Price.

For whatever surely malicious reason, The Capitol doesn’t want the districts to know much about each other. So you and Konig can’t help but near the windows to get a good look at the outer-most district as the train begins its smooth stop.

You get quick glimpses of the run-down houses, the people making their way to the district square.

District Twelve is somehow more drab and dreary than District Nine. Everything is gray.

Gray and dilapidated, and all of the people look even more worn down than the people back home. Everyone has an empty look in their eyes, fixated on a point in the distance and shuffling along with little life in their weak steps.

When you look away from the window, you find your brows creased and lips warped in something of pity, sitting back in your spot with a slump in your shoulders.

Maybe Nine doesn’t have it as bad as you thought.

You and Konig share a look, and his face projects nothing but anger. His knee bounces and his fists tight.

You’d think you’d be used to being in front of so many people by now, having spent so much time broadcasted to all of Panem, but knowing so many loathing district eyes will soon be staring at you folds your stomach with dread.

Ruby wastes little time once the train docks in its station, herding you both to the old, deteriorated Justice Building with her well-meaning shoves and guiding hands.

You have nothing much to do as you wait for the ceremony to begin, little to distract you from the crowd waiting behind the massive doors to the verandah. You can’t help but shuffle from foot to foot. Your fingers are already trembling, the bouquet of white roses you’ve been given jitters in their perfect arrangement.

Minutes before you’re to go on stage, you flinch when Price grabs you by the shoulder with a tight squeeze.

His head tilts down, his brows raise, and a strict, pointed finger is held inches from your face.

“Listen to me. You don’t say anything. You keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me?”

Your eyes dart around his stony, intense expression before you offer a shaky nod.

He holds your stare for a few more seconds before he huffs, and lets go of you.

Konig gives your locked hands a squeeze.

“Ignore him,” He grits.

It’s clear he’s not talking about Price’s directions so much as he is talking about his tone.

As the doors to the Justice Building open, your breath catches in your throat.

Even though there’s thousands of people gathered before you, it is eerily silent. You can hear your own footsteps.

You stare down at your shaking flowers, trying to rid the audience from your view, but it’s useless. They’re impossible to ignore, your entire body aflame with thousands of hollow stares. You’re crushing Konig’s hand with yours, a pool of sweat between your laced hands.

They’ve set up two pillars in the crowd. Each has a screen displaying the faces of the fallen tributes from Twelve, and on a platform below stands their loved ones.

You try so hard not to look at them as the Mayor begins his speech.

But your eyes can’t help it.

The two tributes from Twelve both have ashen skin, hollow cheeks, and the same weary stares as the thousands of eyes before you.

You find the family of the girl tribute beneath her giant headshot. A grandparent, a father, a sister and a brother, all of their faces puffy and wearing fresh sorrow. The father and the sister shed tears, and the grandfather dawns that same vacant, beaten-down look the rest of the crowd wears, fixated on a point in the distance but not at all focused on it.

The brother stares at you, though. His fists clenched at his sides and his stance wide. You meet his eyes, and his chin lifts, staring down his nose at you.

You have to look away when you feel the prick of tears in your eyes, because you know what he’s thinking.

You stand where she could have.

Breathing and alive and not at all grateful.

The brat from District Nine who didn’t even want the victory in the first place.

Konig is prompted to read his speech, and you’re surprised about how well he’s handling this. He stands tall, proud, and intermittently looks up from his cards to meet the crowd that you can’t bear to see. His harsh voice broadcasted over the speakers doesn’t waver.

You find yourself looking up at him, watching him with something of awe in your eyes.

Maybe Price was right, because you certainly wouldn’t be able to get through this without a shake in your voice, and you’d be lucky to do it without bursting into tears.

He wraps up his speech, and you don’t look up from your flowers as the crowd gives the most unenthusiastic round of applause you’ve ever been witness to.

Konig accepts the victor plaque as you splinter rose stems under your unforgiving grip, and then it’s over. The moment the massive doors to the Justice Building close behind you, you let out a huge, shaky breath.

“Good job,” Price says, so stiff you’re not even sure if he’s being genuine.

The Mayor of District Twelve stops by to give pleasantries, and shortly after you’re ushered back to the train, on your way to the next stop.

You’ll have little time to prepare, the journey to District Eleven will only take until the late afternoon.

District Eleven.

The blood of the boy from Eleven is smeared on both yours and Konig’s hands, and you will have to stand before his family as the Capitol’s puppets you are.

You feel as if you should make some sort of acknowledgement. But what would you even say? There is nothing you can say that will bring him back, nothing you can say that will unsnap his neck and return life to his eyes.

Their son is gone.

And it is your fault.

Best to keep your mouth shut.

Your stomach is full of lead the entire trip, not even Konig’s chest can quell you.

And it is as brutal as you expect it to be.

As soon as you catch Eleven’s giant headshot, his eyes angry and scared and devastated and full of life, you burst into tears. You spend the entire duration of the speeches with your back towards the crowd, both your shoulders and the bouquet of flowers at your side stuttering as you sob into your tightly pressed fingers. You try to stop the tears, to hold yourself together, but trying to force it down is only making it worse.

The entire nation watches you cry, cry over a death that was your fault.

District Eleven must hate you. Disgusted with you for mourning a death that you were responsible for, a desperate bid for their pity.

You wish for the cracked cement beneath your feet to swallow you whole.

While you are in shambles, Konig doesn’t seem to be affected standing before the family of the boy he killed without a second thought. His hand rests on your convulsing shoulders, giving you soothing strokes while he reads from his cards. And while you can’t see him, his voice doesn’t falter.

When Konig’s speech ends, it takes everything in your power to keep from shouting your useless, nasally apologies to the crowd. To tell them how sorry you are. Instead you bury your puffy, tear-stained face in your hands until you’re back in the Justice Building.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Konig pulls you into a tight embrace, smushing your cheek against his chest and smearing your snot on his suit.

“I can’t do this.”

You shake your head in his chest, incoherently babbling as you gasp and choke on your own sobs and whines.

Konig gently rocks you in his arms, a light sway and a hand rising to stroke over your hair.

He doesn’t bother to lie or coo at you, he just holds you close until you’re ushered back to the train station, and he holds you close all the way to District Ten.

You arrive the next day numb and exhausted, and spend the entire ceremony staring at your shoes and clinging to Konig’s arm, trying to keep the girl from Ten out of your eyeline, trying not to think of her shocked face as she was stabbed mercilessly, repeatedly, until her stomach was torn to shreds. Trying not to look at the families of the tributes that follow you wherever you go with their listening ears and lifeless eyes.

Trying not to cry.

You seem to be on autopilot on the ride District Eight, disconnected from the world around you, slumped in on yourself with your head on Konig’s lap, forcing yourself only to focus on the tingle on your scalp as he plays with your hair.

You don’t snap out of your trance until breakfast when Price makes you. He reaches over the table and snaps in front of your face until your eyes return to focus.

“Listen to me. Under no circumstances will you speak on that stage today. Got it?”

It’s on him, really.

He was the one who woke you up, who dragged you back to reality, who returned thoughts to a brain that was previously broadcasting only static.

And while you nod in blank agreement, you’re thinking about Willow and the boy from eight and his girlfriend.

About poison darts and bread and tresses of curly hair.

Ribbons and unrest and girls with big fat mouths.

You’re thinking about a district who was so disgusted by a display The Capitol endorsed they encouraged a tribute from another district to eliminate their own.

It is customary for the victors to give a few personal words to any tributes you allied with, and while you didn’t ally with Willow technically - it feels as if you allied with the entirety of her district, and it feels so, so wrong to stay quiet about it.

Surely Price would be okay with just a thank you.

You can only assume he wants to keep you from inspiring them further, but you don’t see how a quick thank you could hurt.

So when it’s Ruby’s turn to babysit, you excuse yourself to the restroom before wandering to Price’s quarters.

You have to work up the courage to knock, and your stomach reaches a boil by the time Price swings his door open. He lets out a sigh and stares down at you without even tilting his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, raises a brow, and waits for you to ask what he already knows you’re going to ask.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out right away, your lower lip stammering as you coax the words up. When you find them, they sound much meeker than you intended them to be.

“Maybe I should say something.”

It’s like he was spring-loaded, because as soon as you finish your sentence he’s already bordering on a shout.

“This will not be a discussion. It’s out of the question. You will not say anything.”

“But you didn’t even-“

“I said no! Romeo reads the cards, and nothing more. End of story!”

He points a finger over your shoulder in the direction of the lounge car.

“Now go! I don’t want to hear another word from either of you for the rest of the trip!”

You swallow and nod at your shoes, heading back to the lounge car with a slump in your shoulders.

You all but collapse into Konig’s lap in a pathetic little heap.

And that is where you stay.

You don’t have the sense to hide your bewilderment at the round of applause you receive upon your debut on District Eight’s verandah.

They’re cheering. Cheering and whistling and waving and shouting.

This does not feel like a crowd forced to celebrate, like the other district’s with their weary clapping and their heads hung low. It’s like a Capitol applause, not a district applause.

District Eight is genuinely happy to see you.

The distressed, flustered mayor has trouble settling the crowd to begin the ceremony, the start of his speech interrupted by their excitement and their chants.

You catch a few members of the crowd’s stares, confusion plastered on your features as you dart around from face to face, some shouting, some waving, some smiling.

When it’s Konig's turn to read from his cards, you notice on your brief glances around the crowd that they’re not looking at him.

Every eye in the crowd is trained on you.

After Konig wraps up the speech, it becomes clear that they are expecting you to say something, and their faces fall a little more with each passing second you don’t speak up.

They’re expecting you to speak on what happened, to thank them for the gifts.

The ungrateful brat from District Nine.

Your face doesn’t soften until you catch sight of Willow’s mom.

She meets your eyes, and time seems to slow. Her mouth is parted to release sobbed hiccups and her palm presses to her stuttering chest.

And her tear-stained cheeks are framed with tresses of curly hair that remind you of the tree for which her daughter was named.

You do not think before you do what you do next.

You don’t think of Price’s explicit instructions, The President’s threats, or Mabel’s dire warning.

A grating feedback blares over the speakers when you lurch for the microphone.

“Wait, wait! Really quick, I just-“

You take a deep breath.

“I wanted to express my thanks. Again. I- I know it’s not, uhm, customary for districts to - to send gifts to anyone but their own tributes. So - thank you for going, uhm, against the standard to- to help me. And Willow. And- and thank you. For the bread. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You give a weird, awkward curtsy at the crowd upon the end of your shaky, impromptu speech, and take a few steps backward from the mic.

There’s a pause as your eyes dart around the crowd, trying to figure out if your words appeased them.

And something happens.

A gesture that fills you with a spark of hope, stomach-dropping dread, humble honor, and deep, desperate regret all at the same time.

Almost perfectly in unison, the crowd lifts their arms into the air, their open palms pointed toward the sky, wrists angled back to give you a clear view of Willow’s ribbon.

Thousands of them.

And you know that the ribbons on these wrists mean something different to these people than the people in The Capitol.

It is not a fashion statement.

It is a symbol of rebellion.

And you are their martyr.

——————————————-

“What did I say?! What did I say?!”

Price is yelling, his fist tight at his sides as he paces in front of you.

“I - I didn’t - I didn’t think I was saying anything wrong - I had to say something!”

“No, you didn’t! I told you - I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut!”

“What did I do wrong?!”

Price lets out an exasperated noise, his arms throwing out to suggest it’s obvious.

“You were yourself! What did I say, kid?! You play their fucking game, and you shut the fuck up for a few days!”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Konig cuts with a pinch in his brow, “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Price stops his pacing to point in Konig’s direction.

“This doesn’t concern you, boy,” He grits.

“When it concerns her, it concerns me.”

“What should concern you - “

Price starts with a cautionary tone and his head cocked to the side, taking a few slow, commanding steps in Konig’s direction. Konig holds his ground, though, and Price’s advance triggers something of a defensive behavior from him. Konig's shoulders set back, his arms just slightly extended at his sides and his chest puffed out.

“ - Is both of you being executed for treason, entire districts being leveled, and thousands of corpses at your doorstep.”

“And you really think that her giving a thank you speech is going to be the difference between a rebellion or not?”

“She’s the reason there’s unrest in the first place.”

Konig crosses his arms over his chest.

“No, she’s not. And you know it.”

Price blows out a huff of air, looking away from Konig to mutter something under his breath. Price turns on his heels and throws one last statement over his shoulder before he marches out of the car.

“Tell it to The President.”

The car goes uncomfortably silent after the doors zip closed behind Price.

Konig is the first to speak.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” You stammer, “Thanks.”

Konig hums low.

“What did I do?”

Your question is rhetorical, because you know very well what you’ve done, and you know your words will have catastrophic consequences.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” He says.

“But I fucked us.”

Konig takes a deep breath.

He closes the distance between you, and places two gentle palms on your arms.

“No,” He says, “You did the right thing. You always do.”

You just barely manage to stifle the groan and eye roll, because his reassurance is absolutely useless. The pedestal you stand on in his mind warping his perception of just how incompetent and selfish and destructive you are.

You don’t get into it with him.

Instead, you step into his arms and put your head on his chest.

And that is where you stay.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! <3 Next chapter will be here very very soon ;)

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[girliism]

you don’t when it happened but you knew you felt it. patrick falling out of love with you, after twelve long years of marriage. but what had caused it? was it when you gave birth to your son? did he now find your body unattractive? couldn’t have been that, he made sure to tell you how beautiful you were, he worshiped you now no less than he did before, even giving you a daughter two years later. was it when you asked him to retire after he lost the us opening? “pat, maybe it’s time-” patrick stood up abruptly. “no. i’m not retiring, not yet, i still have one good season left in me.” or maybe it was when he started to rekindle with his recently divorced old girlfriend. “tashi said she’d coach me.” patrick said. you didn’t know how to feel as you watched him dry himself off. tashi the gorgeous ex girlfriend that he had weird history with. “oh… tashi.” patrick gave you that look he often gave your son when he was unimpressed with his goofing around during practice. “it’s not like that.” no, it was before that, when him forgetting little things like to kiss you goodbye when he left in the morning, or how he stopped sending you a good night message when he wouldn’t be home in time, turned into him forgetting your wedding anniversary.

“my parents have the kids tonight so it’ll be just us.” you laying on the massage table next to your best friend. the whole day was spent getting your hair and nails done, your body fully waxed and now massaged. “are you gonna do the steak and potatoes or the alfredo?” you hummed thinking. “probably the steak, i just bought this wine that’ll be perfect for it.” so you spent hours making steak just how he liked it, roasting potatoes so they were that perfectly crispy but not burnt. you put on a new dress and wore that perfume he loved, only to wait hours for him to get home. it was 1 am. you scraped your fork back and forth on your empty plate as you stared at the clock. 1:01 am. 29 minutes late patrick stumbled in. drunk. “where were you?” your voice was soft as you watched patrick trip over his own feet. “shit! fucking scared me.” patrick laughed, taking in your appearance. “why are you so dressed up?” you stared blankly at him. “do you what today is?” there’s no way he could have forgotten. right? “saturday.” “the date, patrick, what’s the date.” you were practically begging him to remember. patrick closed his eyes for a second trying to get his half drunk mind to remember. “it’s uh. fuck, the 15th it’s the 15th.” “of may patrick!” you yell at him, trying to hide the fact you were about to cry. you could tell when he finally understood. patrick’s head fell and a deep sigh left him. “shit, baby i’m so sorry” you turned away from him. “the guys, they wanted to get drinks after practice and i lost track of time.” patrick whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist dropping kisses on your shoulder. but he didn’t just forget cause he was out with friends. you thought back on the whole day, how no flowers greeted you when you woke up like usual, or how he didn’t call you to tell you something random that happened at your wedding that you surely forgot but he didn’t cause that day was on repeat in his mind. “there’s food on the table.” you walked away from him, wiping the tears that were falling fast.

the sound of padded feet running down the hall snaps you back to the present as you tear your eyes away from your wedding ring. “mommy, can we make pizza now.” your daughter plopped her little body next to you on the bed. sometimes you wonder if your genes even put up a fight as you stare down at the little girl who looked exactly like her father. “yeah, go grab your brother and i’ll meet you down stairs.” you tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, watching her running out the room. it was friday, and the kids have been begging for a family pizza making night and patrick finally had an off day. “have you seen my watch, the gold one?” patrick rushes around the room dressed oddly nice. “where are you going?” patrick freezes in the hall. “to uh meet with tashi, she wants us to look over some prints for a campaign.” tashi. “but, tonight we’re supposed to be making pizza, it’s literally all the kids have been asking me about.” you followed patrick to the front door. “i’m really sorry honey, but these prints they have to go out at a certain time and tashi she wants us to look over them together.” it was like that now a days, if tashi called patrick came running. “but daddy, it’s pizza night.” your daughter pouted, dressed up in a little chef outfit. “i know, princess and daddy is very sorry, wait for me a bedtime, i’ll read to you tonight.” your daughter nod saying goodbye before running back into the kitchen. “i want be long.” “ok, i love yo-” the door was slammed.

patrick wasn’t back by bedtime. “he probably just got caught up baby, he’ll read to you next time.” you had to explain to your daughter. you got a sick wave of deja vu siting there at the dinner table. waiting, waiting, and waiting. when patrick got home the house was dark and the stairs creaked as he crept up them. “how was it.” patrick jumped a little, not expecting to see you just sitting there. “fine.” patrick cleared his throat walking into the walk in closet. you smelt it in the air when he walked past. her perfume. it wasn’t faint either, it was as if he rolled around in it. “you smell like her.” patrick let out a sigh walking right past to the bathroom. “we hugged goodbye.” he was hiding something, you could see it in his desperation to get away from you. “did you fuck her?” time froze for a second, the only sounds being the breathing coming from you and patrick. “what?” “did you fuck her, did you have sex with tashi.” you weren’t backing off. “wh-why would i do that? you, you’re crazy.” you weren’t. “answer the question patrick.” tears welled up in your eyes, voice cracking, but you refused to cry. “just fucking answer me.” your voice was loud but still low enough not to wake the kids. patrick squeezed his eyes shut, pinching his nose bridge in annoyance. “i’m not gonna answer such a stupid fucking question.” you huffed. “fine, then do you still love me?” please just say yes and tell me in being paranoid. you thought, picking at the skin of your finger nail. patrick turned to face for the first time since he got back. “of course i do.” the tears you were holding back finally slip when patrick places his hands on your cheeks. you felt that the sliver band that usually rest on his ring finger wasn’t there. you pulled his hand from your cheek stroking over the empty spot. “love.” patrick whispered. “wait wait, please i can explain. it was just this one time, it ment nothing, i love you, please, i do i love you.” the fear of losing you was setting in and patrick’s eyes were started getting watery. you sighed, teary eyed and red nosed. “i really wish you didn’t sound like you were trying to convince yourself of that.” patrick looked at you with wet eyes. “baby.” you pulled your hands out of his and walked out of the room.

(why i’m sad like i didn’t just write this.)

[ryescapades]

can i request narumi x gojo like reader (like extremely overpowered and yk gojo stuff 😝) because ur dazai fics are just mwah! could they be and captain and they're vc is like suguru :>

thank you !!!!

limitless | kaiju no. 8

characters: narumi gen x gn gojo!reader

contents: sniper!reader, attempt at humor, fluff, some OCs, a lot of made up plots bcs this fic wouldn't exist otherwise (feels like i was world building ngl), reader's division number is not mentioned, narumi appears like in the second half of this, hint of rivals(?) + idiots to lovers

a/n: i hope i did your req justice, tqsm nonnie! lmk if you're satisfied with this or not (bcs im kinda not) almost made reader and their vc become a doomed yaoi couple just like satosugu 2k wc

"ehhh, another mission?"

your vice-captain, akira rolls her eyes at your grumble. "yes, another mission, captain. the higher-ups have requested for us to be there as soon as we possibly can, for the location is said to be in an uptown city of tokyo, a few hours from our base, so we ought to dispatch early," she explains.

"blegh, i bet the old man shinomiya is laughing at me right about now. we literally just returned from a mission like two days ago, akira! he sure loves working us to the bone!" you complain as your hand continues to work, cleaning the glass lens of your sniper rifle's scope.

akira throws a flat look. "maybe because we're the only unit in the defense force that specializes in kaiju intelligence? dummy," she says pointedly, causing you to wave her off. "nah, semantics."

she sighs, shaking her head. "in any case, we need to get ready now. we have to dispatch in about half an hour," your vice-captain's words go into one ear and out the other as your mind drifts away, thinking of how you can possibly sneak away to buy some nice treats while in tokyo.

hm, preferably those ringo apple-custard pies... your mouth waters at the thought.

less than five hours later, you find yourself strutting in the hallways of the ariake base, with akira following close behind.

"how many times do i have to remind you to tell me first if you wanted to make a detour mid-way," akira pinches the bridge of her nose, and you pout slightly. "i didn't even take that long, mind you!" you argue, though the way you dust off the sweet pastry crumbs off your lips doesn't really give the impression that you sound apologetic at all about it.

"captain, you keep forgetting that we have a meeting to get to. you should try to be more considerate towards others' time, you know?" she chastises, making you shrug dismissively. "you're too uptight about everything, akira. loosen up,"

already used to your petty remarks, akira crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at you. "what was that? you wanna take this outside, y/n?" the way she drags the syllables of your name daringly has you smirking, eyes glinting dangerously as you flex your hands. "oh yeah? and what if i say yes?"

what both of you don't realize is that you've walked far enough to reach general shinomiya's office, the sound of the double doors opening snapping off the tense rope that connects your challenging gazes together.

the two of you straighten up awkwardly, whistling a mindless tune and fixing your uniform respectively to pretend like you weren't about to start a scuffle just a second ago.

hasegawa, the one who had opened the doors raises an eyebrow curiously when he sees you and your vice-captain. "seems like they're already here, general shinomiya." he announces over his shoulder before giving a respective nod and taking his leave.

as you enter the office, general shinomiya gives you a long, pointed look. "you're late." your nose scrunches at the comment, "only by fifteen minutes. chill out, old man."

"what they mean to say is—" akira immediately speaks up, frustrated at your lack of manners, but shinomiya isao raises a hand with a shake of his head to interject. "never mind that. we have more pressing matters at hand,"

as he drones on and on about the details of the mission, you're barely listening to any of them when one particular statement catches your attention.

"do your surveillance for at least two days before you clean up and come back to report. i'll send in narumi as well for some extra hands."

like a puppy hearing the sound of kibble food being poured in its bowl, your head perks up in interest.

seems like this mission won't end up being a bore, after all.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"akira... i'm bored,"

you can almost hear your second-in-command's teeth gritting against each other. "that's the sixth time you've said that, captain." she says, her voice crackling through your earpiece. "wait, really? maybe i should say it another time—"

"please, don't." she interrupts with a huff. "you don't know how many nights i've spent wondering how your impatient ass got this job,"

you're about to counter when a new voice chimes in through the comms, "they're good at this job, that's why." a smile grows on your face at the statement. "ren, of course! this is why you're everyone's favorite," you cheekily say.

your operations leader snickers at the quiet but still audible vomiting noises akira is making. "i'm flattered, captain. but i do agree with vice-captain akira. given how our division is all about stealth and patience, it is quite the surprise someone like you sits at the top," ren muses.

you click your tongue, the small 'tch' sound only providing more amusement for your two subordinates. "you deserve a headlock for that, ren."

be that as it may, you are indeed good at your job. appointed as the captain of a special intelligence unit for the defense force, your division is tasked to undertake any job that requires kaiju surveillance, where you discreetly observe and study the behaviors of these monsters, especially the new species before subjugating them once your task is completed.

where do you think all those official kaiju encyclopedia books and websites get their information from?

your missions are all basically just field trips, to be frank. you command officers who are specifically trained in stealth and espionage, with your sharp sniping skills second to none in the defense force.

your beloved vice-captain, the talented officer that she is, unluckily holds the job of patrolling the perimeter and taking care of any kaiju that happens to stumble upon where your sniping port is set up. can't have the sniper getting jumped now, can we?

pulling your eyes away from the scope, you mindlessly tap away on the side of your sniper gun. "anyways, how's captain narumi doing?" you ask.

the division has very few recruits every year, due to the fact that not everyone can master the perfect form of stealth and spying when it comes to such untamed creatures. with the unit being the only unique one, your officers are often dispatched at various locations at the same time.

thus, the subjugation after the observation is usually carried out with the help of other divisions. and that's where narumi comes in.

or rather, he actually does come in. like, legit.

"worried about me?" the man himself steps into the empty room of the desolated building you're currently positioned at, his bayonet held close to his side. your brows quirk in amusement at the question, "yes, actually. i was worried your... extravagant method of killing kaiju is going to get us spotted sometime soon,"

narumi feels his blood thrums in his ears. he doesn't know what it is about you, but every time the two of you interact, he just gets frustrated and bothered. how are you so... infuriating?

"excuse me? i know perfectly well how you handle your operations, thank you very much!" he exclaims.

"oh? is that so, akira?" you inquire into your earpiece, wanting to poke fun at the first division captain further. he tenses slightly as he's reminded of his recent kills.

a big tease just as you are, akira hums, "well, i certainly heard him gloating with the other officers after his first kill earlier. he was probably doing his usual egosurfing... and the second kill was obscenely loud too. and then there's the—"

"okay, i think they get it now, vice-captain." narumi cuts her off in a snap, crimson hues dusting his cheeks. you smirk, about to make another retort when ren's voice intervenes you.

"emergency, captain! there's a kaiju about less than two kilometers away from the town!" your pupils flare in alarm just as akira voices out her surprise, "wait, what? there shouldn't be any of them so close to the human settlement. is it a stray?"

without focusing on ren and akira's discussion, you sling your sniper over your shoulder and go to head out of the building, "i'm going after it," you announce.

as you walk past narumi, he grabs your arm to stop you. electric sparks jolt underneath the material of your suits and into your skin, though neither of you seems bothered enough to acknowledge it. "there could be more than just that one. i'm coming with you," he insists, unaware that he's leaning into your space to get his point across.

what is it with him and needing to be closer to you? narumi can never figure out the answer to that even if he was aware of it in the first place.

you didn't expect him to suddenly be all up in your face like that, so your hand automatically shoots out towards him, a palm splaying over his chest to hold him back. realizing how weirdly intimate the touch is, you move to pull away but your hand unconsciously lingers, dragging itself down the metal chestplate of his suit before finally retreating in a matter of seconds.

the loss of contact nearly burns you from the inside out, and you hate admitting that it's not in a bad way. not at all, not ever. something about narumi gen just flares you up deliciously, and you're more than happy and willing to crash into this man's blazing inferno.

perhaps you're just as hopeless as he is in that regard.

with a shrug, you throw a sanguine grin at him over your shoulder, "even if you weren't here, narumi, i can handle them just fine. this is my forte, and i'm the strongest one here." shivers run down the back of his spine, the knowing glimmer in your eyes almost making him visibly and audibly swallow.

he doesn't doubt that sentiment. not at all.

narumi knows how strong and skilled you are. if ashiro mina is known with her extremely explosive power, you're known with your hawk's eye trait. you're good at predicting just exactly where the kaiju's core is supposed to be, courtesy of the years of meticulously studying the monsters.

'how am i different to ashiro? hm, let's see... to put it simply, ashiro is the type to spam her high-damaged gun. like a reaaally offensive dps, you see. while i prefer to go with that one shot one kill style,' you'd often say. as a chronic gamer himself, he understood that crystal clear.

as the two of you exit the building and make a beeline towards the direction of the town, a few kaiju that you had surveyed just a few minutes ago turn their heads in attention when they hear your rapid footsteps.

your annoyance rises when they start advancing towards you, all feral eyed and inhumane. "sorry but i really don't have time to waste on small fries like you," you mutter as you take out your handgun.

the next thing narumi knows, their cores are precisely struck with your bullets, including the kaiju whose humongous tail almost swiped at you two from your common blind spot, one which he could've taken down. with his RT-0001 retina, he was less than one second away from taking that one out!

"oh, would you look at that! i saved your ass, narumi! aren't i the best?" you boast, causing his imaginative feathers to ruffle. the respond he's about to give doesn't get to come out, as you manage to irritate him even more.

"by the way, don't you think you should slip in some more trainings everyday? you play enough games as it is. at this rate, you're gonna get weaker than me, you know?" you remark before swiftly skipping away, your tongue sticking out in jest and leaving narumi to deal with his own agitation.

you're literally a menace in narumi's eyes, but his curiosity is boundless. as he moves to follow after your tracks, he keeps asking himself why he just cannot seem to stop wanting to get know you more.

nah i'd win, *dies immediately after*

ps i love when gojo made that digimon ref in s2 he's such a nerd pls. also there's like one hidden ow2 ref in there somewhere. like using pharah and widowmaker in regards to the difference between ashiro and reader

taglist: @maruflix @iamjellyfish @ouiouimochi @yueliie @justwinginglife @lumiambrose @minasfwoopyponytail @17020 (i hateee it when the tags are not working :c )

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[aangelinakii]

JUSTICE LEAGUE ROMANCE TROPES.

characters written about in this piece: bruce wayne, clark kent, diana prince, barry allen, oliver queen, dinah lance

note : i LOVED this idea so much i literally like it is literally 5 in the morning i wrote it in an hour i was so hyped !! hopefully it was what you were asking for, thanks for requesting !

BRUCE WAYNE — grumpy x sunshine

okay you guys saw this coming. he's literally batman, and there's a lot of debate about whether or not batman is the real persona,, so NATURALLY i think a grumpy x sunshine thing would go well with him. i did also read somewhere that his sexuality is villains, but who says a villain can't be happy go lucky ???? wait because i literally feel a fic coming up... batman x golden retriever!villain like... ????? but it's like, batman / bruce is known as just this rain cloud, no emotion, but with you he just melts and his heart grows warm, as does his tough exterior. he's used to having a family now, going through failed relationships (whore lol) but meeting you is just different. has he been dating the wrong people all his life ?

CLARK KENT — strangers to lovers

a romance blossoms with clark as a chance encounter. two tired office workers caught in the rain, the bus is late, they agree to flag down a taxi and share one together, but fuck you've forgotten your wallet (just your luck) so clark insists it's okay that he can pay, but you're not leaving that easy, you ask for his business card so you can call him when you're free to pay him back (you say you'll pay him half, but you actually pay him full). when you meet him again, you either ask to meet halfway at a park somewhere, or go up to the daily planet. "just in case a situation like this ever happens again" clark asks for your card too, but instead just calls you one night as you're eating a takeaway in front of your tv to (really shyly) ask you if you're seeing anyone and if you'd like him to take you out sometime :)))

DIANA PRINCE — "who did this to you?"

I JUST SCREAMed at protective!diana LIKE ???? i was going through pinterest looking for ideas to help and i saw this microtrope and i was like yes this is the one. like imagine heavily injured / on the brink of death, laying in a hospital bed or in the infirmary of the jl station, and your lover ( / friend / enemy / ????? ) diana storms in maddd as hell and shés like "who did this to you??? are you okay??? what happened??? more importantly who tf hurt you ????" so you tell her, and she spends some time with you, but as soon as your eyes begin to droop closed, she is Gone. diana isn't one to kill i don't think, she tries to see the good in everybody, but this person hurt you. maybe death isn't what's coming for them, but she'll make sure it counts.

BARRY ALLEN — best friends to lovers

what better way to form a romantic relationship with someone, than through a platonic friendship with them? barry knows you like the back of his hand, you know him like the back of yours. you've watched each other go through relationship after relationship, always wondering why your heart droops at the news of a new person in the mix, slightly altering your dynamic, but pings up again once it finds out the relationship had sizzled out. there was something aching between you, but that was just what friendships were like, right ? so why didn't you feel it with anyone else ? it turned into something more when external people began noticing too, asking if you were already dating,, and it became more obvious that perhaps your friendship could be something else.

OLIVER QUEEN — flirt x oblivious

ollie queen is a crippling flirt. he's used to a mere wink sending the ladies whirling, add an "oh yeah?" to the end of his sentence and he can see the dust of a blush along someone's cheeks. he knows the ins and outs. so why can't he flirt with you ??? WHY WONT YOU BLUSH ??? OR EVEN FLIRT BACK ??? you're oblivious !!!! he will compliment your appearance, the way you fight in battle, the way you spar (and purposely pin you down, but get off with a huff when you chuckle and say he's got you down already, no need to keep you there). he starts spending so much time with you, offering himself up to go on patrol / missions just so he can spend time bugging you. but it starts getting too much, until he realises he can't say a word around you. why is he getting tongue tied ?? he doesn't ?? oh god *gag* he.. likes you ???? it isn't until now, with him being more nervous around you, beginning to actually avoid you, that you start to notice.

DINAH LANCE — rivals to lovers

when i say rivals i don't mean properly pitting against each other, not by any means,, i mean say you're also in the justice league as well, a hero, whatever you like,,,, whenever you're put together on a mission together, it's a competition between who can take out the most bad guys, save the most innocents, who gets there the fastest etc. it's technically friendly bants but there's some competitiveness behind it that isn't exactly fake. you're friends / acquaintances for sure, but what happens when a kiss is on the stakes ??? "person who takes out the most of joker's henchmen gets a kiss from the winner"

[badgers-and-cats]

hello love i recently read your sirius fic and it was really great^-^ and now i would like go ask (if you’re comfortable with it) older remus lupin x younger reader ,who are secretly invloded with each other, and they’re at an order meeting and she keeps teasing him subtly and he can only take so much 🤭 and then after the order he grabs her and he pulls her into a room and then you know smut ensues

would be great but if you can’t right that’s alright too thanks anyway🤭🤭

Pretty Dove (Remus Lupin x reader)

Masterlist

AFAB reader

Warnings: age gap (everyone is of age - reader is in early to mid 20’s). Unprotected PIV. Blowjob. Feminine pet names MDNI!!! (Let me know if I forgot anything!!)

A/N: Aaa thank you my lovely, I’m glad you enjoyed the Sirius fic!!! Hope you like this one just as much❤️ sending lots and lots of love❤️

Also wasn’t really sure how to end this! So apologies if the ending isn’t great

No matter how hard you tried to get his attention, he just wouldn’t look at you. The entire meeting, which had reached the half hour mark now, you had received a maximum of 2 looks from him, and one of those times was because he was talking to the group.

You understood your relationship with the older man was a secret. The past 4 months had been spent sneaking about, only getting to spend time together when nobody else was around. Only being about to touch him and to be touched when you were 100% certain you wouldn’t be disturbed or caught.

But the last time you had a moment alone was a whole 12 days ago, (but who’s counting, right?) and you were getting desperate. Especially when he wouldn’t even look at you. From the outside, it was like you were just acquaintances, colleagues even.

You were fed up of being ignored. So, you acted on an idea you had thought of. It was risky, but you were confident you wouldn’t get caught.

His demeanour changed, when he feels your fingers running up his thigh. Still, he doesn’t look at you. But it’s obvious your small action is affecting him. What else could you get away with, you wonder.

With no warning, your hand touches his hardening cock through his pants. He snaps his head at you, gaining himself a few funny looks from other members of the order. You smile softly at him, an innocent, friendly, act in the eyes of everybody else; but you and he know differently.

He knew that he couldn’t do much, even if your relationship was knowledgeable to the order; this was still a risky move. Instead, he gives you a stern look as he looks the other way.

The meeting lasts another 15 minutes. Remus leaves almost instantly, looking at you as to say ‘follow me.’ You leave a moment later, following him into an empty drawing room upstairs.

The second the door is closed, your back is pushed up against it.

“What is the matter with you today?” He asks, one hand on your hip and the other placed on the door at the side of your head.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Remus,” you smirk, running your hands down his chest, smiling up at him softly.

“You know exactly what I mean, dove,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth, pulling away before you could respond,

“Remus, please,” you’re starting to beg. But you cannot ignore your heat begging for his touch any more. He just smiles at you softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. Luckily for you, he had been longing for your touch - his hand just didn’t compare.

“I need you to be quiet for me, pretty dove. Can’t have anyone catching us, can we?” He asks. You don’t even have the chance to fully process what he had said, but that doesn’t matter anymore. His soft lips are a contrast to the bruising force and description of the kiss.

He runs his tongue over your lips, before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, earning a soft moan from your swollen lips.

“I love you so much, pretty girl. Missed you so much,” he groans, kissing you before you could answer - swirling his tongue around yours as he pushes you further against the door.

“Mhm Rem,” his name rolls off of your tongue effortlessly, almost as effortlessly as his hand made its way to the top of your head as you make your way to your knees, palming his bulge when you get there.

“Go on, pretty dove. Show me how much you missed me,” he says, gently and lovingly moving your hair out of your face as you undo his belt - taking down his pants and boxers.

Usually, you would tease. But after so long with no touches, you elect to get straight to it - Remus is delighted for this decision, you knew from his satisfied sigh when his member enters your warm mouth.

You bobbed your head along his length, it hitting the back of your throat with every bob. His hand has made a made shift ponytail, helping you to move along his length, as well with the occasional thrust of his hips.

You’d be lying if you said you wasn’t enjoying this as much as he was - the wetness between your legs proving that. Like he read your mind, he gently pulled your mouth off his member, your lips darkened and wet with saliva.

“Need to feel you. Wanna be inside you,” he begs. He helps you strip quickly - lining himself up with your heat. Rubbing his head through your slick, he pushes just his head into your wetness.

He groans at the sensation of finally being inside you after almost 2 weeks, resting his head in the crook of your neck - kissing it gently.

“Please, wanna feel you all,” you whine, hands playing with the hair on the back of his neck, as you kiss the top of his head. Pushing into you more until he bottoms out, now balls deep inside you, it takes him a moment to ground himself after feeling your warmth and wetness around his aching member.

After a few moments, he starts moving his hips - every one coming in faster and harder than the last. You’re holding onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He has one hand caressing your face, thumb running up and down your cheek lovingly, the other against the door behind you.

“Oh fuck, oh, yes, fuck yes, there, just like that, fuck,” you moan, attempting to not be too loud, as his thrusts somehow becomes rougher as he bites your neck lovingly.

“Ssh, quiet dove, don’t want anyone catching us do we? Not after all this time,” he whispers - unable to keep his own moans down.

You knew you wouldn’t last long, “can I- fuck,” you couldn’t even finish your question - feeling his dick hit your cervix with every thrust.

“Yes, I’m close too, cum for me gorgeous girl,” he says, before stilling his hips, filling you up with his cum, as you soak his dick in your juices.

He pulls out after a minute, you while slightly at the loss of contact. With a gentle kiss on the lips, he says “I love you. I’m so sorry for not giving you the attention you deserve.”

“That’s okay, handsome. You can ignore me more often if that’s how I’ll get fucked afterwards,” you smirk, holding his face in your hands, kissing him again, “and I love you too,” you smile.

After getting dressed again, and a handful of more stolen kisses, you both leave the drawing room, hoping to remain undetected. That is, until you come to face to face with Fred and George Weasley.

“Afternoon,” they both smirk, before walking away.

“I wonder what they’ll want in return for them to not tell everyone,” you joke.

[charliesangel67]

Against all odds

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Word count- 1567

Warnings: Smutttt, a little bit of fluff, acedemic rivals (kind of, idk how to write it)

Authors note: I'm actually so sorry this took so long, idek why but it was a bit hard to write. Anyway, it's here and I hope you enjoy.

This was based of off @weirdowithnobeardo 's idea which is the first comment on this post

“Ok, can somebody tell me the answer to question b?” Quickly, hands flew up in the air. “Mr Cameron, what is the answer?” “4x+7n=33y” Rafe said confidently. “”That’s wrong.” I announced. “Go on, what’s your theory Miss y/n?” My teacher said, “It’s 4x+7n=36y because x is equal to 2.” I stated. “That is correct y/n, well done.” My teacher smiled at me. I smiled in Rafe’s direction but he just glared at me. Next period science, we got our tests back, “So Cameron, what did you get?” I asked Rafe curiously. “94%, you?” “99%” I replied with a smile. Again, he seemed so angry at me for getting a higher score. This went on for the next couple of weeks, He acted like we were academic rivals.

3 weeks later

There it was, the test sitting on my desk, a bright red ‘A+’ written in the top right corner. I was proud of myself for scoring so high on such a hard test. It was 40% of my final GPA result so I had to score high. I turned around to see Rafe staring daggers at me. “Bad result Cameron?” I asked him teasingly. “Shut up y/l/n” He growled as he clenched his jaw. I giggled to myself and turned my attention back to the teacher. 

The bell rang for the end of the day and I hurriedly grabbed my backpack and ran to my locker. My friend Maddy always meets me at my locker because we’re in different year levels, Maddy’s in 10th and I’m in 11th grade. “So, how was your day Mads?” I asked unlocking my locker. “Shit. So fucking shit you have no idea.” “I’m sure it couldn't have been that bad.” I laughed. “No, y/n it was bad. So bad in fact that I got broken up with by Jason the son of a bitch in front of half the cafeteria.” She announced. “Oh shit, sorry babe, he was no good for you anyway.” I said walking away with her. 

As we were walking to my car, Maddy realised she had forgotten something in her locker so she ran back towards the buildings. Suddenly, I felt a rough hand grab hold of my upper arm and pin me against a wall. A hand covered my mouth to stop me from screaming. “Oh you son of a bitch. You’re so fucking done little girl.” I knew the voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t quite figure out who it was. When my eyes finally adjusted to the light and situation, I realised it was Jason and his group of friends. 

“So, did you and Maddy talk shit about me to the school after what I did to her?” He asked again, still keeping me against the wall. “What the fuck. No we didn’t, why would you think that?” I was astonished at the accusation. “Because, now the whole school thinks that I have an STD and all the girls I’ve slept with have smashed my locker and put slime in the gas tank of my car.” He complained. “Wow, creative girls for real.” I said with a little laugh. “Ok, if it wasn’t you, then who was it?” 

“It was me, you son of a bitch!” Yelled Rafe, walking towards us. “Why?! Why the fuck would you do that?” Jason asked, close to tears. Rafe pulls a phone out of his pocket and starts reading some texts - 

“‘C’mon Maddy, It won’t be that bad. Why don’t you wanna sleep with me?”

“Because I’m not ready for that Jason, I’ve told you a million times. We have only been together a month and I’m not ready to have sex yet. Just stop asking me already.”

“Fine. Go fuck some other dude, you fucking slut. You’ll regret not being with me.” “What do you mean Jason? Are you breaking up with me??”” 

“Hey! Where did you get my phone from you bitch?!” Jason asked launching himself at Rafe, who dodged the blow perfectly. “You left her on delivered for 9 hours just so you could slut shame her and break up with her in the cafeteria in front of everyone, all because she didn’t want to sleep with you?!  Not to mention you cheated on her the entire relationship. You’re a real ass man.” Rafe said. “I suggest you leave Maddy, Y/n and all the other girls you’ve messed with, alone and get on with your life.” Rafe yelled as Jason and his friends ran away.

They knew how powerful Rafe could be and they didn’t want to get on his bad side. “Thanks Rafe. Why did you do that anyway?” I asked, “Don’t think I did it for you, I hate Jason.” “Oh, okay.” I replied sheepishly before walking away, back to my car and to meet with Maddy. The drive home was silent after I told Maddy all about what happened. Her being in disbelief about what Rafe had done to Jason. 

A couple weeks later, it was Midsummers, I had bought a nice dress and had a plan laid out on how we were going to spend the evening with Maddy and her sister, Kiara. Kiara picked us up and we drove to the Cameron’s mansion as that was where the party was. Kiara was friends with Sarah, Rafes younger sister.

A couple hours into the party,  Rafe approached me, taking my hand and dragging me upstairs. “Rafe, what are you doing?” I whispered, “Taking you to my room.” “Why?” I asked, a little scared. “Because you look way too beautiful in that dress and I noticed JJ basically eye fucking you.” He turned to face me, looking very sexy in his button down shirt and his hair falling into his eyes. Without thinking I put my hand out to brush his hair away from his face, he grabbed my neck and leaned down to kiss me. 

“No, Rafe, we can’t do this.” I said as I pulled away. “Why not y/n?” “Because, I’m a pogue, you're a kook and you should hate me. In fact, you did act like you hated me after you stood up for me in front of Jason, and now suddenly you’re acting all jealous when JJ looks at me?” I asked in a confronting manner. “Look, y/n, I like you.” “No, we can’t Rafe. Your dad is gonna kill you and my parents are gonna fucking disown me or something if they found out I was dating a kook, especially Mr Rafe Cameron with his bad reputation.” 

Rafe didn’t say another word, he just leaned down again to kiss me, This time it was more passionate. At that moment, I didn’t even care that we shouldn’t be doing this, I just kissed him back. Rafe picked me up and carried me to his room. He threw me on the bed and locked the door. He crawled on top of me and placed feather light kisses along my neck to my cleavage. “Can I?” he asked as his fingers were tangled in the strap off my dress. “Mmmh,” I responded softly as he carefully took off my dress. 

I tugged at his belt, hinting for him to take off his pants as I unbuttoned his shirt. Within minutes, we were both butt naked, he took my boobs in his hands, massaging them and kissing along them. I moaned at the pleasure. I palmed his cock through his boxers and I felt him getting hard underneath my hand. Quickly, Rafe ripped off his boxers and rubbed his cock against my entrance. Already slick and wet, he pushed inside. I moaned as he did so, Rafe thrusted slowly and sensually.

“Mmh, You like that baby?” He asked, staring into my eyes. “So much Rafe.” I replied. Rolling my eyes back as Rafe thrusted harder into my soaking cunt and he kissed along my breasts. Soon, I was nearing my release, my cunt tightening around him. And a couple thrusts later I had come undone onto his thick cock. “Fuck baby, I'm gonna come.” “Come in me Rafe.” I begged him and seconds later he squirted his hot cum into my pussy. Out of breath and panting, I crawled on top of him, lying on his chest, my hands tangled in his hair as he kissed my neck. “Promise we can keep this a secret for a little while longer until I tell my parents?” I asked him. Rafe nodded and uttered a soft ‘yes’. I kissed him one more time before getting up and getting dressed. 

“I’m gonna head back down stairs okay? The girls are gonna be worried about where I was.” I told him, opening the door. “One more kiss babe.” Rafe said and when I turned around, seeing his abs again stirred something deep within me. Want. I wanted this man. His hair, his face, his body, his personality towards me. I wanted everything about him. I didn’t think, I just jumped back onto the bed into his arms. Rafe kissed me hard and passionate and I melted into his touch. Soon we were back at it again, he was thrusting slowly and sensually into my soaked cunt as I buried my face in his shoulder quieting my moans.

That night was the best sex I ever had. 

I also got a super protective boyfriend.

I hope you guys liked this 😁

[northlight14]

Speaking as someone who was constantly late to school, I think punishing kids/teens for being late to school is stupid. Like, I get it. When they’re older, they can’t be late to work and stuff and they need to understand that. But majority of kids/teens are getting to school via their parents or someone else driving them or hell the school bus which is also driven by an adult. So when a kid arrives late and gets punished for it, all that’s happening is a child getting punished because the adult responsible for getting them there on time wasn’t successful. That’s not teaching the kid anything, that’s just annoying. Especially when, as a kid I was always ready on time and it was my parents I was waiting on and then in detention I’d be expected to write down a “what will I do better” that didn’t apply to me because I didn’t do anything wrong

I get that sometimes it will be the kids fault but I feel like those cases are few and far between and punishing a kid for the adults in their life is just counterproductive

[anghraine]

Fun fact: Imrahil of Dol Amroth is only ever described in LOTR as Denethor and Faramir's "kinsman", with no distinction ever made between how he's related to Denethor vs to Faramir. It's only later, when Faramir briefly thinks of his long-dead mother, that she is called "Finduilas of Amroth" and we can deduce that the family connection was likely between Denethor's wife and Imrahil, making him an in-law of Denethor but blood relative of Faramir. We're still not told exactly how Imrahil and Finduilas were related, though.

I always had the impression of a certain degree of tension between Imrahil and Denethor, and also of Imrahil being particularly concerned for Faramir, but his exact relationships with them are quite vague in the narrative. A lot of the names, dates, and family connections among the members of the house of Dol Amroth that we now accept as a matter of course are mainly from a separate document published in Peoples of Middle-earth that explains the most probable origin story for the house of Dol Amroth and has an attached family tree. IIRC the entire existence of Faramir and Éowyn's son Elboron is based on his inclusion in the Dol Amroth family tree in POME and he's never referenced in LOTR (and possibly not in anything else, actually?).

Tolkien definitely did imagine Imrahil and Finduilas as siblings regardless (e.g. I think he mentions it when observing that Denethor's natural beardlessness as an Elrosian Dúnadan would be reinforced in Boromir and Faramir by their additional Elvish heritage through Imrahil's sister), but he didn't actually say it in LOTR.

I do think it's important, though, because it's with this later information that Imrahil taking charge of Faramir's fallen body is conclusively revealed to not be simply a prince rescuing a vague "kinsman" of political/military importance, but specifically a man carrying his dead sister's last surviving child from a battlefield.

(No wonder he and Éomer bonded so much, honestly!)

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

I feel a bit like an asshole.

[squinch-depraved]

the people have asked for more poly!tedschlatt and that is what the people shall get. here's reader and schlatt getting walked in on by their dear friend ted, who decides to join in the fun. she/her used, first time writing double penetration hope you enjoy lovelies <3

the haze of another smoggy l.a. afternoon hung in the air as you lay on top of schlatt, lips plump from kissing him everywhere. the two of you were cuddled up in bed in one of ted's two spare rooms, sloppily making out to a playlist gone rogue after hours of deep conversation and toying with each other. it was now approaching golden hour, and dazzling amber rays shone in through the half open blinds, cloaking everything in a comfortable glow. you walked your fingers around in circles on his chest as you leaned on your other arm, not meeting his gaze. he studied you and eventually softly grasped your wandering hand, causing you to turn to look at him.

after a moment, he spoke. "you wanna?" his head tilted ever so slightly when he asked you. a smile teased at your lips as you simply nodded. he pulled you in for a kiss again, groaning softly once he could taste you. you were inexplicably sweet, always leaving him with a sudden craving for desserts. he adored the taste of your tongue, your teeth, your skin, your dripping cunt and the tight hole below it- all of you left a sugary flavor on his taste buds that he wasn't sure if he was imagining or not. he had explored every part of you with his tongue, but he had one hole left that his thick cock hadn't ventured into. he wondered if it would feel as sweet as you tasted.

"you feel like lettin' me in your ass today?" he asked, voice quiet but steady. his hand came around to rest on your behind. you looked at him and thought for a few seconds before nodding meekly.

"as long as you promise to go slow at first," you replied.

"'at first' being the key words there," he chuckled, pulling you in for one last deep kiss before beginning to peel his clothes off. you mirrored him, and soon the two of you were naked, grinding on each other mindlessly until schlatt zoned back in and began to stretch you out with his fingers. he went very slow, as promised, and your lewd moans filled the apartment, escaping through the open bedroom door.

just before he was about to insert himself into you, when he was softly assuring you this was going to be worth it, he looked up at the doorway and froze, seeing ted staring at you two in a mixture of shock, lust, and embarrassment. the two men stared at each other for a moment, tensions high, while you mewled impatiently before looking up and noticing your audience as well. you, however, let out a moan when ted locked eyes with you, snapping him out of his daze and causing him to reach forward and awkwardly slam the door shut. footsteps could be heard sprinting to his room and his door slamming as well.

schlatt sighed heavily and mumbled, "shit," before he smacked your ass lightly and stepped off the bed. he looked at you while he slipped on his boxers and said, "can i invite him to join?"

you eagerly nodded, volunteering to go with him if he needed help convincing ted, which earned a laugh from his lips.

"no, doll, just sit here and be good f' me," he spoke gruffly. you nodded once more and he shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

minutes passed, and you sat there, waiting so patiently for them, but after so long, you just couldn't help yourself. you began rubbing circles into your clit, relaxing into the bed and letting out small moans. after who knows how long, the door swung open and the two men started to enter, but stopped when they see you working on yourself. you froze and snatched your hand away but it was too late, they looked at each other and began snickering, degrading names slipping from their tongues.

"can't believe you were about to fuck this filthy slut without me," ted admitted, no longer jealous of both of you for getting to be with the other.

"we can fuck her at the same time, if you want," schlatt responded. he looked at you, brow raised, and when you nodded, he turned back to ted. "was gonna fuck her ass for the first time anyway, might as well let you in her other hole and make it somethin' she'll really remember."

ted's face lit up, a grin spread across his features as he immediately began stripping off his clothes. "i'm so glad i came home early to catch you guys, holy shit," he breathed. he pulled schlatt in for a kiss, startling him before he reciprocated a second later. the sight stirred something in you, rousing a moan from deep in your chest. they pulled away and looked at you, smirking and whispering about their plan for a moment before ted dove onto the bed next to you.

you shrieked as you bounced a few times on the mattress before settling back down where you were. schlatt came around and laid on the other side of you, stroking your arm softly while ted attacked you with kisses. his lips travelled all over you, biting and sucking occasionally before settling on your sopping pussy and devouring you. his tongue explored you frantically, his fingers worked skillfully in and out of you, and schlatt alternated his mouth between your nipples, giving you just the right stimulation to help you rocket towards an orgasm. you screeched and tugged at ted's hair, knotting your fingers into his dark brown strands, causing him to moan into your aching hole and sending a shock down your spine from the vibrations against your cunt.

he pulled away a bit later and looked up at the two of you in adoration, face covered in your juices and some hickeys schlatt must have given him while they were away from you now visible. again something stirred in your gut, but you packed it away for later because schlatt was getting restless. you could tell from the way his cock twitched every few seconds, shiny precum leaking from the tip. he tapped you, signaling the time to shift positions, and helped you off the bed so ted could lay down in the middle.

the oldest out of all of you lay there, resting back on his arms slightly, his long, hard member standing at attention, ready for you to hop on. his hazel eyes flicked between the two of you as you looked up at schlatt one last time, and he fixed them on you when you climbed on top of him. the expression on his face when you looked down at him was pathetic. he wasn't even in you yet, his head had just barely touched your folds, and he was completely gone. you grinned, eager to ruin him, and sunk down onto him. however, you had forgotten how big ted was, and you let out a yowl as you kept taking more, and more, until eventually he bottomed out. once you were used to it, you started moving your hips, making sure he had some time with just you before your shared boyfriend abused your other hole. a peek in schlatt's direction revealed him staring at the two of you, bottom lip in his teeth, steadily pumping himself in his hand. you moaned and your hips faltered, giving ted the perfect opportunity to begin fucking himself up into you.

after a minute of this, schlatt grumbled, "fuck it," and pushed himself up to sit behind you. you adjusted your angle on ted and allowed him better access. "ted, stop! can't get in," he murmured, swatting the man's thigh to make him stop thrusting. the taller man whined, but complied, and schlatt lined himself up with your rim. "y' ready, doll?" he panted. you nodded and braced yourself.

you couldn't help but scream as the delicious pain of him stretching you open for the first time sliced through you. it's a torturous game of going slow with you, making sure you aren't being hurt unnecessarily, holding themselves back from ravaging you together. so when you gave schlatt the go ahead to move, he began pumping slowly, letting out a deep groan. ted whimpered under you, feeling schlatt's cock through your thin walls, and rolled his eyes back. when you told him he could move too, neither showed any mercy.

the two men pounded into you at brutal paces, various praises and insults filling the room.

"fuck, she's so good!"

"still a fuckin' whore though, huh?"

"oh, always, but she's so useful!"

"useful like a tool should be."

"listen to her on our cocks, she's singin'!"

"just means we're not fuckin' her hard enough, she'll be unable to make noise eventually."

ted came first, burying his cockhead deep in you and biting down wherever he could, leaving you with deep purple teeth marks on your shoulder. the scream you let out from the pain of that, combined with you clenching around him, coaxed schlatt's orgasm from him soon after.

they fucked you so good, so hard, you couldn't remember how many times you came. all you remember was the pleasure, the pain long forgotten in a trade for the memories of being filled by the two people you love most. when they had their fill, they didn't even pull out, you all just collapsed into a pile on the bed. after the boys caught their breath, they carried you to the bathroom and cleaned you up before making you dinner for the evening and taking care of you all night.

[everywaythatmatters]

Fool’s Errand is a hell of a book bc the first two thirds read like a funny silly romcom and then the last third sneaks up behind you and shoots you point blank

[bereft-of-frogs]

confession time: I really didn't think I was going to like Silandra because idk sometimes I'm a curmudgeon about popular characters and I always seem to have conflicting opinions and the few posts I saw about her reminded me a bit of Avar and not that I don't like Avar, it's just that as currently a books-only reader, we really haven't seen that much of her since Light, she's so much more a construct than an actual character to me, just this sort of distant perfect woman on a pedestal rather than someone I'm all that attached to--

False. Silandra is everything, I LOVE her. Kudos also to the voice actress because she also just sounds so lovely. I love her and I want to see SO much more from her.

[hellafluff]

Currently obsessively thinking about a silent hill from Mary's perspective. Starting in the hospital, the nurses replaced with doctors, faces blacked out except for white shiny gnashing teeth. She only has in her pockets a note written on hotel stationary that says I'm Sorry.

Escaping and meeting a young man, cute and a lil awkward, who says you look a lot like his girlfriend Maria, and shes missing too? Can we look for her together?

Hes... sweet, a bit quiet. He gets very close to Mary often, pushes her boundaries, but this is all weird and strange and maybe hes just scared. When she mentions it, however, he makes a rude remark abt Just Wanting To Help Her but backs off.

They get seperated when the Red Pyramid Thing, unchanged in this version, comes and attacks them both, but chooses to persue him.

Laura is still there, and when Mary and her meet they cling together. She talks about an awful, ugly man she met earlier, and to watch out for him. She helps guide Mary through a maze like area before the Other World sets in and separates them.

The monsters in Mary's Silent Hill are almost all larger then her, and many masculine in appearance. They attack her head, try and choke her. Certain ones cough and gasp, arms thrashing wildly and thrashing on the floor when knocked down. Some seems to have exposed, black lungs that stutter to breathe. If Angela and Eddie are the same in this version, then their boss fights remain the same. The Abstract Daddy just as horrifying to Mary as it is to Angela.

Every reunion with the man, hes different. Less nice, more haunted looking. He starts to call her Maria, and barely acknowledges her if she corrects him. Following his advice leads to darker and more dangerous areas. The Red Pyramid keeps coming and chasing him away, but shes always collateral damage when that happens.

Eventually, she makes it to the hotel. Hes waiting for her in the hotel room, haggard, almost unrecognizable from the man he was when they first met. He has a monologue about how she's been sick, and hes been trying his best to be there for her. She doesnt understand, she doesnt know him, shes NOT Maria! She never will be. She starts coughing.

He makes to leave but at the last second turns, and hes a monster now. Large, fleshy, imposing, always trying to suffocate her under thick hands. Upon his defeat, two Red Pyramids arrive and stab at the dying thing over and over until finally impaling themselves.

There are different endings still. She remembers her disease, and her murder, in most of them. In the best ending she leaves the town with Laura, likely still ill, but alive again. In one of the worst, she wakes up in the trunk of a car, as water begins seeping in.